#depending on your circumstances. but whoever you are. you're here. it matters.

[lilacerull0]

the fact that this student went looking for me specifically to ask for advice and the fact that other first year students stopped to listen to me and thanked me for encouraging them instead of downplaying their importance...

[014miki]

OH MY GOD IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR YANDERE TOMAS WRITING if you're taking in reqs can we get a yandere JOHNNY TOO KYFHKDHDKYD

Sure! and tranks for being the first person to make a req <3

If you don't like it, let me know so I can modify it and make it more to your liking.

♥︎‹ 𖤩 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 .

TW: dark concept, yandere themes, violence, unhealthy jealousy, little carefulness, non-gender specific (yay) and song lyrics (not at all).

johnny cage x reader. (yandere version)

✦ tomas vrbada version here!

a/n: If you read my previous post you could notice that the theme will be the same, so I don't think I have anything to add other than enjoy this update and thank you for supporting.

> used song: always forever by cults.

＞﹏＜"You and Johnny met in an unfavorable situation, but that did not prevent you from forming a bond of friendship between you, nor did it prevent him from developing an obsession and unhealthy love you time went by."

📷 ▋୨★« ་. 01.- At first I wouldn't believe that he would feel something for you, because usually in the this circumstances in which he met someone his relationship didn't last long, but with you it was different. He would make sure it was and it would last.

📷 ▋୨★« ་. 02.- ¿Intense? Nah, publicly at least not... But when no one was looking he was someone intense and jeaously. He need was to do things discreetly (although it may not seem like it) since position greatly risks he's plans and he relationship with you. He could give up all his fame for you, dedicate time to you… and dedicate himself to taming you so that you would be obedient every time he ordered you what to do.

📷 ▋୨★« ་. 03.- "SFW" Speaking of needs, he needed to mark you as his at any cost ¿you liked that? ¿you not liked that? It doesn't matter, the important thing for him was that you felt the same feeling that he has towards you, in bed he would dominate you and tell you many names pet. He liked to think that the two of you could even participate in an adult movie. Just to show that you are his and how he could make love to you like no one else.

📷 ▋୨★« ་. 04.- now is moment to.. ¿what if...? (This takes place before the last headcanon)

¿YOU AGREE TO HAVE A DATE WITH JOHNNY?

pov: Johnny proposes that you have a date in which you can become more intimate in their friendship and be able to declare his love for you.

YOU ACCEPTED.

He is very happy. It is perfect for both of us! Finally, you and him will be together forever. Nothing in the world will ever be able to separate them, whoever dares to try will never again see the lights reflected in himself, except in his poor beaten and disfigured body. I would make you someone who depends on him, that without him you feel like you would die and that only he is capable of healing that feeling. He liked to see you be someone submissive, that is sure because you are hi's own now.

─ "You and me, always forever" He exclaimed in a serene tone while his gaze was fixed and dark, he looked at you as if you were the greatest prize he could ever win.

now he would always keep you in his pocket.

[buunicosplaytips]

5 Easy ways to get into cosplaying

Welcome to my first official post! To start off this blog let's explore how to even get started in cosplaying.

Things you should know off the bat about the world of cosplay:

~ Anyone can cosplay no matter their race, gender, or disability, everyone should be able to get into cosplay

~ Under no circumstance should you change your race for a cosplay

~You should not feel pressured to be the "ideal" weight or body type of a character, unless you're cosplaying a monster or an alien you shouldn't feel like you need to drastically change yourself to be "perfect" in fact every cosplay is perfect! ^^

Now that we have established rules, let's learn how to cosplay!

Pick a character

Now this is easier said than done, believe me, but the best way to pick a character is to find a show, movie, or game that you completely love and find a character that you like or resonate with a lot, also dont feel like you can't cosplay a character because you feel like you can't do them justice or you dont look like them, were all here to have fun! for example when I first cosplayed Loki, I felt like i couldn't do them justice because I was short, chubby, and just didn't look like them at all, but when I did cosplay them, everyone loved it and I felt so confident in myself, so lesson of the day, cosplay whoever you want if it makes you happy.

2. Buy or Make

so you picked your character, awesome! Now you need to know whether to buy or make your cosplay, now there's kind of a debate on whether you should buy or make your cosplay and I'm here to say:

it doesn't matter! unless you are going into the masquerade or cosplay contest, buying is not the worst thing you can do, believe me, buying or making your cosplay is completely up to you, whether you don't know how to sew or you need a cosplay ASAP, buying is fine, or if you like the challenge or your character is niche sewing is the way to go.

3. Improve your makeup skills

If you want to cosplay for fun or your cosplays don't need makeup you can skip this part. Still, suppose you want a professional look or want to cosplay a character that doesn't have a normal skin tone you should listen, now depending on your character and where they're from. In that case, your makeup should make sense for them, for example, if your character is girly do a girly makeup look with soft features and pastels for the eyes and lips, if your character is edgy do. Edgy look with dark colors for the lips and eyes, you can even add accessories that you think your character would like, with makeup you can even transform your face, for example, I usually cosplay men. Still, I'm afab and have a naturally soft face, to fix this I do hard contour on my cheeks, I can do a more in-depth post about cosplay makeup if anyone requests it.

4. Prop making

Most characters whether theyre from an anime or game, most likely have a prop with them, whether its something small like a Tesseract for Loki or something huge like a Keyblade for Sora, now like with buying or making your cosplay this applies to your props too, if you want to buy a prop that's fine and if you want to make it that's fine too, it all depends on your character and your skill level, I will say personally that you should have some skills in prop making because depending on how niche your character is a prop for them will most likely be hard to come by, this also applies to the whole cosplay as well.

5. Having fun!

Now this is the most important thing you can do as a cosplayer, having fun and being a good sport, when you first cosplay you'll see people whose cosplay looks great, but it might make you feel small, but the thing is that they most likely started out like you, ill be honest, your first cosplay will not be your greatest one, but having a great cosplay doesn't equal to happiness, what does though is the fact that your cosplaying your favorite character and making friends who also are cosplaying their favorite character, with cosplay comes community and making friends and just connecting over the things we all love is the most important thing you can do

Well I hope you learned a lot from this or at least the basics, if you have any questions or just want to add more on to it my ask box is open all the time so feel free to pop in

I hope we start the new year strong with fun and amazing cosplays! ^^

[sn4kep1t]

solo / LXXXVIII

CONTENT WARNINGS:

the following content contains allusions to, mentions of, or mentions non-graphic examples of: homelessness, emotional/psychological abuse, anti-lgbtq discrimination, gender dysphoria, and severe depressive episodes as well as other examples of severe mental health symptoms. viewer discretion is advised.

if you entered the front door of the high school and immediately hung a right, you'd be walking down the hall to one of the auditorium's entrances-- specifically, the entrance to the orchestra pit. the piano was often brought between here and the practice room depending on the season. it was always scarier to play with a risk of someone hearing from afar, but that fear only followed akira through his freshman and sophomore years. there was no longer any regard for whoever ended up hearing viper's practice by the time he was in his senior year, oftentimes skipping classes just to play in the empty auditorium.

it was his only reprieve, after all. it was the only time he wasn't seen as the stinking hobo of his graduating class, nor the spastic weirdo, nor the potential violent criminal... hell, he loved the fact that a piano had its own voice so he wouldn't immediately be thought of by staff or strangers as the wrong gender entirely.

yes, the piano has its own voice. what a pianist brings is not a voice, but a stunning performance with that perfect tone at their disposal. expression never need lie in the notation alone when it came to a song. it's why even a performance of a funeral dirge, a swan song, a final musical farewell can be played in such a way that it's no longer so melancholy.

instead, it's furious and defiant.

dies iræ, dies illa solvet sæclum in favilla.

even after school ended, he'd often stay with the piano. oh, his parents had one at home, but he could never get a note in edgewise. the second he made a mistake, he had someone over his shoulder telling him every reason he fucked it all up.

"you're playing too loud. i can't hear the TV. yes, the news is more important than your bullshit." "why'd you cut your hair again? i can see it when you're sitting with your back to me like that. why'd you cut your hair again, huh?" "you need to hang around better people. i've set you up on a date with my coworker's son, and you are not going to make me look bad." "not this fucking shit again. you fucking listen, if you don't--"

"you hit another wrong note again. why even try? you won't be good enough to get on TV with it."

oh, how he loved to play at school. how he loved being able to take to the bench and, for once, uninterrupted, uninhibited and freely,

he could scream through his hands.

whatever song he played didn't matter. whatever sheets he had, be they classical pieces or sheet music for songs he'd heard off video game soundtracks, he'd bring an energy that showed the anger he harbored within.

crying himself to sleep the night before, viper's fingers hammered each key with force he couldn't bring to his words. swallowing his resentment from how he had to buy and make his own dinner far before moving out of his parents' house, even a waltz felt foreboding and imminent.

he knew his more profitable skill was strength. he knew it was more reliable, as well, and easier to ensure constant practice with. but he learned very fast that violence was a language spoken only in appropriate forums, under circumstances dictated by arbitrary laws of supposed decency-- he couldn't scream with his fists like he could with his fingers.

he missed being able to scream. he missed his voice. with it finally in his hands again, it was hard for viper to hold back tears when he could play a simple chord again after so much time and so much progress. he worried for a moment that it wouldn't feel as good to 'scream' as he used to, that all the rage had passed. there was no fire of defiance within him any longer. there was acceptance, and surely nothing else.

even so, he can feel it now as he continues his feverish practice with quite the dramatic step up in quality since his first time expressing himself for so long. he can feel the fire coming back. he can feel the screams, directed by his fingers, wailing from each string struck by the hammer; he could hear his screams, but instead of lamentations, there was now a triumphant, hoarse laugh. a victorious laugh.

with 88 keys, he could laugh in the face of every obstacle that tried to block him from this bright future. he could do it just like he'd begged for something better with the same tools before.

[onedaughterofman]

Premature burial (Mary Goore x g/n reader)

Summary: Papa orders to bring someone back from the dead. As his skilled necromancer, you obey.

Tags: Rated T. Description of corpses, rituals, necromancy, a bit of blood. Mary Goore being a weirdo. Around 2.3 K words.

Disclaimer: I’m not a qualified necromancer, please don’t try this at home.

“Bring him back."

Even after time, Papa's words still resonate loud inside your ears. Rummaging through the old wood box he handed you, a small piece of paper catches your eyes. The black ink is faded, porous paper having absorbed most of it years ago. Still, the name scribbled on it is relatively easy to decipher.

Mary Goore.

There are a few droplets of ink around the name and the lines are unclean, as if whoever had written it was in a hurry or holding the pen with poorly contained anger. For a moment, you wonder what could Papa need from this person, what kind of connection he had with the Clergy.

It doesn't matter how much you think about it, there's no answer to your questions inside the box. One leather jacket, an almost empty packet of cigarettes, a guitar pick, and an old cassette booklet is all you find. "Spawn of Pure Malevolence," the black and white artwork says. It doesn't ring any bells inside your head.

As the sun falls down behind the horizon, languishing golden rays barely peeking between the dying autumn leaves, you prepare all the necessary tools to perform the ritual.

The moon is high in the night sky when you first set foot on the sacred grounds of the cemetery. The dusk spreads all over the long forgotten place, from one corner to the other. Years into studying the occult have taught you that death is not a still, unmoving force. Instead, it expands like a disease, penetrating the ground and dyeing the grass of a pale, brown color.

The wood box is sturdy between your hands, old yellowish paper resting on top of it. "Mary Goore," it says, and your mind repeats it over and over again like a chant, like an invocation.

You're calling for him tonight. And he better answer.

Necromancy is not an trivial task. It took you years to learn it, even more time to gather the courage to perform the rituals alone. The dead are in a state of rest and, in most cases, they do not wish to be disturbed for menial reasons. Some of them are nothing but the empty shell of the person they used to be. Some others hold only the rage or fear they felt during the final moments.

Not every person can be brought back in both body and soul, you recognize it.For a long moment, you wonder if Mary Goore is someone capable of standing the shock of the magic, if he'll be able to do whatever Papa needs him to or if he'll be, instead, nothing but a hollow puppet.

Sadly, most of your rituals fall into the second case. You can bring someone back, order them to perform a task and then go back to sleep again. It is rare for them to be sentient, conscious or communicate beyond a few words.

And, of course, it’s truly time consuming. These types of ceremonies can last hours, days, or even weeks before the spirit finds its way back. Besides, it mostly depends on how long the person has been dead. Necromancers prefer to summon the recent departed, since they still retain some lucidity.

In general, that timeframe is limited to twelve months following the death of the physical body. Mary Goore has been gone for more than a decade. Whatever Papa needs, it might be too difficult to find here. Most of your success will depend on the circumstances around Mary's demise.

According to the ancient scrolls, it is believed that in the event of a premature or violent death, the corpse retains part of that unused vitality. If Goore died before his time, then he should still have some energy inside of him.

It is only a matter of carrying on with the ritual and discovering it.

Setting up your energetical barrier, you begin to draw a circle in a desolated spot of the graveyard. This will protect you from the anger of the deceased and other lingering spirits. The talisman required to enhance the protection hangs from your neck, a stable and comforting weight over your chest.

Now, you need a sacrifice and a connection. Sitting on the humid ground, you begin taking out the elements from inside the box. Placing the guitar pick, the cigarettes and the cassette booklet on the dirt, your hands stop when they come into contact with the cold leather of the jacket.

This will do. One arm after the other, you put on the jacket. It looks big on you, and the material is too rigid, creaking with every little movement, but it doesn���t matter. Wearing the clothes of the deceased will help you get into the right frame of mind, allow you to begin with the conjuration.

Before performing the sacrifice, you light up the chosen herbs: a bit of hemlock, mandrake and opium. Taking a deep breath, you let the smoke fill your lungs. The adrenaline is so high you barely feel the sharpness of the dagger in your skin, poking at your finger until the blood tricks down, falling into the offering you laid out on the ground, staining the artwork and the cigarettes.

Closing your eyes, you begin chanting the spell, those old rhymes and words that will serve as a guide for the soul to come back. Over and over again, you call that name into the night.

Come back, come back, come back…

As the time passes, you begin to think this will take more than one session. Yet, you realize that’s not true when the smell hits you. It comes from beneath the ground, a bit of sulfur and smoke, sweet and sour at the same time.

Then come the maggots and the earthworms, rising from the dirt and infesting the grass around your protection circle, climbing up from the tombs. The air feels freezing on your skin, too cold inside your lungs as the temperature descends and descends.

This is new. You’ve performed quite a few necromancy rituals during your time serving the Clergy, but you have never obtained such an aggressive reaction before.

Who is Mary Goore? Why does his presence evoke such chaos around the graveyard?

The answer to those questions is closer than what you expected. A low, horrid growl coming from behind your back makes your whole body flinch. You turn around, hand clutching the protection sigil around your neck.

Goore is standing there, immobile, right at the edge of the circle. He’s covered in blood, face obscured by the remnant of some old black and white paint. It reminds you of the Papal face paint, except this one doesn’t seem to be so detailed, so curated.

Upon sensing your eyes on him, Mary’s head rises and you’re staring right into the darkness of his pupils. Those lifeless eyes are set deep in his face. He jerks his head violently, dirt and insects flying off his hair.

It worked. Mary Goore is back, from the dead, from beyond the grave.

“That’s my jacket.”

The sound of his voice is raw, raspy, barely audible over the beating of your heart. This shouldn’t really be possible. Goore has been dead for too long to have retained consciousness like this.

When you don’t reply quick enough, he continues. “Give it back, you thief.”

Swallowing doesn’t undo the knot inside your throat. Mary stays still, body swaying in place. He’s wearing dark pants ripped at the knees, a gray battle vest full of patches. The toe of his combat boots toys with the salt that forms your circle, not touching it by a few centimeters. It’s like he’s testing his limits, analyzing how far he can go before your magic stops it.

Again, you think this shouldn’t be possible. The hair stands at the back of your neck when he locks his gaze with yours, not a single light behind them. It’s such a morbid scene. It makes you feel as if you have accidentally unleashed an unknown force, resuscitated some kind of ancient evil that takes the form of a long dead rockstar.

Whatever the case might be, you have to take the reins. “Mary Goore,” you begin. “I’ve brought you back to the world of the living. From now on, you obey my will.”

A deep, slow chuckle is all the answer you get. He takes a step to the side, beginning to walk around the circle searching for any crack, any weak spot. It reminds you of a predator stalking a prey.

You will not allow it. “Don’t try me. I have power over you.”

“Do you, Necromancer?”

Goore doesn’t seem intimidated by you, not one bit. If anything, there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I can undo the spell that binds you to this realm,” you warn. It doesn’t work.

“Is that so? Do it, and then you’ll have to drag my dead body all alone back to the grave. I’ve been told I’m heavier than I look.”

As Mary lets out another series of short, breathless chuckles, you go over the ritual in your head. Every little part of it was performed perfectly, with all the caution required. You made no mistakes. Then, how is it possible for him to have such independence, such freedom?

When Goore leans farther ahead, the energy coming from him strikes you right in the face, right through the barrier. Even if there are no holes in your protection, you can feel the raw energy exuding from his pores, the crude anger that causes you to falter.

There has to be an explanation. “Tell me how you died,” you command. He stops laughing, staring at you through long, dark eyelashes. After a moment of consideration, Mary indulges you.

“Oh, you know. The usual,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Fell asleep during a bad flu, woke up inside a coffin, mouth sewn shut and so fucking cold.”

Fuck.

“You were buried alive.”

In the middle of the gloomy graveyard, Goore’s pupils shine like two lanterns. The moon reflects on them, filling the dead scleroid with light. “Yes, I wouldn't recommend it honestly. Those dumb motherfuckers thought I was dead. Or maybe they just couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

Again, the energy hits your body like a wave. This man was trapped in a premature burial, and now his spirit is full of anger than cannot be tamed. He was kept for years in a prison underground and now, he’s prepared to let it out.

A demon. You’ve unleashed the devil.

Never stopping his stalking around your circle, Mary continues. His voice becomes louder, harsher.

“Do you know what happens when they bury you alive? You feel like your joints slowly freeze, how your body begins to decompose even if your heart is still beating. And no matter how loud you try to be, it’s always nothing but a silent, voiceless scream,” he says, fingers running through his hair.

After a few seconds, he continues. “It’s so dark inside that fucking box. A boring place to spend all eternity. It makes you wish you could die faster, so you can finally burn in hell.”

Under the pale moonlight, he does look straight out of hell. A beautiful, scary sight that has put you under a spell. This man is evil, full of resenting and hate, someone who only wishes to expand doom on this earth. A profane saint, born under the midnight sky, hugged by the shadows and the chaos.

Maybe you’re beginning to understand why Papa wanted him back. He could be good for the Clergy, a new influence for the Ghost project.

Ignoring your inner turmoil, Goore stops right in front of you. He’s still outside the protection barrier, staring right ahead with a tilted head. When he notices you’re watching him up and down, a small smirk tightens his lips. “Well, at least I was an attractive corpse. Can’t complain about that one.”

“That's enough,” you stop him. “I’ve brought you back following the orders of my boss, the head of the Church of Satan. You’ll meet him tonight.”

Again, there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Satan?” He inquires. “Whatever. Can I at least have my jacket back or some cigs? It’s freezing out here.”

It’s useless to try to remind him he’s dead, and he can’t feel the heat. Your fingers trace the metallic zipper of the jacket, following the shape of the sharp teeth. Slowly, you remove it from your body, those dark eyes never looking away.

“Try anything, and you’re back underground.”

“I’ll behave nicely,” he promises, but there’s not a single clue of honesty there. “Come on, I just fucking want it back.”

Inch by inch, you get closer to him. Mary doesn’t move. Body tight and muscles tense, he stays put in place. You’re not even certain he’s blinking as you stretch out your arm, jacket hanging by the tip of your fingers.

Gradually, Goore lifts up his arm in your direction. You feel his energy grow steady, like the background noise of an engine. As your hand exits the barrier, the rumbling becomes an energetic growl when he grabs your wrist, yanking you out of the circle.

Violently, your body hits his, the smell of wet dirt and blood filling your nostrils. This is the first time you realize his eyes are a blue light color, and not just dead, black pools.

Fuck.

Fuck no.

This has never happened in the past.

Before you can fully react, the leather jacket is on his shoulders and you’re on the ground, wet grass under your fingertips. You hurry to your feet, debating whether or not you should reverse the spell or try to regain control.

It’s useless. Mary turns around, fingers fidgeting with one cigarette. “Now, none of that doe-eyed bullshit. Let's go. You said someone important wanted to meet me.”

Leaving the cemetery behind, you follow him into the night.

PD: Mary Goore, what a (hot) weirdo. Just keep my lifeless body away from him and we're good.

It's my fist time writing him, so I hope it was good! This was supposed to be less than 1K words long, but I got carried on. Ask box is always open if you want to say something ♥

[kirkjerk]

I've been thinking about the following folksy literary passage a bit, especially with ideas about "a total human life begins at egg fertilization" seeming poised to inform laws of this nation in a way that will violate women's physical autonomy and ability to determine what happens with her body: Jim believed that God sort of generally watched over the world but didn't try to oversee every single detail. He said that, for example, when you're born, you could be American or Chinese or Russian or African, depending. In heaven are millions of souls lined up waiting to be born, and when it's your turn, you go down the chute like a gumball to whoever put the penny in the slot. You were born to your parents because, right at that moment when they Did It, you were next in line. Two seconds later and you could have been [someone completely different]. Garrison Keillor, "Lake Wobegon Days" The secular version of this - the version that has personhood emerging, rather than being popped in like a gumball - is haunted by a profound question of identity: how different could the circumstances of your conception, birth and upbringing have been and still let you be YOU, in a fundamental way? If a different sperm cell won that fallopian sprint - would you still be you in a meaningful way? Is there a strong cosmic connection between who you are now and you would have been in that case, can you imagine sharing your point of view with that alternate self?

The Buddhists poise the same issue as a koan, the challenge to "Show me your original face before you were born." (At least I think that's the same issue.)

A particularly precocious Star Trek fan might ponder how they could tell if the teleporter was actually a form of transportation, or more of a murder plus deep cloning. Is "beam me up" just another way of saying "kill me, then make a new me that thinks it's me back on the ship"? Could it possibly matter if the same atoms were used, the same hydrogen molecule in your elbow here? Since all atoms are really, truly fundamentally identical, isn't it just the pattern that matters?

So using the Trek example is a decent, if geekier, way of getting to some of those same places many Buddhists do. You understand more what "the self is an illusion means". Also that for the self there is no present or future, just this moment. Sure, in practice there's an important continuity… in at least some pragmatic sense it's the same you suffering the hangover from the drinks you had the night before…but you also have to live with the idea that you could have just been created this very moment, your whole memory and personal history faked up inserted. (Some literalist creationists seem to use a similar to story to account for an earth that geologists and biologists and physicists is so, so old…bad old devil running around planting all these confusing fossils…)

The gumball theory of soul has some seeming advantages of clarity, but it's simplistic and raises a whole host of other questions without answering them. But I think it's important to get a feel for how a person emerges from biological circumstance. They aren't magically there in a flash of DNA combination and trying to second guess God or fate or whatever, and advocate for protection for some person in the future who will MAYBE be around in the unknowable future is fraught when you are making that determination for other people - generally women - and their bodies. (even if you believe in separable souls, there's no reason to think the gumball is planted at the moment of fertilization, or implantation, and not later at, say, quickening…)