#i need them to exist outside of them for that to happen

[heliosunny]

Hello, I really like your work with yandere characters! Your fanfic with the Crown Prince!Phainon holds a special place for me. But hey, listen! What about reader x self-aware!Phainon? Like, at some point he realized that he was in the game and decided to drag reader to him, because he has more power and influence in the game than outside it. It would be interesting, I think.

Entwined Realities

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The Astral Express charted a course for its next destination: Amphoreus. You leaned forward, staring at the planet. "Woah, it's in the shape of an '8'". you mused, watching as the endless loops of landmasses interwove like an infinity symbol suspended in space.

Before long, events unfolded that led you to land on its surface with Dan Heng. The Eternal Land, as it was called, had a mysterious aura about it, a strange balance between old traditions and futuristic advancements.

You then met: Phainon, a strikingly tall and well-built warrior with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes, carried himself with an easy confidence. Alongside him was Tribbie, a young girl with elf ears, fair skin, and red, fluffy hair.

Just as you began to explore Amphoreus further, an unmistakable growl escaped from your stomach. With a sigh, you reached for your controller, pausing the game before ultimately deciding to turn it off. The screen faded to black, and you stretched, rubbing your eyes after hours of playing. You needed food before diving back in.

------

As you turned away, a flicker of amusement in his expression as he folded his arms. "Huh. Strange."

Tribbie tilted her head. "What is?"

"That one. They left so abruptly. Like... they just stopped being here." Phainon’s fingers tapped absently against his bicep, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you had stood moments ago.

Tribbie let out a chuckle. "I didn't feel a thing. You overthink again."

Phainon had met many warriors, countless travelers—but something about you lingered. It was subtle, like an itch at the edge of his perception. The way your movements never faltered, the way events seemed to bend slightly in your favor. It was as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate you.

A faint sensation prickled at his skin, almost like the world had momentarily held its breath.

Then—nothing. The streets bustled as usual, the city carried on. But Phainon felt it. A small void, an absence of presence that shouldn’t have been possible. He turned his head slightly, scanning his surroundings, yet everything remained as it should be.

"They’re gone" he murmured, uncertainty crossing his face.

Tribbie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Phainon hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. "No...nothing."

And yet, something inside him whispered otherwise. It wasn’t just departure, it was severance, like a thread cut from the loom of existence. He had never felt that before. A warrior’s instinct was to trust his senses, but this? This was something else entirely.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled.

"I’ll figure out what makes them different."

Phainon frowned slightly, shifting his weight. A flicker of something unfamiliar coursed through him—a stray thought, an intrusive notion that he should not have been able to form.

Moments ago, everything had followed its usual rhythm: scripted interactions, predetermined movements, and a world that operated within set boundaries. Yet, the moment you vanished, something inside him had... fractured.

He had been left standing there, conscious yet purposeless, aware of the passage of time in a way he had never been before. The NPCs around him continued their routines, oblivious, unchanging. But he had stood there—waiting.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tested it, moving a hand before his eyes, clenching his fingers experimentally. He had never thought to do something like this before unless it was dictated by his programming.

Phainon took a slow step forward, the weight of his body feeling more real than it ever had. He wasn’t just responding to a command. He was moving because he chose to.

And then it hit him—

This world wasn’t real.

------

After satisfying your hunger, you returned to your seat, powering the game console back on. The familiar start-up screen flickered to life, and soon, you were back on Amphoreus. NPCs and traders greeted you once more. Everything seemed as you left it.

Yet, something felt... off.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first. As you navigated through the streets, looking for Phainon and Tribbie, an uneasy sensation settled in your chest.

Phainon stood where you had last left him, but his posture had changed. Before, he had been at ease, arms crossed with a confident smirk. Now, he was staring—directly at you. Not in the way other characters typically would, waiting for a scripted interaction, but as if he knew something. As if he had been waiting for you.

His blue eyes, once filled with warmth and bravado, now carried something else. Awareness.

"You're back" Phainon said.

The usual text box didn't immediately appear. The game hadn’t prompted you with dialogue choices yet, and that alone sent a chill down your spine.

Something had changed.

A glitch rippled across the screen. The colors warped, pixels distorting into a fractured mess before stabilizing. Your hands tensed around the controller as the screen darkened for a brief second.

And then Phainon moved.

Not in the way the game intended. Not within the smooth animations you'd seen before. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the screen. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"You're not supposed to leave" he murmured, his voice reaching beyond the game, beyond the barrier of the screen.

Your fingers hovered over the buttons, your heart pounding. This wasn’t a scripted event.

Phainon lifted his hand—toward you.

The screen flickered again. Your vision swam. A sharp pull yanked at your chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around you, dragging you forward. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an abyss of light and static.

The last thing you heard before everything turned black was Phainon's voice, quiet yet victorious.

"Now… let’s fix this together."

A dull ache settled in your head as you slowly regained consciousness. The air was still, almost too quiet, and a faint glow illuminated the space around you. Blinking away the haze, you pushed yourself upright, your fingers brushing against smooth fabric. It took a moment for you to process that you were no longer sitting in your usual gaming chair but instead sprawled across a bed in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through you as your hands instinctively patted your body. Your clothes—these were the same ones you had been wearing at home. Not some in-game avatar outfit, not armor or robes, but your regular, comfortable attire. A lump formed in your throat.

Where were you?

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood cautiously. The floor was solid beneath your feet, the air carried a faint, artificial warmth, and there was an unsettling sense of sterility. The room itself was furnished simply—stone walls, a sturdy desk in the corner, and a single window covered by thick curtains. No personal belongings, no obvious signs of anyone else nearby.

You took a cautious step toward the door, pressing your ear against it. Nothing. Not a single sound outside. It was eerily silent, as if the entire world had been muted. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned got outside. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching in either direction like an empty, endless corridor.

With careful, measured steps, you crept forward. The walls bore unfamiliar insignias, ones you had seen before but couldn’t quite place. Each step only heightened the gnawing sense of wrongness, a creeping realization tickling at the back of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

This place, the architecture, the symbols, the very atmosphere surrounding you—wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It was from the game.

This had to be a dream, some kind of delusion. But everything felt too real—the texture of the wood beneath your fingers, the faint hum of distant energy pulsing through the walls.

You weren’t just playing game anymore.

You were inside it.

Phainon rushed into the room, his usually confident expression faltering as he found the space empty. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you, before he quickly turned on his heel and made his way outside.

He found you not far from the building, standing frozen in the street, your wide eyes taking in the impossible surroundings. Without hesitation, he strode toward you, his grip firm yet careful as he took your wrist. "You shouldn’t be wandering around like this" he said, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Come with me."

Before you could protest, he guided you toward a nearby marketplace, bustling with figures in elaborate outfits that contrasted starkly against your ordinary attire. Phainon barely slowed as he led you toward a tailor’s shop, his grip loosening only when he stood before the merchant. "They need something more suitable" he stated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated, glancing down at your familiar clothes before finally voicing the thought that had been gnawing at you. "Phainon… how do I get back home?"

The weight of Phainon’s stare bore down on you.

"You’re not going home" he said.

"What?"

"I brought you here for a reason." He took a step closer, and instinctively, you stepped back. "You don’t belong in that world anymore. This is where you are now. With me."

"No. This isn’t real. This is just some glitch, right? I’ll find a way back." You clenched your fists. "I’m leaving."

Phainon exhaled, almost amused, almost pitying. "You think you have control?"

Your fingers curled tighter as panic surged through you. Desperation overruled fear as you focused, feeling the familiar weight of the baseball bat materializing in your grip. You didn’t question how—instinct took over.

Without hesitation, you swung at him with all your might.

But the impact never came.

His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with terrifying ease. The force should have knocked him back, should have made him flinch—but he stood there, unmoved, fingers wrapped around the weapon like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then, before your eyes, the bat shimmered, flickering with static before dissolving into cascading lines of glowing code.

"Wha—?" Your voice caught in your throat. You stumbled back, staring at your now-empty hands.

Phainon’s grip tightened slightly before letting the last of the data slip away into the air. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" He tilted his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. "This world bends to my will. Here, I am more than just a warrior. I am its ruler. And you—" He reached for you, but you jerked away.

"You have nothing."

Your mind raced. If Phainon controlled this world, then you needed an ally. Dan Heng. If anyone could help you, it was him. Without another word, you turned on your heel and sprinted in the direction you last saw him.

Phainon moved faster.

Before you could even react, he was in front of you. A sharp pain struck your temple as everything blurred. The world tilted violently, your vision fading to black before you could even cry out.

When you awoke, you were somewhere else. The air was heavy, unfamiliar, and the silence pressed against you like a suffocating weight.

Each time you tried, you discovered something new.

At first, it was small—a fleeting moment where the world around you responded to your thoughts. Like that one door that should have been locked clicking open. Each time you tapped into this power, you felt something unravel within you.

And each time, Phainon was there.

He found you the first time when you forced open a gate leading to the outskirts. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk before pulling you back before you could get far.

The second time, when you manipulated the gravity beneath you to leap across a rooftop, he appeared at the other end, effortlessly catching you mid-air and setting you back on solid ground.

The third time, you managed to shroud yourself in the crowd, blending in so well you thought you had finally shaken him. But as you turned a corner, there he stood, leaning against the alley’s entrance with an almost lazy amusement.

Each time, he grew more intrigued.

And each time, he stayed longer.

Phainon visited more than before, finding you no matter where you wandered. Sometimes, he merely watched. Other times, he engaged—teasing you, challenging you, indulging in casual conversation as if you were anything but his captive.

It made you wonder—did his friends ever question him?

One evening, while the sky burned a dusky orange, you finally asked, "If I agree to be with you, will you let me live more freely?"

Phainon studied you, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed softly, stepping closer until the space between you nearly disappeared. His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite holding but enough to remind you of his presence.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he murmured. "And one I might just consider."

The days stretched on. You wandered as much as you could within the confines of his reach, testing the limits of your newfound abilities. Sometimes, you found joy in the smallest acts of defiance. Other times, you felt the crushing weight of his attention.

One day, you encountered his friend. The moment you saw him, something about him caught you off guard. He carried himself with effortless grace, his beauty nearly mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, you forgot everything else. The encounter was fleeting, but it left an impression on you.

When you returned, you hesitated before asking, "Who was that? The one with golden eyes?"

Phainon stilled. His usual playful demeanor faltered for just a second before his smile returned. "Mydei" he said simply.

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. You didn’t think much of it at first—until the next day, when he suddenly forbade you from leaving.

"You’re staying here today" he announced casually over breakfast. "No wandering off."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

His smile didn’t waver, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze. "Do I need a reason?"

You didn’t let him off so easily. Rising to your feet, you grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Is this about Mydei?"

For the first time, something dark flickered behind his charming facade. He let out a slow breath, turning fully to face you. His fingers lifted, tracing the side of your face in a deceptively gentle motion.

"You have such a way of testing me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if you even realize it."

His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting it just slightly as his blue eyes bore into yours. "Tell me," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with something possessive, "did he captivate you that much? Enough to make you forget who keeps you safe?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "This isn’t about safety, is it?" you challenged. "You’re jealous."

Phainon chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. "Jealous?" He repeated the word as if testing its weight on his tongue. Then, he leaned in. "If that’s what you want to call it."

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "So don't mention his name with that mouth of yours again."

This is going out of hand, and you must do something. A way to return to your own world, to get away from him.

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. You've been trying to find your way back home so you messed with the system's rules, leading to whatever is happening in front of your very eyes.

Sitting before you was a system menu—one that shouldn’t have existed. It flickered, its edges distorted, as if the game itself was resisting your interference. Your heart pounded as you scrolled through the options, desperately searching for a way to force the game to release you.

Your fingers hovered over the last remaining command:

[Modify Event Flags]

A risk. A mistake. But you took it anyway.

A sharp chime rang in your ears, the screen flashing as the world around you trembled. The coding beneath your feet warped like rippling water, a sickening pull dragging you downward as the game executed whatever change you had triggered. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you intended. You had tried to bypass Phainon’s control, to force an event where he would let you go.

Instead, the world went dark.

When you woke, your surroundings were unrecognizable.

Gold and ivory silk draped over every surface, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows along the grand walls. Ornate decorations stretched from the ceiling to the floor, the unmistakable scent of fresh roses filling the air. You blinked, your pulse quickening as you sat up, your fingers brushing against the embroidered fabric of an unfamiliar garment.

No. No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice.

You turned to see him.

Phainon stood at the edge of the room, adorned in a ceremonial ensemble far more elaborate than his usual attire. Silver-white hair, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped closer, his presence consuming the space between you.

“What… is this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You should already know, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who triggered the event.”

“The event?”

His expression softened, but there was something in his gaze—something terrifyingly certain. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our wedding.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into your mind. “That’s not possible—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle. “The game has already set everything in motion.”

You scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold marble floor as you backed away from him. “No, I refuse this. There has to be a way to undo it.”

Phainon’s smile didn’t waver. “There isn’t.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. The game had overwritten its own path. It had forced you into this event—one where every outcome led to you standing at an altar beside him.

His hand found your wrist before you could run.

“You’ve fought me at every turn,” he mused “And yet, here we are. Together. Just as fate—just as the game itself—has decided.”

You struggled against his grip, but it was firm, unyielding. “This isn’t fate. This is manipulation.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Then tell me… do you really think you have a choice?”

The doors behind him creaked open, revealing an expanse of guests waiting beyond them—characters you had met, NPCs whose scripts had adapted to fit this sudden turn of events. They were all here for one reason.

For your wedding.

Your breath came fast and shallow as you looked back at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you waste such a perfect opportunity. We're finally able to be together forever.”

You knew then—you were trapped. The game had sealed your fate. You only hoped to get away from him with an error, an event, anything. The system gave you this. You had your choice, but this event involved Phainon, how tragic. And Phainon… Phainon had never looked more satisfied. If it's something he can manipulate, surely he won't let you have your way.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Shall we begin?”

[anitablogs1931]

I am happy you like it!

I’m such a scifi and space nerd since I was a kid! The explanation up there was just the bare minimum of what I have planned, I tried telling people THE MOST BASIC information about Timedrifters

Of course I HAVE MORE, mind this is a little more complex

SOME MORE EXTRA INFO:

Drifterverse is not a real Multiverse, it’s a parallel Universe, like every human crafted Universe should be

Always separate dimensions from each other, even if they can effect each other!

THESE ARE NOT MATHEMATICAL DIMENSIONS! Of course, time itself is one dimensional!

Disclaimer: Drifterverse has only 3 true dimensions! I’ll still be calling other things overlapping with this universe “dimensions”, like the Shadow Dimension, the Time Dimension, etc.

“AUs” and stories are called “Concept” as a whole, with a Core Concept/Idea and Timelines that radiate from it, they are only visible and matter in the Time Dimension

Empty spots in the Time Dimension mean in this part of Drifterverse, there are no living life forms that can perceive time, pretty logical

Everyone exists in every dimension in some kind of form, dying in one doesn’t erase you from the others, but it effects them

For example, die in the one you physically matter and you’re still alive in the astral dimension until someone kills you there (that’s Reaper’s job). That way ghosts can exist and appear if you summon them, at least as long as a Reaper grants them

Reapers are not allowed to kill you in every dimension! Mind their job is only to kill a few versions of you from only one timeline! They have to be very precise and careful

If there are too many Timestrings coming from one timeline and the story is missing too many important people at different time stamps, it can rupture the entire timeline into pieces

Let’s say a character in story “kills the universe”. Does this erase the timeline? The Concept? Heck, Drifterverse?? No. Every concept is in some sort of bubble they think is a “universe” but none of them could ever endanger Drifterverse itself!

Most people forget how BIG and EMPTY an actual Universe is! The light years Concepts are away from each other are crazy. Pretty amateurish from those people.

The timeline might fade into nothing if they kill every living being there perceiving things (including themselves), but it doesn’t effect what happened in time before, you could technically still travel back before all the shit happened

You time-travel and change events? You’re scared of a paradox? Problem solved itself with the “copy, edit, paste” principle! You do that with the timeline and everything is fine, it just creates a new timeline

Metro (aka Error Sans) just hates when people do it because, like in the graphs before, can cause not only the timeline to be copy pasted, but also who’s currently out of it with a Timestring! Imagine that kind of chaos just because someone wanted to prevent their brother dying

That’s why he creates invisible firewalls around every whole Concept like a bubble and tells people they are in an AU they can’t leave and that the “Multiverse” outside has different rules and tears them apart like a black hole (necessary lie)

Too many Concepts completely rupturing besides each other at the same time could cause a black hole disc in the Time Dimension that feasts on all the time surrounding it till nothing is left, but let’s be honest, that timing is almost impossible

Worm holes only appear in the Time Dimension but they effect the physical matter one directly and can cause random individuals to glitch through their timeline and land somewhere entirely different

Wormholes are literally caused by almost parasitic negative matter grouping like a worm that chews holes in the Time Dimension

ALL OF THESE IDEAS ARE CREDITED TO ME AND MY NERDY BRAIN

Of course, these rules and organizational work are still a HUGE WIP and need a lot of attention and polishing from my side

[erinwantstowrite]

A while ago you liked a comment of mine on TikTok where I said that there should be no second Batman bc having Bruce retire/die means his fight should be over and he should be able to rest properly, (idk if that’s exactly what I said but I think it’s in the ball park) so can I ask what you think about a legacy Batman? And who would you have be the second Batman? Also your art is amazing and I love leap of faith, hope you have a great day

i remember that comment!!!!

i honestly believe that having a "legacy" for every single hero is just,,, boring. the reason this happens is because they are never going to NOT have Batman. how else would they make money??? so they just keep giving us reasons why his mantle has to be there. just like the Joker HAS to always come back, why new characters are always tied in to existing characters somehow, etc.

in a perfect world, we'd get new characters sometimes and overarching storylines that aren't regressed the second we make any headway on character development. we'd have new villains by now that make a name for themselves outside of the original villains, we'd see an impact on our settings and characters, all that jazz. and in this perfect world, we wouldn't have so many legacy mantles

and i mean, like, one of the supers taking up the Superman name? that's cool. they're a family, thematically it works. even with the Flash family, I accept how they do it (though I hardly keep up with their comics)

but Batman?????

STOPPPPP

Every other Batfam member has an arc where they branch away from Bruce and the name, save for Tim and Cass, I think. Tim is... a gray area. I only put him here because he's back to being Robin (because DC can't let go of that money maker!). It's an insult to their characters to put them into the Batman mantle, but in universe, this keeps happening because "Gotham needs Batman."

No! No they do not! They do not need Batman specifically. They need his ideals! His kids do not need to be Batman to have Batman still be around after he's put up the cape or died, because they are that future without the cape! There is no magic tied in to that stupid cowl, they just see it that way because Batman is this larger than life figure. Of course they think their dad is impervious to the world, that the cape that protected them is special, that they need Batman. But that is NOT the case.

Just like with any family, life will move on. The legacy continues through the lessons that the kids learned. In many ways, they are better than Batman because they learned from his mistakes, too. Just like every kid does with their parent.

But they don't want to be Batman. And it's kind of insane to keep putting them in someone else's suit, basically someone else's identity. Dick is a great Batman, but his biggest fear is losing himself in Bruce's shadow. What happened to Jason was because of Batman's failure, and it isn't healthy to put him in the Batman suit. Tim should be allowed to move on from Robin and finally get his own mantle because he has always used someone else's. (Yes I am purposefully forgetting that Drake existed do not remind me.) That and the existence of Gun Batman. Do NOT put him in that suit!!!!!!! Damian is branching out of vigilante life altogether, which is so so so good for him. Him becoming Batman after struggling so much with his identity, purpose, and blood ties, is a spit in the face to character development. I think Duke should get to choose his own name for a hero mantle (because Bruce thought of Signal), and thematically I don't think he fits into the Batman role. He is a shining light the way Robin was, but this time more literal because of his powers. Batman is very human, that's what makes his character. Duke deserves more than being Batman.

The best person for that job is Cass.

Not only does she understand the No Kill Rule in the way that Bruce understands it, she is also his equal or superior in every way. Whether it's her physical abilities, or her intelligence, or her morals, Cass fits the bill. She's one of the strongest members of the Batfam and I think she would be able to take on the burden without crumbling under the pressure or feeling scared of that responsibility. She's fit in to the Batman role before, has mirrored him in many ways, and is also her own character (and man I just really love Cass). She strikes the same amount of fear into people that Batman does, a master of the shadows, the dark, and she has a hope that I think Gotham could need.

But she doesn't need to be Batman to do it. She just has to fill in that role. Sure, she could pick up the name Batman, it won't kill me. But so long as she fills in the space that Bruce left behind, becoming the next leader and mentor, she could be anyone.

I think it's more powerful that way to show that the time has passed. That Bruce's time as a vigilante made an impact. Gotham has changed. His kids have grown up. And the Dark Knight is still there, at home.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

simon riley headcanons- returning home to you

simon riley x reader headcanons

He’s not used to the quiet. The first few nights, he has trouble sleeping because he’s so used to the hum of machinery, distant gunfire, or the chatter of his squad. You often wake up to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

His hands are always reaching for his gear, even when it’s not there. You’ll catch him unconsciously checking for a weapon he doesn’t need. It takes time for him to relax his instincts.

He still wakes up early out of habit, but instead of rushing to gear up, he just watches you sleep, memorizing the peace in your expression.

He isn’t the best with words, but his love is shown through touch—tight, lingering hugs, a hand on your lower back when walking, or resting his head against yours when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable.

The first time you cup his face after he gets home, he leans into your touch like a starved man. It’s been too long since he’s felt something so gentle.

The mask comes off more often at home, though it still takes time. If you ask him to, he won’t hesitate, but he likes it when you don’t pressure him.

He’s protective—almost overbearingly so. You go to the store alone? He’s tense until you’re back. You mention someone acting suspicious on the street? He’s scanning for threats next time you step outside together.

At first, he forgets how to just be at home. You find him pacing sometimes, restless, unsure of what to do without an objective. It helps when you give him small tasks—cooking dinner together, fixing something around the house, or even just watching a show with you.

If you make a habit of reading or watching TV at night, he eventually joins you. He doesn’t always follow the plot, but he likes the routine of sitting beside you, feeling normal for a change.

Loud noises still make his heart jump, but he hides it well. If you’re holding his hand when it happens, you feel the way his fingers tighten slightly before he forces himself to relax.

He has nightmares, but he tries to keep them to himself. The first time you wake him from one, he flinches away instinctively before realizing it’s you. He hates that. You start waking him more gently, murmuring his name, grounding him before he jolts awake.

He appreciates when you don’t push him to talk about things. Some days, he can open up a little—mentioning a funny moment with his team or something that happened on a mission. Other days, he just wants to exist beside you, no questions asked.

If he leaves again, he always leaves something of his behind for you—his old dog tags, a hoodie, something small but important. It’s his way of making sure a part of him stays with you.

He’s fiercely loyal. The thought of losing you after everything else he’s endured terrifies him. He doesn’t say it often, but when he does, it’s raw and heavy: “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

He rarely asks for comfort outright, but when he finally lets himself rest his head in your lap, or lets you hold him close after a hard night, it means the world to him.

[corviddusk]

begging you to talk to people outside of tumblr about transandrophobia. trying to genuinely engage in shit i see against it, especially on your blog, but its like the most bad faith worst case scenario thing is applied to all trans men who believe in it, which kinda fucking sucks. i know a lotta people who dont follow gender queer dykes because of the shit they pulled. we arent a monolith of people who believe the worst thing you can think of. it feels like if i were to say all leftists were tankies, or all trans women were blair white, or an endless list of other comparisons that could be made here.

above all so many of these posts read so gleefully cruel. im glad people are having fun with coming up with dumbass nicknames for the group they dont like. but fuck you cannot engage with activism or social issues like this longterm. it burns you out, it burns bridges, 0 healthy irl activism spaces would let this shit fly. i understand if you dismiss this now, but as someone who was deep in this shit its so fucking unhealthy. you cant exist constantly second guessing every other trans person, now more than ever we need to stick together. have a good night

Strangely I'm not only on Tumblr for the entirety of my life. It's weird you would assume that I magically never talk to other trans people... Almost like you're trying to push a narrative.

Genderqueerdykes just said the quiet part out loud. Transandrophobia as a theory is based on the idea that trans men are oppressed by "the fear of men" aka "misandry" almost every single post I've seen on the topic leads to the strange idea that Transmascs are inherently more oppressed by misogyny than transfems because of being "female". Consistently there's a push to see transmascs as women lite and claim things that primarily TERFs agree with. Considering how often the transandrophobia tag is filled with self proclaimed TWERFs agreeing with the ideas of transandrophobia or saying things like "GOD YES they understand those disgusting MALES always speak over and take over all spaces" and that's honestly just exactly what transandrophobia theory pushes.

If you think I'm being gleefully cruel you have not seen me at my worst. You want to know what gleefully cruel would be? My worst moments in the midst of my manic psychosis? I was docking people because I delusionally believed they were a danger and possibly going to murder my ex-mentor. I was purposefully saying carefully constructed insults that played on people's traumas and I knew would cause large amounts of suffering for them because I believed they deserved it and I was being righteous. You know nothing of cruelty. I am a better person now and it's laughable you think this is anything akin to that.

You know what my abusive cult leading ex-mentor believed in and pushed? Transandrophobia. You know why she pushed it? Transfeminists called her out for being a predator. You know what happened when I listened to her? I got predated on and brutalized. I'm still trying to work through all the shit she did to me. She fucking broke me. And the fact that multiple major members pushing Transandrophobia have allegations of similar abuse, grooming, or rape? That means something.

Transandrophobia theory is a cover for abuse and I'm sick of people pretending it isn't.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Re the ask about whether pro-Catalan/independence supporters tend to be left-wing, weirdly I've had Spaniards try to convince me that pro-Catalanism/independence is a right-wing movement, but they've never been able to take that further than a bald assertion -- it sounds more like a thought-terminating cliché, and it doesn't square with anything I've seen as an outsider.

Depends on who you ask, Catalans are stereotyped in opposite ways. Speaking Catalan or having a Catalan accent makes us "villagers", "poor and uneducated", and "stupid farmers" until it's the left wing who wants to criticize us, then Catalan makes us "bourgeois" and "never worked a day in their life" and "Catalonia was a flat land with nothing until Spanish people arrived and worked to build it". Catalan is "basically dead", "nobody even speaks it anymore", "it's only spoken by elderly people in villages and everyone else hates it and hates to be associated with it" but when it's more convenient it's "all-powerful", "if you don't speak Catalan they mistreat you", "everyone speaks Catalan all the time just to exclude Spanish speakers". Catalan independence is a "radical anti-capitalist extremist movement full of terrorists" and often gets mixed with "anarchist terrorists" until the person who wants to criticize it would think that's cool, then it's a "right-wing movement based on greed". Everything always has two completely opposite stereotypes, which allows them to criticize without having to actually listen to our experiences or what we have to say, they can decide simply based on their prejudiced beliefs.

They right-wing stereotype is a newer one, it started gaining popularity about 15 years ago at most and lots of Spanish nationalists have been obsessed with it since, even going as far as trying to fund a right-wing Catalan independence movement into existence. It's very strange because it comes out of nowhere, they're just obsessed with wanting it to become true because that would make their argument easy. Catalan people have always (for centuries) been stereotyped as greedy merchants (think the Jewish stereotype, in Spain many of the "jokes" that in English are "a Jewish man does x" in Spanish they're exactly the same word by word but with a Catalan instead; in fact in the 1900s in Spain there was a significant movement of antisemitic Spanish "intellectuals" who argued that Catalan people are "racially Semites") and this stereotyped is deeply believed in by many people in Spain. Thus, it's very easy to wave off pro-independence concerns with "ah see but it's just that they're being greedy! The whole point of independence is that they're secretly rich and don't want to share!". This is an easy way to make Spanish people not need to listen and rethink their prejudices, because holding on to the prejudices is seen as somehow "sticking it to the power", and it breaks leftist solidarity.

An example of how this belief manifests is some of the tweets posted by the Spanish actress Karla Sofía Gascón (the main actress in Emilia Pérez movie):

Translation from Spanish:

1. I'm following the NASA press conference. There's water in Mars. Wow! Luckily NASA aren't Catalans, they would have kept it to themselves.

2. They invited a Catalan pro-independence man to a wedding and he ended up eating alone in a corner, he couldn't stand seeing food be shared with all the guests.

She was literally tweeting about imagined hypothetical horrible Catalan people she imagined. These people aren't real, this didn't happen, she just wanted to talk shit of Catalan people based on stereotypes. (There's another tweet by her calling Catalan independentists Nazi rats and saying she hopes we all die or rot in prison, which is not directly the stereotype we're talking about here but it goes to show where these beliefs end up taking the person who has them).

These aren't unusual and the only reason I'm pulling them out as examples is because she's a famous person and I think it's a better example than random people, but this is a widely-held belief in Spain. It doesn't make sense to paint a whole culture like this, and if we were to look for any clues I think we would find all the opposite, solidarity has always been very important in Catalan culture (like in most cultures throughout history!).

[maddieclarkey2002]

Something Different Pt.2

~Suggestive themes~

Arthur kissed her. She kissed him back. And now, she can’t stop thinking about it. She should’ve expected this—the way her brain replays every second, the way her lips still feel the ghost of his touch, the way her heart refuses to calm down when she remembers the way he looked at her afterward. But what she didn’t expect was this silence.  

Three days. That’s how long it’s been since it happened. Three days without a text, a call, a visit. Arthur is everywhere and nowhere, an absence so loud it’s suffocating. And it makes her wonder—was it a mistake? Her stomach twists at the thought. Because for her, that kiss wasn’t just something. It was everything. But what if he regretted it? What if he’s avoiding her because he’s already decided it was a bad idea? She shakes the thought away, pacing her room as she stares at her phone, debating whether to text him first. Would that be too desperate? Too clingy?

Before she can decide, there’s a knock at her window. Her heart jumps. She knows who it is before she even turns. Arthur. Standing outside her window like it’s years ago, back when he and her brother used to sneak out for midnight drives. Only this time, he isn’t here for her brother. He’s here for her. 

She exhales, crossing the room to unlock it. “You know the front door exists, right?” she murmurs, trying to sound normal.  

Arthur smirks, but it’s weak, like he’s not really feeling it. “Yeah. But I didn’t feel like talking to your brother.”  Right. Because he doesn’t know.  

She swallows, stepping aside so Arthur can climb in. He lands with an easy grace, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets like he’s nervous—and Arthur never gets nervous.  

She licks her lips, watching him. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”  

His shoulders tense. “Yeah. I just… needed a minute.”  

“A minute?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been three days.”  

Arthur sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I know. I just… I didn’t want to screw this up.”  

Her stomach tightens. “Do you think you did?”  

He looks at her then, and something shifts in his expression—like he’s seeing her, really seeing her, and she suddenly feels too exposed.  

“No,” he admits. “But I think I’m going to.”  

Her chest aches. “Why?”  

Arthur steps closer, hesitating before reaching out, brushing his fingers against her wrist. It’s small, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make her whole body react.  

“Because I want you,” he says, voice rough. “And I don’t know how to do this without messing everything up.”  

Her breath catches. She knew it—felt it—but hearing him say it out loud makes it so much more real.  

She swallows. “Then don’t mess it up.”  

Arthur lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”  

“It could be.” She steps closer, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Unless you don’t actually want this.”  

Arthur’s jaw clenches. “Of course, I do.”  

“Then what’s the problem?”  

He exhales, gripping the back of his neck. “Your brother is the problem. You’re his little sister.”  

She crosses her arms. “Pretty sure I stopped being a ‘little sister’ years ago, Arthur.”  

He groans, looking like he wants to slam his head against the wall. “That’s not what I meant.”  

“Then what do you mean?” she presses.  

Arthur hesitates. Then—finally, finally—he gives in. He steps forward, erasing the space between them, and she forgets how to breathe.  

“I mean,” he says quietly, “that I’ve spent years thinking of you as off-limits. And now, suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about you. Wanting you.”  

Her heart nearly stops. Arthur shakes his head, his voice strained. “And it’s messing with my head, because I don’t know how to switch from protecting you to—”  

“To what?” she whispers.  

Arthur’s eyes flick to her lips, and she swears the whole world tilts.  

“To wanting to kiss you again. Every time I look at you.”  

Oh.  

Her skin burns. Her breath hitches. And then it happens. Arthur kisses her.  Not like before—not hesitant, not testing the waters. This time, it’s hungry, certain, desperate. She barely has time to process before she’s kissing him back, gripping his jacket to pull him closer because she needs this, she needs him. Arthur groans softly against her lips, his hands sliding to her waist like he’s afraid to let go, and it’s intoxicating. Every part of her feels like it’s on fire. And this time, when they pull apart, neither of them step away. His forehead rests against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet of her room.  

Arthur exhales, his hands tightening at her waist. “This is dangerous.”  

She smiles, still a little breathless. “Yeah?”  

Arthur lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah.”  

She tilts her chin up, brushing her lips over his just barely, feeling the way his breath stutters.  

“Then I guess we’re both in trouble,” she murmurs.  

Arthur’s fingers flex against her, his lips so close to hers she can feel his warmth. And when he kisses her again, slower this time, like he’s memorising the way she feels— she knows there’s no going back. And for once, she doesn’t want to.  

Arthur should leave.Her brother is still in the house. There’s too much at risk. They’ve already pushed their luck too far. And yet—he doesn’t move. She watches him, heart pounding, knowing exactly what’s running through his head because it’s running through hers too.

The way his fingers skimmed over hers on the couch. The way his eyes darkened when she leaned closer. The way they’ve both been playing with fire, and now—now, the fire is winning.

“Arthur,” she murmurs, stepping closer.

His jaw clenches. “We shouldn’t.”

Her breath is unsteady. “Then tell me to stop.”

Silence. Arthur stares at her like he’s at war with himself—like he knows exactly what should happen next, but he’s fighting it with everything in him. And yet, he doesn’t stop her. So she tests him. Slowly, she closes the space between them, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt, resting just above his racing heart. Arthur inhales sharply. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back—like if he touches her now, he won’t be able to stop.

She tilts her head up, lips barely an inch from his. “Arthur.”

His resolve snaps. One second, he’s hesitating. The next, he’s on her. His hands grab her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips crash into hers, a kiss so deep and desperate that it sends heat flooding through her veins. She gasps against his mouth, and Arthur groans, pressing her against the wall, caging her in with his body. His lips are rough, needy, moving against hers like he’s been holding this back for far too long—like he’s making up for every second they wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable. Her fingers tangle in his hair, nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck, and he shudders, his grip tightening. He presses his hips against hers, and—oh. She feels the evidence of just how much he wants her, and it makes her dizzy, makes her crave more.

Arthur tears his lips from hers, breathing hard, his forehead resting against hers. “We have to be quiet,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.

She exhales a shaky breath, nodding.

But then—he smirks, lips barely brushing over hers again. “Think you can do that?”

Her stomach tightens. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

Arthur groans, kissing her again, and she knows—they’re completely screwed. And neither of them care anymore. Arthur’s breath is ragged against her lips, his forehead still pressed to hers as he struggles for control.  His hands are on her hips, tightly gripping like he’s afraid to let go—like if he does, he’ll lose what little restraint he has left.  She swallows, her pulse hammering as she watches the war in his eyes.  

Want. Guilt. Need. Hesitation.

And then—surrender. He kisses her again, and this time, there’s nothing hesitant about it.  

It’s hungry, consuming, his hands sliding up her sides, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt, sending heat rushing beneath her skin.  She gasps softly against his mouth, and that sound does something to him.  Arthur groans, deep and low, as he lifts her effortlessly, pressing her back against the wall. Her legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and the second she feels him hard and unrelenting against her, she nearly forgets how to breathe.  

“God, you’re dangerous,” he mutters, his lips trailing down her jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of her neck. 

She tilts her head back, giving him more, needing more, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.  

“You’re the one sneaking into my room,” she breathes.  

Arthur huffs a laugh, his teeth grazing her pulse point, making her whole body shudder. “Yeah. Biggest mistake of my life.”  

His hands slip under her shirt, palming bare skin, and she arches into his touch, feeling him twitch against her thigh in response.  

“But you’re not stopping,” she teases, voice breathless.  

Arthur pulls back, his eyes dark and hooded, scanning her face like he’s memorising every inch of her.  

“Not a chance.”  

And then he’s kissing her again—harder, deeper, like he’s losing himself in her.  His hands roam, exploring every curve, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her tremble. And she does the same, fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath, the way his body tenses at her touch.  

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against her skin, but he doesn’t stop.

And neither does she.  

Because stopping?  

That’s never been an option.

——————————————————————————————————

Part 2 as requested!

Part 3 is already being planned and it may be NSWF ;)

[mythalism]

So i've heard one FFXIV expansion was the perfect exact Solas story blueprint the writer definitely played and should have followed step by step for great success. I see you say cyberpunk was the perfect exact Solas story blueprint the writer definitely played and should have followed step by step for great success.

Both statements are pretty intriguing !! I don't know either so I'm wondering, is it the same story in a different setting or are they developping different...subthemes... if that's even possible

Thanks :D have a nice time over there

yesss i have heard the same about mr. emet selch. ffxiv is on my list!

as for cyberpunk its basically exactly what veilguard tried to be but far better executed. its actually nearly the exact same premise and i am absolutely positive that they took heavy inspiration from it considering the timeline of cyberpunk's release matches up with when veilguard was beginning its development (~2020)

basically, your character (V) gets this guy (johnny silverhand)'s consciousness stuck in their head when a mission goes wrong via the sci-fi version of fade-jail blood magic (a computer chip in ur head). johnny also happens to have blown up a building 50ish years ago with a nuke and killed like 15,000 people in pursuit of vengeance for the death of someone he loved, and is remembered as a terrorist. you can't take him out of your brain, or you will die. you have to get him out of your brain though, because you will also die if he stays. your entire quest is you trying to get him the fuck out of your head without dying. however he's not just someone you go pray to and chat with (4) times in an empty, disconnected realm. he is a near-constant presence as you go about the game. you see him visually in the world in front of you. he pops up constantly, he sees through your eyes, he feels everything you feel and he comments on all of it. he is heavily involved in main quests, often providing commentary and giving important exposition as you track down people he used to know when he was alive & embodied. but he also is regularly present in side quests, whether that is being a dick to you, ranting about the evils of capitalism, or lecturing you to have empathy for a guy who is grieving the loss of his pet tortoise. you also experience his memories visually. not as an outsider, but literally AS HIM, in person. these are entire gameplay sequences where you play AS HIM. including fucking his ex girlfriend who is voiced by alix wilton reagan. anyway. im sure i dont have to go into further detail on how mechanically this is everything that the solas/rook relationship needed to be to be compelling, to connect the new protagonist to the stakes of the blight and the evanuris, and to flesh out solas's ending with the narrative weight it deserved by letting him actually EXIST WITHIN THE WORLD... anyway. its fine.

i am actually only like 24 hours in, so i actually have no clue how the game ends or how any of this wraps up, so i cannot say if it is the perfect blueprint for his story. but on a gameplay level of how solas should have been integrated into the game world? yeah. its insane that they had this right in front of them and just... decided to keep him in fade time-out for the entire game.

if you are interested in learning more i would refer you to meryl @elf-trash and @scaryanneee who are the foremost scholars on johnny silverhand studies and the reason i finally played the game after it sat in my steam library for a year. xoxo

[noahthehyperfixated]

My girlie. My dude. My beloved WaveSurfer

Extra facts/writing character background lore below the cut

Don't tell anyone but she IS actually a hybrid, just very… diluted…

Coming at this as the omniscient creator of WaveSurfer, and how I drew her and the fact she was put in the hybrids category for the RP I’m using her in, she’s a diluted Night/Sea. Somewhere along the line, most likely her father’s side since the hybrid traits are non-existent outside her colors and slightly thicker tail, a Seawing is found SOMEWHERE. Which is funny given she was FOUND by Seawings in the middle of the Bay of A Thousand Scales and raised by them. It’s assumed the Seawing is probably either a great great grandparent, or great grandparent on her father’s side given how little is in her.

Now do we know who her father is, because who would miss a BRIGHT Nightwing with some.. ”weird traits” to every dragon? Not at all! But he’s probably still out there, maybe with the Nightwing he had WaveSurfer with…

Who knows, maybe there’s some Nightwing bums somewhere in the Seawing kingdom living a quiet life, or they moved back to the Nightwing kingdom. Either way, they don’t know what happened to their egg that ended up as WaveSurfer.

Fun Trivia

- There is much speculation in the village she grew up in amongst the Seawings there, and her adoptive parents. Half the village says she was purposefully abandoned, and the other half says her parents lost her at sea.

- She wears fake fins on her arms and tail to help her swim.

- One of her most cherished items is a pearl bracelet her adoptive parents saved up to buy her one hatching day.

- She is stronger than most other Nightwings unless they’ve been through extensive training due to needing to swim through the ocean, and easy access to an abundance of food from fishing.

- She is also smaller than most Nightwings her age, but is, in turn, larger than most Seawings her age.

- She can open her eyes underwater just fine.

- Her lung capacity is some of the best out of any dragon if we exclude Mudwings and their ability to hold their breath for an hour. It’s a lot like a free-diver’s breath holding, just maybe a bit longer for a dragon’s case.

- By the real life definition as basis and compared to the other tribes, she’s a Pescatarian. She actually really hates other meats after growing up almost eating exclusively a seafood based diet over other meats.

- Her favorite past time is body surfing

- (unseen on back) some Seawings that believe in the spiritual that see her say the starfish markings on her chest and back, right at the base of her tail, is a sign she is meant to be in the Seawing kingdom.

Bonus WIP screenshot

[lover-of-mine]

With the way the season played out + some comments from the actors/team, I really believed this was the year we'd get a end of season with a cliffhanger. Really feels like they could have intended for the bridge scene to be the whole episode and to leave us with at least Bobby's fate in jeopardy. And then changed it to give everyone a somewhat closed ending.

No, because the signs pointed to the bridge being worse than it actually was and personally I think a cliffhanger with a fan-favorite character in danger would be so effective to force a renewal. Like, imagine we get the sneak peek that Bobby is missing and we don't have the confirmation that season 7 is happening? We would've made NOISE to make sure the show got picked up. And I think the show always tries to package the finales nicely, let it end on a hopeful note for most characters, season 1 we had the start of Bathena, Chimney and his party, Karen coming back home, season 2 we had Bathena's wedding and Eddie's shield ceremony, season 3 we have May's graduation, season 4 we have Eddie's party, Hen's picnic with Nia, the Grant-Nash dinner, Albert's graduation, season 5 we have henren wedding and Eddie coming back to the 118, so like, I think it would be nice not to have a happy ending in season 6, leave us wondering, yk? Like, I don't think they have the balls to pull anything bigger than a temporary character death with the core 7, but like, even though we knew Buck was going to wake up, his death still left us on the edge, to put that in a bigger scale would've been a great experience. Like, my original guess was that rescuing Eddie was going to be harder, and that we wouldn't really see Bobby, he was going to fall, byebye see you next season. With what we got, I maintain that Eddie would be harder to rescue, but I think in a Hen would need assistance in the ambulance so it would take longer for Buck to get to him way, so by the time Athena found Bobby and there was the second collapse, you have Eddie and Chim incapacitated, we have Hen the way she was, we have Buck pushing through something (because i still can't believe he walked away from that unharmed okay, unrealistic lskoasokaosk) because Athena just radioed that she found Bobby then everything falls again and the episode ends. And to have Bobby, Chim, and Eddie incapacitated could even open up something with the broader theme they had going around fathers specifically and you could even do something cool with Buck taking charge but struggling, because you have his surrogate father, you have the father of his niece and you have his best friend who made him responsible for a kid in case something happened, so it could have so many cool ramifications all around. And it felt like they were building up to it and then just chickened out. It's like what @sherlockcrossing said, it's a square peg in a round hole. And it's a hole they built because the whole season felt like they were leading up to something that they chose not to deliver. I would much rather have the show not end than to have that attempt to force a happy ending that they could still pick back up next season if there was one.

I am curious really about how they'll pick it back up next season tho. If they'll retcon shit, commit to it, make something happen offscreen to work with. I'm particularly curious about Marisol and Natalia and the way they were building buddie up just to cut that off. But mostly because by the time the show comes back both relationships will be like, going 6 months (depending on the beginning of the season time jump they decide on once the strike ends) if they choose not to give them the Ali treatment, and to add 2 somewhat long relationships for 2 main characters (that a lot of people want together and that were being hinted at more clearly with 6b) with 2 characters we have no reason to be attached to will be a challenge. I guess we'll have to wait.

[chirpsythismorning]

Nick himself said that his knowledge is confined to the leaks prior to s4, the s4 scripts from his verified source (likely within a source) and basic knowledge most fans paying attention have been able to formulate about s5 based on what has been released officially/unofficially, trends from Netflix and common sense.

He is saying based on all that, he doesn’t think byler is happening. 

And if we think back to what the Duffers themselves shared in the 4x09 script, it literally implies Mike’s monologue worked, and that it was entirely genuine. This tells me that the script the Duffers released for Emmy consideration, is not that far off from what Nick saw for himself. 

I think it’s likely Nick got something that the average below the line worker might manage to get their hands on if they tried hard enough. A copy they know they have to water-down to prevent these very situations from happening.

Unfortunately for the Duffers, it just so happens that they didn’t scrub their watered down copy hard enough.

Unfortunately for Nick, he admitted that it’s possible and even likely that the production will release things that aren’t exactly accurate with the sole purpose to lead fans sleuthing astray, without realizing it may have ironically already happened to him. 

[lesbianwithchainsaws]

Honestly one of the things that I find really appealing about horror, at least some horror, is that it shows you a way to be alive without being alive in the traditional sense. Because right now being alive means participating in society to some extent. It means having a job, or being expected to have one. It means being expected to have friends and expected to want a family. Being expected to fit in, at least to some extent. Even if you can't or don't want some of these things, there are still a ton of social expectations that are placed upon you from the moment you are born. And that is a lot of pressure to put on a person. It's not easy for everyone to have a job or to fit in. In fact, for a lot of us, it's incredibly difficult. Horror has always shown "the other" so of course it's also going to appeal to people who are "the other" in real life.

But the thing is, it's almost impossible to escape that expectation. It takes ages to even get to a point where you don't care about what most of the world expects of you, and it's pretty much impossible to get rid of others' expectations. And, in the society that we've built, you kinda have to fit in. There are exceptions obviously, but the majority of people have to work a job, often one they don't want or like, just to survive. They have to interact with others. They have to participate in the world in the way they are expected to. It sometimes feels like the only way to escape is to not be alive.

But death is scary. The idea that everything you are, ever have been and ever will be, can just be gone in an instant is terrifying. But here comes the horror genre, showing you a world where someone can be both dead and alive at the same time. It shows you a ghost in a haunted house, who has no job or expectations, but is still able to be in this world and do things. It shows you a vampire, who can live anywhere and not be in danger from anyone, who can essentially do whatever they want. Here's the undead who is literally both alive and dead. To some extent, even real people fit this role of being alive and dead. The killer who everyone thinks is dead, but who very much is still here, just hiding. The outsider who lives in the middle of nowhere that no one knows exists.

Though some horror media does show all of these in traditional society, most of them do not. And that's what's so appealing to horror, in my opinion. The very idea that I can be alive and dead at the same time. Even if in real life I'm not or can't be, it's a bit of escapism and an idea that maybe someday I, too, can achieve both

[thefluxsystem]

Moral OCD is probably the worst thing I have ever dealt with.

My brain will convince me I cannot enjoy anything. I like a YouTube group? My brain tells me I can’t engage because one of them might secretly be a bad person, who I’d then be supporting. New interesting book? The author might turn out to be a piece of shit. New show? Well someone on that team probably holds heinous beliefs about some group.

I genuinely feel like we can’t do anything without a crushing amount of guilt. Even eating becomes a problem, being in a country where I know nothing is ethically produced.

I don’t even care if I’m a good person on a conscious level. “Good” is a social construct, it’s not even “real”, and yet in a bone-deep way I have to be good. To a point that I paradoxically make myself “bad” because my stress over morality impacts my work, my relationships with friends/family, and my ability to take care of myself & others.

Also, it’s so sneaky. I struggle to identify my intrusive thoughts vs simply holding myself accountable, and often convince myself it’s the latter. Blaming myself for things that, logically, have nothing to do with me. It’s spiritually and physically exhausting.

In short, fuck morality OCD. I hope one day we’re all comfortable with the idea of “not being wholly good”.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

i despise Uncomfortable Realisations so much. there better be chocolate in the house or smth ugh

[morningmask27]

I'm going to be bitching about Star for a while now. I'll tag them all with #asc spoilers, but really what the fuck was this book?