#god this was stressful to write

[dansemacabre]

i’ve been thinking about “sixer, it would eat you alive” since i read it and. man. every layer you peel back makes it worse. im not a bill apologist but. shit

if you (1) take it at face value, it paints bill as an apologetic murderer in his single (and maybe sole) open moment of regret. he doesn’t let his walls down often- only with ford do we even get to see the remnant of his galaxy, see the “actual remorse” ford describes, get just a hint of his origins. but he does it, because he thinks ford should know.

if you (2) take it from ford’s point of view, as something he committed to journal three, like. wow. imagine being so committed to a being that you’d hunt down and kill the monster that destroyed his home, only to (assumably) figure out later that that being was the monster. the small moments of trust, the “good times”, are so key to manipulation. how long did ford hold onto that one shred of vulnerability? no wonder ford stayed for as long as he did. in his eyes, bill was a survivor. ford wanted to survive too.

(slight tw below for unreality- any time i mention our reality, i mean “our reality” as a narrative device used in the book of bill as a proxy for the idea of bill being in our reality, since he can’t actually be in our reality. all of this is a fictional theory about a show/book with fictional contents!)

but if you (3) remember that “even his lies are lies” and absolutely Nothing bill says should be trusted. Whoo boy. if i read tbob right the book itself is being created in the theraprism (even tho it shows up with the ciphertologists at some point? idk that’s a whole other post). it’s meant to show what the reader wants to see; it manifests in our reality as what the collective fandom wants to see. so if we want to see truth, if we want to see where bill ended up and who he actually is, there’s a non-zero chance that the whole interaction was a complete fabrication.

imagine bill, stuck in the actively harmful, probably earth-illegal theraprism, once again being forced to be “fixed” and molded into something more palatable, being forced to conform no matter how much it hurts. (i know natural uncontrollable mutation ≠ just so much murder and destruction and chaos, but. you can’t ignore the similarities. bill has obviously been thinking about those silly straws.)

he looks back on everything that went wrong, back on his relationship with ford, back through every dimension where he wins. would that one moment, that one truth amid centuries of lies, have saved him from purgatory? if he had just been open? shown his damage? maybe he did think of his parents, or his henchmaniacs (especially the oracle). people who he might have once opened up to. maybe he just wanted to open up to someone again.

so in his own weird way, stuck in a cell, he reshaped reality again. in this reality, for this fleeting moment, he had been someone worth believing. and ford had listened, hell, ford had wanted to help. looking back, knowing how he treated ford, knowing how ford ended up because of it, maybe bill would have said the most honest thing he’d ever told ford: i am the monster, i am not worth your time or belief, and i will eat you alive.

[gingermintpepper]

There are many things people expect from one called 'God of Blood'. Always, the first thought is the blood of war, the blood of violence, the blood of the weak shed for the goals of the strong. Ares doesn't think of the blood of battle at all. When he thinks of blood, he envisions the many tied knots of blood bonds and bonds forged in the blood of battle. Blood sons and blood daughters, blood brothers and battle sisters, blood oaths and blood vengeance - he watches over them all and keeps close each one of these bonds.

One cannot begrudge his displeasure then when he realises he cannot tell Leto's offspring apart just by looking at them.

It was easier when it was just Artemis. Dark hair curled about her shoulders, a fierce mien whenever Father summons her to the mountain, a scattering of bones and blood shed whenever she was disturbed; the eldest child of Leto was a wild thing, sharp toothed with sharper claws always at the ready. There's whispers of her being a twin, of her other half being made to crawl on their belly as penance for their sin of god-slaying but Ares pays it little mind. What twins look alike among their number? Even dog litters are born distinct with all their unique markings inlaid in their fur. Artemis' twin too would be much more than their sister's mirror image.

Pouring over his list now, he wishes anything about Phoebus Apollo was that simple.

Mirror image did not begin to describe it. The twins were the same height, the same build, had the same colour and texture hair, ate the same raw food and drank the same amount of nectar. There was no difference in how they dressed, no difference in the company they kept, no variance in the weapons they used. There are some days Ares still cannot believe Phoebus will grow into a man and not some nymph with the way his ears have that slender point. He watches them now, sitting together beneath a shady palm and stringing their bows in an uncanny unison and curses because he still cannot tell them apart. What use is his skill in knowing blood when they both have the same damn blood running through their veins? What bond is there to sense when they are tied so tightly together, Ares can scarcely tell brother from sister?

He sighs. Unadorned and completely alone, the only way to know who is who is to speak to them. He'll have to find more ways to tell them apart from a distance. Surely they cannot stay this similar all the rest of their immortal lives.

[muffinlance]

Next Dark Night in Ba Sing Se part! Is! Fully outlined!

...And so is the majority of series in lesser detail because oops my hand slipped.

[feralpercy]

Poseidon's usual Fisher wardrobe (which Aphrodite still wants to burn) usually consists of the same outfit each day.

Today, he wore a clearly hand man, very blue and with fish details around the edges, jacket.

(Apollo has been eyening the jacket with slight suspicion.)

"Brother," Demeter calls. "That jacket..."

Poseidon had the gall to look smug. "Oh, this? Percy has been learning crocheting for a while now. Its a gift."

Crocheting?

Demeter, upon receiving that answer, looked very considering as she stares at the jacket.

Coincidentally, at the same time, an offering was accepted at the hearth of ollympus. Whereas Lady Hestia got a similar cloth, more of a poncho shape with red hues and flames at the edges.

Percy clearly has favourites.

(Later, Hermes finds a crocheted hat in his temple.)

[tswwwit]

Thanks to everyone for bearing with me while I did this extremely long, ridiculous project.

[fleur-a-whump]

Overloaded (#2)

late night sparks

guys guess what!! little villain guy has a name!! it’s Jasper and we love him dearly. also team leader’s got a name too, it’s Miguel, but we don’t really care about him because he’s a bitch. plus new character reveal: Chase, a teammate. he is also, unsurprisingly, a bitch.

Content: ex-villain whumpee, hero/leader whumper, manipulative whumper, collars, electrocution (for realsies this time), implied referenced abuse of a minor, referenced bullying, bad team dynamics, adult language

in which Miguel gets worse. takes place probably a few months after "preventative measures"

previous | masterlist | next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jasper's back was sore. And his arms. And his everything.

He sat kneeling on the kitchen floor, determinately ignoring the pins and needles that pricked at his calves. He couldn't stop, couldn't take a break till the floor was spotless. Chase had once again threatened some mixture of violence and telling on him to Miguel for insubordination if he didn't do the man's chores. 

Big man-child, Jasper thought bitterly.

So, here he was, scrubbing well past midnight, after having spent the day straining his powers in the lab and doing his own chores. 

Jasper sat back to indulge a long, dramatic yawn. He nearly jumps out of his skin when an impatient ahem cuts through the previously dead silent kitchen. His bleary eyes take several long moments to focus on Miguel, leaning against the doorway. The hero would look casual if it weren’t for the peeved look on his face. Jasper’s stomach does a somersault.

Sheepish, Jasper drawls, “Heyyy, Miguel…”

Miguel is not amused. “What the fuck are you doing out here,” he snaps.

Jasper squeezes his hands into fists to quell the tremors. He stutters, “J-just cleaning.”

The villain can hardly finish the statement before the unsettling and painful electricity of the collar arcs through him. His muscles seize and ache and burn and it feels like death and he can't breathe—

Just as quickly as it began, the electricity stops. He gasps and collapses to the side, just barely able to catch himself on his forearm. Small, choked-off whimpers escape him as he tries to catch his breath and keep his volume to a minimum. His father never liked to hear him whine.

Jasper continues to shudder as his powers go haywire. The typically comforting restless skittering of his own electricity under his skin now burns as it travels across the newly fried neurons. More than that, it feels wrong for such a core part of his being to cause him pain. The feeling is everywhere, from the tip of his nose to his toes, and it is everything. Little sparks and crackles of energy fly from his shaking hands as it becomes too painful to completely contain his powers. Simply existing—not to mention actually using his powers—will be painful while his body tries to recover from the unnaturally strong current, engineered just for him.

As his body gradually backs down from its state of panic, ire at the punishment surges within him. The hero didn’t even let him explain. It was Chase who ordered him to do his chores; ordered him to not leave this room until it was spotless.

“I was just following orders!” he bursts.

Oh shit.

A quick glance at Miguel and his quirked eyebrow lets him know just how badly he just fucked up. And even if it didn't, the second burst of electricity from the collar definitely spells it out for him.

A guttural groan escapes his clenched teeth as he feels the current worm its way through his neurons, igniting them. The burning, all-encompassing pain is all he knows. Spots cloud his vision. Seconds feel like minutes, feel like hours, feel like eternity, until he wonders if that's all he'll ever feel. Nothing but the gut-wrenching pain of his greatest gift, so deeply intertwined with his being, turned against him and ripping him apart from the inside out. 

And then, it stops.

Jasper’s body fully gives out this time, his chin bouncing off the tile and teeth clacking painfully. He's a pitiful mess of useless limbs. His muscles feel like jelly and yet are still forced to endure the waves of aftershock, twitching and spasming irregularly. Each movement is agony.

He gulps oxygen, having still been out of breath from the first shock. He can hardly hear his own moans and whimpers bouncing around the kitchen with each breath over the ringing in his ears, and he has zero energy to control them this time.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he can't help the delayed but violent flinch that ripples through him. But the hand is soft, gentle, as it pulls him to lie on his back. It guides his hand to rest on someone's chest, to follow as it rises and falls rhythmically. He latches onto it, using it as a guide to breathe and bring himself back to reality. Another hand gently cards through his loose curls as he works to steady his breathing and his vision clears. If he eagerly leans into the gentle touch, well, he can blame it on his delirious state.

When Miguel's face finally comes into focus above him, a shiver runs through him, and he averts his gaze. He'll blame that on his still-spasming muscles.

Miguel’s soft voice calls for his attention again. He focuses back on his leader’s face, haloed above him by the bright kitchen lights.

“There you are. You're alright, it's okay,” he soothes.

The hero lets Jasper relish the contact a moment longer before gently returning his hand to his own chest.

Jasper swallows the whimper at the loss.

Miguel lets out a long-suffering sigh. It gives Jasper whiplash how suddenly the familiar weight of anxiety settles back in his chest.

“I don't like doing that, man. You know better than to be in the common areas after your curfew, and you definitely know better than to talk back, bud. I don't wanna have to punish you, but the rules are rules for a reason. Yeah, they're to protect the team, but they're also to protect you. What if you'd had another episode with your powers?”

He decidedly doesn’t think about the ‘episodes’ Miguel is referring to. Still, the disappointment in his savior's voice hurt almost as much as the electricity. His eyes flood with tears as guilt settles like a rock in his stomach. The hero was right. He knew the rules, and he agreed to them. Anything to stay. Anything to be good.

His voice breaks, small and shaky, as he says, “I-I'm really s-sorry, Mig-guel.”

The villain’s not one hundred percent sure what exactly he's sorry for, but, fuck, is he sorry.

“Okay, that's alright, don't cry. I think you've learned your lesson. You're fine.” 

The words should be comforting. The edge to his tone, however, is not. Jasper blinks hard to clear the tears, not wanting to annoy him. That was another thing his father didn't like.

Miguel brings him back to the present, asking, “Why are you cleaning the floor anyways? That's not on your list for this week.”

Jasper swallows hard past the lump still in his throat. He’s afraid of what Chase will do to him if he tells Miguel and Miguel decides he doesn’t like that. However, he’s more “Chase s-said I should be busy all the t-time to k-keep me out of trouble…”

Miguel hums in thought, ever casual as Jasper trembles on the floor below of him. 

“I actually like that idea. We wouldn't want you getting bored. You'd be helping the team out a lot too, taking some work off our plates so we can train more. I'll work on the new chore schedule in the morning.”

Jasper bit his lip. He could read between the lines.

“A-and, my training?”

“We can reduce it some,” Miguel says, thoughtful. “I know you've been struggling to keep up.”

He makes it sound like a kindness, voice full of sympathy. No matter how gentle the tone, Jasper has to blink the tears from his eyes again. He knew he wasn't the strongest or the most capable, but that was the point of training. He'd never be good enough to redeem himself without the chance to train.

Miguel sighs again and stands. He suddenly reaches towards him. Jasper has to carefully control the urge to flinch, not knowing what to expect from the movement. He never knows what to expect.

Miguel simply holds it out towards him, however, expectantly. It takes Jasper a moment to realize he's trying to help him up. He takes the hand after that moment's hesitation and wavers on unsteady feet as the blood finally rushes back into his legs. He blinks spots from his vision, gripping Miguel for dear life until he's sure he's not going to pass out.

The hero gives him an easy smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder just a bit too hard. He nudges him in the direction of the bedrooms.

“You look tired, man. I think it's time for bed,” he all but coos.

It sounds like a caring gesture, or at the very least a joke. Jasper knows it's an order.

He dutifully mumbles, “Goodnight,” before making his way to the door slowly. He knows he probably looks like a newborn fawn as his jittery body tries to carry him to his bed.

“And Jasper?”

A slight jolt of anxiety stops him as he turns back to his leader.

“If I catch you out past curfew again, we're going to have an issue worth more than a little jolt, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the villain says, too tired to bite back the honorific once totally engrained in him.

He doesn't notice the way Miguel preens at the submission.

“Attaboy, Jasper. Goodnight.”

The praise rings hollow after the night's events, but as he makes his way back to his room, dead on his feet, he allows the praise to warm him. 

He'll take what he can get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

jasper doesn't deserve this :( but he will get more >:)

tags!! lmk if you wanna be added (or removed, I added some extra people)!!

@whumpsday

@sergeant-jasper (yo i didn't even realize lol)

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@crystalrose141

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety

@paingoes

@elizaisnotokay

@quaggasus

[lorax-devito]

Okay but imagine Mike trying to flirt with Will but he has no idea how to bc he basically just kissed El and then she liked him

I mean the girl was okay with them having a sibling relationship ffs

anyway Mike knows he can’t just kiss Will and it’s all said and done so he try’s to flirt with him,it’s horrifying

Will is so confused bc why is his best friend suddenly so interested in going everywhere with him and not El,who keeps pulling him aside with a few of the others as they giggle and Mike goes bright red,it’s weird to him that they aren’t making out constantly like the last time he saw them as a couple especially since they said I love you to each other,I mean that one of the most romantic things to happen to a couple right,they should be all over each other

(I like to head canon that El would force Mike to flirt with Will along with several of the others,Dustin Lucas,Steve and Robin possibly and Nancy and Mike hates it bc it’s so embarrassing but I also like the idea that Mike has this internal conflict and is suffering trying to figure out how the actual fuck he is supposed to seduce William Bylers,his best friend and the most amazing person he has ever known)

basically Mike try’s to flirt with Will using really embarrassing tactics and Wills just like ‘ummm ok you do you ig but the worlds ending and your acting super weird so do you wanna talk about it or….’ and Mike just realised that Will loves him

him

He fell in love with him,the nerdy dnd obsessed geek bc Will is also a dnd obsessed geek and he is just himself just without the internalised homophobia (so s1 and 2 Mike) and then fast forward to love confession and Byler kiss

I can’t physically wait for s5 bc how the flying fuck are the duffers going to make Byler canon bc there are so many ways I can’t decide😭😭😭

[fromtheseventhhell]

Imagine being 9 years old and asking your dad about the things you're interested in doing when you grow up and he's like "No ❤️! But you can get married, have babies, and then maybe your sons can do those things ☺️🫶 "

[dogrocks]

not to talk about warrior cats again but i wanna bring up how nightcloud and breezepelt are often portrayed yelling at crowfeather during that one gathering scene, when in the book it went like this

this is the only time they’re mentioned during that whole scene, and while their reactions are sort of vague it can easily be read as them siding WITH him instead of being angry at him. and yet they’re often shown hissing and towering over him as he cowers. i wonder why that is

[blueskittlesart]

cold fruit in a hot kitchen (so i had this great watermelon last weekend)

[shellem15]

Thinking about the Dawnfather. A god of light, a god of harvest, a god of the sun itself. Good but not nice, kind but not soft. Life-giving but also scorching. Protective, warm, and kind, but also stern, harsh, and abrasive. His light can foster growth, can protect and guide, but it can also scorch and burn. The sun is warm and nurturing but don’t stare at it too long, child, it’ll blind you.

Was he always so hard? Did he always hide his face with the harsh light of the sun? Or was there a time when he smiled and laughed, let others see him as he truly was?

Thinking about the Schism. Was the Dawnfather close to the Betrayer Gods before they turned? He must have been, Asmodeus wouldn’t be so hung up on him if he wasn’t. Speaking of Asmodeus, he was once a being of light, like the Dawnfather and the Everlight are now. Were they closer than the others? When the Gods came to Exandria, did they come from the same place or were they scattered, a ragtag group of survivors fleeing from predators seeking to devour them? And if the latter is true, did these three beings of light come from the same place? Siblings, born from the same stuff, forever tied to one another?

If this was the case, then, what was their relationship before the Schism? Did they call each other “Brother” and “Sister”? Did they hold each other when they were scared, dry each other’s tears, laugh and joke and tease and fight and make up because they were siblings and they’d always be together, and they loved each other with every fiber of their being and they only had each other. When Predathos came, when it devoured two of their newfound siblings, did the Dawnfather hold them both and promise them that everything was going to be okay because he was their brother and he was going to protect them, all of them. The gods, mortals, the world itself, they would not be devoured, they would not be destroyed, because he was there and would fight until his very last breath to keep them safe.

Wondering then, was that the moment when Asmodeus truly grew to hate their creations? Seeing his brother and sister and siblings risk their lives just to protect some mewling mortal wretches when they could just leave it all behind and start somewhere new. Was that the moment when he realized that mortals had done something to them, changed them when they were not supposed to change. Why else would they risk being devoured by Predathos, why else would they suffer through war with the Primordials? Why else would they choose them over him!? Was this the moment when he decided to conspire with the Primordials and the other Betrayer Gods? To destroy this world and the mortals on it so they could finally leave. And they would leave, of course, because the Dawnfather was his brother and the Everlight was his sister and the Gods were a family, and at the end of the day, they would always be together, and once the corrupting influence of those mortals was gone, they would surely all see reason.

And when the Dawnfather discovered this betrayal, when all the Prime Deities did, he must have been furious. How could they!? His kin, his brother, who had always been by his side through everything, how could they turn around and destroy their creations, their children. And so he and the other Primes took up arms and fought against their own family to protect this world they had created, and their children who inhabited it. Those battles must have been brutal, bonds of comradery broken, kin clashing against kin, screaming curses as they tore each other apart.

During those final battles of the Schism, when the Dawnfather clashed against Asmodeus, did they scream at each other in rage? A twisted reflection of previous squabbles, different because this time it was real, this time there is no forgiveness, no making up. When the Dawnfather knocked Asmodeus down, crushed his throat under his foot and banished him to the Hells, was he yelling when he disowned him? Or was he quiet when he did it, his voice going into a low growl, deadly calm as he told him that he was not his brother anymore. And moments previously, when the Dawnfather could have easily killed him, did he look into Asmodeus’s eyes and see his brother? Scared and hurt by his hands, hands that once held him and swore to protect him. In that moment, did the Dawnfather realize he couldn’t kill him? Because that was his brother and despite everything, he still loved him, and hurting him brought him more grief and pain than he could ever imagine. So instead, he banished him, locked him and all the other Betrayers away because he and the other Primes couldn’t bring themselves to kill their family, but they also couldn’t let them free.

Was this when the Dawnfather obscured his face? Hardened his heart because otherwise he would break, and he cannot break, because the other gods need him to be strong, because Exandria needs him to be strong. And so he stayed strong, despite the grief, despite the guilt, despite the pain of heartbreak, of hurting the ones he loved to protect the ones he loved. And this hardening must have continued, running himself ragged during Calamity, beating back Tharizdun, protecting Ioun after she almost died, sheltering the Everlight after Asmodeus once again betrayed her, stabbed her in the back and left her broken and weak when all she wanted was to do was get her brother back, to save him from his own wrath. Failure after failure after failure to protect those he cared about, to protect his siblings and mortals and Exandria itself. The guilt of his failures must be overwhelming, and these are his failures: Predathos devoured his siblings under his watch, his siblings betrayed them under his watch, Calamity ravaged Exandria under his watch, and even now, the threat of Predathos has once again returned under his watch.

No wonder he is so harsh now, so controlling now: because every time he has failed in his vigilance the world has suffered for it. He can’t fail again; he can’t lose any more siblings. And so, he continues hardening his heart, continues fighting, because the sun must always rise again in the morning, no matter what.

[dukeofthomas]

"Angry robin" "violent robin" "misbehaving robin" shut up and accept my alternative; spunky Robin. Determined and head strong, can out-stubborn the Batman, has a strong moral-backbone and does what he thinks is right regardless of what anybody else says, Robin. Jason who was sassy and quippy and made crude jokes with a smile on his face. Jason who hid in Bruce's cape and whispered gossip to him. Jason who, if Bruce refused him something, could keep bothering endlessly until Bruce caved. And also dramatic Jason. If Bruce tells him no, it becomes a whole theatrical show; a monologue, a narration, embellishments, and falling onto the floor in his grief upon the fact his cruel father has denied him once again.

(Jason who has suffered through abuse and homelessness and poverty and starvation, who is the Fight out of Fight or Flight, who's built up defenses and walls and when pushed and triggered responds with the thing that's always protected him; anger. He's sweet and kind and funny, and when he sees a pimp hitting a prostitute he gets furious and responds with violence.)

[exmotranny]

the green carpet scratches at your pink heels. bile rises in your throat.

they talk about womanhood- but it’s not quite right. there is the pink and compliments and talk of boys

i am a beloved daughter

but there is also something else. it digs at your flesh, it feasts on your skin. your mother motions at your chest, bigger than hers and you're not even done growing yet! how lucky.

of heavenly parents

you pray to a man every night, finish it in another’s name. on your knees. you were sent a shady link as a kid. the woman on her knees, tears streaming out of her eyes, i don't want this, she said

with a divine nature and eternal destiny

blood on the inside of your underwear. you were told this meant you were a woman now. you were ten years old. what the fuck did you know about being a woman? your mom said you weren’t allowed to touch between your legs, but it's normal to want to. you didn't know what that meant, either.

as a disciple of jesus christ,

you wanted to be desired. you daydreamed of being the trophy for boys around you, of claiming that role one day as a wife. you came from a long line of women married young. you don’t know their names, but you were taught about their husbands in church.

i strive to become like him.

pressing your breasts down as much as possible, trying to give the illusion of a flat chest. badly cropped jpgs of jesus photoshopped to have top surgery scars are the secret currency you pay to get past the hours of church. you hold them like diamonds.

i seek and act upon personal revelation

you thought god was talking to you. you almost threw away everything you owned. you thought you were a prophet. total fuckin’ ego death! holy shit! god speaks through me!

and minister to others in his holy name

and then the next morning. when your faith crashed, when moroni abandoned you, did it feel unreal to you too, joseph?

i will stand as a witness of god

oh god, no. please. i don’t know what’s real anymore.

at all times

leg hair peeking from under your pretty sunday dress. they all stare. you ignore them and open up to D&C 132.

and in all things

emma, did you love him to the end? i don’t think you wanted him. did you watch as he married a 14 year old? did you tell him you burned the commandment? did you cry when he died for the church that he loved more than he loved you?

and in all places.

blood on the floor of carthage jail. this martyr will be remembered forever. do they talk about you, emma? or are you just joseph’s wife?

as i strive to qualify for exaltation,

when i marry, my husband will be a god, and i shall cleave onto him. when i marry, i will go to his universe and bear more of his children.

i cherish the gift of repentance

heads bowed low as the sacrament is passed. my hands clutch onto the bottom of my skirt. pleasure outside celestial marriage is forbidden. i apologize for loving the wrong way.

and seek to improve each day

i tried to kill myself, last time i got home from girl’s camp. i got home and cried and found the pills and shoved them into my mouth until i cried more and more until i was gagging. i hunched over the toilet. my hands on the grimy floor.

with faith, i will

forced to sing in front of the congregation. my head spun from anxiety. my stomach turned with nausea.

strengthen my home and family,

loving wife beautiful kids loyal husband church once a week work weekdays weekend mom monthly round on the business end of his cock forever and the vomit threatens to make an appearance.

make and keep sacred covenants,

an old man is in a room alone with me. he asks me if i masturbate.

and receive the ordinances and blessings

i tell the man no. i receive a card so i can be ordained.

of the holy temple.

that's just how it goes, isn't it?

all around are paintings of god and jesus. we learned about heavenly mother. why don’t i see her in paintings? did god have plural marriages? did heavenly mother make us? why don’t we pray to her? did she watch god marry a 14 year old? did she cover her eyes? when she saw blood on her underwear, was she told she was a woman? did she touch between her legs? did she ever believe herself better than god? does she cry when she cant talk to us? why do i cry? was heavenly mother scared of singing in public and did she press her chest flat and did she cry when god forced himself into her mouth? did she burn his doctrine too?

i am given flowers on mother’s day. i will be one eventually, after all. and i vomit in the church bathroom quietly like the perfect woman i am supposed to be.

[blu3-j]

Jewelry & Puppy Eyes

Jewelry Wearing! Reader x Wally

Tw: none

(Alright, side note, I’m making it so Barnaby occasionally calls you teacup in any fanfics he’s in now. Yes, they are a breed of dog. So tiny. So adorable. Just like you!)

Oooh, Wally likes you~! And during one of your walks with your best friend, you drop a ring! Wally reaches down for it and attempts to hand it to you—but what’s this? Julie and Sally notice?! Oh, my! What hijinks are going to occur next?

It was another sunny, peaceful day. Originally, you had planned to stay at home all day and work on your latest hobby. However, soon after Eddie popped by early in the morning with your mail in hand, Wally appeared knocking at your door with a picnic basket in hand. He was such an early bird on some days, and today seemed to be one of them.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Wally chirped in his monotone voice. You were embarrassed, to say the least, that Wally was seeing you in such a state. You weren’t much of a morning person, only having woken up about 10 minutes ago to answer Eddie’s knock. Your hair was tangled, clothes disheveled, and the ghost line of drool that had dribbled down your chin while you were asleep had yet to be wiped off yet. Wally observed your appearance for a moment, looking up and down, before he continued. “Oh, did I come too early?” Blush dusted your cheeks, and you chuckled, mumbling a sheepish “yeah.” He held the basket in front of him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I got a bit too excited to see you.” His robotic laughter filled the morning. “I wanted to give you this.” He handed you the basket excitedly. Upon peeking inside, there were a few flowers, and a small painting of a flower field. “I saw that flower field, and the flowers reminded me of you!” His posture straightened a little as his smile widened. “Oh, I wanted to ask you if you’ll accompany me later on a walk. Would you like to?”

A small rush of energy flowed through you, and you eagerly nodded. You had to guess you’ll find time later to work on your hobbies. At least you didn’t have to worry about bills in this new world. Or taxes. Or worry about paying for groceries at the store with anything except gossip, stories, crafts, and jokes. Money was no issue, it wasn’t even really a concept in this neighborhood.

The little yellow puppet rolled on his feet as he stared up at you. You watched as his pupils grew a small moment. It was something that happened often, especially when he was around you. The two of you had grown close over the time you’ve been here, and although it took a while, you eventually began to get used to his little quirks. Eating with his eyes, his pupils able to grow and shrink, his staring, and even his strange ability to completely shroud his face in darkness except for his eyes no matter what lighting he was in. You barely even took notice of how monotone his voice and laughter are anymore. They were all normal to you by now. Some of it was even considered a bit endearing, in a strange way. You still remember what Barnaby had taught you what some of it meant.

“Barnaby?” The large dog looked down to you before pulling his pipe out of his mouth.

“What’s up, teacup?”

“I’ve noticed Wally’s eyes sometimes grow. What does that mean?”

His mouth curled up a smidge. “Well, that could mean many things,” he started. “It could mean that he’s eaten something, it could mean that he’s happy, or sometimes it could mean that whoever he’s looking at with ‘em is someone he really adores.” His belly rumbled with soft laughter as he looked to you in the corner of his eye. “Maybe my little buddy has someone he really likes.” He shrugged, looking away and putting his pipe back to his mouth and puffing. “Or maybe he just really likes food. I don’t blame the little guy.” He hummed, putting a paw to his chin. “A hot dog sounds really good right now. What do ya say, teacup? Wanna go get a hot dog? My treat!”

“Great!” Wally responded. You two took a minute to find a time, eventually settling on a few hours from now to let you wake up and get ready. He walked off blowing you an air kiss goodbye, and you found yourself blowing one back. Air kisses were something he had begun doing weeks ago, and he used it for many things. Excitement, adoration, hellos, goodbyes, and everything in between. After a few days, you decided to begin doing it back, knowing he was just excited to know something new and didn’t mean anything more to it. Even after he found out through some of the others that it was only reserved for special people and situations, he still kept doing it to you, and you to him. It was like your secret handshake.

The door clicked closed and you decided to take the time to get ready to face the day. Breakfast was quickly made, a shower was taken, and a colorful outfit was put on. A few of the others had all gotten together soon after you arrived to make you some colorful and unique clothing pieces as a “Welcome home” gift. Finally, you reached over to a shelf in your closet with your jewelry. Some rainbow clip-on earrings, your friendship bracelets Sally, Julie, Frank, and Eddie made you, and a ring. Frank was the most hesitant to give you his friendship bracelet he made for you, saying it was Julie’s idea, but you could tell through his eyes he loved seeing you wear it as much as the others did with theirs.

Right on time, a knock rapped through the door. Walking down the stairs, you saw through the window in your living room it was Wally. He glanced through the window and made eye contact with you as you walked down and waved. With a smile, you opened the door to him.

“Hello, again!” He piped. Then he held out his hand for you to take. You greeted him back and took his hand, leaving the house and closing the door after you. Wally liked holding people’s hands, but held his best friends’ hands the most.

The walk was calming and filled with joyous energy. The birds chirped song off in the distant woods, the other neighbors cheerfully went about their daily activities, occasionally greeting the two of you as they passed by, and the sky was clear and blue as day. Even the barely noticeable music—which was something extremely unexpected but normal here—was laid back and casual. The two of you occasionally struck conversation as you walked, with mainly you doing most of the talking while Wally gladly stared and listened.

Then you felt something slip from your finger. Oh no! Your ring! Wally was quick to notice, and let go of your hand to crouch down. He gingerly picked it up and held it up to you. You couldn’t help but smile and reach out for it when—

GASP!

Julie and Sally’s gasps were made obvious to you. Glancing over, the two girls had dropped all of the stage props they had been carrying and were staring with wide eyes at the scene in front of them. Oh, no. Julie held her face with her hands and Sally held closed fists towards the front of her face while their smiles grew and eyes began to sparkle. The quiet squeals from the two was what finally caught Wally’s attention. He looked to them, then back at you, to them, and finally settled on you. A small wrinkle appeared on his forehead, and he held up the ring to you once more.

“Oh my gosh! Wally are you proposing to Y/N?!” Sally exclaimed.

“Y/N, are you going to say yes?!” Julie continued.

“Are you two going to get married??!!” The two finished in unison.

You stammered back a step as your face flashed hot. “W-what?! No!” You looked down to Wally in desperation. But he only stared back at you. “I’m not going to marry you!” A chuckle escaped your lips as you continued, holding a hand to your face in exasperation. “We haven’t even gone on a single date, and I require a romantic relationship to last at least a few years before I even consider saying yes to that question! Wally’s not going to be my husband, you two.” You put your hands to your hips and glanced at the pair before noticing something in the corner of your eye. Wally’s pupils grew.

You spoke before you could even think of an answer. “Wally,” you deadpanned. “I’m not going to marry you.” His pupils continued to grow a tiny smidge and he widened his eyes so they shined in the sunlight, a small additional blush forming on his cheeks. Finally, he tilted his head cutely to the side. His puppy dog face. The same exact one Barnaby had taught him a while back—and a face you could almost never say no to. You tried everything you could. You tried to look away, you tried to ignore him, you even tried to wait it out until he gave up. But in the end, you couldn’t resist those adorable eyes.

You sighed. “Alright,” you slowly began. You thought for a moment to carefully decide your next words. “I’ll call you my husband on one of two conditions. One, you take me on a date. If it goes well, and we become a couple, wait a few years, and then you can ask and I may say yes. Two, we stay as friends, and I’ll call you my platonic husband.” His pupils grew even more, and he finally stood from his previous crouching position.

The girls watched in anticipation.

Romantic Option:

He stood up and gently grabbed your hand, putting the ring in your palm. But he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Okay!” He chirped. “Y/N…” For the first time, he looked away while he was talking to you. Only for a moment, though. “Will…” He hesitated. “Will you allow me to accompany you on a date?”

You sharply inhaled, and your face felt as if it was on fire. It most probably looked like you had been sunburned by now, you figured. Suddenly, it all made sense. The air kisses, the hand holding, the pupil growing, even the occasional gifts. Some he did with only you, or he did the most only when you were around. Even Barnaby hinted at it! Does that mean the others knew, too? Or was it just speculation? How did you never notice? How did you never put all the puzzle pieces together?

Wally continued to stare with anticipation, and tilted his head. You ignored the girls to the side as you stared back into his eyes.

He’s fun to be around, he’s patient, kind, compassionate, and while he may not always have thoughts behind those eyes of his, he’s always doing his best to understand and learn. And if you said no, then he most likely wouldn’t mind, and he wouldn’t push you on the matter any further.

What’s the harm in saying yes?

Time skip forward a few years, and there the two of you were. Happy and in love. You eventually moved in with Wally, and Home welcomed you with open doors. The two of you had done many things together. Painting, going on lovely picnic dates or dinner dates with romantic candles, hiking into the woods to look for a new wonder, slow-danced to love songs late into the evening, and cuddled close during movies and plays. It almost felt like a dream. Sure, the two of you had arguments like any other couple, and it wasn’t always rainbows and clear skies for the two of you, but you were happy, caring for each other, and still in love by the end.

The hill was steep, but it was no match to the two of you. You had walked up worse. Right at the top, Wally laid down a blanket and you set the basket to the side. The two of you talked away as you laid on the ground and gazed up at the clouds for hours. Finally, you noticed the orange and pink streaks in the sky. The day was already ending. As you looked back to Wally, he was no longer in the spot next to you. You got up and looked around, deciding to look behind the tree the two of you had set up your picnic next to. But he wasn’t there.

Then you turned around.

And there he was; on one knee, holding a small colorful box in his hands. You could see the streaks in the sky in his eyes. Your vision began to blur. Things were quiet. Nothing needed to be said. No fancy words, no extra loving gestures, just you and him on this quiet peaceful evening. Just like the first date he took you on. With the same look he gave you on the first day you met. The day he first asked you on a date.

“Will you?”

A hiccup escaped your breath. “Yes.”

Platonic Option:

He stood up and gently grabbed your hand, putting the ring in your palm. But he didn’t let go of your hand.

“That sounds nice.” His eyes closed halfway back to their normal half-lidded state. “Platonic husband. What is that?” His free hand reached for his chin.

“Uh, well,” you stammered out. “It’s basically where we’re still friends, but we have a special title for each other now. Kind of like a nickname. But it’s important that platonic is mentioned in the name. At least, until everyone knows what we mean by it. Platonic means that we’re friends, and nothing more.”

Wally hummed and nodded. “Can I be your platonic husband?”

“Sure, Wally.” A fond smile rested on your face.

Then you remembered the girls. Or more like they finally spoke up from being so silent. “Oh, oh! We should put together a platonic marriage!” Julie exclaimed. Before you could get another word in, Sally agreed and the two of them were dragging you and Wally off to plan the silly ceremony.

In the end, it was as dramatic and fancy as it could possibly get. Sally of course was the wedding officiant, with Julie being the flower girl. Barnaby was the best man, and Julie was also the maid of honor. It was nothing more than platonic, and everyone knew it, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t yours and Wally’s special day. The setup looked as if it was out of a fairytale, and your outfits fit the setting. The ceremony went by quick, and you two even got to do typical wedding ceremony activities. You two ran down the aisle as everyone threw petals and confetti, you tossed a bouquet Julie had made just for you, you got to cut the first slice of cake, and you had an eventful after-party that lasted until sundown; filled with games, dancing, comedy acts, and more. You all ended it off with a sleepover at Julie’s house.

Photos of the event were kept dear to each of the neighbors, but especially for you and Wally. A photo of the two of you hung on a wall framed in both your homes. Truly, a day to never forget.

[redo-rewind-if]

o(*^▽^*)┛Hello friends! Here's this week's report for you!

Next Update (Chapter 4):

Opening: 100%

Avoid August/Confront Him: 95%

A Normal Day at Work: 0%

You Can Fix This, Right? 🤡: 0%

Keep Your Friends Close...: 0%

Avoidant Route: 0%

The Avoid/Confront path is nearly done! I have a few sections to finish up but otherwise it's all good to go. Ended up with more variant paths than I originally planned for, as per usual lol.

I'm very excited to start on the next part, but I do foresee it taking me some time to finish since there's going to be a (potential) time loop MC can get stuck in. Oh well, guess we'll just have to wait and see.

[nshtn]

Currently obsessed with creep ed and I've been obsessed with your blog for forever!!😋

Does creep ed show physical affection and how?

ohhhh anon wish you'd show your face so I can plant a big kiss on it... aww geez...

tw kidnapping, being bound, psychological trauma, edward's inherent C-PTSD, suggestive

He absolutely adores physical affection from one person and one person only.

You.

Even then, he's very sneaky and underhanded about it; it's very frightening to have the man who has imprisoned you lift you up and haul you into his lap for Crossword Time. It probably phased you something awful when he first nabbed you, but after the days have ticked into months, your resolve has worn from fur-thick to needle-thin - especially when you see how sad and lonely he is, how every non-hostile reaction he could have is some mental or physical portrayal of cowering in fear of being hit if it isn't a rhetorical battering ram. You may have sat their listlessly before or squirmed around, but now... you just keep guessing what word is next.

You can't tell if you're tricking yourself into thinking it's pleasant anymore or you're simply unwilling to imagine how insane you've become to enjoy spending time with your captor. Maybe you're sick... maybe you're sick, too.

This is The Riddler. What does that make you?

Anyways, one of his favored methods of sleeping when you are pliant and tolerant of him - or simply guilted by his lonesome sobbing - is with you nestled into his chest, his hands guiding themselves through your soothing locks well into the first pivots of dawn. You're like water, you know? You're so... clear, and tangible, bright and clean.

He makes sure you're clean.

He loves to brush your hair, to touch your eyebrows, to pet you and wash you and dry you and hold you. He is made content by you, whole in your arms, delivered from evil by your comforts. You are his creature comfort, you are what he dreams of coming home to whenever he is away.

In another universe, perhaps he is granted reprieve and you are domestic partners.

Edward projects a lot of his traumas onto yours, overlays them until the lines are blurry; he cares for you to stitch and sow your heart just right, though he must keep you bird-in-cage to stop them from tearing out.

You can never know the extent of this, for he fears that knowledge is power and power will be used to the exploits of your escape; it is all he knows. This city's sickening, endless underbelly is full of canary bones. To lose you would be to lose the vestiges of his sanity and his anchor to reality.

That would end his life.

You are linked now, woven like sweetgrass. There is no escape for you. You will be loved as you should have been, you will be wanted and cherished, and not a day will pass that you will go undesired. This is Edward's love; it is obsession, and need, and it is corrupted from a once-pure source long dead, awakened by you too late and without your input.

He is beyond saving, but you prolong him.

He hopes you forgive him.

He hopes he will be visible to you even when he is gone.

He often trades your touch for monetary wants. You want a certain food? You can trade in anything from a quick snuggle to hours of oddly sensual cuddling and the occasional sniff, arms and legs mixing into a pile of limbs.

Sometimes you're bound. That makes Edward flush a little when he holds you. That makes you flush a lot when you are held by him. His wind-up laughter will giggle delicately, feigning ignorance, pressing into you.

It's very hard to object when you're secretly flattered and mortified at your own reaction, and the person who is holding you has memorized your reactions before you were even relocated into his care. He's like a top private investigator, preying on you to pry into you. There is nothing your body warmth hides. He becomes very adventurous when you react like that, testing how far you'll let him roam. It's all wrapped up into a package not as shy as it should be, considering your power level in relation to his own, especially considering his status. The reality is that he has no ego of his own to bloviate, so you only need to worry about how far someone who perceives their actions as actions of service will go when your reactions are a gleaming green.

You cannot deny that you have never stopped him, and it has not been out of fear of any sort of consequence.

There is something so privately alluring about having the attentions of an invisible genius, someone who has delved twenty pages deep into your Google, someone who swiped all your history, who knows your passwords, who could single-handedly dominate the authorhood of a Wikipedia article about you...

You must be very careful, though, because letting him dig his roots into you will change the concept of your being entirely; letting him get too handsy will result in furthering his addiction and altering how he perceives your physical boundaries. You won't get a moment of peace, he's a physical learner. He'll keep wandering and wandering until you're situationshipping.