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annwrites · 1 month

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— pairing: chainsaw angus x lilsister!reader

— type: one-shot (collection)

— summary: angus visits eldon.

— tw: incest, abusive relationship, dub-con, murder, mentions of molestation, patricide, some gross oral sex, urinating, non-consensual voyeurism, fatphobia

— word count: 3,664

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr

“I mean… I can help,” Eldon states, voice wavering.

His eyes meet Angus’ then. “Get you back up and running. And I can give you an extension on paying me back, no problem. I get it. Shit happens.”

He starts to laugh nervously, shrugging dramatically. “They blow-up all the time! Y’know, it is what it is.”

Angus glares at him from under his long, dark lashes. “You want something in return.”

Eldon wraps his arms around himself then, nodding slightly. “Y-yeah, just somethin’ I’ve thought about. Wanted,” he says with a grin.

Angus remains silent, trigger finger itching if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get to the goddamn point. And soon.

“Your little sister,” Eldon says, smile fading, trying to make this a more serious topic. Trying to show Angus that he takes having you as no joke.

“I’ve seen her a couple times inside your Chevy. She’s real cute. Pretty. Maybe we make a deal—an understanding—like business partners do.”

Angus’ pulse hammers in his chest, adrenaline surging through his body at the mere mention of you on another man’s lips. Especially this fucking weasel’s. This pathetic, fat sack of shit.

He takes a step toward him, and then another. Slow and measured.

“You want my little sister?” He asks with a raised brow.

Elden stumbles back, knocking over a stack of porno mags.

“With your blessing, as it were. If she wouldn’t mind. I mean, I’m sure she knows how much you need my help. It’d just…just be this once. Unless she wanted more,” he says with a nervous smile.

Angus stops once he’s standing before him—has him cornered between an old hutch cabinet and a wall.

“You think,” he says, licking his lips, “I’d let you within ten fucking feet of her? Let you touch—fuck—her? Let you shove whatever pathetic little worm you have that you call a cock inside of her? Think she’d ever fucking want that to begin with? You goddamn rodent!” He finishes, screaming in his face.

Elden grasps for words, but being filled with utter terror leaves him without any.

Angus swiftly punches him in the face then—squarely in the nose; the cartilage cracking under the pressure.

Blood begins to pour from his nostrils.

Angus allows that black rage he forces himself to tamper down every day—for your benefit—to broil to the surface.

It overtakes him.

And he revels in it.

You glance up, watching from inside the car as Angus stalks toward it, an unsettling look upon his face.

He wrenches the passenger-side door open, reaching inside, grabbing you by the upper-arm, yanking you out and onto your feet, slamming it closed behind you.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pulling you along beside him with enough force you’re afraid he’ll dislocate your arm again.

Tears immediately well within your eyes. “W-what’s wrong? What’re you doing? You always make me stay in the car; I’m not allowed to go in—”

“Quiet,” he spits.

“Angus, please,” you insist, your sneakers squeaking and slipping against the damp grass as you struggle to keep up with him.

“What’d I just say?” He says, abruptly turning back to you, staring you down.

You swallow thickly, nodding, a tear slipping down your cheek.

He pulls you inside the house, leading you into the kitchen, and you balk, a horrified sob escaping your lips at the sight before you: Eldon tied tightly to a kitchen chair—naked from the waist down—covered in blood, one of his eyes swollen shut, duct tape covering his mouth.

You make to turn away, until Angus pulls you against his chest, holding firm. “No. You’re going to stay here. You’re going to do what I tell you to, just like always.”

He turns you around, gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look at what he’s done, forcing Eldon to look at that which he’ll never lay a greasy finger on.

“This what you wanted, huh? You want her? You still want her?!” He screams, causing you to blubber.

Eldon begins fervently shaking his head—hard enough that he makes himself dizzy. If he weren’t tied to the chair, he’d still be lying on the floor. His head is spinning. He worries he may have a concussion, or a brain bleed.

“Laugh at him,” he whispers in your ear.

You shake your head. “I c-can’t, p-please.”

“I said laugh!” He shouts in your ear, making you fear if he does it again, it’ll bust the eardrum.

Maybe he should. You'd never have to listen to the awful things he tells you ever again.

Finally, you do so between sobs—shoulders shaking—your hands trembling, despite having them squeezed into tight fists at your sides.

Angus turns you around, crushing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth, swirling it around and exploring, wondering if you taste different when you’re filled with this kind of fear. He wants to know your every flavor.

You squirm against him, panicking. No one can see. That’s what he’s always told you.

Just your secret.

He’d told you once that if you ever told anyone, he’d kill them. But not you—that fact had surprised you.

You already feel dead inside, anyway.

He killed whatever life was left within you long ago.

He has your blood on his hands, whether he thinks so or not. Metaphorical this time, that is. He’s had the physical more times than you can count.

He lifts you onto the kitchen counter, reaching beneath your dress, removing your panties—quickly stuffing them in his pocket.

“Angus, please!” You plead through blinding tears, snot running down your face, an unbearable lump in your throat that you can hardly breathe over, nausea roiling in your stomach.

You think you might be sick all over yourself and him both.

You imagine if you do, you’ll soon look like Eldon.

He unbuckles his belt, his pants dropping around his ankles.

“Angus, please, I d-don’t want t—”

He forces himself inside you then, grabbing your hips, rutting away, grunting loudly while his balls slap against your bottom, which hangs off the edge of the counter.

You grip those same edges tightly, staring up at the ceiling, your body rocking back and forth, waiting for it to all be over.

Angus glances over his shoulder to Eldon. “Open your fucking eyes!”

You jolt, your chin wobbling, desperately trying to go away to the safe place within your head, but you can’t right now. Instead, you’re here. In this dirty house, your brother inside of you while another man watches. One that he’s beaten within an inch of his life.

You don't even know why.

Sometimes you think he doesn't either. He just likes doing bad things.

He reaches between your legs, rubbing his thumb in circles against your clit.

You choke back another sob.

“I want you to come,” he states, his lips next to your ear. “I want him to see it.”

“I don’t want to,” you reply tearfully.

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts.

It never does.

Everything grows quiet then. Except the sound of Angus’ ragged breathing, his skin slapping against yours, you softly crying in his arms.

He looks to Eldon again, then back to you.

“Why’re you crying?” He asks.

Your eyes grow wide, wishing to stop, afraid with each teardrop that falls, his anger will only grow in volume.

He grabs your chin, forcing your head in another direction—toward Eldon.

He continues rocking his hips against yours, bringing his lips close to your ear yet again. “Do you feel sorry for him? You know what he wanted from me? He wanted you—to fuck you—in exchange for my new lab. He’s fucking sick. He has a fucking erection!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see anymore.

You want to go home.

Want to go to sleep and not wake up.

“Look at it!”

You open your eyes again, staring at the angry red cock that stands at attention between his legs.

“Feel sorry for him now?” Your brother asks. “I’m doing this for you.”

He crushes his lips back to yours, drinking down your salty tears.

He’s unsure which tastes better: them, or your arousal. Both together would be a heady, intoxicating drink, he’s sure.

His perfect poison.

You gasp against his lips, wanting to fight against yourself...but not. The sooner you finish, the sooner this display will as well. This snuff film without a camera to capture it.

“That’s it,” he mummers against your mouth. “Come on it. Let ‘im see. I want him to see my little sister coming all over my cock.”

You rest your head back against the cabinet behind you, strands of your hair getting caught against the wood-grain, wincing as it rips them from your scalp.

You deserve to feel pain—no matter how minimal—for this.

He does, too.

You wrap your arms around him, dragging your nails up his back, and his body shudders, ‘fuck’ uttering from his lips.

You do it again, but harder, and his hips thrust against yours, his cock sinking impossibly deeper.

He reaches up, grabbing your hair in each of his hands, pulling tightly against it.

You reach between your own legs then, circling your swollen bundle, nearly there. You can’t reach your destination fast enough.

He pulls back, staring into your eyes, you into his.

The sound of you squelching against him fills his ears and he begins to chuckle lowly, and then it grows and grows, until he’s laughing maniacally.

You wrap your legs around his waist, his hands moving down to gripping your supple hips, fucking himself inside your hot cunt.

You bite your lower lip—squeezing your eyes shut—before releasing it, sighing loudly, your slick walls clenching around his thick cock, teasing and pleasing him, until he slams an open palm against the cabinet next to your head, yelling as he comes inside you in one long spurt, filling you up with himself; with toxic sludge that you think one day might give you cancer.

But you already have a tumor between your legs. It's why you suffer every day.

He slumps against you, holding you close to himself, trailing his hot tongue along the length of your neck, lapping at your sweat-slick skin.

You’d rather be scrubbing yourself down with bleach.

He pulls back, slipping out of you, his cum running down the counter, dripping onto the floor.

He pulls his jeans back up, buckling his belt before grabbing your hips, settling you back on your feet upon the stained linoleum floor.

“Go and wait for me outside.”

You turn without another word.

You stand in the middle of the front yard, your body trembling, Angus’ cum running down your leg, a soreness between your thighs.

You worry you may wet yourself soon.

You need to go.

You glance to a bush across the way, but your considerations are cut short when Angus walks out the front door, dragging Eldon behind him—the back of the man’s t-shirt gripped tightly in your brother’s fist—his naked legs dragging through the dirt.

Finally, once they’re only a handful of yards away, Angus stops, positioning Eldon in front of him—kneeling—while he grips the back of his neck.

He lifts his other hand, the porch light reflecting off of his sleek black pistol.

You cover your mouth, pressing your thighs together, trying to hold it in.

You shake your head, mumbling against your hands for him not to. To please stop this. You need a bathroom. To go home. To not see it.

You don’t want to be here.

Don’t want to be with him.

“Everything I do is for you,” Angus says, cocking the lever back. “Including this.”

He pulls the trigger.

You jump in horror, losing control over your body then, warm urine running down your legs, staining your sneakers.

You cover your eyes, the gunshot still echoing through the air.

Did anyone else hear it? Will they come? Take him away?

What about you? Are you an accomplice now?

You always are. An enabler, at least. By keeping your mouth shut.

You always do. Until he tells you to open it so he can stick himself inside of it.

That's your only real use to him, you think sometimes.

You wish you'd been born with a cock between your legs instead.

He comes toward you, twigs snapping beneath his boots, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. “He wanted to come between us. Wanted to hurt you. I made that go away.”

You sob, shaking violently. You can feel his erection. Or maybe it's the gun.

You consider trying to wrestle it away from him, pointing the barrel to your temple as you tell him the same: you're doing it for him. Rather, because of.

You push away from him then, retching.

He pulls your hair out of your face, rubbing a soothing hand against your back.

“It’s okay. It’s over. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you now. I made sure. Just like I always do.”

You’re supposed to be pleased with him. He did it for you. Gave you a gift already wrapped and ready.

You stand straight again, slightly swaying on your feet, not feeling like you’re really here. Or there. You’re watching yourself from a distance. Like from inside the car. Or from a window of the house. The treeline across the way.

You’re sitting on the crescent moon high in the sky, far from where he can get to you.

You know he’ll try to anyway, though.

Your older brother caresses your face, and you hate that your body immediately responds to the tender gesture, starved for more.

You press yourself to him, and he hums, glad to see you acting accordingly now.

He leans down, cupping the back of your head, softly pressing his lips to your own, his stubble scratching your soft skin.

You whimper, clutching at him.

He pulls back.

You whisper that you’re sorry.

“For what?”

“I…” You look down. “Couldn’t hold it anymore.”

He shakes his head, kissing your own. “I’ll get you cleaned up when we get home.”

You like the sound of that. Maybe he’ll take a bath with you for once.

You decide not to hold your breath on that prospect, though.

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, leading you over to the car.

You glance back to where Eldon is lying dead face-down in the dirt, filling with guilt again.

Angus presses you against the trunk of the car, kissing you again, his thumb brushing against that sensitive spot on your neck that you like.

You sigh against his lips, grabbing either side of his jacket, holding yourself to him, or him against you.

You’re not strong enough to keep him if he wanted to walk away.

But he likes you being weak. Weaker, at least.

He slides a hand down your waist, beneath your skirt, finding you already slick. From yourself, his cum, or your own piss he’s not sure. All three, he supposes. Maybe a tinge of sweat as well.

He lifts you onto the trunk of the car, getting on his knees, shoving your skirt out of the way, kissing up your thighs before planting his mouth against your hot sex, tasting a bombardment of unspeakable flavors all at once.

Fuck pretentious ‘fine-dining’ when he can have this rancid buffet of his own making instead.

You throw your legs over his shoulders, slipping your slender fingers into his hair, gently tugging against the strands. You throw your head back, smiling, sighing contentedly.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He merely continues lapping at you, slipping a thick, callused finger inside of you in response.

You glance back to Eldon again, deciding you’re okay with it now; glad even—that he’s dead, that is. Because his life had purchased you this. This one quiet, gentle moment with Angus.

You hardly ever get to have those anymore.

Not since… A long time ago. When this all started.

As if he can read your mind, he stops for a moment, looking up at you. “You like this?”

You nod your head, smiling softly.

He returns the expression, happy that you’re happy. “You like when I kill people for you, baby?”

Your smile falters slightly. You can’t say no, or the moment will be over. He’ll stop.

You nod again.

“Like our old man? He was the first, wasn’t he? Couldn’t mind his own fucking business. Like when he caught us—you were so young then. I was just trying to teach you. Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with it.”

He goes back to licking you again, cleaning you up.

You’d been fifteen. Angus over twice your age at that point.

Your dad had kicked him out when he wasn’t much older than you were at the time. Had said he was a ‘waste of space’, and ‘good for nothing junky’.

You'd thought your dad a hypocrite, but had kept your mouth shut. Like always.

Angus was the one to open it for the first time.

At least Angus never gets high on his own supply. Or any, for that matter. You wonder why not, occasionally.

Maybe he doesn't want it to dull his senses. He wants to feel all of it; wants to remember.

You don't.

Except right now, that is.

Your brother had started visiting you when your dad wasn’t home, mostly after school. When it was just the two of you.

You’d known what he was doing to you was wrong, but you’d been too scared to say no. The one time you’d tried, he’d threatened you. Said he’d keep doing it anyway, but he wouldn’t be so nice in the future when he did.

He’d seen the look in your eyes—the wheels turning in your head—so he’d gone a step further. You tell anyone and I’ll fucking kill them. I’ll kill them all until I’m all you have left.

You hadn’t told your dad, but he’d caught the two of you one day when he got home from work early. Angus had had you on your knees in your room—your stuffed animals silently judging you from the corner of your twin-size bed while you wrinkled your nose in disgust at the sour taste of him.

Your dad had started shouting, Angus had started yelling, you had closed yourself in your closet—hugging a sweater to your chest for comfort—waiting for it to be over.

And you knew it was when a gunshot went off and everything became quiet.

He made it look like a suicide.

Two weeks later, he was made your legal guardian, and you were sent to live with him.

It’s been like this ever since. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. You’re not sure which way you prefer it.

Quite often, you still feel frozen at that young age. Inside, at least.

You feel like a frightened little girl who's been forced to live inside a woman's body that you never asked for—you've been forced to do a lot of things; given even more that you don't want to have. You fear, frequently, that that's all you'll ever be: the girl in the closet, hiding from a monster that always knows how to find her.

To compound it—constantly wanting to claw your way out of your own skin—when you are allowed to leave the house, you almost always immediately recant ever thinking that you wanted to in the first place when you pass other women on the street, and in store aisles.

You'd read once about a term...imposter syndrome.

They seem to know what they're doing with the grown-ups parts they've been given to carry around. You don't. It just feels like burdensome, extra baggage to you. Sometimes it's more than you can bear.

And instead of helping shoulder some of it, Angus just adds onto the straining weight of it all.

You lie back against the rear windshield, staring up at the stars, content to be where you are right now—you don’t need them anymore tonight.

You have him.

You stare down at his thick head of hair between your thighs, giggling, you’re so happy.

He grins against you. “’S my girl,” he mutters against your cunt.

You grind against his face, your release growing.

He slips a second finger inside you, gently plunging them in and out while he flicks your clit with the tip of his speared tongue.

“Mm, Angus,” you whisper.

You tug the top of your dress down, exposing your naked breasts, nipples pebbling against the cool night air.

You wish he’d rip it off of you instead.

You want to be naked. Don’t want clothes on. Not right now.

But this one is one of his favorites. So he’d never.

You bite your lower lip, knowing you’re nearly there.

He continues his ministrations, while you savor every feeling he instills within you. That you feel anything to begin with. Something that isn't fear and loathing, or disgust.

You should be: disgusted. With yourself. With him. And you will be, eventually. You shove that unwanted thought aside for right now.

When you reach the top of your peak, it’s a gentle, careening fall with his name and quiet obscenities spilling from your lips.

Normally, when you curse, he makes you wash your mouth out with soap. But he lets it go for tonight. He'll make an exception, but just this once.

Finally, he stands, his face a slick mess as he crushes his lips back to yours, wanting you to taste everything he himself has, thinking maybe you’ll like it, too.

You hear a belt buckle jingling, and then heavy pants hitting the ground.

He sinks inside of you and your eyes flutter closed in contentment as he begins to make love to you.

Yes, you think, Eldon can watch.

#fic: donnybrook (chainsaw angus x reader)#donnybrook x y/n #donnybrook x you #donnybrook x reader #chainsaw angus fanfic #chainsaw angus x y/n #chainsaw angus x you #chainsaw angus x reader

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tellthatbrokebitch · 2 years

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another wip wednesday, from my stick season au TW: child abuse

A memory surfaces, and it’s a fucking doozy. There’s no point in fighting it, not when he is where he is, not when he’s going where he’s going, so Mike lets it wash over him.

It’s the summer before senior year, and Mike’s making the drive to Indianapolis to pick up Will from his court-mandated time with his dad, a full month of nothing but texts and the occasional phone call when Lonnie’s out of the house. Lonnie doesn’t like Mike, and Mike fucking hates Lonnie, so to keep the peace, Will does his best to keep them separate. And Mike misses him, misses seeing his face, misses hearing his voice, just misses Will. He had Dustin and Lucas, Max and Jane, but it just wasn’t the same without Will. Going to the pool wasn’t the same without Will splashing gross public pool water in his face. Hanging out in his basement wasn’t the same without Will there to cheat shamelessly at every single game they played. Walking through the mall wasn’t the same without Will, going to the theater wasn’t the same without Will, getting ice cream at Scoops Ahoy! wasn’t the same without Will. It was all just… bullshit.

So when Will had specifically requested that Mike come pick him up, when normally Joyce or Jonathan would be making the drive instead, he’d immediately agreed. When he’d received the text early that very morning, asking Mike if he’d mind, butterflies had erupted in Mike’s stomach and he’d jumped at the chance to see Will again before everyone else. Two hours of uninterrupted Mike-and-Will time, without having to share his best friend? Of course he didn’t mind. It was the longest drive Mike had ever attempted by himself, but armed with an energy drink and a bag of gummy worms, it went by pretty quickly, especially once he dug out his CD case and got some tunes playing.

When he pulled up to Lonnie’s ugly-ass house, Will was already waiting on the porch with his bag. He quickly stood and slung the bag over his shoulder and was halfway to the car before Mike could decide whether to shut off the engine or not. It wasn’t surprising that Will didn’t want to linger; he hated these visits, hated his dad, hated the way being around his dad made him feel.

Mike understood that feeling all too well, though at least his dad was just an asshole and not an Asshole.

So when Will slides into the passenger seat without saying a word, Mike immediately pulls out of the driveway and heads back the way he came. The tense atmosphere in the car also isn’t surprising, nor is the silence, but when they’ve put a couple miles between them and Lonnie, and Will still hasn’t said a word, Mike can’t help the quick glance to his right.

And luckily they’re alone pulling up to a stop sign, so when his foot slams a little too hard on the brake, all it does is jerk the car to an abrupt stop.

“What-”

“It’s fine.” And Mike can’t decide whether that makes him want to scream or cry, because one of Will’s eyes is swollen shut and purple and there’s a matching bruise on his jaw, and it is very obviously not fine.

“Will-”

“Seriously, Mike, it’s - what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going back to kill that fucking asshole.”

“No, you’re not. Look, I’m fine-”

Mike barks an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, I’m fucking looking, Will. That’s the goddamn problem. Because it looks like Lonnie beat the shit out of you.” Despite his words, he turns left onto a new street and parks in front of a random house.

He turns to face Will fully, and it looks worse head-on. He’s not sure what his own face is doing, but it makes Will sigh.

It just looks wrong. And Mike’s been there through it all, okay, he’s seen Lonnie-bruises on Will before; on arms, legs, chest, and back - even once, memorably, on the nape of his neck, the shape of fingertips. But even Lonnie was smart enough to avoid the face… or at least, he was. And Mike hates it, has always hated it every time, seeing those marks, blooming red and purple and black, fading over time to blue and green and yellow, has hated every single rainbow bruise that marred that pretty tanned skin.

It doesn’t make his friend’s face any less beautiful, but it’s introduced something to those pretty brown eyes, something that dulls their shine and leaves them looking flat and empty. It twists something in Mike’s gut, something ugly that makes him want to go through with his threats and murder the man who’d done this.

Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm that rage. Will doesn’t need more anger right now. Will needs him to be calm. Once he feels ready, he clears his throat and asks, quietly, “What happened?”

Will fiddles with his cellphone, which he notices has a large crack in the screen. “He found out,” he says.

“Found out?”

“That I’m gay.”

“Oh. Shit. How?”

The grip on his phone tightens. “He went through my phone. Saw some texts where I’d mentioned it, asking Lucas for advice on… something. It wasn’t difficult to figure out who or what I was talking about.”

Does Will have a crush on someone? He pushes the intrusive thought away and focuses on the conversation. “Fuck. How did he react?”

Will snorts. “Badly. Woke me up and slammed me against the floor. Punched me, obviously. I fought back.” He grins, though it’s a pale imitation of its former glory. “I got him back, though. Kicked his balls up into his throat.”

Mike wants to return the grin, even feels his lips twitching up in the beginnings of a smile, but then the thought of it, the mental image of Will at the mercy of his homophobic piece of shit father wipes any trace of mirth from his face. “Is this why you asked me to pick you up? Because I hate to break it to you, babe, but your mom and Jonathan are definitely going to notice.”

“What? I mean, kind of. I wanted to avoid a fight. But that’s not - I missed you. Of course I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

#tellthatbrookebitch #wip wednesday #byler #byler fic #it was too long for a screenshot lmao #the ending is abrupt bc there was a quick jump to another scene that i hadn't fully written yet #also i know the tense is all over the place i do not care at this present moment in time #okay time to crawl in a hole #cw: child abuse #tw: child abuse #lmk if i should tag this as something else #stick season au

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rustyregion · 8 months

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TW FOR GORE, BLOOD ,WORMS AND SHIT LIKE THAT

I wasn’t gonna update this so soon, but I saw a repost of someone liking the designs a lot so… why not?

Here’s a better look into corrupted!Nightmare’s human design! Tho really if you get grossed out by corpses and stuff don’t look at it.

I should draw Uncorrupted!Nightmare’s human design so you could see how he looked like when he was alive. Some other day tho,I’ve been drawing for 16 hours

Nightmare sans belongs to Jokublog

#nightmare sans #dreamtale #underverse #fanart #undertale #undertale alternate universe #cw: gore #human design

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skittsyteacup · 29 days

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Tw vent (mention of sh/our beloved slide iykwim)

Im so despairwd rn. I love being honest with my friends. I hate lying. I hate intentionally misleading people without them knowing in what could be a harmful way. But what choice do I have, really. I'm not going to burden some 15 yr olds with the fact I think about hurting myself every time I do something wrong in my eyes or feel dejected or ignored. I can't just tell them 'oh yeah yk when I said I only think about doing it when something really bad happens on a really really bad day? LMAO jk I think about it every week‼️‼️ so silly'. How do I explain that I'm petrified of a relationship and being confessed to to her?? For the record, I'll be mentioning different people differentiated via pronouns. Anyway I can't just tell someone I almost threw up from fear and anxiety a few minutes ago because I thought I might have rabies (spoiler, I don't think so? I can drink water). I don't know a good way to tell my best friend that I can't confide in them and they aren't my most trusted person with stuff like that. For the record we're physically 17. They're newish 15. I don't know a good way to explain how I'd love to tell them everything and be so honest but every time I think about it I get sick at the thought of them feeling how I did. When I was 15, 14, 13, younger. They've got so many burdens already and they don't need to tell me I'm one of them. I already know that. And I get it's part of being social and having relationships but I can't help but feel shit about it. I feel helpless with my mind, I can't be left alone for a minute without wallowing in some kind of despair.

If they see this (doubtful,) then hi. I want to be able to tell you things, when I said I was running myself up a wall I wish I could tell you what I mean. You're asleep so it doesn't matter so much right now. But it's not because you're young, have pressure on top of pressures on you, or because I don't think you can handle it. It's because I can't find it in myself to hate you like that. It takes some kind of trust and something to put that kind of responsibility onto someone. It's almost like a hatred to expose someone to the inner machinations of this thing we call the brain. I don't want you to pity me and I know you would. If I were to answer truthfully when you ask me to. If when we were at dinner I was honest. To for once be totally honest, I'm not doing ok. I won't be. I have no one to unload this on comfortably because it's straining to talk to friends family or even strangers about it and the threat of being thrown into some place if Im honest with the counselor is another thing.

I'm about to get descriptive so get off now when you can.

I called a friend by their real name in a comment section earlier today. I hadn't taken my prozac so my anxiety or general feelings have been as they were for weeks, since I'm out. I deleted the comment obviously and replaced it with their online name but in the moment of pure fear and anxiety I felt horrible. I thought my spine would rupture out of my body with some mind of its own. My veins felt like worms in my skin, I had to claw them out, how I didn't I don't know. I felt so cold and hot at the same time. My fingers feel like they're moving so slow like I'm rusty or something. I almost threw up. I know that's not normal, to want to rip every system out. I profusely apologizef and I still feel like absolute shit. This isn't normal or ok. I'm so grossed out by my urges. I can't stand how I get around anyone even myself. I suppose these stand as some kind of document of my grief.

I can't stand being alive, I can't stand fucking up ever, I can't stand being careful about myself. What if I said every urge out loud? What if I gave into my habits? What then? You'd all hate me. I know you would, that's not just my paranoia. My blood is some kind of dirty sin and I have to get it out. I wonder how I haven't broken my shaving stuff yet. I won't. Not today. I probably need to sit down and talk to my friends but I don't fucking know how. They're all younger than me. Is it even ok to? They're all 15 or younger. I know the burden and fear of knowing you could wake up one day and they could be dead. They could've done something bad. Maybe they aren't eating anymore. Maybe they almost did something. That's a fear that eats away at you because you're too young to do anything. I need to have a talk with them but where would I. No where is safe. Their house, it's akward. Others house, there's stairs and they can't get up those yet and it'll be awkward., my house, no can do someone's always home and if they hear me they'll treat me all crazy again and I might just fucking kill myself if they do that. No one knows any of this. And if I mention I need to have a talk with them and we can't do one that'll eat away at their mind with curiosity. One on ones might be awkward plus if hanging out, which we always are, how do I go about that? I'm so stressed with this shit. I regret living past the things I shouldn't of. I get it's selfish of me- or it is according to my mom. I don't even like my mom. I cry thinking about how I couldn't save her younger self. But I try to reassure myself that her actions don't deserve forgiveness just because she's been through it. She had time to change but she hasn't. I feel like throwing up. Maybe I'm sick. Maybe it's almost my period. Idk. If there's a god, help me. I don't care. I'm not devote, I won't be a good servant or apostle, but I'm loyal to my cause and I keep promises when I can. I can be a dog if you keep my family ok. I just want to be happy, but I want everyone to be happy more so.

The only highlight this month really is apparently I helped them realize what friends are like. True friends. I feel nice about it mostly but I fear I'm misleading.

And I have a fear of being scary to people I know. I promise I'm not heartless or careless or selfish like they all said. Believe in me, please. Love me unconditionally. I will be your most trusted and beloved hound. I'll beckon your every command if you just love me. If you trust me.

I get why people don't trust me don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly a good person. I've stolen, lied, yelled, mocked, judged, etc. if heavens real ill never know. I feel eternally damned. I don't know how to end these posts either

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min-pathologica · 6 months

Text

tw rant and a lot of s3xual tws (not me) that i’m too tired to list, read at ur own risk ig

THEY DIDN’T FUCKING BREAK UP. I THOUGHT THEY DID AFTER THEIR BF’S EX TOLD THEM SHE GOT SA’D. BY HIM. BUT I GUESS HE JUST SAID SOWWY AND THEN THEY MADE OUT IN THE HALLWAY OF SOME SCHOOL WE’VE NEVER BEEN IN BEFORE. I WENT TO FUCKING LOOK FOR THEM. I WAS ACTUALLY CONCERNED ENOUGH TO ACT CONCERNED AND LOOK FOR THEM. THEY JUST HAD A LITTLE TALKIE TALK AND MAYBE A FUCKY FUCK AND HERE I THOUGHT MY FRIEND WOULD AT LEAST BREAK UP WITH HIS ASS. NOT EVEN CLOSE. AND NOW MY FRIEND’S SHOWING ME THE FUCKING HICKEYS CAUSE THEY BASICALLY FUCKED. I’M REALLY FUCKING DISAPPOINTED IN THEM AND I DON’T THINK I CAN KEEP PRETENDING TO BE ALL HAPPY CHEERY WITH THEIR SHITTY PERV BOYFRIEND WHEN THEY IGNORED *SO* MANY FUCKING RED FLAGS AND THEY’RE GOING TO FACE THE FUCKING CONSEQUENCES. I’M SORRY I DO NOT HAVE THE EMPATHY AND LOVE FOR THEM TO TRY AND WORM THEM OUT OF THAT GROSS ASS SHIT. DISGUSTING. i genuinely feel sick to my stomach. really not happy and didn’t need to see images of them cuddling in bed but whatever i hope they like their neck full of hickeys for the next two weeks. and have i mentioned THEY’RE FUCKING YOUNGER THAN US?? THEIR BOYFRIEND IS MY AGE AND SEEMS TO SPECIFICALLY PREY ON PEOPLE YOUNGER THAN HIM AT THIS POINT. I HATE HIM SO MUCH I WISH HIS “yeah min is stuck-up and has a superiority complex!” SHIT NEVER GOT TO MY HEAD AND I NEVER TRIED TO BE POLITE FOR THIS FUCKING DICKHEAD. I HATE THAT I WANTED HIS VALIDATION LIKE WHEN HE WAS NICE TO ME LAST YEAR.

SO I ASKED WHAT HAPPENED NOW THAT THEY’RE OPEN TO TELLING ME AND THEY SAID THEY “asked him if he did a really serious thing and he denied it” AND THAT WAS THAT???? AND YOU TWO FUCKED THE NEXT DAY?????? AND YOU BELIEVED THE FUCKING PERPETRATOR INSTEAD OF THE VICTIM????? THEY THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HE DID TO A KID THEIR AGE, THAT KID HAD A BREAKDOWN TELLING ME ABOUT IT AND APPARENTLY THEY DIDN’T BELIEVE THE SAME THING. WHY???? BECAUSE HE’S A TALL BOY WITH LONG HAIR WHO LIKES TO SEND YOU SHIRTLESS PICS, TALK LIKE A VICTORIAN ORPHAN BUT OBSESSED WITH HIS PENIS SIZE, AND SENDS YOU THOSE KINKY ASS RED TEXT TIKTOKS?????? THEY WERE SAYING THEY DIDN’T REALLY LIKE THEIR NAME

EWWWW THEY SENT ME TEXTS SINCE WE’VE STARTED TALKING ABOUT IT AND IT WAS LIKE “did you fucking r word her” AND THEN HE WENT INTO THIS WHOLE YANDERE DEV ASS DEFENSE AND THEY BELIEVED IT

#minxiety #tw rant

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cloudbattrolls · 4 years

Text

Kindling

Etuuya Vannyn | Several Nights Prior | OLSC Headquarters (Space)

You’re walking along the side of a vast white marble wall, Karina keeping pace several feet to your side. Spark trolls - the apparent proper name for the lava folks - move in their usual silent flow around the two of you. You feel the heat from them even if they never come closer than six feet or so, another layer of warmth in the already hot ship.

Their bright, solid eyes - hues of purple, orange, red, or gold - linger, even if none of them ever speak to you or the tealblood.

You toss Karina - she’s no longer the only Tulais - the ball again, the two of you having thrown it back and forth for several minutes now.

This time she holds onto it, stopping.

“Vannyn.” She says, though her gaze is directed outward, you think. Her horns, a pair of inverted triangles, glint in the light.

You follow her line of sight to the park - well, that’s the closest thing you can think to call it.

Most parks have trolls sitting, maybe walking pets or lusii, chatting or climbing trees. This one has plants carefully sheltered behind great glass domes, vast curling vines and palm-like trees protected from the fiery inhabitants. Instead of benches, there are spiraling grooves cut in the floor, getting deeper as they go down.

Some of the park trolls smile, and if you flick your ears, you can hear soft laughter as they toss orbs of flame back and forth. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine they were ordinary Alternians.

If Alternian trolls spoke to each other solely by telepathy and unquestionably followed the orders of a crazy bird woman.

“Aren’t you used to them?” You ask her. They’re new to you, but you’d assumed Firebird’s descendant must be accustomed to them.

The tealblood snorts softly.

Her hair, usually loose around her shoulders, is in a tight braid. She’s dressed in what must be fireproof armor, though it’s light, cream-colored, looking almost ceramic. She never takes it off, not even around her ancestor.

Perhaps especially then.

“I haven’t been here much before.” She replies. “She found me young, but she didn’t bring me to space until I was nine. She just...warped me out here one night, showed me her people.”

“Her people? Did she create them somehow, or does she just lead them?”

Karina shakes her head, and your ears flick in annoyance.

“Both, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you care? How have you not asked, in all the sweeps you’ve known her?”

The teal jerks her head back toward you, dark-eyed gaze resentful.

“I can’t just ask my ancestor anything I want. She’s not Lifeweaver.”

You put your hands on your skinny hips and stare her down.

“I haven’t a clue what you think you know about Rhomox outside of his research, but he - ”

A wailing alarm interrupts your conversation and the Spark trolls start flooding around the pair of you, a purposeful stream splitting off toward various sections of the vast ship. Karina jumps out of the path of their rushing feet, stepping closer to you, almost too close - what is it with the Tulaises and forgetting what you are -

You stick an arm out in front of the teal to protect her, in case any of them get aggressive. She looks at you with a startled expression, but you ignore her as your eyes and head dart around, trying to block out the harsh noise and focus.

“They’re manning the fire cannons. They must’ve found a ship.”

You freeze, then spin around as her words sink in.

“They what?”

The teal looks away, her fists clenching by her sides so hard her knuckles are nearly white. The soft rubber ball is crushed under the fingers of her hand.

“What are they going to do, Karina?”

“We can’t stop them!” She snaps. “Especially not you. They’ll burn you up in seconds if you try!”

You hiss in displeasure, but stay put and watch as the strange fiery trolls cluster around what you’d thought were simply decorative golden domes, but must be some sort of weaponry. They all put their hands on them, and flames lick out of their body and get absorbed by the shining material - metal? Glass? It’s impossible to tell.

The glow of their eyes flickers as they do, and a few fall to their knees and pass out, only to be replaced by others as they’re shoved out of the way.

A spurt of platonic pity runs through you, but you snuff it out and glare at the teal, hugging herself as she stares with a tight, miserable expression. The wail of the alarms shuts off.

“What’s going on?” You say in a low, intent voice that brooks no room for a refusal to answer.

“Where do you think she got all these trolls? Only some were her original crew. I don’t know how she makes them into Sparks, but I know they can die, and she always wants more.”

“A troll can only become all fiery if she makes it so?” You ask her, businesslike and scientific. “Direct cause and effect?”

Just as Rhomox taught you.

“I think so.” She says, a bit hesitant. “She’s always been vague about it, but she acts like they’re all hers. I’ve never met one who didn’t obey her.”

Firebird laid her hands on the troll she’d send to fetch you when asking you about the drinker you’d accidentally sired. Leaning over them, protective. Like a lusus might with their charge.

Like you would for Uunive.

“Do you know how close she needs to be to do it? Proximity must be a factor, or she wouldn’t need to bring ships down.”

“Close.” Karina admits, then swears. “Vannyn, you can’t possibly mean to - ”

Too late, you’re off running toward the same place you were brought in. It’s only a guess that the poor captured sods will be brought there, but it’s the best you have to go on.

The clatter of Karina’s feet come from an increasing distance behind you as she fails to keep pace with your drinker speed.

You turn and give her a cheery wave before skipping through the docking doors (apparently Firebird doesn’t bother to lock them).

A rush of air blows your hair back as a ship is indeed towed into the vast hangar. It’s bigger than your little cruiser, but not by much - the crew can’t be large.

Its metal surface is covered in huge melted spots. You doubt it’s ever going to fly again; at best it could be recycled for scrap.

Fire shouldn’t be able to even travel through space, but Firebird and her motley crew say fuck physics, apparently.

Which is just such fantastic news.

“Have you come to see the creation of more fledglings? You could have just asked.”

She’s hovering many feet above you, yet her voice is as clear as if she was speaking in your ear.

“Well, go on and show me then, if it’s all aces with you.”

You put your hands in your pants pockets as if it hardly matters one way or the other.

A ripple of laughter reaches you, and she melts a hole in the ship’s door by shooting a stream of fire from a hand. You half expect the crew to come out guns blazing, ready to die in the style of true Imperial trolls, but nothing happens.

Wary of the red-hot edges of the hole, you run over and peer through it.

No one ran out because no one seems to be able to stand.

You breathe in, the familiar visceral scent of death present. A few trolls seem to have been literally cooked by convection, the ones closest to the ship’s edges. Their flesh is seared and bubbling, their horns blackened and crumbling.

Others seem to be alive, but barely, writhing in pain on the floor and hardly paying you any mind.

You walk in carefully, trying not to step on the wounded. Part of you wants to feed on their blood, but you ignore it. Hardly the time.

As you go further in, through a few sliding doors, you find a few trolls huddled together. They flinch at the sight of you, but one - dressed in grays, no apparent symbol showing - grabs a gun and points it at your chest.

“Who the fuck are you? I’ll shoot! Are you with the Empire? Why did you capture us?”

Huh.

“So you’re not Imperial?” You query.

They look just as confused as you feel, only with added anger.

“Fuck no! I have no idea what the hell’s going on, but we’re not Empire! Are you?”

“Do you see a trident anywhere?” You ask dryly. “Believe me, the most highly the Empire thinks of me is as a science experiment. Also, I didn’t capture you.”

“Then what are you doing on our shi - ”

All of you flinch from the heat as Firebird melts a hole in the ship roof and swoops down, landing in the room you’re in.

“You are about to witness a glorious thing, little Vannyn.” She says to you, as if the other trolls don’t exist, slack-jawed at her appearance. She hardly fits in the space, even with her wings folded up against her back.

The claws of her bird feet click against the floor as she steps toward the troll holding the gun, speaking to them in what you assume is meant to be a reassuring voice.

“You’ve been running from the Condesce for a long time, but I am here to save you.”

“By melting our ship? Yeah, I feel real safe!” snarks the troll who you feel rather endeared to, even if you know it can’t end well for them.

Why did Firebird attack the ship so recklessly? Karina said she wants as many trolls as she can get. Most are still alive, though some may not be for much longer, but a few were definitely dead.

She laughs gently, and with a burst of red and purple fire, their gun begins to melt. They drop it instantly, wide gray eyes full of fear and hate, long ears pinned against their buzz-cut head.

“Don’t worry. You will have a whole new life.”

She bends down on her scaly knees, the tips of her wings brushing against the floor. The other trolls have fled out the other door, but she doesn’t seem to care. Probably because there’s nowhere for them to run.

Cupping her hands around their head, their size making the troll’s face look small, Firebird breaths deeply and exhales a strange teal fire from her mouth that surrounds like the troll like a cloud.

For a moment it simply hangs there.

Then the troll writhes and thrashes, and you see their skin start to smoke and blacken, then harden into stone, blood running from their eyes as they start glowing -

You lunge at her, tearing out feathers that sear your skin, and she drops the troll, slapping you back with her shimmering wings. A faint clattering noise sounds, but you’re not sure if it’s real or in your jostled thinkpan.

“You dare interfere?” She says, in a voice that sounds almost like a raptor’s screech.

“Eat me.” You manage, pulling yourself up off the floor after slamming into the wall. Not only was that a hell of a whack, the heat of her is a good reminder how outmatched you are. For all your strength and regeneration, you’re almost powerless against the teal.

The clattering noise gets louder and Karina bursts in, panting, her skin and braid slick with sweat.

“What...the fuck...is going on?” She demands between breaths.

You and Firebird both stop, looking at her and then each other.

“Leave us.” says Firebird dismissively, the troll on the floor making whimpering noises. “This isn’t for your eyes.” She flicks a hand at the door the younger teal just came through.

You study Karina’s white armor. Where are the catches for it? It almost looks like it’s all of a piece, but that’s not possible. There has to be some seam or join.

“But it’s for Vannyn’s?” She cries.

There. Buckles, nearly the same color as the strange ceramic material.

“They have a chance of understanding. If they can stop acting foolish.” She replies, casting a glowing glare your way.

Karina’s teal slit pupils flick to the troll on the floor and she takes a step back. Then another. Closer to you, which is helpful.

“What...what’s going to happen to this troll?”

Firebird sighs, but also makes an annoyed chittering noise, her wings shifting.

“It isn’t your concern, Karina. Go, before I lose my patience.”

You yank off the younger teal’s breastplate in one swift pull, put it in your sylladex, and dart behind Firebird. You jump onto her back, using her wings as handholds as she thrashes, and scale her so that you’re gripping her shoulders. Your head is above the melted ceiling of the ship now, she’s so bloody tall, and your claws dig into her boiling hot flesh, teal blood running down the skin.

You can feel your skin starting to burn.

“Take the survivors and get out!” You yell at your boss. “Take my ship!”

She doesn’t move as Firebird screeches, her wings beating and slamming into the confined space now, and you jump.

You leap up through the melted hole and come back down, trying to land on her shoulders -

The eight foot tall woman plucks you out of the air with both hands gripping your body, baring her fangs as her feathered ears puff up in fury. She holds you up level with her face, only a few feet away.

“You would deny these hunted trolls their salvation? The Spark takes away pain! It makes trolls anew!”

Her half-transformed victim lets out an agonized moan below.

“And it makes people your minions, isn’t that convenient? Burning themselves out to power weapons to gather more trolls for you?”

Her eyes narrow.

“How can you not understand? You, composed of so many small parts? This is no different. We are all part of the Spark; I simply guide them to its power.”

Karina’s still here. Well, bugger her, she gets to see what comes next.

You smile at the crazed fanatic in front of you, showing all your long sharp drinker teeth. Your arms may pinned to your sides under her grip, but that doesn’t matter.

Not when you open your mouth and spit a mass of worms in her eyes.

She drops you to claw at them, swearing and screeching, and it’s not long until she kills them or they get cooked from the heat.

So you jump, this time landing on her shoulders as planned, and send more into her throat, her nose. She writhes, but with less strength, and you whisper in her ear.

“Unlike you, I don’t need to ‘save’ other people to feel whole.”

She goes stiller yet.

You bend over and trace a claw under her chin as she did to you when you first met.

“I can feel my worms dying from your heat, but you can’t scream, can you? Can you even breathe? Tick tock, Firebird.”

You catch on fire.

Well, there it is, all that blinding pain, making every nerve an agony, every worm withering.

You fall off, burning, and Firebird turns to you. You’re rewarded with the sight of worms in her face before they blacken and crumble, turning to ash.

Clothes and flesh, you’re doing the same. How haven’t you passed out. You’re burning away, skin and fabric and works all slowly turning to black and gray ash, piece by piece. A hand. Your legs. Your horns.

“Don’t kill them!”

Bit late, Karina. Idiot child. Should’ve helped the ship trolls.

The other victim on the floor looks at you in horror and sympathy alike.

“If I spare them, you will not question me again.”

“Yes!”

“They will obey.”

“I’ll make them!”

“They will witness this, and remember they cannot challenge me and win.”

You watch yourself burn away, half of your body gone to the excruciating flames, and finally Firebird releases you to sweet unconsciousness.

#and that's how tuuya got burned to kingdom come #they're better now but still #cloud writes #etuuya vannyn #tw gross worm shit #tw burns

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datleggy · 3 years

Text

Post-demise At Hand

TW: mentions of past OD, past drug use, off screen death of character (Alex), grief, anger, misunderstandings

TK isn’t sure how to react to the news, if he’s being completely honest with himself.

He learns about the death of his ex through a post on Instagram via an old mutual friend of theirs that he hasn’t been in contact with since even before he packed up his life and moved to Texas. It’s hashtagged: #RIP #gonetoosoon and TK almost laughs out loud like some kind of maniac, because is that all Alex's life amounted to in the end?

Two half-assed hashtags and a badly edited picture of Alex smirking at the person who took the stupid photograph in the first place. TK remembers that day; Alex had finally passed his drivers test and gotten his license. He remembers telling Alex to smile, remembers his ex boyfriend turning to him, rolling his eyes, saying something like “Why did I bother with this again? We live in New York.” except TK can’t remember what he said to Alex to be on the receiving end of that knowing little smirk.

The one he can’t stop staring at now.

“Earth to TK!”

TK almost drops his phone onto the floor, blinking up at the person waving their hand in his face. “Huh?”

Judd gives him a curious look. “Been calling you for like a straight minute, kid, you doin’ alright?”

TK nods. “Yeah, sorry, yeah, I’m good, I was reading an article, I uh, got distracted.” he shakes his head. “What’s up?”

“Your boyfriend’s downstairs lookin’ for you--” Judd tries not so subtly to peek at whatever it is that’s got TK so enraptured and catches a glimpse of a familiar face, one that gives him pause.

He frowns. “TK, what the hell? Stalking your ex, seriously?” he blurts the accusation outloud without thinking, which is of course the very moment Carlos and Paul come gallivanting up the stairs, their laughter at something one of them said dying out abruptly.

Paul’s eyes dart between the two men and he clears his throat awkwardly before motioning for Judd to skedaddle with him. Judd, who couldn’t take a hint if it hit him on the side of the head like a tire iron, simply folds his arms across his chest expectantly. “Well? Your fella’s right over there, so what’re you doing all up in your ex boyfriends business?”

Paul sighs. Jesus. “Judd. Maybe we should give them some privacy?” Carlos is scarily silent next to him and Paul just knows shit’s about to hit the fan, and he’d rather be far far away when it does happen.

Carlos swallows hard, wipes his hands against his uniform pants, and says, “It’s fine. I’ll um, I’ll see you at home.” before turning around and going back the way he came.

“Man.” Paul stares at TK, who hasn’t uttered a single word as of yet. “You’re not gonna go follow after him?”

Judd scoffs. “And do what? Tell him it’s not what it looks like?”

TK blinks rapidly a few times, as if coming out of a daze. “I--” His eyes go wide when he realizes what’s happened. “Shit.” he runs over to the edge of the railing to call for Carlos, but his boyfriend apparently bolted, because he’s nowhere to be seen.

Judd whistles loudly behind him, arms still crossed disapprovingly. “Carlos is a good catch, TK, shouldn’t be messin’ around with him if you’re not--”

TK whirls around to face him, the look on his face mutinous. “I wasn’t stalking my ex on Instagram Judd! Get your head outta your ass and outta my business!”

Judd takes a step forward and Paul can see where this is headed; he immediately gets in between the two men, arms raised. “Hey! Enough! You two need to relax.”

Judd huffs. “I’m not the one tryna step out on my--”

“Alex is dead.” Saying it outloud is surreal.

Alex is dead.

What the fuck.

Paul and Judd both give pause.

“What?”

TK sighs, aggravated, and shows them the post he’d been caught looking at earlier.

“TK...” Paul gulps. “I’m sorry man.”

TK nods but doesn’t utter a word.

Judd cringes. “Crap, I--” He wants to smack his head against the palm of his hand as hard as he can. “I’m such a heel, Jesus TK, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed--I’m so sorry.”

TK leans his back against the railing and this time it’s his turn to cross his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well...tell that to Carlos.”

“TK I’ll call him right now and tell him I misunderstood, I swear--”

TK interrupts him again with a shake of his head. “No, no, it’s better if I just explain it myself.” he looks up at Judd through long lashes and manages a half hearted grin. “I guess I should be happy you respect my boyfriend enough to snitch on my ass?”

Judd knows TK’s throwing him a bone, but still, he doesn’t feel he can take it. “I do,” he admits. “But that don’t mean I should’ve went ahead and assumed the worst. You deserve better than that and for that I’m especially sorry.” The whole thing with his own father in law stepping out on his Grace’s mother is still messing around with his head, but that was no excuse to think the worst of TK, of all people.

But TK tells him not to sweat it, he’ll call Carlos and tell him everything, no big, really. And then he asks the two men not to mention anything about any of this to the Captain or to any of the rest of the team, if it can be helped.

Paul frowns. “TK, it’s not good to try and go through these types of things alone, you know.”

TK shakes his head. “I’m not trying to, really. I just,” he shrugs, looking a little like a lost lamb. “I don’t really know how I feel about it yet? So I’d rather not deal with everybody’s sympathies right now, if that’s ok.”

**********************

He calls Carlos but gets sent straight to voicemail every single time and when that doesn’t work he texts him that whatever he thought was going on, there was nothing to worry about, that he would explain if Carlos would just pick up his damn phone.

Work gets progressively busier after that and TK barely has time to catch his breath, much less to try and get into contact with his boyfriend, and so it’s not until the very end of his shift, hours later, that he’s able to rush home--that is, he thinks sullenly, if Carlos hasn’t changed all the locks on him.

TK shakes his head; Carlos wouldn’t do that. He’s probably stewing though, and that thought doesn’t make TK feel any better as he steps past the threshold and inside. He’s had such a long and tiring day he hasn’t even had time to properly process what’s happened to Alex.

Carlos has cooked dinner, if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication. He’s at the table eating alone with the TV on in the other room for background noise, and he doesn’t even look up to greet TK, only motions towards the stovetop vaguely. “Help yourself.” he mutters.

TK ignores the food and takes a seat right across from Carlos, leans over the table with a grimace. “Babe, I swear to you it’s not like that. Judd misunderstood what happened--”

Carlos sets his fork down with a clatter that startles TK into jumping slightly. “Look, I get it, moving in is a huge commitment, it’s scary, I know, but I didn’t think you would--”

“Please,” TK stops him. “Please let me just explain, please.” he hastily takes his phone out of his back pocket and opens the app. He can hear Carlos sigh above him but it doesn’t deter TK from finding the post and holding it up to his face. “This is what Judd saw me looking at.”

Carlos reluctantly lays eyes on the photo, his irritation and hurt only peeking when he sees that it’s a photo of TK’s almost fiance. That is, of course, until he reads the caption, notices the hashtags below, and suddenly it all makes sense. He doesn’t know quite what to say, except: “Oh.”

TK nods. “Caught me by surprise. I um, I haven’t heard from him since, well, you know. So I didn’t really know how to react when I found out and then Judd came up behind me and I mean, you know the rest of the story…”

“Oh.” Carlos says again, because he’s still trying to process the news.

“Yeah.” TK shrinks back in his chair and the wounded look of him finally snaps Carlos out of it.

“Crap,” Carlos groans. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He gets up and rounds the table, kneeling down in front of TK. “I was hurt and I ran off without letting you even get a word in, that was messed up and I’m sorry. Are you ok?” He makes a face at his own question, because of course TK isn’t ok. The man he’d proposed marriage to a little over a year ago now has passed, after all.

There’s no way he’s ‘ok’.

“I uh, I don’t know.” TK admits quietly.

Carlos puts a hand on his knee and squeezes gently. “It’s ok to be sad, Ty.”

TK shakes his head. “It’s--I’m not. I’m not sad. I think? I mean...it’s not like we were on friendly terms, you know? I’m more surprised I guess, than anything else. He was still so young.”

Carlos nods solemnly. “How did it happen, do you know?”

TK clears his throat and scratches at the back of his head. “The obituary I found online said it was some kind of car accident near PA. I didn’t really find out any more details than that, though. The funeral was earlier this afternoon.”

Carlos blinks. “Oh. None of your friends from New York said anything? Before today?” The fact that TK had to find out through Instagram is probably half the reason his boyfriend is finding it so hard to react properly to the tragic news.

“I didn’t really bother to keep in contact with a lot of our friends when I left, to be honest. And plus, they were all Alexs’ friends before becoming mine. So he kinda had the right to keep them after the divorce...in a manner of speaking.” TK runs a hand through the greasy locks of his hair and grimaces. “Anyway, I should probably go shower, it’s been a long day and I’m kinda gross.”

Carlos nods, letting TK worm his way out of the conversation without too much fuss.

**********************

In the shower TK stands under the spray of hot water and stares blankly at the tiled wall in front of him, irritated by the jumbled thoughts plaguing him. God, he thinks, I could really use a drink right about now.

What exactly is he supposed to be feeling right now?

Grief?

Anger?

Or perhaps regret.

It’s not as though TK ever got any real closure with Alex and now he never would. After being rejected by the man and worse yet, told he’d been replaced, TK hadn’t wanted to feel any of that pain and had gone to great and dangerous lengths to make sure he was good and numb that night.

He hadn’t meant to overdose. But he’d popped a couple of pills initially, so sure that he could control himself this time, that this time it would be different. But twenty minutes later when the two little white pills had done nothing to soothe his aching heart TK thought, what’s two more? And then two more after that, and then maybe two more, and then he’d lost count, but fuck it, if he hadn’t felt better in the moment.

The pills had worked! He couldn’t feel a thing, his head was blessedly empty and suddenly this giant weight had been lifted from his chest and he could breathe again. Until he couldn’t.

The water is cold by the time TK steps out of the tub. He dries himself off and slips on a pair of boxer shorts and an old gray t-shirt.

Carlos is waiting for him in the kitchen with a full plate, reheated, and normally the smell would be appetizing, but tonight it makes TK a little sick. “You alright? You were in there a while.”

TK nods. “M’good.”

“Here, sit, you should eat something before going to bed.” he sets the plate down in front of him and TK just stares at it like it’s the first time he’s seen food in a while and he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. I think I’m just gonna go to sleep. I’m tired.”

Carlos nods, his lips pursed like he wants to say something more, but instead all he says is, “Ok.”

******************

It’s nearly three in the morning when TK wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He’s not sure how he does it, but he manages not to wake Carlos up as he sneaks out of their bed.

A few minutes later he’s outside in his sweatpants and a hoodie, mindlessly jogging along his usual route. It’s not drugs or alcohol, but running does help. He runs and runs and runs until it hurts and even then, he keeps on running. It’s not until the cramping in his stomach is too much to bare that he finally stops and lets his body rest on a park bench.

And it’s then that he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and realizes he’s got three missed calls. “Shit.” he picks up immediately, holding the phone up to his ear with a shaky hand. “Hey.”

“Where are you? TK, it’s almost five in the morning. What’s going on?” Carlos sounds frenzied on the other end of the line and TK can’t say he blames him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep, I went out on a run and I lost track of time. I’m headed home now, sorry. Go back to bed.”

“I can come pick you up, where are you?”

TK sighs. “Carlos, seriously, I’m within walking distance, don’t worry, I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes.” he hangs up without letting the other man get another word in, which he knows isn’t right, but can’t really find it in himself to care.

His legs feel like jello when he gets up and the trek back to their place is torturous enough to make TK regret telling Carlos not to bother getting him. By the time he makes it home he’s limping slightly and his stomach is in knots.

The door swings open before TK can even take out his keys, and Carlos is standing there at the entrance looking a mixture of concerned and annoyed.

TK rolls his eyes and ignores the look, pushing his way inside and kicking off his shoes at the door. “What?” he snaps, when Carlos won’t stop staring at him.

Carlos frowns. “Stop that.”

“Stop what? What are you talking about? I went out for a run. You’re acting like I went out to shoot up at a meth lab or something. I was gone for less than two hours!” TK half shouts, his frustration spiking up a notch.

“Stop shutting me out. I know you’re upset about what happened to Alex, but you can’t just-”

“About what happened to Alex?” TK scoffs incredulously. “Nothing happened to Alex, Carlos, he died. That’s not something that happens to someone and then they like, get the fuck over it! He died! He’s dead! Gone! Never gonna see him again, didn’t get to say bye or even fuck you to the guy, he just went ahead and died and that’s that!” TK lets out a choked little laugh that sounds more like a cry than anything and covers his face with both hands, tries his best to get his shit together and under control, but it’s no use.

It’s quiet for a long time and then TK speaks again and it's soft and agonized, “I loved him.”

And Carlos nods, takes him by the shoulders and leads him to the stairs, where they both sit down and TK buries himself into Carlos, into his safe haven, and his breath hitches loudly and Carlos says, “I know.” and TK lets out a big broken sob.

“I’m here.” Carlos assures him gently, “I’m here. It’s gonna be ok.”

#tw death #tw past drug use #911 lone star #fic #i wrote a thing and yes its 100% me projecting my own shit onto poor tk #this is the closest my none insured ass gets to therapy huh #tk #carlos #judd #paul #tarlos #long post is long #fanfiction #writing #grief

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shelbswastaken · 3 years

Text

I’m sorry but the lilac costume makes me feel super gross because

He’s barely wearing anything

It’s based off of stereotypical belly dancer attire, which is a whole can of worms other people can explain way better than me

HE’S BARELY WEARING ANYTHING, NO PANTS AND BARELY A SHIRT THAT SHIT’S NASTY

But also people need to remember that this orientalism likely isn’t intentional on behalf of the art team. They’re Korean, and they don’t have the same cultural context as to why this sort of thing is considered offensive. Hell, I’d argue the only intentionally bigoted design was that of Goblin, since they were meant to be based on the Dokkaebi (which aren’t anti-Semitic), but the artist instead gave them traits of the more well-known European goblins (which do have historical precedence of being used as anti-Semitic stereotypes).

So tldr, the Lilac costume is absolutely something to be worried about but it isn’t coming from a place of malice, just make sure to tell Devsis that designs like this aren’t acceptable nowadays and it’ll be fine

Edit: apparently Goblin’s creator retweeted this, which is absolutely damning evidence to suggest that this was an intentional design choice on their part (tw for antisemitic imagery)

#cookie run #serious post #lilac cookie #goblin cookie #Feel free to dm me if you disagree or have anything to add to this discussion #orientalism tw

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comingoutofthecauldron · 5 years

Text

let’s talk about lesbophobia in fandom

i don’t like to use the word “lesbophobia” unironically because of all the gross radfem terfy connotations, so i will clarify right off the bat that i am neither a terf nor an aphobe and that if you are i want you off my blog like, right now. unfortunately, the meaning of lesbophobia has been so warped by alt right lesbians that seeing it in an unironic context makes me, a lesbian, uncomfortable, which speaks volumes in itself. so to clarify, lesbophobia is essentially homophobia with a pinch of sexism thrown into the mix, and it’s running rampant in supposed safe spaces and, more relevantly, fandom.

/i’d also like to clarify that i’m not only speaking on lesbophobia, but also the general disgust and disdain for all wlw in fandom, and am using it as a sort of umbrella term/

lesbophobia and disdain for wlw has been around forever, but whilst gay positivity, mlm and mlm ships have been steadily increasing in popularity within fandom over time, wlw and wlw ships have remained perpetual underdogs. why? because lesbophobia has become a fandom within itself. both in and outside of fandom, we see instances of casual lesbophobia every single day—from aggression towards wlw to something as simple and prevalent as the complete and utter lack of sapphic ships and characters in media. hatred of lesbians and wlw is practically a trend, and it’s seeping in through the cracks of fandoms who are already facing issues with minorities and marginalized groups (i.e. racism, ableism). if you honestly think that lesbophobia isn’t prevalent as hell in fandom right now, you’re either not a wlw, you’re not all that involved in fandom, or you’re dumb as shit.

just look at ships. in almost every single fandom, the ratio of mlm ships to sapphic ships is ridiculously unbalanced. people are quick to ship male characters who so much as smile at each other (and i don’t condemn that) but would never do the same for two women—even on the rare occasion that the ship is actually canon. i once wrote a wlw fanfic for a [predominantly straight] fandom, and received messages like this gem:

on the flip side of that, if there is a sapphic ship in canon or fanon, it is often fetishized and sexualised to a disturbing degree. there will be double the amount of nsfw art and fics, and ninety percent of it will be derogatory and fetishized as hell. having been actively involved in several fandoms over the past few years (and currently a content creator in one), i’ve seen instances of all this hundreds of times. people go crazy for mlm ships, but the second you say you ship/prefer a wlw ship, there’s always someone at the ready with, “i think all ships are great!” or “it’s not a contest” or “i prefer [insert m/m or m/f ship] actually” or “they’re my brotp!/why can’t you just let them be friends?”. not only do lesbians and wlw not get to have any rep in media, any rep that they try to create for themselves in fandom just gets attacked or ruined. this is so detrimental not only to all wlw, but especially to younger wlw who will end up being indoctrinated into this belief that their sexuality is something dirty, something that can never be tender and sweet but rather something that deserves to be preyed upon.

building on that, let’s talk about engagement. i run an instagram account (where i have a significantly bigger following) as well as this blog for my fandom, where i post the content i create (mainly text posts). when i first started creating content, i made a lot for a relatively unpopular wlw ship, in which both girls are canonically romantically involved with a dude—though one of them is canonically pan. their canonical m/f ships are both very popular, and i noticed that my engagement was dropping every time i posted them, so i eventually just stopped. it wasn’t even a conscious decision; i merely resigned myself to the fact that the fandom didn’t want to see sapphic ships, and some people would even go as far as to condemn them. for reference, my instagram posts get an average of about 500 likes per post (popular ones usually exceeding 1k), but when i post this ship, my engagement drops to about 250 likes. similarly, my tumblr text posts have an average of about 140 notes per post (popular ones usually reaching up to 750), but my wlw content rarely surpasses 100. this just feeds the cycle of wlw never getting rep: if, like me, content creators become disincentivised by the lack of engagement with their sapphic content, they’re more likely to stop making/posting it, leading to further lack of rep—and when new content creators try to rectify that, they face the same problems.

and then, of course, there’s the treatment of actual wlw in fandom. my best example of this is when my friend and i made an anti account on instagram (the first instagram anti account in that fandom), our bio saying something like “salty and bitter lesbians being salty and bitter”, and received an onslaught of lesbophobic insults and threats from angry stans within hours. (tw: r*pe) one commenter even went as far as to tell us that they wanted us to get r*ped. as well as this, i’ve seen so many instances of people using slurs against lesbians in arguments/in anons, often for no apparent reason other than they feel that they have the right. when i first mentioned i was a lesbian on instagram, my account only had about 200 followers, and within a day i lost 20. i also lose followers whenever i post f/f ships, not quite to that extent but enough for it to be noticeable, on top of the aforementioned engagement dips. in the face of all this adversity, i think a lot of wlw turn to mlm ships because they’re the closest thing we have to actual rep, but when we do we get accused of fetishizing them by the same people who fetishize us. there’s an endless list of double standards that non-wlw have been upholding for years, and i can firmly say that i’m really fucking sick of it. because of our sexuality, we will never be allowed to enjoy something without someone labelling it or us as dirty or otherwise problematic, when to them, the only problematic thing about us is that we aren’t pleasing men.

as i mentioned before, the lack of rep for wlw in media is appallingly consistent, and part of that stems from tokenism. in a lot of modern mainstream media, you’ll have one, maybe two lgbt characters, and nine times out of ten those characters are white cis male gays. of course, there are exceptions to this, but generally, that’s it. script writers and authors (especially cishets) seem to have this mentality of, “oh, well, we gave them one, that’s sure to be enough!”, which means that on the off chance you do get your gay rep, the likelihood of also receiving wlw or any other kind of rep becomes practically non-existant. this belief that all marginalized groups are the same and that one represents all is what leads to misrepresentation on top of lack of rep, which is what makes tokenism so dangerous. if you treat your only gay character badly, you are essentially treating every single gay person badly in that universe. so not only is lesbophobia and disdain for wlw harmful to sapphic women via their exclusion in media, it’s also harming those minorities who do get rep. when people try to defend lesbophobic source material, that’s when fandom starts to get toxic. the need for critical thinking has never been more apparent and it has also never been less appeased—and wlw are getting hit hard by it, as always.

finally, a pretty big driving factor of lesbophobia is, ironically, lesbians. my lesbian friends and i often joke that though everyone seems to hate us, no one hates lesbians more than lesbians do. though i’d say it’s most prevalent on tumblr, i see traces of it all over the internet. the growth of alt right lesbian movements is not only reinforcing hatred for lesbians, but also reinforcing hatred for bi and pan women. here you have these terrible lesbians using their platforms to express their disgust for bi/pan women, for aces and aros, for trans women/nb lesbians, and people see them and say, “gosh, lesbians are just awful.” and just like that, all of us are evil. occasionally, lesbian blogs that i follow get put on terf blocklists for no other reason than the fact that they have “lesbian” in their bio. and the lesbians that actually deserve to be on those blocklists? they’re too busy spewing misinformation about trans women and bi women to care, boosted up by their alt right friends in an ever-expanding movement. i’ve found that this heavily influences fandom on tumblr, lesbians often getting branded as “biphobic” when they hc a female character as a lesbian rather than bi or pan. this criticism of both lesbians and wlw by lesbians and non-wlw alike only ever allows lesbophobia to grow, both in and out of fandom. that said, lesbians aren’t to blame for their own discrimination; rather, many of us have been conditioned into subconsciously endorsing it after spending our entire lives hearing heterosexual platitudes about lesbians and sapphic relationships. homophobic cishets are and always have been the nexus of this oppression—the only difference is that now they can hide behind alt right lesbians.

one thing has been made apparent to me throughout my time in fandom, and that thing is that no one likes to see men “underrepresented”. people hate sapphic ships and lesbians so much because there is no room for men, and men Do Not Like That. so, like the worms that they are, they slither their way in, be it through fetishization or condemnation of wlw characters and ships, and they ruin whatever good things we have going for us. the thing about worms, though, is that they’re easy enough to crush if you’re wearing the right shoes.

so to all my bi/pan gals and lesbian pals: put on your doc martens, because we’ve got ourselves some lesbophobes to stomp on.

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little-red-toyota · 3 years

Text

Final good bye to the fandom

TW//Trauma, triggers, nsfw, sexual themes, rape, domestic abuse e.g.

This is gonna be a long ass post…

It has taken me a while to get emotionally strong enough to do this, as I will have to think back at some traumatic events from my past to address some of these things. That's why I waited until I got home from vacation with my family, as it will seriously affect my mood and mental health, and I want to be near my doctor and therapist, just in case.

And also, I know that the majority of those reading this will invalidate me and tell me I am making things up to clear my name. So, I literally have to torment myself to write a blog post people will just brush off as bogus anyway. But I will do it now that I am in safe surroundings. Then it will be off my chest, and I can finally move on. If people will continue stirring up the past, it will be their problem, not mine.

I think I should write one last blog post where I address everything. I have left the TTTE-fandom, but I will write that one as my final goodbye to the fandom. I just have to find out everything I've been accused of so I can properly address them all in order. I might leave out details of my life that is too hard for me to open up about. I know most of you will just invalidate me anyway.

1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

2. My mafia-AU.

3. The Darin incident.

4. Being a pedophile. (Where do they get this from anyway??)

5. Running the NSFW-blog.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

Is there more?

Ah... yes! Faking my own suicide, of course!

7. "Faking" being suicidal.

8. Having the audacity to survive and go on living.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

Anything else that needs to be addressed? What else am I being accused of? Send me a dm and I will add it to the post.

Okay, I will bump the Stepney fic down a bit as it is the most traumatic thing for me to address, I will save that one for last.

2 and 3. The dark au/mafia au where I gave some TTTE characters some rather dark and unpleasant character traits, and the whole incident with Darin and the pedo-Salty was addressed in this blog post written by my husband last year, so I am not opening that can of worms again: https://little-red-toyota.tumblr.com/post/623743183795470336/in-light-of-recent-events

Even the thing about Toby cheating on Henrietta is addressed there.

As for the au, I never fully explored it as I started losing interest in TTTE around the same time. I found other things to enjoy and TTTE faded into the background and the au was dropped before I even wrote any stories, apart from the one about Toby and Henrietta.

Some people claim, like this lovely individual, that most of the characters were rapists and pedos. No, not most. Only one of each. And I did not write more than one story about rape and suicide. Where does this person even get that from? Someone who told someone who had heard from someone who might have heard….?

Don't spread rumors unless you are sure that they are true.

Anyway, it's all addressed in that blog post in that link. I don't see how this mafia au is any worse than other dark post-apocalyptic or violent aus. It mostly was about the diesel mafia and their illegal businesses, not about sex, even if it did occur now and then. I find the substance abuse in it to be more problematic tbh…

4. Being a pedophile.

I don't even know how to defend myself against this one, as I don't even know why people think I am pedophile. They only throw the accusation out with no backing evidence, so I have no idea where it comes from or what it is that makes people think I am one.

Apart from one claim that I had faved "porn" alongside "strangers'" baby photos on DA. I addressed that earlier though. As DeviantArt doesn't sort what you click "like" on, it all ends up in the same folder unless you actively go through it and sort it into categories, which I don't bother most of the time. It also doesn't say WHEN it was added to your faves. So, I can have faved an artistic nude on Saturday, and then faved my friend's family photo on Thursday. It's not like I actively search for porn, get all steamed up and then look at pictures of children. WTF.

The few children I have faved are not from complete strangers, but long-term friends of mine. Yes, it is possible to have friends on the same website. I have actually met a lot of my RL friends through DeviantArt. I posted photos of my daughter when she was a baby, they would fave it and congratulate me. So, I did the same when they had a baby. As simple as that. Nothing weird or perverted about it. Due to people doxxing me last year however, I deleted the photos of me, my husband and my daughter from DeviantArt, so it's no longer there.

Porn isn't allowed on DeviantArt anyway. The nudes there are so-called artistic nudes, and for the most part I use them as pose-references when I draw as it is easier to draw a pose using a nude base and then dress them up once you got the pose right.

"The very naked" centaurs I have faved. Well, I like the mythological creature Centaur. And as far as I know… they do not wear clothes, so how are they NOT nude? Look it up, it's a horse body with a human torso instead of horse head. I don't see them as sexual, but what do I know? Maybe YOU do?

I have no sexual interest in children whatsoever.

5. Running the NSFW-blog on Tumblr and Twitter.

Yes. I was one of six people modding that blog. ONE of six, so I refuse to take the full blame here.

MerciResolution has openly admitted to being the founder, and she recruited me and some others to modify as the confession load became too heavy for one person to handle alone.

The original blog on Tumblr worked as follows: People would anonymously send a confession to our askbox, we would add a picture (sometimes photoshopped) to the text and post it on the blog. Always tagged as NSFW and with proper trigger warnings if necessary! The blog itself was also marked as explicit, so it didn't appear in searches and such.

For us, this blog was nothing but a joke. We did it for shits and giggles. If anyone took it seriously and thought we got off to the stuff that was posted, we apologize for that, but to us it was just for laughs. And we DID laugh a lot, you guys should have seen the weird shit people sent us sometimes!

We had fun and we never thought anyone would take it seriously, so we never thought of writing "joke" in the description or anything. It never occurred to us that it could be anything but a joke.

We also made a Twitter account for it, also locked for minors. But it was quickly hacked, and someone changed the password so we could no longer access it. We made another account and forgot about the old one…

After a while, the original mods started losing interest and the blog (both on Tumblr and Twitter) became less active. That's when a person I had known for years, and wrongfully trusted, came forward and wanted to take over ownership. So, the ownership was handed over to Russalita/Charlie.

That turned out to be huge mistake!

Me and the other mods had more or less forgotten that the blogs existed, when suddenly someone started bashing me and getting up in my arms over it. I got seriously confused as I hadn't been active on it in almost a year. But as it turned out, Russalita had removed the mature filters and made the accounts open for all the see. Even minors.

And as people knew I was one of the mods, they fired their guns at me. I can see why though, so I'm not pointing any fingers here.

I tried contacting her by phone, asking her to lock the accounts again, but she gave me a less than polite response, hung up and then blocked my number…

So, I decided to try to shut the blogs down on my own, trying the old passwords. It worked on the Tumblr-account, and I managed to password protect it, for some reason it couldn't be fully deleted. But the Twitter account had gotten its password changed by Russalita. I was however able to get a new password by logging into the e-mail we had used to create it. I deleted the Twitter blog fully. It can't be re-activated even if we wanted to. It's gone.

But it turns out the old, hacked one is still up and now open for everyone. And this one poses a huge problem as we have no way of getting into it to delete it. Only thing we have been able to do so far is reporting it and hope it will be removed by Twitter. So I only have one thing to say about it: report it.

I am no longer running any NSFW TTTE blog anywhere, nor do I have interest in doing so. So, if you come across one, claiming to be me or any of the other mods, it is false.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

People seem to believe I have drawn genitals on trains. I have never done such. Any art on the NSFW-blog with genitalia on the trains were sent in by confessors and was not drawn by me. Most of them seems to have been drawn by someone who goes by the name "The Lance".

I HAVE drawn things for the NSFW blog, but there were no genitalia in those drawings. I drew Frank of Arlesdale looking grossed out by (I don't know what the part is named in English, but it is connected to the brakes of the engine) that stick-like thing on his bufferbeam being wet from whatever the confessor did to him. I drew an over-exaggerated comical pic of a horrified Peter Sam getting his face licked by his driver, who had an enormous tongue. I also did a couple of manips. Mostly maniping engine faces on humans, like the one where Gordon's face is on a less than fit guy flailing his shirt around, and the Arlesdale smallies' faces on a movie poster from Magic Mike. One with Mr.Conductor in a giant bun while Pinchy is applying ketchup on him, for a confession about eating him, I think? I've done some more, but I forgot what it was, I only know I loved making them comical rather than erotic, as I saw the blog as a joke overall.

I HAVE also drawn aheago faces on engines because it looks hilarious. Though I have only drawn them on my OCs and the NRS engines, not TTTE characters.

Point is I have never drawn genitalia on trains. Ever. And I likely never will. It's not THAT much fun drawing NSFW stuff.

I see from this screenshot that a certain MK-Instrumentalist claim that all my personal art is age-regression art and infantilism…

Whose art have you been looking at? Because it's definitely not mine. I have drawn a couple of baby/chibi diesels… But claiming that all of my 700 or so artworks are depicting infantilism and age-regression stuff? I suggest people go have a look for themselves. I haven't drawn that. That MK-guy has been desperately trying to cancel me for ages for reasons only himself know. I don't even know the guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he wants to see me beheaded. Go figure.

I was for a long time bothered by some age-regressor on Tumblr who just wouldn't leave me alone with their weird asks, who tried to force themselves on me and some other artists here. They claim age-regression isn't a fetish, but the shit they sent to my askbox certainly looked like a fetish to me.

I don't want anything to do with that stuff. It weirds me out.

And no. I have never drawn pedophilia or rape art either. This guy can't even make up his mind on which one to accuse me of.

7 and 8. Faking suicide and having the audacity to survive and go on living.

As many know, after the intense shitstorm against me last summer, thanks to Darin, I attempted suicide. I didn't succeed as my husband came home early. I was gone for a few days but returned when a young boy reached out to me for help as he was being groomed and didn't know who else to turn to.

Recently I saw a screenshot where someone claimed me to have faked suicide, and that I just came back after a few days when everything had died down.

Wow.

I am truly sorry I survived.

I don't remember much from those days to be honest, but as the load became too heavy and the bullying too intense, piling up on 30 years of old trauma… I decided to end it. I must warn you guys who might get triggered now; there are detailed descriptions of a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. People told me I was a bad mother among other things, having had those same thoughts myself (according to my husband, I am a good mom) and people just confirming them, I thought that my daughter would be better off growing up without me. I could have chosen a more effective suicide method, but I was afraid my daughter would be the first to find me, so I wanted it to be clean and look like I was just sleeping. That way it could be explained as natural causes.

So, I decided to overdose on pills. I downed all pills I could find in the house that had a warning triangle on it (strong pain meds etc.) and then went to my computer to delete my online existence, especially the personal data.

As a former paramedic, I should have known better. Because after half an hour, my body started reacting. But not the way I had hoped and wanted. I started retching and almost vomiting. That's when my husband came home from work and found me. He immediately saw the empty packages and knowing my past suicidal tendencies, he reacted instinctively. He put his fingers down my throat and had me puke everything up, then he called an ambulance and had me admitted to the hospital.

I don't remember anything from the days I spent there. But I have been told they emptied my stomach and gave me lots of fluids. I was then assigned a psychiatrist which I am still seeing today.

I was gone for those days because I was in hospital, not because I was pulling some kind of trick and pretending to have ended myself.

So… I am sorry I "faked" my suicide.

I'm sorry my husband saved me. I am sorry the medics and doctors succeeded in saving my life.

I am sorry I survived and proceeded to live on. If I ever make another attempt, I promise to do better.

Why are you guys so persistent in trying to push people to suicide anyway? Do you get a kick out of it? Why do people have to be pushed to that point before you care?

What did we tell our daughter? Simply that I got sick and had to go to the hospital. She took that well.

I've seen a lot of people wonder why I am still around. Why shouldn't I? Does my daughter deserve to lose her mother over some online crap she doesn't even know about? I owe her to live and watch her grow up, to help her with her homework and whatever else a parent needs to do. I also owe my husband to stay by his side, like I promised him the day we got married. Even if I do not wish to live.

I'm sorry I survived, guys. Really, I am.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it. And 1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

First… why would anyone make up trauma? It's not like it's a competition to have the worst life, is it?

Sadly, I don't have to make up anything. My life HAS been rocky up until the birth of my daughter. I have been through so much trauma I couldn't even fathom it myself before my therapist listed it all up to me. Until then, I had just been casually talking to her about it, like I would talk about the weather. I didn't cry or get in touch with my emotions even once while telling everything, because I was taught from an early age to never complain, to suck it up and go on. So, no matter what people did to me, I would just smile and go on, even if it killed me inside. I did not want to show any sign of weakness, because then they would attack me. A habit I developed through years of being bullied in school. Never show feelings, just pretend nothing could hurt you, then they would eventually grow tired of it and stop.

Except they never did. They kept going through all my years at school. To such an extent, my boyfriend didn't dare to show himself hanging out with me out of fear of being bullied himself… And as we grew older, he would start cheating on me too. And I kept smiling…

My next boyfriend was a bit older than me, and while that didn't bother me, as we were both well over legal age, it bothered him. We only lasted one year before he bailed out and ditched me out of the blue via an sms.

The next guy… was the one who scarred me for life. Both physically and mentally. A charmer at first of course, until I was trapped. He was unemployed, so he moved in with me, and I paid for everything from food to phone bills. All while he was dating several women behind my back, calling various pay-phone services and in general acted like a manwhore. As I worked as an electrician (also being subject to massive bullying and sexual harassment at work), he would be jealous of all my co-workers and if I ever came home late or worked overtime, he accused me of cheating and was extremely violent about it. He would also isolate me from my friends and family, making me think I couldn't get any other than him. If any of my male friends (almost all my friends are male…) came over, he would give me such hell afterwards, it was easier just to tell them it was a bad time to visit. And after a while, they stopped asking. This guy also demanded sex. Every single day. If I refused, he would punish me, mostly by flogging me with lampcords, belts or whatever else he had at hand. My back is a criss cross map of old, faded scars even now nearly 20 years later. I would have shown you a photo, but I am so self-concious about my body after all the bullying, I hardly even show my face in photos. Maybe one day… but I certainly need more therapy before being able to show naked skin to strangers, even if it's just my back. So I had non-consensual sex with him more often than consensual. It has taken me hours in therapy to even take the word in my mouth and call it by its proper name: rape. I was raped, almost every single day for little over a year, before I found the strength to break out of the relationship and finally throw him out of my house. It all ended when I found some revealing texts on his cellphone, which he was extremely protective of… Texts that revealed that he had engaged in a relationship with a 12 year old girl, and it had been going on for a while. Not only was he cheating on me, but he was a pedophile too. Needless to say, I didn't even let him pack his stuff before I fetched my shotgun and chased him out of the house. I don't know where I got the courage and strength from… but I was furious.

I thought I had gotten rid of him, but no. He started stalking me in public. Hiding behind shelves when I was shopping, his car following mine everywhere I went. I received weird letters in the mail with cut-out letters from newspapers, glued together. On top of all, his creepy, old uncle called me with some rather disgusting suggestions and tried to come on to me really hard. I had to change my phone number, and after coming home to my house and finding out someone had entered my home using a key, only to empty the drawer of my night table, I also had to change the locks of my doors as he had clearly copied the key.

He didn't stop until I got the police involved.

So, when I finally met the guy who would become my husband (or rather, we found out we were made for each other, we had known each other since we were 11 years old), I had major trust issues towards men especially and it took him endless patience and love to break me out of that shell.

But the trauma doesn't stop… or start there.

In the year 2000, on January 4th, I would experience something that made me unable to even look at a train for over 10 years. The Åsta accident (google it). I was a volunteer in the Norwegian Red Cross then, and a paramedic in training. Back then, you were allowed to start training the year you would turn 16. So, I was still 15 when I witnessed the most traumatic event of my life. The day started out calm, we were stocking up the ambulance after delivering a patient to the hospital when we got a call with the code "500", which means "catastrophe". Normally when we get that code it is a rehearsal… so we drove towards the coordinates with the thoughts that this was just an exercise, nothing real… we didn't prepare ourselves mentally… And we ended up in the closest thing to hell I have ever been… The sight of the burning trains, the smells, the sounds, the screaming… I still wake up by nightmares to this day. Though the moment that haunts me the most is when the screaming stopped… because we all knew why… I don't want to go into details, but 19 people died that day. But we also saved 67 people. I try to hold on to that thought. The age limit for starting paramedic training was raised after this, as I wasn't the only one who was too young for an accident of that scale. Today it is 18. A memorial stone has been placed on the site, but I still haven't been able to bring myself to visit it, even if we drive past the site every year on our way to visit family further north in the country. I needed hours of therapy to even be able to ride a train after this. To have gotten to the point where I now volunteer at a heritage railway and is in training to become a driver, is a HUGE step for me. My next goal is to visit the site of the accident.

On to next trauma… A previous employer, a rather large electric company in Norway, whom I worked for 8 years. The first five years were great, we were a close-knit bunch of electricians, and we had a great relationship with the bosses and higher-ups. Our labor union was strong.

It all started changing in 2009 when we got new leaders… and those decided to get rid of everyone who were a member of the union. One by one, they started harassing workers in various ways, trying to get them to quit. In Norway, they need a legal reason to fire you, it's not enough to not like someone. There has to be a good reason to fire someone e.g. theft, neglecting work… Since they didn't have any reasons to fire us, they started making our work lives gradually harder and harder until we would break and find another job. Sadly, one of my co-workers couldn't stand the pressure… He bid us all farewell as normal one Friday and hung himself the following day.. But as I was a girl in a male-dominated profession, I had been taught at an early stage to ignore anything that would hurt me emotionally, just arch my neck and plow through. I kept doing that, despite starting to feel more and more mental and physical pains… even my co-workers pointed out how I was being mistreated before I acknowledged it myself. I tried to tell my boss, but he reacted by treating me worse. So, I went to his boss… and that's when things went to hell. Instead of doing his job and listen, he started harassing me too. He deemed my over-weight a problem, and he started demanding I gave him detailed lists of what I ate and how much I worked out… Completely illegal of course, but by this point I was broken down to the point I thought I was useless and couldn't get another job… so I accepted. He started accusing me of lying about my exercise, so I started training at the gym in the basement at work instead. One day, while I was there, he locked the doors and turned the lights off. There were no windows, no cellphone reception and hardly anyone walking by in that part of the building… I sat there in the pitch dark for 3 hours before I was let back out. I still get badly triggered by narrow, dark rooms and rooms with no windows. To such an extent, I jumped out of a small window on the second floor of a gym when I was in boot camp. I was allowed to train downstairs in the bigger gym with windows on all walls after that incident…

The harassment at work went on for years until I finally snapped, ended up at the hospital and got into therapy for the first time. I don't want to go into depth about what more happened, I just can't… I can't bring myself to write it all. Luckily, I had gotten more education while working, so when I graduated, another company called and gave me an offer I just couldn't refuse. So, I quit my job and never looked back, even if the traumas I suffered there still haunts me to this day.

Sadly, even after switching jobs, now getting a safe job with sane leaders… I started to relax, and that's when all my past trauma came washing over me. And one day, on while driving to work, I had my first serious panic attack. It started as this feeling I used to have at the old company; getting sick to my stomach and having the sense of someone being out to get me… then it developed to breathing problems… and I had to pull the car over. I broke into tears, struggling to breathe, stumbling out of the car to read the logo on its side just to reassure my body and brain that I worked for a different company now and there was no reason for panic. I called my boss and let him know, because he also was a "refugee" from that other company, so he knew what me and several others had gone through. He managed to talk me down enough for me to come to the office to talk to him. That helped.

I got back into therapy. A better therapist this time. But sadly, it got apparent that I could no longer work as an electrician as there was too many triggers. I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and social anxiety. I'm still working on these and get better slowly.

I have been in therapy for a long time now, and it was my therapist that suggested I wrote fics to cope and "write it out". I tried to make up my own characters for this, but never felt any connection. I was by this time in the TTTE fandom and had met people with similar trauma and pasts like myself, and I started roleplaying with some of them. Me and a girl from UK then agreed to try to rp/co-write a fic to cope with our trauma. We both found it easier to write about pre-established characters we had a connection to, even if it was an au that made it barely recognizable from the original source material. Only the names and some minor things were similar.

That fic was Stepney's Virginity Gets Lost.

Do we regret writing it? No. It helped us write out our traumas and helped us overcome some mental obstacles in out therapy process. Our therapists cheering us on, because we finally managed to break through the hard shell surrounding us. We both cried for the first time in years while writing it, some of it through roleplay, because some parts were extremely graphic and brutal and very mentally exhausting. We had to take long breaks between each writing session, so the fic wasn't written in just a weekend. But we got a lot of darkness out of our minds by writing all this. And we were definitely NOT aroused by it, like this pervert here claims.

It's when you dare to touch and feel the difficult and dark emotions, you can finally move along in the grieving process.

Should it have been posted online?

In retrospect, no. But at the time, we thought it might help other trauma victims, as we also found reading about other people's experiences and fictions touching painful subjects helpful to ourselves. So, we posted it, never expecting it to cause such a controversy 3 years later. In fact, we had more or less forgotten about it until it came back to bit us in the ass. Or rather, bite ME in the ass, as I am getting the full blame alone.

Also, despite what people claim, it was not posted openly for children to read. It was tagged properly and hidden behind mature content walls. If a minor chooses to break that wall, that's not the author's fault. It's the same as watching a movie with an age restriction way above your age, not the filmmaker's fault.

I think MerciResolution puts it nicely here:

"If your problem lies with you KNOWINGLY entering adult spaces when you’re a minor, ignoring all mature warnings that are literally SCREAMING at you “hey, this is what you’re getting into. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

That’s ENTIRELY on you. YOU are the fucking problem.

We’re marking mature things as best as we properly can. If you decide to ignore them, that’s your own damn fault. We’re not your fucking babysitters."

Also, I never posted the story on Wattpad, so if anyone has done that, it's not me. I posted the story on Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt and AO3, that's all. If it's posted anywhere else, it's not done by me.

I had honestly moved on from it when people pulled me back into it.

Other people who have done questionable shit in that fandom are easily forgiven because "they have moved on" or "changed". Yet, nobody believes I can move on or change…?

I had moved on; my interests had changed. But people won't let me, so here I am… Having to defend some crap I did years ago. A fic I no longer have any interest in.

I'm not even interested in TTTE anymore. I have moved on with my own book project now and I would like to focus on that.

So, deleting my TTTE content, whether it was the SFW or NSFW stuff, didn't cost me a penny. It actually felt like a relief. The only downside with it is that people now can't read it and make up their own opinion about it, but will solely believe in what others say, and those things are often seriously bent out of shape and blown out of proportions to such an extent it's barely recognizable.

If people claim that Arry and Bert rape Stepney in the fic, they have never seen it or read it. That's not what happens. That's just an assumption made by looking at the title and knowing there is a rape/torture scene in it. But I'm not gonna tell who the victim is or who performed it, because this is the only way I am able to tell who has actually read the fic or not, who is just trying to spread bullshit and who is actually telling the truth. The person in that screenshot, has no idea what he's talking about.

Does SVGL romanticize rape and abuse?

No, not in the least. It's described as the horrible, heinous acts it is and is in no way meant to be cute or romantic and definitely NOT something anyone should get off to. If anyone finds it sexy, that's their problem, not the authors'. If anything, SVGL might romanticize suicide, because one of the characters isn't able to cope with his trauma and chooses to end their life. Which is something I considered doing myself when I was in the darkest pit of depression. So, I apologize for maybe romanticizing suicide. The following chapters describe how friends and family handle the loss and grief.

It also describes a toxic relationship, where one of the parts struggles to get out of it. They eventually manage to break free, but it is not easy. This can easily be translated to my previously mentioned relationship, as it was my way of writing out my experience about how hard it is to break out of a relation when your partner has broken you down to the point where you no longer believe in yourself and your self-worth.

The last chapters start to gradually become brighter, as both our lives started getting better too. But we never really wrote the end because we both lost interest in writing TTTE content by that time and just left it hanging.

I'm not the only one who has written NSFW TTTE fanfics out there. But it seems like violence and murder is more acceptable than sexual things? I do wonder how brutally mutilating children's show characters are more tolerable than sexually abusing them. Neither should be okay.

Some content creators hide behind "it was a joke". I have been told that such topics that SVGL touches upon shouldn't be joked about… so I didn't do that, and yet it was wrong? So how should such topics be treated? Be hidden like it's a shame, like in the old days when rape victims were told to suck things up and keep it to themselves? When those subject to abuse didn't dare to speak up because people would judge them?

I think it is important to talk about these subjects and why they are so problematic. Victims shouldn't have to hide their trauma; they should be allowed to talk openly about it without fearing judgement.

Some of you claim that writing isn't a good way to cope… You're trying to dictate how trauma victims deal with their trauma, and that's a dangerous path to walk down. Nobody handles trauma the same way. You might have your thoughts on how you would react, but you'll never know until trauma hits you… and you might not react the way you had expected or planned. Trauma messes with your head and you won't be able to think clearly. It makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't have done and can make you act out of character. So, do not judge people without having been in the same situation yourself. Ever.

Someone wrote that I have "more problems that just a rape".

Read that again.

Just a rape.

This person does not know how damaging a rape can be. And if you made it this far in this post, you know I didn't only go through one, but several. Not just by my ex, but also being ambushed while I was walking home from a party, and later; a co-worker forcing himself onto me at a building site. I can't go into depth about them all, I just can't.

Just a rape…

"Just" the feeling of not being in control of your own body and your own decisions. "Just" being robbed off your dignity and self-worth. "Just" having someone intrude into your private zone, tear your clothes off and claim your body against your will. "Just" feeling how your life force leave you as you realize that fighting against it won't help you, and you silently give up and just lay down waiting for it all to be over. "Just" spending hours in the shower, scrubbing your skin until you bleed because you can't wash the filth away and you keep feeling dirty no matter how much you clean yourself. "Just" waking up at night, after having relived the scene again in a nightmare. "Just" looking over your shoulder wherever you walk because you heard something or thought you saw something or simply because someone is walking behind you. "Just" the fact that you'll never feel comfortable walking alone at night again or have someone walk behind you. "Just" never being able to relax because your body constantly think you're in grave danger. "Just" a rape…

That's such a neck-beard thing to say. Someone who clearly think of other people's bodies as property or things. Not taking into consideration that we are living, breathing individuals with feelings. And that having another person violate us isn't something we like or that we'll easily get over. We want to choose who we give ourselves to, nobody should be forced. We didn't ask to be raped. We didn't want it. We didn't like it.

Rape is trauma.

Yes, we should have chosen other characters for the story, but we did what we did, and it cannot be undone now. So, if the only thing I will be remembered for in the fandom is that ONE fic, instead of all my other content, that's what it will be. That's what people chose to. I'm moving on.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

*sigh*

This is something that could only happen in America, isn't it?

Some people don't bother educating themselves. The "nazi-letters" you guys are talking about is actually part of the Norwegian alphabet and has nothing to do with Nazism or white-supremacy to do at all. The Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, the three extra is æ,ø,å or in capital letters: Æ,Ø,Å.

We can't help it if some morons over in the US abuse these letters as symbol of their twisted mindset.

Yes, my name contains one of those letters. It is my name… and I didn't choose it. It is a common Norwegian name.

As for me being a Nazi?

Those who knows me knows that I am as far from a Nazi as one can get. I despise Nazism with all my heart.

But the reason some people choose to believe so… was that some guy who has no hobbies or life went through every single fave I've made on DeviantArt since I joined the site in 2006, which is well over 20000 faves. And he found a few Nazi-characters from a web series I was following about ten years ago. I am very interested in history and especially WW2-history, so I found that particular web-series interesting and faved some artwork related to it. What this guy failed to notice is that I also faved the Allied characters… That's ALL there is to that story.

I has also faved a pic someone made of Joseph Goebbels (I think it was?) as a Pixar Car. That's not because I have any nazi-sympathies, but I simply found the concept of turning historical persons, both good and bad, into Cars as an interesting project. I would have faved any other historical Carsified person as well.

As for me being a Norwegian and have a natural pale complexion, that's not something I can help. That's nothing I choose. And it doesn't make me racist or Nazi. Period.

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

Again. Get educated.

This flag… is the actual flag of my country. The Kingdom of Norway.

There is nothing Nazi about it. It is not a symbol of white-supremacy. IT IS THE FLAG OF NORWAY.

During WW2 it was even illegal, so people would paint it everywhere in a protest against the Nazi-occpation and the SS. We even decorated our Christmas trees with it, and that is a tradition that has followed us into the modern day.

Again, if some idiots in the US choose to use it as a symbol for their disgusting logic, it is not Norway or the Norwegians' fault.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

I need people to elaborate here.

What exactly do you think I do to my daughter? What is the cause of your concern here?

The fact that I have made NSFW content? How is that harmful to her as long as I keep it away from her? You DO realize that even authors, pornstars and moviemakers have children and that they can be good parents, right?

Do you think I read pornographic content for her as bedtime stories? Or show her porn instead of kids TV? How sick are you guys, really…?

Some people even wanted CPS to take my child away from me… Have a look at these screenshots…

You want a happy, healthy, innocent child to be taken away from a stable, safe home with loving parents just because you don't like the content the mother made? You want her to be placed in foster care, where there is no guarantee that she will have a happy upbringing rather than have her stay with her parents who love her and care for her, for reasons she'll never understand and wasn't even aware of?

"Think of the children!" a lot of you say when it comes to my content. May I ask why this doesn't apply to my daughter?

Why do some of you go as far as to wishing her dead or wanting her to be removed from the home she feels safe and loved in? How is that thinking of the children?

As for the douchebag in that screenshot. You claim that if your mother did something like that you would want nothing to do with her… I have a question: Do you know EVERYTHING your mother do? Does she include you in each aspect of her life? Even her sexual life? No?

How do you know she doesn't do thing you don't approve of when you're not around? She could be a rabid pornmag reader for all you know. But stuff like that is something adults hide from their kids. So, you wouldn't know, unless you go snooping around in her business.

Everyone is entitled to privacy. What I and my husband do when our kid is not around is our business, not hers, and certainly not yours.

Porn and parenting are to be kept separate from each other. Period.

And we do.

There is absolutely no reason to be worried about my daughter. She is a happy, healthy child in a safe, stable home with family that loves her and cares for her. Not just me and my husband, but also grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

If you want to remove her from that over a stupid fanfic behind a mature content wall, you're the deranged person, not me.

This is all I have to say about all this and my time in the TTTE fandom. I have left by my own, free will. Yes, I am aware that many people don't want me there. That's fine. I don't want to be there.

I am a bit disappointed in those people who just blindly unfollowed me and unfriended me without any questions asked, just followed the leader. Big users tend to dictate who and what is worth following in that fandom. They will even protect real predators, but I'm not going to open that can of worms now. I'm done with the fandom.

Some of those people, I have been talking to regularly, even supported when they faced hardships in the fandom themselves. But when I got in trouble, they ditched me without a word…

If anything, this whole ordeal showed me who to trust and not, and who were true to their word when it came to how deep our friendship was. True friends at least give you the chance to explain before they drop you. I hold no ill feelings to those who did, at least they asked me before judging.

And those who still stayed with me, are the ones who truly know me and who I really am.

Some of the worst libels posted about me might be reported to the police, but I haven't made up my mind yet. I am not mentally strong at the moment, so I don't know if I have the strength to legally follow it all up. I will ask the cops at work for advice on the matter.

All I ask for now is some peace.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to follow me. You don't have to like my content. Feel free to invalidate me, I know a lot of you will.

But please, stop bullying me and my family.

Please stop sending me horrid messages and death threats.

Please stop doxxing me and calling me.

Please leave my family alone. If you don't care about me, at least care about them.

Please just ignore me. I have already left the fandom, there is no reason to keep hunting me.

I just want to move on and go on with my life and the content I am currently working on. After years in therapy, my life has gotten better, and I want to move on.

Please let me.

#good bye to ttte #tw//suicide #tw//rape #tw// bullying #tw//depression #tw//ptsd #tw//ttte #tw//sex #tw//abuse #tw//domestic abuse #I'm done

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tropicalfreckles · 4 years

Text

Friends Again CH 5

MASTER LIST found here

SUMMARY: A new dilemma has risen in Lydia that she takes to the only one she can talk to about it.

SOLIDARITY

B**TLEB*BES DNI

(TW mentions of J*no, mentions of murder(no murder tho), mentions of bullying, mentions of the wedding death scene)))

Another day of school, another day of Lydia having complex feelings bubble up in her stomach. This was getting borderline exhausting with all the thoughts she kept bottled up inside. Even though she had become more comfortable with her therapist, she still wasn't sure if she wanted to just spill her guts out about these thoughts. Closing the front door behind her, she swung her backpack off while exhaling a long groan. No one was home yet except for the Maitlands, of course. They were probably upstairs since she didn't see them after scanning the living room. Rummaging through her backpack on the table she pulled out things she needed for homework then sluggishly retreated upstairs. School wasn't engaging and often times left her yearning for more. The Maitlands had recently found a way to help make her learning more simulating through their ghostly powers. They were still learning themselves. They tried learning more from the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. However, as Adam put it, it 'read like radio instructions'. Lydia didn't have too much of a hard time understanding it personally. Though that probably was because she loved deciphering the nonsensical text.

Should she let the Maitlands know she's home?

She usually would announce herself. Yet, that feeling wasn't leaving her stomach. It dampening her mood. Lydia didn't want to bother the ghostly couple with her problem. Since she still didn't understand it entirely herself. It was days like these she wished her mom was still alive. Regret wove itself in her every once in a while for leaving the Netherworld. Missing her chance to reconnect with her mother again. She knew deep down it was for the best. She would've also liked it if Delia and her dad had waited for a while before getting wed. She understood though they felt the fleetingness of life and wanted to make the best of it as long as they both were breathing. That would be another can of worms for Lydia to tackle another day. Lydia tossed her things on her bed when she entered her room. Closing the door behind her then took off her shoes. Her nerves were starting to get the best of her when she walked over to her mirror and gazed at herself.

"Why are feelings stupid..." She muttered. Grabbing a hair tie off of her stand, she ran her fingers through the raven locks tying it up.

"That's because you breathers have too many feelings; It makes shit complicated." A gravely voice chimed in. Lydia flinched for a moment then turned to scowl at the older man.

"I told you that you couldn't come into the house yet!" She snarled at him. Lydia began rubbing the pads of her forefinger and middle in circles against the temple of her head. Beetlejuice snorted then crossed his arms.

"You ain't exactly the boss of me kid. I do what I want. Within reason of your dumb rules. Besides, I was bored waiting in the stupid cemetery. There weren't any breathers to mess with today so I couldn't get anyone else to say my name." Beetlejuice rambled on, giving Lydia a shrug. The young teen threw herself face first on her bed. She thought over for a moment how risky this was.

"You didn't let Barabara and Adam see you, right?" Lydia questioned, sitting up a little on her elbows. Beetlejuice hummed while pulling his eyes out from their sockets.

"Nope, not a peep!" He snickered while tossing them in the air like a pair of die. Lydia looked on unamused before rolling on her back to stare up at the ceiling. The demon popped his eyes back in.

"Oh boy, are you having one of those angsty teen moments again? Am I gonna have to leave while you recite goth poetry or some shit?" He floated up from the ground then whipped over to her. Lydia inhaled deeply before giving a loud groan.

"Go away if you're gonna be an ass." Lydia reached out for a pillow to grab. Beetlejuice tensed up as he knew it was meant for his face. He deflated a little when he saw her hug then bury herself against it. Just as the teen hated when he would get moody, he felt the same about her. Though it was strange, the past three months now that they've been hanging out he has started to feel something he never had before. Was it that gross thing called empathy? He sighed deeply while busying himself with picking at his nails. This was going to require some finesse.

"Alright, you twisted my arm Lyds. What's bugging ya? What can your ol' pal Mr. Betelboose do to, ugh, 'help'?" He peered from the corner of his eye to see if she'd budge. She did not. He did get a grunt in response. Some progress was a win for him. Lydia flailed her legs a little as a muffled groan rose from her. The demon patiently waited for her to speak.

"As bizarre as it is to say.." Lydia dug her fingernails into her pillow as she pulled it away from her face finally. Her features scrunched up, her lips pursed. Relaxing after a moment of what looked like deep contemplation from Beetlejuice's perspective she finally spoke. "I think you might be the only person I can talk to about this." Lydia softly spoke.

Now, this was interesting.

She was actually being vulnerable to him. He only saw her do that once and that was when she summoned him back from the Netherworld. That was because of everything that built up from before. This seemed to be a new dilemma on the young girl's mind. He waved his hand to let her know she could continue.

"Beej. When did you discover that you had feelings for guys, too?" Lydia drawled out while shiftily gazing around the room. Anywhere other than making eye contact. Beetlejuice stroked his scruffy chin while trying to figure out what she meant by that. Was there a boy she liked? Did his stoic bratty friend actually have sappy feelings as well?

Wait.

"You're asking how I knew I was into more than just women? Well, first off, there is one thing ya gotta know about the Netherworld. Most folks swing both if not all ways." Beetlejuice jokingly conjured up a baseball bat and took multiple swings in different directions with it. It earned him a snort which he grinned at before continuing.

"It kind of came as an easy realization for me. I know that the stupid shit you breathers go about here on the mortal plane carries off into the Netherworld sometimes. It doesn't stick for long cause who the hell are you gonna complain to? No one." He rolled his eyes remembering all of the bigoted folks that would come through and get their panties in a twist at how the rest of the Netherworld was. While he wasn't the biggest fan of staying there all the time it wasn't always horrible there. The world of the living was more of a party for him.

"How did you really know, though?" Lydia hugged the pillow closer to her while sitting up. Beetlejuice plopped himself onto the bed next to her. Lydia had a surprisingly smart melon in that goth head of hers. He was curious why she was doubting herself so much.

"Probably when I made out with that one famous painter." He picked at his teeth. Lydia arched a brow.

"Which one?"

"You know me, scarecrow, don't kiss and tell." He grinned at her. Lydia gently smacked his knee.

"Oh BS, you always name drop famous people." She snorted. Beetlejuice snickered, moving his hands behind him then slid back more on the bed.

"You're right, I just don't remember the guy's name right now. Listen. I guess I get it. I've been observing you breathers for almost a millennia. Feelings are gross. But I know when it comes to this stuff it can be hard. Especially for kids. If there's something ya gotta blab to me about." He tilted his head in her direction while making sure he had her attention. She gave a slow nod for him to continue, "Then I'm listening."

Lydia inhaled deeply. This was nerve-racking. She just didn't know how to even express herself.

"I... I might have." Lydia banged her head into the soft pillow and gave a small whine. "I might.. like a girl at school." She spoke barely above a whisper. Beetlejuice leaned over since he could barely hear her. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the smell yet allowed him to do so.

"What was that kid? Gotta speak up." He gave a coy smile. Lydia scowled at him then looked away.

"I said... That I might like a girl at school. I'm not repeating myself again." Her cheeks were heating up at how embarrassing this was. Not so much expressing her feelings. It was more talking about a damn school crush to her stupid demon friend she was starting to make amends with. She looked over to him after a moment of making sure he wasn't going to tease her then noticed him grinning wide.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. HA. Of course, you're into girls! Look at you, you're tiny, snarky all the time and goth." Beetlejuice yammered on as he elbowed her side.

"Ha-ha, is this amusing to you or something? I just spilled my damn guts out." Lydia frowned, her cheeks flushed. Beetlejuice shook his head.

"Eh, maybe a little, I just find it funny that widdle Lydia has a crush. Always figured you were too feral and hated people too much for that." He pinched her cheek. She was close to snapping her teeth at his fingers. She opted for batting his hand away. Lydia wiped her cheek with her sleeve. He snickered in response then rested his elbows on his knees.

"Call me 'widdle' again and I'll throw you off the roof as I did before." She stuck her tongue out at him then took note of him smirking at her. "What?"

"Nuthin'. Just weird seeing you actually act like a teenager instead of your usual dry, deadpan self." He patted her hard on the back to which she grunted at him. "Good for you! Better to be your real self than locking that shit away. Dolores and Chuck'll probably be. I don't know, what's that word you breathers use now? 'Woke'? About this. I know the Maitlands will be. Ugh, they are just soooo supportive it's disgusting." He gagged at his last sentence to which Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I don't know if I'm going to tell anyone. At least not yet." Lydia softly spoke as she played with the pillow resting in her lap. Beej quirked a brow at her then snorted. He gave a soft bap on her head with his fist.

"Listen. I don't normally give pep talks that aren't about scaring, murder or crap. I guess I can try to understand. Daphne might be too intrusive about it. Chuck might just be super awkward about it and say something embarrassing. The other nerds are definitely gonna dote on you." Beetlejuice picked at his teeth. "Eh, take your time if you wanna. Just know that the Netherworld when ya shed your meat-sack body is gonna be fine with who or what yer into. Fuck what anyone else thinks." He let out a long yawn then stretched a little. "Trying to be nice makes me wanna take a nap or doing something nasty. Or hurl. Can't decide, this is gross."

Lydia looked over the demon while taking note of his words. She snickered at him dramatically pretending to upheave then shoved him.

"Stop being gross for five minutes." Lydia snorted then sat back on her bed finally letting go of her pillow. "Honestly.. My stomach is in a knot still. Part of me kind of wants to tell her however I don't want people to.." Midway through Lydia trailed off into a soft whisper. "I just don't want more of a reason for people to target me at school. I can handle myself for the most part. Just kind of hard when they gang up on me." She tugged at the edge of her school uniform. Without skipping a beat Beetlejuice responded.

"Want me to kill 'em for ya? I mean, if they're that big of lil assholes I'd probably be doing their parents a favor." Beetlejuice grinned while taking out a knife from his sleeve. "I'll 'cut' them down to size!" He cackled while swishing the knife around. Lydia ducked down then snorted.

"No. Murder isn't the answer to everything, BJ. Those girls are jerks but they aren't the root of the problem. Kids don't naturally act like bigoted brats. It's probably coming from their parents or something, to begin with." Lydia grabbed his arm to make him stop swinging the knife. Beetlejuice clicked his tongue then thought over what she said.

"Alright. Kill the parents and the brats. Two for two-plus no sad little orphans!" Beetlejuice hovered off the bed in glee while throwing his arms up into the air. "It'll be a real scream Lyds! Just let me loose on 'em! Come on! I haven't killed anyone since Juno!" He flexed his fingers while looking to her like an overjoyed child in a candy store. Lydia raised her hand up with a shake of her head.

"Didn't I just say murder wasn't the answer to everything?" She answered dryly while quirking a brow at him.

"I don't know, you murdered me pretty fast to try and kick my ass into the Netherworld," Beetlejuice muttered. Lydia inhaled deeply through her nostrils then slapped his thigh with her pillow.

"I'm serious. No murdering people on my behalf. I appreciate the enthusiasm but I don't want the cops on me. Making people suffer is more fun anyway." Lydia dropped the pillow then stretched her legs out. Beetlejuice floated back down to the bed then gave a little pout.

"Bah. Thought you were more fun than that, kid. Though torture also sounds like a blast." He stroked his scruffy chin. The goth teen kicked her feet against the edge of the bed.

"I was thinking more about pranking." She chuckled. "You know.. I might try talking to that girl. Just not yet." Lydia lulled her head against her shoulder to peer back at the demon. "I hate to stroke that big ego of yours. I wanna tell you that I kind of appreciate you talking to me about this. It's nice to talk to someone else who is attracted to the same gender." She took out her phone then opened the browser.

"Plus I see myself as more than one gender. Though that's a topic for another time, kid." He waved his hand as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lydia swung her head up to stare at him.

"Oh; does that mean you're genderfluid?"

"Gender what now?" Beetlejuice quizzically stared at her while scratching the top of his scalp. Lydia quickly brought something up on her phone then showed him.

"You identify as more than one gender. See?" Lydia began scrolling through a website about the LGBTQ+ community while Beetlejuice crossed his arms and tried reading over it.

"Huh. Well shit. Guess so? Then what's being attracted to more than one gender?" He quickly snatched the phone out of her hand to look over it more.

"Well, that is a broader category. You could be either Bisexual or Pansexual." She sat up on her knees as she pressed the pad of her forefinger into the screen. Slowly she scrolled back up on the browser and pointed out the two. Beetlejuice hummed then plopped the phone back into her lap.

"Learn something new every day!" Beetlejuice grinned. The two froze when they heard the familiar voice of a woman echoing through the house.

"Lydia?? Are you home? We can get started on your homework if you want!" Barbara's hand began phasing through the door. With that Beetlejuice flung himself out the window as Lydia swatted grave dirt he left behind on her bed.

"Coming Barbara!" Lydia called.

She couldn't keep hiding him forever.

#beetlejuice #lydia deetz #chaos siblings #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice musical #friends again #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic #my writings

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cloudbattrolls · 5 years

Text

A Smell of Stale Feeling

Etuuya Vannyn | Imperial Colony #433 | Present Night

In the vast cosmic tapestry of the empire there are planets of incredible wonders.

Waterfalls vast enough that they’re almost seas on their own, jungles where the line between animal and plant thins into nothingness as eyes watch you from every trunk and patch of vines, and planets where suns even harsher than Alternia’s have baked the deserts into glass.

Colony #433, more commonly known as the Pits, with its stinking swamps of negligible biological diversity and sweltering humidity, isn’t one of them.

Even before the Empire sunk its hooks in, the planet wasn’t considered much of a prize.

You fancy it would’ve been abandoned long ago for richer conquests if it weren’t for one key reaso -

Ow.

You swallow down a curse as your elbow gets bumped against a wall. Not that you’d probably make any noise now anyway; can hardly get air into your throat when you’re so much crumpled up skin and bones right now, only a few clusters of worms remaining to allow you to function and have basic awareness.

Not that you’d want more. You’re folded up and stuck in a damn box, all senses stifled, and you are developing a hell of an itch on your chin.

At least you’re almost there, if your count is correct.

The place you’re being carried through by unwitting janitors thinking you’re nothing but sealed hazardous waste is the colony’s main surveillance hub. A dull gray and squarish concrete building squatting near the edge of a bubbling swamp, it couldn’t look more depressing if it tried, but it turned out to have surprisingly good security.

So good that you and your trolls were forced to devise a plan where you are currently developing high sympathy for luggage.

Several of them had objected on the grounds that this was a distraction, and in fact made the mission more risky. They were right, but you countered by asking them that if they didn’t want to stick it to the Empire, why were they here? Also, who was in charge, might they recall.

If anything, your little sideshow should help the main plan.

You feel your carriers stop, exchange some words in a thick colonial accent that’s difficult to parse, and set you down. They chat for a few minutes, and you make out laughter and discussion of the coliseum games after work later. One of the planet’s only entertainments, and completely cruelty-free.

To trolls.

After some extra obnoxious minutes, they finally all file out on the lunch break you know they’re taking, and with a bit of struggle you cut the lid open and, wobbly, manage to climb out.

You look like you’ve been pressed in an iron and starving for nights, so skeletal and squashed do you appear right now. Your clothes hang off you as you take a moment to undo the knots in your hair, scratch that itch, and check that your horn tines haven’t been chipped.

No more than that, and you quickly crawl into a vent (replacing the grate behind you after nearly busting your arms popping it off) in case one of them comes back, closing your eyes as you check on your other worms.

The first and biggest cluster is in position, writhing around in their tank made to mimic a jade’s body temperature, with some blood to keep them from entering torpor.

The second cluster...oh, that’s bad.

You grit your teeth. You knew this was a possibility, and it’s not entirely their fault, but you’ll have to deal with the fallout as it comes. Stupid things.

The third cluster is intact, and not where it’s supposed to be. Not too far off, but distant enough from you that you can’t quite tell where.

Not great, since if you don’t get infusions soon you could be shoved over by a two sweep old.

“Are you in position?”

The voice in your ear buzzes through your completely biological communication piece; no waves any of the colony’s surveillance can pick up on at all.

“Almost.” You grunt back, climbing through the vent with the gecko-like gloves you have on and trying to ignore your growing weakness. “Do you have the weapons prepped for knockout?”

“Everything except for the DNA cannons, so you’re fine.”

You roll your eyes and pause at an intersection in the metal vents, then remember which way it is. Empress, you’re slow right now.

“I’m not the priority. Can you get the cannons?”

“Not without exposing ourselves.”

“Then hijack some shields while I’m doing my bit. If you can’t, sabotage them. ”

“Yes, Captain Vannyn.”

Bloody Tulais and her bloody title for you. What a joke.

Your clumsy almost-hollow arm clangs against the size of a vent and you freeze, hearing discussion in the room it’s in the side of. You’re so close.

These accents aren’t as thick as the others, so you can make the voices out better.

“You think another frograt got in?”

“With our luck? A whole nest. Everything in this place hates it too!”

They stretch out their o’s and u’s oddly, and v’s sound like f’s. A ripple of slightly grim laughter.

“I can’t wait to be promoted. My rail’s been saving so we can retire somewhere nice, and my ash has a new sprit I haven’t even met.”

“Pfft, why you want to? You’ll scare them off with your mug!”

You force yourself to keep going amidst more laughter and teasing. If you hear too much you’ll lose your nerve for what you need to do.

The second cluster...you divert the ones left alive toward this room.

Said survivors were those not quick enough to burrow into the alien slaves who found them. The ones who did died from the toxic blood. You don’t think the aliens are dead, but you don’t know. If not, you’ll help them later. Meanwhile, you wait minutes before you feel the worms squirm in. They’re weak too; even the survivors won’t last long outside your body or without some blood in them.

If you don’t have as close to your full count of worms at your destination, you could be at risk of being weak enough to get taken down, weapons or no.

“What? That’s not a frograt.”

“Ehh, duh. Huh, there’s a lot...wonder if something else tracked them in.”

“Let’s grab some, take them to the boss.”

Shit.

What you do to them should be forbidden. Blood runs out of their mouths as worms swarm and tear their mouths apart inside. They keep them from breathing until they pass out.

The little white parasites slip back to you through the room’s grate, delighted at their feed, and you continue on.

The voice in your ear hisses.

“What’s taking you? We’ll be discovered by patrols soon.”

“Less than a minute.”

You can feel the third cluster now, it’s...right above you. Great.

Steeling yourself, you pop open the grate and stick your head out, blinking in the dim lights after the dusty darkness of the grate.

The poor aliens your worms burrowed into like the simple creatures they are are lying cut open on a table you can just see the top of. No one’s noticed you yet; they’re all poring over the bodies, and there’s your third cluster of worms in its tank on another table.

Sealed shut with metallic clamps so none of them can escape.

At least they haven’t noticed the security footage is on loop; the tech team’s done their job, so they won’t have seen what you had to do to your three victims back in that room. The first cluster is still in place.

You still have a chance.

You wriggle out onto the floor and then spring up with as much energy as possible.

“Hello there, assorted miscreants and ne’er-do-wells! Oh - is that rude? Not as rude as how you treat the locals.”

“Who the fuck are you?” One bellows, pointing a gun at you. Several others follow suit, looking away from their little dissection party.

You’ve got to do something about those clamps, but are the guns disabled yet...?

You spring across the heads of the gathered trolls anyway and are rewarded with fire as you duck behind the container. A few shots pierce it and make some very convenient holes, though you get hit as well and are forced to the ground as they gather around you.

It’s just as well, as your worms writher back into you. You make sure they do it in as flashy a way as possible, dragging it out as the now horrified and furious group backs off.

You give them a bright, wide smile full of sharp teeth as the bullets clatter from your body, worms plugging the holes.

Then the biggest cluster swarms out of the room’s floor itself and into your body, lifting you up on stilts of white as you laugh at the looks on their faces as they crash backwards, realizing their guns won’t shoot anymore and whoops - the door is locked.

You wag a finger as your parasites find their places again and fill out your husk, making you whole again.

“Ah, ah. See, I noticed when I was researching your planet that you like to make the native aliens kill each other for sport. So much that there are hardly any left, even though you force them to breed. Even though they’ve been found to have the intelligence of wrigglers. Even though they didn’t attack you first.”

“They’re aliens. Who cares?” One troll complains. “I dunno where you’re from, freakshow, but there’s nothing to do out here. What’re you, some alien who goes around sticking their face in other aliens’ business?”

“Funny story, that - ”

“Don’t care. Come on, let’s rush ‘em. There’s just one of the things, we saw all the worms go into it.”

Some trolls look angry enough to attack you, but others look faintly ill.

Your smile gets bigger as you let worms out from behind your shoulders to form two chains lifting her up as you step up to her. Her clothes quickly become stained with her olive blood as they start to work.

“Do you feel them chewing your flesh? Draining your blood? I could make your death as slow as I wanted. I could infest everyone in this room. I could consume your insides bit by bit as you watched helplessly.”

Your voice is almost gentle, but the toothy smile and gleam in your bright jade eyes hold nothing but malice.

“You all get one more chance to treat the remaining aliens correctly. Oh, and don’t think of trying to make any reports to the empire, or fellow colonies; all your satellites and communications are down.”

An explosion goes off in the distance.

“That’s my cue. And so none of you get any bright ideas...”

You drain so much blood from them you can’t hold it all. It pools on the floor, cerulean mixing with olive, bronze mixing with yellow as it drips back through the vent you came from. A sad waste, but there’s nothing for it. They’ll all live, but they’ll be weakened for weeks.

Living at the tender mercy of their slaves.

When everything’s been cleaned up and trolls have been stationed, working on fake reports to the Empire to cover the gap in communications and seizing control, you sit near one of the globe-like trees that radiates heat, shuffling your feet with restlessness from so much blood. It’s so humid you feel slightly damp all over.

Most of your trolls are resting a good fifty feet away, down the slight slope you’re on. Easy for you to keep an eye on, but far enough that you can’t disturb them.

The voice in your ear - Tierel, promoted at the same time you were - walks toward you.

“Are they all stable?”

The yellow rolls their eyes.

“Yeah, though one turned out to have hemophilia, so it was pretty touch and go. The three trolls you knocked out by choking are in shock. One keeps retching, and the others are shaking constantly.”

They pause, as if waiting for a response. You only nod.

“Why do you care? They’re Empire scum.” They burst out. “You’re the one that did this to them! They have it coming anyway.”

“Arguably, yes.” You examine your claws. “And I really enjoyed it. Which is the problem.”

“They’re doing messed up shit, even for the Empire. You’ve got a right.”

A right. Does a monster ever have a right to be monstrous? To take delight in the warped and perverse things they can do?

No. It’s like you told Tiijah: no matter the excuse, or the supposed nobility, it all boils down to sadism and power.

“A right to stop them, a right to scare them. Yet we’ll be leaving them at our mercy with those who remain to enforce our terms and I’ll have to hope those trolls don’t become drunk on power themselves. They’ll live in fear because of us, especially me. I don’t regret it, Tierel, but call it what it is; a power play.”

They sigh very deeply and shake their head. They’re wearing that shirt you mended for them ages ago.

“Whatever. I really came up here to ask if you if you wanted to sit with us.”

You blink, then smile slightly.

“Good prank! You had me going for a moment.”

“Do you ever stop being stupid for five seconds? I mean it.”

“Sweet lemontree, I am sure you do, but be considerate of everyone else who isn’t weirdly tolerant of me. If you want to sit here, I can’t stop you, but don’t drag your friends into it.”

They step closer and cross their arms.

“I’m inviting your dumb, stubborn ass because we’re grateful you took the risk of infiltration for us. A lot aren’t psyched about the extra work, but we only lost a few trolls. Way fewer than if we would’ve had to get anyone else in there besides you.”

You sit bolt upright.

“We lost trolls? Where? Why?”

Tierel’s face falls, their nicked ears drooping.

“Right before you took over the control room, a patrol snuck up on us. Nailed three of us before the weapons knockout took hold. We had to leave them to snag the shields on time.”

"Who?”

“Uh...I can find out their names.”

“Please. Tell me if they had quadrants. Everything you can find.”

Tierel shuffles in place, looking at you with an odd, almost pitying expression.

“All of us know we can die in the field, Captain. They accepted the risks. Hell, we’re celebrating because of how bloodless this all was. A lot because of you.”

You drain trolls half dead and traumatize them, and your force calls it bloodless. They celebrate. The victims were just empire scum.

It’s not that you can summon a lot of compassion for the colony trolls. Each and everyone knew what was happening with the aliens, and each and every one ignored it.

But somewhere there’s a moirail and an auspicitice who will never hear from their quadrant again. Not for at least ten sweeps, and anything could happen in that time.

You close your eyes.

“They can come up here, if they want. If they really want. Don’t you make them.”

Tierel raises a sardonic eyebrow.

“Is it that hard to believe they’re willing to be around you? We follow you into combat.”

“That’s not a ringing endorsement of your good judgment.”

The lowblood snorts and goes back down.

There really are four very sweaty trolls following them when they come back and you open your eyes. Huh.

You feel horribly shy, but you can hardly afford to seem it.

“So! I don’t even want to mention the weather, but have you ever heard the joke about the matron and the courtesan?”

It turns out they haven’t. Or the one about the seamstress and the three lusii who argued over her, and to decide she sewed hats for all of them...

This is madness. You should be ordering them away.

Instead you find yourself smiling at their own jokes and comments, even as part of you screams inside.

What are you doing, Vannyn?! Playing tame drinker? Tricking yourself and them? Don’t they realize if they were on the other side you’d have drained them just the same?

Your smile drops and you remember Rivali’s hatred and disgust.

Rivali, who alone sees you as clearly as anyone can.

“What’s up, Captain?”

You manage what you hope is a convincing bright expression and look for Tierel.

“Oh, I just drifted off. Don’t mind me - I’m an experienced nightdreamer.”

They go back to chatting, as you resist the urge to run away.

Next time will be different. If your force won’t learn why they shouldn’t be near you, you’ll have to teach them.

No matter what it takes.

#cloud writes #etuuya vannyn #has issuuuuuuues #weirdly enough being in close proximity with someone who hates you and thinks you're disgusting and shouldn't exist #doesn't do good things for your psyche #tw gross worm shit #tw near suffocation #a pyre for crows

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