#something about having to kill off the image of your old self

[neon-danger]

okay so I’ve been on an abhorrently evil supervillain route in baldurs gate right and like no I don’t need jalex to be murder boyfriends but the angst of good aligned durge is so ????

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

[thegnomelord]

heyo!!! here for the prompt game!!!!

can i have 19 with monster au ghost and soap (make em trans if ya can).... reader is male and a top/dom and he's an older dragon hybrid so he has a bit of a dad bod and is a little insecure about his looks and also his age affecting his performance (two lizard pp) i want the boys to comfort their dilf

Ngl this took me so long to do as I just couldn't figure out how to write it 😅 Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Becoming self conscious after the clothes come off

CW:NSFW, monster 141 au, FTM wraith Ghost, FTM werewolf Soap, M!dragon reader, afab language, double dick, oral, double penetration, body worship,

Dragons only stop growing when something kills them and you're old enough to have shed blood on Jerusalem's walls; you know how you look — fat widening your frame and hiding the sharp musculature you possessed, old age muddling fogging the gemstone like shine of your scales until they look like low quality stones, wing membranes dotted with holes and broken horns capped with gold and iron again and again and again throughout the ages.

You watch Ghost and Soap disrobe after a long day of running drills, Simon periodically giving one word answers to Johnny's insistent but welcome chatter as he helps Soap take off his gear after he'd sprained his back. It's domestically calming, watching your boys—your hoard— take care of each other, Soap's eyes settling on yours as he licks his lips; dread stabs your ancient heart. It picks a new spear morning you wake to find them huddling next to you when you expected them to be long gone, sharpening it throughout the day until you find yourself back in your bedroom with them so dark dread can stab your heart once again.

How can you even call them yours?

You're not dumb. You know no partner deserves to doubt their own abilities when you fail to become hard immediately like they do, hairpin triggers that they are. Nor do they deserve to be left needy and wet, bodies rearing to go again quickly while exhaustion claws at your eyelids after just one orgasm; curse your draconic blood for turning more than just your body lazy as the years go by.

You're so deep in your head you don't notice them until four hands grip you and before you know it you're being flung onto the bed. You land with all the grace of a mountain, the bed's groaning under your weight not helping to stop the thoughts in your head. They're on you like wolves, straddling your thighs as if mortal men can pin a dragon down.

"Now whaet's gotten yer tail in'a twist?" Soap asks, greedy hands sliding beneath your shirt to trace the swell of your firm stomach. Your heart preens at his touch before your mind can remind you that in society's vain eyes-their eyes- you're less, just bragging rights, a notch on the bedpost.

"I'm fine." You growl, pulling Johnny's hands out beneath your shirt. He looks defeated like a child deprived of a toy, though your sharp senses pick up a spike of arousal.

"Sure," Ghost's sharp eyes track your every movement, blackened hand gripping your forearm, claws tracing the place were muddy scales melt into human skin. Even completely nude atop your thigh his form strikes a sharp image compared to you. "What, did you get a shite tatt while we weren't lookin'?"

"Is it a tramp stamp?" Johnny perks up at that, a low sound coming from him and his thighs clench around your own, slick dampening your skin. "No, no, a dick tatt." And suddenly his hand's at your groin, fondling the smooth surface of your pelvis over your boxers in an attempt to coax your cocks out of your genital slit. It doesn't work, like usual.

"Fuck's sake," You growl and grab his arm, trying to ignore the swell of your heart when your rough action makes Johnny's arousal spike. "I'm fine, really."

"Mhm, and I'm the Queen." Ghost snorts, using your temporary distraction to lean in and lick a long stripe up the side your neck, nibbling on your ear until a treacherous rumbling purr leaves your chest. Your body doesn't care of the shit going on in your head, only recognizes the sweet arousal of your hoard and the soft touch they leave on your body, rough hands sliding across your skin and feeling the hard muscles beneath the fat.

"More of a princess, sure 'r bossy like one." Johnny pipes up and ducks to escape a swat over the back of the head from Ghost, unperturbed by your grip of his arm Johnny slides his other hand down your front, sharp claws shredding your shirt before you can stop him. "What's wrong bonnie? Not 'nough that this handsome knight comes t' lay yea?"

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes closing to escape their gaze, "I just-" You breathe out, "-just don't know what you see in me."

Silence follows your words and you're sure the next moment they'll get off and this thing you had will just be over. Then a hand grips your hair, your eyes falling open just in time to catch Simon's before he roughly kisses you. Soap is close behind, tail wagging rapidly as he licks the side of your lip and taking Simon's place when you seperate.

"How about we show you, yeah?" Simon growls, briefly groping the firm swell of your abdomen then sliding his hand down to cut your boxers away with his claws, leaving you as bare as they are. Ghost's clever fingers sneak down further to slide across your genital slit, sharp claws tenderly scratching the smooth scales around it and fingers spreading it open, thumb rubbing the head of one cock as it's starting to peek out.

"Not going tae stop us will yae?" Johnny's hands wander over your exposed chest, roughly groping your fat pecs as you both groan into the kiss. "Cause ah been wantin' to do this for a while," Then he pulls his head back and pushes it between your pecs, a low sound escaping him as he shakes his head.

A surprised laugh leaves you as you realize Soap's fucking motorboarding you, nipping and kissing your fat chest. His touch makes fire burn in your stomach, the way both of their hands roam across the wide expanse of your body making goosebumps pop up on your skin.

"Way to ruin the mood mutt," Simon chuckles alongside you, then his eyes go down. "Oh, like us being sweet on you, huh?" He smirks, fingers wrapping around your cock as you only now realize you've gotten hard, "Want us to keep going?" The sharp scent of their arousal is impossible to miss, only making both of your cocks just that much harder.

"Yeah," You breathe out, letting them maneuver you however they want. You end up flat on your back with Ghost stradling your face, cunt leaking slick down on your face. Soap's between your legs with his plump lips already latched on your lower cock, sucking and licking your cock like it's a popsicle.

"Fuck-" Simon yelps when you follow Soap's lead and pull Ghost down firmly on your face, your obscenely long tongue sliding out to lick a fat stripe across his folds. "-just like that. Shit, you take such good care of us." Ghost groans, his voice stroking that draconic need to guard your hoard and making you worm your tongue inside him. The sudden intrusion of your tongue inside his fluttering walls makes him double over you, but soon after you feel him latch on to your second cock.

Even with all your senses consumed by them you still catch the slight whine in Johnny's chest, already imagining him roughly fingering himself as he sucks you off and watches Simon's eyes grow bleary every time you twist your tongue to hit that special spot inside him. Without thinking you slide your tail between Soap's legs, mind flooding with endorphins at Soap's pleased groan around your cock before he's roughly grinding against your tail, cunt wetly pulsing and drawing more sounds from him each time his clit scraps against your scales.

You don't know how long you float in a fog of pleasure, Simon's sweet slick flooding your mouth, skin feeling hot like magma from their hands wandering and groping your flesh like you're some god, mind buzzing from the sound of their collective pleasure and the sweet tight heat of their mouths on your cocks. At some point you become aware of the orgasm steadily encroaching towards you and you'll be damned if you cum before them.

Giving Simon's sweet cunt a final lewd 'slurp' you pull your tongue back, jaw and throat covered in his fluids. Ghost slumps against you, breathing hard while still continuing to suck you off, his eyes meeting Soap's while the Scott desperately humps your tail and whines because it's not enough.

"On the bed." You growl, low and possessive, your strength still surpassing them as you maneuver them. Simon ends up on his back with Johnny pressed up on top of him, both bodies flush with heat and sweaty.

"Fuck, bonnie-" Johnny sucks in a sharp breath and grinds his hips against Simon, biting his shoulder and groaning as the motion makes their cunts rub together, mingling their slick. "Come on, fuck me-us, just-"

"I know," You chuckle, wings subconsciously spreading out to show how big you are, how strong, how you can take care of them. "Need me to fuck you boys good and hard huh?" You let out a low rumbling growl, draping your body over theirs and not holding back so they can feel your weight. You don't miss how their scents sharpen with more arousal.

"Stop talking," Simon growls, brown eyes meeting yours and urging you to press your slick cockheads against their wet holes, each cock almost tailored just for them. Simon groans as you slide in, your first cock not as long as your second one but fat and Simon relishes the burn as you spread him to his limit.

"Shite," Johnny grinds his hips back to meet yours and whimpers when your cock head brushes his cervix, both of their bellies bulging from you being inside them. "God, fockin' love you for this,"

Another small laugh escapes you, "Love you too," making a few short pumps of your hips to get them acclimated to the stretch of you inside them you start making deeper thrusts. "Love you both so much," Your confession is honest from the deepest part of your heart, a deep draconic groan leaving your lips at the way they clench so wonderfully around you.

You see Ghost open his mouth but words escape him as your cock saws into him, all the bumps and ridges on your shaft scraping their soft walls until they're both shaking, soft little moans and deep growls leaving them. You pick up the pace, sharp had thrusts into their pliant bodies making the bed smack against the wall.

You fuck them hard and fast until they're shaking with an orgasm but you don't stop, teeth bared as if to scare off your own pleasure so you can fuck them over and over and over again.

[thewayhavenchronicle]

N Sewell's Big Secret - A Theory

So, I've been replaying N's route lately and an epiphany came to me last night when I was playing the end of Book 3.

It's in Book 2 I believe that you can ask Nate if he's ever killed someone while talking to him about how old he is. He frowns for a minute and says, "Not with my own hands, no."

Weird, right? After what we see in the mirror at the carnival, when he says he got turned at sea, it's clear that the image in the mirror was of that time right after he got turned. He's covered in blood, surrounded by bodies while wearing a British Royal Navy uniform.

Originally, since Falk declared N Not Guilty, I assumed that perhaps N had come to terms with the reaction they had to being a newly turned vampire. I thought maybe they'd lost control and slaughtered the men of the ship, or perhaps they'd been attacked and defended themself. A sort of Jekyll + Hyde situation where N doesn't consider their frenzied state to be truly Them.

BOOK 3 SPOILERS AHEAD

And then we get into Book 3, and it's really clear that N has not been to therapy enough to not blame themself if they'd killed that many people. They're overprotective and selfless to the point of self sacrifice for the slightest inconvenience and they blame themself for any little inconvenience that befalls MC. Clearly, they are not well-adjusted enough to separate something that happened in desperation and fear from who they truly are.

This put me on the back foot, trying to figure out what that could mean. If you are dating N, they tell you about their brother, M*lton, who was killed by vampires. They tell you about joining the Navy to seek revenge or to at least find out what happened to their brother. Makes sense.

The moment that made my theory CLICK in my head happens at the end of the book, if you ignore Rebecca's idea and go alone to the auction.

So, you get captured and the auctioneer person tries to sell you off for your blood. Just like the other 3 routes, N will come to rescue you at the auction, and they have a brief spat with someone in the audience who tries to outbid them.

[ID included on screenshot.]

This moment I originally thought was a pheromone thing. It doesn't seem like just a threat, as Nate seems visibly shaken and weakened by whatever it is he did. Also, the strange way the supernatural responds seems to suggest some kind of influence.

And then it hit me --- "Not with my own hands, no."

N's power is some kind of mind control / suggestion ability.

They never killed anyone with their own hands because they told the pirates / vampires to kill each other or kill themselves.

The theme of control comes up several times in N's route. N prides themself on being very in control of their body and their emotions, keeps their wants hidden and their true feelings locked firmly away beyond anything that is pleasant or kind. It makes me wonder if, aside from being able to influence people on command, if they can accidentally influence people when they get too emotional.

I also think it might require touch to really make the power work. They constantly keep their hands in their pockets and, while this is a normal enough idle motion, the fact that they touched the supernatural here and often put their hands in their pockets / withdraw touch when having a disagreement with someone suggests it might have something to do with it.

The amount of trust that UB must have in N when they have a power like that is enormous. It also sheds new light on the arguments that N and A often get into, as it seems that if N really wanted to, they could get their way every time via this weird power.

It also sheds new light on Rebecca's concern for N and MC. The assumption that MC is immune to this ability is there, but there's always the chance that they aren't, and Rebecca being worried about N forcing MC into doing things via suggestion seems to be very real.

It also makes me wonder if N has ever tested out whether their suggestion works on MC, or if they've thought about it with something small. Makes me wonder if we are entirely immune or if there's going to be some caveat like with M and their pheromones causing MC pain.

EITHER WAY, I feel like I figured it out. I'm losing my mind with the implications of it all.

[keitorin3]

Picture this~

The Marvel Multiverse thing about your dreams but with Merlin.

So I rewatched the "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness" and had this thought about what if Merlin had constant dreams of his alternate future-self before he came to Camelot.

And I don't mean his future-self in S5 but himself in the 21st century.

Like, this would confuse young Merlin who lives in medieval times and has these fantastical dreams where there are moving metal contraptions and steel birds and towering crystal-like buildings.

But most of all, I think that he'd dream of himself as an old professor or doctor. Like, we know Merlin knows how to read and write in S1 and that it was most definitely thanks to his mother, but what if he was more advanced then that?

What if seeing these dreams of another version of himself as a professor or doctor made Merlin truly want to be a physician with Gaius?

But what's more, he brings with him his 21st century mindset into his life like...

*Merlin hearing Kilgharrah*

Kilgharrah: Merlin~

Merlin: Yeah God? I'm kinda in the middle of a midlife crisis you know. Got tossed into prison by a gorgeous blond bimbo who will most likely be my crap boss in the future, so can't be insane right now sorry.

Kilgharrah: ...

Gaius comes in looking cross: Merlin you idiot!

Merlin: Nevermind, god take me now please.

*Merlin meeting Kilgharrah*

Kilgharrah: How small you are for such a great destiny.

Merlin: Holy shit, is this like Braveheart? Wait, no, sorry wrong movie I mean Dragonheart?

Kilgharrah: What?

Merlin: Are you gonna tell me we have to ban together to stop the King from doing something terrible because some dumbass stupidly gave him a gift or something to do with Life or Death and now the king is out of control and must be stopped?

Kilgharrah: ... *after a moment of self doubt and contemplation* Yes... After freeing me, yes. It is your destiny.

Merlin: Hmm, your kinda sus. How do I know you aren't lying to me? And if I have to kill some king can it be someone like Cenred? Total dick king, honestly.

Kilgharrah: *Ignores that for now and will debate destiny later* Your gift, Merlin, was given to you for a reason.

Merlin: So there is a reason for my dreams.

Kilgharrah: Yes-What? No, I meant your magic.

Merlin: But that's forbidden in Camelot, and besides, I need my head for when I become a physician!

Kilgharrah: You were made for a greater purpose Merlin. Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion. But he faces many threats from friend and foe alike. Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.

Merlin: Riiight... And then he and I marry, have brilliant blond children and live happily ever after, while working as a Physician.

Kilgharrah: ... No

Merlin: Then nah, blondy can fight his own battles. Been training to kill since birth I hear.

Kilgharrah: There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't.

Merlin: *mutters* What are you, a fortune cookie?

Kilgharrah: None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin, and none of us can escape it.

Merlin: OK, fine. I'll bite into the forbidden apple, but I'm most likely not bringing an Adam down with me. Arthur is a idiot but I don't see him changing within this century.

Kilgharrah: Perhaps it's your destiny to change that. *Then proceeds to fly off*

Merlin: Wait-! Ugh, thanks for nothing you useless reptile.

Lol, I can just image all the possibilities where Merlin makes a reference to something and everyone around him are just completely confused and just writes him off as a fool with a wide but intelligent imagination.

This was also greatly inspired by @theroundbartable post (here) of 21st century Arthur as King.

So much fun, like I think because of Merlin able to kinda see into his alternate self's life he has the modern perspective but still have the medieval stomach to survive. And, he goes about figuring out his magic using the scientific method of Question , Research, Hypothesis, Experiment, Data Analysis, Conclusion, and Communication. Like why does he not need to speak words? Is magic spells like coding? Or is it a force? Is he a Jedi or a Sith?

Considering flowers bloom when he's happy but rain and storms pour when sad or angry, he is likely neither a force of good or evil.

Merlin has all these internal thoughts and with Gaius, finally has someone to bounce theories off of (that's not Will of Hunith) and share knowledge with.

At some point Gaius would just suggest Merlin write them down (because Gaius is too old and can't keep up as fast). Taking his advise and spends his next pay check on a brand new journal.

And I can see Merlin and Arthur being the same old same old, but Merlin is more concerned for Arthur and Morgana's well being seeing as their only role model is emotionally abusing (and confusing) Uther.

So he'd team up with Gwen and set about trying to make both Pendragon Siblings happy.

And I better end here or else I'll go on and on.

Til next we meet fellow dreamers~! ✨

[thebookbutterfly]

🦋 Chocolate Chips — John Wick x Reader

Summary: Every year you and John celebrate Helen’s birthday. This year would have been her 40th, so you decide to do something special.

Tags: #so much domestic fluff, #a teensy bit of angst, #sometimes babygirl is a 50 year old hit man, #he may kill people for a living but he is SOFT and I will not be taking any arguments about this, #slightly self indulgent

Warnings: Gender Neutral, but reader is suggested to have long hair, no use of Y/N, mentions of death obviously, no beta and no ‘ragrets’

- — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — -

John’s occupation put a lot of things in life into perspective. Getting into silly fights was simply not worth it. Not when every time he walked out the door the stakes were so high. That’s not to say that you never had disagreements. Just that neither of you were willing to partake in petty lack of communication.

You had known about Helen from the very day you and John had begun dating. It was hard not to. The man loved her so much it was written on every piece of him. Strangely though you didn’t mind. How could you? When that wonderful woman had brought him through so much shit and out to the the other side. To you.

Simply to say that Helen was a part of what made the love of your life himself. And so you didn’t mind his love for her at all. Especially now that his love for you was written all over him too.

It was Helen’s birthday today. You saved the date and had been sneakily preparing everything for weeks now. It would have been her 40th birthday, so you wanted to make it extra special this year. John had been out on a contract all day yesterday and so you weren’t too worried about him waking up as you crept downstairs and into the kitchen.

You removed the cake you had baked from the fridge where you had hidden it and placed it on the counter. Chocolate caramel. Her favourite flavour. The big silver four and zero candles were perfect. Along side the cake you placed a large vase full of daisies. It was perfect. All that was left to do was breakfast.

You set to work, cutting up fruit and frying bacon and eggs. You knew John would be starving when he woke up, he always was after a hit. You supposed hunting someone down burned a serious amount of calories. Lastly, you set to work on the pancakes. You knew they were Johns favourite and you were more than happy to indulge him, especially today. He always asked for heaps of chocolate chips in his. You rolled your eyes affectionately at the thought. He was a chocolate fiend but when he stared at you with those big brown eyes. Ugh. Who were you to say no to such a gentle, beautiful man?

You were just plating up the last of the pancakes when you heard soft footsteps padding down the stairs, followed by the excited skitter of Boy as he raced his dad down to the kitchen. John was silent as death so you knew the fact that you could hear him approach was deliberate and more for you than anything else.

Boy entered the room a minute before John did; tail wagging like crazy. You laughed at his enthusiasm and leaned down to ruffle his ears affectionately. John’s sleepy form shuffled in just as Boy managed to land a lick to your cheek. He smiled at the sight of his little family. Boy: seemingly very proud of himself and you: wiping the drool off your face as you stood to greet him.

It was unfair, you thought, for the boogeyman to be someone as cute as him. John was wearing a soft long sleeve shirt and his favourite pair of flannel pyjama pants. As usual he had stolen one of your scrunchies to pull back his long hair— a green one with ducks on it, this time.

You had offered to buy him some of his own. Cool ones to fit his bad-boy assassin image; you had teased. But he had somewhat sheepishly declared that he liked yours better. You didn’t mind. After all you stole a fair share of his clothes too. So you had compromised and bought a few extra for yourself, that way he could be a thief and you wouldn’t run out.

Johns eyes drifted to the cake and the vase of flowers on the counter, and he froze. You watched as the memories hit him one after the other. Boy, sensing his dad’s distress, waddled over to his side and plopped himself down on John’s foot. The contact jolted him back to reality and he lifted his watery eyes to yours. “You did all this?” he finally choked out.

You stepped over boy and slipped your arms around his waist.

“It would be her 40th. I wanted to do something special for her this year,” you replied before a bit of hesitancy creeped into your voice. “Is it okay?”

John wrapped his arms around you, tugging you right against his chest. It took him a minute to reply and your heart thundered as you waited for him to say something. He buried his head into your neck and you cradled him there with the palm of your hand on his nape. Keeping him safe— holding him together as he answered with tears in his voice.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching with your unoccupied hand you began to trace constellations on his back. It was a habit you had gotten from him, actually, but it had stuck with you. He had spent years with nothing but violence for company, so you relished touching him gently.

Slowly, you pulled him to face you. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and swiped away his tears with your thumbs.

“I love you,” you said softly. You held him firmly willing him to really hear it.

“I love you too, so much.”

You stood there for a second, just holding his face in your hands. Enjoying the warmth of his skin. Boy sensed the shift in mood and slowly his tail began to thump against your legs.

“You had a long night last night,” you broke the silence. “Let’s get some food in you. Then after that we can light the candles and you can tell me about some of your favourite memories of Helen. Yeah?”

John nodded, straightening, but kept his grip on your waist as he surveyed all the food you had made.

“I’d love that. Do you mind if we have a look at the photos too?” He asked softly.

“I already put the photo albums out on the coffee table,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

His chest rumbled as he laughed, “Am I that predictable?”

You beamed at the sound, poking him in the ribs as he snuck Boy a piece of bacon. Big softie.

“I think I just happen to know you quite well. You’re much less mysterious than you think,” you teased him and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” he said with one last peck on your lips. “Now, let’s eat before this goes cold.”

[tavolgisvist]

The suits

Think, I don't want to clog the idontwanttospoiltheparty's post so put my comments here. @idontwanttospoiltheparty wrote good tags

I was just thinking about the suits too. And I came to the same conclusion: the suits as a way to express dissatisfaction with something else. Look,

1971 (the trial for the dissolution of The Beatles etc):

He was a theatrical man rather than a businessman, and with us he was a bit like that. He literally fucking cleaned us up. And there were great fights between him and me, over years and years, of me not wanting to dress up. He and Paul had some kind of collusion... to keep me straight. Because I kept spoiling the image, like the time I beat up a guy at Paul's twenty-first (birthday). I nearly killed him, because he insinuated that me and Brian had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind.

(John Lennon, September 5th, 1971, St. Regis Hotel in New York City, interview with Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld)

and 1975 (meeting with Paul in 1974 and after):

Q: How true is the myth that Brian Epstein packaged the Beatles? А: Everything is true and not true about everything. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Both things are both true. Q: That’s a very Yoko answer … But was there a point where you four were very naive? А: Oh, we weren’t naive. We were no more naive than he was. I mean what was he, he was serving in a record shop. And he saw this group of sort of rockers … or greasers playing loud music and a lot of kids paying attention to it. So he thought well, this is a business to be in. He liked the look of us, and thought, I’ll be a manager. It was as simple as that. He said, I think I can manage you, and we had nobody better, and we said, All right, you can do it. Then he went shopping around, getting us work, and then there came to a bit when he said, Look, if you cut your hair… Q: How long was it? А: For then, it was longer than any of the photographs. Normally, in any photograph, it had been trimmed or cut. Even school photographs—have you noticed that— your hair always seemed to be cut the day before they took the school photograph. Or whenever you had a photograph of your holidays, somehow the parents or somebody always managed to cut your hair. But there’s some private pictures where it was pretty long for those days, longer than the early pictures. And it was still greased back, and outside of Liverpool, when we went down South in the leather outfits, the dance-hall promoters didn’t really like us, because they thought we looked like a gang of thugs. So Epstein said, Look, if you wear this suit … and we liked suits, everybody wanted a good suit, a nice black, sharp suit, man … you know, yeah, man, I’ll have a suit. So, if you wear a suit, you get this much money. All right, wear a suit, you get more money, wear a suit, I’ll wear a fucking balloon if they’re going to pay me. He was our salesman. He was our front. If you notice, another quirk of life is that self-made men usually have someone with education to front for them. Epstein had enough education to go in and talk to the hobnobs in their own language, and it’s the same now. If I have a lawsuit, I have to get a lawyer to talk to them. Epstein fronted for the Beatles. He played a great part at whatever he did; he was theatrical, that was for sure, and he believed in us. But he certainly didn’t package us the way they said [he did]. Look, we weren’t picked up off the street, we allowed him to take us. Paul wasn’t so keen [on him], Paul’s more conservative in the way he approaches things, and that’s all well and good—maybe he’ll end up with more yachts.

(John Lennon, FEB 19, 1975, interview with Lisa Robinson)

Different years, different circumstances - and different reactions to the suits.

And we remember Brian wasn't the first person who dressed John in a suit (haha I have a reason to quote Len Garry and add a link to amoralto):

“Yeah yeah, it’s all very well, Paul,” muttered John. “Just because your Dad played in some old time music hall in the thirties doesn’t mean we should go on stage wearing white coats. People will think we’re a bunch of fairies.” “Wait a minute, John, I’m burning the toast.” Paul, clattering about in the kitchen, seemed oblivious to John’s emphatic statement. He then came out of the kitchen with a pile of buttered toast on a large plate for the ravenous horde waiting. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you properly; oh, the white coats, is that what you’re on about? What’s your problem with that? Look John, it’s about time we started smartening up our image because we can’t go on looking like a gang of ruffians just dragged off the streets,” retorted Paul. “We must look professional – we’re on the stage, in the public eye, and appearances are important. If we start looking the part then perhaps you may even be able to get your chords right.” Paul said this last point in a jovial manner, not wishing to rouse John’s temper, as he knew even after short acquaintance with John that he could soon ‘fly off the handle’ if provoked. John seemed unperturbed by the insinuation that Paul was making about his professionalism (or lack of it). There was a silence for a couple of minutes as we all munched on our buttered toast. “Yeah okay – but white coats? I can’t see myself in one of those. Anyway, where would we get them from?” “Never mind that – Nigel will sort that out. Look, it will be you and me up front from now on as main guitarists and vocalists so it’ll look good, the both of us wearing the same gear. It will be white coats, white shirts and black bow ties – the rest of the group can wear white shirts and black bow ties.” John still seemed undecided and looked to me for support. “What do you think, Len?” he asked. “I think the answer lies in the soil,” I said, trying to bring a bit of humour into what seemed to me a contest building up between two strong personalities, each having been used to getting their own way. Continuing in a none-too-serious vein, “But then again I think that you two don’t need us anymore, we’re has-beens.” [...] “Come on, Len, be serious for a minute. What do you think?” repeated John, who was by this time desperate for support. “I honestly think it’s worth a try and it will probably improve our image,” I said half-heartedly. Suddenly John resorted to his lighter mode. “Ooh, eh! We will look smart. Why don’t we hire a limousine and dress up as undertakers instead?” he quipped. “Don’t be thick, John, we’d all have to wear black for that,” Eric Griffiths suddenly interjected. “Okay, we’ll all be in white then – it’s agreed,” said Paul. John then started up with a song that had recently been popularised: “A white sport coat and a pink carnation, I’m getting dressed up for a dance.” With that John did a little dance around the room. The Quarrymen Committee had arrived at another major decision without too much rancour.

(John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles by Len Garry, 1997)

It's interesting, I didn't know:

1963 was the year of the now iconic collarless suit – created for the band by UK tailor, Dougie Millings, whom we learn went on to make over 500 outfits for the group. His collarless creation was conceived in a brainstorming session involving Paul McCartney, who’d originally proposed the idea. Their suits were modeled on an original design by Pierre Cardin, but tweaked to make it a distinctively Beatles’ garment.

(from review of Fashioning the Beatles – The Looks That Shook the World (2023, by Deirdre Kelly)

And the Paul's reason to wear the same suits (from Conversations With McCartney by Paul Du Noyer, 2012):

Later, not long before he died in April 1962, Sutcliffe visited his former group in Liverpool, with Kirchherr on his arm. “He was looking thin and pale, and he must’ve been taking medication, because, like the letter from him reproduced in the book, which is very James Joyce-y and surreal, he was sometimes just floating, and then all of a sudden, he wasn’t,” McCartney recalls. “There’s a picture in the book of Astrid, with her very short, Mia Farrow-type hair, John and Stu outside the Cavern. Not long after that, we were all down there, in the Cavern, and I remember Stu and Astrid walking in, and Stu had this ordinary jacket, but without the collar. We all pissed ourselves laughing. He was not happy, because we didn’t get it, the style. But then, when he died, those famous Beatles collarless jackets, they’re in homage. They weren’t Beatles jackets. They were Stu’s jacket.”

(Mike McCartney, June 2022, interview with Jeff Slate)

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Seven

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): abusive relationship, PTSD/trauma themes, mentions of violence and blood, gun mention, strong language

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread. The next chapter is gonna be... interesting, to say the least. I ALREADY HAVE PLANS ;)

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Pitfall

“Where are you going today, you little fucker?” Simon muttered to himself, not ceasing his iron grip on the wheel.

His eyes flicked from the picture of him on the center console, then to the pistol laid on the empty seat next to him. It was taking every atom inside him not to execute him right then, right there. But he couldn’t.

He had to do this tactically. Not here, not today. But, that imaginary clock was ticking louder—and it would strike the right hour very soon. Simon's restraint was waning; he could no longer bear watching as Cal lead his uncomely existence and acted as if he were the ruler of every place he set foot in.

Simon had been doing this surveillance work since you two made it to the mountains. He’d drive the extra hours into Cal’s new hometown and keep tabs on him, then when the timeline became ridiculous, he’d return to the cabin holding the month’s rations, and you were none the wiser.

If you were to find out, he would chalk it up to his “big plan” for Cal, but in truth, it was all about knowing the person he was going to kill.

On the battlefield, he didn’t know his kills. It eliminated the need to make it personal. But this one, this enemy, it was personal—and in return, so would his method—whether it was going to be with his own two hands, a blade, or a bullet.

He read the small screen, the numbers displaying that of mid-morning. It was time to get back to you, in spite of how much he wanted to get out of the truck and pound him into the pavement. Nevertheless, he pulled out of his space, leaving Cal to his day drinking with friends.

…

He used his trip back to the cabin as his cool-off, a way to revert back to the self you thought he was; a man, your bodyguard, out for the month’s groceries.

Simon returned, holding the hefty bag and a six-pack of the soda you “had to have”. You were kneeling in the snow, practicing with one of his rifles.

He stepped in front of the scope before you made your shot, holding the pack out with a concealed raise of his brow.

“You’re still playing cowboy?” He tossed the pack into the snow, then returned inside.

He’d only bought the soda to not blow his cover, but that was between him and his endless pit of secrets.

—

At last, you succeeded in picking up a signal on the antique TV.

The images were slightly stretched, and the audio was shotty, distorting in ten-second intervals. But nonetheless, it was preferable over the sound of Simon’s grumbling in his sleep or his God-awful snoring.

The only channels it received were the news or endless static—something you figured out after giving the box a few harsh smacks, naturally.

Simon had stirred awake, rubbing his eyes, which remained bloodshot, despite a long nap. The cushion groaned against his weight when he sat up, folding his hands against the back of his head with always persistent fatigue.

On the faulty screen, an upbeat holiday parade unfolded in the heart of the city. It showcased large, joyous families, embellished kiss cams, and enthusiastic newscasters determined to spread the festive spirit to everyone.

You hadn’t thought about the approaching holiday season, since the disastrous ones shared with Cal.

Each festive season was marred by the shadows of shattered expectations; keeping up appearances around family became a painful necessity, often ending in a venomous spat when the front door closed behind them.

Amidst forced smiles and hollow laughter, fighting the disabling grip he had on you, demanding a facade of normalcy in front of his loved ones.

For others, it was a time of high spirits, gift-giving, and bonding. It was nothing more to you than just another item on the list of things he’d taken from you.

If you asked, he would say he hated them too, but Simon’s household was too chaotic to celebrate them. In contrast to the explosivity of yours, his were as unforgiving and cold as the winters in  Manchester. The spirit of the holidays felt distant and unattainable, he had no one to share it with, and the wall he’d built between himself and others repulsed it.

Simon watched the screen silently beside you, although he was better at hiding his distaste for it, given his disguise.

You were only able to withstand a few minutes of it before you caved and pressed the off button. Now, it was only the faint hum of the appliances heard.

“Don’t care for the holidays?” Simon inquired, though he’d already twigged his answer.

Perhaps you did, at one point. Not now, not any time in the near future either. “No, I don’t.” Your reply is kept simple and empty, despite the iron clench you have on the remote.

He nods at the relatability, studying the clench of your jaw, as well as the tension brewing in your posture. It would not take a thousand questions to find out why you hated the holidays, the answer was living and breathing right before him.

He empathized with your feelings to his core, yet he was a man of few words.

In spite of his never-ending silence, you spoke again. “I ran across the country, and it doesn’t feel far enough.” This was the closest you had come to venting, feeling far more worked up than the day at the gas station.

The aspects of the holidays you tried to leave behind had emerged from the shadows so suddenly—a very familiar, looming shadow of the man you tried to suppress.

The kitchen, once a scene of festive warmth, now lay silent and dimly lit, its air heavy with the scent of spilled emotions and shattered resilience. The flickering light above cast haunting shadows across the tiled floor, mirroring the turbulent storm brewing within their soul.

The shattered pieces of a plate lay scattered on the floor, next to the rest of the disarray of the dining room. The runner rug your foot had snagged on, the silverware spilled out of the drawer, the red wine trickling down the edge of the counter and mixing your own crimson.

Cal had left to cool off his explosive temper, leaving you there to mull. Each passing moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, amplifying the overwhelming dolor that had clung to you like a suffocating shroud.

Outside, the snow pelted against the windows, its rhythmic patter echoing the relentless torment that had plagued you for far too long.

Memories of happier times seemed distant and faded, like ghosts haunting the periphery of your wavering consciousness. You yearned for someone, anyone, to come and break you out of this—but no one came.

The pain felt, both physical and emotional, merged into an indistinguishable ache; the fragments embedded into your skin, the healed and fresh contuses that littered you—all a suffocating weight on your wheezing chest.

Yet, even amidst their internal struggle, you knew this would be the last time, the last opportunity for you to find a way out. For the first time, the torment had given you straws to grasp. He had left, and you had at least a half-hour.

No one decent was coming to mend your wounds, only you could do that, before the one who caused them returned, forcing you to endure this nightmare longer.

Grappling with the notion of hope, that’s what allowed you to pull yourself to your feet—to pack your bags and slip through before the door to your destructive life with him slammed for good.

The wave of memories felt more like a silent predator lurking in the depths, these memories surged forth with unexpected force, pulling you into a tumultuous whirlpool of emotions. The undertow of the past jostled you around violently, dragging them back to moments you had desperately tried to forget.

Your once-stone expression had now shattered into pieces, forcing an uncontrollable frown.

“It’s like I never stood up.” It was supposed to come out a self-reflective whisper but rang audible enough for Simon to hear.

Ironically, the only whisper was the melancholic breeze of stirring memories chiming through your head.

Following the frown, it was a pitying look, like you were the pathetic one in this endeavor. He could hardly stand it—because you were right about one thing. No matter how far you went, that bastard had caught up to you, even with Simon at your side. It made his stomach turn, and his heart race with vehemence.

“But you’re here, and he won’t be soon. Remember that.” He replied, turning to face you from the opposite end of the sofa.

His words provided a morbid, forbidden kind of comfort. By this point, the morality of what you’d gotten yourself into was now a distant factor.

Your pocket stirred, surprising you with the sudden buzz of the phone he had gifted you—a device you had almost entirely forgotten about. Aside from the SOS text you sent several weeks ago, there was one more open conversation—a new, unread one from a number partially censored with asterisks.

(***) *** 8701 Instead of tailing me, drive that truck here.

Truck? Cal had seen the truck? Your brows knitted in thought for a few seconds, and then the truth dawned upon you.

Simon had caught a glimpse of it, as well as the second message—a location. He expected you to turn it towards him, but you didn’t. You were frozen again, but this time it wasn’t the heavy conversation, it was aggravation.

You figured it out; all those extra hours away, he wasn’t on a supply run, he was spying on Cal.

“Let me see that.” He outstretched his hand, ushering you to hand him the flip phone. You couldn’t believe it, him of all people. The way you thought he’d changed, that he was going to tell you the things you ‘deserved’ to know, but he’s been going behind your back for months.

You took one last look at the screen, memorizing the message before you until you could recite it.

With a slam of the small screen, you hurled the phone his way. “Matter of a fact, just keep it. I can’t fucking believe you.”

In true fashion, he showed no signs of shock, like he had been expecting this moment to come. The burner phone hit his chest with a sharp smack, but he didn’t recoil, or catch it this time.

“You know, you may think this is some kind of game, but it’s not, Simon. This is my life! Not your big opportunity for a power trip!” You thundered, extending an accusing finger his way.

This whole time, Cal has been in his crosshairs, and you've been sitting around on pins and needles, clueless. The months you’ve been less of yourself than you ever were with Cal, he sat back and listened, while in the process of double-crossing you—on some testosterone-fueled PI work.

With the phone now laying in his lap, Simon just sat there and took the beating. There was nothing he could do, nor knew how to say, that could change what he’d done. He knew Cal had been staying in the nearest city, he really was only spying on him with personal motivations.

If the tables had been turned, he would have wanted to know.

Your words continued their echo off the walls, but you had stormed off to your room already. An agonizing feeling of regret gnawed at him. His inability to apologize added to the torment, leaving him with a longing for a chance to make amends.

Having a spat with you? He could handle that and already had his fair share. But betraying your newly earned trust? He couldn’t handle that.

Without words, or amends to give you, all he had were his actions. The only remaining silver lining? He now had a time and place.

—

The zipping of his duffel bag was followed by the sound of him setting it down with a thump.

Then, he was going through the cabinets, keeping his back turned throughout his entire search. You lifted your head from the steaming cup of tea in your hands.

When he finished stuffing the goods into his smaller bag, he only gave you one glance. “It might take a few days. Once I’m back, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

It wasn’t a question, it was another plan of action he’d set out for you. For once, it was a decision he made you were totally fine with.

He didn’t say anything else, nor did you. There were no more words to utter, scream, or ponder. Simon exited the cabin with a hefty close to the front door, all his crammed bags in hand.

It was clear—Simon was packing his arsenal, and on his way to kill your estranged other half, leaving you here to grieve the man you despised.

At least, when you woke up that morning, that’s what you figured would happen. That’s what Simon thought was going to happen today, but it wasn’t. You knew something he didn’t—what you figured out about halfway through that awful cup of tea.

You weren’t going to sit back and grieve. You were going to be there, too.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery (if you're not properly tagged, it's not letting me)

[trainingdummyrabbit]

sburb is like if the sims was real and also could kill your parents and send you to the evil chess dimension.

also it makes your friends physically turn into furries, and turns betty crocker into a murderous maniac alien.

no listen youre activating my trap card. ok? ok.

sburb and hs as a whole has always had such a deep focus on the idea of Growing Up. i cant remember the details, but i recall mention of many people attempting sburb and failing-- and the only viable attempts we get to see are, yknow. 13-16 year olds.

it has an entire system dedicated to formulaically sort and determine what Type of person every player is, designating them to a True, Ultimate self they Must strive for else the whims of the game systemically kill them off. quests and trials and tribulations all in order to morph the player into the picturesque Ideal of what each Category should be, each with a specific Role and Purpose.

not for their own personal growth, as much as the game insists it as such, but for the games own personal reproduction. it writes itself into the narrative, makes itself an inevitability, closing itself off as an Always Will Be. (there is no way to escape something that . something that is already th

do you ever think about how the death of any influential adult figures and or guardians is hard coded into the game? slapping a bandaid of 'oh you could always bring them back!' under the image of a Sprite, who are Also hard coded to Not explain Anything to the players to let them 'figure it out themselves'? (to follow the game's rhythms and become what is Needed of them? what they will always be and can never stray from?)

you ever think about how the dead versions of players put into sprites or achieving god tier are their own separate ghosts, with their own separate memories, with a life that ends exactly when they become what they need to be?

something to be said about the death of a present self leading directly into becoming the idealized version of a Concept and/or Function. do you ever think about that?

it By Function isolates each player completely from any source of guidance aside from its own prodding to becoming what would service It the most, the most they have remaining being game constructs not quite fitting up to the company of peers or, yknow, other people. awfully lonely, isnt it? (its hard being a kid and growing up. its hard and nobody understands.)

and then afterwards? after doing that little song and dance and making a whole new universe and you did it, all by yourselves, the ultimate goal-- nothing! it just leaves you to it. it doesnt Care anymore, because it's gotten what it wants from you. another world to iterate and do everything all over again. ive just said it, but again: awfully lonely, isnt it?

theres a metaphor to be drawn here. its been forever since ive touched the damn thing, but you can see it, right? its there, right? ceiling stars and white paint.

[idontevenknowifimahumanornot]

What will bsd react when you were drunk

!WARNING : mention of self harm and do the non existing!

Idea : bsd react if you are drunk [ft. Traumatized reader

Couple : dazai x gn! Reader

Part (1/?)

You, a joyfull and loving figure to them.

you, the smiling image in theyre dreams.

you, the calm and resposible one even if the scenerio is cruel.

You, the one who knows theyre moods, jokes, theyre likes, dislike, theyre feelings.

And you, whom have shattered into million pieces and was held by your own hand. And that hand sadly slip because of a drink.

It was odd, atleast for you. dazai have invited you to go on a drink after a rather dificult mission.

You dont want to accept it really–you've been mentally and physicly tired, but yet you gladly accept.

Many suicidal thoughts was running throught your head as your changing in your apartment, it was hard to brush it off as you were, and utterly, tired.

You and him met at small yet calming in some odd way bar.

You and dazai sat in a comfortable silince, occasionally taking a sip and do a little small talk.

"Why did you invite me?" You ask casually, gaze was front to the closets of bottles. Your hand was swirling the glass at hand that was half way finish

"Hm? Because i can!" Dazai answer with a grin, he turn to look at you expecting your ussual soft smile looking at you or your adorbly cute annoyed face that also grace dazai by your gaze.

But no, he was met by a unusual sceen.

Your cheeks was dusted pink from alcohol, you forgot you dont have a high tolarence.

Your eyes seem so dull, so dull it hurt dazai. It reminds him of his old self, your usual resting face now look empty– cold and unforgiving in some way

It wound him that his grin falter– that his usual careless posture tighten. His eyes that seem to gleam when he saw you was dull.

Dull like yours.

"Did you invited me because kunikida say no?" You started out again, your mouth seem like it was moving on its own.

Your hand stop from swirling the glass "if you did...than im a second choice than...hah..." your body slump to the table, the negatuve thoughts you felt startes to came back to you, harshly.

"..." dazai kept quite, didnt know what to do, why? Why cant he do something? Is it because..

You remind him so much like himself?

His mind began to panic–no. Not another him. One is already horible and traumatize enough, he–no, everyone in this fuck up world doesnt need another him.

He hate those dull eyes of your that infront of everyone was gleaming so bright it blinds him, he hates those lips that easily lifted for everyone even if its an enemy or a foe, he hate those aid kit that you like to carry for some reason, he hate how your hair shines in the beutufull moonlight.

He hates how you tricked him into beliving you were alright.

"Maybe....maybe i should...kill myself" as you utter that word, that slash dazai thoughts. He stand up making your drunk state confused.

You stare at the eyes that was attach to his bow head.

His bangs shifted as he raise, revealing his eyes that filled with so much overwhelming emotion that makes you sick and confused.

"Dont." He utter.

He looks angry, sad, confused all at ones.

It amuse your jumbled mind for some reason. You chuckle, yoy snicker you laugh.

"Pwuahahah! W-who...pfft! Who do you think you are? Buahahah!" You laugh, you dont know why but you laugh at his worriedness.

But in the darkest pits in your heart you felt disgusted. Him, dazai, commanding you to not kill yourself? Who does this hypocrite think he is?

You felt guilty. Guilty for laughing. Guilty for making dazai worried. Yet you fekt disgusted, disgusted about yourself, disgusted about the cuts in your thight that you. Didnt even relizing it. Was lining them with your finger.

You want to puke. Oh wait, you already did.

When you spills the content inside of you, you think this is a normal sight. But to dazai its a horror.

He tremble and catch your disgusting, tears from laughing (or crying), stained with puke clothes body into him.

As his tremble hand patted your head your breathe quicken and your sobs incorrect words

"Isamso taried. I want too–i weant to jwust dissapear....i...hate i hate it!!! Why cant i be someone first choice...why am i always the second? Why cant people appreciate mu effort? My feelings? Why cant they just–" you rsmble you scream you weep and let yourself cracked in dazai hands.

As you calm down (and dazai recovering) you faint.

'Ah,' you thought. 'This is better from cutting'

-mf will be so fucking confused and scared because of how well you hide it and how you absaloutely shatter from just a half glass of alcohol😭

-will not know what to do and just, hurt him self (repeatedly) from picking your shattered pieces.

-probably will not let you touch alcahol since this accident and with appointed you to EVERY THERAPY he ever encounter,

-funny thing, kunikida catch a glimpse of dazai making a therapy appointment and was absalouteky livid and proud that he told the agency to trow a party, and when he arrives and they surprise him. He told that "oh, its not for me its for [name]"

-very out of characther for him ngl lol☝️

-if you got comfused by the end, you (as in reader) used self hsrm as a way to cope your pain

[samble-moved]

Madoka's Ascension Can Be Read as a Sort of Suicide

TW: Discussion of suicide, depression, etc.

Note: This is a repost from @/samble, my prev (deleted) blog, done for ease of access. I don't actually think this interpretation this was intentional, but it's another valid way you can read Madoka's actions.

I) Foreward/Beginning

A lot of people associate Homura with the idea of a "depressed character" in Madoka Magica. This makes sense, though you could likely argue most, if not all of the cast, is depressed/traumatized. However, Homura is the most blatent. She is constantly overly self-critical, has very poor self esteem, has canonically attempted suicide and has suicidal thoughts, and her entire witch is literally based around wanting and wanting to die.

But just because Homura's is one of the more in-your-face doesn't mean Madoka, who's literally portrayed as a goddess that gives hope, can't be seen as a character who's also going through things, even pre-Timeloop shenanigans...

II) Madoka's Self Esteem, or Total Lack Thereof

Madoka, throughout most of her appearances throughout the "main" anime timeline, has very obvious low self esteem. She compares herself to others constantly, seems to base her whole sense of self worth off of if she's seen as "helpful", and is always calling herself weak and a burden/bother to others. Most people think (perhaps rightly) that this is only due to the aforementioned Timeloop Shenanigans as shown in the anime, but Madoka actually thinks this way even before Homura becomes a magical girl. See: the drama CDs, specifically #1.

Here's a quote from the CD summary off Puella Magi Wiki that I think stands out (keep in mind, again, this is Timeline One Madoka, NOT the less self-confident Madoka from later Timelines/loops):

"On their way Madoka confesses to Homura that she used to think the same way as Homura, she felt powerless and useless but that changed when she became a magical girl...[before] she felt she was only causing trouble to other people."

This implies Madoka gains her confidence when she becomes a magical girl. But her lack of it in the first place implies TL1 Madoka, if/when she was human, didn't have high self esteem like people think. She got it from winning battles and helping people as a magical girl. So it's entirely possible that having a poor view of herself is actually Madoka's "default", and it can't all be blamed on looping affecting her. It's highly possible "later Timeline" Madoka IS just like First Timeline Madoka — she's just still human.

III) Madoka Only Ever Seems to Like Herself if She's Saving Someone (Even at the Cost of Her Life)

Even in the TL1 Madoka examples, did you notice how she repeatedly says her self esteem only raised after she becomes a magical girl? Being a magical girl, where job benefits include trauma, life threatening situations on the daily, literally no escape but dying, and becoming/watching your friends become eldritch horrors that you have to kill? That doesn't seem like something that would make you feel better, but worse.

However, the main draw to Madoka is saving other people. Forget her own life and safety, she'd rather help others! And...this could be a noble goal, if literally all of her self esteem didn't rest on her doing this.

Think about it. Madoka is fourteen. She's highly self critical, thinks she's useless, and overall has a very poor self image. But then, she contracts. Sure, she's in constant danger (which she acknowledges), but she helps people...which makes her happy, despite all the "mortal peril" drawbacks. Now think about if a normal human middle schooler said this. Like, a normal 13-14 year old girl saying her entire sense of self worth revolves around saving people while putting herself in life threatening situations. Nobody would say this is a "good" thing, most people would think she would need therapy, or to try and base her self worth on other things instead of just something so dangerous, or wait until she's older and has more experience. They wouldn't blindly support such a thing.

IV) Madoka as Someone Passively Suicidal

I want to start out this section by saying I do not think Madoka would ever intentionally and literally kill herself. Thus the "passively" aspect.

Obviously, Madoka never says something to the effect of, "I want to kill myself" or "I want to die" in the anime. However, her actions and blatent disregard for her own safety and life can be read as a more passive instead of active form of suicidal ideation, or just not caring about herself at best.

From choosetherapy, "Passive suicidal ideation happens when people desire death but do not make active plans to harm themselves. These thoughts may sound like, 'I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up,' or 'I wish I could die in a car accident.' Although these are not active plans and tend to be situations in which people do not die by their own hand, people may still engage in riskier behaviors as a result of these thoughts."

From Refinery29, on an article by someone who's dealt with this: "Most days, I enjoyed my life. I was invested in my plans and looked forward to the future. But every now and then, when things were particularly difficult, I wanted to close my eyes and disappear. Thinking about no longer existing was like an emotional reflex, something I sometimes defaulted to when faced with internal pain."

Now, again, Madoka is never for sure shown saying anything like this — but we also don't see a ton of her thought process, in general. What we do see, however, can be a bit alarming.

From the same summary of Drama CD #1: "Madoka tells Homura that she wanted to adopt the black cat [Amy] but apparently it likes being independent. So she asks Homura that if something were to happen to her, she would like Homura to take care of it. Homura panics but Madoka tries to calm her by telling her she is not planning on dying soon."

Remember that Madoka...

Is absolutely willing to throw herself into literal life or death situations to try and save someone, no hesitation, at 14

Is prone to risk taking behaviors in some cases due to the above, even fighting when she knows she will die or doing dangerous things that can 100% get her killed or injured

Does these things because her self esteem is so low she seems to see herself as worthless

Is constantly seemingly belittling herself (

Only gains self worth through saving and helping others, even if it literally results in her dying and is very dangerous (at 14!!!)

Makes a dark joke/request to Homura about Homura watching out for Amy (the cat) if "something happens" to Madoka in TL1, which is a little worrying, since things like making "hypothetical" requests like that sometimes happens if someone is planning on suicide (ex. "If I die, please take care of my pets" or "If something ever happens to me, please do xyz" and yes, I'm aware she doesn't commit suicide then, but I recognized this is likely the reason why Homura is worried).

V) How This Relates to Madoka's Final Wish

AKA how Madoka's self sacrifical nature goes full throttle, resulting in something suspiciously akin to that whole "passively suicidal" thing we just touched on.

I'm not sure if other people have noticed it, but it seems implied that Madoka knew, or at least didn't care that her wish would erase her from existence — and, worse, this is something she wanted to happen.

Mami literally tells Madoka she will never physically be able to stop fighting, and that Madoka will lose all individuality. Mami even tells her dying would be kinder. The same Mami that made a wish to avoid dying. And does Madoka freak out? Seem to show she didn't expect this? No. She just basically says, "Fine. That's what I wanted to do, anyways."

She knew this was a potential aspect of her wish, and does not care that it "kills" her (in a metaphorical sense) by erasing any and all records of her existing, and her as a person.

Remember that part about how something like, "I wish I could just disappear?" can be passive suicidal ideation? Yeah, well it's pretty clear now that this was intentional, or, at "best", something Madoka doesn't mind...when she 100% should absolutely mind as a middle school aged girl.

And Mami isn't the only character who sees Madoka's fate as sad and depressing! Homura thinks so! And Homura says dying would be better when she sold her soul to keep Madoka from dying!

Madoka herself is maybe content with it, but again, Madoka only likes herself if she's saving someone. If she's not, she thinks she's a burden on her friends and family.

Madoka has low self esteem -> Madoka gains it by saving and helping others, even at great risk -> her wish is a literal cultivation of that, as she wishes herself out of existence -> Madoka is likely "content" as the LoC because

She no longer "exists" and has no actual "self" anymore

She is useful and helps people, and only sees herself as anything other than a nuisance and a good for nothing when she's doing things like this

This isn't even getting into the lyrics and implications of Madoka's character song if it's being read this way, which is one of those "sounds happy, is actually really sad" types:

"Cracking a smile, yet I'm feeling lonely / The truth is, I still have more to talk about / But with the words 'See you later' / I say we'll meet again, but it's a lie / and with my usual smile, I say / 'See you tomorrow'"

VI) Additional Notes

I'd like to add (post-posting howomura edit here) that you can commit suicide (or quasi-suicide) for a "selfless" or "good" reason and for it to still be sad and messed up. Nobody is claiming Madoka is evil for sacrificing herself, just that she shouldn't have felt like she had to do it, especially at her age (fourteen).

People who do it so their families can get money, to make political points and attract attention to events, etc, may have "good" intentions and be "selfless" in their actions, but it doesn't mean those people should have had to do it. Altruistic and benevolent suicides are still tragic even if they're meant to be for good cause or to help others as a whole.

[prettyinpwn]

Weird thought that crossed my mind yesterday, I was 50/50 with the fact in The Book of Bill about him being born with an eye mutation that allowed him to see the third dimension. I mean, knowing Bill this might be a lie, that was the thought that was a bit weird for me.

Just to make it clear, the little I know of the book it’s because of analytics posts and clips that shared screenshots of the book. I haven’t bought it yet so my knowledge is limited.

Anyway, honestly, I took it at face value that he was born with a mutation and that’s why he connected to Ford, but in the romance section of the book where he talked about vulnerabilities, Bill said that you need a sob story to have your “partner” eating from the palm on your hand. And while Bill used that trick by sharing the speck of dust from his home dimension, I wonder why he didn’t use the truth of his eye mutation and whatever hardships he went through because of that to manipulate Ford.

If I’m right by remembering this part of the book, in the section of the lost pages of Journal 3, Ford talked about Rudolph, wondering why he didn’t kill his bullies when he saw the Christmas movie about him. And if Bill saw this memory he might’ve thought that exploiting Ford’s resentment against his old bullies would be a great idea to have him by his side. Making him believe he “related” to Ford because he was also “bullied and ostracized” because of his eye mutation.

This has gotten a bit too long but I’m curious to know what you think 🤔

Yeah, it's hard to tell with Bill what's real and what are lies. He manipulates so much that he's pure unreliable narrator, imo. I personally think most if not all of The Book of Bill - at least the parts with Bill as the narrator - are a lie or heavily warped by the way he as a character sees himself; I can't say which parts are real, which parts are just lies as a play for sympathy, which parts are just Bill's self delusions, which parts are accidental slips of truth, etc.

It is odd that he didn't use the "I have a mutation, too!" thing to draw Ford in more, like you said. I almost wonder if it's because whereas the whole "my dimension is gone" story is something that makes Bill look like a tragic hero (which is easy to do when he leaves out that little part where he destroyed it himself), whereas admitting the mutation would be him admitting that something about himself is "off", so to speak. Sort of like admitting a weakness.

The "my dimension is gone" is a half-truth, the "I have a mutation" is a full truth (once again, assuming he is truthful about that), too; telling a full truth would require vulnerability from Bill to tell. And based on how he's faring in the Theraprism, er... he's not so good at vulnerability and honesty. Plus, if Bill found himself relating to Ford, that might nip whatever little tiny bit of conscience he has - if he even has one left - that says, hey... maybe I can empathize with Ford? And that would be a wrench in his plans. He can't manipulate someone he feels empathy for. Or maybe he can and just does it anyways because he's that twisted?

As for the part of the book where Ford talked about destroying his bullies... I think it's similar to my point up above: if Bill admitted he was also a picked on kid, that'd be admitting a "weakness". In Bill's mind, he's the most powerful thing in the Multiverse. He's a walking embodiment of ego gone horribly wrong. He's trying to sell to Ford that he's some grand muse come to inspire a once in a century genius, so it'd break his image if he admitted his mutation/picked on childhood (once again, assuming even those parts are true, because everything Bill says needs to be taken with a grain of salt imo).

[mtchacrvle]

-🌹𝖯𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾.

𝖸𝖺𝗇! Clingy prince X F Knight Reader.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️: mention of stalking, obsession, mention of killing, mention of self harming, yan! Is a big big pervert. (Lots of grammar mistakes. English are not my first language I apologize if it's hard to understand)

Summary: You worked for the royal family. You serve the king. you always loyal to him as he helped your family years ago. You grew up poor with no parents by your side and you have to work to support your 2 younger sibling. The king saw that you have a potential in fighting so he bring you to the castle to try out. Since that you have been devoted to him, you see him as your savior. Bc of him you have no problem with money anymore. Your younger sibling get to live a very comfortable life. But without you realizing something or should I say someone have been keeping they'r eyes on you since day one. And they r holding themselves back from you.

......🌹.......🌹.......🌹.......🌹........

-🌹Yan! prince who felt disgusted bc his father brings you in. He don't understand why his father choose a girl instead of guys??. He felt disgusted bc your "poor" and you don't deserve to be in the castle. He felt disgusted everytime you smile or bow at him.

-🌹Yan! Prince who felt raging mad when his father announced that HE'LL be under YOUR care.?? how can someone lowly as you be taking care of him??. He's father must want to get rid of him bad. The king got mad at him saying no one was willing to be by my side bc of my temper. Well I suppose it's true. But can you blame me? I'm the prince I'm about to be the next king. I can't be seen nor be close to some lowly servant. God what would happen to my image. No princess wants to marry me.

-🌹Yan! Prince who kept on throwing tantrums like a 5 year old and pisses you off anytime he could so that you'll just give up and resign. 1 month, 2 month, 3 month, nothing. It's been almost 5 months and you're still standing. God what r you? Don't you have feelings? He felt pissed bc you aren't bothers by him. You r the first person that still here. Most servants or knights would leave within 2 day 3 if lucky but you. You last for 5 months.He knew that you won't budge so he has to turn his game a little.

-🌹Yan! Prince who started to hurt himself physically so that you would get in trouble. He hires someone ( more like threatening one of the servants ) to jump on him acting like a hitman to kill him while he's on a walk at the garden. Of course his plan is simple. You are basically attached to him like a dog wherever he goes you go. While he was walking in the royal garden he "suddenly" felt thirsty and ordered you to go and get him some water from the kitchen. You were bout to call for a servant but he stops you and tells you that he wants YOU to take it. You decline saying you have to be by his side at all times. He knew that you'll say that that's why he started to lie and that he doesn't really trust the servants and maids. He's scared that they'll put something in his water. You are considering his words and gave in. You're sure that he'll be fine. It's only a one minute walk anyways. So you left.

-🌹Yan! Prince who laughs at your stupidity and starts his plan. He told the servant to get behind him and put the fake knife on his throat. It was so perfect he knew this will bring you out for good. He then started to scream loudly and you and the other servant Including the king butler ran to where he is and saw that he is bout to get "kill". He saw your terrified face when you saw and he chuckled a little. He then whispered to the servant to push him to the ground and ran. But.....he felt that the servant didn't budge. In fact he tightened his grip and pushed the knife deeper into his throat. That's when he realized that was not a fake knife...that's the real one. At that moment he actually started to tear up from fear and actually for the first time in his life that he felt bad for what he had done. The servant whispered onto his ear saying something that made his eyes widen. "You are the reason why my fiance leaves me ..." The servant said while holding his cries . The servant then suddenly yells and claims that bc of the shit you pulled while he was serving you the king punished him so badly that his parents disowned him and his fiance left him. He closed his eyes in fear. No this can't be the end. When he started to pray for his life he suddenly felt the wind hitting his back. He no longer felt wet disgusting tears falling on his ear he didn't feel a sharp knife being held in his throat. When he opened his eyes. He saw that you knocked the servant down by hitting his head. he felt relieved.

-🌹Yan! Prince who was traumatized by the incident he sat in his room afterwards. He overheard from the servants that you were getting punished for your mistake leaving him alone. He doesn't know why but his chest tightened. He felt weird. He's supposed to feel happy that finally after months of trying to get rid of you he finally did it. Not just that he even got you punished. He was supposed to feel thrilled but somehow he didn't...the servant says that you got whipped at the back 100 times. But the king didn't throw you. Bc the king felt like it wasn't entirely your fault and based on your fighting skills it was a shame if he get rid of you just like that. So the king assigned you to be by his side. Plus the king knew that this is all his son game. But whatever it is it is still your fault bc you disobey the rules.

-🌹Yan! Prince who actually felt bad for something that he pulled for the first time. He heard the rumor saying you were by the king side now. But he's craving for your presence. His father assigned a new knight by his side and he didn't see you until 3 days later he finally got to see you again. While he was laying down on the bed he suddenly heard the knock. His knight came in and kneel besides him saying someone is here to meet him. Considering his tone it doesn't look like it's any of his family members. If it's his family members they would just come in without knocking. He taught for a moment and nodded signaling to let the person in.

-🌹Yan! Prince who was shocked to see your face after so long. He didn't know why but seeing your face made his heart beat faster. he knew he didn't see you for only 3 days but somehow it felt like it's been years. He felt warm when he saw you but quickly snapped when he heard your voice. You kneel in front of him considering he absolutely hates it when you are beside him. " My prince how r you feeling?. ". God has your voice sound so angelic before? Maybe it's always been angelic but he's the one that didn't notice that. He felt even more warmer when you asked how he was feeling. Really? How can you still ask and care for him after what he did to you. Without him realizing he was staring at you. You clear your throat and continue " Im not expecting you to acknowledge me I want to apologize for what happened. I wasn't supposed to leave you that day and it's my fault. I deserve every hit every punishment that was given. I just want to say thank you for letting me stay and serve you my prince. I know you don't care but I just want to say that I'm not mad nor felt hatred for you. " You inhaled and got up to bow to him. " And I think you are aware that I'm no longer serving you bc of what happened. I'm now serving The King. Thank you for letting me serve you my prince. ". After giving one last bow you left.

-🌹Yan! Prince who felt like his world is falling apart. No why...oh how he wished he appreciates your presence more when you were by his side. After he woke up from his sleep he went to take a walk at the garden and while he was walking he arrived at the fountain. He saw The King and you by the King side. He saw that there's a carriage that looks like a noble carriage. Then he remembers today is meeting day. Which he has to attend since he will make his debut as the king in a few months.

-🌹Yan! Prince who went into the meeting room with his new knight which he didn't even remember his name. And when he arrives the first thing he sees is you standing behind The King chair. Oh how your beauty stops him. He actually stopped walking your beauty just made his heart beat so damn fast that he was sure that the King could hear it. " Are you ready son. " The King spoke caught his attention. He nodded and went to sit near The King.

-🌹Yan! Prince who didn't even focus on meeting instead he's focusing on you. Oh how you look so pretty with your hair up. How he wondered if he would ever see your hair down. He had these thoughts on you when someone calling out his name. God it is his Father. " Are you alright my son? You look tired." . Oh no I'm completely fine don't worry bout me. Please continue.

-🌹Yan! Prince who won't stop looking at you even after the meeting ended. He doesn't know why but when you open the door for his father he feels jealous. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to open the door for him not for his father. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts when you look at his way and bow at him while giving him a small smile.

-🌹Yan! Prince who never felt love or any feeling toward anybody suddenly started to masturbate while imagining it was your hand . He feels hot. All of his body felt hot oh how he wished you were on top of him kissing him while stroking his cock. Kissing his ear softly and whispering how much you love him, how much you crave for his touch. He cum so much that night. He didn't stop after one round. Oh no he didn't he kept on until he knew he had no cum left. And that's the day he was sure that he loved you.

-🌹Yan! Prince who has two sides one side is he always fantasize your wedding day on his mind every.single.day. that brings him so much joy. Another side of him is when he sees other nobles, knights, servants,maids get too close to you. No matter what gender, even the same gander as you. How he just wants to kill them the most gore way possible. Plug their eyes out so that they can't see your beauty any more. Cut off the hand that pats your shoulder or your back.

-🌹Yan! Prince who has a book that is twice the size of a dictionary. Everything and I mean everything. 2-3 stan of your hair, Your fave handkerchief, your fave food, drink,pet etc. The King actually knew bout his obsession and confronted him that day. He was bout to kill The King but the King knew bout it a long time ago. And he made an agreement. The King will let you by his side again but in one condition. He has to take The King place after his younger brother's party. Ofc mf says yes. He can have you back AND got to rule the kingdom a few months earlier.

-🌹Yan! Prince who became so touchy after you were by his side again. He kept touching your hand, playing with your hair. He would randomly run to you and hug you. His hug is tight so tight that it makes you feel like he's scared that you would fly away if he loosened it. And you were so sure most of the time you could feel he sniff your hair.

-🌹Yan! Prince who day by day becomes more and more bold. He would go to your room and steal your clothes. He would put his shirt under his pillow everyday and he would get mad if any servants or maid came to clean his bed. ( He doesn't want to get caught ). And that's the good thing lol he would make his own bed. Before he went to sleep he would hug and sniff the shirt and cuddle it as it was you. He would smell your underwear to masturbate. Different clothing different uses.

-🌹Yan! Prince who would win over you by changing his personality. Less rude, less stubborn. He even being nice to the servants but ofc it's all just an act. But with you? All the kindness, the affection is real. And he can't wait for him to be The King then you'll be by his side Forever.

Part 2 ? I take recommendations if you'll like ;D

[lightningant]

I've never seen characterizations of Tom and Harry the way yours is. I love how neurotic and messed up they both are -- they're *SO CUTE* too. <3 <3 <3

Tom is just so exhausted and cynical and Harry is a manic catastrophe with sooo many crossed wires and they're HILARIOUS. XD

And just so well written, I cannot tell you how distracted I was for at least a week after I read what you had for your fic -- I truly, truly admire your narration and dialogue and characterizations (I already said that but PLEASE I LOVE THEM SO **BAD** >O< ) Soooo funny and well made.

They're realistic! Tom and Harry are so messy and also normal people at the end of the day who make mistakes and aren't super cool all the time (really, they're utter dorks, and you TOTALLY show thatt) but also they're competent and scary and stubborn and you just have suchh a nice blend of their facets and I JUST....aghhh, I love itt.

Also I ADORE your designs -- I love how Tom is so sickly and neat (you said it best "Victorian child with tuberculosis" LMAO), and Harry is so IDK, he's just a Guy but in the most wonderful way -- I'm not actually good with words :,))))

I just love your art style in general, it's like, realistic yknow. You don't get rid of normal people "imperfections", they're a part of the design or enhance them -- I don't think the word imperfections is right, I just mean like, you don't exclude non-conventionally attractive aspects of bodies or facial expressions??? Idk, I'm trying here, I really am. Just, just, just I like it a lot and I wanna be like that toooooo >.<

IIIIIIII dunno if I have accurately gotten anything across or even given an actual good compliment in this entire thing but anyways you're very cool and awesome and also PLEASE forget that I said they were Babygirl I've never used that word before in my LIFEE and don't know if that was right at all -- if it was nevermind I meant it all and am so cool -- ANYWAYS bye :,)

I don't think I've succeeded in lessening my embarrassment but uhhhhh, I hope I've at least articulated myself better :,)))

Askbomb swag. Thank you, this message was so sweet :) I shall try to match energies.

One of the things I love most is that the kind of person who puts up pretensions is, innately, trying to hide something about themselves they find sub-par. Tom isn't just a scary and incredibly powerful domineering sigma male who is a master manipulator, he is a person who is actively attempting to turn himself into that man, and in my fic he is still a teenager and still tripping his way through that mental image he has of himself. The two worst ages to ever be are 15 and 20; fifteen, when you are ready to shed childhood but don't know what maturity looks like just yet, and 20, when you are ready to become your own person and achieve adulthood, picking your way across existence-defining beliefs. And his only friend for the past like, 7 months? has been his 16-year-old self who has the single-minded objective of looking cool and mature to his adult self. A hell of his own making.

Harry is also 20. He is one of those 'unusually mature for his age' kids and he has an inflated sense of his own righteousness and capability, despite being the actual one with the emotional range of a teaspoon (he just knows to keep it himself). There is no way Harry would detect he is having a manic fit, especially if he is having one that is triggered by his arrested feelings on Sirius. It's incredibly fun writing him perform this extremely risky and reality-altering plan and his plan was "idk, kill him?" and picking shit up off the ground whenever he sees it, the DADA position included. our hero.

Beautiful tragic terminally ill gothic prince / fit jock is really a match made in heaven aesthetically. Cannot get enough of it

Thank you for art compliment too ^_^ I used to lean more to anime fandoms so Harry Potter really let me stretch my legs on more 'normal people' facial features like big noses and soft chins and I'm glad it's clear how much fun I'm having doing that. Yay! Though one of the compliments I've always gotten that I've always been proud of is how distinct the way I draw expressions is.

No no...you're right. Tom is absolutely a babygirl. And Harry...well he was certainly Ginny's babygirl, and I'm sure a part of him is really itching to have someone put their hand on the small of his back 😔

[fleshwerks]

I do want to use Veilguard's 'be who you want to be' philosophy to segue into Anthem, and why it worked in Anthem. Now, Anthem had to benefit of being a first installment, a new IP, and so it had the opportunity to establish tonality, and it did. It was very much 'found family, heroism, save your city, love your friends, be who you are.' and it remained entirely consistent in it.

It saw your friends struggle through the changing world and expectations, yes. And I'd say, the NPCs in Anthem felt a great deal more 'human', and their struggles appropriate and realistic. You have Faye who's a bit of a mind-mage in a society that controls her kind and uses them for labour. It establishes threats caused by the condition (wandering too far and getting lost, being reduced to a hollow husk, a meat body as your mind and spirit fly too close to the sun). Their mental abilities are also very useful and very dangerous and invasive to others. Faye struggles with that, she's a perfectionist, practical, and holds people at arm's length because of it. She has patience, but gets pretty aggressively upset with irrational and stubborn people who don't do what they're supposed to do for the greater good. You have Haluk who's grappling with being an aging rockstar type, who can no longer do what was his claim to fame and self-fulfillment and self-image in the first place, and who's impulsive, aggressive type depressed, and who really, really, really can't accept the fact that yes, his impulsiveness got his entire fleet of lancers killed, that he's no longer a hotshot, not even a cold shot, and that what few friends he had left abandoned him.

You have the secondary cast, one of whom is a Ft Tarsis cop who's chafing under wanting to do things by the book, but also, not wanting to do the things by the book, and generally not relating to people because of her being fairly evidently on the spectrum, struggling to make sense of the world at all, and coming across as incredibly abrasive at first because she just doesn't know how to relate, and it's made her hurt and closed off, deep down.

You have an obsessed dude who gets split in three, and grapples with not just all three of him dying slowly as a result, but also the fact that he's not 'whole' as he was before, but now there's three of him and all three share one person's memories, but are learning to be three separate individuals. And one of them's a real jackass.

The rest of the world does gossip about you and there's interpersonal conflict, but the tonality holds strong: work out your frankly chafing differences, hold fast, stand united, 'stronger together'.

That's the entire setting. Of all things that Anthem got wrong, it got the human element of acceptance, found family and friendship not just incredibly right, but it's consistent with the world, its lore, its philosophy.

Veilguard it seems to me tried to do something very similar, but the established lore supports none of it, and that's why it's so jarring. What's worse, it is absolutely scared to death of being 'problematic'. Anthem had no such qualms, all of your friendly supporting NPCs were lovable, but also utter pieces of work that butted heads often and ferociously, and you as a player were the glue between them. Veilguard is terrified of introducing strife that doesn't get solved with an one minute dialogue by Rook suitable for addressing 5-year-olds fighting over a toy. So not only is the world sanitised, but so are the interpersonal relationships, and the tonal shift of Veilguard in comparison to the previous games just makes for an absolute mess that doesn't feel like Dragon Age at all.

[jell0buss-37]

Why not? (Peter B Parker x reader) pt. 3

God he is such a hunk.

This one took a long time, but there are nods to my Peter B headcannons in this!

Warnings: near death, an epiphany, and a kiss

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

He can't exactly pinpoint the moment he started, but he knows exactly when he realized what these feelings were. And when he had felt the same attraction from you towards him. Only, it wasn't him. A fact that he had put into his head to remind himself of a thousand times probably, and a fact that pained him more than that of MJ's. He finds himself looking back on it, sometimes sadly, more often than not fondly though.

Especially now, as he finds himself in a strange place, staring at an image of himself in a televised obituary.

It makes him wonder what would have happened if he hadn't have been scared to just buck up and face his feelings like an adult. Someone you deserve. He can't wallow in self pity right now though, where the hell is he? All he knows is that he needs to figure out what just happened, and fast. He'll have to lie low for a bit, obviously, given that this does not feel like home, and according to what seems to be a different universe or some alternate timeline, he was dead. Damn, if only he'd payed more attention to Harry whenever he would talk about his work.

Oh yeah. Harry. The one who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He doesn't know why he even decided to take that story on to begin with. Maybe it was the way that glint, that adorable glint of yours that had brightened up at the mention of how his ex roommate was working for Oscorp. Maybe it was the enticing promise of an easy and early end to your guys' shared night, with really tempting movie night plans. Well, any night was tempting if it was with you. Hell, you were his best friend! Why wouldn't he be excited to just hangout with you? To just do anything if it was in your presence? He couldn't help but feel that pride swell in his chest whenever fellow reporters referred to you two as the dynamic duo, who always somehow get to the bottom of any story.

Either or, his judgement was severely clouded due to the Osborne. Norman, Harry's father, had been a very docile man in comparison to his son, a man who just wanted to support his son and his work. However due to that devotion he had been killed in a horrible accident in the Oscorp main lab. Something Peter had tried so hard to prevent, but just happened to fall short in saving Harry's only peace. His grief had turned him cruel, a fast Nemesis of Spiderman. The Green Goblin, as he's known throughout New York. Although Peter hadn't known Harry, his childhood friend, had been the creature in green. Nor Harry with Peter.

It was when he and you had made the trip to visit Harry that Peter had to make a horrible discovery, as well as one of the best discoveries in his life.

Due to his close connection with Harry, they were able to get access to Oscorp facilities "easy peasy!" Peter boasted to you, that shit eating grin of his flashing his features again, making you giggle and roll your eyes fondly at his antics. "It's actually more complex than that, Pete." You hear from behind you, the voice scaring you out of your wits.

"AH- o-oh, uh, Mr Osborne! A pleasure to meet you-" he cuts you off, taking your hand that you had out stretched, bringing your knuckles to his lips to breathe a kiss to your skin. "Please, call me Harry. Mr Osborne was my father. And the pleasure is mine." He speaks with an air of confidence. He seems well put together, handsome. It made you… uncomfortable.

Peter picks up on it immediately, swooping in quickly to help you, while also humbling his old friend. "Woah, Hare, who knew you figured out how to talk to women! I'm proud of you man, those YouTube videos I keep emailing you are finally starting to pay off man!" He claps a hand on Harry's shoulder, effectively taking his attention off of you.

Harry just rolls his eyes. "And how've you been then, Pete? It's been, what, 17 months now? And yet you're still single?? Yikes." He digs at Peter. All he does is laugh, bringing him in for a bear hug, which Harry reciprocates willingly. It had been over a year since he and MJ split up at that point, and he'd say it's safe to say he'd moved on at that point, and can now look at those times as a fond memory. He wasn't really looking for another relationship at that point either. Hell, his best and most stable relationship he had was with you! Why go and add something else to that? You were more than perfect for him. And he was happy with how things were.

You both went up to Harry's office, and enjoyed their playful banter, writing down any juicy stories, wether it be about the company or about Peter. You loved seeing Pete in his element, finally relaxing around someone other than you. His smile was infectious. Although, Harry seemed to be more annoyed, constantly looking at his watch. It was as if he had somewhere to be. Neither of you thought much of it, at the time. He was an important man.

Once it was all over, you and Peter were just walking down by yourselves, you teasing him about his childhood more. Both of you just enjoying yourselves. You both had set foot outside when suddenly it had happened. The top of the building had exploded.

You were in complete shock. All you could do was look up in awe and terror, you hadn't even noticed Peter dashing off. He was gone so quickly, he knew something was off, his Spidey senses going haywire the second you walked out of Harry's office. It's why Peter had rushed you two by suggesting a movie rather than a tour of the facility.

He was suited up quicker than ever, swinging in to help any civilians inside, his main goal being to find Harry. He made it closer to the top, calling out Harry's name as he was putting out different flames. He was mid-air in swing when he was suddenly knocked to the ground, the air in his lungs being knocked from hitting the wall to the side.

"Well well, spiderman, it looks like my hypothesis was correct. You were here the entire time!" He grabs Spiderman, pinning him to the wall. "I could smell you." "Huh, and I thought this new shampoo was working better for me." Spidy chokes out. As he's about to shoot a web into the goblins eyes, it seems someone beat him to it, as a brick hits the goblin in the back of his head, causing him to drop the Hero.

"It's not nice to throw people, dickhead!" At the sound of your voice, his heart stops. Why were you here!? You should be safe on the ground! Before you knew it, the Villain was back on his feet, and snatching you up, jumping through a window and landing of to his air board, Spiderman shooting a web out to attach to the aircraft, tailing behind.

The sounds of your screams were ringing in his ears, as well as the sound of his heart racing. He couldn't panic thought he had to save you. You all had landed on the roof, where Goblin had dropped you off to the side. Spiderman was already on him though, and you watch in awe as they fight, grabbing your camera. After all, that's why you'd ran back up there. Where danger was, Spiderman was soon to follow.

Before you know it, the hero had a leg up on the monster, webbing him down to the ground. It seems a victory was soon! Until one of the Green Goblins bombs were tossed your way. Everything happened in a blur, Spiderman dashing to push you out of the way, the bomb going off and knocking you over the edge.

Peter's heart stopped. One moment you were there, then you were plummeting to your death. He was after you quicker than ever. The sight of your body falling engraving itself into his memory and into the fear in his heart.

You had felt everything in slow motion, absolute fear over taking your senses. You closed your eyes, accepting your fate. Until you feel your head on a hard chest, your body being encompassed in a bear hug, and you hold on to him for dear life, bringing your arms and legs to wrap completely around him. He swung you two over to a nearby rooftop, landing safely.

Your heart was racing a millions miles, and you felt his on your chest. It was so loud, so… comforting. His arms were wrapped around your waist. You felt safe. Until he sets you down and starts yelling at you.

"ARE YOU INSANE!??? WHY THE HELL WERE YOU UP THERE WHY DIDN'T YOU STAY ON THE GROUND WHERE I LEFT YOU!?? DO YOU KNOW YOU COULD'VE DIED TODAY!?" He was talking a lot, holding your face in his hands and inspecting you, they felt so warm. You feel your legs give out, and you fall into his chest, your eyes stinging with tears. He went silent, instead holding you, his fingers carding through your hair.

He smelled so familiar. You looked into his eyes, tears streaming down his face, and his heart stopped. You looked so beautiful. You were alive, and here, and so goddamned beautiful. He couldn't help himself. Before you knew it, you felt a warm pair of lips on your own. Your heart was racing, and they were so soft. And warm. You can't help but melt into him even more. He pulls away, a smack separating your lips. He pulls down his mask almost too quickly, and holds your face in his, commiting the lovesick look in your eyes to memory. And then you were panicking.

"PETER!!" You startle him out of his daze with your panic, scrambling out of his arms and frantically searching for your phone. In all of this action you had completely forgotten about him!!! He watches you as you run around, his heart swelling in his chest at how worried you were for him. Oh no. He's in love with you.