#anyways i am sick of those belts!!

[chocodaffodil]

[starfall-calamity]

the fif is fif-ing 🎉

[iidgm]

a little something i wrote at 1 am

word count: 1065

—

You sighed heavily, your limbs giving out under you without prior warning.

These chases are exhausting you, and you have no idea for how much longer you’ll be able to keep up with these toys without dying in the process.

Not like you stayed dead, anyways.

Strange voices in your mind ordering you to get up, and somehow waking up moments before your death… You’ve learned to not question it. At least not for now.

You check your surroundings carefully, trying your best to keep your heavy breathing as silent as possible as to not attract any more toys.

Dried pool, giant rubber ducks…

Ominous looking cell doors.

Ah shit, those are the only way forward, aren’t they?

You groan as you lift yourself up with your fists, your GrabPack feeling more like a hindrance than a helping tool at the moment. Damn designers.

You drag your heavy legs towards the cell doors, dread creeping up your spine.

Why are there CELLS on the POOL?!

You enter a dimly candle-lit corridor with a huge hole in a corner. You decide to not approach it, instead you keep going forward.

The putrid, rotting flesh and gore assaults your senses. The smell being unbearable, the sounds it made against your shoes as you walked disgusted you and the dried remains visible made your stomach churn.

But the only way is forward.

You look into the each cell individually, searching for something to help you open the doors at the end of the corridor—

“You… You’re Poppy’s Angel. Come to save us!”

You jump at the sudden deep voice behind you, turning around in panic with flare gun ready to shoot. Then you see it.

See him.

Dogday.

“Nothing left to save, not here…” He continues. “You’re in Catnap’s home, Angel. Their home.”

You try to swallow back the lump in your throat.

Or what’s left of Dogday.

His bottom half is ripped off, only a tight belt acting as a tourniquet preventing his insides to spill out completely. You want to throw up.

“A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry.” He sounds so defeated. “They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin– And eat away at you bit by little bit, fill what feels empty inside themselves.”

Your body moves without your input towards the canine, slowly as to not startle or scare him. Not like anything would achieve that at this point, you think.

“That... thing... CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” He moves his arms, secured by shackles to emphasize this. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate– and in return, they are fed.”

Your hands slowly move towards Dogday’s face. He doesn’t react.

“We tried to fight it, The Prototype's control.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm... the last of the Smiling Critters.” His voice shakes a little, looking away from you. Your heart breaks further for him.

“I–” You try to start, but he interrupts you.

“Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live!” He looks at you, his dark voids for eyes locking on your face. His voice cracks again, but he sounds determined. You make up your mind in that second.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You say firmly, before working your way through his shackles as fast as you can. He makes a sound of shock as his arm drops, followed by the other. He falls into your arms, limp and dirty.

“Wh– Angel, I’m a lost cause! You must flee!” He pleads, his hand closing around your forearm with the little strength he has.

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me who I can and cannot save. So strap in, Doggy boy, I’m getting you out of here.” You say with finality, shifting him on your back in a way he can hold himself up somewhat comfortably.

He doesn’t protest any further.

You look around, trying to find a way out of the cellar. The doors you came through somehow closed, so that option is discarded.

“Oh no... OH NO!” You hear Dogday cry out, and you turn your head to see what he’s on about.

Oh shit.

A mass of ruined critters start to crawl their way out of the walls towards you. Before you can react, the floor gives in beneath you, falling through a hole in front of the closed gates.

“Hold on tight!” You warn before running your way through the narrow foam tunnels. Your flare gun manages to scare the little toys that come across your away and gives you a dim light source in the abyssal darkness the Playground was.

You slide down one of the three slides you are offered, and keep running as you can.

And then you see it.

A platform to the surface.

You only have to make a purple hand jump to get there.

The GrabPack was made for only one person, though. Would you be able to make it?

Only one way to find out.

“Be ready!” You shout as you run at full speed, gaining momentum.

'Wait— nononO ANGEL WAIT—' You hear him yell in a panicked tone, but you don't slow down.

With a leap of faith, you press the pressure plate with the purple hand and the world slows down.

For a second, you’re suspended in the air with Dogday’s arms around you firmly, and on the next, you and your companion crash on the platform so hard it knocks the air out of both of you.

You quickly press the button for it to go up before collapsing. Seems like Dogday had let go of you once he saw you’d make it.

You pant in exhaustion, the adrenaline washing off now that you’re somewhat safe. The back of your hand rests on your forehead, your eyes closed to prevent the artificial light from entering your retinas.

You did it.

You hear a deep, husky laugh not far away from you, and you laugh along with him.

You did it!

You managed to save someone!

You two laugh together in a manic manner as the platform lifts you two to the surface level of Playcare.

You’d think what to tell the others once you’re there. For now, you’ll enjoy this short moment of bliss with your new friend.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken Heart Syndrome

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After Matt stood you up at dinner, you are tossed down a rabbit hole of agonizing thoughts. As so often, you turn to the bottle to take the edge off, though this time, you make the decision to confront at least one of the objects of your anger. To your drunken mind, at least, even the worst decisions make sense.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), graphic descriptions of domestic violence (involving a belt, too), allusions to sexual assault, mentions of homicidal ideations, self-hatred, alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), argument between friends, Reader says some mean things, suicidal ideations/depression

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for another chapter, but it took me a very long time to finish editing. There are parts in this chapter that hit very close to home, and I can't just post it without saying a thing or two. If you or anyone you know struggles with domestic violence, there are organizations that can help (check domesticshelters.org, for example). The same goes for mental illnesses; don't be afraid to seek out help if you start noticing symptoms. Check with your doctor or healthcare provider. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help. You've made it this far, and I am so incredibly proud of you. It was important to me to share that with you. Read at your own risk, please!

Read Chapter 14: Broken Heart Syndrome here on AO3!

In medical school, they teach you that a broken heart can quite literally kill you. Acute emotional distress can overstimulate the heart, causing the left ventricle to collapse. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy looks like Japanese takotsubo, an octopus trap. Still, those without medical expertise know it as Broken Heart Syndrome—because three words are all you need to understand what emotional hurt can do to the body. 

A lot of the time though, the human psyche compels a person to find other ways to deal with the pain that eats away at them. Bad coping mechanisms can be just as deadly as a physical disorder. Self-harm doesn’t fix the actual problem, it only distracts your mind momentarily from what is truly hurting you. 

Like with any other disease, a broken heart will get worse if it’s not treated. Either, the organ literally stops pumping blood as it should, or it drives you to a point that would easily get you a free 72-hour stay in the psych ward. Emotions are unpredictable like that.

As a doctor, you know everything in the human body is connected. If the body is sick, it will affect the mind; if the mind is sick, the body will suffer, too. Mental illness can be just as deadly as any terminal condition. If pain and trauma are not properly dealt with, chances are high that ignoring it won’t make you any better. And alcohol or drugs are never the solution to a problem, they only cause one problem to branch into a million more—and then you’re fucked. 

You are aware that self-harm is the first thing a desperate person with a history of trauma will turn to, but it’s so much easier. In practice, life is fucking vile; it’s a miserable existence that is slowly killing all of us, and you would much rather burn the skin off your bones while you’re still alive than face the very demons you’re trying so hard to run from. You know that’s a sick mindset to have, and if it were anyone else confiding these thoughts in you, you would refer them to the Department of Psychiatry to get the help they need. But you… you cannot be helped. Not anymore. Because you don’t want to be helped. It’s all useless anyway. 

The door to your apartment slams shut with a deafening crack of the hinges. As soon as the world is locked behind a deadbolt, and the city has disappeared, your back hits the wall.

A minute ago, he texted you. You prayed for an explanation to a God you don’t even believe in. You prayed that it would all make sense and your brain is spinning in nauseating circles for no reason. You just have to sober up and everything will be okay, you thought. But then you unlocked your phone with shaky and stupidly needy fingers, relying on a hope that stemmed from this childish need to be loved after the one parent you’d had left failed so miserably, and his words drilled into your brain like a sharp knife. 

“You deserve better,” he texted. “I’m sorry.”

What a weak excuse. It’s supposed to be your choice, deciding what or what not you deserve. With one text, he took that from you.   

It was stupid, you think, to get your hopes up. You were just starting to believe that you could finally move on. The weight on your chest felt less heavy with him there. Matt was never supposed to appear in your life, but then he did, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like your life mattered again. He put a smile on your face. You don’t remember what it is like to be happy because you never really felt happy before. Since you can remember, you have been running for the sake of survival. Anything you have done up until now was a mere act of self-perseverance. 

With Matt, it felt different. He understood you because he, too, seemed to be only existing, trapped in a cage of his trauma’s making. 

You were dating again, albeit reluctantly and fighting back like a cat on steroids—but you were dating again. If you wanted your effort to mean something, you had to get over what happened. It’s not that easy, of course, but you believed her when she talked you down from the ledge. 

You should have listened to your gut. Everyone in your life will eventually end up leaving or hurting you, or both. You’ve been rotting away for so long, there is nothing left of you to give. He touched your heart once, and now you’re falling apart. 

Because there’s not enough of you there to love. 

Because no one wants you. 

You slide down the wood of your door. If only the floor could open up and swallow you, the pain that traps the oxygen just before your lungs could end. And if you could only cut out your amygdala or sever the connections in your prefrontal cortex to stop being this miserable about a man you barely knew, you would. 

The tears running down your cheeks are silent. Dry. They taste like poison on your tongue, but your skin feels almost numb to the burn. You can’t scream or sob because there is no air for you to breathe. You’re drowning on dry land, and the rapid drumming of your heart echoing in your ears is the only sound that exists. It isn’t steady like a clock; it is a ticking time bomb in your chest threatening to explode—threatening to turn into an octopus trap and kill you. 

There was never anything left to endure for. You have been torturing yourself every passing day like a fucking masochist, watching yourself on the big screen like a puppet without the intention to stop. 

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but boy, you flew right into it. You would have made Matt the sun if he had stayed around for long enough, made yourself dependent on him all over again, and you would have drowned regardless. Maybe it was all for a reason; maybe Claire was right, after all, to push you to see the truth for yourself—how foolish you’d been—but why does that reason hurt so damn much? You barely knew him enough to care, and yet you did. It makes no sense. 

You deserve better. If he truly believed that, he would have said it to your face. 

The phone slips from your stiff hand before you can reply. Every muscle in your body strains, stretching over bone and lighting every cell and every nerve on fire. You can’t move. You’re sure you are going to die like this, a mess on your living room floor. 

He broke your heart; Matt Murdock took it right out of your chest and smashed it up because you dared to want more. He wrapped his hands around your neck and suffocated you. He gave you hope, and then he took it away, and that is something you’re sure you will never be able to forgive. What kind of man doesn’t have the decency to tell the truth before it’s too late? 

You tear at your dress, hoping to inflate your lungs somehow. The walls around you threaten to cave in. Everything seems larger than life, suddenly. Even with your hands stretched out before you, you can’t stop the avalanche. 

This isn’t about Matt. It has never been about him. Cracks in the broken foundation of an already shattered heart don’t hurt as much as the first crash, they only add to the agony. How messed up do you have to be, you think, for your brain to not even notice the difference between getting stood up and having the ground ripped out from under your feet? You were never good at math, but perhaps you are the sum of your actions, after all.  

A car honks outside. The bright headlights flash through the gaps in the blinds on the windows. You remember how they hit him one night, reflecting off the pure white of his dress shirt. His chest was heaving then. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he had bellowed, drowning out your repeated sorry’s like a tsunami wave. “You embarrassed me in front of… of everyone. My boss, the whole hospital—and you think ‘sorry’ is going to fix it?”

You can’t quite recall whether the lights were white that night, or if they were red and blue, and the only thing louder than his screams were the sirens of cop cars rushing by. 

“You’re never gonna learn,” he’d said, crouching down before you, and he looked like what you would imagine the devil to look like if he were human. “You’re always going to screw up because you, my love, are absolutely and utterly fucking incompetent.”

On second thought, maybe there were sirens outside. They sounded different from your quiet sobs. He forced you to keep your eyes open, to watch as he undid his belt, and against every bone in your body, instead of running, you stayed rooted in place. You stayed there until he grabbed you and threw you into the coffee table. 

The vase stayed intact, thankfully, as it tumbled and fell, but you could see your reflection clearly in the porcelain. You watched him come up behind you, and all you remember is how hollow you were; you were so fucking hollow your heart could have screamed and it only would have echoed before it would have died. You were bound—bound to him. 

“Get up.”

You could have grabbed the vase and smashed him over the head with it. 

“I said,” he repeated, “Get up.”

Your hand slipped from the porcelain, and you got up. It was like he knew you wouldn’t have the guts to kill him. Lord knows you wanted to; some days, you were so close to stealing a knife from the kitchen and slashing his throat while he was asleep. You’d watch him choke on his blood with a smile on your face, you thought, but as soon as the handle was in your hand, you realized that you couldn’t. Not even when you thought about the belt, the feeling of him on top of you as he took whatever the fuck he wanted from you over and over again until he drew blood. 

It should have been enough to make you snap, all the abuse, but you physically couldn’t touch him. At first, you thought you loved him too much to hurt him. Your feelings were complicated and you were hardly aware of how dire your situation truly was, but eventually, you came to the realization that the inability to jab a knife into his jugular had a different reason entirely. 

You had no money, no power, no life outside of him. He seized all of your income. You didn’t own a valid passport, a bank account, or a car. If you had killed him, you would have been a fugitive and a thief. If you had left him, you would have found yourself jobless and disgraced with nowhere to go. No friends, no family, no love. And so every time you wished him dead, the knife wandered back into the drawer. He owned you. 

Toward the end of your relationship, you used to imagine the sirens were coming for you. If you had filed at least one report, maybe someone would have heard. Maybe they would have paid more attention to the cries for help from the neighboring apartment. Maybe then it would have never come this far.

The past can change your future, but you can’t go back in time and change the past. If we could, life would be so much easier. 

You manage to crawl from the door to the couch where there’s a half-empty bottle of tequila hiding in a paper bag. You need to forget to remember how to breathe. 

The burn of liquor blazes through your taste buds, taking them apart and putting them back together all the same. You choke on it when you try to swallow. Nothing has ever tasted quite this bad, but you can’t stop. The dull ache fills your chest, even if it’s just for a second, and you need more. You can’t stop because if you stop drinking and open your eyes, you will see his face again. It’s worse than dying; at least in death, there is peace.

You drink until the already half-empty bottle is empty, wiping the tequila from the corners of your mouth. You sniffle, you gasp for air, and you sob into the dead quiet of your apartment. Matt should not have the power to hurt you this badly. 

The drunker you get, the more his face starts to blur. All faces start to blur. 

“Stupid fucking idiot!” you curse under your breath as you storm into the kitchen, tearing through the liquor cabinet that used to be full but now resembles more of a black hole with stray bottles of vodka all around. 

Drinking pure vodka is like pouring disinfectant directly onto an open, gushing wound. The only difference is that alcohol only works to kill off unwanted bacteria on the outside; it doesn’t exorcize the demons in your head. 

Time keeps running, and the liquor keeps flowing, and you don’t remember which way is up anymore, you only know that it won’t stop fucking hurting. Fuck Claire, fuck Matt, and especially, fuck him. Fuck everyone and God and the whole fucking universe. You just can’t do it anymore.

The cold air hits your face when you stumble out of your apartment complex. Your brain is jumbled, and the world is turning a little too fast. All you know is that the walls were caving in on you, and your veins were swelling with the heat of fury—like you were drowning in your blood. Vodka makes you dumber, yes, but it also singles out one singular emotion for you to obsess over, and you won’t be able to rest until you get it all off your chest. 

A cab pulls up to the curb. You only have a handful of cash, but it should be enough to get you where you want to be. No, where you have to be. 

You catch your reflection in the rearview mirror, makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol and despair. What the driver must think of you—a lonely woman in the back of his cab with her hand clenched tightly around the bottle of maze in her bag, thinking she’s so subtle about how terrified she truly is underneath the mask of anger that drives her. You can never be too careful, never too mistrusting when there are men involved.

The car comes to a halt only ten minutes later. “Are you sure you should still be drinking?” the driver asks, nodding toward the liquor store across from you. 

You scramble with the cash in your hands. “I’m not here to drink,” you manage to say. “I’m visiting a friend.” And you point upward to the dark windows above.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You hand him the money. “Keep the, uh, change.”

He is about to protest, wanting to tell you that you overpaid and you might need to pay for a ride back, but you slam the door on him before he can get a word out. You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do. 

The curb feels unsteady under your feet, almost like the ground might open up and swallow you whole. When you eventually manage to find the door, you almost break the door as you force your way inside. The lock has been broken for quite some time, so a key isn’t required for entry, but there is something about the wood tonight that proves trickier to open. 

Every step up the stairs knocks the air out of your tired lungs. It’s late, and rationally, you know you shouldn’t be here in your current state, but you’re angry and you’re drunk, and you want answers. At least for one of the many shitty things wrong with your life lately, you need to find a reason or you will continue sucking on the bottle of vodka until the lethal limit doesn’t exist anymore. 

On the fourth floor then, you slump against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. Your head is spinning. Your stomach is churning. How many drinks you’ve had before you got here, you can’t even remember, but you are starting to feel the deadly concoction wanting to purchase a ticket for a ride through your esophagus. 

You hammer your fist against the wood. Once, twice, even a third time. No answer. You try again, less gentle this time. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then you lose count. You knock and knock and knock until your knuckles feel like splitting open, but you don’t stop—you use your palm, waiting for the creaking of the floorboards to tell you that someone, anyone, is home. If you could scream, you would have already, but your throat is burnt dry. You abuse the poor door until finally, you hit the air. 

“What–” Claire stops halfway, her eyes falling upon your slouched frame. A meow sounds from inside the apartment. “Liv?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s 2 am!”

You didn’t realize how late it has gotten, or how long you must have been crying and drinking and crying some more. 

“What happened to you?” 

She was asleep. You’ve been trying to call her for days, but here she is, perfectly healthy, wrapped in a robe that isn’t hers, and she has been asleep while you were losing your mind. You were hoping something happened to her, that she didn’t ghost you for no discernible reason, but from the looks of it, she did just that. Yes, she looks miserable with dark circles under her eyes and the room behind her a downright mess, but your mind refuses to be anything but irrational right now. The burning hot anger is back, coursing through your veins at a speed almost too much to handle. 

“What happened to me?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two fucking days, and you’re asking me what happened?” 

“Shh!” Claire pulls you inside. The door slams shut behind her, much louder than your voice could ever be. “Jesus,” she says. “Quiet down.” 

A pause. Under her gaze, you almost feel small. Scrutinized, even. “You smell like a fucking distillery,” she adds after a moment of just staring at you—staring as if she had any right to.

“That all you have to say?” Your mouth falls open in a snarl. “Well, fuck you, Claire! Fuck you!”

She flinches, your harsh tone leaving a sharp sting behind. “Okay, maybe we can just sit down and have a conversation like normal people.”

“Unbelievable,” you say. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Normal people. You don’t know what that word even means anymore. You don’t know what anything she says means. You look at her and all you see is alarms blaring in your head, warning you, screaming for you to run, but you are tethered to the ground in the very position you put yourself in.

She utters your name and your entire body recoils.

“Don’t call me that!” It is toe-curling how foreign the word sounds. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, too, like acid raining from the sky. It burns; everything fucking burns. “You know, All I needed was my friend. I needed my friend and you weren’t there,” your voice cracks. “You told me I had to get back out there, and I did. ‘Cause you said it was the right thing to do. I believed you, Claire. I put on this stupid dress and these stupid heels and…” You sob, the memory rubbing salt in the open wound, “Matt fucking stood me up!”

Claire stops dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks.

You laugh through the tears, a sound of complete and utter desperation as you find yourself at a never-ending crossroads. You never learn, do you? 

“He stood me up, okay?” you say. “I went to dinner, he didn’t show up, and then he texted me that we’re not gonna work out, so…” You throw your arms up. “I hope you’re happy. Whatever you were trying to achieve, it obviously worked. I trusted you, and I trusted him, and it kicked me in the ass. Fucking congratulations!” 

It isn’t fair to blame her for his actions, by any means, but you’re just so angry. Your blood is boiling, turning into liquid as thick as tar, and it poisons you from the inside out. You want to scream at him; you want to scream at Matt and ask him why, fucking why did he do that? But you can’t bring yourself to text him, too drunk to make any rational decisions. The voice of reason in your head is a fuzzy, blurry mess. All you want is for this endless cycle of bullshit to end.

Cliare lowers her head. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she says. “I– I never… I never wanted this to happen.” 

Is that guilt you’re hearing?

“I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, if I’d known…”

“Save it,” you cut her off, every word from your mouth becoming increasingly slurred. “We both know you wouldn’t have come running ‘cause you clearly had more important things to do. I don’t even know who you are anymore. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have gone to bed without making sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, and now you’re moving into some nurse’s apartment with a cat you’re allergic to, calling in sick and ghosting me. Me! I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and you weren’t there!”

“I told you, I’m sorry. I had some shit going on, and I just couldn’t–”

You scoff. “You’re lying to me, again!”

“Please, Liv, you have to believe me,” she says. “I didn’t know this was gonna happen.” 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t…” Shaking your head, you tangle your fingers in your hair. You want to pull every last strand out one by one and feed them to the dogs, maybe that will give you your sanity back.

You hate not understanding. You hate not being able to read the person you thought you could trust. She swore she would never lie to you. What can you believe in if even her word is now hanging in the balance? You don’t know, and that’s something you hate, too—not knowing. The helplessness that comes with a dead end makes you want to cower in a corner, smaller than anyone has ever made you feel, and die.

Claire’s silence sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s your own. The blood is rushing in your ear. You’re standing on hollow ground, and it’s shaking—a ship lost at sea. You have to pinch yourself to stay alert. To stay awake. But the vodka in your system has already made you sick. 

“Woah!” She catches you before you can stumble over your own feet. 

Gravity is tilting your body toward the ground, but your body wants to rush toward the door. You have to run, you think. Why, you’re not sure, but you have to run.

“Hey,” Claire says. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You shrug her off. “Fuck you!”

She lifts her arms above her head, but it is not a motion of surrender. Far from it. She’s giving up and giving in to the anger that is creasing her brows.

“Well, fuck you, too!” She steps away from you. “You come here in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, and you expect me to just take it? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna indulge you. Not when you’re acting like a child.”

Your palm hovers above your churning stomach. “How dare you?” you snarl. “I’m not the one acting like a fucking toddler.”

“Have you ever considered that there are things I just can’t tell you? That sometimes, you just have to trust me? I never wanted you to get hurt,” she says. “After the other night, I figured you didn’t need me anymore. If that’s what you’re so mad about, sue me!”

“I did need you.”

It’s her turn to shake her head at you. “No, you didn’t. You decided to go on that date. You didn’t need me for that. But I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath, and her eyes remain guilty as sin. “I never wanted you to get humiliated like that.” 

You are too drunk to process the implications of her cryptic statements. To you, they’re just a series of words on a very fuzzy billboard in your mind; you loathe what you’re hearing. Because you believe her, even though your better judgment is telling you to abandon ship. To jump into the ocean and let it take you away.

“Yeah, well,” you say, “I still did.”

Some scars never heal. Fresh ones tend to tear the ones that haven’t closed yet open, and then it hurts so much more. 

Claire lowers her voice to a more mellow tone then. “I met a guy, okay? Like you, I met a guy, but he screwed things up for me and now I’m stuck here until shit has blown over. That’s why I’m hiding.” She sounds almost like the same woman she was a week ago. Before the world stopped turning. 

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I’m trying to keep you safe,” she says. “I’ve always just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And how’s that turning out for us?”

She scoffs. “Not good, apparently.”

Your knees begin to buckle, unable to hold your weight any longer. Claire reaches out. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Fuck off!” you try to shrug her off again.

“How much?”

“Just… Tequila. Vodka. Half a bottle, quarter, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Liv,” she says. “You’re insane.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you,” though the words hold a lot less power now.

“Would you stop? I get it. You’re mad. You don’t have to keep insulting me.” She gently guides you over to the couch. “You know, all I wanted was to do right by you, but I can’t be there all the time. Some things, I have to deal with by myself, and yes, I’m sorry for not being there, but I would’ve been if you really needed me.” 

Claire reaches for your coat and pulls it off, much to your dismay. She ignores your scoff, anyway. “I would’ve dropped everything if you’d just called me tonight. You didn’t have to drink yourself into a coma to make your point.”

“I’m fine,” you protest. 

You thought she was done helping you, but her good heart betrays her every time. It’s infuriating. You don’t want to be coddled. You don’t want to be treated like a patient—you’re not. You did this to yourself. The world is spinning. Your stomach feels like a pool of toxic waste, but you did this to yourself, and you’d rather lie in your misery than have her fix it. 

When you try to rise to your feet though, all thoughts fade to black. Your ears start ringing. You blink, trying to get rid of the ocean that is flooding the world around you, but night quickly settles in. You can’t see. 

“You’re not fine.” Claire pushes you back down. “You’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna let me help you.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but you’re starting to panic. The room is too dark. Your heart beats to the rhythm of mere milliseconds, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. 

“Do you want to turn into your father?”

The audacity, you think. The words sting worse than a thousand needles in your body. They sting worse than a headache. They sting worse than a knife to the fucking back.

You don’t want to turn into your father. You have never wanted anything less. You want to scream at her. You want to leave. You don’t want to be anywhere near here. But you’re paralyzed on Claire’s couch with her towering over you like the caring nurse she is, and you have nowhere to go. Your body has nowhere to go. 

You did this to yourself.

She tests the pulse on your wrist, then again on your neck. Her voice is starting to fade into the background. The last thing you hear is her berating you for being “so fucking stupid” with the concern of a thousand armies before your thoughts entirely, finally, dissipate. 

The world turns quiet as your body slacks, falling victim to the alcohol in your bloodstream, and it’s the most peaceful you have been in years. 

Thinking nothing. 

Being nothing. 

You wish you could stay like that for the rest of your life. You don’t want to die, not really; you want to think nothing, be nothing, and just float for the rest of your life in a space where no one can ever touch you again. Where he doesn’t exist. Where you have no memory of your father, of the things he did to you. A space where not even Claire exists, and where you can pretend that Matt never stumbled into your godforsaken life, either.

You want to cease to exist. You want the world to end. You want to drown in alcohol until you can’t feel a thing anymore.

In the end, though, life is an endless, vicious cycle; no matter what you do, you won’t escape it until you’re dead—actually dead. And no amount of alcohol could ever change that. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou

[f0xgl0v3]

Octavian’s belt situation

Okay! Uh, instead of working more on another gods foresaken map post (I swear-) instead of doing. That to myself more I found it much more interesting to think about Octavian’s plushie belt situation.

Octavian cannonically has a belt that goes over his toga/just over his clothing to store his dagger, the stuffies; etc.

I’d like to propose the: Octavian Belt item placement hc! Because that’s what it’s come to, anyways

The belt itself,

So; I have drawings (oh of course I have drawings) but I’d also like to explain. The belt itself is probably something like nemean lion hide leather, something that’d be expensive in the demigod world that stupid rich family of Octavian probably would get. It’s one of those like snap buckle(?) belts? The same type of buckle they hand you on like, amusement park rides (the ones that are like? Google is calling them side release buckles) but those. It’s for ease of like everything, so he can slip off his toga or slip off the belt quickly.

But anyways, here are my super duper cool accurate diagrams

Front is left; back is right. I drew these quickly so I apologize, but it gives the roughest of rough breakdowns. In my idea this is like a rough idea of what it could look like?

To his right would be three stuffed animals of anything really? There’s little loops (that I accidentally colored wrong-) that ribbon or rope or thread could be run through to tie the stuffed animals to the belt. I chose ribbon for the drawing because (I like bows) I just wanted to have some fun. To the back would be one of those like belt pouches (I have one and they’re so fun-) and it probably holds stuff like gum, those the alcohol wipes you use once you get a cut(?) and like emergency tiny spool of thread and some needles. Then we get to the sheath for his dagger and, I have no idea how that would be properly strapped in, but for the reasons of the concept sketch it’s simply just like; wrapped together. Finally is the hand sanitizer; my boy can’t do thinking about getting sick or dirty things in general, totally carries some really quick disinfecting stuff on him.

Okay this was a random post but I hope if was super fun; I am going to go to be now so I hope all a good night!

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 3 - Part 2

>> April interrogates the lady. 

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

April narrows her eyes at the strange lady in front of them. “Look, I appreciate you savin’ us, but I don’t know who you are. So who are you, how do you know who I am, and how did you know I was kidnapped?”

The lady smiles and waves her hand. “Oh, where are my manners? My apologies, princess. I’m Mira, a friend of Gentry’s!”

The princess’s shoulders drop and her gaze softens. “Wait, you know my handmaiden, Gentry?”

Mira nods. “Yes! Oh, she tells us all about what life at the castle is like. I happened to be in town to give her some homemade treats! We had quite the starberry harvest, and she loves her berry crisps.” Mira hums happily before resuming her story. “Anyway, the castle was in an uproar when I arrived, and Gentry informed me that you had been kidnapped! So I went searching for you.”

April nods. “I see.” She turns to her knight, who still has his bō raised and looks ready for a fight. “Donatello, you can lower your weapon. I trust her.”

He does as he is told, but he still gasps. “Are you serious, princess? How can you trust her so easily? Also, side note: isn’t magic forbidden in your kingdom?”

“Well, that’s the King’s rule, not mine! I think magic is pretty neat!” She turns to look at Mira, still standing next to the two fallen men on the ground with a bubbly smile, before turning back to Donnie. “And very few people know Gentry loves berry crisps. She keeps it a secret until you give her a heaping plate of it behind closed doors." The princess smiles fondly as she remembers sneaking the beloved dessert to her handmaiden on multiple occasions. "So Mira’s telling the truth, and I trust her.”

She then walks over to the friendly witch and holds one of her hands. “Thanks again for saving us! I hate to ask more from you, but can you also help us get back to my kingdom?”

“Of course! But–” she looks around before turning back toward the princess and her knight “–there are many of those henchmen about. I think it would be best to wait ‘til morning before making the trip back home. But don’t worry, I have just the solution!”

Donnie walks over and stabs his bō into the ground before using it to lean into Mira’s personal space. “And just what is your solution to prevent us from getting caught?”

“You’ll see!” 

Before the knight can utter a retort, Mira grabs him while tucking April closer to her body. As Donnie grumbles and protests, the friendly witch pulls out a wand from her belt and utters a spell. Sparkling pink magic swirls around the three of them, and in the blink of an eye, they disappear from the dark and foreboding forest.

April smiles with glee as she watches the pink magic surround them. It feels like she’s flying as they teleport to wherever Mira’s taking them. It’s a much more pleasant experience than the teleporting spell her kidnappers used, which left her feeling queasy and sick.

The sparkling pink magic eventually dissipates and the trio is left standing in a quaint and cozy cabin, a fire already roaring in the fireplace. A large bed sits in the corner opposite the hearth, with an old yet comfortable-looking rocking chair and table tucked in the other corner.

The softshell finally scrambles out of Mira’s grasp and sputters, “And how is a well-lit cabin supposed to keep us safe?” 

“Well for one, the cabin is nowhere near where I found you two,” Mira explains as she sets down some of her belongings on top of a wooden bench near the door. “But as an extra safety precaution, this cabin is invisible to those outside it.”

She opens the door and gestures for the knight to walk out. “Go on! Check it out for yourself.”

Donnie keeps his narrowed eyes on the witch as he walks toward the door. He only breaks eye contact to step outside, but he quickly whips around to look at her once more. He takes a few steps back before daring to look around.

A look of shock washes over his face, and that’s enough for April to walk across the cabin and step outside. She joins her knight's side before looking forward and also gasps. The only evidence of the cabin’s existence is the open door with Mira standing in the door frame. The rest of the building doesn’t appear to exist—only the dark forest around it can be seen.

“I don’t suggest you stay out there for long!” Mira advises as she waves them back inside. “Who knows what’s lurking out there.”

The knight quickly ushers April back inside, but she can’t find it in her to complain. They’ve been through a lot, and she doesn’t want to take her chances by staying outside either. Besides, the bed looks very comfortable, and she’s ready to get a good night's sleep.

April tosses her shoes off before clambering into bed, quickly getting under the covers as Mira sits down in the rocking chair. Donnie, however, stands near the door, his bō still tight in his grasp. 

“You should also rest, my dear,” Mira hums as she brings out knitting needles and a half-made scarf from her purse. “You’re both safe here.”

He shakes his head. “I swore to Prince Raph that I’d protect her. That… and there is only one bed.”

April rolls her eyes and tells Donnie to…

>> get in bed… or else… >> sleep on the floor if it suits him. 

[chibishortdeath]

Ok, I’m sick of seeing only Netflix posts lately so I’m ranting about Simon lol

Unfortunately I had some nice paragraphs written for this but tumblr crashed while I was writing so this is my second time making this post (TwT)

TL;DR with the rant under a cut for easy scrolling, I am deranged and have studied all of Simon’s outfits, here’s some fun tidbits and I guess kinda a guide about his fashion sense :3

Oh boy, where to start XD. Castlevania has a lot of intricately detailed usually gothic and/or visual kei inspired fashion designs, usually with some amount of historical accuracy, thanks to Ayami Kojima, that the series is known for. But before this, the character design style was very different. From the very 90s shonen anime inspired Richter, to Christopher being deadass shirtless in a skirt at one point, to John Morris being in basically casual clothes, there’s a lot of variety in it.

Well, being the silly Simon super fan I am, I’ve studied all his outfits a ton over the years I’ve been a fan of the series and oh boy they are INTERESTING :3. I’ve noticed a lot of elements are consistently reoccurring, specific to him, and some are very much not specific to him lol. Anyway, just trust me on this one, overanalyzing the closet of an NES barbarian to be able to make new outfits for him is FUN >:3c.

So, I’ve seen him not wearing pants thrown around as a joke before, but it’s actually the truth! Besides the Haunted Castle wedding suit (an outlier that should not be counted lol), I actually have never run into a design where Simon is wearing full length, proper pants. The closest he ever gets is black tights in Simon’s Quest and occasionally shorts, but on that topic, shorts aren’t even his most common choice! Let’s look at some of his oldest designs:

This one is really hard to tell, but based on the angle of the lines, the shadows, and context clues from other art for CV1, I don’t know if that’s actually supposed to be shorts 💀💀💀!

In both his cute little manual doodles and his almost more adorable teeny 8-bit sprite, his outfit is a belted tunic of some sort! So like, the equivalent of a really tiny dress or a long shirt XD. And really, his cover art design is kinda just a more detailed version of these. They both have a distinction between a top and bottom part of the upper half, they both have big belts, they both have the tall boots and arm guards, they both have teeny skirt part, and Fun Fact! They both have red in the hair! I color picked a nice high res scan of the CV1 cover art, and yes, there’s red in his hair!!! It’s like a nice mix of dark reddish blond, it’s a very fun hair color :3.

However, that’s not where CV1 ends in tunic vs shorts debate:

THAT’S A SKORT— DO YOU SEE THAT DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE HALVES, ONE IS DEFINITELY A PANTLEG LMAO. So yeah, skort Simon is also a thing thanks to this particular magazine scan lol, thus leaving us with the possibility that it is both a skirt and shorts on the CV1 cover that he’s wearing X,,,,D. Never change, Simon, never change.

Besides the tunic, there’s some other interesting details to his CV1 era designs! :D In a lot of depictions he has this neat cape, something that returns in some Simon’s Quest art and Smash Bros lol, but he’s never shown wearing it in game. What’s interesting is that Trevor actually gets a cape in his game’s opening as well as Christopher in Belmont’s Revenge if I’m remembering correctly. It’s very neat seeing Simon character design details rubbing off into other characters :3. I like to think lore wise that it’s the same cape that’s been passed down to Simon from those two.

He also has the headband! Iconic! But have you noticed the little ball shapes at the ends of the tails? They’re either knots or, infinitely cooler option, beads :D!!!!!!! And I wouldn’t be surprised if they were because that leads me to another design: X68000–

Now this one is one of my favorites :3. It’s kinda like a forward facing version of his original design but with some new details! And his headband gets this cool lookin, intricate distinctly metallic design on it, something I’ve seen a lot of artists simplify to a general crescent moon shape. But it is kinda similar to the shape on his belt buckle, something that I still have no idea what it’s even supposed to be. Also, his arm guards and the thing at the end of his necklace (which may or may not have vampire teeth on it, they could just be metal spikes though) are similar; it makes me wonder if it was an attempt at a tortoiseshell pattern? Filigree? Whatever it is, they’re all matchy matchy about it.

This design also gives him the staple left shoulder pauldron, of which has these huge stitches holding it on and an added belt that connects to his other belt armor. Get used to belts, he has a lot of those X,,,D. What’s really neat about this one’s belt is that he has both a hilt for the family sword but also one for the whip on the other side, and they’re on the wrong sides for drawing the weapon properly 💀💀💀💀. Which is also funny considering his CV1 cover art has the sword on the other side, which is kinda wrong too? Who knows, maybe he’s ambidextrous and just doesn’t care what sides they’re on lol.

The biggest thing I can say about this design though is that a lot of these accessories and armor pieces look homemade, like as if he just took teeth as a trophy himself and strung them on a cord or made a shoulder piece and put it on an already existing belt he had. Adding onto this, there’s also the possible beads on his headband and the cords around his boots (which could be an attempt at a certain actual historical type of shoe that I cannot remember the name of for the life of me rn, in which case would make these not boots and actually corded shoes with very nice big fluffy socks hehe, I am forcing you to imagine him with big fluffy socks—) and yeah! I can see him making his stuff on his own :3. Which is so cool! I love this idea so much, it makes for a lot of things to imagine him doing hehe. Also gives him a hobby??? Yeah :)

No indication of if he’s got shorts or not in this one, maybe I’ll count how many have skirts or shorts and put that at the end of this lol.

But shorts get another point again cause we’re looking at Chronicles:

Oh Chronicles. Well, the first thing I wanna mention is that, this is Ayami Kojima’s design for him, so here we are seeing a very interesting mix of the visual kei style and 80s barbariancore in a way that honestly slays (figuratively and literally). And, surprisingly, there is something historically accurate about this design, and it’s not what you’d probably expect. Based on the width, material, cross rivets, and the buckle on the front, Simon is wearing an actual dog collar. Like, for dogs. Like it’s dog armor used primarily for hunting dogs I just— Again, never change Simon, never change 💀💀💀.

We also see Simon preferring to put his armor on his left side again with the torn in half coat. It’s also somewhat similar to 1600s coats, not really of any specific country in fashion that I can tell, however the sleeve being that short is not accurate, leading me to believe that he probably tore that off too lol. Very Chrom Fire Emblem of you, Simon, and another example of him D.I.Y.—ing things. The basic elements still stay similar to past designs. Shorts, distinct upper and lower half of shirt, belts, armor on said belt, sword and whip hilts, arm armor and tall boots (shout out to the heels on this one), and armor on the left, unfortunately no headband though. But that distinct bottom half to the shirt part of his outfit in this one is defined with… a corset? Yeah!!! That’s a corset!!! Though the proper name for the time period might be a stay or a girdle, but Simon is straight up wearing a belt over a corset. And said corset over a coat. Half of one. Don’t question him—

But the main entries to his 80s bara-barian half of the wardrobe, let’s get to some knightly aesthetic outfits, of which he does have a good amount, starting with SCV4:

Simon’s knightly outfits are usually a similar silhouette as his original tunic look, just in metal this time and in various colors. SCV4 has his armor as gold on the cover, blue on the Japanese cover and manual art, and green in game! And they’re all pretty much the same with mild variations. On the cover art, his shoes are corded sandals with nothing under them, but in game and in most other artwork they are these metallic boots with the classic X shape of the cords baked into them. Some art gives his middle belt armor section this cross with snakes on it, which is an odd thing to be referencing here. It’s either a staff of Mercury, usually associated now with medicine but was an alchemical symbol before that, or something else I can’t find any info on. There’s also a big ab window because these are all proper half shirts lol. Straight up a metal breastplate with nothing under it, a pretty bad idea tbh 💀.

All in all, these are generally really simple, but there’s one more thing before I stop talking about SCV4:

I LOVE this design. It’s this really nice blend of the older CV1 era style and the metal armor of the later ones, very cool. Shout out to the eye creases and the dead stare shadow over his eyes too, they really conveyed the effects of witnessing the horrors well lmaoooo.

Again, tunic, belt, arm guards, headband, the usual, but, speaking of symbols, there’s something about this one that’s been driving me nuts forever: I cannot find out what that symbol on his paldrons and belt buckle is!!! It’s this upside down triangle with a bent rectangle missing the bottom line over it and it LOOKS distinctly intentional, but I can’t find it or what it means anywhere!!! I tried searching through lists of alchemical symbols, religious symbols, nothing so far has been close (TwT ). Regardless, great design, definitely in my top 5.

And what else is in my top five? Oh yeah babey, it’s Simon’s Quest time:

Ah, Simon’s Quest with his fuck ass bob and the stolen Ravenloft image— but unironically, that armor fucks fr. Again, similar silhouette! If there’s any take aways from this post, it’s definitely that Simon is a little shirt, little pants kind of guy. A severe lack of long sleeves and long pants legs until now, and even then, these are skin tight. Heck even his boots(????) are vacuum sealed, just look at those fabric creases by his ankle!

Now, it’s honestly really hard to tell if his “gloves” and “boots” are supposed to be in some parts metal due to the shading on them and the base armor being very similar. I personally like to depict the forearm and calf parts as metal and the hand and ankle parts as not, but eh. Like most things regarding Simon, I suppose this too is up to interpretation XD. There’s some variation in color in some scans having the underclothes be white, dark blue, or black, and the armor be any range of red to purple to brown too. But towards red and black is probably the most accurate due to his sprite being those colors.

But this is a shockingly rare case of Simon being fully covered in one of his outfits, and I’m inclined to think that there’s probably a reason for that. Not only does he have a rotting curse right now and drawing straight up gore on the cover of an NES game was just not an option lol, but he’s not letting his guard down anymore after being hit. Which would also explain the sudden change to all metal armor as that can’t be cut through as easily as leather.

Speaking of all metal armor, oh I looooove the detailing on his. The gold accents to his byzantine (a nice in between color of red and purple, a color that is also reused in Smash Bros again in the middle corset section of his outfit) are what I would call stylized floral patterns, kinda in the way that fleur de les don’t really look exactly like flowers but still are supposed to represent one. Not sure what kind exactly, but possibly some sort type of angel’s trumpet? Very neat regardless. The gems inlaid in it are all green on top and around the belt, but the center belt buckle is bright red. It’s a very jewel tones color scheme!!!

Well anyway, if tumblr will let me have more images, I’d like to show off a few other random examples of outfit elements he’s had before I close this off with something :3

This was a pretty recently found scan of Simon wearing get this: a pleated miniskirt. Probably Roman armor inspired, as some of his other magazine scans have depicted him as such. One ad for SCV4 and another (live action even) for Simon’s Quest has him even wearing like a Roman helmet and everything, it’s odd. Add helmets to the list of things Simon might wear. Hmm maybe I should make a tier list of things based on how often he’s worn them…

Moving on!

This one goes for the bold choice of giving Simon not only an expected tiny belted tunic, but side slits on the legs! And uh um a little too much detail but uh— It’s also this kinda white, kinda bluish, kinda silverish color? Add this to Simon’s color palette I guess lol.

Which reminds me that I didn’t mention colors very much until now whoops. Throughout all of hie designs he primarily seems to wear neutrals like various browns, greys, and metal tones. But he also has a lot of color. Like as in there’s enough different colored designs to make a whole rainbow of Simon outfits. Common combinations like dark green, gold, and wine reds; blue and silver; brown, gold, orange, and kinda purplish greys; etc etc. And his HAIR. Oh boy, would this guy love modern hair dye X,,,,,D. He’s had it various blonds, reds, browns, even black at one point, blue, green, unnatural red, pink, and in one concept design white! Personally, I like depicting it as a nice in between of red, blond, and brown, it encompasses the most I think.

The final thing I wanna mention is the Smash Bros design, which I unfortunately can’t show because I’m on mobile and have met the 10 images limit whoopsie— (_ _ ;). This design is really a good culmination of a lot of elements. Not really definitive or anything, but very good :3. And it has something I didn’t mention earlier that I’ve noticed in some Simon designs: random belts or metal around his upper arms and thighs lol. The Smash Bros design in particular has the arm band things on both sides, Chronicles has it on the not half coat one, but this is another thing I’ve seen other characters (Christopher in particular, but his are just gold rings) have. The leg thing is less common, but yeah, that exists lol. Thank you Simon for uh bending two pieces of metal around your leg…? It’s cool XD. The corset also makes a return, as well as, once more, the same basic silhouette with the armor only on the left side, the belt armor pieces, etc etc. He’s very particular about that—

Well, anyway, Simon definitely has a vibe going on, but here’s a brief summary of things he seems to like:

Skirts, tunics, long shirts, and shorts (and skorts I guess), but nothing past about half his thigh, generally over the knees.

No long sleeves or pant legs (unless it’s tights when absolutely necessary).

Armor primarily to the left, unless it’s metal, in that case usually a full plate or paldron set.

Belts, hilts, belts on his arms, and neck, and hanging off of things, and legs, yeah belts—

Boots/tall socks, corded or not, and something on his forearms or wrists.

Headband! Seriously out of every Belmont he is the most dedicated to these lol.

Necklaces and beads and other little accessories and adornments are also cool.

Alrighty then, have fun Simon-ing and I encourage you to look through his or other characters’ designs and pick them apart a bit sometimes, even if it’s just through what’s on the wiki :3. If anything, I think it’s a good exercise in character design and consistency! But yeah, I wrote all this late at night and can’t think of anything else rn. If I do I’ll do a sequel I guess hehe. Either that or I might rant about another character hmmmmmmm—

[intothetwilight]

Hi, I'm Noah...and this used to be my pro-ana blog. As you can see there are no posts here(regarding that kind of content) and that's because I've removed them.

I've chosen recovery.

Let me tell you a little about me, so you can get to know the person behind the eating disorder. My name is Noah, I'm 38 (contrary to what I've told ANYONE), I am a widow, and I live in Indiana. I moved here a little over a year ago from the beautiful evergreen state of Washington to start a new life with my mother, husband, and our five cats. But life had different plans. My husband was diagnosed with cancer in May of this year and passed shortly after, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I have struggled with eating disorders since the age of twelve(12) starting with anorexia, which I mostly recovered from around the age of 17 until 27 when my brother took his own life. At that point, I developed binge eating disorder and have bounced back and forth between BED and ANA for the last 11 years. Being almost 40, I am starting to see the toll it is taking on my mind and body.

Mental health is not something I am new to. I have struggled with anxiety, treatment-resistant depression, bipolar, BPD, ADHD, and autism for my entire life in some capacity. Something more than others and some things worse than others at different times. The more I learn about myself and my illnesses and little idiosyncrasies the easier it has become to adapt and deal with these things.

Today marks day one of my journey to recover from eating disorders across the spectrum. I will exercise, eat healthy, but still indulge in McDonald's, have chicken nuggets for breakfast, and cold pizza, eat birthday cake until I feel sick. I will live my life with no regrets because when we die, and we all will someday, we get to take nothing on this earth with us.

A little more about me, I have my associate's degree in general studies and am currently pursuing my bachelor's degree in English literature(creative writing). I have two years of psychology under my belt and just recently decided to change career paths for something a little more up my alley as I've loved writing since I learned how. I can't count how much fan fiction and poetry I've written in my life time.

I also enjoy gaming particularly the Sims 2 and 4, but also some Animal Crossing. You can find me on Twitch if you know where to look 👀 maybe someday I'll share my Twitch handle. I enjoy making silly TikToks, and chatting with my friends. I enjoy role playing online, like on rpme(iykyk) and am quite the code editor and photo editor(photo manipulation).

Anyway, I hope those of you that are subbed to me will stick around, and my new visitors will sub and enjoy my content!

[longitudinalwaveme]

Captain Cold and the Blizzard Battle: The Kid's Book of Never-Ending Cold Puns

I was looking through some of the older posts on @gorogues's blog, and I was reminded that there was a kid's book that featured Captain Cold and the Top called Captain Cold and the Blizzard Battle. Since it was selling for six bucks on Amazon, I bought a copy, and I am now going to share my thoughts on it with everyone:

Captain Cold's stats (6'2", 196 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes) are taken directly from all those DC guidebooks.

The puns begin almost immediately. Len terrorized Central City with "cold-hearted crimes", the Flash "put him on ice", he has "nerves of ice", and "his cold heart lets him remain calm and collected even when the heat is on". The book also identifies the yellow capsule-looking things on his belt as cold grenades, though I don't think that those are what they actually are.

Captain Cold makes an entire blizzard just to rob an armored car. Seems a bit excessive. He also does it in May, because of course he does.

The blizzard also gets some kids out of school early, much to the kids' delight.

LOL, Len looks so proud of himself as he walks away with his loot.

Icicle (who is also in Central City, and is showing up Len), is stealing some "cold hard cash". Because cold puns!

Len gets away with his loot, since the Flash is more interested in stopping the Icicle (who's trying to get away with a hundred times as much money as Len) than he is in stopping Len. However, because Icicle is threatening his position as the best cold-themed criminal, Len can't even feel happy about his success.

Apparently Captain Cold's hideout is in an indoor tanning salon/steam sauna. He bought it with stolen money just so he could shut it down, because he just hates tanning salons/saunas that much. (I imagine that Mick was disappointed when he learned about that.) The fact that it's an excellent hiding spot for him is just a bonus.

And then Roscoe shows up! He's Len's pal in this story (which is hilarious, since they usually hate each other), and, even though Len invited him over, he still freaks out when Roscoe shows up (allegedly because he might have been the Flash).

"Aww, even you aren't cold enough to freeze a friend." And then Roscoe is instantly proven wrong when Len freezes his nose for no reason.

Roscoe has had "so many run-ins with the law today that my head is spinning".

Anyway, Len is bitter about the fact that Icicle seems to be better at his own game than he is, and tells Roscoe that he's lucky to be the only "spins-around-fast villain in the world."

Roscoe: "Thanks! But don't sell yourself short! What would we do without a guy like you?" Cheerful friendly Roscoe is both endearing and weird.

Len: "You'd call the Icicle. Or Mr. Freeze. Or any one of the other villains who have cold powers. Nowadays, it seems like there are dozens of them!" Len has a point. DC is full of ice-themed villains.

We then learn that, while Len got away with $10,000, the Icicle managed to get away with a million dollars (meaning that he also beat the Flash), and that at some point in the past, Len froze the Eiffel Tower. Why? Who knows!

Unfortunately, the Top then points out that Icicle froze all of Germany at the same time Len was freezing the Eiffel Tower, which I guess makes this version of Icicle the most powerful version ever.

Roscoe: "I hate to say it, but I know when a guy's been topped!" All these horrible puns make me smile.

Len wants to put the Icicle in his place for showing him up all the time, and, after Roscoe starts sneezing, he gets the idea to spread the common cold to the entire city. No, really. His evil plan is to spread the common cold to the entire city, and then rob some banks while everyone is too busy being sick to stop him.

In order to do this, he alters his cold gun so it can lower the temperature by about 20 degrees (instead of its usual, much lower temperatures), breaks into Bosh Labs to steal an experimental hypothermic rhinovirus (rhinovirus is the scientific name for the common cold, which I surprisingly actually did not know!), releases the virus into the air, and then makes the weather chilly so that the virus will spread really fast and get everybody sick.

Len won't be affected by the virus, however, because he also took the antidote from the labs (and also drank some orange juice, just in case.)

"He was about to conquer the entire city with a super-powerful cold! That had to be the greatest "cold crime" in history!" PUNS!

The plan works immediately, and everybody gets sick....but when Len goes to rob a bank, he learns that the Icicle has taken the credit for releasing the virus on live TV, and predictably gets angry.

"After all the years he had spent stealing from Central City, Captain Cold finally knew what it felt like to be robbed." This line is amazing and I love it.

Captain Cold goes to a coffee shop to get his favorite drink, iced coffee. Unfortunately for him, there's a very long line of people (all of whom are ordering tea, apparently), so he uses his cold gun to cut to the front of the line in a manner reminiscent of Gru in the Despicable Me movies.

The clerk gives Len regular coffee, so he freezes the poor clerk too and ices the drink himself...only to see the Flash fighting the Icicle through the window. And because of the cold Len gave him the Flash is losing!

Len goes back to his hideout, and Roscoe promptly shows up two seconds later, noting that it looks like the Icicle is going to "put the Flash on ice----permanently!"

For some reason, Roscoe always spins inside Len's hideout instead of just walking inside like a normal person. Which actually makes sense for Roscoe.

Roscoe has come down with the cold alongside everyone else in Central City. He thinks that the Icicle is responsible until he notices that Len isn't sneezing, at which point Len explains that he was the one who created the virus, and thus knew to take the antidote. Icicle wasn't affected because his entire body is made of ice, and thus can't catch a cold.

Len also reiterates that his cold gun can't affect Icicle...right before informing the Top that he's planning to go help Flash fight the Icicle anyway.

Roscoe's reaction: "That would mean saving your worst enemy---and mine! If you could, that is. No offense, but you said it yourself. You're just a guy with a cold gun. The icicle is made of ice. Your cold blasts can't hurt him, but..."

Len: "The Icicle can hurt me."

"The Top nodded, and then sneezed. "That doesn't sound like a fight you can win." " Len and Roscoe hanging out together is the best part of this book.

Len, being Len, is determined to fight Icicle anyway, and goes out to do just that. He saves the Flash from the Icicle, which prompts the Icicle to realize that Len's probably mad about him taking the credit for his crimes. The Icicle kind-of sort-of apologizes before telling Len to get out of his way so that "the better cold villain" can "finish off the Flash".

Shockingly, Len doesn't react well to this, and tells Icicle that if he wants the Flash, he'll have to go through Len first. Icicle replies with a title drop: "You just made a big mistake....You and I do the same thing. Only I do it better! But if you want a blizzard battle---you've got it!"

The two start fighting, and, while they're pretty evenly matched in terms of output, Len has a massive problem: as was underscored earlier, he doesn't have any real defense against Icicle's powers.

As the fight starts to turn against him, Len runs away and heads for his hideout. Icicle follows him, boasting about how dumb Len was to lead him to his hideout...and then Len promptly turns on all the saunas and indoor tanning beds, increasing the temperature in the room along with them.

This drains Icicle's powers, and Len promptly kicks the crap out of the powerless Icicle. "It takes more than ice powers to make a man cold. I always knew I was colder than you!" Oh, Len.

After he's sure he's defeated the Icicle, Len makes some more puns. "They say revenge is a dish best served cold....But it also tastes pretty good hot!"

Then the Flash shows up, immediately disarms Len, and knocks him to the ground with one super-speed punch. He's still suffering from the effects of the cold, but the fight between Icicle and Len gave him enough time to recover from his fight with Icicle.

Flash: "I just don't understand supervillains. It was so easy to follow the icy path of destruction that led here. So now I know where your hideout is, which means it isn't good for anything anymore. And with the Icicle out cold and your gun out of your hands, I won't have any problem taking you to jail...Was all of that really worth it? Just so everyone would know you were the one who unleashed this sickness on the city?"

In Len's mind, of course, it was totally worth it. Now that the Flash knows he unleashed the virus, everyone will know "that Captain Cold was the villain responsible for the greatest cold crime ever committed in the city!" So...happy end for Len, I guess.

No mention of what happened to Roscoe. Maybe he decided to go on a date with Lisa.

Anyway, this story was delightful and I loved it to bits. Having a story narrated entirely by Len was great, and I enjoyed that he felt in-character throughout. I could totally see Silver Age comic Len pulling a scheme like this, and Cold's strategic cleverness and grouchy possessiveness of Central City seems to come straight from Johns' Len. I also loved how hilariously petty he was throughout the story, from using his cold gun to cut in line for coffee to saving the Flash from Icicle just so he could prove that he was the better criminal.

The never-ending puns were likewise great, and I enjoyed that Roscoe got to be an important character in the book. Even though the role of Len's cheerful but slightly dimwitted pal would have worked better for Mick than for him, there's something extremely funny about having Roscoe in that role given how much he and Len hate each other in the main comics. And hey, he's still an endearing dork who makes top puns, so there are still some aspects of him that are recognizably Roscoe.

Finally, I enjoyed the art and the characters' slightly goofy facial expressions. I will probably do a separate post of the art at some point so that everyone else can enjoy it.

This is a great little book, and it was definitely worth the six dollars I paid for it.

[co-mixed]

Fall of X (either a breakdown or a rant)

Full of spoilers 

We all know Marvel has an affinity for soft reboots. It seems things are going to change radically. But then after a big boom nothing really changes. I personally am still wondering whether Fall of X is going to be like that or if it’s about to shake up the status quo (again). 

I don’t know. I hope changes are coming because Krakoa isn’t my type of setting. But even if not much is changing, I’m still here for the ride. Because the ride is really something.

What’s up

After yet another Hellfire Gala things go awry because of a series of simultaneously executed attacks. Because the majority of Mutants are forcibly relocated from Earth (supposedly), we are left with a small group. Among them are Kamala (who is still coming to terms with even being a mutant), Emma (who is rightfully pissed but surprisingly well prepared), Nightcrawler (who is now spider-man), Firestar (playing a traitor), Shadowkat (who now kills) and some others. 

See that’s why this arc works for me. Everyone is pushed to their absolute limit, and everything they do now is dictated by revenge and despair. Say whatever you want, functional and healthy doesn’t work in fiction quite as well as the opposite.

That’s why I already love this event. 

Nostalgic vibes

It started for me with Mutant First Strike. An attack on a small town is staged by Orchis to look like an act of mutant aggression. We see a Krakoan relief team at work and it’s quite enjoyable. Because the whole thing reminds me of the classic X-men motto - protecting those who fear and hate them. It’s an idea that Krakoa stepped away from and for me, it never felt true to the core idea of the series. 

And then, narratively, the story pushes you back to the good old Civil War days and Stamford. 

Naturally, you see propaganda at work, Orchis and comrades spinning the events to present a twisted image of what had happened. It’s vivid and very actual. But that’s when I felt that the classic X-men aren’t really that far gone. 

Reliving past experiences

The event sure has many great storylines. Like yet again Jean dies (or so, again, we think). This leads us to a story by Louise Simonson which kinda works as a stunning epilogue for the character. Jean goes back to pivotal events in her life and wonders what could she have done differently. A what-if style story that Simonson gets very right because come on, mutant legend here. The issue with time-displaced Jean stuck with me more than the rest. Maybe it’s because I genuinely enjoy AUs, or maybe it’s because Jean is still very much a plot device and her young version isn’t. She also makes a pretty sick old-school Magneto.

The other arcs are about Phoenix and Maddie. The former is as big and bad as ever, the latter just reminds you how lousy some characters have it. Maddie really deserves better (but that’d be boring).

Jean though… she comes to terms with all she’s ever done and accepts it. I mean… if there’s a perfect moment to let her die for good, this is it. But what are the chances… 

Origins

I love an origin story, the last one I got with Escapade (loved it!), but now it’s Ms. Marvel. Let’s skip the story of why she has to be a mutant and get to the interesting stuff. Kamala is all about her identity. Her hobbies, her family, her friends and teams, being inhuman, hero, etc. But as soon as she awakes on Krakoa, she embraces another identity. And see, I love how she almost immediately puts on an X-men uniform. (Unlike Disney’s Kamala who just throws away mutation as another label! What’s wrong with ya girl???) 

Anyway, before she gets to snap on the X-belt, she has a fantastic exchange with Emma. Because let’s be fair, no one schools teens better than Emma. When Emma continuously tells Kamala that she has to be really careful because being a mutant on Krakoa and being a PR stunt for a thriving nation is one thing, but living what they’ve been living before is completely different. and now with Orchis getting the upper hand, it’s straight up terrifying. Of course, Kamala doesn’t listen, she actually rushes into it because she wants to stand with her fellow mutants and that’s amazing (regardless of her mutant power never having been activated). Which is another thing well approached. It’s not even about power, but it’s about who you are.

Multi-layered, right? From Hellfire Gala we spin into the story co-written by Sabir Pirzada and Iman Vellani. It’s a character story with a ton of self searching and it’s definitely something that hasn’t been as common for mutants lately. More of them deserve their own arcs away from teams. I don’t know how well Marvel’s gonna do with separating Ms. Marvel from the X-men but so far she has enough on her plate. Plus, the character’s pretty popular so… who knows. 

This was definitely one of my favorite runs in this event. 

Weddings (and still no funerals) 

But let’s get back to Emma. If life on 616 is a chess board, Emma is a queen. You always expect her to be two steps ahead of everyone and she’s been very very smug. But after the gala she, while still reasonably prepared, is devastated. She believes the cuckoos are dead, her teammates are scattered, and she is pissed at everyone. Plus, she doesn’t know it but Kate’s killing humans now. Things are pretty bad. 

She teams up with Tony, things for him suck too with Feilong taking over his company and tech. In the process, comics threw in giant iron-man-looking sentinels which is something I’d love to see in the MCU. So Emma and Tony accidentally come across each other while fighting an iron sentinel, and end up in sewers plotting revenge on Feilong. 

That’s what leads to their “wedding”. No, they aren’t actually married, and Emma didn’t even use her real identity. But you know what… you know what? Emma and Tony have always had good chemistry and despite this being an almost business relationship, it really should be more. I mean if anyone could be a power couple… they’d be like ‘Roro and T’Challa but without the crown. And we could use a power couple. Not like Scott and Jean who are pretty much just a couple and not like Emma and Scott, the living proof that behind every mediocre man, there’s a great woman. 

So yeah I’m rooting for them. Give me a fake relationship romance in the middle of my superhero story. Note - all the fun parts happen in Invincible Iron Man, not in any of the X-Men titles. 

Where the hell is Storm?

I already mentioned that Krakoa was attacked but so was Arakko. And this is where I have some room for a negative rant. I don’t particularly enjoy this sci-fantasy setting. It gave Storm and Sunspot a couple of good stories mostly showcasing their power and smarts. But really, I think they both should be on Earth. Arakko mutants are really random, their dynamic is very fantasy-like, they have no thought-out place in any story so they’re stuck between being an interstellar problem and something four or five mutants from Earth have to deal with. Neither really works. Not for me anyway, and this is my breakdown. 

The amazing Spider… crawler 

Kurt’s never been bitten by a radioactive spider but yet there he is, wearing Peter Parker’s backup suit, and getting into a complicated ship with Silver Sable. The fun part is he’s doing whatever (or whoever) a spider would do. All the elements of a classic spider story assist Kurt in trying to reimagine himself and atone for the little murder rampage. But of course, being a mutant and pretty much banned from Earth, how well do we think this is gonna go? I love this run because it’s a fun mix and again, character-centric. Plus, it has romance or at least strong character chemistry. And to make things more interesting a distressed delirious Mystique is running around. Meanwhile, in another book, Destiny is falling apart because she believes Mystique is dead. 

Let them people go

Actually, this is one of two other arcs I don’t particularly get. One focuses on the misplaced mutants on a piece of Krakoa with Mother Righteous, Hope, and Exodus with religious euphoria turned up to a 100. Does Krakoa sound more and more like a cult? Yeah, it does. 

And then Realm of X is Saturnyne again. I was tired of her after X of Swords. So I read it for continuity but I don’t really feel like talking about any of it. Skip. 

Everyone gets an arc

Iceman gets a solo arc. He’s dead and preserved by his inhuman boyfriend. The concept is certainly interesting and I’m excited to know what’s happening next. Because if there is poetry in it, I’d like to see where it leads. 

I love when mutants mingle with the rest of the world as much as possible. That’s probably why I was pretty happy to see Unity Squad back in action. It’d be absurd for the rest of the heroes to just ignore mutant issues like they often do. So only fair that they try and rebuild at least some of the trust. Can’t be easy with heavy propaganda but will definitely open up possibilities for creating good stories.

Here we go again

I definitely have to mention murderous Shadowkat. All her recent development culminates in that. And it’s pretty damn realistic. On one side, who can blame her? On the other, kill no human and all that. 

But to me, that’s what Krakoa was always about. Not peaceful coexistence (which may not even be possible) but a utopia that eventually leaves you hollow and angry. Which brings to mind parallels with Jasmine’s world peace from Angel s4. 

Also, this again reminds us how cultish Krakoa is (was?).

Kate’s actions though, like Emma’s are rooted in despair. Both are convinced that the desert-dwelling portion of non-combatant mutants is dead forever. That feels sorta like Age of X-man, in my opinion, unfairly hated for no good reason by many fans. I genuinely enjoyed that arc. But remember how Blindfold kept saying that this is forever and Scott was convinced she meant that everyone else is forever gone. Yep, same thing. (Except it’s with the Five alive and well so resurrection is still present. And still bugs me a lot.) 

I’m still not fully caught up on what’s up with everyone. For instance, I haven’t been keeping tabs on Rogue and Gambit, mostly because first their Excalibur stint bored me and then they lost the spark they had when they weren’t married. I might still change my mind but I’m not holding my breath.

I might not like everything that’s going on but there are arcs and runs I enjoyed immensely and that’s more than enough reason for me to keep coming back to X-runs. 

All that writing and I still forgot Children of the Vault. What's even up with them? Idk but looks interesting.

[unofficialadamtaurus]

First of all CONGRATS for finishing! It could not have been easy (I say as I remember all the times you were sore, bruised, and/or sick while trying to write a chapter LIKE BRUH), especially when each and every chapter is god tier. Seriously homie, you’re amazing!!

But FOR REAL WTF?? these dudes keep working after having infiltrated a massive fucking whale, stopped a Grimm invasion, got exploded to bits, and fought an immortal milf? Babes pls get some. Idk. SLEEP.

Naw but i really do love to see it. Also especially love to see how much they support each other through it 🥹 honestly the highlight of the chapter for me.

GOD like this moment when all of RWBY hug is HNNNNGSOZHBEHAOXH

Blake and Weiss joined the hug by some unspoken signal. Ruby melted into their embrace like so many petals and Blake's heart melted with her. "I missed you guys."

THEY ARE FAMILY OKAY AND I JUST GXHWIYZBXOYWNJ

Ruby is being particularly adorable too (the carrots line killed me 💀) but also like GURL YOU ARE LITERALLY BLIND RN STAY IN BED??

Yang nodded. "We'll get through it. Speaking of getting through things…can we talk?"

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Yang shuddered at her touch. Their lips brushed when Blake continued: "Let's skip that part this time."

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

THOSE TWO ARE SO *frantic arm gestures* YKNOW??? Im happy they got a happy ending because yeah I doubted it for sec okay 😩

LMAO at the reoccurring Oscar interruption but wait FUCK THE KID IS FUCKING DYING?? UGH god I didn’t expect the Oscar and Ozpin thing to hurt as much as it did. Ozpin deserves good things too dammit whyyy 😭😭

GODDAMN Adam and Blake conversations are always so top tier is2g. There’s something I love so much about this conversation brooo. Blake’s resolve and care towards him just 🥹 UGH. her unwavering stares? Easily expressed gratitude? Instant forgiveness (nothing to really forgive cuz like corruption feels like shit and pretty violating and traumatizing tbh fr but she does it anyway to help him feel better ANDANDAND—)? THE LETTER???

OWHXISOWHXNIWOEUDNCKEIHWKFIW I JUST LOVE IT WHEN SOMEONE CARES ABOUT HIM AND HE FEELS IT OKAY

And FUCK I love this part

He swallowed and looked away, unsure how to respond to that. He didn't want to say "You're welcome," because they weren't, and this was never going to happen again. Even if, in some small corner of his heart, the knowledge that he'd helped to save the world like some kind of fantasy hero radiated a gentle heat that would warm him for a long time to come.

YOU DIDNT HAVE TO GO THAT HARD HOMIE IM ALREADY CRYIN 😭

Also LIVING for Neo and Adam team up. Neo’s expressive mannerisms are genuinely so fun to read UGH it’s PERFECT. And the “Don’t stay too long” for Qrow OAISBXOIENWOWIDN

He clipped Blush to his belt and let the spark flare unhindered.

Homie when I tell that IM FUCKING LIVING FOR THISS

"'Part of starting over is saying goodbye. You were first; now it's my turn. If you want to, you'll see me again.

"'Goodbye, Blake.'"

OWJDNEOWHNDDIJENEIDNXIEUWNDIFUENEIDIXJNWO IM EMOTIONAL

wait omfg I think I forgot to mention to Jaune 💀 I don’t hate him I swear The way his semblance and aura are practically working against each other is a REALLY interesting and nice touch, and i don’t think ive ever seen it applied like this. And I love his “i went from nothing to nothing line” and how he’s just so glad he was able to save somebody. 🥹 it captured that part of his character so well and tbh the same goes for all the others (me @ ruby rn is going “bitch is you BLIND”). It’s a really neat touch to the chapter!!

I can't tell if you've read the epilogue yet, but either way I am injecting every keysmash in this message directly into my veins. Your reviews were one of the things I most looked forward to when writing a new chapter - I was excited to see which lines you'd specifically comment on. You're probably at least 20% of the reason this story got finished at all lol.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for never failing to bring a smile to my face when commenting 😊

[juniaships]

Here's the official bio for Queen Genevieve!! I've been watching Quest for Camelot bc this year is the 25th anniversary and it's a guilty pleasure op mine even tho it has a lot of flaws So I had to make an OC XD

Quest for Camelot is owned by Warner Brothers. I only own Genevieve. Made in Doll Divine Princess Maker ver. 1.0. & Barbie movie dress maker

Name: Genevieve of Camelot

Age: 40s

Occupation: Queen

Ethnicity: African British(Celtic?)

Friends: Lady Juliana, Kayley, Garrett, Devon, Merlin

Spouse: King Arthur

Allies: Knights of the Round Table

Enemies: Ruber and his army, Lady Jezebel (OC)

Voice Claim: Angela Bassett

Goals: Retrieving Excalibur (succeeded), avoid a forced marriage to Ruber (succeeded), saving Camelot (succeeded)

Appearance: Genevieve is a beautiful woman with long, dark and curly and dark brown eyes. She also has brown skin. Her regal attire consists of a light yellow dress with red shoulder pads, outer skirt, and gold belt. She wears a simple silver and tiara with a blue gem in the center.

Personality: Genevieve is a wise and goodhearted woman who devotes her time to overseeing the welfare of her kingdom. Like Kayley, she also dreamed of becoming a knight but were forced to set those dreams aside. While she sometimes regrets missing that opportunity, she doesn't regret choosing to be Queen. Genevieve encorages Kayley to pursue her dreams but warns her that the journey towards knighthood is not an easy one. It's implied that she and Lady Juliana were childhood friends.

Abitlities: Genevieve is adaptable, as when she spends her time in the enchanted forest. She also demonstrates her political prowess as when she tries to diffuse Ruber's attempts at invading the sea village, and later convincing the dragon brothers to help her.

The only magical ability Genevieve possesses is a mirror given to her by Merlin. This mirror can reveal a person's "true self", teleportation and some defense against dark magic. While it can deflect physical spells too much force leads to cracks, reducing the effective power of the mirror.

Inspiration: Guinevere (Arthurian Legend), Elinor (Brave), Tzipporah (The Prince of Egypt), Mrs. Brisby (Secret of Nimh), Fiona (Shrek), Asami (Avatar LOK), Snow White (Disney/OUAT), Annika (Barbie Magic of Pegasus)

If Quest for Camelot was about King Arthur it makes sense for Guinevere to exist too! So here's my idea of what she could look like. I think Arthur would want a strong, caring person who is just as devoted to the light as he is. But also because I am sick of media that only depicts Guinevere to serve that stupid love triangle; there's so much more to Arthurian legend and Guinevere than the men she sleeps with. It wasn't even part of the original myths! -_-

Anyways I wanted a story where Guinevere gets to be the hero. As for her role in the movie she visits Juliana and Kayley but their party gets attacked by Ruber. The queen and Kayley escapes and together, along with Garrett, Merlin's falcon and the dragon bros, set off to save the kingdom. She also does battle with an old foe, the bitter Lady Lizabet, who wants to get rid of her and take Arthur as a trophy husband.

As far as design goes I gave her a warm color palette to contrast the blue tunic Arthur wears in the film. Plus the "Primary Color Protagonist" trope.

[transfatliberation]

story time! tw internalized transphobia

I’m a Data Hoarder™️ and was going through my hoard about 6 months ago, when i discovered some old chat logs. Anyone remember Messenger Plus from waaaaaaay back in the day? Anyway, many years ago, like 13 or so, back when i was a teenager, i was a HORRIBLE transphobe, because… that was what i grew up with. I grew up in the Bible Belt. All i knew about trans people were like the jokes made in movies like Ace Ventura and 4chan posts (I KNOW, i know, i got better) about like the “open wound” GRS i now know to be bullshit, stuff like that. And of course, my abusive stepfather who punished any sign of queerness (and to be clear, i was a very obviously queer kid despite being seemingly a “boy” exclusively into girls, but that’s for another post).

All that to say, i had a loooooot of internalized transphobia, and really DID consider it like… a way to protect myself from the Capital-G Gender feelings i was having. So when one of my closest online friends i’d talked to for years came out as a trans girl to my little online friend group, needless to say, I freaked out.

I threw every “logical, rational point” i had at her, which is to say, i basically sounded like Ben Shapiro or his ilk do today and I just. kept. on. For so long. I really thought i was doing her a favor, really thought i was trying to save her from some life of delusion and torture, because that’s genuinely what i thought it was. i really loved her and was trying to shove her back in the closet because I knew it to be safe there.

but that’s not how it came out, because the fact remains, I was trying to do an inherently hateful thing. I had so much love for her, but hated the gender feelings I had in myself, therefore, took it out on her for being brave enough to actually come out with them. and believe me, i took every. single. fear i had out on her. oh, it makes me sick to my stomach still to this day.

Discovering those logs and finding them with that in them really changed my world. I really did not remember that at all, I repressed that memory completely. We barely ever talked after that, which is understandable! And not only that… I lost a lot of my online friend group from back then. I never registered why, though in hindsight, it’s obvious. I genuinely thought we just drifted apart. i even repressed that she came out!

I tried to email this girl and apologize, but it had been over 10 years since then. For all I know, she doesn’t have access to it anymore. Or heck, blocked me. It’d be valid. but all that to say, it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

and i beat myself up over it for a good few months too. Before I came to this comic, i had to come to its same conclusion. I’m gonna carry that weight. i’m gonna sit with it, and never repress or forget it again, but also not beat myself up over it. over 10 years have passed since then. i’m a completely different person than i was back then. Fuck, i’m literally unrecognizable from my past self in pictures from just a few years ago, of COURSE i’ve changed and grown since Teen Years Ago, the absolute sickness in the pit of my stomach when i think about that incident PROVES it.

But of course, i can’t just sit on my laurels now and rot either. I have to keep moving forward, always striving to be a better person than I was. I genuinely hope someday i look back on who i am now with the same “oh no bb what is u doin” energy. because that’s how i’ll know i’ve truly grown.

Me when I remember something I said ages ago that was wrong or my values no longer align with

[chroniclesofabooknerd]

Really long post below:

07.20.24→ original entry date.

LONG RANT BELOW: I've been asked by a few people that are actually genuine if I felt comfortable going into detail about what I have been dealing with lately. Note, this isn't something that just started happening within the last few weeks. NO. THIS.. has been going on off and on for the last several months. But, whichever smarty pants mcgee has been doing it, finally got caught in the midst of doing it and I was prompted to change security settings. It was literally a battle of typing speed. I came really..really close to losing everything. I know there's alot of yall that's out there that don't see the enjoyment in blogging or reading. There's those that don't find enjoyment in researching and journaling and that's fine, you can just skip ahead to the next post if this doesn't interest you. OR, you can read it and you may find something within my very long post that you agree with. I did forget to include that whoever it was also made a hacking attempt on not just my FB Blog but my personal profile on there too. Thankfully, nothing got affected because I have all that set up differently for security. I will be cross-posting this.

So this will be shared on :

https://rusticbooktravels.home.blog/ -> which is my main blog site

my IG accounts

Blogger ↓↓↓

http://daisywitchchronicles.blogspot.com

I'm also going to put the link below for my linktree. That way you can go to it and be redirected and see the blogs all in one spot and can choose which one you want to visit..

My linktree ↓↓↓

https://linktr.ee/daisyjeanbloggz

Original Entry. 07.16.24 ( originally posted on IG because I was wanting to get blogging done for my bookstas and people just got all wackadoodle on me!!)

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Go0d mernin all you day-walkers and hopefully all my fellow night-walkers are doing okay :) && Howdy chickadees and chickaroos.

[^^^Part of my post from earlier this morning]

Soo...I don't really use all that many sayings when I post or at least none that are repetitive and catchy in my opinion. So, please, for the love of all things coffee fueled and paranormal,tell me why am I getting hate mail because I started using "chickadees & chickaroos” and it's apparently rude and inconsiderate to call people day-walkers or night-walkers. It's not like I'm referencing a vampire movie or zombie movie here. ( But if I was, in regards to a vampire movie it would be Blade. If it was in regards to Zombies, it's not a movie but The Walking Dead calls Zombies, Walkers.) BUT...It was supposed to be something funny damn,y'all really need to get a life!

The beginning part of this I literally just posted after work this morning with a damn cup of coffee. I was gonna spend the morning blogging... I was wanting to get caught up on some things, but for some reason all the stupid fecking algorithm wants to do is send people who have pizz in their Wheaties & sH!T in their cornflakes to harass me. I'm beyond sick of this. Does anyone else have issues when they try to use catchy phrases? Why the hell do I always attract some of the most mush brained, cornbread soggy in the middle, watermelon ain't ripe, momma done dropped them on the head twice and daddy done kicked them across a football field azz people!!!!!????

I literally just started using these phrases. As in within the last 3-4 days.. maybe almost a week. Anyways, I hope you spill your coffee on white pants, I hope you step on a Lego, I hope you bang your little toe on every piece of furniture that exists in your house and bang your elbow. Oh and most importantly, I hope when you go to leave your house or job, the door handle snags on your shirt or pants and then the seat belt catches and refuses to release!!!

Have the day you deserve.

=========================

Journal entry 07.20.24

_______________________

Howdy chickadees and chickaroos. As you see in this earlier post I've been dealing with a lot. Below I'm going to be adding more to what I've been dealing with to give insight on just what type of scum I've been dealing with.

Originally posted on threads:

Howdy my chickadees & chickaroos! Today I'm sharing the latest bull$hyte that I've been dealing with as a blogger & journalist. So, I've been desperately trying to engage and try to accomplish certain personal goals for myself as far as my writing and blogging. I don't do this to be famous on threads or IG. I do it because I enjoy it. However, within the last few months I must have really pizzed in somebodies Wheaties because I've dealt with the following : (1/idk how many this will be)

2. I've dealt with bullying and harassment. Backlash for voicing my own damn opinion and sharing MY. OWN. RESEARCH AND JOURNAL ENTRIES. Authors attempting to come after me because they didn't agree with the rating I gave them. I'm sorry but I'm not giving your very poorly edited dumpster fire a 5 star rating when it's barely a 1.

2(cont.) Now I get it, indie authors have it rough. I know writing and publishing is hard. I'm a writer myself so I get it. However, it doesn't excuse the ones that send the work out into the world like "oh not my problem anymore" && they never did any editing or spell check the entire time. & This isn't bashing indie authors or traditionally published authors. This is just me venting. Please don't get your panties in a wad.

3. Hackers. Yes you read that right. Hackers. I really don't know why someone gets enjoyment out of attempting to ruin someone's work. But I've had people hack my email. They have tried to hack my websites where I blog and most recently they've attempted to hack IG. I really don't understand why. If youre that pizzed off at me just UNFOLLOW ME OR BLOCK ME! It would literally take what a minute or 2 of your time?

3(cont.) Also, please stop it whoever you are. My main blog means the world to me because I created it not long after I lost my best friend. (My solid white husky passed unexpected & reading to him was my favorite thing so I started blogging about books and it was my way to still connect in a way.. doesn't have to make sense to y'all but it does to me)

4. Well anyhow, that's a chunk of what I've been dealing with. I just don't understand what makes people feel they have the right to screw with others like that. Especially someone like me. I literally do nothing but keep to myself, work constantly and attempt to make a name for myself with my blogging and writing.

Side note: I attempted to make a new IG and turn it into a creator page but that didn't work out so, if you were following an account with the name (witchblogcavern) that was me but things happened and I could not keep that account.

Now, I want to continue with my very long disgruntled rant to say. That these hackers. These, low down, no good ©ûM guzzlers have still been attempting to hack just about everything that I own when it comes to blogging and journaling. A few days ago, someone tried to put the final nail in the coffin in regards to me blogging. They went after my main blogging site. The one that is mentioned up above that I have had for years. This led to me getting the “white page of death or white screen of death” I ALMOST LOST 6 YEARS worth of content. 6. FUGGIN. YEARS. They somehow managed to hack an email that I've been using for quite some time that I had linked to the main blog. It took hours… and I mean HOURS to fully recover my blog. I really don't know what is wrong with people. I don't understand what I ever did to anyone except to give my honest and unbiased viewpoint on whatever it is that I am working on. Ive been nice about it, I've tried going through and blocking potential culprits. But I cannot stress this enough.. If I am actually able to figure out which person or persons it is that is tampering with all of my work. I'm going to press charges. I have been communicating with the support team for my blog and they have escalated it to the IT department. It’s theft and impersonation. I don't know how far that will get me but I am beyond sick of this. I've worked way, way too damn hard trying to make a name for myself with my blogging just for some stupid azz m.o.f.o to try and ruin it and claim it for themselves… I don't care if it's a fellow blogger, or writer or author that is doing this. You sir, ma’am or whatever entity you desire to be, are a downright PIECE OF SHIT. And, I hope that one day, Karma screws you hard, no lube with a soldering iron.

Those of you that have been following me for a while..years maybe, you know that generally if I decide to vent or rant it's not this angry. But I am so sick of the bullying and harassment that I'm receiving when I know for a flipping fact, I haven't done anything at all. It's not like I'm on here posting hateful content or attacking someone for their personal beliefs. I don't post anything that goes against any type of political views or things that are considered controversial. I keep to myself, in my own little blogging world. But somehow, somewhere, these vile idiotic people (or it might just be one person who just absolutely hates me to the core and hates the poop that comes out my rear) have gone out their way to try and make my life a living hell. I DON'T NEED HELP WITH THAT!! Its way past that point! So from here on out, if I don't seem as nice as I used to be, my replies are short or I seem distant,this is why. I'm tired of people using what I've worked so hard on, for their personal gain. And, if after reading all this you decide that you no longer want to follow me, be friends or even see my content anymore, that's fine. It's totally up to you if you make that decision, either way, I hope you have a good weekend. Take care and as always, stay safe out there y'all.

[cordycepsfem]

Pageboy Readthrough, Part Fourteen: The One About the Rant About the Skirt

Happy Pride! Let's slog our way through the rest of this. I'm sick so I've been doing nothing but drinking my weight in Gatorade and FaceTiming my girlfriend, but she's sleeping so I've got time for at least two chapters.

If you've missed any of this delightful readthrough, you can find all the parts here.

Previously

EP goes to Old Navy and buys clothes she doesn't like because she wants to fit in

your reviewer commiserates

EP likes a girl but can't figure out how to handle that so she dates a boy (and sucks his dick) instead

I wish we'd left on a more memorable note, because that all sounds boring AF, but here we are

Now

Chapter Twenty-One

EP talks about the first girl she ever kissed

somehow she knew this girl was "queer" and all EP wanted was to be around her "queerness"

you had a crush, EP, it's okay to say it

so she'd go and hang out where this girl worked

they kiss:

first, of course we get to know a Canadian Fact

second, that's beautiful, what a good and memorable kiss; I hope I don't scroll down to read anything that ruins it

well, she ran away from Jessica, but that's okay because years later she meets up with Jessica again at a party, and it's all good

except now, like a dummy, EP says this:

So you fetishized her experience as either a bisexual woman or a lesbian, and you're now referring to someone again as "queer" without any notes on how they referred to themselves.

Knock that the fuck off. You do it every chapter and it's rude as fuck.

Chapter Twenty-Two

EP is filming the remake of "Flatliners"

(I enjoyed it mostly, it ends like shit)

first we are told that she was not given a safety belt during a car scene

then we are told she is a huge fan of rollercoasters, which is surprising because I wasn't sure she was tall enough for any of them, but apparently her friends call her "the mayor of Six Flags Magic Mountain" which sure, why not, could also be true

she likes rollercoasters because they allow her to dissociate

also for those of us new to the world, thank you for doing the charitable work of describing how a rollercoaster ride starts

(I am a very specific type of asshole and am feeling very bitchy and uncharitable with EP tonight but now I want to go on a rollercoaster)

anyway, the car scene goes fine, if a little roughly due to no safety belt, which should have been handled more seriously

EP reports that the Black actress in the film was told that she (the Black actress) only got the part because she was Black

EP reports that she said "no" to dresses for her character (a medical school student who really has no need to wear a dress) but "yes" to other "girl clothes"

then EP gets asked if she's upset that her character isn't gay, and goes on what is either a good tirade or a weirdly aggressive tirade that I can't parse from how poorly she writes it

did you... did you need to amp up the conversation with "... a fucking skirt"? could it have stayed at, like "She's gay in my heart" or "Is this about my wardrobe choices?" or "Why does this matter?"

why was this where you chose to lose your shit, EP?

also stop calling lesbians queer i swan to john ep

EP very casually - and by very casually I of course mean not casually at all - continues to lose her shit

remember, this conversation started with this man being kind of a dick and questioning in a roundabout way why she hadn't wanted to wear dresses and if that was a gay thing

except now wearing dresses *can* be a gay thing and how dare he suggest they can't

what is she actually mad about? that he thinks gay women don't wear skirts?

then go wear the fucking skirt EP show him he's wrong

.... right? what am I missing here?

okay, so let's take this from the top

"I continued to prioritize the needs of everyone else over mine" - you were there to do a job, this was your job. at my job, I don't usually get to rant about how dressing up for a meeting with the head honchos makes me feel bad, because it's my fucking job on the line

"trying not to be 'difficult' anymore" - you lost your shit over a question about a skirt; true, it was a badly-asked question and shouldn't have been asked, but you were difficult and made it a much bigger deal than was necessary

we'll get back to being who you are in a minute, but detour with me to the next point:

what is this "queer walk"?

this is not the first time she's written about this

I for the life of me cannot figure out what she means

she, like all other humans who walk, walks in a way that is distinct to her body

like all other humans whose arms do these things, her arms dangle and bend; like all other humans whose hands do this, her hands move; like all other humans who sit, she sits

(I added caveats because obviously there are humans without arms and hands, and obviously there are humans whose arms and hands do not work in the usual way, and humans who do not walk... but she is not one of those)

(for instance, my arms and hands also dangle, bend, and move, and I am known to sit and was also told I do not sit in a "ladylike" manner, because... that's not what my body does, and I don't care...?)

(me being a lesbian has not changed how any of that operates, nor does anyone I see immediately say "Ah, a lesbian" upon seeing only my gait)

(at least, no one's ever said that to me)

(yet)

so I went to go watch her walk

she doesn't walk "queerly"

she walks like a woman and/or a bashful boy

is that queer? do all queer people walk this way? no, of course not so what the fuck is she referring to?

let's go back to this "I'm sorry who I am is repulsive"

this is because of the skirt thing again? you are claiming you feel repulsive because you said "no" to wearing a dress, which is a good and okay thing to do, and then a man made an insinuation about your character, which was a less good thing to do, and then you got potentially righteously angry about that, and you immediately went to "I'm repulsive"

Bubby, you need help.

I thought this was the end of the chapter but then I realized it wasn't.

so she goes for a screen test and the guy is there and he says "the studio" wants her to get hair extensions so she's "softer"

which she correctly interprets as "less GNC"/"less lesbian"

so in the one good self-advocacy move I've read her make, she calls someone who puts a stop to it!

Why did you not keep that feeling with you???

For so much of this book I've been waiting for her to get that spirit, that "I have boundaries" root in her spine, and here it is, and then... what? She forgets about it?

I said "no" to wearing dresses full-time and having a bowl cut at age 12. Too late? Maybe, but it was the first time I felt comfortable saying "no."

I said "no" to going to therapy when I was 22, after almost a decade of unhappy suffering. Too late? Yes, but it was the first time I knew what my feelings were.

I said "no" to a lot of things later than maybe I should have, but it gets easier every time you say "no."

No, I don't want that. I don't want to be treated that way. I don't want that job. I won't do that job. I won't do what you're asking. I won't go there. I don't like that. I won't wear that. I can't pick up those hours. I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to do that.

It takes practice. It's truly so hard.

But instead of saying "I'm not going to let you change me because I'm a lesbian," EP decided to just... not be one.

I forgot how maudlin and irritable this book makes me.

Welcome back, I guess.

[sab3rto0thed]

most of the things i used to do were about closeness. they stopped being that way a while ago.

when i was sixteen, i got really sick for a day. i was fighting with my mom, all of the time, so i remember being hunkered on the tile floor of the bathroom with a towel bunched between my knees, alone. i had thrown up four times already. i would throw up eleven more.

that night, when everyone was dead asleep, i remember trembling in my bed, my ribs a cave around my stomach. i pressed my face to the pillow and flattened my palms against my forehead. i blabbered to the air in the room, thick with grief.

i want to be held, i whispered. i choked on that idea, that word: held. holding. no one held me. there was no one to bring me soup or stroke the hair from my sweat-soaked forehead. i was not precious enough to anyone to be held.

i slept for a long time after that. when i finally rose from my bed, it was dinnertime. i remember doing my eyeliner, belting my pants around my concave stomach, putting blue clips in my hair. irreversible, presentable. i sat at the kitchen table with my reheated pizza, the first thing i had eaten in days. my hands trembled. they always trembled. there was nothing to be said about something so usual.

i was always fighting with someone. my boyfriend hated driving to see me, and he hated my friends, and he hated me, especially. he would gripe about all of these things in that order, ticking them off on a list. he put his hand on my stomach when anyone could see, just so they all knew exactly what i was. irreversible, presentable, concave. i was not precious enough to anyone to be held. apathy was the largest tragedy of my life.

it has been three years and i don't talk to any of those people anymore, but the emotions of that night still ring true. they cut bitterly. i stopped trying to be held after that. i stopped trying to be a lot of things after that: soft, quiet, agreeable, lovely. lovely, especially. i was never lovely, not even when i tried.

i thought: if they want something to talk about it, then i will give it to them. there is this girl that saved my life and slaughtered me right after. i see her in the store and i grit my teeth, my anger brittle. my ex told me that he couldn't be with me if i was like that, tight with rage, a coca-cola bottle ready to explode. so now i let anything shake me.

i was not close to death that night, but there was a long stretch of time wherein i had wished i had died anyway. palms to my forehead, body a prayer, nameless and indistinct. no one would have cared. it would never have mattered.

if the girl that i see at the store today wanted to talk about me three years ago, then i gave her something to talk about. my eyeliner, one side always a little sharper than the other. my hair, an undaunting mess. my stupid little smile that i hated for five years. someone at school laughs at my hair and i laugh with them. everything i do is on purpose now. there are only so many times you can bear of someone choking you against your wall before you hit back.

that is why it is so stupid that the one thing i miss about my most recent relationship is closeness.

i don't really dabble in romantic relationships at all, because they are scary and they hurt and they make you look weak. i was no longer in the business of looking weak, which was on purpose, of course. if someone hurt my feelings, i hurt them back twice as hard. in relationships, you can't do that. you have to have a balance, and i am no equilibrium.

i did well at first. i let him pretend to have the control and i kept my teeth sharp and my nails jagged and my eyeliner, of course, uneven. my hair a mess, little brown curls resting against my forehead. he said i looked good anyway, and i snorted when i was alone. what a lying fool.

i am a great god damn actor, and i have been for as long as i have avoided closeness. boys think they always have the upper hand, but no boy has the upper hand on me. i am not fifteen anymore, naive in my bed, my ribs crushed beneath my skin. it doesn't matter who you are. if you hit me, i hit back twice as hard.

i trusted him a little, or it wouldn't have happened at all. the kissing was good and the sex was fine, and at least now i am in control of the dick i suck, which in itself is an achievement. i can do without all of that, though. i have for a long time. it doesn't bother me.

for him, it was about the closeness. he sang songs to me about waking up in his ex-girlfriend's bed, her hair all over his pillow. he hated staying over at my house. he loved the piano, so i hated his hands.

there is a level of falling in love that i am just incapable of. that might be what happened here.

closeness is hard to achieve, but i do manage. i had an english teacher and when i threw up the night before graduation, i let him know. i think he laughed about it a little, but he knew what it meant. i was not dead and i had graduated, and if anyone knew what a feat that was, it was him. for two years, he had watched me grow up.

and i love him―i love him always. i love his wife, too. i love how when i saw them in the grocery store for the first time all year, they both rushed in to wrap their arms around me like i was the most precious thing in the world. i love that i'm eighteen now and he still gets coffee with me so we can sort out colleges, because he knows i'm a little lost, because he was like me once.

but i think if he wrapped me in his arms and held me forever, i would never be afraid of anything again. i would stay there forever, and i would remember the first time i saw the wedding band on his finger and thought: this is a man that loves things properly. and i wouldn't worry about the gray hairs starting to sprout in his beard, and i wouldn't worry about infinity, and i wouldn't worry about getting my words right.

i know intimacy. i know about going into the new teacher's classroom while i am having a panic attack, and she tells me to breathe, and she doesn't know me that well but for the first time all day i do. i know that she writes to me still, all the time, and i know she defends me relentlessly to her coworkers that make a mockery of my name. i know things might be easier for her if i wasn't so close, and i know she doesn't care.

i know intimacy, i do. i know staying at my best friend's house, her parents hugging me before they go to bed, pressing their chins to the top of my head. i know that when i am about to cry, she holds me, and that makes me cry harder because i know i am precious to her. i know that these little loves, like the fact that she makes me malts and shares her dinner with me and mails me friendship bracelets even though she lives in a different state now―i know they are so important.

i don't miss him. the boy, i mean. i don't miss anything about him. i can do without the kissing and the sex and the dates. at this point, i kind of hate his mouth. whenever he touched me, i could feel the script between his teeth, carefully curated, like an insert your name here moment. i know all about performing. i did it for a lifetime.

what i miss is the closeness. i miss the way he held me when i was shaking, pulling me in by my shoulders, like he would protect me from everything in the world. i miss lying in his bed, my face in the crook of his neck, our legs tangled. i miss sitting between his legs while he ran his hands through my hair. i miss being held.

i have a friend who has been through the same shit i have. the using, the mocking, the loneliness. the acting. the acting, especially. i have known him for four years, so i am now older than he was when i met him. i have watched him grow up the same way he has watched me, and as we sit in the back of a car together, he looks so at peace.

i drive him home. i don't know what about the night makes me so honest, but i don't lie to him anymore. we are too close for that. it would be a crime, i think, to lie to him. we have both seen each others worsts.

i tell him: i hope you know, out of everyone back then, you're the only person who feels like family to me.

he pauses, his neck craned to look out the window, slumped down in his jacket because of the cold. then he says: me too, soph. me, too.

he hugs me over the glovebox when i park outside of his house. he pauses before he closes the car door, and he says: i'm proud of you. i really, really am.

i'm proud of him, too. we are like family, he and i. we know the same type of shit.

i'll be okay. i'm still learning intimacy, but i will. i will be okay. because i am not scared of closeness anymore, and my ribs are not a hollow over my stomach. and when i am sick, i always have someone to bring me soup.

i am not scared of closeness. that's important, i think.