#just when you think it cant get any worse than that

[loves0phelia]

Red And Blue

Summery: His canon event.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: kinda gore at one point nothing too crazy, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the amount of mistakes this probably has but i cant be bothered to care more i just want to get this fic out. Listen to my tears ricochet as you read

Rafe had always been good at hiding things. He kept his head down, stayed out of the spotlight, and made sure no one looked too closely. But ever since the bite, since the powers, since the responsibility that came with it, lying had become second nature.

Especially to you.

It killed him, really. Every time he bailed on a movie night, ignored your texts, or showed up bruised and breathless with a half-baked excuse, he saw the confused and hurt look in your eyes. But what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? That he was ditching every time to swing across rooftops, and fight criminals? No. That wasn’t an option.

Tonight was no different.

“Are you serious, Rafe?” You leaned your head down, phone pressed against your ear, voice sharp with frustration. “You're leaving me again. You promised this time. I know you don't like school events but just once please”

“I'm sorry” he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Something came up.”

“Something always comes up. What is it this time? And don’t tell me it's homework or family stuff, because I know when you’re lying.” 

“I just…” He exhaled, as if a weight was pressing on his chest. “I can’t tell you, okay?” He swallowed hard.

Silence. At first he thought you hung up but he could still hear a faint shuffling from the other end of the phone call.

The silence was somehow worse than you cursing him out for bailing.

“Why not? I thought we told each other everything.” your voice was softer this time, more fragile

God, how badly he wanted to. He wanted to tell you about the fights, the injuries he had to patch up alone, the weight of trying to be a hero when all he wanted was to be a normal guy. But if he told you he'd put you into too much risk.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So he did what he always did.

He lied.

“I just need you to trust me,” he said even if his chest ached. “Please.”

You thought for a long moment, then shook your head with a sad smile even if he couldn't see you. “You say that like I don’t already.”

And that hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

Because he knew he was running out of chances. The more he lied the more it felt like you were walking away.

“Welp” you said, popping the P, as if trying to lighten up the mood, before taking a small pause. “I'm already half ready and Gwen really wants us to go to the party so if you change your mind just call me?”

"Okay," he whispered into the phone.

"Bye, Rafe." The call ended with a soft beep, leaving him alone with the silence. 

“i suck” He let out a heavy sigh, groaning as he flopped onto his bed. The mask, half-folded over his face, slipped down, unfolding on its own. It rested against his nose—a quiet, relentless reminder of the responsibilities he has over the city.

"Heyyyy!" Gwen called out, sprinting toward you from the front steps of the school, where she had been waiting. Her face lit up the moment she spotted you approaching.

You hesitated, glancing at the building behind her, you could hear music thumping from inside. 

“Rafe is not with you?” she asked, looking around you thinking she might have missed him.

“No, you know how he is. He bailed again” you sighed.

“What is his problem?” She didn't wait for an answer and continued, “you know what? let's forget about him and just have fun” she looped her arm with yours and instantly began dragging you.

The homecoming party was in full swing, music pounding against the walls, and laughter echoed through the gym where it took place. It reeked of sweat, and the floor was already sticky as if someone had dropped bottles of juice on the floor and honestly if Rafe was here you would have begged him to leave with you already.

You tried to enjoy the moment, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. You clutched a red Solo cup filled with non alcoholic fruit punch, swirling the liquid mindlessly. You knew you’d only take a few sips—just enough to look like you were part of the fun.

Beside you, Gwen nudged your arm with a playful grin. “Come on, loosen up a little! It's homecoming, not a funeral.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? This just isn’t really my scene.”

 “You mean you don’t love being crammed in a gym full of sweaty high schoolers who haven't  learned what deodorant is yet, with music so loud it could cause permanent hearing damage?” Gwen dramatically gasped.

“Shocking, right?” You smirked.

“Alright, no excuses. One dance. Then I’ll let you go back to brooding in the corner with your untouched fruit punch.” She grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the dance floor

You sighed but let her drag you along anyway , attempting to let go of the tension in your chest just for a few minutes.

But it didn't last long. 

A single phone rang loudly, cutting through the music—then another, and another, until the entire gym was filled with the sound of alerts. Conversations stopped, and a wave of confusion swept through the crowd as people scrambled to check their phones. Those who had left theirs at home leaned over shoulders, desperate to see what was happening.

It was an emergency alert.

A link attached to the notification led to a live report from a hovering news helicopter. The shaky footage showed Spider-Man in a brutal fight with something massive—a creature that towered over him. Gasps and murmurs spread through the party as people recognized what they were seeing.

Another lizard.

New York had seen its fair share of Dr. Curt Connors copycats, but this one was different. It was bigger—almost dinosaur-sized; its scaly skin was reflecting the city lights as it tore through the streets. The ground seemed to shake even through the screen.

“This… this one’s huge,” someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the growing panic.

The realization hit all at once. This wasn’t just another mad scientist playing with forbidden experiments and  chemicals. This was something worse. And it was heading straight for the school.

The battle outside was relentless. The massive Lizard roared, its tail whipping through the air, sending cars flying like toys that weighed nothing. Rafe gritted his teeth, webbing up debris and yanking himself through the air to keep up with the monster’s destructive path.

Every web he shot was torn apart and all his strength did nothing against the creature. Rafe's body ached, exhaustion creeping in faster than he wanted to admit. The Lizard was too strong, too fast, and it was pushing forward, heading straight toward the school. Toward you.

He forced himself to move, barely dodging a swipe of the creature’s paws. His vision blurred for a moment, his limbs trembling. His suit was torn. He was too weak. He wasn’t going to make it.  

Then he saw it. In that small moment of hesitation, that single breath he allowed himself to take, the monster had surged forward. Its massive feet slammed into the school celling, reducing the entrance to ashes. Dust and debris shot into the air as the walls groaned under its weight. His chest tightened—he had wasted precious seconds

A deafening explosion sent shockwaves through the school, knocking people off their feet. walls shattered, dust lifted in the air, screams filled the gym, all the lights were shut off putting the school in full black out and the once-lively party descended into chaos.

Everyone was running frantically, The entire building shook as you all felt the creature getting closer seeking destruction. All you could hear was the scream of people desperately trying to find an exit. 

“We have to go!” Gwen took your hand and began running but there was nowhere to run, the school was falling piece by piece.

The next thing you knew, the Lizard’s massive paw tore through the ceiling, debris raining down. Screams got louder and louder. It wasn’t just destroying the building—it was tearing apart anything in its path.

Even students.

You barely had time to process the horror unfolding before your eyes. The sickening sound of ripping metal, the desperate cries for help—it was too much. You wanted to run, to do something, but your body felt frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.

And then you saw it.

A lifeless hand, limp beneath the rubble. A shoe that hadn’t been there seconds ago. Blood smeared across the floor where moments earlier, there had been laughter.

Your breath hitched, your chest was tightening with a grief so sharp it felt like it might crush you. This wasn’t just destruction. It was a massacre..

You barely had time to process  it before a chunk of debris came crashing down—right toward you and a figure dressed in red and blue dropped from the ceiling and came at you as fast as light could travel.

In a blur of motion, you were flying through the air, held tightly against a strong chest. 

“You need to go!”  Spiderman yelled as soon as he dropped you back on your feet. But you couldn't hear him over the roars and the screams.

Before you could respond, a violent force knocked you both apart. You tumbled across the floor, the wind knocked from your lungs and the monster hovered over you. 

Spider-Man lunged, webbing the creature’s face and yanking it backward. “Run!” he shouted at you, desperation in his tone. He fought with everything he had, flipping, dodging, striking with all the strength he could collect. But the Lizard was relentless.

Then, in the chaos, you tried to run—but the Lizard’s tail lashed out, striking you hard. The sound of impact was harsh. You hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“No!” Rafe’s voice cracked, Something inside him snapped. Rage flooded his veins, and every ache, every ounce of exhaustion vanished.

With a furious roar, he attacked. His punches came harder, his movements faster. He webbed the Lizard’s limbs, yanking it into the ground with a force that shattered concrete. He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. Not after what had just happened.

Finally, with one last web the monster was tied to the floor unmoving and unconscious, the host of the lizard and succumbed.

But none of it mattered.

Rafe stumbled toward you, collapsing beside you before pulling his mask up to truly see you.

 “No, no, no—come on” he pleaded, his hands lifted your head up and he felt the liquid pouring out of the large gash behind your head. His blood stained hands trembled as he brushed the hair from your face, his vision blurred with tears. “Please, Y/n—”

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, breathing shallow. A weak, bittersweet smile ghosted your lips. “I always knew,” you whispered. “I always knew it was you.”

Rafe froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“I just… wished you told me,” You murmured, fingers barely gripping his suit. “I still would’ve… loved you.”

Tears streamed down his face. “No, don’t—don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. I promise, I—”

But you exhaled one last breath, your hand slipping from his suit. Your body went still.

“Please, no. i love you” he lifted your body further into his as if his warmth could bring you back but it didn't.

And after that moment the canon remained intact.

[lordbettany]

Wondering why the man had decided to stay in the monster's service was like trying to understand why God made sin. Impossible to conceive of, and endlessly exhausting to ponder. 

word choices here are simply chef's kiss!

The morning’s chill hadn’t quite dissipated, causing her to pull the edges of her short, hussar-style cavalry jacket around herself. All of the outer garments she wore were in her heraldic color of hunter's green, and emblazoned with a stag in rampart on either collar point.

ooh ✨fancy✨

Reading a book on Grecian mythology at the mere age of seven had sent Cecily on a quest to embody the virgin, and extremely dangerous goddess Artemis. Her father expected her to feel akin to Athena, but that birth-story hit too off the mark for her. A massive headache like that and Cecily would’ve been left for the wolves.

Besides, Richard's paranoia levels would hit the roof. *insert here Saturn Devouring His Son*

She examined the cuffs of her jacket, two stag-heads with their antlers curled towards the skull. Entirely decorative. The collar of her jacket resembled a set of antlers reaching up to strangle her.

symbolism much??

Lehzen hadn’t trusted the maids to do it, since of course.

omg, if that woman comes to Ravka with us, I'll strangle her with my own hands.

"Seeing as you have been also forced to tag your own hat boxes, I would advise I take that over."

It kills me that Anne is not here to help her daughter..

The Union jack etched with the same twisted symbol that had spread across Germany like wildfire.

Heinrich, play Edelweiss

That little white rose with a black cross on the BUF emblem is so messed up. I was hoping it would come up.

(...) the sight of the war memorials to the Great War’s dead being… broken down.

“You’ve not seen the trenches, boy.”

I don't wanna go on a rant but, THIS. All the fucking neo-nazi sympathisers in my high school were idiots who slept during the history class and run off to smoke and drink during the field trips to significant WWII sights.

Yet, to Cecily and her veterans, in all states, stated clearly that this was their Last Post. The curtain was falling, the lights were dimming. Soon, they would be as dead as their friends and foes lying in graves in France and Belgium. Death haunted this island, and its princess.

Yet, two things quickly made themselves apparent. The first was that he was wearing armor under the tunic and linen shirt that Jeeves had so carefully ironed. The second was that the metal of his armor broke steel .

fuck.

Light glowed from her flesh, wreathing her father and she in a golden web of light.

Yess, my sunshine princess <333

Richard @ Cecily rn:

Ruleth England Under A Hogge

Chapter two: What scares me

Ao3 link:

Summary:

Cecily-Anne, while waiting for her train to Ravka to depart, is forced to contend with some of the more explicit evils of her father's regime. She begins to see how history can so easily be twisted, and in some cases - removed entirely. When the push comes to the shove, she is forced to make a choice in where she will stand for both now, and the future she hungers to see.

Notes:

TWs: mentions of Swastikas, racism/xenophobia in the context of fascist vitriol, violence, and death. PTSD.

Please Note - the memorials mentioned in this chapter have links In the below portion of the chapter notes for viewing.

Tagging @lordbettany @dreadbirate @rovinglemon

Waterloo Station, a week later.

Amidst all the glitz and glamor of one’s royal progress to be wed, Cecily stood alone.

In her mouth was a player’s cut cigarette, and in her hand was her pocketbook. She scribbled out tag after tag, passing them to her fathers’s long suffering valet, Reginald Jeeves. Wondering why the man had decided to stay in the monster's service was like trying to understand why God made sin. Impossible to conceive of, and endlessly exhausting to ponder.

Cecily sniffed, examining her smudged tag for one of the many hatboxes Lehzen had sent from Locke and Co. She groaned. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Cecily chugged back the contents of a silver hip flask. In the distance, Richard gave pronouncements to a cheering crowd. The princess wondered if patricide in public was a killing offense by the killer. She lifted a lid on a small trunk and sniffed.

“What’s in here?”

“That would be your evening gloves.”

“How much am I supposed to be bringing with me?” Cecily asked, crushing her cigarette under her oxford heel. She sighed, rolling her shoulders back. Her glasses were dirty, so she rubbed them on the edge of her cream silk blouse. The morning’s chill hadn’t quite dissipated, causing her to pull the edges of her short, hussar-style cavalry jacket around herself. All of the outer garments she wore were in her heraldic color of hunter's green, and emblazoned with a stag in rampart on either collar point.

Reading a book on Grecian mythology at the mere age of seven had sent Cecily on a quest to embody the virgin, and extremely dangerous goddess Artemis. Her father expected her to feel akin to Athena, but that birth-story hit too off the mark for her. A massive headache like that and Cecily would’ve been left for the wolves.

So, Artemis it was.

She examined the cuffs of her jacket, two stag-heads with their antlers curled towards the skull. Entirely decorative. The collar of her jacket resembled a set of antlers reaching up to strangle her. She sniffed, again. Why must everything she wore be heavy, cut in a military fashion, and restrictive? Cecily moved to regard her heeled oxfords, longing to slip them off and pad around in her stockinged feet. The stone under-foot hurt her heels and made her ankles swell. So much for fashion’s sake.

Sighing, she returned to tagging her hatboxes. Lehzen hadn’t trusted the maids to do it, since of course. Spies - foreign girls pawing over your English clothes . Sprinkling poisons and itching powders . Clicking her tongue, Cecily snapped the lid back on her pen, and grumbled. “I believe I shall flag even before we leave this blasted island.” She murmured. Jeeves raised a brow. “Nerves, Your Grace?”

“Nerves!” She scoffed. “No, Jeeves. Sheer exhaustion and shall we say-” Cecily gestured to her father. “A desire for some level of contact from him.”

Jeeves inclined his head. “When you wish to remove the high walls around yourself, please, inform me. Until then, I would not advise you to put up with such a strategic failure while you are in such a mood, Your Grace.”

“Strategic failure?”

”Your father chooses to make these pronouncements to hide your evident…”

”Do not speak of that.” Cecily snapped coldly, then tempered her mood. Flexing her gloved fingers, she sighed. “Apologies.”

“As I mentioned, your high walls have made you… irritable. Seeing as you have been also forced to tag your own hat boxes, I would advise I take that over. Please, feel assured that you may find your cabin before anyone comes looking.”

Cecily nodded once, and swept off to the train, her cape whirling in her wake as she strode across the platform. However, something caused her to pause. High above her head, the banners of the House of York fluttered in the breeze. She recognized the White Rose, the Whyte Boar and her own sigil of the Stag, antlers reaching skyward. Yet, there was another banner being unfurled. As Cecily stared up at it, she could only watch in horror as the flag flared out.

The Union jack etched with the same twisted symbol that had spread across Germany like wildfire. That twisted Hindu symbol that’d been taken by Adolf Hitler as his own personal emblem of the National Socialist Party and made…

A monstrosity.

Now, it was on the Union Jack. Cecily’s head turned to the left and she realized with a jolt, the sight of the war memorials to the Great War’s dead being… broken down.

“No!” She gasped, running across the platform to the statue that had originally been at Paddington Station for their war dead. Throwing herself in front of the workers, Cecily’s left arm hit the marble floor hard, and she felt the jarring impact of possible breakage surge through her system. Sobbing weakly, she looked up at the workers with their blackshirts, red armbands, and snarled.

“Not this! NEVER THESE!”

“Y-your highness?” One of the workers, a mere boy, kneeled down to help her. Cecily lurched back, her elbow of her other arm slamming into the memorial’s base. She looked up into the carved face of the soldier, remembering with some briefness, the horrors of the medical tents behind the lines.

“You’ve not seen the trenches, boy .” Cecily hissed, ignoring her broken arm. “How dare you take down these memorials?! How dare you dishonor the dead! Your fathers friends died in service and THIS IS HOW YOU HONOR THEM?!”

The boys lurched back like cornered fawns, all bony legs and unbalanced forms. Cecily bared her teeth, raking a hand into the stone floor. She looked to her right, to the sight of Richard still lamenting the fact that foreign invasion of immigrants had polluted this country. Throwing out all the non-anglos made perfect sense. Renewal.

A sense of rebirth.

Cecily gritted her teeth and the wolf inside her rib-cage surged to the forefront, longing for release, to claw itself free of its flesh prison. Slamming her fist into the stone floor, Cecily bowed her head and sighed deeply. Counting back from thirty only worked on some occasions, so she instead began to wordlessly repeat the Lord's prayer. The BUF wanted a Christian state that would heal the divides of Catholicism and Protestantism, so Cecily went older than modern English.

PATER NOSTER, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

Amen.

Cecily rose her head again and glared at these boys. The one holding a hammer stumbled further back at the sight of two medals stitched into the front of her shirt: The victory and War medals. A veteran. The one holding nothing, who’d reached for her first, glanced at her in shock and horror.

“Your Grace.” He breathed. “I-”

“Don’t.” Cecily tugged up her armband with the circle and flash, then rose to her feet. Her black uniform with its cape of black satin and wolfs fur collar swished about her calves. She righted her hat and examined her medals for any signs of wear and tear. Then, she glanced at the boys through her bottle-cap glasses.

“Do not touch that memorial again. What others are being destroyed?”

“Euston, the City of London…” The two boys rattled the names off and all Cecily could think of with each beat of her heart, were the dead who laid in graves from the sea to Mons. Those men and boys who’d died in service for God and Empire, now being defiled.

“What of the Cenotaph?”

“Untouched, though King Richard has given an ultimatum that it shall be etched with the flash.”

“What?” Cecily’s voice dropped and she leaned forward. “Speak of this again?”

“Yes, your Grace.” One of the boys murmured. “The original etching is being undone and this’s taking its place, along with a bunch of other party emblems.”

“The wreaths from Remembrance Sunday?”

“Burned.”

Cecily’s stomach twisted. She had laid a wreath at the base of that memorial and watched veterans, now many into mid-adulthood with their BUF armbands, watching her with empty stares. She closed her eyes again, recalling the faces of dead men, the pallor of whiteness.

Death was always with her. Its claws sunk deep into her skin and refused to leave. So, she brushed off her lapels and stepped forward, hearing her leather boots cracking as she moved across the platform. Yet, not towards the train that would carry her to Ravka and safety.

No, she moved forwards over flat concrete and stone like it was the muds and tangled wire of Passchendale with the full intent to murder her father. He had earned it in more ways then one, but this… this sin was the worst. It screamed to many that there was no care for history but the one the BUF said was law. Yet, to Cecily and her veterans, in all states, stated clearly that this was their Last Post. The curtain was falling, the lights were dimming.

Soon, they would be as dead as their friends and foes lying in graves in France and Belgium. Death haunted this island, and its princess.

Cecily crept closer to the podium that her father stood upon, its marble front leveled at the top to allow him to read his written speech. She could see the typed manuscript with his school-boys copperplate in red of the edits he made. The ink, as red as fresh blood, darkened in the grimy light filtering down through the massive glass arch over their heads. Cecily found herself looking up once more to the swastika and boar, then she slipped her hand to the knife nestled at her belt.

The bayonet.

Yet not just anyone’s - hers. She recognized it the moment she’d held it. Now, she would use it to end the life of the man who’d made her life a misery.

“For what has National Socialism given England, I say?”

The crowd of mainly train-workers and party members gave a hearty cry of all of the work projects and social programs. Cecily’s grip tightened on the blade, and a bead of sweat rolled down her face. She would not falter, she would not fail now.

She noted her father’s eyes slide to her, and she straightened instinctively, putting on her most winning smile. Standing tall, Cecily took her position at his side and slipped the knife from the sheathe.

“Your tie’s crooked.” She murmured as she leaned over.

“What?” Richard hissed, glancing down at his tie. In that second, Cecily had driven the knife blindly into his chest. Yet, two things quickly made themselves apparent. The first was that he was wearing armor under the tunic and linen shirt that Jeeves had so carefully ironed.

The second was that the metal of his armor broke steel.

“You-” Richard gasped. Fury turned his face red, then gray, and finally white. Not as white as a corpse, with the greenish pallor of rot and rigor mortis, but fear . For all of his predictions and paranoia of assassination not even Richard, Duke of Gloucester and Ordained King, had assumed his daughter to be a killer.

Cecily twisted the knife in further, desperation and anger fueling her. But, it made no difference. Her father was as unkillable as the Calydonian Boar. His hide was impenetrable. And in her foolishness, Cecily-Anne was to be trampled under his hooves.

Run. Run as far as you can . Some part of her mind was still working as her fog of anxiety lifted and she was met with the true horror of her actions. She was a criminal now, a prime target against the Fascist state of Britain. She had nearly killed its king. She was a pariah.

Lifting her head, Cecily was dimly aware of the sounds of sirens, of screams. The crowd had not rushed her to tear her in two, for they seemed held at bay. Cecily shook her head and looked down at her flesh, curious as to why they were pointing.

Light glowed from her flesh, wreathing her father and she in a golden web of light. Desperately, Cecily tried to swat it away, but it only grew in strength as her panic heightened. “Help.” She whispered.

“You’ll get no help here .” Richard snarled, jerking Cecily’s head back by her hair. The light flashed, growing brighter. It was a spark waiting for the fires of rage that had always thrummed under her skin. The wolf inside her chest howled a war cry. Cecily adjusted her spectacles and spat in Richard’s face.

“I never asked for it, Father .” She hissed. Rage and fear were making her irrational. Dimly out of the corner of her eye, she could see her father’s medical team preparing something. A sedative to control the chaos that was spilling out like a gunshot wound. Cecily looked up once more to the swastika looming over all with its twisted, unblinking eye. She raised her arm in the air in a salute, yet with her fist closed.

Then, in Ravkan, she screamed.

“Workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains!"

The workers, many of whom had secretly joined communist underground cells in the years before the takeover, surged forward. Complete and utter chaos erupted out, and with it, the web of light around Cecily exploded too, in a wild flash-bang. Cecily felt her father’s grasp on her hair slip. She jerked out of his grasp, and raced across the platform to the train that was waiting for her. She finally felt the pain of her bruised arm that had not broken as she lurched into the first class cabin. Behind her, the doors slammed shut and the train immediately rolled into motion.

From the shadows, Jeeves stepped out of the gloom and bowed.

“Your highness, care for a refreshment while we head towards the coast to board the Ravkan airship that your betrothed sent?”

“Certainly, Jeeves.” Cecily plucked the crystal glass of brandy from the tray and collapsed into a chair. As the train gathered speed, the city of London of stone and steel faded out to become rolling hills and villages. With every passing kilometer, Cecily felt the tension within her recede.

She opened her hand stained red with blood, and found the blade in her palm. Its steel edge was red with blood. It seemed, even with all that - the Boar of Gloucester still bled like a mortal man.

End of chapter 2.

__________________________________________

Post Chapter Notes:

Paddington GWR memorial: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Western_Railway_War_Memorial

City of London Memorial (though in this context, the Royal Fusilier's memorial): https://exploring-london.com/2014/09/17/10-of-londons-world-war-i-memorials-6-the-royal-fusiliers-memorial/

Euston station memorial: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_and_North_Western_Railway_War_Memorial

Waterloo memorial: https://www.londonremembers.com/memorials/waterloo-ww1-war-memorial

Cenotaph Memorial: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cenotaph

[bacchuschucklefuck]

pygmalion and galatea for aroace people

you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

do u think either charles or erik had trouble coming to terms with their love for one another?? like religious guilt, internalized homophobia, etc.

Many such cases really … not hard to imagine them dealin with that …

[angelstrawbabie420]

in my quest to quell my pain ive only hurt myself worse. damned if i do damned if i dont.

[dreamteamemojis]

.

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

anyway do u think deadpool and wolverine is on streaming yet i need to find that on a totally legal website soon

as of saturday night IT IS NOT !!! which sucks and they lied

i know it is on the totally legal website soaper.tv or whatever its called ;)

ok coming back to here after writing all the tags thirty tag limit?? that is wild to me i didnt know that existed

[readymades2002]

if i might bitch about work for a second: yesterday was hellishly bad despite being able to keep up with it and i found out that apparently our department made 4600 dollars yesterday which is making me angry beyond belieffffffff

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Ya know, I'm starting to think a certain chunk of the OBX fandom just hates women lol

[fardf150]

fuck

[windupaidoneus]

now some people may not like to hear it but even the worst people who exist are still people & there is no human being who has More right than others to decide whether others deserve to live or die (does not mean i personally condemn murder in self defense or anything of the sort or killing fascists or whatever i'm just saying as a baseline This Is How it Is) & this is why the death penalty is not a good thing no matter how good & trustworthy the people in any government might be. people on average also deserve the chance to learn to do better. & no, someone who's been forcefed propaganda their entire life will not let go of that deeply entrenched mindset so easily, it's not particularly unrealistic & it absolutely sucks to deal with but in the context of tangibly working toward world peace it's also not an issue to try & help such people both in material ways & in helping them learn better rather than cut them down or abandon them to a grim fate. all this to say that's why i don't think garlemald is written badly, as unpleasant as the experience might be. walks off the stage

[thedevotionaltour]

I SHOULD HAVE GONE INTO RADIOOOOOOOO

[jackass-jones]

Girl like. The reason he said "this is how it should be" and faced death with a smile....is cuz he wanted to die. For 2 years he sat there thinking he was worthless and deserved to die. If he hadn’t be shot, his death would’ve been suicide, he was fully planning to die in a gutter somewhere undetected. When saying "this is how it should be" hes literally saying "don’t cry because I’m dying, my death is a good thing actually because I fucking suck and you are better off without me". I don’t think that’s badass even slightly, it’s actually really sad and really shitty. Shinjiro is so convinced that he deserves to die and hates the idea of anyone giving a shit about him because he literally can’t wrap his mind around the idea that he will be missed when he’s gone, that his death is a bad thing actually. And his last words were meant to be comforting because he fully did not intend for anyone to be there when he died, he intended to die alone, so he says them as a reminder that he’s not worth crying over

Personally, if it were me, if I was holding my dying best friend in my arms who was deeply depressed and suicidal and he said "this is how it should be" uh. I wouldn’t admire him for it??? Like am I losing my mind when I say the way this game handles Shinji is bad or is anyone else seeing this too 😰

[im-smart-i-swear]

Well that's an awkward family reunion if ive ever seen one

uh anyway this is like a month old and im not 100% satisfied w/ how it turned out but i dont think i'm going to try and fix it up any time soon so yeah. that's all youre gonna get ig

[qumiiiquinnquin]

ill never be good enough at anything