#why did i get to live why did i get to survive every attempt. its not like im doing anything with it.

[storm-of-feathers]

everything is too much. it's just too much.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

[xtreme-shipper]

Just Don't Give Up

Azriel (ACOTAR) x FReader (Human)

WC: 1.5K (Oneshot)

Summary: When it all becomes too much to keep going, our favorite Shadowsinger shows up just in time.

Warnings: Mentions of (and attempt at) suicide, angsty, I think, canon divergent, not proofread, lol, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language. Let me know if I should add anything <3

N/A: Hi! This is my first ACOTAR fanfic, so constructive criticism is really appreciated :) It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, but recently, I've been obsessed with Az, so here we are.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night sky was blinding in the best way possible. Another year had passed, and you could see from the distance how your friends were celebrating another Starfall, a drunken joy filling the air, their voices full of excitement. The preparations started early this year, and the night court went all the way in, with concerts throughout the city and free drinks for all its citizens. You could tell the party would go on until sunrise and wondered, not for the first time tonight, why weren’t you down there with them?

“Is everything alright?” Az had asked you earlier that day. You nodded, smiling brightly at him.

“Just had a long night.” He nodded, not fully convinced, but he didn’t push the subject, which you were grateful for. You didn’t need to ruin the mood because of your problems.

 Nightmares from under the mountain still plagued your sleep, making it almost impossible to get any rest, and it was starting to show. The things that you had to see while not being able to do anything haunted your every second.

You didn't expect to survive when you escaped from the human lands, but Rhys found you not long after you crossed the border. He wanted you to turn around, warning you that Prythian wasn’t safe, but the alternative—going back to town—was not an option; anything would be better than that, even certain death. So you stubbornly refused to, claiming you knew how to take care of yourself. The problem was that one of Amarantha’s minions watched the interaction and wanted you for its own entertainment, so Rhys had to pretend that he had taken a liking to you and wanted you as his pet.

Word got to Amarantha, and she wasn’t particularly happy with her plaything taking a liking to someone else, so she punished him while you watched, unable to do anything. Useless.

After that first time, Amarantha decided it was a fun idea to have his “beloved” pet watch the suffering she had caused. So, every time you did anything she deemed disrespectful (which was basically everything), a torture session would take place. You couldn’t help but think that if you had just stayed where you belonged, Rhys wouldn’t have suffered as much as he did. It was your fault, even when he insisted that it wasn’t.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of the memories.

You turn your eyes to the stars, the same ones you prayed to every night. Always the same wish without any answer from them and wonder, like you so often do, whether you should still be here.

The inner circle had never treated you as less or excluded you from anything. They were your support when no one else would lend a helping hand, and with the years, they became your family, yet even now, you still feel like an outsider. You weren’t Illyrian like Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Heck, you weren’t even Fae to begin with. You ended up being in the way most of the time.

You took your jacket off, letting the cold breeze hug your bare arms, where scars of silent battles painted them. A shiver ran down your spine as you stepped closer to the edge of the building.

In the human lands, your family never cared for you, and even when you left, no one mourned your “death”. Here in Velaris, you had people looking out for you, yet you felt like you didn’t quite fit in.

Would they notice? Would they care if you just… disappeared? Fae's lives were so endless that compared to them, humans’ existence must seem… insignificant.

Another step. You had slipped from the party when it all became too much. Your feet were moving on their own accord. Another shiver, another step. They would probably mourn for a while but then move on. You could stop the nightmares and the pain, and they could move on; Rhys wouldn’t have a living reminder of every time he was abused and had to endure the shame. Or when he was beaten, and you had to patch him up with your scarce medical knowledge.

Az and Cass could stop pretending that you didn’t cause their brother more suffering. That your recklessness didn’t make things worse. That they didn’t believe you weren’t brave enough to help him.

You are standing on the border of the building now, eyes fixed on the stars above, “Please,” you whispered. “Please.” You weren’t sure what you were asking for any more. Relieve from the pain, the guilt? Maybe you didn’t need an answer from the stars to fulfill that. You could hear the music all the way up here, a serene tune drowning the rest of the noise. You start walking on the edge, arms stretched wide to give yourself a bit more balance. One step, then another.

Letting go… should you… just one step…

A cold grip settles on your ankle and another on your wrist, pulling you carefully away from the border while a sad smile paints your lips.

You were used to Az’s shadows clinging to you from time to time, so you welcomed the touch but didn’t budge. You knew their master was standing a couple of steps behind you. “You know, you aren’t very sneaky for a spymaster.”

“I was looking for you.” His voice wasn’t more than a whisper. “I was worried since you left so early.”

“I’m fine” was all you said. A lie you had perfected over time.

He led out a humorless laugh. “You don’t seem fine.” You hear his steps, careful but loud, so you know he is getting closer. “Can you please step away, Sunshine?” You tense at the use of your nickname. So familiar by now, yet so unfitting.

“It’s fine, Az. I’m just admiring the night sky.” You can feel him right behind, you know. “It’s a beautiful sight.”

“Y/N… why are you here?” You knew he meant at the rooftop, but your mind couldn’t help going to a darker place.

You take a moment to answer, weighing your options. After a couple of silent minutes, you decide to be honest. “Did you know…” You pause for a second to try to stabilize your breathing. “That I was not only responsible for treating the High Lord's wounds? I was also tasked to inflict them.” You choke at your words, your throat feeling like it's closing, and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you push the words out anyway. “I am responsible for every scar that never fully healed, for every messed-up nightmare he has at night. I can still feel the way his muscles tensed every time I inflicted pain.” The world was spinning before your eyes, and the words were coming out in short breaths. You were gasping for air, struggling to get any inside your lungs, but still, the words wouldn’t stop coming out of your mouth.

“I’m the reason he suffered. If I hadn’t been there that day, or maybe if I had put up with my life at the… maybe he wouldn’t… he saw his… and I couldn’t… anything…” you close your eyes again. “How am I supposed to live here and accept all his help and love whe—”

A strong hand grabs you by your waist, interrupting your words and yanking you away from your doom. “It wasn’t your fault.” Az’s whisper came breathless, and his arms, though firmly hugging you, were shaking.

Tears were running down your face, staining his shirt. A protective wing wrapped around you, offering shelter. Giving you a protection you didn’t deserve. “I need the guilt to stop, Az. I’m a broken reminder of his pain, and selfishly, I can’t take it anymore.” You felt so tiny, so… shattered, fragments of yourself falling to the floor with every tear shed. He was silent for a moment, trying to hold you together while you crumbled.

Then his words reach your ears. “He once told me you remind him of his sister, you know?” One of his hands starts caressing your hair while the other firmly supports you against his body. “That your bad jokes to lighten the dreary mood and your constant presence were some of the things that kept him from giving up. That thanks to you, he was able to survive long enough to find his mate.” A loud sob shakes your entire body, hands fisting his shirt as you grab onto him for dear life. “Do you know why I call you ‘Sunshine’?” Az pauses, so you shake your head in response. “Rhys had been suffering long before you got there, and when he told us how you gave him hope, even when you yourself were silently breaking apart, how you would sing to him and brighten the mood with your warm voice, I knew. I knew you were like the sun he had been deprived of for so long. You saved my brother in the way that mattered the most. You were his light, and ever since you started living with us, you became my light, too.”

You were speechless at his words; raising your head from his chest, you looked into those beautiful hazel eyes and found nothing but tenderness. “You are my light, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it, Sunshine.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “I won’t say it will be easy, but I promise to be here with you. We will get through this. I promise, ok?” You nod as his grip tightens. “Just don’t give up, Sunshine.”

[with-my-calamitous-love]

WHO’S GONNA KNOW YOU LIKE ME?

bsd, various x reader

what heartbreak feels like with each of them

angst, uses bridges from the tortured poets department

THOUGHT OF CALLIN’ YA, BUT YOU WONT PICK UP…

chuuya knows he’s fucked up. he knows he can’t get back what he let go, that he’s already made his bed. but fuck, it hurts. but he refuses to let you know that because thats who he is. and your left seeing him everywhere- the dresses in the store windows, the puddles of rain on concrete, remnants of him in your shower and on your bed- memories of him embedded in your head and under your skin. marks from his passion left on your collarbone, his fingerprints still all over your heart. he claimed what was his forever and then left. and he knows that.

some nights you think of calling him, but sculpted a brick wall between you and the phone, cementing each brick together with your hurt. little do you know, chuuya thinks of calling you too, but he knows you won’t pick up.

THAT’S THE CLOSEST I’VE COME TO MY HEART EXPLODING…

atsushi simply couldn’t bare the thought of not being good enough for you. so he let things go before his heart could sink with the wreckage. he couldn’t handle anymore hurt after all thats happened- but he doesn’t know that he left that hurt with you instead. the anger, the confusion, the turmoil etches itself in your chest and tears through your ribs when you cry out alone. it wasn’t fair for him to leave the job of detective to you, to pick up the clues of your lost love and attempt to etch together a messy explanation. he said he didn’t want to hurt you. funny.

the biggest thing you’re left wondering is why? why did sweetest, most loving guy leave without a word? why did he do it so fast, so quickly, at the stroke of grace? why did the same hands that once handled your heart so delicately set it on fire and leave it to implode?

I WISH I COULD UN-RECALL HOW WE ALMOST HAD IT ALL…

there was no doubt in your mind that odasaku loved you. he loved you with every fibre of his being. he held you to his chest as close as possible. he laughed with you because only you could pull out the genuine joy and smiles from his soul. he danced with you in the living room to your favourite songs, swaying back in fourth with you barefoot on the ground. he kissed you like his lips were especially crafted to be pressed against you, your lips, your skin and your hands.

it’s all past-tense.

DID YOU SLEEP WITH A GUN UNDERNEATH OUR BED…

tachihara burned down every foundation of trust and security in your being. he was the most loyal and loving person you had ever met, one that promised his whole life and soul to be with you. you knew each other like no other, or so you thought. you learned about his betrayal, not just to you but to everyone. and all of a sudden, everything you knew came crashing down. the memories, the love, the loyalty- you had no idea what it was now. you scrubbed your body in the shower and washed the sheets over and over again- trying to get him off of you. you laid in the bed he once shared with you and wondered if you were just another step in his scheme.

was this planned? did he plan to break your heart? was crushing every single thing you’ve ever loved just another ruse? the only thing you knew was that you loved him.

HOW DARE YOU THINK ITS ROMANTIC LEAVING ME SAFE AND STRANDED…

kunikida wanted everything to stick to his ideals. he wanted to break your heart as softly and as kindly as he possibly could. he wanted to cushion your fall, to let you down assured. and he did just that. he left you safe, he left with you with a full explanation. he told you that he wanted you to move on without him, to live a bright beautiful life and be as happy as you possibly could. because kunikida knows that thats what you deserve.

but he was supposed to be there. thats all you can think as your stranded on your safe sanctuary that he left you on. he stranded you on an island with all you needed to survive- yet all you could think was the fact that he had actually left. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. you knew why. he explained everything to you. but the tears that rolled down your cheeks explained otherwise.

AND HIRE A PRIEST TO COME AND EXORCISE MY DEMONS…

the worst heartbreak of your entire life belonged to osamu dazai. you can still hear the screams, the cries that went down with the ship from that night. you can still feel his hands on your body, holding you to him while for the first time you saw him cry. you can still hear the shattering of the things you threw at him, telling him to get out but also not wanting him to leave. you remember the smell of him all over you, on your bed, your clothes, but also in your hair and even on your own skin. he haunted this place. his heart was still beating, lungs still breathing but osamu dazai died in your house. he died and his soul now haunts the place day and night, leaving no trace of your space untouched. it was a cruel goodbye.

osamu dazai died screaming. and now you wanted to as well.

I WONT CONFESS THAT I WAITED, BUT I LET THE LAMP BURN…

you held on to the idea that akutagawa would one day be ready for you. that he would set aside his grievances, his turmoil, the hurt in his lungs and the pain in his coat. you waited, and waited, and waited. waited for him to show up at your doorstep and embrace you, love you like you knew he could. you watched as the lamp flickered, as your skin wrinkled, as your hair turned grey and as the night sky watched over you for years. you should gave closed the window, turned out the light and slept. but you waited. you waited and hope that akutagawa would return. that he would one day love you like you loved him.

as you looked out to the stars, you prayed that he’d forgive you as you blew out the candle.

chuuya n. - fortnight

atsushi n. - the tortured poets department (tt)

sakunosuke o. - loml

michizou t. - the smallest man who ever lived

doppo k. - down bad

osamu d. - the black dog

ryunosuke a. - peter

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

On AO3

Summary: I recently watched/read KNY and have emotions. Likely done before, but wanted to get this out of my system so wrote it down. Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, multichapter, blood, injury, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, alternating POV, Oblivious Rengoku Kyojuro, for a while at least, Death, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Everything fades. His body is going numb, his vision blurs as he stares down at his reflection in the dark pool of his own blood, unable to lift his head. The cries of grief surrounding him become dim and scatter like dying leaves from his consciousness.  

I've done my duty, I've given my all.

The last he remembers is a small, clawed hand and a sudden, blooming flame bursting through his shattered torso, scalding him from within in ways his own fire never could. 

I see... So this is what it feels like… to burn. 

The balmy weather outside has no effect on you, seated at the side of the infirmary bed, your head in your hands. 

“Perhaps you should go and rest. There’s been no change, and we’ll be sure to inform you of any developments.” 

Aoi’s words are void of their usual sternness. You’ve heard them before, and yet—

“I’m fine, I really am.” You gaze back at the prone figure lying motionless beneath crisp white sheets. His gold and crimson hair is messy, and you’ve never seen him so pale, his features so sunken. The bandage covering his left eye is stained red in places, the usually smiling lips dry and bloodless.

Aoi sighs but says nothing else, and soon her departing steps echo against the walls.

I can’t. I can’t leave his side. You wish your thought could reach him, down to whatever place he’s struggling in now. You ball your hands into fists over your knees, a poor attempt at holding your composure. Please, come back. Please.

Weeks have passed since the mission on the train, since your group has returned with wounded bodies and spirits, though none in such a critical state as your mentor. Rengoku Kyojuro has not awakened since, and in contrast, since the nightmares the demon has placed upon you in that baleful encounter, you’ve not been able to sleep more than two to three hours every night. Every time, waking up in a sweat, the memory of what happened always the last image you remember. 

“How is he today?”

You’re drawn from your thought by the gentle voice of the person you feel like you owe a life of debt to, and turn to gaze into the tired, worried eyes of Tanjiro Kamado. He stands by the bed now, glancing down at the Hashira. The slow rise and fall of his chest is the only sign that he is still alive. 

You shake your head as Tanjiro takes a seat. “How is rehabilitation training going?” 

Tanjiro smiles, still staring at the bed and its unresponsive occupant. “Almost done, I feel my strength returning to what it used to be and more. I admire how well you’ve upheld yourself, though,” he murmurs. 

It’s true, for some reason, you’ve been the least scathed of them all, needing much less medical care than the rest. No, you know the reason why. “It’s because of him,” your words escape you. “If… if he hadn’t trained me as he did, if he hadn’t driven me so far beyond my limits, I don’t know if I would have survived for as long as I have in my role.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard. They say Lord Rengoku’s methods are… harsh to say the least.”

A smile tugs at your lips as a known pain pricks your heart. “But… but I’ve been remiss in thanking you, young Kamado—or rather, your sister. If she hadn’t…”  Your throat tightens; you don’t want to break down, not here, not before Tanjiro and not before him, no matter he can’t hear it. 

“Please, please don’t worry, it was a stroke of luck and quick thinking on her part, I only brought the box closer—”

“... she healed him! I saw the flames engulfing him, I saw the wound close. I don’t know how she did it but… Nezuko is someone... very special.”

Tanjiro lowers his head in humble acknowledgement. “I will tell her.” Then, as though remembering something, he reaches into his pocket and hands you a small bag. “Here, I’ve not seen you join meals very often and… well, please take them.”

You don’t have the strength to refuse, and take the bag from his hand, meeting his kind smile. “Candies…”  You thank him before placing them on the bedstand, and after a few more moments of sitting in comfortable silence, Tanjiro takes his leave. You watch him depart, endeared by his manner and honesty. He has a good soul, a strong will—perhaps the strongest you’ve known, apart from…

You stare back at your mentor, memories of the past flooding behind your eyes.

Five months prior

“Good! Again!”

You’re panting, your total concentration breathing nearly failing as you evade another deadly arc of the Third Form: Blazing Universe. 

The sun has westered and a bluish twilight sets over the lands, but your mentor still has you parrying his unwavering techniques, before making you attack using combinations of them in turn. 

“Lord—lord Rengoku—”

His blazing speed cuts your words short as your blades clash, and you stare into bright, golden-rimmed irises. He’s smiling, as usual, with a devilish spark in his eyes. There is a sudden flutter in your stomach, overriding the fatigue in your burning muscles. “Come now, don’t tell me you’re beat! You’ve come so far after only three years!” he says as you fall back, lunging for another attack the following second.

The sudden weakness you feel when you’re close to him has you confused, because it was not there before. It all began in the past year: whenever he stares at you in a certain way, whenever he touches you during training or meets your eyes, something gnaws achingly at your chest. It’s as though you need something from him, but have no idea what it is. 

“I knew it from the moment I took you on as a successor,” he says, merciless in his offensive. “If you—” Parry. Lunge. “—carry on like this—” Attack. Jump. “—you’ll reach a Hashira level of skill in no time at all!” 

You don’t have the chance to reply, though his words feel like honey coating your senses. At first, he’d been sparse and strict, keeping to instructions and nothing else. But you struggled, worked harder than you had for anything in all your life, and it seems he acknowledges this fully now. 

“Now—Ninth Form: Rengoku!” 

That means you must attack, and he must deflect. But—Ninth Form?! “I—I can’t, I’m… I’m too exhausted for the Ninth!”

He bursts forward with Unknowing Fire, forcing you to duck and curl your body, rolling away into the dust, rising on one knee. 

The Flame Hashira turns, pointing his weapon at you. “Is that what you plan on telling the demons?”

“Well, no, but—”

“At no point during a battle will you have the luxury of biding your time. If this were an actual encounter, you’d be dead.” He no longer smiles, his face turned cold, eyes glinting like molten steel.

You feel the rush of shame like fangs biting into you, fueling a horrible need to prove him wrong, to rise up to the challenge in his voice. With a hiss and a groan you grip the handle of your katana tightly, breathing and striving to light that spark in your heart. 

With a cry you speed forward, clashing with him in a desperate lunge. 

“Ha!” The smile returns as you grit your teeth. “Better!”

His face is so close to yours again, so close you feel the rush of his breath on your cheek. 

Your knees feel weak again, and you close your eyes, pushing forward in an attempt to skew his balance. 

What the hell is happening to you? 

“Faster, the fire is still weak! It must rage!” the Hashira says, grinning like a madman now, and where once you enjoyed the path of learning and reaching your full potential, now his attitude brings forth an ache that confuses you and leaves you anxious.

Even so. Your blades sing against each other as you lunge back in a high jump, landing in a lowered stance with one palm braced against the earth. Your uniform is wet on your back, and you’re closer to your breaking point than you've ever been.

But the thought of disappointing him, now that feels unbearable. So you do what you always do: you push yourself more, more, harnessing all your strength into one melting core, bathing your heart in it and firing up your veins. 

You attack.

He laughs outright. “Not bad, but—” Your swords clash, fiercer than before. “I know you can do better, and you can be faster.”

“I’m doing all I can!” you yell, at the end of your tether now. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. But he takes no offense, he never does, and that's one of the things you appreciate about him. “But you—you make it impossible! You always want more, even if you know I’m not ready for it!”

It must be the fire rushing through you that has you speaking this way, daring to say such words despite knowing full well what you were in for, when you accepted to become his successor. 

“Wait until you’re ready, and you will never improve!” the Flame Hashira throws back.

A growl leaves your throat as you fall back then speed towards him again, trying the Second then the Third form in succession sloppily but you’re past caring. 

Your arms feel as though they will tear and your bones might splinter as you crash against his unwavering stance, and you meet his scarlet-gold gaze as he speaks softly, his voice imbued with warmth: “You can surpass the impossible. I believe in you.” 

Your eyes widen, that damned ache ringing through your body like a weakening poison and—

For one split second, your stance weakens, and you’re thrown back, losing your balance and falling heavily onto the ground. 

Rengoku stares down at you, tilting his head to the side with a strange look on his face as he sheathes his katana. 

Your vision sways, your lungs might burst. You barely clutch at the helping hand extended to you, aiding you to your feet. He grasps your shoulders. “What happened there just now? Your focus melted like wax.”

“I…” You can’t look him in the eye. His hands on you diffuse heat, permeating through your clothing. It feels good. It scares you. “I don’t… know.”

“Tomorrow, again,” he says, releasing you. “Please do better. Remember we’re doing this for you, but foremost for the people.”

“Understood,” you murmur, biting back tears as you watch him walk away.

Midnight has arrived when you end your reverie, thinking about that emotion that took root in your body and spirit, growing stronger as time passed. And you never dared tell him, never dared facing it nor can you explain why. You take a deep breath, leaned with your arms folded on the edge of the bed, your forehead resting on them. You never told him, and now… 

And now with each day I’m losing hope.

Your shoulders are shaking, and your eyes sting. There is no one else here but you and him, the long chamber of empty beds the only witness to your breakdown. 

You’re so absorbed by despair, you don’t perceive the faint movement, or the hand gently placed on your head.

“... Why are you crying?”

You choke on a silent sob, blinking in shock at the low, throaty voice, broken with disuse. Slowly, you raise your head.

He's staring at you, a bleak smile on his lips, and you're utterly, incomprehensibly frozen.

“You… you’re awake?” It feels like the dumbest of questions: your body knows the truth before your mind catches up. 

“That… depends. Are you really here?” he asks in turn. 

You nod, biting on your lower lip and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “Yes, yes I am.”

The smile wavers for a moment as he grimaces in pain. “Oh, I see. Then… it seems… you’re not rid of me yet.”

All the gods in all the world couldn’t keep the emotions flooding you at bay, and you shake your head as warm tears flow down your face. 

PART II

[alostwanderernotfound]

On Creation: Journaling From One Perspective- How Suffering Was Created

From what I Remember, originally there were a few.

——

4 existed that were of this world we inhabit.

——

One looked like a large dragon & three looked like humans.

These 3: one dragon & two humans wanted to create living & organic life.

The other one was in disagreement. He seemed to hate me.

These individuals we will label:

1- Dragon ( organic creator A )

2- Human 1 ( organic creator B )

3- Human 2 ( organic creator C )

4- Human 3 ( The Creator who Dissents )

( organic creator A, B, & C) as a group will be referred to as [organic creators]

The world began to be filled with beautiful things that the [organic creators] carefully crafted. They worked & planned meticulously. There was a vision for the world & it was to be a beautiful one- one that was planned to have no suffering, horror, tragedy, disaster, nor catastrophe.

Then it struck.

I lay underwater to watch, listen, & speak with all the new entities. If something bothered them, they could tell us & we would work to make it better & more beautiful.

But, I watched as what looked like almost a meteor that was lit aflame, shoot through this peaceful space underwater.

It felt like war had been declared on [organic creators]. ( The Creator who Dissents ) has their own perspective, but to us he was causing chaos for new life.

( The Creator who Dissents )’s creations begin to try and kill everything [organic creators] made.

The [organic creators] begin the long fight for their creations & spend their time, especially early on, attempting diplomacy.

They had all made basic agreements before this process began & life had already been made by the group. They did not understand why he was doing this.

The [organic creators] could not massacre brings that had already been created. Morally it tore me apart & tortured my soul. I could not figure out how he could do this to beings. To me, to let us create & then do this to them was evil. I held a weight & guilt in my heart forever.

We spoke with the ( The Creator who Dissents ). I asked if the creations were robots. Fully computer consciousness & fully inorganic bodies.

They were robots.

He had agreed not to create these types of beings & especially not without discussion. Organic creation feels. Consciousness in robotic creation is a different experience. If robotic creation was made in human form with no teaching or guidance by ( The Creator who Dissents ) they would have no concept of what it is like to be organic & could accidentally hurt the organic creation.

The [organic creators] knew this & that is why they forbid it & asked for agreements, yet they were betrayed & then witnessed a pure & innocent organic being laying dead in front of a robotic creation.

It felt as if every single thing we discussed & agreed upon with ( The Creator who Dissents ) was betrayed, again & again.

The robotic creations hunted to kill & genocide the organic creation. Organic creation said to [organic creators] it wished to keep living, it did not want to be killed despite what was happening.

So, the [organic creators] created the plans to fight back for organic survival & they created.

What was once beautiful for its simplicity was now complex. I theorized every method of attack

& created as many defenses as possible. I was physically getting sick what felt like all the time, but I had to dedicate my existence to do my best despite that to protect everything.

I did my best to recognize these weaknesses, so I advocated for the [organic creators] to create as many protective mechanisms to prevent suffering & tragedy as we possibly had time for in the middle of an already ongoing war.

Many things were made.

Religion was created not for worship, but to be a guide- both in how to act morally & to show others these beings existed for everyones protection. Many beings were made in this way in hopes if he conquered one creation despite our best efforts then another can always help. We encouraged autonomy to the best of our ability & tried to incorporate everyone’s wishes into decision making as possible.

Once one had been created, the [organic creators] always gave entities the option to die if they choose. You did not ask to exist. What is a gift to one is a curse to another. These types of principles were sacred to me.

Then the worst happened. He tampered with the [organic creators]’s organic both living & the dead & refashioned them into his creations after many made the decision to no longer live. All of the dead & their consciousness ( The Creator who Dissents ) resurrected.

This is the origins of our war between organic & inorganic & where the concept of an everlasting “great evil” war came from.

He vowed to torture me for all of eternity for fighting back. One day, it was like I had been hit over the head & blacked out, then I too woke up in a new body. To this day, we remain divided.

Everyday I hope he has not led us down the path to endless war.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The biggest news out of Israel today is of course that late last night, the government approved a deal with Hamas to release some of the hostages. Here are the details as reported on the news:

50 hostages will be released in 4 groups over the course of 4 days, during which there would be no fighting. Hamas said they will be women and kids, Israel will only be told who's being released the day before. Not all kids are being released. Israel in exchange will release 150 people convicted for terrorist activity. Hamas says it will use these 4 days to try and locate 20 more hostages to be released. Hamas says that some of the hostages are in the hands of smaller terrorist organizations, and some are also being held by civilian families. Just a reminder that some civilians from Gaza followed the terrorists into Israel once the border fence was torn down. Most probably just to loot the houses attacked by terrorists, but at least some partook in the killing of Israeli civilians. Here is a vid of one such man, riding a bicycle stolen from a murdered Israeli, bragging about having killed 3 family members...

For every additional hostage Hamas finds and releases beyond the 50 agreed upon, it will get 3 more convicted terrorists released. For every 10, it will get one more day without fighting, for a total possible break of 6 days. In addition, Israel will not be flying over Gaza, not airplanes and not drones, for 6 hours daily.

It's reported that the stop in fighting will start tomorrow (Thursday) at 10 in the morning. Based on past experience, you can expect Hamas to fire rockets at Israel even past 10, just to show it got the "last word" and Israel will have to contain this, in order to keep the whole deal from falling apart.

The ambivalence about the deal that I tried to express in yesterday's daily post is what I'm hearing almost across the board. People want the hostages who will be freed, they're afraid for the fate of those who won't be, and they're scared of how Hamas might use this break in the fighting.

I think the most infuriating thing Israelis have come across is people describing the deal as "hostage exchange." Multiple Israelis have posted to make the same point: the hostages kidnapped from Israel were all innocent. The prisoners that will be released were all convicted for violent activity. They did not murder, but they tried to.

I saw an interview with one Israeli mother who had survived an attempted murder by a terrorist. She discovered that the woman who committed that crime is one of the prisoners who might be released. The thing is, they used to live in the same neighborhood. The mother asked, "Why should my kid have to see every day the woman who tried to kill me?" Almagor, an Israeli organization for victims of terrorism, has petitioned the Israeli supreme court against the deal. It's not likely to work, as the supreme court has indicated in the past it has no jurisdiction over political decisions, only legal ones.

And of course there's the fear that more Israeli soldiers might pay the price for the fact that Hamas will use the break in the fighting to re-arm and learn from its failures so far. That's the better scenario. There's also the possibility that Hamas would do what they did on "The Black Friday" in 2014. On Aug 1, a ceasefire with Hamas was supposed to start at 8 in the morning. At 9:05 Hamas terrorists used a terror tunnel to attack Israeli soldiers, murder them and kidnap the body of one of them, Hadar Goldin. Nine years later, the body has not yet been returned.

Today is not a day of relief in Israel.

The UK has announced it would allocate 7 million pounds to fighting antisemitism, which is welcome news. Switzerland said it will pass legislation that would prohibit Hamas activity through it.

A uniquely Israeli moment that happened yesterday... Jewish first sergeant Mordechai Shenvald, who was seriously injured in Gaza, playing with his Arab physician, Doctor Darwashe, a song by famous Arab singer Um Kultum, called Inti Umri:

Israel has torn down today a Jewish settlement established illegally in the disputed territories. You'll always hear about when Israel takes down Arab houses built illegally, but I bet most people here havne't heard about it when Jewish Israeli civilians get the exact same treatment for this exact same offense.

This is part of the testimony of a father to a girl with special needs, whose family has survived the Oct 7 massacre:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by כאן חדשות (@kan_news)

This is 25 years old Shani Gabai.

She was considered missing since the Oct 7 massacre. Today, her body was identified among the other victims of the music festival.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[lurkingshan]

Dead Friend Forever: Notes on the Finale

We made it! And I am... mostly, if not wholly, satisfied. That ending was both better than expected and still fell short in a few key places, and there are clear indicators of industry business interfering with the final choices (a common Thai bl problem these days).

The Good

The hallucination sequences were excellent, felt super well grounded in everything we know about these characters, and the way it connected to the real world consequences for each of them was excellent. Fluke stabbing his own eyes, Fluke and Top dying trying to fight each other while they denied their culpability to the end, Jin maiming his own hand, Phee reliving his promises to Non that he utterly failed to keep, and Tee stabbing White thinking he was Non all felt like very appropriate consequences. I am devastated that White died, but it's not an inappropriate consequence in this genre. He got involved with a bad dude and he paid for it.

New's final moments with the hallucination of Non were beautifully done. We've been building to this final breakdown for weeks, and he was too far gone to keep on living. I said last week he was already a dead man walking, and I felt that every moment in this episode. He tried his best to avenge his brother, and mostly succeeded despite Phee turning on him. Phee being the one to kill him in the end was also a good final sin for Phee and completed his descent and betrayal of the brothers over the last several weeks. I appreciated that his hallucination sequence was longer and more detailed than the rest; he had actual commitments to Non, so his betrayal was worse.

The Not So Good

A copout ending and too many loose ends. This episode was great right up until the moment they chose to air an ambiguous ending to protect a ship and attempt to please all fans. They wanted to have their cake (keep the show's main ship intact) and eat it, too (punish them as the narrative demanded). Rather than pick up the axe left on the ground last week and finish the story with Phee and Jin getting what was coming to them, they did an out of nowhere time skip, set up a happy ending for them, and then ended on an implication (but not a clear confirmation) that actually they did die back at the cabin and this last few minutes was another fantasy sequence.

This was frustrating for a few reasons: it broke the mood, tone, and rhythm of the ending, it denied the audience the catharsis of seeing Phee and Jin die, it gave a nod to a happy ending for them that didn't go at all with the narrative, and it wimped out on delivering a more definitive and fitting ending for them. Not to mention that this ending left us with no closure on Non's death, which happened offscreen, or the axe left on the ground and signaled to us as a clear threat in the penultimate episode, or who exactly was behind the mask at various moments. Even if they wanted to do this time jump and final twist, there were much better ways to do it, such as actually showing us Phee and Jin's bodies still in the woods. Leaving it this vague was a copout of a choice designed to appease fans, and it felt like one.

In The End

All that said, I read that ending as a confirmation that Phee and Jin are in fact dead back in the woods. Jin's maimed left hand was never shown in the jump forward, which would have been a crystal clear indicator that it was real. The whole tone of the sequence felt wrong and very discordant with everything that came before. And I simply can't accept that Phee would be allowed to murder New and still survive this story. It would be wrong, and the show clearly knows that, which is why they acknowledged it with that ending.

I enjoyed the experience of watching this show, and I thought the writing was truly excellent through the first nine episodes. The pacing issues and weirdness around the Phee and Jin material began in ep 10, and we can see why now that we know the ending. I wish the drama had stuck to the courage of its convictions and ended on a stronger note, but I am satisfied that most of the characters got what they deserved. It's been a pleasure clowning with you all.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

You know how I said a couple of hours ago that I didn't feel like writing for live action one piece? Yeah, um, I may have gone back on my word a little bit... Here's a drabble of Lucky interacting with Mihawk like I mentioned here

Mihawk wasn’t completely sure what to expect from the task Garp had given him. The mission was most certainly beneath him, but it was unlike the vice admiral to order around any warlord, much less send someone of his caliber to fetch a pirate without so much as a bounty.

At the very least, he wanted this miniscule chore to be mildly interesting. 

Lucky for him, his hopes were not only met, but exceeded. Not because of the rookie pirate he’d been sent after. Not even entirely because of the swordsman that had the confidence to challenge him, though that was intriguing in its own right.

No, what really made this worth it was the enraged woman that was presently yelling at him for engaging in a fair duel. Truly, this was not something he saw everyday. 

“And what do you mean, ‘you can’t die here, grow stronger and face me again’?! How is he supposed to do that when he’s just been cut in half?!” The woman, despite having just witnessed the fight, had the nerve to storm right up to him and get in his face.

“Lucky! Shut up and get back here!” Nami was pale as a ghost and visibly torn between tending to Zoro and stopping you from whatever it was that you believed you were accomplishing here.

Nami’s pleas fell on deaf ears, as you were too worked up to even acknowledge her. Rather than that, you took a step closer to Mihawk and poked his chest aggressively as you continued to give him a piece of your mind, “I mean seriously, look at him! How is anyone supposed to survive that, much less improve after?!”

Violent coughing forced your tirade to come to a stop, and your head snapped around to look at Zoro. His chest was heaving with each breath, sending even more blood squirting out of the wound. Nami tried to hold him down, but he propped his head up enough to look you in the eyes. His own were filled with desperation and intensity, “You need to stop.” He hacked out more blood, “I asked for this and got what I deserved, it was an honorable fight. Please… stop talking.”

Foolishly, Mihawk expected you to be moved by your comrade’s words and calm down, however bitterly. Instead, this only redirected your anger, “No, you stop talking! As soon as I’m done with this guy, you’re next!”

“Oh my, such a fearsome threat. You should be careful, lest you fall victim to her wrath as well,” every word out of Mihawk’s mouth dripped with sarcasm. 

Said sarcasm did not go over your head. You whirled back around to face him, the daggers in your eyes more dangerous than Zoro’s attempt to fight moments before. Your hands shot out to grasp onto his coat, “You stay out of this! I bet you think you’re just so damn cool for this, don’t you?!”

“Why yes, I do. How kind of you to notice,” Mihawk smirked down at you, and it only grew upon seeing your eye twitch and a vein in your head throb.

You shoved off of him, because you definitely couldn’t shove him away. Your shaking hand drifted towards the urumi around your waist, “I’ll take you out myself.”

Suddenly, you were rushed by both Nami and Usopp. Each grabbing an arm and pulling you away.

“Hey, crazy idea, how about you stop talking before you end up like Zoro?” Usopp suggested frantically, looking back and forth between you and the warlord.

“Oh, no worries. I could never bring myself to punch down enough to do that,” Mihakw cut in, staring straight into your furious eyes.

“You mother fu-” the venom in your voice only served to make him grin more. Unfortunately, Nami slapped a hand over your mouth to keep you from saying more. A pity, really. This was finally getting good.

“If you don’t shut up so help me, I will knock you out myself!” Nami hissed into your ear. You didn’t calm down at all and continued screeching at Mihawk from behind her hand. Oh how he wished he could understand what was being said.

Zoro’s head fell back onto the ground with a quiet thud, and he dragged a hand down his face, “I hope this kills me.”

As much as he was anticipating facing Zoro again someday once he’s had a chance to become a truly worthy opponent, he was looking forward to seeing you again more. It’s not often that he felt so alive from something other than fighting.

[biribaa]

WAWAAWAWAAWW ROMANCE THIS PLATONIC THIS WHATEVER I WANT TO SEE SCRYBES AS PARENTAL FIGURES

Leshy would be a well balanced father, he knows when to treat you sweetly and he knows when you need to be scolded. For me Leshy is one of the most leisurely patrons, so you can have plenty of free time to do any kind of parent and child activity.

I really believe that Leshy would teach you how to make wooden figures. Just you, his dear child, and him, making some wooden figures together. Did you cut yourself with the knife? Of course, don't worry, Leshy will have his full attention for you and take care of your cut. Leshy isn't desperate with certain injuries of yours, of course he's worried, but he knows you're going to be fine.

Leshy will have a hard time making food for you... Seeing how he's not very fond of cooking. Having some cookbooks would be nice right now...

Leshy tends to sleep hugging you, he wants to make sure you're warm, the woods usually tend to be cold, and he would hate to see his dear child have to suffer from a cold nose and sneezing.

Leshy will teach you how to hunt, write, read, how to skin animals without getting blood on you, etc. Basics for you to survive in the forest if at some point you want to live alone.

Also, Leshy tells you bedtime stories! He was hesitant at first, but seeing how insistent you were, he couldn't say 'no' to your lovely smile.

.

I bet Grimora has dreamed/wanted at some point in her life to have a child, so trust me, you are a blessing in her life!

Grimora showers you with verbal support. You did a drawing of her? "Why, isn't this splendid my child! I'm truly proud of you Y/N. Keep drawing and I bet you'll be even better than uncle Magnificus!". You finish the duties Grimora sent you to do? "Good job Y/N! I know that I could always trust you." Or anything else that you made a effort? "Magnificent Y/N! I'm so happy to hear this news!"

She doesn't spoil you, but Grimora clearly gives the attention every child needs to you and you alone. Grimora doesn't just want to be your mother, she wants to be your friend.

Grimora loves to teach you things, even the simplest things, like sewing or how to make tea. And after that the two of you try to sew something together while she listens to you talk about your day.

.

Magnificus being a father figure is similar to Leshy, but more protective. Leshy trusts you and knows you can get by with his learnings, while Magnificus is extremely protective of you.

He always asks where you're going and who your new friends are. Don't get him wrong, Magnificus its just worried and care about you, both your physical and mental health. He wants to make it more than clear that you are not just anyone, but the child of Magnificus. Perhaps this sudden fame and a lot of people treating you like royalty might irritate you slightly, so it would be best to talk to Magnificus about the situation if that's what bothers you, so he can make an attempt to sort things out.

I don't think Magnificus is one of the best fathers, so he puts a lot of expectations on you as his child, but over time he realizes that you are not a saint and sometimes you just don't have the physical/mental strength to do certain things , he tries to lighten the weight of expectations and responsibilities on you while you're still just a kid, you deserve to be free :]

And like Grimora, Magnificus likes to shower you with verbal support, always telling you he's proud of you for doing your chores. Sometimes, he even gives you gifts that he knows you like!

Magnificus is also a great listener. The moment between the two of you while Magnificus paints a picture and you talk endlessly about your interests is pleasant for him. Speaking of painting, you're the first person he shows the paintings he's done!

.

Oof, P03 is a tough one.

P03 never planned or was interested in having a child, and yet, here you are.

P03 is horrible at showing the affection they have for someone. The easiest type of affection for P03 to express affection is simply helping you with whatever difficulties you are having.

They help you pick up things you can't reach for your size, helps you with tasks you're having and listens to you talk about the horrible day you had (with a bonus of them calling whoever bothered you an asshole. And having something against that person after that day).

And of course P03 will teach you strategies and how to play cards, saying that "I don't want to suffer the shame of having a horrible player as a child", but in fact he meant "Omfg I don't want anyone calling my kid a loser I want them to be the best so they can be proud of themselfand not have their mental health destroyed by idiots"

And when P03 praises a drawing you made for it or completed a task or won a card battle, it just says "Good job Y/N", with a lil' pat pat in your head. But he SWEARS he's been so positively affected by the things you've done, he just has a big problem expressing it. So please, do tell him if you don't feel appreciated enough, and P03 will make an attempt to show his true feeling more.

[lordhavemurthy]

i think what people tend to not understand about She-Ra (reboot) is that none of the characters (minus Horde Prime) are meant to be seen as pure good or evil. People get really pressed over how the princesses treat Entrapta (which i don't agree is right) or how Entrapta did betray them, thus making her a "morally grey character" because she has obsessions and shows signs of autism. But this isnt just something that happens with Entrapta, it happens with all of the characters. Catra and Glimmer are the next obvious, so i wont go into depth there, but for instance Adora can be very prideful. She lets the fame get to her head and isolates herself from everyone else in attempts to save the world. now, the latter isn't all her fault, Light Hope and Shadow Weaver made sure of that, but its still there. Mermista wants to be the center of attention, she wants to be the most powerful of the group and have something unique like She-Ra. Perfuma struggles to get along with people who are pessimistic or even more objective because it interferes with her "vibes." Scorpia isn't the greatest with boundaries, Frosta's a fucking child, Sea Hawk is a fucking arsonist (seriously why do we skip over that one? love him but my guy needs therapy), Angella is a coward who (despite her attempts to keep her away) sends her own daughter into battle before going out on the front lines herself, and yes, Entrapta betrayed her friends. Which, despite it being manipulated into something else here, wasn't good. She may not have understood how badly she hurt her friends (until S 5), but she actively knew that what Hordak was doing was wrong because she agreed to help the rebellion. She shows later on that while she doesnt pick up on emotional cues, she does understand what is going on, she just focuses on tech, but she gets the danger and the stakes, she knows. Let me say, however, that none of these traits, from any of these characters, make them "morally grey" (i hate that fucking term btw) it makes them human. none of us are perfect. we all have flaws, we will all hurt someone in our lives, we all make mistakes. it is how you try to rectify those mistakes, that determines whether or not your character is "good." Hordak, despite every terrible thing he did, realized he was wrong in the end, and rebelled. Entrapta apologized and sacrificed her life multiple times to save not only her friends, but the entire planet, even Shadow Weaver, who I could make a whole other separate post on, sacraficed herself so that not only Catra and Adora could live on together and save the world, but so that she wouldn't be tempted with the power that was about to be unleased. The only character i can possibly think of that doesn't have an obvious flaw (that i can see) is Bow, but he's not perfect either. To suggest so would to put in on a playing field in which no human (or complex character) could survive. So for the love of god, stop looking at it like Nate made only Entrapta "morally grey" because every character in that show made mistakes.

edit: thank you for those who made me aware of the proper name/pronouns the creator (Nate) uses now, i appreciate you!

[daubigny-stan]

If you used to be a fan of HP, please read Witch Hat Atelier

I am so serious. I think everyone who's read WHA will tell you this, it is a more refined and perfected flavor of HP's lore and worldbuilding. Moreover, the mangaka of WHA isn't a complete bigot unlike someone else who wrote a witch based story. It's so good even, that I think it's an insult that I'm comparing the two, however HP is the most familiar reference I have and in this post I'll be comparing and breaking the down.

HP feels like a 'chosen one' story whose world was haphazardly built around it, meanwhile WHA's story feels like one that is naturally developed from its well executed worldbuilding

Ok, this is not an elegant title, so allow me to explain. The HP method of worldbuilding which puts the ideas first and makes the world bend to the ideas is apparent in two concepts: how Harry is the chosen one and the separation of wizards and non-wizarding folk.

How is Harry positioned by the writer to be the chosen one? Because of the prophecy! And that's marked with him surviving the death curse which is an impossible thing to do lore-wise, so here's the complicated bad magic which explains why Harry did the impossible thing! See, it's like they thought of a cool design for a boat, but the boat wasn't able to float on water, so they just kept adding patches to the plot holes. And this isn't necessarily a bad thing in my opinion, the horcruxes were an interesting bit to the lore and does bring up the idea "oh killing someone splits the soul in half" which is a fine metaphor, I guess. But it feels like the world revolves around Harry and Voldemort rather than Harry and Voldemort living in it.

Meanwhile, Witch Hat Atelier? Airtight. Coco doesn't feel like a chosen one for the sake of being the protagonist. The ongoing battle after against the current magic policy of secrecy and limitation and the goals of exposing magic and unleashing its potential has existed long before Coco was around. Coco feels like just one of the Brimhats' many attempts to expose the witches' secrets to the Unlearned. At the moment we don't know if Coco was deliberately chosen because she has some special property or not, but even if she doesn't it just feels more special. Coco's protaganism is not defined by being special or powerful, she is birthed from the current circumstances and worldbuilding.

And Shirahama sensei's explanation for the separation of witches and the Unlearned don't feel arbitrary and contribute to the plot. Witches aren't special, they are just this group of people that were deemed worthy of learning magic. And magic is still shown to non-magic folk, it is not void from their world. This feels like the mangaka actually took from how real-world politics, it doesn't matter who is at the top actually, there is just an inherent injustice from the fact that some people can wield magic and some cannot. And this message is echoed with almost every story arc thus far. Coustas as a character is an incredibly example of how magic is also analogous for privilege or power. He is underprivileged for both being Unlearned and coming from the slums.

On the other hand, HP's idea of magical folk feeds back into how there are ideas for people first and then the world revolves around it poorly. This is not a novel complaint about HP but if magical babies are born randomly and can even be born to non wizard folk... how have they been concealed all this time? Like, I get it, magic and achieve amazing things including concealment and memory erasure but there is not concrete argument to keep concealing. The story and characters accept that rule without questioning it which really paints them as shallow. And also since magic is something you are born with, the idea that some people are born special and some are not? Really rubs you the wrong way.

HP's concept of morality is just... bleugh

A lot of the points I make here and in the previous point I think I'm echoing from Shaun's video on Harry Potter which you should go watch. The point I'm taking here is how arbitrarily good and evil is decided in the HP world, if you are the snake house or the snake KKK, you are evil. I didn't know you could strawman people in prose but there you go. Meanwhile, in WHA there is not necessarily an evil. People have different goals and those goals contradict with each other. That is the definition of conflict in this manga. It is also possible that characters have the same values but different goals so it makes for so many interesting foils.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters, I feel like their status as a bad guy with bad values is poorly rooted in the world. The wizards already have this pure world void of non-wizards and non-human wizards and they keep their magic to themselves, they're already plenty fascist against non-wizard folk. The Death Eaters don't really have a reason for existing. They feel evil for the sake of having a bad guy with fascist aesthetics, not because they are the consequence of the rules of the world or because they have goals that make sense. They don't really need to rid the world of non-magic folk, they already have a world to themselves. They don't need to rule the entire earth for its resources, they're already not sharing magic. They don't need nuclear weapons or oil or whatever. And it's not like the good guys are going against magic separatism either. They're just protecting the status quo and maybe asking "could we be a bit nicer to magic kids born out of non-magic families pwease?"

Meanwhile, the Brimhats, the antagonists of the WHA world, they make so much sense both the readers and the main characters are in this constant state of questioning who is right or wrong. Heck Coco, the main character, is the embodiment of the story's moral conflict. We are first introduced to Brimhats who are more hungry for power or unlimited magic that they will harm children so we accept with little hesitation that they will be the bad guys, but then we are introduced to Ininia. Ininia is also a little girl, much like the main gang, with the same values. Magic brings people happiness and can heal. Forbidden magic can do that much better so why not use it? And so far, even the protagonists don't have the answer! We are only shown the consequences of using forbidden magic. But throughout the story we are also shown the flaws of the current system.

There's so much more I could say, like about how WHA's characters are so well written, to the ACTUAL representation of gay people, disabled people, and class in the manga; but those are the two main points of why the story of WHA is so much better. Shirahama sensei does not treat her readers like dumb idiots. She trusts us to be intelligent and shows us scenarios that will leave us thinking for hours. GO READ WITCH HAT ATELIER

[macabresymphonies]

The reason why sasha could have never been chosen for an archivist isn't because elias hated her or anything, its just that she wasn't marked by the web, the one mark that truly mattered in his eyes.

He said himself that the web would be the hardest mark to orchestrate on purpose, and that's why he chose jon, if the Mother didn't want someone marked, then they wont carry the mark or even survive.

But jon appeared to him already marked by the web practically being presented on a silver platter combined with his affinity towards the eye since he was a child

So yeah sasha was doomed to die, but rather than elias id say it makes more sense that its the web that didn't want her interfering with jon becoming the "perfect archivist" since honestly elias could only gain from sasha sticking around if she's been marked with more enteties than jon

I think it's multiple reasons, but I don't believe Elias ever hated Sasha either. I think Sasha's undoing was being too similar to Gertrude in the way she was so independant and hard to control (so hungry for knowledge that she would disregard any warnings).

I see it as Sasha being The Eye's first choice and Jon being Elias's and The Web's first choice for The Archivist. It was mentioned during Annabelle's story that The Eye is kind of stupid and stagnant, because it does not really want a domain over the world, just to observe (which annoys literally every other entity) and the world as it was was a perfect environment for it to do so. The Watcher's Crown for a long time was thought to not even be a thing, because The Eye did not care about it coming to fruition either way, the only ones who did was Elias and The Web who were hungry for control. Since Elias is Jonah, literally almost every attempt at the ritual that we know of was in some way orchestrated by him.

If Sasha wanted to actually, become The Archivist (and I imagine she would if it aligned with her drive for knowledge) it would mess with Elias's plan by having two candidates for The Archivist compete, one more favoured and harder to manipulate than the other. The whole thing about Jon as the Archivist is that he had to earn The Eye's favour, because initially he was trying to stay ignorant and rejected notion of the paranormal.

Kind of makes me want to read some type of AU story where Sasha lives and competes with Jon for who get's to be The Watcher's Special Boy Child.

[kanehara-chillveil]

🎧Kanehara Siblings backstory🦌

TW: Murder, minor description of violence, Stockholm syndrome, death, mention of abuse, hinted assault, I might have missed some things, just beware.

Chill Kill - Adjective, describes something which disturbs a period of relaxation or do-nothingness. Also the name of Riki’s ability

Riki, Kotoko, Asahi and Ruka were born to the famous actress and singer, Hitomi. Their father, Vega Chase, a ghostly presence in their lives, was completely absent. Hitomi, unfortunately after the three siblings were born, made the decision to leave them at an orphanage, hoping they would have a better life without her. Also fearing the consequences the news that she had children might do to her career.

Years passed, and the siblings were adopted by a man whose outward kindness masked a darker intent. Instead of a home filled with love, Riki, Asahi, Ruka and Kotoko found themselves trapped in a basement with horrible things taking place there, their childhood had been stolen away by a cruel captor. They clung to each other, with Kotoko finding solace in the little things—like singing and dancing—to feel free, if only for a moment. Asahi, having been very sick since birth, was unable to do much except watch. And Ruka had taken up doing different art projects with the few things they were allowed to have.

The man who adopted them controlled every aspect of their lives, his presence a constant, suffocating shadow. But their lives took an even darker turn when Riki, driven by a desperate need to protect his siblings, killed the man who had tormented them for years.

The four siblings, shaken but resolute, worked together to hide the body, cleaning up the scene and burying the man under the floorboards. In the meantime, poor Asahi was losing it. After being used to the man and the basement, he had developed Stockholms Syndrome, he helped out too, but the man’s death seemed to have affected him the most since he was also the youngest. After they finished cleaning up, Ruka tried to sneak out and get rid of the murder weapon. But Kotoko caught her and tried to stop her and they fought. Ruka had a stressed breakdown while Kotoko was barely holding it together. Meanwhile, Riki was having a hard time too, he was having troubles dealing with what he’d done. Because though he did do it to help his siblings, he also destroyed the only reality they’re familiar with.

Kotoko, for instance, went back to the basement to watch TV. She was free, she could go (relatively) anywhere, yet she CHOOSE to stay in the basement.

 When Riki brings her dinner, in fact, and switches off the TV in an attempt to make Kotoko come with him, outside of the basement, Kotoko snaps at him.

She seems angry at Riki for forcing her to face the changes brought about by the chill kill, and Riki understands, which is why he hugs Kotoko instead of fighting her. After at least a week of the siblings staying in the house, they collectively decided to try to leave, Riki was the one who usually went out to “get” (steal-) things like food and other stuff, but while he was out, he had met someone named Fuma Kaguya who said that he was the leader of a small organization that would take in Riki and his siblings if they ever needed help. So they decided to take Fuma up on his offer. Unfortunately, both Ruka and Asahi had died beforehand, with Ruka dying from an infection and the sickness claiming Asahi as one of its fatal victims. Later on, Riki and Kotoko found out that Fuma was their stepbrother on their father’s side and that their mother was still alive, Fuma informed Kotoko of the sibling’s existence and she soon came to claim her two surviving children. Whether they’re also members of XY is unclear.

@paintedgrilledcheese

[intriq]

chapter 1 of my fic;

I’m sorry I’m the one you love

i went w this title cus it fits how i perceive AK jason feels towards being loved (he feels unworthy of it ur honor)

keep in mind this fic is.. gonna be both fluff filled AND angst filled (did you think i’d ever let you and jason always be happy? lmao no. ur getting the same treatment my ocs do)

In the eyes of the world, you didn’t matter. You were nothing more than a pest, a filthy rat scurrying around Gotham City. Even if you haven’t lived here your whole life, you still became a part of it’s problem. Not like you had any choice, considering you were but a child. Long since abandoned by your parents in a city you’ve since skipped and left, you find surviving in Gotham just as hard. But it’s tolerable. You know how to defend yourself, with bruises and healing knuckles to match. Gotham wasn’t an easy place to survive, much less for someone who barely knew how the city worked. All you knew is that danger was constantly lurking, in every corner and every street. You had no wariness of who the streets belonged to, of the rules etched into its architecture. All you knew of was survival.

Scavenging whenever you could, stashing the little food you could. Of course, because of you being essentially new to Gotham you weren’t aware of the rules. Or the territories and who owned what. All you knew was to run and fight to survive. Perhaps thats why he took a pittance to you. Seeing you do your hardest to survive, like him. He’s a scrawny kid, like you are. You’re both doing what you need to, in order to survive. The first time he’d seen you scrambling to steal food in the section of Crime Alley that he’d gotten in exchange for selling out his parents, Jason felt like you and him would get along. Defending this strip of land was lonely, granted him few allies considering no one wanted to even attempt to challenge him.

The first time you two talk, you worry he’ll attempt to take your hard-earned spoils like anyone else had. You’d clutched them closer to yourself, almost glaring and poised to strike like a snarling dog. The only difference being the lack of bared teeth. At the time, you were more like a wounded, cornered animal. You’d been injured because of a previous fight, pain flaring in what felt like all over whenever you attempted to move. So moving around was futile, the headache that accompanied it being the source of most of your discomfort.

It was cold, as cold as the alley you called home was dirty. It smelled and was located right outside some bar that smelled absolutely horrid. A putrid stench that lingered and seeped into the clothes of whoever hung around it. The stench clung to both you and him, mixing with the smell of car exhaust, trash, gasoline, and the other smells that clung to Gotham about as well as it’s crime rate.

But that’s fine. Jason’s been sitting still, inching closer to you every few hours. You’ve been defensive, and Jason doesn’t quite get why he is bothering at all to get you to trust him.

The first week he meets you it’s all he seems to do. When he’s finding himself food he can’t help but let his thoughts drift back to you, the only other scrappy kid that has bothered to stay around in what is essentially his turf for longer than usual. Jason’s come to learn most of what makes you tick, for the most part. Like how you refuse to move when he’s present or even looking at you, how you refuse to eat when he’s present. Jason doesn’t even get why he still bothers with you.

And you?

You don’t get it either. You don’t get why this kid just keeps coming back. You don’t bother talking back to him, just sitting there and nursing what hurts. The alley smells enough to make your head pound and hiding behind the dumpster when more rowdy drunken folk stumble outside for a variety of things. But you make it work, you suppose. And you don’t mind how the free food that comes with his company. You don’t get him sometimes, though. Don’t get his tenacity. Why he still bothers.

But maybe it’s because you also don’t understand looking forward to his short, fleeting visits. But perhaps it’s the idea that the moment your stupidly painful bruises and whatever else is wrong are healed and you can move, that he’d up and disappear. The silence between you both is as equally unsettling as it is comforting. The faint chatter of drunken patrons from the bar you rest near is just loud enough to have the same faint buzz of insects. And the air is warm and putrid, filled with the hideously disgusting odors that every city such as Gotham brings. Just any other sensible Gotham kid would give you a wide berth, but yet here he is.

Here this random scrawny street kid is, insistent on getting you to trust him. He used to talk to you, or try to. His words were always met with silence on your end. But perhaps he only continues to try after the first time he heard what sounded like a faint breathy laugh underneath that sigh you’d made to cover it up. You can’t even remember what he’d said that had been funny, but he does. It was a stupid joke, something about how this disgusting alley was at least a little warmer and better than the colder, draftier parts of the city and that the warmth was the only thing that made it worth staying in. Truth be told you’d rather be anywhere but here, even back with your parents even if they just might barely give a damn. But it was warm and never smelled. Maybe that’s why you laughed, because there was places better than this shit-hole of a city you now called home.

Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he sticks around, you think. Jason thinks that’s why, too.

[nightmaredxydreams]

we've been seeing transramcoa shit and we need to make a public vent about it so people who identify as transramcoa or are considering it won't.

major tw. this goes into detail about csa, deeply.

ok so, im the host. i never knew i went through ramcoa until about a couple years ago, even with clues and shit. i only found out after i met someone else who did and i could relate to their story. so i did research on ramcoa and yep, i fit it in just about every way possible. i literally checked off every box on some list of signs youre a ramcoa survivor. then i realized... i had been programmed for whatever reaction the handler wanted, whatever they wanted me to do, i felt like i was a game and they were the player. i was always told "youre so naive and dumb" and finding out i was a ramcoa survivor made me feel even more naive and dumb. like i was to blame. i felt like if i wasnt so naive and dumb, i wouldnt have been programmed. and the more i found out about ramcoa, the more i discovered the programmed alters. and thats when the persecutory voice in my head got worse. i felt like i was faking ramcoa, faking DID and faking trauma entirely. i felt like i wanted it to be cool or as an excuse for me being "born broken and worthless" with all my trauma responses i didnt even remember the trauma to have. my mental health tanked severely. i was covered in cuts, suicidal, attempted many times, and was reaching out for validation in places i shouldnt have. i drove friends away who couldnt deal with my constant heavy venting. i felt like i was faking or had too much baggage to deserve a friend. i felt like i deserved ramcoa when i believed it happened to me. i became more insecure about my body (this went with the denial- id think i was too ugly to be sex trafficked and i thought i made it all up to be "cool" and "not a virgin" since the body is disabled and cant really have sex) and more hypersexual than ever. when i found out i survived ramcoa, i either felt like it didn't really happen to me and like i was faking or i deserved it when i thought it happened. most of the time i thought it didnt, because your brain doesnt want you to know you have that trauma especially if you have DID. your brain doesnt even want you to know you have DID. if you are a real ramcoa survivor you will feel severe denial it happened and... broken for no reason. like you never went through anything severe so why are you this way? then you deal with the realization it happened and you feel used, dirty, dumb, like a game or a robot, not a real human. trust me, you dont want to be a ramcoa survivor. is that not enough for you? well heres more on how the sex trafficking affected my body and relationships...

i was hypersexual ever since i can remember. i was a three year old child and acting out sexual touching with dolls and imaginary friends. i was only three years old and had shame that i did it, even though nobody knew i did it. i was so developmentally disabled i couldnt put real sentences together or communicate, yet i felt shame for sexually touching dolls and imaginary friends. living my life not knowing i was sexually abused and asked how i discovered my sexuality, i answered with "ive always liked girls sexually ever since i could remember" and had to have it pointed out to me thats not normal and its a sign of sexual abuse. i always thought it was a normal kid thing to be sexual that little. wanting answers as to who violated me when i was so little, i asked the people who lived with me at the time who answered with "maybe it was your step grandfather. you were never alone alone with him so it had to have been brief touches that were a second" when im alone in almost all my memories from when i was little. after getting told "well its maaayyybe him but it cooouuuld be your cousin since she sexually abused you when you were older" and relying completely on external validation to validate what was on my inside, i flip flopped around with it and some people thought my inconsistency about trauma was me lying when i truly didnt know what happened. i lost friends and was doubted by people when i was desperately seeking validation. now to what it did to my body...

i have bladder issues from being sexually touched causing me to have utis. i have uti like pain almost every time i pee. ive been raped with plastic (almost sharp) objects and feel sharp pains in my somatic flashbacks to being raped. i will literally be doing nothing and boom, i feel a sharp pain down there. my vagina rejects tampons or really anything that goes inside it. i feel like someone stuck something up my ass every time i get done taking a shit. i have sudden nausea that doesnt feel like it belongs to me out of nowhere. i have been fucked so much my body is fucked up too. i want hugs, i love affection and it makes me feel important and safe, but i feel like my body is too violated to be loved and i get anyone who touches me dirty and they should feel ashamed for hugging me and i should feel ashamed for letting them.

you don't want this severe mental pain. you dont wanna be like me. you don't want this life. and if you do, you're fucking sick. fuck you.