#also this one was way more painful than my other two

[nitedulalaruata]

Yes! (small personal rant incoming)

I've grown up with the assumption that all I've felt, both negative and positive, is an exaggeration and I shouldn't make a fuss about it. Unsurprisingly that led to me being ashamed of both expressing my personality and asking for help with serious health issues.

And it wasn't just my parents or teachers, the rest of the world seemed to agree! I had doctors dismiss my pain and don't treat me, even though there were multiple MRIs showing them exactly that I wasn't imagining it.

I've almost died from a three-way Fuck You infection (one virus and two bacteria on top) and still, when I then got the flu on top of those and I was nearly passing out just standing in my teacher's office the day before the first Abitur exam asking if there were any options for me to take it at a later date - something I'd only do in an absolutely life-or-death situation (asking for help, not the exam) - they were clear that I should better come in and take it. I was terrified of academic failure and also of authority figures in general (because everything and everyone else has higher priority than my own physical and mental wellbeing) so I wrote my Abitur while being deathly ill.

--

Last week I've had a psych consultation (the brain weasles have become really bad over the last years, but as I laid out: I was under the assumption that "brain weasles" is nothing with serious impact, so I wasn't really expecting anything to come from this), and the therapist was constantly scribbling furiously in her notes while making this face:

She's now fasttracking me to get treatment asap, because my particular brain weasles are serious serious. And like, yes, mental health should be taken seriously! But I was (and still am) taken aback from her reaction, as usually that is the outlier.

--

I've recently received an email from my health insurance company: "In a world, that constantly tells us that we should be better, faster, more perfect, we'd like to give you something different: You're right, just as you are. We'd like to encourage you to believe in you and celebrate your potential, without getting stressed from outside expectations. Because in the end only one thing matters: That you're comfortable - with you and your path."

And my initial reaction was "Bitch, wtf, it's the other way around! The world constantly tells me that it's okay to take my time and look after myself, but it does not treat me that way. In the end, I don't matter and whenever I actually do care about my wellbeing I get punished for it!"

--

I'm glad that we've now reached the stage where we at least acknowledge mental health exists, but could we please skip the perfomative phase and get to actually taking it serious with our actions?

i think too many people operate under the assumption that emotions are some frivilous fantasy of the mind and have no impact on the physical world, which is a cute thought when Humans are an animal that can die from being kinda stressed out

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Back a Ways Part One

Notes: Planning for this to be another two-parter. Not beta-read.

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbott x Surgeon!Reader

Length: 2.5k

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon-typical medical chat; some cursing; Reader has a brother; Abbott's nickname for Reader is Queenie

Summary: It’s not the first time that someone has made that assumption—thought you and Jack were together, or had a past. But the fact of the matter is, you don’t think that the man’s ever seen you as anything more than his brother-in-arms’ little sister. He’s been around for a long time—since the first time your brother came home for Christmas break from the academy.

“Where are you coming from?” 

You don’t take any offense to the question; you know that it wasn’t lobbed with any. You also know that your attire is out of the ordinary for the ER, but you hadn’t gone out for a drink with the girls thinking that you’d be called back in to work.

Abbott hasn’t given you any more than a passing glance since you arrived but he’s an observant man—one look is enough. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m right where I’m supposed to be, Abbott,” You fall into step beside him, matching his pace, “Where is she?” 

“South Three. Got here about an hour ago, acute abdominal pain in the lower right quadrant.”

“How long has she been in pain?”

“Day and a half. She had spotting, thought it was period cramps. She asked if we’d call you, see if there’s any way you could’ve left a sponge in her.” 

You snort, unable to help it. “Not a one.”

“You sure?” 

“I’ll have you know that I have a thoroughly unblemished history of leaving my patients entirely spongeless.”

“First time for everything,” He nods to South three as you grow closer. “Two minutes.” 

“OR’s prepped?” 

“In progress.” 

“Who’s handling?” 

“Garcia, covering for Wilkins.”

“And won’t that just be lovely,” You groan, just managing to put on a reassuring smile as you stepped into South Three. “How are we doing in here, Claudia?” 

The slight woman in the hospital bed perks up a bit at the sight of you, her dark hair pulled into a sloppy bun; her typically bright skin is sallow.

“Oh, they got a hold of you!” 

“Of course they did! Though I told you that you could use my number if you needed it.” 

“And she doesn’t say that to everyone,” Abbott adds. You shoot him a sidelong glance as you round the bed to sit on the stool beside it. 

“You feeling alright?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Claudia’s lip wobbles, “But I wasn’t sure—”

“No, no, you did the right thing,” You reassure, taking her hand in both of yours. “I’m glad you came in—I’m even glad you saw Dr. Grumpy over here.” 

“Dr. Abbott has been very nice,” Claudia glances between the two of you. 

“Has he? That’s a first,” You tease. 

“Have you considered that I may be nice to everyone but you?” He grumbles.

“It’s crossed my mind, but it just seems so improbable.”

“Dr. Abbott?” You hear, “You’re needed in South One.” 

“Excuse me. Claudia, you’re in good hands.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Abbott.” 

You glance back toward him again as he pats your shoulder before heading out. 

“Dr. Abbott mentioned that you were worried about a sponge,” You turn back to Claudia.

“I was—But he explained that it’s impossible, that you would never do that.” 

You can’t help your small smile, trying to ignore the flutter in your belly. 

“Oddly kind of him.” 

“The two of you seem friendly.” 

You would normally avoid making any comment on the observation, but this distraction seems to have relaxed her, some. 

“Jack and I go back a ways.” 

“You dated?” 

“No! No,” You chuckle. “He and my brother served together overseas—and I was a resident down here for a year. Guess you could say we're used to each other."

“The OR’s ready,” You hear Abbott warn. You straighten, giving Claudia’s hand a light squeeze.

“Is your husband—Harrison? Is he waiting for you in chairs?” 

“Yes, he drove me.”

“Okay. I’ll get him brought to the waiting room upstairs, he’ll be nearby when you wake up. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Thank you,” Claudia sighs. You let go of her hand as the nurses wheel her away, folding your arms across your chest as you and Abbott watch her go. 

“...Thanks for calling my cell.” 

“Sure." He nudges your arm lightly with his. "Sorry for interrupting your night.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can only listen to Michelle tell me all of the reasons that she wants to divorce her husband only to insist that she really does love him so many times.” 

“You need better friends, Queenie.” 

You roll your eyes, turning slightly to face him. 

“That’s Doctor Queenie to you.” 

“My apologies.” 

“I’ve gotta go find Claudia’s husband in chairs, let him know that he can head up.” 

Abbott falls into step with you as you turn down the hall. 

“Gonna try to catch back up with the girls?” 

“Mm...Nah. I wasn’t all that up for going out tonight, anyway. Hey, can you keep me updated on Claudia?” 

“Sure.” 

“Thanks.” You let your eyes sweep Abbott’s profile—the tightness around his eyes, the stern set of his jaw. You swipe your tongue over your lips as you face forward again. “Shift going alright?” 

“Mhm.” 

Please. You follow Jack as he settles at his desk, leaning back against it and folding your arms across your chest again.

“...Jack.”

“A little busy here, Queenie.”

“You doing alright?” 

“I answered you.”

“You gave me some bullshit that I didn’t buy.” 

“I don’t have time for chit chat—unless you feel like scrubbing up and clocking in.” 

You shake your head a little, considering. You’re not gonna get to Jack this way—you never have before. 

“...You talk to Everett lately?” You hedge. It’s enough for his fingers to hesitate in their typing before he resumes. 

“Spoke to him this morning.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“He called when I got off shift.” Jack glances up at you. “Why?” 

You shake your head a little. “No, nothing. He’s just, um…” You hesitate. “We haven’t spoken in a while. I was wondering.” 

Jack leans back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest, and it’s your turn to be on the receiving end of a speculative stare. 

“I don’t understand what it is with the two of you,” He finally says.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that he’s your brother, and you’re two sides of the same damn coin. You’re both stubborn know-it-alls who refuse to give an inch when you’re wrong.” 

“That’s not true. I’d give an inch—if I was ever wrong.” 

The smile that curls his lips is more than worth the first two feeble attempts to break through his walls. You can’t help the small smile in turn. 

“You and I haven’t spoken much lately, either,” You remind him softly. You know it’s a mistake immediately—Jack’s smile twitches before it wilts, lips pressing into a thin line as his attention strays back to the chart. You open your mouth to fix it, though you have nothing to say—but there has to be something you can do to get that smile back, some dumb joke, some tease or goad or—

“Jack—”

“Abbott, we need you in seven!” 

You pull in a soft, frustrated breath as he straightens. 

“Any surgical tricks to impart before I check this out?” He asks, taking a few steps back toward the room. You just let your lips twist into a rye, regretful smile. 

“Silly Abbott, tricks are for kids.” 

And that’s it. That’s what gets you that parting smile, accompanied with a small shake of his head. 

--  

Maybe you should’ve met back up with the girls. At least, it might’ve kept you from stewing alone for the rest of the evening. And you do stew. 

“Jack and I go back a ways.”

“You dated?”

You turn Claudia’s question over in your mind as you go through the motions of unwinding for the night—as you change into your pajamas, as you pour yourself a glass of wine to make up for the one that you abandoned at the bar, as you doomscroll through your phone. 

It’s not the first time that someone has made that assumption—thought you and Jack were together, or had a past. But the fact of the matter is, you don’t think that the man’s ever seen you as anything more than his brother-in-arms’ little sister. He’s been around for a long time—since the first time your brother came home for Christmas break from the academy.

You’d come rushing down the stairs to greet your big brother, and there was Jack just behind him, bag slung over his shoulder as he took covert, speculative glances around the front entry. His eyes had landed on you, and you’d frozen. 

It wasn't the way all the books and movies said it would be. Time hadn’t stopped; the world hadn’t seemed brighter, or new, or different. But you were certain that was the moment you'd fallen in love with Jack Abbott.

The crush had budded over the Christmas break, bloomed as he'd left with a promise to keep in touch, and taken full stubborn root when he’d actually kept his promise. His little nickname for you hadn't helped. It had started disparagingly after he'd heard you boss Everett around, and he'd gotten on you for acting like you were the queen of the house. But over time, his tease of, "Queenie," had softened and stuck.

You’d never acted on your feelings—you hadn’t known how. He was so close to Everett, and the growing chasm between yourself and your brother only seemed to worsen as he spent more time away. He didn’t keep up with you like Jack did—hardly answered calls, emails. Everett didn’t go out of his way to ignore you when he was home, but when he wasn’t, he just didn’t make the effort. 

Jack made the effort. He became a fixture in the house over breaks, a constant at the dinner table when both he and Everett were home. 

Your interest in medicine had sprung up independently of him, but it had been something else for the two of you to talk about. Jack was generous with his time, his opinions, his notes, his help. The contact had kept up while he and Everett were overseas, and when they’d come home. Winding up in the Pitt as a resident under Jack hadn’t been a coincidence by any measure. 

But after years on the battlefield, Jack was suited to the ER. The flurry of it was something that you never got used to—you always felt off-kilter. Switching your residency program had been a difficult decision and a helluva process.

And there had been something in Jack’s face when you’d told him that you were moving to a surgical residency, something that you couldn’t pin down there. It wasn’t disappointment (and that had been a relief—you couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him). But whatever his ideas about your change of heart, he had been supportive. 

Still, the calls had waned, the texts had become few and far between. You can chalk it up to the fact that you’re both doctors, both in demanding environments, both worn to the bone with weariness on a daily basis. 

“Any surgical tricks to impart before I check this out?”

As if he needs tricks from you. 

Your eyes drift to the time on your phone. Has he taken his break yet? Would he have taken one if you hadn’t followed him to his desk, distracted him?

“Jack and I go back a ways.”

It wasn’t a lie by any means. But the problem has never been going back aways with Jack. The problem is finding a way to move forward.

-- 

“How many times are you gonna turn that nice man down?” 

It’s asked with an almost motherly knowing, and you can’t help your begrudging smile as you give Dana a shake of your head. You'd hoped that she'd missed that part of your conversation with your fellow surgeon, but it was a foolish hope—Dana never misses anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” She laughs, looking toward where David was speaking with Claudia. “If I was your age and single…He wouldn’t have to ask me twice.”

“I work with him on a daily basis.”

“So what, you think if things went bad he’d refuse to pass you a scalpel in the middle of a procedure?” 

“Among other things.”

“What are we talking about over here?” Robby’s the one that asks it, but the sight of Abbott just a few steps behind makes you clam up. “And what have we done to earn the presence of two surgeons in the ER this fine morning?” 

“Wilkins and I are just down to check on a patient.”

“Claudia?” Abbott asks, and you nod. 

“I spoke to her, she’s doing well. Just in for a follow-up. Dotting her t’s crossing her i’s.” 

“I think those are swapped,” Princess mutters behind you. 

“We were talking about the fact that this one gave Dr. Wilkins the brush-off again,” Dana reports with a nod toward you. The plainness of it, coupled with looks from both Robby and Abbott, makes heat flare up in your face as you focus studiously on the tracking board. 

“Okay, seems a little personal,” Robby manages. You wince, tipping your head from side to side. No other comment follows. Your ears fill with the familiar hubbub of the ER—the footsteps, the rolling of gurneys, the beeping of machines, the call for medications, bandages, blood. But there’s something there that you haven’t felt since you were a resident—Jack's lingering stare. 

-- 

"Dinner, Friday?"

"With me on the night shift for the next week? Sure," You drawl sarcastically. "You gonna reserve the break room?"

"Family room. More ambiance."

You scoff a laugh, turning your attention back to your computer as Dr. David Wilkins rounds your desk. 

"Breakfast date, then," He counters, leaning against your desk. "I'm sure we could work something out. Get sandwiches from the good cart around the corner."

"Could just grab a couple of sandwiches from the bin in the ER.” 

"We'll grab coffee from the bad cart, then."

“What is it with you and those carts?” 

“I’m supporting local businesses.” 

You can’t help your smile widening as you update a patient’s chart. 

“Very admirable of you, Dr. Wilkins.”

The lull in his answer and the brief retreat of his steps makes you think that he’s given up, but he’s pulling a chair up just a moment later, leaning over your shoulder. You don’t let it rattle you—half of your job is spent with someone in close quarters looking over your shoulder. 

“You spelled ‘succinylcholine’ wrong.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“You didn’t even check.” 

“What do you want, David?” 

“To know how you take your coffee for when I get it from the bad cart.” 

You sigh softly, turning away from your computer to get a better look at him. His wiley little smile is so familiar, lips parting slightly to reveal a row of perfectly white teeth; bright blue eyes blink almost prettily at you as he waits for your answer. 

And you’re not sure what it is that nudges you—the little look Dana gave you, the way you'd felt Jack’s eyes burning into the back of your head, or the fact that you know David is a genuinely nice guy. But for the first time in a long time, you take a leap. 

“...I take my coffee black,” You finally say, “Regardless of what cart you get it from.” 

David nods slowly, smile widening. “Okay. Friday morning?” 

You turn back to the screen, and nod, even as your stomach twists itself into knots.

“Sure, David. Friday.”

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[nsfwitchy2]

Tagged by the WONDERFUL @nostalgic90s - coincidentally I was literally just thinking about you last night lol

1. What was the last thing you drank?

Chocolate peanut butter and banana smoothie ✌️

2. Where was your profile picture taken?

…… furaffinity???

3. Worst pain ever?

Migraines, I’m always baffled by my coworkers who say they can work through them - like bestie how are you even standing right now

4. Favorite place you've ever traveled?

Bold of you to assume I’ve traveled. I guess the place I went to college? It was in the middle of nowhere, we had one bus that took us to the nearest city and one bus that went in a circle around town. Also we had cows, pigs, goats, sheep and horses. Sometimes when you weee on the bus you could see deer just wandering through peoples yards. Easily the best place I’ve ever stayed long term.

5. How late did you stay up last night?

Uhhhh fuck if I know lmao I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 3am

6. If you could move, where would you move to?

Preferably somewhere rural with lots of folklore around it - like Ireland or the Appalachians

7. What do you collect?

Oh boy that is a LOADED question lmao

I guess my biggest collection is dolls - mostly Little Apple Dolls, though I have a few Franklin Mint Marilyn Monroe porcelain dolls and I’d love to get more of those some day. I have my fantasy reborns, which I would also like more of <3. I have some clown dolls and BJDs. I’d love some of the anthropomorphic Betty Jane Carter dolls, I think those are ADORABLE. I also have a hentai figurine but idk if she counts lol

On the smaller end, I collect a lot of Lilo and Stitch and Lion king stuff - extra points if it’s from Lion King 2 because that one is my absolute favorite. I collect a lot of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia, and I collect vintage porn and pinups. Oh, and music boxes, I love music boxes.

8. Favorite day of the week?

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday - hear me out on that lmao. Sunday and Monday are my days off - I usually use Sunday to run errands and volunteer at a horse rescue every other weekend, Monday I usually spend cleaning, taking care of my plants and bugs, or just giving myself a day to do nothing for once except lay on the couch and watch TV. Tuesday is when I go back to work - but it’s also the one day a week I get to work with two of my favorite coworkers, and unless something goes HORRIBLY wrong with the scheduling, we usually have a blast. Like last Tuesday I came into work and one of my coworkers was playing Kesha. You KNOW it’s gonna be a good day when the DJ for the day is playing Kesha 😩😩

9. Amusement park or concert?

Depends on the concert and the amusement park. I’ve always wanted to go to an amusement park for a date with a nice butch who wins me tons of prizes at the game stands <3

But if I’m going alone than I’m gonna say concert lol

10. When was the last time you cried?

I don’t remember and I’d like to keep it that way ✌️

Probably not that long ago but I’m not gonna kill my morning drudging up miserable shit from the past if I’ve already forgotten about it lol

11. Who took your profile picture?

Oh shit I just realized I never put artist credit in my bio, fuck me lmao

Anyway my icon is by Kitchiki on FA, I absolutely love her work <3

12. Who's the last person you took a picture of?

One of the performers at the burlesque fetish ball I went to last Saturday, her performance was just her getting a live corset piercing. My three friends at the show were quite squeamish about it, I…. Was not lmao

13. What's your favorite season?

Spring or summer - I love the trees and green grass and flowers and sunshine, plus seeing all the baby animals down at the pond near my job. Also my wardrobe is like 99% spring and summer clothes lol

Although winter is growing on me lately, I’ve found that my tolerance for cold has gone up significantly this past year 🤔

14. If you could have any other career?

I’m literally debating quitting my job as we speak in favor of becoming a typist, solely for the financial stability. So, maybe not the best time for me to answer this question lol

15. Who's your celebrity crush?

I don’t really have celebrity crushes, more as I have like…. A select amount of female celebrities I find very pretty but more in the sense that I want to look like them. Oh and Dolly Parton - she’s not a crush or someone I want to look like, she is simply Mother™️

16. Are you a good influence?

Depends on who’s asking I guess 🤷‍♀️

17. Does pineapple belong on pizza?

Pizza is not a food I care enough about to really care what toppings other people put on it

18. You have the remote, what are you watching?

Either venture bros or invincible season 3 episode 8

Aaaaand ngl I’m skipping the very last question cause I think it’s stupid

But I will tag @radioactivesourdough @airconditionedgirl @last-knight-who-was @b-rainlet @guroboyfriend @wandering-wolf23 @thotsyndrome @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @syggwolf @spasmolytic-convulsion @evilaroships @princesstokyom @solaceinabandonment

[panlight]

Why isn't Carlisle an empath? If their personality traits are enlarged in vampirism, it would make more sense than Edward being a mind-reader.

Or even a healer or something.

(I know Jasper is, but it would be better if Carlisle had a power instead of Edward)

Oh, and hi, hope you're having a good day!

I'm of two minds on this because on one hand, what makes Carlisle interesting to me is that he has accomplished all he has without an actual superpower, but on the other hand like, yeah, you'd think this one-of-a-kind sort of guy would have some really cool power, right?

(I know some people headcanon that he actually does have some power of charisma or something, or that it's not actually about enhanced compassion but literally super self control, but canonically speaking, SM says he doesn't have a 'power' in the same way that Jasper, Alice, Edward, Bella do).

I've never really seen what Jasper's power had to do with charisma anyway; maybe the manipulating other people's emotion part. But I don't think there's any reason he should be feeling what other people feel, that's not really about charisma, that kind of empathy is . . . more like compassion. Which means 'to suffer with.' I could sort of see Carlisle with a power maybe to take other people's pain, but then he feels it himself. Which would be a sucky power from the POV of having to experience it, but what a GREAT one for a) a doctor and b) someone who reluctantly creates other vampires. His patients would be pain-free and the three day torture of vampiric transformation would be on him, not his 'creations.'

The one that really makes me sort of roll my eyes is Edward being the fastest runner. Like, why? What about his human life suggests he'd be the fastest? Also he already has mind-reading. Why does he need anything else? I get it, I get it, he's the male lead. I know. But if anyone in canon should be super fast, surely it's the guy who ran down a vampire in 17th century London? As Edward himself says, "He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit."

Edward: son of a lawyer in 1900s Chicago, playing piano. Carlisle: son of a witch-burning pastor, literally chasing down vampires in 1660s London.

Guess who gets super speed!

But again, overall I think it's actually interesting that Carlisle's built this super-powerful coven and gathered all these allies and is a threat to the Volturi all without a power and mostly by accident. Like this guy just wants to eat deer, play baseball with his family, and be a small town doctor but Destiny is calling apparently.

[chronic-conjuring]

I also used to work at a smoke shop, and lemme tell you what. People LOVE drugs. Like REALLY REALLY LOVE drugs.

My store became and stayed the highest grossing store in the entire company for my whole time working there. And part of why that happened is because me and my main coworker weren’t judgmental assholes when we had meth and heroine addicts come in. A lot of those people were seeking alternatives to try and stop, actually, and I can’t tell you the amount of times these people were so ashamed and scared to ask for a safer alternative like Kratom. Most people I helped, and almost all of my regulars, were thrown aside by the medical system and needed something to curb their pain just to function. Many people use drugs to help sustain their way of life, to be able to work enough to put food on the table for their families. Most of those people I helped were using THC products specifically.

The majority of our customer base was disabled, chronically ill and chronic pain patients. We got plenty of other people too, you wouldn’t believe how much tobacco and tubes the Amish and old people will buy in one trip, and the college nearby had us serving a lot of younger people who just wanted something to help them chill out after class. But those were the exceptions in my case.

And you know what? I’m fucking proud of the fact I worked there and gained such good rapport with my regulars. I was helping people in my community not only find safe alternatives for dangerous substances, but in some cases I also got to see them start to put their lives back together because of it. Giving friendly access to THC kept many people from becoming addicted to opiates. It’s amazing what happens when you put in some effort to help people who use drugs and treat them like normal everyday people.

Because the large majority of them are! I only had a select few that were at the point where people would label them as addicts just by looking at them or interacting with them briefly, and by a few I mean I can count them on two hands. Again, at the highest grossing store in the entire company (that kept breaking our record sales monthly) I had less than 10 regulars that were that far down the path of addiction. Not to mention the fact I’m from an area heavily impacted by the opioid epidemic. You can’t tell who uses what just by looking at them most of the time, only extreme cases are that way.

And those people were the ones I wanted to help the most! All of them had some heartbreaking stories of how they got there, usually the story was kicked off from some unpredictable event that could happen to anyone. Car accidents, sudden severe illnesses, a loved one dying, unknown genetic diseases popping up. People don’t typically get into harder drugs for funsies, addiction is a societal problem. It’s a maladaptive coping mechanism for much larger issues.

Most often it’s a symptom of things wrong in how our society works, like our medical system taking someone’s pain medication away because of the fear of addiction by doctors, severe depression from economic struggles and political violence, growing up or being in an abusive/ neglectful environment or one where the parents are users themselves. These aren’t immoral people who deserve to suffer or be cut off from their communities, they’re people who got a shit lot in life and you’re only perpetuating that by being shitty towards them. You don’t have to like them, you just have to recognize their humanity and act accordingly. The fact it’s that hard for people to do that is so sad, and I judge anyone who chooses to do so and dehumanize addicts more than I do the addicts.

ETA: btw liking drugs isn’t inherently bad. People have loved drugs ever since we discovered them. That’s kind of the point for some of them. Needing drugs to function is also not inherently bad and is just how it is for some people. DRUGS ARE AMORAL

You don't have to like weed but I find people who are vehemently anti-weed but claim to be left leaning infuriating. If you go into a rage because you smelled someone smoking pot, how the fuck do you expect to form community with people addicted to meth? It's easier to say you hate smokers than to say you hate all drug users in leftist spaces because one makes you sound a bit like a square while the other is the writing on the wall. You aren't anti-weed, you're anti-drug user and anyone who uses substances is not safe around you.

[raccoonfallsharder]

more questionable headcanons.

navigation | headcanons & imagines | rocket doms & subs for you

i’ve always enjoyed writing about the different rockets and i think about them way too much. one of my previous posts ended up turning into a threaded convo with @hibatasblog and @mrwolfhare about the rockets and their recreational drug-use, and i promised to put my headcanons into writing, so here they are lol.

considering the topic and some of the implications i'm going to go ahead and label this one NSFW (mdni) with gn reader as well. read the warnings and, as with all things, consume responsibly. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

ROCKET DRINKS/SMOKES.

WARNINGS: alcohol & other drug use (varied). recreational (fun) substance-use, self-medicating substance-use, self-injurious (un-fun) substance-use. angst; violence, high-key suggestiveness/spiciness with reader but nothing explicitly smutty. mentions of aphrodisiacs, orgasms, occasional pet-names like sweetheart, and a plethora of intoxicants. universe-killer rocket is his own warning.

mcu rocket.

DRINKS: booze is actually this rocket’s drug-of-choice. almost every planet has some kind of fermented liquid intoxicant and since he’s willing to drink absolute swill, he can usually get it for cheap — not that he’s not perfectly willing to steal his alcohol. sometimes he wants something fancy that’s out of his price-range, and other times the barkeep’s being an asshole. either one is a perfectly reasonable excuse for some sleight-of-hand (or interfacing the cashiering program and looting the whole pub). if you were to ask rocket the purpose behind his drinking, he’d sneer at you and say it was a weird frickin’ question and that he drinks for fun. this is a lie. once he gets to know you a little more — trusts you with his old bruises and scars a little more — he might admit that he drinks to forget. this is also a lie. though to be fair, he probably doesn’t know it. like almost everything else he does, this rocket drinks to punish himself. he knows he ain’t lucky enough to forget jackshit, and frankly, he doesn’t deserve to. he knows he just sinks deeper into his memories the more intoxicated he gets. he knows he’s more likely to get mean and reckless and shoot somebody or blow up a bar — or worse, blow up a friendship. if rocket eventually starts drinking less around you, it might be because he doesn’t feel the quite the same need to be cruel to himself. look, we’re not at forgiveness yet, but this is a step in the right direction.

DRUGS: relatedly, this rocket doesn’t often use drugs to take the edge off his chronic pain. some part of him wants to feel it. it reminds him of how he failed his family, of how fucked-up the galaxy is, of how fucked-up he is. but he will occasionally use for other reasons, and not all of them are joyless. he’s not opposed to a buzz that sharpens his focus or helps him sleep or decreases his anxiety or makes certain things feel extra-good during 18+ activities, if you know what i’m saying (dude’s tried the synthetic version of the virgin’s calabash more than once, and honestly, it’s a good fuckin time). but if we’re talking about regular use…. well. sometimes he sits in the cockpit with his feet propped up on the flight controls with a wreath of smoke around his head. they say world tree root's good for seeing the dead,*1 and when he sips that cinnamon-peppermint haze, it burns and freezes all his thermoreceptors. two lungfuls is all it takes, and the constellations suddenly all look like lylla and teefs and floor and groot. and others, too ~ people who weren't even his fault, but seemed like they were probably decent enough before the universe snuffed 'em out. tibius lark, for instance. and garthan saal — even though rocket doesn't generally hold with cops. and yondu, who'd understood him better than anyone else before him. and that pink chick, too — the krylorian who'd worked for the collector. they all swim in the stars, happy and free and completely unaware of him, watching them like the galaxy's most miserable voyeur. he doesn't sleep those nights, no matter how heavy his eyes get — just stares at them and breathes in the ashes of yggdrasill, until his eyes blur and sting and all he can see are prisms and rainbows and splintered, watery light.

I IMAGINE as the two of you grow closer, he might share his smokes with you: seemingly reluctant, but so relieved to no longer have to go through this little ritual alone. it'll be rough the first few times. you don't always see what he sees — not till he shows you, like he's pointing out shapes in the clouds — and when you do, it'll make your vagus nerve clench and ache for him and the wistful twitch of his whiskers and ears, like he wishes he could join them. but over time — with your quiet presence — the vibe changes. the cockpit becomes a chrysalis and eventually, smoking no longer seems like a sentence that rocket carries out with a hollow gutted heart, but something the two of you share: quietly, in peace, in honor of and in communion with those who've returned to the stardust.

eidos rocket.

DRINKS: if this rocket is in the position to drink something straight from the bottle, he's definitely going for angargal's. it's classy scut, you know? but he's not above drinking whatever's local — not as long as it can peel the ceramic plating off a ship and give him a buzz without costing more than he wants to spend in the moment (the fact that he’s so good at stealing shit helps). he’ll toss back a fancier drink when he can — mostly ‘cause it's a way to spit in the eye of the rich chogs who look down on people like him — but asgardian mead and sovereign rum just don’t pack the kind of punch he needs to take the edge off.

DRUGS: speaking of taking the edge off — this rocket loves a j every now and then. he doesn’t smoke every day, but catch him perusing fresh blends whenever you stop for a lazy rotation on some new satellite or space-station. he's tried dried leafy concoctions made from everbloom varietals and world tree root, leaves from kymellian antigen-trees and embers of genesis — and countless cotati cultivars and asgardian herbs (including that one that made you all subby and sweet that first time he'd smoked with you). what can he say? he's always been partial to things that ignite. unfortunately, some drugs just don't come in the form of fire, and it’s worth noting that while asgardian booze may be weaker than the paint-thinner this rocket tends to prefer, asgardian elixirs are another story entirely. a drop on the tongue can have you seeing the secrets in-between the stars, or communing with the atoms in every texture your fingertips touch. rocket doesn’t like to admit it, but that last one works particularly well on a guy with such sensitive hands. he usually takes a drop or two right before he intends to pick up some sweet thing to bring home to his bunk on the milano — but he’ll just as often end up with his date waiting at mantlo’s, completely forgotten, while you find him crooning over the flight controls instead, or dismantling and reassembling all his favorite bombs and blasters, or purring and petting whatever tech he can reach when he’s shoulder-deep in the engine. either way, he figures, it’s a win. of course, he also keeps a vial more discretely tucked away in a little pocket on the underside of his hammock: an antidote for sleep-shifts when he dreams he’s stuck in the sensory deprivation chambers. those nights, when he wakes up certain that he’s not real, having an extra-enhanced sense of touch helps ground him. if he trusts you enough to let you into his bunk, you might notice that little pocket — and if you get close enough, you’ll find two other vials there as well: elixirs for recovery and renewal. those are for when the pain gets bad — or when he wakes up, sweating, certain he’s still in a spinal control unit: every nerve screeching and stuttering with the memory of bone-rattling, brain-melting electric shock.

I IMAGINE there are two other asgardian treats this rocket likes to keep on hand — specifically for bedroom shenanigans. as untrusting as this rocket tends to be in relationships, he does enjoy a good one-night stand — even the occasional “longterm arrangement” with interested parties. i don’t think he hesitates to bring in anything that he thinks will enhance pleasure, for either himself or his partner(s). so be prepared for him to offer you a lofn-kiss, purchased from one of his most-trusted dealers on knowhere. it’s a little hard-candy that tastes like sugared roses with a honey-flavored elixir inside, and oh, it’ll make you come harder and longer and more often and more frantically than you ever have in your life — for as long as it’s in your system. the other little thing he keeps in his cooler is a couple tiny bottles of his favored vintage of asgardian firefly-wine. it’s got a negligible amount of booze in it (enough to get you buzzed, though it doesn’t do anything for him). the real selling point for rocket is that it makes you glow all cutely when you’re about to come — and frankly, he just finds it gratifying to be able to see what a good flarkin’ job he’s doing. *2

cartoon rocket.

DRINKS: cartoon rocket consumes energy drinks by the gallon. he’ll drink coffee too — black and plain, or sludgy with sugar — but no cream. he wants nothing between him and that sweet sweet caffeine (plus whatever other panic-inducing poison the galaxy adds to its stimulants). he doesn’t drink alcohol all that much — though the energy drinks he prefers are banned in most systems and are often served under-the-table at intergalactic dive-bars as uppers — but when he does, it’s usually some kind of boilermaker: preferably with a dark beer, and a good half-shot or more of cream-liquor, just to make it extra-exciting.

DRUGS: this rocket thrives off caffeine pills and various space-amphetamines. he’s been known to occasionally break open the little capsules and add them to his coffee (which has usually already been… uh, enhanced by two bottles of whatever five-hour-energy equivalent he’s managed to pick up at the last space station). he hoards those little bottles like duct tape, friends.

I IMAGINE look, there are plenty of other stimulants, and this rocket likes ‘em all. i don’t take this incarnation for much of a chemical engineer himself, but i’m sure he’s got the hook-up to a self-proclaimed "pharmacist" who keeps him stocked in everything he needs to treat that undiagnosed ADHD (kids, don’t try this at home). the hyper-focus also distracts him from his depression and makes him feel so productive that he can convince himself he ain’t a worthless weirdo-runt, the only flarkin' one of his kind. unfortunately, this particular cocktail isn’t doing shit for his anxiety, and our little guy’s lucky that the unique process halfworld used to create him also strengthened his heart, ‘cause it would’ve certainly given up by now. every time you hug this rocket, you feel that vital blood-pumping muscle rattle in his chest like a goddamn drumroll on a snare. of course, that can only partly be blamed on the drugs and the coffee —at least when you’ve got him snuggled so damn tightly in your arms.

universe-killer rocket.

DRINKS: he'll drink whatever the fuck he wants — but to be honest, he's not that interested in alcohol. typical fermented beverages don't do anything for him anymore — not even the highest proofs in the multiverse. it's probably one of the reasons he's so damn cranky, actually. the poor guy hasn't had a satisfying buzz in more circs than he can remember. truthfully, he probably only drinks anything rarely. not all that gear he’s carrying around is made up of prosthetics and firepower, after all. i bet he's got a saline drip going, somewhere in there.

DRUGS: along with the saline, universe-killer rocket is on a steady dose of painkillers, chemically-engineered by himself and injected right into his bloodstream, thank you very fuckin' much. little crystal-armor vials — hidden in a cooled compartment somewhere in all that metal — slick his veins with juuust enough to take the scalpel-sharp edge off his constant twinges and aches without numbing him completely. this rocket runs a little hot, too — which he doesn't care about on his own; it's a negligible discomfort compared to everything else his poor body’s gone through. but once or twice, a bunch of vital life-support systems nearly overheated, and he couldn't let that happen again — not when he's still got so much to do. so there are some coolants, too — drugs of necessity rather than drugs of joy (or whatever passes for joy in this rocket's world). in terms of "recreational" use — if you want to call blowing up people and planets "recreational" — he's also got a little button somewhere in there that he can press for a particular stimulant. PRN, of course. gets all hyper-focused and his already-heightened senses heighten even further. bump that intuition up from .024 points of optimum grasp to .00035. when he's on this drug — his own brand of wundagorish everbloom, stolen from the high evolutionary's labs and synthesized to suit his needs, for once — it's like he can see the paths of all the planets and star systems and galaxies, glistening across the void of space like spidersilk in the moonlight: not where they've been but where they're going; not only their revolutions but right into the redshift. he can see the fuckin' future and he knows every move you're gonna make before you make it. *3 what more could a universe-killing cyborg want?

I IMAGINE the come-down is rough, man. losing access to all that practically-prescient perception leaves this rocket feeling vulnerable, and if you think other rockets hate feeling that way — well. buckle up, buttercup. if he's out in space or wreaking havoc on people he doesn't care much about, then their day is about to get infinitely worse, even if he does suddenly seem way more... well, sloppy. but if he's alone with his crew — and he does have a crew, though you wouldn't recognize most of them — he'll try to hide away and minimize fall-out. snarling and pacing in his quarters, his hair-trigger temper is already half-pulled. if you're lucky, maybe he's made you his coerced terran-consultant; if you're unlucky, you might be his collared humie pet — either way, it's not a good idea for you to stumble across him when he's like this. hopefully, he catches himself before he blows your brains out. if he does, keep your eyes down and back away slowly. don't make eye contact. hell, you might even want to bare your vulnerable belly or show him your pretty throat, just to be on the safe(r) side. that said, whatever you do: DON'T. RUN.

marvel rivals rocket.

DRINKS: there’s a dangerous drinking game at some of the underground clubs and raves this rocket likes to attend. order up “a full set of infinity stones” to get seated at a rotating tabletop — set with six brilliantly-colored shots per person, each one more reality-warping than the last. the goal isn’t just to slam your own six, though — nah, that’d be too easy. if you wanna play to win, you gotta shoot and steal as many drinks from everyone else in the game as you can, too. shooting and stealing ~ is it any wonder that this is one of rocket's favorite pasttimes? the winner is whoever finishes the round with the most infinity stones in their belly and hasn’t been laid out by them. it's a bit of a challenge, since most players will be swearing they can see time before they even get to the third glass. (spoiler: they can't see time. maybe if they could, they'd know rocket was gonna kick their ass ~ and then steal all their shit.) usually, wagers are made before the table is spun, and rocket makes sure to needle and bully his competitors into raising the stakes — again and again and again. then, thanks to his speed, sleight of hand, bonkers constitution, and willingness to cheat, he always wins. the only thing more interesting than his unbroken record is the fact that the intergalactic rumor mill claims he’s the one who invented the damn game. you’d think these morons would stop trying to win against him, but everyone wants a chance to beat the reigning champion. that's fine with rocket. it gives him a chance to do his other favorite flarkin' thing: gloat.

DRUGS: like i said in the previous post, i’m still figuring this rocket out. i suspect he’s the type to claim he’ll try anything once, though it’s only sort of true. he’s got a limited circle of people he trusts — mainly those who’ve been on his side in a fight — and he’s not about to take the newest synth drug on the market unless he knows he’s got a clearheaded ally watching his six — preferably one who can do some major damage. uh, the ally should probably also be able to hold rocket himself back, too. just in case. not that anyone can really hold rocket back. that said, i suspect rocket sees himself as that clearheaded ally for you. if you wanna try something new, he’ll grin and wink and flop his fur out of his eyes, and probably goad you into it if you're on the fence. i'll take care of you, sweetheart. don't you trust me? don't you remember how i had your back on klyntar? the minute he thinks anyone is even looking at you sideways, he’s already got the photon reaction chaingun out and is mowing them down. look at that cutie. he's so adorably vengeful when it comes to his friends. and you ~ well, you can decide for yourself whether or not that’s the kind of back-up you want when you’re high.

I IMAGINE unlike other rockets, who have probably all been banned in a laundry-list of dive bars across the galaxy (excluding universe-killer rocket, who goes wherever he wants and razes everything down), i suspect this rocket manages to charm his way into complimentary bottle service everywhere he goes. a flash of fang and earring, a smirky thanks sweetheart; you’re a doll to the server; a toss of the mane or a tip of the hat and a wink — well, anticipate getting the most attentive service you've ever seen plus free drinks every time he lures you into some shady club on digriz or conjunction. he’s always had these skills, of course — but recently, he’s decided to use them to impress you. so come on, sweetheart — join him on the mezzanine? watch the king kick these sorry losers’ asses at a round or twelve of infinity stones, while you sip that cute little low-proof drink you like so much. by the end of the night, he’ll probably win enough units to buy you a new ship of your very own — not that you’d wanna go off alone when you could stay with him though, right? that's what it means to be a team.

ewing/rosenberg/et al rocket.

DRINKS: a gargleblaster with angargal’s, neat. or maybe five. *4 like mcu rocket, this guy prefers to drink his intoxicants; unlike mcu rocket, he prefers to indulge himself when he does. it’s important to note that the gargleblaster is an established style of cocktail à la the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy, wherein drinking one is described as “having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.” yeah, that sounds right up this smooth fucker’s alley: bludgeoning himself to death in the most luxe way he can think of. what can he say? the guy just likes nice things, which explains the angargal’s too. that glarnack is smooth. not that this rocket won’t drink moonshine made in an unoxxian’s containment sock if it's the only thing on tap — he just prefers not to, unlike some of his counterparts. look, he might be a real dirtbag, but he enjoys the nicer, sweeter little luxuries in life when he’s got the chance, you know? rich coffee, good booze, well-tailored suits — and you. unfortunately, alcohol is a real depressant, which means that at the end of a booze-soaked night, this rocket’s always going to remember that he’s not particularly nice or sweet. which may be why he dislikes himself so damn much.

DRUGS: this rocket dips into recreational and practical usage now and then. certain sensory-enhancers, when his partner(s) are into it. a social cigar when he’s working a mark and the situation calls for it. maybe some low-grade stimulants when he’s the only one on the ship and trying to make it to the next rendezvous in good time. most often, though? this rocket indulges in the occasional cigarette when he’s sitting out on the flightdeck, all alone late in the sleep-shift. the brand he favors is a pretty clean-burning kind of indigarran tobacco — far less likely to put malignant growths in his lungs — and mentholated, too. of course, inhaling smoke is never without its risks, but the way the synthotine sands down all the sharp edges of his mood is worth it sometimes.

I IMAGINE it’s your first clue that he likes you, actually ~ though of course, you're a clueless little thing. air filtration systems on all rocket's ships are flarkin’ impeccable, and he doesn’t have to worry about lingering secondhand smoke for more than two minutes at any given time — but he also doesn’t rush to stamp out his cigarette if quill or gamora or drax happen to wander into the cockpit late in the rotation. it’s generally understood that after a certain hour, the flightdeck is his domain, and his alone — and anyone else intruding can deal with the d’ast consequences. but that first night you come wandering up to the copilot’s chair because you can’t sleep — adorably rumpled in your sleeping clothes, wearing cute little slippers, for flark’s sake — rocket’s choking on smoke like it’s his first time, lunging forward in his cocked-back seat to try and stub out his cancer-stick, flailing dark claws at the poisoned air to clear a fresh space for you to breathe. it takes you more than a few times to understand his reaction — at first you just assume he’s embarrassed, to be caught smoking late at night. never mind that you’d seen him at it once — off the ship on an abandoned planet, from a little ways away — and admired the way his dark hands had tenderly sheltered the cherry while he’d lit it. the embered tip had glowed as prettily as his eyes when he’d inhaled, head bowed and fingers cradled. it isn’t till much later in your, ah, friendship — palming his neck and muttering, using irritation as a screen to hide any softness — that he explains why he always rushes to put it out when you come on deck. it doesn’t matter how mild and barely-toxic these cigarettes are, he tells you vehemently. earthers got weak lungs. rocket’s sure he heard that somewhere. and why would he want you coughing up a storm when you could be snoozing so sweetly in the seat next to him all night? or worse, what if the smoke sickened your helplessly-unaugmented respiratory system? so take that in, and shower him with soft little thankyous and a light touch to his shoulder or the crown of his head. and for god’s sake — don’t remind him that he’s never seemed to care much about pete’s lungs.

skottie young rocket

DRINKS: acanti blubber ale, baby!*5 mostly because it's banned in an ever-increasing number of systems. if he's honest, it smells and tastes like shit (burnt rubber that slides down his throat the way hot grease slides down a kitchen sink) and when he thinks about the fact that it's made from the fat-reserves of a sentient, peaceful spacefaring whale — each one as naive and curious as a dumb little kid — he does feel vaguely guilty (he's even been known to get mopey if he thinks about it while he's drunk on it). but hey, he doesn't drink it very often! and he steals it anyway, so it's not like he's supporting the market with his hard-earned units! and besides, he makes it a point to blow the junk off every acanti poacher he comes across! which is — a surprisingly large number, now that he thinks about it. he always seems to attract the poachers.

DRUGS: if you ask this rocket, he'll tell you the best drug in the whole flarkin' universe is m'kraan. it's not really shaved off the shi'ar's mystical m'kraan crystal, but it might as well be, as far as he's concerned. fine and glittery as fairydust and sold (or stolen) in skinny paper tubes like the universe's most expensive set of pixy-stix, it comes colored and flavored and sugary-sweet — inducing even sweeter visions. everything has a halo when you're on m'kraan. you can feel the seams of the universe under your fingers. silk is more silky, sugar is more sugary. the stars are starrier and even pain feels like a lovesong. so yeah, this rocket will sing the praises of m'kraan, then probably wiggle his eyebrows and try to get you to take some too — just to see what happens.

I IMAGINE look, he's not a liar. at least not about this. he really does think that m'kraan is his favorite drug of choice (other than you, of course). there's just one thing this rocket has forgotten to factor in, and it's that he's huffing fucking engine fumes all goddamn day. this dude is gone on benzenes all the goddamn time. and when he isn't ears-deep in an engine — tail puffed up to thrice its natural size with pure euphoria — he's constantly canoodling with various explosives, and detonating bullets as big as your head: sucking in lungfuls of amyl acetate so strong that it leaves the sweet scent of bananas in his fur. it's just as well. this way you can cuddle him up for your own little candied contact-high.

SILLY NOTES 'cause i like to (loosely) base my silly shit on canonical silly shit

*1 the roots of yggsdrasill connect the realms of the living and dead.

*2 asgardian elixirs of recovery and renewal are mentioned in the comics, as is the elixir of lofn, which is a sort of asgardian love potion, if memory serves. and asgardian firefly-wine typically only makes moon elves glow i think, but we’ll call this is a special vintage.

*3 wundagore everbloom is technically native to earth, i think ~ but since the high evolutionary built wundagore ii in the stars, i feel confident that he experimented with lab-grown space-varietals. the flower allows people to see the future, but only after it has been "consumed twice", or, as i would phrase it, filtered through an intermediary. in this case, we'll imagine that the high evolutionary himself was likely force-fed the blossoms en masse, and after he was killed, rocket distilled and manufactured his synthetic everbloom “booster” from the contents of wyndham's stomach. ew. universe-killer rocket doesn't. fucking. play.

*4 gargleblasters with angargal's (neat) ~ Rocket: The Blue River Score (2017). Ewing, Gotham, et al.

*5 acanti blubber ale ~ Guardians Team-Up Vol 1, Issue 5 (2015). Lanning, Schmidt, & Duarte. acanti are sentient singing space-whales ~ one of the oldest and most-peaceful races in the universe.

animated star banner by @/enchanthings | excessive rocket banner by me lol

[i-was-a-teenage-eldritch-horror]

What is the actual "point" or "message" of evangelion as a whole to you? I thought that it was about how ultimately despite the pain of being the other, it's better to have that pain and connect with others than have nothing at all and all be a hivemind (instrumentality). That there's always potential for happiness and redemption. Hence, why Shinji and Asuka choose to come back at the end despite everything that's happened between them. Hence, "One more final: I need you". However, going by your interpretation of their relationship being purely negative and abusive, then what is the point? It's just a tragedy where all parties are permanently broken? And if so then what is that trying so say about anything?? I watched the show only once back in 2020 but it really stuck with me, also read your Madonna-Whore-Mother post and found it insightful, although I don't really understand how it reframes the wider narrative.

Thank you for the compliment about my mother madonna whore post!

I don't think these two ideas are mutually exclusive.

I don't look at end of eva's ending as hopeful. Shinji had that whole experience with Rei, Kaworu, Misato, Asuka, and Yui during instrumentality and he came out worse off for it. Strangling Asuka was a deliberate choice on his part. I think it would be ridiculous to call a 14 year old of any gender "permanently broken," including a fictional one like Shinji. The thing is, though, that this is fiction, right? We don't see what happens after eoe. So, the ending has to tell us something...and to me, it tells us that Shinji has changed. He is worse off than he was in episode 1: he has endured lots of trauma and has traumatized others. Nothing about eoe's ending tells us that he's a better person.

You're right to point out that the card says "I need you." I look at that as reality -- yes, Asuka and Shinji are the only ones there on the beach. They do need each other. Should you strangle someone whom you need? I wouldn't. It's a test and he failed spectacularly.

Eva, imo, is a story about humanity told partially through the POV of one person: Shinji. In Shinji's case, he has two peers who are uniquely positioned to understand him and help him (and vice versa! that he is uniquely positioned to understand and help), but (this applies most especially to Asuka), his misogynistic attitudes get in the way of this. I wouldn't describe Rei and Asuka as "nice," but I wouldn't call them "unkind," either. With Shinji, it's the opposite. I would say he is generally both nice and unkind.

Does this make sense at all? It's ok if not. My general approach to writing about eva is that I'm a detail noticer, a 2+2=4er. I don't really think of myself as writing anything profound.

[anadrym]

Extended Author's Notes for Left Behind Ch13.

Spoilers!

Chapter title is from "Monster" by Starset. I've held off on Starset for long enough. We're gonna be seeing more of their songs going forward because I love their music.

I absolutely hated the paragraph about Cait getting the window open so she could sneak in. I reworked it several times before giving up. I still hate it.

I said this last week, but the reason there are so few guards at the mansion is because the Baroness essentially just walked into the territory of an "ally" she doesn't trust. She takes quite a few people with her to make sure Chross doesn't try anything.

The scene of Caitlyn questioning and killing the handler and the other guy was inspired by Joel interrogating David's men in The Last of Us.

This has absolutely no bearing on the story, but I want you to know that I thought of it: Vi has (had) two handlers. They worked in shifts, five-day weeks, and had nights off. Worker's rights. :)

At first, I had Caitlyn trying to find the door to the basement and couldn't get it to work without her seeming... omniscient? And then I realized I could just make the guy tell her.

"She reloads her rifle and descends" - character descending into the darkness in the desperate hope of saving their loved one? At least Cait will be more sucessful than Orpheus.

Ah, the maid. Last week, I mentioned that I had originally meant for Vi's intended victim to be a maid the Baroness suspected of being a mole? This is her! She's also the voice on the radio from the end of Ch11. Not to worry, sparing her was absolutely the right decision.

I do love it when POV characters lose time. Easiest transition ever. Great way to pass over boring bits. 10/10, would recommend.

Remember how I mentioned that Caitlyn can pick locks? The entire purpose of that was to emphasize her panic here; she doesn't even bother trying.

Can shooting a lock unlock it? Can a person pump a rifle one-handed? It's impossible to say for sure, but that's fanfiction, baby! (Also, this scene was brought to you by Terminator 2. Terminator 2: it was cool how he did that.)

Yes, the whole sequence of Cait killing the doctors was practically stolen from The Last of Us. Even down to the three people. Also, ruthless Caitlyn is so badass, it's so much fun to write.

Pretty much everything from Cait finding Vi on the table to the part where she starts to dress her has been finished for months. I think it was one of the first things I wrote for this fic.

Also, because a few of you brought this up: it was absolutely necessary to me that Caitlyn see what Maintenance did to Vi. We all know Vi downplays her own pain so she doesn't burden others. Now if she tries to say it wasn't that bad, Cait can say "No, I saw what it did to you. I know how bad it was."

Cait puts the pistol on the table because she's in too much of a hurry to holster it. :)

When I imagine how bad Vi looks right now, especially coughing up blood, I think a lot about the episode of The Walking Dead where Glen gets sick at the prison? It was a long time ago, but a very nice piece of whump.

Vi does have a catheter port on her chest for the nutrient feed, but the Maintenance injections are just done straight through the skin and into the veins, kinda like drawing blood? That's why the one on the inside of her left thigh is infected.

Caitlyn, bandaging Vi's wounds while being terrifyingly aware of their time limit: "Wow, I'm doing a terrible job. My dad would be disappointed."

The ring! Vi was so desperate to hold onto herself that she's managed to mangle her thumb. Caitlyn doesn't realize the significance of the ring, she only knows that Vi's been hurting herself with it. Honestly, she wants nothing to do with it. Thankfully, she pockets it instead of tossing it. Also, I got a question about why Cait didn't recognize the ring. There are two reasons: 1. she didn't take any time to look at it, they're in too much of a hurry, and 2. I really like the idea of Cassandra and Tobias having very simple wedding rings, just a solid gold band each, with nothing distinctive about them, so she probably wouldn't have recognized it anyway. She'll find out about it when Vi tells her what it is; the scene is very sweet. <3

"There you are." - It was so important to me that, even in all of this fear and chaos, our girls got even a brief moment where they could just take comfort in each other and the fact that they're both alive and together again. Also, forehead kisses, my beloved.

Ugh, the amount of trust here. Vi is cold and weak and hurt; she doesn't know what's going on and she doesn't understand words that she knows she should. But none of that matters, because Cait is here and she trusts Caitlyn to get them out. I'm ill.

And then Caitlyn repaying that trust by telling Vi what she's doing and giving her as much autonomy as she can. :'(

Vi is barefoot. Just for the drama.

Mmm, when the character who uses their body as a human shield is then shielded by someone else? *chef's kiss*

The part where Caitlyn tries to hold off the bottleneck at the door and then Vi saves her at the last second was inspired by the scene of Rex and Ahsoka from the finale arc of Clone Wars.

I want to clarify: Caitlyn is not out of bullets for her rifle, she just needed to reload. She's still got both guns.

Hey, wanna hurt yourself more? Imagine if Cait did get shot here. They'd definitely hook Vi back up. But also, the Baroness would absolutely do the same thing to Caitlyn that she did to Vi five years ago.

I'm quite fond of the idea of Vi teaching Cait the basics of boxing and Caitlyn teaching Vi how to use each of her guns. Power couple sharing weapons is an amazing trope.

Wow. Thank god there was only one guy left when Caitlyn's rifle ran out of ammo. ;)

You might think that Caitlyn's greatest strengths are her marksmanship and her intellect. But actually, it's her ability to compartmentalize and give herself a very strict schedule for feeling her emotions. Three seconds is perfect for mentally recovering from almost being shot.

Vi is doing her absolute damnedest to stay conscious and aware here. She doesn't want to slow them down, and she's going to do her best to protect Caitlyn too. She's desperate not to be left behind again (not that she blames Cait; there's just a lot of trauma there).

Teaser for next week:

As she claws her way back to reality, she hears muffled thumps, a sharp cry of pain, and the choked sound of a breath cutting off. Vi pries her eyes open to see two figures just a few feet from her, locked in a struggle over Caitlyn's rifle. The larger figure has his arm wrapped around the other's throat.

Caitlyn makes an awful, breathless noise as she squirms in the man's grip, but her movements are weak and uncoordinated. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, meet Vi's with terrified desperation.

[soeasilyswayed]

WIP Word Game

AAAAA, thank you @andthekitchensinkao3 for tagging me in this. This was HARD :D and my excerpts are really long, simply because that’s how I wanted to roll this time. My word was MISCREANT (bruh :D)

I have finally purged my brain of most smut I (I have a few still brewing but they are on a backburner for this project) and I am working on my canon GW Emmrook fic. I am afraid I won’t be able to post it because I keep returning to the beginning because ya boi enjoys sYmbOlisM and meaningful phrases that change meaning throughout the fic. But we shall see where it goes.

I will tag @officialnostradamus (cause I need some more of that Falling Fearless goodness in my life o.o) @serstolas, @crowtoed and @dragonagegayz (sorry if you have already been tagged :c)

//EDIT because of my brainfart, i forgot to actually provide a word :D so let's spread the love and use the word MISCREANT given to me :'D

My excerpts are under the cut cause they be loong.

M

Most of the times Rook, Davrin, and Assan in Davrin’s quarters leads to some close-quarters combat training. Assan is good in wide, open places, but he is still not graceful enough to handle a tiny cavern or cave. Davrin dreads the time he has to teach Assan to crawl through a tunnel. But Rook is happy to evade Assan’s playful swoops and plunges. Maybe Rook can take care of the tunnel training, too, Davrin ponders. Before his mind is taken by his grief, his sorrow, his guilt.

I

“I’m a Warden. I can’t just - “ “What, Wardens can’t date? From what I’ve heard, many Wardens have been involved in places they most certainly had no right to be”, Lucanis smirked. Davrin and Rook exchanged looks. “It’s not just that. It’s just the small, little fact that we are dying. So getting involved with someone is complicated.” Davrin offered. Rook was glad he didn’t have to say it. “And like I said, nobody is involved with anyony. So no harm done there.” “But you are not dead yet”, Lucanis pressed. “I might be. Tomorrow, 5 years from now. I can’t just - I can’t just ignore the fact that my life ended when I drank from that chalice. And I can't really do that to someone. Make them care for me when I know I’m dying.” “Does the good professor know this? There’s nothing worse than being given false hope. “I have nothing in my life than but false hope.” “You will die of the taint. You might die tomorrow either way. So why not let Emmrich decide if that’s something he can live with.”

S

“So I take it that you must have a favourite bone of the body?“ Rook chuckled, head tilted, as he looked at the undead tableau in front of him. “Why of course! I am not immune to favouritism. See that bone, right at the base of the skull?” “That one that looks like a butterfly with outstretched wings?” “Yes, exactly! The sphenoid bone. I find its design so delicate yet so strong. If the nerves were intact on this skeleton, this would be where the optic nerves cross, right above the hypophysis. It commands us to act. A sort of command centre below the brain. It controls our blood pressure, metabolism, pain relief.” Our hormones. Estrogen. Testosterone. Egg development. Sperm production. “Huh. It also kind of looks like a sad bat. If you think of those two holes as the eyes.” “What? Oh. I see.”

C

“Can’t you just understand that I don’t care what other people think about us? I will never care how people see us and this age difference you are so hung up on.” “Well, I do and I wish you did too, because it matters to me. Do you have any idea what it looks like when we walk in the Grand Necropolis? Do you truly not see how others look at us? They see you, a young mage, and assume you are my student. Does this not bother you?” “No, because for the hundredth time, I don’t care!” “I care, and I wish you cared too. You might find it amusing and meaningless that I want you to use the correct fork at dinner and not drink yourself into a stupor at a soirée, but it matters to me, Rook. I am in a position where I matters, and I wish it mattered to you, too. Especially now that I gave up l-” “...gave up what? Lichdom?” “...yes.” “I never asked you to do that. “Well, you weren’t particularly supportive of it.” “Of course not! Fuck, Emmrich. I don’t have forever. I don’t want forever. I want someone who changes with me on my side as I get ready to face my remaining years before my Calling. I want to see our shared years as I get ready to die.” “You wouldn’t be with me If I had attempted lichdom?” A pressing question. A moment of truth. Rook didn’t even need to ponder. “No.”

R

Rook didn’t indulge in this often. He was used to taking care of his needs efficiently and quietly, managing to train himself to take a deep breath and let his arousal bubble in his gut until he was finished and then, let out a final, slow exhale.

E

Emmrich was delighted, albeit a bit surprised, in seeing Rook take his time with the graves. The elf kneeled down to read the epitaph of one grave and picked a stray flower that had dropped from its vase. “You must have seen a lot of death in your time as a Warden.” Rook fiddled with the stray flower. “Not just my fellow Wardens, mind you, but villagers, too. Anyone who is not lucky enough to live on one of the largest outposts. It’s a death sentence, albeit a long one. I would have been one of them had I not joined the Wardens.” Rook set the flower down onto the vase and got up on his feet. His face was unreadable, solemn. “Is that why joined the Wardens? To avoid that fate?” “It was really the only way for me, as a mage. I am not a scholar or a researcher, but I can pull my weight in battle.” “So you had no choice, then?” “There’s always a choice. Some choices are just made for us.”

A

“Are you two quite done?” It’s morning. It’s always morning in the Fade, but Rook and Davrin remember how they left Weisshaupt in the dark of night. And they drank all night. So it must be morning. Davrin is slumped in his chair when Emmrich and Neve march in. Assan rushes to greet them, jumping around them. Rook is on his back on the floor, staring into the fire. Sometimes the luxury of a warm bed just hurts. So when he feels the ache and sorrow in his bones, he opts for a hard surface to sleep on. “No, we are not done. We are just gonna wait here for the Archdemon to come and swoop us up”, Davrin scoffs. “There is this rhythm to your life when you become a Warden. Archdemon is at the end of it. You don’t expect to come out of that encounter.” Emmrich and Neve exchange glances, as Emmrich is holding a letter in his hand. “So now we have no rhythm. And if we have no rhythm, we have no march order. If we have no march order, we have no discipline. And without discipline, we are just glorified mercenaries. So no, we are not done”, Rook snapped. “Well. I was glad to have two Wardens in the team, but it seems we have been knocking on the wrong door, Neve. Let us leave these, ah, glorified mercenaries to their brooding. There is a missive from Warden Evka. I shall leave it here in case you are interested.”

N

No, I don’t think you even realise what you cost me, Rook. I could have ascended to the highest rank of the Watchers. I could have outlived every mortal I have ever met, unlocked secrets of our existence. But no. You came along, with your human needs, wants, and messes. And you made me care. You made me waste my potential for a fleeting moment of distraction and pleasure. And now I’ll never have what I was meant to accomplish. All because of you.

T

This is unbecoming of me. I was a respected scholar, a published author. Now I waste my days tending to your pathetic wounds. Following you into battles knowing you have no plan, no strategies. Picking up the pieces of your broken body over and over and over -

[lovelikeghostsmp3]

Everytime after I get a tattoo I go home and crash for a few hours because of how tired it makes me

[random-autie-fangirl]

I drew another Chara- living with the Dreemurrs edition

"The King and Queen treated the human child as their own. The underground was filled with hope."

I don't like this as much as the last one but oh well... I ended up rambling a huge amount in the tag, so if you want details and headcanons about the actual drawing again, you'll have to look pretty far down this time, sorry (Also, I ran out of tags after a while. Tumblr is tired of me, lol. I might reblog this more tags later if I remember what I was going to say.)

[sinnettini]

i told my mum i wanted to get a cat and she shut me down completely and now i kinda want to cry

[dadbots]

cold as shit & freezing my ass off in this winter (But at least we made it to December.)

[ms-demeanor]

So You Need To Buy A Computer But You Don't Know What Specs Are Good These Days

Hi.

This is literally my job.

Lots of people are buying computers for school right now or are replacing computers as their five-year-old college laptop craps out so here's the standard specs you should be looking for in a (windows) computer purchase in August 2023.

PROCESSOR

Intel i5 (no older than 10th Gen)

Ryzen 7

You can get away with a Ryzen 5 but an intel i3 should be an absolute last resort. You want at least an intel i5 or a Ryzen 7 processor. The current generation of intel processors is 13, but anything 10 or newer is perfectly fine. DO NOT get a higher performance line with an older generation; a 13th gen i5 is better than an 8th gen i7. (Unfortunately I don't know enough about ryzens to tell you which generation is the earliest you should get, but staying within 3 generations is a good rule of thumb)

RAM

8GB absolute minimum

If you don't have at least 8GB RAM on a modern computer it's going to be very, very slow. Ideally you want a computer with at least 16GB, and it's a good idea to get a computer that will let you add or swap RAM down the line (nearly all desktops will let you do this, for laptops you need to check the specs for Memory and see how many slots there are and how many slots are available; laptops with soldered RAM cannot have the memory upgraded - this is common in very slim laptops)

STORAGE

256GB SSD

Computers mostly come with SSDs these days; SSDs are faster than HDDs but typically have lower storage for the same price. That being said: SSDs are coming down in price and if you're installing your own drive you can easily upgrade the size for a low cost. Unfortunately that doesn't do anything for you for the initial purchase.

A lot of cheaper laptops will have a 128GB SSD and, because a lot of stuff is stored in the cloud these days, that can be functional. I still recommend getting a bit more storage than that because it's nice if you can store your music and documents and photos on your device instead of on the cloud. You want to be able to access your files even if you don't have internet access.

But don't get a computer with a big HDD instead of getting a computer with a small SSD. The difference in speed is noticeable.

SCREEN (laptop specific)

Personally I find that touchscreens have a negative impact on battery life and are easier to fuck up than standard screens. They are also harder to replace if they get broken. I do not recommend getting a touch screen unless you absolutely have to.

A lot of college students especially tend to look for the biggest laptop screen possible; don't do that. It's a pain in the ass to carry a 17" laptop around campus and with the way that everything is so thin these days it's easier to damage a 17" screen than a 14" screen.

On the other end of that: laptops with 13" screens tend to be very slim devices that are glued shut and impossible to work on or upgrade.

Your best bet (for both functionality and price) is either a 14" or a 15.6" screen. If you absolutely positively need to have a 10-key keyboard on your laptop, get the 15.6". If you need something portable more than you need 10-key, get a 14"

FORM FACTOR (desktop specific)

If you purchase an all-in-one desktop computer I will begin manifesting in your house physically. All-in-ones take away every advantage desktops have in terms of upgradeability and maintenance; they are expensive and difficult to repair and usually not worth the cost of disassembling to upgrade.

There are about four standard sizes of desktop PC: All-in-One (the size of a monitor with no other footprint), Tower (Big! probably at least two feet long in two directions), Small Form Factor Tower (Very moderate - about the size of a large shoebox), and Mini/Micro/Tiny (Small! about the size of a small hardcover book).

If you are concerned about space you are much better off getting a MicroPC and a bracket to put it on your monitor than you are getting an all-in-one. This will be about a million percent easier to work on than an all-in-one and this way if your monitor dies your computer is still functional.

Small form factor towers and towers are the easiest to work on and upgrade; if you need a burly graphics card you need to get a full size tower, but for everything else a small form factor tower will be fine. Most of our business sales are SFF towers and MicroPCs, the only time we get something larger is if we have to put a $700 graphics card in it. SFF towers will accept small graphics cards and can handle upgrades to the power supply; MicroPCs can only have the RAM and SSD upgraded and don't have room for any other components or their own internal power supply.

WARRANTY

Most desktops come with either a 1 or 3 year warranty; either of these is fine and if you want to upgrade a 1 year to a 3 year that is also fine. I've generally found that if something is going to do a warranty failure on desktop it's going to do it the first year, so you don't get a hell of a lot of added mileage out of an extended warranty but it doesn't hurt and sometimes pays off to do a 3-year.

Laptops are a different story. Laptops mostly come with a 1-year warranty and what I recommend everyone does for every laptop that will allow it is to upgrade that to the longest warranty you can get with added drop/damage protection. The most common question our customers have about laptops is if we can replace a screen and the answer is usually "yes, but it's going to be expensive." If you're purchasing a low-end laptop, the parts and labor for replacing a screen can easily cost more than half the price of a new laptop. HOWEVER, the way that most screens get broken is by getting dropped. So if you have a warranty with drop protection, you just send that sucker back to the factory and they fix it for you.

So, if it is at all possible, check if the manufacturer of a laptop you're looking at has a warranty option with drop protection. Then, within 30 days (though ideally on the first day you get it) of owning your laptop, go to the manufacturer site, register your serial number, and upgrade the warranty. If you can't afford a 3-year upgrade at once set a reminder for yourself to annually renew. But get that drop protection, especially if you are a college student or if you've got kids.

And never, ever put pens or pencils on your laptop keyboard. I've seen people ruin thousand dollar, brand-new laptops that they can't afford to fix because they closed the screen on a ten cent pencil. Keep liquids away from them too.

LIFESPAN

There's a reasonable chance that any computer you buy today will still be able to turn on and run a program or two in ten years. That does not mean that it is "functional."

At my office we estimate that the functional lifespan of desktops is 5-7 years and the functional lifespan of laptops is 3-5 years. Laptops get more wear and tear than desktops and desktops are easier to upgrade to keep them running. At 5 years for desktops and 3 years for laptops you should look at upgrading the RAM in the device and possibly consider replacing the SSD with a new (possibly larger) model, because SSDs and HDDs don't last forever.

COST

This means that you should think of your computers as an annual investment rather than as a one-time purchase. It is more worthwhile to pay $700 for a laptop that will work well for five years than it is to pay $300 for a laptop that will be outdated and slow in one year (which is what will happen if you get an 8th gen i3 with 8GB RAM). If you are going to get a $300 laptop try to get specs as close as possible to the minimums I've laid out here.

If you have to compromise on these specs, the one that is least fixable is the processor. If you get a laptop with an i3 processor you aren't going to be able to upgrade it even if you can add more RAM or a bigger SSD. If you have to get lower specs in order to afford the device put your money into the processor and make sure that the computer has available slots for upgrade and that neither the RAM nor the SSD is soldered to the motherboard. (one easy way to check this is to search "[computer model] RAM upgrade" on youtube and see if anyone has made a video showing what the inside of the laptop looks like and how much effort it takes to replace parts)

Computers are expensive right now. This is frustrating, because historically consumer computer prices have been on a downward trend but since 2020 that trend has been all over the place. Desktop computers are quite expensive at the moment (August 2023) and decent laptops are extremely variably priced.

If you are looking for a decent, upgradeable laptop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

14" Lenovo - $670 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 512GB SSD

15.6" HP - $540 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

14" Dell - $710 - 12th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

If you are looking for a decent, affordable desktop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

SFF HP - $620 - 10th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, 1TB SSD

SFF Lenovo - $560 - Ryzen 7 5000 series, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

Dell Tower - $800 - 10th-gen i7, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

If I were going to buy any of these I'd probably get the HP laptop or the Dell Tower. The HP Laptop is actually a really good price for what it is.

Anyway happy computering.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[monstersholygrail]

very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏

Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.

You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.

That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.

When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.

The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.

As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.

Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.

That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.

Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.

“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.

You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.

The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.

“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.

Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.

And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.