#and still my mind finds ways to make myself internally bleed
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anxiously-going · 16 days ago
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The last two weeks have been...a lot. We were run off the road and while there were no injuries and the car damage was very minimal, it still...it caused a lot upset internally. We were met with a lot of support from our roommate's family and everything was settled pretty quickly, but it was genuinely an overwhelming amount of support. And. Not exactly in a good way.
All these moments kept playing through out mind. Being scolded for not calling the police when we were hit in a parking lot (no one had taught us what to do in case of an accident), being scolded for the mechanic not putting the new two new tired needed on the right wheels, being scolded for calling after my car stalled in a busy intersection during rush hour. All these little moments when dealing with car things wasn't safe. When it got us scolded and berated, left us feeling...inadequate and stupid and just...like low hanging fruit for the class bully to pick on. And we kept waiting to be scolded. To be told what we should have done, payed more attention, panicked less, all these things that we felt sure we would have heard back home. And none of it came. And we couldn't cope with that. Kat couldn't cope with that. And now we've been trying to cope with different system structure. It makes me sad that...not getting yelled at has caused so much disruption.
I've been trying to write. I thought...maybe getting back to some fics, getting back to a hobby would help, and I just...can't seem to connect. I spent a good portion of this morning reading through our Star Trek fic files and irs not just that I can see our writing has improved, but that it...genuinely feels like it was written by someone else. These stories don't feel like they're mine to tell. I don't feel connected to them.
There are a lot of little things that...make us less covert irl, things that our roommate has noticed, voice changes, and posture changes, and cadence changes, all these little things that add up to be not very covert and still sometimes, there I'd a creeping feeling of doubt about what we've recognized, what we've been diagnosed with.
This I can't deny though. I was cohost until the accident, so I know from bleed through how much these stories meant to Kat, meant to us. They were what we thought about and talked about to fall asleep, I remember staying up late to finish a scene or a bit of dialogue, and I just...can't seem to find that spark.
I'm thinking about.. maybe posting some of what we fo have done, at least here on tumblr, to kind of give myself a clean slate. A little refresh.
I want to continue writing, but I also want to feel like...I'm actually writing, that I'm telling my stories, that I'm using my own voice. I do want to finish these fics up, it only feels right to do, but I'm also struggling a bit because as much as I'm familiar with our fics, with how they were written, what the plans for them were, I'm realizing how little I actually was involved in all this myself as a part. And that's kind of a sucky feeling.
I want to get back to writing, I just don't really know how to.
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skyrim-forever · 9 months ago
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Day 5: Gentle
A/N: Hey everyone! This entry will include pregnancy, totally understand if that's not your thing and you want to skip. But if you're interested Theodora goes to see Danica Pure-Spring due to what she thinks to be her years of fighting catching up to her. This one kind of got away from me and it's 1600 words XD Tagging @tes-summer-fest
The journey to Morrowind had proven to be more difficult than she anticipated. On paper it seemed straightforward, get to Windhelm and take the Northern Maiden. Whiterun had only been meant to be a quick stop on the way there, however as she got closer to the city her health began to fail. First was general exhaustion, even riding on horseback was tiring and then she lost her appetite. The mere smell of food was enough to make her vomit. Perhaps the battle with Alduin had left her more damaged than she initially thought, or if it was the years of fighting that had finally caught up to her. Theodora knew that she’d never make it to Solstheim in this state, let alone face whatever was waiting for her there. 
Praise be to Kynareth for having a temple in the city. She regretted not seeing Danica sooner. 
“Hello Dragonborn, what brings you to the Temple today?”
“Hi Danica, I’m not feeling well. I was wondering if I have some old injuries that are causing problems.” 
“I see.” The Priestess gestures for her to follow her, leading her to a bench tucked away from the main hall. “Can you please describe what you have been experiencing ?” Theodora takes a breath, the exhaustion is beginning to hit. 
“Well, I find I’m getting tired much easier, I can’t do the same amount of travel as I could even a few weeks ago. And Divines, even the smell of food makes me nauseous.  I’m wondering if I have an internal injury, I haven’t gotten proper medical treatment for quite some time now so I wouldn’t be surprised if something is much more damaged than I originally thought..” She lightly laughs “I’m not great at recovery.”  Danica nods along as she speaks. 
“Have you noticed any changes in your body? Perhaps needing to relieve yourself more often?”
“Yes! I’m up every two hours at night. I had forgotten about that, just thought I was just starting to get older.” 
“Hmmmm. When was your last bleed?” 
“My, um” Theodora stops mid-sentence, surely Danica wasn’t implying that she was…? Anxiety starts building inside of her. Relax, she is just trying to cover everything. “I don’t remember. I figured it was all the stress keeping it away.”
“I see.” The two women sit in silence for a moment, tears begin to well up in her eyes as the gravity of the situation sets in. Pregnant the word repeats over and over in her mind.  
“It is okay Theodora.” The Priestess holds her hands in hers. “There are treatments available if you need them.”
“Thank you, could I have a little time to myself. I need to think before I decide anything.”
“Of course, I’ll be over there when you need me.”
The tears came out in full force, snot coming from her nose, and loud sobs. Why wasn’t I more careful? You stupid bitch how could you let this happen? She wasn’t fit to be a mother, what did she even know about mothers? There was the threat of Solstheim to deal with, how could she do that with a child? While pregnant? Then came the thoughts of what if the baby looks more like Ondolemar than me?What kind of place is this for a half Imperial half Altmer child? She lays her head back against the paneling of the Temple, eyes shut in an attempt to stop crying. 
The thoughts then begin to morph, perhaps it is not all bad. She may never see Ondolemar again, but she could still have a small piece of him. He wasn’t really gone now, there’d be proof of their time together. And maybe that was enough. She had been praying to Akatosh for something, anything to help her keep going. Maybe the Divines were not so cruel after all. She could do with her child what she wished her mother had gotten to do with her. She’d tell them they were born of love, that they could do anything, they’d be the Dragonborn’s child. And no matter what, that fact would give them protection. She had more than enough money and Theodora had been looking for what to do with the rest of her life. Being Thane in nearly every hold had proven not to be as glamorous as it originally sounded. She is torn. 
Returning to the main temple hall, she speaks to Danica.
“I’m going to need a few days to think about it.”
“Absolutely, think it through. Whatever you decide, the choice is fully yours.”
“Thank you, Danica, truly thank you.”
She spends the night at the Bannered Mare staring at the ceiling and thinking through every possible scenario. She could go into hiding, maybe even move back to Cyrodiil or as far as the coast of High Rock. raise the child somewhere no one knew her, maybe in a large city so seeing a mixed child wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. But could she leave the friends she did have here? She was sure Camilla would understand, she was the only one who knew about her relationship with Ondolemar. Wanting kids herself, Theodora couldn’t imagine her thinking less of her. All her thoughts seemed to involve how to have the baby, not if she should. Maybe that was a sign enough. Eventually her eyes grow heavy and sleep overtakes her. 
Dreams were normal for Theodora, mainly nightmares, but dreaming has become a place of old memories. In her dreams her father and Uncle Elo still breathe. Aunt Rhiannon still smiles. They were all still at the house in Anvil, and sometimes even the city itself was thriving, flourishing as it was when her father was young. This was one such dream. She is in the kitchen when she hears a baby’s crying coming from upstairs. Instinctively, she follows it. Through the house’s winding hallways she grows closer to the source of the sound, now hearing a woman’s voice.
“Shhhhhh, it’s okay, shhhhhh.” It’s coming from the storage room, the one that had been beside her room. The door is partially cracked open, a sliver of sunlight shines on the dark hardwood. When she opens the door fully, a woman is there. She looks like her paintings, long curly dark hair, warm skin, wearing a long white dress and brown belts. Everything is the same save for the grey streaks in her hair that she never got to grow in life. Before Theodora can stop it, a word she’s never uttered leaves her mouth. 
“Mom?” Kassandra turns to her, clutching a small golden bundle in her arms.
“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to calm him down, he woke up from his nap early.” She rocks the baby softly. “I think he wants his mama.” Theodora’s arms open naturally and her mother places the baby, him, in her arms. 
“Here, support his head like this. Be gentle.” She takes her hand and adjusts it behind his head. “Good, good, you got it.” She can see him better now, his small pointy ears and brown eyes. She takes a brief glance up, brown like her mother’s eyes. “Oh isn’t he sweet? You’re so lucky.”
“I am.” She rocks him slowly. “But mom I’m scared.” Tears start coming out of her and her mother wraps her arms around her. 
“I know dear, I know. But you’ll be okay. You can do this, you have done so many hard things.”
“But what if…” Kassandra stops her mid-sentence. 
“Don’t worry about what ifs, you can’t predict what will happen. What do you want?” Amidst the tears Theodora looks down, back at her son. His crying has ceased and he smiles at her. 
“I want him.”
A crash of thunder jolts her awake, as her hands touch her face she feels tears, she had actually been crying. It was not just a dream. Never before had she dreamt of her mother, let alone talked to her. As more tears come, this time of joy, she feels healed. The little girl in her who never got to cry to her mom finally got her mother’s advice. Though she did not know through which mechanisms had made it possible, she knew that was in fact her mother she spoke to. And if her mother believed in, she could. 
Seemingly having forgotten what time it was, Theodora rushed to the Temple. With a swift knock on the door, Danica answers. 
“I’m keeping it.”
“Congratulations.” Danica rubbed her face and smiled at her. “You’ll have to be gentle with yourself these next few months. Based on your symptoms I suspect you’re around 6 weeks.” She takes a piece of parchment and writes something down before handing it to Theodora. 
“You’ll want to start taking these herbs, they will help you with tolerating food. Once you’re six months along take these ones.” She points to a small list of plants, some of which Theodora had never heard of. “They’ll help prepare you for birth.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Oh, and no more drinking. Not until you’ve finished breastfeeding.” Oh that’s right she thought, pregnant women famously can’t drink. She hadn’t been sober for longer than a few days since she was a teen, this was going to be a challenge. 
“Alright, I understand.”
There is life back in her, both figuratively and literally. Deciding to still go to Morrowind, she figures it would be best to be pregnant away from prying eyes. She has a few  months still to make progress on the Miraak issue. Perhaps it was naive to think she could still adventure pregnant but Theodora already felt stronger. She has someone to be strong for.  
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the-one-who-lambs · 1 year ago
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Which scene from your fics do you like the most? like the one you can most vividly imagine clearly? can you describe it?
I CANNOT JUST PICK ONE but since my mind is on narilamb right now, I think my favorite scene at the moment is from a future chapter in The Risen Lamb and the Fallen God. "Ordinary Happiness is Not Enough" will be an entirely new chapter rather than a rewritten one. I'll keep some specific details to myself for now, but...
Bit o' spoilers below.
Lambert fell first, Narinder fell harder. This chapter is going to take place after Lambert realizes they're in love but before Narinder does.
Though they have the resurrection ritual at their disposal, Lambert had pretty much already come to terms with the fact that their immortal life would be a relatively lonely one. They are a god to their followers, after all, and despite their past attempts to connect with their followers on a more interpersonal level, none of them could fully get past the reverence for their leader. (This is also why, though they accept marriage requests from followers, they've never requested to marry a follower themself-- how could a follower fully distinguish their love for the Lamb from worshipping them as a duty? There has always been an uncomfortable amount of overlap.) Now that they've started to bond with someone who is immortal and on much more equal terms with them than any follower could be, that's suddenly not true anymore. Lambert can't quite fathom the idea that they're getting close to someone who they might be able to keep. This should be a comfort to them, but it ends up becoming more of a source of stress-- even though the two are in the "friends" stage of enemies to friends to lovers here, Narinder still has too many internal dilemmas to confront before he even considered himself capable of love in that way.
So Lambert sees Narinder as their one attainable chance to forge a relationship of equals. They've only recently realized their own feelings. They begin to overthink every interaction they have with him, trying too hard to steer Narinder towards favoring them, and they're not landing.
Lambert eventually snaps due to the stress and lashes out at him-- not for being obtuse, not for being callous, just the tipping point of their own insecurities, culminating in an overreaction to something not too hugely consequential. It gets so heated that Lambert tells him they might as well have just killed him from the start instead of sparing him. They do immediately feel shitty, but in the heat of the moment they're too stubborn to apologize.
Readers of the first installation of RL+FG may remember that Narinder, as a way to avoid confronting his own emotions, goes off on solo crusades. This is the first time he does that. This will later become a repeated occurrence that is extremely distressing to Lambert, because if he dies and they don't find his body to resurrect him... Well, they don't want to consider that possibility. For now, though, Lambert's still fuming. They figure, fine, let him burn himself out and he'll come crawling back here anyway.
What happens on his crusade will not dissuade him from venturing off again, because he's an idiot who's allergic to his own feelings, but he encounters a threat he's not prepared to face. He goes full demogorgon sicko mode but ultimately overestimates his own ability to rise to meet it.
The scene that won't leave my head is the aftermath. Lambert finds him bloody, delirious, on the cusp of death. They're in hysterics. In his delirious state, begins to reveal way too much about himself. He makes an apology and asks forgiveness. They realize at the wrong moment that he thinks he's talking to someone else. They hold each other, bitter and broken and bleeding and yearning in parallel. Lambert tends to his wounds but they have to patch their own themself.
They work the situation out because they want to but mostly because they have to. Lambert stitches his face back together. They've always handled him gently in a way that, more often than not, infuriated him, but this time they treat him as if he'll crumble to dust. It's an uncomfortable process, moreso emotionally to be this close again. They have difficult conversations about trauma and healing, family and forgiveness, the vanishing line between sainthood and sin. They did this to each other. It stays silent, but if it's going to hurt anyway, they'll love each other through it. They already do. Neither wants to think about messing this up, but for a while, they did. It can only get better from here, please, please, please.
(It does. But they both need to have their eternity threatened when almost starts to seem attainable.)
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letterstonamjoon · 2 years ago
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Equality
What do you think is gender equality?
Is it when women can do what men do?
“Globally, 20% contracts were from women-led companies, but they only contributed 1% revenue”. Yesterday, I participated in the opening of a women focus initiative of a large consumer manufacturing corporation. The reason is that most women's businesses are small and medium sized. So, is it fair to push businesses into women's hands and make them grow? If it were me, would I want to start my own business and become the owner of a large enterprise with several thousand employees? Or would I rather satisfy with the small size?
When I was a child, I always wanted to do the things boys do. One time, in a movie, there was a line about a character who looked like a boy: "Ah, that person urinates sitting down, so that's a woman." So from then on, I always urinated standing up when taking a shower, as if to prove that girls can urinate standing up too.
I read many stories about how disadvantageous it was to be a woman that during a period of my youth, I also thought the same thing. Such as bleeding once a month which was very tiring, pregnancy caused changes in the body and weakened health, and wives had many obligations in life, like managing the house, children, domestic and foreign affairs of both parties. I once wished that I was born as a boy.
I have a younger brother. Being born only 14 months after me, my younger brother is somehow like an older brother, the one who took my place in getting married and giving birth to grandchildren for my parents while I was still adventurous when I was young. In my generation, the ideology of favoring boys over girls is still very strong. Luckily, we are loved and treated fairly by our parents. In fact, because of our personality differences, I can even create more space for myself to live and experience the way I wanted.
The more I experience, the more I feel that being a woman is a privilege, not a disadvantage. Actually, I think whatever gender we are born into will have its own interesting experiences. I think the important thing is how we receive events, whether actively or passively. I wanted my child to be born, and enjoyed the days when the little creature grew up inside me with excitement and love. My gay friend also wants to be a parent, but it's not as easy as me finding a sperm. I don't want to worry about domestic or foreign affairs, so I did not get married to avoid the headache.
People are tired of having to follow social conventions, that being a woman has to be this or that. There is a saying in our place: "Women are good at country work and responsible for housework". If they practice according to that saying and feel happy, it's good. But if they feel unhappy because they have to be recognized as good women, then aren't they making themselves miserable? There is no guarantee that what everyone does is right. And if you know that's not right, then it's okay to go against the majority.
For some reason, I feel uncomfortable every time I hear about or have to attend a women's association, such as a women's entrepreneur association, or even receive flowers on International Women's Day. That discriminatory thinking itself has created inequality.
Back to the story of female entrepreneurs at the beginning. Have you ever thought why the 4 largest entertainment companies in Korea are in the hands of men? Why are men often better at business than women? In what fields are women often successful?
I think It's better to stop thinking about gender and just focus on respecting and supporting each individual to achieve their goals.
In your opinion, what is the measure of success for each gender (in their own minds)?
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lovestrawberrys · 28 days ago
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Hello! Its 10:44 pm
Im raven and im doing a blog about my journey with anxiety and trying to step outside my comfort zone.
Today wasnt so great, but i figured it wouldnt be. Being alone all day while bleeding in between my legs and being in a lot of pain and insane mood swings isnt so amazing for my mental wellbeing.
I struggle a lot with bottling emotions and anxiety until i burst, which ive been making an active effort to fix, but recently me and my best friend went out separate ways and ive found myself reverting back into bottling my anxiety and thoughts because i now no longer have much of an outlet. This blog helps somewhat but so much of my internal dialogue is not shared.
Today was a mixture of emotions, mostly sadness and stress. Since and even somewhat before the loss of my best friend i havent really felt needed or wanted by anyone, especially as of lately. No one asks me to hang out or be around them, im always the person who’s initiating the hang outs. And when i was rejected by all my friends a couple days ago it didnt help with this mental dilemma, and today it all just really dawned on me.
Im someone who heavily believes that everything happens for a reason, and i always try to keep this in mind, but im still allowed to feel upset over these things. It hurts that i feel like no one truly wants to be around me and that every interaction is forced.
I dont want to keep my mind negative because it makes my anxiety so much worse, and im trying to have a more positive outlook on situations. But today was just really difficult.
Im trying to find more solutions to my emotion bottling issue and will probably take another trip to my therapist soon, she’s incredible and ive been going to her for a very long time. Writing that made me remember how she was the one who told me i need to be more creative because art is one of my outlets and allows me to express myself better, so maybe tomorrow ill try to do something crafty.
Thank you to those who read this, love you all 💕
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mewkley · 4 months ago
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i live 16 minutes away from you. did you know that? i don’t want you to.
it’s been over a year since the explosion went off. i’ve moved out of my house in new york. my dad has chosen to file paperwork through the court to cut off my child support, which is something i can’t imagine him doing if i still lived in new york, in the middle of nowhere. i would talk about the person i love, but i haven’t talked about myself in awhile. also, i haven’t gotten over anything in my entire life. so i want to talk about that too.
i am still waiting to see if this is where i belong. i miss home a lot. sometimes i even miss my past, even though surviving it is one of my biggest accomplishments. if somebody finds this and reads this, please don’t get mad at me. this is just how i live and how i think. i don’t stop.
so after lugging my cat with me on a plane flight, him being sedated out of his mind, i am now somewhere i haven’t fully comprehended being yet. i don’t think i expected to be here this long, which i’ve been saying since i was about 14 (in my melodramatic teenage-self way) but i think i knew deep down that my body is not capable. i have already been diagnosed with terrible conditions and those papers were not anywhere close to the end of it all. the surgery my family did not understand that found the diseases my family also didn’t understand was just the beginning. and i feel like nobody in my family takes the time out of their day to research it to understand what my life is like. yeah, i internally bleed onto all of my organs until they fuse together and lose their functionality, and no it’s not curable, but no big deal. and nobody in my family knows i really don’t care if i live or if i die. my parents never knew that either. and i would never tell them, because if i did, i would just be yelled at like how i was when i was 10 and didn’t understand the emotions i was feeling. this is the kind of feeling that makes me wish that james had also forced me to take drugs with all of the other things, there is no escapism. the last dose of escapism i had was half an oxy after writhing in bed in recovery from major surgery
everytime we drive by those mountains i wonder if you think about what you did to me, and i think about how scared i am of you. i lay next to somebody so warm, i lay next to my best friend every night, but i still feel so unsafe just from the thought of your existence. i feel so disgusting from the thought you may have actually become a nicer person after what you did to me.
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scentedchildnacho · 7 months ago
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My caseworker asked me what I would do for a job so I told her I'm more interested in futuristic suggestion and moving forward progressively then caring about income or materiality.....
In the past I would try to shift around to different jobs to try to hope my way out of traditionally masculine abusive systems but now I have classes that are helping me immediately appraise space and situations and if it's not going to be a feminine resolution for all people to express themselves in then I'm quick to make hygiene comments and just live and let live it but I hope mostly it just stays away from me
Its a waste of time to suffer through tip income...if the space isn't inherently compensatory then they don't really care about crime against gays
To me new clinical mediation in air quality is a lot more important so I more ask myself did this make me feel vital and uplifted without a buy it illegal
The 60s...did bring about a separation between science and religion and a lot of job space is just beliefs that pain is freeing them to emancipation and pain is finally liberating them sexually and their finally escaping the science fiction internments religion is ....and it's inherent structure and focus is to cause labor an intense unremitting pain and that replaces a spiritual resolution
I can't breathe is really important to me....
They really hated and killed gays and that structure still clings and clings and clings to people and there is something truly inhuman in its parasitic impossibility and I don't know what to blame yet
Alix about welfare mothers asked to prostitute to afford ...is to stop violence towards them by recognizing that their trained to victimize....
So asking a street prostitute to job and it now has even another platform to jail guard a people into submissive meaninglessness
Jobs is arrogant compared to public interventions that seek to directly confront and intervene in the anti social behaviour patterns that are inherently suicidal tendencies in victimizing others
She asked me if I wanted to see a doctor about my mentality so I told her you will have to maybe call homeland security about fentanyl related drug trafficking because my doctors leave me here as a force to use drugs to finally not be trapped around anti social people
It wants to really bleed me a lot and the United Nations finds all aspects of attempting to force disabilities to use drugs wrong....the haradas....Asians can't go and something is wrong with you
They try to justify other drug regimines that aren't fentanyl but the basis of pharmacology is genetically if the drug harms you there is just something wrong with your genetics.....
I told her I do really want to improve mentally and agricultural science has just so way far surpassed any attempt at the nuclear strong hold
And I do truly want to improve my coping patterns Eleanor Roosevelt was truly the best if she would finally arrive for soldiers.....and I do want to leave here with a positive mind frame about everyone no matter their condition I truly think I believe that you can use really anyone for the highest spiritual calling
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torschlusspanikattack · 1 year ago
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not entirely sold on romantic relationships but it does seem like there are various categories of experience that are mostly tied to them by basically all mainstream culture, such that you can’t really get the same breadth and depth of experiences without them and there aren’t really experiences or a depth of experience only accessible via ignoring this facet of culture that would make it a worthwhile tradeoff.
like it seems that if you’re socially competent (already its own benefit), it doesn’t really cost you much to increase your range of experiences in such a way
i suppose this is just the comfort versus variety tradeoff (of which comfort has often left me uncomfortable)
like if their whole life someone refused to move from where they were born, refused to eat anything besides the inoffensive food they ate as a child, refused to go outside, refused to do anything other than play their lifetime online video game (lol, wow, etc), even if they liked those things/this made them legitimately happy, i would find something deeply and viscerally impoverished about it all
(I think the examples that come to mind are evidence of perhaps the source of this feeling—more traditional expressions of this tendency (most commonly manifest in the elderly) engender distinct, if not necessarily positive, reaction)
I think it maybe strikes me as a glorification of the path of least resistance and often not just any path of least resistance, but a kinda of artificial path deliberately engineered to be as frictionless as possible
i’m sure i could think of counterexamples, but often it seems like those who justify a particular tendency based on personal comfort are not necessarily capable of the alternative—now, in some sense this is to be expected, since without wanting to try the alternative, you wouldn’t expect any practice or competence, but this doesn’t shake the impression that the elevation of personal comfort is not, a cope
this perspective definitely invites defensiveness and hostility—i’ve reacted against ideas very similar to what i’m expressing here—very delegitimising to be written off as coping
On this viewpoint, the usual division between opinions i have about myself and about others is even weaker—unclear how much my own views (though undoubtedly socially imposed in a much stronger than the usual sense) on myself are bleeding over into views on others or views on others bleeds over to views on myself—
And valuing variety or something further is probably necessary to make any of this make sense, otherwise it’s unclear what the negative is of glorification of comfort is, other than the validation of incapability, which still needs something to provide value to being capable outside of being able to achieve personal desires / problematising incapability that doesn’t rely on being unable to fulfil desires
and like many discussions, it would probably be better if people didn’t feel they needed to manage dual-purpose of defending from perceived external attacks and managing internal critiques, but don’t know if this can genuinely be considered an internal critique, especially bc loathe to rely on identity to uphold ideas
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the-city-kitty · 2 years ago
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Bit of a rant.
I’m so unbelievably annoyed at how shot my confidence in my drawing has become. Like, I don’t consider myself an “artist” in that sense, drawing is not my main mode of artistic expression however it is one that after years of avoiding and hating it I learned to really like doing and found joy and fun in doing. I like to draw. Even if the final product isn’t necessary “good,” if I like how it looks at the end then that’s enough for me and I enjoy the process of getting there. At least I did.
I honestly have no idea what happened and that’s really the annoying part is sometimes you don’t realize what it is you’re internalizing until suddenly the thing that you really liked and you still want to like makes you feel so fucking awful every time you try to do it. I used to give way less of a shit and I would just fill a page with random doodles or I would spend time on an illustration, getting as detailed as my skill level allowed but still having fun the whole time. Now every time I start a sketch I’ll put down one single line and something in me just booms WRONG! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!
And I know that to get better at art it takes practice and quite frankly I don’t practice at regular intervals cuz again, it’s not my main mode of expression, but at least for me the development of the skill is sort of secondary, cuz I don’t really start sketching with the goal to be better at the next sketch, I just want to sketch. So it’s incredibly frustrating that as soon as I put pencil to paper I get this innate sense of dread that I’m wasting time and supplies for something I’m not even that good at. It’s annoying because it was something that I struggled so hard to undo when I first got into drawing so that I could really enjoy it and it feels like somehow, without my noticing, I got back to square one again.
Part of it too is that I’ve made such big strides in getting back into writing and maintaining my motivation to write, unfortunately making that progress still hasn’t eliminated the part of me that reflexively thinks that any time spent not writing is a waste. It’s definitely a thought left ofer from the days when I was scared I would never pick up my pen again, but now that I’ve made progress it’s still stuck around, but now it’s just adapted to the new situation. And because drawing has always been a secondary hobby for me now every time I try, that thought just viciously attacks me every time. “Why would you waste time drawing when you could be working on your writing? Your writing is what you will be remembered for, that’s what’s more important.”
And quite frankly I really only started taking an interest in drawing because I wanted to draw fan art. Yes it has since expanded to wanting to draw my own OCs but fan art is where I got started and it’s what is plaguing me now. And it’s frustrating because I am a very visual thinker! I can “see” everything in my mind, and even then there’s reference images and I know intellectually that when I draw the characters I want to draw it doesn’t necessarily have to match up with the style of the show but there’s also something so intimidating about trying to figure out how to translate a character from their original art style into one that I can draw because… I don’t even know what my “art style” is. And that’s always what makes me stop and get frustrated and put my pencil down, fuck man today I got so stupidly close to having a small breakdown because I couldn’t find an eraser which meant I couldn’t fix any mistakes I made on the sketch I was trying to start. So I just… quit. And I’m getting so tired of wanting to draw and just quitting, cuz like I said, I see it all in my head and I think about drawing it and that thought makes me excited and happy and then as soon as I start trying to do it all that happiness just bleeds right back out of me.
It’s like there’s this disconnect between my brain and my hands and no matter what I do, switching from drawing on paper to digital drawing, trying to make the perfect setting (clean desk), or allotting myself plenty of time so I don’t have to worry about anything other than trying to enjoy the drawing process, I just… can’t anymore. And it makes me very very sad.
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askalejandro · 2 years ago
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❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
Hey! I just found my book! I need to place it in a better spot. A bit happened -
Peanut kinda…disappeared somewhere. I'm not sure where though. From what I was told, Dr. Fritz took them
What else happened?
I'm finished with school!! I'm able to do on field work! Right now I'm still and intern and learning medical practices from Dr. Thomas
Recently I've mastered stitching!! I even got to stitch Michael!!
Now I'm learning about a UVI? IV?...I don't remember totally… an instrument that gives the human body fluids and blood! I'm learning to set up that
Speaking a little about Michael! I got to see him yesterday!! Turns out he's somehow physical!!
I can touch him, and he bleeds!! I'm sure he'll get used to it!!
Ya know…maybe I do like him. Yesterday he…
Goodness I'm suddenly hot thinking about it!! I didn't mind it either, I liked it!! I'm a little worried though
If…dad find out…will…Michael turns out like Chloe?
I still feel guilty.
I'm sure she would want me to be happy and move on…but if I have to do that again…I don't think I'll…
I want Dr. Newman to at least…see him again. I owe it to him…for at least, caring a little about me. 
More than he could. He called me useful when I asked him if I was a doormat. He told me not to go to those mass tests…I think that's his way of saying he doesn't want me getting hurt. 
I don't know if I'll listen though…I always feel guilty watching those subjects walk in there, oblivious as to what is going to happen.
As a doctor…as one of the people who subjects seem to despise because they were kidnapped to these facilities…I can't help but feel as if I'm contributing to their suffering…
This is why I feel as if attending…and at least helping one subject not be harmed is worth it…
But one time a subject had told me…that it hurts more to watch me in pain. 
I didn't understand. It wasn't like he was physically hurt…and most don't care about how I feel…I don't know what I'd done to make them feel that way…
Which is why I asked Dr. Newman if…I was really helping. 
Of course, he said I shouldn't be helping them and they were supposed to get hurt, and that I should leave this profession if I wanted to help them…
I was too far in any way, it was just something to accept. 
…I'd told Dr. Newman about Michael. How he looks like Newman, but just younger!! He seemed a little concerned, and also…curious?
He asked if I had a picture of him. I didn't until recently!! When I get the chance, I'll show him Michael!! So he knows I'm not lying!
I want both of them to be happy…
I want the ones I care for not to worry…
Because if I have to hurt them because…dad wants me to…I'll probably…hurt myself before I hurt them…
And I'll make sure that he can't…bring me back from the dead.
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stranger-rants · 3 years ago
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Post-Star Court Billy & Temperature
Note: These are headcanons / what-ifs based on Billy surviving
I’ve thought a lot about how a disabled Billy would handle temperature, and I think I have pieced together my thoughts into one coherent picture of what this looks like for Billy. I do think there is some validity in Billy having PTSD regarding hot or cold temperatures, but I think either extreme could be a trigger. Cold, obviously due to the Mindflayer’s need for it. Heat, due to both the sauna situation and the injuries / pain resulting from the heat.
Cold seems like it would be more of a trigger for the hypervigilence aspect of PTSD and heat seems like it would be more of a trigger for the physical manifestations of PTSD. When he wants to cool down or he feels relieved by the cold, he’s also got those thoughts in the back of his mind as to whether or not the Mindflayer is still present in him. When he feels too hot, he might remember feeling like he was being drowned in sweat, feverish with burning skin and he has panic attacks that cause him to seek out relief in the cold.
Now, temperature is regulated in a feedback loop. You get too hot, you sweat to cool down. You get too cold, you shiver to warm up. What I have not seen discussed as much is the way post-traumatic injury and PTSD both can wreck your autonomic nervous system. That is that your ability to regulate body temperature in this way goes haywire. So, I think it’s entirely possible that a disabled Billy, regardless how he feels about hot or cold from a psychological perspective, would struggle with it from a physiological perspective.
For this reason, I think either extreme is going to be difficult on his body. Instead of his body reacting normally to either extreme by sweating or shivering a normal amount, he could sweat so much he gets dehydrated fast or he could get severe chills and shivers from poor circulation and/or low blood volume. He would especially struggle to regulate his body temperature immediately after injury due to blood loss, and he would likely be very cold in the hospital.
I had internal bleeding from a car accident. I was freezing in the hospital for days after surgery. When you lose a lot of blood, you can feel really cold and your heart can beat very fast with very slight movement. Like, 190bpm after sitting up fast. So, I think his body would react similarly and he would continue to struggle with autonomic dysfunction (dysautonomia) for years if not the rest of his life afterwards. Also, a lot of people with PTSD just… do not have a healthy, functioning autonomic nervous system to begin with.
Now that I’ve got those explanations out of the way as best I can, (I am not a medical professional. I am basing this partially on personal experience, and research I’ve had to do for myself. That is all. Obviously, what I experienced is nowhere the same level of traumatic injury but still…) I tried to think of ways in which Billy could heat up his body or cool his body in ways that weren’t a shock to his system or a trigger for his PTSD and I have a few ideas.
One, if his brain can start making positive associations between his body and temperature then maybe temperature extremes can become more manageable. Like, if he’s able to associate cold and heat with something comforting like the cool water of a swimming pool or the warmth of a hot tub that doesn’t either make him paranoid that the Mindflayer is in his body or that he’s going to burn alive then I think that might help with the PTSD aspect of it.
Two, finding ways to help regulate his body temperature that isn’t immediately triggering (e.g. not an ice bath or an enclosed sauna) will help him deal with the physiological aspects. Maybe it’s just a cooled towel on his neck or a warmed up blanket (I got a few of these while in the hospital. They were amazing.) He would need to drink less alcohol, and drink a lot more water. Like, a lot more water. It’s also just good to keep his living space at an even temperature. Not too hot, not too cold.
Three, it is imperative that other people know he needs help with this. Like, when he gets flashbacks from temperature extremes, he can be reassured that he’s safe. He can work with a therapist on techniques to ground himself. It would also help to have a safe living space where he has access to a quiet, dark space when he’s too hot or a comfortably warm space when he’s cold. Having access to a private temperature regulated pool would be nice for his PTSD and his own body temperature regulation…
…wonder who has one of those? 🤔
Anyways, those are my thoughts for the day.
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rphelperblog · 3 years ago
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City of Glass Book Quote Rp Meme
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the third book in the Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare - my favorite one- feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes.- part one
“There is no pretending, I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there is life after that, I'll love you then.”
“You said you were going for a walk!? What kind of walk takes six hours?"
“Since the first time i saw you, I've belonged to you completely.” 
“We may not be all that bright,but at least we are alive.” 
“I can’t untie myself from you, not my heart or my blood or my mind or any other part of me. And I don’t want to.”
You can’t be complete jerks to each other forever you know.”
“Knowing is better than not knowing. Every time.” 
“In the end that was the choice you made, and it doesn't matter how hard it was to make it. It matters that you did.” 
“You can only push the truth down for so long, and then it bubbles back up.” 
"I guess blessings are easier to come by than I thought. Maybe I should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after labor day.”
“Some Laws were meant to be broken.” 
“So I lied to you last night. I said that I just wanted one night with you. But I want every night with you.” 
“You could say anything you wanted to someone you thought you were never going to see again.” 
“Because you told me you don't have feelings for me anymore, and you see, that's very akward, because I still have them for you. And I bet you know it.” 
“If you hurt her, she’s quite capable of killing you herself. Possibly with a variety of weapons.”
“No one could be that annoying without some kind of supernatural assistance.” 
“If I’d just listened—just taken one second to listen—it wouldn’t have happened” 
“I’ve been wandering around all night—I couldn’t sleep—and I kept finding myself walking here. To you.” 
“There are some kinds of wounds you can get, internal injuries. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you're bleeding to death slowly inside.” 
“I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t give up loving you. Not for anything. As long as I remember what it was like to love you, I will always feel like I am alive.”
“It was hidden inside another book. One your father was unlikely to ever open.Simple Recipes for Housewives. No one can say your mother didn't have a sense of humor.”
“I only count the hours that shine.” 
“People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but its the way you live your life that matters.” 
“I have a fetish for damsels in distress.”
“You never really hate anyone as much as someone you cared about once.” 
And, I would do it again. I would always ask for you.” 
“Crying wouldn't help anything now.” 
“Not at all. My services are also available to gentlemen in distress. It’s an equal opportunity fetish.” 
"Thankfully no one's home, or they would have assumed I was murdering you."
“Ah, the 'I told you so.Always a classy move.” 
“There were some feelings you never forgot.” 
“Regret is such a pointless emotion, don't you agree?” 
You don't understand what it's like to live always at war, to grow up with battle and sacrifice. I guess it's not your fault. It's just how you were brought up-” 
“You couldnt erase everything that caused you pain with recollection.Every memory was valuable; even the bad ones”
“Doing the right thing because you love someone sucks sometimes.” 
“I love you. I don’t care. I love you and I will always love you, and pretending it could be any other way is just a waste of time.” 
“So you decided to help us by killing the guy we were talking to?"
“You had to make a crazy jail friend, didn’t you? You couldn’t just count ceiling tiles or tame a pet mouse like normal prisoners do?” 
You should leave him here. I could hang hats on him and things.” 
“Did you ever think that in a past life he was an old woman with ninety cats who was always yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn? Because I do,” 
“Weakness and corruption isn’t in the world, it’s in people. And it always will be. The world just needs good people to balance it out.”
“My Romanian is pretty much limited to useful phrases like, ‘Are these snakes poisonous?’ and ‘But you look much too young to be a police officer.’” 
“It's because you're too scared to tell anyone who you really love. Love makes us liars.” 
“If I have to tie you up and sit on you until this insane whim of yours passes, you are not going."
“I've always been told my presence brightened up any room. One might think that went doubly for dank underground cell." 
"He seems to like you. I saw him going for your hand out there like a squirrel diving for a peanut.” 
“The way he looked at you. I got it then. He loved you, and it was killing him. He won't get over you,he can't.”
"No. We've been punching her in the face repeatedly. What? You don't think that will work?” 
“I know it's wrong - God, it's all kinds of wrong - but I just want to lie down with you and wake up with you, just once, just once ever in my life.” 
“It’s my cologne. Eau de Recent Injury.”
"I think he’s handling it with grace. A lot of teenage boys would sulk, or lurk around under your window with a boom box." 
“Look, did you ask me to come all the way uptown just so you could stare at me like I was something in a petri dish? Next time I'll send you a photo."
But as long as I remember what it was like to love you, I’ll always feel like I’m alive.”
"I don't return library books. I steal illegal music off the internet. I lie to my mom. I am completely ordinary." 
You should leave him here. I could hang hats on him and things.” 
“So that’s why you never told me your middle name. I figured it was something embarrassing.” 
“The Law is hard, but it is the Law.” 
Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?" 
"Do we all have to do that, too?” 
“Waiting for a special occasion to kill me? Christmas is coming.” 
“You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me."
“And I'm suppose to sit by while you date boys and fall in love with someone else, get married...? And meanwhile, I'll die a little bit more every day, watching.
"here with the vampire, I see. When things have settled a bit, we really must discuss you choice in pets.." 
“if it’s the lack of forbidden you’re worried about, you could still forbid me to do things.”
“Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt her, you’ll kill me?”
“You know: short, redheaded, bad temper.” 
“I have the benefit of experience which tells me that sulking solves nothing” 
“Look, you can date whoever you want and I will totally support you. I am all about support. Support is my middle name.”
If I feel the urge to burst into flames, I’ll let you know.”
"If it's the lack of forbidden you're worried about. You could still forbid me to do things." 
“Well, in your defense, I do move with a silent, pantherlike grace.” 
“is that why you didn’t call me? because I am an idiot.”
“So here’s where they put you. I didn’t think they even used these cells anymore.”
“I always thought that 'Good things happen to those who do the wave' No wonder I've been so confused” 
“and you’re asking me if I still want you, as if I could stop loving you. As if I would want to give up the thing that makes me stronger than anything else ever has. I never dared give much of myself to anyone before”
"Exactly. Despite my staggering good lucks, you actually don't like me that way." 
“The poor parent birds work themselves to death trying to find enough food to feed the enormous cuckoo child who has murdered their babies and taken their places." 
“You’ll look like Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu.”
“Just like an alley in New York -like every alley in the world, apparently- it smelled like cat pee.” 
“what did wards matter when you could create your own reality just by drawing it?” 
“Hail and Farewell, my brother.” 
“Hurting people he loved was almost as good as hurting himself when he was in this kind of mood.” 
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hotwings0203 · 4 years ago
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Bully!Dabi pt. 3
Tags: @shikamaruscumrag @pinkiy13l @an-ambivalent @luno614 @sukunasleftkneecap
Tw:dubcon, noncon, bullying, manipulation, Russian roulette
“Doll? Come on out and I won’t hurt you too bad.”
You wait with bated breath as he walks right past your hiding place behind some crates, blue fire licking up the sides of his body and held in the palms of his scarred hands.
He’s mad, you know he is. He’s teasing you, of course he is, why else wouldn’t he just turn on the lights and pounce?
No, this is another punishment of sorts. A punishment for escaping your previous punishment from being locked in your room.
Another lash of burning cobalt strikes against a wall about 10 feet away from you, and you curse yourself internally. If only you had just stayed in bed a couple days more, if only you hadn’t snuck out when he left, if only, if only…
“Baaaabbyyyyy”
It sounds so wrong and uncharacteristic coming out from his gravely voice.
You huddle your limbs even closer to yourself, paying no mind to the cramping in your knees from being squished for so long.
It’s been about 25 minutes or so from what you can remember. It’s hard to remember anything that happened this bland morning anyways when the climax of your life was seemingly taking place here, after you entered the wrong room.
You had honestly just wanted a peek outside of Dabi’s room and maybe a drink of water, nothing more.
Or so you tell yourself.
But can you really be blamed? Who else wouldn’t have run out the moment they got a chance after spending almost two weeks in the same shitty room, being used as fuckmeat and only given bread scraps and salty cum as meals.
It didn’t matter how close he held you at night, how his strokes seemed to brush up against all the right places, how he tried catching your eye every time he wanted to talk about anything (which you would never really indulge in, only giving him a soft grunt or a nod). He was a monster, a demon in disguise that was keeping you against your will in his clutches.
A loud crash closer than before hits your ears, and you stifle an impending whimper. You can tell he’s roamed closer than before, finding nothing from his earlier place in the front of the storage room.
“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself doll. You must be even more of a masochist than I thought since it’s like you want me to fuck you up even worse than I did before.”
His words are quiet but they do enough to cause a loud beating in your already-pacing heart, so loud in fact that you fear he can hear it racing a mile a minute.
You wonder if anyone is nearby, if they even remember you’ve been missing for a while now.
“Y/N”
“Come out, pretty girl. You know I miss you”
But you don’t miss him.
What you do miss, however, is not being chased into an empty storage room and hounded like a fucking dog. You miss joking with Twice, painting your nails with Toga, making Shigaraki chuckle.
All of a sudden, the crate next to you is covered with hellfire. The flames that are thrust from Dabi’s hands are so wild that they seat through your shirt and prick your skin.
You scream and scrabble backwards, the light of his fire illuminating his face leering up above you in the dark like a ghoul from a children’s book.
You clap your hands over your mouth, ignoring your bubbling skin as fear overrides premonition, but the damage has already been done.
It’s eerily quiet for a minute. Then, he whispers,
“Found you”
Even in the pitch black room you can practically see him lunging towards you, and you scuttle backwards on your hands and feet in terror. His hands miss your bare feet by a few inches, and he snarls before making another swipe.
“Fucking bitch, this is the thanks I get for taking care of you, bathing you, feeding and fucking you?”
You yelp as he lights up the floor on both sides of your trembling body, and you see his figure once more as the blue fire shows the sick grin twisted up on his face.
“Leave me alone,” you sob, clambering up on your feet and running backwards as he advances on you. The smoke from his quirk is filling the room, and you erupt in hoarse coughs as it’s filtered through your aching lungs.
Everything about him is toxic.
“Nah. That’s not how this works sweetheart. You see, I take care of you, and in return, you do whatever the fuck I say when I say it.”
He raises his palms to you and you flinch, covering your head and colliding with the wall behind you. You’re too scared and tired to evade him again as you feel his body cover you and brush against yours as you shake in place, your arms still above your face.
He cooes at you. “There there, my stupid little bitch. You were scared daddy was gonna hurt you, right?”
His stitched palm caresses your bitten bottom lip and trails up to your tear-stained cheek.
After a moment of you saying nothing, he slaps the side of your face, hard, and you gasp in pain. Now it wasn’t just your stomach that felt on fire.
“I asked you a question, you brain dead whore. Are you scared daddy’s gonna burn you? ‘You scared he’s gonna beat you black you blue? ‘Scared he’s gonna cut a gaping hole in your burnt tummy and fuck the gash?” He leans in and lets his raspy words settle over your ears as he tenderly brushes your hair away from it. He softly kisses the shell of you ear, and when you sob quietly he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you close, paying no heed to how you uncomfortably squirm when your raw torso burns from the contact.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to inhale too much, lest the smoke embedded all over his body gets too close for comfort in your system.
“Y-yes daddy. Please don’t hurt me, I was…a bad girl.” You cringe when the words are wobbled out, but you know it’s what he wants.
To humiliate you, to hurt you. Who was he kidding when he said he loved you?
Dabi, however, feels butterflies in his own stomach.
See, this is what you need. To answer to Daddy, to submit to him so that he can take care of you. That’s why you stayed so long in his room, right? It’s cause you knew it would make him happy if you listened to him. You let him make love to you, and treat you like his little girl because deep down, you know this is where you belong.
So why are you fighting him? You never raised a complaint for a week and a half, you only stayed quiet and kept your eyes shut when he asked if you were okay. That means you liked it, right? No real opposition, after all.
Except for now.
Dani is honestly disappointed in you right now, you were doing so well…so why’d you have to go and ruin it?
He might’ve softened from the way your body shakes and your sobs are muffled by his smoke-scorched jacket as you press against him for comfort, but the image of you turning around and running away when you saw him earlier hurts him too much.
It angers him.
Why the fuck were you so scared? Hasnt he shown you enough that he loved you? What, does he need to fucking spell it out for you?
Why were your eyes filled with such terror when he caught you? Did you turn away from him and run because you thought he was going to make you look like him, all burnt up and hideous?
Honestly, he would never, but if you’re so hellbent on making him the bad guy, then fine, he’ll play the bad guy.
Anything for his precious little girl.
And so he tightens his arms around you and chuckles cruelly when you whine at the lack of air.
“Well, you were right. I am pretty pissed, I mean I told you to come out and you didn’t listen right?”
“S-sorry,” you weakly choke out.
He laughs even more crazed now, crushing your ribs so tight he could actually hear your breath wheezing out of you, could feel your weak little punches against his back.
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. No no, I want you to beg for your fucking life now.”
Your eyes widen as his arms begin to warm up and become unbearably hot.
“Dabi, no, no please!”
You writhe in pain as he cackles above you, savoring the choked breaths that emit from your wetted lips.
As soon as you begin to see spots, he releases you, and flings you against the corner of the room.
You go flying and bang your head against the concrete wall, his voice muted and swimming around in your ears as you fight for consciousness.
He saunters towards you in all his flaming glory, hands in his pockets as if he were walking out for some fresh air. He crouches in front of you and lifts your head with the pads of his fingers.
“Awww, my poor little girl. That had to have hurt, huh? You’re bleeding,” he cooes and blows a strand of hair away from your eyes.
He’s not lying, you can feel hot blood trickle down the side of your head as your vision sways.
“Stop this,” you pant. “I get it, I’m sorry- you were right and I was wrong, I shouldn’t have ran. I’ll listen to you from now on-“
“-But you said that last time, didn’t you?” He cocks his head and with the light of his turquoise fire against the shadows of the room, he looks like a being from hell itself.
“Remember? When you sucked me off like the dirty whore you are? Remember that you stupid cunt?” His grin becomes more reminiscent of a wolf baring its fangs, and you’re rendered silent in complete terror.
He takes your silence as an encouraging factor to continue his fun.
“You ever played Russian Roulette, Y/N?”
You have enough sense to quickly shake your head, a sinking feeling in your stomach forming at his implication.
“Me neither. But I kinda wanna try it right now. So, back against the wall. Stand up straight and spread your legs.”
You look at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious Dabi.”
He raises an eyebrow and a fire grows in the palm of his hand. “Wanna find out? Oh wait, you already are- now do what I said otherwise you’ll have one less leg.”
You don’t need more motivation to act on his orders.
Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly spread your legs and place your palms flat against the wall.
“Spread ‘em more. That shouldn’t be anything new to you.”
You wince at his dig but continue to widen the stance between your legs.
He smiles at your compliance.
“Good. This should be fairly easy, I mean the room is already dark enough to count as having a blindfold. Whatever you do, just don’t move.”
You wouldn’t know it, but he’s sincerely saying it for your sake. He’s glad for the safety of the dark, because he doesn’t want you to see the way he hastily wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he prepares himself for his next move.
The room goes dark, his fire has been put out.
You inhale softly, blood pounding in your heart as your hands shake in anticipation.
Then all of a sudden, a fireball comes barreling right towards you, in between your parted legs.
You shriek and jerk, but luckily you’re saved from being singed.
“I told you not to move, babe.” He clicks his tongue and rubs his erection absentmindedly.
A second, then third bolt of fire comes at the side of your head, singing your hair and then dangerously close to your already burnt stomach.
At each one you sob and do your best not to move, not to take in Dabi’s utterly emotionless face as you wail for mercy.
The last one comes so powerful that as it strikes the wall next to you, flecks of ash sting your cheeks and lips.
Your knees are jelly, your mouth is aching from begging for your life as he wanted.
But you know he’s done when he lets out a loud yawn and groan as he stretches his arm and flexes his fingers.
“A-are we done?” You sniffle.
He says nothing at first. You just hear him ask a couple steps towards you, his boots echoing in the room. You assume he stops in front of you because you can feel his body in front of your kneeling figure.
His hand descends and feels around until he reaches the top of your head. Stroking softly, he twirls locks through his fingers and gently shushes you until your hiccups subside, and you lean your forehead against his thigh.
“‘You happy it’s done? You did so well for me, sweetheart.”
“Yes Dabi. Thank you,” you utter softly, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.
“Yeah? How thankful are you?”
You still at that.
He starts to unbuckle his belt.
You pull your head back, and he pulls his pants down.
“Dabi-“
“Shhh, don’t ruin this. Just keep your mouth shut and let your body do the talking. Show me how grateful you are that I spared your fucking life.”
The gentle way he handled you clashed with his harsh words, and you have a moment of whiplash.
He kneels down in front of you and lets his hands wander in the dark until he meets your torso.
You hiss at the sensitive flesh, but he doesn’t stop. He just moves his hand under your shirt and higher, pushing your bra up until your tits spill from the bottom of it.
He bites his lip as you whimper from his touch, his thumbs swirling around your nipples and prodding the squishy flesh.
Dabi gets more eager when you throw your head back at one particularly rough squeeze and shuffles even closer, his pants and underwear at his knees, member bouncing out in the open air.
“Take your panties off,” he rasps, furiously stroking his cock.
You surrender and slowly pull your sweats off, and then your panties as you hear him lightly panting in eagerness.
The second he hears them drop to the floor he lunges for your feet and yanks your forward, catching you in his lap as you yelp.
It’s pitch black, but he can feel you clear as day.
The tickle of your hair hanging in his face, your sweet smell clouding his rationale, the melodious sounds of fear and pleasure mixed with pain make his prick stand painfully at attention, weeping at the slit for your pussy.
He doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off in impatience, he simply barks at you to hold the hem up so he can feel your breasts bouncing against his face when he motorboats them.
You, however, shakily hold his hand at your waist when he pulls you forward until your bare hole presses against his length, coating it with light juices.
“Oh fuck, doll, your pussy’s practically begging me to fuck it. ‘You like having your life in danger? No wonder you keep fucking up,” he groans as he moved beneath you, letting his hips rock back and forth to gain friction from under you.
“Wait, go slowly-“
“No the fuck I won’t,” he interrupts. You have enough sense to bite back any retorts from the subtle growl in his words.
He lifts you up from underneath your ass, and you raise your hips in compliance as he grabs his dick, circling it around your swollen nub and then pressing it against your entrance.
You breath shakily and run your hands through his hair, not so much in a loving gesture but tightly in futile hopes to deter him in any possible way.
He takes it either way as you wanting him equally, and without further ado he slams your hips down on his whole length.
You howl in pain as he begins bouncing you, pressing down on your shoulders and forcing your poor cunt to envelope him fully at each stroke.
The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your ass clapping on his dick, the mixed fluids from both of your bodies and the harmonies of his low grunts and your high pitched whines.
You can feel his dick twitch violently inside of you as he nears his climax. He flips you over on your back and starts pounding into you, laughing cruelly in your face as you cry out from the intensity of his strokes.
“D-Dabi! Pull out, I’m not on birth control!”
“Good.”
You open your eyes to stare at him in horror, barely making out the marred features of his face.
“I’m gonna fill you up with my babies. You’re gonna be plugged with my cum from now on, ‘s the only way you’ll stop running.”
“Get the fuck off me, this isn’t funny-!”
He grabs your rising fists and pins them back against the floor, crushing your wrists in the process.
“Who said I’m laughing?” And he isn’t laughing anymore, no, on the contrary he looks the most serious that he’s ever been, and that terrifies you the most.
The upper half of his body is suspended in midair above you as his pelvis smashes against your clit in a steady rhythm.
“‘Bet you’d like that, bet you’d like having all your holes stuffed with my kids. They’re gonna grow up and know how slutty their mommy was, they’re gonna watch and learn how Daddy earned his name. You think they’ll cry when they hear you scream for me?”
You want to rip out your ears from the filth pouring from his mouth, but unfortunately your hands are trapped under his grasp.
All you can do is chant “no, no, no,” under your breath as he’s pushed over the edge.
“Or maybe I’ll tie your legs against the barstools outside and let every man out there have his way with you. You missed them, right? I’m sure they missed you too, I’m sure they missed the way you’d fuck them the second they made you laugh,” bitterness seeps into his voice as ropes of cum shoot out.
He moans loudly in your ear and collapses against your body, sweat intermingling in the cervices of your entangled limbs.
It takes around three minutes for you both to catch your breaths, and for him to shakily raise himself on his elbows to peer down into your ruddy face.
“Clean yourself up. You’re going back to my room. And this time, if you try to run we’ll repeat this entire process again, but I’ll actually let everyone have their way with you. It’ll be like an orgy version of Russian Roulette, well all place bets on whose kid it is.”
You don’t miss the rest of the League, anymore
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someh0eontheinternet · 3 years ago
Text
THE RUN-AWAY AVATAR  PT1- atla characters x avatar!!reader oneshot
*thเ᥉ เ᥉ ᥲᥒ ᥲᥙ (ᥲᥣtꫀɾᥒᥲtꫀ ᥙᥒเ᥎ꫀɾ᥉ꫀ) ᥕhꫀɾꫀ ᥲᥲ��g เ᥉ dꫀᥲd (*᥉ᥲd ƒᥲᥴꫀ*)
*ᥲᥣᥣ ᥴhᥲɾᥲᥴtꫀɾ᥉ ᥲɾꫀ ᥲgꫀd ᥙρ
*เᥒtꫀᥒtเꪮᥒᥲᥣ ᥣꪮᥕꫀɾᥴᥲ᥉ꫀ
*ƒꫀꪑᥲᥣꫀ ɾꫀᥲdꫀɾ
*𝟤.𝟩k ᥕꪮɾd᥉
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katara's pov:
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Art by: Herea Liana
it’s been six years since the world’s last airbender, and my very best friend aang lost his life, and i still think about it every day.
was there more I could have done?
if i had been stronger, would he still be alive?
am i the reason that the world lost humanities’ last hope?
an over-whelming sense of shame and guilt has engulfed me ever since aang was killed by firelord ozai in the invasion of the fire nation. now the entire world has spun into disarray, with the fire nation taking control of every nation.
if only i could find the new avatar. then we may have hope at restoring the balance of this world.
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y-n's pov
“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you pout, crossing your arms and turning away from the little boy who was yelling in your face and chucking a tantrum.
“i just saw you move that rock-” he paused, evidently struggling to find the courage to allow the words to leave his mouth, “-WITH YOUR MIND!” he shouts, gaining the attention of all the other children nearby.
this little boy had been pestering you for weeks now, seemingly convinced that you are the one and only avatar, and it would appear that he will stop at no lengths to prove to everyone in your tribe that his ridiculous theory is correct.
“ok Tasi, as much as I’d like to stay and chat with you about how I am clearly an earthbender-” you pause to sarcastically flip your pony-tail over your shoulders, your traditional water tribe inuit hairstyle on full display, “-i must excuse myself to hurry along to my healing lessons now. bye bye Tasi, stay out of trouble now.” you mockingly wave goodbye to the annoying little kid, as he pokes out his tongue a you.
once you are far enough away, you let out a long sigh, worry starting to creep in.
“what if he really does find out the truth? i would never be able to live off the shame...”
and so you continue on, marching through the heavy snow of your icy home, off to attend your healing lessons, watched mercilessly by fire nation soldiers as they rule over your lonely tribe. 
suddenly, you catch sight of someone bleeding out on the snow...
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sokka's pov:
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Art by: zarory
it was yet again, another boring day, with another boring job. today was patrol duty of the south-eastern section of the southern water tribe. i internally groan as i get dressed into my official uniform and head out the door.
ever since aang died, katara has been pestering me about how “ive changed” and saying she wants the “fun loveable sokka back”. i don’t know what she’s talking about. i haven’t “changed”, i’ve just grown up, theres a difference. i mean, i AM nearly 21 now. i am supposed to change as I get older...right?
i shake it off, and continue to make my way down the snowy pathways, boomerang firmly strapped to my back. as i am patrolling, i notice a group of water-tribe kids being a bit too loud over to my left.
“the fire nation soldiers won’t be happy about this...” i mumble to myself, as i hurry over there before the fire nation soldiers catch sight of them. even though im technically supposed to be harsh on anyone falling out of line, i could never turn my back on my own tribe. i must protect these kids from the wrath of the fire nation, for as long as possible!
as i get closer, i notice a beautiful woman who looked around my age getting yelled at by a little boy.
“i just saw you move that rock...WITH YOUR MIND!”
my icy blue eyes widen upon hearing this.
what is this kid on about??
suddenly, i feel a strong hand crash down on my shoulder, then a severe pain.
“aughh” i fall to my knees, groaning out of pain. i look up to see an angry fire nation soldier, hand out threateningly, still visibly red from the immense heat he just placed on my skin.
my hand reflexively shot up to my shoulder, covering the burn wound from the freezing winds around me. this burn was going to take a while to heal...
“what do you think you’re doing cadet? stop slacking off and start patrolling like a real soldier.” he begins to make his leave, only to look over his shoulder to shoot me a cold glare with his burning crimson eyes. “...stay in line, water-tribe scum.” he spits, before marching off, leaving me on the ground to stain the snow with my blood.
i sat there in the snow, hyperventilating for a few minutes, trying to manage the pain. my hatred for the fire nation seems to burn brighter with each passing day. i am so sick of my people being discriminated against and shoved in the dirt by those...animals...and being forced to sit idly by in silence. i feel like my whole identity has been replaced with pure rage.
maybe katara was right,
maybe i have changed...
i was snapped out of my thoughts by the snowy footsteps of the beautiful woman i saw before about to pass me. as she was approaching me, she suddenly catches sight of my injury, and i watch as all the colour immediately drains from her face. She frantically rushes to my side, incoherently yelling out over the wind.  
as i watch her figure get closer, i feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness.
why do i feel so dizzy all of a sudden?
“oh my god! what happened to you!? are you alright!?” she dives down beside me onto the snow, inspecting my wounds. through my haze, i can feel her soft touch trace over my muscular arm as she eagerly tries to get a better look at my wound. as her cold hands glide across my skin, my heart-rate quickens, and for some reason i feel...safe.   
“please! tell me who did this to you. sokka! SOKKA!” my eyelids suddenly become extremely heavy after she said that, the temptation of unconsciousness finally overpowering me. right before my vision fades to black, i manage to breathe out the words...
“h-how...do you know my name~~”
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y-n's pov:
“h-how...do you know my name~~” 
you sigh to yourself, shaking your head.
“he’s losing too much blood...this could be bad.” you mumble to yourself. you couldn’t tell whether you were shaking from the cold, or out of worry for this...stranger.
“wait...if he is a stranger, then how did i know his name!?” your eyes widen as this sudden realization hits you. you quickly push it to the back of your mind - your first priority was to get sokka inside and out of the snow. then you would be able to hopefully heal his wound with your water bending.
you try to lift his body but buckle under the weight. you groan in frustration, angry at yourself for not being able to carry him. You frantically look around, in hope of finding someone who looks like they could help you, but you were surrounded by nothing but snow.
you opt for dragging him, much to your dismay. you hoped that if you were quick enough, you could avoid the possibility of hypothermia.
you manage to drag him fairly quickly all the way to the healing temple, where you were scheduled to train today. you were much earlier than you thought you’d be though, as not a single soul had arrived yet, not even the instructor Katara was here yet.
you position ‘sokka’ on the healing table, and begin your work on him. as you were still in training as a healer, you were desperately trying to read the instruction scroll as well as bend the healing water around your patient’s wound. 
in your frantic state, upon reading this type of wound required heated water to execute correctly, you were just about ready to scream. you understood that heating up water manually would take upwards of ten minutes; time you simply did not have if you wanted to save this mysterious boy named ‘sokka’.
you took a moment to look around you, ensuring that no one was remotely anywhere near the vicinity, before you executed your plan.
you were going to fire bend the water.
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sokka's pov:
as i came to, i hear the sound of water boiling, and the pretty water-tribe girl from before standing over me.
that was when i saw it...
...the smoke coming out of her hands.
this girl was...fire bending the water!
before i could react, her hand was immediately placed over my mouth, surprisingly already back to its normal temperature, her eyes dripping in desperation.
she leans down, her face inches from mine causing my cheeks to turn red. her hair draped down, landing onto my bare chest, as i feel her warm breath on my face.
“don’t you tell a soul. this is your first and final warning sokka.” she threatens, although the intention of her words are lost by her shaky voice. she’s clearly terrified. i wasnt threatened at all.
just as i was about to bring my hand up to her cheek to wipe her tears away, i hear the angry voice of my sister coming from the doorway.
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katara's pov:
i enter the healing temple, ready to prepare for my healing lesson, when i see my brother being pinned down by some mysterious girl.
“GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” i yell, drawing my combat water, ready to attack.
i watch as the girl wastes no time whipping her head around to inspect the origin of the voice. i am greeted by the horrified expression of one of my healing students...
“y-n l-n!? what are you doing here!?” i begin to lower my guard, but only slightly.
“miss katara! what a surprise! um, i was just...” her voice trails off as she tries desperately to hide something behind her back.
my eyes narrow. “what is behind your back, y-n.” i say darkly, taking slow advances towards her shaking figure before me.
“u-uh...katara...i-i...” she seemed to be frozen solid, immobilized by fear. i often seem to have that effect on people...
with one quick movement, i stand mere inches from her face, sliding my hand behind the arch of her back to grab the object of her protection. however, as soon as my fingertips make contact with such object, i feel a sharp pain on my skin.
“fuck!” i immediately back away, inspecting my finger.
i was...burnt...
“h-how...how are you holding that” i hiss, pointing to the cup that she now holds in full view.
“i um...”
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y-n's pov:
fuck fuck fuck
they know, they know, they know
it’s all over - i’m a national disgrace
the run-away avatar...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
you slowly place the cup of boiling water down on a nearby table, defeat dripping from your every gesture. katara notices the all too familiar fiery glow of your palms and her expression becomes livid.
“you’re the...YOU’RE THE AVATAR!”
without warning, the far superior bender launches a series of ice attacks directed at your head. fear engulfs you as you hold your breath and close your eyes, waiting for impact...but it never came.
you slowly open your eyes to see sokka standing protectively in front of you, deflecting her attacks with his boomerang. upon seeing this, she immediately stops, not wanting to hit her brother.
“w-what are you doing sokka-”
“LEAVE HER ALONE KATARA!” Sokka interrupts, venom lacing his words. Katara’s prior worry for her brother is then visibly replaced with rage as sokka’s ridiculous order reaches her ears. the livid woman slowly approached her brother, bringing with her danger and one heck of a warning.
“step away from her, sokka! she is a traitor who left our people to die! she doesn’t deserve your protection!!” katara stared down her brother, making her superior combat ability known. sokka swallowed.
“you dont understand katara. y-n saved my life! a fire nation solider left me to bleed out on the snow, but y-n brought me here and healed me. if it wasn’t for her fire bending, id be a corpse in the snow right now!” 
katara seemed shocked to hear this. “you...y-you nearly died?” she appeared to have all the breath taken out of her. 
sokka only silently nodded, causing a single tear to run down katara’s cheek.
“ok well, in that case, i guess its worth hearing what she has to say.” katara said steadily, regaining her composure.
you sigh in relief, as sokka guides you over to a stool, where the three of you all sit in a circle. silence. a long eerie silence between the three of you causes the tension in the room to grow thick, making you swallow. no one really knew where to begin. the realization was finally sinking in that the avatar has returned, and the two water-tribe siblings could barely believe their eyes. katara was the first one to break the silence.
“so first tings first, wanna explain to us how you’re not a six year old?” 
“w-what!?” you squeak.
sokka gasps. “omg yeah, you’re right katara! this makes no sense”
“uhh, am i missing something??” you frown, confused.
“well, it would seem ill have to spell it out for you, miss avatar.” katara sighs. “aang died 6 years ago. so following the rule of re-birth, you should have been an infant 6 years ago. may i ask how old you are now, y-n?”
“uhh, nearly 20.”
“...how peculiar.” katara eyes you closely, deep in thought.
“yeah! that’s so totally peck-iler” sokka chirps gleefully.
“peculiar.” you slyly correct his pronunciation, flashing him one of your signiture smirks.
“glad to see you’re back to your idiot self sokka? did something change to make you more...uh how do you put it...more sokka-ry” katara shifts her eyes from you to him, much to your relief. she couldn’t help but think that his cheery demeanor was a result of meeting you.
“what do you mean, im always like this.” sokka says confused, as he tried to balance his boomerang on his nose like a baby seal.
“stop that!” katara growls, splashing water on his face, leaving his hair drenched. you began to laugh at sokka, he looked so stupid right now with his hair down and that pouty expression.
“something funny y-n? don’t forget the trouble you’re in right-now
and with that you were brought back to reality with a bang. 
“when did you first notice you could bend the other elements.” katara insisted, leaning forward in her seat, her aura causing you to flinch.
“well, i’ve always been a waterbender. but when i was 14 i had this big fight with my mum and i went outside for a jog to cool off. i ended up getting lost for the night, and found shelter in a cave overlooking the ocean. i was freezing, and then suddenly i felt my hands become increasingly hotter. i looked down and noticed they were on fire. quite the surprise, as you can imagine.” you feeblishly laughed, re-living old memories.
sokka was practically on the edge of his seat, eager to hear the rest of your story. you also took note of katara’s persona. she seemed just as intrigued as sokka, but perhaps was better at hiding it. you took this as your cue to continue. 
“once i discovered i could fire bend, i tried out the other elements as well.
the eager siblings leaned forward in their stools, eager to know if you’ve mastered all the elements yet or not.
“...child’s play”
sokka sighed in relief, but katara wasn’t as convinced.
“prove it”
“what” you asked, slightly insulted by her skepticism.
“i said...” she stood up and began advancing towards you, making you shiver. she placed her long slender fingers beneath your chin and lifted it to face her at her standing position. she leaned in close to your face, lips almost touching, as she slyly smirked, making your whole face go red.
“...prove it.” she whispered in your ear, her breath running down your neck, giving you goosebumps. 
𝙩𝙤 ����𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚𝙙...
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𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜. <𝟹 𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚝 𝟷 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 "𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗-𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛" 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. ;𝙿
𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚝 𝟸, 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢. 🌼🌹🌺🌷💕🌈🌸
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terrence-silver · 3 years ago
Note
Maybe you could write a story where Terry deliberately pushes away his beloved?
I bleed internally, and I don't know to stop it.
That's the thought restlessly rummaging inside of his head when he goes out with you and the dates spent together are pleasant. Lovely. You're lovely. The conversations thrilling. He feels good effortlessly. It all clicks somehow, like it was meant to be --- a natural sort of magnetism. He shares and he's himself and there's no judgement in the act. Terry finds himself slipping away his masks, about to hand his heart on a platter. He bleeds internally and he doesn't know how to stop it. Is there any stopping it? Controlling it? It bleeds all the more when he starts telling you all the bad things he's done and he's met with sweetness. A natural sort of empathy. Where's the judgement, Terry's mind demands, judge me! Hate me! Fear me! Dread me! Force me to conceal myself! But, you never do. It is because you love him. You love a decrepit, old, haggard snake entirely rotten from the inside and he wants to coil around himself and strangle himself on his own tail. If you wanted him out some sort of advantage, at least that would be a language and a strategic exchange he'd understand, because he's often wanted people out of a sense of advantage too --- or simply for the sport of it. Was the way of the world. Nothing was ever free. Everyone was out to get everyone, one way or another. John taught him that recently.
I bleed internally and I don't know to stop it.
So, he starts artificiating tactical discourse. Arguing you. Baring his temper like an animal bears its teeth. Deliberately misunderstanding you in the hopes of pushing your buttons, offending you inadvertently and already planning how you'd leave and yet he is forgiven. He's forgiven and you stay. Time and time and time again. Water under the bridge. Holy fuck, what will it take? You are so stubborn and devoted, he sees himself in you. Terry rams his fist into the wall in rage in front of you, hoping to scare you off, bleeding himself on the concrete of his mansion's hallway door, knowing the staff can hear his wild daily outbursts and yet you still remain with him, helping him bandage his wounds. Helping him get better. The care you provide feels like an alien tingle --- invasive yet good. So foreign. Alarming. He was supposed to shed his own weakness like a viper sheds skin, wasn't he? He's put his only friend in life behind bars with framed, trumped up charges in order to shed it and now here he was saddled with another. What will it fucking take? Should he just push you off the manor's balcony and right into the sea hoping you'd beg him to pull you back up and open your eyes to the man he really was? No, no, he couldn't do that. He'd give his right arm to pull you back up. Back to safety. You belonged to him. Maybe he should grab you by the neck and push his cock into your mouth? And yet...
Why do you keep showing him mercy?
Don't you realize there's no mercy?
He throws himself into the whereabouts of his newly minted dojos, making himself appear far busier to you than he really was. Truth of that matter was, his paid PR people were in charge of most of the marketing surrounding Cobra Kai, in its new, re-branded form and Terry always had time because he could afford the luxury of time. He was the boss. Except now, he didn't want to. He wanted to intentionally make you feel isolated and obsolete to him. You, of course, felt too guilty to question it --- why his walls were suddenly up after he's went so far to endear himself to you. Truth is, he couldn't handle being loved once he had a taste of it. He could barely handle being liked. He could always hit you with the I'm a busy man, my dear. All this money doesn't come without work. Not that you'd know. You don't work the way I work. So, you never asked out of shame and humility. Never questioned it. You felt something was off. He knew you knew. And it hurt. It hurt Terry. But, he held his first Cobra class with an unholy fire burning inside of him because every day he hoped it would be enough for you back home --- the home he moved you into because he couldn’t allow you to be away --- that you'd get irrevocably hurt and that you'd leave when the lack of his attention gets a little too much. Please leave. Please leave. I spent a lifetime without you, please leave. You being here is agony. I love you. Please leave. It was easier when I didn't fucking know you existed. I wasted my time. I wasted my life. Please leave.
I bleed internally and I don't know how to ---
-"Hope you had a good day."-
Is all Terry responds to you on the answering machine. He strikes first. Strikes hard.
He keeps it clipped, politely distant and slightly disinterested; minimalist and cordial.
Gives you enough to still keep you hooked and attached to him.
He can't be parted from you. He fears it'll break him. He fears he’ll do something.
After several missed calls, from his dojo office --- state of the art. Neon. Cool.
He's watched his own phone ring away whenever you called.
He never wanted to kill or hurt himself this badly.
Not since Vietnam.
He's done this to people before --- ghosting them, as the young would call it. Except, it never actually really bothered him whatsoever before. Their use would be up, so he'd leave them, sans explanation. His fuel acquired, in the manner of an energy vampire. Easy. He'd make up another persona for himself and start off from the beginning He’d become a new Terry. He'd become someone pristine and different for a diverse, clean milieu of individuals with fresh uses to them. His own therapist called him pathologically manipulative and two-faced and he had to agree. Man knew his shit. Now? Now he has to be entirely drunk to pull it off with you because the ache is pulsating and numbing. And the inebriation still doesn't help. If he went back to cocaine, like he did in the 80′s, it probably wouldn’t help either. Terry knows he's breaking your heart. That was the whole plan from the get-go. Yet, the sadist in him doesn't rejoice one bit. He never intended to care for you this much in the first place. He comes back home to his Malibu mansion like an estranged guest merely visiting after a week's absence and he senses your eagerness hanging in the air and it nearly finishes him on the spot. You care for him so much. He? He’d kill for you. Takes all of Terry Silver's long decades of accumulated willpower and discipline not to lunge himself into your arms and just stay there like some sort of dependable, sappy, weakling, controlled piece of ---
-"You've been a bit more distant than usual. Is everything alright? I’m worried."-
You ask, worried, tip toeing around the facts.
I bleed internally and I ---
-"Alright? I've never been better. What are you worried about?"-
He deflects with a rehearsed grin, refusing to communicate. He lies.
Terry's actually felt awful for months now.
He was so happy he didn't know what to do with it; an itch he couldn’t scratch.
The contradictive, contrived bullshit of that.
-"Are you sure?"- You try again. The attempts kill him. Please stop.
Get offended and leave.
-"Positive."- He gives you his biggest corporate smile.
Cold, aloof, it never reaches his eyes, he knows. He never feels it.
-"Terry, I don't think that's true, you know?"-
-"True? I don't know what you're talking about."- I love you, his mind whispers.
You’re my whole world. How did that happen?
Instead, he shoots back with an added spice of cynicism and deflection, talking to you in circles at the dinner table as his server places down the entree and promptly leaves in silence, after his week long absence. In the world of his past therapists, it was called gaslighting, but Terry preferred to poetically call it the Fog of War. Confusing someone's senses and making them doubt the landscape of their own perceptions, and you, poor love, were lost indeed, because he's made sure you felt lost. I miss you, your text messages said --- he never said I miss you back no matter how he yearned to. All he said was something unrelated to swerve saying I miss you even when I'm inside of you. Even when I breathe in your breath instead of air. Even when I'm tangled into you, I miss you and that's some bullshit. What did you do to me? What? What!? What!? I wanna hurt you so bad for this. I wanna avenge myself. That night, he goes from sleeping next to you with his back turned to sleeping in an entirely separate bedroom, on the other end of his estate. He doesn't get a minute of sleep as the insomnia takes hold. He desires to be beside you, under the same sheets. He can't, though. He shouldn’t. Terry just stares up at the dark ceiling. His heart could burst from love and yet he contains it. He knows you'll get inevitably hurt any day now and that you'll pack up and go. He'll burn down The Valley once you do even though he very much arranged this. I bleed internally...
He loves you a little too much and it is driving him mad.
He bleeds internally and he wants to bleed out.
Hoping everything he feels for you will seep out along with it and free him.
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paper-n-ashes · 4 years ago
Text
sparks and embers - chapter 1
Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character
Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron
Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.
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Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.
If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.
Chapter 1 - Crash Landing
Words: 3.4k
Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures 
Read on AO3
~
I felt it before I heard it.
A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.
Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.
I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.
Something had crashed outside.
Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.
There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.
Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.
That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.
This is your cue Alexys.
I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.
At least he’s breathing.
“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”
There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.
Not great, but it was enough for now.
I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.
Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.
Kriff, this is not ideal.
I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.
He was certainly going to need them.
Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited. 
Suddenly, the noise stopped.
My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”
There was no response.
I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”
Still nothing.
Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.
In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.
How the hell am I going to do this?
With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.
Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.
Oh no no no.
With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.
Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.
As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.
Collapsed lung.
Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.
I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.
One crisis averted.
But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.
I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.
After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.
Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.
His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.
I need to get some blood into him before moving this.
I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.
If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.
Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.
Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.
I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.
With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.
Finally.
My relief was short lived.
It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.
Oh maker no.
Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.  
You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.
The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.
He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.
It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.
Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.
Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.
But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.
In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.
Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.
Hurry, he’s dying.
I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.
Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.
You’re taking too long.
The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.
Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.
I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.
My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.
You did it.
The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.
A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.
Then, there was only darkness.
~
Next Chapter
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