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yanderecrazysie · 3 months

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Soulmate au

Except people don't give a sh*t who's their soulmate anymore when they found out loving someone without the same mark or the red string leading to their supposed other half, isn't that bad at all. And so people fell in love with the freedom of not feeling the pressure of finding their soulmate soon and loving whoever they wish without having to abandon them for someone they never met.

Imagine the yandere being the most loneliest person out there and his only hope for companionship was his soulmate, only to find out reader is one of those people who chose to defy fate and is happily in a loving relationship with someone else.

Ohmygod that's so sad but I can picture this so much with the sweeter, yet unpopular-in-their-world characters like Deku or even Tanjiro.

In this world, it's celebrated to not care about your soulmate, but to one boy, it was his only chance to have someone that loved him.

He was bullied as a child, seen as something to look down upon. Trampled under his classmates' and, later, co-workers' feet. A pitiful fool to take advantage of. He had not one friend to call his own.

But he had a soulmate mark.

It was the one thing that kept him together, kept him alive. Just knowing that there was someone out there that was perfect for him. Surely, they also looked down at their mark and hoped to meet him one day too!

Then, he finds his perfect match and he's drunk on excitement, cloud nine being too low to explain his elation. But you're pulling away, shaking your head, looking uncomfortable.

"I don't believe in all that soulmate stuff, sorry. It's better to choose. And I already chose someone else."

His heart shatters into pieces as you leave him there. Alone, like he always was.

But he picks up the shards of his heart and follows after you. Watches you. Waits for the perfect time to strike.

Your boyfriend will be out of the picture soon enough, and he'll make sure your friends follow soon after.

Once you have no one other than your soulmate, then you'll know how he feels. And then, maybe you can have the happy ending he's been waiting for.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere thoughts

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lakesbian · 10 months

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i'm incapable of not seriously analyzing silly scenarios and ideas i think if for some reason the undersiders (real) had to sleep in a cartoonishly large bed together the order to best minimize bloodshed from left to right would be aisha brian taylor rachel lisa alec. brian lisa and rachel would all want to be next to taylor but lisa would recognize that they are NOT making it out of the night alive if brian or rachel aren't next to her so she takes one for the team and lets them have the taylor spots. brian informs aisha that zero argument she's sleeping next to him but she ends up slipping out and trying to cram herself next to alec (loudly snoring and oblivious to this matter) instead by like 3 am at the latest. it doesn't work though because there's no more room on that side of the bed and brian (has been awake this entire time) immediately whisperyells at her to get her ass back over here. rachel alec and aisha are definitely the only ones who actually sleep the other 3 spend 85% of the night staring at the ceiling Thinking Things. taylor and brian world's most miserable "are you asleep" "no" sleepover conversation on the planet. other highlights include REM-sleepied alec repeatedly grabbing lisa like she's a stuffed animal and he's the world's loneliest little octopus (she's being so brave about it and also diagnosing him with 3 mental disorders in her head) and aisha rotating like a rotisserie chicken in a hurricane all night and kicking brian in the face at least twice in the process. like he blinks and she's just unconsciously migrating across the cartoonishly large bed like if a grazing herd of buffalo was a person. she ends up fucking horizontal and with All of the covers. nightmarish. good team bonding experience though mutual suffering begets closeness. not sure which one of them is the annoyingly loud sleep-talker but i think at least 60% of them are guilty of snoring

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stevewhoreington · 2 years

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HARRINGROVE WEEK [DAY I] - BILLY HARGROVE’S SWITCHBLADE

The tip of the knife sinks into the tree’s softened bark. He drags the blade through the wood, fingers curled around the handle. His grip is tight enough to draw the blood away from his knuckles, leaving them white.

Harrington has disappeared into the thick shadow of trees, but he’ll be back. His car is parked up by the clearing, waiting for his return. Behind it, Billy’s car is waiting, too.

When he comes back this way, Harrington will see the message carved into the tree. The thought has Billy’s mouth tugging up at one corner, pleased with himself.

There's a cold, biting chill on the breeze that drifts through the trees. It smells like fall; like firewood and dead leaves, and it smells like cow shit. Still, it's better than being cooped up inside the house all evening, listening to the distant hiss of cans popping open and counting down the beers until Neil's knocked out for the night.

Billy would rather be out here, twigs crunching under his feet and dry dirt caking his boots, following King Steve into the trees without the guy even knowing. It's one big happy fucking coincidence that Billy should stumble upon Harrington's parked car at the clearing of the woods.

Now, with the gentle, earthy breeze ruffling his curls, he looks at his handiwork. So far, a single, lone word is etched into the body of the tree. King. Billy stabs at the tree again, working fast and feeling the pressure of Harrington’s unpredictable return. He carves the letters that form the name of the boy who’s been giving him hell for the past several months. Harrington might argue that it's the other way around, but a few shoulder-checks on the basketball court and a few sharp words in the locker room can't compare to the torment caused by the stare of dark, almond-shaped eyes, cool and aloof.

Billy’s fingers are aching by the time the old tree reads:

KING STEVE

The letters are jagged and unpracticed; harsh and sharp, like a punch. The next best thing to socking Harrington in the nose. Billy exhales, long and slow, shakes the cold out of his hand and gets back to work. Carves and carves.

KING STEVE SUCKS C

It’s a scream that stops Billy in his tracks, hand frozen in place, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife. The blade is stuck deep into the trunk, crude statement unfinished.

The scream inspires dread but it’s the abrupt silence which follows that has Billy’s stomach dropping. For a long, awful second, it’s as though the wind stops. There’s a strange calmness; trees motionless and silent without the breeze passing through them. Billy swallows and yanks his switchblade out of the bark.

His feet move slowly, to begin with. It's a cautious walk; tentative footsteps in the dark, waiting for that unexpected drop into some fiery underworld. Billy feels like he's floating, drifting through the woods like a tormented ghost, doomed to haunt the loneliest, darkest places. Everything has slowed right down and it feels like moving through a dream.

All at once, there's a snap under the heavy sole of his boot and the wind resumes its whistling, picking up pace and shaking the leaves from the trees, and.

Billy picks up pace, too.

Picks up his feet and runs.

A second scream pierces the night and echoes around the trees. It's closer and, without quite realising it, Billy has been waiting for it; has been hoping for it, just so he'd know where to direct his feet.

He follows the sound, its lasting reverberation, and when he finds what he's looking for, he nearly drops to his knees.

The tree appears to stand alone. It looms over him, tall and proud and terrifying, and perhaps it would seem innocent enough if it wasn't for the person-sized hole at the base of its trunk. Like some kind of eldritch gateway, the hole looks to be alive. Looks to be its own living and breathing thing; throbbing with life and providing a glow that promises a secret world within its confines.

The hole beats like a heart and Billy walks towards it like some kind of somnambulist, dazed and glassy-eyed. The closer he gets, the colder the air grows. The closer he gets, the harder his heart beats against his ribcage, thumping in time with whatever is living inside the bark of the tree.

He nears the opening and stoops down low. With his free hand, Billy reaches out, tempted by the breathing lights within the wood and, before long, his fingers are plunging through a thick, glue-like substance, fighting any initial resistance until his entire hand belongs to a new world.

Flexing his fingers, Billy shakes hands with frozen air and feels utterly entranced by the whole thing; possessed by the thought of a hidden universe inside the tough rind of the unearthly giant standing in front of him.

He licks his dry lips, holds his breath, and prepares to dive in head-first.

"Fuck," Billy hisses, the word startled out of him by the sudden, strong grip of a hand that's unmistakably human.

Desperate fingers claw at Billy's knuckles, slipping and sliding because they're wet or sticky or both. Billy is dumbstruck and, for one long second, he doesn't react.

But that's all it is: a second.

A single second, and then Billy's gripping at the fingers that are gripping at his hand, fighting for some kind of meaningful purchase. It's Harrington who's stuck inside that other world and he wants out. He wants out, and Billy's the only fucker around to help.

Something inside the tree wants Harrington to stay. There's another force, trying to pull Harrington away from Billy and turning this rescue into a tug-of-war. The weight of the situation hits abruptly and harshly, and Billy's soon biting down on the handle of his switchblade to free up his other hand. Handle pinched between his teeth like the stem of a rose, Billy dives into this dangerous dance.

His palms are wrapped around Harrington's hand and around his wrist, and Billy's heaving and wrenching and jerking, his boots carving craters into the soft mud beneath his feet.

Billy fights.

Fighting is what he does, it's what he's good at, it's what he knows. He's been fighting his whole fucking life, and he doesn't stop now.

Eventually, when there's sweat pooling at his temples and he's ready to keel over backwards, something gives and an arm emerges from the hell inside the tree trunk.

An arm, a shoulder, a leg, and then Harrington's tumbling through the hole and falling back into the real world. There's a thick vine, like an umbilical cord, coiled around Harrington's ankle and keeping him tied to the cold universe within the trunk.

Billy drops one hand from around Harrington's wrist and grapples for the switchblade that's still sitting in his mouth. Damp fingers twining around the handle, Billy drops to his knees and stabs at the vine. He stabs and cuts and carves until the thing backs off, unwinds itself from around Harrington and slithers back towards its ghastly home.

There's an awful sucking sound as the hole closes up, splintered wood dancing and moving right before Billy's eyes until the tree falls dark and motionless; ordinary and harmless.

Billy's knees are deep in mud and Harrington's sprawled out on his back, gasping for air. A baseball bat lies on the ground next to him. It’s the home to a thousand rusted nails.

Their hands are still joined.

Billy stares down at him, just as breathless and just as wide-eyed, and then Harrington blinks, seems to catch up, and pants out: "Hargrove?"

Harrington gapes at Billy as though bumping into him here is far more bizarre than the pulse at the base of the tree, or the way that it had seemingly disappeared altogether, and Billy gapes right back. "What the fuck, Harrington?"

Remembers himself and drops his hand, freeing Harrington's.

"What the fuck?" He repeats. "What the fuck was that?"

His voice is demanding, but he's horrified to note the fearful edge to his words. He rises to his feet and steps around Harrington, boots pounding soil, but there's an abrupt vice-like grip around his leg, slowing him down.

"Stay away from it," Harrington snaps, and when Billy throws a glance over his shoulder and down at the ground, Harrington's pointing at him with a trembling finger, as though he's scolding a child.

For once in his life, Billy doesn't fight.

He sniffs. Runs a restless hand through his hair. Stares right at the blank canvas of the tree where a heart and soul should be, and then turns his back on it.

Harrington is still on his ass, pale-faced and all scratched up, and Billy offers out a hand for the second time tonight.

A beat, a shift in atmosphere, and then Harrington's taking Billy up on his offer and wrapping grime-slicked fingers around his hand, holding on tight.

It's a silent walk back to the clearing. Along the way, Harrington doesn't notice the tree with the carved-out words, message interrupted.

Billy doesn't notice it, either.

A shared cigarette later, they're loitering by their cars and their hands have nearly stopped their trembling, and Harrington finally breaks the silence.

"Guess I've got some things to tell you." His dark eyes are sharp, watching Billy like he’s reading him; weighing him up. Looking at him instead of through him.

"No shit," Billy responds, but it isn't dry enough. It's breathless and frightened and too telling.

Harrington digs around in his pockets and finds his keys. There's a cut above his brow and his front is smeared with dirt. "Follow behind me?"

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my writing

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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whatever you do DONT think about a doctor who au in which steve is the doctor, the loneliest man in the universe, traveling through time and space because there's no place he truly belongs to, no person he truly belongs with.

DONT think about robin as donna, going through the motions of life, pretending like she's happy, only she's really not.

DONT think about steve crashing into robin's life, totally unexpected, but also the best thing that's ever happened to her.

DONT think about the two of them gallivanting off together, going on thrilling adventures and incredible journeys, exploring time and space, saving the world a couple of times. steve finally has someone that makes him feel like he belongs somewhere, and robin is finally living her life the way she wants to, amd she's happy. they both are. best friends, the two of them, platonic soulmates.

DONT think about something happening that causes robin to take on the totality of steve's knowledge.

DONT think about robin being able to save the world, her world, by doing so — it's the only way.

DONT think about steve having no choice but to wipe robin's memory.

DONT think about robin begging him not to.

DONT think about steve, crying, telling her it's the only way to save her life.

DONT think about robin, crying, telling him her life isn't worth living if she's not with him, that he's the only person who has ever made her feel so alive.

DONT think about steve doing it anyways.

DONT think about robin not remembering any of it.

DONT think about steve dropping in on robin through the years, every so often, just to check in.

DONT think about how robin doesn't ever see him, and even if she did, she wouldn't recognize him anyways.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #platonic stobin #stobin #doctor who #GINA IF YOU SEE THIS THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT #IM STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS FROM THIS MORNING WHEN YOU BROUGHT UP DOCTOR WHO AU #also SORRY fhsksksk

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panzershrike-pretz · 4 months

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HIIIIIII PRETZ! which of your ocs would fit "the tradition" by halsey? really interested to see who...

HEY BLUUUUUU, SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG- O had to get in the mood for new music and finally inspiration struck. SO

First of all, this somg is fucking amazing?? Why did I take so long to actually listen to it??

Anyway this turned out longe than i expected so to the depts of the "read more" it goes

Going off of voice alone, I could very well see this as a voice claim for Juni- but the song doesn't fit her. It actually made me think of Emma!

I'm still working on her sheet, but in short, before Emma ended up with her current family she did have some troubles in her past; with her biological family, former relationships and life in general.

"Oh, the loneliest girl in town is bought for pennies of prize

We dress her up in lovely gowns, she's easy on the eyes

Her soul is black and it's a fact that a sneer will eat you alive

And the buyer always brings her back because all she does is cry"

Right off the bat I knew this song would fit her. Emma was born to a wealthy family around the 1900's, all of which were magic - except for her, so she always felt that loneliness. She dressed up pretty, to be shown off by her dad, but at the end of the day she was very very miserable. She felt like the main attraction of a circus whenever her dad would show her off-

She grew out of it tho, and so did her powers as they developed! (By almost burning her half brother alive by accident but oh well. Sometimes tou gotta blow up un flames at the dinner table) and then she became more confident in herself and her ideals.

"So take what you want, take what you can

Take what you please, don't give a damn

Ask for forgiveness, never permission

Take what you want, take what you can

Take what you please, don't give a damn

It's in the blood and this is tradition"

^ the last line makes me think of her magical-pureblood lineage, and how she was seen as lesser because she didn't have powers for so long.

Ok, funny thing is. Emma was a thief for much of her life after she ran away from home (away from that family). She lived in the slums of France for a couple years as she took upon herself to try and get a chance to get away from Europe (her plans were to travel to Brazil, so she could study the magical plants found there; she was on her way to be a Magical-herbologist)

... But as First World War happened she saw herself having to deal with it and her plans were cut short. She decided to enlist as a nurse ans so she did, until she found herself falling head over heals for this stupid haunted soldier man who needs a name but i'm a lazy shit :> (and they were hunted down by the Creatures of Shadows until they were found and rescued by Miss Seagull but that's besides the point)

"You can take it back, it's good as gone

Well, flesh amnesiac, this is your song

And I hope what's left will last all summer long

And they said that boys were boys, but they were wrong"

From my interpretation of this bit, I can connect it with her brief (?) relationship with The Guy (nameless bitch), as in- she was so so in love and he. Fucked Off one day,,, left my baby there to feel sad and alone again (yeah she had the other peculiar children with her but It Wasn't The Same).

She was stuck there on a Time Loop for all of about 80(?) years. 80 years of everyday being the same summer day, unable to move on from her love until the loop colapsed and they were forced to flee- and her mind came crumbling down on her because while she was stuck, he mooved the fuck on and grew old and fucking died (this bit here was inspired by MPHFPC, so yeah,,,)

Anyway she's still a thief :3 but now she gets paid to do it :3

Here is my analysis of the song + character- i'd say it fits only past Emma, as she's now over it (fucking finally-), but its still Emma nonetheless

Here, have this doodle of Emma Crying Over A Man and Ottilie being so done

Ottilie the Olorotitan is the official psychologist. She can't take it anymore-

#this is too much #i love this song a lot KSKEKWK #pretz ask #pretz oc #🥨🪶#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK BLUUUUU!!#idk if any of this makes sense but Oh Well

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aceghosts · 1 year

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what tragic horror character trope are you?

Hey Everybody! I was tagged by @purplehairsecretlair and @direwombat to take this quiz for my OCs. Thank you both for tagging me!

Tagging: @natesofrellis, @sstewyhosseini, @marivenah, @thomrainer, @hoesephseed, @strangefable, @bluemojave, @indorilnerevarine, @nuclearstorms, @arklay, @strafethesesinners, @chyrstis, @allthearchetypes, @funkypoacher, @confidentandgood, @poetikat, @clicheantagonist, @derelictheretic, @captastra, and anyone else who wants to do this!

Blue Murphy

the witch

people need to find blame wherever they can; it makes the bad things in their life feel just a touch more bearable. the witches are so often blamed for the curses others are under that no one even questions it anymore. you point to a supposed witch and everyone else prepares the stake, no matter their innocence. to be born and believed a witch is one of the worst curses of them all- you can have friends and family, but there's always a dread that someday, someone will point to you, and everyone you once trusted will throw you into the pyre. if you're here, reading this, you've probably been burned before. and i don't blame you for wanting to hide away, to really become the witch they all say you are, to curse them. but to be a witch is to brush your fingertips over the bark of a tree and watch it grow a touch stronger. keep that in mind

Rooney Shepard

the harbinger

the harbingers have been through fire. you've got the scars to show for it. some people say harbingers are jaded- scary, even, to people who don't understand that the harbinger has seen the edge of the world and survived it. but being the harbinger means you're cursed to watch younger, brighter eyes fall for the same traps you did. trying to help isn't enough for you; you know what they're getting themselves into, and you want to protect them the way no one ever protected you, so why won't they just listen? it's frustrating. it's terrifying. no one should have to live through what you did, and i hope you know that you can't protect everyone but it's damn noble of you to try. it's not your job to save the world but i hope you know you've already made a difference to everyone who has taken your words to heart.

Hunter Delaney

the vampire

it is the loneliest day of a vampire's life, the first time they look into a mirror and see their reflection missing. drinking blood sucks too, don't get me wrong, but as a vampire you had to learn to hide from the sunlight, from your family, all your friends, because you were unavoidably different now and you didn't know how to explain that to them in a way they would understand. you could get stranger's blood in bursts, but what is life when you can't know someone for longer than the night lasts? you left everything behind because it was easier than trying to tell them. i just hope you know you're not the only vampire out there, and that there exist people who will understand your situation without a word. they'll sit with you in the dark for as long as you'll need them to.

Sawyer Beaumont

the werewolf

there's something inside a werewolf that's sharp, thorns and barbs coiling up in tight knots of vine even on their best days. halfway through a conversation, you'll forget your happiness and the pain comes back in a flash. you never meant to, but the sharpness has done harm on your behalf. it's defensive. it's leftover artillery from a battle you spent so long fighting that it still doesn't feel like it's truly over, does it? you want so badly to be soft. to take the hand that you are offered instead of baring your teeth. and it might be hard to believe, but you are soft. you're the softest one out there. it'll just take a while to untangle those vines enough to know that very little is often life-or-death, and not everything touches to hurt.

Blake Maddox

the final girl

the final girl comes out the other end of trauma alive- or, they were supposed to. honestly, you're not so sure you're really alive anymore. you saw the same hurt take those you were closest to while everyone paraded your bruises as bravery, as strength, as if you're the hero. and it hurts. you're tired and you don't want to have to be brave anymore. whatever you went through, it changed so much of who you were that you're still getting used to the person you see in the mirror. you didn't have a say in any of it, but you're here now, and that's gotta count for something. you'll make it count for something. but first, you need to let yourself find rest.

#tag memes #blue murphy #I won't let fear compromise who I am #Commander Rooney Shepard #Hunter Delaney #Sawyer Beaumont #Blake Maddox #Figured I would tag a bunch of people since I haven't done one of these in a while #also no pressure to do this #oof-Blake's result is the most accurate especially since they're a final girl (gender neutral #and yeah that result kinda describes how they feel after that night #and Hunter's is accurate in an interesting way #Because after their rebirth Hunter has to cut contact with their family #partially to protect them and partially because they don't know how to tell anyone how they've change

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ofthescatteredstars · 6 months

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HC + Forgive (Orchidus)

Send Word, Get Headcanon

What does it take for someone so complicit in the misery of the world to forgive himself?

If anything, it seems to be something of a constant for Orchidus, and for his world; by his hand, the world he knows is thrown into disarray, whether his shoes sit at the base of the throne, or his boots track along the ground as he's pursued by the enemies he's made of everyone under the sun.

His sister exiled to a far corner of the world with no hope of being seen again, his one ally sequestered in a void beyond time and space, only popping in to give Orchidus information that might, just might, keep him alive a little longer in the warzone he's planted himself in. Despite appearances, despite his new lease on life, the sixteen years Orchidus had to wander were the loneliest he'd ever been - and a major factor of that is knowing peoples' reactions to finding out who he is.

It's not just his world, too - nevermind the towns and families thrown into disarray by those struggling and fighting to take advantage of the power vacuum of his making... what he thought would be a refuge in another world from the constant harm he brings upon himself turned out to be yet another echo chamber of his own guilt.

Makoto, the son of Winter, destroyer of the Graneyean legions. Maisie Doscedar, ambassador of Dewbarrow, friend to an heir Salphan never met. Both of these people accompanied him to the Void. Both of them suffered the impatience and ruthlessness of a man of the throne.

The first thing to shake Orchidus to the core with fright is knowing how much work it will take for either of them to forgive his prior indiscretions, and for jeopardising the harmony of not one, but two timelines - the question remains whether he's willing to commit.

#Orchidus;; Canon

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malcohen · 9 months

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the loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly ;

Character Name: Malcolm Cohen

Character Age: 33

Character Birthday: February 1, 1991

Gender & Pronouns: Male, He/Him

Time in Tonopah Valley: 6 months

Occupation: Bouncer at The Raven

Gang Affiliation: Sons of Silence (Prospect)

Neighborhood: Downtown

Face Claim: Paul Mescal

BASICS.

Sexuality: Bicurious

Ethnicity: White

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 5'11

Hometown: Dorchester, MA

Education: High School Degree; Completed Associates Degree in Psychology during time in prison

Languages: English

Relationship Status: Single

Children: None

STATS.

Personality Type: ENFJ-T

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good

Positive Traits: Easygoing, Empathetic, Honest, Protective, Supportive

Negative Traits: Addictive, Defensive, Paranoid, Indecisive

Mental Health: Depression, Addiction

Fears: Ended up alone forever.

FAMILY .

Father: Joshua Cohen

Mother: Marie Cohen née Doherty

Siblings: Hannah Cohen (deceased)

BACKGROUND. (tw: drug abuse, overdose)

Born in Boston to a normal middle-class family. His parents didn't make amazing money but they had all they needed never went without.

Mal struggled with depression from a young age and, in turn, started acting out. Joined a bad crowd, started experimenting with drugs, got suspended a lot. It was a cry for help but his parents, despite their best efforts, just didn't know what to do.

Didn't go to college but started bartending at a local pub and eventually got his own place in his early twenties. Parents thought this would get him to grow up but all his newfound freedom made things worse. Drug use started getting out of hand and Malcolm turned into someone his family didn't recognize. Still, they tried to be supportive.

Things came to a head in his late twenties though when his sister asked him to buy her Adderall so she could study for her law exams. He gave her a few pills from a new stash that he figured would do the trick. Unfortunately, the pills were laced and Hannah died two days later.

His parents hired a lawyer for him, but kind of used it as their last parting gift, cutting him off once and for all after his sentancing. He got a deal and plead guilty to manslaughter, serving 3 years in prison. The guilt ate at him alive, knowing it was him that should have been the one to die, but after some time, he decided he needed to turn his life around.

Malcolm has been sober for 5 years, out of prison for two. Instead of contacting his parents after his release, he thought it better to let them be. Even if they could mend things, the relationship between them could never be the same. He harbors no ill will towards them and understands that his actions were unforgivable.

Ended up moving across the country to Tonopah to start fresh. Eventually got hired at The Raven as a bouncer.

His growing friendship with Nate, his boss, quickly led to an invitation to become a prospect for the Sons. Although he was initially cautious and trying to avoid trouble, the Sons offered him a sense of belonging that he had been missing for a while.

He finds that he's the happiest he's ever been mentally since getting sober, even if his circumstances aren't so great. He even leads AA meetings from time to time when they need someone. Tries to be very in touch with his emotions and do good deeds for others whenever he can.

He's generally pretty soft spoken, but at work or otherwise he isn't afraid to get in someone's face if they're out of line. He's from Boston, he's had his fair share of tussles.

He loves being outdoors and going on long hikes.

Has an 8-year-old french bulldog named Pepper that he adopted from the local humane society after getting out of prison. He credits Pepper with keeping him sane during those first few months.

#tv.intros #my boi

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boxwinebaddie · 9 months

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UNCLE NINAAA!!!1 if… if you could assign a space object to each of the boys……. what would it be

ok hm...i am channeling *stan vc* craig fucker for this one.

one of my favorite stan and kyle symbolisms in pep is that kyle is the sun and stan is the moon despite the fact that it looks like the complete opposite.

in this essay i will...shdhsadl

like it's really a looks can be decieving thing with stan because he is south park high golden boy, literally is golden ( like ok it's kind of bronze because of how badly bleached his hair is...i need you to go to a hair salon stanniewanniebobannie u are taking years off my life ), his mom literally calls him stanshine ( i love you sharon i am on my knees ) and he is just so sunshiney-seeming and smiley and lovely.

but....dundundun....it's all fake! ( not him being lovely he's so lovely )

he really is just so introverted secretly and introspective and lonely. it is really lonely at the top. stan is surrounded by people and is still like the loneliest boy on planet earth...he's so miserable. i am so miserable.

he is just soooo moon boy coded. he feel like he admires it from his window every night and when he's really sad ( often ) just thinks about how lovely it would be to be all the way up there in the sky, how little everything looks...like a dollhouse, and what it would be like to live up there...how peaceful it would be. I WANT TO CRY! boo! stan i love u you are so loved!!!! calls her luna <3 he luvs her

he is also so your best american boy by mitski coded ( stan...actually really does like mitski, here experience as a white/japanese person and woman...deeply inspirational to him if you took stan to a mitski concert...i just know that emo boy mascara would be running down his face his voice would be raw from screamsinging those lyrics! ) LIKE YOURE THE SUN YOUVE NEVER SEEN THE NIGHT!!! WELL IM NOT TO MOON IM NOT EVEN A STAR!!! brb....crying so much! ur a star ur such a star stan please!

i actually think stan would think he is a blackhole because he thinks he fucking sucks up and ruins and destroys everything...but he is probably like the most beautiful shooting star you've ever seen. or the aurora borealis phenomenon. like stan is so aurora borealis. i have never thought about this at this length and now i'm gonna think about it forever. he's very night and kyle is very day.

speaking of kyle pile, he is soooooooo sun coded.

which is also very looks can be deceiving because he is so closed off and stoic and mean and seems just dark and solitary, but despite being anemic he is the warmest, brightest burning boy in the world.

it's so sad for me, but i think stan drinks because he feels so internally cold that doing a shot makes him feel briefly warm...and kyle just gives him that feeling. warm and happy. and so when hes not there hes really just trying to microdose how he feels around kyle which really is just him overdosing because he loves kyle so much. fucking....this ask meme is so long its important to me.

but yeah when kyle is in a room, you know he's there. hes spitting fire all over the place, hes blinding the fuck out of you, he's ordering everyone around. kyle is literally fire like...his hair is literally bright orange. like you cannot get too close to him because he will burn you alive and like purposely is scared of getting to close to stan because he thinks hes awful and will hurt him. crying crying crying.

and oh my god when he smiles its so...i think one of kyles favorite things anyone has ever said to him is like kyle was laughing one time and was like im sorry that was so ugly and stan was like no you look so beautiful when you laugh and it was...it wasnt just like u are beautiful...it was when you laugh...specifically when you are happy....these bitches are gay good for them good for them!

anyways kyle is the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. shadkahd i am kidding but hakhsa he is kind of giving me solar eclipse vibes tho. there and gone. but the most beautiful bright shiny thing you've ever seen. rare kyle smile coded. he is also giving me quasar vibes which are just like the most fiery fucking intensely crazy motherfuckers.

tadaaaaaaaaaa! thank u for coming to my ted talk!

-uncle nina, craig fucker space nasa expert and style scribe <3

#style #hc #listen......this was unhinged but i was insanely passionate about this #like this is so accurate to pepstyle to me it is insane #i always think deeply abt them when writing but like...i really fleshed out a lot in here esp abt stan drinking which ow

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orivu · 11 months

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i wish i had a simple uncomplicated wholesome relationship w my mom just like my friends

trying really hard not to feel like an entity of misery but i get an anxiety attack every single time i talk to my mom without fail

"what happens if i die? what will happen to u? did u ever think of that? what about ur future? im getting sick because of u!! im stressed out because of u!!!"

has she considered that i will just kms

she makes me want 2 apologize for existing. im sorry for being like this. im not the one who asked u to work so much abroad & im sorry i cant be the extension of ur unfulfilled dreams & im sorry for being a cringefail burnt out daughter & maybe if u spent just a small fraction of ur money in letting me get therapy i wouldve made progress instead of my brain actively rotting while she swings on a pendulum of denying im mentally ill & straight up calling me insane with so much vitriol

unironically i wish i was normal maybe then i wouldnt spend my life feeling like a broken child with the most scuffed coping mechanisms barely getting me through the day. how is it my fault that i turned out like this after so much trauma . i feel so alone i feel like the loneliest kid in the world

the bitterest thing abt getting saturated in a lot of self-help content is finally accepting that i deserve help & turning around to seek for said help & finding nobody at all

im probably a prime candidate for dementia btw i bet theres holes in my brain i bet i wouldnt live past age 30 but i hope i do . i hope i do

im in so much pain i just want to feel alive but i feel like ive been dying for the past 10 years & god just keeps reviving me

#vent

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eyelessfog · 2 years

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To Be Favoured By The World

[Last Life Lizzie is really fun to me sorryyyy ^-^]

———

And the world saw that she would need lives, and so the world gave her many. And so the world saw her gamble one away, and returned the favour back to her fourfold.

And so, in her power, she was kind, and gave a life - the most valuable gift, in a world where they are limited - and gained, in turn, the heart and hand of the Hound.

And then again, she does it - giving more, now - and trades two lives for the gift of magic. Magic to protect, or to harm, or to keep, or to be efficient. All of it, twirling in the palm of her hand.

The world watches her with a sad eye, for she has given away the gift they offered her. She was not made to last long in this world. She is not the type. Too kind, too trusting, too clumsy, too easy to distract. These characteristics are fawned upon, in other worlds, but not here. Not where the only thing to keep you alive is your own sword and your own shield, and your own eyes to watch your own back.

The world gave her what she would need, to last longer. They gave her life, after life, after life.

And she gave one away (too kind), then another two (too trusting), then to a trap (too clumsy), then to a surprise of a fight (too easy to distract).

The world watches her, and for a moment, it weeps. A single tear, for the shadow queen, then it is gone.

Just as she is.

The world shakes their head, disappointed, and decides that perhaps she is not fit for this world. Even with their careful help. They will not bring her back next time.

She stands at the end of time, watching the rest of the game unfold around her, and the world cups their hands around her.

She is favoured by the world. As it holds her close, she weeps, for being loved by Them is the loneliest thing she has felt since entering the game.

#[lore texts]#last life #last life lizzie #ldshadowlady

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zuckarr · 1 year

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How are you today? Like really, how ARE you? Whats been going on in your life?

Today I'm sad. I've been feeling sad for a while. I am disappointed in a few friends of mine, but I don't feel like talking it out with them... I keep thinking it's caused by my own feelings so why would I purposely open up and risk that my friends get hurt? I am also very sad about my family. They're all toxic, have been acting worse than ever, and I am sick of it, I wish I could just forget about them forever. My sister in particular has given me a big wound recently. I am sad for myself and I feel vulnerable and lonely. I am scared of my visa being rejected and having no future if it does. I feel neglected, too.

How I truly feel could be summarized with one word: hopeful. No matter what, I still nurture some kind of hope for things to be better. For everything I go through to have meaning. My sadness cannot ever disconnect me from my hope. I want to believe I was born to hope.

What's going on with my life? Well, I turned vegan this year and it's been a fantastic journey so far. I learned a lot of new things, it's like a whole new world unfolded by my very eyes. I've also been away from home for a few months and it's been absolute bliss. At the moment I'm anxiously waiting to get a response about my visa so I can go live in England with my partner. As for bad stuff, I lack inspiration for art and video editing. I still can't write (been struggling to get back to writing for years). I miss my dog immensely. I am currently broke and jobless.

It's going to be my loneliest Christmas. But I'm hanging in there and I'm trying my best to keep my hope alive and bright. ❤️ Thank you for asking the questions that I wish to be asked. God knows I need to talk about my feelings a bit more. Or maybe a lot more...

#personal #anon ask #diary

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confusedsoulrambles · 2 years

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Reading ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’ by Ocean Vuong (tabbed quotation - part 1)

‘I am writing because they told me to never start a sentence with because. But I wasn’t trying to make a sentence—I was trying to break free. Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.’

‘Out my window this morning, just before sunrise, a deer stood in a fog so dense and bright that the second one, not too far away, looked like the unfinished shadow of the first.’

‘You can color that in. You can call it “The History of Memory.”’

‘Every history has more than one thread, each thread a story of division.’

‘What is a country but a borderless sentence, a life?... What is a country but a life sentence?’

‘How, in my screeching delight, I forgot to say Thank you.’

‘I was having a panic attack. And you knew it. For a while you said nothing, then started to hum the melody to “Happy Birthday.” It was not my birthday but it was the only song you knew in English, and you kept going. And I listened, the phone pressed so hard to my ear that, hours later, a pink rectangle was still imprinted on my cheek.’

‘Monarchs that survived the migration passed this message down to their children. The memory of family members lost from the initial winter was woven into their genes.’

‘When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?’

‘You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.’

‘What do we mean when we say survivor? Maybe a survivor is the last one to come home, the final monarch that lands on a branch already weighted with ghosts.’

‘What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.’

‘To say possessing a heartbeat is never as simple as the heart’s task of saying yes yes yes to the body.’

‘How I fled my shitty high school to spend my days in New York lost in library stacks, reading obscure texts by dead people, most of whom never dreamed a face like mine floating over their sentences—and least of all that those sentences would save me.’

‘In the village where Lan grew up, a child, often the smallest or weakest of the flock, as I was, is named after the most despicable things: demon, ghost child, pig snout, monkey-born, buffalo head, bastard—little dog being the more tender one. Because evil spirits, roaming the land for healthy, beautiful children, would hear the name of something hideous and ghastly being called in for supper and pass over the house, sparing the child. To love something, then, is to name it after something so worthless it might be left untouched—and alive. A name, thin as air, can also be a shield. A Little Dog shield.’

‘I came to know, in those afternoons, that madness can sometimes lead to discovery, that the mind, fractured and short-wired, is not entirely wrong.’

‘“Hey.” The jowlboy leaned in, his vinegar mouth on the side of my cheek. “Don’t you ever say nothin’? Don’t you speak English?” He grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was only nine but had already mastered the dialect of damaged American fathers.’

‘Some people say history moves in a spiral, not the line we have come to expect. We travel through time in a circular trajectory, our distance increasing from an epicenter only to return again, one circle removed.’

‘The past never a fixed and dormant landscape but one that is re-seen. Whether we want to or not, we are traveling in a spiral, we are creating something new from what is gone.’

‘None of us spoke as we checked out, our words suddenly wrong everywhere, even in our mouths.’

‘No object is in a constant relationship with pleasure, wrote Barthes. For the writer, however, it is the mother tongue. But what if the mother tongue is stunted? What if that tongue is not only the symbol of a void, but is itself a void, what if the tongue is cut out? Can one take pleasure in loss without losing oneself entirely?’

‘Our mother tongue, then, is no mother at all—but an orphan... Ma, to speak in our mother tongue is to speak only partially in Vietnamese, but entirely in war.’

‘Two languages cancel each other out, suggests Barthes, beckoning a third. Sometimes our words are few and far between, or simply ghosted. In which case the hand, although limited by the borders of skin and cartilage, can be that third language that animates where the tongue falters.’

‘For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.’

‘for how can there be a private space if there is no safe space, if a boy’s name can both shield him and turn him into an animal at once?’

‘Because gunshots, lies, and oxtail—or whatever you want to call your god—should say Yes over and over, in cycles, in spirals, with no other reason but to hear itself exist. Because love, at its best, repeats itself. Shouldn’t it?’

‘You were born, the woman thinks, because no one else was coming. Because no one else is coming, she begins to hum.’

‘It’s a beautiful country, she’s been told, depending on who you are.’

‘A woman stands on the shoulder of a dirt road begging, in a tongue made obsolete by gunfire, to enter the village where her house sits, has sat for decades. It is a human story. Anyone can tell it. Can you tell? Can you tell the rain has grown heavy, its keystrokes peppering the blue shawl black?’

‘But which land? Which border that was crossed and erased, divided and rearranged?’

‘A world where there are no soldiers or Hueys and the woman is only going for a walk in the warm spring evening, where she speaks real soft to her daughter, telling her the story of a girl who ran away from her faceless youth only to name herself after a flower that opens like something torn apart.’

‘The white-haired man raises a glass and makes a toast, grins. Five other glasses are lifted to meet his, the light falls in each shot because the law says so. The shots are held by arms that belong to men who will soon cut open the macaque’s skull with a scalpel, open it like a lid on a jar. The men will take turns consuming the brain, dipped in alcohol or swallowed with cloves of garlic from a porcelain plate, all while the monkey kicks beneath them. The fishing rod cast and cast but never hitting water. The men believe the meal will rid them of impotence, that the more the monkey rages, the stronger the cure. They are doing this for the future of their genes—for the sake of sons and daughters.’

‘The brain of the macaque monkey is the closest, of any mammal, to a human’s.’

‘Macaques are capable of self-doubt and introspection, traits once thought attributable only to humans. Some species have displayed behavior indicating the use of judgment, creativity, even language. They are able to recall past images and apply them to current problem solving. In other words, macaques employ memory in order to survive.’

‘Who will be lost in the story we tell ourselves? Who will be lost in ourselves? A story, after all, is a kind of swallowing.’

‘The rain keeps on because nourishment, too, is a force.’

‘Everything good is always somewhere else’

‘We sidestep ourselves in order to move forward.’

‘1964: When commencing his mass bombing campaign in North Vietnam, General Curtis LeMay, then chief of staff of the US Air Force, said he planned on bombing the Vietnamese “back into the Stone Ages.” To destroy a people, then, is to set them back in time. The US military would end up releasing over ten thousand tons of bombs in a country no larger than the size of California—surpassing the number of bombs deployed in all of WWII combined.’

‘I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess what I mean is that sometimes I don’t know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like a sound. I touch the world not as myself but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet? Can you read me?’

‘When I first started writing, I hated myself for being so uncertain, about images, clauses, ideas, even the pen or journal I used. Everything I wrote began with maybe and perhaps and ended with I think or I believe.’

‘Sometimes we are given only two choices. While doing research, I read an article from an 1884 El Paso Daily Times, which reported that a white railroad worker was on trial for the murder of an unnamed Chinese man. The case was ultimately dismissed. The judge, Roy Bean, cited that Texas law, while prohibiting the murder of human beings, defined a human only as White, African American, or Mexican. The nameless yellow body was not considered human because it did not fit in a slot on a piece of paper. Sometimes you are erased before you are given the choice of stating who you are.’

‘What a terrible life, I think now, to have to move so fast just to stay in one place.’

#confusedsoulrambles #confusedsoulreads #bookblr #reading tabs #quotes from the pages of a well-loved book #how can words do this #feels so many feels #ocean vuong #good dog how much I love the way vuong writes #part 1 of reading on earth we are briefly gorgeous #I don't want this to be over #confusedsoulreads ocean vuong

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the-non-adorer · 2 years

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I sometimes get sad upon realization of the fact that many of my dreams have died. It goes like that - you start to actually really want something that you call a dream but then you wait for so long for this to happen and while you wait, you get bitter, frustrated, and eventually you give up on this dream. You forget how much you have once really wanted it. So you wake up one Sunday and realize that this very dream of yours is gone forever. And that is so fucking sad.

What is even more sad is that I still have this one dream that I cannot stop having and GODDAMN I wish I stopped so bad. This is the dream of being with man - this October will be the tenth anniversary of when we first met. We were the right persons that met at a wrong time. Through all of this he only had one job - to ask me out. And I also had but one job - to be more approachable. But nothing happened and we acted like perfect strangers. But I was dying inside and eventually got completely devastated with this wretched love. The hope, the love, the dream was with me through all of these years. Whenever I felt like the loneliest person on the planet - I hoped for him to love me in the end. The thought of it was actually keeping me alive. Without his love, I bet wouldn’t cling to this soulless city, empty faces, stupid degree. Not by any chance. I would set free earlier. But I felt like I couldn’t leave him.

So he eventually did. And I started to pretened that I can swim. But I was never anybody’s but him. And through all of these years, I couldn’t forget. I can’t stop thinking about him, his life and his love to me. Despite the fact that I’ve dated other guys. Despite the fact that I love the other guy that I GOT MARRIED TO. Yes, it seems that I have a place for two. Or I am lying to myself. About one thing or the other. I can’t stop thinking that there is still love behind those eyes. Like there is behind mine. You know what the worst thing is - I am still hoping for us to interact with each other anyhow and tell the truth about everyting. It’s not that I want to be with him. I want him to understand the real me.

Or maybe I’m just very very lonely in this world. And I imagined that he is my soulmate that would understand me entirely. I honestly don’t know anything. People who think that they know something about anything are lying to themselves.

#lonely #sad #depressed #wretchedlove #unrequited love #sadness #personal

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