#it was such a visceral hatred too

[cinnabeat]

this is irrelevant but you know in the 2003 teen titans show there was that one episode i think where future robin showed up or whatever? i hated his future self so much i was like i do not perceive it this is not real to me this never happens

[spaghetticat3899]

When you absolutely despise something a lot of people like, and no matter what way you look at it you cannot see the appeal, but you know you can’t talk about it in public or else you’ll get dogpiled to hell and back, so you just kinda sit there frothing at the mouth like this

[mintypsii]

excuses

[emrys-rusts]

Finished lineart of my two of hearts sketch :)

Might redesign jonny a bit, I don't think I captured him perfectly yet...

[infiniteorangethethird]

"you must be fun at parties" well the joke's on you cuz I don't. go to parties

[scuderia-hamilton]

oh hey hi @ some lh fans on my dash wishing actual harm and death on a driver because of something the team did is actually crazy behavior and you should get yourself checked 🫶🏻

[hikayunas]

🫀

[greyborn2]

BoE Harrow AU Ideas

Rotating a BoE harrow AU in my head at INCREASINGLY fast speeds. Specific details basically that; -The setup is a cursed mix of Divine Highness AU and Nova AU. G1deon killed Wake before she could jump from the shuttle and, as a result, Gideon never landed on the Ninth. G1deon then took Gideon back to the Mithraeum where she has been raised as the Heir Apparent, the Tower Prince, and so on and so forth. Also she's a TERRIFYINGLY powerful necromancer in this. Like power level akin to pre-lyctorhood John. -The Ninth did their desperate plot to get a necro daughter... and it failed. The entire generation of younglings was wiped out, all the elders either fled the world or were rendered sterile by the cast-off fumes, and Harrow -wasnt even born a Necromancer-. When she was ten or so and it became PAINFULLY apparent she didn't have a drop of necromancy the Reverend Parents told the entire house what they had done and went full Heaven's Gate. Had all the ninth house loyalists hang themselves in shame along with themselves. Harrow Nova was the single one that couldn't bring herself to go through with it. -In the chaos and mass suicides the prison above the ninth had a breakout. One of the prisoners was a BoE cell commando. They go down to the Ninth to find a shuttle to escape on and find a few hundred suicide victims and a single girl survivor who they immediately adopt and run off with. From that point on Nova is raised in the BoE, becoming an absolute TERROR. Just focusing all her self hate and hate towards necromancers and the pain that it all caused to her (and her house) outwards. -Nova takes the BoE name 'Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Dogs of War One True Pop to Lead you in the Summer to Join the Black Parade'. Or just Havoc. Her weapon of choice is a fucking chainsaw (good at dealing with skeletons) adorned with various bones she kept from the Ninth when she fled - including Samael's hip bone on it somewhere. She also starts painting her face with 'an ancient war paint of Old Eden' she finds in the BoE archives. It's juggalo facepaint. Honestly she just hates having her face bare and it's just an excuse. -Havoc is released eventually on a mission to abduct the Crown Prince as a BoE hostage. Enemies to Lovers ensues. Etc etc etc. ALTERNATIVELY -Canaan House events happen but Crown Prince Kiriona is sent to 'oversee' it all in John's stead. Maybe she has a cav who john expects her to lyctorize??? They'd need to be a wholly new character, though, and also dunno on John doing that to his own daughter, especially since she'd KNOW what lyctorhood entails even before figuring it out. Anyways, obviously Cyth can't sneak in and try to kill all the baby lyctors ahead of time because Kiriona would be like "Hey auntie Cyth. Hot as ever I see". So instead Havoc sneaks in somehow on a shuttle. Either as a lone agent to just start crawling around the vents of Canaan picking off the necros one by one like a fucking gremlin xenomorph in juggalo paint OR (since maybe word of the mass suicide of the Ninth never made it out) she gets disguised as the Ninth Necro and another BoE agent (maybe Pash??) gets sent to play the role of her Cav. Not a drop of necromancy between them xD End goal in either case killing all the heirs and abducting Kiriona.

[glacierbash]

Whenever I draw/write Iverelle’s dark knight shit, I want the vibes to change from whatever aesthetic ffxiv typically has to what if you merged fucked up horror shit with a beautiful bishie love interest. Except instead of a pretty boy gifting flowers and being surrounded by cherry blossom petals, it’s a beautiful lesbian aroused by murder and bloodshed. You know.

[badbuge]

NO LITTLE GERMAN BOY DON’T GO TO PHOENIX ARIZONA

[waywardsalt]

>:3

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[alexandrium]

something so aggressively central american is when ur a 1st gen american kid to central american parents so all the Spanish you learn is informal and most of what speak is curse words.

[zevranunderstander]

i wish literally anyone else except for me would in depth care about my pathfinder character and would know like. all the lore and be in the sessions BUT i still wanna do it without the Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known

[mewguca]

Shame

this is a rather personal piece; it's primarily based on my own struggles

It probably could've been executed better (like having more of the interaction she's agonizing over), but I really wanted to focus on that visceral reaction of shame, guilt, and self-criticism

here's a long ramble I wrote while starting this ...

I realize, perhaps much of the reason certain depictions of moon trigger me so much is due to my own overwhelming shame and guilt. It's a defense mechanism crafted because I yet lack the strength to accept myself. I suppose that's why characters like Five Pebbles are so appealing to me — he is someone I've given the room to express his faults, his flaws, his hatred, his despair, his pain, and all his imperfections... For him to be mean or angry is natural and expected, so it's not as scary to express my negative feelings with him as the instrument. He's not a "good person", after all, so it's fine if he is "bad." His standards aren't as high.

Conversely, because I idealize LTTM so much and connect her to myself, I deny her the same things I deny myself. I do it without even thinking, really...

I've often thought, "but this sort of emotion doesn't really suit her... isn't this sort of projection too self-indulgent? If I made this, it'd be too obvious that my own emotions are bleeding through onto the canvas..."

So, I wonder if she's experienced that same sort of emotional repression. It'd be cathartic, in an unfortunate way. To see someone else struggle to grapple with such things, because they want to be pure and virtuous and not upset others...

It's harder when you spend so much time shaping that perfect, faultless, virtuous sort of image, especially when you do it reflexively. Unconsciously. You're making the pressure for yourself worse, but you can't stop... I'm actually not a very friendly person. I'm actually quite afraid and irritable, and I push people away when they get too close. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want anyone to hate me... I don't want to cause suffering or strife. Sometimes, I wish I could just be a completely passive observer.

But I suppose I'm a human being instead, so I have to accept that. Thanks for reading, I guess. I'm not really looking for emotional support here... I just want to be understood.