#tw; self harm

[ladyimaginarium]

vent under the cut.

i&. i& s/hed for for the first time in a long while, nothing wild or skin deep, just pokes across the hand, just enough to have a lil feeling bc my& body's highly sensitive to pain bc autistic reasons. alex& gently told me& to put the scissors down so i& did but only after i& poked a couple times & my& dad just called & he's sweet. mom & her stupid ex boyfriend don't even realize her fucking kid is sobbing their fucking eyes out & dealing with dysphoria. & I& still feel a giant shame bc like wtf why would you do that we& were doing so well.

#arcana.vents #aaaaaaand here comes the shame lmao #tw; self harm #it's been like what a year or two since last time? fuck relapsing man.....

[11thsshadow]

[Broken Delusions]

@artificialdoctor

Somewhere in the deepest depths of the TARDIS, what remained of the Doctor stayed fairly well hidden. The Doctor? He wasn't the Doctor anymore. The man that was here didn't know who he was anymore. He was a time lord in shambles and a broken mind. His body covered in self inflicted scratches, hair discheveled.

He could hear movement around him, but knew it wasn't real, none of it was. It was just his head playing tricks on him, planting images in his head and making him see lies.

Come on, Doctor, what are you so afraid of? Let me out, make yourself feel better and let me out.

He shook his head violently at the thought. "No, you're not real! You can't have me so leave me the fuck alone for once." With no one else on the TARDIS, they wouldn't hear the screaming echoing through the halls of the TARDIS.

Images flashed in his head, images of a knife in his hand and a body at his feet, blood dripping from his hands. The mirage wore his face, but it wasn't him, wouldn't be him.

In his panicked state, he pounded a fist against his forehead hard enough to shake the image out. Then there were footsteps around him, getting closer and closer. Until a image of him stood before him, it's face for flesh like.

"You're not real either, none of this is fucking real!" He yelled at the mirage but scrambled to get away from it. "Get away from me!"

#artificialdoctor #;Breaking the oath | Cruel and Cowardly; #tw; self harm #||Broken Delusions||

[terrence-silver]

Luv luv luv your work❣️❣️ Can you write something about Terry coming home to beloved, specifically after finding out Chozen had lied to him. My heart hurt so much watching this episode, and I hate the narrative the show has taken that Terry’s suffering is vindicated and completely diminishing his mental health struggles/relapse. I’m just wondering how you think Terry reacted after finding out about Chozen lying? How would beloved react to Terry coming home in this state? I hate how Terry’s being shown with such little access to support systems and just want to hug him🥺 or better yet carry on the cobra kai legacy by giving him a kid lol

---

-"I gave him an easy test and he failed it!"-

Terry paces like tiger in a cage, back and forth and back and forth.

He supposed Sensei Joe was always suspicious, the moment he showed up in the dojo. Terry was no fool. Just the name alone; Sensei Joe. Pah! From the second he's heard that he felt someone was playing an elaborate joke on him. Then there was the fact that he was from Japan, appearing from thin air, out of nowhere, this master martial artist Terry has never heard of, never seen before, no ties to any known Sensei, any known school or dojo, any known pedigree, his team of researchers coming up with nothing but dead ends; almost like a plant he needed to uncover in his own midst and Terry was right to be paranoid. He was right to listen to his instincts. When they raised their glasses and instead of Kanpai, Sensei Joe declared a swift Karii, Terry knew with certainty, having caught him in a trap, the dance of manners, customs and pleasantries a sure way to give away cracks in anyone's facade. Terry knew when the hamo was served. Terry knew when all the inconsistencies in the narrative became apparent. Terry knew from day one. Pretense, by nature, though, had that uncanny ability to sting. Irony wasn't lost on him. He himself tended to sting a lot

Now, someone stinged him back and he didn't enjoy it.

-"Turns out, he came into this house --- my house, into my dojo --- to lie to me!"- Terry points a finger at his own chest for special emphasis, burning with cold indignity, halting suddenly in his tracks, catching sight of your regretful visage from where you were sitting on the couch, looking down at your own lap. -"Oh, Terry. I am so sorry."- You sigh, somber and apologetic. He looks at you. Truly looks at you, standing there in silence in front of the sofa. -"Do you love me?"- Terry chooses to blurt out. -"What?"- Your eyes shoot up towards him, surprised. Wide and glassy. Why were you surprised? Why did the question catch you off guard? Were you going to backstab him too? Rip his heart out? Terry takes a step forward, towards you, poignantly, with purpose. No bullshit. He had no patience for bullshit nowadays. No time for it. -"I asked, do you love me?"- He lowers his head, feeling himself grow impatient, looking down at you, speaking into his own chin, slowly, dragging out every word so you understand it alongside every nuanced and sound. Simple inquiry. Simple response. He's had a bad couple of weeks, culminating with a bad couple of days and a bad couple of hours. He needed to hear it from you, directly.

-"Of course I love you, Terry, what does this have to do with..."-

You stutter, reassuring. Talk is cheap.

Deeds are what matters.

Deeds make a man.

He reaches for one of the antique blades from the glass cabinet on the nearby wall on an impulse, opens it and removes the dagger from the sheet, tossing it aside, doing something that felt right in his heart of hearts. He hands it to you. Here. Fall on it. He almost wishes to demand. -"Cut yourself. Prove it."- Terry orders, not a trace of humor in his voice, watching you with your mouth agape, the steel shimmering cold in his hand. There's silence. For one moment. Two. Tentatively, fingers shaking, you take it from him, visibly frightened, looking at it, up and down, uncertain what to do with it. He watches you, intently. If you expressed the desire, well, he'd lounge it into his heart right now. He asked for so little in return. -"Your palm. Like someone giving an oath."- There it is, an instruction too. If you loved him so fucking much, what was a couple of drops of blood as proof? Nothing. Genuine lovers bleed for each other all the time. Marquis De Sade even famously said that love lacks spice without a little pain; a sentiment Terry wholeheartedly agreed with. -"And look at me as you do it. I want to see your eyes."- The windows to the soul. He practically purrs, finding an odd light in your gaze, like a distant twinkling star. Could've been just the tears.

And then you dig the tip of the Ming dynasty ritual dagger into your forefinger.

The cut drips brilliant crimson with gentle skin punctured.

Within a moment, he sits beside you, taking the knife out of your hands.

Cutting his entire palm without thinking. He's had worse.

-"I want your blood mingled with mine."- Terry wastes not a second as he presses the hot, fresh gash against your open hand, smearing it there, hearing you gasp once he squeezes you in a vice grip; anything, just about anything, to connect himself to you, in irrefutable ways. Use pomp, circumstance, blood magic, voodoo, hoodoo, spellcraft, if need be, to tie you to him. To ensure you'd never leave. Render you incapable, bound by some invisible force, not that he was ever a superstitious man, but goddammit, at this point, after dear John, Chozen Toguchi and after everything else, if witchcraft was what it took, then so be it. -"Yes, just like that."- He whispers, warm against your flesh, speaking into your ear. He feels you shiver. Frozen. He can take people's betrayal. He can take it. He can take it a thousand times so long as you remain steadfast and devoted. -"I want..."- Terry trails off, using his lips to brush away a trickling tear from the side of your cheek. -"...your blood mingled with mine here."- The knife long since discarded, dirtied scarlet on the Persian carpet, undoubtedly leaving a stain his staff can ponder tomorrow, Terry sets his other free hand on your belly. The softness of your stomach. Your womb.

People have been testing him, having him, taking him for a fool.

Trespassing on him, weaving falsehoods.

Using him; toying with him.

He needed something real.

Something substantial.

And if you loved him, you'd give it to him, and yourself, forever.

After all, you were under oath to him.

#terry silver #old man terry #cobra kai season 5 #cobra kai #tw; self harm #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #chozen toguchi

[dimensionhoppinghybrids]

Crimson river (Juno Poetry)

"I feel it. Its ebb and flow, the rush of heat down rivers, all in a flow cavern low.

I feel the rush, as fire ignites and stings. Like coals placed in water, it sizzles bright under a steel skin.

Flare ups in a rush, like an insatiable drug. I have starved myself away, from its glow, its embers lost in a frost cavern below.

In my memories I feel it once more. Rivulets of crimson in my hands, drizzling down with fire, escaping life, weeping away sorrows never shown.

I still feel that fire, like a burning stove needing coal to flame up once more. A sharp tang and twist of flint and steel. Steel to peel away the pain, river crimson flows from willing wrists, holding it from below.

I feel it, I feel it. The fire that aches and burns. Stoking cold embers of what life is, edging the line of warmth of life, and the cold below.

I feel it yet once more. Beckoning, like a old lover with covers cold."

#the beast awakaned (juno) #tw; suicide #tw; self harm #Yes this means that Juno has before as a human self mutilated and cut himself #Even tried to take his own life #Mod is fine! Just thoughts on Juno

[jxgi]

notable medical / health - physical

he needs this like heid needs this; i wanted to make a little write up of jagi's physical health and things that may be referenced in threads etc.

head scar / trauma / brain damage -

the most obvious is his head scar / face scar. for anybody who doesn't know; after a fight with his brother, his brother used a technique to essentially swell jagi's brain and kill him. this WOULD have killed him but jag, being the stubborn bastard he is - decided to nail metal into his head to stop the swelling / injury. on the right side of head, he has this metal scar with wires that pump blood and keep him alive.

he also suffered some brain damage from this injury.

he is ALWAYS in pain with this injury. it's pure agony; not much distracts him from it. but he will welcome any kind of relief. if your muse wants to control jag in some way, perhaps they can offer him pain relief - he might just be there friend :eyes:

here is an image of what this looks like; the depiction varies dependent on which manga, anime, game etc you see so i'm going to use this reference as it's most clear / my favourite.

regarding jagi's brain damage - i like to think that he has odd mannerisms spotted when with him for a long time; he blinks unequally, his pupils are always tiny, he twitches and can sometimes appear as if under the influence of drugs ( he isn't ).

he also sees a demonic figure from time to time ( the one his mask is inspired by, as seen in the gaiden manga ) and it also speaks to him. this is purely as a result of his brain damage. when alone, he will sometimes talk to himself or mumble - his mumbles border on an almost indecipherable rambling, but to jag, he can see / hear something that nobody else can. this is purely his head playing tricks on him.

old leg injury -

his leg injury is inspired by ken's rage, as i noticed he has a bandage around his right leg - i like to think that he once badly broke his leg whilst in the dojo as a teen and the injury never quite settled. even with toki's healing and ryuken's orders to 'take it easy', jagi just couldn't and insisted on using it, thus damaging it further.

ever since, it's given him slight discomfort / pain but nothing unbearable. his attention when it comes to pain is entirely distracted by the throbbing pain in his skull, so he isn't too bothered by his old leg wound. it is something that can be sensitive, mind you, and is another reason for him using his motorbike to get around everywhere.

scars on torso / self-harm -

the scars on his torso are supposed to imitate kenshiro's as to impersonate him - they are real. jag gave them to himself; he stabbed himself multiple times with a knife, digging the circular scars into his torso. he did this in a fit of madness shortly after receiving his head injury.

on this note, jag is no stranger to self harm. he has stabbed himself with a pipe through the hip before during a suicide attempt and when younger, would regularly cut into his thighs.

if asked of these wounds - he'll play them off as being wounds caused while training / fighting in battle. only toki knows their true origin.

#.headcanon #you can tell me jag wouldnt self-harm bla bla but we've literally seen him in canon stab himself multiple times #you cant tell me this man doesnt have some serious issues #tw; self harm #tw; mutiliation #tw; blood #tw; wounds #tw; suicide mention

[pureposer]

Plotted Starter || @limitlesspossibilities

-----------------------------------------------------

A Clear, Moonlit Sky, Stars up high as they Shined down below. A Sight Hazuki always Found himself Marvelling at. But, he has No time for Distractions! After all, he's here, Sat down Happily (or as Happy as he could be Currently) on the Streets of Udagawa Backstreets, Patiently Awaiting a Certain Someone.

He was here for a While. Back Against the Graffiti Wall as he Rested his Head Against the Lamp post to his Right as he Rested his Chin Against the Smaller End of the Kanabō. This particularly Model being an Intentionally Spiked Bat. It didn't Weigh Much either, Most of it being in the Spikes, but with Two Hands it's Easy to Wield.

He even Tested out the Sharpness of the Spikes personally, having Previously Pressed his Index Against one of them. It Cut his Finger in Mere Seconds, such being a Feeling Hazuki Relished in. An Assurance of Sorts, to know that this should be Easy to do. No Strings Attached! Of Course, the Cut having Soon Healed itself. It looks like his Skin never Broke in the First Place!

So now it's Simply a Waiting Game. He isn't going to Play Cat and Mouse, such being Only for an Idiot to Play. After all, Neku came to him Once to Dish Out a Violent Strike of a Bullet, so Neku should Come to him. It's Only Fair! He Cares About Fairness. But even if it's Unlikely, Hazuki is willing Enough to Wait for a Quite Long Time. Petty enough. He could even Feel his Stomach, albeit a Useless Organ to an Angel like him, Twist and Turn in Bliss at the Thought of what the Outcome could be.

#limitlesspossibilities #starter #ic #tw; self harm #though implied with that one paragraph

[lacunasbalustrade]

There are no moons on my nails, no

pale mark of dreamy paint granted

to those who languish in

irretrievable wholeness.

have you ever pushed back your own cuticles, ignoring the jolt,

until they were so thin and clear they looked like the film on caviar

or perhaps translucent fish scales plucked out by chopsticks?

i peeled them away like that, and didn’t even notice

that the moons should have been there~

an absence of other’s outreaching hands to compare with. for the

absence of prodding tentacles.

i learned on my own how to stifle a cry.

think it strange if you like 

how I dragged my own hair clips, metal and rust

across skin to leave red stripes like some

grotesque impression of a tiger

i felt awake when I bent my back in ballet class so far that my toes covered my eyes 

lodging behind round glasses.

this poem was written from the right to the left in columns of

a horizontally-lined notebook,

and that’s the same way I made crossing patterns by

digging my nails into my thighs so that the sound

of echoing slaps and swelling strikes

grandiosely made the rounds of my little bedroom. I used

to wonder why no one could hear that sound -

it was my way of begging for someone to pull me back to earth mid-fall.

i am pretty sure that the sting faded in the fluorescent darkness 

before I even found sleep. There used to be a hand-drawn calendar glued

to a whitewashed wall, flavored low and musky with

snatches of repressed, childish depression, listing what I would think about 

each day before I fell asleep.

i could never sleep.

imsomnia kept me up raving in the early or late hours,

whichever you prefer, and my feet were on intimate terms with the cold

marble floor as I paced wearily on a silent buzz, a liminal link generated by the wind,

and the corridor light of our flat, and the many plants waving gently outside at 

dead butterflies buried in their pots.

black windows of an opposing apartment that I nearly stuck my head through the gate to see.

there were days I never fell asleep. not for lack of trying.

these days, I sleep better- I rarely rise from my bed half-done, and the silence greets me

with a peaceful warmth instead of the restless currents. I no longer

embrace the midnight with our razors at each others’ femoral vein.

I used to think the night was my love then but perhaps I was merely

wrong and frightened and mistaken and perplexed by

its company, perhaps because I hadn’t 

yet learnt to fall into it gasping.

now i breathe 

here,

anywhere

the dark packs a blanket

and we squirrel beneath it 

There are no moons to light a sleeping warrior’s face at peace.

#poems #moon #dark #tw; razors #tw; self harm #<rivers broke through the alps> #<smashed bottles> #poetry

[julianobungus]

Caleb and Philip both self harming because they consider themselves bad brothers and a burden to the other. When they find out the other self harms as well they are horrified.

And all they can do is hold the other and weep painfully and woefully. They promise each other to try harder as they confess how they feel about themselves.

#wittecest #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #tw; self harm

[neoma-eltanin]

Vulnerary

TRIGGER WARNING: graphic, blood, self harm Please do not read if these subjects make you uncomfortable. Every person mentioned in this text is fictional and do not represent real people.

------------------

It was late.

The final rays of the evening sun cast a golden shimmer against the walls of the room. It was quiet, save for a muffled sound. A pained sound, struggling to make itself known through fabric.

Red droplets had stained the wooden floor and a light scent of iron lingered in the air. Empty syringes of local anaesthetic lay on the nightstand beside the bed.

Another sound. A whimper. Heavy breathing.

Neoma bit down on the piece of cloth in her mouth. Despite the anaesthetic, it was still hard to keep her composure and continue what she was doing.

Her hands were shaking, and beads of sweat dripped down her forhead. She lifted the knife that but moments ago had been digging deep into her thigh. It caused heavy bleeding, which normally would be a serious concern.

She watched.

And just like always, a glow emitted from the wound. It stitched itself up instantly, like a zipper. Leaving no trace behind, as if there had never been a wound in the first place. The only evidence being the fresh blood running down her leg.

“... Thigh...” she mumbled under her breath, reaching to write it down on a piece of paper. She had made a list, and every place she tested had yielded the same result; no matter where she was hurt, the wound healed itself up immediately. Not surprising, considering she had even survived a fatal wound back on that cursed ship without any trouble.

Testing the extent of her new powers on her own like this was probably rather... reckless. She was limited in how to go about it too, sitting here on the bed in the small room. But she always fully recovered after each wound. The healing seemed to be consistent throughout her body. Every word on her list had received a checkmark: arm, hands, chest, stomach, thigh, calves, face...

It was time to try something new.

She prepared the same piece of cloth, rolling it up and biting down on it, trying to control her breathing that was getting anxious. She rested her left hand against the nightstand... She was trembling. It went against every instinct in her body to do this. But she had to do something. Any new information could be vital in understanding what had been done to her body and, by extent, the others.

She grabbed hold of her index finger... She felt incredibly hot, and she could feel her chemise sticking to her body thanks to the sweat. It was hard to breathe. She braced herself... and bent the finger backwards.

It took more force than she was prepared for, but finally it gave in. A horrible sound, like a pop. She screamed, desperately trying to muffle her voice through the cloth. It hurt. It hurt so much.

She tried to breathe through her nose, but she struggled. When she looked at her hand, she quickly concluded that she had succeeded in snapping the bone of the finger at a joint. It was excruciatingly painful.

She waited.

Nothing happened for a while, and she started to get worried. Would broken bones not heal? Was there a limit after all?

Then, she could see the familiar glow as her body began attempting to heal the broken bone. However, unlike the wounds, this took its time. Neoma wasn’t sure how long she sat on the bed writhing in pain, desperately trying to neither scream nor cry... But it certainly didn’t heal as smoothly.

She wasn’t even sure if it had completely healed yet when she finally dared to carefully wiggle her fingers. They still ached terribly. Panting, she slowly reached for the pen and paper to add more notes.

“Bone... heal... slowly...”

She felt tired. So tired. She wanted to rest. She just wanted to lie down, stop this reckless behavior which probably should be done in a more controlled environment rather than alone in a bedroom. She took a deep breath. Now there was one thing she had yet to try that had been on her mind for a while...

Amputation.

Shakily she grabbed hold of the knife again and rested her left hand against the nightstand, even got to the point where the blade of the knife rested against her pinkie finger. She felt her hearbeat echoing in her head like a hammer, and she struggled to focus. Her thoughts fought against each other. It would be over quick, the blade was sharp. Just press the knife down and slice, and it would snap. Either way the wound would surely heal itself up. It was fine.

“...”

She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t sure if it would reattach itself once the aetherical flow was separated, and she hesitated. She wouldn’t miss it, it was just one finger... But she couldn’t do it.

The knife slid out of Neoma’s hand and landed on the floor. She was exhausted. Her hands were trembling still, and she frowned.

“... What am I doing?”

This wouldn’t save anyone. She was wasting time. What she was doing was completely useless. Useless. A feeling she was constantly having ever since she was turned into... this.

It would have to be enough. She looked down at herself and could see that a change of clothes most certainly was needed. She lifted the cloth and wiped her leg before getting down on the floor to wipe it clean from stains. Thankfully she did not expect visitors; this would take a while to clean up.

... She had to return the knife to the kitchen before Auro’usk noticed it was missing.

------------------

(Auro’usk belongs to @ffxivtribehydrae )

#ffxiv #ff14 #writing #Neoma Eltanin #[His Beloved Children] #another really long text #sorry about that #this one was hard to write #Neoma likes to pretend she is fine #tw; blood #tw; self harm #tw; graphic #tw; violence

[mudbirthed]

   sometimes i think about how landon spent most of a spring vacation unaliving himself through drowning just to get a glimpse of the girl he couldn’t remember due to magic.

#001 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀ ooc ⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ rambles ⠀ ❫ #tw; suicide mention #tw; self harm

[zombiedollygore]

TW; blood, self harm, suicide mention

#tw; blood #tw; suicide #tw; suicide mention #tw; self harm #tw; self harm mention #tw; vent art #vent art #traumacore

[classicturtle]

Sweaty little man!!

#my ocs #my art #tw; self harm #Evets #reference #OOUGH he’s so sweaty #not me posting this at 12 am

[terrence-silver]

I can seriously imagine Terry kidnapping beloved I wouldn't put it past him. What if beloved tries to escape by jumping out of a really high window? It's really high that there might be chances that beloved might not even survive but she's willing to take the shot and die, how would Terry(Both eras) react? Will he personally save her or will he have his staff deal with it?

He runs after her. Cackles and laughs the entire way. He's exhilarated by the chase. By the cat and mouse game, as he sees it. He's spurred on by adrenaline rush. By the fear. Desire. Want. Beloved putting up a fight. He'll tame and conquer her, no matter. She'll thank him for abducting her soon enough. She'll be wondering how she lived before being taken in the first place. She'll be a bird looking for a cage and he'll gladly provide the most lavish, silver one money can buy. She'll also thank his staff and underlings for setting a protective netting under the window so she can't fall, because if she did fall prematurely, she'd miss out on belonging to him. This is the best thing that has happened to her, she will soon realize. But, while she's in the process of struggling and denying it, Terry will relish in that manner of combat as well.

#i want more kidnapping asks so so so badly #terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #yandere #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; kidnapping #tw; self harm #tw; suicide attempt #tw; dub con #tw; non con

[dimensionhoppinghybrids]

Juno looked at a diary. A diary that his mother, his true mother Nora had snagged for him. Yes, snagged. Stolen it. He had had it for a while now, but only used it for his poems. He had never really used it to keep it as a diary.

He took out a well worn pencil. Hed need a new one soon. Looked at its teeth worn markings, of a few scratches and chips.

Yeah hed need a few if his mother or Dylan could get them. Or if he could ask Kianga for a few.

He looked at the blank page. His mind blank for a good moment, unsure on what to write. Where to start even.

He paused. Then, tentatively, started slowly.

"I remember little of my past life.

I remember.. that i had a jailer in my life. Someone I know I deeply hated.

A creature i can only call my captor. A creature that insisted to be called 'Mother.'

A title that makes my skin crawl and my fur stand out."

Juno paused, looking at the hairs on his arms that indeed stood on end, making him poof out and look bigger, he knew. These memories made him always feel like this.

He looked at the page again as he worked to calm himself down.

"I also barely remember a father. I know I had a father, as a human. But of him I barely even remember. I think he left when I was very little.

I'm sad about that."

He paused again, searching himself. And yes, he was sad about it. Because he felt like that piece of his life had been stripped far before his new life as he was.

"The hag, the jailers fault i believe.

She was my human mother. And I wish to forget her. But I cant.

Sometimes, I have nightmares of her. Of her putting me in dresses or putting makeup on me. Bits and pieces.

But I always remember her voice. Calling me her little girl. Of how proud she was of me. It still makes my stomach feel like I've got large knots tied in twists and turns when I think about it. I try not too, but my mind invades me with little bits of it. Reminds me all the time. Because back then, I wasn't allowed to be me. I was always made to be someone else for someone else.

I wanted to die back then." Juno paused, finding the next part the hardest to write. He put his hands to his wrists. To a pain that he'd forgotten, but wax slowly returning as a echo. There was nothing there. No scars or markings. But still echoes.

"I. I think I tried it. Once. Maybe more then once. Not sure. Its. Its hard to put into words, even thoughts. It feels like I'm admitting it. But I think I did nearly die. Once." He paused.

"Twice. The second time I do remember, even if in strong fragments, is the night I escaped. I remember I didn't eat much. The taste of freedom when I escaped was something that spurred me on at the time. But, I think even then, I was happy to die. To let the pain go away, forever."

Tears streamed down his face, he had turned the page to write more. His tears coming down as the pain of his soul revealed another layer of his past.

"And its why I'm so happy now. Because I didn't. I'm alive. I feel like I shouldn't be. If, if I had stayed human. I. I often think I might've died. I know, somehow, I never could've endured it. Not then. Because the hag never would've let me go and be a trainer.

Too dangerous, she would probably say, the bitch. An excuse to keep me close, and make me her puppet. Forever and always her little girl."

The spite that he put in those words, it was palpable in how he dug the graphite in there a bit. The sour look and the bite on his lips sold it in visual form too, if ever seen.

"Well. I'm not your little girl anymore, you sour waste of a corpse hag of deepest depths of hell. You're the one's thats dead. And I'm alive.

You named me Juno. After a woman. Its my name now." He scratched in the word "my" in harsh bolding letters, putting all of his will into that one word.

"And she can't have it. Not until I'm dead."

That was all he had to say about it. He looked at the pages hed written. Looked at the words that contained his vitriol when it was needed.

Then he nodded. Tears still going down his face, and he worked to wipe them away and sniffle them away and ward any more to come.

That had been hard to write. To write for himself.

But it had done him a lot of good.

#the beast awakened (juno) #drabble (lore) #tw; self harm

[ssolessurvivor]

Headcanon

While Logan really does love the joy that the winter season brings with it, it's one of the hardest times of year for him.

The snow and how it quiets the world is one of the worst triggers: it reminds him of the quiet of Mimas. When he's had enough of the quiet and he's missing his unit he lost, he goes to the graveyard to see them often during this time of year. Usually he'll brush off the snow that's accumulated, he'll just be there with them for a while. Usually he ends up crying quietly by himself (verse dependent if he's taken your muse there yet, that's a huge trust move).

He not only struggles with that, but he also has difficulty with severe flares of depression and possible thoughts of harming himself. He's never acted on them but they are there, that very thing is dangerous. Plus his flares of pain tend to be more in the cold, given it's hard for him to warm up sometimes.

#(what makes you unbreakable) headcanon #tw; self harm #tw; depression #tw; grief

[pureposer]

⏰?

@kingsmedley

Peek into My Muses' Memories

Hazuki looked around the Office like Area, where he usually did his Paperwork (well - when he does it), even getting up off his chair and pacing in it. He appeared much younger, ah yes - this must have been before the Inversion! That explains his Distinct White Shirt and Red Bow, his much Shorter appearance and dead Expression and all that.

Now, what is he doing? Who knows! All that is to be noted is that his Wings were out, that iconic Tuff of Black, White and Red Feathers, and where the Curve was at the top stood a Bone on each Wing, Feather Covered and one seemed slightly tilted, as if got snapped out of place.

And it did! And Hazuki felt so...Discomforted by it. Hell - the Bone had torn it's way out of the Flesh, out there for all to see. And he despised it! He didn't even like them in the first Place - it made him Fly so Slow.

And today, he's had quite enough! Even if he couldn't show it...

He grabbed one of the more Bulkier Books he has, even struggling to carry it to his Desk. He soon placed the Book on it, sighing as he sat down. He stared at the Book, Swinging his Legs back and forth as if mulling over his Plan.

Would they all understand? Like...This is his Wings. He can do whatever he wants with them! But still...He didn't want to be seen as a Failure...

He gave a low Sigh, soon lifting the Book up slightly and curling one of his Wings over, having to sit at a Funny Angle too so he could get it on his Desk, to where the Extra Bone was under the Book. And when he decided it was okay...

Slam!! Crack!

His Body trembled as he felt the Extra Bone Shatter. Like...Actually, Shatter. This is all for Work purposes, they'll understand!

He began pulling his Wing from out under the Book as he pushed down on the Book. He felt the Flesh on his Wings Rip, and yet he didn't give up. He couldn't! And soon enough, his Wing was free! Bloodied, but free nonetheless!

He exhaled heavily, feeling how his Body shook, how Weak his Body Feels, yet he knows he also has his Other Wing to do, and thus he proceeded, not a care for how Overwhelmed he feels as he Swallowed harshly, lifting the Book up once again and Positioning his Extra Wing Bone under it.

Work is the most Important, and this is for Work! Mainly...

#hmmm. I think I will type out something kinda fucked up!! #haz after having no safety for himself: B) #anyway I like. just wanna expand on how he was pre inversion because. I dunno I just wanna #:) #plus I wanna show like. how he's so desensitized to pain #to the point of enjoying it too much #kingsmedley #ask #answer #study #tw; self harm #tw; gore