#it’s just like. it’s. without even thinking consciously about it

[nerdyydragon]

Also notable: I rarely see anyone say this about, like, romance movies (at least in earnest; there are soooo many other discourses about romance as a genre, but this isn't one I've seen).

Nobody says "noooo, don't go into the quaint little small-town café, Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist! No, you're so goddamned dumb for talking to the guy who literally collided with you walking in the door!! You're so effing stupid for allowing him to pick up the papers you dropped!

Nobody says "Character is ridiculous for not trying to avoid freezing to death by huddling for warmth in the cabin!"

Nobody says "but they should know better!" about romance plots, unless it's some "love thine enemy" thing where logically the character should know better than to fall in love with the tragic, handsome villain who just tried to have them killed/kidnapped/dethroned/etc., but even then. The characters in a romance plot don't somehow miraculously know they're in a romance, they just know that they've encountered a [charming stranger] [mysterious rival] [new understanding of their childhood bestie] [any and all trope pairings that apply] and that, as they go about their day, Shit Happens. Compared to other genres it might be comparably low-stakes because nobody's in danger of getting stabbed (maybe, who knows, it could happen), but they don't posses foreknowledge of the events because they're not aware that this sequence of events is something like "A Duke for the Holidays" instead of "just another goddamned Tuesday".

We know.

We're supposed to know.

While part of me rails against an easy reliance on trope marketing, primarily when it supersedes any and all notions of telling me what the gods-damned book is about, as an audience we are, consciously or otherwise, aware of tropes and trends and patterns. We know, as the audience, that in a small-town romance film Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist is going to break up with her boyfriend who never has time for her and shack up with the hunky father of two who works as a conservationist for a near-extinct, totally-not-made-up species of butterfly that only reproduces every six years under the light of a falling star, or something*. That's how the plot works.

Half the fun is figuring out how it happens.

Half the scare is figuring out how it happens, because horror, like romance, has a pretty defined end (though it isn't always death, but that's pretty clear from the beginning when that's the case).

I'm a spec-fic author. I'm working on a gothic sci-horror novel that, in its alpha stages, has scared the bejesus out of my reader to the point where she thinks the monster is going to appear in her house. She keeps feeling like she's being watched. We're 2/3 of the way through and she's paranoid to the point where she can't actually read the thing for long stretches of time even if she desperately wants to. I also write fantasy, and there are tropes and expectations that I rely on there, as well. But gods, I'm so tired of people (beyond the half-terror under a blanket "no, don't go in there!!!" response, without acknowledging that it must happen) not applying the same logic to horror protagonists as they do to those of other genres. They're not dumb.

Horror isn't dumb.

It's profoundly, utterly human in its terror.

And to the main point of the post: nothing Jonathan Sims (Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London) could have done would have averted the ending to his story. He's a brilliant mind cracking under strain, attempting to wrangle forces well beyond human comprehension that prey on his being a brilliant mind attempting to wrangle them. The Entities, on occasion, give him what he wants. He learns. He grows.

Until he becomes a monster himself.

There are so many versions of the story, littered with alternate choices and voltas and changes in patterns. "No" instead of "yes" that eventually becomes "yes", anyway, because it has to.

A big-city businesswoman, visiting her aging father for Christmas, walks into a coffee shop and runs headlong into her widowed highschool sweetheart after years away.

A gallant knight, stripped of his armour, raises a sword to protect the princess and slay the dragon.

A PI cracks a cold-case that's been haunting the local police for years after they stumble on new evidence, almost by accident.

Almost by a miracle.

A brave starship captain lays down their life to save an entire planet, millions of lives, because it is right, and at the last second is retrieved by advanced technology created by a society that cares.

Jonathan Sims does the best he can with the information he has, and he almost makes it out in the end.

Until he doesn't.

There is no other version of the story.

----

*I was being mostly facetious in this claim but a part of me actually really wants a low-stakes cozy romantasy in this setting. I can't write that type of stake to save my life (even my fanfiction has to have something life-threatening, so no butterflies for me) so if that prompt strikes your fancy, feel free to steal it and modify however needed. Just... let me know if you ever finish it.

JONATHAN ARCHIVIST IS NOT STUPID SQUAD I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU

[solereflection]

okay so

big theory time

everyone is going crazy recently about the fact that its young pv in this scene, and from what it looks like shadow milk disguised himself as a sheep only to reveal himself later (just like a wolf in sheep’s clothing)

the thing im wondering is:

was pv being watched from the very beginning?

when analyzing this scene i could think about like 3 different explanations for that:

1) its an illusion of the past created by shadow milk manifesting itself like a dream, and pv recognizes the eyes because he started being aware

2) its like a fake memory, put in his head to mess with his perception of the truth of what really happened (except its not likely i guess)

3) it actually happened, and pv recognizes the eyes because of blueberry yogurt academy

and to push this further, i went back to the wind piercer of darkness update, its story has elements that clear some things up

so by other space probably meaning abstract or metaphysical space, or even alternate dimensions,,

he can manipulate memories, dreams, or even time (considering how powerful he really is) - that would explain how he even knew pv would become the holder of his soul jam

the dark side of the moon was the place he talked to pv as the light of truth (which is canon at this point looking at what he said above)

if he had access to it the entire time despite being sealed, he could have watched pv from there without needing to be present in the normal world

and if he could possibly control time along of changing the reality to his bidding, he could go back in time and mess with pv even more to break him

this is the part of the dialogues that really bugs me, since he talked to him in the dark side of the moon not that long before getting out of the tree

that would mean they met in the real world before, which could be kind of impossible because he was sealed up, and pv didnt even exist when he was still a virtue since it was eons ago

i’ve seen many theories about who this could be, and my own is that it’s pv’s own consciousness warning him, even looks like him and reminds me of when pv used to pretend to be healer cookie because he couldnt forgive himself for not protecting his friends and it could be why the figure has a hood + has his voice

or if i were to go a little overboard with my imagination for the time being, even his future self trying to warn him

also, its pretty clear it was shadow milk pretending to be pv because soon enough this happens

and this could happen because pv overcame his doubt and/or listened to the warning signs to avoid lies being forced into his head

will edit this if anything gets confirmed tomorrow, thanks for reading

edit : okay so it most definitely was a dream looking at what was just uploaded, it was fun to theorize about though

[alienpossession]

There's something highly unusual in his smoothie this morning, and he clearly remembered that he did not put aloe vera or anything.....slimy into it. Did Molly put something into it? No.....Molly would never mess with his drink like that. He should've spat it out the moment he sensed the odd mouth-feel when he took a swig of the supposedly refreshing and energizing drink, but he already swallowed it and there's nothing he can do about it. So, despite feeling a bit hesitant, he walked back to finish his set

Imagine Joe's surprise to find himself drenched in sweat in the middle of driving his car all in a sudden. The sun looked weird as if it's closer to 7 PM rather than 7 AM too. He clearly remembered that he's about to get back to do his set so how the f----

The look of confusion in his face that appeared just seconds ago faded and replaced with a grin as if a switch clicked inside his brain and a differing personality emerged altogether. He takes a deep breath and then ease himself, the air inside the car thick with his musky sweat mixed with the crispness of the air conditioner laced with the very soft air freshener that's almost empty.

Joe emerged once again mid-way smooching his girlfriend, Molly. But this time, he cannot move a single limb and in a full-blown, practically body-horror scene, watched his own body moved without him making any single decision for it. It's like it moves on autopilot and what's even more sickening is that it moves exactly the way Joe would move. The seductive kisses, the hand movement, everything seemed to be the kind of move Joe made himself but it's clearly not him in control, at least from his point of view. Molly.....well, she seemed to think that whoever currently controlled his limb is the actual him but it's not like he can blame her or anything, this is really his body with someone or something in control of it with the perfect precision of imitating him. He tried to scream for help but the only words that left his mouth are bunch of sweet nothings that clearly perked her up as his hand now wandered to pretty much claim what all the foreplay intended to achieve. Right as his fingers grazed Molly's pussy, everything turned black once more for Joe

When Joe brought forward to the forefront once more, he already lost track of time but he clearly recognized his own bathroom. What freak him out is the way his body seemingly address him, as if whatever or whoever is in control purposefully bring Joe back to the conscious realm

"Hey there Joe. Thank you for the past 1 week, but I think I can fully get everything done by myself from now on. I already absorbed anything I need from you to pass as a fully-functioning human living on Earth with the assistance of your cooperation. This is just my way of saying goodbye, after all, you like it cruel, don't you? It's embedded in you, confronting people that you tortured like when you proudly pound Molly back when she still dated your own best friend, Rob, or when you triumphantly get your way out of trouble and smirked to the nerd you bullied back in high school as the teachers sided with you the star multi-sport athlete and the one that reported you for cheating and using AI for final test when the whole panel sided with you, guess it's fitting to inflict the same pain you gave to those unfortunate people in the final moment of your consciousness. Relax, I'll keep the same energy even when you're not around, I'm not that much of a human after all, I don't empathize with your species at all. Guess I'll never see you again then, Joe, bye,"

[curlysfist]

Black Mould

Synopsis: Jimmy invites you to his apartment one evening for no reason. He's acting strange. (tw mentions of suicide, talk of murder, barely edited. can't think of anything else. Minors DNI.)

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: Enjoyed writing this! kind of fascinated by the abused white boy psychology. i vividly remember watching a clip of sam hyde (was never a fan FYI, he had one good comedy bit in his early years pre-adultswim and just decided to never be funny ever again) talking about how he wanted to kill his parents while smoking on a curbside and that particular clip will always be jimmy-coded

"I want to kill someone."

You glanced at Jimmy, slouched opposite you on the shitty vegan leather couch. The roll of weed pinched between his fingers burned unevenly, smoke curling between the callouses. It smelled sour, pungent, but he smoked it like it was some handcrafted Cuban cigar.

"I want to kill my mom." His voice rasped, cutting through the stagnant air. His eyes, dull and fixed, locked on you. "And then my dad."

You glanced up sharply from your laptop, instantly torn from the half-written document. "Do you?"

"Yeah." A slow exhale, smoke drifting lazily from his lips. His head tipped back against the couch, exposing the line of his throat. "I think about it sometimes. Killing them. Driving back to that shitty townhouse and strangling them. Bare-handed."

"Ooh. Scary." You closed your laptop with a soft click, the sound too clean for this moment. Leaning back, you met his stare. "And then what? Parricide is deep stuff, Jimmy. You really think you'd settle back into your day-to-day after that?"

His mouth twitched—something between a grin and a grimace. "Mhm. Why? You think I'm a pussy?"

"I'd call it just having a human conscience." You reached out, finger jabbing lightly at his side. "You act tough over the stupidest things. Honestly."

He slapped your hand away without force, like swatting a fly. Then he shifted forward, elbows on his knees, the blunt hanging loosely from his fingers. His eyes glistened, glassy and red, face absent of the usual lines of his permanent scowl. He almost looked peaceful.

It unsettled you. And Jimmy being quiet never meant anything good.

"Jimmy," you tried again, voice sharpening before you could stop it. "Have you slept?"

He didn’t answer. Just brought the blunt back to his mouth, lips curling around it. Ignoring you.

You sighed, softer this time, and your fingers reached out—grazing his shoulder, gentle. A small nudge to turn him toward you. "Jim—"

The world snapped sideways.

Your back hit the couch with a hard, bruising thud, the cushions squealing beneath you. Jimmy loomed above, shadow cutting across his face, smoke still curling from the corner of his mouth. His hand was planted next to your head, steady, but his eyes—those were trembling.

"Don't touch me."

It wasn't a shout. It was low, coiled. Like a wire pulled too tight. Admittedly, childish.

You let the silence stretch, feeling it dig in. Then, slow and deliberate, you scoffed. "I'll do as I please."

His jaw clenched. You saw it. Felt the heat radiating off him. But he didn’t move. Didn't lean closer, didn't pull back.

You stared him down.

Because you knew this wasn’t about you. Not really. You knew Jimmy, knew how he spiraled—lashing out, testing limits. Trying to scrape the inside of his own skull for something that might feel real.

So you stayed still. And so did he.

Smoke thinned between you, curling in slow, suffocating ribbons.

Finally, Jimmy let out a slow breath, shoulders slumping the tiniest bit. The fight draining, not gone, but dulled.

He sat back down, the couch groaning beneath him. The blunt, half-forgotten, drooped between his fingers.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

"Curly's right to worry about you, you know." You couldn't be bothered to lighten the topic. "He won't say it—and he probably doesn't even consciously realize it—but you're always one impulse away from doing something batshit crazy."

Again, he ignores you. Though you could've sworn under the dim lights of the living room lamp, his bottom lip twitched.

Cutting yourself off before you could continue on your usual rants about his poor behavior, his appalling attitude, the fucking things he does, you exhale slowly. "Curly can keep babying you. You've had a hard life, right? Good things don't come easy to you. That's what he tells me," you rub your jaw, teeth throbbing from the grit they were in moments ago. "And you don't believe in God. You don't believe in consequences. You don't believe in anything. So I'll make it clear—

"I will kill you if you start pulling shit again."

He laughs, harsh, before falling into a fit of coughs.

"You think I'm joking?"

"No, I just don't think you've got the balls."

"Okay. You can think that. But I've made it clear." You stare at him, while he keeps his chin raised and his fingers tight around the waning roll. "I always have a pistol on me. And I always know what you're up to."

"I really don't give a shit about your threats."

His voice is almost a mutter, too quiet to even bother sounding threatening. His eyes soon trail to the floor, tracing some stain that’s been there for God knows how long. You can tell he’s not thinking about it—just trying to focus on anything but whatever is going on behind his eyes.

"I don’t need saving, alright?" He continues a few seconds later. "Not from you. Not from anyone."

"Funny," you murmur, letting your gaze linger on him. "You say that, but you sure as hell seem like you need someone to clean up after you."

He takes another hit, slow, deliberate, and you watch the smoke snake up toward the ceiling, like it’s just one more thing drifting away from him. But he's still here. As are you.

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do? Be the one to fix me?" He says it with a twisted smile, but it’s not real. You know that. "Please."

"Fix you?" You repeat it back to him, no humor in your voice. "You think you're broken? Maybe you're just fucked up, Jim. There’s a difference."

His eyes finally meet yours, sharp, searching. Like he’s trying to read something in you, like he's expecting you to fold. But you don’t. You’re not Curly.

"How long do you think you can keep doing this?" You ask, letting the words land heavy between you. "You want to tear everything down, including yourself. But at the end of it, what’s left? Nothing. Just you. Stuck with all the shit you will never outrun."

He doesn’t answer. Just exhales, the smoke hanging thick in the air. You don’t expect him to. You know the drill.

"You really think you can handle it all on your own?" Your voice is quieter now, barely more than a murmur. "You think you're the only one who's ever been through anything? You even know what you're doing to yourself, Jim? You’re not invincible. You’re just...existing. Waiting for everything to fall apart."

He tenses, just a little, like a muscle twitching in his jaw. The blunt’s burning down, but he’s barely noticing it. His focus is somewhere far away.

"I know exactly what I’m doing," he mutters, voice thick with something you can’t quite place. "I’m not the problem. You are."

You stare at him, half expecting him to turn the tension into something real, to throw the punch he’s been holding back. But he doesn’t. Instead, you hear a soft, frustrated breath escape him. Damn, he must be really tired.

"Me?" You laugh, no amusement in it. "You think I’m the one who’s fucked up? You’ve been doing this for how long, Jim? Dirtying everything that has the… the misfortune of being near you. And you think I’m the problem?"

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to answer, or maybe he's just tired of it. You don't care. You let the silence fill the space between you. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like it could swallow you both.

"I’m not the one trying to fix you," you say, voice finally softening just a bit. "I just want you to stop pretending like this is all some fucking game. You can’t keep acting like everything doesn’t matter, and you can’t keep pretending you’re not going to burn out and die along the way. Prematurely. Suicide, if I had to guess."

For a moment, there’s just the dull sound of him dragging the blunt to his lips again, slow, like he's stalling. As if he was even engaging with you to begin with.

But you’ve said it now. You’re not backing off.

“Is this what you really want?”

His eyes flick to yours for a second, but he looks away again, like he’s afraid of whatever’s written there. Whatever truth he knows you can see.

"That doesn’t matter," he finally says, voice lower this time, less certain. "You won’t let me."

You lean back, letting the words hang there in the air. You don’t need to say anything else. It’s all there already.

Shifting your legs, you look to the ceiling, the galaxy of dots on the popcorn ceiling staring back at you. "I’m not trying to save you, Jim. I’m just trying to stop you from dragging me down with you."

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. You both know it’s not about the threats anymore. It’s not about the words or the fights or even the silence. It’s about the fact that you both know too much. Too much about each other. And that’s what really fucking hurts.

A million problems with no solutions.

[vampzity]

neglectful | FL

“It always goes like this, could’ve predicted it. I’m so naive to think you loved me for me.” — goddess, laufey

pairing: bf! felix x reader

after a rough disagreement with your boyfriend, you can’t help but feel like a terrible parter to him. he does his best to go out his way to show you you’re more than enough but unbeknownst to him, it was already too late.

[warnings]: slight arguing? self-consciousness. this is far from fluff i fear…! angst only hehe

word count: 1.5k

“You just don’t seem to care! All you’ve been doing is pushing me aside and I’m tired.”

You stormed out of the house, completely forgetting the lunch that Felix had packed for you. You’ve had enough of the excuses, of the silence whenever you were right, the “ifs ands and buts.” Felix stood there in disbelief, your plate of breakfast still in his hand as he hoped you would just come back through the door.

Except you wouldn’t, not this time.

There was going to be no more, “letting him off the hook.” Every time you argued, you’d let him have the last word— you’d forgive him so easily and let it go as if it wouldn’t continue again in the future. You were exhausted and you just wanted him to listen.

Felix wasn’t always this way, oh no. He was a completely different person back then, but it just left you with the many wonders of what had changed. When did he become so cold, so distant and why? For some odd reason he didn’t want to talk about his feelings toward you and that bothered you. Relationships should be all about being open with each other, communicating.. he was doing the exact opposite.

The cycle was the same, he’s cold, he’s distant, you comment about it, he brushes it off as nothing and then you argue. With him moving on like it was nothing hours later. It hurt you to see someone who you still cherish so deeply, switch a flip on you unexpectedly.

Felix placed your plate on the table, staring with a blank expression. There wasn’t a single day that you’d go without eating breakfast, especially not before work. It shouldn’t have. bothered him, but it left a heavy weight on his shoulders that he didn’t like. He sat at the table, pushing the food on his own plate around with a fork as his mind raced.

Was he really as neglectful as you made it out to be?

He glanced over to your plate across the table, full and missing your presence. An empty feeling washed over him— it was odd to be eating breakfast without you, as it was something you two have done every morning for the last 2 years. For once, there were left overs. Your untouched leftovers.

A frown painted his face as he got up to clear the table. He searched through the cabinets for a container to save your food in, but to his surprise there was none. How far in the gutter was his mind? Did you ever mention anything about needing more containers before?

Felix glanced around the kitchen, his eyes catching a small list against the fridge. He walked over to it and pulled it down, scanning it for a moment. Milk, eggs, cereal, and there it was.

Storage containers.

“A grocery list, for me?” He tilted his head in confusion, his eyes catching the date of the note.

1/03/25.

That was nearly a whole week and a half ago. A sighed escaped him as he imagined the many times you had told him to bring back groceries on his way home, or simply go and get them on his days off.

It all made sense now— why you came home furiously carrying multiple bags of groceries the other day. Why you gave him the cold shoulder whenever he cooked for you. He was neglecting you without noticing and didn’t even bother to see the signs you threw his way. Felix’s heart sank at the realization, feeling horrible for the way he let you feel. He loved you, he always did, however it was clear you felt that he didn’t anymore. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel less than enough.

How could he make it up to you?

— ✧⁂✬ —

You pulled into the driveway of your shared home, groaning as you turned off the car. You sat in your seat for a minute, contemplating if you even wanted to walk inside— it’s not like you’d be greeted with any warm welcome. A useless argument seemed more likely to occur the that at this point, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it.

You got out of your car, locking it as you walked over to the door. You fumbled with the keys for a moment before the door swung open in front of you. Startled you jumped back, being greeted with a guilty look from Felix. You looked at him for a second, before brushing past him to take off your coat and shoes.

“Can we talk?”

Felix closed the door, trailing behind you as you switched into your house slippers. You ignored him, walking over to the kitchen to spot a small plate of brownies on the table. You raised your eyebrow, giving him a quick glance only to be met with a half smile. Sending the cold shoulder his way, you grabbed a drink out of the fridge and walked toward the stairs.

It’s been months since he’s made you anything, let alone brownies. Though to make brownies all of a sudden, especially knowing you were upset with him? It was unusual.

“Hey,” he grabbed your hand, tugging on it slightly. You turned your head to look at him, sighing as you pulled your hand out from his grasp.

“Please talk to me, I’m sorry.” he mumbled, searching for even the slightest bit of light in your eyes.

“Talk about what, Felix? I’ve said more than enough to you yet time and time again you don’t care. Why waste my breath?”

He gave you a small frown, accepting the harsh truth that you had every right to be upset with him. All he wanted to do was fix things and make you happy— was it too late for that?

“I’m just, I feel horrible. I spent so much time in my work, I neglected you and.. that’s not right.”

He looked away from your cold gaze, picking at his chipped nail polish. You sighed heavily, turning away from him and walking back up the steps to your shared bedroom. You dug through the closet and pulled out a suitcase, soon fumbling through the closet and drawers for clothes. Felix watched from the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him once again, walking into the bathroom to grab things and soon placing them in the stuffed luggage. You closed the suitcase, pulling it off the bed. Felix walked into the room, grabbing the suitcase from your hands and pulling it to him.

“Hey, give me that back!” You tugged at the handle that he held a firm grip on. “I’m serious Felix, I’m done here.”

“So you’re just going to leave like that? After everything? Where are you even going to go?”

His questions felt like knives, turning and twisting inside of you. Still, you ignored them, yanking the suitcase from his hold and walking down the steps. You changed back into your sneakers, Felix standing a good distance away from you. You glanced over to him, watching as tears escaped his eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you. Brownies doesn’t fix anything, especially this and you know that.” You put on your jacket, pulling the car keys out from the pocket.

“I’ve fought, I’ve communicated, I even thrown hints at you and still you pushed them aside as nothing. Can’t you see it Felix? I loved you more than I loved myself, more than you even loved me.”

Felix stood there still, his face covered in tears as he wiped them away. He couldn’t respond to you, he wouldn’t. There was nothing for him to say when you were right. He had to bring himself to see the harsh reality of it all— he hurt you, put you last, every feeling you had at this moment was valid.

He wasn’t always cold, he was never the cold mean guy toward you, and the tears may have proven it, but a part of you couldn’t bear with it anymore. He showed you his true colors without a warning. He was more passionate about his work than he was of your relationship, and it tore you apart.

“Felix..” your voice broke, tears rolling down your face as you walked up to him.

You held his hands in your own, bringing them up to your face before you placed a soft kiss against them. You gave him a small frown as you wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I love you, but I deserve better. I’m sorry.”

His heart shattered at your words. He subconsciously pulled you into a hug, squeezing you softly as if he didn’t want to let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his head gently before pulling yourself away from his hug.

“Please don’t go, I can do better. I promise.” His doe eyes met your own, making you look away.

You walked back to your suitcase, holding it tightly as you made your way to the door. You stopped suddenly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at his fragile gaze. It hurt you to see him like this, but that was only part of the extent that he ever made you feel. He may not ever know how you truly felt.

“You’re too late.”

You shut the door behind you, tears streaming down your cheeks as you made your way to the car. The worst part was over— at least for you, unlucky for Felix, it was just beginning.

uh, i’m sorry for this LMAO. part 2 maybe?

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @jjongibears @rvereri

@kittykat-25 @sundaybossanova @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @vnessalau

@tiredlittlevirgo @roomsofangel @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @minghaoslatina

[inc0mple]

Reiterating this on Tumblr. (These are my own thoughts and opinions that I am expressing for myself.)

You are allowed to be excited about a piece of media, and want to scream about it to the heavens. That's the mark of a good author.

You are also allowed to feel negatively towards media! It's your brain and your opinions!

But if your opinion is positive, I think it cultivates a better community environment to leave positive/affirming comments. Yes the new episode has us all feeling the feels, and I know hyperbole comments like "Author when I catch you author" are very common on Webtoon, especially with big plot events, and are written to be complimentary.

But sometimes threats and accusations towards the author, even meant in a positive way, can start to look like a slew of pure hate mail. You can, generally, say whatever you want on the internet without major retribution (a block or a deleted comment at most, usually). And if it's a well used/obvious hyperbole, like "OMGGGG HOW DARE YOU I'M NEVER GOING TO FORGIVE THIS" or "IM DROPPING THE COMIC" or even wishing misfortune onto the creator of a series (which is never okay to do online, by the way), there likely will not be repercussions because the understanding is that it isn't serious. However, in masses, these comments feel very heavy. I'm not saying you aren't allowed to scream in the comments (and to be fair I'm not allowed to make any rules, I'm just expressing my opinion and easing my own consciousness, but I ask you to at least hear it out), but simply keeping expressively negative language about hating the comic and telling the author to stop making it out of digital spaces can cultivate an equally excited community that feels much better to look at. You can type "AHHHHHHH SCREAMING ABOUT THE NEW EPISODE" without adding the /nrs toxic stuff, sucky words about hate and anger directed towards the comic or creator. This goes for more things than just Cinderella Boy.

And if you do dislike it you're allowed to do that. Just remember nobody owes you. We are reading this comic for free, and we are not entitled to the enjoyment of it. If you want to drop it, drop it; you're allowed to. If you have a grievance with it you can maintain that! But spamming public forums just because the plot didn't go your way isn't really cool. And if you are typing the types of comments y'all know I'm talking about and mean them, check yourself. Those are not okay things to say. Be a good person.

The internet doesn't take away the people behind the screen. I thought this was something we learned in elementary school. You are not just talking to a profile picture and a username. This also doesn't just go for statements directly towards Punko; let's all just be nice to each other and make sure we aren't stepping over people's conversational boundaries that they would have with any reasonable, human stranger - because most of us are strangers, or vague acquaintances. And you wouldn't be yelling at people like that if you were standing in front of you irl, unless they were your friends. And you do not have that level of familiarity with most people online.

How big of an issue this is in this fandom depends on who you ask - for the most part people are so nice here and it's so great - but I just wanted to make a blanket statement because it's something to keep in mind and I've been seeing a lot of it as the finale approaches. If you don't like a piece of media it's probably best to just disengage with it. Also, threats are not okay.

[other-floret-friend]

Being a doll is lovely! Following one's purpose, finding such a visceral fulfillment in being commanded and following orders... feeling such a calming stillness overtake you as you sit still and look pretty like a good doll... but this one's favourite part is being cuddled and played with like a cute little toy! That one should totally become, humanity just can't compare.

I... that sounds so nice. The thing with dollhood is that, in my mind, I've always kind of viewed it as a combination of two things.

The first is some sort of... stillness, I suppose? An absence of thought, or something thereabout - not having to really exist outside of just being useful. No space to let myself think or feel or really exist, just being able to effectively be "switched on" for a purpose.

And, well, the second thing is just that; having a pre-determined, all-consuming purpose that's specific enough that I can actually use it as a benchmark to consider whether or not I'm a good "thing", compared to the nebulous "be useful to those around you". Not having to think or feel, just being useful, serving a function, and then going limp again. Not even an ebb of consciousness until I'm needed once more.

It's... odd. I've never really thought much of it in the sense of me being appreciated just for being a doll, but maybe that's just because I kind of struggle to grapple with the idea of being loved and appreciated just on the basis of what I am.

Without consciousness... I'd never need any of that. No more thoughts about anything. I wouldn't need a name, a personality, likes or dislikes, preferences or ideas or thoughts. Ideally, not even memory. Just a function, and a space to be stored when not performing it. Maybe amongst others like myself. That sounds... nice.

...I worry I might have misunderstood what you were going for with this. I'm very sorry if that's the case.

[russadler]

my favorite headcanon/au of Adler as a parent is the reluctant father.

Adler doesn’t want children merely on the basis of keeping collateral damage from his career to a minimum. The kid would be hurt by his constant absence or even worse, by his enemies.

It’s a risk he can’t justify.

When he unexpectedly ends up becoming a father he stays out of the child’s life, he’s made his stance on the subject clear. He provides financially without question if asked (routed through multiple accounts to prevent being traced) and maybe knows a detail or two about the kid but he stays away. Nobody but himself and the child’s mother know anything.

Nobody can know. To be associated with a man like himself is to be in danger, in his mind.

What Adler also doesn’t tell anyone is that he has that baby’s birthday memorized, he thinks of them every year. He wonders if they look like him, or if they have traces of his personality. He thinks of them far more often than he’s comfortable admitting. And deep, deep down in the darkest corner of his mind he knows he loves them with every fibre of his being despite not knowing them just because they’re his.

And when he lays critically wounded in a far away battle field, near death and slipping in and out of consciousness, he regrets more than anything that he doesn’t know what his own child looks like.

[orieriee]

Chapter 4 ✦ Light or Darkness?

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Sypnosis: Y/N L/N is a special shaman from a jujutsu family. Y/N was sent to Tokyo to go on missions to prove their worth as the next heir. With the ability of 'flow', a cursed technique that allows its user to see and manipulate forces of energy freely. Y/N stumbled across Geto Suguru amidst a dark aura, carrying a weight of chaotic and dark energy. Will Y/N be able to help Geto overcome his turmoil? Will Y/N fulfill the lifelong anticipation and succeed in becoming the next heir?

Time setting: 2007, a year after Amanai Riko's death, before Geto Suguru's breaking point. gn!reader. I use they/them pronounce for neutrality.

Disclaimer: This will be a slight crossover with chainsaw man because I needed a mentor figure who is not known in Jujutsu Kaisen. I do not own any of the characters from Jujutsu Kaisen or Chainsaw Man. The characters belong to Gege Akutami as the creator of Jujutsu Kaisen and Tatsuki Fujimoto as the creator of Chainsaw Man. I only own the story plot of this work of fiction. I will also mix in a written story for the plot so it's not just the SMAU story. Also english isn't my first language so excuse any grammar errors in the story (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

"Good morning." the morning of your mission, you were waiting for Geto in front of the train station, "Ready to depart?"

"Why are you wearing... Such clothes?" Geto looked perplexed at your traditional yet fancy attire. Let's say it's similar as Geto wearing a Gojo-kesa in jjk but it's more inspired by Inuyasha's clothing with modification. Such attire would attract attention in the modern day of jujutsu kaisen.

"It looks more convincing that I'm a traveling monk-shaman, does it not?" you beamed, shaking your staff a bit to show off the ringing sound of the bells.

"At least the villagers will be convinced." Geto sighed.

"By the way, here's your sweets. I got a few types of candies that are popular in the area of my mission." you handed him a bag of sweets and patted him on the back, "Well then, let's go."

Amidst the hurried footsteps of the train station, Geto found myself lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. Depressing thoughts clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to consume him. He's on the brink of darkness, his moral compass has wavered, slowly carrying a malicious intent towards non-sorcerers little by little.

The sound of the train rumbled in the background but you can only notice the silence coming from Geto as you rambled on little things about your previous mission.

"Geto, are you listening?" you realized his gaze wasn't right the whole ride, seemingly just out of it. Just like the time when you two first met at the train on the way back to Tokyo.

"Hm? Yeah what was it again?" he gave a masked smile.

You weren't convinced. With your cursed energy's ability, flow, you are able to sense people's state of cursed energy. Whether they're stable or unstable. And right now, even though Geto smiled, his energy is screaming in agony.

With a soft smile, you reached out a hand. "You don't have to pretend with me," you speak softly. "It's clear to me that your mind is in turmoil. I won't pester you to tell, but you don't have to face your demons alone.".

"... You can tell?" Geto was a bit surprised that you could read his mood, "Well, you did say you can read people like an open book."

"I've been wondering about my existence and goals a lot." Geto opened up a little, "Going on a mission like this, all seemed like a symptomatic treatment rather than a causal treatment to terminate all cursed spirits."

"That's why you've been thinking about creating a world where cursed spirits doesn't exist, right?" you connected the dots.

"... Yes. Sorcerers should be able to live without fear of cursed spirits like non-sorcerers. But all we do is clean up after their mess." he acknowledged his twisted mindset, "It would be better if all non-sorcerers are gone so we wouldn't need to suffer loss."

"..." you looked down at your feet, trying to understand such mindset of someone who's slowly spiraling down the path of evil.

"Say, Geto. Why did you become a sorcerer in the first place?" you asked, curious about the reason why he joined jujutsu high.

"... The strong must protect the weak. Though now I don't know." he admitted with a nonchalant look on his face.

"So in your mind, you think of sorcerers as the strong ones and non-sorcerers are the weak?" you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, finding the idea a bit absurd.

"We simply exist to eliminate curses caused by non-sorcerers and protect them." Geto went poker-faced as he admitted it.

"Then, let me ask you this. Which one is stronger, light or darkness?" you questioned, leaving him a bit dumbfounded by the sudden random question.

"Well, it might depend on the scenario." Geto took a moment to answer the question.

Your smile slipped as his answered succeeded your expectation.

"Right? Just as darkness may seem capable of engulfing a single light, so too can a bright light illuminate even the darkest depths of darkness." you quoted, "But light and dark exist to create balance. Light without darkness would be blinding, overwhelming in its brilliance. Darkness without light would be oppressive, suffocating in its obscurity."

"You understand my analogy, don't you?" you smiled at him. Geto's face expression relaxed a little, trying seemingly understanding the conveyed message.

"Well, I don't know what you've been through but like you said, if the strong must protect the weak, then when you choose to become the strong one then you have chosen to help people in need. You chose to become a jujutsu sorcerer in the end." you reassured him, "You could've chosen to be the 'weak' and turn your backs on the jujutsu world. There are many of those with the ability to become a jujutsu sorcerer but chose to be regular people instead, kid. But you didn't. And you're not alone in this." you gave him a reassuring pat on the back/the head.

"Aren't you about the same age as me?" Geto smiled softly as he finds it funny that you talk like an elderly.

"You may be a special grade sorcerer. But you're still young. Don't shoulder too much burden, it'll only make you look old faster." you laughed, helping Geto to get into a better mood.

"... Somehow I feel a bit better when I'm with you." Geto whispered in a low tone voice that you can only catch a little.

But his cursed energy flow is getting more stable so it's good to know that his mind is more at ease now.

© published on 14/01/24 by orieriee

written and published by orieriee on tumblr. Please do not copy or repost in any other platform.

[rarepairdumpster]

Serial Killer AU Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Murder, Violence, Torture, Corpse Disposal, Oral Sex, I swear we just consume a lot of true crime, or DO WE

Viktor absolutely shows up, with a cute boy in tow, who is absolutely convinced he's about to rail the pretty cripple into unconsciousness.

Silco hears them outside the door and unlocks it before hiding in the hall closet. He feels that odd twist on his stomach again when he hears Viktor respond to the boy's pathetic flirting. It would be easy to kill this one.

He listens to them move deeper into the house, away from the main door, away from any windows.

His hand itches to tighten around his knife when he hears the unmistakable sound of someone moaning.

He thinks it might be Viktor.

Silco slips out of the closet. Slinks after them. The hunger is ramping up within him.

Silco finally spots them, sprawled on the couch, the dark haired boy's shirt already off as Viktor's hung open to the sides. The boy's head was ducked, kissing the porcelain skin on Viktor's chest. Silco caught a glimpse of the bruise he had left on Viktor's neck the night before and a jolt shot down his spine, electric and like nothing he thought he could feel without someone's blood on his hands.

With the boy preoccupied, Viktor isn't afraid to glance towards the door, towards Silco.

There's a hunger in his eyes, but not for the boy kissing down his chest.

For Silco.

For whatever Silco will do next.

Quietly, Silco walks towards them, careful to stay behind the boy. He can feel Viktor watching him, but he's purely focused on the hunt. Once Silco is in range, he pulls the boy off of Viktor, slamming him to the ground.

"Woah hey I didn't know he--"

"Shut up." Silco hits him in the temple with the handle of his knife and the boy drops to the ground, unconscious.

Silco grabs his ankle and drags him to the basement door.

Viktor is already scrambling to get ahead of him, shirt still open, hair mussed from being pawed at.

Slut, Silco thinks a little viciously.

Viktor wants to say something, ask so much, but he doesn't want to mess this up, so he stays quiet. He finds a stool and a dark corner and waits as patiently as he can while Silco prepares.

Silco brings the boy back to consciousness once he has him tied to a chair and gagged.

Silco grins like a shark as the boy starts to twitch and thrash against the restraints, confused at first and then angry and then scared.

Silco inhales deeply, the sight of that fear sending heat right down to his cock. He deliberately plays with his knife, so the boy can see, and is gratified when the boy starts to cry, starts to try to plead through the gag.

"You can cry and scream all you want," Silco says quietly, almost gently. "But no one is coming for you. No one ever does."

Viktor bites his fist to stifle any sounds and has to dig his other palm into his crotch already. The heat in Silco's eyes is intoxicating and Viktor can't wait until they're turned on him.

Silco sees his younger self in the bound boy, sees the scrap of a thing that Vander tried to kill, almost killed, because he was too weak to fight back. And Silco wants to erase him from existence.

But not yet. 

His face twists around a snarl and his knife flashes.

And the boy screams, blood surging from a gash on his arm.

Viktor is staring now, intently, watching the blood flow from the boys arm to the plastic on the floor. His cock twitches as he licks his lips, and leans forward slightly, not wanting to miss a second. 

Silco raises the stained blade again, this time bringing it down in an arc, slicing the boys chest. The boy is begging, pleading, and sobbing, unable to get a full word out through the pain. Pathetic.

The more pathetic he gets with every cut, the more Silco itches to slash the blade across his neck. Silence him even as the blood spills and spills.

Eventually Silco grabs the boy's chin, fueled with the rage from all these years, all this hurt. The pain and fear in his victim's eyes makes it all the more sweet when he finally touches the blade to the boy's neck. 

"Disgusting weak whelp," Silco hisses, then leans on close to the boy's ear. The memory rings out clearly as did Vander's voice so many years ago.

"No one will want to remember a rat like you," Silco whispers, slicing the blade across the boy's neck, the blood spraying across his clothing and face as he watches the light fade from the boy's eyes.

Viktor is almost frozen, drinking in how Silco looks with his front covered in blood and his face and hair dotted with ruby spatters.

Silco's shoulders are visibly rising and falling with his breath, and his cock is a heavy weight in his slacks. He looks almost rabid when he turns and looks directly at Viktor, drops of blood making their way down his face.

"Get the shovel." His voice is quiet, so different to his appearance. It's almost a tender caress. Silco points towards his tools. "My duffel bag. And my axe."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just dissolve him in the bathtub," Viktor asks dubiously, but he moves to obey.

"Yes," Silco says quietly, "but large quantities of chemical purchases stand out in an investigation. Every household has a shovel."

Viktor nods and brings Silco the items, bag on his wrist and axe in hand. He uses the shovel as a cane until he can get to the workbench to lean. 

"We'll just use the plot I had prepared for you," Silco comments, untying the corpse and letting it fall to the plastic. "Clean the chair."

Viktor feels a little flip in his belly at the words prepared for you, as if Silco just gave him a compliment or something.

Viktor scrubs the chair clean and sets it aside while Silco goes axe-mad with the corpse.

Silco starts at the joints, then the head, then cuts the torso in half. Viktor is standing behind Silco and catches a few stray blood droplets from the axe swinging. One falls on his lips and he darts his tongue out to lick it, savoring the salty taste.

Silco gives him a look when he does it. Can't decide if he's more aroused or just disgusted.

Once Silco is finished, he turns to Viktor. "Garbage bags. Just behind you."

Viktor turns and sees the roll of black bags on the top of the workbench. He grabs them and starts to unfurl them, ripping them off one by one. 

"At least two bags to each section." Silco instructs. "Add another if you think there's a rip."

Viktor getting breathy while he does what he's told. Part of Viktor just wishes Silco would grab him and fuck him right now, surrounded by blood and body parts

Silco grabbing Viktor's hair after the body's been buried and they're back in the car. He pulls Viktor's face straight to his crotch and whispers "Get to work, boy."

Viktor can smell the mix of sweat and blood, making his mouth water even more. He quickly makes work of Silco's trousers and pulls them down in one swift motion, letting Silco's cock bounce against his lips before taking the head in his mouth with a moan.

Silco letting his head thump against the head rest, the faintest little noise escaping because fuck the boy was eager.

Viktor takes Silco's length entirely, and looks up at him, Viktor's doe eyes having a sinister heat behind them. Silco keeps his hand threaded into Viktor's hair, guiding him and pushing how far he can go.

Silco's cock twitches whenever Viktor chokes on it. His balls draw tight when those eyes finally start shedding tears.

Viktor's been horny all night, so he cums in his pants during one of the bouts of choking, more than happy to allow his throat to be used.

Arch + Woods

[sotiredofendos]

Huge difference between respecting one’s beliefs, and respecting factual information about a mental illness.

I respect a person’s religious beliefs and practices, until it causes harm. Like, anti-trans and gay rhetoric from religious people. Or Jehova’s Witnesses who ban their children from receiving life saving blood transfusions. That is a much more accurate description.

Endos are claiming to have alters/headmates/parts as seen in OSDDID. Even if they aren’t claiming to have a CDD, they are still claiming to have the experiences seen in those disorders. This means: having separate “conscious beings” in your mind, that have their own feelings, behaviour, desires, identity, and ones that you cannot control (in most cases). And yet, despite claiming to have these same experiences, they claim to not have no disorder, and no means by which these alters/headmates/parts could have feasibly been created. They cannot claim to experience the disorder, without having the disorder, or any disorder. The only means you can experience an actual “separate consciousness”, is OSDDID. Other experiences and disorders can mimic this appearance, but are not actually “separate consciousness”. Examples would be religious practices, BPD, schizophrenia, drug or alcohol induced episodes, etc. The reason we categorise these as different, is because these aren’t actual separate states of consciousness. They just appear to be that way. Endos claim to have separate consciousness.

I respect your beliefs, until it becomes harmful. Spreading the idea you can have alters by endogenic means not only very blatantly spreads misinformation to the general public about an already stigmatised disorder, but it also spreads this info to real CDD systems. If you had told me what an endo was 4 years ago, I would have thought I was one. Because I did not have access to trauma memories. OSDDID is a disorder that hides trauma. Telling people with this disorder that they do not need trauma for it, leads people to think they don’t actually have this disorder, and to never seek treatment. Beyond this, a lot of endos support other blatant misinformation. Such as system hopping, alter death, alter pregnancy, and the notion you can create an alter. These things are simply not possible.

Once again,

I respect your beliefs, until it becomes harmful.

I think my issue with anti-endos saying that "not believing in endos is like not believing in religion!" is that 1). it's an identity, and 2). they don't even treat us like how a person would treat a religion they didn't believe in.

Like okay, let's say you had a friend who was really big into Christianity, and followed the Bible faithfully (like no eating pork or eating red meat on Fridays, no working on the Sabbath, not worshipping idols, etc. Very faithful). If you wanted to be friends with him, you'd at least have to entertain the fact that he believes in Christianity, right? And though you don't have to participate in the Christianity yourself, you do have to acknowledge his dietary preferences, the way he will sometimes thank God or start praying right where you two stand and how he sometimes does things with religious motivations in mind. You couldn't ignore that without being a bad friend, or at least breaking a couple of laws (you couldn't ignore his dietary preferences, as it would be tampering with his food and contaminating it) so you'd have to remain respectful. You're not believing in what he believes, but respecting that he believes it, and behaves accordingly.

Anti-endos typically don't afford us that level of respect, though. Usually when I've seen someone say "they shouldn't have to believe in endos because it'd be like forcing your religion onto someone" usually they mean that they don't even want to acknowledge your headmates because that would be involving them in your beliefs. They usually don't mean it in a "I'll respect your identities and preferences even if I don't believe it," they usually mean it in a "I won't even believe it until you show some proof, and until then I don't have to respect anything about it". Which is their prerogative, but since it involves integral parts of our identities which most of us cannot change (it's easier to change religions than to undo plurality) don't be surprised when people compare it to transphobia.

[lvllns]

that pistachio post won’t get out of my head and i am going through it

[keferon]

Did you think I was done? Ahahahaha no, I have more.

Because chapter 70 of MOMU gave me the very dynamic between them that I missed so much, I just blacked out and started drawing uncontrollably lmao

Also. ALSO. I noticed a while ago that Prowl has the habit of..like…constantly frowning. So. I did a bit of research and made this graph.

In 70 chapters, Prowl frowns rougly 104 times. And the intensity of this gesture is very clearly correlated with the development of his relationship with Jazz, as you can see ahahahahah It might be wrong tho don’t take me seriously I’m not good with graphs

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[thedreadvampy]

not to keep waffling on about this but a thing I have noticed in many areas of my life, from protests to marital arts to mosh pits, is that

while I'm not particularly good at proprioception, have no depth perception and frankly mediocre core strength for someone who's been weight training for 2 years, and at times in my life I have just Fallen Over Regularly For No Reason because my legs stopped being legs for a second

I am, for whatever reason, basically impossible to push over or move through force

like I don't know if I just have an unusually low centre of gravity or just fuckin stubborn or what but I am just preternaturally good at being Hard To Move

some of it is a learnable skill but I think I just have short little tree trunk legs and solid body mass and when I plant my feet and drop my weight down even a bit I become like unto a boulder. it's a fun quirk of my character build.

[cuteniaarts]

Hey 🗑️🔥 gang (@katkastrofa @rokurookajima @shadelorde)…

Heard you guys like feral women 😏😏😏