#sometimes i accidently make myself bleed that way too

[cineatros]

༉‧₊˚. haunted by you

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x doctor!strange reader about.ᐟ  daniela doesn't remember their love. The curse took that away, but when she looks into the stranger's eyes—the woman who won't stop staring at her like she's something lost—she feels something aching, something empty. genre.ᐟ heavy angst. no comfort. cw.ᐟ language. three dimensions. a/n.ᐟ drabble only. currently working on the one-shot. not proofread. just gonna post this cuz its been staring at me in my docs. pls someone tell me if this is good or not so i could edit it in the final fic :D. 4k words

dimension one - soul severance curse.

They tell you not to fall in love when you study the arcane.

Not because love makes you weak, but because it makes you choose.

And I chose her.

Even when I swore I wouldn't. Even when I whispered oaths in a language older than the stars, carved words into my soul, anchored myself in silence—I still chose her. Every day. Every hour.

Her name is Daniela. Not Lady Daniela, or Seer of Light, or anything like the others I met through the Sanctum. Just Daniela. Just…her. And she has no idea who I really am.

She thinks I’m a surgeon who switched to theoretical physics after a bad accident. She doesn’t know. About the Sanctum. About the texts hidden under my bed wrapped in illusions. About the magic that leaves bruises on my spirit. About the way I wake up sometimes not remembering which timeline I’m in.  

She doesn’t know what I keep in the second drawer of my desk, or that I once stitched a bleeding tear in the fabric of space while she slept two rooms away. She doesn’t know I’m on a first-name basis with demons who speak only in riddles and lies.

But she knows me.

She thinks I’m just…Y/N. A little odd. A little secluded. Always curious. Always hers.

The real me. The one I forget sometimes when I get too close to the edge of whatever revelation I’m chasing.

When I’m with her, I forget the multiverse. I forget fate. I forget that I’ve read the end of too many stories.

We met on a Tuesday.

Not the kind of day stories are usually built on—there were no omens in the sky, no signs carved into stone—but I remember it clearer than I remember most of my magical training. She was standing in line at the café on East 73rd, scowling at the menu like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t trust anyone who names a drink Soul Latte,” she muttered under her breath.

I laughed. She looked at me. And that was it. That was the first spell I was ever caught in.

She never knew it, but she was already starting to save me.

We don’t talk about fate.

She hates the idea. Thinks it strips people of their choices. “If fate’s already made the decision for us,” she’d said once, “then why bother loving anyone? What’s the point of falling if you didn’t choose the edge yourself?”

I remember wanting to agree with her. But I also remember the way her hands felt wrapped around mine that night, like maybe fate wasn’t a villain. Like maybe it had done one thing right—one thing good—when it placed her on that street, in that café, in front of me.

But lately… I’ve been studying fate anyway. Quietly. Behind her back.

Because if there’s even a chance that someone like her could be taken from someone like me—by a timeline, a breach, a paradox—then maybe the answer isn’t to trust the universe.

Maybe it’s to control it.

I see it in her eyes sometimes. A flicker of worry. She doesn’t say it, but she feels it—that I’m slipping. That something in me is spiraling further away.

“You okay?” she asks, brushing her fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear the way she always does when she’s trying to feel closer.

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her wrist. “Just tired.”

She smiles like she wants to believe me. God, she always wants to believe me.

The first time we kissed, it was raining. Not the dramatic kind. It was the sort of rain that just existed—soft and constant like a heartbeat, more background than plot device.

She was soaked. Her curly dark hair stuck to her cheeks, and she looked up at me like I was the only thing in the world worth standing in the rain for.

I hadn’t planned it. I never do with her.

It’s terrifying. All my life, I’ve been a woman of plans. Of contingency. If A, then B. If B fails, then C. I learned the layout of every sanctum before I ever set foot inside one. I learned how to make people think I wasn’t afraid of anything.

But her? I never planned for her. I just—fell.

She leaned up, her breath warm and shivering against mine, and said softly, “You always look like you’re about to leave.”

That was the moment. The shift. The crack in my armor.

Because she was right. I was always ready to vanish. To portal out. To fix something. To stop a war before it began or speak with time itself. I was always half-here.

But not with her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.

And for a while, I meant it.

She doesn’t know about the mirror dimension. The place I go when the world is too loud. Where gravity bends sideways and I can scream without anyone hearing it. That’s where I’ve been spending my nights lately. There, and the library beneath the Sanctum, trying to decipher ancient incantations written in languages that died before memory existed.

I tell myself it’s all for her. That if I just understand the weave of the multiverse enough—if I find the right pattern, the right key—I can keep her safe. I can keep us safe.

But there’s a cost to knowing too much.

I’ve started to dream of her face…fading.

She doesn’t believe in magic.

She likes science. History. Real things. She tells stories with her hands when she talks about her job—archival preservation. She’s the kind of person who protects the past so it doesn’t disappear. And I’m the kind of person who tears open time just to see what’s hiding behind it.

“I think you like breaking rules,” she told me once, her head on my chest.

“Only the ones worth breaking.”

“So…all of them?”

I laughed, kissed her forehead. “Not yours.”

She smiled then. I remember that smile. She believed me.

I don’t think she would now.

Tonight she’s curled up beside me on the couch, her legs over mine, a book resting on her stomach. Something by a dead poet. Her hair is falling into her face and I can’t stop staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“I just…I love you.”

It slips out. Too raw. Too sudden.

She freezes for a second. Not because she’s surprised—I’ve said it before—but because of how I said it. Like it’s a goodbye.

She sits up. “Hey. Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just—I wanted to say it.”

Her fingers cup my cheek. “Y/N. Whatever you’re holding in, you can tell me.”

I want to. I ache to. But I can’t tell her the stars are aligning in patterns they never have before. I heard a whisper from a guardian of the multiverse last week saying I was too close to something sacred. That I cast a spell last night that burned the edge of my soul just to see what would happen—and what I saw was her, looking at me like she didn’t know me.

“I love you too,” she says, pulling me into her chest. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

Her heartbeat is steady. Mine isn’t.

I start writing things down.

Not spells. Not maps of potential timelines. Not warnings from the old texts.

But memories.

Little ones. Dumb ones. Her face the first time I made her pancakes and set off the smoke alarm. The way she laughed until she cried when I tripped over my cloak (she thought it was a costume). The time we stayed up talking about whether ghosts get lonely. The way she smells in the morning—like cedarwood and coffee.

I write it all because I’m scared I’ll forget. Or worse—scared she will.

The curse is only theoretical. That’s what I tell myself. I haven’t cast it. I haven’t even spoken it aloud.

But I’ve read it. And when you read something forbidden, it doesn’t leave you clean. It leaves residue. Whispers. Echoes that follow you even after you swear you’ve put the book away.

It was an accident, really. I was looking into soul bonds. Into tethered fates. Into what binds people across dimensions.

I didn’t expect the price to be so specific.

“You will remain. They will forget.”

I laughed at first. Thought it was a metaphor. A romantic tragedy from another realm.

But last night, I heard the mirror speak back to me. As if it already knew.

Daniela leans into me while we sleep. Her body naturally finds mine. Like we’re planets drawn to each other by instinct, by gravity.

She doesn’t know I watch her. That I memorize the way she shifts in her sleep. That I count the freckles on her shoulders because they’re more permanent than anything I’ve ever summoned with a spell.

“Don’t go too far,” she mumbled in her sleep last night.

I don’t think she was talking about the room.

Today she asked me what I’d do if I lost everything.

I said I’d find a way to get it back.

She laughed. Thought it was bravado. “What, you’d fight the universe?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already am.

And yet.

With every spell I read, I feel it. A pull. A tug from somewhere beyond this world—like fate is daring me to challenge it. And I’m tempted, every time, because I’ve never met anything I couldn’t try to fix.

But maybe love isn’t meant to be fixed.

Maybe it’s just meant to be held, fiercely, until it slips through your hands.

Tonight, Daniela is reading in bed, her glasses slipping down her nose.

I stand in the doorway, just…watching.

“Come here,” she says, smiling.

I walk over. Slide into the sheets beside her. Kiss her like it’s the last moment before the storm.

Because maybe it is.

She hums against my lips. “You always kiss me like I’m going to disappear.”

“You’re not,” I whisper, clutching her like a lifeline.

“Good,” she murmurs, curling into me. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes.

But the universe never needed her to leave.

It just needed her to forget.

dimension two - temporal curse.

She doesn’t know.

That’s the first thing I always remind myself of when I look at her. When I watch her sleep, cheek pressed lazily into the pillow, lips parted just slightly, one arm dangling off the side of the mattress like she didn’t wage war with her own blanket hours ago.

She doesn’t know who I am. Not really.

She knows I like my coffee strong and my silences softer. She knows I’ll always steal her side of the blanket even if I’m not cold. She knows I flinch a little at loud thunder, and that I hum under my breath when I think no one’s listening. She knows the mundane pieces. The unremarkable ones. The kind of things you learn when you love someone in the daylight.

But not the rest. Not the reason I sometimes leave in the middle of the night, not the reason I clutch my wrist like it’s bleeding when nothing’s there. Not the weight in my gaze when I watch her—like she’s a countdown, and I don’t know when the clock started ticking.

I didn’t even know which version of her I saved.

Not at first.

The timelines blurred so violently when I did it—when I pulled her from the moment death reached for her, when I bent time so far it nearly snapped.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t noble. It was grief in motion.

One second, she was lying there—her blood on my hands, lungs struggling, eyes unfocused.

And the next…she was alive. Standing in front of me. Whole.

But she was already different.

And I’m not sure I could ever bear the way she’d look at me if she did.

There was a moment once—two weeks ago maybe—where I almost told her everything. We were on the rooftop, just after midnight, and the city was silent in that eerie, stretched-thin way. Like the world was holding its breath. Like it knew I wanted to say something dangerous.

She had her knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie too big for her, sleeves half covering her hands. The stars had lost their fight to the city lights, but she looked up anyway. Like she believed in them just the same.

“I had this dream,” she said, softly, not looking at me. “That the world ended, but we didn’t die. We just...forgot.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Because I’ve seen it. Variants of that dream. A thousand ways the world ends and keeps on spinning anyway. Some with fire. Some with silence. Some where I lose her. Some where I find her too late.

She tilted her head then, rested it on her knees, and blinked at me. “You ever get that? Like...something’s coming. And you’re already grieving it.”

She always does that. Says something that guts me without knowing she’s twisting the knife.

I think I touched her cheek then, just to make sure she was still warm. Still here. I kissed her slowly—slow enough it could have meant goodbye.

But I didn’t tell her. Not yet. I told myself it wasn’t the right moment. That she deserved normalcy while she still had it.

Really, I think I was just selfish.

The thing about loving someone as someone else—someone fictional, someone edited—is that you get really good at lying to yourself.

You tell yourself the parts you gave them are enough. That the secrets are protecting them. That it’s love, even if it’s in a cage.

And she does love me. I think.

No. I know.

She loves the version of me that forgets to charge their phone and can’t cook pasta to save their life. The one who gets too intense sometimes, too still, too far away in the eyes—and she just reaches across the table, grounds me with a touch. She never asks where I go when I go quiet. She trusts me without needing to understand.

Which is maybe the most painful part.

She never asked for magic. Or war. Or fate. She just wanted someone to stay.

And I’m going to break her heart. I know it.

It’s already started—the ripples. Little shifts in the air. Loose threads pulling at the seams of the life we built. The kind only I can see. The kind I shouldn’t ignore.

But every time I think about acting, about stopping the momentum of what’s coming, I see her laughing in the morning, barefoot on cold tile, humming some pop song she pretends not to like. I see the little love notes she hides in the fridge, the way she sings to plants when she waters them, the way she lets her guard down only for me.

And I tell myself: Maybe there’s still time.

I don’t think she notices the way my hands shake when I hold hers sometimes. Or the way my breath catches when she says things like, “We should plan a trip.”

Trips require a future and futures are fragile.

Especially when you’re me.

I’ve bent time before. Ripped it clean in half to protect the other version of her. I paid the price. I always pay the price. The universe is cruel, but fair.

And I know—deep in my bones—that if something happens to her, I’ll do it again. I won’t hesitate.

Which means I’ll destroy everything just to keep her breathing.

Even if she hates me for it.

Even if she forgets.

She brought home sunflowers today. Said they looked “obnoxiously hopeful.”

“I thought they’d balance out your broody vibe,” she teased, poking my side.

I smiled like I always do—crooked and weak—and watched her arrange them in the chipped mug we both pretend isn’t a vase.

She looked so proud. Like placing bright yellow petals on the windowsill was enough to shift the axis of the world. And maybe, for a second, it was.

Maybe, in that moment, I wasn’t the Sorcerer Supreme. Maybe I wasn’t the harbinger of the end. Maybe I was just hers.

And maybe that’s why I kissed her like I was drowning.

Because I knew—I knew—I wouldn’t get many more chances.

We lay on the couch that night, limbs tangled like vines, half a movie playing in the background. She fell asleep first, as always, breathing slow and even against my shoulder.

I watched the screen flicker. I listened to the faint hum of the fridge. I stared at the ceiling and tried to memorize the way she fit into me.

And then I whispered, so quietly it hurt,

“I’m going to lose you, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

But I think the universe did.

The lights flickered. Just for a second. Barely noticeable.

But I felt it.

A shift.

A warning.

There’s this concept—chronomancy. Time magic. Dangerous, unstable, almost always fatal in the wrong hands. I’ve only used it twice. Both times it almost broke me.

But I would do it again. For her.

If it meant she got to keep laughing like that. If it meant her hands stayed warm.

If it meant I didn’t have to bury her.

Because I’ve seen what’s coming. I’ve seen the moment she dies.

And I won’t let it happen.

Even if I have to tear open the fabric of time itself. Even if it fractures everything. Even if it breaks her.

She won’t understand.

She’ll never forgive me.

But she’ll be alive.

Right now, though—right now she’s curled up in bed, face buried in my chest, arms loosely around my waist. Her breath tickles my collarbone. She makes this soft sound when she dreams—half sigh, half content hum.

And I hold her like she’s already gone.

Because in some version of time, she is.

In some timeline, I wasn’t fast enough.

In another, I didn’t choose her.

But in this one, this fragile and beautiful and doomed one, she’s mine.

For now.

And if the only way I can keep her safe is by rewriting the rules of love itself...

Then so be it.

She’ll wake up tomorrow, same as always, maybe kiss me sleepily, maybe ask what I want for breakfast.

She’ll have no idea that the world is already unraveling. That the spell is already forming. That I’ve already started the process.

But she’ll live.

And maybe that’s the most I can ask for.

Even if she forgets how she loved me.

Even if I become a stranger.

dimension three - dimensional drift curse.

She always forgets me by morning.

No matter what I say, what I do, how long I stay—every time I cross into her world, it resets.

A curse, layered through time and dimensional faultlines. One that clings to her like dust in sunlight. Not her fault. Never her fault. She didn’t ask to be loved by a woman who breaks universes.

But God, she was loved.

And I keep going back.

I don’t know how many times I’ve met her now.

Could be a hundred.

Could be a thousand.

Every time, it’s different. A new version of her. A new variant of the same soft soul, living a life untouched by the war I fight across stars and spells and sleepless nights. Sometimes she’s an artist. Sometimes a teacher. Sometimes she owns a flower shop that always smells like spring.

Sometimes she’s wearing the same earrings I once gave her in a universe that no longer exists. And she doesn't know why.

But every version has her smile.

That same one. Like dusk settling over the ocean.

And every version still stuns the breath out of me.

I never tell her everything.

What would be the point?

She won’t remember.

By the time I cross back into my own dimension, the tether of memory unravels behind me. Like it never unfolds at all.

The curse is designed that way. Not by me. Not by her.

For a moment.

By a mistake in battle, a spell hurled with such fury it fractured the truth of us across existence. A sorcerer’s curse spoken through cracked teeth:

“The cost of power is always love.”

And I didn’t believe them. I thought I could fix it.

I always think that.

I’m not even sure why I keep trying.

Maybe it’s ego.

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe I just want one more hour with her before the world resets. Just one moment where she tilts her head and says, “You look like you haven’t slept in years,” and offers me tea like I’m not wearing the weight of every timeline I’ve failed to save.

Maybe I like pretending—for a minute—that I’m not Doctor Strange.

That I’m just Y/N. And she’s just Daniela.

And we’re just…us.

Yesterday—whatever “yesterday” means in this spiral of slipping worlds—I told her something small.

I said, “Your voice sounds like spring rain.”

She blushed. Looked at me like I’d pulled that sentence from some long-lost poem.

She doesn’t remember that I said the same thing in Dimension One, on the first night she cried in my arms.

Doesn’t remember how I held her hand as she forgot me.

How I watched her fall in love with me in one universe, only to lose the ability to feel love in the next.

Here, she’s new.

Fresh.

Alive.

And I’m the ghost.

I know the spell exists.

The reversal.

The one that could fix it.

It’s buried deep in the Book of the Broken Star—pages bound in silence and consequence. A forgotten ritual that rewrites memory across dimensional planes.

It requires something.

A trade.

Not blood. Not time.

A soul.

One soul in return for another’s remembrance.

I know what it means.

If I cast it…she’ll remember everything. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh and grief and joy.

But I will be gone.

Not dead. Not erased.

Just—

Unraveled.

Like a name no longer spoken.

She’s sleeping now.

I found her again three hours ago.

This version works in a bookstore that smells like ink and wood. She keeps her hair up with a pencil. She laughed when I asked if she believed in magic.

“No,” she said. “But I believe in feeling like something matters. Isn’t that the same thing?”

I didn’t answer.

My hands were shaking.

Because even though she doesn’t know who I am, and doesn't remember anything, she still says things like that. Still feels like her.

Still is her.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, watching her breathe.

Her face is soft in sleep.

I can cast the spell.

Right now.

And she will wake up with every memory. Every version of us stitched back into her chest.

She will know me.

Will finally remember the love we once shared so loudly, so fully, that it split reality when it broke.

But I won’t be here to see it.

I’ll be lost to her.

She will wake up crying for someone she knows by heart and can no longer find.

That’s the price.

A reverse curse. A reverse cost.

She remembers. 

I forget.

I close my eyes. Hold my breath.

And I cast it.

There’s a stillness in the universe when magic like this takes shape. A pause. Like the world knows what it’s about to lose.

And then—

A whisper.

A shift.

Her name, Daniela, whispered through a thousand timelines.

A thread, snapped and re-intertwined.

She gasps.

Her body jerks upright in bed, eyes wide, tears already falling.

“Y/N?”

I don’t respond.

I can’t.

Because I no longer know that name.

I no longer know her.

And somewhere else—in another city, another time, another morning—I wake up in a world I’ve saved a thousand times, with a hollow in my chest I don’t understand.

A woman passes me on the street. She stops, suddenly breathless.

Looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Her lips tremble as she reaches for me.

But I just smile politely.

And keep walking.

Daniela remembers everything.

And I remember… nothing.

But the universe never forgets.

And love, even when fractured across dimensions, always finds a way to echo.

maybe a manon or fic next lol

[riddlesrizzler]

August

summary: "To live for the hope of it all, cancel plans just in case you'd call." characters: mattheo riddle. reader warnings: none, just sad. word count: 1.2k a/n- this is in mattheos pov!

The castle hadn’t changed.

Not really. Same drafty corridors, same high-arched windows bleeding grey light into the stone. Same portraits whispering things they thought no one could hear. But I had. Something in me had shifted-cracked open like old wood beneath a storm-and I hadn’t figured out how to put the pieces back together since.

I didn’t want to be here. Not really. But war makes pawns of all of us eventually. And now, standing just outside the Great Hall, surrounded by noise I couldn’t seem to drown out, I saw her.

And suddenly, I forgot how to breathe.

She walked in like the summer hadn’t ended. Like she hadn’t walked away. Her robes hugged her frame like armor, her hair tucked back, sharp and neat. But her eyes... fuck, her eyes. Still soft. Still full of galaxies and wounds she never let anyone close enough to name.

Our eyes met across the corridor.

It felt like a blow to the ribs.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Just looked at me like I was a ghost. Like she’d buried me in the sand that last night by the lake and wasn’t surprised to see me rise from the dead.

And then-she turned away.

Just like that. Like I was nothing more than another shadow in this cursed castle.

I stood frozen, throat burning with words I didn’t have the right to say anymore. I couldn’t follow her. Not yet. The moment she disappeared into the crowd, I shoved the door open and slipped out into the cold air that clung to the stone like a second skin.

I leaned back against the wall, tilted my head up toward the sky, and let it hit me.

August.

The scent of salt air and rust from the old wooden door still lingers in my memory like it was yesterday-like August never really ended. Like it carved itself into the marrow of my bones and decided to stay there, soft and aching. I remember the way her laugh would echo in the empty spaces of the summer night, that half-sleepy, half-wild sound that made everything else fade away. I remember the way her fingers brushed against mine like it was an accident, like she didn’t know how to be held but still wanted to try. And in those moments-under flickering porch lights and star-smeared skies-it felt like we were the only two people left in the world.

But it never lasted. It never could.

Because she was never mine.

Not really.

At first, I didn’t think much of it-when we started spending time together. She was just another beautiful complication in a life already full of sharp corners and broken rules. Always so composed. So careful with her heart. But something about her undid me. The way she looked at me-like she could see past the name, the lineage, the mask I wore for the world. She looked at me like I was real.

She was a storm waiting to happen. But I let myself drown in her anyway.

I remember the first time she kissed me. It was behind her house, where the ivy curled around the stone like old secrets. The kind of place where things began and never ended clean. Her back was to the sun, hair tangled from the wind, breath caught somewhere between hesitation and want. When our lips met, it was soft, trembling-like we were both afraid to want something too much. She pulled away too fast, eyes wide, like the gravity between us had surprised her. Like she didn’t mean to let it happen. Like she didn’t trust what it could become.

But I did. I trusted it with everything I had.

Even when she wouldn’t let me.

There were nights I’d sit by the window, hands stained with ink from letters I’d never send. Waiting for a message. A sign. Something. Anything. We’d meet in alleyways and bookstores, quiet corners of town where no one would ask questions. Ten minutes here. Twenty there. I’d cancel everything-plans, people, whole days-just to have that time with her. Just to hear her say my name like it meant something.

And sometimes, it felt like it did.

I’ll never forget the way she looked at me that night under the moonlight-half of her face lit in silver, the other in shadow. We’d been lying on our backs in the grass, eyes tracing constellations, talking about nothing and everything. The war. The weight of expectation. Her dreams of disappearing into the world like a leaf on water. My nightmares. My rage.

“You make it quieter,” I whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of crickets. “In my head. You make it all quieter.”

She didn’t say anything. Just reached for my hand and held it like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

And in that moment, I would’ve sworn she was mine.

But she wasn’t.

Not really.

The night she kissed me under that streetlamp-it flickered like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to stay lit, casting long shadows over cracked pavement. Her lips were soft, warm, a little too hungry. She kissed me like she was trying to forget something. Someone. Like if she pressed hard enough, I might replace what was missing.

And I kissed her back because I wanted to be the one she chose. Because for that brief, aching second, I let myself believe I was.

But even then-when her fingers curled around my jacket, when her breath hitched against my skin-I knew. I knew I was kissing someone who belonged to a memory she couldn’t let go of. Because when her eyes fluttered closed, her lashes trembled like she was breaking.

And when she opened them, she wasn’t really looking at me.

I remember the night by the lake, too. The one we always went to when we wanted to be alone. The old tree creaked in the wind, branches reaching like arms into the dark. She stood with her back to me, eyes on the water. I could feel it-the distance, the quiet ache of something already lost.

She had one foot in the past, one foot in the future, and I couldn’t figure out where I fit in between.

I reached for her. She let me. But her body never leaned into mine the way it used to.

I wanted to ask her to choose me. I wanted to scream it.

But I didn’t. Because you don’t beg the wind to stay.

It was foolish to think I ever had her.

That’s the thing about summer love-it tastes like fire and ends like rain. Always gone before you realize how much you need it. And when the leaves start to turn, all you're left with is the memory. Tangled in old sheets. Whispered into pillows. Etched into your ribs like scripture.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her.

Even now, I find her in the quiet-her laugh ghosting through the corners of my mind, the warmth of her touch lingering on my skin like sunlight that forgot how to fade. I hear her voice sometimes, like an echo down a corridor I can’t seem to close off.

But she always slips away.

She wasn’t mine to lose.

But I lost her anyway.

And maybe, in some other version of the story, she stays. Maybe she chooses me.

But this isn’t that version.

This is the version where she kissed me like a goodbye she couldn’t say out loud.

This is the version where I’m left standing beneath a dying summer sky, watching her walk away with my heart still beating in her hands.

I’ll be here.

Waiting.

But I won’t wait forever.

Because the truth is… I already did.

tag list: @accio-rogers @juliet-017 @thaliashifts @shyamanuensis @draco-malfoys-lovergirl

[dinodaydreams]

Having kinda a meltdown/mental breakdown about my chronic illness and disabilities and how much they actually disable me and how much of the pain and trauma from it I keep inside.

I'm 17 years old and I can't eat gluten, tapioca, most she'll fish besides shrimp, and sugar but medicine let's me eat sugar again so that's good.

Everytime I leave the house I use my wheelchair cause even tho I'm not paralyzed my leg hurt so terribly even just to stand and I can only go up stairs on good days and we live in a two story house I live on the ground floor and the shower is in the upstairs.

And i usually need help taking a shower because trying to reach certain areas of my body hurts too.

I have hyper mobile ehler danlos syndrome, celiac disease, POTS, possibly small fiber neuropathy, fibromyalgia, I'm deficient in a lot of vitamins because for the majority of my life I've been eating food my body can't digest and it's been damaging my organs.

I'm in pain everywhere on my body everyday without fail.

I'm on so many medications that some doctors are afraid to prescribe me more because its "too many for your age"

I have binocular vision disorder and can't see without my glasses and even with my glasses it hurts my eyes to read most books digital and paper

I'm constantly dislocating or slipping my bones out of place on accident.

I suffer with a lot of mental health struggles also partly cause of my genetics and partly because of my childhood trauma.

My existence causes pain to those who love me I'm sure because all I ever really do is talk about how much pain I'm in and I end up in the ER every couple of months with something new that's wrong.

You ever start bleeding from somewhere and you don't know why? Cause that is not normal.

I can't go into certain stores or malls because they aren't wheelchair accessible at all I can walk sometimes but mostly not.

We always have to check google images of stores before we go to see if I can go.

I can't even be near the things I'm allergic to cause the smell makes me feel sick.

Sometimes if I smell sugar it instantly makes my stomach hurt without touching or eating it.

I'm in so much pain all the time my body just expects it now.

I can feel the fucking weather change by the way my bones feel.

I couldn't eat fruit or vegetables for a month or two because they had natural sugars in them and that's all I wanted.

Everyone tells me im so strong and resilient and they could never live my life but I don't feel strong I don't feel like anything is really worth it on days like these

I just wanna cry all the time

I smell people's food sometimes cause I can't have it

I don't put much energy into myself because I don't feel like im worth it

I don't think others feel like I'm worth all this either sometimes

I probably cost my family so much in medical bills every year

I'm so scared and so sad man

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

i know i already requested something, but can i still ask for fujin and tomas with a sick toddler regressor? im not sick myself. but ive been hhaving nosebleeds for 3 days and im tired,, just wanna be held by them 🔮

Oh please, request as much as you like!! I love receiving requests!! <3

WARNING: Blood mention (nosebleeds)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Fujin w/ Sick Toddler Regressor Hcs

☁️ Gods don’t get sick, and it takes a lot to make them even feel somewhat icky

☁️ But Fujin knows Mortals can get sick very easily, and knows many ways to treat them

☁️ But his baby being sick? That’s just an outrage!! >:(

☁️ Your usually so giggle, or energetic, or wanting to play or watch tv

☁️ And now your bed bound, sniffling and whining about how bad you feel :(

☁️ He very calm about your nose bleeds, helping you pinch the bridge of your nose and holding your tissue, although does ask the Monks if your dying (you aren’t, it’s from sickness and most likely weather change, he’s just worried)

☁️ He’ll do that cold spoon trick on your back (My Momma would do it when I had nosebleeds), he’s not sure if it really works, but he’s just trying different ways to stop the bleeding

☁️ If your get blood anywhere, he’ll focus on that later, and gently shut any bad thoughts about you ‘making a mess’

☁️ You didn’t make a mess, sweetheart, sometimes nosebleeds are super unexpected and heavy, and if he needs to, he’ll just boy you a new shirt, there’s nothing wrong <3

☁️ Back onto sick hcs, he’ll try to get you outside

☁️ Nature (and cuddles) are the best medicine, so he’ll carry you outside and you two will lay on a blankie

☁️ Although if you’re feeling really sick, he’s not going to force you out of bed, he’ll just tuck you in and sit beside you

☁️ In fact, he’s by your side the entire time!! Raiden can take some of his jobs right now, he has to focus on his baby

☁️ And if he reeeeally has to leave, he’ll have one of his medics, or Nightwolf, Raiden, Liu Kang, or Kung Lao, come watch after you

☁️ He’ll play with some soft toys or non loud things, he doesn’t want your head to hurt more than it does

☁️ He’s weary about you watching too much tv while small

☁️ Too much screen time won’t help you feel better physically, but if you really wanna watch tv, he’s not going to stop you

☁️ The best part about Fujin is that he can’t get sick!! Which means, you can get sickness cuddles without getting him sick!! :D

☁️ He’s wary cuddling you though :\

☁️ Not that he doesn’t want to!! He just doesn’t want you to feel suffocated or something similar

☁️ He’ll make you tea and put it in your favorite sippy cup!! (If you don’t like tea, prepare for a bunch of water)

☁️ ^ No sugary drinks!! Your trying to get better, and Fujin’s not going to get you get worse by accident (Milk is allowed, especially warm milk)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Tomas w/ Sick Toddler Regressor Hcs

💨 He’s the only Lin Kuei brother that can get sick, but it’s super hard

💨 Has an amazing immune system!! He can be around multiple sick people, and still not catch anything

💨 . . . You not so much, and now Tomas feels really bad about your situation

💨 Where’d his bouncy baby go? Where’s the running around the house or asking if he can play? 🥺

💨 He’s also calm about nosebleeds, but it does make him much more worry (he’s just worried about your health)

💨 If it’s something from stuff like weather change or dry climate or such, he’s very gentle about it, helping you hold a tissue and trying to find ways to stop it

💨 Don’t feel bad if your get blood anywhere!!! Nosebleeds can be very scary and unexpected sometimes, he’ll clean your shirt and wash up later

💨 He doesn’t want you to deal or be uspet about any mess accidently made anyways, it’s not your fault you feel icky and it happened, please don’t blame yourself <3

💨 Back onto your sickness, you are not getting out of bed >:(

💨 No ifs! No buts! Nothing! You are laying there until you feel better, period.

💨 He’ll also limit screen time!! >:O

💨 ^ He’s not trying to be mean, he just knows too much screen time while sick won’t help you get better :\

💨 Although if you give him big puppy eyes, or a really horsey cough, he’ll let you watch more tv, he’s not insainly mean

💨 But he’ll focus on more playing with toys or easy puzzles

💨 Mostly soft, fuzzy toys, but he’ll allow some music ones (none too loud though, your sick and teeeeechnically should be asleep . . . But Bi-Han doesn’t have to know)

💨 Tomas is a busy man, so he can’t constantly be by your side

💨 But he doesn’t leave you alone!! If he’s not there, then Kuai Liang or Bi-Han will watch you

💨 Or Harumi!! She’s very good with sick babies

💨 You don’t need to ask for cuddles, he’s already holding and cradling you

💨 Making sure you’re okay and warm, or that you're getting enough kisses and squeezes

💨 It’s to the point that you expect him to get sick too!! But there’s a 2/10 chance of that happening, so he makes sure to spoil you

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I hope these are chill, they're a bit focused more on your being sick than you being small and sick. <3

Also i hope you feel better!!!! I use to get a bunch of nosebleeds as a kid, and they're never fun. :(

^ Sending loves and cuddles!!!! 🤟 🫂

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 4 – First Changes (2 Months)

It’s happening! Slowly – but surely. I noticed the first small changes over the last few weeks. And, despite obsessively checking myself for changes every day, I found the first thing completely by accident.

I don’t bleed anymore. I nicked my finger while cooking, and nothing happened. Eventually there was a little blob of red goo there, but it wasn’t watery like blood, and after a while it seeped back into the wound. That’s what my blood is like now. It kinda makes sense that it would be the first thing to change, since it’s already liquid, and it’s what’s carrying the shifterising hormone around my body. I can’t feel it, I can’t control it, but knowing that I’ve got goo in my veins (what a thing to say) is weirdly validating. All those pills I’ve been taking are actually doing something! And I’d swear the cut healed faster than usual – though that might just be me seeing things where there aren’t any.

Speaking of seeing, my eyesight is changing. Or, maybe not the sight itself, but what my brain is doing with it. I’m noticing details more. It’s like how, sometimes, after meditation, I feel like I’m seeing things more as they are, rather than seeing what I expect to see. I imagine it’s what it’s like for an artist studying something they want to draw. Except now it’s happening spontaneously, and more intensely. For a moment, I can look at a tree and take in the whole thing at once, every leaf and branch, and remember it. It’s intermittent – more often than not I’m still seeing things the old human way – but it’s happening enough to notice.

Everyone always says shifters have a really good eye for detail. In all the human stories where shifters are monsters, that’s how they’re able to imitate and replace people so easily (assuming they don’t just absorb them, which also often ends up happening in those stories). I think this must be the start of it.

Some patches of skin feel different, too. There’s one on my leg, one on my stomach, and another on my back. They look the same, but the texture is slightly different, and I can tell where they are even without touching them. If I really focus, I can make them feel just a bit softer and squishier than normal flesh. Not quite like goo, not yet, but definitely different. I’m thinking these will be the first parts to turn fluid, eventually.

And one more thing: I bought one of those shifter art things. Maybe you’ve seen them? – a little bowl full of goo, with a button on the side that you twiddle to change the goo into different shapes. Or, maybe ‘putty’ is a better word – it’s a bit like wet clay that doesn’t dry. It’s a sculpting toy, basically – that shifters invented. I’ve wanted one for years, but never dared, because someone might see it and… guess what was going on in my head? Who am I kidding? – no one is going to see that and think maybe you want to be a shifter! If they even noticed it, they’d take one look, think that’s a funny little thing, and move on. Paranoia is… well. I don’t think paranoia is too strong a word for it. Everything I did had to be checked against would this make people suspect?, and that overrode everything else. Any sign had to be hidden at all costs. I still didn’t dare buy it in a shop – I ordered it online – but now it’s here, sitting on my shelf, and so far no one has called me a monster. I don’t think anyone’s even noticed.

Right now it’s in the very rough shape of a dragon. Well, OK, so it’s basically a blob with two little blobs that kinda maybe could be wings… and looks more like a mushroom… what you can do with the button is very limited! But the real appeal of these is that once I can turn fluid, I’ll be able to flow into it, mix with the putty, and sculpt it from the inside using my own shapeshifting ability. It’s no wonder shifters love these things. Some of the pictures I’ve seen online are amazing – almost as amazing as what they can do with their own bodies. What I’ll be able to do, eventually.

And so that’s it! Two months, and things changing already! I’m still taking my human hormones – I’ll have to keep doing that for a while – and I still haven’t told anyone (ugh, don’t want to think about that), but for only having been on this for such a short time, things couldn’t be better!

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[filthygalli]

MORTAL KOMBAT 1 Kenshi Takahashi AU: “Never yours"

PART 1

Warnings: Dark, Killing, Arrange Marriage, Rape, Yakuza!Kenshi Takahashi, Slave!Fem Reader, Porn, MDNI, Kenshi is a little mean here, choking, slapping, Usage of Y/N And L/N (THIS APPLIES IN THE WHOLE FIC)

Let me know if I missed anything!

Author's note: This is a dark fic, I'm trying my best to make it accurate to a Yakuza situation stuff, so please if you want me to change something in the fic feel free to request anything! I'm also gonna credit you at the end of the fic.

Summary: Your parents are part of a Yakuza. One they, They decided to part ways from the Yakuza, since they wanted to live a normal life, Kenshi's father wanted them to stay and have their protection, your parents refused, leading to your parents death.

.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭

You were once born in a wealthy family, But since your parents died due to an ‘Accident’ all your parents' money and hard work went to their partners, which is The Yakuza.

You begged your aunt's to keep you and you promised them that you'll work for them in any kind of job so the Yakuza wouldn't take you in, your aunt refused as the Yakuza told them not to, payed them money to not to talk with anyone about the ‘accident’, but the truth is…The Yakuza killed your parents, they didn't agree on something and killed them by a car accident, since then you've been a slave and a prostitute to the yakuza’s.

You felt disgusted, you saw yourself in the mirror as you cried, Thinking that you should've died with your parents.

It's been years since they died, you can't go out into the real world because you've been stuck with gang men, One day two gang members came in your chamber blindfolding you and tying your hands on the back so you couldn't move or fight them, they brought you into a nice looking office that you haven't been in before, you wonder if they'll set you free or sell you to other Yakuza members.

You saw a tall man with a tattoo on his hands all the way up, wearing a nice black suit sitting across the room, smoking his cigarettes. The man spoke, “Is that L/N’s daughter?” he asked, “Yes, Boss.” The other gang member said, “Leave.” The man stood up from his seat walking towards you slowly as the two gang members left the room.

“The name's Kenshi Takahashi.” He extended his hands, offering for a hand shake. You frowned as you looked at his hands, “I don't do handshakes to thugs-” “Aren't you one of those thugs?” he chuckled, “C’mon at least let me know you're name.” He said grinning down at you as he close the gap between the two of you, “Y/N” “hmm, Y/N, have a seat, we have something to discuss.” “Can I say ‘No’?” He grins, “Only if you wish to suffer.” He pushed you down to seat at the couch beside you, “I'll be quick here, I have an offer for you.” “it's a No,” he chuckled, “Just hear me out you little fuck.” He cupped your chin harshly, “It's for your freedom and my Reputation, if you don't help me, I'm gonna kill you myself, understand?” You nodded, tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes, “You're pathetic!” You tried to push him but he's too strong, “Pathetic? You can't even fight back.” He chuckled as he turned around to grab a drink. As he pours some whiskey to his glass you found an opportunity to run and punch him, as he turned around you punched him straight, he stumbled leaving his drink spilled on his clothes, he grins touching his lips as you made it bleed, “that was good, Y/N I'll give that to you.” He smirked as you got scared of what you've done, “I'm sorry- i-” he pushed you making you stumble on the ground, “sometimes girls like you should behave.” He chuckled as he pins you down.

He says something in your ear, “Are you going to hear me out about my offer or I'll-” you cut him off, “Ok! I'm sorry-” you begged as you felt tears run down on your cheeks, he grins, “Good girl, Y/N.” he says as he whispers something, “So, about that offer, I need to be with me, a marriage.” “Are you crazy! Why would I want myself to marry someone who's involved with the killing of my parents!” You screamed at him and he just chuckled, “They deserve it, Y/N. Your parents don't deserve you, but I do.” he looked you in the eyes, “Whether you like it or not, we'll be together.” he smirks as he kissed your neck all the way up to your jaw, “please…stop-” you protest, “you're mine, Y/N, all mine, Understand?” He stopped waiting for your answer, he choked you lightly, “Do I have to hurt you just to say ‘yes’ to me, hmm?” Tears started to form in your eyes, “No- please- I'll do anything…” “See, You're a good girl already for me, Y/N.” He chuckled as he stood up grinning down at you, “Meet me here at 10:00, I have something for you.” he said helping you up, “Why-” he cuts you off with a kiss.

His lips are soft, he smells like cigarettes, Good one though. The way his tongue brushes your lips, the way he kisses you harshly, you can't help but to fall for him.

You moaned on his lips, groaning as he stole the moans from you. He pulled away from the kiss as he went to the door and opened it, “I'll see you later, Y/N.” he says as he went out.

You scoffed at yourself as the two gang members who escorted you earlier went inside and escorted you out, without blindfolding nor tying you up, “There's a room ready for you, Ms. Y/N” you went inside a room, a big room with a big bed, lots of luxurious clothes and materials.

.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭

I'll post part 2 later or tomorrow! I'm having difficulties of writing the second part😞

[idolofm4dness]

I'm currently in the middle of writing about Ninjago au. Centering the relationship between Lloyd and Harumi has a strong chokehold on me that I can't believe. I betrayed myself by shipping them with the rest of the ninjas and testing Lloyd about his crush. Its was a slap in the face. She was the villain of the second season. I was shipping them hard even though I have a love-hate relationship with shipping myself.

Bleeding Hearts au -

What if Lloyd and Harumi had a final fight where Lloyd, because of the saying "beware the anger of a good man times 100," confronts Harumi about her actions. Harumi gets her own version of the cave and now has a scene where Lloyd makes her see the pain she has caused. He points out all the people she hurt with the destruction of the Jade Palace, how she only focused on the king and queen, but her plan killed others who were innocent. He mentions that the people of Ninjago asking her if their praise Garmadon, and how, as saviors of Ninjago, people are living in fear as they know they're imprisoning people who should be against them. A protector is supposed to bring hope, not fear. Also, he is angry at her and the Sons of Garmadon.

He Agree with her about his father being a savior. He did it twice. As the great devour attack, he too saw him as a savior, but saw the good in him when he sacrificed himself to repent for what he did when he was evil, basically. They see what they did as disrespectful.

He's done playing nice with that girl, and I really want him to put on the mask of hatred, or else we'll have more glimpses of his oni side, showing that he hates her just as much. In her diary, it's explained that he seemed to care for her, but he talks about how she destroyed two people, Hutchins and him, who actually loved and cared about her. Let's be real, I love Lloyd, but sometimes I feel like he's too passive. He needs to go apeshit once in a while because the villains mess with him too much, and at some point, they're going to realize that they should stop mentally torturing him. He basically becomes her villain in a way. They say he was mostly inspired by a piece of fan art where Lloyd is a manifestation of Harumi's guilt. Also, he actually does try to rebuild his relationship with Garmadon.

My second AU is inspired by Revue Starlight. Funny enough, I've actually finished writing the first chapter for this one. In this AU, the two main characters are essentially like Karen and Hikari, but with a twist - they have bad blood and attend rival schools. In this version, they actually meet as children in a gift shop, where they both see the same play and quickly become friends, promising to become actors together like in the anime. I'm still working out the details, though. I haven't figured out Harumi's relationship with Lloyd in this AU because, unlike in the show, he isn't responsible for killing her parents. Her parents died in a car accident, which doesn't really involve Lloyd at all, so I don't know why she's so angry at him. I don't have much else planned for it, but I really like this idea. I was actually inspired to write this while re-watching some Revue Starlight revues, specifically the revue of the hunting. Is this is Anime is like figure out your problems via song. I feel their relationship is much better in this version and they actually do forgive each other.

if you guys wanna give me some suggestions, I like it to give us some suggestions of some revue titles.

[words-by-ann]

ill say this once and only once

i’ll paralyse you and blame you for not running away. and i’ll cut myself by accident and scream at you even though you made me a sheath. i turn into my father every opportunity i get, and ill blame that on you too. i don’t know what to do with myself, because i fear to even imagine what would happen if i blame myself for one more thing. sometimes, more often than i’d like to admit, i wonder for hours if i would’ve turned out better if i never met him, before the guilt suffocates me into sleep. i am a mosaic of the worst parts of my bloodline. every organ in my body has breathed the oxygen carried by the very thing that makes me theirs. i also wonder if i bleed myself dry, will i be lighter? will i be better? let’s not bring my mother into this too, because i cry when i think of her. they say i resemble her uncannily. i think the only thing we share is her sadness. i’m sorry but you’re in the wrong. that’s the only way things will be right.

[spookedeadfish]

Trick or treat!

I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids -- and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination -- indeed, everything and anything except me. Nor is my invisibility exactly a matter of a bio-chemical accident to my epidermis. That invisibility to which I refer occurs because of a peculiar disposition of the eyes of those with whom I come in contact. A matter of the construction of their inner eyes, those eyes with which they look through their physical eyes upon reality. I am not complaining, nor am I protesting either. It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves. Then too, you're constantly being bumped against by those of poor vision. Or again, you often doubt if you really exist. You wonder whether you aren't simply a phantom in other people's minds. Say, a figure in a nightmare which the sleeper tries with all his strength to destroy. It's when you feel like this that, out of resentment, you begin to bump people back. And, let me confess, you feel that way most of the time. You ache with the need to convince yourself that you do exist in the real world, that you're a part of all the sound and anguish, and you strike out with your fists, you curse and you swear to make them recognize you. And, alas, it's seldom successful. One night I accidentally bumped into a man, and perhaps because of the near darkness he saw me and called me an insulting name. I sprang at him, seized his coat lapels and demanded that he apologize. He was a tall blond man, and as my face came close to his he looked insolently out of his blue eyes and cursed me, his breath hot in my face as he struggled. I pulled his chin down sharp upon the crown of my head, butting him as I had seen the West Indians do, and I felt his flesh tear and the blood gush out, and I yelled, "Apologize! Apologize!" But he continued to curse and struggle, and I butted him again and again until he went down heavily, on his knees, profusely bleeding. I kicked him repeatedly, in a frenzy because he still uttered insults though his lips were frothy with blood. Oh yes, I kicked him! And in my outrage I got out my knife and prepared to slit his throat, right there beneath the lamplight in the deserted street, holding him by the collar with one hand, and opening the knife with my teeth -- when it occurred to me that the man had not seen me, actually; that he, as far as he knew, was in the midst of a walking nightmare! And I stopped the blade, slicing the air as I pushed him away, letting him fall back to the street. I stared at him hard as the lights of a car stabbed through the darkness. He lay there, moaning on the asphalt; a man almost killed by a phantom. It unnerved me. I was both disgusted and ashamed. I was like a drunken man myself, wavering about on weakened legs. Then I was amused. Something in this man's thick head had sprung out and beaten him within an inch of his life. I began to laugh at this crazy discovery. Would he have awakened at the point of death? Would Death himself have freed him for wakeful living? But I didn't linger. I ran away into the dark, laughing so hard I feared I might rupture myself. The next day I saw his picture in the Daily News, beneath a caption stating that he had been "mugged." Poor fool, poor blind fool, I thought with sincere compassion, mugged by an invisible man!

here's your candy :)

[dudedudewriting]

Horroresque #3

My strange ability revealed itself back in kindergarten. It happened to my favorite teacher, Ms. Apple. Until that point in my life, I've never scraped my knees or gotten a bloody nose. My immense fear of splinters made me overly careful and timid on the playground. Me generally avoiding injuries for some reason became a point of pride for my mother for a bit. How smart and proper was the kid who's never gotten hurt on accident! But that day in Ms. Apple's arts and crafts class, I slit my finger on paper for the first time. It stung so bad that I let out a piercing shriek that rushed the teacher to me. While I was hysterically trying to explain my pain, big salty tears filled my eyes, obstructing my vision. At first, there was no blood on my finger, and Ms. Apple used that to calm me down, saying that I was completely okay. However, through my blurred vision, I saw a tiny bead of red slowly emerge out of the thin cut on the pad of my finger. One second, the teacher was pressing on my paper cut to help it close up faster, and the next second, she was just gone. The realization of it came to me as I became lightheaded, and my ears started ringing. I fell off my little chair, and the next thing I remember is waking up to my mother in the nurse's office.

I wouldn't call it an ability per se since I have little to no control over it. I can only make sure that my bloody flesh is not exposed for others to potentially be in contact with. Whether or not they get sucked into it is beyond me. I don't even know what actually happens to my "victims". Do they disintegrate into the ether, fall into a portal, or get absorbed by me. It's as much of a mystery to myself as it is to you. This all forced me to develop quite a secluded and antisocial lifestyle. After disappearing some more people, I became too paranoid to be able to form genuine connections with my fellow humans. I'm scared for other animals as well, so I don't tend to have pets either. I was able to dedicate most of my time to the research after my mother… passed when I was 17. I tried to find information on my mysterious condition. I didn't find anything. At all. Humans always speculated on blood's mystic properties, but nothing ever compared to what I witnessed when I was younger, believe it or not. I am afraid. I'm terrified of my own fragility. Something deep in my guts often whispers to me that all those people I've… hurt, how they are in pain, lost in oblivion forever. I can't bring them back and can't even find where they are. And all that separates people around me and the damnation in the unknown is my mere skin. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes, I wish I could swallow myself up the same way, but it's impossible. Sometimes… I feel my restraints weaken, as if recklessly causing havoc is the easier option over the simple task of containing my blood within my body. Today, I made the mistake of loosening my grip while walking the nighttime streets. In my attempt to clear my head in the serene quietness of this sleepy town, I failed to notice someone else who joined my stroll. I was attacked in an attempt of robbery, it seemed at first. Clearly, someone new in town who doesn't know that this place has nothing to offer to begin with. Did you follow me through the dimly lit alleys ever so discreetly all the way to that corner? Did you know what was waiting for you when you decided to open up that knife? And did you know that you'd leave me speechless and bleeding while I stared at your face speckled red with my blood, but still here. Still in front of me, as shocked as I am. I struggled through the numbing pain in my leg but still succeeded in overpowering you while you still stood there in disbelief of something. I'm still curious about what you were thinking back there. And since you're finally awake now, it is your turn to speak.

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo settled back into the chair again next to Lou and Ben when he was satisfied there was nothing coming from the corners and was glad he seemed to have been able to pass it off as just a look for the remote which Violet had remedied with a channel change in any case. Ocean documentaries were going to beat infomercials any day, even in silence. Huffing a little impressed noise at her additional wisdom, sometimes he would rather wait forever but he was sad too that she knew such things at her age. She shouldn't have been as mature as she was at fourteen.

His stomach turned when she explained that Sloane had warned her about his fear of blood. Of course Sloane had known that for a long time but for him to say it so freely was concerning. Did he tell people at random or had Violet coaxed it out of him by accident? Theo saw it as a weakness, wrong or not. "I am glad you knew already," he confessed even if he loathed the source at least she would not have been worrying trying to work out why he wasn't helping her. He did look to her when she asked why he didn't like blood, glad in a way that it gave him the chance to explain where he would otherwise perhaps chicken out again.

"I have OCD," he explained and gave a brief pause to check that she had heard of the condition before, she was an intelligent girl but the disorder was so often misrepresented. "I cannot stand the sight of blood, I can't touch it or go near it and after being around it I will have the compulsion to wash excessively. Rea is good at spotting an episode like that but it does mean that I really struggle to help when there is blood around." And it was a painful horrible struggle too when he knew someone he cared about needed his help, him knowing how to help but being unable to do so ate at him frequently.

"It manifests in other ways too, the compulsions sometimes make me do strange things. You might have seen me the other day with the door to the study?" He'd walked in and out of it several times getting more and more frustrated though he supposed it looked a lot like pacing to anyone that didn't know, Andrea had caught him and helped after a few minutes but he didn't know if the children had seen or not. "When things like that happen, I do not feel in control of myself, not really. So when I saw you bleeding, I was desperate to help you and go to you but I physically couldn't get any closer and I am sorry if that upset or scared you."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet did not think anything of Theo's glance. To her, it looked like he was searching for the remote, which happened to be on the couch next to her. She grabbed it and changed the channel, putting on a documentary about the ocean instead. But her mind was elsewhere, already thinking of adding a little localisation device into the remote, so it would be even easier to find.

A little smile curved her lips, though it was hidden by the covers. Violet had always been a smart girl, but intelligence and wisdom were two different things. Wisdom, as she was discovering, came at a certain price. "If we waited to be ready to do the things that scare us, we'd wait forever," she mused in response, unaware of the worries that troubled Theo.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had not expected Theo to apologise about that. But then again, she supposed that without Sloane's warning, she could have been confused by his reaction. She paused for a moment, considering whether or not she should tell him about was Sloane had said. She quickly decided that honesty was always the best answer.

"Sloane... Actually told me that you didn't like blood," she confessed. "He said I couldn't get hurt because of that." Of course he had hurt her anyway. "I didn't think that you were angry at me, I knew it was because of the blood."

Another pause, as she hesitated to ask her next question. If it was a sore subject, she might tire him even more. And besides, she could feel her own eyelids with each heavy blinks, making it harder to stay awake. "Can I ask why you struggle with blood?" she finally decided to enquire anyway.

[memorymessage]

so, gender dysphoria + body dysmorphia + general body insecurity regarding... boobs (because i don't technically know what to classify it under)

as detailed in my story about growing up with weight and eating issues, i became slightly overweight just before the start of puberty. i don't know if that was a contributing factor, but, whatever the case, when i developed breasts, they got covered in stretch marks. i quickly grew into a C cup at age 13, and the stretch marks were so severe, they looked like fresh scars—red and inflamed.

inevitably, because of this, my chest became one of my deepest insecurities, in tandem with my weight insecurity. one time, my little cousin, maybe around age 5 at the time, saw the tops of my scars when i was wearing a tank top, and she asked me (innocently, because she was just a child and didn't know it would upset me) if i was hurt or got into an accident.

i never forgot that encounter on a scale of 'interactions that forever changed my perception of myself.'

now... i would say this was one of the reasons i started only wearing tops and swimsuits that covered my entire chest- but, tbh, i ascribe that insecurity to the struggle with eating disorders and general BDD. i had this notion that if a top was too low cut and exposed too much skin, it would make me look too wide. i also thought the pale skin of my chest didn't give enough contrast to my face, which made it highlight the darkness of my facial acne spots and scars by comparison.

i still carry these ideas about my color palette and anatomical structure vs. my wardrobe.

having stretch marks is just the icing on top of every BDD-based and ED-based decision.

also, i never had a- ahem... "perky" chest shape, and being surrounded by the perfect-skin-having, skinny, braless 2000s media forced a realization upon me that my chest just did not look like the pretty people's, fairly early on in life. not only that, but my whole entire body didn't look like the pretty people's.

then, the gender dysphoria aspect mixes in to the insecurities already present and blurs the lines of ascribing which behavior to which diagnosis.

when i was 15-16, i had an era where i wanted to identify as straight and cis as possible (i didn't know what trans or cis or non-binary, etc. were back then, but you know what i mean: hyper-feminine). during this time, i was already struggling with ED, and had already been open about my sexuality and interest in masculine gender expression. i don't know what aspect pushed me to reject my former identity and sexuality explorations—the ED? the BDD? gender dysphoria?—i have no idea.

regardless, even when i was hyper-feminine, i still wanted to have small boobs. every time i would go to VS, i would think the A bras were so much better looking than the larger cups. was it because they were smaller and brought up the association of small = skinny? was it because of my previous insecurities with stretch marks and chest shape? did i think being thinner would change the shape of my breasts? was it gender expression issues bleeding through the hyper-femme appearance? do cis gender people even think about their own boobs this much!?

i don't know!

so fast forward to now, the color of the stretch marks have long since faded (they faded sometime in my teen years, iirc), similar to an old scar. and now, i don't know if it's age+gravity, the weight loss, the muscle loss, or the years of binding, but the fat of my breasts sits a lot lower now, which, weirdly, made them..."perky". like there's way more fat that rests beneath the nipple area, which pushes them upward. you can even see the progression of my breasts sitting lower on my body in where my stretch marks are now. my stretch marks used to only be on the swell of the breast itself, now the tops of them rest on the flat of my chest bone.

now that's all wildly funny, because when i was younger and ashamed of my non-perky chest, i would google how to get a more perky shape. and i remember reading "always wear a bra! if gravity pulls your breasts down over time it will get worse!" and like, mate...lol. the opposite is true, at least for me. but i took that shit to heart as a teenager. i slept in my underwire pushup bras—they did not leave my body except to shower.

but! i am still very unhappy and ashamed. because while this shift in my body did give me a more "perky" shape, the old stretch marks also...wrinkle...when i bend over. like a damn plastic bag. and that definitely was not an issue before.

i've fantasized about many different types of chest reconstruction surgeries throughout my life: breast reduction, breast implants, chest reconstruction (feminine and masculine). and i just think...i'll never be happy. let's say i got reconstructive skin grafts and replaced all my stretch marked skin—i would still have scars from that surgery. there's just no escaping the fact that i will have scars no matter what.

i suppose i can only accept what it is. not be happy with it. but accept it.

so yeah, there's my lifelong chest insecurity story.

(also, now that my chest is smaller, i wish i had a chest that looked more like tana or brooke. lol. i guess it's true: what you don't have is always better. ((but seriously, how do fit/thin people with larger chests like brooke exist? my boobs were the first to go when i lost weight.)))

[excess-thought-dump]

So I had a brain ache for today and I decided to read dungeon meshi also know as delicious in dungeon because I keep I seeing it in all my feeds in for of anime clips and I am currently in the mindset that I can read faster than the any show move -

( which might be because recently I see the 20 mins on showtime and I am like that 20 min almost an 30mins which is half of hour and that if I watch two episodes that basically an hour gone and then I feel like a ‘waste’ time)

- so during the brain ache I was like why not start a little manga as a treat then bam I read the whole series on accident so now I want to spill my thoughts/feeelings to process what the fuck happened

Since I read the whole thing I gonna spoil stuff in the manga so this is a warning

I love this series so much It has so many of my favorite tropes

First one is that if it bleeds I can eat it the whole survive of the fittest and such is just so fun to play out on how they will eat anything from muscle armor to magic water

-jester being the ruler

I don’t know were I remembered this but there was like a video saying there favorite trope was like the servant was like the powerful one and let the villain or king keep ruling because they didn’t want responsibility this like this but if the jester want to help the king in what ever way they can

-in-depth biology and fantasy

I love how they explain how everything works from how they cook the monster to how the monster itself works it makes the whole world made sense

- wishes and desires and how they can be corrupted even tho it is good

When the wish are so simple and relatable and they twist it like a genie or the monkey paw it

- doppelgänger episode

Probably my favorite arcs because you can see how each person thinks of each other and see the little details of the characters.

- this person is so good he obviously has to be evil and is just actually stupid good

I love seeing the main characters being seen in different eyes because I would have never thought of them being suspicious but when kabru group were talking about them I see how there action may have an alternate motive

-found family

I love how at the very use to each and there little actions to each other

I now want to talk about how strangely two characters are me ??

-laios being not knowing that people are uncomfortable and thinking they are good friends

I had seen so many “friendship” where I thought they like me or another person because they were friendly but then another person said that they didn’t like me or another person( I hope this is understandable)

-laios want to eat anything

I like to think of how inedible stuff taste like sometimes actually taste stuff and it’s usually tastes far from what I thought

And with laios and fall so interested in how monster taste remind me of myself

-Izutsumi being slient most time and not understanding how friends work

So when there are more than like two people when socializing I usually go silent till address and like when I get into groups I don’t understand why I am there even tho I know we r friends

-Izutsumi don’t understand freedom and what to do now at the

With that last chapter trying to figure out what to do now feels like I felt lost for awhile and to gain a bit of clarity I ask people “what are doing in the future “

I feel like I am a combination of these two and I don’t know why it feels so close too me still

But if you have any recommendations for series like this please give them to me

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 555, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby

WORDS: 1205

I answered all of Elizabeth’s questions, validating her mortified questions with hugs and sweets words.

“Does sex always smell so nasty?” she asked me a little while later. “Your’s and daddy’s room smelled like you both had a night of neverending fartage!”

“I’ve honestly never noticed the smell being so bad,” I confessed, looking up as a man came into the pool house, dressed in swim trunks and a bathrobe. He nodded a friendly hello at us as he occupied himself with his cell phone, clearly occupying his time while we both finished up our talk. “Come now, Elizabeth- your father and your siblings are probably at breakfast already.”

My daughter was quiet as the both of us took our feet out of the pool water, me accepting a towel from the man, who waited until we had put our shoes back on the left before removing his bathrobe and then diving into the water.

“Mommy?” I hummed softly as I led her over to the mess hall. “What do you do after sex?”

“Well, I personally conk out in a deep sleep and your father either gives me a bird bath with a wash cloth and warm water or he draws me a hot bubble bath and lets me take a nice, long soak,” I explained, opening my arm to welcome her for some snuggle time with mommy. “I think it’s important to bath after engaging in sexual coitus- the act is oftentimes dirty, with sweat, bodily fluids and sometimes even blood.”

“Does daddy make you bleed often?” Elizabeth was looking at the floor as she shuffled alongside of me.

“Sometimes he does, but we have an agreed safe word that we use if one or the other needs to take a moment and breathe,” I answered her before tactfully changing the subject. “A safe word is a word that wouldn’t be said during sex, and it is an automatic signal for a needed time out. Does that make any sense at all?”

“So a safe words is just another way of saying stop?” Elizabeth asked me. “That’s very smart.”

“Yes it is,” I agreed, giggling as my stomach let out a cry for food. “Now, are you hungry?”

~xoXox~

“Hey hey hey there now, fine people of this world! This is Chrissy Loveknot with Pink Notes Magazine! I am here today with Peter Steele, legendary bassiest and lead vocals for heavy metal band Type O Negative! Blessed with ten inches of solid steel and a voice so low my panties get soaked whenever I hear his voice. And we are also joined today by the always incredible Broadway supermom Mary Claire Ratajczyk! What up you two?”“Dia dhuit!” I chirped. “Conas atá tú anocht?”

“What did you just say?”

“I just said hello and how are you doing tonight, both in Irish Gaelic!” I said, giggling at my place tucked under my husband’s arm while I perched myself on his lap.

“Ah, well, I’m doing quite well tonight! I must say though, I really do love your dress! Where did you buy it from?”

“Oh, this old thing?” I scoffed, glancing down at the black minidress that I decided to wear tonight. Cold shoulders and with a cutout over the clavicle, the dress was sexy, confident, and made my husband’s jeans too tight on him. Underneath the dress, I wore breast pasties and black and green silk crotchless panties.

I lived to tease my handsome silver daddy.

“I think Peter likes your dress!”

“Oh, but he’ll like it even more once it’s been ripped from my womanly body!” I teased, slapping his pectoral when he get out a dangerous growl and dug his thumb into the side of my knee.

Behave.

I settled down with an apologetic squeak, resting my heart over his heart.

THUD THUMP

THUD THUMP

THUD THUMP

“So tell me more about this new album you’re writing- is there a release date?”

I flitted back to the presence, where Peter had tactfully diverted Chrissy Loveknot’s attention from oversexualizing my body and his gossiping about dick to a more PG rated topic- the album that he was writing for me.

“No, there’s no release date as of the moment,” he hummed, his hand rubbing gentle circles into my spine. “But yet again- writing a full album, capturing the awe and wonder and love and admiration and protection and affection that I hold for the blueberry of my heart isn’t a case of me going off my medication for a single night and then BOOM- an album is born. I take inspiration from virtually every aspect of our life together- Dolls is a song about the kids’ dollies and the important roles that they play in our family. Little Girl is a sweet little song about my goddaughter, little girl, and how I am is her Papa Pete. In Each Other’s Arms is about the both of us living out the rest of our days side by side and dying in each other’s arms. Letters of Love compiles many of the letters that I’ve written for my family to read after I die.”

I hid my teary eyes into his burly chest- Peter was sixty four years old at this point of his life and I knew that he was already making plans for when he died. He had told me that he wanted to be cremated and have some of his ashes turned into jewelry for the kids to wear, and should I die before him and opt for cremation, for both of our ashes to be mixed together and placed into an urn- together in life and in death.

I had agreed almost at once, smiling sadly at the realization that he would probably die long before I did.

And that thought made me terribly depressed and sad.

Dia dhuit, hello, Irish Gaelic

Conas atá tú anocht, how are you doing tonight, Irish Gaelic 

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

[klausysworld]

Okay, so can you please write something with yander Reader and little Klaus, please?

Yandere!Reader with Little!Klaus Head Cannons:

Klaus was an adorable submissive. He was sweet and soft. He grew clingier and…well littler.

He was with me so often, and so when he wasn’t it was odd. I found myself calling him, needing to know he was okay. Seeing how vulnerable he was with me was somewhat worrying, what if he got hurt?-physically or emotionally.

So I found ways to keep him with me. Whether it was lying to him about the time, stealing and hiding his phone or introducing him to md/lb.

Once he managed to consciously slip into little space it was much easier to also have him do it subconsciously. He was rarely ‘grown up’ anymore.

And when he wasn’t in little space I was able to coax him into it.

I watched over him as his paintings grew more childish, the bright colours coming into play in contrast to his blood reds and greys.

His choice is food and drinks changed, he no longer longed for a glass of scotch, instead he would sit and ask for his juice or his milkshakes.

His hands often became more fiddly, I got him twisty toys to mess with. It easily distracted him and calmed him down.

Holding him ‘hostage’ in my arms and telling him he was too little to be going out today always had him snuggling back up.

———————————————————————

“Mommy I promised I would be at this gala” he whined, his nose in my neck as he wriggled beneath me.

“No Nik, you’re my little baby, you don’t get to leave” I murmured tiredly “go back to sleep now”

“Noo, I’m not sleepy” he whined

“Shh” I stroked his hair “just snuggle with mommy” I whispered

“Can I get my cuddles later?”

“Bunny, I need your cuddles now” i whispered and he stopped wiggling, his nose pushing into my neck

“You need me too mommy?” He asked shyly and I leant up on my elbows to smile down at him

“ ‘Course I do” i whispered and he smiled back at me before agreeing to stay with me for the rest of the day

———————————————————————

Niklaus was always feeling bad when he was needy so knowing that I needed him too normally made him happy and little again.

Giving him something small to make him feel wanted was always another great way to bring him closer.

A new paint set, some softer clothes to keep him comfortable and feeling small.

Helping him light candles, ensuring he doesn’t burn his fingers despite his healing abilities.

And on occasions he did ever get hurt, I made sure to bandage him up even if the cuts would go away, to make him feel weaker, more reliant on me. Until he began to forget he could heal himself, his mind rejecting the power

———————————————————————

Klaus cane running in, his hand bleeding and his eyes teary.

I stood up quickly and hurried over, his hand not healing

“What happened angel?” I asked worriedly

“It was an accident” he whimpered and I nodded

“Okay, come on, let me fix you up hm?” I brought him over to the sofa and brought out the first aid kit, cleaning his wound and wrapping it up

“Better nik?” I asked and he nodded with a small, shy smile.

———————————————————————

He often represses his hybrid side when he’s little. Though sometimes his wolf side comes out and he gets all snuggly, his wolf regressing with him and becoming a pup again.

His nose would hide in my chest and he would whine softly for attention.

And I always gave it to him, anything to have him stay with me.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

The harm you do

anon asked: Hello! I'm kind of new here and I saw that requests are open so-If you feel okay with it, Can you make a headcanon with Female! Y/n who did a selfh#rm for really long time and didn't stop until she been noticed doing that by Luffy, Zoro and Whitebeard? Like how would they react to it?

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

Hi anon and thank you for requesting with us! I don't shy away from these types of asks because I know for some, it is very cathartic to read, including myself. I do hope you enjoy!

>Admin T

Warning/tags: Explicit mention of self-harm, in detail description of self-harm, blood, and sadness. If you do not or can not handle these types of scenarios, please do not read this.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

Zoro

Zoro, I'd feel, would understand. Not the physically hurting oneself part, but the sadness, the self loathing part.

When he noticed the harsh, bloody line on your thighs, he knew that you had done it to yourself. Something so precise couldn't be an accident.

It would also make sense as to why you seemed less inclined to smile or be apart of the conversation.

It would explain why you seemed to stay in your room.

It would explain why whenever Zoro would train with his swords you would look at the blades with a sad longing. Zoro was never the type to want to put it his blades, or hide them from anybody, but the way you looked at them, made him want to throw them in the ocean, never to be seen again.

he wouldn't out right tell you he knew, nor would he outright say for you to stop.

But he would hold you stick close to you, make sure to cheer you up when you needed it most. Have you enjoy the things you used to enjoy.

He hoped it would make you feel better enough to stop, but only time will tell.

Luffy

He would be so confused. Why would someone willingly hurt themselves? Maybe for other people, he'd get, but this? No, he didn't understand.

But what he did understand that whenever he saw the thin red lines on your wrists, and how sometimes they would bleed when stretched too far, or when you were anxious you would go back to your room to create more, it made him feel useless and horrible.

He felt as if he had no right to keep you around, if he couldn't help you from whatever was going on, be it depression or anything else.

He didn't know what to do, when you kept going to your room to create more.

One day, before you would leave to put more lines in your skin, he grab you by the upper arm and pull you into a hug, telling he loves you, that you are wanted, that he doesn't want you to keep doing this.

It hurts him to see you so distraught and distressed. He will do anything to make you feel better, even if it was just a little bit.

He will stick by you, and will check up on you almost every ten minutes for however long it takes for you to truly feel the need to live once again.

Whitebeard

For as long as he lived, he has seen many depressing things.

But you hurting yourself was the worst thing he could possibly imagine. The bruises, the cuts, the blood, the utter darkness in your eyes.

It would unnerve him

I would give him shivers of anxiety, not wanting you to hurt yourself to the point to where you wouldn't return.

It makes him sad, because you are sad.

One thing he will do is call to you for some errands, keep your mind off of things, keep you busy.

And when there is downtime, he would tell you fun stories about his days on the sea, in an attempt to make you see that the future is worth living for, that life can be exciting and fun.

He would discreetly look, after some days, to see if there were any new marks, and to his surprise, there were only a few.

He would smile to himself, happy for the progress, for any progress.

And he hopes one day, you will be free from your own mind and really feel what it means to be alive.