#me x suicide

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

...not my mother saying that I deserve all the backstabbing and backbitching my 'friends' are giving me and the abuse I am experiecing...threatening to smash my head with the small boulder in my backyard...she regrets giving birth to me... :)

Yeah...

She doesn't know I almost succeeded in killing myself in school yesterday and the day before yesterday...

[chxrrylungs]

they're the same ship in a different font and by font i mean treatment of their yellow omnipotent boyfriends

[elfcollector]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS (2009) — developed by bioware.

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

about time i drew them

I have all the power in my hands to draw them kissing yess yessssssssssssssssss like a few weeks to a (probably) few months later the moment they get more comfortable

i had fun drawing the sillies, especially the mentally unstable one stuck in a time loop who is the universe's sleepiest soldier (i adore when ppl in this fandom call em that its just yes 🥺)

[sanasanakun]

I guess I find the shipping discourse a little funny because fandoms are gonna create ships regardless of the subject matter. I think really heavy, depressing media creates a need for people to see human connection. It’s like a way to cope, you know? More importantly and specific to this game (Mouthwashing), I also find it a little funny just because the devs themselves seem to be leaning towards ~one~ “ship” by retweeting artwork that depicts them as pretty close and protective. They even did an edit of them on that Florence Pugh and that one white guy romance movie with a “what could have been” caption. Sooo tldr the ship drama is kind of dumb. Please block and move on cause the discourse is taking up space on my feed when I’m trying to look for more art of Daisuke lmao

[theloveinc]

Which BNHA guys do you think try to eat ur ass first time you guys fuck?

My man Kiri has a dick so fat that he's beyond prepared and, in fact, READY to put all his effort into foreplay because he knows that schlong isn't going anywhere without a little prep beforehand.

The first time you fuck, clothes only just having been removed, he mentions foreplay and it's kinda funny because you don't expect such a... manly, big, jock-type looking guy to mean more than just fingering you for a minute or so. You practically think he's joking about it when you're moving to lay down, except -- suddenly he's flipping you right over to press your head into his pillow (gently) so he can eat you out in doggy. From there, it only takes about three or so licks before he's trying to stick his tongue in your ass.

-

Deku... wants to be classy and take things slow SO badly, yet... can't help himself if he's eating you out (which he does on the first date because... classy or not, he's a gentleman who gives head) and is putting his tongue everywhere it can reach.

Especially in your ass, given that he's somehow able to get your knees besides your cheeks with how seriously he gets into it.

-

And Dabi, without question, of course (which gives us Shoto by extension, probably because this asshole told him you can't give head without eating ass, but... whatever, given the circumstances of their relationship)!!!

He's just not about to waste his time going down on you if he isn't able to cover all bases; that means clit, hole, taint, AND rim. PERIOD. Another guy who manages to fold you in half so well you practically can't stand up straight up again, after. He might be a jackass but he's not a slacker when it comes to top.

I also feel like if you told Dabs he was bad at eating cat he'd add that to the list of reasons to k-himself. King.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

Yk, like sometimes, the greatest fault parents do? Think that "yes only i can know the best for my child." While abusing and neglecting and overwhelming them INSTEAD.

Like today was my PTM, and ibgot low marks because of favoritism of teachers with class toppers and because of my stress.

My parents have the greatest hand in my stressed depressed self. They have put me through SOO MANY classes, just because their frnds were like " oH mY cHiLd DoEs ThEsE tHiNgS! hE's ReAlLy TaLeNtEd!" Like to match with the other kids, my parents put me through hell!

I am indian. So we have many types of dances. And all these dances are taught at my dance school. So i do many things at once:

Dances [yes cuz there are too many]

Tabla

Harmonium [vocal and many types of songs like classical and rabindra sangeet]

Cricket

Table tennis 🏓

Swimming

Drawing and art

Tuition: Maths and Science

Tuition: Language and Ssc

And then comes school! There aremany programs of school. And i had went up to even NATIONAL level of AFS EAC SPORTS CHAMPIONSHIP and came 4th in TT 🏓 and my parents are still NOT satisfied.

It's overwhelming me a LOT. And my parents are like:

"But we couldn't do it before so we are making you do them!"

"But it's good for you!"

"Shut up with you stress-talks! There is nothing called stress!"

"How can you be so stressed? You are so young."

"You have no problem with yourself you don't need therapy"

LIKE I NEED THERAPY I HAVE ATTEMPTED SUICIDE FOR THIS 7 TIMES AT GRADE 8!! I DEVELOPED DEPRESSION AND MENTAL ILLNESS AT A YOUNG AGE OF 9! I HAD CUT MY ARMS AT THE AGE OF 11 AND 12, JUST FOR THESE.

AND PARENTS EVEN BEAT AND SCOLD AND NEGLECT THEIR CHILDREN WHEN THEY DON'T GO THE WAY THEY WANT TO!

And then comes school. Fake frnds. Education stress. Pressure. Feels like hell and jail. Grades. And so many other things!

TO HELL WITH THESE!

[yanderederee]

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒜𝓁𝓁 ℳ𝒾𝓃𝑒

Manjiro sano x reader

cw: suicidal thoughts and attempt of. Yandere heavy.

✦•·································•✦𓆩♡𓆪✦•··································•✦

“Right now. You’re dead.”

Confused beyond belief, you’re stricken with shock. What was going on?

Right now, you were sitting in the hallway of the apartment you lived in by yourself. Yet, face to face with, what appeared to be, your ex boyfriend.

You slowly begin regaining sense of what happened just moments ago.

You recall the endless pit of helplessness you found yourself in after a night out with friends. A night meant to make you feel better from the daily stress of maintaining your life.

Yet all you’ve done is mask, pretend, fake smiles, and stroke the egos of everyone around you, just so someone would give you a shred of attention.

This constant facade of happiness; trying to pretend like cracks cornering your life had finally become unrepairable.

You were becoming more and more damaged as the days pass. And still, not a single person will bat their eye in your direction. Acknowledge that maybe you could use a shoulder to cry on, to rant to.

The fun night filled with fake smiles and empty giggles finally winded down, and once you returned home to your empty apartment, silence surrounding you…

It was time to stop pretending.

Face reality once again that at the end of the day.

You are alone.

As good as dead, until the next conceivable excuse to rope you out came around. Not because it was for your own sake, but to maintain appearances.

“Because we’re friends, right?”

When… was the last time you felt such a connection with another person?

The thought made you laugh and cry all the same. Shuffling further in to the empty space that was temporarily yours, you finally couldn’t talk yourself out of it any longer.

This was reality.

It had been a long time since the last real attempt you made at stifling your own life. The tools were always at your disposal in waiting, waiting.

You were finally successful this time. Ready to finally commit to escaping the never ending cycle of inadequacy and inconvenience.

By now, you should be…

“…Dead.”

The words woke you again from the haze.

Were you?

“It’s okay. You’re dead now. You don’t have to worry about anything, ever again.” The soothing voice promised you so, so sweetly.

Your feint heartbeat and burning eyes proved this point false.

“Why are you here?” You asked quietly. Calmly.

“Because you’re mine.” He answered as easily as it was to breathe.

“Why did you stop me?” You croaked, fresh tears rolling down your face.

“… because you’re mine.” Manjiro repeated slower this time.

Shit. You cried, huddling in on yourself, unable to suppress the tremors that overcame you. There was nothing left you had to say to him.

“It’s okay,” he shushed you, forcibly handling you into his embrace, holding your shaking form tightly. “You won’t have to worry about anything, ever again..”

What kind of sense did that make, you had initially thought. As long as you breathe, you will never be satisfied going on. Continuously maintaining a facade of a person; never truly living.

Having no strength left to fight him off you, or any will to do so to begin with, you curled up into the little bit of warmth he offered, and cried. Heavily, without shame. For so long, you hadn’t even realized, you had cried yourself to sleep.

…

You would soon understand, that he was right; You Were Dead.

When you awoke, the surrounding memories of your old life were gone; as though permanently erased. No childhood photos or memories. No dangly earrings of cute designs.

A new life laid out before you. One where you needn’t put on appearances, now that you never made an appearance to anyone at all.

Because Manjiro only ever wanted you; the genuine, authentic, broken, you.

Time became constructive, as it primarily was. Days blurred. The sun rose and fell again, and again, and again.

The only thing that mattered, or changed, was when Mikey was and was not present.

Though the things surrounding you were expensive, quality, and plush, the only thing with genuine warmth, was him.

You were dead; the only presence of life being Manjiro’s own dead eyes, the same ones that lit up like stars, as if he were a child again, when he saw you in all your pitiful glory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he would smile. The only thing that brought the him or you any sense of life, was eachother.

Two broken halves that became whole once together. That was all you were, and all he was, anymore.

And still, you can’t see how death would be any better. For at least here, you needed only for the one who needed you.

art credit:@110mandarin

[vittoriamurphy]

Oh absolutely

[chipkoy]

I had to draw them in this pose, okay? It’s meant to be

[corazondebeskar-reads]

no more runnin'

demon!joel miller x f!reader

words: 468

summary: joel comes to collect what you owe him.

warnings: dead dove do not read, major character death (reader), implied suicide, christian concepts of life and death, description of a self-inflicted wound, I wrote this because I needed a good cry and I was processing some feelings that I needed to feel even though they were painful.

PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU READ THE WARNINGS.

viewer discretion is advised. you are responsible for the media you consume.

If you or someone you know is in crisis Call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 (para ayuda en español, llame al 988). The Lifeline provides 24-hour, confidential support to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He found you there. He had a habit of being places he shouldn’t, seeing things he wasn’t supposed to see. Of finding people who didn’t want to be found. 

That was why he was there, after all. He had come calling for what he was owed. And you were finally ready to pay up. 

“No more runnin’, huh?” Joel asked, crouching down. He reached out, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

“No more runnin’,” you rasp. 

“Coulda just told me,” he said, picking up your limp hand and inspecting the weeping wound below it. “I never said it hadta be painful. Coulda gone in your sleep.”

You manage a half shrug. “Maybe I wanted to say goodbye.”

He sighs, looking down at the damp concrete. “I would have given ya that, too,” he says. 

You close your eyes, not wanting him to see the tears, but they slip free anyway. He brushes them away with a swipe of his thumb. 

“Ah, shit,” he mutters. “It’s alright. I got ya. You’re not alone.”

He sits down beside you against the brick wall and pulls you into his arms. “This is why I don’t give extra time,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s always harder, sweetheart.”

“My own damn fault,” you say, a shaky laugh through tears. “Goin’ and fallin’ for the fuckin’ demon I sold my soul to.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly discourage ya, did I? But you know I can’t… I don’t…”

“I know,” you whisper. “No heart. Part of the whole arrangement. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“You’re a foolish girl,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. “I was gonna give you a pass. Gonna risk my fuckin’ neck to send you off to someplace better. But you’ve gone and condemned yourself, darlin.’ Why would you do this?”

“You’ll be there,” you admit. 

“Ah, darlin’,” he said, voice strained. “You ain’t gonna remember me. I’m sorry.”

“Will you remember me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your breathing is shallow, unsteady. 

He knows it’s almost time. He tilts your chin up, pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and tender, nothing like the rushed and frantic clash of flesh and teeth that you’re used to.

“I could never forget you,” he assures. It’s true, but you can’t be sure. Like he’d say anything else right now, give you anything other than what you need to hear in this moment. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, cradling your head to his chest. “You can close your eyes. I’ll stay with ya.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Your lids are heavy, burdened by tear-laden lashes and too many years, too many losses. You relax against him, feeling the press of his lips on the top of your head once, twice, thrice, until you feel no more. 

[yelenabemylova]

'escape' - natasha romanoff x reader

summary: it was fine before, why isn't it still?

warnings: implied suicide, implied drug abuse, mentions of self harm, just not a fun fic tbh !

“Tasha?” you carefully moved to sit in your girlfriend's lap. “Yes, malyshka?” she gently kissed your cheek, causing you to blush.

“Do you really have to go to work today?” you pouted at her, trying your best to convince her to stay home.

She covered her eyes with her hand, “detka, you know I can't say no to that face.” You giggled, “so don't.” Natasha reached for her phone and called someone, “Hey, Fury. Yeah, everything's okay. Am I okay to work from home today? Perfect. See you tomorrow.”

You jumped up off of her, running to your bedroom to get pyjamas for you both. “Thank you Natty, I love you!” you hugged her tightly.

Your shaking hands dialled her number you knew off by heart for all the wrong reasons. Her phone was going straight to voice mail and you hadn't seen her all day.

“Hi, Natasha. I'm getting a bit worried about where you've gone, I haven't heard from you since yesterday. Just let me know that you're safe, please.” your trembling voice left the 3rd message for her that night. You were hesitant to finish it off by telling her you loved her. It certainly didn't seem like she felt the same recently.

She'd been going away for ages at a time, unannounced. No matter how upset she made you, she'd just say “I'll fix it,” and then repeat her actions. You yearned for a comforting touch or some reassuring words, yet you had never received them.

You struggled quietly with your suicidal thoughts more and more each day. No matter how much you tried to evade them, they'd always find a way to come back stronger. You wished you could tell your girlfriend, but she was never even there to speak to.

Every time you tried to have a serious conversation with her, she'd listen, say a few emotionless words and leave the house without an explanation. You worried about her, but you also worried about yourself.

There was no more space on your fragile skin to cut. Considering your options, you decided that you had had enough. Work was too stressful, your ‘escape’ from it all was supposed to be comforting and peaceful, however you just felt more and more alone each day.

The bathroom was always stocked with medication, old painkillers for your migraines and such. Opening the cupboard, you slowly picked out the Vicodin from last year.

When Natasha returned home later that day, she wished she had never left.

[ghostingink]

I love doomed yaoi-fying politics it makes me less suicidal

[sir-ballister-boldheart]

bestie i got another one:

This is so unhinged fr. That is not a pro tip for critical thinking that is literally the opposite of it. That's literally black-and-white thinking.

I haven't watched the spiderverse movies so I can't comment on it but for Nimona specifically oh my god. Copaganda is not just having cop characters with one redeemable trait. The sympathetic ex-cop protagonist and his sympathetic cop love interest questioning, recognizing and rejecting the brainwashing the Cop Institute did to them is not Copaganda. That is literally the complete opposite of Copaganda. Cops rejecting Copaganda is the very anti-thesis of Copaganda. I literally don't know how much more simply I can put this.

Like this scene! This scene where Ballister drops his sword when faced with Nimona. That sword is a metaphor. It symbolises the institutional brainwashing that got into Ballister and which caused him to hurt his friend. When he drops the sword and reaches out a hand to a suicidal Nimona, it symbolises him finally rejecting and unlearning all the brainwashing for good. The sword is the Copaganda and Ballister throws it away in favour of his friend.

Also, if you want an example of Copaganda disguising itself as "progressive", then ZOOTOPIA is right there!

[ridebyldr]

wanna do a full face reveal but *sigh* this account would land me in jail.