#theme: eating disorders

[bitternanami]

something i think is really interesting about dungeon meshi is the cast's respective views on food as the story progresses. the way many adventurers get through the dungeon is to eat when they Must, but mostly rely on healing magic to keep going when they're tired or beaten down. death is something you can buy your way out of, here.

having these lower stakes when it comes to running yourself too hard has made a lot of people in this setting kind of devalue food and what it does for you.

im not all the way through the manga yet, but so far i really like how it goes about debunking that mindset.

long post under the cut, cw explicit discussion of disordered eating. textual depiction of unhealthy methods of dealing with it. please be cautious!

it seems like to most folks, food is either a decadent luxury, like when the governor offers mr tance a feast as a show of power and wealth, (although he is the only one who actually eats in that scene as he talks about his ambitions);

[id: the governor and mr. tance talk politics and hierarchies, while the governor eats from a bowl. mr. tance's meal is not visible behind a speech bubble.

"so you believe the sorceror is an elf?" he asks.

"i can't say with absolute certainty," mr. tance replies, "but the spells are not ones dwarves and humans typically use." /end id]

like the painted-royal feasts laios tries to partake in that never actually nourish him...

[id: laios, fresh out of the living painting feast, surprisedly holding his grumbling stomach /end id]

or, to the working class, it's pretty much exclusively fuel. i'm thinking about the scene where kabru's party, ostensibly intended to be our view into how adventuring Typically goes for most people, is shown preparing to go to the dungeon by like. walking up to someone and ordering 'a weeks' worth of rations.' purely functional.

[id: kabru enters a store, and the merchant says "welcome!"

kabru says "i need a week's worth of rations for six, and two days' worth of water."

"sure thing." the merchant then reaches behind him and grabs a large cube-shaped package, wrapped in nondescript cloth and tied in place. it thumps onto the counter in front of them both. /end id]

when kabru hands mickbell his food for the trip, he complains about how heavy it is on his back. it's a necessary liability.

we also see chilchuck, in an early chapter where there isn't much food to go around, grumbling about how he used to be better at not noticing when he was hungry. he's frustrated that he's more attuned to his bodily needs, now that he's starting to fill them with regularity.

[id: chilchuck, the only one awake, sits in his bedroll and glares at the timekeeping-candle burning down in front of him while he listens to his stomach growl. moving to find his canteen and fill himself with water instead, he thinks to himself, "my stomach has gotten weaker. i used to be able to go two days without food." /end id]

(like im not even gonna lie this is a big mood. the healing process is really really annoying)

even laios, early on, working out the logistics of going back for falin, considers his expenses and ultimately the thing he decides to save money on is their food supply. like, even the guy most invested in eating as an experience kind of just assumes he will Figure It Out. its what hes eating, not how hes eating it that matters to him at that point.

[id: marcille looks down at the ingredients they've gathered, the walking mushroom and the scorpion in an unappetizing heap on the ground, and asks laios "so how exactly do we eat them?"

he responds "let's just cook them, like normal." /end id]

but its here that senshi introduces the idea of food as art and as healing. its exciting and its fascinating for laios, getting to taste the creatures hes been reading about and fighting, but i dont think it would ever really help him feel full if not for this.

[id: three panels of laios tasting the scorpion hotpot, looking stunned, and then excitedly telling senshi "delicious!"

senshi matches his energy, asking "isn't it? isn't it?" /end id]

pictured: guy who had resigned himself to kind of just doing his best rediscovers the joy in something tasting really fucking good

what they did last time isnt going to work. falin is gone, and constantly anesthetizing their pain and healing through their weakness is no longer a realistic option for the party. in order to make it through they must all relearn how to eat well, one by one and as a group over and over again, because its either that or nothing.

one of my favorite depictions of this idea thus far is when marcille is seriously low on health and mana, and both of these problems are mitigated by taking care of herself, and trying to get iron and protein

[id: marcille, looking sickly, wakes to laios saying, "marcille, marcille, can you sit up? we've got something nice for you."

she watches senshi grill pieces of kelpie liver on a low fire, while laios ties a bib around her neck. /end id]

and drinking a bunch of dead water spirits. she gets the idea, she's supposed to get in nutrients and it'll help her feel better, but in aiming for the quick, inefficient fix, namely chugging that shit down like she heard it was good to Stay Hydrated and decided that would be the thing that fixes her,

[id: marcille throws back a cup of boiled undine-water, her face red. laios asks, "do you really need to drink it that fast?"

she gasps out "...the magical energy stored in nature spirits is actually quite hard to absorb. even if you drink a lot, the majority of it is excreted without being absorbed," and takes another drink. "that's why i need to drink as much as i can."

laios says weakly "you'll get water poisoning," but marcille only stops when senshi puts a hand on her shoulder and says,

"it's easier to absorb nutrients if ye digest them with food. that's a fundamental rule of nutrition."

marcille says, "senshi..." contemplative

and he holds out a bowl of tentuclus and a thumbs up. "let's get cooking!" /end id]

she doesn't immediately realize the answer is that she needs more than that. she's been working hard. she needs care, and she needs nourishment.

once she gets that, though, she makes her boiled water into a stew, and she works to make that stew as good as she can, and everyone can have some.

because in dungeon meshi, to feed yourself or allow yourself to be fed is treated as performing a kindness for yourself. food is what propels you, but there is also an art and a joy inherent to the process of making it; in the way you feel when you've had enough to eat.

[id: senshi watches as chilchuck and marcille eat and excitedly hash out plans.

"i've got a good feeling about this! maybe it'll work out!" chilchuck says

marcille responds, "well it's easier to feel optimistic on a full stomach!"

senshi smiles, proud. /end id]

^^^ i want to put this image on my wall

when you're working through disordered eating habits, you really do have to keep learning this shit. (in my experience, learning about cooking is one of the best ways to do so.)

i'll have to see if my thesis holds up as i continue, but i think one of the reasons the portrayal here resonates with me so hard is that ryoko kui puts most of her characters at eye level with me on this. they're all working at it, too. the text and i are both commiserating, and encouraging each other, 'have some more, you'll feel better.'

[eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeert]

School is hard and it's my fault I always just watch YouTube or scroll on Tumblr after tutoring and I barely even do my work and I want to do it but I can't I can't do the stuff I actually like doing like reading, drawing, writing just anything that could be considered somewhat productive and it's been regurgitated to me from so many teachers and my mom that i only have highschool to get my shit together or I'll fucking fail in life no matter what I do and I am trying my best it's just that my best is far from enough and I should've tried to switch my math class to second semester or to a different teacher at the very least cus I haven't learned shit and it's not like the math teacher doesn't put her lectures in canvas it's just that I can't sit through something I don't like and now it's end of course testing and I know I'll fail math and English cus I can't do my work or pay attention and none of the ADHD meds I've been put on really help except for Adderall but that made me feel like zombie but at least I got more of my work done, I don't eat breakfast or lunch at school anymore and I only really eat dinner and maybe a small snack and I'm a bit worried I might get an E.D but I don't wanna sit in the cafeteria where it's really loud, and I don't wanna rely on my parents for cash to hang out with my friends so I have to go into the cafeteria this week to sell my stupid fucking memes, and I honestly can't tell which parent is better at this point cus my mom gets on my ass about school and makes me feel like failure if I don't do well in school and my dad is mildly transphobic plus a bit of other bullshit, and I want to change but I don't know how, I want to spend time on my hobbies and homework and not fail at life, and live up to my potential that almost every teacher in the past and my parents say I have, I want my mom to stop saying "ThIs Is WhY you dOn't mess aroUnd in scHool cUs It'll come bAck to Bite you in tHe ass" at every minor life inconvenience, I want my dad to see me as his son instead of his daughter, I just want to go to sleep and have it all be some weird bad dream that seemed scary when you were in it but now that you're awake it's just really stupid sounding.

[danothan]

do you guys think speedsters have calluses, despite their accelerated healing? if anything, i feel like they should BECAUSE of it, since calluses form as a way to heal over repetitive pressure/friction. ig they could also heal anew without calluses, but would there even be enough time in between? with all the running speedsters do, that Repetition would build up over time to be more of a Constant

then again, a part of me thinks that as often as speedsters run, it would still not be enough to counteract how rapidly they heal, esp considering that the speedforce is meant to protect the speedster’s body from friction. barry himself says that he doesn’t wear down his socks any faster than usual when wally gifts him socks every year for christmas. i’m also reminded of knight terrors: flash when barry transforms into a callused creature of a thing bc there’s smth interfering with the speedforce, so his body has to compensate for the friction

huh, so i guess the takeaway is that in a general setting, speedster DON’T get calluses! at least not any more than the average person, probably even less so if at all actually. which now seems obvious in retrospect, but it’s fun going thru the process and showing the work for it lol

[skunkes]

i wasnt even a vampyre truther til recently but aughhh there really is something about them you really can fit so many metaphors of all kinds in there. they're so Susceptible. To the Metaphors.

[ds-angel1]

hi my love! could you do a toxic! rafe turnt into a soft rafe. maybe he bodyshames her and makes her change herself to the point where she gets seriously ill and he realises how much she’s messed up? xx

1st part

cw: body shaming, eating disorder themes, emotional manipulation, fainting, a start towards recovery

a/n: i am so so so so so sorry that this took so long

You were tired all the time now.

Not in a way that could be fixed with sleep, but in the way your bones ached when you moved. Like gravity had gotten heavier just for you. Like your body was protesting the way you treated it, and you didn’t have the energy to fight back.

But you still tried to smile.

You still brushed your hair. Shaved your legs. You still waited for his compliments like they were rations. Little affirmations you could chew on until the next day.

“Damn,” he said one night, eyeing you while you changed in the low lamp light. “I can see your ribs again. That’s so hot.”

It made your skin crawl. But you laughed. Twirled for him like you were proud. Like this was a reward, not a symptom.

It was so easy to pretend, especially when he wrapped his hands around your waist and said, “This- this is what I want. Just like this.”

You stopped eating in front of people. They asked questions. Said you looked pale. Said you looked small.

“You always say you’re not hungry,” one friend pointed out during a group brunch. “But you never eat later, either.”

You shrugged, picked at your napkin, smiled too hard.

Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table. Not lovingly. Not reassuringly.

Just… pressure. A warning.

“Some people are just disciplined,” he said, tone smooth. “That’s rare these days.”

You basked in it. That was love, wasn’t it?

Being the girl he could brag about.

But it got harder.

Your period vanished. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had it. Your hair started thinning, clinging to your brush like strands of guilt. You wore concealer to cover the purple hollows beneath your eyes, but it always creased. Your hands trembled at the steering wheel. Walking up stairs made your head spin.

You kept going.

Because when you skipped a meal, he kissed your temple. When you skipped two, he said, “Good girl.” When you skipped three, he fucked you like he couldn’t get enough. Told you you were perfect. Told you he could carry you forever.

It was working. It was finally working.

…

It didn’t happen in some dramatic moment. There was no gasp, no cry for help, no cinematic fall.

You were standing in the bathroom, brushing your teeth. That was it.

Your vision wobbled at the edges like heat on pavement. You blinked. Swallowed. Thought, Just sit down. Just breathe.

But your body didn’t listen.

The brush slipped from your fingers, clattered into the sink. And then your knees just buckled. Not hard, not sudden, like your bones had simply… given up.

You folded in on yourself, shoulder hitting the cabinet, hip skimming the edge of the tub. Not loud enough to call attention, but enough to leave a bruise. Enough to knock the breath from your chest.

And then the tile was under your cheek, cool and oddly comforting.

You didn’t black out.

You just laid there, watching the light shift on the ceiling, your heart skittering like a trapped bird. Too fast. Too light.

Rafe didn’t find you right away.

He was in the kitchen. You heard him, talking to himself, opening drawers, swearing about something stupid like misplacing his wallet.

When the door creaked open, you didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. You were afraid to.

He stood in the doorway for a second too long.

“…Baby?”

His voice was cautious. Not yet afraid. Not yet anything. Just confused.

You saw his bare feet cross the floor toward you. Then a pause. A sharp inhale.

“What the fuck are you- are you okay?” He crouched. Reached for your wrist. His fingers were warm and dry and trembling.

“Hey. Hey. Talk to me.”

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted like metal.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“You’re on the fucking floor,” he snapped, voice pitching up now, something sharp edging in. “Did you fall?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t explain it. The fatigue. The hollowness. The way your limbs didn’t belong to you anymore.

“I just got dizzy,” you said. “It’s not- just give me a second.”

His hand hovered near your face, then pulled back like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You turned your head away, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s not a big deal.”

Silence.

Then:

“How long?”

You blinked. “…What?”

His voice was low. Flat. Measured.

“How long have you been like this?”

You didn’t answer.

And that told him everything.

He helped you sit up slowly, carefully, like you might break in half. His hand pressed against your back. You were shaking. He could feel it.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re freezing.”

You rested your head against the cabinet. Couldn’t quite lift it. Your limbs felt miles away.

“I’m okay,” you murmured. “I just need water. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

He flinched like the words physically struck him.

“Not yet?” he echoed. “It’s five o’clock.”

You blinked slowly.

That felt irrelevant.

He looked at you for a long time, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched.

Then he stood, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.

You sat there alone for a while. Not crying. Not thinking. Just… still.

Then the door opened again. Softly this time.

He came back with a hoodie. A glass of juice. A granola bar in his pocket.

He knelt beside you, quietly, and pulled the sweatshirt over your head. Guided your arms through the sleeves like you were fragile. Like you were made of glass.

You didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see what was in them.

But when he pressed the cup to your lips and said, “Please,” his voice cracked.

And that made you drink.

…

He started small.

Grocery runs with color. Fruit, bread, things with softness and warmth. No more scale. No more poking. No more comments. He made pancakes one morning and nearly cried when you ate three bites.

“You don’t have to finish,” he said, gently, when your hand started to shake. “I’m proud of you either way.”

It sounded fake. It sounded like a script.

But he meant it.

He put his phone away at dinner. Looked you in the eye. Watched your face instead of your plate.

He still touched your waist sometimes, out of habit, but now he stopped himself. Flinched like he had been burned.

And at night, when he pulled you into him, he didn’t grope. Didn’t grab. He just held. Whispers soft and shaking into your hair:

“I love you even like this.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “You’re not a mirror. You’re mine.”

You weren’t better yet.

You still skipped meals sometimes. Still counted calories without thinking. Still searched for the old praise in his eyes like an addict looking for a fix.

But he never gave it anymore. And maybe that hurt. But maybe it also helped. Because you weren’t shrinking for him anymore.

You were growing, painfully, into someone who could survive this. And this time, he wasn’t leading the way. He was just following. Soft. Careful. Quiet. Like he finally understood how close he’d come to losing you for good.

[comikbook]

so you talk about your religious trauma and it’s a major theme in your art, and i was wondering what your current relationship with religion is? is in, do you practice any religion or consider yourself religious? if it isn’t too personal :)

im willing to answer !! i dont talk about it on most of my socials outright because people tend to misinterpret things intensely when it comes to this kind of topic, but ill give it a shot trying to write it out. In fact, I will give the whole story of my experience with religion. So its gonna be long.

there will be talk of psychosis, eating disorders, delusions, and self harm in this post. However I will not be graphic in my descriptions.

To start out I suppose for context, my parents are not catholic. my mom doesn’t talk about religion, and my dad doesnt follow anything in the real sense, but practices a lot of principals of buddhism. My nana was catholic, and my extended family vary in their religious beliefs.

That being said, (i think to my nana’s influence) when i started school i attended a small private catholic school which has since been shut down. fun fact ! if you’ve ever watched the Netflix doc “The Keepers” my school was only about 3 miles from where one of the nun’s bodies were found. The priest who was suspected to be the one to blame previously taught at the school i went to before moving to the one he is known for teaching at. Not really relevant, but i did always feel a bit uneasy there as a child so it was a weird thing to find out later.

Anyways, I attended this catholic school for 3 years. pre-k, kindergarden, and first grade. I would often ask to use the restroom and just wander around the halls or hide in the bathroom. I would get scolded for asking questions that were “inappropriate”. The one i remember most vividly was “If God created all of us, who created God ?” to one of the nuns, who became upset with me. We weren’t taught whar we should have been, and when I did move to public school i was far behind my peers in specifically science, math, and history, but I digress. This is my one class photo from our yearbook !

It is important to note that my first remembered instance of psychosis started when i attended this private school. My mom was picking me up one day, there was heavy traffic. She was trying to get over and was complaining no one would let her. I caught myself staring at my reflection in the front mirror of the car, and the clicking of the blinker kind of overwhelmed me. In the constant clicking I “decoded” a message that involved me being told to do something particularly violent. In my small brain in addition to my outside influences, I thought the person that sent this message to me was God. I was confused as to why, but I felt i did something wrong to deserve it. i quietly prayed in the back seat internally for forgiveness.

So I started to receive more messages from “God” commanding me to do something or another, typically vile in some way. i would hear this voice in my head frequently, until eventually it faded out and stopped. I dont remember when it stopped, i just remember i had this experience as a child and then when i was a little older i just didnt think about it anymore.

I do have gaps in my memory of my childhood, pretty big ones, for reasons im still struggling to understand to this day. So that makes things fuzzy. I do remember falling back into religion briefly in middle school, but eventually fell out of it again.

As i approached the end of highschool my mental health was tanking. Mostly with depression and anxiety, however this wouldnt be the worst it would get. In 2019 I was in college and things were getting increasingly worse. I was one of the few people that loved the isolation of the quarantine actually, i fear if not for that what was to come would have been way worse.

My symptoms of psychosis started to creep back into my life. I was already isolating before the quarantine, but got worse after it had started. I know i said i enjoyed it, and i did, but it also fed into some bad habits. Anyways I was becoming increasingly scared and paranoid, I was actively self harming, I was extremely depressed. I had plans to take my own life, a few of them actually. I started eating less. I didnt think much of it, I was just depressed, i have been depressed most of my life so this was just a particularly bad bout for me is what i thought.

That is, until one night where I had my first psychotic episode. It remains to be the worst and only very big episode i have had. I dealt with it mostly alone, never alerting my family of it. I was on the phone with one friend i had at the time, although they were not the kindest to me overall. Despite that they sat with me. This episode led to me standing in one place for over 2 hours too scared to move. When I finally did, it seemed to trigger a more violent outburst.

I wont go into too much detail but i left the experience cried out, bloodied, and heavily bruised. My legs were entirely black and blue for over a month following. After this episode I finally decided to try to get help, and I met with my psychiatrist for the first time. I was immediately put on several antidepressants which ended up being beneficial but in the beginning caused me to lose my appetite entirely. This is when i fell more and more into my eating disorder. With this though, I was still experiencing delusions and hallucinations and got put on my first antipsychotic.

It helped with my symptoms, and it helped me get back to a normal weight. Even tho at the time I was abusing my adderall I was still able to get my body (mostly) back to normal, at least physically. That being said, while my symptoms were lessened they were not gone, it just became less scary to me. Maybe it was because I was being desensitized, but thats something to ponder another time.

I started to become more and more infatuated with catholicism again from that original episode forward. I was obsessed and that voice of god returned to me. I started hearing clicking and chirping coming from the back of my right ear, which ive dubbed as a “chip” in my brain placed by god for me to receive his messages. I thought there was an evil inside of me that needed to be let out, which i did by participating in frequent bloodletting to force out the bad, and make my body create newer, cleaner, and holier blood. This was something i felt I had to keep up often so that this evil force wouldnt take over. I was eventually able to stop self harming, and have been clean for over 2 years now. It is hard and i still feel the need to “cleanse” myself, but i try my best to push it down.

Fast foreward to 2022 and I would start the first piece in my painting series. I still experienced symptoms but much less frequently ! I started to detail my experience thru art. I would finish the first piece in my series titled “Forgive Me Father” in 2023. Since then I have made many more.

So we finally get to today. I have waited to talk about my current relationship with religion until the end as I felt the context was necessary, and to be honest it is complicated. As you can tell, It has effected me greatly and has come and gone in my life.

I would say from where I am now, I am not religious. A better way to put it i suppose is i consciously make the choice to not be. Like I said its complicated.

I like to think of it as there is two of me in my body. One is paranoid, scared, and extremely delusional. This is the part that still believes god is communicating with them. This is the person that still prays for forgiveness and cries over the fear of being sent to hell for their sins, all approved and constructed by god himself. and then theres my rational side, which exists im sure solely because of my medication. This part is extremely self aware, can tell when i am being delusional or irrational, who knows this is something caused by my illness. They exist side by side, at the same time, always. They fight in my head for control but always exist simultaniously, think of it like a pie chart. one may be more prevelant but the other is still always there.

So in a way, there is a lot I do personally believe. That being said the reason I do believe is because of my schizophrenia. So I choose to navigate my life as someone who actively does not believe as an attempt to not let the delusion control me. do i think people who are religious are delusional ? I do not, but I know in my personal case what leads me to believe these things is an unwell mind.

I still have an intense fascination with catholicism and religion in general. I think its a beautiful thing, it moves me, but i must keep it at a distance to avoid hurting me. It is not something I can actively engage in outside of general interest because it would kill me, and despite my previous statements i would like to live at least a little longer haha.

With all that said, and I doubt anyone will read this whole thing, its been a rollercoaster of a ride. If anyone has questions about it, feel free to ask. Im an open book about this stuff online most days, and Im willing to offer any information about it.

[gukcnt]

THROUGH HIS EYES ⭒ M. LIST

your brother’s best friend jungkook, has always been the cold, untouchable type—but you’ve known him since childhood and he’s the only one who’s ever seen you beyond your insecurities. One night, everything changes, unraveling years of unspoken feelings and leaving you wondering if love has always been closer than you believed.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — brothers bestfriend au, college au, childhood friends to lovers, second chance romance, forbidden love, slowburn, agegap, unrequited love, pining, forced proximity, reserved!jungkook, shy insecure!reader, chubby!reader, romance, smut, fluff, angst

warnings — 18+, explicit sex scenes, mature themes, bullying, body insecurity, emotional distress and trauma, mentions of eating disorder, dark aspects, mental health struggles, overcoming insecurities, several mentions of weight and appearance, love confessions and confrontation, healing and self-acceptance, heartbreak, argument and miscommunication, smoking and drinking, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the dark and potentially triggering content)

taglist — [open]

m. list

──── 🌸 ────

⤷ 01 : to be released in august.

[fayelero]

ⓘ 01. THE WAY THAT YOU SEE YOURSELF

⤷ ANGST ﹫ timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader ﹫ established relationship ﹫ be ready to cry :)

-> part.2

⚠︎ cyber bullying, emotional distress (reader), mental health struggles, eating disorders (throwing up), heavy themes, strong emotions, cursing, heavy insults, you’re gonna cry .ᐟ.ᐟ

You still remember the stream like it was yesterday.

Kenma had pulled you gently into frame, eyes soft beneath the warm glow of the LED lights in his setup. He smiled, shy but proud.

“This is my girlfriend,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck with that same familiar awkwardness. “Be nice to her.”

At the time, it had felt like a dream. You were glowing with love and disbelief. Kenma—your Kenma—was introducing you to millions of his fans. Your face was warm with the thought, your heart thudding loud in your ears. You’d looked at him, smiled nervously, and waved to the camera.

The chat had exploded.

He’d chuckled.

“Okay, okay. We’ll play now,” he’d said, dismissing the tsunami of reactions with a lighthearted grin.

He didn’t see it.

Not what came after.

It started small.

A comment here and there on your Instagram posts. A DM.

“Who the hell are you?”

“She’s not even cute lol.”

You’d laughed it off at first. But they didn’t stop. They didn’t forget. You were no longer just “some girl.” You were Kenma’s girlfriend. And to them, that meant you were someone to tear apart.

The hate grew like rot beneath the surface.

“You don’t deserve him.”

“Pig.”

“Go kill yourself.”

And it wasn’t just the words. It was the way they dissected you. Your smile. Your clothes. Your hair. Your body. Every post you made was swarmed. Every picture was analyzed, compared to some ideal they had crafted for the man you loved.

Kenma didn’t know.

He didn’t see.

Because it wasn’t on his streams. It wasn’t in his mentions.

It was you. Your phone. Your DMs. Your world that was growing darker.

You told yourself not to care. You told yourself they were just kids, strangers, faceless names with too much time.

But at night, in bed, you scrolled.

Your fingers trembled.

Your stomach turned.

And eventually, you changed.

You stopped posting pictures of yourself. You started dressing differently—trying to look more like the girls they praised in his fan edits. You painted your face carefully, calculatingly. You skipped meals. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

Kenma would smile at you, kiss your temple. He had no idea.

He still looked at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. And so you acted. Played the part. You’d hold his hand tighter in public just to make yourself believe it. Laugh a little louder. Smile a little harder.

But the truth was, you were drowning. Quietly. Alone.

Sometimes you’d cry in the shower, biting your knuckles to muffle the sound. Other times you’d stare at your reflection, confused.

Who was this girl?

Where was the one who used to sing in the kitchen, who used to smile without checking a mirror first?

She was gone.

Buried beneath thousands of hateful words. Words from people who had never met you. Who didn’t know that Kenma loved how you always brought him tea without asking, or how you stayed quiet when he streamed, or how you understood when he needed silence. They didn’t know how he reached for you in his sleep. How he whispered “I love you” even when half-awake.

They didn’t want to know.

And now, you didn’t even want to look at yourself.

The worst part wasn’t even the hate.

It was pretending.

You didn’t want Kenma to worry. He worked so hard. He was building something beautiful—his own world—and you were supposed to be the lucky one invited in. You didn’t want to be the crack in the foundation.

So you smiled. Always smiled.

It was the beginning of the end.

But Kenma wasn’t stupid.

He just didn’t know what he was looking at.

But he knew you were not okay.

It had started subtly—like hairline cracks in glass. Imperceptible at first, something most people would walk past without noticing. But he wasn’t most people. And you weren’t just someone.

You were you.

The you who used to giggle half-asleep when he snuck behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. The you who wore his hoodies and danced barefoot in the kitchen. The you who told him you hated pineapple on pizza with the passion of a full-blown warrior.

That you hadn’t disappeared. Not all at once. That would have been easier.

No—she faded. Quietly.

At first, he thought you were just tired. You’d yawn more, sleep in. He’d offer to cancel a stream to spend the day together and you’d insist you were fine, just wanted to rest. It made sense. You were busy too. Life was heavy sometimes.

But then… other things began to happen.

He remembered the vase.

It was a plain thing, honestly—ugly, even. Some cheap, tacky glass piece his fans had gifted him years ago. He only kept it because he felt guilty throwing it away. You had knocked it off the shelf by accident while dusting and it shattered into a million pieces on the hardwood floor.

You stood there frozen for half a second—and then you crumpled.

You had cried. Not sniffled. Sobbed.

Ten minutes. Ten long, gutting minutes. He had rushed over, confused, concerned, arms wrapped around you as you kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—God, I’m so stupid, I’m sorry—”

Kenma didn’t care about the vase.

He’d told you that again and again, even while he held you, smoothing your hair. But you kept apologizing, kept shaking, like you were trying to make yourself disappear.

And when your tears stopped, you wiped your face and told him it was “just hormones,” laughed a little like it was a joke. Like it hadn’t scared the hell out of him.

Like you weren’t breaking in front of him.

That was the first moment he realized something was wrong. Not just off. Wrong.

After that, he watched more closely.

Your smiles weren’t quite the same. Too quick. Too bright. They didn’t reach your eyes the way they used to. Sometimes, you’d smile before he even finished a sentence, like you were anticipating it. Like a reflex. A cover.

And when he streamed, you’d avoid the camera.

You used to love popping in—bringing him snacks, waving at the chat, kissing his cheek to make him blush. It was your little routine. He never asked you to do it. You wanted to.

Now? You barely entered the room when he was live. And when you did, it was only to leave something silently on his desk and slip away. He noticed the way your eyes flicked toward the screen, and the way your shoulders tightened like you were bracing for something. He just didn’t know what.

He should have asked.

He should have insisted.

But you kept saying you were okay. So he believed you.

Because he wanted to.

Still… the signs piled up.

The nights were the worst. You started waking up at strange hours, always with an excuse. Your footsteps down the hall. The bathroom door closing softly. Water running. Toilet flushing.

Then the silence.

He followed once. Quietly. Listened outside the door.

He heard it.

You throwing up. Gagging. Then coughing and breathing like you were trying to steady yourself. You ran the faucet again—he guessed to drown out the sound.

When you came back to bed, he was still awake. You’d crawled in beside him like nothing happened.

“Sick again?” he asked, gentle.

“Mhm,” you hummed, turning your back to him. “Must’ve been the sushi.”

You said it so easily. So casually. Like it hadn’t happened the night before. And the night before that. Like he was imagining the pattern.

He reached out, touched your back softly. “Maybe we should go to the doctor…”

“No need,” you interrupted. “I’m fine. Probably just a bug.”

Kenma stared at the ceiling long after you fell asleep.

You weren’t fine.

You hadn’t been fine in weeks. Maybe months. But every time he reached out, you retreated. Laughed it off. Shrugged him away. And he—idiot that he was—let you.

Because he was scared. Scared of pushing you too hard. Scared of being wrong. Scared that if he said the wrong thing, whatever this was would get worse.

But it was already getting worse.

You barely ate at dinner. You never asked him to take pictures with you anymore. You didn’t talk about your day unless he pulled it out of you word by word. And the way you looked at yourself in the mirror—he noticed that too. The pause. The silence. The frown.

You’d stopped singing.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he missed your voice.

One night, you stood in the bathroom in nothing but your underwear, brushing your hair out in the mirror. Kenma leaned against the doorway, watching you.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

You didn’t even look up. “Thanks.”

Not “thank you”. Not “you too.”

Just thanks. Flat. Distant.

It made his chest ache.

And still, when he reached for you, you leaned into him. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. You let him love you like he always did.

But you didn’t love you. And he could feel that now.

You were fading in his arms.

That night, he didn’t sleep. Just stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

He didn’t know how long he could do this—watch you disappear and pretend not to notice. But he also didn’t know what to do. He’d never been good with emotions, with people. He was the one who stayed quiet in the back while others took the spotlight.

But now the spotlight was killing you.

And you wouldn’t let him turn it off.

The scariest part?

He didn’t know what would happen first.

That you’d finally tell him what was going on.

Or that one day, he’d wake up—and you’d be gone.

Not in the physical sense. No. But gone in the way that mattered most.

And that terrified him more than anything.

—

Kenma couldn’t sleep.

Again.

You were curled up beside him in the dark, your breathing light and even. From the outside, it looked peaceful. But Kenma knew better now. He knew it was an illusion—just like the smiles you gave him, just like the way you said “I’m fine” when you were clearly not.

He stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He was angry. Not at you—never at you. But at himself. At the silence. At how long he had let this go on. He’d noticed the signs, all of them, and he still hadn’t done anything.

He didn’t want to confront you. Not if it meant making you retreat even further.

But tonight, the helplessness had crawled so deep into his chest it felt like it was eating him alive.

He had to know.

He needed to see it.

Whatever it was that had hollowed you out like this.

So, with trembling hands and guilt tightening his throat, he turned slowly toward your sleeping figure, careful not to wake you. Your phone rested on your bedside table, screen dim, innocuous. Innocent.

But it wasn’t.

He picked it up.

Every second of it felt wrong. He hated going through your things. Hated the invasion of it. But god, he loved you too much to care. He’d break a thousand promises if it meant saving you.

He unlocked the screen with your fingerprint—you had given it to him months ago, jokingly, so he could queue music while you cooked.

He never thought he’d use it like this.

He checked your texts. Nothing out of the ordinary. DMs on Twitter—mostly muted. Barely any responses. You didn’t talk to anyone.

Then he opened Instagram.

And the world collapsed beneath him.

Your inbox was full. Not with friends. Not with kind words.

But with poison.

“Slut.”

“Pig.”

“Who paid you to pretend to be with him?”

“Why are you still alive?”

“Lmao she thinks she’s his type? Has she seen herself?”

“You’re ruining his brand.”

“You don’t deserve him. You’re dirt.”

It was endless.

Message after message, comment after comment, posts and story replies, group DMs you’d been added to just so they could tear you apart.

Kenma stared at the screen. Scrolling. Scrolling. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Your followers had tripled since he introduced you on stream a year ago. But it wasn’t love. It was a target they wanted. Someone to ruin.

And they had.

You hadn’t just changed.

You were being destroyed.

And he hadn’t fucking seen it.

His fingers were trembling, the screen a blur of hate and cruelty. He felt sick. He wanted to scream.

And then—he didn’t want to scream.

He wanted them to hear him.

To see what they had done.

Without thinking, without a plan, without even wiping his eyes, Kenma stormed into his streaming room. He sat down, headset on. Pressed “Start Broadcast.” It was past 2am. No notification. No schedule.

And yet… within minutes, the chat lit up.

“Wtf??”

“Is he okay?”

“Emergency stream??”

“Kodzuken??”

He didn’t speak at first.

He stared into the camera, eyes red, expression unreadable. His hands were folded on the desk. His jaw clenched.

The silence stretched. The comments piled in.

And then, finally—he spoke.

Voice cold. Low. Razor sharp.

“I wasn’t planning on streaming tonight. I wasn’t planning on talking at all. But I just found out what some of you have been doing.”

The chat slowed.

A pause. Confusion.

“To her.”

A single sentence.

And the shift in tone was immediate.

“You know who I mean. You all know.”

He didn’t blink.

“You looked me in the eye while tearing her apart behind my back. You called yourselves fans. You said you supported me. But what you actually did… was destroy the one person I care about more than anything in this world.”

His voice broke slightly—but only for a second. He cleared his throat.

“She didn’t tell me. I had to find out by going through her phone while she was asleep. You did that to her. You made her hide it. You made her feel ashamed of being with me. Of existing.”

The chat was chaos. Apologies. Excuses. Confusion.

He ignored them all.

“I saw everything. Every message. Every comment. Every threat. Every time you told her to kill herself. Every time you called her a pig. Every time you said she was dragging me down.”

“Let me be very clear.”

He leaned in.

“You didn’t just hurt her. You hurt me. You stole her smile. You took away her laugh. The woman I love—the only person who ever made me feel like more than a screen name—you broke her. And I let you.”

He exhaled, shaking.

“So this isn’t a brand. This isn’t a game. This is my life. And if you think for one second I’d ever forgive you for what you’ve done, for what you’ve taken from her—from us—you’re not a fan. You’re a parasite.”

He paused again. The chat had slowed. Silent. Some still begged forgiveness. Others left.

“She was happy before you. She was whole. Now she cries in secret. Now she throws up in the middle of the night and tells me it’s nothing. And I believed her. I fucking believed her.”

He sat back, face pale, knuckles white.

“I’m not playing anymore. You either support both of us, or you don’t support me at all. Ever again. No more middle ground. No more pretending you didn’t know. No more looking away while she drowns.”

“You killed her spirit.”

Another pause. He looked down. Voice quieter.

“And I’m not sure I’ll ever get her back.”

Then he looked into the camera one last time.

“Stream’s over.”

Click.

Silence.

Kenma sat there, headset off, chest heaving. The tears finally fell—slow, quiet. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He didn’t care about the fallout. About the fans he just lost. About the hate he might get now.

None of it mattered.

Because you were in the next room, sleeping through it all, unaware of the war he just declared on your behalf.

Unaware that he had finally seen what they had done.

Unaware that he was done watching you disappear.

And now—he would burn the whole world before letting it happen again.

[brawberryz]

The fallen warrior

Batfam Yan! × Negleted! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / M.list

Tw: yandere behavior, manipulation, murder, torture, isolation, child neglect, child abandonment, mommy/daddy issues, use of katanas/knives, gore, eating disorders, hallucinations, corruption, dark themes, religious themes

The devil is real

He's not a little red guy with a tail and horns

He may be beautiful

Because he was a fallen angel, and God's favorite

A fallen angel destined to burn in the flames for his actions

You kept looking at your food without touching it, it was another lonely night in the mansion

It was the same old routine

Getting up

Training

Going on a mission

And 'eating'

Even though that food entered your mouth years ago, every time a bite entered your mouth you ended up throwing up

Any normal parent would have started to worry because their child wasn't eating

But you knew your family didn't care, nothing mattered

You got up from the table and threw your food on Titus' plate

You went back up to your room, the only noise in the mansion was the thuds of your footsteps on the old floors of the mansion

You opened your room it looked as dirty and messy as ever, it was far away from all the other rooms

You walked in and closed the door as you took off your clothes and left them lying somewhere in the room

Your bathroom felt cold and lifeless, some shampoo bottles lying around and other things you didn't even remember you had

The cold drops from the shower fell down your scarred body, your body shuddered when the soap touched those unhealed scars

Your body was full of them, in a way you felt disgusting about it

Some were from battles lost or won, others you caused yourself but they all had a story to tell

You leaned against the shower wall as the water fell on you

You felt tired

Tired of this life

Tired of having to pretend that you weren't affected by what others said about you

You could still remember those moments, you just stayed quiet and bowed your head

You were just a dog, a pet

A pet that would do anything for a prize

And that prize was their attention

Sometimes you thought about retiring from everything, being a person "normal" but you knew it was impossible

The only thing you knew how to do was hurt others, you were raised to be a weapon

A monster

They took an innocent child and turned him into a weapon to fulfill the whims of others

A bird whose wings were broken so that it could never fly

A bird in which it sees other birds flying from its cage

A bird that also wishes to be free

A bird that wants to be free

When a child grows up without love in their family

Being ignored and hurt all the time, most people believe that they will end up being aggressive people

Full of hate and resentment

And although it is a valid response, it is not always the case

They grow up feeling ashamed

Ashamed of themselves

Ashamed of not being able to be themselves, ashamed of not being able to show their emotions

Ashamed because they believe they are not enough

They believe that love must be earned

They believe that because their parents never gave them the affection they needed meant that they were never enough

They are afraid of not being loved

Of making a mistake and being ignored again

Of being hurt again

Ending up distancing themselves from everyone, being ashamed of being helped

Ashamed of asking for help

Broken people who unintentionally end up breaking others

And they also end up breaking themselves more

Your body moved faster than normal, this was supposed to be an easy mission

That's what your father told you, you just had to stop another stupid plan from your riddler and everything would be fine

But it wasn't, his riddles were confusing but you were smart and it was easy to solve them

But then you realized that it was all a trap, he had snuck the bomb somewhere else

It was all a trap, a very clever trap

You had little time but I wasn't going to let innocent people die

You arrived faster than you thought, you broke one of the building's windows to enter the place

You went through the entire abandoned place until you heard the crying and calls for help from some people

You entered the large room and found people inside a transparent box

Next to them was the bomb connected to a cable, you had to be fast if you didn't want people and this whole place to end up destroyed

You tried to deactivate the bomb but it was in In vain, you even tried to destroy them but it was in vain

So you decided to free the people, you took all those scared people to a fire escape and told them to get down as fast as possible

I wasn't going to let everyone get crushed

You sent a call to the batcave saying you needed help

You weren't going to be able to get all the people near this building to leave

In a few minutes it was going to be destroyed by the bomb and you needed help

It was the first time you asked someone in the family for help, you always did it alone

You never asked anyone for help, you thought you were weak

Your mother came from a dangerous family, full of sorcerers and powerful assassins

And your father was literally batman

You couldn't be weak, you couldn't allow yourself to ask for help

But now you really needed it

You were strong

But sometimes even the strongest needed help

When you were sending the signal you heard a cry, this one didn't sound like the others

It seemed more childish and scared

You walked through all the halls following the sound

It was supposed that only these people would be here but you were wrong

In a small room there was a little girl crying while she was lying on the floor

You approached her trying to calm her down, saying that everything would be okay

She clung to your suit scared that something would happen

"Calm down little girl, I'll get you out of-"

And then you heard it, the sound of the bomb

The clock had stopped meaning that the bomb was going to explode right now

This wasn't supposed to happen, there was still too much time before the bomb was detonated

"Shit!"

All you could remember was the sound of the bomb exploding and the building shaking, the girl cried louder and you tried to protect her with your own body

The building ended up falling leaving a mess all over the street, broken cars and you could hear the ambulances and firefighters approaching the area

You felt your body weak, you thought you had received all the damage

Since you could swear that almost all the games in your body were broken

"Hey little girl, are you okay-"

You couldn't believe what you saw, your arms and suit were covered in blood

The lifeless body of the girl, that scared look was still in her eyes

She was dead

No

No, no, NO!

This isn't supposed to happen, heroes are supposed to save everyone

And now because of you someone as innocent as a child is dead

Your body couldn't move, you could only cradle the lifeless body of the little girl

Your mother was right

A monster will never stop being a monster even if it acts nice

Your mother's soft hands cleaned your blood covered body

"Mommy is so proud of you honey, you did perfect"

You could only watch as the water in the bath turned red as the blood left your body

But you could still feel the blood

It was like it was stuck to your skin, no matter how many times you tried to clean it off that blood never went away

Your mother's hands cradled your face

You accepted the affection she gave you, it was rare that she acted so kind to you

There were times where she acted like you were the best thing that ever happened to her

And there were other times where she simply treated you like garbage

She gave you love and understanding and then took it all away from you

It was a cycle that repeated itself all the time, you wanted her to always be proud of you

You wanted her to hold you at night when those nightmares kept you awake

Her love was so shallow and fake

Your hugs felt so cold and uncomfortable

Mom

Am I still young?

Can I sleep in your arms?

Would you still love me after all I did?

Look into my eyes and tell me

Tell me I'm enough

Tell me I've done enough

Please

Just look at me

Look at me

Your eyes slowly opened, you felt your body burning

You saw the bandages that covered your body, and one of your arms was in a cast

Great

Now you weren't going to be able to train in peace anymore, although you didn't care

When you were with your mother and her clan they made you fight even if all your bones were broken

A simple broken arm wasn't going to stop you, and your family would never care

You had been on the verge of death too many times and they never cared

You got up from your bed staggering a little but you held on to the small piece of furniture next to your bed

You mentally told yourself that you could do it

You weren't weak

You couldn't see yourself weak

You left your room limping a little, with every step you took you felt your bones hurt

You passed by Bruce without even looking at him, you didn't want to see him or talk to him

"You have a broken arm"

Your father said making you stop

You sighed tiredly, you didn't have enough spirit to talk or argue with him

"I know, I'm not blind"

When you were about to leave you felt a hand on your shoulder, that sudden contact made your skin crawl

Since the first time you arrived at the mansion you had had very little contact with him, only some morning greetings that were rarely returned

"You're hurt, you must rest, now"

He gave you those looks that he only gave to criminals when he was being batman

But he didn't intimidate you, he never did

You pushed his hand away with a sharp movement

"Don't touch me, don't pretend that you care about me when we all know that you don't"

You said for the last time before leaving through the halls without even listening to what he said to you

You didn't want to hear it, His words weren't worth it

You didn't need him, you were fine on your own

All people were cruel and mean

In a world as selfish and evil as this, you're either the prey or you're the hunter

And you stopped being the prey a long time ago

.

.

.

.

After that strange and awkward encounter Bruce was left wondering

What was wrong with you?

Why are you acting so angry? He thought it was because of the recent events of your previous mission.

But something about your rejection made his chest hurt. Why are you rejecting him like that?

Maybe he wasn't the best father, but he tried

Well, he tried to be a good father to others

But not to you

Those thoughts kept him awake at night

He couldn't even have a quiet day without that thought of guilt consuming him completely

He tried to get close to you for a few days But all he got was a dirty look and an insult

You refused any kind of interaction from him, you didn't even let him touch your shoulder

He thought you just didn't like physical contact, but when he saw you hug Alfred it made something inside him flare up with anger

And soon your attention became more than just an interest, it became an obsession

Why did you treat others so well but not your family?

And this strange behavior did not go unnoticed by the others

Richard was the first to notice it, he saw how Bruce tried to spend more time with you

Which seemed strange to him, before Bruce seemed too disinterested but now it seemed as if something turned on inside Bruce

He thought he was just being paranoid or plotting something

He decided to go talk to you, surely you would have answers!

.

.

.

"Fuck you" was the only thing that came out of your mouth when Richard asked you something

Richard's face changed drastically when those words left your mouth

Why were you so defensive?

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard, fuck you I don't care what happens to Bruce, if you want answers go and ask him, don't be fucking me up with stupid questions"

You said one last time before closing the door to your room in his face

Richard was left processing everything that happened

What the fuck was that?

He knocked on the door again but no one answered

Why were you rejecting him like that?

He's supposed to be your older brother! Why did you treat him like that

Although well, he doesn't remember the time that either of you talked

But you should have at least had one conversation, right?

God...

He really screwed up

.

.

.

.

You thought Richard would be the last person to bother you but sadly that wasn't the case

It felt like the whole family had come together to notice you existed for the first time in your life

And you hated that

You hated being treated like you didn't know what they did to you

But you weren't going to give in that easily, if they wanted something from you they could fuck off

You weren't going to let anyone hurt you again

I'm not your friend

I'm not your partner

I'm not your sister

And I'm not your daughter

I bite

.

.

.

"Hey (name)!, do you-"

"Fuck you Tim"

You didn't even give him time to speak when those words cut through you like knives

You didn't even think about it, they came out on automatic

He just stood there with the words hanging in his head as he watched you walk away from him

He felt something weird when you so rudely rejected his invitation

You just walked away disinterested, you didn't feel like talking to him

You didn't have time to talk about stupid things

Seriously, what's wrong with this family?

First your father, then Richard and now Tim!?

You need a break right now

.

.

.

.

Apparently Tim wasn't the only one who started to take an interest in you

When your father sent you and Damian on patrol you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you tonight

But you were wrong

You hated that little demon with all your soul, his mere presence made you want to break his neck or run katanas through his body

You were both agile and it was normal

You two were sons of powerful and dangerous mothers

Sometimes you thought Bruce had some fetish for women who could easily kill him

The patrol was "normal" or if you could call it that

You could feel Damian's penetrating gaze on your neck

"What the hell is wrong with you? You've been looking at me like that the whole patrol"

You said without thinking when you two stopped at a building to rest

You couldn't stand it anymore, you were a direct person and you were tired of having to put up with his childish behavior

"Nothing's wrong with me"

"Liar"

You accused him, you knew when someone was lying or hiding something from you

Damian didn't answer and ignored you the whole patrol

And it's not like you cared

But what Damian hadn't told you was that he was jealous

The previous week he saw you hug a child and give him affection on a mission

Bruce had sent some members of batfam on a rescue mission

And seeing you comfort someone made him jealous, why did you treat a strange child that way?

The way you hugged that child and whispered to him that everything would be okay made his blood boil with jealousy

He's supposed to be your real brother, why did you treat a stranger better than him!?

It wasn't fair

He wanted that affection too

And he wanted it just for himself

.

.

.

.

You could say that Jason was the worst, one day he just decided to show up in your room and force you into the mansion's library

You protested for him to put you down but he just ignored you

He literally had you on his back like a sack of potatoes, he made you sit down reluctantly in one of those comfy chairs

He sat down next to you and started reading

Was this some kind of joke!?

He literally pulled you out of your comfy bed and then brought you here to sit down doing nothing??

"I'm leaving"

"No, you're not"

You said without flinching as he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and made you sit back down

You just grumbled and swore

You sat there for hours, you started to tease him thinking that this way he would let you go

"Can I go now?"

"No"

"And now I can go now?"

"No"

"I can-"

"NO"

He said that last word annoyed forcing you to sit down again

This day was going to be very long and strange...

.

.

.

And as the days passed this obsession grew more in them

To a point where they didn't even let you make your own decisions

For some strange reason you had some family member watching your every move all the time

It got to a point where it was just suffocating

And you tried to escape, maybe you could go back to your clan

I was sure your mother would welcome you with open arms

Yeah, you betrayed your clan and killed almost half of their sorcerers and assassins but it was for a good reason

But this time you weren't going to be so lucky

They weren't going to let you escape from their clutches so easily

.

.

.

"LET ME GO!"

You screamed trying to free yourself from your father's grip but it was in vain

He had you pressed against the cold floor of your room, he had caught you just as you tried to escape

You tried to fight but it was in vain, in size and strength he far surpassed you

"I didn't want to do this (name)"

"What are you talking about-"

You could barely finish your sentence when a scream of pain came from your annoying

You could feel that scream completely tearing your annoying

Your father

Your own father had broken one of your legs

You could feel how that place swelled and the only thing you could do was cry

He carried you in his arms while you tried to scratch his body But it was in vain

In this pitiful state you could never go anywhere

Your wings had been torn from your body, causing you to fall into that eternal fire

You fell like a jerk when he is shot by his prey

Maybe one day your wings will grow back

And you will be able to taste that sweet wind

But all you can do is admire that paradise that seems so far away but at the same time so close

Locked in a cage, of course the cage gives you love and food

But that will never change that it will continue to be a cage

An angel with cut wings

And a bird with broken wings

They both have the same dream

To be free

I like writing angst because people can't see when I'm venting and projecting

That aside, I hope you like this shit

I might make the story longer if I'm not too lazy

[pressplay-if]

demo (prologue + ch.1-3, 200k words)

please mind the content warnings! anon is currently disabled.

latest update: May 10th 2025

cog forum post

You are one of the most famous yet mysterious characters of the 21st century rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. You and your friends formed a band, and after years of practice in a garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It’s a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has disappeared from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/possibly stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac… and all sorts of music-related drama.

TW: themes of mental illness, unhealthy relationships, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, SA-related trauma, disordered eating

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Stevie is tall and skinny with light brown skin and extremely long, curly black hair which she always wears in a wet look. She has big, dark brown eyes and a soft face.

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget.

Paul is very tall, broad-backed and thickly muscled with light skin, shoulder-length slicked back brown hair and bottle green eyes.

Paulette is of average height with an hourglass/slim thick figure. She has dark brown hair with parted bangs and light blonde strands dyed into it. Her eyes are bottle green.

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Angel is of average height and build with a warm beige complexion and long black hair. He has a square jaw with an occasional five o’clock shadow and brown eyes. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Lincoln (m) is short and lean, with an angular face and wavy blond hair. His eyes are cobalt blue. 

Lincoln (f) is petite and tan, with a youthful, round face and chin-length blond beach waves. Her eyes are cobalt blue.

Others:

Maddox Wells (m), drummer

Another one of your oldest friends. You don’t much like to talk about what happened with him.

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they used to try to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean, to be honest.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

Addendum: NSFW alphabet masterlist

Zima pt. 1 and pt. 2

Stevie

Lincoln

Angel

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Please consider reblogging <3

[8hsaturn]

astro observations #4

- The idea that your north node = fate and destined path doesn’t feel accurate. After all, north node aka rahu is literally illusion and material obsessions and is also considered a malefic in multiple astrological circles. I find it to be more of an indicator of what our fantasies and guilty pleasures may be.

- People with prominent Leo/Aquarius axis tend to focus their astrological study on their personal placements from what I noticed. As they get deeper however, they start to venture into what other placements might be like. But for most part, the focus tends to be on their placements first.

- 7th/8th house placements tend to be the opposite, being very curious to know why people around them, their role models, and others in general act the way they do and therefore using astrology to understand that

- 9th house placements are the ones who study every placement just for the sake of it or out of curiosity, some 3h placements might also

- Taurus + Leo = curly hair

- Taurus placements, especially if aspecting Lilith or mars or coupled with mars ruled placements, tend to be into vampires bc throat (Taurus) and blood and injury (Mars) as well as the seductive/taboo nature of vampires (Lilith)

- 3h Saturn/ 3h in Capricorn might take quite a while to get their drivers license

- What others tend to say about u : 3h from 7h : aka the 9h.

e.g. 9h in Aquarius : people talk about how you’re unique, popular or friends with a lot of people, humanitarian. They might also discuss how you’re eccentric, disconnected or apathetic.

- Whatever houses are ruled by Venus in your chart can give you an idea of how your relationships impact you as well as how you behave when in a relationship.

e.g. Libra risings have Venus ruling their first and eighth house, they tend to have very transformative relationships that end up changing them completely. They might also benefit from personal glow-ups during certain relationships thanks to their partner’s resources. Opposite can be true with weak Venus or malefic influence on the houses of Venus.

- 8h is underrated as an intelligence indicator. That’s the house of research, uncovering mysteries, and finding out the hidden. If one of the most common intelligent tropes -detectives and mad scientists- work within 8h themes, that is for a reason

- 6th house Lilith could indicate suffering from eating disorders.

- I noticed that even people who don’t know anything about astrology (sometimes especially them lol) tend to have markers of their signs all over their online presence. my ardra stellium friend has pearl as his username (ardra is symbolized by the diamonds and jewelry), a lot of shatabisha (especially the men) like wearing bracelets and rings (reminiscent of the empty circle that symbolizes shatabisha) etc.

- 10th house could signify what traits do you have that are different or stand out from ur family. For example, Jupiter in the tenth house could mean different beliefs, maybe a taller build compared to your parents, I also see it as which members of your family do you resemble the most. 10th house Jupiter might look like their grandparents while 10th house sun their dad, and moon their mom etc.

- Saturnian tend to be gatekeepers because Saturn = scarcity and limitations.

- 4h mars/sun could indicate having more close male friends n vice versa for 4h Venus/moon.

- Sun nakshatras and ashwinis look really good when the sun is shining on them. They might be particularly fond of golden hour selfies.

- 11h synastry can indicate starting a business together, whether it’s benefics or malefics will indicate if the business will succeed or not.

- Lacking aspects to the luminaries can mean feeling disconnected from your parents, as if there’s a certain distance between you and them that can’t be bridged. An empty 3h + unaspected 3h lord can also indicate feeling that way towards your siblings.

- A strong Mars + Venus = good dancer. Also prominent dhanista and snake yoni Nakshatras (Rohini, mrigashira).

- Anna Popplewell and Nancy ajram look similar and I found they have quite the similar placements besides both having nodal (Ardra/Mula) and Saturnian (Uttara Bhadra/Anuradha) influence.

Nancy Ajram (Top) : Jupiter in Anuradha, Sun DK in the first Degree, Sun and Mars in Krittika, Ketu in Mula.

Anna Popplewell (Bottom): Venus in Anuradha, Sun DK in the first degree, Jupiter in Krittika, Sun, Mercury, and Saturn in Mula.

this is it for today <3 please don’t hesitate to share if any of this resonates!