#unable to know the facts because they fucking cut off communication

[thatisnotamistakewellbemaking]

.

[worriedvision]

He snaps at you for missing your anniversary dinner - Wriothesley

Angst, gender neutral reader. Lore may not be accurate solely because phones are used as a form of communication. Angst ending

--

When you had turned up to the nice restaurant, dressed in your finest to match how much you loved your boyfriend, you were looking forward to finally spending time with him. Being in a relationship with him was lacking with the general seeing each other, and dates were even rarer.

At first, you weren't overly concerned that he wasn't there yet - you knew all too well the issues that arise from his line of work. He would usually send you a message to let you know if something happened.

When 30 minutes pass, however, you begin to feel more eyes on you. Pulling out your phone, you call him. He picks up the phone after the 5th ring, immediately a sign something had gone wrong. You hear him huff and puff before he asks you abruptly what on this lovely planet you could possibly be calling about.

"Well, I've been waiting for you at-" before you can finish, Wriothesley cuts you off with a swear.

"Fuck sake, what part of me gave you the impression I would definitely have time for some silly anniversary dinner? If I don't show up after 30 minutes, surely that is the sign I won't be available unless I send you a message." He yells, the fact you happened to be on speaker instead of private mode projecting this to everyone in the restaurant. "Let me guess, 'oh, but I've made a fool of myself because of sitting like an idiot for this long for someone I happen to be romantically involved with', right? Well I've got some news for you, you delicate little flower. The world doesn't stop turning for you, there will always be more important things than you!" He finishes, you unable to hold back the embarrassed tears in front of the fully booked restaurant.

"I just wanted to spend tonight with you, is that too much to ask for? We've not seen each other that much, and I've been looking forward to this for months. It's sounding like you've not realised what date some work problems fall on, and you're taking out your frustration on me." You grumble out, the restaurant deathly silent as you continue. "You know, if you were honest about how you really felt about me from day one, I wouldn't have had my hopes up. There's plenty of fish in the sea that would love a much more casual relationship, but I'm not the one."

"...Wait, I'm -"

Before Wriothesley can continue, you hang up in him. It became clear to you that his role was too important for you to be a part of. You'd probably free up his timetable by ending things with him!

It didn't matter if he suddenly realised how badly he messed up, the truth of the matter was this wasn't a relationship where he could take you on many dates, but the important dates (e.g. birthdays, anniversaries) were the ones he would try his best to keep free. He didn't even tell you in advance today that he wouldn't be able to make it.

As much as it stung, you nod to yourself as you get up, the conversation in the restaurant finally building up again as you apologise for what everyone had heard.

[sysmedsaresexist]

Psych Critical

This post is highly related to this post, and I hope you'll read both. This was written second.

I've sent a couple asks to anti psych blogs talking about my own situation.

My goal isn't to change their minds, but to see what options they think are available to my family. Not every attempt at communication is an attack on a stance. I have real questions.

If there are other options, I'd love to hear them. I want these options to exist. I want more than what my family is going to get.

However, no one has responded to my asks. Maybe they think it's bait and I'm trying to catch them in a trick, maybe they don't know the answer, maybe they don't care (if you're one of those blogs, you've forfeited an opinion on my life).

So I'm going to post, under my own name, and ask again.

This isn't bait. This is my life, my every day normal. This is my father's life, every single day.

Psych Critical is a stance that I don't have a choice in. The psych system is only one thing that my family will turn to for help, and if we don't approach it first, it'll approach us on less kind circumstances. And that's genuinely what we're looking for.

Help.

And I think blanket generalizations like the above are about as useful as trash. I shouldn't have to hate myself and my family for needing help and seeking it out.

My father has something called NF (Neurofibromatosis). You might know this as "elephant man disease," though these are distinct disorders that are different from each other. It's the easiest way to describe it, though. He has tumors all over his body, inside and out, in his case. Visible lumps all over his body.

Unfortunately, these tumors are also on his brain. This causes him to have seizures, strokes, hallucinate, and have bouts of violence towards anyone and everyone. Specifically concerning is the voice of God telling him to punish his (now adult) children, and threatening to harm people based on the colour of their skin and religion. These hallucinations likely stem from the fact that he was raised as an orphan in the church (yes, it's exactly what you think).

There was a time when he could have gotten treatment, but we're past that. Initially, he refused. He was scared, I'm sure he didn't think it would end up like this. Now, he's unable to consent to treatment, and it's so progressed that surgery isn't an option. Chemo never was. To make matters worse, he's an alcoholic, to the point that not drinking will cause seizures and will likely result in death. Not to mention the damage to his liver that's slowly killing him. It's not functioning well these days.

There is no POA or will, and he's not able to consent to signing either. He will not go to any doctors at this point. You can't even have a conversation about this with him. Every plan he's set up on, retirement, pension, disability-- he calls them constantly to fuck around with it, cancel it, take his children's names off it, tell them he doesn't need it. They've stopped talking to him and will only discuss with my mother, despite there being no POA in place.

He is only going to get worse. He is going to die, and he doesn't understand.

My father is already dead. The man that raised me is gone, the man that cared isn't in that head anymore. It's a cruel soul using his body like a puppet until it finally gives out.

At this point... my siblings, mother, and I have had to cut him out of our lives. He's mean. He's so goddamn mean and cruel. His words cut harder than his fists, only because there's nothing left to him. He's skin and bones.

I don't know how much longer my cousin can let him stay there. Then what?

At some point, he will need to be forcibly committed and treated, if only to make him comfortable during his final... years? Months? Days? Because of the unique circumstances, there's likely not a drug that can help curb any of the symptoms. Drugs might be able to get him off the alcohol, but he's not going to like that at all, and that's not what's causing the hallucinations. His memory only gets worse by the day. Simple daily things like using the stove are becoming more of a danger, because he keeps walking away and forgetting.

I have about as much choice in this as he does, and the sooner he's committed, the better for everyone, including him. I mean, he can continue to stay out, and pass out on the streets trying to get home from the bar after getting kicked out for starting fights or getting angry when he's cut off. I don't know if or when he's going to forget the way home, and even if I try not to care... I'm scared.

I fear the day he's picked up by the police. I want him in the legal system even less than the psych system, and I think he'll fight any police that try to approach him. This is a man that, I promise you, would rather be homeless than denied alcohol.

This is not my biological father. He came into my life when I was only 1 year old. My biological father was, surprise surprise, also an alcoholic. He was in a drunk driving accident before I was born that killed other people. He was the driver.

My step dad, the only dad I've ever known, scares me sometimes.

I don't want to be the child of two murderers.

So I ask again, what do you suggest? How is this ableist? Your focus is psychotic people, but that's not the only people in these facilities. That's not the only disease that they treat. I read a couple posts from a linked resource (it's tumblr posts, let's not lie), and one of them mentioned something akin to outpatient treatment. @trans-axolotl because I'm using your post. I actually appreciate the "I don't know" of your answer.

It's a lot better than, "you're ableist for even thinking about this."

Friendos, I don't have a choice but to think about this.

This seemed silly to me, though, because psych wards already act like that. Many of the patients leave during the day to work, shop and visit family, and return at night. Rinse and repeat for them, every day. There's a surprising amount of individualized treatment, freedoms, and steps for each patient.

But not everyone can adhere to that. If my dad got out during the day, he would be drinking, and this would exacerbate the symptoms. He's a dick when he's drunk on the best of days. It's why my mother divorced him originally, before the hallucinations started.

A dry house wouldn't work, either. The places this man has hidden alcohol... he's like a squirrel, it's just everywhere, and he comes across them like,

Inside the WALLS, my guys. Hidden in the basement, the wall goes up to uncovered beams and there's a gap, and he hides them down behind those walls.

Do you know how many spiders are in there? He can fucking drink them, he wins that battle. Touché, dad.

When they tear the house down in the far future, I'm willing to bet they'll find a full liquor store down there. And again, the first time someone says, "you can't bring that in here," he'll turn around and say, "then I'm not going in there, diddles," because his fucking language part of the brain is broken and no matter how many times you explain that "diddle" is a CSA word that you can't just use randomly like that, he forgets.

When I first got married, I had him over to my apartment to spend a few nights. The amount of alcohol that got into my house... I don't even think he brought boxers, just alcohol, and it ended in a fight, and I made him leave. After that, he refused to come visit me. He's never been to my sibling's homes. It was the final straw for me, the things he said to my husband are unforgivable. I keep watch from afar now, talking to my cousin about him.

I said a few paragraphs up that the man that cared is gone. Sometimes, I look back, and I'm reminded of all the doubts growing up that he ever really cared. But I still care, and loving him is painful. The fear of what he's going to do next is even worse.

I want to finish this off with one of my... I don't want to say favorite, but this documentary was one that helped me, a fair bit, when it came out. I'd genuinely like the opinions of anti psych people on this documentary, and the true extent of violence and self harm that some patients display. Heavy trigger warning for severe self harm and violence toward others. Obviously.

For some of these patients, do you see another option for treatment? If not psych wards, what do you suggest happens to some of the patients in the video? What role did the staff actually play in some of the events portrayed?

As a general reminder, this isn't to change minds but open dialogue.

"Psych crits are ableist," is a pretty harsh statement considering the number of people in similar positions to myself. I feel like there's a huge disregard and ignorance for the violence that real people are experiencing.

Again, I'm psych critical, I don't accept the system as it is now, I think there's many improvements to be made. I think there is a need, in a very not small number of cases, for this type of system. I understand and appreciate the intersection of race, poverty and mental health that leads to anti psych sentiments, and I agree. There is a large number of people in psych wards that shouldn't be. This needs to be addressed.

But how do you reconcile both? I can't figure it out. I don't know.

[cdroloisms]

thinking about how sam built that big island to be kind of like a "peaceful retirement community" for the rest of the server, presumably under his rule (bc clearly he knows best, always) and wondering how long it would have taken, if things had played out that way, for someone to do something in that community that sam opposed. wondering how long it'd be until there would have been open rebellion, perhaps a funding of a group, a nation if you will, trying to separate from sam's rule. wondering how sam would have handled that..... (l'manberg 2.0 is what i'm saying, but probably put down much earlier and much more brutally. in some ways, dream and sam are indeed very very similar)

man they'd wish that sam was like dream lmao

but yeah, i can't imagine that sam--given that he's like, the Ultimate Authority, Ruler And Warden And Judge, Jury, and Executioner of this community of his, officially the Guy In Charge and therefore the Law--would be. Well. Lenient on people messing with his authority. See c!Bad being gaslit, not even because he was doing anything quote-unquote evil, but because c!Sam was worried about the hypothetical of him getting in the way of doing "good." See c!Ponk having a life taken and her arm cut off for stealing keycards that didn't even work. See every time people were threatened for trying to break blocks of the prison, or building something on top of the prison, or just touching the damn prison, or just asking a question Sam doesn't like about the prison, or just being someone that Sam is suspicious of so don't-you-dare-step-out-of-line-or-you'll-be-sorry. See how c!Ranboo was killed and his toddler child kidnapped as a power play. See how c!Connor was thrown into prison for the forseeable future over a fucking fast food order. And that's not even beinning to touch on what happened to c!Dream.

Like Revolution c!Dream? Revolution c!Dream was scapegoated in a conflict he wasn't even there for, accused of being responsible for the actions of individuals that were in no way even under his rule (because the server literally didn't HAVE a government at that time and c!Dream even types in server chat shortly before c!Eret joins L'manburg DEFERRING TO C!ERET AS RULER, likely just because of the fact that they have a castle) and accused of oppression for literally just. Existing. Like he hadn't even met Wilbur yet. And during the Revolution itself, he took the exact actions he thought were necessary to keep the opposition from being a significant physical threat (with the explicit aim of disarming them at the time, prior to the introduction of canon lives) and went no further, going as far as warning them of traps once the war was over and giving them their gear back. He went into the conflict itself with the intention to give them independence because he knew that they wouldn't give up.

c!Sam, on the other hand, gave himself THAT much jurisdiction over what was happening ALL OVER THE SERVER without even as much as an explicit position of rulership over anything in the server itself other than Pandora's Vault. He feels entirely entitled to everyone's lives and obedience. Like, in a c!Sam society, not only is that worldview going to remain the same way that it's remained consistent regardless of if he even has the physical power of the prison backing him anymore, but it's probably going to be further inflated by his very literally being the Ultimate Authority on the grounds of his entire faction and therefore unable to be questioned, doubted, or opposed. And as for what happens to opposers?

We all saw Pandora's Vault. In my humble opinion, if anyone were to pull a L'manburg (on c!Sam, who would actually be reasonably considered a ruler unlike c!Dream prior to the Revolution, and could likely be accused of oppression just given his track record, gestures at the number of people he's thrown into solitary just because he said so)--they'd be pretty damn lucky if all they got was the c!Connor "get silently put into prison and forgotten without anyone knowing" treatment.

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: Loveday and Benjamin and the Geraniums 

The fight between Loveday Minette and Sir Benjamin

TL;DR

First of all, Loveday and Benjamin are first cousins. Yes, you read that right, First Cousins. And Robin and Maria? Second cousins. 

Yeah I don’t like it either. 

“My father and Sir Benjamin's father and your grandfather were brothers," said Loveday. "There were only the three of them, and each of them had only one child; Sir Benjamin, myself, your father; and so now the Merryweathers are a very small family, just Sir Benjamin and myself and you."

When Loveday was orphaned at the age of ten, she moved to Moonacre Manor with her Aunt, and her Twenty-Five year old First cousin Benjamin. 

Let me repeat that: HER TWENTY-FIVE YEAR OLD FIRST COUSIN. 

So Sir Benjamin is a predator. 

Heavens above, anyway. 

When Loveday comes to Moonacre Manor, all she has are the clothes on her back and ten pots of geranium cuttings. Salmon Pink Geraniums. Now, despite how silly that is, these flowers matter to Loveday because they were the “pride of Cornwall”. They are the only thing she has to remember her home and parent’s by. These aren’t just flowers to her, but the final mementos of her family. 

Sir Benjamin’s mother's hatred of pink and geraniums leads to Loveday’s inability to wear pink, or keep the geraniums anywhere but in her room. Loveday tells Maria that her aunt was severe and strict. Loveday loves the color pink, and she loves her geraniums, but Loveday is restricted by her Aunt and unable to wear what she wants to wear freely, and keep something that she views as a representation of her parents and family, private. 

“When I was a child of ten he was a splendid young man of twenty-five, and, as I said, he was kind to me and I loved him; even though he shared his mother's dislike of pink geraniums. For he was not like his mother, always talking about the things he disliked; he just kept his mouth shut and did not mention them.”

A couple of years pass, Sir Benjamin (in his early thirties) and Loveday (still a fucking teenager) are engaged to be wed in springtime. In winter, his mom dies, but they don’t move their wedding date and still plan on getting married in a few months. Despite the fact that you were expected to mourn for at least a year, I imagine the mourning period would also include not getting married, but I digress. 

It is also made very clear how Sir Benjamin feels in regards to the women in his life: 

“I cannot tell you how much I loved him, Maria. And he loved me, too, though he loved his mother more."

Now, I’m sure that your synapses are just firing off, that your reading skills and critical thinking abilities are great and you know what’s coming next! 

“And then, Maria, one spring evening just before our wedding day, I did a very stupid thing."

We really only get to see this story from Loveday’s perspective, and not from Sir Benjamin’s, I’m sure Goudge is expecting us to find Loveday a reliable narrator, and I’m sure Loveday isn’t lying, but it would have been nice to at least get Sir Ben’s perspective.

The night before their wedding, or just about, the Merryweathers are having the Parson over for dinner, for what I imagine is similar to an engagement dinner, rehearsal dinner, and wedding counseling for us. While Sir Benjamin is out on a horse ride, Loveday decides to take all of her Salmon Pink Geraniums out of her room and decorate the house with them.  At this point, her room was overflowing with pink geraniums, and there was simply no more room for them in her chambers. So, what I find to be very arrogant, Loveday takes all the geraniums out of her room, wears a pink dress, and greets both cousin/fiance and Parson at the door. 

Of course, Sir Benjamin is furious (and in my opinion, I do think Loveday, up to this point, is in the wrong. As far as I’m concerned this is a clear lack of communication, and very disrespectful to her mother-in-law/aunt/the woman who took care of her most of her life) but can’t do anything because the Parson is there, and he has to be sociable. 

“When Old Parson had gone he told me exactly what he thought of me. He has the Merryweather temper, you know, even though he is so sunny and genial, and when he was a young man he could behave like a roaring lion. And he raged and stormed that night until his anger nearly lifted the roof off. He said that I had insulted the memory of his saintly mother and that I was not worthy to follow in her footsteps. And he said other things that made me very angry, so that I said hard things too. Among other things I said that his mother had not been a saint at all but a very wicked woman to be so severe with a little girl as she had been with me over my love of pink. And no saint hates geraniums, I said. Saints love all the flowers that God has made, especially the salmon pink geraniums of Cornwall, because God never made lovelier flowers than those. And at that Sir Benjamin picked up all the pots of geraniums within reach and flung them out of the window into the rose garden."

So Loveday runs away and marries a lawyer out of pure spite.   

“And the son of the house [she was working in], a young lawyer, fell in love with me on sight, and I married him as soon as it could possibly be arranged, because he was kind and I liked him, and in my pride and anger I wanted to put it beyond Sir Benjamin's power to get me back again."

Now I would like us to take a look at the fight that happens in the Secret of Moonacre. 

Sir Benjamin is not insulted by her choice of floral arrangements, he is angered by the fact that she is the daughter of his enemy. He believes she came and tricked him into loving her, that she was using him to find the pearls. 

Loveday lies to him about her name to protect herself. While we are not given her reason as to why - it could have been that she was trying to find the pearls, and didn’t want his wrath and anger, so donned a false name; it could have been she was sent by her father to find the pearls but fell in love with him nonetheless - we know that she did truly love him, and chose him over her own family. 

Either way, the fight Loveday De Noir and Sir Benjamin have is much more nuanced. It is reasonable for these people to be upset. Sir Benjamin is angry that he was lied to, and Loveday is upset because he could not look past her name and love her regardless, that he would not listen to her as she tried to tell him that her love for him was genuine. 

Also, Loveday De Noir doesn’t go off and petty-marry a lawyer so he can’t have her. 

The fight that Sir Benjamin and Loveday Minette have in the book is childish and moronic, while the fight Sir Benjamin and Loveday De Noir have is nuanced and devastating.

Edit: my sister mentioned that Loveday was treated very harshly as a child, and felt free to express herself for the first time and was treated harshly for it. I don’t think this changes my stance on Loveday being in the wrong (they both are) as a couple, they lacked communication, which is a cornerstone for relationships. However, that does make me more sympathetic for how Sir Benjamin treated her

Conclusion: they miscommunicated, but Sir Benjamin is a grooming pedophile, so he’s definitely in the wrong

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[mao-likes-2-draw]

guess who finished turnabout bigtop…

what the hell was that????? i felt like crying at the end because why was it so sad??

(spoilers under the cut, tw for suicide and mentions of grooming)

the ENTIRE thing was a fever dream. i know it was rushed and literally written under the influence, but GOOD LORD ????? some of the most insufferable characters i’ve ever seen were in this case. i was so tired when i finished it though i think they warmed up to me.

moe was something else, but me and my sister kept laughing so hard whenever he made the sprite like 😐 he was the real mvp of this case though (in a way??) very annoying sometimes though

regina was so bubbly and sparkly and her gimmick was just not working. this case has some of the most gimmick heavy characters, so i genuinely cannot deal with how bad some of them are. the whole plot involving regina was also kind of gross because of the age gaps between max, ben, bat, etc…i do understand her whole thing was about being sheltered and spoiled and unable to cope with bad things and blah blah blah though

big back ben… he was just an uncomfortable character. 31 in love with a 16 year old?? i did like the whole act with him and trilo at least, i like how he almost uses him as an outlet? or that’s what it feels like anyways

i actually did like acro. i thought he was dramatic and kind of an asshole for plotting murder on a 16 year old for an incident that basically killed his brother, but my sister was totally on his side. now i do feel like if the girl who inadvertently caused the death of my brother was in my room every day, taking out my trash and feeding me, and laughing and smiling, showing NO sympathy about what happened and saying “ohhh he became a star :)” i would go a bit insane too. not to mention him being wheelchair bound because of the incident, AND unable to leave the lodge because he lived on the third floor (someone move this poor man to the first floor please) the isolation must’ve been torture with the only person you see being what you see is the cause of all this. when he finally DID have enough of it and executed his murder plan, it didn’t even go right. he instead killed his only family figure he had left, leaving everything he had gone. his legs, his job, his brother, and finally the ringmaster. moe said he was livid when acro found out about the ringmaster’s death, because he didn’t even KNOW who he actually killed. he must have been crushed by that point, and he did contemplate suicide or turning himself in to the police. but he didn’t. because he KNEW bat was still alive, despite being as good as “dead” in the seemingly unshakable coma. he couldn’t kill himself or go to jail, because he needed to be there for his brother on the off chance he even woke up. he’s a murderer, but it wasn’t pure malice. one of the more sympathetic culprits in JFA .

max was funny, but again the whole thing with regina was really weird. i did like how he was a country bumpkin and his real name was billy bob johns and his flamboyant personality was great too

moving on, the whole case in general didn’t feel real. it was all zany and gimmicky, it didn’t seem like it should belong in AA. in fact, nearly all of the cases in JFA feel like a fever dream.

the plot was SO convoluted, and the whole trial parts were actually the worst. i liked the investigations. i think what i love about the investigations in little communities like the circus or global studios or the police department in rise from the ashes is the absolute TEA that the characters give you. like YES can i hear about all these scandals, and dee vasquez’s ties to the mafia and the rumors about edgeworth and blah blah blah… yess girl give me the drama!!

overall, everything felt unnecessary and over the top, but it’s a circus. i guess that was a point. still an absolute batshit case to go through, most insane and annoying story i’ve seen come out of AA so far.

justice for everyone in that fucking circus though. justice for regina too!! shes getting groomed left and right. will never forget this case for like another 10 years. God.

[rigaudon]

highly controversial (esp for tumblr) take under the cut, brought to you by me, less than 24 hours after running out of my antidepressants

i hate the continued trend of "quirkifying" (thing i made up just now) mental illness, but I especially hate how recently tumblr has latched onto, specifically, adhd and autism and turned them into personality types that people slap on a name tag to show off how unique they are. I hate that being neurodivergent has become the go-to excuse for terminally online people to justify their shitty behavior. I hate the sentiment that being unmedicated is something to be proud of. I hate that wanting to be fucking normal is a cardinal sin, because ew why would you want to be like those boring neurotypicals.

I hate it. I want to be normal. I started taking medication for ADHD when I was four years old and I have never, not once in my life, thought it was a Fun Thing To have. I hate that I've spent the last 15 years slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'm probably--no almost definitely--autistic, but am still vehemently opposed to it and unable to reconcile that fact despite all the evidence. I don't want to be autistic. I don't want to have adhd. I don't want to make these things a part of my identity that I share with people in the same breath as I talk about my favorite video games or dnd class.

It's not fun. It's not a cute, exclusive club you get to be part of.

It's miserable and alienating and people don't take it seriously. Because you're just lazy and not trying hard enough. Why haven't you done this task you promised you'd do six months ago. Why did you fail out of college? Why did you squander that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? Why don't you finish anything you start? Having a low attention span isn't an excuse to not communicate like a normal person. I've had to tell you this five times why can't you just remember? Why can't you save any money? Why are you so fucking weird? Don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself?

Why can't you Just Be Normal?

I would give anything to just be a shitty, irresponsible person who makes bad decisions out of carelessness or lack of empathy. I would give anything to be a "boring neurotypical". Because I could work on that. I could become a better person. i could learn from my mistakes and have that actually mean something practically rather than just cognitively.

It's an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Accepting that my brain just does not work correctly and no amount of positive thinking, or bullet journaling, or time management skills, or even medication will fix it. It will always be a struggle. It will always be a ten ton weight shackled to my ankles that I have to drag behind me through any task that doesn't result in instant gratification. There will never be a permanent solution. I will never wake up one day and suddenly be able to do these basic fucking tasks that everyone else does without issue. I will always have to remind myself to brush my teeth, or to eat breakfast, or to take a shower, or to make sure my cats get fed. It will always be an ordeal to get the mail or to go grocery shopping or to keep myself from sabotaging every good thing in my life for the umpteenth time.

It's exhausting. I'm so tired. I'm so sick of fighting against myself every waking moment of every single day. I'm so sick of being told that I don't deserve any kind of accommodations or allowances or compromises and there is no excuse because "everyone else has to do these things and you don't get special treatment".

I don't want special treatment. I don't want everything different or "wrong" with me to be painted on my skin in bright red ink for everyone to see. I don't want to be reduced to a bunch of boxes so people can just glance at the labels and decide that's all they need to know about me. I don't want to stand out. I don't want to be different. I want to fucking blend in and be unremarkable and boring.

I just want to be fucking normal.

[gynandromorph]

i guess it’s time for a new year retrospective thing since it’s almost a new year

this year sucked and not even in like a notably bad way, it’s just one big haze of nothing where nothing matters and nothing has any meaning because there’s literally no break in between all the stress. groceries are as expensive as ever and they’re just gonna stay that way forever while the cost of living limit for welfare stays the same so now i’m stuck between being unable to afford food AND having no healthcare. mawkish continues to get older and she has more health issues. it takes up an unspeakable amount of my time and money, but she’s happy and not declining right now. every time she skips physical therapy for her arthritis due to a cancellation i can see how it affects her, though, so i don’t know if i’ll be able to cut costs there. a lot of this is about money, huh? i just feel like i can’t even DO anything without it. i can just Be At Home which just makes me feel like a wild animal pacing in a cage. i’ve been single for a while now and i’m REALLY feeling it and i know it’s partially my fault for not wanting covid more than not wanting to be lonely but like what the fuck would i do if i put myself out there huh? tell some girl i don’t have enough money to buy lunch or a coffee so we’ll have to just sit outside at a park? yeah i’ve sat outside at parks to meet and chat with people but as like a first impression it’s not great!!!

and my art has gotten worse, of course. it’s stiffer, and i feel on edge because my hand is either always on the cusp of hurting again or it IS hurting again. i’ve gotten it back to normal again, and then i slack off on my exercises and we’re back to square 3 (i haven’t gotten so bad that i go back to square 1) because the exercises themselves are wildly time-consuming and god knows if there’s anything i don’t have enough of it’s time. i hate the tablet i’m using and i can’t even find the old ones i brought with me because of the move, but even then they’re very small and that’s why i like them and it’s also why i hurt my hand in the first place. still, the curves this tablet makes are just not the same, there’s tons of issues with it that aren’t technically issues but certainly things that impact how the art comes out and how much i enjoy making it. not really related but about a week into the new year i’ll be getting a new computer, also, and a new desk chair, since both of those are fucking falling apart. i want to do other things that i’m not going to say here because if there’s one way to make sure you never ever do a project it’s just announcing it publicly before you’ve done literally any of the work. still, we’ll see if anything changes. it feels like it won’t simply because my brain is too depressed to do anything anymore and even when i do do the thing it turns out like shit or i don’t retain it at all. these are at least things that will not require the intense use of my dominant hand.

oh and the last huge negative is i just have like functionally no religious community now because this friend i made at my last synagogue was a great friend!!!!! super friendly!!!!!!!!!!! too friendly in fact!!!!!!!!!!! and i tried reasserting that i was not interested in a relationship multiple times, i tried tolerating advances i wasn’t going to reciprocate and it just kept getting more physical, eventually i decided to get my rabbi there involved and i gotta say the response i got was disappointing at best!!!!!! this was maybe like november 2021 but it’s literally functionally cut me off from that community altogether here because i wasn’t thrilled about the drop in covid protocols and i’m certainly not more enthusiastic now that i’ve been sexually harassed just to have it brushed under the rug knowing this is an all too common reaction for jewish authorities to have!!! i literally feel like i can’t say anymore about it besides that but hey it kinda sucks!!!!!!!

that’s it dude, that’s all, i started a new comic way later than i should have but i did start it, and i’m living somewhere that kind of sucks the soul out of me but i won’t be investing a lot of time and money into a move this year not only because it’s tolerably under my sister and her husband’s roof instead of my mom’s but because rent is too fucking high for me to jump ship too. sure hope 2023 is a great year cuz it’s the last one i’ll have as a 20-something and the bar is certainly low after this one, i can’t even be more thoughtful or humble about this retrospective, i’m so tired of feeling like shit and having functionally no way to fix most of these problems

[hailmarymachine]

Okay. I know I've made it pretty clear that as a person? I don't like drama. I'm not a fan of callout culture on this site because it very rarely serves the purpose of warning people of bad behavior and turns into a witch hunt to alienate users wrongfully.

Stuff is going under the cut. I'm ranting about Mox/one of my best friends. Read if you want, or don't.

I'm sick and tired of the treatment towards Mox. I'm not tagging her blogs. She wants to be kept out of this, and I'm respecting the wishes of one of my best friends. She doesn't need this shit anymore. And she never deserved this harassment from tumblr.

I'm writing this because I'm angry that she's currently being doxxed by another tumblr user, and when this fact as been pointed out, MOX is to blame here for wanting a reasonable expectation of privacy. All of this got dragged up because Stevie was put on a callout for something COMPLETELY unrelated to Mox. She got dragged into it to get the fucking heat off of themselves.

And by the way. Hey, Stevie, you ever wonder why that doc has been taken down multiple times? YOU are revealing private information without her consent. Google deemed it against their TOS and removed it both time. Take responsibility instead of telling everyone else that she should be more careful. Bare minimum, you're contributing to potential cyberstalking. Doxxing is still illegal and this isn't the first time it's happened and you fucking know it. Do better.

I'm going to say it: YOU are letting Mox live in your head rent free. If anyone so much as says something you disagree with, you drag her name into it. YOU play the victim, have some seriously big feelings, and talk about how you can't do x or y thing because mox is somehow turning people against you. It's never that you're unable to regulate your own feelings over disagreements. Or that YOU are causing problems.

I will also come out and say I, at one point, called some of the people from the callout a few years ago friends. I believed the callout. I believed the horseshit that was fed to me. I read about how she (mox) was some stalker that hurt a lot of people (and she's apologized to the people she's hurt). The second she tried following one of my blogs? I blocked her and moved on, but I admit at the time I was anxious because of the things I'd heard. I wasn't stalked. I didn't have her trying to bypass the blocking to harass me and make me feel shitty for doing that to her. She respected the boundary I put up and I reiterate: She did not bother me or send people after me on her behalf either. When I realized that at the time? I realized something was off. Where was this big scary person they went on and on about constantly even after the dust had died down? ( Yeah, she lived rent free in a lot of people's heads, guys. For way longer than was necessary OR healthy. )

They even went after her when she tried to reemerge again as a different alias and shit talked an apology she tried writing. You know what I did? I read it. I wanted to know what she was saying that was worth all their shit talking, and all I saw was someone trying to take some responsibility and make amends. That's it. And I'm not gonna lie: I eventually ghosted all of them because they kept finding ways to circle back to shit talking mox and even tried involving fandoms mox wasn't even apart of. Like why? For what reason do you feel the need to keep dragging shit out after you've already warned the relevant communities a "harmful person" is apart of?

But hey, I decided to give mox a chance when she followed me under her new penname. I decided to give someone a chance that STILL IS catching shit she doesn't deserve. It's been five years, guys. Five years of this drama circulating on and off. Five years of someone calling her a toxic abuser when Mox is the one that's had to literally move across the country for her own real life, physical safety, because she was doxxed before this instance. She couldn't leave her own home out of fear for her real life, physical safety. It's ridiculous that one person is THIS obsessed and is constantly stirring the pot about her.

I don't understand why people aren't looking at the fact that she's literally being doxxed a second time and don't see it as a problem? Or that someone is allowing another person on the INTERNET to occupy their thoughts THIS MUCH?

Grow the fuck up, guys.

[lassieposting]

Chinhands at you

Can I add onto this with a sadthought that occurred to me a while back

Have you ever thought about the fact that Sauron is not, inherently, a creature with a physical body? Ainur can wear bodies, as Men wear clothes, but his trueform is just...a spirit. He has no mouth when he isn't wearing a body - no vocal chords, no tongue. And yet, his people have their own language - Valarin - which, it seems to me, would mean that the Ainur would communicate amongst themselves not with mouths, but with their minds. They'd be telepaths, all of them. It would be a fundamental part of their nature.

Sauron is, inherently, a telepathic creature. The Ainur are not a hivemind, but it's likely that they would have begun as a loosely-connected telepathic network of individuals - like a groupchat. In the Dawn Age, they probably would have had each other's voices in their heads all the time, as a constant low-level background music they can tune into when they want to talk.

What I'm getting at is that this is a species to whom isolation would be anathema. Unthinkable. Exiling Morgoth to the Void would be a brutally effective punishment for precisely that reason - he's alone out there, totally cut off from his own kind.

But like. When Sauron and all the other Úmaiar defected to follow Morgoth, they wouldn't have suffered too badly. Yes, their former friends and family in Valinor would have cut them off from that telepathic network, but they still had each other. They have their own "background music" - they're still Together.

And then, over hundreds of thousands of years, one by one, they're killed fighting Morgoth's wars. Their numbers dwindle one by one, voices disappearing from their network forever, as they all get increasingly uneasy at the growing gaps of silence where their allies' melodies should be. And eventually, it's just the two of them left, Morgoth and Sauron, and even though Morgoth is spiralling into insanity and getting harder and harder to deal with, Sauron clings to that telepathic lifeline because it's all he has left. Morgoth is the only other voice keeping the silence out.

And. He's not there, when the Valar sentence Morgoth to the Void. He might not even know what exactly happened. It might be that all he knows is that he was connected to Morgoth until he wasn't, and then there was a rush of fear and hatred and rage and then -

Silence.

Because Morgoth is gone, somewhere Sauron can't follow. And he knows - he knows in his soul - that wherever that place is, Morgoth won't be coming back for him.

And he spends so long in the silence, surrounded by filth and orcs and experiments. It's totally unnatural for his kind, and it might've driven another Ainu mad. It's some cosmic horror bullshit for him. He can quite literally scream into the void where his network should be and no one in Ëa will answer him.

But then there's Galadriel. Galadriel who tells him be free of it and I felt it too, Galadriel who sees something in him worth dragging out of the gutter, Galadriel who is showing him a better way and loving him and listening to his advice and making him laugh, and she is telepathy-compatible and fuck, maybe eventually he'll be able to touch minds with her and her thoughts will be his new comforting background noise and he won't be so unfathomably alone anymore...

And then she rejects him. She turns on him. She closes the door. He claws and howls and hammers at it from his side but she won't let him in, and he begins to realise that this - the unbearable silence - it's going to be like that forever. And it'd like telling a human being that they will spend the rest of eternity unable to breathe, or touch, or sleep. That feel-a-little-panicky-if-you-imagine-it kind of horror. That's his reality.

Small wonder he leaves his mind open to her. If she won't let him into her thoughts, at the very least he might be able to feel the brush of her mind when she scans his for intel or vulnerabilities she can use. It's not enough. It will never be enough. He's a creature that should be connected to the rest of his kind all the time. He's living in conditions that are functionally incompatible with being a happy, healthy Maia.

But it's all he can get. It's all he'll ever have again. So he'll take it.

And like 3,000 years later, he's still leaving himself open in the hope that she'll reach out to him.

Me thinking about the fact that years later, during the main trilogy, Galadriel will use the words Halbrand said to her during their first meeting, and that her heart has always longed for what Sauron once offered her. Me, thinking about the fact that years later, Sauron still tries to reach Galadriel's mind, without success, but that he nevertheless leaves his mind open to her, and therefore she perceives his thoughts, even if he cannot perceive those of her own.

[mingtinys]

Stained Glass

pairing : choi san x gn!reader

mafia!au , soulmate!au , angst , hurt/no comfort

warnings : language (like a lot) , depictions of blood and open wounds , mentions of guns (not fired) and general violence

word count : 4.4 k

requested ? no

a/n : this was a fic i originally wrote for an entirely different person back when i was in my star wars phase and just never published. but i liked the general plot and changed up a few things to ateezify it . brownie points if u can guess what character it was originally for 

[ part 2 ]

"You know, glaring at the clock isn't gonna make him get back any faster."

"Fuck off, Mingi." You mumble half-heartedly, eyes still glued to the analog clock mounted on the wall above Mingi, taunting you from across the room. Each second that ticks by twists knot after uncomfortable knot in your stomach, the feeling climbing up into your throat and nearly making you choke. It's been too long.

"Someone's snippy today."

You cut your eyes at the boy in one last warning, "I don't like being sidelined."

Mingi, long immune to your threats and sour attitude, stares back with an amused expression. "And I don't like babysitting, yet here we are– ah!" He shrieks as the blunt toe of your boot connects with his shin under the pristine mahogany table. The resounding groan followed by Mingi cradling his shin spreads a satisfied smirk across your lips.

"Why would you do that?"

"You know why."

"I'm never helping you and San out on another mission again." It's his pout that finally makes you feel a smidge guilty about kicking him. It wasn't his — or his poor shin for that matter's — fault you were in a bad mood. He was just the one unfortunate enough to be left with you and your anxiety-driven frustration.

"Sorry, Min." He seems decently pleased with your half-assed apology, a soft and empathetic expression returning to his otherwise sharp features. "I'm just worried, he should have been back by now."

"He's fine, Y/N." Mingi's eyes meet yours, genuine and comforting. "You guys have been partners for what? Two years now. You know he's more than capable of handling himself.

He's right and you hate it. Logically, it made more sense for only San to go while you and Mingi stayed back at the safe house and infiltrated their security to make sure he went undetected. Logically, San was the best choice between the two of you, he's been to this specific enemy base before and knows the layout like the back of his hand. Logically, the plan was sound and easy. "I'll be in and out in thirty, no sweat." He'd said when you tried to argue your case for tagging along.

But despite the mission being "so easy even a golden retriever could do it," — San's words — an uneasy feeling still settled into your gut the second he drove off. You don't like being too far from your partner, unable to provide backup or know his status. When you've been by his side every second of every mission for so long, it feels foreign being separated. Hongjoong had also drilled into everyone's heads the golden rule of always sticking in pairs, no matter how useless it may seem. It's a rule you and San have always followed; if not for the sake of saving yourselves from one of Hongjoong's lengthy, and terrifying, lectures, then because the two of you genuinely work well together.

You trust him to get it done, you really do. But his thirty-minute mission has long since turned into well over an hour with minimal communication and you can't help the gnawing feeling in your stomach. You shouldn't have let him go alone, this whole thing was stupid.

You huff, arms folded tightly across your chest and foot rapidly tapping the floor. "He's got twenty minutes before I go there and find out what's taking so long myself."  Mingi, who you expected to immediately shut down that idea and call you dramatic, doesn't respond, much less acknowledge the fact you spoke at all. You glance up, only to find he's gone from nursing his shin to smiling down at his phone, fingers happily tapping away at the screen.

A frown spreads to your lips, you weren't quite done complaining about the situation at hand. "Mingi," you deadpan. "Stop texting your stupid soulmate, we're in the middle of a mission."

He rolls his eyes and releases an exaggerated groan, but does as you ask regardless, setting his phone face down on the table. "No. You're in the middle of complaining about the mission. There's nothing for us to do anyways until San gets back." He takes a beat, dragging his hands down his face then jabs a finger in your direction. "And soulmates aren't stupid, you're just chronically miserable and hate love."

"I don't hate love," you defend. "I just don't see how you can justify bringing someone into this kind of life, much less have time for them."

Mingi stares blankly back at you as if he's calling your bluff. "Not everyone is as cynical as you. Now, Yeosang? He comes close, but you definitely take the fuckin' cake."

Cynical. You much prefer the term realistic. Because in your line of work, the chances of loved ones getting caught in the crossfire are near certain. You've witnessed it first-hand multiple times; soulmates used as leverage and bargaining chips between rivals, lovers left lifeless and brutalized in the name of revenge, their partners soaked in blood and begging for them to just wake up. The thought haunts you more than you'd like it to. Realistically, it's irresponsible and selfish to expect someone to just be okay with that risk. Even if the universe itself begged to differ.

Of course, you'd be lying if you said you'd never at least entertained the idea of a soulmate. In fact, when you were little, it was all you thought about. Constantly fantasizing about the moment you first touched them, skin to skin. Your black-and-white toned vision exploding into a beautiful array of vibrant colors. Everything about it just seemed so magical back then. But now, meeting your cosmically selected partner fills your entire being with nothing but dread.

You've gone through indescribable lengths to ensure you never trigger the whirlwind of colors waiting to be released, avidly avoiding skin-to-skin contact with everyone possible. You refused to even shake San's hand when Hongjoong first introduced the two of you as partners. The way you saw it, if you never knew who your soulmate was, they could never get hurt because of you. You would never have to lose anything dear to yourself ever again.

"Still," you finally respond to Mingi. "It just doesn't feel right to put someone through that. Make them deal with our shit lives, constantly in danger. I can't do it, especially not after what happened to Seonghwa's poor soulmate—"

"Stop." Mingi abruptly cuts you off, eyes wide as if Seonghwa himself would somehow hear your words from miles away. "You know not to talk about that." You sink further in your seat at his scolding, like a child who knows they're in the wrong but is too stubborn to admit it.

Mingi draws in a deep breath and releases it in a long and worn-out sigh. "You seriously never wanna find your soulmate? Like ever?" There's a certain undertone of pity in his voice that you've grown to resent whenever he brings up the topic of soulmates. Like he can't possibly fathom how one could be so content without one when his entire life revolves around his. Like you're some sad charity case he needs to heal so you can finally be "happy."

You refuse to meet his eyes as you speak. "Why would I want something else to lose?"

Mingi shrugs, "I don't know. To give our shitty lives even the tiniest bit of meaning? To have something worth coming home to. I can't really explain it, life just feels ... complete now."

"Sounds overrated."

"There's a bright, colorful, loving world out there, Y/N. You deserve to see it with someone by your side, even if you don't think so."

"I much prefer the grey tones. Thanks." With that, Mingi finally relents, allowing you the silence to descend back into your worrisome thoughts.

You don't get to dwell on them for long. No more than a few moments pass when a loud series of crashes and thuds startle you and Mingi alert. You lunge for the spare gun holstered on the underside of the table, knuckles white as your fingers wrap around the grip. Mingi has his own in hand and you signal for him to follow behind, he nods without protest

"Y/N!" A voice yells out. It's strained, yet unmistakably San's. Your heart stops, but only for a split second, then begins to slam aggressively against your chest, like it's catching up with your racing mind. It takes less than a second for you to discard your pistol and bolt for the living room, Mingi hot on your heels.

The room is a mess compared to just a few minutes ago. Picture frames shattered and face down on the floor, furniture recklessly shoved out of the way, and a shelf's contents spilled about. At the center of it all is San, stumbling around and grasping at anything and everything to keep his balance as he treks through the room. He's clutching at his left side with his other hand, small dark droplets of an unknown liquid on the floor outline his path. The same liquid coats his paled hand and the all too familiar scent of iron stings your nostrils.

You allow yourself half a second. Only half a second to reign in your frantic thoughts, shove your emotions to the furthest corner of your mind, and put on a calm and collected face, just as you've been trained to do. Just as everyone in Hongjoong’s organization has been trained to do.

"Help him to that chair." Mingi follows your command instantly, ducking under San's arm to let him lean all his weight on Mingi's shoulders.

"I need a med kit," San instructs, teeth gritted in pain but surprisingly calm.

You nod to Mingi, allowing him to handle getting san into the nearest armchair so you can retrieve the med kit from below the kitchen sink. When you return, San is slumped in the chair, head thrown back against the headrest and sucking in deep breaths.

You kneel beside him, on his left side where he's still clutching at the space between his hip and where his ribs end. You talk as you open the med kit and sift through the supplies. "Mingi, take the car and get Yunho, he can do a better job fixing whatever this is than I can. Fast."

Mingi doesn't nod or even acknowledge you spoke. He just grabs the keys from the kitchen counter and bolts for the front door.

San groans and attempts to reposition himself in the chair to grant you better access to his wound. "There's a piece of shrapnel in my side, you need to get it out. We can't wait for Yunho."

"I'm sorry, what?" You ask, whipping your head to look at him with wild eyes and a bewildered look of confusion. "Why the hell is there shrapnel in you?"

"Because something blew up," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Good to know he hasn't bled out enough to dull his charming attitude. "Now get it out."

"Because something blew—? Shit, San." It's ticking you off just how nonchalant he is about the whole ordeal. As if he didn't just come crashing into the safe house, dripping blood all over the freshly varnished hardwood. As if he's not in the worst pain imaginable while trying his hardest to act unfazed.

You pick up a pair of long tweezers and a miniature flashlight from the now ransacked med kit. Shooing San's hand away from his wound, you click the light on and start inspecting the jagged wound in his side. More blood oozes from the wound at the loss of pressure, staining the light-colored chair. Hongjoong isn't going to be too happy about it, but the aesthetics of the safehouse aren't exactly a top priority at the moment.

"It's an easy mission, oh I can just go alone. In and out in thirty," you mock. San shoots you a glare.

"Okay, okay I get it. You wanna get this thing the fuck out of me? Feels like it's ripping my insides apart."

"Just stay still and don't bitch out on me." Rather ungracefully, you slot the tweezers into his wound and start digging around. The method isn't the most effective, but then again you weren't exactly as talented as Yunho when it came to treating injuries. Sure, you've roughly fixed up a couple of wounds when out on a mission, but nothing anywhere near this bad.

"Ow . . . ow . . . OW!" San writhes in his seat, making his displeasure with your technique known loud and clear. " You wanna be a little more gentle with that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does me digging around in your fucking shrapnel wound hurt?" You snip at him. You really were trying to make this as painless as possible, but your hands are shaking and his incessant complaining isn't exactly a morality boost. "I'm not a medic, San, I don't know what I'm doing."  

"Literally anything else! Please!" His voice cracks, an indication of how unbearable the pain must be. You sympathize with him, you really do. But there isn't exactly a better option, so you continue digging, just a little less rushed this time, and San tries everything he can to stifle his groans. After a few more hopeless minutes of searching, you still can't find the shard.

"I can't see it. This flashlight isn't doing any good and I can't feel it with the tweezers." It's just one big dark mess in your vision. Perhaps Yunho or Mingi would be able to see some distinction in the colors with their soulmate-induced retinas, but this whole feat is growing useless with your lack of experience and poor vision.

"Then try again. You need to get it out before it goes any deeper." San's voice is slightly calmer this time, tone less abrasive and snarky, even bordering on comforting.

"I'm sorry but everything is kind of the same fucking color. It just looks like a dark mess."

"Then stick your fingers in there and try to feel where it is." He says it with such blunt confidence that the phrase catches you so off guard. You pause your actions and stare at San's face, eyebrows raised and waiting for him to say something like "just kidding." But he doesn't. He just stares back at you like you're stupid for not jumping into action without question.

"What?" You hadn't even chanced getting his blood on your fingers while using the tweezers, and now he wants you to just shove your hand in there?

"Do it."

"I'm not fucking–"

"Y/N, please!" There's an urgency in his voice and it strikes a cord in your heart. Against everything he's tried to convey from the moment he stumbled in — the brave face, the tough, arrogant act — he sounds scared. Underneath everything, Choi San is scared and that scares you.

"Okay, okay" you whisper, more so to yourself. "You can do this."

You grab the bottle of alcohol from the med kit and douse your hands in it, rubbing the cool liquid in. You should really be doing this with gloves, but they're conveniently m.i.a., so you do the best you can. With the flashlight gripped tightly in your non-dominant hand, you flex your fingers on the other, mentally preparing yourself. Just do it. Suck it up and do it. As every nerve in your fingers screams and begs for you to stop, you take a deep breath and—

In the split second between when your finger hovers just over his wound to when it just barely touches his skin, a chill shoots up your spine. The world goes from black and white to bursting with hundreds— no thousands, of vivid colors. Horrifyingly enough, the main color your brain registers is red. Dark, glistening red. You recoil, yanking your hand away like San's skin is made of hot embers.

So many different emotions and thoughts rush through your brain at once. It's overwhelming, and all you can do is match San's unbelieving expression. You've spent years avoiding this exact moment, and now it's happening at the worst time imaginable.

This can't be happening. This can't be possible. Choi San cannot be your soulmate.

San is the first to speak.

"Y/N— ah, fuck." He doubles over, hand flying back to hold his side, and squeezes his eyes shut. It snaps you back to reality like a bucket of ice water over your head. San's still injured. He's your soulmate but he's injured and oh God everything is so fucked right now. There are more pressing matters than sorting through your complicated feelings. So you compartmentalize the part of you that wants to run far, far away. The part that's filled with fear and panic.

The part of you that's always, in the deepest confines of yourself, seen San as a little bit more than just a partner. You bury all of it for the time being so you can revisit it once San is out of immediate danger.

"Come on," you coax, helping him to sit back up. "Don't forget this was your idea."

"Y/N—" He tries again.

"I know, San. Let's not worry about that right now, okay?"

He weakly nods. "Just get it over with."

You try not to think about it too much this time. Hesitation hasn't gotten you anywhere and you're not sure how much longer San can last.

San screams as you plunge your finger deep into his wound. It's warm and squishy as you fish around, the feeling so nauseating and vile you have to suppress a gag. Strings of curses and meaningless threats fall from San's lips as he squirms. Though you ignore them completely, too focused on keeping your lunch down as the urge to throw up surfaces for the fourth time.

What is likely just a few seconds of searching feels like hours. But your finger eventually comes into contact with something sharp and hard, it budges slightly when you knock against it. San jerks upward with a gasp, and you have to drop your flashlight so you can use your free hand to press against his chest and pin him down to the chair. On any other occasion, San could easily overpower you if he wanted. But the blood loss has made him weaker and there isn't much energy left in him to fight back.

"It's almost over, I promise. Hold on just a little bit longer."

Much to San's displeasure, you have to dig around again to relocate the piece of shrapnel. While your knowledge of the human blood vessel system is limited, you don't think it's deep enough to have cut an artery. The flow of blood is much more consistent with a knicked vein. Not fatal, but definitely painful and concerning with the sheer amount of blood leaking from his body.

"Okay, now stay very still." You instruct once you've found the shard again. Very carefully you take your hand off San's broad chest and reach back for the tweezers. You slip them back into the wound with surgical-like care and use your finger to guide them to the piece of shrapnel. It's easier this time to grasp the metal shard and once you have a hold of it you're able to slip your finger out. The resounding sucking noise is pure nightmare fuel when combined with the whimpers coming from San.

"Okay, I got it. Are you ready? This is gonna hurt a lot."

San nods, "I can handle it." It's very unconvincing.

You wipe the blood from your hand on your pants and extend it towards San. You aren't sure if he'll take it, and you're even more unsure of why you felt the need to offer it. Because he'll need something to hold on to while you rip a piece of metal from his side? Because he's your partner and you've never enjoyed seeing him in pain? Because he's your soulmate and it's the least you could do to comfort him? Whatever the reason, he takes it without hesitation, and you're happy for it.

"On three."

San takes a deep breath.

"One—"

Something halfway between a gasp and a curse breaks past San's lips as you swiftly, and not so gently, pull the shrapnel from his side. The sudden extraction has him crushing your hand in his grasp, though you don't have much time to process the pain as you drop the offending object and grab a wad of gauze to press against the profusely bleeding cut.

"What happened to two and three!?" He barks between short and heavy breaths.

"Would you have stayed relaxed by the time I got there?"

"Fuck you," he groans, words meaningless. You slip your hand from San's iron-like grasp and guide him down to the gauze you've placed. Another gasp involuntarily escapes him the more he presses down on the wound to slow the bleeding.

An awkward silence hangs in the air and casts a heavy blanket across the room. It's suffocating in and of itself, but the way San's eyes burn a hole into your skull is so much worse. You can't even bring yourself to lift your gaze from the bloody shrapnel on the floor to face him. The offending object doesn't feel so threatening now as it lays jagged and tinted red on the hardwood. It reminds you of how stained glass looks when shattered into pieces. Dull, delicate, haunting. A small distraction from the man you refuse to face, the man who is most definitely expecting something from you, but you aren't sure you can give him the answer he wants right now. But his heavy and labored breathing is making him hard to ignore.

"Um . . . Yunho should be here soon, I'm sure he can patch—"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" You feign innocence.

"Change the subject."

You rise from your kneeling position but keep your eyes trained on your shoes and arms wrapped protectively around your waist. Every neuron in your brain is screaming and pleading for him to just drop it. You're not sure any time will ever be a good time to have a conversation on the obvious, but they still sound a hell of a lot better than right now while he's still not completely out of danger.

"Now isn't a good time, San. We can talk about it once you're healed and—"

"No." He's firm in his stance. "Look, I understand if you need time to process everything, but this isn't something you can just ignore and make go away. We're gonna have to talk about it sooner or later."

You feel horrible. Because for every time you've made it known you have absolutely no intention of ever being involved with your soulmate, San has been right there on the opposing side. He's confided in you and Wooyoung countless times about just how much he desires to meet his soulmate. How he adores the idea of finding that perfect person to share a life with. It's truly unfortunate that person had to be you.

You're pretty sure you love San, that you've always loved San. But you just can't. The thought of him getting even closer along with the danger he puts himself in every day? You'd never truly be able to find peace or comfort in that type of relationship. So you take in a deep breath, hold back a flurry of tears, and prepare yourself for what will possibly be the cruelest thing to ever come from your lips. You prepare to absolutely and utterly crush San's heart and dreams into a billion pieces. You try to convince yourself it's for the best, but the guilt outweighs that feeling.

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't–" there's really no kind way to say this. "I don't want you as a soulmate. I don't feel that way toward you–"

"Liar." His voice is shaky, and the image of stray tears streaming down his face invades your mind. You've never seen him cry before, and you definitely don't want to now.

"What, did you think you'd be some sort of exception? Just because we're partners? You know my opinion on soulmates. I can't– I won't. . . I'm sorry it had to be me, you deserve better."

The universe must take some form of pity on you because before San can articulate his next thought Yunho and Mingi burst through the safe house door. "What happened?" Yunho commands, already dropping his duffle bag of medical supplies to the floor and kneeling beside San.

"He got hit by shrapnel, I dug it out and did the best I could but you'll probably need to disinfect and stitch it up." You rattle off everything you did almost robotically before making a beeline for the front door, and though Yunho is too zeroed into treating San, Mingi picks up almost instantly on the quake in your voice and tension that suffocates the entire house.

His hand shoots out to grab your arm. "Woah, what's wron—"

"Not now, Mingi." You bite at him, ripping your arms from his grasp before he even really had a hold of it. Shouts from San and Yunho arguing with each other fill the living room, trying to use it as a distraction, you attempt your escape again.

"San, stop being difficult."

"Don't fucking touch me! So you're just gonna leave—?" His words stop you dead in your tracks, frozen in place with your fingers ghosting the doorknob. "—You're not even gonna fucking look at me?" The room goes silent once more. Your skin itches from the number of eyes staring you down.

"You're a coward if you run now."

His words sting, though you're sure it's nothing compared to what you've done to him. Ripping a piece of metal from his side only to moment later rip his heart from his chest. You truly deserve every insult he throws your way.

"I'm sorry," You repeat. "It's for the best."

Your body feels numb like it's operating on autopilot as you hastily slip into the cool fall air and let the wooden door slam shut with a blunt bang.

It's for the best. He'll understand it one day.

[ part 2 ]

[iguessitsjustme]

Idk I feel like it has something to do with name being mute he kept talk to name like he can to their other friends about their day because name doesn’t speak on the phone he has to be at the computer to talk to name and that could be the main reason he’s pulling back I do think maybe deep down em wishes name would speak but I know name is going to see now that the reason em isn’t going to talk to him is because he’s mute and that’s heartbreaking

Hey anon! Thank you for offering a different perspective. I, personally, disagree that Em cares that Name is mute. There’s no evidence in the show that indicates that Em gives a singular fuck about Name’s muteness. In fact, I’d argue that the show provides evidence to the contrary.

Em has consistently found ways of communicating with Name with expecting nothing in return. Em has constantly included Name in activities both with just him and with the group. Even when they were separated, Em found a way of communication that worked for both of them. The issue is Em is tired. He was shown to fall asleep while on the phone with Name previously.

Em is a first-year college student that bit off more than he could chew and something had to give. Unfortunately, that something was Name. Who was the furthest away and easiest to cut for time. It’s easy to stop communicating with people long distance when you go away for college. You get busy, you have schoolwork, extracurriculars, a new social life, etc. Even people that are good friends that do speak to one another using their voices lose contact during that time. I would know, I was the one left behind at one point when my friends went off to college. It had nothing to do with me and entirely everything to do with their schedule. So the issue is Em doesn’t know how to reconcile his schedule yet and Name is ultimately being hurt by that decision. And I don’t believe Em would let not being able to sit at a computer stop him if he truly wanted to make time for Name. He would have still called. Em is a master of creative solutions for Name to communicate back to him. Not being able to sit at a computer wouldn’t have stopped him.

But just for the fun of it, let’s say Em does care that Name is mute and it’s been weighing on him and it’s been difficult for him (again just a reminder there is zero evidence for this, but for the sake of argument), that still wasn’t the issue. The issue was Em standing Name up. It was Em breaking his promise. Regardless of the reason that was happening. It doesn’t matter why Name was stood up, what matters is he was, and he was hurt by it.

Name’s mother came into Name and Em’s fight and changed the issue from what it actually was to be about Name’s muteness. She told Name that the reason Em was abandoning him was because he was mute and he should fix that. Em never said that nor indicated that. Name’s mother drove him to a breakdown. Name’s mother made him feel broken. She exacerbated the issue instead of helping her son. She wants Name to speak? He has spoken! To Em! The one person who never made him feel pressured to speak. The one person who he felt comfortable enough around to try. And now because of his mother, he can’t even get out Em’s name. Do you know how it must feel to be Name? To sit in front of the mirror and plead with yourself to speak the one word that you should be able to say. The name of the person who was once the one place of security you had in the midst of all of your anxiety and trauma, but to be unable to say it? If Name’s mother wanted him to speak she should not have brought up his muteness. And she definitely should not have inserted into a fight where it never belonged.

[hopespeak-hs-hostclub]

Can we get a Fuyuhiko NSFW alphabet up in here? Your writing is SO good!

YES MY LIL KINGGGGGG I hope you love!!

TW:// mention of weapons (knives and guns)

A (Aftercare) lots of kisses and snuggles. He’s always super gentle and caring for you after, bc he doesn’t want you to be too sore from him. Back rubs, playing with your hair, just very touchy.

B (fave body part) he’s a chest guy. Regardless of gender btw. He doesn’t mind how big or small your chest is, he just loves to grab it and kiss it.

C (cum) he’s good at controlling himself, so he only cums once, but god is it well earned and built up. And there’s a lot.

D (dirty Secret) before you two officially started dating he would masturbate and think of you. He’s even accidentally moaned your name while somebody else was giving him a hand job.

E (experience) even though other people have given him hand jobs, up until he met you he was still a virgin. He’s gotten jerked off, and he’s used his hands on others before as well, but he’s never gone all the way.

F (favorite Position) anything if you’re facing him. He wants to be able to touch grab and kiss you.

G = (Goofy?) does he try to be? No way. Is he? Oh yes. The two of you have bumped heads and fumbled around and you laugh all the time. Which does tend to embarrass him some, but you always reassure him you love him.

H = (Hair) Fuyuhiko typically doesn’t shave or trim. He typically doesn’t care either way with you, but if he plans on going down on you he asks you to shave a little bit

I = (Intimacy) he isn’t the most intimate but he does try to communicate with you during sex. “You’re doing so good” “I love how you take all of daddy’s dick so easily” “you’re my little cum slut aren’t you?” Sorry I got carried away

J = (Jack Off) All the time. He purposely does it in rooms he knows you’ll be in so that you “catch” him and offer to help.

K = (Kink) bondage, knife play. He loves to tie you up, and loves to cuff you and bind you. He also likes knives. He’ll never cut you, but he’ll hold the blade to your skin so you feel the cold metal against you. He also loves to cut your shirts off of your body.

L = (Location) bedroom or bathroom, but typically in bed. Although if you ever suggest shower or tub sex, he’ll eagerly join you.

M = ( Motivation) he’s obsessed with lingerie. Show off your skin while you’re all dressed up down just for him. Also, call him your king. He’ll get a boned then and there.

N = (NO) the knife play, which was your idea, is the scariest thing he’ll do. He’s a Yakuza after all. He would hate to accidentally hurt you especially after what he does all day long.

O = (Oral) he isn’t the biggest fan of oral typically, although he knows you love it so he plans on doing it to you every once in a while.

P = (Pace) Fuyuhiko moves fast and deep. He loves bottoming you out and making you moan and whimper in pleasure, unable to even use your words.

Q = (Quickie) that’s complicated. He loves foreplay and makes sure it lasts for a while, but sex can be over within 20 minutes or so some of the time. Not a super quick quickie, but ya know. He also has come home from a tough day and you’ve had super quick shower sex.

R = (Risk) not unless you ask. Like the knife play, which was your idea, he would never do anything that could result in you getting hurt somehow.

S = (Stamina) not horribly long. Usually 30 minutes - an hour. He’ll always make you cum at least 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 times, whereas he usually only cums once towards the end.

T = (toy) he likes using vibrators inside you. He wants to watch you beg for him to take it out and just fuck you.

U = (Unfair) FUYUHIKO IS A TEASE TEASE TEASE!!! He literally does anything he can to get you to beg for him.

V = (Volume) LOUD. he moans, screams, dirty talks, grunts with every single thrust he makes- he’s always cursing under his breath too.

W = (Weird fact) he’s thought about bringing his UNLOADED gun into the bedroom before, because he knows you like the knife play, but it makes him nervous even though he knows he’d be extra careful and unload it before hand. He just doesn’t want to risk hurting or scaring you more than you agree too.

X = (X-Ray) Man, he might be short and small but his dick sure isn’t. Fuyuhiko is much bigger than average at about 9 inches. And he tries to get every inch of it inside of you.

Y = (Yearning) he honestly isn’t too horny most of the time. It’s usually after a really long day where he comes home and just needs to let go when he really wants you.

Z = (ZZZ) Fuyuhiko will always lay in bed with you after, but honestly, he’s just cuddling you. He typically turns on TV or a video on his phone and watches it while you lay together. Takes him roughly 2-4 hours before he even tries to sleep.

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[pardy-dardy]

some thoughts on spamton

// SPOILERS FOR DELTARUNE CHP. 2, DUH

TLDR: Spamton scares the shit out of Kris not because he’s freaky and glitchy and plays off some classic uncanny-type tropes, but because he very closely represents how Kris feels about their own life. Watching Spamton try and fail (and go nuts in the process) to cut his strings is like watching a tragedy, starring you, where the ending realizes your very worst nightmare.

Kris doesn’t feel great about themselves or their future, and if you happened to read my last post about this beautiful thing Toby Fox has created, you’d know what I think on that matter. To give a little summary-- Kris played second-fiddle to their brother their whole life, they’ve grown up physically (they’re human in a town full of monsters) and socially estranged from their community, and thusly, they’ve turned into a bitter, isolated, awkward preteen.

That kind of living situation, even in the face of a loving mother and a generally jovial community to be around, can twist your outlook on life pretty hard. It shouldn’t be a stretch to assume that Kris would feel like they’ve never been the one in control. They’re Toriel’s Kid, and they come to school every day with their mom. They’re Asriel’s Sibling, and they go everywhere with him, the poor thing.

And I think, personally, that we’ve come to inhabit Kris at one of the apexes of that feeling. We, as the Player, quite literally are able to take hold of Kris while they’re in a Dark World (aka a World of their own creation, fueled by their own imagination + others’ influence, alongside environmental bits and bobs). As soon as Kris believes they’ve got a good thing going in the creation of the Dark Worlds, it’s choked by the realization that though they can provide the options, they’re not the ones choosing the outcome in the end while they’re in there.

Rough shit doesn’t begin to describe it. All their life, they’ve gone by feeling like they’ve gotta cling to what’s good (Asriel). That person goes off to school, Kris is left with nothing. But then, they find a way out through the Dark Fountains. Everything is cool, even if their first encounter with it is with the class bully-- and all of a sudden, they realize that it’s not really them. By letting us into the Dark Worlds, Kris has given not themselves, but US, freedom. And that fucking stings. It stings so bad that they’re willing to rip us out every time they want to do something alone, something without our guidance. It’s why we hear about them acting out, even before we’ve inhabited them. They want attention, and by proxy, control. It matters less how they get it than the fact that they’re getting it at all.

You see where I’m going with this? Spamton is literally a puppet. From day one, he realized that he was never truly in control. But he wanted that control. He wanted to be a Player, not an NPC. And thus, he had to rely on outside help to get [[ Big ]]. When the outside help left high and dry, both his mental state and his bank account sank like a stone in a lake. He starts living in the garbage, rotting away with every waking moment he spends there. Then, he just so happens to come across the motherfucking creator of the world, and he seizes his opportunity the only way he knows how. He’s going to convince Kris to help him get [[ Big ]], so that he can truly see what it’s like to Play, and not be Played. And even with all the power he could want short of US, he’s still bound by his strings. When Kris cuts them (whether out of mercy or self-defense is a great question), he falls flat on his back, entirely unable to function without his puppet master keeping him up. The only option he has left, in the end, is to tag along with Kris on their journey to get [[ Big ]]. Again, just being a piece in someone else’s game.

Think about it this way-- imagine your worst fears. Now imagine someone else living through it, in front of you, on a theatre stage. They lay it all bare for you to see, even going so far as to parallel some of your own life experiences. You want the best for this character, but in the end, even though they grow strong and powerful (at the cost of their friends and sanity), the play you’re watching turns out to be a tragedy. You see the character you relate with most trying YOUR solution to YOUR OWN issues ending up flat on his back, dead to the world without his strings.

    Spamton is Kris’ cracked mirror, their worst case-scenario personified. It’s why after the Pacifist Spamton NEO fight, Kris freaks the fuck out completely independent of our choices. They have just watched themselves fail catastrophically, only realizing in said failure that they are nothing without that which binds them.

    And you know what? I can’t help but wonder whether Kris would’ve let Spamton take us if we didn’t intervene. We’ve been a help at best, but an existential nuisance at worst for them. I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that Kris would’ve considered just getting rid of us, hoping that without our involvement, our “strings”, they can go back to living the way they were (no matter how shitty that way was).

        God. See, Jevil wasn’t like this. That guy just got Jokerified through realizing that his world is but a figment of someone else’s imagination, a game. He realized that the only way to exist is to play, and if he’s going to play, he’s going to have a damn fun time playing it. Perhaps he mirrors some ideas Kris might have about the world itself, but I think that Jevil’s purpose is to let Kris know that things aren’t quite what they seem.

    Spamton, on the other hand. Whooooo baby, Spamton is fucking terrifying. 

If in creating the Dark World, Kris thusly created Spamton? Holy shit, that means that there’s aspects of this whole “life creation” thing that the angsty preteen still doesn’t fully grasp, and that their deepest fears are beginning to physically manifest. 

If folks like Spamton and Jevil aren’t being created by Kris (in the form that they are in), but rather being manipulated post-creation by an outside force? Holy shit, that means something even outside OUR jurisdiction is trying to fuck with the psyche of an angsty preteen. 

Pulling back a little before the end, god, I just have to praise Toby Fox again on his writing. It’s so goddam impressive how he structures his narrative leads and themes. If you were just playing thru the story normally, you’d pass by the Spamton stuff and think to yourself “oh wow that was weird haha what a funny guy”. But that fucking dog does such a good job of allowing you to peek behind the outer curtain, get a glimpse of the flesh mass underneath, then tell you where you can find more of it, that he’s one of the only storytellers to this goddamn day that I think I truly get envious of sometimes.

I thought I was out, man. It had been a month or so since my last post. I thought I had gotten it all out. But here I am again, thinking about that dirty, grimy, ad-flinging tragedy of a salesman. Writing it out in a goddamn essay like I’m back in undergrad. 

I want to shake your hand and give you a kiss and punch your teeth down your throat you fucking dog, let me pay you for the best piece of media I’ve consumed in just about ever. I am running out of room in my dresser for skeleton merchandise just please god take my money i just want the gaming experience you have to offer

[hopespeak-hostclub]

Fuyuhiko NSFW ABC’s

Anonymous asked:

Can we get a Fuyuhiko NSFW alphabet up in here? Your writing is SO good!

YES MY LIL KINGGGGGG I hope you love!!

TW:// mention of weapons (knives and guns)

A (Aftercare) lots of kisses and snuggles. He’s always super gentle and caring for you after, bc he doesn’t want you to be too sore from him. Back rubs, playing with your hair, just very touchy.

B (fave body part) he’s a chest guy. Regardless of gender btw. He doesn’t mind how big or small your chest is, he just loves to grab it and kiss it.

C (cum) he’s good at controlling himself, so he only cums once, but god is it well earned and built up. And there’s a lot.

D (dirty Secret) before you two officially started dating he would masturbate and think of you. He’s even accidentally moaned your name while somebody else was giving him a hand job.

E (experience) even though other people have given him hand jobs, up until he met you he was still a virgin. He’s gotten jerked off, and he’s used his hands on others before as well, but he’s never gone all the way.

F (favorite Position) anything if you’re facing him. He wants to be able to touch grab and kiss you.

G = (Goofy?) does he try to be? No way. Is he? Oh yes. The two of you have bumped heads and fumbled around and you laugh all the time. Which does tend to embarrass him some, but you always reassure him you love him.

H = (Hair) Fuyuhiko typically doesn’t shave or trim. He typically doesn’t care either way with you, but if he plans on going down on you he asks you to shave a little bit

I = (Intimacy) he isn’t the most intimate but he does try to communicate with you during sex. “You’re doing so good” “I love how you take all of daddy’s dick so easily” “you’re my little cum slut aren’t you?” Sorry I got carried away

J = (Jack Off) All the time. He purposely does it in rooms he knows you’ll be in so that you “catch” him and offer to help.

K = (Kink) bondage, knife play. He loves to tie you up, and loves to cuff you and bind you. He also likes knives. He’ll never cut you, but he’ll hold the blade to your skin so you feel the cold metal against you. He also loves to cut your shirts off of your body.

L = (Location) bedroom or bathroom, but typically in bed. Although if you ever suggest shower or tub sex, he’ll eagerly join you.

M = ( Motivation) he’s obsessed with lingerie. Show off your skin while you’re all dressed up down just for him. Also, call him your king. He’ll get a boned then and there.

N = (NO) the knife play, which was your idea, is the scariest thing he’ll do. He’s a Yakuza after all. He would hate to accidentally hurt you especially after what he does all day long.

O = (Oral) he isn’t the biggest fan of oral typically, although he knows you love it so he plans on doing it to you every once in a while.

P = (Pace) Fuyuhiko moves fast and deep. He loves bottoming you out and making you moan and whimper in pleasure, unable to even use your words.

Q = (Quickie) that’s complicated. He loves foreplay and makes sure it lasts for a while, but sex can be over within 20 minutes or so some of the time. Not a super quick quickie, but ya know. He also has come home from a tough day and you’ve had super quick shower sex.

R = (Risk) not unless you ask. Like the knife play, which was your idea, he would never do anything that could result in you getting hurt somehow.

S = (Stamina) not horribly long. Usually 30 minutes - an hour. He’ll always make you cum at least 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 times, whereas he usually only cums once towards the end.

T = (toy) he likes using vibrators inside you. He wants to watch you beg for him to take it out and just fuck you.

U = (Unfair) FUYUHIKO IS A TEASE TEASE TEASE!!! He literally does anything he can to get you to beg for him.

V = (Volume) LOUD. he moans, screams, dirty talks, grunts with every single thrust he makes- he’s always cursing under his breath too.

W = (Weird fact) he’s thought about bringing his UNLOADED gun into the bedroom before, because he knows you like the knife play, but it makes him nervous even though he knows he’d be extra careful and unload it before hand. He just doesn’t want to risk hurting or scaring you more than you agree too.

X = (X-Ray) Man, he might be short and small but his dick sure isn’t. Fuyuhiko is much bigger than average at about 9 inches. And he tries to get every inch of it inside of you.

Y = (Yearning) he honestly isn’t too horny most of the time. It’s usually after a really long day where he comes home and just needs to let go when he really wants you.

Z = (ZZZ) Fuyuhiko will always lay in bed with you after, but honestly, he’s just cuddling you. He typically turns on TV or a video on his phone and watches it while you lay together. Takes him roughly 2-4 hours before he even tries to sleep.