#the universe is punishing me

[thetaciturn1]

I REBLOG A SAM X FRODO DROPOUT POST ONE TIME.

MY WHOLE TIMELINE IS SAMDO NOW WHAT THE HELLLLLLL

[deathbecomesnerds]

So, it’s half priced iced coffee today at Starbucks, so Jen and I went. I waited until we got back to the office for me to drink it. I got out of the car and just as I was getting out…I dropped it! 😭😭😭

This is the second week in a row where Half Priced Coffee day did not go well. 😭😭😭

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[a-strange-inkling]

“Omg they gave Eddie a girlfriend 😭”

Omg Chrissy had a full ass boyfriend and she and Eddie both actually died.

Obviously nothing deters me.

[redwinterroses]

headcanon that Scar is the only one we don't see die after winning a Life series because time is a loop and he moved on alone in the world, which then became the start of his The Crafting Dead series.

[yvesolade]

.

[undercookedcatgut]

I headcannon that Superman is weak to the color green. You know how in dcxdp fics sometimes ectoplasm and kryptonite are one in the same? Or even simply when ecto affects supes? And the reasoning to that connection is because theyre both GREEN. SO what if kryptonite is just rocks painted luminescent green and no has told superman. Like if someone painted a bullet with some cheap green paint that's practically flaking off the surface and just, shoots superman, it works? No ones tried it ofc because why would they. It's a closely guarded secret by the justice league. Superman is the only one not in the know. Even the other supers know. (It typically works better when the paint is either glow in the dark or luminescent) Superman is confused why they won't let him touch the glow in the dark sticky notes (that just so happen to be green) they look so cool! He wants one too :(

[keelifallen]

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[cws: starvation/food insecurity, fantasy racism, psychiatric abuse, ableism, and Upsetting Pictures.]

-

one thing that fucks me up immensely about pericles before and after the asylum is how fucking skinny he is.

like. as much as obviously the two designs are Very Inconsistent in general which annoys me, look at him pre-timeskip. look at how he's shaped.

his head and face are way smoother and rounder, both in front and back, and the space between his cheekbones and his eyebrow ridge is filled in; his body is rounder in general and his belly is noticeably between his thighs when he's standing up; he has kind of a chubby butt; his chin and neck are softer and wider around, which you can really see with the width of the scarf compared to his shoulders and the angle where it meets his head. it comes up in front of his face more because there's not as much of an angle with his chin to hold it down.

now. compare all those things to this.

christ.

and like, you could argue some of these design differences are tiny things to zero in on in a show that's as loose with its models as sdmi is. but present-day pericles' design is pretty obviously supposed to be unsettling because he's physically built to be a Cute Roumb Little Mascot Creature--so much so that the framework has managed to stick around a little in spite of everything--and has become gaunt and haggard anyway. and you could also argue that the body type changes are just thanks to aging twenty years (and i don't doubt that's contributed).

except. he spent those twenty years in an asylum where the other inmates we see look like this.

christ.

(fun little fact that @thecottageinthedark pointed out also: remember how he literally got caught at one point because he couldn't stop eating sunflower seeds, even during a heist? a high-fat, high-calorie snack for birds? you know, exactly the kind of thing a starving person who finally has proper access to food would be wolfing down?)

(yeah.)

did i mention that this happened in a (fantasy) racially segregated prison, which is technically an asylum so the inmates can be kept there indefinitely, because in an actual prison you're required to have a sentence? did i mention that none of the human characters we see in human prison look any less healthy during or afterward, and on top of that are allowed to move around and socialize? did i mention the absolutely horrific treatment of the asylum inmates is implied to be despite the fact that the (physically abusive!) guard is playing up how dangerous and malicious they are? (you know. except for pericles 🙃)

did i mention the man who got pericles imprisoned--who he had not only done nothing to beforehand, but had helped--says he was there to 'live out the rest of his miserable parrot life in a cage, where he belonged,' and not only do none of the characters we're supposed to side with have anything to say about that, but the audience is clearly supposed to agree with him too?

(did i mention said man--who was in on the crime, singular, that pericles went to prison for!--spends those twenty years living a life of luxury in power while abusing the child he kidnapped as a baby and held hostage his entire life, and when we see him in prison he is not only chilling out and helping the authorities but reading a newspaper?)

did i mention the part where by the time we meet pericles he hasn't spoken in years?

like. man the 'ooooo scary evil abused asylum crazies' trope is bad enough, even when they pretend to lampshade it for a minute before playing it straight; i don't know how they added in All That and made him emaciated and expected no one to find it heartbreaking or even sympathetic. i don't care how bad he was before the asylum (and dear god was he ever), that is horrifying and no one deserves it. god damn.

[chronosh0t]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮...

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: male x Lee, alternative universe, hurt, hurt-comfort, angst, mature content, physical and emotional violence, psychotic. 〔 NO BETA 〕 MDNI！

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: “you just wait, when I meet you for real , I will poke you right back”... how many times? 133...thousands...?

────────────── ❁ ──────────────

How could this be? How could this be remotely possible? Did he make some sort of awful mistake to be going through this? Maybe he was having a very realistic nightmare.

But, did it matter? Whether he was having a nightmare, or a bad joke, that wasn't important anymore. After enduring for who knows how long, his brain couldn't come up with a reasonable answer to this new reality. Trying countless times to find a solution, to talk through, finding a way to set himself free and reaching nowhere, giving up led the list. Why would he keep trying?

Physically and emotionally devastated, inside such a tiny room with no window at sight, the only artificial light of a pale blue colour, tied up to a hard iron chair, his skin felt extremely dry. His eyes already accustomed to the darkness would squint at the mere brightness, a sharp pain in both of his temples would force him to close them. He needed sunlight, he needed food, clean water and a warm bath.

Those daily needs that seemed so common and more like a right as a human being were now a far dream. A luxury he was not allowed to experience anymore. Why?... well, just for “poking” too much, apparently. Alone, again, in that room he would remember how everything started, cursing under his breath, but could he actually blame himself?

Poking, yes. He remembered playing a game, he remembered liking a bit too much a certain character and he ALSO remembered quickly tapping the screen because he liked that interaction the most. How this character would “joke” about being childish or how he would “pat” him, with a soft smile and gentle blue eyes.

“You just wait, when I meet you for real I'll poke you right back.”

“Every time you poke me, I will pay it back exponentially… So– you've done it a total of 133637 times. Are you ready for me to return the favour?”

Those two lines would make him giggle. It was just a game, it was just a character and it was just a cute interaction. So how come he ended up in such a situation? How can he blame himself when no one would've thought that character would be able to come out of the game and “poke” him back? However, it doesn't matter anymore, if it made sense or not. The reality was different, and the pokes were no longer a silly joke.

So, sitting on that chair, tied up. Inside that room, he would wait for Lee to come every now and then and…

……

…………

When Zenas logged into the game a month ago he found out his main character on the screen was not there. A glitch? Could be, after all, his phone's battery was at its lowest and it wouldn't be weird if the game lagged a bit. He didn't pay much attention and decided to play for a little bit before going to sleep. Totally unaware something was coming for him.

Waking up, feeling something warm playing with his hair, it took him a solid minute to realise someone else was there. Abruptly his body jolted and sat on the bed, his tired eyes were forced to quickly adjust to the morning light and focus on the person sitting on the mattress as well. A mechanical body, soft light blond hair, pretty pale blue eyes and a gentle smile, everything he was used to seeing every time he would log in. The character, Lee, was there… right in front of him.

Zenas, not sure what to do, body not moving at all and his mind was going haywire. How could that be? Was that a joke? A dream? Yeah, it must be that, a fucking dream. But the Construct talked and Lee's voice reverberated through his skin, growing deep within his heart, he lost consciousness seconds later. When Zenas woke up again, he found himself in the room he's locked in at the exact moment.

The door screeching against the wooden floor brought him back. He could feel the pain again, he felt his skin getting colder with each passing seconds, minutes, days and weeks. There were even moments when Zenas thought his pain tolerance was at his limit but Lee would do his best to refute that, awakening his senses from the slightest numb sensation. The character he thought was the sweetest of all ended up being a psychopath. How laughable.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Commandant.” Lee broke the silence, with the usual gentle voice, manipulating Zenas’ mind. “Did you miss me?”

Zenas let out a chuckle. No, it wasn't funny, at all, but that involuntary action was out of his own insanity, the amount of pain he had felt the past month after being physically tortured with different objects, his skin being ripped apart and stabbed countless time with screws and needless of all sizes, pushed his mind to limits Zenas thought he didn't have. Weirdly enough he would answer that question with a yes.

Was this what therapists would call Stockholm Syndrome?

ㅤㅤㅤ“Let's start with our daily routine, shall we?”

✂………………………………………………………………………………………………

〔 🎐 〕 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛... 𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝? 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

〔 🎐 〕 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙.

〔 🎐 〕 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.

[anotherobsessedfangirl]

It’s so hard to not fall into the rabbit hole of thinking a chronic illness flare up is your fault because you did something wrong or even because your body or the universe or whatever wants to punish you… it’s so hard to not blame yourself and feel like you deserve to suffer and miss out on stuff because you are not good enough

[shadowhandss60]

Those “throw away” quotes where Dorian mentions his physical abuse from his father REALLY hit different after THAT chapter of Kingdom of Ash

[meezer]

ESSAY SUBMITTED. LET'S GET A BAD GRADE TOGETHER 🫴

[senadimell]

this is not how the world works, but i would like compensation for the many petty ways bureaucracy makes my life just that much more difficult :)

[girlwithfish]

had this very toxic thought like why do other ppl find healthy relationships and love and i cant. it does not feel fair i just won the unlocky lottery i guessssss lmao

[dandyshucks]

everyone pray for me that i did not just give myself food poisoning (;･∀･)