#and as usual i have been useless all day i should kill myself

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

girl help i came on tumblr to avoid yk. freakin cutting myself rn. saw a clip from lotr that included someone holding up a knife sword or dagger. helloooooooo urges theyre back

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Five - Dark truths

You didn't sleep at all that night. You didn't leave the house all day either. You didn't even answer the door when Amelie and Jack came over to see how you were.

They knew Noah was missing. They didn't know he was dead.

When Friday came around and no one had seen you, Jack came to the house again. He pleaded with you to come and tell him what had happened. He asked where Noah was, but you didn't answer him. You didn't come out at all.

That night the show went on without you.

Lestat had been sitting in his box waiting for you to come on, but when the piano never got wheeled onto the stage, he knew he had messed up. Revealing to you what he was like that had not been what he wanted. He should have been more careful, but Noah was angering him. That meaningless man ruined your performance.

Lestat couldn't take it any more. With Noah gone you would be able to shine. Lestat would have done things differently. You were different.

The vampire didn't stick around to watch the end of the show. Your usual slot came and went and he knew you weren't going to perform tonight.

He went to your home.

I'm outside, Chéri.

Nothing.

Please let me in.

Lestat knew you were inside and he longed to see you. He wanted to hear your voice and see your face. He wanted to reach out and hold you to him. He wanted to explain things properly.

You refused to come outside.

His voice was in your head and it was pricing you crazy. How can his voice be in your head like that? Was he really a monster or were you too freaked out and messed up to comprehend anything?

You were afraid.

I know you can hear me. You have no reason to fear me. Harming you is the last thing I could ever want.

You don't believe him. He knows it too.

Lestat looks up at your window with longing. He yearns for you. He needs you. He wants you.

Please. 

The door opens. Lestat finds himself looking at you. You're a disheveled mess and he can see the fear in your eyes. He doesn't move.

“I am sorry you found out the way you did.”

“What do you mean…?” You ask cautiously.

“Me being a vampire.”

You shake your head quickly. “Vampires aren't real.”

“Oh, but we are.” He smiles at you.

You stare at him in disbelief. Was this man crazy? Oh no… you had been to his house! The house of a crazy person!

Lestat can hear your internal struggle and shakes his head. He steps a little closer. “Listen, Chéri, I am real. I am here. I want you.”

“Why? Why me?” You want to hide back inside your house, but you also want answers.

“You are… everything.”

You don't know what he means by that. Nothing is making sense to you. You can't help feeling like he's dangerous.

“I am dangerous.”

“Stop doing that! Stop… reading my mind!”

Lestat chuckles softly. “From the moment I first heard you play I knew I had to have you. You, Chéri, are everything and more. Talent like yours is hard to find in this world. It also helps you're the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon… Well, second to myself.” He winks at you.

He's trying to calm you down. You can tell he's telling the truth. Though you're not sure how much you can trust him.

“Do you not want a taste? To walk alongside the unknown?” He is feeding into your curiosity, luring you in. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. “How do I know you won't just kill me like you did to Noah?”

“That useless man had it coming. He was abusing your talents with his awful voice. He wanted to use you for his own gain in the hope of using your popularity at the theater to get famous. Well, anyone who truly approaches music would know he had no talent whatsoever.” Lestat scoffs.

“He really is dead…?”

“Oui.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Oh God. Oh God! What do I tell Jack?” You pull at your hair.

“Tell him nothing,” Lestat says, coming a little closer to your door. “Noah has left the country as far as anyone is concerned. He had no relatives here, no actual influence on anyone. He's gone. Let me help you soar.”

You look into his eyes. He's looking at you tenderly. You want to believe he's being genuine, but is he?

“I wrote you a song…” Is what you say.

Lestat stares at you in mild confusion and surprise. “You wrote me a song?”

“I did… I was inspired after my visit to your home… and I couldn't shake you from my head.”

He grins. “Is that so?”

You nod. “You… You're like a headache I can't shift. Even when I put you out of my mind, you return later. Your name is always on the end of my tongue. I look for you every Friday night in your box. I sit at my piano and I hope with all my might that my music is enough for you. Why do I care so much about what you think?”

Lestat smiles. “Perhaps because you know I appreciate your art.”

You look at him in wonder. “Is that the case? Or are you just saying that to make me trust you?”

He sighs. “You're making this very difficult.”

“You killed Noah!” You say a little too loudly.

Lestat covers your mouth with his hand. You groan and bite his fingers. He removes his hand and grins. “If you're into biting, I can help.”

You worry if you roll your eyes too hard they'll fall out the sockets. “I need time…”

Lestat lifts his chin up a little bit. “Very well. Time.” He steps away from your door. “But please don't take too long.” He walks away.

Once he's out of sight you close your door and lean against it.

The next Friday you return to the theater and try to ignore the stares from other performers. However, Amelie and Jack could not be ignored. You would have to face them, which was why you had come up with a story. A lie. Lying to the two people who looked after you all these years felt so wrong, but telling the truth would be worse.

They cornered you in your dressing room. Jack had a whole speech for you, telling you he was so worried and he didn't know if he needed ro contact a doctor for you. You let him speak before deciding to tell them the story you had come up with.

“Noah is gone. He left. We had a huge fight and it got out of control.”

“Did he hurt you?” Amelie asks, coming to sit beside you.

“No. Not physically anyway. Just my pride,” you assure her. There was some truth to that at least.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Jack asks, looking at you like a wounded puppy.

“It was my mess. I didn't want everyone to get involved. Noah was using me for his own advantage and I had had enough. I play solo, Jack. No more duets.” You look at him firmly.

“Understood.”

“I was so worried about you! You wouldn't even answer the door…” Amelie looks at you sadly.

“I'm sorry… I just had a lot to deal with.” You give her a hug.

Jack sighs and looks at you fondly. “I should have been more firm with him. Your sponsor hasn't made a donation since…”

“No. I suppose he hasn't. Is my slot still open?” You ask.

“Of course it is!” He assures you.

You smile. “Then I'll be back to playing for you. Tonight too soon?”

“Not at all.”

With all that out of the way the two leave you alone to get ready. You sigh deeply and prepare to face the music once more.

Lestat didn't appear in his box that night. Nor the Friday after, or the one after that. In fact, for the next 2 months he did not appear inside the theater. He did, however, send donations to Jack. He stopped sending gifts to your dressing room too.

Still, you couldn't shake him from your brain.

As you went into month 3 without seeing him or hearing from him, you had begun to miss him. If Lestat had wanted to harm you, surely he would have done so by now. He has plenty of chances to.

You decided to write him a small letter. You had it delivered to his house, not feeling brave enough to go there yourself.

You had chosen to forgive him.

Come to the theater Friday night. Your box is waiting for you.

It was all you could think to do to get him to return to you. As you stood off to the side of the stage waiting for your turn, you felt terribly nervous. You almost felt like you were struggling to breathe. You had sent Amelie out to check the boxes. She seemed to be taking her time.

You had moments to go before it was your turn. Amelie appeared beside you. “What took you so long?”

“Mr De Lioncourt invited me to talk to him. He asked me to give you this.” She holds up the rose. You stare at it, mesmerized by the deep red color of its petals. You take it from her gently.

“This is for me?”

She nods. “He told me he was happy you had asked him to come back. Did you two fight too?”

“Sort of…” You reply softly, still looking at the rose.

“Well, he's glad to hear you perform again.”

“Good. Tonight is going to be special.”

Amelie wasn't sure why it would be special, but she was just happy to see you back where you belong.

Your name is called. You take a deep breath and walk out onto the stage, rose in hand. You lift your head up, but ignore the audience. Your eyes drift up to his box. Lestat is sitting there, smiling at you.

You're wearing the necklace he gave you months ago. You're clutching the rose in your hand. You're looking at him.

Lestat knows you've forgiven him.

You take a seat at your piano and place the rose down where normally the music sheets would go, but you don't need them. You're only going to play one song tonight.

His song.

You begin. Lestat's ears are blessed with a melody new to him. An arrangement he has never heard before. He doesn't need to read your mind to know this is the song you wrote for him.

He's completely enamored with you.

There's a depth to your song. Without words he can understand what you're trying to say. He knows why you wrote this piece.

You felt something that night.

Perhaps the same thing he felt for you.

He wouldn't deny it.

The music ends too soon for his liking. He watches you with keen eyes as you take a bow and exit the stage. He didn't want your music to end. Lestat rose from his seat and left the box. He had to see you.

Jack wanted to question why you only played one song, but you didn't give him time to even get the question out. You went to your dressing room and waited.

The door opened moments later. You stood from your dressing table and watched Lestat approach you. He closed the door behind him, keeping out the outside world.

“That song…” He started. “Was it for me?”

“Yes. Did you like it?”

Lestat smiled as he slowly closed the distance between you both. You felt like your breathing was too loud, that he could probably hear your heart beating too.

I can.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” He asks, grinning.

“Get in my head.”

He chuckles. “It's one of the many things I can show you.” He holds out his hand to you. It's an invitation into his life. An invitation into the night.

You take his hand.

Lestat smiles and pulls you in close. “do you trust me?”

“We'll see.”

For now, that's enough for him.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4

[loganwritesprobably]

Chronic Pain

Content/Warnings: Crocodile/GN!Reader, pre-slash, Reader has chronic pain, Reader is a Buggy pirate

Notes: This is very self indulgent but hopefully people will enjoy

It was hard sometimes, life as a pirate. Even now that you were grounded, on land 90% of the time at Karai Bari, it was hard. The difference between being at sea and being on land was minimal when it came to you, you even still slept in a hammock.

You were a Buggy pirate at heart and you always would be, but since Crocodile had arrived you'd grown increasingly close. He'd decided you were the "least incompetent" amongst the crew and so when he needed a task to be completed that either couldn't be done by Daz or he'd be "wasted" on it, he sought you out to complete it instead. You didn't mind so much. Manual labour work had always been hard for you and while Buggy understood you did feel useless, and often that meant you overworked yourself and caused yourself more harm than necessary. Work for Crocodile was rarely of that nature.

Delivering letters, collecting the paper from the news coo, reading paperwork and contracts for him, confirming kills of marines, posting new bounties - they were less straining. But, some days there was nothing he needed you for, and so you'd default back to your Captain's side and do what he needed.

Yesterday had been like that. You'd found the crew working hard, asked where you needed, and you simply joined them. First was moving a new shipment from the docks to the big top, then was transporting some of the new shipment to different areas of the island, then erecting a new tent, then moving old and broken materials to another part of the island for disposal. It'd been a lot of heavy lifting and walking, which was awful for your joints, but you'd gotten on with the work despite the discomfort.

Today, you were in awful pain. You'd managed to make it to breakfast with a grimace on your face and a small limp, and the crew had been worried. You'd intended to ignore it, until Cabaji snitched on you to Buggy, who sent you back to bed to rest. He'd scolded you, but he'd done it gently and with concern. He struggled with pain too, and yet he never seemed to stop, so you'd called him a hypocrite under your breath before retreating to your hammock to take a nap. You'd been tired anyway.

You were woken again not even an hour later by Crocodile himself, who had apparently been looking for you to get some work done for him. Daz Bones was elsewhere, and so he'd had to find you personally.

"Sir?" You asked, rubbing a hand over your face with a yawn. You enjoyed the short few moments of bliss before your pain kicked in again.

"Why are you still sleeping?" He asked harshly, and you sat up slowly, brows furrowed as you concentrated on not falling while trying to ignore your pain.

"Sorry sir. Captain Buggy sent me back to bed this morning to rest, but I can be ready in ten minutes if I'm needed." You replied, ready to do whatever was needed. You liked Crocodile a lot, more than you probably should, you were only too happy to assist him.

"Why the hell would he do that?" Crocodile questioned with a sneer, looking you up and down as if scanning for injuries.

"I have chronic pain, sir. I overworked myself yesterday and woke this morning in more pain than usual. But, I'm prepared to work if you need me." You wanted to be honest, because you didn't doubt that Crocodile would be able to identify a lie immediately, but you also didn't want to lose his favour. Those quiet afternoons you spent together both doing paperwork had a special place in your heart. Crocodile regarded you for a long moment, considering his next steps. All you could do was sit and not wither under his gaze.

"I understand the feeling," he said after a moment, words clipped as if he didn't really want to be talking about it, "don't push yourself so hard. I'll speak with Buggy about having you work with me full time, doing less strenuous things." Crocodile nodded once he was done, mostly to himself, pleased with the course of action.

"Whatever you'd like, sir. I'm happy to help." You replied, and you were in fact only took happy to do what he'd suggested. You could see the way Crocodile chewed the inside of his cheek with uncertainty for a moment, a side effect of not having a cigar in his mouth, and then he shook his head and returned to himself.

"Yes, well. Rest today, captain's orders, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow." And then he turned and left before you could respond or argue.

You had a lot of mornings with Crocodile in your future, it would appear.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

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Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[lordmartiya]

This prompt done by someone literal minded... What am I gonna do now?

Day 6: Injury (Hurt/Comfort)

Marinette had one weird day as Ladybug. First she had to go to the police with a gas mask to retrieve the pair of Miracolous, then, since she hadn’t been involved in the fight, had to wash them the hard way rather than use magic (thankfully Lila had shared the recipe to remove what remained after the tomato juice), then she had to go to Master Fu’s massage parlor, where Master Su had taken residence, drag him away from the tv, and explain what had happened, or at least what she knew.

And now that Lila had finally left the Prefecture (because the mess was too big for anything less than the headquarters of the police to handle, even without the whole “daughter of a diplomat” thing) she was supposed to meet her in front of Place des Vosges and get a full explanation, except she was sitting over the piled up bodies of four of Adrien’s stalkers waving her diplomatic passport, symbol of the diplomatic immunity she was taught not to use unless necessary, to Roger Raincomprix. Only good thing was that she was wearing MARINETTE’S dress, the one she had given her for the modeling job that changed their relationship. That, and the cop seemingly accepted he was more useless than usual, given Lila left him to deal with the stalkers.

“Ok, what the fuck.” Marinette demanded.

“They decided this morning’s events were part of a cunning plan to get Adrien all to myself, and tried to stop me without being able to handle the pain from a spleen shot.” Lila explained with a smile. “Hope I ruptured them.”

“No, I mean this morning!”

“Well, I was making my usual report to Gabby when he noticed my new decoy necklace, the one I had you make to hide the fact I wear the Fox Miraculous as a belt under the dress, and he asked if he could see it. I didn’t like him handling it so I said no, he threatened my job, I told him my mom’s lawyer can beat his lawyers, he said “Nooroo, Dusuu, unify”, and I sprayed him right as he was done transforming. Then I ran out of the room, closed the door, and called the police, and some idiot soon to be unemployed must have blabbed to the press since it got out so quickly. Oh, I also swiped his ring, there’s a thing I need to verify. It’s stupid and unlikely, but considering YOU have an embarrassingly plain costume…”

“Can you just let it go?”

“Giammai.” that being Italian for “never”, only hammier.

Marinette didn’t know if she should be angry or laugh. Or how they had gone from sworn enemies to this. Whatever it was that made Lila’s teasing so amusing rather than irritating, that made her want to spend as much time as possible with her. To just make sure she would never be lonely.

Before she could decide how to react, however, a smart stopped near them, and Nathalie Sanscour came out.

“This is for Gabriel and Emilie.” she said as she pulled a small pistol – and shot Lila in the chest.

“NO!” Marinette screamed as her pretend girlfriend fell. She then turned to the attacker and demanded: “Why?!”

“Because Gabriel was just trying to save Emilie. She was put in a coma and almost killed by the broken Peacock Miraculous, and-”

“And the fucker couldn’t just ask for help.” Lila’s pained voice replied before taking a deep breath – immediately imitated by Marinette, she knew what was coming.

After Nathalie got skunked, the two girls moved to safety, with Lila in clear pain and a hole in the dress but no wound. Only when they were far enough from the skunked shooter Marinette asked how Lila survived.

“A guy in Mexico makes normal-looking bulletproof clothes, there’s where my mom bought my shirts in bulk and where I just got a few undershirts.” Lila explained. “Already got shot once for an ad, though the guy had the decency to use a small .22 Long Rifle from some distance, not shooting me at point blank with a Para or larger! Seriously, that’s a Beretta Storm subcompact, it only has the 9 Para or the .40 Smith & Wesson.”

Marinette didn’t know what kind of madman made those ads, only that she felt dying when Lila was shot – and happy beyond belief when she turned out almost unharmed. How? How had she fallen for this girl?

 Afterword

Yep. Got Lila shot. I was initially planning to have one of the fan club do it, but this is Western Europe, guns are more controlled than that. Thus Nathalie did it, and is going to jail skunked.

For the bulletproof clothes… They exist, and wealthy people do buy them. Go on YouTube and look up “I was shot by Miguel Caballero”, that madman actually makes ads by shooting his customers (and his wife) at close range with a target pistol to show off that yes, his products do stop small cartridges flat (literally).

[maaarshieee]

Is it possible could you write

Pantalone x reader

Where the reader is very calm and polite, but looses their cool one day and out of anger they punch the wall and hurt themselves. And blood is on their knuckles?

⎯⎯ ୨ Losing Cool ୧ ⎯⎯

ੈ♡˳ Pantalone x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 0.9k words ┊ Hurt/comfort-ish *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

mayhaps projected in this... i pride myself into having good patience but when shit gets too tough i just,, 💥, ty for requesting this anon!! have a good day/night! i think this was kinda bad but i promise ill do better at other fics BYE DAHDSAHD

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, self inflicted injury (unintentional), blood

Blood dripped down your cracked knuckles as you stares down at the soldier before you. Face engulfed with unfamiliar frostiness, darkness overshadowed your features, only further accentuating the overwhelming rage swirling inside of you. Pulling away your first from the crater you've created, sparing a nonchalant glance at your bleeding wound before further instilling shock to the people present inside the room with the sharp words that pierce through the silence like a blade. 

"Just how stupid can you be to fail such trivial tasks?" Spat by you with such a venomous tone, the words you spoke emphasizing your immense disappointment and rage. "Useless! All of you! I should just kill you where you stand!" The soldiers that knelt before you trembled, eyes darting towards the other Harbingers for help, but they merely ignored them, too amused, too entertained by your uncharacteristic lashing. They just had to report right before the meeting and worsen your already ruined mood. 

Pantalone, for one, was concerned for you. He has never seen you so enraged before. It was as if all the frustration you'd bottled inside your heart finally exploded at this moment, and without a proper outlet, you'd ultimately hurt yourself by punching the wall. Pantalone had noticed that for the past few days, you'd grown quiet and stiff, a twitch on your brow here and there, but he never thought it meant anything else other than stress. For you've always handled situations better than anyone, ever so gentle towards the people working under you and keen on giving them a second chance. Other Harbingers often called you out for being too soft, but you were the complete opposite of their former image of you right at this moment. 

Once you dismissed them, Pierro finally entered the room. All the Harbingers stood, waiting for Pierro to speak and commence today's meeting. Though Pantalone could give less a damn about the meeting, his eyes glued to your bruised, bleeding hand. You didn't give it much concern, but Pantalone has been itching to care for it, to clean the blood dripping down your hand and onto the table, to wrap it in bandages and kiss the aching pain away. 

When your eyes met, he saw your idle anger quickly dissipate into nothing and turn into guilt, and when you clenched your hand into a fist, you winced. It was as if the pain finally processed to your brain and only now you're aware of what had happened, glancing at the crater you'd punched onto the wall. The fact that these meetings usually took hours didn't quell any of Pantalone's worries and by the time the meeting has ended, you could barely feel your hand through the tingling sensations, and the blood as been dried onto your skin.

Pantalone wiped off the blood that caked your knuckles and your fingers with a wet piece of cloth, paying no attention to how his gloves were beginning to soak despite you insisting that you could clean it yourself. "Nonsense," He huffed through his nose, brows creased ever so slightly as he began to patch up knuckles, relieved nothing was broken. "Am I not allowed to care for my darling?" You flushed at the pet name, rubbing the back of your neck as you shook your head.

"No, but you don't have to dirty your hands for me..." You tried once more, wriggling your hand away from his, but you only hissed at the pain that struck your knuckles, and Pantalone huffed at your stubbornness, finally finishing up patching your hand up. "There, avoid using this hand too much."

Slipping off his gloves, his hands reached up to your face and cupped your cheeks, letting you lean against his touch as he pulled you close. He pressed his forehead against yours, your uninjured hand resting on his hip as his fingers caressed your face, a small smile on his lips. "Next time, please don't bottle up your emotions for too long, or something like this will happen..." Feeling you nod against him, he continued, "At least let it be in a different way if you don't want to talk about it..."

You raised a brow at his suggestion, your hand reaching to his back, nails grazing up to his spine and playing at the ends of his hair, leaning back to press a kiss onto his cheek. "How so?"

At that, Pantalone smiled widely, pulling away from you and taking both your hands into his, "Let's go shopping." You could only roll your eyes at his words, suppressing back a smile. "That's just an excuse to spoil me, dear." But Pantalone didn't let up, a pout now protruding from his bottom lip.

"But it would help you forget your worries, even for a single moment." He pleaded, tilting his head to the side, his eyes glittering as he placed kisses on your knuckles. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you half-heartedly glared at Pantalone and his ways of persuading you, but you could only sigh and give in. "I suppose you're right..."

Pantalone visibly brightened and stood up, lacing his arm around yours as he walked you towards your shared private chambers to get you dressed, listing down multiple stores he's been dying to bring you to, and all the things he wanted to buy for you. With a smile on your face, you listened to him with a nod of your head, the ache of your injured hand long forgotten.

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[ask-the-denalis]

Question directed at Tanya

Does your coven ever do anything with the animal carcasses after feeding on them?

Like idk do you ever just keep them for the fur? Sell the meat off? Or do you guys just let nature take care of it?

Also directed at Kate

Tanya says you wrestle with Bears? You ever keep a bear skin as a momento? Idk can't help but imagine the image of Kate the Great wearing a bear skin hood like Hercules and the lion hood/skin he wears of the lion he defeated

Greetings love,

and what a refined question indeed!

*eye roll*

There have been numerous occasions on which the fur has served a grander purpose - depending on its condition, naturally. Some of our most prized catches have been integrated into our home decor, while others have made for fine outerwear.

All courtesy of Carmen, of course.

Sure, leave out the important part: my 💪

However, we largely "let nature take care of it," as you so charmingly put it. ;3

Suck-up.

By leaving the carcasses to other predators, we help maintain the balance of the Alaskan ecosystem. It would be rather unwise to risk the extinction of those we rely on for sustenance, would it not?

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

Now, I would love nothing more than to engage a bit further but, regrettably, this request is not mine alone to address.

My sister has been eagerly awaiting her turn since the start of this all-too-brief exchange...

Fucking finally.

Yours truly, 💋

- Tanya, leader of the Denali coven

*

*

*

*

*

I gotta say, that image you painted there has me thinking, my bear-illiant friend…

Lord...

But yeah, I wrestle bears. Sometimes. No biggie.

(You´ve gotta kill time somehow when your lousy ass team decides to leave you hanging for naptime. Wimps.)

Or, well, as much "wrestling" as one can do with something that folds like a house of cards when you huff and puff a little. But hey, you gotta make do when your loving family deems you unworthy of their precious time, right?

Forgive me for refusing to serve as an outlet for your frustrations over that ghastly console.

As for that bear skin-

That chonky boy is sprawled out on my cozy king-size bed. You should come see it one day... 😘

And yet, I am branded the glutton...

Now listen, before any of you come after me with your useless little pitchforks: I got this beauty on one of my hunts. I usually make sure to leave most of their limbs intact otherwise.

As Tanya already said: I´m not that stupid.

I do not recall having said that...

Oh and, btw:

I´m so getting myself that hood on my next hunt.

Thanks, pookie 🐻!

Those abominable platforms rank among the most regrettable inventions of recent centuries...

Stay charged! ⚡

- Kate the Great

[who-knows130]

I was going to wait to post the second chapter of my rewrite until at least next Saturday but I couldn't help myself. I'm still trying to figure what day's I should but, here's the second chapter of my rewrite!

Chapter 2

On a cloudy day in O’Khasis. The jury Of Nine met in Zane's house. Today most of us would get new missions. Since everyone was back from their old missions.

“Lea, how are you doing kid?”

I turned around. To be met with Janus the Silver Death.

“I'm fine, Janus. How may you be doing on this fine day?”

As I said that, a loud crackling thunder spawned out of nowhere. How ironic.

“Hm, I'm alright.”

“What do you think your next mission will be?”

“Probably killing someone.”

In retrospect, that's an odd thing to say so nonchalantly. It's Janus though. He's like those kinds of thoughts you get in the most random places as a person.

“Lea, Zane requests your presence.”

I turned towards Lillian and nodded. I knocked on Zane's office door.

“Come in.”

I opened the door and walked in. Zane was seated on his stupidly lavish chair. It was practically a throne. His feet were up on his desk. While he was looking at papers. I stood straight and tall. A good posture goes a long way. Especially in a workplace.

“You called.”

“Lea, your next task isn't your usual one. I need someone to go to the village of Bright Port and talk with their Lord, O'Khasis is trying to get allies over in the area of Bright Port.”

“I am not meaning to be disrespectful when I say this, but wouldn't it be smarter to send one of your advisors?”

“It's not exactly your forte but it's an order.”

“When must I go?”

“5 days time.”

I nodded and walked out. I had no more use in staying anymore. That was the whole Jury meeting, at least this time. Jury meetings are odd. Sometimes it's just a calling of missions, reviews of missions, or reviews of performance. One meeting, Lillian and Ivy spiked the drinks. Zane got drunk. The most fun meeting of all. Very easily the most memorable. It started raining. Walking home without an umbrella Isn't the best. My hair was drenched. I opened the door to my house. I was freezing. I would need to warm up so I wouldn't get sick. I got out of my armor, cleaned up, dressed in warmer clothes and threw blankets on me. If I were to go to Bright Port in 5 days. I could….visit someone….

The bright Port area was somewhat close to Meteli. The village of Meteil was swampy, I hadn't properly visited Meteli. My brother lived there but whenever I saw him, it was in our home village. Their home village was named Neapolitan. Neapolitan was a village split up into three sections. Chocolate unit, where the farms and food shops are. Strawberry unit, where the library is located, schooling, Shops not related to food. Vanilla unit, generally where the rich people lived, and a blacksmith was located there. Neapolitan has gone to shit though. The old Lord randomly died and they got replaced by a pig for money, apparently. That's what I heard from letters.

I could go to Meteil and then get on a boat after visiting Davison. After all, I haven't seen him for a while. I got a map from the table. It's possible. If I were to use a boat to get to Meteil, that's be useless because I'd have to go around the region. I'd have to arrange a horse. I should probably pack too. Ughhh, I don't want to get out of the blankets. I ended up getting out of the blankets. To my dismay. They are the best blankets after all. I walked into my room. I'd have to pack clothes,(More so Pj's, I walk around in my armor most of the time) and etc. Now that I think about it, I'd pass by Kikrill. Which was a shabby small village. A village nonetheless, Kikrill did just lose its lord….not my doing! A-lot of villages have been losing lords as of recently.

I got my stuff into packs. At this moment, I wonder what my brother was doing. I also wonder if he has friends. My brother has developed a major drinking issue. I wonder….if he's been getting away from the bottle. The last time I saw him he was drunk enough to barely walk. It's difficult seeing my little brother like that. I still see him as a little kid. The defenseless little kid….the little kid I've beat the shit out of people for….I sighed quietly. What happened to my little brother…I know my relationship with Davison doesn't seem like the typical sibling bond. I do tease the crap out of him, it's funny. Being an older sibling, at least a good one. No matter how much you fight, Mock, or just K.O each other. You still care. Seeing each other in such a bad state…leaves a rotten taste in your mouth. I walked up to the table in the kitchen. I kept a picture on it. The picture of my family. Not extended, I'd need a bigger picture frame. My dad had 6 siblings. My mom had 4 but her family invaded like a plague. Also, I avoid them like the plague.

They are to put it simply. Way too much drama for my taste. The rain had seemed to stop. Which means I'd have to make it to the stables. Also means I need to put back on my armor….oh well! I did such and made my way towards the stables. The stable boy was cleaning up the stables. As a stable boy does.

“Do you need any help?”

The stable boy dropped his shovel in a panic. The shovel slamming on his foot.

“Oh my Irene, Wills. I'm sorry for frightening you. Is your foot okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Why are you here, Lady Lea?”

“I want to arrange a horse. I am traveling somewhere.”

“Alright, which one would you like? The usual?”

“Very much, Wills. Are you sure your foot is alright? You may not want to walk on it.”

“It hurts, but I'll have to manage…”

“I shall help! You relax your foot for a moment.”

Wills sighed and sat down. I picked up the shovel. I had horses growing up. I knew all about this crap. No pun intended. Something I happened to forget was the smell…oh well!

“Lady Lea, you really didn't need to do this.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Wills eventually took over shoveling again. I left. In the morning I came back, got the horse and packed it up. I led the horse outside the gates. As soon as I got out of O'Khasis. I hopped onto the horse. The horse was a Ru’uan Coin horse, just so you know. The forest was a common sight to see on my way. Eventually I made it to Kikrill. I let the horse drink and rest.

“Hey, you there. What's the best way to Meteil from here?”

The villager looked at me in terror. Obviously knowing my status as a person.

“Probably, South from here.”

“Thank you kind sir.”

The man trembled away. I let out a sigh and went back up to the horse. The only creature that didn't seem to run away in terror.

“How ya doin pretty thing?”

The horse neighed in response and went back to drinking the water. I laughed slightly and leaned against a wooden beam. I pulled out an Apple I packed for the horse. The horse looked at it and accepted it gratefully. Animals were kinder than most humans. If we are supposed to be the species with the most brain power, why do we use it to be cruel? It's stupid to be quite frank.

I got back on the trail, if you might say. Meteil was most likely still quite the ways away. If I'd had a hat, I would just lay back and take a nap. But I don't have a hat, nor a piece of straw. I'd gotten sick of the silence and started rambling on about things to the horse. Which seemed unbothered.

I wonder how Meteli is. The people must be different. How different, I can't say. It'd be funny if I met some creep there. I've had very few people try to court me. Not successful, I'm focused on my job as of right now. I want a relationship and a family eventually. Things are too complicated for that right now. If I had any more family, that means more danger…One day when I'm off the Jury, I'll have family. Unless I die beforehand. Sickness is awful and takes many people. Healing and medicine can only do so much.

I started to notice buildings in the far distance after hours of horse back. I must have finally made it to Meteli. No kidding, the swamp environment was no joke. The trees started to change the color of grass. There were interesting choices in building houses…holy Xavier, there was a shit load of people! These people started turning heads when I rode in. I hate crowds. It's so intense and there are so many people. Talking In Front of crowds is worse! What if you trip, or say a word incorrectly? Tomatoes get thrown. The worst fruit of all time gets thrown. Or lettuce, which is not watery. Broccoli is the superior vegetable! It's little green trees for Irene's sake. Who isn't happy when they think about it? I'm happier when I eat them cooked! Broccoli that is cooked and has some pepper on them, is the most fabulous of foods.

As well as-I need to stop discussing foods. I have problems in my head. I located a place to tie my horse. I was happy to get off the horse. My legs needed to move around. The horse happily agreed when I got myself of it and started eating the grass. It was time to locate my younger brother, Davison. Wherever he may live…because I don't know....

[baelpenrose]

Nihilus Rex 43: "Honest" Misunderstanding

Lash and Nils fight and make up after the relationship issues they've been having. co written by @canyouhearthelight

Nils

I was heading to my meeting with Lash, to speak again for the first time in weeks. I’d showered, and I’d been sure not to screw around with the pills for a few days.  

I had been too irritable with her. She was competent, in so many ways - more so than I was. I never should have guessed she was delicate - she had shown some issues I hadn’t, when seeing the results of our handiwork when we’d gotten our first kills, but she’d rallied fast enough, gotten back on the right track. I shouldn’t have underestimated her. I was the one with something to prove - the nepobaby who’d been doing this since I was a teenager more or less just to prove that I wasn’t just my father’s son.

I allowed myself a slight smile as I thought about that. My mother had always asked why I insisted on a shitty apartment, why I insisted on working on and off as a freelance techie or a paper-writer or a tutor at a margin that would have paid my tuition had I been forced to pay it myself, then poured it into rent and given away the excess. Jessie had seen something in me, and I wanted to prove to myself I had value independent of the silver spoon I’d been born with. Lash, God knew why, wanted to partner with me…Hell, I remember my father asking about why I avoided almost all the neighborhood kids, the answer was that none of them would have ever amounted to anything without the trust funds and I desperately needed to surround myself with people I could actually tolerate. 

I shrugged. I was getting distracted. I always did the first few days I went clean after a long drag on stims. That was probably a thing I should have talked to the therapist about, but my therapist had been too busy questioning my weird combination of Catholic guilt, desperation to prove myself, broad-strokes self-hatred and far-left anti-authoritarianism. 

The result was a thoroughly useless lack of diagnosis, a statement that she hadn’t felt fully qualified to give me a clear diagnosis, and a question that had rattled around in my brain for years. Had I escaped a diagnosis for a stigmatized mental illness because I was rich, white and erudite that I otherwise should have absolutely been treated for, or were most of those diagnoses fundamentally bullshit that existed to pathologize people who saw the issues with society? Contrary to what my father and several others seemed to believe, I actually was open to the former possibility; I was very aware of the possibility that I was, indeed, cuckoo for cocoa puffs insane, I just wasn’t convinced I was wrong. 

I drove to the cafe where I had agreed to meet Lash. I already had the thing with Weasel well underway, and I was hoping that Agent Watson would take the bait and fuck off once Weasel bit it - but if she didn’t we’d have to get creative. Come on, Fibbies, show up, deal with Weasel, and then let him bite it and then dig…

“Hey, Lash.” I sat down with her, as I usually did. “How’ve things been since…our fight?” 

It was a fight, right? We could call it that, publicly, at least. 

“I take it you’re over whatever you were pissy at me about?”

Apparently I was wrong.

“Pissy is not…” No, think. Somewhere in my brain I remembered my mother giving me advice regarding how to talk to Jessie. When it came to women and emotions, don’t ever tell them that they’re overreacting or that the way you handled a situation was fine or not obnoxious. I had a feeling that this should be an exception, but I also had a feeling my father would agree and my mother would tell me exceptions were not a thing, and for that reason alone I decided to ignore my gut. 

“Pissy,” I said, starting again, “is not how I intended, but I apologize. Yes, I’m over it. I wanted to get in contact fast for the sake of moving our project forward and thought something was more time sensitive than it was.” 

“You were upset with me because children died and I needed to save some. So yes.” She inhaled loudly. “You were, at a minimum, pissy. BY THE WAY” she whisper-shouted, “I down-graded it to ‘pissy’ because Ayanti was working with both of us. Otherwise I would have assumed you were fomenting insurrection with your pet gun nut.”

For fuck’s sake mom, I know you told me never to tell a date to calm down but what about when she’s shouting confidential information? Uh…fuck it face tank the bad. Ask for volume control, maybe? “Lash, your concerns are valid and understood, but also, keep your voice down we are in public.” I took a breath. “Also, pet? I trust our hunting enthusiast ‘friend’ as far as I can throw him. I fully expect we’re going to find some lovely camp knife in our collective back as soon as he’s able. Doing unto him first is going to be one of the steps of this little project.” 

“Doing him in how,” she hissed, somehow less reassuring than when she was semi-yelling. “How are we going to ‘do in’ your pet arms dealer? Mister ‘oh, get the Black Panthers and the KKK to agree?’.”

“Lash, why were we meeting up if you weren’t ready to…arms dealer?” I trailed off. “Hey…we’re gonna go to the funny not-at-all-low-budget-cyberpunk-hacker-layer now. We need to talk about the shit you just said.”

“What is there to talk about?” she spat. “You made all this clear the last time we were online with him. Oh, get your militant black peeps and your white gun nuts on the same page?”

I took a breath. “Okay, get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”  Where we can discuss this without being overheard. I prayed she’d just roll with it so we could get the conversation underway and stop making a scene - if only because any of these people around us might be informants. Might see the duo from the hospital and wonder what was happening. Might ask why they were talking about arms dealers. And then all that work with Weasel would be for nothing. 

Lash narrowed her eyes. “And I should go with you because..?”

“Because,” I said, trying very hard to remain calm. “We have business to discuss that we maybe shouldn’t be discussing in front of…possible rival startups.” Please, God, get the message, go back to talking in code. FUCK FUCK FUCK. 

She clearly got the message, because she nodded. “Makes sense. Are you going to be angry if I take a separate Uber? Mama will be upset if I can’t prove I wasn’t in the backseat with a boy.”

I blanked for a minute, trying to decode that cultural norm, flogging my caffeine and adderall-withdrawing brain to get it to switch gears faster, and finally gave up. “What?” 

“Mama knows we’re dating,” she scolded, almost in direct conflict with the way she had been actually scolding me earlier. “But if I come here and come home from somewhere farther away, Mama will want to know why.”

“Lash, I am sleep deprived as hell,” I opened. “Is the concept here that we are meant to be doing something in an Uber, that you are breaking up with me but can’t have your parents know, or that you need to keep up the impression that we aren’t doing something, like…what’s the impression we’re supposed to be giving here?” I hoped she wasn’t breaking up with me, I did love her, but in truth at this point the lack of need to dance around this mystifying crap probably wouldn’t change and as long as she remained on board with the overall plans, I could actually live with us remaining friends, even if I’d miss everything we did on top of that.

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike,” she muttered before staring me down and hissing some more. “Say Yes. Yes, I can take a separate Uber, yes, you understand that my mother will gossip - you do, you just don’t right now - and yes, we are just going to ‘the mall’ like any two little fourteen year olds without real lives.” Lash started rubbing her sinuses like she was getting a headache, but allergies were beyond my responsibilities.

“Yes. Please take a separate Uber. By all means. I grasp your mother will gossip.” I said, obediently. I didn’t know why I was asking - this was also a conversation for in private, and ideally between a rested, not-experiencing-withdrawal Nils and a less-pissed-off Elakshi. Pushing it right now was definitely a stupid thing to do.

“See you at the mall?” I asked, standing slowly. 

“ I should be there in… Uber says 25 minutes.”

“Works for me. We’ll talk there about that…contractor we hired for the project. I’m curious about his side hustle.” I said, hoping to hint to Lash that he wasn’t as fully my dog as she thought, give my more rested companion something to chew on over her Uber ride.

[ask-cthulhu-mythos-au]

Lore:

(Cthulhu's POV)

September 19, 1234

"Well Cthulhu, it looks like you've done so much sin... you're incapable of doing good," The doctor said uncertain.

He hates me too, he's probably gonna put me on something stronger than Fentanyl. Something to actually damage me.

He hands me a small box, maybe the size of a human pointer finger.

"Take one of those everyday. If you miss a day, stop taking them entirely till our next appointment.....in 6 months."

"Can I just take one now, and get this over with."

The doctor hesitated, "Actually yeah, you can."

I popped open the box of small pills. I swear, this σΗιτ was smaller than a fingernail, at least to me. The pill was the shape of a normal pill, thankfully, and had a off-white tint. I didn't hesitate taking it, I just wanted to make it was any kinda drug. I took the pill and immediately felt it 'working'.

"So, how do u feel?"

"Like I just took a ΦυςκιΝg pill (¬_¬)."

"Alright well, you're done today. You know what to do, have a day-"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up already," I opened the door letting myself out..I tipped the front desk lady...for some reason..even she thought it was weird.

~•••~

I sat on my couch depressingly.

Whatever. I guess I should just wait for Tsy to get home.

*Sigh* I grabbed my phone and opened social media. Nothing new, art, videos, more cultists tryna sacrifice their useless σΗιτ to me.

I feel bad. Maybe I should go apologize to Kthanid. I'M the reason he's about to kill himself. I told the Great Old Ones to help me. I destroyed my family. *Sigh*

I got up the off the couch and left out the door, on my way to Elysia. The fly there isn't super far, maybe quarter or half hour away. Φυςκ I don't even know what time it was when I got there. Maybe 2:45?

Anyway, I 'pulled up' to Kthanid's Palace,

KNOCK KNOCK.

That dumb βιτςΗ answered the door.

"What do you want?" Kthanid said angerily shoving me inside, knowing this wouldn't take a few minutes. I sat down on the couch.

"I'm sorry."

The room became cold, and quiet. Kthanid's expression changed. He went from annoyed to anger. I swear, he wanted to rip my face off.

"I'm sorry. Come again," he said annoyed.

"I'm sorry," I repeated calmly.

Kthanid stood up angrily, "OH YOU'RE ΦΥςΚΙΝΓ SORRY?! YOU'RE SORRY HUH?! WELL OF YOU WERE SO ΦΥςΚΙΝΓ SORRY YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TORN OUR FAMILY APART!"

I stood up too. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY ALL CALL YOU?! THEY CALL YOU A SWEET, INNOCENT, BEAUTIFUL, TREAURE!"

"SO?"

"THEY CALL ME A RUDE, DIRTY, UGLY, FAMILY DISAPPOINTMENT! SOMEONE WHO WILL BRING DISHONOR AND DISAPPOINTMENT TO OUR BLOODLINE!"

The air grew tense.

"Well they were right for the most part. You have an attitude problem, you were the first one in the family to use they're 'gift' the moment they got it-"

"You late bloomers. It was fun."

Kthanid rolled his eyes, "you're attractive enough to have mated with 3 different ladies. But you're always been a disappointment."

"Disappointment my @$$, at least I still have my damn family!"

Kthanids hands started glowing (usually signed as usage of power)

"C'mon Kthan! You wouldn't hurt your own family! Would you?"

"I don't know.. would I?"

Kthanid Lunges at me, I pushed him off quickly, not before getting a claw mark on my face.

The air became denser, I thought I would pass out. The blood from my nose starting gushing, rapidly, until I was loosing lots of blood. My legs became numb and fell back onto the couch. Kthanid sat back down too.

"Be careful. I don't think your delicate, cold-blooded, asthmatic lungs were made for the thick, warm, dense, killing air of Elysia."

I gasped for air, rapidly coughing. Hastur peaked our from the corner.

"H-hey Kth- OMG CTHULHU-SAMA YOU'RE HERE?! ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Hastur ran back into the bathroom grabbing an inhaler, gently giving it to me. He also got me a piece of gauze and some medical tape. I took my two puffs and gave the inhaler back to him.

"I don't need your help nerd."

"Don't call him that!" Kthanid stepped in.

Hastur whispered something to Kthanid.

"Oh- ya! Uh Cthulhu, you should go. I have something to do. I won't be back, and don't come back."

I sighed, again, again. I flew back down to R'lyeh, missing the VERY breathable air.

~•••~

"Hey, cu-ki (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)"

"TSY!" I run up to Tsathoggua, hugging the life out of him.

"Hey! Are you okay bb? Did something happen? Why are you being so clingy?"

I picked Tsy up and plopped him on the couch, sitting on his lap and told him about EVERYTHING.

"You're lucky to have Hastur there, I'm wlad yo'we okii neow though." *Forehead kiss*

I leaned into Tsa's chest, as he cuddled me, slowly falling asleep.

I had talked to Hnarqu about it the next day, and he told me that the damage I caused was wreck less, and unfixable. No one really could forgive me.

[rustycottoncandy]

I wanted to get myself to draw something, so here's a lazy little drawing featuring Jackie a few weeks post-Melody's death, pretty much just thinking about what she would say to her if she could!

She later writes it out in a letter aimed to her now deceased "friend", which you can see under the 'read more' thingie (TW: Murder):

“Dear Melody,

These couple of days have been... Strange, and quieter than usual. If you were here to see us, you'd be shaking your head at how much of a mess this has become.

I sort of miss you, but at the same time, I don't miss you. It's confusing, really. On one hand, I want to hug you and never let you go, as if you were some sort of... Giant stuffed animal or something, but on the other hand, I don't even want to be associated with you. Jesus, this is surreal.

Sometimes, I think of what happened and want to say “I told you”. I told you this would happen if we kept your stupid scarring thing up. And it did. It fucking did.

Was it really so hard to listen to me? To us? Did it have to take something so terrible for you to even think that your little idea might, and just might be a little too extreme? Unhinged, perhaps? Was it so hard to listen?

I suppose it was.

I remember looking at you at the moment and wondering, «is this it? Does it end here?»

Of course, I didn't want it to. Who would?

I remember hearing people yelling, screaming like crazy. I remember some cheering, too, and people leaving the place. At the same time it's like a blur. It doesn't matter now, it's in the past.

I used to look at you and think to myself that things would get better and, if not that day, then some day you would come to realize your flaws and work on them. That you would take off your blindfold. A strange delusion that told me that one day, I would have my Alice back, and that one day, we could smile again, and laugh genuenly, and that all the scabs across your body would reduce to scars and fade from the spotlight. But that didn't happen. There wasn't enough time for it to. You cut it from us.

Oh, and the guy that the lights chose that day? The teen that chose the initial's place on April 3rd?

They killed him just a few days ago. A bunch of people gathered and beat the boy in your name. In the name of Melody. It's disgusting, really.

I'm not sure if you're aware of how many lives you've taken away. Perhaps not directly, but that kid's not the only person that's gone with you. You know that, right?

I'm not even talking about now specifically. Even when you were still here, people would do stupid things to imitate you and your... Games or whatever you want to call it and slip up. They weren't exceptional cases, Melody. Of course, not all of them died, but they were still hurting themselves for... you. For what? *Because* of what? God— I know it's over, but it still angers me. Melody, if you know you've got millions of eyeballs on you, the last thing you should do is teach them to drag a blade across their bodies. I can't believe I have to say this in the first place, it is supposed to be common sense.

Maybe I should stop writing. You won't even read this thing, anyway. You can't. Talking to you now is useless.

Why am I doing this?”

[cleoselene]

I’m reading that old reddit thread about people regretting being parents and it is a DOOZY

I will say that on the flip side of these horror stories, I had an abortion and it was a very simple and easy outpatient procedure (this was pre-pill abortion, I had the vaccu-suck or whatever you call it lmao) and the worst it got was the next day felt like I was having a crummy period.  Otherwise it was fine.  Easy as far as medical procedures go.  They had a tv in the corner showing Jerry Springer.  I never had a single moment of doubt or regret.  That was 25 years ago this year, damn.  I love my niece and nephews, I love my roommate’s kid, too, but damn I am so not up to being responsible for the existence of a whole person.  Existence is a lot to put on someone who literally does not ask for it!

I made a post to this effect on facebook and my pregnant cousin took it personally.  She caused all kinds of drama.  I was like, bitch, why do you assume everything is about you?  To be perfectly honest I wasn’t even aware she was pregnant because I never look at her facebook since unfollowing it a few years ago when she started posting MLM bulslhit so I legit honestly was NOT talking about her.  And like, my friend @brittanysteakknight just had a baby and she didn’t take my post personally because she gets me.  Also, Brittany’s baby is hella cute like he came out perfect?  He doesn’t have that freaky ass baby look and like, my cousin’s baby looks like Dwight Eisenhower, like most white babies lmao.  idk if it’s even a boy or a girl she and i unfriended each other and i was like, good bitch.  she was annoying since birth, that one.  Annoying, spoiled little shit of a child, and an adult who shills MLMs when she’s already rich (like wow it’s bad enough when broke people are doing it out of desperation, why the fuck is your retired stockbroker’s wife ass doing this?), and apparently thinks everything I post is about her when literally none of it is.  Like, absolutely no thoughts of Karissa went into my head when I made any of the posts she claims were me sub-facebook posting her. I was literally talking about myself when I said that no child asks to be born.  I was being emo and dramatically posting lmao.  It happens I’m allowed to be emo.  

Also she got mad when I said parents are crazy to raise kids in Ron Desantis’ Florida if they have the means to move elsewhere and she got REAL butthurt about that.  But like, again, WAS NOT TALKING ABOUT HER, but was referring more to how my roommate homeschools his kid because he has the ability to, while like my own nephews don’t have that option because their mom works and my brother is fucking useless.  It’s a privilege to have the means to homeschool or move out of the state.  And she felt called out by me bringing this out I guess because she thinks everything is about her and maybe she has some residual guilt because guess what; she and her multimillionaire husband absolute have the means to either move or homeschool and they do neither.  so like, if she feels guilty about that, it’s not my problem, and also, stop thinking the world revolves around you!  literally this has always been her problem since she was a bratty little kid.  I remember her vividly at my cousin’s funeral loudly making grossed out noises when my uncle killed his dead son’s forehead.  Yeah.  She was a rotten kid and she’s a rotten adult.  Being rich also apparently doesn’t make you happy because she is mad insecure for someone who claims I’m jealous of her life (lol -- this accusation was PUZZLING.  she is both married and has three children, there is nothing about her life that appeals to me.  Not for all the money in the WORLD)

anyway lol all of this to say that abortion has a very low regret rate.  but the suicide rate for women who give children up for adoption is pretty significant.  abortion is usually described as satisfying health care that provides relief.  and like, I think it should happen in only really important cases, like when a woman is pregnant and she doesn’t want a kid

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (966): Tue 12th Nov 2024

There’s a website called Superprof where you can get private lessons from tutors on a wide range of subjects. I’ve been wanting to get into cartooning for a while but there aren’t that many cartooning schools in Sunderland…well there are six of them in Hendon but I’m not going there as it’s so dilapidated and laden with crime it might as well be in Afghanistan. I’d also like to start making YouTube videos but not featuring myself taking to camera, rather just making presentation style videos about stuff I find interesting and sharing them (something like OSW Review or Savox’s videos) but I literally wouldn’t know where to start with something like that. Tragically when I went on Superprof and tried to type in "YouTube videos" in the search bar to find tutors proficient in the subject it yielded zero results. Seriously? There is not one person on this fucing website who is offering lessons on how to create content on YouTube? Making videos on YouTube is literally all anyone does for money these days. Making videos on YouTube is the new going to the police and telling them you got touched up by Jimmy Saville. Anyway I'll have to pick a subject I'd like to learn and give one of these tutors a message because I’m nearly forty so I think I should probably try to develop at least one skill before I die. This morning I watched the film A History of Violence. I can definitely remember watching this film before I just couldn’t remember a fucking thing about it. I assumed because it was based on a graphic novel that it must have some sort of complicated revelation that happens and while it does go off in a different direction to what your anticipating it’s not all that complicated. It’s about a former gangster who one day is forced to kill two villains to save his family, this makes the news and his old gangster associates track him down. When they offer him the chance to come back and he refuses they decide to try to kill him. I sometimes forget that Vertigo comics usually aren’t superhero comics and also don’t usually have intricate, complicated plots but rather the appeal is in carefully written dialogue and characters which A History Of Violence has in spades. What I love is that even though we see the main character Tom / Joey revert back to his violent ways (albeit in self-defence) we never get to see him fully let go so we’re left wondering just how depraved was he during his time in the underworld if this is him holding back. One drawback of the film is that the villains,although physically imposing and well written are a bit fucking useless. There are three sets of adversaries in this movie and every time each one of them attempts to attack or kill Tom / Joey he literally just side steps them and shoots them dead. I think the Putties from Power Rangers were more durable than these fucking losers.

[nathank77]

11/23/24

2 p.m I keep talking cause my life is worthless

1:16 p.m Added to Significantly 1:30 p.m-Added to even more bc my life is legit SHIT

I ended up falling back to sleep around 6 a.m.. I think...i had this dream where Riley was with skye and Liv, my mother is kinda a background character in this dream not really there but she was there, idk how to explain it... and I was trying to rehome Riley.. and I was trying to talk. I accidently touched her and she rubbed up against me 3 times and everytime I was like now i got to wash my hands, now I got to change my pants, now I got to change my hoodie and wash my hands again. And I was saying this to skye and Liv. And I started losing my voice like horseness it was squeaking. That's when I woke up thinking that I actually lost my voice.....

I wonder why I had this dream? Bc I'm not being heard. Bc my family doesn't care about me. Bc no one hears me. And I'll prob waste the rescues time bc skye and Liv will prevent me from letting them take her....

I'm dreading Thanksgiving... I mean I'm better off not talking and just eating. They don't care about my thyriod. They don't care about rileys health.. they don't care about my health. They are walls in terms of communication and I mean what am I supposed to talk to them about? Movies... I can't even watch a movie with my mother without Riley being in the fucking crate which is unacceptable to everyone!! Her being in the crate for me is this huge deal to everyone. But when they need to put her in the crate who fucking cares.

I'm going to be a ghost at the table. It's not much different than usual... but it's worst bc Riley is this huge fucking problem bc my mother, sister and liv are fucking idiot.

Also I guess my sisters thyriod is going hyper and her markers are showing cancer potentially... aka she grew nodules..... My mother is all concerned. Why do we care about skyes thyriod????? I have nodules too that may be cancer... I actually almost went hyper.. but no one cares about my fucking thyriod at fucking all.

I got maybe 5 hours max in Total. It was an awful night. My hallucination is worse cause God forbid I get 7 hours.

I went to the gym and did leg day.... my abs didn't hurt today so I did two new ab workouts but only one of them i completed to 3 sets. The other i only did one set. I wanted to be careful. It was a machine... the other was a new one with no machine assistance and I liked it bc it didn't put pressure on my back or neck.. but it did put pressure on my legs and of course my legs were tired after everything I did before I did the workout. I got to find a few workouts like this one bc almost all ab ones cause pain in some inconvenient area. But this one was pretty nice.

I may do dumbbell day tomorrow if my arms feel fine bc my workout yesterday caused no pain and generally felt useless... it wasn't but it's been 3 days since I did my arms counting today bc i really took it easy on back and bicep day. If they don't feel 100% I'll go Monday..

Beyond that my mother is the bathroom cunt and yells at me all the time so I always want to escape... today I came home from the gym and i needed to poop and this is my second time in a week shitting in a bag in the kitchen cause she was doing her hair....... yelling at me about always being in the bathroom... when I was gone for 2 hours at the gym...

Skye, liv and her are going to a restaurant today leaving me out completely... go figure bc I don't fucking matter. I wasn't even invited.

I want to die. I don't see the point in being here and I keep thinking about that dream and Riley and worrying about sleep and just feeling like I don't matter to anyone and maybe i should kill myself when they are out today so no one can "save" me.

[askstorybrookehq]

Out of character

Name/nickname: Ellen/Dragonbat

Your Birthday + Birthyear: February 23, 1972

Timezone: Eastern (GMT-5)

Activity level on a scale of 10: 8

Triggers: None found yet

—

In character

 age: [BIRTHDAY + ZODIAC]: Well, that’s rather a rude question, Dearie! I suppose, I must be approaching three hundred, though I present in my mid-fifties. I was born on the winter solstice, the twenty-first day of the twelfth month, which would put me on the last day of Sagittarius,

height: 1.73 meters or approximately, 5’7”

build: slight

eyes color: brown or gold, usually

hair: It was blond in my youth, darkened to brown, and now has a bit of grey in it. But really, dearie, all of this is rather useless, since it doesn’t even take a full glamour spell to touch up as needed

 5 STATS: for example happy, fierce, brave, passionate, outgoing can be both positive or negative: Organized, farsighted, acerbic, intelligent, introverted

A quote that fits your character (can be a book quote or song lyric be creative): On my own end, I am reminded of something which I, myself, have never forgotten: it is a constant struggle not to become what others believe you to be. And if they believe you to be evil, you sometimes need to ask yourself, “Why bother fighting it? Be the evil they see in you. Do unto them – and with great fury.” Anyone half-sane mind needs to ask: Why are you battling to hold back the instincts which scream for you to lash out, to attack, to be the monster they claim you are? Why don't you hurt them before they kill you for “being” something you’re not?

  Jeff Mach, There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN: A Dark Lord's Diary: (A Memoir and Manifesto For Villains and Monsters) (p. 132). FastPencil Publishing. Kindle Edition.

RUMPLE is TAKEN by ELLEN/DRAGONBAT

  A para example (2 paras) about your character: I’m not sure what more you want of me dearie. It’s been my experience that to be open is to be vulnerable and to be vulnerable is to be hurt. Not how I operate. I am Rumpelstiltskin, and should you require my assistance, as you inevitably will, it shall be yours… but it’ll cost you, dearly, dearie, and pay it you shall.

They say that riches will never buy happiness, but power brings comfort and security. To one of my background and history, there are days when that is very nearly enough.

[terabithiak1ng]

I want to give up

I can't stand it anymore, I feel weaker and more miserable every time I lie down in my bed, listening to my mother whining as if she were dying but she's just being sensitive to a flu.

Sometimes I feel like I have predetermined schedules, I just get up, go to school during the week and then come back. But on the remaining days I tend to feel useless, where I don't have energy even to draw, and I just want to sleep, but at the same time I don't want to because it would just be a waste of time.

And then there are the yelling days, where my parents tend to get angry and shout at me trying to refer to my sisters, I usually think 'It's not my fault that they had so many children' or I think about pushing them out of the house and locking the door, leaving me alone. Once I was so angry that I hid my dad's cigarettes when he went to the store, then after a while before going to school I just left them in plain sight, he was also yelling at me, asking me for the keys, I replied that they were on the kitchen table and he told me "YOU SAY IT AS IF THEY SHOULD BE THERE AND NOT ON THE KEYCHAIN". Usually I just repress it by thinking things, but there are times when I just start crying, and that makes me weak. I don't want to be weak.

Killing myself would be the easy path, but the hardest at the same time, is my fear of doing it stronger, does that make me weak? I don't know... More than once I have been shouted at why I am alive if I am useless, I just nod a little and look away avoiding giving an answer.

I usually talk to some classmates to help me with my self-esteem issues, and all they have done is make them worse. I don't even want to go to school now, I just want to sleep, sleep and sleep, but at the same time, no, because I fear not waking up. Last night I had an interesting dream, I want to know how it ends, at the same time I don't, I need that dream to continue, because I felt happy... But it's just a dream, it's fiction created by my confused mind about what is real and what is not.

Who are my real friends? Who am I... What am I. I have been deeply confused during this time, having to go from the town to the city and from the city to the town.

I just want to be calm, without constant pressure of being someone.

[andtheghost]

01/09/24 - A map that might never get used

I feel like I’m running out of time. And I’ve felt like that quite a few times over the last few years but this time it feels different. And then I try to figure out if it always feels different but for some reason I can’t remember. But it just feels like something somewhere in me broke loose and it’s just floating around and it’s making its way to some vital organ and when it finds it, it’s just gonna slice through it and fucking end me.

I think I needed his talk today. It’s actually something I’ve been thinking about a lot. My inability to stick to anything. But also the recent realization that it’s OK if I don’t have a ‘personal style’ as an artist or whatever kind of creator thing I may be.

Everyone is all about finding their style or a technique that speaks to them or something. Which is fine, if that’s what you want to do and it makes you happy. But a lot of artists talk like not being able to develop a personal style or not having the style that’s in their head represented in their actual art, is some kind of failure.

And I’m over here, not able to stick to any single medium for more than a month.

I want to try sculpture. I keep getting this idea of using wire and building an armature using papier-mâché over it. Just something crazy and big and organic. I want to make something that takes up a whole room. Turn the room into a maze. And I want to try making candles and making clothes. Not even just the shirts, but I think it would be really cool to get a plain jean jacket and paint the back and the shoulders then make a bunch of cloth patches to put down the arms and the front.

I guess I have developed a style of sorts. Messy and throw together. Chaos. Which makes perfect sense actually because that describes part of me pretty well.

It’ll probably never make an aesthetically, pleasing body of work, but it’ll be all me. Or not.

Which is the other thing he mentioned, that we’re like wells. That people come for the water and they take what they need and they’ll see you through whatever lens they see you through. He says you’re the universe expressing itself. I prefer the term channeling. So me not being able to stick to something is maybe because everything is going through all at once all the time? Or maybe I’m just looking too far into it. Turning a weakness into something positive. Maybe my inability to follow through is just the price I pay for that? Or maybe I can learn to have some control over it?

But as of right now, I don’t know how to answer those questions and I think I should just accept it for the time being.

What I usually do is try to power through and finish something that I just have no interest in anymore and I kill my creativity for the next month. So maybe I should just let it go and move onto the next thing and leave 1000 different little unfinished projects behind me. Which is really what I end up with anyway. I don’t really see any difference except if I just keep going with whatever I want to do I’m not going to have those bouts of empty nothingness in between where I stare at the wall all day and feel useless and sorry for myself.

But it still feels inherently wrong to just leave things behind and not even try to finish them. Or maybe I’ve been taught that’s wrong by people who benefit from me being stuck. Constant productivity. If you don’t finish, you’re just wasting time. I wonder who came up with that idea.

I want to be honest about it. I want people to know it’s OK to not finish. Of course I could be wrong and I don’t really want to mislead people but I don’t know. I think it’s really the process that matters right? I can kind of see it coming together I think. I am a disaster for a reason.

I don’t need to go south, but I do want to.

Anyway. I still feel like I’m running out of time. So I’ll use whatever time I have left sharing everything I can as uncensored as possible and know that the people who need it will find it when they’re ready for it.

I’m not sure if I’ll go to Florida. I want to and I feel like it’s the right thing to do, maybe, but also I’m not sure. And if I am running out of time, am I going to regret not leaving when I’m dead? I doubt it. But I’m pretty sure the very few people who care about me would be upset if I were 1000 miles away when I died. So I don’t know anymore.

Also I’ve felt like this before. Kind of.

What if my heart beats for another 40, 50 years but I never live a second of it because I’m always thinking it’s the end?