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radio-writes · 24 days

Note

I'll go with:

"You win"

"Why should I stay?"

"And what will you do? Run from me?"

It Seems the Devil and I Walked Hand in Hand

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Forced cannibalism, gore, murder, stockholm syndrome

Tags: Alastor x reader, GN reader, yandare, reader goes insane, dead dove do not eat

MDNI

A humid breeze blew through your hair, the putrid stench of Hell carried with it. Somewhere in the distance, something—whatever it may be this time—exploded, prompting usual screams of terror.

But your heart fluttered, eyes fixated on your friend next to you. You sat side by side with them, on a random hilltop the two of you stumbled upon. It was quiet, but barely out of the chaos of the main pentagram.

"What? What is it?" They laughed as they finally called you out on your staring.

You almost swooned as their warm brown eyes met yours. "You just have the prettiest set of eyes in all of Hell, that's all."

You had been so proud of that. So happy about how smooth you were at the delivery. Giddy about the blush that crept onto your friend's face.

The same warm brown eyes—Hell's prettiest, as Alastor so kindly reminded you—stared back at you now.

Unseeing.

Without its owner's head anywhere near.

On a plate placed before you.

Your blood felt like ice as you hung your head low. Unable to think. Unable to feel. Unable to breathe, maybe, you weren't really sure anymore.

"Afraid I might have gotten carried away, dear. I was absolutely starving since you stood me up on our lunch meeting." Alastor's tone was as bright and cheerful as it always was—you could almost argue that it was even happier now. "Of course, I did save you their eyes. I knew how much you just loved them."

He continued on, sighing and swooning about this and that. How it had been a while since he had such a satisfying meal. How it was all thanks to you for leading him to it. How he can't wait to meet more of your friends—if you ever managed to make any after the show he put on for you.

But you sat still, mind unable to comprehend what actually sat in front of you. Alastor might as well have been talking from three rooms away for all you heard from him. His voice almost sounding like it came from underwater, barely able to pierce through the fog in your head.

It was only when the demon who sat across from you stabbed a fork through an eyeball on your plate, did your senses come back. Like a flipped switch, you could hear well again, in time to hear the disgusting squish of the organ, blood and fluids spilling as it was stabbed.

"Don't let it go cold now, my dear. I went through so much trouble to get them intact and still warm for you." Alastor smiled as he sat across you.

One of his elbows rested on the table, hand cradling his cheek as you met his gaze. The gleeful, cold red eyes sickened you much more than the gore he held up. He raised the fork to you. Your friend's eye at the end of it. "Say Aaah~"

You pressed your lips together. Whether to resist the cruel torture, or to keep the bile from coming out, you were unsure.

Like a stubborn child, you shook your head, arms pushing against the table to get up from your seat. Alastor was behind you in seconds, dissolving and rematerializing through shadows faster than you could blink.

"Nuh uh, dearest. We don't waste good food in this Hotel. What would the papers say if they find out we throw away such scarce resource?" He pressed his body against the back of your chair, securing you back at the table with an easy push.

He leaned over your shoulder, long arms reached around you. You stared as his clawed hands planted themselves on the table in front of you, caging you in, framing that horrid plate.

You felt his breath by your ear, that horribly familiar static prickled your skin, before you heard him speak. "You know, I'm starting to think you like how your friends taste."

You swallowed against your dry throat, eyes wide. Every breath you took was shallow as you tried to shake your head only to be met with a mocking laugh.

"No? Come now, why lie, my dear? It's only us here." Alastor leaned closer over you. The heat of his body inescapable. "This is the third friend this month. Even a child would have learned by now."

"I'm all you need, darling. Everyone else is just cattle." His voice distorted as he spoke, a threat, a promise, you knew from experience that he'd deliver on.

Faintly you could feel the weight of metal around your neck. It wasn't physically there, no. After all, it's been a while since you've given him a reason to summon that chain. But it never really ever felt absent, specially at times like this.

You sighed in resignation, and braced yourself for that familiar horrible taste. Your hands clenched into fists on your lap—a sight that delighted the demon behind you.

"You win." You said softly. Numbly, you parted your lips, mind wandering away as you let Alastor slide the fork into your slack mouth. You ignored what it was you were chewing, letting your body function through the motions as you fought to keep your thoughts else were.

You felt a large hand pat your head, bringing you back to the present in time to hear Alastor's praise. "What a good pet you make, my dear."

The plate before you was empty now, Alastor's looming figure having retreated away from your shaking one, back in his seat in front of you.

The horrible rotten taste still lingered in your mouth, but you didn't bother to ask for something to wash it away. You simply stood up, ready to run to your room and force yourself to throw up—again.

"Hm? Running from me now, are we?" Alastor's brows raised as he watched you. "Not that you can, I own you, after all."

You suspected his words were less of a reminder for you, and more on just him loving to say them.

"And why should I stay?" Your words seemed argumentative, but your tone and the hunch of your shoulders were anything but. "I've already finished my punishment."

"I would say it was more of a treat, really. You have no idea how much I wanted to eat those." He laughed, not really minding that you just stared back blankly at him.

"Besides, you've yet to pay me back for leaving me waiting at Rosie's. So come, sit." An invitation to most, an order to you.

So sat you did. You ignored the smudges of blood on the plate still in front of you. You ignored the bitter taste the that lingered in your mouth. You ignored the growing numbness spreading from your chest to the rest of your limbs.

You ignored yourself.

Mindlessly, you nodded along to whatever gossip Alastor had, almost immediately, began sharing with you.

Alastor's hold on you had tightened in the past few months. Not only had he pulled you away from the people at the hotel—you were apparently terribly ill, contagious, but fine under his care—but he had also confiscated your phone and TV.

The window in your room was also simply magicked away. He didn't want you getting any funny ideas of leaving him again, after all.

At first you were fine with it. You had a few books in your room, anyway. But after the first two weeks, you've already finished most of them.

Still, they kept you entertained for a little longer after that; you didn't really mind rereading them—for the fourth time, you think.

But then you had that fight with Alastor. You had asked for your phone back, desperate to know what was going on outside your room. Desperate to listen to your music. Desperate to hear another voice aside from your own.

Alastor merely waved off your concern. He let you keep his radio after all. You could simply listen to him. He talked about current events, and played music, and broadcasted all sorts of screams voices. You didn't need anything else.

He didn't quite take it nicely when you had spat that it wasn't enough.

In the fray that followed, your books were lost. Torn to shreds in seconds.

But no matter, you had thought. You still had some paper, a pencil, some paint. While you weren't the best artist around, you doodled the hours away, anyway. Coloring, sketching, filling out every plain, empty gap on the papers you had.

You were quickly running out of material, though. You'd repeatedly ask Alastor to get you more paper, another pencil, even an eraser, every time he came by. But all he kept saying was that he forgot to fetch some, and that he will surely do so next time.

You were always disappointed, but knew better than to start another fight. You didn't want to risk destroying what little paint you had left, after all.

You had began to doodle on your walls. Counting the little details on the wallpaper, even each and crack along your way. You had drawn everything you ever knew existed; from characters you used to liked when you were alive to a freaking sock on the floor.

The friends he made you eat.

Hastily covered with a drawing of a deer.

By his next visit, Alastor was appalled by the state of your room. He didn't quite appreciate your vandalism. He promptly snapped his fingers and the walls were replaced. Your drawings gone, the wallpaper gone, even the cracks were gone. It was now just a smooth red surface.

He had taken away the paint, not that there was much left at that point. You thought it was fair anyway, considering you did draw on the walls like an irresponsible child.

You tried cleaning too, just to keep your mind going, your body moving. But no, no, no. Alastor couldn't have his dear friend, and a valued hotel guest, doing such menial labor.

He easily cleaned the room for you, not a speck of dust left. Barely any furniture left too—he had found them tacky, apparently.

At that point all you had to look forward to were Alastor's visits. Constant, they were. He insisted he brought you your food personally, of course.

You had been suspicious about what he was feeding you, even once outright questioning what you were eating.

He had laughed. "Unless you made any new friends from this room, I can assure you, you aren't eating any sinners, my dear."

You weren't sure how much his assurance was worth, but food was one of the only two things you actually had here. You didn't feel like giving that up, too.

You hated him. Hated him for keeping you here. Hated him for ignoring all your pleas to be let out.

You hated him, but still found yourself jumping from your bed as soon as you heard the door handle rattle.

You hated him, but him coming to visit meant you had something to do.

The radio by your bed, and Alastor's frequent visits were all you had left.

The isolation was driving you insane, broken only whenever Alastor wanted to.

Alastor was driving you insane, but without him you were completely isolated.

Your sanity felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting far too fast for you to keep it together. You didn't know anymore which torture you preferred. Alastor's presence or absence?

At least, that was a few weeks back.

Because it wasn't like you needed to choose now.

Your food had been appearing on your side table every meal time, instead of coming in carried by the familiar demon.

The radio beside you had been silent for a long while now. Not one terrified scream, not one jazzy tune, not even empty static.

And of course, Alastor himself hadn't come in to see you in weeks.

You think it's been weeks, at least. He took the clock with him last time he cleaned.

No, there was no need to pick your poison anymore. Alastor had chosen for you.

At first, you had been bitter. How dare he ignore you—or did he forget about you? God, no, he wouldn't. Right? —how dare he not even check in to see if you were even still alive.

How dare he not visit.

And then, you were worried. It was one thing for him not to pop in on you, another thing entirely to miss his shows. He'd never miss an opportunity to broadcast fear over Pride Ring, but your radio had been quiet this whole time. What was keeping him, then? Was he hurt? Was he okay?

Then, and you think it was the worst of them all, you started to miss him. From the moment you woke from restless slumber, your eyes fixated on the door handle, begging it to turn. Your chest ached, praying to hear his silly staticy voice again, even if it was just senseless gossip.

You felt like screaming, begging, pounding on the door for him to visit you. But you knew he wouldn't like that. No, if the others in the hotel found out, Alastor would likely never visit you ever again.

So you kept to your bed. Your days spent glaring down at the door in desperation, switching only to the radio to do the same, for hours on end. Every little shift you made, the sheets moving under you, felt so deafeningly loud in the empty room.

It was almost maddening.

"My dear, I have a task for you." Alastor's cheery voice spoke up by your ear.

Your eyes snapped open, greeted by the sight of the demon leaning over your head.

"Nothing too difficult, just a little grocery shopping." He continued on as if he hadn't left you to rot.

You didn't care, nor did you register what his words meant. No, the first thing your body jumped to, your mind went to, was that Alastor was here.

"Al!" The glee in your voice unrestricted as you pushed your sheets away and threw your arms around him. The relief, the absolute refreshment, of feeling another warm body against you again was almost heavenly.

A soft hand patted at your shoulder as he awkwardly stayed there. "Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart." He laughed.

You sat up, eyes wide as you leaned away and took him in. Unmistakably, a very welcomed sight.

He told you about the chore he needed done, truly very simple. Just a literal grocery list. But you held onto every word, every charming staticy syllable falling from his lips as if he was preaching your religion.

You were determined to memorize it all, not just to complete the task but to simply engrave his voice in your head.

You were so thankful to finally hear something other than your creaky bed. To finally be having a conversation again. To feel human.

It hadn't even click for you that you will finally be heading out.

You were quick in getting the task done, determined to get back to Alastor as fast as you could.

You hadn't notice how your skin thawed in the outside heat compared to the icy room you've been locked in. You hadn't paid mind to everyone's greetings around you. You didn't care for all the flashing lights, and tasty smells, and loud music and laughter and screams around you as finished you little assignment.

You wanted to get things done so you could be by the familiar demon again. His presence almost felt like a drug you've been deprived off for so long, that it physically irked you to be away.

And that's how it was from then on.

You were given a new room at the hotel. Alastor had replaced all the books he destroyed because he just felt so guilty. He had also finally remembered to buy you all those papers and art supplies you asked him to get you. And he had even returned your phone and television to you.

Not that you cared for any of those. You've spent most of your time in Alastor's room anyway, unable to stand a second without hearing his voice.

You'd cling onto every word he'd say, attentive, obsessed.

Your eye would twitch every time he'd mention someone, anyone. Part of you irritated that he had spent time with someone else other than you. Even more so that he cared enough to remember their name. To say their name.

Soon you not only clung onto his words, but onto him as well. Unable to stand that others spent time with him when you could not. You'd miss meals, miss sleep, drop whatever you were doing to follow him wherever he went. To stay by Alastor's side.

When he forbade you from doing so, you would follow in secret, or have your own little ways to spy on him. To know what he was doing.

The few times you were away from your owner's side, you could be found standing over a dead sinner. Maybe someone who touched him, maybe someone he mentioned, maybe someone who simply glanced at him for far too long for your liking. Regardless, they were all equally deserving of death in your eyes. How dare they.

Alastor knew of these, of course. And while he was quickly growing suffocated by your constant overbearing presence, he hadn't really bothered to say much.

He still preferred this—this grotesque reflection of his own affections for you—over your defiant little attitude before.

His last straw, however, was now. When you stood over yet another sinner. The light gone from their eyes as you still, repeatedly, shot at their corpse.

The green chain appeared in his clenched fist for the first time in a long while. The collar snapped shut around your neck, but you hadn't even noticed until he gave it a harsh yank.

You were pulled to the side, stumbling over the body by your feet. You looked up, confused, to see Alastor snarling down at you.

"I needed him alive, dear." He said, his annoyance barely kept under control.

"He touched you." You merely replied, as if it was the worst offense, worst sin, in Hell.

"Because we were making a deal, you stupid pest!" Alastor hissed through his teeth, but you merely blinked at him as if you didn't see his point still.

You stood up straighter, keeping your eyes on him. Always on him.

He was so beautiful, so perfect. Everything you needed.

Why had you ever wanted to find anyone more?

"But he still held your hand."

"I'll touch who I want to touch. Do not forget who holds the leash here." His eyes narrowed, chain pulling taught between you.

You smiled at him, loving the way his voice sounded when he was getting angry. It rarely happened now considering how good you were for him, but oh, did it sound like music to you.

Your hands lifted to softly run your hands through the chain by your neck. "You do, of course. I don't question that."

"I need you, Al." You added, soft, almost loving expression on your face as your adored his furious red eyes. "And while I can't force you to stay with me, alone. I can simply just get rid of everyone else. I can be your only one, if I'm the only one left."

"So you've finally flew off the handle, dearest?" His question seemed genuine, not at all in jest.

But you laughed anyway, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "And what if I have?" You grinned at him. "What will you do? Run from me?"

Your fingers gripped the chain suddenly, yanking yourself forward, closer to him. You feel his pull against the chain as well, not to bring you close but simply to keep hold of it. To keep hold of his control over you.

Your eyes lowered, admiring him from up close now. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was new, and you couldn't wait to see more new things from him now that you're so devastatingly devoted to him.

"You own me, remember? I'm here forever."

#tw: forced cannibalism #tw: murder #tw: stockholm syndrome #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #vien writes #follower event #I told myself I'd keep these ones short and simple #but i do not have much self control #also i am fixated on Alastor's cannibalism right now if you couldn't tell

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huicitawrites · 7 months

Text

Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Yandere! Trueform! Sukuna x Priestess! Reader

tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel

warnings: yandere (“slow-burn), violence

Part 0- prologue | Next part

The Jujutsu world is an unforgiving one. While there are folk that are spared of witnessing the true colors of this world, others have the innate talent to see ‘curses’ and manifest ‘cursed energy’.

These people are called ‘shamans’, and they fight curses.

Curses are horrid creatures, born of the negative emotions and the selfish nature of human beings. Some are mindless living creatures, others have the capability to reason and feel just as humans- which makes them all the more dangerous. However, both are driven by bloodlust and a desire to massacre and devour human beings.

Shamans make their day to day by slaying curses in an endless cycle of battle. As long as humans exist, shamans and curses are born to clash.

The Jujutsu world is a complex one. A society of the ‘blessed’ , or better said the ‘cursed’, woven with solid hierarchies and questionable alliances. There is pride and honor, yet dignity is often casted aside. What began as a quest to rid humanity of the plague of curses ended in a survival of the fittest, only a few remain loyal to the initial values of shamans.

The Jujutsu society is composed of many clans and talented individuals. Of course, there are those whose names and families stand out. In fact, there used to be four Great Jujutsu Clans.

The Gojo clan.

The Zenin clan.

The Kamo clan.

and the [L/n] clan.

There used to be. The fourth family has been scraped off the list, none other than by the most infamous and feared name in the Jujutsu World– Ryomen Sukuna.

A powerful sorcerer turned curse user and finally reborn as a curse, a traitor to humanity and a menace to curses alike, Ryomen Sukuna is rightfully feared.

A remorseless fiend with a cunning, dark mind and insatiable bloodlust. Unmatched and unrivaled, even by the now smaller elite of families of sorcerers. Any sorcerers that dare try to exorcize him end up purged in their own pool of blood, flesh and organs. Your family, of all people, would unfortunately know best.

He is the one and only King of Curses, a title he earned of his own murderous deeds, overwhelming cursed energy and exceptional cursed technique and prowess.

As he is feared, he is respected, revered even.

Sacrifices, prayers and offerings have been made in his name, heads bowed before him - a sight he enjoys as they babble their mouths and beg him not to end their miserable and pathetic, insignificant lives. Save for the mad and the strayed, no one worships him true of heart, but Ryomen Sukuna minds not.

Yet tales tell of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine. A beautiful young woman that carries herself with apparent grace and diligence, but at her core she is wicked and hellish- loyal in heart and truth to the Cursed King.

You, however, knew better- after all, your heart is your own. Only you would ever know the torture and suffering of being the Priestess of the Malevolent Shrine.

A/n: Here begins a yandere sukuna series I wanted to publish for a long time, enjoy!

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere blog #yandere writing #yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere jjk #fem reader

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ivorysyrniki · 11 months

Text

chapter one: a chance encounter (venti)

pairing: venti/reader

title: Everything I Know About Love

summary: The Archon War has ended, your contract with the Lord of Geo fulfilled, so where shall you go now? You think going to Mondstadt to have a taste of their specialty, Dandelion Wine, serves as a good farewell to Teyvat now that you have no purpose to be here. All plans seemingly change as this bard clad in green manages to entice you to submit to his whims.

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, love confessions

notes: biweekly updates. also posted on ao3. fridays.

parts: chapter one - chapter two

In a clearing in the yellow-green plains of Liyue wanders a lonesome Adeptus. This Adeptus is you, walking away from Liyue Harbor and all its troublesome matters–including your fulfilled contract with the Lord of Geo, the currently seated Geo Archon. The Archon War had already finished its assault on Teyvat a fortnight ago, and the seven divine seats of Celestia taken, forming The Seven.

'How foolish,' you think as you stop your trek, your foot nudging gently at the plants that surrounded the clearing. It is a pleasant clearing to take a break in, for it is–as you put it to the best of your muddled mind to decide what it is–secluded, quiet, isolated, yet brimming with new life from the wounds that it suffered from during a long dreadful war of Gods and creatures from both Teyvat and other parts. It serves as a reminder that perhaps even those hit by the strife of life may continue to live and breathe again. While you believe they can never be themselves again compared to what they were prior to the war, a brand new start may indicate that this life was perhaps even better.

‘Maybe Teyvat would be better off under The Seven’s divine rule,’ you muse, setting down your worn bag on the sharp grass. A long sigh escapes your mouth as you try to focus on your surroundings, but to no avail–your mind is simply too distracted, your body worn from past battles. The fact that it may never truly heal upsets you, with Cloud Retainer’s voice ringing inside your head. The voices that ring in your head are not the tormentors–it was the words.

Another sigh.

Then another.

Until you fall asleep.

You open your eyes after a few hours and slowly realize the deathly silence the world engulfs you in. Stars are beginning to appear on the blanket of the false sky, clouds shielding them from the horrid appearance of Teyvat’s landscape, and the Moon looks as if it is hiding from everything as well, peaking only momentarily from the heavy clouds.

It is going to rain soon.

And it is time to go. You pick up your belongings, organize them in a suspended fashion in the worn bag to not experience any material loss, and set out on your journey once again to Mondstadt, where you can have a taste of their Dandelion Wine, and forget the ailments that plague your mind and body all at once, all based from the suggestion of Ganyu. It is constant torture, how the Archon War fashioned by Celestia themselves injured even the depths of your soul. You are tired. You want to rest and be done with this world, despite your curiosity of life pronounced anew because of the victorious, The Seven.

You walk again, the sun hiding behind Liyue’s proud and tall mountains of old. The wind caresses your face and hair as it moves clouds away from the ransacked Guili plains, and onto the West, where Minlin’s peaking mountains stand, eyeing mortals who dare to gaze upon them. A little disoriented from the nap, you rub your hands, blowing onto them gently. Until something catches the corner of your eye. An untrained eye would have merely dismissed it as some speck of dust that just happened to be too shiny under the lonesome clouds up in the sky.

It makes a noise.

A noise!

You jump back slightly, fully eyeing the ‘speck of dust’ your eyes feed your mind. Kneeling, you hear the sing-song whispers of winds caressing the leaves of trees and the soft twinkling of birdsong. A little hooded figure comes out from the thick leaves of a Liyue plant, shuffling from common sweet flowers that emit a scent so sweet you would think they were truly blessed by The Seven.

You stumble on your backside, feet feeling the pressure of your body; your mind becoming even more disoriented. Surely, you are hallucinating for you are certainly not seeing a wisp. It must just be magical dust. But no, indeed it was a wisp, those who were born from the branches of time, possibly Istaroth’s rumored offspring.

Can wisps talk? You have never encountered one before. Hasn’t the Lord of Geo told you that the neighboring nation of Mondstadt is ruled by a wisp who takes on the form of a bard? What if this was the Anemo Archon himself?

It shows its thoughts about the situation by hiding once again behind the dark green leaves and neighboring sweet flowers.

“Wait, sorry!” you scramble to your feet, startling yourself with the loudness of your voice, before lowering your tone to a less frightened one, “Please come back, I didn’t mean it!”

It peeks, releasing a sweet sound before gliding towards you and pushing you back on your backside. It is a soft landing, so you are not hurt, only releasing a soft sound from your mouth. It nods and stomps slightly on your shoulder as if telling you to stay there. It glides once again before landing on the floor.

It was a blur, your mind barely making out the overwhelming light coming from the ground, the howling wind surprising birds, foxes, boars–running away from the scene. Quiet sounds of a harp ring in your ears pleasantly, almost rocking you to a peaceful slumber. Flakes of translucent geometric shapes appear, and within the blink of an eye–a young boy clad in green and brown appears.

“Terribly sorry for not having the most flamboyant entrance for a beautiful maiden such as yourself!” the young boy smiles at you, almost cheekily, his eyes twinkling and his throat hoarse as if he has not spoken for a long time. “Can you give me another chance, young lady?”

“Eh?!”

“Oh. . . I apologize, fair maiden, for it appears I have startled you to the point of no words!” he pulls something out from behind him, a lyre appearing out from the wind. He strums it, forming a beautiful melody that eases your internal and external wounds, and slows your breath, and if not for his next confirmation, you would have to consider him as some sort of wolf in sheep’s clothing who intends to entice you to follow his every command, whether it brings you danger or not.

“Your eyes do not deceive you, it is I, the Anemo Archon!”

#eikal-venti #everythingiknowaboutloveventi #genshinimpact #genshin imagines #genshin venti #venti #genshin impact #fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #a03 #series #slowburn #eventual smut #venti x reader #reader #self insert #gender neutral #gender neutral mc #venti/reader

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organised-kitty · 9 months

Text

Tag 20-28 | 18/100 hours | 28/08/23

So basically this week I barely studied German, I only did like 2 hours in the entire week and I felt like a total failure to be honest. After careful analysis I realised I needed to re organize my goals, my plan, my study techniques and my mindset so I can make this work out the best possible. At this moment I’m in a stage where I feel like nothing works to help me get back on track but I need to see this as a period of experimentation to help me push forward. So this is my take on how to deal with failure and slumps in progress. (Inspired by selfcare-journey)

⭐️ Identify what’s not working

Personally, what’s keeping me from doing my tasks is the fact that I’m always feeling tired and I have frequent migraines; I have been sleeping less than 6 hours a day because of university and yet I haven’t done as much progress because I’m so tired, I can’t focus and therefore I worked very slowly which left me feeling lazier, very frustrated and unmotivated.

⭐️ Prioritizing health and self care

I think we have all been consumed at some point by the idea of toxic productivity where the one who works the most and sleeps the least is the best one, but ultimately enjoying learning and having quality study time will only be possible if we’re physically and mentally sane.

I feel hesitant to redefine my work hours because I feel guilty when I think of studying less, I’m scared of not meeting deadlines, but I already know that this toxic cycle isn’t working for me so I have to accept that it’s okay if I can’t study 8 hours straight, if I need more breaks than other people and it’s okay if I work slow, if I don’t grasp things quickly, it’s okay to fall behind..because I’m in the process of rewiring how I study and taking my time is better than not doing anything and giving up.

⭐️ Managing energy levels

Along with my horrid sleeping schedule this energy slump is also the result of me not eating throughout the day and then having a huge unhealthy meals later in the day, and it’s really affecting my energy levels. So I need to start keeping hydrated, doing light exercise, eating healthier and more regular meals along with having better sleep hygiene because honestly I feel half dead. I also need to go to a medical check up to figure out what’s the cause of my migraines.

⭐️ Dealing with procrastination

I think lately I really struggle with a sense of discomfort when I study because lately I associate studying with failure and frustration. So I think breaking my task into smaller bits might make it less overwhelming. When I was in therapy I learnt a lot about how to deal with intrusive thoughts and emotions so I will put some of those techniques into practice. I also want to work on self compassion and embracing the idea that even a little progress is a step closer to my goal, I think celebrating those small wins can create a positive cycle of motivation.

⭐️ Improving focus

For this aspect I will go back to the ultra short Pomodoro method. (10-15 min with 2 min break) Force myself to work for a small period of time and give myself a tiny break. It’s a pretty basic technique but the idea of this is to experiment and see how well it works for me, identify for how long I can work until things start to become difficult. I think the best breaks are those that keep you away from your phone, because 5 minutes of social media is a recipe for disaster. So I will try to do things like grab some water, stretch a bit, breathing exercises, clean my bag, walk around the room a bit, doodling, have a snack, so that I keep active but refreshed. I think being in a productive environment like a library or a cafeteria could also help to keep focused.

⭐️ Enjoying learning

Now that I’m coming across more difficult content I tend to get unmotivated, so I think the best strategy is try seeing it like a game, where I don’t focus on the learning outcome but rather focus on the process of understanding, problem solving and overcoming new challenges, perhaps that will make the journey more rewarding.

Reminding one self of why I started and connecting the connecting the content to my interests and real world applications could be really useful in boosting my curiosity and motivation as well.

⭐️ Active learning

My study sessions have turned into something very passive, just doing exercises and checking flashcards has become very boring. I think I need to re-incorporate more active learning techniques like writing in a journal in my target language and talking to native friends more.

Additionally I think I need to readjust my schedule and re organize myself so I can include these changes, track them and check for feedback, but this post is already long enough so I will make a separate one.

#studyblr #studyspo #study motivation #organization #studying motivation #studying #study tips #100 days of productivity #langblr #language learning #deutsch lernen #German #Germany #100 hours of german #deutsch langblr #light acamedia #mental health #executive dysfunction

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authorgirl0131 · 10 months

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So very severely tempted to make something like an "is-the-x-video-cute" blog, except it would be "is-the-autism-blog-ethical." It would look at autism mommy blogs and see if they are ethical or unethical with the following criteria

Are they following or endorsing an bad autism organization (Autism Speaks, National Autistic Society, SPARK, TACA, etc)

Are they following a pro-ABA, TEACHH, or floortime account? Are they endorsing these therapies?

Are they following an "autism school" that does either of the above?

Does their child have a say in this (as a rule of thumb, children younger than thirteen are not old enough to be put on the internet like this)

Do they use dogwhistle terms like "overcoming autism"

Are they listing outdated or incorrect information

Are they filming and posting their child in meltdowns or panic attacks

Are there any other concerns

It would include my survey of one hundred autism organizations, as well as providing the correct information and recommending good autism organizations.

Why do I want to do this? Because I just spent four hours in the autism tags on Instagram and oh my gods, guys, they are horrid and people need to know not to support these people.

#very very seriously considering doing this #i just don't know if i'd be able to keep up with maintaining it #if anyone wants to be my business partner #feel free to say so #shut up aaron #autism #actually autistic #ableism #ableism tw

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yukirayu · 11 months

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Compare and Contrast: Koujaku and Towa

Full disclaimer: despite the tag I used (which is just for traceability purposes), this post is less of a meta and more of a character comparison post, to show how Slow Damage really took pages out of the previous N+C games.

And this post is about these two.

It’s easy to miss, but Koujaku and Towa are a lot more alike than they seem. It's easy to see where they're similar and where they're different, but there's still a lot of things that you can draw between them. Even with what I’ll point out here, I’m sure I have yet to cover the entirety of it by the end. With that...

To start with the easiest points of comparison, both of them have their hair covering their right eye. Koujaku’s concealed eye is still functional, though he wants to hide the tattoo on that side of his face. Towa lost his right eye in a shoot-out, and while it’s covered by a patch, the hair also keeps the injury from being in full view.

They also have a large scar on their face, specifically across the bridge of their nose. Though it’s never revealed how they got those scars, it’s easy to infer that Koujaku got his scar during his time in the yakuza, and Towa got his scar from either one of his models, or a beatdown, or something else.

They also share the same color motif of red.

Koujaku wears red on his person, from his hairpin to his kimono. Even his eyes are red. And in his transformation in his bad ending, his hair color and the sclera of his eyes turn red, with his tattoos shifting into bright crimson patterns.

Towa is clad in black from head to toe, but red is confirmed to be the color of his aura (or what’s called his “Smoke”), even though he can’t see it, which foreshadows how his connection to his mother is a lot more complicated than the simple concept of blood ties.

Both are also the bastard sons of a yakuza leader, although Koujaku was chosen to take over his father's organization because the man's legal wife couldn't bear any children. While Towa was a member of his father's organization, he was never chosen as his heir. At most, he was just left some inheritance money.

There’s also how both committed matricide, even if accidentally.

The main difference is that Koujaku dearly loved his mother, who also cared for him as best she could. Sadly, their ties to the yakuza brought them a lot of suffering, with Koujaku’s father abusing his mother very often.

And as part of the obligation forced upon him, Koujaku was tattooed… except that he had the bad luck of being assigned a tattoo artist who just so happened to be collaborating with Toue in his experiments involving mind control.

Shortly after the inking was complete, both Koujaku's physical agony and his emotional distress about his situation soon caused the tattoos to take over his mind, resulting in a massacre that left no survivors, not even his mother.

Towa barely knew his father, but his mother put him through the wringer, and then some. She was malevolent enough to kill the only one who befriended Towa, and she even tried to kill Towa later on, even if it backfired on her big time. While she more than deserved to die, her death was ultimately an accident.

Both were haunted by their mother’s deaths. Koujaku kept his horrid memories with him throughout the years, whereas Towa’s mind repressed all memories of his childhood as a means to cope.

But whether they remember or not, the event damaged their emotional and mental well-being, and there are the marks on their bodies to prove it.

Koujaku sees his tattoos as a shameful curse. It’s not hard to see why he regards them as such, given what it could do to him when anger - an emotion that he’s proven to be unable to fully keep in check - gets the better of his thoughts and actions.

It’s a permanent reminder of what was done to him, and what he had done under its influence. Even in Re:Connect, it’s shown that it’ll take a very long time for him to truly make peace with the etches of ink on his body, even after he got his revenge on Ryuuhou, even after visiting his mother’s grave after so long.

Towa’s scars are also a reminder of anyone who had hurt him to satiate their perverse desires. Even the ones that he inflicted on himself are connected to that. So he would have every right to detest them, since it would always remind him of that dreaded chapter of his life - much like how Fujieda detests his own scars since it reminds him of his parents’ mistreatment.

However, Towa chooses not to. Even when he remembers why he has those cuts all over his body, while he’s not so fascinated with them now, he doesn’t wish to regard them with shame because he refuses to give his mother’s damned soul even that bit of satisfaction.

And then, there is how the trauma affected how they lived for years up until the present. Koujaku sought to kill himself for what he had done, but couldn’t bring himself to due to the memory of the one other person he deeply cherished who is still alive.

So he returns to Midorijima, still hiding his wounds and his internal conflict, but hoping that being with his other most treasured person would make the pain of living still worth it. And one of his theme songs, “By My Side”, speaks about how he feels being around Aoba is enough even if his love remains unrequited.

Meanwhile, Towa ended up listlessly drifting through life while engaging in degenerate behavior and harmful habits to keep himself emotionally numb and to subconsciously regain control out of the countless times he was helplessly subjected to harm.

While he has the company of people who care for him and who he (subconsciously) cares for in turn, his scars run way too deep that even years later, he responds to almost everything and everyone with only apathy. While he can feel emotion, his mind believes the opposite, as yet another way to cope.

And then... there's their bad endings. In almost every bad ending, Aoba and his love interest are trapped in the hellscape of their minds in some way. Koujaku's bad ending gets that extra cherry on top by having him and Aoba reach out to each other from the abysses of their minds.

This sounds eerily similar to Towa's fate in Fujieda's bad ending, right? From his mind breaking and his personality transforming into his monster of a mother's.

And that brief, tragic moment of clarity.

As for the good endings, yet another easy point of comparison is the little fact that both have a good ending CG where they and their beloved are surrounded by cherry blossom petals. To add, there's plenty of symbolism behind those flowers that applies for both pairings. (I made a meta explaining TakuTowa’s side, though sadly, it seems Tumblr failed to include it in the tag search.)

Though the sad thing is that as a love interest, Koujaku can only find his closure if he’s the one who ends up with Aoba. As the protagonist, Towa is bound to find happiness or contentment with someone no matter what, even in the other endings where his past remains a mystery to himself.

#dramatical murder #slow damage #fen writes meta

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alastairstom · 5 months

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"'For the first time in my life, I have my own home,' Alastair said. 'To decorate as I have always wished.' 'Well, I am here as well,' Thomas said, 'but, as I also quite enjoy Christmas, I see your point. We must bring the holly-jolly cheer in here.' 'Perhaps not too holly-jolly. Too much Christmas is surely bad for the constitution. Like cake, or plum pudding.' Alastair put a sage finger in the air. 'If you consume too much of the good thing, its sweetness sits like a horrid lump in your stomach and makes you feel horribly ill.' 'Well, I say ‘bring on the tinsel.’ Thomas pumped a fist in the air before him." Or, the one where Thomas and Alastair decorate their home for Christmas. (And then, of course, have a party to show it off.)

Chapter 2 is also already written and will go up tomorrow!

Eyyy @emmalovesfitzloved, it's your last prompt! I'd been planning to do this anyway - you weren't the one who initially gave me the idea - but I do think you should be credited and tagged for having thought of it, too.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @staywildefairchild @sourlemons262 @belle-keys @coriia @drunkonimagination @alastaircarstairsismybff @vwritesaus @claritywithclary @luciehercndale @what-ho-christopher-put-in @life-through-the-eyes-of @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @bluewrite @lulusofis @oursoulstheyplay @tessherongraystairs @athearaej @faithfromanewperspective @vwritesaus

#thomastair #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #my fic #holiday fic

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freetobeeyouandme · 7 months

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Wrap My Teeth Around the World

Tags: Rated M, Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings, Bylerween 2023, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Possessed!Will, Demonic Possession, Corpses, Blood and Injury, mentions of cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, More or less anyway. It's not too graphic I think but well a demon is running loose in thise one

Words: 4k

Summary:

“You’re a fucking prude,” is all Dustin has to say. “Do you have an idea where he went?” Lucas asks. Mike pauses with the upturned container of flour in his hand, spilling the rest of it onto the floor. He surveys the scene around him, toeing the piles of rice and sugar mixing with the flour on the ground and opening the fridge he’d already closed again, its once organized insides ripped apart like the insides of a deer ravaged by a wolf. There is no Gone to get groceries written on the notepad by the fridge or Out on a killing spree, back later smeared on the hallway mirror in blood. He sighs. “No. He turned over the entire kitchen and then just left. I heard the front door close but I wasn’t quick enough to see where he ran. The bastard’s fast.” - Or, Bylerween Day 3: Demons, Devils & Exorcisms

read on Ao3 or below; see whole collection

A/N:

For today's prompt I picked "Demons, Devils & Exorcisms" and well, if you can recognize what inspired this one you probably deserve financial compensation. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and also sorry @ Benny Hammond, you're just unfortunately so damn killable. CW: Blood, Corpses, mentions of Cannibalism and also a bit of Violence

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“What do you mean he escaped?” Lucas yells at him over the radio, and Mike supposes he almost deserves that.

He’s only half at fault, but still.

“I don’t know!” he all but yells back. Even if he’s partially at fault, he’s not going to admit that to Lucas. “I went to the bathroom and when I came back he was gone! What was I supposed to do?”

“Not go to the bathroom,” Lucas replies.

Lucas’ line goes silent and Dustin’s crackles on. “Dude, you could have just used a bottle!”

“I could not! And besides, I don’t wanna piss or shit in front of my possessed best friend, okay? I thought he was secure. We tied him up!” “You’re a fucking prude,” is all Dustin has to say.

“Do you have an idea where he went?” Lucas asks.

Mike pauses with the upturned container of flour in his hand, spilling the rest of it onto the floor. He surveys the scene around him, toeing the piles of rice and sugar mixing with the flour on the ground and opening the fridge he’d already closed again, its once organized insides ripped apart like the insides of a deer ravaged by a wolf. There is no Gone to get groceries written on the notepad by the fridge or Out on a killing spree, back later smeared on the hallway mirror in blood.

He sighs. “No. He turned over the entire kitchen and then just left. I heard the front door close, but I wasn’t quick enough to see where he ran. The bastard’s fast.”

He wants to curl up and cry because the whole realizing Will wasn’t the same when he showed up for their game and then having to tie him up was more than he thinks he can handle already. He doesn’t want to go looking for the demon inside of his best friend, and he doesn’t want to figure out how to get it out of him either. He wants to forget about the horrid things the demon had said as they secured it, in this sweet voice that was almost like Will’s but so unlike him at the same time. And most of all he just wants his best friend back.

But there is no one to go and ask for help. Their parents would tell them they’re crazy, and Mike’s pretty sure even a man as open-minded as their former science teacher, Mr. Clarke, would have some concerns and reservations. So it’s on the three of them to save Will.

If only the demon had stated some goals as they confronted it, instead of giggling to itself over nothing and insulting them.

“Maybe it was looking for something to eat?” Lucas suggests.

Dustin scoffs. “Why would a demon need to eat?” “I don’t know. But if it ransacked the kitchen maybe it was hungry?”

Mike tosses the radio onto the kitchen island, deciding that Lucas and Dustin can just bicker this out between them. It had been their job to find information on possession at the library, they could figure out what the demon wants. His job had only been to keep an eye on the-thing-that-was-not-Will and failing that he now has a kitchen to clean. Otherwise his mother will kill him when she comes home.

She might just do so anyway, because even cleaned the damage will be noticeable. He’ll need to buy replacements for everything at the Big Buy and his bike won’t fit that many groceries, not to mention he doesn’t have time for several shopping trips and dumping his trash in the big container out behind Benny’s-

The radio almost falls into the trash in his scramble for it. “Benny’s!” he yells, interrupting Lucas mid sentence.

The line goes dead for a second as the boys wait for one another to say something. Finally Lucas prompts: “Repeat that. Over.”

“Benny’s” Mike says. “Any restaurant downtown would draw too much attention, but if he was looking for something to eat-”

“Benny’s,” Dustin says, cutting him off.

Mike drops the bag of trash and hurries downstairs to get the rope and his flashlight. His mother’s welcome to do whatever she wants if he isn’t murdered by a vengeful demon before she can get her hands on him.

“I’m heading over now,” Mike says. “Meet you there.”

He clips his radio to his backpack, picks up his bike where he’d dropped it yesterday, and then he’s off. Lucas and Dustin briefly let him know they’re on the way and then the line goes quiet.

The run down shack that is Benny’s Burgers sits on the outskirts of Hawkins. Taking proper roads it’s quite a bit from the Wheeler’s house, which never bothered any of them, because if the Wheeler’s are eating out Benny’s Burgers is at the bottom of the list of places his mother might pick. But that doesn’t hold for the boys, and neither are their bikes bound to asphalt streets. Cutting through fields and running cross country he makes it there faster than Lucas and Dustin, bound by the laws of traffic as they rush over there from the center of town.

Mike considers waiting out front, but the restaurant looks desolate and eerily quiet. Maybe it’s just his overactive imagination. Probably he’s just jumpy because his best friend got possessed by a freaking demon. There are two cars in the lot, Benny’s pick up and an old Ford belonging to Ratchet Dan, a man Mike doesn’t know what he does but knows he tends to show up to Benny’s before it opens to bum a cup of coffee from its owner. They have to be inside, and the worst case scenario will be Benny tells him they’re technically not open yet and makes him some fries anyway to tide Mike over as he waits for Lucas and Dustin so they can plan their next steps. Best case that thing masquerading as Will is actually inside and–

Well, actually that might be the worst case scenario, even if it’s exactly what he hopes for.

So, after taking a deep breath and hiding his bike in the bushes behind Benny’s truck, he heads inside.

The doorbell dings quietly, announcing his entrance to nobody. The lights are already on even as the windows are still shuttered, but the restaurant is deserted. Dan isn’t at the counter, and neither does Benny stick his head out of the kitchen to check who entered.

His overactive imagination and horror movie education tell him that he’s going to find the thing pretending to be his best friend in the kitchen, hunched over their dead bodies, munching on their brains. When Mike walks in it’s going to turn around, grinning at him with Will’s mouth, blood dripping down its chin. And then red, wet hands are going to reach out to strangle him.

Maybe he should warn Dustin and Lucas.

But before he can reach for his radio, his eyes snatch on the disturbed chairs and table all the way at the back of the room, by the counter. He inches forward slowly, careful not to bump into anything and announce his presence any further. One of the bar stools has fallen over as well, and when he rounds the last table, he sees why: Ratchet Dan is laying on the floor, his cup of coffee shattered by his head. Mike can’t tell if the dark liquid pooling beside him is coffee or blood. Perhaps it is both.

He doesn’t so much as twitch with the shallow breaths of the dying.

Mike clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

He kicks Dan lightly, but that doesn’t seem to wake him up or get him moving in some way. Reluctantly Mike kneels down and tries to find his pulse. All he comes away with is blood slick fingers though.

Mike doesn’t have to guess at what happened, but he decides that this is definitely the worst case scenario. There is no relief to be had in having found the-thing-that-is-not-Will: Now they have to deal with it, and whatever reluctance it had shown when they first encountered it seems to have given way to murderous intent.

Mike swallows hard and looks about the restaurant for a makeshift weapon. He finds a baseball bat under the cash register and thanks god for the pragmatism of small town business owners. Then he unclips his radio and whispers: “Don’t answer me, but he is here.”

There’s a bang in the kitchen, followed by the shuffling of feet. Mike puts away the radio and grips his weapon more tightly, then takes a tentative step in the direction of the noise. He won’t like what he’ll find, he knows, but he has no other choice. Taking a deep breath, he pushes open the swing doors into the back with the bat.

Where the front of the restaurant had looked undisturbed on the first glance, the kitchen is an obvious mess, the signs of struggle just as visible as the ravaging of the demon. The baskets of the fryer are tossed haphazardly on the counter beside it and one on the floor. Somebody knocked over a shelf with spices, spilling salt, pepper, curry and a dozen other things over the floor. Knives clutter the island in the middle, and Mike doesn't have to take more than two steps into the room to see the pool of blood. Its metallic tang hangs in the air, mixing sickly with the smells of old fat and burnt food.

Two more steps reveal the short buzzed head of Benny and the big knife in his throat that had been the end of him.

As he continues forward, the banging and clanging at the back of the kitchen stop. He holds his breath, waiting for the demon to jump up and rush him. Instead the thing just sniffs, loudly, and then apparently having decided there is no threat, just continues. There’s a wet squish as it digs its fingers into something and then the wet smacks of lips and loud chewing.

Mike forces himself to take another step. Maybe he’s mistaken and this is something else. Maybe a raccoon has gotten lost in the kitchen and-

Stabbed Benny in the neck?

Perhaps that was unrelated. Maybe there had been a robbery and then the raccoon started to empty the pantry. Unlikely, but Mike will take anything that isn’t the demon possessing his best friend, anything that-

His futile hopes stop dead in their tracks with Mike. Will's body kneels on the floor, hunched over by the thing inside of him, digging into a portion of hamburger meat right where it's still in the metal bowl in which it arrived with dozens like it, frozen in the back of a truck. Unseasoned, uncooked.

As Mike watches, the thing grabs a handful of raw meat and stuffs it into Will's mouth. Pieces of it get stuck on his cheeks, some fall down to the floor. Not brains but just as pink. Littered around it lay two mostly empty bowls already and yet it continues to eat with the wild abandon of a starving animal.

The demon looks up at him as it chews, grinning with a full mouth, not caring at Mike cringing away from the ground meat falling out, wet with saliva, leaving a translucent trail behind in its chin. It swallows a portion of its massive bite and then says, never stopping to chew: “Hello, Mike.”

The voice is almost sweet. Almost Will.

It's fully at odds with the mouth it comes from.

Mike gulps and says nothing.

The demon swallows the rest and rises to its feet, apparently not ravenous enough to not leave the half empty bowl of raw meat behind. “Mi-ike,” it singsongs as it steps over its meal.

Mike holds the bat out in front of him in warning. The demon pauses, a grin on its face and its head cocked, watching him with curiosity.

“Don’t come near me,” Mike warns. He’s proud of the way his voice barely shakes.

The demon’s face shifts in an instant, playful teasing replaced with fury. “Don’t say that, Mike!” it hisses.

Mike grabs the bat in both hands, holding it above his head, readying a swing.

The demon laughs coldly and takes another step closer. “You’re not going to.”

“Don’t test me.”

It takes another step.

“Don’t-”

It takes a step.

“try it.”

It takes the last step and grabs the bat, ripping it out of his hands to send it flying across the kitchen. Mike whips his head around to look for one of the many knives.

“Forget about it,” the demon says sweetly. “You’re not going to hit or cut me. Him. Are you, Mike?”

Mike swallows, trying to meet the demons eyes. It’s right, and he can’t let it to know that.

The demon gets up on its tip toes, leaning in further. “Are you, Mike? Mi-ike, Mikey-mike. You'd never hurt me.”

The demon’s breath smells of blood and raw meat. And something else, sharp like spoiled egg. Mike takes a step back.

The demon sinks back down with a laugh, then affects Will’s voice again: “Don't leave me, Mike. Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m hungry. Sooo, hungry. He's hungry, Mike. Do you know how hungry he’s been?” The demon places Will’s hands over his stomach and mimes doubling over in pain.

“And you had to kill people because of that?”

The demon shrugs. “No, I just killed them because they were in the way.”

Mike wants to ask if he isn’t in the way as well, but he clamps his mouth shut before he can give the thing any ideas. He stumbles back another step as the demon crosses the distance between them.

“Have you ever been really hungry, Mike? So hungry it drives you crazy? He’s sohungry, Mike. He’s starving. Don’t you care that your best friend is starving, Mike?” “What do you want?” he asks.

He swallows, trying to bring up the courage to dive back to where the knives are and just stab it. Maybe in the leg, that shouldn’t hurt Will too bad. Or the arm. Maybe the stomach, but he’s not sure about that. Better not take any chances with Will’s internal organs when he doesn’t remember where the important bits were.

“I want what he wants. I’m hungry.” It licks its lips and takes a final step forward, pinning Mike against the counter.

And Mike has no defenses. The idea that he might grab a knife is just that, an idea. A heroic fantasy. The reality is he won’t hurt Will, not even a little bit. He can’t. So this is it. This is how he dies.

The demon leans in closer, its rotting breath acrid on his face. Hot and disgusting. Its fatty, dirt encrusted fingers come up to cup his face –

And then the demon kisses him.

Mike’s mouth opens in shock and the demon in Will’s body takes full advantage of that. Their teeth clack as it presses in closer, no idea what it is doing but following some animalistic instinct. Will tastes of the raw meat the demon had been shoveling into his mouth, and his lips are slick with fat. It’s not too bad, a little like plain hamburger patty without the smoky taste of being cooked. A little earthy, and in the aftertaste a little sour. Up close the rotten egg smell – sulfuric, the forgotten memory of a morning in Mr. Clarke’s science class informs him – is inescapable. It turns his stomach.

But Mike can’t push away the demon. When his hands reach out, they only find Will’s hair, Will’s face and he can only hold them gently. Because if this was Will, really him, then-

He won’t think about that right now.

He can’t.

The demon groans in to the kiss, and Mike only holds him close. It bites down on his bottom lip, drawing it into its own mouth with much too much force, drawing blood. It tastes metallic and hot in his own mouth.

The demon sighs happily.

And Mike knows that if the demon starts tearing at him, starts eating him, very literally, he still could not stop it. If this is the moment the cannibalism finally starts, this is the end of him.

Except at the front of the restaurant the bell rings, and the demon freezes.

Mike does the only thing he can think of doing: He wraps his arms around Will’s body, pulls him tightly against himself, and yells: “In the kitchen!”

“What are you doing?” the demon hisses. It tries to free itself, but Mike is squeezing it too tightly for it to be able to bring up Will’s spindly arms and push him away. Its struggle only has Mike holding on more tightly. “Get the rope and tie it up! We’re in the kitchen!”

The demon kicks his shin, and Mike clenches his jaw to keep from crying out. Its fingers find his hip, sharp nails digging into his skin, deep enough to make him bleed, and Mike doesn’t move. Will’s body returns his hug, face burrowing into Mike’s neck, teeth sinking into skin, and still Mike refuses to let go, letting the pain bring him to tears but only kissing Will’s neck, softly, in reply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in the hopes his best friend is still in there somewhere.

And then Dustin and Lucas are there. They’ve got the rope ready, and Lucas grabs the demon’s legs before its kicks can get anymore vicious, or worse, it realizes how much damage its knee would do to the soft, squishy meat between Mike’s legs. They tie them together tightly and then with Mike still holding its arms, secure its fists behind its back.

Mike doesn’t let Will go so much as that Dustin and Lucas have to pry him out of his grasp. The demon’s mouth and chin are covered in blood, and the smile it gives Mike is devilish.

“Tastes good,” it says, licking its lips.

Mike wants to throw up. Instead he looks the thing dead in the eye. He knows he will lose the staring contest, but he won’t just lay down and roll over for this fiend. He owes Will better than that.

Dustin pulls the thing away and out of the kitchen before either of them can break eye contact.

“Fucking shit,” Lucas says, turning Mike’s face so he’s looking at him. He pulls Mike’s hair away to examine his neck and grimaces.

“Got me good?” Mike asks and regrets having spoken when the movement sets the wound aflame with pain.

Lucas gestures for him to hold on and goes looking for the first aid kit. He steps around Benny’s corpse with a sour expression and disappears as he rifles through the lower counters.

There’s a small table to the side for Benny and the teens working as servers to take breaks at or hang out when business is slow, and Mike takes a seat. He’s not lightheaded from his injuries, but the smell of the kitchen and the sight of the blood – dripping over Will’s chin, the crazy smile, the taste of raw hamburger meat still clinging to his lips – has his stomach turn. And the adrenaline of the fighting subsiding leaves him in a cold sweat.

Lucas returns, wielding bandages and antiseptic triumphantly. He picks up a clean towel and starts by cleaning up Mike’s neck, then presses a second towel against the wound until it stops bleeding. Then he smears antiseptic over Mike’s neck, burning where it hits raw flesh, bringing fresh tears to Mike’s eyes, and carefully places a big bandage over the wound.

Mike looks at the fluorescent lights above him the whole time, counting their flickers. His jaw hurts from how hard he clenches it, but he’s not going to give the demon the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

“Sucks that it’s not cold yet,” Lucas says as he cleans up after himself. “Would be much easier to hide if you could just wear a scarf.”

“My mom’s already going to kill me over the kitchen,” Mike says with a huff.

Lucas inhales sharply and gives him a you’re-totally-fucked-dude expression. “Well at least we caught Will. Good job distracting him until we got here.” Mike grimaces and says nothing. He’s not going to tell his friendswhy the demon hadn’t run from Mike. Or how he had gotten close enough to the thing to grab it like he had. He’s going to take the last ten minutes to his grave. Mike just hopes Will doesn’t remember a thing when they get him back.

If they manage to get him back.

“Did you find out what it wants?” Lucas asks.

Mike shakes his head, then amends: “It said it was starving, but I don’t think it really had an idea what for either.”

Really, the thing had kissed him because Will was starving. Because Will wanted that. But Mike’s not sure he wants to believe that. If it’s true then-

He’s not sure how to ask Will, isn’t sure this isn’t going to inevitably wreck something between them, and at the same time he wants it to be true.

If Will doesn’t remember, though, can he forget about it?

“That’s odd,” Lucas says but nothing more.

Mike gives him a tight smile and rises to his feet, not wanting to talk about it more. It’s almost a relief to think that the grave to which he’ll take this secret might come quicker than he expects it to.

In the restaurant, Dustin has forced Will’s body into a chair and is standing guard, his arms crossed.

“We should probably clean up and get out of here, right?” Dustin says. “Should we call the police? Give an anonymous tip?”

Mike shakes his head. “No, no tip. We leave no trace, but-”

“No!” the demon yells. Having realized its struggle was useless it had accepted its bonds with the patience and the quiet of a saint. But now it starts thrashing again. “Not her! No! No no no! Get me out of here!”

As if on cue, tires crunch the gravel outside. Dustin and Mike share a look with Lucas, just entering from the kitchen.

Dustin hurries to the shuttered windows. “It’s the sheriff. Shit.”

“Get me away from her!” the demon shrieks.

Mike frowns at it, somehow feeling no hurry despite Dustin’s announcement because of the way the demon is acting. If it wants to run, perhaps they should stay.

Gesturing for Lucas to keep an eye on Will, he joins Dustin at the window. The sheriff’s truck rolls into view, coming to a hurried standstill in the middle of the parking lot. There’s someone in the truck with the Chief, but only when she gets out do they get a good look at her. Mike’s only sure it is a girl because of the demon’s words: She’s about their age, but her head is shaven down to her scalp and her thin body drown in clothes that look borrowed from the sheriff, a loose flannel thrown over an even looser t-shirt.

“We need go,” Lucas says.

“No,” Mike says. He meets the demons eyes as he does. “Hop’s in a hurry but he’s driving with no sirens. And he has a strange girl with him. This doesn’t seem right.”

“She’s evil!” the demon quakes. “She’s the devil!”

Lucas frowns at their former best friend and seems to come to the same conclusion Mike had come to. Slowly he nods.

Mike looks from Dustin to Lucas to the demon and then back outside where Sheriff Hopper is putting on his hat and quietly conferring with the strange girl, then takes a deep breath. And then he pulls the door open and hopes he isn’t making a mistake.

Previous Prompt < View Collection on Ao3 > Next Prompt

written for @bylerween2023

#bylerween2023 #Day 3 #Demons devils & exorcisms #cw blood #cw corpses #cw mentions of cannibalism #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #my fic

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littlebosslady7 · 8 months

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Chapters: 3/6 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series), The Legend of Vox Machina (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Scanlan Shorthalt/Pike Trickfoot, Zahra Hydris/Kashaw Vesh Characters: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Vex'ahlia (Critical Role), Vesper Elaina de Rolo | Percy and Vex'ahlia's Child, Cassandra de Rolo, Wolfe Kristoff de Rolo, Grog Strongjaw, Leona Pike de Rolo, Pike Trickfoot, Scanlan Shorthalt, Vax'ildan Frederick de Rolo, Keyleth (Critical Role), Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Gwendolyn Zahra Melanie Von Musel de Rolo, Zahra Hydris, Kashaw Vesh, Deanna Leimert, Wilhand'ildan Shorthalt, Juniper Shorthalt, Velora Vessar Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Temporary Character Death, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Humor, Minor Original Character(s), Lifespan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Humor, Spoilers for Campaign 3 (Critical Role), Minor Spoilers Series: Part 36 of D's Critical Role Stories Chapter Summary: Percy decided to hang up the Plague Doctor Mask in his office at Castle Whitestone. He did so with Vex and Vesper at his side. The de Rolos rediscovered how places and things could take on different meanings over time.

For @percahliaweek Day 3- Mask

Excerpt:

Vex took two long strides over to her husband. Her eyes scanned over him from head to toe. Nothing seemed amiss, though his white beard was a tad scragglier in these later seasonal months. “Percival, darling, how are you?” He shrugged, brow crinkled at her odd immediate concern, “Fine. What has you so worried, Vex’ahlia?” She stood up on her tip toes and asked in a whisper only audible to him, “It’s just the reveal of that horrid mask that gave me quite a fright. Does a demon have possession of you again? Orthax or-or Ipkesh?” Gods, her husband had a wretched penchant for making deals with creepy dwellers in numerous levels of the Hells. Percy vowed, “The sole beings, who are allowed to have possession of my heart and soul are your and our children, Wife. I swear to you.”

#percahliaweek #perc'ahlia #cr3 spoilers #critical role fanfiction

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bellafragolina · 10 months

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I'm a bit new here so sorry if I don't know much. I just learned about the soulmate zangoose thing and I'm so confused. Could you explain it to me, please? (It's fine if you don't want to btw)

You’re good my dude!

There’s basically a soulmate au where an angry goose comes out from nowhere and chases you towards your soulmate, whom is also getting chased by a goose.

We’ve made the goose a zangoose for Pokémon purposes! And a shiny one for that matter! So in Pokémon world, a large shiny zangoose chases you towards your soulmate (in a world where there are several types of soulmates ie their name on your wrist, seeing in grey until you meet them) this is the hope for people lacking in any defining mark that indicates they have a soulmate!

For the train twins, we’ve taken a bit of a twist approach. Their soulmate is ex-plasma, and thusly there is animosity! The twins reject their soulmate, who tries to find a shiny Seviper to sever their soulmate bond! The twins, discovering that being in team plasma wasn’t their soulmate’s choice and how they’re just trying to live again after being trapped in a horrid evil organization for so long, try to rekindle things with their soulmate.

However, the soulmate doesn’t want that, and thus the plot!

It’s a fun idea and it’s fun to write! I love talking about it, so if you have any more questions or if none of this makes sense, feel free to shoot me an ask!

All of the zangoose stuff should be under the “zangoose soulmate au” tag! I’ll tag this post with it too if you wanna check it all out!

#zangoose soulmate au

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pwnyta · 1 year

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Can someone explain to me what is the fucking problem with the westerners and their disgust with properly tagging ships (like not wanting to tag A/B as such and preferring to tag it as B/A or “whatever sounds better”)? 💀 I swear to god, the amount of times I’ve seen specifically westerners being strange about proper tagging and behaving like it’s the most atrocious, the most backwards thing in the world is just mind boggling.

Like, yes, certain people prefer specific dynamics in their favorite couples. But why are you trying to behave like this is the most homophobic thing in the world? Why do you behave like proper tagging is the most horrid thing in the world? It’s also super easy to do it, so like, what’s the problem? And when these people behave like you are somehow the crazy/gross/terminally online one is just so disingenuous considering that they are the ones who do not respect other people’s boundaries?

Oh I have NO idea.

((Tho TBH I sometimes fall into the 'this one sounds better so I just use that' for some ships like Hannigram & Sheith tho technically I only like Will/Hannibal & Keith/Shiro but since those are primarily western shows & those fandoms typically dont care its less of a problem (and if anyone asks me personally to do so Id correct it for the sake of organization))

I know people talk about it not being 'realistic' that characters wont 'switch' but its like 'YEAH, Beverly, thats what im looking for REALISM in my fictional story of these two cartoons fucking where one character has tentacles and the other turns into a fucking dragon' Fuck off. Does the story/art mention STDs or douching or other less desirable/gross parts of realistic sex? No? Then shut up you uppity bitch.

Its especially annoying when the fandom largely designates one character (usually the smaller, younger, more cheerful and/or feminine looking character) as the bottom and you(me) want to see a big and/or old man get railed for once... As a chronic big/old man bottom enjoyer its a problem.

I for one appreciate the organization of eastern shipping. People tag order, they largely only tag the characters/kinks that are important to the work, and they mind their own goddamn business. Terrific.

#Fandom discourse #Dear Nonny.

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chaseadrian · 5 months

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fic blogs should stick to fic posts, gif blogs should stick to gif posts, etc that would be organized throwing the entire kitchen sink into one blog is messy

the library link is actually helpful tho (thats what an organized focused blog actually does look like!)

i disagree entirely. and i’m not a “fic blog.”

i am a person who has a blog and i make fics and gifs and all manner of things. that’s literally the whole point of a tagging system ffs.

all due respect you have a horrid air of entitlement to you.

#answered*#anonymous

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deusvervewrites · 1 year

Text

I posted 8,686 times in 2022

That's 8,379 more posts than 2021!

7,935 posts created (91%)

751 posts reblogged (9%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@barid-bel-medar

@deusvervewrites

@gentrychild

@runningwolf62

@princess-of-the-corner

I tagged 8,141 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#asks - 7,640 posts

#meta - 460 posts

#blue sky au - 281 posts

#ask game - 277 posts

#future toga au - 220 posts

#pokemon legends mustafa - 202 posts

#draconic hero au - 156 posts

#wimtbah - 152 posts

#inhumans au - 147 posts

#clone for one au - 126 posts

Longest Tag: 78 characters

#having a summary that is only questions is a good way to get me not to read it

My Top Posts in 2022:

Imagine how annoyed Nighteye would have been if Izuku hadn't applied to his agency? Like he just goes to fill in the application, 'hmm, suddenly vibes are shit no,' and then applies to like, be Nedzu's apprentice instead.

Midoriya: "These are some rancid vibes. Absolutely horrid."

Nighteye, storming Nedzu's Office: "Not only do you steal Togata's rightful Quirk, you deny me mentorship?!" Nedzu: (: Nighteye: "Don't you have anything to say, Principal?" Nedzu: "Oh heavens no. The longer you talk the more time I have to come up with ideas." Midoriya: (:

Narrator: "Nighteye was never seen or heard from again."

Oh yeah, Sir "Control Freak" Nighteye would be absolutely furious. I'm trying to remember if he explicitly told Togata to extend an offer on his behalf to Midoriya for the Work Studies. Come on, Nighteye, how are you legitimately creepier to me than AFO

305 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

Aizawa for the time travel fix ask game?

I'm sure you meant this seriously but I had a really funny crack idea with Aizawa so we're doing that

Aizawa comes up with a plan to ensure that everything will work out. It is a brilliant plan with no flaws. He expels all of Class 1-A during the Quirk Apprehension Test

Naturally, the class immediately pack bonds into a found family speedrun out of sheer united rage

The class becomes a 20-person vigilante organization specifically to spite Aizawa, with All Might's less-than-secret-but-still-deniable backing

Every major Villain is incarcerated within five weeks.

Nedzu reminds Aizawa that he could've just asked him for help

362 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

You know, why WAS Tensei attacked by Stain anyways, now that I think about it?

That's a wonderful question that canon has never in fact answered. It is one of the primary points in my 153-slide powerpoint titled "Why Stain Is A Clown and If You Like Him, So Are You'

I think the closest it's come to answering is Stain canonically has a habit of attacking people to see how they react when they believe they are going to die, and I really shouldn't have to explain everything wrong with that

405 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

I Think I Know Why I Dislike Bakugou's Writing

Yes I know I just did the AFO/Asano Meta, but I feel like I need to do this too

To clarify: this is not me bashing on Bakugou. I want to like Bakugou. If you like Bakugou, you aren't wrong. You just deserve better for him.

Let's begin.

For at least a week now, I have had a picture open in a tab on my browser. This picture is something that I was beginning to think was made up by an Ao3 author because I had only ever seen one mention of it. And now that I've found it for myself, I found myself holding on to it and trying to figure out how to feel about it.

But now that's led to me finally having a way to verbalize the issues I have with how Bakugou has been written throughout the series.

On paper, Bakugou has one of the most interesting character arcs in manga. He goes from being a self-absorbed asshole with a superiority-inferiority complex who only wants to be a Hero because they win fights to the genuinely Hero Midoriya believes he can be.

In practice... well.

Let's play a game really quickly. I'll describe a scene from My Hero Academia, and I want you to guess what chapter it is. It doesn't have to be exact, just a general idea. Here's the scenario:

Midoriya manages to use a Quirk that's destructive to him without seriously hurting himself, and is proud of this accomplishment. In response, Bakugou gets incensed and physically attacks him.

Thought about it? Got an idea? Keep that in mind for later.

So here is my issue with Bakugou: there are two Bakugous. I know that sounds weird but let me explain what I mean. I'll call them Interim Bakugou and Dramatic Bakugou.

Dramatic Bakugou saw his classmates at the Battle Trial and realized that he wasn't the Big Man on Campus. He was furious with Todoroki for not using his fire at the Sports Festival, and infuriated by his internship with Best Jeanist. Dramatic Bakugou was kidnapped by the League because he's an asshole. He blames himself for All Might retiring, and he failed the Provisional License Exam because he's a asshole. Dramatic Bakugou told a kid that he needed to acknowledge his own weakness, took a hit for Midoriya in the War Arc, and apologized to him.

Dramatic Bakugou is improving as a person and a Hero.

Dramatic Bakugou also barely appears in the manga.

We are instead left with Interim Bakugou, the Bakugou who exists in the interim between dramatic moments. Interim Bakugou has not changed from his first appearance on the first page of Chapter 1, when he was five, beating the shit out of Midoriya.

Interim Bakugou tried to attack Midoriya on Day 1, and tried to kill him on Day 2. Interim Bakugou listened in on a private conversation about how Endeavor's obsessions broke him and learned nothing. Interim Bakugou told the League of Villains that he wouldn't join them because he likes how Heroes look when they win. Interim Bakugou told the Help Us Company actors to fuck off. Interim Bakugou dragged Midoriya out to Ground Beta to beat the shit out of him because he was butthurt about his exam and making it all about him. Interim Bakugou won the Joint Training Battle because he wanted to be the Undisputed Best. Interim Bakugou never calls people by their real names.

Interim Bakugou called himself Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Interim Bakugou told the class that Deku is fucked in the head and doesn't care about what happens to himself, while ignoring that he called Midoriya 'Useless' so often Midoriya responds to it like his own name. Interim Bakugou uses Deku right up to the moment that Dramatic Bakugou apologized for inventing it in the first place.

Interim Bakugou never changes, no mater how much Dramatic Bakugou tries.

Here, let me prove it. You remember that game I had you play a few paragraphs ago, yes? What chapter did you say? Chapter 7, during the Quirk Apprehension Test?

Well, I have to admit that I lied a little. That picture I've had on my browser for the past week or so? It's actually a screencap of the manga.

This is from Chapter 253, after Midoriya shows his progress with Blackwhip.

This is five chapters away from the start of the War Arc.

This is 69 chapters before he apologizes, most of which aren't focused on him at all.

This is within the Final Saga, as Horikoshi puts it.

And Interim Bakugou is indistinguishable from Orientation Day eleven months ago

I will freely admit that this is clearly meant to be a joke, and that he did not hurt Midoriya as severely as the class is acting, but the behavior is still there. It hasn't changed a bit. Interim Bakugou hasn't changed a bit.

Dramatic Bakugou, in a flashback, confessed to All Might that he used to bully Midoriya.

Interim Bakugou still does.

This is why I don't like how Horikoshi writes Bakugou. I want to like Dramatic Bakugou and follow his journey, but for every step forward he takes, Interim Bakugou takes two steps back. All of his apologies feel hollow because Interim Bakugou is demonstrably the same.

See the full post

466 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

AU where everything is practically the same but Izuku is visibly more feral. IE: he bit All Might instead of grabbing his leg and Toshi, upon remembering doing the same thing to Nana, decides to make him his successor (adopt him) on the spot.

Midoriya just fucking snaps one day because if you bully someone nonstop for ten years you either break them or get them to stop caring and bad news for Aldera they got the other coin flip this time.

You do not Fuck with Feral Midoriya. He has bitten most of his classmates by this point. He hisses like a cat. He casually starts discussing what it would take to render someone's Quirk permanently useless, like how someone could paralyze Bakugou's hands or scar them over until he couldn't make any explosions without breaking himself.

All Might gets nostalgic when Midoriya is gnawing on his leg to keep him from leaving.

During the entrance exam, Present Mic had to start the test a few seconds early because when Iida went to stop Midoriya from talking to Uraraka, Midoriya fucking picked Iida up and was getting ready to throw him like a javelin, and that announcement is the only thing that saved him. Midoriya did however carry him into the exam before he remembered to put him down.

When Midoriya uses his Quirk at the QAT, Bakugou assumes that Midoriya manifested it through sheer Feral energy and chooses life. Aizawa on the other hand tries an expulsion scare and he can taste how mad Midoriya is about it

511 notes - Posted November 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

I had to delay doing this because @gentrychild went and reblogged my Stray Cat AU and completely threw off my stats

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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