#but please read with caution

[wishiwasfiction]

(you have nothing to apologise for, you're not doing anything wrong)

(adding read more for comfort and also there's some triggering shit under it)

honestly? spite.

and not the cute, quirky 'oh, someone told me I don't deserve to live so I'm gonna live to prove them wrong!' type of spite, though I know that works excellently for some people.

no, I'm talking about clenched teeth, rage at the injustice of the world, you tried to break me and you fucking failed type of spite.

knowing that every day I live is a day beyond what I was meant to get, beyond what I was 'allowed', beyond what they tried to turn me into.

knowing that everything I experience is breaking the rules, especially the bad. I wasn't meant to be sad or in pain or feel all the fear. But I am anyway, because they don't fucking deserve to win.

my well of hatred for the people that hurt me, my desire for revenge, is so deep and powerful that it eclipses all else.

for a long time I was convinced that there was nothing in the world I could hate more than myself, but that was before I got the memories of what happened back. safe to say, I was wrong.

there is nothing in existence that could make me forgive them, or to move on, or to not be angry.

I will drag myself off a bridge with white knuckles because I have lost so much to them, I will not lose my life too.

It would be easy to fall to it, the urges, the pain, the trauma. they made sure it would be easy. but for once in my fucked up life I'm not taking the easy route. I refuse.

I've spent my entire life playing their shitty fucking game of pretend, I'm not dying before I can escape it. I'm not surrendering my chance to exist without their shitty rules, not now and not ever.

If they want me dead they can fucking do it themselves.

I'm very sorry to ask something like this, I've really been struggling with this question, and I wanted to ask the combined wisdom of the people on this site

I would like to know why you keep going, and what drives you to keep living. I know there are a lot of reasons to stay alive and enjoy life, I can think of a few that personally resonate with me, but I really want to know what your reasons are

You do not have to comment on this if that's too big of an ask, and I'm very sorry for asking something like this, I really need someone's help, I feel like I don't have much purpose

Also if I may ask, please don't post any suicidal ideation in the comments of this post, I really can't handle something like that right now

[niccoguedes]

Hotel Room 1980

"He grants my every wish"

[hasello]

TW: BLOOD AND INJURIES

first/next

“Have any of the boys worried the rest?” was the question. The answer is INDEED.

Notes: Raph tried to fight all the negative thought and anxiety (which I tried to show through the black fog) but only ended up wrecking his room and hurting himself. Just to be clear, in case I didn’t show it properly. Also the cup of tea was brought by his fam, but he was so out of it he didn’t even notice they visited.

[fuckhouse2theelectricboogaloo]

What the actual Kentucky deep fried fuck????

[tommykinard6]

DEATH IS AN OLD FRIEND

Tommy struggles with his own mind

TW: suicidal ideation (going back as far as childhood), suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, passive suicidal thoughts, depression, referenced murder of a parental figure

On Tuesday, Tommy resigns from the LAFD.

On Wednesday, an hour from being Thursday, he finds a lonely bridge and pitches himself off of it.

Not with the intent to kill himself, not yet anyway. He has to sort out his brain first, try to get a coherent thought out of the fog.

His old therapist would have a field day. The shrinks for the LAFD would bench him permanently faster than he could finish speaking.

Tommy’s always had these urges, ones he learned were almost more shameful than being gay. Almost. They came and went, unlike his attraction to men, but they were always quick to come back. He remembered being 6, listening to his dad scream at his mom, and wondering idly if the knife on the counter would kill him if it fell. What it would take to make it fall.

He was 15 and beaten by his father for being caught kissing his best friend and wondered if Thomas Kinard Sr. would kill him. He hoped he would. He didn’t and that was worse.

He was 7 again and knew how to lie to his school counselor about his bruises. He was 12 when he gave up hope of being saved, watching his mother die from a fall that only he knew wasn’t accidental and wishing he was going with her. He was 18 when he joined the army, lying too easily about his own mental health. He’d had many years to learn how to lie. To lie was to survive and at some point, he’d become determined that Thomas Kinard wouldn’t kill him too.

He lied and lied and lied. Sometimes he fooled himself, thinking those days of wishing for his own death were simply a haunting of his childhood. He threw himself into danger, but everyone thought he was simply brave. His old CO did start to look at him funny shortly before the crash that had taken him out of the army, but nothing had come of it.

The time under Gerrard wasn’t worth speaking about. Well, except that Tommy had known about the gas leak. He’d figured it out when his equipment malfunctioned and he’d started to feel woozy. And instead of calling for help, he’d sat down to wait, passing out long before the explosion.

But Howie, Howie had saved him. Not only that, Howie still wanted to befriend him. Then Sal transferred in and he was a total asshole, but he still made Tommy feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt before.

That voice in the back of his mind became easier to ignore then. Hen arrived too and inexplicably was friendly with him even when he was too afraid to be singled out. He wondered if she guessed. Regardless, after Gerrard’s displacement and his own apologies, she’d seemed almost fond of him. He had friends, even just at work, and they helped quiet his mind.

Before leaving the 118, he visited a few bridges. The urges were getting stronger. He knew where the jump would kill him and where it would just leave him bruised.

But Tommy was a coward, and an optimist. At least, he told himself that. A position had just opened at Harbor Station and he’d just gotten his recertification to fly again. Lying through his teeth, saying all the correct things on his psych, it was so natural he didn’t even know it was a lie. Times were changing. Hen was openly queer and so were an increasing number of first responders and patients that he met. So he left Harbor and���well, he didn’t necessarily come out, but he didn’t hide either.

Milton asked him if he was married at dinner one night and Tommy said that he hadn’t found the right man. The world didn’t explode, Tommy was still breathing, and Milton simply hummed in acknowledgement before the other pilots began swapping stories about meeting their significant others.

Tommy’s career had never been better. All he had to do was find the right guy and maybe, maybe, the urges would stop. They were less prominent now, more passive, but they were ever his constant companions.

He had a longer relationship with suicidal ideation than he’d ever had with a person, platonic or romantic.

He dated Adam, who cheated on him. He dated Tim, who was married and didn’t say so. He dated Alex, who wasn’t out and kissed women to keep up appearances. He dated Micah, a trans man who was one of his most solid relationships but who ultimately ended it because he needed to move back home to take care of his ailing mother. Todd, Ethan, Nick, James, all men that expected things out of him that he couldn’t give and used him for everything he had left.

Then he met Evan.

The urges weren’t completely gone, but they’d never been more quiet. He was riding on a dopamine rush every moment he was around Evan, who was what you would get if you slapped together literal sunshine and a golden retriever.

6 months. Not his longest relationship, but completely his happiest.

Tommy wished he could explain that night. He wished he could explain to Evan how when he spoke of a future, all Tommy could think was that he shouldn’t even be alive. How did he get a happy ending, with actions he couldn’t ever fully atone for and demons that told him he was fundamentally broken. Every word Evan said sounded like it was about a different person.

He realized in retrospect that it was the anniversary of his mom’s death. That would explain the weirdness he felt all day leading up to him arriving at Evan’s. Maybe if he’d realized that, realized that the anniversary always put him in a bad place and bad places meant self sabotage and self loathing, he would’ve done something different. What, he didn’t know.

But he walked out of the apartment and didn’t allow himself to go back.

Less than 3 weeks later, he resigned from the LAFD. He wanted to leave with honors and distinction, not be discharged if it went wrong or have his memory marred when he didn’t show up to shift.

That’s how he winds up on the bridge.

His mind is a jumbled mess. There’s pain and desperation in there somewhere, underneath the odd passiveness he feels. But he stands on the bridge and thinks to himself that the only way forward is death. It comes to him as easily as noticing the weather or that it’s too late for cars to be driving on the bridge.

He doesn’t know if he wants to die. Somehow, he just knows it’s the next step.

So he jumps from the non-lethal point of the bridge. He’ll be soaked and bruised, but maybe doing the action his mind tells him to do without the consequences will trigger his brain into telling him what he actually wants. Whether that’s death or life, he doesn’t want to end everything on a passing thought.

He’s never felt so indecisive about dying yet so prompted to try at the same time.

He hits the water and feels nothing.

He doesn’t want to make his own decision. He wants Gerrard, the closest approximation of his father, to hold his hand and shove him off the bridge. He wants Evan to wrap his arms around him and hold him back. He wants someone to tell him that he won’t have to deal with this anymore.

He wants just one guaranteed moment without the thought of death.

He hauls himself up to the bridge, up a steep embankment, and grabs his phone that he left up there. His finger hovers over Evan’s contact, over the call button. Then Tommy locks his phone and looks out over the water.

He leaves, in an hour or so. Death is an old friend and constant companion, but he can’t sort out in his own mind whether it’s actually the way forward.

Maybe this is where other people in his situation call 9-1-1, looking for someone to talk them out of it. However, Tommy is starting to feel that he would need talking into it as much as he needs talking out of it and that thought is what enables his feet to move, taking him off the bridge and to his truck.

He doesn’t drive away until late Thursday morning, when the urge to pee finally breaks through the fog in his mind and he hasn’t yet taken himself up the bridge again.

When he gets to his house, cold and lonely but still his, he grabs his phone and goes to text Evan.

I tried to kill myself

Then he backspaces. That isn’t a fair text to send after 2 and a half weeks. Besides, it’s inaccurate. If he’d truly tried, he would have succeeded. He can’t put any of this on Evan. He has no right.

Instead, he texts Eddie.

***

“So Tommy,” Frank begins, once they are settled into his office. Tommy’s leg is bouncing and he can’t quite settle it. Eddie had sworn that Frank was amazing, even if it sounded like he himself had been reluctant to listen at times. “What brings you here today?”

Tommy can’t speak for a moment, struck by the enormity of the question and of his answer. This is it. He’ll never fly again. But he’d known that. That’s why he quit. All of this couldn’t be for nothing and there is no bridge nearby.

“I don’t know if I want to die.”

[afewproblems]

For the angst prompts ;

"You look like hell." "I feel like it."

Famous Eddie showing up on Steve’s doorstep years after Eddie left

Oooo love this idea, thank you very much for sending it Nonny! I hope you enjoy!

***

"So, he's back in town," Robin says instead of a greeting into the receiver, a leading lilt in her voice.

Steve sighs and knocks his head into the wall beside the mounted hand set, "yeah".

She hums, the sound crackles over the line like static in Steve's ear.

"You want me to come over?" Robin asks carefully, as though dismantling a bomb, picking through what to say as gently as she can, hoping it's right.

And Steve hates it.

He hates that even after all these years, Eddie Munson can get right under his skin like this.

It should have ended back in '88, when Eddie had left them all behind to 'make it big'.

Or at least, that's what the note had said.

The one in hastily scribbled blue ink, dropped on the cold and empty side of the bed that Eddie had left. Steve had awoken alone, with only the note and the smell of weed and cigarettes and sex on his sheets.

He had tried calling the trailer, only for Wayne to pick up and explain that Eddie had been planning this for weeks, 'didn't Ed tell you?'

Eddie had left for New York along with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant, bound for city lights and a better music scene.

No, Eddie hadn't told him, but Steve didn't say that. How could he?

Instead, he thanked Wayne, his voice hoarse, and hummed something close to a yes when Wayne asked if Steve would make sure to drop by when he had time, the Pacers season had started after all.

"Steve?"

Robin's voice breezes through the phone again, jolting him back to the present.

"Sorry Birdy," he sighs, shaking the last memories of the Munson's from his mind, "don't worry about me, really".

She scoffs and Steve can almost picture the way she's certainly rolling her eyes, "I always worry about you Dingus, that's what I'm here for".

"I know".

They talk for a little longer, speculating on how much longer Clinton will last in office now that the truth has come out and which of them would host the finale of Seinfeld --'it deserves a special night Steve, we are taping it, getting as many snacks as we can, and indulging in some good old misanthropic comedy'.

He tells her goodnight after another half hour, and insists that he'll be okay.

And he will, of course he will.

It's been ten years since Eddie Munson set foot in Hawkins, and there was absolutely no reason for them to run into one another.

Well, sure, he still kept in touch with Wayne over the years --how could he not when the old man seemed to pull excuses to see him out of thin air.

Robin had always cautioned Steve on his continued relationship with Wayne, questioning why he insisted on maintaining contact with Steve.

But it was nice to have someone to watch the game with over a beer, the occasional barbecue in the summer and hell, Steve had even celebrated a Thanksgiving or two or three with Wayne Munson.

With Steve cutting off his own parents years back, it was nice to feel like he had still had someone looking out for him.

And really, there was no reason for Eddie and Steve to run into one another.

Steve would be fine.

***

It's almost a week after his call with Robin that the doorbell rings and Steve's world comes to a stop.

He's putting away the small grocery trip, and to call it that was a bit ridiculous considering the snack to fruit ratio, but Robin had been very specific about their Seinfeld watch party slated for the coming weekend.

Steve opens the fridge door to pop the milk in, tossing a, "coming!" over his shoulder as the bell rings a second time.

Steve hopes it isn't his neighbor again as he makes his way to the front hall of his small home. It would be her third time angrily telling him that the tree in his backyard had shed even more crabapples over the fence and into her yard.

And considering their postage stamp lots, where else was the poor tree going to do it?

"Look Mrs. Patterson," he says wearily as he flips on the porch light and opens the front door, "I'm going to do something about the branches this weekend--"

But it isn't Mrs. Patterson standing on his front porch.

It's Eddie Munson.

Steve blinks, feeling as though part of himself has been wrenched from his own body to watch from above. His palms are sweaty all of a sudden and there's a tightness in his chest that grips his lungs, he can't breathe.

Eddie tries for a half wave and a smile, but the effect is lost as Steve continues to stand in shocked silence.

He's thin; Eddie had always been on the lanky side but his shoulders were still broad and he was strong enough to lug his band equipment around. He's almost gaunt now, with deep set bags under his brown eyes. His curly hair hangs somewhat limp over his shoulders and he reeks of stale cigarettes.

But it's undeniably Eddie Munson standing at his front door.

There are so many questions, and Steve wants nothing more than to demand answers if he can manage to get the words out without yelling.

What are you doing here? Why are you here now? How did you know where I live?

How could you leave like that?

"You look like hell," Steve says instead, his grip tightens on the door frame as Eddie drops his head in a nod.

"I feel it".

His voice is slightly deeper, more gravely in tone now than it was ten years back.

But perhaps that's what screaming into a microphone and partying in New York for ten years will get you.

"How did you know where I live?" Steve asks after another beat of strained silence.

"Uh, Wayne, I ask him about you a lot and about half the time he'll give me an answer when he's not calling me a dumbass and telling me to call you myself".

"Wayne has been telling you about me" Steve says faintly, feeling as though he might be sick on Eddie's shoes.

Wayne, someone that Steve had been looking up to, getting advice from, and spending so much time with, had been doing so just for Eddie.

All this time.

Robin had been right to tell him to be careful.

"Leave," Steve whispers suddenly, making Eddie step back in surprise, "I don't want to see you, either of you, again".

"Wha--no, Steve, wait!"

But the door is already closing, slammed against Eddie's hands that knock and knock, pleading with him to open the door, to just hear him out.

But how can he?

It wasn't just Eddie showing up after all these years, but on top of that, everything that he thought he had with Wayne had all been some ploy to help his nephew keep tabs on him.

He'd let himself be hurt again, by another fucking Munson, one he thought he could trust.

Steve locks the door and flips off the porch light, uncaring of the muffled curse from the other side of the wood.

He doesn't want to hear what Eddie has to say, after all, Eddie hadn't cared enough to stick around all those years ago.

Why should Steve?

[hypnagogics]

when you spend the day writing through tears, that's how you know it's angst. my heart hurts and im the one making up all this wicked shit😭😭 send sos STAT

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

Long post about this year, the things that made me leave and the future of this blog.

Unfortunately, I’m still alive so I will have to make a decision about this account eventually. One thing for sure, it won’t return to the way it used to be. 

I had a few moments when I felt like checking in but I remembered the last posts seen here and how bad it made me feel for months and any desire to enter blr instantly evaporated, for a while even any desire to draw or create anything.  

I had a talk with a friend the other day, they asked if it helped me leave. Not really. It was just 1 less thing in my life. I had plenty to deal with offline so having 1 less thing to make me feel bad was ok. However, it also meant having 1 less access to what could bring me some joy. For a good while it is like I just gradually lose things that make life enjoyable, all that is left is work and basic necessities like hygiene, food and sleep. With all the political and economical crisis in my country and social tensions, an uncertain future, I never felt more tired. 

If I had thoughts of returning, it was born of the intention to support the work of some friends I made here. It is, despite all that happened this year, the place where I met some good people and who, even now for Christmas, made some things that brought me joy, where I was introduced to series and characters that I love and probably wouldn’t have known otherwise.

I still made some drawings, and edits and gifs of Bleach episodes, although way less. I am still the fool that creates things without anyone asking me to. However, I don’t feel like sharing with empty accounts and those that followed me after seeing one of my art yet never bothered to give as much as a like or reblog or comment; nor with individualists that think they don’t owe anything to anyone, those that have no respect for artists or anyone really, those with the “do it for yourself” discourse, those that shouted outraged that they “can’t be expected to give a note to EVERYTHING” even when no one asked that but simply asked for more interaction with things that they LIKE; who's feedbacks are still more easy to give to pretty much everyone around but not me, and those that made me feel unwanted so many times this year.

If you think you can go online and enjoy what others make yet you don’t owe anything back, not even as much as a like or reblog of the things that you like, think about how communities are built and why the place you logged into even exists, where do all these things that you enjoy as you scroll come from, who and why they made it. People don’t owe you sharing their creation either. I don’t owe sharing my art either, nor my thoughts, headcanons and analysis on characters, or gifs and edits. No one asked me to do it either, I did do it for myself first, because I wanted to. Yet I shared with others in spaces that are made for sharing, a common ground to interact about common interests. 

Despite the rise of individualistic utopia, I have this human condition where I care about the pieces I put a lot of time and effort into (and sometimes money because I do traditional art), and can’t be indifferent about how it’s received when I share it; and I feel good and motivated to do more if I get people telling me they like it; and it hurts to give so much of myself only to 

see people saying that no one asked me to do it, they don’t owe anything to anyone, how dare I expect anything in return, that if I share I should be indifferent to its treatment, be thankful if anyone even gives it a like (obviously its purpose has been completed when I did it for myself, so why should I care what happens to it after I share it when there are so many entitled beings out there that expect nice things to look at and scroll over)

have people on a server react to every piece around and skip mine specifically

notice people in the same circles and people that followed me interacting so much with all other works posted in the same period yet not with mine, even though they are not better than mine, sometimes even worse

be told that I exaggerate because there are works with less notes - and it's those done by the amateurs with no aesthetic sense, horrendous pieces not only for their anatomy but for the colors, compositions, the vibe they give. I’m doing better than rock bottom, thanks, I was starting to have these ideas of self-worth and that I deserve better

have people comment only to tell me what they would change about it or other rude comments and tags

only to never be enough.

Of course, assholes and people that simply do not care will always be around, no matter what I say or how many times I say it they will be coming on my blog or interacting with a post oblivious of this, and it may not be a situation where I need to be the one leaving… but it has become an irredeemable situation that ruins my experience and I lose any desire to share. When met with attitudes like this it all just feels pointless. You don’t owe anything to anyone, I don’t owe you either, why are we here then? You still feel entitled enough to come online and be fed. I refuse to share my works with people that don’t deserve it. 

If I want to share art with some friends I can do so in places like my Discord server. If I post online, it becomes available for everyone and considering what made me leave, nothing changed and I don’t feel like sharing anymore. Especially not with the BG3 fanbase. If you don't like me and what I do then idk why you follow me.

Also please spare me any lectures. I am tired of being invalidated every time I talk about this. So many seem to be so illuminated about everything but the weight of words and the consequences they have on others despite their intentions.  

That being said, I am grateful for the ones that were kind to me this year, to all that left supportive comments, liked and reblogged. At least for the first few months, I got more positive feedback than ever and it motivated me to do more art in a few months than I did in years. The somewhat constant practice also helped me improve again and I drew some of my favorite pieces yet. It is no coincidence they are all BG3 pieces. It brought me a lot of joy to know that my thoughts on Bleach, Askin specifically, inspired people and made some like his character more, that my ramblings amounted to something good and even fics.

I still don’t know what led to things going downhill here, I know real life issues were the main culprit in my deteriorating mental health and it made dealing with the crap online too much and pointless. This should be my source of joy, but I was let down when I would’ve needed a community the most. It is exactly because I drew more and shared more only for my efforts to be ignored that made it sting worse and nothing I did was enough. And to suggest that I’m the bad guy for trying to connect and share and I’m wrong for being upset, that I just don’t do enough … that was the last drop. Maybe it wasn’t people’s intention to hurt me specifically but they ended up contributing to it regardless. 

It sucks that letting the door open for some good things to come also means letting in the bad ones, but for now at least I will let it open because I really need any scrap of good.

[scp-torment]

SCP-8980 - Ergophobia: Without Regards

Written by Yossipossi

Please note that this article contains extremely sensitive material. Viewer discretion is heavily advised. The full list of sensitive topics (which necessitates spoiling some topics that will come up) is as follows:

• Explicit and Implicit Misogyny

• Prolonged Psychological Abuse

• Prolonged Institutional Abuse

• Severe Psychological Trauma/Torture

• Institutional and Personal Gaslighting

• Physical Violence

• Prolonged Isolation

• Implications of Sexual Assault

• Sexual Assault Analogies

• Mentions of Sexual Acts

Please ensure you are emotionally and physically capable of reading the article before proceeding. There is an in-universe content warning mid-article that marks when more serious themes become increasingly prominent in the story.

This article is a work of fiction, and resemblance of any character to any real-life persons are purely coincidental. This article is, nonetheless, based on several true stories.

[wondrouswendy]

Forget to Remember, Chapter 7 Fandom: Alan Wake (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fictional Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alan Wake & Barry Wheeler, Alan Wake & Alice Wake Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Canon Compliant, Canon Retelling, POV First Person, Romance, Horror, Angst, Drama, Humor, Friendship, Character Study, Self-Discovery, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Established Relationship, Alan Wake Has 99 Problems and Dramatic Irony Is #1 Series: Part 2 of Kill Your Darlings Summary: The trip to Bright Falls was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, a chance to get out from under the collapsed remains of my writing career and to reconnect with my wife. But it was just another part of the spiral. The longest fall into dark depths. I landed into the arms of the person I least expected, the hero I had forgotten.

Alan faces a long afternoon waiting around Elderwood National Park before he can confront the kidnapper at Lovers' Peak. Time spent idling, however, leads him to have to confront the circumstances which pushed him and his wife to take a vacation in the first place.

Read Chapter 07 here on Ao3!

[acourtofquestions]

"And who, exactly, are you?"

Dorian gave the witch one of those charming smiles and sketched a bow. "Dorian Havilliard, at your service."

"The king," one of the Crochans murmured from near the wyverns.

Dorian winked. "That I am, too."

[tending-the-hearth]

Also Jasmine almost kills Jafar using dark magic and we get a whole genie backstory about how his wife died in the apocalypse within the djinn’s world

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

3. what is your muse’s biggest regret? 

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

I don't think it's a shock to anyone that Robin's biggest regret was something he actually had no choice in; but feels like he does - even then in his current state of lore, its been so long that I'm not sure its a regret but more so nostalgic longing or a quietly whispering "what if". I'm of course talking about The Pipes in his lore; a repair on his house that he never really thought about since he was 15 and was studying up in Piltover trying to make ends meet for his impoverished family. The event was so traumatic and life altering that I'm genuinely unsure of where he would have ended up if it didn't occur - unfortunately it is basically Robin's canon event. Hell even my Arcane Verse ( its a WIP but its coming I promise all ) its already years past that event. Granted I will ALWAYS say that if he had even just 1 true friend during it, he'd have been okay, Robin was not born evil. But he had absolutely no one to help him.

He's convinced himself that somehow it was his fault that the pipes decided to give out the same night he just happened to spend the night studying. And he does wonder about it since well ... Everything leads into eachother:

Pipe Issue ->

Leaking Gas ->

Familial Death ->

Depression ->

Decline in Academic Performance ->

Abandonment from his Professors ->

His Project is not Funded ->

Demonic Contact Ensues ->

Back down into the Underbelly of Zaun ->

Death ->

Eventually landing in Ionia.

Even at the top of the world side by side with @hemoplagued he's still haunted by the last time he saw his little sister on that terrible day. I'm not sure he'll ever truly let go of his survivor's guilt.

[hasello]

TW: BLOOD, INJURIES

next

I decided to answer these with one comic, which is going to be very hurt/comfort (I always do the comfort, don’t worry!). I know I said this au is mostly for fun, but then I couldn’t help myself - sorry. I also couldn’t decide whether to split it in parts or just wait and post the whole thing, but in the end it’s gonna be awhile before I finish so here you go. Choosing which turtles to write about was hard, too!

Also thank you all so much for all the love and kind words, you’re all so lovely!! Sorry I’m so slow with answering, but I swear I’m very grateful for all the questions and complements! I’m very happy you like the AU ❤️

[tinukis]

i think about trans sanji a lot... mtf or ftm he's transgender (or genderfluid ♥️)

but i think about ftm sanji and his struggles with his identity. his self hatred, self esteem, and toxic masculinity... i think about ftm sanji a lot...

i have stuff from my notes app. one was meant to be written as a fic but i gave up so it's incomplete. this takes place after wci and before wano. warnings are below the cut and in the tags, please read with caution.

trigger warning - gender dysphoria, child abuse (may be graphic.), misgendering, self-harm

Sanji wishes he was never a man. Let alone be born with the genital of a woman's.

He loves women. He admires them. Their beauty, their bodies, their smile, their femininity, everything. He wishes he could be just like them, that was his assigned sex, after all. Yet as a child, every time he stared at himself in the mirror, he would be staring at someone else. He did see a girl, but it wasn't him.

It's his turn on night watch. As everyone exchanges their goodnights and enter the cabin, Sanji climbs into the crow's nest and leaned against the window where the moonlight shined. His hand over his heart and crumpling his shirt into his fist. They just left Whole Cake Island but now that half his crew learned about the Vinsmokes, he was only filled with dread and anxiety.

They knew too much and there was nothing he can do about it but fill his lungs with tobacco. He knew they wouldn't pry further and he was relieved that they still see him the same but... It was being confronted by his Captain he dreaded the most. He didn't care about anyone's past nor does he try to look into them, but after everything Sanji did to Luffy and what Luffy did for him, he doesn't know what the hell to expect anymore.

Sanji knows Luffy would notice something's wrong and he couldn't avoid him forever. What was he supposed to tell him anyway?

Oh everything's fine, Luffy. Just you know, I've been reminded what sex I was born as and how I grew up hating myself because I'm actually a man. And I hated being a man because of how all the men in my life raised and treated me. I feel like I have betrayed all the women in my life. But other than that, I'm fine, Captain.

He puffs out a trail of smoke with a long exhale, clutching his head and pulling his hair that covered his right eye. He only wishes for silence but the calm waves below. Not his shitty thoughts about his identity or what lessons he'd been taught on Kamabakka Kingdom. With little to nonexistent self-worth, it was fucking hard to accept who he is. He needed no one elses approval but his own.

—

"Mother... is it wrong to feel like a boy?" Sanji fiddled with his thumbs, sitting on the edge of his mother's bed. His back was turned towards her, but he could hear her smile.

"What makes you feel that, Sanji?"

"... I don't know. My heart feels bad and heavy when I am a girl," Sanji hugged himself tight, gritting his teeth to hold back his tears. His brothers told him a man doesn't cry, otherwise he'd never be considered or respected as one.

"Sanji, look at me," his mother's voice was soft and full with kindness.

Sanji slowly turned his head, sniffling his red nose with his tearful eyes. His mother gently cupped over his cheek and wiped away the teardrops overflowing from the corner of his eye.

"Follow what your heart feels, Sanji. Despite what your father says, you continue seeing me, right? Continue with what your heart desires."

...

If only it were that easy.

—

"I was born wrong," said Sanji.

"Clearly," responded father. Unsure what he had meant by that, Sanji was overjoyed to be treated as a boy going forward.

A man was not who he wanted to be, yet those feelings of euphoria when dressed alike to his brothers and referred to as a "son" or "he" were undeniable.

It was a bit of surprise that even his brothers were forced to comply. But that doesn't stop their bullying and abuse whenever left alone with them.

–

"We're only wrestling! It's what boys do!" Yonji exclaimed with his arm strangled around Sanji's neck. Sanji tugged and tugged, attempting to escape his grasp only for Yonji to flex tighter.

"You're a boy, right, Sanji? Then act like one! Reiju is more of a man than you are!" Niji laughed, swinging a harsh kick into Sanji's shin.

Sanji was gasping between breaths, his skin turning from a shade of red to blue. For once, Yonji obliged but that moment of refreshing release was cut short by Ichiji's foot to Sanji's mouth.

"If you're a man, then stand up!" Ichiji yelled, kicking Sanji again by his stomach, not giving him a single chance for a breath of air. Coughed up blood splattered over the red carpet and Ichiji's white pants.

"Eww! She spat out blood!" Yonji exaggerated his gagging with his tongue lolled out his mouth and pointing into it.

Sanji shakily forced himself up, bloodied and bruised. His brothers smirked at him, intrigued that he was even capable of standing up after a beating.

"I'm... I'm not a she!!!" Sanji shouted and panted heavily. He knelt over, clutching onto his growling stomach that was building up his throat.

"Oh yeah? If you're not a girl, then," without warning, Niji swung his leg across Sanji's head, forcing a crack into the castle's walls. "Try not to pass out!"

His brothers waited for their useless brother to even breathe one shallow breath. Sanji couldn't move a single muscle, yet he was still conscious. When he heard heavy footsteps, his eyes widened and his heart beat grew steady. Sanji cried out for his father, but his throat felt clogged and not a word was heard.

"H-hel...p... me..." Sanji sputtered with quivering lips. His brothers laughed aloud, every time their mouths opened their words would never be positive.

The heavy footsteps got closer and Sanji turned his head towards that direction, staring at his father's unchanged expression. The burning sensation from his stomach rose. It ached terribly and he couldn't do anything but cry.

"F-fath— MGH—!" Sanji vomited on the carpet, his brothers expressed their disgust and laughed. When Sanji's eyes met with Judge, he was stared down at with revulsion. He bit back the bottom of his lip, trying to prevent tears or vomiting again, he couldn't tell what was happening anymore. It was like the room started to spin, the laughter dissipating in the background before everything turned to black.

–

The only people in Sanji's life that even treated him with kindness were women. His bedridden mother, his bystander sister, and the maids. But his mother was long gone for months. All he became accustomed to was the gray brick walls, steel bars caging him in, and a heavy iron helmet upon his head. The only people that ever kept him company were the Germa soldiers. But of course, they never bothered with conversations and only responded to Sanji's needs. He was even lucky that his requests for books were allowed.

Being kept alive, rotting in this dungeon was a fate worse than Hell. His hair grew longer and it felt so damn itchy. But with the stupid mask over his head, he couldn't satisfy the itch. Sanji had to resort to scratching his arms until they burnt and glowed red. Sometimes he'd scratch hard enough that it'd draw blood. He'd only stop once his arms started to bleed.

Sometimes Sanji refused baths. He wasn't comfortable with either a man or even a woman scrubbing him clean. He didn't want to do it all himself. He didn't want to look at the bare body he couldn't stand to look at. He wanted his mother. He wanted Reiju.

Since Sanji refused to have a bath because of the growing pit in his stomach grew each time he had to strip down, reminded of the body that shouldn't be his. The Germa soldiers resorted to soaking him with a hose and drop off his preferred choice of clothing.

That was all these past months of hell Sanji lived through alone in the dark and dank dungeon. The isolated loneliness was more agonizing than being beaten like a worn out punching bag by his brothers. Despite the amount of bruises and broken bones they may have caused, he missed them.

But maybe he thought too soon. Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji found him, surprised that he was still alive. They purposely spoke aloud how killing Sanji would likely make their father happy. His heart began to race like it was about to burst right out of his chest. Once they got the gate unlocked, they approached Sanji slowly, making him backed against the cold brick wall.

It was the same cycle as previously. Maybe even worse now as they were beneath the palace so no one would hear Sanji scream and cry for help.

–

Liquid rolls down Sanji's forearm and his cigarette burnt out. His nails dug into his skin deep enough to draw blood. Shit. No matter the pain he's given himself, it will never get rid of the filthy hands that bruised his body.

Sanji tosses his cigarette into the ashtray and lights another.

Why couldn't the good people in his life just leave him to rot?

[damianito]

Hi! I've been seeing bsd on your blog(is that what it's called? I'm new to tumblr) and I was wondering in what order to read the manga? there's so much content that it's confusing me lol

The thing about Bungou Stray Dogs is that the manga can be read as it is, without anything else, but if you want to have more depth into characters & details.

There's the light novels which are side stories from the main plot, like Dazai's entrance exam, Stormbringer, The origin of the detective agency, 15 soukoku, etc.

An order for the light novel in releasing dates

1. Osamu Dazai's entrance exam

2. Dazai Osamu to kuro no jidai

3. The untold origin of the detective agency

4. 55 minutes

6. Dead apple

7. BSD Beast

8. 15 soukoku

9. Stormbringer

There's also the current going of 15 Soukoku drawn by Shiwasu Hoshikawa (Which also illustrated BSD Beast if you wanna read the manga)

We have BSD Wan which is our piece of fluff. Little chibis of our characters being silly, animated & also on manga.