#cw anger issues

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity Unnamed Sequel: Chapter 2

1446 words

CW: dead body, like a real nasty dead body, dissociation, memory loss, amnesia, anger issues, past TBI

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~~~

Enjolras decided, since Leannan was catatonic, that she need to investigate the body. Some sick, sorrowful part of her needed to know how Phineas had died, and Leannan wasn’t about to tell her. She took one last breath of fresh air before ducking back into the shack.

She avoided the body at first, opening a cabinet on the far wall. There were a couple small sacks of oats, but little else. She grabbed a handful out of one sack, letting it run through her fingers. It didn’t look contaminated, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t – Leannan’s Iowan immune system could handle a lot more than Phineas’ could have.

She cupped a hand under the tap of their water barrel, and dribbled some out into her palm. It looked clear. She couldn’t smell it, though, not with the overpowering stench of the corpse filling the room.

She tipped out the water and wiped her hand dry on her pant leg. Finally, reluctantly, she approached the corpse.

The bloat and maggots told her it had been around a week since Phineas had died. She couldn’t imagine what Leannan had gone through, how thoroughly he must have been in denial, to live next to a corpse that whole time.

She carefully pinched the blanket covering the majority of Phineas’ body and pulled it back. She immediately spotted what she was looking for.

Cloth bound their chest flat, as usual, but more strips were wrapped around their waist, strained dark with old, dried blood. Phineas had died of an injury – a slash or stab to the gut.

Enjolras threw the blanket beck over the body before she could digest any more details – the flies, the maggots, the no, don’t look – and covered Phineas’ mutilated face with it as well. Then she turned, and fled, stumbling out the door and gulping down fresh air, tears stinging her eyes.

If Leannan had been able to bandage up the injury while Phineas was still bleeding, still alive, that meant Phineas hadn’t died immediately. They had died slowly. The thought, the sight, the smell, it all made her nauseous.

Phineas was still a part of her, as horrible as they were. Rapist, arsonist, murderer, yes. Her little sibling? Also yes.

Her eyes settled on Leannan where he sat on the ground, and she quickly brushed away her tears. She couldn’t spare the time to mourn right now. She needed to get Leannan home, before anything else went wrong.

“Leannan?” She touched his shoulder. He was still… gone, his empty gaze resting on the ground. She scooped her hands under his arms and lifted him to his feet, then led him by the arm over to the pickup truck. This, finally, seemed to rouse him.

“Are we leaving?” he asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras said.

“Is Phineas coming with us?”

Enjolras’ heart sank. Something was really, really wrong with Leannan.

“Uh… Yeah. They’re riding in the back. Can you get in?” She opened the passenger door for him.

“Mhm.” He climbed into the cab, and Enjolras shut the door. Then she looked back at the shack.

A part of her wanted to do something – to bury Phineas, maybe. But the ground was dry and hard-packed, and full of rocks, and she didn’t have a shovel anyway. It didn’t feel right to just leave them there, to be scavenged by animals, but there was nothing she could do.

Then she remembered the gun.

She steeled herself, and went back into the shack and looked around. It wasn’t immediately visible, but there were only so many places it could hide. She found it soon enough, tucked behind the cabinet: the Barrett M95 sniper rifle. She slung it over her shoulder, not bothering to search for the ammo. She just wanted to have it, not to shoot it.

It was Mom’s. She couldn’t leave it there.

She stashed it in the bed of the pickup, and glanced back at the shack one last time.

She wished she could make it right. But things had gone wrong a long, long time ago.

~~~

Leannan slept as they drove, leaning his head against the window again. Enjolras couldn’t help but glance at him constantly, trying to take in every detail while still watching the road.

He still wore the clothes he had taken with him when he left Goat Island. They were weathered and dirty now, and too big on him. The scar on his left temple looked like a gnarled lightning strike or tree branch growing out of his hairline. The soles of his boots were peeling away from the uppers. He was tanned and freckled, and his hair was sun-bleached even paler than it had been when they first met. There was dirt under his fingernails, and crusted into the lines of his face.

They had been driving for about two hours when Leannan awake with a small yelp, and started looking around frantically.

“Hej, what…?” Enjolras started.

“Where’s Phineas?” Leannan demanded.

Enjolras couldn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the road, her jaw clenched.

“Where’s Phineas?!” shouted Leannan.

“They died, Leannan,” Enjolras said quietly.

“No! No, you left them behind! You left them behind on purpose!” Leannan was working himself up into a frenzy, “You promised! You promised they could come with us! You lied to me!”

“Phineas is dead.”

“Fuck you!” Leannan shrieked, with a level of vitriol Enjolras had never heard from him before, “Fuck you! I hate you!”

Without warning, Leannan grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it to the side. Enjolras slammed on the brakes to keep them from careening off the road. While she was occupied getting the car back under control, Leannan flung his door open and jumped out of the slow-moving vehicle.

“Leannan!” Enjolras shouted. She finally got the car to stop and threw it into park, then jumped out to follow him. He was running back down the road towards where they came.

“Leannan!” She caught up with him easily, between her taller height, better nutrition, and better shoes, and grabbed his arm. “Leannan, stop!”

He swung around and punched her in the face. It was a pretty weak punch, but it surprised her nonetheless.

“I hate you!” he screamed, twisting in her grip, “You always ruin everything!”

Those were Phineas’ words. Enjolras would recognize them anywhere. She pulled Leannan close and wrapped her arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides, his back to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Leannan, but I need to take you home!” she said through gritted teeth.

Leannan screamed wordlessly in return, struggling like a wild animal.

“Don’t you want to see Shannon again?” Enjolras coaxed.

“Not… without… Phineas!” Leannan insisted in between attempts to twist himself free. Enjolras held him tighter.

“Leannan,” she felt a lump rise in her throat, “Phineas is dead!”

Leannan paused his fighting, panting hard. Enjolras could feel his thin body swell and deflate in her arms with each breath, rife with panic and anger. She felt the anger fade.

“I didn’t mean to,” Leannan whimpered.

Enjolras carefully loosened her grip.

“Didn’t mean to what?” she asked softly, already anticipating the answer.

“I just get really angry, sometimes, now, and I don’t know why, and Phineas was being a real jerk, and I just wanted them to stop…” Leannan’s words dissolved into soft, hiccuping cries.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” Leannan wailed, “It’s always my fault!”

Enjolras released him fully, turning him around to face her.

“When did you start getting angry?” she asked.

“When I got hit… in the head,” Leannan gulped, his hand going to the scar on his temple, “Phineas says it made me stupid and weird.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” Leannan shook his head miserably, “Phineas says it was an accident.”

Enjolras tallied up the symptoms. Memory loss. Mood swings. Disorientation. A bad enough head injury, combined with some psychological trauma, would certainly explain everything.

“Leannan, I promise it’s not your fault.”

Leannan frowned up at her.

“You also promised you’d take Phineas with us!”

Enjolras sighed.

“I would have, I really would, if Phineas had been alive. But they’re not, they’re dead, they couldn’t come with.”

Leannan’s red-rimmed eyes drifted to stare past her. For a moment Enjolras was afraid that had dissociated again at the mention of Phineas’ death, but then he spoke.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered.

“Come home with me,” Enjolras offered, “We’ll take care of you.”

He slowly shifted forward and, to her surprise, leaned against her, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“You’ll take care of me?” he murmured, muffled by her shirt.

“Yeah,” she patted his back, “We will.”

~~~

Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

I had a moment where I let out my anger. Is that bad? Or is it a way to relive myself of stress?

It depends on what you said/did

Always ask yourself (in most any context really, not just with anger stuff)

"Will it hurt somebody or myself?"

I personally struggle with anger too, and unregulated emotions in general. However, I take medication for it and I've been doing general group therapy. But, that's not a cure-all, obviously

When there are times I feel like I might snap and hurt somebody's feelings, or harm myself physically, I do these instead:

(keep in mind, these are what work for me personally! Not everyone is the same, but I thought I might share some advice)

• If you don't want to risk accidentally posting a personal and very angry vent, go into a word document (or even a physical notebook if you want!), and write down what you want to say. Just go ham and let out all of your frustrations. Leave for a while, come back to read it, then delete it/shred it if you want

• if you'd prefer to simulate like you're actually going to post it for others to see, click "create a post", make sure that it'll save to your drafts and not actually post (I think you can post things privately too, but I don't trust that eheh), write out everything that's making you upset and everything you want to say, save it to your drafts and read it a few times, then delete it

• Draw/write something cartoonishly violent. Weirdly enough, drawing Vanilla cartoonishly beating up throw away bad guy OCs actually soothes my anger the most. It feels like I took a hot bath and I'm relaxed! (Plus nobody will see the drawings because they're in a vent folder)

• You could also take a hot bath or a freezing cold shower. The hot/cold temperature stimulates your vagus nerve and reduces anger and stress quite a bit. I usually just take a quick freezing shower and let it hit my chest and back, but when I'm feeling lazy, I'll take a hot bath and soak

• Do squats or lift weights. I personally hate lifting weights, but when I'm angry, I'll do weighted squats until I'm exhausted.

A lot of people know me as a pretty lighthearted and laidback dude! But I have my internal mental health struggles as well... All of these help me regulate my emotions and make sure I don't hurt anyone's feelings or myself when I'm feeling angry.

And remember: having bad or violent or mean thoughts doesn't make you a bad person. What matters is what you do with those thoughts. Never harm another person, that includes yourself.

I struggle with distressing intrusive thoughts and violent thoughts, but that doesn't reflect my worth or morality. I'm not going to post the vent drawings unless they're the sadness ones and I specifically made them for posting.

Drawing or writing in your personal folders or sketch books to vent your frustrations and feelings is healthy. It's better that you do something constructive rather than destructive. We all have our struggles, and we need a healthy outlet for our mental health issues 💪

[darksideofthemoonbot]

Khorne

Sorry Khorne fans, but for me he is last of the big four. That doesn't mean I don't like him, love all the chaos gods, but here's why. Unlike my Nurgle and Tzeentch explanations, this will be a bit heavier like my Slaanesh.

THE GOOD

Khorne is a lawnmower. There's something satisfying at times to the simplicity of, lets go with Kharneth, I like that name better. Something delightfully simple to screaming "BLOOD FOR THE BLOODGOD" and going to hit something with a sharp piece of metal. Its almost therapeutic sometimes.

Also, as he cares not from whence the blood flows, Kharneth is thus clearly the god of [menstruation joke goes here]. And yes, I am... familiar with the Leman Russ quote. Though in a way I sorta do want a Norscan slang to be "the time of the hound".

Completely unrelated, I promise, but also Valkia the Bloody. A lot of love for a queen who gets told she's been selected as a Slaanesh daemon prince for concubinisation, and answers by killing him and marching into chaos to deliver his head to Kharneth personally.

THE BAD

Khorne is a lawnmower. Much fun as it is to skull for yon skull throne, I can find Kharneth a bit one-note in that respect. Which isn't bad exactly but tends to make him better in measured doses, you know? I like variety over the long haul.

THE UGLY

Here's where it gets heavy. Like Slaanesh, I relate to Kharneth well. Unlike Slaanesh, it is not a mixed bag of good and bad. It is just bad. It is parts of me I do not like.

Among my mental/emotional concerns for which I get medication and therapy is anger. Not strong enough a word. Rage. Fury. Berserkergang perhaps.

Times where the world has become a long red tunnel with ThingsThatNeedToDie™️ at the other end. The strength is unbelievable, though I pay for it after. And I don't just mean raw physical force. The absolute purity of purpose in such a rage is the greatest clarity I have ever experienced.

And that is a bad thing.

It is like an addiction. It may well be one, but I am not a biochemist so I won't conjecture. All it causes is harm and the sublime clarity doesn't last beyond the fit of rage. I miss it. I shouldn't but I do. And I have started trying to direct it in healthier ways. Promoting justice, if there is such a thing, or perhaps more accurately fighting injustices. Turning the furnace of anger toward productive ends.

That, however, leads me to the even less useful and harder to justify emotion I relate to with Kharneth: hate. Unlike the conflagration of fury, hate is the bitter coals that endlessly hunger for spiteful destruction.

I have stared into the abyss of hate. In some areas I have fallen into it. Most notably misandristic thinking. I hated men. Another trauma response, given who has hurt me in the past. And I know that it is wrong, I have made real progress with it. Unlike anger, I do not miss it. It is seductive, offering clear and simple answers to complex issues. "X is bad" with no other qualifiers can be unbelievably tempting in some cases. Complex is troubling, while simple is easier. Hate is so much easier than understanding. But I do not miss it. The toxic fumes from those ever-smoking coals is poisonous to mind, body, spirit, and society.

It is not rage, it is contempt. It is spite and venom. A desire to see something ruined or destroyed, not out of passion, but out of bile. And my susceptibility for it is a part of myself I really do not like. But to mention my fibromyalgia again: it is easy to hate the world when the world causes you nothing but pain.

Understanding is counter to hate, maybe not perfectly but I found it helps. After I was assaulted a few years back by a hired driver, I was aware how easy it would be to fall into hate because of that. So I threw myself into learning about his religion. Harder to paint all adherents of a faith badly when I knew more about it, was my thinking. It worked. I even gained an appreciation for the art common in that belief system, that I had not known about before, and learned some interesting history. Which helped me remember: it is not all of a demographic, it may be too much of a demographic, but not all. He was just a jackass.

Sorry to end the big four on a heavy note y'all. Here's a picture of cathartic destruction.

[leadandblood]

EEEK, here it isss!!! First chapterrrr! Fresh Crozier-suffering, just for you <3

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Francis Crozier & Thomas Jopson Characters: Francis Crozier, Thomas Jopson, Alexander McDonald (1817-c.1848) Additional Tags: Alcohol Withdrawal, Withdrawal, Nausea, Vomiting, Canon Compliant, Anger, Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Whump Summary:

Crozier's terrible horrible not good very bad week? No... Two... Perhaps... Perhaps more. Crozier is having a bad withdrawl and Jopson tries to help as much as he can, along with Dr McDonald. Lots of comfort to come, though the first chapter is very much without comfort.

[voidselfshipp]

Would That I

Cw: anger issues ment, self loathing (from f/os part) description of drift being Half naked (only torso area). Food ment. Mentions of Fire. Lmk if im missing something.

Summary: jerico goes to check in on Drift and helping him through a bad day.

->Only mutual allowed to rb.

♡Lovely taglist: @tex-treasures @malewifepatrickbateman @mercuryships

-> pieces of the interview mentioned were found thru the internet, the haiku drift says was also found in the internet though im not sure to who it Belongs to. Lmk tho.

Jerico was looking for drift everywhere, they havent seen him for a couple of hours now.

Sure, they knew that their robot lover was meditating, and he was prone to do that for an extended period of time.

They looked around their garden, only finding the yeager family's house in the distance.

Jeri looks around, noticing growing vegetation, the free house cozily decorated, the flowers swaying with a soft summer breeze and five meters away the Zen garden drift had asked for when they moved in.

A sigh scaped past their lips when they noticed the black and red Mercedes Benz Parked just outside.

They pat the hood of the car and ask-- drift? You there?

--By the cherry blossom-- the car replies.

"Ah...he must be in his holoform..." jeri thought, kissing the hood of the car and entering the garden.

It was decorated with plenty of streams and bridges, different types of trees looming over them, their leaves colored in a wide array of hues.

They notice the well kept koi swimming around the stream, the ocassional frog jumping by, making Jerico squeal with delight.

Finally, at the centre lies the big cherry blossom tree, nurted by none other than Drift himself, lanterns hung from the thick branches, origami that jerico had made for him.

They remembered that their partner had said that "he keeps it around because this place is supposed to give him peace. So he saw fitting that all the things Jeri made for him were kept there".

It always made them tear up and feel moved, Drift appreciated them like none other.

And speaking of the autobot in question, there was his holoform. A japanese Man, long face and sharp cheeks, a thin pencil moustache and a goatee that covered his chin decorated the Lower part of his face.

His clothes were more casual and comfortable,all in a black and red colorscheme. a black harem pant and boots with red accents. His signature samurai esque armor missing.his upper half completely naked. Maybe because of the weather?

But what really caught the attention of Jerico was the fact that his beautiful shiny black hair was down, reaching past his shoulders by maybe three inches.

It swayed in the breeze, making deep greyish red highlights appear and dissapear.

His holoform was just as breath taking as he was in his Real form.

Theres only silence. A heavy air hung around him and Jeri remembered how... sad he looked earlier when he came by, a gaze full of badly disguised self pity and something they couldnt quite place. His blue eyes gleaming as they always did..though then they seemed less bright as he greeted them.

They didnt know what was up with him and they had to know.

Regardless, they knew better than disturb Drift when hes meditating, so jerico goes behind him, eyes settling on the big kanji tattoo that says "honor" on his back.

Carefull fingers trace the symbols, making the Man shudder. Gentle hands move the hair away to reveal the back of his neck, lips place a tender kiss on there.

They put their head ontop of his, one arm falls loosely,elbow resting on his shoulder. The other wraps around his neck and their hand rests on their other arm's wrist.

Drift smiles, not opening his eyes, one hand resting on the arm thats around his neck-- My lotus, what brings you here?-- his voice soft and calm like it always sounded, yet with a hint of sadness.

--Im looking for my lovely boyfriend, have you seen him?

--Ah,maybe-- He said following along-- mind describing him to me? Maybe I have seen him

Jeri Snickered-- ah well, hes tall, handsome, black hair tied in a half bun, he has a very nice voice...likes haikus..

--hmm...he reminds me of me-- he teased.

--But really though, are you okay? Youve been here for a while-- they say.

Drift sighs-- ah well...,my mind feels heavy

--do you want to tell me about it?

He shifted, a little bit uncomfortable-- seems like im having a bad self steem day

-- oh i see, do you want to elaborate?

-- Well...youre aware that I was an ex decepticon-- drift started-- I cant understand how I got so lucky...

Decepticons Hate humans..but the simple thought of anything happening to you is the singlemost frightfull thing that could ever happen to me

You know I was a bad Man.. and yet here you are...I feel like I dont deserve you-- he explained, voice full of sadness,hurt, self pity and...

Self loathing.

Thats what they couldnt pinpoint.

Jerico tightened his grip around him and nuzzled his scalp-- wanna know why im with you?

--Enlighten me, 我が 寸 (my sun)

--Because you changed sides, because you chose to do good after a lifetime of being evil. Thats why.

Deep down youre a good bot, and im dating you because I fell in love with who you are now. Not who you were

Drift smiles, letting out a hearty chuckle-- どうも (Thank you)

--you can Keep meditating if you like, ill go fetch something from the house, love you-- jeri kisses the top of his head and runs off, leaving a very flustered drift.

They return twenty minutes later, sitting behind him-- can I braid your hair?

--Go ahead

Drift could feel the way his lover's hands carefully braided strands of hair, how they made sure not to tug at it accidentally or disturb him much while he kept meditating.

Thats when he hears them sing-- True that I saw her hair like

The branch of a tree

Willow dancin' on air before covering me

Under garden and calicos

Over canopy dabbled long ago

True that love in withdrawal

Was the weepin' of me

That the sound of the

Saw must be known by the tree

Must be felt 'fore the fight, the call

Friendly fire, but that was long ago

"Ah, that song" drift thought " what was that name again 'Would that i'? Yes, thats it"

He remembered telling them he liked the drums at the start.

Then, the lyrics got to him and the last sentence struck a chord within drift.

"Friendly fire, but that was long ago"

He changed sides because one of his fellow Decepticon wanted to kill some autobot prisioners. Drift had opposed and was called a trator.

But the autobots had managed to take down the other decepticon. And the words one of the autobots had said stuck to him to this very day "you'd make a Fine autobot".

That was all it took. He chose to do good.

Drift could not see it, but jeri's eyes were half lidded as they braided his hair, sticking fake flowers on it for decoration.

-- So in awe there I stood as you

Licked off the grain

Though I've handled the wood

I still worship the flame

Long as amber of ember glows

All the wood that I'd loved is long ago-- they sang. When did jerico make their way to almost the end of the song? Drift couldnt tell.

The song and its meaning, He recalls that the creator of the song had said that “There’s a weirdly elaborate pun in it: ‘would that I’ is like a way of saying ‘I wish’”. So the last line is also “All the ‘would that I’ loved is long ago.” Which means he not only moved past his old relationships, but also all the things he used to wish for. All his dreams and hopes don’t matter to him so long as he has Her. He is content."

And that was what drift felt now. Content. His old self is gone, Deadlock, (his decepticon name) is gone and dead.

Drift was content, he was happy, and he'll remain to be happy so long as he had Jerico.

Jerico...they loved him in spite of his manic outbursts of anger (which only happen when he is suddenly startled, or when someone interrupted his meditation), in spite of his past.

He had "handled the wood". His old self. But still "worshipped the flame" which meant that he was still taking the time to discover who he truly is.

--All done-- jeri announced-- ill make some tea and be right back

Drift felt his partner kiss him Gently on the lips, settling something on his lap-- a mirror so you can see what I did

And then he hears footsteps that become distant over time.

He opens his eyes and looks at himself, braids decorating his hair with colorfull fake flowers. Drift loved it.

When jerico came back they were carrying a tray with a teapot and some snacks.

Both sit under the shade of the massive cherry blossom and drink their tea in silence.

That is, until drift puts his head ontop of theirs (that was resting on his shoulder) and says--Your hair smells like fire,

your skin like new grass and sun.

I rest in summer

He had always associated jerico with Summer.

Warmth, joy, days of enjoyment with loved ones or days inside the house with Icecream and good movies. And of course, the sun.

Jeri giggled and took his hand,kissing his knuckles-- love you

--Love you too

After their tea and putting everything away, both return to the garden, under the cool shade of the massive tree.

Drift caresses Jeri's biceps, gently, lovingly. Then he moves his hands across their trapezii and resting on each side of their neck, caressing their jaw with his thumbs.

Jeri lets out a short breathy chuckle, unable to look away from him-- you always treat me with such carefulness, a decepticon would never do that

He smiles and cups their cheeks, leaning in for a kiss.They gladly kiss back, hugging his waist and pulling him closer.

Both remain like that for a while, a long while, showing eachother through a kiss how much they loved the other.

As they part lips, their closed eyes Open, and both smile, kissing again and again until both are out of air.

Drift's fingers Gently interlaze with jeri's, his hand falling from their cheek down their neck and arm to their hand in the shape of ghostly gentle touches.

--Lets go cuddle-- he proposed-- inside, prefferably.

Both exit the garden and they get inside his vehicle mode, who drives to Jerico's house and as they leave the car, drift Mass displaces And both go up to the human's bedroom, holding hands.

As they lay down, the autobot pulls his partner close to him, his spark beating against the humans chest, and both barely notice at how their heartbeats seem to synchronize.

--I love you-- drift said giving jeri a quick kiss.

--I love you too-- they reply, kissing him again.

--Sweet dreams, my Lotus

--Sweet dreams, my warrior

Jeri Hides their head on the crook of their lover's neck, who hugs them protectively.

--Ill have sweet dreams as long as youre around-- drift flirted under his breath, to then smile as Jerico giggles.

He deserved to be where he was. He was going to be okay.

[arlene-needs-a-break]

im so sick of BEGGING someone to care about me. "oh but I just didn't wanna annoy you!!" how many FUCKING TIMES do I have to fucking say "but its not annoying, I need you to check on me, I will hurt myself or someone else if I am left alone" PLEASE JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO ME.

[stil-lindigo]

seeing clearer

(sequel to another comic of mine, the calamity.)

--

all my other comics

store

[thereigning-lorelai]

I think you're working for McGinnis.

[ineffabells]

hey, you know what's a fun thought?

what if one day, pre-ascension, Mobei-Jun was beating up Shang Qinghua as usual, but this time when he threw him, SQH hit his head on a jutting out piece of rock or wall in just the right place

and instead of crawling onto his knees and doing his over-the-top wailing and begging for mercy routine that MBJ had come to expect, SQH just lay still.

and a dark pool of blood, impossibly big and horrifyingly still pouring, spread from skull, on the floor aroud him, soaking through his sunny, ink-stained an-ding robes,

as Mobei watched, a cold horror settling over him. and SQH didn't get up.

[j0celynh0rr0r]

.

[hajihiko]

Violent Impulses

[prince-liest]

oh my god. your wording in one of ur latest anon answers. does…. is val the only one who does the dumping? does vox never dump val??? i always like… idk i assumed that they both broke it off in a never ending downward spiral, mutually. but oh my GOD? you’re saying val is the only one doing the breaking up? i….. this is shifting my entire perspective on vox. HOLD ON. HOLD ON. not to beat a dead dove here (that was a brilliant pun yes i’m stealing it), but……… this is sliding right into my vault where i keep my Vox and Domestic Violence Thoughts. he just seems so…. helpless. he’s helpless all the time and in complete denial about it. at first it was clear he’s pretty helpless around alastor -in both canon and your fic. alastor is stronger, and also, in the beginning had the Extreme emotional upper hand. i knew this, yet, like in canon, i assumed more or less alastor was the chink in his armor. vox DOES run the vee’s competently, he handles val, and he’s arguably the fourth most powerful sinner in hell (behind zestial, carmilla, and alastor). those 3 things are true, AND YET. let’s look behind the wizards curtain. how does vox live his Personal life. not his job or position of power. how does his close relationships define him. let’s see now. the initial intense obsession with alastor, which had ONLY left him rejected and humiliated. helpless. and now val. i Assume vox enacts some physical violence on val, too, but something in his wording in the last installment. vox made the point to compare alastors straight up murder attempts to how val acts. i do not think vox does that with val, at least not in a trivial and common manner (he has said the vee’s have all killed e/o before). and when i said “sure he can act disgruntled and upset in the moment” in another ask, i MEANT that vox could break up with val for a couple days before crawling right back like nothing happened. but NO. NOT EVEN THAT. vox endures, and he ultimately does Nothing. NOTHING. and not even that, he is subjected to val breaking it off in a cyclic manner, for superficial or nonexistent issues. and then after a week val will call and vox will come crawling back like nothing happened, and the timer for 4 months begins again. through everything, EVERYTHING, vox really just seems… passive in the grand scheme of things. it’s paradoxical, because he’s also outrageously ambitious. i think that’s one of his core character traits, a constant greed and pursuit of it. that’s unequivocally true about him. but then we look at his love life, and what do we see? he lets the two men he loves basically do whatever they want with him. and he does it because he loves them, as well as being unable to admit he’s suffering. i will say, from now on it’s clear that his relationship with alastor is veering off this direction, but i want to STRESS that it was actually ALASTOR that cemented that. vox, in a spurt of emotion, let it slip out his history of domestic violence. then, promptly brushed it off to appease alastor. he set the terms of the deal, but he did it as a silly pinky promise. he, again, never allows himself to take it SERIOUSLY. because IF HE DOES!!!! then he needs to set boundaries AND ABIDE BY THEM!!!!!!!! AND WHAT THEN. WHAT THEN. THEN THE NEXT TIME VAL OR ALASTOR CROSS A LINE, HE NEEDS TO END IT. LEAVE. DO ANYTHING. AND HE IS NEVER GONNA DO THAT!!!!!!!! and here’s the real fucking kicker…… he expects them to. to keep hurting him. that’s the root of it. it’s not a real boundary, because it’s an inevitability. valentino and alastor will always want to hurt him, so a relationship without that violence is nonexistent. (that’s what he believes btw. hopefully not the truth). and so, vox has made his choice. he’s a businessman, and he has weighed the pros and cons. the violence and crossed boundaries he faces is outweighed by his love for them, and ultimately, that means they can do whatever they want to him. he is helpless.

(this was an entire rant, dear god. and of course the disclaimer that this is all my personal delusions, and not necessarily your take on vox in your series. i swear, i never know how these asks get so long. i promise i start of with a simple idea, then it all implodes into an essay. so sorry. love you.) -🌓

I have good news and bad news for you, anon!

The bad news is that I have misled you slightly: My actual full perspective of the Valentino and Vox on-and-off dating situation is that Vox dumps Valentino when he feels a sufficiently angry flavor of upset that Valentino refuses to listen to him on some things (usually not, actually, the violence, unless Val breaks something for Vox to be angry about); and Valentino dumps Vox when he wants Vox to annoyedly pretend not to moon after him for a week. In both situations, sometimes Vox ends up giving up the ghost and functionally crawling his way back to Val, but more commonly Valentino decides that he's had enough and rather handily seduces Vox into a round of what Vox promises himself is hate sex and not makeup sex but is inevitably always very sappy makeup sex with a side of lovebombing.

This is. Arguably not that different of a flavor from what you're describing, haha, especially since a lot of Vox managing to be the one to break things off at any given point in time hinges on him being able to frame his rationale as "anger" rather than "upset," the latter of which just gets brushed under the carpet of Emotions That Are Not Taken Seriously. He can act on a great many things if he justifies them as something he is right to be objective and angry over, including outright killing Valentino at least once at some point in the past, but anything that makes him feel vulnerable or, ah, let's deliberately and pointedly use the word hysterical, is a pre-existing internal struggle that Valentino knows how to manipulate to his advantage.

The good news is that this lovely analysis inspired me to almost completely rewrite a section of the next 666 fic that I'd been dissatisfied with. I initially wrote Vox as annoyed; what he needed to be was Very Stressed And Upset in a way that distinctly refused to dare stray into anger because the fundamental concern was about what Alastor wanted - just as you described, Vox fumbling his own distress with his learned helplessness when it comes to intimate relationships. Anyway, now I'm WAY happier with it! So thank you very much for that!

[froginamoodboard]

Lex Foster rage moodboard

Requested by: me

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[an-indecisive-nerd]

People who don't hold grudges, or don't think they do, sometimes think it's easy to see what a grudge looks like. They think it's about plotting revenge, brooding in corners, and despising those who wronged you.

It's not. Not for me.

For me, it's a tally.

I like to think that I'm fairly slow to anger. I don't fly into a rage at the slightest annoyance. But when I do get angry, I get very angry.

I've never let anyone see the full extent of my rage before. No one but myself. And that's a good thing, because if anyone ever did see me truly angry, someone would get hurt.

I'm slow to anger.

I feel anger intensely.

I'm quick to suppress it.

But I hold a grudge.

Every time someone angers me, even if only slightly, I add a tally. I have little boards in my mind, one for every person, and every time they anger me, I add a tally.

Some boards are so red with tallies you can't even see the material they were made from.

And the people I love most? Well, their boards are some of the most covered.

I don't erase the tallies out of love. I don't pretend they aren't there. I can't. I can't let it go.

So instead, I draw little hearts around each tally. I paint them as character flaws, the negative qualities that I love about them.

And every time they start to anger me, and every single previous tally swirls around in my brain, I pretend that the red I'm seeing is just the colour of my sunglasses, and as soon as the sun goes behind the clouds, I can take them off.

But I can't. I have to wait till I'm alone and pry the red from my eyes. Bleed them dry.

And then I mark down a new tally.

Then I go back as if nothing happened.

And I draw a heart around it.

But how do I know if those hearts are deserved? How do I know how many tallies are too many if I can never bring myself to erase any, no matter how small?

I don't. I don't know.

That's why I let him stay and let her go.

That's why I don't talk to her anymore, but he does no wrong.

That's why there are just as many tallies on my skin as there are on his board, but not anywhere near as many hearts.

Because I can never erase those tallies.

[shiutsu]

"Your stances on humanity are sick!! You should tell a psychologist about them!!!"

-someone who disapproves being shitty towards own abusers, not defending oneself when attacked by an asshole & has "be nice & kind uwu" in their bio

Yeah sure, I'm the weird one.

[traumatizedjaguar]