#and you know youre getting at something but it feels faker and faker and faker as yougo

[emmabirb8]

Bill Cipher really is the funkiest little guy, isn't he?

He's a demon. He had parents. He destroyed his home dimension save for one singular atom. He was born different from the rest of his people and could see in 3D. He's a narcissistic maniac. He misses his mommy. He's a cruel, manipulative asshole. He accidentally got a little too attached and fell in love with a human, then had a drunken meltdown when they broke up. He created a throne of frozen human agony and tried to kill two twelve year olds.

He's incredibly lonely.

Personally, my biggest takeaway from The Book of Bill is the confirmation that my suspicions about him are (most likely) correct. Bill Cipher is miserable. He's been miserable since losing his family and entire home dimension, and everything he's done since then is nothing but one big attempt to distract himself from his mistakes.

Like, okay. I get that Bill is a master manipulator. He's a big fat liar, and everything he says and does is meant to be taken with a grain of salt. He wants readers and viewers to feel bad for him. He wants us to sympathize and woobify and get attached so he can use that to his advantage. BUT ALSO, I think The Book of Bill still sheds light on the fact that he IS broken deep down.

Everything that we know of Bill is almost entirely a meticulously constructed facade. He's a faker. He's all smoke and mirrors. He suffered a massive trauma (whether it happened on purpose or by accident is up for debate since he is nothing if not a horrendously unreliable narrator), and he had to find some way to cope. So he decided to live in denial. Denial of his failures, his true feelings, and, ultimately, everything that he is. He described the "entity" that destroyed his home dimension as a "monster," and, knowing what we know, that's what he believes about himself. He told Ford the answer of who that entity was would "eat [him] alive" and, in actuality, I think that was more of a thinly veiled admission that his deep-seated guilt over what he did eats him alive. Bill buried that guilt, all those negative feelings, all his mistakes deep, DEEP down, and then decided that if he was a monster, he might as well be a damn fierce one.

Bill became great at manipulation because that was the key to making his whole scheme work -- if he could control what everyone thought of him, make people fear him, bend them to his will and squeeze whatever he can out of them, he could be the meanest, nastiest, most cunning monster to ever exist, and he could keep living in denial. They can't make fun of you for your differences, for being weird (something I suspect happened to him in his home dimension) if you're the KING of weird and can kill with the snap of your fingers. If they fear you, they won't look too closely, into the tiny minuscule cracks in your facade, and see the painful truth.

Bill leaned hard into his role as Nightmare Demon to fool himself into believing all of that too.

But like I said, he's lonely. He has no one (besides his "henchmaniacs," but they're no substitute for real connection). I find it SO interesting how he speaks to Ford in The Book of Bill. "We both know you don't really want to be left alone. Admit it, you LOVE how important I make you feel. . . . [N]obody else really gets you, do they? Without me, you'll always feel unseen, surrounded by dolts who don't recognize your true potential. You've always felt alone in a crowd, haven't you? . . . you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?" -- I think he's projecting. Those are all things that are true about himself and his connection to Ford, but he's pinning it on Ford because he can't bring himself to face it head on.

Bill Cipher is a villain. He's evil. He's a demon. He really did ALL OF THAT.

But he is also a pathetic dorky sopping wet meow meow of a character who is constantly desperately trying to run away from himself.

And now, in the Theraprism, he has no access to his usual coping mechanisms. He has no choice but to finally face reality and figure out a way to do what he's been avoiding doing for literal millennia: to just be.

[talkingattumble]

Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!

YOU CANT

You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.

“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.

“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.

“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.

“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.

“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.

“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?

“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.

“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.

“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.

“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.

“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.

These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?

If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.

[puckinghischier]

Fakers

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader needs jack to be her fake boyfriend, and it leads to something very not fake

notes: hello!! it’s literally 2am and i just finished this, so needless to say it’s unedited, but i love this fic so much. i combined two different requests for it and i had so much fun with it. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

also i’m starting a tag list in the comments, so let me know if you’d like to be added!! 🫡

request: from my 400 follower celly - You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off your back” & “A realizing that they have feelings for B when they see them with someone else”

[5.4k]

“Jack! Please tell me you’re home. It’s an emergency!” you frantically slam his apartment door shut.

Searching the large space for any signs of life, you beg for him to be home.

“Jack! C’mon! It’s urgent!” you yell out, walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.

You twist the knob of the closed door, finding it locked. Huffing, you start beating your fist against the wood.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!”

You continue your assault on the door, stopping only when the door opens and your fist meets air. You step back in surprise, nearly hitting Jack square in his bare chest.

A soaking wet, shirtless Jack stands in front of you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“God, what took you so long? I texted you SOS on my way over here,” you barreled past him, walking into his bedroom.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not like I just had a grueling three-hour practice or anything. God forbid I take a hot shower afterwards,” Jack throws his hands up in the air, watching you walk straight for his closet.

You and jack had been friends since the second you moved to Jersey, the sassy brunette being just what you needed to make you feel at home in the unfamiliar state.

As you were moving in down the hall, Jack had half of the team over at his apartment watching game film in preparation for a week of road games.

Him and few teammates walked out into the hallway to investigate the loud bangs they kept hearing, watching you try to squeeze a bookshelf into your apartment that was three times the size of the doorway.

An hour later you had a disassembled bookshelf and four very attractive men in your living room.

Jack had recruited some of his teammates, as you later learned, to help you put the bookshelf back together.

You apologized for interrupting their plans, the rest of Jack’s teammates still in his apartment, and insisted they go back to their friends. You told them you could handle putting back together a bookshelf, even though you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

They waved off your concerns, telling you they needed to help you finish what they started.

After the bookshelf was put together and in place, Jack invited you over to his apartment, deciding they had watched enough film for that night, using the incentive of pizza to lure you. You would’ve objected, seeing as he invited you into an apartment full of strange men, but the pang of hunger in your stomach threw all caution to the wind, leading your feet three doors down and into the strange apartment.

You gained a whole group of friends that night, not knowing until a week later your new friends were Jersey’s own professional hockey team.

Jack and Luke helped you finish the rest of your move in, spending more and more time with your new neighbors as the days went on. You added weekly take out dinners into your schedules and alternating hockey watch parties in each other’s apartments, the brothers insisting you need to learn to love the game.

You can’t deny the fact that you started developing feelings for the middle Hughes pretty quickly, his fun energy and magnetic personality roping you in. The nature of your friendship was extremely laid back, the two of you bickering nearly as much as you made the other laugh. Luke often said the two of you either act like an old married couple or newlyweds that already resent each other.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out, however, that Jack was too focused on living the hockey lifestyle to settle down anytime soon. You noticed the flow of girls in and out of his apartment, having met a few on their way out in the mornings on your way to work.

Attempting to push your feelings to the back of your mind, you continued spending time with the rowdy athletes. A small part of you still held out hope, especially after Jack gave you a key to their apartment, telling you he was tired of having to get the door every time you decided you wanted to come over.

Which is exactly how you were able to enter his apartment now, in your desperate time of need.

You knew your parents were going to visit you once you had settled in. The piece of information they left out, though, was that they scheduled a dinner with the lawyer son of one of your dad’s coworkers that also happens to live in the city.

Now, sifting through his closet in search of an outfit appropriate for the high-end restaurant your parents reserved for tonight, you worry about Jack’s reaction to your – and now his – predicament.

“Jack, don’t you own anything that isn’t designer? I don’t want my parents to think you’re a douche throwing his money in everyone’s face,” you slide each Tom Ford, Armani, and his one Gucci suit to the side.

Jack, still standing with his hand on his open door, starts walking over to you, crossing his arms.

“So, you not only barge into my apartment unexpectedly and interrupt my shower, but you’re now criticizing my formal wear?” he asks before realization shows on his face. “Wait, what do you mean your parents? And why are you so dressed up?” he suddenly notices your floor-length, black formal dress and full face of make-up.

You turn to face him slowly, an overexaggerated, nervous smile on your face.

“Well…you’re…meetingmyparentstonight,” you mumble out, running your words together.

“Run that back one more time?” Jack asks you, eyes widening.

“You’re meeting my parents tonight,” you say at a normal pace this time, doing small jazz hands.

Groaning, Jack turns away from you, placing his hands on the top of his head as he paces.

“What did you do?” he asks, still pacing, knowing how you are and that you’re only ever this anxious about stuff when there’s a reason.

“Okay, so don’t get mad,” you start, placing your hands out in front of you as if you’re calming down a wild animal.

“Oh, great, that’s always followed by good news,” Jack rolls his eyes, stopping to stand in front of you.

“I might have, maybe, just a little bit…told my parents that you were my boyfriend,” you rush out again, closing your eyes and wincing.

Jack doesn’t respond, not making a single sound. You slowly open one eye, waiting for him to start scolding you. You see him standing there, wide eyes and frozen.

“You told…parents…your boyfriend?” his broken sentence amuses you, but you have to hold in the laugh, figuring laughing at him wouldn’t do you any favors right now.

“Yes,” you confirm, causing Jack to close his eyes and inhale, his hand flying up to press against his forehead. “But! They’re trying to set me up on a blind date with one of my dad’s stuck-up coworker’s sons. You know I told them I’d never date a lawyer,” you explain, stepping closer to Jack, testing the waters. “Plus, I hate being set up, Jack. One of my dating requirements is friends first, date later.”

“Why?” Jack now pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why in the hell would you tell your parents I’m your boyfriend? I haven’t dated in someone in…I don’t know, three years? This should’ve been a Luke job.”

“Because you’re my best friend. It wouldn’t have been believable with Luke because I don’t know him as well as I know you,” you tell him, watching him open his mouth to argue. “Plus, you owe me.”

Jack scoffs. “Oh, I owe you, huh? Do tell, what for?”

“When I bought your sushi last week because you forgot your wallet at the rink when I met you out for lunch.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you serious? I owe you $20, not a day of pretending to be your boyfriend to get your parents off your back!”

“But…a day of pretending to be my boyfriend can pay your $20 debt,” you smile and tilt your head, batting your eyelashes.

Jack mulls the idea over in his head for a few moments, deciding on if he’s going to help you or not. You continue batting your eyelashes and giving Jack your trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Fine…give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready,” he grumbles, shoulders deflating a little.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you squeal, doing a happy jump and running over to hug him.

You realize a second too late he’s still damp and very naked, jumping back and apologizing mere seconds after you made contact with his bare skin.

“I’ll go wait in your living room,” you say, turning and heading towards his door.

“I’m wearing the Gucci, by the way,” he calls out as you reach the doorway.

“Please, at least wear the Armani so they think you’re poor rich, not rich rich,” you hear him laugh as you shut his door.

Just as Jack told you, twenty minutes later you’re in his car on the way to some rooftop restaurant your parents reserved for your ‘family’ dinner.

“So, what’s our story?” Jack asks, breaking the silence.

“Our story?” you repeat, confused.

“Yeah, our story. Like, what was the magical moment we realized we were actually more than friends and were head over heels with one another?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You look over at him, a small smirk on his lips.

“Do you seriously think I went into that much detail when I stuttered out ‘oh…I uhh…forgot to tell you, Jack and I are dating now!’ when my mother mentioned Ben was joining us for dinner?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You scoff at him, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms.

“We don’t have a story. Mom didn’t ask questions so I didn’t offer any,” you respond, looking over at him.

“Wait, she didn’t ask any questions? What was her response?” he asked you, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“No? She just said it was great and to invite you to dinner too, maybe you and Ben would get along,” Jack’s furrowed brow confusing you.

“Shit, Y/N, she doesn’t believe you,” he sits up straight.

“She doesn’t?”

“No, she doesn’t. If she believed you then she would have told Ben not to come. If she believed you, she would have grilled you with questions and squealed with excitement. She wouldn’t have just accepted the answer and told you to bring me along like some pet,” you note the worry in his tone.

Thinking about your mother’s reaction, you remember the uninterested tone she used when telling you how great it was you were with Jack. The lack of enthusiasm definitely uncharacteristic from your mom. You had just assumed she was shocked, not that she didn’t believe you.

“Holy shit you’re right! She didn’t believe me. What are we gonna do?” you reach down the hand resting in your lap and start picking your thumb nail on again, extremely worried they’ll see through your bullshit the second you sit down at the table.

Jack notices the anxious habit of yours, reaching over and placing his hand over your own, effectively stopping your movements.

“We give them the best damn performance of our lives.”

———————————————————————————

As soon as you walk onto the open rooftop, you think you should’ve let Jack wear his Gucci suit.

The dimly lit space is full of people in expensive looking dresses and crisp, clean suits.

You suddenly feel very underdressed.

The hostess leads you over to a table in the corner, you and Jack being the last to arrive.

Jack’s hand is held tightly in yours, the small pep talk he gave you in the elevator already forgotten.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re here!” you hear your mother’s voice as you approach the table, breaking you out of your wardrobe anxieties.

You give a tight-lipped smile, keeping yourself pressed against Jack’s side.

“Well, don’t just stand there, give me a hug!” she exclaims, standing from her seat, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

You reciprocate her actions, placing your hands on her back.

“Honey, you look so good. I hope this place has been kind to you,” she places her hands on your face, a smile beaming back at you.

You nod at her. “Yeah, I love it here so far.”

She lets you go, her smile never fading.

“Alright, where’s the hug for your old man?” you hear your dad speak from somewhere behind you, turning to see him walking towards you with open arms.

Sinking into his hug, you let yourself enjoy the feeling. Getting to spend time with your dad is a rarity, considering he’s part of a big law-firm back home. He was always working late and missing holidays when you were a kid, your experience with him why you always swore you’d never marry a lawyer like your mother did.

“I missed you, Dad,” you tell him honestly, pulling back from his embrace.

“I missed you more, kiddo,” he pats your cheek, stepping away to take his seat at the table once again.

You hear Jack clear his throat behind you, reminding him that you need to introduce him.

“Oh! Mom, Dad,” you turn back and reach your hand out towards Jack, “this is Jack, the neighbor I’ve been telling you about.” Jack squeezes you hand, reminding you he’s your boyfriend tonight, not your neighbor. “Well…I guess I need to introduce him as my boyfriend now, cause we’re dating!” you say a little too enthusiastically, lifting your intertwined hands for everyone to see.

Jack chuckles, bringing his free hand over to push your joined hands down.

“Hi, I’m Jack, Y/N’s neighbor boyfriend,” he reaches over to shake your dad’s hand.

You notice your mom’s skeptical smile, standing to give Jack a short, half hug.

As you scan the area, trying to find anything else to focus on other than your lack of being able to play it cool, you notice the third body at the table.

You look at the man, his jet black, scruffy hair not at all what you were expecting. He was extremely handsome, you had to give him that. His blue eyes stood out against the dark setting, his black dress shirt under his black suit jacket causing them to stand out even more.

“Well, since introductions are being made, this is Ben, Jim’s boy. He works at a firm just a few miles away, actually,” your dad beams as Ben stands, walking around the table to give Jack’s hand a firm shake.

They exchange a short greeting before Ben makes his way over to you, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, taking you by surprise.

“Pleasure to meet you…” he trails off, keeping eye contact as he raises back up into a standing position. “Both of you,” he adds as an afterthought, letting go of your hand and glancing at Jack.

“Yeah…you too,” Jack’s tone is laced with an emotion you can’t quite pick up on, but the glare he’s sending Ben is extremely noticeable.

As everyone takes their seats again, Jack scoots your chair out for you before sitting in the chair beside of you, taking your hand in his and resting them on the table.

Small talk is exchanged about Jack’s job, a disapproving nod from your father, your mother asking questions about what he plans to do after his career is over, making sure to throw in digs about how young hockey players are required to retire and the fact that contract money runs out fast with the lifestyle athletes live.

Jack handles them in stride, talking about how he wants to get into coaching once his career comes to an end, but he wants to play hockey for as long as he’s physically able. He also informed your parents that his mother instilled in him how to budget, making sure his necessities are always paid before anything else gets purchased, including a retirement fund.

The conversation then shifts to you and your new job, your mother filling Ben in with side comments the whole time about how you graduated with honors and was offered a big city job right out of college. Ben looked at you the entire time you were talking, seeming genuinely interested in what you were sharing.

Once the conversation shifts to Ben, that’s when the dinner starts going south.

“Ben is in line to become a partner at his firm very soon. It’s all his father talks about at work anymore,” your dad informs the table, laughing and slapping a hand to Ben’s shoulder.

“Well, there’s a few other guys in the running, I’m not a shoo-in yet,” Ben responds, trying to knock down his praise a bit.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, Ben, our Y/N here loves an overachiever, isn’t that right, darling?” your mom looks over to you.

You don’t know what to say to her, stunned that she would be so blatantly obvious about her intentions in front of Ben like this.

“I…well…Yeah, I guess,” you stutter out, not sure how to respond to your mother’s words.

“Do you excel in your field, Jack?” your mom questions your fake boyfriend of the night.

He looks up from his food, not entirely sure how to handle the question. Does he tell them the truth and risk sounding like a gloating asshole, or does he play the modest card and confirm your parent’s suspicions that he’s less than?

“Jack was team captain of team USA! And he’s an alternate captain for the Devils now! He’s also one of the team’s top point scorers,” you ramble out facts about Jack’s hockey career, sensing his hesitation.

Your father’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“Way to go man, sounds awesome,” Ben sounds genuinely impressed.

“That’s something to be proud of,” is all your mother responds.

You look over at Jack in apology, the flush of his cheeks hidden by the dark surroundings.

“Jack was also drafted number one overall in the NHL draft when he was only eighteen. Isn’t that crazy?” you continue, not knowing how to stop the information rolling from your mouth.

“Good for you, son,” your dad says through chewing his food, earning a glare from your mother.

Jack chuckles out a thanks, kicking your foot under the table.

“Always my biggest fan, huh babe?” Jack looks over at you, the look in his eyes telling you to stop, you’re being obvious again.

“Well…it’s not just your good looks that won me over,” you attempt a joke, but it didn’t land very well.

Jack winces at how that sounded.

Realizing what you just said, with the current scrutiny surrounding Jack’s choice of career, you mentally palm your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom, excuse me,” you all but run away from the table.

You make your way to the small bathroom, collecting yourself and telling yourself you don’t have that long left of this torturous dinner.

When you exit the bathroom, you see Ben standing there, waiting for you to come out.

“So…is now a good time to tell you that I know you and Jack aren’t dating?” he asks you, an amused smile on his face.

Your body turns cold, every muscle frozen in place. How does he know? Has your act really been that bad?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, laughing nervously.

“Listen, you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m not here because I want to be set up with you. I’m here because I need my dad to still think I’m single,” he surprises you.

“Wait, you have a girlfriend?” you ask him, shock evident in your voice.

“Boyfriend, actually. But haven’t really broke that part to my parents yet.”

Your jaw drops, not believing that your parents are unknowingly trying to set you up with a gay man.

“Holy shit,” you start laughing, unable to hide stop your hand from shooting out to grip Ben’s arm. “I promise I’m not laughing because you’re gay. I’m laughing because my parents would die if they figured out the man they’re trying to set me up doesn’t even like girls.” You want to go over there and scream this piece of information into their faces, but know it’s not your place to out Ben.

“I hate when they try to set me up with people, and I thought it would stop since I moved away, but when they told me you were coming to dinner tonight I panicked and told them I was dating Jack because I didn’t want to have to dodge phone calls and ignore texts, again,” you bring your hand up to wipe the tears out of your eyes. “Who would’ve thought I didn’t even have to worry about it because there’s more of a chance you’d be attracted to my fake boyfriend than me.”

Ben laughs with you, allowing you to lean against him.

From the dinner table, Jack can hear your laughter, turning his head to see you leaning on Ben, the two of you being entirely too close for his liking.

“Well, looks like they’re getting along,” your mother tells your father, nodding her head in the direction of you and Ben.

Jack fully turns in his seat, watching how you talk animatedly with Ben, a large grin on your face as he returns it, looking down at you.

Something wicked swirls in Jack’s stomach, not enjoying watching you laugh with someone like you laugh with him.

He thinks back to all the times you’ve been around his apartment, complaining about the latest guy you were trying to meet up with canceling on you and how angry it makes him to see you upset. He thinks about how you always complain to him about dating apps, wishing you could just meet someone naturally, going on and on about having a ‘meet cute’ like your favorite rom coms and wondering why it always makes him think about how cute you looked trying to shove that big ass bookshelf into your apartment. He thinks about the time you brought a date to one of his games, the satisfaction of seeing you in his jersey almost enough to outweigh the sudden burst of anger he felt in the middle of the game, looking up to see his arm around your shoulders, hand resting a little too close to your chest for his comfort.

He thinks about how he’s always fending off his teammates and random men at bars, not trusting their intentions with you. And the looks that he catches Luke giving the two of you when you’re arguing, his favorite activity being getting you worked up, loving how red your ears get when he keeps firing sarcasm back at your anger.

He always assumed these feelings were a general protectiveness of you and enjoyment of being around you, almost like you were his sister, never once entertaining the idea that they could be more than that.

Until now, that is. Until you’re standing there in that dress, possibly the most beautiful he’s ever seen you, leaning all over another man when you asked him to come here with you. You asked him to be your fake boyfriend, not Mr. Big Time Lawyer.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure my girlfriend is okay,” he tells your parents, dropping his cloth napkin on the table and scooting his chair back.

You’re still laughing with Ben, exchanging stories about the different set-ups your parents have tried on the two of you.

“You know, even though it’s very obvious you’re not dating, I do have to admit, I can see the feelings you two have for each other,” Ben tells you, changing the subject.

“Oh, no, we’re just friends,” you tell him, your cheeks flushing a bit.

Ben gives you a look, rolling his eyes. “Honey, anyone within a three-mile radius can see that that boy is smitten with you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

You look over at Jack who’s looking over at you and Ben.

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, deciding you can trust Ben. “I mean, I definitely have feelings for him, have for a while, but he’s not the dating type,” you laugh. “Hell, he was worried about having to be my fake boyfriend, considering he hasn’t dated anyone in years. Anyways, the girls I see leaving his apartment most mornings says otherwise.”

“Haven’t you learned men are stupid? Someone usually has to tell them what they’re feeling. Show them what they’re missing out on,” he steps closer to you, the two of you only inches apart now. “Just like right now.”

You cock your head, confused at Ben’s words until you hear footsteps stomping towards you.

“Y/N, babe,” Jack spits out, anger radiating off of him, “can we go somewhere…private to talk?” he puts on a tight smile, watching Ben step back away from you.

“Uh, sure,” you tell him as he grabs your arm, gently leading you over to a secluded corner of the rooftop.

He stands in front of you, running his hands up his face before sweeping them through his hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, jutting his hand out in the direction you just came from.

“We were just-“

“You were ‘just’ flirting with the man your parents are trying to set you up with in front of their eyes when you brought me here to show them you’re not interested,” he interrupts you, frustration clear in his tone.

“Jack, you don’t understand, Ben is-“

“Perfect for you? Handsome? Your parent’s dream man for you? Better than me?” he cuts you off, his last statement taking you by surprise.

“Jack, where’s this coming from? Ben’s not better than you? What would ever make you think that?” your confusion turns to concern.

“Oh, don’t act all sad and worried now. Not when you were over here getting all close to Ben,” he waves his hands around, disgust lacing his voice as he said Ben’s name, “just mere seconds ago while I was sitting at the table with your parents, watching the whole thing and thinking about how much I love you!” he raises his voice, but not loud enough to disturb the people dining around you.

You’re so shocked at Jack’s words that you step back from him, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Jack, I-“ you start once more, but Jack’s voice cuts you off.

“I know I’m realizing this way too late, but dammit, Y/N, that man,” he points over to Ben, “is not the guy for you. I know I’ve just stood by and watched you try to go on date after date after date with men who weren’t right for you, but I think I was too scared to think about what my feelings meant. I’ve ran off so many men at bars its not even funny. Hell, I’ve told my own teammates you’re off limits, thinking I was just protecting you from getting hurt. But really, all I was doing was being selfish. I was keeping you all to myself while bringing random girls home every couple of nights after having drinks, only to kick them out first thing in the morning when I woke up and had a nasty feeling in my chest,” he pauses, his tone turning from stern to soft as he takes a step towards you.

“I’m realizing that feeling was disgust. Disgust at myself for filling my time with girls that don’t matter, girls that I would never be satisfied with because they weren’t you. I think part of me knew from the second I saw this crazy woman at the end of the hall, trying to push a bookshelf that had to outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, through the tiny ass door of her apartment. It was confirmed when you agreed to come to my apartment and ate pizza while goofing off with my teammates, instantly clicking with every single one of them. It settled a little deeper when you showed up at my door after I had gotten home from being on the road, demanding we watch Quinn’s hockey game because it was time for you to study hockey. It was made permanent when you showed up to your first Devils game, my name and number on your back, eyes lit up in awe like it was Christmas morning,” he continues, causing tears to sting your eyes as he reaches over to cup your face in his hands.

“I ignored it for all of this time, because I think, deep down, I was scared of losing you. I was scared that you were going to see me as this dumb, jock hockey player that lived down the hall from you and let me down easy. I was scared you’d see how absolutely out of my league you are. I was scared to be vulnerable and admit that I was in love with you, because I couldn’t bear to think that you didn’t love me back,” his face is mere inches from yours. “But I’m tired of ignoring it. Seeing you, laughing with Ben, all pressed up against him like that, thinking that I might have already lost you before I even had the chance to have you, made me realize that I had to try. I had to at least…try,” he finishes, resting his forehead against yours.

The tears are fully streaming down your face at this point, not caring that you’re likely ruining the mascara you spent over fifteen minutes perfecting earlier.

“Jack, you stupid man, just kiss me already,” you whisper out, your breath fanning across his lips.

He smiles, lifting your chin up to press your lips together, sighing happily into the kiss.

You match his smile, making the kiss silly and sloppy, but you don’t care. His lips feel like they were made to fit in-between yours, the softness of them far better than you had imagined.

Pulling back from the kiss, you bring your hands up to rest on his wrists, his hands still holding your face.

“You know, if you had let me speak, I would have saved you the speech and informed you that Ben wasn’t trying to make a move on me, because Ben is gay and has a boyfriend,” Jack pulls back from you, allowing you to see the shocked expression on his face. “We were bonding over the amount of times our parents have tried to set us up with people just like this before, and then he was telling me how in love with each other we were. I was telling him how I definitely was in love with you, but I didn’t believe you were in love with me,” you laugh at Jack, the situation comical now.

“I- he’s gay?” is all Jack responds with.

You throw your head back, laughing at him. “That’s what you took away from what I just said?”

“Sorry, I just, wasn’t expecting it, is all,” he says, moving his hands to your neck, pushing your head back up to look at him.

“Oh, so you were expecting my love confession, then?” you tease him.

“Well, duh, you did ask me to be your fake boyfriend tonight,” Jack moves his hand to pinch your cheek.

“So…are you still? Fake, that is?” you ask him, placing your arms on his shoulders, clasping your hands around the back of his neck.

Jack looks down at you, the expression on his face something entirely new to you, but it’s one you can surely get used to.

“Ehh, I don’t know…ask me again the next time you need a buffer,” he shrugs, smirking at you.

You tug on a piece of his hair, causing him to hiss out.

“Geez, I’m kidding. Of course I’m your real boyfriend now. I gave you a monologue, we’re basically engaged at this point,” he jerks his head a bit, making your hands fall from his hair.

You know it’s a joke, but your cheeks heat at the implication anyways, Jack noticing your lack of response.

“Relax, I was just kidding. That’s at least three more surprise blind date dinners with your parents before we to that. I’ll even pull out a ‘fake’ ring and everything,” he winks, putting air quotes around the word fake.

As Jack enjoys the sound of your laugh, he steals a glance over at the table where your parents sit, surprised at the pleased look on your mom’s face and earning a slight nod from your dad.

He looks back down at you, face scrunched in laughter, thinking about how this night was worth way more than $20.

[lovebugism]

Ok but what about Eddie dating a reader who snores and the gang is like wtf but he finds it cute.

ty for requesting anon! this is dedicated to everyone who gets sleepy at 5pm like i do hahah — eddie's girlfriend falls asleep during movie night and it's a big deal in the sweetest way (sleepy gf!reader, established relationship, 1.4k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

A masked serial killer slaughters a group of pretty teenage girls. Their screams are high-pitched and painfully artificial. The murderer’s chainsaw is way too loud and far too dramatic a weapon. The bright red blood splatters across the baby pink bedroom in several obnoxiously vivid splotches. 

Eddie Munson has never been more grateful to be alive in the golden age of slasher films — the absolute peak of godawful cinema.

He turns to the pretty little thing dozing on his shoulder and grins quietly to himself. 

You’re the purest essence of beauty in all forms, but especially compared to the barbaric horror flashing across the television screen across the room. In the darkness, the neon glow paints you in varying shades of blue, green, and dark red. 

You’re so pretty it hurts.

Eddie didn’t think he could love anything more than dumb slasher movies. Not until he met you, anyway.

“Tired?” he whispers to you when your lashes flutter across the apples of your cheeks.

It’s hardly seven o’clock — the sun has just barely set over the horizon — and more than anything, the tiny trailer is filled with fake screams and faker blood. Most people would be too horrified to be so drowsy. Not you, though.

Everyone’s always admired your relationship with sleep, but maybe just a little extra now.

Your features are blurry with the longing of slumber. They scrunch in refusal when you shake your head, cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of Eddie’s thrifted tee. “No,” you hum with a softness that says otherwise. “‘M just cozy…”

Everyone knows what that’s code for.

All the gang was over for movie night — some more begrudgingly than others (Steve, namely). The brunette boy shares a side eye with Robin on the other side of the couch before both of them turn to look at you. 

Lucas sits on the floor and stuffs his face with popcorn, which he almost chokes on when he laughs. Max giggles at the boy in response from where she’s sandwiched between him and Dustin.

Each of them can practically count down the seconds until you’re fully asleep.

You inhale once — deeply, sharply. The curly-haired boy turns his wrist to check his watch. 

“7 p.m…” Dustin observes with raised brows. He nods to himself like he’s impressed. “That’s gotta be some kinda record, right?”

“I’m pretty sure she was out by six when we were at Steve’s yesterday,” Robin tells him as she leans over Lucas’ shoulder for the popcorn bowl he’s holding hostage.

“Full on snoring by six-thirty,” Steve concurs through a mouthful of candy. “And her legs were on my lap, too, so I couldn’t move for, like, two hours.”

“What about last movie night?” Max questions with pinched brows. “I’m pretty sure she was asleep before it even started.”

Lucas shakes his head. “She was just napping, right? I’m pretty sure she woke up, like, halfway through.”

Dustin nods — the official connoisseur of you and all your sleepiness. You had been asleep by the time Steve turned The Outsiders on, but your internalized love for Dallas Winston had woken you part of the way through. 

“It had to be scrubbed from the records,” the boy explains like it’s something a whole lot more official than you just being tired. “It only counts if she stays asleep.”

“What if her eyes are closed, and she’s using your arm as a pillow, and you don’t have any feeling left in your fingers?” Robin questions with narrowed eyes, recounting the events from the last movie night in question. “What about that?”

“Still doesn’t count,” Dustin shakes his head with a feigned sympathy.

Eddie listens to them with a distant smile on his face. They’re not making fun of you exactly, just noticing all your little idiosyncrasies that he loves so much. It’s what makes you you — the quiet, sleepy girl that’s all but the glue of the group. 

If you’re somewhere else when everyone’s all hanging out together, and not snoozing on someone’s shoulder, something just doesn’t feel right.

“Isn’t she the fuckin’ cutest?” the boy muses amidst the light-hearted banter, the horror movie long forgotten. 

His bright smile and twinkling eyes are met with a group of deadpanned stares. 

It isn’t because you aren’t cute, because you are. Why else would Robin and Steve let you use them as pillows even after their appendages have long gone numb? You’re like a cat sleeping on their stomach — it’s too much of an honor to wake you. 

Their dumbfounded gapes are more so a result of Eddie’s adoration for you. Because you’re you, and Eddie’s… Eddie. 

You’re polar opposites. 

You’re quiet and sweet and gentle, and Eddie’s never been any of those things once in his life. 

You’ve brought out a softer side of him — one that none of them thought a brash metalhead like him could ever have. He talks to you far sweeter and far more gently than he’d ever speak to the rest of them. Mostly because he knows you get spooked too easily and that you always wince whenever people yell. And his PDA is an innocent kind, full of held hands and forehead kisses and boops to the tip of your nose. 

Eddie Munson is so soft for you that he lets you drool on his shoulder and unknowingly steal all the covers from him when you fall asleep during movie night. 

He’s so far gone for you that he’ll let you drag him to bed when most people his age are heading out to party for the night — just so you can drool on him and take all the covers from him in his bedroom, where you can sleep more comfortably than on the couch.

It’s all so sweet, it’s downright disgusting.

“It’s gross how in love the two of you are,” Steve monotones, the only one brave enough to say it out loud even though they’re all thinking it.

“I know,” Eddie affirms with a wide grin. “It’s amazing, huh?”

They all grumble under their breaths about it, obviously not as mushy with adoration as he is. 

It isn’t his fault they’re miserable because they don’t have their own soulmate who gets tired at 5 p.m. and snoozes on their shoulder accordingly. They’d be a lot less crabby if they had someone like you to gush about. 

Not you, though. ‘Cause you’re his and everything. But someone just like you, maybe.

Everyone dissipates when the credits of the movie start to roll — either to get more food, or use the bathroom, or stretch their aching limbs. 

Eddie stays unmoving. He doesn’t want to wake you up.

You begin to rouse on his shoulder, shifting as you wake with a deep inhale-exhale. Your eyes flutter slowly open, and through the haze of sleep, you notice the empty living room and the scrolling names on the television screen.

“’S the movie over?” you question, slurred with the heaviness of slumber.

Eddie nods lazily against the couch. 

He’s about as tired as you are now, with his legs cocked up on the coffee table and his head lolled back against the cushions. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. You didn’t really miss anything,” he assures with a crooked smile.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep…” you murmur, like you’re embarrassed to have slept so soundly.

“I know,” the boy hums softly to you. “’S okay…”

Your temple rests against his shoulder once more. “Wake me up before you start the next movie?” you ask when Eddie presses a lingering kiss to your hair. Your eyes are already fluttered shut again.

“Sure,” he answers, despite lacking any real intention to wake you. 

He’d much rather let you sleep. He knows you need it. He doesn’t mind that you get tired before the sun has set, even though he knows how much you hate it. He couldn’t love it more, personally.

So, he lets you fall back asleep on his shoulder and tries to ignore how much it makes his heart swell. His ribcage shakes with the intensity of how much he loves you — how privileged he feels that you trust him enough to drool on his shoulder and not be embarrassed about any of it. You know he loves you too much for any of that.

“She still asleep?” Steve questions when the gang settles back in the living room. He rattles M&Ms in his palms before chucking a handful into his mouth. When Eddie nods, the boy snorts. “I’m glad it’s your arm falling asleep this time and not mine.”

Eddie’s glad for it, too.

[cordeliawhohung]

Core, what about a bit of competition with ps! Gaz? Some new girl who think's she's already the darling of the studio takes a liking to Gaz, but finds out about his ties with reader.

The one time she gets to film with Gaz, she overplays her role and absolutely covers his neck, collar, shoulder, everything with hickeys, hoping it will deter the reader.

So imagine her shock when the next day, she pops into his dressing room and finds the reader in there as well, applying foundation over the marks and littered with dozens from Gaz himself. ❤️

(I realize how dumb this sounds as an ask but it's been rotting my brain for days and I desperately need it gone so I can focus on my college classes 😭)

thanks this has also been rotting my brain because i just love putting people in their place (: more ps!gaz here <3

The crux of your ass sits in perfect place on Kyle's thighs while your legs straddle the expanse of his hips. Warm hands rest on your waist as you manhandle his jaw, tilting his head side to side to get better access to his neck. Thick, round hickeys litter the delicate skin around his throat and down to his shoulders in angry, red pinpoint marks that break the beautiful and even tone of his skin with something revolting. They look like proper bruises rather than the after effects of a... wild video shoot. As if someone had tried to strangle him rather than make love to him.

You remember the video well, along with that new model with her fake blonde hair and even faker tan that they had paired Kyle with to shoot the other day. You had only seen her in person one time, and you vividly recall the way her blue eyes rolled over your body, assessing every inch of you before ultimately deciding you were worth very little time. Confidence was a must when you worked in the porn industry, but her attitude borders on an arrogance you haven't seen since your teenage years in public school.

As you apply yellow color corrector onto the dark marks on his skin, you nearly shiver as the images of her stained lips suckling on Kyle's neck flood your mind. There was little room to feel jealousy about her ravaging your favorite co-star when you were too busy cringing. So childish. Over zealous. You nearly cried tears of laughter when you noticed Kyle's expression, grimacing at the wet tongue and annoying teeth that nipped at him, yet still having to pretend to enjoy it. Even the comments on the video joked about it.

Put him back with the other model.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought someone tried to strangle you," you tease.

"She might as well have," Kyle sighs. He adjusts his shoulders against the back of the chair, bare pecs flexing with the movement, bringing your attention to the uncovered marks that line his collarbone. "Haven't been able to go out in public without a goddamn turtleneck 'cause of her."

You chuckle as you finish applying and buffing out the rest of the color corrector along his skin. It leaves him looking sickly and discolored, which oddly enough is an improvement to what it looked like before. Setting the corrector to the side, you grab foundation next, hips swaying as you attempt to get some movement in your aching knees. Holding that position for so long without moving had them burning with fatigue.

"Need a break, doll?" Kyle prompts, hands sliding from your waist to your thighs.

"Don't know if we have time for a break. Got a lot of ground to cover before we start," you humor.

Kyle sits forward, throwing you off balance, yet he doesn't let you sway very far before his arms wrap around you, hands supporting your back. Adoring eyes crease as a grin floods his face. Even without the aid of studio lights he glows like a god as he leans closer and places a kiss on your neck.

"Show can't start without us," he says, teeth grazing your skin as he wanders down to your collarbone. "Could always give you a few hickeys to match, if you want."

He doesn't wait for you to answer before his tongue glides across your clavicles just for his teeth to follow right after. A chuckle rumbles in his chest at the tightening of your legs around his hips, and his hands only pull you closer. It doesn't take much for you to give in. Head rolling back, muscles melting as his lips conquer everything you're willing to give him. It's a delicate softness mixed with a brutal bite, something that leaves you gasping as he pulls the very air from your lungs and feeds on the sounds.

Kyle is more starved for you than usual. Sick of the fake, over dramatic screeching he got last week with that other model, he's hungry for the real thing. Hungry for you.

The unopened foundation falls free from your loose fingers and rolls along the floor into some forgotten corner when his hands wander underneath your shirt. It's a dance he has memorized; unclasping your bra without a second thought and tearing both it and your shirt off in a single, swift motion. He gives you little time to recover before his mouth is on your tits, kissing a sparse trail until he's rolling a perky nipple between his lips.

His bare skin feels like heaven underneath the palm of your hands as you grip his shoulders for stability. He'd take you on the cold, dressing room floors, you knew he would. A part of you wanted him to. Fuck the shoot, they should've learned well enough to put cameras in the dressing rooms by that point with how handsy Kyle Garrick always was with you.

"Can't wait until we get on set to try and undo me?" you ask breathlessly.

"Doll, I'll undo you right here and then again on set if you asked me to," he mumbles into your skin.

A quiet squeak interrupts your moment and the ambiance of the room shifts when the door to Kyle's dressing room opens. His hands grow stiff against your spine as you look over your shoulder at the figure in the doorway. You smell her perfume before you recognize her. Something drowning and floral, like a mall department store. It burns your nose, yet you're too distracted by the slack-mouth surprise etched onto the features of the new blood's face.

It's cute; her confusion. How her eyes flicker over your bare back and Kyle's hands pressed against your skin like he's cradling the only thing he cares for in the world. The dots just can't quite connect in her mind as to why he hasn't completely fallen for her yet, as if the only way she knows how to lure men is by butchering their neck with discolored marks. She can't comprehend why he'd rather have you in his lap than her.

Kyle draws a shocked groan from you when his teeth nip at your shoulder, and your eyes have no choice but to fall away from the woman in the doorway as he pulls you closer to him. His chin gently rests on your shoulder as he stares at the model, hands moving to rest on your hips.

"Need somethin?" he asks, bored.

There is very little you wouldn't have given to see the look on her face, but the small huff followed by the door slamming shut is good enough. Small giggles rattle your body as you lean back to get a better look at Kyle, as if your body would throw a fit if he wasn't within your sight. There's an inexplicable relief that floods his face as he looks up at you, and he mirrors your smile.

"What?" he defends. "Only asked her if she needed somethin."

"I think you broke her heart," you patronize.

"She'll live," he mumbles, lips falling against the crook of your neck again. "Your heart is the only one I care about, anyway."

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul _ Part 10 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 (here)

You’re sure it didn’t take a second after Alastor heard the introduction to immediately grab Kat with his many black tendrils that appeared under Kat’s feet. Her high-pitch screams made you cover your ears and and squeeze your eyes shut. At your discomfort, Alastor had a tendril wrapped around her mouth

You watched while Alastor had that raging murderous smile on his face while his eyes turned back. He threw Kat from building to building, never letting go and giving her a moment to recover. You timed a good 10 minutes before you placed a hand on Alastor’s arm to snap him out of his rage

It was considerate of him to not personally deal with her because you were still near and you two were out in the open so anything could happen. Normally, he would have torn her limb from limb and chomped down on her flesh like a piece of meat. Now this was a new method of torture

At your touch, Alastor’s head snapped to you. You pointed to a spot on the side of your head and told him Kat was marked by Vox’s servant symbol, meaning the contract she was mentioning had been one with Vox. Alastor’s grin widened even more and gave one final throw into the ground, creating a crater before releasing her from his hold

Kat gasped and groaned, trying to get up but fell back down. Slowly, she crawled her way out of the crater and ended up at your feet. You watched her with distain and pity. You honestly can’t understand why she’d take Vox’s deal, she was taken advantage of, possibility due to her having just arrived in Hell at the time and didn’t know the importance of a soul contract

“How dare you die…” Kat hissed, his hands clenched to fists. “You have no idea what I went through after that f**king stunt you pulled!”

“I’m assuming you meant you stealing My Darling’s work as your own?” Alastor glared sharply at Kat.

Kat laughed, “Hahahahaha! What kind of lies did you feed him?” She pointed a finger at you, “This f**ker let me! The b*tch was happy to write for me! I take the credit cause you don’t want the attention, remember?”

Your eyes narrowed. That’s what you told yourself all those time. You told yourself it was fine because you didn’t like all this publicity and attention. Yet the fact that you felt anger towards it meant you didn’t want to give your work to another. At least not when all this was given to someone like her

Honestly, how can she blame her later misfortune on your death? She was your best friend, shouldn’t she feel something about it? Anything? Even the slighty sadness before all this?

You gripped onto Alastor’s hand, feeling a headache and dizziness growing. You whispered that you wanted to go home

Alastor understood and with a final slap at the poor excuse of a friend across the face with his end of the cane, Alastor brought you two back to your shared room. Alastor asked if you needed anything but you merely said you needed some time alone

“If you require anything, Love. Just call me.”

“...”

Back at the crater, before Kat could recover from the blow or curse. She was swiftly pinned to the ground by the neck, a situation that was all too familiar. Sharp blade like needles stabbed into her hands and knees. Dread filled every fiber of her body as she tried to get out of the hold she’s under but her body was frozen in fear

Just like before

“Aww, The Dear Writer left so quickly… What a thoughtful bodyguard too. Nothing less will be fitting for the Dear.” The new figure cooed, their shoes applied more force on Kat’s neck, grinding her into the ground. “Don’t you agree, Faker?”

“How did you find me?” Kat shivered against the hold. “Ce— Ahhhhh!”

“Ah ah~ I think it’s only right that I have a new name down here, I’m Nemesis now.” The demon chuckled, “Not hard considering your new boss is quite infamous around the city. What with all the technology he sells, you appearing on TV was just an easy guess. Though my services aren’t required when you have this.”

Kat screamed when a sharp blade pierced into the place where Vox’s contract mark was implanted. 

Nemesis’ lips curved into a twisted smile as they continued to slowly torture the screaming female. “So where can I find the Dear Writer?”

“Hazbin… Hotel…”

“Many thanks.” Nemesis’ tail pulled out the blades without warning one by one, their ear flickering at the screams while they pulled out their phone. They grinned, pressing on something, “I think you were in the spotlight of fame a bit too long down here. Let’s return you to the nothing you are.”

Over the past few days, you’ve been working non-stop making all those TVs and speakers that you promised Vox. While doing so, you tried not using your pages and used your quill to write in the air like Lucifer suggested, it took some time since the mechanism was more complex than what you tried before. Though it offer as good exercise for you

Smoothly, you somehow managed to slowly not use your quill as well and changed to using your finger to scribble words in the air before flicking at it to summon your written object. That took way more energy that you can manage because the word required energy then the conjuration required even more energy

But you managed because you needed something to distract yourself from the recent train of events and emotional burn out

Alastor’s been trying to get you to pause in your work and relax. You ignore it all together and continued, even when Alastor pulled you away and into his arms, you were motionless and repeated told him to let go so you could work. All he could do was continue to provide you with meals and reminders to rest since you were practicing and needed energy to continue

At least that got you to pull away from work. The light in your eyes was soft and dimmed, but it was better than when you were first on the verge of breaking down like a broken doll

Like before, Charlie and the others asked about you from Alastor when he was cooking your meals. It was like the time when you first arrived in the hotel, that was when you were doing it of your own volitation with Alastor as your excuse. Now, it was because you were helping the hotel and got unwanted attention

When all of Vox’s devices were being ddelivered by Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk with a hypnotic resistance charm casted on them by you, you covered yourself in a blanket and drowned yourself in music

You were exhausted physically and mentally, you wanted to push yourself even more but you knew Alastor would be against it all the way and you don’t want to push him to do forceful thing just to make you see reason. You know Alastor would feel worse than you do because of his love and devotion towards you

At the thought of that, you feel even worse that you were treating Alastor do badly. Even worse, he’s seeing this pathetic side of you. What if he leaves you? What if he thinks you’re not worth it? What if—

A familiar rhythemic knocking on your door brought you out of your thoughts. Alastor’s muffle voice came through, “Beloved.” That nickname that melted your worries and comforted you, “I think there’s someone you should meet.”

You wondered who Alastor would just let into your room, even the hotel members didn’t get that luxury and that includes Niffty because Alastor handles the maintainance of your room all on his own. You trust Alastor, “Sure, come on in.”

The door opened and someone you’re unfamiliar with rushed in while Alastor stood guard at the door after closing it shut and locking it. “I’m Nemesis, I’m a big big fan of your work! Completely obsessed really! Oh my god! Or is it oh my Lucifer now? Anyways! It’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh! Well, not flesh flesh, but this afterlife is like another life, so~”

“Nemesis. As in like revenge? Enacting retribution?” You blinked at the name, it reminds you of Alastor’s since his meant tormentor, avenger, and persecutor. 

They got real close to your face as their smile spread, “Woah, truly the mind of a writer. You got my name reference.” They straightened up as they shrugged, “Other people, oops, demons only got that it’s Greek and hard to remember. Urgh, no class at all. They remember you by title too! Can you guess mine?”

Your eyebrow raised in confusion, you don’t know why this demon, Nemesis, was this causal with you. Though you figured that they had a talk with Alastor beforehand, that’s why Alastor even allowed them to be in here and talking with you. Even with close promixity

You observed Nemesis as they wanted. They were a snow leopard type of demon, with the fluffy ears on top of their head and tail behind them swishing like that of a cat’s. But you can’t tell whether it was just because it was their favourite animal, something they’re interested, or death related. Maybe something that they hate too, there was a sick irony in Hell

Your eyes traveled down to the row of white stielett-type weapons on their sides, they looked like giant dagger-sized needles but to you, they looked more like a pen. When Nemesis noticed your gaze, they took one from each side and started demonstrating to you how it was used like a performance

“The Dancing Needle.” Your lips moved and words came out before you knew it. At Nemesis’ frozen state and Alastor’s shocked face, you covered your mouth. “S—”

“How did you know?” Nemesis raved with shock, “You only observed too!”

You looked away, “It was nothing…”

Nemesis shook their head, “No way! It was amazing! If only I realized earlier…”

“Realized what?”

“That you’re the real author of that best selling novel that got so much attention.”

Nemesis went on to tell you. In the living world, they were Cecil and the editor for Karolina

During then, Cecil as an editor fell in love with the novels that Karolina had written. By some miracle, Cecil was given the chance to work as Karolina’s editor in the future and somewhat manager and caretaker since authors needed someone to ground them and since both were female, it was perfect

Over the years, Cecil noticed that Karolina was always attending public events and activities to boost popularity. It was normal, but to Cecil, it was weird that Karolina never actually sat down and written anything or researched for ideas. There was no burnout or ridiculous sleep schedules to follow and adapt to just to write a novel

Yet the requested writings were always provided and they were nearly to perfection, with minor grammar and some careless mis-spelling probably due to tiredness or being in the moment. It was an editor’s dream to work for someone like this. An author that’s famous and lively, and mostly punctual so nothing was forced or rushed to complete and do

But Cecil noticed the odd teachings and advices that Karolina would give to other people. There was nothing solid about it, it was all either the same old same old or just plain out weird to say. She had no accounts to retell, no personal examples to list. Yet she never asked Cecil for help

There was an interesting meeting that Karolina would always do. Whenever a deadline was near, Karolina would visit a friend of hers. Cecil thought it was for comfort and causal chatting at first, but every time she returns, there was more to tell on interviews and talk shows

To Cecil, it felt like someone was providing for Karolina

And Cecil was right. After the death of that friend, Karolina seemingly lost creativity and motivation. She lied on news channel that the novel was written for that friend to get through depression, she lied and painted herself as a caring and loving friend that wanted what’s best for that friend

Isn’t it odd that Karolina continues to sign contracts and appearances on screen regarding the novel? Some people requested for some detail clarification, but she denied them and said it was all secrets saved for her friend

Her friend this, her friend that. Everything was her friend, every excuse was her friend. So Cecil did some digging

Back when the first novel of the series was released, there was a buzz of a copycat that tried to steal Karolina’s work but failed. Cecil got her hands on that copy and read through it, the writing style was identicial to the later volumes that was published, the ideas that were cut off in this copy was in the later volumes

Cecil checked the statistics and comments, the first book had plotholes here and there, some even said it feels like things were missing here and there. But overall, it was still a good story. So there was a push to continue sequel to the first novel

Pages all dropped to the floor at the realization. That friend… That friend that Karolina was caring for… That friend had to be the real author of the books. It all made sense! Cecil searched online and found that that friend died, not by accident or sickness. No… Suicide…

An unfathomable rage and need for justice overtook Cecil and she was determined to see that Karolina suffers a slow and painful down. It was hard to pull it off, but somehow it was managed

Cecil pinned Karolina down with pens and cutters, then used daggers to stab all over her body without hitting any vitals. Cecil sliced words into her skin, ‘copycat’, ‘faker’, ‘liar’, ‘abuser’, and ‘murderer’. Then, Cecil decapitated Karolina’s head off of her body

Courtmeeting was given to Cecil where she used her chance to reveal it all. Who was the real author and who was the fake. Who was in the victim and who was the perpetator. Cecil announced that she is aware and admit that she done wrong, but if she could do it again, she would

The death sentence was passed down

Nemesis kneeled on their knees, looking up at you, tears flowing. “You suffered so much and no one knew or cared. Now they do, I’m included.” They held one of your hand, “So don’t knock yourself down, My Writer.”

Alastor took your other hand, placing a kiss on it, “We will deal with all your troubles so you can relax~ My Beloved.”

You can’t help but chuckled with a carefree closed-eye smile, “Oh you two…” But then your eyes snapped open and eyed the two, then focused on Nemesis. “Oh… There’s two of them now…”

Alastor and Nemesis eyed each other and smiled widely. “Whatever do you mean?”

Note: And that's the end of this arc~ Okay okay, I heard you guys loud and clear. No end yet cause you guys are willing to wait and read more. I'm taking a break from this series for a while to do other ones. But what do you think of this one?

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @nevermore-ramblings @justboredforreal @youroneandonlysimp @falsemain @scenteddelusion5 @anni1600 @readergirlstuff @salutations-demonsanddappers @mistpurpl3 @haruskrd @biadoll21 @speedycoffeedelight @wendds @paninibit @emperatris-rinaka @lucifers-silhouette @an-idyllic-novelist @cyannese-rose @type-ink @saccharine-nectarine

[cinnamoneve]

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐲𝐬𝐦.

paroxysm \ perəkˌsiz(ə)m \ (n.) - a sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion or activity.

❆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x gn!reader ❆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the first time you say 'i love you,' ❆ 𝐰𝐜: 2k ❆ 𝐚/𝐧: he is so annoying ♡

you’d known that you loved satoru from the day that you met him.

maybe it wasn’t as prominent as it was in your life now–but it was always latent, in the background, and something you secretly kept to yourself. you were almost afraid to admit it to your conscience. the louder it spoke at the back of your mind, the more you wanted to reach out and tell him: the more bashful you were.

satoru was forward about his love for you: there was never a moment in the relationship that you doubted it. satoru’s love language was all of them, and he did it well.

“honey, i was at the store and i thought of you. i got you this!”

“baby, the laundry’s all folded and put away”

“my love, you had such a long day today, i’m so proud of you, let’s cuddle up on the couch. i have your favorite wine,”

your personal favorite was the way he soaked up every scenario and moment with you with his trademark: “can we stay this way for a while?”

on the couch, eating ice cream together, buying the other person their favorite bottle of wine after a long day. satoru would never specify what “this way” was. was it a place? a feeling? maybe a fleeting moment in time. whatever it was, though, he wanted all of it for as long as he was around.

you’d always interpreted it as “in love.” satoru never called you by your name, only terms of endearment he’d handpick out for you based on the vibes. ‘honey, sweetie,’ when he was feeling especially soft and domestic, ‘baby’ when he was treating you like a delicate piece of glass, and ‘love’ when he was looking to spoil you with his presence and body.

he never said “in love,” though, or muttered the phrase outside of a pet name he would spill out like his own personal mantra. 

you were secure in the relationship, but there was always something at the back of your mind poking the unfortunate insecurities, wondering why he didn’t say anything yet.

would it be okay if you told him first? should it be a big deal?

he’s dramatic. it would probably be a big deal to him, you concluded. 

and so, the planning began. 

the ideas flooded your brain. maybe an intimate night together, or not any special occasion at all? the more you rehearsed it, the faker it sounded.

you settled on feeling it. something about knowing naturally and reading the mood in the moment was more intimate than an expensive dinner together or anything money could buy.

so you waited.

and it didn’t take long; in fact, it was the next morning. twelve hours after you made the declaration to tell your own boyfriend you were in love with him. 

it was over something mundane, frequent, but still sweet. your heart swelled a bit when satoru got up for the morning, kissing your cheek and repositioning the covers so you’d be underneath them still. you let him believe you were still asleep, not reacting when he rolled over to look at you or kissing him back when he planted his greeting on your cheek. 

still, your boyfriend moved as usual. you heard him softly walking through the apartment, socks carefully muffling the way he stomps in the morning when his feet haven’t woken up quite yet. the smell of coffee flooded the bedroom as well, knowing he was brewing a full pot instead of his usual, singular cup. 

he was waiting for you to get up, while carefully ensuring you slept as long as you needed. his movements around the house were quiet, but with intent. a quiet shuffle of pots, the fridge opening, closing, opening again, closing once more–satoru was making breakfast. quietly, quietly, quietly making breakfast.

you had a late night. you deserved the opportunity to sleep in. work’s been stressful, you seem to be coming down with something, and you only kissed him, like, fifty times yesterday. of course he’s going to assume the worst–it’s best to let you get your sleep so he can spoil you come morning.

and he did.

satoru came back to bed some thirty minutes later, warm cup of coffee and book in tow. even if you were asleep, he wanted to slide under the blanket to soak up some time with you any way he could, even if it was just existing in the same room together. 

you gave up your act to roll over and greet him.

“oh, good morning, sweetie,” he sleepily says. even after all his work this morning, he can’t hide the exhaustion in his voice when he reaches down to kiss your forehead.

“good morning, satoru,” you nod back. you think about closing your eyes again and letting him baby you a bit, but you decide against it.

he brushes your hair lightly out of your face, looking down from his book to admire you. it’s all he could do, really. anything forming in his brain to say couldn’t come out eloquently enough, so he opted for studying your face carefully while he traced your hairline with his thumb.

“stay put,” he quietly said, before dog-earring his book and getting out of bed once more.

in his absence, you flip over his book to read the synopsis to peek more into his mind. something philosophical, probably, but your eyes were too tired to keep up with the words on the back. 

satoru returns with another cup of coffee in his hand, matching the mug full of it on his bedside table.

“made fresh,” he says, smiling, “i put in that new creamer you bought, too,”

you give him a gentle kiss, lingering a little longer than usual, as you sit up to hold the coffee in your cold hands. the shade is perfect–you can already tell he’s added just the right amount of creamer.

the perfect amount of creamer in the bitter black coffee. something, something, to be loved is to be known. and satoru knew you like the back of his own hand.

“thank you,” you started, “i love you,”

it slipped out. it wasn’t anything like you imagined it would be. it wasn’t rehearsed, forced, or too soon. it was imperfect, and you felt your face get hot at the confession of your own feelings.

satoru looked down at you with an empathetic look, before reaching down again to kiss your forehead.

he sits back in bed next to you, getting under the covers, and resuming where he left off in his book.

“i have breakfast ready to go whenever you’re hungry,” 

and that’s all he said about it. nothing more, nothing less.

you knew he loved you, right? so why couldn’t he say it back?

the two of you sat in silence, drinking your coffee together as you woke up more. satoru read his book, and left to take a shower when he finished his drink. you ate breakfast together afterwards, talking about the day ahead and anything that came to mind.

there was no talk of the thing. the confession. could it even be called that?

god, this is kinda fucking embarrassing.

you pushed it from your mind and tried to continue on with your day. luckily, it was the weekend, so it was fairly relaxed. a few errands here and there, maybe throw a load or two in of laundry. satoru floated around the house doing his own thing as well. catching up on paperwork, working out, checking in on students, calling an old friend.

you felt yourself overthinking. it was a lot. luckily, the day goes by quickly when you’re keeping yourself busy.

“you down for wine and a movie tonight, sweetie?” 

satoru calls out from the kitchen, barely looking up from his laptop as his sweet voice echoes to the couch.

you’ve barely talked today, the thing leaving a sour taste in your mouth that you couldn’t help to be mad at him about. even though you know you shouldn’t be. he didn’t do anything wrong, after all.

“sure, honey, whatever you want,”

you hear a laptop slam in the other room and heavy feet coming towards you. before you know it, the lanky man tries to slither into your lap. 

“hmm, that doesn’t sound too enthusiastic,” he whines, “what’s going on?”

something, something, to be loved is to be known. and he loved you a lot, seemingly.

“well,” you started, feeling your face get hot and your eyes get wet, “i was a little shocked you didn’t answer me this morning,” 

satoru retreated from your lap to sit up straight next to you, listening intently. 

“not that you have to answer right away, i-i guess. i think i was just surprised, is all,” 

satoru reaches down to take your hand in his. 

“mhm, i understand,” 

and it stops there. you sit in silence for a bit. the two of you look down at the couch, or at the tv, not letting go of the other’s hand.

“do you not feel the same?”

satoru snapped his neck to look at you, quickly looking panicked before speaking again.

“no, no! that’s not it at all, i don’t want you to ever think i don’t feel like that about you,”

“then why won’t you say it?”

he takes a deep breath, sitting back on the couch while continuing to squeeze your hand. 

and mumbles.

“what, satoru?” 

“...”

you turn your whole body to hear him better, seeing his ever-pouting face looking into the distance.

“you totally stole my thunder,”

all you can do is look at him, barely processing what he said.

“what do you mean?” 

he pouts more, finally making eye contact with you.

“i wanted to do something totally romantic, sweeping you off your feet and catching you by surprise, or something. and then you do it over breakfast? i was totally blindsided,”

you feel like crying. not out of a sadness way, or even in a twisted-happiness-kinda-way. you weren’t really sure if you wanted to cry or strangle him, actually.

“it was over coffee, actually,”

“as if that makes a difference,”

“it totally does!”

“oh really?” he teases, “what about my coffee made you fall in love with me?”

even if he was teasing, you got a little shy. 

“it’s not like it was just that, stupid,”

“ooh, tell me more,” he squeezes your hand.

“no! you haven’t even said it back to me,”

he pauses and studies your face once more, before scooting towards you.

satoru reaches up, taking your cheeks in his hands and bringing you closer to him. pulling you into a soft kiss, you feel him smile against your lips as you reach to hold onto his forearms. 

“i love you too. i love you, i love you, i love you”

you giggle shyly, backing up from his face as his words made you bashful.

“you don’t have to say it that many times, stupid,”

he lets go of your face after planting one more kiss on your cheek.

“better get used to it, sweetheart”

all content © cinnamoneve 2024. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

[grendel-menz]

yo im not sure if this is a weird ask so feel free to ignore but like !! sorry i just had a moment bc ive been struggling w being half white for a long time now, like something was off my entire life with how other white people would treat me as an Other, the way they would like reduce me to an animal/the wild friend/make some weird dehumanizing comments, and despite all this not even knowing the truth of my ancestry til i was out of high school. but at the same time i felt like i could never really claim it? like i had no connection to my native side since my father wasn't allowed that so i was basically raised White and every time i looked in the mirror something told me it was wrong for me to even seek that connection. it did not help that i'd meet other half natives here who would tell me that (there is a weird culture here about rooting out "fakers" and accusing people you dont like of faking their history to get yourself more legitimacy). sorry this is all a rambly preface to say id always related to your art about ancestry and culture and finding yourself and how people treat you but felt wrong for it but then you post a picture and you're a stones throw away from me. like, we look like we could be cousins. idk i just went wow, i look like that too, its okay, i shouldnt have gatekept my connecting behind fear of... i dont even know what anymore. idk this ask has no point so from another genderweird half who hallucinates i hope u have a great week month year and i hope good things happen to you. you bring a lot of joy to people

I'm sorry you've struggled with all this, it can be really tough. My situation is a bit different since my mom never let me forget I'm Filipino. I never felt distant from being mixed, just the culture we lost due to some extraordinarily difficult circumstances in the past few generations of my moms side. I'm also lucky in that Filipinos and SEAsians as a whole tend to be very avid about welcoming mixed kids into the community (though there's a lot of racism and colorism involved in the level of acceptance someone gets, unfortunately. I'm pale and treated well, and I doubt someone darker skinned would be treated as well in certain circles.).

I can't speak for Native American communities, but I will solidly say in general that blood quantum and its enforcement is colonial. Your ancestors do not love you in halves or quarters, that would be very strange. When I have a baby I plan to love the whole thing and not just whatever dna percentage is mine. It's just important to research, support, reach out to, and represent your community to the best of your ability. (If I've misspoken here lmk.)

I have Indigenous family members, ancestry, and community, but I don't personally call myself Indigenous because I am still researching and reconnecting, and it's such a big word. There's no rush to things, go at the pace you're comfortable with when it comes to seeing yourself.

Sorry for being long winded! Hopefully that helps or yeah! :D

[sysmedsaresexist]

hey fellas it's me again

systemscringe is using this horrible essay (https://text.is/pluralkit-) to say that systems shouldn't use pk (and by extension simply plural) even though it's blatantly wrong, promotes the "evil alter" stereotype at the end, and DOESN'T EVEN HAVE AN AUTHOR

this stupid essay made me think that sp wasnt something i should use (and sure, its not good for SOME people, but it can be helpful, and it is for me). now that i am using it ive been able to learn more about my system and fronting triggers and i really dont want any other systems to go through what i did.

i would debunk it myself but i feel like yall have more reach than i do, and i also know youre more researched than me and would be able to do a better job.

if u could help that'd be great :)

Sigh. Systemscringe back at it again, making things more difficult for literally everyone. First things first:

Pluralkit, Simplyplural, and anything similar are NOT inherently harmful to people who dissociate.

They’re also not inherently helpful, either.

To say they are always harmful will confuse people on how to recognize the signs of increased dissociation. That makes it harder for people who are actually harmed by using these things to get help. It also invalidates people who are genuinely helped by these tools. These tools do not inherently prevent integration. For some people, tools like these can help them recognize and work with their systems, which is necessary for reducing dissociation.

"To be an integrated human, as Dan Siegel (2010) insists, requires 'differentiation—with linkage,' that is, it necessitates the ability to make distinctions between different parts of the self, to name them as parts, but also to link them to other parts and to the whole of which they are a part." - Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors, by Janina Fisher, Page 21

To say that Real Dissociative(tm) people don’t use these tools is utterly false, a bad excuse to fakeclaim people, and they know it; these tools are popular as hell in the online community, and many people, even people who eventually found them harmful, have used them. Can we please put this “faker” shit to rest so that actual productive conversations can be had?

Personally, I think that there's a lot of things to critique about both pluralkit and simplyplural (hereafter just called pk/sp). They're not perfect -- nothing is! I'd love to have a nuanced discussion about how they can be helpful and harmful to different people and why, but often it feels like I can't have discussions like that. Not when just using pk/sp gets entire subreddits calling you a faker, not when systems who simply dislike pk/sp get called "sysmeds," not when we approach these things as either Always Good or Always Bad.

In reality, how helpful or harmful pk/sp can be is an entirely subjective matter. It's a personal issue to your system and your system alone. I know systems who find pk/sp to be very helpful and I also know systems who find them to be unhelpful, even harmful. In my own experience, I've found that pk/sp made my symptoms worse. So, I just don't use them. It's literally that simple.

Notice how the essay makes such broad sweeping statements about pk. They don't say that it can increase dissociation between alters, they say that it will. They don't say that it can lead to delusions, they say that it will. How about instead of jumping to conclusions, we actually ask the community what their experiences are? I’ll get us started:

I also notice that the essay states that the functions of pk go against treatment recommendations, but I don’t know a single clinician who is using pluralkit to treat their patients. AFAIK, they’re correct that it’s not really an accessibility tool, but it’s also not a therapeutic tool either? So, I don’t understand why they’re judging it like it is one? It’s just a discord bot, dude. It’s not that deep.

I don’t want to glance over the harm they’re talking about, though. Stuff like pk/sp can reinforce dissociation. You can have an unhealthy relationship with them. That’s not specific to pk/sp, though, it can be like this with anything seemingly innocuous. I know some people who self-harm by reading fanfiction…doesn’t mean that everyone who reads fanfiction is self-harming, or that fanfiction is universally harmful. That's why, instead of telling people pk/sp are Bad and Always Harmful, we need to spread awareness so that people actually know how to recognize actual harm and take care of themselves. That’s why I’ll leave this post off with a list of some red flags. Anyone is free to add on, but remember that these are potential signs of harm. If you think your use of pk/sp is harmful or unhealthy, please investigate that with a professional or close loved one!

Some red flags that pk/sp may not be helping you:

Episodes of dissociation, switching, and/or memory loss became more frequent or severe after you started using them

They make it harder for your system to cooperate; you all feel less connected than before

There’s more conflict within the system than before

You feel pressured to say who is fronting or when a switch happened, even if you don't actually know

You feel pressured to create a profile for system members that you don't know a lot about or are unsure if even exist or ones that specifically don’t want a profile

You sometimes wish you had more system members so that you could have more proxies or profiles

You or system members feel like you aren’t allowed to have your privacy or anonymity

You feel like you can't talk in discord servers that don't have pk

Using them makes your system members feel less real / less connected as a system

Using them is the only thing that makes your system members feel real / more connected as a system

You don’t really want to use pk/sp but you feel like you’re a faker or doing something wrong if you don’t use them

[butcher--bird]

i will be fully honest with you fellas i think if this really is times up for the lifespan of splatoon i will be moving on; and in this post i would like to detail my experience in the fandom under read more but here is a tldr;

being treated like a horrible person, a brand risk and being harassed and sent death threats, sexual harassment and gore in my inbox because i don't like how you draw splatoon characters or ship 2 legal adults in a way you dont fucking like is terrible and i've been getting the brunt of this shit for far to long.

first and foremost i appreciate all of what my friends and supporters have done for me, the fast growth of this account was something smaller vincent always dreamed of and i'm happy i've made it so far. and if you ordered something from me and i haven't sent it out, i apologize. i have a viral infection that is contagious and it will not go away.

i will keep it simple. you do not need to fish for reasons to dislike me. you do not need to ACCOUNT CRAWL MY OLD ALIASES AND OLD ABANDONED ACCOUNTS to find MILDLY suspicious things i drew as stupid 15-17 year while i was being groomed by a bunch of cum-brained pedophilic gooner losers. YOU CAN DISLIKE MY HUMOUR AND MY ART, BLOCK ME AND MOVE ON. I HAVE BEEN STALKED AND HARASSED BY GROUPS OF PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY WANT REASONS TO HATE ME.

being sexually harassed by random people because they get the wrong idea and think im appealing to people with a fucking gore fetish, i get dms detailing peoples snuff fantasies involving spyke?? or people befriend me to take out their sexual frustration on me and take my art as some sort of invite to do so?

you don't have to agree with my headcanons or who i ship! thats okay! i'm not forcing you! cutting me off and spreading rumors about me because i don't do it the 'right way' or you are JEALOUS of the attention i get on my work is BATSHIT.

i am a normal person, a severely mentally ill woman at that. it's 'support mental health' until you get into the groove of picking on someone you know aint gonna fight back.

you are all so disconnected from reality that the second you find someone who is out of the norm in your online cliques you feel they are 'inauthentic' and need to be bullied into submission or pushed out entirely. i am not apart of your 'norm' and being harassed and called a 'faker' or a 'tryhard' because i have harmless, morbid interests and it projects into my art is vile.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Heyy, love what you do. You're amazing.

I was looking for sterek fics where Derek has a dirty mouth, even porn couldn't compare to the things that come out of his mouth when he is with stiles. ♥️♥️♥️

Cover your ears ya'll.

A quickie in the janitors closet by pizzz_10

(1/1 842)

Stiles wanted to go lunch after class, but Derek has other ideas

Something to Remember Me By by 1lostone

(1/1 I 5,038)

At a graduation party, Derek makes some assumptions.

Stiles sets him straight.... so to speak.

Gordian Knot (Of Sex) by tourdefierce

(1/1 I 5,859)

Losing his virginity was hard enough when Lydia Martin was his sole focus. Now there are werewolves involved and this is way crazier. For one, there are a lot more dicks involved. (To be fair, in some of his fantasies, Lydia Martin had an impressive rubber cock.) Either way, Stiles doesn't know why he thought getting rid of his pesky virginity was going to be easier with Derek involved—the guy is practically allergic to doing anything the easy way and that includes Stiles. Being done. Because he's easy. What.

Things We Know, Unsaid by uraneia 

(1/1 I 6,036)

Stiles accidentally finds a trunk full of Derek's professional dom gear from when he lived in New York. They don't talk about it. Then Stiles turns eighteen, and they do.

*

If he thought Derek would be angry or embarrassed at Stiles finding a trunk full of quality BDSM gear in his closet, he’d have been wrong. “I used to do it professionally, in New York,” Derek says easily, and Stiles—Stiles doesn’t know how to process that. Because he’s seventeen and has eyes and an unfortunately vivid imagination, and if he lets it go there he’s not going to get any use out of any body part except his dick for several hours.

Feel You Breathing by sugareey

(3/3 I 8,400)

Derek: So, you need a distraction.

Stiles: Maybe Stiles: It’d be better if you were here to help me with that. Stiles: ;D

[Or: Sexy things start late one night when Derek gets a text from Stiles and escalate from there. A few secrets are revealed along the way.]

Melt Me Slowly Down by maichan808 (maichan)

(1/1 I 20,307)

The last thing Stiles expects when he walks into Lydia’s exclusive S&M club is to rescue a sub who’s obviously been mistreated for a long time. His name is Derek, and when he awkwardly reaches out, asking Stiles to be his Dom, the urge to shield Derek from more pain is too strong for Stiles to resist. But Derek is still recovering from his past and learning how to set boundaries, so they have to take things slow.

Incredibly Gifted Fakers by Fortem

(21/? I 76,596)

Stiles desperately needs a new scene partner and Derek desperately needs a job. They may just be able to help each other out, if they remember that this is all supposed to be acting.

Yoda Said It Best by OKDeanna

(21/21 I 99,128)

Derek Hale knows he as a problem. Contrary to what some might believe, he isn’t stupid. He knows the Jeep has meaning to him, real meaning. The kind of meaning that he doesn’t want to think about, let alone stop and have to analyze. Except… his son keeps pushing him about it, prodding at him, and then before Derek knows it, Stiles is back in Beacon Hills, driving the one thing in the world Derek wishes he never had to set eyes on again. If Derek isn’t careful, he could open himself up to a fall, and that would affect more than just his son but also his own traitorous heart. Because with Stiles back, Derek finally has hope again, and its making him want the things he knows better than to ever crave: a home, a future, a life—love.

Domestication by Arver7, Moit

(37/37 I 280,892)

Derek and Stiles are heat partners, but neither realises how invested the other one is. When Stiles winds up pregnant, their relationship gets more serious, even if neither of them knows how to handle it.

[bittersweetorpheus]

☆ LIFE, DEATH, AND REBIRTH ☆

☆ AUTHORS NOTES ☆

(This ended up getting written from Dottore’s POV. The God featured here is reader.)

😋 SACRILEGIOUS DOTTORE X DEITY!READER ???!!!!

I know I’ve been going for M.O.N.T.H.S but I came back to drop this and leave again. I was chatting with a dottore bot on character.ai which got my brain juices flowinggg so I had to open my computer and write this!

P.S: a certain part of this fic was inspired by one of hoyoverses other games *cough* HONKAI STAR RAIL *cough* 🤭. The real ones know which part it is ‼️💪

☆ CONTENT WARNINGS ☆

Death, gore, corpse, body horror aspects, sumeru archon quest spoilers

Dottore would admit that he wasn’t the least bit religious. Unlike the families that would give thanks before each meal and the Tsaritsa who believed Celestia should be struck down for trying to gain authority while You were absent, he couldn’t care less.

Afterall, however powerful they were, Archons could still die, so what was the difference between them when they all succumbed to the hands of death in the end? Was it power? No, he, himself, had created a being powerful enough to host the Gnosis of Kusanali, the Dendro Archon. Was it their life span? No, he, himself, had managed to create doubles of himself, all from different points in his life.

So in short, he didn’t spare a thought for the Archons, left alone The Creator. This, of course, did not help his nefarious reputation by any means, but he spared it no thoughts.

He did however grow curious about the abilities about this so called Creator when rumors about their descent started. Now, he finds himself in his main laboratory in the Tsaritsa’s palace with The Creator sitting on the examination table across from him- mind you, the cot that he had stained with blood just a week or two ago.

Now that he thinks about it, he never got around to cleaning it.

“Well?” The voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns to look at them.

They wear a veil made out of a material he’s never seen before. Its sheer enough for him to make out the outline of Their face if he squints, but not more than that. Their clothes are made of the same material and seem to flow and move on their own, as if gusts of wind are constantly blowing at their garments.

Even if They aren’t The Creator, they’re definitely something far from mortal.

“Your blood is certainly unlike any I’ve ever seen before. It’s as if you melted cor lapis and combined it with crushed star sliver, but it glows like lumenstone. I wonder if it has any affect on organisms of this world, or if it just looks like this and nothing else.” He observes.

They chuckle dryly, “why don’t you drink it and find out?”

He grimaces beneath his mask, he’d rather not chug down a nefarious bodily liquid at 2 in the morning from someone who he dosen’t care much for.

Not that They were unattractive, of course. He would go far enough to say They were probably the only one who made him take more than a few glances at. No hard feelings, he just dosen’t care much for The Creator… or fakers.

They seem to pick up his feelings about what They just said and glide down from the examination table.

“Or would you rather I show you some properties of my blood myself?” They ask, pointing their intricate fan towards the corpse of his previous patient across the lab from them.

That fan had gotten Pantalone and Ningguang into an amusing biding war against each other, each hoping to gift it to The Creator. In the end, The Creator caught wind of it and ended up setting up a business meeting to stop the nonsensical month-long biding war. They left with a blush on their face and both several times richer. Apparently The Creator had managed to get them to get along and turn the business meeting from about one about a fan to an important business meeting that helped both of them build important business connections with each other.

“Give me the vial,” They command.

He’s already walken over to Them and given Them the vial before he realizes what he did.

They pour the vial of their ichor over the corpse and it springs to life in an instant, screaming and moving away from Dottore.

It seems like the people they revive retain their memories, Dottore notes.

“Are you satisfied now? Or is there something more that you’re expecting?” They ask him. He can’t see their face through the veil but he gets the uncanny feeling that they’re staring straight through his very soul.

“I’ll admit that this is quite fascinating, however, it’s… unexpected, to say the least.” He admits.

“Oh? Why is that?” They drawl.

He gets the feeling that they’re probably smirking right now.

“While some legends do say that The Creator’s ichor heals and even resuscitates people, most them say that even a drop of The Creator’s ichor could bring about the cataclysm.

Once, he had wondered if that had been the start of the cataclysm, or if it was just another fabrication.

“Hm, is that how this world sees my ichor?” They hum, “well, every universe has different theories about me.”

“Oh? Then is it true? Can a drop of your ichor cause the end of this universe?” He says, teasingly, or mockingly- he dosen’t really know either.

“It depends on the mood I’m in,” They reply.

Yeah, They’re definitely smirking right now.

“But I suppose with the type of person you are, you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw it with your own eyes,” They say, snapping their fingers, “come, my darling Zandik.”

He raises his eyebrow at that. That definitely caught him off guard, all right, however, what catches him more off guard is the portal that appears in his lab.

He takes one last glance at his laboratory. This chance only comes once in a life time, after all. Even if They aren’t what They say They are, at least he’s getting some entertainment out of this.

He steps into the portal after them. Curiosity killed the cat, or whatever ridiculous saying there is, but he’s in one piece when he steps out of the portal.

He gives himself a quick glance over. No new limbs sprouting from his body.

He takes in his surroundings. He seems to be in a universe with buildings that look similar to Liyue’s but with flying ships and surrounded by more advanced technology than he can take in.

“Look.” The Creator commands, pointing to guards dresses in what he would assume is this world’s armor.

On a side note, they’ve arrived on a huge tree overlooking the middle of a battle.

Some soldiers crouch with their hands over their heads. Looking closer, Dottore can see branches sprouting from inside their armor, (their bodies?), and growing outwards. Slowly, they all collapse and become afflicted with the same condition as them, sprouting foliage from their bodies with a grotesque scream.

Sensing his confusion, The Creator launches into a story.

“Not many people know this, but I don’t create the universes and worlds all by myself. This world was a case where I got bored and decided to create another god, or Archon, as you call them in your world, to have them shape this world instead. Whilst they was shaping this world, they grew more and more attached to the mortals in this world. They approached me and told me that everytime a mortal that he loved past away, their heart grew heavier and heavier. They begged me for a sample of my ichor, believing that if the mortals started drinking my ichor in place of water, they would remain immortal and everlasting, just like me. I warned them of the risk but he stayed adamant. I loved them, so I gave them my blood.” The Creator seemed to wilt in sadness. “Instead of being ‘gifted’ eternal life like they thought the mortals would be, the mortals became struck with a curse where, when they died, their body would start decomposing like it would a normal dead one, but they were still alive. In a last ditch attempt to save their people, the god sacrificied themself to me, hoping that their sacrifice would convince me to help their people. I buried the god in the earth we’re on right now, and the power imbued in the earth was the cause of the foliage growing from the mortals… or immortals now, I suppose.”

“Dottore stayed silent for a few beats after their story, “then if you’re The Creator, will you ever die?”

“It depends on what your definition of ‘death’ is,” The Creator replied, “I’ve died millions of times, over and over again and will continue to do so, but then again, I’ve also never died a single time and will never die. I am not the god of life, death, and rebirth, I am the concept itself. Everything comes from me and everything will return to me in the end because I am everything.”

The Creator slowly removed their veil, and reality itself seemed to break the more of Their face that They revealed. They looked him in the eyes, and it felt like he was looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He could see the void in their eyes, a place of nothingness, but also everything that was happening in the universe at the same time.

They put their veil back on. “Well, did that satisfy your curiosity, my darling mad scientist?”

Dottore could feel his heart speed up, an unfamiliar feeling filling his chest- Oh Creator, is he religious now? Well, whatever he might be now, he thinks hes not so against drinking nefarious bodily liquid after all.

[olderthannetfic]

I was watching a video about Dan Bilzerian, the trust fund baby who ended up wasting the millions of dollars his IRS-escaping daddy left him with, and a part of what brought him to ruin were the outrageous stories he'd tell about his past (he'd say that he had joined the marines, broke both his legs, and then they made him run two miles on them anyways; he made all his money through poker; etc), because people realized they were just too outlandish to be true and started to do detective work to find out the actual truth.

And isn't this what causes all people who fake their backgrounds to be caught, even in fandom? They come up with these stories of abuse that rival both Greek and Shakespearean tragedies put together, and of course people get curious and nosy when they notice that these people, who keep alleging they spend their entire lives suffering, do nothing but blog their days away and harass others under the guise of "I am X and Y and Z, and I think you should go kill yourself for this fic you wrote and if the people who are reading this don't agree with me, then they should know they're white supremacists and when the revolution comes I'll hang them myself in front of their families."

I started this ask by writing a write-up of Tumblr's most infamous fakers (the TOG one, HIVLiving, Discorseprincesa, etc), but then it quickly became paragraphs and paragraphs of words that barely made any sense put one next to the other, and all their stories sound exactly the same.

They are of mixed nationalities, never white, never straight, never Christian, raised in extreme poverty in very poor countries (except for the second fake character of HIVLiving, who was supposedly raised in the US before being trafficked in India), supposedly working minimum-wage jobs because they're minorities and that's what minorities do, even in the countries in which they're not minorities, but always with plenty of time to "educate others" about their identities, except when someone who clearly knows more than them steps into the scene and challenges them, which causes them to bring out the good ol' "Women/LGBT people/POC aren't here to educate you, stop feeling entitled to my time, you misogynist/homophobic/racist piece of shit!"

I don't know, guys, but if you want to fake your identities, maybe, just maybe, you should come up with stories that are a bit more bulletproof and a bit less outlandish (and definitely with more documentation behind them, because going through the write-ups of how these people got caught, it's always something stupid that caused the true investigative work to begin, such as them naming the wrong fruit or asking for donations through the wrong app.)

--

[lesboylycan]

why is this server filled with people who think syscourse is just a "meaningless" internet debate

like. i'm sorry, but i don't think my blog getting posted to r/systemscringe and getting not just attacked for being non-traumagenic, but also for my queerness, is meaningless. i don't think random ass people joining my discord server knowing it's pro endo, knowing we're endogenic, just so they can have access to my DMs to sui-bait me is meaningless. i don't think the fact that i'm basically barred from so many online disability spaces because we're endogenic and 70 - 80% or more of the people in this spaces are anti-endo is meaningless. i don't think the fact that people think we're inherently harmful just for existing for reasons unrelated to trauma is meaningless. i don't think me having to walk on eggshells in servers completely unrelated to plurality (but have other plural folks in them) until i'm sure that us being endogenic won't be an issue is meaningless.

maybe you think it's meaningless. maybe you feel perfectly fine hanging around people who believe us to be faking, secretly traumagenic (and not "remembering the trauma" that caused it), inherently ableist/saneist, etc, who will go out of their way to harass us, who will post our shit on subreddits dedicated to catching out the "cringe fakers" (and inciting more harassment), all because we're endogenic. maybe you're okay with that. maybe you can even be friends with them.

but we fucking can't. and we're not going to sit here and pretend like we're comfortable hanging around you, either, when you treat this all as if it has no real consequences. when you treat syscourse as a debate between viewpoints with equal logical and ethical standing. this isn't something we can compromise on when all we want is to exist without being under threat of harassment and people treating us as if we're evil for not doing plurality in a way they personally like. we're not gonna sit here and be your friend when your best bud on the other side of the brook thinks we literally cannot exist--and all of the baggage that comes along with that. it's just not happening.

[sacchiri]

[Hellsing] Female Fans' Round-Table Discussion

A 6-page interview from the 2012 Hellsing Official Guidebook, featuring five grown-ass women chatting about Hellsing in a casual discussion format and translated into English for the first time ever by yours truly.

Honestly this was way more entertaining to read than I thought it would be. It’s also really funny seeing this super-casual discussion printed in the book right alongside Hirano's—-oh who am i kidding, this is 10x more professional and less deranged than whatever goes on in Hirano’s interviews.

Anyway, without further ado...

Does Hellsing have little to no female fans? Nay! Assembled before you are five women with an undying love for the series. Let’s see their passion for this work show itself as they butt heads!

Is the female fanbase just hiding itself or what?

Moderator: Now then, everyone, let’s start off with introductions.

Ms. T: I am Ms. T. I’ve been walking the path of an otaku since middle school, and it’s already been ● years since then. How do I put this, all of you seem like fairly normal people…

Everyone: Oh no—rest assured we are all otaku as well. (laughter)

Ms T: Oh, really? (laughs) Anyway, I’ve continued to love manga for all this time. Thank you for having me.

Ms J: I’m Ms J. I was already at a decent age when Hellsing began serialization, but to create something so enticing—as expected of Hirano-sensei! (laughs). This is the kind of manga I’d better buy and collect, I thought.

Ms A: Out of today’s gathering, I’m probably the one who became an otaku at the oldest age. (laughs) My friend told me, “Hellsing is a manga that really crazy people read”, so at first I couldn’t get around to starting it. But around the time volume 8 came out, I binge-read it, and it was so interesting that I couldn’t help but get obsessed.

Ms R: I’m probably the youngster in this group. By the time Hellsing started serialization, I was just entering middle school. [T/N: That makes her 27 at the time of this interview.]

Of course we didn’t really have the term "edgy-teen syndrome" back then, but around me the manga was definitely gaining popularity in that edgy teen fashion. One of my best friends was obsessed with Hellsing and I’d borrow it after they finished reading it, and I got addicted too.

Moderator: I’m under the impression that the female readership for Hellsing is overwhelmingly small, but…

Ms J: Nah, I think they’re just hiding. I mean, it’s not like you’d talk about Hellsing to someone in passing. You wouldn’t suddenly say, “Y’know, Alucard is…”

Everyone: True. (laughs)

Ms J: There isn’t much opportunity to bring it up, or perhaps you could say it’s a hard topic to bring up to the general public.

Ms A: Like how you can’t have a pork-and-rice bowl first thing in the morning or something.

Ms J: Yeah, like that. Actually, among my circle of female otaku friends, everyone has read Hellsing.

Ms T: Among manga fans, Kouta Hirano is well-understood.

Ms J: Any fan of manga who doesn’t know Kouta Hirano is a faker!

Ms T: Disregarding whether you’ve properly sat down and read his works or not, I feel like it’s impossible for a manga enthusiast to not have at least heard of Hirano-sensei. But we are talking about manga fans in general, and the range of tastes is so broad. If someone were to say to me “I’m a fan of Kouta Hirano”, only then would I be like, “Oh, so I can talk comfortably with this person”.

Moderator: It’s a good litmus test to use. (laughs)

Ms A: It’s only when you broach the topic of Kouta Hirano that you can finally talk about Hellsing. You can’t go straight from “So I hear you like manga” to “So, about Hellsing…”, lol.

Ms J: If you met someone for the first time and you go “So I heard you like manga? What about Hellsing?” that’s like coming straight for their throat with a knife. (laughs)

Moderator: Even as a gauge to see how much of an otaku your opponent is, it’s a bit too much to try and break the ice with Hellsing.

The wonders of dialogue

Ms J: Speaking of the good points of Hellsing, I think it’s that it doesn’t get overly preachy. You can see this starting from Cross Fire, but you really get the sense that everyone’s equally crazy here.

Ms A: I can see that. No one is on the side of justice. Like the Major, he’s a nasty little guy. The type of guy who would casually twist off an ant’s legs or something like that.

Ms J: That Major, his beta male levels are literally off the charts.

Everyone: (bursts into laughter)

Ms J: Actually, something that caught my interest about the setting is that only virgins can become vampires. In the first place, I don’t think European vampire lore makes that kind of distinction.

Ms T: Father Anderson is probably a virgin, since he has religious reasons for celibacy. Though it might depend on religious sect. I wonder if there’s a meaning behind this concept of chastity?

Ms J: The idea of chastity is valued in the Hellsing universe as well.

Ms A: Right, since if you aren’t a virgin you become a ghoul, and then it’s game over and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Ms R: Speaking of which, Integra’s a virgin, too.

Ms T: Integra being a virgin is an important part of the story.

Ms J: In my personal opinion, the best couple is definitely Alucard and Integra.

Ms R and Ms A: I was going to say the same!

Ms T: Integra and Alucard call each other “Count”, don’t they? You know, in a previous life it’s possible that Integra was a man. Perhaps Alucard is seeing the Count Hellsing of the past through Integra. Thinking about that possibility makes a girl’s heart flutter. Not to mention Integra’s appearance leans towards that of a man— Ah, it’s just so peak! [T/N: I'm not being facetious, 盛り literally means peak]

Ms A: Those who want to read a male/female romance can enjoy doing so, and for people who like BL, there are plenty of elements that can be enjoyed as BL also. I feel like the reason you can enjoy both things is because the relationships that are depicted are not constrained purely to sexual love.

Ms J: For those who like to read into the BL aspect, there are lots of fight scenes that can’t be ignored, can they? Particularly in the endgame. Like Girlycard and Young Walter, that was...really something.

Moderator: That part was just unfair! I mean, after getting captured by Millennium and going M.I.A., all that anticipation was building and building, and for Walter to be reintroduced like that!

Ms J: When I got to that part I was like, “Man, Hirano-sensei really did his best to keep all that stuff pent-up for so long". For both Walter and Girlycard, I mean.

Moderator: Speaking of Girlycard, I get the feeling that the idea for her was in place since the early stages of story development.

Ms J: I wonder about that… on the other hand it seems like it was a very spontaneous decision. (laughs)

Ms A: Even if the story developments feel spontaneous, I feel like the characters' settings are polished to a high degree from the beginning. Even though a new character suddenly appears out of nowhere, you end up following along without feeling a sense of discomfort. In Hirano-sensei's mind, I'm sure that each character is cultivated with an equal amount of attention. After that it's just a matter of deciding what situations the character will appear in.

Ms J: Each character is excellently molded to their place in the story. Even though normally it should be very challenging to create characters that would fit in this sort of world. (laughs) From the moment of their introduction, they are already dyed in Hirano's unique brand, and you can tell that Hirano understands them well.

Ms R: After all, characters from his past works before Hellsing make appearances in the manga, so you get the feeling that these are ideas that have been stewing in his head for a long time.

Moderator: And within Hellsing too, these characters grow and develop. Like Maxwell—he started out as a mere brat, but then he went full tryhard mode and developed that cunning and pretentious side to him.

Everyone: (leans forward) Yeah, that's right!!

Ms J: —And he had that past with Anderson, didn't he? I was like "Hold on a sec, a flashback scene now, are you kidding me"? Even though I knew that a flashback is basically a death flag, I couldn't help but love it. (laughs)

Ms A: At the final moment, Maxwell called Anderson "Sensei", a reversal of their dynamic thus far. Up until then there were hints of foreshadowing, but nothing definite. But with that single word you could feel the adoration Maxwell had felt for Anderson when he was a child... It's amazing how potent that line was. The timing of delivery was excellent, too.

Ms R: Up until that point Maxwell was portrayed as nothing more than a snob, but the truth is there were reasons why he became that way.

Ms T: Hirano-sensei is very skilled at depicting relationships between men.

The beauty of composition

Ms A: In Hellsing, there aren't any characters that go too far beyond the range of normal anatomy.

Even with regards to enemies and such, there aren't any massively gargantuan or bulky characters. Everyone is more or less normal. And yet, there is so much impact in the poses that it leaves you with a strong impression. Those standout panels just radiate style—so much so that anyone with an eye for art will be impressed by them, I think.

Ms T: The paneling is relatively simple, but the composition sense of each panel is amazing.

Ms R: I love the stuff like Rip Van's silhouette. The balance between her and the musket is super cool. Even though something that size in real life would be impractical to shoot, it looks so cool that it's like, "Who cares!"

Ms A: Fight scenes that should have a lot of movement are instead surprisingly depicted with still frame shots, and they have a beauty to them reminiscent of paintings. It makes me want to stare at the same handful of panels for a long time. Calling it aesthetic beauty might be a bit of an exaggeration, but...

Ms T: Not an exaggeration at all, I think there is a lot of aesthetic beauty. For me, when I look at Hirano-sensei's artwork, I'm reminded of ukiyo-e paintings. And in the movement, I sense a bit of kabuki theater.

Moderator: Each panel is created with beauty in every nook and cranny, so as to work as a standalone illustration.

Ms R: The way shadow and blood is depicted is so good, isn't it? It really makes full use of the monochrome medium.

Ms A: When I was reading the scene in volume 8 when Cromwell Level 0 is released and soldiers are unleashed in hordes, it reminded me of a medieval copperplate engraving. The plot developments in that moment were so interesting, and the density of the illustrations so rich, that simply staring at them was enjoyable.

Ms T: It really draws you in, doesn't it? In other manga that have very detailed art styles, the realism makes it feel similar to a liveaction movie. But Hirano's works are 100% "manga", I would say. In that sense, none of it is realistic at all. But that's why it's possible to achieve poses and compositions that are impossible with photography, and that's why he can portray things I didn't even know I would want to see.

The position of women in Hellsing

Moderator: To all of you, was there a scene where you were like, "This scene right here is where I became obsessed"?

Ms J: So this is my personal taste, but I liked the setup of the handsome lady Master and the handsome male Servant. I like butlers, too. So once those three conditions were satisfied, I was like, "This is a good manga". The part where I was like "This is a really good manga" was when Anderson was introduced. At first, I was thinking this would be a story where Alucard dotes upon Seras and raises her up as a vampire, but then we were introduced to a Catholic priest from the same religion, yet who aims to defeat the protagonists...

Ms A: You can't deny the impact of Anderson. The only thing he wants to do is "exterminate vampires". While characters in Hellsing may undergo sudden changes, they never waver. They race from their introduction to their final chapter with just as much momentum as when they were first introduced. Not only is it satisfying to read, you won't be disappointed. As long as your favorite character appears, you can focus all your attentions on them, and before you know it you'll have binge-read to the last chapter. (laughs)

Ms T: For me, the scene when Integra discovers Alucard in the basement, and Alucard was revived with her blood is when I became hooked. While it is an expected development for vampire stories, that part of the story was very beautiful. And afterwards, I loved the tender portrayal of Seras's growth. Among ero-guro media, there are many works that portray women in a demeaning manner, but Hellsing is not one of them.

Ms A: In Hellsing, there is no distinction in the roles that are assigned to men and women.

Ms J: Indeed, women fight and stand on the front lines. And it feels natural.

Ms R: To tell the truth, when I first started reading Hellsing, I thought Integra was a man. And, for some reason it felt overly pandering [T/N: I assume she means pandering to fujoshi] and I just couldn't get into it. But then I realized Integra was a woman, and I was like "Oh, so it's a female/male master-servant relationship! I'm sorry for making such a weird assumption!" (laughs) I feel like it's important that Integra is a woman.

Ms T: In volume 1 there were moments where Integra was told incredulously, "You're a woman?", but in those moments I always felt that, ironically, being called a "woman" was what made her so much more cool. In Hellsing, you get the feeling that all characters are loved by the creator regardless of being male or female, enemy or ally. There are many standout characters among the villains, for example.

Ms J: Each character showcases their individuality in their fighting style as well.

Ms A: I love that Rip Van is this scrawny girl with long limbs, who wields an old-fashioned musket—it gives off a really fantastic impression. The fact that a girl is given that kind of position, without it feeling offensive. When men draw female characters there tends to be a bit of double standards going on, or it can feel cloying or annoying depending on the scenario, but I don't feel that in Hellsing.

Ms J: Far from being annoying, the depictions of women feel unique and cool in their own way.

Ms A: You're right. Traditionally, female characters are accompaniments to the hero, aren't they? But Integra takes the lead, and while Seras is supported by those around her, she moves according to her own choices. Even among the female villains, they are given important roles that they carry out to the end, so you can read while feeling a sense of satisfaction.

Points you would recommend to other women

Ms T: Doesn't the series in general have a sort of sensuality?

Ms J: It does. As it gets nearer and nearer to the endgame, even the fight scenes show more tenderness. It's like a "They love each other, therefore they trade blows" vibe that feels erotic.

Ms R: When Alucard returned to London in volume 8, it felt pretty romantic.

Ms T: On the other hand, the explanations about weapon specs that pop up everywhere seem very male-oriented. I guess this is what you call the author's hobby.

Ms J: Speaking of the author's hobby, I feel like the fact that Walter is an old man is one of them. If you think about it purely in terms of reader appeal, there should have been no problem if Walter was young from the beginning. I get the impression that he was like, "If you're going to add a butler, it better be an old geezer". Ahh—the more I reread, the more I feel like I discover new things.

Moderator: There is plenty more we weren't able to talk about, but to close us off, please appeal to the women who haven't read Hellsing yet as to why they should read the series.

Ms A: The female characters are so full of life, so why not give it a try mainly for the female characters?

Ms T: You can read it together with your boyfriend! There are lots of battles and weapons that guys would like, and there's no nasty relationship drama, so it might actually be a big hit among couples.

Ms J: "Look at Integra and Alucard, honey, they're just like us!" or something? (laughs)

Ms R: When you think of vampire media, you might be inclined to imagine something campy and whimsical. But even though there's a lot of absurdism at play, the world is based on real historical facts. So I want to recommend it broadly, even to those that don't normally enjoy fantasy.

Ms T: I feel like Hellsing is like a very strong liquor. At first you might feel that the taste is overwhelming, but once you get used to it, it becomes delicious.

Ms J: Please go in with zero expectations and give it a read.

Moderator: Thank you all for your time today!

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

Link to the raw scans (which are not mine). Feel free to spread and repost my translation to other sites.

[thecorvidforest]

I have had a situation recently, and I would like your advice on it. I run a gaming discord server, with private servers for a few games. A streamer joined who claimed to have DID. They seemed to flaunt it all over their streams, seemingly very attention seeking. This, to me, seems likely to be fake, but I am unsure. Can you give any input? I don't want to have someone who makes up mental illnesses, discrediting those who actually have them, around, but I also don't want to falsely accuse someone.

sure, i’m happy to give my input, but it might not be what you’re looking for. you seem to have good intentions and this isn’t meant to bully or shame you at all, i just want to gently push back on this a little bit.

i personally believe there is never a good enough reason to accuse someone of faking a mental illness, especially something like DID/OSDD. there is no reliable way to spot a faker, and accusing people of lying does far more to hurt the community than faking does. let me explain.

some systems like to talk about their experiences, some don’t. same goes for anyone with any condition. talking about one’s plurality frequently is not automatically them flaunting it, and it’s certainly not grounds to assume they’re faking. plurality informs one’s entire life, we should be allowed to talk about it without having to worry if we’re being perceived as attention seeking.

here’s the thing. it’s wonderful that you want to help protect people who have DID/OSDD from people who might be faking it and i don’t doubt for a second that your intentions are genuine, but accusing someone of faking based on how you perceive them will do far more to discredit them than someone who’s actually faking it.

because here’s what’s going to happen if you remove them from your space because you think they’re faking: everyone around you who may be a closeted system - or even just anyone with a highly stigmatized disorder - is going to know that your acceptance of them isn’t based on their self-report, it’s based on your own perception of their symptoms. they will no longer feel free to be themselves, because showing their symptoms comes with the risk of being kicked out. you’ll have effectively made your space less safe for people with stigmatized conditions. and for the accused person, you’ll have removed them from a space that’s meant to be safe and completely invalidated their lived experience based on them choosing to speak about said experience.

on the flipside, let’s say they are faking and you do nothing. most likely scenario, they’re attention seeking and using DID to get the attention they want. what ends up happening most of the time is the person faking it eventually gets tired of the harassment and of having to keep all their lies straight and they stop.

of course lying about an already stigmatized condition for attention is an awful thing to do, and i’m not defending people who do it. what i am saying is that it is far less harmful to accidentally include a liar than it is to exclude someone who may or may not be lying with no way to know for sure if they are.

TLDR: whether they’re faking or not, them talking about it isn’t a reason to assume they are. and regardless, it’s always better to assume they’re telling the truth.

i hope this helps! we had a few switches in the middle of writing this so i’m sorry if the phrasing doesn’t flow well lmao