#and it reminded me of how much I love a good depressing as fuck story

[robotslenderman]

Hi dusty, I completely agree with your view on grimdark. I have bad depression and I remember crying when reading a book in which a bunch of kids were hanging out. I had (still do 12 years later) this one friend (in person, not online) that I actually thought of as a friend. Bullied all through out secondary school, I mistrust people. To read or experience media that doesn't rub how great everyones life in your face.... Is surprisingly comforting. Life isn't happy endings all the time. So why does media need to be?

To read or experience media that doesn't rub how great everyones life in your face…. Is surprisingly comforting.

This is exactly it.

I find grimdark edgelordery comforting. Very comforting. It's cathartic. I see people say a lot that "it's not cathartic!" and I'm like "hey, radical idea: not everyone is the same as you, and people are allowed to enjoy things that you, personally, don't enjoy." I enjoy happy endings but my favourite books, the ones that meant the most to me, are the incredibly depressing ones where everyone dies in the end.

Actually, no, that's not quite true -- the ones that mean the most to me are the incredibly depressing ones where everyone dies in the end but there's some happiness anyway. Because those stories tell me, "your life is worth living even if it's shit." My life is worth living for the small things, even if I never get the big things -- independence, a job I love, a found family, a head that isn't crammed full of mental bullshit. My life is worth fighting for even if it comes to nothing. I can survive, I can carry on, even if there's no rainbow or any gold at the end of it, maybe the rain will be a little less heavy, and sometimes, that is enough.

Sometimes it needs to be enough.

Because yeah, I've also been the person who cried while reading a book where kids were hanging out because those kids had friends and somewhere they belonged and all it did was remind me that I didn't, and I'm constantly lectured that I am not allowed to respond that way. But the stories where all the kids but one dies and the one left behind still carries on, a loner just like I am? Those are the ones that keep me going, because their story tells me that that kid's life still has worth.

ETA: Honestly this whole topic reminds me of all those books I read as a teenager where the main character whined that they were so unpopular, they only had three friends who'd die for them!!! and the main character was a pariah and SO WEIRD for... reading books!

do you have any idea how shitty that kind of story makes you feel if you grow up neurodivergent with no friends and interests that are ACTUALLY weird?

(General-you. I'm sure you're well aware, Roseate. :( )

#sometimes it feels like grimdark stuff is mental exercise for when the bad times hit #Dusty has opinions #like I know GRRM gets a lot of criticism for his depiction of rape #but I fucking loved it #because it felt so damn good #to see a book that acknowledged what it was like to be a woman with the threat of rape constantly hanging over your head #it was treated so casually by everyone and I was like #''holy shit I can relate to this'' #it made me feel listened to #it made me feel acknowledged #the only problem I have with it is that he acts like women are the only ones who can be raped and men are the only ones that do the raping #rape cw #in the tags lol #anyway I just reread Garden of Shadows recently #and it reminded me of how much I love a good depressing as fuck story #because honestly #I find a lot of strength in getting up #dusting yourself off #and carrying on #even if you're covered in open wounds

[moonbakeries]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DREAM LIFE IN A WEEK

BACKSTORY

So I decided to fully immerse myself in "persisting" and fulfilling when I listened to Lonely one by LOVA because I spent around an hour just sobbing because I related to the song.

the week that I started was around Easter break and I was under the most amount of stress I have ever been through and I could see it the effects on my body

I was breaking out with huge pimples even though I was on accutane, I was averaging 2 hours of sleep a day every week for 2 weeks, my period had going on for 2 weeks, I was losing weight rapidly (was under 35kg:( ) my anxiety was at an all time high because I got harassed again(sexual assault victim). I used to have severe depression and have had multiple failed attempts of suicide. AND YES I WAS DESPERATE AS FUCK TO MANIFEST THIS DREAM LIFE OF MINE WHICH IS NO LONGER A DREAM

in the mornings I would be super anxious but I learned how to deal with it and get myself into the state super easily

HOW I DID IT

I GOT OFF TUMBLR: you know how many times I doubted myself only to realise I was doing everything right

I also read and listened to Edward Art MULTIPLE TIMES

Within a week of fulfilling and persisting, I had manifested my dream life. just like that. I woke up one morning and everything I had ever desired was right there. and it was super easy.

all I did was affirm(to remind not to get), visualise and feel. I would only do these methods if I wanted to, if I didn't I wouldn't.

Within a few days, the anxiety lessened so much and it started to feel natural. 

this was a question on Bambi's " how I manifested with hard circumstances " post which has now been sadly deleted but I remember copying this because it gave me hope at the time I copied it (don't hope, just know)

"But isn’t ranting “not letting the old story die out?” you and i could rant until our minds are cleared, just as long as you flip my thoughts, you are on the right track.  I rant for 2% of my 24 hour days. The other 98% i was persisting in the fact that creation was done. as “time” went on, it began to feel more natural and I felt more at ease. I held onto that feeling because I knew this was when I would get my desires and I did."

and that was when I knew I shouldn't give up and I just kept going even when I wanted myself to just get on tumblr and overconsume 

I actually nearly decided to see what I was "doing wrong". I clicked on one of Aphrodite's posts but I didn't read it. I just asked myself if I would look through it if I had my desires and I wouldn't and since I already have all of my desires I didn't.

Whenever the anxiety was too strong and I could feel the frustration and desperation building up, I would just rant and it helped me calm down and get back into the state super easily.

why?

because STATES MANIFEST THOUGHTS DON'T

which is why you can rant.

you know how many FUCKING DOUBTS I had, but I didn't even give them attention coz they didn't deserve any and how many times I wanted to just give up, but I was like NO, STFU, I DON'T WANNA LIVE MISERABLY ANYMORE and now I'm not :)

The affirmations I used:

It is done

I am living my dream life

I am in my desired reality

The 3d will conform as long as i keep persisting

Imagination is the real reality

I also daydreamed, but since imagination is the real reality they were real

WHAT I MANIFESTED

- desired appearance

- name change

- family change

- skills (drivers licence etc)

- apartment and furniture

- wealth

- a bunch of random materialistic things

- desired friend group (I absolutely love them!)

- desired uni and always getting good grades

- outfits from pinterest

and a bunch of other things

- I also ended up manifesting an sp without even knowing and he's pretty much I everything I scripted him to be(scripted a year ago because I didn't really care for a relationship) but this happened before I manifested my dream life

after a year and half of being on loablr I finally manifested my dream life. and you can too

(there was probably over 100 things I wanted but I realised what I want is not much, nothing ever is when you know about loa and yes, i was super desperate)

you don't need anymore information other than @angelsinluv states post and fulfillment challenge

you shouldn't ever be stressed or worried while manifesting whatever you want, because you wouldn't stress if you had it

TAKE YOUR TIME

YOU GOT THIS

#success story #affirmations #loassumption #law of assumption #dream life #manifesting #manifestation #loa

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

[strayywayy]

Giving you what no one else could Bangchan pt-1 pt-2 pt-3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Pairing: bang chan x fem!reader Brief: You have extreme body dysmorphia and depression. Chan comes in your life as a ray of light in the dark, things take a turn teaching you what love is. You come in each other's lives' as messiahs. Love is mutual chan is helping you to his max but how do you help him? Genre: soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut (comes later in other chapters), light angst, lotss of comfort Content Warning: Mild swearing, sexual themes(again comes laterr) and discussions, mentions of body image/ self-hate A/N: This is the very first thing i'm writing in like whole of my life. This series will be shamelessly self-indulgent as I relate to this soo much. Chan makes me feel like home so this is how I portray him with my story. I have no ideas how many chapters this will have hehe. Credits: dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you so much for the dividers these are soo pretty!!

You sat on your table, with tear stained books in front of you. You were to study but couldn't bring yourself to concentrate on anything as such. A constant reminder ringing in your head that you had a very important exam and that you should study. But the other part of your own head did not want you to do that. It was like these gloomy thoughts had a mission to hold you back from studying for the exam. They used the one issue you were very conscious about- your body image. You sat mindless with only harsh words being played in your ears- "you have gotten a bit fat.. haven't you?" "you going to have all of that" "are you really gonna wear that haha" "that would've looked better on anyone but you" "do you even try to lose weight" "I was just kidding about your weight I wouldn't want to hurt you", these mostly came from your relatives and heartbreakingly your own parents. What they didn't know was their "harmless" jokes were causing very much harm to you. You thought to yourself "fuck them" but couldn't execute it instead you "fucked" yourself up. Pictures of girls with "perfect" bodies were also flashing in your head constantly how they looked so skinny and pretty how they were wanted and you weren't. You wanted to stop but couldn't, the only reflex was to cry. You crying also was not acceptable to them.

As you grew older you were not allowed to express your emotions you learnt to supress them. You only showed the very bright and uplifted side of you to the world. On the core level you knew what you were doing to yourself having one or no meal a day, exercising harshly, finding a way to make yourself fit the standards no matter how much you tried, you couldn't acheive anything. You were a "phenomenal" dancer as many said and also good at acedemics many people envied you. You chased perfection like a bull ran after the color red. You sure were praised by many but, the only thing you had ingrained in your head was "you can never be good enough" no one forced this on you but it was you who ruined yourself under this weight of the society. You drank the poison your own mind made for you decaying you bit by bit everyday. It was doing a very good job until your soulmate came to your rescue just at the right time. His name was christopher bahng also known as bang chan. How did you meet him? What wonders had you done in your past life that you deserved him? to be continued....

#bangchan #stray kids channie #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz comfort #christopher bang #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids #skz au #alternate universe #bang chan x female reader #bang chan smut #first post

[murpyperpy]

If you need to be mean be mean to me.

“Hobie please don’t make me beg” you say softly reaching out to him.

CW: Angsty Depressing :( Drugs Alcohol

There’s a buzz in the air, an electric feeling your heart pumps your eye open wider. Every breath is a gift from god.

“Fuck yeahggghhg!” You shout sober no longer. Fuck this night just got so much better. You scan the room Chris is chatting up Amy I’ll leave them alone hehe Damian might actually get laid! Wow good luck to him. You swerve around the room of the persons house your partying in and make you way to the drink table.

“Slim pickings huh!” You shout over the music to the stranger on the other side of the table.

That’s how you meet hobie his dazzling dark eyes his smile the way he sniffs and readjusts his posture made you fall in love. The party light refelecting off his skin as he stared at you in the way he does so often. The attention he show you in that night started your constant craving for his approval and exclusivity.

On this particular occasion you were on his bed it wasn’t a special as you hoped because so was 2 other randoms plus Damian. Hobie had unified us all to watch his band preform. Of course you loved his music and tried to show him. Bobbing your head to the beat. Tapping your foot. Smiling wide laughing louder. It’s like in these moments you forgot how to be human and got in your own way. The reminders to be charming more attractive than the two randoms. You clap harder and even sway side to side. Move to the beat.

“Thank ya wonderful audience!” Hobie shouts.

“WOOOO” You shout as we clap and cheer. A hobie looks at you in that way like he’s the one he cares about. You desperately want him to like you. To think you’re half a cool and you think he is.

Hours later your laying on his bed this time to your satisfaction it’s just a you. The time is almost midnight and your collapsed trying to fall asleep and watch hobie clean up his band things at the same time.

“You didn’t answer my question love” he says quietly

“Ummmmm “ you groan “say again?” He had been asking you questions for the last hour trying to keep you awake to keep him company.

“I asked you love” he replied “If you have ever had a pet?”

“A pet a pet a pet “ you yawn trying to think. “I I don’t know” you I close slowly and you fall asleep. Hobie notices your breath slowing and slumped shoulders.

“Oh baby” He covers you with a blanket. He stare at you for a while suddenly not wanting to make anymore noise. Or selfishly ask you anymore questions. Hobie showers letting the water run over his skin his mind stays on you. When he comes back it’s fully dark, sliding into his bed he uses his other senses to know your there. The weight on the mattress your smell the slow sound of your breath.

Hobie feels at peace. He tells him self he will make he will have a move soon.

Hellooooo

Tori here. I will finish this story soon I just thought I should post it in case someone wanted to read! <3

Please comment to tell me what you think about this story? ❤️😁

#hobie x reader #spider punk #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman

[confusedfeelsfangirl]

JONATHAN SIMS

PITIFUL WET RAG OF A MAN MOTHERFUCKING JONATHAN SIMS. 

GOD DAMN BELOVED WIMP ASS STATEMENT GATHERING ,SAD BACKSTORY, LACTOSE INTOLERANT VIBES, AVATAR OF THE NERD, BLINDEST EYE PATRON OF THE CENTURY, KIDNAPPED FOUR TIMES IN 100 EPISODES MOTHERFUCKING JONATHAN SIMS

YOU CAN KEEP CRINGE LIKING MY POSTS I ENJOY THE NOTES I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 

WHY DOES HE ALWAYS END UP IN THE MOST FUCKED UP SITUATIONS , EVER SINCE HE WAS A CHILD ??? NO WONDER HE ENDED UP AT THE ARCHIVE, OBSESSIVE ASS AUTISTIC CODED BITCH

THIS LIMP WRISTED SAD PATHETIC MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERALLY POSITIVE EFFECT ON ME, NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE, AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS MOST DEPRESSED COLLEGE PROFESSOR YOU WANT TO HELP WITH HIS COMPUTER VIBES 

If i wanted to get into heaven and god said I had to recant all that I’ve ever said about him being adorable and wanting to wrap him into a bundle of towels like a kitten, I’d simply go knock on hell’s door, they at least might accept my pitiful man loving ways. Almost a full ass lesbian and I would marry this man just for the sake of protecting him from the horrors.

If I have to deal with one more person insisting I have a crush on the voice actor and showing me his picture, I will start digitalising myself to escape their bullshit no good hearing and reading comprehension and I will slow down their internet connection out of spite

i dont even know why i love him so much. he reads messed up stories but i am just obsessed because i am projecting.

he better have some more fucked up backstory episodes bc if I never get to acquire more lore on him I will just have to write it myself 

I hope he gets some affection and love soon cuz if he doesn’t I’m going to make him 

paypal.com/IFuckingLoveJonSims

Almost all the episodes have him in them and its still not enough. vaguely see something that reminds me of him and I black out and lose my train of thought for the next 20 minutes

I’ve been spoiled about the ending, but I won’t let that stop me from hoping he gets the peace and love he deserves, i love denial and ignoring canon 

I'll lovingly squish jon and his sad pitiful little archivist body will simply crumble to pieces when faced with how much I love him until all that's left is one final statement recorded on his trusty tape recorder titled MAG 201 “A Jon Stan” written in curly-q handwriting on top

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when he’s resuscitated or appears as a cryptid to haunt people so i can make it a reminder on my phone

 once a year i will see it and will do so many little things to pay respects to the man who recorded hundreds of fucked up little stories and still couldn’t escape his destiny to became one himself.

(very much inspired by the Jurgen Leitner rant : https://jurgen-leitner-rant.neocities.org )

#tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #jarchivist #jurgen leitner rant #this came to me as I was settling down to work on my thesis and I couldn't concentrate until I wrote it #the magnus archives

[princess-of-the-corner]

Great response, sorry XD and this line in particular jumped out at me for a different surprise reason:

She just doesn't understand why someone with a Perfect Life™ would change without going through some kind of suffering that forces introspection.

Because I am reminded of a fic that managed to speedily (Seemingly) weave in a Chloe redemption arc & Marinette friendship within the first like, week of the new school year in a totally believable way.

Long story short, Adrien fucking died during Stoneheart.

Specifically, he got crushed by a thrown car before he even got into his house. Gabriel went into a depression slump & Marinette blames herself.

Then she gets to class before anyone but Chloe whose not wearing make up, her hairs barely above a rats nest and she's wearing what is obviously a boys over shirt and quietly crying.

She's too nice to ignore that and then she finds out Chloe is crying about a boy "so lonely & so kind" he could evoke such grief and love from a girl Marinette previously thought incapable of those things.

Then Chloe completely breaks down in her arms & just... Does not bounce back to her usual energy after that.

Marinette, as well as a few others, continue to be gentle presences. To the point where Sabrina gives Marinette's picture to the door man so she can go up to Chloe's if she wants.

Then later, Chloe gets Akumatized into "Anti Hero" but she ignored Gabriel's orders for a week because her focus is on "saving everyone, no one else will lose anyone like I lost Adrien."

So yeah, that kind of event is one I can easily see Marinette perceiving as both revealing new depth to Chloe & that she could rationalize as inspiring change, thus inviting her understanding.

Also spoiler but Adrien's not for real dead, he got mixed with a butterfly, Plagg and Gabriel's wish to become perma Chat Noir.

Just thought that was interesting and a good contrast to show ways in which Marinette can be super compassionate and reach out. VS circumstances under which it would go against her every instinct to do so & both being totally valid reads on the character.

Semi-rip to Adrien but also like.

Yeah just. Showing how much Chloé can genuinely care for another person goes a long ass way toward the shattering of the illusion that she's a 2-dimensional bitch.

[love-kurdt]

Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home (byler)

this is a continuation of my fic this is me trying! there are some details in this story that make more sense in the context of the previous plot, but it can do well as a stand-alone too!

word count: 2,693

warnings: negative aftermath of coming out, major depression and self-deprecating behavior/ thoughts, underage drinking

ficlet ao3 link

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Mike whispered, gazing at the garage door in front of him. Even when parked, his hands gripped the steering wheel of his 1988 Honda Accord until his knuckles turned practically translucent, which was not a surprise, considering how pale Mike was to begin with. His stomach churned with anxiety, something he hadn’t been able to shut off since coming back to Hawkins for the holidays. Everything felt… wrong. Mike’s heartbeat began to race, and his breathing started to hitch, but then, a strong, calloused hand met the back of Mike’s and pried it off the wheel, and he turned to Will, who was in the passenger seat.

“Mike, this is my parents we’re talking about,” he reassured Mike, flipping his large palm over and pushing his thumbs into the muscles in his hand, making Mike go limp at Will’s touch. It was absolutely insane how Will always knew what to do. “It’s going to be fine.”

“But look at my parents!” Mike countered, lifting his free hand off the wheel and up into the air before planting it in between the strands of his long hair. Which was a mistake, as he’d tied it back an hour prior. Fuck it. Mike reached back and pulled the elastic out and shoved it around his wrist, shaking his head as if he were Simba in The Lion King. His hair was a lost cause. “Like, I knew my dad was ignorant, but—”

“Yeah, that was awful,” Will muttered in agreement. His eyes were slightly glazed over, likely at the memory of a few nights prior. Neither of them would look back fondly at the events of that night; Christmas at the Wheelers’ 1990™ would need to be fully processed at some point.

“Beyond awful, Will,” Mike lamented, turning in his seat fully and lifting one of his legs up in a ninety degree angle in order to sit more comfortably in his already-small car. He leaned his head against the headrest, his bangs falling into his eyes. “That was probably the worst coming out I could have ever predicted!”

“Which is why we’re going to ease into it this time around, right?” Will reminded him, and Mike rolled his eyes. “And remember, I’m already out to my mom and dad, and they’re fine with me,” Will continued, lifting Mike’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “And they already love you.”

Goddamn Will and his knuckle kissing. “Yeah,” Mike surrendered, “I guess.” They sat there for a few seconds, and Mike savored this moment, this singular moment where it was just them, just Mike and Will, sitting in the car, holding hands, against the world, forever. He glanced up at the man in front of him, who broke the silence, much to Mike’s disappointment.

“We can’t sit in the driveway forever, we’ve gotta get out of the car at some point,” Will told him, and Mike frowned.

“Yeah, I know, just…” he trailed off, lowering his gaze down to Will’s lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“You know you never have to ask,” Will smiled, and Mike dove in immediately, capturing Will’s lips between his own. He lifted a hand up to Will’s face, and Will held Mike’s hand in place as they kissed. Mike hummed at the sensation of Will’s tongue, and Will broke into a toothy grin, effectively breaking the kiss. “Okay, we’re stalling. Let’s go.”

Mike opened the driver’s side door to the harsh December winds, teeth automatically chattering. Being skinny during the winter season was never a good time. He shuffled to the front of the car to meet Will, who pulled him by his hand down the front pathway and up to the door. Before Will could even knock, the door was opening, and Joyce was ripping Will out of Mike’s grasp.

“Will! Gosh, honey, I’ve missed you!” Joyce exclaimed, and wrapped her arms around her youngest son as if she hadn’t seen him in a million years. And Mike knew, for a fact, that Joyce had just been up to Chicago in November, over the weekend of the Upside Down Anniversary Effect. Her eyes, which had been shut tightly while embracing Will, snapped open and landed right on Mike, who gulped.

“Mike! What a lovely surprise!” Joyce cried out, and Will brought a hand up to cover his ear in pain as she released him from her vice-like grip. Mike raised his hand up in an awkward wave, but Joyce wasn't having any of that, as she pulled Mike down into one of those hugs where they’d sway side to side. Will watched in adoration, and Mike gave him the finger. She pulled back, eyes narrowing as he straightened his posture. “Have you gotten even taller since I last saw you?”

“Maybe,” Mike chuckled, rubbing the base of his neck nervously. “I’ve lost track of my height at this point.”

“Well, don’t just stand there and let the cold air in, come on in!” Joyce stepped aside, and Mike followed Will into the living room. “Jackets and shoes off, stay a while! Can I get you two anything? Hot cocoa, maybe?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Mike began, but Will cut him off.

“Yes please, we’d love some. That sounds amazing. Thanks, mom.” Mike had forgotten how Joyce wouldn’t leave them alone until she’d Smothered™ at least a little bit. He smiled to himself for a few seconds until Will vigorously tugged him over to the couch and shoved him down onto it, landing next to Mike not soon after. Will’s strength was something Mike had yet to get used to.

“What the fuck was that for?” Mike whispered. Even then, he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful Will’s lips were.

“Well,” Will whispered back sassily, “it just occurred to me that we never formulated a plan to tell them about—”

“Tell them about what?” a voice above them asked, and Mike’s focus raised from Will’s lips to the girl who stood behind the couch.

“Hey, you! I didn’t know you were back yet!” Will turned around on his knees on the couch, pulling his sister into a hug. El reciprocated the action, glancing over to Mike with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, El,” Mike replied, and shifted closer to Will so El could sit next to him on his other side. Her long hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, over her fluorescent purple sweater, and into her lap. She probably hadn’t cut it since… back then.

“How are you? You seem better,” El noted, and Mike shrugged.

“As well as I can be. I’m starting a new book called The Dropout Chronicles of Mike Wheeler. Heading to your local Books-a-Million this January.”

“Oh, you were serious!” El gasped, and Mike nodded gravely. He didn’t want to elaborate upon his series of horrible decisions that led up to his sudden, life-altering downfall, so he went the vague route.

“Yeah. My… circumstances weren’t so great,” he told her, and she nodded in understanding. She brought one of her arms up and around Mike’s shoulders, shifting her body to face the fireplace in front of them.

“Well, I’m glad something good came out of all this,” she smiled. “You finally got your heads out of your asses,” she whispered the last part.

“That we did,” Mike chuckled, watching with El as the fire danced amongst the layered blocks of freshly chopped wood.

“Wheeler,” a gruff voice sent a chill up Mike’s spine. On instinct, he stood up and turned towards Hopper, who stood there in an unfamiliar getup of jeans and a reindeer sweater.

“Chief,” Mike stated, and held out his hand to shake, but Hopper ignored his hand in turn for a friendly clap on the shoulder. “How are you, son?”

Mike felt himself freeze, at a loss for words. Hopper had just called Mike “son.” His own father couldn’t even bring himself to look at Mike, but the fucking Hawkins Chief of Police could refer to Mike as… but at the same time, Hopper still had no idea that Mike was gay. So, in Hopper’s eyes, Mike was still normal. And yes, Hopper knew Will was gay, but Mike felt his vision go blurry at the mere thought of Hopper’s face when he figured out Mike was also gay, and just so happened to be dating his son. What then?

“I—” Mike forced out, but before he could begin to stutter out something embarrassing, Joyce came to the rescue with two gigantic mugs in her hands.

“Here’s your cocoa, boys,” she smiled, carefully setting the mugs down on coasters on the coffee table. “And I gave you extra marshmallows, Mike, just like you used to ask for when you were kids. Anyway, we were thinking about having a family movie night, what do you think?”

God. Family movie night. Mike felt his breathing constrict. He wrapped his arms around his chest and fought the tears that brimmed in his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them. Hopper had just called him “son.” Joyce just used the phrase “family movie night,” so fucking casually, referring to the “we” in the situation as everyone in the room, and by extension, Mike. And he’d never have that. Not from his biological family, at least. He hated the feeling of being unwanted, and by his own parents, no less.

“Mike, sweetie, are you okay?” he snapped out of his thoughts, feeling Joyce’s hand on his arm. He looked around, noticing that all eyes were on him. Leave it to Mike fucking Wheeler to cause a scene. Fantastic. Just what he needed.

“No, no it’s not you, Ms. Byers, I promise,” he shook his head quickly, and wrapped his arms around himself a bit tighter before continuing. “I, uh… something happened. On Christmas. And…” He couldn’t talk anymore. It was like his voice gave out, or his brain simply stopped working, but Will was quick to help him out, wrapping an arm around his waist as he spoke. Mike would have said something about being subtle, but everything was going to shit, anyway. So he might as well. Mike looked at the ground in shame.

“Let’s just say Mike’s not really welcome at home anymore,” Will told his family. There were a few gasps, followed by a beat of silence. Mike stood there, trying to ground himself, trying to absorb whatever comfort Will was conveying through his fingertips.

Mike’s eyes remained trained on the floor, but watched as a pair of very large reindeer slippers moved until they stood right in front of him. Mike lifted his head to see Hopper, staring at him. The man didn’t say a single word. Instead, he opened his arms, and pulled Mike into him by the back of his head. Mike took this strange embrace in, unsure of how this was going to go, but from the second Mike’s face met Hopper’s shoulder and he felt the fatherly embrace he craved but knew he’d never have from his own father, he broke down sobbing. Hopper’s other arm wrapped around Mike’s back as he continued cradling his head.

“I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured, and Mike cried even harder. He couldn’t believe the turn of events this night was taking. Not even an hour before this, Mike had been freaking the fuck out about how Will’s parents would react to his identity. Mike gripped onto Hopper’s reindeer sweater tightly at the thought. He could barely fathom the fact that he’d ever compared Hopper to Ted. They could not be more different.

“Even though you’re dating yet another one of my children, which we will have to talk about,” Hopper continued, and Mike could only let out a wet laugh at that, because it was true. “But it’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise.”

“Were we that obvious?” Mike heard from behind him, and Mike pulled away from Hopper so he could address Will directly.

“William. Let’s be real here,” he deadpanned, and Mike turned to see Will going a little pale. “I could sense your bubbly, lovesick giddiness from a mile away. You’ve been pining over Mike for, what, a decade?”

“Dad!” Will shrieked, and El started giggling.

“Plus, you two haven’t spoken in a year, and now all of a sudden you’re getting all cuddly on the couch. I put two and two together, sue me,” Hopper lifted his hands up, backing away and heading into the kitchen.

“Jesus, okay,” Will called after him, “I didn’t know you were keeping such tight tabs on my love life.”

Hopper laughed from the kitchen before coming back into the living room with a handful of VHS tapes.

“So does this mean we have to sleep in separate rooms…?” Mike hesitated, but Hopper waved his hand at them, the sheer shock nearly knocking Mike to the ground.

“Just keep the door open three inches and we won’t have any issues. That’s assuming Mike can actually follow directions this time around.”

“Yes, sir.” Mike replied, earning a light smack in the arm from Will, who pulled Mike down to kiss him on the cheek before they sat back down on the couch. Hopper knelt down to the VHS player as everyone else got situated around the living room. Mike laced his fingers with Will’s. He could get used to this.

“Alright. So I’ve got a few choices from Family Video: Captain America, GoodFellas, and It.”

•

“Two minutes till the countdown!” Joyce announced to everyone over the music. “Where is everybody?! I want a good picture this year!” Jonathan finished setting up his camera on his tripod, turning back to Joyce with furrowed eyebrows.

“Wait, where’s Mike?”

“I’ll get him,” Will said, leaving the group for a moment and straying into the hallway to see Mike slumped against the wall. He lowered his red solo cup from his lips, grimacing as he crushed the now-empty cup in his hand.

“That was alcohol, wasn’t it?” Will asked with a concerned underlying tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” Mike stated, plain and simple. There was no use in lying.

“We’re still nineteen, Mike,” Will pressed, and Mike rolled his eyes. That never stopped Mike from drinking before.

“And? It’s New Years, don’t be a killjoy.” Mike looked down at Will, who was glaring at him. Fuck. He didn’t mean that. He was drunk though, so he was allowed. But was he really?

“We’ll revisit this,” Will told him, pulling Mike by his free hand over to the kitchen, where Mike basketball-tossed the cup through the air and into the trash. He was surprised his aim was still intact. “Mom wants a photo.”

“I’ll take the photo if you need me to” Mike began, but Will turned around, stopping his boyfriend in his tracks.

“Babe, come on. You’re family. Plus, Jonathan just got a new camera with a self-timer.” Mike blinked down at Will with hooded eyes.

“Fancy shmancy,” he giggled to himself, and Will sighed as he pulled Mike into his side, making sure he didn’t stumble, as they posed for the photo.

“Alright, I’m about to set it, everyone ready?” Jonathan called back, and retreated to his spot as the camera’s flash blinked. “One, two, three!”

•

“Ten seconds to midnight!” El whooped, and everyone hurried to gather around the TV for the countdown. Mike side-eyed Will who smirked back at him, their respective holds on each other tightening as they shifted to face each other.

The clock struck twelve, and everyone was celebrating around them, but to Mike and Will, everything else around them melted away. It had always been like that with them; Will was Mike’s entire world, and Mike was Will’s.

“Happy New Year, baby,” Mike told his boyfriend, who grinned back up at him with nothing but love reflected in his eyes.

“Happy New Year, Mike. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As Mike leaned down to kiss Will, he felt optimistic for the first time in a long time. Maybe Hopper was right.

Maybe everything would be okay.

#byler #byler fic #byler fanfic #byler ficlet #byler tumblr #will byers #mike wheeler #will x mike #stranger things #stranger things fic #mike wheeler is 6’3 and i will die on this hill #new year #not so new mike #don’t blame me updates

[lil-melody-moon]

OKAY IT’S HAPPENING, EVERYBODY STAY CALM!! I’ve finally finished my opinion on “The who by numbers” This took me so long but it’s finally here so I hope you enjoy:

Before I start, I feel the need to say (once again) that I really love the design of the cover and the fact that John Entwistle actually drew the cover himself makes it even better. I love a talented King ❤️

Okay, now the opinion you’ve been waiting for:

1. Slip Kid: The cowbell at the beginning of the song?? I LOVED IT. Great intro. I think it captures the vibes of the album really well. Btw Is that Roger on backing vocals?? I love the song. I have no idea what it is about but I love it 🤣

2. However much I booze: Ummm excuse me??? This song is a fucking vibe. Now I understand why this song is your favourite😍 I don’t know what they put in this song but fuuuuck it’s so damn groovy and the melody it’s soooo catchy. Keith’s drumming and John’s bass in this one are superb

3. AAAAA SQUEEZE BOX MY BELOVED, MY BABY. I literally forced all of my friends to listen to this one. They looked at me weird when I played the song for them in the car but idc. Anyway, This one is my favourite and you already know the context behind why I love this one 😏🤣

4. Dreaming from the waist: All I can say about this song is that I absolutely love the dedication John Entwistle and Keith Moon put in this song. All I can hear is bass and drums 👀❤️

5. Imagine A Man: Okay confession. The first time I listened to this song I did not like very much but now that I’ve listened to it a few more times I think It’s starting to grow on me. Also, the line “Imagine a past where you wish you had lived” literally wrecked me, I felt it in my soul 💔

6. Sucess Story: I have the feeling that I’ve heard this song before…. It sounds like a mix between “All the way from Memphis” by Mott the Hoople and “It’s only Rock N Roll (But I like it) by the Rolling Stones. I might be wrong tho but all these songs have the same vibes 🤣

7. They Are All in love: This is probably my least favourite (don’t kill me) the song is good and I like how Keith and John sound together but idk. Maybe I need to listen to it more

8. Blue Red and Grey: IS THIS PETE ON VOCALS TOO?? Holy sweet mother of jesus his voice feels like a warm hug. Is that an ukelele?? YEP IT IS. I’ve read that Pete wanted to commit suicide and that’s why he wrote this song. If that’s true I feel so sorry for Pete :(

9. How many friends: HELLO?? THE DRUMS? THE GUITAR??? Holy fuck I like everything about this song. “How many friends have I really got? Well you can count ‘em on the one hand” THAT’S LITERALLY ME. I only have a few friends but feel so lucky to have them.

10. In a hand or a face: This song reminds me of Baba O’Riley for some reason🤣 Are we absolutely sure that this isn’t a leftover song from “Who’s Next?”

Oh, by the way, I still can’t tell the difference between Pete and Roger’s voices but I feel like Pete sings in almost every song of the album so I don’t really know what to say about Roger’s input in the album except for the backing vocals (he sings beautifully)

Overalls, this album is really fun to listen to, it’s very complete and catchy. From what I’ve read, this album took ages to be completed cause Pete had a writer’s block and depression but I’m so glad he recovered and finished the album. So far, this is probably my favourite The Who album. I still need to listen to Quadrophenia in its entirety tho.

Okay so first of all, to clear your doubts, Pete's voice is the warm one, "However Much I Booze" and "Blue Red and Grey" are sung by him, the rest is Roger. Roger has a distinct voice, if you know "Squeeze Box" by heart, you know Roger's voice <3

Normally Roger sings, occasionally Pete does, Pete and John are always the backing vocals, Keith only shines from time to time, not a single song of his on this one, BUT I'm so glad to hear that the rhythm section is catching your attention this much - you would have to see me grin when you said you can't hear nothing but bass and drums XD

About the stories you mentioned there, I didn't read much, so I believe in what you're saying. I somehow can't bring myself to really dig in the history of the band, I'm probably afraid of a thing or two, but like, I'm so glad Pete recovered from depression as well - he's a lovely guy really, deserving the best <3

I'm very happy that you love the album this much and I certainly can't fucking wait for you to dive into "Quadrophenia". You'll hear my screaming when you send me your opinion, plus... I'm still waiting for your opinion about "Tommy" and the revenge. Take care, my dear and have fun on the path to become a The Who fan <3

#ack I'm so glad she loves it! #ask corner

[polyamorousmood]

you don't know how much i love your blog for CELEBRATING polyamory. it's exactly what i've missed all those days.

🐟i hope "fish anon" isn't taken yet

i started my poly relationship almost a year ago, it is hard sometimes, but wonderful. i have never seriously considered it before, even though my relationship was open already. both me and my spouse fell in love with our best friend and it turned out he fell for us too. harmony achieved, a triad in which everyone loves each other.

i looked up websites where i could share my joy and tried reddit. it was a mistake. i found no joyful stories to read, only complaints and expressions of fear, and my story was not met well either. it was devastating. i wanted to hear happy poly people to understand that we are not alone.

turns out we aren't. i should've searched tumblr first.

thank you again for your blog and all the people that write you asks for giving me faith in love❤️

Hi 🐟!!

That's exactly why I started this blog! Forums talking about hardships are important and all, but I was getting a little depressed with them 😅

For me, monogamy was the bad thing. Relationships that looked so good kept crashing and burning. I felt trapped. I felt like I fell out of love with people because, through no real fault of theirs, i felt trapped. And then I felt trapped in that feeling. Because what else was I supposed to do? Devastation. And then all these things saying "polyamory doesn't work" and a four-page essay about how it ruined their love life and just. Fuck dude.

But then I did it. And literally like, 80% of all my relationship problems were solved (and it only created like 10% new ones). We do this, because for us, its perfect. This has genuinely completed my life.💟 There were growing pains, but polyamory is literally the happiness I thought was always out of reach.

And what a joy it is to be able to give that to others!💗The community that has come up has overwhelmed me, and each ask I am reminded I am not a freak, I am not alone, I am not incapable of a lasting love! And neither are any of us!❣️!

Now, you and your little school of fishies better keep loving each other!

#ask box is always open #poly positivity #polyamory positivity #🐟 anon

[neet-elite]

GOD so glad to see we all hate shane (s/o propertyofwhitney67 love your stuff too <33) i would not hate him half as much if he wasn’t so damn popular!!! rant/anger incoming but i just do not understand!! admittedly, im not an old man fucker but dude is just like every alcoholic uncle i’ve ever had.

i know he has the “deepest” story of them all, but it doesn’t even touch on why he drinks? not that there is a rhyme or reason for alcohol but you have sam who literally doesn’t know if his dad is alive or dead for the first year of the game who maintains a sunny and lively disposition!!! idk i just don’t find alcoholism and “saving someone” sexy (especially when shane isn’t sexy to begin with)

also, not to mention how he neglects jas due to it and continues to throughout the game! he’s the one with custody of her, not marnie! not to mention how you go through all that with him just for him to keep drinking and leave cans all over your house i mean….the disrespect!!!

but noooo, he’s just a precious uwuwuwuwu baby who needs to be saved. imo if you want a character to save marry sebastian he’s about to be consumed by the rot.

also you saying naruto and sasuke is the same dynamic as sam/seb and whit/ky has me HOWLING you’re so right about that

- whitney’s toy <33

while i think there are many points to be made on both the pro and anti shane sides, personally, i just find him fucking ugly and annoying. like. i care not for his character arc, story, personality, whatever. he's just stinky and i avoid him at all costs.

i've also had really weird run ins with shane stans in the sdv community. anonymous users who have made me feel bad for not enjoying a character lmao. someone one time even claimed i was being ableist for disliking shane? like okay. grow up maybe?

when it comes to the saviour complex idea, i feel as though every single marriage candidate needs to be saved in some way, right? it's just that shane stans are incredibly plentiful and strong in their opinions in my experience. which can come off as annoying, at least to me. like damn chill out.... i just dislike his attitude and whining... im not playing this fantasy farming sim to be reminded that depression exists.... man wants to be apathetic, so he can stay rotting for all i care. he's literally just pixels on a screen it's not that serious i promise u stans...

but anyway, one of my besties is a shane stan so there are good ones out there :D the fandom mostly just ruined him for me.

#💌mail #whitney’s toy anon #talking bout u risa MWAH

[bunni-bun]

i finished love for love's sake. y'all weren't kidding when you said this would make me cry cuz lord, i haven't stopped crying.

i just. fuck bro.

as someone who's very much like myungha from the real world most days, realizing and being reminded that we need others to go on and to be happy is such a strong message to put out.

yeowoon still being able to remember parts of myungha's presence even when he was deleted/died are just. that's how the feeling of a loved one, of someone who's presence truly changed your life when they think it didn't, that's how that love stays. you can't erase that kind of love from and for a person. you can't.

people need other people. people need love. there are others out there who love you so much because you're that presence in their lives that cannot be erased, even if you think you're the problem. no matter how you try to take yourself out of the equation, you belong in someone's life and that person or people belong in yours.

love, friendship, community, even with just a few people, is always enough. you can't change someone else's story but you can help change your own. and people who love you will always want the best for you. people who love you will help change your story, they will help give you a better ending. that's life.

suffering happens and it hurts so much, it hurts so much. but through suffering, you can find happiness again. you can find someone who will help you, even when it feels like you can't do it yourself. love is help. love is reliance. love is so much good for us.

i'm crying so hard still because that really just hits so damn hard. i have depression, i have anxiety, im not suicidal anymore but life has thrown a rough set of circumstances my way. and so many times when i feel lonely, i have to fight to remember that i have a partner who loves me and a family that loves me and friends who love me. i have people who will help write my story, who will help me write the happy ending i deserve. i have love. i am a presence that would be missed. and reminding myself of that through this show means the absolute world to me.

i can't thank the creators of this enough. truly, from the bottom of my fragile heart, this show means the world to me. thank you.

#god i wish i could say more #i don't even what to say #other than i'm still bawling my eyes out #what an absolute masterpiece #cyndy watches bl #love for love's sake

[superleeleehipster]

Feeling Nostalgic...

Hey everyone, long time no talk... very long time, lol.

I just wanted to get something off my chest.

So I was going through some stories on Nine Lives, wanting to find something to read and get lost in, and I was just kind of hit with nostalgia.

I was by no means here when the official Caryl fanbase really kicked off, but I began following it in the year 2015. Doesn't sound very far now, but if you think about it, that was nearly 10 years ago, and I fell in it hard. I began looking at all of the amazing blogs and posts that talked about how awesome caryl is and how there were hints here and hints there about them eventually getting together. I soon began making my own posts and trying to keep everyone positive and just talk about our common love. I started writing my own fanfiction, and some of the stories that came out of me in those years, I'm even surprised at how creative I was.

We weren't necessarily stressed about things or other ships or what have you; we just enjoyed caryl and what it was.

Fast forwarding to now, and I feel like this fanbase has gone through the fucking ringer. Bad writing, bad showrunning, shipbaiting, ship wars, gaslighting, trolls chasing Melissa off of Twitter, all that mayhem. We have just gone through so much crap. Now it's like we're holding our breath while we wait for the Daryl Dixon spinoff to give us what we absolutely deserve, but are constantly being pulled back and forth about it.

And the worst part is, some of us are just so tired of being let down that we might be thinking, "even if it goes in our favor... would it be worth it at this point?" And I wouldn't blame those people, I really wouldn't. We've all gone through some hell.

Anyways, to make a long story short... anyone else miss the old days?

Back then, all we did was speak about the shared Caryl scenes in the latest episode, and how Daryl's hair curling around his ears makes him look handsome. Or Carol showing her growing fierceness and self confidence. All the while, so many amazing writers were punching out fanfiction novels that would put the very show's staff of writers to shame. Life was good; we just enjoyed the fanbase we were in.

I just miss those days, you know?

Now everything is so complicated. It's like a once clean river has gotten polluted and no one knows how to clean it up. At the end of the day, most of us just want to enjoy Caryl and the beauty that it was and still is. But so many things are dirtying the water, it's so hard to bring the focus back on why we all came here originally.

Hell I haven't written anything fanfic wise in over a year, and that was only after not writing anything a year prior too. My mojo just got muddied up like the rest of it.

I don't mean to make anyone depressed of course; I'm just venting a little bit I guess. I just miss when things were so much more simple. Could we go back to that? Maybe... if Caryl actually becomes canon and it's done right for both the characters and the audience, but we'll see though.

In the meantime, I'm just going to read some fanfics and remind myself of why I joined in the first place. Maybe that'll remind me of how much I enjoyed writing for these characters.

Have a good day/night/week loves.

#caryl

[aaric-s-haven]

Ok imma be real Rohan from K3G deserved a murder.

First he is obviously not the favorite son and for unknown reasons his brother disappears from his life and nobody is telling him shit. His parents don't mention him and his grandmothers leave the house soon after cuz they probably couldn't bear Rahul's absence.

His mother is extremely depressed and always detached from her surroundings aka not the best person to look after a child and his other mother, the person who arguably loved him the most, DJ, is sent away with his brother.

His father is a dickhead who practices repression of emotions cuz uk it's a must toxic masculinity trait, he has literally not brought up his kids cuz if he had contributed anything apart from high expectations in parenting, his kids wouldn't be such good ppl. They wud be toxic males like him. Rahul always showed sensitivity towards his mother's plight and Rohan called him out on his shit and got slapped for it.

When the story starts Rohan is mostly growing up in a boarding school like Rahul but unlike Rahul he never gets to spend his holidays in a loving environment. Instead he gets an empty house too big for three people, absent parents cuz they are too wrapped up in their grief and grandmothers who can't stop seeing his brother in him hence a constant reminder of how Rahul's loss took everything from his childhood.

He grew up never being enough for anyone left in his life. Everyone looked at him and mourned his brother. Side note, the mommy senses of Nandini activating for Rahul but smh Rohan standing right behind her doesn't get the same AAaAaAA is lowkey funny... If you are a person like me who relates. DJ on the other hand, GOATed woman narrowed on the suspiciously red eyed dude with her old boss' name so fastttt, she didn't need anyone or anything to connect the dots. She thought I smell fkn Rohan flavored bullshit and she was right.

It is a wonder he doesn't grow up to hate Rahul. But it is very much believable that when he turns up at Rahul's house, he is viciously longing for his brother's love and puts up with his overprotective rudeness. That hug at the end of Bole Chudiya fucking breaks me, there was such longing on his face for his family, it was so fkn heartbreaking. I think that's what Rahul saw on his face and pulled him in for a hug. He probably thought that the random guy who Poo won't stop hitting on is missing his family not knowing that he is the family Rohan has been craving for years.

Also the weight loss????? I know some ppl who have had that transformation from child to adult but fight me, Rohan "laddoo" Raichand underwent that cuz of stress taking physical form.

And then of course is the failed attempts at reuniting his family. The first attempt ends with a slap when he points out that Yashvardhan Raichand is a dick. Second attempt only succeeds cuz Poo his bestie also begs Rahul to come back for just a few moments. As if it wasn't obvious that Rahul had given his place to Poo. If anything Poo had a place in his heart that Rohan could never have cuz he became her second father figure. Rahul has a favorite child and it's not his brother, FOR UNDERSTANDABLE REASONS, but man it has to suck for Rohan.

Rahul comes back, Yash finalls caves in and gives the worst ever form of apology to Rahul. Personally Rahul shud take his London fam, his mother and brother back to UK and leave Raichand with his dumbfuck Parampara. Man made everyone suffer for ten years. Specially his wife and children.

So now Rohan is back to the family he always wanted except now they have Rahul, the favorite son, the one that was most visibly wronged, the one who will be getting a special treatment by everyone cuz he was the most obvious victim, and Rohan is back to being the background. Honestly at this point Anjali and DJ are the only ones who are gonna give him attention. And one is his nanny who wud want to live with her daughter for some time and other is his sister in law who has many responsibilities.

So yeah I support Rohan rights and also Rohan wrongs. Go murder your father babe. Dickhead destroyed your life and left you with numerous insecurities and inferiority issues. You became the therapy child with nobody acknowledging your trauma cuz it wasn't visible enough. As if solving your parent's issues emotional and personal isn't a giant red flag of unhealthy upbringing

P. S I really don't ship Poo and Rohan, like come on you set up a romance like Rahul and Anjali's, you give that standard for love. And then the next couple is reduced to childhood besties that are still act like KIDS cuz uk he just passed out from school. They gave amazingggg bestie partner in crime vibes but not romance dude

#k3g #hrithik roshan #bollywood #bollywood music #shah rukh khan #srkajol #srk #amitabh bachchan #Rohan deserves better i swearrrr

[halliescomut]

My Personal Weatherman Ep 7- No Subs watch

Again a reminder, this is me reacting to the new episode of MPW that I get from an internet friend-y, but unfortunately (for me) they speak Japanese, but I do not, and the link they send has no subtitles, so I have no idea what anyone is saying. In fairness...I have been watching Japanese series for about 2 decades, so I can pick up on a couple words/phrases, but mostly my goal is to observe body language to kind of guess what the story is. It's a fun, silly little game. There may be moderate spoilers about sequences, though I try to keep things vague, and of course no dialogue spoilers. Let's go!

-Oooh! An on location segment for the weather. How exciting! (ALso I swear it looks like the location is just outside of Man-san's apartment building, and that's why they had the camera framed so close in.) And Yoh still watching Mizuki so closely.

-Oh, we have ARCs...is this actually a few weeks later, or is the BL manga publishing industry able to do a two day turn around?

-Man-san sounds very encouraging, at least.

-That is a clearly depressed and defeated Segasaki. Poor guy. Has still no one explained that Man-san's husband isn't after Yoh?? Really?

-Why is Yoh always so goddamn suspicious??? My god dude.

-I will say also, I don't love Mizuki's tone here, but I think that's me relating a bit too much to Yoh (since we're both on the same side of a D/s dynamic). I know I would be really upset to hear that distance in in Mizuki's voice if I were Yoh.

-Now we're getting the flashbacks from Mizuki's POV....interesting. I can't wait to know what he was thinking when he saw Yoh. His face is so precious.

-^^Literally all I could hear in my head at this scene: "Hands touch, eyes meet/Sudden silence, sudden heat/Hearts leap in a giddy whirl"

-Segasaki's college friends feel very much like friends of convenience. Like when you become best friends with a kid when you're 7, but it's mostly because you live in the same neighborhood.

-Aww, now we have Yoh in a cozy sweater.

-It is so sub of Yoh to just hand over his sketchbook without question, completely forgetting all of the portraits of Segasaki in there...and I REALLY wanna translate what Segasaki's response was, but I will wait.

-IDK what Segasaki is saying exactly, but I'd bet real folding money that's something pretty close to 'no matter what I couldn't stop thinking about him"

-The way Yoh came and grabbed him...what's going on??

-Aww, sick baby Mizuki. So cute. And the costuming makes them a matching set with their beige and blue. That's so cute.

-I just spent the last scene going like this, so....

-But now we have THE CURRY!!! The curry that made Segasaki finish falling in love with Yoh. I don't feel like curry is supposed to be that crunchy...but I could be wrong.

-His face, I'm dying.. And the little bonk on the head. Oh, if I wasn't already head over heels for these two dinguses, this would have been the last straw for me as well.

-Mizuki's love for petting Yoh is so fucking CUTE!!!!

-Yoh's smile as he draws Segasaki- so PRECIOUS!!!! (Sorry I keep yellling.)

-Poor Mizuki's face. 🥺🥺🥺 He really thought for a minute that Yoh left again.

-Dripping wet rain kiss!! We love it!!!

-Ooh...ooh....OOH!!!! God I really wanna translate Mizuki's little speech here, but I'm pretty sure the gist was 'you're mine, and I'm not letting you get away again". 🥵☺️😁🥰

This was an excellent episode. I mean the whole series has been, but this just....so good. I can't wait to understand more than 27% of it.

Finale next week (Booo!!!😠) but I will be happy to be able to watch the complete story over and over into forever. That'll be nice. Honestly this is the first BL I've every considered getting a physical copy of it's so good.

#My personal weatherman #Taikan yoho #mizuki x yoh #segasaki x yoh #segasaki mizuki #yoh tanada #mashiko atsuki #higuchi kouhei

[hollisartsblog]

Sorry for the long post, I just felt like I needed to get it out, if you want to read I'd be happy, if not, it's okay!

reading for the first time after almost 5 years what I used to write and think about late at night, and now I feel like doing it again, trying to find the right words.

I wanna talk about being in the moment as an artist, appreciating what you do, and not giving a fuck. (and loving ur young self)

I spent my teenage years drawing and posting here, so I had a lot to read tonight and to think about.

have u ever experienced that strange feeling, where you are like "wow. I was actually so beautiful and smart, who could have ever hated me?"

I was a completely different person, and maybe I miss that little girl, and maybe I hate her even a little. now, I'm not here to talk like I'm in a psychoanalyst's deckchair, of course. but I'm here, to resume the beautiful, however embarrassing in my opinion, habit of writing my most intimate thoughts (shareable, of course) that cross my mind at night, because maybe they can help someone, because we are never alone. just as they helped you years ago, just as it has helped me re-reading them now after all this time. I've had some crazy years. I was young, I was passionate and genuinely free to do whatever I wanted. I had friends, I had just sold a self-published book, I had "fans", I was "successful", I had good grades, I had a girlfriend, yet I wasn't happy. I know it sounds like the usual sweet story about happiness and self-satisfaction, but I don't think so (and even if it was, well, here we are ;) ) I didn't realize how necessary EVERYTHING that was happening to me was.

artists have a huge difficulty accepting that sometimes we have to look inside and accept that we have to constantly learn, instead we are always in a hurry to be perfect, to get likes, to earn, but that's not how it goes. I was literally 16 and already thinking about this, thinking I must be good enough to please everyone.

spoiler: you can never do that.

as I said years ago, our eyes are not the right eyes to judge us.

appreciate the compliments, don't dismiss them with an embarrassed smile. appreciate the effort and hours put into a work even if it is bad for you. hug your self when after a bad day you still have the courage to do what you love. being an artist is beautiful, but a huge burden, especially for us. remember that when our insecurities take over, we are not lucid.

yes, that drawing u posted that got 8 likes made 8 people feel something. how amazing is that?

yes, it will be fine, that text you wrote will be something new in someone's eyes, it won't be something read and re-read to make it perfect. you will amaze and make someone fall in love with what u did.

internet is an amazing place, and sometimes it's not. I got myself into a really bad place because I was too immature and too impatient to immediately be the artist I always felt I was, but NO ONE is after you with a clock ticking away time.

you really think someone care about how much time does it take you to get to your goal? why should it matter? I'm not going to list every single successful person who actually made it and tell you "look! they were poor now they are rich, so u can do it!". i'm telling you to always love the process; I would've punched myself in the face, I hated when adults told me this phrase, but it's true: everything pass. you are not gonna be like this forever. you are gonna love what you do one day, and love life because life takes but gives.

(tw: mental health) I spent years between psychologists and suicidal thoughts, I was never enough, and my art not only made me feel miserable, but it was one of the first reason I fell into depression. it always reminded me how plain, boring, and uninspired I was.

there was never anything that was right in what I did, every comment and every ask you sent me had no weight for me, they meant nothing because I didn't I believed in myself, yet I should have tasted it. now I reread them crying, not believing what I read. I was talented, man, I was full of ideas, I was amazing. I lost that spark, because of fear, of waiting for the right moment. i sabotaged myself because i was afraid of judgement, of pressure, when i had love around me, everywhere.

now I'm in Florence, far from home, studying in a private academy of animation and digital art. would I ever have thought that? absolutely no. I deserve it? Yes. because I, like you artists, have grown, we have learned, and I'll tell you this once and for all: do not give up. things are really getting better. now I'm not saying that because I magically healed and I love my art all of the sudden (unfortunately, I still really struggle) but please don't look at likes, followers. you're good, just because you love what you do, literally that's all that matters. I took a long break, now 2 years, because, as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was starting to hate what I was doing, it had become an obligation, a simple circle to mark before going to sleep on the to-do list. to alone.

16 years old. and it wasn't right.

love what you do, take breaks, post without checking a thousand times, show your work, accept compliments. you have created something, and that is enough.

look at you past as an amazing book you just read, the satisfaction coming from all the pages you already read and learnt from, now you are a different person thanks to them. look at you future with the same excitement when you still have a lot of those pages to read.

#hollis' thoughts at night #artist rant #love is everywhere #good omens #thank you so much for how much i learnt from you and your support