#things that only I care about because no one else I know thinks about death note as much as I do 🕴️

[galedekarios]

full credit for the video of this conversation goes to @/imgoinmental on x

if you turn emmrich into a lich, he cries alone in his room because he misses manfred:

davrin: emmrich. i think assan misses manfred i caught him in your room sniffing around, looking for him. emmrich: he's always in there searching for crumbs. davrin: no, he was whimpering. sad. emmrich: poor thing. davrin: when i was there looking for him... thought i heard someone else crying, too. emmrich: ah. davrin: i miss him, too. don't know what i'd do if i lost assan.

i want to gather my own thoughts here, too, a bit because this made me think more about The Decision(tm) and it's a heavy one: emmrich's entire life's work and his own fear of dying being put behind him (although not ever acknowledged or dealt with in a healthy manner) vs bringing back a companion, whom he had loved as a son and who gave his life for him.

personally, i think this, coupled with the reaction to rook's possible death in the final fight or even in the far away future as evidenced by the argument they have prior (both on the human and on the lich path, though i am only showing the lich path here as it is relevant to the discussion):

emmrich: i can see the life course through you, my love. like a thread of diamond flame. yet... emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can't bear that for eternity? rook: that's the most romantic thing i've ever heard. emmrich: what? rook: remembering me forever? emmrich: i'm afraid i'll mourn you forever. rook: that's ridiculous. emmrich: do you think so little of what i feel for you? rook: no! emmrich: then you could act accordingly.

i also always think about this line by emmrich's parents' graves:

emmrich: lately, i've wondered what they'd think of our current course. the choices ahead. rook: your lichdom? emmrich: what would they have wanted me to be? rook: [option: never lonely/locks in romance]: happy with someone that cares for you.

the very first condition is that he must be able to let others go. he’s not nonchalant about his own death, not about manfred's, and not about rook's. he doesn't want to be alone.

i think in conclusion for myself, i came away from all of this very much believing that emmrich is not built for what lichdom requires of him and entails over the many, many centuries to come.

i wish the game offered more romance / character scenes to actually meaningfully address and discuss not only the argument with emmrich, but also his fear of dying.

(disclaimer: i want to clarify that these are just my own personaly thoughts. choosing lichdom is a valid path, depending on how you rp your rook, your backbackground and how you engage with emmrich. i am only looking at this through the lens of myself experiencing the game and emmrich's character.)

[jweekgoji]

Will you write for some Yandere!Orion Pax x reader? 👉👈

Yandere!Orion Pax/Reader [TFO/hcs]

tw: yandere themes, gn!cybertronian!reader, very brief mention of murder/death, mostly soft!yandere!Orion, overprotective, dependent behavior. word count: ~1000. a/n: i love making headcanons.

Orion is an obsessive, clingy and overprotective yandere that's for sure.

Orion is focused on you 24/7 in his mind, every time he's going out with someone else, he will constantly think of you. He's not having a fixation on you, like D-16 would with his darling, more like a thoughtful «I wonder if they will like it if I give it to them» or «if I COULD transform, I would be carrying them around everywhere!». His thoughts are mostly innocent, even though they often lead him to cause even more trouble. He will seek out a thousand risky stunts to do just to impress you, and he doesn't really care if Darkwing will beat him up because of it.

It is no secret that Orion is clingy. I already described it in other posts, and I will ramble about it again, but that silly guy does NOT know how to keep his servos to himself. Yandere Orion just can't comprehend the fact that you may not like it. You can find it weird, rude or just not tactile, and if he finds out, that's a pure torture. At first, he might find it funny and not take it seriously, you're probably in that «edgy, no nonsense and independent» phase some bots have, so he finds it his own personal goal to warm you up to him.

If you're somehow still adamant about it, I can see him trying to restrain himself from just squishing you against his frame the second he sees you in the same room with him. Cogless tiny Orion will be a sweetheart, so he always finds a way to satisfy his own needs without crossing the line. One day it's a simple touch on your shoulder, then he will try to hold your servo if lucky, and maaaaybe even give you a tiny peck on the cheek as soon as you look away from him. Touch is his love language!

Yandere cogged Orion/Optimus is a huge sweetheart but when he's tired and emotionally drained, the only thing he wants is to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to himself. Stay like that and don't say a word, it's not like you have a chance to escape.

Orion doesn't look like a person who thinks about his own safety. You will watch him running around Iacon from another trouble he got himself into, and he will even drag D-16 with him. Even though in his mind, it's for a better cause, If you're really close and dear to him, he also wants you to be the part of this adventure because he desires the better future for everyone and for both of you specifically. Together.

As Orion, still young, idealistic and naive bot, I never see him taking away your freedom. If you wish to tag along with him on the race, even though it's the most dangerous thing ever, especially with both of you not having any t-cogs...he will gladly accept it! As yandere Orion always cares about your well-being, but it's never the boring «I will lock you up just so you will always be safe» type of overprotectiveness. He neglects his own well-being to the point where he will gladly lose an arm or a leg if it means protecting you, and he doesn't care that he might die because of it.

You should constantly remind him to check Ratchet at least for once, but he will jokingly dismiss it since he's more concerned about that tiny dent on your frame. How did you get it? Do you need him helping you to polish? Orion already drags you to medic, meanwhile he is standing there holding broken metal pieces of his own body and like “that's just a scratch!”.

We all saw how Orion got protective over Elita once she was fired by Darkwing. His first thoughts are "yeah, I will NOT let that slide" even though he is two times smaller than their supervisor. Orion is a fighter for justice, for his darling he's a true gentleman, or...tries to be at least.

He's not that type of yandere who will murder someone if they hurt you, because his own beliefs are strong and unclouded. Yes, in the heat of battle, when it's either your life or the life of the enemy, he will never hesitate to end them, but even then he feels guilty about it (especially if we talk about young Orion/Optimus). If he actually ends up hurting someone, he will be devastated, and might as well take a long time to process it all.

How did it happen? How could he let this happen? He fights for freedom, for everyone, no matter if they're enemy or not, they all deserve at least a one chance for redemption. There will be a time when Orion blames himself for it, it corrupts his spark slowly, to the point where he thinks of himself as unworthy of you.

As much as Orion is an inspiring, he's self-conscious. The more not-so-happy events you go through together, the more he becomes dependent on you. You're a part of Orion's life, he can't shine brightly without his little satellite.

Yandere!Orion would constantly need you by his side. It doesn't matter where he is going, as long as he is with you. During his lowest moments, he wants you to reassure him and give him that comfort that will keep him at bay. He didn't mean to hurt anyone, but that worry and spark of rage blinded him, leaving his own servos dirty in the stranger's energon.

Young Orion is one of the softest yanderes to deal with. He still has to learn a lot about his own place in this world, his motivation, and his strength. Everything felt so easy when you were just two cogless bots, but the more time passes, the harder it is to deal with more complex feelings. Jealousy, disappointment, and regret. At the end of the day, you're the only person to keep him sane and not to collapse from the responsibilities on his shoulders. The problem is, it is too hard to get rid of that dependence.

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Healer

masterlist

viktor x anhedonic!reader [1.4k][AO3]

cw: implied/referenced depression, suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm

summary: Anhedonia set in and the idea of exiting life's stage became all the more appealing. But you've heard about The Healer and perhaps he can save you.

tags: gn reader, S2 Viktor, post-Act 1, anhedonia, angst, depression, suicide, SI, SH, viktor gardening?, reader's just admiring him atp, not betad, not encouraging anybody to join any cult

a/n: idk if vik's abilities extends to making plants appear but for this pretend it does

if you're unfamiliar with what anhedonia is, it's a symptom of a larger condition (can be depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, more), characterised by the inability to experience physical and/or social pleasure. makes existing difficult, like you're dragging so much pointless weight and everything feels high effort, so what's the point.

just a brief description (based on what i've learnt from it in research and experience), so i encourage learning more to get it more in depth if it interests you or sounds too familiar.

You prayed for an easy coax out of the darkness.

The little home of scrap fabric and heartbroken brick you built throughout the years was becoming more and more dilapidated, though its original state had never been of full health to begin with. And like it, your body’s ridges became prominent, visited by unexplained bruises, warmed by the thickened hair on your skin, and yet living on had always been the only option you saw—no, the only option you allowed.

You’d breathed long enough to outlive many of those around you. Whether it was becoming grey-lunged corpses, enforcer punching bags, or a Promenade diver, everybody knew somebody who, sooner rather than later, knelt to kiss Death’s feet. Surrendered. Be it by their own or another’s will.

Then it fell upon you: the swole blanket of indifference, of apathy. It cloaked your mind, buried your defences that was defiance, which had been the only source of survival you’d had left. But snuffed out now.

And how easy it is to think of self-inflicted inexistence when it seems nothing else matters.

Oblivion would whisper in the corner, a demented, deformed dog snarling yet begging your hand’s comfort. Come to me. And you can’t find good reason as to why you shouldn’t.

This… healer—a man whose touch could gild any man’s sick and bestow him a new life, a new body, a new mind—you’re not sure when he arrived. But the whispers morphed to murmurs which morphed to rumours and unfolded itself into your side of the city’s underbelly.

Was he the answer to your prayer?

You made journey to the place you’d heard he’d made camp, and it unfurled before you and stole all expectation and put them to rest. Because for once, the Sumps had colour, had life.

At the centre stood a strange, globular… building? Just like stained glass, its surface was of mute Spring colours, translucent, swirling lattice-work reminiscent of butterfly wing patterns.

He’s a tall thing. A beautiful thing. His metal body cloaked, careful, and coded with grace. Each movement was deliberate, no gaze shared unintentional. How had he come to exist? How had this world birthed your people’s suffering but, as well, him?

You want to laugh at the sick irony. Whoever’s dealing the cards need their hands cut off.

“What ails you?” he asks, giving you such soft regarding you can’t help but be rendered speechless.

In truth, you’re not sure. Physically, you know you’re lacking, but so was everyone so why are you different? In your head there sits a temptress, attempting to lure you to the edge of buildings or blades, but she had no name. No one speaks of her.

The healer tilts his head, seeming to take a better look at you. He looks so kind. Such eyes, opalescent, have seen suffering, and you know it.

“Life,” you give a one-shouldered shrug, smiling. “I… I’m not actually… uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you take a step back.

What had been the point of this? Attempt what? Healing? What’s this man to do?

“No,” he steps closer, his voice swathed in a strange mechanical whir. “Stay,”

You’re sure that by the furrowed desperation on you, it convinces something inside him, as he turns and beckons you with a nudge of his head. So you follow.

Each step he makes creates a heavy thunk beneath him, and though you don’t feel its impact, merely by sound you feel the weight of him. How had he acquired such a body? Modded fingers, let alone limbs, cost years of your wages—you can’t imagine how much his entire body might have cost.

“I can feel something plaguing you,” he begins, shifting slightly to catch a look of you.

You scoff but it doesn’t quite match your face.

“Then what brought you to me?” he shrugs and looks away, leading you to the side of the Sumps where a clear plain rolled out.

You watch as he kneels and reaches for the soil, taking it between metal fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you kneel beside him, shoulders bunching up. “What are you doing?”

He hums, smoothing the ground and creating indents, “I’m assessing,”

You lean forward, folding your arms and hanging your head to look at him.

The metal frames his face, just barely hidden by chestnut waves, curling beneath the jaw and around the ear.

He’s got a rather angular beauty to him, something belonging to scrutiny and studiosity. Even his strong brows follow theme, arched forward in a focused furrow, over narrowed eyes homing iridescent irises. You’re not sure if he’s from this world. Or if the world was gifted him.

Your attention trails back to his hand, and he digs his fingers beneath the soil. Then, hand glowing beneath the metallic muscles, the ground is imbued with a light, where then verdant stems spring alive.

You choke back a gasp, glancing about as the spindly bodies uncurl and reveal yellow petals. Roses?

Whipping back to him, you take note of the glow leaving his eyes, shock threading through your system.

When you glance back at the flowers, now surrounding the both of you, you can’t help but think: logically, how you might have reacted would be with pleasant surprise, glee, even.

Such occurrences, the arcane or a mere flower field, was a coveted sight, and without a doubt you would have felt the surge of optimism. But instead nothing happens. Instead it’s unmet anticipation and expectation sitting at your belly, pooling into grey disappointment.

It’s when you look back to the healer that you realise this disappointment must have shown on your face. He inclines his head so slightly, blinks, as if saying I understand. And he smiles. He smiles and it’s the gentlest thing ever given to you to hold and witness.

You want to crumple, to lay graves for your limbs and disassemble each part that ever dared to exist only to suffer. There used to be anger, and at the very least there was indignation. At topside for their neglect, your parents or finding each other, for finding something beyond the misery and creating you. Where had all such righteous resentment gone?

“Viktor,”

You look up to see the healer’s hand stretched out, asking for yours in return. And you oblige, shaking it gently, before pulling away only to be held with soft restraint.

“You are welcome to stay,” his voice becomes tender, becomes more human almost, aimed purely for your audience. “Even if what torments is not outright seen. I welcome all,”

Your breath comes out long, carrying with it the tired days in the dark. The healer… Viktor makes no acknowledgement of this but just another observant blink, the corners of his mouth slightly tightening.

“Wasn’t gonna die or anything,” you joke, flattening your lips and hoping it registers as a smile, however trying it may appear.

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs, turning his attention to your hand and turning it about as if trying to see new angles. “A slow death is still a death,”

This makes you frown. Why has he assumed? But why is he right?

“The slower it is, the more painful, I think,” he remarks, but he seems almost far away. “As you watch what is left of you wither, and all you can do is… hm, watch,”

Then you understand. Something in your chest tightens as you take in once again all this stranger is. “You’re well-acquainted,” you note, coming out barely as breath and observation, spoken clearer by the narrowing of your eyes than your own voice.

He looks at you again, and something’s changed. His eyes? It seems. There’s something more amber about them, more grounded in this singular hue. “My longest companion,”

You hum, nodding.

There’s a safety in knowing you’re understood, even if they’re not able to fix you. It cloaks you warmer than summer, than any consolation offered in pity—he understands. And perhaps not the very same that brandishes you, but in some aspect he knows.

Which is what makes you ask, “Can you fix me?”

His eyes resume that pearl sheen once again and you’re mesmerised, gaze flitting between each eye in deep investigation—tell me who you are, how you are; tell me how you’ll fix me. Like the field around, the sweet sunshine hues of the roses, to make your land more than just barren.

And he does. He raises his other hand, uncurling, coming to hover by your face. “May I?”

You breath sweeps back in and you nod, leaning forward and connecting his cold fingers to your cheek.

He notes you for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing. It’s his gaze that makes you feel naked, removed of any pretence crafted carefully. But he shifts his attention and his fingers connected with your forehead, eyes overtaken by a white glow.

Your vision drowns in the white.

a/n anhedonia's been hitting me and this is the only thing i could muster to make so here we gooo. not my favourite, feel like i could've done it better but oh well, least i made something wahooyaaa writing is coping after all 🫵🏼😃🗣️

requests + taglist open!

[this is a reupload, i have no idea why the original post disappeared :''')]

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[hyenafu]

I know this might seem like a bit of a random question, but what are some criticisms of Slightly Damned you can't stand, and what are some you think are at least somewhat valid? I only ask because I do have a few problems with the comic (not really gonna go into here because I don't want to come off as too critical obviously) but I feel like some of the more noteworthy ones have been too long established to just change it altogether, and the best one can do is make something better from its foundation (which I must say, you've done a really good job at ^^)

The complaints that I think are the most unfair are by bigots who think my comic is only getting more inclusive because I'm pandering to wokeness or whatever. These people are also the most likely to misgender me and have no idea what they're talking about. They just can't stand the bare minimum of gay and are often hypocritical, using fallacies as the basis of their arguments. It's tempting to want to argue back, but when has that ever worked on the internet? I think the most valid complaint is that the pacing of the comic is too slow. Sure. Not much I can do about that one. My comic alone doesn't pay all my bills. If I focus exclusively on work, I get depressed, so I have to goof off sometimes. I'm just one person. I don't have a team. I'm doing the best I can already. Another valid complaint is that people don't like my blend of humor and drama. Sometimes readers find it inappropriate or jarring. It's valid because I recognize it as a difference of opinion and understand why they feel that way. But I don't care. I like my weird mix of goofy faces and drama. I sometimes make jokes during periods of great stress in real life. I love all the wacky faces and over-the-top cartoon action among dire circumstances in comics like One Piece and Usagi Yojimbo. Like, it's just my style, man I don't seek out unsolicited advice about my comic. Some people may think that's snobbish of me, but the truth is, very little of what you find that way is actually valuable.

"And as to those critics, she said that she’s managed to do something that might make us all better off- she doesn’t read the comment sections. In perhaps the most roundabout poignant part of the talk, she likened receiving feedback about her work as being like consuming food. She would take a pie from someone she knew and trusted but compared taking unsolicited barbs from strangers as “licking a handle on the subway.” She used to pay very close attention to that kind of critique because she felt that it somehow would make her a better creator but ultimately decided that it was only toxic." - I HAVE SEEN OLIVIA JAIMES, THE CARTOONIST BEHIND THE NEW NANCY, by Rocko Jerome (2018)

Besides the outright hateful sentiments, a lot of unsolicited criticism can be categorized as "I don't like this story because it didn't do what I wanted it to do." Which is fine. I do the same thing when I try to process stories and talk to my friends about them.

But I don't get in the author's face to tell them I think they did a bad job. At the end of the day, no matter how crap I think someone's story might be, I'm not psychic. I don't really know if they did exactly what they set out to do. For example, people have never stopped giving me crap about the death of certain characters. But their whining has only made my convictions stronger. I don't like when other stories don't take deaths seriously, with a real sense of permanence and grief that is not easily solved. To someone else, seeing that character be alive might have solved all sorts of problems they had-- but that's not my story. I've had someone tell me that the focus on Buwaro and Kieri's mushy romance is too distracting to the main story. I don't think that person knew that a large part of why I started making this comic in the first place was as a vehicle for my OTP. I also want to make said vehicle entertaining and worthwhile. If I didn't succeed for that person, that's fine. But don't tell me that half the reason I made the comic is distracting from it. What do they know about what I want? What do you really know about what the author wanted to achieve? That isn't to say that my comic is immune to scrutiny. Of course it has problems; every story has problems, depending on your perspective and the basis by which it's getting judged. I've solicited and received thoughtful criticism and helpful advice from teachers, my advisor, my friends, and from reading/watching tutorials. Some I agreed with, others I chose to ignore. Sometimes it just took a while for me to come around. I hope I never stop learning and improving. Like you said, I have to keep working with the foundation I already set. But I don't feel trapped by it; my creativity is being challenged in new ways. I have a lot of playing pieces and now I get to see what kinds of connections I can make between them with my older, more experienced (both good and bad) mind. Since Slightly Damned is a story serialized over a long period of time, a certain amount of it is made up as I go along. I do have plans and goals, of course, but I'm also discovering this world alongside my readers.

[eldritch-spouse]

Dorem with a blind human who has endless positivity radiating off her. She knows the world is cruel and evil, but instead of getting drown in it, she stubbornly want to create as much good as possible (helping people, caring for abandoned animal,...etc). Without her vision, she didn't see Dorem as some monster at first, despite feeling very strange in his presence. She just thought he was a very quiet, awkward person.

Their first meeting would be at a graveyard. She was cleaning the graves of people who didn't have any family or friends left and was abandoned until it grew dirty and unnoticeable. She worked slowly, carefully, and completely unaware of the gaze directed at her from the shadows. Dorem has been watching her do this every Saturday for the past few months. He didn't understand it at first, thinking she had mistaken the graves of her familiar for someone else's due to her blindness. But overtime, he realizes her soul was just too bright, too kind and loving. He slowly warmed up to her and revealed himself to her one random afternoon. She was startled but eagerly began chatting with the mysterious graveyard visitor.

It was mostly her talking and him listening. Overtime, she learned of his true nature and bits n pieces of his past that he slowly revealed. She accepted it and became even more determined to make his future days better than his past.

[When you said cleaning graves, all I thought of was that blonde Tiktoker. 💀]

The thought of Dorem just about ready to pick you up and launch you through the air because he sees you squatting around a gravestone, messing with it, and immediately assumes you're some kind of grave defiler... Only to then just loom quietly and watch you clean it. Every. Single. Saturday. Like a confused donkey that slowly grows to appreciate it. Comedy gold.

It's good that you can't see him, but sight alone will not spare you of the instinctive dread he inflicts on the living. You'll know Dorem is something more than human or monster early on, because of the weight his voice carries, his strange smoke-like scent, the way he feels. Because, the moment he's sure he can touch mortals without harming them accidentally, he's going to let you touch certain parts of himself. Of his lanky, bony figure and even the flesh that forced itself upon his head.

He's hideous, but you don't need sight to know that.

Dorem encourages you to spend your time elsewhere. Humans already have short lifespans, don't go ahead and waste yours hovering around the dead and gone. Those are empty words and the two of you know it well, he would be disheartened to find you moved on. More than that, Dorem would follow you and easily terrorize the ones you call close, without even trying.

He sees a bit of himself in you. Working tirelessly yet unrecognized. It's almost futile to clean gravestones, just as it's almost futile for him to keep working for those who've long abandoned him. But the two of you don't know anything else, do you?

The soulkeeper knows things will never be the same, but the moments of peace and quiet he can steal when he sits beside you, letting you map out his hand for the hundredth time while you ramble and he chips in every now and then... Those moments make it feel as if things aren't all bad. He doesn't remember the last time he cradled a living being with as much gentleness as he holds you, prying you away from your exhaustive focus so he -A being many consider a harbinger of death- Can remind you to tend to basic needs.

There's a mild self-loathing in Dorem when your natural warmth stokes urges in him that have been buried for so long he didn't even know they still existed. He wouldn't curse someone as generous as you to laying with him, but then, he's already selfish for stealing all your time, and you don't seem to have very many friends... Would you turn him away if he were to reach for more than just your face?

If he were to whisper what he sees in your soul and how it makes him want to be as close to it as he can?

Dorem wonders how it'll spin and flare in the wake of pleasure.

[shadowstarion]

thinking about lucanis with an antivan crow rook who’s from the complete opposite side of the faction. she’s from one of those other houses lucanis wouldn’t recommend to anyone seeking a contract, one of the houses that traffics and tortures their assassins as children and molds them into weapons. there are no family ties or loyalty where rook is from— you’re a crow because refusing means death.

i know the “canon” bit for an antivan rook is that viago sidelined them, but i’m not a huge fan of that. i want a rook who thinks lucanis is a silver-spoon try hard who only got his notoriety because of granny dellamorte’s influence. yeah, it sucks that your entire family dynamic revolves around murder and assassination training but at least he has a family, where rook had handlers and competitors.

when they finally share how different their upbringings were, lucanis is shellshocked. he’s heard stories, but there’s no way any respectable crow house would be that horrible? and the way rook talks about it so casually as if it’s normal, says things about being a crow he doesn’t quite understand under the assumption he’d relate— ouch. it all clicks together and he can’t do anything but want to hold her, wishes he could take her home to treviso and show her what a family is like even if his own is a touch dysfunctional, tries to keep stoking that light in her eyes that flares up when she talks about anything but the crows.

as much as he’s trying to recover from the ossuary, trying to find his softness and regain his humanity while also struggling against spite’s influence, rook is a beacon to him. look at her, someone so hurt by the world still trying to save it, still wanting so badly to help even though no one has ever tried to help her. lucanis wants to help, wants to be so good for her, wants to show her that there’s life outside being a crow, wants to make that life with her.

it’s a slow burn for them both— it’ll take a while before rook lets herself fall for lucanis, she might even go about with someone else like emmerich or davrin, someone who doesn’t know as much about where she comes from. but lucanis is as much something she’s never seen before as she is a surprise to him, a crow who can be soft, can make stupid jokes and care for others, who makes grocery lists and waxes poetic about coffee. what’s she’s seen as privileged ignorance melts away to reveal lucanis’ soft, sticky sweet center, and by the time she finally realizes it, rook is already addicted.

[atangledfate]

A Hero? Why did they all go to that so quickly? He never wanted to be a Hero, even now it was the furthest thing from what he wanted. He fought because he had to, he fought because he lost someone precious to him. It was never about justice, or doing the right thing. It was and has always been a very personal conflict for him. One he still battled with internally. There were things Starline didn't know and might never know. Which by proxy left Surge in the dark, as well. No he wasn't a hero, he was just a guy who decided to fight back when everyone else was running away. He was full of anger and rage, and just wanted to make Eggman pay for that. If not for Tails, and Amy he might have become a very different person.

" I'm not a hero... i wish everyone would stop giving me that label, and if you think GUN thinks of me as a Hero, you are out of your damn mind... "

He said rather bluntly to Surge as he was probably at the top of there shit list.

" GUN absolutely despises me... Because they can't control me. The first chance they got they tried to lock my ass up. Let's not pretend they hold me in high regard here. They tolerate me because folks would flip the fuck out if they made a move... Nah GUN only cares about how they can use me... and i ain't about to let them do that again..."

He crossed his arms setting the record straight, but Surge was right about one thing. Him rushing at GUN and losing his cool would only make everything worse. But deep down he knew this was going to end badly, GUN was cutting off there reinforcement and backing them into a corner. He knew tactic as he'd seen it before, and it was gun strat 101. The only thing that had not counted on was both Surge and Sonic on base and that may have been why there were stalling.

" And you think a GUN Cell is gonna make up for all the bad you did? That the idea? Cause i dun think that'll be how it works. Those cells suck by the way... the beds are the worst. "

He seemed to have calmed down at least and was focused on Surge, as he crossed his arms giving her a glance with those baby green eyes.

" They'll just want to use you... it's what they do, its there playbook... but if it's what you want whatever i guess i can't convince you otherwise... I just think this will hurt the kid alot more then it will help him..."

He sighed as he looked back toward the airship and fidgeted as he watched it getting closer. The massive shadow falling over the base as it and two other air ships came to a stop over top of HQ, as an almost imposing figure. Sonic felt the hair on his neck stand on end, as his bad feeling only intensified.

==============================================

There was alot that Kit and Surge didn't know about Sonic, and that statement proved it to Tails. But it was very hard for him to begin to explain it to Kit. Even then he doubted Kit or Surge would agree with it or even see it as a justified reason. But Death has a way of changing people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. He remembered what Sonic was like when they first met, and how he just never spoke to anyone. He honestly thought he was mute for a long time but of course that wasn't the case at all was it?

But at least Kit was honest with him and he could respect that honesty. He wanted him and it was probably the first big step forward. He also didn't disagree with him either, Sonic could end Eggman in a heart beat should he want to. He could have ended him so many times but he couldn't do that not without souring her memory.

" It does help... If only a little ... "

He didn't think trying to explain things to Kit would help and if anything it might agitate him. Though he wished he could make him see things the way he did.

" There, Relay is set up Restoration Coms fully restored... Lanolin should be able to contact our forces outside of Restoration now. We should get Belle Bot someplace safe till this is over, if anything happens to her, we'd lose coms and more--- Know anyplace secure? "

The horrible awful truth was, Sonic lost someone so precious to him that it nearly destroyed him. He was so full of anger and rage when he first met him. But it was her memory that kept him sane, that made him unwilling to to take a life. Her memory that made him believe that people can change. He knew neither of them knew the truth, how could they? He doubted even Eggman knew about her... or how she'd died.

But losing Sonic's mother had been the hardest thing in his life, and he still wrestled with it. If anyone had a reason to kill Eggman it was Sonic, and yet his promise to her kept him from going through with it. But he didn't think Surge or Kit would understand that kind of promise, or what it meant to Sonic. How breaking that promise would tarnish her memory in his eyes.

It was something he could never understand... his own parents abandoned him after all.

"Really? And here I thought they came all this for a fucking tea party with scones. Obviously I know GUN isn't here to just fucking talk, and I'm sure they have their own plans to be a pain in the ass. Though in case you forgot YOU'RE the hero, even to their bitch ass's. How do you think they'll react if you go off the fucking rails. At least if I do it then it'd be way easier for The Restoration to cut me off real quick." It was a blunt and harsh truth, though being such a loose cannon came in handy in a situation like this.

"What do you take me for, a fucking idiot? I'm well aware that I'll have to convince Kit NOT to fight GUN and let them arrest me, and doing that will be like pulling fucking teeth. That doesn't change the fact I trust only you to get him home and to keep your mouth shut just where it is. I'm not telling saying you can't be angry, though take it from me, you don't want it controlling you." Until today most of Surge's choices were driven by her anger.

"Look, I know you ain't happy about my choice, though believe it or not it's for me too. I got shit I need to pay for, and not everything is as easy as changing and running around helping people. Sometimes jail time is need, though I'm sure we both know some crazy threat will come up to force GUNs hand to let me loose to help which could help me get out faster." Surge main reason for doing this was clearly for Kit, though another reason was doing it for herself.

"So if you're done arguing with me then lets get to this fucking checkpoint and make sure GUN knows trying anything stupid will piss both of us off." Surge was ready to start telling GUN to pack it up and go the fuck home, if only for the fact it would get Drippy home faster. "Besides, in case you forgot we got giant Momma Wisp up there." The tenrec doubts GUN wants to fuck with a Wisp that side.

===========================================================

"Belle Bot wasn't designed programming of hacking, and it was something we put on the back burner as it was made mainly for defense purpose's. Simply put, it can't do something on this scale, though I suppose it'll work for at least jamming their communication and airships if need be. Belle Bot, run program delta nine B on all GUN communication devices and airship within range."

Belle Bot's eyes would glow green for a moment. "Executing command and calculating time until completion. Calculation complete. Command will be fully done in six minutes. Recommending to avoid conflict until process is complete." The bot would then put it's focus on completing the command.

"Why? It's not like you did this to me, and honestly I couldn't care less about your existence by this point. At this point my dislike for you is only because of how continue to let Sonic act so foolish and not convince him to end Eggman. Heroism is fine, though there's a clear line between heroism and stupidity. You and I both know if Sonic really wanted to he could end Eggman at anytime. I'm sure even you can, though you don't." For the most part Kitsunami had gotten past Starline's programming expect for a voice every now and then.

"So there's nothing to talk about as I just don't like you, though I can also admit I don't trust you either. Mainly because our points of view are so far apart and so different. If it helps I can say it's no longer personal as I apply this logic to Sonic and plenty of your friends." Kitsunami could now say he was mostly thinking for himself, even if most of his motivation was to help Surge.

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixion x oc

Warnings: Character death, smut, violence, swearing

Chapter: 4.05

“Anything?”

You look over at Daryl and shake your head. Thankfully your shift in the watchtower was almost over because you were exhausted and bored, and you could feel yourself nodding off before Daryl joined you. “Nothing so far; hopefully it stays that way.”

The only thing of interest you had seen on watch was Michonne and Hershel leaving the prison with a truck full of bodies of people that either died from the flu or from being attacked by a walker that needed to be burned. You didn’t envy the job they had, especially Hershel, who blames himself for not being able to save everyone.

“You should rest; I can keep watch.”

There was a mattress on the ground with a thin cover tossed over it, but you’d feel bad resting while he did all the work.

“It’s fine; it won’t be long until my turn is over.”

The more you thought about it, the sweeter you thought it was that Daryl joined you whenever you kept watch so you wouldn’t be alone. He nudges you with his elbow, “What are you grinning at?”

Smiling, you hook your finger through the belt loop of his trousers to bring him closer to you and tilt your head up to kiss him. “I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

You go to step back, but Daryl pulls you into him and crashes his lips against yours, his hands moving between squeezing at the back of your thighs and bum while your fingers tangle into his hair. Panting heavily, you detach your lips to catch your breath, and you could see his green eyes now fully blown with lust. You swallow thickly, “We don’t need to do anything if you don’t want to.”

You knew Daryl was a virgin and didn’t want to pressure him into anything he might regret. “I know,” he presses his forehead against yours before sliding his hand from your ass to the zipper on the front of your jeans. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

His expression is soft as you fumble to remove each other's clothes. When you are wearing nothing but your underwear, you unclip the back of your bra and let it fall to the ground. You stare at his body, noticing all the scars you’ve never seen before—the ones he keeps hidden from everyone else.

Without breaking eye contact, Daryl removes his underwear and then sits on the mattress. Following his lead, you sit down beside him. He traces a pattern on your thigh with his finger before resting his hand on the hem of your pants. He patiently waits, giving you time to change your mind, but you don’t. You take the lead and guide his hand to take them off.

During another heated kiss, you reposition yourselves on the mattress with Daryl leaning over you. He rubs the tip of his nose against your own. “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

You chuckle, “One of the many reasons I love you is that you show me you care instead of just telling me.”

“I can think of another way of showing you,” he says before starting to move down your body, kissing every inch of you that he could.

“You don’t need—”

You stop talking when Daryl settles between your legs. A heavenly sight. When he begins to gently lick and suck at your sensitive flesh, it feels nice, but when his tongue passes over your clit he notices your reaction and repeats what he’s doing until you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle the loud moaning sounds slipping from your mouth.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

While you come down from your high, Daryl gently repositions himself so that he’s now hovering over you. His lips ghosting your own.

Playfully you roll your eyes, “Wipe the smug look off your face already.”

“Not smug, just proud.” Daryl kisses your forehead, then your nose. “Making you feel good is important, ya know?”

A silent understanding passes between the two of you. Daryl leans down to claim your lips with his own, and after a few moments he changes the position, rolling onto his back and taking you with him so you’re on top. Once you’re straddling his waist, you take his cock in your hand and stroking it a few times before sinking onto his length.

The both of you are moaning loudly in unison.

You take it slow at first but soon pick up your speed. Daryl grips onto your hip with one hand and slips his other hand on your legs to frantically rub at your clit. It’s not long until you’re both coming.

“Oh god!”

“Fuck!”

You collapse forward, your hands landing on either side of Daryl’s head. “That was… something.”

“Hope that’s a compliment,” you laugh.

You get off his lap and rest your head on his chest, both of you panting and sweating. He strokes your hair and says, “It was definitely a compliment.”

—

You press your lips against the back of Daryl’s neck as you quickly brush by him to put Jace in his cot. Your son was now in the habit of getting fussy before his afternoon nap, and Daryl was growing agitated the more Rick explained everything that happened with Carol to him.

Carol’s need to protect the rest of the group was understandable, but there was no defending what she did.

When you place Jace into his cot and Rick and Daryl walk by the cell, you are still able to hear their conversation from where you stood. “Do you think it will be a good idea to tell Tyreese it was Carol, right now? I don’t want the two of you getting into another fight.”

“We’ve got no other choice,” Rick says. “He loved Karen and won’t stop until he knows the truth. I can respect that.”

He had a point, but you were still worried it would escalate into something.

Daryl steps forward, observing you putting on your light-weight jacket. “Where are you going?”

“Someone needs to tend to the fruit and vegetables. I’ve told Mika to come and get me if Jace or Judith wake up.”

—

“Why do you look so terrified?”

“Shut up, munchkin.”

Carl and Beth both laugh at your response. You hated gardening; it was something you weren’t ever good at, and you were scared you’d somehow manage to kill all the food that Carol had been growing.

Without any warning, an explosion rocks the prison, sending tremors throughout its walls and towers. You feel the vibrations beneath your feet as she stands in the courtyard.

Your heart races with adrenaline when you see a loose brick about to fall off the prison wall.

“Beth!” You leap forward and yank the blonde by her arm and pull her towards you just as the brick hits where she was standing. “Holy shit, it’s him.”

The governor was standing on the outside of the prison fence with a new army and an army tank.

The courtyard spins and fills with most of your remaining group, and soon as the governor spots your brother, he calls out. “Come down here, Rick; we need to talk.”

You lock eyes with Rick, “Don’t do it.”

He swallows thickly and takes a moment to think before replying. “It’s not up to me. There’s a council now; they run this place.”

“Is Hershel on the council?”

A woman with long brown hair opens a car door and pulls out Hershel, whose hands are tied behind his back, and forces him onto his knees.

“What about Michonne?” A man drags her by the arm then forces her to kneel on the ground. “Is she on the council?”

“I don’t make decisions anymore!”

“You’re making the decisions today, Rick. Come down here, let’s have that talk.”

Oh my god. This man is even more insane than you remember.

Rick rubs the back of Carl’s neck and quietly says, “We can do this, alright?”

You tear up watching him walk down the path towards the governor. It was a trap; there was no way the mad bastard was going to let any of you live.

“We ain’t got the numbers.” Daryl’s voice is quieter than normal. “We’ll go into the woods like we planned. If things go south, everybody gets on the bus.”

“I need to go back inside; someone needs to get kids ready... Jace... Judith...”

“Tyreese is going to pass the message along. Daryl cups your cheek, “Ain’t nothing going to happen to those kids.”

“If we get separated, do what it takes to get them out of here.”

—

You felt sick not knowing what was being said between your brother and the governor, but from what you could hear, your brother was trying like hell to convince him. Daryl has handed our weapons to everyone, but you were lucky if you had twenty bullets each, which wouldn’t be enough.

Tyreese taps you on the shoulder, “The kids are going onto the bus.”

“Thanks.”

“No!”

Beth and Maggie start sobbing when the governor holds up Michonne’s katana to Hershel’s neck.

Rick tries to plead with them. “Put down those weapons and walk through those gates, and you’re one of us. We let go of all of it, and nobody dies. Everyone who’s alive right now, everyone who’s survived this far, has done the worst kind of things to get here, but we can still come back. We’re not too far gone. We get to come back. I know, we all can change.”

For a moment it seems like the governor is contemplating Rick’s words, but in one single swoop he swings the sword and chops Hershel’s head off. Starting an all-out war.

You see a bullet graze your brother's leg when he tries to take cover. “Rick!”

The gunfire goes back and forth, but you only manage to shoot one of the assholes attacking your home. “Beth, come with me and protect the kids on the bus.”

Daryl yells. “I’ll cover you. Go, go.”

You narrowly manage to avoid being shot while getting to the bus. When you reach it, the first thing you notice is the lack of crying, “Where’s Jace? Jace! Judith!”

“They’re not on here,” a woman says.

“Oh my god, my baby! Beth, stay here.”

You go by your nephew when you run towards the prison entrance, “Carl, get on the bus and stay with Beth!”

You run directly into the woman who put Hershel on his knees. She opens her mouth to say something, but you shoot her in the head.

With all the bullets and grenades going off, it was becoming hard for you to see what way you were going. You stop running to try and get your bearings, but the loud bangs and smoke have made you slightly disoriented. It’s not until you hear a baby crying that you snap out of it.

“Jace!”

You turn to face the direction of the crying, but before you can move any further, you're hit with a stray bullet and fall to the ground.

[triglycercule]

sleep deprived dust can't recognize what's dream and what's real when he goes in and out of consciousness so i think dust is allowed to be incredibly reckless when he's awake but thinks he's in a dream. he will kill whoever passes by him (or attempt to. for him it's an instict to shoot bones anyways.) he will drink 4 bottles of alcohol just because he thinks its just a lucid dream. have incredibly loud conversations with phantom paps because he's asleep so nobody will hear him talk. or just have loud ass breakdowns because again he thinks he's asleep!!! nobody's gonna know what he gets up to in his dreams. and until someone (probably phantom paps) tells him that he's not asleep and this is reality he won't realize until he's done something really reckless

horror is seconds away from exploding dust's skull open with his magic while dust is trying to strangle him and FINALLY phantom paps tells him he's awake and dust snaps out of it. killer is walking around the house with bones sticking out of him like pins on a sewing pattern (casually too. another day in the life for him) and he just asks dust what that was about. dust just gets off of horror and shrugs his shoulders with an idk. and then walks away. this is the 6th time its happened this month

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[hauntingjasper]

We are all afraid of something...

I wonder what Prince Gumball's biggest fear would be?

There's an episode (Five short tables I think) where it shows that he's afraid of dying alone/his own mortality to some extent. I imagine that because he's long-lived and most likely has watched many people die before him, he's scared that there won't be anyone else by *his* side when it's his turn. There's no way of knowing when or how, he wouldn't be ready for it, so that's probably double scarier for him. He's an anxious fella

[numbuh424]

Was watching the jdrama Reverse (2017) because I saw that Tatsuya Fujiwara (Light's actor in the Japanese movies) and Teppei Koike (L's actor in the Japanese musical) were in it, and got complete jumpscared in the last episode when Masataka Kubota (Light's actor in the Japanese drama) made a sudden cameo 😭😭

[yuridovewing]

Now I think Tigerclaw was actually a family man to some extent in this au... I think he genuinely loved Goldenflower and all of their kits together, they were childhood friends, I think he mourned Swiftpaw and Lynxkit's deaths, I think he was overjoyed when Tawnypaw came to ShadowClan because he was glad to know one of his kits would be safe. He cared deeply for his mother and sister and originally doted on his sister's kits before Ravenpaw saw him murder Redtail.

Granted, is he a GOOD dad? ... No not really. He got his own son killed (albeit as collateral damage), Tawnypelt has ptsd from what she witnessed in TigerClan, Bramblestar has a complex, and tbh he just treats Mothwing and Hawkfrost like dogshit. But there's some conflict there, they all have fond memories of him and he tries to appeal to that to get them to join him and conform to his ideology. Tawnypelt has this worst of all because she's now the only living kit who spent the most time with him and saw him at his best and his worst.

He also easily turns on them, his love comes with conditions.

[boyapologist]

I’m feeling so fucking underappreciated and unloved lately

[weaselle]

i want to talk about real life villains

Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.

Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.

I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"

I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.

And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.

He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.

John Hammond.

probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.

If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.

Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.

book spoilers below.

In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.

He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.

In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.

THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.

I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.

In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.

I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.

Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.

And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.

I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.

Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.