#well inferred self harm

[lonesuperhero]

Lowkey the lyrics from Zydrate Anatomy, specifically the:

"And amber sweet is addicted to the knife. Addicted to the knife? Addicted to the knife. And addicted to the knife, She needs a little help with the agony."

Is such a vibe and lowkey heavily relate to it.

[grendel-sceadugenga]

GP (touching my stomach) asked if I'd ever had surgery, and I mentioned i had a hernia when I was little. She then asked about whether it had a left a scar and I said yeah on my belly button and she was like oh so not a big one.

Didn't remember till I was driving home that I have a big scar on my stomach (self inflicted) and that was probably the reason she was asking lol.

[caitlynxviolet]

unnerving

When you look at the differences between these two posters, you feel an immense sense of dread, especially when you compare the emotions in them, but there's an underlying feeling here - misplaced reassurance.

In the first poster representing their dynamic in the first season with Vi being Powder's protector, she's shielding her sister to save as much of her innocence as possible as a young child, but Powder is witnessing it anyway. Something could be said about how the light hits her startled eye directly, like a spotlight. There's no unseeing this. No undoing. Vi facing away from the focal point means that her focus is on reassuring her sister. We can infer that Powder is staring at a source of horror that Vi doesn't look into. She's thus prioritizing comfort, hoping that her sister will look away too. There's something to be said about the firm yet gentle hold of Vi's arm around her sister. Vi's intent to soften the blow of whatever's worrying her sister falls short when she doesn't melt into the gesture. While Vi's focus is entirely on comforting her sister, Powder's is blinded by something else that grabs her attention in a horrific way. It seems to symbolize how hard Vi was trying to protect her sister with her unconditional love, while failing to see for herself what was truly harming Powder - what's behind the focal point here.

In the second poster, well... there's quite a twist of dynamic. Suddenly, it's Jinx, Powder's new sense of self, doing the reassurance, yet it's eerie. Maybe that's because she's still looking into the focal point with her eye glowing purple, but I'd venture to say that the dread is coming from Vi's expression. The spotlight shines into Vi's eye this time, but she's not staring at it. No. She's troubled. She's facing inward instead. Whereas the previous hug felt soothing towards Powder, this one feels like Vi is suffocating. Jinx is being protective is a possessive way. There are a lot of things that could be said about Vi's expression. She's unsettled - almost like she doesn't expect to be held like this. Almost like it's unwanted. Her eye is wide open, there are tears, and she's staring into space. Jinx's heartbreaking expression is reminiscent of the unspeakable horrors she has witnessed, shaping who she's become as a person.

[ghostsandfools]

Solar and Lunar's Relationship is so Underrated

Alright. I already typed out like a whole essay about this in one of my friends dms (I am so sorry you had to read all that-) but I decided to post an even LONGER essay here! Because I can :]

Solar and Lunar are just... Just the best. I love them. SO MUCH.

Lunar:

Lunar was the first person that Solar met from the main dimension. Lunar was obviously terrified of Solar at first, considering he looked and sounded just like Eclipse, but I love how Solar treats him when they first meet. He says "I don't know how anyone could hate you" and "I know I'm not your Eclipse. but you're not a mistake" and is just super sweet in general. It's been a while, but I recommend y'all go back and watch that episode, it's "What if Eclipse isn't evil?! In VRCHAT" and it's genuinely so so adorable.

It took a while for Lunar to get used to Solar, but Solar was patient with him the whole time and I love that. He understood why Lunar was scared of him and was just as sweet as possible until Lunar could feel comfortable around him.

One thing I think is interesting is that when Lunar went in Solar's head, he saw the memory of Solar killing his Moon. I don't think he saw the exact moment when Solar shot him, but from the fact that Solar was still alive and had never told anyone about it, he could probably infer what happened. He knows it happened, but he never held it against him. He never told anyone, he never blamed Solar or called him a murderer, because at that point he knew he wouldn't hurt someone without a reason. He knew Solar was trustworthy.

I think it's nice how their friendship was developed more in the background. Solar and Moon were always 'the besties', always spending time together, working on projects together, and it was the same way with Earth. But even though Solar and Lunar never spent as much time with each other, I feel like they understood each other better than anyone else. Their friendship was special, even if it wasn't as prominent.

When Lunar killed Eclipse, Solar showed him the same patience and care and kindness that he's always shown. Earth was scared of him, Gemini was angry at him, but Solar understood exactly what he was going through, because he'd been there once himself. And just like Lunar didn't judge him, he never judged Lunar.

Solar:

In his home dimension, Solar didn't really have anyone that he could trust. His Moon and Sun BOTH died. In the episode he was introduced in, he explained that during the separation or sometime after, his Moon passed away, and the version we saw who tried to kill him was a copy of his Moon with the same memories. I wonder if that's why he's so unwilling to except what happened to Nexus, because he's seen it all before. And I wonder if maybe this will become a pattern, and what happened to his Sun will end up happening to ours?

Anyways. Solar had to come to the main dimension because his Moon tried to kill him and scrap him for parts and was just being an abusive asshole in general. It does remind me of Eclipse and Lunar. Solar was just a byproduct to his Moon, a useless machine he could use for extra labor, and when Solar wasn't useful to him anymore, he tried to scrap him for parts, desperate to get back his Sun, his star. In a way, I think Solar sees himself in Lunar. That's why they understand each other so well.

When Solar killed his Moon, he didn't tell anyone. I really wonder if that'll ever get brought up again, because he and Lunar have both been hiding it for so long. I can't imagine the guilt he'd feel afterwards, even if it was justified.

I'm going to talk about self harm now, so if you're sensitive to the topic, just scroll past this pink section.

Now, this might be me projecting, because i used to self harm and in a way, I see myself in both Lunar and Solar. But I can see the signs in both of them. Both of them, at this point, have got to have some kind of self worth issues. Constantly being told you're worthless is going to critically damage your self esteem, and it's clear that it's taken some kind of toll on them.

Solar is always working, constantly, and I think that's for two reasons. The first it to distract himself, of course, but i wonder if he's trying to prove himself. He wants to prove to his family that he IS worth something and that they don't need to punish him or scrap him for parts because he IS useful.

And Lunar is the same way. He hasn't shown as many signs, but he's had a lot of pressure on him since he came back. He feels like he has to be good with his powers, to keep both him and his family safe. He has quite literally got the entire world on his shoulders, with Rez threatening him and Taurus threatening him and worst of all, the looming threat that Gemini will probably never speak to him again if he can't master his powers, that's A LOT.

They're both dealing with a lot, and being constantly overwhelmed like that can drive a person to hurt themself. It's more of a headcanon with Lunar, but I could see it being canon for Solar. Like in one of the recent episodes where he was talking to Jack and said "Break the habit Solar- I mean, break the habit Jack!" I wonder if that's what he could be referring to? Idk, let me know what you think.

Okay, I'm done talking about that now. Anyways. When Solar died, Lunar didn't really react. Earth screamed and cried, Nexus went insane, but Lunar didn't really react. And looking at things from a surface level, you could say it's because he and Solar weren't as close, but i don't think that's really true. Lunar said he didn't really feel strongly about it, but how could he? With how much trouble his own emotions cause him in the past, how could he possibly? Maybe he didn't want to lose control of his powers again, maybe he didn't want Earth to be scared of him again. And everyone around him was already so sad, he needed to be stable so they didn't have to worry about him too. But just because he didn't have an outwards reaction, that doesn't mean he didn't care. That doesn't mean he didn't grieve, it doesn't mean it didn't effect him.

Sadly, we haven't seen Lunar's reaction to Solar's return yet, because youtube decided to chaunce around and be stupid, but I'm excited to see how he feels about the whole thing.

I have a little theory/prediction for you all before I end things off. Lunar got star power because he was rebuilt in space. Eclipse's lab was apparently next to the sun.... Maybe Solar will get star power as well? It would make sense, why should he not? He was rebuilt in space as well. It would be dumb if he didn't. Their lives are very parallel to each other after all, even their names.

Anyways. That's enough chauncing about from me, I've got to get to school. But let me know what you guys think! Are Solar and Lunar best duo 2024? Will Solar get star powers? Will the be fire themed and cool as fuck if he does? Does Solar is gay??????? I guess we'll have to wait and find out.

(Jesus Christ, you are DEDICATED, I don't know how you made it this far. If i saw a tumblr post this long, I would not have the patience to read it, you get a gold star for coming all this way ⭐)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: My dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your shoulder hurts. Your ribs too. You keep your arm across your middle as you drag your feet down the pavement. The impact of the bed frame continues to throb tenderly in your flesh. 

The embarrassment is worse than the pain. You barely hold back the hot tears behind your eyes. You can still hear Professor Smith’s voice. He was mortified, just as much as you. How can you ever face him again?  

You’re not going to. You give up. Lee is right. You’re too stupid. You’re useless. You’re destined to end up just like your mom. Not quite. You doubt there will ever be a man who would waste his time. 

You dab away the moisture along the brims of your eyes before you enter the convenience store. You nod at the cashier and duck down the middle aisle. You find a canister of your usual brand and linger before the shelf. You don’t want to go back yet, but you know the longer you take, the more reason there is for Lee to complain. 

You pay and head back out into the street. The sky is grey and clouds dampen the air. There’s a rainstorm coming. It’s a perfect setting for today. 

The apartment rises before you and you sigh in resignation. This is it. The rest of your life. Well... 

One day your mother will cast you out. It might be sooner than later with how Lee hangs around, how he commands her. He doesn’t see a place for you there. You don’t see one for you anywhere. What will you do then?  

As it is, all you have to your name is your laptop, your ratty clothes, and the debt you won’t be able to pay back when you fail this course and drop out. You’re defeated by the time you get to the top of the stairs. You keep your head down as you enter the apartment and slide the chain into place. 

You’re met with thick grunts and the slap of flesh. Your mom’s whimpers are muffled but Lee’s carnal noises are untethered. Your breath traps in your chest and your skin razes hotly. You try to ignore it as you enter the kitchen and set the canister on the counter, leaving the change on the lid. 

As you back up, there’s a glimmer of movement from your left. The bathroom door opens, revealing the back of Lee’s rutting body. You cover your eyes in horror as he huffs and puffs, your mother’s strangled cries trickling out as she’s hidden behind the door, between him and the sink. 

“Put a pot on,” he demands as he grips the door and bites his lip, putting more into his thrust, “we’re almost done.” 

He smirks and winks before he snaps the door shut. Your stomach stirs with nausea and you quickly spin away. You shake as you near the counter. You have no other choice. You know if you ignore him, he’ll make sure it all gets worse for you. He’s already ruined so much. 

You put the change aside and uncap the canister. You peel back the freshness seal, your bandaged hand making it all the more tedious. The coffee grounds catch on the gauze. You fill the tank of the machine and set the pot in place. You measure out the coffee and flip the lid down, hitting the red button before you walk away. 

You can still hear them. Even as you shut your bedroom door. You face your room and turn on the light. It’s worse than when you left. 

Your bed is half off the frame, your bookshelf’s been cleared onto the floor, your laundry basket is overturned, and your laptop... It’s under the chair. You cross the room and bend to pick it up. You examine it; loose hinges and the frame is peeling away from the monitor. Your heart plummets and you drop into the chair. 

You have to prop the screen up against the wall to keep it open. Awkwardly, you reach across the desk to reach the keyboard and hit the power button. To your surprise, it boots and the screen lights up. The colours are all off; the dark is now light and the reverse. The mouse pad doesn’t work, or half the keys. 

It takes you twenty minutes to sign in. Aside from your burnt hand, the state of the laptop is more than enough to deter you. You watch the desktop load helplessly and several notifications pop up along the right side of the screen. You don’t read any of them as you see the name; Dr. Raymond Smith. 

You know what they are. Just like before. He's repulsed by you. By the way you live. He saw the truth and you can't hide it any longer. It's not worth it to deny it any longer. 

It was all a stupid idea. As stupid as you. It's easier to just give up. You don't know why you tried in the first place. 

You'll put in a request to drop the course. If you can. You can't do much given the state of your laptop. You can't do much at all in life. That's the way it will always be. 

📓

The last... however many days you've been awake. Waiting. Dreading. Expecting Lee to burst in and humiliate you again. 

Every time you try to close your eyes, you swear you hear the door knob. You put the chair under the knob. You're so tired. Exhausted to the bone. You need sleep badly. 

You lay down, head swimming with agony, and your eyes close without another thought. You can't resist the heavy blanket of fatigue that drapes over you. There is nothing. A void of sheer desolation that wraps around your body, submerging you like dark water. 

You wake with a start. The vision of blue eyes fade in an instant. Eyes you know. Not the vivid irises of the sinister man in your mother's room, no a pair of almost crystalline orbs, soft and diligent. You shake of the thought and rub the stitch from your forehead. 

You smell. You've been wearing the same clothes since that day. How long ago was that? You can't count. You haven't showered, the room is the same mess he made of it, your life too. 

You don't move. You don't want to. Not until the gentle tap comes at the door. You groan as the handle turns but the chair keeps the door lodged in place.  

"Sweetie," your mom calls through, "will you let me in?" 

You stare at the door. Your limbs refuse to move. You can't lift even a finger. You close your eyes and listen to her beg. You hate that. You hear it constantly, the way she begs him to stop, to listen, or just to be kind. 

Go away. 

When you open your eyes next, there's a banging on the door. The chair lurches and the legs scrape on the floor, but the door stays shut. You hide again, pulling a pillow over your head. 

Time flows into vague droning and shades of grey. Your head is foggy and thick. Suddenly, you're awake and staring up at an angry face. You're torn out of the bed and dragged to sit at the edge. Only Lee's unbreakable grip keeps you from flopping onto your back. 

You stare up at him dumbly then your eyes search past him. The chair is broken on the floor. You look back to him, head lolling. You blink as he snarls. 

"What're ya doin'? You're drivin' your ma batty! And I gotta listen to it so you get your ass up." 

You try to swat him away and whimper as your hand pulses and fire course through your skin. You force your spine rigid and try to shrug him off. You shake your head and cradle your hand in your lap, the bandage stained and smelly with puss. 

"Get on you fucking feet," he lifts you as if you weigh nothing. You as good as dangle from his grasp, "cupboards are empty." 

"Sweetie," your mom's birdish cheep comes from the doorway, "we got the credits. I wrote a list for you." 

"Laying in the dark all day, what else you got?" Lee scoffs and lets you go. You waver on your feet and look dully over at your mothers shadow. "Fucking stinks in here." 

You shuffle past him silently. You don't know what to do, you just know you need to be away from him. You feel sick. You're dizzy and drained.  

You put out your uninjured hand to take the list from your mom. Your stench ripples off the hoodie. She smiles through a curled lip. 

"Sweetie, you should get changed first," she slurs and give a doelike flutter of lashes. Drunk, as always. Maybe you should start. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel so much. 

You nod and go to the closet. Lee prowls around your desk but you're too hazy to care. You pull out a new hoodie then go to the dresser to find some loose sweats.  

You stop and stare at the man standing by your bed. The thick silence strangles you as he growls under his breath. Your mom trills with nervous laughter. 

"Lee, come on, she gotta put new clothes on. Honey, can you make sure you grab an extra chop for him?" 

You shrug and you hug the rumpled clothing with one arm and stare at the floor. He can have yours. Your stomach is so empty, the very idea of food makes you want to wretch. 

"Mmm, stop dragging your ass," he snarls as he stomps to the door, "fucking starving." 

You wait until he slams it. You expect that. You don’t even react. You lay the clothing on the desk and peel off the dingy layers. You pull on the sweats and swoop the sweater over your head. If you keep the hood up, you won’t have to worry about your hair or face. 

You take the list and stuff it in your pocket. Each step is a stagger. Your body is stiff and sore. You go out into the hall and brace yourself for another attack. You only hear your mother murmuring in the kitchen. You edge away and sit on the floor as you put your shoes on.  

You stand and fumble with the locks on the door. You can barely get your fingers to co-operate and your burnt hand is in flames. The bandages barely cling to the flesh. You shut the door behind you without using the key and head down the hallway. 

Down the stairs, you can see the yellow sunlight seeping in through the front doors. You emerge, squinting into the shine, and raise your hand as you try to see through it. Your head pounds at the intensity of daylight.  

You trod between the freshly mowed plot of grass before the building and stop by the sidewalk. You sway and try to shake the cobwebs out. You look one way then the other. The heat gathers under your sweater and you hunch down even more. It’s an unusually warm day. 

Your name startles you before you can find your bearings and set off for the store. You must be delirious. Maybe you should’ve found some stale bread to chew on. Rings of colour form in your vision as you turn around to face the echo of your name. 

The figure moves decisively towards you. You have to be hallucinating. It can’t be him. It’s probably that guy who always asks for a light between puffing smoke towards the doors. 

“I’ve been emailing,” Professor Smith says. You lean back on your heel and grimace. He isn’t real. “You... are you well?” 

You stare at him. You try to see through the delusion but can’t. You look down at your trembling hand then turn to peer down the street. 

“I have to go,” you croak over your dry tongue. 

You turn away, feet tangling, and stagger on. You can hear him following. His steps are fleet and light. In a moment, he’s at your side. 

“Please, you look ill, slow down,” he touches your arm and you rip away from him. 

“Leave--” you stumble and throw your arms out to balance yourself, stopping short as you nearly keel over. “I’m okay.” 

“You clearly aren’t. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. After our last meeting, I’m certain you can understand my concern--” 

You face him and scrunch up your nose, “Professor,” you stammer out, “you don’t have to worry about me. No one does.” 

You quickly veer past him and fall into a clumsy sprint across the street. You barely dodge a car on your way to the other side and you’re out of breath as you meet the curb. You keep your head down as you hurry away, hoping he’s not persistent. He’ll go away. He’s not real, so you just have to stop thinking. 

[fancygremlin]

I absolutely adore how the themes in Malevolent are introduced so subtly at the very start of each season. I feel that each season has distinct ones that could foreshadow how Arthur and John's relationship progresses throughout the show.

I will be rambling about it below (sorry if it's a but messy, I wrote it all in one sitting and didn't proof read it very thoroughly).

The first season is introductory, so we are shown right away how the characters struggle to come to terms with their condition and how to make the best of it to actually accomplish their goals.

This theme is introduced when we learn right at the start of episode one that Arthur is a pianist, as well as a private investigator. The piano requires two hands to play a song. The right hand plays the main melody, the one everyone recognises by ear and is more likely to hum when recalling the song. The left hand plays the accompaniment, the melody that is perhaps not as nice to hear on its own, but makes the song being played that much more complete.

It's not a coincidence that Arthur keep the control of his right hand, while John gains control of the left hand. Arthur is the one that has to interact with the world around him, he is the one that people see and hear and talk to, he is the one that ultimately controls where to go and how to move about a space. He is the main melody, the one people recognise and hear and remember. John is instead stuck in the background, unseen and unheard... limited to just relaying visual information to Arthur. However, without John's aid, Arthur would be incapable to do anything at all. John is the accompaniment: the trained ear can't hear it well, but without it, the main melody would not be as complete, or as rich, or pleasant to hear.

In season two we have them transported in the Dreamlands and this is an environment that John is more familiar with. This is not a safe place to stay, anything or anyone could bring harm. We see the characters pushing their boundaries, learning how to survive... but is it fair to respond to a harsh environment with more harshness? In about episode two (I think, I am writing this all from memory, so sorry if I am misremembering), Arthur mentions Aesop's fable of "The Woodcutter and the Trees". The quote that is being repeated multiple times over the course of the season is "at least the handle is one of us".

If we want to apply the fable to Arthur and John, it could be possible to infer that Arthur might be the axe, while John is the handle. Arthur is the one that is foreign to the place, that does not understand it and is more often than not ready to resort to more violent or extreme methods to escape or resolve issues. On the other hand, John mentions that he has faint memories of the Dreamlands, he is part of them and he remembers he had some sort of control/dominance over them when he was part of the King in Yellow. It's because of John that Arthur is even able to access the Dreamlands in the first place, so maybe John did betray in some way his nature and bringing harm to the place that he once called home.

In season three, the main theme was the (1) loss of humanity and (2) identity. In this case, this was communicated, respectively, (1) by removing a thing that was at the core of the characters' personality, and (2) by offering a narrative foil to the characters.

Loss of humanity for Arthur was symbolised by the destruction of Faroe's music box, which sent him down a very dangerous and dark path of self-vendetta fuelled by murderous rage. On the other hand, Arthur's narrative foil was Larson. Both characters experienced a great loss, but the motivations and (in particular) emotional response to the event was what made them become very different people. Arthur's loss of his daughter haunts him constantly, drags him down with the gravitational pull of a black hole. He cannot forgive himself, to the point of considering himself a monster that does not deserve redemption or forgiveness. On the other hand, Larson willingly sacrificed his daughter for power and money and never experiences any remorse or guilt for his deplorable actions.

Loss of humanity for John was shown by having Arthur strike a deal with Kayne: John is back, but with none of the memories or experiences he lived with Arthur. He is back as a manipulative fragment of the King in Yellow. It's interesting how he regains all his memories when Arthur plays Faroe's music box. Of course, John's narrative foil is... another version of himself... Yellow. I could write an entire essay comparing the two and their respective journeys on how they wanted to try so hard to form their own identities... but I'd go off on a very long tangent. This is already long enough and I am blabbering too much.

I've JUST started season four today and I am two episodes in and I am suspecting that this season's theme is fractures... Just in episode one I heard Arthur choosing a story about a broken relationship between two friends, then the multiple mentions between Arthur and his father in law, and then in episode two there was also the broken window in the room they are renting in Mary's apartment... I am honestly so scared that by the end of this season something very big will happen that will push Arthur and John apart and fracture their relationship almost irremediably.

I know John is hiding something very big from Arthur and it's very possibly something regarding Kayne. I also have a sneaky suspicion that Arthur had a real chance to get some answers about Kayne from Yellow, but of course he just decided to NOT DO THAT!

Can't wait to have this show mess me up once more.

[Season 5 theme analysis]

[olympain]

There was a line [in the airport bomb scene] when we originally shot it, when the bomb asks Benji a personal question - it’s in the moment when the bomb is trying to… it’s a psychometric test thing. And the question that the bomb asked didn’t go down well with the test crowds. […] The bomb asked Benji if he has ever thought about hurting himself or others. It’s like a classic question you ask people in a psychiatric exam. And Benji says “no”, and the bomb tells him that he’s lied. And so Benji has to admit that he’s kind of self-harmed. And the audience fucking hated that idea. They hated the idea that Benji… So we changed the question to “Are you afraid of death?” Which actually came up with a great moment when he says, “Who isn’t?!” But… yeah, […] it was too dark. My character’s score went up, like, 10% after they took that question out. […] We were getting into this idea of PTSD, and Benji had been almost killed in Fallout, Ilsa saved his life, and we were talking about how this weighs on him, you know, and how he was kind of close to the edge in a few earlier iterations of the script. Benji was having moments of doubt and, you know. In the end, that stuff kind of felt like it wasn’t really necessary, and we wanted to concentrate on the team dynamic and have the audience infer certain things about where they are emotionally. So that felt a little too on the nose, and we moved on from that. — Simon Pegg on Episode 573 of The Empire Film Podcast

Originally transcribed by @snovyda

[bestpigeon]

Maybe you could do sir pentious with a male reader who’s just as shy and awkward as him, they both wanna confess but they’re too nervous and they both go to Charlie for advice, everyone in the hotel knows they like each other and are desperately trying to get them together until it finally works, I think that would be so adorable.

Wow. Never wrote for Sir Pentious before, so this is interesting. Thank you for the recommendation. Also, Sir Pentious 100% NEEDS more recognition. I love this little (tall asf) snake.

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

Sir Pentious x Male Reader

Word count- 1.1k

Sir Pentious x Shy/Nervous Male Reader

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

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

Sir pentious and you have liked each other for a long time now. Ever since Sir pentious agreed to attempt redemption, you've fallen for him. Quiet quickly as well. Sir pentious defiantly fell for you at a slower pace. Though, in the end, you both have romantically fallen for each other. Despite Charlie trying to persuade you to confess, you've stayed quiet. Same with Sir Pentious. Though he has approached you many times, striking up random conversations about random things. Not like you mind.

Your heart would flutter every time you'd see him. Something about him, his aura, and personality just pulled you to him. Lured you. You tried moving on in hopes it wouldn't corrupt your current stable friendship, but that didn't work at all. Actually, the longer you tried to avoid him, the harder you fell.

Sir Pentious demeanour would change every time he saw you. You could see the visible pinkish tone swarm his pretty face when you smiled at him or even spoke to him. Though you didn't think far into it. Why would you? Your introverted self was perfectly admiring Sir Pentious from afar rather than making a move.

"Please just say something! I'm sure he would accept your confession!" Charlie basically begs. This isn't the first time this has happened. You've always denied any feelings for him, but ever since Angel Dust snitched to Charlie, she's been bugging you. Frantically trying to persuade you or push you to confess. Without making you uncomfortable, of course.

"Charlie, no. What if he doesn't like me? I wouldn't want to ruin what we already have." You say as you rub your nose bridge in frustration. You've been avoiding this for ages now.

"Please? Just make a move! He won't reject you, even if he didn't like you, he's not that type of person! ..snake." She says as she grabs onto your shoulders and rapidly shakes you back and forth. You groan and roll your eyes in annoyance.

"Charlie.. please, for the love of Satan, let me go -" You say before Angel enters the room. He comes over to you both and leans against the sofa, staring at you, confused.

"What's goin' on here toots? About your little crush?" He says in a flirtatious tone. You groan and roll my eyes.

"Yes, it is! He's refusing to make a move!" Charlie says as she finally lets go. You sighed in relief and straightened your clothing down since Charlie had ruffled them.

"Aww, come on toots, couldn't harm ya?" Angel says as he glares at you with a smile. You look away and sigh. You turned to glare at Vaggie and Sir Pentious, who were conversing at the other side of the room. You returned your gaze to Charlie and Angel.

"If I was to confess.. I'm not saying I will, but if, how?" You say glaring at Angel. You didn't really know if you should listen to Angel. He would probably recommend you make some sexual comment, which isn't your thing. Charlie would probably make the more mature recommendation, though her heart is too pure. Nethertheless, you listen to both.

"Uh.. I mean- just say 'I love you,' you can never go wrong with that!" Charlie says with a huge smile. That's way too difficult. If you tried to say something that simple, you'd end up dragging it along somehow. You just nodded and then glared at Angel. Basically, waiting for something gay or sexual.

"Well, normally I'd say infer some feelin's, however Mr. Snake is oblivious. So maybe.. say it from the heart. Yknow, somethin' like what ya like about him, " he says. That actually doesn't sound too bad. You twisted your head and actually considered it. How would you say it, though? 'Hey, I think you're pretty, I like your freakishly handsome voice. I also like the fact that you're a socially awkward person like me. Hey.. I like you. Alot.' That wouldn't go well, would it? I mean, it's worth a try..?

You smile at Angel and nod. "Yeah. That.. could work. I just don't know if I could bring myself to do it, though." You say. Angel makes a hand signal to Charlie, indicating for her to leave for the moment. She does just that, and Angel approached you. He puts one of his many hands on your shoulder.

"Listen toots, confessions ain't ever easy, ya just gotta speak from the heart. Yknow just gotta flood out all your emotions." He says, glaring down at you. He is insanely tall. You smile at him and nod.

"Never though you would be so poetic, Angel." You say. Both of you chuckle and smile at each other. Angel nods in the direction of Sir Pentious, and he goes behind you before pushing you along to him. Your eyes widen, and your face already went a shade of pink.

I chuckle awkwardly as I look up and make eye contact with Sir Pentious. Both Vaggie and Angel leave, and I quickly turn to look at where they're going.

"I- I uh apologise.. for them. Yknow they're weird and.. nevermind." You say nervously as you smile awkwardly at Sir Pentious. He goes red and chuckles lightly.

"They sssure are peculiar. How are you doing, friend?" He says as he smiles down at you. You chuckle awkwardly again before taking a deep breath. Right, just what Angel said. From the heart.

It took you a moment. Litrally. You stood silently for nearly two minutes. I looked up at Sir Pentious and took another deep breath.

"I-... I think you're really pretty and I love your voice and I really, really want to date you." You say freakishly fast. You could hear Sir Pentious gasp, and his face went really red.

Well. It's probably not exactly what Angel meant, but it's good enough. "You're pretty.. really pretty. I love your voice and your height, and.. just - I really really like you." You say nervously as you finally have the courage to look up at Sir Pentious. He's blushing a lot. I smile at how beautiful he is.

"I.. I like you too. I'm sssorry I didn't sssay anything earlier." He says, and you both smile at each other. You grab his hand, and he holds yours just as passionately. You pull him down slightly and kiss his cheek. His face goes incredibly red and you chuckle. You both stand, hand in hand, and talk for a while. You both love each others company.

Took you both a while, but you eventually confessed. Charlie and Angel were very proud of you for taking such a huge step. You and Sir Pentious have never been happier.

[snovyda]

There was a line [in the airport bomb scene] when we originally shot it, when the bomb asks Benji a personal question - it's in the moment when the bomb is trying to... it's a psychometric test thing. And the question that the bomb asked didn't go down well with the test crowds. [...] The bomb asked Benji if he has ever thought about hurting himself or others. It's like a classic question you ask people in a psychiatric exam. And Benji says "no", and the bomb tells him that he's lied. And so Benji has to admit that he's kind of self-harmed. And the audience fucking hated that idea. They hated the idea that Benji... So we changed the question to "Are you afraid of death?" Which actually came up with a great moment when he says, "Who isn't?!" But... yeah, [...] it was too dark. My character's score went up, like, 10% after they took that question out. [...] We were getting into this idea of PTSD, and Benji had been almost killed in Fallout, Ilsa saved his life, and we were talking about how this weighs on him, you know, and how he was kind of close to the edge in a few earlier iterations of the script. Benji was having moments of doubt and, you know. In the end, that stuff kind of felt like it wasn't really necessary, and we wanted to concentrate on the team dynamic and have the audience infere certain things about where they are emotionally. So that felt a little too on the nose, and we moved on from that.

Simon Pegg

[sonobeunitsarecool]

Sakurai Haruka: Theory pt. 2

Right, sorry for taking so long, but here's part 2 of the theory that Haruka spend a significant length of time in a psych ward. So the main parts of his MV's that imply this would be from AKAA, namely:

The room is a plain, unfurnished space, with light coming in from bars reminiscent of prison bars. They are high up, for safety. The chair is a simple folding chair, although it's a little too risky for something used on a psych ward (too dangerous, can be used as a weapon). I'd expect seats to be pillows, ottoman-like things, couches, or seating bolted directly into the floor.

A little window on the rooms of patients', it has a little hole on the side so it can be opened. This is used to check on patients at night, to ensure they are well and alive. It is not something seen in most other places, due to privacy.

There are two rectangles. One will be a light switch, and the other will be a panic button, if a patient needs assistance. They are loud. Many other places don't need two visible switches/buttons near the doors.

Here you can see the vent for the door, helps to hear patients and ensures proper air. The doorknob does not appear to be able to lock from the inside. The doorknob is a minor ligature risk, however ease of use and reduction of avaliable ligatures should make it a decent doorknob choice. The floor seen here is made of square tiles. Good for cleaning, however a risk for self-harm. It's shown as rectangular in other parts, but it may just be due to camera angle. All in all (knowing/agony), this can only be a depiction of a psych ward. This is backed up by Haruka's language skill level, as discussed in pt. 1, and what that implies in terms of education. What does this explain? Why would Haruka's time spent on a psych ward be shown, in a video depicting his mindscape regarding his crime? Does this fact put any other details into context? What can be inferred? Well, to start, were Haruka on a psych ward, it would explain his clothes. For the most part. In Weakness, the "current/teen" version of Haruka is in a plain, white outfit.

He wears shoes that aren't complex in design, and probably don't allow him any advantage in a fight. The clothes are white, good for washing and easy identification of patients, and don't provide any extra ligature opportunities. Now, there's a high chance that these are actually Haruka's clothes, not ones provided by the ward, because of something else later.

In AKAA, his shoes are different, but still white, harmless, and likely provided by the facility. Oddly enough, his socks are mismatched. He also wears his patchwork outfit, a combination of personal clothes and more formal/provided clothes. This is in line with some of his int. answers, such as: "How do you decide what clothes to wear for the day" - "I wear what's there" (because he doesn't have a lot of choice, plus spending a long time away from home would mean that he doesn't need many personal clothes to wear outside of the ward) "What do you think of the prison outfits?" - "They're kind of relaxing" (he's more used to the prison outfits than "normal" outfits, so it provides him with a sense of familiarity and comfort) Something that is not consistent with this theory would be his necklace! Except. If you look carefully, the only times we see him wearing his necklace in the MVs would be when he is unlikely to be on the unit at that moment. He doesn't wear it for most of AKAA, for example. But, he's still attached to it. Which makes me wonder as to where in his personal timeline did he come into possession of his mother's necklace? Because he cannot have worn it on the ward. It's an obvious ligature risk. But he's wearing it here:

Implying that he wore it during his murder of his victim. This is what makes me think that these are Haruka's clothes, because the ward would probably want its clothes returned to it upon discharge. (VERY low chance of killing someone while on the ward, and his victim was killed outside, judging by the little green patch in the background of the end shot of AKAA) Okay. That's a lot of reading into clothing. I think I'll cut it off here, and make a part 3. Didn't mean for it to get this long... Next time, I'll want to talk about how his time on the ward has impacted his behaviour, putting a lot of Haruka's actions into context that may not be immediately obvious for some viewers. It'll mostly be me going over a bunch of tiny details. Should I post about other things? I've been wondering about doing translyrics for Backdraft, a summary of how each character refers to everyone (honorifics, how they refer to self, how this changes), and a post on why Milgram makes no sense (or why it's not an actual prison), linking the info in this post to the Milgram facility. Should I do any of these? (And are there any other cipher texts I've missed, because for some reason I've become very interested in them. It's a whole other alphabet! I wonder if any of the merch has cipher text...? As an easter egg.)

[morally-grey-variant]

love is a dagger [loki x oc] [part three]

loki x oc

part three

[master post]

Setting: Agent Grey Forrest can’t quite reconcile her alliance with Loki. After six months of regular hand-to-hand combat and close-weapons training, they’re not quite friends but can’t exactly stay away from each other. Everything changes the day Loki accidentally stabs Grey during a training exercise.

Summary(3): Loki bares his teeth. Grey bears the weight of his guilt. Wolves are not born cruel; they lash out when danger is thrust upon them. All monsters deserve love – even if all they have known is fear. (wc 3.1k)

Warnings: Later episodes feature dark & explicit themes -- Minors DNI. Freshly stitched-up wounds, pain, implied self-harm themes (no descriptions or direct references), general angst, swearing, inferences of past trauma, non-explicit nudity (if I've missed something please let me know!)

Showering is a kind of bliss and torture in and of itself. The stitches pull as I lift my hands above my head to release my ponytail. Scrubbing shampoo into my long, dark hair means I'm forced to curl into myself and tuck my elbows into my sides. This won’t heal quickly, and I'm going to have to learn to work around it. Might as well start now.

Soap slides down my torso and over the puckered seam; I tip my head back in a silent scream, the sharp sting paralyzing my entire body. 

Some tough agent I am. 

But the scalding hot water on my scalp, scrubbing dried blood off my face and hands and everywhere, is enough to make it worth it. When I finally step out of the bathroom, a trail of lilac-scented steam in my wake, Loki is still there. Waiting for me. 

I wish I'd picked cuter pajamas. Comfort eclipsed cuteness, though, and my old gray t-shirt and loose flannel pajama pants are as much as I could manage after the painful effort of shimmying into a loose green bralette. My hair clings to the back of my tee, leaving a big wet patch.

Leaning back in my desk chair, Loki stares deeply into the middle distance. He's somewhere far away, deep in thought as he clenches the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are white.

“That's my only chair,” I say. “If you break it, I don't think they'll give me another.” 

He eases his grip. His gaze loosens, and those green eyes drift to me, considering each piece of my pajamas. “Did you re-dress your … wound?”

I shake my head. “And I don't suppose you'd know how to wrap hair in a towel.” I sigh, sinking onto the edge of my mattress. Leaning forward, I dab my white bath towel against my dark, wavy locks in dismay. 

Towel bunched up in my lap, I close my eyes and let my head fall into my lap with a small groan. The pain is absolutely killing me now. I shouldn't have gotten the stitches wet in the shower, soap drips notwithstanding, but there's no way I could've gotten into bed without washing up first. Wiping myself down with a wet washcloth wouldn't have worked, either – too much reaching and straining. 

I focus on taking deep, calming breaths, the counselor’s words echoing in my head. Square breathing, just like music class in grade school – breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. 

Deep breaths stretch out my ribcage. Another involuntary groan slips out. Fuck.

“Grey.”

Loki sounds closer, and I’d like to think I’d forgotten his presence in my self-indulgent suffering, but there’s no way I could ignore the way his presence fills up my tiny bedroom. I hum a noncommittal response. I want to lift my head to look at him, but my head might as well weigh a hundred pounds.

There's a tug against the towel, and Loki pulls it out of my lap. Gingerly, he drapes it over the back of my neck, letting it fall forward over my hair. He gathers it up in front, and with a subtle twist, wraps the towel around my hair and tucks it back behind my head. 

“Woah,” I laugh softly, finally letting my head lift. “How–”

One side of Loki's mouth turns up in a thin-lipped grin of acquiescence. “Thor,” he explains simply, his smirk deepening as some memory floats to the surface. “If you tell anyone, he'll have my head for it.”

I can't help but laugh. Loki is warm and familiar when he wants to be, like a reluctant housecat. I'm overcome with an urge to wrap my arms around him and drink in all that dark warmth. 

The laugh rubs my shirt against the wound, and I flinch. 

Loki's face drops. It cracks me open from the inside. 

“I'm fine, Loki,” I say, forcing myself not to curl an arm around my torso. “Really. It'll probably scar, but it's not that bad. I'm fine.”

He shoves the chair back with a flick of his wrists, suddenly towering over me. “It’s not fine.” Loki's eyes darken, his brow creasing. The chair rattles backwards on an unsteady wheel and bangs against the side of the desk. A chill sweeps over me. “Stop saying you're fine, Grey. I think you've forgotten that I stabbed you today. You're not fucking fine.”

“Don't break my fucking chair if you're having a tantrum,” I frown, though I don't bother standing. I won’t fight with him. “You didn't stab me, idiot. It was a training exercise. I didn't get out of the way fast enough. If you'd stabbed me, I'd be in a drawer underneath the hospital by now.”

His eyes flash knowingly before he whips around, practically stomping away from me. He can't go far in the tiny room, and his march to the window would almost be comical if it didn't fucking kill me to see him this upset. I wouldn't treat the god with kid gloves, though. He could handle my anger.

One arm braces above his head as he leans against the full-length window, staring out at the darkening landscape below. The half-moon reflects onto his pale, brooding face. His hood bunches up around his shoulders, pushing his dark curls forward from where he's tucked them behind his ears. He's trying to calm down, too.

“You're exactly right, you know.”

Something in his tone sends a shard of ice through my chest. He doesn't break his stare, watching the world spread below us, though I know he's not really seeing anything. 

“I'm ending your training.” He continues coldly, his voice flat and businesslike. As if he's ordering coffee. “This has gone far enough.”

“Loki–” I protest, pinching the skin on the back of my arm. “That's not fair. I have a say in this, too. I'm not going off to war. We're sparring in a padded room. No one else will train with me–”

He whips around, face contorted in horrifyingly inhuman fury. His hands ball up into fists at his sides. “Do you know the last agent I fucking stabbed, Grey?” He seethes through clenched teeth. A muscle in his jaw flexes, twitching up through his temple. “I killed Phil Coulson. Stabbed him in the fucking back.” 

His eyes glaze over, the whites now run through with pinkish-red. He spits his admission through his teeth like a snake spitting venom. The things that haunt him in the middle of the night, that he wishes he could bury deep and let them rot in his heart forever. But they forever lurk just beneath the surface. When he looks at me, he sees Coulson.

“I know, Loki. I’m not afraid of you.” 

SHIELD agents learn about Loki the moment they ask to work directly with the Avengers. We learn about all the Avengers, sure – Cap's brave sacrifice, Tony's arrogant but self-sacrificing genius, Thor's god-like might – but they’re obsessed with Loki. The training videos have something of a “keep your enemies closer” vibe that would make you think he's some bloodthirsty supervillain. Loki murdered Agent Coulson in cold blood. Loki tried to conquer Earth to spite his brother. Loki lies and cheats and stabs people in the back.

Well, he only stabbed me in the front.

“I'm not afraid of you.” My voice is even and calm. “Sit down, Loki.”

He doesn't move a muscle. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted to slap me. 

“Coulson's alive,” I continue, shrugging with all the nonchalance I can muster. “And you can't end our training. You don't just get to decide things for me.”

“Coulson is alive by chance,” Loki counters quickly. He's lost some of his fire, though. His muscles relax slightly, even if he's still obviously on edge. “And I do get to decide for you when you're putting yourself in danger.”

Now it's my turn to get angry. His words stoke the little ember that ceaselessly burns in my chest. I get to decide for you. 

“Why do you care if I put myself in danger?” I shout, ignoring the way my ragged heart chafes in my chest. 

“Because I care about you, you fumbling imbecile!” Loki shouts back, palms spread wide, face contorted in wretched agony. “I had to sit here and listen to your agony while you did something as simple as shower, knowing I am the cause of that pain. For weeks – likely for months – I will be forced to watch you suffer from afar because of my mistake.” The words pour out of him, uncontrolled and unfiltered. “Day after day, I'm subjected to loathsome glares and rightfully placed suspicion. I know quite well who I am, Grey. The God of Mischief; the Prince of Lies. An arbiter of human misery.

“I found the only soul whose face doesn't contort with hatred when they see me, and I sank a dagger into her chest.”

Loki's chest falls. His entire body slumps forward under the weight of his admission. He tugs his hands through his curls again, twisting away from me. “I must go,” he finishes, his words clipped. He hastens past me.

I snag the loose fabric of his sweatshirt as he tries to walk past me towards the door. “Don't you dare.”

He freezes mid-step. He obeys, though his head is still turned away from mine. My hand curls into the fabric with a tight fist; the weight of such a grip that might bring him to his knees. 

“Don't you dare, Loki,” I repeat, still looking up at him though he won't meet my gaze. “Running away won't fix this.”

His chest shudders with a ragged breath.

“You want to drown in self-pity just because you made a mistake? Learn the difference between accidents and purposeful attacks, you fumbling imbecile.” I can't help but grin a little as I echo his frustrated insult. “If you leave now, not only am I going to have to deal with this on my own, but it's going to fucking hurt when I re-wrap this stupid thing. I earned this, so I get to deal with it on my own terms.”

I earned this. I deserve this.

He finally looks down at me. Red-rimmed green eyes leak small tracks of tears down his cheeks. That shatters the cracked thing inside my chest. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and help take care of me,” I continue, clinging to his shirt and forcing my voice not to crack.

I chose to ally myself with the villain. The man – the god – no one else will even go near.

“Stark will be furious if you forgive me.” Loki smirks down at me through his tears. 

I earned this, because this is exactly what I deserve. Loki doesn’t get to decide who suffers and who grieves. He isn’t the only kicked dog here.

“Good. Maybe some disobedience will humble him.”

Loki rolls his eyes as he finally shifts, taking a step back and lowering himself to sit beside me on the edge of the mattress. “Humility is not a concept he recognizes, I'm afraid.” 

The fallout from this will cause an avalanche. I wince as a mountain of potential consequences piles up in my mind. Faces flash through my mind as I picture just a few people who will need more than a little convincing that this accident was, indeed, an accident. Natasha. Nick Fury. Tony Stark. Thor. Natasha. Agent Coulson. Cap. Natasha. But for now, there are no consequences. As long as I can keep him safe in here with me, tucked away like a secret deep in my heart, we’re a universe of two.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Loki’s voice is gentler now. He's not crying – I doubt more than a few tears actually fell to begin with – but his demeanor softens considerably, even though he still seems on edge. Loki is more than a mere secret. He’s an earth-shattering whisper passed beneath hastened breaths. Deceptively silent. Taking up far less room than he deserves.

I care about you. 

The words echo again. What exactly does that mean, though? A lingering hand on my thigh during training; his head cupping my face while the doctor stitched me up.

Loki isn't a villain.

“I’m imagining everyone I'm going to have to explain this to when I can't report for duty tomorrow,” I concede, shrugging. The small movement draws out another involuntary hiss of pain.

I deserve this.

“You didn't bandage it after your shower?” 

I shake my head. “Too much… stretching. Getting dressed was hard enough.” I deserve this.

Loki pushes himself off the mattress, reaching to grab the bandages sent home from the medical wing. “Let me help you.” 

My face goes bright red. Fuck. In my proud insistence that Loki stay to atone for his mistake, I forgot that helping me might mean… this again. I tug up the bottom hem of my t-shirt, exposing the wound to the air. Loki furrows his brow, glancing between my face and the stitched-up gash. “You should've let me do this right away.” 

Oh, god. It's redder than ever, the skin puckered and inflamed around the black stitches. The shower and friction against my shirt have irritated it like crazy. I can feel my pulse in the bright red, raw edges.

I deserve this.

Loki gingerly lays gauze over the redness. The tips of his fingers brush against the skin just beneath it. My whole body shivers. He glances up, his face only inches from mine, before returning his diligent attention to his work. “Your hand is freezing,” I say quietly, hiding my embarrassment poorly. His hands are cold, but when his fingers brushed my bare skin...

“Sorry,” he mutters. A dark curl falls over his face as he holds one end of the long bandage roll over the gauze. The hem of my shirt slips from my fingertips, falling over the wound. “Hold still, darling.”

I barely fight the shiver that word sends through me. “Sorry,” I echo, barely breathing.

“Grey, are you… will you be… decent?” He stumbles around “are your tits out” as I nod hurriedly, though I instinctively pull my arms around my chest again. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to remove your shirt again.” I swear to God that he's smirking just slightly as he says it, avoiding eye contact with me the whole time.

“Of course,” I answer, painting my pinched voice with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Because this is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. “I managed to get a bra on after the shower… just in case, I guess.”

Loki frowns again. “That explains much of your miserable whimpering.” 

Oh. I didn't realize I'd been that loud.

“Just hold still,” he continues, brushing a hand against my waist. “Hold your arms up like earlier – yes, that's it,” he murmurs, tugging my shirt up and over my head. I'm sure every inch of my body has to be flushed pink by now. Not because I want him taking my clothes off. Absolutely not. No way. 

The little monster in the back of my head grins wickedly. Because you absolutely fucking do.

I tip my head back, unable to keep watching. That only makes it worse. Now I can feel him with alarming clarity, every nerve in my body focused on his tender touches. I'm blindingly aware of my thin, forest-green bralette – some soft cotton thing that I picked because of the color name, and not because I've come to love the color green – as it clings to my skin, delicately cupping my small breasts.

“I'm sorry if I'm hurting you,” Loki continues in a low, clenched voice. “I'll be done in a moment.”

“It doesn't hurt,” I breathe, trying to stay as still as possible. The bandage – and his arm – loop around me, wrapping completely around my torso until he can grip the other side.

He encircles me with his arms. I can’t breathe. 

Two long fingers press into my side, holding the cloth in place; I tip my head back, overwhelmed by the intimacy. His hands brush against my skin with every circle his hands make around my torso. 

Surely he can hear my heart thundering against the inside of my ribs. It threatens to rip through my stitches and burst out through that fresh opening. Loki’s fumbled slice weakened the dam; if I’m not careful, I’ll pour out through the torn seams. A lifetime of painstaking restraint wells up behind a crumbling levee. 

“All right.”

I tilt my head down. He's checking his handiwork, eyes downcast. Dark curls tumble forward as his head leans down, falling loose from their usual careful slicked-back style. I imagine myself brushing those curls back from his forehead, lifting his face to look at me, demanding he tell me exactly what he’s thinking. But nothing about my allyship with Loki has ever been so straightforward.

His impossibly broad left hand lightly rests against my right side, his long fingers stretched wide across my torso.

He lifts his eyes. The slight red remnants of his earlier outburst are fading, and the soulful eyes piercing my heart are so dark and ancient that I’m frozen in place. Some hint of a thought lingers on his slightly parted lips.

His dark eyebrows arch upward slightly; curiously. 

My jaw softens, my comment or quip long forgotten. He notices, and his gaze drops to my jaw. No; to my lips. Oh.

Loki tips his head forward, brushing his lips against mine. He’s soft and hesitant, achingly restrained. Cautious.

I catch his lower lip between my own, pushing into him. He hums contentedly. The sound rumbles deep in his chest. Oh.

He slides his hand down to brace against my back, pulling me forward ever so slightly. Cupping my jaw, his long fingers sliding into my hair and beneath my ear and I’m lighting up at every touch. I relax into him, his cool fingers perfect against my flushed skin. I wrap my arms around his neck and wind my fingers into his curls. They're exactly as soft as I imagined they would be.

I've wanted this for longer than I would admit to myself. I've wanted Loki for months, wondered how his hands would feel and his lips would taste and his hair would twist between my fingers. Every aching hour spent sparring with steel and fists and sharp words and barbed grins, my wolf among the woods, the predator sharpening his prey. 

My broken boy who burns the world just to spite the ashes. 

If Loki is a monster, then let us be monsters together.

[charalysis]

Alice Liddle: American McGee's Alice

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: THESE GAMES AND THIS POST WILL BE DISCUSSING THEMES OF S.A, PEDOPHILIA, MURDER, MENTAL ILLNESS, SELF HARM, PROSTITUTION, AND MEDICAL ABUSE.

Alice Liddle of American McGee's Alice and its sequel, Madness Returns, is a severely mentally ill character in the games she stars in. She endures trauma after trauma, with next to no assistance, alone. In this post we will break down what happened to her, her reactions, and how she developed.

Disclaimer: Despite mental illness being the main theme here, I will not be attempting to diagnose Alice, as I am not professionally trained and she does not have an official, canon diagnosis of any kind. I will however make inferences.

For those unaware, American McGee's Alice is a horror twist on Alice in Wonderland, following the protagonist Alice. In this first game, you play as 18 year old Alice Liddle, who from eight years old to that point has been living in Rutledge Asylum in England. The game begins with the player introduced to the catalyst of Alice being in the asylum: a house fire.

In this fire, Alice is the only one to survive from her family, with her parents and sister, Lizzie, dying in the fire. This causes a massive snap in Alice's mind as she watches the house burn and townspeople surround her.

In this scene we are also introduced to the idea that Alice was likely already mentally ill, as when the fire begins, what wakes her isn't the smoke or screams, its Hatter and March Hare screaming in her dreams about the fire, begging her to wake up. (However, its likely it was just a framing device, but we do see its what woke her.)

From then on, Alice spent her time in the asylum, nearly comatose. She was catatonic and would only speak in shrieks and shrill screams. She'd have seizures and episodes of hysteria before falling unresponsive and mute again. Her doctor's notes also describe an incident where she "wielded a spoon like a knife and the orderlies, then turned the makeshift weapon in her own arms".

Needless to say, the fire that killed her family severely traumatized Alice, and she struggles heavily with possible PTSD and survivors guilt.

Alice in the first game also expresses suicidal ideation, or at the very least a passive desire to die. She's heard saying, "Save myself? From death, is that it? Is that why I've come here? I'm not afraid to die! At times I've welcomed death..."

And, "Everyone I love dies violently; unnaturally. I'm cursed! Why go on? I'll just hurt others."

The latter of these quotes is indicative of her guilt; it shows she blames herself for not just her her family's deaths, but others, and believes those she grows close to will also die horribly if they stay around her. She expresses she thinks people are better off without her.

In regards to Wonderlands occupants and how they relate to her fragile and broken psyche... American McGee has stated that all in some way represent her fragments mind and emotions. How, I don't think is explicitly stated beyond the Queen, but I have theories:

Cheshire: Her subconscious and manifestation of Dinah in her mind. Dinah lead her to safety in the fire, showing the way out. Chesh is guide that knows more than Alice consciously knows, but things she's got hidden in her mind. He tells her the clues she's seeing and picking up on subtleties she can't. That's why he uses riddles.

Hatter: Hatter is obsessive and rambling. He's a sort of representation of her doctor in the asylum, after all he runs one himself. He's paranoid and obsessed with time and loathes mechanical malfunctions. He may very well be a sort of ego aspect, where the Queen is super-ego. He could also likely be the manifestation of Alice's own paranoia and frustration surrounding her own "malfunctioning" mind.

Queen of Red Heart: She is Alice. She is the part of Alice that causes her the most grief and torment. She is what keeps Alice locked in her psychosis; a malevolent manifestation of super-ego. Cheshire compares her to a cancer in the body, which must be excised or Alice would die.

Jabberwock: A creature who taunts Alice and accuses her of not caring about her family. He is what taunts her about their deaths and says that she was, "in dream land taking tea with friends", and she, "couldn't be bothered". He is her guilt and self anger and he is there to remind her of this guilt constantly.

Caterpillar: He provides her wisdom giver. He takes things she sees and can help her recontexualize them. He is similar to Cheshire, but more to the forefront. He is also seemingly the calm part of her mind.

Tweedles: looking identical to the orderlies in Rutlidge, the Tweedles are cruel to Alice and lack any higher intelligence beyond orders. They are childishly cruel and likely have something to do with Alice's self punishment.

Rabbit: More obsessed with time than Hatter, Rabbit is a mostly absent guide who rushes ahead of Alice and he's very, very fidgety. He likely represents her conflict between anxiety and comfort. The comfort being from him being based on her favorite toy, and his face being easing to her. But he's very paranoid about time and danger.

Duchess: Initially a manifestation of the cruel nurse in charge of her, Nurse D, Duchess is a violent cannibal. It could be argued her outfit initially resembles a nurses outfit too. Later in the second game, she is seen in more revealing clothes and no longer eats people, and prefers pig now. Her "overbearing goodwill" and appearance now more represents her nanny, Nan Sharp.

While I do not believe these games are a 100% accurate depiction of mental illness and trauma, they do a good job showing the struggle between one's self and the inner machinations of their mind as they struggle with their mental health, and struggle to learn to cope on their own.

The second game is much better about the direct correlation between Alice's real struggles and Wonderland falling apart.

In Madness returns, we see an older Alice struggling in therapy as her doctor, Angus Bumby, tries to make her forget her past. She wants to forget everything rather than continue to struggle with it. We see she's still being abused and exploited by Nurse Witless, who's blackmailing her.

In Wonderland, we see the Corruption and the pollution destroying Wonderland piece by piece as the Dollmaker (Bumby's influence and brainwashing) takes over her mind bit by bit. We see her remembering her childhood and the past Bumby tried to erase, and we see her piece the truth together as she slowly banishes the Dollmaker.

By the end of MR, we see a confident Alice, the pieces of her fragmented life and mind put back together as Wonderland blossoms and Bumby dies via a train after Alice confronts him with his crimes.

Tl;Dr: While imperfect in their portrayal of mental illness, PTSD, and more, American McGees Alice And A:MR depict the grittiness, the despair, and the pain that can come with these things fairly well. It also depicts a woman struggling but succeeding in helping herself and bettering herself. These games revolve around facing your issues head on and healing. Their use of symbology is fantastic in my opinion.

[determinate-negation]

what are your thoughts on this post? (i hope the link doesnt kill this ask, i’m not sure how to edit it so it doesnt so that):

https://(…)www.tumblr.com/(…)tributary/(…)732119807094390785/(…)maybe-i-do-if-it-isnt-the-tea-youve-been

(if this ask goes thru, deleting the parentheses-ellipses should make it work)

brendanicus sucks bc he’s an anti-Black pos, so i’m not seeking to defend him. but i feel like claiming it’s anti-semitic to criticize US media (which has imperialist and capitalist reasons to be pro-israel) is somewhat of a reach, as well as saying the use of the term “blood money” (which we all know is a common term, and an applicable one with how much international funding israel gets to support it’s military violence) is an anti-semitic dogwhistle… i’m not jewish, so i’m not an expert. i sent an ask to a different jewish tumblr user about this post, but they decided i was anti-semitic (for disagreeing with the post, but also bc apparently i was accusing jews of being liars). however, that user seems to have some pro-israel bias and thinks anti-zionism is rooted in anti-semitism, so idk how much stock i can put in their assessment. i’ve been trying to remain self-aware, but things are getting confusing for me when leftists that i thought were anti-zionist are claiming it’s anti-semitic to support palestine

i think im blocked by op because whenever i try to put in the link it says theres nothing there. can someone send me a screenshot?

dont mean to start beef but brendanicus is mad annoying ngl, and his posts are not always the most informed. but anyways. i think i saw his post earlier so ill try to infer, though i dont know what the persons comment is. i dont think "blood money" is antisemitic. as you said its a common term and its also an accurate description. i find this so fucking ridiculous for people to keep getting accused of antisemitism just for basically pointing out that israel is violent and a lot of western money goes into supporting israel- these have to do with capitalism and imperialism not secret jewish plots.

im probably blocked for antizionism crimes tbh, which shows you all you need to know. quite frankly a lot of so called leftists are actually liberals who never really interrogated their beliefs and dont care to study and engage with history and theory. they maintain a liberal mentality, on power and violence and ideology, and especially the jumblr users on here really still believe a lot of zionist propaganda. thats why theyre claiming its antisemitic to support palestine. thats simply it. ive been really trying show why its not antisemitic to criticize biased imperialist media and its just a basic part of marxist analysis and its doing more harm than good to call this antisemitic.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I was so determined to hate chapter six as a diehard Hercules fan, because just from the first part, I thought they weren't doing the movie "justice" (whatever that means).

But I finally finished all of it, and oh MY GOD, I think it might just be my favorite chapter in the whole damn game.

My biggest complaint is that I wish there was more Shroud brothers content in it? I swear, I felt like I didn't know what was happening with them, like, 70% of the time.

When Idia goes down to Ortho in the beginning in his Chariot, I genuinely had no idea what he was planning and was completely thrown for a loop when he's suddenly on Ortho's side and behaving as the "big baddie." And then he overblots? What brought upon that? Was it because he spent too long down in Tartarus with the Phantoms and blot? But then isn't his curse supposed to burn blot? And are members of the Shroud family the only one who have the ability to run Styx because of their curse? Is that why Idia is fated to this future and this future alone?

I tried to read through the story twice to be sure but remained just....very confused!

(Sorry if you've already answered this before; I've been stalwartly avoiding any chapter six content until I read it myself!)

Nooo, not walking into something wanting to hate it… 😭 Personally, I try to give media the benefit of the doubt until I can experience it for myself and then make a sound judgement 💦 I don’t think any good comes from jumping the gun on content I have yet to see. A lot of stuff can be taken out of context in a bad way if you don’t know the full picture, and expecting the worst can set up the content to fail (confirmation bias, oof). I’m glad that you ended up liking episode 6 though, it’s definitely my favorite of the main story as well.

I think TWST is a lot stronger when it tries to do its own thing or it gets creative with its interpretations of Disney rather than loyally following the original’s ideas. (Episode 2 is a prominent example of how strongly adhering to the Disney inspiration can harm the narrative and weaken its characters 😔) TWST is meant to be a reinterpretation of classic Disney villains, so I like it when we can see just how far they can push the envelope and make a name for itself unrelated to what came before it.

I don’t think it can be helped that episode 6 didn’t seem to show much of Idia and Ortho; it had to balance a LOT of other characters, their development, and new lore in addition to the Shroud brothers and it was handled surprisingly well despite that bulk. I also feel like we spend a lot of time without Idia and/or Ortho due to… well, having to tiptoe around certain dark and sensitive subject matters?? Even in JP, some things had to be implied instead of explicitly stated. That requires reading between some of the lines or putting together vague events or lines of dialogue spoken from different parts of the episode.

When Idia flies down into Tartarus, he was just going to check on Ortho because he had a weird hunch once the holo-Ortho called him by his childhood nickname (Idy in EN, “nii-chan” in JP, whereas robo!Ortho usually called him Idia in EN and “nii-san” in JP). Idia was NOT going there expecting to OB, he was just convinced to give in to the temptation offered to him by the thought of reuniting with his dead brother. It’s not outright stayed, but you have to infer that Idia has been quietly suffering based on his gloomy attitude and self-deprecating, “woe is me” lines; him OBing is just a culmination of those frustrations and guilt surrounding Ortho. I believe the implication is that Idia OB’d quickly because Tartarus is teeming with Phantoms. The high amount of blot present overpowered the speed of his natural abilities to burn blot. Think of it like metabolism; Idia’s body could not burn the blot as fast as the blot was accumulating, and as a result, he was overwhelmed.

It was definitely stated in episode 6 (by Idia, then again in his post-OB flashback) that the Shrouds are ideal candidates for operating Styx due to the organization’s focus on blot research. Most of the other employees are humans with low magical reserves to minimize their changes of OBing, whereas the Shroud family direct the facilities, as their bodies are able to rapidly dispose of any blot they accumulate or come near. (However, as Idia alludes to, the Shrouds MUST be near blot to burn and/or generate blot themselves by using magic consistently, otherwise the curse will turn inward and start eating away at the cursed individual.)

It is also said that the Shrouds (a branch family) were a part of a rebellion against the main family (Jupiter), so they were punished by being forced into this particular line of work. Idia is essentially paying for the sins committed by his ancestors. Gate to the Underworld is also a hereditary UM which is unique to the Shrouds; only they are capable of managing the secure door that separates strong, ancient Phantoms from creeping into the real world and destroying it. Idia is, therefore, obligated to carry on the Shroud family legacy for the sake of the world.

Again, episode 6 throws a LOT at you so it may take some rereads and some thinking to put everything together. I still forget things or confuse the details, so I find myself constantly double-checking episode 6 if I'm referencing info from it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I think my back is ok now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday comes too quickly. You don’t sleep the night before. It’s more than just Lee and your mother arguing that keeps you awake. The anxiety of your meeting bears down on you like an open maw, ready to devour you.

You don’t expect it to go well. You’re not even sure why you’re doing it. 

That one thought repeats over and over. You don’t have to. You can cancel. You can make another excuse and stay a loser. That’s easy. Maybe that’s why it’s so scary. Because new things are hard. 

You languish in bed as the time ticks by. You got to get up and get moving. Soon, you’ll do something. Soon. 

You roil in the trepidation. Each move, each little thing, is a gargantuan task. You sneak out to wash your face and make yourself as presentable as you can. You waited too long. You have five minutes to put something on that isn’t wrinkled and stale. 

You put on a black sweatshirt, hoping the little balls of lint aren’t visible. Maybe you can get away with just turning the microphone on. You open the computer and shift in the chair. One minute. 

You find the email and scroll down to the link. You hover over it and stare. Noon on the dot. Your hand falters and you click the Zoom meeting. It opens in the browser and your breath traps in your chest.  

The little box in the corner is black as you leave the red line through the camera icon as the mic catches the rustle of your shirt. There’s a man on screen. He sits before an office backdrop but you can’t tell if its digitally generated or real. His blond hair is combed back and he sports a thick beard and glasses. He wears a wool sweater over a collared shirt and stares down the camera. 

“Hello,” he speaks, “anyone there?” 

You clear your throat and croak, nearly choking on your own spit.  

“Here,” you manage to squeak. 

“Ah, hello there, may I ask you turn your camera on?” His voice is low and lilted, almost smoky in a way. 

You hesitate and scratch your neck, letting your fingers wander up to your scalp. The itch spread, making sitting still unbearable. You wince as you hear someone in the kitchen, the fridge door closes heavily and a dish clinks on the counter. 

“Hello?” The voice comes again. 

You panic and hit the keyboard. You steady your hand and tap the camera, shying away as you slouch in your chair. The dim glow of your bedside lamp leaves you in shadow. Still, you feel exposed. 

“Better,” he says but with little enthusiasm, “well, I suppose we best get to the meat of things,” he adjusts his posture. 

“Okay,” you murmur and cross your arms, looking evasively at the wall. 

“Good to finally meet. I’m Professor Smith,” he introduces himself and calls you by name. 

“You too,” you utter out of courtesy. This is torture to you. 

“Now, you’ve done very well on your completed work,” his eyes scan as he looks at the screen before him, "you’ve shown improvement up until a few weeks ago. You do have a lot of potential to be successful here--” 

You nod and hunch down further. You just feel worse. You’re a lazy slob. You didn’t finish your work just like you never finish the laundry or cleaning your room. 

“Irene!” Lee’s voice booms on the other side of the wall and you wince, looking over your shoulder then back to the computer. You huddle closer, hoping he didn’t hear that. Your mother’s drone responds to the holler. 

“Perhaps it is the format? We could explore another option for your remaining assignments. I can accommodate where necessar--” 

“Fuck off!” Lee shouts and a loud bang hits the hallway wall. You gulp and your lips part. 

“Lee, please, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t--” 

“Should’ve known better than to trust a whore!” Lee barks. 

You cover your face and shrink down. No! Not now. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks and you separate your fingers, looking through them. You drop your hands and nod. 

“Sorry--” 

Another loud thump, this time against your door and your mother sobs loudly as she slides down the other side. You stammer and your lip trembles as you stare mortified at the lens in the frame of the laptop. This is awful. 

“What is happen--” 

You wiggle your fingers on the touchpad and hit End Call. You retract and wrap your arms around your head, folding over your lap as you rock. How humiliating. You can’t believe that happened. Well, you can. It’s what always happens. 

Your mother and Lee continue to argue, their fight just outside your door. You shake your head as you stay curled over. You don’t know why she does this. These men come around, call her names, knock her around, and she lets them come right back. 

A tinkling noise comes from the speaker. Professor Smith is calling you. You decline the call. An email chimes in at the corner. It’s from him as well. You see the preview, a response to his last email. 

‘Please respond or I will call authorities to confirm your saf....’ 

You click on the notification to expand the full message. You sigh and don’t bother reading the rest as you hit reply. 

‘Everything is fine. I will take the fail. Thank you.’ 

Another call comes in. Just leave me alone! You hit the red button again and delete his last email. And he calls again. Ugh. What does he care. You’re sure he has lots of students to worry about. Another email and another call. Back and forth until you accidentally hit the wrong key. 

He appears again, closer to the lens as his forehead lines, “hello, hey, hey,” he sits back, holding up a hand as you scramble, panicking as you fidget and try to figure out what to do, “don’t hang up, alright? Don’t, or I will be obligated to call the police.” 

As he commands you, your mother and Lee continue their sparring in the hall, voices raised though not as clear from the front room. You sniff and rub your cheek, soothing yourself as you bring up your other hand to chew on your sleeve. 

“Are you in danger?” He asked pointedly. You shake your head. “What is all that then?” 

He’s quiet and you are enveloped again in the chaos outside your room. You shrug and tilt your head to one side. You look down. 

“My mom...” 

He sighs, “look, I wouldn’t have taken the time to call if I didn’t think you could do this. Perhaps, this was the wrong avenue. So, is it possible we meet somewhere neutral. In person?” 

You shudder and sit up as much as you can, wringing your hands, “I... I... don’t drive.” 

“That’s alright, is there a library near you, yeah? I can find my way.” 

You frown and flick your lip under your teeth several times. You see yourself in the little box. You look scary as your eyes are pools of shadows. 

“Uh...” you pull your hands apart and open a new tab, happy to have your image off the screen. You type into the search. You think there’s a library close by. “Yes, um, there is...” 

“Send me the location. We’ll reschedule. When are you available? Thursday? I’m afraid tomorrow I’m booked up.” 

You switch back to the video call. You feel tears tightening your throat and ready to spring. You shake your head and paste the URL of the library branch into the chat. His eyes flit down to read it. 

“Thursday,” you repeat but it’s not as much a question as you mean. 

“Thursday is good. Can we do earlier? Ten?” He asks. 

You don’t know. You’re not used to making decisions. You don’t get asked for your preference ever. 

“Sure,” you answer, just wanting to end the call and hide in bed. 

“Alright, I’ll pencil you in,” he says, “shall I stay on the call until that...” he pauses as Lee continues to bluster, “subsides?” 

“No,” you shake your head. 

He stares at you, his forehead lined with disapproval. Why does he care so much? He doesn’t know you. 

“Are you certain?” He intones. 

You nod, “I have to go.” 

You end the call and shut the computer. Your stomach is a jumble and you’re jittering with adrenaline. All your life, you’ve hidden behind these walls; you’ve hidden all that goes on there. To have someone witness it is worse than the yelling and hitting itself. 

You ignore the chirp from the laptop and throw yourself into bed. Thursday. So, another torturous purgatory begins, waiting to face the professor and your incompetence once more. 

📓

Thursday comes too quickly. 

You sit in your room and convince yourself to go. It was easier when it was just a computer screen, though even that was difficult. Only for you because you’re so messed up. Because you can’t do anything. 

What else can you do? The whole night you were awake thinking about how you would tell your mother. If you flunk out, you default on the student loan and you’re even deeper in the pit. The true consequences of your laziness are clearer now and you can’t let your sloth bury you again. If you do, you may as well give up on everything. Even life itself. 

So, you have no choice. You’re being given a last chance. Again. You’d feel even worse for not taking it than you would for failing at it. 

You pull on a hoodie and grab your house key and your knapsack with your computer and notebook tucked inside. That’s all you really have. No phone, no wallet. Just the bare minimum.  

You shuffle to the door, standing just inside as you muster your courage. You check your digital watch, an old Casio you’ve had for years. The numbers are dim and hard to read in the dark. You have to get going. 

You emerge and go down to the kitchen to sneak a sip of water before you go. Your room is always so dry at night. You drain a glass and rinse it out, leaving it beside the sink. As you turn around, you hear your mother’s bedroom door and the slap of her slippers as she slinks in. 

“Ah, honey,” she smiles dopily. You can smell liquor from there. She might even still be drunk as her hangovers usually keep her abed. “There you are! Oh, gosh, are you going somewhere?” 

“Mm, library,” you answer, “for school.” 

“Oh, smart girl,” she slurs. You try to smile but it’s shaky and weak. Your mom tries, you know that, so you can’t hate her. “Can you stop by the shop on your way? I got a twenty. Wouldn’t mind some vodka.” 

You pick at a fingernail, “mom, I don’t... I don’t like buying that stuff.” 

“Mm, I know, but I...” she sways on her feet and belches into her fist, “never mind. I’ll just ask Lee when he comes by.” 

“He’s coming?” You ask warily. 

“Sure, sure,” she turns and staggers to the fridge, “he must be missing me by now.” 

She bends, leaning on the door as she opens it, and peruses the mostly empty shelves. You leave her and go down the hall. You grab your shoes and slip them on, once more stopping at the threshold. Keep going. You made it this far. 

You let yourself out and lock the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the first level and continue out onto the street. You keep to the edge of the pavement as you weave around other pedestrians that pass. 

Your lips move as you recite the directions to yourself. You were sure to memorise the route as best as you could. You get turned around but right yourself and make it to the corner when you can see the grey brick of the library. 

You wait at the light before you cross and your heart begins to race the closer you get. Oh no, you don’t know if you can do this. You want to just run away. What if he sees you and changes his mind? I mean, look at you. You’re not some perky coed, you’re... you. 

You stare up at the facade and the large letters over the entrance. You take the first step, then the next. You focus on that. Right foot, left foot. Little things, one at a time. You can do this. You have to. 

[vampirethin27]

Blog Intro

⚠️TW!!: This Is An ED Blog. I'm Not Here To Be Harmful, Just Finding A Community, Scroll or Block If Uninterested⚠️

Hi! My name is Elliott, I'm 19 (it's my birthday as of posting this 🥳🎂🎉), and I've had disordered eating patterns for about a decade now and have been on ana blogs and things of the sort for like 7 years. I've had the blogs, the journals, the calculators, the screenshots as wallpapers, all the fun stuff

Name: Elliott (Lia/Eli)

Age: 19

Birthday: February 3rd

Gender: Genderfluid

Pronouns: Varies Between She/He/It, Usually Present Semi-Feminine No Matter What Though

Sexuality: Bisexual

Mental Diagnoses: Anorexia, Bipolar, Anxiety, Autism (😎), and probably PTSD, I haven't checked but reputable sources keep telling me to

I also have POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), which is a chronic illness that basically spikes me with adrenaline when a positional change happens, like rolling from my left to right side in bed or going from sitting down to stand up, and other stuff like my vision blurs and I run out of breath easily. Look it up, there's so many random fucking things that can be POTS and you'd never know it it's insane

Anywho, now for the actual fun stuff!

My Stats

Weight

Height: 156.6cm

HW: 142lbs

SW: 105lbs

CW: 99lbs

LW: 97lbs

GW: 95lbs

UGW: 90lbs

Measurements

Thigh (R): 52cm (20.4in)

Thigh (L): 51.5cm (20.25in)

Hips: 82cm (32.25in)

Waist: 64cm (25in)

Underbust: 72cm (28in)

Bust: 83.5cm (32.75in)

Overbust: 80cm (31.25in)

Wrist (L): 15cm (5.75in)

Wrist (R): 15cm (5.75in)

Bicep (L): 24.5cm (9.5in)

Bicep (R) 26cm (10in)

My Current Favorite Thinspo

KEY

(for those of you who are maybe new to ED Tumblr and aren't sure what I'm saying)

Ana: Anorexia Nervosa

Mia: Bulimia Nervosa

Coe: Compulsive Over-eating disorder

Ednos: Eating disorder not otherwise specified

BED: Binge eating disorder.

ED: Eating disorder

SI: Self injury

AnaMia: Having both anorexia and bulimia

Pro-ana: This term infers being pro-active in the ED community, usually online. It does not mean promote ED's in any way, shape or form.

Thinspiration: Collection of thin looking peoples pictures, used to inspire those with ana/mia. Can also be text scenarios/imagines

Anorectic/Anarexyc: One who has anorexia. There's a billion variants of it

CW: Current weight.

HW: Highest weight.

LW: Lowest weight.

GW: Goal Weight.

SW: Starting weight.

GW1: First goal weight. (implying a GW2, etc.)

UGW: "Ultimate"/Final goal weight.

IP: In patient.

BMI: Body Mass Index.

And Memes <33

I can't fit more photos than this, but that's the rundown of me!

I'm currently on my way to eat dumplings, sushi, and sashimi for my birthday dinner because I have a sushi obsession.

It has resulted in an adjacent raw fish obsession because... well, here's a list of things that make my POTS symptoms worse (food wise)

• spice

• sugar

• gluten

• dairy

• eating too many carbs in a day

• eating too fast

• eating too much

• not eating often enough

So I avoid most things, specifically bread when it's unnecessary and dairy all the time

Also, last thing I swear, EGGS AREN'T DAIRY

THEY'RE NOT

WHO THE FUCK PUT EGGS IN THE DAIRY SECTION???

Hydrate or Diedrate, have a good my birthday <33