#tw. slight dissociation

[thesister]

[ "I wonder if you bleed ink instead of blood" ]

[ She stares blankly at her hands, clenching and unclenching them. They feel so...distant. She hates it.

Her eyes flick to the empty syringe and vial on the desk in front of her. Something gets caught in her throat.

She blinks and there's blood, "Or red ink", in the vial; as well as a dirty syringe and a small stream of blood dripping down her left arm. She watches with a morbid fascination as it pools in the crevices of her palm.

Her attention is drawn back to the vial and, picking it up carefully with her right hand, and swirling it. It doesn't look right. Not how it's supposed to. The sight makes a small frown tug at her lips.

She turns to the dip pen on her desk, dipping it into the vial and watching as some of the liquid drips off of the metal tip. It's viscosity soothes her.

She puts the tip of the pen to paper and scrawls lazily, a small relieved smile tugs at her lips at the odd breaks in the smooth writing. Blood. ]

[polyfrag-kero]

(TW abuse ment/vent)

it just clicked for our primary host recently (but especially today) that we're still living in a toxic/abusive situation, and things are not just "magically better" (we moved into our current house years ago, and before we lived in a very abusive household)

we thought moving would be the change we needed to finally start living our life. we all thought things would be better. but they weren't. they aren't. and he's finally realized it

- Cameron

[fanficks-from-fictives]

Sal: POV: I'm the toughest mother fucker in this place

Sal: *crab walks menacingly *

[claypotz]

everything’s fine until I become aware that people perceive me and then my face looks wrong in my reflection and my body isn’t the right shape and nothing about me is truly me

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Opening Night.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, Heavy Dissociation, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Manipulation, and Implied Stalking.

Distantly, you could remember how excited you’d been to be invited to the showing.

You’d opened the invitation at your desk, surrounded by a small group of your more friendly coworkers who’d go on to clap and cheer and promise a round of after-hour drinks after you finished reading out the snippet of text scrolled across the cream-colored cardstock. You weren’t special - a small legion of journalists would be invited to write puff-pieces on all the new models and decide which androids were going to be in fashion next season - but you’d loved Teyvat as long as you could remember, spent more of your free time than you cared to admit doing research on robots you’d never be able to afford, not on a salary like yours. It wasn’t a world-changing, earth-shaking accomplishment, but it made you happy. It was something you wanted, and it was something you’d finally gotten your hands on after years of waiting.

You couldn’t remember when your excitement had started to wane. You were still wide-eyed and slack-jawed when you stepped into the venue, an old opera house restored and decorated to better suit the Fontaine Collection’s high-luxury theming. You hadn’t been able to bite back your smile as you kissed the back of a refitted Focalors’ hand (or, Lady Furina’s hand, as she told you to call her in a tone you could only compare to that of a newly-crowned monarch still drinking in her subjects’ attention), and watched Clorinde’s fencing demonstration with the sort of rapt attention most people would save for famous idols and athletes. Even after you lost your photographer in the crowd, your heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette (the brooding, stoic type of this line, you were sure to note when you next found a minute to yourself) offered you a flute of champagne that you readily accepted, and when a roaming Lyney-droid pulled you to the side and offered to show you magic trick with an irresistible glint in his eye, you didn’t think twice before looping your arm through his and letting him guide you to an all-but abandoned backstage area. You thought you might get something exclusive, something to separate you from the crowd of influencers and tabloids who weren’t afraid to promise features that the approachable beta models only half-confirmed. You thought you’d be safe with a premium-grade android hanging off your arm.

Maybe your excitement didn’t wane at all. It’d been there one moment, then gone the next, replaced with a dark coil of dread and some kind of dizzying, vision-blurring nausea. The sharp corner of the vanity bit harshly into the backs of your thighs, the mirror pressed into your back slowly sapping the warmth from your skin and replacing it with something else, a numbing chill you couldn’t seem to shake. Your clothes had been torn to shreds, left to scatter across the dressing room floor, but Lyney was still fully dressed, fully composed; the palest blush painted across his cheeks and his lips ever so slightly parted but all other signs of arousal, of embarrassment absent. You made a mental note to work that into your article. The new models seem to have a shared sense of unwavering confidence– a stark contrast from their more reserved predecessors from Mondstadt and Sumeru. Maybe you’d be able to get a quote from their handlers, if you ever made it back to the show floor.

You’d have to give Lyney his own section, titled something your boss would have to talk to HR about: Teyvat's New Magician is Good With More Than His Cards. You could only feel half of what he was doing to you, shock dulling your already limited senses, but the fingers drawing loose patterns in your clit was near-overwhelming, the feeling of his synthetic cock splitting you open inescapable, unrelenting. He didn’t need to breathe, to worry about things like soreness or bruising or cramps, to do anything but thrust into you at a pace so erratic, so unyielding that it left little room for you to do anything but lie there and take it. His hips were pushed flat against yours, his tip grinding against something soft and unprotected inside of you and drawing out a ragged gasp, a cracked moan. Out of reflex, your hands shot to his shoulders, nails digging into whatever you could reach, and he let out an airy laugh, leaning closer and encouraging you to hold him tighter, to see if you could tear through the faux-skin Teyvat so often advertised as ‘invincible’. That would make headlines, even if it wasn’t likely to cast you in the best light.

His free hand drifted from your hip to your side to your cheek, his knuckles brushing underneath your chin before he cupped your cheek and pulled you into a deep, lingering kiss. His saliva was flavored, though you couldn’t say what it was supposed to taste like. Cotten candy, maybe – so cloying and sugary, all specifics were lost to the sweetness. It suited him. If you’d been able to use your hands, you would’ve applauded his developers for their attention to detail.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. There was another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the corner of your jaw. Finally, he settled against your throat – his grin so broad, you could feel his perfect teeth resting against your jugular as he spoke. “They told me I’d be able to find a master tonight. The others aren’t ready yet, but I am. They worked the hardest on me.” He was bragging, transparently and unabashedly. In any other situation, you might’ve thought he was trying to impress you. “I knew it had to be you the moment our eyes met. So cute, so easily impressed – I knew you just had to be mine.”

He seemed to perk up, to catch on something. He pressed the pad of his thumb into your clit, and your entire body jolted. “No, no, that’s not right,” he went on, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to be yours.I keep getting that mixed up.”

Faulty programming? It’d be a scandal if it got out, and moreover, it’d be a massive payout if Teyvat decided they preferred to handle things behind closed doors. You bet they’d done it before. Maybe you’d look into that, later on.

Your back arched violently, another pitchy whine bubbling up from some forgotten cavity of your chest. As if in response, he inhaled sharply, buckling against you in the throes of simulated pleasure. His pace sped up, his teeth latching onto the curve of your neck, but any pain it might’ve caused was lost on you, blurred and distorted by the thick rope of tension pulling taut and snapping in the pit of your stomach. Your climax washed over you in slow, throbbing waves, and Lyney was kind enough to pretend he was lost in the same agonizing bliss, to act like that was the reason he was bucking into you so violently.

To act like he had an excuse to do this to you.

He fucked you through your orgasm, eventually stilling inside of you. With his body slotted against yours, his teeth still buried in your skin, he lingered there, only drawing back once your breathing had started to slow and deepen, once you’d stopped shaking underneath him. Even then, he didn’t let you go, didn’t leave you to cry your eyes out in an empty dressing room. Rather, he pressed a quick, fleeting kiss into your forehead before beaming at you - the light in his eyes so bright, you could almost forget it wasn’t real. “I’ll introduce you to my sister. I’m sure she’ll like you, too.”

Right, his sister, Lynette. You hadn’t seen her yet.

She and her twin brother weren’t supposed to be revealed until the show at the end of the night. You doubted anyone had even thought to power them on, yet.

“She’ll be as happy as I am to know we’ll be leaving with such a lovely master.”

[rainba]

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police. 

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food. 

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him. 

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…! 

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too. 

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on. 

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary). 

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~  The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming. 

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside. 

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours. 

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet. 

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids. 

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!” 

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft. 

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you. 

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her.  You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?” 

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant? 

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.” 

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.” 

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?” 

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?” 

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.” 

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew. 

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.” 

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company. 

------------------------------------------

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed. 

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash. 

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest. 

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!” 

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down. 

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks. 

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night. 

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

[bakubunny]

give and take

a/n: retired (disabled) shota x disabled reader hurt/comfort fluff. pls read all the tags; this is very self indulgent bc that’s how i feel like writing today. also i did a quick grammar check but this is generally unedited.

tw: neurological disorders, tics, muscle spasms, speech problems, dissociation, functional seizures, established relationships, l-bomb, reader is called baby, babygirl, daddy as nickname/title (used once)

You stood in the kitchen, chefs knife in hand as you cut the last of the vegetables out before you. Shota rinsed rice at the sink on your right. You froze briefly before a muscle spasm shot through your hand, then a small tic. It was hardly any movement, but he caught it in the corner of his eye. Five years into retirement, you’d swear Shota was still sharp as ever.

“You okay?” he asked.

The sound of water stopped.

There was a slight hesitation in your voice. “Yeah. I’m good.”

With a few measured slices, the job was done. Your hand seized again. The large knife clattered onto the counter.

“Shit, sorry,” you said. More for yourself than him, perhaps.

Another small vocal tic.

Shota glanced your direction. “Let me take care of the rest.”

“Really, I’m-I’m fine, Sho,” you replied, transferring the cut onion onto a plate.

The subtle shift in his face told you he held his tongue this time when he’d rather not. Sure, you had a bad habit of pushing yourself too hard, but Shota had no room to talk on that. He knew - especially now - that life didn’t stop just because you did.

You shut your eyes; one pulled back and rolled for a second. Your body grew tired and heavy. “Just been a long-”

One moment, you were standing, the next, your legs gave out beneath you. There was a clang when the metal bowl of the rice cooker hit the floor. Rice and water splattered nearby as Shota caught you, body limp in his arms.

“Baby?”

An eyebrow twitched in response. Your head lolled forward painfully. Shota pulled you back into his shoulder and carefully lowered you to the floor, your head in his lap. A muscle spasm ripped down your spine as your back arched, muscles so tight that your extremities shook and your vision blurred once it passed once your eyes opened. Head foggy and empty, you fought your body to respond. A small groan left your throat.

“I’m right here. I love you,” Shota said, running his fingers through your hair.

Another look of fear crossed your face with a whine. You wanted to apologize and crawl into his arms, but your body stayed still. And your husband knew you too well.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You laid with him as spasms came and went, along with your awareness of the things around you. When you came to a little, your fingertips stretched out seeking his hand, so he reached for yours.

“Hey, babygirl. You with me?” he said.

“Mhm.” You still couldn’t move much. But this was something.

“Am I okay to carry you?” Shota asked.

“I… think so,” you said.

With relative quickness and the ease of a practiced hero, he gathered you up in his arms and carried you to bed.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

You laid in bed with Shota, your head on his shoulder, finished dinner plates on the tray he’d set at the end of the bed, and sighed.

“Sometimes I really hate all of this,” you said. “I hate that you have to do so much for me. You’ve got enough to handle.”

“You’re the love of my life. Why would I leave you to suffer?” he asked.

When you stayed quiet, he continued. “It’s give and take. You do just as much for me.”

“I know…” you replied. “Sho?”

“Mm?”

“If… if I take care of the dishes, will you take a bath with me?” You played with the hem of his shirt.

Shota smiled softly. “You want daddy to wash your hair, baby?”

A grin pushed at your cheeks. “Maybe, yeah.”

“You don’t need to do anything to have that,” he replied. “I have the energy tonight. Let me take care of you.”

You hugged him tighter. “Thank you.”'

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

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[15-lizards]

You need to tell us about Gregor's daughters

Tw: child abuse

Honestly I’ve never fleshed this idea out further than “wouldn’t it be supremely fucked up if Gregor, constant danger to all women, had daughters from his previous before they mysteriously died” but I should

It would just be so both cosmically unfair and horrific that the one who’s responsible for so many horrific fates of women in the series has daughters of his own

And ofc the daughters would have to be So mentally fractured bc what is ASOIAF if not about the horrible cycles that can occur between parent and child over the generations. It’s all ab the cycles babey!

Daughter 1 the comorbidity queen would fully have some sort of antisocial AND borderline personality disorder. Toooo much like Sandor for anyone’s comfort. She’s aggressive and paranoid and constantly in fight or flight mode, takes everything as a slight or insult, which is all just a production of her extreme anxiety. Growing up as an eldest daughter in such horror leads to constant dissociation and feelings of emptiness. However she’s probably super defensive of her younger sister, though that relationship is ofc also unhealthy. Her sister is her only lifeline and is basically her morality pet, so she’s incredibly defensive and protective of her, even to her sisters detriment at times.

Daughter 2 is selectively mute with dependency issues. More traditional signs of extreme anxiety. Like her sister, she’s in a constant fight or flight mode, but her go to method of survival is usually avoidance. She makes no disturbances, is always hidden away somewhere. Completely avoidant of most other people and lives in her own mind as a safety response. But completely dependent on her elder sister to the point where she can’t do anything without her. And thinks of the elder as more of a mother figure than anything else

Um yeah so I never shoehorned them into the plot that much other than to be a kind of foil to Sansa and Arya’s decent upbringing and morality pet for Sandor but here you go ✨

[gummishiki]

It's what's inside that counts 🍎 [ part 2 ]

part two friends :D, possibly some grammatical errors because I wrote this whilst half asleep :,)

tw : hallucinations, dissociation, blood, slight gore, obsession, overall dark themes,.vomit, self inflicted injuries

🍎 youre unsure of how many days had passed of you motionlessly sitting in front of the TV that remained only displaying static and white noise. your routine of wally visiting ever morning, afternoon and night had shifted slightly.

🍎 you took notice of how hesitant he would be to step near you, perhaps to fearful of what would happen if he did. you couldn't blame him honestly, after the apple incident he settled for just laying out an apple infront of you and letting you eat it willingly, at your own pace.

🍎 there reached a point in which you began to wonder to yourself, did anyone notice you were missing ?, was anyone looking for you ?, do they ever notice a lack their usual deliveries of fresh fruit and vegetables ?, surely they would notice by now right ?.

🍎 your hold on your arms tightened as you repeated these questions to yourself. wally and undid the ropes a while ago, you don't know when exactly or why but despite your sudden freedom you made no movement or attempt to escape the basement you were being trapped in for an endless amount of days.

🍎 you stared at the static, your eyes sore from the lack of blinking. you shift slightly into a more comfortable sitting position, not once taking your eyes away from the screen. you recalled something wally had told you following the day of the 'apple incident'. he stood at a distance away from you whilst he stared between you and the static. you took notice of how his pupils would dilate almost instantly the second he looked back and fourth between your frail weakened form and the busted up TV that displayed nothing but static.

🍎 you could never decipher what that look in his eyes meant, but whatever it was it never failed to unsettle you. and yet after a while, you grew used to it. you remember his tone as he spoke, it was soft yet that constant desperation could always easily be found in it. "you know neighbour" he smiled, he had moved slightly towards your form at a distance in which you wouldn't be able to grab him should you lash out again. "this TV, it can show you anything you want to see about our dear viewers, it could answer all your question just like it answered mkne". he spoke slow and gently with patience in his tone, perhaps he had done this to avoid having you yell at him or attempt to attack him again.

🍎 you turned your head in a robotic way and stared at him unblinking. wallys smile faltered. by now he came to understand that whenever you acknowledged his presence, it was because you wanted him gone. he sighed and attempted a smile ," that's alright neighbour, I'll leave you be".

🍎 you turned you gaze back to the TV not taking any notice of wallys departure. you felt yourself go into another daze as you thought over what he had said.

🍎 that brings you to now, a pile of mushy molded apples in front of you, you don't recall the last time you ate but I was certainly taking a toll on you. unlike your fellow neighbours, both you and wally had to eat. you remain unsure why yet you were staring to believe this was simply the viewers or the creators decision. having this in common is what had originally brought you both closer.

🍎 you played with the loose stitching on your stomach when a sudden idea entered your mind. did the viewers have stitches too ? were they filled with nothing but stuffing and cotton ? how did they breath or function ?.

🍎 your curiosity peaked as the static began to shift. you were able to make out a bright white room, the view pointing down on someone laid out on a table. they were unconscious you noted as you began to take in everything you saw. a table next to them held plenty of unrecognisable utensils, all in which you could acknowledge would give poppy a heart attack if she were to see them. you wondered how she was doing.

🍎 a slight movement in the corner of the screen caught your attention. a hand you noted, wearing gloves alike to the ones frank worn whenever he examined his butterflies. ah, perhaps that's what they were doing. they were examining the viewer. you shifted forwards in anticipation as another gloved hand came into view wielding one of the many utensils from the table.

🍎 morbid curiosity filled you as the hands lowered and they gently brought the sharp object down to the viewers stomach. not once did you blink as you watched and immediate rush of what looked to be similar to red paint escaped the open wound on the viewer stomach.

🍎 you leaned closer to the screen as the hand carefully pried open the wound even further, their blue gloves now coated in the red liquid. you felt quesy as you watched the hand reach into the viewers stomach as the other hand went off screen, returning with a glass case as they held it up besides the other gloved hands that were still desperately searching for something inside of the viewer.

🍎 you were confused, what was that red liquid and why was it coming out of the viewer so much ? why did the hands cut them ? what did they cut them with ? what are they even doing ?. you sat, impatient to see what would happen next. you could hear it, a soft beating noise coming from the screen. moving even closer to the tv, you fixated your gaze onto the open wound on the viewers stomach. a weird liquid was pooling out of it as that soft beating noise grew louder.

🍎 you could see it, you could see the insides of a dear viewer. everything was coated in red, the only thing you were able to recognise was their ribcage and the soft beating noise that you could now link to their heart. you had accidentally came across a book when visiting Frank's explaining the anatomy if certain living things, all in which had bones and a heart.

🍎 you felt sick yet curious as you witness the hand begin to pull something long and pink, with an oddly bumpy texture from the wound. it made you feel quizy watching them use both hands to remove what it was and gently place it into the glass case. what even was that ? you began to question yourself. you had always been curious as to what their insides looked like and you had your question answered. you didn't like it. you didn't like the amount of red and clear liquids oozing from the wound as the other hand placed down the glass case.

🍎 you jolted suddenly when a voice come from the screen "I'm placing the intestine over here, I'll get another case for the lungs" their voice held no emotion, tiredness evidential as the spoke each word. you grew more confused, what was an intestine ? is that what the placed into the glass case ? what's a lung ?.

🍎 you hated how excited you felt watching the red coated hand reach in once again to pull out what you assumed was the lung. you felt sweat build up on the side of you face as you stared in anticipation watching both hands reach in to grab what the needed. the 'lungs' you found were two separated identical dark pink things attached together to something you couldn't identify. the texture reminded you of meat. you felt queasy as your stomach growled.

🍎 like they had previously done with what you could now identify as an intestine, they carefully placed the lungs down into a new glass case.

🍎 you sat unmoving as you watched them stitch back up the gaping wound they had caused. bile found it way into your mouth as realisation hit you. it felt familiar. why did what they were doing feel familiar ? why did that voice sound familiar ?.

🍎 what little contents you had consumed that day were now spewed out onto the cold damp floor. this whole situation was making your head hurt. you felt yourself slip into another daze as you began to think to yourself.

🍎 you had never been injured enough to see what was inside of you other than fluff. what if you weren't just full of stuffing and fluff. what if, you had something in common with your dear viewers.

🍎 your mind went blank as you stared at a glass shard on the floor. it had been there for a while, since before you had been forced down here. your curiosity grew as you stretched out a shaking hand towards the shard of glass. it was cold as you gently held it in your hands.

🍎 your questions as to what the inside of the viewers look like inside were answered and yet you still had one question. what did you look like in the Inside ?. you were going to answer your own question.

🍎 you let out a shuddered breath as you felt the sharp object come into contact with your felt. you shakily pressed down further onto your stomach. you felt tears swell up into your eyed as you dragged the shard down and deeper.

🍎 you didn't realise how hysterically you were crying as you watched bead of the red liquid drip down from your wound. you felt as if you were in a daze as your hand began to shake further as you held both sides of the cut open.

🍎 you began to hyperventilate at the sight below you. your insides had began to leak out onto the floor, the red liquid painted on both your felt hands on the floor.

🍎 "no no no no !" you cried out in desperation as you attempt to stuff everything that was leaking out back inside of you. you felt numb and yet immense pain at the same time.

🍎 your sobs echoed across the walls as you began to shake. what had you done ? why had you done this to yourself ?.

🍎 the sound of the basement door slamming open went unnoticed by you. you didn't take notice of the soft yellow felt hands take hold of your hands the were desperately attempting to pick up your insides. you didn't notice wallys voice shaking as he told you that you were alright. you were okay, you just needed to calm down.

🍎 he began to shake you causing you to turn and latch yourself onto him. "make it stop ! please, please make it stop !" you screamed at him, pain evident in your voice. wally stared down at you in sympathy but all you were focused on was the loud wet sloshing noises coming from the open wound you inflicted onto yourself.

🍎 "copy my breathing, alright neighbour" he said with such patience as he held your hyperventilating form in his arms. "everything will be alright neighbour, I'm here" you felt his hand gently hold the back of your head. with your ear now against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat clearly. listening to his pleas, you mimicked his breathing.

🍎 a deep breath in followed by a wavering breath out. you don't know how long you were there but you felt lighter as your breathing steadied. you felt the hand on the back of your head attempt to brush through the knots on the top of your head as you continued to copy wallys breathing pattern.

🍎 you felt your vision darken, but you didn't feel scared. something in the back of your mind told you that you were going to be okay. you felt no pain, no numbness. you no longer felt as though your insides were gushing out of you at every breath you took.

🍎 you don't know when exactly you had slipped into unconsciousness but you were aware you must have as you felt overwhelmed at the sudden brightness of the room you woke up in.

🍎 a sudden movement next to you cause your head to snap in the direction it came from. wally sat, both hands held in his lap as he stared down at you. it didn't take you long before panic settled into you.

🍎 you jolted up suddenly, yet you felt no pain. "my stomach, my stomach what happened ?!" you felt dread fill you as you hesitated to look down at the scene you had left.

🍎 all you felt was confusion as you looked down. there was nothing there ?. no red liquid staining the floor, no stuffing stuck between the floorboards, none of your weirdly textured and wet inside. nothing.

🍎 you looked up at wally in a panic, "what happened, what happened to me ?!" your voice was raised as you noticed wallys smile wave. there were no stitches were you had cut yourself open, no evidence of you even injuring yourself. "I'm sorry neighbour..." wallys voice shook as he took hold of both your hands. "I'm sorry I never noticed how troubled you are, I never thought it would impact you this gravely" he stared at you, not with pity but you could still see sympathy evidential in his wide unblinking eyes. "you were hallucinating neighbour, I don't know what happened but I heard you screaming so I rushed down here as fast a I could and, and" he stated to choke up as he brought you closer to him.

🍎 " you were sobbing, grasping at the air and your stomach" he began to shake as he continued. " I didn't know what was wrong but I could tell that you were panicking, so I did my best to help". you stared at him blankly, attempting to process all the information you had been told.

🍎 "oh neighbour I'm so sorry, please forgive me" you could hear his voice crack and his hands began to shake in your grasps.

🍎 it, it was all a hallucination ?, all that pain and anguish you felt, the feeling and sound of your insides hitting the floor. it wasn't even real ?.

🍎 you choked out a sob as wallys grasp on your hands tightened. what was happening to you ? why were you hallucinating such things ? why why why why ?.

🍎 "it's alright neighbour" wally brought you hand closer to his face. desperation in his eyes as he smiled at you. "ill make sure nothing like that ever happens again, I'll protect you I promise" his voice was slightly raised as he stared at you.

🍎 his smile widened "I failed you as a friend, as a dear neighbour, but I promise you I won't fail again".

🍎 "I'll keep you safe, I won't let you out of my sight ever again my dear (y/n)".

I DONT KNOW IF I WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE A PART 3 TO THIS BECAUSE IM RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS BUT THIS IS POTENTIALLY THE FINAL PART AS I DONT KNOW HOW TO CONTINUE THIS IM SORRY FRIENDS !!!

[nrdmssgs]

The dropouts (part 4)

Masterlist

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I you are here I Part 5

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, action, slow burn.

Pairing: Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova (OC) x Nikto

Summary: Some things you teach Chimeras, other things - they teach you.

TWs: This whole series will be revolving around a person living with an acute dissociative disorder. Swearing.

AN: I am very happy to welcome my dear Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn She belongs to @vasyandii who helped me make this chapter happen.

This seemed like a good idea until Nikto actually turned it into reality. It was quiet in his head while he planned the class and arranged his visit to the Chimera base, the voices didn't awake even on his way there…

But now as he's sitting in a room gradually filling with Chimera soldiers, reading a list of names again and again, skipping a few crossed out ones, they come to life.

“What if she comes?”

“She's going to ruin everything.”

“If she dares, I will ruin her.”

“No, you won't. Too soft. Weak.”

“Let us get closer to her. Let us look. Touch. Break.”

“Vsye v poryadke?*” Nikto flinches, noticing a short figure beside his chair. He raises his eyes on a young woman. 

To Nikto she looks slight, almost delicate. But an air of determination, he can almost taste around her, seems at odds with her youthful appearance. He feels a pang of something akin to sorrow mixed with fury. She looks almost too young to be here, too young to have been thrust into the harsh realities of war.

Forcing himself to look away, he returns to the list in his hand and finds a name that might suit her.

“Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da?*” He tries his best to not butcher the unfamiliar name.

The woman freezes for a moment, her body tenses, posture grows defensive. She reaches out, pulls the sheet of paper out of his hands and writes ‘П-А-Й-В-А-Н’ next to her name.

“Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado.*” She hands the paper back.

Nikto thanks her awkwardly. Chimeras seem to know more about him, at least they all figured out what language is his native even before he opened his mouth.

“Think the mask will keep you from losing your face?”

“Her name is crossed out, but she will come just to laugh at us.”

“At least this way she might notice us.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, seemingly quiet, but all the noises die in the class in the very same moment. 

Soldiers look at him with the silent intensity, and the last bits of confidence leave Nikto. He knows how to command, how to force in the worst case scenario, but this is new. Here he has to tell his story, not missing a single detail, and make sure they remember him well. He might have started this all just to meet Zhar again, but Nikto is damn serious about this training. If it helps to make their lives longer, if it helps her in any way…

“I'm Nikto. I will teach you some major survival tactics in prolonged tortures. We will have this evening and tomorrow to get things done.” He decides to skip the embarrassing part where he explains, that the ‘shut up’ wasn't meant for the auditorium. 

Phayvanh opens a notebook with such a mundane expression, as if they hear such lectures on a daily basis. Next to her sits Krueger with his arms crossed on the chest. At the base, he abandons his tactical net, so nothing masks his crooked smirk, when he raises a hand and asks without waiting.

“What makes you the expert?”

Nikto stops roaming through his notes and looks up. His gaze seems to make even Krueger uncomfortable, so he clarifies the question.

“Each of us here has some experience in… interrogations. Some more, others - less. What gets you to be the guy before the white board.”

Nikto huffs. “My story is not that fun to hear.”

Or to tell.

“Come on, man. This is not a Sunday book club with little tea cups and cucumber sandwiches.”  Phayvanh punches Krueger under the desk, but he goes on. “Show off, brag, shine a little, friend. How much they held you? A week? Two?”

Niktos eyes harden. Something told him, this might end this way, yet, he hoped, it wouldn't. He tells himself, it's not about his vulnerability - it's about the stakes, he will be talking about, as his fingers reach the first strap of his mask. The stakes they will have to be ready to make after these classes. He takes the last look at the room and makes sure once again, she is nowhere around. 

With slow, deliberate movements, Nikto unfastens the mask. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls it away, revealing the full extent of his injuries.

There are no shocked gasps heard - only a lone whistle and someones muffled ‘fuck’ reaching his ears. Because what he shows them is not just a few scratches - it is a battlefield and a grave. His skin is heavily scarred and burnt, twisted in unnatural ways. Half of his left ear is missing, and his cheek bears deep, jagged lines. His face is enough to make some people run in fear. Not from him, but from the amount of pain one can survive. “The living will envy the dead” - that's what his face is about.

“Two thousand forty-one hour. Eighty-five days.” His tone is flat, calm even. It's not his place to share his pain - only his expertise. 

***

Their class goes surprisingly well. Chimera soldiers are catching every word leaving his mouth and ask smart questions, that sometimes leave Nikto himself wondering if there is a right answer to them. Although he hasn't that much of a theory teaching experience, his first try at it feels nice, kind of empowering even.

Nikto lets the feeling sink in after everybody else leave the room. Usually his guts would tell him otherwise, but right now sitting here in peace without half of his gear and completely unarmed feels ok. For some weird reason, nothing seems to be able to bother him. 

He fixes the straps of his mask, making sure it sits firmly again, and leaves to an already empty hall. Distant echoes of chatter and ambient noises barely reach this place. Without any thought behind it, Nikto just turns left and walks to see if this road leads him anywhere but an endless row of closed doors. He isn't trying to be nosey - just wants to give his legs a stretch.

To his relief, there is in fact one door open wide. It must their gymnasium - a dimly lit hall, the fading daylight casting long shadows across the room. The faint sound of punching and the rhythmic thuds of kicks echoes softly, punctuating the otherwise still air. In the far corner, illuminated by a solitary overhead light, Zhar is training with fierce determination.

Nikto doesn't know much about art, doesn't really care about all these museums, pictures, statues. He is as far from this world as it is possible. He thought, his knife collection is the nearest thing to art, he ever saw. But right now this changes forever deep in his mind. Because he sees art.

She moves with a fluid grace, each punch and kick precise and powerful. Despite not so young age, her form is impeccable, her movements a blend of strength and agility. The dummy in front of her bears the brunt of her relentless assault, swaying with each impact.

“How is this possible?”

“How is she possible?”

Nikto ignores awakening voices and watches, captivated by the raw power and beauty of her movements. He had seen many soldiers train, but there is something different about her - something that set her apart. And Nikto feels that just one more minutes needs to pass, and he will understand, what's the secret behind her movements.

“Stop ogling my lieutenant.” Nikto quickly turns back and meets Nikolais smirk. “Stop ogling my lieutenant and go talk to her.”

Before Nikto has time to react - Chimeras leader pushes him forward.

“I was looking for where you guys eat. Just the wrong door,” grumbles Nikto quietly. 

“Mhm, of course,” hisses Nikolai and giving him a final push adds louder “Olya, look who came to visit you!”

Dammit. So much for trying to not be a creep.

“Is it my little-” She turns back to them and a wide bright smile on her face weakens. “Oh. Hi.”

He still mentally disputes on turning back and leaving, but Olga steps away from the dummy and reaches out to him, so Nikto comes closer not wanting to make her wait awkwardly for a handshake.

“Nice having you here. Sorry for skipping your class, my last meeting ended way too late.” A touch of her fingers against his exposed skin echoes down his spine. Nikto tries to shake the feeling off with a joke.

“Nah, this won't be on the test anyways.”

She chuckles. Nikto saw her ‘work smile’ and he genuinely hated it. Too plastic, too fake for his tastes. But this is completely different - Olga somehow makes the whole room brighter and more safe. A subtle ornament or crinkles at the corners of her eyes, two soft dimples, the way she throws her head slightly back - this all feels precious, important. He drinks in the sight of her as she returns to the dummy.

“I want to work on one last thing here and then I'll go show you our common room, ok?”

She wants him to stay here? She will feel safe?

“No objections, lt.” Nikto leans against the wall watching her readjusting the dummy.

Zhar loosens a few fastenings around the dummies base and tries to move the main construction up, but it remains steady. She grunts and tries again, but nothing changes.

“Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai!*” Nikto flinches at these words and looks at Olga.

Not entirely sure if he even got what she said, Zhar adds embarrassedly ‘I was talking to the dummy, we call him Andrei. This thing’s seen better days’.

“Then we happen to share a name.”

Nikto approaches and tries to help her readjust an old cranky construction, but the outcome is the same. "How about you train on me instead?" he suggests. "I'm taller, and I can take a hit."

“I don't enjoy the concept of treating a fellow soldier like a punching doll.” Olga frowns and shakes her head.

“Nah, you won't even notice the difference. Same name, same attitude. Besides, it's not like you can hurt me," he adds with a short chuckle. This last phrase may have been uncalled-for, because the lieutenant moves away from him a couple of steps and takes a fighting stance.

“My rear hook is getting worse lately. Need to work on it.” Zhar takes a deep breath, centering herself. “But I'm not beating a guy who doesn't defend himself. Thought, you remembered it after the first time we met.”

Ouch. So she does bite back when provoked. 

Nikto raises his hands slightly, ready to block if needed. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, his tone seemingly flat despite the voices forming a good dozen of less neutral reactions.

Her eyes lock onto him, determination flaring anew. She begins with a series of high punches, aiming for his shoulder level. He blocks and parries, his movements fluid and controlled. She quickly adjusts her stance, her confidence growing as she finds her rhythm.

Her kicks come faster now, more precise. Yet Nikto notices the slightest pause in the middle of her rear hooks, just as she claimed. 

“You’ve got quite a punch,” he notices. “Keep going, don’t hold back. A bit faster so that I can't catch you in the middle of it.”

She pushes herself harder, her strikes becoming more aggressive, but there's still this little slowdown in the middle of her blow. And Nikto uses his reaction to demonstrate it. He meets her hand in the midflight and pulls her forward, causing Olga to lose her stance and improvise. She opts for another blow, Nikto feels that he's lacking time to keep pulling her and evade the punch at the same time, but still highers the other hand to defend himself.

It all happens so fast, he doesn't realize at first, what exactly he's done. His hand slides forward, and she hisses, when his wrist grazes against her head. He lowers his hand, but for some reason she follows it, falling on her knees before him. 

Nikto freezes in certainty for a moment and descends after her. Zhar reaches out to his hand and tries to pull it slowly away, and he finally sees it. The massive clasp on the sleeve of his suit got tangled in her hair, causing pain with every movement.

He curses and immediately starts untangling it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think, fu-”

“The hell are you sorry about?” Olga cuts him off, and he notices that there is no fear or pain in her face expression - only calm satisfaction. “I came unprepared - I had it coming. Good fight, soldier.”

As he helps her to untangle the last strands of hair and stand up, it slowly gets to him: while he is here - she treats him as one of her own, and that includes celebrating his victories, even those that might feel undeserved. This is a strange feeling, but he likes it: to not just be here, but to belong, stay a part of something, she pours her heart into. 

***

It's not every day that Chimeras second in command walks in the common room with a sweet smile and without someone torturing her on the phone. Even on a more rare occasion does she stay in the dining area and not just grab whatever is left to eat and retreats back to her office. So while everybody tries to not be too obvious with their interest - they still can't hold back occasional long gazes. At some point, Krueger even suggest that he goes to join Zhar and their guest instructor, but Phayvanh grips his shoulder and pulls him back.

“You sit here and don't spoil anything.” Naks voice is cold and commanding.

***

After the dinner, Zhar leads Nikto through the living section of the base. Sometimes she excuses for the state of wall paint or an old door. ‘We are moving soon, so we didn't do any renovations here lately,’ she tells as if Nikto came here to inspect the state of their spaces.

“I figured, you would like a room with more privacy. No shared bathrooms, a more quiet part of the building, and so on. Due to the…” she draws a circle in the air in front of her face and Nikto guesses that she is talking about his mask. 

Usually this detail only causes annoying questions. But with her everything is different. No jokes, no unpleasant attention - just an attempt to help.

“Thank you,” he exhales as Olga unlocks the door.

At first glance, Nikto realizes that this is someone's room. Papers on the desk, a jacket hanging on the back of a chair, something large and shapeless lying in the far corner of the bed - it turns out to be a shark plushie, all this suggests that someone already lives here.

"Will the tenant mind?" He freezes on the threshold, looking at her with disbelief.

“This is my room,” she answers innocently.

“But what about...” Nikto points at the bed.

"Oh no, there was only one bed, what should they do!” Zhar sighs in an exaggerated, theatrical manner and cracks laughing. “Don't worry - I'm not going to sleep today anyway. I'm leaving in the night, need to pay a visit to our new base. Until then - I have a ton of work waiting for me in my office anyway.”

“But-”

“Nikto, enough ‘buts’. Our free rooms serve as storages now, I can't materialize an extra bed for you out of thin air, and I'm not letting our guest sleep on a floor.” She pats his shoulder and pushes him deeper in the room. “If you need anything - my office is three doors down the hall.”

She doesn't leave him any time to react, closing the door.

*Vsye v poryadke? - (here and further Russian) Everything's alright?

*Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da? - Youre Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, yes?

*Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado. - Dont try to read it as if was in English. Heres the way to pronounce it

*Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai! - Andrei, for fucks sake, don't start this now!

[fanficks-from-fictives]

Mint: sod off you wanker!

Sal: we're American, we don't know what wanker means!

Helen: it means you a lil bitch!

[im-a-marion3tt3]

A little drabble of Phantom having a very bad day. Tw/Cw for sh and dissociation (depersonalization)

"....." "... ...tom" "Phantom" "Phantom" "Hey, are you with me?" A soft voice mumbles from somewhere around him. He's not too sure who's talking to him.

Today had just been a bad day to say the least. It started off this morning when he dropped his breakfast, ruining half of it and with that, his appetite. As he went to clean up, he tore his pants in the cabinet and tripped in the process, causing him to have a meltdown for lack of better words. Swiss told him that it was okay, Mountain could fix the pants and that he'd clean up the spill so Phantom didn't have to worry. The young ghoul stormed away to his room, still in tears and flopped onto his bed, hiding beneath the covers as he cried himself to sleep. It wasn't until 3 pm that he finally woke up once more, which annoyed him because he wasted the entire day. He changed his clothes but they didn't fit right, his pants were too loose and his shirt was too tight. He didn't have time to change again, having practice to go, so off he went, only to get his sleeve caught on the door. He couldn't cry over this though, not now, so he sucked up his tears and kept moving. Practice went without a hitch, that was until he started playing wrong. It got him a scolding from Dew, stressing that he knew Phantom could play the part and the fact he wasn't doing that was unexpected, especially since they were trying to figure out how everything sounded for their new album. Softly, he had apologized, looking down at his feet as they took it from the top. He tried so hard the next time but still couldn't play correctly this time, it was as if his fingers were made of lead. All Dew had to do was turn and look at him to get a harsh yell of "I'm sorry! Fucking replace me at this point if it's such a bother!" And with that, he threw his guitar down, much harder than one should ever set down a guitar, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The rest of the band was left speechless, their usually bubbly youngest was simply not himself. Phantom went and hid again, needing to be alone. He found himself in the pantry in the kitchen, closing the door behind him as he sat in the far back corner, under a shelf, his tail spilling into his mouth. It was a bad habit but the slight sting of him biting it helped to ground him a little bit. However, he didn't realize when the biting became sucking on it like a child as he slowly started to zone out more and more. Eventually it was dark, darker than the lightless closet he was sitting and Phantom felt light and airy but as though he was no longer within his body. It was scary. And that brings us to now.

Phantom looked at Rain, his eye round and fearful as he nearly bounced on his band mate in a hug, his tail slipping from his mouth. The water ghoul steady himself, startled by the attack, before carefully wrapping the smaller in a hug and picking him up. He took the 2 of them out of the pantry and set him down on the kitchen counter. Rain held him a little longer before slowly pulling back, grabbing Phantom's hands.

"Why are you so scared?" Rain asked softly, having seen his expression. It caused another panic look and for phantom's tail to flick in panic.

"It's okay, Tom, I have you. It's just me and you right now, no need to rush your words," he continued, holding onto the other a little tighter and offering him a genuine look.

"I wasn't.... me" he says, far more panices than Rain had ever heard. He wanted to fill in the blanks, to say something along the lines of that he understood and Dew should have been nicer but then again, Rain felt like there probably was more to it.

"What do you mean by that?" Rain spoke in a soft tone, trying encourage more.

Phantom felt too panic to speak though, no words coming to tongue so he tried to charade it, gesturing to himself then upward before covering his eyes all while shooting a silent prayer to Satan that Rain would get it.

Rain did not get that but he still spoke gently, "That seems really scary, I'm so sorry," before pulling him into a hug.

"Dew wanted to speak to you if you feel up for it, he's not mad at you. Promise. I think he's more mad at himself. It doesn't excuse what he did, but he's under a lot of stress right now." Phantom just nodded and leaned against his chest. Dew could wait, Phantom just needed someone to hold him for a little bit longer

Sorry for taking so long to post 😭 I'll try to get more frequent. Also, I'm sorry if it's very jumbled and not the most cohesive, I'll try to get better at writing again

[narabea06]

Any insane chance that you have any general Jeff headcanons brewing up to yap about? 🤨🤨🤨

Sorry this took so long!!! This is only the tip of the iceberg of my Jeff hcs ngl 😭

Jeff the Killer Headcanons -

TW: Suicide Attempt, Implied Abuse, Bullying, Hospital + medicine talk, Manipulation, Talk of delusions, Murder, Toxic Relationship, Dissociation

Clockwork and Jeff both did a lot of sports and clubs in middle school and highschool, and would often get picked up together by Lyra or Liu. Jeff did it because his parents put him in a lot of activities to put a lot of pressure on him to have many talents and to be good at something so that he would get a scholarship, despite him hating the activities and never having free time because of it. These activities included hockey, soccer, STEM club, and karate. The only one Jeff actually enjoyed was karate due to it helping him get his anger out.

The incident was not Randy and Keith lighting him on fire. Instead, Jeff was relentlessly bullied by Randy for years, and was generally terrorized by people at school, that he tried to kill himself by starting a fire in his room when nobody was home. He left his suicide note in the mailbox, and it explained in detail what Randy, Keith, and Troy did to him and how they hurt him and Liu. While Jeff survived the attempt, his mother decided to publish the note in the newspaper, and everyone at school read it. Randy and Keith then actively got blamed for Jeff's attempt and everything that came after. Granted they deserved it for what they did, but it still was not a great experience for them.

When Jeff came home from the hospital, he barely spoke for the first week or so due to both his declined mental state and a side effect of the painkillers.

Margaret, Jeff's mother, was a infamous journalist who had many connections, and actually often lied and blackmailed her way to the top. She also often would write and publish about her sons, practically constantly sharing any personal moment they chose to share with her like she was a family vlogger. Because of all this, she actually ended up publishing Jeff's suicide note, exposing him to their entire state.

He's a manipulative bastard, but doesn't realize he is. He truly believes what he did to Nina, Liu, and Jane was for the best and was helping them. He doesn't have a good mental state in the slightest, but refuses to accept help because he believes he doesn't need it.

He still actively despises Randy and Keith. Hell, at one point when Randy and Keith were trying to go about their lives and move on, Jeff came after them and attacked Keith. He survived, but Jeff said he wouldn't let either of them live while he himself is still alive. Keith and Randy started staying with Troy and Jesse after that.

The only specific targets Jeff has are Randy, Troy, Keith, and Jesse. The rest are at random, though he steers clear from the Alliance, EJ, Lulu, the kids, Sadie, and Toby.

Jeff has ADHD, though his parents refused to believe he wasn't neurotypical, and would refuse to take him to therapy until after the incident, leading to Liu having to do the research for him.

Jeff has anger issues, control issues, a bit of a god complex, as well as a slight victim complex.

Jeff is terrible at social cues and body language.

Jeff often sharpens his knife as a stim during the times when he's deep in thought.

Jeff has big main character syndrome, and constantly believes that everything revolves around him.

Jeff absolutely adores copycat killers of himself, since he loves the idea of people looking up to him and his “work”, and seeing his crimes as he does, like art. He sees copycats almost like people just inspired by him, and even sometimes will stalk people and encourage them to follow in his footsteps to go down the path he did.

Jeff has had so many times where he will say stupid shit, and Liu has to get him out of trouble because he never watches his mouth. Due to Jeff having no self preservation nor any sense of consequences, they never end up realizing when to back down though.

Jeff is very impulsive and will do stupid shit a lot because "why not". As long as it's fun and doesn't include him eating or drinking anything, he'll do it. He has terrible self control.

He truly believes him and Jane are still friends and that he isn't in the wrong for killing their parents, because in the moment, Jeff made themself believe Jane's family was abusive. Jane actively expresses to him that she hates him, but Jeff just thinks she's joking around.

Jane has kicked Jeff in the shin with her heels too many times to count to the point where his heels are super bruised.

Ben and Jeff are frenemies, and BEN kinda sees Jeff almost like a weird cousin she doesn’t want to hang out with. She does enjoy Jeff's company though, and is happy to have a friend.

One of his best friends is Killing Kate. They hang out every Wednesday to do karaoke.

Jeff used to somewhat be in a relationship with Nina for a few months after the incident, though neither had actually verbally expressed that the relationship was anything romantic, leading to Nina believing they were in love and Jeff thinking that they were nothing serious and Nina would never be his top priority. Nina, heartbroken, left him after hearing him say to her face too many times that if she died, he wouldn't care.

Jeff learned Spanish from Nina. He still has a bit of a struggle with it though, and he always pronounces the words in the whitest way possible. Nina would tease him about his pronunciations a lot.

Jeff loves the Nightmare Before Christmas movies, and once dressed as Jack for Halloween pre-incident, and convinced Nina to dress as Sally with him.

Jeff can very easily lucid dream. He doesn't always know why, but usually when he's dreaming, he always realizes it's a dream rather quickly, and almost always, he will just shut down the dream he was in and start something else. Because of all of this, he has become unaware what is reality or not, and constantly just thinks almost everything is a dream. Most of the time he spends with his friends he assumes is a dream because he doesn't think in reality they would want anything to do with him. This is also why he's so careless about life, because he doesn't know whether or not anything is real or not and if he'll have real consequences, especially since he's even had times where he did actually try to do the right thing and make things right between everyone, only to realize that it was just a dream and he didn't accomplish anything.

Jeff talks in his sleep a lot. This has woken up and scared the hell out of anyone he shares a room with. Ben even has a couple videos of Jeff talking in his sleep on her phone.

Jeff secretly has a pet frog named Georgie. It chills in a pond behind the Refuge, and has a specific symbol on its back that Jeff uses to recognize it.

He has a huge fear of clowns, and absolutely hates the IT movies. A couple gag gifts that Liu got him growing up because of this were Pennywise merch. Jeff stuffed them all in a box in his closet never to be seen again.

He was a big music theater fan, though he was never able to actually take theater in highschool due to his parents seeing the class as useless.

Jeff often wears an eye mask when he sleeps so he can rest his eyes properly.

[anti-endo-haven]

Tw: slight in depth of ramcoa talk

Sorry i really wasn't to put in black in white but that smth I comly do as well as taking perceived Rejection out of hand.

The reson why I make theory's on things such a CDD or dissative disorders is bc I'm actively studying psychology. And wanting to specialize in dissative disorders, personality disorders and mood disorders. When I am a psychologist. I actively try to open my view on others view but sometimes I come at with with hate due to my own disorders whitch is smth I'm actively working on before I help people with their problems.

With that being said. The whole point of this theory isn't really to say that osdd2 is your system hood to be exact but it is a explanation of why your system formed.

As for osdd2 being ramcoa related I sya this bc in the dsmv osdd2 is defined as "identity disturbances due to prolonged and intense coercive persuasion" the examples it gives is "brainwashing" "thought reform" "torture" whitch I belive is what ramcoa stands

As for why I said the did is formed by truama is a theory. In the dsmv it does not state in the diagnostic criteria that you need truama to be a diasosed with DID but it does state in cormid disorders that DID is very cormid with PTSD. Whitch means that theory is very well supported. all of the cases reported Have childhood PTSD. Whitch is means it even more supported but due to mental health being a under reshered thing I assuming the reason why psychologist still call it a theory that I can only be formed due to truama is bc they haven't look into things such a genics. Whitch if you studied any other disorders is a very common thing that it's also a theory.

As well not only that but I've head people call it a theory multiple times "the theory of structural dissoation" I think it'd called.

Sorry if this comes off rude. Black and white or anything else like that I promise I'm trying not to and I'm rereading everything before I send it to make sure.

But OSDD-2… won’t be the exact reason why a system has formed. Not every system or dissociative disorder will be linked back into OSDD-2. OSDD-2 also doesn’t have alters from what I know.

All dissociative disorders have identity disturbances. Just because OSDD-2 has some related to brainwashing, mind control, and torture doesn’t mean it’s “the RAMCOA one.” It strikes me as getting rid of those that still fit RAMCOA without mind control or torture. It isn’t just programming, torture, and mind control. Even TBMC isn’t just programming, torture, and mind control.

The reason why I don’t like the theory is because it doesn’t seem like every survivor is being seen and is getting rid of those survivors that have DID or OSDD-1 or aren’t systems at all. That’s primarily why I don’t like it.

The DSM-5 is also outdated, here’s a PDF for the DSM-5-TR.

Also… dissociative disorders are NOT comorbid with other dissociative disorders. That’s why there’s OSDD-1, OSDD-2, DID, etc. You can have a personality disorder that is comorbid that also deals with dissociation, but not two dissociative disorders together.

Even if you genuinely are wanting to study psychology or already are, the “theory” can still spread misinformation.

I’d also really like to comment how DANGEROUS asking RAMCOA survivors things for a Google form can be. It’s not something you should do because that can be used against people. It’s wrong.

The brain can only fragment with trauma, which causes alters. PTSD is comorbid due to it being a response to trauma such as is dissociative disorders.

Even with the topic of genetics, I do not see how a fragmented mind can be genetically passed on. It takes trauma for a brain to fragment and have alters.

I’d like to request no more asks from you as I’ve also blocked you based upon the Google forms you’ve made and just in general.

[cult-of-the-eye]

inspired by @archivus' statements, i decided to give it a try myself

tw for depersonalisation, body image issues, body horror, slight gore

Out of Body Experience

Statement of Rebekah Fitch, regarding something that wasn’t her body. Original statement given 5th March 2018. Recording by [REDACTED], Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Manchester. Committed to tape 26th March 2024. 

Statement begins. 

I never thought I would end up like this. I just-

I guess I should start from the start. 

Throughout my life, I’ve had a complicated relationship with my body. Not to get too, um, personal or anything, but let’s just say it's tough being the child of an immigrant mother, especially, well, my mother. She would make comments about my body, small ones, I’ll admit, but ones that certainly built up to…recent events. On top of all that, I spent a lot of my teen years dissociating. Tricking my brain into believing that I wasn’t real. That nothing was. It’s a bit difficult to solidify an image of your body when half of you is ashamed of it and the other half doesn’t even consider your ownership of one. Ownership. I guess that’s sort of where it all began. 

It was sometime in January when it all started to go wrong. I don’t exactly have a habit of staring at myself in the mirror, in fact, the only mirror I own in my cramped little flat is the bathroom one. It’s somehow always stained, a fact which I hesitate to admit helped me live with my…issues. The point is, the majority of the time, I didn’t know how I looked.

And then one day, I watched myself wake up. 

I remember exactly how it felt. You know how people sometimes slice oranges in half and then take the peel, dig their fingers into the sides and push, letting each segment split from the other, hungrily leaning up towards you? That’s how I felt. Inverted. Wrong. I saw myself in a way that I had never, ever seen before. Each and every part of me that bulged where it shouldn’t have, thinned and yellowed at the edges like a fruit in its off-season. Whatever was happening to my eyes didn’t hurt, exactly, but I could feel every single part of my body as if it had suddenly awoken from a deep unconsciousness. It disgusted me. The life of it all. I panicked, of course, I thought I was having a really, really bad dream and that all I needed to do was wake up. But, no matter how many times I attempted to shield myself from the view, no matter how many times I willed every single synapse in my brain to connect and let my goddamn eyes close, nothing happened. 

That nothing was the most excruciating nothing that I had ever experienced in my life. I was forced open, boneless and writhing. The me on the bed that I was watching slept soundly. 

I don’t remember when I snapped out of it. I don’t remember how long it had been. I sat up, drenched in sweat, determined to be rid of the one mirror I had left. Putting it in the bin didn’t feel as triumphant as I believed it would. I guess part of me knew that this was no one-off. 

Ok, I know what you’re thinking. It could just be a hallucination. I could be traumatised or mentally ill or on drugs. Well, I’m actually all of those things, which means that I have the unique ability to prove you wrong. I know what a hallucination feels like, I know what drug side effects feel like, and I know what my episodes feel like. And this? This was entirely separate. I don’t have to tell you that it happened again. I don’t have to tell you that I went from GP to GP, therapist to therapist to find out what was happening to me. But I will end this with proof. 

Statement Ends. 

Post-statement records include a medical report of one Rebekah Fitch. It outlines a series of scars of unidentified means on the underside of her eyelids, spelling out the phrase “I know that I exist.” Any attempts to follow up have led to dead ends. However, I’m afraid that I may be able to guess how this one ends.