#I’ve been feeling so disconnected being on here for some reason

[crybaby-bkg]

my niece wasn’t feeling good today so I picked her up and held her until she fell asleep and everything was all cute and sweet right………………why did she shit in my bed ��🏽‍♀️

[cherry-leclerc]

don’t lock the door ☆ cs55

genre: fluff, humor, smut, angst, thriller/suspense, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of homicide, erotic literature, tragedy

word count: 9k

An oleander is beautiful—yet deadly. You’re beautiful—yet deadly. But Carlos has always been gentle, and has always known how to take care of things he loves. And even if he doesn’t, he’s willing to learn, just for you. But you can’t outrun secrets. Not when they have everything to do with the only thing he adores—you.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... fingering, riding, car sex

STOP AND READ:

The story you are about to read is not meant to be admired or looked up to. Regularly, the types of fics that I like to present to all of you are light, humorous, and sweet. While I feel that this story does have occasional glimpses of that, it also deals with heavy topics such as; suicide, depression, and homicide. At the end of the day, I care about all my readers, so if any of you feel like this is not something for you then you are always welcomed to head over to my masterlist for much lighter reads. You all know me by now, so you must know that sometimes I like to mix a story of traditional love with a dash of real life struggles, such as trauma and guilt, in this case. With that, I hope you enjoy word for word.

cherry here!...did you miss me????

Tension is normally one’s enemy. It’s fairly simple, you try your best to avoid what makes your skin crawl. Isn’t that how the story goes?

Not quite. 

There’s tension, yes, but it's only because you’re the opposite sex. Nothing beyond that. It could also be because you’re both introduced to each other as a pair of miserable singles. Lewis is the person you share in common.

She’s a close friend, he proclaims as you two shake hands. The touch is sticky, just like hot glue— and for a minute—it feels like a knife cuts this invisible strain in half. He lets himself salivate over your lioness stare; dark, sharp, amorous. You lean towards him just the same; dominant, mature, suggestive.

I’ve seen you race.

He hums, still attached to your desirable touch. Yeah? Why haven’t I seen you then?

Fingers press sternly against his warm skin, as if to provoke him more than he already feels himself falling into. It should be alarming the way his mind slips into a frenzy because of it, but likes it. The rush. 

Maybe because I wasn’t rooting for you.

There. Right then, he disconnects. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

You grin. Well, now you know. 

“You know what? Mingle—”

“Who says mingle?” you and Carlos question at the same time, judgemental eyes staring coldly. 

Lewis blushes. “I-I-Is that not a thing anymore?” Silence. “Fuck, I really am getting old...”

The night consists of mimosas, because according to you, it reminds you of your late-mother. “She liked something fruity, but also fun enough to make her head spin. It was entertaining to watch.”

“How so?”

“She’d ramble on and on. Slurred about her dreams.” A sad smile. “That’s the only reason why I ever found out she wanted to become an author. She was fifty—five decades too old—but she said she wanted one last adventure before retiring. It didn’t even matter if she made it onto the New York Times Best Seller list.”

The way your eyes even out, round and almost doughy, makes him trip for a second because this is not the same girl he shook hands with nearly three hours ago. No, this version of you was almost childlike, but he supposes that's how everyone who loses a parent becomes. 

It comes out shy—closed off—your laugh. As if you just caught yourself being too vulnerable. That was always the worst. “Look at me making you my therapist. I have got to stop doing that.” 

His mouth opens lamely, ghostly scoff sitting upon his lips. And if it were to be released, it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. It was a weird thing to note. “I like hearing you talk.”

A beat. “We’ve only just met.”

Carlos grins, crinkles tracing the corner of his eyes like some beauty. “Then let's meet some more.”

The opportunity is there, the kind you’ve been looking for. With a sheepish smile, you nod. “I should warn you though, I’m a bit of a mess.”

Finally, the scoff escapes. And like envisioned, you laugh at the sound.

“Consider me warned.”

-

He fucked you that same night in the back of his car. It was late, so dark that you barely even had the chance to register the fact that you squirted all over his vintage Ferrari. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he pants as he snaps his hips up again, fast motion making you head loll bad. You wonder what he means, but as soon as his long fingers circle your swollen bud, you’re just as good as gone.

He asked you out an hour later, when he dropped you off right in front of your apartment. You happily accepted, unable to hide your excitement. 

Your smile falters. “Give me a reason as to why I should say yes.”

“Um, well, you sort of already said…yes?”

The confusion that settles onto his handsome features makes you glow with satisfaction. “I could always change my mind. Pretend this night never even happened.”

Panic rushes harshly against his shoulders. He doesn’t even know why he cares so much, but he does. 

Vulnerability is a bitch. 

“Huh,” he hums, relaxing against his seat, head hitting the expensive cushion. And you can see it. The challenge. He clicks his tongue, bored all of a sudden. “Listen, I want you, but I certainly don’t need you.”

You realize right there and then—you met your match. 

You realize right there and then—you two share the same green pride. 

You realize right there and then—

“It was nice getting to know you.” 

-

The only reason you’re even friends with someone like Lewis is because your mother married rich.

Filthy fucking rich. 

Then, somehow, married richer by her third and last marriage. The man was twisted, but you never knew just how much. Not for a very long time. 

He dabbled in stocks, or some boring shit like that, and later invested in some other crap. Somewhere along the line, you met the Brit. 

The same Brit who now hisses at you through the phone. 

“God damn it, what happened? Weren’t you two getting along?”

You sigh, rubbing your feet together as you admire the way the navy blue paint covers your pedicured nails. Stormy clouds match your mood as you shake the bottle of pills that lay on top of your desk. 

“He’s too vain.”

He groans. “You my dear, dear friend, are looking into a mirror then, I suppose.”

A sharp gasp. “Are you insinuating I’m the same?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“May I remind you that you sit and stare at yourself for God knows how long before any race? Newflash, dickhead, you’re going to sweat, look like shit, and one out of ten times, you’re going to win.”

“I see I triggered something.” He sighs heavily. The sound tells you he’s not really upset or anything, but more so worried. Ever since she died, you’ve been that way. 

Snappy. Defensive. 

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I know you.” 

And although he can’t see, you still smile fondly. Rattling the bottle of antidepressants, you inch up higher and higher onto your chair until you face your own reflection. Shattered glass stares back at you as you feverishly look down. 

“Do you still have an extra pass to this weekend's race?”

-

There had to be something wrong with you. Everyone could tell, and quite frankly, you could agree. Would you admit to it out loud? No, now that’s something different. Or maybe you’re just odd. That would also make sense. Whatever it was, it would explain as to why everyone around you screams with excitement as the fast cars fly by. You, on the other hand, simply stare with straight lips and empty eyes.

While all clap cheerfully when Lewis finishes on the third step, you cross your arms. While everyone runs out of the Mercedes garage to declare front row, you drag your feet slowly to the last. 

While Carlos makes eye contact as he lifts his trophy—notably bigger than the Brits—you yawn.

You’re not impressed.

She’s not impressed, the Spaniard remembers thinking to himself as he smiles wider towards the stacks of cameras that turn him temporarily blind. He selfishly thinks you’re here for him, but he knows that's straight bullshit. Truth be told, it didn’t seem like you were here to support your friend either.

“It’s been so long,” Lewis huffs in disbelief as you stare across with vacant eyes. To him, you’re simply jetlagged. “Can you believe it?”

An exhale. “You did good.” Extending your legs outward, you admire the black tiles that shine back brighter than if it were to be white. “Drinks. On me.”

The Brit laughs. “Deal.”

-

Somewhere close by, they play jazz. 

“Pretty,” you softly speak as you connect your lips to the glass. The live band sways back and forth, only adding to the charm you seem to like. And you like it a lot. “Dance with me.”

Lewis snickers. “I love you to death, but I’m gonna have to go with no.”

You frown. “Come on. I never ask you for anything.”

“You were born with a golden spoon and have used retinol since you were ten, you’re not allowed to ask for anything when you’ve already had everything.”

“Yeah…well not this.” You’re secretly envious of every lady in the room. The way they beam with sincere smiles at their husbands. Boyfriends? Flings? Affairs? Who cares honestly, you were jealous nonetheless. 

The Mercedes driver watches as your fingers lazily tap against your lap, as if signaling you’re free. Guilt slithers down his neck as he sighs in defeat. “Fi–”

“Nice seeing you two here.”

Lewis wants to cry with utter thankfulness as Carlos inches closer with a lousy grin. “Hey! Oh God—hey.” You blink. “Wh-what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, of course, because I’m not.”

The Spanirad shrugs. “I won. Wanted to celebrate, I suppose.” Brown eyes flicker towards you like thunder and suddenly you feel naked under his gaze. You swallow. “You look nice.”

And there it is again—tension.

He cocks his head to the side, almost as if waiting for a compliment of your own. Instead, he finds himself being ignored. Crossing your legs, you lift the empty glass up as the bartender hurries for a refill. 

Finally, Lewis speaks up. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay—”

“Who says hay?” you and the brunette spit out with snarkiness. You bite back a smile while he releases a chuckle. 

The Brit stands up, chugging the rest of his drink as he waves you two off. “I’m not that old,” he shouts as he turns the corner and disappears. 

Carlos takes the time to catch up on your appearance. Last time he saw you, you had longer hair, now it appears you’ve had a trim. He likes it. You were slightly tanner, but now appear a shade lighter. It could just be because it’s winter. It's nice seeing other versions of you. 

“So, how have you be—”

“Why are you still here?”

He freezes. It takes him a while to find the strength to open his mouth. 

“We never finished our conversation.”

-

He didn’t fuck you that night, no, he took you dancing. And maybe that’s why it worked this time around. Instead of taking the time to learn all the different types of moans you have, he took the time to learn all about your upbringing. 

I learned how to bike when I turned six. Had severe trust issues for a year, so I tried again when I was seven.

That must be where your scars are from, he thinks to himself, but he finds them endearing.

I like long hair, I find it beautiful, but as soon as it’s starting to grow out I think it looks too weird on me. 

That must be why your hair is shorter than he remembers, but he loves it. Has the urge to run his fingers through.

My favorite movie is How Harry Met Sally, but quite frankly, I don't find Harry attractive at all, so I never really understood why Sally settled down with him after so long.

And you’re honest. Brutally honest. And he finds that attractive.

“How about you, Mr. Singapore?”

I learned how to kart before I learned how to bike, actually. I, too, have scars on my hands from small crashes. 

You blush as you hide yours beneath your coat. 

I have two sisters, so I mainly learned how to dance because of them. I hated it at the time, but now I’m quite grateful.

Is it possible to swoon harder?

And I don’t have a favorite film, necessarily, but I’ve watched How Harry Met Sally, and I would agree. Sally was too good looking for him. 

You have to laugh. “Is that so?”

He smiles. “The name Harry sounds so…” He winks cooly before running a hand through his locks. You giggle. “He looks more like a Bob.”

“Oh my God! Could you imagine? How Bob Met Sally?” You pause. “Wait, that actually doesn’t sound half bad…”

He chews on his bottom lip slowly, nodding in agreement. Silence engulfs you two as you stare at each other with round eyes. He’s the first to crack a loopy grin and you quickly follow with a sheepish one. Then, it vanishes and he’s left looking like he swallowed a frog.

“Listen, about last time…”

“Long forgotten.”

He halts, almost surprised by your response. “No, no, there’s no need to pretend, I was a—”

“Jerk?”

The Spaniard rolls his eyes. “Great, so you haven’t forgotten.”

You shrug. “I’m a girl. We remember everything.”

“Got it,” he declares. “Ask me again.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze. “What?”

“Ask me why you should say yes to a date with me.”

“You don’t have to do this, we’re good—”

“I know we are, but I still want you to ask.”

You lick your lip anxiously before relaxing your stiff shoulders. He tilts his head as if urging you and you nod. “Why should I say yes to you?”

Satisfaction settles. “Because you like a good challenge.” He leans closer. “And isn't that what this is?”

-

Carlos Sainz Jr. was made for you.

“Leave me alone,” you scream, veins throbbing, as you rush past him, heading towards the guest room. You’re glad his parents aren’t home at the moment because Lord knows the embarrassment you would feel.

“No. Not until you talk to me.” As simple as that. Your eyes twitch as you turn back, then bring your hands up to your hips. He adores it when you do that, though he probably shouldn’t right now.

“You want to talk?” You let out an unhinged scoff. “Oh, would you look at that, he wants to talk! Now he wants to talk. Well guess what, fuckhead—I don’t.” 

With that, you march out into the balcony. His eyes follow the way you light up a cigarette. The way you drink the last drops of champagne that linger in the bottle gifted to you by his mother. 

She was kind. She was beautiful. She didn’t deserve someone being this mean to her son.

You barely recognize him because of how blurry your vision is, but his scent does it. Musky. Woody. Calm. 

He hands you the familiar pill, then a glass of water. He rushes the champagne away, then takes the cigarette and squashes it against the cold floor. He doesn’t so much call you out for being a lunatic, for upsetting his dogs with all your yelling, or for pushing him. No, he doesn’t do any of that. And you have never been more in love with him than now.

“I know I can be a bit much sometimes…” A sniffle. “I swear I try to catch onto it so you don’t have to deal with any of this, but—”

“You don’t mean it.” He tangles his fingers through your hair as you sob. And it’s soft despite spending the entire day near the ocean. It feels silky. He’s obsessed. “I know you.”

-

You were made for Carlos Sainz Jr.

“How do I look?” 

“Like an angel.” He swears he turns bright red when you blow him a kiss. “Your name must’ve been Bonita in another life because look at you…” A hand flies up to clutch onto his heart as he makes a face. “Though, I must say, you do know how to make me look bad.”

You giggle. “Oh? This old thing? I thrifted it. Nice, eh?”

He groans. “Very, but you’re supposed to be rooting for Spain.” A gag. “Not Italy.”

You frown. “That's all I had. Plus, you’re basically Italian given your working status.”

“No, amor, they pay me to like Italy. It’s a cover up, think about it.”

You huff, popping your hip outward. “Still. I like it, so I’m wearing it while cheering for the opposite team.”

“Always over complicating things.” He laughs. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you’re a complicated person.”

A deadpan expression. “Suck your own dick.”

“Oi, relax.”

Spinning to face the mirror, you fix your jersey one last time before skipping out the door, tube socks sliding as you go. The Spaniard lets out a dreamy sigh. 

Were you flawless? Not at all.

Were you put together? Not without a prescription.

But he loved figuring it all out with you. And that’s called love.

-

You’re in the middle of a rampage, during dinner. While everyone stares at you puzzled, he simply laughs at your cartoon expressions. 

“I mean, I offered!” A pout. “I clearly stated I could get the cap signed for her and she gave me the nastiest, ugliest, dirty-looking glare! I for sure thought her face was permanently damaged.” You relax against the chair, your shaky hand finding its way to your water bottle. “Like sorry for riding your favorite driver…”

Charles laughs nervously. “I don’t think that was a necessary thing to include…” 

You shrug, raising your brows over to your boyfriend who struggles to breathe. 

The conversation flows easily, like most nights you're all together, but this time there’s a minor bump. You’ve been good about it; avoiding the question for so long. Over the course of time, you’ve managed to be so mendacious, that truly no one knew the truth. Not even Carlos.

“I hope it’s not overstepping, but how did your mum pass?”

He means no harm, Lando, but you just wish so badly that you could believe that. While Carlos and Lewis were the closest thing you have to a family nowadays, even they knew not to ask. You never laid the rules out loud, but they could tell it was an unwanted topic to have on your behalf, no matter how curious they got. 

All of a sudden, your mood deteriorates. The look in Lando’s eyes makes sure to strike off as an apology, but you’re so busy looking down onto your lap that you don’t even pinpoint the meaning. The table grows awkward as time ticks by. 

No one has the power to change the subject, save you the same way doctors tried to save your mother—because they, too—wonder. 

You gulp, feeling small, but far too seen at the same time. It was confusing. “She, um…her last husband…” Everyone feels bad, like you’re some limping puppy, zigzagging down an empty highway, but remain quiet. Then, you look up, stone cold but the tip of your rosy nose and blotchy face is enough reassurance that you still have a beating heart.

“Husband number three strangled her to death.”

You say it like you don’t care. Like it hasn’t affected you at all, and that makes Carlos blink twice as fast as everyone else in the table. A droplet makes its way down your cheek as you let out a light laugh. 

“I guess he thought he was some Superior God who had a say in cutting her time short.”

They all freeze. 

“I am so sorry for asking—” 

“I didn’t need to respond.” You smile lamely. “It’s fine, Lando.”

But it’s not, not even close. They ripped the confession out of your throat, at least that’s what it felt like. No one stepped up, no one said anything. 

Your eyes flicker to the only man who makes your heart speed. 

He reaches for your hand and you grip it hard.

No one said anything.

Not. Even. Carlos.

-

You’ve always excelled at holding a grudge. It came fairly simple. 

But as you stare at him through the screen, for the first time—and only the first time—you struggle. Maybe it’s his puppy eyes that betray you, or his gentleness anytime he steps near you, you don’t really know. 

And you don’t want to.

“I was thinking mariscos.”

Hair flies past your eyes as you squint. He looks particularly handsome today, wearing a linen shirt that drapes over him like some silver armor. Long waves brush against his temples as he returns the squint, slightly smiling at your lips. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Soft music roams the isolated restaurant that almost seemed to belong to just you two, and that helps you relax. You could tell it helps him too. 

“The car felt good today.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, biting onto a piece of shrimp. “Felt like I was flying.”

You let out a whistle. There’s a comfortable silence that lingers for a while before you raise a brow up to the open sky. “Hey,” you start as his orbs flicker up with all the attention in the world. “Do you believe in angels?”

A moment. “I’d say so, yes. Yes, I do.”

Hum. “You sound freakishly sure.” You inch forward with teasing eyes. “Why?”

“Easy.” Chocolate orbs swirl with adoration. “There’s you.”

“I don’t count.”

He frowns. “And why not?”

“Because you love me, of course you’d say that only to be nice.”

“I say so because I know so.”

“Love is blind, love is blind,” you chant, sipping on his open can.

A second ticks by. “Why do you ask?”

And like the first night he met you, your eyes merge into doe eyes. “Because I do.” A sheepish grin. “And sorry to disappoint, but it’s not you.” 

“What’s his name?” he jokes.

But you’re not even listening. “My mom was pure. She was a good person, Carlos.” A beat. “She’s my forever angel.”

His heart physically hurts at your glossy eyes, immediately reaching for your hands. “You must really miss her…”

A wet laugh. “Is there a word stronger than ‘really’? If there is, then that would be one way to say it.”

And he has to apologize, even if it’s seven days too late. 

“I’m sorry for not stepping in that night. I-I-I should have said something and you should have said nothing.” Thick brows knit in together. “You don’t know how shitty I felt, but—”

“You wanted to know as well.”

The way his features freeze is enough confirmation. And you can't be mad. Not even a little. Not even a lot. 

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Carlos. I should have been more open and honest with you first.” A gust of hot air slaps you across the face. “I tend to shut out people like you because…I don’t know.”

“Vulnerability is a bitch?”

You laugh. “That’s one way to say it.” Orbs scan his beauty with no shame before falling back. “You still have plenty of questions, don’t you?”

“O-of course not.”

Another laugh. “It’s okay. You caught me in a good mood. Go on.”

He’s awkward at first, but slowly eases with the sound of your breathing. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

“Because he’s a multi-billionaire.”

He gulps and you blink. “Why haven’t you sued?”

“Because I’m not a multi-billionaire.”

“So…he did a cover up with a wad of cash?”

“Mhm. No one dared ask whose hand shaped bruise was imprinted in her neck.”

He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but he knows he needs this because he knows it will keep him up the same ways it’s kept him up since that god forbidden dinner. 

“This was the cause of your…” He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence.

“Depression…yeah. Losing someone you love will do that to ya.”

But he wants to ask—he wants to ask more because he knows there has to be more. He’s lost people he loves too—and he loved them very much—and he never got this way. In a flash, he feels guilty for comparing his healing process to yours but quickly looks down onto his lap. 

And the hot summer rain is enough warning for him not to question you any further. 

The Spaniard shares a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. To take care of you, and all t-that,” he stutters, blushing.

“I love you, Carlos.” A beat. “I’ve always trusted you. The only person I don’t trust is myself.”

-

“Be quiet,” she hisses, urgently signaling you closer. “And make sure to shut the door.”

Confused, you hesitantly push until you hear a click. Inching closer to your mom, you slowly become more and more lost as you eye the scattered papers all over your step-dads office table. “What is all this?”

Color drains from her normally youthful face. Even the brightest shade of red can’t help add life. “Proof of embezzlement.”

“What?”

She slides stacks of black folders towards you and you quickly flip through, to which you don’t understand a single thing. “He’s stealing money, that’s what. We’re not talking thousands, we’re talking millions,” she whispers frantically before growing green. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay, okay, hold on, you’re okay.” Rushing to be next to her, you clumsily tie her hair up into a messy ponytail before fanning her with the white sheets. You wince, quickly placing them back down. “How did you even come across this?”

Just as fast as a lighting bolt, she spins the chair. “I’m starting my book—” She gags, “I was supposed to start today, but I came in here looking for his typewriter. You know, the one with the tiny cherubs?” Across the office, you spot it, the tiny angels delicately painted onto the infamous typewriter. You nod. “Well, I started to search for some paper and instead found all of this…”

Even you grow dizzy as you eye the infinite zero’s that jump out against all types of sums. That’s not even enough to spend in ten lifetimes. It was no wonder he just recently made it onto The Forbes list. Her eyes—honest as ever—make you panic as you twirl your thumbs. “Wait…you’re not thinking of confronting him about it, are you?”

“I have to.” Pause. “Right?”

No. You don’t want her to. Not in any scenario. It’s taken you both so long to reach the life you deserve, and now that you were finally here it’s about to be ripped away from you? Your lack of words makes her glare. 

“I don’t know why I’m asking you, I have to! It’s the right thing to do.”

Adrenaline. “Mom, just think about it—”

“I did not raise you to be avaricious,” she spits out, fire practically fuming out of her.  You flinch. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Y-you’re right.” There goes all your money down the drain. “I’m with you no matter what.” 

Knock knock.

Like mother-daughter, you both freeze as your eyes flicker to the sound. 

“Angelica, are you in there?”

You never liked the name Angelica. Not on anyone else that wasn’t your Angelica. 

Running over to open, she finds herself face-to-face to Lucifer himself as he cocks his head in humor. “Locking me out of my own office now?” He enters. “Fun.” Dark eyes roam the messy area. “Fun.”

Her eyes plead with you in a language only you both knew, but never did you mean to obey. You wanted to stay with her—something told you to stay with her. 

“Honey, give us some privacy, yeah?”

“U-uh…” He winks like that was the go-ahead. Like that was the last permission you needed to agree. And maybe it was. 

Deep down it’s almost like you knew he had sinister intentions. Deep down it’s almost like you knew he was capable of committing those sinister intentions. 

Deep down. 

It’s like you don’t even care.

You smile, tight lipped. “Whatever you need.”

You heard the argument that night, you heard the threats. You heard her pleads, you heard her chokes. You could only imagine what was going on inside, but you were your mothers daughter. You could imagine quite a lot. 

She could’ve been an author—with his resources she might just have hit the New York Times Best Seller list. She could have been a grandmother one day—surely your kids would have lived a luxurious life. 

She could have been obedient. Why wasn’t she obedient? Was it so hard to brush it all under the rug?

He was sweating, just as much as a pig. Or maybe he’s glowing, he is smiling after all. Here and there he apologizes in a lousy manner, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was—

“How much money am I gonna get to keep?”

He’s intrigued. “How much do you want?”

“Enough to not have to worry.” You can still see it; cramped rooms, tin canned meals on paper plates. You could never go back.

An eye roll. “You’re just like her…” A beat. “Fucking greedy.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You’re embarrassed—-of course you were—who is he to judge? He sighs. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“It means I’m not transferring you anything. I want you out of this house no later than Sunday.”

Plump lips open, then snap shut, teeth gritting. “I’ll tell everyone that you’re a murderer. You’ll lose it all, w-watch.”

He’s not phased. Not even in the slightest. “And who’s going to believe you? Tell me, really, because I’d like to know.”

Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything.

And fuck yourself for having nothing at all—again.

Months swept by, the death was ruled a suicide, and antidepressant became your loyal friend. There was no one else, and sometimes you feared there would always be no one else. 

Then—by some miracle—there was Carlos.

He was handsome. He was shy. He was sweet. He was kind.

He was rich.

You played hard to get, but so did he. You played the long haul, but so did he. You were a fantastic liar, but he was an ever better believer.

And it all clicked.

Just the way it was supposed to.

-

You’ve been accustomed to a certain lifestyle for years now, but somehow you’re always surprised about the sudden boost you’ve switched to ever since you’ve met him.

Chanel heels turned into red bottoms. Last season dresses turned into those that were not yet  released. You loved everything about it.

“You look so beautiful, cariño,” he groans against your lips, desperate for more. His large hands play with the silky fabric, fighting to slide it up against your hips. You shudder. “I mean…come on.”

“Hey, hey—that’s sweet and all—” You push yourself closer to his toned body, immediately feeling his erection. You nearly whimper.  “But why don’t you fuck me instead?” A kiss. “You missed me, no?”

And instead—he whimpers. “How dare you even ask?” 

With that, he picks you up with ease, pinning you against the wall. You’re dizzy, because unbeknownst to him, he’s casted a spell on you. Never did you think you could fall in love, much less, have someone reciprocate. 

Tender fingers make their way to your clit as you lunge forward, biting down onto his shoulder. It should amaze you how he holds you up with one arm, but you’re not. If anything, you leak more and more by every passing second. 

His dirty pants make you fold as you clench around him. The way they curl, the way they pulse, all of it was your kryptonite. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you squeal, keeping your eyes trapped shut, feeling the familiar knot forming. He grins, pecking your sweaty forehead, digits speeding up. Berry lips form an O as you moan louder with every push.”I-I’m c-c-close—oh God.”

“Shh. It’s okay, let go for me, yeah? I’m right here with you.” 

Gritting your teeth harder, you moan like some pornstar as you finish all around him. Almost like some rule, he desperately sucks his fingers clean. The Spaniard hums like he’s living his biggest dream of all before opening his round eyes. 

“So sweet.”

You blush. “Yours tastes like shit.”

He laughs. “And yet you beg for me to finish all over your face, isn’t that so?”

Nearly choking at his bluntness, you fight back a smile as you play with his floppy locks. They’ve grown so much from the last time you saw him, so this was certainly eye candy to you. He sighs, relaxing as you continue to twirl thick strands around your fingers.

Soft legs still drape over his waist, hands still lay around your waist, and even breathing connects you both. Carlos feels like he’s nearly dozing off, but his hand remains firm, preferring to take a bullet than to let you fall. 

You like to think that you like his lashes the best. But then there’s his eyes. And his nose. And his heart. And his lips. And his hands. And his sculpture body. And his jokes. And his laugh. And his freckles. So you never could choose, not truly.

Inching closer to his ear, you smirk slowly. “Wanna fuck my mouth?”

His eyes snap open, jaw clenching. “You’re such a tease.”

A shrug. “Want to or not?” You bite your lip, legs letting go of his hips as you slide down. “Because this offer ends in five…” He raises a skeptical brow. “Four…” You motion him closer to which he steadily follows. “Three…” He laughs. “Two, one!”

Sprinting up the stairs in a flash, you giggle as he chases after you. The sound of his steps make your heart beat faster as you jump onto your shared bed. Rushing past the corner, he cocks his head to the side as he clicks his tongue. Stepping into the room carefully, he swung the door closed before locking it. You frown.

“Reassures me that no one will walk in.”

“No one will walk in,” you whisper as your stomach drops. “There’s no need t-to—”

“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, taking in your breathless state. “But I prefer it this way. Just you.” A closer stride. “And me.”

Palms are sweaty. Blood slithers down your throat and thighs. And yet your freeze. You feel hot and cold, all at once. You don’t like the feeling, any of it, but you try to ignore the inner monologue. 

“You look stunning,” he states, finally reaching you. “You always do.”

Your speeding heart lessens. “T-thank you.” 

A beat. “You’re not nervous—are you?”

Hastily, you shake your head. “N-no! Of course not!”

Thick brows knit together. “Because you normally aren’t.” His smile fades. “W-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to, you know that right?”

Physically, you’re cringing. Mentally, you’re spiraling. The act itself makes the Spaniard withdraw, taking a steady step back and shaking his head. Panic rises fast as you crawl closer to him, reaching the end of the bed. 

“I just have a lot on my mind, but I want this.” A beat. “I want you.”

It’s as if you’re a blank sheet of paper, blinking up at Carlos with such innocence. So much so, it makes his heart stop. He looks for reassurance, which you give him, and he looks for it again, which you give again without hesitance. 

“Come on, Carlitos…” you slowly whisper, batting your eyes. “I know you’ve missed my mouth.”

If you weren’t so breathtaking, if you weren’t so seductive, if you weren’t so goddamn tempting then surely turning you down wouldn’t be an issue. By alas, you’re here—and even better—you’re all his. 

“Eres un sueño.” It seems like an eternity passes by before he finally steps close to you once again, getting rid of whatever distance you ever had. Like it was never meant to be there to begin with. “Can I kiss you first?”

It’s sweet that he feels the need to build up to fucking you sore, but sweet nonetheless. That’s one thing you love about him—and there’s a lot to choose from—his respect towards you. Smiling warmly, you extend your arm, inviting him like an angel before he smashes his lips against you like the devil.

The contrast. It’s just what you needed.

“God, I fucking love you.” 

“I—” His lips press harsher as he continues marking his territory. All of it was making your head spin like a rollercoaster. “I love you too,” you manage to spit out as he makes his way down. You blush. “I-I-I sort of wanted to…”

He blinks. “Sort of what?”

“Well, you know…” You point towards his hardened cock. 

And he actually snickers. “Cat got your tongue today or what, bella?”

A groan. “You’re so fucking annoying—”

“No, no, no,” he cuts in with a whistle. “By all means, go ahead.”

Desperate hands crazily reach out towards his belt in a nanosecond. You should be ashamed how hopeless you are, but you don’t find enough strength to care. Not when he was looking down at you with hungry eyes. 

“Tan linda,” he whispered underneath his breath. As if you weren’t meant to hear him. As if he can’t quite believe it’s you he gets to keep. This must all be a dream to him, he thinks. 

Just as you’re about to pull his jeans down, large hands get ahold of your wrists. Confused, you look up at him, head tilted and messy hair falling over your shoulder. He grins wickedly. 

“Just one more kiss.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you kidding me—”

But his soft lips move with such urgency that you don’t even have time to bitch and moan. Not that you’re trying. You can feel it; the hunger, the lust. The way you run your fingers through his hair, or how he squeezes your ass. In a matter of seconds, the room grows steamy, hot breaths expanding with every peck. It’s as if Carlos was too afraid of being ripped away from you even for a second, scared your lips might change and he wouldn’t know a thing about it.

Not knowing you might be his biggest fear.

It happens without a warning, his grip. You feel it slide slowly up your ribs—you remember thinking how much you like it, how much it tickles. Then it reaches your chest, to which his eager hands squeeze your tits, pathetically moaning into your mouth. You can’t help but giggle, but still not separating. And then…

It reaches your neck.

As soon as he squeezes, your eyesight begins to blur, but he doesn’t notice. Your chest begins to rise and fall at an alarming rate, but he doesn’t notice. And you’re terrified.

But he doesn’t notice.

“Carlos,” you whimper, but he takes it as a good sign, mouth moving with ease. “Carlos, honey…”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is deep. “You like that?” Large palm squeezes harder. “Bet you do.”

“Okay, stop!” you scream, arms flying like some madman. “Let go of me!”

Panicked, he releases you in a hurry, jumping off of your trembling body. Color drains his face as realization hits him, but it's too late. You’re sobbing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down. The way you crawl back with fear makes his heart break as he shakes his head, running a hand against his jaw.

“Fuck.” More cries. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I am so sorry, baby…” Desperate eyes stare back at you as you hide your face against your shaky hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should have known, I should have known.” Inching closer proves to be a mistake when you leap off the bed, throwing a mountain of pillows like daggers. 

“Stop it,” you demand. “Stay. Right. There.”

He flinches. “Are you afraid of me?”

The laugh that erupts from your throat is unlike the others he’s heard. It’s almost maniacal. It makes his skin grow with goosebumps. “Is that even a question?” Dark mascara runs down your cheeks as you breathe heavily. “You just tried to kill me.”

“No,” he pronounces. “No, you know that that’s not true. I-I-I thought you’d like it!” The glare you flicker is enough for him to wince, pinching the tip of his nose. “I should have known better, okay? Please, just…calm down.”

All your sniffles come to an end as you freeze. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh my God.” Pushing your hair back, you release a chuckle. “You actually think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, stop putting words into my mouth.”

A scoff. “Okay, wow.” 

He doesn’t have a clue as to how he continues to dig himself into a hole—and yet—here he is. Digging his own grave. Exhaling hard, he licks his lips before looking straight into your glossy eyes. “I love you,” he starts, but you remain as still as a statue. “And I want us to work through this. I want to be able to talk to you, yeah?” A beat. “I’m sorry about…what I did, I should have never done it knowing you’re…traumatized.” 

He’s almost scared to see your reaction, but it never comes. Instead, you blink hastily, as if you’re mortified. 

You should’ve known. You should have figured that karma would catch up to you sooner or later.

I mean, all sins must be paid for, right?

As soon as he starts closing the gap, you’re thumping heart picks right back up. “I just want to talk—”

“No.”

Despite his hurt, he continues his march towards you. “I just want to be near you, please—”

“I said no!” 

It happens almost in the blink of an eye, the sound of glass shattering. He sort of thinks he must’ve imagined it, your hand flying to punch the mirror right besides you, but the gentle blood that oozes out of your hand makes his heart stop. Suddenly, all the scars you have make sense. So much makes sense. 

“Just…stay there, Carlos,” you say, voice trembling, small hand holding out a piece of sharp glass towards him like some wannabe knife. You bite your bottom lip. “Just—there.”

“Cariño…”

“Stop it with that,” you plead, teardrops slipping. “Stop calling me that.”

Somewhere in the shard, he catches his reflection. Half-scared, half-brokenhearted. He doesn’t even know how you two got to this point. 

He gulps. “Okay. I’ll stop, I’ll stop, but please put that down.” You shake your head fast, splotchy cheeks flushing furthermore. Carlos sighs desperately. “Come on—you’re bleeding.”

“I’m used to it by now.”

Tension resurfaces once again between you both as you stare at each other, awaiting for the next challenge. Playing the silent game for a second, curious to see who breaks next. 

“Why did you lock the door?”

He almost laughs. “We always shut the door—”

You raise the blade up higher as you begin to lose patience. Deep down, you know you’re not capable of harming him, but how could you ever let your guard down once again when he tried to strangle you to death?

History almost repeats itself, and you’ll be damned if you ever let it happen.

“You said it, we shut it but we never lock it.” A soft cry. “What were you planning on doing to me, Carlos?”

It’s like a knife to the heart, you’re sudden distrust. The brunette finds himself struggling to breath as he blinks like a lost deer. 

“You know that I would never hurt you. Not on purpose, at least…”

You let out a wet snarl, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you.”

A flinch. “All of this was a mistake and I adore you.”

“You don’t, though,” you protest, the shaky vision intensifying. “If not you wouldn’t have tried to mur—”

“For the last time, I’m not your step-father!” It’s as if he’s finally reached his breaking point, just now. His body is tired. His mind is tired. Everything is just tired of trying. Carlos shrugs lamely. “If you don’t want to believe me…so be it.”

The pain that rains out of him should be enough for you to know that he’s telling the complete truth. He’s a good guy, with pure intentions. He’s not here to get even with you on your mothers behalf. None of what you’re imagining is true.

But you just can’t seem to understand. 

“I don’t believe your lies, alright?” you spit out with deep breaths. You drop the blade, finally. “Open the door.”

With his head hung low, he complies, feet dragging with every step. And finally, with a hand on the knob, he turns to give you one last glance. He can tell you’re holding in your breath and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Why it make him feel so much like a monster…

Click. The wooden door swings open as he pushes it gently.

“Now leave.”

A wave of nausea strikes with your words. “Amor—“

“Stop. Don’t even look at me.” Tension. “I don’t want to see you ever again—not even by accident.”

And that was the last stab that ended it all.

-

Every now and then, he wonders how you are. Hopefully better. 

He hears your name mentioned once in a blue moon, but instinctively blocks it out, too disturbed at the thought of what occurred between you two. 

What did occur between you two?

He could take a guess and say that you’re internally fucked. Straight and simple. 

But it’s still annoying. The way he wishes to forget you with every passing birthday wish. 

At first, it was because he missed you. He just wanted to forget you because he missed you—yes.

Later, it was because the memory of the cramped room suffocated him. The sound of glass breaking was stronger than the sound of his car crashing. And somehow the latter seemed better. 

He just wanted to forget that day—yes. 

Staring off into space has been his thing for a long time, often getting called out on it. Now, he finds himself with his eyes closed, too scared that someone might notice his feelings and feel the need to ask if he’s okay. 

He hasn't been. Not since you. 

“Grape or watermelon?”

Popping and eye open, he catches a glance of Lewis before rolling over. “I’m good.”

It’s tough, this silent war between both his friends. The break up simply made this…tough. Especially when no one really knows what happened. 

Setting the electrolytes down, the Brit claims a spot next to the brunette. Groaning at the unwanted company, Carlos switches to sit upright. Brown eyes glare strongly before Lewis laughs it off. 

“How you doin’, bud?”

Great, no yeah, just severely depressed thanks to your so-called friend. Would you mind asking her where she gets her antidepressants from for me? I mean, I would, but last time we saw each other she, uh, I don’t know, tried to stab me? And you know what’s the most fucked up shit? It’s the fact that I still love her just the same. 

I just wanted to help. 

He forces a shy smile. “Fine.”

A pity grimace. “I can tell she misses you, you know?”

Carlos hates how excited the thought of you alone—dreamily sighing for his return—gets him to sit up straighter, suddenly interested. It’s foolish, really. 

“She would never admit it, but I can tell because I know—”

“Her?” The Spaniard lets out a mocking scoff. “Trust me, you don’t. Not entirely.”

That shuts Lewis right up as he sits there, staring blankly. A dark brow furrows. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two—not that I need to know—but she’s a good person. And so are you. So…don’t be afraid of reaching out.”

He flickers his brown eyes accusingly. “Why should I? Did she put you up to this?”

“She didn’t—“

But the fact is, the hesitation gives him away. Anger arises as the Spaniard rolls his eyes. “I knew it, God, I knew it!” A second. “I know her.”

The Brit drowns with nervousness as he waves his hands in despair. “She just wants you to apologize!”

A singular laugh. “Apologize for what?” He pauses, squinting at his friend. “She didn’t tell you why we broke up, did she?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t really know who’s fault it was, do you?”

Lewis looks down onto his lap. “No. Not really.”

“Great, then let me be the one to tell you that it was both of ours. I’m no saint but neither is she.”

An award silence lingers as the Spaniards voice echoes the room. Lewis nods. “Understood. I got it, okay?”

He sighs an irregular sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” A sheepish grin. “It’s not my place to fix anything about your guys’ relationship, I get it.”

Carlos’ face switches to bright red as he nods his head once. “T-thanks.”

The Brit, ever happily, stands up firmly before patting his back. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Gracias.” Lewis is just a few steps away when he clears his throat before he can even stop himself from asking. “How’s she doing?”

It came across almost softer than a mumble, and one might have missed it if not alert, but not Lewis. 

Spinning to face the almost manchild with round eyes, he smiles as bright as the sun, and that makes his stomach turn. Because he knows. He knows you’re doing—

“Really well.”

Fluffy hair falls down as he tilts his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s good.” Sure. He returns the same smile with a twitch. “That’s really good.”

Lewis has known you two for a long time now. He’s unwillingly memorized your ticks. How the right side of your face slightly twitches before every lie, or how the left side of his does the same before every lie. Much like right now. 

The Brit contemplates for a minute, then two, then opens his mouth in the most hesitant manner. 

“She’s moving to Germany.” Carlos freezes. “Only for a few months. Maybe a year, who knows. But…you should read her book.”

He unfreezes. “Her what?”

A faint smile. Eyes crinkled. “It’s a tough read, but I believe it was necessary. You know, to finally talk about it.”

-

He never quite believed you would open up this way, and yet here he was, in an unknown bookstore, spacing out. Your name jumps out like some shooting star, too difficult to ignore. 

Without a doubt, you’d get a lawsuit from your step-father. Of course—you were only dragging the last name of what seemed to be the world's richest man. 

For what it’s worth, Carlos is proud. This must mean you’re open to moving on. To get the necessary help you so desperately need. From start to finish, the pages are enticing. You go into gruesome depth, something you never seemed to have a problem in doing. From the mention of how her eyes remained open with no sign of life, only terror, to the fact that you got your many scars from punching the door, trying to get in on time. How he bribed his way against the laws. 

Everything seemed to be coming out.

So then why, as he sits in his driver's room, staring at your picture in the back of the book, does he feel like doesn’t believe it? 

Not even a generous half.

-

Angelica lived up to the first five letters of her name. 

She was there for you in the moments you needed her the most. She braided your hair for playdates, she tied your shoe laces even when you were too embarrassed to ask, and she worked her way up, making sure you had it all. 

Undeniably, she was one hell of a woman. Then again, she had more within her—pulled some trigger you never thought she’d pull.

You were going to lose it all, why couldn’t she foresee that? That conversation was going to rip your inheritance straight from your tight grip; the one that ensured your future vacations. How could she ever betray you? Her own daughter? 

You were acquisitive. You were possessive. You were partially responsible for her death.

But call it naiveness, you really thought it’d work.

No one will truly know the way your soul left your body when you heard you wouldn’t get a single dollar. Not even a fucking cent. You had to find some other way to stay secure.

But Carlos was out to get you, you just know he was. You don’t have a clue as to how he found out about the truth, about what happened inside that stupid mansion, but he knew it all. And you had to get out of there.

Only it led you back to square one. With no purpose. With no money. Fuck men and their actions, seriously, too all hell with them.

However, you were your mothers daughter at the end of the day.

You could be a writer. An even better one that she could've ever been. If you wanted to, you could do it. 

And that is exactly what you did.

You typed, and typed, and typed until your fingers would cramp up. The multi-billionaire was a leviathan and everyone would see that no matter what. 

You, on the other hand, were an innocent bystander. Too weak to intervene, to fight back. Too young. Yeah. That was what happened that night.

But you also had your own perspective. One your mom could never match.

While she married for the illusion of love, you would’ve married for money with no shame. Carlos just happened to be the luckiest of strikes because you got both. 

While she always was at the front of the room without having to try, you were always in the back with a bitter smile. Why did she get to have two dimples? All eyes would have surely been on you if you had at least one. 

And while she never cared about reaching the New York Times Best Seller list—you did. 

She would have jumped with joy just by selling ten copies, but not you. You always wanted more—craved more. Label it as ambition. 

More copies sold means more money. A trust fund means more money. Playing the victim against your step-father means even more money. So yeah…

You did care about that stupid list. 

Tilting your head back against your seat, you flinch at the taste of the pill, too familiar for your liking, but the wine helps. It always does nowadays. 

Buzz. 

Picking up with a level of indifference was all fake—you had been yearning this call for what seemed like your whole life.

“Hey.” His voice is almost raw. Like he could use a couple cough drops. “I-I-I read your book. It was incredible.”

And for the first time in a while, you smile. “Thank you, that means a lot, Carlos.”

You can hear the static against the line, indicating once again that you’re on opposite sides of the world and not together. You can almost bet that it will always stay that way. 

The Spaniard coughs awkwardly into your ear.

“Oh, and also, congrats on making it onto the New York Times Best Seller.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[manikas-whims]

how Xavier from Love and Deepspace will react when he finds out you're on your period..

Xavier realizes its the first time you haven't arrived at work on time. It concerns him deeply and he decides to call you on the phone.

You pick up the phone from the nightstand, receive the call and speak groggily due to the ache in your limbs.

“Xa..vier? What is it?”

On the other end, his eyes narrow in concern. “You don’t sound alright.”

“Ohhh its just..my stomach and thighs ache.. especially thighs..” Your eyes are watery as you speak. All this ache is making it harder for you to even have a simple phone conversation.

“But I'm okay..its just that time of the month, you know!” You attempt to make your best imitation of a chuckle to ensure everything is good.

Yet the line has already been disconnected.

At the workspace, Jenna watches Xavier already pulling on his white leather jacket and running out of the building.

[minutes later]

You hear your phone buzz again. Without even bothering to check the caller ID, you answer it with slight annoyance. “Who’s speaking!?”

The voice on the other end is familiar and calm as ever. Not reacting negatively to your words, Xavier says. “It’s me. I'm here at your place. Do you think you can open the door?”

You know he's only trying to be kind but you grumble anyways. You can't help it. “Xavier I’m not that weak! No girl is!”

You don't bother changing clothes and remain in your oversized shirt as it's more comfortable that way. And with little difficulty and a lot of ache in your body, you open the door to prove your point, staring up at him with your weary eyes.

He simply shuts the door as he walks in and hands you a package. “I bought some pads, and heat packs for your belly. Just in case you needed extra.”

You blink slowly, all the rage ignited by your period slowly fading in the face of his honesty.

“Come on, ” He beckons, heading upstairs towards your bedroom. “Or would you prefer I carry you?”

Mortified at the idea of being treated like a little girl, you stomp after him back to your room.

There, he guides you to lay down and sits at the edge of the bed, by your legs.

“Rest. I’ll be here for you. Always.”

Usually you would've tried teasing him but you don't wanna strain your body by speaking anymore. So you simply give in to the tempting softness of the mattress and close your eyes.

A moment later, you feel something glide along your leg, all the way up to your thigh before gently yet firmly grasping it.

Your face heats up, flushing a light shade of pink as you realize they're fingers. The same long fingers which you've seen Xavier wrap around his sword during your missions together.

Now for some reason, those very same fingers are holding your thigh. You feel the muscles in your leg tensing. So does he, and looks at you.

“Xavier you— what are you doing?” You squeak out, a hand over your eyes cause its just too embarrassing to look directly at him.

His hand doesn't even budge. “I’ve heard that during menses, women's thighs ache a lot. I was just trying to give yours’ a massage.”

Then he raises a brow, a lopsided smile curving upon his lips. “What did you think I was up to?”

“Ehhh!!” You shake your head, far more embarrassed now (if that was even possible).

“Nothing! I was just shocked when you suddenly touched me.”

He nods in understanding. “Pardon me for not asking permission before touching you.”

Now you shake your head even more, the aching muscles completely forgotten due to how embarrassed you feel for even daring to imagine something naughty at such a time.

“It's okay.” You mumble softly. “And I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

He responds with a proper smile.

Then, his fingers begin pressing into your thigh, gently massaging along the entire leg.

“Now rest.” He commands and you close your eyes for there's no reason to deny his aid. You feel the tense muscles in your legs gradually relaxing, his care lulling you into a state of slumber.

And just as you feel sleep blessing your form, you mumble. “Xavier?”

“Mm?” He replies.

“Thanks for this. And for coming to see me.”

“No problem.”

Its been a while since I wrote any Character x Reader HCs so please bear with my errors. i love feedback so don't hesitate!

AND THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

Rafayel and Zayne version coming soon!

» MASTERLIST «

[briebysabs]

The recent chapter has reinforced what I’ve been screaming about Noé from day one. If you will not take anything else from Noé Archiviste, take this. To analyze him you are required to understand that Noé is disconnected from everything.

He is disconnected from himself, his past, the world, and reality. And this isn’t simply from being sheltered (though that plays a significant role). Because of this, he offers an honest, open and “pure” view of a situation. Even without going into the psychological rabbit hole mochijun executed in Pandora Hearts, you can see Noe’s lines/scenes are chosen with calculation and are very layered. A minor example, him getting lost all the time. It makes for a funny gag but it feeds into the point I’m making here. Conceptually, Noé is a floating balloon, hovering over the world. He can give you the best perspective because he’s not on the ground. That is why Noé sees himself as too strong or untouchable. Because he believes he is in a different world from anyone else. And I think this is something many people can relate to. But then it becomes complicated when Noé chooses to be unaware. Noé knows treating Dante and his companions like shit is wrong. But the gears turned in his head, people that he likes are doing something harmful. And he picks the option that won’t make him dwell on it: it’s an accident. Oh perhaps they didn’t know their names.

Noé depends on toxic optimism. From this we’ve seen it, several times throughout the story, turn into utter delusion. This is why some ppl, including myself, get Jack vibes from him. If you know you know, that man invented the word delusional. In order to keep himself together, to distract himself from his own self-loathing and loneliness, he has clung onto this thinking like a lifeline. Noe and Vanitas are very similar but chose different ways of coping which is a reason he is able to reach him. It’s easier to focus and believe in the beauty of everything else than looking at your own reflection. It’s easier to proclaim that the world is beautiful than to say that it wronged you and you feel so different and so you hate yourself.

Which is why I believe Noé will be the final antagonist, anti-hero whatever the fuck. Not bc it’ll be a cool twist, the writing is on the wall. This is the logical destination of his character. Will he be saved at the end? Probably but who fucking knows mochijun. Noé is going be confronted with so many harsh truths and Vanitas dying is the biggest one. It is set in stone, an event that is fated to happen no matter what Noé does. Whether he’s time-looping this shit or living on alone. Vanitas’ death is the biggest reality Noé cannot escape from. And thus, that will break him. He will try to remain in his dreams, memories, and delusions. But eventually....you’re going to wake up.

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[allsadnshit]

Hello Izzie, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but do you have some tips and tricks how to reconnect with your body ? You seem like you got it mastered, understanding all of your urges, translating your body’s hidden messages correctly .. I’ve been disconnected for so many years and all of my “ knowledge “ of this seems to be just theoretical. How do I make a home in my own body ? What worked the most for you ?

Thank you :)

Huge admirer of your writing over here

definitely getting sober and working out! they have really changed my life and my relationship to my body. I think theres so many different reasons we get disconnected from our bodies and I honestly feel like a lot of modern society demands and promotes it so it's really important to be able to slow down and recognize what in life pushes that option the most. I think coping through substance is pretty obviously taking you out of your body and was a huge contributor to my own panic attacks and inability to have a healthy relationship to myself. I see a lot of people making excuses for stuff like smoking weed and calling it like "not a drug" or chill or whatever and maybe that was true back before it was government regulated - but even at that I really think letting those things become a habit will destroy any of the positive benefits it can have and once you have an addiction you can't really rewrite your relationship to it.

being sober helped me to recognize what overwhelmed me, what made me clench, or even things we don't think about like overeating when high and how much that will fuck up your digestion even if it's "healthy" food because too much of anything is hard on the body and once your gut is scrambled it will ruin your hormones, your moods, and your cognitive function! people hate to hear it but also complain about mystery chronic conditions and its def in there.

working out and not just doing it for the glamour but actually like building stamina and strength naturally without shitty pre work out protein shake bullshit will literally blow your mind and your relationship to your body! it blew mine! I never thought I'd be able to be physically active again after all my different chronic diagnosis and not a single doctor encouraged me to do anything except surgery or medication but it turns out the classics are a classic for a reason! moving your body is sacred and the quickest way to tune back into it! plus it will help your hormones get back into rhythm if they have been messed up by previous medication or bad health habits

sending u love <3 cherish your body!!!!

[breekento]

hello! I love your fics on Higuruma on AO3! wanted to ask if you take any requests for Prisoner!Higuruma who survives culling games and turns himself in jail, but reader regularly visits him and waits for his release ?🥹 A bit of angst but fluff at the end please 💞

thank you for being my first fic request! I probably won’t write these as long as my fics on AO3 because it would take me months lol! But these are fun writing practices for me!

(wc: 1.6k, no smut, just pain and fluff)

“How are you sleeping, doll? Are you getting everything you need?” His voice crackles through the phone.

Your fingers tremble, squeezing the phone so tightly you were surprised it didn’t crumble in your grasp. “I guess so,” you reply in a small voice.

“I don’t like the sound of that, baby.”

You knew better than to lie, he was intelligent and ever observant of every hitch or quirk in your voice. “I just miss you, Hiro,” you say shakily.

He sighs deeply on the other line. “I miss you, too, doll. More than you can ever know. You’re still coming to see me tomorrow, right? I need to see that beautiful face.”

“Of, course.” How could you forget? It has become your weekly routine. Every week, the night before your visits with Hiromi, tossing hangers draped in clothes over your head in search of the perfect outfit. Open toed, too short, mesh, crop top. At some point you would need to go shopping for appropriate clothes to visit your boyfriend in prison but for whatever reason, it felt as if you were accepting defeat.

You knew very little of Hiromi’s mysterious work-life and he liked to keep it that way. The world of sorcery was foreign to you and your knowledge was shallow. Hence, the ringing in your ears, the numb feeling on your fingertips as your brain struggled to connect the dots on that day.

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to me, Hiro,” your voice was raspy, tears flowing down your face as you followed him out of the door.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, cold and distant as if he were desperately trying to disconnect from the harsh world around him.

“Look,” his voice is softer. His hands cup your face, lip distorted and eyebrows twisted upward in agony. “I’ve done bad, bad things. I can’t live with myself like this. You don’t want me here.”

“B-but how do you know? You don’t know,” you fumble over your words.

“I’ll be gone for a while, doll,” his forehead pressed against yours. At that moment, it felt doable. How long? Why? What have you done? You never asked, worried that you wouldn’t accept the answer.

Years had passed and it was doable. Not short of late nights, curled under the covers, fingers searching for the smell of his cologne and hair gel. Elbow stretched as far as you could reach, hand fumbling for the zipper on the back of your dress. Shit, if Hiromi was just here. Small tasks felt big.

Sitting behind your desk, mindlessly searching through your emails as a thinly faced coworker pops her head over the cubicle. “Are you going to the office pot-luck tonight?” She beams.

“Oh,” you jump in your seat. “I have plans.”

She frowns, resting her head on the half-wall. “You never do anything.”

You shrug, looking toward your computer screen. Explaining that you’re visiting your prison boyfriend was not something you cared to delve into with a superficial level of coworker.

The clock strikes 5:00pm and you are your own version of Cinderella, tossing your purse over your shoulder and striding towards the door. Only in this story, you weren’t running away from the probability of your carriage turning into a pumpkin. You were running toward your murderer of a boyfriend, clinging to that 30 minutes of quality time.

It couldn’t have been Hiromi. Not your Hiromi. The Hiromi who stayed awake late at night, holding your body close as it ached on your monthly. The Hiromi with tender fingers that grazed your skin covered in bubbles as you leaned against his skin as warm water poured over the two of you. The Hiromi who replaced the fresh flowers on your dining table every week, knowing you loved the scent. He couldn’t have been a killer. Surely it was for a reason. Was there such a reason?

“I’m here for Hiromi Higuruma,” you say through the window.

The guard’s eyes flicker to yours. Nodding before lifting the phone to her ear. Taking your cue, you sit in the waiting chair. Your legs bounce in anxiety, it never got easier.

The door swings open, a large guard standing in the doorway. Gathering your things, you walk toward the room. The room you knew too well. The tension in the air dissipates as the tall, dark-haired man stands before you. Even in this state, he was strikingly handsome. His hair, slicked back with strands falling forward onto his brow. His lips curl into a smile, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. His orange jump-suit hangs off of his body, wrists clasped together by handcuffs.

“There she is. My beautiful girl,” he purrs as you join him at the large table. It was just the two of you, and the guards that lined the perimeter. How romantic.

In his usual gentleman fashion, he waits for you to find your seat before sitting down himself. You adjust in your seat, face heating up as you scan his face.

“I missed you,” you say bashfully under his intense gaze.

“God. You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

You lean against the table, propping your head on your hands, “When are you ever going to get out of this place?”

“Funny you should say that,” he says with a grin. Your eyes widen, lifting yourself off of the table. “I have a date.”

Your mouth dries. “A-a date?”

“Doll, I’ve been here for 6 years. In a few months, they’re letting me out early for good behavior. Well, parole,” he says with a grin.

You stand from your seat, jaw slack and eyes rapid fire scanning his expression for any sign of a joke. “Y-you’re coming home?”

His eyes soften, looking up at you with those gorgeous sleepy eyes. “I’m going home, baby.”

Every muscle in your body wanted to lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and tackling him to the ground. You haven’t even touched the man in years. You opt for covering your mouth with your hand.

“Keep holding on for just a few more months, doll. I’ll be home before you know it,” his eyes are kind.

“15 minutes,” the voice from the guard echoes throughout the empty room.

“My life here is boring. Tell me about yours. How’s work? How’s the house?”

He had truly set you up for success. You stayed in his home, completely paid for and taken care of by him. You didn’t have to work but you feared insanity spending your days alone in his large house. Brushing your teeth and watching his, dry and unused black toothbrush beside yours. His loafers that sit in the doorway, unworn and clean.

“Work is boring. They had a potluck tonight. My boss somehow thinks I’m the biggest idiot in the world while also piling more on my workload,” you say. It felt silly to complain about your mundane work tasks while he lived here. But he hung on your every word, soaking in the way your lips curled and eyes creased.

“Oh and I spent hours getting rid of weeds last weekend. The second you’re out of this place, that’s your job,” you say with narrow eyes.

He chuckles, leaning forward in his seat, “It will be my pleasure, baby.”

“It’s time,” the guard says. Each week, shattering your heart little by little. You stand, unable to stop the tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, darling. Not much longer. Just stay strong for a little longer,” his voice pleads.

You nod, using balled up fists to wipe your face. You watch him stand, towering over you as the guards guide him back to the mysterious place he now lived. He turns his face to catch your eyes, face sad as he watches the human form of his heart shatter before his eyes.

The door shuts and once again you are left alone. Only a few more months. Those words propelled you, every action you performed had a meaning suddenly. When you couldn’t reach something on the top shelf, when you couldn’t lift the garbage bag over your head, when you ran out of toilet paper you thought soon he will be here.

And soon came quick enough. You stood in front of your full length mirror, adjusting your sundress that fell over your curves. Your hair was fluffy and soft, draped over your shoulders. He knew what you looked like but you needed his first sight of you to be special, breathtaking.

With shaky hands and clammy feet, you stand outside the prison. If you weren’t leaning your body weight against the car door, you probably would have fallen over. You tap your foot anxiously, any minute now.

The door creaks open, a tall, lanky man dressed in black jeans and soft white shirt, the outfit he had left on that day. Before you could tell your feet to quit, you were running, no, sprinting towards the man.

He matches your speed, arms wrapping around your body as he lifts you from the ground. You bury your face in his neck, giggling through tears that coat his white t-shirt. His muffled laughs find your ears as he spins you, holding your body tightly. It had been years since you felt his hands on your back, his breath in your ear.

“I love you, I love you,” he chants against your face. He set you down, pressing both of his hands on each side of your face. “Let me get a good up-close look at my beautiful girl.”

Your cheeks blushed red under his gaze, “Let’s go home.”

[naarlar]

Okie so hot take: I don’t think Melinoë is as good of a protagonist as Zagreus. And here’s why.

It all comes down to motivation. Why did Zag go through the events of Hades 1? Because he was living in an abusive and volatile household and had to find some way to make things better for not just himself but his house. Otherwise he surely would have lost his mind having to deal with the abuse he got (remember at the beginning of the game basically only Nyx and Achilles were helping him. Everyone else is either neutral towards him or outright hostile). He needed answers, he needed to find out who and what he was by trying to find Persephone. And in the end he succeeded and was able to create a better life for himself and his house. Hell, even his relationship with his dad improved.

Now let’s look at Mel (yes this criticism is only addressing Early Access Hades 2). Why is she going through the events of Hades 2? Because… she’s been groomed since basically birth to kill Chronos. She doesn’t really have any other motivation than because it is what is expected of her essentially. She even says during her confrontation with Chronos, AFTER HE THREATENS TO HURT HER FAMILY, what do I care I barely know them (yeah sure she could just be bluffing to Chronos but that is still a very chilling thing to say when supposedly all of this is to save them and it makes her reunion with Hades lowkey ring hollow or weak). In another scene she even says the same thing to Hecate and says Hecate is more her mother than anyone else. Heck even in the flashback scene with young Mel and Hecate (which was very cute I’ll admit) she says she would want her mother to come back so Hecate isn’t sad. This makes all her motivations to kill Chronos and save the Underworld seem very… disconnected from the main component of the game? Being saving the house of hades and her family??

Like it’s expected of her and she was raised at birth to basically be prepared for this but she doesn’t have any personal reasons for doing any of this than just not letting Hecate and the others in the Crossroads down. Hell when she comes back from killing Chronos for the first time it honestly feels like Hecate is more interested and invested in what happened than Mel herself.

It makes her a really weird protagonist especially when comparing to her brother and how effective he was as a protagonist. Think about it, with Zag we got really in depth and character revealing moments where as the player we understand why he is doing all of this and so it is easy to go along for the ride because we like Zag and want to help him. Mel says she cares a lot about what is going on and wants revenge, but it all feels surface level (and which is understandable she doesn’t know these people, all she can say is “the titan took my family” when let’s be real she sees the people in the crossroads as more of her family). It honestly just seems like because she is expected to kill Chronos since she could think, she feels she has to do all this. It feels weird how she is disconnected from the core point of the game being to save the house of hades when Zag was so integral to that same core point in the first game.

I dunno, just my thoughts, I’m curious to see what everyone else thinks.

Edit: just fyi cause I feel with the comments I’ve been getting from my posts, I like hades 2 I am excited especially for the official release. I recognize my criticism/analysis could be wrong or out of date since the game isn’t finished yet. These are just my initial thoughts.

[h-worksrambles]

Ok, so Episode Aigis dropped, they changed some dialogue and now people are pissed and saying P3 Reload ruined The Answer.

If you want my TLDR, Atlus’ changes (both writing and mechanical) for the DLC are overall small, some good some bad, but they’re ultimately band aids that fail to address the much wider flaws of The Answer as a story.

I think there’s a genuine intent to try and better get across the character’s motivations. And for some characters it works well. I think the new dialogue for Mitsuru is a genuine improvement. I’ve seen some criticise it for focusing more on Mituru’s thoughts towards the protagonist then her (rather queer coded) loyalty to Yukari. But as much as I love my SEES lesbians, I genuinely think giving Mitsuru multiple reasons to side with Yukari rather than just blind loyalty, is much more in character for her than FES’ approach (where she comes across uncharacteristically stupid). But I think by only changing minutia like this it just ends up highlighting the bigger problem.

A lot of people hyper focus on Yukari’s role and talk about how irrational she is here. And now you’ve got people complaining that Reload softens and sanitises her character and makes her storyline weaker. But I feel it’s a case of identifying something doesn’t work but being incorrect as to why.

The thing about the SEES group fight is that it’s fundamentally a really poorly done conflict. It sucked in FES and it sucks here too. There’s not enough meaningful disagreement between the group to make it feel earned. The only one acting out and taking the MC’s death badly, is Yukari. When really if this is the climax they wanted to build to, everyone should have been grieving badly and constantly at each other’s throats. It could have been this building frustration and animosity, until they’re all at odds over what to do with the key and a fight breaks out.

What we get is everyone…mostly being pretty chill, aside from Yukari being kind of petty and jealous at Aigis. And I think the reason people react badly to her (misogyny notwithstanding) is that it’s really weird when she’s the only one having this extreme reaction. Instead of everyone dealing with the MCs death in their own distinct way, it’s only explored with Aigis and Yukari and only somewhat. Hell if you didn’t have such a jarring disconnect, and there was a better variety of reactions and thoughts from across the cast, I think more people would praise Yukari’s writing here. As it stands, when everyone else is almost ridiculously reasonable, it looks very jarring.

And then when the group do fight it feels completely out of nowhere precisely because of how agreeable everyone’s been. Everyone willingly jumps into a pointless fight that could get them all killed, one that only one member of the group even wants. All for a very contrived plot point that was set up five minutes ago. It’s executed in such a sloppy way that it makes the genuinely good scene of Yukari’s breakdown ring hollow. You get the sense that the writers weren’t really interested in exploring Yukari’s grief beyond using it as a plot device to make a dumb, unnecessary punch up scene happen.

I can see what they’re trying to do in Reload. They wanted to make Yukari stick out like less of a sore thumb compared to the rest of the group. But if they were gonna do that, they kinda needed to dial everyone else up, not dial her down. Build the tension between the party further rather than decrease it. Because now, if Yukari, and by extension the rest of the party are way more reasonable, it just begs the question even more of ‘they why are you fighting in the first place?’ It’s slapping on a band aid in a way that just exposes the whole scenario’s weaknesses

I genuinely think Episode Aigis needed to either keep the Answer entirely as is, or overhaul it completely. Making little changes like this won’t win over people who hated The Answer the first time, and will just annoy people who liked it as is. As it stands, The Answer is still a mess of good ideas mired by poor execution and Reload’s take only makes a handful of small changes that are ultimately different, not better.

[superstarz9]

Please make more hcs of my boy(the tv man), I need them I beg

Y’all ready to fw some MORE Mr. Puzzles headcanons?

Cause I got some.

Mr Puzzles collects vintage items and trinkets. However, he keeps them as organized as possible. Clutter stresses him out.

He probably loved those I Spy books and it’s half of the reason why he loves trinkets

Father issues to the max. A part of what he does is fuelled by the determination to prove his dad wrong and that he does have “creative vision.”

That’s what he tells himself, at least. In reality, he wants approval from his dad. Approval that never came.

How messed up would it be if his dad passed when Puzzles made his first short film? So excited to show it to his family and finally get the approval he so deserved, only for his father to shoot him down immediately, causing a fight between them. A few months after this, his father passed. I feel like smth like this would kick off Puzzles’ technical replacements.

Puzzles studied business and engineering, partially due to his mother’s request. He did take some film courses and tried to get a film degree as well, but his teachers found his work to be lacklustre and mediocre. This caused one hell of a freakout in class which caused Puzzles to get kicked out of the course. His father had to convince the dean not to remove him from the school. This would end up being more fuel for their fight later on.

Okay I think I’m just writing bullshit lore cause idk what else to write lol.

Thanks to his technical enhancements, he can connect to anything (yeah duh we’ve seen him do this already). However, this process is incredibly painful and tiring, causing him major fatigue after. That headache he gets when transferring tvs is another major side effect. He gets similar headaches when he’s been inside his own head for too long, and ibuprofen is one of the few things he misses during these moments.

Also can he really just straight up teleport? Does he channel-surf in his head and chose one to pop out of? Does that always destroy the original tv?

And he has regeneration powers, since his screen just… Regrows…

Well whatever demonic power is connected to the keyboard SMG4 uses in IGTBP, he’s probably directly tied to it. Now, I feel like this is also tied to whatever was going on with Axol but since I haven’t properly watched that arc yet I have no idea what that is or if it’s actually connected to anything. However, I don’t think he’s the direct cause of this demonic stuff, just connected to it enough to utilize it.

With that being said, a lot of his abilities was from painful experimentation and random chance. It also hurts him immensely to connect and disconnect to things. As a part of the didney worl engine and controlling the entire theme park, he probably feels like his entire body is being stretched out like those medieval torture devices. Judging by how he looks in the wotfi teaser, his organs are practically falling out.

If they do keep him alive, I would love to see an episode where SMG4 takes Puzzles on as a meme apprentice to study real creativity and makes him a co-director for a video. As they film memes n stuff, Puzzles gives unwanted opinions like “oh, you’re framing everything wrong! And WHAT is this FILTH for writing? Here, I’ve taken the liberty to fix the script for you, since we’re friends and all!” As he strains the word ‘friends.’ The entire episode is the gang tired of his shit and arguing with him, causing him to get sad and walk away. However, someone reviews the changes and re-evaluates how to film it (this could be meggy, smg4, or mario even), and they go back to finalize the script with him. At the end, when they publish the episode, Bob starts a bet to see how much it’s gonna suck but it actually does decent. Smg4 gives Puzzles credit which causes him to start bawling.

This is wishful thinking ofc bro’s gonna die lol

Another idea if they keep him alive is to try and help Tari with the Clutch situation. I don’t think that’s been dealt with correctly, and it would be interesting to have dialogue with each other.

I’d also love a convo between him and Smg4 about their similarities. Actually, I have a theory that a part of wotfi will be a reflection of IGTBP with Smg4 seeing himself through Puzzles and wanting to help him.

Another theory is that something with happen to leggy, whether she wants Puzzles to stop hurting everyone or she gets hurt, and Puzzles will stop, causing him to shut down, whether that means being defeated or having to deactivate himself.

And to end this off on a positive note, Puzzles and Leggy definitely play dress-up, trying on a bunch of different hats before settling on the tophat. Goofy walks in half-way, stunned at the door while Puzzles and Leggy are mid-tea party break, ending with Puzzles threatening him to leave. Leggy gets a good laugh out of it.

These aren’t as neat or coherent as I would’ve liked but I’m too tired to edit the right now lol. I can’t think of any more right now but I’ll hopefully think of some after wotfi (literally praying they keep Mr.Puzzles alive rn like there’s so much potential).

Also if you guys have any prompts or requests please let me know! Depending on midterms and school work, I might come up with a few halloween ones. Til then, thanks for reading and have a great day!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

In the last few days, I have received a number of messages from readers who told me they are disengaging. “I am retiring from politics,” one said. “I’m avoiding the news,” said another. And this: “I’m too old for another Trump term and do not want to even see anything political for a long time. Steven, I’ve enjoyed your content, but in order to live to 78 [I’m] going cold turkey on politics.”

I get it. Trump’s emphatic win and Harris’ loss is heartbreaking, especially after all the effort so many of us have made to achieve a different outcome. This defeat is made harder by the awareness of the dark and disturbing days to come with Donald Trump back in the White House. There are many high-profile critics who are wondering about their safety now in a world where Trump fanatics like Steve Bannon echo his leader’s fervor for retribution by promising “rough justice.” It would be a mistake to assume that Trump wasn’t serious with all his violent, vengeance-inciting verbiage. Anyone who assumes the next Attorney General will act with the reluctance and politeness of Merrick Garland toward the ex-president—resulting in his not being held account for inciting a deadly insurrection on Jan. 6—is sorely underestimating Donald Trump’s endless capacity for cruelty, attraction to carnage and hunger to punish anyone who crosses him. But it would be a misfortune if many of us meet the coming months only with fear and reluctance, disengaging from the necessary opposition to Trump’s authoritarian enterprise. That’s what Trump hopes to achieve with his angry, aggressive intimidation.

It’s appalling to see how the billionaires have quickly fallen in line. This arrived yesterday from Washington Post and Amazon owner Jeff Bezos, who spinelessly deep-sixed his newspaper’s endorsement of Kamala Harris: “Big congratulations to our 45th and now 47th President on an extraordinary political comeback and decisive victory,” he posted on what was Twitter. “No nation has bigger opportunities. Wishing Donald Trump all success in leading and uniting the America we all love.” In a normal world, of course, that would read like a warm and magnanimous gesture, not a kowtowing plea from a self-interested businessman who fears the consequences of crossing Trump. And he was not alone.

Meta/Facebook owner Mark Zuckerburg, who’s been threatened with prison by Trump, posted this on his social media site, Threads: “Congratulations to President Trump on a decisive victory. We have great opportunities ahead of us as a country. Looking forward to working with you and your administration.” So again: I get it if you’re feeling utterly discouraged and doubtful if you should stay involved. If the billionaires are rolling over, why should anyone take any risks? That’s understandable, especially in the wake of this awful defeat, and a reason why some of us will choose to disconnect. But I urge you to take to heart the closing words of President Joe Biden yesterday in graciously accepting the election’s outcome: “Setbacks are unavoidable, but giving up is unforgivable…We are going to be OK, but we need to stay engaged.” I also urge you to listen to every word of Kamala Harris’ concession speech Wednesday from Howard University (you can watch it here). I was particularly interested in her guidance as we look forward.

“While I concede this election,” she said, “I do not concede the fight that fueled this campaign—the fight for freedom, for opportunity, for fairness and the dignity of all people. A fight for the ideals at the heart of our nation, the ideals that reflect America at our best. That is a fight I will never give up.” She also talked about not giving up the fight for reproductive freedom, for protecting our schools and streets from gun violence, and for democracy, the rule of law and equal justice. “And we will continue to wage this fight in the voting booth, in the courts and in the public square. And we will also wage it in quieter ways: in how we live our lives by treating one another with kindness and respect, by looking in the face of a stranger and seeing a neighbor, by always using our strength to lift people up, to fight for the dignity that all people deserve.” We will need to hear more thoughts like this as Trump and his enablers drag us through their world of hostility and degradation. The vice president made a particular plea to young people, including students in the audience from Howard, a historically Black university: “To the young people who are watching, it is OK to feel sad and disappointed. But please know it's going to be OK…Don’t ever give up. Don’t ever stop trying to make the world a better place…the fight for our country is always worth it.”

[...] I will not give up the effort to pursue a better, more just, more equal, more democratic, more decent and kind America. It will take plenty of energy and effort to keep clear about what is true and what is false, what is right and wrong, what is normal and what is insane—and to inform myself and you about what’s happening and what we might do about it.

The temptation is there to disengage., but it’s the definitive time to stay in the fight.

[prying-pandora666]

On the Disconnect Between ATLA and LOK: Or Why Reactionary Centrism Ruins Everything

I’ve made it no secret that I’m no fan of LOK’s writing for a number of reasons. But today I want to focus on only one issue: its politics.

I am baffled as to why LOK is seen as being the more “woke” story. Just because the protagonist is a buff brown woman with a female love interest (only implied until the comics, really)? This is such an incredibly shallow reading focusing only on aesthetics and ignores the actual content and philosophies LOK espouses.

But let’s not get into religion, iconography, the effects of colonialism and westernization etc, or we’ll be here forever.

Instead let’s just focus on the politics.

The Forge

Part of the disconnect between ATLA and LOK are the cultural conditions in the USA when both were made. The forge from whence they came was quite different.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

ATLA criticized imperialism.

If this show had been made during the height of Manifest Destiny, or during our super fun times illegally annexing territories (like Hawaii), it would’ve likely struggled to tell its story as well as it did. It would’ve been far more controversial and likely would’ve needed to take a more “centrist” approach, making it seem like imperialism isn’t “all that bad”.

It might have even come out and said that it isn’t imperialism itself that is the problem, but that Sozin to Ozai were big mean dictators that did it the wrong way!

But because ATLA came out in the 2000s—during a time in which the world had widely come around to thinking imperialism is kinda some super villain schtick—it was easy for the story to focus on the perspective of the victims of such campaigns and tell it from this point of view.

We don’t get long segments of feeling sorry for Ozai, now do we? The closest we get is Azula, who herself serves as a victim of this war that has consumed her childhood and deprived her of a safe, loving environment in which to grow and develop, instead having been groomed into a living weapon for her father and nation’s war machine.

So now let’s compare this to LOK.

The Legend of Korra

What does the first season of LOK cover? Collectivism, social activism, civil disobedience escalating to acts of violent defiance against the state.

What was going on in the USA in 2012 when LOK came out?

Occupy Wallstreet.

Socialism vs capitalism, the 99% versus the 1%, civil rights and equality; these are all issues we are still grappling with today. They’re highly politicized and divisive. There is no universal agreement about them.

And so LOK had no “safe” villain or “evil” ideology to combat. Instead it had a complicated and widely divisive topic to tackle that was contentious then and continues to be today.

As a result? Too much time is wasted equivocating.

Both Sides Are The Same! (But Not Really)

We get some soft worldbuilding early on in Book 1 of LOK showing how the infrastructure of this city is built to benefit benders and box out non-benders, but this is never given real focus. We SEE how the trains and police are dominated by earth/metal benders, we SEE how factory jobs employ lightning benders, while non-benders live in the slums which subject them to violence. But none of this is ever the focus or the point.

Almost as if the show is afraid to make a real critique from the perspective of the working class or an oppressed minority group.

Instead the story quickly falls off a cliffside as every tired old pejorative thrown at communists is recycled for Amon.

His sympathetic backstory is a complete fabrication meant to hide that he is actually part of the oppressor class.

They pretend to be the powerless oppressed group, and yet have the funding of the richest industrialist in the city?

The rich industrialist is a member of this supposedly oppressed class but really he’s just a secret villain looking to change the world for his own personal reasons and not to protect his fellow nonbenders (these same accusations are thrown at Jewish people re: Marxism).

There are no sincere attempts to communicate their grievances sympathetically or build a coalition or garner public support. Instead The Equalists only use violence, fear, and other oppressive silencing tactics.

The desire to make everyone equal by “stealing” people’s individuality. (The old “make everyone equal heights by cutting tall people’s legs down” chestnut).

And more!

This is kinda bonkers propaganda if you’re looking at it from a left-wing perspective, right?

And it seems weirdly incoherent if you’re trying to look at it from a right-wing perspective, especially with Tarrlok standing in as the villain “on the other side”.

But it makes PERFECT sense as an enlightened centrist horseshoe-theory piece that can’t commit to either side and has to warp and undermine its own story to fit a “both sides are wrong” message. Heck, it’s so heavy handed it even made Amon and Tarrlok brothers!

This is the problem that plagues all of LOK.

Look at the other villains too!

Amon: Civil Rights Activist or Bad Faith Opportunist?

Amon

Pretends to be: A civil rights activist for an oppressed minority group.

Is actually: A bad faith actor whipping up a small or non-issue into a much bigger one and convincing people to turn on each other for his own personal gain/revenge. Once defeated, the problem disappears.

Electing a non-bender somehow makes everyone happy and the problem is never addressed again. Just like electing Obama ended racism! Oh wait…

Unalaq: Spiritual Environmentalist or Environmental Satanist?

Unalaq

Pretends to be: A spiritualist concerned about the environment and the spirits. Basically Al Gore meets Tenzin Gyatso but willing to start a civil war over it.

Is actually: An occultist weirdo who wants to fuse with LITERALLY SATAN and usher in 10,000 years of darkness or something, and willing to start a war over it.

In an attempt to make a spiritual foil for Korra, who struggled with the spiritual parts of being the Avatar, the story took a weird turn and made a choice widely regarded as “fanfiction on crack” by having Unalaq aspire to become “The Dark Avatar”.

But it’s okay, you see, because while Unalaq’s criticisms of waning spirituality and lack of protection of holy sites could be seen as a knock against environmentalism, by the end Korra recognizes that Unalaq had a point and that the spirit portals should be left open.

So why exactly did Unalaq want to be the Dark Avatar and usher in an era of darkness? How was that supposed to resolve the problem he presented and Korra ended up agreeing with?

It doesn’t, and once again we are left with a contradictory centrist message of “protecting the environment is good but you should be suspicious of anyone that actually advocates for it”.

Also thanks for demystifying the origin of the Avatar and ruining the original lore for where bending came from with your Prometheus/Christian allegory. Ugh.

Zaheer: Spiritual Guru Fighting Against Modernity or A Charismatic Dummy Who Learned Everything About Anarchy From a Prager U Coloring Book

Zaheer

Pretends to be: An anarchist seeking to bring down oppressive regimes, therefor resetting the world to a more egalitarian time

Is actually: An idiot who doesn’t even know the difference between an ancom and an ancap and has no coherent ideology. He just wants chaos, I guess, which isn’t whah anarchy or anything is about.

Perhaps realizing they messed up so badly with Unalaq that even the creators were unhappy with the results, they attempted the spiritual foil idea again with Zaheer.

This time they actually had a writing staff which makes this season the agreed upon best of LOK.

But the tip-toeing around making any actual criticisms and falling back on the “both sides are bad” cop-out are only exacerbated by how uninformed and nonsensical Zaheer’s actions are. Not unlike Amon, he takes none of the steps an actual activist would take. He never even speaks to the people of Ba Sing Se to find out what they need or want. He just kills their leader, announces it, refuses to elaborate, then bounces and lets the city tear itself apart in the power vacuum.

It’s an entertaining spectacle! Just like his later torture of Korra is visceral. But none of it has any real substance to support it and so the horrific acts he commits feel like senseless edgelord tantrums.

Even Bolin knows it. Once Zaheer is defeated, Bolin shoves a sock in his mouth, therefor cementing Bolin as my favorite of the Krew for all time.

Kuvira: Literal Nazi or Literal Nazi but she didn’t mean it!

Kuvira

Pretends to be: A fascist, putting people in labor camps and uses the equivalent of an atom bomb to crush her enemies under heel in the name of unifying the continent under her control.

Is actually: All of those things but she had good intentions! She just went too far! Give her a slap on the wrists because her and Korra aren’t so different, you see!

Perhaps the most bizarre writing choice was to make the fascist the only truly sympathetic villain of this series. The reasons become quite clear, however, when we recognize one thing.

Yes, she’s styled after the Nazis.

Yes, her actions in modern day are more reminiscent of Russia.

But who is the only nation to have ever used a weapon of mass destruction on the level of the atom bomb? The USA.

And here is where the unwillingness to make a bold criticism or take a hard controversial stance is the most apparent.

Kuvira acts like a fascist and has a lot of Nazi-vibes, but she is also a grim reminder of the USA’s own imperial history. Of our flippant use of a horrifying technology that still continues to have consequences for the descendants of the victims even today. It is one of the worst violations of human rights and decency in history. And the USA is the only nation to have ever actually used one.

So if you ever feel it’s weird that Kuvira was arguably the worst of the villains but got off with only house arrest and a happy ending with hugs from her family? You’re not alone. Kuvira has to be “not that bad” or else you’re critiquing the USA itself. And that is a level of controversy this franchise doesn’t seem interested in dipping it’s toes into.

It’s the reason they equivocate and justify by having the Earth Prince step down and choose democracy. This isn’t an East Asian ideal. This wouldn’t have been a popular or virtuous choice in that time period. Many would’ve regarded it as tyranny of the majority, or a disorganized chaos without a consistent central authority.

It’s only seen as the perfect solution in the Democratic West. So you see, it’s not so bad, because at least we have democracy! We aren’t as bad as Kuvira who really isn’t all that bad either! Or so the narrative tries to apologize for itself.

And this is even more apparent with everyone’s problematic fav!

Varrick: How Elon Musk Wants Us To View Him vs What Elon Musk Wishes He Was

Varrick!

Is presented as: A quirky, funny, Tony Stark-esque genius who made a mistake and deserves a redemption!

Is actually: A war-profiteer willing to escalate tensions and shed the blood of his own people with no remorse to make money. Also he builds the equivalent of the atom bomb for Kuvira and her allegorical Nazis. But he gets a happy ending with a weirdly westernized wedding anyway!

Isn’t it telling that the villain who is written to be the most loveable and sympathetic is, in fact, the capitalist industrialist?

And not like that yucky evil industrialist Hiroshi Sato funding the Equalists and their civil rights movement.

No, no! Varrick is the good kind of industrialist! The kind that is non-political and mostly cares about money and inventions! After all, he only built a weapon of mass destruction for the Nazis, not the civil rights protestors!

Which brings us to…

Our Civilized Poverty vs their Savage Poverty!

And hey, that’s fair because look at the differences between Republic City and Ba Sing Se!

Sure, both had destitute populations starving and without proper shelter due to the disconnected elite leaders who didn’t care about their plight.

But the homeless people of Republic City are presented as jolly and helpful and never state a single grievance even as they live in a tent city underground! Everyone knows that democratic poverty is better! Therefor Sato was totally unjustified in funding an equality movement!

The poor people of BSS, on the other hand, are victims of that mean old non-democratic Earth Queen and later of the power vacuum left by her assassination, therefor their plight is ACTUALLY horrific. Kuvira may have been bad but she and Varrick are justified because of the unAmerican conditions!

Looking at it this way, so many of LOK’s problems fall into place. It perhaps serves as lesson in not tackling complex problems with the intention of a clean solution unless you’re willing to take a controversial stance and stick to your convictions.

I don’t think the creators intended to make a libertarian criticism of every social movement and apologia for capitalism and fascism. It’s just a sad reflection of what is and isn’t controversial in our current society. Divorced from actual morality or perspective.

What a waste.

This Post Brought To You By: Viewers Like You! (or: Check out this thing I made)

All that said, if you want a well-written and more adult take on the ATLA universe, check out the Kyoshi and Yangchen novels! F. C. Yee doesn’t pull any punches and perfectly balanced the darker, more visceral elements an adult story can have, with expert worldbuilding and humanized characters that feel believable even when they’re in fantastical situations.

Or if you want more ATLA instead, kindly check out @book4air: A project creating a pseudo Book 4 using both the official comics and original materials, fully dubbed, orchestrated, and partially animated by industry pros who happen to be fans!

Some comics are getting rewrites too, so whether you love the comics and want a fresh take, or hate the comics and want a change, we are doing our best to make this accessible for everyone including people with disabilities who may not be able to enjoy the originals.

Check out our first episode here!

If you can afford to, consider supporting us on Patreon! Every episode is expensive to produce and we are a bunch of broke artists. Some which don’t even have consistent or reliable housing. Any little bit helps.

If you can’t, no worries! You can still help by spreading the word so our videos can overcome the YouTube algorithm.

With all my love for this franchise and its fandom, I hope you all continue to enjoy your favs regardless of my criticisms.

[askuemki]

So I have no idea if I’ll keep this post up, but…

A little rant abt re8?? (And cod.. kinda) maybe venting (just a mess :,)

Disclaimer, take my opinions with a grain of salt I just wanna ramble lmao

Also spoilers, maybe (update, definitely)

So I’ve been having fun dipping my toes into Donna Beneviento (god her last name is hard to spell) content. After watching the gameplays and to at least have a basic understanding for the game, I find myself really drawn to her, maybe more than Alcina tbh

By no means i’m a diehard fan or anything, recently it’s been hard to find a new fandom to get attached towards. As much as I adore cod, there isnt really much to get attached too… like sure, task 141 is a fun group and the there is some GREAT art about the ships- but I only got attached because of Valeria, I won’t deny it at all. I’m a diehard lesbian, but there isn’t really much cannon content of her?? It’s really damn disappointing sometimes, man… same with Laswell. I appreciate all of the fanartists out there though, I adore all of the content here, fanfics or fan art. With Farah, she’s a diffrent story.. personally I never really got attached to her, but as a character she’s pretty neat. Her story sort of brings to light the horrors happening today which is a bit of a benefit…?? But ever since I found out things about both Valeria’s and Farah’s actors I’ve been a little off about things here and there. I don’t think I’ll stop posting Valeria content at all, it just might be a little less offen to indulge in different things.

Some personal things have been happening to make me feel really disconnected from like.. fucking everything for some reason?? Like I’m drifting away from fandoms, I’m drifting away from people and I’m like alone again.. I’m lost in a damn dumpster fire. AI art doesn’t help with this at all.. like why do I draw?? I’ve been drawing since I was in kindergarten like I never really thought of the specifics of perusing art, more or so just that I want to. Like hey, I wanna make a game or movie series, and something in me doesn’t realize I need to put in the effort to learn shit with just ends up in me doing nothing but self pitting on something I can change and ugh.. wish I can slap myself to get out of it.

So I think I’ve been kind of finding myself relating to Donna. Not in her extreme way, more or so just her aspect of being isolated, and just being known primarily for one thing. Like.. our side of art? Damn. Shit. I think I’m worth nothing.. and with Donna we don’t really know much about her besides her being a cursed Dollmaker, and the bare bones of her past. And we both barely fucking speak man… both hide our faces too !! maybe I kin this woman or something I don’t know

But as I was looking through her tumblr tag, I saw a rant about how headcannons and stuff has been stripping away the interesting stuff about the re8 villains… and with the things I’ve seen so far?? I can kinda agree, honestly.

Don’t get me wrong, if it’s not too.. insane? (I know those boundaries are hard to define at times, but maybe REALLY immoral shit for our “normal” world) and people aren’t forcing these headcannons into other people? I don’t mind headcannons. You do you, boo!

But the fan content I’ve seen, people reduce Donna and Alcina (I’m surprised it was pronounced as AlCHIna and not AlSIna, but side tangent over) from the potential they really have. Yeah it’s definitely nice to see Donna more, especially in those intimate moments.. but sometimes I feel like people just depict her as some shy, easily gullible, girl, and not really the mentally deprived woman she is. Like I’d love to see ideas of the different dolls Donna could create, or unique imagery of her mental state outside of having porcelain skin. What about the kinds of plants she takes care of? Or the dolls she makes? I’d love to see more of it, whether she has favorites, or if it’s a situation where she has doll replicas of her deceased family. Man, I really wanna see Donna do more creepy shit, basically.

With Alcina however? She’s kind of reduced to that (I’m going to cringe at these words so terribly, god help me) “hot vampire mommy”.. I’ll take fault for not looking into her content as much, I’m sure there’s great content out there !! (I’m not sure if anyone would do this but.. feel free to send me any fic recommendations or art) With what I want to see for her? I’ve heard from the rant post as a man-hating woman she had primarily female statues in her castle, it would be fun to see what else she has cause of this worldview, as well as more whitty remarks from her; I really enjoy her throwback with Heisenberg. Just in general.. her being a comical villain.

Okay so, the reason why I made this post in the first place before all of this shit threw up from my brain. Belladonna. At first, this ship really interested me, I like the character dynamics, the art was neat. But then something came up in my mind.. (as well as another rant post on the ship..) isn’t the Dimitrescu bloodline related with Donna? Both are failed experiments from Mother Miranda, and technically adopted by her. Though from what I know, Donna is the only one officially adopted. So would that be family..? I’ve seen a few places where Alcina called Donna her sister, and it makes me feel really off.

And I’ve seen in a few fanarts, Donna technically older than the Dimitrescu sisters posed next to them like another sibling??

I would like to endorse the ship, but just the morality of everything is off centered for me. I rather not support weird incest…

So please if people could maybe clarify for me whether it would technically be okay for support this ship.. I’d appreciate it. If it isn’t okay, I have plans on making a fan character anyways, or I can take current characters and make a resident evil au or something, and ship them when Donna. (I have a character that honestly looks like a mix of Alcina and Bela, but by no means she’s relates to the franchise, lmao)

By no means I’m experienced in resident evil lore or the fandom, this is just coming from a newer fan of the series, and what I’ve seen so far.

If you read all of this.. thank you?? I apologize if I sound ridiculous here, this is like the only place I can rant abt things without being brushed off for other shit

Good night now!!! I need to stop pushing my sleep boundaries ugh

[missmastectomy]

hello, pretty freshly detrans here. i finally understand what all those ‘annoying cis people’ meant when they said gender isn’t a feeling. like, actually, i fully comprehend it now. if you unpack all those supposed ‘gender feels’ it all wraps back to stereotypes and gender roles, whether you identify as a soft boy or a big rugged stereotypical man like i did. because that’s all gender is. and holy shit, i feel duped!

you’re telling me i could’ve spent all this time being a hot hairy butch who defied the social expectations placed on women but i was so entrenched in the idea that i was somehow a man, which is DEFINITELY a real innate category of being and not a made up social class assigned to a given sex to give them more power (sarcasm) that i lost half my family to it? that i argued with people i know and love over it? that i experienced trauma in the church because of it? only to realize that gender itself isn’t even real, something i knew the whole time but hypocritically refused to apply to myself. i’ve been scammed. i dressed up my personality in a blue box and told myself it was a boy. fuck.

at least there’s freedom in sight now. sorry to rant in your inbox, i hope it’s relatable if nothing else.

I completely understand. I also used to feel annoyed when “cis” people said they don’t know what feeling gender is like. The thing is, though, trans people’s gender feelings are actually very easy to understand once you get to the bottom of what dysphoria is. Often trans people will describe their gender identity as stemming from dysphoria, a disconnect between the mind and body. The discomfort and desire to be the other sex is so strong that people transition and the vast majority of trans people describe that as the state of “being a woman/man,” instead of “hey, I’m a bio female/woman transitioning in order to cope with dysphoria.”

I talked about it before, but if you understand why women get harmful cosmetic surgeries because they cannot stand living in their bodies, or why anorexics will hurt themselves in pursuit of a perfect body, you already understand half of trans identity. People often try to reinvent themselves when they’ve been rejected or traumatized. People often try to mold themselves into someone else, someone you were “always meant to be,” but ultimately never will, because the image you’ve created in your mind is completely fictitious.

Most trans people operate like this. Ime there are vanishingly few trans people who recognize that their sex doesn’t change and that they are ultimately still men or women. Most consider gender to be innate, therefore they were always actually men or women. Few acknowledge that it is basically a lifestyle choice. Honestly, a poor one at that, considering the adverse effects it has on your body and social life.

Some transmeds cite sex dysphoria as the reason for transition, but where does it come from? They often argue that transsexuals have brains that map out the body of the opposite sex and that causes the dysphoria, but there’s poor evidence for this. Ask a trans person how they knew they were trans and they will say 1) they always felt uncomfortable in their body/didn’t connect with others of their sex or 2) I’m a boy/girl but engaged in stereotypical activities of the opposite sex. It’s really just a bunch of made up nonsense to explain the suffering a lot of gnc, gay, whatever people experience.

A lot of trans people don’t realize that everyone else also has “gender feelings,” but they just don’t describe it with the language trans people do. Because of this disconnect, trans people often take this as evidence that their gender identities are real and infallible. But if you talk to, say, a woman who was very masculine as a child and didn’t fit in with girls, you will literally hear the same feelings of discomfort that most transmen describe. The difference is that these women grew out of it or learned to cope and accept themselves. Most transmen do not.

The conditions for trans identity to form are a combination of wrong place wrong time. I have a hard time not feeling sympathetic for the old fashioned transsexual types who recognize bio sex because I understand how debilitating dysphoria can be, but the religious mumbo jumbo speak of the modern trans movement is insufferable and harming thousands, if not millions, of people. It’s time to come back down to reality.

[bicayaya]

as of now, i’m on a semi-hiatus.

under the cut i’ll talk a little about this decision. it’ll probably be a long post and it’s basically a vent, so pls don’t feel pressured to read it.

maybe all i say here will sound confusing, specially because lately expressing myself in english is being very hard. but i’ll try to make some sense.

well, there’s two main reasons why i’m deciding to do this. first of all, ever since i went on a semi-hiatus during may/june, i feel that i’m unable to be 100% back on this account, like i lost my place here. i always felt anxious and nervous about interacting, but somehow it became even worse after being some time away from tumblr. this is no one’s fault (probably just my own), but i can’t help but feel disconnected from the rest of the fandom. which makes me sad, because there’s a lot of people here who i really like and who i miss interacting with more. but in the past few weeks, every time i thought of interacting, something kept blocking me, i felt like i had nothing to add to the conversation and that no one would even care about anything i could possibly say (again, i’m aware that this is mostly my anxiety talking and no one’s to blame for me feeling like this other than myself). this feeling of rejection made me even avoid opening the app some days, because seeing others interacting made me feel even worse about my current lack of social skills.

the second reason is the fact that creating is not bringing me any joy right now. again, a fact that makes me really sad, because i love drawing, i love my ocs and i still have a lot of ideas i would like to share. but the process of creating them isn’t being as fun as it was a few months ago. i had a conversation about this with my psychologist recently, and she made me realize that instead of using my free time doing something i was in the mood to or resting, i was forcing myself to do the things i thought i had to do. i still love art, and i don’t plan on giving up on it, but maybe i should try focusing and trying different hobbies for now. because lately all i felt while trying to create was frustration, and i don’t want to ruin something i love by associating it with bad feelings. and honestly, if i can’t create, i feel like there’s nothing for me to even post here.

these two reasons are also connected to the fact that i’m not on a good mental state right now. i won’t elaborate much, because these are personal matters that i don’t feel comfortable sharing here, but i’ve been feeling down and anxious most of the time. this makes me feel like an awful person, which makes me avoid talking with others because i fear being bad with them (and consequently makes me avoid any kind of interaction, like i said before), and not keeping touch makes me feel even worse and i just keep constantly finding myself in this cicle. my routine is not the healthiest right now either, which i think might be making everything worse.

i’m not happy making this decision, but i think it’s necessary because i’m not happy with how things are right now either. there’s still a lot i would like to share, specially involving my ocs, but i just can’t do anything right now.

even with all of this, i don’t want to lose contact with the friends i’ve made here. you’re all very precious to me and always showed me a lot of kindness and support. if anyone wants to reach out to me for any reason, i’ll still have my tumblr notifications turned on, so you can dm me or send me messages on discord (same username as here). the only posts i’ll be checking out are the ones i’m tagged, so if you want me to see something that you think i might like, feel free to tag me! i’m sure i’ll be happy to see it.

you can also still send asks for me or for my ocs (in this or in their blog). i don’t know if i’ll be able to answer them quickly, as i still have a few old unanswered asks, but i’ll try, specially if it’s something important.

and, something important: i still plan on doing the requests i received on my birthday event. i think it’s unfair to everyone who joined to ignore it and i want to keep my word. but i can’t promise when i’ll post them, because i’ll probably take longer than usual to finish any drawing.

i guess that’s all. please take care everyone, if you need me for anything (or just want to reach out) you know where to find me! hopefully this decision won’t last long.

my intro/masterpost

[yulin-pop]

↛ ❀ 2023 Kickoff

Idia Shroud

“I don’t wanna be alone.” | “Me neither.”

“Hey, have you heard about the rumor floating around?” Idia asked with an excited voice.

You raised your eyebrow, “Which one exactly? There’s like 50.” You said back into your mic. You heard the clicking of a keyboard as Idia spoke.

“The one about that ghost.”

“Okay, Idia, I literally live with ghosts—“

“No, like evil spirits with intentions to kill.”

“Uhhh like Eliza the ghost bride that tried to bring you into the afterlife?”

“Shut up! That’s not funny so stop laughing.”

You continued to laugh into your mic. After you settled down, he went on. “It’s a ghost. It actually tries to kill live students. The teachers have had it under control for the most recent years because they sealed it away but I think the seal is weakening… There’s been reports of students being attacked in the halls when they’re alone…”

You shrugged at the thought of it. “It’s okay, all we have to do is stay away from the hallways at dark. I know you like to stay away from the halls period.” You teased. You expected an upset response but he didn’t respond that way.

“They say the ghost was sealed away at Ramshackle Dorm and when it’s not attacking students, it’s there…”

You went silent and looked around your room. There weren’t the usual ghosts that would be bothering you. Where did they go..?

Your silence made Idia continue, “I-I mean, it make sense because Ramshackle wasn’t abandoned for no reason. Maybe that’s why.” Idia quickly added. Your whole body tensed and you could feel your body begin to sweat.

“I don’t wanna be alone…” You whispered with fear in your voice.

“Me neither.”

“Wait why? You’re not the one that might be living with a murderous spirit!” You loudly said.

“Well I’ve already been kidnapped by that ghost lady. That was a near death experience! I don’t wanna go through that again.”

You sighed, “I’m kinda scared… Do you think I should risk it?”

Idia hummed to himself and tilted his head up. “Probably no— Wait risk what??”

“Risk leaving. Do you think the ghost will attack me if I make a run for it.”

“Oh yeah definitely.”

He heard some shuffle in the back and you picked up your phone. “Don’t tell me you’re actually gonna—“

Your laugh cut him off and your flipped your camera to show your surroundings. You stepped down the stairs and suddenly there was a loud thud. Your camera lagged but you seemed to leap at the door to escape.

Idia shrieked in fear, he doesn’t endanger but you were! The connection soon cut and Idia shook his head.

“Oh my god.”

He lowered his head, banging his head against his desk causing a loud noise. Ortho waltzed in with concern and approached him.

“Did you fail a level again?” Ortho asked but the lack of response said everything. “So it must be something else!”

The next few minutes felt like hours for Idia, what should he do? Did you die? Did the ghost get you?

He really couldn’t imagine what happened to you.

Until there was motion detected at the entry way to the dorm. It wasn’t a dorm student, all students had been confirmed to be present and inside the building already.

Idia and Ortho checked the cams and low and behold, it was you. They could see you slouching against the door.

“D-did they run all the way here?” Idia asked; as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

The two brothers rushed down stairs and opened the door for you. You sighed in relief and grabbed onto Idia’s forearms for support.

“Just give me a second. My stomach is cramping from all that running.” You cried.

“I thought you died!”

“I was bound to disconnect. I have no Wi-Fi away from Ramshackle!”

You two bickered back and forth like a married couple with Ortho standing there. He tilted his head.

“What’s this all about?”

You and Idia turned your heads and thought back to what initially caused this.

“Uh ghosts—“ “Death—“ “Ramshackle felt spooky so I ran.” “Evil spirit that attacks students.”

Ortho raised an eyebrow, “Those rumors about an evil ancient ghost that has been floating around.”

The two of your nodded your heads.

“It’s not true! It’s just a silly rumor a second year made up!” Ortho sighed. “I expected better from you two…!”

You clenched your fists and pointed your finger in Idia’s face. “W-well I only got spooked because he kept on feeding me lies. The atmosphere in Ramshackle plus all of that ghost junk scared me!”

“Are you seriously turning this on me? You know what… Go back! I don’t want you here.”

“No way! Not after I ran so far— it’s so dark and scary out there DON’T KICK ME OUT PLEASE!”