#insinuated self harm tw

[mythvoiced]

@astremourante | 'I've killed for you, who else can say that?' for doe 😌😌😌😌

---

Doe wishes he could honestly claim he does drugs.

He wishes he'd be familiar enough with them to have more intimate ways of referring to it, having mastered both the art and the lingo of those who see control in the loss of control granted by the proper kind of intoxication, poisoning for the greater goal of forgetting one's alive.

But he can't lose what little control he has left.

Even if he gets drunk enough to laugh and lose the concept of what he's so upset about all the time, he relinquishes in the high of feeling like nothing matters... and in the atrocities awaiting him the next day.

Almost as though he drinks specifically for the hangover.

Maybe Amelia serves the same role.

Maybe drowning himself in her knowing he'll only end up looking back with nothing but regret and nausea is one of the many ways he chooses to actually maintain control.

The freedom of inebration, of a good high, those aren't control.

Being the one to determine how exactly and what will hurt, that is what true control is about.

Maybe he's just lost his mind.

Maybe he should have bought something comfier to sit in for himself.

He's slumped on his chair, his legs stretched away from himself, his back halfway on its way to slide down completely. His arms hang, limb and devoid of purpose, and he's staring at the same ceiling tile he stares at at least once a day.

He doesn't remember the name of the person this building belonged to.

Who else can say that, indeed?

He turns his head the way one might try to turn a heavy rock to show a different side of itself. The motion looks as though he and his neck weren't in total agreement of performing it, as though he is drunk right now or finally admitting to not being the real owner of his own body.

He looks at Amelia - he luxury he doesn't always allow himself.

She's the epitome of all he should show to hide everything as well as she does. The confidence in her movements and posture, the training that must have gone, perhaps privately chosen perhaps forced upon her, that allows her to move exactly as she intends to, to portray exactly the person she intends to be.

He can't fully believe she is the way she presents herself. It's not so much an instinct, as it is a grotesquely and deeply buried-alive desire that maybe, just maybe, there is more to whatever is going on here than the joy she portrays at getting on his nerves.

Tom and Jerry were supposedly friends too, pretending to fight to keep actual mouse-eating cats out of the household.

The comparison doesn't sit too well, they aren't friends, Doe doesn't know how to have friends, anyway.

Nor is there a bigger, meaner cat somewhere one of them must ward off to protect the other.

He can't imagine they are out to protect the other, anyway, he can't imagine either of them would even welcome that - would even know how to.

But she does kill for him.

He pays her to do so, sure. But she's skilled, efficient, renown, she doesn't need his money. She doesn't need him.

And frankly, one job turning into two, turning into three was never the plan, either. If he were to run things as he usually does, and make use of her con-artistry and intel instead, things might even runner smoother.

But she has killed for him.

And it fills a corner of the abyss inside him with rotten, blood-coloured paste.

A smile crawls tiredly onto his lips, stretches itself out there like a man done fighting for his life, lying down, ready to welcome death.

"No one," he shakes his head to underline his words, then nods to concede to hers. No one.

"Tell me, do you want me to kill for you, too? What do you want me to do? Should I burn the world down?" Doe-eyes were his allegedly as a child, always torn wide open, darting to and fro, like a doe waiting for the hunter to finally show himself. Now he holds them wide open in memory of that child, as if trying be genuine just this once.

"What should I do? What would you like me to do?"

[hellonerf]

funny idea do you think that since nations r immortal that ame would just

blow his brains out at a world meeting to get his point across

bc death is temporary but the trauma that would cause is forever

can i say that i always thought he'd be the type to kill himself to prove a point(basis for rusame suicide pact) so the answer is yes i think he would. along with various other reasons and incidents. its impermanent so its ideal to him cz his ass cares about how he looks 🤦 drags cana into his 7 stage meltdown that ends in murder suicide

[hheisa]

⚠️TW: SELF-HARM INSINUATION⚠️

Anx know he's lying :'((

Also new brushes heck yeeaaaa

Mono is made by @/TinkCreations03 on twitter and @/tink._.creations on Instagram!!

[pin-k-ink]

ruination // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ highly suggestive content, mentions of an injury, reader is fucking suicidal, strong sexual tension, slight nipple play, making out, dirty talk

wc ⇢ 3.2k

a/n: this is basically an experiment to see if i’m any good at writing for soshiro. so i need yall to give me some feedback this time please 🙏

Another kaiju attack, another chance to get up close and personal with true, visceral pandemonium. You ignored the blaring evacuation sirens as the city’s streets emptied around you in a stampede of panicked civilians. Where they saw horror, you found an intoxicating allure in the pounding footfalls and slashing claws reducing skyscrapers to rubble.

Up ahead, a thunderous roar shook the very earth underfoot. You grinned eagerly, clutching your camcorder tighter as you broke into a sprint towards the rampaging beast. This was your raison d'être - capturing the primal chaos and catastrophic beauty of each kaiju's uninhibited violence up close, no matter the cost.

What you hadn't anticipated was the familiar whirlwind abruptly blocking your path mere yards from the leviathan's wake of destruction. A lean form dropped into a battle-ready crouch as disheveled dark violet locks whipped across blazing ruby eyes.

"Well, well...if it isn't my own personal videographer stalker," Soshiro drawled in that rich, lazy cadence that never failed to rankle you.

Despite the undeniable peril surrounding you both, the elite monster hunter's full lips curved into a taunting smirk as he raked an insolent look over you from beneath lowered lashes.

"You know, there are easier ways to get some alone time with me besides throwing yourself into harm's way constantly," he purred. "All you gotta do is ask nicely and I'll let you film me up close and personal with all the...details."

You felt a traitorous flush creep up your neck at the blatant insinuation and couldn't resist scowling fiercely at Soshiro's audacity. As if his suave flirtations and flawless physique encased in that flattering skinsuit weren't enough of a distraction already!

"Ugh, no thanks," you sneered to cover for the treacherous flutter in your belly. "I prefer not to sully my lenses with footage of your ugly mug if I can help it."

Rather than looking affronted, Soshiro simply chuckled - the sound zinging through your veins like lightning before your muddled senses could react. In the blink of an eye, his blade was in hand as he angled his taut body into a defensive crouch shielding you from the kaiju's ravenous path.

"Well then, ugly or not," he shot back with a wink that should be illegal, "better get that fancy camera rolling, sweet thing. You're about to get an up-close look at how this big bad handles ugly customers..."

You hardly registered the lumbering beast's furious bellow as it wheeled towards you both, distracted by the lean lines of sinewy power thrumming through Soshiro with each sinuous shift of his stance. The relentless, feral aura of self-assurance bleeding from his pores in cresting waves of heat that made you feel utterly spellbound.

Shaking yourself free of the trance, you hefted the camcorder almost reflexively to start filming as Soshiro launched himself with devastating speed towards the kaiju's slashing maw. Despite the grave stakes, you couldn't deny your rapidly pounding pulse was just as much about capturing your bodyguard's unbound flow and virile grace on camera as the magnificent monster itself.

As always, Soshiro danced through the melee like a preternatural force unto himself - twisting and feinting with cat-like agility around each lancing tail sweep or snapping jaw until the perfect opening presented itself. The moment his blade carved into the beast's hide elicited a molten thrill you knew better than to name - one that had you ravenously tracking every coiled shift or his powerful physique and piercing eyes narrowed in sublime focus.

You continued relentlessly filming while Soshiro flowed from strike to high-flying counter like a man possessed. Utterly blind to anything but the sheer ruthless beauty of his form locked in mortal combat against the heaving, raging bulk swatting at his diminutive shadow.

So entranced were you by the dance underway that you failed to register your feet carrying you closer and closer into the heart of the fray. Not until a jagged chunk of debris went whipping past your head to strike home in a blossoming line of fiery agony across your scalp.

The world seemed to tilt dangerously for a moment, dimming at the edges as you reeled backwards with your free hand clutched to the ragged gash you could already feel seeping ribbons of wet heat down your face. Your grip on the camcorder slipped, precious cargo tumbling from numb fingers into the rubble.

Vague shouts and alarmed calls echoed in your ringing ears, barely piercing the fog of shock and concussion gripping your addled senses. Until suddenly, a pair of corded arms clamped around your waist to haul you bodily back against a powerful, compact frame that reeked of steel and sandalwood.

"What the fuck...?!" Soshiro roared breathlessly against your dazed form, sounding utterly incensed for perhaps the first time you'd witnessed. "Are you actually trying to get yourself killed today, you crazy girl?!"

You tried valiantly to quip back with some paltry rejoinder, to claw back a shred of your usual contemptuous bravado in the face of his censure. But his grip tightened with bruising force as he wrenched you aside even as you valiantly tried to squirm free.

"Hey, hey...look at me right now," he growled, scorching timbre bleeding real hints of genuine concern as his hand snared your jaw to still your reeling head.

Blearily, you managed to regain focus on the sharp planes of Soshiro's features twisted into rare unguarded turmoil as he drank in your battered state. His brows pinched, pursing those sinful lips around a guttural exhale as ruby irises slowly dilated with rising wrath.

"You never fucking listen to me," he bit out, each word clipped and dripping with bitter accusation. "I tell you to stay back, and what do you do? Go and get yourself hurt because you're too goddamn thick to see how much of a liability you make yourself when you pull this shit!"

You blinked back the sting of tears, uncomprehending and ashamed at the raw anger directed your way, He'd always been such an incorrigible flirt, not outright furious. What had--?

"You're bleeding...Fuck, you're putting me off my game here so fucking bad," Soshiro continued in a strained rush, free hand ghosting over the steady stream trickling from your hairline with surprising delicacy. "What's it gonna take for you to finally get it through that thick skull, huh? That I can't just—!"

Whatever frenzied outburst he might've unleashed fractured apart as the kaiju's baleful roar rent the air behind you both. You felt Soshiro's powerful frame tense against yours instinctively, torn between lashing you further and prioritizing the imminent threat looming ever nearer.

Without an ounce of ceremony, he simply turned and cupped the back of your skull to his chest as the ground quaked beneath another deadly stomp from the rampaging beast. You flinched despite yourself, bracing for the world to detonate around your fragile forms in violence.

Instead, you felt Soshiro's hips roll and coil in slow, sinuous motion as he absorbed the impact through his thighs with flawless technique. The compact power thrumming beneath his supple control sent a frisson of electric heat zinging down your spine to pool low in your core in unmistakable yearning.

"We'll finish this conversation once I've neutralized the threat," he grit out against the crown of your head in a low, dangerous purr. "Until then...don't you dare think about moving from this spot and forcing me to protect you from your own reckless ass again."

With that gruff declaration, Soshiro released you unceremoniously to rejoin the fray with a preternatural gait. You swayed in place numbly, fingers hovering over the ragged cut as wave after wave of arousal and shame crashed over your muddled senses in equal measure.

Part of you bristled at his cavalier disregard, your suicidal urges demanding you fling yourself back into the violent pandemonium without further thought. To let the kaiju's rampage swallow you whole in a blaze of visceral glory against Soshiro's wishes.

But the greater, deeply unsettling part clenched with a yearning you could no longer ignore as you tracked the elite hunter's lithe figure weaving amidst claw swipes and rubble in lethal tandem. Each rolling shift of his taut, sinewy muscles beneath that unforgiving suit set your mouth watering for reasons entirely divorced from your typical appetites.

This time, the compulsion had nothing to do with craving unbound violence or anarchy raining down without mercy. No, your new fixation centered solely on what primal ecstasy might await should you surrender to Soshiro's virile dominion utterly and without reservation. To indulge in the promise of violent rapture bound in the most intoxicating packaging imaginable...

You really were utterly, inexplicably gone when it came to this fearless man blurring the lines between heroics and carnal audacity. And unless this maddening attraction claimed you first, the discovery of whether you'd finally bent Soshiro's staunch convictions to your suicidal compulsions might just render the distinction tragically moot.

You drifted back to consciousness slowly, a dull throbbing ache pulsing behind your eyes to the cadence of beeping machines. Grimacing against the harsh fluorescent lights, you cracked open your lids and immediately recognized the stark sterility of a hospital room surrounding you.

Sluggishly, the fractured memories trickled back - the kaiju's rampage, Soshiro's scathing fury as he pinned you to safety while blood matted your hair. Tentatively, you raised one hand and felt the coarse linen bandages swaddling your head in confirmation. So that part, at least, hadn't been some fevered dream.

Wincing through the fog of grogginess, you braced yourself upright on shaking arms in preparation to swing your legs over the side of the mattress. This place was the last you wanted to linger after awakening, no matter the severity of your injuries. Anywhere had to be better than--

"Don't. Even. Think about it."

You froze at the rough, utterly irate rasp that seemed to roll over your prone form in a wave of molten sin. Slowly, you felt the hairs along your nape prickling to attention as your gaze skated up over a pair of powerful thighs clad in fatigues to settle on Soshiro's furious visage.

The elite hunter was perched on the room's solitary chair with his forearms braced on widespread knees, dark locks askew in artful disarray. But it was those striking ruby irises smoldering from beneath lowered lashes that held you utterly immobile, pinning you to the mattress with more force than any physical restraint ever could.

"You gotta be kidding me..." Soshiro growled after a fraught pause, upper lip curling in a wordless snarl. "After that stunt you pulled back there, you're seriously going to try and flee medical right when you finally come to?"

You swallowed hard, torn between withering beneath the sheer wrath radiating off him in waves or doubling down with some token act of defiance. Before you could determine which, Soshiro was surging to his feet in an effortless roll of taut muscle and prowling towards the bed like a panther eyeing its prey.

"I said," he repeated, each word bitten off like a slashing blade as you felt the mattress dip beside your prone form, "don't even think about moving, sweet thing..."

Suddenly his looming silhouette blotted out all other input, hemming you in with no avenue of escape as scorching puffs of his molten baritone caressed your flushed features. You stared up at Soshiro in dumbstruck, reluctant awe of the towering fury he exuded so effortlessly - a primal force of nature in his own right contained only by savage self-discipline.

Yet beneath the palpable waves of reproach rolling off him was something else, something darker and infinitely more perilous that set your nerve endings alight in ways you couldn't fathom. It simmered in the blistering intensity of his hooded stare boring into your widened eyes as one calloused palm rose to settle over your rapidly thundering pulse.

"You're lucky you didn't lose this tonight," Soshiro murmured, deep baritone turned to gravel as his knuckles grazed the sensitive skin over your jugular tauntingly. "Playing those idiotic reindeer games amidst a fuckin' deadly situation..."

He trailed off in a wordless growl, the backs of his fingers drifting down the pounding column of your throat in a slithering caress that raised heated goosebumps erupting over every inch of your hyper-aware flesh. Lower still, tracing over your collarbones tantalizingly before he seemed to regain control of himself.

"When are you going to get through that thick skull of yours, huh?" Soshiro rasped out, thumb anchoring against the throbbing pulse point beneath your jaw in a subtly possessive brand. "Realize you're not invincible...and that some of us actually give a damn whether you make it through each rampage intact and breathing?"

You forgot to inhale entirely as he shifted infinitesimally closer on the mattress, until your rapidly thrumming chests were mere inches apart. The simmering intensity of his gaze left you reeling, dizzy in a way the sedatives couldn't account for as each panted breath filled your starving lungs with his dark, inebriating musk.

"Or is that exactly what gets you so worked up and reckless out there, pretty girl?" Soshiro continued in a hushed rasp bordering on a sinful purr that had you flushing all the way down to your toes. "Knowing once the dust settles...we'll be left alone to keep picking up wherever we left off that night? Just me...and my very own lil' daredevil to punish as I see fit..."

Molten desire crashed over you in a searing wave as Soshiro finished with a lingering lick of his full lips, staring down at your own parted ones hungrily. Before you could draw breath to whimper out a response, his palm suddenly splayed warm and possessive over the quivering flat of your abdomen beneath the sheets.

"I don't know how many times I've imagined putting you over my knee for that kind of discipline, sweet thing..." he husked out with liquid silk potency, sending an exquisite tremor racing over your form. "Or bending you right over whatever pile of rubble happens to be closest when the urge strikes...taking my belt to that perfect ass for being so goddamn foolish..."

You keened softly, a high needy sound barely pushing past the lump in your throat. Soshiro seemed to vibrate with answering tension in response, weight sinking further into the vee of your splayed thighs until his chest dragged deliciously against the hardened peaks of your nipples.

"Is that what you really want from me, baby girl?" he growled against the scorching sweep of your cheek, silken heat searing your inflamed senses. "To earn yourself one of my special...punishments at last?"

Your breath left you in a shuddering rush with Soshiro's mouth a hairsbreadth from capturing your own in a searing glide. His fingers twitched, clenching almost imperceptibly against the feverish plane of your stomach as if fighting not to fist the hospital gown and drag you flush against his firm, straining contours.

Soshiro's smoldering stare bored into you with the intensity of a supernova as his thumb rasped over your parted lips in a teasing caress. You instinctively strained toward the promise of his molten mouth, already addicted to that sinful heat despite having yet to indulge.

"Is this what you want?" he husked out in a low rasp that washed over your tingling nerve endings like the most exquisite temptation.

You managed the barest tremor of a nod, whimpering softly as his nose brushed the column of your straining throat in the barest of nuzzles. The rough caress of Soshiro's shadowed jawline ghosting over your hypersensitive skin made you shudder against him helplessly.

"You'll have to use your words, pretty girl," he growled against the thundering pulse leaping just beneath your jaw. "Tell me exactly how bad you need this..."

His tongue traced a blazing path over the hollow of your throat, laving the sweat-slick notch between your collarbones in one tantalizingly slow glide. You whined at the molten temptation, back arching on instinct to press your aching curves against the scorching weight of his powerful frame hovering so tauntingly near.

"Please..." you managed to rasp out desperately, hands fisting in the sheets with restraint. "Soshiro, please I need-- nnngh!"

The rest of your plea dissolved into a high, keening whimper as he sealed his velvet mouth over the rigid peak of your breast in a soul-searing clamp. Soshiro growled softly in evident satisfaction around the mouthful, the vibration ricocheting straight to your throbbing pussy in merciless rapture.

One calloused palm curved around the generous swell spilling free of your sheer gown, possessive and insistent as he laved broad swirls of his sinful tongue over your nipple. You thrashed against the mattress at the overwhelming onslaught of sensation, nails raking along his sculpted forearms in a frantic bid for leverage.

He took that as encouragement, tongue lashing and teeth scraping across your tit with alternating swipes of scorching pleasure and pinprick rapture until you keened unintelligibly. Only then did Soshiro finally release you with one last lingering suckle before dragging his mouth higher in a blazing path.

"Look at me," he snarled in a voice made to ravage. Your eyes flew open to meet the molten, blown crimson glare leveled at you from mere inches away. "Eyes on me when I finally claim this perfect fucking mouth..."

With a low, feral sound he sealed his lips over yours in an explosive crash that instantly stole what little oxygen remained in your lungs with bruising intensity. Soshiro instantly delved his questing tongue past the seam of your parted mouth to invade every slick corner in a deep, territorial glide that left you squirming and whimpering against him shamelessly.

He drank down every gasping, desperate sound greedily, mercilessly ravaging you with wicked swirls and flicks of his velvet muscle that set your world spinning on its axis. You writhed against Soshiro's sculpted body, desperate for any scrap of friction while his weight caged you in relentless captivity.

A shuddering eternity passed with only the filthy slick and harsh pants shared between your greedy mouths echoing off the stark walls. Until at last, Soshiro dragged his lips from yours with a strangled groan, leaving you chasing the connection deliriously as he pinned you with a look of naked, burning possession.

"That's it, sweetheart..." he rasped out in a tone made to scorch every inch of your fevered skin anew. "You just lie there and take your punishment nice and slow...make up for all those close calls when I didn't get the chance to show you how fucking gone I was over every reckless little stunt..."

His mouth crashed back over yours in a searing lay of pure dominance before you could whimper out a response. Soshiro instantly picked up where he'd left off - mapping out every slick crevice with his questing tongue until you shattered against his ruthless onslaught once more.

As the darkness swept in to claim your spiraling consciousness, one blazing truth remained etched into your overloaded synapses even as blissful oblivion swallowed you under its tide - that you would finally surrender everything to this virile, unbound creature's communion without reservation.

Over and over, for however long it took for Soshiro to assuage the ravenous need driving his merciless claiming and bestow the ruinous rapture you'd been so foolishly, recklessly courting all this time. Because nothing else could possibly sate the hunger howling through you both like the maddening call of a wild siren.

[eddies-house]

TW: mentions of bad mental health

im imagining eddie being absolutley taken back when he finds out how people have previously treated you resulting in hesitation when being vulnerable with him.

and he's been through some shit, he's not exactly one to be voluntarily vulnerable either but with the tables turned it's like a moment of oh. like you're hiding from him, muddling your own emotions as a means to keep the peace.

he realizes that coming in strong, asking "what's wrong?" almost too oboxiously like he's previously done, only chases you further into your mind, it only insinuates that there are consquences if you were to answer so rather than being met with honesty, it's always "nothing" followed by forced smiles and sucked back tears that he's regrettably brushed off in those moments, trying to keep you comfortable. but while his intention to ease your chaotic mind by simply moving on had no ill intent, he soon recognizes the harm its caused and the pattern he's assisted in creating.

realizes he takes it far too personal when you shut down on those particularily bad days, thinks it's cause of him, only to contribute to the self destruction taking place in your mind when he continuously begs the questions "what's wrong?" "what do you want me to do?" "what can I do?" "come on, tell me what's wrong". he never understood that he was never the issue but he quickly made himself into one by nearly berating and prodding you with his questions. and then one day he sees it. sees the way your eyes go dull when he asks.

sees the front you put on, "everything's okay" while your lip wobbles. he doesn't take it personal this time, there's nothing distracting him from the obvious signs, the symptoms of broken hearted individual struggling to keep up despite the aches and pains that linger within. its a heartbreak he's so familiar with yet seems to be so blind to in others, thinking he's the only one to experience it, not selfishly but hopefully. so he straightens up and silently tells himself to quit all of his bitching because this is bigger than him, it's not because of him. you need him and he's been too insecure to think that maybe words aren't required, not by you anyway. there is no quick fix, no remedy to just stop the pain like popping an ibprofen or slapping on a bandaid, it just is. raw pain and vulnerability that should be allowed to be felt, not cured.

so this time, he recognizes the wall you put up, just like every other time though it was previously ignored. before he can even say anything, he knows you're anticipating his bombarding questions that have no answer. sees the way you tense up, the slight panic in the way your fingers tremble at the prospect of being figured out. except this time he speaks softly, a shake in his voice because he's terrifed to scare you off once again. says "i love you" then gently wraps you up in his arms, provides a barrier between you and the world you're at war with.

holds you on the kitchen floor, face pressed to his chest with a mixture of tears and snot.

runs his fingers down your spine delicately.

whispers "it's okay" when he knows it is in fact not, only hoping you're able to decipher that he means it's okay that you're not okay, it's okay that it's 1AM and while the world is asleep you're both tangled up on top of crumbs and possible neglected coffee stains

apologizes.

because for all those times you've coaxed him through an unwarranted episode, he's been neglecting you at your worst. not on purpose but it's neglect nontheless. and he knows all about it.

sings under his breath when the sobs have stopped wreaking havoc on your body. quiet hums of a familiar song, you are my sunshine.

tucks you into bed, makes you a late night snack cause he knows your appetite fails you in times like these, kisses your forehead and threads his fingers through your hair.

he's not perfect nor has he ever desired being held to such a high standard. but for you he wants to try.

[writethrough]

Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.

Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.

I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.

Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.

To Make It Through

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.

Word Count: 1203

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.

I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.

And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.

National Eating Disorders Association

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

The Trevor Project

National Institute of Mental Health

Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.

It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.

You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.

First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.

He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.

It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.

He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.

He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.

After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched. 

He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.

He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.

You were also very good at hiding it.

About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He whispered your name. You didn’t move.

He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”

You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.

“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.

The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.

He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.

He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.

“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.

You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.

“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”

You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.

“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.

You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.

Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.

He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.

You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.

You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.

He sat beside you.

Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.

It hadn’t gotten that bad.

He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.

“Why are you friends with me?”

Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Because I need you,” he said.

It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.

You shook your head. “You deserve better.”

He wanted to shield you from your own words. 

“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”

You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.

You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.

“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”

You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.

Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.

You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.

Whatever you needed from him, he would give.

“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.

Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.

“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.

“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”

It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.

And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.

“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.

Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.

“Okay.”

Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.

The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird

If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.

[honeybellexox]

Chapter 4

Important TW - this chapter contains strong self harm ideation.

Fear had settled into Khushi’s chest as she bolted from the room. An angry heat flushed through her body, coloring her golden skin a bright scarlet hue.

Khushi chewed the inside of her cheek as she sluggishly made her way back to the kitchen, mentally cursing herself for losing her composure. He just had a way of getting under her skin.

Khushi spent the rest of the afternoon doing odd chores around the home in an effort to avoid him. For the most part, she had been successful.

However, she had caught glimpses of him, here and there. Every time she had seen him she had felt her breath hitch, worrying that he would finally come over and chastise her for the events of this morning. He didn’t.

In fact, Arnav had maintained a polite distance towards her. It was different. Not quite like how he had ignored her previously, which had been icy and harsh. This felt considerably more respectful, kinder even.

The few times they had come across each other, he had held her gaze. There was a softness there that hadn’t existed before. A pensiveness. Not a single word had left his mouth yet his eyes spoke a thousand. Each second had felt like an eternity and each time, the moment would be broken by a curt nod from him before he carried on with his day, leaving a Khushi in a state of deep wonderment.

Khushi found herself in the kitchen, as she began to prepare the evening tea for family. A task that she delighted in.

She murmurs a little thank you to Devi Maiya under her breath, for the simple reason that Arnav had not yet confronted her for the events of the morning. The flicker of relief quickly became apprehension, it was difficult to let her guard down as she had become intimately aware of Arnav’s volcanic temperament and she didn’t quite trust what the night would bring.

Night.

Khushi froze at the thought, her hand retracted from the teapot handle as her eyes dart towards the kitchen wall clock. 6.30pm. A few hours before nightfall.

Khushi’s mouth begins to dry up.

During the period of Arnav’s departure, Khushi’s fear of the dark had manifested into a fear of the night. The culprit behind this change was non other than Shyam.

Shyam.

Khushi bitterly cursed the man in her mind, his vile actions had exceeded what she thought he was capable off. He had taken full advantage of her husband’s absence.

His regular leering and jeering had turned into frequent visits to her bedroom, unannounced and at random hour and then defiling her husband’s shower. As he had slowly taken claim of her marital bedroom, he also advanced upon Khushi. As if she was another possession in the room. He had become alarmingly comfortable touching her and invading her personal space.

A frightened Khushi had let it slide a couple of times, verbally shutting him down until he had insinuated going a step further, she had finally snapped.

She struck him, hard.

Khushi felt a sense of sickness bubble within her as she examined the now faint sallow fingerprints that marked her wrist. The mark felt sinful.

Shyam had furiously yanked her wrist and twisted after she had raised her hand at him, she could still remember how his face had contorted into something that could only be described as demonic. Ugly, rageful and twisted, his spindly fingers had clutched her wrist so tightly she had feared it would break.

His dark promise was still etched in her mind.

“Don’t misunderstand my love for weakness, Khushiji. I have been far too lenient with you, next time I won’t be so kind next time.’’ She had winced as he gave her wrist a harsh twist “Understood?”

Now, Khushi was left with an ugly bruise on her wrist as a reminder, lest she forget. The more she stared at it the more her repulsion grew and so did the desire to rip it or burn it off.

Burn it …

Her eyes flit to the delicate floral teapot that sat prettily on the tray, almost mockingly.

The hot steam that oozed out from the teapot, tantalized her. Her hands reach out to it …what if -

“Khushi bitiya! Come quickly! Look what chote brought back!” Nani called out from the main hall.

Khushi blinked, as horror and shame overcame her. She quickly placed the teacups on the tray and made her way to where the family had gathered around.

The entire Raizada clan had gathered around the main hall, eagerly awaiting their presents that Arnav had brought back from his trip.

He had gotten something for everyone, everyone except Shyam.

Arnav had looked around his bag briefly, and then pointedly announced that he had no idea where Shyam’s present had disappeared. Khushi secretly felt a sense of giddiness, this must be one of Devi Maiya’s punishments!

Anjali shoots Shyam a disheartened look, but Shyam was quick to placate her, saying the best present was to have his Saale-Saab back, alive and well.

Arnav narrowed his eyes at Shyam. There was an angry buzz of energy in the air. Stifling and uncomfortable.

‘‘Don’t worry, Jijaji, I’ll make sure you get your present.” Arnav promised through gritted teeth. Khushi couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, she felt unease at the tone of voice. Was she imagining this tension or had it always existed?

Khushi discreetly takes in all the faces around the room, the Raizada’s were all merry and smiling, seemingly oblivious to the exchange between the two men. Were they blind or was it Khushi? The last face Khushi fell on was her sister, Payal’s.

Payal returned the look, she had noticed it too. An unspoken question lingered before the two for a brief moment.

Anjali breaks the tension.

‘‘Chote, you forgot someone else!” Her voice was full of mirth and sounded like twinkling bell chimes.

Arnav raises an eyebrow at his sister, a quizzical look in hie eyes. Anjali offers him nothing but a cheeky grin.

Nani sighs, shaking her head in amusement.

‘‘Chote, you forgot your wife!’’

‘‘I didn’t forget, Nani, Khushi will be receiving her present in private’’ Arnav replies, his gaze was solely on Khushi now, who had started to redden. Anjali playfully nudges her, finding delight in her brother’s rather bold declaration.

Shyam, however, had tightly clenched his fists.

Khushi doubted he was being honest about a present, not that she cared much for one.

After everyone had dispersed, Payal latched on to her younger sister. Guiding her to a secluded cubby area that they had discovered in their few months of living within Raizada mansion. It was rather odd reflecting on it, despite being such a large house there was never a sense of true privacy. There was a sense of something omnipresent in the air, a feeling of being watched. Both Gupta sister’s had felt it and had still not fully adjusted to it.

‘‘Jiji, is everything okay?’’ Khushi asked, suddenly concerned.

“I wanted to ask about Arnavji … is there something going on between him and Shyam?”

Khushi paused, taking in the question.

“I’m not sure…Arnavji hasn’t mentioned anything, I wonder if something happened between them.”

Payal frowns.

“ Do you think he knows?…about Shyam?” Payal asks, her brows knitted together.

The question pierces Khushi, dread builds up as she imagines the worst case scenario, if Arnav indeed knew about her link to Shyam. No it couldn’t be…it just couldn’t.

Khushi shakes her head.

“No Jiji, if Arnavji knew wouldn’t he ask me first? Wouldn’t he do something? I don’t think it’s that …it can’t be”

Payal nods, her expression still unsure.

“Hmm you’re right Khushi, perhaps it was something else. Not hard to imagine given how repulsive that Shyam is” Payal snorts as she continues. “But as we are on the topic, I want to ask you if you’re okay Khushi…if everything between you and Arnavji is fine? I thought you would be happy when he came back …but you still don’t look yourself..’’ Payal’s soft voice trails off.

Khushi gently grabs a hold of her older sister’s hand, giving it a tender squeeze.

‘‘I’m perfectly fine, Jeeji, I wonder why everyone thinks I’m not!’

Payal raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t look well, Khushi.” She says, as she checks over Khushi - examining her and even placing her hand over her forehead and cheeks to check her younger sister’s temperature.

Khushi breaks away from Payal.

“Jiji, I swear on Devi Maiya I’m fine, I’m healthy. Why don’t you believe me?”

‘’Because this isn’t you, Khushi, I don’t like seeing you like this…you look colorless and frail, you barely ate anything at dinner again, don’t think I didn’t notice!’ Payal states sternly.

Khushi shifts around, nervously. She lets out a rather exaggerated giggle.

‘‘Oh, That! …it’s just that I-I’m dieting! I want to lose weight for Arnavji’’ she blurts out, Khushi realized how stupid her words sounded as soon as they left her mouth but it was too late.

Payal shoots her an incredulous look, her jaw dropping at the revelation.

‘‘Arnavji thinks you should lose weight? You?! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!’’ Payal exclaimed.

Khushi didn’t know how to respond, knowing that she would only further dig her own grave if she opened her mouth, so instead she offers Payal a slight shrug.

Payal’s mouth sets into a firm line and Khushi inwardly cringes as she recognises the fierce, tenacious look that had come over in her sister’s eyes.

She braced herself for Payal’s next words.

‘That’s it, I’m having a word with Arnavji’

There it was, the final blow.

Payal had started to make her way towards the stairs as Khushi leapt into action.

‘‘Jijiiiii! Noooo! You can’t talk to Arnavji!!’’ Khushi desperately flailed after her sister.

Payal stopped and turned to face her.

‘‘Khushi, I have to talk to him, he needs to realise that it’s not okay to say these things’’ Payal states.

Khushi racks her brains, praying for Devi Maiyaa to intervene.

‘‘You can’t talk to him! You can’t because…because I l-lied. He never said those things, I was just pulling your leg Jiji!’’ Khushi admits, adding a loud obnoxious laugh at the end, for good measure.

Payal gasps and lightly whacks Khushi on the arm who in turn pouts.

‘‘What am I going to do with you, Khushi?’’ Payal sighs, rubbing her temple.

Giving up Payal leaves, not before adding ‘‘make sure you get something to eat before bed!’‘

Khushi was once again alone with her thoughts.

That was a close call!

Khushi mentally thanks Devi Maiyaa as she makes her way towards the bedroom once again .

———————————————————————-

Notes:

I’m so sorry for the long, long delay! I’m still not happy with the chapter and my inner perfectionist is flaring up (I’m cringing posting this knowing I’ve probably misread/missed something) but i sincerely hope this is still enjoyable. I have rewritten this chapter so many times and I’m like screw it, posting it now lol.

There were a couple of points I wanted to touch on such as an emphasis of the sisters having an otherness to them when in the company of the Raizada’s … I thought it would be fascinating to touch on their obliviousness, which I imagine being caused by a mix of family familiarity and a sense of upperclass blindness, which is completely my own headcanon but notice how people savvy Khushi, Payal and Shyam are compared to the others? (Idk if that makes sense) ….but also thought it would be interesting to mention lack of privacy again, like living in a fancy fishbowl, a little nod to Shyam’s cameras (dw that’s not actually in the story but just Shyam being present in the home is creepy!)

The self harm description was graphic and uncomfortable and I hope it wasn’t too much but I felt compelled to include it in.

Please enjoy!

Honey 💖💖

[sizhui]

hello clari i hope you’re doing well! how do you feel about rei’s ending in slow damage? i know a lot of people don’t like that he drops his femininity but i feel like his happy end is accepting the masculinity he spent so long denying and i was wondering what you think! ^-^

Hello, hellooooo! Ok (cracks my knuckles) ive been silent on slowdam for a while with some thoughts cooking in my head and i feel like its time to let a few of them out - to talk about how i feel about rei's route, i must first explain my understanding of slow damage in its entirety... i talked about it here and there to emery and dove but here comes a synthesis!

I warn you: this is only my unconventional analysis, and I think that many will find it unsatisfying and disagree. If anyone wants to discuss or criticize any of my points, i am open to having my mind changed.

Huge thanks to Renne who introduced me to Surodame and set me on the path of studying it!

Under the cut TW: rape, csa

Slow Damage is a story about the consequences and the cyclic nature of abuse. Abuse sticks its claws into you and rakes down, leaving behind four ditches - orderly in some cases, and more chaotic in others. Either way, even as the skin and flesh heal, there is now a generous amount of empty space in you, and Slow Damage poses a question - what will you fill it up with, hmm?

I went into this VN knowing only that Towa enjoys rather extreme forms of self harm, and I have to admit that this was precisely what captivated my attention at first - the promise of a severely damaged protagonist, and the hope that he is more than a run-of-the-mill masochist. I was not disappointed.

The extent to which towa relates injury to sex and pain to pleasure immediately made me suspect the sort of trauma he must have endured in childhood. For a moment, I thought: Isn't the solution to this mystery a little too obvious? Looking back at the lack of subtlety, though, I don't think that Towa being a CSA victim was supposed to be some kind of a grand reveal. The point wasn't in cracking the mystery, in understanding motivations and getting concrete answers - the point was observing onr case of the consequences of abuse that will tell us - no, ASK us - something about all of them. HOW does the thing that happened to Towa keep happening over and over, and in silence too? What mechanisms allow it to happen, and to stay hidden? What all sorts of people, some of them generally good and kind, participate in these mechanisms?

Let us retrace our steps.

Maya forced her own son into violent prostitution from a very young age, all the while teaching him how to use charms to his advantage, how to manipulate people and fulfill their desires in order to gain control over them. The WAY she taught those things methodically seems to insinuate that this was something she herself had been taught at a young age and passed on; the art of assuming the exact persona you need to prod into people's insides. This isn't to say that her actions classify as excusable - in fact, isn't the fact that she's putting her child through the horrors she experienced herself even more disgusting? I wonder if her lessons in human psychology were all for the self-obsessed purpose of turning her son into a copy of herself... or was she, in a twisted way, thinking it would hell him endure and rise the way that she did? I am going to let that question hang in the air - after all, the point of Surodame isn't to review individual motivations, but to ask questions about the grander scheme of things. That is precisely why I cried together with Towa upon reading the strangely frail account of Maya's diary: I just can't make this work... realizing that the slow-growing disease had spread beyond that mother-son duo, beyond the walls of Euphoria, beyond Shinkoumi... in every corner of the world, there are hundreds of Mayas and Towas, and millions upon millions of Silent Takus wondering what they could have done differently.

For starters I want to focus on Towa himself. When I think about him, the first phrase that comes to mind is 'a void filled with the dregs of abuse'. Though he himself doesn't remember his abuse throughout the first three routes, his every move is a reflection of it: every sexual encounter both a self-inflicted wound and an attempt to affirm: IT'S ME WHO CHOSE TO DO THIS TO MYSELF, which is why Towa's breakdown upon realizing that not even his scars are his own is especially painful. I like the choice of stating that Maya did not like nor understand art. She COULDN'T understand it. Though the penchant for uncovering people's dark desires and the ability to read them were all influenced by Maya, the instinct to paint those is Towa's. The art that almost died together with him was the one thing that belonged to him alone - and yet, there is comfort in the fact that the true route ends with him saying that he doesn't know whether he'll paint anymore or not. What matters is that he quit performing euphoric episodes, closed the cycle of abuse and perpetuating Maya's ideals, and began walking towards a peaceful life. The sight of the atelier in the main menu all clean and bright upon Towa's vision returning to normal made me strangely emotional; the reveal that the painting was never dark and muddy, that the atelier was never that dark and scary... the final tour around Shinkoumi with everyone telling Towa that he looks like something good had happened to him... at the end of a very painful road, Towa still found some comfort in existing.

But what of Fujieda? Of Madarame, of Rei, Taku? For a BLVN, isn't it strange to go 6 paragraphs deep without mentioning any of the love interests?

I will preface this by saying that, to me, the very point of Surodame lies in the fact that none of them are ultimately good boyfriends to Towa. I really wanted to interpret the actions of the three sans Madarame more charitably than I do now, but in reasoning with myself, I failed at every single attempt. They are, to varying degrees and each in their own way, a deadend.

Let's go route by route.

Murase Takuma is a kind man in a way Towa is not - this is driven into our heads from the start, he is a doctor. He cares for children, workers and the elderly. He even lends an ear to them outside of his responsibilities as their physician, overworking himself to the brink of death. His role as a caretaker of a hopeless, bleak person like Towa, an addict who is destructive towards both himself and others, can certainly be percieved as saintly. Even his actions of keeping Towa's past from him, burning letters and throwing away packages, were all for the sake of preserving Towa's sanity! However, though Taku's intentions are pure, I can't read them as benign. Well - he is probably the most benign of the four men Towa involves himself with, being the only one who never physically lashed out on him. Neither abuser nor victim, Taku is a third thing entirely - an observer. A hider, a savior, a carer... and at its core, though not intentionally, an enabler. I do agree that there was nothing Taku could have done to save Towa as a child. There just wasn't a way to take Towa away from Euphoria while Maya lived. I do believe that he did the best he could, patching Towa up time after time... staying throughout the years, changing the bedding, throwing out the liquor bottles. Eat something, Towa. Smoke less, Towa. Once Towa got a lot older, Taku grew to love him romantically. Though I find it unsavory, Towa is over twenty-five at this point so it's not really some big deal. The much more dreadful power imbalance than that in age is the fact that Taku is holding the entirety of Towa's past, his abuse, and his identity over his head. Once again, I'm not calling Taku out as a gaslighter here - not in this route, at least, since Towa had no interest in his true identity at this point anyway. But you can't deny that their happy ending - embracing under the cherry blossoms with a calmer, more mature looking Towa, his hair a clean black, an orderly cardigan billowing behind him - is a sort of a quiet misery. Taku loves the man he saved (raised?), the man who presumably quit painful sex for his sake, and Towa doesn't even know what it is that he's being saved from. Towa is a hole. I really might not have interpreted this ending so negatively if it wasn't for the scene of Taku showing Towa a photograph of him as a little child in a restaurant with his mother. This smiling child prostitute in an orderly little boys' getup, dining with his pimp mother and his future lover. It felt to me like a means of truly driving into our brains the extent of Taku's helplessness, delusion, failure, and LIES. The photograph is a fabricated reality, a fabricated happy past that he feeds to Towa. In this route, this is what Towa filled the ditch with - a daydream, and sweet vanilla sex that doesn't scratch his itch. I can't give them more than five years before Towa falls back into his old habits. The end.

Now we get to Rei, who you originally asked me about. I am sorry I dragged it out to this extent, but I truly can't talk about Rei alone without addressing the grand scheme of things. Rei is also a sort of a carer to Towa, though a more casual one. A friend friend rather than a dad friend, I say this with half a scowl hanging off my face. Let us review Rei's situation with gender - due to his toxic, abusive dad (who was also a child sex trafficker, might I add!) degrading him for his homosexuality and saying it made him less of a man, Rei developed an aversion to masculinity, speaking in onee-kotoba and growing out his hair and such. At some point he attempted to cut off his own penis in Towa's presence, but ended up hesitating and not going through. All in all, he decided to drop all things associated with traditional masculinity other than street fighting, which he uses to vent out his frustration. This is the key word here - FRUSTRATION. Rei's frustration grows to hundred percent when he is forced to enter to-the-death matches. Killing opponent after opponent, Rei grows more frustrated and less and less like his friendly effeminate self. I think the key solution to the question of 'how is the writing of rei's gender handled?' Is the fact that Rei rediscovered his masculinity through violence. And Slow Damage is not a game that... likes violence, encourages it, or overall relates it to anything remotely positive. I don't think that Rei reconnected to his masculinity in a healthy way, and I don't think it's meant to be read as a cool finding himself arc. Most of all, it's not his or Towa's happy ending. Towa... the thing is that Rei only realized a sexual attraction to Towa once the amount of violence in his life amplified to the max. As his level of 'manliness' grew. Their sex scene is very frank about this - after he and Towa beat each other into bloody pulp, he says something along the lines of 'I'm a man and I want to fuck you.' I think it drives the point further that he was the only virginal love interest to that point - when he percieved himself as a woman, he had no violent sexual appetites, or at least didn't see a way towards realizing them. Once he 'reverted' into a man though, he could fuck Towa. He could claim his prize - who has no objections, given that it feeds perfectly into his own penchant that I described at the start. And their ending, showing us a casually manly Rei biking with Towa? We have no proof that he's in any way abusive, nor that they're unhappy, but... this 'new gender' of his, he built it up with bricks made of blood, some of it Towa's. I don't think Rei reached a happy ending. I think Rei is a feminine person, or at the very least a gender nonconforming man who retreated back into the closet within the violent festa that his father brought upon him... many will disagree, but this is how I read it - a manhood built up on violence equals unhapliness for two. I think Towa and Rei might stay together longer than Towa and Taku would, but it won't bring either of them any healing. The end.

Madarame's route is the simplest, since Madarame does not hide himself behind any masks. He is a violent, shameless pedophile rapist who gladly continues paving the road of self-destruction that Maya had left off half-finished. I think that placing this ending behind Taku and Rei's serves as a bit of a wake up call who felt pacified by the former two - um, hey, hello? Did you forget? This is not a 'happy story'. For some three hours you watch Madarame break Towa psychologically, repeatedly rape and torture him - only to release him back to Taku and Rei for Towa to find that he can't truly fit im with them anymore. What purpose does it serve? Well, I think it just shows us that there never was any long-term happiness waiting for Towa with either of those men. I think the purpose of the Madarame route, beyond preparing us for the true route, is to totally nullify the effect of the first two. A 'forget what you thought you knew' type of detail. Broken into obedience, a wild blond Towa kissed Madarame after a boxing match. The end.

Fujieda.

He perplexes me the most, and I'm still not entirely certain in the answer I arrived to. Why would the author who penned this painfully real story about abuse have Towa end up with a man who - midway through the route - raped him? I tried to work wonders to explain this to myself, try to interpret it differently, but the truth is concrete. Fujieda raped Towa in a fit of rage, and then with a sober mind refused to apologise for it. Why would this be in a 'painfully real story about abuse?'

...precisely because it's painfully real. It happened to Towa. It happened to a million others. It might happen to you. When you hit your knee, do your fingers not venture to fondle the bruise, press down for a small reminder of what the pain felt like? The fingers are usually kind, but once in a while, they press down.

And again - Fujieda does not consistently abuse Towa. In fact, he gives him his first taste of truly pleasurable sex in a scene that pushed me to the brink of tears in its sad honesty. When Fujieda has a good day, he gently washes the remnants of assault out of Towa. But when he had an extremely bad way, he was the perpetrator of the assault. I think it's 'painfully real' for Towa to end up with such a man. After coming to terms with his past, this was the best he could do. This was as much as he could save himself. The VN ends on such a note - don't be too happy for him, and don't be too sad. I do believe that Fujieda brought Towa some comfort and clarity, but I can't say that this isn't a deadend, too. Just a more peaceful one in the light. In the ocean.

What's the point then, if Towa ends up stranded no matter what choices you make? Let's return to the beginning, to the ditch abuse made in you. Sometimes you fill it in with fantasies, sometimes with violence, sometimes with the 'next best thing', a 'he's a good man you know, he's only rough when he drinks' typa marriage... no matter what, fact is that all abused kids seek to fill it in with something familiar. Something they know and recognize. It yearns to be filled, it aches for it - whatever you're ready to dish out, just put it in! I think this merry-go-round of victims and perpetrators is what Surodame is tryong to turn our eyes towards, or at least force us to stop averting them. So that you may not scorn the Towa in your life, so that if you are a Towa yourself, you may find comfort in knowing that someone somewhere dreemed you up, empathized with you and lead your hand along the path. Why, then, do we not see our Towa free?

Well, the future is long. He was in an ocean. Maybe he walked out.

[oneshotsandheadcanons]

He’s Back -Spencer Reid

Summary: In this story, it wasn’t Prentiss who ‘died’, it was Reid. His best friend never got to tell him the truth and blames herself everyday. The team tries to help but there’s only one solution, bring him back, but what will the reaction be?

TW: SELF HARMING

A year, it had been one year since Spencer had died, I’d been in therapy for it ever since, mandated by Hotch. I’d been with him, trying to catch this UnSub who was obsessed with him. She shot him, I’d tried everything to help before the ambulance got there. 

I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t save him, he died in surgery, and the UnSub got away. I will make her pay. But the worst part? I didn’t get to tell him the truth, or say goodbye. I will never forgive myself for saving him. I have nightmares about it, I hardly sleep anymore. I need to catch her.

I walked into work, coffee in hand, as usual. I’m good at hiding things thankfully, so the team has never noticed.

“Woah, another big coffee. Someone didn’t get much sleep.” Morgan joked, obviously insinuating something but I was not in the mood.

“I’m fine.”

“Woah, woah. What’s going on with you?” Morgan asked, I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Just a bad night.” I said, trying to get him to leave it.

“You okay? Anything I can do? Hotch would give you a fe....”

“Morgan, stop!” I yelled. “You can’t help.”

“Maybe I can, if you let u...”

I’d had enough.

“Can you bring Spencer back from the dead?!” I yelled at him, he jumped back slightly. “Because that’s the only thing that would help!”

I could feel the tears spilling and rushed off before anything else could be said.

Was anyone else in the bullpen? I can’t remember, I don’t know who heard.

After I’d calmed down, I went to find him to apologise, I saw him in Hotch’s office, but stopped when I heard him talking.

“We need to tell Y/N man, she still blames herself. She’s struggling.”

“You know we can’t.”

“Hotch, it’s been a year, we need to tell her about Reid.”

“Tell me what about Reid.” I asked, entering the room. “What is it?”

JJ came in, looks like they’re saved...for now. She looked at me.

“You’re gonna want to see this.”

We all rushed to the round table. There she was, on the board, the woman who killed him. She was back, I had to find her. JJ told us everything she knew and where she was.

“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch told us as we got up. “And JJ, make the call. meet us there.”

The call? Maybe to the local PD, to say were coming? But he never  usually tells her.

We went through everything on the plane and headed straight to the station when we landed. Once we’d got through introductions, Hotch requested for just the team to be in a private room.

He closed the door to, and shut the blinds. Why not shut the door? He stood on the other side, I turned, my back facing the door.

“We all need to talk.....about Reid.”

“No.” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry?” Hotch asked, as they all turned to face me.

“I said no! I already have to talk about him in therapy, which YOU are making me do Hotch!” I yelled, surprising everybody. “Then you all try to get me to as well. I don’t want to! It’s my fault he died, I couldn’t save him, she got away because of me!”

“Y/N, that’s no....” JJ tried, but I cut her off.

“And you know what the worst part is? He died before I could apologise or say goodbye.” I could feel the tears coming. “He died before I could tell him I loved him and I’ve loved him for years, and it kills me everyday. Each morning, when I first get up, for a second I forget, and then it hits again and it’s like losing him again every single day. So no, I won’t talk about him.”

I turned to walk out, but stopped suddenly.

“S..s..Spencer? But you’re dead...we buried you.”

“This had to be done for Spencer’s safety, but now we nee...” 

I didn’t let Hotch finish, I pushed past Spencer and out of the station. He’s alive? He’s been alive for this whole year, and no one told me?

Morgan came out to me.

“Did you know?” I asked, before he could speak. I lit up a cigarette, a habit I’d started and kept hidden after Spencer.

“Yeah, I wanted to tell you after how you suffered. But I wasn’t allowed.” He explained. I could understand it wasn’t his decision but I was still pissed. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Guess we all kept secrets.” I said coldly, before walking off.

I didn’t know what to do. Of course I’m glad he’s alive but I mourned and grieved him, I buried him. Shit, did he just hear me confess everything?

No, I knew what to do. I stormed back in, everyone was still in the room.

“You seriously didn’t tell me after I was in the hospital?!” I yelled at Hotch. I’d only been in there once this past year.

“The car accident?” Emily asked. “But what has tha...”

I cut her off with a cold laugh.

“Y/N, don’t.” Hotch warned.

“Well since we’re all revealing secrets. That car crash, six months after the incident? It wasn’t a car crash. There’s a reason I only ever wore long sleeves afterwards.” I said, pulling my sleeve up to reveal the cuts  I’d inflicted upon myself. “I’d been hurting myself to cope, it’s the only thing that helped. One time I cut too deep, Hotch found me and took me to hospital, we told everyone it was a crash. Hotch even crashed my car on purpose. You KNEW why I did that, what would have happened if I did it again? If I died?”

Hotch went silent and I turned around to leave, Spencer in my path.

“You did that...because of me?”

“Not because of you. Because of what happened. I couldn’t cope, it was my fault, and I didn’t even catch her.”

Spencer pulled me into a hug and I let him. “I’m so so sorry, it wasn’t your fault that she got away or that I got shot.” I could hear him sniffling.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” I whispered, hugging him back. I was angry at Hotch right now, but I knew we had to catch her, so I’d put it aside until we got back.

“Now let’s go get this bitch.”

[ryanleonitus]

TW: Self Harm

Most of the mass shooters seem to have a physical track record that aligns them with being conservative and, more specifically, pro Trump. What's ironic about that is if you take a look at the profiles of these folks, they are everything Trump - even in his more umm "logical" mind- wouldn't even acknowledge. Let alone in his delusion. Look at the most recent one in IL.

I say physical track record because you'll see those folks at Trump rallies yet they also claim to hate politicians. Bud Dwyer was the politician who completed suicide on a live television broadcast. The most recent mass shooter stated all politicians should be like Dwyer. Without digging you wouldn't know that years after his demise, Dwyer was found to be innocent of the crimes charged against him.

All of that to state that these folks -these white men- cling to whatever seems to support their personal agendas. You know, it's almost like they want to be evil but can't quite be self-sufficient.

So here we have this guy who can be seen with two-tone dyed hair at some point, face and neck tattoos, and about 16,000+ streams of his mumble/sad rap music on various platforms shooting up a 4th of July gathering. The "most patriotic day" of the year. He shoots it up and then smiles in his mugshot because he was taken into custody safely. (As opposed to his drawings that insinuated he expected to be killed by police.) None of his actions align with anything other than mental illness. I say that loosely because with white men it's fair play in America. The same folks who have the most access to mental healthcare and who are treated well within the mental healthcare field are the ones who get a "mental illness pass" when they commit heinous acts. The rest of us are just evil.

Meanwhile, Rep. Marjorie Greene is concerned about these same folks having their rights taken away by gun reform. More clearly, Greene is concerned that folks who oppose abortion, LGBTQ+ rights, etc.. will be deemed as dangerous individuals and won't be able to legally possess guns. The issue is, they are dangerous individuals. And rather than use their voices to be heard like they expect the oppressed to do, they use their guns. If the oppressed choose violence, those acts of violence are used to justify why we are inferior. When The Others choose violence, it is out of protection for their rights. Their rights are being threatened and that threat needs to be suppressed.

The fed-up oppressed are the threat in America.

[randomlonelytorment]

My character has developed, I no longer want to die I intead wish to burn the world to the ground and smoke it's ashes within the rubble.

[betterlovers]

.

[mereelskirata]

I’ve felt super shit after a conversation with my step-dad this morning and have felt that feeling the entire day but after moving into my bedroom this evening and seeing a pen on my bed, I felt the impulsive need to just draw lines repeatedly on my hand until I didn’t want to anymore and now I just... feel fine?? I don’t know what this means but I guess it’s better than the alternative?

[asciii]

yuri has been acting kind of strange lately

[twiceminded-archived]

Hey al...You doing okay? Those look like they hurt man...

“It’s just topical shit. Most of the time blood comes up when I scratch too much at my head.”

Bandaids hide what he did to his upper arms.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

don’t let it break your heart - a close reading

does this song have me crying a puddle if i think about it for too long? yea. is that the case with almost any louis or larry-related thing? yes. is that probably my own fault? no wtf how dare you insinuate that, this is their fucking fault for messing with my emotions like this. 

right, track two, let’s fucking go

walls, track 2

On our way to Twenty Seven

“our”: in this together

27 Club - lyrics officially capitalised (one of the writers confirmed this was reference they were going for but i can’t find it rip) - musicians/artists (also accidentally) passing away at age 27 due to substance abuse, mental health issues, etc. 

⟶ both of them were struggling with mental health and/or substance abuse/a high-risk lifestyle as a result of their careers (most probably) and it was so serious that louis actually puts them in that category of celebrities who were led to their deaths that way

Got a place on the other side of London Doing better, doing better

living together, life partners - getting a place together is nothing new 

“other side” - moved away from something?

things are looking up anyhow

And I know you left a part of you In New York under your bed in a box But you're doing better, doing better

reference to something very specific, sth we’ll probably never know about but it was so bad that “you” was never whole again afterwards - the event is stored in a box under the bed like an old memory that gets revisited every now and then

“New York” - parallels to be laid, which i will kindly let you read here on @bluewinnerangel​ ‘s blog, bc i she says it all best (tw/ self-harm and very sad shit and also haylor and honest to god i don’t recommend reading it if you’re having a bad day) + this post is for louis’s lyrics specifically 

repeating of “doing better” almost like a mantra, manifestation, or a soothing reminder - fake it ‘til you make it / sometimes that really is all that helps: remind yourself of the progress you’ve already made

Life gets hard and it gets messed up When you give so much, but it's not enough

“life gets hard” - he is speaking from experience and empathy

ppl taking advantage, only taking and never giving; sucking them dry

“you” as someone who wants to do the most / fix everything / wears their heart on their sleeve, and they get hurt

When the high's too high and the low's too low

(manic) depression in the simplest of terms

When you love someone and they let you go

gender neutral!!!

who let them go? is louis soothing “you” after they were hurt by some previous lover? it doesn’t really sound like it was louis who did the letting go here, since that wording and the overall tone of the song points me away from that conclusion, but hey, who am i to know  

can also definitely be not a lover at all, but someone "you” loved platonically or as family

Don't you let it kill you Even when it hurts like hell

feels like the opposite side of kill my mind: that was him mentioning his darkness and how “you” saved him, this is him soothing “you” and describing their darkness/hell/devil

Oh, whatever tears you apart Don't let it break your heart

“you” is not just going through one single thing - ups and downs of mental state, multiple/no specific causes

“you” is clearly sensitive and things get to them deeply

Time takes time to heal it You can't do it by yourself Oh, whatever tears you apart Don't let it break your heart

be patient, be kind to yourself + don’t shut me out, let me (or others) help you

It comes, it goes

～ “high’s too high, low’s too low” - more allusions to depression 

We're driving down a one-way road

in one direction you mean?

they’re not ever going back (to a prison of a past life) 

always in it together

To something better, something better

hope

What hurts you is gonna pass and You’ll have learnt from it when it comes back You’ll be doing better, yeah, doing better

“when it comes back” - “it” = what hurt “you”? the shit feeling itself, the hurt? are they one and the same?

depression, again: comes and goes, will never fully be away but the shittiest days always pass, the water ebbs away again. and they’ll always be a little better at dealing with the lows and enjoying the highs

it’s definitely something “you” has to deal with time and again and it’ll never not be that way

faith in the future: you will be doing better, trust me and trust yourself - realistic comforting

this verse definitely confirms to me that the hurting was not done by louis - wouldn’t be so blunt about sth he did (“it’ll pass and you’ll learn from it ahah sorry btw”)

SYNTHESIS

This second track on Walls has just the kindest, sweetest song, I love it so much. It deals with deep, real shit, trauma and depression, in the form of lyrics that feel like a tight warm hug. Louis really is saying: I know what you’re going through, I know what you’re feeling, which is all valid and real, but I also know you’ll get through this.

I find it almost startling how in-your-face, black-on-white Louis is about these painful emotions. Again, it’s his ability to hide in plain sight in full force, and his confidence in being honest about his feelings (at least in music or otherwise in cryptic messages). It starts off with giving us a punch in the gut, by aligning him and his loved one with members of Club 27. The implications of this are astounding and I can hardly believe he put that in there. It’s Louis telling us that their lifestyle, their careers, almost were the death of them. I don’t even want to think about it too much. Again, just think about Liam’s recent opening up about his addiction and mental struggles and remember that’s just a tiny glimpse of what all of them went through.

The entire song makes very open, clear allusions to depression or mental illness in general. Something happened - in NY - that seems to have been a catalyst for the highs and lows, the feelings that tear “you” apart so heavily that it could break them. There’s an acceptance of a long-term dealing with this, an acknowledgement that these ups and downs are part of their lives and all they can do is remember that it’ll get better, that it’ll pass. They have each other, and “you” also needs to remember that they’re not in it alone (but ofc depression has a knack for making us shut off from ppl). 

I don’t ever think Louis is positive in a toxic way (mentioning this bc there was some discourse around this a while ago), batting away any negative sentiment, because his lyrics prove the opposite. Sure, the sound of the song is very optimistic and upbeat, but that doesn’t negate the realness in the lyrics.

What I find one of the best lyrics in this song is “You’ll have learnt from it when it comes back” because it shows a realistic understanding of all these emotions. Louis never dismisses them, never says they’ll disappear eventually or they’ll be over everything in the end. He says “you’ll be doing better.” There’s confidence in “you” to be able to handle all of it, because they’re strong - not because “it” is nothing - and they’re not alone, either. Louis also knows that it’ll come back, it’ll happen again, but that’s not a problem. Every time is different, maybe a little better, even, because you grow and learn. Every low teaches you something about how to deal with it, and it won’t prevent another low from coming or hurting any less, but it will give you tools to be patient with and kind to yourself.

In the music video, I also find it interesting to see how this part in the trilogy features them in the pub and playing football. Despite their shitty situation, they’re still enjoying themselves, since they’re still around people they care about and clearly having genuine fun. The main character in the mvs stayed afloat thanks to love and friendship. And then they managed to make their escape. Obviously, the storyline in the mv features them in a group of five doing that robbery being used and manipulated by The Boss, which is also something to think about in relation to these lyrics. “You” was definitely used, they gave their all. For what? And it was so easy to get sucked in, to stay stuck in that lifestyle. But they got out before it was too late.

So yeah. Much to think about. Another song in the books that just means so much more to me now that I’ve picked apart every word. <3333 hey louis if you’re reading this i love your brain

read my other lyric analyses here