#I feel like a broken record at this point but I am SO SICK of them continuing to drag Daniel back into the media with their insane

[slutforpringles]

Or, you know, maybe if VCarb had actually LISTENED to the driver with THIRTEEN YEARS OF EXPERIENCE, whose feedback and feel for the car was pivotal to the cars improvements the season before, when he was saying the car didn't feel right and wasn't heading in the right direction, then the team wouldn't have ended up down a route of development that left them completely unable to develop their car throughout the entire 2025 season????........

But, of course, that would require owning up to any degree of personal or shared team responsibility, and they've demonstrated time and time again how much they prefer to just blame Daniel for everything. 😤😒

[window-on-the-west]

trying to get it through my head that it's okay for me to have unusual interests. it's okay for "weird" things to make me happy. also, my interests don't need to be popular or even shared by my friends for them to be important. my friends aren't going to think i'm crazy or stupid for having them. hiding who i am is not going to get me anywhere in life and i'm kind of sick of making myself palatable for no reason other than to appease the fear and disgust that live inside me

[usersanon]

Please be aware of the user @/saintsugu also known as Ezra.

Past pseudonyms include (but are not limited to: @/aces_high

I never thought that I would have to create a post like this. In my near 12 years on the internet, I never thought I would have to write down the words I am about to type, especially about a fellow fanfic creator, one I used to enjoy before I found out about the type of person he really is. I apologise for the long post, however I want to make sure I am as thorough as possible so I can bring this person to justice.

Before opening the read more/ continuing with this post, please read the trigger warnings. This will deal with heavy topics, ones that make me sick to my stomach. I apologise for all of the censoring in this post as well.

TW: P*DOPHILIA, UNDER*GE, SEXUALIZATION OF EDS AND SH

I would just like to start off by saying how difficult this post is for me to write. I have had to take multiple breaks while typing this out. I have felt disgusted since I first saw the posts on his twitter. Like I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean, however, at the same time I feel like I cannot sit idly by while Ezra still has a platform.

The posts I have seen on his twitter, what he actively endorses is just disgusting and predatory in nature. I have done my best to censor them so as to not continue the spread of such material. As of the time of this post, his twitter is still public.

HIS TWITTER (X) IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE NAME @/ezr_ace

First, I’ll give evidence I have to prove that the twitter account stated above is in fact his. I was wary at first as well, however, I believe this evidence in fact proves that beyond reasonable doubt that the account is his.

The obvious reasoning is as follows: Ezra goes by the pseudonym Ezra currently, and has gone by the pseudonym Ace in the past. Both the twitter account and his tumblr state that he is 21. Both twitter and tumblr themes are the same in nature, featuring manga panels of Suguru edited in the same way.

If you’re familiar with Ezra at all, you would know that they are very close with another user, Flora, also known as @/fyogasm. Previously known as @/pussydrunkfyodor on tumblr. When going through the followers of this twitter account, I noticed someone by the name of Flora following him (one of about 34 followers), with the user @/floratumblr. This account had their tumblr linked in the bio of the profile, and it led straight to Flora’s tumblr. Screen recording is posted below:

UPDATE: since Ezra has been called out, Flora has unfollowed Ezra’s Twitter as well as deleted her account. I can only assume it is to try and dodge the backlash of being associated with him. Here are screenshots proving they are moots/ interacting with each other.

Note: I do not know what this means for the content of Flora’s character. All I can say for certain is that she is close friends with him (to the point they have each others numbers), and that she follows his Twitter. I did not dive deep into her Twitter before she deleted it. But I can say that I do believe she knew the content he was posting about, otherwise she wouldn’t have deleted her Twitter the second he was called out while remaining mutuals with him on tumblr.

UPDATE 1/19/24 1:50 pm: Since creating this post, Flora has reached out and stated that they have broken all contact with Ezra. They state that they are not frequently on twitter, and was completely unaware of the type of content he was posting on the account. They state that the content found on the account has made them feel sick and that they are no longer friends anymore.

Back to the main point, this only adds to the similarities listed above. A close mutual that he has been seen actively talking to on his tumblr also follows him on twitter, endorsing his behavior. This alone was too much for me to ignore. However, one final factor came into play that solidifies that user ezr_ace and user saintsugu are the same Ezra.

He not only posted to his tumblr about hateful anon messages, but also his twitter at the same time. Right after the messages were sent, he tweeted the following, as well as posted the following messages on his tumblr. Screenshots with time stamps posted below:

This for me, confirms that the two accounts are the same. There are simply too many coincidences for me to ignore. I feel that there is no argument about the validity of the accounts, as there are just too many similarities to ignore. Now, I can delve into what the post is really about. The content of the Twitter account.

P*DOPHILLIC ACTIONS AND UNDRE*GE CONTENT.

To put it simply, I was horrified when I first opened the profile to be greeted with Shotacon artwork. Full on artwork of an adult Toji a*saulting a child Gojo. In this artwork, Gojo looks as if he can be no older than 10. Most of the image is censored for obvious reasons, however, part of the screenshot appears in the video above as well. Proving that it cannot have been doctored in any way.

As you can see, the post is tagged with tw sh*ta. For anyone unaware, the definition of Sh*ta is as follows: “Sh*ta is a term used in manga and anime fandoms to indicate sex involving an under*ge boy.” (Fanlore.org) Aka, CP.

It is disgusting to see someone who I once enjoyed, once trusted, interact with literal cp. Drawing or not, the effect of it is still massive. Viewing children (ANYONE UNDER*GE) in a sexual nature is harmful to everyone. It breaches past dark content into something horrible. Something dangerous.

I felt sick seeing someone be as brazen as to repost a picture of a child being a*saulted. To get off on it. It is p*dophilic. That is the only way it can be put.

Further on this, he has written smut of, in his words, “not necessarily under*ge” Suguru in highschool. There is a whole thread on it on his profile, however, I will not be showing it here. The screenshot below describes the nature of the whole post from his own words.

When I first read “not necessarily under*ge”, my first and only question was literally, what the fuck does that mean? Either he is under*ge or not. There is not some fuzzy grey area coating the world between adults and children.

But sure, give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not excuse him liking multiple posts tagged with under*ge content. The most recent being less than an hour ago. Posts censored to the best of my ability below.

These posts all point to the same thing. The disgusting, undeniable truth that this man is attracted to under*ge content. Content depicting minors in sexual scenarios. Content that no member of society should ever consume. He is a p*dophile. For viewing this content of his own accord. For liking it, for reblogging it. For creating it on his own. He is a disgusting person.

FOLLOWING MINORS.

Him interacting with content like that above, consuming it in any capacity at all makes him unsafe to be around. For anyone. Especially minors.

Even though his blog is 18+, even though he preaches that minors should stay away from his blog. He still found himself following a 16 year old. Becoming mutuals with them. The fact this person is 16 is clearly displayed on their blog as well (in their pinned post).

Screenshots shown below. The individual’s user is censored out as, once again, they are a minor and I don’t feel they should have to be wrapped up in this mess.

Once again, Ezra is someone who preaches about minors staying out of adult spaces. Multiple times he has complained on his blog about minors following him and having to block them. You would think he does the same and would be more careful about curating his online spaces, however it he fails to do that.

I don’t believe this can be boiled down to a simple case of missing the age in their bio— this user has their age in their pinned post, as well as their about me. Along with the sexualisation of minors prevalent on his Twitter, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to know that he is following a minor in any capacity. I’m sure it would make anyone.

SEXUALIZING EDS AND SH.

To end the laundry list of posts on his twitter, we have him writing smut glorifying eds, as well as liking posts depicting sh in a sexual light. As always, screenshots are shown below, censored to the best of my ability.

In the post listed above, Suguru is described in a way that is hard to stomach. While it is not nearly as bad as everything else stated above, I feel it is still necessary to include, especially because in this pairing he has often described and implied Suguru to be a minor. There is a line and he has crossed it several times, this is just another example of such. Serving as the cherry on top to further demonstrate his mindset.

Dark content and discussion of these subjects in fiction are not the problem. The disturbing part of this is that Ezra often uses these tropes within his min*r/adult sexual fantasies, and when paired with the sh*ta and under*ge content, leaves a very poor taste in the mouth. It comes across as not only a gross f*tishization, but a gross f*tishization of taking advantage of a minor that way.

A DISCUSSION ON THE LIMITS OF DARK CONTENT.

In this section, I feel that it is important to touch on how dark content plays into all of this. I’d like to expressly state that this is NOT a condemnation of dark content or its consumption.

Dark fiction and dark content are a fine line. It’s a fantastic tool for exploring taboos and emotions or experiences that aren’t often talked about openly. DC creates what is essentially a safe space for exploring things that are not typically done or seen in the real world, with the knowledge that writing or engaging with it does not necessarily mean condoning it. That being said, this callout post is NOT about being anti-dc. Dark content is a literary or artistic tool. Keeping all of this in mind, to actively engage with sh*ta content in which a character is depicted sexually not only as a minor, but as a child, and to be sexually aroused by that image is the definition of p*dophilia. Writing or drawing children and engaging with that content in a sexual capacity is p*dophilia and at the very least, has p*dophilic tendencies. This is not dark content, this is p*dophilia.

It is one thing to write or create dark fiction between adults for the purpose of gratification or exploration of social dynamics and it is entirely another to engage with art of a child engaging in sexual acts with an adult for (seemingly) the intent purpose of sexual gratification. Everyone draws their own line, but it is also important to acknowledge that there are some depictions of taboo subjects that border (if not fully step-into) harmful, p*dophilic content that perpetuates behavior and mental tendencies that truly are dangerous.

To engage with a drawing of a child and a full grown adult in sexual acts for the purpose of sexual gratification is incredibly fucked up. And the fact that minor and adult p*rnography are not just common, but dominating Ezra's twitter page, should be an absolute red flag. It’s okay to acknowledge that dark content is a medium for fiction while also acknowledging that there are some ways of engaging with it that are harmful, especially when it is so glaringly obvious that the content is between a child and an adult (the art I am talking about specifically really is a child. I don’t urge anyone to look at it, but it is gojo depicted as a child of maybe 8 - 10 years old. I’m not using the term child as an umbrella term for minors here).

The problem, stated very plainly, is that the post/s he is engaging with are sexual depictions of a child with the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s the point here. It’s not the dark content, but rather that he is retweeting posts depicting a child of about 8-10 engaged in sexual acts and created for the purpose of sexual gratification.

Once again, this is not a condemnation of dark content. Dark content can be used in so many valuable ways— facing trauma, dealing with taboo subjects, exploring the literary world in a safe and healthy way. As someone who actively consumes dark content, I will be the first to tell you this. However there should always be limits to the types of content produced. Gaining any kind of gratification from looking at a child being a*saulted is disgusting. It is p*dophillic. Especially when he actively engages with minors on his platform.

This is not a conversation of morals— which side is right and wrong. But rather a conversation about the safety of children. This is not a conversation about ageing up as that is not what he is doing. The characters being depicted here are not being aged up, rather are being depicted as minors, or literal children being used for the sexual gratification of adults.

The issue here is a p*dophile. Not dark content. Not anything else.

CONCLUSION.

I’ll be honest, post was extremely hard for me to create. Discovering that someone I once thought was close to me is this kind of person feels disgusting and abhorrent. I honestly wish I never had the displeasure of meeting them in the first place.

Hopefully, by the end of this post you are able to see the kind of person Ezra really is. I could not be silent about this. I knew that the moment all I found all of this out. This post has been very difficult for me to write, but I hope by the end of it some good will come. Some people will be able to avoid interacting with this man.

I believe Ezra needs professional help, and truly hope that he is able to get it some day soon.

Please be careful with who you interact with on the Internet. Adults and minors alike, there are predators everywhere. Please try your best to stay safe in your own online spaces. All of the love in my heart goes out to anyone who has survived child expl*itation. I hope for nothing but the best for you in the future.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this post. I know it is long and triggering for most people. I hope you all have wonderful days and try your best to take care of yourself.

Listed below are some important numbers I would like to bring awareness to before this post is over.

National Child Ab*se Hotline (USA): 1-800-422-4453

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA): 1-800-843-5678

The National Sexual A*sault Hotline (USA): 1-800-656-4673

Childline (UK): 0800-1111

International Child Helpline: 116-111

TLDR: Ezra has a Twitter account where he retweeted artwork of a child gojo being a*saulted by an adult toji. He liked as well as created posts depicting under*ge characters (literally tagged with ‘under*ge’). All while being mutuals with a 16 year old on tumblr.

Tags used to try and spread awareness. I tried to mostly include fandoms that he is in.

UPDATE: lmfao, he has since deleted the retweet of sh*ta gojo after he was called out. Literally proving that it was him.

[sixosix]

( a/n ) light angst, hurt/comfort, PROFANITY WARNING, guys im so sorry this is so short but its all im capable of rn

special mention TYSM @earthtooz for proofreading i owe u my soul

he’s always been a little sensitive to people caring for him. he’s used to taking care of others, to have his parents let him get away with everything, and he’s spent his life isolating himself from people who would see him past what he is but for who he is.

reo rolls his shoulder to shove your hand off of him, frowning at the wall. “you know me well enough already, don’t you? you know that i hate it when you get like this.”

“this isn’t good for you, reo. you’re destroying yourself,” you snarl, jabbing at his back. “i’m sick of seeing you like this. i’m not a babysitter, nor your therapist.”

“i’m not asking you to worry about me, am i?” he snaps, finally turning to meet your eyes.

anger boils in your chest, but you let it simmer with a few deep breaths. reo isn’t thinking properly right now, raving on and on about not working hard enough, and how he isn’t catching up. “there isn’t a professional boundary between us, i care for you because i love you. right now, when you say shit like that? i can barely give a fuck about you anymore.”

reo’s sharp scowl falters around the edges, giving way to confusion. “where are you going?” he demands when you make your way to the door.

“away,” you say, slipping your shoes on and refusing to look at him. “you said you need space, right? then i’ll give it to you. we’re over.”

“fine.” his tone is biting, but his voice sounds strange. “fine…”

he’s still lethargic, you tell yourself; he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’ll regret it later. but he doesn’t stop you.

maybe if you were to glance back at him one last time, you’d see the broken expression on his face hitting him right after.

from the start, reo’s always been expecting you would leave him. everyone does that to him, anyway. even nagi, who he still considers his best friend. it was a little too good to be true with you, so he tells himself that this was bound to happen. that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when it finally happens.

reo groans, shoving his face into his pillow. his friends snicker at his misery, so reo does what he needs to and flips them off with two hands. but as a groveling man with his face hidden by his sheets, it does not paint the intimidating picture he wanted.

“it hasn’t even been that long,” nagi remarks. he doesn’t spare reo a glance so unfortunately, he doesn’t get see reo flashing him with his middle finger.

“mmrgh,” reo says, still pressed against his bed.

isagi pats him on the shoulder, which doesn’t help anyone, but it’s the thought that counts.

“record him, record him, do it,” bachira says, clapping nagi on the back repeatedly, his strength enough to jostle him back and forth. obediently, nagi follows, pointing his phone camera right at a moping reo.

“day two without y/n,” nagi says to his future audience. “barely holding on.”

“i feel awful,” reo groans. “y/n blocked me.”

“do you regret what you said?” isagi asks.

“‘course i do,” reo hisses, offended that he would even ask that. “i was an asshole. y/n was right—y/n’s always right. i’m stupid.”

bachira snorts, “keep fighting, reo!” and barely manages to dodge the pillow thrown his way.

the camera pans back to reo, who’s looking red in the face, awfully pathetic. “fuck off. don’t post that. y/n’s gonna see it and make fun of me when we’re back again.”

nagi posts it anyway.

chigiri hums thoughtfully, waving a hand in front of your face. “you don’t look like you moved on to me.”

you splutter, shoving his phone back onto him. you feel your heart pound in your ears and with the way chigiri smiles knowingly, you almost wonder if he can hear it, too. “shut up! why did he say that? i hate him.”

“sure you do. say what?”

“‘when we’re back together again’ like he’s so sure about it,” you try to say it like you’re angry, but your expression resembles reo from that video. it doesn’t come out as you want it.

reo looks much better now. nagi says that reo religiously followed your advice right after and has been faring better, which is a real shame since you can’t even see it for yourself. he looks less pale and much brighter, but instead of the anger you last saw him with, he’s just become a carbon copy of a wet blanket.

“aren’t you?” chigiri watches the post again, just to torment you with your sniveling ex. “getting back together again, i mean.”

“i’m leaving.”

“yeah? and go where? reo’s bed?”

“i’ll strangle you!”

[jisatsuwaifu]

Life is incredibly frustrating, stressful, and exhausting. Everyday I think “it’s okay, it’ll get better, try again tomorrow” but it just keeps proving me wrong. When I think things are getting better and I can finally relax, something else comes along and puts me right back into panic mode. It’s always something, there’s never a break. I never feel safe. All I do is complain about how sad or frustrated I am and I’m sure everyone around me is sick of hearing it. Which is fine, I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by misery when my life is good either or listen to a broken record when there’s much better music to be heard. I am my own responsibility, I shouldn’t rely on others.

My thoughts consume me. Not in a cutesy I’m just a girl cringe kind of way but in a “I need to go to sleep as soon as possible to prevent an accident” because I cannot trust my own head to comfort me but to only make scenarios worse or feed into my paranoia. I am not built to be left alone. I constantly feel like I’m too much and not enough. I’ve never felt more loved but also so alone in all my life. Everything is black and white there is no grey areas with my mind.

I just don’t think anyone knows or understands how thin I’m being stretched and how badly I’d just love for everything to stop and to be able to catch my breath. Just for a day. I’ve cried for help but I don’t think the one person I need help from genuinely hears me. I dont trust many people to begin with. There’s only so much a single person can take before it starts to cripple them. And I know I can be over dramatic and too emotional at times but this genuinely feels like the end, I can’t see past this point in my life. And the sad part is I do not know how I got here. Or this far to begin with. But I am so tired. It’s times like these I wish I had my mom back or even just a family to lean on and seek advice from, but I can’t even entertain my own sister long enough to talk on the phone with me. I don’t understand why I exist or what my purpose is if all I’ve ever been exposed to is pain and abandonment. There’s some aspects of my life that I know I serve a purpose for and want to make proud, I’m trying my hardest for that one thing. I just don’t want to cause anymore damage than I already have. I can’t be like my mother.

I just needed somewhere to vent, some outlet. It won’t change anything. I feel hopeless and empty again. I might just delete everything. I don’t know.

The best I can do right now is try again tomorrow.

( if you read all of this thanks for listening to my rant and I’m sorry I wasted your time when you could have been scrolling onto something cooler like tiddies or anime idk but ty anyways <3 )

[whumpfish]

Reference: Psychogenic Fever

You've seen it in anime loads of times: the protagonist overexerts themselves or experiences a highly stressful event, and they dramatically collapse. The next thing you know, they're in bed with a cloth over their forehead and an ally informs the rest of us that they have a fever.

Well, it turns out that can actually happen.

If your immune system is already shot, and you experience acute levels of stress, your body will respond to those stress hormones the way it would normally respond to a virus. Your core heats up, and you develop a full-blown fever.

According to what information I was able to dig up, some patients can develop core temperatures of 41°C/105°F. I didn't apparently record mine when this was going on, but given the temperature dysregulation caused by the seroquel I take that prevents me from cooling off if I get hot and the reverse, and how hot literally anything I touched got, I was probably in that higher range.

The Progression:

I went to bed at around 1:45 a.m. I'd already been through so much stress with my grandfather's funeral, how my dad elected to process grief, and scrambling to get the SSI-D function report that had arrived in our mailbox when I was out of town returned on time, I had already crashed out earlier that day from the energy expenditure. Now, I have ME/CFS, and crashing out after exertion/stress is normal, so nothing stood out as a warning sign. If there was one, I dismissed it as my usual fatigue. I went to sleep.

I woke up about 2.5 hours later, experiencing sleep paralysis--presumably in lieu of a fever dream. When I woke up the rest of the way, I was sweating profusely and feeling about like I'd been mowing the lawn in 105° heat. I've done that, and collapsed from heat exhaustion from it, before. I was hotter at that moment than I had been back then.

I put a wrist to my forehead, and the sensation was like holding a hairdryer on high to my forehead at point-blank range. My pillow was just as hot, and no amount of flipping fixed that. (I should point out here that I normally run cold--ridiculously cold, sleep with the quilt up in the middle of a Texas summer cold--and this never happens unless I am very sick.)

I smelled like fever. Some people don't think you can smell fevers, but I was a sickly child and spent so much of my life in pediatricians' waiting rooms full of feverish children that after a while I noticed a particular smell unique to those environments. Since then, I've been able to accurately identify it elsewhere by that smell.

I was completely confused. I'd had to go into the grocery store without a mask earlier that day because I ran out, but even I don't present that quickly. It couldn't be from that. Some old geek part of me remembered Anime Fever, and on a hunch, I googled "can you give yourself a fever from stress?" And yes. Yes, you can.

I sat up, and when I touched the mattress where I had been sleeping with one hand, it felt like trying to pick a dish up out of the dishwasher immediately after it's through running. It was that hot.

The recommended treatment was anti-inflammatories and any relevant psych meds that can reduce anxiety, so I took 800mg of ibuprofen and an extra, small dose of seroquel. Then I took my clothes off and downed a few bottles of water, my usual trick for cooling down once I've gotten too hot, and sat on the foot of my bed to give my mattress time to cool down before getting back in bed to try to sleep.

The fever broke at around 6:15 a.m., and I was finally able to rotate back to the other side of my mattress and pillow, and go back to sleep. I slept until 1:20 p.m.

The Takeaway: This is a real phenomenon! Use it on your whumpees with poor immune systems, either naturally or broken down from their ordeal. It's no longer just an anime trope.

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/763233647955509248/a-small-reminder-to-all-the-people-passionate

AYS must have hit a soft spot because I have never seen you lose your cool this much. What happened? Did the “husbands” not behave the way you expected them to? Are you lashing out because everyone is commenting about how close Jikook seem and how people around them don’t get their inside jokes? (I just know you are getting ready to talk about them not meeting eo for the 66363875th time) Are you hurt because you expected AYS to show everyone once and for all how taekook is different in a vminkook dynamic but everyone only ended up seeing how Jikook is different and how Tae looks so lost around them? Is that what is eating you up? You always seem so calm but I can tell AYS is getting to you because of how much you keep repeating the same things over and over like a broken record. I’m sorry you are disappointed, I’m sorry that more people have only left with the impression that Jikook are closer after watching AYS, i’m sorry that people think Tae felt out of place. If it will make you feel any better, I didn’t think he felt out of place, I just thought he was more interested in his phone and getting back on the plane to Seoul than sitting there and watching Jimin and Jungkook jump from one inside joke that he didn’t understand to the next.

Don’t worry ok. Doesn’t matter what people think because reality is reality right?😊

Hi again 🙄…

You think that is me losing my cool and lashing out? Seriously, a post where I point out that Jkkrs are once again bending their stories and saying things that are easily proven to be wrong. You can literally go through blogs to confirm this anon. Likewise, you can go through my blog and see that I have constantly been very cool about AYS and enjoyed the show even. I was looking forward to each episode, and I’ll do a rewatch soon. Every thing I have said about the show before it dropped turned out to be true. The only thing that surprised me somewhat, was to actually clearly see how involved staff was and how much the signs of it being content creation were shown.

It is only Jkkrs who say what you say. Jkkrs never hurt me or make me insecure. Jkk isn’t real in the way they think it is so I am unable to let that effect me. What does get to me, is how harmful the things they say are to Jm, Jk, and Tae. They make up the most insane stuff and expect fandom to not respond to that? They continue to push the idea that Tae is an attention seeker and unwanted. They push the idea that Jk is hardly able to exist without Jm’s guidance and minimalise him to a love sick puppy. They continue to victimize Jm every chance they get while they themselves are to blame. That is why Tkkrs talk about these things.. it has nothing to do with us being insecure or hurt.

Now… let’s talk about why you are so obsessed with my blog. You are annoyed by me, and yet you keep coming back. You can’t take me seriously, and yet when I threaten to block you you stay quiet.. because you don’t want to be blocked. You make things about me personally, because I get to you and I make you feel uneasy. Wonder why that is…

[racfoam]

A Killer’s Poem (WIP)

Summary: Harry met her husband in the library when she was twenty. He was an elderly gentleman named Tom, a retired university professor. Harry doesn't know her husband is a serial killer - the same one who carved the scar on her forehead and orphaned her - and when the police arrests him she says that must be wrong but all the evidence points otherwise...

These are only some scenes I wrote for the fic. Thanks to @loneamaryllis for providing some great lines! 💕💕❤️

Harry couldn't believe she was at the police station with Mr Lestrange, the lawyer whose number she found in the phonebook Tom gave her for emergencies. Having policemen drag her husband and cuff him while asking Harry if she was hurt — No, she was not, why were they cuffing Tom — and a detective calling Tom a “sick bastard” after he recognised Harry as the almost-victim of Lord Voldemort (a serial killer who was never caught). He’d pulled Harry away from Tom like Tom would hurt her, and told Tom, “You’re under arrest, Lord Voldemort.”

Harry thought the policemen had gone off the rails. Her husband was a man of poetry and prose, not of a dagger and a gun. He held books, not guns or knives. He was seventy-four, for God’s sake!

Harry insisted going with the policemen to the police station.

***

The police officers showed her the pictures of all the victims. They were all similar, young women with dark hair and lovely faces.

In the files of their eye colour, all of their eyes were green.

Harry tried not to tremble.

“It wasn't Tom.” she repeats, feeling like a broken record. Tom, who was seventy-four, grey-haired and grumpy in the mornings before his tea — or sex. Tom, who quoted all sorts of poems and literature to her. Tom, who took her to theatre and suffered through Titanic with her every time on the sofa, soothing her as she sobbed over Jack’s sad fate.

“I'm surprised he used his former name with you.” said the police officer, and Harry wanted to grab him and shake him, shout that Tom isn’t Voldemort, that Voldemort isn’t Tom. “But then again, you knew him by his alias, Voldemort.”

“It isn't Tom,” Harry spat.

The detective sighed. He walked back to the doors and whispered to one of his people, “Bring her to the screening room.”

The agent looked surprised. He glanced to Harry with worry.

“Sir, are you sure we should —”

“She deserves to see the real him. Now move it, Diggory.”

Liar. thought Harry acidly, glaring at the detective. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

***

Tom is on the other side of the glass. The detective is showing him the same photographs of the dead bodies — Voldemort’s victims.

“This isn’t being recorded.”

“I’m aware.” replied Tom coolly.

“You can be honest here. Why did you kill them?”

His smile was dark and menacing, sending terror down Harry’s spine.

In the light, his brown eyes turned red.

Red...

Harry remembered the red eyes vaguely, always waking up in a cold sweat, remembering the crimson red, their flames threatening to engulf her, destroy her...

“Because they weren’t her.”

“It means something different, that sentence, with you, doesn't it?” asked Detective Shacklebolt.

Tom smiled again — that terrifying smile.

Who is this? This can’t be Tom. This isn’t Tom.

“Yes, indeed,” murmured Tom silkily. “If I killed Harry, I would never feel that rush of victory again. It would be completely over. I killed them because they weren't her. They weren't her, so I could kill them, imagine it was Harry, for those precious moments... Without ever truly hurting Harry.”

Tom smiled gleefully, grinning wide.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” he crowed.

***

“We’ve lost the evidence.”

“Lost?” asked Harry, cringing at the hoarseness of her voice. “What do you mean, lost?”

“We’re releasing your husband from custody at 9 am when the paperwork is done.” said Detective Kingsley; he sounded defeated. “Mr Lestrange is already here, filling out the paperwork. Your husband’s suing us, including for emotional abuse inflicted on you.”

Harry gulped. “I... I don’t want to sue —”

“Your husband’s suing, either way.” said Kingsley with a tired sigh. Harry could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Harry. But at least you know now.”

What was that worth now?

“He's sending Lestrange's brother to pick you up. He... how did he become so attached to you? He didn’t stop asking about you.”

Harry didn’t know.

***

“Does your stomach still hurt?” he asked. His old, slender, large, thin hand reached out to touch her.

Harry scooted away from its reach, like it was a spider about to gorge itself on her flesh.

Voldemort’s grey eyebrows furrowed. He brought his hand back to his side, but his eyes were dark, and his gaunt jaw tense, showing clear displeasure.

“I’ll go make you some tea.” he said. Before Harry could scoot away, he leant down — she flinched, closing her eyes, hoping the killing blow would be quick — and kissed her sweaty forehead.

He stood up from the edge of the bed and left, closing the doors behind himself.

Before Harry could stop them, she burst into tears, the salty trail rushing down her cheeks.

Nausea hit Harry again. Clenching her teeth, she moved her legs to the side, setting them on the floor.

Another bout of nausea hit Harry as she stood on uneasy legs. Feeling the bile rise up, gagging midway through the bathroom door, Harry collapsed against the bowl of the toilet and threw up.

Panting and shaking, Harry couldn’t help as another gag assaulted her, and she vomited into the toilet again.

Harry heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. She tried to get up, but only ended up on the bathroom rug again.

Her muscles felt weak, all her energy suddenly stolen from her by the bout of nausea.

Voldemort rushed into the room, nearly knocking the doors down from the force he opened them with. When he entered the bathroom, he looked insane.

Harry’s eyes fluttered close and opened again. The face of a murderer was replaced by an expression of concern.

By the time Harry realised he was touching her, it was too late to tell him to stop.

“It’s all right.” he said.

No it isn’t. thought Harry, but she didn't say anything, too busy catching her breath, too busy leaning back into his warmth on instinct, on habit.

Voldemort whispered comforts in her ear, and when Harry gagged again and threw up, he held her hair back. And when she collapsed back, all saliva and sobs and tears into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, as well.

It felt like nothing changed. If she closed her eyes, she could call him Tom in her head again, and he’d be her wonderful, attentive husband.

Harry heard the water flush, and she felt dizzy, just like the spinning water. She felt hands cradle the back of her head and her knees, before she was being lifted up. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the soothing smell of her husband’s cologne.

The plush, soft mattress was like paradise, and her head was placed on an upholstered pillow.

“Did those fools give you expired food?” hissed Voldemort. The sound of his cold, menacing voice broke the illusion.

Harry shook her head twice. “Didn’t eat anything...”

A hand pressed to her forehead. Grey eyebrows furrowed.

“No fever.” he said. “When did your stomachache start?”

“I dunno...” she slurred tiredly. She just wanted to sleep... “Two hours after I got to the police station. I threw up the first time there, too, but that was...”

After it sunk in you are my would-be-killer.

The silence stretching along made her more nauseous.

“I’ll call our doctor.” he said, bending down and kissing her on the forehead; his lips were warm, and she melted into the pillow. “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you a bowl if you need to throw up again.”

Harry found herself dozing off, aware yet not, finding a bowl cradled in her hands the next time of awareness, then their doctor’s voice murmuring as her temperature was taken, then the pulse, Voldemort’s fingers holding her hand...

A hand was caressing down her hair. Recognising it, Harry instinctually leaned into it. Tom was whispering her name, his silken voice bewitching her deeper into sleep.

“Wake up...”

Harry didn't want to. She felt nice and warm here, on the bed with Tom whispering gently to her...

“Harry.”

Harry opened her eyes. Tom was looking at her, his face stern.

“You need to go to the bathroom, darling.”

Blinking, sleep still weightening her eyes, Harry stared at her husband, wondering why he was telling her she needs to go to the bathroom.

“You need to take a pregnancy test.”

That woke Harry up. Her eyes shot open, stretching wide.

“Very funny.” said Harry, not finding it funny at all. “Taking the piss out of me after everything you did. Let me sleep.”

Harry turned away from him.

“I’m not joking.” said Voldemort behind her as Harry closed her eyes to go to sleep. “Everything is normal. It’s better to do it and remove the possibility of your nausea being caused by pregnancy. That way, we’ll know if it’s a stomach flu —”

“Leave me alone.” said Harry.

Harry could feel Voldemort's eyes boring into her skull. With a yawn, she said, “I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired.”

Harry felt Voldemort leave the bed, his weight disappearing from her side, taking his warmth with him. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and she fell back to sleep. Harry woke with another sense of nausea.

By the clock on the dresser, it was 7am. Voldemort’s side of the bed was used, but he was nowhere around.

Probably in the kitchen making breakfast.

Harry took a bit to wake up fully. When she did, she had to pee very badly, and decided to get it over with. She took the pregnancy test on the night table and went to the bathroom.

Twenty seconds later, she laid back on the bed and yawned, placing the pregnancy test stick on the night table.

When she next opened her eyes, two pink lines on the pregnancy stick were staring back at her.

A surge of panic hit her, and she shot up from the bed, grabbing the stick, then her glasses, because surely she was seeing double...

She wasn't. Two pink lines stared back at her, no matter how long she stared at them.

Harry felt a mad laugh of despair bubble up in her throat, but she forced it down. How was this her life?

In that moment, the doors opened.

Fuck. No time to hide it. No time to fake it.

Voldemort, carrying a tray with toast and strawberry jam, entered the room.

His eyes settled on the stick.

“What does it —”

Before he could finish, Harry launched the damned fucking stick at him — he could read it for himself, the damned bastard — and rushed to the bathroom, locking the doors.

[homestuckreplay]

Merry Christmas, Get Dunked On

(page 1070-1072 & SBAHJ 10)

Fun fact: this update more than doubles Dave’s pagecount in Act 3!

Dave’s three-part battle has finally concluded, and it hasn’t gone well for him. In ‘[S] Dave: Ascend to the highest point of the building.’ (p.665) Dave’s ascension felt badass and competent, but the three Act 3 Strife pages immediately strip him of that, and by the end he’s a broken and shattered wreck. This is different to the other kids’ strifes – to John and Rose, strifing was an inconvenience they’d prefer to avoid, but they didn’t get physically hurt and moved on quickly in the aftermath. Jade even seemed to enjoy hers. John and Jade achieved their goals triumphantly, Rose pragmatically, but for Dave it’s a hollow victory.

To quickly summarize Dave’s extended fight:

- [S] Dave: STRIFE. (p.836) Bro slashes the Strife menu with his sword. Dave fights Lil Cal exclusively while Cal is puppeted by Bro, who appears mostly in fast-moving silhouette.

- [S] Dave: Abscond. (p.871) Bro slashes the Abscond option (CAN’T ABSCOND, BRO). Dave swordfights Bro directly; they’re evenly matched for a while until Bro parries with Cal and knocks Dave down the stairs.

- [S] Dave: STRIFE! (p.1070) Dave arrives back on the roof and he, Bro and Cal all prepare to fight again. Bro’s no longer playing around, and when he and Dave clash, Cal, Dave’s sword, and the records in the sky and on Dave’s shirt all break. Dave falls to the ground, Bro’s beta discs land on his chest, Bro jumps onto a rocketboard and flies away.

All three of these are cool to watch, but I like each more than the last. This final round feels the most artistic, with the crow motif, the record in the sky, and the moment where everything breaks at once. Each also feels more fantastical than the last – Round 1 deliberately shows that Bro is the one moving Cal, so it feels absurd but plausible. Round 2 has a moment where there are two Bros in screen, and it looks like he teleports from his full form to his silhouette form. And in the final round, Bro appears wreathed in flames and reveals that he has a flying rocketboard ��� which could be a piece of Skaian technology. That’s unconfirmed, but it has the same sick flame decals as the rocket pack John accidentally alchemizes (p.625).

If it is Skaian tech, Bro might know more than he’s letting on, in which case he’d know that Dave needed the beta discs. Otherwise, Bro has no way of knowing this, which makes him throwing the discs at Dave an insult. It reads like ‘oh, you lost the fight? Here, play this stupid game for dumbasses, it’s all you’re good for’, since Dave never asked Bro for the discs, he only talked to Rose and Dave about it. The third and even worse option is that Bro has Dave’s phone tapped and is reading his conversations. He’s clearly tech savvy and has no morals when it comes to his brother.

I am curious to where Bro is going, and why Cal is suddenly expendable to him, left in shreds on the rooftop. We know Cal is still in ruins on the roof, and Dave’s sword is still broken, when he releases and prototypes his Kernelsprite (p.716) – everything foreshadowed on that page has now happened, including the slash across Dave’s shirt, except for his playing Sburb.

Bro breaking the record on Dave’s shirt is very symbolic to me. I think the kids are defined most of all by their chumhandles and their shirt symbols, which tend to match (John’s shirt matches both his known chumhandles, ‘ecto’ and ‘ghosty’, Rose and Dave’s shirts match ‘tentacle’ and ‘turntech’ respectively, and Jade’s miscellany of shirts matches her all-encompassing ‘gnostic’ knowledge). So, Bro has broken the thing that defines Dave. By doing this, he’s broken apart his worldview. Dave’s finally in a position to realize that the things he values, and the ironic lenses through which he sees the world, aren’t sufficient now he’s getting into actual serious situations. He’s seeing the reality of who his bro is behind all the posturing, and he’s realizing that he needs to step up and help his friends, because they need him.

The phrases ‘record breaking’ and ‘broken record’ have very different connotations, the first of achievement and success, and the second of repetition and boredom. I really like this – this moment is an opportunity for Dave to break out of the mold and try something new, especially now that his bro’s gone, but he could just as easily fall back into old patterns. He’s teetering on this moment of starting a character arc and I am crossing my fingers for it to happen, because I want to like this kid, he just makes it hard.

In the aftermath of the fight, Dave looks so fucking sad and lost and pathetic, on the ground unable to move more than his hand. And the surprising thing is that he tells the truth. Dave of even a few hours ago would have said something like this:

TG: bro and i just had an epic sword fight TG: like something out of your dumbass movies TG: he taught me some sick new moves TG: changed my specibus to brokenbladekind. i dont even need a whole sword to kick some puppet ass TG: got the betas too no sweat TG: cant believe rose is making me play this stupid game but i guess i should go pester her

But the Dave of right now says:

TG: bro just kicked my ass TG: thats really all there is to say on the matter

No coolness. No irony. He’s just telling it like it is. And man does that hit harder than anything in the whole fight sequence.

In-universe, Dave is the artist of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. I generally don’t assume he’s making them in real time (the last one dropped while he was fighting on the roof) but this one, I think he might be. While Dave lies flat on his back on the blazing roof and waits to be physically able to move, is he scribbling a shitty comic on his phone? Has he somehow hacked MS Paint onto his iPhone and that’s why the comic looks Like That?

Either way, I’m taking this SBAHJ seriously for real, because this one genuinely reflects Dave’s situation. The big man (who HASS the rock in SBAHJ 6) returns to absolutely wreck Sweet Bro or Hella Jeff on the basketball court when he ‘comes for a little one on one’, sets the ‘coart… on FIRE’, and then ‘escap[es] from above’. This is exactly what Bro has just done to Dave; Bro too has framed it like a game, and the connection between the Dave-Bro fight and SBAHJ was already explicitly made with the ‘I WARNED YOU ABOUT STAIRS BRO!!!!’ appearing over Dave’s fall (p.871).

Dave doesn’t have a friend show up with a ruler (though he does immediately contact the other half of his own red-blue dichotomy) so Dave’s creative vision is still in this comic. If Dave really has ‘legions of devoted fans’ (p.326), they’ll read this as the same absurdist humor of all the others, because out of context that’s what it is. But it feels believable that Dave takes the genuinely horrific things that happen to him and turns them into these ridiculous comics as a coping mechanism, the same way he has to see Bro’s puppets as ironic because the second he realizes the reality, he’ll snap. So if there’s an actual serious layer to SBAHJ, it’s this.

> Rose: Analyze Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff in your psychoanalysis journals for Dave.

[lifblogs]

CT-9902

@ailesswhumptober Day 2 Unfortunate Fall, Car Accident, "Don't move. You'll be okay."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 1188 Summary: Tech wakes up after his Fall. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

“CT-9902. CT-9902, can you hear me? Are you awake?”

Tech wanted that voice to go away. He just wanted to sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, and like there was no point in opening them. He let out a soft groan at the voice talking to him. Even that was trying.

“CT-9902.”

Go. Away.

He drifted off, or he hoped he did. Why was he so tired? No, that didn’t matter. He just needed sleep.

“CT-9902.”

“Mm?”

Tech painstakingly opened his eyes. It was hard to keep them open.

He didn’t recognize where he was. Everything was blurry, and there was nothing but darkness to his left.

“Where… where am I?”

A woman’s voice—the voice that had been speaking to him before—answered, “You’re safe.”

That didn’t answer his question.

“My… goggles,” he got out through lips that felt like they were stuffed with cotton. “Can’t… see.”

And still there was that darkness to his left. The left side of his face felt numb.

“Oh, my apologies.”

The woman came over, putting glasses with red lenses on his face.

Tech could see now, but everything looked so different.

The face that met his gaze almost looked familiar. Brown skin; that sloped, curved nose; brown eyes. For a second he thought he was looking at Omega.

Tech tried to move, but found it was no use.

Am I… restrained?

He let out a little grunt as he pulled at the binders on his wrists. There were ones on his ankles as well.

Though he began to realize that a massive cast and brace was on his left leg, and going to his hip, wrapping around his body. Tech began to realize a lot of things. The way his right shoulder ached like it had been put back in place from when he’d dislocated it, the darkness to his left, the heavy brace he felt around his head.

It all came flashing back to him. The Fall. Plan 99.

The way his body had broken, the way branches had impaled him once he’d pulled himself off his original course, and… he tried fiddling with his left hand. It was heavily bandaged, and… two fingers were missing.

Tech couldn’t breathe, he felt like he was going to be sick. He was shuddering, hot and cold all at once. His head began to feel hot and tingly.

Before he knew it the woman was gently lifting his head, heavy brace and all, and placing a chill pac behind his neck.

Then a straw poked at his lips.

“Drink,” she told him.

He paused.

“It’s okay, CT-9902. It’s not poison.”

“My name… is Tech,” he forced out.

“Not according to Imperial records. The doctor will not be pleased with me calling you that.”

“Who?”

His gut plummeted, and his right eye roved around the room, his cell.

Doctor Hemlock.

Tech was an Imperial prisoner.

He couldn’t breathe, and his head was spinning, and pain began to alight in his body, reminding him he was missing some of his small intestine now, reminding him of his shattered spine, and broken leg, and the pressure that had been in his head which now felt swollen along the back.

The world started spinning, spinning…

Tantiss.

He was at Tantiss base.

A prisoner.

His body broken.

His family thinking him dead.

Something jabbed into Tech’s neck, but he didn’t have time to think about the pain, because soon a dark, heavy sleep took him.

~~~~~

“CT-9902.”

“Tech.”

“I can’t call you that.”

Tech blinked open his right eye, a little confused at first as to why darkness met him. As he woke up he was reminded of all that had happened, of where he was injured.

His throat ached, tear ducts stinging, and before he knew it tears trailed down his face.

Now I know how Echo felt.

The straw poked at his lips again, and feeling sick to his stomach, suspecting this person was trying to help him, Tech drank. He was met with a sweet, bubbly drink.

He realized how dry his mouth and throat were, and tried to take the drink in quickly. He swallowed too much, his esophagus hurting as it went down.

“Slowly,” the woman said.

Tech listened, pulling his mouth off of the straw.

“Do you have a number?” Tech asked.

“Why would I have a number?”

He tilted his head, feeling the weight of what he assumed was swelling, and a brace.

Again, her face was so familiar, a face he’d seen a thousand times. Had seen it in the soldiers in the GAR, had seen it every day when he looked at Omega.

Oh, Omega.

He squeezed his right eye shut as he remembered her screaming for him, the look on her face.

He’d broken her heart.

And just that thought had his shattering as well.

“You’re… a clone,” Tech got out.

“Yes. But I go by Emerie.”

“Ironic,” Tech said.

“Perhaps. Now, are you fully awake?”

“Obviously.”

Emerie took a seat on a stool, coming over to his right side so he could see her. She held a datapad.

“The damage you sustained from your fall on Eriadu was substantial. Dr. Hemlock has already performed one surgery to save your life, but you will need many more. He removed part of your skull to allow the swelling from your cranial hematoma to press outwards. In time when the swelling goes down that part of your skull will be replaced. Unfortunately, we cannot use the piece of your own skull as it was cracked in several places. We stopped the bleeding from multiple injuries, and for now have stopped any internal bleeding from the evisceration you experienced. You are missing part of your small intestine, but you will be just fine without it. Mostly. Going forward we suspect you will need your left leg amputated, and that we’ll have to rebuild your shattered lumbar spine. Your left eye will be replaced with a cybernetic one, and we can replace your middle and ring fingers on your left hand, as well as your leg. You’ll be just fine.”

Just fine. Just fine?

None of that sounded fine.

It hit Tech, hard, and he couldn’t breathe.

I don’t know my body anymore. I don’t… I don’t know my body. Who am I? Who am I?

With a foreign body, what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to be himself, be Tech?

He lived in this body, he was part of it, and now… who was he? What was this injured thing his consciousness was chained to?

Tech didn’t regret Plan 99, didn’t regret saving his family.

What he did regret was making himself live. He should have left himself to die in the valley beneath him, the railcar crushing his corpse. He shouldn’t have changed his trajectory, shouldn’t have done anything but fall, fall, fall…

Maybe… maybe he was still falling.

Emerie spoke, her voice seeming to float to him from far away, “CT-9902, everything is going to be okay.”

CT-9902 would laugh if he could have, if he wasn’t utterly destroyed.

Yes, that’s who I am now.

CT-9902.

[jixiswrites]

hullo this is just a summary of the direction i was *going* to take my fic. it's no longer happening this way because i am weak and i have a soft heart. trigger warnings for basically everything, the dove was supposed to be very dead

For the record the intense violence is between satoru and suguru. The rape is gang rape, not between them. Is everything between them consensual? Hm. you can decide that for yourself.

So suguru has been shirking on his ‘pet’ responsibilities for a few days, which is fine. He says he’s sick. He doesn’t smell sick, but he does smell sad and scared and satoru is willing to let him work out whatever is happening with him for a bit longer before he intervenes

Until he gets a text from an acquaintance with the caption ‘ain’t this your bitch’

And yep, that’s suguru kissing someone else, in the fucking clothes he bought him. 

Satoru has a temper. A bad one. But he takes a few breaths and waits for suguru to appear at his office to tell him he’s ‘sick’ again. God, he’s such a fucking idiot for believeing that

When suguru knocks, he’s mostly got himself under control. 

“I know you’re fucking someone else. Get the fuck out of my house by tonight. Take your girls.”

Then he slams the door in his face. Which honestly? He’s pretty proud of himself for how he handled that. No violence, no yelling. This is awesome. His therapist should give him a round of applause. 

Suguru knocks, and knocks, and eventually stops knocking. He doesn’t open the door because he might actually drop kick the cheating bitch, and then his therapist would give him a disappointed frown instead of applause. 

Later, once he’s drank some whiskey and watched some porn and ate some cake - all the finer things in life, and all things he keeps in his office - he opens the door to tuck in for the night

…and suguru’s kneeling with his head bowed outside the goddamn door

What the fuck. No self-preservation, that one. Only reason someone would cheat on satoru in the first place. It’s in the goddamn contract for fucks sake

He nudges (okay, more like kicks) the side of suguru’s face and says, “i told you to be gone. What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Please, sir -”

He cuts him off with another kick. This one has is hard enough he falls onto his back, clutching at his jaw. “Don’t call me that. You aren’t my pet anymore. Leave or i’ll make you leave.”

He shuffles forward and tries to kiss at satoru’s boots, which: gross. He doesn’t want some cheating bitch’s slobber all over him

Kicks him again

“Please just let me explain -”

“Nothing to explain.” he stomps on his stomach this time. “You’re a fucking whore. I don’t want anything to do with you

This goes on for a while, finally when suguru is bet to shit he manages to wheeze out ‘wasn’t consensual’

And satoru is like ‘yeah? Do you expect me to believe that? Why wouldn’t you have told me if that happened?

And suguru is like ‘... cause i knew you’d be mad’

And he grovels and begs and satoru doubts, just a bit, because suguru’s been a near-perfect pet thus far (and had been entirely correct about him being mad) and also the alcohol and anger is starting to wear off. Now he’s just kind of kicking around a crying broken mess and that’s honestly pretty pathetic. 

He will not be telling his therapist about this. He doesn’t know what face they would make.

So he’s like. Fine. whatever. And drags suguru back to the office by his hair because he doesn’t quite believe him and also might kill him is he’s lying

But he looks again at the picture he got - resists the urge to give suguru another kick - he’s sniffling in a little ball on the floor, it just would not feel satisfying at this point - and starts going through the security footage of the stores around that alley

Of course he has access to all of them. He basically runs this town

Eventually he finds it - suguru walking and… and that’s a man grabbing him and yanking him into an alley

Fuck

He flicks through a few cameras and sees suguru get… brutalized would be a nice word for it. 

Well fuck. 

He feels entirely fucking sober at this point and just kind of stares at where suguru is taking pained, hitching breaths on the floor

… it appears he may have fucked up

First, he gets down on the floor and tries to find an uninjured part of suguru to touch, to rouse him. This proves… difficult.

Fuck. he definitely should’ve been beating up the guard that was supposed to watching suguru. And the people that did… that… to him. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He brushes his fingers against suguru’s temple and he stirs, looking up at him and smiling for a second before it all seems to come back to him and he’s bowing to lick at satoru’s boots again, murmuring, ‘i’m sorry, i’m sorry’ 

Satoru tilts his head back up gently by his chin and tries to make his voice as soft as possible when he says, ‘it’s okay. I found the video, i saw, i’m so sorry’

Instead of relief, his face crumples. ‘You saw?’ he whimpers

‘Shh, shh, i saw how hard you fought, how brave and strong you are.’

Suguru just starts crying; he holds him and calls shoko up, giving her a very succinct, ‘i fucked up. I need you at my infirmary. Now.’

She hangs up but satoru knows she’s coming

He picks suguru up and carries him there as gently as possible while suguru cries quietly

Finally when he sets him down suguru asks, ‘how mad are you?’

Satoru is such an asshole 

‘Not mad at all. You should be mad at me.’

Suguru nuzzles into his hand. ‘Why would i do that?’

Fuck

Shoko shows up and is in immediate doctor mode, but suguru clings to satoru and starts whining the second they aren’t touching

‘What the fuck happened?’ she asks once he’s mostly bandaged up and sedated. 

He tells her

She yells. a lot. He knows he deserves it

She keeps suguru sedated and asleep for three days

When she’s about to wake him up, she keeps asking ‘are you sure he’s going to wnt to see you when he wakes up. Are you sure.’ 

Satoru is pretty shit at most things, but he is sure of this

Even though she’s shoko, he is still her boss, so eventually she’s like… fine but if he freaks out and i have to put him under again i’m kicking you out, whether you sign my paychecks or not

Suguru wakes up slowly and looks around frantically until his eyes land on Satoru, he almost rips out his IV lunging for him

‘Shh, hi baby, i’m here,” satoru says, catching him and pressing him back into the mattress. ‘you shouldn’t move too much. How are you feeling?’

‘How mad are you?’ suguru asks instead. ‘i‘m so sorry, i swear i’ll make it up to you -’

He can feel shoko glaring at him

‘I’m not mad, sweet pet. I’m not mad at all.’

‘Please don’t leave’

‘I’m right here. Tell me how you’re feeling?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says, even though he’s bruised in more places than he’s not and shoko had confirmed that there was ‘genital trauma’. At least he was able to say that wasn’t him.

After a bit of back and forth they get one of the queen sized hospital beds and transfer suguru into it, satoru climbing in with him

Shoko very obviously doesn’t approve, but every time she even hints at satoru leaving, suguru clings to him so tightly he has to soothe him so he doesn’t hurt himself further

He mouths, just text me, at her over his shoulder and she gives a short, sharp nod, leaving

And boy does she text him. Mostly variations of ‘what the hell did you do to that poor guy’

The thing is satoru doesnt know 

Suguru should be fucking running for the hills

But instead he has a panic attack when satoru has to get up to take a piss

So. he doens’t know if it’s the right option, but he just gives his all to nursing suguru back to health

Once he’s healthy enough, he moves them to his bedroom

Gets anything suguru wants delivered - he’d go out to get it, but he has to keep the bathroom door open when shitting so that suguru doesn’t spiral

When he suggest therapy suguru asks, ‘why would i need therapy?’

He convinces him to try therapy. It does not help. Hard to fix someone that doesn’t understand something is wrong

Satoru wishes everyday that he could take back his actions. He can’t even goad suguru into being mad at him to get any relief, suguru seems to think any barbed comment he makes is deserved, so he stops those pretty quickly

(he does make sure the people that raped suguru are killed. Violently. But he can’t justify being away from suguru long enough to do it himself. This also eats at him.)

After long months of cuddling and coddling satoru does have to go back to in-person work. Shit just doesn’t function without him

Satoru tries his best to get suguru all set up. He’s almost fully healed by now, and is completely silent as satoru tucks every soft thing he has around him, scenting him and kissing him and promising him he’ll be back soon

(satoru deals in dangerous things. It’s already gotten suguru hurt once. He can’t have that happen again)

He rushes through everything he can, hurries back and… sugruru is nowhere to be found

Satoru finds him curled up in a lump in the corner of the closet, bleeding from self-inflicted scratches and bites and whispering ‘i’m sorry,’ over and over again. 

So. that didn’t fucking work. 

He fixes suguru up as best he can and snuggles him back to health, but it takes two days before he seems lucid, and then he won’t talk about it. Just completely refuses. Either says he doesn’t remember or that it’s not a big deal or that he deserved it. Always shifting what he’s actually saying, deflecting and contradicting

Satoru gets him all kinds of tests - brain scans and MRI’s and blood tests and - nothing’s wrong. At least nothing anything can pick up.

Therapy yields the same results as last time. Suguru doesn’t think there’s anything wrong, so there’s nothing to work on

Fuck

The thing is, satoru has hundreds of employees, in both legal and less-than-legal areas that he can’t just abandon. Shifting his empire off to someone else isn’t something he thought he’d have to do for another ten to twenty years

And he can do a lot from his computer

But he can’t do everything

So he’s going to have to figure something out here

Suguru won’t let anyone but him, nanako and mimiko close to him, and only lets them close after a lot of coaxing from satoru and while satoru is holding him so leaving him with someone is not possible

He has to leave again eventually and…

He ties suguru up so he can't hurt himself

Which is fucked up but he has no idea what to do

Suguru is catatonic for days after that, but… at least he didn’t hurt himself physically?

Yeah he really has to figure *something* out.

Eventually after getting as much out of suguru as he can for why he’s like this (cobbles it all together to come up with: he’s scared satoru is going to think he cheated on him again ((satoru tries to assure him he didn’t cheat to no avail)) if he’s alone, and also when he’s alone he’s vulnerable. Satoru would protect him from anything but that doesn’t matter if satoru’s not there. And also he always thinks satoru is abandoning him or kicking him out when he’s not right there constantly providing assurances

So.

Kind of a problem

The solution: he gets a near indestructible cage custom made to fit under his desk, shows suguru how goddamn indestructible it is, and locks him in there (with all the soft scented things that will fit in there with him) with a clock that tells him when satoru will be back 

It… works

Satoru kind of feels awful but that’s nothing new these days

He tells satoru he’s the only one who knows the code for the lock (Shoko and Kuri both know it, but what's a little bit of lying at this point)

So. suguru is safe in his cage when satoru is gone. He can’t get out, no one can get in, and he knows approximately when satoru will be back

He leaves all kinds of entertainment in the cage but suguru just sits there and watches the clock

Satoru tries for a long time to help suguru to get better. But. he just doesn’t

The fic ends with suguru’s pov of getting lifted out of the cage by satoru, he talks about how happy he is that satoru’s back, how happy he is that satoru forgave him and is still willing to be his master

Basically his brain is all sort of fucked up

But he’s happy!

He and his girls eat good food. They never have to worry about anything; they get to go to university for fashion and satoru networks so they are apprenticed by internationally renowned designers

And then satoru offers to mark him and he’s explosively unreasonably happy

It’s strongly implied that satoru doesn’t actually want to mark him. At least not like this. But it’s been years and suguru’s not getting better

And he’s the reason why

So he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make him as comfortable as possible

Anyway. A few notes: this was how i was going to make a story both a dead dove do not eat and a happy ending. Suguru’s brain is fucked to hell but he doesn’t have the awareness to understand that. Satoru was fucked up and evil and will spend the rest of his life repenting for it

But in the in-betweens? When they’re cuddling together, playing video games or watching movies, snacking and going out to dinner? It’s nice. They’re happy. E=even if it’s all kinds of twisted, there’s a lot of love between them, and as long as satoru’s there, suguru doesn’t mind teasing him, pushing his buttons, basically being a little shit. He just self destructs when alone (without the whole cage protocol).

Nanako and mimiko spent their formative years in the Gojo mansion, like Riko, so they have a skewed perception of whats right and wrong, and they think something might be wrong with satoru and suguru, but suguru says he’s happy, and he wouldn’t lie

They’re brilliant, and they easily become famous designers. They travel a lot with riko and kuroi. Sometimes satoru and suguru, but suguru can’t stand anyone but them being within three feet of him and no one but satoru, mimiko and nanako touching him, so it can be tough

Anyway. i’m sure you probably understand why this story will not be going in this direction anymore. First of all, it would be horribly out of character for how i’ve already written them. Second of all i might cry. Third of all you might cry. Last of all i think satoru and suguru might cry

Anyway, i already have a decent idea of where we’re going instead but i wanted to type this up because i thought it would’ve been a neat story and i was GOING TO KILL THAT DOVE dammit

[meadowdaydreams]

Keep scrolling to avoid my negativity...

I dont know how to unlearn what I've been taught in the past 2 years. I don't want to feel and think my worth is tied to my physical appearance anymore. I want to go back to when I believed I was lovable the way I am and when i knew my worth wasn't tied to anything to do with my looks. How do I win this never-ending battle?

I know I sound like a broken record on here... but this is so exhausting. I literally just want to feel comfortable existing and be able to focus on following God and being a good person and a good mother. I don't want to care about all this worldly bullcrap but it feels like a need for survival.

I feel weak and stupid for the way I am now, like I failed a trial God allowed to come my way. I should've somehow not been affected by my husband's sick mind and actions. Logically I know what's true so why can't I convince myself of what i once fully knew and lived out? I don't understand what's happened to me and I don't know how to fix it. I'm in a church group for women that are going through the same thing and it's been very validating but I can't help but think, how is this going to actually solve anything? Is this really just the way my life is going to be until death?

Leaving my marriage feels pointless because I've been told again and again by everyone, "all men lust after other women". They say it so lightly like it's not a big deal. Am I too sensitive? Or are they not realizing what they're saying? Because when they say that I hear, "all men want to get off to / have sex with other women even if they're in a relationship". How is that so normalized? I don't want to be with a man that wants other women sexually whether it's physical cheating or "just fantasies". Is it impossible for a man to be 100% faithful and loyal to his wife? I know it's possible for women and all men I've told this to pretty much laugh and don't believe it. Even devoutely Christian men I've spoken with say I have impossible standards for a husband and that I'll never have a "perfect" husband. I DONT WANT A PERFECT HUSBAND! I JUST WANT HIM TO LOVE ME AND BE FAITHFUL!!!!!!???!!! How is that asking for too much? Is that not bear minimum????

I despise my hopes and dreams now. All I wanted was a husband to love and for him to love me back and to have a nice family. But apparently that's asking for too much. Oh well I guess. Who needs that anyway? Apparently I don't.

Oh and while I'm at it...

I'm angry at God for allowing this. I know He knows better than me but the Bible says "ask and you shall receive" if it's according to His will. Well before I married, I prayed to not let me be decieved by the man I was soon to be married to. I prayed a lot more about marriage than that but that part has been stuck in my mind... because God let me be deceived. I trusted God fully and thought he would protect me and guide me. I thought all the signs pointed to this man being the "right" one. So now I feel like God doesn't care at all about my temporary life here on earth.

Guys I'm so tired. To make it through each day I pretty much have to intentionally make myself dead inside so the pain and grief won't kill me. I hate it because it's making me feel heartless and cold but I can't afford to be too depressed to get out of bed anymore. My job is on the line now. My whole life feels like a cage that I just can't escape from.

Anways, just ignore my vent and sorry if you read this.

[alexandia03]

Oh well, I thought it might be a good time to give you all a little snippet from one of the chapters I am working on when I take a break from Penelope and Odysseus (NOT the next chapter, bear in mind).

I will patiently wait for you all to come with pitchfork and torches after me for writing a Xaden POV where he is less than stellar now.

“You hurt him enough.” Quinn adds, her hand hovering over the handle of her labrys when I glare at her. “He doesn't need you barging in there right now – that would only make you feel better, not him.”

“Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Artan. This is none of your business.” I snap at her, trying to ignore the nagging tightening feeling inside of my stomach at her words. She doesn’t know what she is talking about – Bodhi needs me, whenever he was in pain, he always needed me.

“When was the last time something like that happened?” Sgaeyl's voice breaks through the cracks in my mind shield. “He hasn't sought comfort in you in a long time.”

“That is only because Imogen got between us. She inserted herself in his life and stole my role. But that ends today.” I argue, trying to at least convince my dragon that I am the wronged one here. That I am right.

To her credit, Quinn doesn't even blink at my outburst. However, she squares her shoulders and her upper lip pulls into an angry snarl. “No, Riorson! You are the one who has no fucking clue what he is talking about here! I am sick of you barging in as if you are entitled to everyone following your every command!” She yells back and I am taken aback for a second. I don't think I have ever heard easy-going, bubbly Quinn Artan scream at someone. Let alone at me. “You came to Basgiath every other week, yet not once did I see you so much as ask Bodhi how he is feeling or how his arm was healing! Not once! But what I did hear was you ordering him around on each and every one of your visits and complaining whenever he didn't meet your crazy high expectations! You were pushing him beyond the reasonable limit with the weapon runs, berating him whenever one of the marked ones still in the Quadrant was falling behind… and as if that was not enough, you made him responsible for Sorrengail’s ass too! You have been running him into the ground and biting his head off for every slight mistake, but that poor idiot never once complained or disobeyed you! All of that while he was in agonizing pain and had other responsibilities and problems on top of it all!”

“I didn't know that his arm was not healing properly.” At this point I am aware that I probably sound like a broken record, but it's the truth. Had I known he was in so much pain, I wouldn't have been so harsh with him when something didn't go according to plan. I am not a monster, I care about my cousin! “Had they told me –”

“Had they told you, you would have done what, Xaden?!” Garrick shouts, his face contorted with anger. “Stop fucking hiding behind that excuse! They shouldn't have said anything for you to notice if you truly gave a shit! But unless it concerned Sorrengail, you couldn't be bothered! I thought you learned your lesson after you almost got Imogen killed last year… after Liam fucking died! But no, when it comes to her, everything and everyone ceases to exist and no price is too high!” 

“Watch it, Tavis!” Brennan growls, peeling himself off the wall, but before he can take more than a step towards us, Garrick hurls a dagger towards him, manipulating its trajectory so it lands into the wall right by the mender’s ear. 

“No, you watch it, Sorrengail! I am sick and tired of your family fucking up mine!” Garrick explodes, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me as he rips into Brennan. “I am not going to blame your sister for all this, but I am going to blame you two for the decisions you take in her name, effectively fucking all of us over! I am done putting up with your fucking preferential treatment, gods only know no one is going to keep any of us in a glass bubble like you try to do with her!”

[fagsystem]

I am quite simply saying Luigi canonically says he has bad knees in the Mario Movie.

Is someone else going to create content about disabled Luigi or do I have to do everything myself?

(Broken up into sections for ease of reading.

---Childhood---

---High School---

---Pre-Movie--- (For the record, the other stuff is more generalised and not really movie based)

---Bowuigi---)

---Childhood---

I would imagine (cough project cough cough) that it is something like elhers danlos. I would also say he seems to have some form of balance/co-ordination problems during the scene where he was being led around by the shy guys. Which is me trying to justify giving him post orthostatic tachycardia syndrome.

Anyway, I imagine that Luigi was always a sick kid but never had access to the medical care he needed. I would imagine it would be this mix of financial reasons, him downplaying his symptoms, and his family not taking it seriously. I imagine the only person who would take it seriously when he was younger would have been Mario.

I would say ever since they were little Luigi always appeared to be unathletic compared to other kids. It was not for a lack of trying. After all, Mario is very athletic and Luigi followed his brother everywhere. He followed him to soccer games during break, sports carnivals (do you have that in America??) at school, anything and everything. But it always seemed like he was tired quicker than other kids. Especially as he got older, he seemed to trail further and further behind.

Mario would be worried sick wherever his brother got dizzy and fell over as a kid. As he got older, it would always worry him more and more. It got to the point where eventually he dropped most physical activities aside from teams he had to try out for, because he knew he would get in and Luigi would not. He always felt guilty about this, like he was excluding his brother because, well, he was. But it was better than seeing him collapsing. And he swears, no matter how much everyone around him downplays it, Luigi getting so tired after running around that he 'can't stay awake' and he falls asleep is so not normal.

---High school---

Anyway, fast forward to high school and Luigi is missing a lot of it due to being a sick kid. There is a lot of tension in his house because of it. Luigi had always missed a lot and always been good at catching up, but it was getting especially bad. And worse yet, he would avoid P.E. like the plague. Whenever he had to go, it would leave him in bed for days in agony.

It was looking like he was not going to graduate due to not getting his P.E. credits.

Which is where my ideas get a bit funny, as I do not know how it works in America. Here in Australia, you can drop out in grade 10 if you have a job or apprenticeship.

I would say that in this headcanon/AU, Mario becomes a plumber because it looks like his brother will have no option other than being a tradie. He and his brother plan it out. They look at the options they have available to them and decide being a plumber would be the best. It would be strenuous, of course, but if they work together then Mario can do anything Luigi cannot.

But Luigi is still hesitant. No matter his brother's reassurances that this is what he wants, he cannot help but feel awful that he was the reason his brother plans on dropping out. And worse, their family would never forgive him for it.

Mario really did not care. Honestly, he was not very smart, unlike Luigi. While he was definitely going to graduate, his grades were not really something to write home about. But he was always physically strong, he figured being a tradie was sort of inevitable.

So he hatched a plan to make sure no one would be mad at Luigi for their plan.

One night at dinner he told everyone that he was doing m dropping out to become a plumber. That he had an apprenticeship lined up. After people realised he was serious, they were furious with him. But after weeks of arguing and him refusing to go to school even after being dragged there and him running away (it was for two days, but Luigi had never been more scared the poor boy) his family accepted he was doing this.

Once everyone was sure there was no changing his mind, he revealed that Luigi was going to join him. Luigi was out at a friend's when he told everyone, and he spent the hours they argued about it making sure his family knew he was dragging Luigi down with him and not the other way around.

When it came to speaking with Luigi about it when he got back, thankfully they did not give him too much of a hassle. Aside from gentle and half hearted attempts to change his mind (they knew they could not, he would follow Mario anywhere) he was left alone.

When it came to their apprenticeship and actually working, they made a killer team. Luigi was more than capable, although he never knew his own limits. In fact, he excelled in it, he always managed to figure out what was wrong almost instantly. Mario could never quite wrap his head around how his brother figured it out, since for him it was always a lot of guess work.

But that's what made them such a good team, in Mario's eyes. Obviously he was more than capable of figuring out and fixing the problem on his own, and Luigi was very skilled and capable in manual labour. But he always took a bit of time, and Luigi never knew his own limits and would end up dizzy and in pain.

Mario always knew Luigi's limits. But he always had to toe a careful line, making sure to remind himself that Luigi is not incapable so he did not smother him. Luigi spent his whole life either being expected to do things he can't, or being infantalised and not acknowledged for what he can. Mario always spent a lot of energy finding genuine work related reasons Luigi should not do things like some of the manual labour work or should do things like lay down. It was worth it to see his brother in minimal pain and happy and satisfied with the job he did.

---Pre-Movie---

I would say it is a very interesting thing to explore if a big part of why they left Spike was because Spike refused to accommodate Luigi. Like Mario hated how Luigi would have to mask his symptoms and hated how he would be in so much pain and hated all the times he would see his brother collapse as soon as he got home and be 'unable to stay awake due to being tired'. At that point Mario figured out that was just fainting with a long presyncope, even if Luigi refused to accept it. (A syncope is a faint, a presyncope is the symptoms before a faint. Dizziness, spotty vision, ringing ears. I headcanon Luigi can get presyncopes for hours without actually fainting, because same.)

He especially hated how Spike would talk to Luigi. Mario made it very clear to Spike that he will only work for him if his brother works too, and Spike made it very clear he thought Luigi was useless. Luigi was not useless. He was just forced to be on his feet for far too long. I mean, Mario has no idea what it's actually like, but Luigi had described how his vision would get spotty and his hands would shake and it would be impossible to think.

Not to mention, him refusing to accommodate Luigi not only hurt his brother but made what makes the Super Mario Brothers work not work. Luigi was the brains, he was the brawn, and that dynamic falls apart when the brain can't think due to presyncope. It was actively hurting their ability to do their jobs. Mario was sick and tired of Spike getting in the way of their jobs.

And I have been saying this from Mario's perspective, because I believe that Mario would be the one to take the biggest issue with it. I also believe that Mario would not tell Luigi this was the driving factor behind leaving Spike, because he knew his brother would feel so guilty.

Anyway.

It is 01:30 and I should sleep.

I have so much more to say about this but I should sleep.

If you want more, please ask. Please.

---Bowuigi---

I will just leave this with, as a Bowuigi shipper, I would love to see how this impacts their relationship.

Like imagine an enemies to caretaker senario where, perhaps not in the movieverse but at some point Luigi got a dislocation or fainted during battle. And Bowser saw how worried Mario gets and knew that kidnapping Luigi would really piss him off. So he did.

(I just love Bowser kidnapping Luigi to upset Mario. It is so funny to me. Like he does not harm him, he treats him more like a guest than anything else, but it makes Mario so mad. Bowser finds this hilarious.)

This would not be the first time this happened. I would say this was a semi regular occurrence for the reason I mentioned in brackets above. So Bowser noticed as he personally tended to Luigi's wounds that Luigi was acting really weird.

And Luigi had been hurt before during battle. Actually, hurt way way worse than this. One particularly memorable time he woke up in Bowser's castle after being caught in an explosion. But this felt particularly vulnerable to Luigi, since its because of his disabilities.

Fuck I should sleep. 01:41.

Well. Anyway. Luigi revealed he's disabled. Bowser is ridiculous levels of accommodating to Luigi, you know, his prisoner. Like moves him from (a very nice proper bedroom in) the dungeon to a guest room in the family suite because that is the coolest part of the castle. (Heat + POTS = bad)

And Luigi fell madly in love. Gay gay gay. So gay

And Bowser, who is now getting to know Luigi beyond just being a way he can piss off Mario, becomes quite infactuated with Luigi. Like at first he was genuinely just trying to be accomodating. But the morning after he moved Luigi's room to near his own he got to see Luigi all sleepy and half awake in the morning. He fell hard and fast and trying to be accomodating quickly became an excuse to pamper Luigi a bit.

1:50. Bed time.

[tenebriism]

if you could make hoyo games better, how would you do it? i am specifically referring to race and things lore wise. but i guess mechanics too.

// I'll admit, the bulk of my experience with Hoyo games is from playing Genshin. I was there day one when it was just getting off the ground, and was pretty dedicated to it for the first year and some change. I couldn't get into Honkai: Star Rail's story, and ZZZ looks like a fanservice game of jiggly bits and guns, so my opinion is limited solely to G.I.

Firstly, and most importantly, skintone and respect for borrowed cultures. I sound like another broken record amongst a good portion of the fandom that's sick and tired of the blatant neglect, but... they dangled Kaeya in our faces day one, and then just... decided he would be ENOUGH for the remainder of the game's existence. Not the characters who live or travel around the literal desert, or the ones based off tribes and historical figures that are literally POC, no. They're all either pale or LIGHTLY tanned, because that makes sense... and then the enemies and NPCs actually have some diverse shades of melanin. There's something seriously wrong with this company, I swear.

Up the furniture limits in the teapots please, oh my goodness. I can't get rooms to make sense because I feel so limited, and so many of my teapot domains just feel... empty. It dampens the joy of decorating this personal, unique space that has SO much potential to be absolutely amazing. I mean, it already is, but it could be better.

Some characters get too much screentime, whereas there are literal Twitter pages for characters we've not seen in ages. I think Albedo's made it up to a year, at one point, and poor Heizou, Shenhe, and Eula... they pop up on an even rarer occasion. On one hand, I understand Hoyo can only shove so many storylines and banners and quests into the span of a year, especially when they've got routine events, like Lantern Rite, to account for, but... e_e When are we getting another major Albedo event? He's, arguably, one of the most interesting characters in the entire game with a backstory that has the potential to be EXTREMELY impactful at some point.

More Baizhu, please ( this one is completely biased. He's my favorite. Put him in the game more. Thank you. :D )

I think that about sums it up without me yammering on for the next few hours. I do not hate Genshin Impact; it's a great game. The COMPANY, though? Do better.

[holdens-baseball-mitt]

In my mind, Holden is one of those characters whose in such a downward spiral, he needs some horrible accident/near death experience to realize just how much he wants to live.

On that note, it's been long enough that I think it's finally safe to post that narrative continuation of Catcher I had to write. Here is your grocery list of trigger warnings.

Major character (like the main character) death

(accidental) drug OD

car crash

implied child abuse

just... pain? general pain?

Holden's POV, 3 months after the end of the novel

One more day in this goddamn place, then I’m out. More like one more minute, at this point- I’ve been told my parents are on their way. Not that I want to see them. They keep saying they put me here to fix me, but I hate that goddamn sentence. “Fix me”. It’s not even my fault I was broken, was it? Sure, I was depressed as hell, but it’s not like I woke up one day and decided to be. Everyone always says you need to be fixed- what a bunch of phonies. They probably need to be fixed too. My parents went heavy on the “getting fixed” thing. And Old Phoebe- oh, I feel bad. And man, she really is old now- almost as tall as me… time really flies when you’re stuck in a mental asylum against your will, I guess. She came the other day with my mother- you should have seen my mother. She was crying, crying like hell. Talking about how I was ‘hurting’- and she never even visited me before that. And for the record, I wasn’t ‘hurting’. That’s what they always say. That you were hurting. Anyways, Phoebe came with her, and man, was she upset. She kept crying about how she missed me. I guess I missed her too- but seeing her made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t tell you why. 

The adults here suck. They keep asking you dumb questions, like “Are you going to apply yourself?” and “Are you gonna get more involved?”, just like I said. They act like I know. For once, I don’t. And they’re irresponsible as hell- I’ve been scared that one day they’ll give me the wrong meds, and  I’ll just drop dead on the goddamn floor. I’ve heard of it happening. 

I’ve been asked a lot today: “are you excited to be going home?” To be honest, I’m not. My father’s been a bastard lately- he hasn’t come to visit me either. I still hate him a little bit- he’s the first truly phony person I ever knew, and he never changes. The last thing he said to me was something about how he hopes I stay here for the rest of my life. I’ll bet he wishes he never had me- in his defense, I don’t know anyone who would. I’m also kind of scared of him, to be honest. Adults are goddamned idiots- the minute they think you’re sick, they give up on you. And they have full control over your goddamn life, so there’s nothing you can do. But nobody gives a damn what I think- they never did. 

“Caulfield? Your father’s outside.” 

Goddamnit. 

Well, what the hell do you expect me to do? Pretend I’m deranged? According to everyone here, I already am. So even though everything in me is screaming that I should do something, I drag myself towards the car, with that stupid nurse in tow. I don’t even know why they call her a nurse- she probably doesn’t even know basic first aid. Discharges here aren’t fancy- I’m not sure if I’m relieved or angry at that fact. Anyways, I get in the stupid car, and let me tell you- my parents are goddamn hypocrites. They always used to yell at me, Phoebe, and DB for even thinking about smoking. Well, this goddamn car smells like an entire box of cigarettes. 

I get in the cigarette-smelling, stupid goddamn car, with my phony, stupid goddamn father, and sit down without a word. He’s still in his work clothes- his dumb suit and all. You’d think he would say something to his son, who just got out of the hospital mind you- something like a nice “are you okay?”, or “I really missed you!”, or even a goddamn “Hello”, but he won’t even look at me. Eventually, after pulling out of the parking lot, he speaks 

“Holden.”

Well, now I know I’m in trouble. His voice sounds calm- but it has that edge to it. The one where you know he’s pissed. Forget the mental hospital- in a few hours, I’ll have to be put in the real goddamn hospital. “Yeah?”

“We cleaned out your room.” He says calmly. I hate when he goes all eerily calm like that- that’s how you know you’re screwed. He gets eerily calm, his eyes go cold, and he smiles like nothing is wrong- even though you know you’re about to get slapped. Although this time, I will admit, I’m less scared of that, and more scared of what he found in my room. 

“We found the baseball mitt.”

Goddamnit.

Goddamnit, Goddamnit, GOD. DAMNIT. 

I may have forgotten to mention that they didn’t let me take Allie’s baseball mitt into the hospital with me. They said it was “unhealthy” or something stupid like that. So I hid it under my bed. Yes, in hindsight, I know that was a stupid goddamn place to hide it. But I know my parents. They would find it anyway, no matter where the hell I hid it. They’ve been hounding me to get rid of Allie’s baseball mitt for years- they said it isn’t healthy to hang onto it. They’re as stupid as the doctors. So all things considered, the fact that they found it is very bad.

“...What did you do with it?” I ask, trying to sound casual. I just sound sheepish. Now, I’m not a sheepish person- I swear, I’m not. I may not have the guts to outright punch someone, but I know not to be a goddamn doormat. But I’m terrified as hell. 

“What the hell do you think we did with it, Holden?! We threw it out. We’ve been over this- it’s not healthy for you to keep…” He keeps talking, I swear he does, but I’m not hearing any of it. Can you blame me? They just told me, a fresh out of the mental hospital patient- not that I needed the hospital or anything- that they threw out the one goddamn thing that’s been keeping me sane the last few years. And don’t get me wrong- I’m not some psychopath whose only will to live consists of a baseball mitt with some poems on it. But goddamnit, I need that thing if I’m going to live. 

“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” That comes out louder than I intended it to. But I don’t give a damn. Not anymore, I don’t. I know somewhere in the back of my mind that my father is going to kill me if I keep yelling- but hell, if I’m going out, I’m going out loudly. I don’t give a damn if he tries to punish me or not. I see him clutch the wheel like he was scared it would disappear. Suddenly, the silence he’s giving me as a reply is far too loud. Everything is too goddamn loud- the raindrops on the windows, the mindless droning on from the car radio, the distant beeping of car horns. The way my father’s eyes are practically burning a hole through our windshield. The way his jaw is clenching, his knuckles turning white. The smell of goddamn cigarettes filling our goddamn car.

“Holden… I’m going to give you three seconds to apologize.” 

He loves doing that goddamn thing. As if I’ll suddenly feel sorry for what I did because I have a time limit. Well, normally it does work, but this time I feel nothing. I hate how calm he looks. He’s so calm- it makes me so goddamn angry. 

“NO!” I don’t even register what leaves my mouth until afterwards. But I don’t really care anymore. 

“HOLDEN CAULFIELD, HAVE YOU LOST ALL OF YOUR GODDAMN RESPECT?!” And there it is- my full name. Adults love doing that, too. They think it’s scary. 

“YOU KNOW WHAT? MAYBE I HAVE! MAYBE I DON’T RESPECT ASSHOLES ANYMORE!” My voice is shaking. Maybe it is scary. Man, am I angry. I’ve almost forgotten who the hell I’m talking to at this point. But whoever it is, I want to scream until their goddamn ears burst. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” 

Whenever people talk about things like how they survived being shot, they always say that they felt it before they understood what was happening. I think they’re all a bunch of phonies- survivor stories usually are. But they did get one thing right. I feel myself slam into the side of the car and hit my window before I understand what’s happening. There’s this horrible screeching noise. I swear, my soul just left my goddamn body, all within an instant. That’s when I see my father still in the driver’s seat next to me, with the wheel turned sharply, his foot on the brake, and pure rage in his eyes. I think I hit my goddamn head- I can’t even tell which way is up anymore. There’s something sharp digging into my side. We both sit in silence for a long, terrified moment. I feel this weird sinking feeling in my chest- I think I might start crying. Now my father is talking… I can’t really tell what the hell he’s saying. 

“-stupid baseball mitt! Now it's your fault I had to…”

He just keeps going on and on and on… I would say it depresses me, but I’m too shocked to feel anything now. I think I’m dead. Could I be?

“HOLDEN CAULFIELD, YOU ANSWER ME!”

…On second thought, I think I’m alive. Goddamn it. 

“...What?” 

He gives me that disappointed, agitated sigh most adults do when you don’t listen to them. The phony, stupid one that you just know they’re faking. “When we get home, you are going straight to your room, and I’m going to talk to your mother. Understood?”

What happened? Why am I not dead? I look up, and notice the window first. My father must have hit something, because it’s shattered. The car’s still standing upright, but there’s broken glass strewn across the seats. I think a piece of it is digging into my ribs. Everything smells like those goddamn cigarettes. My seat is stained a little bit red. Goddamnit, my mother will kill me for getting blood on the car seat. Am I bleeding? And goddamnit, it’s raining- I’m soaked. I look back to see if we left a skid mark on the road, like in the movies- and we did. It was long- maybe fourteen feet. I would have thought it was cool as hell, if I wasn’t convinced we should both be dead after that.

“Holden!” His goddamn voice. I hate his goddamn voice. It’s cold, and sharp. 

“Right. Understood.” I manage to choke out. “...How are we alive?”

“You’re lucky we are.” He sighs, looking at me all sympathetic all of a sudden, as if he didn’t almost just kill us both. It pains me- he’s phony as hell. “I’m sorry, Holden.”

I know he doesn’t mean that. 

“Goddamnit… Can we just go home?”

“Watch your language.” As if I would. He deserves every curse in the goddamn, stupid, phony world. He’s the worst thing in it. “Yes, we can go home.”

Good. 

Well, thankfully for me, home isn’t too far, and we get there fast. I instantly try to run right up to my goddamn room. But my Dad stops me to throw some stupid medicine at me. He tells me how many to take, but I don’t hear a word of it. I just decide I’ll take some of it later and hope it’s right. To hell with it.

I run up to my room, slam the goddamn door, and start sobbing. I look at the dumb meds that my father gave me. I’m too lazy to read the packaging. The dosage for most meds is three, right? I think it’s three. I’ll take three. I take three- I think it was three, anyways- and toss the bottle aside. The rest of the meds spill all over my floor. I don’t give a damn. I’m still thinking about the car. I feel numb- it’s weird. I’m so goddamn scared, that sinking feeling in my chest never went away. But at the same time I feel nothing. It’s not even me I’m scared for- I’m fine. Mostly. I could have died, sure, but I don’t give a damn. What if Phoebe was in that car? Or Jane, or… or Allie? They might have died. And it’s all my fault, because I don’t know how to keep my goddamn mouth shut. What’s wrong with me?! I need to shut up. I need to shut up! I need to shut up!

Anyways I change my clothes- I find that piece of glass that was stabbing me. It has my blood on it. I hate seeing my blood. I want to scream.

I need to shut up.

I decide that the only thing really to do after damn near dying is lay on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I feel the sudden urge to talk to Allie. I want him to tell me it’s okay. It’s okay, right? I know it’s okay.

I need to shut up.

“A-Allie? Allie…?!” I ask. I wish I wasn’t expecting a reply. I know he can’t answer. But I keep talking anyway. I want him to answer me. I need him to answer me. I know he can. I know he’s there. I can feel it. Just like how I can feel the tears running down my face. How I can feel my side aching from where the glass was. How I can feel my head throbbing and my chest starting to ache with an indescribable, awful pain that I’m not even sure is real. “Allie, I’m scared. I’m scared, Allie. Allie, where are you?”

I need to shut up.

My head is spinning. My chest hurts like hell, it really does now. My heart is pounding out of it, faster than I ever thought possible. For some reason, I’m laughing like  a goddamn maniac while I talk. Sobbing too. I can’t feel the bed under me anymore. Still, I keep talking. “A-Allie… Allie, help me! Please, Allie! Help me, please! Wh-Where are you, Allie?” Is that really my voice? It’s so goddamn shaky. It’s all raspy and weak. I swear to god, it doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’m whispering. Or maybe I might actually be yelling. I can sort of hear a lot of footsteps running up the stairs. Or maybe I’m not even talking at all. I can’t tell, goddamnit. 

I need to shut up.

My chest is starting to hurt so bad, I think it’s splitting open. My head hurts more- I feel nauseous, but not like I’m going to throw up. The room is spinning, but I’m standing still. Everything aches, and is useless when I try to move it. I’m freezing, but my entire body is burning- I feel like I’m being buried in a pit of hot sand. My heart stopped beating so damn fast, but my chest still hurts. I can’t feel my heart anymore- it’s like I don’t even have one at all. I’m scared, but also weirdly happy. I hear banging and screaming- I can’t understand what they’re yelling anymore. One more minute. Just one more minute, and… I think I’m going to hell. It’s getting dark. It feels like I’m falling, falling down, down, down…

“Allie… I’m falling… I’m falling, Allie… Why aren’t you coming to catch me?”