#as a little kid + couldn't talk / read anything / draw or write or use a pen / play / etc during had on the way

[intertexts-moving]

wonder if there's higher rates of dissociative problems among ppl raised in the kind of religious environments that involve regular several-hour-long worship ceremonies and frequent repetitive prayer for long amounts of time.

[lunamugetsu]

Delivery!

Flash was currently being held captive in a black of ice. How he got like this he wasn't sure. All he remembered was that he was running across Central City keeping the peace until suddenly an ice beam shot out of nowhere and froze his feat to the ground.... and the rest of him.

"Alright you got me! Show your face!"

"Well I was going to regardless. No need to yell." Out pops Danny Phantom carrying a bag with him and holding out an envelope.

"What? Who are you?"

"My name's Phantom. Danny Phantom. I have a message for you. I couldn't get your attention earlier so I thought this was just the next best way to get you to stop." Danny said as he unfreezes the speedster.

"Uh, okay." Flash said as Danny gives him an envelope.

On the envelope there are drawing in crayon and stickers and in marker it says: to Flash.

"It's from Susie, she'd said you'd remember her."

He remembered a Susie, a little girl that he used to see in the children's hospital. She had leukemia. He spent any minute he could making sure the kid was smiling when he was there. He was heartbroken when the nurses told him that she had passed away before he could give her her birthday present. Flash examined the crayon written words, it was just like Susie's writing.

"How did you?"

"Just read it."

The letter reads:

Dear Flash,

I'm sorry, I wasn't there when you showed up for my birthday. I never got to tell you, but thank you for being at the hospital with me when I was scared of going to treatment or when I had to take my medicine. Thank you for making me smile even when I didn't feel well. Thank you for playing games with me when I couldn't go outside. Thank you for talking to my mom and dad at my funeral. That was really nice. I drew some pictures for you but I never got to finish them when I was in the hospital so I drew you some new ones. Danny says that he'll give them to you.

In the envelope was a series of different colored papers all with different crayon and marker drawings of Susie and him playing in different scenarios. One where she was a doctor and he played the injured patient. One where they were both superheroes. Another one where they were playing shadow puppets when she wasn't feeling well. Page after page were different drawings of them playing with the last one was covered in glitter with a big heart with a crayon drawing of him and Susie.

"Susie said that her biggest regret was that she couldn't say thank you to her hero before she passed. So I bumped her up on my delivery list."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, I never fully introduced myself. I'm Danny Phantom, you can call me Danny. I'm the designated delivery person for the afterlife to the living realm. Any messages or special requests from the dead are delivered by me!" Danny hands him a business card all official.

And it does say: Danny Phantom special delivery service for those of the non-living variety!

"She also said she wanted to give you one last hug before moving on."

"What do you?" Flash is halted from saying anything else as he feels a pressure against his legs. He looks down to see a translucent small figure. She was a picture of what she looked like before the chemo. Susie gives him a smile and a hug before fading before his eyes.

Before Danny officially takes up the mantle of Ghost King he's trying to do a job that would have him interact with all of his citizens first so he could get a feel of it. Hence him making connections with both the living and non-living people (he went big-brain for this idea)

Extra scene:

"Oh that reminds me, I have a card for you from someone else."

"A card?" Flash opens the card only to get sucker-punched in the face. (like one of those cartoon boxing glove punches)

"A punch card." Danny said

Flash groans as he looks at the card that has the words: STOP MESSING WITH TIME! from CW

Obligatory Gotham Scene:

Danny standing in front of a beaten up Joker that has been tied to a chair.

"Just so you know I have a back order of a lot special requests for you. And since I can't exactly kill you, that would create so much political tape. I can let them make requests for certain actions. So right now I have over 50 requests for me to break your legs and over 30 to pull out your teeth and break your jaw. Some of them contradict each other because they want to make every word you say hurt you but others want me to curse you so you can't speak again. So I'll just have to get creative." Danny says winding his arm back and form.

He is for sure being completely professional about, he gets no personal gratification from beating up a crazy clown at all. (said nobody ever)

[saturnniidae]

Oddly specific Hiccup childhood headcanons

Didn't start speaking until he was 5, even then he mostly just said the word 'why'. He also had a lisp.

People were struggling to understand him so he decided to communicate through other means

He has dyspraxia and spent hours everyday trying to perfect his handwriting so it was actually legible enough for people to understand him (though reading is not a strongsuit for most vikings and they often just ignored the pieces of paper shoved at them). He also tried his best to better coordinate his movements and be less clumsy. He didn't have as much luck with that one.

At some point he kind of gave up and embraced being brushed off by adults, he got tired of trying to cater to them and it wasn't worth it if they just ignored him anyway (the only time they payed attention was when they were judging him for something tbh).

He started wandering off into the woods for hours at a time to draw or play with animals, or most importantly, going hunting for trolls. He'd often lose track of time but always came back before sunset, and always scared the shit out of Stoick (he thought little Hiccup got carried off by a dragon, even though they're not often in berk's forests, or mauled by a bear).

He was accused multiple times (for various different reasons) of being a changeling. Though the only serious accusations were from Mildew, other times it was more an in-joke villagers made behind Stoick's back (if he heard them he'd shut it down immediately).

Hiccup didn't mind. The 'bad and dangerous' parts from stories never really sunk in, he was in awe more than anything. Everything 'magic' fascinated him to no end and he'd always run to Gobber for more stories (not at all helping him beat the changeling allegations) who was the only one who'd humor him.

He loved the forest animals and would often bring wounded ones home to try and help them.

He didn't have much interest in playing with other kids, and apart from the rare times he'd be invited to join, they had no interest in him (this was before they were influenced by adults, before they realized different meant bad). He's just naturally introverted, as well as most knowing better than to get attached to a hiccup. Runts rarely make it to adulthood.

He brought home a stray cat once. Stoick had no idea where it came from and was going to make it leave but couldn't bring himself to when he saw it curled up and purring in Hiccup's lap. He named it Fiddlesticks

A few years later Fiddlesticks died during a dragon raid, Hiccup had run out to try and help and while he was gone their roof collapsed. Hiccup was devastated. Stoick was just glad that for once, Hiccup wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He still wandered in the forest, making little animal friends and hunting for trolls (with less enthusiasm than before) but he tried not to get as attached.

Once he climbed a tree to try and sketch a birds nest but fell and broke his arm. He was under constant supervision until it healed, and it would've been longer if not for him getting in the way of Stoick's duties

He started working in the smithy with Gobber after Stoick had enough of him wandering about unsupervised. Perfecting the steady hand needed to work in the forge felt like learning to write all over again and it was incredibly frustrating for him, he almost gave up more than once but Gobber was encouraging enough.

When they were little, he and Snotlout used to be close. Snotlout never minded Hiccup not talking as it never really affected the games they'd play and he ignored the notion he shouldn't get attached. Hiccup was famliy, so naturally, Snotlout would protect him.

Eventually Snotlout realized (was pressured by snide comments and looks from adults) Hiccup was 'weird' and being his friend, despite the fact they are literally cousins, was making him weird by proxy. He stopped playing with Hiccup, but never told him why which caused some animosity that then turned into outright bullying a few years later.

[writing-whump]

breathing in a bag: oh god oh god oh god, its here NO ONE PANIC.

I think Seline and Zaya are about to hit a wall of feelings thanks to him being a Silly Rabbit and not telling her "hey baby, i'm like. dying." soooo can I request some sweet sugary seline/isaiah before we're hit with the steamroller?

Date

Very sugary.

Seline was sure today was somehow special for Isaiah. She just couldn't figure out why.

He knocked on her door at 10 am in the morning, asking how many daydream sessions she finished and if she was in the mood for breakfast - in bed. That he knew that she woke up early these days only to fall asleep multiple times to daydream new story scenes or poems amazed her.

Then he brought the English Breakfast restaurant-style breakfast that made her feel equally cherished and underdressed for the occasion.

Usually, they always planned trips and days they wanted to spend together. Today, he was all, "I got a surprise. Trust me?" His excitement was contagious.

And she had to say it was quite the plan. They went to the Albertina gallery, which had two new exhibitions, one with hyper-realistic photographs and one with a political comic-style artist. She loved going to museums and galleries with Isaiah. He was literally the only person in the world who not only tolerated her long gawking and reading of every info, but also discussed the pieces with her. They stayed at each drawing for at least 15 minutes. Matthew would have blacked down after the first two.

Isaiah was not just patience manifested, he seemed to enjoy himself. Whenever he got really nerdy, talking about the psychological effect of using only three base colours or about the historical background of the photographs or about the atmosphere of certain series of photographs resonating with certain kinds of people and brain signals...

Oh god. It was the most exciting thing. She loved watching him. She loved listening to him. She loved that they both had stuff to say, but it didn't feel like a competition. She loved she didn't have to fight to get to say something, that he listed to her. She loved she was genuinely and truly interested in what he would say next. Because she wanted to know his opinions and get fascinated by all the new things he knew.

Isaiah was the only one who could impress her with the stuff he knew. Most people couldn't, aside her professors.

Seline found falling in love incredibly hard. Connecting with people in general, really. In primary school, she was popular for knowing all Disney movies by memory and for thinking up new plays for the kids to play. But since high school, she liked teachers more than any of her classmates.

And how the hell was she supposed to choose friends? Her peers kept falling in love every second day or talking about said crushes and she couldn't phantom what they liked. What was so interesting about that? The boys were little immature screaming bags to her.

Friends that weren't boring we eternally difficult to find. She didn't connect with anyone over anything. Social media weren't her thing, reading wasn't a thing for them. Really, people that shared any of her interests or love for writing were mostly online.

When she did have friends, mostly her girls from primary school and the few sciency friends from university field trips —people she actually didn't find a drag to listen to— they said Seline had too high expectations for a guy. Like, if he was as nerdy as her, he would surely be a head smaller and she better make peace with him not being a looker. Settle down, girl.

She tried dating people, but damn, was it difficult to catch feelings. Why couldn't she feel a thing? The looks weren't that important and if they were there, she figured cringing whenever the guy opened his mouth wasn't a good sign. And when he managed to get through her rigorous list of questions and plans, because how else was she supposed to test their value and interests compatibility? - the emotion was missing entirely.

Universe, could you please, please, give me a person I could admire and feel something for? Anyone like that out there?

And then she met Isaiah.

They had lunch at a small but incredibly good family sushi restaurant. For the cake, he took her to her favorite confectioanry, though, on the balcony with an awesome view, and let her order about four different desserts, when she couldn't decide. Christ, even the place was expensive.

But Isaiah had a twinkle in his eye and a constant smile. It was very rare for him to be in a good mood so openly, like watching her was the most fascinating showpiece.

She couldn't protest anything he said with that expression.

Caught in the moment of watching him, all dressed up in a dashing suit, black hair with that gentle waves to it, green eyes set only on her, she reached over. Her hand went on top of his under the chin, then gently up to stroke his cheek.

"What mask are you wearing today?"

Isaiah kissed her knuckles, too happy to even mind the PDA. "The one I wear with you. I like it the most."

Seline couldn't help the blush, ducking her head. He was more social than her, always alert, always perceptive and adjusting to the situation. Charming gentleman, yes, kind, absolutely. But he could be funny and relaxed, or serious and scary, or authoritative and confident. Every person and group, every situation, brought out a different side of him.

It confused her at the start. Now, she found it fascinating.

Once again, she was tempted to ask what today was. Why was it special? Was there an anniversary she didn't know about? It wasn't a year since they moved in together, that would be in two months. The month they have been together for a year...that would be four months. What was this? They haven't even been a pack a year ago.

The cakes were excellent, but the sweetness and intensity of the different flavours overwhelmed her quickly. She slid her plate with half of the Strawberry Mouse Cake towards Isaiah to go to the Coffee Meringue Cake. They also still had the Apple Strudel and her favorite Mango slice tart. It felt like her birthday.

Isaiah was chuckling indulgently, finishing the cakes for her. Never a better chance to try so many. And the hot chocolates they made there were to die for. When she couldn't decide between that and the Caramel Machiatto, Isaiah ordered both.

"You are spoiling me today."

Isaiah gave her a blinding smile of satisfaction.

They went by foor afterwards, through the two nicest parks and Hofburg all the way to the Danube river. It was like Isaiah had it calculated, cause the sun was just setting and they were at the perfect side of the river to see it without being blinded.

He took her hand, fingers intertwined gently, as they passed bikes and families returning from bathing, reaching a nice molo halfway across the river.

Isaiah guided her to sit down before joining her, suit and all on the wooden molo. She watched him curiously, getting a bit nervous at how heavy the moment felt.

"The sunset is beautiful," she burst out quickly.

Isaiah raised one eyebrow at the remark, smiling. He leaned close enough to kiss her, but only brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear. "Not as much as you."

Seline bit her lip, looking at him from under her lashes.

"I know beauty isn't that high on your priority list. And I know that's not something you want to be admired for. Not for anything you were given, not for magic or for your looks."

She ducked her head. His fingers lingered in her hair.

"I know you don't go about perceiving the world through physical sensations. You relate through your mind. You want intellectual stimulation to feel connection and interests." His hand still in his hair followed the line of her head to her neck. He cupped her cheek.

"Which doesn't mean you don't have feelings. They are so intense that you prefer to save them for later. Process them in private. That's why you don't need that much stimulation, working through the little details. Understanding yourself inside out. Body comes last and you don't put emphasis on it. If you focus on it, you get bashful."

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks under his touch. His voice was silky smooth.

"Not that it's anything to feel ashamed of. But you feel comfortable with contact only after connection has been made. I have been trying to go slowly."

Which was true. He always let her set the pace. Make the first move.

"I don't want to scare you. And I don't want you to feel like you have to say it back." That was the first time he looked down, suddenly a little insecure, before lifting his gaze to hers again.

Her breath caught in her chest, pulse picking up.

"I love how your mind works. Constantly hungry for knowldge. Your thinking is so abstract and so creative and you are never bored, always working on some kind of thought project. Always halfway somewhere else," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"But I love everything about it. Your mind, your order rituals to keep yourself tethered to the real world, the way you read spoilers ahead to enjoy the same thing from different lenses, your broad view of things, your ability to look at things objectively but also understanding the emotion behind it..."

Seline was amazed how scarily accurate all of this was. She couldn't move under his touch, eyes getting wider.

"I love everything...about you." He looked to the side then. His fingers against her face were shaking. "Just thought you should know."

Seline shook her head, voice all stunned. "That's your new trick? You go all impressive psychology on me and analyse me, cause you know that will make you irresistible?"

Isaiah looked up, startled. "I wasn't-"

"You are ridiculous." Seline grabbed him by the collar and smashed their lips together. Her heartbeat was somewhere in her ears. It felt like she wouldn't be able to breathe if she didn't kiss him immediately.

"You know how hot I find it when you talk all smart. I had a feast of you today," she said against his nose, her hand reaching behind his neck to hold him more securely.

She said hot on purpose, cause that was a word she didn't use often. It was too vague and felt too...indecent. Some part of her was always scared of it, of being some kind of primitive animal only focused on the body.

But with Isaiah the body turned to a medium, the carrier of his soul. It was special because it held him inside, the lips that spoke to her, the spirit looking at her from his eyes. It meant something completely different, to feel this closeness. Touch became a way to express it, not threaten it.

Was she not saying it enough? How much she admired him, how much she enjoyed him? Being this smart and relaxed and doting?

"I'm a girl of words. I love words. And I love when you talk. You are never boring. I'm always learning something," she said, leaning forward to hide her face against his neck. "You have so many faces. So many masks. I want to know all of them."

Her lips brushed against the skin on the side of his throat. Isaiah shivered underneath her.

"I never felt this way...about anyone," she admitted quietly.

Isaiah took her face in his hands, making her look up at him again. "It scares me. It isn't fair to everyone else, how much I can love just you."

Why did that make her so incredibly happy.

Isaiah wrapped her in an embrace and just held her, letting their bodies take comfort from the touch while they both worked through the impact of those words.

Seline ended up leaning against his shoulder, his arm around her back as the sun set in front of them.

It was the perfect moment.

Isaiah's body jostled underneath her suddenly. His free hand moved towards his middle for a second before dropping.

Seline frowned, turning to look at him. She didn't have a good angle on his face, but her access to his throat was ideal. She could feel it bobbing as he swallowed.

She pushed her hand up into his hair gently. "Okay?"

Isaiah shook his head in denial. "Sorry. Just-urrrp-ate too much."

"Oh. All the cakes."

Isaiah suppressed another burp. "I'm sorry. Don't-don't mind it, please." His neck and cheeks went all red.

Seline chuckled, weirdly pleased. "I mean, it's kinda my fault. Kept pushing them to you." She leaned more into him, her whole side pressed into his.

Her hand went down around his back again while she sneaked her free one to his belly, tentatively pulling at his button up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to ruin-"

"Shhhhh." She kissed his neck and then his jaw. "It's okay, baby. You couldn't ruin this in any way. This was perfect." Another kiss under his ear. "And it's cute, just so you know."

"You say the silliest things."

"I never say anything I don't mean," she corrected smugly. "You taking your walls down just for a bit. Around me. What's not to like?"

Isaiah huffed. "You can't-"

Her hand sneaked up to his belly, cutting him off. She let her palm rest on top of it, feeling the bloat under her fingers. Having him this close, his breathing a little ragged from the discomfort and emberssment made her insides dance.

"I love this. I love you. I love everything about you." Seline nuzzled her face against his cheek, feeling incredibly intimate. The contact, his sudden shyness. The little crack in that armor he still didn't quite take down. Or was that only her feeling?

"You don't have to say it so many times," he said, scratching at the top of his head self-consciously, turning his head to blow up the air from another breathy burp.

Seline giggled, drunk on the feeling. Feeling. She was feeling so much. She let herself feel it all in that moment, everyting she felt for him. It was a flood of mind-melting, honey-coloured happiness. "I can't say it enough."

[charbies]

been having a tough time.. stuff about it under the cut

writing a stream of consciousness about the past few months. I've been really depressed. I kept getting burned out from my job almost monthly, but could bounce back when I took a little time off. Then midway through the summer, it's like I just got stuck and couldn't get.. unstuck. by fall I had a full blown depressive episode; in september I could admit I was depressed, in october I went on medication for it, and by the time november came around it felt like there was no end in sight. Fall is my favorite time of year, and I felt like I was in a fugue state and missed it because I barely existed.

the ways this showed up in my body are unlike anything I ever experienced in my life before and that was terrifying. my head and body ached like I was coming home from war every day. I was falling asleep at the wheel, and it was a recurring pattern; my body was shutting itself off when the thought of what I'd have to deal with at work was becoming too much. I burst into tears whenever I saw my friends post pics hanging out and wished I could live closer and see them more. I felt so overwhelmed and empty, I needed everything to stop and I wanted to disappear.

my job is fucking hard. I try not to talk about it on here, but I work with people who are hurting and traumatized. I regularly have to tell them when I believe the choices they're making are going to wind up killing them. I have to tell them the last things they want to hear and still hope they trust me. The average burnout rate at my job is 2 years, I've been there for 16 months. I'm 24 and the youngest one there by a long shot. I know I'm good at what I do, but still feel way in over my head, I feel like I don't get to be my age. I've thought about quitting but I don't think I have it in me to leave and start over somewhere new just yet, not now. I feel trapped because as hard as the work is, I get way better amenities there than at most other places; this place is basically as good as it gets where I live and it's still killing me.

even tho I know how severe things were getting, I feel so guilty for ways I fell off the face of the earth. I stopped talking to friends, family, coworkers, pretty much everyone. I bailed on linktober and a bunch of other art projects I lined up and thought I had the energy to pull off. In general I just feel like a failure even though I know that isn't true.

I broke down hard and took a leave of absence, I get a few weeks off from my job. I've been off for 10 days and as badly as I've wanted to draw the idea also makes me want to jump out of my skin. So I'm taking time and hoping it comes back while I pull myself together.

I could use some advice or wisdom from anyone who has been through this in any capacity. Even silly stuff in my inbox would make my day. Tumblr was my comfort place when I was a kid and I think it will do me good to be able to look back on this post after I've worked through this and I'm doing better. Thanks for reading all of this if you did, it means a lot <3

[letters-from-dekarios]

[Roux is a human thief who worked for the Guild. He is cold and impersonal on the outside but very affectionate when he likes someone. He romanced Gale but didn't accept the proposal because he had his own stuff to figure out. The letter is written in a scratchy hand, with ink smears and crossed-out letters indicating that it was written rather hastily]

Dearest Gale,

I hope you're doing well. Professorship suits you, I think. I never got to go to school but in my entirely unbiased opinion you make an amazing teacher. I hope you can actually read this, since I know my writing isn't exactly up to snuff, but if you can't then I'm sure you'll spare my feelings somehow.

Baldur's Gate is as busy as ever, although being a hero certainly has its perks. It's weird- people buy me drinks and stuff, now. People know my name and they respect it. Important people want to talk to me, and want my help making decisions.

I don't know if I like it all the time.

Not to be bitter, but must of these nobles would've spit on me a year ago, and the only reason they'll listen to a street rat is because I saved their sorry arses. Oh well, at least I can help some people while I'm at it. Wyll says hello, by the way, but he already writes to you enough, so I'm sure you know that.

I do wonder about your tower, sometimes. Everything you told me made it seem apart from the world, in some pocket of peace that all the chaos couldn't touch. I'd welcome some peace, I think.

I spent my whole life being a sticky-fingered kid, stealing to get by, but you made me feel like more than that. You treated me like a person- a person that mattered.

I'm not good at letters. I know I've been dancing around it for a while, and it only took me so long to write because I was putting it off. I'm sorry about that. But... I still love you. That never went away. I miss having you tell me about anything and everything and nothing at all. I miss having someone hold my hand.

I won't say that I regret my decision- because that would be a lie and I'm trying not to lie so much these days. I needed a little while to figure out who I am what I want.

And... Well, what I want is you. I need you. I need peace. I need to stay in one place, for a while. I understand if our leaving left a sour taste in your mouth. If you want nothing to do with me I won't push you. But if you do want me... Well, I don't own much in the way of material possessions. It wouldn't be that hard to move to Waterdeep.

-Yours, Roux

Dearest Roux,

I am glad to hear from you! It has been awfully too long since we last spoke. At times, I find myself missing the presence you held when we’d camp together. Though I do prefer not having a tadpole to worry of.

Blackstaff is treating me rather well! Though that is no surprise to even the most knowledgeable man. I have taken a quick liking to my work and as most would say, “fit right in”. I walk the halls with the reminder of my history here, and it brings me comfort to remember that I was once much like the very students I teach today. This is about the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced, second only to saving Faerûn.

Baldur’s Gate hasn’t known an ounce of calm peace in decades. But, regardless, they try and feign normalcy after an event as huge as we had conquered. Being a “hero” of sorts is never easy to get used to. I feel as though one can only continue chasing that feeling of “more” as though you must continue with your acts of service to consider yourself worthy of the praise being received.

Nobles spit on anyone they consider lower than they. They’ll even spit on other nobles if given the chance. The opinions they hold in the grand scheme of things should, in all reality, mean nothing. But I do understand the point you draw. It’s an odd experience to have people who’d kill you now kill for you. One does not simply “adjust” to that.

Your words bring a sadness to my heart. The backgrounds of us all were much to be contested with. Look at the likes of Astarion, or Karlach, for example. You, out of all of us, certainly mattered. Without you, I’m sure the rest of us would have either died or been sent back to the hells we came from. I’m sure I would’ve exploded in the midst of the Weave and my memory would’ve long faded without you. I couldn’t be more grateful for your existence and your kindness.

Roux… I have not the words I need to reply to you. What I can say, however, is this; I never stopped loving you. Through it all, I still find myself aching for your presence beside me. I am not mad at you for leaving, I would be a selfish bastard to be angry with you for that. And, quite frankly, I’ve tried to swear off being a selfish bastard after my last consequences.

I cannot blame you for needing time. For needing space. After saving all of Faerûn, it’s only reasonable to need time to understand where you’re at and who you’ve become. It is not within my rights to hold any kind of a grudge after all you’ve done for me. I would wait decades for you, Roux. I would curse the gods for immortality if it meant I’d have you at the end of it all. I would devote my dying breath to your highest altar just to have a glimpse of what could have been.

Perhaps that is idiotic of me. Perhaps you will be thinking I shouldn’t hold onto such a thing for that long. I cannot deny the inclinations of my heart, I never have been able to do that. I cannot tie my heart to yours and cut it off so easily. I am not capable of such an act.

Whatever you have to give, whatever you want to give, all of it will be more than enough. Your association at my side is more than I could ever need in this lifetime and the next. If I am to be reincarnated after death, I shall find you then too. You are all I have ever wanted and all I will ever desire. With you, my breath catches and my heart swells with joy. I have never met a person so comfortable to be around.

You, Roux, will always have a space within my home, my mind, and most especially my heart. Whatever you need, whatever your desire, I shall fulfill it to the best of my ability. However you are, however you come, I will take you in. You are most here in Waterdeep.

And, if it happens to sweeten the deal, Tara misses you, too. My mother has even offered to bake some sweets for your arrival if you do so choose to return here.

I would be more than happy to have you here, Roux. I am not a man who tends to lie on matters of such grave importance, you know that. Write me when you have started your journey to Waterdeep, if you are still interested in coming here, that way I have some time to prepare for your arrival.

Yours in every lifetime,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[deathsdue]

I'm here to cry on the dash about Gerome (nothing new there) using some quotes from his supports as reference. Post is under a read more for potentially triggering content and length.

My main focuses with writing Gerome revolve around a few things:

Gerome keeps everyone at a distance in order to protect himself from pain. Like the other gen2s, he's lost a lot, and he can't take losing more. Inwardly, he's very soft, and the trauma has led to no small amount of depression.

The way he was as a child made him unable to handle the events that transpired as well as others might have (not that gen2 does not all struggle with what happened, I'm not trying to negate any character's feelings, this is just touching on why Gerome wears a mask and pushes people away)

He deeply cares for his friends and is a good teacher but doesn't believe in himself.

In short, Gerome's own worst enemy is himself. So let's get into it! And what better place to start than the beginning?

Cynthia B Support Cynthia: Liar! Remember when we were kids? We'd talk for hours and hours! Gerome: We're not children anymore. Cynthia: I know. But remember when you told me I looked all strong and graceful like a hero? Gerome: …I said that? Cynthia: Oh, yeah! All the time, actually! I'd love to hear you say it again. Hee hee! It sent a thrill down my spine when you'd tell me how wonderful I was! I love that about you! Cynthia S Support Cynthia: Remember how we'd go into the woods and play Justice Cabal? Gerome: …Vaguely. Cynthia: There was that time I pretended to be a paladin and killed all those evil goblins… You said I looked truly heroic, even though the goblins were only snapdragons. Gerome: You don't forget anything, do you? [...] Gerome: Do you remember teaching me to fly when we were young? Cynthia: Yeah, sure! You were so scared of heights you couldn't ride a wyvern! So I took you on my pegasus, and we flew and flew until you weren't afraid anymore. Hee hee! That was so much fun! I haven't thought about that in ages… Severa A Support Gerome: …When I was but a child, I often dreamed of being a warrior. And in my dreams, I always wore a mask, because… Because I thought it looked cool. Severa: LAAAAAAME! Gerome: I'm not finished! …I began to wear masks all the time, just for the thrill. But it's as you know, I don't like to reveal my inner life if it can be helped. And soon, a child's plaything became a tool for keeping people at bay. Cherche A Support Gerome: People everywhere grieved for the heroes and honored their noble sacrifice. But I didn't want heroes. I wanted a father and a mother…

As a kid, Gerome played imaginary games with his friends (which included Cynthia of all people, the most bubbly of their group, as well as Owain, the other Justice Cabal member), easily handed out compliments (i.e. spoke his feelings), wore a mask just because it was cool, and he was terrified of heights.

This is the soft, little kid that was broken by losing his parents and being thrust into an apocalypse. People all react to and handle trauma differently and the way he is as an adult is a result of how he adapted to that trauma in order to protect himself.

That he took such an extreme way to do so is really a reflection of how he was as a child — imaginative, emotional, and with aspirations of heroism. The most iconic of the changes he made is his mask.

M!Robin B Support Robin: Hmm… The mask hides your emotions from foes on the battlefield… But I imagine it also serves to hide your inner self from allies as well? Cynthia A Support Gerome: I'm not finished. You have always been a perpetual ray of sunshine in my life. But sometimes, a man like me wishes to draw the curtains and sit in the dark.

The mask is a hot topic for a lot of his supports and he typically only takes it off willingly when he's bearing his feelings - such as during a love confession. He also frequently runs away from many of his companions when he starts feeling too much and doesn't know what to do. Additionally, he even frequently lies to his companions about his mask and his feelings, deflecting or not telling the whole truth until he's pressed further or finally comes around to telling the truth.

Cynthia's A Support line is really what gets me though: The urge to sit in a dark room by himself. I don't think depression and suicidal ideation is a topic FE would generally touch on heavily or very explicitly, though it's a theme for a lot of characters I'm sure, so I interpret this as a way of hinting at the issues plaguing him. Not to mention, a lot of times when Cynthia reminds him of something he did as a kid, he's surprised to learn it. Having a poor memory for positive events is a sign of depression as well. (In fact, the one thing he prompts her to remember is something he associates as a negative memory.)

Gerome was a very soft hearted kid and without a proper support system, not to mention being embroiled in a war for most of his life, it all went downhill.

Which leads to Gerome's extreme lack of self confidence.

Cherche B Support Gerome: How skilled could I be to still fall victim to the cruel whims of fate? …How skilled could I be when I was unable to protect those I loved? Cherche C Support Gerome: Minerva, you look so sad and woebegone. I suppose it's my fault, isn't it? If it wasn't for me, you'd be living a life of tranquility in Wyvern Valley. I'm sorry that I've dragged you into yet another terrible war. …Hmm? What's that? That's not why you're sad? …Ah, yes. I understand completely. Your original mistress is alive in this time, and you pine for her hand on the reins. Cherche: …That's not it either. Gerome: Ch-Cherche?! Cherche: Minerva is worried about you. Don't you see that forlorn look in her eyes? Fire Emblem Heroes Gerome, on learning a new skill: This is much too valuable. Maybe someone else should have it.

These kinds of lines, in addition to his depression, is why I've made him a student. He could absolutely be a teacher (and I'll get into that in a bit) but he has no belief in himself. To the point that he can't even understand Minerva's concern for him; he keeps assuming her mood is somehow his fault, his shortcoming, or that she wishes she had Cherche instead of him. He cares for Minerva with his whole heart and he doesn't even think she would be concerned about him.

Despite all of that, Gerome is incredibly sharp and a good teacher. These were skills he learned because of the state of his timeline and the people he had to protect. He was certainly lucky to have survived to the end of the apocalypse, but it took skill as well.

Kjelle C Support Gerome: When thrusting with the lance, you should push with your leg and stomach muscles. You used only your arms just now. Such technique will betray you in battle. Kjelle B Support Gerome: Much better. You now place your whole body behind the thrust. Kjelle: See? I told you I would fix it. In fact, just before you— Gerome: However, your footwork is lacking. Kjelle: What's wrong with it? Gerome: You're throwing too much weight into the thrust and becoming unbalanced. It's a common enough mistake. More practice should fix the problem. M!Robin B Support Gerome: Hmph. Then the sermon is over? You weave a lovely tapestry with your words, master tactician. But talk is cheap. In the real world, where I must live, power is everything. Power is right, it is truth, it is victory. And I'll prove as much on the battlefield. Cherche B Support Cherche: You handle the reins superbly… I was hoping you'd teach me what you know. Gerome: I have nothing to teach you. I just sit in the saddle and follow Minerva's lead. Cherche: Oh, hogwash. I've seen how you two swoop and dance in the sky. Plus you handle the lance with such verve! A skilled rider like yourself has a great deal to teach me.

Cherche recognizes his skill even as he dismisses it. He also gives specific advice to Kjelle, always evenly and never with admonishment, and with clear ways to improve. He's only seeking to help.

His skill and power is something he's had to earn due to his hard life, but he takes that knowledge and tries to pass it on, he even looks out for others outside of his friend circle.

Laurent C Support Laurent: I'm here to give my regular report, as per our arrangement. Gerome: Oh, yes, of course. How could I forget? Laurent: Ahem! I'm happy to report that today everyone continues to be in good health. There have been no reported instances of brawls or other insubordination. Logistics are running smoothly, and we have sufficient stockpiles of military supplies. Laurent B Support Gerome: In your report just now, you neglected to suggest that we stock up on arrows. Laurent: Is that a particular concern? Gerome: We're likely to march within the week and can expect to encounter aerial forces. I strongly suspect we'll need extra arrows in the baggage train. Laurent: An astute observation. I shall make the necessary adjustments to the manifest.

Gerome is honestly full of contradictions, from his feelings to his abilities. He doesn't care about anyone else, but he constantly worries over his friends and the army's supplies. He's not skilled, but provides instruction on combat. He wants to be alone, but he's attentive to his friends's needs and enjoys being around them.

Before coming to the academy, he spent much of his time alone, because the army dispersed and people went back to their normal lives. His parents are due to have this timeline's version of him and there's no place for him there. However, leaving Gerome alone for an extended period is a bad idea. Losing the presence of his friends really did a number on his already fragile mental health.

I could go on, there's so much, but I feel this is already pretty long. Hopefully it was also coherent.

[oyasumi-ashurii]

Okay, so it might be a little hard for me to cohesively put all my thoughts and feelings into why I care so much about Final Fantasy VIII, but because of the 25th anniversary and seeing a lot of you talk about your love of the game I'll try the best I can. So here's my embarrassingly and extremely long personal history with the game and why it will always be my favorite.

Before FF8 I was mostly a Nintendo kid. Mario and Zelda were all I really knew, and as a hyperactive as I was I didn't really have the patience for anything story-heavy that took a lot of reading. Though I did I get a PlayStation later on I hardly bothered with anything other than Spyro or Crash. Anything similar in graphics to FF7 or 8 was mostly foreign to me too, with maybe the closest being my cousin having the first Resident Evil and I was far too young and too scared to bother with anything like that. So you can imagine the complete and utter shock kid me had going to my uncle's and seeing him play FF8 for the first time. I don't think it had been out too long but he was already on disc 3 in Esthar and, bless his soul, he let me play his save for a while. Being able to fly around the map on the Ragnarok?? The realistic proportions and animations in battle?? The absolute BANGER of a soundtrack?! All of it had me excitedly begging my parents to buy me the game. Nine year old me didn't know roman numerals, though, just that it was called Final Fantasy with some weird lettering. I had no idea of Final Fantasy as a series and I didn't know it was the eighth game or that there were eight of them at all. I couldn't remember what the cover looked like either and my uncle not long after that was going through his own personal troubles so I wasn't able to visit or ask him. We didn't have internet at home until the early 2000s (it was AOL dial-up too, jesus, I don't miss that) and my parents were strict about internet use, so I was stuck. My dad did eventually buy me an FF game as a surprise when I was eleven, and lmao can you believe I was genuinely upset because it was Final Fantasy VII?! That being said, I have an INSANE amount of love and respect for 7. Considering how much easier I think the materia system is to understand for newcomers, having it as my first, full FF experience was a bit of a blessing lol. FF7 hit me in a different way than 8 did, and maybe I'll make a post about it sometime.

So other than the brief times on the internet (I was only allowed on for an hour or two before I was kicked off) and reading gaming magazines I had hardly any access or knowledge about FF8 until years later. I knew the characters briefly and read some small stuff here and there about the world, but that was it. Even so, I STILL loved it. I would draw them (I've drawn most of my life, and I still do occasionally as a fun hobby), write about what I thought they were like, so, so much of me embarrassingly obsessing over it and driving my small group of friends in school bonkers (oh lordy I just remembered my preteen username I had used on an FF forum and now I'm cringing.) You get it. So why did I cling to the game so much, even though I barely played it? Why did it mean so much to me? Because around the time I was twelve I was deeply depressed, and throughout my middle school and early high school life video games and their stories were the only joy and comfort I had. I'm not going to go into much detail because it feels too personal to write on tumblr about and I'd rather not think back too much. If you want the gist it was at a moment in time I was mostly on my own. I felt isolated and alone, and due to growing up in and around strict, conservative circles I struggled with feeling far behind my peers, so my personal and school life suffered. Things got better though and I'm happy in my life now, so that's really it.

As I got a little older I had played other FF's and RPGs in between that I also fell in love with (especially Kingdom Hearts) and funnily enough horror games, but I still didn't get my hands on 8 until I got it on my fifteenth birthday and I was over the moon. That night and many nights and weekends after that I played every single bit of that game. I had printed walkthroughs and a guide of the junction system, with overly-detailed notes I had scribbled down and highlighted. I had written down all the rules of triple triad, weapon upgrades, item refinements and what you get from monsters, side-quests, all of it. I had never went all in into a game before, but I did it because I wanted to experience the game that gave preteen me comfort everything it had to offer. And I remember vividly when I finished it I cried until I was almost out of breath.

But you know, I didn't get emotional because of the nostalgic school-like feel and inspired real-world setting, or the overall main plot with magic, sci-fi and sorceresses. It wasn't even the deeply interwoven love stories, the theme of fate or the gameplay either, though I grew to love all of those things dearly with time.

It was because I was a socially-awkward and lonely fifteen year old girl that watched an equally as awkward seventeen year old boy overcome his own deeply-rooted fears and trauma and come out at the end of it all on the path to healing.

And I knew I'd be okay, and ever since then this game has and will always be that reminder and comfort for me.

Thanks for reading.

[bjarkanart]

Heya! Since I haven't been able to draw much in the last couple of weeks, I took some time to write a bit and finally decided to go for multiple chapters cause I'm a really slow writer so I posted the first chapter of my Death Stranding AU Imodna fic, I hope it's at least decent...

Here's a little snippet. The rest is up on Ao3, let me know what you think and thanks for reading! 🙏

Most people who knew her in Gelvaan would say that Imogen Temult was strange. With her purple hair and lightning scars, the fact that she could hear their thoughts and talk in their heads if she so chose, and sometimes hearing her screaming in the middle of the night if they passed her room, it only made sense for them to be wary of her and try not to get close.

Imogen knew what people said and thought about her, so she tried to avoid them as much as they tried to avoid her, which was hard to do when everyone lived piled up underground like a colony of ants.

 

When she was a kid, Imogen would always try to help someone out, always curious, always with a smile on her face. And people didn't treat her differently from the other kids at the time.

Then, something shifted.

Her father grew distant the more she grew up and Imogen had no idea why. She had tried to ask him. Tried to understand. But her countless attempts at trying to get an explanation from him only ever ended in disappointment and hurt the more she pushed the matter. 

She stopped trying to get answers from him when the word "daddy" started leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The once soothing term of endearment sounded like an anomaly or a foreign language even to her, as every time she spoke the word out loud, it was met with silence. Imogen had grown tired of running after a man who felt more and more like a stranger she just happened to be sharing an apartment with.

Imogen was fifteen she was diagnosed with DOOMS and when the nightmares started.

Dreams of a red storm engulfing a town in the distance she had never seen before. Destroying everything in its wake as red lightning struck trees, splitting them in half. A tornado snatching houses from the ground and hauling them in the air to be blown away and far beyond the horizon. The wind was blasting all around her, deafening, overwhelming, spraying dust over her face and forcing her to squint with no clue on where she was supposed to go. She just knew she had to get away from the storm. Then a woman's voice would echo in her mind, telling her to run, repeatedly, every time she had that dream.

Imogen didn’t know that voice. But somehow, something in her gut told her it was her mother's, it had to be. But why was she so certain of it? She didn't know. She couldn't remember her mother. But still, she would always instinctively listen to her and run, run as far as her feet would carry her, as far from the storm as possible.

And Imogen would wake up panting or screaming and in a cold sweat. Chills running down her spine as she tried to comprehend why she kept having those strange dreams and what they meant. If they even had a meaning to begin with. Were they connected to her powers or did they have anything to do with her DOOMS since the condition made her more connected to the other side? She had dreamed of a few people she knew walking into the storm, to then learn of their passing the next day but had chosen to never share this information. People were cautious enough around her; she didn't need them to know she could tell when someone was going to die.

She also wondered if the place she saw in her dreams was maybe a memory of what Gelvaan used to be. But it didn’t make sense to her. She had never known a life before all this. 

Before the explosions. 

Before the craters. 

Before the Death Stranding.

***

There you go!

[fleetinggabi]

Hi wife <3 was wondering if you could give us the story of how you got into poetry

Omg hi wife 🤯🤯🤯🥰 I actually do have quite a bit of a story for how I got into poetry proper!!!

I was always the the type of kid who was into reading and writing, so I don't really remember my first contacts with poetry or what I had read (probably something at school to do with Shakespeare or Catalan writers), but I do know very well when it was that I actually started writing myself.

Back way then (I must have been around 14-15 but maybe slightly more) I joined a summer long film course at my country's most I guess prestigious film school, as I had given up hope of getting into it proper due to the ridiculous high costs and the bad fame it had amongst people in the industry. During that course I was basically humbled to hell and back by everyone in there, as it was mostly adults or people my age who boasted some serious skills and dedication.

From the beginning I had an eye on this girl in my class, since we were the only teenagers in it, but I think I hadn't talked much due to being too focused on catching up for the class proper, until one day we coincided on the same train back to my city since the school was an hour or so away from it. I am not ashamed but a little embarrassed to say that younger gabs had a Big Girl first gay crush on this girl, and I mean BIG TIME. She started talking to me about what music I liked or what books I read and dear reader let me tell you I was Panicking and losing my shit the first day, legitimately couldn't and wouldn't get any answer out of me (which I think she found endearing as she kept on talking to me).

So what does this have to do with poetry you may ask? Well as any Honest person would do, I did manage to claim that I liked reading but most crucially, poetry. So when I got back home I found a small empty notebook and wrote anything and everything I could come up with. The genius plan was to PRETEND I ALREADY HAD A FULLY WRITTEN POETRY NOTEBOOK. I WAS DOWN BAD HORRENDOUS.

Additionally I also tried to decorate the book with drawings since the girl had said she liked birds or something to that effect, and I was quite proud of some of those little drawings. One thing lead to the other and I actually just was writing in my time between classes all week because I started liking it, and no I didn't ever get the girl or confess or so anything but be an awkward sad lesbian loser all summer.

Funnily enough I also started getting into Lovecraft a lot at that time so most of my poems were either tragically romantic or horribly nihilistic, so I'm proud to say my writing has evolved ever since.

[splendidissimus]

September 1998 - Time Alone

((Content warning: depression, isolation, caretaker failure))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 3: Solitary Confinement ))

Genre: angst

Romance level: none

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: depressed / isolated

((words: ~700))

------------------------------------

From the beginning of the school term when Theo went back to Hogwarts, Draco was alone. He wasn't actually alone, of course — not technically. He had his mother, and of course he was still infinitely grateful for that. But it wasn't like she was someone he could actually talk to. He wasn't a little pre-school kid anymore who could follow her around blathering and making a nuisance of himself just because he wanted to be near her.

Now that she was relaxing a little about his health and trusted him to be out of her sight, she checked on him in the mid-mornings when she woke; he tried to force himself to maintain a reasonable schedule so that he was always presentable by then, but it slipped so that she would occasionally be waking him out of his dreams. Maybe they'd have breakfast together. After that, maybe they would cross paths once or twice. Then she'd check on him before she turned in for the night.

On Sundays, they ate dinner together, as was tradition, although it felt empty without his father there and uncomfortable around the table where they had gathered as Death Eaters. 

He was left to his own devices otherwise. Sometimes he spent mornings brewing potions he'd need, but there wasn't much he needed that he didn't already have and it was mindless, empty work that served only to keep his hands busy and fill time; other than that, he felt like a ghost wandering the manor. A restless spirit that passed through the world without having any effect on it. 

Nothing gave him anything to hold onto. His mind couldn't really focus on anything; it all seemed so small and distant. He'd sit for a while in the library, trying to keep his mind occupied, reading the same page of a book for an hour. He'd retire to his room or the drawing room with his school books and come away with half a page of notes for the day. He'd try to make attempts at simple spells without his wand that accomplished nothing and didn't even feel like using magic at all. 

A lot of his time he'd just end up in either the parlour window or the second floor landing, looking out at the gardens, not doing anything, not pretending to do anything — just looking at the world on the other side of the glass, where he couldn't even actually smell the flowers or hear the fountains or catch sight of the remaining peacock.

For a while, he'd take to spending his time in the drawing room so he would be around when she came and went, and she had a habit of touching his hair on her way past when she found him there, which he found reassuring in a way that simultaneously made him feel small for needing it. Occasionally, she would sit in there with him, reading or writing correspondence. He didn't know what she was doing; he supposed he could have asked. He could have done a lot of things. He could have asked about her and Father. He could have tried to tell her something — anything. He could have tried to just talk to her. But he didn't know how, and the more he didn't talk, the larger the words became, and the more he stayed silent. 

Either his mother started spending more time there, sitting with him quietly, or he became more aware of it. Over time, how much better it made him feel was more and more overshadowed by how much worse it made him feel to be making her do that. He didn't want her to have to, he didn't want to take her attention from what she needed or wanted to be doing, he shouldn't be making her worry, he shouldn't even be seen…

He managed to apologise, once, apropos of nothing. She asked what for, but he couldn't find the words, and she let it go.

Eventually even the polite small talk of "Good morning"s dried up; he'd answer questions, but the words for anything else were beyond his reach. 

[digitallumian]

I know i said i wouldn’t post writings on my blog since it wasn’t good enough but uh i wanna see what tumblr thinks

MASSIVE TW: Mentions of Overdosing, bullying, suicide, drugs, Thoughts of self harm

I feel like i forgot to add more tw’s but its 5am/srs and I can’t remember if i need to add more

Some Context:

This is an AU of a Kaiju Paradise rp me and a friend made where what we think would have happened if these Characters weren’t exposed to Laminax Labs at a Young age.

>Two ocs, Buck and Blaxor, are not mine and therefore, don’t have much written about them here. <

This is told from the perspective of Kanade Yukimura, an Idol/Popstar which gives an explanation as to why she takes a break near two specific dates each year since the beginning of her career in an interview with a Journalist. Below is what was said in the interview.

Ever since Fourth Grade, Me and my friends had to deal with our own personal issues that we’d tell each other, One of us had it bad. Koneko was one of my closest friends. We did everything together and we even started dreaming of becoming idols together. when we hit fourth grade Koneko started being bullied by some kids in a higher grade than us. At first, it started as just insults on her comfort clothing and Interests and Koneko was able to take it because she knew it was ‘weird’ and that's why she liked it, but the bullying soon escalated and started getting physical.

The kids, who were in seventh grade, would Constantly push and shove Koneko when they got the chance to and Koneko seemed to try her best to not engage because whenever I and our friends convinced her to go to teachers, counselors, or even the principal about it but they’d just tell her to ignore it or ignore her. One day those bullies pushed Koneko down the stairs and she was rushed to the hospital, she awoke a week or two later, and I was so happy she was alive that I didn't care about anything else, this is when Koneko started to spiral deeper and deeper into depression though. In first grade, Koneko started drawing, and by fifth grade, she started showing us her drawings.

At first, her drawings were adorable usually drawings of her special interests at the time such as Pokemon, Vocaloid, or My Little Pony but the bullying started getting worse, Koneko couldn't go into the hallways without being harassed by her bullies, and watching her suffer pained me. I tried to help, I tried to protect her but we were younger and weaker and I already suffer from a condition that makes me even weaker than I already am so every time I tried to help I always failed and I’d be forced to watch as she got hurt over and over after I was harmed.

By seventh grade, Koneko’s drawings started getting concerning. It went from just fan art of her favorite media to more gore and vent art, she always disguised it as her own original characters or from series like The Evilious Chronicles and I didn't want to question her about it as I didn't want to seem pushy or even seem like I'm trying to be invasive of her personal problems.

Koneko always carried a diary, she never let anyone read it and kept it to herself due to it being one of the only times she could talk about her problems. Buck, Blaxor, and I knew she was Genderfluid and how she liked girls, she had written that in her journal because what kid wouldn't? After all a journal is a kid's written safe space after all. Somehow during P.E. One of the bullies broke into the locker Koneko’s diary was in and stole it, During lunch we used to sit together at the lunch tables and that's when it happened, The kid who had her journal and outed out many of her secrets including her gender identity and preference, She never stepped a foot in that cafeteria again.

Eighth grade rolled around and Koneko had become a shadow of her former self, she stopped drawing and burned her journal one day, she started falling asleep in class and would push me, Blaxor, and Buck away and no matter how hard we tried to help her, she never let us. One day Koneko got access to drugs, I can’t remember what grade we were in but I remember that day very clearly up to a certain point.

I went to visit Koneko that day because I was worried about her, Blaxor’s Dad had to pick her up because she had expressed thoughts of self-harm in one of her assignments and Konekos father was supposed to keep watch of her due to ‘the schools concern with things at home’, Konekos sibling Hex wasn’t home and was at military school so when I entered I was hoping that at least Konekos father was at least there, but the house was empty, I felt a sinking feeling, I slowly walked to Koneko’s room hoping that the feeling would go away and started asking if she's okay and if I could come in. There wasn’t an answer so I said I was going to go in and check on her, I gently opened the door... and Koneko was there.. on the floor with a bottle of pills in her hand.

I froze, I didn’t know what to do, I must have blacked out or I blocked out that part of the memory because the next thing I knew, I, Blaxor, and Buck were at the hospital, I was praying to every God possible at that moment, Hoping that Koneko would wake up and be okay. Luckily she woke up and I was so happy about it that I started crying, all that mattered to me at that moment was that she was alive. She was sent to a mental health facility after she was discharged from the hospital and I would visit along with Buck and Blaxor, she seemed so much happier there. When Koneko returned to school the bullying started again and it got worse.

Someone told the whole school about Koneko’s suicide attempt and being at the mental hospital and so many people would say horrible things. It was from things like “she's crazy” and “she's unstable” to things like “You should try again” or “Next time you try to overdose do it right”, This caused Koneko to Push everyone further away and it got to the point the only time she talked to us it'd be online with our group chat and even then it would always be with short phrases.

I Liked her, Like really liked her, I never told her though because of my fear of rejection but I wish I could go back and tell her that I loved her because I look back and realized that maybe those three words would have saved her.

It was ninth grade and the school year was nearly over, we just had three months left and at this point, Koneko never talked to me or the others as much as she used to. They had broken her down and she went from a young and hopeful child with dreams to someone I didn't even recognize anymore, she lost her spark and what made her so joyful. I realize it now but Koneko had been planning it for a while because one day she seemed so happy and gave Blaxor, Buck, and me her most valuable and sentimental things. She gave me a lot of her stuff like her guitar. I should have realized what she was doing due to the sudden shift in behavior because...

it took her away from me...

It was a Thursday and It was lunchtime. I was eating on the rooftop because we no longer sat in the cafeteria after the incident, I saw Koneko come from inside the building and walked to the Fence that surrounded the school's roof. I saw her climbing it and my vision started getting blurry and I started blacking out as I realized what she was doing, I screamed her name to try to get her to stop but as my vision cleared...

She was gone.

I don't remember much after she jumped. According to people who were there, I tried to climb the fence too but two kids grabbed me and held me back telling me that I had so much to live for and just trying to calm me down. The school was put on lockdown after a while. I could feel my phone Vibrating like crazy as Blaxor and Buck spammed the group chat. I didn't care. She was gone. I couldn't stop her. I knew she was suffering. I knew she was hurting, I saw the signs and I didn't do anything. An hour later, the school called the parents to pick up their kids as there was an incident at the school. Buck and Blaxor found me on the rooftop with the two other kids as no one came to get us. Of course they wouldn’t, that school didn’t care about us.

Buck and Blaxor tried to ask me questions but I couldn't hear anything, I could only hear a high pitch as I tried to process everything, I just refused to believe it. We went home and I just locked myself in my room, I refused to eat dinner or even any food after that, I felt sick, I felt like I was to blame because I saw the signs if I did something she would still be here. I felt disgusted in myself because I felt that because I didn't help her, I was just as disgusting as those kids that pushed her over the edge.

I didn't go to school for a month, and I refused to face the kids who were the reason Koneko was gone, turns out she survived the fall and was in a coma, I felt a sense of hope that she would be okay but...

Koneko’s father decided to just let her go...

Now she was truly gone...

I spiraled and barely ate any food, I just couldn't bring myself to be able to eat because of flashbacks to that day. It hurt and it still does. I considered self-harm and even considered Suicide to escape the pain I was experiencing that barely anyone took seriously.

I returned to school a month later and talk about that day was still happening. I couldn't take it, I felt sick, I started getting dizzy, and passed out. I remember waking up in the nurse's office and she asked me if I was okay. She's the only one who cared about any of us, She was a mandated reporter though so I lied and said I was okay.

That same day an assembly about suicide was scheduled to happen, it also served as a memorial for Koneko. I hate that school, and I still hate it to this day, During the assembly, I blocked out everything the school said because it was all a lie, It was just lies and I hated it, I heard kids snickering and laughing during the assembly, I felt sick again, I hated being there. I walked out of the gym, Shaking and in tears and called my mom to take me home early.

I convinced my mom to let me stay home the rest of the year as I couldn't take being there anymore, she told me that I still would have to attend school next year which I agreed to.

I look back at everything that happened and I wish I did something, I still blame myself for it and I’ve been told that it’s not my fault but if I just did something she would still be here.

...

I kept her diary and her guitar. Her father reluctantly gave me her phone with everything still on it, I never changed anything on it.

On her birthday and on her deathdate. I always play her favorite song on her guitar or the piano with Koneko’s Brother, Hex. I listen to the music she used to listen to, watch the media she used to indulge in, and even try do things that she wished to do in life, Such as becoming an Idol.

I might be crazy for doing all of this but I don't care about what others might say. That school and the people in it broke a girl who simply wanted to grow up like every other person on this damn hellscape of a planet. I’ll keep living and I’ll fight on as a way to Inspire others like we wanted to do.

Just for her.

[ciaran]

Yoo ask writing meme? Hope you don't mind taking more, 13... 17? 18 if you're okay with that, 33, 35, 36? And 38, sorry if that's a lot. Btw seeing you update your layouts is fun, where do you find all the ethereal looking images you use for your icons? I too am a sun hater.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

i find writing kink really easy, but also really hard. it's always in my head, but there's so much of it that pulling it into a manageable size is really tough. i think most of the things i love writing are at least a little hard, but the stuff that should count as "hardest" is also the most satisfying. i love writing characters having breakdowns. i find it easy to write dialogue and atmosphere and emotion; i find it difficult to write action. i feel like i'm walking around the answer without hitting it.

the rest are under the cut for length!

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

i don't know if i'm good at doing this but let me try. i generally keep all the details in my head so i feel excited about putting them down? but this WIP is set in a world where the land and king are intrinsically connected, and nick was adopted because he was recognized. the mechanism of recognition is irrelevant. there's a scene where vash says he was drowned by a rusalka; what happened was that the rusalka was hurt by a human man, and in retaliation kidnapped and drowned a couple of children. vash jumped in to save the kids, and the river froze over, so he was in there for a time that would have killed a human but he's not human, so... he managed to talk the rusalka down, then climbed out and dispersed a crowd of villagers with pitchforks and torches, made them all really mad at him, and ended up freezing to death between the water and the snow. there's another scene where vash says his cloak is made of phoenix feathers. his brother deals primarily with the supernatural creatures of the land, and does not truck with humans. vash himself brought this phoenix to knives, because she was dying and he was hoping his brother could save her, but his brother couldn't do anything by then. she died in knives's arms after vash left. when he came back, knives had made her feathers into a cloak for his brother. though phoenixes never fully die, they do fade out - their heat does not dissipate, but the consciousness leaves. since vash is a dragon with (story spoilers) no fire, he needs the warmth when he travels... and stuff like the thing with the rusalka happens anyway.

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

i paint and draw, but it's all very abstract and way less emotionally charged for me than writing. i also want to get back into singing. i don't think it ties into my writing, unless i want to talk about the process of Creation, one of my pet themes :)

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

all of them. show me a rule and i'll show you a way to break it. but mostly i think i hate the idea that every scene needs to be relevant in an immediate way. pacing, you guys. let the emotions breathe!!!

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

i know almost nothing... well, i know gender, and trauma, and mental illness. i know loneliness. everything else - well, who can say? i'm curious what people think i know, after reading my stuff.

as for the icons - pinterest >_< my guilty pleasure i never grew out of. i am sort of obsessed w maintaining a very specific aesthetic across my accounts. sun haters UNITE

[not-that-dillinger]

02:  A memory from your character’s teenage years

It was a Wednesday. The walk home from school that day was slow and painful. His ribs ached from David punching him in the gut, and his body was sore from being tackled to the floor by the rest of David's friends.

It was a long walk, but Ed refused to take the bus (too loud, too crowded, and too many of David's friends), and his father had late meetings at work and couldn't pick him up. Not that Ed particularly minded. It meant he got a little time to himself in relative quiet, a breath of peace safety from the school bullies and his father.

And on days like this where his father wouldn't be home until late, Ed could stop at the library for an hour. And it was on Wednesday afternoons that he and Lupe arranged to meet at the library to catch up and talk about their favorite books, about school, and anything else. Ed had moved schools twice since they met, and Ed's father insisted that he went to the stupid fancy rich kid high school, but the library was roughly in the middle between their houses, only a little way out of the way for either of them.

There was always a thrill to going to the library. His father didn't know about it, and his meetings with Lupe felt... clandestine.

Ed reached the library, and walked inside silently. He wandered through the stacks, picking up titles that looked interesting as he made his way slowly to their usual spot near the window in the back with the comfy chairs. Lupe was already there, reading a large, heavy, tome.

"I'm glad you made it," Lupe whispered. "You're later than usual. Is Moriarty still giving you grief?"

"No more than usual," Ed whispered back. They quickly fell into old, set patterns, talking quietly about the latest news, school, and what books they read the past week, before settling into silence, and reading their books. Ed read through the summaries of his stack, setting some aside to read later, and others to choose what to read while they were still here.

"This one sounds like one you'll like." Ed slipped an origami pigeon into the book, and closed it, then handing it to Lupe. This, too, was part of the pattern.

"I think you'll like this one." Lupe traded books with him.

"Thanks." Ed opened the book to read the summary on the inside flap. Tucked inside was another origami pigeon. Ed smiled. "It looks interesting."

On each origami bird, written in ink that would only become visible with heat, they had both written coded messages using wheel ciphers. They never mentioned the origami birds, nor the messages they carried. Ed had a flock of hundreds of origami pigeons hidden in a shoe box under his bed.

"There's something I wanted to show you before we check out," Ed said. He retrieved a stack of papers from his backpack, and showed them to Lupe. On them, there was a drawing of a machine that looked sort of like a typewriter, except for the second set of characters on the back. On the next few pages were tiny schematics.

"I did some research on the Enigma machine, and I think I figured out how to make one that'll work," he said.

Lupe raised an eyebrow. "Cool!" they said. "You'll have to write to me how that goes." They handed the papers back to Ed, and he put them back in his backpack.

"Gladly," Ed replied. He picked up his stack of books, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Lupe picked up their backpack as well, and they walked to the check-out counter together.

"Ed, there's something I need to tell you," Lupe said once they were outside.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I—" Lupe faltered. Never in his life had Ed ever seen them falter.

"What's wrong?" Ed asked, worried.

"I'm leaving," they said. "Moving to Vermont."

Ed's heart fell. "Oh," he said. "When?"

"In a month. I just found out last night."

"I'll miss you, but we can still write to each other," he said. "You have my address."

Lupe nodded. "I'll miss you, too." They threw their arms around him in a hug.

Ed returned the hug. "There's still a little time, we can plan something crazy to do before you leave."

Lupe sniffled. "That would be fun." They held on for a little longer. "You should get going, you don't want your father to get mad."

Ed nodded, and they broke apart. "We can share ideas next time," he said. "See you next week, Mycroft?"

Lupe nodded, and smiled. "See you next week, Sherlock."

They slowly walked their separate ways back home.

[dark-horse76]

Enfield and Me

(in which I ramble on... and on... and on about Enfield... and me xd)

The Enfield Gang Massacre is my favourite comic, and it lives rent-free in my head. Last time I wrote about Enfield, I wrote that the reasons I love Enfield have to do with Enfield itself (the story/artwork), some of which I could talk about but many of which I can't because I don't yet have the knowledge or the words, and personal reasons that for the most part I couldn't sort out and were just a big, messy question. Both sides have started to become a bit clearer. (Although, I suppose I have to caveat that there's not necessarily a very clear distinction between the two sides - they are definitely intertwined in many places xd.)

So, in this, I'm going to attempt to sort out some of my messy thoughts and feelings around Enfield. Buckle up, kids xd

Firstly, I think I should reiterate that I got Enfield not expecting to like it. It has the words "gang" and "massacre" in the title, and I'm fairly sure some of the early press around it described it as "brutal". These are signs that something will not be my kind of thing (not that I really know what my kind of thing is anymore rofl)! Then why, you might ask, did I add it to my subscription list soon after it was announced and read it in the first place?

Two answers: Because I'd read issue 14 of That Texas Blood (made by the same people, Enfield is set in the same universe but much earlier) and loved it a lot and because I'd seen an image (below) from the first issue of Enfield and loved that.

The writing in Enfield and TTB is in the vernacular, and I guess it made me realise how out of place I sometimes feel. I may've lived in Britain nearly 15 years, but I'm not from here. I never will be. I'll always be an outsider.

I think it all made me kind of homesick and looking at that artwork was/is comforting. I don't even... like, I'm not from West Texas - I've never even been to West Texas 😂 but... I don't know. It's home, nonetheless, I guess.

TTB#14 - and it's always felt strange thinking this, considering what goes in TTB lol but - also made me remember the good sides of Texas. I know Texas is a shithole, and it's wearying. TTB and Enfield, despite everything that goes on in them, helped me remember things I love about Texas. Both Chris Condon and Jacob Phillips deserve to be honorary Texans (and I'm still a little surprised neither of them is Texan lol because it's normally only Texans who talk this way about Texas).

I think going into it not expecting to like it made it hit all the harder when I did. That's my excuse anyway lol Blindsided by Enfield like I was blindsided by comics generally lol

And, like comics generally, I think one of the reasons Enfield has come to mean so much to me is because it kinda finished, or accelerated, what comics generally had started. I think I would have caught on eventually, but Enfield hit me with it in a moment of clarity when I was reading the first issue. Just. I'm holding it in my hands, looking at it, and all of a sudden I know with a certain panicky dread - I need to make comics. I tried to talk my brain out of it, you know, with logic, especially around the rather important not being able to draw bit, but... well, my brain won xd.

I think I would have gotten to that realisation eventually, because comics is definitely the closest to how I envision stories. When I was younger, I used to use film scripts as a guide because that's the only frame of reference I had for what I wanted to do - it wasn't what I wanted to do, but that was comics but I didn't know about comics... 😭

Enfield is also responsible for getting me to be interested in and like art. It started with Jacob Phillips's colours, which I love. Of course, I don't know anything about art, so I don't really know why I love it so much or why I think it works so well, but it made me want to go try to find out, to pay attention to what artists do and the choices they make, to look at as much art as I can, to learn everything I can.

I went to an art museum (or gallery, not actually sure and actually no idea what the difference is lol...) for the first time a few months ago, and that was fantastic. It's all comics' fault (mostly Enfield) xd

Somewhat coupled (but not completely) with the whole "I need to write comics" thing that reading Enfield made realise, Enfield also helped re-ignite my desire to learn how to draw, because there's a few panels in there that I frequently try to draw. I just can't help it even though it goes not very well every time lol

I've always thought "I wish I could draw" but never had much motivation to actually try, because I suck at it xd. Doesn't help that I pretty much stopped drawing when I was <10 years old. But I have to. My brain is giving me no choice. It's literally the hardest thing I've ever tried to learn, and I don't think I've ever sucked so bad at something ROFL, but...

Would this have happened without Enfield? Like realising I need to turn my writing-focus to comics, probably. It's a little hard to escape when being sucked into the whirlpool of comics, but.

So, basically, it feels like Enfield re-forged me similar to how comics generally did. I sometimes (okay, a lot xd) think of comics as a tsunami that unexpectedly ripped me from my peaceful, non-comics beach and half-drowned me whilst dragging me out to sea. Then once I stopped struggling, it deposited me on an island paradise. Where Enfield proceeded to crash into me like a meteor 😂😂😂

Was Enfield just in the right place at the right time? Maybe, though I'm not sure it ultimately matters if that's the case or not. I think my gut is that it's more than that. I read relatively a lot of comics last year, and it's only Enfield that had this impact.

If I could do comics even remotely like Enfield, I would be very happy indeed. (Do I think I'll be able to? Absolutely not, but it's good to have aspirations lol)

The other thing that gets me about Enfield is it's a Western. Now, as far as I know, I don't like Westerns. However, this thought was formed by being forced to watch like every single John Wayne movie known to man - which, fortunately, due to my absolute crap memory, I don't actually remember haha.

Enfield, I think I would call a subversive Western, in that it takes what I think of as the expected tropes (lawmen = good, outlaws = bad, usually mixing in some racism and imperialism for good measure...) and...doesn't do that xd. It's not inverted, exactly, Enfield's not, like, a Good Guy (TM), but the 'good guys' are not Good Guys. And THAT is far more interesting. It's complicated, like real life.

It reminds me of the moment I knew I was going to love the story:

You wouldn't believe the number of scenarios I came up with trying to figure out how the end of the story (Enfield dying, it's not a spoiler, trust me xd) could be not the real end of the story because of this page 😂

Anyway. I've probably rambled on about Enfield (again) enough for one day (for now) xd

So, yeah. I love Enfield a lot, and if you haven't read it, you should read it (and also TTB) it's really good, I promise xd

[pillsarchive]

A few random head cannons I have for Edward Nashton <<33

His favorite book is house of leaves you cannot change my mind - its filled with mysteries and he loves that he can re-read it and find more little puzzles to solve every time.

He watches documentaries like a crazy man. He has a lot of unhealthy tendencies and behaviors, one of them is wallowing. Watching documentaries that make him sad or angry gives him an almost perverse sense of pleasure - its confirmation. Yes, the world is as terrible as you think it is. If he's not using them as a depressant he's watching them to learn. Understanding more about niche topics helps him write better riddles.

He's a punk. The music was one of the things that got him through his time at the orphanage, even as an adult one of the only times he feels sort of good is when he's at shows. Thrashing around and taking out his aggression via moshing. He's never felt the need to dress loud (probably due to self confidence issues, I have a feeling once he breaks out of arkham and he has no reason to hide his identity anymore he'll come into his own and put himself together better) but he does admire people who are alternative in some way a whole lot.

He has graphomania (an impulsive desire to write or draw). It started as a nervous habit as a child, writing down riddles or thoughts or bible quotes to get anxiety out, then it spiraled into writing anything - one word over and over again, nonsense, it doesn't even have to be legible.

He has always wanted to go back to college and get more degrees. He has a bachelors in accounting of course, but he wants so many more. He loves learning, he is sort of a humanitarian at heart (even though his rage stifles that sometimes - revenge is a hard thing for him not to want) so he greatly enjoys the atmosphere of college campuses too. When he went, even though he was still mostly shunned for being neurotic and strange, people were nicer to him than normal. In the classroom he felt at home - he's sort of a genius and other students had a hard time keeping up with him. His professors pushed him to pursue a more advanced degree but he couldn't afford it (and the arkham programs for getting the cash he needed were lacking, to say the least).

He's trans and on the spectrum.

He's a true crime nerd. He likes to read books on it more than watch podcasts or docs - he finds that reading about cases is more informative and less exploitative (as much as he maintains you should care about the victims more than the killers, it is kind of just talk. He has a huge fixation with murder. ) This mf is an encyclopedia when it comes to the zodiac killer - has he spent months trying to solve the ciphers? Yes.

GRAVITY FALLS GUYS. He loves - LOVES gravity falls. He is a children's cartoons enjoyer.

He burned down the orphanage.

He's a cryptid mystery girly. He loves ghost hunting tv shows and he's super into random mystery junk. He has solved kryptos. He does brag about this accomplishment to his fans. He does reveal what it means to spite the CIA.

Collects something weird and small like buttons or bottle caps or stamps.

Bilingual! He can speak the King's and latin.

Loves rats. In the orphanage they were scary, they stole stockpiled food which could mean starvation, they chewed on you and gave some kids infections, they were horrible. Now that he's out and living in his own place he finds a lot of catharsis in taming them and befriending them.

In my universe he was in a mook adjacent band that broke up because he couldn't work well with the other bandmates.

He did NOT FLOOD THE CITY. I feel like in the movie this was completely off the wall, imu he doesnt ever make a plan to flood the whole city. What he does imu for the finale is a surprise >:].