#does not mean i have to like the violence. or be violent and hard all the time myself.

[spiritsglade]

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

that one thing you see in fics all the time <- I don't know if this means you hate it, idk, idc, just something you see a lot and want to comment on.

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

[choose violence asks]

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

there's this common trend of making jason more brutal than bruce? idk it's hard to place it exactly because no one really says this explicitly but i've noticed that if the bruce & jason conflict isn't about jason killing people then it's about jason going overboard beating the shit out of people. ties into how people in general associate jason with anger, i think.

and it's just. it's odd, when batman's brutality is a pretty key part of a lot of his comics? like i guess it's played for a joke mostly but him dangling people off rooftops by their ankles is like... one of the iconic things bruce does. slamming them into walls, holding them up using a hand around their throat, stuff like that. his whole brand is intimidation. and i'm pretty sure his [righteous] anger at crime is also a relevant element? + the violent grief spiral after jason's death, especially.

so it's weird to me. especially because i can't really think of jason being excessively brutal ever, in canon, beyond maybe the surgical level of torture he was willing to do for intel. (rip shurik.) but even then, that's distinct from excessive force born out of anger.

we get that with jaybin, especially with all the retcons. but not really with red hood jason. mmm i'm rambling. i chose something way too vague i'm been musing on for this, whoops.

anyway jason todd is not a tank he is acrobatic and he can do his flippies just as good as dick.

that one thing you see in fics all the time

jason defining this distinction between batman and bruce. you get this in both good dad and bad dad bruce, stuff like "jason looked up and it wasn't batman before him, but bruce, his dad" or "bru--no, batman, loomed over him, the blank white lenses of the cowl staring him down coldly."

now, i love the whole vigilante identity vs. civilian identity separation and signaling how different characters compartmentalize and view each other in and out of the mask through what names they use in the narration. and bruce in particular definitely draws very sharp lines between his personas. i just don't think jason does when looking at bruce.

bruce is batman is his father is the man he hates and jason does not differentiate, just like how jason acts the same, is the same, whether the helmet is on or not. it's a very weird little hangup i have and i don't think i could fully explain why i prefer headcanoning it this way if i tried.

nothing wrong wtih fics doing it! it does make for delightfully fun angst! it's just one of the really tiny schisms between my personal vision for these characters vs. what's popular.

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

we as a collective NEED to do more with the fact jason (with talia's help) did a hostile takeover of wayne enterprises's r&d branch during under the hood. i need to know if he still owns it and what he had them make and how control was handed back to bruce if it happened at all. please tell me more. under the hood corporate espionage au when.

[queerbeverage]

It takes a great many courage to be kind. To make yourself soft. To start having emotions again, open the floodgates, open the bottles you kept them in all this time.

Violence is easy. Throwing a punch is easy. It's hard to be gentle. To be empathetic, to yourself first and to others.

I will never accept calling someone weak for being emotional, or expressing their deepest desires, giving words to their feelings. To me, that is the most courageous someone can be.

It came only after allowing myself to shed pieces of that armor, that hard shell i built in the face of great cruelty and rejection and violence, that i began to finally get to know myself. I still have to peel off pieces, still have some sticking on my skin that can't be removed for now, because they're stuck so deep in the skin. It's a process, but it is so worth it. You'll find yourself in that shell, maybe miserable and small and malnourished, but *you* nonetheless. You can always grow from there, trust me. It's hard and it sucks so bad but it's so so god damn fucking worth it to let go and venture out and meet friends and make memories as yourself, not as someone you are pretending to be.

Be kind to yourself. i love you.

[scarletdreamers]

Can we, for a second, think about the fact that Hannibal dressed Will before he carried him home through the snow?

Will is naked when he's about to get the face surgery from Cordell. We see a scene of him in the operation chair where he's shirtless, lower body covered by a hospital blanket. Hannibal, who cut himself free from the ropes that were holding him captive on Muskrat farm, who then killed a large sum of Mason's staff including trained security and surgeons, saves him before Will's face gets removed. This all happens off-screen. The next scene is Hannibal carrying Will (bridal style) through the snow. In this scene Will is dressed, including a jacket for the cold and all that. Imagine Hannibal, the violent beast we saw when he killed Mason's men, blood probably still on his hands, finding Will there. Unconscious, and then dressing him. Dressing someone is a very intimate thing, especially someone unconscious. It requires care and gentleness. That, and knowing how to handle a body and loving someone enough to dress them while they don't need to be. He buttoned his buttons for him, tied his shoes, put him in a jacket to make sure he wouldn't get cold - I mean, Hannibal himself doesn't even wear a jacket in that scene. There's blood and wounds all over Hannibal's face, he's exhausted and probably the one in the most physical danger, yet he takes care of Will before he takes care of himself.

This hits even harder if you think about why they ended up in Muskrat farm in the first place. In Florence, Hannibal tried to 'eat' Will. He tried to split his head open with a bone saw. That intense violence, the grotesque and desperate nature of those actions makes a perfect and sharp contrast to him saving Will after outside forces try to take their lives, which is a heroically gentle and intimate action. He didn't have to dress him up like that, he didn't have to carry him that way, but he did. Hannibal fails to kill Will in Florence, and with that he fails his last attempt to get rid of his feelings for Will. Or at least, to make his feelings bearable. He thinks that he can control himself better when Will is dead, so he tries to kill him but he fails. Not because he's stopped, but simply because he can't do it. If Hannibal wanted him dead, Will would have been dead. Mason's men only interrupted his theatrics. They gave him a reason to put away the saw and act like it was purely their fault, but then Will is in danger at the farm and Hannibal does everything in his power to save him and get him home safe and well. At home he takes off his jacket, literally lays him in bed and tucks him in. He covers Will with a blanket, he tries to write mathematical formulas to reverse time and cleans his wounds. That's why Will's rejection when he wakes up is so tragic and hard to watch. It breaks Hannibal, unbreakable and inhuman Hannibal Lecter. It simply hurts him enough to break his heart. It breaks him enough to give up everything he ever lived for and surrender to the FBI, which he spent a lifetime running from. He does this because when he decided to save Will, he realised he would never get over the things he felt for him. In Hannibal's mind, the worst thing that can happen is never seeing Will again. He finally realised that, after everything, and that's why he surrenders to the FBI.

Hannibal honey, you don't want to eat his brain. You just wanted him to love you.

It's subtle details like this that always stick to me afterwards. It's just another thought I had and I felt like sharing.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Gentle

pairing: Loki x female reader

synopsis: You don't think you're ticklish. Loki offers to prove you wrong.

word count: ~3500

warnings: lots of swearing, sexual tension, suggestive jokes and innuendo, possessive!Loki, minor violence (training sparring)

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a sexually-charged relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: This fic is for all the people who aren't affected by rough and tumble tickling. Who know that gentle can still be ruthless. I see you.

Sam was grounded.

So while he was strong, fast, and stubborn, he didn't have his wings. No aerial advantage.

And you were sharper. You moved with practiced ease, letting him tire himself out as he swung and lunged across the sunken sparring pit, meeting his strikes with sidesteps, well-placed counters, and a smirk you hoped was infuriating.

He went for your ribs.

You caught his wrist. Twisted. Used that leverage to hook your legs around him, then used his thrown balance to send him down.

His back hit the mat with a solid thud.

For a moment, he just blinked up at you, winded and momentarily stunned.

You grinned, settling your weight on top of him, knee digging into his ribs just hard enough to remind him who the boss was. "Tell me," you mused, "who did you say was getting their ass handed to them today?"

Sam huffed, mouth pursing into something half-annoyed, half-amused. "Yeah, screw you."

You arched a brow. "Not much of an apology."

His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. A second’s hesitation. You pounced.

Your fingers slipped under his ribs, pressing just enough-

"Shit!"

Your smirk quickly became a grin.

A choked laugh ripped out of him before he could stop it. He bucked violently, twisting beneath you as laughter tore through him like he’d been struck by lightning.

Your hand followed wherever he turned. "Something wrong, Wilson?"

"You demon-" He twisted again, finally using sheer force to throw you off. You hit the mat with a sharp roll over your shoulder, coming up to your feet in a fluid motion, laughing as he swore under his breath, breathless.

You two weren't the only ones laughing.

Thor chuckled, amused. Bucky smirked, arms crossed. Steve shook his head, exasperated. And Loki...

Loki was watching you like a cat watching a caged bird.

He tilted his head, eyes sharp, lips lifting in a slow, knowing smirk. "That," he said, "seems like an extraordinarily reckless tactic to introduce."

You dusted your hands off. "How so?"

Loki’s smirk widened. He took the bait. "Because every person in this room is stronger than you. And now you’ve gone and planted a very particular idea in their minds."

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate. You crossed your arms, lifting that same brow in challenge. Giving him space to continue monologuing.

"I mean, really," he mused in a silken voice, "do you truly want to tempt fate by giving them the notion to simply hold you down and take their revenge?"

The air shifted, and you held back your confident smirk, just to play with him a bit. "They're welcome to try."

Bucky stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "It's futile." He shot you a begrudging look. "We learned a long time ago - she’s not ticklish."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and it’s annoying as hell. Not many ways to get her back for all that sass."

You shot him a sly smile.

Loki made a sound in his throat - amused, unimpressed. "You’re wrong."

Your eyes slid back to him, fixing him with a look. "Wrong? I'm not ticklish, Loki."

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Yes, you are.”

Tense silence fell upon the room as the others turned to Loki, confused, silently hoping.

The moment stretched, electric.

Smirking eye contact, the crackle of something just shy of violent, just shy of something else.

You squinted. "I'm not lying. I've never been ticklish. Ask anyone in here."

“Hmm, I'm sure they have tried with their clumsy mortal hands,” he murmured, voice low, rich, laced with wicked amusement. “I, however..." His smirk grew downright devious. "I could take you apart without breaking a sweat.”

Your stomach did something sharp and treacherous. The heat in your face spread down your neck before you could help it.

Sam snorted. “Oh my god.”

Bucky shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Steve exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting his life choices.

You, however, refused to flinch.

“Yeah, right.”

Loki chuckled, slow and dark.

“I’ll gladly prove it,” he insisted, voice a lazy taunt, “as soon as you’re not afraid to submit to it."

The words pushed like a slow blade between your ribs. The challenge, goading you to agree to being pinned and tested, for him to catalogue your responses. It’s not like he was going to succeed in tickling you, but submit?

No way in hell.

Your mouth parted in a scoff, heat flushing your neck, your cheeks, something sharp already forming on your tongue-

“Okay, this,” Sam interrupted, pointing one hand at each of you, “is the one of most sexual things I’ve ever seen in my life, and I once walked in on Thor oiling himself up for battle.”

You lunged.

Sam yelped, dodging back, but before you could reach him, a familiar arm hooked around your waist, effortlessly hauling you back onto the mat.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Easy, killer."

Loki chuckled, low and pleased, as you pushed Bucky's arm away.

“I do so enjoy this part,” the god mused.

You exhaled sharply, still flushed, still coiled tight with something restless and unsatisfied. You took the bait. “What part?”

His gaze flicked to yours, amused, knowing. “The part where you pretend to be annoyed.”

The others snorted.

Your mouth opened, but before you could fire back, Loki winked, turned, and made to leave.

Something in you rebelled.

“Hey!" You called after him. "Come put your money where your mouth is, Your Highness."

Loki stopped.

He exhaled a low, dark chuckle, then, slowly, began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, baring forearms lined with lean, deceptive strength.

“I didn't think,” he murmured, “you'd want an audience for what’s about to transpire.”

Sam made a strangled noise. “I hate this. I hate this weird foreplay.”

Thor’s booming laugh filled the room.

"Of course I want an audience," you hummed, ignoring the riffraff. "I want them all to witness you making a fool of yourself." You stepped back onto the mat, uncrossing your arms, opening your stance. "But I’m not submitting. If you want me at your mercy, you’ll have to earn it.”

Loki turned back, and - lazily, deliberately, with a smirk that was pure sin - prowled toward you. “Very well,” he purred with a tilt of his head. “Let’s play.”

But the moment his feet hit the mat, you got the sinking feeling that you'd just walked into a trap.

You’d never sparred with Loki before. Hell, you’d never even seen him fight outside of an actual battlefield, where his chaos and skill blurred the line between strategy and sheer fucking audacity.

But now, circling each other under the dim gym lights, with him as your adversary, you saw raw, precise power coiled beneath his deliberate movements, waiting to unravel.

His stance was fluid, deceptively relaxed. Beautiful, cocky bastard. Every shift of his weight, every flicker of his gaze, calculated. You could tell he was watching you, reading you, in a way that made heat lick at the base of your spine. And deep in your belly.

So you lunged first.

In the blink of an eye, he dodged, slipping around your advance like a fast-flowing stream through your fingers, barely exerting any effort. Your body twisted, adjusting on instinct, throwing your weight into a feint before coming back around, aiming for his side.

But again, he was faster.

Loki flowed around your strike like water, his arm shooting out with lightning precision. You barely registered the movement before his palm landed solidly against your ribs - not with brute force, but a firm, pointed push, sending you stumbling off balance.

You caught yourself, breath coming sharp through your nose. He stood there, utterly at ease, watching you with a glint of amusement.

Smug, infuriatingly hot, cocky bastard.

You exhaled. Steady.

Regrouping, you moved again, but this time, you were smarter - testing- feeling out the way he reacted. The next time he dodged, you anticipated it, twisting mid-motion and using his own momentum against him, catching his arm and yanking.

It almost worked.

The instant you felt his weight shift, you knew - he’d let you do that.

You barely had time to react before he countered, twisting with impossible grace, his body moving like an under-sea shadow. You felt it before you saw it.

His hands on you.

Turning.

Your feet ripped out from under you.

The mat met your chest with a harsh thud, your breath shooting out of your lungs in a rush.

Your wrists flexed, instinctively pushing to lift yourself up - except one of them wasn’t moving. Something heavy and warm pressed you down.

Your pulse jumped.

Loki was above you, his thighs caging your hips, one hand securing your wrist above your head. Your left side was left exposed, vulnerable. You snuck a glance at the rest of the team - on your... right - he chose to test the side they couldn't see. Why?

There were more important matters to tend to.

You struggled, but his grip was like iron, pressing your wrist into the mat, keeping your body still beneath his. The sheer weight of him was suffocating, and intoxicating, his lean muscle like warm steel.

The sound of your panting filled the space between you as you used your free hand to push against his knee, against the mat, to try and pry his hand off your wrist.

Nothing budged. Nothing. Especially not you.

So, finally, you gave up the fight, relaxing underneath him, letting your forehead fall to the mat as the others chuckled on the sidelines.

A low, satisfied, hum rumbled from his chest.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the way the heat from his body seemed to sink into yours. “Yeah, whatever. You're a thousand-year-old god, of course you're gonna win."

Loki chuckled. And that sound - deep, smug, thoroughly entertained - was infuriating.

You scoffed, and gave a snarky chuckle, lazing your head to the side, not the slightest bit concerned. "Well, go on. Do what you need to do. All of these guys have tried, failed, and reaped the embarrassment of prodding my stomach while I stare them down. Your turn."

"My turn," he repeated in a low, heat, murmur that made your neck prickle. "They’ve all tried, have they?"

His eyes flicked toward the others - Bucky, Sam, Steve, Thor - still watching with rapt attention.

"I'm guessing they wrestled you, pinned you," Loki mused, "and I imagine they grabbed at your waist, or jammed their fingers clumsily under your arms, yes?"

Your stomach clenched at the cool, casual confidence in his voice.

His head dipped lower, lips brushing just past your ear.

"But no one's ever been gentle with you, have they?"

The implication landed hot in your stomach. With that tone, he definitely wasn't just talking about tickling.

"I don’t need gentle," you gritted out, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Loki hummed again. And then -

A single touch.

Soft. Featherlight. Unfamiliar.

A slow, wandering drag of fingertips under the hem of your shirt, gliding over your side with aching delicacy.

An involuntary shudder rippled through you, sparkling sensation travelling up your neck, down your hip.

Your breath hitched.

Loki’s low chuckle vibrated against your back.

“Oh, my. Was that a reaction?"

You tested your wrist again, his grip didn’t budge. Iron.

“I-” You wet your lips, breathing out a nervous chuckle. Steady... “If this is tickling, why do people react to it so violently? Sam practically-”

The words died in your throat as his fingers slipped higher.

A slow, agonisingly light scratching at your ribcage.

Your body shifted before you even realised. Some strange, new sensation bloomed alive beneath your skin - an almost electric tingle, sharp and shivery, not... uncomfortable but not something you could control.

You winced, feeling your own muscles betray you, your arm instinctively trying to pull down. Your brow furrowed.

Silence from the others.

Your pulse pounded as you turned your head and met their confused stares and raised brows.

Loki’s voice dipped lower. “Tell me,” he whispered, dark and taunting, “what do you feel?”

You swallowed. Your breath was unsteady. “I don’t know, I-”

You barely got the words out before his fingers slipped higher, that damnably light touch moving quicker, scraping against your skin and nerves-

A sensation erupted.

Your body jerked.

A strangled noise caught in your throat - somewhere between a gasp and a sound you’d never made before - bubbling up.

No.

No fucking way.

Your fingers dug into the mat. Heat roared through your veins, panic flickering, because something strange was happening. Your body was reacting. Your breath hitching, catching, some kind of force simmering deep in your lungs-

“What the hell are you doing to me?” you demanded, voice breathless, confused, desperate.

Loki only laughed, dark and rich, and said, “Proving a point.”

And then he picked up the speed.

A choked, gasping giggle burst out of you before you could stop it.

Your eyes widened.

The others on the sidelines looked gobsmacked.

The sensation grew, intensified, as Loki’s fingers didn’t stop.

You twisted violently, struggling under him, but his weight was unforgiving, his grip relentless.

Your lips parted, a stream of breathless giggles slipping free.

Oh, fuck.

Your body shuddered as his fingers skimmed higher, up to the skin stretched over the centre of your ribcage-

Your head hit the mat as laughter was yanked out of you. Your legs kicked, trying to gain traction, but Loki only chuckled at your useless attempts.

“Wait- fucking- you-"

“Well,” Loki purred, so fucking pleased with himself, “Not ticklish, was it?”

The laughter ripped through your throat, unrelenting, spilling out in gasping waves as Loki’s damnable fingers continued their excruciatingly light torment. The others on the sidelines cheered in pure delight as you laughed and laughed and twisted and squirmed.

But there was no escape.

No amount of tensing, no desperate attempts to throw him off, could do anything against his sheer strength and control. His weight pressed you into the mat, keeping you exactly where he wanted, his hand moving with deadly precision - every stroke of his fingertips dragging something shivery and unbearable from your skin.

Bucky's surprised scoff cut across your struggling. "Well I'll be."

"All this time, huh?" Steve huffed a laugh through his nose.

"Oh, you are definitely getting it from me," Sam's chortling threat made you turn your head away, back to where only Loki could see your profile.

Gods, Loki.

This wasn’t the clumsy, forceful jabbing of a sparring partner trying to elicit a reaction.

This... this was deliberate. Skilled. Loki had found something new in you, and he was taking his time exploring it.

And the worst part?

The heat.

The deep, simmering pull in your stomach had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with the way his body pinned yours, the warmth of his breath, the slow, dangerous way he was learning you.

You were done for.

“Now,” Loki called to the others, voice smooth and pleased and maddeningly composed over your breathless gasps, “what exactly should I be dishing out punishment for? As long as you all have tales of her misdeeds…”

His fingers fluttered along your ribs, light and delicate, dragging over the hyper-sensitive skin. Your body seized with a squeal, then a sharp, gasping laugh.

“…I’ll keep going.”

The traitorous bastards on the sidelines did not hesitate.

“How much time you got?” Sam called, laughing.

"She replaced the protein powder with flour," Bucky offered. "Had us all drinking sludge in our shakes for days until we realised."

Loki hummed in amusement. "Clever." His fingers never stopped - the feathery, unbearable strokes at your lower ribs making your body tremble under him.

"Last week she convinced Thor that the Alexa was not only a real person, but 'Midgard's Only Goddess.'" Sam snorted. "Had Thor trying to win her favour for hours."

Loki chuckled, shaking his head as though deeply ashamed of you. His fingers slid higher up your ribs, the change in focus so sudden it made your breath hitch violently - your body arching before you could stop it.

"Oh, that’s good," Sam laughed. "Keep her goin', we got more."

"She told the new recruits that I get my hair done at a salon called ‘Thunder Struck,’" Thor added, betrayal in his voice. "The rumours-"

"-are completely true," you gasped, still somehow defiant through the breathless laughter spilling out of you.

Loki sighed in faux fatigue. "A habitual liar, too. Unfortunate." His fingers shifted again, this time creeping into the soft space under your arm-

Your laughter folded into silence.

A sharp, breathless inhale was all you could manage, body seizing as your nerves exploded with sensation. Your free hand slammed into the mat, trying to brace yourself.

Loki noticed.

“Oh,” he purred, sounding far too satisfied. His fingers didn’t move, just rested there, as if savouring the way you tensed beneath him. “I see.”

Your eyes widened. Somehow, you knew what was coming.

“I believe,” he murmured darkly, “I’ve found the perfect place for my discipline.”

His fingers twitched.

A sharp, shuddering noise burst out of you.

Then he started moving.

Slow. Dragging.

Your body jolted before you could stop it, a sharp, helpless squirm beneath him. Your breath hitched violently in your throat, trying to hold in the laughter- you couldn’t let him win-

His fingers curled against your skin in a perfectly devastating way, grazing soft circles in the deepest, most vulnerable part of that untouched nerve space, and the laughter broke out of you in an uncontrollable rush.

Loki sighed, as if he were so terribly disappointed.

“What was it you called me last week?” he mused, tracing, scratching, slow, taunting circles over every tormenting inch. “Ah, yes - ‘horny Shakespeare?’”

You shrieked. Your trapped hand trembling into a fist, tears of mirth threatening hot behind your eyes.

The others roared with laughter.

“Or was it-” He shifted, pressing in closer, lips brushing against your burning ear, voice dripping with amusement, “-‘overgrown magician with daddy issues’?”

You shrieked again, laughter breaking apart into gasping, desperate protests.

“Oh, I rather like this one-” His fingers swirled, still unbearably light, sweeping quickly over the taut skin. “You said I ‘probably cry after sex.’”

“I TAKE IT BACK-”

Loki laughed, dark and dangerous, sitting back up as his fingers scraped gently, just enough to send fire through your nerves, to make your laughter break, to send your legs kicking uselessly against the mat.

"Ah, and my favourite," Loki continued, relentless, "-you looked me dead in the eyes, in front of the entire team, and asked me if my horns were, in fact, just overcompensation for something far more-"

He was cut off when his fingers stroked, just so, against the place just below your arm where your ribcage ended, and laughter tore through you, something wrecked in your voice, your body shaking against his.

"Oh, you didn't like that, did you?" he soothed in mock sympathy before his voice gave way to a dark, sensuous chuckle.

"Loki- PLEASE!"

You had never begged before.

But you'd never been ticklish before.

And Loki - Loki fucking knew.

His chuckle returned as his hand slowed to a stop, fingers still perched threateningly as your ragged breath expelled beneath him.

"Did you hear that, gentlemen?" Your chest heaved, body shaking from the sheer force of it all, something deeply unsettled in your bones as his palm smoothed down your side, lingering before his fingers tightened at your hip, his grip possessive. "I do believe our dear girl has finally learned some manners."

Your entire body burned.

Then, Loki pushed off, moving effortlessly to his feet as if the last five minutes hadn’t utterly destroyed you.

True to his word, he hadn't broken a sweat.

You barely managed to push yourself onto your knees, your body unsteady, your breathing still laboured.

"Wait, hold up," Sam interrupted, holding a hand towards you. "Loki, you gotta show us how to do that."

Loki stiffened. It was barely noticeable. A flicker. A shift in the air.

And then - smooth as ever, with an icy calm that sent a clear warning, "I used magic," he said, holding up a hand with fingertips glowing green. "You are not capable, and you should not try."

You looked up, saw the chilled death in his stare that bored into Sam.

Liar.

That's why he chose to test the side no one else can see; he didn't want anyone else knowing how to undo you.

And everyone knew it. The implication was clear:

Back off.

Sam held up his hands immediately. "Alright, damn. Not trying to start an intergalactic incident."

The tension in the room eased as you caught your breath, but the tension inside you only burned hotter.

Loki turned and met your gaze with something solemn in his expression, something dark and wanting... protective.

Something only for you.

And fuck, you were both done for.

.

.

[theredcuyo]

You know what i rarely see?

The demons treating Sqh and Sqq nicely, not just like, out of fear, but nicely

I mean, sure yeah, their husbands are not the nicest out there, but they have to be doing something aside from killing whoever gets in their way because clearly the do actually work (Although Sqq does say that Binghe tosses it away whenever he comes into the room)

And also, i think it'd be funnier if they held them to some grade of admiration? Because holy shit this two humans are able to order around the emperor and his right hand man

Also, Sqq made Binghe chill out (By getting rid of Xin Mo), and is the strategist of his sect mind you? I'm pretty sure that he's made his husband kill less people overall since they got together

And same goes for Mobei, hell, i'll argue is even more because what if him being violent scares Shang Qinghua and he runs away again? He's being really careful around him now, and the demons realize it

If you want to save your life just hide around the king's consort!

(Unbesknown to Mobei-Jun, Sqh finds the violence hot actually)

Anyway, my point is that it would be funny if the demons actually liked Sqh and Sqq, not enough to make their husbands jelous about it, but enough for them to notice, like Sqq goes around the demon realm searching for a very specific flower? (He wants it to prank Airplane)

There's at least five different stores that promise to help out while offering tons of similar other options and some that he doesn't even know what he'll do with but are surely interesting

Sqh is missing food from the modern world and he vaguely describes it as he complains, especially how hard it would be to make without being able to control the temperatures right? (He wanted a chocolate cake)

All the chefs in the palace are trying their best to recreate the "exotic" plate he wants and new artifacts to control the flames are being made

Idk, i just think it'd be funny if they got to be loved by the people

[aleese1111]

ong please please please do three wolves, one flame part 2 if you want ofc! I need geum seong je he's so hot in this story (I hope we end up with him)

three wolves, one flame two | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: in a city where stolen phones and bruised egos collide, a tense standoff between two gang members threatens to ignite—but when loyalty, exhaustion, and unexpected tenderness surface, the cracks beneath their rage finally show. as fists unclench and defense fall, they begin to realize that survival might mean learning to lean on each other—even when it hurts.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, language, blood, bruises, mild angst, mutual pining, toxic communication, vulnerable moments, mentions of crime.

author's note: this is getting toxic pal .. making me cry and stuff . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

the motorcycle garage reeked of sweat, oil, and burnt rubber—the kind of place where tempers sparked easier than engines. a dented workbench sat shoved into one corner, tools scattered across it like a graveyard of failed fixes. the overhead light buzzed with a dying flicker, and the air was thick with heat and fury.

“you’re fucking unbelievable,” she hissed, voice cutting through the space like a scalpel.

seong je stood across from her, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “don’t start with me...”

“start? i’m not starting shit. i’m finishing what your idiot screwed up.” her voice rose to a full-blown yell. “you let one of your morons walk around with ten stolen phones like we’re not running an actual operation!”

“i didn’t let him do shit!” he shouted back, stepping forward. “he went off script! i told him to stash the haul. he got jumped, not my fucking fault!”

“then whose fault is it? mine?” her eyes burned, teeth grit. “you act like this is some damn street gang, not a business.”

“it is a street gang,” he snapped, voice heavy with sarcasm. “in case you forgot, none of us have fucking degrees or a retirement plan.”

“you know what i mean, seong je. we’re organized. we have rules. and your guy just cost us everything we pulled yesterday.”

“maybe if you weren’t so busy barking orders and being a condescending bitch all the time—”

she was on him in a second, finger jabbing into his chest. “say that again. say it again.”

he caught her wrist, hard enough to make her flinch—but just for a second. “you wanna hit me now? is that what this is?” his voice dropped into something dangerous. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” she spat. “i think you’re scared of being fucking useless. that’s why you’re always trying to swing your dick around. to make up for the fact you keep screwing up.”

something snapped in his eyes—sharp, violent. “keep pushing me. see what happens.”

she didn’t blink. “already did. still nothing.”

they stood there, faces inches apart, rage vibrating between them like a live wire. neither moved. neither gave in. both of them breathing hard, jaws locked.

then, without a word, she yanked her arm free and stormed out of the garage. the door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.

@ . !

by the time she reached the bowling alley, her throat hurt from yelling. her boots clacked across the sticky floor as she passed the empty lanes, not sparing a glance at the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.

she pushed the office door open without knocking.

baek jin didn’t look up.

“tell me again why we keep seong je around,” she said flatly, tossing herself onto the couch like a stormcloud ready to ruin the day.

baek jin wrote something on his notebook. “he does what you can’t.”

“like lose stolen merchandise?” she snapped, dragging a hand through her hair. “god, he’s insufferable.”

baek jin finally turned, leaning back slightly in his chair, eyeing her with calm indifference. “what happened now?”

“phones,” she groaned. “ten of them. gone. one of his half-brained cronies got rolled. didn’t even stash them properly.” her voice cracked under the weight of exhaustion and rage. “and he blames me for being too uptight.”

“because yelling solves everything,” baek jin muttered, returning to his notebook.

she flopped onto her side, legs draped across the arm of the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. “he called me a bitch, jin. a condescending one. like he even knows what that word means.”

“probably heard it in a movie.”

she let out a tired laugh—just one breath of amusement. “he looked like he was gonna throw something.”

“you look like you already did.”

she pulled his jacket from the back of the couch and draped it over her legs. “i hate him.”

“you don’t.”

“i do.”

“no, you don’t.”

silence.

then, more quietly: “...he scares me sometimes.”

baek jin didn’t respond right away.

“then don’t fight fire with fire,” he said eventually. “you’ll both burn.”

she stared at the ceiling, lips pressed thin.

and maybe she was burning. maybe she'd been burning for a while.

the minutes ticked by in a slow crawl, thick with that kind of silence only known between two people used to each other’s noise. she had cooled on the outside—no more fire, no more raised voice—but inside, the coals still glowed red. she hadn’t moved from the couch. one leg was curled underneath her, the other bouncing softly as she scribbled something into her notebook.

her phone sat to her right, flipped over. a math worksheet lay to her left, partially filled, and next to it was a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips. baek jin was back at his desk, eyes flicking between his work and the occasional glance at her page whenever she cursed under her breath.

“that one’s wrong,” he murmured.

“i knew it,” she muttered, erasing with unnecessary force. “this whole formula’s stupid.”

“no,” he said, typing lazily, “your distribution is stupid. the formula’s fine.”

“thanks for the confidence boost,” she shot back, but there wasn’t much bite in her tone.

“anytime.”

@ . !

they worked like that for another hour or two—sprawled in silence, occasionally interrupted by the click of a pen, the flick of a page, or a question about variables. it felt weirdly domestic. familiar.

until the office door creaked open.

she didn’t look up. didn’t need to. she knew the weight of that silence the second it walked in.

footsteps. slow. heavy. the scrape of worn sneakers on tile.

then something hit the floor beside her with a loud thud.

a duffle bag.

she looked up.

seong je stood a few feet away, breathing hard. his white school shirt was torn near the collar, buttons misaligned like he’d thrown it back on in a rush. his tie was missing. his lip was split and barely crusted over. blood had dried in a streak down his cheek, and his knuckles were red and raw—some cracked open, others bruised deep violet.

but it was the eyes that made her stop.

not angry. not cocky. not blank, either.

tired. steady.

he didn’t say a word.

she blinked, then glanced down at the bag. the zipper was half open—just enough for her to see the corner of a phone box. then another. and another.

all ten were in there.

baek jin stood up from his desk, slowly walking over. he opened the bag fully and confirmed it, counting silently. “you got them all back?”

seong je didn’t answer. just nodded, once.

“alone?” baek jin asked, quieter this time.

another nod.

baek jin whistled low under his breath, impressed.

she was still looking at him. not speaking. not moving. her hand, still holding a pen, trembled faintly against the edge of her notebook.

he looked at her once. quick. just a flicker. but it was enough.

she turned back to her worksheet without a word.

the room held its breath.

seong je wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand and walked toward the couch. he didn’t sit beside her. just near. close enough that she could smell sweat, smoke, and rust on his skin.

he let out a quiet breath and leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. the buzz of the overhead light hummed back into the space between them.

she kept writing.

but she didn’t flip the page again.

after a moment, without looking at him, she reached into her tote bag and fished around. pens, a folded test paper, a lip balm, gum—and then, her hand landed on the small emergency pouch she always carried.

she pulled it out, unzipped it with one hand, and tossed a small box of bandages and antiseptic wipes toward him. it hit his leg with a soft thump.

“try not to bleed out on baek jin’s floor,” she said flatly. “he’s too lazy to mop.”

baek jin snorted from across the room but didn’t comment.

seong je glanced at the box, then up at her. for the first time all day, the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

she didn’t look at him.

but her foot shifted slightly in his direction, brushing the edge of his.

and for now, that was enough.

the silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore—just tired.

seong je stayed slumped against the wall for another few minutes, wrapping a few of the bandages around his knuckles with surprising precision. he didn’t speak, and neither did she. eventually, he stood again with a wince and stretched his arms out until his shoulders cracked.

“i’m heading to the pc bang,” he muttered, brushing dust off his wrinkled uniform. “if you’re planning to keep sulking, do it quietly.”

she didn’t reply.

he hesitated at the door, one hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder. “...i got the phones back, you know.”

“i noticed.”

“you’re welcome.”

she flipped another page in her workbook. “i already said thanks.”

he rolled his eyes and left.

the door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

@ . !

the last of the arcade lights flickered off, followed by the clunk of the main door locking shut. the bowling alley was quiet now—emptied out, wiped down, and dark except for the faint blue glow of the vending machine in the corner.

baek jin pocketed the keys with a sigh, shoulders rolling back in the stretch of relief that came after closing time. “we survived another day of screaming kids and gutter balls.”

she slipped on her hoodie, tugging it down to her wrists. “barely.”

“come on. i’m starving.” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “you ate yet?”

she shook her head. “didn’t have time.”

“perfect. my treat.”

she gave him a sideways look. “your treat is always eight thousand won and spicy as hell.”

“and you always eat it like it’s nothing, so what does that say?”

she rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.

the streets were empty at this hour, just the hum of streetlamps buzzing above and the low whir of a passing bus in the distance. they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alley that led down to the backlot where the tiny tteokbokki joint sat—half hidden behind a metal shutter and marked only by a flickering neon sign that read 분식천국.

inside, it was warm and orange-lit, the kind of place where the plastic stools wobbled and the ajumma behind the counter always gave too much fish cake.

the tteokbokki shop was quieter now, the neon sign flickering softly as the last of the steam drifted from the pan. she poked at her food, her chopsticks moving aimlessly as she avoided looking directly at baek jin. she was still annoyed—still holding that edge—but not as sharp as earlier. it was always this way, after things had settled. tension dissolved, but never fully.

baek jin picked up a piece of soondae without looking at her, his movements smooth, deliberate. he took a bite, chewing slowly, while his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than usual.

“you know,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer than it had been earlier, “you could relax every once in a while.”

she made a face, her chopsticks still hovering above the plate, and shot him a look. “relax? that’s rich coming from you.”

he shrugged, glancing out the small window at the dark alley beyond. the streetlights outside hummed, casting long shadows that filled the empty space between them. then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and pushed the plate of rice cakes closer to her.

“i’m serious,” he said, quieter this time. “you don’t have to keep everything in motion all the time.”

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, but she didn’t respond immediately. instead, she stole a glance at him—eyes narrowing just a little, studying him as if trying to read between his words. but he was already looking away, a subtle tilt to his head, like he didn’t mind if she didn’t take the bait.

after a beat, she finally reached for another rice cake. her hand brushed against his casually, just the barest touch, but it was enough to make her pause, fingers still lingering against his. for a second, she almost didn’t pull back, but then she did, almost reflexively, as if she hadn’t meant to stay there.

his eyes flickered to her hand, but he didn’t say anything. he just kept eating, quieter now.

she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that crawled up her throat. “i don’t need your advice, baek jin.”

“i didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice laced with something she couldn’t quite place. was it amusement? care? it was hard to tell, but he didn’t seem fazed by her harshness. his gaze was steady, like he was trying to understand her through the quiet.

another beat of silence passed. her foot nudged against his under the table—accidental, probably. but it lingered, her heel against the side of his shoe, the warmth of her body close enough that he could feel the weight of it.

for a moment, neither of them moved. the air between them was thick in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just... full. heavy with things unsaid.

he cleared his throat quietly, shifting his foot away just enough for the pressure to break. she didn’t pull her foot back, though, and the moment passed without comment.

she didn’t look at him as she pushed the food around again. “you think i’m some kind of... control freak?”

“i think you don’t let people in,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, just a little too honest. “it’s like you’re always holding everything back.”

she froze for a second. his words lingered in the air, like smoke, and she could feel the weight of them, like the air had thickened.

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, and she looked up at him, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. she wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, but something in his eyes stopped her. maybe it was the way he wasn’t looking at her for a response, but just... waiting.

when she spoke, it was quieter than before. “i don’t need anyone to fix me.”

he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible smile, like he understood more than she wanted him to. “i didn’t say anything about fixing you.”

there was a beat of silence between them, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. it was just... there.

she grabbed the last piece of soondae, eating it in one bite. “i’m done. you?” she asked, her voice a little more like herself again—sharp, biting.

he smiled more openly this time. “you eat like a rat.”

she snorted, setting her chopsticks down with a little too much force. “and you’re a walking mannequin.”

when they stood up to leave, it was a little too quiet, but neither of them said much. she put her jacket on, pulling it over her shoulders with more force than necessary, like it was an armour she didn’t need.

@ . !

as they walked through the dark alley, the hum of the streetlights was the only sound between them, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise empty night. she kept her gaze forward, her hands tucked deep into her pockets, shoulders tense.

but then, that one small gesture—a simple adjustment of her collar—broke through the armor she had been building around herself all evening.

her breath caught for just a second. she hadn’t expected it. not from him. she hadn’t expected him to see her. not in this way.

his fingers barely brushed her skin, and in that moment, she felt the shift. it was like the weight she’d been carrying—unseen, unheard, but always there—just became too much to hold onto.

she didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed, just for a moment. her heart hammered in her chest, too fast, too loud. the weight of her emotions, the ones she kept buried under layers of sharp words and brittle indifference, started to break free. slowly, quietly, without any warning. she bit her lip hard, the pressure doing nothing to stop the sting rising in her chest.

and then, just like that, she felt it. the quiet crumbling inside her. the tension, the anger, the sadness—all the things she thought she’d put away, forgotten or buried—spilled out in the form of a single, shaky breath.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t react. but something in her shifted.

then, without a word, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

she didn’t wipe it away. she didn’t speak. there was no need to. the weight of the past days, the anger, the fear, the exhaustion—it all sat heavy on her like a stormcloud.

he saw it. he always did.

and without hesitation, without asking or saying anything, he stepped forward and pulled her gently into his arms.

at first she froze, body rigid against him like she didn’t know how to be held. but then—like something inside her finally cracked—she melted forward and buried her face into his shoulder, her hands clutching the sides of his jacket.

that’s when the sobbing started.

not loud. not dramatic. just quiet, broken sounds pressed into his chest, like she was finally letting go of something she'd been carrying alone for far too long.

she was trembling.

he didn’t need her to say anything—he never did. he could feel the way her hands gripped his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her together. the weight of her against him wasn’t heavy, but it pressed into something deeper than he wanted to admit.

he’d seen her like this before. not often. only when everything else slipped.

and each time, it broke something in him he didn’t know had edges.

he didn’t ask what was wrong. he just held her tighter, like maybe if he stayed still enough, long enough, she’d remember she wasn’t alone.

that was enough for him. for now.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

[kiefbowl]

wait ok genuinely kind of interested in your opinion on porn now......... if only because those big 3 you mentioned are always the reasons i see people throwing out so id love to hear a deeper take than that

I'm genuinely surprised anyone could follow me and not know my stance on porn, but that's okay. simplified and in no particular order and in no means exhaustive:

porn creates perverse incentives

porn normalizes the purchase of women as sexual objects for men to use

porn is often called "rape on tape" by feminists, which I mostly agree with in the sense that if a woman would otherwise not have had sex except that she is being paid, then she is not consenting. you cannot purchase consent, the consent is not meaningful then.

additionally, you can not verify if you are watching people be raped in any other way. porn sites are filled with stolen videos, coerced videos, actual minors, aggressive rape that was filmed with or without the victim's knowledge, and other videos of this nature. there is no way to verify this at all from videos that are somehow not these things. things like "amateur" are often just marketing by the porn company or pimp, or they're stolen videos.

porn creates a social script for sex. this social script is least of all - boring and predictable. it also reinforces the long standing conservative gender understanding (see 2). porn also reinforces ideas of homophobia and racism under the guise of "taboo." porn is literally so conservative, but because it's considered "shocking" to "puritans" (religious men watch porn all the time), people talk like it's this liberal fantasy. porn is constantly reestablishing the status quo in the most perverse ways.

it's been demonstrated that people who are porn addicts very quickly escalate to more violent porn, and that this plays out in their sex lives with their (often vulnerable) sex partners.

the violence that happens in porn is real. the idea that it's a "fantasy" is marketing by porn website and pimps. if a man slaps a woman across the face, that really happened. why does it matter if she says "yes" to it - that's her "job" so how can she say no? (see 3 and also 4).

there is so much evidence and testimony by porn stars of the absolutely awful and terrifying conditions in which they work, even in the quote unquote "real" industry. drugs, alcohol, violence, coercion, exposure to STIs, homelessness, pimping, prostitution, mental illness, suicide, lack of benefits. It's bananas that anyone would be surprised by this when it's pointed out, we're talking about an industry that films sex on video. The majority of people in the sex industry want out. It ruins their lives, and once in it's very hard to leave and lead a normal life. The idea that the industry needs regulation to be "fixed" is bizarre and just seems like pimp and porn industry marketing to get people to look the other way.

Poverty creates porn. Social welfare for the poorest of our women would prevent them from entering the industry in the first place. Women go into porn out of need, not desire. social media pushes that porn stars loooove their jobs is 1. porn site and pimp propaganda 2. literally marketing because men want to believe this.

I am not religious, I don't believe in god. I love sex and masturbation. it's the most natural thing in the world and people don't actually need to "learn" how to do it - it's innate within us. Porn is just one more way to humiliate women in a misogynist society that requires women to be fearful of sex and rape constantly, and uneducated in their own sexual desires and boundaries.

[mo-aiki]

The Beautiful Maiden, Who Turned into a Swan - Prologue

Summary: You were a happy princess, living in a carefree life, with your best friend in the entire world, until one day, he turned you into a swan. M. Yandere Prince x F. Reader x M. Yandere Sorcerer.

Notes: inspired by obviously, Swan Lake. And also childhood favorites, The Swan Princess and Barbie of Swan Lake.

Warning: obsessive love, erratic behavior, stalking, mentions of violence, violent behavior, I don't condone it, I just write it.

You lived your best life.

As a princess of a small, rather unknown kingdom, you were your most happiest being surrounded by those you loved.

Your father was king, your mother, although dead, had high hopes for you. Your brother was young and cheeky. Everyone respected you, calling you kind.

You woke up everyday in your bedroom, getting ready, and enjoying your days in the royal greenhouse and garden, when one day, you met a boy, around your age. You were 12 at the time you met him. "Hello, my name is (y/n). What's yours?"

He didn't talk. He looked at you like you were going to harm him, and by his body language of him scooting away from you. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

You gently got him to stand up, while you dusted the dirt off of his hair and clothes. "I'm (y/n). What's your name?"

The young boy mumbled. "...Roth..."

"Roth?"

The boy nodded as you smiled. "Roth. Would you play with me?"

You felt all alone when it came to the topic of playing. All your close friends were servants, who got tired once you played too hard with them. But Roth was around your age, right? So of course he would play with you!

For 5 years, you 2 were inseparable. Roth became a prodigy of a sorcerer. He was very talented. He could make bubbles into flowers, turn a toad into a beautiful swan, and was perfect in his defensive and offensive magic. So much so that if you didn't have guards around, he would assign Roth to guard you.

You spent your days, laughing and playing around with Roth, until one day, he had gotten more quiet than usual.

"Roth."

"Hm?"

"Do you think I'm pretty to you?" A question you would obviously ask your best friend in the whole wide world to.

"No, you are ugly."

You laughed. "Stop playing around. Am I really pretty?"

Roth closed his book. "Why are you asking?"

You laid your back against the blanket as you stared up at the sky. "Because father told me I am to be wed in a couple of months. After I turn 18."

Roth was a bit quieter than usual, but you didn't mind his quiet nature. You knew he at least listened. "Father said that the prince of another kingdom said I looked pretty in the portraits they sent of me. Apparently, the kingdom is run by one of father's bestet of friends..."

Roth opened his book back up. "Well then, he must have bad taste because you are ugly..."

You pouted in his face. "Goodness, don't be mean. He does not have bad taste. In fact, he's very handsome, and obviously, good-looking people must have good taste!" You laughed.

You didn't know that the comment you made would cause Roth to tightly grip his book.

On the early hours on the day of your eighteenth birthday, Your kingdom had burned to the ground. Running away throughout the chaos of the castle, you made it to the throne room, hiding behind the curtains behind your father's throne. Your father, there as well, donned in his armor. All you could smell was burnt, human ash everywhere. All you could hear was the curdling screams of people being burned alive from the many fires that donned the kingdom. All you could see was almost pitch black. Your father covered your ears as your eyes erupted in tears.

Mary, your maid who had cared for you like an older sister.

Aldus, the head butler, who was a kind old man, soon rearing the age where he would retire from his position.

Elric, the stableman who helped you ride your horse, Matilda for the first time.

Jocosa, the maid who seemed rather rude at first, but really cared for others, not wanting them to get hurt.

Emma, your tutor who was strict but kind and always loved you like a motherly figure.

And your little brother, Theo, who was so cheeky and mischievous.

All of them dead from burning from the fire. You could hear Theo's screams, calling out for you and your father, before it was too late.

Today, was meant to be a day of celebration. A day of joy. A day full of fun and splendid memories. But soon you snapped out of your daydream when both your and your father heard footsteps approaching the throne room. Stopping your tears, you held your breath. Not wanting the man who burned your kingdom to notice you or your father. "I know both of you are here."

You squeaked as lightly as possible, as your father got up. You shook your head, tears flowing out your eyes while doing so. Your father kissed your forehead as he hugged you tight. "(y/n), don't worry about me. I will be back before you know it..."

Your father walked out from behind the curtain as you could only peak through an opening. "Your Majesty."

You recognized the voice and the silhouette of the man. 'Roth?!' you thought. "Rothbart! Stop this at once!" your father had commanded.

There was only a silence between them as your father yelled once more. "STOP THIS AT ONCE ROTHBART!"

You could tell that your father was scared. His fingers looked like they were twitching, trying to unsheathed his sword from his scabbard. "I, King Fredhelm the II, will stop you from burning my kingdom down to ash!"

Your father ran with his sword, as he was burned. Before you could see it, you held your mouth shut, and closed your eyes, feeling your tear rushing out. You heard your father's screams as you shut your eyes even harder and covered your ears. The heat of the fire felt close to you, until you opened your eyes, to see ash all over the place, turning your head to see Roth take you in his hand and dragging you out of the kingdom.

You struggled at his grip, as he took you on horse and rode, far away from your home, as you watch it fall into a sea of flames, with the sounds of screaming waves, fading the further away you were.

You cried on the horse as Roth tried to soothe you. He wanted you to know why he did this.

It's because of you

Afraid of you running away he turned you into a swan against your will. "Your beautiful like a swan (y/n)...too beautiful."

The process was painful. As the sun slowly rose from the east, your skin felt like it was being forcefully shedding, like it burned and soon you turned into a swan by morning.

Roth smiled bittersweetly. "I had to do this (y/n). Your too beautiful, and as such, nobody can see you."

A swan by day, and a princess by night. Those tales only come out of legends, and soon you were a legend when men noticed you alone on the lake at night in the moonlight. They died that same night.

Roth killing them, and then hugging you, tightly.

And thus for the next 10 years, you were nothing more than a legend, and were being used by Rothbart, to fulfill his desires to be complete.

A/N: IM BACK!!! I will take a millennium to update this story due to school. Thank you!

[nightcolorz]

why do so many people act like lestat has better morals or is nicer then Armand in some way? there is nothing in the books that suggest this, Lestat and Armand have committed like the same exact crimes (even the sexual ones.) have fairly similar philosophies on murder (lestat tries to only kill criminals cuz he doesn’t want to take innocent life, Armand tries to only kill people who want to die and would otherwise take there own lives bcus he doesn’t want to take the life of someone who wants to live) Lestats moral stance on killing is more brutal arguably then Armand’s bcus he chooses to kill criminals cuz he likes chasing down his prey and tormenting them it’s fun for him, and Lestat finds maintaining his criminals only rule very hard bcus he “loves innocent blood it tastes better” which is fun. Armand sometimes brutally kills or hunts too and definitely drinks a lot of innocent blood but more often then not tries to make his killing as sparse and merciful as possible. Literally the only evidence at all that Lestat is a better person then Armand is the fact that most of the books are narrated by Lestat who is always informing the audience of his perspective while committing his crimes while Armand never explains anything he ever does even in his own book. But taking “we know more about what lestat thinks” to mean “lestat is a better person then Armand cuz he’s easier to understand” is shallow and biased imo.

show only fans who think Lestat is a better person then Armand make even less sense to me bcus there is even less to suggest this in the show, in fact there is significant evidence to suggest the opposite 😭? But again, Lestat and Armand both torture people, they both are physically violent and scary, both are abusive, both are highly motivated by histories of trauma and being crazy, etc. they are like the same amount of bad 😭 did I miss the thing that told everyone that lestat has a kind heart and Armand doesn’t 💀. I think people just sympathize easier with Lestat in the show bcus he has a really sad backstory we r informed of, but idk bcus we r also informed of Armand’s very sad backstory that In my opinion is easier to conceptualize as capable of breaking someone’s brain to the point where they casually enact torture and live in a constant state of violence. the worst of Lestat’s trauma happens to him when he is like (in the show) 37? 💀 which is still terrible, obviously, but man. I don’t see how he is more sympathetic then Armand😭

[animeyanderelover]

I don’t know where I was going with this. But that doesn’t matter. The power of simping is simply too strong. I left out Finn because he died pretty quickly so I have no way of characterising him really well. I also know that apparently there is another sibling but I haven't watched The Originals so that's that.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, overprotective behavior, intimidation, threats, blackmailing, manipulation, violence, death

Images

Elijah Mikaelson

✞Elijah doesn't love easily. It speaks volumes that throughout his entire life as a vampire he has loved very few times only for that love to slip through his fingers like sand. Whether that loss has been his fault or the fault of the woman that he has loved, he has long since realised that he has never been innocent yet still he desires to maintain the image of the logical and rational man amongst a family filled with violence, impulsiveness and overflowing emotions that so quickly spiral out of control. If there is one person he wishes to be what he deep down isn't though then it is without a doubt his darling. Whilst he will never truly be the man standing on the morally high ground at the very least he wishes to uphold that image whilst he is with you. He values the love existing between the two of you deeply, his one firm pillar in between so many other shaky bridges that he still attempts to rebuild and keep with his siblings. No words could ever convey how deep his appreciation and his love for you goes for the sense of peace and calmness that you provide in his life yet still Elijah does what he can do to give back as much as possible for everything he receives simply by having you by his side.

✞There is no shortage of presents, trips and luxury in a relationship with him. Elijah truly embraces a romantic spirit now that he has you all to always let you know just how much you truly mean to him. Bouquets of red roses, letters expressing the thoughts and feelings he may not be able to convey spontanously as he crafts each sentence carefully and special dates when the circumstances have forced him away from you for more than a few days. It never feels like excessive spoiling though as each gift and each date has a thought behind it that goes beyond the simple luxury and price of it. With you Elijah is always the thoughtful gentleman he believes that you deserve, each action and confession crafted to the closest perfection that he can reach. That never means though that all violence has simply disappeared. It's hidden away from your gaze, the ruthless side Elijah doesn't wish you to see. Perhaps he aspires to be better for you, an act of mercy for all those who threaten you or the relationship as they receive one chance to turn around and to never return. Bloodshed has never been his signature yet should a fool choose to be a fool it cannot be helped.

Niklaus Mikaelson

♕Klaus is something and that can be interpreted in a good or in a bad way which applies both to him. His love is intense and coupled with so many thoughts and feelings that he has a hard tome controlling it all. There's a lot to unravel but the deeper you dig, the more Klaus becomes undone in front of your very eyes which only heightens all his emotions in return. Paranoia, abandonment issues, a sharp fear to forever be alone and a love that burns so intensely that it threatens to not only hurt the both of you but everyone around. Once such obsession has taken a hold of Klaus he is determined to never let you leave his grasp yet he is so used to being left that his hands clutching your life so tightly threaten to shatter it. So many things could go wrong and many things will go wrong as he struggles to deal with all issues and fears that have resurfaced so violently due to his feelings for you. His possessiveness runs high, his jealousy runs deep and the control he tries to force into your life runs wild. All because deep down he genuinely believes that otherwise you would never love nor accept him for the horrible person everyone hates and wants so desperately dead.

♕It's a long and difficult process to untangle the mess of feelings within him until he eases his body and mind. That isn't to say that moments of tenderness are nonexistent. An entire gallery filled with paintings of you, sketches neatly kept on his desk of your face and beautifully wrapped presents placed on your bed. Flights to Tokyo, Italy and all the places you wish to see with your own eyes and confessions of adoration and love that are so rare coming from his lips. All of it can be so easily shattered though in the face of your fear and horror all directed against him. Klaus retaliates whenever you reject him, covers his pain and vulnerability behind the rage and cruelty so many fear him for, becoming the monster you believe him to be. It's likely that he has hurt you once or twice, his feelings bursting out of him as agony and anger and leaving him drowning in the horrible feeling of guilt and a renewed fear that you will never accept him afterwards. Niklaus kills easily. He has left hills of dead bodies behind him throughout his long life already and now with his obsession for you in play new corpses start littering his path all to preserve you for himself.

Kol Mikaelson

🂱Kol is a true wild card as his actions are unpredictable and all guided by his own hedonism. By all means, he actually knows that his feelings are quite disturbing together with all the things he does as a result of it but he doesn't seem to feel an ounce of guilt. It's much the opposite instead as Kol actively revels in it. All the emotions coursing through his veins make him feel very alive to the point where he almost feels drunk on ecstasy and he decides to completely indulge in everything that this obsession has to offer. Known for loving the games though, Kol has a quite wicked way of treating you, the unfortunate victim of his obsession. His approach is quite two-faced as he wastes no time to get to know you during the day and present himself as someone quite cocky yet still quite charming only to haunt you at night and induce paranoia within you. He doesn't feel guilty though instead he finds it quite cute to see the visible effects his stalking has on you as you flinch at every noise, always turn your head over your shoulder as if afraid that someone is following you and start growing more unfocused as a result of the lack of sleep. So he will continue until you break.

🂱There is a different side that often reveals itself to you too, one far more enjoyable than the mindgames he so often puts you through. As he is neither as uptight nor as paranoid as his other siblings, Kol expresses his love much like the adventurous spirit that he has within him. Often he spontaneously whisks you away whenever he's in the mood, no matter what time of day it is. Kisses out of the blue, unpredictable and playful accompanied by some very corny pickup-lines that he has either come up with himself or has heard somewhere and cuteness aggression too. There's nothing that Kol really bothers to hide from you as he is the one who is the most open with his emotions, be it the good ones or the bad ones. Instead he basks in it all freely as he even indulges in the violent urges that arise when someone gets on his nerves. It's genuinely gruesome and evil though how he plays with his victims. He's taunting, he's tormenting and he likes to dangle a piece of hope in front of their noses and watch them running like frightened bunnies only to snatch it away right in front of their faces and enjoy the sheer look of horror and hopelessness.

Rebekah Mikaelson

❀Rebekah loves blindly and recklessly which spells a disaster in the making as her obsession quickly consumes her. She has been hurt far too many times over the centuries and every time she was betrayed by someone that she loved. It's understandable that she wishes to be wary yet deep down she is very much like Klaus in the way that she longs for someone to love her unconditionally and for someone who will always choose her no matter what. She fears being backstabbed by even you and it doesn't even matter how long the two of you have known each other at that point. All of those fears and insecurities combined result in this awful mixture of possessiveness, pushiness and control that can and will be overwhelming very quickly for you. Rebekah seems to have you under constant surveillance as if she is just waiting for the moment where she catches you cheating on her or plotting to have her put back in the coffin again. For that reason she even compels the people around her all to always know what you are up to and to always have someone watching over you and report back to her. She wants to trust, she really does, but she doesn't know how to do that after everything that has happened.

❀Still she is a girl who wishes to be happily in love and that shows in the way that she treats the relationship. In general the two of you are always together and seen as a pair with matching outfits and matching jewelry all chosen by her. Frequent dates, constant hand-holding and excessive mails and calls when she isn't with you at the moment. Rebekah wants her own happy lovestory and she wants it with you which is why she works so very hard to ensure that everything is exactly how she has always wished it be be. However, she has an extremely bad temper and that becomes apparent very quickly as you watch her. Her jealousy threatens to consume her on a daily base the moment you pay attention to someone else that isn't her and she gets spiteful and mean very quickly as that horrible feeling within her stomach wriggles around until she feels nauseous. She lashes out and she does so quickly as her emotions tend to get the better of her and in her rage even you will not be spared from her bitterness. It's that horrible temper of hers which makes her prone to hurt, torture and murder people she sees as threats to the happy ending she so sorely deserves.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 50

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Minors DNI. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

50. last woman standing

You dream of John, swimming in a wine dark sea. He smiles for you in that enigmatic way, leading you further and further away from shore. You try to catch him, but he remains just out of reach, looking at you with those sad dark eyes. 

When you can no longer see land he finally reaches for you across the waves, water pooling in his cupped hands. 

“It was always going to end this way, kitten.”

Only then do you realize, you are swimming in a sea of blood. 

You wake violently with a gasp, bolting upright. Every cell in your body hurts, but it is nothing compared to the ache in your chest. 

John. 

Caine fucking shot John. 

Desperately you look around, clawing at the sheets tangled about your legs. You have to go. Somewhere. Do…something. 

Where the fuck are you?

In your manic desperation to get up at first you don’t even notice the elegantly dressed man sitting next to your bed. 

You freeze, fists clenched. 

Friend or foe?

He holds up two hands in a gesture of peace, dark hazel eyes crinkled at the edges in an expression of what you think might be sympathy. 

“Where am I?” You finally look around, taking in your surroundings. Pastel painted walls, high ceilings with opulent mouldings crumbling a little at the edges. Hand carved wooden furniture. A warm breeze whispers through the gauzy drapes of tall windows. 

“The Cartagena Continental, señorita. You are safe.” His voice is deep, accented. In a different circumstance, you might have been soothed. 

A thousand questions whip through your mind, yet somehow you are frozen, unable to voice any of them past a sudden and gripping sense of doom. 

Finally you settle on: “Cartagena, Colombia?” 

“Sí.” 

“How?”

“Señor Caine brought you. He asked that I look after you. Now that you are awake…I would like to call for the doctor?” 

You shake your pounding head, a high-pitched ringing sounding in your ears as adrenaline surges through your veins. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I have to go…I have to find him.” 

The older man looks at you apologetically. “Querida…there is nothing to find out there. It is all gone.”

“How do you know?” you demand hotly, not meaning to be rude but jesus fucking christ it can’t be true? 

“I have my sources,” he assures you.

“Who are you?” You narrowly avoid cursing at this man. How can he be so calm? Who gave him the right to look at you like a kindly grandpa while your life is going up in flames? 

“I am César, the Manager.”

You nod, trying to think past the hurricane that is happening between your ears. “Ok. Great. Can you arrange a boat for me? A guide? Winston Scott is my dear friend, he can guarantee any expenses.” 

Finally you manage to get out of the bed–and you fall right down, your legs not working at all. You have a sharp pain in your ribs. Broken? The tile floor is cold, and hard on your bare legs. You are wearing a t-shirt, and maybe not much else. 

“My dear, you have had a great ordeal. Please, you need rest.” He reaches out as though to help you back up, but you hold up your hands in the universal gesture of stop.

“I have to find him, señor.”

“I am so sorry, so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but John Wick is dead. When señor Caine sets out to take a life…he does not come back empty handed.” 

“You don’t know that. You don’t know John.” 

“I did know him, querida. I counted him a friend. Which is why I will keep you safe here, and see you back home. I am told…you were his world.” 

You look up at this man, drowning. He’s so damn certain. There is not an ounce of doubt in his tone, or his expression, and you break. The tears waylay you like a freight train, wretched sobs that rack your whole body. You hug yourself, rocking as you are thrashed by this storm of grief, and a part of you wishes that you could die from a broken heart. You would like to curl up on the cool floor, and just not feel anything anymore. 

How can you go on living, without him? 

You are grateful that the Manager does not try to touch you, though he hovers, clearly worried. You’re not sure how much time goes past as you spill your grief on the floor. You were so strong through all of it, you fought so hard, and for what? 

It all came to nothing. 

Finally you look up at him again through eyes swollen from crying, a terrible headache now splitting your skull. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a floor length mirror; you are cut, and bruised, and look like death warmed over.

Still, you ask, “Would it be possible to charter a boat? I need to see.” 

Maybe he can tell that you will do something even more drastic, if he does not agree to help you. Though he obviously thinks it’s a fruitless endeavor, he nods gravely, and picks up the bedside phone.

**************************************

Don César was right, unfortunately. 

Nothing remained in the spot where two multi-million dollar yachts had been anchored, and handfuls of speed boats besides. When the sea swallows the dead, she does a thorough job of it. 

This does not stop you from insisting your guide take you to all the nearby shores, looking for anything that might have washed up. You find debris…but no bodies. 

The kindly old man who pilots your boat, a personal friend of César’s, speaks low under his breath to his assistant. You catch the word tiburón, and you know he is certain the remains have been devoured by the sharks that ravenously patrol these warm waters. 

Again, you start to cry, though you are quiet about it now, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you pull your hat low, pretending the sun is in your eyes.

There is a tiny village nearby, and don Ronaldo takes you there, helping you question the locals when your Spanish fails you through the lump in your throat. No one saw anything, or found any survivors. The story is so consistent that you do not think they are lying out of fear of Cartel violence. There was simply…nothing to tell. 

You have run out of places to look. Despair spreads like black rot inside you, and as you return to Cartagena the overwhelming urge to throw yourself into the sea aches in your bones. 

You don’t, and not just because it would be a nuisance to don Ronaldo and Miguel to fish you back out. 

You don’t, because you know John would have wanted you to live. 

In one last Hail Mary you check the most obvious place, the hospital, but he is not there either. 

“Why didn’t Caine kill me?” you ask don César over a dinner you only poke at with your fork, in the opulent dining room of the Continental. 

“He said it was a last favor to an old friend, and that he expects the matter to end here, with you. Does that make sense to you, querida?” 

You nod sadly, pushing rice around your plate. “It was never my world,” you echo Caine’s last words to you. “I’m done.” 

John was your world. 

What is left to you, now?

***

As it turns out, the answer to that question is everything. 

As executor of his estate, Winston informs you that all of John Wick’s worldly possessions pass to you. He breaks this news as you are staring at the wall in the library of the Continental, Dog laying with his head in your lap. 

“But we were only engaged, Winston,” you say disinterestedly. Funny, that once you had to scratch and slave to make ends meet. Now that you are, apparently, a wealthy woman…you don’t care. You’re so fucking empty you don’t care about anything, really, except for Dog. 

“It matters not. He arranged for the change to his will the last time the two of you stayed here. He loved you beyond measure, y/n.” 

It occurs to you that maybe even back then, John suspected that ultimately he would not make it out of this last disagreement with the Camorra alive. For the umpteenth time, you start to cry, though you are getting stealthy about it these days. Tears roll, but you make not a sound. 

“I see.” 

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need, y/n.”

Perhaps Winston fears you might harm yourself, without his watchful eye upon you. He’s been so kind, and you suppose it is a comfort for him too, to mourn together. The elderly man showed you a tattoo of an Orthodox cross upon his hand, explaining that he had come from the Ruska Roma a lifetime ago, and that he had considered John Wick the closest thing he had to a son. 

“Thank you, Winston.” 

Though he is an exceptional conversationalist, it turns out that Winston is an excellent companion in silence too. You sit together on the couch, staring at nothing, but remembering a man for whom you both thought the world. 

*** 

Eventually you return to your home on the mountain. 

You feel like a wraith in a castle on the hill, rattling around the empty rooms, longing for a man who can never return to you. You feel his presence in every room. You sit with his books, and upon the furniture where you made love. You go to the kitchen, unable to believe he will never make another nourishing meal for the two of you there again, stealing kisses between chopping ingredients and stirring the pans. It feels cold, and bare, like every other space in this cabin turned mausoleum. 

You could sell it. You could sell it all, and make a clean start anywhere you want. You could travel the country with Dog, see all the things you’ve never seen. 

You can't do it.

It is the place where you loved each other, through better and worse, in madness and in health, and you cannot let it go. 

Your loneliness and your longing stretches on without end. It seems unbearable, this interminable sense of loss, but then you wake up, and do it all over again. 

You will never know another love like John Wick’s. The way that man loved you...it wasn't always right, but God, it had been fierce. 

Nothing will ever compare to it. 

You would give anything, pay any price, to have it back again. 

Helen's wisdom echoes even still. No matter John’s last wishes, without Dog to care for, you can't say you wouldn't have done something to end it all, just to have some relief from this crushing pain. 

Maybe no one will ever love you the way John did, but Dog does love you, and he needs you. It's no secret to you, that the only reason you wake up in the morning is to care for him. You try to be a good companion to him, though some days all you want to do is sit and stare at the wall. Loyally, he sits with you, waiting. 

You know that he misses John too. 

You should probably seek out some kind of therapy, but instead you turn to the outdoors. You and Dog hike all over the mountain, up and down, there and back again. It doesn't help you to forget, but it does help you to move.

Now you are the battered grouch who descends from the mountain in the Rover for the occasional cup of artisan coffee. Now that you have it, sometimes you leave a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar.

You still wear your ring. You don't intend to ever take it off. You don't intend to ever love again. 

Who could compare? 

What you would give, for that man to come out of the woodwork and kidnap you again. You wouldn't even complain. You wouldn't fight. You wouldn't throw books or sass or try to escape. You didn't even know how good you had it. 

You cycle through four of the five stages of grief like a cd changer on random. Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression… Everytime Acceptance seems like a barely visible speck on the distant horizon, you start all over again.

You read through the book you made together about Hades and Persephone again and again. Then you begin a new fixation with the myth of Cupid and Psyche. You feel for Psyche, for after she is whisked away to an isolated palace and loved by a mysterious stranger in the dark, is infected with inconsolable love and embarks on a series of trials to recover him. If you knew the way, you would march straight to Hades to snatch John from the River Styx, and you would fight anyone who got in your way. You’re pretty sure Dog could take Cerberus, for John.

Months go by. His scent has begun to fade from his clothes in the closet, and his shirt from the hamper you never could bring yourself to wash. 

You never drive the Mustang, but sometimes you just sit in it, and remember the rides he used to take you on (on the road and on his body). You do ride his motorcycle, and when you hit the straightaway at what feels like light speed somehow you feel close to him. 

Winter comes with a vengeance, driving you back inside once more. 

One day in December you are looking through the mail, sorting the junk from the bills, when something catches your eye. It's a travel brochure in glossy color. You've never received anything like it before. Curious, you flip it over to read the front. The title urges ‘Visit Argentina!’ in a sweeping font.

Something about this makes you pause, your pulse suddenly thundering in your ears. 

You open it up, finding colorful photos that could have come straight from your Pinterest travel board. The Grand Splendid bookstore, The Japanese Garden, the tree-lined streets of the Barrio Palermo, the Casa Rosada and the Plaza de Mayo, the Sunday Market in San Telmo… All things that you'd wanted to see someday. Things you'd talked about wanting to see…with John, while he’d smirked and rolled his eyes at you while absolutely indulging your excited rambling as you lay in his arms. 

You sit at the island and stare at this flyer, a strange feeling creeping over your skin. 

It's surely just a coincidence. The product of Google selling your search history, maybe, back when you used to think about the future with excitement and optimism, the whole world your oyster with John at your side. 

And yet. 

You sit, and you stare, and you think. 

You’ve replayed that night in your nightmares a million times over. Your memories are not clear; between trauma and your concussion, and it all happened so fast. But you saw him get shot. You saw blood spray. How could anyone survive that in the merciless ocean at night? 

Even John Wick had his limits–but he’s cheated death before.

What if?

It’s a question that surely can only lead to madness and heartbreak for you, but still, you ask it again and again. 

What if? 

You do not move until Dog nudges your leg, ready for your daily walk. 

Later you hike on autopilot down the wooded trail, but your mind is racing.

What if it’s a trap?

What if…it’s a message?

What if you are losing your fucking mind, seeing possibility where there is nothing.

You lay awake that night in bed, clutching the brochure, searching every line for some clue. There's nothing seemingly coded in the writing. No symbols that would mean anything to you. The travel company is legit; you look it up. But there is just this nagging little voice in the back of your head chanting: What if?

By the next day you are sleep deprived, possibly unhinged–and ready to pack your bags for Argentina.

TBC...

-----

-all chapters -cartagena travel collage

[preposterousjams]

My opinion on the Latino Jason Todd headcanon

While I do understand ppl's criticism of the latino Jason todd headcanon and how its kind of racist to make the kid with parents with drug problems as the latino one, to me its more of a reclamation BECAUSE of DC's racism.

Read any 80s/90s batman issue that covers gang violence and drugs, most if not ALL of the criminals are poc; black people and latinos visibly make up the majority in the poorer neighbourhoods in Gotham. Aside from the caricaturist way they r drawn/speak, its not THAT weird cause its a reflection of irl big cities where immigrants and marginalised ppl are often forced to live in such situations, (like most of my dominican family lives in the bronx... it aint racist to say dominicans tend to flock there), BUT...the weird part is when the second a sympathetic character comes from that area, he's white and has a name thats "too fancy for the streets".

Obviously, Jason was created to look like the old robin, so I can't say that the whole "diamond in the rough" situation was purposely a tad bit racist, but its still a lil weird (especially with bruce's comment).

If Jason were a part of the overwhelming demographic in his area, the good-kid-in-a-bad-area trope has less connotations. DC is currently trying to fix this trope is by making crime alley whiter, which isn't bad but they could've just yk... humanised the non-white residents.

I also feel like the messed up way Jason was treated post-death is what makes him so relatable to latino readers. His tragic story of dying while trying to save his only living relative is turned into a lesson for newer vigilantes. Jason's particular disdain for abusers on a few occasions was twisted (by both writers and characters) into him always being dumb, reckless, cocky, angry and disobedient, always violent, never having been able to get over his upbringing. None of those things were true (he was a normal level of reckless and cocky like every other robin, not more), but its an easier narrative to digest compared to how it was in reality; a kid who worked so hard and loved even harder, died to save a woman who couldn't care less about his existence. He was an emotional AND smart kid who wanted so bad to help others get better but was remembered as too emotional (in a bad way).

THIS is the reality for many latino diasporas in day to day life; Theres no question that Latino culture is passionate and emotive, but people from other cultures assume that it is followed by instead of logical. both can coexist. emotion does not mean u have no logic. Emotions can be irrational but they aren't inherently that way, and I wouldn't say that the moments where Jason lashed out as a teenager were irrational (in og runs, not rewrites post red hood), they were mostly done to protect someone (going crazy on abusers, disobeying batman to save sheila, that time he got into a fight at school to defend his friend).

A lot of euro-centric culture is OBSESSED with the idea that rationality is separate from feelings and emotions, but not crying at a funeral doesn't mean you're better than those who do. Emotions are the basis of human ethics and morals, they define the way we interact as a collective and ignoring them does not mean they are not there. Theres no winner to a contest of who can feel the less. And the way Jason's emotions are treated (pre-rh, hes definitely unhinged afterwards lol) is so in line with how white culture tends to punish those who aren't ashamed to feel.

I TOTES UNDERSTAND that some ppl who headcanon Jason as latino are doing it for the complete opposite of reasons, like "oh here some angry emotional guy with druggie parents, haha must be latino". Its weird. I dont like it. And its only brought up so he can swear in spanish in some rlly bad text post where his emotions are getting out. But to me there's so much potential for metanarrative and commentary on how latinos are treated in media that can be exemplified through the way his character is treated. Being latino would add SO MUCH DEPTH to his character and his dynamic with the others.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Ok, I just read your sweet yandere post and would like to add something.

I love the idea of like a mafia boss yandere or someone who is usually cruel (like maybe a Hades sort of character) but is an absolute sweet heart to their darling. One of my fave tropes

OOOOOOH I LOVE THIS TROPE! I have a character who's just like this actually, a total sweetheart to whoever he's with but has a very low tolerance for most other people.

Sorry, this is a long one lol

I'm gonna make headcanons now because you've inspired me lol.

(Banner/divider credit goes to @cafekitsune)!

Tw: Kidnapping, mentions of violence

Mafia boss! Charlie who is no stranger to violence. He's lived his entire life surrounded by it, in fact. Having a mafia boss for a father will do that to you, he guesses.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's spent his whole life working for the mafia, being trained to kill, smuggle, and deal ever since he was a child. He grew up living a life of crime, rising up the ranks (thanks to his father), before taking over as the boss when his father was killed by an unruly client.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's a cruel, ruthless man. He's killed dozens of people, injured many more, and runs his organization with an iron fist. He may be young, but he's learned enough to know that any show of trust, any display of kindness is a show of weakness, a show of vulnerability. He can't afford that, not when he's the head of the mafia, so he makes sure to make it so that no one will question or challenge his authority by any means necessary.

Mafia boss! Charlie who has very few real friends, keeping those he does have at an arm's length. He'd rather die than admit that he craves real relationships, that he desires to make genuine, true connections with others. But he can't, so he pushes his wants to the side, reminding himself that his only purpose is to keep his business running smoothly, nothing more.

Until he sees you, that is.

Mafia boss! Charlie who meets you out on a grocery run one day. Your interaction is nothing special, at least to you, but Charlie can't help but marvel at how easily you make conversation with him while ringing up his items, how seemingly unfazed you are by his snappy attitude and unapproachable appearance. It's been a long, long time since he's met anyone unafraid of him, and those people are usually rivals who are too cocky for their own good. So this, this is new. He knows it's stupid, he knows that your tiny interaction shouldn't have mattered much to someone like him, but he can't help but feel giddy about the connection he's sure he felt.

Mafia boss! Charlie who, against his better judgment, wastes no time in trying to find out who you are. It's not hard, he has an entire organization full of trained trackers, stalkers, and informants at his disposal, and by the end of the day, he has your full name, address, social media accounts, family tree, medical records, and much more safely in his welcoming hands. He knows this is a bit overkill considering he only met you today and your interaction lasted five minutes at most, but now that he has a taste of real human interaction, he's addicted. He needs more.

Mafia boss! Charlie who quickly becomes awestruck and obsessed with you. His whole life, he's been surrounded by the craftiest, cruelest, most violent people imaginable, so to see someone, especially someone as precious as you, live a completely normal life, naive to the dangers he faces everyday? It's captivating! Of course, he can't follow you all day, he is a mafia boss after all, but he has enough people following you around and recording your every move that he doesn't need to! He's never been happier to be who his is than now.

Mafia boss! Charlie who thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world. You're a sweet little thing, too gentle and too unaware of the dangers around you for your own good. He loves everything about you, no matter how weird or embarrassing. He's content to watch you carefully for a couple months, but as time goes on, his need to feel our touch, to talk to you, to see you face to face is too much. He needs you. He needs you NOW. It doesn't help that you're so vulnerable and weak compared to him, with no knowledge of weaponry or stealth to keep you safe. What if someone were to try and hurt you? Of course, his goons wouldn't let that happen, not if they wanted to keep their organs, but he would feel so much better if he could keep an eye on you personally. Not to mention, every mafia boss needs a spouse, and some of his higher ranking associates have been hinting that it's about time he found someone...

Mafia boss! Charlie who immediately starts planning your "transfer" to his house, meticulously drafting out every last detail to secure your safety. He chooses his best, most skilled employees to carry out his plan, only the best for his darling, and sends them out to bring you "home". That day you come home from work, completely unaware of the people in your apartment, completely unaware of the sleeping pills dumped into your water while you weren't looking.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's ecstatic to finally have you with him, to finally have someone to hold, to talk to, to love. He brings your unconscious body to your new room, laying you softly on the bed while instructing his employees to pack up all your belongings and bring them to him. He doesn't tie you down or chain you up, he has enough security measures in place to make sure you won't be able to escape. You won't even be able to leave your room without him being notified.

Mafia boss! Charlie who watches the camera in your room as you wake up for the first time in your new home, confused and disoriented. All of your stuff is here, but this is NOT your apartment. Where are you? He watches as you start to freak out, guilt flashing through him for the first time in his life. He doesn't want you to be scared, he just wants to keep you safe!

Mafia boss! Charlie who sends one of his gentler employees into your room to explain everything, too afraid of scaring you even further by showing up himself. He waits a few days before revealing himself to you, when your terror has calmed down and you've become more familiar with your surroundings. He kind of just stands there, unable to formulate a sentence, which is extremely unnerving to you. You've been told you're to be married to a highly respected and violent mafia boss, and here he is, just...staring. When he opens his mouth to speak, your surprised at how soft his voice is, calmly explaining to you that you're safe, you won't be hurt. He reaches out his hand to touch you, but recoils when you flinch, not wanting to push you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who does everything he can to make you more comfortable and less afraid of him, getting you anything and everything you've ever shown interest in, giving you as much space as you need, and letting you roam the rather large house freely. All you can't do is leave. He doesn't understand why you're still so scared, sure he's a criminal, but he promised he would never hurt you!

Mafia boss! Charlie who gets more desperate for your love as time goes on. He starts appearing in whatever room your in, softly talking to you about his day or about whatever you're doing, trying to get you to be more comfortable with him. Once you've gotten used to that, he starting slowly initiating physical contact, holding you in his arms like he's never going to let you go (because he won't). He tried his hardest not to push your boundaries, but eventually his need to be near you becomes too great. Rest assured though, he would never, ever dream of hurting you or purposely scaring you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who can't get enough of the feeling of your skin on his. He starts hugging/cuddling you whenever he can, holding you like you'll break if he presses too hard. He's always near you, cuddling up to you while telling you about how much he loves you, adoration shining in his eyes. He's the clingiest at night though, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep, him watching over you until he succumbs to his own tiredness. And his kisses? They are the softest, fluffiest thing you've ever felt. He cannot get enough of your lips, and he always kisses you passionately, like you'll disappear once he separates from you. With how loving and gentle he is, it doesn't take long for you to start loving him back.

Mafia boss! Charlie who starts giving you more privileges the farther you fall into stockholm. He'll even start taking you out in public on dates once he thinks there's no chance of you trying to escape him. He'd be able to find you if you did, he has many, many connections, but he trusts you won't. He loves going out with you and doing normal, coupley things with you, it's a nice break from his usual, violent life.

Mafia boss! Charlie who is insanely protective of you, never leaving you alone in a room with anyone except for himself. He knows how dangerous it is to be associated with him and now that he has you, he refuses to let anything happen to you. Any rival who attempts to hurt, kill, or kidnap you is met with Charlie himself, who enacts the most brutal, torturous death he can possibly think of on them. Nobody will come close to hurting you, he'll make sure of it. But no matter what happens, he'll always make sure you're far, far away from the violence. He never wants to subject you to the horrors he's seen (and done).

Mafia boss! Charlie who feels awful the first time you hear him raise his voice. It wasn't at you of course, he would never, ever think of yelling at his darling, you just happened to be in the room when he was meeting with one of his associates. It's scary seeing him yell, threatening brutal acts of violence on his own employee, and for the first time you realize how different he is with others than he is with you. He's quick to shut the meeting down once he realizes you're there, spending the rest of the night apologizing to you and assuring you he would never speak to you like that. This'll be the first time he truly opens up about what his job is like and why he has to be as cruel as he is, trying to help you understand why he behaved the way he did. It's difficult for him to make himself vulnerable, but he'd gladly to it if it meant easing your mind. From then on, he makes absolute sure you aren't around whenever he has to take care of business. He refuses to let you see him like that ever again.

Mafia boss! Charlie who never lets you forget how much he needs you in his life. You're the only thing keeping him from devolving into insanity, he wouldn't know how to handle himself if you were gone. He'll give you everything and anything if you listen to him and stay by his side, so please... please don't try to leave him.

Not that you would be able to, anyway.

[ebbyhell]

WARNING: CONTAINS VIOLENT DIPICTIONS OF BODY HORROR AND MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

To be Raphael is to hunger for love....

Raphael the ever dutiful angel, ask God so be and i shall bloody my hands for you...no need to dirty your hands in the blood of the sinfull and wrong people, I shall be your beloved blade right God???? All the deaths and the torture and even the blood is for you!!! As i created to be loved by you!!! Your beloved Seraphim!!!

He was created by God to love him, worship him and to carry out his dirty work, cause he is loved by him right?? To deliver this pain and hurt is God will.....then why does he fells empty? Why does is not enough? His loved by God?

That human is with God, but it does not matter!!! I am created for God love!!! That human is meainless!!!....but why God keeps him close like that?? Why he laughs with him like that?? That dumb fool human smile....

And the doubt fester...the self distruction of the nature of the Angels blooms as he works on punishing the sinfull, and the distance gets larger as the more he tries to prove God loves him he ends up just making he want more space, and his belly ache he must be hungry even if he just eated...he must feed for the hole on heart is just getting bigger and now God is not there anymore.....disappeared along with that human...

God...is not here.....no nonono NONON NO!!!! I wont accept these!!!, THAT DUMB HUMAN MUST HAVED STOLE HIM!!!! YOU MUST WANT ME TO KEEP DOING YOUR WORK RIGHT GOD?!? I SHALL DO IT!!! I SHALL CLEAN ALL THE SINNERS!! THE DEVILS!! TH3 HUMANS!! ALL PUNISH AND FEAST ON THEY FOR YOU GOD!!!

The last bit that Raphael has left of God is only his so called will, an Will of violence and punishimen filled with the desperation of the being who was must desperate for God love, and so desperation turns into anger, and the unholly shall be punished!!! Of course is they at fault!! Not the angels who only loved you!!....right?? The angels who keep pushing and fighting and killing only to prove your love for you right??? No it must not be they......after all loving God is not an sin. But look spite all the hard angels work God is not back...the hole is still empty spite of the piles of bodies filled in the stomach....

oh dear look....It apears Lucifer also left....

Why Lucifer Hyung left????? WHY WHY IS HIM IN HELL??? IT MUST BE AN PLAN!!, HAHAHA OF COURSE!!!! MICHAEL SHALL BRING HIM BACK!!!! HE DID NOT LEFT US!!!! HE SHALL BE BACK JUST AS GOD WILL BE!!!!

But Michael did not bring him back, an fight maybe happend, name calling, blood everywere but in the end! No Lucifer and no God! And his belly keeps grumbling....as he walks away fury in his heart to go deal more of the God will and feast so the hunger can go away, so the pain of the loss go away even for seconds,...such painfull existencie for God beloved creations...but it does show the nature of angels to self distructe.

Look, that bastard human left decedeants...how dare him, and the anger and hunger goes up again...but someting new what this?....

THAT HUMAN!!!! THEY TOUCHED ME!!! WITH THAT DIRTY EXPRESSION!!, I WANNA CHOKE THEY TILL THEIR FACE TURN PURPLE! I WANNA SCRATCH THEIR FACE TILL NOBODY CAN SEE THEIR JOYFULL TEARS!!!I WANNA DESTROY THEIR BODY TILL I THE ONLY ONE LAST TO TOUCH IT!!

And so he has tasted, the pleasure, the afection, the emotion, Raphael finnally feels full...but shold he not hate it? It not God!! They have the blood of that bastard human in their veings!!,But the belt opened, it must mean it Gods will!! Yes, Yes, God wants him to expirience that!! IT MUST MEAN GOD IS REWARDING HIM!!, AFTER ALL HE IS DOING HIS WILL!!! HIS WILL OF PUNISHIMENT!, MC must be God gift.

So why shold he share it with the other lowelifes devils??? MC shold be in heaven, close to him, they shold only die by his hands and live to seek pleasure only on him, so he shall capture they and bringthey to heaven.

To Raphael who hungers for love and ressuarince the simple tought of MC leaving to the human world is devasting, the most violent angel shall never let they leave for they feed his hunger.

By God i shall feast.

(the second image is by @domreaderheadcannonscenarios,i had these wrinting on my notes for an while, Raphael is an caracterer very fun to analyze we can see so much about angels nature when reading his content)

[canine-economy]

On Swansea’s (often understated) role in Mouthwashing

I say this as a big swansea fan but I don’t rlly understand why ppl are acting like he’s not also complicit in what happened to Anya? AUs where “Anya tells Swansea” and he jumps to violently defend her don’t make sense to me because canonically she does tell him, as he admits to Jimmy. But swansea represents another way of interacting with the capitalist heteropatriarchy that ALSO harms victims: holistic jadedness and resignation.

Swansea is across the board unkind to the Tulpar crew. We can’t forget that he calls anya a “so-called nurse”

and says this to Jimmy, which (if unintentionally) reiterates Jimmy’s own warped perception of Anya’s usefulness and competence. This allows Jimmy to feel justified in his imagination of the nurse’s inferiority. Swansea’s clear lack of respect for Jimmy does less to hurt Jimmy than his lack of respect for Anya harms Anya, because at the end of the day, Swansea’s attitude is contextualized by the violent culture it exists in and he does nothing to reconcile with that when Jimmy becomes the captain. His resignation can thus be weaponized even by Jimmy, a man who Swansea disrespects but whose power he doesn’t try to meaningfully jeopardize, because his across-the-board disdain punches people already marginalized by the environment twice as hard as it does those with power.

Swansea doesn’t position himself as an ally, he positions himself as willfully uninvolved in everything, an observer to the shitshow ride to hell. Just because he dislikes Jimmy doesn’t mean he aligns with Anya. He makes it clear that he’s not on her side, either. After a life of doing what he felt was expected of him, Swansea on the Tulpar looks out for Swansea and Swansea’s comfort. In trying to situate himself outside of the politics of it all as an older white man, he simply allows them to play out. The toxic culture keeps existing, playing out in the microcosm that is this freighter, and Swansea in all his experience recognizes that shit has hit the fan and elects to coast through it, even explicitly numbing himself to it by breaking his sobriety. It is, of course, hard to force yourself to be sober—to see clearly. But had Swansea forced himself to get involved sooner, he might have set a precedent for Daisuke to recognize Jimmy’s abuse, which could have saved Daisuke’s life as well as created a safe space for Anya. But Swansea’s inaction forces both victims to confront an abuser on their own, unable to reap benefits from his privilege and experience.

Jimmy is clearly intimidated by swansea in a way he is not by Anya, Daisuke, or a post-crash Curly (Swansea, for example, physically manifests as an aggressor in Jimmy’s “responsibility sequences”, and Jimmy ties Swansea up to avoid what he sees as the real possibility of pushback that he doesn’t conceive of Anya being able to do). Swansea has a power he does not act on or with until it is far, far too late. In fact, he acknowledges in his final monologue that he was dissatisfied with the discomfort with opening his eyes and living an exemplary “good man”s life. The best days of his life are ones in which he’s belligerently drunk—days in which he didn’t have to hold himself accountable. He regrets the life he spent performing for higher-ups and we watch him reject it by scorning Captain Jimmy, but he also doesn’t want to be held responsible for helping other people when it’s their turn to endure the expectations and violence from similar (if not the same) higher powers. Tragically, he possesses the hindsight to recognize that how he acted on the Tulpar consequently wasn’t what Daisuke needed out of a role model, leading to Daisuke becoming a victim. His hands-off approach to emotional engagement with his young male intern (another symptom of patriarchal gender norms) may have been to avoid Daisuke turning out miserable and jaded like himself, but it doesn’t actually indicate to an already-confused Daisuke what the dangers of that attitude are. Swansea never admits his own shortcomings in a tangible way which, had they come from a man with experience and prestige like himself, may have shifted that culture that failed Anya. She comes to him with the story not because he has situated himself as any earnest friend, but likely out of desperation on a ship Jimmy now controls.

When we allow “the machine” (Swansea’s own words) to beat us down to the point that we don’t find it productive to challenge unjust power dynamics, we become complicit. I think too many people get hung up on his disdain for Jimmy and Jimmy’s fear of Swansea as a marker of allyship with Anya, but the truth is that Swansea. Is a bad ally. He’s hardly one at all. His long stint in the demanding capitalist environment molded a perfectly complicit result out of him, as it aspires to do, even if Swansea bitterly recognizes that. Jimmy’s overt violence from a position of power is a different and much more brutal approach to abuse enabled by people who have been left too tired and bitter to care that he does it. A man who could’ve intimidated and even threatened Jimmy is too resigned to try until there is literally nobody but himself left to fight for, which is an attitude carefully cultivated among the lower rungs of hierarchies to keep the top safe. Swansea in particular seems very unhappy with the capitalistic, patriarchal expectations laid out for him as a father, husband, and laborer. This becomes particularly resonant when you realize the symbolism of his role as mechanic: a job that can be deeply unpersonal, tasked with keeping the ship (the machine, if you will) itself going while other roles are more focused on managing the humans inside of it (e.g. nurse, captain). His decision to just stop trying and spare himself the grief instead of questioning why those expectations exist and how they would hurt the others onboard only delays him being directly targeted by Jimmy and doesn’t interrupt the latter’s violence.

Not a single man in mouthwashing is innocent in Anya’s victimhood. This is a statement tentatively uninclusive of Daisuke, because I think the game very deliberately positions him outside of manhood through his youth and thus struggling with the concept of “fitting in” to the patriarchy. Curly, Jimmy, and Swansea all represent different failures that ultimately perpetuate Anya’s suffering and force her to defend herself and finally take her life into her own hands. A holistic analysis of rape culture in MW necessarily engages with all three of them. Only not being a friend and ally to rapists and other male abusers isn’t enough, and Swansea proves it.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Mental Illness in Anime

I saw someone say Komi Can't Communicate is the only anime they've ever seen that talks about mental illness and that's kinda sad, so for you to not end in the same boat, I've decided to put together an overview of mental illness in anime, what I'd recommend, what comes with caveats, and so on.

It's a little nebulous what "talks about mental illness" means as lots of anime depict characters who are very obviously depressed, traumatized and even suicidal (suicide will be mentioned a lot in this list, so watch out for that), but don't directly name mental illness. It is very stigmatized in Japan, even moreso than many other countries, you don't see much talk about therapy and so on.

However, naturally there are many Japanese people who are mental health advocates, and I found an interview with Makoto Kageyama, a mental health awareness advocate who volunteered at Aokigahara forest. He points out anime he feels deal with mental illness. One we'll cover fully, many of them I haven't watched:

I think the most accurate and positive portrayals I got were actually from Kiriyama Rei (March Comes in Like a Lion), Naruse Jun (The Anthem of the Heart), Miyamura Miyako (ef: A Tale of Memories), Takeya Yuki (School-Live!) and Smile (Ping Pong: The Animation)

I'm super open to suggestions for additions, and might be adding them as reblogs and under the cut.

I'll also be making a post on mental illness in manga if this post does well, which I will link here when I post it.

So I'll start:

Anime that directly discusses mental illness:

March Comes in Like a Lion- not only is the main character one of the most accurate depictions of depression I've ever seen, it's the rare anime that actually talks about counseling, showing a traumatized character attending counseling and slowly getting back on her feet.

Orange--it...certainly is about mental illness, but it's a pretty mixed/problematic one because it seems to be confused by how mental illness works at times. It centers around a character who's suicidally depressed and his friend's efforts to save him after receiving a time travel message about his future suicide. It also does mention offhand that this character was supposed to go to therapy and is skipping out at one point. But yeah, how it handles it is...not always great. It kind of gives an impression that if you try hard enough you can "fix" someone's suicidal depression. With friendship. I guess. You have been warned.

I haven't watched it in a really long time, so it might even be worse than I remember. But I'm including it bc I definitely cried and felt parts of it were very relatable when I saw it way back when. so there's some resonant stuff there.

Monster: Kind of mixed, but it's definitely notable as an anime that not only has a psychiatrist as a major character, but also shows prominent characters going to therapy and getting better. Characters go to him for alcoholism, depression, PTSD (PTSD is not named but yeah it's definitely PTSD). At one point he helps a main character recover some repressed traumatic memories.

What makes it mixed is that while several heroes definitely are mentally ill in some way, the (complex) antagonist of the series also has some sort of mental health condition , and the story is often weirdly muddled about it. At one point they make it out like he has Dissociative Identity Disorder (calling it "split personality") but then he never shows any symptoms of that and it's kind of dropped and not bought up again. He does definitely have repressed traumatic memories though, so maybe that's all they were getting at but said it very badly.

A heroic character that actually seems to have Dissociative Identity Disorder and YMMV in how it's handled and how accurate it is. It's a "the other personality is violent" one, but rather than the other personality being evil, it's. a defense mechanism, and the violence is always in self defense or defense of others..

Sort of names the problem:

My New Boss is Goofy: One of the main characters is recovering from an abusive boss, and definitely has anxiety attacks and flashbacks as a result. This is directly named as "trauma" (though much like in the West where the loan word came from, anime characters use the words to refer to minor things that aren't mental illness too. But in this case it's treated very seriously). At any rate, the entire anime is about others helping the MC slowly recover with his new boss and friends showing immense compassion for his anxiety and other problems. Here's a good article going into it!

Anime that focuses on social anxiety:

I think what stands out about Komi is that it directly says she has a communication disorder, but tons of anime focus on characters with social anxiety, and even state what the problem is directly.

Bocchi the Rock- The girl with the social anxiety is the main character and not the bland self insert guy who has a crush on her?, amazing. it lets her be a mess too? whaaat. Yeah, Bocchi does say directly she has severe social anxiety, and the series is very relatable in how it explores that. There are a lot of gags about it, but in a knowing, sympathetic way. Her recovery is realistically slow, and sometimes she backslides. She talks directly about her social anxiety, using the term.

Tsuritama: MC's social anxiety is so bad he can have panic attacks when people talk to him...the attacks are also represented in this really interesting way where they have water come in to drown him.

My Roommate is a Cat: Man dealing with social anxiety slowly recovers with the help of his cat. It's cute. Here's an article going into it!

Anime that don't namedrop mental illness directly, but really resonates:

Natsume's Book of Friends: I wrote an entire article about how relatable it is to me and my mental illness, how it uses the characters seeing yokai as metaphor for mental ilness at times (Natsume was textually mistreated by so-called guardians who thought he "wasn't right in the head" and his grandmother was often called that too) but also Natsume shows a lot of textual symptoms of trauma (possibly PTSD), depression and so on, and they're explored very poignantly. Here is my article: “The Courage to Speak”: Mental illness and recovery in Natsume’s Book of Friends

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Probably one of the most poignant explorations of what it means to be depressed and traumatized as a teenage girl. Several moments with Utena herself resonate, starting with when she was a child and declares she doesn't want to go on living, Anthy is also...dealing with a lot, and it's powerful how the show goes into it.

Neon Genesis Evangelion-- Many characters in it show symptoms of mental illness. Though it isn't named as depression directly (i think?), but Shinji shows every symptom you can think of, and the director Anno has said that he was extremely depressed while making it and channeled a lot of that into the characters, and we definitely see his mental journey for the better very strongly reflected in the reboot.

Kyousougiga: One of the main characters is suicidally depressed (this one is graphic, because he commits suicide on screen...only it turns out he can't die), and his journey towards becoming okay with living is a focus and was very resonant to me.

She and Her Cat: A short anime about a girl who definitely has depression and how her cat helps her. Rather simplistic ending but it's good otherwise. CW animal death too, but in a very gentle way.

Haibane Renmei: It deals with suicidal depression and other mental health struggles in a pretty intense way, it's touching, but if you have triggers consider looking into it.

Fruits Basket: Truly a cocktail of mental illnesses among the cast. YMMV on how it's handled but some parts really resonate. These articles go into it:

The Always Smiling Girl: How Tohru critiques toxic positivity

“A Man Who Can Experience His Feelings”: Fruits Basket, toxic masculinity, and mental health

Colorful: This is a submission from Nickyenchilada from the notes of this post: "I would also recommend the movie/novel Colorful. I think YMMV on how it handles the central issue of suicide but I think it does portray how even kids can be thrust into very complex situations without necessary outlets for coping with them."

Vinland Saga: This was an addition I got from a discord conversation, the entire second season explore the main character's PTSD

Yuri on Ice- A conversation on discord reminded me that a lot of people read Yuri as having an anxiety disorder, which I can totally see!

A Silent Voice- a submission from @boku-no-anime-phase who says: "I think it deserves its own shout out! This movie is nuanced, gentle, beautifully told and brimming with hope. I love the fact that just like in real life, things don't resolve particularly easily; but the characters make important progress that's rewarding to watch. TW for suicide discussion, ideation and attempt".

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai - From boku-no-anime-phase who says: "YMMV but there's an arc that deals with bullying and memory loss where a character who deals with those things is supported and encouraged through it".

My Happy Marriage - From boku-no-anime-phase who says: "also YMMV but I think there were some lovely moments in this where you can see Miyo beginning to heal from her trauma and abuse, and learn to trust."

Anime Feminist has a whole host of articles on mental health in anime and they're all here. It covers a lot of different anime I don't know about or didn't mention and offers a lot of cool perspectives, so check 'em out! Here's a few that stuck out to me:

Finding Inner Magic: Depression in The Ancient Magus’ Bride

(I don't like this anime's narrative due to the issue with the ending pointed out in this article, but it did have resonant moments of exploring depression).

How Clean Freak! Aoyama-kun compassionately handles mental illness

The Sound of Depression: Liminal spaces, sound design, and Super Cub

From Yandere Girlfriends to Social Anxiety: Handling mental illness in The Future Diary and A Silent Voice

Footnote on Hikikomori in anime:

Any anime that focuses on Hikikomori characters are dealing with characters that are mentally ill, as being so depressed/traumatized/agoraphobic/anxious you can't even leave your room or house is obviously not mentally healthy. But what really matters is how that’s handled and if these issues are explained, as Makoto Kageyama notes:

Usually, the most common issues I’ve seen covered is the “hikikomori phenomena” and light eating disorders. Basically, a bullied character that becomes a recluse out of social anxiety, but… The characters don’t usually get shown correctly, since their issues are not explained properly and basically it ends up with a “Hey, see? People are not that bad, we are your friends!” and “Yay, I have friends, I am cured and I can trust others again!” Which is not the case, because real hikikomori can take a lot of talk and patience to get them out and when they get back to normal society (if they do), they become very wary of others. And ironically, “hikikomori” has also been used as a “moe trait” in anime even though it’s a mental health issue.

One I saw a lot of people namedrop as handling it well when I googled around was Welcome to the NHK, though I haven't seen it. But, if you look at Nickyenchilada's take in the comments to this post, it's mentioned as being resonant and it's noted that the recovery is not an easy fix, and it's also noted that several characters in the story are mentally ill.

Bonus list:

Neurodiversity in Anime- (that don't namedrop mental illness directly, but really resonate)

I initially didn't include a neurodiversity section in this post because I honestly could not think of any anime that directly talks about neurodiversity or has a textually neurodivergent character.

(However, there are manga that actually do! I pointed some out in my Mental Illness and Neurodiversity in Manga post I did to complement this one!)

You can also read some articles about neurodiversity in anime here

And the list of characters that can simply be read as neurodivergent is huge, and if I tried to list every popular read it would be endless, plus I don't feel comfortable "diagnosing" any characters with developmental disorders I don't personally have. However, I am willing to take suggestions from others on this one, so here are a few!

Mob Psycho 100 - submitted by boku-no-anime-phase, who says " Mob is autistic and I will die on this hill; the trouble he has with fitting in, relating to others and knowing the right things to do imo stems directly from that."

Princess Jellyfish - submitted by boku-no-anime-phase, who says "I'd be willing to bet that all the women who live in that apartment are neurodivergent. They all have their special interests and they live together in mutual neurodivergent infodumping bliss and it's wonderful. (Unrelated but TW for sexual assault and some transphobia)"

Chihayafuru- submission by @noisepartythumpingmusic who says "It's never noted explicitly, but I firmly believe the main character of Chihayafuru has ADHD, which is perfect for a main character of a sports" josei. As someone who does have ADHD, I personally can totally see that read of Chihaya (the main character)!

Anti-recommendations (as in seems potentially resonant but then drop the ball hard, because if I listed all the anime that's blatantly gross about mental illness from the second the subject comes up we'd be here all day) (Dead Dove Do Not Eat)

Wonder Egg Priority: Starts out like it's going to be a nuanced exploration of recovering from abuse, suicidal depression, and so on, only to end up incredibly stupid and offensive. The writer also believes some stupid and misogynist things about "reasons" girls commit suicide. This article goes into it a little.

Your Lie In April: Depiction of depression and trauma is completely undermined by how all the characters tell the MC he needs to get over it because his talent for piano is more important, and the clumsy, gross take on forgiving your abuser, and so many other things. This article goes into it.

---

And that's it for now! Again. I might be updating this with new stuff based on feedback or me remembering something I missed, through both updates and adding stuff under the cut.