#love hurting my own feelings

[mydnyt02]

.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[mellosdrawings]

Oh love your losers forever number 2 group doodles. Seeing the doodles, I realized Leona and Vil are together longer than with Jamil.

Well, even on the off-chance that they weren't already dating before, they've still known each other for a while longer, while Jamil was off in his corner pretending to be mid and trying not to attract attention.

In both cases, Leona and Vil would already have their own habits/banter and Jamil, who is barely getting used to standing out and competing against "higher status" people, would take more time to feel comfortable.

(I have paragraphs of potential dynamics between those three, I could talk about them for hours haha)

[crustyfloor]

My night was going so wonderfully.

The headshot of this cover is just PAINFUL. They're actually acknowledging each other, they're the only ones on a cover to do that. And it's the prominent detail that Mizi looks horrified staring at Sua, even though they're clutching each other so... like they can't let go, while Sua looks reverent in the lane of that gaze, even blushing, slightly, savoring the moment. This also looks like their kiss scene...

To me, she looks just the same as the day she died because I think this cover is Sua's haunting of Mizi, because Sua's singing is just that, haunting and distant the longer she sings, she's fading out, but so gently despite its gruesomeness. And Mizi is grieving.

She's as angelic as she is in Mizi's memories..

But there's a cruelty to this because Mizi will never forget what she saw in round 1, that's why seeing Sua over and over and over again terrifies her, hence why the tone of this song is SO dark, especially in the second half when they're coming to a close, they get desperate to keep each other close, and there is a certain, but familiar ignorance to Sua's presence as if she can't see Mizi's pain even though Mizi is crying right in front of her--childish egos, Sua becomes a more honest character after her death, and in more expressive formats like this, and I like how she takes on that position in this song, the taker. (Like Till, he wanted a security blanket out of Mizi; Sua is similar in that sense.) as she takes and wants from Mizi for her own sanity.

And this newest illustration, oh my god. EXPRESSES THIS IDEA PERFECTLY, Sua looks so utterly distant, ghostly, dead.

In contrast to Ivan and Till's cure, Mizi and Sua's cure is more of a duet, and they switch places often. Mizi starts the song, she ends the song (just like in my clematis), and Sua supports it. Whereas Ivan and Till take turns leading and harmonizing, Mizi and Sua both participate.

And I believe they're interacting? Ivan and Till's cure wasn't a message to each other, something a lot more complicated than that--but Mizi and Sua transition frequently and it feels like they're singing to each other, It's more intimate.

Mizi - Allow me, to the tips of your finger

Allow me, to the ends of your feet

Dissolve me in your gaze

I don't want to let you go.

Sua - Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that not a singly drop of me remains

Let me drown in you.

(The backing vocals mean so much to me, it's like a choir(?))

Mizi - Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time

On your icy lips

Read my soul, yes, my soul

It wasn't spontaneous for the sake of it either, because this is a call-and-response

Sua - Even if your cold words

Carve scars beneath my eyes

May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart

Mizi - Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I'll drown in you

-

Mizi is directly asking Sua, or the version of her she can't forget, to stay with her, calm her like she used to, as she wishes to have remained in the dark, to drown in her, or to have just not been left alone and, because even now Sua's death is not something she can accept, the portrayal of her feelings as she expresses her pain and desire to keep Sua close, even the false presence of her "On your icy lips" and "notice my pain and mend me right now" even though It's terrifying her, she doesn't want to let go.

Sua acknowledges Mizi's pain, and their shared pains after she died for her, the blame and the betrayal. Interestingly, Sua takes on the metaphorically self-destructive lyrics, Sua lives in fear, anxiety, and utter gloominess, she didn't want to be hurt by Mizi in the literal sense, but she would've rather been warmed in Mizi's soft light, her false hope and optimism, to be destroyed and to destroy Mizi's hope, even dying as the penalty of their love was far better.

Then Sua goes on to sing through the perspective of Mizi and her loneliness and grief after losing her with perfect clarity, it takes me back to the comic where Ivan scolded Sua about her plan, saying that she'd be nothing more than a trauma to Mizi after everything is said and done, she got upset at Ivan because she knew that, was devastated by the fact that she would be a burden just as she always feared, but then, what's a life without Mizi by her side, her only safety net? Her every reason for living?

This song displays their deep love and devotion, they sound melancholic but even in these horrific circumstances, Mizi's pain and hesitance, they don't drown each other out, they move together in perfect harmony just like they always do, in this way, it also feels like an apology of sorts from both sides before the bitter end, and a final goodbye.

AND THEN AT THE END WITH THE PERFECT SYNCHRONIZING OF THEIR VOICES ARGHH

And a new Sua illustration for the occasion 😭💔 (I'm gonna catch you soon Vivinos just wait.)

[suzukiblu]

Please, cuddling, and TimKon?

. . . I am sorry but also I am NOT sorry for what I have done with this reply, but hey, why don't we all enjoy this one being the only prompt fill from this meme that got a read-more cut??

“Please,” Kon tries, trying not to look–he doesn’t know, weird and needy and like an embarrassment, or whatever. It feels like such a stupid thing to ask for. He knows Tim’s not really a hugger or a touchy-feely guy or whatever and that he likes having his own space and basically always hops out of bed right after sex to go write down all the shit his post-nut clarity made him think of, and the idea of, like, just staying still and actually cuddling or whatever is probably basically literal torture to him, assuming it’s ever even occurred to him at all, just . . . 

Just he’d kind of like to sometimes, maybe? Like–not regularly or whatever, he’s not trying to drive Tim nuts or cut into either his worktime or downtime here, just . . .

Just he’d like to do it sometimes, that’s all. 

Tim’s not the tactile type. Tim isn’t even the eye contact type, unless he’s lying to somebody or at work or just faking it for Robin-mode or whatever. Kon gets that. He’s been, like–careful about that. Not trying to take up too much space or ask for too much attention or mind when Tim doesn’t even look up at him when he– 

He’s been careful about it. 

But he is . . . well. The tactile type. Like . . . kind of, anyway. 

Like–it’s kinda unavoidable, honestly. 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him in just enough bemusement to make him feel even more self-conscious about bringing this shit up to begin with, and Kon tries to keep his expression casual and noncommittal and–and just normal about this. Because he is totally normal about this. He is so normal about this. He is.

He’s also normal about the fact that when he asked Tim if he could talk to him about something, Tim didn’t even put down his tablet. Didn’t even put it to sleep, or actually even look up from it until . . . 

Kon’s normal about that. About all of this. 

(and he definitely never feels kind of weird or a little bit abandoned because Tim can’t EVER just bring his stupid laptop back to bed or at least work on whatever he’s thinking about IN the bedroom at the untouched desk he's got set up in there or even just, like . . . stick around and hang out on the couch with him, or anything like that. he definitely totally ENTIRELY doesn’t ever just feel like a casual fuckbuddy or an easy hookup or a gala-night accessory or just the most immediately convenient option and not actually–not actually any kind of a–not actually something that– 

he doesn’t. 

definitely.)

“Uh,” Kon says, and backpedals awkwardly, because clearly this conversation is not going the way he’d wanted it to and Tim just looks so surprised by it all, like–like it never even occurred to him or something, that maybe . . . that maybe Kon would want anything like that, or like he literally just hasn’t noticed how hard Kon’s been trying to be normal about it, or . . . 

It doesn’t feel very good, the idea he’s been trying so hard to respect Tim’s space and preferences and comfort levels and Tim hasn’t even noticed that he was doing anything at all. 

Especially because Tim usually notices just about everything. 

Maybe Tim’s just never thinking about it. Maybe he gets out of bed so quick because he’s spent the whole time in it thinking about other shit and just putting up with–just– 

“Kon,” Tim says, his voice going a little tight, and Kon just tries not to wince. He didn’t mention any of the complicated stuff he’s been trying not to feel, he just asked if Tim could–if Tim would– 

He didn’t even mention any of the complicated stuff, so it’s, like–not a great sign that Tim’s looking at him like that right now, like he’s said something really serious or upsetting or . . . 

He really shouldn’t have said anything, yeah. 

“Sorry,” he tries stiffly, glancing away and wrapping his hand around his own wrist and digging his fingers into the inside of it. It’s–tactile. Just . . . something tactile. “I know you don’t–sorry. Uh. Just forget it.” 

“Fuck,” Tim mutters for some reason, and Kon feels like such an idiot for saying anything at all, and a worse one for apparently doing it in a way that’s got Tim making that face at him. That face is Robin’s “my utility belt is empty, comms are fried, and the mission just went to shit” face. 

He really fucked this up. It was fine. Everything was fine, and now he’s wrecked it and Tim’s about to say it’s not even that serious, it’s not like it’s even–not like they’re even–and that Kon’s clearly gotten the wrong idea and they should just–just– 

“How long have you felt this way?” Tim asks very, very carefully, like the question’s something fragile, and Kon thinks from literally the first fucking time you left me alone in bed all night so you could go recalibrate some stupid useless specialty sensor that wasn’t even part of your primary gear, like, a WEEK into us sleeping together and says, “I dunno. It’s not–I told you. Forget it. It’s not a big deal.” 

He’s being weird about this. He’s being an asshole about this, actually, because being prepared for literally every single possible contingency ever is the Bats’ whole thing and he got into this knowing Tim wasn’t the touchy-feely type or all that expressive and emotive about–about his feelings, or whatever, and–and it’s not like he even–not like he– 

(he just wants a fucking HUG he didn't have to FUCK him for every now and then, or for Tim to at least exist in the same space as him for longer than the time it takes for the next email from Oracle to come in or next alert from Batman to go off or next self-assigned project to finish processing or–

but that’s not something Tim does, and Kon knew that going in, so–so it’s his own stupid fault if he feels SMALL sometimes, when . . . when there’s always something else, always another problem to solve or place to be or thing to think about, always . . . always something more important than just . . . staying, just for a little bit, and just BEING with–with him. just him. not the team, or either of their families, or . . .)

He knew all this going in, Kon reminds himself. He knew it. If he were this bad at being with literally anyone else, he’d just–he’d just– 

But something about it being Tim means he just . . . can’t. 

Tim’s jaw tightens, and he finally sets down his stupid tablet. 

Only now, though, Kon thinks bitterly, and digs his fingers a little deeper into the inside of his wrist. 

“Kon,” Tim says again, says too carefully again. Like something’s fragile, again. “I–” 

“I said forget it, for fuck’s sake!” Kon snaps too hotly, and maybe hates himself for both doing it and for the stricken look that doing it puts on Tim’s face, and also maybe cheats a bit by super-speeding straight out the balcony door into the night air and not taking his cell or his communicator with him. Or–definitely does, in fact. Definitely that’s cheating. He knows it is. 

He just really can’t stand to hear Tim tell him how he’s fucked up this time right now, though. He just–he tried so fucking hard not to fuck up this time. 

He really, really tried. 

He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, but . . . but he really did try.

[severussnapemylove]

[blitzwhore]

Friendly reminder to double-check if fanart has been reposted without credit/permission before reblogging it.

I know we all reblog stolen art without realising it from time to time. It's a mistake we can all make, and I'm positive I've made it before. We can't always be paying close attention to everything we reblog. But, if you can, please just... be careful.

My heart just broke a little because tumblr just recommended me a blog with a bio that essentially says "yes, I repost art, if you're not okay with that just block me and don't bother me with your stupidity". And to see that some of the stolen Stolitz fanarts, reposted on that blog without the original artists' knowledge or consent, have ~2k notes, is just... Oof.

That's love that the original artist isn't getting. The reposter, who put exactly 0 effort or love or ambition into that piece of art, is the one being rewarded with all the praise and love and attention instead.

I just. I don't like engaging in fandom drama, and actively try to avoid it. This post is definitely not intended as a callout, and I don't intend to point fingers or "cancel" anyone (I'm saying this because I know how the Internet can be sometimes 😓). This is just me saying, hey, be careful, and treat others how you'd like to be treated. And just... don't reward this kind of behaviour. Please. If you've ever had this happen to you, you know how heart-breaking it is, and if you haven't, I hope you can empathise anyway. When you put so much love and effort into something, it means so much see and know that other people like it and appreciate it. And finding out that your creation is getting all that love away from your sight, and someone else is receiving all of that love instead of you, is genuinely really fucking upsetting and demoralising.

[in-the-mists]

October, by Louise Glück

or: an ode to the Seattle Mariners, the very first team I ever loved.

[rottengurlz]

“Sometimes I dream about you. I memorize every detail of your face like a prayer. Those moments seem so real that I grieve whenever I wake up and your spot next to me is cold. Why did you beg me to kill you? I would’ve stopped. Even in death I cannot escape you. I’m not sure I want to even if I was begging for it.”

w/ @kashisun !! (happy birthday 😭)

[fascinationstreetmp3]

"after what you've put me through here i deserve this" armand says about killing the crying, exhausted boy in his arms and it's not about a meal or cleaning up the mess, really, it's about how this boy's been brought to the edge of accepting death; he's right there, longing for it, and armand can give it. and while he gives it, he feels it too. armand has been drowning for centuries, but he keeps himself afloat this way, by tasting death and feeling just the smallest respite, chasing his victims' slowing heartbeats right down into the dark until he backs away at the last moment. "the comfort we all long for." the comfort armand longs for -- the end.

[yayll]

~ a little something about the unfathomable history between you and Dazai ~

"Shit..."

It's raining, and you're trying to light a cigarette in the rain. How banal, and yet, it was comforting to you. That's just who you were, trying to change the outcome of things that were doomed from the start... Like your past relationship with Osamu Dazai. It was a strange little bond, a rhythm only you and him could follow even if it was almost impossible to truly pin his true emotions down. To really feel him as yours. If you were attracted to danger and misfortune, he was a goddamn car crash. Still, that never stopped you from dreaming of a life with him, a real one. None of this inconclusive and melancholic back and forth, cowardice is what you really called it.

Though you could never tell that to his face, because then, you'd call it love. Love you had no problem showering him in, love you ultimately felt pushed him away when he decided to stop seeing you, disappearing with that very love... with all you had. That was a year ago. So now you're a little tipsy, and trying to light a cigarette in the rain because you don't have anything else to waste your time on. Or rather, someone to waste it on. You take out a flask, and chug down cheap whiskey, grimacing immediately after you swallow it down.

"No need to choke down that disgusting stuff on my behalf,"

A familiar voice calls out from the darkness of the street corner, where the lamp's flickering light threatens to black out in an instant. A dying flame, just like your lighter. You're already frozen, and stare at the void where the voice came from, telling yourself this can't be... not after all this time. You get a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You reply, voice meek and slightly slurred.

".. What?"

"What about what?" He mockingly calls back out, refusing to show himself just yet. In all honesty, he had been watching you from the corner for a while now, feeling a sense of sick satisfaction at the way you stupidly put any faith in that lighter of yours. Just like how you put your faith in him, and he squandered that as quickly as possible.

You look down, shaking your head as the rain washes over you, dripping down from your chin to your shoes. Every bit of your constitution is shattered when you realize you were a fool then, and you're a fool now. You tell yourself you can't let your heart warm up again, it needs to stay ice cold... What a joke. You scoff,

"Spare me the bullshit, Osamu"

You hear a soft laughter come from the shadows, and you wish you were six feet underground.

"Mm, I missed hearing you berate me~"

He says that so casually, and when his laughter settles, the rain takes over again. You look over at the flickering lamp post, as if you could see him directly, and roll your eyes, sighing. You call out, bitterly.

"Well I don't think about you at all."

And as you say that, the painful little ache between your brows walks out of the shadows and into the broken light, hands in the pockets of his tan coat, and soaked hair that somehow looked even better when it was disheveled. He clicks his tongue, and speaks in a low voice as he strides towards you, making your heart beat right out of your chest.

".. You should."

He says that like it's the most natural thing, a sly smile on his lips as he stares you down. He thinks you look utterly breathtaking even in your pitiful state. He thinks maybe he should kiss every little inch of your body for the rest of his life.

"Shut up."

"Oooh, that's the best you can do? Tell me to shut up?"

"I don't want to slap you in public, so this will have to do."

You spit back, your face twisted into a frown, one that's already stinging with the threat of breaking down into tears. You hate feeling something that's impossible, hoping the rain will wash it all away. Dazai smirks and raises a brow, his eyes are dark and knowing as he studies you.

You're exactly the same as you were a year ago. Full of life, even if you can't see it now.

"You're still so hot in your coldness. Predictable, but I love it. It reminds me of the time you and I-"

"What do you want, Dazai?"

Oh the way you switch to his last name makes his chest ache. His smile drops just a tad, and he looks down, looking like a wet cat as he clears his throat. His tone is sardonic, once again breaking you down as if you weren't the one making his hands tremble in his pockets. But he has a game to play...

"Just passing through, obviously. What could I possibly ever want from you?"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

You feel yourself swaying, as if the rain was quite literally dragging you down... or maybe you were just drunk. Dazai finds it endearing how you ask such idiotic questions, that after all this time you still feel the need to know him. He slowly walks even closer to you, until he's inches away. His eyes soften, along with his voice, and a pang of bitter nostalgia hits you both at once. He reaches a hand out from his coat pocket, and takes the metal flask from you, his cold slender fingers dusting lightly over your knuckles for a second too long. He thinks you look even prettier up close, and decides to put you out of your misery.

"You want me to be blunt I suppose? Hm, that's awfully dull... I love you, silly."

It's like being staked through the heart when someone like Osamu Dazai says that to you. Your throat feels like it's closing, and your lip quivers ever so slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have time to love."

A scoff escapes him, and he finds it irritating that you would say that, despite him knowing he's more than at fault for that very resentment you hold. Still, it doesn't make his own words any less true. He exhales, and looks at you with those cruel eyes, the ones that burn into the back of your head with scrutiny. He feels hollow, and it hurts deeply to feel this again after he swore he wouldn't let himself crave you. He shouldn't get what he wants, or else he'll wander the streets at night like a starving dog hoping he catches you at your lowest so he can pick up the pieces, and maybe one day not leave right after. Maybe he'd finally follow you home. You're weak, and it's rubbed off on him.

His voice comes out too pleading, too desperate, and too damn sincere. He's fucked.

"... Ah, you wound me... I'm making time on this lovely evening for you, no? Even if it's just for one ridiculous night, I'd like it to be with you. If you want to do worse things than just slap me you can do that too if it makes you feel any better. Kick me, scream at me, I don't really care. I have the time right now and we can do this."

You didn't even register when the tears started streaming, and you definitely didn't think he would know to tell them apart from the rain streaming down your flushed cheeks at the same time. Yet here he is, using his thumb to gently wipe them, the feeling of his skin against yours for the first time in a year is searing... It's punishing. You sniffle.

"Stop- Don't do this to me... Stop talking like that when I feel so empty...."

He flashes you a sad smile, a repenting smile. He almost looks human as he stares at you, searching for something. Anything.

"Then let me fill you."

He leans in, his nose touching yours, and his whisper sends chills down your spine. It's poison.

"Say you love me too. Like you used to."

"... I-I refuse to say it again. Especially in public."

"Say it in private, then. Say it hundreds and thousands of times for me. I can beg."

He nuzzles into your face, placing the lightest kiss on your cheek, and you can feel the way his lips curl into a smile against it. He wants to give you the kind of hope you only see in movies, but all he ever delivers is the carnage of a greek tragedy. Still, he wants you claim him as yours forever, even if he is a doomed man. Even if all you did was stick your finger in his wound he called a 'heart'.

"You always reduce me to nothing. It's exhausting." You mumble, pathetically.

"Nothing? Is that how little you think of yourself when I'm with you? Not only are you drunk, you're dense."

"I'm just saying. Us. Whatever we were. It was over before it even began."

Dazai interjects, bitterly.

"Don't say that, you're sounding too much like me."

"I'm just imitating you."

Oh, bless your inebriated lovesick little heart...

"You're nothing like me."

He speaks in a low and bitter murmur, as if not wanting to be heard at all. You could never come close to the atrocity that he is. The past was his mistress, it's why he left. But even in the past, he saw you too. You were there, you're always there.

He drops the flask, and it makes a loud sound as it falls to the floor, the rain pattering onto the metal making it echo. Before you can chastise him, he gently tilts your chin up and catches your soft petal lips in his, pressing into you as much as possible.

He wants to be so immersed in your essence that you become a part of him, selfishly so, and he wants to be a part of you. His tongue softly begs to enter your mouth, and the beautiful whimpers you make that reverberate against his lips cause him to wrap a hand around your waist and bring you closer, hold you tighter, as if you'd dissipate into nothing if his grip even remotely loosened. He needs to hear more of it, remembering how you used to be so embarrassed by how vocal you were with him before. He didn't mind it back then and he doesn't mind at all now, it is the most adorable sound he's ever heard in his miserable life.

You pull back from your kiss, a small string of saliva connecting your lips, and you look up at him, muttering as you try to catch your breath. You'd go to hell for that face alone.

"You'll stay right? You'll stay this time?"

Dazai looks down at you, eyes half lidded and breathing shallow. He smiles faintly and tilts his head to the side. He wants to crush that little dream of yours but he can't find the strength to slam his foot down. He knows he should pull away, he should leave and break your heart in hopes that you'll move on from the disaster he is, but he knows what you're pleading for. You're so naive, so goddamn perfect, he wants to laugh at the thought of him ever leaving you willingly again.

The overwhelming ache in his chest makes him realize he no longer has the upper hand in these games.. That he would rather make your dreams come true than to steal the light in your eyes... It's imperative. That as much as he denied it a year ago, he no longer has a game to play. He'll gladly suffocate in the warmth of your embrace, just how he imagines it every night before he falls asleep. He cups your face, and whispers with a familiar wink,

"... I'll tell you in private."

[clownsuu]

Small detour of what I usually post, but I absolutely wish (other) clown the best of luck during these confusing and almost hopeless times- nobody knows how to deal with such amount of attention in such short amount of time- a blessing and a curse to behold

[shalomniscient]

thhtis might just be a big pet peeve to me but i hate when people write kjsr as someone cold or possessive, i always viewed her character as someone who is actually so soft when it comes to love. i cant see her saying anything awful with intention to her s/o and just prob cherishes each moment and intimacy.

yeah, sara is the victim of some INSANE mischaracterisation... i was informed that some people thought of sara as a karen, of all fucking things, and the psychic damage i took from that statement was unfathomable. it was so horrendously insulting i had to put my phone down and breathe for a solid minute, because sara? being a karen? the peak of entitlement? be so fr. sara struggles to even accept her place within the kujou clan, despite being its golden child. she doesn't know how to be entitled to even love, let alone anything else.

there is a quote, i forget by who, which goes "(s)he had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved, and is forced to improvise", and i think it describes her so well. sara was raised to be takayuki's perfect weapon first, and a person second. for sara, to be a 'kujou' is to be the untouchable general, the prodigal child, the crowfeather kaburaya which heralds nothing but victory for the kujou clan. her place in her 'family' is intrinsically tied to what she can give to them, not who she is as a person. her image of her own worth is so entangled with being needed that she doesn't know how to be anything else. she explicitly states that she has never given any thought to her personal aspirations. never. that's so insane and heartbreaking to me like... my love, you are more than what you can give. so i agree with you on the part that sara would be so, so tender when it comes to love. this is uncharted territory, and she's learning as she goes, but you could never be unloved by her. she knows what that's like, and she could never hurt you the same way.

anyway, live laugh love kujou sara. i've been in the kjsr camp for 3 fucking years and i'll continue to be here until the day i die

[booasaur]

Vigil - 2x06

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@val-the-bun you are Evil. You are evil putting this in my inbox.

More were-harpy Vaggie but it's sad now and everything HURTS (copy pasted here bc the format in the ask got effed but i refuse to suffer this alone)

val-the-bun asked:

And then, of course, *the trial happens*.

And *the absolute shit timing of the fallout*.

Charlie is too stuck in her own spiral while vaggie just... Tries to hole up on her own (her usual 'nest' was in their suite. But she didnt want charlie to have to deal with her).

Charlie is curled up on vaggie's side of the bed, buried in blankets while she questions if anything they had was real.

While vaggie is in agony for the first time in three years since she'd started changing. Every fiber of her being wants to call for charlie. Yearns for that safety... but instead she bites her tongue and just curls in on herself, alone in the room she hastily barred shut. ~~She deserves this. To be alone.~~

Not sure which hazbin is the one to hear vaggie's pain and tries to check on her (let's go with angel and husk).

The hasty barricade she put on the door isnt enough. Not when the others are trying to force it open.

Vaggie tries to scream for them to go away. The last scrap of clarity she has before that warning turns into a predatory *shriek*. Vaggie's monster form tears apart the already falling barricade, and bursts into the hall.

'WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!'

'Fuck if I know, just run! Angel, hurry up!'

Vaggie is *tearing through the halls*, jaws snapping after Husk and Angel. They manage to hit the lobby, Husky grabbing Angel and flying like his life depends on it.

Meanwhile monster vaggie leaps after them... *right into the chandelier*.

Charlie hears the sound of that distant, shattering crash down below, and she *realizes*. Suddenly those painful worries have to get shoved down as charlie bolts out of their room.

'Please dont hurt anyone. Please, please, *please...!'*

Charlie's heart sinks as the shadows around the hotel start to writhe, and radio static fills the air.

'My my, what a surprising turn!'

Vaggie is *shrieking*, thrashing against shadowy tendrils as she tries to claw at Alastor.

'Now now. *Stay down*'

A rap of his cane, and vaggie's practically being crushed into the floor.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?!'

Husk is holding Angel back, looking away as Alastor starts to raise his hand. He cant watch this...

'Let her go.'

Alastor freezes when he feels the tip of an angelic spear under his chin.

There, standing at his side, in her full demon form, *is Charlie*.

'Ah, miss Charlotte. Lovely to see--'

'Let. Her. *Go!'*

For a moment, everything is quiet except for the sounds of vagging struggling, her talons digging into the floor. She's bleeding, golden blood pooling on the lobby floor... *And dripping from the claws on Alastor's hand.*

'Oh, very well. Good luck!'

Vaggie is snarling when Alastor lets her go. She starts getting ready to pounce when Charlie steps in front of her, spear in hand. Vaggie starts backing away, looking less like a predator and more... *like a cornered animal*. Her whole body seems coiled to run away as she keeps backing up, snarling and shrieking more in warning than anything else.

'Was it a lie?'

Vaggie shrieks at her, swiping at the air in the hopes Charlie would stay away.

'When you told me you didnt know what this was, was it a lie?'

Angel starts to step forward, but husk grabs his arm.

'Just let them do this...'

'Did. You. Lie?!'

Vaggie backs right into the wall, feathers flaring with a hiss.

'Was any of it real?'

Charlie can feel the tears on her cheeks. But what she wasnt expecting was to see tears in Vaggie's eye... Even as she snarled, and shrieked, and snapped her fangs, she was crying.

Charlie presses forward, Vaggie raising up over Charlie with a hawk-like screech, talons lashing out... But they dont connect, her talons *trembling* as they stilled inches from Charlie's face, her own spear aimed at her chest. Vaggie's eye is wild and afraid, but Charlie can see the *pain* there, too. She let out another shriek, closing her eye like she was bracing for the inevitable...

[spiderman2-99]

Let me assign you an affection language.

A Knife Called Grief You have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? You can run but not without them. You want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything.You want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. You want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. Because you know you’d do that for them.

[yoinked from iobartach]