you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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kashimo is js so pretty,,, pasi im dying here wtf was gege thinking when he drew him,,, he js fits the slut description,,, i js wanna edge him til he cries n call him my pretty boy RESTRAIN ME
𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐎 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐉𝐎𝐁
kashimo hadn't felt touch of a woman in centuries. he missed it. he was the slut of his era. and going from getting your dick milked everyday to forgetting what that feels like wasn't easy. but now when you had your hand wrapped around his long and pretty dick, he couldn't help but bite his bottom lip, fidgeting at the feeling of your fingers toying with the cockhead. it was so pretty. it had a peach pink to light brown gradient. hos cock wasn't veiny but the outer skin layer was so soft and thin that you could see how some hint of the purple and green veins underneath. you were so eager to put him in your mouth but you wanted to test him. his precum was alone so much that it wet your hand giving you easy accessibility to stroke his cock, and you didn't need to spit on it.
"ngh—unh unh unh! yes, keep doing that."
he was so desperate, not even ashamed to moan and whimper and you were enjoying it.
"need to release myself, pretty woman. please—ah! yes. can you—mmh go faster," but to his surprise, you slowed down. and he was so frustrated, but what's he gonna do?? you had him wrapped around your fingers. literally.
you increased the pace of your hands when he expected it the least. it was making such a filthy sound but god did it sound like music mized with him desperate moans.
"uhm! yesyesyesyesyes aaahh!!"
he came so hard, your hand was drenched in his release. this is what happens when you're not touched for 400 years. but that won't be a problem for him now since you are here. he's not gonna let someone like you go so easily. he wasn't hungry but you happen to be the prey that willingly walked in his territory
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I've had this Dreaming The Proposal AU sitting in my drafts for a while. Then @voukkake comes out with this art and I figured it was time to brush off the dust and share what I'd written lol. This is seriously all I'm going to write so if anyone is interested I'm begging you to pick this up. I'm dying to read Dream awkwardly interacting with Hob's family (also @valiantstarlights suggestion that Betty White is Destiny?? ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT). Anyway...
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Dream is about to be deported because his visa application has been denied. He is in the middle of a meeting with his lawyers when Hob, his secretary, pops in the room to inform Dream of a very important phone call and Dream comes up with the insane plan to marry Hob to keep his immigration status.
He gestures for Hob to come over and Hob, clueless, wanders into the room and stands next to Dream, who takes him by the arm and tugs him just a little bit further to stand awkwardly close.
Dream announces their engagement and Hob stands there, shell shocked and feels his mouth moving against his will. That yeah, they are getting married. They are in love, sure. It isn’t until they leave the office, following Dream back to his, that Hob’s brain seems to come back online.
“What just happened in there?”
Dream grouses, head down, already back to his work as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just use Hob as a pawn in his scheme to get around his denied visa application.
“They were going to make Morningstar editor-in-chief.” Is all Dream says, disdain dripping from every word. He still hasn’t looked up.
Hob stands there, still as a statue. His head is swimming with words, with emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… and a small tiny flicker of undeniable interest that he hastily stomps out.
He manages to put the pieces together rather quickly though, while Dream continues sifting through paperwork.
“This is illegal,” Hob manages to croak out, brows furrowing.
“Oh, please. The government looks for terrorists, not book publishers.” Dream’s head is still down in his paperwork.
Hob blinks, taking a step up to Dream’s desk. “I'm not marrying you.”
“Sure you are.” Dream sets aside a stack of papers and finally gives Hob his attention. “Because if you don't, your dreams of ‘touching millions of lives with the written word’ are dead.”
Hob’s jaw drops. That was a line, corny as it was, that he’d used in the panel interview for this job. Three years ago.
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“Were you not in that room? I could get fined, I’ll go to jail over this. If you want me on this deal, you will promote me to editor.”
Without even glancing up from his phone, Dream scoffs.
“Absolutely not.”
“Well then I guess you’re screwed. Buh-bye.” Hob turns with a flourish and has to bite back a grin at how Dream splutters behind him and grabs him by the arm.
“Fine– fine! Editor.” His face seems to go through the five stages of grief. He drops his hold on Hob.
“And You’ll publish my manuscript.” Hob throws in. In for a penny.
Dream’s brows narrow and he shakes as if he’s physically controlling the urge to stamp his foot.
“Sure. I’ll publish your hack manuscript.”
“Good.” Hob slips his hands in his pants pockets, staring at Dream, deciding on one last nail in the coffin.
“Now do it properly.”
Dream cocks an eyebrow. “Do what properly?”
“Propose. Like you mean it.”
Dream’s entire body seizes up, but he manages not to let it show, distracting himself by slipping his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks and clasping his hands in front of him.
“Will you marry me?”
“No.” Hob, the arrogant bastard, is visibly biting back a smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”
Dream takes a long, steadying breath through his nose.
“Hob Gadling. Will you–”
“And get on your knees.”
Dream absolutely refuses to decipher the thrill that shoots through his body at Hob’s command. Instead he keeps his mask of irritation and indifference on as he scans the crowd around them. They are still outside the courthouse, and the concrete sidewalk is going to potentially tear Dream’s Hugo Boss black wool pants.
So he carefully lowers himself, scowling as the smirk on Hob’s face only widens as Dream slowly settles onto the ground.
Once he’s as comfortable as Dream’s going to get, he clears his throat.
“Hob Gadling,” he glares at his subordinate from under his lashes. “Will you fucking marry me?”
Hob curls his lips in mock consideration, looking up past Dream’s head. He rocks back on his heels and nods with a forlorn sigh.
“Okay.” He still hasn’t met Dream’s gaze. “Could've done without the sarcasm but it will do. See you at the airport tomorrow.”
And turns and walks away, leaving Dream to fend for himself on the ground.
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as someone with a guilty pleasure for isekai and time regression stories I am just thinking of a story where Husk dies and wakes up during the height of his Overlord days with the memories of everything that would happen and has just. From the outside perspective become a completely different person overnight and changed his ways (read: the morals he gained during his afterlife he applies to how he, uh... Overlords?).
A Husk whose last soul deal is to get Angel Dust away from Valentino (and offers Angel his freedom, which Angel possibly decides not to take for the time being bc it'd be safer for him to be under contract than not, with Valentino as mad as he is), and who avoids making bets/deals with Alastor like the plague. Starts building alliances with other Overlords (maybe even including Alastor, albeit reluctantly) to steadily create a support network/team (which is also useful when going up against the Vees once they're established), and just bides his time until Charlie and Vaggie open their hotel- which, at the time of his death, he had come to love and support the cause of.
And Husk is ready to be the hotel's sponsor, immediately. Alastor gets there and finds Husk beat him to it (seeing as Husk knows about it before the interview even airs), but unlike Alastor with his ulterior motives, Husk actually wants to help.
After all, he died for the hotel, and its people, once upon a time
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