#the demons are existence. i am quite depressed.

[wagoncarryingtheband]

I'm so fuckin annoying and I am so sorry for the way that I am if it is any condolences I also do not want me to be this way.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Six -- Stolas

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Part: Chapter Five -- The Conversation

Warnings: None for this chapter I don't think but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,568

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I promise I am working on getting requests out as quick as I can. Apologies for them taking a while, things have been super hectic recently and I am also massively depressed.

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Y/n thanked the imp guard who let her into the office gracefully as she entered the space. It was dark, all the curtains drawn to cover the windows. The small speck of light that escaped their grasps traversed the floor frantically, bringing Stolas into high relief. He was sitting at his desk, bent over it with his hands tangled in the feathers of his hair. He looked stressed and appeared not to have noticed Y/n's presence. She cleared her throat.

"You asked to see me?"

Stolas raised his head, turning to face her with wide, nearly unseeing eyes. Long ago such a look from such a demon would have sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. Now, she simply watched him. Things had changed, she had changed. The afterlife had finally hardened her.

"Yes." he got to his feet, walking over to her, "I wanted to- what are you wearing?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. The judgment and scrutiny thick on his tongue wasn't helped by his posh accent.

"Clothes?" she indignantly responded.

There wasn't a way for her to exist around the man who owned her soul that wasn't guarded, inside and out. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot slightly.

"My dear, you look lik-"

"Don't call me that." Y/n interrupted, "I've asked you before. I don't like it."

The name was an infringement of boundaries. It simulated closeness and before today drove the nails of loss further into the muscle of her heart. In a way, it still did. Alastor was back but, he had still gone and things were still different. Y/n couldn't quite get a read on him yet, his plans and ambitions, his purpose in returning and in finding her.

She felt like what he wanted was for things to go back to normal, to the way they had been. Y/n knew that was an impossible future for her and had the slight idea that it might be for him as well. To be perfectly honest, Y/n wasn't sure she even really wanted things to go back.

The dress had been nice and she had wished for Alastor to return many times over the years but she had also worked hard for her life. She had tried, put all her effort in, and she liked the person that had come out the other side. There was a fear in Alastor's return, a fear that with him back, all her hard work would be undone. That she would comfortably let herself slip back into the familiar, becoming nothing but his guest star once again. Still, she knew Alastor, knew he would always do what it took to get what he wanted regardless of how anyone else felt about it. It was the one truly consistent thing about him.

"My apologies." Stolas sighed, "I was simply taken aback by your appearance. You look like a human."

"I know." she hummed, unable to keep the slight smile, the slight hint of warmth from her voice.

Y/n was conflicted about Alastor but she was still happy he was back, overjoyed even. The conflict didn't stop those feelings from bubbling to the surface.

"It was a gift."

"A gift?" Stolas repeated, intrigued, "From whom?"

"It doesn't matter." Y/n shook her head, all semblance of a smile falling from her features, "Why did you ask me to come?"

"Always straight to business with you." he mused, "It wasn't Blitzo, was it? I know you two are close..."

There was an unvoiced fear in his question. Y/n couldn't quite trace it's origin. Stolas was always odd when it came to the imp in question however and so, she payed it no mind. There was enough going on without any added pressure or confusion concerning the man who owned her soul and her dear friend.

"No, it wasn't Blitzo. It was an old friend of mine."

"An old friend... it wouldn't happen to be the Radio Demon, would it?" Stolas asked in mild disgust at the thought, "I saw that little show he put on, treating poor Vox so distastefully, so no use trying to hide the fact that he has returned."

Stolas knew Y/n had been close with Alastor before his disappearance. At the beginning of their arrangement, he had been so set on them being friends and had quizzed Y/n about her life at every opportunity. Eventually, Y/n's lack of equal enthusiasm beat him into submission but Stolas still drew on what he did know when necessary.

"Stolas, it doesn't concern you." Y/n sighed, "You own my soul, not my social life."

There was a tense moment, a sharp, shared gaze. Stolas relented.

"You are correct. I just know how hurt you were the last time and men like him... Y/n, they don't change."

Unbidden anxiety snuck momentarily into Y/n's mind and she beat it back with a baseball bat. These were thoughts for later, to run her hands over when she was alone in her room. It didn't matter that he was giving voice to her deepest concerns and confusions, this was neither the time nor the place to address them.

"I figured things out, learned to fend for myself." she replied, working hard to keep her voice even and respectful, "I'll do it again need be."

Stolas was not a man of violence but he was one who had a great capacity for it. Y/n knew this, Y/n was always careful around him because of this. It wasn't like Alastor where camaraderie flowed easily between them, creating an even ground in place of a power imbalance. While Stolas could on occasion be kind, pleasant, even endearing in Y/n's gaze, she always knew exactly where they both stood when she was in his presence.

"I'm just worried about you."

"Why?"

She hadn't meant to ask it. All the pressure, the changes of the day had been building up inside her and begun to trickle over the edges. She needed to be alone.

Stolas seemed equally as taken aback by her question as Y/n had been in asking it. He struggled to speak, his mouth opening and shutting several times before he finally spoke. It was as if even he didn't know the answer.

"You work for me, I don't want you ending up useless."

It was out of character and inane, they both knew it. Y/n didn't press the matter any further, ready to leave and get on with her life. Ready to sleep and see if things were real when she woke up.

"So, what did you need me to do?"

Stolas cleared his throat, comfort and authority seeping back into his being. He was such a strange man, so powerful yet so unsure. Y/n never quite knew what to do with him.

"I need the book, my grimoire."

"It's not the full moon already, is it?"

That was the deal: IMP got to use the book except for when it was the full moon. Stolas shook his head.

"No, it isn't but there is a festival in the Wrath Ring I need to conduct a ceremony at. It is a yearly event."

"And you don't have it all memorized already?"

Stolas glared lightly at her.

"I am a busy man."

Y/n was on the verge of asking if moping in his office, alone in the dark was a part of this alleged busyness but stopped herself. It was a good impulse, the one in her that avoided conflict. She crossed her arms.

"Fine, I'll bring it to you. When do you need it by?"

"Tomorrow." as if struck by a sudden inspiration, Stolas' eyes lit up, "Why don't you all come with?"

"You mean IMP?"

"Yes! It could be a wonderful time. The festival is always so quaint and joyful, I think you would like it."

"Millie would probably be happy at that." Y/n mused, a finger to her chin in thought, "And Mox. They're from Wrath after all but... I can't travel between rings, Stolas, and our deal means you stay away from Blitzo."

Stolas shook his head, laughing slightly.

"That first issue is easy enough to fix."

"Is it?" Y/n looked up at him, her brow furrowed.

It was times like this he wished his life had panned out differently. Stolas saw a friend in the demon, a companion. Instead, she was essentially his slave. Stolas had never been good at people and Y/n was no different. The line between them was wobbly at best under his command.

"I am a Goetia." he reminded her, "There is not a lot that I can't do."

"Okay then, I just never... never thought the scope of your power would include something like that. I thought it all had to do with the human realm."

"And you are a human soul."

"I guess that makes sense." Y/n shrugged after a moment's thought, "But that still leaves Blitzo."

"I wont bother him, you have my word."

Y/n could see the flash of strife beneath his cool complexion as Stolas raised a hand in oath. He was obsessed with physical representations of the immaterial, Y/n knew. It was nearly charming.

"Fine."

"Fantastic, it really will be a wonderful time. Why don't you bring that old friend of yours along too!"

----

TAGS:

@luzzbuzz @fudosl @mfnqueen1

[jane-john-doe-tournament]

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) Propaganda:

Great singing, also she’s literally wearing a doll‘s head bc she lost hers

do they have their soul or is it rotting somewhere with their head?

BALLAD OF JANE DOE IS SO SAD AND SHE IS GREAT AND I ONLY WATCH RTC ONCE BUT SHES NY FAVE OK

cool asf

She forgets her name after her death and has no story told in the production

She's so sweet and deserves the world. Her song (The Ballad of Jane Doe) is great.

the song goes so hard just listen to her song guys please

she literally died and her head was cut off so nobody could tell who she was PLEASE let her take one (1) W

BECAUSE SHE IS AMAZING. First she already won the tournament in the musical to regain life, as she won them over with her sad wet cat energy because she did not have a head and feared that she lost her soul. Second, she died on a roller coaster and lost her head, but stole her doll's head and thats very gender. Third, throughout the musical she is used as a vessel for religious allegory, she is an angel, she is jesus, she is a demon, she is forsaken but she is purity itself. Fourthly, she is is given the identity of Savannah with the greenest eyes after the other characters who died with her hold her a birthday party, and I think thats sweet because its probably some kind of meaning I cant see but auughfhfhh shes so cool

i mean her name isn't TECHNICALLY jane doe but we refer to her as such. she's so silly!! autism powers! i don't have a lot of propaganda tbh. i would've just been surprised had she NOT been submitted

She lost her head literally when the rollercoaster derailed. She wasn't able to be identified apart from the school uniform she was wearing.

Her name is forgotten, and so is everything about her. So she’s called Jane Doe. She’s very sweet and very creepy, but she doesn’t mean it

and im asking WHYYYYY LORRRRRDDD

I LOVE HER! she died in a roller coaster accident and was decapitated, her body not being found. in the show, her head is actually just her doll’s head. the coroners couldn’t identify her, so she was dubbed a jane doe. in the game to be alive again, she ends up being voted, her name being revealed to be penny lamb. anyways she’s a little creepy and also quite silly and she does her funny little waddle like a porcelain doll (or corpse).

She deserves it! She lost her head she shouldn't lose this too.

Not convinced you didn’t start this tournament just for her tbh

They have a great song and a true air of mystery to them. They also have arguably the best song in the musical, The Ballad of Jane Doe! I would definitely recommend listening to it >:)

—She LOST her HEAD and had it replaced with a PORCELAIN DOLL —In all seriousness her story is really poignant. No one could identify her body so she arrives in the afterlife not knowing her identity and she spends the show vacillating between depressed and angry at her situation, leading to… —“The Ballad of Jane Doe”, specifically Emily Rohm’s version, might be the most haunting solo in musical theatre history.

John Doe (Malevolent) Propaganda:

Spooky gay eldritch disaster (am I doing this right?)

Could have chosen any name for himself and picked John because a kind person called him that :)

fractured piece of an eldritch god that shares a body with a private eye after being fractured. chooses the name John Doe after said private eye goes into a coma

Because he’s an eldritch god who wants to feel human and who overcame a lot of obstacles and dangers!!! He sincerely cares about the main character!!! And he chose a name himself! Isn’t he cute??? He lost his body, he almost lost his memory, he fought for his right to exist, he loves animals, he loves his friend Arthur and I love him!

Being an ass, friendship, spooky supernatural stuff, he’s got it all

My man heard the name John Doe, realized he didn’t actually have a name, and just. Took it for himself.

I LOVE HIM. MY SON. HE’S TRYING TO CHANGE AND BE BETTER AND :(((( He’s a fragment of the soul of the King in Yellow (god of trickery and suffering iirc??) that gets trapped in a book in our realm while the rest of the King stayed in his own separate realm. When a human named Arthur Lester opens the book they get linked and John gains control of Arthur’s eyes & kills his partner (oops!). They proceed to go on a quest to find a way of separating them because neither likes the situation, and at first John (or The Entity, which is what he’s called at first) just wants to trick and use Arthur, and control his entire body (through the first season he also gets a hand & a foot) even though he doesn’t remember being The King In Yellow at the time, but Arthur makes him change and become more human. His turning point is when Arthur is shot and falls into a coma for a month. They get treated at a hospital and while John waits for Arthur to wake up so they can carry on, the body itself still gets taken care of. The time John spends alone, contemplating on humanity & everything he’s seeing and learning from Arthur, as well as the way a certain nurse speaks to him every day (specifically, she greets him good morning and good night, despite the body being unresponsive, John still hears because he is an entity linked to the body) and calls him John (they didn’t have ID on when they were found so they were classified as John Doe), changes his outlook and plans for good, and he asks Arthur to call him John; from this point on he admits he cares for Arthur, looks for his wellbeing too, and in general attempts to be a better person and to live for himself. The rest of the podcast (ongoing!!) explores Arthur & John’s relationship, struggle to survive, adventures in the eldritch… All while tackling each of their issues with themselves and each other and watching them both grow. John in specific learns to be the person he wants to be, how sometimes you’ll take a step forward and two backwards; he can be cruel and manipulative sometimes but he still tries. Personally I love his journey, it’s very realistic and you can see he is trying his best, and how he wants to be better than he was as the King In Yellow, and how much Arthur has changed him and how much he cares about him because of that; and how he’s slowly growing into being his own person :) if it ends badly ill cry so hard but!!! he’s John Doe because that’s the name he was being addressed as, and he’s made it his, and being John means he’s no longer the King and that he wants to be different, and John can fail or make mistakes but it’s part of who he is now, and that’s what matters. I am So Normal About Him

JOHN DOE (Malevolent) SWEEP

OH MY GOD JOHN DOE MY BELOVED 💛💛 (watch me just not clarify that would be so funny ahah) John doe (Malevolent) 💛💛💛 my silly He's so funny he makes Arthur bump his head into a dock because he didn't say duck in time and then laughs at him 💛💛

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken Heart Syndrome

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After Matt stood you up at dinner, you are tossed down a rabbit hole of agonizing thoughts. As so often, you turn to the bottle to take the edge off, though this time, you make the decision to confront at least one of the objects of your anger. To your drunken mind, at least, even the worst decisions make sense.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), graphic descriptions of domestic violence (involving a belt, too), allusions to sexual assault, mentions of homicidal ideations, self-hatred, alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), argument between friends, Reader says some mean things, suicidal ideations/depression

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for another chapter, but it took me a very long time to finish editing. There are parts in this chapter that hit very close to home, and I can't just post it without saying a thing or two. If you or anyone you know struggles with domestic violence, there are organizations that can help (check domesticshelters.org, for example). The same goes for mental illnesses; don't be afraid to seek out help if you start noticing symptoms. Check with your doctor or healthcare provider. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help. You've made it this far, and I am so incredibly proud of you. It was important to me to share that with you. Read at your own risk, please!

Read Chapter 14: Broken Heart Syndrome here on AO3!

In medical school, they teach you that a broken heart can quite literally kill you. Acute emotional distress can overstimulate the heart, causing the left ventricle to collapse. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy looks like Japanese takotsubo, an octopus trap. Still, those without medical expertise know it as Broken Heart Syndrome—because three words are all you need to understand what emotional hurt can do to the body. 

A lot of the time though, the human psyche compels a person to find other ways to deal with the pain that eats away at them. Bad coping mechanisms can be just as deadly as a physical disorder. Self-harm doesn’t fix the actual problem, it only distracts your mind momentarily from what is truly hurting you. 

Like with any other disease, a broken heart will get worse if it’s not treated. Either, the organ literally stops pumping blood as it should, or it drives you to a point that would easily get you a free 72-hour stay in the psych ward. Emotions are unpredictable like that.

As a doctor, you know everything in the human body is connected. If the body is sick, it will affect the mind; if the mind is sick, the body will suffer, too. Mental illness can be just as deadly as any terminal condition. If pain and trauma are not properly dealt with, chances are high that ignoring it won’t make you any better. And alcohol or drugs are never the solution to a problem, they only cause one problem to branch into a million more—and then you’re fucked. 

You are aware that self-harm is the first thing a desperate person with a history of trauma will turn to, but it’s so much easier. In practice, life is fucking vile; it’s a miserable existence that is slowly killing all of us, and you would much rather burn the skin off your bones while you’re still alive than face the very demons you’re trying so hard to run from. You know that’s a sick mindset to have, and if it were anyone else confiding these thoughts in you, you would refer them to the Department of Psychiatry to get the help they need. But you… you cannot be helped. Not anymore. Because you don’t want to be helped. It’s all useless anyway. 

The door to your apartment slams shut with a deafening crack of the hinges. As soon as the world is locked behind a deadbolt, and the city has disappeared, your back hits the wall.

A minute ago, he texted you. You prayed for an explanation to a God you don’t even believe in. You prayed that it would all make sense and your brain is spinning in nauseating circles for no reason. You just have to sober up and everything will be okay, you thought. But then you unlocked your phone with shaky and stupidly needy fingers, relying on a hope that stemmed from this childish need to be loved after the one parent you’d had left failed so miserably, and his words drilled into your brain like a sharp knife. 

“You deserve better,” he texted. “I’m sorry.”

What a weak excuse. It’s supposed to be your choice, deciding what or what not you deserve. With one text, he took that from you.   

It was stupid, you think, to get your hopes up. You were just starting to believe that you could finally move on. The weight on your chest felt less heavy with him there. Matt was never supposed to appear in your life, but then he did, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like your life mattered again. He put a smile on your face. You don’t remember what it is like to be happy because you never really felt happy before. Since you can remember, you have been running for the sake of survival. Anything you have done up until now was a mere act of self-perseverance. 

With Matt, it felt different. He understood you because he, too, seemed to be only existing, trapped in a cage of his trauma’s making. 

You were dating again, albeit reluctantly and fighting back like a cat on steroids—but you were dating again. If you wanted your effort to mean something, you had to get over what happened. It’s not that easy, of course, but you believed her when she talked you down from the ledge. 

You should have listened to your gut. Everyone in your life will eventually end up leaving or hurting you, or both. You’ve been rotting away for so long, there is nothing left of you to give. He touched your heart once, and now you’re falling apart. 

Because there’s not enough of you there to love. 

Because no one wants you. 

You slide down the wood of your door. If only the floor could open up and swallow you, the pain that traps the oxygen just before your lungs could end. And if you could only cut out your amygdala or sever the connections in your prefrontal cortex to stop being this miserable about a man you barely knew, you would. 

The tears running down your cheeks are silent. Dry. They taste like poison on your tongue, but your skin feels almost numb to the burn. You can’t scream or sob because there is no air for you to breathe. You’re drowning on dry land, and the rapid drumming of your heart echoing in your ears is the only sound that exists. It isn’t steady like a clock; it is a ticking time bomb in your chest threatening to explode—threatening to turn into an octopus trap and kill you. 

There was never anything left to endure for. You have been torturing yourself every passing day like a fucking masochist, watching yourself on the big screen like a puppet without the intention to stop. 

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but boy, you flew right into it. You would have made Matt the sun if he had stayed around for long enough, made yourself dependent on him all over again, and you would have drowned regardless. Maybe it was all for a reason; maybe Claire was right, after all, to push you to see the truth for yourself—how foolish you’d been—but why does that reason hurt so damn much? You barely knew him enough to care, and yet you did. It makes no sense. 

You deserve better. If he truly believed that, he would have said it to your face. 

The phone slips from your stiff hand before you can reply. Every muscle in your body strains, stretching over bone and lighting every cell and every nerve on fire. You can’t move. You’re sure you are going to die like this, a mess on your living room floor. 

He broke your heart; Matt Murdock took it right out of your chest and smashed it up because you dared to want more. He wrapped his hands around your neck and suffocated you. He gave you hope, and then he took it away, and that is something you’re sure you will never be able to forgive. What kind of man doesn’t have the decency to tell the truth before it’s too late? 

You tear at your dress, hoping to inflate your lungs somehow. The walls around you threaten to cave in. Everything seems larger than life, suddenly. Even with your hands stretched out before you, you can’t stop the avalanche. 

This isn’t about Matt. It has never been about him. Cracks in the broken foundation of an already shattered heart don’t hurt as much as the first crash, they only add to the agony. How messed up do you have to be, you think, for your brain to not even notice the difference between getting stood up and having the ground ripped out from under your feet? You were never good at math, but perhaps you are the sum of your actions, after all.  

A car honks outside. The bright headlights flash through the gaps in the blinds on the windows. You remember how they hit him one night, reflecting off the pure white of his dress shirt. His chest was heaving then. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he had bellowed, drowning out your repeated sorry’s like a tsunami wave. “You embarrassed me in front of… of everyone. My boss, the whole hospital—and you think ‘sorry’ is going to fix it?”

You can’t quite recall whether the lights were white that night, or if they were red and blue, and the only thing louder than his screams were the sirens of cop cars rushing by. 

“You’re never gonna learn,” he’d said, crouching down before you, and he looked like what you would imagine the devil to look like if he were human. “You’re always going to screw up because you, my love, are absolutely and utterly fucking incompetent.”

On second thought, maybe there were sirens outside. They sounded different from your quiet sobs. He forced you to keep your eyes open, to watch as he undid his belt, and against every bone in your body, instead of running, you stayed rooted in place. You stayed there until he grabbed you and threw you into the coffee table. 

The vase stayed intact, thankfully, as it tumbled and fell, but you could see your reflection clearly in the porcelain. You watched him come up behind you, and all you remember is how hollow you were; you were so fucking hollow your heart could have screamed and it only would have echoed before it would have died. You were bound—bound to him. 

“Get up.”

You could have grabbed the vase and smashed him over the head with it. 

“I said,” he repeated, “Get up.”

Your hand slipped from the porcelain, and you got up. It was like he knew you wouldn’t have the guts to kill him. Lord knows you wanted to; some days, you were so close to stealing a knife from the kitchen and slashing his throat while he was asleep. You’d watch him choke on his blood with a smile on your face, you thought, but as soon as the handle was in your hand, you realized that you couldn’t. Not even when you thought about the belt, the feeling of him on top of you as he took whatever the fuck he wanted from you over and over again until he drew blood. 

It should have been enough to make you snap, all the abuse, but you physically couldn’t touch him. At first, you thought you loved him too much to hurt him. Your feelings were complicated and you were hardly aware of how dire your situation truly was, but eventually, you came to the realization that the inability to jab a knife into his jugular had a different reason entirely. 

You had no money, no power, no life outside of him. He seized all of your income. You didn’t own a valid passport, a bank account, or a car. If you had killed him, you would have been a fugitive and a thief. If you had left him, you would have found yourself jobless and disgraced with nowhere to go. No friends, no family, no love. And so every time you wished him dead, the knife wandered back into the drawer. He owned you. 

Toward the end of your relationship, you used to imagine the sirens were coming for you. If you had filed at least one report, maybe someone would have heard. Maybe they would have paid more attention to the cries for help from the neighboring apartment. Maybe then it would have never come this far.

The past can change your future, but you can’t go back in time and change the past. If we could, life would be so much easier. 

You manage to crawl from the door to the couch where there’s a half-empty bottle of tequila hiding in a paper bag. You need to forget to remember how to breathe. 

The burn of liquor blazes through your taste buds, taking them apart and putting them back together all the same. You choke on it when you try to swallow. Nothing has ever tasted quite this bad, but you can’t stop. The dull ache fills your chest, even if it’s just for a second, and you need more. You can’t stop because if you stop drinking and open your eyes, you will see his face again. It’s worse than dying; at least in death, there is peace.

You drink until the already half-empty bottle is empty, wiping the tequila from the corners of your mouth. You sniffle, you gasp for air, and you sob into the dead quiet of your apartment. Matt should not have the power to hurt you this badly. 

The drunker you get, the more his face starts to blur. All faces start to blur. 

“Stupid fucking idiot!” you curse under your breath as you storm into the kitchen, tearing through the liquor cabinet that used to be full but now resembles more of a black hole with stray bottles of vodka all around. 

Drinking pure vodka is like pouring disinfectant directly onto an open, gushing wound. The only difference is that alcohol only works to kill off unwanted bacteria on the outside; it doesn’t exorcize the demons in your head. 

Time keeps running, and the liquor keeps flowing, and you don’t remember which way is up anymore, you only know that it won’t stop fucking hurting. Fuck Claire, fuck Matt, and especially, fuck him. Fuck everyone and God and the whole fucking universe. You just can’t do it anymore.

The cold air hits your face when you stumble out of your apartment complex. Your brain is jumbled, and the world is turning a little too fast. All you know is that the walls were caving in on you, and your veins were swelling with the heat of fury—like you were drowning in your blood. Vodka makes you dumber, yes, but it also singles out one singular emotion for you to obsess over, and you won’t be able to rest until you get it all off your chest. 

A cab pulls up to the curb. You only have a handful of cash, but it should be enough to get you where you want to be. No, where you have to be. 

You catch your reflection in the rearview mirror, makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol and despair. What the driver must think of you—a lonely woman in the back of his cab with her hand clenched tightly around the bottle of maze in her bag, thinking she’s so subtle about how terrified she truly is underneath the mask of anger that drives her. You can never be too careful, never too mistrusting when there are men involved.

The car comes to a halt only ten minutes later. “Are you sure you should still be drinking?” the driver asks, nodding toward the liquor store across from you. 

You scramble with the cash in your hands. “I’m not here to drink,” you manage to say. “I’m visiting a friend.” And you point upward to the dark windows above.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You hand him the money. “Keep the, uh, change.”

He is about to protest, wanting to tell you that you overpaid and you might need to pay for a ride back, but you slam the door on him before he can get a word out. You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do. 

The curb feels unsteady under your feet, almost like the ground might open up and swallow you whole. When you eventually manage to find the door, you almost break the door as you force your way inside. The lock has been broken for quite some time, so a key isn’t required for entry, but there is something about the wood tonight that proves trickier to open. 

Every step up the stairs knocks the air out of your tired lungs. It’s late, and rationally, you know you shouldn’t be here in your current state, but you’re angry and you’re drunk, and you want answers. At least for one of the many shitty things wrong with your life lately, you need to find a reason or you will continue sucking on the bottle of vodka until the lethal limit doesn’t exist anymore. 

On the fourth floor then, you slump against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. Your head is spinning. Your stomach is churning. How many drinks you’ve had before you got here, you can’t even remember, but you are starting to feel the deadly concoction wanting to purchase a ticket for a ride through your esophagus. 

You hammer your fist against the wood. Once, twice, even a third time. No answer. You try again, less gentle this time. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then you lose count. You knock and knock and knock until your knuckles feel like splitting open, but you don’t stop—you use your palm, waiting for the creaking of the floorboards to tell you that someone, anyone, is home. If you could scream, you would have already, but your throat is burnt dry. You abuse the poor door until finally, you hit the air. 

“What–” Claire stops halfway, her eyes falling upon your slouched frame. A meow sounds from inside the apartment. “Liv?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s 2 am!”

You didn’t realize how late it has gotten, or how long you must have been crying and drinking and crying some more. 

“What happened to you?” 

She was asleep. You’ve been trying to call her for days, but here she is, perfectly healthy, wrapped in a robe that isn’t hers, and she has been asleep while you were losing your mind. You were hoping something happened to her, that she didn’t ghost you for no discernible reason, but from the looks of it, she did just that. Yes, she looks miserable with dark circles under her eyes and the room behind her a downright mess, but your mind refuses to be anything but irrational right now. The burning hot anger is back, coursing through your veins at a speed almost too much to handle. 

“What happened to me?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two fucking days, and you’re asking me what happened?” 

“Shh!” Claire pulls you inside. The door slams shut behind her, much louder than your voice could ever be. “Jesus,” she says. “Quiet down.” 

A pause. Under her gaze, you almost feel small. Scrutinized, even. “You smell like a fucking distillery,” she adds after a moment of just staring at you—staring as if she had any right to.

“That all you have to say?” Your mouth falls open in a snarl. “Well, fuck you, Claire! Fuck you!”

She flinches, your harsh tone leaving a sharp sting behind. “Okay, maybe we can just sit down and have a conversation like normal people.”

“Unbelievable,” you say. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Normal people. You don’t know what that word even means anymore. You don’t know what anything she says means. You look at her and all you see is alarms blaring in your head, warning you, screaming for you to run, but you are tethered to the ground in the very position you put yourself in.

She utters your name and your entire body recoils.

“Don’t call me that!” It is toe-curling how foreign the word sounds. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, too, like acid raining from the sky. It burns; everything fucking burns. “You know, All I needed was my friend. I needed my friend and you weren’t there,” your voice cracks. “You told me I had to get back out there, and I did. ‘Cause you said it was the right thing to do. I believed you, Claire. I put on this stupid dress and these stupid heels and…” You sob, the memory rubbing salt in the open wound, “Matt fucking stood me up!”

Claire stops dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks.

You laugh through the tears, a sound of complete and utter desperation as you find yourself at a never-ending crossroads. You never learn, do you? 

“He stood me up, okay?” you say. “I went to dinner, he didn’t show up, and then he texted me that we’re not gonna work out, so…” You throw your arms up. “I hope you’re happy. Whatever you were trying to achieve, it obviously worked. I trusted you, and I trusted him, and it kicked me in the ass. Fucking congratulations!” 

It isn’t fair to blame her for his actions, by any means, but you’re just so angry. Your blood is boiling, turning into liquid as thick as tar, and it poisons you from the inside out. You want to scream at him; you want to scream at Matt and ask him why, fucking why did he do that? But you can’t bring yourself to text him, too drunk to make any rational decisions. The voice of reason in your head is a fuzzy, blurry mess. All you want is for this endless cycle of bullshit to end.

Cliare lowers her head. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she says. “I– I never… I never wanted this to happen.” 

Is that guilt you’re hearing?

“I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, if I’d known…”

“Save it,” you cut her off, every word from your mouth becoming increasingly slurred. “We both know you wouldn’t have come running ‘cause you clearly had more important things to do. I don’t even know who you are anymore. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have gone to bed without making sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, and now you’re moving into some nurse’s apartment with a cat you’re allergic to, calling in sick and ghosting me. Me! I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and you weren’t there!”

“I told you, I’m sorry. I had some shit going on, and I just couldn’t–”

You scoff. “You’re lying to me, again!”

“Please, Liv, you have to believe me,” she says. “I didn’t know this was gonna happen.” 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t…” Shaking your head, you tangle your fingers in your hair. You want to pull every last strand out one by one and feed them to the dogs, maybe that will give you your sanity back.

You hate not understanding. You hate not being able to read the person you thought you could trust. She swore she would never lie to you. What can you believe in if even her word is now hanging in the balance? You don’t know, and that’s something you hate, too—not knowing. The helplessness that comes with a dead end makes you want to cower in a corner, smaller than anyone has ever made you feel, and die.

Claire’s silence sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s your own. The blood is rushing in your ear. You’re standing on hollow ground, and it’s shaking—a ship lost at sea. You have to pinch yourself to stay alert. To stay awake. But the vodka in your system has already made you sick. 

“Woah!” She catches you before you can stumble over your own feet. 

Gravity is tilting your body toward the ground, but your body wants to rush toward the door. You have to run, you think. Why, you’re not sure, but you have to run.

“Hey,” Claire says. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You shrug her off. “Fuck you!”

She lifts her arms above her head, but it is not a motion of surrender. Far from it. She’s giving up and giving in to the anger that is creasing her brows.

“Well, fuck you, too!” She steps away from you. “You come here in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, and you expect me to just take it? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna indulge you. Not when you’re acting like a child.”

Your palm hovers above your churning stomach. “How dare you?” you snarl. “I’m not the one acting like a fucking toddler.”

“Have you ever considered that there are things I just can’t tell you? That sometimes, you just have to trust me? I never wanted you to get hurt,” she says. “After the other night, I figured you didn’t need me anymore. If that’s what you’re so mad about, sue me!”

“I did need you.”

It’s her turn to shake her head at you. “No, you didn’t. You decided to go on that date. You didn’t need me for that. But I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath, and her eyes remain guilty as sin. “I never wanted you to get humiliated like that.” 

You are too drunk to process the implications of her cryptic statements. To you, they’re just a series of words on a very fuzzy billboard in your mind; you loathe what you’re hearing. Because you believe her, even though your better judgment is telling you to abandon ship. To jump into the ocean and let it take you away.

“Yeah, well,” you say, “I still did.”

Some scars never heal. Fresh ones tend to tear the ones that haven’t closed yet open, and then it hurts so much more. 

Claire lowers her voice to a more mellow tone then. “I met a guy, okay? Like you, I met a guy, but he screwed things up for me and now I’m stuck here until shit has blown over. That’s why I’m hiding.” She sounds almost like the same woman she was a week ago. Before the world stopped turning. 

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I’m trying to keep you safe,” she says. “I’ve always just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And how’s that turning out for us?”

She scoffs. “Not good, apparently.”

Your knees begin to buckle, unable to hold your weight any longer. Claire reaches out. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Fuck off!” you try to shrug her off again.

“How much?”

“Just… Tequila. Vodka. Half a bottle, quarter, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Liv,” she says. “You’re insane.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you,” though the words hold a lot less power now.

“Would you stop? I get it. You’re mad. You don’t have to keep insulting me.” She gently guides you over to the couch. “You know, all I wanted was to do right by you, but I can’t be there all the time. Some things, I have to deal with by myself, and yes, I’m sorry for not being there, but I would’ve been if you really needed me.” 

Claire reaches for your coat and pulls it off, much to your dismay. She ignores your scoff, anyway. “I would’ve dropped everything if you’d just called me tonight. You didn’t have to drink yourself into a coma to make your point.”

“I’m fine,” you protest. 

You thought she was done helping you, but her good heart betrays her every time. It’s infuriating. You don’t want to be coddled. You don’t want to be treated like a patient—you’re not. You did this to yourself. The world is spinning. Your stomach feels like a pool of toxic waste, but you did this to yourself, and you’d rather lie in your misery than have her fix it. 

When you try to rise to your feet though, all thoughts fade to black. Your ears start ringing. You blink, trying to get rid of the ocean that is flooding the world around you, but night quickly settles in. You can’t see. 

“You’re not fine.” Claire pushes you back down. “You’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna let me help you.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but you’re starting to panic. The room is too dark. Your heart beats to the rhythm of mere milliseconds, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. 

“Do you want to turn into your father?”

The audacity, you think. The words sting worse than a thousand needles in your body. They sting worse than a headache. They sting worse than a knife to the fucking back.

You don’t want to turn into your father. You have never wanted anything less. You want to scream at her. You want to leave. You don’t want to be anywhere near here. But you’re paralyzed on Claire’s couch with her towering over you like the caring nurse she is, and you have nowhere to go. Your body has nowhere to go. 

You did this to yourself.

She tests the pulse on your wrist, then again on your neck. Her voice is starting to fade into the background. The last thing you hear is her berating you for being “so fucking stupid” with the concern of a thousand armies before your thoughts entirely, finally, dissipate. 

The world turns quiet as your body slacks, falling victim to the alcohol in your bloodstream, and it’s the most peaceful you have been in years. 

Thinking nothing. 

Being nothing. 

You wish you could stay like that for the rest of your life. You don’t want to die, not really; you want to think nothing, be nothing, and just float for the rest of your life in a space where no one can ever touch you again. Where he doesn’t exist. Where you have no memory of your father, of the things he did to you. A space where not even Claire exists, and where you can pretend that Matt never stumbled into your godforsaken life, either.

You want to cease to exist. You want the world to end. You want to drown in alcohol until you can’t feel a thing anymore.

In the end, though, life is an endless, vicious cycle; no matter what you do, you won’t escape it until you’re dead—actually dead. And no amount of alcohol could ever change that. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou

[ryuzakemo128]

CW: Depressive thoughts, suicide ideation, self-esteem problems, reader has a strongwoman physique and at least 6'4 or taller, reader has a deep voice, Reader is referred to as Boomer, existentialism, nihilism, strongwoman! reader, australian! female reader.

How does one interact with a community if they get ignored?

Am I not worth talking to?

What does it mean to be alive when no one wants to even talk to you?

Am I really that intimidating?

Am I really that scary?

What have I done to scare them away from me?

Am I broken?

What have I done to deserve this?

I doubt they knew I even existed before.

That’s how it goes right?

Unless you fit the mould of what they find attractive.

I will most likely get overlooked in comparison to the other women I see them talk to.

What’s the point of even trying?

Does it even matter?

Do I even matter?

Am I born to die alone?

I wish I was soft.

I wish I was delicate.

I wish I was feminine enough.

I wish I was dead.

Parts of me wants to just die.

They tell me ‘You’ll find someone someday’ but that day will never come.

Born to suffer in isolation.

Born to perish alone in the dark.

I look in the mirror and all I see back at me is the reason people don’t or probably don’t find me attractive.

You were used to being overlooked now. Not that it didn’t hurt. Not that you didn’t hurt from it.

Depression is hard to tackle when all you have is you, yourself and the demon in the back of your skull feeding into your doubt.

You felt like a burden. A giant one at that.

You had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it was all too much.

You had tried reaching out to people, but they always had an excuse not to hang out, not to talk. It was like you were invisible.

You were a ghost in your own life, haunting the places you once felt alive in, but now you were just a shadow of the person you used to be.

“Boomer, you’re overthinking things again.” A deep voice came from the shadows. As you sat in the bar alone, contemplating leaving to eat alone at the diner.

You paid for the drinks you had, getting your Pokémon themed backpack. Which had your essentials like your wallet, car keys, etc. Tucked deep inside it.

Childish, much like the rest of me.

Pathetic.

Gross.

Disgusting.

Who am I to think anyone would like me in that way?

I want to go home.

I want to be ten years old.

I desire to be a child once more, consequently, subsequently, accordingly.

We’re All Gonna Die.

I don’t want to have to mull over on the subject of this useless shit piling up inside my head.

We’re All Gonna Die.

Questions of pity, the ‘are you ok?’  

It would be better if they just told me to die.

Who are you?

What are you?

Price's gaze locks onto yours for a brief moment as you hover by the door, and there's something in his eyes that makes you freeze.

It's not just the recognition, but a flicker of something else.

Maybe curiosity? Pity? You can't tell.

Before you can retreat into the comforting void of inky black, Soap's arm shoots out, grabbing you by the wrist, and pulls you back to the bar.

Says, “Hey, lass,” he says with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, “you don't mind if we take your spot, do ya?”

Well you do enough talk, My little hawk, why do you cry?

We’re All Gonna Die.

“It wasn't mine to begin with.” You answered.

Ownership.

Possession.

What does it mean to own something all to yourself?

You've never truly owned anything in your life.

Everything you had was borrowed or given to you out of pity.

Even your life felt like it didn't belong to you.

The grip on your wrist is firm, but not painful. Soap's eyes search yours, as if looking for something you're not quite sure you want him to find.

“You alright?” he asks, his Scottish accent thick and comforting.

You nod, not trusting your voice to be steady.

Ghost, ever the stoic, simply nods in your direction, his mask hiding his expression, but you can feel his gaze on you.

Gaz, on the other hand, seems to be in his own world, tinkering with something in his pocket, probably a piece of gear.

“Peachy.” you answered, tired of the same question of 'Are you ok?' and the 'It's ok, everyone feels like that sometimes'.

As if feeling completely numb is normal.

As if being depressed isn't a mental illness.

You haven't been able to talk about without the comments of 'You're just sad' or 'You're just feeling down'.

They're right, you are feeling down. But you're not sad. You're just tired.

Tired of trying.

Tired of hoping.

Tired of living.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of the lies.

Tired of the façade.

You felt like a chameleon in a room full of zebras.

Their presence was like a beacon in the stormy sea of your solitude.

Did you get enough love, my little dove, why do you cry?

Was your heart not enough for them?

Why do I bother trying?

We’re All Gonna Die.

The words echo in your mind as you stand there, unsure of what to do next. The weight of your own thoughts is almost too much to bear.

You decided to leave them to the women in pastel and good looks. You weren't wanted now.

Shall we look at the moon, my little loon, why do you cry?

Price's gaze lingers for a moment longer before he nods. The three men seem to sense the tension, and an awkward silence fills the surrounding space.

It's as if they're waiting for you to leave, to go back to the shadows where they found you.

You left silently crying.

Why was the point of living now?

To serve a purpose that you had been assigned.

To be something more than the invisible monolith you perceived yourself to be.

The burning in your throat of your crying and silent heaving breaths.

As you headed to the safe house instead after seeing the diner you hoped to go to was now closed for the evening.

Soap decided in a huff of anger, frustration and concern he's had enough of this. He spotted you looking disappointed that the diner wasn't open now.

He knew that look.

That sad, defeated look.

It was the same one you had when you were told that your pet had passed away.

The same look you had when you were told you're not good enough.

The same look when you were told you're a waste of space.

The same look when you were told you're not worth the air you breathe.

Soap's voice cut through the night air, “Where are you headed, lass?”

“I don't know.” you answered.

You were lost.

Lost in the sea of darkness.

Lost in the abyss of your thoughts.

You wipe at the tears that had escaped down your cheeks, smearing your makeup.

Soap remembered seeing you in the safe house, like a giant phantom towering over others with ease.

He knew you were strong, resilient even. He also knew that everyone had their breaking point.

And it seemed like you were dangerously close to yours.

[mgmm-shifts]

SHIFTER INTRO

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

HELLO

I'm new to shiftblr, so I wanna introduce myself :)

PSA: If you stalk my account and see my past reposts and likes, no you didn't lol. This account is hello old and I'm trying to cleanse it. I had an intense sports phase when I was 14-16, dw bout it...

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

About me:

☆General: I'm Mel, Leo, She/Her. I moved from shift tok to here! I want to find fellow shifters and continue my journey! I don't really have shifting friends so I figured here was a good place to find some mutuals :) ☆Shifting journey: The first time I shifted was in 2022 (or 2023, it was winter i don't remember which month) and it was by accident. I had no idea what shifting was oop. Since then I've, although I hate this term, "mini shifted" a few times since, but my mentally has definitely gotten better! I have been lucid dreaming since I was a kid, so when it happened I knew immediately it was different and I was so confused lol.

☆Main Dr: Attack on Titan (My script is pretty diff than canonverse, practically no titans left, no war, peacetime, much more modern times etc. I will explain script in a later post if ppl are interested) I had other DRs like JJK but lost interest in that (in the show in general tbh) and DBZ (the one I shifted for the first time ever to). Don't ask but it existed lol. Still love the show though, it was my first anime 🕺🏻. Tbh I'm just focused on my main one, I may make one with L Lawliet in some way eventually. Otherwise I haven't really been inspired to have anything different. ☆Hobbies: I love to draw! I haven't really began my dive into digital art (it's on my to do list) so I mainly stick to sketching and occasionally painting. I'm also trying to learn Japanese right now which is quite hard but I love it. I could already speak Italian and English and they're soooo different. Aside from that idk, I'm currently in school so I don't have time for much. I write some fanfics from time to time and read (manga/books) or play xbox occasionally. I also love to shop and collect anime shit lol. ☆Fav shows: -Grey's Anatomy -AOT -DBZ -Death note -Chainsaw Man -Nana -Gossip Girl -Spy x Family (I'm currently watching but still at the beginning, so spoilers pls) -Demon Slayer -The Vampire Diaries (a good fall classic) -Friends -Alice in Borderlands (where tf is s3 oml) -JJK (I've watched, used to be obsessed with, now I'm pretty disinterested but always love me some Toji lol) -Jersey Shore (a true italian-american classic 😩) -JoJo's (also still at beginning oop) -Hunter x Hunter (i stopped mid way) -Black Clover (there seems to be a theme here... stopped mid way) There's prob more I just can't think rn ☆Why I shift?: Tbh, since I was a kid I would make DRs without even understanding what that was. I am a very creative person with a huge imagination (thanks ADHD woo) so I've always wanted to be a part of these realities I would make as one does. I've also struggled with a history of depression and to be candid, my home life sucks. I've done a lot of maturing and mental work on myself so I'm a lot better now, so my reason is not necessarily for an "escape" but like yeah. I don't like wording it that way because I feel as though it's a bit dangerous to just completely toss your CR aside and rely on shifting as a end all be all fix, but if that's not the case then escape away :) I've been on the other end of that journey before so I'm speaking on behalf of my experience, but that's just what has worked for me and my mental health personally. As long as you are happy and healthy, do your thing <3

Okay this is already long af but if you made it this far, thank you🥹. Now that I have started up this page, I hope to interact with you guys and post about my DR and shifiting journey! Also most importantly...

WE WILL ALL SHIFT TONIGHT :)

[sweet-drmzzz]

wowowowow I’m finally doing a pinned post

DO NOT SENT ME DONATION REQUESTS THEY WILL BE DELETED

i have my reasons for this, among them being that i am just not comfortable with it.

(also we're working on updating this lmao ^^)

Hiya!! My names are Z-Fey, and Faele (pronounced fey-elle)!! I am the host of a median collective, and this is my/our main blog. You can find our plural side blog here: @treehousearchive

I go by Fae/Zi/It/They pronouns, and idrc how the grammar around them works (so you could say “fae are a person with adhd” or “fae is a person with adhd.” Please use my neopronouns as much as, if not more than you use they/it

if you misgender me I’ll eat ur knees /hj

I am faekin and foxkin, and I’m absolutely amazing at it. Don’t try to disprove alterhuman shit. I won’t listen. Also keep any alterhuman discourse off this blog. All nonhumans are welcome here. Yes even physical ones. Yes even ones that truly believe they are an animal. Yes even mentally ill/delusional ones.

Collectively we are aspec and arospec. Afaik that goes for everyone in our collective but I could be wrong.

currently I don’t check my discord, if you need to reach me my asks and DMs on here are the fastest ways.

I use a lot of emoticons, abbreviations, and tone tags :3

tone tag key:

/lh- light hearted

/j- joking

/hj- half joking

/sarc- sarcasm

/nm- not mean

/nf- not forced

/gen- genuine

/aesth- aesthetic (used to describe aesthetic attraction. Ex. “He’s hot /aesth”

if I ever use one u don’t understand just ask! I’m more then willing to inform!

DNI:

Pedos. Like genuinely. Pedos maps etc fucking disgust me. Stay tf away from my blog

Zionist. Yeah nuhuh. If u support genocide I don’t want to talk to u.

Homophobes/Transphobes. I’m gay asf. I don’t think you want to be here.

Zoophiles. No. Just no.

Anti furry/Anti alterhuman. Once again. I’m a therian. Y would u want to be here???

Sexual/kink blogs. Nothing against you, have ur fun. Idrc. I’m just not comfy w that.

Anti-endos. I don’t want that negativity on my blog. All good vibes here.

If you demonize mental illnesses (like schizophrenia or npd) fuck off. If you use “delulu” or treat serious mental illnesses as silly little things fuck off.

Anti aro/aspec. This shouldn’t even be a thing? Just let people exist?

if I don’t like u I’ll block u.

With all due respect, which is none, leave me alone.

Tags!!

#Happy Fox Hours

Foxkin euphoria and just generally happy foxkin related stuff

#Happy Fae Hours

Second verse, same as the first but w fae stuff this time.

#Zi speak!!

text posts and me ranting

#Soda Spill

My writing. Includes poetry and short stories/snippets from bigger stories. (Please note that since originally making this I have stopped using the name Soda, as that has gone to one of my headmates. This tag may change soon.)

#Faele agrees

Rebolgs!! I might forget to tag my rebolgs. I’ll try my best but if I do my apologies.

#Sad bitch time

vents n stuff. Me being depressed.

Boundaries: mostly im fine with anything.

pls don’t tag me in angelic/religious stuff, or send it to me. Especially if it has eyes featured prominently.

uhh i feel like this shouldn’t need to be said but just in case: foxes are a game animal where I live. I already see my kind’s hides enough. Don’t show me pics of that.

just yk… if i ask u to quit do so please. There’s nothing rly big other than those two things that I can think of. Be nice.

My filter tag list is here. If you are intentionally rude and disrespectful about it you will be blocked.

I have a side blog for Will wood stuff called @willwooddaily

thank you for your time!!

(userbox by @/plural-userboxes)

[atinyslittleworld]

Light: The Descent

demon king!seonghwa x angel!reader

Summary: The mighty King of the Underworld, Seonghwa, gets intrigued by a little angel, whose light is intoxicating

Genre: angst, au, romance

Warnings: signs of depression, brainwashing by a demon

<previous part

Life in the underworld had become a torment for Y/N. Stripped of her celestial light, she struggled to adjust to her new existence as a fallen angel. The once radiant beacon of hope and purity now found herself enveloped in an overwhelming darkness. The weight of her wings, now a muted grey, mirrored the heaviness in her heart. The warmth that once filled her soul had been replaced by a cold, consuming void.

Seonghwa watched helplessly as Y/N sank deeper into despair. Each day, her sadness grew more palpable, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach her. He offered her comfort, distractions, and even the treasures of his dark kingdom, but nothing seemed to lift her spirits. The love that had once sparked joy in their hearts now seemed like a distant memory.

One night, as Seonghwa sat on his throne, his thoughts consumed by worry for Y/N, she entered the room. Her movements were slow, her eyes void of the light that once defined her. She approached him, her steps hesitant but purposeful.

"Y/N," Seonghwa said softly, rising to meet her. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate longing. "I don't know who I am anymore, Seonghwa. I feel so lost.”

Seonghwa reached out, gently cupping her face. "You are still the same Y/N I fell in love with. Your light may have dimmed, but your spirit remains."

Y/N shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't feel it, Seonghwa. I can't feel anything but this emptiness."

In a moment of desperation, Y/N closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was intense, filled with a raw need that startled Seonghwa. He could feel the despair in her touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her only anchor.

Seonghwa pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "Y/N, what's wrong? This isn't like you."

Y/N's eyes were glazed over, her thoughts clouded by a darkness that wasn't her own. "I need to feel something, anything," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, Seonghwa."

A chilling realization struck Seonghwa. He sensed a sinister presence in the room, an energy that wasn't his own. One of his demons was manipulating Y/N's thoughts, feeding on her vulnerability. His anger flared, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Stop this," Seonghwa commanded, his voice echoing through the dark halls. "Show yourself!"

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, a smirk playing on its lips. The demon bowed mockingly. "Oh, mighty King, I was merely having a bit of fun."

Seonghwa's eyes blazed with fury. "You dare to toy with her mind? She is under my protection!"

The demon's smirk widened. "But look at her, Seonghwa. She's so fragile, so easy to manipulate. I thought I was doing you a favor."

Seonghwa's grip tightened around Y/N, his rage barely contained. "Leave now, before I tear you apart."

The demon laughed, its form dissolving into the shadows. "As you wish, my King. But remember, even in the underworld, darkness can be quite persuasive."

As the demon vanished, Seonghwa turned his attention back to Y/N. She looked at him with confusion and fear, her earlier desperation replaced by a hollow emptiness.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," Seonghwa whispered, holding her close. "I won't let anything harm you. We'll find a way through this, together."

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling. "I'm so scared, Seonghwa. I don't know how to fight this darkness."

Seonghwa stroked her hair, his heart breaking for her. "You don't have to fight it alone. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll find your light again, I promise."

Days turned into weeks, and Seonghwa dedicated himself to helping Y/N reclaim her light. He sought out ancient texts, consulted with wise spirits, and even ventured into the deepest parts of the underworld in search of answers. But the path to restoring her light was elusive, and Y/N's depression grew deeper.

One night, as Y/N sat in their chamber, staring blankly at the flickering flames, Seonghwa approached her with a gentle touch. "Y/N, can you hear me?"

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the torment within. "I hear you, Seonghwa. But I can't find my way back."

Seonghwa knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "I know it's hard. I know you feel lost. But I won't give up on you. We will find a way, no matter how long it takes."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears. "Why do you love me so much? I'm not the same anymore."

Seonghwa's gaze was unwavering. "Because I see the real you, the Y/N who brought warmth and light to my world. You are still that person, and I love you with all my heart."

Y/N leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his unwavering love. "Thank you, Seonghwa. I don't know what I'd do without you."

As they held each other in the darkness, a spark of hope flickered within Y/N. Though the journey ahead was uncertain and filled with challenges, she knew that with Seonghwa by her side, they could face anything. Their love, forged in the balance of light and dark, was a beacon that would guide them through even the darkest of times.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Nalyraaaa I know I currently represent a small portion of the Fandom but I have to let it out somehow pls bear with me while I fangirl 😅

The way lestat screamed "Nickyyy" ❤️ heartbreak i tell you 💔 😢 😭

Lestat loved Nicky so much ( and this episode louis agreeing with armand that lestat would just abandon Nicky pissed me off to no ends let me tell you)

Because already you can tell how much he loved him! He kept the music box, talked lovingly about him, had difficulty mentioning his death it was all there written between the lines

(Armand when i catch you I 🤬 )

Also I love how already we saw a little of their true dynamic re: Nicky being pessimistic and making an acerbic comment and lestat passing it off with lightness

As a side note here -I'm sure we will get to this discussion when season 3 airs (here's hoping, wishing, manifesting!), but I believe Nicky loved lestat too.

I am a loustat fan until the end, but I have to disagree with the view that nicky never loved lestat back bc i find the love Nicky and lestat shared very true and profound.

Here's the thing: despite popular belief and (his own words) Nicky showed he loved lestat in his own way.

He may have hoped for them to fail in paris but he went and played violin in the streets and got drunk and danced with lestat and shared his joy and tried to comfort him when he could ( when lestat got freaked out by the witches place, or when he got scared about magnus stalking him). I believe he meant it when he said he loved him.

I think at the heart of it lies mental illness. Nicky was severely depressed and perhaps bipolar and even through his own words about his darkness it shows he recognized it and couldn't change it for lestat or for himself even if he tried.

And perhaps one of the differences between louis and Nicky ( though I don't think it's fair to compare the two) is that louis will try to conquer his demons for others and namely for his love of lestat whereas Nicky would not.

I believe next season we will fully see this dynamic play out and our hearts will break over the tragedy that is Nicolas the love that could not be saved.

The show will definitely pass up on the canon parallels that exist :)

But yes, Nicolas was severely depressed, and very disillusioned, too, which of course shaped his world view, too.

What little we saw of that specific time frame in 2x03 fit for me. It was interesting, because Armand tried to play down Nicki's importance, but of course he didn't quite manage, which in turn hints at other things.

I cannot wait to see it all play out in s3 - I bet this show will make us look at the darkness there as well - and the beauty.

[kaddyssammlung]

I have this assumption about Sleep that it never was a deity but an entity.

I come across entities quite often in the energy work sessions that I attend and I just decided to collect some stuff for you.

What's an entity in very simple words and what describes their nature the best? They are “trickster beings”. They will most likely present themselves as some archangel or something that will make a nice impression an you. Such as maybe an ancient deity. And then you let them in and they feed off of you or your rahter energetic field. You keep them alive. They consume especially fear and also shame. Maybe all of those strange eating themes in the discography have something to do with that. I assume Vessel let this being "in" because maybe he was promised something in return.

"You've got me up in a frenzy again". They need that frenzy because they are hungry in a way.

It does not even have to be that way. They don't have to introduce themselves. They can be with you without you even knowing it. That's what sounds scary but in my experience it's not.

From here on it's maybe a bit darker.

-they pretend to be you -they don't show their real intentions -they act like you and you start to believe that you are them (you have become the voice in my head) -they are the voice in your head; something that always resonated with me was Eckhart Tolle saying that you just are not your thoughts! -most of your thoughts are not your own / they don't originate from you but from entities -they (entities) exist(ed) in the 4d or astral realm, that means that they have no body (I was more then just a body in your passenger seat) -they usually hook into something that's already there....let's say that I am suffering from depression which I used to then an entity will come in and feed off of that energy because that's what's fits best to that entity; I don't know what's got its teeth in me, you've got your hooks in me -other words for entities can be program or just outside influence; it was woven into our “reptilian” part of the brain; they can also be digital / digital demons make the night feel heavenly

-they kept themselves alive by consuming the energy of fear and shame

They are leaving though...day by day...hour by hour...less and less

It's earth itself that is raising its frequency so they can no longer sustain themselves on this planet. A few years back that was still different. It get's easier and more light day by day.

The agreement was that entities were allowed to leave this planet once the humans were done with them. Not the other way round!!!!

Not all entities are evil. Many of them just had no possibility to incarnate on this planet. However the only way they can EAT, or CONSUME, or SUSTAIN themselves is your energy. That's what makes all of them problematic. Evil or not. Often they are beings that you have know from other lifetimes. Entities always knew that there would come a day were they would have to leave.

-some peeps become very attached to their entities especially the ones (on YouTube) for example who do things like “channeling”. All they usually channel is their entities without them even knowing it.

Idk if that helps some one you.

Maybe not....

I took all of my information from Kerry. I like her and also Eckhart Tolle. I don't like many "spiritual folks". Most of them are ego-driven and don't really offer helpful things.

[bildad-the-shuhite-official]

Hurt/Comfort fanfic recommendations

A late night by wilywitchwahoo G, 400 words, h/c, insecure aziraphale, crying Crowley comforts his sad angel.

Your warmth is all I have by katterv T, 900 words, physical injury, mild blood, (gorgeous) fanart included Aziraphale is hurt, unconscious and so, so cold. Crowley hates it.

Morning Glory by HopeCoppice T, 1k, hurt/comfort, gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, genderfluid crowley, fem-presenting Crowley, insecurity, body image Crowley wakes early; Aziraphale watches him worry.

Your Effervescent Tears Cleanse My Core by TotallySnowy G, 1.1k, panic attacks, cuddling, aziraphale needs a hug It all started on a rather normal day in southeastern Londen, at specifically 4:05 AM in the morning, Aziraphale awoke with a start. Very, very peculiar for an angel, lest a nobel one at that. What was even more peculiar is that Aziraphale could feel his face become flushed. Quite peculiar indeed.

Evening Star by HopeCoppice T, 1.6k, insecurity, body dysmorphia, hurt/comfort, cuddling, non sexual intimacy, non sexual nudity Aziraphale seems reluctant to join Crowley in bed, and Crowley is determined to get to the bottom of it.

All Good Hearts are Heavy by Sarah_hadeschild G, 1.8k, depression, depressed crowley, fluff, hurt/comfort, protective aziraphale Crowley has always dealt with bouts of depression-- periods in which he cannot bring himself to do much more than exist. Over the centuries, he grew accustomed to enduring these episodes on his own. But now, Aziraphale is with him. And although the angel cannot miracle away his lover's distress, he can try the only remedy he knows with any certainty. He can love him.

Counting on your love by that_angels_demon T, 2.2k, insecure Aziraphale, body dysmorphia, kissing, making out, asexual relationship, non-sexual intimacy Having finally confessed their feelings for each other after the (almost) Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale explore the physicality they've always craved. But when long-internalized insecurities come to light, Aziraphale isn't so sure his demon will want this after all…

crack me open, feel me shatter by rattatatosk T, 2.7k, nightmares, Crowley’s fall, body horror, hurt/comfort Crowley dreams of the Fall. Aziraphale is there to catch him when he wakes.

To Exist and Love by IneffableDoll T, 3.1k, hurt/comfort, acephobia, asexuality, south downs cottage, hurt crowley, ace affirming, fluff Crowley runs into someone who says some bigoted nonsense about the asexual nature of his and Aziraphale’s relationship. It leaves him fuming, so when he returns home to his angel, they talk through it and navigate the complex feelings and hurts the interaction brings up. Basically: A very ace-affirming spite fic.

Flight and Fight by Phantom531 T, 3.3k, panic attack, post season 2, hurt aziraphale, angry crowley, hurt/comfort, angst Aziraphale has a panic attack and reaches for the only person he ever needed. Unfortunately, Crowley is still REALLY angry.

Crossfire by NuriaSchnee M, 4.7k, locked, post Armageddon’t, love confessions, hurt/comfort, showering together, non-sexual intimacy, first kiss In which a shower can solve 6000 years of secrets and misunderstandings. Or: Aziraphale finally breaks down at Crowley's flat and Crowley takes care of him.

I Forgive You by Sparkling12 M, 6.3k, post season 2, hurt Aziraphale, aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, love confessions, bathing, cuddling Crowley taking care of his traumatised angel, while plotting revenge on Metatron. Part of a series: -  I Forgive You

Come as you are by fruitygoblin M, 10k, body dysmorphia, insecurity, wall sex Aziraphale visits a modern art gallery, goes on a diet, and submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known. Not necessarily in that order.

Everything I've Had by AppleSeeds M, 12k, human AU, chronic illness, chronic pain, hurt/comfort, bathing/washing, domestic fluff, childhood friends to lovers After developing a chronic illness that leaves him unable to live alone, Crowley moves back home to London where he reunites with his childhood best friend Aziraphale. Aziraphale helps to take care of Crowley and keeps him company while he's in bed, bringing them closer together and reigniting old feelings.

Touch my Tears with Your Lips by IneffableDoll T, 27k, post season 2, season 2 fix it, hurt/comfort, understimulation, making up, trauma, touch starvation, south down cottage In Heaven, there was nothing to touch. Aziraphale re-tied the knot of his bowtie again and again and again. He was alone, and nothing was real, and he was alone, and nothing was real.

[hikarry]

Okay children, gather around. It's "Spencer Complains and Acts a Little Mad" Time:

I have been raw dogging life for 1 month without my adhd/depression/anxiety/mood stabilizers medication and without a single Therapy appointment

I haven't left my house in 1 month, I haven't spoken to any of my (in person) friends in over 1 month, I haven't seen my family in 1 month, I haven't seen my bloody cat in over 1 month, I've barely left my bloody room in over 1 month, and I've been listening to my bloody voice almost every day for 1 hour so I can finish editing the bloody podcast for over a month

To top it all of: I haven't had a decent night's sleep in about 4 days now (in which I just don't sleep or I have extremely vivid nightmares with my departed mother and/or scenarios where I die over and over and over again but can't speak to ask for help before it happens - fun for all the family, if you ask me) and I might or might not be completely and absolutely going insane, with only Good Omens season 1 (6/6) and season 2 (5/6) and the existence of Crowley/red haired Fire Pokemon David Tennant Edition being my sole producer of any amount of serotonin

How am I alive? Good question. Beautiful genderfluid demonic content can be some very nice very distracting content for individuals that simp for Fire Type David Tennant Pokemon like myself

I am quite sure my only contact with anything mental health related in the past weeks has been my best friend whom is very very annoying and refuses to leave me the heck alone and whom is a nurse and is working extra time to advice my stupid ass the best she can, bless her heart

So, with my personal nurse's permission, I have doubled my sleeping medication for the night and, as Fall Out Boy once wrote for the song "Alone Together" in one of my favorite albums to have ever been created "Save Rock and Roll": I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead

[lockhartandlych]

stimming is weird for me because i usually have to consciously try it in order for it to become a habit over time. i feel odd about the fact, because consciously doing actions that make me seem "more" autistic often brings the question into my mind of whether i'm autistic at all or just faking. (which has occupied my mind for close to a decade now since i've been fighting to get tested since i was thirteen) but then i remember that the reason im deliberately doing these "stereotypical" stims isn't really because i want to be autistic, it's because instead of doing something harmless like flapping my hands i've instead grown accustomed to literally tearing the skin off my fingers and pinching my arm until it bleeds. so like honestly if hand flapping is a thing that works for other autists i wanna try it out.

i never thought about how much i was (and still am sometimes) actually, physically hurting myself until now. and even when i thought i hid it well enough in middle school, i didnt realize that people still noticed the pockmark scars on my arms and the scabs on my fingers. i did everything i could to stim (and i didn't even see it was stimming. it was just something i did and hid) and still be perceived as normal, and still i was met with wary eyes and wincing whenever i tried to initiate conversation. even some flashes of quiet disgust.

i didn't have the social awareness to perceive their discomfort towards my existence until now. i had to deal with a wretched combination of autism stunting my social development, and my stunted social development exacerbating my autism. but now, having actually tasted an environment where i'm included and respected and treated like an adult, i look back and realize that the life i was leading was that of a pariah. i think deep down i knew it then, too. but i didn't quite accept it until i saw just how great life is when authority figures can't wield your oddity like a cudgel against your autonomy.

when i first confronted these habits it was with the belief it was all "just" self harm. i was suicidal, after all. so maybe this was just another manifestation of my depression. (though i conveniently never tried to reconcile that with the fact that i've been picking at my fingers and arms since age five.) but nothing worked for long. not gloves, not affirmations or urge surfing or grounding. not rainbow rooms or the butterfly project or twelve step programs. because it wasn't that. it wasn't addiction or self flagellation. it was a spell to shake off all the noise of the world that seeped into my core. like kinetically exorcising a demon of potential energy in my fingers. i think i was too harsh on myself then when the therapy didn't take. it's not like you can cbt your way out of stimming.

this is long and rambly but like. i think i see it now. i think i see why i started hurting myself in the first place. i see why it calmed down almost as soon as i was out of school and no longer had to constantly mask. and i see why that mask cracked and shattered so easily all the time. it was being held together by nothing but scotch tape and denial and blood.

yeah. i think i'll try hand flapping. i think i'll try it in that kitschy way that would make everyone think i'm faking. like it's an item on the stimming restaurant menu. because if i don't then i think i'll end up eating myself.

[characterworkshoppe]

The Iron Scorpions as Told by Ashiya

Quick a/n : So I felt like writing a very short fic for The Devil is a Part-timer fandom because a) I love it and b) there aren't a whole lot of fics for this fandom compared to others and c) especially Alciel/Ashiya doesn't have nearly as many fics...so...since this has been tugging at my heart for quite a while now I decided it needs to exist on my blog...anyways! Still anxious and depressed so please no constructive criticism yet! I know better then anyone that it's absolutely ass...it has mistakes...the formatting is off...the punctuation is horribly awful...but I'm just so not in a place yet mentally to do better...so please go easy on me! I really am not doing good with this kind of stuff atm. Anyways, my main sources for Hataraku Maou-sama/The Devil is a Part-timer are the anime and the manga since I don't have access to the light novel, but Ashiya to me is one big question mark ever since hearing what type of demon he is...and I'm just making my own personal headcanons and stuff that I'm adding to this fic about the Iron Scorpion clan or sometimes demons in general...so this is just my ideas and interpretations mixed with the canon material...hope that's alright!

Also I'm not specifying the gender of the reader and using they/them, and there's lots of my personal ideas for the Iron Scorpian clan...Anywho...

Warnings and just stuff to know/literary ingredients that make up this fic : Talks polyamory, demon mating cycles, marking mates, Y/n has a sort of "bouncy" personality idk it just what happened..alright 😅, Ashiya might seem OOC to some people but this is just how I picture him, anyways the fic is not inherently sexual...it just talks about mating, weird demonic scorpian demon anatomy, no beta (obviously), again tons of mistakes...I am aware of them, I'm just to tired and depressed to fix them, so kindly just ignore them to the best of your ability!

You have now been informed!

Fic is under the cut!

The Iron Scorpions as Told by Ashiya

The distant city sounds created a calming hum of white noise while Ashiya washed the dishes in the tranquility of the evening light's glow.

"Y/n" he said catching thier attention.

"Yeah" they responded stretching thier arms upwards as they sat at the table in the center of the room.

"It's quite nice having just the two of us in here" he remarked having a gentle smile on his face.

Y/n hums a "Mmm" in delight.

Ashiya smiles as he dries his hands on a towel, now having finished washing the dishes.

He sits down beside them as they lean thier head onto his shoulder, he smiles fondly at thier display of affection.

"You've been awfully quiet, what's on your mind" he asks, enjoying his lover's company.

Y/n gently wraps thier arms around his arm, as they continued to have thier head on his shoulder.

They quickly nuzzle his neck causing him to laugh a bit in surprise.

"Honestly, you..." he replies laughing softly.

Y/n hums in delight having accomplished the task of hearing thier beloved's laugh.

Ashiya looks at them smiling at the affectionate touch of his partner "Alright, what in particular is making you so desperate for my touch today?" He inquired smiling softly.

Y/n smiled and let go of his arm choosing instead to fall onto his lap dramatically.

They looked up at him feeling a bit embarrassed but decided to talk nonetheless.

"Well I couldn't help but wonder about you...I've only gotten to know you in your human form...but well...you're a demon...so I don't know you as much as I should, so I wanna know more about you...Alciel".

Ashiya's eyes widened in surprise, it felt nice hearing the name he grew up with since childhood come from thier lips.

His own lips softly hummed in delight, thinking about what he might say about himself before looking back awkwardly and coming up short of any ideas on where to start.

Y/n laughed softly.

"Mind if I ask some questions then?" They asked.

Ashiya nodded softly at the suggestion as he waited eagerly wondering what they want to ask.

Y/n took a deep breath and looked up at Ashiya.

"Well, I know you're from the Iron Scorpion clan and I know Maou unified the demon realm, but...I genuinely know nothing about you as a demon or your clan..." they said awkwardly.

Ashiya smiled and looked up feeling a nostalgic warmth of memories.

"Well...what in particular would you like to know about my clan?" He asked.

Y/n blushed awkwardly.

"Well for starters...you're called the Iron Scorpions, does that mean you guys have your own venom? And like a stinger?" They asked.

Ashiya smiled.

"Yes, we're called Iron Scorpions for a reason, we do in fact have venomous stingers, however they are our last means of defense...we typically try to defend ourselves with our own combat skills because our stingers are our last line of defense, if our tails are cut off then...well either we'll be rendered handicapped for life or it might kill us...so we try to be cautious".

Y/n smiled and noded, "So what happens if someone accidentally happens to trip and injure themselves on your stinger?"

Ashiya smiled, "Well our clan, I'd say we're quite good at alchemical medicines surrounding venom and poions in the demon realm, especially to cure our own venom when we sting someone by accident which rarely happens since we can control when we release venom, however accidents happen, unfortunately my knowledge of poisons and venom does not translate into pharmacology or any kind job here for that matter in Japan, mainly because we have very different elements and ingredients in our world, back in Ente Isla that is, a lot of the same too, but also different things which came as a result of having magic in our world when this one does not".

Y/n nodded, feeling excited learning about Ashiya to which he laughed happily at thier enthusiasm.

He looked back at them and said "Anything else you wanted to know?"

Y/n hugged Ashiya in delight unsure how to contain thier happiness.

"Yes please" they said, as they suddenly blushed.

Ashiya looked intrigued at this reaction.

"Oh, may I hear the question my love?" He asked.

They continue to blush as they look away awkwardly, "Um...do Iron Scorpions have a mating season?" They finally ask.

Ashiya laughs finding thier awkwardness endearing, "Yes, we have a mating season, typically in warmer months, but that doesn't have much bearing on me in human form, however if you're interested in experiencing a demon mating season and mating with me in demon form then I wouldn't be against it, we're already together afterall".

Y/n nods and asks "what does mating season include?"

He smiles and says "Well, typically the smell of pheromones gets us...in the mood...and I can assure you, your pheromones smell enchanting my love. In our clan we mainly start out making the mood right for our mates...like how you humans like to wine and dine your dates before sleeping with them, we Iron Scorpions like taking our mates dancing, then once the mood is right we'd take them back and sleep with them, now what you're most interested in is the actual mating process, correct?"

Y/n blushes and nods thier head up and down enthusiastically in response.

Ashiya laughs at thier reaction, "Well, alright then!like most demons we like claiming our mates! We can control the release or retention of our venom...so we end up stinging our mates to have our marks and scents cover them for others to know who they belong to, without our venom being used in the sting of course, and we also use our tails to restrain our mates, and our black scales vibrate when we churr, now remember that we're covered in black scales on most of our bodies! Now as for penetrative sex, well Iron Scorpions have a demonic version of a cloaca, it's similar but different then ones you've heard about, we can have penises and we can also have vaginas, so Iron Scorpions chose how they identify whenever they get an idea, all of us can impregnate and be impregnated, that's just how we are" Ashiya explains.

Y/n blushes and buries thier face into his shirt quickly as he gently holds them close.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?" Ashiya asks as he gently rubs thier back soothingly.

Y/n regains some of thier composure to talk again, "Um, well...I heard that unlike how in humans monogamy is the norm, within most demon clans its normal to have many mates, is that true?" She asks.

Ashiya smiles and nods.

"Yes, it is! good job on learning that Y/n, it is true" he says.

Y/n smiles, "So...you know how we both also like Rika? Mind if we both confess to her and both be mates?" They ask.

Ashiya smiles affectionately.

"I'm very glad you're willing! Absolutely!" He said.

Y/n quickly cuddles him affectionately and nuzzles his neck again.

Ashiya laughs happily, "My my! You're quite cute my love".

Y/n hums in delight then speaks up again.

"Hey Ashiya, thanks for telling me more about you" they say.

He smiles, "absolutely my love, I'm glad I got the opportunity".

He hugs them and tightens his grip tightens slightly at the joyous feeling of having his lover close, he smiles and says "Now instead of explaining courtship and nesting, I'll let you experience it with the time we spend".

Y/n smiles, "I can't wait" they say and they stay happily in thier lover's embrace.

[thydonutart]

omg i completely forgot about this i am SO SORRY. I hope you're still hanging around Anon :') Putting this in a post instead because it gets a lil long and rambly. TLDR: Heimdall accepts the mercy Kratos offers the first time, has a shaky truce with Kratos + gang because he foresees Ragnarok happening per the game if he dies during this fight. Ragnarok happens anyway, Heimdall is *pissed* off, ends his alliance with them and goes on a spiraling journey to confront his past mistakes and find some semblance of peace. Without giving too much away, it's a lot of character study on depression and recovery of a very complicated person who has lost everything, etc... A more lengthy summary + extra notes below the cut!

When Heimdall stood face to face with Kratos; he saw not a man, nor a god, but his own demise. He knew that if he were to fall here, then everything he cared about would be destroyed; Asgard, his home, his family. Everything he had been trying to protect, that was his duty to protect - gone. So when Kratos offers him mercy - he takes it. Heimdall swallows his pride, and turns his back on the All-Father for the first time in his life. He goes with Kratos instead, offering his aid in hopes of preventing the needless destruction of Asgard. And as he spends time in Sindri’s treehouse, learning more about his new allies, Heimdall finds himself stuck in a limbo between who he is and who he wants to be. However, when his efforts to prevent Ragnarok are thwarted again and again - tensions run high. And the hesitant trust between them quickly grows brittle as his ‘allies’ charge headfirst into Ragnarok, and the destruction of his home. The short-lived truce comes to a bitter end, and he is unable to do anything but sit and watch as Ragnarok lays ruin to Asgard. Heimdall embarks on a journey to amend the mistakes of his past, and in doing so, is forced to face demons he is unable to run from any longer. And as he recovers what has been lost of his family, and himself, he must battle the regret that threatens to consume him. We will delve a lot into Heidi's past, including how he came into existence from Odin and the Nine Mothers - how he was an innocent, well meaning kid with a spectacular gift, raised lovingly during his childhood largely by Tyr and his wife Jules (who is the love of my life, @sleepingmire's OC - i drew some art of them before! - how that relationship is tarnished over time as they lose Odin's favor and are labelled traitors and locked away), and then growing into an adult as Odin's lackey as he starts to make terrible morally wrong decisions that shape him into the character we know from the game. I have sooo many more notes on this but to be honest I am not a writer and don't know if I'll ever write an actual fic based on this as it's quite a long story too? I do want to at least draw some designs out for post-Ragnarok Heimdall, some scenes, etc... for the time being! :) I really have to give so much thanks to sleepingmire for listening to all of my rambles and giving me so many more amazing ideas for the story esp letting me include the lovely Jules in this - would love to share more of it because there's so much good stuff in there!

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

[Sensitive] Let's Talk RP and Mental Illness

//Hello hello, Saru-mun here to post a lil disclaimer that I felt to be due on my blog for quite some time now.

Let me preface all this by saying that yours truly has past and present long-lived experiences with mental illness, as someone affected directly by it and even indirectly when co-existing with others affected by it. Nothing in this post comes from a place of ignorance, intolerance, or even indifference to it.

I've always been a reserved person when it comes to my personal mental health. Oversharing and "trauma-dumping" have put a stigma on being overly open about these things, and I for one loathe the idea of being labeled as the person "playing the victim card". That said, I'm happy to find that this personal choice of mine does not reflect in my writing and roleplay. I like to write on these topics and explore their intricate and deep thematics like most other people here.

With THAT said as well however, I am also someone who puts a priority on realism before all else.

We live in a very lucky time for mental health awareness. Psychology studies have made leaps and bounds and uncovered, identified and explained many aspects of mental illness that I still remember being completely misunderstood and unheard of when I was a child. I think it is great and am thankful for this progress.

This however is due to the world we live in and the many advancements research has made over the years. This is a factor that I am never unaware of and that I am unwilling to cheapen by pretending it's to be given for granted.

What does it mean exactly? It means that when writing in settings that do not match our present-day progress, I will keep that in mind and have my muses match the emotional intelligence and knowledge that I would expect to be average in the world and universe they live in.

You probably should not expect Cyno the desert-dweller with a degree in elemental studies to know much about things like autism, PTSD, identity disorders or depression. The world he belongs to simply does not reflect that degree of awareness towards these conditions and as such, characters that belong in it should not be expected to understand them like we do in real life.

What should you expect? Ignorance and the mistakes born from it. Expect him to think your muse with executive dysfunction is lazy. To point out smell and filth if they are not able to keep up with their hygiene. Expect him to be confused by things like panic attacks, or to not understand one's deep-rooted anxieties.

In fact, Cyno himself has some degree of mental health problems that he is completely unaware of. And I've made him this way on purpose, because I remember the way I behaved about my own mental illness when I lived in a time where it was poorly understood. I downplayed it to personal flaws of mine that I should overcome.

You should expect this from any of my muses who live in a universe that is not as advanced as our real lifetime. My Mystic Messenger characters for example are more likely to be aware of these issues compared to, say, my Japanese feudal era demon lord character.

Why have I decided to go this route? Because I think mental health is important, and so is its history. I do not like the idea of pretending that the problems surrounding it and our understanding of mental illness never existed. These are stories that truly happened, and I want my readers to remember this, because it is by its mistakes that humankind has learned to be better. I want the ignorance of my muses to be a lesson, and a warning.

With that out of the way, I am making this post because the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. If you think something like a negative or indifferent reaction to your muse's mental illness might be something too insensitive for you to handle, then please, please please refrain from bringing these topics to the table with my muses.

You can talk to me OOCly if you're unsure how my muses would respond to these topics as well. I don't like breaking character (or what I perceive to be in-character for my muse anyway), but I am open to discussion and compromise on the language used in my responses if it will help you be comfortable with my portrayal more. A solution can almost always be found.

This turned stupid long already, so I'll be back to draft mountain now. You be good and stay off my soda.

Saru-mun\\