#i off the top of my head can list it deals with self harm character death im gonna go ahead and say mental illness because these kids are | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-bloody-sadist · 1 year

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If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

Thank you for asking! I had one person who sent me an ask related to this and then deleted it before I could answer (I think I scared them away yelling at other people in my asks 😂).

So here we go, a compiled overview of my TOP TEN FAVORITE MEDIA!! Some will be current that could change (like songs, ever changing) and others will be permanent (like shows).

NBC's Hannibal [Show]: It shouldn't come as a surprise that this is my top favorite piece of media of all time. Not to do the whole 'I liked it before it was mainstream' but I FOUND IT WHEN IT WAS STILL RELATIVELY CULT-LOVED AND GOT INTO IT WHEN IT WAS ON AMAZON PRIME VIDEO. THE FANDOM FELT TINY ❗️ Anyway, I'm so glad to see how far it's come and how the fandom has grown. This remains one of the only series that was cancelled that I couldn't tell was actually cancelled because it still wrapped up so nicely in the last-aired season. I'm endlessly impressed with the character arcs, the dynamics, the PSYCHOLOGY (a huge deal for me), and especially the dialogue. I mean, I could list literally every element of this show and how tastefully it was used, but the main highlights are how artfully the gore is shown - giving great perspective of the killers whose eyes we mainly see through - and the dialogue. There's a surrealist tone to it, and so many of the lines are subtle poetry without being the hamfisted one-liners of so many other shows that try to do the same. The actors are incredible, the scenes are precisely paced, and just overall you can tell this was a work of the heart. I mean, more superficially, the homoerotic nature of Hannibal and Will's relationship appealed to me as soon as it was introduced, because GODS is it miles higher in chemistry than like ACTUAL EXISTING so-called LGBT romance shows. (I'm glaring FLAMING DAGGERS at the garbage Interview With a Vampire show in which they ruined everything but most of all the chemistry that the original story did so well.) In any case, please watch it! It's one of the best things I've ever seen.

Last Night in Soho [Film]: Directed by my favorite director, Edgar Wright, who has the most fantastic habit of matching musical beats to visuals (a particular love of mine), this film is GORGEOUS, for one. The colors and scenery, the editing, the lights, the creative shots, the effects, the MIRRORS! Don't get me started on the mirrors. I love mirrors. One of my favorite things about characters - although ONLY when done well - is the contrast of duality. Some of the best portrayals besides this one are in Tokyo Ghoul and Moon Knight, off the top of my head. It's hard to find portrayals I like, but this one shines above them all. There are technicalities on the actual character being dual, but I wouldn't spoil it for you. It's the journey of both a past and present woman, one struggling to find her place in the fashion industry, and one struggling to escape the sex industry before it devours her. I heavily related to certain themes in this one and was viscerally enthralled in the choices and character arcs made in certain scenes. It's cathartic, it's overwhelming, it's PURE ART. You're missing out if you never see this one.

HBO's Sharp Objects [Show]: On so many levels, this one speaks to my wounded little heart. Dealing with heavy topics like childhood trauma, parental abuse, self harm, child murders, the bad sides of southern/small-town culture, and mental illness, I don't know if there's another character that I feel quite as connected to as Amy Adams' portrayal of Camille Preaker. The outstanding detail of this one for me, personally, is Camille's mother, Adora. I can confidently say that there IS no other mother that resembles how my childhood felt than Adora, and because of that this show was a painful sort of catharsis. But I love feeling emotions to a dangerous degree, and I'll just say the finale of this one wiped me the fuck out. I'm currently rewatching it for the first time with my close friends, and I'm so scared to get to that finale again. Lmao. But in a good way. In any case, other than Adora, I also identified with the accurate and visceral portrayals of self harm and PTSD. The way that they show flashbacks and visually jumpscare the viewer WITHOUT the presence of blasting music was the show's shining glory. You have literal ASMR wind and crickets over shots of a dead child's missing teeth, blood hitting pavement, pornography on a cabin door, and then a hanged corpse in the corner of the bedroom, right there with Camille in the shot. It is...SO accurate to the feelings of PTSD. It's just so good. I would recommend the show for that alone, and yet everything else is so perfect, too. Along with the gripping plot of a murder case, the intense shame that follows Camille wherever she goes makes for such good conflict and friction with her surroundings. Everything is personal because it takes place in her hometown. Anyway, I can't keep rambling my mind out of its skull over this one. It's beautiful, it's perfect, it's fascinating. Please see it. I beg of you. For me, it represented so much of how it felt to grow up with family dynamics like Camille's. If you relate to it, you'll either love the catharsis or hate the memories it revives.

No Longer Human [Novel]: Pretty sure I've already rambled my ass off about this one when I made the 10 Characters 10 Fandoms post since Yozo is one of the most relatable characters I've ever read about and thus one of my faves! But yeah, this novel is everything to me. I want so many quotes on my wall from it but honestly the one that I constantly think about is still that first line: "Mine has been a life of much shame." It's well known, but that doesn't make it any less impactful for me. I still tear up sometimes when I think about it. Yozo's thought process is just so...accurate. And knowing all about Dazai Osamu and his life as the writer and how closely it's tied to it? I don't think it will ever move from its spot as my top novel of all time.

The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice [Novel]: Lol so the gif isn't from this story specifically but I need gifs for happy brain so I have one related to the story. Probably one of my favorite romances of all time, mostly because it's a very reserved romance, in the sense that it can't exactly be labelled "romance" except in sub-context. (I mean they do have sex but it's like a story about vampires first, if that makes sense? The romance is sort of a subplot to Armand's vampire adventures.) Anne Rice is a favorite writer of mine, and this book was a masterpiece to me. The language she uses and the scenes of vampirism fascinated me, and I wish that vampire media was better at bringing Anne's true style to life. They make it so goofy nowadays, and no other vampire stories apart from some anime portrayals are ever interesting to me. Not to mention the new Interview With A Vampire series as aforementioned is SO BAD and I hate it. Anne could handle that excessive grace of a man who's lived for centuries and the intelligence gained along the way without ruining their humanity, and knew how to portray the loneliness of such a life without making her characters sound like the emo piss babies of Twilight. She has such a grasp on the poetry of words and breadth of experience, and I'll never get over just how exciting it was to read this book for the first time. Truly felt like I was discovering vampires for the first time, and how they would realistically operate if they existed.

Tokyo Ghoul [Manga]: I believe everyone knows quite enough about Tokyo Ghoul, so I promise not to ramble on this one! But in short, as a psychological thriller lover PLUS horror lover PLUS dual-personality-when-done-right-and-realistically lover PLUS cannibalism-exlored-and-the-terrifying-effects lover I MEAN THIS IS JUST THE STORY FOR ME OBVIOUSLY. Kaneki has and always will be fascinating to me no matter how mainstream or over-talked about he is. He is amazing. Did the anime leave out most of the good stuff from the manga? Yeah, but Kaneki was there. The torture scenes were great. Is the manga better? WORLDS BETTER. But I still enjoyed the anime and got into it through there. I respect the anime's attempt to capture what was a sincerely tragic and deep emotional story. But man, reading the manga is something else, entirely. I haven't had the chance to read every single volume, and I may have skipped around a bit in search of the best parts to invest my time in, but boy I never regretted it. Kaneki's arc, getting to see into his head and experience his trauma and eventual decline into madness was SO SO SO SO SO FUCKING GORGEOUS. Nothing will beat it for a descent into madness story for me, I don't think. Plus ghouls as a whole and the art of the manga are just so *claws the wall* I wish I could draw like that.

The Phantom of the Opera [Score]: What's this?? Het media on Sadist's list?? Okay. I'm a huuuuge music fanatic. I grew up with multiple instruments in the house and played to escape, wrote to express, blah blah blah you get it, I NEEDED music to survive. When I discovered this soundtrack, as someone who despises musicals (and still does, but a few have made it through to my heart), I was ENTHRALLED, I tell you. ENCHANTED! Never before or since have I heard such riveting, mysterious, ethereal music, much less in a musical. Every single fucking song on this soundtrack is evocative and perfect and EVERYTHING. And the STORY! AUGH! I've always adored the story. One of my main quarrels with het 'romance' media is that so many of the "greats" (AKA The Notebook, 50 Shades, Twilight, After, etc.) have these fucking...WALKING RED FLAGS that are presented to be the most romantic things ever. Like the movie itself is gaslighting the audience into believing the emotionally manipulative man dangling off of a ferris wheel and threatening to kill himself if the girl doesn't go out on a date with him is adorable. I don't find it cute I find it reminiscent of every bad partner I've ever had, and I can't watch the movies because NOBODY in them ever acknowledges or is affected negatively in any way by these glaring, abusive behaviors. In Phantom of the Opera, Eric (the phantom) is obsessive, stalkerish, possessive, etc. - many things that other media presents as love WITHOUT understanding how it's also terrifying. The movie (though a little goofy at times and dramatic, I'll admit - which is why the score and not the film is on my tops list LMAO) presents these factors as they SHOULD be presented - scary. The music is ominous, the songs are obsessive and enchanting, and it's not presented as cutesy romance. That's why I love it so much. If you want a toxic love interest, please go right ahead and make one! You guys know me, that's literally what I write about. So I hope I've made myself clear about this topic and what I mean - just present the actual abuse as ACTUAL ABUSE, and scary and horrible, even if the protagonist is falling in love with that. Because reality can be like that. It's tough. But in Phantom, Christine goes with the healthy love interest in the end, Raoul, and I've always thought the ending was beautiful for that, because the Phantom still learned love in the end by letting her go. ANYWAY! Enough of that, good grief lmao. Tumblr with no word limits is so dangerous for me.

Mo Dao Zu Shi [Donghua]: 3 Seasons and I still haven't had enough of it. I just recently rewatched this with my close friends and good gods I was appreciating all the intricacy and character development the second time around. There isn't a single character left un-developed in this donghua like SERIOUSLY. Seriously, big kudos to the fucking author. In anyone else's hands, the magic system and the multiple plot lines and the larger-than-life characters most likely would've been fumbled. But whoever directed this KNEW what they were doing and KNEW their source material. And look, even though I barely know who is who because names are confusing and I barely understand half of the magic going on and why people are fighting, THIS IS THE SINGULAR SHOW THAT EXISTS WHERE IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER. I'M STILL TRYING TO UNDERSTAND HOW THAT WORKS. But it does? The emotional capacity of every scene no matter if I know what's happening or why just HITS and I'm always rooting for the characters or crying over them. Like, it's just insane. Okay. Everyone who's into BL should watch it, because it's one of the best. And even if you're not into BL, it's one of the best. The action is INCREDIBLE. apffff moving on.

The Case Study of Vanitas [Anime]: BRUUUUUHHHHH. We all know. We all know. I don't need to say anything. But the two boys, man. Two of my top faves. The show is gorgeous, the character designs are beautiful, the setting is romantic, the boys are gay (they are. they are gay.)...I mean what more can I ask for. Oh yeah also vampires! They're vampires. And I love vampires that are like, actually cool. Thank you for making actually cool vampires within a really interesting magic system. I would kiss the author but she made Vanitas straight so no kisses. ONE OF MY FAVORITE COUPLE OF CLIMAX EPISODES OF ALL TIME BTW.

A Silent Voice [Anime Film]: :(...I can't really talk about this one. I relate to it so much. Social anxiety, depression, attempted suicide. It's a really beautiful and painful movie. I cry every time I watch it. The end, that's all. The imagery and the meaning behind so many shots is just...UWEGH.

To Your Eternity [Anime]: *furiously points* LOOK AT THE BABY. OH MY GODS LOOK AT HIM. You guys, you guys. You guys. If you haven't seen this, and you like crying, and you need to cry really hard, and you need the most fascinating and heart wrenching story of all time, this is the one. Fushi, also? Hot. The Beholder, his daddy? Hot. Kenjiro Tsuda? Hot. Sorry, besides the point. This is the best written "you're supposed to cry" story I've ever seen. Nothing beats it. You know what they're going to do to you but yet they somehow subvert your expectations of HOW every fucking time, and MAN??? It hurts. But it hurts so good. And Fushi should be real so I can kidnap him, that's all.

I did 11 things, I'm so sorry. I do this every time. BUT I SURE HOPE YOU FOUND THOSE INTERESTING AND POSSIBLY FOUND A NEW THING TO ADD TO YOUR LIST IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN/HEARD/READ BEFORE. Thanks anon for the ask!

Oh yeah and as extra I wanted to throw in my favorite song right now because IT'S REALLY PRETTY.

#sadist's answered asks #anime recs #movie recs #book recs #no longer human #hannibal #to your eternity #vanitas no carte #a silent voice #mo dao su zhi #phantom of the opera #last night in soho #tokyo ghoul #the vampire armand #sharp objects

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flower-of-the-desert · 23 days

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Guardian vol 2

Putting some of my thoughts of the second volume here. I'm very excited to continue reading the last part too, this story is definitely one of my new favourites. Under the cut for spoilers.

I had a lot of fun with the backstories and reveals in this volume. Like even tho I know some of what was coming mainly with Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan's backstories, I was still surprised by the details and the actual sequence of events in the past. Also the image of Zhao Yunlan as an old god who's slowly lost all hope and faith in humanity and the heavens to the point that he's willing to destroy everything and start anew is sooooo interesting and like, so much to chew there!

Speaking of that, so far Zhao Yunlan is topping my list of sexiest characters ever along with my faves wenzhou. He's so cocky and competent and sexy and clever and seductive AND SEXY DID I MENTION THAT jdsbskjd some of the lines he says to Shen Wei are so swoon-worthy I'm dead on the floor. I love how much he doesnt give a fuck about pissing off anyone as long as he can take care of what he deems /his/.

I didn't feel as strongly connected to Shen Wei probably because he doesn't really get much focus or at least not as much as Zhao Yunlan. I really liked whenever we got little glimpses into what's going on in his head and obviously really REALLY liked when the flashbacks started introducing how he used to be at the very beginning when Kunlun first met him (that first meeting scene was HILARIOUS AND I LOVED IT). I hope there is more of his pov in the last volume.

Also speaking of the flashbacks, ok I'm wondering something - I feel like the flashback we got at the end wasn't the full extend of what happened? Because that scene goes from their first meeting to then a couple of weeks later? when everything ends and Kunlun dies. And we don't really see what happens bw Kunlan seeing this demon boy for the first time and deciding he's trustworthy enough to make him the sole guardian of the seal. Also the way present day Shen Wei talks about Kunlun makes it seem they spent A LOT more time together, not just dealing with the floods and other disasters.

BTW THE SEXIEST SCENE FOR ME WHEN ZHAO YUNLAN GOES ALL CRAZY AND POSSESSIVE AT THE THOUGHT OF SHEN WEI DYING??? Feeling insane about it tbh

Another subplot and subsequent reveal I really liked was the whole thing with Chu Shuzhi. That I definitely didn't see coming lmao

Also is it me or are there some ✨ vibes ✨between him and Guo Changcheng?? Pls tell me I'm not imagining it.

Shen Wei's utter devotion to Zhao Yunlan is so heart-clutchingly intense and I just looove when a character is so down bad. Which is also true about Zhao Yunlan who is SO ready and willing for the whole marriage/house/picket fence life. It's really lovely to read how badly he wants that with Shen Wei.

I said in my other post that I really do think they're like obsessed with each other on a cosmic level that transcends all their lives and years and that's so delicious tbh. Most reincarnation stories I've read make that a source of conflict for the couple and I'm really interested to see how this plays out with weilan. Zhao Yunlan doesnt seem bothered that he's had previous lives or that Shen Wei first fell in love with his past self but more like he and Kunlun were/are the same person, just reincarnated through time?

Last thing I want to mention, it took me a while to get it but I am a BIG fan of the way Shen Wei's darker violent urges pop up here and there concerning Zhao Yunlan and then he doesnt act on them because he literally can't bear the thought and is not physically capable of doing anything that might harm his beloved.

PRIEST REALLY KNOWS HOW TO WRITE SEXY MALE CHARACTERS AND ROMANCE ✨✨✨ and I am so seated.

#lilie reading guardian #guardian #zhen hun #guardian novel #weilan

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #will graham x reader #will graham #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x you #poly hannigram #hannigram #hannigram x reader #anon request #anon ask

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

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A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it��s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #rae writes fic #alpha castiel #omega dean winchester #alpha beta omega dynamics #celebrity dean winchester #barista castiel #professor castiel #the original apple pie latte

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veilder · 3 years

Note

Hi! Would you happen to have Convin or Reed900 fics to recommend?

Oh, hello! I can definitely help you with Convin fic recs at least, lol! Reed900, not so much, but there are plenty of blogs around that you could ask for that ship. ^_^ But yeah, I’ll try to categorize these as best I can! And give a little summary, too! :D

Longfics 75k+ (Complete)

1. Mission: Unexpected by J11nxed (@j11nxed) Rated E (violence, sexual content, language, abuse): Super great casefic with lots of amazing character development. Very funny. Probably my favorite characterization of Connor and Gavin, lol. The fic I read when I’m feeling down. ^_^

2. Golden by jarpad (@embaggins on Twitter) Rated M (dark themes, mature content, allusions to self-harm/suicide, mental health issues, language): An absolutely beautiful story of healing and overcoming your demons handled in a very respectful manner. The subject matter is very thought provoking and it brought me to tears, both cathartic and not, more than once. It’s a heavy story, but... So worth it, imo.

3. like roses, death blooms by alekszova (@ewates) Rated M (violence, rape, torture, abuse, mental health issues): A very, very dark revenge fic. Definitely the darkest one on this list. If you like heavy angst, this might be for you, though please heed the tags. A lot of this story is about the aftermath of horrific events but there are still some very brutal scenes.

Mid-length fics 20k-75k (Complete)

1. Running Uphill by NHMoonshadow (@sharysisnhmoonshadow) Rated M (violence, peril, language): The ultimate time travel soulmate AU fic imo. Absolutely top tier Gavin characterization and development. Rich backstories and relationships. Definitely some trauma, omg. But ultimately, a happy ending. Definitely a must-read for any Convin fan imo.

2. Traces by berryblonde (@berry--blonde) Rated M (language, peril, minor suicidal ideation): One of the first long fics I ever read for this ship and still one of my faves. Excellent casefic setup, very interesting premise and some very dynamic characters. Also, really A+ backstory for Gavin. This is basically a classic for anyone who wasn’t around in the early days of fandom. Highly recommend!

3. His Robin by wolfetz Rated T (drama, language): Absolutely fantastic coming of age story set in a human!AU world. Really great character work for both Connor and Gavin and their relationship through the years. Love this one.

4. A Scratched CD/A Faulty Code by consecrated Rated T (mental health issues, language): Companion pieces told from Gavin and Connor’s POVs respectively. These were also very early fics I read when I was first getting into the fandom and I love them both dearly. The characterization here went a long way towards me loving the ship to begin with. A great intro to Convin.

5. That Boy is a Powder Keg by QueenHarleyQuinn Not Rated (language, violence, mature content, mental health issues): One of the most realistic takes on Gavin going from his canon asshole self to someone who could feasibly be in a relationship with Connor. I’m definitely due to re-read this cuz I can’t quite remember the details anymore, but I know I really enjoyed this at the time. Good for anyone who likes a more antagonistic take on him.

Shortfics/Oneshots (~20k)

1. Sedum Spathulifolium by Burrahobbit Rated T (language): This fic... is so dang sweet. I’ve read it so many times. It’s absolutely adorable, what can I say? Love their dynamic here. ^_^

2. Always know that you are not alone by Liveinelf Rated T (language, drama): Another fantastic take on Gavin and his growth as a character. He starts off very close to canon here and is one mean asshole. But this fic does a great job of explaining why he acts as he does. And how he changes. Highly recommend.

3. Some things never change by berryblonde Rated T (language): An absolutely hilarious fic, lol. The view of Convin through the eyes of some rookie trainees, omg. It makes me laugh so much. XD

4. Mankind Needs More Empathy by BrightestStarInTheSky (@brighteststarinthesky) Rated T (language, drama): Some good old-fashioned Gavin-getting-his-head-out-of-his-ass, lol. I love fics like this. Need a good basis to start a relationship, after all. Apologies are in order. ^_^

5. as i see them by rekal Rated T (language, drama): Same as the previous entry, this one deals with Gavin’s character growth and how he and Connor grow closer in the aftermath. It’s lovely.

6. Sweet/Wise men say... by 99MillionMiles (@99millionmilesaway) Not Rated: Two short, sweet fluff pieces that absolutely delight me every time I reread them. And as a bonus, some beautiful art by @deep-in-mind67, too!

7. Melted Phoenix by Astrapod Rated M (violence, trauma, mental health issues, mutilation, peril): This one... This is a heavy fic. It starts off with a very harrowing description of android violence that might be too much for some folks to handle. Proceed with caution. But, if you can weather that, this is an absolutely beautiful fic about love and healing. Definitely recommend.

8. So Pathetic and So Lovely by alekszova Rated M (language, drama, mental health issues, mature themes): I think the fic’s description speaks for itself here: “ Neither Gavin or Connor think they are capable of being loved by the other, but that doesn't mean it's true.” Definitely worth a read.

9. An unexpected turn of events by Smokey310 Rated T (language): This one is freakin hilarious. Connor and Gavin and a night out at the club, omg. I love this fic to death. XD

10. As Do I by berryblonde Rated T (drama): A human!AU where your soulmate can feel the injuries of their other half. It’s the story of a lifetime together. All the way til the end.

11. because the bed’s warm and it’s cold out by voidpants (@voidpants) Rated G (no warnings): Connor and Gavin being old men together. It’s beautiful. Such a lovely take on the two of them.

Unfinished Fics/Honorable Mentions

1. Spinning Yellow by sheepishwolfy (@sheepishwolfy) Rated E (violence, language, mature themes): Amazing casefic with top-tier characterization. What’s written of it is still amazing, even if it’s not complete.

2. Amidst a Crash of Worlds by fireplanetz Rated T (violence, mature themes, war, language): A fic told entirely through letters between Connor and Gavin in the aftermath of the bad ending of the game. It’s such an awesome idea and it’s executed so well. Definitely recommend.

3. The Bet by Pence Rated T (language): Brooklyn 99-inspired DPD shenanigans. Need I say more? It’s so funny and I love the characterization of Connor and Gavin. Mostly finished, too! Just the final chapter missing!

4. Wicked by MercuryPilgrim Rated M (language, mature content): I love this one. It’s such a unique take on Connor and Gavin and it works so well, too. They are delightful here. Love the dynamic!

5. (can’t say) i don’t love you by Chibbers (@teh-chibi) Rated M (language, drama, sexual content): An angsty hanahaki!AU fic where these two idiots don’t realize they’re in love with each other. Really great writing here. Very emotional. Made me feel a lot.

And I guess I should mention that I have fics of my own, too, about half of which are Convin? You can check them out on my AO3 here! ^_^

So yeah, there we go. Those are really all I can think of off the top of my head. I know I missed some amazing works, too, alas. But at least this can give you a good start, yeah? Hope this helps @pancrystal! And thanks again for the ask! :D (Also, if I messed up any of the link or if there’re any glaring typos, lemme know. This was a lot of janky, Tumblr formatting, omg. >_<)

#dbh #fanfic #fic recs #convin #connor #rk800 #gavin reed #reed800 #gavcon #please feel free to add any onto this in the comments!#I definitely know I missed some!#and also add your URL if you like since I didn't know everybody's lol! XD #pancrystal

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years

Text

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

#Lucifarians #wrestling fic

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maddie-grove · 3 years

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The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2020

My main takeaways:

I’m glad that I set certain reading goals this year (i.e., reading an even mix of different genres and writing about each book I read on this tumblr). I feel like it really expanded my horizons.

There are a lot of proper names on my Top 20 list this year, which possibly means something about identity? That, or I just tried to read more Victorian novels.

Be horny, and be kind.

Now...

20. The White Mountains by John Christopher (1967)

In a world ruled by unseen creatures who roam the countryside in tall metal tripods, all humans are “capped” (surgically fitted with metal plates on their heads) at age fourteen. Thirteen-year-old Will Parker looks forward to becoming a man, but a conversation with a mysterious visitor to his village raises a few doubts. This early YA dystopia has gorgeous world-building (notably a trip to the ruins of Paris) and expert pacing. The choices Will has to make are also more surprising and complicated than I ever anticipated.

19. What Happened at Midnight by Courtney Milan (2013)

John Mason wants revenge on his fiancée Mary after she skips town following her father’s death...apparently with the funds that her father, John’s business partner, embezzled from their company. When he tracks her down, though, she’s working as a lady’s companion to the wife of a controlling gentleman who refuses to pay her wages, and John’s fury turns to sympathy and curiosity. This is a smart, well-plotted Victorian-set novella about a couple who builds a better relationship after a rocky start.

18. Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes (1943)

It’s 1773, and fourteen-year-old Bostonian Johnny Tremain has it all: a promising apprenticeship to a silversmith, the run of his arguably senile master’s household, and...unresolved grief over his widowed mother’s death? When a workplace “accident” ruins his hand and career, though, he must “forge” a new identity. Despite its jingoism and surfeit of historical exposition, I fell in love with this weird early YA novel. It’s a fascinating, heartbreaking portrayal of disability and ableism, and, to be fair, Forbes was just jazzed about fighting the Nazis.

17. Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf by Hayley Krischer (2020)

After universally beloved jock Sean Nessel rapes starry-eyed junior Ali Greenleaf at a party, his queen-bee friend Blythe Jensen agrees to smooth things over by befriending his victim. Ali knows Blythe’s motives are weird and sketchy, but being friends with a popular, exciting girl is preferable to dealing with the fallout of the rape. This YA novel is a complex, astute exploration of trauma and moral responsibility.

16. The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (2017)

Rothstein details how the federal U.S. government allowed, encouraged, and sometimes even forcibly brought about segregation of black and white Americans during the early and mid-twentieth century, with no regard for the unconstitutionality of its actions. He brings home the staggering harm to black Americans who were kept from living in decent housing, shut out of home ownership for generations, and denied the opportunity to accumulate wealth for generations. It’s an impactful read, and I was honestly shocked to learn Rothstein isn’t a lawyer, because the whole thing reads like an expansion of an excellent closing statement.

15. My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf (2012)

In this graphic memoir, Backderf looks back on his casual, fleeting friendship with future serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, a high school classmate who amused Backderf and his geeky friends with bizarre, chaotic antics. Backderf brings their huge, impersonal high school to life, illustrating how the callousness and cruelty of such an environment allowed an isolated, troubled teen to morph into something much more disturbing without anyone really noticing. It’s a work of baffled, tentative empathy and regret that stayed with me long after I finished it.

14. Daniel Deronda by George Eliot (1876)

Gwendolyn Harleth, beautiful and ambitious but with no real outlet, finds herself compelled to marry a heartless gentleman with a shady past. Daniel Deronda, adopted son of her husband’s uncle, finds himself drawn into her orbit due to his helpful nature, but he’s also dealing with a lot of other stuff, like helping a Jewish opera singer and figuring out his parentage. I love George Eliot and, although this bifurcated novel isn’t her most accessible work, it’s highly rewarding. The psychological twists and turns of Gwendolyn’s story are a wonder to experience, and Daniel’s discovery of his past and a new community is moving.

13. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth (2004)

The Roths, an ordinary working-class Jewish family in 1940 Newark, find their quiet lives descending into fear, uncertainty, and strife after Charles Lindbergh, celebrity pilot and Nazi sympathizer, becomes president of the United States. This alternate history/faux-memoir perfectly captures the slow creep of fascism and the high-handed cruelty of state-sanctioned discrimination, as well as the weirdness of living a semi-normal life while all of that is going on. Also: fuck Herman and Alvin for messing up Bess’s coffee table! She is a queen, and she deserves to read Pearl S. Buck in a pleasant setting!

12. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (1850)

Young David Copperfield has an idyllic life with his sweet widowed mom and devoted nursemaid Peggotty, until his cruel stepfather ruins everything. David eventually manages to find safe harbor with his eccentric aunt, but his troubles have only begun. Although the quality of the novel falls off a little once David becomes an adult, I don’t even care; the first half is one of the most beautiful, funny, brilliantly observed portrayals of the joys and sorrows of childhood that I’ve ever read.

11. The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve by Stephen Greenblatt (2017)

Greenblatt examines the evolution and cultural significance of the story of Adam and Eve from the Bible to the modern day (but mostly it’s about Milton). I can’t speak to the scholarship of this book--I’m not an expert on the Bible or Milton or bonobos--but I do know that it’s a gorgeously written meditation on love, mortality, and free will. Greenblatt brought me a lot of joy as an unhappy teenager, and he came through for me again during the summer of 2020.

10. The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019)

Self-conscious seventeen-year-old Jordan is mortified when his widowed mother hires Max, an outgoing jock from his school, to help out with their struggling food truck. As they get to know each other, though, they realize that they have more in common than they thought, and they end up helping each other through a particularly challenging summer. This is an endearing, exceedingly well-balanced YA romance that tackles serious issues with a light touch and a naturalness that’s rare in the genre.

9. Red as Blood by Tanith Lee (1983)

In nine wonderfully lurid stories, Tanith Lee retells fairy tales with a dark, historically grounded, and lady-centered twist. Highlights include a medieval vampiric Snow White, a vengeful early modern Venetian Cinderella, and a Scandinavian werewolf Little Red Riding Hood. Fairy tale retellings are right up my alley, and Lee’s collection is impressively varied and creative.

8. A Room with a View by E.M. Forster (1908)

Unnerved by an impulsive make-out session with egalitarian George Emerson on a trip to Florence, young Edwardian woman Lucy Honeychurch goes way too far the other way and gets engaged to snobbish Cecil Vyse. How can she get out of this emotional and social pickle? This is an absolutely delightful romance that gave a timeless template for romantic comedies and dramas for 100-plus years.

7. My Ántonia by Willa Cather (1918)

Jim Burden, a New York City lawyer, tells the story of his friendship with slightly older Bohemian immigrant girl Ántonia when they were kids together on the late-nineteenth-century Nebraska prairie. It was a pretty pleasant time, give or take a few murders, suicides, and attempted rapes. This is one of the sweetest stories about unrequited love I’ve ever read, and it has some really enjoyable queer subtext.

6. Mister Death’s Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn (2012)

In 1956 Maryland, gawky teen Nora’s peaceful existence is shattered by the unsolved murder of her friends Cheryl and Bobbi Jo right before summer vacation. Essentially left to deal with her trauma alone, she begins to question everything, from her faith in God to the killer’s real identity. Hahn delivers a beautiful coming-of-age story along with a thoughtful portrait of how a small community responds to tragedy.

5. The Lais of Marie de France by Marie de France, with translation and introduction/notes by Robert Herring and Joan Ferrante (original late 12th century, edition 1995)

In twelve narrative poems, anonymous French-English noblewoman Marie de France spins fantastically weird tales of love, lust, and treachery. Highlights include self-driving ships, gay (?) werewolves, and more plot-significant birds than you can shake a stick at. Marie de France brings so much tenderness, delicacy, and startling humor to her stories, offering a wonderful window to the distant past.

4. Maus by Art Spiegelman (1980-1991)

In this hugely influential graphic novel/memoir, Art Spiegelman tells the story of how his Polish Jewish parents survived the Holocaust. He portrays all the characters as anthropomorphic animals; notably, the Jewish characters are mice and the Nazi Germans are cats. I read the first volume of Maus back in 2014 and, while I appreciated and enjoyed it, I didn’t get the full impact until I read both volumes together early in 2020. Spiegelman takes an intensely personal approach to his staggering subject matter, telling the story through the lens of his fraught relationship with his charismatic and affectionate, yet truly difficult father.

3. At the Dark End of the Street by Danielle L. McGuire (2010)

McGuire looks at a seldom-explored aspect of racism in the Jim Crow South (the widespread rape and sexual harassment of black women by white men) and the essential role of anti-rape activism led by black women during the Civil Rights movement. This is a harrowing yet tastefully executed history, and it’s also a truly inspirational story of collective activism.

2. In for a Penny by Rose Lerner (2010)

Callow Lord Nevinstoke has to mature fast when his father dies, leaving him an estate hampered by debts and extremely legitimate grievances from angry tenant farmers. To obtain the necessary funds, he marries (usually!) sensible brewing heiress Penelope Brown, but they face problems that not even a sizable cash infusion can fix. This is a refreshingly political romance with a deliciously tense atmosphere and fascinating themes, as well as an almost painfully engaging central relationship.

1. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (1814)

Fanny Price, the shy and sickly poor relation of the wealthy Bertram family, is subtly mistreated by most of her insecure and/or self-absorbed relatives, with the exception of her kind cousin Edmund. When the scandalous Crawford siblings visit the neighborhood, though, it shakes up her life for good and ill. I put off reading Mansfield Park for years--it’s practically the last bit of Austen writing that I consumed, including most of her juvenilia--and yet I think it’s my favorite. Fanny is an eminently lovable and interesting heroine, self-doubting and flawed yet possessed of a strong moral core, and the rest of the characters are equally realistic and compelling. Austen really made me think about the point of being a good person, both on a personal and a global scale.

#books #reading #rape #racism #genocide #murder #(it was a more cheerful reading year than these tags indicate)#(or was it? i don't know)

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theworldsoul · 3 years

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Uhh warning VENT!!! Talks about self harm and shit... also religious bullshit and gender bullshit??? Like I'm really trans and also Catholicism really fucked me up so if ur uncomfy with that just... skip this post. Also if ur Christian and can't handle seeing ur shit defaced then skip this post. Also if ur gonna clown on this post as "cringe atheism" then fuck you because I'm literally coping with pain lol

:readmore:

Anways now that the disclaimer is over... here comes the real shit.

I... have been going through a LOT lately, jesus christ. I was HAPPY today, yknow? I thought I was gonna be happy the whole day.

I was dancing today. That's how happy I was. For the first time in like... a whole year... I was really so happy. I thought I was gonna cry. But then I got home. And well,,,, I did cry. But not from happiness. I just got my math grade back. A fucking 49 percent. MY AVERAGE RIGHT NOW IS A 57 PERCENT. I MIGHT FAIL MATH 20. I MIGHT HAVE TO RETAKE IT. oh my god I'm such a failure I cant do anything ever i try SO fucking hard but honestly??? I cant fucking do this. I can't, I'm not mentally capable. "Just work harder"... BITCH I AM WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN. I AM SPENDING HOURS AND HOURS OF MY LIFE STUDYING AND PRACTICING. I'm starting to think that how hard i try doesn't even fucking matter because I'm STUPID and all i know how to do is PAINT SHIT!!!! NOBODY CARES ABOUT ART!!!! IF I FAIL THIS CLASS I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO HAVE A HOUSE IN THE FUTURE!!!! A HOUSE!!!!!

I dont even want to be a fucking orthodontist. Okay??? I wanna do what I love: painting. But NOOOO. I have to get a "respectable" job that will "pay me enough money to live". WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO MAKE MONEY TO LIVE??? WTF??? THATS LITERALLY SO FUCKED UP. everyone deserves to live (unless they like murdered someone? I guess? Idk) BUT LIKE I DIDNT KILL NO ONE SO WHATS ALL THIS BS ABOUT WORKING TO LIVE???? WTF??? I rly gotta do all this shit I hate, all this shit I'm mentally incapable of doing... so i can have a house. Fuck this. Yknow with my average at a 57... I might fail this class even if I get a really good grade on my next quiz. Can you fucking believe it??? I'm literally so fucking stupid I cant even pass a dumb fucking math class god i hate myself. I cant fail this class. I've NEVER failed a class. Almost failed... but never HAD TO RETAKE A CLASS. that's the ultimate failure. I think my parents would hate me if I failed this.

And on top of that... I'm really struggling with uhhh, dysphoria and body image... and it's so fucking horrible man I want to rip all my skin off I want to suffocate god I want to KILL him I want to MAKE HIM SUFFER. I want to gouge his eyes out and force him to eat them. WHY WOULD HE MAKE ME LIKE THIS????? WHY????? WHATS THE POINT IN MAKING A CHILD SUFFER SO MUCH???

What did I ever do that was so wrong I deserved all this punishment???

Well FUCK YOU and fuck your stupid book and FUCK THESE STUPID FUCKING SAINTS. WASNT THERE SUPPOSED TO BE A WHOLEASS ANGEL WATCHING OVER ME?? PROTECTING ME??? WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BITCH NOW?? WHERE WAS THAT BITCH WHEN... when I was being bullied? When I literally wanted to kill myself?

Where was that guardian angel when I kept making THE SAME MISTAKE over and over again and I KNEW it was wrong but I kept doing it anyways because it was the only way I could feel like soemone cared about me????

I bet that angel motherufcker KNEW they didnt care. DID THE ANGEL EVER ONCE HELP ME??? NOOOO. all those times I was bruised and broken... all those times...

Man, I was just a kid. I was SO fucking young. And I would come like a lamb to the slaughter and kneel. I would pray... ask for guidance. I would pray the rosary too, I would read the bible and try my very best to understand it, I would go to church and volunteer at church and do my best to be a Good Boy and never sin. I did EVERYTHING right. I literally fasted at some point, like a religious fast. I was devoted...

Honestly though? I think it was the same mistake I make over and over again, except not with a real person.

And you have me NOTHING. GO GIRL, GIVE US NOTHING!!!!!!! I literally used to self-punish for the sins I couldnt bring myself to confess. At my communion, there was one sin I didn't tell because I knew it was unforgivable. I still hate myself for that. But man, I used to try and do all sorts of things to somehow cleanse myself of it. I figured THAT whole ordeal was why I was constantly being tortured.

But I was stupid and I am stupid and that makes NO SENSE because if the thing I'm being punished for happened when I was a child, WHY DID THE PUNISHMENT BEGIN AT MY BIRTH????

They used to tell me that god handcrafted every part of me specifically for some sort of grand reason.

Why.

Really? This bitch really "handcrafted" me just so I could cry and cut myself nearly every night??? Fuck that. Like why would you make me this way. It hurts more than you can IMAGINE. The only reason I'm not dead yet is because of ME, MY strength, not any of the bullshit YOU gave me. I hate when people say "oh, god made u so hardworking" or "oh, god made you so passionate/hopeful/full of love/fiery/whatever" LIKE STFU BITCH THAT WAS NOT SKYDADDY THAT WAS ME!!!

you wanna know what he made me?

dysphoric, ugly af, yeah.... but the worst part?

He made me feel.

That doesn't sound bad, right? Well it's the worst thing on the list. It is my downfall, my Achilles heel or whatever. This emotions shit??? It RUINED my life. My whole life I was cursed with a fucking monster inside me. I kept trying to tell everyone that it wasnt me!!! I kept telling them that it felt like I was being possessed. But adults are SHIT. I hate adults. I want to kill them all. They failed me and their god failed me. None of them every listened to me. All they knew how to do was punish, punish, punish.

It's like giving an allergic kid some peanuts and then getting angry at them for going into anaphylactic shock or whatever. Nobody ever thought "hey, why don't we stop giving the kid peanuts?"

ALL THE ADULTS AROUND ME ACT LIKE CHILDREN AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE ACTED LIKE CHILDREN FUCK ADULTS

Anwyays that's how I ended up with all these unresolved issues,.... emotion is a tough one, like I literally dont have the ability to control my emotions at all, I can try and like, repress them but I cant make myself actually feel less.

My emotion hurts more than anyone else's and nobody ever understood that. I would tell them that it hurts, it PHYSICALLY HURTS, and they would say I just wanted attention. I would tell them I literally couldnt control what my body said and did, I would tell them I felt like A PUPPET ON STRINGS and no one believed me. Fuck them.

Healthy coping mechanisms? I literally self ship with Snape to cope. I literally self ship with characters my brain made up and put in my dreams to cope. I used to hurt myself so much trying to feel loved and cared about irl. Fiction is so much better. I sound like a loser but its TRUE. The sort of thing I need, the sort of love I need is like... a parent. You can't go looking for a parent in a romantic partner, it fucks everything up and you end up... well, let's just say it proabbly wasnt the most legal thing, but I wasnt thinking strisght at all I mean dude I was So fucked in my head when I did all that...whatever...anyways so thank u for fiction!!! I love fiction. Want to kill someone? Draw it. Then you'll feel much better!!! And you dont go to jail!!!

Well the pics here... idk, it was really calming to do this. It's new, painting over religious shit. I was gonna do the whole bible but I already burnt that shit so.... and I was going to cut but I'm trying really hard to stay clean... like really hard. It's so weird and like, addicting, once I hit styro I don't want to stop, but also it kinda transfers the emotional pain to physical pain, making it way easier to deal with. I just can't keep doing that because I KNOW it's bad and look I thoguht I was clean for a whole year but then I fucked up and WOW, GUESS WHAT MADE ME RELAPSE??? MATH CLASS!!!!

Whatever anyways here are my wonderful works of art I made while crying and cursing god (like I'm so pissed at all this catholic bs I believed in him again just to swear at him lol)

.... but imagine for a moment, a better world. One in whcih these saints whose images I've defaced are actually good people... a world in which they SEE ME AND THEY HEAR ME... and I go unpunished.... and I am embraced by someone who UNDERSTANDS.

I think I would cry.

Too bad that world doesnt exist and I just made it up to try and feel a bit better. Whatever, whatever. I painted the things, they're gonna dry. I work hard, I'm gonna do good on my quiz, I hope. I just have to be making it through, that's all it is, work work work without a break but I can proabbly do it. I'm really slipping I admit like the mental health is slipping it's getting worse like I havent had a "fuck I am afab" moment in such a long time so yeah...

Anwyays I feel so much better now that I did my little art project yknow???

#ughhh #parent your fucking kids #religious bullshit #adults dont fuck up the children you are in charge of challenge #religion don't fuck up trans kids challenge #good dick really breaks a motherfucker #vent

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yukiobeyme · 4 years

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Heya! It's me again. I really don't want to come off as rude or impatient. Would it be ok if I asked for Ikevamp comfort headcanons? That MC is self harming (actively, if possible) and just fluff and angst? I don't care who or how many suitors you choose. You wrote a post about maybe writing it and I know I already commented on it, I could just really do with this type of fic. Thank you so much and It's completely ok if you're uncomfortable writing that or any other reason ^^

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE!!! Sorry I’ve been MIA my dad went to the hospital with COVID and pneumonia and I am a full-time student. I did miss your reply and I do apologize for that! I did jump this up in my requests because I feel like lots of people need this comfort. Feel free to reach out to me if you need to talk, I know I’ve been in the same situation during this time. You ARE NOT ALONE! YOU ARE LOVED! I am going to break this up into parts simply so I can research some of the characters a little more and make sure they are as accurate as possible.

But I need this right now as well. Some of them are ambiguous if MC and the Boys are in a relationship or not, up to the reader to decide. Also, these are more like drabbles then headcanons. TW: Active Self-Harm and Depression. If you are at risk please reach out whether it is a professional, friends, family or to Crisis Hotlines.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – For youth and adults (800) 273 8255

Text HOME to 741741 (US & Canada)

Text HOME to 85258 (UK)

Text HOME 0861800280 (Ireland)

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG AND ADD MORE HOTLINES

I also might have Vincent’s and Theo’s Out of Character, but Vincent Van Gogh suffered from Depression and had many mental breakdowns and ate paint in a form of self-harm due to the toxicity of the paints during the time.

Sebastian

It did not take Sebastian long before he realized a knife was missing from the kitchen. At first, he didn’t know where it went but he was very observant and immediately noticed your change of behavior. You kept your sleeves down even if you were washing dishes, how you occasionally seemed to dig your arm into the countertop, or used your other hand to press against your other arm.

He tried to ignore the nagging feeling but kept an eye on you. He couldn’t ignore it when you were in the kitchen together when he heard you let out a hiss, it seemed like your arm caught on the counter and you instantly clenched your arm. He immediately noticed that your white sleeve was turning red. He froze for a moment before he moved towards you. Catching you before you could leave the kitchen and pulling you to sit on one of the stools in the kitchen. You looked like a deer in the headlights and was ridged like a stone statue. You stared straight ahead and avoided his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves. He heard his breath hitch when he rolled up your sleeves.

“MC? Why?” For Sebastian to be strict and calm, you hear his voice wavier and tried to catch your eyes.

That’s what broke you, you immediately started to cry, you dropped your head into your hands. You felt his hand rest on your shoulder.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit, please stay here. Wait for me please,” Sebastian’s voice was full of emotion, he gave your shoulder a final squeeze before he left to get the first aid. You were left alone, but you took the time to calm down and watch the blood dry. Sebastian came back quickly and immediately started to doctor you up.

“We don’t have to talk about it know… but I need to know, is that why there is a kitchen knife missing?” Sebastian knew the answer, but he had to make sure, he had to confirm it. You nodded, still not looking at him and you couldn’t find your voice at all.

“MC look at me please,” Sebastian’s voice was urgent and quiet. It took you a moment, but you looked up at him, with tears in your eyes. You took in his furrowed brows, his eyes full of concern and the start of tears forming.

“MC, I am here for you. You have ten other people that are here for you. You are important. You are important to me,” His voice cracked on the last sentence, tears finally falling grey eyes. You immediately lunged towards him and wrapped your arms around him and snuggling into his chest. He held you just as tight and you stayed in silence.

“Take the rest of the day off, if you need too,” Sebastian said quietly, rubbing mindless circles on your back.

“No,” you immediately answered, “I need the distraction,” you whispered pulling away slightly and looking at him. He nodded and gave you a soft smile before his face become serious, “ I would like the knife back, take an hour then. Collect yourself and I’ll give you a list of things to do,”. With that, he sent you off.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat heavily on your bed and took a deep breath. You took a few minutes to calm down and relax before you went and grabbed the knife. It still had dried blood on it, you turned it over in your hands, debating and thinking. You jumped when you heard a knock on the door and it opening to reveal Sebastian.

He was quiet and wide eye when he saw you holding the knife, “Sorry to barge in but I figure it would be better to collect the knife from you.” You let out a heavy breath and nodded, holding out the knife to him.

“Thank you,” Sebastian held the knife gingerly, also as if he was afraid and saddened by it.

For the rest of the week, you were given mindless tasks that took all day. But they weren’t unwelcomed, and you appreciated Sebastian not forcing you to talk to him. Though he did check on you and request to see how the cuts were healing and seeing if you were comfortable to let Arthur seem them. You would finally come around and talk to Sebastian about your self-harming habits, how it started, and why you continued. He would always make tea and have your favorite pastries at the ready so you could comfortably sit and talk about it. When you needed it, he would allow you in his room and collect you in his arms when you needed it. Letting you decide if you wanted to talk about it or simply wanted his silence comfort.

Leonardo Da Vinci

He had seen it all in his 500 years. It made his soul and heart ache if he actually had them. To see you suffer so much you that you took it out on yourself physically made him hurt as well. He found out when you were in his room playing with Lumiere and your sleeves rose that he caught silver lines as well as angry red lines.

“What happened Cara Mia?” He asked softly rising from his floor and catching your arm in his hand.

You immediately pulled away from him, your first mistake. “Oh, Lumiere must have scratched me, it’s no big deal,” you tried to act casual about it and shrug it off but you were an open book to him.

“Cara Mia, you are lying to me,” It wasn’t a question, he gazed into your eyes and tipped your chin up to make sure you kept eye contact with him. You left out a shaky breath, “Leonardo, let me have this one, for now, please” you begged, pleaded with him.

“You did it to yourself. Why? With what?” Leonardo's thoughts were racing at this point. Looking into your eyes trying to find the answers.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I brought my razor apart. I need to feel. Be in control,” you whispered, Leonardo almost missed your answer.

Leonardo simply nodded and collected you into his arms and pulled you into his bed. He practically rested his body onto on you, his weight wasn’t unwelcomed though, it was comforting and grounding.

You stayed like this for a while, Leonardo started out whispering love into your skin and pressing soft kisses to whatever skin he could reach. Soon he started to sing old Italian lullabies to you, you tried to fight off the heaviness in your eyes.

“Sleep Cara Mia, you are exhausted. I’ll be here when you wake,” Leonardo paused in his sing before pressing a final kiss on your forehead and continued to sing to you. You let sleep overcome you, enjoying his warmth. When you woke, you had moved so you were on top of Leonardo and you were clinging to his chest. You looked up at Leonardo’s face and saw his gold eyes watching over you gently.

“Cara Mia?” he said softly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “How are you feeling?” he watched your face carefully.

When he asked you felt the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil wash over you again, with a deep breath you told him just that.

“That is to be expected,” he started, “Cara Mia?”

You hummed in respond looking at him in the eyes, his eyes were full of sorrow and concern.

“Will you allow me to tend to your wounds and confiscate your razors?” Leonardo asked slowly, carefully picking his words. You panicked, the idea of letting him see the extent of the damage you have done to yourself, as well as losing your only coping mechanism here. Leonardo picked up on how you stiffened in his arms.

“Cara Mia, it’s okay. How are we make a deal? Whenever you want to harm yourself you come to see me? You can harm me instead, I will heal quicker,” He offered as it was obvious, and in the most casual voice. Your eyes widened, “NO!” you practically shouted at him and pulled away from him, you felt the panic rising and your breath quicken.

“Relax Cara Mia,” he pulled you back against his chest. “Your reaction to hurting me is the same I feel that you hurting yourself,” he started rubbing circles on your back. You took a deep breath and let yourself relax against him.

After a few moments of silence, Leonardo spoke up again, “Why don’t we go take a bath together?” without answering him. He urged you to sit up then stand. He moved around to collect his things before reaching out his hand towards you, “shall we?”

You took his hand and he whisked you away. He helped you strip once you were behind the closed door of the bath. He was careful around your arm, trying to quickly recover when he saw how many cuts littered your arms. He then stripped himself and guided you to the bath. You recalled all the other times you took a bath with him, how it was heated and passionate. This time it was different, it was gentle and intimate. He washed your back and your hair, gently humming to you. After some time, he wrapped you in his arms and you both sat in silence, letting the heat of the bath relax the tension out of your bodies.

“I’m sorry, Leonardo,” you whispered to him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Cara Mia or at least not to me,” He pressed you to his chest.

“I am here for you Cara Mia, for the rest of my life. I love you and will love you for as long as I live,” He continued turning you slightly.

“But you will live forever,” you looked at him in confusion.

“Exactly,” he gave you a soft smile and gave you a soft kiss

Arthur Conan Doyle (TW: DESCRIPTION OF SELF-HARM AND BLOOD AND NSFW)

You forgot to roll your sleeves back down before entering Arthur’s room to deliver his usual afternoon coffee. He mutters thanks fully focused on completing his thoughts before looking up at you. His eyes immediately fell to your arms.

“By Jove!,” He exclaimed as he jumped from his seat and grasped you are to get a better look at the wounds. “Who did this to you?” Arthur’s eyes were dark and full of rage. He was demanding to know, and his grip was too tight, almost painful.

“Arthur, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered, the fresh cuts still burned from the pressure. It was a mix of delight and too much pain. His grip loosened but was still firm as he looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Who did it to you, MC,” His voice was softer, trying to catch your eyes but you refused to look at him. “MC, please?” he begged, desperate.

“Look at the angle of the cuts, Arthur,” you said firmly, feeling angry bubble within you. You didn’t know if you were angry you were caught or angry that Arthur was pretending to care. Arthur looked taken back by your words but did as you told. Twisting your arm around so he could carefully look at the cuts.

“Did you do this to yourself?” he whispered, his eyes widened and filled with tears. He looked shattered and looked at you in confused wonder.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you shoved Arthur’s chest putting space between you. He stumbled backwards in shock and faced twisted in hurt. Before he could say anything else, you stormed out of his room and immediately went to hide in yours.

Your hands shook, the panic was clawing at your throat. You felt out of control and you didn’t feel real. You went to were you had hidden your razor and pulled it out. You let it catch the light and twisted it in your hands. You went back to your bed and sat down, your breathing became labored and heart speed up as you pressed the razor to your wrist. The blood beaded up immediately and you relished in the feeling as pain and calm flood through your body. You lost yourself as you continuously dragged the razor over and over again. You didn’t hear your door open or someone steps into your room.

Soon a shadow fell over you and a hand rested on your hand that held the razor. Your head jerked up as you meet Arthur’s eyes that were full of emotions; pain, pain, and brimming with tears.

“MC,” his voice was tight, he was chocking on your name and his emotions. You realized you had hot tears running down your face and your body shook. Arthur’s gently grabbed the razor from you and pocketed it, before he stared intently at your arm.

“Go away Arthur,” you tried to be firm and push him away, but you sound pathetic. Arthur focused on the blood on your arm.

“May I?” He gestured at your arm, ignoring how you asked him to leave. “Vampire saliva can seal the wounds and stop the bleeding,” answering your silent questions. You pulled your arm out of view before you sigh and held you arm out to him.

“Thank you, MC,” Arthur whispered before dropping his head and gently lapped at your cuts. You watched in amazement as the blood seemed to stop immediately. You were surprised it actually stung and hurt, most times when Arthur bit you, it hurt for a second before it turned into pure pleasure but not this time. He muttered apologizes as he saw you flinch.

Once he was done, he pulled back and looked over the wounds making sure that all the bleeding had stopped. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to look at your face only looking at your arm that was full of a mix of fresh cuts and old scars. You both sat in silence, you looked at his face once you hear him sniffle.

“MC, allow me to make love to you?” Arthur said quietly finally looking up at you. His face was blotchy due to crying and his cheeks had trails of tears. You looked at him for a while before you nodded, your emotions were on edge and you didn’t know what to feel.

Arthur guided you on your back before he started to press soft kisses all over your face, slowing unbuttoning your shirt and pressuring kisses to the new skin as it was revealed. Once your shirt was off, he focused on kissing you arms, when he got to your arm that was covered in the cuts and scars, he kissed every single one of them. Whispering how much he loved you, how special you were, how beautiful you were, how he wished he knew you were suffering. He worshiped your body, scars, and all until you were close to tears. You wanted to fight every statement he said, reject the idea you were beautiful, you were special or important. You weren’t though things, but the words died on your tongue as he continued.

He was soft and gently with you, as if you could break or disappear at any moment. There was no rush or roughness. Your organism built up slowly and drove you wild, you arched into his kisses and praise. You reached your peak together. As you came down from your high, you fell into a deep sleep, emotionally exhausted from the events.

You woke up with Arthur clinging to you, at some point he must have left to get his doctor bag because your arm was completely bandaged up and he was dressed in his PJs.

“Arthur?” you whispered, rolling over in his embrace to face you. He slowly opened his eyes and gave you a sad smile.

“How are you feeling?” He started to trace circles on your back, his touch was so gentle. You felt your eye tear up again, you wanted to fight him again.

“Please don’t fight me, I am not going anywhere,” he whispered pulling you closer to him. “You can cry, it’s okay. I am here for you,”

“But for how long? You are just going to leave eventually,” your voice cracked, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but he tightened his grip on you and kept you close.

“I’m not going away, I mean it. You are too important to me. You should know by now I’m greedy. I’m not letting you go,” His arms tightened around you to emphasis his point.

“You don’t have to believe my words; I will provide it to you through my actions. It won’t get better overnight, but I will be here for you regardless,” He said, making sure you were making eye contact with him.

You nodded not being him but hoping it was true. You clung to him, as he whispered how much he adored you, how important and loved you are. Waiting until you were ready to talk and tell him your story.

Vincent van Gogh (TW: SUICIDE MENTION)

Vincent knew you were hurting. He could tell by how you looked, how fake your smile looked, he recognized the look. He had it often during his time as a human, especially before breakdowns that would lead him to be admitted. He asked you to hang out in his room one day ask he painted, he reassured you, you weren’t going to model for him, he just wanted your company.

You settled yourself down on his couch with your own sketchbook, you opened it and randomly started to doodle as Vincent started to paint. You sat in comfortable silence for a while, both of you got lost in your drawings.

“I used to eat paint,” Vincent said after some time, putting his brushes down and looking over at you. “I wanted to poison myself by eating paint and drinking turpentine,” his voice was clear and strong as he revealed a dark secret to you. He said it as if he was making a comment on the weather.

“Vincent?” You asked softly as you rose and reached out to him. Your eyes full of concern as you placed your hand on his arm.

“I wasn’t allowed in my studio when I was suffering from my attacks,” He continued looking at where your hand rested on his arm. “I remember how Theo would always be considered and hurting along with me,” he continued you looking at you the whole time.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked softly wondering why he shared it out the blue.

“I believe we are similar in the way of when we are hurting, we hurt ourselves on the outside to show others we are hurting,” Vincent started, “ We don’t know how to our words, how to communicate with others we are hurting,” Vincent let his hand rest on top of yours.

You realized the implication of his words and you felt your eyes widened.

“May I see where you are hurting yourself?” Vincent asked quietly dropping his head slightly.

You sucked in a breath, “How did you know?” you were scared and terrified, what he would do if he saw the extent of all the damage you have done to yourself.

“Like I said we are alike in that way, please let me see MC” Vincent answered softly. You nodded and stepped away from Vincent, he looked surprised until he saw that you moved to unbutton your shirt and his eyes widened as scars and cuts appeared as you revealed your skin. Scars decorated your chest, arms, shoulders, where you could reach there seemed to be a mix of scars and fresh cuts.

Vincent’s eyes filled with sadness as you pulled you into a silent hug. You felt vulnerable and raw, you haven’t shown or talked about your self-harming habit in years. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you didn’t know how else to cope.

You stayed in the hug for a while in complete silence. Eventually, Vincent gently swayed you back and forth in comfort. You felt the tears spring up and you clung onto Vincent. That was when he gently walked you to the couch and made it so you both could lay down. Your head was rested on his chest and you took in a deep breath of his scent and clung to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vincent asked, comforting you the best he could.

You started to shake your head no but then sighed. You paused before you looked away from him and started to tell your story. The demons you faced and how they made you feel so worthless, that you weren’t important, and you deserved the pain and suffering. You were destined to be unhappy and you wouldn’t amount to anything. Vincent listened in absolute silence, gently squeezing you occasionally to keep you talking. The more you talked the better you felt but you felt yourself draining. When you finished your story, you hide your face in his chest.

“Thank you, MC” Vincent replied softly kissing the top of your head and tightened his arms around you.

“You are so brave, you’ve done so well,” Vincent continued to praise you. Showing you with love and affection that you felt like you didn’t deserve, and you told him just as much.

“Of course, you deserve it,” Vincent's hand moved to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“But we don’t need to talk about it anymore,” Vincent watched you carefully.

“Thank you, Vincent,” you both feel silent, you snuggled closer to his chest. Letting your eyes fall shut, exhausted.

“I’m here for you MC, always,”

Theodorus van Gogh

“Hondje?” You stopped dusting in the library and looked up Theo, who had a confused look on his face.

“Yes, Theo?” setting down your dusting rag and walked towards him, returning a confused look.

“Why can I smell your blood? I could smell it down the hall.” Theo’s voice had no emotion, but he watched you intently. You instantly panicked and pulled your arm tighter to your side.

“Hondje?” Theo’s voice cracked and stepped towards you. You were surprised it wasn’t often Theo was gentle, he had a rough exterior and teasing most of the time. You knew it was serious, but you didn’t want to admit you had relapsed. Theo already knew you struggled with self-harm, you had talked to Vincent about it and of course, word got back to your boyfriend. Though he never confronted you about it, instead he waited until you became more intimate with one another and he saw them.

You watched Theo’s face fall, figuring out the answer for himself. He was quick to move towards you and wrap you in a tight hug. He was breathing heavily; you could feel the anger and rage vibrate through his body. You were stiff in his arms.

“I’m not angry at you, MC. I promise,” Theo’s voice was rougher than he wanted. He took a deep breath trying to calm down.

“I’m angry at myself for not noticing you were hurting again. I didn’t always catch it with Vincent, I swore to myself I would always catch on and help before you or Vincent starts to hurt yourselves again. I failed you,” Theo’s voice wavered, his voice is tight, and he tightened his grip on you.

“Theo, no. I should have come to you. This isn’t your fault,” you whispered back at him, holding him just as tight.

“I want you to come to me or Vincent if you are more comfortable with him,” Theo sounded like he was pleading with you.

“Why did it start up again?” Theo whispered

“I don’t know… La Tristesse Durera Toujours,” you finally sighed dropping your head, so it rested on his shoulder.

Theo’s body stilled, you heard him suck in a breath, and you felt his heart start to race.

“MC, no. Please,” It seemed like those words broke Theo, he clung to you as if you were going to disappear if he let go. His breath hitched and you felt his tears fall. You felt drained and emotionless, you felt empty once you said those words.

Theo gathered you in his arms and picked you up. He walked straight to his room, placing you gently on the bed before turning around to lock the door. You laid there absolutely still, Theo headed back to the bed stopping to take off his shoes, suspenders, jacket, and his pants. He then walked towards you and removed your shoes as well before he crawled onto his bed and right beside you. He threw his arm over you and pulled you close to him.

“I can’t lose you MC. I can’t I promise that isn’t true. I can’t lose you like I lost Vincent. It destroyed me. I was dead in six months after he died.” Theo chocked out. You nodded and moved towards him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

You both clung to each other, hoping to reassure one another it would be okay, without words.

“I’m here for you MC, always. I love you,” Theo whispered, you pulled back looking at him, it wasn’t often Theo used your name and you couldn’t help but give him a small smile, “I love you too, Theo,”.

“We will get through this together,” Theo rested his head on top of yours.

“Together,” you whispered back in agreement.

Note: La Tristesse Durera Toujours is Dutch for “The Sadness Last Forever,” and Theo wrote in a letter to one of his sisters that those were Vincent’s last words. Vincent van Gogh suffered from hallucinations and attacks that would cause him to eat paint to try and poison himself and drink turpentine. During one of Vincent’s hallucinations, he cut off his left ear. Vincent van Gogh died in Theo’s arms a few days after shooting himself in the chest and died of an infection (Though there are rumors a group of kids taunted him and shot him and Vincent lied to protect them, but that isn’t confirmed.) After Vincent’s death, Theo's physical and mental health deteriorated quickly. Theo ended up being admitted and passed away on January 25, 1891, 6 months after Vincent’s death. His cause of death was Dementia paralytic, which was determined to be chronic, genetic, and due to overworking himself.

#ikevam leonardo #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp sebastian #yuki writes #tw self harm #tw depression #Yuki Writes!#Ikemen Vampire

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chibi-honey-cake · 4 years

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Top 10 favorite preds?

OH, SO YOU HAVE CHOSEN BEARS. Perhaps you didn't know what you were asking, but I am holding back more love for the bears from the Fi.ve Ni.ghts at Fre.ddy's series than is necessarily healthy, I'm sure. So it’s all bears on this list. Please note that these are my interpretations of the characters.

Get ready for Freddy some fancy singer bears because this girl is all about them sharp-dressed preds! [Stick around 'til the end for honorable mentions, a.k.a. If Chibi Wasn't Completely Teddy-Beared] Also beneath the cut because this got STUPID LONG.

10. Nightmare Freddy The only canonical parent. *snicker* I put him this low because despite being what I would call a demon, he's kinda vanilla in my head. He has sharp teeth, claws, a great intimidating aura and sure, he can make you fear for your safety... But in the end, he's careful with those pointy things. (Side note: In most of my writing the Nightmares feed off of fear, which leads to a lot of teasing fearplay with no real harm.)

9. Classic Freddy/Withered Freddy (Hey, they're the same character, shut up) He was my original crush of the series and I'm always going to love the main bear singer. Half of the time I portray him as a soft, charming pred that gently coaxes prey into being eaten and the other half he's a huGE TEASE, grinning and cooing to prey about how filling they'll be squirming in his gut all nice and snug- AAAA! He has the 'suave smile' down pat, I don't know how he does it!

8. Nightmare Fredbear Okay, look. He's intimidating, huge, wide, has sharp teeth, a belly maw, and claws. He is literally made to tower over you and make you question reality, a demon sent to torment... Really, he's a smug, teasing monster that relishes in your nervous stammering and fearful trembling. He wouldn't really harm someone, he's more interested in the fear they exude though. He also borrows some teleport powers from both being a Nightmare and a copy of Golden Freddy, so sometimes he'll appear behind you with that big, toothy, smug-jerk grin until your skin crawls enough to notice him... Or his belly rumbles ravenously right behind your head. And his tummy is LOUD when you're outside, let alone inside...

7. Lefty Okay, Lefty's a little hard to explain. He's calm and gentle in his daily life performing alongside the Rockstar models, sometimes even more slow and quiet. He likes to watch others more than participate, opting to stare. Sure, maybe he's just shy... Or maybe he's calculating the best place to catch you by yourself. Most of the time though, he's more concerned with the health of those around him. If he thinks you're pushing yourself too hard, he'll gently make sure you'll take a break. He'll shush prey as he holds them carefully inside, reassuring them. Often he will activate his inner music box to soothe his prey to sleep. He just wants you to take a nap- in his belly~

6. Shadow Freddy/Phantom Freddy Okay yes, two different characters, but I treat them more like brothers or duplicates of one another. They act almost the same, so I'm cheating shut up. Phantom Freddy is a ghost, obviously, and Shadow Freddy is a shadow entity, again obviously. They are both non-verbal most of the time when I write for them, opting instead to nudge and gesture (and tease like the dickens in a one-sided conversation). But they purr loud to let you know if they're enjoying themselves.Since they are both beings made of energy, that's what they need to maintain their forms. They just 'borrow' some liveliness from their prey, which leaves the prey a little drained afterward. But that's something that can be solved with a nap and some snacks~ Some friendly warnings- since they are not really physically solid, they're known for surprising prey. They love hugs, both outside- and inside. It depends on the day whether they are going to swallow prey- or just absorb them into their bodies. But it's like floating in cool air- you're okay with that, right?

5. Molten Freddy I have so many feels for my poor, unraveled boy... He's gone through a lot, stuck in a long, snaky coily body by himself, but he still has such a sweet demeanor! His mass appears so much bigger now that his endoskeleton has come undone, Molten Freddy can control all of his coils separately. He's starved for attention and if someone shows the slightest empathy to him, he latches onto them hard. He's so fond of hugs that he'll hold prey with his coils and call them sweet names until they fluster bright red. Then he'll wrap them up and swallow them slowly, purring as he works them down deeper into his metal-cable body for long, internal hugs... Bear with snake body, yeth~

4. Nightmare Okay, so Nightmare Fredbear? Just- magnify all of that. Like, 2000% magnification. Nightmare is what his name suggests: a literal embodiment of nightmares. His teasing can get rough, borderline possessive sometimes. When he feels he's going overboard in terrorizing his prey, he'll subtly ease back. But let's face it, it's easy to go overboard when you're... well, basically the King of Fearplay. He can be a pushy jerk, being the leader of the Nighmares means he calls a lot of the shots... But if you know him well enough, he'll reveal more of his true self and become easier to deal with. He'll be your huge, intimidating back-up with an army of nightmares at his command- no one will mess with you again. But when faced with his insatiable appetite, it means that you'll be dealing with his belly maw more often than his fear-inspiring appearance.

3. Fredbear/Golden Freddy/Withered Golden Freddy (Again, same character) Ah, a wonderful golden bear! He has such versatility since you see him in so many eras! As a younger bear, he was more polite and reserved. As the years wore on, he began to get more... sloppy, for lack of a better term. His politeness wore down and he became less reserved, starting to be more teasing and smug. By the time the first game started, he was a grinning, teleporting menace. He loves to spook prey by appearing behind them, then pinning them against the wall to fluster the daylights out of them with his ravenous appetite. "I've been empty for so long... Could you help me with that~?" He can get possessive over his prey occasionally, and he loves nothing more than lounging around with a squirming belly full of delicious prey.

2. Funtime Freddy The excitable boy, despite being my main F/O, number two on the list of favorite preds? *gasp* Okay so I LOVE Funtime Freddy so much, it's not funny. ...There's a pun in there somewhere. Hm. He's such a silly bear, so full of energy! He's bouncy and giggly most of the time, always ready and glad to spend time with someone! There's only one problem... He also burns a lot of energy and his tummy often reminds him to eat with sudden, sharp growling. And when your hunger is that fast and demanding... Oftentimes the best food source is his tasty prey friend literally right next to him! Hope the prey doesn't mind the sudden change of scenery! He has an issue with going too fast out of eagerness to fill his tummy, so sometimes he'll give himself a tummyache. Guess the prey better get to work soothing their big pal's tum, huh?

1. Toy Freddy That's right, my soft boy~ He's such a nervous, fretting bear that needs some soft reassurance and hugs. Good thing he's already soft and plush, ready for someone to soothe his nerves. He's extremely polite and reserved, never wanting to impose or bother others... But sometimes his tummy speaks up for him. If he's hungry, he cannot stop the starved rumbling of his empty tummy and he will be so flustered about it! Apologizing, stammering, trying to subtly rub his tum to calm it down (not knowing it's doing the opposite), he's a flushed, famished mess. Most of the time it takes a prey offering themselves up for Toy Freddy to eat them and he'll constantly ask, "Are you sure?" He goes slow to ensure prey's comfort and because he absolutely must savor their flavor, thanking them gratefully as his belly accepts its treat with loud approval. (But if the prey is oblivious and his hunger gnaws too hard for too long, he might snap and stuff the prey into his mouth. He'd apologize profusely after he'd gulped them down, ashamed at his own behaviour. Don't drive the poor soft boi to those measures...)

[Sorry, Rockstar Freddy. Your politeness, smooth compliments, and offers of 'substitute payment' weren't enough to get you on the list. I'll make it up to you later.]

Okay so, here for the honorable mentions now? Unfortunately, I haven't really branched out very far beyond these bears when it comes to noms, but here's a few I've experimented with or am thinking of experimenting with.

King Dedede (from Kir.by) - He's such a glutton, though! He's kind of bossy and definitely greedy for food, but oh well lunch isn't for another ten minutes so his servant or guest might just have to do until then! It may be sudden and lunch may end up joining you, but at least his belly is pretty spacious! He's a kind pred behind closed doors where no one can see his nice side, happily holding prey inside. And he'll definitely let you out later, just... keep squirming, your king demands it~

Globox (from Ra.yman) - A huge, plump frog-like friend! He literally eats stuff to store it repeatedly in Rayman 2 and (although I haven't played it yet) in Rayman 3, I think Globox accidentally swallows the bad guy and the whole plot is about getting them out? I wonder why there's not more content of him out there, he's positively MADE for this community, lol.

King K.Rool (from Don.key Ko.ng 64) - Okay so, lemme call myself out. Past Chibi, who didn't know what vore was at the tender age of 10, had a fascination with the villain of DK64. -And had daydreams of causing trouble with my friends the Kongs only to be captured and eaten by K.Rool as an act of punishment against the Kongs? Didn't know why I liked that thought, but I just- kept coming back to it! Now I know why! Considering how H U G E he is compared to the Kongs in that last boss fight, um... G/t vore? Haha!

Slimes (from Sli.me Ran.cher)- We knew this was coming. Considering the very nature of our ranching-of-slimy-friends game, I couldn't help but think of plenty of pred and prey scenarios. But the best pred scenario I can think of is an inexperienced rancher coming across a gordo slime (which is a ton of slimes congealed into a larger one). Of course they're a dumb-bucket and decide to poke it when their vac-pac doesn't work, which leads to them getting stuck and sucked into the sticky, slimy mess. When they get free somehow, they embarrassingly admit it to another rancher who laughs. "Oh, that happens to everyone once."

TL:DR- Chibi has EXTREME CRUSH on several dapper bears and very clearly has a pred type [taller, larger, and stronger than her].

#chatty cake #anonymous #extreme cuddling #v.ore #soft vore #safe vore #vore talk #implied fearplay #f.naf #fnaf vore #thank you for enabling me #I worked on this all day

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fallershipping · 4 years

Text

Looker x Anabel Retrospective

The absolute ultimate Retrospective post as to explain why I’ve been on this OTP since 2016. Especially made in mind with the idea that some new peeps on the boat may not realize the extent of the lore between these two characters. Feel free to read this or skip this if you want, because I did pour out my heart and soul and it can be kind of a lengthy read.

Enjoy~

So Looker and Anabel have been two existing characters in Pokemon for the longest time, with both being sort of beloved for different reasons but not too often thought about as compared to other NPCs. One’s a reoccurring comedy relief detective since Platinum and the other is probably the most memorable and strongest of the Hoenn Battle Frontier from Emerald.

But when SunMoon dropped, these two characters got a new lease on life that no one really saw coming. This special appearance made them go from NPCs I never really thought too much about to placing them as my top two favorite Pokemon characters of all time.

The UB Task Force mission, as much as a glorified fetch quest as it seems to be, continues some of the darker, more adult themes brought along with SunMoon. While the main story dealt with subjects of abuse and what it means to be a truly strong person in the case of hardships, the post game surprisingly delves into the corrupt side of a seemingly good organization and idea of sacrificing one life to save another. What appears to be another run of the mill Looker mission takes a dive into the tragic backstory shared between certain characters, and all of this lore was scrapped in the ‘definitive’ USUM games.

So while a lot of people might have played this portion of the game, many could have skipped it entirely or didn’t give the dialogue too much thought.

But you’re asking, why is it special? And why have I cared so much for a potential romantic relationship between Looker and Anabel enough to draw them as much as I have?

Haha. Buckle up buckaroo.

So right off the bat, Looker and Anabel’s banter sets up what kind of relationship they have with one another. They’re formal as coworkers can be, but the more they talk to one another, the friendliness that they share quickly becomes apparent. They also tend to speak highly of each other, no matter if the person is in the room or gone out.

And he’s not wrong! Looker is well aware of just how capable Anabel is for a guy that isn’t really known for Pokemon battles himself.

After the first UB on the list is securely captured, Looker insists on a feast for everyone to enjoy in one of Alola’s famous restaurants, in which Anabel points out asking how he had known of this already having just now arrived here. Looker, flustered, says that he’s read it in a magazine and dashes out to make reservations, cuing Anabel to react to his odd antics in a more...

Affectionate way.

Look at that lil smile.

He’s an odd fellow, for sure. A lot of characters in the past called him weird or were off put by his personality, but Anabel is very patient and sort of endeared by him. He constantly returns to the gang yelling “It’s a catastrophe!” in different languages-- And Anabel doesn’t snap at him angrily for it, but calmly asks him to repeat himself in english so that she can understand him.

During the course of the post game while Looker’s away, Anabel is always talking about him in a positive manner. Despite his quirks, she finds him a league of his own even amongst the elite of the International Police.

Despite this acknowledgment of Looker’s skill and ability, she seems to be awfully dead set on keeping Looker as backup in their base of operations.

Anabel knows how dangerous UBs are. They’re not human criminals that he can easily deal with with his own fists-- they are aggravated alien monsters. Her imagining Looker facing one of them alone without any Pokemon to defend himself with probably scares her deeply.

Scares her enough for her to constantly assign him to be backup for her and the Protag, despite his protests and his expertise in fieldwork.

And yet she never fails to remind him that he is important regardless of whether he’s on the field fighting alongside her or set to backup. Almost, in a way, finding a way to flatter him. (smiling at him as reassurance or perhaps even putting up a bit of charm) She is thankful for his help on getting intel and he’s a valuable asset to the mission, but she cannot bear the thought of her friend getting hurt when she can handle the UBs with her own fully trained Pokemon team.

However, despite her confidence, Anabel grows more and more fatigued with each UB encounter. Looker’s worry rises and he tries even harder to let himself take her place in the field.

As much as she also insists on not wanting to worry him, Looker’s usual goofy and eccentric demeanor begins to change. His speech patterns start to become more serious and his sentences trail off more often, which throughout all the games, is a rather rare sight to see. His care for Anabel brings out something vulnerable and emotional out of someone self proclaimed hard-boiled.

With all the respect he gives her and all the times he commemorates her aptitude, he still fears for her greatly.

And when a familiar character appears, we understand why.

Nanu comes in to talk about the truth behind Anabel’s reappearance in the series; much like the UBs, she came from another world through Ultra Space and ended up as what Interpol dubbed as a Faller.

Fallers are bathed in the energy from ultra wormholes. Thus, UBs are attracted to these humans, mistaking them as a way back home and going on the attack. Back then, Interpol found a particular use for Fallers by using them to direct the attention of UBs away from public areas.

Which is what happened ten years prior to the events of SunMoon. Looker, Nanu, and a third member were sent to fight a Guzzlord. However, Looker hesitated in harming it further when it realized it was just scared monster sent here against it’s will. But his lapse in judgment cost the life of the third member, a Faller woman, to fall victim to Guzzlord’s attack.

Looker and Nanu took down the Guzzlord but learned the horrible truth about their companion, who was not trained in combat-- she was designated as bait, but the catastrophic results were a failure that shadows Interpol forever. Not long after, the two agents found a woman washed up Poni’s shore recollecting nothing about herself but her name; Anabel.

This is why Looker has been growing ever so worried for Anabel’s safety and why he even asked the champion in the first place to help. The protag is indeed a Faller as well. He thought he could be able to control the situation with having a fantastic trainer who befriended Solgaleo/Lunala to keep the UB outbreak in check-- To make sure Anabel was safe. After all, the protag is able to help the mission go along beautifully and safely capture each UB.

But not without a price. Anabel was still being hurt, and Nanu had to intervene to make Looker realize that he had made a big mistake.

After all, Anabel isn’t aware that she’s a Faller herself. Why doesn’t she know yet? Wouldn’t Looker tell her? Or Nanu?

It would appear as Interpol learned something after all these years, and isn’t really using her as Bait as they did before with the first Faller. Anabel is said to have autonomy over this and chose to save the UBs from a worse fate. Unlike the first Faller, she was properly trained for the UB Task Force missions and for many other Interpol related missions as her own strong, resourceful agent. However, Interpol is still quiet about her status as a Faller and anything relating to them from the past.

And Looker, years after the incident with Guzzlord, is now met with an Anabel with a newly built Interpol life determined to help people, Pokemon, and UBs in need no matter what. She absolutely believes in her successes and her cause. And she is adamant of going on these missions. Looker grows a bond with her and is faced with this troubling realization;

To tell her the truth would mean to collapse the whole world upon her.

After all... Having rebuilt her life, seeing her so confident, so passionate about what she’s doing... He sees her succeed in something he feels all too familiar with-- Starting from the bottom and creating an identity, somehow.

Having been found in the Battle Resort, washed ashore with no memory, not even a name to go by. Looker knows her pain more than anyone else. She needs to know about what she is going through-- But the uttermost pain she will feel and the lingering eyes of Interpol’s heads has been keeping him mortified and silent.

So he does anything and everything in his power to protect her in the meantime, before she can be told the truth. And with the way the Alola mission went, that time is coming up real soon.

However, with the protag and Nanu’s help the UB Task Force finally had every UB under control. And Anabel was kept safe and sound, much to Looker’s relief. They can finally enjoy some time off and no doubt will be in for quite a long, painful, but necessary conversation when the time comes.

Not of course before Looker going off into a slight panic over the idea of Anabel going on a date.

And that was the line that made me totally think “Oh yep, yep! Looker’s got a massive crush on her!”

SO! What’s the take away from all this madness??

The fact that Looker and Anabel care deeply for one another so much, as they go far too out of their way to protect each other from harm. Not just out of necessity, but their banter clearly shows that there’s a deeper connection between the two than just a professional coworker one.

You might argue that Looker is only worrying about her this deeply because of what he went through all those years ago and is trying to prevent the same thing from happening, and yet... He’s grown to appreciate and know Anabel for who she is. She is in fact her own agent that joined Interpol on her own volition and chose to do the UB missions due to her empathy to the lost beings so far from home.

He knows when she’s unwell, he knows why she hides it away. He understands her as a person and it’s wonderful how much they show that they grew to have a bond with one another. Enough for both of them to catch on to each other’s quirks and feel comfortable.

The small giggle that she gives him, the small yet playfully affectionate jab, the way it just says “Oh there he goes again thinking about the feast at this time... Just Looker being Looker~” Because she also knows him deeply as well! This man is not one of her best allies but one of her most trusted companions in this new life of hers and it shows!!

They’re each other’s most trusted companions and their partnership is just wonderful to see.

Of course, romance can’t happen between them yet-- Not until Anabel knows the truth about Fallers and what Interpol did long ago. But let’s be honest, even the big angst/hurt/comfort fest that would come from that conversation would be a whirlwind of emotions that would just end up with them having an even stronger relationship than they’ve ever had before.

It’s not just that they look wonderful together, complement each other, and such-- It’s all those things plus the backstory and close bond and tragedy that comes from this mission. It makes me want to see them overcome every hurdle and be happy with one another and have all the joy and happiness they deserve after all they’ve been through.

I want to see them in more situations where they can be casual with one another, fight alongside one another, and so on so forth. They just have so much potential and I really think Game Freak sees it too.

And as for a lil bonus, Looker in USUM finding out the protag is the champion but is more impressed with Anabel’s knowledge than the actual champion. Also they’re always vacationing together mutually huh hmm wowie?

tl;dr go ship Looker/Anabel aka Fallershipping aka Lookabel best ship 10/10

#Pokemon #Looker #Anabel #Fallershipping #Alola

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uneq-apol--arts · 4 years

Text

Flay

AO3

Summary: Beej has a depressive episode. Charles is the only other person awake. (Rated Teen for Language.)

Warnings: Blood, knives, referenced abuse, implied rape, suicide(?) attempt, self harm

Genre: hurt/comfort(?)

Characters: Beetlejuice, Charles Deetz, Juno (briefly)

Please let me know what warnings to add, if necessary. And please if you are struggling with suicidal and/or homicidal thoughts, please talk to someone.

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Idiot!

He had been feeling like this for weeks now.

Failure!

Everything had become muted.

Useless!

Nothing felt real.

Parasite!

No one was awake. The house was dark and oppressively quiet. Beetlejuice had been waiting for everyone to go to bed. It was just past ten when he snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the holder. It felt nice to hold one again. The handle was smooth and cool under his fingers. The blade was so shiny he could see his distraught face reflected in it. He laid a gentle finger on the tip and instantly it drew blood. The pain was soft. Welcome. With just a prick, Beetlejuice felt a small amount of realness return. The pain was grounding. Not the healthiest, he knew, but it was something.

Upstairs, he sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled the string on his bedside lamp. The bulb flared to life with a soft buzz. Beetlejuice removed his sweatshirt and rolled up his neat, white tank top. The paunch of his stomach was already littered with white scars and stretch marks.

"You idiot! You can't die! You're already dead!"

That was the first time she had caught him cutting. He was five in human years.

The blood dribbled lightly from the shallow cuts. Not deep enough to flow but just enough to scar. He rolled down the shirt and it clung to him, red spots seeping and spreading. Next he turned to his upper arms. They were pelted with scars. Not only knife wounds, though. Some were perfect, circular burns.

"You want to feel? I'll give you something to feel!"

That was the first time she burned him. He was only almost six in human years.

The blood flowed quicker from his arms. The cuts were deeper to make it through the scar tissue. He wouldn't be able to lift much the next few days. Beetlejuice slipped on his hoodie again and looked down at his final target. He laid the knife next to him for a moment, red dripping onto the spotless cream sheets. He rolled up his boxers to reveal his horribly marked up lower thighs. The knife was back in his hand.

"You're a demon! You take what you want!" With Juno's nod, a whip cracked against a young demon's back.

"I won't do it! It's wrong! I don't want to hurt her!" Beetlejuice was on his knees, crying. In front of him was Juno, towering over the boy. Kneeling behind her was a beautiful latina. She was gagged with a scrap of filthy fabric and her hands were shackled to the wall above her. She was also completely naked.

"I don't give a fuck! You take from them what you damn well please!" Beetlejuice was whipped again. Juno walked away to talk to someone else and the little demon looked up at the girl in front of him. She couldn't be more than twenty in human years. Beetlejuice himself was only seven in human years. He turned his face back down to the ground as Juno approached again, a newcomer behind her. Said newcomer was another demon. One of the disciples of Asmodeus. "Take him," was all that was said before the disciple and Beetlejuice found themselves in an empty dungeon.

That was what started centuries of brainwashing and torment. Only treated by staying in the Maitland-Deetz household.

When Beetlejuice opened his eyes again it was to hear a light rapping on his door. Damnit!

-----

Charles had decided to stay up later than usual to update the listings on the realtor website. Finishing the fifth one that night, he glanced down at the clock on the desktop and sighed. It was nearing eleven. He still had three more listings to update. He began to work on the next one when he heard a soft whimper and sniffle from the bedroom next door to his office. Concerned, Charles stood up and laid an ear to the wall to see if he could collect more data. All he gathered was more sniffles and whimpers and the rustle of fabric. Lawrence must be having a nightmare.

After grabbing two juice boxes from the refrigerator, Charles headed back upstairs and tapped gently on Lawrence's door. "Lawrence, can I come in?" On the other side, there was a deafening clatter. Concern and anxiety growing, Charles tried the door knob to find it locked. "Please, Lawrence, unlock the door," he was met with a pained whimper that sounded suspiciously like 'no.' "I can't help you if you don't let me in," Charles was met with silence. Sighing, he took a thin red knitting needle and pressed it into the keyhole. The lock gave way.

"I'm coming in," the door let out a creak and Lawrence gave a muffled yelp and a hard thump. Charles stepped in and looked around. The bedside lamp was on low and something glinted up from the floor next to the bed. Lawrence was nowhere to be seen. Charles stepped closer to the glint as he put the knitting needle back in his pocket. He let out an involuntary gasp. There, laying innocently on the floor, was a boning knife, the blade coated in deep red blood.

Charles set the juice boxes on the nightstand and picked up the knife. The handle was still warm to the touch. He laid the knife on the nightstand. Charles peered over the edge of the bed (trying to ignore just how much blood was on the comforter) to see Lawrence looking up at him. His hair was a messy twist of oranges, blues, blacks, and purples. I'll have to go pull up the chart later. His amber eyes were wide with fear and tear filled. Charles sat down sideways on the bed and Lawrence shrunk back. Charles knew he wasn't good with emotions but he'd be damned if he had to go wake someone else up.

"Lawrence, did you hurt someone?" The man in question nodded slowly. "Who did you hurt?" Lawrence paused and looked down at himself. "Beetlejuice, who did you hurt?" Charles hated pulling out the middle name but it was the most effective way to get the man's attention. Lawrence looked up at Charles before raising a shaky hand with a wince. He pointed to himself. "Oh dear.... Can you tell me why?" Lawrence shook his head. "Okay, that's alright. Can I help patch you up?" Lawrence tilted his head questioningly before nodding and moving up onto the bed.

The arms of his sweatshirt were growing more red by the second and as he brought his legs up, blood dripped onto the floor and mattress. Charles sent him a soft smile before grabbing a juice box and opening the flaps and punching in the straw. He held out the box to his companion who took it with a shaky smile. "I'll be right back, okay?" Lawrence nodded as Charles stood and left.

Back in the kitchen, Charles fished out the first aid kit from under the sink. About to leave, he turned back and grabbed a third juice box. Won't hurt to be over prepared. Lawrence was still sitting quietly, sipping his juice, when Charles returned. Charles tapped lightly on the door before stepping in and closing it. Gesturing for Lawrence to follow, Charles led him to the en suite and sat him down on the toilet. On the floor, Charles laid down a couple of towels so the floor wouldn't stain as badly. While he did this, Lawrence took off the old college sweatshirt Charles had gifted him. Underneath was a white tank top whose front was bloodied. The source was Lawrence's upper arms, the fronts of which were covered with cuts from the boning knife.

Charles took a washcloth from the sink and dampened it. Lawrence winced as soon as the warm cloth touched his arm. "I know it hurts. It'll be over soon," Lawrence nodded numbly and Charles continued. When the cloth was soaked red, he grabbed another and continued until Lawrence's arms were cleaner. Grabbing yet another clean cloth, he poured some peroxide on it. "This is going to hurt a lot. Let me know if you need a break," Lawrence nodded.

They only needed to take a few breaks as Lawrence numbed quickly to the pain. After his arms were clean, Charles covered them with gauze pads and wrapped them softly with elastic bandages. "Is there anymore?" Charles, of course, knew the answer before he asked. After all, Lawrence's legs had been completely coated with blood now and there was a sizable pool on the floor. Even though he knew Lawrence was dead, it still made the living man incredibly anxious and uncomfortable.

Lawrence sighed and pulled up his shirt. His torso was also covered with shallow cuts. After he let it down again, he rolled up his boxers to reveal even deeper cuts than those on his arms. Charles let out a sympathetic sigh and laid a gentle hand on Lawrence's shoulder. From his standing position, he pulled Lawrence into a loose hug which he didn't return. "I need to go get more washcloths. I'll be back in a bit," with that, Charles left. It's going to be a long night.

It was one in the morning by the time Lawrence was completely patched up and clean. Charles had run out of clean washcloths and swapped to using full sized towels. He'd also run out of gauze pads and bandages and had to go find more in another first aid kit.

Charles sat down on the edge of the tub to look over at Lawrence. Lawrence was guiltily peering into the bathtub where a decent sized pile of bloody towels and washcloths sat. Seeing this, Charles set a hand on Lawrence's knee. "Don't feel guilty about this. It's no big deal," Lawrence looked away and sipped on his second juice box. His hair had shifted to yellow-green, teal, and blue with only a few stripes of black. I really have to check the chart. Charles reached over and turned Lawrence's chin to face him. "How about you come sit with me in my office and eat cookies and drink your juice?" Lawrence nodded and smiled softly. "Alright. Do you need help getting over there?" Lawrence's hair flashed pink and he nodded.

They made it to Charles' office with little fanfare. Lawrence pulled one of the plushy chairs over next to the office chair with a soft squeal. He plopped himself into the chair and curled up with his legs over the arm and his head against the vacant office chair. Charles ruffled Lawrence's hair then made his way downstairs to grab a few different sleeves of cookies and the rest of the juice boxes.

-----

The next morning, Delia found the two asleep, Lawrence leaning against Charles. The latter had a strong, protective arm around the former. There were dopey smiles on both of their faces and Lawrence's hair was a brilliant green.

----------

Why must I be mean to my faves?

Remember: You are loved and cherished and we'd hate to lose you <3.

#btjm fic #beetlejuice #betelgeuse #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice bway #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #charles deetz

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mrmallard · 3 years

Text

Top 10 Favorite Lyrics of 2020

This list might seem esoteric, but 2020 has been a turd on a plate and music has made me feel a lot better this year. Sometimes specific lyrics slap harder than the rest. It's lyrics like these that kept me going in 2020.

So here's a list of some of my favorite lyrics from the year and why I like them. These songs aren't necessarily from 2020, they just resonated with me this year.

I should warn you - this turned out to be an incredibly personal post for me. I touch on lyrics that I view as possibly pertaining to the trans experience, and whether that's a viewpoint I'm qualified to talk on. If that's a particularly touchy subject for you, I recommend proceeding with caution. I also mention abuse in one entry, and how it affects me years later.

I really cannot stress enough how personal this post got, so keep that in mind if you decide to continue reading.

10: "Kiss me goodnight / like a good friend might" - Sara Bareilles, 1000 Times

All cards on the table, I'm in love with a good friend of mine. TL;DR, that's probably why this lyric speaks to me.

That's a bit reductive, so here's why I love it so much - this lyric is sodden with yearning, even without taking my circumstances into account. The entire song is about living with an unrequited love, and this expression of that just hits me in the chest like a sack of bricks.

The reason I love this lyric so much is because of how soft and vulnerable it is. It's an amazing cooldown after how passionate the chorus is, and it feels like the most earnest, genuine expression of this feeling ever.

This lyric sums up that feeling when you're with someone you really like, and you're hoping - praying - that they'll close the distance with an affectionate action. Maybe you want them to play with your hair. Maybe you want to feel their hand linger on yours for a moment. Maybe it's late, and you're tired and a little drunk, and in that moment that you make it to bed for the night, it would make your heart feel indescribably whole if they leant down and gave you a chaste, affectionate kiss on the cheek. Nothing more - just that simple act of contact, an affirmation of affection.

This is a good song about yearning, and this is the lyric that really sums it all up.

9: "Called my friend in New York / 3,000 miles away / halfway through her metamorphosis / nothing I could say" - The Mountain Goats, From TG&Y

This is the first of multiple Mountain Goats entries. I'm gonna go into a bit of a tangent about them later on, but for now I want to focus on the lyric.

From TG&Y is a song about wasting away in a town that's taking you down with it. It has lyrics about huffing spray paint and vomiting blood, and John Darnielle sings about holding on to your dreams until there's nothing left to hold on to. It's an incredibly bleak song, and it's one of my favorite Mountain Goats songs because of that - it sums up an unhappiness in me that I've felt for over a decade.

This lyric is a moment of respite. After the soul-crushing day that the protagonist has had, they call up someone dear to them. The situation reads as awkward to me - clearly there's a lot of affection for this friend and the process she's going through, but it's hard to bring up. Their awkwardness is another misfortune, but it comes from a good place.

My take is that the protagonist's friend is a trans woman, and the protagonist can't find the right words to say about it. It's awkwardness born of distance, not of ignorance, and it's another side effect of the town he lives in. But he loves her, and in the midst of his rapidly declining life in this shithole town, it's such a blessing to hear her voice. If only he knew what to say to her.

8: "And the funny thing about it is / despite how much time I spend hating it / it never says a bad thing about me" - Tim Minchin, Not Perfect

I got into Tim Minchin this year. I like his moody, melancholy songs like this the most, though I also like his songs about religion. This is my second favourite song of his, behind White Wine in the Sun.

Between all the bluster of his sillier songs, he has this incredibly sensible song about the life we live. From the world we live on, to the brain we ultimately reside in, it's a look from the outside in through to the inside out and it makes some incredibly pertinent points about the human condition.

The "it" in question is about his body. It's not in its best shape ever, and he often tries to fill it up with wine - which is in itself a multifaceted lyric, being a silly jab at himself as well as a deeper statement about his wellbeing.

But his observation about the brain rejecting the body as opposed to vice versa is what really stuck with me.

My takeaway was that our body is essentially a stupid meat suit that obeys the will of the brain. And when it doesn't match the self-image of the brain, we resent it. Our body is an extension of ourselves, and it's incredibly upsetting when our idealised image of ourselves isn't reflected in the body we reside in - and that leads us to self-harm. That's super fucked up.

I adore this lyric for highlighting the relationship between the physical and mental self. It makes me want to better myself more than a thousand PSAs ever did, because it makes a pertinent point about what I'm damaging. It's me, but it can't fight back when I want to hurt it.

7: "Her body's a difficult sister / and she loves her" - The Weakerthans, Exiles Among You

As I was writing the first draft of this list, something came to a head. I feel like I have to explain where I'm coming from for this lyric, especially after the last two lyrics, so please bear with me.

I perceive this lyric to be about a trans woman. "Her body's a difficult sister" scans as potentially trans to me, and I find it heartening that despite the difficulty her body poses at times, the main character loves herself. It ties into Not Perfect in that regard, which was the catalyst that resulted in the way I view this lyric.

While it can potentially be viewed through a cis or a trans lens, the trans lens speaks to me more. And that's what I want to talk about.

Between this lyric and From TG&Y, I'm worried about how I sound when I'm talking about trans people. This lyric is arguably the biggest stretch in favour of a trans viewpoint, and the context of the lyric can be considered to deal with dysphoria due to that - and as someone who is known as a cis man, as opposed to a trans person, I'm worried that my viewpoint is off-base to the point of being harmful to individual trans people and the trans community as a whole.

I want to be as transparent and respectful as possible about my interpretation of song lyrics through a trans lens. My intentions are good, but I feel the need to explain myself when I haven't had a lived trans experience. That in itself is a valid enough reason to discard how I'm approaching this, but I want to make my feelings known.

For the last few years, I've been thinking more and more about the trans experience. I don't necessarily have an issue presenting in the way that I do, being AMAB, but I'm empathetic towards the challenges faced by trans people. One potential reason is because I was bullied from the start of school through to the end, so I empathize strongly with people and groups who are othered for their intrinsic personal identities - but I think it goes deeper than that in this case.

When I see something positive about the trans community in particular, I get a sense of emotional fulfillment that I don't really get from anything else. Gender euphoria sounds like bliss, for example - the fact that it exists and that people feel it makes me feel incredibly happy. I'm empathetic for and supportive of gay, bi and ace people, among other gender identities and sexualities, but I don't necessarily feel the same emotional swell for those experiences as I do for the trans experience. And without going into detail, one of those things should stand out from the others.

Viewing trans people in these lyrics make said lyrics much more emotionally resonant to me. There's something about the trans experience that I resonate strongly with, and it significantly strengthens my emotional investment in music that I already enjoyed beforehand.

The fear I have about viewing these lyrics through a trans lens is that I'm worried it looks like I'm fetishizing transgender people, or I'm misappropriating the trans experience for my music headcanons. That's not my intention. I haven't identified as anything other than cis my whole life, but when the cards line up like this, it unlocks a deeper appreciation of the song in question. It means a lot to me when that happens, and that can mean any number of things - but it definitely comes from a sincere place of care within myself.

That's why "her body's a difficult sister / and she loves her" means so much to me within that context, and it's a more in-depth perception on why From TG&Y's lyric grips me the way it does as well. I know it went off track from the song itself, but I felt a need to explain myself and I hope that my viewpoint is viewed in good faith.

6: "I still hear trains at night / when the wind is right" - The Weakerthans, This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open

This lyric reminds me of abuse in a very applicable way to myself. There are times when I've remembered awful things that happened to me, even if I hadn't thought of them in years.

The Weakerthans are good at writing these lyrics that can go either way. I think about the character Lori from Night in the Woods when I hear this lyric, who lives by a train track - as far as she gets from that place, there'll be nights where the wind outside will remind her of the trains that passed by her house.

But in real life, there'll be nights after years of happy, content cohabitation with someone else, someone who puts your mind miles away from the worst moments of your life - where a trace of what you experienced will come back to you. No warning - the conditions in your life were just right to bring that memory back.

It continues to be one of my favorite lyrics, years after I first heard it, because it hits so close to home.

5: "I guess I have to hope that today the sun will shine / and maybe tomorrow, you'll be mine" - The Weepies, They're In Love, Where Am I

Another good yearning song. I spent a lot of 2020 yearning, and songs like 1000 Times and They're In Love, Where Am I really helped me through it.

The thing about the Weepies is that their lyrics can either be extremely blunt or extremely roundabout and kinda silly, and both extremes hit that button in my brain that makes me go "happey : )". This is more on the blunt side, being on one of their shorter songs. But every lyric in this song counts, and every lyric lands.

The reason why I picked this one is because of how well it sells the bittersweet nature of the song. The person you love is out of your reach, and it's hard to ignore that, but you might as well be thankful that things aren't worse. And maybe tomorrow will be different, and all your wildest dreams will come true. Even though they definitely won't, it's a nice thought.

The lyric speaks for itself. It's efficient, it ties the whole song together, and it's as gorgeous-sounding as the rest of the song. Excellent lyric.

4: "Maybe there's a season when I'll taste that wine / a thimble at a time / a thimbleful of wine" - The Weepies, Hummingbird

Reading these lyrics at face value doesn't always have the same impact as they do when you're hearing them in a song, and I've been trying to keep my picks to lyrics that scan both ways. But I've covered some heavy subject material in this post, so despite this one not necessarily scanning that well, I'm going to talk about it because it makes me incredibly happy and it lets me take a load off.

As I listened to this last verse for the first time, I was mostly soaking in the ambience of the song. A lot of the song is made up of these vignettes and platitudes, and while it's very pretty in its own right, I had trouble following it. But it's a gorgeous song, and I decided to tune in for the last verse and enjoy it as much as possible before it ends.

"Maybe there's a season when I'll taste that wine" - okay, I can relate to that. For all the hard work you put into something, you don't necessarily get to enjoy the fruits of your labor. But maybe one day you might get a chance to do so. Beautiful.

"A thimble at a time" conjures up an incredibly specific, sweet and kind of silly image. But before you can snark about it, the song follows up on what it just said - "a thimble full of wine".

It's like it read my mind. It knows it's a very precious image, and it takes full advantage to address exactly what it just said. I love it so much - it's such a cute lyric in an already gorgeous song.

3: "I just wish I was a toothbrush or a solder gun / make me something someone else can use" - The Weakerthans, Utilities

This is a lyric that's maintained its hold on me over the years. It captures a relatable sense of ennui and despair - I'm not doing anything for anyone now, so I wish I was an inanimate tool that could be of service to someone.

Nothing else really needs to be said. It's a classic in my books for a reason.

2: "And then you're singing in Dutch to me / and I recognize the song / it seems so old and so fragile / I haven't heard it in so long" - The Mountain Goats, Minnesota

This is the lyric that got me into older Mountain Goats songs. The entire narrative of the song is gorgeous, but it's this line that really broke through to me and it continues to be a favorite of mine.

The way I imagine the song going is that after spreading the seeds around his house, the narrator wakes up from a heat induced haze with his head in the lap of his partner. And she's singing in Dutch to him, and he recognises the song - as the song goes.

It's such a nice image to me. Waking up with your head in someone's lap, having that surreal moment as you're looking up at them where they're singing in a language you aren't familiar with, but recognising the song. That shit is picturesque. It's beautiful.

This really is the cream of the crop when it comes to Mountain Goats lyrics. It appeals to this broader romantic ideal in me, in a way that gets me every time. One reason why I like the Weepies so much is because their song lyrics make me feel like this one does.

1: "Make it through this year / if it kills you outright." - The Mountain Goats, Exegetic Chains

I'm ending on this note because the song and the lyric are perfect to end on.

Songs from Pierre Chuvin was a Mountain Goats release from early 2020 recorded in the style of John's older music. It was recorded on accoustic guitar, through an old boombox that imparts a nostalgic grain to the sound, and songs like Aulon Raid sounded like they were written in the 90's era of the Mountain Goats. Songs from Pierre Chuvin is, by all means, one of the most faithful throwback projects I think I've ever seen.

And Exegetic Chains is the crown jewel of the album, at least of the songs I've heard. Not just because of how it sounds, or how it's structured like some of my favorite Mountain Goats songs - but because it takes homage to heart as the last track on the album.

John references other songs, but the most recognisable reference is in the chorus - a dark reprisal of This Year. "I'm gonna make it through this year if it kills me", a loud, bombastic rallying call to yourself or a mantra to keep yourself alive through another year of hardship - becoming "make it through this year, if it kills you outright", a downcast plea calling out in a time where death is inevitable.

This is my favorite song lyric of 2020 because this song lyric is a reflection of 2020. It's the dark reprisal of This Year that we needed, that really says it all. I'd love to end on a happier lyric, but I can't stress how perfect I think this lyric is. This is a reprise that I sincerely think will stand the test of time.

#sara bareilles #the mountain goats #tim minchin #the weakerthans #the weepies #dysphoria tw #abuse tw #top 10

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artpoint420 · 4 years

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Melvin and the Silent Diagnosis for a Brilliantly Broken Psyche

Hypothetical Diagnosis Insecurity masked with narcissistic tendencies characterized with compulsive obsessions driven by blatant autism, and no that is not an immature insult I test extremely highly for Asperger's myself Here's the Evidence: (I will state before hand that Melvin-borg is a completely separate character in my mind, and thus will not be included in this particular theory. Melvin decided not to turn out like him, so they are canonically separate characters) He is obviously and frequently inspired by George and Harold, but his deeply embedded fear of rejection makes him dangerously bitter, and it doesn't help that everytime he breaks out of this protective shell, he is rejected or betrayed once again. It’s important to note that while he may be high-functioning (aka: Aspergers) he is still Autistic. That’s because Asperger’s is not a form of autism- it is autism. Period. And any kind of autism or mental attypicality left untreated can develop in to many, many other severe mental disorders, or, in general, make life a metric heck ton harder and complicated than it already is. I also need to confess that I test highly positively for autism myself as well as being an INTP female (Myers-Briggs Personality Test). Not to brag, but all that combined with my naturally creative nature makes me rare af, but it also means I can't communicate or handle stress #liketheothergirls, so that has lead me to being/feeling bullied and ostracized. I also have anxiety and depression issue which run in my family, and mild insomnia, and may or may not be relapsing into an eating disorder. Paired with psychical problems like acid reflux and severe neck tension, health, whether psychical or mental is of uttermost importance to me. It suffices to say, autism is not easy to deal with and if not taken care for properly a person, especially if not made at least aware of what autism truly is, it can truly ruin their life. Combined with the neglectful nature of his parents (at least in the books) I and many others in this fandom truly believe Melvin is at least autistically coded. Not only does this fit the archetype of his character but it also fits the theme of the books to a TEE. At its core, CU, of all things, is a children's book series, about living your best life despite not being “normal.” Even characters like the teachers or Mr Krupp who strive for “normality” are shown to actually have deeply repressed creativity, or, in some cases, deep trauma from their own childhoods. It suffices to say that I resonate deeply with Melvin. Say what you want about him or me, I was able to relate to him the second he spoke his first line in the second book. Sorry to turn this into a long vent, but I feel it is best to use myself to support this theory as well as harder evidence, even if it is mostly a means of self-therapy. To start, we both are obsessed with school even to a detrimental degree. Ever since head-start (Pre-K but a million times better), these "book-smarts" were the first thing I ever truly excelled at. When the other kids bullied (or as I now know as teasing) me, I would lose myself in a stack of homework or a book 2-3 grades past my grade level (this is before I drew or wrote as a main hobby). Similarly, Melvin is rarely seen without a book or gadget, just like me. We both over analyze things and hide our feelings. We both have intense crushes on others but are terrified to dare express them, or do but to nothing but awkwardness. We were both science kids, and fascinated by words and/or numbers alone (I still am just in a more artistic way). We both struggle to communicate and relate to others. We both have a unusual sense of humor and are highly observant of surroundings all the while missing what’s in front of our noses. We both have interests that quickly spiral into obsessions and dropping the obsession only when sick of it. We both practice similar forms of stimming. We both not only thrive but crave control and structure with the world around us, even to the point of being "control freaks" and creating odd habits, routines, and rituals regardless of whether they are necessary or make sense. We both have an intense fear of intimacy and rejection to the point of practicing self-isolation and in some cases self harm or other unhealthy coping methods (seen with Melvin over eating sweets or over working himself. For me it’s disordered eating or self flagellation, something I have all but completely dropped but still) We also both tend to see ourselves as inferior to others and attempt to mask those feelings with a superiority complex (I feel bad for my siblings but I didn’t know what I was doing, and no it was not abusive just sibling rivalry and I’m the oldest anyway, and we are country kids and understand “rough-housing” =/= using each other as a punching bag, but accidents happen I'm sorry) We both seem to become easily overstimulated and have explosive mental and emotional breakdowns when things just . . . become too much However the harsh divide between male and female and fictional and nonfictional means we both present certain traits differently. Whereas he presents a more linear line of thinking my mind is overwhelmingly sporadic. Also, I have over sensitivities to touch and light (and sometimes certain noises, but not anything not normal? Wfk.) But maybe he does have oversensitivity but I can't think of an example off the top of my head. Enough about me however. I know Melvin and autism has been done to death. Hell, I just did it to death. My actual theory is more on the inner mechanisms of his mind and predicting how he will develop should the series allow for full character development. Also, similar to my Krupp theory, I will be listing his crimes out and give him a proper sentence for his age and maturity level (which will be light as I am sympathetic to his plight). This is already getting too long, so Imma try to finally get to the point. Characters with autism are honestly a mixed bag, sometimes there as standardized as my mystery Daddy Sherlock Holmes and other times they are as subtle as Pearl or Peridot from Steven Universe (has Rebbaca Sugar confirmed this? sorry). Honestly, it does distress me that autism is almost always used to have an evil genius character or some weird side character for brownie/ diversity points. (this makes me a bit hypocritical I guess, considering my own stories. I guess tropes are tropes for a reason) And while Dav Pilky May not be subtle with his scholastic politics or humor his one spectacular tool in his writing books has always been, when it comes to his characters, showing instead of telling. This is something I latched on to even as a kid, and I was already thinking up theories on the characters before I even knew character theories were a thing. Like what happened to Harold's Dad (hint, hint). Why was Harold's sister rarely used? Does Mr Krupp actually like their comics (a now accepted theory, but not just min? And many many others I'm probably never gonna write. It took until how long in the books to reveal George and Harold have ADHD? Before that they were simply described as being as smart as Melvin but just in different ways. Personally I feel that autism is inverted ADHD. This is an opinion I’ve recently formed so if I’m wrong bloody attack me in the comments. Anyway, Melvin presenting autism makes him the perfect foil to George and Harolds’ more sporadic antics. The only true difference between autistic folks and ADHD folks is that those with autism tend to crave a structured environment full of rules, and set goals to achieve, while such an environment is HELL to children with ADHD (aka:George and Harold). (Even though if with adults they can trust, children with ADHD thrive in structured environments if they are surrounded by adults or authority figures they can trust.) I know some will tell me ADHD is on the spectrum, but I just learned this like actually the other day and don’t fully understand it. My prediction is that Melvin will eventually and naturally mellow out if just because staying so high strung all the time is a huge waste of mental energy. I know good as hell I had to. Also, he mellowed our in the books and went from a screeching revenge exacting lil narcissistic white boi prick to a person who simply wants to pursue his interests and even helping George and Harold (selfishly, but help nonetheless). He even went from enjoying the fame and attention of hero-ing to realizing it did not fufill him. Indeed quite the opposite. His true passion lay in solving world problems through science, and I don't think the ending for him in the books could have been any more perfect considering his character. In the Netflix show, similar to how I think Krupp's personalities are merging, I believe that Melvin will eventually become more like his Broski alter ego (which I calmly demand more of). Overall, given that this show needs to go back to the status quo more often than not, I don't think his core character will ever change, and it doesn't need to. Multiple times throughout the series he's been shown to crave friendship from George and Harold, despite audibly hating him . Textbook Tsundere, I know. He will form a friendly rivalry with George and Harold, I have almost no doubt about that, taking the season 1 finale, season 2 finale, season 3 first episode, and halloween special into consideration. (Yeah, if someone will send me clips I will give them my eternal gratefulness) To conclude, because by god this is long, Melvin is, SHOCKER, just a little kid. A little kid who likes muffins and dolls and has big hopes and dreams. A little kid whose love for science and unrecognized creativity is channeled into making inventions that are even more impressive than those of Professor P (sorry P). But he is a little kid with his own needs and stuggles which at this point remain unmet. His parents are canonically neglectful, I cannot repeat that enough times. The effects of neglect are a hell-hole of its own regardless of growing up with undiagnosed autism. But that's just a theory- Alright, that was a banger, I guess next up is Melvin-borg since writing this has given me some interesting ideas for him. Let’s see how long this hyperfocus train will go!

#captain underpants #melvinsneedly #melvin #georgeandharold #george #harold #mrkrupp #davpilky #theory #cutheory #thetheorizer #thetheory #filmtheory #booktheory #tvtheory

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