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nyctoaerah · 7 months ago

Note

TWTWTWTWTWTW: GORE TWTWTWTWTW

Hi, I love the Yandere Gojo series! I'd like to make a request. My request: Yandere Gojo gives his non-sorcerer lover the worst punishment he's ever seen in his life because she keeps trying to run away… he makes her unable to move or run again. either amputation or broken bones. But in the end, he regrets it very much.

⋆♱⋆REMINISCENT

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS: Satoru loves Suguru deeply and he misses the latter so much, so how could he let go off you? How could he let a pretty little thing like you slip through his fingers when you’re literally just like suguru?

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS: Yandere (duh) bone breaking, Surgery stuff, Satoru himself is already a warning, Satoru has Capgras delusion disorder, Both Reader and Satoru ended up having shared psychosis disorder. Satosugu.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Non-sorcerer reader. Satosugu.

⋆♱⋆NOTE: okokok, i know that you didn’t requested satosugu anon, but there’s a reason why there’s satosugu in here, and it’s important in the plot. Hope you understand<3. Broken bones is already a bad punishment, but i’ll add a twist on it;) Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Please do support me in wattpad and quotev too<3 i suck at doing angst, sooo.... Idk.. might make a part 2 though.

MASTERLIST

HE WASN’T THE MAN that you once knew, no longer the gentle soul who showered you with affection. The bond you shared over four years had been pure, filled with love and warmth, until that cursed night , Twenty fourth of December in 2017.

Satoru’s mental state appeared to deteriorate drastically ever since that day. The once warm and affectionate gaze he used to cast on you had now transformed into a cold and distant stare, devoid of any tender emotions.

Sometimes he would blame non-sorcerers like yourself too, grumbling things under his breath like

“You non-sorcerers are the reason why suguru went spiraling”

You didn’t grasp the true meaning of this statement until you did a little digging into Satoru’s past. It was then that you realized you had been living in a state of blissful ignorance.

And after learning about his troubles, instead of scolding him for his erratic behavior and pushing him away, you chose to approach him with kindness and understanding—You felt bad, for you would mostly just yell at him for acting like that, when you didn’t knew the reason why he was like that.

You made every effort to comfort him and show him that you cared deeply for him, to show him how apologetic you are for being so ignorant. However, at times, you also confronted him with harsh truths in order to bring him back to reality.

In these moments of brutal honesty, Satoru took notice of the uncanny similarities between you and Suguru. From the way you conducted yourself to the gestures you made, tie your hair up, everything seemed to echo Suguru’s presence.

The way you spoke, moved, the way your lips would curl up into a smile, the way you would laugh and interacted with others all carried a trace of Suguru’s aura.

And your voice, fuck, the softness of your voice was reminiscent of the way suguru’s voice would soften whenever he talks to satoru.

Despite lacking a clear physical resemblance, the essence of Suguru seemed to radiate from you in all aspects of your actions.

And perhaps, it’s the way that you managed to make him see suguru in you was what made him so obsessed with you. He saw echoes of his beloved friend in your every gesture, your every word. Sometimes, in a strange mixture of jest and earnestness, he would playfully dub you and Suguru, as if to merge the two of you into one entity. Sometimes he would joke about you being suguru’s genderbend.

You found it peculiar yet endearing at first, dismissing it as a harmless quirk borne from grief, as you had always seen it as his coping mechanism. Little did you know, this oversight would prove to be your gravest mistake.

Despite the warning signs he showed, his redflags, you somehow chose to endure it all.

And that was your biggest mistake.

His once-charming gestures now morphed into suffocating constraints, possessiveness, obsessiveness. Slowly but surely, he isolated you from the outside world, severing even the most basic ties of communication with your own family.

Your past talking stage and lovers would be either found dead or missing without any trace. The friends who once stood by your side now regarded you with wary glances, distancing themselves.

Of course, you felt a deep sense of sadness, believing there was a flaw within yourself. And seeking solace and understanding, you opened up to Satoru, shedding tears as you shared the studf that you were facing in your life. In your moments of vulnerability, he offered you comfort, reassuring you that he was all you needed and that you should distance yourself from other individuals. He warned you that these individuals posed a threat to your well-being, emphasizing that their intentions were harmful—and insisting that he was the only one that you need.

As much as you wanted to believe Satoru and trust him completely, your innate intuition stopped you from fully buying into his facade. Because despite his convincing demeanor, a lingering sense of unease tugged at the back of your mind, suggesting that something wasn’t quite right.

Moreover, Satoru showed a tendency to involve himself in even the most mundane of tasks, such as brushing your hair, typically tasks you would manage alone. It seemed as though he viewed you as some kind of doll, someone he could manipulate and control at his own whim. He made sure to always be in close proximity to you, refusing to give you any moments of solitude. The only instances where he allowed you some privacy were during bathing or changing, and even then, he seemed reluctant to leave your side.

His obsession became so intense that he became insistent on your constant presence by his side, whether he was on a mission, teaching, or interacting with colleagues. His students and coworkers all recognized the unhealthy attachment, with Shoko and even Megumi expressing pity towards you for being caught in Satoru’s suffocating love. Despite the visible discomfort from all parties involved, Satoru remained unmoved, justifying his actions to keep you close at all times.

Even when Shoko attempted to reason with him and knock some sense into his fucked up mind, Satoru would manipulate the situation to shift blame onto them, for separating him with suguru—and that they’re the reason why he only has you now.

Nanami also tried to intervene by trying to convince the higher ups to arrange dangerous solo missions for Satoru in hopes of separating you two, but his stubbornness prevailed.

Maki and Nobara also attempted to intervene, even organizing girls’ nights as a means of providing you with a break from Satoru, yet their efforts were futile.

Ultimately, the support from those aware of the situation—Nanami, Megumi, Nobara, Shoko, Maki, and others—proved futile in alleviating the troubling dynamic with Satoru. Despite their best intentions and efforts, your circumstances remained unchanged due to Satoru's unyielding obsession on keeping you with him.

Everyone knew how fucked up he was, but what can they do?

Satoru is the strongest after all.

Your parents weren’t even aware of your situation, as you were not allowed to talk or visit them.

One instance stands out in your memory, when you attempted to say that you want to speak with your parents, and he adamantly refused, claiming it was too perilous. Despite feeling frustrated at the time, you ultimately acquiesced to his wishes. The following day though, a horrifying discovery awaited you— the lifeless bodies of your parents. It was at this moment that you began connecting the dots, reflecting on the untimely death and murder of your previous partners, the gradual alienation of your friends, the look of pity his students and colleagues gives you, the persistent reasoning of people trying to separate you from satoru, his increasing control over your actions, and the coincidental deaths of those you sought to interact with.

The realization dawned on you that all of these events were orchestrated by Satoru himself, with the sole intention of keeping you entirely under his influence. And an overwhelming sense of fear crept into your chest, prompting you to devise a plan to escape while he was on a mission.

----𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆

Your entire body was engulfed in pain and weariness, each muscles contracting in pain, your breaths labored and shallow as if your lungs were about to give out—About to rupture, and a searing sensation in your chest as it tightens, heaving with each labored breath you took.

Your feet were raw and bloody, multiple cuts on it from the jagged edges of rocks you have stepped on, perspiration was all over your body in rivulets, and a dry, scratchy feeling in your throat due to lack of moisture and oxygen.

Everything burned, yet you persisted in moving forward, walking a fine line between imminent collapse and the urgent need to evade getting caught by Satoru—your boyfriend.

Rather than face capture, you were willing to risk death in your desperate attempt to escape.

You’d rather die trying to escape than live without trying to fight for your freedom.

The exhaustion consuming you mattered little, all that occupied your mind was the need to break free from his grasp and his control over you.

The passage of time was a blur, perhaps an hour had passed since you began running, your energy waning as your vision blurred with fatigue.

Lost in the vast unknown surroundings, it seemed as though you were trapped in a never-ending loop. Uncertain of your location in Japan, the isolated landscape consisted only of a sprawling mansion, trees, and barren land devoid of any signs of human life. It felt as though you had been completely cut off from civilization.

As you continued running, tears streaming down your face, your mind were spinning and every hair on your body stood on end at the sound of his voice suddenly booming.

“Hm? Is that you that i see there, [Name]?”

You froze.

“What have I told you about leaving without my permission?”

The sound of Satoru's voice sent a shiver down your spine, freezing you in your tracks. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to keep moving, to escape his reach, but the fear of his wrath paralyzed you in place.

“S-satoru.. what are you doing here...?”

You couldn’t comprehend how he had managed to be here when he was supposed to be on a mission. Your mind raced with confusion and disbelief.

“No, what are you doing here?” He asks, staring down at you coldly.

“Are you.. trying to run away?” He questioned you as he stepped closer to you.

Your breath hitched, throat constricting as you looked up at him with wide eyes, not knowing what to say.

“I-i..”

“I-i wasn’t i swear—”

You were left speechless as you were suddenly shoved you down, causing your head to hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood trickled down your forehead as a cry of pain escaped your throat.

His gaze bore down on you with a chilling intensity, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re trying to leave me..”

“I trusted you,” he whispered shakily.

“How could you? I made sure to go back as soon as possible after my mission was finished so that you won’t be in danger... And now you’re running away and putting yourself in danger?”

Out of nowhere, his hand tightly gripped your throat, squeezing with such force that it became difficult to breathe, leading to a sensation of suffocation and a blurred vision.

“S-satoru n-nnh! L-let go!”

Struggling to break free, you frantically attempted to pry his fingers off your neck, letting out choked screams in the process. Your body thrashed around violently, desperately trying to fend him off by kicking in all directions.

“You’re really just like suguru... always trying to resist..”

“I trusted you,” he whispered unsteadily, his voice cracking.

“But what have you done?” he asked shakily.

His pupils trembled like leaves in a fierce wind, his entire frame quivering with an unsettling intensity. Those piercing sapphire eyes bore into you, sending shivers down your spine in the dim, eerie stillness of the forest.

“L-let go p-please satoru!” You begged.

“P-please. A-ahn.. let g-go, ‘Toru, please,”

“T-toru, haaah, i-i c-can’t breathe”

He seemed to pause at that when you called him “Toru.”

And slowly, his grasp slackened, leaving you gasping for precious breath as your lungs desperately clawed for every molecule of air.

You coughed, again and again and again, and he just watched you.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you turned to look at him, your face contorted in anger abd fear.

“Y-you’re crazy satoru,” Your voice emerged hoarse and jagged.

“You’re crazy, i swear” You rasped as you dragged yourself away from him, only for him to close the distance.

“Crazy?” he repeated.

“Yes, crazy for love.” His fervor seemed to border on mania.

“Yes I’m Enamored, Suguru.” he professed with an almost unsettling zeal, his voice now carrying a hauntingly romantic lilt as though the torment he inflicted on you was an act of devotion.

Your breath hitched.

“What...?” your eyes widened.

“I’m not... Suguru...” Your voice faltered, delicate lips quivering. Pain pulsed through every fiber of your being, urging you to run away, yet how could you escape from one so consumed by his own distorted reality? Satoru appeared to be in a haze, his eyes vacant and unseeing—He was in his delusional state.

“Suguru, let’s go home..” Satoru mumbled.

You swallowed thickly. You were about to make a dumb move, but fuck, he really needed to snap out of it.

Gently, you cupped his face between trembling hands, hoping your tender touch might pierce the delirium and make him snap out of it.

“Please, ‘Toru, focus on the sound of my voice. It’s not suguru, it’s me”

But he remained ensnared in his twisted visions, oblivious to reality.

“...Satoru... ‘Toru, listen to me. I’m not suguru.”

“I’m not him. I’m [Name], your girlfriend...”

Again, and again and again, you tried to convince him that you’re not suguru.

“I’m [Name], the one that you met at the bakery that you liked so much... And i’m not suguru ”

You phrased it in different words.

And yet...

He was still lost in it.

“What are you saying suguru?”

Dread constricted your heart, each moment bringing you closer to the brink. To flee would surely send him into a frenzy but to stay would probably result in suffering.

“Don’t say things like that... Suguru”

he whispered.

“I still haven’t forgave you for running away.” He uttered, and a pit formed on your stomach.

“I’m [Name], not suguru—Toru... Please, fuck, snap out of it”

He ignored you as he gently caressed your cheek before guiding your head towards his for a kiss. Your heart pounded as your lips met, the sharp sting of his teeth on yours making you whimper.

“S’toru... Stop...”

When he didn’t stop, you reacted by biting his tongue hard, making it bleed. Surprisingly, this did not deter him; instead, he released a soft moan of pleasure.

“Oh fuck... You’re still the same as always, suguru.”

You gasped as he finally pulled away from the kiss.

“Sa-Satoru... What the fuck..?” You shrieked. Why the hell did he said that? Does this meant that... He was in a previous relationship with Suguru? Did he used you as a rebound? No, fuck, he sees suguru in you.

You understand it now.

“I’ll make sure you don’t do it again,” He whispered.

“Huh?”

“Make sure that you don’t massacre a whole ass village again so that they won’t separate you from me...”

Slowly, deliberately, his other hand drifted downward toward your ankle. Your heart drops as you felt him do that.

Oh fuck, he’s not planning on snapping your ankles, is he?

“Satoru, no, no, no, no, no!”

You strained against his crushing hold, but could only witness in horror as his fist closed around the delicate bones.

“If you do that, i’ll never forgive you— AHHH!”

A strangled scream caught in your throat as you felt the unmistakable snap of your ankle splintering beneath his strength.

White-hot pain lanced up your leg and your vision blurred with tears of misery. Before you could process the pain of the first break, his hand was upon your other ankle. You knew what was coming yet were powerless to prevent it. Another sickening crack reverberated through your shattered nerves as satoru callously contorted the joint beyond its limits. Bone fragmented, muscle tore, and ligaments ripped apart, leaving your legs crippled and limp.

----𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍

His fingers pressed insistently beneath your chin, a mixture of gentle caress and firm control as he meticulously groomed your hair, each stroke designed to emulate the exact style of Suguru’s locks.

Tying it back partially, he sought to replicate every minute detail, ensuring you bore an eerie resemblance to his obsession—Suguru. But the true horror lay in his pervasive fixation upon you as Suguru incarnate. He paid face surgeons to sculpt and mold your face until the reflection in the mirror bore a warped semblance to Suguru’s features, he would drape you in Suguru’s attire and bestowing upon you the very essence of his fucking bestfriend.

And the worst of it all? he managed to find suguru’s daughters and practically forced you to take care of them—like the way suguru would take care of them. Even suguru’s daughters were horrified — yet they were too scared to even refuse.

All of the horrors that he had made you go through broke you completely.

“Perfect,” he murmured with a self-satisfied hum, stepping back to survey his handiwork.

You just sat there, disoriented, and feeling hollow as an empty shell.

Stripped of your true identity and coerced into being someone else you weren’t. The drugs he administered clouded your mind, the brainwashing eroding your sense of self until you could no longer discern who you are. The only thing you knew is that you’re suguru.

It was a bad punishment, real, real bad punishment.

Your identity was snatched, and you were no longer yourself.

He furrows his brow, observing the silence that hangs between you.

“C’mon speak, suguru.” he urges, his gaze piercing into yours.

“Isn’t it perfect?”

Suddenly, a flicker of realization dances in his eyes as they narrow, scrutinizing the subtle yet noticable difference between your eyes and suguru. The shift is imperceptible to most, but to him, it is a glaring anomaly that demands attention.

A smirk curls onto his lips

“Seems like we need to adjust those eyes of yours as well, huh? Don’t you agree, suguru ?”

Satoru sighed as his calloused fingers tangled themselves in thick ebony locks, pulling your motionless form taut against his chest. An ichor-cold sense of wrongness had settled itself deep in his marrow, its barbs tearing at his insides.

His beloved Suguru was already here... But... Where is his [Name]?

“Nanako and Mimiko would be upset to see you like this suguru...”

RING

Satoru blinked at the sudden shrill clamor emanating from his phone—and he realized that someone was calling him, still cradling your form against his chest with a singular hand. He took the device from his trousers one-handed, calloused fingers opening his phone.

When at last the lock screen dissolved into view, an icy shiver seized his marrowed bones.

It was you—in your normal self, kissing him in the cheek, and you two looked very happy.

Why did suddenly felt wrong?

...

... It felt wrong...

So, so wrong.

Why did nostalgia for your genuine self now claw so vehemently at the fissures in his heart, when only Suguru had the right to reside there?

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keeganssluttywaist · 18 days ago

Text

**I said I was going to do this so long ago. I am finally going to**

GhostxReader -LONG. FIC.

CW: Non-Con, drugging, sex pollen, literal violence, heavy regret and angst after. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Disclaimer: I write these fics to help cope with my own trauma. Others use this same method. If you do not do the same. If you do not like dark content feel free to scroll past as this coping mechanism is not for everyone.

You knew what the mission was meant to be. You knew that you guys were meant to breach a lab. Head to the safe house and then get picked up by Exvil the following day.

You had memorized the plan. Something Ghost admired about you. You two were close friends. Well friends is a hard word to describe it. He had feelings for you he refused to ever share. Too fucked up mentally to ever feel like he could be with someone has perfect as you. You had feelings you hid. Just to be professional. Not to make work awkward and not to ruin the friendship you had with the man who didn’t really seem too keen on any new friends.

You had gotten into the lab easy enough. It was meant to be mostly abandoned and you were on guard for any hostiles. However to your shock there was none.

Why would a top secret lab have no soldiers present? It didn’t make sense to you. Something was off. You get into the lab, looking through their files for the information, the intel you needed. Some kind of gas that was released to another group you guys were friendly with. It was strange. The details of it were kept from you. All you knew is everyone was either dead and seemed otherwise untouched by violence. Just dropped.

They were ripped to shreds. Well clothes were. Bruises, cuts, beaten to death and the rest was unknown.

It didn’t make any sense.

All you were told is to find information on SP06.

Interesting name for a gas you had thought. Ghost didn’t seem worried. You were in the files while Ghost tried to get into a smaller more secure part of the lab. Muttering something about wishing they had left the door unlocked when they seemed to run off so quickly. He picked the lock, ignoring your suggestion to break it.

“Don’t want to trigger the alarm system, love” he said to you. You got it. So you busied yourself with the files. Finally you found one. Grabbing it and tucking it into your bag. You were told not to read it. Not to look at it. You would be filled in when it became your business and for now it wasn’t.

You could hear the door get opened with a hiss followed by Ghost’s heavy footsteps. Then the door quickly hisses shut. He turns around banging on the plexiglass door. You rush to the door as see as a white gas starts to fill the small room. You stand back shooting the lock and trying to pry the door open from there. It was heavy but Ghost was on the other side helping you. Coughing and sputtering trying not to inhale the gas as much. Not knowing what he was being dosed with. It swings open and you hold your breath.

His hand grabbing your wrist and as you both take off running. Fleeing the place.

“Did you-“ cough “get what we came here for?” Cough, he asks

“Yeah- I think we have more pressing matters at the moment though dude” you say as you guys swerve trees and jump over roofs that protrude out of the ground. You run for what feels like forever but you know it’s only been an hour and a half before you see the seemingly harmless cabin in the distance.

“That it?” You ask breathlessly your legs hurt your lungs hurt. But you knew Ghost was in worse shape.

“Yeah- fucking hell. It’s blazing out here. Shouldn’t it be cooler at night?” He asks that should have been your first warning. It was freezing outside. You could see your breath. You get into the cabin, slamming the door shut and you look at Ghost your heart hammering in your chest. You look around briefly. It was a small cabin. A living room with one beaten up old couch, a kitchen in the same room. And then one door open showing a bedroom that looked to be a little smaller.

“Do you feel anything do you know what it was?” You ask, your mouth dry. He groans shaking his head.

“No. I don’t know what it was. Something fucking nasty though. I’m burning up” he says, ripping off his vest. He slams it down and you flinch. Keeping an eye on him; concern etched into your features. You took off your own vest. Needing a break from its weight.

“Here my hands are freezing. Maybe they can cool you off” you offer reaching for him. He sighs standing still. Ignoring the throbbing feeling growing in his pants. Ignoring how his vision seems to haze over. Or maybe it was just so slow he almost doesn’t realize it’s happening. Feeling your cold hands reaching under his mask. Trying to cool him.

He didn’t see the switch happen. He didn’t feel it either. He just suddenly saw you as…an objective. His gloved hands reaching for your wrists. The way he yanks your hands off of him and twists you around. Using your own arms to cross in front of your body. You yelp and then struggle but feel the tightness in your shoulders.

“Ghost what the fuck?” You ask he presses against you grinding his almost burning cock against the small of your back.

“Shhh be good for me and it won’t hurt.” He says, your brows furrowed in confusion. As he had already started walking you towards the bedroom. You panicked. Stomping on his foot. He growls but releases your arms out of shock and you turn around to face him putting a hand out in front of you.

“What the fuck are you doing? What has gotten into you?” You asked, you looked for the kindness you normally saw in his eyes but his pupils blown wide, seemed to only emit darkness. A hunger that made you tremble in a way you never wanted to with him. Not with him. He didn’t wait, reaching forward and swatting your hand away grabbing your hair roughly. Your fist pounding on his chest as he walks you back further into the bedroom. As soon as you pass the threshold you snapped out of your blind panic and tried using your brain. Punching him hard across the face.

Which doesn’t go over so well. As he throws you against the nearest wall your head hitting the walll. Stunning you for only a moment. Enough time for him to be kicking the door shut and locking it. He didn’t waste more time pinning you against the wall with his frame as he starts grabbing at your pants. Ripping the button open.

“Ghost stop- this isn’t like you” you try to remind him

“Shut up.” He says, ignoring those pleas and the fear in your voice that normally would break his heart to hear. You feel him unzip your pants and you whimper mostly in shock.

“Don’t do this” you say and he slams his hand over your mouth. Moving to his own pants and unbuttoning them. Taking them down enough to free his cock. Sure you had wondered how big he was. But you didn’t want to find out like this. And not knowing that it confirmed that the man was massive. It just scared you even more. You clawed at his wrist and tried to shove him off. He was much. Much bigger than you. And even stronger than you remember him being during sparring. Making you wonder if he had taken it easy on you this whole time. Until now.

He looks at your pants still on but unbuttoned. Realizing that he couldn’t keep you restrained against the wall and undress you at the same time. So he makes an educated decision. To throw you back onto the floor. You tried to catch your fall scraping your hand against the wooden flooring which was shitty to begin with. His hands meeting the hem of your pants as he yanks them down. Tears blur your vision as you try to kick away from him but he grabs both of your feet. Yanking off your shoes to pull your pants all of the way off. He grips your thighs roughly slamming your legs open with no care for how much it hurts you. He spits on your most intimate area dragging his cock along your folds and prodding at your entrance. Which made you mumble out another plea.

He just laughs. Laughs.

He was so hard being inside of you was all he could think of. He needed it. He needed to hurt you. To fuck you. To violate you. At the sight of his large tip against your cunt he couldn’t help himself from pushing in. He slammed down as soon as the tip breached the first inch. Groaning loudly. The tears filling your eyes finally falling as he begins his painful thrusts. Every single one rocking you against the wooden flooring.

You were sobbing and whining in pain and horror at what was happening to you. One of his hands reaching up and grabbing your face. Roughly. Holding your chin still.

“Just wanna see that pretty face when you cry, love” he groans out.

Every slam of his hips fucking hurt. His cock bullying your cervix to the point where you were sure if it was possible to break it but he might.

Your hands flew to his wrist again. Scratching him deeply. Drawing blood. It didn’t bother him. He would move his hand slightly just to slap your face. See more of those tears he wanted to lick off of your face.

Whoever this man was. He was no longer the Ghost you knew.

He was brutal. Seemingly enjoying every ounce of pain he inflicted. He came just as hard. Each thrust turning into a body slam as he reached an orgasm. Emptying into you. You had hoped you were done. That he was done.

The drug still coursing thick through his body though he wasn’t. Grabbing you up by your throat and shoving you onto the bed. You muttered another plea but he ignored that one too. Flipping you onto your stomach. Securing both hands in one wrist behind your back as he eased himself in again. It somehow was a tighter fit. Making you squeeze your eyes shut and cry out again as he continues. Grabbing your hair with his other hand and yanking it back.

His grip on your wrist was painful. When he leans forward and bites your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood you screamed. Which he returned with a loud moan.

“That’s right. Scream for me.” He says through a wave of pleasure. You don’t know when you went into shock. When you seemed to freeze. Not that it kept him any less brutal. Doing anything to get a reaction from you. Putting you in any and every position he could think of. Jackhammering into you like his life depended on it.

It did.

You lost count of how many hours this seemed to go on for. By the time he was spent- unable to go on any longer you were long exhausted. Your body hurt everywhere and you were barely able to breathe without pain.

Filled with his cum that leaked out of you. Bruises forming and a blood vessel in your eye had popped from the pressure of when he choked you almost to the brink of death. Making the white of your left eye red with the trapped blood.

Passing out on the floor of the bedroom when he let you go and you tried to get away from him only to drop a foot away. He didn’t go to you. He crashed just as hard on the bed.

He woke up first. A pounding headache. His chest hurt. He sits up confused. Disoriented. When the fuck did they get to the safe house? When the fuck did he go to sleep? Why does he not remember anything right now?

He gets up, dizzy and his first thought.

Where is she? Is she okay? What’s bloody happened?

He sees you on the floor bloodied. Bruised. Naked. His eyes widening in horror as he runs to your side. As soon as he touched your shoulder to stir you you woke up. Seeing him. You freak out. Obviously. Backing up from him only to hit the wall.

“No no love, it’s me. It’s okay okay” he tried to soothe

“Stay the fuck away from me” you screeched

“Love, it’s me. I’m not going to hurt you. Jesus baby what the fuck happened?” He asks, the question confused you but you just shook your head. “Who did this to you?”

You furrow your brows.

“You did” you hiss.

His heart sinks. Suddenly the memories start flooding back to him and it’s almost like he’s watching himself as a spectator. He shakes his head.

“No- no I wouldn’t- no” he says refusing to believe even his own memories. Because he would never hurt you. He could never hurt YOU.

He kept his distance from you. Trying to explain from at least 5 feet away that he didn’t understand what happened. That he would never do such a thing. That he feels like something else took over. You didn’t know what to believe. This man that you had never seen this emotion from was crying in front of you trying to understand why he didn’t it.

You got the radio call Exvil was on the way. You didn’t want to stay here. He tried to offer to help you up seeing you struggling to even stand but you denied him. Telling him once again to stay the fuck away from you. You got on your ruined pants, wincing when the fabric touches your skin as everything was bruised and sore.

He kept his distance the whole way to Exvil too. Still trying to peace everything together. Even on the way back to base. He never once looked at you. Just kept his head down at his own hands. Wondering how they could have given such violence to someone he loved without his permission. As soon as you get back to base and saw Price you ran to him. Hugging him tightly for the comfort you needed. He took your face in his hands and almost immediately he knew what had happened. The tears streaming down your face broke his heart but tears streaming down Ghost’s ripped it out.

He explained it to you both in medical. While you were being treated for a concussion and multiple scrapes and stitches somewhere you didn’t want stitches.

“SP06. Sex pollen. Nasty strand of it. Instead of the usual distracting soldiers with the need to fuck something or someone or else their heart gives out. To something that takes over completely. Makes the victims violent. Animals. Tear each other apart to get it out if their systems. Our intel told us they wouldn’t have it there. Just the research for it. Or I never would have sent you two together” he explains you were numb. Staring off in front of you while Ghost tries to battle with himself.

He had done it. Regardless of the drug he had done something he made a point to never do. After everything he had been victim to. He never wanted to make anyone else a victim. And he had. To the person he wanted to protect the most.

You couldn’t stay mad at him. Knowing it wasn’t his choice but you also couldn’t look at him ever again. Months going by and you couldn’t be in the same room as him for very long. Couldn’t look at him. When he spoke to you it made your skin crawl. You left the task force after 5 months. Unable to stand being around him. He was never the same after that night either. He was cold. He was almost silent completely except for when he needed to speak for the job or to price. Aside from that the man was mute. His dreams filled with memories of that night that woke him with a cold sweat and an ache in his chest.

He couldn’t get the sight of you in that corner out of his head. Bruised wrists, neck, face, thighs. Bleeding and tears streaking down your face. The split in your eyebrow. The way you spoke to him. It haunted him everytime he closed his eyes.

In his eyes. He ruined both of you. He hoped you got the help you needed. That you at some point could live a happy life. He felt he didn’t deserve much of that. For all he cared. He could drown in it.

#tw noncon #ghost #cod men #ghost cod #cod x reader #dead dove do not eat #sex pollen #noncon drugging #regretting #kinktober #2024 #COD Ghost #call of duty #i’m sorry #angst

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stabbyfoxandrew · 1 month ago

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I am proceeding orderly to your askbox, totally not running and stumbling over myself, humbly requesting the light of my life, Angel Neil. Or Mer AU, if Angel Neil isn't behaving and needs quiet time in the corner. (I haven't been paying much attention to Tumblr lately, I hope you're doing well!)

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 239)

"Her name was Lacey,” Bee says finally. “She said she saw ghosts."

"Past tense?"

"Past tense." Betsy repeats, looking solemn. "But there are no similarities between you and Lacey. You describe Neil as an angel, a being who would not hurt you. Her case was... Very different. I just wanted to be sure. And now I am. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I have plenty to worry about. Neil is not on the list.”

“If that ever changes, if Neil ever threatens you, I need you to tell me."

"He won't."

"But if he does."

"Then I swear on hot chocolate and reality television that I will come to you first." Andrew says, holding up his hand as if he's testifying in court. Bee seems pleased by that. And amused. Andrew puts his hand down. “So… You're still of the mind that Neil's my imaginary friend, correct?"

"Or a harmless side effect of your medication."

Andrew sits there for a moment, pushes his tongue into his cheek. "What if he's not?"

"What if he's not harmless?" Bee asks, looking the slightest bit alarmed.

"No." Andrew gestures with his hand, trying to communicate without having to come up with words. "What if he isn't a side effect?"

"Are you suggesting that he is actually an angel here to protect you?"

"What I am suggesting, Betsy, is that it's a bit strange for him to only have shown up a few months ago when I have been taking these things for years."

"I…” Betsy closes her mouth. “That's a good point."

"So, what if the drugs have nothing to do with him? What if I'm just plain ol' psychotic?"

"I'm not sure that's a possibility, Andrew," Betsy says, flipping through his paperwork. "You have no family history of psychosis—"

"Oh Betsy, you forget who you're speaking to. I have no family history, period. If you recall, I only have two living relatives and they're both my age. My sperm donor could be tied down in a psych ward anywhere in the country and I would never know."

"Okay. You're right. It is possible. But I think the chances are pretty slim.”

“How slim?”

“Nearly non-existent.” Bee says. After a moment, she continues, “I have patients who are psychotic, Andrew. I’ve had patients who were schizophrenic. You do not exhibit the same symptoms as they do. I promise.”

"So I don't need to get fitted for a straight jacket."

"Exactly. Andrew, I'll reassure you as many times as you need me to. But I think you're fine. After June, we'll know if Neil was a side effect. If he sticks around after you're off your meds, we'll talk about it more. Okay?"

“I don’t think he’s a side effect, Betsy.” Andrew says. “I’ve seen him without them.”

“Without them?”

“At night when I come off them to sleep. Early in the morning before I’ve taken them.”

“Ah. Then, like I’ve been telling you, he’s a coping mechanism.” Betsy says. But she's wrong. Andrew has seen Neil eat and drink and hold things. He’s felt the angel’s warmth when they sat side by side. If Andrew has seen him sober, Neil is not a side effect. If Andrew is not psychotic, Neil is not a hallucination. That means he’s real.

Boo hoo for Lacey, but Andrew's got an angel.

"I think you'd like Neil," Andrew says randomly.

“Of course I do. He’s good for you." Bee says, taking Andrew by surprise. She's said as much before, but not in so many words. As if answering an unasked question, she continues with, "You've told me that Neil encourages you to take care of yourself, to spend time with your family, to catch up on school work, and to take exy more seriously. These are positive things."

“The rest I’ll give you. But exy will never be a positive.”

#angel neil is my problem child but i can't neglect him. i've tried. it only makes him worse. </3 lol #also i made up a girl called lacey who saw ghosts and killed herself about it. those details don't matter. just thought i'd tell y'all #andreil #aftg #WIP Wednesday #Guardian Angel Neil AU #🕊️#answered #bribery-of-monkeys

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imagineitdearies · 3 months ago

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Do Astarion and Tyrus ever joke about their past as a way to cope? OR do they prefer to avoid the subject "We were Cazdor's slaves, it was traumatic but but don't have to go into details".

Hi anon! Hmm, what an interesting question. I think my answer has more to do with how I generally have characterized these two when it comes to humor.

Astarion's humor in my opinion is actually pretty cute and harmless, silly, when he actually means it in the game (mimicking Halsin, making really lame puns and innuendos). But in the case of trauma and his abuser I'd say he jokes about it as a defensive mechanism to shock people, make them back off and leave him alone, or to hide his true feelings about something. Like when he's making fun of Cazador's "grand ceremony to honor one exalted vampiric master," there's clear anger behind it, not actual levity. Maybe this would change after enough years of healing, but I do clock him as the type to avoid thinking about it even for joke fodder--he did spend a lot longer living it, after all.

Tyrus is a different case. Of course, he's not up for jokes very often during the awful traumatic events of PS, but he does have a streak of dry, occasionally-dark humor running through him that I think will come out a lot more as they get farther from the past and Cazador is truly permanently dead in his mind. And he loves making Astarion laugh when he can; Astarion's always enjoyed Tyrus's strange (sometimes unintended) humor.

Problem is, our boy's offhand, dry remarks about his past may not be so funny to those hearing about it for the first time (poor Cynda).

**Cue Astarion chuckling at Tyrus's dry joke about Justiciars not being very creative torturers, while everyone else stares at the two of them in confusion/horror**

No doubt Tyrus would specifically enjoy making fun of Cazador--though I think everyone finds that enjoyable, to be fair.

Thanks for the ask anon! Hope you're keeping well 🥰

#fic: perfect slaughter #ask me anything #tystar #astarion #astarion x male oc

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your-friendly-sociopath · 1 year ago

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Thank you for following me and I also write content myself so if you have any requests go ahead and ask but if it's all right can I please ask for a platonic yandere Alastor or angel dust with a quiet darling that has abandonment issues and mental health issues so they wear Jirai Kai fashion as a coping mechanism

And can it be where the darling gives them a gift as a way of saying thank you

Something like this

I'm sorry if this is too much

It's not to much, and I'm happy to write 😁

Platonic Alastor

Alastor first met you in the living world

You were a waitress working at the little diner across from his radio station

He regularly visited in the mornings for a cup of joe

He always sat in your section, which was accidental at first

Whenever you came to his table he started to talking to you

Not like friendly small talk

But grand and wild stories about some strange person he had interviewed, or intense descriptions of the murders he reported

Though it was strange to you at first, you grew somewhat comfortable around him

Which was something that scared you

You didn't want to get to attached to this man, only for him to just up and leave

Alastor seemed to sense your apprehension and did whatever he could to let you know that he wouldn't leave

He even became some sort of father figure for you

Which something you had never really had

Eventually you grew to trust him

Alastor would always come in the mornings to chat with you, and come by on the evenings to walk you home

So as a way of showing thanks to Alastor for being such a good friend, you have him a little black bow tie with cute lace ribbon

Alastor was over the moon when you gave him this, and always wore it in your presence (to your delight)

After giving away the bow tie he started giving you little gifts as well

To you this was a harmless and sweet gesture

But Alastor knew what it really was

He always gave you small accessories to wear as a way to show that you were his

You were his child, you belonged to him

He was gonna protect you forever

His little fawn

"Never fear, my dear fawn, I'm here now and I will never leave you.."

#yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #platonic alastor #platonic yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #platonic yandere deer daddy #my reason for living #hazbin alastor

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nitewrighter · 5 months ago

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This is that BruHarvey/Zur-En-Arrh fic I was talking about earlier but it has very quickly turned into me putting my hands on Harvey's shoulders and saying, "On GOD we're going to get you mental help that isn't fucking Arkham Asylum."

“So!” Doctor Chapel put her hands on her hips, “Good news! You have a frontoparietal cyst that is… honestly miraculous it hasn’t killed you yet.” “…what,” Harvey said blankly. “Okay, I should explain—” Doctor Chapel handed him a print of his brain scan, and he saw an angry purple stain towards the front of his brain, “Plenty of kids are born with small cysts and lesions in the brain that are harmless, but your records with Arkham indicate you underwent significant childhood trauma—both mental and physical. If I had to estimate it, I would say this cyst was around… the size of my upper thumb-knuckle when you were 18. But, you know, you were growing, your brain was growing… you’re aware there’s something there, but you were keeping it shoved down. Then the acid attack happened, your head was traumatized in adulthood, while your brain was attempting to heal itself, the cyst underwent significant growth to start really impacting your frontoparietal lobe—that’s your impulse control. And it would only get bigger as you went under various other forms of head trauma as Two-Face. Although honestly, cross-referencing this with your hypnotherapist’s notes, it’s incredible how much architecture your brain has put in around curbing what should have been frequent homicidal impulses.” “Th-thanks?” Harvey’s brow crinkled. “So what I want to do is a surgical procedure to drain the cyst and remove its sack, which should hopefully significantly improve blood flow and oxygenation in the brain,” said Dr. Chapel. A lobotomy, Big Bad Harv growled in Harvey’s brain, She’s going to turn us into a vegetable. Harvey’s fingers dug into the arm of his chair. But if it stopped the cycle… stopped big Bad Harv from hurting people… “Is… this going to get rid of Big Bad Harv?” asked Harvey. “Oh—no, you need to understand, Big Bad Harv isn’t the cyst. He’s his own complex body of coping mechanisms and he clearly has a lot of impulse control as well—but he is a stress response, and I believe this procedure is going to take a significant amount of physical stress off of the brain. Also, sidenote, but would you be willing give permission for me to add your file to a class-action case against Hugo Strange? Because either he’s woefully incompetent that he didn’t catch this, or he willingly didn’t treat this or enter it into any official case files for the sake of observing it.” It’s the latter, both Harvey and Big Bad Harv spoke at the same time in Harvey’s head.

WIP Wednesday

Working on my next chapter of "Like Real People Do". Bruce has officially entered his "incapable of being normal about Rachel & Harvey" era.

Alfred can count the amount of times the Wayne scion has tried to cook by himself with one hand, along with what appliances they’d had to replace. (He’s still not sure how the blender caught fire.) Something scratches at the back of the butler's mind. He knew he had all the required components in the kitchen. Still. As he slices the onions and quarters the tomatoes, Alfred can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s forgotten something. Less than six seconds later, the kitchen door slams open. “Rachel’s MARRIED?!” Ah. That’s it.

I am tagging @radioactivepeasant @nitewrighter @nighthaunting @elleinmotion @flatsuke

#dc #wip wednesday #harvey dent #beth chapel

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thekavseklabs · 3 years ago

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Pros / Cons of Dating My Muse

Name: Vynathr (or Vynathra) Levnahra, Al-ke Roha Alria

Species: Aquatic/Sea Kei

Sexuality: Pansexual

Pros:

He is incredibly strong. You weigh nothing to him. If you wish it he can literally just carry you around the entire day and not really notice. Not so mention his other powers. For instance he can self-duplicate and become a hive mind at will, so he can go to work and can stay in bed and cuddle at the same time, no problem.

Considering the fact that he's constantly boiling with rage, he's shockingly patient. If Vynathr cares about you, he will literally wait for eternity when it comes to anything important. He has that time, and you are worth it. And if the answer isn't what he hoped for, that's alright. He will always, always accept your needs, wants, or lack thereof.

Cuddles! He wants them pretty much all of the time, and, well... World hard and cold? Vynathr's tiddies soft and warm, Vynathr's arms strong and safe. If he has his wings out, he can curl them around you both, so you can have a cozy dark room to snuggle and nap in at any time of day. And he purrs and rumbles and will stroke your hair and in general is just really nice to snuggle.

Vynathr is limitlessly determined and, depending on verse and timeline, Hella Fucking Rich And Powerful. If you want a thing, you are getting that goddamn thing, whether the rest of the world likes it or not. He will throw hands with the entire planet on your whim, and he will win. You are dating a man who is relentlessly shoving and blurring and breaking the boundary of godhood without even trying, expect no less.

His singing is lovely, and so is his art. When Vynathr is content (and he is, he loves you very much, and you make his life so much better just by being there), your life is full of beautiful things. Soft, low rumbling wordless song and hums lull you to sleep at night, clever hands play guitar in the morning, and you will recieve many little hand-carved figurines and sketches. He'll write songs for you, surprise you with them in quiet moments through the day.

Vynathr understands the need to go out and Do Things. He won't get offended if you prioritize your life or go out often or spend time with friends. He might not socialize with said friends if asked, but he lives a very solitary lifestyle, that's not a surprise. He mostly just dozes through their visits to avoid them.

He's easy to please. He has access to all the grand things- give him something small. He doesn't want much, and just time spent with him makes him happy- material things don't have to be fancy either. He'll appreciate and keep just about anything.

Cons:

As stated above, Vynathr is constantly shoving on the boundary between mortal and god, without trying. He has buried subconscious memories of times before mortals existed, before this body's birth. He is immensely powerful, and it's impossible to understand exactly whats wrong sometimes. Often he doesn't know either. All you can do is be there, and that's upsetting.

Vynathr has had an intensely fucked up time. Even if his curse is cured there are lingering effects. He is angry, often absolutely enraged over nothing at all. He has the hunger and drive to destroy planetary systems. Don't expect that to just go away, even if he stops.

On the subject of fucked up, he has a lot of trauma and emotional baggage. Vynathr considers himself to be the worst, most disgusting and harmful and just fundamentally awful thing that could possibly exist. A couple soft words wont get rid of that either. He will try to leave you for your own good, he will insult himself, he will refuse affection that he desperately needs.

He reacts explosively to small things if they set him off. If he feels something he doesn't understand (aka anything at all, he's a special kind of emotionally repressed), he might lash out or shut down or scream and fight about it. The man has no healthy coping mechanisms, at all. The majority of his vitrol may be directed at himself, but it's still a huge and at times dangerous mess.

Vynathr can be strange at times, and kei in general have some concerning ways to convey affection. Their sound for intense anger and deep satisfaction or pleasure is the same (a deep rumble low in the chest, distinct and different from a purr), and even by that standard Vynathr expresses himself strangely. His expression is generally harsh even when in bliss, and his ears are pinned back or lowered nearly 100% of the time. That vicious looking snarl and growl when he sees you is affectionate. Don't mind the huge claws and teeth.

Sharp boy. You will be bit. He might break your collarbone and mangle you a bit in the process. It's 'cause he loves you. He tries his best to remember to Not Do That, but instinct is a powerful thing at times. In general he is animalistic and scary and dangerous. Even the supposedly harmless stuff line shoving his face into you like a cat wanting to be pet has potential to knock you over.

Most importantly Vynathr is a fucked up man from a fucked up society. You are dating a monster, first and foremost, and that won't change. He's a harsh and violent person with a set of morals that aren't always going to align with yours. Even when he tries he is often blunt and harsh. You can't fix him and if you try to, you'll only break him further, make him more traumatized and untrusting and angry. You can only accept who he is in this reality, violence and all.

Tagged by: I stole it from @lxgatus a month ago and then forgot

Tagging: YOU. Say I tagged you

#Dash games; you're next #Man poor vynathr he just wants to roughhouse :(#i long for the day vynathr has a partner he can finally roughhouse and play all he wants with #let vynathr have someone who can take getting barrelled into with the force of a train #let vynathr have someone who can barrel into him with the force of a train in return

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deathduty · 3 years ago

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Pain of the Week || Deirdre & Milo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: An alley somewhere PARTIES: @deathduty & @wickedmilo CONTENT: discussions of addiction, drug abuse and drug use. Medical blood (for first aid), gore (removal of debris from wound), suicidal ideation (death imagery) SUMMARY: A vampire finds a banshee in an alley. A vampire decides to help; a banshee calls him stupid. OR two grumpy people insult each other

Milo wasn’t drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober, and as he wandered down the empty suburban streets of White Crest, he used the alcohol in his system to suppress any memories of Dani, and his parents. Avoidance wasn’t exactly a healthy coping mechanism but he couldn’t care less about that fact. So long as he could stop thinking about her, so long as he could stop thinking about them. If only for a brief, blissful moment in time, he wanted to forget what he was, his new life and the complications brought with it. But when had he ever gotten his way? When had life ever been that easy, especially now? The scent of blood hit him first, followed by the quiet sound of ragged breathing, and he realised the town had well and truly swallowed him whole when his first response wasn’t shock, or fear, or concern. But rather frustration, and resignation. He was growing used to unusual situations, growing used to being chased, or hurt, or coming across others who were being chased, or hurt. It made him wonder whether White Crest had always been this dark. According to his supernatural friends, it had been. And yet, how could anyone be so unaware of the violence? He had been living in ignorance for twenty-two years, oblivious to the things that were happening around him. And now that he was finally being forced to address them, there didn’t seem to be an escape.

Regardless of his annoyance, regardless of another walk home being interrupted by something that was very much not his problem, he knew he needed to offer his help. As selfish as he was, as self absorbed, and inconsiderate, there were certain lines he wouldn’t cross. Sure, he might steal someone’s wallet to pay for a hit, or look the other way during a bar fight he didn’t want to get involved in. But leaving somebody alone, and injured, when there was nobody else around, felt beyond wrong. In the same way he had insisted upon helping Raina, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t insist upon helping this person. Whoever they were, whatever their circumstance. Letting out a pointed huff of breath, he changed direction, crossing the street to head towards the source of the blood. It was easy to follow the scent, and it didn’t take him long to reach a small alley between businesses, the buildings closed and locked up for the night. “Uh… hello?” He called, eyeing the woman he could see sitting between the narrow brick walls. Her legs were flat against the floor, and his eyes were drawn to the pool of blood steadily building beneath them both. “Are- are you okay?” Wow, what a ridiculous question. But he wasn’t exactly well versed in the etiquette of helping bleeding strangers. “I mean, you know... can I help?”

Deirdre was used to pain. Sometimes, it seemed she lived in it—cycles of her pain, other’s pain. Sometimes, it was just a matter of what pain of the week it was. This week: her legs. Some creature had found her to be easy prey. It clawed and scratched and stabbed and bit at her legs, as she tried to kick it away. Normally, she was a killer. Normally, creatures of that sort never got close enough to hurt her. But she stared into its hungry eyes, and knew it was not a creature of malice. And perhaps she had grown tired of all the pain she caused, but she couldn’t bring herself to do more than let loose and harmless scream and stumble away. With Deirdre’s palms screaming red as she scraped them along the rough alleyway brick, she tried to find steady footing. She couldn’t walk like that, she could hardly stand. Soon, she wasn’t doing either. She slipped to the floor, hissing and cursing on her way down. Getting home wouldn’t be as easy as hailing a cab in the night hours. She didn’t know how many minutes passed with her sitting on the damp ground, painting with her blood, only that when she did open her eyes, a boy was staring at her.

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed at the boy. “And I don’t want your help. Do I look like a charity case? Do I look like I need help? I’m perfectly fine, you idiotic--” Her leg protested. Deirdre winced and leaned forward, beads of sweat rolling down her face. “I don’t need…” She reiterated, “I don’t need…” Normally, she never asked for help. As it turned out, she wasn’t her normal self. “...help me…”

Milo raised his eyebrows, almost shocked out of his hesitance by the venom behind the woman’s words. “Okay, yeah- fuck me, right? The guy asking you if you need any help. It’s not like you’re bleeding on the fucking ground.” He laughed, resisting the urge to give her what she wanted. If he left her alone it would certainly save him a lot of trouble. Moving closer, despite her rather forceful insistence, he realised there was an edge to the scent of her blood, something sweet, and alluring, and decidedly not human. Whatever the Hell she was, he could only hope she wouldn’t pose a threat to him. Not when he was genuinely trying to do the right thing. Without giving the memory permission to surface, he was suddenly thrown back to his first attack, his first time drinking human blood. He had been in an alleyway just like this one, only a stranger had been offering him help. He had killed them. He had watched them die. Apparently good intentions meant jack shit in this town.

Watching for a brief moment as his company seemed to struggle against the pain she was in, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for her to admit defeat. Eyeing the blood on the ground, taking a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to lose it, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Apparently other people weren’t the only danger now, he was very much a part of it. A new member of the twisted, underground community responsible for so much pain, and suffering. But he was determined not to hurt her, and hopefully, if she became aggressive, he would be able to fend her off in her current state. His parents were doctors, they had basically been grooming him his entire life to follow them into the profession. If anybody could do this, he could. He needed to try, at the very least. “Oh, so now you want the idiot’s help?” He asked pointedly, moving to crouch before her in an attempt to find where the blood was coming from. “Are you going to tell me how you’re injured or would you rather insult my intelligence again?”

The boy was not human. Deirdre knew this because, as he neared, he stank. Not of sweat and questionable body spray like most human boys of his presumed age range (how old was he? 16?) but the way she had grown up on. A stench that buried deep in her heart, filling her with warmth. Being a banshee meant she knew these things; being fae meant she was tasty to the undead of the world. She groaned. Was he going to use her legs like a water fountain? The last thing she wanted, after being attacked, was being licked by a boy in an alley. “No, I’d rather just insult you,” she hissed, “you pea-brained, piss-filled, wet bread ex-human.” It occurred to her that she should probably be kind to the boy who might help her. It was a thought that didn’t linger for long. “Do you even know what to do?” She asked in more of a grumble. “And I don’t need your help, you prepubescent—” She wheezed again, cursing as she gripped her leg. Don’t be mean to the boy who can help—this time, the thought lingered.

“I’m sorry,” she conceded in a whisper. “It just...hurts. I think...I think there must be something stuck in my thigh. Normally I would be healing now but…” Deirdre winced and knocked her head against the brick. Through clenched teeth, she tried to point the spot out to him. “I was attacked,” she explained plainly, “what else do you think happens in this town? And you can’t see my ass from your angle, but I’m a real snack.” She tried to smirk, but in her state, the best she could do was a tight-mouthed, toothy wince. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

Milo listened to the woman berate him, almost amused by her insults until she called him an ex-human. His expression hardened, and he glared at her. It wasn’t as though he needed the reminder of everything he had lost, especially not now, when he was trying to help someone. “Yes, actually. I’m sure that comes as a fucking shock.” He bit out. “My parents are doctors, they kind of raised me to follow in their footsteps…” Leaning back on his heels, he eyed the woman. The fact that she knew he wasn’t human implied she wasn’t human herself. The smell of her blood had made him suspicious, but her words offered him undeniable confirmation. Usually, he would be annoyed by the knowledge. Where were all the humans in White Crest? Living normal lives? Away from this chaos? But he actually felt a strange spark of hope. If she wasn’t a human there was a good chance she healed a Hell of a lot faster than one. Continuing to glare, he sincerely hoped he didn’t look prepubescent and she was only trying to get to him. Jeez, the thought of being perceived as a teenager forever wasn’t exactly a fun one. “I’m 22, asshole.” He muttered. “Like, actually 22, before you ask.” It felt necessary to add given what he was now, even if it did essentially out him.

Beginning to carefully roll up his sleeves, he chose to ignore the apology. He had a reputation for utilising his sharp tongue when he was angry, upset, or hurt in some way. He knew exactly what the woman was doing, the least he could do was make an effort to be understanding. “Yeah, no shit it hurts. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re bleeding out in an alleyway.” He made an effort to soften his tone, matching the way she had carefully softened her own. “How is your healing?” He asked. “If we get this shit out, are you going to be good to walk?” He knew that healing abilities greatly depended on the severity of the wound, but he figured she would know better than him just how badly she was injured. His mind running through the various ways of dealing with a potential stab wound, you weren’t supposed to remove the item until you were safely inside a hospital but that wasn’t exactly an option here. “Hm, I’m gay. Don’t flatter yourself.” He countered, resisting the urge to point out she could still be considered a snack. Only literally. “Yes, I’m going to help you. Why else would I still be here putting up with your bullshit?” He asked. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to do this- show me where you’re hurt? This thing that attacked you, I’m assuming it wasn’t a person… do you know what it was?”

Doctors... Deirdre stewed the thought in her head. Parents that wanted him to be a doctor, but now he was a vampire. Was that tragic or funny? “You look like a teenager,” she muttered instead, turning her face away from him. Sympathy for a stranger wasn’t her style, she wasn’t about to make it. Yet, as she decided she wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t going to care, was simply going to make this kid help her and then throw cash in his face, something he said stuck out to her. Actually 22. She turned back to him and the annoyance in her features softened. “Are you new?” She asked him, “newly turned, I mean.” Deirdre opened her mouth to say more; part of her wanted to say she was sorry, another part knew there was no point. He must’ve been sorry enough for himself. His parents wanted him to be a doctor, he was a vampire. She turned her face away again.

“It’ll take me a bit, but I’ll be fine,” the banshee sighed, turning her eyes to the dark sky above. “I don’t heal like a zombie, but I heal faster than a human. And I’ve been hurt worse, and walked in worse conditions.” As he continued, she turned back to him, surprised to find a chuckle escaping her lips. “Well, you’d still know a good ass when you see one, wouldn’t you? Or are you tasteless and stupid?” Deirdre reached down, tearing up her dress to get it out of the way. “It was--” She grunted, the shrill sound of ripping fabric cutting her off. “--something like you.” Deirdre glanced up. “A spawn. Something you very well could’ve been turned into.” She paused, having torn up her dress enough to expose the wound. “Assuming, of course. Maybe you’re of the brain-eating sort, I don’t know.” She pointed out the spot where the cut was the deepest, where she felt the most pain. “I think maybe its nail broke off, or a finger.”

Milo glared at the woman, giving her his most powerful deadpan stare. If she wanted him to help then she needed to stop insulting him. At least, he spitefully wanted to think that. He had a feeling both of them knew he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. “And thank you for that boost of confidence.” He countered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He opened his mouth to continue, to make it clear how annoyed he was by her consistent mutterings, but he witnessed her expression shift, and was caught off guard by her next words. He wasn’t expecting sympathy, or empathy, or whatever this was. He hadn’t been given time to build up his walls, and the alcohol in his system certainly wasn’t helping him to hide his pain. “New enough.” He admitted. “It’s been a few months, not that it’s any of your business. What are you going to do, plan a memorial? Tell me you’re sorry that I’m going to look like a fucking teenager forever? I don’t want to hear it.” He pointedly turned his attention to her leg as she began to tear away the material of her dress, hoping he could hide his expression.

“Give me that.” He said, holding out a hand, gesturing for her to fully tear away the strip of material. At least then he would be able to stem the bleeding. He could only hope supernatural creatures followed a similar logic to humans when it came to blood flow. Faster than a Human. That was good. Even if stemming the blood flow didn’t help it to congeal around the wound, she would begin healing the moment he removed what was embedded in her flesh. He nodded to let her know he had registered her comment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she continued. Jeez, did she ever shut up? “Well, maybe I’m a bottom and I have more important things to worry about.” He countered, saying the first thing that came to his mind because he couldn’t bear to give her the satisfaction of winning. Feeling his heart sink at the mention of a Spawn, he didn’t need the reminder of how close he had come to becoming one himself. How somebody had killed him, and turned him, not knowing what his fate might be.

“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped. “Lucky for you, I’m still Milo, and I think I’ll be sticking with blood.” Were there vampires who ate brains? Or was she talking about zombies? Maybe she didn’t know which undead creature he was. He shelved the question for another time. Harsh would know, and the man seemed to have a strange sense of patience when it came to his never ending questions. Wrinkling his nose at the mention of a nail or a finger breaking off, he wasn’t entirely sure which possibility was more disturbing. A Spawn was a person, after all. Or a Spawn used to be a person. His heart broke for whoever had been forced to suffer in such a way, whoever had lost themselves to become such a monster. “I don’t exactly have any tweezers, are you going to be good if I like- get in there and remove whatever it is?” He had no other choice, it needed to happen, but asking for permission first felt like the right thing to do. “I’ll do it as quickly as I can. I’m not out to hurt you, even if you are incredibly annoying.”

It wasn’t Deirdre’s business. She knew that. This child—Milo—was telling her that. She was telling herself that. And yet, her mouth opened without her meaning for it too. Her voice drifted out soft and warm and apologetic. “Did you get a memorial?” She asked, “you could have one now. All the dead deserve to be remembered; as they were, and in your case, as they will be.” But it wasn’t her business, and she liked calling the brat annoying more than she did thinking about how sad and terrible his life must’ve been. All their lives were, that was just the thing about pain anyway.

“You would be a bottom,” Deirdre said, hoping it came off as scathing as she wanted it to. Her legs burned, and the only person who could help her was some tragic undead child. That alone was enough to make her grumpy, but as Milo suggested it, she realized the bratty vampire would have to stick his fingers into her thigh. Which was exactly as terrible as it sounded. “Some vampires don’t realize,” she clarified with a groan, preparing herself for the pain to come, “how close they were to becoming something else. If it had just been a different vampire that turned up. If the intention had been different…” Her words trailed off, knowing she had no real point to make. “You’re stupid,” she said suddenly, as she realized she was being too nice to him. “Go ahead and stick your hand inside. I very well can’t do it myself, or else I wouldn’t be here.”

Milo faltered, opting to feel anger instead of the many emotions threatening to break through and overwhelm him. Who did this woman think she was, asking him such personal questions, questions he hadn’t even considered until now? It infuriated him because he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think about everything he had lost, the fact that he really was dead, the fact that somebody had targeted him, killed him, and clearly walked away from his body without caring what might become of it. “I was born and raised here.” He snapped, an edge to his voice as he tied the strip of material around the top of her thigh. His movements were probably sharper than they needed to be, and he definitely tightened the knot with more force than necessary, but it was proving to be a helpful outlet for his frustration. “Kind of hard to have a memorial for someone you see walking around at night.” When the blood flow had been stemmed, he began using the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away as much blood as he was able to. It was coating her skin, making it difficult to see exactly where the injury was. “I don’t want a memorial.” He insisted, only briefly looking up so that he could glare at her. “I don’t want to be remembered. I’m still here… saving your ass.”

When he could adequately see the entry point of whatever was embedded in his company’s flesh, he began to roll up his bloody sleeves, ignoring the sweet scent that permeated from them. “Yeah? Don’t be jealous because my sex life is more interesting than yours.” He countered, despite his sex life currently being very, very uninteresting. After becoming a vampire, the last thing on his mind had been getting laid. He was far too focused on maintaining his existential crisis. “I do realise.” His voice was dripping with bitterness, and he made no effort to hide that fact. Her words were drawing out memories he would much rather forget, he was being forced back into the fear, and anxiety he had been drowning in the night his life had been stolen. “I’m stupid?” He demanded an explanation, refusing to let the comment go. “Really? Why? Because I got myself killed? From where I’m sitting it looks like you nearly did the fucking same like, ten minutes ago.” Giving her no warning, the moment she offered him permission he slid his thumb and forefinger into her puncture wound.

The anger in his chest was almost helpful, it allowed him to concentrate on anything but what he was actually doing. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of heat, muscle, and slick blood, It didn’t take long before he discovered what he assumed to be the nail or finger. Slowly he began to inch it backwards, so that he didn’t lose his grip. It seemed to have scraped against bone, which was definitely why it had broken off, and not been pulled out when the creature had been forced to withdraw. He shuddered to think about how painful it must have been for the woman beneath him, about how painful it must be for her now. As irritating as she was, he couldn’t bring himself to delight in her pain. He wasn’t that person. He had vowed to never be that person. So he was careful, and considerate, his movements slow, and gentle in a way they hadn’t been only moments before. “I’m sorry- If I do this too quickly I could cause more damage… just- a couple more seconds, okay?”

“That’s not true,” Deirdre was quick to retort, wincing at herself. Perhaps it was a sensitive subject for her given Morgan’s death? Yes, yes, that sounded right. Deirdre sighed and clung to that explanation. Morgan had mourned herself and pained over the lack of recognition of her death in the world. The idea of a memorial sounded nice to her. Did it sound that way to this child too? “To move on, to move past it...wouldn’t it be something to face? Memorialize? Wouldn’t you want to? Don’t you think someone other than yourself should mourn you?” Deirdre winced again, this time from the pain and jostled forward with ragged breathing. She could see the child glaring at her through the corner of her eyes, and truthfully, she would too if some lady she was forced to save was trying to philosophize about something she didn’t know. But Death was a force she knew well, better than anyone else ever could. She was born to it. She lived by it. And one day it would claim her servitude.

But that day was not today, and she wouldn’t let it be. To die in the hands of a bratty vampire would be embarrassing enough to cause her ghost to haunt the alley forever. And she would’ve liked not staring at damp bricks for eternity. “My sex life is very exciting, thank you very much,” Deirdre huffed, “in fact, it’s very active and just yesterday my girlfriend and I—why am I telling you this?” She groaned, knocking her head against the brick behind her. It seemed all she could do was lean forward or back, and both caused undesirable pain. “No you’re stupid because you’re stupid,” she growled, “and I didn’t—I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. I’m not.” She always worried any wheeze or cough of pain would be a scream waiting to rip out of her, but if that was the case, it would’ve happened ten minutes ago.

Unless it was the child’s shoddy doctor work that would do her in. “I’m used to this,” she confessed, addled with pain that grew sharper and sharper as the child dug around. But what she’d said was true. She knew a life of pain, she had been raised to endure it. Deirdre had suffered far worse than this, and that truth was the only thing that kept her awake and hissing. But in her agony, where the world turned dark and then white, she always thought it was like looking into Death. It smelt like fresh cut grass, and it sounded like the jingle of cow bells. The sort of place she’d like to be, the sort of place that wanted her. Unfortunately, in the moments between her spasms of pain, it was just old brick to look at. “Were you a med student when it happened?” Her head rolled to the side, staring at him. “Bright prospects? Future to look forward to? Boyfriend waiting for you?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to move past it- you know what, no. We’re not having this conversation.” Milo snapped. He had more important things to worry about, he refused to get drawn into an argument. “No.” He insisted, his tone laced with aggression. “I don’t want other people to mourn me. I’m still in their lives, I’m still here, I’m still me. There’s nothing to fucking mourn.” Of course, that wasn’t true. There was an awful lot to mourn, but he wasn’t about to admit that, not when this woman clearly thought she had the answers to all of his problems. Laughing, unable to help himself, the sound was sharp, but not devoid of genuine amusement. He enjoyed the fact that he had clearly gotten to her. The pain might be making her delirious, or keeping any filters she had in place from working, but his attempts to annoy her had evidently been successful. “I don’t know, but you sound awfully defensive.” He replied, ignoring the comment on his stupidity as he focused on his task. For a brief moment he could see an element of fear, or anxiety. Something that made the woman beneath him seem incredibly vulnerable. It didn’t feel right to continue in their back and forth when she was quite literally in agony.

“I know you’re not.” He assured her. “You’re going to be fine, okay? I just gotta remove this thing…” It didn’t matter to him what she was used to. Be it pain, dangerous situations, clumsily applying first aid while sitting in a pool of blood… nobody deserved to hurt like she was currently hurting. Chewing on his tongue as he concentrated on what he was doing, he was still in the process of carefully drawing out whatever had created the puncture wound when she decided to ask about his past. It seemed every time he softened towards her, she found a new way to upset him. He considered her question, despite not wanting to. For the first time ever his heart was aching for the life he would never have. He wasn’t the type of person who went to med school, and settled down. But until recently that had been his own choice to make. Now he couldn’t do those things. Even if he wanted to, they didn’t feel like options. He wasn’t going to find a stable career, or a boyfriend who loved him. Nobody was going to grow old with him. Choking on an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he dug his fingers into the woman’s injury with an unfair amount of force. “No.” He admitted, his voice cold, and distant. “I gave up any chance of that when I chose getting high over going to class.” Twisting his fingers yet again, he tugged at the object embedded in her thigh, his jaw set, his body tense. “And I don’t date.”

“Not ‘move past’ but….” Deirdre held her tongue; he didn’t want to talk about it. And she, for that matter, wasn’t supposed to care about it. “Don’t you want them to know how it hurts?” She was speaking partially to herself now, delirious with pain and knowing the child didn’t care to listen anyway. “How much you’ve lost? You’re still here, but you’re not you. Not the same. Maybe you’re better off like this. Maybe it’ll be okay. But don’t you want someone to remember that you had a life? A life that was worth living?” And then he laughed, and the sharp sound broke her train of thought. “Or something like that…” she mumbled.

And then it was her turn to laugh, and she did so readily. How funny to be comforted by a stranger. “I’m not going to die because I woul–“ Deirdre’s sentence halted with a cry of pain, she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she could taste sweet copper simply to stop herself from screaming. Her lungs burned as she swallowed down more gasps of agony. As annoying as the child was, she thought it would be wise not to scream right at him. Maybe she really would die, it almost felt like the child was trying to kill her. “Just take it out, you grape-sized-brain having stinky child!” It wasn’t her finest insult, but control in moments of impulse were her specialty, and so she also thought it was wise to censor at least some of her thoughts around the boy. “Not ‘give up’...” she spoke through clenched teeth, “you didn’t give anything up, you idiot. Nothing is over until–” you die. Or, that was the adage her family imparted. But he was dead, and what did that mean for him? “–until it’s over.” She rasped, “and don’t act like sadness and loneliness is the only choice you can make.” Deirdre huffed. “Idiot.”

“I am.” Milo snapped, his voice cracking with emotion, giving away how terrified, and upset he was by the statement. His biggest fear was losing who he was, and now somebody was here, telling him he already had. Blinking away tears, he took a deep breath, desperate to hide how badly her words had affected him. “I’m still Milo, and I still have a life. So you can stop it, okay? Just- just stop it. I don’t give a shit about memorials, or mourning… I don’t…” He swallowed his emotion to the best of his ability, focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. He was trying to do something good, something selfless. Why did it have to be so difficult? Glancing up briefly, he didn’t get to hear why the woman knew she wasn’t going to die, but maybe that was for the best. Her cry of pain reminded him of why he needed to be careful, and despite his inner turmoil, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t like hearing how much agony she was suffering.

Then she was insulting him again, and it was everything he could do not to make his task hurt even more than it already did. Apparently it was going to be a constant back and forth. “Most people are smart enough to not insult their doctors.” He muttered, any bite from his voice long gone, replaced with a melancholy sense of resignation. “And if you call me an idiot one more time I might actually leave you here.” He added, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as the object steadily became visible. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m not sad, or lonely, so you can fuck off with that bullshit-” He broke off as whatever the spawn had left behind finally came free. It was solid, but not enough to feel like bone. More like cartilage, or keratin. The shape vaguely resembled a nail, but certainly no human nail. It was thick, and rounded, as though it had been pulled right out of a claw. Even covered in blood, the sight of it was enough to cause a jolt of disgust, and repressing a shudder, he threw it away. Whatever it was, he wanted it as far away from him as possible. He heard it clatter against the asphalt, but forced himself to focus on the wound. A fresh surge of blood had been drawn from it, but there was no indication that it was still actively bleeding. Wiping his fingers on his hoodie he looked up to catch the woman’s eye. He wanted to say he had done everything he was able to, he wanted more than anything to walk away, but he couldn’t. Not before making sure she was able to walk herself. So he set his jaw instead, letting out a huff of breath. “You know your body better than I do, is there anything that might accelerate the healing process?”

Deirdre closed her eyes, listening to Milo’s annoyed bursts through the lens of her fatigue. He sounded like he was trying to speak to her through a wall. And she felt like she was sitting in the pasture again. Beyond them, jingling; wind chimes, cow bells, fae running around with their wood-carved instruments. The sort of place she’d like to be. The world stretched thin, yawned and gasped and snapped back to wet bricks and bloody messes. And the child, who sounded a touch more melancholic than she remembered leaving him off. Must be the inevitable loss of her colourful company. To his credit, her leg did feel better. She ran her hand down, and pressed her palm to the wound. “You’re pretty sad,” she said, looking over at him, “and you sound pretty lonely. But I bet you know both those things already.” Deirdre looked at her leg; she would heal in time, but the thought crossed her mind that she really might just owe this child a great deal more than she was willing to admit. She wouldn’t have died. She could’ve fished the damn thing out herself. She was sure of these things, and yet… “Thank you,” she said sincerely, the first genuine comment to leave her lips so far. “And I’m sorry. And you’re right, you know, you are still Milo. And I’m Deirdre.”

The banshee turned her attention to the sky, lazy clouds rolling over bright moonlight. Not everyone who died in an alley got such a sight, and she wasn’t even dying. “My jacket,” she gestured to it, “you’ll find some cash. Take it.” But, to her surprise, the boy was still standing there. As if waiting to know she’d be okay. “Oh, yes,” she smirked, “if you let me call you an idiot a hundred more times I’ll heal so much faster; insulting children sustains me.” She eyed Milo, wondering if he just might storm off instead. “I’ll be fine,” she assured, “you’ve done everything you can for me.”

Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore. The anger, and annoyance was still burning in his chest, but it was clear the woman wasn’t about to believe a word he said. And that was a lot of energy to expend when it meant getting absolutely nowhere. Regardless, he still wanted to open his mouth and insist he wasn’t sad, or lonely. She said the words with such conviction, as though she knew him better than he knew himself. But the voice in the back of his mind, the one usually responsible for whispers of self doubt, had him wondering who he would really be trying to convince. “Agree to disagree.” He muttered finally, glad to see a little colour returning to her cheeks. It appeared as though her pain was fading. If it was still present, it was far weaker than it had been only moments ago. Faltering in surprise at the unexpected thanks, he realised her voice had taken on a new tone, one he hadn’t heard from her before.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to react. After everything they had said to each other, he could hardly consider her a friend. Yet she was making herself vulnerable, admitting he had done something to help her. “Oh… uh, you don’t have to thank me. It’s whatever...” He insisted, feeling suddenly awkward. And then she decided to tell him he was right, he was still Milo. The relief he felt was difficult to hide. It was almost as though she had been holding his identity, ready to crush it in her fist, and now she was handing it back to him. Intact, and unharmed. “Deirdre.” He echoed, committing the name to his memory. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you but…” He gestured vaguely to the pool of blood she was still sitting in. “You’ve also taken every opportunity to insult me so…”

Glancing down at her jacket pocket as she insisted upon drawing his attention to it, he wasn’t about to reject her offer. Maybe somebody else would have, but he knew how valuable money was, how easily it disappeared when you kept such expensive habits. “Thanks.” He said quietly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small wad of cash. Shooting her a pointed look as he pocketed it, he should have expected something akin to another insult. “I’m not a child.” He countered, taking one last look at her leg. It already seemed to be in the process of healing, but he had a feeling it would be a while until she was able to put any weight on it. “Are you sure?” He asked, needing to know before he essentially abandoned her. “I mean- I can stay here if you want me to?”

“Don’t take it personally,” Deirdre groaned, “I insult everyone.” She paused, “actually, do take it personally. I want you to be insulted.” She expected him to run, she hoped he would run. Instead he stood there, staring at her with worried eyes and reluctance. Her stomach tensed. She turned her face from him, sickened. She wanted to tell him to stop, yes he had helped her out but she wasn’t expecting him to care. She didn’t care. And she was sure, more than anything, if she told herself that enough times, it would be true. “Have you ever tried nectar, Milo?” She asked, looking over at him again. “Seems to be popular among vampires. You know, that money you have could buy you a good drink. Take it and go find some vampire bar.” She knew what she was doing, and as her mind protested—if the boy already knew, he didn’t need a reminder. If he didn’t, then she shouldn’t have been telling him. But she grinned, toothy and lopsided, eager to assert to the world that she was still the apathetic woman she was made to be. She had spared the spawn that tried to eat her out of a foolish idea that the creature was pitiable. But she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She didn’t care. Despite it all, she didn’t care. She was Deirdre Dolan, born to an ancient religion of pride and sacrifice. She was not going to die in the alley. She was not going to be kind to some stranger.

“Go on,” she urged him, “get out of here. I’ll be fine, and I’ll heal better if I don’t have to look at your sad face.”

Milo continued to glare at Deirdre with the air of a parent waiting out a tantrum. The woman could say whatever she wanted to say, she had already managed to ruin his mood. He was tired of trying to decide whether he cared about her wellbeing, or wanted to outright abandon her, so he settled on making it clear she was an incredibly irritating presence. If this was what being a doctor felt like he was grateful he had managed to avoid that particular path. Even if becoming a vampire was the alternative. His expression shifting suddenly at the mention of Nectar, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew what it was. But it was jarring, hearing somebody mention the substance so casually. “Once.” He said, his voice cold, and curt. “I woke up dead.” Finally straightening up, brushing off the blood that had dried on his hoodie, he watched some of it as it flaked away. It still smelled enticing, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that. Not now. “I’m not going to a bar,” he muttered. “I’m going home. Or I was going home before you decided to interrupt me with this bullshit.”

Feeling a surge of annoyance at the sight of her grin, he could only assume her pain level had taken a dramatic dip. As much as he hated the fact that it apparently made it easier for her to get to him, he was undeniably proud that he had been able to help in some way. His medical knowledge of the supernatural was questionable, but it seemed basic first aid was applicable to most creatures, human or otherwise. Pulling a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, he sparked up, pointedly taking his time now that she was clearly trying to get him to leave her. He was more than ready to go, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t satisfied by knowing he could annoy her a little in return before eventually giving her what she wanted. Exhaling a breath of smoke, he faltered, wondering if he really did have a sad face. He hoped not, the idea of people being able to read him so easily made him uncomfortable. And he wasn’t sad, was he? But he could worry about that another time, maybe spend a few more hours staring at himself on his phone’s front camera, attempting to see what other people saw. Tapping ash dangerously close to where Deirdre was sitting, he finally turned on his heel, resisting the urge to look back as he walked away from her. It still felt wrong, leaving her alone like this, sitting in a pool of her own blood, but he trusted her to take care of herself, regardless of whether he would ever admit that out loud. If she said she would be okay, she would be okay. He had done his part, and if he was lucky, he might never have to see her again.

All of a sudden, guilt flooded Deirdre’s stomach, choking up her body. Slowly, she dragged her blunt nails across the wet asphalt, swallowing back the apology that wanted to free itself from where it was lodged in her throat. She’d only been trying to hurt him, yet knowing she had succeeded in some regard left her mouth acidic. At the very least, his opinion of her would be soured, and wasn’t that what she wanted? She imagined some measure of control and relief in making someone hate her just as much as she did herself. And she could only hope that he did; anyone who had seen her this vulnerable ought to. But he stood there, letting smoke collect in the air and in her nose--scrunched up in distaste. It went without saying that banshees in general didn’t appreciate smoke much, though Deirdre didn’t share her mother’s venomous hatred for it. She only turned to look up at the stars again, Milo’s smoke occasionally obstructing her vision, to her displeasure. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either. When the acrid smell of tobacco cleared the air and wet footsteps receded beyond what she could hear, Deirdre turned finally to face the world around. If she was lucky, she’d never have to see Milo again. If she was really lucky, he wouldn’t realize how much of a liar she was.

Her legs were not okay. She was not okay. But Milo had his own problems; people like him often did. He ought to be spared what lived in the shadows, as much as someone like him could be. He wasn’t all that bad, really. Not that Deirdre would ever tell him that.

After all, she was never going to see him again.

#wickedswriting #pain of the week #c: milo #wickedmilo #chatzy #suicidal ideation tw #addiction tw #drug use tw #drug abuse tw #medical blood tw #// jessie is the best and milo sTOLE MY HEART AND ATE IT

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mindingmyownbrain · 5 years ago

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What is stimming?

This is going to be a long post.

Stimming is a slang term in the autistic community derived from the medical term self-stimulation, although the term can be used for a wide variety of self-soothing behaviours as well. The term is used widely in the autistic community and can refer to more obvious stims like hand-clapping or more subtle ones like muscle clenching.

Autistic people may stim either deliberately or automatically. Sometimes you’re not even aware that you’re doing it. Some stims might even feel like they happen to a person rather than are done by them, such as when they’re associated with zoning out or if the impulse is very difficult to suppress (if this is the case, it might even feel akin to OCD).

Some stims are very pleasing to engage in but other stims may be unwanted by the autistic person for a variety of reasons. For example, they may be harmful or perceived to be socially inappropriate. Unwanted stims can include jaw clenching, tooth grinding, hair pulling, skin picking, finger biting, and others. Sometimes these urges are there and can be avoided by switching to another stim, but other times they can cause problems for an autistic person.

Some autistic people are proud of their stims, and may even feel sorry for non-autistic people for not being able to enjoy the sensory experience of stimming as much as autistic people do. However, due to social stigma, other autistic may feel embarrassed or ashamed of their urge to stim and may suppress it or only do it in private.

Stimming, in general, is life-enhancing. Many autistic people consider it essential to their mental health. Stims can provide an escape and act as a coping mechanism.

Stimming can include any of the senses:

Sight: Visual stims might include zoning out while watching shadows of light on a wall, looking into a light source, rapidly blinking, and so on.

Sound: Auditory stims can include listening to sounds, making sounds, or repeating them (such as repeating phrases or words over and over).

Taste: Eating spicy foods can be an enjoyable stim for some, or eating food with specific textures or colours.

Smell: This might include smelling “smelly” things like essential oils, or smelling different items like the sleeve of a jumper you are wearing, and so on.

Touch: Touch is a very common stim as it can be very subtle, such as tapping your fingers on your leg or holding your own hands, or touching things around you.

Temperature: Feeling hot and cold things, or making yourself either hot or cold.

Proprioception: This is the sense of self-movement and can involve running, rocking, pacing, spinning, jumping up and down, or dancing (even when there is no music!).

Pain: Pain can feel pleasurable to someone regardless of whether they are on the spectrum or not. The difference is context, quality, and amount. Examples of pain as a benign stim include gently biting your lip, pinching your skin with your fingernails, hair pulling, or eating a very spicy chilli pepper.

Balance: Standing on one leg, spinning, walking on tiptoes are all examples of balance stims.

Vibration: Humming can cause one’s lips to vibrate, electric massagers can vibrate muscles, and so on.

Various internal stimuli: some autistic people might allow themselves to feel hungry or thirsty, or hold their breath.

There is also the sense of time, but I think you’d have to be another kind of being altogether to use that as a stim... that’d be, like, The Highest Level Autistic: Able to Stim With the Concept of Time.

Anyway, I digress.

Non-autistic people “stim” as well, but not to the intensity as autistic people do. If you are reading this and thinking, “Well, everybody does that...” you’re partially right. Non-autistic people should be able to relate to some stims but won’t necessarily be able to relate to how important they are to autistic people. This is partially evidenced by non-autistic people telling autistic people to “just stop it”. Autistic people need to stim.

Autistic people stim to regulate emotion, to express emotion, to focus, to tune in or tune out, to help us socialise, to ward off a meltdown, to regulate sensory input, or simply because the urge is very hard to resist or because it feels good.

Autistic people each have their own preferred stims. One person’s favourite stims might not do anything for another, or they may even seem unpleasant or strange. The feeling might be mutual! This is because autistic people are all individuals. As we often say in autistic advocacy, when you’ve met one autistic person you’ve met one autistic person.

Stimming can involve simple behaviours or they can be a more complex series of behaviours, even rituals. Stims may “hide” in daily life if they become hobbies like singing or riding a motorbike (the speed! The feeling of movement! The vibration!), or by becoming part of a routine such as having a cold shower at the start of the day or snacking on particular foods specifically for a sensory release.

You can also involve other people in your stimming such as by having them provide touch for you, or listening to their sounds.

Again, everybody stims to some extent but stimming is incredibly important for autistic people. For me, resisting the urge to stim is deeply distracting and uses up a sizeable amount of willpower to resist doing it. It can also be very stressful to not stim.

Stimming tells me where my body is. Someone putting their hand on my back can calm me down right away because I suddenly know where I am. Everything is always somewhat overwhelming even when I am not doing very much, and I need to stim for the release.

I also find it hard to realise my own feelings a lot of the time, whether that’s an emotion or feelings like hunger. Stimming helps me to tap into these feelings (literally so sometimes: tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...).

Even writing this I keep pausing to dig my nails into my fingers, rub my hands together, or run my fingers over the keyboard to feel the texture.

Stimming is stigmatised but it seems that stigma is in direct proportion to a lack of awareness of stimming. Again, everybody stims! It needn’t be thought of as such a weird or worrying thing.

Some parents try to stop their autistic children from stimming so that the children appear “normal”. They feel disturbed when their child keeps dancing at “inappropriate” times when there’s no music. Some therapists have even gone as far as to tie the hands of autistic children down, or brace their legs to stop them walking on their tiptoes.

Most stimming is harmless, though, and even beneficial. Some stims can be distracting for others and might require compromise. Other stims, like headbanging, can be an expression of distress. It is usually much better to address the source of the distress than to merely stop the stim that is expressing it.

Before I was diagnosed with autism I didn’t think I stimmed. When I read about it I had an assumption that it must be this weird, odd, obvious thing that autistic people did (that’s the stigma. If it’s “an autistic behaviour” then it must be weird, right? And if your stim isn’t weird... “you can’t be that autistic”. That’s also a stigmatising thing to say). I saw a few videos and recognised some of the stims as things I frequently do. When I logged off the computer, I observed myself over the next few weeks. I realised that I stimmed almost all the time.

What I now realise is called stimming, I called “body fiddles”.

As for most autistic people, my preferred stims change over time. As child I loved spinning and jumping. As an adult my stims most commonly involve fiddling with my hands, fingers, squeezing parts of my skin, and hair twirling.

Even though this post is now very long, there is still more to say, especially about gender and stimming - but that is a subject for another day.

#autism #actuallyautistic #my writing #stimming #stim

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fairycosmos · 4 years ago

Note

So, this might sound really strange ..but have you ever tried roleplay? Writing is one of the most powerful means of expression I think, and roleplay with someone you like can be a really really escape. x

ohhh yes this ask DJKJSZ i literally replied to it in my head lmfao ugh i need 2 stop doing that ! but to answer ur question, i’ve never tried roleplaying, like characters n stuff right? it seems like a good form of escapism and god knows i need a break from being in my own head. i do enjoy writing a lot so i’m already inclined to just getting really into made up shit lol. the thing is i’m not super into any specific characters/books/shows rn. maybe when my next media fixation comes around i’ll give it a go ! thank you v much btw, i’ve only ever known of it vaguely but it’d be cool to actually try it out myself. esp because as far as coping mechanisms go it’s so harmless. i appreciate it, mwah x

#anon

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make-it-mavis · 4 years ago

Text

Homesick (Entry #40)

(cw: discussion of addiction and relapse) ----------

02/02/88 8:04 PM

Hey.

Well. At this point, it feels like there is so much to say, yet so little… comparatively.

Most of this bedtime story has been rife with screaming arguments, hallucinations, and explosions. There will not be so much of those, moving forward. I could say that the day I blew up Felix’s apartment was a turning point for me. It was the first moment where I truly felt like I had taken a step towards moving on and… letting go of what I could. But it was not a sharp turn, nor was it a great, leaping bound. Things did not suddenly get easier. No, they were only difficult in a different way.

But they were different.

I could probably fill a completely separate notebook with the details of my journey through counselling since then. But that would be very boring to read and to write, so I will just give you the important bits to catch you up to speed. Stay with me, now. This is going to be a whole lot condensed into chewable pieces.

In counselling, we learned about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Looking back, I can see how non-linear it was for me. I spent so long dancing around the first three. But after my amnesia was cured, I arrived at depression. Collapsed into it, really.

Now, I’ve been depressed before. It was quite some time ago, before you and I even met. So I recognized what I was experiencing. But this time around, it was… more acute. Less existential, and more like an injury. I wasn’t lost inside my head. I knew exactly what I was sad about, and it was as real and tangible as any physical wound I had sustained before.

It was as if my very code had been pushed to the point of exhaustion and could not get back up. I spent most of my time on Felix’s couch, and most of that time was spent sleeping. I barely showered and I smelled like hell, but Felix still insisted on having tea and chatting at least once a day. He did almost all the talking, and I usually didn’t drink the tea, but he didn’t mind. He’d just drink it for me, and end up taking such frequent trips to the bathroom that I’d fall asleep again.

Given that I could barely make myself get up and walk around, going to counselling was more daunting than ever. November passed by without me taking notice, and it was maybe a week into December before I was able to make it there again. When I did, I told everyone what I’d done. What I’d remembered. And how I had been absent so long because I felt too depressed to come. Then, of course, they told me that the best time to come to counselling is when you don’t want to. I wanted to argue with that, but they were probably right.

I very quickly came to understand why counselling was done in a group. At first, it felt like a punishment, like we all had to sit around and think about what we’d done. Or that there just weren’t enough counsellors for one-on-one therapy. It’s not even entirely just for empathizing with others’ similar experiences, or creating a sense of community. No, it’s something much more annoying than that.

A group will hold you accountable. They’ll make sure you’re participating and call you out when you’re not. I went into the counselling experience hoping I could just do the time and get out, but no one gets away with that in a group. You can’t just rip off the bandaid.

No, counselling is more like ripping off the bandaid, then digging into the wound with tweezers to pull out all the shrapnel, then stitching up the wound, and repeatedly changing the bandages to avoid infection. And then those stitches can sometimes come loose and you have to do them all over again.

It sucks. It hurts. But I won’t say it doesn’t work.

Anyway, around this point in the ‘story,’ I still hadn’t quite finished Step 4, with the ‘fearless moral inventory.’ I was still having trouble deciding just what to say. I had Felix be the audience to my venting one night. I explained to him my predicament: I had done many things that others would consider ‘bad’ or ‘immoral’ over the course of my life, far too many to count or to list. And a whole lot of them, I didn’t even feel bad for. Pranks, petty theft, and general snarkiness seemed harmless enough. I didn’t know what was worth adding to the list.

Felix suggested sticking to the big ones. What things did I consider not so harmless? What things were bad enough to make me lose sleep over? What did I really, truly regret?

I didn’t want to tell him. Those questions felt too prying. But, reminding myself that I was trying to make big changes, I eventually managed to name it all.

I felt bad for… assuming the worst of everyone. Especially anyone close to me. I felt bad for getting them all involved with my problems, and… refusing their help, but still somehow taking advantage of them. For making Felix worry that I was going to die, and for making Wreck-it feel responsible.

And Tapper. Just… in general, Tapper. Everything I’d done to him. Lying to him. Using him. Endangering his game.

Endangering my game.

Threatening that one anonymous stranger for a hit of GC.

And getting you hooked on my Shield and Lift buffs… way back when.

I took Felix’s suggestion to write all that down, and whatever else I might have been feeling. It definitely helped me sort out my thoughts. It didn’t feel good. At all. In fact, it was hard to fight the idea that I was a lost cause, and that even before all this, I was not worth saving. But I pushed on regardless, because it felt like the only direction to move in.

As difficult as it had been, listing all that earned me Step 4, and after I recounted it all to the counselling group, I had Step 5, Integrity, under my belt.

Even though it was hard, I was doing well in the program. I really was, all things considered. I had made it farther than I thought possible at the beginning. But like I said… those stitches come loose sometimes. Recovery, like my grieving process, has not been linear. And after Step 5, some part of me felt stretched too far. Like my code once more remembered that I’m not the sort to lay myself open for others to see. Too many sprites had been given deeply personal pieces of my mind to take home with them. It was unnatural. It wasn’t right. It was not like me. I couldn’t piece together this new life with the life I knew before and have it make sense. I was trying to make meaningful changes, for sure, but suddenly, I felt like I didn’t recognize the sprite I’d become. I didn’t recognize my game or anyone in it. It was… eerie.

It put a panicked, defensive fight in me. I had to set things straight. I would not allow this strange, foreign life to continue until I did. So, for the first time in… longer than I had realized, I went back to my den in the woods. Just to be somewhere familiar and see if I could remember who I was.

It helped a little at first. I dug through all the junk I had amassed, each one connecting to some small memory from before this all happened. But then I found three things that were… a dangerous combo.

Your scarf and goggles… and the bottle of blue wine Tapper had given me at the memorial. Still unopened.

I was able to resist the wine. But I… didn’t exactly get rid of it, like I should have.

As for your old, burnt belongings...

I didn’t understand what I was doing at the time, or why. I get it now, I think. Writing my thoughts down had helped in Step 4, and my head was a twisted, tangled mess that I just had to sort out before I went insane. I needed to understand what I’d been through and how I got there. It’s just that I was only inspired to start writing once I saw your scarf and goggles again. Once they threw that angry, vicious anxiety through me and I was possessed by the overwhelming need to reach you from beyond the grave and tell you just what you had done to me.

So… I started writing this story. Or these letters, or... journals. You know.

Since then it’s been… well, incredibly therapeutic. And, just like I thought they would, the folks at counselling said that journaling is a very healthy coping mechanism. That’s what I called it, too. Journaling. I wanted to keep the fact that I was writing to you private. I was already revealing so much to them. I wanted to have just one thing I didn’t have to tell them.

I didn’t think it would have made a difference, anyway, and it didn’t. Not at first. I finished Step 6 just fine, which was Willingness. I was pretty willing to let go of my old bad habits in whatever way I could. Step 7 was harder for a few reasons, not the least of which being that my higher power is not sentient, and I could therefore not ask it for forgiveness, or to remove my character flaws. But I sort of earned Humility in a different way.

You see, I didn’t tell them I was writing to you, but I also... didn’t tell them about the wine.

And thoughts of you had not mixed well with the temptation of substances in the past. So, around Christmas, I holed up in my den and… relapsed. It was nothing big, as far as relapses go. But I’m still not proud of it.

I just wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be. My first Christmas without you.

Anyway… don’t worry. That didn’t put too big a snag in things. I told Felix, and I told everyone in counselling about it, and they all understood. A couple others actually had similar challenges. Many of us had someone to miss, and it was a hard time of year to miss somebody. I admitted to them that I sort of felt like I’d failed. But Clyde remarked that I showed humility by so willingly turning to the group for support, which had been hard for me at the start. I very easily could have tried to hide out of shame or a need to shoulder it alone. Maybe I couldn’t ask color for forgiveness, but in a way, I asked the group for it.

I still sort of don’t understand it. But, hey. Whatever the ghost says.

In any case, I was able to let the mistake go and move forward, which… felt very freeing, now that I think of it. Since then, I’ve been counting the days I’ve spent completely sober, slowly racking them up like the most boring, most difficult sort of high score.

It’ll be forty today.

I’m forty days sober, and I just finished Step 9 a couple days ago. So… I guess I’m doing pretty well.

I’ve been writing a while, and this pen is nearly out of ink, but before I wrap this entry up, I really ought to tell you about Step 9, and what it brought about.

Step 8, for the record, is barely worth mentioning. It’s Love, which, y’know, gross. But it’s basically making a list of the sprites you’ve wronged, which I felt like I had done three times already. Step 9, then, Responsibility, is making amends with those sprites wherever possible.

I’m already well on my way with Felix. Tapper, well… I’ve done the best I can for now. I don’t even know who the sprite I threatened was, so there’s little I can do there. And you… are kind of hard to reach lately. So, the only possible option left was...

Wreck-it.

I’d known for quite some time that we were overdue for a chat. We hadn’t really talked at all since I’d come out of that coma, which meant we had been surviving on brief, awkward greetings and the smallest of small talk for a couple of months. We were not on bad terms, nor good terms. We just sort of existed in the same space, trying our best to just tolerate each other and to ignore the elephant in the room. And before all this, I would have been content to leave things that way forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to talk to him about our feelings.

I only managed to speak to him once the 12 Step Program gave me any idea of what to say, and the desire for things to stop being weird outweighed the awkwardness.

I caught him shortly after the arcade closed the other night, just as he was about to board the train to leave our game. Caught him quite off-guard too, apparently, given the way he jumped and tried to smooth his little yelp into a casual speaking voice.

Like this: “Ahh--!! Ahh! Ahh, Mavis, I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

Making someone jump always brings at least a bit of a smile to my face. “Hey there, uh… Ralph.”

The use of his name rather than his title already earned me a confused eyebrow quirk, but I saw it as setting the mood for the uncharacteristically intimate conversation we were about to have. It seemed effective, given how still he became, almost holding his breath in a nervous sort of curiosity.

“You, uh… going to Tapper’s?” I asked, trying to get him to relax a bit.

“Yep…” he said, rapping his fist against his leg slightly, like he does. “Do you… wanna come too, or..?”

I pressed my lips together, not quite smiling. “Nah. Still can’t go anywhere.”

“Oh-- oh-- yeah, of course. Wow. Stupid question,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “That, uh, counselling thing still goin’ on, then? Or am I not allowed to ask?”

“It is,” I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. “And… you are allowed. It’s actually more or less what I need to talk to you about.”

“...Really?” he asked cautiously. “Me? Why?”

I closed my eyes and let out a steady breath, sorting my thoughts for the hundredth time. “We probably should’ve talked sooner, it’s just that…” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Well, I’ll say it outright. I’m supposed to talk to everyone I’ve wronged. And that includes you.”

He paused. Then he squinted. “Everyone?”

“Well,” I said flatly. “No. Just the ones I’ve done the dirtiest. The big deals.”

“And I really made that list for you? Me?”

I sighed with a slow blink, and cut to the chase. “Ralph, I heard everything you said to me when I was in that coma. Everything.”

“Oh,” he said, shifting his weight awkwardly, until the memory visibly returned to him and he stood rigid. “...Oh.”

“Yeah. Do you…” I struggled to maintain eye contact, “Do you… I mean, do you still actually blame yourself for anything that happened to me… after that night at Tapper’s?”

“Pfft,” he huffed, smiling joylessly. “C’mon. Ew. Did I say that?”

I stared.

He quickly gave in, folding his arms with a sigh. “...No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it. I wanted to help you. I did. I never would have dragged you out there if I’d known you’d… Well. Whatever. Bad Guys aren’t meant to help anybody. Lesson learned, yet again.”

“Yeah… sure. Except the thing is, you, uh… did help,” I said, and saw him perk up the tiniest bit. “You let me stay with you. Even though I was a thankless, entitled pain in the neck. You kept me company just because I didn’t want to be alone. I know you n’ I aren’t exactly bosom pals, and I know you’re a Bad Guy, but… I guess that just makes it even more of a damn decent thing to do.”

He seemed surprised by my words, even a bit shaken by them in some way, but still, his gaze fell away from me a bit. Seemed like he was no better at accepting genuine praise than I am.

Pushing on, I said, “And if you feel guilty right now because you actually wanted to cave in my skull the whole time, then, don’t. I’d have wanted to throw my ass to the curb, too, if I were you. I don’t blame you for pushing me out. I did at first, but I don’t anymore. I was already primed to spiral, Ralph. I was headed for rock bottom one way or another. Don’t blame yourself for what I did. That’s my fault, not yours.”

He looked at me again, a quiet sort of disbelief in his eyes, which was good, because I needed to look him in the eye for what I was about to say.

“Ralph, I’m sorry.”

At that, he seemed… put on the spot, almost. Like he had no idea how to react. He took a moment to think and to breathe, like everything had to sink in. I knew that he would be surprised, so I didn’t really react. I had gotten all of my weird, emotional words out. The hard part was over.

I watched him begin to scrutinize me, like there was some hidden trick behind my back. He even slowly walked in a circle around me, trying to figure me out. He found nothing, and I offered nothing.

“So…” he said, squinting at me sidelong, “you’re sayin’... you’re sorry. You. You, Make- it Mavis, high queen of the gremlins, are sorry.”

I knew he would do that. Make a huge, obnoxious deal out of it. “Yes,” I said plainly.

“For everything?”

“Yes,” I repeated, with just a twinge of annoyance.

“Everything.”

“Yes.”

Then he pointed at me, as if firing off his question quick-draw style: “Even for calling me a trash gorilla?”

“Hell no,” I recoiled a bit. “I’m a recovering addict, not a kiss-ass.”

That was the first time I saw him almost relieved that I’d sort of insulted him. He straightened up and folded his arms, the tension in his body visibly relaxing as he sized me up. He nodded the slightest bit. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “that was just a test to see if you’d actually lost your mind.”

“Oh, so this is the point where you question my sanity. Nothing in the past couple months has been all that unusual, then,” I said, sort of smirking.

“Nah,” he reluctantly mirrored my smile. “Home intrusion, explosions, tryin’ to conk Gene over the head with a wooden club -- all standard Mavis fare.”

That earned a snicker from me. “Don’t think he’s escaped my clutches just yet.”

“Yeah, in his dreams.”

A silence set in at that point. Both of our smiles slowly began to fade as the silence grew from content to awkward once again. I wasn’t sure what else to say, but Ralph looked like he was working on something, so I waited.

“So,” he eventually said, his tone more sober, “you… really mean all that, huh. What you said about… Y’know. That you’re sorry.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do,” I said quietly.

“Wow,” he almost chuckled, and gave me a sort of smile that I’d otherwise never seen on his face. “Counselling’s sure done a number on you, huh?"

"Well," I shifted my weight, unsure how to respond. It was a strange truth, and it was even stranger hearing it from him. "That's the idea, anyway."

Ralph seemed pleasantly surprised by the whole encounter, but it was just about over. Some small part of him must have wanted to draw it out even longer, a sentiment that I'm sure came as puzzling to him.

Scratching his chest a bit, he said, "Yeah, well… maybe once you're free again, and if you're up for it, we could go for drinks at Tapper's again. Just rag on Gene like the old days. Or Felix, even. I'm sure he's drivin' you up the wall lately with all the fussing."

I clicked my tongue. "Not… for drinks, no. As amazingly depressing as it is to say, I don't drink anymore."

"Really?" He asked, just before lightly smacking himself in the head. "D'oh, of course you don't. Wow. Sorry. I don't know where my head's at today."

"S'okay," I shrugged. "But there's more than just drinks at Tapper's. We can still go. I'll just have snacks or something. Maybe some actual, real pretzels, unlike last time."

He tilted his head. "Last time…?"

Opting to not recount the embarrassing tale of my snack hallucinations from my last visit, I waved it off. "Nevermind. Anyway, this is all making the very big assumption that Tapper will even let me through the doors. Y'know… after everything."

Ralph frowned. "You miss him, huh."

My gaze fell to his feet. "Yeah," I muttered.

"Well, I'm just on my way to see him now," Ralph said, finally turning around to slowly squeeze himself into an undersized train car. "I'll let him know."

Just the thought of any sentiment of mine reaching Tapper sort of sprung a leak in my heart, and before I could think, I was talking, my voice trembling the tiniest bit.

"If-- If you're talking to him anyway," I said, stepping forward almost as if I would follow him, "could you tell him something more?"

Ralph seemed a little surprised by my emotion, but he nodded anyway. "Sure. What is it?"

"Tell him I'm-- I'm…" I sighed, and my shoulders fell heavy. "I'm... sorry. I was probably the worst to him, out of everyone. And I know I can't take any of that back. And if he never wants to see me again… I can accept that. But there's just one thing I really need him to know."

I swallowed. "He's the reason I even agreed to counselling in the first place."

"Really?" Ralph asked quietly.

I nodded, not quite looking his way, focusing all my energy on keeping it together. "Yeah. He… urged me to get help, and when I didn't, I… nearly got his game unplugged. I'm putting in the work now. I'm getting help. I'm getting clean, just like he said. I'm thirty-eight days sober. And it all started because I just… had to make it right. Doing right by him is what's kept me going through a lot of this."

I took a moment to breathe and rein in my unruly emotions, trying to consider just how much I really wanted to share with Ralph. I'm working on being vulnerable, but I've found that I can't rush it. Plus, I'm sure Ralph felt a little awkward on the receiving end. He just watched me, unsure of what to say, but a quiet sympathy still showed in his eyes.

"Just…" I cleared my throat, "just tell him I'm sorry… and thank him for me. Please."

He offered me a half-smile and a soft nod. "Okay. You got it."

At that point, the dinky little cord train began to slowly pull out of our tiny station, sort of squeaking with the effort of bearing Ralph's weight. I watched him go, feeling that hot embarrassment that follows a particularly personal share. The thought that Ralph was probably happy to see me being good to Tapper for once was both comforting and… kind of annoying.

After the train had moved a short distance away, I just about turned to leave, but Ralph's voice caught my attention.

"Oh, and Mavis?"

I looked to see him twisting awkwardly in his seat, calling back to me.

"...Thanks."

That just made my face feel a little bit hotter, but I gave a small smile and flicked a casual salute his way. "Don't mention it," I called back, and waited until the train disappeared into the dark mouth of the tunnel before adding quietly, "...ever."

After that, for the first little while, my evening carried on just about the same as ever. I wound up in Felix's apartment for the usual tea and chats. I played my guitar for a while, and Felix listened happily until the tea was all brewed, and we sat on the couch while he told me about his day. I talked a bit too, but I didn't tell him about my conversation with Ralph. I wanted some light chatter about nothing in particular, a break from the heavy topics that run so rampant for me lately. I even wanted a bit of tea. I still maintain that chamomile tastes like soap, but peppermint is actually pretty good with a hefty scoop of sugar.

It was a couple hours into our visit that the most unusual, most… amazing thing happened.

I had given in to the primal need to lie flat on the floor as I often do, and Felix was sitting at the table polishing his medals when we heard footsteps in the hall. Huge, heavy, thumping footsteps. We glanced at each other for just a minute before we both nearly leapt out of our pixels from the front door being knocked off its hinges.

Through the open, splintered door frame, there stood Ralph, eyes wide. Instantly, his face filled with apologetic embarrassment.

"Woops," he chuckled nervously. "Sorry."

I sat up, and Felix walked over to the door with a bit of an exasperated sigh. "That's alright, Ralph," he assured, easily repairing the door with his hammer and holding it open anyway. "It's polite of you to knock."

My heart began to settle from the frightful shock it suffered, but I was sort of wary to see Ralph again so soon after our last conversation. I didn't know what more he could want, but I didn't feel the emotional energy to deal with whatever it was. I stood and walked over to the door to meet him. He had to twist down a bit to see through the doorway, and his awkward stance was punctuated with a nervous grin.

"Hey-- Hey Mavis," he said.

"Ralph," I grit my teeth just a bit, more from discomfort than anger. I let my eyes dart to Felix just a bit, hoping to signal to Ralph that now was not the time. "...Hi. What… what's up?"

"Uh, well…" he sucked his teeth, "could you step out here for a sec?"

"Why?"

"So I don't have to stand like this."

That was fair. I obliged, and nodded to Felix to give us some privacy. After he closed the door, I immediately whispered to Ralph, "Okay, now what's so urgent?"

Even though he didn't have to bend over anymore, Ralph still had to bow his head to fit under the relatively low ceiling. He put out his hands just a bit to urge me to be calm.

"Look, I'm not here to bug you," he said, and lowered his voice when I shushed him. "I'm just here to make a delivery."

I squinted at him sidelong. "Of what?"

"Well, a message, for one," he shrugged, smiling a little bit. "I talked to Tapper for you, like you asked. And he wanted me to tell you something."

I straightened up, and my heart sort of skipped a beat. "...Oh. What did he say?"

"A couple things. He's, uh… well, he's real happy to hear you're getting help. He wants to congratulate you for that. You've got his full support, he said. It meant a lot to hear that you've been doing well, because you've been on his mind. He thinks about you all the time."

I didn't know what to say or how to react. It was a lot to take in. I had sort of made my peace with him hating me after everything I did, so to hear that he still cared about me was… a relief so acute that it sort of broke my heart.

I barely had time to process it all before Ralph revealed the true hard-hitter.

"In fact, uh," he said, "he'd been thinking of you so much that he… made something for you. He told me to give it to you right away, because… I dunno, he said you seemed ready for it."

Then he reached into the chest of his overalls and pulled out a square picture frame. I was confused at first, but once he handed it to me and I saw what it was, my heart stopped.

Inside the frame were napkins from his bar. Four of them, arranged in a neat square. And on those napkins were… drawings. Two of them were clear, loving depictions of you that I didn't even remember drawing. And on the other two were doodles that you and I had done together. Unflattering, playful caricatures of each other. Our drawing styles could not have been more different -- mine being fluid and organic and yours being clean-cut contour line drawings, but somehow, they worked so well together. The fragile paper was slightly ripped in places from the pens we used, and there were small sections where the ink bled from mug-shaped rings of moisture. All in all, it was a chaotic, dirty mess.

It was us.

It was us at our very happiest moments, just goofing off together, adoring each other without ever needing to say it.

It was the most beautiful gift I'd ever received.

Struck silent by a wall of emotion, I just held it and stared at it in utter disbelief. The fact that Tapper would have cared enough to save such simple things was more than I could comprehend. The drawings could have been years old by then, but still…

It wasn't until my tears fell and splashed against the frame that I even realized I'd been crying.

"Oh," Ralph whispered, a bit of panic in his voice. "Mavis. Crying. Uh-- I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't want you to-- I'm--"

His hands hovered around me hesitantly, completely lost as to how to comfort me. But he didn't have to decide. I felt an urge and followed it immediately.

I just reached out and took one of his huge, square fingers in my hand, even though his heavy code burned a bit to touch. He froze, rightfully taken aback. I didn't explain. I just stepped a bit closer so that he would not have to reach out to me quite so far, hugged the frame to my chest with my other arm, and bowed my head while I wept silently. Ralph said nothing, but I felt his arm relax a bit once he accepted the situation.

Eventually, I pushed a few quivering words out. "Thank you," I muttered. I looked the gift over once again. "I… I can't believe this."

"So you like it?" he asked quietly.

I could only nod.

"I'll pass that on to Tapper, then," he sighed, but I could hear a smile in his voice. "Gee, I'm just a nine-foot-tall messenger boy, aren't I?"

"Thank-- thank you," I choked out again.

"Nah… it's nothin'," he shrugged.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gift in my hand. It was so perfect. It felt like everything I needed. Like it was the one thing that was missing in my road to recovery. That feeling in itself stood out to me, and I followed it through my mind. Apart from all the staggering sentimental value, there was something about Tapper's gesture that felt so empathetic, so validating, like he was acknowledging that I lost something wonderful, something worth mourning. It was the first thing anyone had given me, or the first thing anyone made at all, that honored your memory.

Then it hit me. The thing that was missing. The thing I would absolutely need if I had any hope of moving on.

I let go of Ralph's hand and burst through the door of Felix's apartment. He had gone back to polishing his medals, but he quite nearly dropped one when he saw the tears on my face.

"Mavy? What--"

I interrupted him, trying to keep up with my rush of clarity. "Felix," I said urgently, "I need your help. There's something I need from you. I know what I need."

He stood, approaching me with concern in his eyes.

"I need a funeral for Turbo," I said firmly. "A real one. It doesn't have to be big. In fact, it'll probably be just the three of us," I glanced back at Ralph, who was bending down once again, "but that'll be fine. It just needs to happen. Please."

I looked at Felix again, and his eyes were full of understanding, sympathy, and love.

"Then we'll do it," he said gently.

"Yeah," I heard Ralph say. "Count me in."

I choked out a single, grateful laugh. "Thank you."

We began planning right away.

It's happening tomorrow.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #tapper #turbo #original character #homesick

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linkspooky · 5 years ago

Text

The Characters of Nisioisin (2)

Trickster - Ii (Boku)

This is a post in an ongoing series about the common character archetpyes used by Nisioisin. If you want more information check out the previous post, here. Consider this a part two of that same post. Today we’ll be looking at the nonsense user, and deceiptful protagonist from the aptly titled series “Zaregoto” or in english “Nonsense”. More underneath the cut.

I established the four criteria we are going to be dividing this post into in the previous post, as well as introducing what the idea of the trickster archetype is. Using Kumagawa as the UR-example we’re going to compare Ii-chan with those same tropes.

Introduced as a Villain

Subverts Expectations

Lying, Liar who Lies

Inherent themes of Nihilism

1. Introduced as a Villain

So, next Iichan. He's a special case out of these three because he's actually the series protagonist. But he still kind of fits the criteria because in his series the basic premise of every book is that iichan goes somewhere and a murder happens and then he tries to solve the murder for like the whole book and he sort of kind of solves it and then Jun Aikawa whose much more of a "hero" character than him, the coolest, sickest, strongest detective ever shows up out of nowhere and lectures him.

The sort of conflict set up between Ii-chan and Aikawa as two detectives of the story reminds me of a quote by Maiji Otaro, author of Jorge Joestar (among other things).

“Two detectives, one true. If both are detectives, then both must arrive at the same truth. But does that happen in the novels of this world?” “Most novels with two detectives have one solve it and the other discover the real solution hidden behind it.”

“At that point, are they both still detectives?”

“Hmm.. they’re treated like detectives but certainly, within that novel, the latter is the real detective. But they might switch places in the next novel.”

(Jorge Joestar).

Ii-chan is never introduced as an antagonist from the start of the series he is and always is the narrator. However, he’s still introduced as something he is not. Kumagawa is introduced as a villain and goes on to become a deuteragonist. Iichan is a main character but he doesn’t affect the story like a main character ought to, nor does the story really revolve around him.

So there’s still an inherent lie to his introduction. He is introduced as the center of the story but he is not the story’s real center. However, there’s another subversion implicit in Iichan’s character from the first novel to the second novel.

The first novel is the one where Iichan plays the role of the detective the most straightforwardly. He figures out the trick, solves the case, corners the murderer, but doesn’t solve it all the way and gets lecture by Aikawa at the end. However, there’s a strange way that all the characters react to Iichan despite the fact that he constantly makes himself out to be just a completely harmless, and incapable normal guy.

“Ther’s no meaning. Just like there’s no meaning in your actions. You know, you’re, wow, so you’re the kind of guy who’ll get angry for the sake of a complete stranger. That’s not a very good thing. It’s not bad per se, but it’s not good. [...] That’s because people who can expose their emotions for the sake of someone else are the same people who blame things on others when something goes wrong. I despise people like you.

It had to be the first time in quite a while that someone had spoken that harshly right to my face. Slowly, she brought her glaring gaze to meet my eyes.

“You just let yourself get carried along by other people. You’re the type wo ignores traffic lights just because everyone else is doing it. You’re an abomidable excuse for a human being. They often say ‘Harmonize without agreeing’ but in your case, young man, it’s like you’re agreeing without harmonizing. I won’t say that’s bad. I won’t say anything as to that. One’s identity and worth are not always connnected. A train that runs along a track is better than a train that doesn’t. So I won’t say anything as to that. But I hate people like you. I despise them. People like you always blame things on others, never acknowledging their own responsibility.”

Ii-chan as a character who is introduced as harmless, and passive, never making any choices until we are shown explicitly in the second book that he is not. It’s with his choices in the second book that his true character is revealed.

2. Subverts Expectations

Though for Ii-chan it should really be “avoids any and all expectations.” The Zaregoto is a series that continually asks if the actions of its protagonist are meaningless or not. If any action that Iichan takes effects the outcome of the story in any way.

In Strangulation Romanticist, Ii-chan gets involved with a group of friends who all end up dead or in prison by the end of the story. The central question is what role did Iichan play. Here are some things Ii-chan does in the book, meet with a serial killer and then lie to cover up a police investigation and a private investigator tracking him down giving him time to kill more people, destroys police evidence of another investigation, taunts one girl who murdered another girl into killing herself to atone, knew another murder that was going to take place and did nothing, and then taunts a second girl who wanted to kill herself into killing herself who only survived because the police talked her off a ledge.

“Charges? What charges?” “Falsifying information in regards to the Emoto case, encouraging Aoii’s suicide, not to mention concealment of evidence, plus withholding information and having that little rendezvous with Atemiya. Normally they’d have your ass for that, which I’m sure you’re well aware of, but I’ll take care of it for you. Althought, I suppose even if I didn’t Kunagisa probably would...” (Zaregoto Volume 2)

Therefore, Iichan is someone who acts but doesn’t really face any real consequences for his actions, and that’s because he’s a master of avoidance.

In psychology, avoidance/avoidant coping or escape coping is a maladaptive coping mechanism characterized by the effort to avoid dealing with a stressor. Coping refers to behaviors that attempt to protect oneself from psychological damage.

Iichan is subverting a lot of expectations. He is the protagonist, but the story is not about him. He goes through all of these stories, but he doesn’t ever seem to grow or change from them. He’s a detective, but he never really solves the case or even cares that much about reaching the real truth. He’s written to be a subversion of everything the main character of a detective novel should be.

However, Iichan is also very aware of how a detective should act and deliberately playing with and subverting those tropes. Not only does he subvert the expectations of the reader, but also of the characters around him. He is avoidant, in that way it means he avoids any kind of contfrontation.

I didn’t hate losing. I hated compettition. I was thoroughly put off by the idea of vying for others over something. I hated fighting as well and thus never made friends.

This is a line that gets reused for Kumagawa as well.

Which helps to illustrate the difference between them. Let’s say there is a problem, Kumagawa will charge head first at the problem and it will explode in his face, and Iichan will do everything in his capacity to never confront the problem or deal with it in any way possible.

Iichan is deliberately aware and sensitive to the expectations of the other people around him, and he feels like he will always be too inferior to fulfill them so he doesn’t even bother to try.

“I have been doing so.” I said. “But you know I have limits, too. It seems like everyone and anyone harbors some sort of expectations from me, and of course I would love to meet their expectations, too, but I cannot meet the expectations if I lack the capability. So to have someone say you failed my expectations is nothing but bothersome.”

Zaregoto Volume 4.

The way he avoids the expectations of others is rendering himself as ambiguous as possible, which is where we get to the next part.

3. Lying, Liar who Lies

Iichan is an unreliable narrator who never tells the truth in a straightforward manner, and even lies for half of the second volume. However, there’s more than that, there’s a deliberate trick to the lies he tells.

Iichan is someone who defines himself as ambiguously as possible. He acts like someone who others cannot possibly understand. Despite narrating from the first person, Iichan is only comfortable when he is not known by anyone. Iichan acts like someone who is barely present in his own story.

Answers have no real point. They’re vague and ambiguos and unsound, and things that are fine that way. In fact, they’re better. Causing real change is a role that should be left up to the true “chosen ones” outstanding individuals like that scarlet Mankind’s Greatest, and the Blue Savant, it was never my responsibility. It was no job for a common loser. For the comic sidekick.

Zaregoto volume 2.

Once again we see the contrast between Kumagawa and Iichan, if Kumagawa is a character who shows how strong and capable one loser can be, then Iichan often waxes poetically in his narrative about how weak and incapable he is. If Kumagawa is a good loser, than Iichan is a sore one.

Iichan defines himself as ambiguous on purpose to avoid responsibility for his actions. In less fancy words, if nobody can understand Iichan than nobody can call him on his shit. That’s his goal, essentially. He doesn’t want to work hard to change, or be confronted about any of his actions, because for him merely the act of living takes all of his effort to tread water without making any progress.

Avoidance is a trauma response, Iichan spends all of his time distancing himself from his own actions rather than confronting any of it. However, Iichan is more complicated than that because Iichan’s ambiguity has another side effect making him out to be something that he is not.

“Just by being there, you startle others, just by being there, you make people lose their grip on themselves.. ther’re a bunch of people like that. You can’t relax when you’re with them, it annoys you, things don’t go as planned, people like that, you know, they’re even scientifically explainable. In other words the missing part. Because the missing part for the observer ends up looking the same, it feels like the person is having their ineptitude pointed out at them, and it startles them [...] You’re just like everyone, and that picks at people’s subonscious, that’s why you’re aimless. And yet you still manage to come out on top. [...]”

Zaregoto Volume 3

All of these things Jun points out in this scene are Jungian ideas of the trickster. Iichan is an inferior person who seems to exist to point out the inferiorities in other people, and use it to play tricks on them. While viewing him as this role of the trickster, Aikawa is not really treating him like a person. (Aikawa’s very dramatic).

Which is where Iichan finally gets his trick. It’s a trick in two parts. He constantly underplays his own agency, while at the same time overplaying his suffering.

In other words, while insisting that he is the least improtant person on earth, Iichan at the same time hems and haws like the main character of a tragedy. IIichan wants people to empathize with his suffering, and he wants to be important, but he doesn’t want any of the responsibility of being important. He doesn’t want to take any degree of control of himself or others, so he tries to balance himself between these two conflicting ideas.

1) He is not a protagonist, and therefore the events in the story have nothing to do with him. 2) He is the main character of a tragedy. The world is centered around him, he is someone special and important, and that makes him suffer, but he takes no agency in the role.

Doing this he gets the best of both worlds. He gets to always be involved and important to others, while at the same time uninvolved and is never held accountable for his actions. He’s never challenged or forced to grow or change in any way.

These are the two lies that Iichan tells, and those lies form a narrative. Iichan is lying to give a narrative to his own trauma, and therefore try to extract some kind of meaning from it.

4. Inherent Themes of Nihilism

We once again return to the sacred image.

Iichan is a moral nihilist. He’s on the elft side of that image.

Moral nihilism (also known as ethical nihilism) is the meta-ethical view that nothing is morally right or wrong. It is built on three principles.

1. There are no moral features in this world; nothing is right or wrong. 2. Therefore, no moral judgments are true; however, 3. Our sincere moral judgments try, but always fail, to describe the moral features of things.

Iichan’s view is basically that of, if there is no meaning to this world then any attempt to define meaning is pointless. He (let’s say it again class) usually uses this as an attempt to evade any and all responsibility for his actions.

Iichan doesn't want other people to look at him, he doesn't want to be at fault when things go wrong, but he also wants to be important. So he's continually on a tight rope walk with those two very conflicting desires.

So basically Iichan sees no value in his own actions. He sees no value in the world. He doesn't really have any set of morals, except that he thinks murder is bad. Except sometimes he doesn't really care if certain people are murderers. Zerozaki is a murderer and Iichan hates him but doesn’t actually make any sincere attempts to stop him. Kunagisa commits murder in volume 4/5 and Iichan goes out of his way to cover it up. He apparently doesn’t consider goading a girl into suicide to be a form of murder. But at the same time he's so desperately searching for meaning, because he wants to feel fulfilled.

Iichan thinks that talent and genius are perhaps one thing that could give the world meaning. His best friend is a super genius, and he kind of clings to her and is jealous of her because she's someone special. See he thinks there are people whose lives have meaning despite being a pretty blanket nihilist, but because he's not talented he's not one of those people. Talent is something that could possibly give life meaning but being outside of the talented people it makes no difference to him he can only gaze at it from afar

Iichan is someone who is constantly downplaying his own meaning, while at the same time trying to find some meaning vicariously through others, like Aikawa and Kunagisa who he considers to be the real heroes of the world. Despite Iichan insisting there’s no meaning, he also has an attraction to narrative view of the world. Which is something that you know... has meaning, because stories are written with intent and purpose by an author.

In the sixth volume there’s a concept called “The Story” which one character belives that everything is pre-destined, like it’s all some pre-written story. Therefore while you can make small changes in your own actions it never effects the big picture in any way.

This is once again a very convenient idea for Iichan, who avoids responsibility to believe in. He’s very attracted by this idea because it takes control out of his hands and means his own actions aren’t really his fault.

To be honest, this must be one of the most boring conversations to be listening in on. It had gone so far into the conceptual, that even for myself, participating in the conversation, the words of the man with the fox mask seemed as hazy and illusory as a dream. You could say I do not understand what he is saying. However, then why. Then why does what this person says strike so deep? Why does it resonate? [...] Then, no. I do not want any part of such importance. I do not want anything to do with the core of the story.

Here we go with Iichan’s double negative, he denies having any role or agency in the story and yet at the same time believes that such a thing as the story exists because it means to some extent his actions are out of his control because he can’t accept that they are.

Is Iichan’s role in the story ultimately meaningless? No. There are always clear and distinct consequences for his actions. In the same volume (6 - cannibal magical) where the concept of the story are first introduced that everything is predetermined and you can’t change the big picture, the events of the story disprove that assertion.

Iichan is given like, a million warnings not to go to a lab. Aikawa tells him not to go to a lab because she has a bad feeling about it. The literal assassin sent to that lab talks to Iichan and says “Yeah, I was sent here to kill people.” Another person who was in the same situation just walks away from the problem. Iichan sees the assassin going out to kill people in the middle of the night and just chooses to... go to sleep.

Then he wakes up to everyone dead in the morning. The point being Iichan had a million chances to avoid this situation, takes absolutely none of them, and then acts like this was a completely unavoidable fate. He hems and haws about having no choices, but he’s clearly given choices, he just doesn’t take them, or makes exclusively bad ones.

Iichan wants to avoid consequences by not choosing, however the choice to not choose is still a choice in itself. Everything is a choice. Even avoidance is a choice. Which is why Iichan’s actions do actually have meaning, just not in the way he wants them to. He’s not a special person, and he’s not anyone extraordinary, but he is someone who has to face the consequences of his actions no matter how many narrative tricks he pulls to avoid them.

The actual trick of Iichan’s story is that he really is the protagonist, he just doesn’t want to be.

#zaregoto #zaregoto meta #nisio meta #nisioisin #iichan #boku (ii)

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artstyle-chameleon · 4 years ago

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[BIC] ❎Please DO NOT repost, trace, EDIT or copy my art, without my explicit permission and proper credit, thank you❎

Copied and pasted from my amino wiki http://aminoapps.com/p/m35hnfi

All art is mine. I know my art styles kinda weird but please don't mind it XD

[IMG=FJU]

[BIC]😈Name: Noburu Kirakuto

[BIC]😈Gender: Female

[BIC]😈Quirk: Elasticity (can stretch)

[BIC]😈Age: 15

[BIC]😈Height: 174cm or 5ft 8.(stretches herself out to be more than six foot tall often)

[BIC]😈Nicknames: Slim, Stretch, Boru, delinquent, or beanpole.

[BC]💜Noburu's song (it fits her best) [Here!🎺|https://youtu.be/J9DEcaV0s3Y]

[BIC] 💜Appearance💜

[IC]Noburu Is a very tall and skinny girl with medium length Dirty blonde Hair, (she dyes it a LOT so it changes A LOT) Stormy blue eyes, and dark circles under her eyes. (She does a lot of pacing at 3am)

[IC]she has very skinny limbs, large hands, and stretch marks cover almost the majority of her body except for her face. She also tends wear baggier clothing, but everything looks baggy when it hangs off her slim figure. She also tends to wear a fannypack or a ball cap a lot of the time, even with her uniform.

(Also she's super skinny when stretching herself to be taller, but shes actually is a little chubby when shes at her normal height. Prolly her loose skin. Its not a dramatic chubby, shes still quite skinny, but has a bit of baby fat at her normal height.)

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[BIC]"gee whiz that sucks" ~Noburu

[IMG=3JU]

[BIC]🔮About Noburu🔮

[BIC]Noburu is a very mischievous kid, and loves to pull harmless pranks and acts of vandalism, but despite her cocky and obnoxious outside, she is a bit of an social outcast. Only keeping to a very meager group of friends, and tends to avoid new people.

[BIC]She also has a lot of strange tendencies, and likes to stretch herself really tall to make her feel more confident and come off as more intimidating. Even thought it wears her out to use her quirk most of the time, she does it to help cope with her anxieties. In her mind being intimidating and tall, helps her feel less helpless and aids her in avoiding potential confrontations with other people.

[BIC]Whenever she's with friends she tends to shrink back down to her average height which is more around 174cm (5ft 8). Still pretty tall compared to a lot of the other girls in MUA, but she's less nervous around girls as she is around boys. The more nervous she is the taller she will make herself basically.

[BIC]She hardly ever takes breaks from using her quirk, especially in a crowded setting like MUA where her anxiety is at its peak, but sometimes she will shrink back down without noticing especially when she's worn herself out. In fact a lot of the time during classes she will have trouble staying awake and especially staying focused.

[BIC]On the upside, because she uses her quirk so often she's one of the more practiced students in MUA, and knows how to use her quirk well. So whenever the need arises, using her quirk comes to her naturally, and she has more immediate reactions to danger than many of her other classmates.

[BIC]This is something that also comes back to her anxious nature, she's always mentally prepared for something to go wrong. So when it does, she tends to skip being shocked, and go directly into action. Its that impulse and incentive to react quickly that shows real promise for her to become as a hero.

[BIC]Her main problem with her quirk is the fatigue it causes. When she uses it constantly she finds herself too exhausted to do much of anything, and if anything bad were to happen, though her reaction time would be good, she will likey collapse of exhaustion within a short amount of time.

[BIC]In fact most of her problems lie with the fact that shes using her quirk as a coping mechanism for other underlying issues. Even though there is the benefit of her being mentally ready for danger, she won't be as physically prepared to deal with the danger.

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[BIC]"Splish Splash your Opinion is trash" ~Noburu

[BIC]😎Headcannons😎 (theres a lot so hang in)

[IC]💜Whenever Noburu cracks her knuckles, or a bone pops it makes a squeaking noise.💜

[IC]💜Swings like spiderman, or walks from light pole to light pole to get places. Likes to use her quirk for transportation. Occassionally uses her quirk and a skateboard to propel and slingshot herself to different places.💜

[IC]💜She's basically a rubberhose human. She can stretch, bend, anything a cartoon character can do with some limitations. She does pull muscles easily tho, when that happens she looses the ability to retract her arms. She ends up wearing her messed up arm like a scarf when she does.💜

[IC]💜Can spiderwalk like in the exorcist. Very important to mention.💜

[IC]💜Says sound effects aloud a lot, doesn't know why. Some of the common ones she uses are yoink, yeet, whap, boing, bing, and swoosh. 💜

[IC]💜Mastered the art of falling down the stairs like a slinky. Does it to show off, doesn't realize it makes her look like a moron.💜

[IC]💜Makes Insulting friendship bracelets for people she actually likes💜

[IC]💜Has a Pet Ferret Named Ricky (he's just as much a moron as his mommy)💜

[IC]💜Noburu leaves notes for her crush, their normally in a code and they're always corny pickup lines💜

[IC]💜feeds into todorokis theories with her own, they could talk for hours about other peoples possible parentage💜

[IC]💜When Aizowa erases Noburu's quirk while she's using it to stretch her arms or legs, they'll retract automatically, and it ends with her slapping herself in the face like a human rubber band💜

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[IMG=8IC]

[BIC]😎Ricky Headcannons😎 (her pet ferret)

[IC]🎺Rickys theme [Song|https://youtu.be/a0r0jznFjA8]🎺

[IC]💗She brings him to school often, and most of the time he doesn't run off, but when he does hes a loose danger sock. He will bite ankles and dance away from his pursuers💗

[IC]💗Will sneak into any open spaces, like pant legs, open bookbags, or a certain teachers sleeping bag. (First time it happens Aizowa get freaked out because Ricky bites him)💗

[IC]💗Squeaks when caught, and runs away. Very slippery boy💗

[IC]💗loves hiding under furniture, and playing with loose trash💗

[IC]💗Sleeps in Noburu's hoodie, or in her fanny pack💗

[IC]

______________________________________________________

[BIC]

Last updated: 09/22/20

Hopefully will add more about this girl later. Hope you like her so far tho.

#noburu Kirakuto #mha fandom #mha ocs #Noburu #Slapstick Psycho

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what-if-i-imagine · 6 years ago

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Chapter 2

“As others saw—I could not bring”

-Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe

“Lieutenant, it really is an honor to have your son attending our school, we know how many other schools you most likely considered after all,” my new principal rushed, obviously trying not to show how excited he was.

We were in his office and I was sitting in one of those unbearably uncomfortable plastic chairs, watching as they talked. Only a few students were actually at the school this early, most of which looked as exhausted as I felt.

“The honor is ours Principal Morita,” Rhodey smiled that fake smile that he and my other three guardians had taught me a long time ago. They weren’t the first to teach me it though, my mom was.

I once saw her smile that way to a man who was hitting on her at the playground. He was going on about how awful his life was, and her only response was, “Well bless your heart. I need to be going now, but it was lovely speaking with you.”

That night at home she told me to always pretend to be listening. No matter how much I got annoyed or board, I should at least pretend. If I couldn’t pretend anymore, all I had to do was whip out that southern charm, and say a insult disguised and sugar coated as a compliment. It should always sound harmless and sweet, even when it meant something vulgar.

Pepper was very proud of me when an adult was talking down to me during a business meeting she had to drag me to. I just smiled that fake smile a said “Well ain’t that nice.” The man started yelling at me, saying I was being disrespectful, while the rest of the meeting tried to calm him down because it had seemed like I was being kind. Once he stoped yelling I said “I’m sorry if I offended you sir, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Harley,” Rhodey pulled me out o the memory.

I stood up quickly and shook the principal’s hand, “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Harley,” he managed a smile, though seemed confused by the accent. I guess not everyone was in loop with tabloids that reported me being from Tennessee. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I actually have a student who will be showing you around the school.”

“Sounds good to me,” I rocked on my heals and looked at Rhodey, suddenly feeling like I was five, going to my first day of kindergarten. “Are you gonna stay?”

“I’m sorry Harley, I can’t,” he hugged me quickly. “Happy is picking you up from school, so just look for his car.”

“Okay,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

Watching him walk away, I got hit by a feeling of anxiety and loneliness. I had never worried this much about him coming home safe. I was always at the compound, watching over a monitor so that I was assured he and Tony were safe, but this time I couldn’t do that. This was also the first time in years I would be apart from my guardians for hours at a time.

It’s weird how the first day of school can be so scary, even at fifteen.

I sat back down and listened to the principal as he explained the rules of the school. We were just waiting for the student’s bus to arrive, so that I could get my schedule and take the tour of the school.

“What last name do you go by?” He asked as if it were a harmless, easy to answer, question. It was far from.

I didn’t want to go by Keener because of my dad, but at the same time, it was my mother and sister’s last names. Stark would draw a lot of attention, as would Potts since both of them are famous. Strange would just earn me another reason to be picked on, plus, Harley Strange sounded... strange.

“Harley Rhodes,” I settled on.

“Is the lieutenant your father?”

“No sir.”

“Your uncle?”

“No sir. He’s one of my guardians.”

He seemed to understand after that point that I didn’t really want to talk about it. I appreciated that.

“Sorry I’m late Mr. Morita,” a boy said, running into the office. “My bus got held up.”

“It’s okay,” the principal sighed. “Mr. Rhodes, this is your partner for today. You share the same schedule, so he can keep you company. Introduce yourself.”

“Flash Thompson,” the boy held out his hand for me. I stood and shook it.

“Harley K- Rhodes,” I introduced myself.

I was about an inch taller than the boy, being 5’7’’, but for some reason it felt like I was smaller than I really was. I got a burst of fear, remembering that this was how EJ used to make me feel.

“Come with me,” he smiled, leading the way out of the stuffy office. “I figured I could show you the library, computer lab, cafeteria and bathrooms right now. I’ll just show you the classes as we go to them if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said, following a step behind so I would have enough room to run if I had to.

He showed me each place he said he would, progressively making me put my guard down. He was shockingly nice, but I guess I thought that because I got his humor. He was sarcastic, and I could tell he was using it as a coping mechanism like me. I wondered what it was he was trying to cope with, but didn’t ask.

“Eating outside is better than inside,” he explained. “Never be the kid who spends lunch in the library or gym, that will just get you bullied. Plus, outside you can watch all the nerds make fools of themselves with failed rockets.”

I smiled a bit, hearing buried in his voice that he genuinely liked watching the rockets, “I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks for all this.”

He stopped short, and I almost ran into him. He was looking down, but from what I could see, he looked upset.

“Can I admit something to you?”

I found the question odd, but nodded anyways.

“I didn’t really want to do this, I’m only doing it to get out of detention,” he looked up at me a bit, but looked back down. “I had originally planned to ditch you at the library and let you find your own way around the school.”

“What changed your mind?” My own question caught him off guard. He must have expected me to be mad.

“You turned out to be funny,” he shrugged. “You got my sarcasm and didn’t get all up tight about it. I guess... I started to think maybe you would be a cool friend to have.”

“And you’re telling me this because you don’t like to lie to your friends,” I assumed.

He told me I was right, and I smiled a bit, genuinely this time. I let him continue leading me around the school until the bell rung, feeling like a wall had been kicked down for me. A friend would be really nice right now.

—-

During PE, something changed with Flash.

We had spent the day sitting with each other in classes, talking during passing period. It was really nice to have someone to vent to about the crap show that was my life, and he was obviously relieved to have someone he could just be himself with. But in PE, he wasn’t being himself.

“Hey Penis Parker,” he said to a boy passing by. He was a little taller than me, but only as much as I was taller than Flash. The boy looked annoyed when he half turned to us.

“Hey Flash,” he said like he wasn’t interested.

I looked between my new friend and the boy like I had just gotten hit by a bus. It was such a mood switch when Flash saw this boy that I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself this early, Eugene,” a girl standing by the boy said, not looking up from her book.

Flash looked like he had been slapped from the use of his real name, “Whatever Michelle.”

The girl, Michelle, looked up from her book and raised an eyebrow at him.

A Filipino boy stood with the two, looking just as annoyed. He and the other boy’s body language told me they probably used to be afraid of Flash, but weren’t anymore.

The Filipino boy took notice of me first, “Hey, you know you don’t have to hang out with this guy, right?”

“I want to,” I spoke up, making all of them look at me like I was crazy.

“He means he has to,” Flash rushed to correct me. “The principal said so. I’m his tour guide.”

“I thought I hadn’t seen you around the school,” Michelle noted.

The first boy was looking at me like he was trying to figure out where he knew me from. Recognition flashed across his face when his friend said, “Aren’t you Tony Stark’s secret son?”

“No,” I kept my eyes on the first boy. “I mean, kinda. He’s one of my guardians.”

“Tony Stark is your guardian?” Flash turned to me wide eyed.

I shrunk a bit, “Yeah.”

“Peter works for Mr. Stark,” the Filipino boy said, referring to the boy Flash had called Penis Parker. The pun made since now.

I nodded slowly, not recognizing the boy, though the name Peter Parker was familiar. Tony had mentioned him once or twice now that I really though of it. Happy had also mentioned an incident that happened with the same kid a few months ago, something about a villain they hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard your name,” I admitted, keeping a straight face. “You were the intern that was there when Tony proposed to Pepper, right?”

“I was,” Peter nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, and I feel like I should.”

“Harley,” I said. “Tony and Pepper try to keep me out of public eye for the most part, so don’t feel too bad.”

Peter’s eyes suddenly became pitiful when he heard my name, “Oh... now that I put two and two together, I do recognize that name. Happy once picked me up from my apartment, and Mr. Stark was on the phone with a doctor-“

“Yeah,” I cut him off. “Well, now that that’s sorted out, can my friend and I continue our conversation?”

Michelle eyed me for a moment, then started walking, cueing for the other two to start walking with her.

“What was all that about?” I looked at Flash once they were out of ear shot. “Penis Parker?”

Flash shrunk back and shrugged, keeping his eyes forward, “I used to bully him. Old habits die hard, but I’m trying to get better. He luckily never let what I said get to him.”

“Well, if you wanna keep being friends, that kinda thing can’t be happenings,” I said sternly. I couldn’t risk another EJ being in my life, especially when this guy looked like he was screaming for help.

“It stops now,” he promised quickly. “I won’t ever do it again. Or anything like it. I’ll even apologize.”

“Good.”

And I felt good. Knowing that all it took was a few words, and he would stop. It had been a long time since someone cared that much and wasn’t family.

#harley keener #peter parker #flash thompson #michelle jones #ned leeds #james rhodes #harley keener x peter parker #harley x peter #peter x harley #parley #parkner #flowers for his heart #chapter 2

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werevulvi · 5 years ago

Text

Writing this text led me to several important realisations, suddenly crying my heart out, and then feeling a lot better. So I felt it’s important to post. Also I’ve got a question towards the end, for anyone who knows how to use tumblr better than I do. Sudden internalised lesbophobia thought of today, me to myself: "Even if there was a cure for homosexuality, I would never want it..." "...wait... I said 'cure' didn't I?" "Oh, shit. Well if that ain't a freudian slip, I don't know what possibly could be."

That's... my doubled-sided coin in a nut shell. Trapped in one single sentence. I don't actually want for my sexuality to change, even if that was possible (which was what I thought I meant to say), cause I'm happier with other women than I could ever even imagine being with men let alone was, like really a hell of a lot happier with women and I want to nurture and savour that, and I live in one of the most pro-lgbt countries in the world... but I'm still struggling to view it in a fully healthy light. My dumb brain still whispers that it goes against nature, that it's somehow sick. Why do I care? Sitting by a computer obviously goes against nature too, and praying to Satan while wearing a hooded black robe in a dark candle lit room at midnight is often considered "sick" by some people too, and kinda for the same dumb reasons (meaning a harmless something that just goes against people’s personal beliefs), but apparently I have no moral quarrels with those sort of activities. But clearly my women-loving activities, whether romantic or sexual, keep grinding my gears.

Like... maybe that's also intrusive thoughts? Aside from my "regular" sexual intrusive thoughts, I mean. Cause really what else is up with those random "voices" whispering homophobic shit to me? Of course they're intrusive thoughts. I can't believe I didn't realise that before. I'm such an idiot! Oh well, better late than never, here we go again *pats my own shoulder*

However, I had a good conversation today with an acquaintance who might become a friend. He's a gay man, somewhere in his late 40's, very sweet, humble yet straight-forward and kinda blunt, and talks really a lot. He hosts "rainbow cafe" events in the only city on this small island around once or twice a month, which is casual gathering for lgbt people and allies. Sometimes, it's just me and him, because no one else attended. As was last evening, just he and I, and we ended up talking about everything from David Bowie to homophobia in muslim countries, and from to "Will and Grace" to his ex/on-off boyfriend and my girlfriend. I always love hearing him talk of his ex boyfriend. They seem worlds apart yet very understanding and caring of each other, and casually bickering like they've known each other forever. It's clear to me that they're still very good friends. It was perhaps a seemingly simple, just friendly conversation, but it felt so good. Like... just fucking finally having a normal conversation with another gay person about gay stuff irl. I don't know why but that makes me cry right now. Fuck, I just need to feel normal and not just be told that I'm normal. Cause there is a big difference. And during that conversation with him I felt normal. He didn't say it, not even once, but he made me feel normal by simply treating me as if I was. That's it... that clicked something within me. I don't cry often, so when I end up bawling like that... I KNOW it's important. Cause it only happens that I cry when a feeling is so strong I can't possibly bottle it. Instead it explodes. Now I feel a hell of a lot better... wow, that was cleansing! Also I finally managed to tell him about my detransition, which I had not been able to muster before, and then I've met him during those kind of cafe events some 5-10 times by now for a whole year. But now it was easy. I felt considerably more confident than ever, which made me far more conversational than I've been in a long time, and his reaction to that was... he seemed unphased.

Not shocked, not clenching his gut in discomfort at the thought of the horror I must be going through. He seemed to understand it's a difficult process, but didn't make a big deal out of it. In that sense too, he made me feel normal. It's not about me being normal, just feeling it. If even just for rare moments here and there. I've... never felt that way before. That's definitely worth crying over, and it's entirely connected to my internalised lesbophobia. Cause I think with my lesbian discovery, so soon after my detransition, it felt like insult to injury. Like I'll never be a normal woman at any point, no matter how far I detransition, cause I'll always be a lesbian woman. And I think that's the thorn that I didn't even know I had in my side, until it was forcibly pulled out. I no longer doubt I'm a lesbian. I haven't for the past few months. I haven't felt a single doubt about it since my girlfriend and I first got physical, and I mean it. I've felt and known sincere certainty about my sexuality ever since. Not just that I love her, and am very attracted to her, but that I just can't possibly feel that sorta thing towards any male. No man could ever make me wet by just kissing me, but she can. And I know why. It's as clear as the sun is bright. I think unfortunately though... the more sure I get that I really am a lesbian, through and through, the more scared of it I become. It's as if the more sure of it I become, the more inevitable it feels. Question is, why do I treat my homosexuality as some kind of inevitable doom? I read too much crap. No doubt that all the gut-wrenching homophobia that keeps popping up in my tumblr feed is getting to me, feeding my fantasies of corrective rape and drilling thoughts of it being "unnatural" and "wrong" into my already fragile and tormented skull. If only I could filter blog contents somehow without unfollowing or blocking anyone. Cause I want to read some 90% of the content of the radfem blogs I follow, but fuck it whenever I get face fucked with another post of absolutely vicious homophobia (especially when targetting lesbians specifically) I lose my ability to distance myself and I feel like utter and absolute shit. It sucks my ptsd-brain into a vacuum of impending darkness. I get (extra) vulgar when I'm upset. Sorry not sorry, it's a coping mechanism. Trust me, it lightens my mood, and that's the purpose of it.

Or in simpler language: I get a little triggered. Or like... badly triggered, but pushing it aside, pretending everything is fine and dandy, but my insides keep screaming and tossing about.

And I can't keep exposing myself to that, just hoping I'll get desensitised soon enough. I guess tumblr has some kind of function to filter out tags that I could try, but then you guys and gyns don't exactly always tag your shit. Sure it's good to expose homophobes' bigotry so more people will know about, absolutely. But I don't need any more exposure of that, thank you I've had enough. So oh well, oh well. Maybe I could create a second account for following blogs I know are crammed with such nasty shit I can't possibly avoid without making too big of a sacrifice, and keep my main blog clean from that, but means unfortunately unfollowing a lot. Which I don't wanna. Also I really don't have the spoons to create a second account and filter through all the 500 or so blogs that I follow. I just simply don't.

I don't fucking know. But that crap is really, really getting to me and I know I need to take some distance from all the horrid homophobia in the world, or at least a damn break from it. ~Cause I've got a feeling~ ~that it's stunting my healing~ I'm in such a strange mood tonight. My dark humour is coming to my defense. It's late, I need to sleep but I'm hyperactive due to being over-tired. Cause sometimes my brain just does the opposite to what it’s supposed to. It needs me to finish this first. But anyhows. If anyone's got any advice on how to avoid specific(-ally nasty) tumblr content without unfollowing (people who don't fucking tag their nasty posts), that'd be great. Desk top, not app, btw. I mean especially the endlessly big posts of more and more people adding cited quotes from TRA's such as "lesbians who don't like dick should be raped by girl dick, killed, gutted, turned into sex slaves, forcibly impregnated, yadda yadda" you know the drill. And oh it drills... If in any case a clarification was necessary.

#internalised lesbophobia #internalised homophobia #realisations #feeling normal #intrusive thoughts #lesbian #radfem #hyperactive due to being overtired

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