#CW: Depression

[smallpapers]

Rough quick comic about waiting..

My terribly late contribution to Make A Terrible Comic Day (which tbf I only just found out about it)

[thedarkestrivernymph]

The shadow in me

Yandere! Vampire x Depressed! Gn! Reader

warnings: suicidal thoughts, low self-worth, mentions of blood, kidnapping, unhinged vampire, cursing

genre: angst, comedy

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Darkness. That’s always been your life. Consumed by a black fog penetratingly looming over your shoulders. The years just flew by and slipped from between your fingertips, escaped your grasp and suddenly everything spiralled into a mundane repition of the last day. When you were little you used to daydream about being royalty wearing big extravagant gowns with a darling prince head over heels for you.

Only that wasn’t the reality. It never would be. No matter how hard you tried, how much you did—it was never enough, you were never enough. You couldn’t do anything right. It wasn’t just that you were clumsy, you were downright unlucky, paying the wrong amount, missing the last bus home, being ignored even as you spoke up for the sixth time. It seemed as you were like a flower, rooted in place, with your fate carved out for you even before your birth. Perhaps that was just how it was meant to be, losing and losing again, while gaining so little to amount for it. Maybe you were just greedy, whining for something better when you yourself deserved so little. You weren’t sure anymore.

It was another mudane day, you just got off from your part-time work, exhaustion so strong you could feel the ache of it in your bones. You usually kept your head down while walking home, uninterested in anything other than the thought of your warm welcoming back and the silence needed to calm you down, however that day something was off.

Something icy run down your spine, eliciting a shudder from you as your skin prickled, goosebumps forming all over your arms. You hugged yourself, suddenly walking a pace faster, pulse picking up while frantically glancing around—no one, empty streets as far as the eye met with the single street lamp flickering right in front of your home. It was just a few blocks away, you could even see your family’s front porch, you didn’t need to panic,

you would be right there and—

The next thing you knew you were on the hard ground, poking into your spine, with your head drumming a painful beat. Squeezing your eyes open—you finally felt and saw it, or rather caught a glimpse of him, pressing his heavy weight onto you, fumbling with your collar and apologizing profously. “I am sorry—so sorry, little human. I just can’t do it anymore, just one ounce will be fine, or maybe a tea spoon of it? Fuck I can’t think straight—I hope the hypnosis didn’t wear of yet.”

You should have been creeped out, screamed for help, struggled, tried to kick him in his shins—but you did neither of those, you didn’t push the creep off of you because you were tried. Tired of it all, and now with your life threatened by someone insane talking about drinking the very essence of you, everything came crashing down onto you. You didn’t want this life, no one would. A slave to the system—a slave to bad habits, a slave to the guilt of living, trying to make it up to other people by crawling on your knees and hands in hopes that it would appease them into at least tolerating your existence. Never once had you been the first pick, always the second, always the loser. You hated it—no loathed it. Death, death was what you wanted.

You smiled. It was a loopsided grin directed at the stranger on top of you, letting the pain of the bite curse through you, forcing you to feel alive for the last few seconds of your miserable existence. “Your teeth are quiet sharp.” you mumbled as the frantic vampire just kept on draining you of your life force, bringing you closer to what you had desired, even if it was painful, making tears breach your lashline and escape down your cheeks.

Finally. Finally this was the end—you thought as your world faded into nothingness, only to return the next day.

“H-Hey, you hearin’ me? Satan—I am so sorry!” someone mumbled, as you were gently awoken by someone caressing your hair like your mother had done when you were a child how much you missed those times and how wonderful soft this bed was, was this truly how heaven felt like? Then what was this buzzing pain though—

Wait a minute. You shot up, wide eyed, with an ache in your bandaged neck. “Ha—what?” Right in front of you stood the creep from last night, anxiously shaking as he suddenly pulled you into a brone crushing hug only to release you seconds later. “I am sorry human! I didn’t think I would take that much—” he continued rambling and then you finally saw where you were. Furniture from a hundred years ago, dark velvets and rich reds, with rotten roses laying on the foot of your king-sized bed, ha. “What—what the fuck?” you croaked out, voice hoarse as you attempted at pushing away to rise to your feet, man had you been just kidnapped, big yikes. “Look—I am not good for ransom. I won’t make a lot and this is too fancy for a kidnapee.” you stated, pointing at the room. “So let me go. Because you haven’t killed me, I gotta get back to my duties.”

Silence. Only two large red orbs stared at you, snow white curls trickling down his shoulders, framing a nearly perfect face, fair sharp features. “So you aren’t scared of me?” the creepy dude, you now realized was at least a foot taller than you questioned, his lanky form clad in a fine suit—he fit right in with the decor of his home. You shook your head, standing to look him straight in the eye. “You’re just a creep with some weird blood fetish, didn’t even kill me. So why should I?” you grumbled, now pinching your temples. “Look I have a job unlike you, which I have to return to and—”

“Marry me” he fell to his knees, sliding a fat diamond heirloom ring on your finger, staring at you as if you were the sun to his moon, the lost fragment of his soul, his one and only love.

“Wait-What?! Hey stop that! Stop licking my fingers! Hey what the fuck—!”

[areyoudreaminof]

Biscuits

Nyx didn’t have much of an idea of just how long he had been laying there. He wasn’t aware of anything. Not his limbs, or his wings. Not of the bed beneath him, or his room at the House of the Wind that he had escaped to. He certainly didn’t register his feelings. Nyx just lay there numbly, staring at the blank wall before him. The sun had begun to set and the last vestiges of light crawled back behind the heavy curtains that he had drawn shut. Perhaps he had slept, he couldn’t be too sure. He was so tired. The moods crept on him slowly the past several weeks. He was angry at first, lashing out at everyone about silly things, getting into stupid arguments with his father. Then the anger twisted into anxiety and sadness, suddenly. Panic balled itself up into sobs in his chest that threatened to release at any time, which they did when he was alone in his room. 

Tired of his mother asking him constantly what was wrong, Nyx found the sadness gone one day, like a soap bubble popping. Instead, a buzzing numbness had settled into his head and chest. Letters from his Day Court cousins sat unopened on his desk, he couldn’t seem to stomach their happiness and he had stopped writing all together.  He had slogged through the past several days in a blur, but today his father confronted him about his countenance. Nyx sat and stared blankly at the wall as his father lectured him. When it was over, he got up and flew to the House without a word. The afternoon sun was still high, and he dragged his body towards his room at the back of the house. If anyone knew he was there, they hadn’t disturbed him. 

The trim moulding along the ceiling didn’t move as Nyx stared at it. Somewhere, very far away, the door behind him creaked. Nyx squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep so whoever it was would leave him alone. 

Something soft landed on the bed, while the smell of chocolate and the sounds of soft breathing crept towards him. The bedside lamp flicked on. Bracing himself, Nyx cracked one eye open. Ori, his four year old cousin, stood in front of him with a soggy chocolate-chip scone in her hand and a concerned look on her face. Her cat, Pudding crept down from his shoulder, his green eyes wide. 

“How did you know I was here?” Nyx mumbled. 

“House told me,” Ori climbed her way up onto the bed with one hand, crumbs scattering all over the duvet as she sat in front of him. “What’s wrong, Nyxie?” her voice was hushed. 

“Dunno, just sad I guess. House talks?” 

Ori nodded, “House said you went in your room. I got you somefing to eat ‘cause you missed dinner.” she held out the scone, misshapen and melted in her stubby fingers.

 Nyx wasn’t hungry, he hadn’t eaten much in days, but he ate the scone anyway. It made Ori happy. He reached over her, gulping down the water that the House had now provided. 

"Does anyone else know I'm here," Nyx asked.

"Mama knows, but Papa doesn't yet. Mama will tell him in a little bit. Why are you sad?” Ori asked, her owlish blue eyes were soft and riddled with concern he didn’t deserve, “Are you in trouble?” 

Nyx shook his head as he sunk lower into himself, curling his wings behind him and drawing up his knees. “I’m not sure,” he repeated, “it just came one day and hasn’t really gone away.” 

“Mama calls them down days, she says they come and you gotta be ready,” Ori nodded sagely, “lots of sleep and treats. And a baff, to get the sadness off." She checked off an invisible list, like a little winged librarian. 

Nyx gave a half hearted laugh which turned into a sputter of surprise as Pudding began to work and knead his paws into Nyx’s stomach. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, scratching the fluffy cat under his chin. 

“Makin’ biscuits!” Ori giggled, “he’s trying to get comfy. Scoot over, I wanna get comfy too.” 

Nyx moved as Ori wiggled her way next to him, grabbing his hand tight. “I’m sorry you’re sad, I hope you feel happy soon.” 

“Me too,” Nyx swallowed a lump of tears back into his throat, but they escaped out of his eyes anyway. He began to sob softly, and Ori reached out her hands and roughly wiped away the tears on his cheek and hugged him, while Pudding curled up between them and purred.  The vibrations and hug began to calm him.

“Love you Nyxie,” she whispered, as she grabbed his hand tightly. “It will be a happy day soon.” 

“Love you too, Ori.” and sleep took them both into its embrace.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow part 47

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 44, part 45, part 46

The days pass by in a blur. Each day, the calendar marks a day closer to the fourth. Closer to the day that haunts him. The day that marks his mistake. His harmless curiosity that was so far from that, harmless. It was harmful. Where he dragged two people who didn’t need to know the secrets of Hawkins into his mess. And one person who jumps in front of danger like it can’t hurt him back into it again.

Dustin was fated to this life. When Will went missing, there was no question about it. He would always be involved in this. But Steve, Robin, Erica, they didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him.

There’s a letter on his desk from Susie, currently thriving at Camp Nowhere. Angry at him for breaking his promised return. Deciding to stay here instead of going back and spending time with her. He gave her the excuse he could, that something happened, and he couldn’t go. There was too much he needed to do here. People he couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t tell her why. She was far enough away that she never needed to know about this. Finally, Dustin could keep someone safe. Ignorant. Innocent. She didn’t have to know the darkest part of his life. He loved that for her.

It didn’t feel good, to keep a secret from her. But it was necessary.

The doorbell rings. Dustin stares at the ceiling for a few moments, hoping they’ll just go away. But the bell persists. Whoever is there pressing the button so fast, it doesn’t even stop ringing before getting cut off and starting over again.

Dustin groans. Standing and going to the door.

“Finally,” Max complains when she pushes herself through the door, Lucas following after her. “What took you so long?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think anyone was coming over today.” The annoyance is clear in his tone.

Really, he didn’t want to do anything today. His bed was so comfortable when he woke up this morning, he barely wanted to leave it. Eyes fixed to the ceiling when they weren’t closed, feigning sleep. Body feeling weighed down. Impossible to move.

Max wheels herself into his living room, transferring to the couch. Clear that she isn’t leaving. Lucas looks at Dustin expectantly. Like he’s waiting for him to move.

Moving takes too much energy. All he wants to do is lie back down.

“We brought a movie,” Lucas finally says. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“I thought Max hated that movie.”

“I’m open to changing my opinion,” She calls out from the couch.

Lucas continues to look at him, with that worry sitting in his eyes. He’s trying to hide it, but fails. Dustin hates that look. He doesn’t deserve it. He can take care of himself, he has for this long. They didn’t need to do it for him.

His face must give away something he doesn’t realize, because Lucas nods and goes to put the movie in before Dustin can protest. Gesturing for him to sit on the couch next to Max. Refusing to start play, or God forbid sit down, before Dustin complies.

Like he’s waiting for Dustin to protest enough he’ll have to do something.

Dustin doesn’t give him a chance. Huffing out a breath before sitting on the middle of the couch. Only then does Lucas sit down next to him. Finding the remote on the coffee table and pressing play.

The opening credits roll, and Dustin forgets when the last time he’s watched this movie. It was one of his favorites since it came out. Replaying it so much he wore a hole into the VHS. It’s probably since then, he figures. Not having replaced it yet.

But the scenes play just as he remembers them. Like a comforting hug. Familiar warmth fills him, he didn’t realize how cold he was.

For some reason, he doesn’t know, tears start to form in his eyes. As the last scene of the movie ends, they start to roll down his cheeks.

He doesn’t hide it well; Max’s arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug. Her head leaning on his shoulder. Lucas mirrors her in his own way.

It hits him all at once why they’re here. With the movie he’s loved for years. Days away from one of the worst days of Dustin’s life. Of their lives. He hears Max sniffle. Hears Lucas’ breath hitch. They were all suffering from this in their own way, but they still showed up for him. They knew he needed this, even if he didn’t know that himself.

The sob breaks out of his chest without permission. Shaking his lungs. Their arms tightened around him.

“I’m sorry,” falls out of his mouth with a cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” Lucas whispers.

Max sniffles again. “Me too.”

They sit there until the air calms. A light weight lifting off of Dustin’s chest. Letting him breathe just a little easier now.

He clears his throat, getting rid of the residual sobs. “Why are you guys sorry?”

Lucas shifts, pulling away from their hug. “Last summer, when you came back from camp, we were all wrapped up in our own shit. We didn’t know what you found, what you were doing. If we had just stayed on that hill longer, you wouldn’t have been the only one who heard the message. We could have gone through it together.”

Dustin was glad that they left him on the hill that day, in hindsight. That way it was just the four of them in that bunker. Less people to lose. But he’s right. It was the first time Dustin went through something completely without them. The core group. It was just him, Steve, a girl he barely knew, and a child who didn’t need to be brought into this.

“You’ve been really quiet lately,” Max whispers, sitting back upright. “I’ve noticed you pulling away, but I didn’t do anything about it. I should have made sure you were ok. So you didn’t isolate like I did. I should have let you know that I was here for you, no matter what. That you could talk to me.”

He didn’t realize he was pulling away. Or being quiet. Now that she says it, he knows what she means. The conversations he missed while sitting in the middle of them. The want to just lie down and stay there. Nothing even playing in the background. Just silence.

“We’re worried about you, dude.” The concern in Lucas’ voice is ripe. “We wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Dustin’s not ok. Not right now. Physically, he’s fine. But mentally, he’s all over the place. Flashbacks come in waves, nightmares keeping him from sleep that’s worth anything. He’s more terrified now than he was the entirety of that week. No adrenaline to mask the fear this time.

“How much has Erica told you about the bunker?” he asks, voice hollow.

“All of it. What she knew, anyway. I can’t imagine what it was like to be there.”

“It was awful.” Dustin’s never said that out loud before. After it happened, they all wanted to get away from it as fast as they could. They barely talked about it. There were other things to focus on. “I don’t even know what really happened to Steve and Robin. They never told me, but I could guess.”

“We’re making plans to get together that night,” Max says. “So we can be together for the fireworks.”

“I think that would be a really good idea.”

I feel odd posting this today, and I debated waiting until tomorrow to post it. But, this chapter I'm writing is giving me a lot of comfort, in a weird way. Seeing the community these guys have support each other, it reminds me of my friends, and we do the same. It is almost therapeutic to know that I am not alone in so many way. How, even in the darkest of times, there are people out there that love me, and we can walk through this together. I hope this brings you some much needed comfort, as it did to me.

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[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: month ??? “Fulfillment”

“Alright, see you later, Grace.”

 Floating in the void, Mayday waved as another headmate floated away into the ether. She had made a habit of communicating with her others during her time here. It was surprising how many there were here, how long she had been suppressing them. But here, with no one else to talk to… it was nice. Pleasant even.

“You like her, don’t you?” 

Laborer rested next to Mayday, the first one of them to reach out, Often getting into fights with her, but always trying to steer her onto a better path. Laborer didn’t really fit them anymore. More like a navigator.

“N-no! I mean… She’s cool, I guess… Shut up you nerd!”

Definitely like a sibling.

“So. What now?” They asked. “You've met all of us. At least, everyone that I know is here. You still want to stay here?”

Mayday thought for a moment. The image of a doorway back home came to mind. There probably was one somewhere, but it'd been so long since she stuffed herself in here. What was the outside world even like? Did anyone look for her? Did anyone ca-

“You're spiraling.”

Her mind halted as she processed the words. It still wanted to continue her thoughts, but there was something about the words coming from them that made her reconsider. They carried the tone of “of course I know what you're going through.” She decided that maybe she could just rest a bit first. 

“Does it ever get easier?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.” They spoke with a cheerful tone despite the topic. “Maybe for some, but not us, that's why we're here. To help ease the burden. But I know staying here, just because it's what you're used to, isn't helping. You know that too, don't you?”

“It's where I should be. I'll be a burden to everyone else if I leave. And you won't be there with me.”

“We will though.”

Mayday could feel the presence of her headmates grow closer. Her attention turned to the warmth of those around her. The friends and family that had always been there. Now finally visible to her. Despite such physical impossibilities of the void, it felt like a big hug from so many people. She found it hard to imagine this many people actually wanted her. She wanted to cry, but she had no tear ducts to show her joys and sorrows. Maybe she wasn't meant to stay in the void alone. Maybe she would come back here, but it wasn't nearing anytime soon.

“Maybe sounds like Mayday, that's probably why I'm so wishy-washy.”

A voice next to Mayday starts laughing. “Where the hell did that come from? That's the lamest attempt at sounding clever.”

Mayday laughs too. “I felt like being a bit silly.”

This was a new feeling for her. Completion? No. It was just happiness. Not the kind you have by playing games or going shopping, but the kind you're aware of, the kind you can hold onto and bring it close to your chest. The blanket of joy that lets someone sleep well at night. It was like sitting In a sunbeam.

“What if I end up doing something bad and hurting someone?”

The navigator spoke “You won't.”

“But what if I do something stupid, or I mess up, or I get worse and I end back here?

“You won't.” They chuckle at the reassurance.

“But how can you be sure!? I'm a monster, I might decide to abandon all of you.”

“You won't, and we won't leave you, we've been here. We've always been here. I don't know why we're here, or how long we'll stay, but we won't abandon you.”

“But, but… You could handle things so much better than me.”

“Mayday. This stopped being my story so long ago. It's yours. You're doing amazing.”

When Mayday opened her eyes, she was sitting in her room at THEMS, right in the middle of a sunbeam. She was back in Hyper city. At first she was terrified. Where were the others. Would she never be able to talk to them? But faintly, she heard the words in her mind. She calmed herself, breathing slowly. She checked her phone. Three months had passed since her trip. This was going to take some explaining to everyone.

Mimic HRT: Month 27 “The End”

“That's quite the story.” Dr.Gates spoke softly as the mimic in front of him had finished recounting her tales.

She had been appointed a therapist by Erian and Alexis after her runaway vacation. She didn't mind. It was probably about time, and all her previous doctors sucked.

He spoke again in a soft tone. “So, do you feel better recounting everything?”

“Yeah,” she spoke, matching his tone automatically. “It's helped us come to terms with what we are. Sort of.”

“Do you still have those nightmares?”

“...Yeah… I, don't think they're ever going to go away, but they don't panic us like they used to. Still the same dream: halfway through eating my friend's bodies, and any wounds start shapeshifting back into healthy flesh, then suddenly Miller, or Erian, or Abi crawls out of one of the bodies. I wake up eating my bed frame. At least they're over quick.”

Dr.Gates writes something down before speaking. “Abi appearing alongside Miller and Erian is new. Did something happen between the two of you?”

Mayday bites off a part of the couch she sat on. Dr.Gates didn't seem to mind.

“We broke up a while ago. Mutual. And we're still friends. Besties, even. But, between our transition, and explaining our plurality. She said she stopped recognizing us after a while. I guess I get it… Let's talk about something else, please.”

“Of course. Is there something else you wish to speak on?”

She sat and thought for a while, she didn't actually think of something else. Her confusion and frustration became apparent.

Dr.Gates interjected into her thought process. “How is your work with Erian going?”

Mayday perks up. “It's going great! I mean, we're still looking for new clients, but besides that, we're looking into new ways to support therians with detailed timelines of what their treatment will look like, and actual documents with guides, procedures, and resources for those starting their journeys. There's a lot. I, er, we want to create the tools we never had for everyone that comes after us.”

“That's quite a noble task, I look forward to hearing your progress on it.” 

He quickly checked his watch after a small beep came from it.

“Our time is almost up, one last thing before you go though. I want to ask for your progress on what we've talked about last time, with how you see yourself.”

Mayday couldn't help but let out a sigh. That's what most of her journey was, slowly accepting what she was, all of the struggles that came with it.

“I think…” She spoke softly. “I think it's really easy to blame yourself when things go wrong for being who you are. Although some of my problems were my fault. But… maybe that's what therapy is. Learning to not blame everything on yourself. It sounds like basic kid's morals, when I put it like that. I think we just lose sight of it easily… I'm a mimic. What that says about me, how I act, how I see myself, how I see the other parts of me, it doesn't matter anymore. I like being a mimic. Faults and all.”

The polar bear smiles. “A very nice thought, Mayday. I think that will end today's session. I'll see you next week.”

Mayday smiles back. “See you around.”

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Start - Prev

Thank you to @ashen-vulture for letting us use the character of Dr.Gates

So yeah, This is the final chapter of Mimic HRT. It was originally going to be posted on Friday, but after hearing about Dragon HRT, we decided to wait until now. What does this mean for this blog? Well, you might have noticed it took about a month between the previous chapter and now. We've been busy. With friends, work, studying, and learning to draw and code in RenPy, we've been busy.

So here's the new project! We're going to start working on an Animal HRT visual novel. Obviously this projects will take a while, but we will still be writing smaller stories for this blog in the meantime.

Hope all of you enjoyed Mimic HRT. Thank you for all sticking with this series. Love yall lots, and see you for the next project.

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@celestemysterios, @i-am-trans-gwender, @reliablegal, @bookmothic-dyke, @fluffytransfemkittykatwitch

[clericofgale]

I didn't expect to get fucking actual literal triggered by a godsdamn IGN article and yet here we are.

Gale's arc is about finding the will to live, that suicide isn't the solution, that there's always a better way. You are worthy by your own merits and not your talents or what you can provide. So many Galemancers I've talked to or read of talk about their struggle with depression & SI, self-worth problems and how Gale has really help inspire them to hold on. My mental health has much improved since my darkest days, so I really didn't expect to get so upset.

Chrystal Ding, Lead Writer: On a very human level, you have the guy who starts off annoying everyone, he's constantly asking you to give him your most treasured possessions to eat, otherwise he's in trouble, and at the end, he gives himself for the world.

NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. If you have a character with depressive characterization and brimming with suicidal ideation tendencies...Don't mix in the 💣 ending framed as a selfless act! That's a call to the void to people walking on the ledge. Gale has literal WillingtoDie flags! It's major yikes all around. At the brain stem Tav is either talking someone who isn't suicidal anymore back into killing himself, or allowing a suicidal person to do it. "Feels like the right ending to me"? Nooooo thank you interviewer.

I actually like the 💣 ending in a tragic "My choices ran out and I failed to save Gale" way. Never ever, will it ever feel the "right" ending.

Asking for help takes COURAGE, especially from someone who isn't used to it. Gale asking you for items is literally because he's in so much pain he can't function anymore. He has no other choice. If asking for help for your pain is selfish, then I don't ever want to not be selfish.

Gale was never annoying to me. If they tried to make Gale the annoying, selfish, asshole who redeems himself in the end. They failed.

I'm mostly mad at the interviewer, to be honest. But oh man the devs didn't help.

I'm hopping off my soapbox now. Thanks to anyone who read it. And yes I did my therapy shit and am calm now.

Oh and remember, there's always another way, and that way is never, ever, EVER the "right" way. Seek and you shall find me.

[ominous-faechild]

MODERN EXISTENCE

CHAPTER 1: MORE OF THE SAME

CHARACTERS: ✦ Beck Molleur ✦ Dahlia Molleur

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

(if it's possible for you to read and listen to lyrical music at the same time, please listen to the music provided ❤️)

NOTE: this story is centered on two characters in a codependent, toxic marriage. Exact content warnings about the relationship will not be given for plot reasons, so if you have ANY possible worries about that subject matter, I beg of you to be cautious before reading this story. Thank you.

Most topics are implied—haunting the narrative rather than being displayed openly—and this story depicts how one can be trapped in that sort of relationship. It has portrayals of depression, self-hatred, and implied abuse... although I would still like and encourage you to read it.

Countless images flashed through Beck's mind.

Flooded streets, loose wreckage of destroyed buildings, and rows and rows of suffering people.

It was always like this. Beck was constantly tormented by these kinds of visions. Visions of pain, destruction, and death. Anything and everything going wrong around the world was stuck in his mind, constantly playing again and again and again.

Whether he closed his eyes or had them open, tried going about his day normally or not, he was tormented by visions of misery.

Still, Beck now had his eyes closed, cheek pressed up against the back of a couch, and noise-cancelling headphones over his ears playing soft, calming music.

With his senses stifled, it was easier to focus on the visions. It was easier to see what he shouldn’t be able to see, hear what he shouldn’t be able to hear, and move what he shouldn’t be able to reach.

The soft music coming from his headphones calmed Beck. He’d seen so much suffering in his life that he’d long-since grown almost numb to it, but… that didn’t mean he was okay with it.

He still wanted to help.

So, when he could, when things were “a little too bad”, Beck made an effort to use his powers for good. He’d make small changes where he could—fill in a pothole that’d been untouched for years, trip up someone on the attack, make a stray noise to draw someone’s attention near danger, or manipulate information that could otherwise destroy people’s lives—and try to help people.

… for once in his life.

“Sometimes I for-get… the world doesn’t want me…”

A whole roof had been torn off its building by the vicious winds of a hurricane. It tore through the air, flying toward another home—and suddenly steered away, crashing into the street instead.

“And I won-der where… all of my friends are…”

Hundreds of miles away, cars were bottlenecked at an aging bridge… one that had long-since been shut down for repairs. Not that it’d ever been repaired—but still. It was supposed to be closed.

People were desperate to escape the hurricane, though.

They risked the bridge, and if it hadn’t been for Beck watching over it? It would’ve cracked under the weight of their cars, plunging them all into the hungry waters below.

“But then I remember… I’d pushed them all a-way…”

So much destruction, so much panic, so much chaos—and Beck did his best to help everyone he could in small ways.

To avoid detection.

For plausible deniability.

Few people believed in magic, so what else were they going to believe? That a god walking among them—one they’d otherwise blame for their misfortune—was looking out for them? Or that the wind moved just in time? That the bridge was just a little sturdier than the architects and scientists believed? That Their God, whichever one or ones they believed in, was looking out for them?

Yes. Far better for people to assume those than the truth.

They’d all agreed on that thousands of years ago.

“So where am I? Who am I?” the song continued, melancholic.

“And what will I do… when I don’t ev-en have me?”

The couch shifted under Beck, tilting him to the side, as something landed on his shoulder.

Beck flinched, mind abruptly returning to his body.

Snapping his eyes open, Beck quickly turned to look at what had disturbed him—

A pair of bright green eyes—on the most beautiful face he’d ever seen—met his.

Despite her soft smile, Dahlia's eyebrows were furrowed slightly in concern as she stared at him expectantly.

“Who will I be?” the song continued.

Dahlia was a woman Beck knew well, though her face had changed countless times over the years. Now, she wore one of a brown woman with angular features and a mane of long, curly brown hair. She sat against the couch with one knee, her hand still on his shoulder, and the scent of her lilac perfume washing over him.

Beck swallowed, then cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away to stare down at the cushion creased under Dahlia's knee. Every fabric of his being screamed against it, but Beck hesitantly grabbed the earpads of his headphones to slowly take them off.

“Where will I g—?” the song lamented, before getting cut off for overpowering silence.

“Beck?” Dahlia's voice interrupted, warm and gentle. “Everything okay?”

A wave of relief flooded over him.

Relaxing and smiling weakly, Beck hesitantly looked back up to meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, “just… was working on some stuff.”

Dahlia's soft smile grew faintly teasing. Then, she shifted to sit in his lap, her knees propped up against the cushions outside of his legs. Her hand moved from Beck's shoulder to his cheek as the other went to the backrest over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” Dahlia asked, her tease leaking into her voice. “Like what?”

Beck felt his face flush as he pressed his cheek into her hand.

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, he turned his face away as he placed his headphones to the side and awkwardly wrapped his arm around her. It pulled her close as he stared hard at the headphones, still faintly emitting sound.

“Just… helping out around the hurricane,” Beck said, his voice subtly thick. “You know… without making it too obvious.”

He let out a small, pained laugh, then closed his eyes as he sank his cheek completely into her hand.

Beck's exhaustion leaked into his voice as he added: “not that anyone would question it, anyways. They just thank whatever god they believe in… or consider it ‘miraculous’ and move on…”

The entire couch shifted as Dahlia moved.

Beck tensed slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly opened his eyes and turned his head to once again look at Dahlia.

His wife shifted to fully sit in his lap, leaning her forearms into his chest, cupping her hands around his cheeks, and meeting his eyes with a warm, loving smile.

“Awe, that’s sweet of you, Beck,” she said, voice slightly teasing still.

Then her eyes closed, and she leaned forward.

Beck took a deep breath before following her example.

Dahlia's hands dropped from his cheeks to rub against his chest as she kissed him gently, then slowly deepened it.

Beck struggled to breathe, but carefully kissed her back. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he lifted her just enough to cross his legs under her and pull her close.

Dahlia paused the kiss—and Beck opened his eyes, though hers remained shut—to speak lightly against his lips.

“Did you know that?” she asked.

He swallowed awkwardly, looking down, not knowing how to answer.

She didn’t give him the time to figure it out. Instead, she quickly went back to kissing him, moving her hands up his chest and to his cheeks, where she rubbed his jaw with her thumbs.

Taking a slow, unsteady breath through his nose, Beck pulled her even closer and tried to just enjoy the kiss.

I love you, Ver, he wanted to say.

But he bit it back, giving her the moment to do whatever she wanted.

Instead, Dahlia pulled away after kissing him for a few more seconds. Her hands moved from his cheeks to his chest again as he met his eyes with another warm smile.

Beck was too caught up in watching every subtle shift in her expression to recognize his own relief.

“I reserved a restaurant for us to eat at tonight,” Dahlia said, a slight, sly smile on her lips. “Bistro Minuit is your favorite, right?”

Face flushing again—hotter this time—Beck hesitantly tore his eyes from hers to stare at the floor, past her hip. At the same time, he moved a hand from her lower back to place it over one of hers on his chest.

“Yeah,” Beck said awkwardly, his voice thick.

Then he gave a weak, dry chuckle, closing his eyes.

“It’s still open?” he asked, his voice weakly amused. “With how fast time goes by—”

“Uxi,” Dahlia interrupted gently. One of her hands—the one not trapped under his—moved to cup itself around his cheek again.

Beck froze, his breath catching in his throat as he quickly returned his eyes to hers.

But Dahlia still had her warm, slightly-teasing smile on her lips.

Her tease leaked into her voice as she answered: “of course it’s still open. I just told you I made reservations, didn’t I?”

Beck's heart twisted, but Dahlia's face was still soft, easygoing.

“—And, besides, I make sure of these things, you know that,” she finished warmly.

She seems fine. Nothing to worry about.

Beck forced a weak smile in return, but then sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and sank his cheek into her hand again. At the same time, he moved his hand from the one on his chest to cup it over hers on his cheek, lovingly sandwiching it between his cheek and hand.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice thick, but level. “You’re right. Sorry, I’d… I’d like that.”

Feel free to share your thoughts below, regardless of what they are.

Unless, yknow, they're "wtf are you writing; stfu". Or "men can't be abused." Keep that kinda shit out.

This is a very heavy story, and will touch on heavy topics... even if only through implication.

(Also to those of you who recognize their names... 🙂)

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

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divider by @cafekitsune

[smallpapers]

a thousand people i could be for you and you hate the fucking lot

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Death

Yandere!Kidnapper x f!Reader

warnings: fanatic behaviour, kidnapping, unreliable narrator—split perspectives—contradictions, mentions of self-harm, suicidal tendencies, mentions of sexual topics, touching without consent, heavy religious themes, yandere has taken somewhat the role of a caretaker, forced infantilization

Note: Read at your own risk tbh, I perceive this story as pretty disturbing, however if you can handle heavy topics, then enjoy. :)

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

He was righteous, has been all his life, or well, had been until he met you.

There just wasn't a way to stop himself, no, to stop the demons haunting him from taking you in his grasp, imprisoning you in his humble home.

Perhaps he was doing you a favour? Chaining you to the bed placed in his basement just for you, white ruffles decorating the sides of the countless pillows and the duvet cover. Everything pristinely white—linen, handpicked for you.

He even dusted it and cleaned it, installed an old-school TV and even got you coloured pencils and endless amounts of paper of all kind!

And it all was just for you. How romantic, don't you think?

Your captor was nice—he was soft, even his edges didn't hurt you. He never raised his voice, couldn't even imagine hurting you, even if it was just a hair on your precious head.

You were his entire life. His gift from God himself.

However he quickly realised that you didn't quite share his opinion. You weren't horribly hostile, tried to appease him in fear of his sometimes rash and almost fanatic behaviour, fearing one day he might just flip the switch and obsess over breaking a bone in your body, yet you never were overly soft. There was this wall between you two that bugged him greatly, but he just didn't know how to destroy it.

To top it off, you feared death at his hands, at first. However as days faded into weeks and then into months—and before you knew it a year had passed with no one succeeding in rescuing you from the obsessive stalker clinging to you—you started fearing a life with this man.

It started off with small things, like you eating less, your leftovers slowly increasing in size or you would leave the paper completely blank instead of scribbling something onto it.

Until it started affecting other areas of your very limited life like you starting to lose interest in watching TV, the only luxury that connected you to the outer world. Until that penetrating dark cloud hanging over your head affected you more severely, so much so, that it worried him.

You his sacred bride losing your excitement for life was terrifying. He couldn't imagine a life without you—he refused to even think about it, the sheer thought was too painful.

You refused to eat, laid around all day, didn't even fidget when he would not so subtly try to seduce you. Well he was a kidnapper, but he would never force you to spread your legs for him! So he was still waiting for your heart to warm up to him, however instead of warming up, you started fading away from his grasp.

It was so petrifying, so much so that he started asking his pastor for help, then his colleagues—he even searched through the internet at the computer of his local library!

Depression.

in big bold letters was what popped up first, a page dedicated to mental health. He was mortified reading through everything, the symptoms and what it could possibly lead to. Death. The word daunted him and haunted him.

He rushed home, your captor breaking out in a cold sweat, only experiencing sweet relief seeing you curled up beneath the covers, pale in the face as always.

Days have passed and now he clung to you like glue. “Sweetheart—Sweetheart you have to eat!” he whined, the spoon once more missing your mouth as you twisted your head away. He bound you to the chair to keep you still and yet you kept on avoiding his attempts at feeding you.

“Say Ahh love! C’mon for me! Be good? Please, sweetheart!” he pleaded and begged to no avail, you gazed at him empty-eyed and shook your head. That was when he finally caught sight of the red streaks down your neck and collarbone.

At first he thought it was an allergic reaction, then he remembered you hadn't consumed anything but water in the last few days. Then with a glance down at your shaking fingers, feeling over the broken and bloodied nails he realised.

Your own nails. You hurt yourself with your own nails.

He lost it. The bowl of boiling hot soup landed on the ground, porcelain shattering as he lunged forward, grasping your hair and tilting your head back to gauge the damage to your holy skin.

“How could you?—” he spat in revulsion, face mirroring the rage that was consuming him inside, yet he never could be mad at you for long.

“Sweetie—Sweetheart—” your kidnapper's voice faltered, face pulled into a grimace, he let go of your hair, easing the sting of your scalp, sinking to his knees in front of you, pleading with his eyes.

“Please talk to me baby, please tell me what's wrong. Is it the TV? I can buy you a new one. Do you want new pencils? Do you want crayons? Maybe watercolour? I can get you new clothes if that is the problem!— Sweetheart please, please talk to me.” he broke down, fat tears running down his cheeks, pathetically clinging to one of your calves, licking a strip up your knee.

“Baby—baby.” he whimpered, crying into your two knees, fingers now grasping your lap in such desperation that if it wasn't the man that kept you captive you might have felt more sympathy for him. It wasn't as if you hadn't considered just carving in by now and accepting him as the person that would be beside you till death, yet the thought hurt. It dug a hole in your heart and left you wanting to pluck each individual hair follicle out of your scalp.

You just couldn't bear stand his constant whining and begging, humping you dry from behind like a dog when he thought you were deep asleep, preaching that he was a devoted believer to god, when he had kidnapped you, forced you down here, kept you still chained up, with only limited times when you could use the restroom and then always with the door a split open to ensure you didn't flee from the narrow window placed over the toilet. Showering was even worse, he would insist on staying, waiting behind the shower curtain, eyeing your shadow. When you would step out he would be bright red, averting his eyes and adjusting himself before finally draping a towel over you that always managed to smell like his musk. It was disgusting.

Even though he claimed that he would never hurt you, he had overly violent episodes, where he would just throw things around, rip up the extensive pages upon pages of your emotional rant, threaten you with a broken glass bottle, before always falling to his knees, crawling on the floor begging and pleading for forgiveness.

All in all he was a walking contradiction and never could be trusted. So wasn't it clear why you would prefer death over being stuck with the constant fear of what's to come?

“Baby” he whined incessantly, clinging to you like a lifeline. Bastard. You kept on ignoring him. It wasn't just this day, but all the following days, opting to just leave yourself to rot away.

However it seems you didn't calculate that he was so transfixed with you, that he would protect you from anything and anyone, even if that someone was yourself.

“Sweetie” he whispered oh-so sweetly into the shell of your ear, still weary from your restlessness the night prior, you didn't even want to turn in your bed to face him. Big mistake.

Before you could see it, you felt it. Fingers grasped your jaw, some sort of fabric draped over the lower half of your face, a strong scent engulfing you all while he rocked your head back and forth, stroking your hair lovingly.

When you woke up, unbeknownst to you, you succeeded in losing all your privileges.

“Sweetheart! How are you feeling?” he chirped, the basement now completely padded, decorated in pink, filled with toys and plushies. That wasn't all—because you regretted looking down.

A diaper. You were wearing a diaper. You breath staggered, horror written across your features.

He snickered, stepping closer to you, kneeling down to your level on the floor. “Sorry Sweetheart, but— you just wouldn't listen to me. You were starving yourself! It was obvious that no one ever taught you properly. You didn't receive proper parental care—they didn't care for you enough, they didn't love you as I do. So I am just going to start from zero and reteach you everything! How does that sound? Good right? You will love it!” he cupped your wet cheeks, the real nightmare starting just now, with the prospect of being saved already having slipped from your mind, understanding that this hell was your new reality.

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your scalp as he whispered something so gut-wrenching you hoped that he would swallow his own tongue and choke on it.

“Cuz’ Sweetheart I gotta teach you real good, so when we get our own baby you will be a good mother, yeah? A great mother! The best mother!”

he laughed.

[scrubbinn]

Mimic Memoirs: Labor logs

HRT Month ???

Stuffed within the void

Some time after Mayday attempted her ritual

cw: depression

“My name is… unimportant. I doubt anyone is going to actually find this, I mean, if you're in the void, you probably have bigger problems. But I wanted to leave evidence of my time here, and in case I need it for later.”

“The bod- Mayday is still trying to gain consciousness in this place. I have a bit of a head start after all this time being a headmate. You can't have a body in this place. People always think of a void as this infinitely big place of nothing. The truth is that nothing is actually quite small. It's a zero dimensional zone that weaves itself in the cracks and spaces between worlds. The only things that can exist here are concepts and ideas. Right now, I'm merely a thought. Reciting information into the concept of a recording device that will float in here until I or universe forbid, someone else, finds it here. I won't remember this once I craft this memory. It's better that way.”

“Mimics. They're everywhere here. Not the kind that exists in fiction and other worlds. They're not chests, slimes, or hermit crabs. They're just concepts. The concept of consumption. The idea that to consume something is to know something. There probably used to be other concepts floating around here. But they've all been removed. Or maybe something else happened? I see them eating each other all the time, but they just reform out of nothing again. Sure, it's creepy. But it isn't what has me worried.”

“Erian, that idiot. Slime hrt combined with a mimic octopus would have made a decent enough Mimic on its own. But he was still in that phase of seeing us as experiments or walking billboards. Of course he decided to add some mysterious substance he had literally no idea what it was. I know what it is now. It's just one of these mimics. I guess it's like a deep sea fish. If you brought one of them into a space with physics, they would expand into a liquid or gas. And he decided to feed it to someone.”

“Would we have just died if Mayday continued her transition? No, I think we'd be fine, maybe just a puddle that can't form shapes, but we'd be alive. Still, it's concerning how close to death we've been. We nearly did until all of us helped Mayday form a cocoon. The first step in her mimic-hood

“Believe it or not, dying would have been the better alternative. Mimics here don't just eat each other. Sometimes, they poke through to another world and eat from it. But not things like stealing candy or eating people. Though sometimes they do that, too. But I've seen them eat the stab wounds off a human, munching 14 hours of time from a universe, even devouring fear itself from one place. Of course, most of them try to mimic what they ate and usually get crushed in zero dimensional space. It's a good thing there isn't one of them that can survive in three dimensions… You get what I'm saying now, right?”

“Do I let Mayday leave here? What happens if she has access to these sorts of abilities back in hyper city. Does she have access to them? Maybe if she doesn't cross that road, but what if they are a part of her. Just dorment. Forget eating a bit of stomach. What if she ended up eating all of Abi's memories. It's not like she has complete control of her mouths… Wait… No. She did it already. Once, at the zoo. Eating Kaylen's nightmares and turning into them. That's not normal. That's not a normal mimic thing.That's what these things do. So… I don't know. I don't know if I should hide away from her. Let her fade into nothing here.”

“That's why I'm leaving this recording here. So I'll forget it. So that she won't know. So that I don't have to make that choice. I'm sorry.”

Mayday stepped out of the portal she made. A recorder in her hands that wasn't there when she stepped in. She had become quite the expert with the book that made the portal after her first trip with it. There was potential within its eldritch grip to help the clinic and its patients. She didn't consider herself a witch, but this was something that had dug its way into her mind. She did always find comfort in that place, this book calling out to her when she first visited that library, she was meant for that place.

Oh, can't go having those sorts of thoughts. There's still plenty to enjoy in this world. There's… well, there's not a whole lot. Just work. Hang out with friends, girlfriend. Well, it's still plenty. Some people have less after all. Anyways, It's not about how much you have, it's about the time you spend with them! Like… No, can't go having those sorts of thoughts. Let's just focus on work. Jasmine scheduled an appointment today. It seemed pretty serious by the tone of garden voice. best to wrap up her personal explorations and get ready for work.

Today, Mayday’s coffee tasted bitter, and her food felt like ash. The winter skies were coated in nothing but dull clouds. A puddle of slush was thrown onto her skirt and boots as a car skidded by, traveling way too fast to be legal. There were probably good things. She didn't hit any red lights, no one around her was rude, Abi seemed happy texting about some new collector’s edition doll she found. lots of little joys. Joys that she was having trouble seeing each day. She tried not to think about what she heard on that recording.

The work day was horrendous. Nothing but Erian shouting at patients, and pharmacies suddenly having problems with handing out the prescriptions they're supposed to hand out. She did her best to put on a grin when anyone approached her. After all, it's easy to fake a smile when you don't have a face.

That thought just made her consider the fact that, as a mimic, she doesn't have a true form. There's the things in the void or the DnD style “purple goop,” but those weren't true forms. Mayday didn't have a true form, or a default form, or anything like that. She just felt comfortable being a slime. Because it was easier to stick with that, then to explain to your family that you're not a burglar, you're just trying on a new you today. Being a slime or a cat, or a dragon, or looking like someone she knew. They were all the same level of comfort. The only euphoria she felt was the act of changing her shape, and she found herself doing it less and less. Explaining it was a hassle.

The clock struck 5pm. Oh, her rambling ideas had passed the time to Jasmine's appointment when she wasn't looking. Oops. She clutched the recorder in her hands tighter. Maybe someone should listen to this. Maybe someone could help. Anything to not be alone with her thoughts. She grew a resolve then and there to ask Erian. Over the weeks, she had gotten to see a side of him that was, decent, at least. His expertise might be what she's looking for. Just have to get through the day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ninamodaffari]

gonna be so honest with you my mindset has taken a plunge into all-out doomerism and as much as I fight against the worst kind of thoughts the idea of simply not existing or needing to worry about anything anymore seems so appealing sometimes. No more panic or worry, no more fear. The world seems to just be getting worse and even voicing it online you get people going 'oh it's worse for x'!! Like gee thanks that doesn't help at all in fact it makes me feel worse

[joffyworld]

Mise En Abyme

Sense of belonging.

Now there's a funny phrase.

Truly, can you sense belonging?

Feel as free as possible amongst friends?

Touch the sky and feel its breeze,

Without looking side to side?

I see it happen all the time.

We look up but feel down,

We feel down but peer further,

We peer further and see less

But see more of the stress that compels us,

To look further down;

To feel anguish.

Life is a harsh mistress,

I stare at other people's abilities and never admire my own,

I give in to stress,

I feel like a wild bird trapped in a cage all by my lone.

Some people tell me I'm healthy,

That I'm beautiful and I'll thrive,

But I can't tell myself that,

Even when myself is being told by the people I idolise.

See,

I look to my left and then gaze to my right,

But looking left feels like all that's left is to look right,

And it feels right when I look up and down and then find,

That I'm not worth their time,

Or their hopes and their pride.

I mean:

What have I done to be within their lives?

I struggle to find

The meaning of this life:

Because I know that life is about happiness

And that happiness is inside.

But I can't swallow my lies,

It hurts my pride to allow my pride to be hurt and put that wounded pride further in line,

It's a selfish design of mine:

A picture in a picture.

The pain creates pain and the hurt creates hurt.

I struggle to see my self worth,

What did I do to deserve?

All of these friends,

These keen ends,

To the pain I start to reserve.

I tell them it'll be fine,

But I feel like I'm lying,

I feel like crying every time

That I wipe tears from their eyes.

Because surely I'm lying if "everything will be fine",

But here I am sitting,

Thinking to myself,

Why can't I tell that to I.

But I'm not broken.

Nobody is.

I mean,

We tell ourselves ever since we are kids,

"We gotta carry on through all of this shit,

Because if we don't then we won't know what the real truth of it is."

So I stare up at that sky again.

Where those birds fly and clouds stroll,

I look up and I feel so small,

But I know deep in my heart and the caverns of my soul,

That those birds look left and right,

They struggle the same,

They never look forward with hope.

Because the picture creates a picture;

There's a cycle of struggle at play.

I struggle so I look up and see that they're doing okay,

Then they look up and see that I'm acting fine but I'm feeling the same.

We all look over our shoulders like a mexican wave,

Of jealousy and hate,

But all we end up peering into is each other's graves at the end of the day.

Every cycle has its end.

Because, to put it frankly

There's only so long we can all sit and pretend.

We tell our friends that we are friends,

Then lie to them to make them

Feel like, our "real" lives are worthy of them;

We're stuck playing pretend,

A vicious cycle with no tangible end.

But what we don't see is the small cracks:

The smiles they see that bare false teeth.

The greetings we greet and the food that we eat,

The weight that we lose in our pursuit of sanity;

Not physical weight but emotional weight:

The pains and small metronomes that tick in our brains,

The counters and displays of each emotional pain,

They see us look left

With each heft of our over stigmatized brains

Through dark window panes

That get smashed when the false sun turns to true rain.

They remind us to look forward,

To remember that there is nobody above us,

Just beside us.

To reside in the moment and not the

"What ifs?" that guide us.

They teach us it's all a mirage.

We can't tell ourselves to ignore our jagged old scars,

But they can show us the beauty within these scars

And create new works of art,

From the pain we explain,

While they listen and laugh.

Because it's all a joke;

Where we to be of presence of mind we'd be laughing in hope,

We'd know,

Deep down in our proverbial bones,

That this isn't the truth,

Nobody is quite yet at the end of their rope;

They've just lost their grip.

Sometimes we all need a pair of gloves and a warm hug,

Sometimes we all need a talk and a small little tug.

Or a push, through the bush

That obscures where we are:

In the sky with the other birds.

We built our own cage,

We put in the screws and laid down the foundation.

We welded the bars and called our own masons.

We crafted a lock with no key,

Because we're the key

And the key is complacent.

But sometimes we meet someone who knows how it feels,

To be trapped in a body and a realm that you build,

To watch the world fly by with gold feathers that guild,

Like a quill,

The world with all of these incredible and beautiful thrills.

Which you could never do.

But this person knows that that just isn't true;

You need a new view:

To see the beauty that lies within your heart,

To take heart from these works of art that others share,

To realise that they care

When you make paintings from scars.

All of this is to say,

I may be in pain;

We all are.

We may feel insane,

Inane, deranged

And perhaps we are.

But that's okay,

Because the picture inside the picture

Isn't done till it's framed.

Thank you for unlocking me.

[badaziraphaletakes]

what was it that caused y'all to make this blog?

Ahaha, this is an interesting question!

Well, I (Mod X) initially got the idea after seeing so many offensive (victim-blaming and/or anti-Autistic and/or misogynistic and/or transphobic, etc, etc) takes in the GO fandom, mostly about Aziraphale, and feeling powerless after having tried to discuss them with the people who wrote them and being met with more victim-blaming, denial, and in some cases outright verbal ab*se. (Like, really really bad verbal ab*se. It was wild.)

At first it was just an idle daydream.

If it had been just me that was affected, or if it had only been a couple people making the bad takes, I wouldn't have gone anywhere with it. But once I realized I wasn’t the only fan who was being hurt, it started to sound like it'd be worthwhile to actually make it.

I had been throwing the idea around for I believe a couple months, but I felt like it wouldn't make sense to actually start the blog unless I could find a take that was so clearly, obviously, unapologetically wrong and harmful, without any disingenuity or subtlety, that literally no one could look at it and come up with an argument that it wasn't wrong, and start off with that. And I didn't think I would find one like that because the hateful people in this fandom are sneaky and disingenuous and good at cloaking their bigotry in the language of respectability, and DARVO-ing people who are offended by their bigotry, and the like.

I didn’t want to start off with a post that just said like, “These takes about Aziraphale give me the ick”.

But then one Azi hater lost it enough to come out and honest-to-god actually write the literal words “Aziraphale doesn't have depression because depression doesn't exist".

(And that one was also a good one for me to start with because my degree is in psychology and I worked in psychology research for over six years. So I had the bona fides to back up my rebuttal. And I knew the right scientific, authoritative sources to point to in order to explain why OP was wrong. Instead of just being like “Everyone knows depression exists”. If that makes sense.)

I didn’t think anyone would ever actually say anything that ludicrous. But they did. For some reason they actually went there.

And I was like, “Okay, here it is. If I start with this one, I can write an ironclad refutation. And this blog might actually do some good”.

And so I created a Crowley-coded email address and fired up a silly little blog.

And to my amazement, within two weeks we were getting so many comments that I couldn’t keep up with them all, and Mod M kindly agreed to join the team, and then Mod D, and they are GREAT.

And now five months later here we are, still going strong (and still possibly the most hated blog in the fandom 😁), and I couldn't be prouder.

[areyoudreaminof]

Depression hit so good, I have no emotion anymore: just full blown exhaustion and apathy. I just don’t care anymore. And not in a fun way, in that soul crushing, mind numbing, physically tired way. Getting out of bed is a struggle, in a way it wasn’t when I was actively wanting to not be alive earlier this year.

Awesome, 2024, once again proving to be a fucking exceptional year.

[prismaticpichu]

Hope y’all are having a good one! <33

Heart & soul went into this one ❤️❤️❤️

~

Battle Scars - PrismaticPichu - Compilation of Final Fantasy VII

Summary: Why was he still alive? Why didn’t he rot with them?

Why… why was he spared?

***Plz read the warnings with care! This fic delves into themes related to depression, survivor guilt, and suicidal ideation.***

[blinddeaf]

Lithuania is playing. It is 2012 again. I am doing my master studies a top ranking university, but it doesn't matter. Everyone just expects more but would never be proud. My parents' marriage is at its end. Dad is never home, mom only drinks and sleeps. My best friend's father is dying. There is no hope and no way out.

I never want to find myself back there but I need to revisit it to make sense of it all. Katarsis is holding my hand through it, telling me it will be allright eventually, but the grief must be dealt with to find release.