#i'm just projecting lol

[kiwwia-wiwwia]

God Must Hate Me

A call to your mother goes horribly wrong. Luckily, Matt is there to help you pick up some of your broken pieces.

Listened to God Must Hate Me by Catie Turner and decided to project into my writing!

Matt murdock x reader, hurt/comfort, bisexual!reader Word count: 1.8k Warnings: swearing, religious trauma lol, self-loathing, implied CSA EDIT: I know Catholicism is a part of Christianity!!! This is just based on my parents and how they talked about other denominations :)

Your shoulders shook as you slid down the wall, silent sobs wracking your body. One hand was clutching your phone, the other clapped over your mouth, desperate to contain any noise that might slip out. Sinner, your mother had called you. Hedonist. Sodomite. Her words looped over and over in your mind, drowning out all other thoughts. 

You wouldn’t have called in the first place had it not been for your sister. She texted you the night before saying that she was back home caring for your elderly father who had caught the flu. She said that your mother wouldn’t stop talking about you, complaining that you never called, that she didn’t know anything about your life. You spent that night tossing and turning, contemplating whether it was worth getting back in contact with her. Your relationship with your mother had always been strained, considering the abuse you endured in your childhood, but you didn’t hate her. You couldn’t. You felt a sense of guilt in pushing her away, as if you were abandoning a debt you owed.

What pushed you over the edge was a text from your father this morning. 

Hi pumpkin. I miss your smile. I’m a little under the weather, and I’d love a visit from my girl. Hope all is well. Love, Dad.

Despite everything your mother had put both of you through, you and your father were always close. You had talked to Matt, sharing your dilemma. On one hand, you didn’t really want to speak to your mother. On the other hand, your father was getting old, and you didn’t know how many more visits you had with him. He had always been delicate, getting sick easily and hurting himself by accident. He was also the only person besides your sister who truly understood you until Matt, and you missed him.

“Give them a call,” Matt suggested. He looked so beautiful, his hair catching the sunlight from the window and his body draped over the armchair. His hand lazily grasped a mug, steam drifting up from the warm coffee. “If the call goes well, go over and visit. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

You chewed on your lip anxiously. “And… if it doesn’t go well?” Your fingers picked idly at the rug below you. You were seated on the floor, resting your head against his leg as you sipped your tea. This was your unofficial weekend tradition, the two of you seated in this position while you talked about… well, whatever you needed to talk about. Anything that didn’t get brought up during the week, a dream one of you had, a funny story you had from work. Mornings like this were sacred, the peace and domesticity somehow washing away any other worries. In these moments, nothing else existed except you and Matt, your own little corner of heaven.

He ran his hand through your hair, slowly and deliberately raking his fingers over your scalp until you sighed in contentment. “Then I’ll be here for that, too,” he hummed.

Now, you found yourself wishing you had never said anything in the first place. All you wanted was to talk to your parents, check up on them, maybe even test the waters of a possible visit. Instead, you were berated for your lifestyle, called a whore and a sinner and told you were destined for hell. 

“And how’s your love life? Have you finally found a nice man or are you still in your lesbian phase?” You bristled at the comment, knowing your mother never took your sexuality seriously. Your coming out had been a disaster and had resulted in you staying with a friend for two months because your mother couldn’t stand the sight of you. “I’m bisexual, mom, that’s not a phase. But… yeah, I met someone,” you admitted. Your mother scoffed on the other end of the line, which you pointedly chose to ignore. “His name is Matthew, he’s a lawyer here in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Such an awful name for a city. Why do they call it that, anyways? It couldn’t have been heaven’s kitchen?” You kept quiet, doing your best to push off the inevitable argument as your mother plowed on. “It’s good that you’ve come to your senses and met a boy. Where does he work? Is he Christian? Does he want kids?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “He runs his own firm, Nelson and Murdock, he’s actually over there right now to grab some paperwork. I don’t know if he wants kids, we haven’t really thought about it. I only just moved in with him, and no, he’s not Christian. He’s Catholic, goes to mass every week.” There was a long silence before your mother finally spoke again.

“You… you moved in? As in… you live together?” Her tone was as if you had just told her that you shoved someone off of a building. “Yeah, I was staying over so much that we figured it wasn’t worth spending money on an apartment I don’t live in.” You arched a brow at her sharp intake of breath. “Mom? You okay?”

“Honey,” she said, her words dripping with venom. “Are you having sex with this man? Before marriage?” You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped your throat. “Mom, it’s not the 1800’s anymore. People have sex and move in with each other, it isn’t a crazy concept. My sex life isn’t really any of your business, though.” She made a sound of indignation, her voice an octave higher than when she last spoke. “That is no way to talk to your mother! I can’t believe you would be such a sinner, after everything I worked so hard to teach you. This behavior is disgusting, you know that? Only whores engage in such hedonistic acts.”

You stiffened at her words, years of religious teachings and long hours spent in churches creeping into your mind. Memories of wooden switches and Sunday School songs wrapped their tendrils around your throat, threatening to choke you until you had to plead with God for mercy. You took a gulp of air, trying desperately to keep your voice steady as tears pricked your eyes. “Mom, I’m not going to let you make me feel bad for the way I live my life, especially regarding something as small as who I’m spending my nights with. I just called to see how you and dad are doing, but if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I have other things to do anyway.” Her voice pierced through your phone’s speaker before you could hang up, your name spat from her lips like it was something profane. “All I ever did was try to raise a nice Christian girl, and this is what I get in return? A slut that sleeps with women and men before she’s even married? A sodomite? And he’s Catholic! You know catholicism isn’t biblical, how many times have I told you to stay away from non-Christians?” Tears were streaming down your face at this point, recollection of the confession of your treatment at the hands of the local pastor resulting in beatings. For some reason, you could only form a response to the last part of her rant. “After all of that, catholicism doesn’t seem as bad,” you said dryly.

“If we weren’t on the phone I’d smack you across the face for that. Don’t bother calling again. I’m not interested in hearing the lifestyle of a hellbound heathen.” The call ended with a dull beep, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You distantly registered the sound of the door opening, footsteps coming down the hallway and making their way to where you were outside of the bedroom. Matt knelt in front of you, his unseeing eyes wide with concern. Your name fell from his lips as he cupped your face in his hand, lightly tracing his thumb along your cheek. “What happened? Was it your mom?” All you could do was nod as another sob escaped you. Desperate for some kind of comfort, you reached out your arms in a silent request. He complied without hesitation, drawing you into his chest and letting out a sad hum as you gripped his shirt, clinging to any semblance of stability.

“What do you need, love?” he asked softly, his fingers gently running up and down your spine. “Do you want to talk about it?” You instinctively shook your head and then paused, reconsidering. “I don’t… I don’t know why she still affects me the way she does,” you croaked. “It’s like every time we talk, I’m a scared little kid again.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, shame making your words thick. “She called me a whore, Matt. Called me a heathen for moving in with you, said I was going to hell. There was more, some sexuality stuff and Catholic-shaming you, but that was the main point.”

Matt went rigid, his fingers abruptly stopping their soothing motions on your back. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. “She’s wrong, love. You know those are just lies, right?” You shrugged helplessly, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you shifted your position, opening up the space between the two of you. “I’m not religious. Not anymore, not after everything I went through in the church.” You sighed tiredly, scrubbing your hand down your face. “But being raised the way I was… it sticks, y’know? That belief system is a part of who I am, whether I want it to be or not, and I can’t help but think… what if she’s right? I mean, I’m not exactly a saint. Usually I’m pretty good at rationalizing all this stuff, but man, God must hate me. I’m such a bad person, Matt.”

He physically flinched at that. “Don’t ever call yourself that,” he seethed. You jerked your head up to look at him, his anger taking you by surprise. His words were sharp, his tone dripping barely-concealed anger. “You are not a bad person for living your life.” You made a noise of protest but he quickly cut you off. “I don’t know what they drilled into your head to make you hate yourself so much, but none of it is true. You’re the most wonderful, kind, selfless person I’ve ever met, and God help anyone who makes you think anything different.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead and you managed a small smile. “I love you. So much,” he breathed.

“I love you too. Thanks for trying to undo my religious trauma even though you have enough of it for all of Hell’s Kitchen. Sorry for crying on your shirt.” He chuckled at that, helping you to your feet. “Nothing to apologize for, love. Now, let’s go to the store. We need to buy some eggs.”

You arched a brow. “We have eggs in the fridge. What are you up to, Murdock?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We have a house to egg, of course. Don’t tell me you’re above petty revenge?” 

You laughed, the tension in your body draining. God, you loved this man. “Of course not. I’m a good heathen, after all.”

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh

[demaparbat-hp]

Almost

[marshmallowgoop]

no thoughts just Heiji Hattori (HD)

[mechieonu]

i know that disney is too big to boycott effectively but that shouldn't translate to "and so we should keep buying their products like normal" but rather "at the very least we should try"

[zivazivc]

Finished!

A lazy summer day by a stream~

I finally put my illustration degree into good use and made a proper traditional illustration (although still fanart 😅). Sometimes I really wanted to just "undo" some strokes or move some things around haha but man was this relaxing and satisfying to work on, also I am just so proud of the outcome. I haven't done a proper traditional illustration on this scale since my thesis so it's been a few years.

I took these photos with a phone outside to try and really capture the colors and details.

[actual-changeling]

i crave the emotional catharsis that would come with crowley taking care of his plans, in so much pain but swallowing it down and pretending it's not real, finally having the mental breakdown he deserves.

he's taking care of his plants, a detached look on his face, misting them and making sure they're all healthy and have enough space to grow. after he returned, he stopped talking to them for the most part. they welcomed him back, they had missed him—shax is not the nicest or most interesting company to keep—and now they're worried.

crowley sleeps, paces, mists his plants, gets drunk, and sleeps some more. everything to stop feeling. until he sees a leaf spot on one of them. a tiny imperfection, barely worth a shout, and yet.

a tremor works it way through him, his knees always giving out, and he presses one palm against the wall to keep himself upright. wave after wave of shame, bright and stabbing in the middle of his chest, reminds him why he left.

not good enough.

crowley had tried, someone knows he tried. it's hard to regain a soul, harder yet to shape it into something worth loving, someone worth living for, but he had tried.

his fingers curl around the pot and before he can stop himself he flings it across the room, listening to it shatter. can't even do that right, can he? can't raise fucking plans, can't keep his STUPID mouth shut, can't make him stay because who would want to be stuck with him forever? no one, that's who, and after six thousand years, aziraphale had seemingly reached his blessed limit and taken the first chance to leave.

another plant follows with a scream, dirt and broken stems covering the floor and staining the walls, and then another and another and another until he can fall to his knees amidst the ruins of his life.

clay shards are cutting his palms open as he doubles over, sobs wrecking through him like thunder, and his tears carve clean paths down his dirty hands.

"i tried," he whispers, voice hoarse from yelling, "i'm sorry, i tried."

crowley's wings unfurl with an almost silent gust of air, blacking out the sunlight streaming in. he drags himself to the nearest corner before wrapping his arms and wings around himself, and curling up as tightly as possible.

"i tried," he keeps breathing into feathers and fabric, "i tried, i tried, i tried."

over and over until his voice fails him and then some more. it is almost a lullaby, the words taking whatever is left of his heart and gently rocking it back and forth. crowley falls asleep like that, exhausted and broken and lonely. just as sleep pulls him under, he stops his repetition, his mouth shaping phrase after phrase.

for the very first time since his fall, crowley closes his eyes and prays.

[yudidoodles]

I knowwww this probably isn't how this bit is meant to be read but like,,, its very funny that when asked "how do flirt" they reply with how they treat each other

[project-sekai-facts]

According to flashbacks in chapter 7 of Reeling in the Lights, Mafuyu had astraphobia as a child. In chapter 8 she confirms that she's no longer scared of thunder.

[snarkspawn]

sketchingggg

[itsyouch]

this episode was so nice im glad purple showed up :]

[aioliravioli-69]

Here you go!!

Silver in a pretty dress, that ISN'T her usual one!

Some of you may already know this, but I LOVE drawing frilly and poofy dresses! ESPECIALLY when they're moving!!!

I love the ways the folds rearrange themselves!!!

This first dress wasn't really inspired by some barbie doll dress, just a random redesign I guess??

I feel like the lineart isn't that visible though, but I'm too lazy to fix it lol

Aight, up next is a request!!

This dress was requested by @tea-132 and I thank them!!!

It's REALLY pretty and I would've missed out on it otherwise aqnd it was extremely fun to draw so thanks a lot :DD

here it is!!

And yes, before you ask, she will come in more poses I just need to figure them out and nothing seemed more fitting for this dress than the 'joyful-walk-with-a-new-skirt' pose!!

I will say that I totally put no effort into the design on the outer lace and ibis Paint was a giant help with the stars (I love you ibis, marry me <333)

I'm happy with how it turned out and be prepared to expect more dresses soon

I will draw them until y'all are drowning in them

MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[omaano]

Big Blue joins The Mandalorian Meets Hades Project!

[bleue-flora]

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

[raycatz]

There's a headcanon from a while back that Warriors braids people's hair as an idle / to connect / to decompress. May I propose other small physical connections and comforts, like Legend giving back scritches?

If someone is seated on Legend's bedroll with him during downtime and they're just dozing or he sees someone who's tense and decompressing he'll reach a hand out and rub their back. If they respond well he'll give scritches. He doesn't have to ask or talk about what's bothering someone that way and can still give comfort. I think the motion would be soothing for him as well.

Wild will give scritches too but watch out because he'll start tickling and poking when he gets bored. Good hefty pats and a slight shake. Giving Wolfie / horsie pats to everyone haha!

Sky has the best hugs to sigh troubles away into and he will hold those who need it.

Time's hugs give strength. A hug that fills one with confidence.

Twi will give massages. Also the same kind of pats Wild gives and hair ruffles / scalp massages but he has better control of his own strength when messing with people from being big brother to the kids in Ordon. Wild's pats lean towards playfully riling someone up, and while Twilight's can also be that, they're more secure and comforting as well.

Hyrule and casual touch! Sitting just near enough that something is touching be it an arm or leg or leaning fully into someone. He'll get into the space of those who allow it and will take their hands and massage their palms or press their hands between his to keep them warm. We've seen him in the updates the past year or so grabbing Time's shirt when he made a breakthrough with Twi, and nudging an elbow at Legend when laughing. I think it's something he'd do more often the more comfortable he is with the chain. Resting an elbow on a shoulder, hitting an arm with the back of his hand to get someone's attention, offering a hand for calf stretches, playful rough housing, etc. I love it for him.

Four with the back scritches as well. I like a headcanon I've read in sister_dear's works where Four doesn't usually like people messing with his head, ruffling his hair, etc. But, I can see him accepting a palm to his forehead or over his eyes when he has a headache (from Twi specifically!), and doing so for others. He'll press his face to people like a cat and lean. Like Sky, he'll hold people. It's what he's found works. (He is little so finding a way to do so can be awkward but so help him he will protect those he cares for!!!)

Wind ruffles and braids hair as well. Also full out rough housing, play wrestling, trying to pick people up, etc. I can also see him sprawling over those he's comfortable with. They're his pillow now. Whoever he's fallen asleep on is no longer allowed to move. They have to deal with the fact that he heats up in his sleep too. (Space heater Wind.) But I think his slowed breathing and trust would be a comfort.

[justsalpals]

people being actually confused, or somehow disappointed?? by the random npcs in the first episode? couldn't be me. absolute highlight of the entire thing. these are my people.

justice for balthazar, the bad kids deserved to taste that chilli one last time