#tw suicidal character

[gigawatt-smile]

Woe, Lockwood incorrect quotes be upon ye

#he's fundementally fucked up but that's ok he's silly #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #l&co #anthony lockwood #suicide mention #tw suicidal character

[overobsessedfanboy23]

Wow... I liked that duel a lot

I don’t really have any deep thoughts on it, I just think the setup was really cool, Aki and Crow are two of my favourite characters and I love their friendship so them duelling together was a treat, and I like Sherry a lot more after this duel (can’t believe they explicitly wrote a suicidal character). Also, the theme of looking to the future rather than lingering in the past was a really sweet one. I hope Arc Cradle continues like this.

#tw suicidal character #tw suicide mention #yugioh #ygo #yugioh 5ds #ygo 5ds #5ds #sherry leblanc #crow hogan #aki izayoi #akiza izinski #still wish Aki was given more to do #then again I have that same wish for every YGO girl pre Romin #she's really the only one who wasn't fucked over by the narrative at any point

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

#pre-steddie #my fic #prompt #sophomore eddie is a jerk #but only because he thinks steves gonna be a jerk first so hes gotta beat him to it #also steves very mean to eddie in his thoughts but its only his thoughts #tw: minor character death #its an oc tho #tw: suicide implied but not stated

[hellspawnmotel]

remember when I did this?

well I did more

#deltarune #heathers #noelle holiday #kris dreemurr #pizzapants #susie deltarune #nooses tw #blood tw #suicide tw #hanging tw #death tw #art tag #first three were actually done a year ago but i never finished the fourth one until now #partially bc Background Hard but also i was like 'this might be too dark actually' #my friends were like its heathers of course its dark and then i showed them the sketch and they were like oh that IS dark #whatever its done i did it #ALSO this is important some people were confused with this last time: these are based on the MOVIE not the musical #like literally these are screenshot redraws from the movie but with dr characters lol #important bc since the musical makes betty and martha a composite character and in the movie theyre two different girls #and i wouldnt have put susie in the role of martha in the context of the musical. i probably would choose catti for that #and im also. not that fond of the musical. on the whole. for reasons #i do have like five of the songs from it on my showtunes playlist though LMAO #i may not agree with the story and characterization choices but i cant deny bangers #crossover

[poxei]

noose

twitter | ig | store

#my stuff #oc #original art #original character #eleventh hour diner #artists on tumblr #original #tw suicide

[krashlite]

another impulsive animatic! I thought about SL too hard, blacked out, and this is the result hehe

OBLIGATORY ADVERTISEMENT FOR LILLIAN VANDAAM’S MUSIC SHE’S VERY GOOD ANYWAYS

HI YES DETAILS

His hair is short in the earlier sections but when he adorns his flower crown it’s grown much longer- showing he’s been there Alone for months at this point

The task papers vanish after being completed/failed, meaning that the papers around the statue/buttons aren’t his, they belong to the other people on the server. He took them back to SK because he refused to bury them with their task

Despite the lyrics implying Scar is Saturn, he bears no celestial imagery. The other winners have their “crown” of the sun, the stars, the moon, and mars, but Scar refuses his, instead dawning a flower crown of his own creation. This is His victory and no one else’s

#life series fanart #secret life fanart #secret life spoilers #goodtimewithscar fanart #goodtimeswithscar #tw suicide #tw blood #tw character death #based off that one post i made abt what he did after winning SL #secret life animatic

[asgardian--angels]

Izzy Discourse Masterpost

Hey all, given the amount of awful splintering and wank happening in ofmd fandom rn regarding Izzy's death, including the flat-out immature and unacceptable harassment of David Jenkins and Co, I wanted to just make this one all-encompassing post to address the various grievances and complaints I've seen (almost entirely on Twitter). If I've missed anything, please feel free to add on. I'm putting most of this under a read-more for length.

Please be aware, I say all of this as an Izzy fan. I've loved his character since season 1, and while I was sad to see him go, I completely understand and support David & Co's reasons for concluding his arc, and I think it was done respectfully in a way fitting to his character. So let's break down some of the takes I've seen. I am not referencing specific posts or people here, I just want to address the general themes that I keep seeing about why some people are upset.

Izzy's death served no narrative purpose.

Look, this is one that I'm sure fans will debate for the rest of the hiatus. It's completely within your right to disagree with this writing choice, but Izzy's death did serve a narrative purpose in the story that David Jenkins is telling - and he has spoken to this end in several interviews already. I can only summarize here, and fans may find other perspectives in time as well. What we need to remember is that Our Flag Means Death is, at the end of the day, Ed and Stede's love story. That has been made abundantly, explicitly clear. The show has been fantastic at fleshing out the other supporting characters, but that's what they are - supporting characters. They often have their own subplots but ultimately the narrative seeks to move Ed and Stede's story forward and they are tools to spur Ed and Stede's growth or mirror their struggles. Izzy has been a wonderfully complex, multifaceted character but we must remember that all characters are vessels through which stories are told, lessons are imparted, and metaphors are established. He's not a real person who 'deserves' any particular fate. David said he's always intended for Izzy to die at the end of his arc.

Firstly, Izzy (now canonically, through his own dying words) represents part of Blackbeard. He enabled and encouraged Ed's darker side, they were mutually toxic forces to each other. Ed is attempting to cope with and move on from this phase of his life, and like Stede in season 1, set out a free man, unshackled by expectations and loose ends of those he's hurt and been hurt by (though we realize this is an ongoing process that takes time). This lovely gifset sums it up nicely, with Izzy being the Mary parallel, and making s2 mirror s1. Blackbeard is both Ed and Izzy; Ed cannot be free of Blackbeard while Izzy is in his life, and when Izzy is gone he will never truly be Blackbeard again. They are each other's rotting leg!! Yet, they love each other - and David has said that for Ed, this has developed into a mentor and father relationship, and where Ed has previously despised his father figures (his actual father, Hornigold) he does not want to lose Izzy. This time, Izzy brings out Ed, not Blackbeard - and that's where we get the callback to 'there he is', bringing their impact on each other full circle, freeing Ed, getting approval of sorts that he never had, to be soft, to be loved (and there are parallels to Zheng and Auntie here as well that others have made) from that force that drove him to stay in line all this time. David has said in multiple interviews now that he was going for the idea of the mentor/father figure dying and the hero living on and trying to do justice to them.

From Izzy's side, Izzy cannot be free while Edward remains either (Mary cannot find peace while Stede remains). The scar never truly healed, the leg will always be a reminder. At this point the argument becomes 'yes, but why did he have to die? Why not just sail off with the crew of the Revenge?' David has stated that he feels they've done everything they can with, and for, Izzy; he's come leagues from season 1, he's found community, he's found hope, he's found new parts of himself, and he's made good memories. He's found worth outside of what he can be to others. That's more than most pirates could hope for. Where would his character go from there, when the Golden Age of Piracy he belongs to has burned to the ground? Would he stay around and whittle on the Revenge? If he were a real person, yes, that would be lovely, and he'd deserve all the quiet peaceful happiness in the world. But as I explain several points below, he's not interested in being a captain. He's not up for the hard physical labor of regular crew, and he's extremely overqualified for that besides. He has served his narrative purpose, and symbolically, to enter a new age, everything must go. He's connected to the old age of piracy, to the Republic of Pirates, that is now demolished. To him, fighting for what he believes in, for the family he's found, bringing down an army of British twats in the process, is how he should go. It's a pirate's death, and as Izzy's said, he's a pirate - unlike Blackbeard who's succeeding in breaking away from piracy, Izzy never wanted to stop being a pirate, throughout his arc. To me, that's why Izzy remains trapped in the narrative, trapped in history, whereas Ed and Stede will escape history. They leave piracy, and canon, behind, while Izzy was content to remain a pirate and face a pirate's fate.

Burying him on land, right next to Ed and Stede's beach house, shows that his sacrifice was not in vain - they start this new life together, thanks to Izzy's mentorship, his role in their lives that sometimes for worse, sometimes for better, made their love what it was and made their breakaway possible. The new age is built on the foundations of the old age, and is stronger for it.

As we're well aware by now, David tweeted that there's no version of ofmd without Izzy. Whether that's literal or not, symbolically it's true. Izzy's arc of growth affected everyone on the Revenge. Jim fondly remembered fighting for a time when life meant something on that ship; the crew helped give Izzy new meaning in life, and he helped them in return. When he dies, they mourn and have a funeral; that wouldn't have happened under Blackbeard's watch in episode 2. His life meant something to them. He influenced Ed and Stede immensely, and they will take that with them. As David's said, they're all a family, and Izzy was a part of that family, and his loss unites them and brings them closer to continue to fight for that family they've built. It's a tragic, sudden death of someone they've all grown to care for, and that steels their reserve to keep the torch lit. They literally sail off into the sunset to hunt down Ricky to avenge Izzy; he will always be a part of this show. And, of course, with the brief appearance of seagull Buttons, the door is left open for anything.

If this was The Izzy Show, then sure, we'd be content to see him simply engaged in shenanigans every episode. But the plot, and therefore the characters, need to keep moving forward, and Izzy got his growth and development. He got what he needed for his character to have closure, and he served his symbolic narrative purpose in Ed's (and Stede's) story. You may have your own ideas and perspectives, and that's great - that's what fandom is for. But we cannot say his death was pointless when David Jenkins and the writers clearly had a well-defined motive for pushing the narrative in this direction. I actually think the narrative around Ed and Izzy is the most well-developed in the entire show. I for one am so happy we got such an interesting and complex character, and had the brilliant Con O'Neill to portray him.

Izzy's growth & healing arc was rendered pointless by his death.

As this post so eloquently puts it, it's pretty bleak to have the outlook that taking steps to heal and find meaning in life is worthless if it's later lost. Seeking happiness and self-actualization is worthwhile for its own sake; no one knows what's down the road, and we all die eventually. Find meaning in life now. Would you rather have had Izzy not miss with his bullet in ep2? He was given the chance to experience joy, freedom, and hope for the first time in potentially a long time, and when he died he did so with those happy memories. As mentioned, Izzy's death was decided long beforehand given the narrative, and the point of storytelling is to make you feel emotions. We were given impetus to connect and relate to Izzy's character through his process of healing, so when he did die, we felt it keenly. That's how stories work actually! We felt what Ed felt. It moved us. It's not a bad thing that Izzy's arc made him more likeable to fans before his death. It's not a bad thing to lose a beloved character - guess what, it happens constantly in stories - and it's not bad to grieve over it either, but to say that it made his journey pointless is just not true. People saying that Con must be upset that they snatched his character away from him after getting to develop him so much - again I say, would you rather him have died in ep 2 before he had the chance to grow? Or how about in s1, when the crew tried to mutiny? How'd you feel when Stede killed him in his dream, in the very first scene of the season? I think Con's probably glad for the opportunity to have explored this character so much in season 2. Ask him if he thinks it was pointless.

Killing off Izzy was bad for queer rep/burying your gays/"Izzy was the queer heart of the show"

I'm putting 'bury your gays' on the top shelf so people can't use it when it doesn't actually apply. Most of the main cast of characters in this show are queer, and it's a show about pirates with a good amount of violence. Ergo, chances are a queer character will die in the course of Things Happening In Stories. Izzy didn't die because he was queer, and he wasn't the token queer rep. Please turn your attention to the boatloads (literally) of queer characters that are happy and thriving (how about the LuPete wedding immediately afterwards??). As for Izzy being the "queer heart of the show," this is literally the Ed and Stede show. You know, the two queer leads whose queer love the show revolves around, per David Jenkins himself. I'm glad folks connected with and derived joy from Izzy's growth and especially his performance in Calypso's birthday, but he is not the main character of the show. The queer heart of the show is in fact, the entire show, all of their characters and the community & found family they create aboard the Revenge. Not to mention the fan community as well. Izzy was never carrying the show's representation on his back, and frankly that's an absurdly wild take to have (esp when he spent most of s1 actively working against the main queer relationships in the show, attempting to maintain the oppressive status quo of pirate society).

It was bad and irresponsible to have a suicidal character die

Are we forgetting the entire first half of the season where Ed, who was suicidal, kept trying to passively kill himself because he felt he was an unlovable monster, only to be shown that he is in fact loved unconditionally and it gives him the strength to fight for life and triumph against his own self-doubt? The show has spent quite a lot of effort telling viewers that despite feeling damaged or broken you are worthy of love and that you are loved even if it may be hard to see it when you're in a bad place. That you don't need to be fully healed to deserve love and care, and that love and support will help you along your journey. It's incredibly wild to disregard this major plot point and fundamental message of s2 to try and spin this the opposite way for Izzy's character.

Secondly, where are people getting 'Izzy is suicidal' from? Are we going back all the way to episode 2, when he's at his lowest point and fails at his suicide attempt, only to be figuratively reborn after removing the metaphorical rotten leg? By the time of the finale he's shown to be in a good place, thanks to the arc of healing and growth he's gotten, through the support of the Revenge crew and his 'breakup' with Blackbeard allowing him to find his own way in life, realizing he doesn't need a purpose to have value and enjoying his time on the Revenge and the bonds he's made with Stede and the crew. He is, in the words of Ivan, "the most open and available I've ever seen him" by the finale. To take episode 2 as evidence he's suicidal is to erase his whole season of growth, which is an ironic thing to do in the context of these arguments. There's no canon evidence Izzy Hands was suicidal post-'Fun and Games'.

As for 'irresponsible,' once again I say, David Jenkins is not your therapist, he's not 'Dad,' and has no responsibility to tell his story any other way than he intended to tell it. Please find media that gives you what you want or need, and if the death of a fictional character causes you this much distress please seek help. I mean this kindly but seriously.

Killing off Izzy was ableist/bad for disability rep.

I point once again to the rest of the characters, several of which are disabled in varied ways. There are literally multiple other amputee characters specifically. It's not good storytelling to wholly avoid killing off any character that is disabled/queer/poc/female or [insert marginalized group here], especially when a) it makes sense narratively, and b) there's plenty of representation of these groups in the media in question. The answer isn't making such characters invincible and immortal, it's increasing the number of these characters in shows so it's not devastating when some do die in the course of natural storytelling.

OFMD was my comfort show/safe space show, now it's ruined for me

I am not trying to be insensitive here when I say that's a problem that is yours and nobody else's. David Jenkins created this show with a three-season vision and a story in mind, and he is telling that story to the best of his ability the way he wants to. It's already been said that he and the crew did not anticipate the fandom becoming as large and passionate as it has. The plot of the show was never intended to be 'fan service,' and it's ironic that there were people complaining this season that there's been too many fanservice tropes, up until David and the rest of the writers room made a narrative decision they did not like, then the complaints changed to not coddling the fans enough.

We as viewers can derive joy from this show, it can be a comfort to us, it can be important to us. But it was not designed specifically for that purpose, therefore it cannot fail in that respect. We do not have the right to harass writers for not steering the ship in the direction we want - it's their work of art, and we can choose to either come along for the ride or not. It's rare to see creators actually given the chance to tell their story the way they intend (budget cuts aside), so let him do that. He should not cater to fans, or cave and change the story to appease us. Respect his right to create his art, and remember you have the right to create your own. That's what fanfiction is for - write fix-its to your heart's content, but keep these realms separate. David Jenkins and Co hold zero, and I mean zero, responsibility to you. He could not please everyone no matter what he did, it would be fruitless to try, and it would certainly compromise the quality of the story he set out to tell.

You are absolutely allowed to dislike choices made in any show. Curate your media experience. If this show no longer brings you joy, stop watching. But it was never David's purpose nor responsibility to juggle the mental health of millions of fans. Trying to put that on him will only make him less enthusiastic about interacting with fans or continuing to make this show. This isn't rocket science. You're responsible for yourself, not this guy you call 'Dad' that you've developed a parasocial-therapist relationship with.

Izzy should have become captain of the Revenge.

Really?? Firstly, we did actually get that already in s1. He was tyrannical and the crew mutinied. But even if you think 'well after his character arc he'd be better suited to it,' it goes against the point of this arc. He's found value in not having a distinct role or purpose on the ship, decoupling his worth from the job he's expected to perform. He's found his place amongst the crew, not commanding it. There's no narrative reason to put him in charge when he's expressed no further interest in slotting himself back into a role full of pressure and expectations.

Con O'Neill was only told halfway through filming, it's cruel to just kill off the character he loves so much.

Guys, he's an actor. More than that, an actor with a theater background. I think he's used to characters dying. You don't need to look out for him. Con and David spoke one on one about it at length so they were on the same page, and David even said that Con took it well. I'm sure Con had input, just as other members of the cast have influenced their characters' stories, costumes, backstories, etc. Do you really think David Jenkins hurt Con's feelings or something? The writers (remember, it's not just David, it's a whole team of hard-working people coming up with these ideas) gave Con such a chance to shine this season, really developing Izzy beyond what he was given in s1 and letting Con show off his full acting range. Why are you only focusing on the destination rather than the journey? Sure, Con's probably sad to see Izzy go, but please do not project your distress onto him or try and accuse David & Co of being 'cruel' to their cast. That's really ridiculous. It's constantly evident how close they all are.

More importantly, do you actually, seriously think that Con O'Neill would want fans to harass each other or the writers over his character? The man who preaches being kind above all? There is no better way to make an actor uncomfortable about a show and its fanbase than to start treating fictional characters like they're more important than real people. He would not want you to bully people over Izzy Hands, and it's mind-boggling that some of you have convinced yourself otherwise.

Lastly, I just want to talk about the fact that some people are holding OFMD to absurdly high expectations.

Our Flag Means Death has been a pioneer series for its diverse representation, earnest storytelling, and themes of hope, community, and love. It's fine to discuss aspects of the show with a critical eye, but so much of the discourse has truly felt like folks are trying to find fault in a show that is leagues ahead of the average tv series that we still enjoy. How many fan favorites are killed off all the time? How many plotlines are scrapped, or drawn out without closure, or contradicted the very next season? How many shows are indifferent or actively hostile towards their fanbase? How many have any queer characters, or actually do bury them? The bar's so low, and OFMD has risen above to give us so much. Some are holding the show to astronomical expectations, waiting for it to fall from the pedestal it's been placed on. If something you don't like happens in the show, it's not suddenly ruined or demoted to being ~just as bad as those other shows~. Give them some breathing room, have some perspective on how progressive the show is, and that perfection is impossible, especially meeting every single viewer's idea of it. This is basically a repeat of the recent Good Omens drama, with an absurd number of people harassing Neil Gaiman for breaking up Aziraphale and Crowley and leaving the second of three acts on a very predictable cliffhanger. Let stories be told, let them unfold as they may, and you are free to leave anytime. It's so wonderful that more queer love stories are becoming popular and even mainstream, but let's not shoot ourselves in the foot by tearing them down when they don't go exactly the way you want it, which often seems to mean no drama, no character deaths, and therefore no conflict or even plot!

Just, please be civil human beings, and while this seems to be a difficult thing for so many fandoms to do, just keep your fan opinions in the fan space. Never bring your grievances to the writers, never bully them and persecute them for telling a story that you opted into viewing. That's something that goes entirely against everything this show, and this cast and crew, have imparted onto us - the importance of kindness, support, community, and love. I'll say it again because it bears repeating: the fate of a fictional character is never more important than how you treat real people. Just be kind in real life, which includes the internet. Thanks.

Now please, let's work together to ensure we get a season 3. There's so much more story to be told, and if you want to see Izzy back, whether that's as flashbacks, as a ghost haunting the inn, or in the gravy basket, we'll need more episodes! #RenewAsACrew

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #and after this i will speak of it no more ok #now once we're all calmed down i am really looking forward to meta about izzy's role in the narrative #i truly think izzy's one of the most well written characters on not just this show but on tv lately in general #suicide mention tw #I tried to put a read more under the first bullet point but tumblr's formatting basically deleted it #by automatically overriding it with an Expand #so sorry about the length and such

[pedroslittlelady]

Just You & Me, Darlin'

joel miller x f!reader (18+)

A/N: OMG Okay, I'm actually doing this! I'm posting something for the first time in over 4 years and I'm super nervous. Pedro Pascal just has me by the titties, and so do all of you wonderful writers and artists I've been so inspired by, so here is my little contribution 🫣💕

You can also read this on my ao3 if you prefer 😊

summary: When Tommy returns to the QZ without you, Joel is both terrified and furious but he’s determined to get you back safe no matter what.

tags/warnings: 18+ Explicit | Minors Do Not Interact Please! no use of y/n, boston qz, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of suicidal thoughts, slight exhibitionism, explicit smut, unprotected piv, no description of female reader, other than joel can pick you up and kinda implied age gap, squirting, emotional sex, unbeta'd, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, darlin', baby girl). oh and you're both super in love so :) I think that's it.

word count: 5.9k

Joel’s heart was fluttering within his chest, nerves and excitement flooding him as he made his way up the steps of his apartment building. If all had gone well, you were due back from the week-long smuggling run outside of the QZ today, and he had been stuck on work duty for most of it. 

He hadn’t been able to go with you since someone had needed to stay back and protect their store of goods and ration cards from being stolen in their absence, they’d learned this the hard way. 

And in his mind he’d drawn the short straw.

Joel would much rather be out there with you than stuck here wondering if you were okay. Here, he was unable to do anything if something went wrong but he knew you, the little hell-raiser that you were could definitely handle yourself. 

The both of you had agreed when you first started sleeping together that it shouldn’t mess with the business, it gave you all a more comfortable life in the QZ than most got to have after all. 

Even after falling hard for one another following the sharing of your past within whispered cuddles post sex, you both still tried to keep the business professional and that meant trusting one another to watch your own and your partners’ backs. 

As he entered his apartment he was surprised to see Tommy sitting on his couch with his head in his hands. 

Joel’s stomach dropped at the sight, he already knew something was wrong. Heart breaking into a gallop against his sternum he quickly scanned the apartment, the open layout giving him a view of the whole room and you were nowhere in sight.

Joel's hands tightened into fists, his jaw tensing in anger and fear as he focused his intense gaze on his little brother who was now worrying his lip.

“Where is she,” Joel stated more than questioned in his deep southern timbre, his voice thick with emotion. Anger, fear, anguish and dread were all suddenly clogging up his throat. He swallowed to keep it contained, needing to keep his head on straight right now.

“I don’t know brother,” Tommy responded, guilt and slight fear painted his features as he looked up at his older brother.

“The hell do you mean you don’t know?” Joel growled as he prowled closer to his brother who quickly stood from his slumped position. “I trusted you to watch her back, to keep her safe for me!” Joel couldn’t control himself, the emotions from the thought of losing you, of never seeing you again were too much to handle and he grabbed his brother by the neck of his jacket and shook him.

“The deal went bad! Me and Tess got separated from her!” Tommy quickly explained, his hands gripping onto Joel's shaking wrists. “We tried to find her but… shit man, things are more fucked up out there than ever. We were hoping she’d made it back here.”

Joel pushed his brother away from him, afraid he would start swinging. Rage and fear consumed him, tightening his heaving chest as he ran his hands through his greying hair. He quickly stalked over to his weapons stash beneath the floorboards while vile images of you being scared and hurt, being taken by sex traffickers and all manner of other atrocities he’d seen and heard about over all his years surviving in this hell were flooding his mind.

If it was the last thing he did, he’d find you himself and bring you home. The thought of never finding you was unspeakable and he quickly pushed that horrible scenario out of his mind. But then another took its ugly place as he quickly grabbed his go bag; what if he found you dead or dying?

Well that would be the end, wouldn’t it?

He paused before looking at his little brother, standing before him paler than he’d seen him in a long time. Exhaustion was dragging Tommy down and Joel knew that he and Tess had done the best they could to find you; they loved you too.

“I’ll find her and bring her back,” Joel stated.

“I’ll come with-”

“No… thank you, but no. You're exhausted, you’ll just slow me down. If I don’t come back… then I…,” Joel trailed off as he watched anguish and fear become apparent on his little brother's face.

“Joel. Don’t. Please, brother,” Tommy begged, already knowing where Joel’s head was at.

“I can’t…” Joel felt his voice break as tears flooded his vision, blurring the image of his baby brother walking towards him. 

Next thing Joel knew, his brother's arms were around him and Joel let himself feel the rare embrace for just a moment. He and his brother had never been the most affectionate with each other even before the outbreak, so the fact his brother was hugging him so tightly told him Tommy knew exactly what you meant to him. How could he not, with how blatant the two of you were with your lovesick need for each other. You had become his whole world, a quick spiral into passionate need that seemed to drive the two of you from the very moment you became one when he took you on that dirty warehouse floor three years earlier.

His head dipped to Tommy’s shoulder as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and into his patchy beard, into that place where you always kissed him, as if that spot had been made just for you. A place to kiss and lick and nibble like you loved to do when you both were intimate, which was basically whenever you were in the same room as one another, everyone else be damned.

Would Joel ever feel that again? Had you both made all the memories together that you ever would? The last time he saw you flashed in his mind, replacing the ugly panicked images from before. You’d smiled up at him, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together as you whispered your ‘see you laters’ - never ‘goodbyes’ - to each other, while Tess and Tommy looked on and rolled their eyes in annoyance at your overt pda.

The Joel of before had never been one for public displays of affection, to the point where one woman had broken things off with him because she’d said he was cold, that he didn’t care enough about her. He’d realised later on that she had probably been right. More conscious of how much affection he was giving in front of others than he should have been.

Now though, with you these last few years? Joel didn’t give a single fuck what people thought of how he held your hand, kissed you, sat you on his lap as he made deals with all kinds of people. He loved when you’d do the same, when you would kiss him in that spot that was surely made purely for your mouth while you rolled your hips against his hardening cock. The greedy eyes of lowlifes watching on in pure jealousy of how unashamed you were with showing everyone how wanton you could get for him. His precious little hell-raiser.

Shit, he’d fucked you outside before and hadn’t cared who’d heard. It had actually turned him on to know the residents had heard your desperate and lustful cries as you let him take you from behind in an alleyway between two apartment buildings. Anyone could’ve looked out and seen how Joel Miller got to have you be his, the most vicious beauty in all of Boston, submitting to him, belonging to him.

Joel quickly pulled away from Tommy before he got too emotional about how this day had turned into a fucking real life nightmare. 

As he strode towards his apartment door with his go bag on his back and his weapons tucked away on his person, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and face. He couldn’t look back at Tommy so he roughly pulled open the door and walked out with a quickly uttered, “see you brother.”

While descending to street level Joel struggled to get his emotions under control. It had been a long time since he had cried, since he had felt this scared and helpless, but he pushed through and began to formulate a plan on how he would get out of the QZ through a smuggler tunnel they had created two years ago. Then he would find you so he could bring you home, safe and sound.

There was no other option he would let himself consider from here on out, he needed to focus on his current mission.

Joel steeled himself as he walked out of the apartment building and turned right to head to the closest smuggling route out of the QZ. As he looked up to assess his surroundings he was stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of you standing in front of him.

His eyes widened in shock as you stood before him, a shaky vulnerable look on your pretty as sin face. Joel choked on your name in disbelief and before he knew it his hands were grasping your cheeks and his lips were crushing against yours in a desperate kiss.

He pulled away from your tight embrace to quickly gasp, “What the hell happened, baby?” Before he kissed you again and again and again. So relieved to feel you alive and whole in his arms once more.

But then worry clouded his mind; the look on your face as you saw him notice you replayed in his mind.

Joel once again pulled away from the desperate kisses you both were sharing to truly look into your wide teary eyes.

“Are… are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Let me see you,” Joel pleaded in a vulnerable whisper. He reluctantly pulled further away so he could assess you until you spoke for the first time since your reunion.

“I’m okay Joel, baby. I’m okay I promise!” You gasped as Joel began to pull up your sleeves and the hem of your shirt to see your slightly bruised and cut skin, clearly searching for a fatal wound like a bite that he thankfully would not find.

“Joel!” You shouted to get his attention, uncaring of the passers-by on the busy street taking notice of your desperate interaction.

Joel stopped his searching as you placed your hands on his cheeks and gave a soft smile when you saw the fear in his eyes recede into a warm relieved look of love that always made your chest flutter in unbelievable happiness, like butterflies bursting with life within you. You had never expected to get to this point with anyone, let alone the cold standoffish brute Joel Miller who had barely seemed to tolerate you the first few weeks after your initial meeting. 

To have this big, dangerous, sometimes scary but protective man look at you like you were his whole world was intoxicating. No wonder you could never keep your hands off of him. 

It had started after the first time you’d fucked, and that’s all it had been meant to be. A desperate fuck after a near death experience, both of you alone and thankful to be alive. You had exchanged no words but a heady look and before you’d known what was happening he was kissing into your mouth before pinning you onto the hard dirty floor and fucking you silly.

You knew he’d been sleeping with Tess at the time, although it wasn’t serious, and you had slipped into Tommy’s bed once or twice, but for years you had respected Joel’s leadership and strength, and of course enjoyed admiring how handsome he really was, but you both had never been particularly close, until then.

After, you had both agreed it wouldn’t happen again. You reluctantly agreed with him even though your legs had felt like jelly after the best orgasms you’d ever been given, having never before been fucked like Joel Miller liked to fuck. 

It happened again of course, the very next night when you took a chance and slipped into his room and cot. He hadn’t said a thing against it, only a cocky, “can’t get enough huh, hell-raiser?” 

After you sucked him to full hardness he’d let you ride him as fast or slow as you wanted while he just watched you. In the wake of your first orgasm Joel had snapped and took control once more by putting you on your back and practically folding you in half. He’d fucked you so hard you’d screamed your pleasure, so loud you had only realised afterward that Tommy and Tess must have been 100% aware of what was happening. But you’d come so hard you’d squirted all over Joel and made a complete mess, but you had seen in Joel’s eyes how much he’d absolutely loved it.

There was no talk of it never happening again after that, only an acknowledgement that business came first. A few months into your arrangement he began cuddling you after sex, asking you not to leave his bed in the sweetest whisper against the back of your head. You had agreed, threading your fingers through his and nodding with a simple, “yes Joel.”

And you hadn’t left, you both barely let the other out of your lovesick sight as you basically moved in with him. Tess and Tommy quickly moved out so they didn’t have to listen to the both of you ‘fucking every goddamn day.’

“I’m fine baby, I promise. Okay?” You kissed Joel softly bringing you back to the present, his arms tightening around you.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if… fuck, I thought you were-” Joel was crushing you against him, lips brushing yours as he spoke. A tremble was in his voice, one you’ve come to know more over the years as he opened up to you about things from his past.

“I’m right here darlin’, right where I’m supposed to be,” you gently spoke while running your hands through his salt and pepper curls. The action always calmed him down.

“I love you so goddamn much, hell-raiser.” Joel smiled against your lips before kissing you again. You chuckled, feeling tears gather in your eyes at the silly pet name he’d given you after your first chaotic introduction years ago which involved you wielding a couple molotov cocktails. The first of many pet names he graced you with, but definitely your favourite.

“I love you too, big guy.”

Your back gently hit the apartment building as Joel increased the pressure of your kisses, a desperation taking over you both as the feeling of being reunited after a close call washed over you once again.

Joel hiked your leg up and ground his hardened cock against your rapidly soaking pussy making you gasp at the sting of pain the suddenness of your arousal wrought as it travelled deep into your rapidly warming core.

“Joel,” you panted into his mouth as he licked at your tongue before sucking it into his mouth with a growl of need you felt emanating from his belly which was pressed tight against yours.

“Fuck, need inside your tight little cunt right now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled before he hastily began to undo your jeans, his lips carving a wet path across your cheek and down your tilting neck. He bit you quick and hard there, marking you; claiming you. You gasped, your arousal seeping from your desperately empty channel and trickling into your panties as you tilted your hips against his rock hard cock.

Joel slipped his thick fingers into your wet slit making you moan into his mouth.

“Get a room,” you heard someone mutter as they walked past. Joel growled before pulling away to glare fiercely at the man who suddenly blanched before quickly scurrying away at the sight of Joel hovering over you with a murderous look in his eyes. 

You giggled at the interaction, drawing his attention back to you, his eyes softening at your mischievous smirk.

“Take me to bed, big guy. Remind me who I belong to,” you murmured before biting your lower lip in anticipation as Joel's eyes turned blacker than the deepest cavern within the fathomless ocean.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and began to steer you back into the apartment building and up the stairs. You could feel his eyes on your ass before a slap landed there making you squeak excitedly. “Hurry the fuck up, darlin’,” Joel growled with a squeeze to your right cheek making you skip up the stairs quicker, panties practically drenched now.

The next second he was pushing open your apartment door, throwing off his bag and flipping you around to face him so he could kiss you hungrily once more. His thick tongue probed every part of your mouth, overwhelming you. You whimpered, your hands caressing through his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.

His grip on your thighs suddenly let you know what he was about to do and you braced your hands on his broad shoulders as he quickly hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips. You both groaned and panted into one another's mouth at the feel of being pressed together.

You stilled when you heard the clearing of a throat. Joel groaned in annoyance as your lips separated wetly.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Tommy said before covering a slight laugh with a cough, Joel glowered. “But I’m really glad you're okay, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.” You smiled, so glad to see him safe and sound too. You told him this and questioned where Tess was and he informed you that she was just fine also.

“I just wanted to say-” Tommy started to speak.

“Enough said,” Joel growled. “Talk later. We're busy, brother.” Joel raised his brows clearly unabashed at being caught in this position by his baby brother.

“Jeez, alright lover boy-” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I swear to God Tommy if you don’t get the fuck out of here now I’ll-”

“Okay okay! We’ll catch up later, Christ.” Tommy shook his head but you could see he wasn’t truly annoyed by the relieved look on his face.

As Tommy made his way to the door, a smirk was painted on his handsome face. Joel just pierced him with a frustrated and grumpy glare, you couldn’t help but snort softly while still being held up in his strong arms.

“See you later Tommy, and tell Tess thanks as well when you see her,” you quickly uttered before you forgot all about Tess and Tommy in just a few seconds.

“Will do, sweetheart. See you later. You too, Romeo.” Tommy laughed before darting out the door as fast as he could once he’d heard Joel’s growl of annoyance.

“C’mon baby,” you murmured in his ear before sucking the lobe into your mouth bringing his attention back to you, his eyes softening once more. “Need to feel your big cock inside me, I feel so empty.” You pouted playfully even though you could still feel some of the adrenaline and fear from your near miss swarming inside you. 

You had very nearly not made it home to him and that thought made your heart jump and your hold on your lover tighten. You didn’t know if you could hold back on the avalanche of feeling you knew was headed your way.

“Poor baby,” Joel responded as he carried you to your bed and laid you down, his back not being able to hold you up for much longer, not if he was going to fuck you like you both needed after today. “Don’t you worry darlin’, I got you.”

Joel stood before you and began to remove the various weapons from his body, his dark intense gaze never leaving you as you began to writhe in need.

“Hurry Joel,” you whimpered, a desperation taking over now that you weren’t in his arms anymore. You felt tears gather in your eyes at just how lucky you were to be back here with him, safe and sound. You couldn’t hold back a hiccupping sob threatening to escape you.

Joel took notice and quickly hovered over you, one hand on your hip, the other palming your cheek and wiping a tear away. “You're okay now, baby. I got you.” He kissed your forehead and you could hear him inhale your scent as he did.

“Joel.” You murmured, feeling a little overwhelmed. You needed to release these emotions, and Joel was the best at giving you just what you needed, what you both needed.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Joel murmured, his own gaze tear filled meeting yours before he pressed his lips to yours for a desperate kiss. You struggled to keep up with his kisses at first but then he was scraping his teeth down your jaw and sucking on your neck.

You bucked your hips up against him, his leg slipping between yours so you could grind on him. You whimpered, needing his bare skin to be slick against yours as you once again fitted together so perfectly. 

You needed the intimacy and the vulnerability of being beneath his broad form as he fucked you deep and hard, imprinting himself within you forever.

As if Joel had read your mind, he pulled back from nuzzling between your breasts, his big strong hands grasped the collar of your shirt and ripped it down the middle in one go.

You gasped at the action, at the grimace of need on his face as he began to manhandle you in a desperate need to get you naked beneath him. You unhooked your bra as he roughly pulled down your jeans and panties in one go, snarling in annoyance when your boots hampered his mission.

As soon as you were bare Joel was back on the bed and spreading your legs up and wide so he could see your perfectly soaked little cunt fluttering needily around nothing. Fuckin’ Heaven right there, he thought to himself as he dragged his eyes up your heaving belly and chest to see you biting your lip, small hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

“Please Joel, want you naked against me,” you practically begged, pupils blown out, eyes still glistening. He knew from your reaction something had scared you, probably a moment of terror in thinking you weren’t going to make it back to him in one piece or at all. The idea of that being a very real possibility that could have happened shook him to his core and he quickly tore off his clothes, not wanting to be away from your touch for longer than necessary.

He began to kiss every scrape and bruise as he made his way up your chest. Soon his eyes were looking deep into your soft gaze, your arms and legs wrapping around him and he knew he was finally home. He brushed his nose along yours, both his hands tunnelling into your pretty hair as he gazed down at you.

“You and me, darlin’, that’s all I need. Just you, I fuckin’ love you, you drive me goddamn insane with it, you know that?” His gaze was soft but intense, his words rumbled out of his pouty lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your own hands rubbing his back soothingly before sliding up his neck and into his hair. “But I feel the same.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. You’re the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time. Just scares the hell outta me,” he nearly choked on his words before burying his face into the sexy slope of your neck, inhaling your heavenly scent. “Can’t lose you, baby.”

“I’m right here, not losing me, Joel,” you responded softly before kissing his scarred temple.

Joel slowly lowered his hips as he lifted his head to kiss you, his weeping cock covering your pussy, soaking him even further. Normally Joel would prepare you, stretch you with his thick fingers and make you come on his tongue but from the way you were mewling and moving against him he knew you both needed to become one right now. Besides, you had told him plenty of times how you liked the slight pain his cock created when it stretched your little hole open, the  girth of him too wide to fit comfortably at first.

You both angled your hips, well versed in the best way to slot together hands free. Your breath hitched when the crown of his twitching cock popped inside you.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet for me, baby girl.”

“Joel,” you whimpered against his lips before your hips pushed against him, sliding more of him within your aching heat.

He stared into your watery eyes as he gripped your hip with a bruising grasp and began to push into your tightness. He loved watching the way your mouth opened into a little ‘o’ shape and the space between your brows creased cutely in pain.

“Takin’ my cock so well, you precious little fuckin’ thing,” Joel growled as he bottomed out causing you to gasp. Your perfect cunt clenching around him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

Your breasts heaved against his chest as he let you adjust to the stretch of him for a moment. But he had little patience right now, so he soon pulled back making you whimper sweetly and he kissed into your mouth soothingly before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and held it tightly.

Pulling back from the kiss he quickly punched his hips down and forward, slamming deep inside you and causing your body to jolt from the force, his hands holding you steady. You weren’t going anywhere.

The squeak you let out was choked off when he did it again, and again. The soundtrack to your desperate love making became the wet slapping of skin on skin, the gasps of pleasure and the cries of pain as you melded together as one. Sweaty skin sliding against hardened nipples and harsh gasps were shared as he rhythmically pounded you into the mattress

“Joel, Joel, oh God Joel don’t stop!” you pleaded wide eyes staring up at his fervent expression as he gazed down at you.

“Fuck! That’s it baby, take my cock.” Joel grimaced in pleasure.

“Please, baby. Go faster!” You yelped as his hips smacked against you, his heavy balls soaked from your arousal.

He granted your plea, arching his back so he could suck on your tight nipples, hands grasping under and over your shoulders as he began to piston sharply within you, pulling you onto his thick cock.

“Yes yes yes, gonna come,” you suddenly gasped and Joel knew it was true by how your tight little pussy started fluttering around his shaft, sucking him deep.

“Come all over me, baby girl,” he whispered against your parted lips, sweat building between you as you both moved in sync, chasing that beautiful euphoria he always granted you.

You had been feeling it build within you so deeply, you knew you were about to crest that tremendous wave of pleasure you associated with Joel and how he always spoiled you rotten when you made love. It hit deep and sharp, making you arch your back and cry out against his lips as your pussy clutched so tightly to him, never wanting him to stop or leave your most vulnerable place that he always cherished.

It caught your breath as you ascended into ecstasy, all you could do was whimper against his plush lips as you came. His hips stuttered as you tightened, unable to keep up the pace at how tightly you were grasping at him. Nails scraping his back, legs spreading further, toes curling against his thick thighs.

“Good girl, baby,” he practically whimpered as you came around him. “That’s my good girl. Fuck, I love you,” Joel growled while he quickened his pace again, the ache in his lower back completely ignored. He sat up a bit, lifted your legs so they fell over the bend in his elbows before planting his hands on the bed.

You were practically folded in half, completely dazed from that intense orgasm as he manoeuvred you however he liked. You loved when he treated you like his precious little fuck doll. 

“Oh my God, baby,” you gasped, just watching as his hulking form rose above you, his dark desperate eyes dragging from your own eyes to your bouncing breasts as he started pumping his cock into you once more. The generous crown of his cock repeatedly hit that amorous spot deep inside you that only Joel could locate.

His stare was fixated on where you were joined together as he continued to thrust, slowing a little to admire it. “Sweet little pussy is creaming all over my dick, fuck!” Joel couldn’t take his eyes away from it, your abused hole flushed with arousal and soaked with your mingling desire. “God damn, baby girl. You can really take some cock, huh?”

All you could do was whimper at the vision he made above you, greedy lustful stare focused on your needy hole stretched around the wide circumference of his wet cock pumping inside you. The broad expanse of his tanned slick shoulders, the strength of his hands as they wrapped his calloused fingers around your hips, angling them perfectly. He sat up, his knees bracketing your ass and you quickly pressed your hands up behind you knowing exactly what was coming. Your heart jumped in your chest, you loved to watch him above you like this; using you, loving you so deeply and harshly.

“Gonna cum so deep inside your cunt, baby girl. Never gonna be rid of me,” Joel growled before rolling his hips into you, knowingly hitting that special place inside you that usually had you squirting all over him. 

He never forgot that moment you’d shared with one another. Only your second time together and he had given it to you so good it was probably one of his proudest moments, his ego getting a huge boost that had been well needed at the time. 

You had been so shocked and loud, you’d practically screamed at the sensation, shivering so vulnerably beneath him afterward it had stuck deep inside his chest afterward. It had pushed him to coo to you softly at your little whimpers, telling you that you were okay, that you had been so sexy and beautiful for him.

His hips were rolling and thrusting into you making you moan and stare up at him in awe. This man was all fucking yours.

“Mine, Joel. You’re mine.”

“Yeah, baby. All yours, this cock is all yours. And who does this pussy belong to, hmm?” he questioned with a smirk as he stared down into your wide eyes as his hips picked up the pace, you continuing to reciprocate his movements like a well choreographed dance.

“Yours, my pussy’s all yours. No one else's, baby.”

“Good girl,” Joel praised before leaning over  you, his pretty lips pressing into yours, widening your mouth and swiping his tongue against yours as your pussy flooded his cock and balls creating a slapping sound that made you whimper and blush.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me. Ain’t ya, sweetheart,” Joel groaned. “Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you too, now fill me up, baby. Please!” You gasped against him, your foreheads now pressed against one another, mouths sharing harsh breaths. 

You braced against the headboard with one hand while moving the other to his curly hair desperately seeking purchase as your arousal grew once more. Core warming and tightening in an impending orgasm and when he shifted your position so he could press against your clit and urethra with his fingers your stomach jumped, knowing exactly what he wanted from you.

“Oh Joel,” you whined.

“Yeah baby, drench me please,” Joel encouraged and you began to flutter around the precise pumping of his twitching cock within your sensitive walls.

It hit you suddenly, your back arched with a quick scream of pleasure and the overstimulation that you associated with squirting. Joel groaned in pleasure as you burst with feeling.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, baby! That’s it, shit I’m gonna come,” Joel gasped as you soaked him, a vision beneath him, sweat slicked tits bouncing, mouth agape in a shout of intense pleasure and eyes practically rolling into the back of your head.

Joel's hips stuttered, his balls tightening even more as he felt his pleasure travel from deep within his core, up to the swollen tip of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” Joel whimpered into your neck as he began to spurt his come deep into your womb, hips stuttering and grinding against yours with the need to stuff you full of his cum.

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered as you felt him empty himself within you. You nudged his head as he did, wanting to see his handsome face in pleasure. He lifted and looked down at you, cum still spilling, overflowing you and trickling down your ass. “That’s it, baby. Fill me up good. I want all your cum,” you whispered softly as you gazed up at him. His face was so vulnerable and needy in that moment you couldn’t help but clench around him once more.

His balls had emptied with each ejection of his cum inside you, hips finally stilling as his cock became oversensitized to the stimulation still happening.

“Easy, baby girl. Easy.” Joel chuckled as he fell against you, completely spent before kissing you so softly that your heart jumped. “You think I can go again at my age?”

“You think I can go again after that?” You giggled breathily, completely satisfied. The impending avalanche of emotions purged from you in pleasure by your lover.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.” Joel rubbed his nose against yours affectionately, a small grin on his face, eyes as soft as chocolate ice-cream.

“Then you don’t doubt yourself either.”

“I know my limits and my back is shot, darlin',” Joel grumbled in annoyance, his softly grinning face turning so grumpily pouty you couldn’t help but melt, you loved that you got to see this side of him that he unveiled to no one else but you. He really was all yours.

“Oh, poor baby,” you whispered to him before nudging him to the side so he could rest flat on the mattress, his softened dick slipping out of you with a flood of his cum which tickled your still trembling thighs. You definitely planned on giving him another back massage as soon as you both got some sleep, he had fucked you so perfectly; hard and loving. He certainly deserved it. “Rest now, we’re together and that’s all that matters.”

Joel sighed as he settled into the admittedly uncomfortable bed, but with you snuggling up against his chest he had no complaints.

“I don’t want you goin’ out there without me anymore, okay? Fuck the business, you’re more important.”

You looked up at him “As long as you don’t go out there without me either, we’re more important,” you agreed with a sigh of relief.

“Just you and me, darlin’. That’s all I need,” Joel assured you.

You snuggled deeper into his strong arms, a warm sense of safety and love blanketing your heart as his arms tightened and his lips kissed the top of your head with a mumbled, “Love you, hell-raiser.”

You kissed his chest before replying, “Love you too, big guy.”

A/N: Thank you to any of you who made it to the end of this, I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to help this little story of mine find new readers💕😘

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #clare's stories #pedroslittlelady writes #tw: mention of suicidal thoughts #tlou fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #implied age gap #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

[shima-draws]

Still going through it emotionally btw. I've seen a lot of character death in anime but it's been a WHILE since I've seen one as brutal as Ace's, especially bc of Luffy's reaction to it. Character death isn't unusual but the trauma and PTSD that comes after it isn't really shown that often so Oda actually showing Luffy going through it is. Oof. That shit HURTS bro. And the fact that Luffy's immediate reaction is to just. Self destruct. To hurt himself and risk his own life?? Like it was never explicitly said but I could see the suicidal intent there and jesus CHRIST. Just sitting there watching him refuse to accept it and then mourn and grieve was absolutely brutal;; Not to mention the fact that like. We can see him having PTSD flashbacks. It was just written very well (too well bc I'm still a goddamn mess) and I gotta commend Oda even tho he's putting me through the fucking wringer

#A character death hasn't hit me this hard since Eugeo tbh. It's been a While #Actually thinking about it yeah Kirito's reaction to that was very similar to Luffy's #And Kiri actually. Did genuinely try to kill himself bc of it. Like it wasn't even subtle #Anyway. Woof. I'm fine ahaha (lying) #Do you ever just go through it emotionally and just need to lie down for a while. That's where I'm at rn #One Piece #One Piece spoilers #Suicide tw #Self harm tw #Monkey D Luffy #Luffy #Portagas D Ace #Ace #Ask to tag #Shima speaks

[franzias-cave]

She's a total delight, she's effervescent, she's kind to animals and children, she's a master of the sword, and she does not have the intellect you’d ordinarily find in a sandwich or an orange.

#the ORIGINAL butt-touched nun #cristabel walked (committed suicide twice) so harrowhark could run (do auto-lobotomy) #one of the most characters of all time #cristabel oct #m-'s nun #tlt art #franzia's art #suicide tw #tw suicide #tw gun

[scificrows]

i like to make fun of murderbot for being all "i hate everyone, i don't care about anything or anyone, fuck off" while simultaneously caring very much about the people around it and the situations it finds itself in. i love how it "accidentally" ends up caring quite a lot about the friends it makes along the way. but i think something that i tend to forget is that murderbot actively decides to care - at least at some point in its story.

idk, as a person that struggles with depression, this paragraph from artificial condition really resonates with me. prior to all systems red, murderbot had contracts. it had routine and it had protocols. it knew what it had to do to just get by, how to perform so no one would notice it had disabled its governor module. it was deeply depressed, yes, but it was functioning (for lack of a better word). in artificial condition, murderbot's routine is gone. it cannot go on in that state of numbly going-from-contract-to-contract, putting in as little effort as possible, consuming media to cope. that option is gone because it escaped (and note that escaping the company was not an active choice, it kinda happened to it). murderbot has two options now: it can either gather all its energy; actively do something new and difficult and distressing; change something in its life and try. or it can let the numbness and the emptiness take over and stop trying. if murderbot wants to survive as a rogue secunit, it has to try. no matter how difficult that is. the wording in that paragraph really hits home for me. the way the non-caring sees an opportunity to slip in and to take over. does murderbot even care? does anything really matter? is anything really worth the hassle? wouldn't it be so much easier to just let your mind slip away a little, to go numb, to be passive, to watch media and wait for things to happen to you? wouldn't it be nice to stop thinking and struggling and feeling complicated things? to stop making an effort? you've been dealing with a lot lately and maybe it's time to just shut down. maybe you'll just take a little break. just slip deeper into this chair and start the show. time flies when you're not paying attention. trying is exhausting. who cares if you don't do the things you wanted to do, you were supposed to do. it'll be fine. let's just ignore those things for now. just let the non-caring take over. just stop thinking. you can deal with the aftermath later. just watch your shows. who cares. but murderbot cares. it decides to care. it decides to fight with all it has and i think that is so brave. and i think in the later books caring is less of an active decision for murderbot. once you start caring, it's easier to keep going than to stop; and murderbot, for all its "i'm a grumpy rogue secunit, leave me alone" behavior, knows just how important caring is. so it's not that it doesn't know what's happening; rather, it lets itself care. tl;dr: caring is not the default for murderbot, it's just the more difficult of two options. and it decides not to take the soft option. it decides to struggle. it decides to care. and so it does.

#sorry i'm rambling i'm a little depressed rn (hah) and i've been thinking about murderbot again #at least writing this got me out of the adhd/depression paralysis :) yeah this might be self-indulgent so what #the murderbot diaries #murderbot #𓄿 #i just love martha wells' writing for things like that #and i love murderbot as a character so very much #also i'm pretty sure some of this could be read in a way i did not intend #i'm not trying to say that depressed people have the option to just not be depressed #or that it's as easy as going “okay well i can either care or not care... i guess i should care! done!” #listen i know it's not like that; i know that first hand #but murderbot had just enough energy and fight in it to try and it had people in its life that cared about it and helped it #and it managed to get out of that deep dark hole #and we see it struggling with trauma etc in the later books #things are not magically better #just yeah #okay imma add #tw depression #tw suicide #(this is not about suicide though; this is about sitting on the couch while the dishes and the laundry pile up #and watching netflix because getting up and taking care of yourself and calling a friend or going outside are too difficult) #(but i can see how this might hit a little close to home if that is something someone's struggling with&better safe than sorry) #also sending lots of love to everyone who this resonates with

[11o8x4]

everyday life . when will you break the cycle

#eleven art #vent art #vent #suicide tw #scars tw #drugs tw #sh tw #original character #menhera #menhera art

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #notes from the writing raven #question #tw//depression #tw//suicidal ideation #tw//suicide #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #Cheka Kingscholar #Falena Kingscholar #Farena Kingscholar #tw//substance abuse #tw//dieting #Jamil Viper #Idia Shroud #Ruggie Bucchi #Jack Howl #Savanaclaw #tw//homophobia

[rinhaler]

In The World My Demons Cultivate

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ ghost!toji fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: angst Notes: cried so much writing this oof Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, no smut, dead character (obviously), mental heatlh struggles, suicide ideation, grief/loss, drug abuse, pet names. Words: 3k

Does it ever stop?

“No, not really,” he answers.

You look up, seeing a familiar face, a familiar scar. One that you haven’t seen for a long, long time. It makes you laugh. You’re giggling like a little girl as you look at him. And he’s looking at you, too. A missing memory that you’ve blotted out every single day for as long as you can remember.

How old were you?

How old are you?

It doesn’t matter, you suppose. In the grand scheme of things nothing really matters to you or anyone else. You don’t matter and no one else does, either. You’re just another set of lungs tarring them with filth at the end of the day.

You quit, you did.

You really tried to quit.

But it’s the only thing that makes you stop thinking about your miserable fucking life for a few hours until you pass out and have to live it all over again. Everyday is the same. How do people live like this every single day until they die?

How do people pretend they aren��t suffering when they are?

They are.

You are.

“Can you read my mind, Toji?” you laugh.

He nods. And he notes how your eyes instantly flutter closed when he places a hand on your bare shoulder. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched.

Held.

Loved.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He’s always been like that. You’ve never been able to keep a secret because he’ll get it out of you one way or another. You’ll crack under the pressure of a stare so intense it could turn mere rock to diamonds, the power of glorious green eyes over your fragile mind.

That or you’ll tell him of your own volition.

Does he really possess the power to read your mind? Is that why you love him, so unequivocally? Through all of your faults, he’s here. Through all of his, you love him, still.

You smile.

“I wish I was dead.” you grin, but his face is stoic.

“You said that out loud.” he hisses. You mewl, and it’s gentle, as he runs his fingers through messy, unwashed hair. You’re like a cat, eyes closed and purring for him as you rest your head on his thigh. “Don’t joke about dyin’, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think he’d come, no matter how hard you wished for it. You hadn’t thought he’d show up just for you. And yet, here he is, with his back pressed against your headboard and a deep rumble in his lungs with every heavy intake of exhausted breath.

Like it’s hard.

Hard to breathe or hard to be with you, you don’t know. You don’t want to know, either. He’s here, that’s all that matters now. Things feel good again, normal.

“When did you get here?” you wonder, your voice is barely above a whisper as you speak. Eyes still closed so delicately; he can see the way your eyes are trying to explore your bedroom despite them being shut. He likes that about you, that your mind can never switch off.

But he hates it, too.

He’s not alone in that.

“I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

Did you forget? Have you misremembered because you’re so fucking stoned? It’s possible, but unlikely. And still, you don’t question it. The warmth of his hand on the crown of your head, the pudgy but sturdy flesh of his thighs beneath your cheek are enough.

You don’t need answers, not now.

The blue light from your laptop flickers and blinds you as the same trailer that Netflix has been repeating for hours now continues to loop and loop. It should be driving you mad, but it isn’t. It’s inaudible to you, especially now.

A heartbeat fills your ears and ricochets between the four walls of your bedroom. The vociferous beating might deafen you if you don’t clear your mind of it, if you don’t speak you might succumb to the burden of it.

“I’ve missed you.” you whimper.

His hand freezes, tongue drying in his mouth before turning into sand he’ll surely choke on. He swallows, and it’s loud. A cartoonish gulp as he hears the sorrow in your words, a meek cry for help that you wouldn’t dare admit to. You couldn’t do that to him, not really, not right now.

“I know.” he sighs.

“I’m so…” you start, your voice fading away as you contemplate keeping your words to yourself. He isn’t the type to care, is he? He hasn’t missed you, anyway. Or at least he didn’t say it, which, to you, surmounts to the same conclusion.

You aren’t missed, not by him.

Neither of you speak, but his fingers resume soothing your scalp. He won’t say he’s missed you. He won’t tell you anything you want to hear; he isn’t like that.

Could it be that he can’t, rather than won’t? It’s trite, burrowing your head between each word and letter he’s spoken and hasn’t spoken. Searching for some double meaning in the words he chooses instead of just some meaning.

Any meaning.

What does it mean to find purpose or reason at a time like this?

It won’t help and it won’t change things. You’ve long accepted that things don’t change for the better. They change, things certainly change. But not for the better. Or maybe they do, for other people.

Not you.

Never you.

“You’re so loud.” he mutters, prompting you to roll over to face him. He looks down at you, it isn’t patronising. It’s generic, which might be worse. There’s no feeling with him, in him, from him. At least if he was patronising you he’d feel something for you.

He’s felt nothing for so long.

You wonder if he ever felt something for you.

“I didn’t say anything.” you tell him.

He does nothing except poke his index finger into your exposed temple, and for some reason, it urges you to smile for him. It’s been so long since you smiled because you wanted to, not because you were forced out of sheer obligation.

That’s why you don’t mind, or rather, prefer being home with nothing but Netflix trailers playing on continuous loop for hours and hours on end while you get so high you scare yourself stupid until you pass out.

It’s a disgusting habit that you can’t rid yourself of.

It’s your only comfort. Your only solace from how downright devastating and pathetic your wretched life truly is.

Nobody expects anything of you when you’re home alone.

“You think too loud,” he starts, the force of his pointed finger becomes deeper but soon leaves completely. Your skin feels colder, right after. Like losing an extra layer of clothing despite being in a warm enough room, you miss the feeling regardless. “You gotta stop.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again.

“I can’t help it, there’s too much to think about.” you breathe.

The thought of him disappearing into the night never to be seen again, it horrifies you, and it’s at the forefront of your mind. He’s been gone for so long now, you’re sure. He lied, though you aren’t surprised in the least. He’s always been a liar that still possess the ability to have you hanging on his every word.

If you talk, you’re scared he’ll leave. Though he can hear your thoughts, or so he claims.

Again, he’s a liar. If that were true he would have left by now. If he knew how pathetic and desperate your reeling mind sounded he’d have run off and done exactly what you’re worried about him doing.

“You’re so hurt up here, baby,” he tells you, words hushed and secretive as he strokes his thumb across your forehead like you’re precious. Like you’re brittle enough to turn to dust if he applies too much strain. “Aren’t you?”

A sob leaves your throat, and you want the world to swallow you up right then. Tears begin to pour from watery eyes and soak into the material of his trousers before you even think about answering. You do, though. Because you want to, not because he’s making you. You nod, an uncomfortable beat of sniffling silence goes by before you utter a word.

“I wasn’t j-joking.” you start, “I don’t want to be here.” your voice cracks as you speak, the notion of your words and the burden on them weigh down on you enough to make you dizzy and sickly.

He shushes you, not because he wants you to stop talking, but he wants you to stop working yourself up into a nauseated stupor.

“Why?”

“Because I miss you, Toji.” you sit upright, your temperature feels like it drops below freezing when you part from him fully. He pulls you backwards, into his arms before you’re both lying side by side. His chin rests atop your head while you play with your hair, too choked up to say another word.

He doesn’t say it back, again.

But maybe him holding you like this is his way of saying it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” he tells you. His voice is quiet as he speaks into your hair, but you hear him clear enough. You want to argue, but you can’t. The room spins and it feels like you’re floating. Everything mirrors over what feels like hours. Furniture isn’t where you remember it being and you don’t feel like you’re in the right body anymore.

Is he here with you?

You feel a squeeze.

You don’t know what’s happening, anymore.

Those hours that passed were barely a minute. His face is nuzzled into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his breath is mystifying against your skin. Every huff is like ice and you feel the way your skin clusters and rises in uneven bumps as it tries to preserve any remaining warmth lingering through your body.

“You can tell me, without telling me.” he explains, though you don’t really follow. His arms tighten around you again before releasing you slightly, slowly, enough for you to wriggle around in his hold if you choose to. You don’t. You’re completely still, digesting his words. “I’ll hear you, no matter what.”

“I don’t know what to say, Toji… I, I really don’t.”

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

Not because he told you to, no. You’d do it anyway. You do it every single day when given the opportunity to dwell. All he can do is hold you as buckle under the lofty ideals and pressurizing weight of your spoiled existence.

I miss how I felt with you. I miss how life felt worth living each day because there was so much to do with you. Nothing felt impossible, everything is impossible, now. Even small things that are simple for others, aren’t for me. Things felt new and exciting, I’m too tired of everything now. Food seemed more appetizing with you, everything tastes worse now.

Things are meant to get better, easier. People say that but I feel the same as I always have. It fluctuates, there are ebbs and flows but ultimately I’m always going to be sad. My skin feels worse and my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t want to be in it, I don’t want to be attached to the skin and bones that are meant to be mine. They aren’t. They were never meant to be mine. I’m wasting the oxygen in my lungs, I’m rotting.

Everyday is the same.

I only rot and wither.

I’m lonely and unsatisfied. Nothing makes me happy because I don’t have you. No lover will compare. No meal will stave away the starving pangs I feel in my stomach. No drink will be cold enough to quench my thirst in the beastly summers and none will be hot enough to warm my bones in the bitter winter.

I’m wholly unsatisfied.

People do great things. Not me. I don’t doubt people would miss me if I died, but I don’t really care. It’s selfish, but I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I miss you, I miss you more than I’d ever be missed. I mourn your life, a life that isn’t mine, more than I will ever mourn my own. Every breath I take feels like a theft. I’m stealing the air and lung capacity of someone greater than myself, someone worthy.

I’m worthless.

I speak sentences no one cares about, not like you do. No one will ever care about me like you do, and you don’t even miss me. I wouldn’t, either, I suppose. Any words I say, poetry I write, canvas I paint, is worthless. I am a burden in people’s eyes, my creations aren’t worth viewing, my point of view isn’t worth seeing, I’m worthless.

I am worthless, Toji.

Do you think I am? Maybe if things were different, maybe if I didn’t miss you so much, I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel burdened by a life lost and squandered that I will never be able to know the way I so desperately crave. It’s my fault, I know. I love you and I want you back but I’ve lost you forever.

What I have now, my miserable little life, is what I will have forever. A true burden, a hinderance, a stain. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. How am I expected to live a life I’m so depressed by for the sake of others. So I don’t make my family or friends sad. It’s selfish, I’m selfish, I’m finding it hard to care as each day passes.

I’d rather be with you, now.

Things don’t get better, I won’t get better.

I know my thoughts are loud, my thoughts are exhausting and it’s hard to hear or think clearly like this. But if I’m with you, it’ll stop.

I don’t want to miss you anymore.

I don’t want to be lonely anymore.

No one loves me the way I need to be loved; but I don’t know how to ask for it.

You sit bolt upright, breathless before running to the bathroom. You’re panting and your mouth feels warm and icky from the taste of swallowed tears. Though your face still shines under the bathroom light from them. You don’t have a glass, you bend over and drink water directly from the tap as you try and regain your composure.

He’s staring at you from his spot on the bed as you gasp and devour each droplet you can. It coats your tongue and bulges through your throat as you take heartier gulps than you had any business taking.

But soon enough, you’re back in his arms as you try and calm yourself down. You’re always tired, but now, after that, you’re exhausted. You wonder if he really did hear you or if he lied to you. It doesn’t matter you suppose. There’s nothing you can do to make him miss you too. There’s nothing you can do to force him back to you.

He’s gone.

For good.

“Why are you still here?” he asks you. Your eyes open, only a little, wondering if you heard him right. “If you were serious, if you weren’t joking, why?”

“… I’m scared,” you admit. “I wasn’t joking… but I am scared. And I know… I know people love me, I know people care about me. It doesn’t feel like enough, it never has and I don’t think it ever will. But… it’s something.”

“Why are you scared?” he continues.

“I— I don’t think things will get better.” you confess. “But what if… they do?”

You don’t see the way he smiles when he hears you speak. When he hears that resilience in your words. You’re hurting, you’re struggling. And still you’re here. You’re trying, your fighting. You’re hoping.

Things might not get better. But what if they do?

One day you might remember why your favourite foods are your favourite foods again. The TV shows and films you love might feel warm and familiar again. There could be someone, anyone, waiting to find you so you can share these things with them, too.

Things could change.

People might listen to your thoughts and care about them. The words you write might matter to someone. The paintings you create might be worlds people fantasize living in as they hang on their walls.

Someone might love you the way you need to be loved, without you knowing how to ask for that brand of love.

Toji misses you, he mourns you, too. But you understand, now. He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore. He doesn’t want you to keep suffering because of him. Because you miss him.

So, you’ll always miss him, there won’t be a day you won’t think about him.

But if there’s a chance, however small, that things might change, he wants you to take it.

“Goodnight, baby.” he hums. “… Princess? I’m proud. I'm proud of you.”

It warms your body to hear him say it. It’s a little embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s words, maybe it’s lip service, but you made someone proud. And you sleep peacefully with that knowledge.

Daybreaks through the window, bright and invasive enough to break you from your sleep. You fell asleep above the covers, you aren’t being held anymore. There’s no noise in your apartment, there’s no signs of life besides your own beating heart.

Maybe it was like that the whole time.

--

© 2024 rinhaler

#toji x reader #toji x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x fem!reader #female reader #dead character #tw mental illness #tw suicide ideation #tw grief #tw loss #tw death #tw drug use

[movingundertheice]

“they killed the suicidal character!”

babes, ed’s fine! you gotta finish ep 3!

#ed teach #ofmd meta #ofmd #my toxic trait is pretending I don’t understand that fandom has given the entire main character’s arc and storyline off to izzy hands #so their anger can feel more justified! #just be sad and normal about this p l e a s e I am begging yall #stop using therapy speech to justify your over reactions take 935 it’s exhausting #one izzy fan to another yall didn’t find that at all hot????? #tw suicide #the 💿🐴 #ofmd discourse

[sunlitlemonade]

so. uh. surprising thing about jason, who might be one of the most inconsistently written characters ever, is the fact that one trait about him has remained constant throughout different eras, reboots and even an elseworld. no, it's not his thighs tho that would be a very good guess.

it's his suicidal ideation. yeah.

[here's me screaming about the fact that he feels like a phantom that has outlived its purpose of haunting in detail if you're interested]

#issue numbers are in the image descriptions box for anyone who wants them #pls feel free to add this lil collection #um. do i tag other characters mentioned here orrrr #eh whatever the fuck im too sleepy for that #plus this is abt jason. so. #jason todd #tw suicidal ideation #cw suicidal ideation #suicidal ideation cw #suicidal ideation tw #just making sure nobody gets triggered #dc