#so for my sake as i learn to be kind to myself and be healthy and take care of myself take care of yourself

[merakiui]

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else. 

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to. 

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today? 

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches. 

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain. 

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that? 

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead. 

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head. 

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake. 

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot. 

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time. 

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me. 

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you. 

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep. 

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching. 

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts. 

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will). 

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.” 

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic. 

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

[wolfiihoney]

You need him to love himself a little.

Okay, I got another one out for my tumbler Besties! I know Toji is a horrible killer and all but lets imagine he isn’t?! Anybody? If this is a little cringe just ignore it please I’m still learning. Reblogs are appreciated always.♡

pairing: Toji x Reader

warnings: none I don’t think

wc: 1139

<<33

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t a nice man and that’s something you knew, but what bothered you the most was how he treated himself.

Toji's expression hardened at your response. "So you're telling me that you won't move in with me because I'm... mean?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of hurt underneath, he could not find out what he was doing wrong.

"Because I'm rude and don't value my own life, is that it?"

Y/n let out a shaky breath, your eyes still watery from crying. "Toji, you may be 'nice' to me, but you're not kind to yourself," you protested, you’re voice filled with concern. "You treat yourself like you don't matter, like your life is worthless. And I can't just sit by and watch you destroy yourself like this."

Toji's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. "You're just overreacting," he said gruffly, avoiding your gaze. "I'm fine. I've always been fine."

Y/n wiped away her tears, determined to get through to him. "But you don't have to be just fine," you protested. "You could be happy, Toji, and not just with me but yourself as well. Don't you want that?" Y/n said getting close. Toji paused for a moment, his tough exterior softening even more at Y/n's words. "I don't know if I even deserve to be happy," he murmured, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of regret.

Y/n's heart ached at his words. "Of course you do, Toji," y/n said, voice filled with love and determination. "You deserve more than just being 'fine.' You deserve joy and happiness. And I want to help you achieve that.” You said bending down next to his seated level.

Toji's facade of indifference began to crumble, and he let out a small sigh. "I've spent so much time just...existing, y/n it’s the only way I know how to be." he said, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I've never really allowed myself to care about much, including myself, I wasn’t raised that way."

Y/n leaned closer to him in the dim living room of his apartment, eyes filled with compassion. "But you do care, Toji," she whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "You just won't let yourself feel anything deeper than that. I mean you care about me…"

Toji's shoulders sagged, his tough demeanor slipping a little at what y/n said. He cared a lot about y/n more than anything in his life.

He looked at Y/n with gratitude in his eyes. "You know I care about you y/n, you know that" he said, his voice low and deep.

Y/n nodded fiercely. "Of course I do." she said, her eyes shining with conviction. "And I care about you, Toji. More than you realize. I want you to be happy and healthy.”

Toji let out a sigh, his tough exterior cracking even further under Y/n's earnest words. "You're really something else, doll," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Y/n couldn't help but return his smile, her heart swelling with affection. "And you're just as stubborn as ever," she teased gently. "But I mean every word, Toji. I want you to take care of yourself, not just for my sake, but for your own."

You could tell Toji still wanted to protest.

Y/n took a deep breath, her expression determined. "Okay, Toji, how about this. I'll consider moving in with you," she said, her tone firm but loving. "But only if you promise me two things."

Toji raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected offer. "Alright, doll. What's the catch?" he asked, his voice gruff but intrigued.

"First," Y/n began, counting off on her fingers. "You have to promise me that you'll work on being kinder to yourself and others. I don't want you to keep putting yourself down."

Toji let out a huff, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine, fine. I'll try to be less of an ass," he grumbled.

Y/n allowed herself a small grin, glad he was at least willing to listen. "And secondly," she continued, "You have to promise me that you'll stop being so reckless with your own life. I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt or worse because of some stupid risky decision you made, I don’t want you to change everything about yourself toji,” y/n said “I just want you to be safe.”

Toji's expression wavered for a moment, his tough facade coming back again. "I can't promise that, doll," he said gruffly. "My job is risky. There's always a chance something could go wrong.” He said sternly until he looked at You, seeing the genuine concern in your eyes, and his resistance faded.

"Alright, doll," he said gruffly, sighing. "I'll promise to be more careful. But I can't promise I won't still live life on the edge a little bit. It's who I am, after all."

Y/n's expression softened, but she stayed firm. "I know your job is dangerous, Toji, but that's exactly my point. You need to be more careful. I just want you to value your own life as much as I value it” y/n said looking into his eyes. Toji finally decided to listen to someone other than his self for once.

“Okay Y/n, I promise.” He said determined to try and love himself a little more

Y/n smiled warmly, feeling hopeful that Toji was willing to make some changes for the sake of their relationship. "I know you're always going to be a bit of a thrill-seeker, Toji," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Toji let out a low deep chuckle, his tough exterior softening even more. "Can you really blame me? Life's more fun that way, doll," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in fond disbelief. "I should have known you'd say something like that but I’m very serious toji fushiguro." she said, playfully slapping his arm.

Toji feigned hurt, clutching his arm dramatically knowing y/n couldn’t hurt him physically even if she wanted to, his body was like a brick wall.

"Hey now, what happened to being nice to me?" he protested, pretending to pout. Y/n couldn't help but giggle at his silly theatrics. "Oh, don't pretend like you don't like a little rough treatment every now and then," she teased, poking him in the chest.

Toji let out a low laugh, his eyes sparkling with affection and something else a little less innocent. "Don’t threaten me with a good time doll," he said, reaching out to pull her closer. Y/n chuckled again, enjoying Toji's playful antics. "I'll be nice to you as long as you stay true to your promises, Toji," y/n said, poking him in the chest gently.

Toji mock-grumbled, but his eyes were sparkling with affection. "Fine, doll. I'll hold up my end of the deal, if it means I get to see that smile on your face," he said, pulling you into his arms.

[theambitiouswoman]

Hi there, I'm back for another ask! I wanted to share some thoughts and get your perspective on love and relationships, or situationships, if you will. I often find myself in the “mom” role among my friends, and with their permission, I’d like to share a recent experience (without disclosing too much).

A friend of mine was talking about her love interest, whom she sees as a "green flag." However, this guy struggles with self-sabotaging behaviours. Instead of viewing it negatively, I reframed it as him being a highly empathetic person who hasn’t yet learned to prioritise healing, which inadvertently leads to hurting others.

Fast forward, they had a meaningful discussion and settled on some mutual understanding about love. Reflecting on what she shared, I realised how often people around us treat “love” as this overwhelming concept that doesn’t easily extend to friendships. But I believe love, commitment, effort, and trust are just as vital in friendships. In fact, I think friendships should have high standards too—because letting just anyone into your life can lead to hurt, even from those we call “friends.”

What’s your take on this? Do you agree that friendship and relationships aren’t so different, with friendship sometimes serving as a “trial” for a deeper relationship? (Ofc, I'm aware there's possibility that treatments in a relationship is way more special and "extra")

I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thanks so much for your time, queen 👑💐💝

hi my love, I love your advice on self sabotaging, I would have 100% said something similar. We can empathize and understand someones behavior, but until they realize it and decide to work on it for themselves, there is a strong possibility that at some point that behavior will also be used on you.

I think it's important to discuss what love is to a person, because so many people view it as too many different things. You’re spot on—people often treat love as this overwhelming, all consuming force, especially in romantic contexts. But love isn’t meant to be chaotic or uncontrollable. It’s steady, intentional, and manifests in the small, consistent acts that build trust and connection. Romantic love and friendship both thrive on commitment and mutual respect.

I agree, friendship should have higher standards. The beauty of high-standard friendships is that they also serve as a mirror. The love, effort and trust you extend in friendship often reflect your readiness to offer the same in a relationship. We are too quick to call everyone a friend these days. We should have high standards for everyone and everything that we accept in our life because it will ultimately have a significant impact on us and our decisions, life etc.

You hit on something so true—friendships and relationships share core values like trust, effort, and love. Many people underestimate how important it is to cultivate strong, healthy friendships, not just for their own sake but as a foundation for future relationships. Friendships are often where we practice vulnerability, communication and forgiveness, which are essential in romantic relationships too.

That said, I see friendships and relationships as complementary rather than identical. Romantic partnerships involve additional layers of intimacy, exclusivity, and long term goals, a strong friendship sets the standard for how you should be treated in any connection.

Imo, relationships (of any kind) are about balance. It’s great to give love generously, but it’s equally important to expect and enforce reciprocity. Friendships don’t always “prepare” you for relationships; sometimes, they’re the relationship you need most.

[17panicattacksinatrenchcoat]

max's writing tips 7: balancing your creations and mental health

heads up! this post is more serious than my other writing advice content and contains light discussions of burnout, anxiety and depression. hiding it behind the 'keep reading' button for those who may find it upsetting

please remember that this is my personal experience, and that the advice I give here is what helped me recover from a bad time, and avoid burnout in the future. I hope my advice can also help you, but if it doesn't, that's okay too! writing advice isn't one size fits all.

Do not push yourself to extremes for the sake of completing a challenge or meeting an arbitrary deadline- Challenging yourself and setting goals is great so long as they are feasible and you will not hurt yourself doing them. In January of this year, I felt like I hadn't been writing enough and forced myself to write every day until I completed the first draft of a novel I'd been putting off. This wasn't healthy because a) I write at a pretty slow pace --I have to let my projects marinate in my head for a good amount of time, and prefer to work multiple projects at once-- so the goal was pretty much the opposite of my preferred writing process and b) I did this with no planning other than writing upwards of 2k words each day for three months. This did not go as planned: I had to stop short of my goal. I did write 80k words (none of which were very good) at the cost of my physical and mental health. After finishing work and life stuff I would sit down at my computer for five hours and wrack out a few thousand words every day for all of January, February, and about half of March. I forgot to drink water and eat enough, lived off of caffeine, and did not sleep because I was planning the next day's work; obviously, this was terrible for me and I felt pretty ill most of the time. My anxiety also flared up during this time. I thought I was having some kind of health problem because I'd lost a bit of weight, was having bad headaches, and was constantly out of breath; I didn't realize until I took a break that I didn't have a medical condition, but that I'd been overworking myself to the breaking point.

Look after your health. I was lucky not to have wreaked any lasting effects on my body during those months, but I felt very bad at the time. Eat substantial meals. Drink enouh water. Sleep enough, for God's sake. Be sure to go outside, also, and keep up with your friends and family; I was a bit of a recluse during this time and was bad about meeting up with people face to face instead of texting them.

Pushing yourself to work quickly to a degree that you're harming yourself will probably not produce a good product. Even if it does end up being good, is it really worth it?

Learn how your writing process works and get better at understanding your mental health needs, and when you need to take breaks. I cannot give you so much advice for this because it's something you need to figure out by yourself. I recommend journaling; also, seeing a therapist if you're able to.

Writing is supposed to be fun (and, if not fun, fulfill you in some other way.) It's your hobby. When your hobby starts taking away more joy than it's giving, it stops being a hobby. It becomes a chore.

Take routine breaks. This doesn't mean that you have to stop writing altogether during those times if you don't want to; it might mean switching up the project you're working on. I also recommend having another creative hobby (cooking, playing an instrument, drawing or painting, scrapbooking/collaging etc) to work on during your breaks.

i hope you're doing well today, everyone. remember that it's okay to go at your own pace.

[juyomiao]

Only ONE - sung hanbin x gn!reader

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

17 ☆ love bomb

< prev | masterlist

chapter warnings : boring , chae threatens hanbin's life at some point , ynbin being so sweet n healthy its sickening

☆ note: aaand with this very boring n underwhelming chapter , only one finally comes to an end (not all hope is lost , tho , as much as i hated writing it at times im so emotionally attached to this series i might consider a little epilogue/spin-off chapter) . AND i managed to squeeze in the haoyn beef explanation ?? tbh when i first posted it i kind of expected it to do fairly well (the boys planet smau writers demographic was like 10 ppl at best back then) but i did not expect it to do this well n singlehandedly gain me almost 500 followers . thats crazy insane bonkers . why am i getting kind of emotional writing this i dont think listening to light the way by cravity was a good idea . anyways , im sorry by the end of it i kind of lost the 'spark' that made this fic good - i couldn't even get to 20 chapters ffs - writing it was more of a chore than a fun little hobby for me n at times it made me genuinely anxious to the point of crying/getting nauseous . yes user li juyomiao is fucking insane but hey ! im alright now i promise ! jumping right into another series is probably not the smartest thing to do but im so excited abt it n i really really want to branch out into writing for other groups n the idea i had was so so good ,, i'll learn from my mistakes n write a few chapters in advance so i can take it easy n not pressure myself , tho :] thank u to everyone who supported only one until its very last chapter !! this authors note is long asf so if u read it all heres a dumpling for u my lovelies �� thats it , li out‼️‼️ (im fr getting emotional good lord help me)

☆ SYNOPSIS: sung hanbin is everyone's dream guy: perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect personality, he has it all. he's even class AND student council president! everyone loves him, and you, as his vice-president, are no exception to that. having been in love with him since you were 12, you try to tone down your feelings "for the sake of professionalism" and claim it's simple admiration for someone who objectively has no flaws. but there is one small detail you missed, in all these years admiring him: he has an even bigger crush on you.

☆ TAGLIST: (italics = couldn't tag) @hananovi @soobeaniee @idkwatodoanymore @huipinkhair @homohoons @rikitachquita @lethalvenus @sunoksunny @tocupid @deafeningtyrantmilkshake @winteringdream @ikeryn @ilovechanhee @thesiriusmap @heelanat @baekstans @blaycke @vernonfernandez @8turning @yeolsbestie @asteroidchenle @hvnyujiq @hikyeom @r4innoms @enhypen-scholarship @sulkygyu @meowrinz @rikimylove @ridinhyuck @lumixen @neohyxn @ceanairy @beomibeom @cherriegyu @sunwcloud @k4hzuhas @annoyingbitch83 @stickersim @dreamyyn @anawesomeaquatic @softforjungwoo @utopiakys @247hrs @sunswoonie @minhui896 @chanhee-hee @nxurxn @peachysohn @kpoprhia @haesunflower

[tricksterpale]

Farewell

It feels strange to write this. I've had this blog for over 10 years now. But the time has come for me to say goodbye.

After much thought and many quiet moments over the 2 year long hiatus spent reflecting, I’ve decided that I’m leaving this account. I’ll leave this blog up, for the sake of memories, for the archives of what was once a vibrant, welcoming place for me and for so many of you. But this will be my last post.

The gw2 fandom here on tumblr in particular, this place that I once cherished and found sanctuary in, no longer feels like a safe and healthy space for me, or for the work I want to share. And so, I find myself at this crossroads, saying goodbye not out of anger or resentment, but out of a quiet need to protect myself and my art.

I will still create. I will still share my work in other spaces, where I can breathe a little easier (and post work that this platform prohibits). But for now, and likely indefinitely, I need to step away from this blog in particular.

The years have not been kind to any of us, have they? The world has tilted in ways we never expected, dragging us all into its churning tides. The world has been harder, scarier, less stable with each passing day. A lot of us have lost things—people, or perhaps just the sense of comfort and security we once took for granted. Some days it's felt like nothing is safe, not even the things that I once believed would always be there.

It’s hard for me to ignore the way the fear, the uncertainty, the instability of the world around us has seemingly seeped into this space as well, turning what once felt like a refuge of comfort into something more toxic. I see the same things happening here that I see out there: endless conflict, divisiveness, quick and damning judgements based on differences of opinion and perspective, walls instead of bridges, cliques, lack of critical thinking, and a constant undercurrent of tension that makes the idea of posting here feel less and less safe for me. It feels as though the tumblr fandom community has become rife with the very things I came here to escape once upon a time. This blog is no longer a place I can find peace in.

These past 5 years in particular have forced me to expand and withdraw in ways I didn’t anticipate. In the beginning when I made this blog, there were the sparks of creativity fanned into blazes, the feeling of being connected to a group of like-minded souls, all of us sharing our love for Guild Wars 2, for art, for storytelling. There were certainly issues, but overall the things that made us different were the same things that brought us together. But as time wore on, it became clear that the fandom had lost something that once felt vital to me. The space became crowded with tension, with a kind of noise I no longer felt equipped to tune out. What once felt like a community that embraced differences in perspectives began to feel like a place where I was on edge, unsure of whether the next post or interaction would be one of support or of conflict.

It’s hard to admit this, but perhaps it’s not just the fandom that has shifted. Perhaps I have, too. The person I was in 2014 isn’t the person I am now, and thank god for that. When I first joined this space, I was looking for connection, for a place to share my work and my passion for Guild Wars. I wanted to be part of something larger than myself. But the world has changed, and so have I. The things that once fed me now leave me feeling hollow, anxious. The echoes of the past still linger, but the resonance isn’t the same. The goals and inspirations I once had feel more like a memory, a forgotten song that no longer moves me or serves me.

This isn’t to say that I regret any of it. I’ve learned so much, about myself and about others. I’ve seen incredible art, met incredible people, and shared moments of joy with many of you. Those things matter. They’ve shaped me in ways I can’t even fully express. But the person I am now can’t exist in the same space I once did. I no longer see the world, or this particular internet corner of the GW2 fandom, through the same lens.

The past five years especially have taught me that change isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes, it’s painful. Sometimes, it’s lonely. But it’s real. And it’s necessary.

My perspective, my sense of what’s important, of what matters, has shifted. The things I once valued here no longer hold the same weight. Like I said, I will leave TricksterPale up. I just will not be posting or logging in here again. For those who know my handle on discord, you can always find me there. You are more than welcome to poke me, even if it's been a long time. But otherwise, you can keep up with my art and musings on my newly created bluesky account from this point forward. I do not have an Instagram or Twitter anymore.

I don’t know what the next chapter looks like, but I know I’m not the same person I was when I first opened this blog. And for that, I’m grateful.

Take care of yourselves, and remember—change is inevitable, but it’s also a chance to grow into something new. Something better. And sometimes, part of that growth is being willing to let go and move on from things that no longer serve you.

[myneurospicyspirit]

If Manifesting Makes You Uncomfortable, You Are Not Alone.

I struggled a lot when I was first on shiftblr because it overlaps a lot with manifestation and loa posts, and a lot of manifestation and loa content is... well, it's not always healthy.

Phrases like "your thoughts control your reality" can be difficult for those who experience intrusive thoughts, anxiety, difficulty with emotional regulation, etc.. "You are god" can cause massive overwhelm. The 3d and 4d "imagination is the one true reality" is unfair to those who malidaptive daydream, experience derealization, experience depersonalization, and (in my personal experience) struggle with executive dysfunction.

It's sad that these phrases are hard to escape, but then to have that be the advice/topic of so much shifting content as well is just kind of terrible. Why? Because it makes shifting and manifesting unhealthy and inaccessible to a large group of people.

I, no joke, went from shifting multiple times (momentary shifts) within a month of learning what shifting was (from shiftok for fucks sake) to being so anxious about shifting that I couldn't think about my DR without spirling. It went a little like this:

Me: I want to stay in my DR longer than a moment so I will look on shiftblr for advice! -> shiftblr: "Reality shifting is just manifesting. The only true reality is imagination. Your thoughts create your reality." -> Me: that means I must only be imagining my life-altering disabilities and I can manifest them away since I reality shifted already. -> imposter syndrome, self-hatred, identity crisis, anxiety over shifting, anxiety over manifesting, being scared of my thoughts, being scared of my imagination, being scared of everything -> going back to select shiftokers, going through old amino things, lots of meditation, doing things that made me feel like myself again. -> realized there's probably a lot of other people out there who are struggling like I was. -> started this blog.

If you're feeling any of the things I was feeling because of shiftblr overlapping with manifestblr, you're not alone.

Your struggles are valid.

You're not faking it.

You are safe here.

[physalian]

Genuinely, I think fanfic and exposure to interpretations of characters and relationships outside of the heteronormative media default is extremely helpful in getting squeamish audiences to understand that their fears are unfounded and ridiculous.

To be clear: You shouldn't get your minority education solely from fanfic. But it is a wonderful place to find stories written by and about minority perspectives to break out of whatever shell life has brought you up in.

Reading fanfic didn’t turn me queer. Reading fanfic gave me that wait a tic this explains so much epiphany that led me to understand myself better.

Fanfic is not at all beholden to only writing healthy depictions of anything and you can be led astray only reading fetishized versions of specific content…

But I also like to think that in fanfic is where authors in these minorities can be their most honest. I’ve read so many fics where, even if it’s *problematic* it’s the author living through their interpretations of the characters and my media literacy is high enough to not take whatever’s on the screen at face value. Because it’s not published, it can’t be found by accident on the shelf at the book store, you have to go looking for it, there’s so much less pressure to perform as what sells, especially since it literally cannot sell.

I don't sort through smut fics with a fine tooth comb and have no idea if the distribution differs among fandom, but in my experience, the only authors fetishizing specific groups are part of those groups, and writing this stuff for themselves and anyone else who might see it and enjoy it. It's not a bunch of weird straight cis homophobes writing gay porn... those people think fanfic is childish and stupid and if they do write it, you can tell immediately when it's written in bad faith. Immediately.

My exposure to fanfic also just normalized so many different kinds of relationships that aren’t visible anywhere else, a lot of them wholesome and rich dives into gay relationships, polycules, kinks, etc. Shockingly, they’re just characters and the stories are rarely nowadays “X’s journey out of the closet”. They’re baked into queernormative settings where they can just be characters who happen to be queer, not “the queer character”.

But also those coming out stories do exist and are often the fic author's experience and those stories are equally valid and important.

The more you read, the more “they’re just people, what’s to be so afraid of?” sets in and it is not perfect I recognize this but if you’re in a place where you don’t have exposure to physical queer spaces, or you’re afraid to be seen at one, or you’re afraid to approach real people to learn more about them, or you just don’t have anyone around you, or you’re not allowed to have anyone around you… fanfic is a consequence-less place to start, that’s 100% free.

I once read a fanfic that had barely anything at all to do with the canon and just used familiar characters and put them in situations like: Girl character suffers extreme period cramps and goes to the group doctor, hey look she has an actual condition. Boy character and his new boyfriend want to be prepared for safe sex so they go to the group doctor for safe sex instructions. It's not all smut and dead doves. It's people being people through their favorite fictional characters. What are you so afraid of?

Is it the possibility that you, too, might discover the answer to the question you've been asking? Is that what you're so afraid of? Wouldn't you rather know? Exposure to queer things doesn't turn you queer for fuck's sake.

Not just queer characters, either. There's thousands of fics taking ambiguously white characters and writing them from POC perspectives. I've seen fics that explore characters as if they were physically disabled, too, written by authors who just want more characters like them. Or takes on mental health issues and disorders. The list goes on and on and on.

Especially in the current political environment where the powers that be are hell-bent on erasing anyone that isn’t cis, white, straight, able-bodied, and neurotypical, fanfic is a bastion of the freedom of expression and if you find that you don’t like a fic, you didn’t pay for it, close the tab and read something else.

There are 100% still kinks that I neither like nor understand (I’m a sex-repulsed ace, cut me some slack) but fanfic was the place where I first heard about a lot of things that I can now, as an adult, learn about in a more professional, non-fictionalized setting, and I learned that none of this shit is as scary as the fear-mongers want you to believe, and reading all these kinks certainly hasn’t made me adopt them.

It's just given me an awareness of people that I didn’t know existed, letting their freak flags fly. We’re all just people, so give us a chance?

[fuzzyfoe]

I just updated the pet hotel shop for Saturday and gave all players more money.

I also have an announcement regarding how the pet hotel is going to be run from now on.

Starting today, the positions of the pets in the rooms will no longer be getting daily updates. Instead, they will only be updated on Wednesdays and Saturdays, the same days when the shop is updated.

When there weren't as many players and everyone had only one pet this was a quick and simple thing for me to do, but now the files for everyone's rooms each contain upwards of 30 layers with the amount of stuff in them and everyone has multiple pets. The combined amount of pets owned by every player right now is 17 pets, so I have been moving the position of, changing the order of layers for, replacing the sprites for, and occasionally drawing eyebrows on 17 pets every single night. For each pet that has a hat I need to change the position, rotation, and layer order of the hat as well. What once took me like two minutes to do every night is now taking me upwards of 30 minutes to do every night, so this is now something that I'm putting more time and effort into every day than the daily creatures and that's kind of absurd.

I probably won't be making any more new pets to add to the shelter or allowing any additional players to join the game either, at least not with this iteration of the game that is. This may be disappointing for some of you to hear, but I've decided that I need to dial it back a little for the sake of my own sanity and my sleep schedule. I've realized that staying up past 1 AM moving pngs around when I have to get up for my 9 to 5 job the next day is probably not healthy and that I should probably stop.

I do have a second, more exciting announcement regarding the pet hotel though: I am now working on turning it into an actual game!

I will be posting updates regarding the game's development here on my Tumblr and once it's in a finished-enough state I will put in on itch.io and game jolt for people to download. I also plan on releasing updates for the game, adding new items and new features and making it a little more polished over time.

Some features I plan to add to the game include minigames you can play to earn money, a breeding mechanic, a shopkeeper NPC that you can talk to, and a room editor.

Since I will be programming algorithms for the game that will be capable of updating everything instantaneously and on-the-fly, you will be able to see the positions of your pets move a lot more frequently than just once a day and the shop will update more frequently than just twice a week. While my plan is for this game to eventually replace the neocities pet hotel, I might actually be able to use what I program for this game to help automate the process of updating all of the rooms for the neocities pet hotel so I might be able to go back to giving everyone's rooms daily updates on my website once I make enough progress on the game.

I originally thought about making this an online game in which players would connect to a server and be able to interact with each other in some way, but I've decided that's a little too ambitious for now and things like the shop updating will just be controlled by the date and time on the player's own PC instead of some server time that would affect everyone's game identically. Once the game is finished I might consider taking the game and making an online version of it that adds online features, but that would be in the distant future. Players can just choose to share screenshots of their rooms and pets for the time being instead of being able to browse any player's rooms and pets at any time I guess.

I didn't expect my silly little pet hotel idea to get this much engagement so I'm partially making this game for you guys so that I'm still able to give you something if I can't keep running the pet hotel the way that I have been, but I'm also mostly just making it for myself because I want to just finally learn how to make shit and be able to feel the satisfaction of being able to create something like this as opposed to lying around creating nothing. But you guys are the reason I finally felt motivated enough to get off my ass and try learning how to make an actual game, so thank you all for that and I'm glad you enjoyed the pet hotel!

[moriartyluver]

can we have some mtp boys (separate) on how they’d treat a fem! Reader who is on her period. You don’t need to make it historically accurate & if you’d prefer, you can make it modern au. Thank you!!!

A/N: I did this in a modern AU as suggested because I have no idea how people would have dealt with periods in the 19th century

Characters: William James Moriarty x fem! Reader , Albert James Moriarty x fem! Reader ,Louis James Moriarty x fem! Reader (separate)

Format: headcannons

Genre: hurt/ comfort, fluff

Prompt: the Moriarty brothers with a reader who is on their period.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader is female, established relationships, periods/menstruation etc.

LOUIS would be such a good partner in general so when you’re on your period? He is doing everything!

He’s already very much a househusband male wife kind of guy but it just gets so much more malewifey when you’re on your period

Oh you’re hot water bottle got slightly less warm? Louis is filling it up for your instantly

He will literally shower you in heating pads

I don’t think he’d be very physically affectionate in general, his love language is definitely acts of service and it’s very evident all the time, but if you ask to be held, hold you he will.

He’ll make you anything you want to eat no matter how strange (I always get really weird cravings on my period so if you do aswell, be prepared because Louis will stop at nothing to make you happy)

He has a whole storage cupboard packed with pads and tampons and whatever else you may use, all with your preferred sizes and brands because he’s just that caring. You never run out of pads or tampons with him around.

If any ones annoying you, he’ll be super pissed off and will actually get into a fight for your sake.

If you’re feeling emotional, he’ll be by your side reassuring you that everything’s okay. He’s a bit emotionally constipated but he tries his best for you.

If you ever need sheets to be washed or clothes to be cleaned, he won’t mind at all and he will definitely not get upset.

He himself doesn’t go out unless necessary so he’ll try stay at home with you all the time, just in case you need something (even if you insist that you’re fine)

Overall rating? 10/10 wifey material

WILLIAM probably knows more about your period than you do. Not in a gross mansplaining way but in a well educated husband kind of way

Like he definitely knows when you’re going to start you’re period based on symptoms and stuff before you get that little red surprise in your underwear. Worst feeling tbh.

He helps you learn how to track your cycle and if you’re an inconsistent period girlie like myself, he’s a great help. Imagine just getting ready to go out and then William tells you to make sure to take a pad/tampon/cup with you before you leave 💀

He pampers you too, especially if you live together, but not in the same way louis does.

He’s a bit more strict when it comes to what you should and shouldn’t eat (it’s the protective teacher in him). Liam makes you take magnesium supplements and makes sure you eat healthy even if you’re craving junk food so your cramps don’t get worse.

He’s probably calculated the perfect temperature for your heat pad/hot water bottle 😭

Probably a little more affectionate than his younger brother would be. If you’re complaining about being cold or uncomfortable, he’d put whatever book he’s reading down and hold his arms wide open for you. William absentmindedly rubs your back while listening to you complain about having a uterus

Definitely pressed kisses to your forehead while you ramble like the old fashioned lover he is 🤭

He makes sure to buy you really good quality pads/tampons and is sure to memorise which brands or types you prefer. Might slip a chocolate bar in there too. He also buys you painkillers and gives you the correct doses and everything at the right times

If you don’t feel like speaking much (he loves talking to you for some reason. its adorable) he gets a little upset but he’s a surprisingly good communicator. He doesn’t want to make you feel uneasy and bless his heart, he does all the chores and everything so you don’t have to suffer further while your uterus tries to fucking kill you

Overall rating? ∞/10 (I am totally not biased) I want to marry him idc if he’s a drawing

ALBERT is stupid. I’m sorry that’s a mean way to start off

I think we can all agree he has OCD or OCPD but he’s so sweet to you despite some seeing periods as a ‘Filthy’ thing.

You bled through the sheets? He’ll calmly help you fix that dw sweetie. If you bleed through your pants in public and anyone gives you any dirty looks or some weird shit because people hate uterus havers, he’s not called one of the most unhinged mtp characters for nothing 😊

Ok but this man knows nothing about periods though. I’m so sorry. Like you had to explain to him that no you can’t hold in the blood nor do you use your pad as a bandaid of some sort

Would probably send you one of these :(yes I made that)

He needs Louis to go shopping with him to help get you stuff because this man is smart enough for eton but not enough to know that different colours on pad packages are not flavours 🙄

Also he’s a shit cook so you still have to do that if u don’t wanna starve

Probably the most affectionate out of the brothers. He’s very cuddly with you when you need him to be (mainly because he feels bad for being so damn useless)

Overall rating? 2/10 💀

[thegreenhordes]

Survivor Diaries - A Mare and Her Monster

[Now that this installment is finished, I will be posting a Mimic guide next week, and will be starting to work on the next post to bring focus back to Null and Penny. More Survivor Diaries will be posted more sporadically as a result.]

It's been a few months since I started noticing Midnight's increasing docile behavior, and things have only gotten stranger since. Everything we know about infected is kind of up in the air now- one of the basic understood facts was that infected ponies have an instinctual drive to attack, eat, and spread The Glow. This seems to be somewhat true for Midnight's Type, but unlike other infected Types, Midnight is 'tameable'. Their behavior is really similar to a feral dog that's being reintroduced to domestic living. Growlers are mindless, living husks that exist on pure instinct. Once they reach the final stage they're like rabid animals. Watchers are intelligent hunters and, according to the Princess's research- what she provides to the public at least- states they may even still be 'aware' or at least possess intelligence on the level of a healthy pony. As far as I know, neither Growlers or Watchers are peaceful in any way, just violent and ravenous through and through. Midnight, though? Midnight is just an animal. A pony like me, once, but just an animal now. A scared animal, who expresses pain with every movement. Their limbs are so distorted because they're broken- and some kind of magic has extended them to an absurd length. I think Midnight trusts me? As much as any wild animal you feed and care for can. I mean, Moon and Sun, they followed me to my camp and just kind of... settled into the house I'm sleeping on the roof of. No signs of aggression, toward me or the rare few survivors that have passed through. It's so bizarre. I've decided something. I'm going to find some way to get this journal to the Princess. Thistle Whistle found me yesterday, and what she said is what brought me to contemplate everything. At first she tried convincing me to come 'home'. But I shut that down fast. Then she told me how she'd seen Midnight, seen me interacting with them, and for a while considered telling somepony. She was just as afraid as I was at first of what she'd seen though, and froze up just the same. I don't blame her, though the both of us keeping quiet about something like this has been massively stupid. Who knows how many non-tamed, hungry Midnights are out there? They're a dangerous capable hunter, and I fear our silence might have lead to unnecessary deaths. She then proceeded to tell me the main reason she came to talk to me. Apparently the Princess was bitten by something not unlike Midnight a short while ago. She's been quarantined for around two weeks, not showing any visible signs of infection. Thistle says she caught a glimpse of Nurse Redheart's corpse while performing Janitor duties in the morgue- poor mare, she was a kind pony. The description of what she looked like is spot on for Midnight's own strange anatomy. So, that confirms that Midnight isn't an anomaly. I asked Thistle to take this journal to the Princess as soon as possible, but that I'd be leaving Ponyville. I'm more capable of survival than I thought, for fuck's sake I tamed an infected monster! That, I think, is impressive all things considered. So I'm going to take things a step further and... travel, I guess. I already have a blackout tent for Midnight to hide in, a platform I can attach to trees for myself to sleep in. Plenty of food, water, weapons. Even if I die, I mean... I don't know. This is all still very strange. I haven't had nightmares about Rose Luck or her death in a long while now. Maybe she's forgiven me, maybe I've forgiven myself. I'm going to give this journal to Thistle now, she's waiting on another roof and watching Midnight. I hear them chattering at her in that inquisitive tone I learned they have. Curiosity. An infected that feels curiosity, huh.

[rat-prophetess]

ASSIGNING PATHO CHARACTERS QUOTES FROM STOIC PHILOSOPHERS, PART 1/?? (EPICTETUS)

Daniil:

“Confidence (courage) then ought to be employed against death, and caution against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary, and employ against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it we employ carelessness, rashness, and indifference. These things Socrates properly used to call tragic masks; for as to children masks appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we are also affected in like manner by events (the things which happen in life) for no other reason than children are by masks… What is death? A tragic mask. Turn it and examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the spirit either now or later as it was separated from it before. Why then are you troubled if it is separated now?”

Artemy:

“You say: “Philosophers talk paradoxes.” But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? And what is more paradoxical than to puncture a man’s eye in order that he may see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the surgical art, would he not ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder, then, if in philosophy also many things which are true appear paradoxical to the inexperienced?”

Clara:

“Why do you not know whence you came? will you not remember when you are eating who you are who eat and whom you feed? When you are in social intercourse, when you are exercising yourself, when you are engaged in discussion, know you not that you are nourishing a god, that you are exercising a god? Wretch, you are carrying about a god with you, and you know it not.”

Plague:

“Therefore, the philosophers say well, that if the good man had foreknowledge of what would happen, he would co-operate towards his own sickness and death and mutilation, since he knows that these things are assigned to him according to the universal arrangement, and that the whole is superior to the part, and the state to the citizen.”

Mark Immortell:

“Remember that thou art an actor in a play; of such a kind as the teacher (author) may choose; if short, of a short one; if long, of a long one… this is your duty, to act well the part that is given to you; but to select the part, belongs to another.”

Rat Prophet:

“Why do you care about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal. But if you will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in six months: but a fever is often a year about it. All these things are only the sound and the noise of empty names.”

The Kin:

“Who are you? A man. If you consider yourself as detached from other men, it is affording to nature to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy. But if you consider yourself as a man and a part of a certain whole, it is for the sake of that whole that at one time you should be sick, at another time take a voyage and run into danger, and at another time be in want, and in some cases die prematurely. Why then are you troubled? Do you not know, that as a foot is no longer a foot if it is detached from the body, so you are no longer a man if you are separated from other men.”

Oyun:

“Through an unreasonable regard to divination many of us omit many duties. For what more can the diviner see than death or danger or disease or generally things of that kind? If then must I expose myself to danger for a friend, and if it is my duty even to die for him, what need have I then for divination? Have I not within me a diviner who has told me the nature or good and evil, and has explained to me the signs (or marks) of both? What need have I then to consult the viscera of victims or the flight of birds, and why do I submit when he says, It is for your interest? For does he know what is for my interest, does he know what is good; and as he has learned the signs of the viscera, has he also learned the signs of good and evil?”

Utopians:

“… since these two things are mingled in the generation of man, body in common with the animals, and reason and intelligence in common with the gods, many incline to this kinship, which is miserable and mortal; and some few to that which is divine and happy. Since then it is of necessity that every man uses everything according to the opinion which he has about it, those, the few… have no mean or ignoble thoughts about themselves; but with the many it is quite the contrary. For they say, What am I? A poor, miserable man, with my wretched bit of flesh. Wretched, indeed; but you possess something better than your bit of flesh. Why then do you neglect that which is better, and why do you attach yourself to this?”

[araminthe]

8 October, Tuesday 2024

Ouffffff

Last time I updated was almost a month ago and let me tell you that sooo much has happened.

(Needed to take some time for myself, and so much happened, didn't have the energy, nor felt the need to share on tumblr)

So,

Main events of the previous month:

- Had multiple outings with friends and family, was soo much fun, made some life memories ♡

- School started, I had to start this year in a degree I don't like, but hey I met soo much girls/friends and we happened to have so much in common, imagine my surprise when I discover thar one of them knows my cousin 🤨, so guess those 3 weeks in this degree were worth it ✨️✨️

- Now, the NEWS I was expecting since the start of september, I wanted to change studies to go into science and I GOT ACCEPTED. Well I have almost 3 weeks of classes to catch up on but at least I LOVE what I'm learning and studying. I definitely did not feel that in my previous degree, but now it's like I can finally exploit my skills and knowledge. I feel like im in the right field. Youhouuu! 🎉

(I'm also on the same campus than a cousin of mine and 2 close friends, isn't everything soo great? I rarely saw them before but now we often cross paths hehe, that's one of the perks of studying in the city you grew up in)

- I also met with multiple close friends I hadn't seen for a long time so it's also a positive note.

- Today, I had my first driving lesson, I never drove a car before so I will have to take between 30 and 35 hours of lesson.

Almost 60euros per lesson, oh gosh that's so expensive 💀💀💀💀

And my cousin only had to drive 20hours. HAAAAAA. *expressing frustration

And omg the instructor literally tried to intimidate me, I think she was testing me, she invaded my personal space, and I was like "Hehe alright when do we start " 😀 Ughh, help.

- I also watched the 2nd season of jjk, and damn gege, stop making the fans suffer.

(I never watch animes even tho I love them, so for me that was also an accomplishment)

Anddd that's it I guess.

Now

Personal goals:

Did I stop scrolling? No, but I'm not extremely addicted anymore, I can stop and not be distracted when I study so it means I improved on that point.

Those last 6 months struggles paid off it means 😁

(But I need to be careful to not fall back into it, I think it could easily happen)

I'm also including short exercices in my routine.

Stretching more often.

I still don't eat healthy, on this aspect I'm doing really bad at the moment 😓

But, I can study without distractions and actually work my lessons, that's a W.

What else could I mention?

Sleep: I have a nice sleep schedule now, I managed to sleep early almost every night and wake up early in the mornings, I feel rested and great.

Mental health: I think it's adulthood doing that to me but I've started to go from optimistic to pessimistic. I discovered lots of new negative feelings during the last year, I don't like how I'm changing negatively.

I guess I just had a taste of reality, not everything's perfect, neither are people, I guess I've started to come out of my bubbly wrapped pink dusted innocent view of life. Welcome to reality as they say. People are not as nice as I had always thought. I'm starting to not like people. But I only became 19 recently after all, i feel like a child mentally, am I not 1 year old in adulthood?

Anyway, I just want to be nice for the sake of it, does it mean they will see me as naive ans stupid? Well I am not, I just chose to be kind.

Let me fight evil with kindness.

Also need to work on my faith, because without it I lose my inner peace.

And to finish, let's talk about health; well, health wise I'm really not doing great. I really can't handle the humidity in my city and everyday I feel like im about to have a heart attack in the sense that I feel this humidity in my head, heart, bones, nose, throat, EVERYDAY. I really don't feel great, and I KNOW that's its because of how humid everything is.

I'm even 80% sure that it's because of the humidity that I developed so much allergies. Screw bad healthcare and bad doctors, in 6 years, couldn't they tell me that I was suffering everyday single day because I had developed so many allergies? Maybe it should have been obvious when I told them that I sneezed literally hundreds of times per day and had a very runny nose every day of the year FOR 6 YEARS

(I feel resentment)

Well.

Overall life has been 70% positive, 30% negative.

So much great things happened and I'm really happy but life's not easy for anyone and like any lambda human, I have my deal of problems.

But well, I think our purpose as humans is to keep trying to BE better and DO better.

So I won't give up, for the sake of my own life.

And we always have more good things in life than bad, others sometimes even have it worse, we just need to be open minded enough to see all the great things that have been granted to us.

Goodnight people.

N'abandonne pas, ça va aller <3

Crois en toi et continue à faire des efforts ✨️

[bakedbakermom]

a prime example of why i don't fucking talk to my mother

tw my mom, weight stuff

so my mom and dad currently have some form of custody over my niece (almost 14, i don't know all the legal details, it's mostly a handshake thing) because my brother is an abusive alcoholic piece of shit and his ex-wife can barely manage to take care of herself, let alone a child.

part of their arrangement means niece spends part of every summer with her mother back in her home state. niece just returned from such a trip, and by her own admission, had a miserable time; ex-sil was working the whole time, so niece was mostly alone playing video games, and her phone wasn't working down there so she couldn't even keep in contact with her friends (or me!). she has some social and developmental issues and has shown a marked regression from where she was before this trip.

my mom's biggest concern though? her weight. with no friends and no physical activity and nothing but [notoriously obese home state foods combined with ex-sils' terrible cooking skills] had some kind of impact on her weight. how much, i don't actually know, because i'm a decent person and didn't ask, and also because my mom doesn't exactly know what healthy looks like on anyone, let alone an adolescent girl.

my mom says she's not going to address this directly with niece (hey wait is that growth?) and instead quietly replace all the food in the house with "healthier" options in the hopes of slimming niece down without her noticing (nope that's not growth, that's despicable actually).

this is the woman who encouraged me to drink SlimFast shakes in fifth fucking grade. i shudder to think what her plan is.

my mom is tall and naturally slim (though she has taken it to a truly horrifying place in the last few years, which is part of why i never see her - it hurts and it's triggering). niece takes after her mom, who is short and chubby. that, btw, is not at all a dig. i am also short and chubby. i have spent the last 20 years learning not to hate myself for that, for not looking like my mom, for not living up to her standards. for not being tall and skinny like her, like my sister. i tried, and nearly died for it.

i hate that my mom thought this was okay to gossip with me about, when she knows my history (however much she denies her role in it). i hate that i don't want her to see me, don't want her in my life, because what if she's judging my body too, gossiping with other people about me too? i don't want her in my daughter's life, either, for the same reason. eating disorders are a complex interaction of nature and nurture, and i'm fighting tooth and bloody nail to save my own life and protect my child from both.

but most of all i hate this for my niece. i hate that her bodily autonomy is being undermined. i hate that the person who is supposed to be watching out for her, teaching her, guiding her, is instead tricking her and judging her and gossiping about her. my mom always claims to be a safe person to talk to, a judgement free zone. she is NOT. "oh honey nothing you could ever say would upset me - wait you're suffering??? how dare you! do you want me to kill myself in front of you to show you how much that hurts me?" (i am paraphrasing, but not by much.)

i wish i could cut her out of my life completely without risking the contact i have with my niece. i wish i felt strong enough to tell her to shut the fuck up any time she brings up food or weight with me. i wish i could scream at her at the top of my lungs - for the sake of me now, and me then, and my niece, and my daughter, and my sister (who despite being the clear favorite did not get out unscathed either), and frankly every girl on the face of the fucking planet.

at least i won't have to talk to her again for at least a month. longer if she forgets my daughter's birthday again.

[soartfullydone]

Did you ever read ACOSF? What did you think of the twilight baby plot?

Everything I know about ACOSF I've learned against my will lol. One of my best friends kept a play-by-play of each chapter in a Google Doc, so she could spare me the reading experience but also so we could make fun of it mercilessly.

In all seriousness, I knew I was never going to subject my eyes to it directly because I hate Nessian with a burning passion. I one-hundred percent believe that Nesta deserves better than everything she got, and she should've been meaner actually. Even when I somewhat liked ACOMAF, I felt utterly indifferent to Cassian. Who is this bland rice cake taking up the space where Lucien should be? No good dialogue or anything out of that guy. And then SJM wrote Nessian into MAF with all the subtlety of a clown show, and it was over. Nesta hates him! Keep him away from her! If she doesn't kill him, I will!

Most baby plots are horrendous in fiction, and I hate them deeply also. They often reduce women to being pure idiots (why do I have morning sickness after unprotected sex? a mystery!) or they reinforce this false idea that women can only achieve ultimate happiness by having their One True Love's baby. Ah, the number of women I know who are stuck in unhappy marriages, their sense of self completely lost because being a Wife and Mother comes first! Can those things be fulfilling? Absolutely. But a lot of folks are selling a romanticized idea of both, and SJM is no exception here.

Because look at what the Twilight baby plot does. It takes away all of Nesta's power, asserts her feelings of worthlessness, and encourages her to be a breeder for Cassian, who never even told her he loved her in their romance book. It puts her firmly and forever under Rhysand's and the Night Court's boot. It confirms that Feyre has also lost all her agency, that the High Lady title is meaningless, that her found family and Court do not respect her, that Rhysand will lie to her and trap her if it serves him to do so. That, ultimately, her body does not belong to her and she doesn't have a choice.

What really gets to me, too, is that these two women have to change their bodies to accommodate their love interests, their supposed fated mates. Methinks if it was fated, if they really were perfect for each other, this kind of change wouldn’t have been necessary 🤔. But also if this really were a fantasy story with all-powerful magical beings, there’s no reason why Feyre’s pregnancy should’ve been so risky to begin with. Barring that, there’s no reason why a C-section couldn’t have been an option. It was drama for the sake of drama, pain for the sake of pain. All filler, no substance.

Everything surrounding the baby plot and Nesta's forced captivity prove ACOMAF for the lie it is, a romanticized idea about overwritten trauma and choosing the Perfect Guy because he can read your mind and tell you the things you want to hear. I mean, how else do we go from Feyre earnestly believing she wants time with her new love, that a child can wait, to a Feyre who can't think of a single gift to give Rhys besides the news of her pregnancy? (Cue him cumming to the sight of their unborn child. I will never forget, and neither will you, dear anon, I'm sorry. But I didn't write it!)

And idk, given how much pregnancy in general squicks me out despite being a woman myself, how much medical care for women generally sucks, how many people are going through such pain with miscarriages, unviable pregnancies, and unclear yet strict abortion laws... This ain't it, fam! If SJM wants to talk real-life application with her trauma bullshit, then let's talk real-life application! Because no one, not a single person, has an I Am Become Death magic sister who can pull a dying mother and their dying baby back from the brink where medicine and the law have failed them. No one can have their premie who can't survive on its own suddenly turned into a healthy six-month-old. Who does this plot serve? Neither the reader nor the characters benefited.

I genuinely can't understand how SJM, as a mother herself, could write something so tone deaf, without even being brave enough to explore this kind of fear and pain with any care whatsoever. If she wanted Feyre and Nesta to actually bond over something... Feyre's pregnancy and what that means as a human-turned-fae and a mother could have been it. That could have been something the sisters discussed and helped each other with, where they could have learned more about each other and their deeper fears as young women in a society that does not truly respect them. Both of them share in family trauma, for fuck's sake! Now here Feyre is starting a new family at great risk while Nesta is still guiltily mourning the one she lost! The dots are there!

But no. Instead, not even Feyre is allowed to learn the truth about her pregnancy until Nesta tells her, and then Nesta is painted as a villain for doing so. Feyre isn't allowed to have any real opinion or lingering fears or doubts about her fate whatsoever. Because none of this stuff really matters, especially not the trauma. It's about the fucking, rutting, animal sex. It's about the smirking males, their dripping seed, and their inability to be anything besides horny at any given moment. It's about the washboard abs. Hey, a sexy story would be just fine with me! I just wish SJM would fully embrace that (and also write it better lmao) and get off her "I'm God's gift to feminism" soap box. Maybe take off the girlboss shades, too, because ain't none of her female characters even living up to the shallowness of a girlboss. The narrative undermines and undervalues them too much.

Actually, I have to clap my hands to SJM for this baby plot. I've never seen one that destroys two main female characters in a single stroke before. That's how powerful Rhysand's dick is.

[fairycosmos]

girl hey how are you?? any tips when you get rejected from a job you really wanted?? 🤡🤡 please send me your wisdom also hope ur doing well hows georgie give her a kiss from me xx

godddddd i'm so sorry to hear this!! the job-hunting landscape is fucking awful at the minute and i know it's extremely difficult to hold out any sort of hope when stuff like this keeps happening. i feel like whenever this has happened to me that i was always told to just kind of move on and pick myself up and while that's true to an extent it's also like ok but i'm losing my mind this is the fucking worst so i think you should allow yourself room to feel like shit over it. don't judge it or try to push it away but don't internalise it or drown in it either (e.g don't fall into the trap of thinking in absolutes such as "this is always going to keep happening" or "i've got no chance of finding a good role because that was my only shot" - it just leads to pointless despair that often isn't based on anything factual.) it's ok to cry or vent or write or scream about it, it's ok that you feel bad because something bad happened. and no it won't always be like this and yes you will have ample opportunity in the future to find another version of your dream job but recognising that right now you're in pain can be healthy and good, too. whenever i'm job-hunting i always try to get to a place where rejection just feels like a dull hit and then i move on to the next, like truly i just force myself to go in with no expectations, fuck it nothings real, trying out whatever persona i think they'll like best and then leaving it all behind me when i get the rejection email LOL. but when it's a position you deeply want, understandably, you'd need some time and space to process not getting it. i rmr what sometimes made me feel a tiny bit better was going over what i learned from the experience, even if it was just getting more comfortable in an interview setting or answering a question well, and building a plan to optimise my approach and basically give myself a better shot at the next interview based on the one i'd lost out on. i could console myself by saying at least i'm growing and at least i'm building up my interview skills and how i present myself every time i do this crap. i can say it wasn't a waste of time even if i didn't get it. if they offer feedback ask for some so you can work on whatever so-called "weak" spots they perceived if any (at the same time though seriously! do not internalise anything job people say to you as like a severe moral flaw like these people would reject an applicant for not smiling enough it's truly meaningless. but for the sake of job-hunting it's just something to keep in mind.) anyway i've noticed sometimes we feel a bit better about this sort of thing if we're able to exert some control over it, if there's some actionable steps we can take like working on our speaking skills or upgrading your CV or whatever. ultimately i think it's good to remember that there are so many different ways for your life to turn out well. the illusion of one path being the absolute key to everything you've ever wanted or dreamed of is just that, an illusion. there's endless versions of the future spanning out in front of you and you have happiness in so many of them - when it comes to friendships, jobs, dating, whatever - there's no singular right way to "be." sending you a massive hug. i know words ring hollow then you feel terrible so maybe come back to this another day if you want to. will give georgie the biggest forehead kiss from you <3 mwah xx