#and instead of feeling the production’s insecurity

[kerrste]

Quick sketch cause I watched the first movie yesterday

[qoldenskies]

I feel you with the mental health issues. I had a breakdown today over an objectively small problem. One nap later and I'm still a bit melted. My return to humanity will be slow

i honestly just kind of listen to my gut and my, like, two month long feeling of anticipation (/pos) crashed into anticipation (/neg) and now im suddenly expecting something bad to happen for such a small meaningless reason that shouldn't realistically have that much weight im just weird LOL

idek what i was expecting before. i kept thinking SOMETHING was going to happen but now its been replaced by like. ive fallen off. ive not made anything worth talking about and my work is useless forEVERRRRRR and i bet in like a day or two im gonna be me like Man what the fuck was that. Anyway

[seeminglyseph]

having now read the manga one of the funniest things to me now is watching people talk about Sugishita's hair when watching the anime and assuming he's like. a raggedy man with split ends who doesn't do shit with his hair or whatever. And the reality is the man gets hair treatments once a month???? he just hates tying it up.

This is not a raggedy man with untamed hair, this is a vain motherfucker with long luscious locks of hair he refuses to tie up, cut or hide.

That long hair is a risk in a fight and a sign of cockiness and indulgence because he still loves that long hair enough to keep it and maintain it.

That's the opposite of the raggedy neglectful long hair trope. this delinquent has long hair because of hard work and effort. That hair's probably healthier than I am.

[xjulixred45x]

I could't contain myself guys sorry--

Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?

just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.

Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.

He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.

Like:

Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-

Darling: it was me sir.

Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?

He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.

and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.

Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.

I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.

Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.

Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.

Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)

If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?

(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)

When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.

When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[parfaitblogs]

i knew it, i know you ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your boyfriend comes to find you amidst radio silence, and you finally let out all your frustrations and insecurities. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst tags: ambiguous ending. certified overthinker reader. effie trinket would hate you for what you do to mahogany. argument. they yell at each other. everyone is angry n mean. :(. word count: 3k a/n: me when fine shyt starts flirting but i've already convinced myself everything he says is a genius manipulation technique that i need to outsmart before he adds me to his list of gullible weak victims. this was a vent piece from like 3 weeks ago. still relevant. love u.

You'd be a very successful magician. Vendors and patrons would move Earth just to see your disappearing act in person, to see if it's as brilliant and mind boggling as people say it is. If you were as talented as rumours say.

You'd say so.

A flickering lamp illuminates mahogany. Mahogany you hadn't cleaned in weeks. Mahogany you hadn't sat at in weeks. A thin layer of dust tells the story of how it sat untouched. Neglected. It's wondering of when you were coming home. If you were. If you'd ever swipe a rag over it again, lay down a tablecloth, set it with silverware you only have one set of. 

You would. You would. You promised you would. You placed a hand on it when you left that odd Thursday and whispered you'd return eventually. A silent deal with yourself you'd never get rid of it. Spoken aloud when you inherited it from grandparents now deceased. Then, swept up in an ill fated fairytale that kept you from coming back to it. Another table, not quite as nice, not nearly as expensive, discovered the lines of your palms amidst debate. The edge of your elbows to hold up forkfuls of food. Your thighs, pressed up against the sides. Attention given to something cheaper, and the dust sprites atop this table taunt you for it. 

You're not staring at it, though. Transfixed, instead, on how the lamp barely provides light for the rest of the apartment. Cautioning on the side of blowing any second now. You'd be thrust into darkness so fast you wouldn't know how to react. Maybe you'd stumble around a bit; try to find your phone for a light. Maybe you'd sit in the black. Let the air still, seeping into your bones until you are as good as air that does nothing. Perhaps you already are. 

You don't get the chance. 

Somebody's fist raps against your front door. You know who. It's politely quiet, but eagerly fast. Seeking you out quickly after seven damp days of radio silence, to find if you've died or not. 

You should be hastier. A soon to follow knock announces that for you. Yet, you're a soul on the ceiling, watching an uninhabited sack of skin walk towards the banging fist, turn the door handle, and let an uncomfortable flood of light into the apartment. 

He must recognise the hollowness in your eyes, because he doesn't say anything as he enters your apartment. A quip about how you didn't invite him in manifests on your tongue, but then you remember he doesn't know there's a problem between you two. 

"What a joyous apartment you have," he says, flicking the light switch to light up the rest of your neglected apartment. The last book you were reading found on the edge of your couch, face down and open, the spine creased beyond repair. A glass once full of water now sits empty — evaporated — on the kitchen counter. A duffel bag of two people's mixed clothes and travel sized shower products on the floor next to your feet. 

"What're you doing here?" you ask him, feet firmly planted in the entryway. You couldn't move even if you wanted to. 

He does, though. He freely moves around and it's as if no time has passed. He is more at home in your apartment than you have been all week. Guiltily, you feel resent well in your stomach. How dare he come in and act as though nothing has happened?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know. You repeat the mantra until he speaks again, for it is not his fault you are upset over something you made up in your head. A narrative only the worst parts of your brain can entertain. 

"Well, you disappeared for a week," he states, palms pressed against your kitchen bench as he leans against it. "I got worried."

"Why?"

What a stupid, stupid question to ask him. 

"Because you disappeared for a week," his words come out tantalisingly slowly, as if he's trying to explain to a toddler. Perhaps he is. As old as you are, you seem to feel like the five year old who resides inside you more often than not. Pathetic sentiment. 

"Forgive me for not being a constant presence in your life," you say. It isn't meant to bite, but your tone of voice comes out too sharp for it to not, and he is all too quick to catch it. 

"Sorry?" 

You freeze. Time stands as still as it has all week. The light bulb of your desired lamp blows, and you distantly hear it pop. It no longer matters; your overhead lights are on, courtesy of the man standing before you. You feel plunged into the dark anyways. 

"I didn't mean that. Sorry," you deflect, and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes is sent his way. Not that you look at him. Too afraid of what his eyes will say to yours if you lock them together, you keep your gaze on your couch. 

"Yes you did."

Well, fuck, Spencer. Guess you know everything there is to know about everything. 

You accept the defeat. "Yes I did."

"Explain, please?"

Wordlessly, you shake your head, and the inside of your cheek finds its way between teeth. "It's mean."

"Then be mean."

"No. I—I can't," you shake your head. "It doesn't really matter."

His lips press together, and you can feel the nausea in your stomach churn. "It doesn't matter?"

Your head shakes again, "Mm-mm."

"Well, great. You've got an issue with me that causes you to disappear for a week, but it's all good because it doesn't matter?"

Oh.

"I don't have an issue with you," you lie, but God forbid you do such a thing in front of a profiler. 

"You do. Clearly, or else you wouldn't be this hostile with me. What have I done?" he's gotten off the kitchen bench. He's closer to you. Or, maybe, he's just risen his voice, and he hasn't moved an inch. 

You're entirely not present enough to figure out which it is. 

"Spencer, you haven't done anything. It's all stuff inside my head," you shake your head, again, and it's done so violently you can feel the contents of your brain shake within your skull.

No you can't. No you can't. You're imagining that to worsen your own feelings. Nobody can feel that. Everything inside of it is so loud, and Spencer is no longer Spencer. Rather, a lifeless, faceless entity occupying your apartment. You don't even recognise him. 

"Then tell me what's inside your head, honey, please—"

He doesn't even sound like Spencer anymore. 

"—It's so mean. I can't."

You don't sound like you.

"Then be mean!"

"You're exhausting to be around!" 

You snap, and he falls silent. For once, he doesn't have something to respond with. You're grateful, somewhere inside of you. The same place the urge to backtrack and try to make things alright again comes from. You're usually ruled by that place. 

Today, you are not. 

"You are so exhausting to know. I am so fucking exhausted. I spend my life jumping through hoops to get you to talk to me, to notice me. I mean, you only care when I'm doing exactly what you want. Naked. You only care when it's convenient. When there is nobody else there to satisfy you, nobody you actually want, you will call for me. Right? You have to fill the hole in your heart somehow. Your stupid, incessant need to have somebody there at all times. Why can't you sit with yourself? Alone? You grew up alone, right?" 

It's such a mean thing to say. For a second, you're outside your ablaze mind, and instead watching you say all these awful things to the man you claim to love. Love. How could you possibly love anyone you speak to like this? "You've been alone before. You can't be alone some more?" he's taken steps towards you, and gentle hands on your waist have you inhabiting your body once again. You're crying. Warm, fat tears falling down your face, but he doesn't try to wipe them away. "Why am I just a piece in a—in a fucking chess game? Does that analogy make it make sense for you now, Spencer? You are playing me like chess. How fucking dare you!"

So much of your energy is exerted into pounding your fists against his chest, and he just lets you. Every word you spoke corresponding with another hit. He doesn't do anything until you exhaust yourself, and your hands fall limply by your sides again.

Then, he speaks, in a voice so calm you think you imagined your outburst. "What have you found?"

"What?"

"What have you found?" 

"Nothing," panic rises in your chest. "I—I don't understand why I had to have found something—"

"—This isn't coming from nowhere," he observes. Then, it clicks. His understanding of your brain coming to the forefront of his mind. "Unless it is. All this talk about my inability to be alone, did I leave you alone for too long? Is that where this is coming from? Are you spiralling and making up a narrative about me and then, evidently, taking out your frustrations at a made up problem on me?"

"No," your voice strains. "I mean, I did find something, but it's stupid now."

"It's stupid now," he parrots, condescendingly. "Stupid as in, you think you're going to be ridiculed for being upset about something valid, or stupid because it is not valid at all?"

"That's—you're being mean," you stammer, but even as you say them, the words sound unjust. 

He must laugh mockingly, or maybe he's belittling you with it. Unkind words being thrown, and now you're trying to make him the bad guy. What a breathtaking reveal of your expert victimisation.

"I'm being mean?" his tone is incredulous. "Me? Coming from the girl who said I'm, what, exhausting to be around? To know? I'm the mean one?" 

Yeah, okay, you deserve that.

"You're invalidating what I'm saying—"

"—I'm regurgitating your own words back at you!" he snaps. "You said it was stupid. You. Not me."

Let me speak. "Spencer—"

"—The latter, then. You're embarrassed to admit that."

Let me speak. "Spencer—"

"—Whatever it is you found, I don't care. I can't imagine you've found anything."

You stare at him, waiting. Waiting for him to continue, to berate you some more, to offend you so deeply you can find a real reason to be upset with him. Right now, there is nothing but overthinking his gestures, and blowing things out of proportion. 

"It's little things."

"Little things," he clarifies. 

"Yeah."

You hear him sigh. He's exasperated. "I'm gonna need more than that."

"Like—like..." you're stammering again, your brain folding over itself to find something you can bring up to him that doesn't sound utterly insane. You aren't insane. 

Right?

"Like when I left early the morning after sex for work?" he cuts in, and your chest tightens. Not because his words are mean — though, they are — but because they are true. "Did you think I didn't want you anymore? Or when I didn't call you back for two days because I was on a case? Those little things?"

"I guess."

"Right," he nods. "So, again, did I leave you alone for too long you spiralled into making up narratives about me?"

"They're not narratives—"

"—You've wholly convinced yourself I am a bad person!" you flinch at how loud his voice is, and for a moment, he pauses. He softens, his tensed arms relaxing, and he's sure to take a comforting step back from you. "You're so sure of this idea that I am using you for sex, and I don't want you for anything else, and only when I am bored, or lonely," still silent, he studies your face for a reaction. Whatever he finds mustn't satisfy him, because he continues. "I don't text you constantly because I don't want to be overbearing. I don't hierarch my friendships by how often I talk to someone. Rather, by what I spend my time with them doing. Being with you is so easy. I love being with you. Yes, I like having sex with you too, because I am attracted to you, and that's something we've established. If that has changed, and this is a long, winding way to tell me that, then please—"

"—It hasn't changed," you're quick to correct him.

"Okay," he nods again, firmer this time. "Then, I don't understand why you can't just talk to me. Why can't you just talk to me? Why do I have to be insulted before you communicate with me? It feels almost unfair."

It is unfair. You know that. The thought appears in your brain every single time an insult flies out of your mouth. 

Yet, you can't stop. 

"You're ridiculing me right now. Why do you think I can't communicate with you? You make me feel small. Like—like my feelings aren't valid, and I'm crazy! Am I crazy? Do you think I'm crazy, Spencer? Do you hear me say all these things I think about you and go, fuck, this girl is a psycho? You must. Or else you wouldn't be here," there's a look of recognition behind your eyes that scares him. Your lips twitching, a sardonic laugh leaving them. "You find it fascinating, don't you? Figuring out my brain. Why I do the things I do, why I feel the way I feel. I have a brain you can psychoanalyse for your sick pleasure, so of course you don't leave!"

"No. That's not why I'm here," he speaks so calmly, and you know you've touched a nerve. You feel bad, somewhere. Outside of this untouchable blackout, you're apologising to him. Over, and over, and over. 

"I'm here because I like you," when you open your mouth to mock him, he cuts you off, "did you know I think about you constantly? Everything I do I think of you. I find books I've read in stores, and think of you, and how you'd love them. I see posters for movies I have no desire to watch, but consider asking you to go see them because you mentioned liking the lead actor in passing. Every case, I am picking up the phone on the first ring in case it's you asking how it's going. I care so deeply for you, and this is confusing me a lot, hurting me a lot, because I didn't realise you weren't aware of that. But I can't reassure you every week that I do like you."

You stare at him. "Then you don't really know me. I said really early on that I'm insecure."

"I didn't think it would be this bad."

This bad. 

"It's not my fault you can't step outside yourself."

This bad.

Your chest aches, and you can feel every single familiar feeling in your body dissipate. Once again, just a sack of skin standing in the centre of your apartment, looking at a boy who has so much distaste for you in this moment, his anger is silent. 

Quietly you murmur, "Then I can't do this."

"Yeah," he breathes. "Me neither. You're exhausting too."

And then he's gone. 

Silence. 

There is so much silence when you are alone like this. His final words echoing in your brain, following your conscience down to the depths of it. Ruminating beneath years — decades — of mistreatment, insults. Every single layered brick that built the person you are today rotting in the pit of your brain, with the last thing Spencer Reid ever said to you, fresh; hot. 

He left, and you're stuck with the silence of your apartment. The door that fell shut taunting you, for it was the last thing you possess to feel the touch of his hands. Gentle hands that used to hold you as you cried like this, letting you soak his skin with tears and then taking you out to the rooftop to watch the stars. Loving hands that used to push buttons you never knew to exist until he pushed them, emitting sounds you didn't know you could make until he emitted them. Kind hands, that would hold your waist when in a crowd of people; your face as he kissed you. 

You pick yourself up off a floor you don't remember falling to, stumbling over feet too fast for your brain, trying to get away from here. Here, where he yelled at you, and you; him. Here, where he told you your brain is too bad for him to deal with. Here, where he left you. 

You find your bathroom.

Uncomfortable, fluorescent lighting blinds you as you find solace in the cold tiling; the chipping painted cabinetry. Trembling hands fish your phone out of your pocket, and you stare at the black screen on the device for so long you must go insane. Burning the barely there image of your teary face into your mind, going over every single thing he said to you tonight. Every single cruel thing you said. 

Guilt creeps up on you, twisting its way through your gut and up to your throat. Choking you, until you're gasping for air, eyes wide. 

"No," you stutter, the word leaving your lips too many times, your head spinning. Fingers burying into your hair, phone clattering to the floor. "No."

At some point, sobs calm down, and tears dissipate. You find your footing within yourself again, furniture becomes furniture again, objects are objects. Your brain is no longer closing in on itself. 

You unlock your phone and find his contact. 

It rings for minutes. Probably only seconds. So loud in the silence of your apartment, and every ring inches open the door of regret. 

The line clicks. Quiet follows.

Quiet, not silence. Though you are breathing heavily to yourself, you are not alone with your thoughts, and it is not the only sound you can hear. 

There, through the phone, you can hear him breathing too. 

[rainydetectiveglitter]

What Not to Do Based on Your Chiron Placement

Chiron represents our deepest wound and the part of us that feels unhealed, rejected, or insecure no matter how much we try to “fix” it. Instead of embracing and working through this pain, many people unconsciously overcompensate, self-sabotage, or fall into toxic patterns.

I've been thinking about Chiron a lot lately lol and have been diving deeper into it. If you’ve ever wondered why certain issues keep showing up in your life, your Chiron placement could be the key. It might reveal where you're unintentionally making things worse.

So here’s what not to do based on your Chiron’s house placement. Take what connects, leave what doesn’t.

Chiron in the 1st House (Aries)

❌ What Not to Do:

Create a false persona to hide insecurity.

Brag or exaggerate to feel superior.

Constantly compare yourself to others.

Let self-doubt stop you from being authentic.

💡 The Mistake: Trying to “prove” you’re important instead of embracing who you are.

Chiron in the 2nd House (Taurus)

❌ What Not to Do:

Base your value on money, status, or possessions.

Hoard wealth or fear spending out of insecurity.

Self-sabotage financially because you feel undeserving.

Believe that financial success = personal worth.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking material security will fix inner insecurity.

Chiron in the 3rd House (Gemini)

❌ What Not to Do:

Over-explain or talk over people to sound smart.

Fear speaking up because you doubt yourself.

Interrupt conversations to prove your point.

Assume no one understands you, so you stay silent.

💡 The Mistake: Believing you have to “perform” intelligence instead of trusting your natural voice.

Chiron in the 4th House (Cancer)

❌ What Not to Do:

Stay stuck in toxic family patterns out of obligation.

Cut off family without processing your emotions.

Believe you’ll never create a loving home for yourself.

Seek comfort in nostalgia instead of healing old wounds.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking you can either erase your past or be trapped by it—when the real power lies in healing it.

Chiron in the 5th House (Leo)

❌ What Not to Do:

Seek validation through performance or creativity.

Avoid creative risks out of fear of rejection.

Compare yourself to others and feel inadequate.

Pretend you don’t care when deep down you do.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking you need applause to be worthy when true creativity is about self-expression, not approval.

Chiron in the 6th House (Virgo)

❌ What Not to Do:

Work yourself to exhaustion to prove your worth.

Obsess over routines or control every detail.

Fear structure and avoid responsibility.

Believe you’re only valuable if you’re useful.

💡 The Mistake: Tying your self-worth to productivity instead of valuing yourself as you are.

Chiron in the 7th House (Libra)

❌ What Not to Do:

Seek constant validation from relationships.

Fear intimacy and push people away.

Let relationships define your self-worth.

Stay in toxic partnerships just to avoid being alone.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking someone else will complete you when true healing starts within.

Chiron in the 8th House (Scorpio)

❌ What Not to Do:

Fear vulnerability and avoid deep emotional connections.

Use power or manipulation to control others.

Obsess over betrayal and hold grudges.

Avoid intimacy because of past wounds.

💡 The Mistake: Believing power comes from control when true strength is found in trust and surrender.

Chiron in the 9th House (Sagittarius)

❌ What Not to Do:

Play the guru or act like a know-it-all.

Overcompensate with degrees, travel, or “big” experiences.

Dismiss other perspectives out of insecurity.

Give up on searching for meaning out of fear you’ll never find it.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking external knowledge will replace internal wisdom.

Chiron in the 10th House (Capricorn)

❌ What Not to Do:

Define yourself by success or status.

Fear failure so much that you don’t even try.

Chase validation through your career.

Let others’ opinions dictate your path.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking your legacy is only tied to external achievements when true impact comes from authenticity.

Chiron in the 11th House (Aquarius)

❌ What Not to Do:

Try too hard to be liked and accepted.

Avoid social connections out of fear of rejection.

Change yourself to fit in.

Seek approval from the wrong crowds.

💡 The Mistake: Believing you have to earn belonging when true connection happens by being yourself.

Chiron in the 12th House (Pisces)

❌ What Not to Do:

Suppress your pain or avoid deep healing.

Escape into addictions or unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Over-identify with suffering or play the martyr.

Avoid spirituality or dive too deep into illusion.

💡 The Mistake: Thinking you have to either avoid your wounds or be consumed by them—when true healing comes from integration.

No matter where your Chiron is, the biggest mistake is trying to cover up the wound instead of working through it. True healing happens when you stop proving, stop performing, and start accepting yourself. flaws and all.

[griddleharker]

Mel's trauma/experiences in season 2 are easily overlooked/forgotten due to how fast paced the season is, to how she handles herself and due to misogyny.

I wish I could say it's easy to forget how difficult what she went through was, but it really is not. The intro itself makes it very clear.

She survived an explosion, got attacked, was abducted, saw her friend die right before her eyes, thrown into a pit, made to believe a family member she mourned was alive, had to 'kill' the thing wearing the skin of her brother, learned shocking informations about her mother and was lead to two conflicting thoughts about her: 1, she is a child of a love affair, a product of love, her mother loves her too much and it is why she was cast away, 2 she is a weapon, everything down to her conception was calculated, it was never love but a thirst for power.

She breaks free of imprisonment, awakens as a mage due to almost dying and immediately gets a proposition from someone of a higher power/knowledge. She has no more means of defense, and she has to throw her lot with the person who killed her brother and who's chasing after her mother. I am not saying she was never swayed by Leblanc's words nor that she didn't believe her, but it was coercion rather than agreement.

She was gone for MONTHS, just like Jayce. She lived through hell for these few months and came to a terrible conclusion, just like Jayce. She's finally back to Piltover, and she goes to see him first, before anything else. She worries about him, she's happy to see him. She seeks comfort within him, just like he did with her several times through both seasons. He refuses her this comfort, instead attacks her and demands her to answer for a crime that is indirectly hers. She protects him anyway when it was needed.

He apologizes to her and, arguably, breaks up with her then. She goes to see her mother afterward, ready to leave it all behind and betray her new found 'family' as Leblanc said if her mother simply agreed to. If her mother simply chose her this time. But she doesn't. She needs more than Mel. What she needs goes against everything Mel stands for. She walks away.

She then helps to fight her mother, and is the direct cause for her death. Her mother finally sees her in her last moments, she finally has no choice but to look at her daughter, who's no longer a helpless little girl but a strong, powerful and insightful woman. She still forces her into the mold she made for her, a wolf. It's a compliment really. But is it really one for Mel? Her mother dies in her arms. They never could fix their relationship. Her mother committed so many unspeakable deeds, yet she still loves her, yet she still mourns her.

She has to take over her now. She can't openly mourn her, nor show her grief. And she has no one close to her she can be vulnerable with left. She is more alone at the end of season 2 than ever and has to take on more responsibilities than she deems herself worthy of. She said that she's not up to the Medarda's name, and is shown so often to feel insecure because of it. But now she has to be up to it and she doesn't get a choice.

Through reaching the 'Medarda's standards', she lost everything else. And she didn't get a choice.

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 056 - Lover! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Drabbles ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Winter Blues ] ¡! ❞

Curse Winter.

As lovely as the season is— It's stretching on for far too long and now you're in your room bedrotting the hours away since somehow you feel your body extremely heavy as of late.

You know you should be doing productive things instead of procrastinating, but what can you do if your body feels as if it has a ton of weight placed on it?

So screw it and just stay in bed.

That's the best way to deal with this issue, just screw it all and rest peacefully.

꒰ .... ꒱

"Jagiya?" Jinwoo calls out as he enters the pitch black room and turns on a lamp— To which he hears you grunting and whining the moment the soft yellow light flashes around.

A small smile only tugs at the corner of his lips, shaking his head and sets the takeout food he ordered on your desk before approaching the bed.

"Jagiya, you know you shouldn't be in bed all day" He cooes lovingly, rubbing your back to soothe you. "Are you sick?"

"No, winter is just making me so lazy" You complain, shuffling over to his lap and nuzzling his stomach.

"Mn... I guess it's extra cold today, huh?" Jinwoo smiles. "Come here"

He lifts you up to his lap, settling you on his thighs while pulling your head to hide on his neck.

"There, there" He hums lovingly, peppering the side of your head with gentle and lingering kisses. "I can't have you get too lazy, but for now I'll indulge in you."

He had always been spoiling you ever since the both of you started dating. Honestly you don't even know how you managed to pull a hotshot like him. People are always intimidated by him, specifically the men, the girls? —Oh they have a fat crush on him.

Can't blame them, Jinwoo is hauntingly so handsome after all.

With pretty grey eyes like his and a deadly good looking face with a body tall and lanky but muscular— Why wouldn't you fall for him? He's like an idol himself that made you feel very self-concious about the fact someone as mediocre as you is dating such a good looking man.

But somehow you managed to date him because you to met by a friend of a friend, became friends yourselves, and then he courted you somewhere down the line.

If Jinwoo ever finds out about your insecurity— You'll be in for a long scolding session and making you tell yourself you're absolutely prety in front of the mirror.

Yeah, he has a very... Unique way of scolding you.

So now you're here, being babied by Sung Jinwoo. Never spent a day without having him spoiling you one way or another.

May it be cuddles or kisses— You'll always have them and he make sure you do.

"Wanna eat some noodles? I bought some home?" He reaches out to the food he bought home and opened the plastic bowl. "Come on, you can't be lazy in eating too, sarang"

And so, he started feeding you as if you're a child.

It's embarassing to be treated like this but Jinwoo himself seems to be enjoying the fact that you are this reliant on him. He made sure to blow on the noodles before feeding them to you of course, he can't have your pretty little tongue burnt since he intends to kiss you until you're breathless later.

"Heh..."

"What?" You perk up at his little chuckle after gulping down the soup on the bowl.

"Nothing, you just look especially cuter as of late" He wipes the excess soup on your lips with his thumb before bringing it to his lips. "Still feeling a bit fatigued?"

"I feel a little better now" You mumble, nuzzling against him like a clingy kitten.

"Mn..." He hums, kissing your forehead affectionately. "I guess I should baby you more for now, huh?"

"My lovely sarang."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: A short fluffy fic because I want to heheh~ I'm planning on posting another fluffy fic before a lovesick one because hehhhheeh!!!!~~ Are you guys excited for another lovesick fic :D? ꒱

ʚ(੭´�� ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[hellyeahscarleteen]

"When you notice you're feeling jealous, don't panic! It's probably a good idea to talk to your partner(s) at some point, but before you do that, take some time to reflect on your feelings and see if you can figure out where they're coming from; that might help you address them more easily.

For example: feeling left out because a partner is doing something fun with a new datefriend? See if you can plan to do your own special activity with them sometime soon so you can feel cared for and know they're excited about you too. Do you worry that a new metamour⁠ is going to outshine you, or does the spark of a partner's new relationship excitement feel a lot stronger than your connection with them is now? Take some time to reconnect with your partner and talk about what you each find special and compelling about each other. Are you jealous of a partner having an easier time finding other people to date than you're having? You might need to refocus your personal life to make sure you're not solely focusing on dating relationships: reconnect with friends, find some new activities, or dig into some personal projects.

A common mistake made by people who are feeling a lot of jealousy in a poly context is to try and combat that jealousy by establishing more rules for the relationship. It can feel like saying "only spend the night with me" or "don't have X kind of sex with anyone else" is a way of protecting part of your relationship or keeping it special, but it's likely to make a partner feel stifled and isn't doing anything to address the underlying feelings of jealousy or insecurity. Instead, take some time to explore your feelings of jealousy. Of course it's ok to have limits and boundaries in an open relationship⁠, but if jealousy or discomfort are driving those boundaries, it can be more productive to address the feelings in question than to pile on more restrictions."

Mo Ranyart and s.e. smith, A First Polyamory Guide

[urprettylildoe]

ℰ𝒸𝒽ℴℯ𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒹ℯ𝒸ℯ𝒾𝓉 (old)

yandere!husband? × wife!reader

The tragedy that has occured to your husband has suddenly undone, or has it? Things start to change and perhaps you have not been saved from a terrible fate, but destined to another.

Warnings: death, simple descriptions of a body.

You walked back home, carrying your bag and your heavy heart. It was nothing new, however — all evenings were the same.

How did things lead to this? You always asked yourself. A year ago, you were on top of the world. Marrying the love of your life, who wouldn't be elated? The first few months were a blur of loving kisses and happiness.

Then, everything crumbled. Not immediately, but slowly — agonisingly – almost like your heart was being chipped off piece by piece because of the stranger man you loved. A cloud formed over Dante's head. The more it grew, the more you drifted apart. Compliments turned into impatient responses and arguments. Closeness or intimacy turned into sleeping on other sides of the bed. If you asked him about leering at other gorgeous girls, he'd start spitting insults and telling you to "grow up and stop being so damn insecure."

And being the pathetic, lovesick woman you were: you stayed, hoping that maybe things would change. If it were any other person, they'd be filing the divorce and living their life free of the shackles that held them back, empowered. Even if you did, who would want you after that? The man who you thought was your soulmate didn't (but still tolerated you to some extent), let alone someone else.

So, what did you do instead? Drowned yourself in more work. The hospital was a form of escape from the cold silence that met you every time you walked through the door. All the decor you giddily picked out with Dante was indeed still beautiful, but there was no life to it anymore.

Clutching your scarf tighter around your neck, you shivered, and not because of the cold. It was due to the feeling. Something or someone was watching you. Suddenly, your footsteps felt too loud and out of place, echoing in your ears. You glanced over your shoulder warily.

Nothing.

Perhaps it was just the product of your silly imagination or a distraction from your thoughts. Either way, you weren't exactly comforted.

Finally, your house came into view. Just a few more minutes and then you'll-

A rustle came from the alleyway to your left.

You froze as your head turned in its direction. Quickly, almost imperceptibly, a shadow moved. Your feet moved before you could even think. Anyone watching would think you were a crazy woman.

Panting, you leaned against the front door of your house. Thankfully, your husband was probably home, and you would feel safer.

"I'm back," you said out loud like you usually did. No response came, unsurprisingly. He was probably in his office, typing away while rolling his eyes at the sound of your voice.

You reached the top of the stairs and approached the room, opening it. Your breath got caught in your throat.

There sat your Dante, slumped over and lifeless.

A scream tore through your lungs, almost as if a part of your soul was ripped from you. Hurrying over to him, you checked his pulse as tears blurred your vision.

"No, no, no!" You sobbed as you checked his pulse, heart dropping when there was no life. Glassy eyes that represented the stillness of the world stared back at you.

The rest was a blur of you screaming at the 911 operator as you barely managed to walk with your legs feeling jelly. You sank against the wall. He was gone. Quiet prayers played in your mind, hoping it was all a nightmare while you buried your face in your knees.

Multiple officers barged into your home 10 minutes later. Scrambling up to your feet, you led to them to the bedroom, bracing yourself for the sight of the tragedy. With your heart battering against your ribcage, you flung it open.

The thing is — the room was empty.

The men didn't know what they were looking at. Everything looked perfectly normal from the chair pushed back against the desk to the papers neatly stacked as if they weren't scattered all over the place. In all honesty, you didn't know either.

"W-what?" Your voice cracked, "h-he was right here, I promise."

One of them, officer Collins, stated the obvious, "there isn't anyone in this room, ma'am. Are you sure it was your husband?" He stepped forward.

Sniffling, you exclaimed: "y-yes, yes! He was right in that chair. B-but...where is he?"

At that moment, your head was spinning. There was no way you imagined it all, right? But with the lack of evidence, it looked to the others present that it was a good conclusion to jump to.

Officer Collins exchanged a concerned glance with his partner before deciding on giving you the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright, is there anyone else in the house who might've took the body?"

"N-no," you whimpered. "I-I don't know, but there could've been."

Before he could respond, someone beat him to it.

"Y/n?"

That soothing voice made you snap your teary eyes open as you turned in its direction.

There, in the doorway, stood your husband.

Your body froze all over. He looked exactly the same with his black curls, strong jaw, and those hazel eyes that you could drown in till tomorrow. Bile crawled up your throat as your lips quivered, all you could manage was a choked sob.

If you didn't feel insane before, you felt insane now.

Why?

Because a few minutes ago, Dante Virelli was dead.

How could this be? He was right there! You saw him, you couldn't have made it up.

His thick brows furrowed as he looked at your pale face and the unexpected comapny around you. Almost instantly, you threw your arms around his torso. His chest still had that warmth that made you feel all fuzzy inside. A hand lifted up your cheek, dabbing away at your tears.

"What's going on? What's the police doing here, sweetheart?"

Soon, all eyes in the room turned to you, looking at you like you were an alien. You couldn't blame them, honestly, you were confused too.

Finally finding your voice to defend yourself, you rasped out. "D-dante...you-you're alive?" Your chest was constricted with disbelief.

"O-of course I am," he tilted his head.

You looked up at him sniffling, "b-but I-I found you..." you pointed at the desk, "you...you were dead!"

"What?"

"He was dead! I saw him" You turned to Officer Collins, who also wore a perplexed expression.

"Maybe you need to sit down, ma'am." The police man suggested.

Dante exhaled softly, running a hand through your hair. "He's right, baby. You have been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe you were imagining things."

You expected anger from your usual husband who didn't ljke it when you messed up, but...not this softness. It was like the beginning of your relationship, the better times, if not more affectionate. Maybe he was keeping up appearances? Either way, you needed him to believe you.

"I was not imagining things! I saw you dead in your chair!" Frustration seeped into your tone. It was hard to actually trust you, especially with the living contradiction to your statements guiding you to the couch right now.

"Okay, okay, I believe you." He didn't, obviously. "Calm down, love. We're both okay, and that's what matters, right?" He was right. You were grateful that he was okay but that didn't ease your worries.

The police proceeded to explain to Dante what you told them. An occasional kiss was pressed to your forehead while you were cuddled into his side. You weren't listening, just thinking.

"— the house should be thoroughly searched, despite of this. There be somebody lurking there." Is what you heard. Suddenly, you curled into yourself, recalling that thing you saw went home. You thought of bringing it up, but from the way things were going, you doubted yourself more than ever and refrained from it.

Sensing your unease, Dante craned his head to look down at you. "You okay?"

You nodded. Though, your insides were far from it, twisting with dread.

♡

The policemen were ushered out by Dante, who reassured them that there was nothing to worry about. You stayed in your spot, contemplating.

A cold glass pressed against your lips, snapping you out of your stupor. Your husband's concerned eyes met yours.

"Drink, you need to stay hydrated." He smiled at you. Water running down your dry throat felt soothing. Then, he set the glass on the table and knelt down in front of you. A large hand placed itself on your knee.

A sigh left him, "this has been such a stressful night for you, I know, baby. Trust me, I was scared too. When I came back from work and saw the police and emergency car...I thought something happened to you."

Something was off. Sure, there was worry dancing clearly in his eyes, but something else lurked beneath it. Dangerous, almost concealing itself until you prodded too much. You could hear and see the genuine care for your well-being, but his words were practiced like an actor, that if he didn't be careful, his secret would slip.

Despite your silence, he continued. "You know I love you, honey. More than anything. You know that right?"

Nodding, you felt your belly fluttering. It's been a while since you heard those sweet three words.

"Yeah, I do. I love you too,"

His smile grew wider and he grabbed your knuckle, pressing messy kisses to it. "Don't want you to stress yourself out." Kiss. "And sometimes," kiss. "We don't know what we're seeing because we're so tired, don't we?"

Rage bubbled inside, replacing those butterflies. This was the nth time someone had told you this sentence tonight.

"I know what I saw, Dante. I'm not lying!" You hissed as you moved to retract your hand, but he held in his grip, placing it against his cheek as he stared at you from underneath dark lashes.

"Baby, I'm not saying you're lying. Why would I ever doubt my girl? Hm?" He cooed, "what you saw was definitely really scary, and I'll get to the bottom of this. I'm just happy that we're together, unscathed."

You agreed, that despite all of this, he was okay. Whether that body was real or if it was a hallucination, your husband was alive. Questions swirled in your mind but for now, you let them go due to the drowniess weighing on your shoulder.

"M'tired, we should probably sleep." You murmur softly.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, "Me too, love. Work was hell, let's go upstairs."

With a hand on the small of your back, you were led upstairs. Amidst your drowsiness, you failed to notice the intense hazel eyes fixated on you.

You both changed and got into bed. As you rolled onto your side, a hand hooked around your waist and dragged you back into his chest. Flustered, you peered up at his innocent grin, not used to the affection of your usually cold husband. Would he change his mind and push you away?

Hesitantly, you snuggled up to him, closing your eyes as you awaited repulsion. Instead, he reciprocated and brought you closer.

"Goodnight," you whispered against his chest, eyes already closing due to the fatigue.

"Night, baby"

Once your breathing evened out, he placed his chin on your head, pupils dilated.

He breathed out into your hair, "I finally get to be with you, my love. It was so, so painful to watch you, but now I can rest my hands upon your lovely skin..."

Slowly, he pressed his lips to your cheek, just shy of your lips. The feeling in him threatened to swallow you whole.

"...forever."

♡

What happens next? Why is Dante off? Did you imagine his death or was it really true?

Part 2 will be up in a week (a bit more if delayed but along that time). I had to cut it up into different parts because of the suspense.

Edit: yeah ummm, it's been well over a week but I promise I'm working on it.

Ty for reading.

𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓁𝓎

@yourprettylildoe

[directdogman]

A few words about the upcoming Olandy route!

First of all, want to quickly apologize for the relative quietness on my part as of late. I'm still in the middle of an international move right now and I'm officially on the final bureaucratic stage before I can physically pack up and complete the move. I've gotten quotes from moving companies, found a good service for Salvage's transport (which was a challenge in of itself) and now I'm just waiting for the final legal paperwork to process. Combined with my recent stint in hospital (my heart did something zany) and preparing for an upcoming merch campaign whose launch month was decided at the start of the year, you may see why I'm behind my own schedule. I can however confirm that work is still on-going... just slower than I'd like. However, I've taken this partial hiatus in production to think over the route and make sure it'll be as conceptually solid as I can make it.

One concern I'd like to address because I've seen it mentioned a few times is the fear that the route may veer into fan service territory in terms of characterization/scene content and I'm hoping I can put those fans at ease. I understand these concerns. The very concept of an Olandy route does seem kind of rife for this sort of thing. The thing is though, the idea for an Olandy route was a cut concept from DT's basegame, when I thinking of ways to double up characters in order to have more three-way dialogue scenes.

Obviously, given that a whole route was cut from the game, this idea ended up in the same nether-sphere as the other potential route ideas, like the Fusco route. But, this was an idea that I considered long before the Olandy ship gained popularity and that's why I was eager to tease the idea after release. I get many requests for routes with characters like Harry, Peter, which would undeniably sell well, but that I'd really have to headscratch to think of a way to make work. My point is, I'm only interested in ideas that I'm confident in.

Would Randy and Oliver completely work as partners? There's points for and against it. Do they have a strong/unique dynamic? Definitely. Randy is someone who looks to others for comfort/confidence and he's not good at dealing with things alone or without guidance. Oliver is confident in himself and very much a pack animal, who loves receiving validation/affection and feeling useful. This roughly explains why they veer towards each other even without considering stuff like romantic/behavioural compatibility.

As for the route itself, my main goal with their dynamic is to give an honest exploration of each character and to show a side of each not seen in their route, while also staying consistent to who they both are. It's important to note that this isn't just a Randy-Oliver route, but very much a Randy-Oliver-Gingi route. You shouldn't worry that the route will be sappier or more romantically heavy than the other routes as I'm actually including an option to play the route completely platonically and both options won't be too dissimilar outside of certain dialogue lines from both characters.

The key thing here is that I'm writing the route just like any other DT route and my main focus is having fun scenes where the characters talk about themselves in order to compare and contrast the differences/similarities between each character within the trio. There are scenes where Oliver is serious and confides in Gingi. There are scenes where we see Randy's insecurity/cowardice paint him in a bad light.

The DLC will also not replace either of their routes, and will instead aim to emphasis traits + backstory each character has that's kind of implied subtly in each of their routes, but not specifically outlined, to give you a more well-rounded view of each character. So, my goal is certainly not to flanderize, but quite the opposite. I want to give a deeper view on each character that's consistent with previous characterization, by further explaining why each character is the way they are and providing more context to stuff mentioned in Randy/Oliver's main routes. Oh, and advancing Gingi's character further, akin to in Roger's route.

(And before you ask, yes, I do have a similar plan for Karen later on, but I have a very specific idea of where it makes sense to put it as it's a much more involved project than a simple DLC. It will definitely take longer to pull off. But, her day will come.)

So, yeah! Obviously Roger's route took care to display the datables in their cameos with the nuance they have in the basegame. From Randy's impurity (willingness to be part of a con), Oliver potentially freaking Gingi out and being unsure of himself upon meeting it, Karen cracking a spontaneous joke (and it not landing), etc. It's important to me that I don't flanderize these characters or reduce them to their outermost traits.

I'm still not 100% confident in the route draft, but that's a given. I never am. But, I can say, I'm really excited for people to see the character stuff I have in mind for Randy, Oliver + Gingi, particularly what's revealed about both in the heart to heart in the good ending. You have a rough idea of what to expect from the route as per previous routes and while this one won't be nearly as large as Roger's route, I still wanna make it the best experience it can be for you all. Thank you! :)

[wikipediette]

Sorry but can I talk about how realistic Jimmy is as an abuser?? Like the scene at the birthday party where he's yelling at curly.

Jimmy can never accept anything, he can't accept the idea of losing his job, or getting a new one (SAing a woman and getting her pregnant because of it, injuring his only friend, fucking over everyone else in the ship, ect.) so instead of thinking of his future or making plans or LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE he simply lashes out at curly.

He shames him and degrades him like he had any part in the situation and because he's deeply insecure he convinces himself curly is an arrogant man with an Inflated ego (tho i feel there is some truth to that) and up-turned nose at the "working class". When in reality curly is simply a human trying to make his way in the world. Thus absolving himself of any guilt for what he did and adding in more to the "take responsibility" aspect of the game.

And like a real abuser he attacks the people around himself to feel better, because his life is shit. He's surrounded by people who have had hardship and struggles but still try and live their life (anya still trying to be the best coworker she can be on the ship despite living with her abuser, Swansea being a sober man who puts in the work of bettering himself and being a productive member of society, diasuke finally taking up an internship and trying his hand at a trade) and he is so mad about it.

Because he simply cannot accept his life as his own, he wants to view all hardships as unavoidable and out of his hands. Much like the ship, he steers himself into danger and when others around try and help he turns off the auto pilot. It doesn't matter that he's affecting everyone else because he only cares about his own feelings. No one is allowed to try and be better because it makes him feel bad. He feels inadequate so he has to pull everyone down to his level, if he cant be happy then no one can, and that's what truly makes him an awful person, he's rotten from the inside out.

I truly hate this man so much someone help

[sminny-wew]

This is all just my own speculation, but I think Howdy might be next on the Witnessing The Horrors train. And I don't have an explanation for it rn but based on the recurring presence of the Buggle, I strongly feel like Barnaby's going to be involved somehow since he's Howdy's best customer (something something watchdog)

(Putting this under a Read More b/c I wound up having a lot to say)

Eddie's moment in the Homewarming update was based around him not knowing what to do with himself when he's not being the mailman, the role he was made for. Poppy's moment in the first Looky-Loo mini-update strikes me as being about her not knowing how not to be a big chicken (the role she was made for), as well as the other neighbors not knowing how to include her and thinking it's better to just trap her in her own house than to compromise with her, making her nerves worse as a result. Julie's moment in the Springtime Salutations update was about her insecurities in her relationships with her family and Frank, her insecurity in her roles (make the flowers bloom, invent new games, and overall be the most joyful neighbor), and not knowing what to do when spring comes early or a flower just won't bloom no matter what she does.

Howdy's role is to be a businessman, to supply his neighbors with what they need and sell them what they don't. My guess is that Howdy's moment will have something to do with supply and demand, his job and his personal life becoming indistinguishable from each other, and the pressure that family, customers, and superiors can put on a person to meet certain expectations. I also highly suspect, based on other people's observations about the flower from Julie's hidden videos resembling the logo, that Marlo will be relevant again.

There's an old saying about employment that goes, "If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life." But in-universe, Welcome Home is a product of its time (1969-1974), when America was kinda-sorta still riding the high of its post-World War 2 economic prosperity but was beginning to see a rise in income inequality. (What a funny coincidence that Welcome Home presumably aired while Nixon was president...) I don't think I need to tell you that, in 2025, it's harder than ever to find successful, long-term employment that will earn you a livable wage without working yourself to death or requiring a college degree that will plunge you into lifelong debt. Things have changed a lot since the neighborhood left the airwaves (assuming WH was ever even a real show in-universe).

But I digress. Howdy Pillar's Going Through The Horrors™ moment.

What happens to Howdy when his best customer (Barnaby) is preoccupied, either by sickness or a prior engagement? Do his nerves about financial success ever stress him out, as implied in that image of him and Anthony Rancho? What happens when Howdy cannot meet the demands of his neighbors to supply them with what they need? How would Howdy react if the neighbors suddenly decided to make their own resources, instead of buying from him?

If Howdy's not a breadwinner, appeasing his family and the businessmen at Marlo by selling enough goods to be considered a profitable business investment well off, then who is he?

He doesn't know.

[cultven]

Butch Wolverine Headcannons

(General Headcannons and X Female! Reader)

This is sooooo indulgent, my mind is just taken over by her… Here are some head cannons I daydreamed up with my pussy 

Warnings: Some very very mild sexual implications

Female! Logan doesn’t shave. Like ever. Due to her animalistic properties, the hair just grows back in a matter of hours, so it’s not worth the upkeep. She occasionally tries her best for special events, but it’s always rendered useless. Plus, she knows you don’t mind anyway, it’s just so much work. 

Bras are her worst enemy. Occasionally she’ll fight in a sports bra, but you will never catch her in one of those frilly Victoria's Secret bras. Unless you ask, of course. Then she’ll gladly drop a small fortune on a cute little bra and underwear set just for you. 

Every month the day before her period her cramps hit her like a truck. Despite her advanced regenerative properties, her uterus seems to be the exception. Seeing her outside her room during this time is an accomplishment as she is practically bedridden. The only way she truly survives these times is due to your care and support. You provide all her favorite foods and offer her numerous heating pads and other soothing ointments. Female! Logan will never admit it, but she absolutely adores being babied by you. 

She is usually the big spoon, scooping you up in her muscular arms. She presses you firmly to her chest and sometimes, if you're lucky, lets you turn around and practically smother yourself in her tits while cuddling. It’s like a small dosage of heaven. Wolverine would pepper small kisses in your hair, smelling your sweet shampoo. 

Other times when she’s feeling particularly soft, she’ll allow you to embrace her from behind, acting as the big spoon. 

Her arm is always around you, no question whatsoever. She’s far from insecure in your relationship, knowing how loyal you are to each other, but she just loves flaunting you to others. This pretty little thing on her hip? Yeah, that’s her girlfriend. Jealous? You should be. At least that’s Female! Logan’s mentality. 

When it’s your turn to cling onto Female! Logan, it’s always onto her arms. You love feeling the hard and soft muscles flex under your fingertips. It always gets you going.

Female! Logan is not a fan of Scott Summers. Not in the slightest. The first time you came around Xavier’s to meet the other mutants he was instantly intrigued by you. Some light conversation led to flirting on his part. Usually, he’s smart enough not to mess with Female! Logan, but he hadn’t assumed the two of you were dating until he got a swift punch right along his jawline. From then on Female! Logan has assured you were never left alone in a room with Summers for longer than thirty seconds. 

Instead of adopting regular Logan’s alcoholism, Female! Logan tends to stay more on the side of smoking. Hand her a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds and she’ll reward you that night. ;)

Admittedly, she doesn’t smell great. It could be worse, but hygiene is not one of her top concerns. Every year as one of the smaller gifts you give her is a bottle of Bath & Body Works body washes, and every year you end up just using it yourself. She believes taking brisk showers is most effective, she doesn’t have time to slather herself in expensive products. You always wonder how her hair stays so fluffy. You suppose it’s just natural.

Speaking of her hair, you are OBSESSED. She has a short layered wolf cut with the classic ear tufts, which you’re pretty sure are natural since you never see her style them. If you’re ever having a rough night just pet and play with your girlfriend’s hair for a few minutes and you’re out like a baby. Sometimes you think she has you under a magical spell. 

Backtracking to showering, you end up showering together a lot. Female! Logan always happens to need to shower at the same time you do, but you know it’s her way of asking if she could join. Of course, the answer is always yes. Her mentality of quick showers immediately goes out the window when she watches you strip down and stand under the running water. The shower wasn’t the only thing wet at that moment.

After your extracurricular activities in the shower, the aftercare is always sweet and loving. Hot water falls over both your bodies as you rub each other's skin with soap lovingly. You scrub the shampoo into her scalp, she exfoliates your legs. Once you’re both done you immediately get into your pajamas and cuddle under a nice blanket, watching something until you’re both soundly asleep. 

Everyone at the mansion thinks you guys are so cute. They constantly tease Female! Logan for being able to snag such a positive, sunshiny girlfriend. She typically shrugs them off with a mean glare and a snarky comment back, but deep down she knows she’s truly lucky to have found someone as accepting and loving as you. Sometimes she doesn’t feel she’s worth the hassle, but you always find a way to reassure her. 

It takes a few years for Female! Logan to propose, mostly because of her insecurities as a mutant, but when she does you are instantly in shambles, bawling out your acceptance. 

Female! Logan never thought she would get married, especially not to a regular human. She never thought humans could ever fully understand and accept a mutant the way that you do. Additionally, she fears her lifestyle will get you hurt, something that haunts her nightmares. But after seeing your beautiful bright smile after she popped the question there was no doubt in her mind she needed you as her wife. 

A big wedding was never what either of you wanted. If she was being honest, Female! Logan would have been happy with just eloping, but you wanted to do something small and she could never say no to you. 

On a warm day in spring, the two of you finally wed, the other residents of the mansion applauding the two of you. It was a small crowd, only a few select friends, but it couldn’t have felt more perfect for the two of you. 

a/n: I could easily write more. Someone please request a oneshot with her (and also name ideas, I don’t want to keep referring to her as Female! Logan. I’m not sure if there is already an agreed-upon name for her.)

[parfaitblogs]

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

also posted here on my ao3 !

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently. 

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch. 

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now. 

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side. 

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently. 

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds. 

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what. 

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached. 

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards. 

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest. 

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat. 

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower. 

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers. 

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan. 

When your sobs subsided, he spoke. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head. 

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on. 

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head. 

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you. 

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile. 

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly. 

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence. 

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place. 

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once. 

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften. 

"No. You're not," he reassured. 

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve." 

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more. 

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms. 

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood. 

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer. 

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest. 

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own. 

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

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