#I DON'T BLAME HIM BUT LIKE. DAMN

[kay-is-dying]

gallows boy u better watch it GET IN LINE BRO

[hydrodragons]

"what's the matter? too scared to shoot straight?"

[bleue-flora]

Wait... Dream was born on August 12, 1999 and Dream was arrested in the Disc Finale on January 20, 2021 soo... wait, wait, wait, that means he was only 21 when he was imprisoned for life in a small lava covered box!... Did I do that math right? 21?! Man was barely able to drink legally in the United States and they gave him a life sentence in a boiling cell with nothing but lava, raw potatoes, a clock, and some books?!... oh my god...

[drrav3nb]

Didn't I tell you? To advance the date no matter what.

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Got hit with the sudden realisation that, early in their relationship, some of the things about Alec that take Magnus by surprise - thanking Magnus for saving his life, not killing the werewolf on their first date - are literally just Alec being a decent human being.

Like. Magnus, babe, he ain't a surprise, your bars for Shadowhunters are in Hell.

[pocketgalaxies]

i'm gonna scream though, actually

[hauntingblue]

I THINK!! usopp and nami (and maybe others too) need to learn haki. They said you can't be in the new world without it because everyone is just so incredibly strong and here we are. They are getting headbutted to death and can't do anything about it (their abilities are being nerfed for the plot I know) but they could be SO GOOD if they could do something more idk.... we saw how strong nami was with zeus.... but she has fought with her bostaff before and that just disappeared... nami haki bostaff you will live in my dreams I guess

[dmclemblems]

I think your understand of Claude has been warped by DimiClaude fan fics. Claude doesn't like Rhea in Houses and wants her out of power and says as much at the beginning of Verdant Wind and you even gain support points with him if you ask him if he hopes Rhea is dead versus if he hopes Rhea is alive. Claude doesn't stop wanting Rhea deposed because he spent an extra year in the Academy.

lmfao bruh i have never once read a dimiclaude fic that involved rhea or even mentions rhea/how either of them feel about rhea, how are you gonna tell me my perception of him is warped by something i've never even read? don't go blaming people's enjoyed ships as a scapegoat just because you don't like someone's discussion about a character. that ship and my opinion of hopes claude/his feelings on absolutely anything have nothing to do with each other.

do you do that to everyone? assume you know what they read and what kind of fandom stuff they engage with? assume that people read fanfics and that somehow it makes them forget canon? 'cause it's pretty haughty.

have you read like, any of my posts/asks? i've pretty explicitly discussed that he doesn't like rhea or her in power. that's very different from personally murdering someone. i also never said his year at the academy had anything to do with his feelings toward rhea.

i don't even read that many fanfics so that's quite a bold faulty assumption. not sure what you thought assuming what i read was going to accomplish, and for that matter, i'm not sure what you thought insulting every dmcl writer out there was going to accomplish by implying they all write "warped" versions of him. what the fuck does dimitri have to do with claude's feelings about rhea?

surprise, nothing.

[rose-ramblings]

you'll never guess what I've been playing lately

[and-stir-the-stars]

another fnaf one-shot (aka my excuse to further traumatize Michael), this time for THE dire consequences au

tw: food horror, descriptions of injury, blood, victim-blaming, vomit

word count: 2,749

Michael stared blankly at the space his little brother had been moments before.

“Evan… you– you remember being alive, don’t you? You know that I can’t… keep doing this, right?” 

“Evan, I– I’ll come back. You know I will. I always come back. I won’t leave you ever again, just… please open the doors. Then we can– we can play outside, yeah?”

“That weird sound was, um… it was my– my stomach, Ev. I’m hungry–” The words drowned in a half-muffled sob that Michael couldn’t quite hold back. “I’m r-really hungry, Ev.” 

The hunger wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the thirst, though. At one point, Michael’s mouth had gotten so dry that just moving his tongue had felt like razors stabbing the interior of his mouth, and every swallow and shaky inhale had been sandpaper against the lining of his throat. At that point, Michael had finally gotten over himself and drank from the awful-tasting rainwater– what he hoped was rainwater, at least– that leaked into this room from the ceiling. 

Michael had been here for… what? Two days? Three? Four? The Afton wasn’t all that sure anymore. He’d had a watch– you needed one when you worked the kind of jobs Michael Afton did– but it had gotten smashed when Evan… when Evan had…

And there weren’t any clocks in the room he was trapped in, either. Or windows. 

Michael was limping around the room’s perimeter now, cursing the lack of windows. Michael thumped the hand of his good arm against the walls as he moved, listening for any sound that would indicate a weak point and looking for any cracks or leaks or anything that would suggest he might be able to tear the unusually strong walls down with his bare hands and escape. He didn’t know how long he would have until Evan came back. 

“You can’t be hungry, Mikey; we’re playing a game now. Don’t you want to play? Don’t you like playing with me? You said you did. Were you… lying?” 

“Fine. I have something we can play that will make us both happy! Just wait, Mikey!” 

Michael’s perimeter check proved useless. He didn’t find anything, but deep down, he had already known that he wouldn’t. With nothing left to do but sit at one of the decrepit tables littering the room, Michael shot a despairing look at the heavy steel doors barricading the thresholds. He didn’t know how many nights Michael had spent in the last year with that specific brand of heavy, impenetrable reinforced steel doors keeping the monsters out. Now, instead of keeping the monsters out, those same doors were keeping Michael pinned in like a drowning rat. Michael wanted to laugh at the irony, but all he could do was bury his face in one hand– just one hand because he couldn’t even move his other one, a bitter voice pointed out in the back of his mind– as stuttered breathing rattled in his chest. 

Michael flinched, his hand flying away from his face at the sound of something crashing onto the table before him. 

“Be right back!” Evan chirped before disappearing again. 

Michael rubbed his hands under his eyes to stop his tears in their tracks, making his skin burn at his hasty and overly aggressive administrations. He took a few moments just to breathe, and ignored the oppressive silence ringing in his ears as he forced the corners of his lips upward. His lower lip wobbled dangerously, and Michael sank his upper teeth into the chapped pink flesh to rectify the slipup. The smile felt… stiff, but hopefully it looked real enough. 

Michael managed not to jump as much this time when Evan materialized beside him. 

Evan dropped something else on the table, something that fell with a sickly, wet-sounding slap. Michael didn’t get a good look at what it was before Evan reached across the table and grabbed something he had dropped off earlier. 

“Normally these are set up on the tables here. I hid them, though,” Evan whispered, like he was telling Michael a secret. “I didn’t like looking at them. They made me sad. But this will make it okay, I think.” 

Michael’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t stop Evan as the little kid put the red-striped party hat on Michael’s head. Though, he couldn’t stop himself from wincing when Evan released the elastic string keeping the hat in place with just a little too much force and the elastic band stung against the bottom of Michael’s chin. 

Evan picked up a green and blue striped hat for himself. Michael worried for half a second that the hat would phase straight through Evan’s head, but the eight year old put the hat on his head with no problem. 

“Wh-what’s all this for, Ev?” Michael’s gaze travelled across the table, taking in the party hats and the brightly colored– and dusty– paper plates and cups. Just seeing the plates was enough to make Michael’s stomach gurgle painfully, and the Afton shot a nervous glance at his brother. 

Evan didn’t seem mad, though. If anything, his smile widened. “A party.” 

“What kind of– party?” Michael plastered the smile across his face to hide his stutter. 

“Guess!” 

“I don’t know,” Michael said as Evan handed him a cheap plastic noise maker. “A– A tea party?”

“No, silly. It’s a birthday party.” Evan put a pink plate and cup in front of Michael and grabbed a purple one for himself. 

“A… birthday party.” Michael’s mouth went painfully dry as he stared down at the noise maker in his hand. 

“Mm-hmm! You’ll like it, Mikey, because you can’t have a birthday party without cake!” 

Michael stared at his little brother’s eager smile, absolutely dumbfounded, because… exactly where the hell would Evan have managed to find cake here, in a building that had been completely abandoned for years? 

Then Evan reached over and grabbed… something off the table before throwing it onto Michael’s plate with a wet slap. Maybe it was the close proximity, but somehow, the smell didn’t hit Michael until right then. It was awful– like something rotting, musty and sharp– sharp enough to sting Michael’s eyes until they watered. 

Michael stared down at the– something– in abject horror. It was slimy, as though covered in mucus, and was growing mold. Most of the mold was a dark, deathly green, but spots of soft white mold grew on it as well, like a sheen of fresh snow or frost. But Michael didn’t notice the worst part until he stared down at his plate in horror for several long moments: the mess on his plate was moving; it writhed as though in pain. The molding mass shifted on the plate, sections of white splattering against the playful pink as though lurching toward him. Maggots, his mind supplied a moment later. 

“Evan…” 

“You can’t have a birthday without cake.” Evan scooped some of the moldy mess from the table with his hands. “Lucky us, they had some in the kitchen still.” 

Michael shuddered as maggots slipped between Evan’s fingers and wiggled on the table between them. As Evan dropped the “cake” onto his own plate, Mike stared at him in stupefied horror. Did Evan really not… see the obvious problem here? Michael would have an easier time believing Evan had picked up a couple of rats that had died in the cupboard years ago than believing the disgusting mess in front of them had ever been cake. 

Evan returned Michael’s stare with a pout. “You have to sing.” 

“I– sing? What?”

“Happy Birthday!” Evan huffed through his nose. “Duh. What else? You’ll sing it for me, won’t you, Mikey? You’ll sing me Happy Birthday, this time? Please?” 

Michael’s lips parted, but the protest died on his tongue. 

“Please, Mikey?” Evan whimpered. 

Michael’s tongue darted over his chapped lips. Not that it did any good. “O-Of couse I will.” 

The pitiful sadness vanished from Evan’s face, replaced with a smile. In the back of his mind, Michael couldn’t help but think the smile on Evan’s face looked just as desperate as the tear-filled frown from moments before. Michael shoved the thought away. Evan deserved every moment of happiness he could get. And this was the least he could do for Evan, wasn’t it? The very least. 

“H-Happy birthday to you…” Michael winced as the words cracked upon his dry tongue, but Evan didn’t seem to notice. “Happy birthday to you…”

Evan’s eyes never once left Michael’s face as the older sang. Evan’s lips silently formed the words Michael sang as though savoring every word and basking in the evidence that his older brother was here for him and singing him Happy Birthday, like Mike was the loving brother Evan had always wanted. So… why did watching Evan mouth along the words make Michael feel like a ventriloquist dummy going along with whatever actions and words his puppet master demanded of him?

“Happy birthday, dear Evan; happy birthday to you.”

Evan sniffled. 

Wincing, thinking Evan was about to cry, Michael moved to reassure and comfort his little brother. But then Evan smiled up at him. 

“See? Th-that wasn’t so bad, was it? My birthday c-could have been this ha-happy the first time around…” Evan rubbed at his eyes with another sniffle, but the smile was still stretched across his face. “Now we can eat the cake.” 

Before Michael could even process the six simple words, Evan grabbed a fistful of the maggot-infested mold and shoved it in his mouth. 

“Evan!” Michael practically jumped out of his seat in horrified panic. Was Evan trying to make himself sick?! …Could ghosts get sick?

Evan’s smile dipped momentarily. “It’s okay. You kept saying you were hungry; you can eat now.” 

Michael’s stomach churned violently as Evan scooped another handful of mold into his mouth. Maybe ghosts couldn't get sick, but he could.

“Ev, I-I can’t eat this,” Michael whispered. 

“Why not? It’s my birthday cake. You… you don’t like it?” Evan asked in a small voice. His shoulders hunched up around his ears like Michael had yelled at him.

Michael’s resolve crumbled as Evan stared up at him, his light green eyes shining with tears. “It’s… not like that…” 

“I don’t understand,” Evan whimpered. “I thought you wanted me to be happy. You kept complaining that you were hungry and ruining our games. But now you won’t eat? Why? Because now I want you to? Do you hate me that much?”

Michael’s fingernails dug into the tender skin along his palm, and the Afton focused desperately on the sharp pain to ground himself. “I-I’m sorry, Evan, I am. But you don’t– I can’t–” 

Evan trembled as he looked up at Michael. Not an ounce of understanding passed Evan’s features, only a confusion and hurt so profound that Michael couldn’t bring himself to keep protesting. 

Michael swallowed hard, dutifully ignoring the painful lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite get rid of. Dark brown locks of hair fell over his face as he glanced down at the putrified lump of mold before him. His hair obscured his view of the revolting mess slightly, but that didn’t stop acid from burning at the base of Michael’s throat at the mere thought of touching that thing, let alone putting it inside of him. 

His gaze darted across the table, half-heartedly looking for any silverware– really, he just didn’t want to look at Evan or the horrifying sludge right in front him– but came up empty. Looked like Evan had forgotten to grab any in his excitement for his ‘birthday.’ 

Shuddering, Michael pulled his hand away from his lap and inched closer to the plate. He determinedly did not look as he grabbed some–

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmy–

Michael had done a lot of gross and deranged things in his life– he had been a teenage boy for a long time, after all– but no amount of eating worms on a dare or putting salt on slugs or skinning and gutting things while hunting with his friends could have ever prepared him for the disturbingly moist feeling of mold on his skin, the squish as his fingers closed around the mold, the way the dampness clung to his fingers like old syrup on the side of a bottle, or the itch of maggots wiggling against his skin and slipping between his fingers, or for that godawful smell. The vomit rose from the bottom of his throat and filled his mouth. Michael felt dizzy as he held the vomit in his mouth long enough to raise his fingers to his lips and pretend to eat the filth. Hoping Evan wouldn’t notice, Michael dropped the mess back onto the plate as quickly as possible and swallowed his own vomit back down, wincing at the acid searing his mouth and throat. 

“Mmmm…” 

Michael hummed in ‘delight,’ hoping against hope that Evan wasn’t paying enough attention to notice what he had done, or the disgust still written plainly across his features. 

Michael should have known better. 

The despair on Evan’s face gave way to anger as he glared between Michael and the pink plate. “You can’t do that! You have to actually eat it or it won’t mean anything, Mikey!” Evan launched up from his seat so fast, his chair went flying behind him with a loud crash. “Why are you doing this?!” 

The whites of Evan’s eyes began to glow, and Michael’s eyes widened in fear. “Evan, wait–”

“I thought we were having fun– I thought you came here because you wanted to be with me– why do you keep RUINING EVERYTHING, MIKEY?!” 

Electricity fritzed through the room with enough intensity to make Michael’s nerves tingle and his hairs stand on end. Michael didn’t have enough time to react before Evan screamed, and Michael’s throat tightened under a bruising force as though someone had their hands wrapped around his windpipe. 

Eyes widening, Michael frantically tore at the space around his throat– even his broken arm jerked upward in his panic, making the Afton’s vision go red as pain exploded through his nerves at the jerk of his twisted appendage. As much as Michael struggled against the force choking him, though, there was nothing physically there for Michael to rip off. He could do nothing but wheeze as he clawed at his own throat fiercely enough to draw blood. Tears leaked down his face and, far too quickly, the pressure in his chest from his lungs begging for air increased and increased until the pain in his chest overcame the tight squeezing around his throat. 

Then, just as Michael’s vision began to darken, the pressure around his throat ceased. Michael gulped down oxygen, practically clawing it out of the air, but each breath burned his tortured throat and led Michael into a coughing fit that hurt his throat and chest worse than being choked almost to unconsciousness. 

It took Michael an embarrassingly long time to realize he was sobbing as his good hand hovered protectively around his throat, as though he could do a single thing to stop that awful pain from happening again. 

Michael blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision without using his hand to wipe away the tears. 

Evan was still glaring at him. Hands clenched, lip wobbling, tears streaming down his face. 

“I d-don’t hate you,” Michael cried. He wished he wasn’t openly sobbing, but he had better things to waste his frighteningly limited energy on than keeping his eyes dry– like keeping his head up so he didn’t face-plant from exhaustion and pain directly into his plate of ‘cake.’ 

“I n-never h-hated you, and I– I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Michael flinched as two small arms looped around his neck. He almost shoved Evan away out of instinct, but belatedly, he realized Evan wasn't trying to hurt him anymore. It was just a hug. Evan, the little brother Michael had missed so much for so long, the little brother Michael was fucking terrified of, wrapping him in a hug. 

"I didn't want to do that," Evan whispered. "I wish you would stop making me so mad."

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Evan…"

"It's okay," Evan said softly. "Just eat your cake, now, Mikey. Cake makes everything better." 

He had to maneuver his arm so it wasn't pinned under Evan’s hug– and bite back a whimper as the movement jostled his broken arm– but Michael reached for the plate again without any thoughts of complaint. 

@dire-kumori @catwithacupofcoffee

[ut-scatteredextension]

Mettaton, what's your favorite food?

"If you're looking for recommendations, darling, I'm afraid ghost food isn't edible for corporeal folk like your lovely self."

"However, I must insist that you try the MTT-Brand Glamburger! It's truly the most luxurious and fabulous food you could ever set your taste buds upon! Plus, it's one-hundred percent accurate to the food eaten on the Surface."

"...That's what I've heard people say about it, anyway. I can't eat it myself, of course."

"It isn't available right now, I'm sorry to say, but I have it on good authority that it'll make a grand return in the future~!"

[yappacadaver]

and it's like despite all the awful shit he's done and continues to do, like, i get it. he's employed like 24/7/365. he never got to live a life, despite spending a childhood clinging to the hope of having one someday. He knew companionship and love but lost it and can't ever get it back. His circumstances are so anomalous and gruesome that it completely isolates him from pretty much every other human being on the planet. he knows hell is real and he is basically guaranteed to go there if he can't break this demon curse thing.

like it doesn't make the kidnapping and spreading the curse around any better, but i do get it.

[slippery-minghus]

gods, why didn't i get a college degree in anything useful?

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Oh man I really agree with your tags on that one post. The whole king of delusion thing is terrible to me bc like. Delusions aren’t some gotcha you can use against him? It’s a serious mental health issue? But I’d also like to add I hate when people mock him for smelling bad or having poor hygiene or w/e… :/ It’s not funny when people with mental illness can’t properly take care of their hygiene lol I thought we were all understanding of this?

EXACTLY. It's not like "wow look how wrong you are and how terrible you are for being delusional".

Also the hygiene thing pisses me off too. I know lots of his fans use it as a joke, even affectionately, but like... he was homeless. He was living in the slums. Most people around him probably smelled bad. I'm sure they and he cleaned up whenever they could, but buddy, the slums isn't a public showering area. They'd be lucky if they were able to bathe. It's not something they take for granted. Even the "smelly cape" jokes bother me.

I've met homeless people. I've lived in a shelter where I met people who prior to that shelter lived in tents. Showering and bathing isn't something they could just get up and do before being in the shelter. Those people are lucky if they can even go to the bathroom in a proper bathroom, let alone being able to bathe.

Then like you said, on top of that, he's mentally ill. He's not thinking about his next bath. He's talking to people who are dead, believing they are answering him back and responding to their answers to him. There's also the general idea that Lambert's last words were not actually what were told to us via Dimitri's flashback, but the words he remembers because of his illness. He is very likely remembering wrong, because that version of Lambert matches the version of him that Dimtiri talks to, but does not match the version of him in Rodrigue's flashback.

Even depression can cause a lack of proper hygiene, and that's also a mental illness. In his case he has full on episodes of either psychotic breaks or having conversations with people who aren't there, and when he's out of those states he's desperately trying to do what he's been told to do by those voices. He's trying to do it both for those people and because, as he expresses later into AM, he wants them to stop. Those voices harass him day in and out and ridicule him and it hurts him, so he becomes desperate to do what they tell him so they stop tormenting him (which is part why he's so hellbent on hurrying to finish his tasks in the first half of AM).

It's an absolute spiral of a situation, where he already has these delusions but now on top of them feels absolutely terrible and like someone who has been emotionally abused by loved ones for years and years. He loves them but is terrified of them because they always say awful things to him or try to say things about him that aren't true. The worst part is that these are delusions of people who loved him and were nothing like this, so it causes even more suffering for him.

I don't really understand why it's so funny to people to poke fun at characters with or for bad hygiene. Like, firstly it's... just not a funny thing/topic? And secondly I'm sure there are people uncomfortable with it because they have bad hygiene or lower than "socially acceptable" hygiene due to mental illness and feel they're being laughed at as well for their hygiene. That's definitely a stereotypical mindset and something society does to make fun of people less fortunate than them, be it physically, mentally or both (like not having access to bathing.

Rich people can bathe whenever they want and often in media look down on "stinky people" who are always the poor, generally living in the slums). It's a very unfortunate dominant mindset and almost always comes from people who are more well off and haven't experienced it for themselves to realize how awful it can be (and there are of course people who don't need to experience something to know how bad it is, and I wish there were just more people like that).

I just don't understand what's so funny about hygiene. If anything it just feels like people laughing at the concept of someone not being up to society's standards about health, and it's what literal kids do to make fun of each other. Like, if someone smells bad, I feel like we should be more concerned about the person and why that is... and that would be the case if society raised its people to think that way, but since society raised people to be the opposite (to make fun of smelly people), most people who haven't experienced it for themselves make fun of it.

Like... idk am I missing something lol, I just don't see the humor in someone smelling bad. Even without considering any implications behind it I still don't see the humor in it. Considering Dimitri's circumstances though it just feels very wrong to see people make fun of him for that. I know fans of his that do it are doing it harmlessly and most likely wouldn't make fun of real people for similar things, but it just doesn't sit right with me. There's just nothing amusing about poor hygiene.

Using it as fuel to hate on him though is just is a show of someone's true character and who they really are. :/ Anyone who makes fun of him for his hygiene and mental illness are the kind of people who look down on people with those problems and deserve to experience it for themselves to see just how awful that shit can be. It being fictional doesn't change the fact that it's a show on someone's true character to be able to make fun of someone suffering, and especially to the extent Dimitri does.

Like yes, Edelgard suffered, but she has her own way of moving past it. She's not suffering in the same way as Dimitri or handling it the same way and comes across as "strong" for that - another societal mindset from people who think it's "strong" to not show that you're suffering or have suffered. It's how she handles it, sure, and that's fine... but it's people's reactions to how differently they handle their trauma that's so obnoxious.

People can only be pushed so far, and people hate on Dimtiri for his violence despite that being part of his illness and trauma. Hating on people for being violent as a result of their feelings or past is an awful thing and I really think anyone who can hate on a good and well meaning/intentioned person (real or fictional) simply because they're violent toward bad things needs some serious introspection (like Dimitri having violent reactions to seeing innocents being slaughtered in front of him at Remire. It was an impulsive reaction that he would've hid if he could have, but he wasn't able to).

Like oh no, how dare someone be violent and aggressive toward murderers! How dare someone say off with their head when they've done terrible things! Not everyone is perfectly peaceful and puritan. Hell, Edelgard isn't either and chooses violence as her first and foremost answer to everything, and only considers "negotiations" (i.e. anything that will benefit her/the Empire and only her) if she's losing and only stands to gain from them.

Her first solution to everything is violence, and yet Dimitri is the one who gets shat on for... being violent. Because of his trauma and illness specifically, both in game and out. But since Edelgard has been able to moved past her trauma for the most part and has a different way of handling it that "looks better", he looks "bad" for not having gotten past his trauma yet. Good for her to be able to handle it the way she does, but why is it "bad for him" that he can't handle it "better"?

[veikkoalen]

the inability of the fandom to find a balance between diminishing the role of the human willpower and diminishing the capabilities of extradimensional gods strikes again

[skrunksthatwunk]

found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?