#premature self harm warning

[acesw]

Reverse: 1999 : Disabled Characters

The game doesn't stray too far on the neurodivergent allegory for the arcanists themselves. But at the same time, there are also inclusions of other characters who are very much known to be disabled. So for this post I'll delve into that, just a bit.

Now, there are 10 characters that I want to put in the spotlight. These mostly lean towards being canon, but a part of these are also researched upon and shortened so the post doesn’t become way too long.

Cristallo, Rabies, Erick : Chronic Illness

It's quite self explanatory that Cristallo herself has a chronic illness. She was born prematurely, with an added condition that makes her physically fragile. As seen in the game, she needs a life-support system to maintain her health when she's outside. It's also implied that her condition may be a recurrent cancer, as her arcane abilities are tied to a machine that provides cobalt therapy, a known advancement in radiotherapy in the post-WWII era.

Rabies is an odd case. In his stories, it's noted that Adam cured Alicia through unknown means at the cost of contracting rabies himself. However, instead of the virus being acute and guaranteed to be fatal, it becomes a chronic illness to Rabies due to the abundance and use of arcanum. And since the rabies virus attacks the brain, his cognitive capabilities and ability to recall things before the present had been impaired, making him rather docile and animal-like in nature as a result.

Erick, as revealed in her anecdote, has a hereditary blood condition that came with her arcane skill. With her arcane skill making her physically powerful, overusing it will accelerate the effects of her blood condition to the point that it can become fatal. To prevent this, she also inherited an armband from her grandfather, Harald. The armband suppresses one's ability to use arcane skills, but by extension it also prevents Erick's condition getting worse.

Shamane : Amputee

Shamane's circumstances are also self-explanatory. He lost his arm for unknown reasons, but after having lived without it for 20 years, it doesn't bother him anymore. However as we know, he crafted his prosthetic arm as a means to avoid scaring kids. (which I think is quite cool in itself)

Ms. Radio, Bessmert : Blindness

Ms. Radio and our new friend, Bessmert, are both canonically blind. Ms. Radio has stated that she cannot see, and asks Vertin to left in places where she can feel temperatures to make her feel at peace.

And as we know, Yenisei (or in other words, Yenisei's VA) has stated in the 1.6 livestream that Bessmert is known to be blind, but even with that, she's a great researcher and guide to her.

Mesmer Jr. : OCD [Content Warning: Mentions of Self Harm and Suicide.]

Mesmer Jr.'s character has heavily implied throughout the main story and her own to have OCD as a result of the traumatic experiences she had gone through from her field of work and her family’s history in it. She identifies that she has "incurable" anxiety, which causes her to think differently about arcanists and act a little irrationally from our own perspective. This anxiety results in double checking everything and having a slightly intensive routine.

This routine is created as a means to maintain herself and her own sanity, but an imbalance or interruption can greatly upset her. As a result, she has conflicting ideals, experiences hallucinations and panic attacks, has suicidal thoughts, and actively inflicts self harm as a means to cope with her anxiety. However, she’s calmer and at peace with herself when she's left alone in a quieter and clean space, away from others, and where nature is heard more than constant buzzing. In short, Mesmer Jr.’s mental health is really complex and would be better if it's explored in a separate post.

Baby Blue : Alice in Wonderland syndrome

It's no secret that Baby Blue has Alice in Wonderland syndrome, or in other words dysmetropsia. This affects her perception of reality and her ability to recall, but this in turn makes her arcane abilities all the more powerful. As a result, she doesn't realize that she's growing up, yet it seems she doesn't mind that much. This doesn't seem to affect her physically either; In fact, it has a heavy influence on how she displays her arcane skills.

Poltergeist : Social Anxiety

Poltergeist has been known to be anxious in social settings which conflicts with her people-pleasing tendencies. She's also insecure about herself which adds up to her not wanting to be directly perceived. At the same time, she doesn't like being left alone as a result of having been ignored and forgotten post mortem. Poltergeist is also elaborate (i.e. not wanting to be looked at for too long) yet awkward at the same time when communicating them.

However, I'm not sure how to describe Poltergeist's case quite well, but the idea of her having social anxiety resonates greatly in my mind, so it can be treated as a partial headcanon.

Balloon Party : Autism and Speech Impairment

Balloon Party as a child had contracted an illness that caused her to have a persistent high fever. In the end, she awakened her arcane skill this way, with her being able to cough up balloons that can be harmful or a cure to anything.

However, it might have also affected her speech because of the physical strain that comes from coughing, it results to BP's speech being a bit slow and having abnormal pauses before she speaks again. Though, this also might be a sign of her possibly also having autism, where rigid and uneven language development is a common pattern in how autism affects one's ability in communication. Her speech also has a pattern of echolalia, having a flat tone, and lack of control of it.

However, speech impediment isn't everything about autism, and there's a lot more about BP's character that also connects with it such as her special interests. I can better explore this in a different post, which will be explained below.

Last Notes

These are the characters I’ve written down, most of these are less headcanon and more of observations I’ve found when looking into these characters. Some people from the lore chat have also added their own insights on some of them. (Thank you lupjo for beta-reading through it and helping me out) 

Of course, there are a few more characters I want to discuss because of the implications of them having autism / ADHD, but these will be written in another post in the future because I still need to research and gather other information. Additionally, it would be an opportunity to talk about the connections between an arcanist’s and neurodivergent person’s relationships with modern society.

Congrats for reaching the bottom of this post, and feel free to add your own ideas or headcanons about the characters here and/or any other ones.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Physical Graffiti

Author: entropic_saudade

Artist: BasketcaseBetty

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Endgame Dean Winchester/Castiel, Brief Dean Winchester/Ash, Brief Dean Winchester/Max Banes, John Winchester/Kate Milligan, Past John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Past Dean Winchester/Lee Webb, Past Dean Winchester/Cassie Robinson, Past Dean Winchester/Others, Past Castiel/Others, Implied Bobby Singer/Rufus Turner, Past Bobby Singer/Karen Singer, Harper Sayles/Vance, Edward Carrigan/Madge Carrigan, Jenny Sorenson/OMC, Larry Pike/Joanie Pike, Background Max/Stacy.

Length: 75000

Warnings: Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Additional Content Warnings: Self Harm, Alcohol Use Disorder, Recreational Drug Use, Child Abuse, Past Non-Con, Past Underage, Past Drug Addiction, Minor Character Death, Mental Health Issues

Tags: Case Fic, Murder Mystery, Horror Elements, Slow Burn, Journalist Dean Winchester, Detective Cas, Eventual Hopeful Ending, Families of Choice

Posting Date: November 4, 2024

Summary: The only ghosts and demons are the ones inside his head.  Fresh from a prematurely-ended stint at an inpatient psychiatric facility, ‘former’ self-harmer and functional alcoholic Dean Winchester returns to Sioux Falls, where he works as a crime journalist. His editor, Bobby Singer, sends him back home to Lawrence to gather the story on the murder of a teen boy and the recent disappearance of another. Painful memories from growing up resurface as the missing boy turns up horrifically dead and another goes missing.  The investigation is further complicated by the town’s gossipy tight-knit nature, Dad’s judgment, and botched attempts at making inroads with his estranged half-family, Kate and Adam Milligan.  Dean crosses paths with Castiel Novak, a renegade detective from Kansas City with a troubled past of his own. As they work together, they slip past each other’s defenses, unearthing each other’s secrets and digging for the truth.  As it turns out, monsters just might be real—and they just might live at home.  A Sharp Objects-inspired AU.

Excerpt: A dumpy parking lot, leaning against Baby’s hood, looking to the stars—it reminds Dean of doing the same with the football jocks. The way he’d smuggle stolen beer cans in Dad’s jacket pocket, turning him from ‘homo’ to ‘hero’ in their eyes. Stupidly, it reminds him of Lee.  Dean sneaks a glance over at Cas’ profile, tracing the angle of his jaw as he tilts his head up. The same stupid butterflies flap in his stomach. He suffocates them with a few swigs. “So, our arrangement. I’ll answer a question for each one you answer,” Cas offers, his adam’s apple bobbing.  “Deal.”  “What was it like growing up in Lawrence?” Dean whistles. “Starting with hardballs, huh? You don’t pull any punches.”  “Would you rather I ask for your favorite color?” Cas teases.  He groans. “No, none of that grade school shit. Gimme the real scoop.” Cas raises a pointed brow. You first. “Alright, Lawrence.” He sighs, bracing himself. “Mom had… my brother when I was four.” His voice wavers slightly when he brings up Sammy.  “Adam is much younger, though, isn’t he?”  “Different brother, Kate’s my stepmom. Me and Sam, we’re our Mom’s. She died when Sam was six months old. House fire.” Cas’ eyes sadden, but he doesn’t say anything. “But, as far as growing up—normal, I guess. Went to the school district nearby, was in wrestling for a little bit. I wasn’t some prodigy but I did okay, grades-wise.” “I bet you were Mr. Popular.” Dean barks a laugh. “Uh, no. Sorta depends on who you ask.” Depends on what year. “After graduation, I left for college.” Dean skips over the rest of the highlight reel.  “And Sam?” “Hey, you gotta answer at least one question first,” Dean pokes him. “Why is a detective from Kansas City down in Lawrence?”  “My supervisor likes to send me out on solo cases for assists. I don’t exactly work well with others.”  “Well, you and I make a pretty good team—a little chaotic, maybe, but at least we ruled two suspects off your list.”  “That we did. It’s a shame you’re not a detective.” “Reporters are detectives of sorts. We both look for narrative, just in different ways.” Cas gives a thoughtful hum. “My turn again. What happened to Sam?” Dean’s throat convulses. “He died. We were in our teens.” “What happened?” “He was sick all the time. One day, he just… kept getting worse. His body couldn’t take it.” Sammy’s ghost observed them, sadly, flickering in an in-between state.  “I’m sorry, Dean.”  They sit in silence for a few moments. Panic builds in Dean’s chest, and he worries that he’s ruined whatever rapport they’d been building.  “I’ll tell you something if you swear to not tell another soul?”  Dean nods, relief settling over him. He eats secrets for breakfast.  “The real reason I work Homicide is because it’s better than what I used to do.”  “What’s so bad that working Homicide is better?” Cas looked down and didn’t answer.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[lordfreg]

Hello all,

TW for p3d0ph!l!a, z00ph!l!a

Today, I have gotten some allegations against myself for being a pedo + zoophile. This is not true.

As many of you know who are in the TMNT fandom and enjoy the spicy side of these turtles, you often get accused of this. It is unfortunate but true. I knew this was coming, but I feel like I must explain myself further.

As you know, I have a patron. This was actually made prematurely, and is sort of bad, so that will be closing shortly (I apologize). And on this patron, is the option to see "sexy turtles", but nobody has signed up for this and I have no patron exclusive content (yet).

Apparently, this is pedophilia and zoophilia.

(They have conveniently left out the "mutant" part)

This is not true. All the turtles are aged up, which I thought would be implied in the fact that I only (really) draw for the EPA au, and they are visibly, mentally and emotionally older than their cannon counterparts. I.e. wrinkles, more pronounced features, bulkier.

This may be my mistake for wording this poorly, or not taking the proper measures, but you would think the implication, and my two different art styles, would be a major difference.

Anyway, the zoophilia claim is also ridiculous because... seriously? My explanation for this is that they are not only canonically human, they also have been confirmed human DNA. Enough to make them stand on two legs, walk, talk, read, cry, enough human to make them, well.. human.

Another reason is that (rise) Donnie has autism; which is a brain malformation. This means his brain is big enough to not only be malformed, but still functioning. A real turtles brain isn't big enough to be deformed in that way, and if it was, the turtles would unfortunately die.

Continuing, I had the claim that I was "15" because I had put a 18+ only warning on my content. I am not.

AN IMPORTANT ELEMENT; I have put the 18+ warning not because of the sex, but because it contains extreme violence and triggering topics. Sex is NOT the main focus of this AU, or any of my works unless stated "this is for fun/this is because I wanted to/this is explicit" etc. My au is to delve into trauma, war, violence, sexual trauma (to both male and female), and generally bring awareness to things and help support people. It is NOT just smut.

This, again, could have been my sever lack of forethought and under-explaining my au, simply because I didn't actually know what my au would be about/contain. Again, I take responsibility for my poor wording and lack of (more) warnings.

Also, this person is actually just bullying me with my old self ship art (which i still love and adore), so... pity points?

More on myself; I'm coming to the realization (after years of being hypersexual), that sex is not a priority to me, nor is it something that I feel a strong compulsion to make/indulge in. I am not a sexual deviant, meaning I do NOT support harmful sexual behaviors. Zoophilia is actively taking advantage of animals, which I am not, and will never do.

It is unfortunate that some people genuinely cannot control themselves, but I am not one of those people.

I honestly have no idea what I've done to this person to make them put me on blast, and whatever it is, I'm sorry. I will, again, be taking down my patron page to start over, and I apologize to my patrons already, but it's sucky.

Again, sorry about this and for everyone who goes through this. I am sorry, dear friend, that you're writhing with jealousy. And I am sorry, patrons, that I have to close my patron. I love all my followers, and I try my best to send the "Thanks for the follow" to show my appreciation.

Myself and @lexiechr will continue to work on the EPA au, and that will be posted when ready.

(Also, my Instagram is now private because I don't want harassment nor people thinking I'm a bad person. I am just being bullied and bring a socially awkward idiot about it.)

Again, much love, Jorjie :3

[topguncortez]

the official Whumptober masterlist

warning: This challenge contains heavy material. Please Read with caution. 18+, MINORS DNI.

1 | PICK YOUR POISON - J. Seresin synopsis: You never imagined sharing your deepest darkest secrets in front of two monsters and your best friend. Loosely based on the book “Still Beating” by Jennifer Hartmann. warnings: kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, mentions of miscarriage, murder, character death, truth serum, drugging, forced proximity.

2 |  SLEEP WHEN YOU’RE DEAD - B. Floyd synopsis: Bob has had a hard time adjusting to life after a tragic accident. Every time he closes his eyes, the nightmares come flooding back. warnings: mercy killing, graphic details of injury, physical violence, nightmares, choking, panic attack, character death, insomnia.

3 | LET YOUR SENSES GUIDE YOU - N. Trace Synopsis: Natasha thinks she has everything under control after the bird strike, but you think she's heading towards a break down. warnings: bird strike, panic attack, mentions of character death, anger, grief, mentions of injury

4 | THE SECRETS THAT YOU KEEP - J. Seresin synopsis: things hadn't been great between the two of them for some time, but she never knew there was another woman involved warnings: infidelity, cheating, mentions of a miscarriage, unhleatiy coping mechanisms, grief, heartbreak

5 | HELD AGAINST YOUR WILL - B. Floyd synopsis: Bob always dreamed that one day he'd be superman, and one day that dream came true. . . almost warnings: domestic violence, teen pregnancy, being held a gun point, gun shots, character death.

6 | OUT OF YOUR MIND - B. Bradshaw synopsis: Bradley hadn't ever dreamed of becoming a dad until one day he found out he was going to be one. . . and then he became all the kid had. warnings: child birth, mentions of cannon character death, character death, premature labor, premature newborn, talks about premature death, grief.

7 | NOT DEAD TILL YOU’RE WARM N DEAD - R. Abbott synopsis: Your and Rhett's relationship had been anything but easy between bull riding and lies. But you had hoped that you would be enough for him to come back alive. warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, death, character death, allusion of suicide.

8 | A BRAIN ON FIRE - B. Bradshaw synopsis: ever since Bradley was little he struggled to keep things in order and keep the voices in his head at bay. One day, the voices get too loud and Bradley misses the biggest day of your career. warnings: mental illness, OCD, panic attacks, mentions of self harm, cursing, mentions of sexism, tears.

9 | DEAD ON YOUR FEET - J. Seresin synopsis: you were born with the family flaw that left you missing a part and scared Warnings: heart transplant, mentions of scars, teasing, unwanted sexual contact, mentions of sexual assault.

10 | A GIFT TO REMEMBER - B. Floyd synopsis: you and bob had been trying for a long time to start a family of your own. and right when you start to see the light at the end of the tunnel, it gets snuffed out warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of miscarriages, failed IVF, mentions of female anatomy, cursing, grammar errors.

11 | FLOAT LIKE A FEATHER - J. Seresin synopsis: fear does a strange thing to the human body, and you've become victim to its paralyzing affects. warnings: sexual assault, work place violence, victim blaming, fear, cursing, grief, sexual harassment, mentions of retaliation, mentions of emergency contraceptives, mentions of self harm.

12 | LEFT A SCAR ON MY HEART - B. Bradshaw synopsis: in the wake of a tragic death, everyone deals with their grief differently. You thought you'd be able to handle it, but you weren't strong enough. warnings: suicide, mentions of self harm, details about character death, character death, unhealthy coping mechanism, grief

13 | A FORCE OF NATURE, AN ACT OF GOD - J. Seresin synopsis: you always said it would take an act of God to take Jake Seresin off this earth. . . maybe you should've kept that thought to yourself warnings: character death, grief, pregnancy, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

14 | 9-1-1, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY? - J. Seresin synopsis: the hospital used to be one of your favorite places to be at. . . that was until someone took the joy right out of helping people warnings: mass shooting, vivid description of being shot, death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of a psychotic break, mentions of being held in a psych ward.

15 | WHO’S THE NEW KID? - J. Seresin synopsis: Jake and Y/N start to look at when their relationship changed and drove them towards the arms of others warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of a miscarriage, mentions of an unwanted pregnancy, divorce, mentions of pregnancy depression

16 | ONE HALF OF A WHOLE PERSON - J. Seresin synopsis: Jake's dream has always been to fly. But what happens when the only way to save his life, is taking away something that would ruin his career. warnings: injuries, infections, plane crash, medical jargon, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, amputations, grief

17 | INTO THE FIRE - B. Bradshaw synopsis: dragon and rooster feel like they are reliving their worst nightmare over again. but this time, things look a little bit brighter warnings: mentions of stillbirth, mentions of miscarriage, fear of hospitals, passing out, ultrasounds, pregnancy, PTSD

18 | TAKING A SICK DAY - J. Seresin synopsis: what you thought was just a stomach bug, turned into you having to make the biggest decision of your life and putting you and Jake's relationship to the test warnings: medical abortion, abortion pills, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of missed menstrual cycles, grief, mentions of teenage pregnancy, pro-life protestors, cursing, vomiting.

19 | I’LL NEVER PUSH YOU AROUND - B. Floyd synopsis: you've been hiding something from Bob for a while, and when the truth gets exposed, he reacts in a way you weren't expecting warnings: cheating, pregnancy, manipulation, anger issues, breaking glass, fighting, dark!bob

20 | THE BEAUTY FELL FOR THE BEAST - R. Wheeler synopsis: Rip has no idea what John saw in you to keep you at the ranch, but he quickly finds out that it's got nothing to do with how you cowboy warnings: domestic violence, mentions of scars and injuries, cursing, slight sexism

21 | WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU - B. Bradshaw synopsis: Dragon had always envisioned how the birth of her child would go, and it wasn't anything like how it actually went. warnings: pregnancy, child birth, c-section, medical jargon, inaccurate medical procedures, cursing, mentions of child death, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of still birth, grief

22 | PAIN MAKES YOU STRONGER - N. Trace synopsis: Natasha deals with the aftermath of the situation with Captain Underwood. She thought that the Navy would have her back, but she was met with a rude awakening. warnings: sexual assault, sexual harassment, victim blaming, retaliation, the military failing to protects its own people

23 |  DON’T TRY TO BE THE HERO - J. Seresin synopsis: The rat in the Seresin mafia has been exposed and it's the last person Jake thought would ever betray him. Part of the Bad Medicine series. warnings: murder, mentions of torture, broken bones, cheating, mafia, character death, description of injuries, gun violence, abuse, illegal activities

24 | RUNNING UP THAT HILL TO MAKE A DEAL WITH GOD 

25 | BAD DREAMS, BAD DREAMS, HERE TO STAY - N. Trace

26 | THE LAZARUS EFFECT 

27 | NEVER LET GO - J. Seresin, B. Bradshaw, B. Floyd, M. Garcia Synopsis: an interviewer sits down with some of the famous murderesses of Miramar Corrections Facility. warnings: murder, character death, description of murder, hanging, innocence, cheating, cursing, mentions of mental illness

28 | OUT OF BREATH AND OUT OF TIME

29 | ONE TICKET TO HELL - J. Seresin

30 | YOU’RE MINE, AND ALWAYS WILL BE MINE

31 | A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

[writefightandflightclub]

“Yes man” (Cecil Dennis {fuck me, how did I get here} x fem!reader)

Summary: Blurby McBlurbFace. Mainly chat, slight fluff, smut, pining / friends to lovers vibes.

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption; drug use mentions (weed); smoking; dumbification of Cecil, I guess. Mommy kink if you squint. Public erections / handjob sorta, premature ejaculation / cum in pants. Mentions of dead fish but no fish were harmed. Actually, a surprising number of animal metaphors. Oops. Rimming I’m sorry that one snuck in very last minute Omg.

A/n: having a shitty mental health day (boo) and this Cecil blurb (whilst not my best) is my self-care ☺️ I don’t remember his character well aside from wet bloody cat boy, but I’m damn sure not rewatching that again so this will have to do 😅. Feedback appreciated! 🧡 (Is the rimming too much? 🙈) Not proofed and I’m almost positive autocorrect will have screwed me over.

Also totally inspired by @my-secret-shame’s meme and @foxilayde’s amazing blurb. I will not pretend to have had an original idea! 🧡

“Come onnnn, Cecil,” you whine, poking him in his soft belly with your index finger. He giggles lightly, almost like a hiccough. “It’s always me coming up with the ideas. What do you wanna do next?”

He turns his head as though in slow motion. Moves as if he’s underwater, this one - at least when he’s got food and several beers in him (which is most of the time). He looks up. Blinks at you; dumbly. “What do you mean?”

Eh. You’d really thought your statement had been quite clear.

You resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him It’s a good job you’re pretty.

“I mean, that I suggest things, and you go along with them.”

He blinks again. It’s like everything is just a little slower in Cecil’s world. Takes a little longer to filter through. It’s refreshing, in a way. He’s in no rush, and it encourages you to slow down too. To smell the roses.

Cecil is beyond easy-going, come to think of it. Goes with the flow like a dead fish. You’re pretty sure, in fact, that he’d go along with just about anything. With just about anybody’s hare-brained schemes, without once thinking through a single one of the potential consequences.

Scratch that - he probably already has done just that; which would explain a lot of the trouble he’s routinely gotten himself into since you’ve known him.

Though, you suppose, in a way that’s refreshing too. You always did worry too much.

Besides, he always seems to muddle through, somehow. Though quite how has you stumped. It’s hardly due to his charm or his smarts, now, is it? Even so, despite whatever attributes he is lacking in, you can’t deny that he must be doing something right. Trouble simply seems to slide right off the man’s back. Like water off a… well. A dead fish, you guess. What a versatile metaphor.

He blinks at you again. Maybe those big pretty cow eyes help, just a teency bit, to get him out of trouble, you would wager.

Look at him though. You’ve never seen anyone more relaxed. Practically horizontal as he’s hunkered down in the booth, seated next to you in the corner of your usual dive bar. Maybe there’s something to be said for all the pot and seedy hotel room fucks he indulges in. You bet his shoulders are inordinately loose. Maybe he really does have it all figured out, despite appearances.

As you ponder this, Cecil -eventually- makes a non-committal noise, before his bloodshot, glassy eyes flick back to the TV hung up on the wall. He is barely even watching it. Just letting it happen to him, like he does with most everything else.

That’s probably why you’ve never fucked him, you realise, like a bolt out of the blue. He’s pretty, sure. But you wouldn’t.

You don’t mind control - that’s not it. You don’t mind taking charge. But with Cecil? You think he’d take it lying down - a little too literally. If you’d ever suggested you and he fool around, you’d never know for sure. Never know if it really was his idea - a thought or desire he’d ever had before - or if he was simply far too agreeable and opportunistic to decline. So agreeable, that he’d let you ease your vagina up and down on his cock until you came on him. You were intrigued by the thought, sure. But you refused to go there simply because Cecil couldn’t come up with anything better to do.

You look at him, and immediately bat that thought - the vagina all over cock one - away though, as you regard his complete lack of gumption. It’s tangible. Look at him now, for example. He’d seemed to like the way the air from his non-committal noise had filtered over the neck of his bottle, tucked under his folded chin. Indeed, he is now pursing his full, curvy lips, and blowing over the mouth of it until a soft series of “hoots” fill your booth.

You fold your arms and sigh.

You reckon that will amuse him for the next ten minutes at least, so clearly, once again, Cecil’s not the one coming up with a plan for the remainder of this evening.

It’s not that you ever really have to do anything with Cecil to have a good time. It’s just that, tonight, you’re antsy, and it’s making your thoughts wander in directions. Down below his zipper directions, so help you.

“Beer’s empty,” Cecil states flatly, finally noticing after sucking on the bottle for a mo, poking his wet pink tongue around the rim like the little wet cat boy he is. Cute though. Does things to you.

Anyway. You register his statement, but you observe that no action follows. He doesn’t look at all like he plans to do a damn thing about it.

You decide to test your theory, then. Your theory that Cecil’s simply a dead fish swept along in your river. That maybe he doesn’t even want to be here at all. Never did. That you are just another something that happened to happen to him.

“Do you wanna go get Mexican?” you offer, with ulterior motives Cecil is not shrewd enough to pick up on.

His eyes tick back from the captivating, shifting lights of the TV. “Sure,” he smiles softly at you, perfectly content, it seems - and yet, you are less than satisfied.

“See!” You smack the palms of your hands together in triumph, and he jumps. Pushes himself up a little straighter in the seat, his palms disappearing into the worn, lumpy upholstery. “See what I mean?”

He blinks at you blankly. Again.

Clearly not, then?

“You just go along with anything I say. We ate two hours ago, Cecil,” you complain, recalling the all you can eat Chinese buffet you and he had gorged on with two coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper. You drop your hands to your lap, dejectedly. You’re getting agitated with him, which surprises you, in truth. And still… there Cecil is. Unflappable. Calm. Constant. There are pros to his cons, for sure. “I just… I never know if you actually like what we’re doing, you know?”

“But. You always suggest things I like. So why would I say no?” He shrugs a little. “Tacos are good. I like tacos. I like…” he hoots into his bottle again as he says the word. “You-ooooooh.”

You hate to admit it, but his answer has you stumped for a moment. Cecil’s statements may generally be simple. Uncomplicated. But they can be oddly profound at times.

Christ. Maybe… Does the man actually have a valid point? Or, perhaps you’re looking too hard for meaning in his words - it’s possible. You feel like you’ve spent a lot of time lately looking hard at Cecil, perhaps to justify your bizarre and inexplicable feelings.

Possibly you’re even projecting. His seeming lack of independent willpower would certainly make that easy enough to do.

Maybe the man has a point though. Maybe he’s not as “easy-going” as you think he is. Maybe you’re just coincidentally so attuned to his desires that he’s never had cause to deny you. Maybe you are aligned with his desires. One and the same. “What if I asked you to do something you didn’t like, then?”

You slurp up the dregs of melted ice through your straw and Cecil blinks again as though it’s taking all of his processing power. Damn, though. You’re surprised that the fanning of those endlessly long cow lashes didn’t cause the curtains behind you to billow in the breeze they threw up. “Like what?”

You shake your head. Touch his arm to placate him. “Never mind, Cecil.” Christ. If he can’t even think of a single Thing He Wouldn’t Like, maybe you can safely stick to your dead fish hypothesis. It’s all the same to him. Just happening to him. He’s not choosing you.

That particular thought, when it arrives, niggles you more than expected, but you quash the growing agitation which rides in alongside it.

Meanwhile, Cecil looks around, quite visibly thinking. “I wouldn’t get up outta this seat,” he states adamantly, his voice croaked from all the blunts he’s worked through today. “I wouldn’t like that.”

You believe him. He’s practically sliding down to become a puddle on the floor. Dissolving into the bar furniture; becoming one with the upholstery.

Your lips curl up into a tender smile, remembering one particularly ridiculous night at Cecil’s. The night involving a 3am bong sesh, culminating in him genuinely believing he had merged with the couch, becoming a half-human half-upholstery monstrosity. He had waved the two huge, puffy couch cushions around as though they were his arms, and he’d grabbed you up in the middle of them like a grilled cheese, sandwiching you and taking you down to the floor where the two of you had rolled and laughed until you’d cried.

When the laughter had subsided to only the odd titter here and there, and you had lain on his disgusting rug almost nose to nose? That’s the first time you’d wanted to kiss him, and it turned out not to have been the last.

Fuck. You are rather fond of this idiot, aren’t you? How the fuck did that happen?

Engaged fully now though - slightly more lucid than your fond memory- Cecil sits up. Still slouched but this time over the table, his forearms bracing him against the surface. As he moves, you get a waft of his layered, stale cigarette smell. It’s… confusing, in its appeal. Should be off-putting, but you find, in fact, that it’s a comfort.

“No? You don’t wanna?”

With a rush of affection you link your arm through Cecil’s, and he slumps his head on to your shoulder as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t ready for the way his knotted curls brush your cheek, and it inspires a similarly dense and tangled knot to form in your middle.

“No.” It’s the most sure you’ve ever heard him sound. “I don’t wanna get up.”

“A minute ago we were going for Mexican food, Cecil.” There’s a beat. “That kinda involves movement, you realise?

He swivels his head towards you then, gaze all doe-eyed and pathetic, and the proximity of him parroting on your shoulder knocks you for six. “You mad at me or something, Hottie from Walmart?”

You snort. He doesn’t always pull out that nickname for you - how you’d been known to him before you had been known to him - but it always makes you sentimental when he does.

He shifts from you then, tilting his body towards you. Scrutinising you with apprehension in his sweet face.

Fuck him actually, and fuck his pouty beautiful kissable lips most of all.

You sigh, and you deliberately soften your face. He’s easy-going, sure, but he’s sensitive. Trouble slides off of his back, but other things… other things don’t slip off quite so well, and he often gets like this. Like he’s done something wrong, when he hasn’t.

You actively resist the urge to coddle him. To tenderly rake his somewhat grimy but beautiful curls off of his forehead.

You hardly want to examine the fact he brings out your… motherly instincts; but it doesn’t escape your attention that he always seems like he’s craving just a little nurturing. You want to take your thumb and smooth out the creases in his troubled brow.

“No, Cecil. I’m not mad at you. I’d tell you if I was and we’d talk about it.”

He nods.

You’re not mad at him. Really. And so, you take pause to wonder why this happy-go-lucky trait of his is particularly irking you today. “It’s mostly a good thing, I promise.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

He looks pleased for a minute and then: “Wait. What’s a good thing?”

You want to kiss his stupid mouth until he can’t think. Which you don’t think would take long at all, actually.

“That…” You think about how to phrase it, and it quickly occurs to you. “That. You’re my ‘yes man’.” He is expressionless for a moment, and you wait for comprehension to slowly crawl over him. “I mean, Cecil,” you take his clammy hand in yours. “That it’s always fun with you. I mean that you never shoot down my ideas. Even when you probably should.”

His face splits with a brief - goofy, but wholly endearing - smile. “You have fun with me?”

His big cow eyes go all soft and wet.

Oh boy. This idiot. If you didn’t have fun with him, even just sitting on his grotty couch, what other reason could you possibly have to hang out with him, huh?

You open your mouth to say as much before thinking better of it, but for once Cecil beats you to it.

“I have fun with you too, Hottie.”

It’s another one of those moments of levity that you’ve experienced surprisingly often with Cecil. One of those moments where everything feels a just little more profound. A little more magical. Sometimes, Cecil gets you in the gut just a little harder than expected.

Great. And now you’re thinking of Cecil all up in your guts.

“I should think so - I’m awesome. But, right now? All I’m saying is…” You tap your noggin. “Tank empty. No ideas. It’s your turn to decide what we do tonight? Okay?”

You search his eyes. His big, beautiful, sincere and secretless eyes. You silently ask the true question you want to ask him. I want to know what you want.

You’re not yet ready to admit the questions buried right beneath that one: do you want me back? Could you? Would you, Cecil?

“Yeah?” Cecil responds, unsure, and you immediately worry that you have, in fact, given him too much responsibility. His expression compresses in a frown of deep, deep concentration. Like he’s really wrestling with this.

You watch with bated breath, dying to see what he comes up with - if anything at all.

And then - aha - he finally has it.

“I could jerk off.”

“Wha-?” You playfully bat him in the arm, aghast. “Cecil!!”

“What?” A surprised, contrite laugh bobs in his throat.

“I mean.” You swallow. “How is that an idea for both of us?”

Oh that’s your problem with his idea?

That it’s not participatory enough?

“You could help.”

Your jaw drops open. “Cecil! I’m not gonna-” you switch to a loud whisper “-jerk you off!”

He blinks again, his eyes glinting with a gentle - ever so gentle - flicker of amusement. “You’re not a yes man,” he complains softly, his curly lips sneaking up into a curly smile. “Always shooting down my ideas.”

He bats his lashes at you and oh boy - even Cecil must be starting to figure out that you’re a sucker for those big, pretty brown eyes. Your one true weakness.

“That’s really what you want?” you ask, trying to keep things light. To keep your tone jokey and jovial, like always, despite the rising tremor in your voice. “It would involve getting up, you realise?”

He winks at you - a gesture which seems entirely unlike him and yet somehow works - and smirks down at his crotch. “Already am.”

“If you’re really so uncontrollably horny, why don’t you get someone else around here to help you, huh?” Your heart skips a beat. “Why me?”

He’s looking at you like he wants you but… he’s an opportunistic guy. Goes with the flow. That’s how things come to him; he’ll take his cigarettes and beers and fucks wherever and whenever he can get them.

He unceremoniously pulls out a rolled blunt and lights it up, the filter end pressed between his plush pink lips.

“No.” It bobs as he talks and he takes little, peppered drags to get the burn going.

“No?”

You blink at him dumbly now.

“No. I only want you.”

Correction. That’s the most sure of anything you’ve ever heard him.

He slips forward, exhaling his smoke into your mouth as his lips caress yours. “Come on,” he encourages. “Get going. Before my penis turns into a couch cushion.”

He kisses your laugh, and as his tongue slides hungrily against yours suddenly it isn’t quite so funny. Suddenly, you feel like maybe Cecil has the best ideas.

“Right here?” You reach down, and you smooth your palm over the clothed bulge at his crotch. “In the booth?”

“I’m already barred. Heh. What are they gonna do?”

You smile at him, licking your lips as Cecil bucks up into your hand, his head lolling back against the lip of his seat, and his pretty eyes fluttering closed.

He groans, as your fingers snake to tease open the button at his fly.

“Oops,” Cecil whispers contritely, almost immediately, his cheeks and his ears darkening with a deep crimson flush as he looks over to you. “I just… I…”

Oh God. He just came in his pants, didn’t he? Oh Lord that makes you inexplicably hot.

His big, pretty eyes are wet with apology. “Are you mad?”

“No, Cecil.” Poor baby. “I just think I should take you home and get you cleaned up, hmm?” You next words all run into one, as you struggle to get your new genius plan out of your mouth. “Mayberimyoualittlewhatdoyousay?”

Did you actually just suggest that you take him home to rim him? Good Lord.

He blinks rapidly, the colour in his cheeks flowering more, like a beautiful rose unfurling. “Y-Yes. I say yes.”

It’s a hare-brained plan, for sure, but you decide that for once,

you might as well just…

go with the flow.

It certainly works for Cecil.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

hii a little bit ago I ask if you could write loc dead x fem reader who self harms and I loved the one you wrote but could you please write another one 💕

I will hold you

warning : hurt/comfort, self-harm, emotional, kissing, no use fo Y/n

Info : Yeah I remember your request hope you like this one and have fun reading even if it's a little short but regardless have fun reading ;)

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain. Pain is something that everyone feels at some point, whether it's when you hurt yourself cutting fruit, when you get a stomach ache from laughing or when you're just sad.

But there have also been days, weeks, months, years and decades when you can't get rid of pain. Something that gets stuck in you and hurts you with every passing day.

He knew it, the blond singer of the band knew this feeling, he experienced it every day and could only soften it slightly through the music with his heart by his side. But exactly this pain had captured him and his girlfriend, the one he loved, who was like the light at the end of the tunnel. But even this light can grow dimmer from time to time.

A light that is permeated by pain, a light that has been destroyed by fire, by ice, by metal and by his own body. He had tried it himself and had gone into this spiral abyss, but he had overcome it for a few days at a time and had now somewhat accepted it and survived.

But it was always painful for him when he caught his heart interrupting him and he went home to the room in the house they all shared. He didn't feel the smell of fire after a fire, it was different.

,,Darling! I'm back!" he called into the house, hearing something fall to the floor before he ran upstairs to her, the door to the room was torn open without a lock before he saw that she had thrown the lighter to the floor, the knife lying next to her, but the look of fear, rejection, pain he saw on her face was the most painful thing he had ever seen. That look he knew was a cry for help, a scream that only gave surface to her pain.

A pain they both knew, something they shared and yet hid prematurely. Sometimes, however, they bumped into each other and saw what was going on inside the other.

But the fire they both had not seen for a long time. ,,Wait, darling, just wait a moment," he said hastily, running out of the room and into the bathroom where he grabbed the first-aid kit, which was still more than half full, but it would do.

The crying he heard from her was sad and lonely in her current state. Something that bothered him she shouldn't suffer and yet this was easier said than done as he knew it was painful.

They both knew that this life was painful but life should never be like this. ,,Here I am," he said and knelt down in front of her, wordlessly yet gently taking her arm, the burns and cuts not too deep but the pain of this brief redemption was something she had felt without seeing the end.

,,I'm sorry," she murmured, tears flowing down her cheeks and hiding behind her hand as her friend touched her. She tried to soothe a little while he disinfected the wounds and cleaned the burn cream they had bought just for this.

,,It's not okay, I'm here…it could have been worse but my heart I'm here okay it's going to be okay" he talked to her as he sealed the bandages around her wounds with tape and pulled her into his arms.

Her sniffling mumbles of apology only caused him to hold her tighter. Just stay with me for today, we'll get through this," he reassured her, kissing her head softly, listening to her crying gradually become less and less.

Maybe she even had hope that she could now see the light at the end of the tunnel and not the other way around. He was her light in times when she knew how hard it was. But in the end they would make it, they had always made it somehow and they were making it today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ctheathy]

Survival instinct didn’t make the cut

Yandere Ticci Toby x Reader

Angst oneshot

Imagine making your first Tumblr post and it’s this. But I swear, this scenario has been living rent free in my head for the past months-

I believe it turned out quite alright though, hope whoever comes across shall be able to enjoy it themselves too =} Goodluck, darling~

Ticci Toby/Reader

⚠️Warnings ⚠️ :

•Toby lmao. •Yanderes •Reader’s demise •Obsessive behaviour • Abuse in all varieties •Implied non-con // r#pe •Indirect su!c!de •Slight detail of gore // blood •Derealization ?? •Tobitch going through the five stages of grief

Angst time babiee

____________________________________________

Now he’s done it.

Before you is where he stood, body trembling as the smell of bitter iron was dancing alongside his nostrils, mocking him.

His throat was aching, easily confirming the assumption that he had in fact been screaming at you. He hadn't expected this, but he should have.

He should have realised his self-restraint was reaching it’s limits.

He had lost count of the amount of speeches he had prematurely given you in warning over the course of just six months, the amount of punishments he’d given you in an attempt to put you in your place, his already thin patience having decreased into absolutely nothing. Why the fuck couldn’t you just be all ears and listen to anything for once in a lifetime?

You never listened.

It seemed like not too long ago he would have once again had your fragile figure cornered in an obvious out of control burst of rage. Figuring he had the absolute opposite of innocent intent, as he has done many, many times before in his quote on quote “regular” state alone. Yet the now deafening silence was haunting to Toby. You never enjoyed crying when he was in the same area as you were, he knew this, but some whimpers here and there did always manage to slither it’s way out of your throat. Especially when battered like this, you’re not supposed to be this quiet.

Conversations were rare, but it surely wasn’t like they weren’t there at all, despite how minor they might have been. He’d recall you flat-out ignoring his entire existence for a long time before that, and when you did reply to a sentence or two; your answers were always kept as short as possible, too short. Cold, even.

You and your blunt statements.

It angered him, following with Toby developing a habit of literally demanding your attention and cooperation, which surely wouldn’t be considered all that bad by a majority of people,

if it didn't include inflicting damage if a hint of resistance was even shown, that is.

Neck twitching severely with his eyes scanning over your once gorgeous form; one he wished to have held onto for the absolute rest of eternity, now beaten into a bloody pulp. Truthfully saying, your state had already been quite the wreck from these so-called “punishments” you had endured from him formerly, but they were nothing in comparison to whatever the hell he did to you this time. Your body structure wasn’t even recognisable to the bare eye anymore. The only thing left confirming your identity being your facial features, those you had instinctively tried shielding with your arms; arms who were now bend in uncomfortable positions, whose bones were now much so similar to your ribcage as they were clearly showing, sharp tips that had been broken off of the full bone structure poking out of the bloodied flesh.

You seemed to have gotten on his nerves once more, didn’t you? Who were you even kidding, you were always at fault from his point of view. You swore it had gotten to a stage where he just reached out for whatever excuse he could get his grabby hands on to cause harm upon you. His frustration streaks being no help in the matter, whatsoever.

That being said, this too included suffering the most whenever his torturous desires came over to front within his own mind, lashing out and resulting in unimaginable that when given too much detail would probably get me banned discipline instances in itself. He was trying to tame you into being some compliant little lap dog,

the perfect significant other.

And you? You were absolutely not having it.

You were very well aware of the fact that you, too, weren’t exactly the easiest when being in his presence either. Seemingly almost intentionally setting him off, having caused many broken limbs, bruises in all colours of the rainbow, deep wounds and screaming matches that could have easily been prevented otherwise. You just could not help it, the thought alone of being obedient to this- this monster made you sick to the stomach. The strict mental promise you made to yourself literally keeping you sane from his either constant cruelty or unwanted affection.

It was no surprise to say that he just went along with everything he desired as well, not caring about the clear signs of major discomfort your own figure had been showing Every. Single. Time.

Well.

He simply continued to take, greedily getting some sort of emotionally high on all that you'd indirectly have the possibility of giving him. Your blood, tears, cries, whatever sound he managed to get out of you, your body; he wanted all of it, the most suffocating part being that he wouldn’t ever hesitate to be selfish when it came to his wants, his needs. You could yell, squirm and resist all you wanted ...but deep down you knew attempting to resist his lustful urges would be futile. You knew he would continue to take until you were nothing short of an empty husk.

That was the case, atleast.

Until there was nothing left to take from you. His wrath didn’t hurt you anymore, it couldn’t.

Toby swore he could have felt the last bit of basic common sense alongside the last pinch of emotional stability left inside of him fading right then and there. Slipping from his grasp as he was clutching together excuses to desperately try and get himself somewhat in the clear, to not have the realisation of his actions setting in.

No. He wouldn't be able to handle it

This wasn’t his doing. No- nonono he has always told himself he had everything under control. It COULDN’T possibly be his own doing.

He’d never meant to ...

Yet despite these protests profusely swirling around in his head, slowly having it drag itself more into insanity, the axe was right there. Clutched in his own shaky hands with the oh-so-familiar dark red substance dripping from them. In fact, his own entire being was soaked in blood from head to toe. Creating a dried up pattern on the fabric he was wearing.

Was it his own?

Despite the constant weak state you managed to be in, how low in power you were compared to him; you never failed to catch him by surprise when still managing to put up the slightest bit of a fight, often even shedding blood yourself, his blood. Even as time passed, you should have clearly gotten the hint by now that struggling against your capturer, your abuser, did absolutely nothing for the both of you.

It caused you yet more and more harm. But much to Toby’s irritation, you never gained the desire to lower this stubborn behaviour of yours. Continuously keeping up your nagging nature, almost like you were trying to make him snap with no questions asked in the matter. Your motives were foreign to him, even questioning himself if you even had any to begin with. Heck, everything you once seemed to hold a liking torwards was either destroyed to bits, crumbled on the streets for the passersby to find or dead;

So, why?? Was tormenting him truly that important to you?

Muttering nonsense to himself and still being as shaky as ever, Toby dragged his now numb legs across the floor in a sad attempt to get the situation in hand, to get closer to you.

Still, a part of him couldn’t help but feel hesitant, his racing mind still not seeming to have left the state of shock he’s been in for the past hours. He was very much aware by now that your life had been taken this night. Taken in a brutal act of fury.

You weren't there anymore.

the axe slid right onto the cold floor, the metal leaving a clunk sound that echoed clamorously along the room as his body now realised how heavy the pressure on his arms had actually been.

Weakly he started counting down the reasons on how and most importantly, why this could have happened in the first place. He knew how massively petty you could be at times, but this was FAR from the wishes of his main desires.

This should never have happened.

He loved you.

It shouldn’t have.

He loved you. Helovedyouhelovedyouhelovedyouheneededyo---

He completely set his current thoughts to a stop for a good minute at that one. Needing you.

What did that even mean?

He knew he held you in massively high priority, he adored you even, but. Even that sentence in itself caught him off guard. His head had been over flooding for sure, it all just felt void-like, not real.

All he was left with now were his own heartbeats growing their ways into his ears as the organ was struggling to keep itself at bay, the strange yet all too familiar hollowness he felt in the deepest pits of his stomach and the liquid that has unconsciously been falling from his now blurry eyes.

He bit his cheek until blood was drawn from them, fighting back a choked sob as he crouched down to the bloody mess in front of him. Gently stroking your cheek with his knuckles, he flinched at how cold it actually was. The sensation of suffocation in his throat having reduplicated itself in a way he doesn't wish to remind himself of, clenching his jaws at how difficult it had become to keep in his whimpering. But enough of his tears were being shed for sure. And to make matters worse, the usual lack of emotion burned into your expression you’ve had ever since he’s been holding you hostage was now gone.

Instead, the frown Toby had been forced to grow used to was now formed into a soft smile instead. It was small, but unquestionably there. You were safe now, making peace with the outcome that had been created for your life. The outcome created by the absolute greed of another.

The outcome he had made for you.

This realisation he had tried to deny so damn badly had finally hit him, hard.

He quit fighting, the walls he created as a defence mechanism crumbling completely. Giving in as the overwhelming emotions that had been building up finally came to a releasing end. His usual mockery demeanor had been thrown out of the window once and for all, as all he managed to shriek out now were rushed apologies while just pleading for your living form. Just begging to hear your breathing for one last time. You seemed so small. Had you always been like this?

Please come back... please...

Hands were clinging onto the little bits of what was left of your body like his life depended on it. Big chunks of flesh were hanging from the body parts of your figure, laying limp against his own with his weak grip being yet as needy as ever, tears streaming out like a waterfall and unsteady breaths forcing their ways out into the crook of your neck. He had nothing to say anymore, the room instead being filled with high-pitched sobbing and convulsive gasps coming from nobody but himself.

God, he could have heard you call him pathetic right on the spot.

And that thought of you alone was enough to force a muffled screech out of him as his grasp grew only stronger, his veins being filled with nothing but desperation and grief; The constant loop he was in, slowly but actively breaking him down entirely. Your faint words out of memory repeating themselves over and over again.

And that smile.

That damned smile of yours being left to haunt the back of his mind.

Oh how that little motivation of yours had become clear to him now . . .

[fotiathymos]

here have my way too detailed promare headcannons very trans and queer and warning for not good subjects like trans phobia and self har ms

enjoy?

I have a LONG thing of galo's trans history and growing up imma write it poorly c:

I silly hc Galo's parents as Kamina and Yoko because i can why not. Two punks who got together super young, couldnt afford rings or an actual wedding. Had a couple friends witness them sign papers in a government building and then both went clubbing after to celebrate marriage.

When they decided to have kids they had a hard time. There were 2 miscarriages before Galo and Galo was born prematurely but made it with a bunch of hospital visits. The couple were then extra broke because of this. Galo's mom called him her 'little miracle'. They lived with the rest of the Gurren Lagann crew in a shitty apartment building. They raised Galo the best they could and he was a spoiled child for as much as they could and literally every adult in the building loved him. The apartment housed secret burnish and the neighborhood was considered slums and full of anarchists. Yoko and Kamina of course were okay with that title and didnt care much for how the government was treating the burnish situation.

Eventually (by the time Galo was 10) Yoko and Kamina could afford a 'proper' wedding. They rented a small venue and mostly just threw a party to exchange some cheap rings they finally got and have a good time with friends. Galo remembers it still as an adult, as he ran down the aisle with the rings instead of walked cause he got nervous. He also remembers both his parents getting absulotely drunk at the wedding and his parents lifting him up to dance on top of the bar with them.

Once Galo was put into school did he bring up his gender confusion. He, of course, was gendered female in school and had to be grouped as such. Once he expressed his concerns with his parents they were open to help him. He was put on puberty blockers as a kid. His parents were supportive even tho it was sometimes 'theyre a little confused but they got the spirit' of it.

When the fire happened, Galo lost his parents and the other 'family' that were in the apartment building. The media praised Kray and the burnish flames were left to how the apartment was housing burnish and that the neighborhood was bad. The media was wrong of course, but freeze force didnt care to look into it much. The attention was aimed at Kray being a savior.

After the incident Galo was in a church foster care and immediately off blockers and had the worst time of his life. It was a mixture of how Galo looked (dressed as a boy, undercut, etc) the neighbors and school he attended identifying Galo with he/him, (the focus was also more so on Kray not Galo) on why the media gendered Galo correctly. Kray was later informed Galo was trans and in turn, outed him to the media, but in a ploy to make Kray himself look good and 'open minded'. Galo was going through a lot so he didnt see it as a bad thing, he saw it as Kray accepting him like his parents did. Kray still simply 'couldnt help' Galo obtain blockers or late hrt. Galo was mostly left to however the foster care system provided for him which was maybe used clothes and misgendering.

Galo's preteen years was a mix of life taking attempts, full on deep isolation and obsession with studying about the Edo period to disassociate with, a couple years dressing as the most girly girl possible as bullying and harassments got too much and then also Galo's beginning of self harm via over working out. Galo's unfortunate reason to keep going most of the time was Kray's visits. When he would go see Kray work and be inspired seeing how much Kray was growing in 'helping' the city and everyone. Kray wouldn't visit often but when he did, Galo would be treated with good food, shopping sprees, fun trips to see mechs and weapons get built and Kray wouldn't ever misgender Galo in front of him.

Galo grew up very awkward and hard to interact with others but always enthusiastic about it. In order to impress Kray he wanted to make sure his own image looked good and tried his best at being picture perfect like Kray was. Galo studied hard, started working young, went stealth to pass as cis, practice his façade to make friends and started young with his bravado attitude in any spotlight he got.

When he wanted top surgery, Kray 'didnt have the funds'. Galo chalked it up to Kray can't be spending money on Galo all the time, he had better things to do and money was better spent on those in need and not Galo. Kray was investing in his large statue of himself. Galo worked to save money and after years he approached Kray with the money he saved and asked for help finding a surgeon. Kray told Galo to find one on his own since he 'wouldn't know how any of that sex change stuff works anyway'. Galo did and finally went through with it all on his own. It was in the hospital when no one visited him that some doubts about Kray started popping up.

Galo did this right as he turned 18. He was out of foster care and he had to rent an apartment for himself to live in, Kray promised to help with that but he never did. At one point Galo, a month out of surgery, couldn't afford rent since it all went to medications and the surgery (he had the tendency to get super focused on one goal that he would neglect everything else to accomplice it). He was kicked out of the apartment and ended up on Kray's doorstep. But he didnt actually have Kray's home address so it was his office building and when Kray purposely tried to ignore him and just not go into the office and Galo fell asleep in front the building for a couple night and people started talking.. suddenly Kray could afford a small apartment right next to the Burning Rescues training building.

Time skip to after the film's events.

I wrote alot and am tired now so ill write more later maybe but some quick stuff.

Galo was raised to be ashamed of being trans and having taught to keep it a thing to himself and a secret. When meeting the Mad Burnish after the events and Galo finally got to hang out with Lio, (who ended up being the first trans person he could talk about gender stuff with) did he start seeing a different side to it all. And when Galo saw how un ashamed Meis and Gueira were with presenting themselves helped have Galo also realize he could dress a lil more fun then just black tshirts and his work uniform (though he was always proud to wear his uniform out) Galo would start questioning himself again and realize he's non binary.

I focused on Galo but I will prob do the others soon. others meaning Lio Meis and Gueira all have their own journeys. and also this was somewhat focused on trans shit but i do have more not trans related hc about Galo's past.

okay okay

tldr

i talk about galo

thanks if you read all this omg ilu

[ukrfeminism]

3 minute read

Dozens of women suspected of having illegal abortions have faced criminal investigations from the police in recent years, new figures show.

Information obtained under freedom of information (FOI) laws reveal at least 36 women endured criminal investigations after being accused of having illegal abortions from April 2014 to December 2021.

The data, obtained by National World and based on responses from 35 police forces, looked at recorded crimes for the two charges of procuring an illegal abortion and the intentional destruction of a viable unborn child.

It comes after Carla Foster, 44, was sentenced to 28 months in jail earlier in the month, having obtained drugs to end her pregnancy at 32 to 34 weeks during lockdown.

Dr Jonathon Lord, who represented medical organisations in the case, told The Independent the sentencing of the mother-of-three “brought back the horrors of the 1960s”.

The consultant NHS gynaecologist at the Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust added: “The really big fear is that we know the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) are sitting on lots more cases - waiting to see whether this one would be jailed and thereby prove a public interest in prosecuting. 

“So we now expect anything between six to 40 proceeding - it is so hard to know numbers as it’s all so secretive. We don't know if these cases will be charged. Another issue is that patients are told to speak to nobody. So one woman had post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) for over six months before we heard she’d had a premature delivery that arose suspicion.”

Dr Lord explained the CPS evidence in the recent headline-grabbing case involving Foster included the fact she searched for ways to cause physical harm such as “Can being hit in the stomach cause a miscarriage?”, adding this demonstrates “she was so desperate she was even considering self-harm”.

Dr Lord noted she had been imprisoned under a law from 1861 - “an era when public hangings drew large crowds and 67 years before women were able to vote”.

The latest Home Office data show the number of Britons being investigated by police over suspected illegal abortions has more than tripled in the last decade.

Recorded crimes for abortions surged from eight in 2013/2014 to 27 cases in April to December 2022 so far.

This includes recorded crimes for three separate charges of procuring an illegal abortion, the intentional destruction of a viable unborn child and concealing an infant death pre-birth. While the first two charges are punishable by life imprisonment, the latter carries a three-year prison sentence.

Some of the cases included in the government data could relate to investigations into abusive partners forcing a woman into having an abortion, those who sell abortion pills, and individuals whose violence against a woman or person with a womb causes them to lose their pregnancy.

Earlier in the month, Stoke-on-Trent Crown Court heard Foster was between 32 to 34 weeks pregnant when she took the abortion pills – with Justice Pepperall saying she felt “very deep and genuine remorse”, was “racked with guilt” and still had nightmares over her actions.

Kate Osborne, a Labour MP who sits on the women and equalities committee, told The Independent the imprisonment of Foster was a “disgrace” and was “perverse” as she called for abortion care to be decriminalised.

“This case shows that the current legislation is unsafe for women and could potentially open the door for more prosecutions,” she added.

Labour MP Stella Creasy, an outspoken campaigner for abortion rights, noted “no other healthcare service sits on a criminal foundation” as warned “it’s time to treat all patients equally and introduce a proper medical framework to guide access rather than use the threat of prosecution to deter it.”

A spokesperson for the CPS said: “These exceptionally rare cases are complex and traumatic. Our prosecutors have a duty to ensure that laws set by parliament are properly considered and applied when making difficult charging decisions.”

[deusluxuria]

long-ass post with random headcanons about dio dea (because female villains) and his her children

( Warning: Pregnancy, stillborn, miscarriage, hypersexuality/sex addiction. )

-It took one hundred years to complete, but once Dea had attached her head to Jonathan's body, it started morphing into her own original body.

-She has technically had five children total. The "green baby" from Stone Ocean was her first, born shortly after she took over the mansion in Egypt. The other parent was one of the men on the boat who had recovered Dea's casket from under the sea. The child was born very prematurely, and she didn't even know she was pregnant, nor did she understand that she could even get pregnant using Jonathan's body to begin with. (From self-harm and dangerous hypersexuality, she was not able to get pregnant while she was still alive with her own original body.) She gave birth alone, and very suddenly, in a lot of pain. The baby survived only minutes. They were cremated, and Dea put their ashes inside of the bone that eventually fell into Pucci's hands. Dea had named the child Alnabatia.

-Dea could never go to a hospital, knowing there was no way to communicate that she needed blood for sustenance and was unable to be in sunlight. She also suspected that hospital personnel would be dumbfounded by any test results from her, as she still didn't completely understand how her immortal body worked herself. She was afraid of what they might do with her child if they were born with anything unusual about them.

-Giorno was her second child. His other parent was Aori Shiobana, a trans woman from Japan, who Dea had an extremely toxic (mutually) relationship with (which had mostly been exclusively sexual to begin with). Dea went through a huge personality change when she found out she was pregnant, and Giorno became the only thing on her mind. But Aori didn't want Dea to have a child, and they fought about it. Aori was not fond of children and made it clear that she could not be expected to be involved in Giorno's life.

-However -- Aori did later change her mind. Months later, one day, while the sun was out, Aori suddenly stole Giorno away. Aori's final words to Dea were about how Giorno could never have a normal life with someone who can't bring him into the daylight. Dea was even more devastated after these words, because she knew Aori was right. At the time, it felt like Giorno's best chance was with Aori, so Dea didn't chase after her.

-Although, the absolutely gutting experience of losing Giorno turned Dea even more cruel than she had been before he was born. Worse than how evil she had been towards Jonathan. Giorno had given her an entirely new purpose that had nothing to do with power. Later, when Jotaro came to fight her, much of her violent rage towards him was influenced by the phrase in her mind, regarding Holly, "I need to make someone else feel the torment of losing a child."

-Donatello and Rykiel were twins. (Their father was Hol Horse, of no warm circumstances -- a rather sad, desperate, random encounter in the library of the mansion. His thoughts afterwards were "Well, that was weird."). Dea was heavily sedated throughout Donatello and Rykiel's gestation, during their birth, and afterwards. She doesn't remember much about them, except their names and when they were born. Though, as with all her children, if she had still been alive when they became adults, she would recognize them. Enya saw that Dea clearly was not able nor willing to parent them, so Enya placed them in foster care. They were separated when Donatello was adopted, and Rykiel remained in foster care until he turned eighteen.

-No one knows where Ungalo came from, except for Enya, who didn't know who his other parent was. Dea's usual bedmates of the mansion were asked about it, but they all agreed that, in their circumstances of timing and method and contraception, it was not possible for Ungalo to be any of their child. Truly, it had been someone who was no more than a passerby tourist in Egypt, and Dea did not even know their name. Ungalo, Rykiel, and Donatello had all been products of Dea's grief about Giorno, where she couldn't have cared less about anything, and could barely feel.

-Dea finally stopped mindlessly having children after she got over the initial agony of losing Giorno. The near fugue state she was in subsided, turning to pure rage. Ungalo was her last. She had only been lucid enough to name him, but didn't remember when exactly he was born. She had only held him once, before he was placed in foster care. Vanilla Ice, Terrence, and Enya would recall that there had been absolutely no trace of light in Dea's eyes when she let go of him. When she was lucid enough, Dea had Vanilla Ice use his Stand to remove Dea's uterus completely.

-N'Dour had been by far the closest person to Dea during her life in Egypt, and he would say that, while Dea had been very different while she had Giorno in her care, there had still been a great deal of her soul present. But after Giorno was gone, N'Dour would say, "There was nothing left of her. She had been like a soulmate to me, but suddenly I didn't recognize her anymore. She became a shadow."

-Giorno is transgender and his pronouns are exclusively he/him. Dea and Aori had not socialized him as any specific gender, and he started realizing himself to be male around age nine. He was a rather gloomy child, and still remained mostly that way, but he did start seeming slightly happier once he realized that he was a trans boy. That was when he started being more creative with his sense of fashion, as he overall felt more comfortable in his own skin.

-Dea was actually the one who named him Giorno. Aori tried to rename him Haruno, but he identified much more closely with the name Giorno. Dea had named him "day" because, the moment she first saw his face when he was born, she thought about how it was like seeing the sun again.

-Giorno remembers her, very fondly. He has nothing but good memories about her, and remembers the songs she used to sing to him. Giorno's connection to nature came from how Dea used to bring him into the garden at night and talk to him about the plants, the animals, the sky.

-At some point while Giorno was living in the dormitories at school, Aori sent him a box of his remaining old things, saying she would just throw them in the trash otherwise.

-In this box was a large envelope he had never seen before. Oddly, it had the name "Giorno" written on it. Aori had always refused to call him that, and his stepfather never knew that name. Startled, Giorno immediately opened the envelope.

-Inside were photos of him from infancy with Dea and her housemates who had helped take care of Giorno (Enya, Vanilla Ice, N'Dour, Terrence), and even some very old photos of Jonathan, Dea, George, and one of Dea's mother.

-There was also a very long, detailed letter from Dea herself, explaining everything about Giorno's infancy, Dea and Aori's relationship (how she had never loved her, and the feeling was mutual), the ambiguous circumstances of his conception, and his difficult and uncertain birth. And, everything about Dea's parents and childhood, about Jonathan and George, very much including how Dea had killed her own father and had been very cruel to Jonathan before killing him and his father. She left nothing out about her evilness.

-She sent the envelope to Aori a while after she had taken Giorno, and Aori forgot about it until years later when Giorno was fifteen. Dea wrote at the end about how she would always love him and how he was "her sunshine." But that, if he never heard from her again, it was likely she had been killed, as she had been determined to one day meet with him again.

-Giorno accepted her evil, though he did not forgive it. But his immense love for her didn't change. He read the letter over and over that night, and he fell asleep clutching it with tears in his eyes.

[deancasbigbang]

Physical Graffiti

Author: entropic_saudade

Artist: BasketcaseBetty

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, John Winchester/Kate Milligan, Brief Ash/Dean Winchester, Past Lee Webb/Dean Winchester

Length: 62696

Warnings: Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Warn Additional Content Warnings: Self Harm, Alcoholism/Alcohol Use Disorder, Recreational Drug Use, Child Abuse, Past Non-Con, Past Underage, Past Drug Addiction, Minor Character Death, Mental Health Issues, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Canon-Typical Violence

Tags: AU, Journalist Dean Winchester, Detective Castiel, Case Fic, Families of Choice, Recovery, Inspired by Sharp Objects

Summary: The only ghosts and demons are the ones inside his head.   Fresh from a prematurely-ended stint at an inpatient psychiatric facility, ‘former’ self-harmer and functional alcoholic Dean Winchester returns to Sioux Falls, where he works as a crime journalist. His editor, Bobby Singer, sends him back home to Lawrence to gather the story on the murder of a teen boy and the recent disappearance of another. Painful memories from growing up resurface, and the investigation is further complicated by the town’s gossipy tight-knit nature, Dad’s judgment, and botched attempts at making inroads with his estranged half-family, Kate and Adam Milligan. Dean crosses paths with Castiel Novak, a renegade detective from Kansas City with a troubled past of his own. They work together, slipping past each other’s facades, digging down toward the truth.   As it turns out, monsters just might be real—and they just might live at home.   A Sharp Objects-inspired AU.

Link to Fic & Art (NSFW)

[ofvaliancys]

[ CHA EUN-WOO, 28, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ] welcome to antioch, SUNG-JAE 'JAE' WALSH ! local sources report that you’ve been in town for 28 years and are known to be FORTHRIGHT yet COMPLEX. others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in A HAUNTING IN ROSELAND as AN ADOPTED SIBLING, but most know you for your work as a BARISTA at THE SCOOP. we’ll see you around town soon ! 

THE BASICS.

character name. sung-jae walsh nicknames. jae face claim. cha eun-woo  birthday. april 18th, 1996 place of birth. antioch, oregon sexuality. homosexual zodiac. aries mbti. istp moral alignment. chaotic good occupation. barista place of work. the scoop subplot affiliation. a haunting in roseland 3 positive traits. forthright, insouciant, self-reliant 3 negative traits. complex, enervated, withdrawn languages. english, korean, mandarin love language. acts of service

BACKGROUND.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of abuse, death, hospitals, illness, mental health, murder, premature birth, & suicide. read with caution.

SUNG-JAE WALSH was brought into the family not long after he was born. with six siblings, there was never any room to be lonely, always having someone ( or multiple people ) around. not many of his memories before the incident are intact, having been so young at the time, but he was always described as a sweet child, a smile on his face most of the time.

only three years old at the time of the tragedy ( taken in by other relatives afterwards ), the youngest sibling's formative years were certainly ... different from most. everyone knew about the walshes' story. over time, he grew angry with what felt like a constant spotlight on his family, and by the time he was ten, he had become extremely reclusive.

this trait remained with him as he grew up, coming to be known for his aloof nature and bluntness. if there's anyone who doesn't have the patience for bullshit, it's jae. this being said, he isn't a bad person – the complete opposite of it, really. while it may be hard to get past his walls, the people that have succeeded in doing so are deeply cared for, and know he's a sweetheart who's a lot more than what he puts on.

by his later teenage years, he was a bit of a problem. acting out, doing things he shouldn't be, sticking his nose places it shouldn't be, deliberately throwing himself in harms way, getting in trouble with the police, etc.

despite his disinterest in most things, one thing that he did seem to naturally indulge in were his studies. academically inclined, he graduated high school with honors, recognized as the valedictorian ( which left many taken aback ). years and years of prying and ridiculing from his peers resulted in quite the scene and uproar during his speech ... we'll just say everyone got to hear how he felt about them.

at the age of 18, jae was diagnosed with major depression after a suicide attempt. he was on medication for a while, until stopping due to it furthering his cardiovascular problems — arrhythmia is a bitch.

in university, jae majored in science. if putting his skills to use helped him continue avoiding the elephant in the room that was his declining mental, that was good, right ? he was in the process of obtaining his bachelor's when someone new came into his life during a low point, at a time that seemed too good to be true. and that it certainly was.

it took a long time for him to get out of the abusive relationship, and by the end of it, he was extremely fragile, almost a shell of himself. having to drop out of his studies and get a restraining order, he spiraled until, with the help of a trusted friend, he finally got the help that he needed.

today, he's on medication, and attends therapy ... sometimes. he just doesn't feel like going half the time, which isn't great, but hey, he's doing better than he was ! we won't talk about how that's up for debate.

in regards to the upcoming release of the film, jae is very against it, vocally as well, and has not cashed the cheque. one way to have him not talk to you is to bring up what happened twenty-five years ago. he might just get into it with reporters and paparazzi.

*more to be added !

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

classmates: from elementary, middle school, and / or high school ! if they've known each other throughout all, they would've seen jae's drastic change in personality ... if they went to high school together, they would've been there for his angsty, teenage rebellious phase. were they friends ? did they dislike each other ? anything is possible !

university friends: self-explanatory !

childhood friends: self-explanatory !

the close friend that helped him: during the lowest point of his life, they helped him get back on his feet and start his healing journey. would be his lifeline of sorts.

good influence: jae has a tendency to get into trouble, whether he's seeking it or not ... when they're together, his reckless behaviour is lessened — they influence him to be more responsible and take better care of himself.

bad influence: the complete opposite — they get into so much shit together, do not trust them to make good decisions when they're with one another. self-destruction to the max.

extended walsh family that took him in: after the incident, he was picked up by other relatives.

friends of the walsh family: self-explanatory !

biological parent(s): jae never got to meet them. so much is possible with this one — where did they go after leaving town ? did they return to antioch after the murders ? are they on the search for him ? how do they feel about it all ? what would they think of him now ? ( lee dong-wook would be perfect for this. )

employees at saint peter's hospital: he spends ... a lot of time in the hospital. he'd probably know a good number of the staff at this point !

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

jae was born prematurely, at 28+6. a strong little fighter from the start, he was able to be brought home to his adoptive family after 96 days in the nicu. michael and belinda were wonderful parents to their new baby boy, loving him through the emotional rollercoaster up until their dying day.

he has his fair share of scars — a number of them from various medical surgeries, others from injuries. the most distinguishable ones that can be seen would be the one below his left eye, horizontal and a few inches in size, the one on his right arm, starting at the back of his hand and going up the length of his forearm, and the thin line across half of his neck.

his wardrobe lacks any colour, only dressing in black; sometimes he'll throw in a little grey to spice things up a little. a man of many leather jackets, maybe he'll accessorize with a pin if you gift him one. maybe.

he's a biker; gotta go fast ! it's his favourite method of transporation, but he does own a car for the times he doesn't bike. the models are sleek black, as you might have already guessed.

on top of his regular intervals spent in the hospital, a fair amount of time has been spent in psychiatric hospitals as well — out of town. following two more attempts when he was 23 and 24, he has come to reaaaally hate these places.

as an outcome of his preterm birth, jae has a few health issues that have followed him into adulthood, asthma being one of them. having been diagnosed with congenital heart disease as a baby, he's had a number of procedures and surgeries done in his 28 years. he continues to see a cardiologist for routine checkups, and follows a medication regimen.

in general, jae comes off as chilly and distant. his personality is complex and very … person to person. he’s not much of a talker, but he does think a lot, extremely perceptive, reading into every little thing. big fan of the side eye, also just. ignoring. king of zero expression.

HOWEVER ! he isn’t only an edgy legend. with the right people, close friends for example, his soft side shows — he really is just a gental giant who cares deeply and loves hard; a person who lost his childhood before it even began and had to adapt.

he has two cats, one black and one white, a loyal german shepherd that is both his best friend and service dog, and two white tree frogs.

he loves astrology, stargazing whenever the opportunity is given. definitely has apps on his phone that map out the constellations and moons, his camera roll probably has endless pictures of the sky.

surprisingly very good at taking care of plants ! has a grow room in his house, different varieties decorated around the rest of it. a relaxing little hobby.

*more to be added !

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello, I am an inferior Fe who has been told that I sometimes can’t take a hint. It hurts my feelings a bit because I’ve been trying my best to read social cues but it appears that my efforts have led to little improvement. I have some F type friends and family around me so I try my best to learn about social cues by modelling their behaviour and understanding their values better. But at the same time, this is really mentally exhausting for me and it definitely doesn’t come naturally.

Because of this, I’m constantly doubting my social skills and I get anxiety when put into social situations. Furthermore, I constantly overthink social situations and dwell on all the social cues I might have missed. What should I do to improve my inferior function? I would really appreciate it if you could give me some advice. Thank you!

---------------------

I'm afraid you haven't provided enough information for me to understand the situation fully. There are several issues to unpack:

1) Type Development: Please state your exact type because I must examine how the entire functional stack is coming together to create the issue. Blaming everything on one function is misguided because that's not how the functional stack works in real life. When you're misusing one function, chances are, you're also misusing the rest.

I often warn people about the inferior function. You should develop functions in the order of your functional stack. Generally speaking, I do NOT recommend trying to develop the inferior function due to the high risk of suffering from inferior grip and not realizing the harm being done to oneself. When a person's ego development isn't properly aligned with their function development, trying to develop the inferior function is premature and can do more harm than good.

"Modeling people's behavior" isn't optimal for dominant Ti learning. Ti must understand operating principles and modeling alone won't get you very far. In the worst case scenario, modeling leads you down a self-destructive path. In order to be like a Feeler, you have to negate who you are as a Thinker, which is harmful. While learning from others can be useful in some situations, you shouldn't try to change yourself to be like others at your own expense. First and foremost, you have to respect your type and learn to inhabit it with ease. Then, you can use the best qualities and characteristics of your type to find the most effective entryway into learning a skill.

For healthy type development, inferior shortcomings should be addressed through auxiliary development. For example, auxiliary Se would make you more present, observant, and assertive as you interact with the environment, or auxiliary Ne would open your mind up to generate multiple possibilities when engaging with the environment. Both of these functions have great potential to help with socializing, so are you using your auxiliary function optimally? If not, that's where you should be focusing your attention. Read past posts on the topic.

2) Social Skills: The information you've provided about your social skills is too limited, so I'm not in a good position to evaluate them objectively. You've been repeatedly called out for inability to read social cues, so you're understandably sensitive about it. However, there are many possible reasons why people fail to pick up on social cues (that are unrelated to inferior Fe). In order to solve a problem properly, you have to be able to correctly identify all of the contributing factors/causes. It doesn't sound like you've done enough reflection and analysis of WHY you have this problem and what exactly lies at the root of it.

Firstly, due to the fact that many people mistype as IxTP because they mistake poor social skills for inferior Fe (even as the other functions don't fit properly), I need to know whether you're 100% certain of your type and that inferior Fe is the cause of the problem. There are no other factors that may be contributing to your inability to read social cues?

Secondly, I need concrete details and illustrative examples of the conflicts between you and these F friends/family. Context is required to determine whether their criticism of you is fair and reasonable. For example, it could be the case that: they are being too demanding of you; their relationship behavior is unhealthy and then you trying to model it only makes things worse; their values are very different from yours and proper mediation is necessary to establish mutual understanding; etc. Relationship problems are rarely caused by only one person. I need a better understanding of the relationship dynamic in order to determine the exact nature of the conflict and how to address it in the best way.

3) Emotional Intelligence: You mention "overthinking". Rumination is a symptom of being unable to acknowledge and resolve undesirable feelings and emotions, which points to low emotional intelligence. A large part of socializing is dependent upon knowledge of emotions (in oneself and others): identifying them accurately; responding to them appropriately; managing them productively; understanding how they are reflective of people's beliefs and values. I've already written a lot about EI, see past posts, the site index articles, and the book recs on the resources page.

4) Communication Skills: Conflict resolution is dependent upon your ability to communicate about issues in a way that is respectful of all parties involved. While it's generally good to be considerate of people, you have to be able to strike a healthy balance between honoring your own needs and meeting the needs of others. You shouldn't just do what people want you to do without reflecting on whether that's the best course of action in the bigger picture.

In a healthy relationship, two people should be able to accept and love each other as they are. When one person is constantly trying to change the other to match their own preferences, it means there is a problem of poorly defined boundaries. Different individuals need and want different things out of a relationship, thus, two people should learn to be understanding of differences. They should negotiate and compromise so that both parties are able to get what they need and want from the relationship.

The willingness and effort you put into improving your behavior should be recognized and appreciated by people. But that will only happen if they understand what's really going on with you. Perhaps they criticize you because they mistakenly believe it should be as easy for you as it is for them. You have agreed to do something that is difficult and exhausting for the sake of meeting the needs of others, but you have to ensure that this doesn't leave your needs unfulfilled in the process, otherwise the relationship becomes unfair and unequal. Whenever necessary, you have to speak up, explain yourself, advocate for your needs assertively, and help people understand your hardships. If they truly care about you, they should be willing to empathize and negotiate a fairer outcome for all parties.

[ao3feed-larry]

the girl in the dress (cried the whole way home)

by genuinely_obvoiusly

In hindsight, Louis recognizes that subsequent to his work, he meant nothing.

The soft lingering looks shrouded in clouds of uncertainty that could only be noticed if searched for. The distinct need for validation that battled inside of these looks gave way to bumbling words falling from soft pink lips.

Louis had noticed the glances but never acknowledged them.

He knew of the soft hands whose lingering touches made homes atop his shoulder and traced the raised fading ink of his arm. He could hear and feel the boisterous laughter and big eyes glistened in adoration that would hold their gaze for long enough to be considered.

Louis knew.

or

Louis Tomlinson works. He works to please his parents. He works to serve his clients. He works. He works He works. But when a charming, and very young, law graduate begins his clerkship in Louis' firm, he learns what it means to be utterly and completely distracted. The small touches and deep conversations leave Louis questioning much of what he considered to be himself. The more he suppressed, the more the boy pushed. But Louis could push harder.

Words: 543, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Non-Binary Character

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson/Original Female Character(s), Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Niall Horan/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Boss/Employee Relationship, Cheating, Sort Of, not rlly tbh, Feminine Harry, Louis Tomlinson is Afraid of Love, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Constipation, Mutual Pining, Age Difference, Court Cases, Lous Tominson is a lawyer, harry is 24, Louis is 35, Law Firm Drama, Smut tags, Top Louis Tomlinson, bc for some reason that matters, Dom/sub Undertones, Kink Discovery, Mild Painplay, Harry in Lingerie, Awkward Sexual Situations, Coming In Pants, Premature Ejaculation, bc i love that shit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Discovery, Daddy Issues, Jealousy, louis tomlinson is harry styles' mentor, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Tags May Change, Tags Are Hard

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/G8nLTS5

[honysuckl]

Blood in the Water | Leila & Honey

PARTNER : @amonstrousdream TIMING : Current. LOCATION : Darkling Lake. SUMMARY : Inspired by the crabs, Honey pretends to also be turned obsidian. Surprisingly, Leila offers to help. WARNINGS : Self harm (sort of)

Did Honey expect this to work? Not as much as she needed. Her expectations were tempered by piling failures—those jollies around town never amounted to the siren call she needed. Of course, this would all add up. Make itself into a cacophony of oddities when paired with the town’s usual quirks—one too brazen for her family to ignore. That was the hope, at least. But the reality was this was fun. This was funny! She laughed in preparation, though she had certainly done just that. Alongside her were a bucket of paint, ready hands, and a dream. Those crabs had caused a buzz with their obsidian attire. Imagine if something more human-like followed that fashion trend. Cause running fits of terror before the cracks ‘claimed’ them too. Ha! She looked to one such openings beside her. A darkness so blank it invited her to imagine whatever she liked, perhaps even those funny little crabs. But it also invited her inside—hungry and waiting. A simple step would have it closing back up again around her, devoured once more. She scratched at her arm until her own darkness shone: streaks of dripping ebony. Oh, how lucky. Her transformation had already begun.

Honey added more streaks of darkness to herself, though without the need for further injury. Her hands instead scooped out handfuls of the paint—so thick it refused to lay flat on her skin. A perfect texture. She had covered most of her legs when she heard it. That familiar crunching of a human, or something close enough. No no no! Too soon! Weren’t all the tourists supposed to be crowding the beaches of the lake? Get out of the forest, you bawbag! Disappointment of the prank’s premature death was soon replaced with irritation upon recognition. Oh no. It was her. The last she had seen the woman had been that dreadful night. She had hoped it would have been the last. But with Metzli’s insistence, she knew it was only a matter of time. How funny that it was Fate itself who taunted her first with the woman’s presence. Honey let out a growl. “Rach air falbh! Piss aff!” 

When her mind got to be too noisy of a place, Leila had always found her refuge somewhere away from people. She hadn’t really had much of a chance to go out on her own since she’d settled in Wicked’s Rest. There was the shop and her customers that busied her days, and then the friends that had slowly made their presence apparent in her life. Metzli. Ariadne. Cassius… Hell, even Teddy when they found their way into the Party Thrifter’s walls. But for as many things she had to be happy about, it felt as if she had three times as many to be upset about. First, there was the matter with the little dreamer with the dreams darker than midnight who she was determined to at least try to help. And then, there was Honey. Honey, Metzli’s best friend in the world. Honey, who Leila was fairly certain, absolutely loathed her. 

She had been trudging her way through the forest in hopes of ridding herself of some of her worries. The trees would give her comfort. But as her footsteps crunched through rocks and leaves in the April air, she had to do a double take. At first, all she saw was a woman covered in dark, thick liquid- like the blackest paint she’d ever seen, like blood, like Metzli’s blood. She was smeared with darkness that glinted like the goddamned crabs that had decided to live in the alley outside the back of her shop when they could no longer enter the shop itself. And then, the figure spoke, and Leila’s stomach dropped. It was Honey. She really did have the worst luck imaginable… Usually, she would apologize. Scurry off down the path from wence she came. But the bizarre scene that was set out in front of her kept her glued to the spot, mouth agape. 

“Why do you look like the shiny crabs?”

The sun was not as accepting as the moon. Where its acceptance ran short was met with a swift end. Honey had been relying on that prejudice to keep that woman away. But no! Of course Leila would be the sort of vampire to snatch herself up a protection charm. Letting herself prance around wherever she liked, with whoever she liked. Ugh. Honey’s disappointment was quickly replaced with determination. Her eyes made quick to search for the charm. None of the various trinkets strewn about Leila stood out. But those made the best charms, didn’t they? The pendant around Leila’s neck looked especially promising in its mediocrity. It also looked very rippable. She should take it and give it to Metzli. It would certainly serve them much better.

But how quick Honey’s mind forgot, the lure of that plot distracting her from the first. The question was a quick reminder. Yes! Like the crabs! Exactly! Pride of the trick working did cause a smile. A second of amusement before she remembered the source, the present company. Her scowl returned to her face, as the paint returned to her hand. She sent that handful straight to Leila. “Acause I wanna look like the shiny crabs.” Her hand went scooping for more ammunition. “Now piss aff afore I shove this one right down yer damnt throat!” Certainly a waste of the materials—there was still so much of herself to cover! Not that her anger made her considerate.

If there had been any doubt in Leila’s mind that Honey greatly disliked her, the scowl on the woman’s face made it incredibly evident. The mare was a blight, not only on whatever it was that Honey was doing, but on the whole of Wicked’s Rest- or at least the places that Honey frequented. Leila had never wished for darkness so much. The dark was her greatest ally and had been her sole companion for centuries. In the shadow of night, the mare could dissolve into nothingness. She could become nothing in the real world, reflecting what she had felt inside for years. But in the light of day, she was trapped in place. It refracted off her already shimmery skin, made her too visible, and kept her trapped in the waking world. 

A fistful of black paint was hurled in her direction. Leila tried to skitter backwards to avoid the spray, but was too slow. Paint splattered across her shirt, her face, her hair… She was sure, in Honey’s mind, she deserved it. The mare tried not to let her appearance perturb her too much… though, it had been a favorite shirt. If Honey wanted to hate her, fine. She would go…

 She was about to turn on her heels when she started looking at the paint with a bit of a sharper eye. It wasn’t shiny enough. Honey could threaten her all she wanted, but Leila wasn’t about to let a project be done wrong. Without really thinking, she marched over to the paint bucket, pulled out the knife Metzli had given to her, and dragged it across her palm. She held her fist over the bucket and watched as glittering dust fell like miniscule stars into the bucket. It wasn’t like it would kill her to lose it. And at least now Honey couldn’t say that the mare had never tried to be nice… “It’ll be shinier now. More crabby.” Leila said before pulling her hand back to her chest and turning to go. 

When that knife revealed itself, Honey laughed at the ill-placed mettle. “Oh aye, fancy a doin’?" How funny! Perhaps she would have respected the display if it had anything backing it up. Metzli had already revealed the woman’s lack of fighting prowess, so this too would lack the usual thrill. But she wasn’t one to turn down gifts so flippantly. Yes! A fight! Well, for as long as Leila could manage. Honey replaced the paint in her hand for her blade, one that was eager to taste Leila’s blood. But it seemed the only one tasting would be Leila’s own blade. Not an unsurprising action, for Honey herself had done the very same in the past. It amused her greatly to see people’s reactions. She would offer no such repulsion to the display, but the blood itself did make her pause. It lacked the familiar dark ichor that ran through her own veins. That expected night sky was instead just its stars. Glossy. Glimmering. Oh Metzli, that liar! This was not one of bloody nights, but one of dark dreams.

Honey watched the blood join the paint. Those dripped stars relented to the darkness of her concoction, but in stubbornness kept their shine. In doing so, the mixture became an ebony that turned to white at just the right angle. Indeed, it did look… a touch more like obsidian. Honey grumbled. She was too annoyed to feel grateful. Though, she was grateful for the idea it sparked. Leila was keen to help, aye? Let’s see how much energy that assistance of hers had. “Can ye scream? Like the chicken who kens the cookin’ pot. I need eyes on me.” 

She wanted to keep walking. God, did she want to keep walking. Leila knew the woman did not enjoy her presence, and while her name was sweetness, Honey had more sting than a swarm of bees. She’s done her one nice act, she could disappear now like Honey had wanted her to. And yet. Leila wanted to know what this woman was up to. If Honey was going to sit there and paint herself obsidian like one of the crabs, there had to be more going on. And so, rather than continue down the path from whence she came, Leila stopped and turned at the tree line.

Could she scream? She wanted to laugh at the question. She had spent years screaming in pure terror from the dreams gifted to her by some other mare. Those years were followed by nearly two hundred years of making people scream. She hated it, but she was good at it. “I can scream…” Leila replied, hesitation mingled with pure curiosity ripe in her voice. “I can scream so that half the town comes running and all eyes are on you… I can scream and make them think I’m terrified.” The question that followed seemed foolish, but the mare asked it anyway. “Are you asking my help…?” And if so, she added mentally, why?

Honey watched the treeline begin to slowly claim Leila. For one so desperate for presence, this was one departure she did not mind. In fact, it was wanted, despite her questioning. Her plan would be fulfilled regardless. She was well versed in how to get people to scream in all the ways that mattered. Fear, of course, was the second easiest. Still, there was a curious tilt to her head when Leila bit upon the bait. With the passion of a self destructive fish, too! How unexpected. Honey would have been more charmed if not for the bile in her throat. But she could still have her fun. Her lips twitched with amusement.  “Oho, aye?” That twitch turned to laugh. “Piss yer trousers, too, eh? Would really sell it.” A joke that thought itself a dare. Another test for how far that generosity would last her. 

Honey’s fingers played with that concoction beside her. Blood and paint truly became one, turned into a swirling galaxy by the will of her hand. She placed a touch on her arm, for there were far more pressing tests to be had. It settled like all the other smears before it, but with a desperation to shine. A desperation only matched by its yearning for attention. Perfect. Her own was stolen by the question whose answer was as obvious as the glint on her arm. “Naw. Am doin’ one a’ ‘em polls. ‘People a’ the Wicked who can survive the wolf attacks!’” She let the farce ring in the air for a beat before she rolled her eyes. She returned to her chuckling. “Aye. Am askin’ for help.” Then she returned to rehoming the mixture upon her skin.

The woman bit back a huff and a roll of her eyes. Perhaps she’d come off a bit too strong with the whole screaming thing. But Leila was confused and frustrated to say the least. What did Honey want from her? From the first interaction, she was convinced that Honey simply wanted nothing to do with her. First the button fiasco, then the painting evening, now this… Wait… no, she was actually chuckling. Was Honey actually amused with her? Had that been a joke? Her mind was trying to catch up and reprocess whatever the hell this strange encounter was as words kept tumbling out of her mouth. “Don’t think I can do that on cue, but if you’ve got a water bottle, a stain’s a stain.” 

The paint really did look like the shiny crab shells now. Perhaps, she thought as Honey smeared the paint mixture across her arm, it was the one good thing her dusty old blood was capable of. Creating things to scare people. But this time, it wasn’t her doing the scaring- not really… and if helping somehow brought Leila into slightly better graces with the one person Metzli cared about most in the world… well… “Alright, then. What is it that you’d like me to do, exactly, save the screaming and potential soiling of my pants for your own amusement and the selling of my fear?”

So the mares can piss. Good to know. Did that make dreams a type of liquid? A wondering for another time, for the present called for a different kind of fluid. “Nooo. No water on me. Well, no yet. Soon be aplenty swishin’ ‘n swashin’ all ‘round me.” Good performances needed a grand finale! Especially if any hoped to be at least a whisper in this sort of town. Many made quick to remove any off the lips, replacing them with supposed ‘facts’ and ‘normalcy’. Oh, the werewolf downtown? Yeah that twere just a big doggie! Or a really dedicated cosplayer! So many truths nowadays were kicked under the rug known as ‘cosplayer’. Honey’s little jolly would instantly be discarded just the same, deemed as paint on the skin. Which was fair, for it was the truth this time! But what if the woman screaming of obsidian jumped into the waters… only to never return? Of course those who liked to hush would find their explanatory normalcy. But it would far less easy. 

What is it that you’d like me to do. Oh, they both knew the answer to that, didn’t they. Honey gave Leila a knowing look, one that spoke for her. I want you to leave. Not the situation specifically, but the entire town. No, the entire state! But she knew any encouraging action for that want had its consequences. Metzli’s fondness was both Leila’s curse and blessing. “Is all I need. Got all else all good ‘n ready right here. Once am done, gonny go screamin’ on down yon hill.” Her head motioned towards its direction. “Will keep runnin’ on past all the duckies playin’ in that big ol’ pond. You be there to help give their eyes ‘n ears guidance. Then- splash! Poof! Am gone into the waters. Foooreeeever. Well. ‘Til the moon pops up.” In the time it took to explain her plan, she had finished covering her arm. That left the other as her only bare limb left. So close. “And you, eh. Whatever. Leave? Swim? Leave? Dinny care. Is a nice day for all sorts.” Which made it so perfect. So many waiting eyes. 

Leila didn’t need Honey to speak for her to know the answer to what to do. She was starting to get the feeling that the woman would love nothing more than for Leila to be swallowed up by the earth never to be seen again, or be sent running to another continent, or simply stop existing all together. As long as she was there, she posed a threat to Honey and her relationship with Metzli… She had never wanted to hurt anyone. Not in a million years. But her existence was constantly hurting someone, now- dreaming and awake. She swallowed down the lump in her throat threatening to make useless tears start. No use. 

The mare watched as her blood mixed with the black paint slowly covered Honey’s body, transforming her into a dark and shimmering thing. If it had been Leila sat there covered in paint and blood, she would have been no more intimidating than a puppy or a wet cat. But Honey… Honey was already a force of a person, but with her crab-like disguise, she was down right fear-inspiring. To be on her bad side was already scary enough. By some miracle, Honey only asked her run. Scream and run. And, obviously, make enough of a show that people came running to look at the goop covered creature that would dive into the lake. 

Leila had no idea why Honey was so determined to scare people into thinking she was a crab, and if she was being frank, she didn’t care. Two favors for a woman who would much rather the mare simply disappear from Wicked’s Rest altogether.

There was emphasis on the word leave. She didn’t believe for a moment that Honey didn’t care if she came back or not. The fact that she had suggested it twice spoke volumes enough. Run and make a scene and then get out of here. “Fine… I can do that.” Leila ripped at the fabric of her shirt with a cringe- thank god it was just a shitty t shirt- and tied it around her hand. She didn’t need people asking questions about why she was leaking glitter instead of blood. “I’ll make a scene and get out of your hair. Whenever you’re ready.”

Honey wasn’t blind. She was well aware the effects her antics had on Leila, and wanted to see every last drop of that delicious irritation. While she wasn’t one to play with her food, it was instances like these she made an exception. Like a cat with a ball, she just couldn’t help herself! But when the irritation turned to sadness, when she could see those tears wanting to show, her joy turned unsettled. Always swayed by the emotions of those around her, that look made quick with Honey. Sadness and quilt and mixture of confusing feelings. As dark as the paint on her skin, yet it had her face softening. Before those feelings could fully have their way with her, to turn her face and heart to mush, she forced her attention solely on that paint. There was no point in amusing those thoughts. If she wanted to be successful, to scare that wee thing away, she needed to be comfortable with a few tears. Yes. With a huff, her expression settled back to ambiguity.

With Honey’s full attention, her second arm was quickly consumed by the paint. That made all limbs accounted for. Now it was time for the icing on the cake! Some paint was slapped onto her neck, with a few bleeding out onto her chin. As if the obsidian slowly consumed her, with her head as her only salvation. But for how much longer? Aye! That’s the question she wanted to leave in all the bystanders’ heads. With the paint added, all that was left was to let it dry. Like a fledgling still learning to fly, her arms flapped with abandon. Maybe if she kept it up, she really could have flown. Though, it wasn’t her turn to go running just yet. She looked pointedly at Leila. “Well. Go on, lass. Wait for me by the waters. Trust ye ken when is time for the screamin’s.”

It really was the most bizarre sight the mare had ever seen. 

A grown woman, potentially just as old if not older than herself, smeared with black paint and sparkles, flapping her arms like a chicken whose feathers had been significantly ruffled and was trying to take flight. What only made it worse was the fact that Leila knew the barbed words that the other undead woman had a knack for. It took all of her strength to keep a bewildered giggle from burbling up and escaping her before she could stop it. That was the absolute last thing Leila needed. If she laughed, she was quite certain that she wouldn’t have to worry about Honey and Metzli anymore, because if Leila laughed, she might become a pile of glittering dust twirling about in the afternoon breeze. 

Eyes as sharp as daggers turned back on her, and the mare felt herself standing a little straighter. As if she were toeing some invisible line that Honey had set into place. She let go of a little sigh and turned on her heels, marching back down towards the water. At least she was sure that Metzli’s friend was getting a great big kick out of ordering her around… or maybe she would just enjoy the part where Leila was running away and screaming. Either way, she would put on a show to help Honey. If not for herself, then for Metzli’s sake. 

Back to the trees Leila went, this time fully claiming her. Good riddance, to her and the mess of feelings she wrought. In the absence of voices, Honey’s ears returned to the whistling winds. This company too offered its help, and soon those winds had the paint dry. With the paint secured, it was her limbs’ turn to settle. Settle into motionless, as if carved from true obsidian. She forced them at an angle, stiff and stubborn, with only the hips offering any sort of momentum. A carving come to life. Oh, but one more finishing touch: the touch of privacy! She threw on a pair of glasses—her one last act of fluidity. Then, she ran. Sort of. Her self-inflicted rigor did not allow much aptitude. Oh, but her voice was free to do as it pleased. Her screams silenced any of the surrounding critters, leaving only her shrieked panic. 

“The obsidian! The obsidian got me!” Honey cried, paired with blubbering nonsense. It all rushed out of her mouth in a great mess, the same as her body down the hill. Down to where the trees parted upon her first sets of panicked eyes. Only the eyes followed as she continued, for fear turned their own bodies to rigor. If only they had learned to move against it the same as her. Though her arms were stuck in an eternal bent and her legs refused to bend at the knee, her hips were quick. She moved as fast as the shifting glint on her skin. The crowd gasped and cried with each of her step. She could have laughed, but she disguised it as yet another scream of incoherency. Screaming and stumbling and shining, she finally found herself upon a ledge. It was here that the crowd remembered they could move. Oh, but it was far too late for that! “Obsidian!” The paint shimmered one last time, bidding the audience adieu, before a well-placed trip sent her into the waters. Never to return. 

The woods swallowed her whole once more as Leila trudged back down the leaf strewn path. The sweet earthy scent of spring was kicked up with every step she took, willing herself further and further away from an incredibly complicated situation. For a moment, there was painfully familiar solitude. The trees, tall sentinels staring down at her while the birds that called their boughs home fell silent as she crossed their path. Alone. She had been alone so often, and yet she had never stopped to consider how much it bothered her. If Honey had her way, Leila would be out of town by evening, never to bother her or Metzli again. But… Leila swore she felt the trees pull in closer. Alone again. No, no, not again…

The mare stumbled forward along the path and started to run. Right into the presence of people. Ordinary, normal people. The scream that left her mouth was something ancient. Fear. Real and true fear. But it wasn’t the false fear of the Glimmering Obsidian Honey monster that burst through the brush moments later, shrieking before she stumbled into the depths of the lake. It was fear for the life she had finally escaped coming back for her. She kept running away, and all the while, the fear of loneliness nipped at her heels like a hound waiting for the kill…

In the waters Honey remained. Down in the depths, she found her temporary home. If only it had a window to the shore above, but all she was allowed was trickles of light. She yearned for more—to see the scene that followed her splash. Her imagination supplied what the eyes could not. She could see so clearly the following stampede that made a vacation into a war; it was as if she never left. It all entertained her as she waited. Waited and waited and waited down in the depths. Waited until the streaks of light disappeared, leaving her in the dark. A darkness that knew no up or down, left or right. It had no end, yet pressed against every surface. So empty, so suffocating… That was enough of that. When her head breached the surface, the moon greeted her in its wonderful glow. In the privacy of night, she could finally laugh. 

[mediaevalmusereads]

Weyward. By Emilia Hart. St. Martin's, 2023.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, magical realism

Part of a Series? No

Summary: 2019: Under cover of darkness, Kate flees London for ramshackle Weyward Cottage, inherited from a great aunt she barely remembers. With its tumbling ivy and overgrown garden, the cottage is worlds away from the abusive partner who tormented Kate. But she begins to suspect that her great aunt had a secret. One that lurks in the bones of the cottage, hidden ever since the witch-hunts of the 17th century.

1619: Altha is awaiting trial for the murder of a local farmer who was stampeded to death by his herd. As a girl, Altha’s mother taught her their magic, a kind not rooted in spell casting but in a deep knowledge of the natural world. But unusual women have always been deemed dangerous, and as the evidence for witchcraft is set out against Altha, she knows it will take all of her powers to maintain her freedom.

1942: As World War II rages, Violet is trapped in her family's grand, crumbling estate. Straitjacketed by societal convention, she longs for the robust education her brother receives––and for her mother, long deceased, who was rumored to have gone mad before her death. The only traces Violet has of her are a locket bearing the initial W and the word weyward scratched into the baseboard of her bedroom.

Weaving together the stories of three extraordinary women across five centuries, Emilia Hart's Weyward is an enthralling novel of female resilience and the transformative power of the natural world.

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: domestic violence and abuse (physical, verbal, emotional, financial, and reproductive), blood, self-harm, racism, rape and impregnation of a teenager, suicidal ideation, abortion

Overview: I didn't know much about this book going in, but I do remember seeing it on display at my local bookstore, so I figured I'd give it a go. The premise itself seemed like something I'd be into: multiple generations of women, nature, magic, and the power of female resilience. Unfortunately, I didn't find the execution as inspiring as I'd hoped. In my opinion, this book struggles with a little bit of everything (plot, prose, and character), though as a whole, it wasn't so poorly done that I would say the author is dropping the ball. Rather, this book has a strong premise but struggles to engage with the reader, so for that reason, it gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: While I did like Hart's use of figurative language and the ease at which sentences flowed into one another, I had a hard time connecting with the prose because, in my opinion, it's just a tad overwritten. Hart doesn't leave much room for the reader to infer things, and both emotions and interpretations are told to us rather than shown. As a result, the pace of this book can feel rather slow, especially in the beginning when we're being instructed how to interpret things.

Moreover, I didn't quite enjoy the way the chapters were organized. This book is divided into 3 perspectives, with each chapter switching between protagonists Violet, Altha, and Kate. In my opinion, the chapters were a bit too short and were cut off prematurely; it felt like Hart was trying to create suspense, but rather than feeling intrigued, I felt frustrated. Perhaps this could have been alleviated if each chapter had a stronger point that led into the next POV; for example, there's one chapter that is dedicated entirely to Altha entering the city for her murder trial, and the whole chapter is devoted to describing the journey, only to be cut off awkwardly at the thought of an unknown character named Grace. To make the chapter stronger, I would have loved to read more about the rural/urban juxtaposition within Altha's POV, and have that relate to the rural/urban juxtaposition that Kate experiences when she flees to the Weyward cabin. Granted, there may be a little of that, but if it does exist, it doesn't feel intentional on Hart's part.

Plot: The plot of this book follows three women from the Weyward family line: Altha (a woman on trial for murder and witchcraft in 1629), Violet (a viscount's daughter coming of age in 1942), and Kate (a woman fleeing an abusive relationship in 2019). The three storylines explore female resilience as each character struggles to assert agency in the face of patriarchy.

Personally, I felt that each storyline was a little dull. Hart seemed to be trying to create suspense and unease by teasing that the women are somehow related and that their bloodline has some eerie natural power. I put things together faster than our protagonists, and the relationship between them wasn't necessarily new or presented in a way that made things feel fresh. On top of that, rather than exploring the character's emotions and inner lives, I felt like I was being asked to take them for granted and focus on the more mundane actions. For example, Kate leaves her abusive ex at the beginning of the book only to spend the rest of her arc doing mundane things. Altha is incredibly passive for the first half of her story, as we are stuck watching the trial rather than seeing her do much of her own will. Violet is a tad more interesting in that she spends a lot of time trying to learn more about her deceased mother while also trying to avoid the wrath of her abusive father, but even her arc felt a little slow at times.

I think what bothered me the most about the plot was that the book as a whole was supposed to be about "resilience," but most of what happens isn't particularly inspiring. It's not that I wanted big, overt displays of heroism, but I felt like the quiet moments of heroism were buried under the attempts at suspense.

Lastly, I felt like the magical realism was incredibly underutilized. Hart establishes that the Weyward women have a special connection to nature, but thematically, I didn't feel like there was a strong connection between nature and feminine agency. Ecofeminism is a popular topic in current critical discourse, and integrating it into this book would have elevated it immensely. Instead, it felt like nature was a background character, only popping up when convenient.

Characters: This book contains a number of characters, but for this review, I will focus on the three POV protagonists.

Altha, the healer/witch living in 1619, felt rather passive, especially during the trial. When we meet her, she has already been arrested, and I felt like we didn't get to know her until after the trial. As a result, I had a hard time being invested in her fate. Even when we learned more about her, there wasn't much that set her apart from other healers/witches I've read, so I found her arc to be hard to care about.

Violet, the viscount's daughter living in 1942, was a bit more interesting in that she was striving for things. Violet not only dreams of being an entomologist, but she also desperately wants to know more about her deceased mother. The most interesting parts of her arc were when she was actively trying to seek out information, and I liked that despite the hold her father has on her, she was always trying to assert herself and find her own power. There were times when her arc slowed down, so it wasn't perfect, but I found Violet to be the most interesting of the three women.

Kate, the woman living in 2019, had some quiet moments of agency, but overall, I felt like I was watching her going about her new life in a small village. Kate leaves her abusive boyfriend at the start of the novel and hides out at Weyward Cottage - the hovel that belonged to her great aunt. I enjoyed the moments when Kate did things like cut her hair and change her wardrobe; those felt powerful and meaningful, like she was finally freeing herself from her boyfriend's grasp. But most of her arc seemed to just be about her doing mundane things, and I wished more time was spent on exploring Kate's healing process.

TL;DR: Weyward is a novel with a good premise, but ultimately doesn't present readers with anything new or interesting. Between a prose style that relies too much on telling, a plot that forges "resilience" in favor of brutality, and characters without much agency or goals that they strive after, this book is a disappointing attempt to portray female power.