Hey I just wanted to let you know that your comments on crying wolf have done SO MUCH for me over the past weeks. Seriously I go back and reread them at least once a day and they're such a delight every time. I oftentimes feel like my writing is subpar and not up to scratch when compared to other authors (terrible habit, I know, but one that's hard to kick) and your comments reassure me that at least I'm doing something right! I've also never attempted anything like crying wolf before - I never really got into writing action or violence but I'm being self-indulgent right now anyway because I figured if I enjoyed reading and watching it then I should have a crack at making some for myself. And as with most things, it takes a while to really get the hang of it (and I'm bad at accepting that I might be bad at something).
This is just a really long-winded way of saying thank you for your comments. Readers like you really encourage and motivate us to keep chugging along <3
(This is candyfloss-esophagus btw. If you hadn't realised by now lol)
Hey thank you so much for sending this message! I'm honestly just sitting here like:
Your writing is amazing and it makes me so happy to hear that my comments mean so much to you! Idk how to explain it but reading your fic just makes me feel so many great emotions!
I've been thinking about chapter 3 all day and I get this great bubbly feeling in my chest whenever I think about it? Idk how to describe it, but it just makes me feel incedibly good whenever I think about it? Does that make sense? Probably not but I don't know how else to articulate it ^^'
(Also that last line hits me so hard every time! I'm stil NOT over it!!!)
Like Idk I haven't read a lot of fics that had such a big impact on me emotionally (in a good way!) so I really want to do what I can to support you in return!
(Seriously I love how you write, your way with words is so creative and it really sets the scenes so well! Like I can just FEEL the tone of the scenes when I read them)
3 notes
·
View notes
i love my therapist but i hate being in therapy. 10 minutes before my appointment, i'm in a meeting with my boss - we discuss my artistic choices; my boss recommends i artistically choose less. 10 minutes after therapy, i wash my hair and think about everything that was said, and then i have to switch it off, like a lamp, and go back to work again.
i was on a walk the other day and someone had the perfect combination of his cologne and whatever-else. it was almost exactly his scent. i fucking hate that. after all these years, i remember that? i tell my therapist - i feel like a fucking wolf. try telling a middle-aged blonde lady. oh i scented him on the air. i'm 30, and i'm having a panic attack over something that would be a plotline in the omegaverse.
what they don't tell you about mental illness is that if you are lucky enough to survive it into adulthood; it becomes a weird slice of your life. because you do, eventually, have to build a life. i realized in a panic somewhere around 22 - oh. i don't know what i'm fucking doing, because i always assumed i'd just go ahead and die. i didn't die, and i'm grateful for that, and i'm very happy about that choice. but it does mean that i am an adult in an apartment, living with my conditions side-by-side like. oh, that's my roommate, adhd. ignore the glass, bytheway, that's ocd.
so you pick your stupid life up by the scruff of the neck and you're, like glad for it (so much laughter and light and friends you would have never thought possible, when you were in the worst of it). but it feels so strange to be dancing around these odd little microcosms, these patchwork moments of your symptoms. if you have a panic attack at night, you still need to wake up and walk the dog in the morning. if your depression is making everything boring, well, you don't have any sick days left, and a job's not really supposed to be that exciting anyway. your ocd tears out each individual leg hair, and then, an hour later, you sigh, patch up the bloody bits, and go get dinner with friends. and the life is kitten-quiet, mewling and pathetic, but it's also like - it's yours, so you're fond of it.
and it's like - you're real. so you still enjoy pushing the shopping cart really fast and then riding on the back of it down an empty aisle. and you're not, like, so sick anymore that when you accidentally drop a mug you burst into tears (except for the days you do that. which are bad). and no, you're not allowed around certain items anymore. oops! but you've learned to be good about brushing your teeth most days of the week. and yeah sometimes in the middle of the day you have a little freak-out about how fucking unfair it all is, how fucking hard, how other people can just do this without having to fucking hurt the whole time. and then you sigh and force yourself to sit down and fucking journal about it so you can tell the nice middle-aged blonde woman yeah i had a hard day but i practiced grounding. you still sometimes want to burst out of your own skin, but you force yourself to eat kind-of healthy and to take your vitamins. you let yourself chop off all your hair in the sink in a dramatic poetry of control and relief - and you also have developed good hobbies that help you move your body more frequently. you feel helplessly behind, lost in the shuffle - but you also practice gratitude, taking stock of what you have garnered. because you're trying. even if you're never gonna be normal, you have something... close enough.
and the little kitten of your life, this mangy, starlit tigercub, this thing you expected to rot so young: in your arms, it turns itself over, belly-up. exposing this new soft part, all the organs and guts. like it's saying i trust you now. you won't give me up.
14K notes
·
View notes
"It's a little hard to walk like this."
You knew this situation was less than ideal for Beelzebub, but you needed him to put up with it.
That's why you assured him, "I'll move with you. Just act normal."
Beelzebub thought that was easier said than done with you crouched under him. He stood in place while you held on to his lower thighs, feet planted next to his and head held low. You had a plan.
Lucifer was mad. You knew he was going to start nagging and never let go when he eventually got a hold of you. Wandering around in the House of Lamentation by yourself was dangerous for now, so you needed a shield. Someone who could hide you from another demon's wrath. Who better than Beelzebub? He's big. He's kind to you. He will protect you.
This wasn't exactly what Beelzebub had in mind when he said he wanted to protect you. This wasn't the danger he expected nor the method of protection he came up with. You intended to cling to Beelzebub with your hands just above his knee and your legs locked around his calves while in motion, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He took three large steps forward, lumbering ahead with an awkwardly slow and comically exaggerated gait. You were really channeling the spirit of humanity's tree climbing ancestors.
Beelzebub was unsure about the whole situation and paused. "I don't think this is going to work."
"Just keep taking big steps like that," you instructed. "I know this will work. I can feel it."
All Beelzebub could feel was your body flush against him and the heat spreading across his face. Endless gluttony was the least of his worries. He kept wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles, even after they stopped audibly cracking. A fidget toy would have come in handy.
"What are you doing?"
That deep, condescending tone could only belong to one prideful demon. You let out an "eep!" of surprise and tightened your grip in hopes Beelzebub would abscond the two of you to safety.
"Lucifer, hi." Beelzebub was far too polite at times to be a demon. You bopped your head repeatedly against his leg in a universal sign meaning "get me out of here! Run!" But the Avatar of Gluttony only created more distance between his legs. He stood in place like an inflexible kid trying to do a split and tried not to think about where you were.
You hesitated to look up. Lucifer looked like he ate a bowl of rocks for breakfast that morning and washed it down with cold medicine. That is to say, he was not happy.
"Beel," he started. "I'm not in the mood for games. Either you join us for what is going to be a productive discipline session, or you hand them over. Now."
A ring of sweat began to drip down Beelzebub's brow. He did say he would protect you, but also, he had plans to get a new jersey with insulated mesh while they were on sale. It was the last day of the sale. He wanted that shirt. He didn't want to linger on the way you were touching him or how you'd willingly let him take you anywhere he desired. You clung tighter and his brain sprinted a hundred miles a minute.
"I have to leave now," he admitted. It was a good thing the two of you weren't able to make eye contact.
"Nooooo!" You bopped your head against him again, this time in despair. Beelzebub lifted his leg with you on it, like he was offering the sacrificial lamb for slaughter. All he had to say about it was a quiet, almost inaudible "sorry."
Lucifer praised his little brother, "you made a wise decision." You felt his gloved hands hook under your shoulders and sensed malice at your back but you refused to go without a fight.
It was a short fight. The slippery Avatar of Pride hit all your ticklish points, ones you didn't even know existed. All it took was one instance of weakness, a reflexive giggle, and within seconds you were in his hold. Lucifer dangled you at arm's length like a wet pet. You pouted.
Beelzebub's quiet creep out of the room didn't go unnoticed, but you had a bigger problem now.
"You come up with the most ridiculous ideas," Lucifer chided. The first of many nags. "You should know by now it's futile. You're coming with me."
His clutch on you shifted to a more secure hold against his chest. It made writhing around and trying to run away pointless, so you challenged him with more head attacks. All this light head shaking was making you dizzy, but you were a fighter.
"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed.
Your gaze snapped up. You smiled and made an innocent yet logical suggestion. "Let me go?"
"No."
Into the locked office with Lucifer you went.
653 notes
·
View notes