dearestaeneas

[dearestaeneas]

horror is always like oh no they're possessed by a demon well what about possessed by an angel? angelic possession is also horror.

[dearestaeneas]

Bad dog

word count: 722 / tw: brief mentions of animal abuse

--

You’re fine. You’ve always been fine. You’ll always be fine.

You’re a house pet. A domesticated wolf. And you will be punished if you pretend to be anything else.

So you pace. Your paws pad across the floor, your claws tapping against hardwood. The most you use them for nowadays is digging.

You go outside when you’re allowed. Stay inside the square of nature you’re allowed.

You strayed once. You passed over the border of that one square of nature you’re allowed, and you felt a jolt through your little body. God Himself punished you for your boldness.

They didn’t let you out this morning. They hadn’t let you out last night, either. They’d heard you crying, heard your little whimpers, and they just turned their television up.

Why should they care? Your pain didn’t affect them beyond the auditory annoyance of it all.

You pissed on the floor when they were gone during the day. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t help it. No one would let you out when you asked so nicely for help.

They cared then, though. Cared when you pissed on the floor.

They called you a bad dog. Told you that what happened next was your fault.

You shouldn’t have rushed away when they threw the shoe. You wouldn’t have had to sleep outside.

Do you know how they talk about you when you aren’t around? You’re a joke, little dog.

They tell stories about you. Stories that make it seem like you’re in on the joke. You aren’t. When you dared to bark during the night because a crowd of drunken strangers gathered in front of the window, and those people came downstairs and hit you for waking them up turned into a story about how protective you are.

You don’t wag your tail like you used to.

You seem tired, little dog. Wary.

Do they notice? Do they notice your tail between your legs?

They were nice when you got the UTI. Took you to the doctor, who gave you treats and told you how pretty your coat was. They cooed and fed you the nice food with little pills hidden inside. They thought they were tricking you. It felt nice to be on the other side of a joke for once, didn’t it?

Did they know where the UTI came from? Did they know it was hard-earned from a long, cold night outdoors? That became followed by a long day in grueling heat when they forgot to let you in before they left for work?

At least you’ll never piss on the floor again.

They think they’re good owners. Good people. They think you don’t remember much. They think you like them.

You see other dogs. Happy ones. Ones whose owners talk to them on walks as if they’re beside another human.

You don’t resent those dogs. Their good fortune is no more their faults than your bad fortune is yours.

Although they almost had you fooled, you know you aren’t a bad dog. You never have been.

You’re a dog, and everything that could be true about a dog is true about you.

You’ve bitten before. You’ve barked at the wrong people.

You’ve pissed on the floor.

So fucking what? They’re the ones who let a dog into their house.

You’ve always given them the grace of human fault. Tried not to cite their cruelty as a personal failing.

It’s just something people do.

And yet…

And yet you see these people who walk their dogs and talk to them as friends. You’ve seen dogs with their tongues lolling perpetually out of their heads. Dogs whose tails go in full circles. Dogs who jump to their owners’ eye-levels and are met with laughter. Dogs who feel safe enough to show their bellies to strangers, because they’ve only ever been met with adoration.

Why are you different?

Why are you punished because they wouldn’t help you when you asked?

Your little life is not without joy. You’re quite fond of the little life you’ve found yourself in, in fact.

You’re allowed to not like the little life you’ve found yourself in with them, little dog.

You’re not asking for a lot. Their dedication to misunderstanding you is strange.

You’re a good dog.

Pissing on the floor shouldn’t be the end of the world.

[dearestaeneas]

just updated my table of contents! if that's your way of navigating my writing, there's 10 new fellas up on that now that got lost in the feed! working on getting to the point where i have a website just for writing, but who knows when that'll be official! anyway have fun!

[dearestaeneas]

Bad dog

word count: 722 / tw: brief mentions of animal abuse

--

You’re fine. You’ve always been fine. You’ll always be fine.

You’re a house pet. A domesticated wolf. And you will be punished if you pretend to be anything else.

So you pace. Your paws pad across the floor, your claws tapping against hardwood. The most you use them for nowadays is digging.

You go outside when you’re allowed. Stay inside the square of nature you’re allowed.

You strayed once. You passed over the border of that one square of nature you’re allowed, and you felt a jolt through your little body. God Himself punished you for your boldness.

They didn’t let you out this morning. They hadn’t let you out last night, either. They’d heard you crying, heard your little whimpers, and they just turned their television up.

Why should they care? Your pain didn’t affect them beyond the auditory annoyance of it all.

You pissed on the floor when they were gone during the day. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t help it. No one would let you out when you asked so nicely for help.

They cared then, though. Cared when you pissed on the floor.

They called you a bad dog. Told you that what happened next was your fault.

You shouldn’t have rushed away when they threw the shoe. You wouldn’t have had to sleep outside.

Do you know how they talk about you when you aren’t around? You’re a joke, little dog.

They tell stories about you. Stories that make it seem like you’re in on the joke. You aren’t. When you dared to bark during the night because a crowd of drunken strangers gathered in front of the window, and those people came downstairs and hit you for waking them up turned into a story about how protective you are.

You don’t wag your tail like you used to.

You seem tired, little dog. Wary.

Do they notice? Do they notice your tail between your legs?

They were nice when you got the UTI. Took you to the doctor, who gave you treats and told you how pretty your coat was. They cooed and fed you the nice food with little pills hidden inside. They thought they were tricking you. It felt nice to be on the other side of a joke for once, didn’t it?

Did they know where the UTI came from? Did they know it was hard-earned from a long, cold night outdoors? That became followed by a long day in grueling heat when they forgot to let you in before they left for work?

At least you’ll never piss on the floor again.

They think they’re good owners. Good people. They think you don’t remember much. They think you like them.

You see other dogs. Happy ones. Ones whose owners talk to them on walks as if they’re beside another human.

You don’t resent those dogs. Their good fortune is no more their faults than your bad fortune is yours.

Although they almost had you fooled, you know you aren’t a bad dog. You never have been.

You’re a dog, and everything that could be true about a dog is true about you.

You’ve bitten before. You’ve barked at the wrong people.

You’ve pissed on the floor.

So fucking what? They’re the ones who let a dog into their house.

You’ve always given them the grace of human fault. Tried not to cite their cruelty as a personal failing.

It’s just something people do.

And yet…

And yet you see these people who walk their dogs and talk to them as friends. You’ve seen dogs with their tongues lolling perpetually out of their heads. Dogs whose tails go in full circles. Dogs who jump to their owners’ eye-levels and are met with laughter. Dogs who feel safe enough to show their bellies to strangers, because they’ve only ever been met with adoration.

Why are you different?

Why are you punished because they wouldn’t help you when you asked?

Your little life is not without joy. You’re quite fond of the little life you’ve found yourself in, in fact.

You’re allowed to not like the little life you’ve found yourself in with them, little dog.

You’re not asking for a lot. Their dedication to misunderstanding you is strange.

You’re a good dog.

Pissing on the floor shouldn’t be the end of the world.

[dearestaeneas]

(sees that a girl is upset) do you need me to make the world awash with blood over this minor inconvenience, queen?

[dearestaeneas]

Wrote for the first time in a while! Got a new computer! Here’s a paragraph I liked.

—

Eris waited. She found herself to be quite good at it. Clear remnants of another life, a long time ago. She still hadn’t processed all of what Bird had told her, although there was something neutral in her chest as she heard the words leave her mouth. Maybe she was here forever. Maybe there was no way out. A part of her wondered if the uncertainty, that ghost of hope, had been the worst part all along.

[dearestaeneas]

What do you believe in now?

[dearestaeneas]

i grisped vergil and squarshed him until he made a squeaky toy noise too hard. and then he died. sorry

[dearestaeneas]

also vergil should be bounced crazystyle. i believe this #mypoets

[dearestaeneas]

I’ve never been writing a story and gone, “I need to put this blorbo in a happy situation right now or I’ll be miserable” because I always try to balance my Sad. But oh, Eurys. Eurys, I need to put you on a ferris wheel with a BIG big cotton candy on a stick. Eurys, I need to have you squished up against your friends in a photobooth. I need her to win a giant teddy bear at a ring toss game.

[dearestaeneas]

Of all the writers on this website, I’m one of them.

[dearestaeneas]

in the trojaned horse. straight up "tricking it" . and by "it", haha, well. let's justr say. The trojans

[dearestaeneas]

what doesnt kill you is still valuable data points for a graph im working on titled "how to kill you"

[dearestaeneas]

been a minute

some girlz [picrew]

[dearestaeneas]

can you take my white ass to funkytown

[dearestaeneas]

NEEED to have a lifelong creative partnership.. and if it gets a little homoerotic.. well I guess that would be okay too !

[dearestaeneas]

i gotta do everything around here