#intrusive thought: what if I never write again and stop posting?

[justanamesstuff]

.

[enemywasp]

Alright so someone on tiktok sent me a link to a compiled list of arguments against proshippers and so I wanted to put a sort of brief response of my own thoughts of each point.

Long post warning!

"Proshippers are non-offending minor attracted people in a fresh paint of coat"

What a start, am I right? Okay so first off this is a huge generalisation, not every proshipper engages with or is even comfortable with anything that sexualises fictional children, or ships them with adults. And of those that do ship adult/minor ships, it doesn't always mean they're attracted to the character themselves or gains any sexual pleasure from that.

They then went on to say that although they might be non-offending, they still fantasise about and romanticise children- in the case of proshippers by creating art and stories. And I am not personally educated enough on how people's minds works to go in depth here, but I do know a lot of pedophilic thoughts can be intrusive and unwanted. And I would much rather people engage in this and deal with their thoughts through fiction where no actual children are harmed, than actually go touch a real child or engage is any form of CSEM.

“People can draw and ship whatever they want!”

Here they went on to say that surely to ship and create content you must justify these things in some capacity regardless of them being fictional. And immediately I'd argue, the justification it that they're fictional. And that sometimes you want to read about things you'd never approve of in real life, it's a natural curiosity. And again, regardless of what the dark content is I would take someone engaging in fiction over harming a real person any day.

They compared this to alt-right groups and dark humour justifying racism and transphobia, etc. And whilst I think something we should always be aware of in fiction is stereotypes and how we may be representing people. Youtube videos like this are usually a type of propaganda that AIM to change people's mindsets and turn them against groups. Whereas fiction tells a story, some may have meanings and connections to real life, be a political piece, etc. Not everything is that serious and has a clear distinction from reality.

Think for example, reading/watching about murder and gore. More on that in a second.

"Fiction doesn't affect reality!"

I'm going to be honest I rolled my eyes at this as their main example was slenderman. If you don't know about that, those girls were schizophrenic. Anything could of set off and caused delusions, it just so happened to be fiction. Those girls needed help- not to just read purer content. They also basically brought up propaganda again, which is again deliberate and designed to warp peoples perceptions. Its based of lying and spreading misinformation and passing it as facts. The only thing I strongly believe can be directly harmful is stereotypes if not handled with care. But I think that's something for anyone who writes and consumes content should be aware of regardless of their stances.

Again here they implied that all proshippers are peodophiles. And that they normalise abuse of children. I'd also like to point out that most proshippers I've interacted with online have age boundaries to avoid interacting with minors depending on how graphic or sexual their content is.

"What do you think all stories about murder should stop existing?"

Here they basically argued that killing in media isn't the same as its not romanticised or condoned. YA Novels disagree- mafia stories being the most immediate example to spring to mind. Furthermore, morally grey villains. One of my favourite films is Mr Right. It's about a hitman killing people. Anna kendrick falls in love with him and its framed as a romantic comedy. Funny how its only fanfiction that's criticised like this? I actually have more thoughts on this if anyones interested.

Again they bring up kids not knowing adults pursuing children is wrong, and I'm questioning why children this young are unsupervised on the Internet. How young were you when you were allowed to watch anything with graphic blood or violence? This content isn't made for kids! Especially not anyone so young they can't seperate fiction from reality as most sites have a specific age you have to be to join. And I'm sorry to say it, but on websites and social media where adults can interact with kids, anything can be used to groom kids. (The real thing you should be mad about here is how there's no websites aimed just for children and safe spaces on the Internet anymore cause it can't be monetised as easily)

"Artists are allowed to draw and write about dark people"

They basically said, yes but it's not the same as promoting. Writing something under a romantic light and not saying "Don't do at home!" Isn't promoting. No ones encouraging these things in real life. Or rather, if they are its not because they're a proshipper but rather who they are as a person and their intentions.

The trans example they used is very extreme and honestly something I agree with a little more, fiction can definitely be used as an excuse to say and act out hateful and discriminatory things. Whilst I do think it's something we should discuss and unpack more, I'm not certain of my view on how I would fix this without risking silencing people talking about their experiences.

"Its not my responsibility to look after other people, just block me and the tags"

Here they threw all kinds of accusations. And says that we're making traumatised people jump through hoops to avoid getting retraumatised. I hate this argument, you know people have actual triggers they may not be able to avoid in real life? The world can't bend around you. And I am very sorry if any content online is traumatising to you, but someone could also be traumatised by a certain breed of dog and not want to see it. Should no one post dogs online ever again? A bald man reminds you of an abusive ex? Bald men get off the Internet! You see how this thing can just keep escalating? The tags and warnings are important because they're the best you can get. You can't control the world to protect everyone from everything ever. No ones forcing you to interact, and if you're on any algorithm based content that will encourage that content on your for your page more.

The only thing I think we should take from this is the reminder that warnings and tags are always important.

"You only care about censoring creativity"

Here they defend themselves that oh wouldn't you want freaks out the community! Which again immediately makes me lose respect for you, if you're just going to brand us all as freaks as an argument and generalize us.

No comment on that first line when you can easily argue antishipper do the same.

"Proshippers are not remotely innocent of targeted harrasement" Neither are antis. There's people who take things too far both sides and I'm not going to defend either for that.

"Real kids get assaulted and all you care about is censoring people online!"

Here they shout "oh I can care about both!" But what I don't think they realise is censorship can make it difficult for kids and to learn about how to speak up and to look for signs, or to speak up about their experiences. How do you plan on removing the topic from the Internet whilst also letting victims speak up? And people may want to write fiction based off their experiences. Who are you to go through it and proclaim what is too far, what romanticises it too much? More on this later.

"Antis are reducing my trauma"

They compared this to saying "date rape victims are reducing my trauma because they weren't taken advantage of in the same way as me" which is a disgusting parallel?? Date rape is still rape. Someone writing about something isn't the same as it happening. Although it can be used as harrasment, grooming, etc if directly addressed to you or being constantly sent to you, written about you. But the content existing in general? No.

"I'm coping"

Compared it to self harm, and such. Poetry and diaries are also used to write about your experiences and unpack trauma. Some of which may write it in an unrealistically positive light cause that's how they want to unpack it or explain those thoughts. And yes these things get posted online.

I can't imagine a single therapist or professional psychiatrist of any kind disapproving of creative writing because, again, it's much better than any alternatives of doing real harm to yourself or people around you. Although I do agree that if something is traumatising for you to read about and just upsets you further, be aware of your own boundaries but not everyone is the same so how are you going to police people's own thoughts and emotions.

Also I can't remember who or where as it was years ago now, but I have heard of people who actually realised they were being groomed or abused and just how bad it was through reading about it in a fanfic and seeing it in an outside perspective.

They also say to do it in private, but doesn't everyone on the Internet now have an understanding of finding a community and looking out for eachother and sharing experiences?

"There's more nuance here than just calling proshippers peodophiles"

Here they say no matter what it still comes down to whether it's ever okay to sexualise minors in certain contexts. And again, not every proshipper does this or is even comfortable with engaging in this kind of content. And further, no one is sexualising real minors in this context.

"I'm a proshipper and a minor tho!"

I'd agree minors should be wary of the spaces they're in but proship spaces aren't always necessarily sexual, graphic or 18+. Saying they're being groomed feels like you're watering down that term. I was a proshipper at age 13, I didn't interact with anyone online about it though, I didn't even know that was the term. I just came to the conclusion that it's just fiction all on my own. Minors aren't idiots.

At then end they talk about their own experience being groomed and I'm obviously not going to nitpick or criticise their experiences. I will point out that one person being bad and taking advantage of you and using content to do so doesn't mean everyone is like that. I am sorry to anyone who has been taken advantage of by someone who claims they're a proshipper though. There are people who have turned out to be horrible on both sides.

I am ill and it's late but I want to get this up sooner rather than later so please ask for clarification on anything. I'm always up for a discussion on this topic as I do believe some of these points do have merits at times and that this whole topic is not black and white

[nakimov]

Good night🩷 I didn't know you were accepting asks at the moment, since I have a bad habit of only looking at the bio and not the "about me" posts. One idea that I think would be cool to write is that Reader dies and meets Okita and the others in Valhalla (before Ragnarok starts). Maybe they were a couple before he died and Souji waited for her to arrive in the afterlife. Maybe Reader was his first love that he never confessed to and now he got the opportunity again. Whatever you find most fun. I just think the idea of ​​spending eternity with him is cute🩷

hugs from brazil🇧🇷🇧🇷🩷🩷🩷

Meeting Again in Valhalla

I had this sitting in my draft since August 23rd. So now I’ll be doing it!

Pairing: Okita Souji x fem!reader

Synopsis: You remembered how you died and it was heartbreaking. Now you had woken up to a peaceful scenery refusing to believe you’ve been reborn. No, you were in heaven. Now you really hoped was to see him again.

Warnings? hurt/comfort but mostly fluff.

WC: 1015

It was like everything went black after getting caught by the enemy and dying in front of him.

He must hate you… do you even want to see him again? The thoughts were intrusive and terrifying.

“It’s, okay Souji… you got it from here.” Moments before you were shot in the head by some officer from the Tosa clan.

You didn’t want to know his reaction and you never regretted your decisions. You died holding your beliefs to your heart— which was peace between all parties and to live without wars.

You never even got to tell him about your feelings. You rarely regretted anything, but when it came to not stressful times… there was no time for romance. You hoped he would live a long life and stay with Kondo-san.

As you stayed in Valhalla for quite some time as a soul now and wandering to new places in the heavens. You had saw some familiar faces from those who died during the Bakumatsu era. Kamo Serizawa was happy in his own new world. All you wanted was to finally settle down somewhere.

The Valhalla area for Japanese fallen warriors was huge. You casually always walked around greeting many of the warriors, heroes and citizens. Someone had called your name which made your heart stop for a minute. Huh?

“K-Kondo-san?!” You saw him wave at you. Why was he here? What happened?

“Wh-Why are you here?”

“It seems that I too, joined the heavens. Souji should be joining us soon, as well.”

“Why? What happened to him?” You were panicking but deep down, you really wanted to see him again.

“Last I saw him, he was too sick to move. He only had very little time left…” Kondo’s voice fell despondently. He was sick? You felt horrible for not being by his side.

“He never fully recovered from your death, you know…” Kondo crossed his arms as the two of you walked off in a different direction.

“I wish I could apologize for that, it wasn’t my intention… for what happened.” You were saddened but the two of you met up with Todo, Abiru, and Yamanami who were outside having a nice time eating ramen and drinking.

“Kondo-san?!” The three of them looked up and saw the two of you. Even Yamanami was shocked to see you and wondered where you’ve been. Todowas flabbergasted to see you as well but was glad to see you again.

“I see you three have stuck by one another.” Kondo was smiling knowing his Tennen rishin-ryu would stick together no matter what.

“Oh yes! We were waiting for you!” Abiru threw his arms around Kondo with tears in his eyes.

“You’re the fourth to join us and well… fifth,” Todo turned his head to you. Would you stay with them? If Souji soon joins the heavens and sees you, would he hate you? What did Kondo mean that he never got over your death?

You decided to stay with them since well… you had nowhere else to go. You only had them when you lived. You were quiet most of the time while Todo and Yamanami were talking up in Kondo’s ears.

Everyone seemed so, very happy… except for you.

-

As a few weeks slowly gone by as you waited for him to show up in heaven anxiously. You spoke to Kondo a few times about whether you should really stay with them, but he told you it was up to you, but Souji would want to at least see you once.

It turns out, that Kondo and Souji had buried your body and you dying affected Souji the most with regret.

So it was decided, you’d see him and if he doesn’t want anything to do with you… then you’d leave.

“Oh! He’s here! Okita-kun!” Yamanami shouted with excitement trailing in his voice. Huh?! Already?! Your heart rate must’ve spiked in multiple directions. You looked over to the side and saw him smiling and standing next to Kondo.

He looked… happy? Abiru had rushed over to him welcoming Souji with wide arms. As much as you wanted to jump in his arms as well, you kept your distance and felt too shy to say anything. Souji of course, noticed you right away and called your name.

You sulked down in your spot with embarrassment. You felt someone nudge you, Kondo was next to you. “W— Welcome!” You tried to say while covering your mouth.

“I can’t believe…” he was at a loss for words before wrapping his arms around your body. “I get to see you again,” he barely breathed out while squeezing you tightly like his life depended on you.

Yamanami was observing the two of you, he remembered how broken he was after you had died. Abiru didn’t know what was going on between you two considering he died before you did. Kondo, however, always knew… how much Souji loved you. He regretted never telling you sooner and you two knew each other for many years.

“Ya! I’m here as well!” You tilted your head to the side and smiled happily. He tried not to get emotional but he couldn’t help it. Even in all of the heavens, you could still shed tears.

“The others should be joining us soon,” Kondo had said hinting at Hijikata and possibly more members of the Shinsengumi.

“Oh! So that means I should stay and wait for them?” You questioned innocently.

“Why would you leave? I just got to see you again…” Souji pulled away from your side. He pouted but you had remembered Kondo’s words.

“I can stay if you want?” you offered, which Souji was flustered for a moment. He wanted that more than anything. He even wanted to die sooner so he could be with you again.

“I’d really like that,” he wanted to tell you his feelings and more. He never wanted to let you go away. You and Kondo mean too much to him.

You couldn’t wait to now spend your new life with him in peace and eternity, as for him as well.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

since seeing that pic of pedro’s arms I’ve literally been FERAL all day…. would it be possible for you to write something short about joel’s arms? 🫶🏽 (maybe like how they look when he holds you, when you guys make love, when he’s working, when you hold hands etc) is this weird or even possible idk I just love arms

hi lovely anon!! read this and immediately ran to write it, but i uhhhh missed the part where you said short and went a lil ham. hope you enjoy!

here in your arms

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, language, fluff, mentions of body insecurities, comfort, smut, lots and lots of arm touching

word count: 1.8k

It’s hot as all hell in this bedroom, but you’re choosing to ignore it this morning. You’ll gladly sweat to death, even melt into a damn puddle if it means that Joel’s very warm, very naked body stays wrapped around you. 

As long as you can relish his thigh nestled between your legs, and those thick, thick arms pillowed under your head and draped over your waist. You’d burn in hell for all you care. Careful not to wake him, you turn your head slowly to press a kiss into his bicep, and the muscle twitches against your lips. 

The sudden movement startles a soft gasp out of you and fills you with heat so much worse than the stifling humidity in the air. You go completely still, holding your breath for a few moments while you wait to see if he wakes up, but the rise and fall of his chest maintains its steady rhythm against your back. Curiously, you lean in to kiss him a second time and, shit, there it goes again. 

An intrusive thought suddenly pops into your sleep-addled brain, telling you how good it would feel to sink your teeth into the firm, velvety skin. How salty it would taste on your tongue, and how he would probably unconsciously resist you, that twitch becoming a full-blown flex. You give into it before you can stop yourself, roughly biting a bruise into his arm, sucking hard when the muscle spasms into your mouth.

And that definitely wakes him up.

“Christ—w-what the—,” he rips his arm out from under you, and you immediately mourn the loss as your head flops onto his pillow. “—what…baby, the fuck was that for?”

You turn over, looking up at him sheepishly. He looks bleary-eyed, his soft, graying curls in complete disarray, but you can't bring yourself to feel particularly bad. That was totally worth it.

He eyes you expectantly when you don’t immediately answer, still looking dazed and a little stunned after being woken up so abruptly.

“Wanna tell me what that was?” he asks again, voice slurred and thick with sleep. He's propped up on his elbow above you, bicep still in reach, so you press an apologetic kiss into his reddening skin...and your teeth marks.

"I...honestly, I got nothing," you laugh, nuzzling into the crook of his elbow, mouthing wetly around the edges of the bruise. "It was right next to my face, so I kinda just went for it."

Your tongue darts out to taste him and it's even better than you thought, heady and so distinctly Joel, so you continue your path, shifting to the side to brush your lips along his forearm. He tenses, almost imperceptibly, but you feel it keenly, the intricately corded muscles shifting under his tanned, weather-worn skin. 

"You could take it as a compliment," you continue, tilting your head to throw him a cheeky smile. He quirks an eyebrow as if to ask how waking him up at ass o'clock in the morning on his day off could be complimentary. "I'm just admiring all that work you've been putting in on those extra patrol shifts."

He looks a little dubious, and it makes your heart ache. For as long as you've known him, and even more so since you've been together, Joel's never been great with praise, especially when it comes to his body. Maybe it's the age difference or just aging, but he wouldn't allow himself to be vulnerable with you for a long time, emotionally or physically.

He'd hide himself from you, always mumbling things you hated hearing about the softness of his stomach, the lines adorning his brow, or the skin under his arms, and it would make you furious. How dare he say any of that when you love all of those bits and pieces so much?

So, you've made it your personal mission to make sure he knows exactly how sexy he is whenever you get the chance, whether he's covered in grime and viscera, or completely naked and inside you.

"Probably coulda waited until later, don't'cha think?" There's a tiny smile forming on his tired face, and it encourages you to keep going. 

"Yeah, but isn't this more convincing? You looked so good, I couldn't even help myself," you say, running your fingertips along a beautifully jagged scar that runs right through where you bit him. You squeeze his arm teasingly, and he flexes for you, on purpose this time. "So strong," you joke, your tone completely contradicting the ache worsening in your core.

He chuckles, and his whole body shakes with it, jostling the thigh still wedged between your legs. That familiar heat from earlier returns with a vengeance as it drags across where you're still slick with last night's release, and you inhale sharply, catching his attention.

"Ya like my arms that much, huh?" he mumbles, voice unexpectedly gravelly, but the way he's looking at you is so fond, full of affection and something a little more complicated.

"I really, really do," you reply softly, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist to drape his other arm over your waist. He wraps himself around you, pulling you tight against his chest, and you feel so tiny in his arms. Protected.

And he feels so powerful. You barely get the chance to nuzzle into the coarse hairs tickling your cheek before you’re flipped on top of him, knees bracketing his hips. Your hands shoot out to steady yourself and land on his shoulders, squeezing once you've settled into his lap.

His eyes meet yours, and there's that complicated look again, the one you still haven't figured out. Your mind races, searching for the answer, until his hands splay across your waist, thick-fingered and broad. 

And then he's lifting you up, just enough to line himself up with your entrance, and easing you down and up until he's fully seated inside you.

You breathe out a sigh of relief in unison, adjusting to the other as sweat drips freely down your bodies. The room is still scorching, even hotter now with the rising sun and your combined exertion. 

That beautiful flush Joel gets when you're intimate has started to spread from his cheeks down to his neck, spilling across his chest and into those perfect goddamn arms, straining with the effort of holding himself back from fucking into you like he wants to.

But you want something, too.

"Joel, can you...," you breathe out, feeling a little shy for asking but needing it badly enough to go through with it anyway. "Fuck, can you do it, please?"

He looks confused but so needy, nodding his head before he even knows what you're asking for. 

"'Course, baby, whatever you want," he grits out, grip tightening on your waist. "Jus' tell me 'n I'll do it."

"Use me. Want you to show me how strong you are—handle me," you suck your bottom lip wetly into your mouth, trailing your fingers from his shoulders downward, digging your nails into the hard planes of his deltoids. He hisses out a breath through his teeth. "Will you do that for me?"

In lieu of an answer, he lurches forward, sitting up with you in his lap to give you exactly what you asked for. And it's better than you ever could've imagined.

The solid muscle in his upper arms bulges as he drives you up and down his cock, and you wrap your hands around them greedily, feeling every expansion and contraction. Your mouth waters as you watch his thick, prominent veins strain against his skin, and you're hit with a sudden, strong urge to bite him again. 

So, you do. You bend down to suck hard at the taught skin, and his responding groan is so loud and drawn out, you feel it rumble beneath your lips.

"Shit—baby, you keep doin' that, 'm not gonna last long," he moans into your ear, still bouncing you on his cock, showing zero signs of slowing down. 

Fuck, how is he so strong? He's lifting you up and down like you're a ragdoll, shaking your entire being with the force, and you clench tighter as you hurtle closer to the edge. You separate your mouth from him to drop your head into the crook of his neck so you can watch him. Watch the raw power flowing through his body, and all those perfect parts he doesn't like about himself work you like no one ever has before.

And he's watching you, too, with so much want and desire, and, ah. That's what it is. That look—it's appreciation. He looks so grateful for you that you want to drown in it, surround yourself with it.

"Good. Hold me," you whimper, muffled as you throw your arms around his shoulders to bury your face into his skin. "Hold me close when you cum." 

He must've been right there, teetering on the cusp, because suddenly his arms snake around you, crushing you to his chest as he pistons up, cumming as deep as he can reach. They tense against you erratically, matching every pulse of his cock as he empties inside you.

He moans softly and sweetly in your ear as you cry out into his, your lower half squeezing him rhythmically as your orgasm crashes over you. You let him grind up into you through the aftershocks until you're both too exhausted to stay upright.

Tipping backward, Joel brings you back down onto the bed with him and rolls you over onto your sides. You smile up at him lazily, still happily nestled up against his chest, and he bends down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"Hell of a workout ya just put me through," he mumbles, sounding incredibly amused and thoroughly tired out. 

"Seemed like you enjoyed yourself, though," you snort, shifting just enough that his cock slips out of you, a thick glob of cum dripping onto the sheets. "I know I sure did."

"Yeah, bet ya did," he rolls his eyes, pinching your sides teasingly. "'Specially since I was doin' all the damn work."

"But you were so good at it," you can't help but wriggle your arms out from where they're wedged between your bodies to stroke his arms again. And hopefully his ego. "And you looked so good doing it."

His cheeks tinge that pretty shade of burgundy you love, and you know you hit the mark. He ducks his head down to kiss your cheek.

"Uh-huh. Next time, s'gonna be your workout," he murmurs, sighing as you start to massage his sore muscles. They twitch tiredly under your careful attention. His eyes flutter closed as the heat and exhaustion finally catch up with him, muttering sleepily, "'n I get to enjoy the view."

You lean up to kiss his lips, chaste and gentle.

"Deal."

[cuffmeinblack]

Hi~ is it okay if I request a Fluffy oneshot of Ominis gaunt x fem Hufflepuff Mc?

Like she’s generally a very soft spoken girl (tho she got sass for days) and maybe Ominis stumbles upon her while she’s singing “Secret Garden- Sleepsong” in the undercroft, because it’s a family lullaby and she’s feeling a little homesick.. (Post good ending, Sebs spending the weekend with Anne & his uncle)

He’s so entranced by her singing.. he ends up making notes on when she seems to go down there to sing, just so he can listen to her.. (also he’s a bit nervous about letting her know, that he knows she can sing. So he’s done all this in secret.)

And maybe sometime later a mean-girl group from the frog choir corners MC, talking shit about how she probably has a trashy voice or something.. Ominis ain’t having that!!

He just blurts out that ACTUALLY she has the voice of a GODDESS!! and they aren’t even worthy enough to listen to a Dogbog snor!

Maybe MC’s a little confident after his little stunt so she gets super flirty~

Seb’s gonna be so confused when he gets back to an unusually flirtatious MC constantly making moves on a VERY flustered Ominis.. 👀 but he’s happy for them at least.. and won a LOT of Galions, but that’s beside the point!

Basically all cute shit.. Ominis deserves SO much Love.. 🥺

Two little words

Ominis Gaunt x f!reader

Tags: fluff | Hufflepuff reader

1k words

A/: Hello, thank for your request 🖤 I enjoyed writing this from Ominis' point of view. Hope you enjoy.

I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow

Bless you with love for the road that you go

Ominis knew he wasn't alone as soon he stepped into the Undercroft—he immediately jumped back and pressed himself against the cold stone wall upon hearing the noise. Quite what made him hide, he wasn't sure, only that the moment he had stumbled upon seemed personal and intimate.

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune

With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

The voice could only belong to one person, the only other one who knew about the Undercroft besides himself and Sebastian. She sang with a gentle lilt, the melody was sombre and sweet and tinged with sadness. Ominis knew he should either make his presence known or leave, the longer he left it the more awkward his discovery would become, but he found himself unable to move, partially from fear but a greater desire to hear her sing more.

And may you need never to banish misfortune

May you find kindness in all that you meet

The sweet song stopped suddenly and Ominis' gut twisted uncomfortably when he realised why—she was crying. Her breath hitched and she tried to stifle the sobs, breathing deeply and sniffing through her nose. Ominis felt intensely guilty for intruding—he didn't think she would appreciate the intrusion, even though he wanted to comfort her, she had clearly come here for solitude. Regretfully, he felt his way along the wall and back out of the door.

Ominis knew she often roamed the castle or fled into the forest or Hogsmeade, she was hard to keep track of, but he started to notice a pattern to her behaviour. She would receive an owl from her parents every Monday, and that evening she would disappear, walking through the central hall and sneaking off to the Undercroft. The second time he found her, he had intended to confront her and offer his support, but once again found himself distracted and enchanted by her sweet voice. He knew she wouldn't willingly sing in front of him, and he so wanted to listen.

She sang a different song every time he visited, though it was often a sad and slow tune. Ominis thought she must miss her home terribly and wondered about her life away from Hogwarts—a shy and intensely private person, much like Ominis, she didn't often mention her personal life, preferring to devote her conversations to her studies and friends' lives. Every time he heard her sing, standing in the shadows, his heart raced and on more than one occasion he felt wet hot tears sliding down his face.

All good things must come to an end, and for Ominis that was on a Tuesday afternoon a month after he had first heard her sing. He walked across the courtyard on his way to Herbology, his wand held aloft and listening to the chatter surrounding him. His ears heard her voice, now so familiar and comforting, though it was full of hurt and anger.

"There's no need to be so horrible."

"We're just giving you some criticism, if you can't take it then you shouldn't be singing at all," a second voice rang, ugly and rough in comparison.

Ominis followed the conversation.

"Telling me I sound like a banshee isn't criticism, it's needlessly mean. I don't know what your problem is," she said, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

More voices, cruelly laughing. The second voice chimed in again.

"Just give up, you'll never make the choir with your voice."

Ominis leaned against the pillar of an archway, his hands shaking in anger.

"I happen to think she has the voice of an angel, and we can all agree I have much better taste than you," he drawled.

He heard a shuffle as the group found the source of the insult.

"Nobody asked you, Gaunt," the ugly voice said.

"I spend my life listening, and let me tell you that she would be the best thing to happen to your pathetic little choir."

The silence that greeted his retort let him knew he had won the exchange. Several huffs were expelled and he heard the sound of footsteps retreating. Her sweet voice filled his ears, asking a question he didn't want to answer.

"Thank you, Ominis. When have you ever heard me sing?"

Ominis blushed, trying to find words that wouldn't anger or embarrass her.

"I have to confess, I found myself listening as you sang in the Undercroft. I apologise for not showing myself, I should have."

"I thought you must have. Next time…tell me when you're there?" she replied.

"Next time?"

"If you want. I'll see you later, Ominis."

The response surprised him, and he spent the next few hours utterly distracted from his lessons, turning the conversation and his memories of the Undercroft over in his mind. Was it an invitation? Should he turn up next week? He wanted to more than anything, but he worried he had somehow misinterpreted her interest.

That doubt was put to rest by the time he reached the great hall that evening. He followed Sebastian to their usual seat, where she sat waiting. Some of the Slytherins despised that a Hufflepuff often sat at their house table for meals, but they didn't comment anymore lest they find themselves on the receiving end of Ominis' ruthless sharp-witted insults, or the end of Sebastian's wand.

"Hello, you two. Good afternoon?"

"Fantastic, blew myself up in Potions," Sebastian said sarcastically, "You?"

"Not bad, it got better after I saw you, Ominis."

Ominis blushed, the heat rising in his cheeks, smiling bashfully as Sebastian started choking next to him.

"I'm glad. I'm sorry they were so awful," Ominis replied, ignoring the coughing coming from his friend.

"My hero," she said in a breathy voice.

Yes, Ominis often found himself thinking about her singing but those two little words might have been the the most beautiful he had ever heard.

[shadowqueenjude]

I am writing Feytamsand, so I thought I’d post this snippet for @polyacotarweek ! This is a continuation of my AU where when Rhysand dies in ACOWAR, the High Lord magic transfers to Nesta, and Rhysand has to contend with being powerless and titleless. Thanks to @achaotichuman who helped me with ideas for this part <3 (this is for day 1)

Needless to say, Rhysand was still in shock hours later.

Hybern was split into seven pieces. Each court in Prythian would help govern a section of Hybern and ensure everything returned to normal. Rhysand’s face burned with humiliation as Nesta swept past him, majestic in a silver gown, not even a glance at him. Once the center of attention, he now garnered as many looks as a servant. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to bellow in frustration.

He had lost everything- everything- to that snake, who saw through all his bullshit somehow where even Feyre did not. Then again, Nesta and Elain were the educated ones, weren’t they? It made sense that Nesta would be the cunning one, not Feyre.

How could he endure? How could he live in the Night Court, knowing what he had lost, and to whom? Audacious, vicious Nesta, who Rhysand despised with all his heart and yet couldn’t help but dream of day in and day out. Along with a certain blonde back in Spring. He shut that out. You would think having a mate who had accepted the bond would stop these intrusive thoughts, but no. If anything, they only haunted him further.

It seemed he could never escape him. Even his mate was once his bride.

And his mate was also Nesta’s sister. God, he needed to stop thinking about her. How he wished to punish her for stealing his court. How he wished she’d destroy him instead.

God he wished his brain would shut the fuck up. “It’s not a big deal,” Feyre muttered. His mate-his fierce, beautiful mate- who knew nothing of the monster he was, who he’s somehow convinced to love him as he was, wretched and all. Because she didn’t know him. How evil he was. He’d used her like a toy, then manipulated her into believing it was for her own good. Nesta’s every glare was a reminder of how terrible he was. She made him think. She made him remember.

She drove him crazy.

Feyre, Mor, and Azriel surrounded him, assuring him they loved him no matter what, that he was their High Lord always, blah blah blah.

“Stop lying to me,” Rhysand bellowed. “You do not serve me anymore. I am nothing. You shall serve the new High Lady, should she deem it. I am powerless.”

“But you should-“ Azriel began.

Rhysand snarled at him. “You’re the one she’s least likely to keep around. You’re completely fucking useless.” Azriel rarely showed emotion, but Rhysand could’ve sworn his shadows swirled around him agitatedly. Rhysand didn’t give a shit.

He had just lost everything. He had the right to be angry. His whole life, he had been preparing for this. His whole life, he had been doing this. Maybe he wasn’t the best at his job, but it was all he knew. Now, he was useless in his own court. A waste of space.

Waste. Waste. Waste.

Rhysand shut out the voice. “Let’s see what our new ruler shall do,” he said bitterly.

Nesta walked out of the High Lord meeting some time later, looking radiant and queenly and everything Feyre never was and never would be. And Rhys felt like shit for even thinking it.

Elain and Lucien walked beside her, looking remarkably cozy despite Nesta’s vehement objections.

“Let’s go home,” Nesta said. She didn’t seem as smug as Rhysand had expected. He wished she was, so that he could sneer at her. Don’t act like you’re superior, he wanted to scream. You’re just as bad as me.

Nesta continued to ignore them, staring at Cassian instead. Rhysand tried not to be hurt at Cassian blatantly ignoring him and choosing to beam at Nesta instead. Cassian was his first. And now Nesta was taking him away from him. By the Cauldron, did he hate her.

Returning home was awkward, to say the least. Out of instinct, Rhysand walked towards the throne when Nesta gave him a look promising death, and Rhysand backed off. Right. An ordinary citizen. Rhysand burned with humiliation again. Nesta reclined onto the throne, crossing one leg over the other. She looked like she was born to sit there. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the Mother was just biding her time, letting him rule until Night’s true leader was born and ready to rule.

The thought didn’t sit well with him. Especially since Nesta was the first High Lady chosen in centuries.

“First order of business,” Nesta drawled, surveying the former Inner Circle. “Mor, pack your bags and get out of here. I have no use of you.” Mor glowered at Nesta and stomped out of the room.

“Azriel too. You’re the worst spy I’ve ever seen. Didn’t anyone tell you spies aren’t supposed to be well-known everywhere?” Azriel genuinely looked like he might cry, and Rhysand didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified that a 23 year old formerly human woman was the one reducing him to tears.

“Amren, you have no powers anymore, but because I like you, you can stick around.” Amren grinned and saluted her. “Rhysand, as much as I’d like to chuck you into the Court of Nightmares, you’re my sister’s husband, so I am offering the House of Wind to you and my sister. However, you shall have no place in my court.”

Rhysand grit his teeth. It was charity. Nesta clearly wanted to be around him as little as he wanted to be around her, yet she offered this for her sister’s sake. Might as well spare them both.

“I want nothing from you, and you want nothing from me. I think I shall save both of us some time and say that I’m determined to leave the Night Court.”

Feyre’s head whipped around to his. “Excuse me?” “You’re welcome to stay here, Feyre, if you want to dump your loser husband to whatever court he slithers off to.”

Feyre shook her head. “No…no of course I will go. I suppose he is right, we have no place here anymore.”

Nesta shook her head. “You will always have a place here, sister.”

“Wait. What about me?” Cassian asked, spreading his hands. Nesta surveyed him coolly, and Cassian audibly gulped at her unrelenting focus. “You can stay, I suppose. Make yourself useful as a bodyguard, or… what was your job?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Commander of the Illyrian army.”

“Yes yes, you can keep doing that. Now, to get a new spymaster…”

Elain delicately cleared her throat. “Yes, you’re right Elain, we’ll talk about that later.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was just…what about Lucien?”

Lucien had been standing there, uncharacteristically silent, but now everyone turned to him. “What? I know Nesta’s keeping me around,” Lucien said. “Oh?” Azriel snapped, whirling back into the room, shadows swirling like a dark tornado. “What makes you so sure?”

Lucien smirked. “I’m indispensable. No one else here has any decent connections with any of the other courts. Yet here I am, with great connections to all.”

“Yes, Azriel, I’m keeping Lucien. Now quit whining and leave quietly, please,” Nesta said tiredly. Azriel angrily wiped away a tear as he walked out.

“Come on, Feyre, let’s get out of here,” Rhysand murmured to Feyre. She nodded, and together they strode out of the courtroom, watching as the Inner Circle that had stood for centuries shattered into pieces.

“Might I ask where you intend on taking us?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips as she sent a simmering glare his way. When she did that, she looked so much like Nesta. Rhysand shut that out.

“I thought it was obvious. This is one place we are unneeded, but there’s another place where we are. Needed, that is.”

Feyre blinked. “You can’t be talking about-“

“What? His last words to you were, ‘be happy.’ I doubt he’s going to be an ass if you go over there now.”

Feyre shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re actually suggesting this.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah! Stay here!” Feyre threw up her hands. “You’re ridiculous.” She practically ran out of the room.

Rhysand slumped onto his bed. This was really happening. He knew he should just be happy he was alive, but he’d almost rather be dead. The humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the High Lords, especially Beron, was something he wouldn’t soon forget. And his life, his purpose, was gone. Reduced to little more than a commoner. He couldn’t even shapeshift his wings anymore; they were gone. Just another boring High Fae.

The tears came before he could stop them. He was glad Feyre wasn’t here to see. Glad Feyre hadn’t gone into his mind and seen how he wished he hadn’t been brought back. As much as he appreciated Feyre somehow convincing all the other High Lords to bring him back…he had been brought back to nothing.

Nesta came to wish Feyre a good journey. “You will be ok?” Feyre asked her. Nesta rolled her shoulders. Nerves. Rhysand had been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn’t even stop to think about how much pressure was on Nesta’s shoulders. “I think so. I have Lucien and Elain to help me. Will need to recruit a few others; your crew was rather incompetent. Sorry,” she added when Feyre winced. “But it’s true. Especially that Mor.” Nesta made a face of disgust. “Entitled blonde bimbo.”

When Nesta left, Feyre turned to Rhysand. “Are you ready for this?” she enquired, tilting her head curiously. “I should be asking you that question,” Rhysand muttered, shame flooding his veins. Nesta’s presence had again brought it up. Feyre snorted. “I’ve made my peace with him. You’re the one who still has a problem with him.”

A sign that in spite of Feyre’s physical transformation, she was still human. Subject to growth and change. Not like the Fae, who could hold grudges for centuries. Not at all like himself, in fact.

He could never forget Tamlin tearing his father to shreds in front of his eyes. Even if he had despised his father. Tamlin’s skin had glowed with a green aura of power, his claws so long and sharp he probably could’ve gutted Rhys with one swipe. Tamlin’s presence was so powerful that Rhysand had frozen in terror. He didn’t even notice the violet aura around himself.

“Leave,” he’d growled. His voice was lower and raspier than it had been before. “Before I kill you too.”

Rhysand had never understood how you could be so terrified yet so drawn to someone at the same time until that moment. He wanted to stare into Tamlin’s eyes forever, burning like freshly forged emeralds as they were. But Rhysand’s magic reacted where his body could not and winnowed him away from that place.

Clearly visceral magic had consequences, because Rhysand landed on the snowy, windy peak of an Illyrian mountain. He grunted as he fought against the wind resistance to pull out the clump of ice that had lodged itself into his hair. He spat out the half melted slushy water that had gone into his mouth when he fell face-flat onto the snow. Yet the cold of the physical atmosphere couldn’t compare to the cold of his heart.

Centuries onward, and Rhysand still didn’t know how to act around Tamlin. They had never gone beyond friendship; yet, Tamlin had once kissed him when he was drunk off faerie wine, which had led to a lot more. The next day, Tamlin had written it off as mild lapse of judgement. That’s what Rhys was to him; a fucking lapse of judgement.

It was why he had used Feyre under the mountain. He knew Tamlin cared for her. He wanted to piss him off, make him jealous. He wanted to remind him of what they could’ve had.

Perhaps they should stay here in Night, after all. Perhaps they-

But no. Rhysand had no use here. Nesta had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of allowing him to make any decisions in this court. And how long would it be until all the faeries who had despised him when he ruled came to kill him? He had no powers to protect himself now. Feyre was strong, but she could not hold off a riot should it come to their door.

No, they were better off in Spring. No riots coming his way there, at least.

Feyre said nothing to him as they entered Spring Court grounds. In better times, wards would keep out any High Lords from other courts from entering without express permission from the High Lord himself. But, he was no High Lord anymore, and Feyre with her magic of all seven courts, could enter any place.

Rhysand stared at the Spring Court manor, which had definitely seen better days. Sighing, he knocked on the door. A servant with bubblegum pink hair with skin resembling chlorophyll opened the door, gasping when she saw who it was.

“High Lord!” she called. “It is the High Lo-er, former High Lord of Night and the Cursebreaker.”

“Leave them to me, Amelia,” a calm voice said. The servant quickly scurried away. A huge hulking figure stood before them not a moment later.

Rhysand was accustomed to Cassian’s enormous body, so Tamlin’s size did not intimidate him…although he wished that simmering glare was aimed at someone else. “Rhysand. Feyre. What are you doing here?”

“We were kicked out of Night,” Rhysand said smoothly. Feyre sent him a look. “Ignore him, Tamlin. Actually, Rhysand decided to reject my sister’s offer of a beautiful home and go for a change in scenery.”

Tamlin snorted. “Of course he did. Ego can’t handle being bested by a human woman, Rhys?” Rhys. A nickname saved for those close to him. Rhysand ignored the pang of his heart. “I know the people will be coming after me now that I am no longer in power, plus I have no use there anymore. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Sure.” Tamlin grabbed Rhysand’s hand and dragged him inside. Feyre yelped in protest. “What are you doing, Tamlin? Leave him alone!” Tamlin ignored her, dragging him by the heels of his shoes. “TAMLIN! I SAID LET HIM GO!” Feyre’s skin lit up as she utilized Beron’s drop of fire, her eyes a stunning azure flame, and Rhysand stared at his mate in awe. “Wow,” he breathed. “No,” was Tamlin’s only response as he flung open the door to a room that showed evidence of once being an art gallery and shoved Rhysand against the walls. Rhysand reigned in his wince at the claws Tamlin pressed against his jugular.

“TAMLIN! I SAID LET. HIM. GO!” Feyre shrieked, stomping up to him. “You burn me, and he dies,” Tamlin said simply. Then he turned to Rhysand and snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here, really? Haven’t you ruined my life enough? I told Feyre to be happy, not that I want her anywhere near me. Especially not when she comes with you.”

Rhysand chuckled as well as he could while Tamlin’s claws still pressed into his throat, his other hand keeping him pinned to the wall. “This position seems awfully familiar,” Rhysand managed to sneer, in spite of the fear thrumming through his body. “It’s like nothing changed, hmm, Tamlin?”

“What do you mean, nothing has changed?” Feyre demanded. “You mean when you used to spar?”

It was Tamlin’s turn to smile. “You never told her?” Rhysand felt his skin go cold. Shit shit shit shit shit-

“Of course not. What a hit to your ego that would’ve been. That I rejected you, yet I fully intended on marrying a human girl, and humans are so far beneath you, right? Funny how you only took an interest in her after you realized I had interest in her. Jealous much, Rhysand?”

His skin burned with humiliation. “Please,” he croaked.

Tamlin’s smile turned cruel, animalistic. “Please what?” he said in a deceptively gentle voice.

“Please don’t make me go back to Night. The people despise me, they’ll kill me within the week.”

“And why not? Since I’m such a monster, and you’ve intruded on my territory, I should deal with you as a High Lord deals with all invaders.”

Those claws still brushed against his skin, threatening to torment him. Rhysand found his breaths evaded him. “Please,” he choked out.

Abruptly, those claws withdrew from him as well as the hand pinning him to the wall, and Rhysand’s knees nearly buckled. Tamlin’s grin widened. “Beg, and I’ll consider not sending you back to Night.” Oh this bastard was throwing his words right back in his face. But he had no choice. Slowly, Rhysand dropped to his knees. Utter humiliation-almost as bad as what he had suffered when Nesta had become High Lady. “Lower,” Tamlin crooned, pointing a finger at the ground. Rhysand’s mind screamed, but he bowed, his hair brushing the floor. “Lower.” Rhysand pressed his forehead to the floor, suddenly thinking death at the hands of the Night Court faeries would be better than this. At least that would be a swift end.

Perhaps Tamlin sensed the despair in his thoughts, for he pulled Rhysand up by his collar and patted his shoulder. “I would never turn away those in need of refuge,” Tamlin said somberly, and he walked away, leaving Feyre and Rhysand alone.

[crazylittlejester]

bro. i am in the same boat as you.

asfhdjkss seeing you stress and become disappointed about whumptober is making ME FEEL THE SAME......

feeling upset about your writing and all the prompts not being correctly put down into words can be very hard and complicated!! i get it!!!

it's totally normal to feel that way and i assure you, it's okay!

just know that, even if it is your own decision, you don't have to feel obligated to do all 32 days. that's a bunch of work for someone and a whole lot of planning and writing and that can effect someone's energy and mental health. i appreciate your effort in trying to do it though! but please, don't get worried about producing so many mediocre fics, at the end of the day you're still writing things and im proud!!!

i saw your post about this and immediately felt bad so i hope this can help you feel even a little better... even so, i will be looking forward to anything you end up writing! you are such a fantastic author, never forget that. <3

thanks man 🫶 /gen

i have really been struggling a lot lately with this, and it’s been very hard to not get angry with myself over it because I feel like I haven’t been able to write in months and I’ve been struggling with hating most of what I write these days and I get so incredibly anxious to post anything because I feel like my ability to write and the quality of my fics has deteriorated sooo much. I’ve had my ao3 acc since 2018 and every year I’ve kinda made a tradition almost of orphaning everything I write and starting fresh at the start of the new year because I dislike the vast majority of what I write but I realized a few months ago that I don’t think I can do that this year- this is certainly the most attention my fics have ever gotten and I think at least one person would come yell at me in my asks if i disappeared off the face of the earth never to write for LU again allddkkd

its just very hard not to feel upset about being burnt out for so many months, and it’s hard to see how engagement has been down and have to remind myself it’s not because i suck, it’s literally just because i’ve been making less content. of course engagement would be down, the main reason most people interact with me is BECAUSE I write or do analysis posts or make content, so if im not putting out as much as i used to then that tracks and makes sense, but it’s hard to stop the intrusive thoughts sometimes. It is certainly a fight to not feel useless when I can’t do the one thing I’m supposed to be doing with this blog

anyways… it makes me really happy that there are at least a few people who will read whatever i throw up onto ao3, and all of you who regularly read the things i write and send me asks n such genuinely make me so happy. all of you are awesome

and thank you for this, it was really kind and sweet of you. i hope you have a good day, remember to take care of yourself and get some water n food 🫶

*wet cough* anyway *sniffle* y’all wanna see my tav…? /j *kicks a rock*

[silcodependent]

Sway Chapter 7

Silco x Fem!Reader

4.2k words- Mature (but not explicit) 

Warnings: Light BDSM Vibes, Smoke Play, Suggestive Everything

Additional warning: I have doubted my ability to write so much lately that I was convinced that this would never see the light of day. It's mostly unedited but please know that If if had edited it would have stayed in the drafts folder for the rest of time. I want to tell this story, I know exactly where it's going and I'm excited but sometimes I wonder if I am capable of telling it well. So I'm putting this out here to keep me from waiting until it's perfect and posting nothing. I hope you like it and that there are other people who are still as obsessed with this little rat mat as I am.

Silco was bad for business. You knew this from the start but your small number of interactions relentlessly reminded you of this information. Last night was tantalizingly fun. Your dreams after caused you to uproot your whole routine and bumping into him during your practice time was now causing you to be late. The man was infuriating. Infuriating and dangerous.

He simply cannot be forgiven for the agony of inconveniences he is responsible for.

That thought was fresh on your mind when you tossed open your dressing room door to find a surprise that stopped you in your tracks; A single red rose with a black ribbon tied around it and a note.

You should be used to gifts from adoring fans but you always found surprises to be an eerie sign of something grim to come. This was no exception.

Placing your bag down on the opposite side of the counter you inspected the gift before you with learned skepticism, tentatively picking up the note and turning it over in your hand. It was addressed to you, your name scrawled beautifully in ink from a fountain over heavy weighted stationary. Expensive. 

You had been here before. It was enough to make you want to drop the note there with no regard to whatever message lay inside and pack your things as fast as you could.

But you weren’t running. You never ran. That was half of your problem. And even though there were things in your past that wanted to chase you, the likelihood of them finding you here was so small it was next to impossible. Right?

Beating back any other intrusive thoughts, you flipped open the card to reveal a single sentence.

“Thank you for the lovely performance. -Silco”

You stared at the letter in your hand in stunned disbelief for what would have been all night if Remy knocking at the door hadn’t pulled you back to reality.

“Good crowd tonight!” He exclaimed, poking his head through the crack in the door.

Remy’s eyes landed first on the note in your hand and then on the rose on the counter.

“What’s that?” 

“It’s nothing…Just a thank you note.” You’re certain that no one would fall for that performance but it didn’t stop you from trying. You placed the note back down on the counter and proceeded to get ready with haste. Silco was distracting you--again.

“Admirers already. I just wonder what took them this long.” Remy flashed that heart winning grin before disappearing back out the way he came but not before shouting back…

“Tonight’s going to be a great show!”

Remy was wonderful. He really was. Kind, supportive, friendly and he didn’t linger. Who could ask for anything more?

And you had a feeling he was right.

Once your first costume was on and makeup perfectly done, you picked up the rose and reveled in its sweet scent. Of the many stalls lining the streets of the Undercity you had never seen any flowers. Your fingers pulled the silk ribbon from its stem and tied it carefully around your neck. This choker was the perfect finishing touch to such an ensemble. 

Tonight was going to be a great show.

And it was - regardless of how your eyes searched the audience for a particular face each number, never finding it. 

The audience loved every moment. You even managed to create a new group of regulars out of a rowdy table of gentlemen that had posted up in the front row. Your crowd working skills were now rivaling your dancing and it certainly kept things fresh. But once the curtain fell you couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of disappointment. There was no denying that when you had strung that ribbon across your neck, you’d hope to share in a silent understanding. A small nod to your own Phantom that no one else who saw it would even notice. 

It had been a small thing, a silly thing but a mistake nonetheless and one you weren’t willing to repeat. Just another piece of evidence that Silco was distracting and eliciting sentiments that were out of bounds for how you lived your life. This pang of disappointment would serve as a perfect reminder of why you kept these rules in the first place. No investments.

And it did. Days turned to weeks and there was no sign of the infamous Eye of Zaun in the club or in your dreams. He was much harder to banish from your waking thoughts as his note still sat on the counter of your dressing room, but his absence aided you in that regard as well. You had stopped looking for his handsome features in the crowd all together. Life continued. You channeled your energy and debuted a new show with aplomb that had the audience on their feet night after night. It’s amazing what you could accomplish without any unnecessary distractions.

Your focus was at an all time high but that came with some…troubling observations. Silco’s people still came in without him but there was tension growing between them and your front row regulars, a group of three brothers. It was odd. Silco’s operation seemed to be far too big to take issue with these three nobody’s but you had noticed their minute changes in clothing and demeanor over the last couple weeks. They were certainly spending more and more money in the club each night as well. You knew that meant the heart of this dispute had to be business but the less you knew the better. It had already gotten so bad that Remy almost had to call security over a disagreement between the two groups. Things were escalating. 

Remy made every effort to work with them, keep things civil and make sure everyone was welcome here but enforced peace can only last for so long.

It was a slow night Monday night at the Sweet. You had come to show some face and perhaps try out a couple of new combinations on stage with the victrola as accompaniment. It didn’t surprise you at all to see Nox Kane, the youngest of the Kane brothers, occupying his usual table beside the stage. He was already past tipsy and barreling towards drunk with every passing moment. 

Each of the Kane brothers seemed to fancy you in their own way but Nox was the least subtle. All passion and impulse, no restraint--he was a bit of a live wire and often the source of much of the trouble between the two ‘gangs’. But after spending more than one evening talking with him in the club you saw that beneath his raw edges he was sweet, ambitious, devoted to his family, and committed to living life to the fullest. Young without a doubt, and his eldest brother intended to keep it that way. 

Gabriel, the eldest, had grown up working in the mines and was determined to save either of his brothers from such a fate, pushing them into factory work or anything else that kept them out of the fissures. He had opened to you about it once when he had first started coming to the club. The two of you polished off several bottles of champagne without any trouble and completely lost track of time laughing together as the club went from crowded to nearly empty. He told you about his brother’s and how he wanted to make sure that they never had to struggle to survive like he had in the early days. He also mentioned in vague terms that he was onto something now that would make it so none of them would have to go back to the factories, let alone the mines. That they would finally be given the better life he had always hoped and worked for. Gabriel’s green eyes were a light that night with the promise of the future. A future you were sure would have had a spot in it for you had you chosen to pursue it. His hand, warm and callused, had reached for yours that night, exposing the tattoos on his forearms, maps that detailed places he dreamed of going. You traced the letters of the city you fled lightly with your fingers down the veins of his arm, noticing how much more appealing they looked on his skin. He had eyed you so tenderly that night that the memory of it was surreal even now.

In the last city you lived in, someone like Gabriel would have left a trail of broken hearts longer than the Piltover bridge. Life here seemed crueler to its people but you suspected that someone as alluring as he was didn’t stay lonesome too long. Whether his stories and smiles were intended to cast a spell for the night or for longer you never found out. Gabriel kissed your hand as you parted that night and never pressed the issue again, but eagerly brought his brothers back every week since.

And like that, the Kane brothers were front and center for every performance. You always made it a point to spend time at their table after each show, so it was easy to notice the evolution. It had started humbly, a shirt that looked so new it could still have tags on it, then the pants to match, but over time there had been a shift in tone. Where there had been new clothes, simple and not thoroughly threadbare, now there were flashy new ensembles, jackets, hats, and jewelry. The bar tab seemed to grow each time they were in too and Nox was in every night.

Spared the hardships Gabriel had described, Nox was prone to enthusiasm, impetuousness, and excess, and tonight was no exception. So far he had asked you to marry him on twelve separate occasions, with a glance at his current state you sensed unlucky number 13 was mere moments away. Without Lucas and Gabriel to reign him in you wondered just how far this little display would go.

Before you had a chance to approach Nox, a loud BANG of Remy’s office door swinging into the wall with more force than you had ever seen froze you in your tracks. 

“Gabriel-!” Remy shouted as you saw Gabriel emerge, jaw set and tense, from Remy’s office. 

Remy called after him again but Gabriel ignored him, making a B-line to his brother and roughly pulling Nox to his feet before practically dragging him away. Gabreil brushed by you in his pursuit to the exit like you weren’t even there, his eyes empty and cold, so unlike the evening you had spent in his company. So unlike him. Nox’s hands reached from you but found no purchase as he was hauled away without so much as a word, Remy still calling after them. At least that was one problem you didn’t have to deal with tonight.

The exterior door slammed closed and they were gone, an uneasy silence stilling hanging in their wake.

You couldn’t help but stare at the scene before you, your mouth comically open in complete confusion at what you had seen. Remy hated to break the atmosphere of the club, hell--hated to raise his voice unless it was over the roar of the crowd. Something was wrong.

More movement caught your eye, as you quickly turned to spot another tall figure emerge from Remy’s office. It was Silco.

He stood in the doorway and looked disinterestedly after where Gabriel had made his exit. Remy let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, running his hands through his hair. His nervous tick.  

Remy disappeared back into his office with Silco for a brief moment. You could hear hurried exchanging of words, voices tinged with distress, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then you noticed the unmistakably cool even tones of Silco, filling in the gaps of your mental picture. A moment later they both exited Remy’s office, Silco with a nearly empty glass and Remy with his keys. He proceeded to lock the door behind him and hastily out the exit after Gabriel.

Whatever peace meeting this had been had gone poorly.

You couldn’t pull your eyes off of Silco and it wasn’t long until he noticed, his bicolored eyes locking with yours sent a jolt of electricity through your body but you didn’t look away. It wasn’t long until he took a seat in one of the back booths and you retrieved a bottle of bourbon to join him.

“Do you cause trouble everywhere you go or are we special?” You asked, brandishing the bottle of liquor in a bid for an invitation to sit. 

Silco flashed a sardonic smile in response to your words, but nodded toward the empty seat opposite of him anyway as he reached into his inside coat pocket for something you couldn’t see. Hopefully not a gun. That was a terrible joke to be shot over. 

“Rough night?” You asked in a hurry to distract him from your last comment as you uncorked the bottle and poured you both two fingers of the amber alcohol.

“You could say that.” He said, placing a silver cigarette case down on the table before returning his hands to his coat to find it’s companion; the lighter. “You keep the most interesting company.”

You knew he was referring to the Kane brothers, specifically Gabriel. But this was business and that was something you left to Remy. Keeping out of business is one of the things that made you successful in this industry. Behind the scenes Remy and you worked together to keep things running like a well oiled machine, but when it came to the ins and outs of client disputes, you kept to the safety of your rules of ignorance and neutrality.

“Not really.” You responded blandly. “I haven’t had any interesting company here in weeks.” Your eyes lingered heavily on him with the weight of your insinuation. 

The corner of Silco’s lips twitched upwards, “I’ve been busy.”

“Clearly.”

Your eyes wandered back towards the door, patiently waiting for Remy to stroll in, the picture of cool confidence. But the door remained closed. 

 A sharp sound pulled your attention back to the present. Silco was holding a lighter to the end of a cigarette, his eyes freezing on you.

“Care to join me?” He asked around an inhale before exhaling the smoke above him and leaning back into the velvet of the booth. He really was a sight.

“Remy doesn’t like smoking in here.”

“Well, fortunately Remy’s not here.” Silco lifted the sleek elegant case in your direction. An offering. An invitation. 

“I’m the reason he doesn’t like it.”

This surprised Silco, he raises a curious eyebrow at you for further explanation.

“I quit a year ago. He doesn’t want me to be tempted back down that road.” Although he was making that rather difficult. If cigarettes always looked this good you would never have quit. Even the way Silco held his cigarette was refined, he was like every suave black and white movie you’d ever watched but there was something not quite right about the image. Something about it was out of place and spoiled it, something subtle but what?

Silco Indulged in another deep inhale staring lazily at the ceiling and you couldn’t help but watch as the svelt muscles in his neck moved around the smoke, fascinated by what must be happening below the knot of his tie.

“And how are you with temptation?”

Your eyes widened and you averted them into your glass as quickly as you could. If the pause wasn’t telling enough, you were sure your grip on the glass would be. 

“Well?”

Your eyes darted up to see the cigarette case, open now, in his hand again and a wave of relief fell over your body.

He was talking about the cigarettes. Wasn't he?

“Terrible.” You made no move to accept his offer. Silco’s eyes studied you, your words contrasting your actions. 

With little effort he blew his smoke across the table, meeting the skin of your face in soft swirling spirals that only aided in the clouding of your judgment. It was impossible not to drink in. Not to allow yourself this one small enjoyment from the buffet of poisonous delights. And he knew it.

The smirk lingering on his lips was just as irresistible. 

“I’ve always found a little indulgence now and then to be helpful to my mind.” Silco extended the offer of his own cigarette. And perhaps it was the nicotine that was causing your head to spin or the company but such delicious indulgence had to be tasted.

Your fingers lightly traced his as you turned his palm to face you and lowered my your lips to take a drag from the cigarette in between his fingers. It was dizzying and delicious indeed. Taking in the last of the inhale, you glanced up at him through your lashes to only find his eyes locked on you with a burning intensity. 

Releasing the cigarette from your lips, you allowed smoke to dribble out of you mouth before releasing it fully as you relaxed into the comfort of the cushions on the back of your seat. Silco stared openly, almost hungrily as you took your enjoyment and relaxation; eyes working over your mouth, your neck, your clavicle, your chest, then further down the rest of your body.

“Like my dress?” I asked, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“You call that a dress?” 

He had a point. This dress was nude and intentionally tantalizing, covering the most interesting parts in sparkling crystals meant to allure equally as much as it obscured.

“What would you call it?”

“A trap.” 

You chuckled, reaching your hand out to his for another drag of his cigarette as he continued to study you. Silco was a mystery and there was no telling how far this game of cat and mouse would go. Your exhale came with more force this time, blowing smoke past his sharp features before offering the cigarette back. Silcos hand reached for your but instead of the cigarette you found his fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist. There was little doubt he noticed the small jolt of surprise he sent up your spine but he didn’t comment. Instead, he turned your wrist towards him and lowered his head to take a drag from your hand, exhaling his smoke inches from your face.  A perfect imitation. No, much better.

Smoke washed over your face and clouded your mind and your senses until there was only this. Only him. Pinned both literally and figuratively to spot he wanted. His instruction was clear as he held your wrist still and removed the cigarette from your hand, raising it to your lips. The fire behind his dual colored eyes was truly mesmerizing.  You held his gaze as you lowered your lips to enjoy another drag from his cigarette in sweet surrender.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes locked, breath hitching in your chest.

Danger. There was that neon sign again saying to run. --And it wasn’t the only thing turned on.

Silco is bad for business. Bad…so bad…

But it was impossible to deny the thrill that ran through you at the sound of his words. And if the sly gleam in his eyes was any indication, he knew it too.

The smoke exhaled slowly between your lips, your last tease as it swirled into the space between us. Neither of you able to look away. 

He raised the cigarette to his lips again, revealing the tail of a scar that traced its way up the left side of his face to join the others around his treacherous eye. Its glow nearly matching that of the cigarette in his hand. 

What happened to him?

No sooner had the thought occurred than it was chased away by the loud crashing of the front door into the wall of the club. It was Nox, even more intoxicated than last you’d seen him. He spoke loud and lively as he walked through the entryway, one arm heavy over Remy’s shoulder who seemed exasperated by the evening and the company. Truly a feat for someone so agreeable. One that immediately raised your concerns.

Silco was eyeing the same situation with a precise intensity that was impossible to describe or ignore. That same danger that had drawn you in earlier had sharpened somehow. That’s when it hit you: Silco was a knife. A dagger. A blade. 

He kept himself sheathed politely in most scenarios but there was no doubt about what was under the surface. You could draw it to butter your bread or slit a person's throat but the danger was there all the same. He was not soft or warm. He was sharp, cool, precise, and deadly.

Suddenly it gave you pause to interrupt whatever dark calculations he was making. 

“I probably should relieve Remy of Nox duty” You offered lightheartedly.

Slico cast that sharp look at you briefly before returning to watch Remy wiggle out from under Nox’s weight as he placed him gently into a barstool.

“Be careful with that one.”  Silco’s warning was just above a whisper and he didn’t even spare you a look as he said it. His attention was entirely focused on Nox.

“Nox is harmless” you chuckled. But the lingering look from Silco was starting to give you second thoughts. 

“We all start that way.” Silco muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. What was it that he saw in Nox that you didn’t? The question alone sent a shiver down your spine. Did you even want to know the answer?

Before you realized it Silco had gotten up from the booth and stood at the edge of the table, still watching Nox as he harassed the last bartender on duty for another drink. 

Your fingers involuntarily gripped the velvet cushions beneath you. Was this it?

God, please, not now. You thought so loudly you were afraid you’d accidentally said the words out loud. Another conflict might actually break Remy and you certainly weren't ready to see the kind of damage Silco could inflict that had earned him such a fearsome reputation. 

You released a shuddering breath into the still air, heavy with the weight of your fear/expectation. Silco turned to you, relieving your worry and composing his features back into the perfect gentleman you knew him as.  His long slender hand reached for his whiskey and took the remainder of his drink in one go before turning back to you.

“Thank you for providing a respite from the rest of this night.” He said in low tones that only the two of you could hear as he lifted your hand to his lips.

The warmth that started in your chest spread slowly to your cheeks with a gentle blush, then to the soft smile of your lips and finally down through your core to pool in between your legs. 

“But unfortunately I cannot put off my business any longer.”

You were sure Nox was safe tonight, that Silco would leave and busy himself with other concerns. But it was the leaving part that you found harder to grapple with, even if no one knew. He’d been gone so much recently, your time together seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

“So you say.” you sighed.

“Perhaps it’s my company that’s not interesting enough for you.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed at your remark. In a flash// with out warning, his grip on your hand changed, suddenly pulling you out of your seat and into him. A startled gasp escaped your lips as your chest collided with his. Long fingers slid skillfully over your hip and along your lower back. His other hand still held your wrist firmly. Provocatively. Both a statement of control and a dare for you to defy it. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you miss me, Ms. Sweet '' Silco whispered in a near purr, his nose pressing against the shell of your ear. Silco sent chills throughout your body that rivaled surgical precision. You couldn’t see his face, but there was an aire of arrogance about the way he held you that said he knew.

“Perhaps” You melted into him, making no moves to resist him. Your fight lay in another vein.

“But I’m not sure I can remember why anymore.”

His grip on you relaxed and you withdrew, it seemed as good of time as any to make your exit. Always better to leave with the last word. It wasn’t until you had turned your back that you felt his dark presence on you again.

“Are you asking for a reminder?” He punctuated his question with the press of his body against yours. His front to your back, with an unmistakable stiffness. That felt like a win.

“I’d hate to distract you from your work. It sounds very important.” You struggled to keep the sound of your smile out of your voice. Silco’s fingers were caressing your hip, almost as though he was debating something.

Without warning a loud BANG cut through the thick atmosphere of the club, stealing your attention away from Silco’s touch. That damn door again. A long line of fresh Academy recruits staggered their way to the bar with slurred celebration on their lips. 

“Unusual crowd tonight.” You commented into the empty air beside you. Silco was gone.

[writeblrfantasy]

around six years ago, i started writing seriously for the first time. it was fanfiction. (glee fanfiction if you're curious.) i wouldn't write something original for the first time for another year.

i loved writing fanfiction--i put my whole unashamed heart into it, i didn't even think about whether it was good or not, because i was having a blast. i wrote for many different fandoms, i wrote one (short) fanfic a day during december based on one word prompts, and i would send them to my friend each night--a routine which got me through a very hard week of my life. i wrote buckets and buckets of fanfiction.

and then, i'm not sure when and why that changed--i read and still do read something on ao3 almost every night for dozens and dozens of fandoms, after all. but the more i wrote original books, i stopped writing fanfiction, and over the years, writing fanfiction seemed like an impossible task.

i tried a few times, i wrote a customized fic for my bestie's birthday, but i could never get far usually. it felt alien and intrusive to try and write someone else's characters. it would always end in shame and this feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong.

i don't have any of those early fanfictions from six years ago because i deleted them, convinced they were hot garbage (and they were, but i still would've liked to have them!)

i continued to write originally, still reading fanfiction almost every night and participating in fandom in other ways. and then in late 2021, i wrote and finished a good fic as a herculean labor of love. in spring of 22, it took me an incredible effort, but i took one of my old surviving fanfics and edited it to new standards, and then encouraged by my victory, i wrote 2 more fics and started a bunch of others.

i made an ao3 account and posted these all, and was encouraged like never before by the comments i received, the love i had never received because i'd never posted my fanfics before. slowly, the shame wore off. i could write fanfiction again. it became something i could do while sitting on my phone in a waiting room having an anxiety attack, something to do before i went to bed, something i could do when a fic i wanted didn't exist--i could finally just write it!

and now, we come to this year. in 23 so far, i've written and posted 11 fanfics adding up to 100,805 words in total, in two fandoms, with several fanfic wips in the works. two weeks ago i wrote, without meaning to, 7k of a fic in one day to finish it, a week after finishing the source material. i'm still hesitant to share snippets of fics with friends not in those fandoms, but i did in this case and was told by a friend that it was some of my best writing ever--original and fanfic combined. period.

in january when i watched my favorite movie too many times to get anything more out of it, i turned to fanfiction, where i had a fic i mentioned was inspired by my favorite fic in the tiny ass fandom, which the creator then saw and was flattered by, and continued to read all my fics in that fandom!

this would turn into a 7 part series which i would post once a week, whipping up 5k minimum fics in a matter of days. i was shameless. i was carefree. i was living for the familiar usernames in my comments, and the serotonin of pushing that "new post" button. i was having fun.

in moments where i would wonder if the fic i was writing was cringe, if anyone would like it if i posted it, i reminded myself that i read fic every night. fic is often the first place i turn after finishing a source material, and what i look forward to while consuming that material. if everyone who thought like me about their fics didn't post, i would be without fanfics to get me through my fandom experience, and i would hate that. so i kept writing and posting.

now: my relationship with writing fanfiction has never been healthier. i am better than where i was at six years ago, because my overall writing skills have improved about 1000%, and because i'm posting now. writing fanfiction now often provides me a break from the stress and complexity of writing original novels, and it's a lovely wind down bedtime activity.

so, i suppose if there's a takeaway from this post, it's that fan content creators, no matter what you create, and no matter how small the fandom you're creating for, even if you're the first work in your fandom, keep creating. what you're doing is real and worthy and just as important as original content, and keeps the heart of fandom alive. i am so happy i repaired my relationship with writing fanfic, and it's made me happier this year than i thought possible, due in large part to the incredible commenting communities in fandom. i wish the same for all of you <3

[yanderemommabean]

So, I stumbled upon your blog and saw the post about neutral smut first. If any of this is unhelpful, I apologize. I am not exactly a regular here.

I'm a transexual man. In my experience, the neutrality of smut does depend on a lot on how much about biology the author knows. Equally though, you are able to read into things on accident if it's too vague. There's a weird "vagueness threshold" you can try to meet, but it'll be different for everyone.

For instance, everyone (barring accident or medical anomaly) has something that throbs between their legs that can be sucked on. Depending on who you are, what you have, and what you want: you imagined something differently. I imagined a dick, some people probably thought of a clit.

There's a lot of room for error in general. At least in my experience, you don't do a whole lot of tonguing at a dick that isn't something like tonguing the slit or head. So someone just tonguing at that throbbing thing in not very much detail for a prolonged period of time starts to sound a lot more like how you'd play with a clit.

Sex-neutral smut is sort of a fool's gambit to me. You'd probably be better off going through the trouble of writing two versions of everything instead. If I try to offer advice though:

Everyone can receive anal. If you wanna write penetration, there's nothing stopping anyone from getting anally penetrated (barring medical conditions.)

Everyone DOES have something that throbs between their legs that can be stroked, rubbed, and sucked on!

Everyone also has a taint, though I guess the only people who seem to think about that are gay men /light hearted

I've seen some people slap "strap/dick" into stuff before, and it's worked for me?

Describing vague penetration of an unnamed hole that "could technically be vaginal or anal" usually goes awry if you already have one personally in mind. The amount of people who tag things "neutral" that then describe this totally anonymous hole leaking fluid are numerous enough that I wish I had a dollar for each I've read. You largely cannot just crtl+f that kind of thing--you need to go into it very much without one in mind personally.

Regardless of how good a job you do, there will be sensitive people (in my example, with intrusive thoughts and trauma around aggressive misgendering) who will find neutrality itself to be triggering or upsetting in some fashion. It is impossible to please everyone. I hope you find your spark for writing again, and keep that in mind with your future endeavors. Someone who pleases everyone can never please themself.

Thank you bean, this was very helpful! I know I can’t please everyone but lately it feels like I’m pleasing no one so I get in my own head >~<

-Mommabean

[tangerinesgf]

Speak No Evil (Tangerine)

Summary: Tangerine used to think that dying was his worst nightmare. But ever since Tokyo, Tangerine had been living a new sort of nightmare, one he couldn’t seem to wake up from. (5.8k words)

Cross-posted on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: angst (lots of it), mentions of blood, language, BSL, Tangerine being an asshole, non-speaking character, anxiety, denial, delusion, self-hatred, in short Tangerine is not having a great time here, Lemon is the best brother though, fluff at the end, happy ending?

A/N: This story has been my baby for almost a month now and I’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. It’s a lot of angst, but it gets worse before it gets better :) Sorry in advance, because I know it broke my heart just writing this. Another thing is that I have decided to make this a little universe so there will be more, since this is mainly Tangerine adjusting to his new condition and he doesn’t use a lot of BSL yet.

Also please a round of applause for @friedcheesemogu my beta for this fic, again thank you so much!!

Alright I’ll let you guys get on with it now, have fun!!

Tangerine used to think that dying was his worst nightmare. Countless sleepless nights plagued by the thought of leaving this life and especially his brother, Lemon, behind. He knew their job was dangerous, hell they dealt with all sorts of murderers and psychopaths on a daily basis. He knew that the risk of getting hurt or worse, dying, was always lurking around the corner. Still, he loved his job and he was really good at it. Everyone in the business knew "The Twins" and they were feared, especially after they pulled off that job in Bolivia. It gave Tangerine a sense of pride. 

Growing up in foster care meant neither he nor Lemon had a lot of money or belongings. So when both of them got recruited as ‘outside contractors’ and started making a ‘decent’ amount of money, Tangerine wasn’t afraid to let people know he had it. The luxury lifestyle suited him, the suits, the jewelry, and especially not having to worry about anything but his next job.

But high-end living aside, if Tangerine had anything, it was confidence. He was confident that he and Lemon could complete any job thrown their way. Sure they could be a bit messy and chaotic, but they always got the job done no matter what. Most of the anxiety came from his unconscious mind. The intrusive thoughts and repeated nightmares never stopped plaguing him.

Taking all of this into consideration Tangerine was pretty satisfied with his life. Or well, he used to be. Ever since Tokyo Tangerine had been living a new sort of nightmare. Everything about that job had been one enormous clusterfuck that had ended with both of them on the verge of death. And while Lemon’s stomach wound healed nicely, Tangerine wasn’t so lucky. 

When he woke up in the hospital the first thing Tangerine noticed were all sorts of tubes sticking out of him, making it almost impossible for him to move without damaging them. 

The second thing -- or better said the person -- he noticed was his brother sitting next to him. Lemon was fast asleep, but that didn’t stop him from holding Tangerine’s hand in a death grip.

When Lemon finally awakened, he couldn’t help running his mouth about everything that had happened during the time Tangerine was out, stopping multiple times to tell him how he had thought he’d lost him forever and how thankful he was to have him back. Not that Tangerine could say something back, because there was still a tube stuck in his throat helping him breathe. And even if he could, he didn’t feel like complaining about it. When he felt the blood spewing out of his neck, Tangerine himself had thought that would be the end too. 

“Seriously man, you have no idea how worried you had me.” Lemon said one last time before finally taking a breather. As much as Lemon kept on repeating how happy he was, he still had this sort of ominous/scared look in his eyes as if there was something he wasn’t telling him. 

He found out what that was soon enough. 

The bullet had not only hit part of his artery but had also chipped one of his vocal cords. When Lemon had brought him to the hospital they rushed him into surgery. The surgeons had done everything they could to repair/ replace the cord and add bulk to it. Unfortunately at this time in the process, they weren't able to tell if it worked and if it would heal properly or not, making it uncertain if Tangerine would ever be able to speak normally again. 

--

When Lemon heard for the first time while his brother was still unconscious he was terrified. Not necessarily terrified whether Tangerine would make it or not -- he was stubborn enough to survive a bullet in his neck --, but about how he would take the news. Tangerine always said everything that came to mind. He had no filter and everyone who knew him learned that fact the hard way. 

Lemon watched as whatever color Tangerine had left drained from his face when the doctor told him what the damage was. Between all the fancy medical terms neither of them understood, he could see his brother’s eyes widen at the words ‘vocal cord paralysis’. You didn’t have to be a doctor to understand what that meant. 

After only a few days in the hospital, Tangerine was getting annoyed. The only extra freedom he had gotten was sitting up because the doctors didn’t trust him enough to breathe on his own yet. Meaning he was stuck in his bed with that bloody tube down his throat for a week or two. In the meantime, Lemon had come to visit him every day, catching him up on whatever was on his mind. 

He’d spoken to Ladybug, said that he’d asked if he could come to visit. Apparently, he was ‘really fucking sorry’ and wanted to apologize. The very mention of that fucking prick made his blood boil, let alone the idea of seeing him. Lemon seemed to notice and quickly dropped the subject. 

Since talking was out of the question for now Tangerine had to find another way of communicating for the time being. They had originally started with a notepad, but Tangerine’s handwriting was unreadable to anyone but himself.

“I’m tellin’ ya man, this shit's just a bunch of squiggly lines. Who taught you how to write?” Tangerine had thrown his hands up in frustration as Lemon continued decoding his handwriting. 

The next day Lemon came to visit again, only now he had brought a tablet with him. That way Tangerine could just type what he wanted to say and they would be spared a lot of frustration. 

He wasn’t at all surprised when the first thing Tangerine typed was; This clear enough for ya, you fuckin’ muppet? 

Two weeks later, they finally decided to see if he could breathe on his own. It took Tangerine some time to adjust. The combination of the still-healing wound on his neck and having had that tube down his windpipe for a month didn’t exactly do miracles for his throat. Swallowing and even breathing hurt like hell. They advised him to breathe through his nose for now, to minimize the pain. It could take 4-6 months before they would know for sure if it was fully healed or not. In the meantime, he had to attend voice therapy to strengthen the damaged vocal cord and increase the chances of a full recovery. 

After 3 months of barely any improvement, Lemon started to worry about his brother. When they returned home from the hospital in Kyoto, he decided to move in with Tangerine to keep an eye on him. And although he could breathe through his mouth nowadays, his breaths were short and noisy. Week after week he watched Tan come home from his therapy appointment with that same look on his face. He was starting to lose hope. God forbid he admit that to anyone though.

“ ‘m fi-” Tangerine tried to get out, but got caught in another coughing fit as he always did when he attempted to talk. Even when he did manage to somehow push words out of his mouth it didn’t sound like him anymore. His voice was breathy and hoarse, it made him feel weak and he hated it. Lemon kept telling him to shut up and let his vocal cords rest, but Tangerine was as stubborn as ever, even without his voice. He knew the pain in his brother’s throat must be excruciating from the way he was holding onto his neck accompanied by the pained look on his face. It sounded like he was about to cough up a lung. 

When he finally calmed down Lemon offered him a glass of water along with his tablet so he didn’t have to speak. Even swallowing took much more effort than it should. The doctor had told them that because of his disfunctioning vocal cord, his windpipe couldn’t close properly while swallowing. Meaning it was easier to choke on water or food. Tangerine had to put all his effort into not choking while drinking. He didn’t always succeed at that, resulting in a similar coughing fit. 

“Please just give it a look, it might help you in the long run..” 

Lemon had tried to get Tangerine to learn BSL, British Sign Language. Since it seemed more and more likely that he wouldn’t fully recover from this, Tangerine would need some other form of communication. Something that didn’t require him to strain his vocal cords. Therefore, Lemon bought him a BSL book for beginners, just to get familiar with it. Unfortunately Tangerine refused to make any sort of effort to even look at it, still too proud to give in to what seemed to be inevitable right now. 

‘Don’t need it.’  he typed.

Tangerine held on to the fact that he was going to recover and therefore didn’t need to learn any sort of sign language -- at least before his next doctor's appointment. He’d thrown Lemon’s book in the bin where it belonged, not knowing Lemon had fished it out again just in case. 

It had been about 6 to 7 months since Tokyo now and this was the moment of truth. Although improvement could never be written off in the future, today they would be able to tell them whether or not Tangerine would make a full recovery. 

Tangerine was surprisingly positive going into this appointment, still hanging on to that spark of hope despite the lack of improvement in his condition these last months. How he did it Lemon had no idea, because was already preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. Of course, he didn’t want to exclude the fact that his brother’s vocal cord might heal, but it seemed unlikely to him at this point. He had tried to tell Tangerine that it might not work out and that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he had brushed him off. 

‘I’m gonna be fine, don't worry, always am’. Tangerine typed, combined with a look that was meant to calm Lemon’s nerves but did the exact opposite. 

It wasn’t a complete lie though; anytime Tangerine got hurt he always came back from it no matter how bad it seemed to be and he sure had the scars to prove it. He had deluded himself into thinking nothing could touch him and if it did, that it wouldn’t have any lasting consequences. 

“Right…just don’t get your hopes up too much.” 

Tangerine dismissed his comment completely, shaking his head. With his attitude, Lemon was worried about how his brother would take it if he, in fact, couldn’t come back from this. 

--

Tangerine felt his blood run cold. He completely zoned out. 

It was like every emotional and physical feeling was drained from his body. He completely disappeared from the conversation with his doctor, who after another exam had told them that the chances of a full recovery were less than 30%. He knew that the progress had been slow or, well, almost non-existent, but Tangerine still believed he could pull through on this. He’d done it before. 

A strange feeling of fear settled in his stomach as the reality of his future sank in. 

No. 

No this couldn’t be it. It can’t. He won’t let it. 

When some feeling returned to his body, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder carefully shaking him. He snapped out of his trance as the shaking became more violent, causing him to inhale too much air at once. Fuck, not this again. He’d gone almost 2 months without a coughing incident. Apparently, it took only one setback to undo all of that. 

Lemon gently patted his back, while the doctor went to get him a glass of water. 

The younger brother tried to pay attention as Lemon repeated what he missed while spacing out. Again the subject of Sign Language came up, but Tangerine still wasn't having it. Deep down he knew it was his only option if he properly wanted to communicate with people again, but something inside him just refused to do it. 

Who needed sign language when flippin’ people the bird said enough. 

--

In the days after that Lemon watched his brother completely shut down. Tangerine didn’t make any effort whatsoever to communicate with him. Lemon had offered him the BSL book again when they got home, but he acted like he was allergic to it. He had hoped his brother just needed some time to wrap his mind around the whole thing. It was a big change, he understood if Tangerine just needed a few days. But a few days turned into weeks and Lemon seriously started to worry. Whereas before he’d constantly get annoyed with everyone and everything, and tried to talk even though Lemon specifically told him not to, now Tangerine just seemed to exist. That’s all he did, just mindlessly living. He didn't eat, barely drank and Lemon could see the clear weight loss. 

However, the thing that worried him the most was his lack of expression on his face. Tangerine was a very expressive person, especially with his face. He might not always talk through his emotions, but his face has always been an open book. Lemon was always able to tell what was going on in his brother’s head, except for now. Since the car ride home Tangerine has been completely blank. There was nothing going on on his face, which meant he was bottling everything up. It scared Lemon. He had never seen Tangerine like this before, not even after their first kill. 

Lemon had tried talking to him, of course, but was met with nothing but blank stares. Even talking about Thomas & Friends did nothing for him. All Tangerine really did was read, at least he hadn’t also discarded that. 

Lemon still went on jobs sometimes, nothing too difficult. Tangerine on the other hand never left their apartment. Besides each other, The Twins didn’t have a lot of friends. In their business it was really hard to trust people, never knowing if they had ulterior motives or not. Lemon had run into Ladybug a couple of times since Tokyo. Sure his inspirational quotes were annoying, but he had started to warm up to the man. Ladybug had asked about his brother multiple times, but Lemon didn’t tell him much, sensing that Tangerine wouldn’t want him to. All Ladybug knew was that Tangerine was alive and currently recovering. Knowing their job and luck, they’d run into each other sooner or later, but for now Lemon tried to postpone that as long as possible. Seeing Ladybug would set off a bomb Lemon wasn’t sure he would be able to contain. 

Sooner or later Tangerine was gonna break, he could feel it. It wasn't healthy to keep pushing everything down, especially for someone who used to talk as much as his brother. The longer he was gonna shut everyone out, the bigger the fallout was gonna be. For now Lemon could only watch as the brother he loved so much became a shell of the person he once used to be.  

--

There was nothing going on in his mind. No thoughts or anxiety, nothing. Tangerine had gone absolutely numb, almost emotionless. Pushing all of his feelings away had felt like his only option. A way out of his mind that kept on torturing him every fucking second. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Every irritation, every fear was pushed down. There was no room for those anymore. Whereas before his mind plagued him with anxiety and intrusive thoughts, now there was absolutely nothing.

He had no trouble falling asleep anymore with his mind not running a million miles per hour. Tangerine knew that probably wasn’t good, but he wasn’t complaining. For once his mind was quiet, just finally fucking quiet. To him, it felt like a blessing. 

The only time he allowed himself to feel something was while reading. Transporting himself into this other world, with other people and their problems forced him to focus on that and not on himself. Within the first few days after he’d heard the news Tangerine had already bought all of the books on his list. He couldn’t, no, wouldn’t deal with his own issues, so he had to find other ways to keep his mind busy. But even those didn’t spark his emotions as he hoped. 

Lemon had kept offering him that bloody book, kept trying to talk to him, but he couldn’t get himself to interact with him. He buried the book in the back of his closet along with his tablet. Out of sight, out of mind, right? 

And when it was out of his mind, he could pretend none of this was actually happening.

He didn’t understand why Lemon was so concerned about him anyways. Tangerine could feel his eyes on him every time they were in the same room, they were filled with that look of pity. He hated it. If he couldn’t even get him to care about himself, why should Lemon? But he couldn’t exactly tell him to leave.

No- don’t go there. 

It was currently 3 am, and Tangerine sat staring into space. He couldn’t sleep, the pain in his throat burning more than usual. Where on the one hand, he wished he would just fall asleep, on the other hand, he wanted to wake up. Wake up from this nightmare that never seems to end.  

He was aching for a smoke. He missed the feeling of a cigarette hanging on his lips, how the smoke filled his lungs, and the calm he felt while blowing it out again. However, the doctor had strongly advised him not to smoke, noting that it would only decrease the chances of recovery and further damage his lungs. When they came home Lemon had scoured the house for cigarettes and threw them all out. Tangerine thought it was a bit overdramatic, but in the end, he was grateful for it, knowing that he couldn’t have resisted the urge. 

After another hour of nothing but purposeless staring he finally decided that maybe a glass of water would calm his throat and finally help him sleep.

As Tangerine stumbled into the kitchen he saw the light of the fridge brightening up the room. Shit. He had really hoped Lemon would be fast asleep right now. It was almost 4 in the morning, what the hell was he still doing up?

Then again he’s here too. 

For a minute he hesitated if he should continue, not in the mood for Lemon’s chit-chat, but then decided to just get it over with anyway. He really wanted to sleep and that wasn’t going to happen with the still-burning feeling in his throat. 

He tried to draw as little attention as possible, hoping he could be out of there within seconds. But of course, Lemon never failed to strike up a conversation with him. 

“Hey I was just thinkin’ maybe you could make some breakfast in the morning, I bought bacon and eggs.” 

Tangerine made no sign for Lemon to think that he had even heard the proposition, grabbed a glass of water, and walked away without any sort of reaction, leaving his brother alone in the kitchen once again.

What was the point of making it if he wasn’t going to eat it anyway? He supposed Lemon was looking for some form of normalcy that they once had. Before Tokyo, before-

He forced the memory out of his mind.

“You can’t keep this up forever you know. It’s gonna break ya.’ he heard Lemon yell from the kitchen. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

Why’d he have to go and say shit like that? Why won’t Lemon just leave him alone to deal with his misery on his own? He wasn’t going to break, he wasn't a glass that shattered when you put just a little bit of pressure on it. The whole shutting himself off was precisely to avoid dealing with all this shit and prevent anything from happening. Tangerine felt anger starting to emerge inside him as he slammed his bedroom door closed a little harder than necessary, a bit of water spilling over from his glass onto the floor. 

Deep breaths, Tan. Deep breaths. He thought to himself.

Even after the ache in his throat disappeared he wasn’t able to sleep. He just lay in bed, while staring at the ceiling. When he checked his clock again it was already 7:30 in the morning. 

Fuck it. He could try again tonight. Right now he needed a shower, a nice hot shower. He grabbed a new pair of sweatpants and a shirt and made his way over to the bathroom. The sound of running water already started to calm him down. After he had stripped himself from all his clothing, he stepped in, he hot water on his skin washing away all the anger from before. 

Hot showers wouldn’t solve anything, but they sure made him forget about it for a second. After washing his hair followed by another 10 minutes of just standing there, absorbing the warm water onto his skin, he finally decided to get out. Normally the mirror in the bathroom was foggy because of the shower, making it hard to see anything in it. Tangerine was usually already outside before the steam cleared, purposely avoiding looking in it. 

Today however it wasn’t. 

The mirror was right in front of the shower, making it impossible to miss your reflection while stepping out. Tangerine froze as he caught himself in the mirror or well… someone that looked like him. He could barely recognize the man staring at him through the mirror. 

Before, he regularly looked in the mirror. Always checking if every hair was properly slicked back and that his mustache looked nothing less than perfect, much to Lemon’s annoyance when they were on the clock. It was part of his look, part of who he was. He even had a full-length mirror in his room. That particular mirror was now covered up with blankets.

Right now he had no idea who he was. He looked pale, too pale, making the contrast in color between the bags under his eyes even bigger. Tangerine looked himself over, disturbed by the amount of weight he seemed to have lost. His once perfectly fitted pants, now hanging low on his hips. Since he was barely eating enough to keep him alive it was an expected consequence, still, really seeing it was different. He looked so small, so weak.

But that wasn't even the worst thing. No, the worst part was the huge scar on the side of his neck. A constant reminder of everything he had lost. Tangerine stretched his neck to the side putting it on full display in front of the mirror. Slowly he brought his shaking hand up, tracing the scar along the side of his neck. 

How did he become this? This…empty shell of his former self. 

It felt like all the emotions Tangerine had been pushing down for the past few weeks came rushing back up, hitting him like a truck. Every trace of the person he used to be was gone and it was his own fault. He had been shutting Lemon out since they came back, when he had done nothing but try and help him. A sudden feeling of guilt hit him. Had it been the other way around Tangerine would’ve done the same thing for him, only Lemon wouldn’t have been a complete arsehole about it.

Lemon is the closest thing to family he had, the only person who he truly cared for and he has managed to fuck even that up. Tangerine had never been especially good with people, (mostly because he just couldn’t stand them.) and that trait only grew with age. Though that didn’t include dealing with clients, he knew how to do that. In fact, they always preferred to talk to him instead of Lemon. He was a professional after all, or at least he had been. 

Not talking to Lemon had been a dick move, Tangerine knew that, but it made sense for him. In his mind, he chose not to talk to people. He chose to. For him, it was a conscious decision to keep his mouth shut, not a disability holding him back. 

If he was Lemon he would have given up on him by now. Hell, he’d already given up on himself if the state of him was anything to go by. 

What ensued was a staring contest with the mirror. The longer he kept glaring into the mirror the angrier he got, the walls he had put up for himself slowly breaking down. Until he finally couldn't take it anymore. All his emotions boiled over and he could feel tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore, but his legs didn’t listen to his brain. Unable to walk away, Tangerine fell back on how he usually solved his problems; violence. 

With as much power as he could muster Tangerine threw his fist at the mirror, breaking it into a million little pieces. 

--

While his brother was in the shower Lemon was in the kitchen making breakfast. Usually Tangerine cooked some bacon or eggs in the morning, but he hadn’t done that in weeks. Given the fact that Lemon wasn’t a great cook, he had switched to breakfast cereal, which was edible. Tangerine didn't mind, but then again he usually only drank a glass of milk in the morning these days.

His attempt at conversation last night didn’t exactly work out as he had hoped either, resulting in Tangerine slamming his door. However Lemon took the small display of anger as a win for now. He has no idea how long he was planning to keep this up, but it was getting really fucking annoying. He didn’t want to be angry at Tangerine, he knew that what he was dealing with was a real struggle, but Lemon was just about done with it. He wanted his brother back.

He just sat down when he noticed Tangerine was still in the bathroom even though the shower was shut off at least 15 minutes ago. Normally he was out of there as fast as he could. 

Before he had even taken his first bite, Lemon heard what sounded like shattering glass coming from the bathroom. Tangerine.

“Fuck.” he sighed. He dropped his spoon back into the bowl and walked over to his brother. The door was unlocked per Lemon’s request, just in case something like this happened. Tangerine hadn’t said anything about it when he had asked, however to Lemon’s relief he had actually left his doors unlocked.

“Tan?” he asked through the door. When all he got in response was labored breathing he decided to go in. The only positive point he found walking onto the scene was that Tangerine, thankfully, already had his pants on. 

Tangerine was leaning on the sink, face in a pained expression as he let cold water run over his bloody hand. The water in the sink quickly turning red. Lemon’s eyes moved from his brother to the broken mirror. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened. 

He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow at him, giving him that ‘I told you ya’ look he always had when he fucked up. Tangerine was avoiding eye contact, knowing full well what Lemon was doing. 

“Gonna start talkin’ to me now, eh?” He asked.

Tangerine shot him a glare, finally meeting his eyes and clearly not appreciating the choice of words, but at least it was a reaction. Being angry was better than nothing at all. The barrier Tangerine had put up for himself had broken down and Lemon hoped that he could finally start picking his life up again. 

Lemon took the death stare as a yes, turned the water tap off, and ushered Tangerine out of the bathroom. “Go sit in the kitchen, I’ll grab the first aid kit.” 

“Don’t step in the glass!” he added once Tangerine slowly started to make his way over.

He snatched the medical supplies out of the cabinet and while he was busy he also grabbed the tablet and BSL book from Tangerine’s closet. He thought he had hidden it from him, but Lemon knew everything.

He found Tangerine sitting at the kitchen island slumped over the counter, holding his injured hand in the other. Lemon placed the book and tablet in his line of sight and took a seat next to him. He saw Tangerine look at it, but didn’t make any move to either throw it away or smash it into a wall. Progress, he thought. 

While Lemon started to remove the remaining pieces of glass that were stuck in his left hand, Tangerine grabbed the tablet with his uninjured one. Once he was done typing he slid the writing pad over to Lemon. 

‘I’ve been a real twat’ 

He refused to make eye contact with his brother. Tangerine had never been one to apologize. And even though this still wasn’t really an apology, it was a big deal for him. Lemon knew that.

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, you were.” 

Tangerine winced when the rubbing alcohol connected with his hand. He’d been through this a hundred times already but never got used to it. While Lemon disinfected his wound, he debated whether he should say something else or not. He probably should. Weeks of ignoring any sort of contact had him wanting to pour it all out. Only thing was that he couldn’t. Not really. 

Tangerine grabbed the tablet from where he had given it to Lemon. He erased the previous sentence and wrote a new one, again sliding it over to him.

‘why?’ 

He didn’t need to elaborate.

“‘Cause, you’re my brother, man. You’re stuck with me, even when ya act like a fuckin’ prick.” 

Tangerine takes a moment to take it all in, a comfortable silence falling between them. He didn’t know how, but he must’ve done something right in his previous life to deserve someone like Lemon. Because despite the fact that Tangerine had been a complete and utter asshole, he didn’t hesitate to stay by his side. He grabbed the tablet again, then slid it back over.

‘I’m sorry´ 

There was a beat of silence before Lemon answered him. “It’s okay, not like any of this is fuckin’ easy. Just…let me help you, okay?” 

Finally Tangerine looked up, meeting lemon’s eyes. There was a mix of sadness and hope in his eyes. “I know you believe you can do this on your own, but if today was anythin’ to go by…well.” 

He looked down again, ashamed that he let it go this far. It took him completely shutting off, ignoring his brother, and disregarding his own well-being, resulting in a complete breakdown for him to finally get the message; as much as he wants to, he can’t do this alone.

Tangerine slowly nodded his head, finally accepting his brother’s help as Lemon finished bandaging up his hand. He let out a sigh of relief, happy that Tangerine was finally ready to move forward. 

After he cleaned up the table Lemon sat back next to his brother and reached for the BSL book. Tangerine still looked hesitant, but leaned in anyway. 

“Let’s just start easy, kay?” again Tangerine nodded in response.

So that’s what they did. The brothers spend the entire rest of the day learning the basics of sign language. In these last few weeks Lemon had taken it to himself to already get familiar with sign language. He knew you couldn’t just learn it in one day, so he gave himself a little head start for when Tangerine would come around. It would be easier for his brother to learn it with someone who already knew some of the basics instead of starting from scratch. He’d also make sure to learn all the names of Thomas & Friends in BSL, but that could wait for now. 

Tangerine picked it up surprisingly quickly in the months after that, much to Lemon’s relief. On the other hand he could have seen it coming. Tangerine never did anything half-assed; if he set his mind to something it was gonna get done no matter how long it took. To Lemon’s surprise he’d even signed up to classes every week, and once in a while he went with him. It was really effective. Of course he wasn’t fluent yet, neither of them were, Lemon read that it could take years before someone was really fluent at sign language. For now though it was enough that they could properly understand each other. 

One of the first things Tangerine had done after Lemon insisted on teaching him the signs of those fucking trains was learn all of his favorite insults. He made sure that Lemon knew them too, cuz there was no way that he was gonna insult someone without them knowing exactly what he was scolding them with.

‘If I find your dirty fucking socks laying around my house one more time, I will throw them out the fucking window, you read me?’ 

His hand movements were still a bit slow, his brain still getting used to the fact that he needed to think of what he wanted to say and then translate that to his hands. However there was so much emotion on his face, that Lemon couldn’t help but feel as if he was actually saying it. 

Lemon was very chuffed to see how Tangerine seemed to regain his confidence and attitude a bit more everyday. He would have never thought he’d miss that eye twitch whenever he managed to piss him off. It put a beaming smile on Lemon’s face. 

‘What are you smiling about?’ he signed, giving him the usual ‘are you fucking serious right now’ look. 

He was dead serious about this, as he usually was over these stupid little things and Lemon found it adorable. It reminded him of how they used to share a bedroom when they were younger and how keen Tangerine always was on keeping in neat. The thought made his smile grow wider, failing to contain it no matter how sharp his brother was staring at him. Tangerine was still that little brother of his, no matter how many years had passed. 

Eventually Tangerine gave up trying to get Lemon's attention. He rolled his eyes and flipped him off before walking away, quite literally throwing his socks out of the open window. 

“Ah man, those were my favorites!” Lemon yelled after him. 

Tangerine didn’t look back, but he was sure that he was wearing that same old cocky grin on his face. Even though a lot of things have changed since Tokyo, he couldn’t help but be grateful that no matter what life put them through, they’d always come out on the other end. 

Together. 

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Like I said, I do plan on writing more stories in this ‘universe’, so if you have anything you want to see/read, please let me know. Next up: Tangerine and Ladybug meet for the first time again after Tokyo.

Taglist: @venusthepirate @bratdoll666 @assmaster37 @wrendermeuseless @waiting4ff @kpopgirlbtssvt @earth-elemental18 @sisterslytherinog @dontknownameauthor @avocado-writing @thegremlinofransei @sugarpenchant @notfrom-outerspace @stinygirl009 @violetexpress1 @thenarryparable @pugperson99 @ozym4ndi4s @thirstyfortangerine  (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed)

[kholstomer]

Hi hi hi I saw your Laios fic on AO3 that led me over here!! For the sake of anonymity, I can't like or comment over there 😭😭 so I'll send an ask instead!

I just wanted to let you know I really enjoyed it! Laios dealing with intrusive thoughts... inevitably acting on them once they boil over... I really like seeing that stuff represented in media. I feel like sexual assault is more normalized to explore than bestiality... Even though both are terrible.

Especially as someone who used to think I was a terrible person for these thoughts. Reading about them through the lens of "this is wrong, but they can't help it" is nice. Makes me feel less like the monster I grew up thinking I was.

Thank you so much xx

(Got any more fics? 👀)

Hi anon!

I’m immensely happy you liked it. I even wondered why I put my socials in something that should be anonymous but- fuck it lmao it was worth it!

Yeh I can relate to what you said, it took me so long to explore these themes, even more to publish anything. I was really nervous posting it actually lol and even a bit guilty of writing. I was so scared people would get the wrong impression, specially because I’m always surrounded by animals. But I know who I am and that I’d never harm them, art is art and voicing/writing about it made me more comfortable with my own mind.

I feel like it’s such a hard topic to many people because they may enjoy dark content but the line is drawn at animal cruelty, but the heaviness and the unique feelings animals can evoque in us makes it even mora fascinating to explore.

It’s my first dungeon meshi fic and first with these themes, but I don’t plan to stop writing about it. Also, my research field is about the relationship human-animal in history and before (zooarcheology), in all senses, so I can’t really scape it lol I have other stuff I wrote about Laios but mostly analysis/rambles/drawings. I post them on my bluesky but I need to gather all hahaha kinda scared to post on tumblr, bsky is where I go batshit lol (also I write in Portuguese, my native language)

I can’t help but recommend you the movie Equus (1977), it also explore these themes, in a very different way, but interesting nevertheless.

Oh I also did a drawing to be the “cover” of the fic, song is Punish by Ethel Cain.

Again, thank you so much, its so nice to see we’re not alone in the mess that the human mind can be. Wishing you the best!

(PS: if you feel like, you can always DM here, anonymity guaranteed, I know how these stuff can be)

[always-anxious612]

When Imagination Takes Over (redone)

A/N: As the title suggests, this is a revamp of a fic I did a couple years ago. I normally don't post redos as I'm literally always revisiting and revising fics but I really like this one and I'll never pass up the opportunity to write these two interacting.

Description: the imagination is a very powerful thing that can create something out of nothing but thin air and a simple thought. But what happens when those thoughts are unwanted and a bit too persistent? In other words, it’s time for Roman angst once again, kiddos. Is anyone really surprised?

Pairings: brotherly Creativitwins

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, paranoia, crying, panic attack, food mention, violence and injury mentioned but it doesn't actually happen just in Roman's head (let me know if I missed anything or if you want anything tagged!)

Word count: 2,955

            It had been quite a tiring day in the imagination. Roman had been busy all day trying to stop the dragon witch from terrorizing one of the smaller villages in his kingdom. After a long battle which he, of course, inevitably won the people insisted on having a feast in his honor; and well, how could Roman refuse such a kind offer. It would be rude of him to refuse, really. And sure, maybe the food in the imagination was…well, imaginary; and maybe it would just end up leaving him feeling emptier rather than fuller, but it certainly did taste as good as the real thing and Roman was famished. Besides, it would be distasteful to just leave and deprive the townspeople of his presence, not to mention their joyous celebration would have to be put on hold. What kind of prince would he be if he did that? A bad one, obviously; and he was anything but a bad prince. He wouldn’t stay long anyway, he reasoned. Just long enough to greet everyone and take a few bites of the meal. Surely it wouldn’t take that long....

In hindsight, he really should have known better. He never could seem to get away from conversing with all of his people. Who could blame him? They were quite good company, and they always had a way of convincing him to stay with them for “just a little longer.” By the time he finished celebrating with everyone and insisted that he really should be on his way, the sky had grown dark and was tinged with the fiery reds and pinks of the setting sun. So much for not staying long.

As he bid goodbye to the last of his citizens, Roman sighed dreading the thought of the long walk he had to get back to the mind palace. Silently, he cursed himself for staying as long as he did when he knew he’d be too tired and hungry to properly create a steed or anything to get him back home. The door to the imagination was still quite far off on foot. To be fair, he really had intended to only stay for a short while this time. He sighed again before shrugging off his regrets. What’s done is done he supposed.

Roman started to whistle as he walked, a merry tune to cut through the silence that draped itself over the landscape as he entered the forest. It certainly was much more…creepy than he remembered it being out here. Taking a deep breath, Roman shook off his discomfort, looking around to admire his creation instead. His whistling slowly faded as he looked around and tried to keep his mind away from the less than pleasant thoughts that kept floating around his mind. However, as the sky became steadily darker and the trees shaded the moon, Roman’s uneasiness only grew.

Walking a bit faster, he tried to block out the soft whisper of the wind through the trees that sounded like voices filling the air. It was just his imagination, He told himself, aware of the fact of how ironic that was. The hairs on the back of Roman’s neck tingled with the sense that he was being watched by something just out of sight. It—It was nothing, just his overactive mind. Those were certainly not footsteps behind him, no matter how much he thought he could hear a second step just a beat behind his. It was just his own boots stomping against the ground and kicking up the leaves. A momentary gasp escaped Roman’s lips as he thought he saw eyes glinting out from behind a tree, but no, wait. It was just the barely visible moonlight catching on the dewdrops of the leaves.

Get it together, Roman. He chastised himself, shaking his head. Creepy and horrifying things were Remus’s territory, and Roman knew his kingdom well enough to know he was nowhere near Remus’s part of the imagination. So, there was nothing to worry about, and that was that. He was just too on edge after a long day and a fierce battle. That’s all there was to it. There wasn’t really anything lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump him, it was just his own thoughts running around and making him jumpy. Roman took another deep breath as he tried to push away the thoughts that were plaguing him.

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t scared of the dark or the trees. He was a prince for crying out loud. He—Roman stopped in his tracks. He could have sworn—those weren’t footsteps behind him…were they? Drawing his sword, Roman carefully started back up, his mind racing, his body tense. Again, he heard a definite second pair of steps behind him, but when he whirled around, sword at the ready, no one could be seen. Gulping, he walked faster, just trying to get through the woods. The rational part of his brain screamed that he controlled this place—that he could make it stop, that it wasn’t real, but that part of his brain was starting to drown in his fear. He just needed to get home.

Roman picked up his pace, trying to keep his breaths even and his eyes ahead of him. It was darker now, the leaves above completely blocking out the moon. The breeze had disappeared, but the whispers of the trees had not. They were whispering words that Roman had to strain to hear, and even when he caught a few snippets, he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. But they were whispering.

Roman was running now, desperate to get out. Desperate to get home. He’d dropped his sword somewhere along the way and couldn’t clear his mind enough to summon it again. His thoughts whirled around his head, any semblance of rationale getting caught up in his panic. A flash of yellow eyes behind the trees caught his attention—a flash all too wary and constant to be dewdrops this time. The eyes followed him, moving alongside him and keeping pace with ease. Yet the creature behind the eyes remained completely silent even as Roman’s feet pounded loudly on the earth, cracking twigs and rustling leaves.

The footsteps behind him increased their pace as he increased his own. Roman could feel them gaining on him. He could feel it. He could hear it. Twigs snapping right behind him, leaves rustling against the ground just a second after his own stirred them up. He chanced a glance behind him, but there was still nothing there. There was nothing there, yet he could hear the steps getting closer. They were getting faster, even though he was going the same pace as before. He wasn’t going to be fast enough. The trees, the eyes, the footsteps. They were gaining on him. They were—they were going to get to him. He was too slow. They were too fast. Everything was too much. With a pained cry, Roman stumbled to his knees and curled into himself, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

Logically, he knew he was in the imagination. Logically, he knew that he could stop this. It was just thoughts come to life. That was what the imagination did. And the imagination was his domain after all. He was the one that was causing all of these things to become real. But those thoughts were drowned out by his fear as quickly as they surfaced, and since when had imagination followed the rules of logic anyway. He was too disoriented to think rationally. Too tired to defend himself. Too scared to do anything other than curl up and desperately cover his ears.

Then there were arms around him, and he was shaking. It had caught up. Whatever was making the footsteps had caught him. Or maybe it was whatever had lurked in the trees, watching his every move. It had finally made its move and pounced. Or maybe the trees had finally had enough of him disturbing their home and had reached out to trap him forever in their embrace.

Roman gasped, trying not to cry as thoughts flew across his mind faster than he had time to fully process them. Thoughts of him decaying here forever alone. Thoughts of being torn limb from limb by the mysterious monsters in the woods. Thoughts of things he couldn’t see twisting their hands around his neck. Thoughts that he couldn’t manage to escape. Thoughts that swirled around him sweeping him deeper into his panic. But then he felt a gentle hand on his back. He felt himself being pulled into someone’s chest and felt the person begin rocking back and forth gently. This was…this was nice?

When nothing immediately tore him apart or wrapped suffocatingly around his body, he risked taking a shuddering breath. The hands around him tensed slightly before one of the hands came up to gently cup his head and press it to the scratchy fabric beneath his face. It took a while, but slowly, Roman relaxed and uncurled himself a bit. It took even longer for him to remove his hands from his ears, choosing instead to grip the figure in front of him and bury his face in the costume. Taking another shaky breath, he started to hear soft words of encouragement being muttered.

“It’s ok, Ro bro. I’ve got you. You’re ok. It wasn’t real.”

Remus. Roman tried to call for his brother, to assure him that he was ok now, but he only managed a whimper. Alright so maybe he wasn’t ok quite yet.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’ll get you out of here, k?” Remus promised, standing and hauling Roman up with him. Once they were standing, Remus draped Roman’s arms over his shoulder and pulled him onto his back before Roman could even protest.  He was too tired to argue anyway, and still too shaken to care much as he buried his face in Remus’s scratchy costume, not daring to look up at the surrounding darkness.

A few minutes later, they finally reached the door out of the imagination. Remus bust open the door and shook away Roman’s tight grip before tossing him onto something soft. The familiar glow of the fairy lights in his room immediately calmed him as he finally let himself breathe in full.

“You ok, Ro bro?” Remus asked, voice unusually quiet. “Those were—that was unusual for your side, huh?”

Roman shuddered at the thought of the dark forest and of the creatures lurking there.

“I’m—I’m ok,” He sighed. “Um, thank you, Re.”

“Ew, don’t thank me, you’ve never said thank you in your life,” Remus scoffed, tone shifting immediately as he plopped down next to Roman on the bed. Roman huffed indignantly, trying to shake off any lingering panic.

“Well, excuse me, for being grateful,” he tsked, rolling his eyes.

“You’re not excused,” Remus grinned, reaching over to flick Roman who quickly ducked away.

“You ruined the moment. We were having a bonding moment,” Roman complained swatting at Remus as he continued trying to flick him.

“Gross,” Remus gagged. Roman tsked again, pouting as he turned away. Remus just snickered, falling backwards onto the bed and not getting up. A short silence followed their bickering until Remus sat up and stared at Roman, studying his face uncomfortably closely.

“You know that it’s dangerous to be in the imagination after dark when you’re this exhausted Ro Ro,” He remarked, poking at Roman’s cheek. “I thought doing stupid things was my specialty.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Roman defended, pushing his brother’s hand away with another eyeroll. “I mean, I was busy fighting the dragon witch and then the people wanted to celebrate, and I couldn’t just refuse them, and—and…I guess I ended up staying a bit too long.”

“Please, ‘a bit too long’ my ass. If I hadn’t sensed something was up, you’d be caught in your own head until morning,” Remus pointed out, looking pleased with himself.

“You’re not helping,” Roman grumbled, glaring at his brother. Remus grinned and shrugged.

“Well, brother dear, if you’re ok, I have an appointment with a certain snake and a bag of rats.”

“A bag of—ok, I don’t want to know. It’s—yeah, I’m fine.” Roman replied, waving him off as Remus stood up. To be honest, he wasn’t keen on being left alone again, but he wasn’t about to admit to his brother of all people that despite his efforts, the thoughts still lurked in the corners of his mind. The dark corners of his room had never seemed to intimidating before, and he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Sometimes, things from the imagination could leak out into the Mindscape. It had happened before, granted only when one of them had left the door open, but what if the thing in the woods was still here? What if Remus hadn’t shut the door all the way when they came back? What if whatever had been making the footsteps had followed him? He'd never know until it was too late. The thought of roots writhing up from the dirt and trapping him to the ground as they suffocated him flashed through his mind and he quickly tried to push it away. But what if it happened this time? What if whatever was in the woods would drag him back before he could reach his sword? What if the monster with the yellow eyes was waiting in the shadows for him to let down his guard? What then?

Remus tilted his head, studying him for a moment before throwing himself back onto the bed, snapping into softer clothes and beginning to burrow into Roman’s nest of blankets.

“What the—" Roman muttered, pulled out of his thoughts at the motion.

“On second thought. It’s too comfortable here. Guess good ole Jan will have to wait,” Remus grinned, wiggling around to make himself comfortable.

“You don’t have to stay, Remus. I told you I’m all good,” Roman insisted, not really sure why he was arguing but feeling the need to anyway.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me for tonight,” Remus shrugged, conjuring up a deodorant stick and popping off the lid. Roman cringed slightly as he watched his brother take a huge bite of the deodorant.

“You—I’m really fine, though,” Roman tried again weakly. Remus gave him a weird look before rolling his eyes and sitting up slightly.

“Did you forget already? I can hear what’s going on up there Robro. I know that you don’t wanna be alone right now,” he said, poking at Roman’s forehead as he spoke. Roman paled, looking away. How could he forget that Remus could hear intrusive thoughts. He winced when he thought of what else he might have heard since they’d started getting along again.

“We can have a movie marathon like we used to. As long as I get to pick a few,” Remus suggested when Roman didn’t say anything, lighting up at his idea. Before Roman had the chance to answer, Remus had already grabbed the prince’s laptop and was pulling up movies to watch

“As long as you don’t pick anything with gore,” Roman gave in quickly, sighing softly. At this point, he knew Remus probably wouldn’t leave no matter how much he argued anyway.

“Boo, no fun,” Remus pouted, backspacing whatever he’d been typing in the search bar.

Roman only snorted before quickly running to the bathroom and getting changed out of his dirty prince costume. Instead, he put on some silky pajamas and settled himself beside Remus as his brother started the movie he’d picked, Frankenweenie. Roman glanced at Remus with a raised eyebrow receiving an unhinged grin in return. He knew Remus only picked such a tame movie for his sake; and he felt a wave of appreciation wash over him, almost drowning out the lingering fear that floated in his head. He settled deeper into the blankets and grinned softly.

“Hey, Remus.” he whispered, as the beginning scene began to play.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Remus glanced over at him and made a face.

“I thought I told you to stop that.”

Roman shrugged, pulling the blankets closer around him. Now that he was finally warm and the fear and adrenaline were fading, he felt the weight of his exhaustion hit him.

“Thought you should know,” he mumbled with a yawn, “You’re—You’re a good brother. I’m glad you’re back.”

Remus was quiet for a while—a feat in itself. Roman would have been worried about the abnormally long silence had he not been on the verge of falling asleep already. Instead, he simply let his head bump against Remus’ shoulder and let his eyes slip closed with another yawn. In fact, he had almost completely drifted off when Remus finally spoke up.

“You’re—You really think I’m a good brother?” he asked, voice unusually shaky.

“’Course,” Roman answered automatically sitting up a little, “but if you ever repeat that, I’ll murder you with my bare hands...and my sword.”

Remus snorted.

“You can try. Sounds like a good time,” he snickered reaching over to flick Roman’s head successfully this time.

“Rude,” Roman mumbled in response rubbing the sore spot on his forehead.

“You’re so sappy when you’re tired,” Remus cackled, noting the fact that Roman didn’t even try to get back at him for the flick. Instead, his brother just huffed, letting his head fall back against Remus’s shoulder. Remus rolled his eyes but let him get comfy again. At least he could no longer hear the swirling thoughts that had plagued Roman since he’d reached him in the imagination. As everything settled down again, Roman drifted off quickly. So quickly that he almost didn’t hear Remus’s next words.

“You’re a good brother too, Robro,” he whispered. “I missed you.”

Roman smiled. The thoughts didn’t come back that night.

[monkeythefander]

So I posted some Yandere Roman AU art yesterday and ended up coming up with a story/fic idea for the AU. I don’t know if I’ll fully write out a fic. I’m not sure if I’m skilled enough to write out all the typical Yandere violence and stuff. But I thought I’d post the outline/storyline I have so far to see what people think of the idea so far. I also want to try and post more writing besides Headcannons, so that’s another reason for me posting this.

Yandere Roman AU

Content warnings: mentioned fighting/violence, briefly mentioned intrusive thoughts (not in detail), online stalking, obsession (typical Yandere stuff)

Ship mention: Logince

Click below the cute to keep reading

———————————————————————

- Roman had a good childhood. He grew up with his twin brother Remus and two loving parents. Roman also was very social and had a group of friends. He did get jealous a bit easily when his friends hung out without him or started talking to other people over him, but he was able to push those feelings aside quickly.

- Towards the end of middle school, Roman developed him first crush. It was a guy named Luke. Luke was a new friend of Remus’. Luke would come over to the twins house often to hang out with Remus, and Roman couldn’t help but notice how cute Luke was. Remus noticed how Roman looked at Luke and soon started inviting his twin to hang out with him and Luke.

- Roman learned so many cool things about Luke. His favorite color, his hobbies, what classes his took (he also went to their middle school), and Roman became more interested in him. Luke was funny, sweet, and they had some things in common. Roman wanted to spend as much time with Luke and possible and started hanging out with him with Remus around. Luke seemed to enjoy Roman’s company too, so everything seemed perfect.

- This friendship continued in their freshman year of high school (they went to the same school again). As Roman’s feelings continued, staying very strong, the desire to confess grew. But one day at dismissal, Luke approached Roman and Remus holding a girl’s hand. Luke introduced her as Emily, and said she was his girlfriend. Roman was suddenly overcome with overwhelming anger and jealousy. He had never felt so mad before and wanted to punch something (mostly Emily). Remus seemed to sense Roman’s jealousy and said they had to go home now, so conflict was avoided.

- Once away from Luke and Emily, Roman started crying and Remus comforted him. They went home and quickly did homework before watching a happy movie and eating ice cream.

- The next day at school, Roman saw Emily and Luke talking by her locker. The anger and jealousy were back full force, and before Remus could guide Roman away Roman walked over towards the couple and started to hit her. Emily was shocked and tried to fight Roman off and Luke tried to pull Roman away from her, but Roman just shoved Luke away, causing him to hit the lockers and slump against them in pain. Roman kept attacking Emily, not really thinking or seeing clearly, blinded by his rage. Most of the other students in the hallway were staring in shock, and some were even recording. Remus wanted to stop his twin, but after how to shoved Luke away knew it was dangerous, so Remus ran to get a teacher.

- The next thing Roman knew, he was sitting in a chair in the principal’s office, his twin sitting next to him as they waited for their parents to show up. When their parents arrived, the principal informed them of what Roman did and said he would be expelled. The twins’ parents were horrified and disappointed, and didn’t speak a word to Roman on the car ride home. They just asked Remus about his day.

- At home, Roman was finally lectured by his parents. They told him violence is wrong, and when he said he was just very angry and jealous, his parents said that wasn’t an excuse and sent him to his room. He was grounded and had his phone taken away for a month. His parents decided to homeschool him for the rest of his high school career and sent him to an anger management class.

- Remus never brought home a friend again after that day, and Roman could tell his brother was a bit nervous to be around him. Considering Remus deals with some violence related intrusive thoughts, Roman was a bit surprised that Remus wasn’t being more understanding. The twins friendship became fractured that day.

- Once high school graduation came, Remus left for college and didn’t look back. He didn’t talk to Roman over the phone or texts. Roman was left alone with his parents. Roman’s parents didn’t want to send him to college, and just told him to get a job. So Roman got a job as a barista. He enjoyed getting some social interaction, since his family didn’t really talk to him that much after the incident. He thought maybe he could eventually save up enough money to move out into a cheap apartment.

- One morning while working, a cute man walked into the shop and Roman felt his heart skip a beat. The man wore a black polo shirt with blue tie, with some black pants and shoes. His hair was styled nicely and he wore a pair of black glasses over his piercing gray eyes. The man ordered a coffee and blueberry muffin and said to put “Logan” as the name for the order. Roman wanted to try and make conversation but had to focus on taking other people’s orders, and Logan seemed busy checking something on his phone, so didn’t say anything. Logan soon got his order and left, leaving Roman longing to see him again.

- Once home, all Roman could think about was Logan. He hadn’t thought this much about someone since Luke, but his interest in Logan seemed even stronger. Maybe because it’s been so long since he’s desired affection. Roman doesn’t know. But he ends up typing the name Logan into the Instagram search bar to try and find an account that looks like it might be him. After a lot of scrolling he sees a profile picture that looks like Logan. The account @ is loganberryreads. From the looks of the account, Logan is a book YouTuber. His posts vary from photos of books he buys to clips from full YouTube video book reviews. Roman ends up staying up late into the night watching his videos and becoming more entranced by this man.

- The next day at work, Logan appeared at the same time and ordered the same thing. Roman got to be the one to prepare the order this time, so Roman’s heart fluttered as Logan’s hand brushed his as he grabbed his order and thanked Roman before leaving.

————————————-

End Notes: As said above, this is just an outline/story idea at the moment. I don’t know if I’ll try and make this a full fic or not. But this is what I have so far, so I hope you enjoyed reading.

-Monkey💜

[nwarrior777]

very dark sad text about how i feel right now

if you wonder how i am doing mentally:

we talked with friends in chat and conversation came to talking about a way of moving away from countries by getting refugee status

and there is the thing that, as i heard, if you do that, there is a rule, that you can't visit country which you are running from (it's not 100℅ correct info, i just heard that this can be a thing, and it has exceptions, etc etc. pls don't panic if you are going to be a refugee, or are already, it's not from news or anything, if you are starting this path you already know about this aspect better than i, and if you aren't refugee, don't take is as 100% true info about refugee situations, again, i just heard it somewhere)

the thing is, my friends told me that it's a thing for people to think about for making decision on starting this path or not. and i was like.... really? someone is worring about it?

if i could have a chance i wouldn't think a second. like, idk, refugee center worker, or how it works, idk, would ask like: hey do you know that you will not be able to visit that countr-YES YES I KNOW I DONT WANT TO VISIT IT NEVER EVER IN MY LIFE I WILL NOT EVEN LOOK IN A SIDE OF A COMPASS IN DIRECTION OF THIS COUNTRY!! WHY DO YOU THINK I AM HERE IN THIS CENTER??? - would be my answer

and i started to think like... but it is important thing for people. and someone giving their ability to visit that first place as their sacrifice. and i thought. what sacrifice i could give?

i remembered my childhood intrusive thoughts. it was like that button memes with "you can press the button to [something] to hapen but [something else] also happen". but it was sad thoughts, not funny pictures. i imagined me choosing between something. visually in my head it was like tv show. i stand, and there's the question "here's your mam, cat, and dad. choose who to live and who will be killed". and i had to choose. i don't remember my choices only question

and today, after that chat with friends i imagined that weird "what if" choice like. what would i give for getting out of here? (and yes i would get out of here long time ago but i am not able to. it's kind of the heart of the problem)

and i thinked about it. and i understood that i feel. bad. i underestimated my depression

because i would agree to live in most broke flat. matrass in a room with 20 people? if not here - i am all in

i would give all my things. everything. leave me clothes which i am wearing, take everything else if you will take me away

and. it's a that. non-real abstract scenarios. "we will take you away, but you sleep in room with 20 people on the floor, what's you think?" - this is not how it's happen. i am just thinking about what i have and what i could give for getting away, if it worked like that.

so, all my things which i collected in 2 bags. bad living conditions. what i am ready to agree on else? what else i can to give in that strange abstract deal? what i even have?

i would give my leg. no hesitation

i was saying this to my friend in voice message, and it took me 5 seconds of thinking and to say that i would give 2 legs

if it was an option like "you can buy living not in your country by giving us your limbs" - have my legs, i would be first in line

i am an artist and. i thought a little longer. maybe 10 mins and come to thought that i would give my left arm too

i stopped thinking this thought somewhere here.

i am sorry if i sound offensive to disabled people, say me pls if it's something really bad to say. If you are disabled and this text offense you, tell me, i will delete this post. i am writing in emotions and not really like. eh. thinking about. just say if its bad pls

It's just thoughts about what i have and what i would give as sacrifice. And everything i have is my 2 bags. And my body. (and my art but freedom of art is one of the reasons why i wish to get away)

and i just thought about that if people think about not being able to visit country which they are running from as sacrifice, i started to think, do i consider even anything as sacrifice. and well, as you can see, that i absolutely have no problem with real things which are sacrifices to others in that situation, i would be fine i am sure, so i made up a abstract situation in my head to see how far i can go and.

that fact that i would agree to give my limbs for getting out of here. i think it's very sad. i didn't think i feel so bad being here

can you imagine thinking of place there you live like that. it's not okay for people suffer so much that giving a fucking leg is something they can say on, without doubt "if you will get me away take it TAKE IT"

it's so fucked up

p.s. the country is russia by the way

[surviving-cptsd]

The Beginning - Diagnose of CPTSD

Hello and thank you for taking the time to read. Some of you may know me already from interactions with my shop or maybe through my community. I am the designer and owner of Little Home Mades and my name is Jessica. I am a wife and mother of 4 children and 3 step children so a total of 7. I have been mauling over the idea of writing a blog or a book, or anything for some time. Most times I am on Facebook in my select groups and will post whatever I can to help ease mothers and fathers who are struggling with their children or certain situations and will attempt to share bits and pieces of my knowledge with them without trying to overwhelm them. I worried about writing a book or a blog because I knew how complicated my life has been. Some may feel it's even not real or a lie and I've always had difficulty processing that kind of response because that's part of my trauma growing up - not being believed. I've had mix reactions to people through other social media platforms so whenever posting my own issues, I will usually post it anonymously. I do this to remove any bias and also so I don't feel shunned in the community I'm in for future posts. I'm sure many have run into this group with Facebook and Twitter groups is people will click your profile, pull up old posts and then judge you based on your past responses if you disagree with their views and openly share that disagreement. This is what ultimately lead me to start this blog. I wanted to share my experiences to make sure people know, they are not alone, that they are heard, and that it's okay to feel the way that they feel and it's okay to be not okay. As my blog plainly points out, I am diagnosed with CPTSD which stands for Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for those who don't know. Also for those who need to know the difference between CPTSD and PTSD, PTSD is one traumatic event, CPTSD is many over a long span of time. You're basically re-traumatized over and over and over again. When you feel you're finally over one event, another happens. This leads to multiple different symptoms and the biggest one I've seen lately is the fact that people don't realize they even have it. They're just so used to these events, they're almost normalized. They also tend to feel like they can handle another event because of the intrusive thoughts of "I've dealt with worse,", "It could be worse,", or "It's not as bad as other's experiences,". Every experience is different and every reaction is different, there is no mold. When you are formally diagnosed it is a form you do with many many questions with a therapist who is specialized in trauma. Some of them sound like trick questions, but the overall score of your answers is what gives you the actual diagnose. Some people may have nightmares, where as another person has insomnia, or some people may duck and cover to fireworks, whereas another person has a panic attack while sitting on their computer. You don't have to have every symptom listed to have CPTSD, you may only have a handful and feel they are minor occurrences or not even worth mentioning, but when they're all laid out in the open, a pattern emerges that you may have never noticed before. I say all this because this is what happened to me. For a long time, I had unexplained pain in my chest that would randomly occur starting in my early teens. I would feel like I couldn't breathe. My chest would become tight and best way I could describe it back then was that "I can't expand my lungs with too much air without excruciating pain". I once told my father about this happening to me, and he told me that he had the same thing, that it must be genetic. He also told me that his stopped as he got older, so I took that and ran with it for years.

Finally in my very late 20s, I reached out to my doctor. I don't go to the doctor often because I feel always ignored about any complaint I may have, but I just wanted his opinion on it. The last episode I had before going to see him was when I was playing Civilization VI on my laptop reclined on my couch. Literally nothing triggered me, and then BAM! I'm screaming at my husband that I can't breathe and I practically threw my laptop as I scrambled to get up off the couch. So I scheduled and went to my doctors and told him about this pain I'd been having. To my absolute shock, he almost panicked. He told me he felt I was describing the symptoms of a heart attack, but I was only in my 20s. It actually scared me, suddenly I'm being told that this is not normal and that something must be wrong with me to have these issues. He scheduled multiple tests including an MRI, and EKG and ultrasound of my heart. When I came back from the tests, he told me I had a slight murmur but otherwise I was in perfect health. That's when he told me "You're having panic attacks". I was taken aback hearing that and I honestly didn't believe it. My understanding was that a panic attack is when the eyes dilate and you think you're under attack. Having chest pains out of seemingly no where in non stressful situations didn't compute to me as a panic attack. He then told me he was going to recommend me to a therapist. Overtime this therapist told me I had CPTSD and I didn't believe her either because again my understanding of PTSD was that it had to do with huge events like life threatening situations or going over seas in the military. I had felt I never had any that would warrant me having CPTSD but subsequently I discovered, as I started to recover, that they were right all along. So I am now writing this blog, almost 40 years old, because I hope it will help others or at least let them know they're not alone. Overtime in my blogs I will speak about my childhood and my events that happened throughout my life. These things may be difficult to read for some and hard to understand. I will do my absolute best to post these events in order and supply as much detail as I can to help alleviate any questions. However, if you have questions, please feel free to ask me anytime or comment here, there will be no judgement from me. Before I end this blog I wanted to point out the phrase I chose to make my title, "I don't know how you do it,". This is a common phrase I hear almost weekly if not daily - to this day. I know the people who say it mean well, they feel they need to praise me for putting up with so much. However, this phrase actually can be fairly damaging to those who have experienced any kind of trauma. The reason being is this sentence implies there was a choice, that the person is only strong because they endured their painful event. There wasn't a choice, so that is always my response to those who say "I don't know how you do it," I say "I didn't have a choice,". I encourage those who speak with others who have endured any difficulty, not to use that phrase. The phrase you're looking for is "I'm sorry," or "I'm sorry you went through that,". It may sound like a bland response, but it is the most meaningful. You are recognizing and acknowledging this person's story and that's all a person wants is to feel heard. You can do so much by giving someone affirmation when they open up to you about something that has happened in their life. So I will end this blog today - here. And the next one I will start off with my earliest childhood memories and will build from there in future posts. Please feel free to comment or ask any questions, I am not here to judge you, I am here to hear you and help you to the best of my ability. Have a wonderful day!