#self destructive habits cw

[mercysventingblog]

i wont be enough. i wont be enough. i will never be enough. i dont think i can be enough.

i will never know enough ukrainian or asl or japanese or russian or french or ANY language i try to learn because i will never be enough.

i will never be filipino enough for my family. i will never be american enough for my friends. i will never be nice enough for my mom or my dad or my family. i will never be mean enough to stop those guys on the street from hitting on me.

i will never be pretty enough. i will never be ugly enough. i will never be gentle enough or strong enough or weak enough. i will never be loud enough or quiet enough or kind enough or just

i will never be good enough.

and if i cant do even the simplest of any of that? if i cannot be enough of anything?

i will not be anything.

maybe i can be good enough then.

[flibbertygigget]

.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Workaholic!Reader. That's it.

Kidding, but think about it: the Dozing General and his over-caffeinated, bleary-eyed lover. Perhaps you work in the Alchemy Commission. While you're already a hard worker—too hard, in Jing Yuan's opinion—with the recent uprising of the Sanctus Medicus, you've been more stressed than usual.

Jing Yuan, ever the strategist, knows he can't just force you to stay home against your will, even though he wishes he could. Alas, you'd never forgive him. He can already imagine the hurt that would shine in your eyes; even the thought of it sends pain shooting down his spine, piercing straight through his heart.

No, he must be clever about it.

So, he decides to perform a siege, slowly tearing your dreadful, self-destructive working habits to shreds. Really, he's doing you a favor.

Surely, you'll understand.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

One morning, you wake up, tired as per usual due to finishing paperwork and writing reports for hours last night. You get up to move, but feel something—two things, actually—rendering you immobile. Arms, strong and warm, holding you tight. Jing Yuan, still soundly asleep, shifts a little, his grasp on your torso growing tighter.

Reaching with an arm, you attempt to wake your husband up by shaking his shoulder. "Jing Yuan," you whisper, trying to be gentle, though a shred of panic creeps into your voice. "I have to go to work."

The General lets out a soft groan, eyes fluttering open. Even in your fatigued state, you can't help but admire how divine your lover looks, haloed by the golden light of dawn. "Mmh, five more minutes, dearest," he whispers, pressing a series of sweet, tender kisses down the side of your neck to your shoulder.

Five minutes turns into ten. Ten minutes turns into twenty. Before you know it, you're late to work.

Rinse, and repeat. Through it all, Jing Yuan subtly reminds you that you can quit any time you'd like. After all, he earns more than enough money to support the both of you. And besides, he'll be retiring soon. He'll be so lonely at home without you with him. You don't want that, do you?

Eventually, you'll concede. Jing Yuan knows it. On the off chance that you don't, however, Jing Yuan has plenty of other ways to force you to surrender.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

not sure if I've already requested this so sorry if I have haha,

but how would the m6 react to a mc with sh scars? if it's not too heavy of a topic for you, if it is, I completely understand that :)

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC has SH scars

~ not too heavy at all, anon, I'd actually been hoping to write this at some point and your request gave me that excuse! to anyone else who relates a little too much: you're not alone, your pain is valid, and there is hope for you even when it doesn't feel like it - brainrot ~

CW for: references to scarring and self-harm. I can remember points in my life when this would have been triggering for me to read. If this would be triggering for you too, please prioritize your health.

Julian

He noticed early on that you'd get a strange look on your face when he mentioned being comfortable with experiencing pain, and he's been curious about why for some time

You generally found a way to hide them - whether with your clothes or in the low lighting - until after you defeated the Devil, which was when Julian was less distracted enough to notice more details

Like the unusual textures that appeared when your clothes shifted as you moved around your daily tasks, and how hellbent you seemed on immediately adjusting them

He waits to approach the subject until he knows you're both in a calm headspace, after the day is done as the two of you lounge in front of the fire with your dinner

He wants to hear your side of things, but the first thing he's going to ask is to let him look at them. He's a doctor, he loves you, and he wants to know the extent of the damage and how he can help your healing

Might cry a little, but hides it and refuses to make it about himself by pulling you into the biggest hug instead

It throws him into some serious self reflection, which leads to lots of late-night talks about self-destructive habits and how you two can best support each other in a way that's loving and not enabling

Will get a matching tattoo if you choose to cover them that way

Asra

The first time they saw them was right after your resurrection, and their heart sank right down into their feet

Here he felt like he'd just saved you, only to find that you'd not only woken up in a miserable state, but that the life you'd had before had been far more painful for you than he had been aware of

Which is when they became determined to give you such a good life and so much platonic love and support that the scars on your body would truly belong to a past life

The first time you asked him about why you had them, he said they were leftover from an old battle that you had fought very bravely. Going into any more detail only made your headaches worse

They did watch your behavior and mood closely, though, in case you started to fight that battle again. They never judged you for them or offered to smooth them over

After you defeated the Devil together, he told you the truth about them and what they meant, even though he didn't know the details of why you had them

It was also their chance to give you an apology for not noticing before you died, when they were still your friend and cared about you. They know it's not their fault, but the guilt was still there

He kisses them every morning and night

Nadia

She's heard vague stories from her family members about people who were in so much pain that they would self harm, but she'd never seen such a strong example in person

Which is why she initially assumed they were the result of some fierce battle or tragedy, and planned to ask you later

She first noticed them when she was fitting you for a new outfit, and saw how hesitant you were to let her look at them. Everything she's made for you since covers them completely

She finally asks about them several months into your relationship, expecting you to either not remember or to hear a moving story of conquering some fierce enemy or fighting for a loved one

To say that she doesn't expect your answer is an understatement. It surprises her so much that her only response is "oh," in an unusually small voice, before moving on to the next topic

She's able to process it the next time she's alone, when she's struck both by her awe at your capacity to fight something so dark and by her grief that you've been doing it without her all this time

Clears her next evening to have a private dinner with you, first so she can apologize for her initial response and second so she can invite you to tell her more about it and offer her support

Likes to dress you herself so you know you're not alone or unseen

Muriel

Knew exactly what they were as soon as he saw them, which was less than half a day into your travels South with Morga

And promptly refused to talk about it because he can relate to those dark impulses more than he'd like to and because he didn't see it as being any of his business. But he does start to watch you

He watches for any sign of pain, he watches how you fix your clothes, he watches how your gaze falls on any sharp object, because even if it isn't his business he cares more than he expects

He becomes less and less discreet about how closely he's observing you until you finally notice it one evening, how the firelight falls on your scars and how his eyes fixate on them

At this point the reciprocated staring is so awkward that he'll do anything to fix the tension, so he shuffles and mumbles something along the lines of "You can talk about it if you want to. I don't mind."

So you do, and he gets hit square in the chest with how much he's come to care about you over the course of the trip

He's especially frustrated because he empathizes so deeply, and since he doesn't know how to fix himself, he's worried he'll only mess you up further

In the end, he learns to apply the kindness he feels towards you to himself as well, and sees your scars as valid as he sees his own

Portia

She's still very embarrassed (and slightly ashamed) for how things went the first time she saw them

She'd noticed something peeking out from your clothes, and how you seemed focused on covering them, and falsely assumed that it was some cool magical tattoo

Which only piqued her curiosity. This has to be juicy, and she's determined to get a closer look. Which is why, as soon as you'd become friends, she took her first chance to snatch a look

And then froze. And then dropped you, and then burst into tears. How could this happen, MC? Why would you do this to yourself? It looks like it must have hurt so much -

It's unfortunate but you're going to have to comfort her first while she works her way through the five stages of grief. She loves you, and she's heartbroken and confused about why this would happen

She needs time to process how she feels about it before she can listen to you without having a meltdown. Her normal response to self-destruction is a fist to the gut (Ilya) and that wouldn't do

Ends up following your cues when it comes to how she talks to you about it. If it's in the past, it's in the past. If it's a current struggle, then she's your partner. She'll be right next to you

She does think your fighting spirit makes you badass, though

Lucio

He's not great at noticing details unless they directly correspond to physical strengths and weaknesses. Any kind of scarring from a wound is (from his experience) a totally normal thing to see

When he starts to notice how you cover yours or get weird about them being touched, he asks about it right away

You've got such cool scars, MC, why are you hiding them? You should show them off so everyone knows how battle-tested you are! Here, he'll show his off too! *cue him stripping off his shirt*

It's a little difficult to know how best to respond to this. You're each other's life partners by now, he should probably know the truth, but you don't know how to burst his bubble

You do end up telling him later, once you're settling into your inn for the night, and watching the realization and hurt dawn across his face is anything but easy

MC, why? You deserve the best, you are the best, you're his best, you're telling him that you treated someone like yourself this poorly when you were showing him so much forgiveness?

He's not trying to guilt you at all, but it comes close to having that effect. The only thing he can think to do is hug you really really tight and hope it convinces you that you deserve better

Still refers to them as your battle scars, because to him they are

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I tried to convince my friend to stop smoking?

🍀🍀 So I can find it later

(CW for drug use, smoking, mention of depression/suicide)

So I (22F) have this really close friend we’ll call Riley (23M). He’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had and I love him to pieces (I also have a bit of a crush on him, but that’s not relevant). To put things bluntly, Riley is a drug user. He smokes weed, occasionally uses psychedelics/hallucinogens, and some other stuff I’m probably forgetting. I generally don’t have a problem with this, just as long as he doesn’t use them around me since I’m uncomfortable around drugs for personal reasons I won’t be getting into. He is aware of this and is very respectful of this boundary.

The only thing that truly bothers me is the fact that he smokes cigarettes. Not for any moral superiority reasons, just for the fact that they’re so harmful and I don’t want him to suffer the awful long-term effects down the line. He’s my best friend, obviously I don’t want him to do something that’s harming him.

I think he knows that I don’t like him smoking cigarettes, but I’ve never outright said it to his face. I guess I’m scared of him taking it the wrong way. I’m sure he also knows how harmful it is, he’s not stupid. I actually think part of this habit stems from active self-destruction, since he struggles a lot with depression and suicidal ideation.

I want to try convincing him to quit, but I don’t want to overstep. I’m not naive, I know it’s very difficult to break an addiction and it takes a lot of hard work. I still want to convince him to at least try. So, WIBTA if I tried to convince my friend to stop smoking? Should I just mind my own business?

[spacexseven]

Thinking about a lil au idea of DOA or Rats of the House of the dead being basically your cult in the god reader idea.

Of course, the other “members” of the cult don’t see you in that much of a big light as Fyodor does (he’s the only one to be THAT devoted to you, really). But they are still members, and little by little they just

Start to like the idea wholeheartedly.

(I love the god reader idea so much it has me in a chokehold rn)

!! anime only's, you have been warned! the following includes spoilers for 2/3 of the unknown (as of now) members of the doa, and other stuff involving the doa.

i'm not writing for kamui 'cos this was a little long as it was. also am sticking w doa 'cos im more comfortable writing for nikolai, sigma and my little vampire rockstar :^^

cw: its kind of a cult, yandere themes (near the end)

you had always known that the rats were only the beginning of fyodor's reign.

and maybe he knew that too—you could hear the soft smile in his voice when he asked you if you thought that the decay of the angel was a better-suited name for an organization that would carry out his plans and catalyze the great destruction you always said he would bring. you don't grace him with an answer, though even you have to agree that it was a name that, once uttered, could unsettle the bravest souls and fill them with trepidation. it was a fitting choice; symbolic, powerful, and ominous.

if anything, the other members were just as unpredictable and unnerving as fyodor was to you once. nikolai was the first you met. you later learned that he went against fyodor's words to come see you, seized by curiosity. bitterly, you realized that the reason why he stared at you so much was because he was studying you, like one would an insect. you almost wanted to seize some of that divine order you had and strike him down for being so blatant about his interest. but when you thought about how fyodor could never look you in the eyes, and how lonely it was as his god, you found yourself taking a liking to the eccentric clown.

there was a side to him, however, you're not sure you like at all. bloodied hands and a wicked grin to match, when anyone else seeks your time. fascination that was both lustful and violent in nature, and a possessive grip that didn't seem to let go of you.

"time for a quiz!" nikolai exclaims, "will the decay of the angel succeed?"

"of course," a wry smile plays at your lips, "who else has a god on their side?"

he laughs in response, loud and uninhibited. it's the most noise that's ever filled your room

sigma was a mystery that had too many missing pieces to be solved. a part of you could sympathize with him, having lost your own self to the blurred-together years and the exhaustion that came with being the only one with your level of sentience. however, you don't let yourself think about the book fyodor had used to create sigma, and what it meant to you. there are some things, you decide, that are best kept to yourself. some things that fyodor should never learn about.

sigma, in your first meeting, was slightly awkward; a perfectly natural response, but not in awe of your presence, not like fyodor. his voice was firm, but not unkind, and his words were respectful, but not...obedient. it was perfect.

in sigma, you found an unlikely friend. he told you about the mundane happenings in the outside world; a customer caught cheating, an employee that struggled to keep up, all the paperwork that was involved in the running of a casino in the sky. these things, as compared to your daily life, were nothing of the sort you would care about, but you listened all the same. regardless, you could tell sigma appreciated the sentiment.

you, however, don't appreciate his strange habits. recently, you think, he's been acting a little too much like fyodor. as much as you liked sigma for the natural ease that you felt by his presence, you couldn't brush off the ominous feeling that came with sigma seeking you out more and more. you start feeling like he's looking for validation of some kind from you, one you didn't wish to provide in fear that he may find this an encouragement. he reaches out for your hand often, something you might find amusing if not for the way his hand trembles.

"are you planning to leave?" nikolai, knowing the fool, must have said something to scare sigma.

"no," you say simply, "not yet."

"so you will leave," sigma frowns. you've seen that look directed to many a clumsy employee and messy files, but never to you. it's almost frightening, "don't you like it here?"

"besides, i..." he stops himself, "dostoevsky won't let you go. and...i don't want you to either. you should stay. we take care of you too, don't we?

unlike most people, you weren't surprised to see bram stoker. though in your memory, he was a lot more...whole and formidable of an opponent. more than that, you remembered him as a man turned into a monster that brought unimaginable destruction because of an ability he never asked for. it was a strange reminder of how much had really changed over the years. now, he seemed sullen, and defeated; it was a depressing sight.

now, he was exhausted. you could tell he didn't want to be here, with the decay of the angel. you could also tell that something was terribly wrong with the sword that was inside him and the pained look in his eyes. fyodor tells you of a kamui when he brings the coffin in, and just by the current state of bram and the utterance of his name, you know already you would not get along with him.

bram doesn't ask you questions, not about why you were here, or what you were doing for all those years. he doesn't explain his situation, and you don't pry. you can put the pieces together by yourself, and when it dawns on you what the kamui planned to do with bram, you realize that there were greater evils than fyodor.

there's a silent solidarity between you and bram, perhaps stemming from being something non-human. you get him the radio he's always wanted, insist that he be allowed to converse with you more often, and so on. these days, bram talks more, and it almost feels like you're talking to an old friend. bram's lived through some, though not most, of the things you have, and he remembers what nobody else does. you wonder, one day, if the two of you could have been friends had you met a lot earlier, and if you hadn't brushed off the news about the vampire ability user the first time. when you voice this out to him, bram has the most adorable reaction. your words make his eyes widen and, stupified, cause him to awkwardly change the topic, fumbling over his next few words.

ah, now you really wish you went to see him earlier.

it's that odd sensation of having a friend, caring for another, that urges you to offer your help to bram. you tell him you can get him out of here, out of the mortal angels' grasp; somewhere safe. you say you can help him regain his former state, help him survive within the shadows of humanity, like you had before. kamui, fyodor, or the doa; nothing will be able to stop you if you really wanted to make it happen, regardless of how complacent you were now.

at the very least, you thought, he might be pleased. grateful. maybe not elated, but, at the very least, relieved. instead, bram looked shocked. you can't tell if the idea horrifies him because he doesn't think you can do it, or because he believes that the decay of the angel was the only connection you had to him. perhaps he thought that saving him, freeing him, would also mean removing yourself from his life. you almost felt bad—you were very likely bram stoker's only friend in his miserable life.

still, you're not quite sure what to think when he extends his stay and starts contemplating, seriously, to cooperate with kamui. you can't wrap your mind around why he'd want to stay, and the possible loss of so many lives as a result unsettles you deeper than it does him, but he's steadfast in his decision. he tells you, with an unfamiliar tinge of scorn, that he was tired of trying to protect people, when all they did was try to kill him.

"if you're so sure, i suppose i'll have to stay here with you." concern weighs heavily on your mind, but more than that, suspicion lingers.

bram smiles, then, and seemingly relaxes in his coffin. an uncomfortable feeling seizes your chest. how had you not noticed?

[callsignfangs]

The 141 boys as widowers. (bc i feel like torturing myself /j)

141 x late (implied) spouse! reader

cws: grief, mentions of loss, implied alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions self-destructive behaviour, very brief mention of addiction, etc (Please lmk if I've missed anything!)

(Note: This little drabble is a little self indulgent, a bit about my own journey with grief. Each little 'story' thing does end with acceptance. Please don't read if you're not in the right headspace, and remember that you're loved and you're not alone, and make sure to reach out if you need help <3)

--

Price is the one inclined to bargaining. Maybe he could've done something - what if he'd taken a bit more time off work, what if he spent more time with you, what if he'd agreed to retire early with you, what if he was there? Ironically enough - he just ends up drowning himself in more work, probably turns to smoking or alcohol in an attempt to drown everything out.

141, Gaz and Soap especially, will definitely be the only thing he holds on for. As capable as they all are, he couldn't just up and leave his boys without a captain - he couldn't make the same mistake over again, they gave him something to care for, to nurture and to look after.

I don't think he'll ever marry again - just making half-hearted attempts to peek into the dating scene whenever leave got especially lonely. He'd never be able to find anyone quite like you, so he eventually stopped bothering with it, finding warmth and comfort in himself and the other people he loved.

He keeps a photo of you, one of your handwritten notes, and any little trinket you'd given him at all times. Saved every single snippet of you talking he could - even still paying off your phone bill occasionally ringing your phone to hear your voicemail message, maybe sending you texts when things got especially hard. Definitely does chores the exact way you always did - from the time you went out to shop in the morning to how you stacked dishes. Loves hot showers but still takes a lukewarm one each morning because your habit of taking cold showers meant the water was never hot enough for him. I think he probably adopts something after the rough edges of the hole you'd left in his heart smoothed over.

It wasn't intentional in the slightest - maybe a stray cat had clung to his pant leg while he was on a hike or the task force managed to pick up an orphaned little kid on one of their excursions. He's very hesitant with them, still not quite trusting himself with caring for another being. But he warms up to them eventually. No matter human or animal, they've definitely been brought to your gravesite once or twice.

Maybe it would be alright, eventually. He'd at least have something interesting to entertain you with the next life he found you.

--

Soap is definitely in denial. Convinces himself it's a mistake - that when deployment's finally over, he'll trudge home, kick off his boots, and be met by his sweet love, bouncing at his heels like an overeager puppy and lathering his face in flittering little kisses. He still avoids coming home like the plague - resorts to anything from taking on way too many missions, to picking up another job on the side, even to staying in hotels as if he was in some sort of covert op.

He'd be forced to go back to your house eventually, though. Not home, it wasn't home without you there. Just the same four walls and roof he camped out in on deployment. Nothing warm or special about it.

He still pretended, though. Made your bed every morning the way you liked it and prepared meals for two every day.

While Price and Ghost undoubtedly pulled him out of his slump, Gaz was the person who really started him on the road to acceptance. Having the boys over near constantly was soothing, giving him something to occupy his mind with and overshadowing the cold emptiness of the house. The occasional cuddle piles and game nights reminded him of the warmth of their bond - like the nights they spent on stakeouts, letting their own sweet joy shield them from the brutal realities of their situation.

Gaz was the first person he cried to. Soap couldn't bear the way his buzzed sides were starting to fluff out, but he'd slowly gotten used to letting your gentle hands preen him and tidy him up. Of course, Gaz had noticed, and of course, he'd insisted that Soap just had to let him have a go at doing up someone else's hair. Soap didn't know when he'd devolved into tears - somewhere between the first gentle touch he'd felt in weeks and the crippling realisation that you'd never be there to do it again.

Either way, he'd managed to cry himself to sleep in Gaz's arms that night. He continued to sob himself away for weeks, filling each day with tears.

Until each day turned into each few.

And each few turned into once a week.

And slowly, his tears dried up.

It was an arduous process, grieving. But he stubbornly forced through it, just as he'd forced his way into your heart.

And he did his very best not to change. He determinedly kept the mohawk - even used the same shampoo because it made his hair feel perfectly fluffy under your touch. He did his best to continue being his perky, bubbly self, because he knew how you practically basked in his energy.

However, he still let himself grow, let his hawk grow out so he could braid it the way he'd always considered, and he let himself have his bad days, didn't force himself to keep up his energy when he didn't really have enough.

Admittedly, though, he never married again. He found temporary enjoyment in little flings, though he let them pass when the time was right. No matter what, he always came back to your house.

Sure, it wasn't quite home without you there. But you'd been there - no matter how little the time you'd had together felt in hindsight - so maybe he could learn to make it home again. For you.

--

Gaz is angry - furious to the point of enraged tears. If it was him? He'd understand. He'd hurt people, torn apart lives and taken his fair share of them. He deserved it. But you? It wasn't fair. In his eyes, you couldn't possibly hurt a fly, so delicate and tender and so, so soft. It just wasn't fair.

His attempt at coping is to delve headfirst into a tedious slew of missions - one after another after another. It gives him something to dump all his blind rage and hurt and desperation into. His morals were a writhing, flailing, unrecognisable mess for a long time, and the best comfort he could find was in the chaotic monotony of work.

So what if he burned everything in his path to ash? At least the threat was dealt with.

Price and Ghost are the most essential to his recovery. He needs guidance, needs some sort of structure, and needs to relinquish the tight hold on his need to be good, to fix things, to help, to finally restore what he was so reliant on, even if that meant tearing himself to shreds in the process. What he needs is time to grieve, time to come to terms with the unforgiving reality - that it just happened. No-one did anything wrong, there was no violence or intent, it just happened.

He'll absolutely come to deeply regret everything he did in his grief-induced warpath, but eventually accept that he was hurt and lost and just needed the help - the intervention.

Like Price, I think he might attempt to put himself out there and find someone new every once in a while, maybe even builds up to a couple dates, but he never really finds interest in anyone. He definitely remains friends with many of the people he meets, but he just can't quite find a spark - mainly because they're not you.

He never throws out anything of yours, his wardrobe is still mostly full of random articles of your clothing, and the third drawer on the nightstand is still yours.

He always wears something of yours when he goes out, from shirts and shorts to hoodies, even some of your jewelry.

Despite it being admittedly pretty late, he finally watches all of the shows you liked and reads all the books you did. It makes him feel closer to you - cuddling up under your favourite blanket in your favourite spot and picturing you being there with him, imagining each and every one of your reactions, practically seeing your lovely face curl with smiles as you commentated over the whole thing.

Sure, you weren't really there with him anymore, but the sweet, warm mark you'd left on his heart was enough to carry him over until he inevitably returned to you.

--

Ghost is mostly depressed. He's so agonisingly hurt and lost, but you were his sun - what gave him life and love, and without you? He just couldn't muster up the energy to do anything beyond simply existing. Even he'd expected himself to crash and burn - follow in his brother's footsteps and drown in a spiral of addiction. But he just... Didn't. The affirmation that he didn't blow up and take everyone he loved down with him would be reassuring, comforting, but it wasn't. Not without you whispering praise in his ear, assuring him of his goodness and softness.

I think he'd also be reliant on Soap and Gaz, but Price would be a surprisingly big factor as well. No-one could ever really replicate the effect you had on him, the way your encouragement kept him going, but having some amount of structure, of motivation? It helped. Despite that, he absolutely tried to push them out at first, convinced that the acrid shadow of death looming over his shoulder would eventually take them as well. What are task force 141 if not determined and unfathomably stubborn, though, especially when it came to caring for their own.

Soap undoubtedly led the charge - seeing as his ceaseless energy and affection were mildly more normal (god knows Simon needed a little bit of comforting normalcy). Gaz came second, still snarky and headstrong as ever, but with softened edges and an air of gentle care. Price was last. He'd been there before Simon was Ghost, he was aware enough to piece bits of his past together - and he'd be damned if he managed to scare Simon, if he was the reason he regressed further. So he was tender. Delicate, even. Ghost would despise being handled like fragile porcelain in Price's kid gloves, but it soothed a part of Simon that hadn't peeked out since you left.

It'll take a bit longer than the others - more therapy, reassurance and care, but he'll recover eventually, let the wound you left in his porous heart scar over and go on as best he could.

I don't think he'll look for romance again either - his interest in it just died out alongside you. He wants to preserve the sanctity and tenderness of what you had, and is more than content with holding that love in his heart, and keeping it safe for you until he meets you again.

After you're gone, he attempts to follow your advice more, occasionally dragging himself out of his comfort zone, picking up new hobbies and trying to emulate your passion for life in himself, keeping a little bit of you alive with him. He absolutely douses the house in your favourite fragrance, refuses to use any hygiene products other than yours and carries something of yours everywhere, whether it be your ring or even your purse, just something to remind him he had to look after things (including himself) for you.

Even if you were cremated or buried in some other way, he'd ensure there was a gravestone for you placed alongside his mother, Tommy, Beth and little Joseph. You'd always be part of his family - his heart, and when his time came? He'd be buried alongside you, trailing along with you into whatever came next. By your side forever.

<3

Yippee. This was. A journey. /lh

Sorry if this isn't formatted the best, it was more of a massive brain dump that I forcibly shoved into something just about understandable lol

If you're seeing this, tyvm for reading mwah 😚😚

[guess-that-ship]

S12 Round 3

Double Crossing my Dungeoning Party (GONE WRONG)

Green never says how he feels. If he did, he would constantly be tearing into everyone he ever interacted with. He can't afford to he getting into arguments, especially not with his party, when he has goals to achieve. When he has to see to their destruction. So he keeps his mouth shut and projects a mild and agreeable exterior.

Gray is uncomfortable in his own skin. Every time he is faced with pressure, he feels like he is faced with two options: fall back into his old habits, harmful to himself and others around him, or completely shut down. He doesn't feel comfortable in conversation with anyone, including members of his own party. He's a complete and total pushover, terrified of conflict and rejection.

Gray makes Green angry at first. Out of everyone in the party, all the idealistic idiots, controlling egomaniacs, offputting freaks, and impulsive contrarians, it's Gray's spinelessness that makes it hard to stay in the party. It infuriates him to no end how someone can let their life be controlled by fear. But he has to stick it out, in order to achieve his goals. Green will help him put with his problems. Just to make him more tolerable, so he doesn't go crazy.

Green and Gray spend a lot of time together. Green soon sees Gray for who he truly is-- intelligent, resourceful, and kind. Green slips up for the first time, and sees through Gray's faults, which isn't something he does for anyone. They start to like each other, in more ways than one. The more he helps him, the more comfortable Gray gets. And the more comfortable Gray gets, the more bright golden parts of him shine through his rusted iron exterior. And the more Green starts to slip again. The more Green sees of Gray's true self, the more Green wants Gray to see of his. Not just his personality, but his past. His present and his future.

But he can't slip. For multiple reasons. For one thing, Gray likes the agreeable, encouraging Green. He wouldn't like the critical, abrasive Green. He slipped up once in falling for Gray, and he won't slip up again in showing Gray who he really is. Wait, shit. That's not the most important reason. It's not about whether or not Gray will like him- it's about his goals. Why he's traveling with this party in the first place. He can't blow his cover. Gray has to die with all the rest.

Purple Light

cw: spoilers

Two teenage girls meet one summer and forge an unbreakable bond with each other, one that unites them with a psychic connection. They go their separate ways but remain connected as they separately fight monsters and other forms of evil, always remaining close to each other with their telepathic communications.

One day, their greatest foe captures them both and traps them in another world, one where they forget who they are. They settle into different lives, where they meet again and become friends. They both seem to understand that something is wrong with their lives, even if they can't explain how. They both want to escape their unhappy existences, and one girl eventually escapes.

When she leaves, she finds a way to remember her real existence, and realizes that she & her friend are still trapped and in danger. She tries to save them both by convincing her friend to return with her so that they can battle their way out. The friend refuses, staying behind and believing that their false, unhappy life is their true reality, settling into an uneasy day-to-day life. …until they see themselves in a mirror as they truly are, seeing themselves as the powerful being they truly are. What happens next is left ambiguous, but it's implied that there is still time for the both of them to save each other and return to where they truly belong.

[russetruse]

I know I don’t post writings here often, but I wanted to write something for @lizadale’s Dimigi!au. I don’t know Libby if you dream about the Dimigi!au but sometimes I do. I blame you sis. But also I added a lot more since you read the smaller version, enjoy almost 3k words on only part one of many.

Sorry it is written in 2nd person, but I blame Libby for getting me to only function in this style of writing but I can’t seem to write in any other prospective anymore lol.

I color coded characters, but what sucks is that this one doesn’t have black so I can’t use one of my original colors for characters speak. So the color I planned for one character had to move to the heart and the hearts color was originally black >:[ But I hope you enjoy.

Calamitous Revelry

Part I

Luigi Prov

CW/TW: Trauma, abuse, triggers on abuse, mentions on drowning/strangulation

You run your fingers through his greasy, tangled hair. Every time he goes on a mission, it seems he neglects basic bodily functions. The longer he’s off on one of his Merloo missions, the more worried you become. It brings you back to the days of the Castle, how he only seemed to eat when the other members were shoving food in his face at the required meetings. Even back then, his mask didn’t hide much from you. He had long given up before joining that group. It just frustrated you so much, he puts his own well being always being last on his list.

”Can you be more gentle?” He spoke very softly, but the voice cuts through the silence. His fragile, small body, leaning against the frame of the claw foot bathtub. It knots your stomach seeing him like this. Why did he always do this? Why was being away from you for any extended amount of time so collapsing to his mental state? Were you the only thing keeping him from self-destructing?

”Sorry. You really knotted your hair this time. I am trying my best to be gentle.” You reply softly, not wanting to cause him to jump and flee. This was close to being just as bad as when you found him almost dead in the deteriorating remains of Castle Bleck. Dimentio being caked in blood and dirt. You were hardly able to handle how much came off of him then, but even this was trying to match up to that day. Right now, the bath water was darker than your tan skin. You click your tongue, a Dio habit that you had seemed to pick up sometime throughout the course of living with him. Very glad that you had rolled up your sleeves above your elbows before even starting to wash him. And the water being this dirty before you even started to actually scrub his body! You click your tongue again in annoyance and frustration.

You knew Dimentio wanted to teleport away. Especially after he walked into the house. Well walked was even an understatement. He half floated, half dragged his feet across the threshold when he opened the door to your entrance. You swore he was going to collapse there in the entrance if you hadn’t been there to grab him and hold him with your own weight.

What shocked you more was the jester actually complained as you fondled him in worry, going down your own checklist in your head as you did so. First, checking him for injuries since he did have some blood caked on his clothes, and you weren’t sure if that blood was his or another’s. Which raised even more questions that you knew he wouldn’t divulge answers to you. So giving up on even prying into the matter, you scoop him up bridal style, and rush him up the stairs. Your lips placing kisses on his scars around his left eye, making sure to not miss a spot and to distract him from what you had planned ahead.

He started struggling in your grasp as you started running warm water in the tub of the finished guest room and declothed him. The caked on clothes were a pain to get off of his dirtied skin. Through the frustration of removing the clothes piece by piece, you confirmed at least most of the blood on his clothes were not his. Which did not lighten the feeling of comfort you wanted from his return, it concerned you more. Whose blood was this and did they deserve such injuries from him? But you shake your head, another series of questions you would not get answers to. You needed to get him clean before you would even get any chance to put food in his system. Let alone would your mind allow you to put him on the back burner and cook food when you knew he needed to be cleaned up right away.

The jester complained as you worked on completely bringing him down to his birthday suit, still double checking for any injuries that may need stitches or extra care. He complained to you until you submerged him into the warm bath water, that’s when his demeanor changed. He then held onto you as if his life depended on it. As if the water in the tub would drag him below the water's surface and take his last breath. You also knew if you looked away, he would quickly teleport away. And your goal to get him cleaned up would long be abandoned.

It takes you way too long to comb out the knots and grime out of his hair, but this makes you feel a bit better. Well, until you wrap your arm around him; your forearm resting across his chest and placing your hand under his armpit. It always takes you by surprise at how tiny he is, not just in height, but in size. Your body is giant compared to him. And you were use to being called “too skinny”, but even you didn’t complain to the man you held in your arms.

You lean forward, and with your free hand, you begin to drain the dirty water in the tub. You really needed to replace it with fresh, warm water. His body tenses at the water starting to run again to refill the tub. The jesters heart was beginning to race in a panic from this. You press him tighter to you, slowly soaking your own shirt. What good did you get from rolling up your sleeves to only press a wet twink to your chest. But still, you do not let him pull away, hoping that he can feel your heartbeat through the wool top. Yet you also hope that he doesn’t feel the Chaos Heart beating as well in your chest.

”I am NOT letting you go.” You whisper softly into his right ear, your mustache tickling it. Dimentio squirms in your grasp, fighting his own instincts to flee. Every nerve he had, you knew told him to get away quickly. You bring your lips to his ear, pecking it with a soft kiss. His body squirms more at his own signals being challenged. A challenge to fight staying and be adored by you or flee due to the rising water in this situation.

”I won’t let you drown.” You speak sternly to him, not sure if it was in assurance for you or him. You start to nibble on his ear, your free hand grabbing the washcloth and rinsing it under the spout.

You can feel his fingernails dig into your arm as the water rises above his hips. You wince at this, but start to scrub the dirt and grime off of his legs and feet. You take extra time on his swollen ankles in another attempt to calm him. Letting your hand through the wash cloth slowly message his swollen ankles to make sure he didn’t do more damage to them then what appeared on the surface. You find yourself at a loss when you run the washcloth over his ribs. Your stomach turns seeing the jester's ribs through his skin so easily that you could count every one of them. It upsets you so much that he is neglecting himself when he is away from you.

”Luigi.”

You grumble, tightening your grip, mumbling under your own breath. Why was he like this? Why was he so willing to throw his life away? So many cared for him. He had more worth than he thought or believe he had.

”Luigi!”

You can feel your own anger bubbling and building in your body.

No one.

No one.

Not even yourself. Not even in the dreamscape. Not even against the chaos heart, or even in your own dreams, were you willing to throw your life away so easily. A growl builds in your throat and comes out through your own words. “Why are you like this?”

“Lui!”

Thu-Thump…

You freeze up, your body stiffens at your own thoughts. Only Dimentio was ever able to rile up so much negative emotions in you. King boo wasn’t even able to do this to you.

“Lui-“

Thu-Thump.

You feel his fingernails claw at both of your arms now. Digging deep enough to draw blood.

Thu-THUMP.

The nails dig deeper and deeper into your arms, clawing down from your elbows to your hands. With what little nails the jester had left, were tearing at your arms. You knew he feared water, but this was ridiculous at how much he was trying to get out of being cleaned by you. You tighten your grip to this, growling loudly in frustration and anger at Dimentio.

THU-THUMP!

Water splashes onto your pants, snapping you out of your own thoughts. The buzzing sound in your ears is replaced with the sound of splashing. Your eyes widen in shock as you quickly pull your hands away from his neck. Your arms and hands dripping from blood from the number he did on you.

You watch him in worry and shock as the ancient quickly yanks himself from under the water's surface. Dimentio’s body was shaking uncontrollably from fear, coughing and gasping from the need of oxygen that deprived him. You were unsure of how long you had held him under, but the water he was coughing up said enough. His lungs were trying their hardest to clear the water that you had forced into them. The ancients eyes never leave your bloody, shaking hands.

No…

No.

No! You would never do that to him.

Never!

THU-THUMP!

You can hear the heart beating loudly in your ears and chest.

”I’m sorry Dio. I-It wasn’t me,” you stutter though a shaky voice, “I promise. It was th-“

You reach your shaking hands towards him in assurance. But the second you do, the familiar sounds of the jester teleporting away before you can even finish your explanation. Your eyes now staring at a bodiless bathtub full of fresh water, with swirls of red in it.

”C-Chaos H-Heart….” You finish, your voice trailing off to a soft whisper.

THU-Thump…

You let your arms drop to your sides in disbelief. The heart had found another opening, this time by your emotions. It had taken advantage of your emotional loophole, and went after what was the biggest threat to it. The one you loved…

It wasn’t you. You would never do that to him.

Never…

Never!

The image of Dio’s scared. No, scared was an understatement. He was terrified. And when you closed your eyes, that expression from Dimentio showed on the back of your eyelids. The bathtub overflowing, starting to soak your jeans and socks.

You needed to fix this. But could you even fix it? You stand, ignoring the tub overflowing and slowly flooding the bathroom. Your soaked socks splash in the water as you walk over to the sink, ignoring your own discomfort. You pick up the phone with shaky hands. You were having such trouble dialing the number correctly on the keypad, that you changed to your call list and clicked the forth or fifth recent call down.

You lift the cell to your ear and after a few rings you hear an ecstatic voice that didn’t match the feelings you were having right now.

”Gigi! It’s been a while. What-“

”Mimi. I fucked up badly. I need Nassy’s help, now. It’s too much to explain. Please…Please tell her it’s urgent.”

”That bad? I’ll get a hold of her ASAP. Keep your door unlocked Gigi. You better be ready to explain then.” You hear the phone click to Mimi hanging up and you drag yourself out of the bathroom. Your wet socks slush against the carpet of your guest room, and you force yourself down the steps. The house sounds oddly silent, except for the sound of what you believe is still the bathtub running. You must have forgotten to turn off the water, but you don’t seem to have the energy to bring yourself back up the stairs.

You bring yourself to the couch and work on removing your drenched socks. Your hands are shaking so badly that the simple task is more of a challenge than it should be. You discard your socks on the floor near you and you pull your legs up to you on the couch, making yourself as small as your body would allow you to.

You bring your eyes to your hands. Your hands rough with calusis from all the tinkering and hard work you did, middle class work. Though it had been a while since you had seen blood oozing from them. You shake your head.

His body was so small, so fragile. He was so easy to force under the water with your hands. It was even easier to wrap your fingers around his thin throat and start squeezing. He would have been easy to break, easy to finish off. You could snap him like the twig he was. Would anyone really miss him? Didn’t he deserve to be dead? He still attempted to go after IT. He still wanted to go after his original goal with the heart. He wasn’t a fighter, he was weak in that aspect. You could so easily break him, all you would have to do is grab his neck and snap it. He deserved that.

“Enough!” You yell to no one in particular, grabbing at your own greasy hair. Heck there were times you would have never fought those thoughts after everything he had put you through, but these thoughts weren’t your own. You growl at yourself for letting the heart dig into your thoughts and emotions over Dimentio. He confused you so much and had your emotions everywhere. You had anger towards him, frustration, confusion, annoyance, but most of all…you loved him.

Thu-Thump.

You grasp your shirt above your own heart. You couldn’t imagine a day without him anymore. You wanted to spoil him with affection that he was long deprived of. You wanted to show him what the world should have long given him. You so badly wanted to let him figure out what the true meaning of his emotions towards you were. Why did this relic have to be such a problem, and everyday you were losing more and more to it. You bite your bottom lip. You couldn’t lose to it, so many would fall if you lost. It would return to where it was taken from. It would reopen the void that you had worked so hard with your friends to close. If you could rip it out yourself and stop it from what it was made to do you would, but you were already told what that outcome would be.

A loud bang on the door causes you to jump from the couch, almost hitting your head on the ceiling from surprise. Only for the silence to be followed by the door slamming open before you can even take a step towards the entrance. The voice booming louder than the door hitting the wall or knocking combined.

“Ye here lad? We rush’t here as fas’ as we coud. Dimensoon stil’ a’ problem withoot tae wee yin crossin’ tae gap fir us.”

[ficbrish]

Part of my Kinktober 2023 one shot collection

"You were my first."

[Ao3] | [Tumblr]

cw: Blood, cptsd, self-hate, alcohol

Tav Vistri, Act I, right after Bite Night

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

[imasadboi]

Now You’d Rather Leave me Than to Watch me Die in Your Arms.

Listening to "Less Than Zero," by The Weeknd and couldn't help writing this scenario that popped up in my head. I'm thinking Vendetta!Leon for this. . CW: Angst, no comfort

When he’d first laid eyes on you, it felt like he was looking at the sun head on. Your smile captivated him and he knew he couldn’t let you slip from his grasp. Couldn’t turn down this opportunity. Subconsciously, you would be the thing that would force him onto the right path. You’d fix him.

And for a while, everything was fine. It was working. He’d been able to sweep all the darkest parts of himself under the rug. But then you kept pushing, squeezing into every orifice in his heart. He couldn’t pry you out no matter how hard he tried—though he wasn’t really trying. And for once, you saw every “ugly” part of him; the nightmares, the drinking, the self-guilt, and the constant paranoia. You saw through everything. And you stayed.

He resigned himself to already losing you when you saw him for what he truly was; He felt disbelief that you stuck around. But the feeling that your actions were out of pity crawled into his mind and made a home in it. He drank more, he became more aggressive. Stay with me. The two of you fought more. With each passing day he felt worse and worse for making you cry. Don’t leave me. He was pushing you away and he could see the desperation in your eyes how badly you wanted to be there for him. I love you. And finally, the thread between the two of you snapped. His drinking habits became too much. You couldn’t watch him go down this self-destructive path anymore. I’m sorry. When you’d finally moved out of the apartment you shared, he hugged your pillow until your scent faded. You tried your best with me, I know.

[thistlecatfics]

Black cousins and their self-destructive coping habits

(cw's for the obvious)

Bellatrix - cuts herself (as if the first person she uses her knives on isn't herself, as if she doesn't judge how well others can take a little slice)

Andromeda - drinks (like her mother) (all she wants in this world is not to be her mother) (getting sober is as hard as running away)

Narcissa - codependency and magical thinking (fixes everyone else to avoid a moment of self-reflection) (no one notices she's suffering and she mostly manages to ignore it too)

Sirius - chaotic self-destruction (unnecessary fights, alcohol, any potions he can get his hands on, acting as though he's immortal when he really just doesn't care that much about living)

Regulus - restrictive ED in Hogwarts (has to be thin, disciplined, perfect to be a Seeker) (then chaotic substance use in his brief stint as a Death Eater as he unravels)

[houseoffourcats]

What Do You Need to Know Right Now? Pick a Pile & Find Out!

CW: Illustrations of nudity and bondage

I got a new deck yesterday, so I’m going to be using this for today’s reading. For those interested, this is the Fyodor Pavlov deck.

Like what you see here? Check out my Etsy page for a personalized reading!

Pile 1

VI of Wands - VIII of Swords - Knight of Wands

Here we have two powerful figures - both from the Suit of Wands - heading toward the figure in the VIII of Swords, who is utterly powerless, from either direction. The interesting thing, though, is that the figure in and Knight of Wands looks more like the captive than she does the figure in the VI of Wands.

Someone you admire has done some pretty cool things, and has been recognized for them pretty widely. You might be jealous; you might just admire and want to be like them. You’re struggling to be just as good as them, wondering why you’re not able to get anywhere close to that. But you can’t even see how much you’re dealing with that’s holding you back from that; you can feel some of your constraints, but there’s other aspects to this that make that sort of accomplishment more difficult for you than it may have been for the person you’re envisioning. The good news is that the qualities and accomplishments you admire can give you focus as to what you want to be and where you want to go. Still, you’re going to need to become your own version of what you admire through pulling and wriggling and fighting your way out of what’s holding you back, and learning what you’re good at in the process.

One other note here is that you shouldn’t forget what it was like to feel trapped and directionless, and instead go back for others. Like you, they won’t be able to just become someone else. But you can mentor them and help them become who they want to be.

Pile 2

The Devil - Death (Reversed) - Queen of Swords (Reversed)

Oof. This one is pretty heavy based on the Devil and the Death Major Arcana cards, and the Queen of Swords isn’t making it any easier.

This is a spread about being trapped, or at least feeling that way. Something, or someone, has got a hold on you. A bad habit, a bad relationship, or a cycle you keep repeating in trying to resolve a problem. You want out, even if it means trying to accomplish that in a self-destructive way, but you don’t see a way there, or the potential losses are too great to make that change at this point. Unfortunately, you’ve got someone in your life whose opinions you value greatly, or who might even be an authority figure, who is less than sympathetic in all this. From their skewed vantage point, it just looks like you’re acting self-destructively as an irresponsible form of escapism. They’re unnecessarily critical of you, tearing you down further rather than helping you in a kind and constructive way.

Remember that both Death and the Devil are more powerful than even the Queen of Swords, so this is above her paygrade. Here you are, meanwhile, having to grapple with all three of them on your own. That’s a lot! You might not be in a position to tell the Queen to go take her “help” and shove it, but remind yourself as often as possible that criticism coming from the outside is based on incomplete information, and that no one would be stuck in your position just for fun.

Pile 3

II of Wands - The High Priestess - The World

With two Major Arcana cards, this spread suggests you’re about to start something big, with big results - of a good kind!

You’re in the planning stages of your adventure here, perhaps working on them with someone who’s done this before. The plans aren’t the final word, though. The situation will almost certainly call upon you to use what you’ve learned and observed along the way to improvise. Don’t necessarily disregard the advice of someone who’s helped you in this - whether that’s a partner or advisor or experts you’ve read from - but recognize that things may have changed since their opinion was formed, and your intuition is an important piece to that.

If you take this approach of combining both careful planning and intuitive responses to unexpected situations, the outcome will be better than you even expected. You’ll feel accomplished as well as fulfilled, and the theme of completion in the World card suggests that you’ll have done well by the people who helped you along the way too.

If you liked this reading, I hope you’ll check out my Etsy page for further, personalized guidance. For now, though, I hope you’ll enjoy this picture of Queen Arya, First of Her Name, laying claim to the table and all that’s upon it (namely, my new deck):

[finniestoncrane]

Fluffy Socks for Dano and Gotham Riddlers. We know the canon ones, but what about Finnieverse's? Do they have any extras untold?

Destructive Habits

Riddler Headcanons finnieverse akhkjhasd ;-; ANYWAY yeah i had a few already but it was fun thinking up some more for them (also i did all the beans i had hcs for related to this oops!) request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: some sexual things! mostly just discussions about problematic behaviour and thoughts

arkham

i don't include it in a lot of my stuff, but i imagine he excessively smokes, like an inordinate and "how are you not dead yet" amount

he's got that obvious tendency towards alienating people, pushing them away so he can't be forced to experience feelings

i know he says that he makes himself perfectly nutritionally balanced meals, but that's such a weird thing to say unless you're an idiot who refuses to admit that they forget to eat, which he does, all the time

and he doesn't get enough sleep, on purpose. it's become like a game to him. how long can he go this time?

gotham

he's obviously got a tendency to be clingy and obsessive, but i imagine it could get to a point where it becomes co-dependency, which isn't great when it's someone who doesn't even know you exist

ignoring his mental health is also a bit of an issue for him. like he's either unable to recognise that he needs help or admitting that his very intelligent brain might have something that needs to be fixed would be too difficult

i also wouldn't put it past him to engage in impulsive/wreckless behaviours without thinking them through, just to see if he can do that. he'd usually so proper and organised, which he's been mocked for before. so the temptation to just go wild is there

young justice

oh my sweet beloved, so smart and ambitious. and yet, he suffers from the worst efforts in procrastination, mostly because he's afraid of failure so he'd rather put off doing something that complete it and do it wrong, let it be schrodinger's task

he's also very bad for being negative about himself to the point where those views have been ingrained in his little head and he believes them wholeheartedly

capullo

the man is a walking destructive habit, but let's start with his proclivity for engaging in risky sexual behaviours, so sex with people he barely knows, sex without protection, ignorance towards sexual health and sti testing, practising kinks without the knowledge or patience. it's a nightmare

he's also a fan of forced incompetence, preferring to act like he can't do anything so that someone else has to wait on him every minute of the day

look, i don't like it, but i think he would cheat on partners, especially if he was in a happy relationship. anything to make sure that he's not pleased in life, y'know?

which, related to that, he just hurts people he loves, or that he could love. that purposeful isolation in a bid to avoid all feelings he isn't comfortable with, which are all the positive ones, unforuntately

dano

oh, the sweet baby has been lured in by gambling and gaming, and for him they go hand in hand. he'll get lost in a video game for hours, dedicating his life to it. and he'll waste a lot of money on it, just to get better or to have the newest skins/upgrades etc. and in life, he gamifies everything, to the point where he'll waste time, money and effort on things that he should be able to just leave alone or ignore. and with the lootbox culture, he's found himself also intrigued by gambling, which he's certain you can be good at. it doesn't come down to luck, apprently

he'll ignore happiness in order to wallow in self-pity, because he's more comfortable with that. he knows what he's doing when he's at home, moping around and lamenting about how no one loves him or cares for him. trying to find love or affection is scary, so he won't do it

and, a typical chronically online boy, he is addicted to doom-scrolling. he'll purposefully seek out horrible news and avoid the good stuff, and he'll compare himself to everyone else he sees online just to bolster the self-pity and poor self-image

[glacierruler]

Patton Sanders

So, this is my reblog of a post that @cutebisexualmess reblogged and put tags on. And now I must go on a very very long ramble about Patton Sanders and especially his role in Sanders Sides.

I want to be very clear, that this is biased because I relate to him.

I'm not providing clear proof or evidence, because that would require me to watch the whole series again, and I will forget to write this.

CWs include: manipulation and talks of manipulation, talking about morality and the more muddy or unclear bits in it, self destructive habits, self deprecation, depression, and perfectionism

I'm going to be writing this and trying to update the Content Warnings, but I can't promise that I'll get them all.

With that done, if you're able to and would like to read, press read more!

Okay, so first we've got to remember that Patton isn't just Thomas's morality, but he's also Thomas's emotions. Which already muddies a lot of things up right out of the gate.

Morality, while having a kind of unclear dictionary definition, basically boils down to a person's sense of what's right and what's wrong.

Where as, emotions are how you feel about a situation.

I'll (try to remember to) explore both of those topics a bit deeper later on in the post.

So all this to say, that Patton isn't just in charge of what Thomas believes to be right and wrong, but also his feelings on the matter. Which makes him more subjective instead of objective on what's going on. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing in all situations. However, it can be detrimental because, since Patton is Thomas's morality, he has this belief that his views are always morally correct. Which is simply not factual. Morality can be skewed, morality is something that's learned. For most people, when they believe something is morally right or morally wrong, no matter if it is or not, it can be near impossible to convince them otherwise. And when people do things that go against their morals, they tend to feel horrible about it. This is one of the reasons that I believe if Thomas had gone to the callback instead of the wedding, he would've felt horrible there as well.

I'm not going to say I'm unbiased about the outcome of the debate between the callback and wedding, and imo there were better ways to go about figuring out which one to go to. But, what I feel like a lot of people look over when saying Thomas would have been happier going to the callback, is that he probably wouldn't have. Because Patton would feel guilty about missing out on a very important event in some of Thomas's closest friends' lives. Which would have made Thomas feel guilty, which makes it even less likely that Thomas would have been able to perform well, or as well as he would've liked. And as someone who has done acting before(albeit not really outside of the church I used to go to), your emotions going into trying to get a part are extremely important to how well you're going to be able to play the part. So there is a very big chance that if Thomas had gone to the callback instead of the wedding, he wouldn't have gotten the part and would feel even worse about a day where he already feels horrible. (Nevermind the fact that it could very easily spiral into thoughts of 'I went to the callback instead of my best friends' wedding, for no reason. Not only am I a horrible friend, but I suck at acting too.'[For clarification, this is not even close to what I think of Thomas, this is an example of the thoughts that could spiral from if Thomas had gone to the callback and not gotten the part.])

However, as everyone who has watched past the Wedding Redux video would know, Thomas went to the wedding and felt horrible about that. Some of you might understandably be wondering why, as he did what Patton - Thomas's morality- thought was the correct choice. This is because Thomas seemed to want to go to the callback as much if not more than the wedding. Which is where his emotions, which is also Patton, comes into play. Patton now feels guilty and horrible because Thomas wants to go to the callback, and Thomas wants that acting part.

Like, don't get me wrong, Patton absolutely believes going to the wedding was the correct choice, but Thomas had been excited to be fulfilling his dreams of being an actor. And so the excitement of his friends getting married was dampened by the fact that he missed out on what could've been a dream job. And not only that, but now because Thomas is bummed about missing this opportunity, Patton feels guilty about the disappointment, because his friends are getting married and he should be happy and even excited about it. But he isn't. And so, while morally Thomas did the right thing(according to Patton), because he isn't happy about what's happened, that essentially traps Patton in this circle of guilt. Guilt for the choice that Thomas made not making Thomas happy; and guilt for being at Lee and Mary-Lee's wedding to celebrate and not being ecstatic for them. And then there was what happened when Thomas got home and started processing everything.

This has happened before in, I think, at least one previous episode, where Patton has doubled down on his stance. On him being right, because he is Thomas's morality, he knows wrong from right. It. Is. His. Job. So when something(or someone) questions what Patton knows has to be morally correct, he has to shoot it down(I will hopefully remember to come back to this) because if he's wrong, then Thomas is wrong, and if Thomas is wrong, doesn't that make him a bad person? And in that respect, wouldn't that make Patton a bad side? And if he's a bad side, what then?

So Patton does his best to be perfect and correct and right all the time, and in turn he tries to kind of force the other 'light' sides in the same direction, because they need to be perfect. They need to be perfect for Thomas to be perfect. Which, imo, affects Roman the most. Because Roman is Thomas's ego, his creativity, his hopes and dreams, and his passion. With both Patton and Roman needing Thomas to be perfect and the best, it leaves almost no room for failure, which heightens Thomas's anxiety, and makes it less likely that he'll be successful with being logical about his reasoning. (I don't know too much about Remus's function to even semi-accurately allude to how this could be effecting him, and we will be talking about Janus soon.)

To make what was probably going to be a really long ramble shorter. Patton is urging Thomas to do the right thing, because he's morality and he has to be right about what is morally correct. And Roman, is more likely to listen to everything that Patton says, because he's the ego, and needs more positive attention. Being morally correct means more positive attention and that is a good thing. (I am not saying that Roman does or doesn't actually care about doing the right thing, I am saying that he is NOT morality so it is NOT nearly as important to him as positive attention. It is why Janus buttering him up during the trials was discombobulating him so much. And also probably one of the reasons why he started being more hostile to the side after, he did not like the fact that Janus knew how to use his ego against him.) And, I think Patton sort of knows this. Fair warning, this part might be more subjective than most of this post. I think that Patton knows enough to realize that Roman is more likely to agree with him when Roman gains positive attention(when the ego is being fed). And so, he frames things with Roman as though Thomas would be a bad friend for not doing {insert example here}, which Patton does believe. But it's also a blow to Roman at the same time. I don't think Patton realizes the extent of the damage it does to Roman(and in turn Thomas). In my opinion Patton does this because he believes it himself, that Thomas is a bad friend if he doesn't help out(or go to their wedding), and he realizes Roman is more likely to agree with him when he points things like that out. And Roman, as the ego, will not want to openly admit to being hurt by it(iirc the only times he ever tries to vent out his hurt and frustrations are when he can write it off as jokes or make it so his voice is barely heard, and he tends to be vague about it). And it does not help anyone that when Thomas chooses what Patton thinks is morally correct, Roman tends to get positive attention.

But that's unhealthy and can only last so long before everything falls apart.

For the record, I still don't believe that Patton knows that he's actively harming Roman.

Now, we're getting to the aftermath of the wedding(I know I said we were doing that quite a few paragraphs ago, but I realized that I wasn't quite there yet, sorry).

After the wedding, both Patton and Roman are trying to figure out what went wrong. Why couldn't they just be happy for their friend? What went wrong?

So Janus decides to jump in and start explaining to Patton why everything went wrong(in the disguise of Logan until he couldn't anymore). And he tries to go into the more grey areas of morality as a whole, and Patton does not like this. Because Patton believes, and has been raised to believe, that you always do the morally correct thing and that you have to do it for the right reasons. And I can not reiterate this enough, Patton is Thomas's morality and emotions.

So Patton and Janus start arguing. And Roman takes Patton's side, for multiple reasons, but one of them is the fact that one of the biggest blows to the ego tends to be when you are wrong about something you were sure you were right about. Yes, Roman also defended Patton because they are friends, but every decision they make is made by their own functions and their control in what Thomas does, you cannot separate them from their functions when talking about their actions because their actions are shaped by their functions. Throughout this argument things are chaotic and hectic and hard to keep up with. But then Patton turns into a frog and accidentally hurts Thomas while trying to make his point. Because of this, he realizes that Janus is correct in what he's saying. That Thomas needs a fucking break, and he can't do everything right all the time, and that morality isn't quite as simple as he thinks it is. However, the fact that Patton was wrong, kind of shatters Roman, because Roman needed him to be right. Or else what was it all for.

And I want to be very clear here, Patton is reeling from everything that's happened too. He understands that morality isn't quite as easy as crossing a line into being good or bad. I don't think he thought it was quite as simple as I'm saying, I'm just not sure how else to put it. Anyways, Patton while realizing he wasn't right this time, and he might not have been right last time, is too preoccupied with what this new information means for him. And no one is paying any real attention to Roman.

Janus, in order to get everyone present to trust him, tells them his name(iirc, and this detail I'm more iffy on than most, I believe Roman prompted this). Roman, now not just hurting from throwing hopes and dreams down the drain for the wedding but also probably about to sport the biggest bruise to his ego in a long while if not Thomas's life, makes fun of it. And Janus retaliates, poking at his deepest insecurity, comparing him to his twin - Remus. Neither Patton nor Thomas say anything, because in that moment Patton and to an extant Thomas are making that comparison. And then Roman says something about being their hero(I can't remember the exact words, I'm sorry, they're important, I know they're important, I just can't remember). Neither Patton or Thomas respond. And, imo, it's because they no longer know. They don't know. One other thing none of them know, is how much that silence broke Roman.

So, in conclusion. Patton is NOT an innocent little bean who can do no wrong. However he is also NOT unsympathetic.

Again, all of this is my opinions, and why I think this is what's going on. I think it'd be more convincing and have more and even better solid evidence if I had recently rewatched Sanders Sides. But I haven't.

[fleet-off]

A snippet from Off the Handle

(CW: minor accidental self-harm, allusions to suicide.)

His madness begins in the aftermath, when anger loosens its stranglehold and wraps him in its familiar seething caress. Vegas swipes his damp finger along the tips of the knives on the drying rack, traces their honed edges and well-oiled wooden handles.

Who the fuck puts wood in the dishwasher? Even Vegas knows better than that, and he’s more accustomed to the banalities of cleaning crusted blood from a set of pliers than he is to cleaning chili oil from a vegetable knife.

At least the focus required to handwash them has dampened the petty urge to stab them into the kitchen walls.

The bedroom door is shut, but Pete hasn’t left the apartment. As long as Pete is still here, this is fixable. Surely he’ll come out for dinner.

…If Pete skips dinner, Vegas will fucking--

Vegas flings his dish towel to the floor. It lands with an impotent flop.

He’ll fucking what? There’s no forcing Pete to eat when he doesn’t want to.

Pete’s fury shouldn’t be silent. Pete’s fury as Vegas knows it is world-ending, concussive. It batters Vegas’s brain against the inside of his skull and threatens self-immolation.

Vegas runs his thumb down the edge of his butcher’s knife.

There should be blood on the floor, he thinks. He’d feel better for it--Vegas has tidied up the consequences of arguments countless times, knows how to put his pieces back in presentable order almost by rote.

This listless limbo can’t last. Something is coming. Something has to break, to punctuate all that anger. Shattered dishes, ringing ears, bruised skin.

Life was miserably simpler, when Ba was around.

Pete’s anger these days is more like Vegas’s mother’s. Ba used to call her hysterical--but that was Ba’s way, wasn’t it? Pete--(Vegas’s grip on the knife tightens)--Pete has realer, more accurate words.

Ma took what she was given until the very moment she couldn’t. Life broke her, and so death--

A thin twist of pain teases up Vegas’s fingertip. He reacts several seconds late, with a flinch he doesn’t feel but supposes he should--because the blood is welling up from a cut in his finger and the lack of a flinch reflex isn’t adaptive anymore, it just makes Vegas a clumsy fuck-up with cooking burns on his palms.

Vegas frowns at the gash. It barely bleeds until he squeezes it open. Who needs a knife this sharp in their kitchen?

Vegas--more fool him--had thought he did, cheerfully whetting his new knives. “Sharp enough to fillet a man,” he’d told Macau, because Macau would treat it like the joke it was and feel included without having to live the truth of it.

At his corner of the counter, Pete had remained silent, his eyes glittery and dark like a spider’s. That look is habit now, emerges in Pete every time Vegas turns his sharp purpose towards feeding him. The new familiarity spins nostalgia-like in Vegas’s chest.

It isn’t his old life. It’s better.

Vegas’s stomach twists to recall that spark of ownership and joy over his space in their kitchen at the center of the world. What a short-sighted ass he’s been.

Pete wears anger like Ma did. If there is to be blood on the floor, what better means than the knives at the core of the argument?

Impotent. Worse--maker of his loved ones’ annihilation.

…He might get away with one, but Pete would notice if he wrecked all the blades.

Vegas swallows and scoops them up, a steel bouquet in his destructive hands. Self-sabotage waiting to happen. He opens the knife drawer.

It’s better-balanced without the knives in it. Neater, closer to the toothless thing Vegas never was.

His blood has smudged on one of his nice new knife handles. It feels like an omen.

Vegas closes the drawer. He’ll find a temporary home for the knives. They can order takeout, just for the next few days. As long as Pete and Macau are willing to eat, Vegas won’t let his family go hungry.