#and that reason is simply that i care enough about myself to try and prevent future pain

[dabislittlemouse]

tainted angel 🪽 (pt.9)

PART 8 / PART 10 / THE FULL MASTERLIST

ෆ DABI X HAWKS’ LITTLE SISTER

ෆ A/N: Again, I hope you guys know by now that I just loooove slow burn and edging 🤭 This is what you’ll find in this chapter too before the real smut begins~

[Her POV]

The afternoon approaches fast and so do the emotions and anxiety filling my chest. The thought of going on a real date with Dabi has me feeling nervous and thrilled, I feel nauseous. The logical side of my mind is screaming at me, calling me utterly dumb and reckless for giving a man like him another chance.

The past few days I kept reminding myself how dangerous Dabi actually is, how wrong it was for him to break in and take me without my consent. But for some reason, I couldn’t hate him, nor did all this made me need him less. Instead, like an infection the burning desire inside of me grew even more, and this time it was worse. Dabi gave me a taste of what he could do to me, and now my body is going crazy. I can still feel the way his tongue moved and lapped at my cunt, the way his grunts sent vibrations on my clit, the way he fingered me and made me cum so hard in his mouth. My body remembers it all, it craves more, I squeeze my thighs every single time and the arousal growing between my legs doesn’t help.

Damn him! Just when I was trying to detach myself, he made me want him even more now.

What made me feel utterly ashamed was the fact that deep down, I didn’t want to tell Hawks about this, even though I should’ve. At least just the part when Dabi broke in. But I couldn’t, because I feel guilty.

Because I enjoyed it too much, I gave in and let him pleasure me. It just felt so good I couldn’t resist. I love having Dabi all over me.

And through all that guilt and shame, he still finds a way to convince me to meet him again. I still let him.

If I ever complain again that he won’t leave my life, I swear I will cut off my own tongue.

I take my sweet time to have a nice long shower to distract myself, cleaning my body thoroughly. The dress I will be wearing tonight is laying on top of the bed, a pretty black glittery dress that hugs my body perfectly good. A fur coat to keep me warm in case it gets too cold outside. I’m going for smoky eyes and crimson red lipstick. As for the hair, I decide for wavy.

After two good hours of getting ready, I stop to look at myself in the mirror. Real classy and gorgeous, I feel slight embarrassment knowing I’m putting so much effort to look good for him tonight. Thankfully Keigo is out of town and mom is too busy to care where I’m going, so at least I don’t have anyone to stick their nose in my business.

This is a real date. With him.

Not too much time passes by before I hear the notification ping from my phone. Taking in a deep breath, I grab the phone and read the message.

Dabi: “I’m nearby. I hope you’re ready angel”

The doorbell sound has my heart skipping a beat, I forget to reply back to his message.

“I got it!” I say to my mom, knowing too well that it’s him outside. “Also mom, I’m going out now. I’ll be back soon okay?”

She simply hums, not bothering to even turn around as she continues doing.. whatever she is doing in her room. Sometimes it kinda hurts me how indifferent she is, barely interacting with me or asking how I’m doing, almost like a ghost in this house. But for the first time I’m glad she didn’t ask any questions at all.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I head downstairs to open the door. The sight in front of me has my mouth falling open slightly and my face growing hot. There he is, wearing a fancy blue colored suit that matches his striking eyes, wearing a strong scented cologne that envelopes my senses. His hair less disshelved than usual, it’s clear enough he put as much effort to get ready tonight like I did. I bite my lip to prevent smile forming on my face. He eyes me up and down, I almost squirm under his gaze.

“The prettiest lady I’ve ever laid my eyes on..” Dabi says seductively. “A sight for sore eyes”

“Thank you” I mumble shyly, before smiling teasingly at him. “Seems like you’ve laid your eyes on many other ladies before, for me to be the prettiest ever now..”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Is my angel gettin’ jealous already? Don’t worry though, a man like me is too busy to be drooling on random women”

I roll my eyes at his comment. My face expression remains calm and reserved, but my heart is pumping out of my ribcage. I feel like fainting, Dabi looks extremely handsome it hurts. My heart is bleeding, if I thought he was irresistible before, now I feel like I’ll end up on my knees. I am weak. Too weak for this man.

I’m sorry Keigo. For whatever might happen tonight.

Dabi grabs my hand, and we both head towards his car, an expensive looking one with dark windows which you can’t see through. He opens the door for me, such simple actions shouldn’t make me feel this way. It’s the bare minimum to be a gentleman to a lady, but when Dabi does it.. just leaves me breathless.

After he gets inside, we drive off. At first it was just a simple chitchat between us, him asking about my day, flirting here and there and making me blush ever so slightly. The night has fallen and the darkness has surrounded the place. I look through the window, but nothing seems familiar. All I could see is that we were heading up somewhere, up in some mountain, and the trees surrounded us everywhere.

“You never told me where we are going?” I murmur. My eyes focus on the way his hands so skilfully turn the steering wheel, those pretty veiny hands that were all over my body just a few nights ago. The thought makes me shiver.

“I know a good place. Don’t worry sweetheart, I ain’t kidnapping you.. yet” he smirks and I hit him in the shoulder.

“Not funny” I scoff. “You promised you wouldn’t be creepy.”

“Am I scaring ya?” he grins.

“Maybe”

“I’m sorry, dollface” he replies. “Truly. Sometimes I get carried away when I’m so thrilled..but you’re safe with me alright?”

His warm hand places itself on my thigh, caressing and squeezing it a little. I stay there motionless as his fingers tap my thigh playfully, while his other hand is on the steering wheel. I try my best to not squirm or squeeze my thighs shut. I feel my body growing hot as his hand teases me, going further on my inner thigh. I shift in my seat, but his hand doesn’t leave its place.

“You’re so soft y’know that?” he mumbles, squeezing my thigh again to emphasise his words.

“And you’re.. really warm..” I say awkwardly, noticing the way he chuckles under his breath.

I shift my gaze outside the window, if I look at him any further I might pass out.

Since when did I fall so hard for him?

“We’re finally here” he breaks the silence, and a huge mansion comes in our view. He drives behind the mansion, parking his car there before we both head out.

“I’ve made all the necessary arrangements so we’ll have our privacy” he grins, grabbing me by the waist.

“Is this a hotel?” I ask as we both enter at the back door of the mansion. The building is massive. Climbing on the stairs, we find ourselves in a fancy restaurant inside.

“Somewhat” Dabi responds. “This is where I live”

My eyes widen. “You live here all by yourself?!”

Is Dabi some sort of a millionaire? There’s no way..

“I wish, but no..” Dabi laughs. “I live here with my crew, each in our rooms, all nice and comfortable. But anyway, let’s sit down first shall we?”

Dabi leads me to a reserved secluded spot, away from all the other tables, with nobody to see us or bother us. Sitting down and getting ourselves comfortable, I stare down at the menu, though I can hardly make anything out of it. My mind is boiling in thoughts, my chest is exploding from intense emotions and adrenaline.

At the end we finally manage to order something. Dabi sits in front of me, his azure eyes fixed on me while he licks his lip.

“So.. you’ve been dying to know more about me, huh? Who I am, what do I do.. and stuff like that”

I nod, hoping this time he is willing to elaborate more.

“Let’s say.. I’m working for a greater cause that involves our today’s hero society. I have my goals that I want to achieve, and I’ve been working for a long time towards that. Me and my.. teammates I should say, we’ve all been working hard to accomplish this.” he says, pulling a cigarette and lighting it with his fingertip.

“I see. That seems like a big deal..” I say. “But.. how is this dangerous? And is my brother involved in this too?”

“Yes, in a way~” he grins. “Your brother surely is involved in many things, a great hero he is. As for the danger princess, it’s just part of the process. If you want to achieve big things in life and accomplish your goals, risks will always be there y’know? Danger is always present, no matter what.”

I nod, understanding his point, and yet I feel like he is not telling me exactly what is going on.

The dishes arrive shortly. Our conversation ends for a bit as we both start eating. At the end there’s still food left on my plate, as delicious as it was sadly I didn’t have much hunger.

“What do you think of heroes, angel?” Dabi suddenly speaks. “Not your brother, heroes in general I mean.”

I stare back at him and think for a moment, before speaking.

“I don’t know, I mean they are great because they save people’s lives but-”

“But?” he raises an eyebrow.

“But I think that.. the term “hero” has lost its meaning. I feel like heroes nowadays are only greedy to be on top, to have more fame and money and get stronger everyday, like celebrities. I mean, look at the number one hero of Japan..”

I stop talking for a second when I see his gaze darkening, a grin plastered on his face.

“D-Did I say something wrong..?” I swallow nervously.

“Quite the contrary” he says. “I like the way you think, angel. You clearly see the truth, don’t cha? You see how this society has become, how those so called heroes care more about being on top, on their shiny pedestals. There aren’t really any true heroes in our society, really unfortunate..”

I remain silent. For the longest time, I’ve seen the way things work in today’s society, especially when it comes to heroes. In fact, I never saw any true hero after All Might’s retirement. I didn’t believe in their words or cause, never felt truly safe. But knowing that my brother is a hero himself, I prevented myself from talking or thinking about heroes and villains. I avoided watching the news, or reading topics related to it. Never told Keigo any of my thoughts and worries, and simply supported him like the good sister I’m supposed to be.

“What about your brother, do you consider him a true hero?” Dabi whispers.

Shit, did he just read my mind?

I sigh. “Well..my brother is a good person and he gives it all out there to save people, and uhhh- well, I don’t really want to talk about this right now Dabi..”

He chuckles and stands up from his seat, to come and sit next to me.

“You havin your doubts sweetheart..” he whispers in my ear. “You don’t really trust your brother do you? Especially when he hangs around mysterious, dangerous people like me…”

I turn at him, nervously staring back in his cerulean eyes who seem to be reading every thought and feeling of mine. I slowly connect the dots.

“So let me get this straight, the greater cause you are working on is related to hero society isn’t it?”

He grins. “That’s right. A clever girl you are. Changing it all is my goal, to tear down this corrupted system and rebuild a new future for this world”

His words have me taken back. The way he is talking, it clearly shows that he is serious about this. Accomplishing something as big as changing this society requires great power and connections, it’s definitely not an easy goal to achieve. But the way he is speaking so passionately about his goals, how confident and ambitious he seems, sure of himself that he will win.. it makes him look so attractive and powerful in my eyes.

Who is this guy?

“But now.. I also have another goal that I want to achieve. That I will achieve~” Dabi whispers, placing his hand on my thigh. His other hand reaches for my chin, slowly turning my head to make eye contact again. I feel my face growing hot, my body involuntarily is reaching for his warmth and embrace.

“Oh? So many goals..I wonder what this one is” I giggle, staring at his mismatched lips.

He hums, squishing my cheeks softly, our faces inches apart.

“To make you mine. That is my main goal right now, princess~”

Our lips touch, but he doesn’t kiss me yet. I don’t move, I’m completely under his spell, powerless to do anything. Not that I want to do anything else besides submit to him.

What am I even doing?!

“I’ll make you fall f’me. Make you scream my name just like you did that night.. the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard,” he presses a soft kiss on my lips, and yet backs away when I reach for more. The bastard is edging me, making me ache and beg for it. And it’s working.

I blush at the mention of that night, when he broke in and ate the life out of me. Dabi’s eyes focus on the way my thighs squeeze just at the memory of it.

“Give in to me, angel. Let all your worries and fears fade away, and just enjoy the moment right here. With me. It’s gonna be our little secret~” he hums, his hand travelling behind to grab a handful of my ass, bringing me closer to his body and sitting me on his lap.

“Y-yes..” I stutter, feeling the arousal forming between my legs and my body growing hotter, needier for him.

“Hm? Didn’t hear ya, princess. Gotta be louder f’me” he smirks. “Use your magic words like a big girl~”

I’m sorry Keigo. I’m so, so sorry.

“I want you Dabi..” I whine impatiently, my hands caressing his hair, before playing with his bow tie. “Need you.. please..”

I can’t even recognise my own voice. All common sense and reason have left me alone at the hands of this man. As if he’s hypnotised me, I’m reaching for him, our bodies now pressed together.

“Atta girl”

Grabbing my chin, Dabi wastes no time to crash his lips against mine, grunting in my mouth as his tongue intertwines with mine. It leaves me breathless, his kiss is sloppy and possessive, making me moan and whimper in his mouth. His grip on my ass tightens and heats up more, his kiss deepens. I am losing myself in him, his roughness sending heat deep in my core By kissing him back I realise how much I actually want him, how needy we are for each other and how much I’ve tortured myself by keeping him away from me.

He pulls away, a thin string of saliva connecting our lips. His azure eyes express nothing but need and lust as he stares back at me, his pupils blown wide. I try to catch my breath after that heated kiss, my lipstick is now gone and smeared all over my lips. Dabi notices that, bringing his thumb to my lower lip.

“Gettin’ all dolled up, just for me to ruin you tonight, ah?

His words send shiver down my spine, to the point my wings flutter slightly. He chuckles, his hand reaching behind to tug at them teasingly, pulling a soft whine out of me.

Standing up, he puts his hand underneath my thighs and carries me bridal style outside the restaurant.

I gasp. “Dabi?!”

“In my room. Now.”

🏷️ tags: @mostlyheinous @touyalove @dabislittlebeaniebaby @scariusaquarius @dabihawksluva @awalkingshame @syrenkitsune

#B.writes #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #yandere #yander x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #yandere fanfiction

[balioc]

I have a beard, of a particular slightly-distinctive style. I've had that same beard for the entirety of my adult life.

This is, obviously, the most contingent kind of fact about me. If I wanted to shave it off, or to style it differently, I could do so right now with zero difficulty. It's not a cultural signifier, or a marker of group belonging, or anything; even to me, it doesn't really mean anything other than "this is a symbol of me-the-person because it is associated with me because I have it." I started cultivating it in mid-adolescence for ephemeral irrelevant reasons, and kept it going basically out of inertia.

Nonetheless: it is really important to me. Like, really really important.

I basically cannot use character-creators or avatar-generators of any sort unless they have appropriate-enough beard options. When I contemplate getting rid of the beard...well, based on the way other people use the term, I think that the appropriate word for the feeling I get from that is dysphoria. During a brief period when I thought that I might have to get rid of the beard for medical reasons, I seriously considered wearing some kind of full-face leper mask whenever I left the house, because the thought of hiding my face from the world forever made me less unhappy than the thought of having people see me clean-shaven.

And, crucially, this affects my ability to Identify With People in literature and media. I am about 900% more likely to have an "it me" mental reflex if the character in question has a Beard Like Mine, regardless of whether there's any actual substantive commonality or grounds-for-sympathy there. I can control this with deliberate effort, but -- it takes deliberate effort. This phenomenon has probably had some measurable effect on my personality and philosophy, simply by causing me to identify or not-identify with potentially-high-impact characters in a subconscious (or conscious) way.

For example: I basically always see elves as Other and Not-Me, because elves are usually portrayed as the Beardless People, even if there are all sorts of obvious reasons to map myself onto a particular elvish character or elvish culture. Which there often are!

You might be inclined to say that this is, uh, stupid. I wouldn't blame you. It is, at the least, definitely very irrational; it's an aggressively hypertrophied bit of mental DNA, the sort of thing that you might fairly-if-uncharitably call a "psychic cancer." But of course it's never going to change, because the phenomenon operates deep down on the level of appreciative impulses and happy-buttons, which are mostly impervious to reason. (Assuming that you're inclined to try and alter them through reason, which is usually not worth the effort even when it can work.)

----------

It's not actually a problem for me that beard-related neurosis prevents me from identifying with elves. Not much of a problem, anyway. I guess I lose out on some cool Line of Feanor feels.

But I can imagine it being a problem. I can imagine the world in which the cool resonant myth that everyone cares about, the thing around which you want to build big chunks of your identity, has only elves with whom to identify. I can imagine the world in which all the cool smart people I want to be my friends are endlessly talking about their elfsonas.

And, y'know, in that hypothetical world, there's a few different ways I could react. I could say "fuck you, fantasy myth is for losers." I could be a mythic entrepreneur, and aggressively push my own homegrown stories featuring dwarves and ogres and other beardy folk. I could try to [shudder] map myself onto a beardless elf in my mind, and let that image occupy space in my fantasies, and hope that the revulsion and dissonance don't tear me apart. I could just be kinda sad about it all.

Or I could say: Hey, guys, could we maybe just agree that elves can have beards? Since they're made up and all, and their beardlessness doesn't even really matter to the myth anyway?

If I were so inclined, I could even follow that up with: Look, this is a really big deal for me. I'm pretty sure it's a much bigger deal for me than it is for any of you. That would be 100% honest.

And I imagine that many people would respond: What? No. Ew. The elf stories have clear lore and a well-defined aesthetic, and you're proposing to shit all over them with your weird beard nonsense. You don't get to do that; you don't get to make the akashic commons worse for your own private benefit; it doesn't matter what your reasons are. Play by the rules, or go play another game.

I would have a lot of sympathy for those people.

----------

(Yes, yes, I know, Cirdan the Shipwright, don't @ me.)

----------

There are, of course, lessons in this. Perhaps I will spell them out in another post, soon, if I find myself feeling less tired and cranky. But for now: he who has ears to hear, let him hear.

#conceptual vagueblogging #media analysis

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

*

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

*

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

#ao3 writer #manna fic #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #tw darkfic #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter fic

[cookierunauprompts]

omg can you do the opposite of the one flustered jester idea? where the reader is the one flustered and let’s switch things up a bit by making reader a beast too she was also sealed cause well.. I mean girlbosses are always villains so, (reader is the weakest beast sadly, she’s weaker than sm) anyway so what if they’re ALREADY into eachother but they’re goddamn slow burn ass yk AGH and so bcz shadow milk knows she’s flustered and she can well flirt back but like bros already red so.. shadow milk has the upper hand here in terms of teasing / flirting YKYK sorry brain rot.. since this is a little more suggestive bcz well you’re flirting I believe that’s suggestive / a little spicy? hope this doesn’t break your rules I’m not quite sure if this counts as super bad.. if it is i swear it’s not intentional I LOVE YOUR WORK ❤️❤️

ohoho anon, you don't realize the power you've given me. Also, i may have changed it a bit to make Reader more of a Warden within the seal that... kinda sucks at her job at keeping the Beasts in the seal and detering them from escaping just to spite the witches. She's still a bit of a girlboss girlfail though.

Requested Prompts #42 - 💓

The five Beasts, five fallen heroes formerly revered now sealed away for their crimes against cookiekind. Everyone knows that Elder Faerie Cookie is the guardian of the seal, but what about the Warden? Yes, the warden of the seal. The Cookie placed within it by the witches to be the equivalent of a squeaky toy for ensure that the beasts stay within the seal from the inside. And, to put things rather simply... you didn't like your job. In fact, you hated the fact that the witches decided that you were apparently fit for the job. So, instead of doing your job, you got to know the beasts instead. Hell, you may have even caught feelings for one of them. And now, with all this information in mind, it brings us to now. " Oh little warden~" You could hear the beast of deceit purr, causing you to stop yourself in your tracks to look over at the (currently) contained beast. You noticed that he'd shrunken down to be around your height, though not small enough to slip through the bars like you could. " Seems you finally decided to pay me a visit again! I was getting so bored trying to entertain myself!" He reached through the bars of his prison, beckoning you inside. You, of course, obliged in his request. " Well, I have duties to attend to within the seal. If the Witches knew I was slacking off then they'd crumble me for sure." You said to yourself with a chuckle, as if the witches would even bother to care after basically abandoning you here all those years ago. " Oh hush, you and I both know very well that they can't possibly know what goes on in here. You can blame it on that Foolish King if something ever happens." Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, holding your face in his hands. " Besides, who would believe a Fool King like him? Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows just what happens here, little warden." There it is again, there's a certain lit to his voice that seemed to worm it's way into your heart to make it beat faster. You couldn't exactly tell if he was actually flirting with you or not, but there was a certain quality to it that tipped your thoughts towards the more flirty side of things. " Still," You begin, looking away to prevent yourself from staring into his gaze. " It's the only thing I can really do here, y'know?" Your reasoning seems to go in one of the beast's ears and our the other, even though neither of your technically have ears. " Hm... but you could be having a little bit of... fun with your favorite trickster, hm?" He suggested, and that may have been what broke your composure the slightest bit, letting the slightest hint of red creep onto your face. You certainly didn't trust that 'fun' meant exactly what you thought, it was probably another one of his petty puppet shows and he was doing all of this to rile you up and get a reaction out of you. " And what exactly do you mean by... 'fun'?" you question him, your composure breaking further as he let out a low chuckle. " Oh little warden... You're so cute whenever you act so clueless." He purred in this new, low voice of his. Since when could he do this? You knew he was an actor but what???? the fuck??? You could see that he was getting bigger as well, more or less of a good sign. " ... It makes me want to just gobble you up~" hoo boy, hoo fucking boy. You could feel the back of one of his claws rest at your leg. " Starting from your toes all the way to your itty bitty silly little head~ I wonder just what you'd taste like...? I could probably just eat you up in one bite~!" He purred, you could see his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking them in a rather teasing manner that got your heart working overtime. You couldn't tell if it was beating so fast out of fear or embarrassment because maybe this actually flustered you a lot and- by the witches he was fucking huge now. Holy fuck he could probably actually do it. He leaned down close, his wide grin inches away from your face.

" Oh you're oh so teeny tiny... i really could just eat you up in one bite~" He hummed as his hand wrapped around your body. You were pretty sure that your brain is going to short-circuit soon just from the way he's looking at you.

----

this may be the spiciest thing i've ever written, what the heck.i only stopped here cause I couldn't write any more without getting too embarrassed.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #crk #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie #cookie run au prompts #shadow milk cookie x reader #beast yeast #hey did burning spice show up or is it just hot in here #I'll do a proper formatting later #warden!reader prompts

[homunculus-argument]

 I haven’t quite figured out how to explain my therapist that I genuinely do not care about the concepts of “right” or “wrong”. The world functions with no rhyme nor reason, but it does so with predictable patterns, and sometimes it’s just a random coin toss that you happened to be the one standing in the way of the predictably approaching swinging mallet. The question of should you have been standing right there, or who was at fault in this, is utterly irrelevant to me. Nobody deserves anything, shit just happens for no reason but you can learn to tell what direction it’s happening from so you can avoid it next time.

 I was bullied at school because I was weird and unsettling. I don’t blame those kids for bullying me, they were like seven and I was weird as fucking shit. But I don’t blame myself for getting bullied either, I didn’t have the tools to be less unfathomably creepy. I don’t even blame the adults for not being aware of something they didn’t see, or not being able to somehow prevent something they didn’t know about. It was predictable that it would happen, but I don’t see the point of seeking fault. It hurt me, really did, and I learned to behave in ways that aren’t repulsive to people, but finding anyone guilty or worthy of punishment seems like an absurd exercise to me.

It doesn’t matter to me whether my family should have treated me better or been nicer to me, or whether I should have simply learned to not be hurt by the way they treated me. Who’s right and who’s wrong are imaginary concepts, all that ultimately matters to me is that I’m no longer wasting time and energy with people who are going to keep repeating the same patterns nonetheless.

 I have caused my loved ones completely needless pain by acting unhinged when I didn't think I deserved to be loved. Being aware of the irony that I hurt them the most in my attempts to spare them from pain doesn’t undo the damage that I caused. I am not blaming nor justifying myself by being aware of this. All that ultimately matters is that I am no longer repeating the same patterns that caused them harm.

 I have no more concept of justice nor sin than a cockroach or a seagull. I don’t worry about what I deserve, I will simply continue to live until someone or something stops me. I don’t spend my time worrying about who is to blame or what should have been, or what should have happened instead of what happened. Understanding cause and effect well enough to see the predictable patterns, and trying to avoid the ones that hurt me or the people around me is enough. I see no point in trying to seek fault or justice.

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

Been thinking about this post I made earlier, and

The problem with the hotel is that Charlie went too big too fast with the goal. Unfortunately Katie Killjoy was RIGHT when she asked why anyone would care about becoming a better person, when you consider that it means going up to heaven to be with the very people that put them in hell in the first place (as far as they know), and who (definitely) then come down to massacre them once a year anyway.

But if you think of the pride ring specifically, rather than all of hell, as a jail of sorts for sinners, then, maybe they'd want to explore the rest of hell if they could.

And if Charlie got with her father and the other sins, and got approval for like, passports of sort, that give sinners who prove they could behave in the rest of hell- where people live who aren't saints but can still be good people and who ARE more often than not weaker that Sinners- permission to travel, I BET plenty of sinners would have at least wanted to TRY the hotel.

The hotel could function more as a voluntary recovery resedance for them. Like if Angel had been promised the opportunity to visit the Lust Ring, I bet he'd have committed a little more serious the cause sooner.

And it wouldn't even have to be an all or nothing thing. Each sin could have different requirements for allowing sinner into their territory. Ozzie would probably never allow people with sexual assaults on their record, for instance. And Mammon would probably allow pretty much anyone, wanting anyone who could pay to see his shows.

But it's still not a perfect solution unless the genocides stop.

Because it just leads to questions.

Do they tell heaven they're letting sinners got to other rings?

If they do, they run the risk of Heaven, specifically Adam, not agreeing to only hunt the unrepentant/unredeemed in the Pride Ring, and simply expanding the genocide, the violence, into the other rings, and the other sins might refuse the system soley based on that.

And if they don't tell them? That's not going to stay a secret long. Even if it take a decideds for enough sinners to have earned their passport to even one other ring, all the sinners that can, are going to bale on the Pride Ring during the genocide.

At first the angels might think they're successfully keeping Hell's population down, but eventually they're going to get suspicious, because whether they've been doing this since the dawn of time or only since the human population, and therefore Hell's population, boomed in the last century or so, for it to suddenly be working this well???

And all they have to do is capture some sinner during an extermination, and torture the answers out of them.

And then it's like.

Do they see that as Lucifer trying to get out of his side of the bargen? Do they say fine we won't uphold our end?

The fact Adam and them go after Charlie in the season finale shows there's no magical contract PREVENTING them from killing Hellborns. So what if they start giing after Hellborns too, since they're traveling rings now too?

Soooo maybe I've talked myself in circles.

Even though I dont THINK Charlie has though about all of this, it's still stands that she does have to go that big with the hotel. She has to get them out of hell as things stand now, because if there are genocides, nowhere and no one in hell is garenteed safety.

Now, in a post canon world where they get the extermination to end, I think this would actually be a good system.

Most sinners are actually in hell for a reason, and if they want to just keep indulging in that behavior, fine. Pride Ring Prison.

But leaving a voluntary out program readily available to them, where they can rehabilite themselves as much as they want-wether it be to Aesmodeos or Mannon's or Beelzebub's, or even Heaven itself's standards? Yeah, I think that would work really well to insintives people to change.

#hazbin hotel husk #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #lucifer hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel dust #sir pentious #helluva boss asmodeus #hellava boss #hellava boss meta #hellava boss theory #hellaverse #hellava boss Beelzebub

[4younotafool]

Love And Justice (Genshin Impact)

This story is also available on different platforms; Wattpad: NotAFool4You "Love and Justice" Archive Of Our Own: NotAFool4You "Love And Justice"

genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, crime, mistaken identity,

Part 4

It's been ten whole hours since I was thrown into the Fortress Of Meropide. I never left my dormitory room. I never went to get food, or if that can still be called food, from the coupon cafeteria. I stayed in my room and refused to go out, I wrapped myself in a blanket so that others wouldn't dare approach me.

After our conversation yesterday in his office, the Duke himself was kind enough to show me around the fortress. He explained every nook and cranny and what I can and cannot do while I reside under his care. He's treated with high regard and respect for how the other inmates act when Wriothesley approaches. It's evident that he is benevolent and fair.

I'm tremendously thankful that Wriothesley is gracious. But I can't shake off the fact that something about Wriothesely is making me uncomfortable and conscious.

Ever since yesterday, his eyes seldom left my form. I understand he might be cautious I would try to escape, but the way he was looking was......strange. Strange in the strangest way.

Whenever I catch him staring, intensely and brazenly, he's all smiles. It's irritating.

I don't even want to remember our interaction. He's strange. Which is one of the reasons why I refuse to leave our dormitory block. He rarely goes here.

Is what I had originally thought

"Not in the mood to eat?"

But his grace himself visited. With a tray of food (not a welfare meal) in hand.

I stared at the delicacies of Fontaine's cuisine. I was tempted, and if I'm being completely honest, I would love to gobble that (the food) up. But I would never put my pride on the line.

"Thank you, but-"

Before I could even finish what I was about to say, my stomach growled. A moment of silence.

"But?"

Wriothesley tried to remain composure and prevent himself from laughing or smiling.

"but....... I would never dare to waste his grace's efforts of bringing someone as lowly as I am with basic nutrients."

I said and carefully reached out for the tray he had in his hand. Embarrassed.

Wriothesley softly smiled and passed the tray.

"Make sure to eat. You need it for your trial later."

Ah right, I'll be condemned.

"Thank you, your grace."

I took a huge bite, and the savory flavors blended in and melted in my mouth. It tastes so good!

"Mhm, Wriothesley is fine."

I raised my brow and halfway stopped from taking another spoonful of food. I looked at Wriothesley, figuring out if it was irony or if he was trying to convey something. If he does, I refuse to figure out the latter.

"Your grace is just fine."

"I prefer if you call me Wriothesley instead."

"I could never-"

"That's an order."

"That's an inappropriate use of your position, your grace."

Wriothesley shrugged his shoulders.

"I expect you to address me by my name the next time we meet."

Wriothesely left the room afterward, refusing to hear another one of my denials to his request. See my point about him earlier on?

"ah, Marissa"

"Yes, your grace?"

I smiled at him from ear to ear as he looked at me from his back, he grimaced as I refused to call him by his name.

"Don't starve yourself" he said and finally left.

I snorted. Isn't the duke so disgustingly sweet? Is he like this to other inmates as well? That's a funny scenario, to be honest.

I'm not particularly sure why he's uncharacteristically friendly. Is he like this to others? He's acting as if he's familiar with me, or as if he had known me for the longest time. I know for sure Marissa hadn't, if she did, she would've told me and I wouldn't be so troubled. Am I simply assuming things? There's no other meaning behind his action, right?

"Inmate 1143, Marissa Perla."

One of the people in the Administration of the Fortress Of Meropide entered the room and called, with a standby Garde behind him on his left.

I slowly rose from the comfort of my duvet and placed the now empty tray to the side. He signalled for me to come with him. It must be the time for my trial. I gave him my wrist, he handcuffed them. He turned around and walked away, I followed him. No words were shared.

We went to the uppermost level of the Fortress, he stopped in his tracks and glanced at me. I looked at the door on his side, should I assume that death awaits me on the other side?

With no other choice, I grasped the handle and pushed it open. I could hear a chair being dragged when I made my presence known to whoever was inside.

Fortunately, when I catch sight of a salmon-colored hair lady with peach tips. I was able to breathe well.

"Yanfei, thank you for coming."

#genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #fanfic #wriothesley x reader #fluff #angst

[borderline-culture-is]

vent, im sorry. tw for self harm, suicidal thoughts at the end

you know you're initially fucked when you can't bring up behavior by the people closest to you that bothers you without being shut down because YOU obviously NEVER work on YOUR behavior and YOU always bitch about theirs and never yours: meanwhile you beat yourself in the head full force with the heavy risk of internal bleeding just because you literally physically cannot control things like the volume of your voice, or simply loudly crying, or, no, JUST crying. or crying in the presence of your family dog who hides when i cry or get louder because of years of loud fighting/screaming in the family, which is ALL blamed on me even though i was fucking 13 and thus every time i cry i get told to stop because of the dog and it buries a deeper hole for my episodes. i get it, i really do, but i cannot just *finger snap* and hurray, even though i really, really wish i could. im sorry, nana.(name of dog)

and i had the exact same argument in between writing this vent, proving my point further and further. i can explain everything as deeply and personal as i can. I can be the one that's as reasonable as can be DESPITEN being worked up to hell, and still, it will never be enough because i know it'll happen again. if you're the disordered & mentally ill in the household, everything will ALWAYS be your fault. and it drives you literally even more "insane." sorry for this addition but since suicide is out of my reach, i just hope at this point i slowly bleed to death after another beating to the head involving the exact same scenario, which isn't unlikely at all considering this happens at least once every two weeks. im more than tired at this point. im trying my literal best, which is sadly often "just" not harming myself & survival & preventing episodes, going to therapies, as good as i can and it is NEVER, and i mean NEVER good enough. and im supposed to believe the world would be a worse place without me in it. insert laugh here.

thought a lot of whether i should use my "sign" or not, but i am too down to care right now so -🪅🥩

.

#im sorry op :( #borderline culture is #borderline personality disorder #bpd culture is #bpd culture #bpd #bpd safe #actually bpd #actually borderline #tw self harm #cw self harm #tw suicidal thoughts #cw suicidal thoughts #tw vent #cw vent #- 🪅🥩

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Lmfao, so for whatever reason I decided to look at the DID tags on twitter, probably as a form of digital SH and the first post I see on there annoys the fuck out of me

TW for discussion of self harm and self injury

Ok so first thing I see is this

And this is definitely a touchy subject subject for me, I get hyper critical when I see it discussed, especially since some early conversations with my therapist. Even before that discussion though I've always hated the way self harm is discussed even if I couldn't articulate those feelings.

And that's because abstinence as a moral imperative might be the most damaging ideology to ever worm it's way into society.

I mean, even the title of that article "First, Do No Harm, Not Even to Yourself" is soaked in moral judgement, "hurting other people is wrong and bad, right? So why would do a wrong and bad thing to yourself? You wouldn't download a razor blade" and it doesn't even make a proper argument on the moral philosophy of harm, she merely attempts to imply immorality by association. Hurting others is wrong because it violates their autonomy, your liberty to swing your arm ends just where my nose begins, right? It's about consent. In BDSM, a sadist may physically hurt a masochist because they have consented to it being done to them. Similarly, gender affirming care doesn't violate the Hippocratic Oath no matter how strongly a transphobe feels about it because informed consent is given to the treatment. Conversely, genial reconstruction surgeries performed on intersex babies or even infant circumsions should be considered a violation because consent has not and cannot be given.

But how does this apply to self-harm? It's your body, it's your autonomy, you aren't violating shit. Even being in a system no single alter has complete authority over the body, it's still possible to come to a consensus without unanimous agreement because guess what? Making decisions while having conflictual feelings or being in two minds is a perfectly normal human experience.

Am I saying you should self harm? No. Of course not. I'm simply saying that self harm is not an immoral act and I will remove the personhood of anyone that tries to weaponise shame in this way against people who almost certainly feel an incredibly painful and torturous amount of shame and guilt already.

The article is also vaccuously lacking in substance. The author seems to think this 'gotcha' is a sufficient argument but itself, checkmate traumatised liberals, but obviously needs to generate ad revenue through scrolling so offers 8 "new realities" to help reinforce a morally pure and healthy mindset.

1. Feelings are survivable and containable

Uhhh sure, they can be, if you have the right coping mechanisms to deal with them. You can't just tell someone to forgo the coping mechanisms they already have without successfully replacing them with something equally or more effective though. The whole point of dissociation from trauma is because certain feelings ARE deemed to be unsurvivable by the brain, you're not weak minded for thinking so.

2. We have art, reading, distractions, therapist, meds

Yeah no shit, that's not always enough though and you haven't failed if you try them and they don't work, the coping mechanisms have failed, not you.

3. We deserve to feel better

So true! Self harming makes me feel better when emotional distress is overwhelming me, I'm glad we agree

4. We don't need to guarantee pain

You know what guarantees pain? Shaming yourself out of using a coping mechanism without addressing it's root cause, but that's ok because feelings are "survivable" right?

5. We don't have to hurt via self-abuse

I actually don't know what that's supposed to mean, I can hurt myself without hurting myself? I don't have to self harm? I know I don't have to, but I can if it's better to do so than to not

6. Our trauma is over, why continue it?

First of all fuck you, retraumatisation is a very well noted trauma response, but so is shame and guilt so who's really continuing our trauma here?

7. We don't have to stand vigil over pain to honour abused parts

EXACTLY! That's what coping mechanisms are for, hey guess what coping mechanism can be really effective at temporarily relieving emotional pain? I'll give you a hint, it's not reading.

8. We will honour our abused parts with self compassion, understanding, acceptance, and encouragement

Once again so true! I will be compassionate to abused parts, understanding and accepting of the coping mechanisms they choose, while encouraging exploration of healthy alternatives without shaming them if they don't work.

Her website is littered with BuzzFeed style listicles of "25 ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" "25 more ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" "another 25 even more ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" and like, sure, they're all perfectly fine distraction techniques but what really pisses me off about the wording of these is that they're framed as ways to distract yourself from the urge to self harm, as though the urge itself is what's wrong, and not the pain and hurt that the urge is a response to.

Just watch one more movie bro, trust me bro, this next one will be the one that makes the pain go away bro just trust me one more movie bro.

I have wasted so much fucking time hating myself and shaming myself and feeling like a failure for breaking my streak. Torturing myself during some of the most emotionally distraught moments of my life because "it doesn't matter how much pain I'm in I can't give into the urge, I can't do that, no matter what I mustn't ever do that" imagining how much worse I'll feel when I punish myself for being too weak.

Do you know what I do now? I take note of the feeling, give it space and allow it to be present and I make a bargain with myself. I will give myself 2 hours to distract and soothe from the emotional pain that I or another part is experiencing, and if that doesn't work then we'll self harm with no shame or judgement. And you'll never guess what, I haven't even come close to self harming, and that's great! And maybe sometime it won't be enough and that'll be fine too, it'll just mean I really needed to. The parts that want to self harm feel respected and listened to, my hurt and abused parts feel seen because I'm paying attention to them and not fighting with the self harm part and we all get to move through the experience with grace.

8. We will honour our abused parts with self compassion, understanding, acceptance, and encouragement

Fucking damn right I will, in every way I can.

So yeah, that was my first 5 seconds on DID twitter how was your day?

#syscourse #tw s3lf harm #tw sh related #tw sh

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

you seem the type to enjoy shit like boku no pico and then scream and cry about how it's fine since it's "not real." fucking pedophile.

Buddy, pal, friend, did you read the FUCKING post?? You know the part where I said content that depicts fictional minors engaging in sex makes my stomach turn but that I don't interact for that reason?

Did you?

Or did you, as many antis do, just nitpick words because you can't understand why people (to quote myself here) have enough braincells to rub together to know that fictional stuff is not nearly as abhorrent as actual CP.

And for your information I've not watched Boku no Pico because I was lucky enough to have older anime fans tell me not to watch it because its fucked up. And wow, isn't that weird?

It's odd isn't it?

That someone can have the stance that fictional media is not as bad as an actual crime and still think it's fucked up?

Also bud just to let you know and I hate to use this card but it's important, I was a tween when people got me to try and watch that show and guess what? That's the issue, that people were going around on the Internet trying to get children or underage teenagers to watch something pornographic, that's the morally wrong action here no matter how disgusted I am with what I've been told the show contains - the attempted INTENTIONAL distribution of known pornographic material to children is the issue here.

But that won't change your opinion on me, since you're too much of a coward to say this off anon I can tell you don't want to engage in an actual conversation.

You just want to feel morally righteous telling someone they must be the scum of the earth. And thats what a pedophile is. Scum of the fucking earth.

But hey whilst on the subject lets look at a definition:

Tell me anon, what part of (and lets refer to the top picture on this post because I'm sure reading comprehension is hard for you so I'll spell it out) "stuff like that isn't for me, I don't like it." And "write something fucked up to see if they can".

Hm, anon, what part of describing that content as fucked up and not for me means that I enjoy it? Or that I have a sexual preference FOR LIVING BREATHING FUCKING CHILDREN YOU IDIOTIC BAFOON.

You cannot simply use "imma refer to a disgusting show and if they know it my point is proven but I'm going to call them a pedophile to really shut them up!" As an excuse to your inability to understand that not everything is black and white.

I don't like that there's child sexual content on AO3 and to reiterate what a previous part of my original post said, it turns my fucking stomach just the thought of it, but I don't interact because guess what pal. It doesn't change a fucking thing what I think.

Just like how all you content Puritans will scream think of the fictional children but won't do fuck all to help real children.

"But what are we supposed to do!?" You all cry if someone points it out to you!

Guess what, you know how you all sit together and decide to mass report fics? You can mass report actual criminals to the police. You can, if you have the ability, help donate to actual charities that help children after those situations and charities that try and prevent those situations.

But you don't actually care about children, in the same way anti-abortonists in the USA and UK don't care about the children.

At the end of the day, you guys just need control and you don't like that you don't have it.

Children are just pawns to you, because if you really cared you wouldn't be out here getting in such a tizzy that you need to call a nobody a pedophile on tumblr because they agreed with you that the content is horrible but that they can understand that if illegal material was actually on a website with all you hundreds of antis the site would be shut down.

And that's the thing isn't it? People HAVE reported Ao3 to the police before but nothings beens done because its not legally counted as CP. Who'd have thunk it.

If you have anything else to say to me anon, get off anon and say it so everyone can see your blog.

Your such a justice warrior aren't you that you have to hide your face.

#ao3 #tw cp mention

[seidigardensystem]

I Am Not Too Much

Dear Therapists,

Here we are yet again, sitting on your couch, with our legs curled up underneath ourselves. You're sitting in your comfy La-Z-Boy chair with your pen poised over your clipboard and we’re staring off into space, refusing to speak to you. What ever made you want to join this profession? Why did you choose to be here, on that side of the coffee table?

You’re our sixth therapist now. The first one, nice as she was, had no idea what was happening with us. The second just got frustrated and threw words out at us like borderline, histrionic, and manipulative. The third terminated after a handful of sessions with little explanation. The fourth only gave us one session. The fifth was nice, but canceled a lot and sometimes forgot to show at the appointed time.

We figured out what was going on all by ourselves while we were tossed about like the hot potato no one wanted to get stuck with. So here we are with you and now we’re terrified you will also have some excuse or reason to not see us anymore too. It was bad enough to have experienced abandonment as a child, but to experience with the very profession that professes to heal trauma was far more traumatic than the childhood event.

I did not believe you, no matter how much reassurance you gave me. I could not allow myself that luxury of belief in order to prevent myself from feeling the pain of being abandoned once again, because surely it was just a matter of time before my neediness would push you beyond your limits. How long before you realized that I was too complex, too disordered, and too far gone to be helped? Yet, I had to try with you just one more time. I cannot keep living this way.

And you were true to your word. You answered every text, every email, and even the accidental phone call. You showed up for every appointment, every single time. Not once did you complain. Not once did you sound annoyed. Not once did you tell us we were too much. You explained your boundaries clearly. You explained your expectations clearly. Every trauma response was met with compassion. You squeezed me in for emergency sessions when I requested them. You took your vacations and did your self-care and had a plan for us to get through those times when you went away. And you always came back. You were true to your word. You saw me through the worst struggles I had and now you get to see me graduate with my Master’s and go on to do the same work.

Here I am now, looking around at others who are not so lucky to have someone like you. We are still denied care under the excuse that dissociative identity disorder is simply too advanced for me to treat. The signs and websites and social media accounts tout their trauma-informed ways and claim to treat all the things except for dissociative identity disorder. I am sorry, I cannot help you, DID is out of my scope. Our friends have been lied to, terminated, and turned away over and over again. They are often forced to drive hours in order to see a therapist willing to work with DID. I had to fly out of state to receive appropriate care. Not everyone is so fortunate to be able to do that. At the time, I knew of four residential trauma treatment centers that specialized in DID. Now there are three, because a new CEO took over where I had received care shortly after I left and he did not believe in DID. Seriously?

We are not fake, nor are we rare. We are everywhere and we need care and treatment. We need you to not be afraid of us. To be trauma-informed is to be dissociation-informed. Who else can we turn to if not a trauma therapist or a trauma treatment program? We might arrive with severe attachment wounds, struggle with unsafe behaviors, and a slew of trauma responses, but we are capable of healing. We are capable of learning how to develop a secure attachment. We are capable of turning our distress of dissociation into a superpower to navigate the world. We are successful teachers, lawyers, financial advisors, and therapists ourselves! Include us in your care and treatment.

When a client sits across from me and asks me why I became a therapist, it is because of you. It is because you showed up for me when no one else would. You were a rock in my storm. Our field needs more dissociation-informed rocks. Get the training. Teach others. Stretch and grow beyond your comfort zone. You are desperately needed because we truly want to heal. We are not too much. I am not too much. You are not too much. We hope you get the joy of joining us for our healing journey.

Sincerely,

Your client

#dissociative identity disorder #trauma therapy #did #borderline personality disorder #healing from trauma #ptsd #cptsd #ptsd recovery #mental health #trauma #trauma therapist #emdr therapy #multiplicity #plural community #psychotherapy

[rimofwell]

A long vent/update that started out pretty dark and then became slightly less so.

It feels weird to post things like this anymore (this really could have been a journal entry) but putting something out there in the world makes it feel more real which is sometimes comforting. 

Everything is a fucking mess. It’s hard to know where to start because it’s been like this for so long. It’s hard to point to what’s actually wrong because, at this point, I don’t even know. It’s just hard. I hate talking about it or writing about it, and I think it’s for that reason that I don’t journal or update anymore. Sometimes I won’t even mention it in therapy. I hate complaining about things or wallowing but I end up doing just that, even if it’s only inside my head. It’s just hard to see things getting better, and I don’t want things to keep going on like this so it feels like there’s no out.

If I had to point to something specific that’s wrong, I’d say it’s the depression/lack of energy/feeling of defeat that makes it impossibly difficult to function on a basic level. The things that used to make me feel attached, that I used to care about (academics, research, performing well), I just don’t care about anymore. And so I’m not doing them well. Not at all. It’s scary to lose the things that used to tether you. It has been like this for so long. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I felt excited about my research. And so I do the bare minimum. Lots of time, much less than that. And then I feel awful about that, about how badly I’m functioning, about the fact that it’s evident to others whose opinions used to matter to me. Then the shame just drowns me and I feel even more defeated and fed-up and done. Rinse, repeat.

I don’t know. If I look at this situation from the outside, I get frustrated. If I’m removed from it, it doesn’t seem as complicated as I make it out to be. But it also doesn’t necessarily feel any more hopeful. Becoming more attached to things, interested in research, and life would help me feel tethered. It would be a foundation upon which to build a life. But getting there requires a level of energy and focus I simply don’t have. All of my energy goes into feeling stable. Into getting through each day, pulling it together enough to seem fine. I’m dissociated or just so overwhelmed, so impulsive. Just dysregulated altogether in what feels like every way.

I’m frustrated about it and frustrated with myself for staying stuck in it. For complaining about being so overwhelmed and stressed and done and suicidal over and over again but still staying in this place. I’ve been here so many times before. It feels like I never left.

If I speak to myself about it, it sounds like:

That’s enough. You’ve had your time to feel sorry for yourself, to be upset. It’s time. It’s time to make some changes to improve things. If you change nothing, nothing will get better and you’ll remain as stuck as you are now. Things are not as hopeless as they feel, you’re just stuck. So stuck in a cycle of pessimism, hopelessness, and negativity that you can’t think creatively about anything. You spend so much time believing that this situation is hopeless and that you can’t feel better that you manifest that reality. There’s a whole world out there of things to try. You’re smart, resourceful, people like you and want to help you. You have it in you to find things to make you feel better you just have to get over this huge block that’s keeping you from making things happen.

And I think in a lot of ways that’s true. Nothing is ever as hopeless as it seems. And it’s really sort of ridiculous to be convinced that nothing in the entire world could be helpful at all. Wallowing in it or indulging in those feelings just makes me feel worse and prevents me from making the difficult and scary changes. I should fix my eating, learn how to be kinder to myself and stay present in my life. Ride out the urges to do impulsive things. Learn that I am all I have and that has to be enough. Accept that wanting to get better isn’t silly. It’s just vulnerable which is hard for me. 

Committing fully means opening myself up to the possibility that it might not work. And that’s terrifying. Having things come easily for a lot of my life makes it hard to push through when things feel unbearable. 

At the same time, things are really fucking hard. Which is valid. I think part of the block - maybe most of it - is this enormous amount of anger I have. And how I still hold tightly to it. I certainly don’t feel like I’ve been wronged by the world. If anything, I’ve been given many gifts. If I’m honest with myself, I am smart even if I feel like a complete idiot most of the time. For some reason, people are drawn to me and want to help. I have insights and thoughts about the world and the propensity to think deeply and make sense of what seems inconceivable. I just need to learn how to use it. To take what I’ve been given and use it to create a life that feels worth living. But I’m so so angry. Sometimes I just want to smash everything, destroy it all. I don’t know who I’m angry at anymore. Maybe - probably - it’s just the rage that I felt growing up and never got the opportunity to express. How I jumped to forgiving the people who harmed me without giving myself the opportunity to feel that hurt, betrayal, anger.

You have a right to be angry. Have all of the anger you want. No one is saying you don’t have a right to feel all the anger in the world. But at some point, you have to make a choice. If you let this destroy your life, that’s on you. Why you are angry makes sense but nothing can be undone. It’s yours now and you have to choose where to put it, how to hold it, what to make of it, and how to do that. If you let this inhibit you from moving forward you have no one to blame but yourself. It doesn’t have to be like that. There’s always a choice.

I have my moments of clarity, ~ and wise-mindedness~ but they don’t last for very long. This shouldn’t really be a surprise. It’s not like after years of thinking in such black-and-white ways, holding a dialectic would come naturally. It’s not that I don’t understand it, but threading that understanding into my life and letting it shape my behaviors is fucking hard. 

Sometimes it sounds like:

Let yourself have a life that’s worth living. It’s time. You deserve it. If you fight for it, you can have it. Nothing is fair, nothing in life can be handed to you. You get to decide what to do with the cards that you’ve been dealt. But you have to fight for the things you want, for the life that you want in order to have a shot at getting it. 

I was thinking the other day about how your subconscious isn’t shaped by the events that happen but rather by what you make of those events. How you code them in your mind. Yours is the only voice it hears. It’s how you speak to yourself that then teaches your brain how to respond to events that happen in your life. It’s like this self-teaching machine.

We learn how to do this early. We internalize how our parents speak to us, and what they make of the world; it informs how we then see the world and how we interpret and respond to it. Sometimes it’s good. A framework of hope, kindness, and compassion that makes life lighter. Seeing the world through that lens makes you more resilient to bad things that happen. They aren’t your fault, they won’t drown you, there are still good things. Oftentimes, the framework isn’t like that. It’s heavy and dark. Things are your fault, they are unlikely to change. This self-criticism that when turned inward makes your entire world miserable. When you see everything that happens through that framework, it’s inevitable that life will not feel worth living. If you see things like that of course it feels like there’s no way out.

But it’s not set in stone. It’s difficult to change but it’s not impossible. Changing your framework, how you see the world, and what you make of what happens to you has the propensity to change your entire life because all your life is is a series of responses to the events that happen, and then your responses to those events. It’s a feedback loop. Your responses to the people around you, how you interpret their behaviors, what that evokes in you, and what that then causes you to do. I think given all of that, it really is the case that you have the ability to change your entire world if you can wrap your head around that idea and use this self-teaching mechanism to your advantage.

I don’t know. Maybe I should write about things more. I started out this post feeling hopeless and stuck in a swirl of dark thoughts and loops that seemed impossible to break out of. But with some of these newer realizations, I feel better. Definitely not like anything concrete has changed but it doesn’t feel as messy or hopeless which at least makes this moment feel tolerable.

#update finally

[scientia-rex]

I feel like I haven't been writing enough lately, not in the sense of needing to write a story--although God knows I haven't been doing that either--but in the sense of writing like I used to, in journals, to try to untangle my mind. There are dangers in writing down what's been happening and trying to make sense of it. It's easy to find myself steering by whatever is easily verbalizable, and to be drawn to the anxiety provoking and depressive.

But when there are a lot of things happening at once, and particularly when a lot of people who aren't me have strong opinions about me and what I'm doing and what's happening to me, that don't jive with what my own opinions about the situation are, sometimes it's nice to have the chance to try to unspool it. Am I a bad person? God, what a boring question! But I keep asking it and I keep trying to answer it, without success. As if I'd be capable of truly believing that I'm a bad person, no matter what I'd done. No one is. To exist is to be the end product of millions of years of evolution without the need for self-justification. Our philosophical attempts to determine whether our existence is worth it are just the thinnest possible layer of paint over a giant boulder of very, very old instincts to survive.

The tension of depression is, if you ask me, often the tension between the idea that maybe I am a bad person, against the deeper fundamental knowledge that I am not. And that knowledge isn't real knowledge--it's not coming from some real place--but it doesn't have to be. It is simply a thing our brains take for granted, like down is down and up is up, and you can fall down but you can't fall up. If I'm a bad person, shouldn't I kill myself? But no matter how deep the self-hatred runs, no matter how painful it is, it is also coming up against that ancient instinct for self-preservation, absolutely screeching in your mind like a railroad spike dragging over rock, and you cannot settle it. You can never settle it in favor of self-hatred. Suicide ends up being this response that depends on catastrophic moments; real suicidality can't last. The intensity of the urge ebbs away if the attempt is prevented by even a few minutes.

I have no idea how many patients I've seen after suicide attempts; it's too many to count, by now. But that's how it is. It's a moment that passes. Even if the self-hatred remains, because whatever led to the attempt isn't magically fixed, it's back to the ceaseless tension rather than unbearable certainty. And suicide is an attempt, very often, to fix that tension. People who look from the outside at someone who's so depressed they're catatonic think it must be a calm state, but it isn't. It's a hell of conflicting impulses. The impulse to love yourself against the impulse to hate yourself. The feeling that if you moved, you'd do something so horrible that you must not move.

I've been thinking a lot lately, so this is what I did everything for? I spent seven years in various circles of Hell so that I could be a doctor. Training to be a doctor was awful. It's bad for almost everyone, and it was horrendous for me, with my history of anxiety. Over and over again I thought about suicide. And over and over again I didn't go for it. I always had reasons. Sometimes they were very, very small. A new book. A cat to play with. Sometimes they were huge. I wanted to move home to a different kind of hell and take care of the queer and trans youth there in a way no one else would or had before. So I didn't kill myself, and I kept going, and I finally graduated residency. I thought, okay, maybe there's still lots of stress, but as I'm in practice longer, that will get better. Right?

And it's been 15 months now. And I'm depressed, and I'm tired, and I'm thinking, this? This is what I was holding out for?

But it isn't, really. I'm doing some of the things I meant to, but I'm also changing clinics because I feel like the one I'm at took all of the energy and time and love and, yes, money I threw at it--I made menstruation stations for the bathrooms at work, I put up little shelves and stocked them and re-stocked them over and over again with tampons and pads and Poopourri--and still tried to fuck me over four times in quick succession. And then asked me why I was so angry, and blamed me for my anger. Zero self-recognition or reflection.

And with changing clinics comes all of this guilt, all of this weight. And fear: what if it doesn't work out?

But I still have something to hold out longer for. I have this step next, and then when my commitment for partial loan repayment is up (it will still leave me with 220,000 dollars in educational debt, and that is with me having completely paid for undergrad between my scholarships and my parents and me working) I have another step. At that point I can drop to part time. And then I have another life to look forward to. More sleep. More hobbies. More writing.

Life is going to get better. For me; not necessarily for everyone. We need to make it so life gets better for everyone, but at least for now, for me, I can look at a time ahead where I won't want to die so much and so often.

I have very few good things to think about right now. Any direction my mind wanders down, there's guilt and fear. But there is going to come a day when I am living something much closer to the life I want to live.

#the attending dr. kristophine #tw suicide #cw depression

[traumadragon]

it's almost funny how far a person will go with lying to try to gaslight or manipulate you

what's a funnier, but also sad, is how completely they expect you to believe them.

and it WORKS on so many people. because of something called attachment.

it worked just enough on me to wonder if other memories of mine were reliable. but i didn't form bonds with them.

it worked well enough that memories other parts have, confuse us and make us wonder what *actually* happened. but they couldn't use the relationship they didn't have with us as leverage - only threats from being the source of survival.

but it failed to make us unable to see their lies. it failed to prevent us from questioning the validity of everything they said. our RAD was practically a blessing that way.

but it's their fault we didn't in the first place. they didn't make us reliable on them, because they failed to interact enough. and when they finally tried, they'd already lost the ability. by then, i was self reliant. if i needed something so bad, i would do it myself. they would have to step in to stop me and do it themself if they really wanted to do it for me to try to get me to care more about them. the dumbest thing they tried with me when i was little was trying to get me to eat out of their hand, to try to get me to be more reliant on them. that's a type of trick you do with DOGS, not children. They had the galls to admit to it when I was older, explaining exactly the reasoning behind it too.

they stopped trying by the time i was 14. they knew they couldn't win me. they thought for ages they had gotten rid of my RAD with therapy; I simply played into their wishes enough to get them to leave me alone.

and guess what? when you're free, when you're away, you can choose how often you see them. my most recent family likes to claim they "miss" me and they are in pain because I don't visit often. guess what? That's their problem. You get to choose whether you want to oblige their wishes or not. and "no" is a valid answer. Even better, you don't have to respond.

even if you do respond, you don't have to pretend to be anything unless you want to be. if you do meet, you can choose *quotes Hamilton* the menu, the venue, the seating. and you can do it on your own timeline.

and then

you're free

#trauma #actuallytraumatized #actually abused #abuse #neglect #emotional abuse #physical abuse #psychological abuse #verbal abuse #narcissists #mentally ill #reactive attachment disorder #RAD

[nation-of-bros]

You seem to have a lot of strong opinions. I'm not disagreeing with you, but out of curiosity, what would your reaction be if it turns out you were wrong about some of these things, like the vaccines, for instance? What would it take to prove you are wrong about something? What sort of irrefutable evidence would you need to see that might change your mind?

To form my own opinion, I need logical reasons and understandable explanations. I also value experiences very much. Each of them alone would be incomplete, but everything together results in a closed puzzle picture. Moreover, I have long since stopped believing in objectivity unlike many others. There is simply no such thing. Even scientific measurements are made in a certain well-chosen context and subject to arbitrary interpretations. This is exactly where the problem lies: Things can be looked at from very different angles; some perspectives provide a good, if not complete, view; others are severely limited leading to unreasonable or even fatal conclusions.

I've said enough about vaccinations. However, it should be mentioned that it has now also been accepted in the mainstream that vaccinations do NOT protect against any flu viruses such as Corona and certainly do not prevent them from spreading. This was just recently made clear in the European Parliament, along with the acknowledgment according to which the pharmaceutical industry knew from the outset that their vaccines were ineffective. This proves how all of this was just about profit and possibly a lot more but not protecting people. In addition, even the official figures from the hospitals now show that over 80% of the patients in intensive care units have been vaccinated several times. This means that the last justification that vaccinations at least protect against a severe course is invalid too as another lie. I really don't understand how stupid the people are that they eat up all this shit and let themselves be lied to so outrageously. In the face of this, as a vaccinated person, I would feel physically mutilated and go nuts.

To keep the damage as low as possible and, if necessary, to save the own life, only a lengthy and intensive blood wash helps. But it's very expensive. Some hypocritical VIPs, who previously recommended vaccinations and apparently got vaccinated themselves, are now resorting to blood washing since they are suddenly suffering from severe chronic problems. But instead of admitting that they made a mistake, an imaginary illness like "Long Covid" is said to be to blame for their health issues. Those affected do not question the fact that they suffer severe courses as well as "Long Covid" despite multiple vaccinations. Instead, they continue to spread their vaccination recommendations, washing their blood at the same time. This is self-deception in every respect. It's outrageous and makes me furious.

Ultimately, I prefer to endure the truth and try to deal with it somehow, no matter how difficult it is, instead of knowingly lying to myself, because I find that even more unbearable, even though I often thought that life as a thoughtless consumer, just "going to work," "meeting with friends" and "watching Netflix" would be so much easier. But then what would be the point of life. It wouldn't be much different from the life of an unconscious animal that only eats, shits and sleeps, to eventually die, mostly by ending up as food for others.

#reply #corona

[hotvampireadjacent]

i wanted to share this just with my friend without. making a bunch of people eye in the new part I updated but here’s some extra 4~ pages i wrote the other day when editing chapter 1. Simply posting it here bc it’s easier than google docs giving me a headache

 “Can you take your gloves off and try again for me anyway?” Oscar asks. Renze frowns at his request. “I can, just. Don't make a big scene okay?” Renze takes both his gloves off revealing serious burn scars and stuff them into his pockets.

“Oh holy shit did the barrier do that to you just now?” Oscar asks.

Mede glares at him and Renze rolls his eyes. “Are you an idiot? Didn't I ask you not to make a big scene? No. Wounds I got before I became a vampire don't automatically heal.” He raises his hand up and says. “You know, it would be very cruel if my body didn't heal itself to ask me to burn myself again like this for your own curiosity.” He teases with a toothy smile before pushing his hand against the invisible barrier and that oh so familiar burning sensation and smell returns. After another brief moment he quickly retracts his hands and they begin to heal. “That should be enough for you to believe me now, right?”

Oscar nods, “Of course. I wonder, your mask, could that have some magic on it that's preventing you from leaving as well.”

Renze tilts his head and quickly panics. “What on earth are you suggesting?!” A slight hint of fear can be heard in his voice and, despite wearing a mask, panic can be seen in his darting eyes. “I....” he pauses, having been caught off guard, and full of anxiety. “I can't take it off...”

“Is it stuck? I could probably yank it off.” Oscar offers.

“No, No no no you idiot! This is a nice, expensive, mask! Don't you dare break it!” Renze exhales, coming up with , in his mind, a suitable excuse.

Oscar crinkles his nose in disgust. “Oh? You care more about money than leaving? I would think you'd try everything possible to leave, but I guess you don't care that much if your expensive things are so important to you, young lord.”

Renze anxiously gazes down to the floor, avoiding Oscar's eyes. “No... It's not that I just.” He kicks at the ground like a nervous school girl. “You don't understand. You saw my hands, I'm hideously scared. That's why my father gave me such a beautiful mask to make up for that.” He says quietly. If Renze wasn't such a , well, violent vampire he would love to tease him for acting like such a nervous school child. It was incredibly humorous to see the previously proud vampire acting this flustered.

Oscar smiles at him. “What? That's all this is about? Sorry if I scared you from reactin' like that earlier, but there's no need to be so shy.” While Renze is distracted, Oscar quickly removes his mask, and as it drops on the ground the priceless object shatters, revealing his true face.

“W-Wh-Wh-what on earth have you just done?!” Renze quickly covers his face with his hands, but of course bits and pieces of his charred face can be seen in between cracks. Mede quickly jumps in front of Renze like a protective bodyguard. “Now you've really done it now Oscar!” He complains, but Oscar still has a goofy grin on his face.

“It's no big deal, don't worry. I can fix this.” Oscar explains, no, he could not fix the mask. He doesn't make enough in a year to replace something like that, so he better be able to talk his way out of this. Mede hesitantly trusts Oscar and steps out of the way. “How long have you worn that mask for? Far too long I'm sure. Come on, move your hands away.”

“Absolutely not! For all I know my hideous looks are part of the reason I'm locked here.” Renze says shamefully.

“You gotta show the world your face some time, might as well be now.” Oscar complains while grabbing his hands and not letting go. The action takes Renze off guard so much that he doesn't have the energy to fight back, and perhaps, some part of him wanted to see the sun again. Just perhaps, some part of him wanted to throw his mask off and was grateful Oscar had broken it. “Are you happy now? My true face is beyond hideous.” He complains.

Oscar looks deeply into his face, and as expected, his face was totally marred by scars, but his deep brown eyes were breathtaking, and because of his facial scars, one was drawn to his eyes and could get lost in them. “You're not that bad Renze, your eyes are beautiful.”

Renze rolls his eyes and groans. “Shut up!” He quickly retracts his hands from Oscar. “Now what's the idea, big guy? It doesn't make sense for me to keep burning my flesh every clothing change.” He complains.

Oscar nods. “You're right, you're right. To make things easy you should just strip.”

“Hey, Mede, come here. I'm going to kill him using you.” Mede understands immediately and turns into a dagger in his hand. “First you break my precious mask and then, now this, this is sexual assault at this point after an initial assault! Maybe I really am safer inside this stuffy mansion.”

Oscar got caught up in the moment and forgot who he was dealing with. Teasing him this much was, quite literally, dangerous. “Wait! Please stop! I'm sorry it was a joke only a joke! There's no evidence to suggest that would actually work, so please calm down.”

Renze sighs and chucks Mede into the air, allowing him to take his child form again. “That's a shame, I don't think I've stabbed anyone since I came to this mansion.”He said with a smile. So stabby mc stabby lives up to his appearances, duly noted. “In any case I would have had to ditch that mask before leaving, it's just a shame to be exposed before I was planning on it.” He complains. That's good news for Oscar, that means he won't have to pay him back, right?

After an increasingly stupid chain of events they get back to the task at hand.

#writing stuff