#tw; self doubt

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ The cracks are in the mirror as he looks but they aren't shattering through glass. The cracking fault lines that show the way the body is buckling from the weight are rushing over ghost pale skin.

They're getting bigger.

He has tried to be careful. He has tried to be attentive to them but he doesn't like looking at his reflection. He doesn't like looking at the way his own body is chipping and shattering like the most fragile pane that could be turned to nothing but splinters of glass if only someone where to be a tad bit clumsy and drop him.

He can't fall again. If he falls again who knows what will happen when he hits the ground.

A year ago the spot of scarred skin that occupied space on his belly was small enough that he could cover it with his hand but now he can't quite make that claim. Not as a small hand moves to cover the damaged skin and pieces of the continuous price is paying peeks out and and lines stretch out far across his body out from beneath his fingertips.

It hurts to touch. Not in a physical sense but in the way that he knows what this is doing to him. It knows what it means for him and if this one has grown so much in size it makes him wonder how much of his back is covered in the rot.

What else was there to call this?

He hasn't shown it to anyone and he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to just swallow his pride and - is it pride though? It is pride or is the fear of having to look into ocean deep suns and tell him that he's been wrong the whole time.

The cracks are spreading up now. They're climbing him like vines and he doesn't know how to make them stop. He doesn't know if he can. But on top of all this, he doesn't know how to he's supposed just live with it. How does he do it?

Black Wind's mind is shattered. He's lost his memories but he never lost his culture. He never lost his world. He never lost the core of who he was - just who they were. Just who the face filled with moonlit jade even belonged to. How does he live with it? He knows he's missing something at this point now, so how does he just keep trudging on all while knowing that there was pieces of who he is supposed to be have been shattered out?

He's lost Father's voice. He's lost Mother's songs. He's lost Usva's love Pieces of himself fade away every time a fragment falls. A sliver at a time and he's falling apart. What will he lose next? He's losing fragments of who he is. At least Black Wind can't say that.

He never wants Black Wind to be able to say that and he'll give every shard that is left of himself to make sure it never happens.

There is a sigh as his shoulders drop and he continues to stare in the full length mirror that hangs on the wall before him. It caught it attention. It wasn't always there. He's only managed to pull his pants back on after taking an overly long bath when his eyes were caught by the sight of the reflection looking back at him.

The pathways of his negligence are craved deep into his flesh now and he finds himself sighing again as he continues to fail to pull back on his shirts. Instead he pulls his hand away from his belly, fingers trembling as they reveal the damage beneath.

It's like an infection that's sat within him and eating him slowly from the inside out. That's why he called it rot. His soul is rotting. That damn beast force fed him poison for twelve years and it made damn sure that the last parting gift it left him with was an infection that had no remedy.

There was no antidote this time. He's drank his last vile and he can still feel the venom seeping down his throat. It's set in his lungs and spread in his veins. Nothing could save him now and the only thing he can focus on is the way the scar expands little by little as it follows the path of the shattering lines on his chest.

Almost to his heart now.

His hand trembles still as he reaches for the glass and fingertips barely trace over the smooth surface to follow the reflection of the line that is nearly to his heart. He can't keep going like this. Will it get there in weeks? Days? He doesn't know but it'll be there by the end of the month if something isn't done.

Will it kill him then?

His knees cave as he finds himself sinking to the floor hand still pressed against the glass.

He's out of time. It doesn't matter if he can't look that man in the eyes to tell him how scared he is. He won't make it to the end of the year. There's no way. This infection is spreading too fast. He can't bring himself to believe he'll survive much longer.

He's going to die.

And there's not a damn thing any of them can do to stop it.

[cvtmyhearttopieces]

maybe if the music is loud enough it’ll drown out my thoughts of suicide

[karotka]

Paul de Pointe du Lac | Louis de Pointe du Lac

[novasintheroom]

Oh don't mind me, just trying to get hyped for the Prince!Vash arranged marriage au I have cooking in my head :) Moodboard it is!

[gh0sti31uv]

i want someone irl to sh with but we know thats never gonna happen

[whump-about-it]

Someone You Deserve

@whumpril Day 9: Self Doubt

CW: angst, empathy fatigue, conditioned whumpee

Whumpee was already asleep when Caretaker got home from work. Curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets and pillows and a tear stained face as they snored softly in contest with the low drone of the tv show they'd fallen asleep watching. They had a bed, but they preferred to sleep anywhere else. Too comfortable they had told Caretaker, I don't deserve it.

Caretaker sighed and took their shoes off quietly, so as not to disturb Whumpee's slumber. If they woke up they would be a mess of apologies for not being awake to greet Caretaker at the door, and Caretaker wasn't in the mood to talk them off another metaphorical ledge tonight. Anyway, Whumpee almost never slept this soundly.

A cold meal Caretaker had asked Whumpee not to make sat on the kitchen table. Caretaker realized with a pang that they had forgotten to tell Whumpee they would be home late tonight. No wonder they were on the couch. No wonder their face was tear streaked and splotchy from crying themselves to sleep.

Caretaker slumped in a kitchen chair and put their head in their hands. How could I be so stupid? They shivered at the thought of Whumpee cooking for them, cleaning, getting ready for the two of them to eat together once Caretaker had gotten home. Had they been excited? Did they hum to themselves as they cut the carrots? Dance around the kitchen while they waited for the oven to preheat? How long had they waited before they realized Caretaker wasn't coming home? Had their food gone cold too? Had they cried at the kitchen table? Wondering if it was something they had done that was keeping Caretaker away?

After a minute Caretaker stood up and went back to the living room, intending to wake Whumpee up and apologize, but they paused in the doorway realizing they didn't even know what they wanted to apologize for. Coming home late? Forgetting to call? For being the worst possible person for Whumpee to rely on?

The doctors had said that it wouldn't be easy. Whumpee's recovery would be slow, and Caretaker needed to have patience, for both of them. But this couldn't have been what they meant. It had been months and Whumpee had barely made any progress. They still rarely spoke if not asked to. They jumped at the slightest moves. And had even called Caretaker "Master" a few times, which made Caretaker's blood run cold just to think about.

Surely Whumpee deserved better than this. Caretaker was falling woefully short of providing what Whumpee needed and they were so far behind they didn't even know what they were doing wrong. Apologizing wasn't going to solve any of that.

Caretaker sighed again and turned back into the kitchen. Tears pricking at their eyes from their anger about their own woeful inadequacy at caring for their friend. They were exhausted, and in a bad mood. It was probably best that Whumpee didn't see them like this. Instead Caretaker scrapped their cold meal into the trash and poured a glass of water, bringing it into the living room and placing it on the coffee table in front of Whumpee as a peace offering for when they woke up. Finally Caretaker placed a small kiss on the top of Whumpee's head before going to their own bedroom, resolving to call in sick tomorrow and spending the day trying to be the person Whumpee deserved.

[tieronecrush]

Hi! I loved water in your hands even though I accidentally read part 2 first 😩, can I please request a little drabble from readers pov when Joel just cut her off and missing work etc when he got married? No worries if not! Just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading :)

well thank you anyways for returning to read part 1!!! and i am so happy that you enjoyed reading!

i’m not sure if you checked out the playlist for the series that i made (spotify / apple music), but liability by lorde made it on there because it is literally what i imagined reader would feel during that time. my hopeless romantic who has never felt chosen </3

liability

drabble for “water in your hands” series

rating: M

word count: 1.2k

summary:

They say, "You're a little much for me / You're a liability / You're a little much for me" / So they pull back, make other plans ' I understand, I'm a liability / Get you wild, make you leave

warnings: angst, insecurity, self doubt, mentions of water/drowning

You didn’t even have any last words from him to mull over. The last thing you’d heard from him was him asking if you were okay as you lay next to him in the middle of that field.

Instead, his silence has sharpened the knife that he’s driven into your heart, his lack of acknowledgment of everything that happened twisting it to carve out a large space for the pain to seep in. And when you’d heard that he was dating someone else, seriously dating, according to Tommy, the knife was pulled clean out and stabbed into your back.

He’d spent one night with you, and somehow that was enough for him to know that he didn’t want you. All of those messages you thought he’d sent now mixed, your recollections of those fleeting, flirty moments poisoned by the knowledge that he didn’t want to be pulled into your storm.

It was the only reason you could think of that maybe drove him away. You knew that you weren’t settled, that you had your own issues to grapple with from everything you’d been through prior to Jackson, but you were secure in yourself. Maybe Joel didn’t want to deal with your shit on top of his own.

You were a little too much for him; a liability to his own healing.

You were on your own at the end of the day, superficial friendships and mere acquaintances belonging in the daylight. The only seemingly real friendship that you’d grown here was with his brother, and the saying goes “blood is thicker than water.”

Returning to a lonely house, yellowy lamplight bathing your space but doing nothing to warm your insides. You spent nights on your own, re-reading your favorite novels from the worn shelves in your cozy living room or spinning a record to dance around and forget for a few minutes. In those times, you were thankful that you were still looking out for yourself, that you still had your own back despite all of the doubt your own mind had grown.

In those solitary hours, all you had were your thoughts, which revolved around him, throwing you into a cyclical whirlpool of heartache. Only when you thought you’d pulled yourself out, had finally felt the heat of the sun on your face above the surface, one single memory of his fingers brushing your thigh or his lips ghosting over yours or a whisper of your name rips you right back into the current.

He left you behind and moved on.

Dating someone else, ignoring you for days that turned into weeks, that’s now become months.

You remember the day you found out that they were engaged.

It happened at the end of your shift, your coworker Tracy popping in to have a nightcap. She was tipsy already, spilling where she had been prior to coming to the bar. There was a party at Tommy and Maria’s, she’d said, a wide drunken smile on her face as she excitedly gossiped.

“They threw Joel and Heather an engagement party! How sweet is that?”

Engagement? Engagement. Engagement.

Engagement led to marriage.

Marriage was meant to be for life.

And Joel never does anything half-assed.

One time, a few weeks after Joel had returned to Jackson, you’d let yourself daydream indulgently. It’d been about him, about what you envisioned a life with him would look like. You’d pictured your own wedding, the closest people to you both the only ones in attendance. In your imagination, you’d seen your brother there, your sister, too.

It was a dream because, even if you ended up with Joel, you never thought he would get married. He was loyal, devoted, committed no matter what jewelry was on your fingers. Those traits were intrinsic to him. You didn’t think something like that mattered to him; he would be a husband, a partner to you without any ceremony.

Clearly, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

Their engagement was fast. You’d heard from Tommy about a month later that the wedding was happening at the weekend. Bile coated your throat, burning acid settling there for the rest of the afternoon that you spent at work. You’d returned home that evening, crawling into bed and crying yourself completely dry and numb.

You didn’t leave that spot for days. Skipped out on work. Ignored the knocks at your door from Tracy, Maria, even Tommy. Limbs felt too heavy to move, bones ached deeply, dull pain sawed at your constricted heart.

Thoughts kept steamrolling each other, your brain was unable to shut them out as you spiraled silently alone.

A toy. A plaything. A little doll.

An achievement to be conquered.

He’d played with you; bantered with you. He was flirty -- suggestive at times. But once you’d given him everything, unveiled your thoughts and feelings to him in hopes of him returning them, even just accepting them, he’d gotten bored. There was no more chase. You’d rolled over like prey, submitting to anything he could have wanted from you.

You were only exciting to seek in the night, ghostly touches in the bar and a chance encounter under the moonlight.

Naive. Childish. Too much.

Delusions of a perfect summer with Joel changing with the leaves and eventually becoming rooted together had blinded you from his true intentions with you.

You were better off on your own, so it seemed the universe was telling you. Losing your siblings, your family, lacking friendships, and now your prospect for love slipped through your fingers in a rush, fleeting efforts made to contain it like water in your hands. No matter what, it would have found cracks to drip through, and eventually drained completely.

He evaded you, leaving you in an unrequited romance. You were in love with him. And now he was married to someone else, in love with someone that he could easily be with no disadvantage or opportunity for embarrassment. There were no means to confess your found feelings, so you lay for hours in your bed while tears soak your pillow and words are branded into your mind.

I’m in love with Joel Miller, and he won’t ever love me.

You repeated it so many times that it sounded like the truth, like gospel, and then, at a certain point, like a foreign language. The words eventually meant nothing in their countless repetitions, the weight of your self-confessional lessening with each second passing. Your limbs felt lighter, bones less sore, and the grip of pain on your heart loosened.

In the next moment, all you could think about was feeling the warm summer air on your face again. Finally, after days isolated, you were going to take a chance to disappear into the sun. You’d pulled yourself out of bed, changing into fresh clothes.

With one glance out of your window, the plans were soured when you saw it was sunset, that you’d have to wait until morning for your walk in the light. You decided to stay up all night to be able to catch the sunrise in the grazing field. To occupy yourself, you milled about your kitchen and living room, doing the small pile of dishes that had accumulated and straightening up the place. The clock on your wall read the early hours of the morning, and with no other chores to do, you turned towards your collection of books.

As you thumb through your shelves to find another novel to escape into for a few hours, the sound of knuckles lightly rapped on your door.

tagging the usual mutuals: @swiftispunk @joelsversion @johnwatsn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @pedrit0-pascalit0 @theelishad @undrthelights @ladamedusoif @ruinedbylanadelrey @thetriumphantpanda @pedgeitopascal @dinsdjrn @thepascalofus @pedgito @soaringcloud @somedayauthor @alloftheimagines @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @atinylittlepain @scrambledslut @lunapascal

[deadvampdove]

…so. on a scale of 1 to 10 how bad of an idea would it b to carve “attention whore” in2 my body somewhere hidden…

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Infinity: LuLu, you think I’m smart, right?

Lunar: You’re the smartest.

Infinity: So I’m not dumb?

Lunar: Not at all.

Infinity: And I’m not ugly?

Lunar, now holding a knife: I’ll kill whoever told you that.

[self-dx-culture-is]

self dx culture is oh god what if im wrong. what if im being dramatic. what if nothing is wrong with me. what if im being a hypochondriac again. what if im wrong oh god what if im wrong.

felt

[qtubbo]

i wonder how much of tubbo's skewed ideas about death come from fred and how much is from purgatory. i think fred and the funeral is meant to be the main factor, but tubbo has also made it clear that he has not forgotten purgatory. at the beginning he was stuck in an endless loop of dying, then he became the killer, and then the final battle was centered around who died first. in the past month death has been one of the most significant parts of his life.

You get so used to death it hardly seems real anymore.

[dazzelmethat]

Long time no Bud. Wow the last time I made her a ref was 2018. I experimented some with her pallet. Unsure if I like the profile head but oh well, open mouthed anime inspired profile faces are notoriously hard for a reason.

Sigh. What am I going to do with her.. my writing conundrum workshopping in tags. My tag rant mentions plot related suicide and ableism (in relation to the zombie trope).

[magicdonuts-supreme]

Hello, this is my first time ever requesting something on here, so I will keep it simple. Could you do something where the reader’s f/o comforts them and reassures them that they’re not a burden and they aren’t too much(personality wise) after people have made them feel that way their entire life? You don’t have to if this is too much :)

Thank you!! p.s. I absolutely love your work, it’s so comforting <333

aww, thank you, anon! /gen and thank you for reading my work. also this is my first request, so at least we’re in this together :P sorry if this took too long, btw

You didn’t understand. Couldn’t fathom it.

Your F/O… well, they’re them. They’re awe-inspiring, the one who hung the moon and stars in the sky yet could make any light seem dull when compared to them. Even if not many see it, just seeing them makes your world sing with Shakespearean rhymes.

Then… there’s you.

The off-key note. Your thoughts summed you up as the screeching in the background that would wake your F/O from their love-filled dreams, not be the star of them. And they’d notice that soon enough, right? That’s what your thoughts told you: Wait and see how the apple of their eye rots. The other shoe will drop. And…

It never did.

Not because your F/O is blind to your flaws, but because they accept them. 999 days of misery are worth it to see your smile on the 1,000th day. Even so, they don’t love you for your smile. Not for your looks, nor for a specific aspect of your personality.

After all, if your F/O wanted a “perfect” partner who didn’t do anything but wear a sewed-on smile, they would’ve married the shadow tied to their feet. Your F/O loves you for who you are. From your skin to the marrow of your bones. From your despair to your bursts of hyperactivity.

No one curses the Sun when it’s shrouded by clouds, and it only shines brighter when a new day dawns. So what reason do they have to stop loving you the moment you frown?

What reason do they have to stop loving you the moment you need it most?

[almightyhamslice]

Hellish Nabnab redesign! I accidentally skipped over him n drew all my naughtified character designs first, but since I procrastinated on posting those it all works out anyway LOL.

In this drawing I primarily wanted to explore the abject misery Nabnab is going through. My depiction of him is half human, though I'm actually unsure if he's human at all in canon-- his case logs only list his genomes as Heteropoda Venatoria n Givanium so, that might literally be it. I think his treatment by the Resort staff and by Banban are made significantly more horrifying if viewing him as a human though, so it's what I stuck with. He is NOT an animal, he is HUMAN, but he has never been treated as such for his inability to speak, his isolation, and his unwillingness to cooperate with his so-called caretakers.

I view his transformation into Hellish form as a sort of 'culmination' of all his prior mistreatment, it's his breaking point. Banban literally backstabs him after apologizing to him for once instead of attacking him, and Nabnab is overcome with uncontainable frustration. As the new givanium solution runs through his veins, he thinks no one he has ever known values him as a person, and he decides to give them what they asked for. He will show the other mascots just how scary of a monster he can be, and make them miss the person he used to be.

Bonus horrid little drawing from when I was brainstorming under the cut:

I dunno if I'll pursue it but I will say I think it's rlly freaky when normally rigid insects shed their skin and fucking,,, squirm,,, it's rlly creepy lol. Like have you ever seen a stickbug hatch? Don't look it up if you don't like squirmy bugs. Maybe he can be a little squirmy when he first attempts to fight Sir Dadadoo?

[undeadunalive]

Btw I'm aware that I don't chat to people as much as I used to. Over the last year my anxiety took a drastic turn where I pretty much regressed back into really struggling to go outside the flat or being okay with being seen. I'm still extremely paranoid about how I look, hence why I don't post photos of my full face anymore, and while I'm more able to talk to people in person and actually look at them when interacting, I do still stutter and panic a lot. Even last week I went down to check the mail, my neighbour looked over at me, I froze, panicked and legit just ran back upstairs. 😂 When it comes to online, I get the exact same thing but you can't see that the reason I'm not replying is because I've panicked and ran away so it just comes across as me just not wanting to interact. I really want to work on this this year and feel more able to chat to people without being so afraid, but please be patient with me. I promise you that it's nothing against you, I do want to chat it's just something I've been struggling with.

[ofsupernovcs]

Chess and Consciousness: A one shot between father and daughter

Prompt: Nova and her father are playing chess, after hours of quiet Nova and Terehito talk

"Why seven children?"

The question hung heavily in the air. There was an unreadable look from her father.

"A shaman." He answered with no emotion

"So why fear me."

The father crossed his arms.

"Because your mother lied to me."

"Lied about what?" Nova asked her voice equally void of emotion.

"Nagisa, people lie to get what they want. Power. money. That's why Mr. Mushimoto handpicked those suitors."

"That's insightful but what did mother lie about?"

There was a silence before her father stood and loomed over her.

"The same things you lie about."

Nova barely flinched, even as her heart started beating.

"For someone so smart your efforts to hide who you are sloppy." Terehito remarked.

"Like father, like daughter." Nova remarked back. "Is that why you sent me away when you could?"

"Yes."

"Did you expect I'd never learn."

Terehito glared at his daughter.

"Rei was the last one, that was the deal I made with them. You were born but that meant nothing." There was a sneer. "You are messing with things you don't understand Nagisa."

Nova's expression remained stoic but she clenched her fist under the table.

"I can keep learning. I can be the shr-"

"Don't talk out of turn."

Nova shrunk in her seat. There was another sneer from her father.

"You can keep playing your little game of doctor however long you please. But you will never your grandmother. The balance can't be restored it is futile to even try Nagisa."

Her father slid the tissue box across the table.

"Don't leave my house crying.It's shameful"