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miss-atena · 2 months

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TWST MAFIA AU SORTA GALORE OF INFO

ehehehe I'm up to no good...

WARNING: in-depth depictions of crime, mentions of drugs, ring fights, animal trafficking, extortion, assassination, doxxing and other cybercrimes, gore, people trafficking, and other really bad stuff of the sort. PLEASE AVOID THIS IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF HEAVY TOPICS IN GENERAL, THIS MAY GO WITH LOTS OF THOSE FROM ALL SORTS. note:I'll try to keep everypost about my mafia au with the text under the cut, so no one is triggered, as well as tagging properly. anything needed to be tagged that I don't cover please tell me. I am not afraid of delving into heavy topics of all sorts, and as such if the existence of this makes you uncomfortable, I will not be sad or mad to be blocked. Do what your health desires <3 Now onto the gruesome sights...

The Basics: As we may all know, Twisted Wonderland is a world full of sights to observe, culture to delve into, and all sorts of wonders. It is no different expected from a Wonderland. But if you delve closer, you may see that Twisted is much tamer than what really goes on in this world. The bane of the existence of a heavily capitalistic and globalized world is, of course, that as long as there is demand, there will be products to sell. Behind the curtains of pretty places and delightful music and cuisine, you may find yourself seeing some of the worst things happening to others. The heads, who control all of this monopoly over all sorts of twisted and gruesome acts, have their favorite heirs to this dangerous, yet extremely rewarding throne of crime. Those lucky ones are sent to the place that, on the outside, looks like the perfect magical academia, with only the most capable students and fierce-minded people, but soon you will find the reality when the doors close and the back ones open. Night Raven College is supposed to be a normal magical academy, that is on the paper, but when we were in need, we resorted to getting in debt with some of the most gut-wrenching people of all twisted Wonderland, and now we retribute by letting their... trainees, we will say, study and do their deeds there. They get the knowledge of the (metaphorical) underworld, and NRC gets enough funds for all we may need. Ain't I- I mean, the Headmage ever so generous?

The Dorms: Why, it is common knowledge that the different uniforms mean different dorms, but what does this entail, in this newfound context? Glad you asked! The Dorms selection used to not be biased but... that ended up on a whole new set of troubles... So now the dorm selection is, of course, by the Dark Mirror, but sometimes I- I mean, the Headmage finds there were "troubles" when dealing with the paperwork, and the student will be residing in another dorm for... a while, let's put it that way. That while can change, of course! but sometimes... it is not a good thing to change what is already good.

The Heartslabyul dorm, ever so strict about the rules! They make sure their exotic and wild animals are well-tended before they are sent to their new homes, with their brand-new owners. It is well known that Heartslabyul students have a heavy Animal Linguistics course, for the heads in the Queendom of Roses always need more animals. What if their delightful clients want a pink hedgehog instead of a blue one? The students need to deal with that, over the overlook of their dear housewarden Riddle Rosehearts. Just make sure to not anger him, as he has a tendency to Off people's heads. Sometimes he may even get... too literal.

The Savanaclaw dorm is persistent in keeping their pack. If you are one of them, you are not getting off the hook so easily. Always troublemakers though, love to pick a fight with the weaker. It is like the King of Beast's though himself: the weaker follow the stronger and smarter ones. Their rings tend to be open on the school basement or on the dorm training grounds at night, but don't be fooled, if you are seen there, you are under the One and Only, the rejected prince Leona Kingscholar's rules. If he says you fight, you do. We don't anger a lion, do we?

The Ocatvinelle dorm, so kind and benevolent to lend their works to other dorms. These students seem to always have contacts with the big people, and are always so kind to lend these contacts... for a price, of course. Don't take them for fools now, they will want a bit of this, and a bit of that. It is only fair right? An Eye for an Eye, a Leg for a Leg, how people say. Azul Ashengrotto makes sure everything is always prim and proper in case some dorm might need to stuck stuff in the confinements of this sub-aquatic dorm. But... he may ask for a price some are not willing to pay.

The Sacarbia dorm is always mindful of their allies as much as of their enemies. They are quiet in their work, as being loud would make them as disposable as their targets. When you look into it more, you will find that a student going missing is normal, and if they talked with housewarden Kalim Al-Asim, then you should be worried. How can someone who looks as innocent and sweet do what he does? No one knows and, frankly, do you even want to risk questioning it?

The Pomefiore dorm is tenacious with the quality of its products. The Fairest Queen didn't walk so that they would crawl, after all. They seem to be Professor Crewel's favorites when it comes to alchemy and potionology classes, and no wonder, as their potions, curses and drugs are some of the most deadly a person can take. Housewarden Vil Schoenheit makes it a point to everything be only the most perfect, and if not, he might curse it himself so it will do just as good. He has no pity when it comes to imperfections.

The Ignhyde dorm, Full of diligent people who know their place and do what they need to do. Of course they would do as they are told, but although they lack the strength of a Savanclaw student, and the charms of a Pomefiore one, they make it up in knowledge of technomancy. Just say who, and they have everything about them. Criminal record? Wiped. IP? Doxxed. Anything that is online, they can and will know. And if they don't, Just go to Idia Shroud, he seems to be happy to show just how smart he is by completely wiping evidence of someone's existence, or hacking databanks to feed to scams. They work great ways with Octavinelle on the "marketing" side.

The Diasomnia dorm and the nobility it helds from even being in it. Something not many can afford, really. While they seem quiet and mysterious, as most expect, the loud and nosy ones are the worst. Moles between the products, how they are called. They not only see themselves as above but will do all they can to prove their point, be that dismembering someone limb by limb, and seeing how long they go while still alive and conscious before releasing them of their suffering. Or maybe even holding the troublesome students in the Diasomnia basement, where they will meet their end one day, be to be the next heart to a great mage, or the slave to a rich countess. Malleus Draconia, if that even is his real name, is the one in charge in here, and what he lacks in social cues, he makes up in the strength to lead those under him. He reminds some of a king with an iron fist, who is not afraid to throw some peasants in the dungeons to make room for the nobles.

The Ramshackle dorm, once in disuse, is now up and running again with this strange human. They have no knowledge of magic, although their monster companion seems to get that just enough to pass, but... something about that human. It drives the others near, it makes them want to know what goes on in their little brain. Who knows if they will show themself capable of a role in this twisted world?

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greenapplespider · 17 days

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Blood In Moderation: Jeffery (character study)

Other short stories, plots, and character bio’s in the series: x , x , x , x

Dark themes; warnings include gore, child abuse, murder, trafficking, and animal death

The ripping, squelching, sound of bone being torn from it’s sinew and muscle echoed between ancient trees- the only sound in an otherwise silent forest. As oversized canines sunk back into still flesh.

Wasn’t enough, never enough. No matter how much he ate, how much he drank- until his emaciated torso would bulge painfully; sloshing, nauseatingly, as he moved. It wasn’t enough.

Naked, pale, skin stained with the burgundy build up of old blood. Mottling his sickly body with faux bruising. The dark stains matched his stringy, matted, hair. Perhaps a man at one point but perhaps a monster for longer. His thoughts were jumbled and stilted, incapable of much beyond perusing what seemed to be an unending need to eat and drink.

To find something- anything- that could make him feel full. He couldn’t put it into words- that eloquence a distant memory- but he knew if he could just find the right thing to eat, to tear into, to drink dry; it would make him feel better, so he could think again. Because he had something to do- something important- but he couldn’t remember, couldn’t think anymore.

Incapable of being able to even vaguely conceptualize what it ‘was’, the promise he had made to himself and a pretty face, framed in blonde; it would slip away every time he woke. He was left with nothing but the most base form of anxiety; the bone feeling at his core that he needed to do something.

A scream echoed off the trees, somewhere far away. He pushed away from the carcass and stood, absently fingering the puncture wound in his stomach where one of the things antlers had stabbed him. He cocked his head, listening. The sound- that scream, it was something new- something that maybe- his heart was pounding.

And there it was, what a smell, his mouth watered like a dying man’s despite all that he had just eaten. He almost collapsed, that sweet smell; his legs shaking in anticipation as he snapped forward- the atmosphere crackling around him in static.

Oh my, he could hear the earth singing to him, urging him forwards- lightening crackling beneath his skin- towards heightened, panicked voices and the several loud bangs that followed.

Undeterred, even though a distant part of him knew such bangs spelled pain and potential death even for a thing like him. Spurred on, ever closer, by the small, high pitched, cry’s that promised to finally sate him.

A resounding crack of flesh against flesh arresting the sweat sobs, breaking the spell and giving him pause. He slowed his gate, stalking closer.

"Did you have to kill the woman?” Huffed an annoyed voice.

"Sorry- only meant to kill the husband, but she charged us- and well-" answered the other, sheepishly. “She’s still warm if you wanna-"

"Fuckin’ nasty ass-" the other yelled over the snickering now filling the clearing.

“It’s alright- besides the girls old enough, and I didn’t hit her that hard- she’ll be alright in an hour or so. We’ll get a good price too." The man said as he knelt down to start fiddling through the pockets of a still body.

Green, cat-like, eyes watched unseen from the tree line. The silence of the forest ringing through the clearing, causing one of the men to stiffen, looking over his shoulder. "Let’s hurry it up." He snapped at his partner.

They rummaged quickly through the campsite. A palpable unease enveloped the area, making the air heavy- he could hear the up tick in their heartbeats as the seconds dragged by. They may not have seen him yet but even the dullest prey knew on some level when they were being watched.

It didn’t take long for an opportunity to present itself. When both men had their backs turned to him he jolted forward, already close enough to touch- and touch he did. He placed a shocking touch to the closest man’s back- unable to make a sound, body seizing- before it could hit the ground he already had his hands on the other man’s arm; wrenching and twisting until he felt bones snap underneath skin.

Sweet screams once again echoed through the clearing, just as shrill but deeper then before. The screams turned to gasping cry’s and whimpers as he bit into the man’s neck; sounds growing softer the longer and longer he drank. The body in his arms went limp and- there it was- he couldn’t help the moan that escaped his bloodied lips as he pulled back, looking down at unseeing, glassy, eyes.

Movement to his side drew his attention; the other man, body still wracked with shivers, had been trying to pull himself away from the gruesome display. The man was saying something- begging maybe, his mind supplied- as fat, ugly, tears rolled down dirty cheeks.

He stalked over to the other, relishing in the way the man’s voice quivered. The man was trying to reach for something- short metal stick- gun. He grabbed one of the man’s ankles pulling him away from the weapon and forcing him onto his back. He straddled the man’s waist, pinning him to the forest floor. Sluggish hands had the audacity to try and push him away.

A barking laugh escaped his mouth as he leaned forward, wrenching the man’s head to the side, exposing a strained neck; he sunk his teeth into the struggling flesh before him. Ah fuck- Jeffery thought to himself as he drew mouthful after mouthful of blood into himself.

The body underneath him eventually stilling, but it didn’t matter he finally had it. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of something- just need a little bit more.

Jeffery pulled back, staring up at the branches above him. He could hear the ebb and flow of everything again- it was so beautiful. Loud and horrible and too much, but- the crack of a stick boomed off silent trees.

Jeffery snapped his head in the direction of the offending noise, making eye contact with a small figure who was attempting to back away. He stood off the corpse below him, turning fully to face the girl. Perfect.

He hadn’t even realized he’d moved, teeth already sinking into supple flesh- small hands weakly pounding at his head and neck. Taking in the first mouthful- it had to have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. Sweet and vibrant, virgin- blonde, a stray lock of the girls hair was in his face- blonde.

Jeffery ripped himself away, gasping, as he pushed the girl; she fell to the ground several feet away, bleeding and weakly sobbing. He brought a hand to his mouth, staggering, he backed away from the girl, tripping over the corpse behind him. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck- fuck. He couldn’t rip his eyes away, he’d almost- fuck- she didn’t even look 13.

The girls cry’s grew hoarser and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Jeffery needed too, he had too, but he’d almost just- shit. He made his clumsy, shaking, hands grasp down at the clothing that the body underneath him wore, tearing off a long strip. He made to get up and approach the girl, stopping as he noticed his state of undress; he swallowed down his embarrassment and forced himself get up and walk towards the girl.

She stared at him with watery, unfocused, eyes as he knelt down next to her. He reached out as she tried to flinch away from him. "S- sorry-," he stuttered out, voice long unused. "So s-sorry." He pressed the cloth to her neck as firm as his shaking hands would allow. She looked at him with fear and confusion.

Hospital- girl needs a hospital. But Jeffery didn’t even know where they were or how long it had even been since- he shook his head, that was something to figure out later. Torca had a big hospital- perhaps if they were close enough he could teleport the girl.

"Is- does Torca city still exist?" He rasped at the girl. "Big hospital?" He tried to smile but could feel the blood drying on his face, he must look terrifying. The girl’s confusion was starting to over take her fear, or perhaps she was becoming delirious.

"Torch city?" She asked staring up at him, dumbly, voice barely audible . "I live there, with my- mom and dad-" tears returned to the girls eyes as she glanced over at the women, face down in the dirt.

Oh- he followed the girls gaze to the woman and the man’s who’s pockets had been gone through- was that what he had interrupted? "How close?" He asked, looking back down at the girl.

"Two hour drive." She said, eyes starting to droop. Whatever that meant.

Jeffery clenched his jaw, well- here’s hoping Torca city was still where he remembered it and that they hadn’t moved the hospital. He brought a flare of static to his hands; the cloth falling away without his pressure. Touching each of his finger, on both hands, to their respective thumbs. Focusing the magic in and around him he touched the girl gently sending her away to that hopeful destination.

The forest floor rushed up to meet his face as he slouched forward. His nose bleeding as everything started to fade out- perhaps Torca was a little further then he had thought. Adrien would have to wait.

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thenexusofsouls · 1 year

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Our Harsh Reality || closed with shadowonthesea

@shadowonthesea

All indications were that it would be another typical day in the Troll Market. It was bustling as usual, with all manner of languages spoken, wares selling, and services rendered. Nuada did not come to the Market very often, choosing to send Mr. Wink or the bark children to acquire what he needed. It was simpler that way, for he somewhat stopped the natural flow of the Market with his presence. Today, however, he decided to do so. The bark children had seen some candy they wanted, and so he had gone to help them purchase it. Several pairs followed him as he walked slowly through, their various heads crunching and chewing happily on the coveted candies. He was good to them, and they were his loyal friends. Others in the Market were wary of Nuada, quickly moving out of his way, while still others bowed formally to him as he passed. Even with his reputation what it was, he was still royalty.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, although some of it was infuriating. Never being one to hide what he felt or to be shy about expressing his opinions, Nuada let many a vendor know his displeasure at seeing car parts, toys, electronics, and other such items of human origin for sale. The skin suits were the worst. Absurd, rubber or latex coverings that would help fae to form themselves to the size and shape of a human, for the purposes of blending in. What a farce, Nuada told them. What an utter disgrace. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. Not all agreed with the Elven prince’s sentiment as he demanded everyone’s attention and gave a speech on the subject, but none dared to argue with him.

By this time, word had gotten around that Nuada was in the Market and criticizing certain vendors for their wares. This prompted a few of them to attempt to close up shop, and as Nuada passed by one of them, he was disgusted and infuriated by what he saw. Many small cages, each one containing a different creature, were stacked beside an unceremonious cart beside them. The creatures were all illegal to be kept as pets, with many of them being ones with dwindling numbers. They were intelligent too, gripping the bars of their cages and peer out with sad eyes, or beating the bars with their arms, tentacles, and other appendages. This was enough for Nuada to make a beeline toward the merchant, but as he got closer, one of the creatures in he cages caught his attention, and his heart nearly stopped.

It was an infant unicorn, or at least it looked like one, lying down in a cage too small for it. Nuada shuddered both from rage and sadness, and suddenly the pathway surrounding the merchant’s shop was cleared. Everyone ran, closed up shop, shuttered windows, and made themselves scarce. All except the bark children, that is, who knew Nuada wasn’t angry at them and wouldn’t harm them. Going up to the cages, they offered some of their precious candies to the creatures as a gesture of kindness. Some accepted them, but others, like the unicorn, only stared back fearfully.

“What... is the meaning of this?!” Nuada yelled, storming up to the vendor, a short and stout, knobby creature of perhaps some Dwarven and Trollish mix. “How dare you sell these creatures as if they were mere commodities! You are no better than the humans! Give me the keys, at once,” he said, holding out his hand. The merchant merely cowered. “Your keys! Now!” Nuada insisted, and soon a ring of jingling keys was placed into his hand. He tossed them to the bark children. “Free them. All of them,” Nuada commanded, and soon the children were fighting over the keys, going up to each cage in turn and trying one key after the other until they had found the right one.

“Whot?! No, don' do that, I-!” the vendor began.

Nuada drew his sword and tipped the short man’s chin up with it. “Yes? You... what? What could you possibly say to explain your shameful actions? Hmm? I’m waiting,” Nuada said with an arrogant, eerie, yet for now subdued anger.

“I... uh...” the man tried, but Nuada was not a patient sort.

“Not fast enough,” Nuada said, preparing to end his life. “You waste my time.”

“Wait! I-I can tell ya who I gots them all from! Surely she’s tha one whot deserves yer anger, m’lord!” the man tried.

That... stayed Nuada’s hand temporarily. “Go on.”

“They call ‘er Mommy Fortuna! She's got a hut at th’end o' Goldire Lane! She’s tha one whot gave ‘em all ta me ta sell!” he said, clearly thinking this would absolve him completely.

Nuada lowered his blade and took a slow step back. “Thank you. You have been most helpful.” Glancing at the children, he saw that they had managed to open all of the cages, and that the majority of creatures had already scampered away. “There’s just... one final thing...” With a swift flourish, he lifted his blade again and sliced off the man’s right hand. He screamed in pain as greenish-black blood spilled out onto the ground. “You are not blameless here, and now everyone will know it. You are marked forever as a thief, for you have stolen their lives away,” he said, pointing to the mostly empty cages. “If I ever... see you in this market again, I will kill you. Is that understood?” With that, he went to inspect the cages.

The bark children were pointing to the unicorn, waving at Nuada to come and see it. While all other creatures had run away to gain back their freedom, the unicorn seemed afraid to even leave its cage. Crouching nearby, Nuada peered into the cage, feeling emotion well up in his chest. As a young one he had once glimpsed a unicorn in his native forest. It had dropped its glamour to allow him to see its true self, and Nuada had been forever changed. His heart began to beat faster, tears were shed, and he had never forgotten the way the unicorn had made him feel. The foal before him now appeared not to know how to glamour itself yet. That is how young it was.

“It’s alright...” Nuada whispered, almost reaching for it when... he looked at his hands. How many lives had he taken with them? How much blood had they bathed in? Hands like his... should never touch a unicorn. “A blanket, please...” Nuada said to the surrounding bark children, and they scurried off in search of one. “Hello, dear one,” he whispered to the foal, who was now eyeing him cautiously. “I mean you no harm. Come out. Come to me, it’s alright.”

At his coaxing, the foal started to squirm out of the cage, stopping every now and then to eye him timidly. Once it had gotten out, it stood to its full height on thin, shaky legs.

“That’s it...” Nuada whispered encouragingly, smiling as he took out a pair of gloves and slipped them on his hands. The bark children returned with a blanket, four pairs needing to hold it above all their heads to keep it from dragging on the ground. “Thank you,” he said, taking he blanket and laying it over his lap as he knelt down. “Come here. It’s alright,” he said to the foal as he slowly reached for it. Trembling, scared, and cold, the foal welcomed someone warm who would hold it.

Picking the foal up and cradling in his arms, Nuada wrapped the blanket around it and gently scratch its belly in an attempt to calm it down. The unicorn watched his face intently, seeming to be placated by this gesture. But after a short time, when Nuada attempted to put it down onto its feet so it could follow him back to his home, the baby began to cry and bleat. “Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling a little. “I’ll hold you, if that is what you wish.” What an honor, for a unicorn to want him to hold it. With a parade of happy bark children trailing him, Nuada carried the foal back to his home underneath the Market, for he could not very well take it with him while he confronted this... Mommy Fortuna.

Mr. Wink was there when he returned, making tea. He did so in the privacy of Nuada’s home where other trolls would not see him and judge. Tea-drinking was not exactly seen as an acceptable warrior troll pastime. Upon seeing Nuada returning with what looked like a tiny unicorn in his arms, Wink was shocked. He pointed at the creature, speaking in his own rough and rumbling native tongue.

“I know. I thought they were as well,” Nuada said. Extinct. That’s what he’d thought unicorns had been for the past few centuries at the least. He had neither seen nor heard of one in ages. “I have important business I need to attend to immediately. Can you please watch this little one while I do so?” Nuada asked.

Wink shrugged as if to say, sure.

“You must hold it,” Nuada said.

“What?” Mr. Wink asked in his own language.

“It does not wish to be put down. The poor thing is frightened, and with good reason. Keep it wrapped. Avoid touching it directly. We are too soaked in blood to be touching such an innocent creature,” he said as he lay the unicorn into Wink’s arms.

The baby looked from Nuada to Wink, unsure about this new development. It decided it didn’t like Wink. He smelled funny and didn’t seem as warm as the other, and so the baby began to struggle.

“Gently rub the belly. Like this,” Nuada said, showing him.

The baby settled down, deciding that, well, if he was going to rub its belly then maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Wink sighed.

“I know,” Nuada repeated, smirking a little. “But I shan’t be long.” Already turning to go, he directed the bark children to stay behind. “Remain here. Help him.”

They all nodded and waved to Nuada, then crowding Mr. Wink to see the baby better as the troll sat down on a nearby stool. They climbed onto Wink’s shoulders and waves at the unicorn, making little faces and giggling to hold its attention.

Nuada made haste through the market, finding it much quieter and more subdued than before. Going to the end of Goldire Lane as he had been informed to, he found a strange little hut and knew exactly what he was dealing with... A Baba Yaga. “Come out this instant and face me, witch!”

“Go away, elf! You are no prince of mine!” the old woman yelled back, having already been informed of who was coming for her.

“You are engaging in activity that violates the laws of this Market, and you will answer for them!” Nuada insisted.

“Who are you to bark of laws when you yourself are a pariah?” the woman said, slowly ambling out of her hut and narrowing an accusing eye at Nuada. She was short and hunched, passing for what might have been an old human but for her sharp teeth, her thick, leathery skin, and the bark and branches growing out from atop her head. A raven perched on one of the highest reaching branches. Bones, baubles, and other trinkets clanked and jingled all over her person as she hobbled up to him, unafraid. “This is a market, is it not? There are plenty her who appreciate my wares. What harm is there in selling what I... do not enjoy myself...?” she said, laughing lowly. Baba Yagas were of course known for eating many things... and individuals.

“Selling rare creatures that are almost gone from this world? And for what? To consume them? To make money off of their misfortune? You must be punished,” he concluded, drawing his blade, but Fortuna was one step ahead of him...

“Sleep, elf... Sleep forever...” she said, lifting her long, bony, clawed fingers and beginning to cast a spell of deep sleep on Nuada.

Instantly, Nuada felt tired and weakened. It was hard to keep his eyes open and he swayed where he stood. “No...” he said. “No!” but try as he might, he could not fight the effects of the spell. Sleep magic was not anything that Sun Elves had any kind of resistance to, and this particular Baba Yaga was an old one, very capable in her craft.

Fortuna began to cackle as she continued the spell, but her cackles soon turned into screeches as her long white hair was suddenly lifted and drawn over her face, breaking her line of sight with Nuada and aborting the spell before it could be completed.

Nuada’s strength rapidly returned, and as it did so, he could see a small white pseudodragon, no more than a foot long from snout to tail tip, struggling to hold Fortuna’s hair over her eyes as she swatted and cursed at it. “Fly clear!” he shouted to it and it immediately did so. The moment the dragon was a safe distance away, Nuada spun himself around, slicing through the air with his sword and beheading the old witch. Her head bounced and rolled with the hollow sound of a coconut shell. Within seconds, the head and the body it had one been attached to had fizzled into smoke and were gone.

The small dragon landed on Nuada’s shoulder. He recognized it as one of the creatures he had helped free from the cages earlier. “Thank you, friend,” Nuada spoke in Draconic. “Go, now. Enjoy your freedom. But promise me you will be much more careful from now on.” It nodded to him and flew off.

Nuada was not about to leave before checking Fortuna’s hut for more imprisoned creatures. it looked so small and quaint, but Baba Yagas were often deceptive, and if she was running an entire smuggling ring here, Nuada supposed that there might be more to this than met his eye. With his sword still drawn, he cautiously entered.

It looked like an average witch’s hut, with herbs and crystals and various cooking and spell components hanging around or lying on shelves. Nothing out of the ordinary, but at its back was a door. Slowly pushing open that door, Nuada was suddenly faced with a larger building... and many more cages full of rare creatures...

#muse: nuada bethmoora #tw: violence #tw: animal abuse #tw: trafficking #{i cringe as a wiccan using the word witch as a derogatory term}#{but i am not my muse and he has countless prejudices that i do not}#{please keep this in mind}

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gildead · 1 year

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so i know i said i would never address the events surrounding [REDACTED] on this blog. and i still won't. i want to make something clear though, because of the chatter regarding villain muses.

team rocket, logistically speaking, probably had nothing to do with gold's death. i'll explain my reasoning under the cut.

imagine, if you will, that you are giovanni. while you once were the most powerful man in kanto, what with being the strongest gym leader AND the head honcho of team rocket, you have fallen from grace because your criminal dealings have come to light thanks to a smartass kid. you're a smart man, however. you lay low, leave the region for a while. even when your admins try to hold up a radio tower to call you back, you hang back - partially because you're ashamed of yourself, but also because they got THEIR asses beaten by a second smartass kid and frankly it's embarrassing it's happened twice.

now, suppose. you're licking your wounds in unova, having a drink at your favorite hole-in-the-wall. the news flickers on. a horrified reporter reads that the mutilated body of a young child has been found in the johto region.

they put up a picture of the boy. you recognize him. he's the one from the radio tower. the one who stopped your team's revival.

now. pay close attention because this part is crucial. who do you think they're going to start investigating first.

because that's not just a normal boy. that's the boy who beat red, the first smartass kid, on mount silver. the boy who earned sixteen badges and the respect of two pokémon leagues, which house in no particular order: a war veteran, two different ninjas, multiple strongmen, a powerful psychic, BLUE MOTHERFUCKING OAK, and two highly powerful dragon trainers from a long line of dragon trainers.

one of which who helped this boy strongarm his way into your base and is THE FORMER CHAMPION.

SERIOUSLY, YOU THINK THE INTERNATIONAL POLICE IS BAD? HAVE YOU SEEN LANCE AND HIS FIFTY MILLION DRAGONITE? THE MAN BLASTED A HOLE INTO YOUR BASE'S ENTRY, AND THAT'S JUST WHEN YOUR ORGANIZATION WAS ABUSING AND TRAFFICKING POKEMON. WHAT DO YOU THINK HE'S GONNA DO TO A GODDAMN CHILD MURDERER, HUH. SPOILER ALERT, IT WILL BE MUCH WORSE.

ahem.

you get what i'm saying though? ordering the violent murder of the kid who beat you the second time around in such a gratuitous manner is a bad move for the guy trying to stay away from the public spotlight, especially after his organization got exposed TWICE. and especially when nothing's been done to red. it's inconsistent, and i'm pretty sure gio HAS some kind of ethical code. even if it's a criminal one.

also gold was friends with his son so was he REALLY that bad a kid?

'but vetra, the executives-' up the shut. doggedly loyal to giovanni as they may be, they are not stupid. archer literally took the L with grace upon getting his butt whooped.

if it was a murder, team rocket would probably have a VESTED INTEREST in bringing said murderer to justice. granted, it's team rocket, so it's probably fucked up mob justice. but that's what happens when you encroach on their turf i guess.

#OUTSIDE THE TOWER.#SO YOU'VE RISEN UP TO GLORY. headcanons.#child murder tw #child death tw #animal abuse mention tw #animal trafficking mention tw #[[not to mention 'bwuh bwuh team rocket' is the most OBVIOUS answer and therefore the dumbest.]]#[[i did have to think about it for a bit. but i knew someone was gonna broach the idea sooner or later and i wanted to nip it in the bud]]

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tuatara-time · 1 year

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Backstory time!

I’ve finally gotten started writing a backstory for my ROTTMNT OC (and by extension, @faemorningstar’s OC) and crave validation feedback! Reblogs would be much appreciated because I am new here and don’t have followers yet

I didn’t want to make a long ass text post and clog y’all’s dash, so I’ve linked the story on Toyhou.se instead! I don’t have an AO3 or Wattpad account, so enjoy!

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt oc #rottmnt oc #my writing #fic #oc backstory #backstory #lore #turtle #cw animal trafficking #tw animal trafficking #rottmnt bonus siblings au

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ghost-of-a-slave · 3 months

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in anti-c communities, what is the general consensus on people who have acted on their paras in the past (wether by choice or other confusing situations) and no longer do? and i'm not talking actual direct contact.

I cannot speak for all people who are anti-c (for things that would cause harm to act upon) given that it's such a massive amount of people and there is no one cohesive community. However I can speak on my own opinions. I also must admit I do not fully understand what is meant by "people who have acted on their paras in the past... not talking actual direct contact." As I am uncertain of how one could "act on their para" without having contact as that is how I myself define contact but I will do my best to explain.

Possible confusing areas

When it comes to something such as a necro/zoo/pedo looking at images on the surface web of their "object of attraction" so to speak and getting off to sfw images or images that are not originally taken with the intent to be sexual some people would consider it to be a form of acting on a para without contact- (this does NOT include purchasing or the watching of bestiality, CSEM, snuff, or necro content as those are forms of actual contact as it requires funding the abuse of living beings or the desecration of a corpse in cases where in murder and/or a form of theft/vandalism/using of a position of power is common.) I do not personally consider this to be a form of contact- I personally do not do this with my own inclinations and find it disturbing but I also have to acknowledge that this is just sorta the same as some guy jacking off to a picture of a celebrity fully clothes while imagining things and I'd have to be incredibly hypocritical given I do get off to vivid fantasies of things pertaining to corpses (merely without needing to find actual images). I understand why people find it disturbing that some paras (specifically the big 3) do this- however it ultimately does not cause harm as long as they are not commenting on these pictures/videos in a way to cause pain and distress to the child, family of the child, animals, or family of a corpse. The same can be said for people who have things like an all consuming fetish/para for disabled people.

If someone got off to a sfw picture of me as a kid I would be less upset than if they got off to the mass produced CSEM of me from when I got trafficked. One requires paying and in part working with my abusers- the other may be uncomfortable and disturbing to me but the emotional distress I get from it is far less than what I would from someone aiding traffickers. I am also a wheelchair user, if someone jacked off to a picture of me in my wheelchair I would be fine as long as they don't then go into my dms or comments sexualizing me for it and being sexually aggressive towards me. That would change the context to sexual harassment. (Which in the case of corpses would not be sexual harassment towards the corpse but rather a form of mocking the pain and suffering of their grieving loved ones and would be wrong as well on a different axis).

If you have done bad things in the past in the sense it became creepy or harassment- that isn't good but also you do not deserve to be seen as evil forever. People can change and as much as it's hard for me to accept and come to terms with as a survivor myself- people do deserve a chance at redemption and change. If you've changed I think that shows that you can be a good person. It takes time and a lot of effort to change yourself- I've been there with my violent tendencies- but you can grow past that and change. I am someone who also cares for ex-cons who have worked to better themselves and changed as well. So don't feel you're always tainted by the bad things you have done- people sometimes do horrific things but you can do better now and make up for that by being the best person you can be.

Rehabilitation (Actual Offenders)

When it comes to people who have offended and committed awful crimes- I do not have any support for their actions. Anyone who abuses a child or animal or assaults any living person and causes either egregious harm or harms someone at all without their consent (animals and children also cannot consent) has committed a horrible act and most likely irrevisabily traumatized their victim. Their victim will suffer for the rest of their entire lives and nothing anyone does will ever change things or fix things. You are inflicting the person or animal you claimed to love with the worst of the worst traumas and you have to accept that you are going to most likely be hated by your victim and you will fully deserve that hate. When it comes to defilement of a corpse the hatred of the deceased's family and their own mental trauma will also be your doing (it is known to be possible to develop PTSD from hearing something horrible be done to people you care for and I think it is fair to assume this could happen in such a case). It is not out of respect for the dead but out of respect for the true victims- the living- who make that also not okay to act on.

However I still do as I said before believe in rehabilitation. I believe you can get enough help that you can be a part of broader society again and not pose a risk of acting and do deserve spaces to talk about things especially because these kinds of situations being talked about can IMO further the chances of people never offending in the first place. You may never get forgiveness from your victims- and you have to accept that possibility. You have to acknowledge that people and creatures are allowed to hate their abusers and you should never have any contact with said victims ever again unless THEY choose to contact you first (if they are a person and adult- no animal or child should be entertained if you are truly recovered from being at risk of acting).

Trauma Experiences

There is also one more grey area which is the cases such as mine where trauma leads to someone developing certain paraphilias. This also applies to cases where people are assaulted but do not become a para. One could argue I am an offending necrophile because I did have sexual contact, intercourse, and relations with corpses as a child due to my own trauma. I was raped by my trafficker constantly and he would often use the corpses of those who he and others in the crime ring killed to further assault me because it was what he liked. People tend to assume that it is impossible to be abused by a corpse and that obviously necrophilia cannot be caused by trauma with it because of that- those people are fools who do not understand how horrible the living can be and how cruel abusers are. Being raped with your friends corpse as a six year old is horrific and it destroys your mind. I am someone who is forced to have intimate awareness of all of what contact would mean and entail because I was forced into it by a man four times my size.

This is something that took me so much time in therapy to accept I need not repent for as I was a victim. I also know many people who had their abusers train animals to rape them. It's horrible and painful to experience trauma in those ways. I also acknowledge it's possible for a minor to rape an adult and I can only imagine the kind of severe distress, confusion, and pain such experiences would bring. You are never at fault for being assaulted even if it be in a way that society does not want to talk about and wants to pretend never happens.

For those who are deeply traumatized and self-loathing like I tend to be just know you are not alone and it isn't your fault. Trauma and assault is different than choosing to have contact. Finding yourself aroused during flashbacks is normal when it comes to SA in general even while it can be incredibly distressing. And survivors like us who gained or developed a paraphilia from those experiences are not less of a victim for not being "perfectly innocent" in the eyes of society.

───────────────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────────────

TLDR;

I think if you have done bad things in the past and have bettered yourself you do deserve community and humanity. Victims of yours are never required to forgive you or feel anything but hatred and that is the natural consequence of your actions but it does not mean that you should be enslaved in prison or killed. It does not mean you need to be forever locked up if you have truly changed. If you cannot control your urges you should be separated out from society and have a 24/7 caretaker of some sort- a proper system currently is not in place for such situations but maybe there will be one day.

People who have been assaulted in ways society would deem as paraphilic or see the victim as the one in the wrong also matter and do not have anything to repent for.

#sa tw #child abuse tw #animal abuse tw #pro paraphile #pro para #para safe #paraphile safe #paraphiles please interact #anti contact #trafficking tw #murder tw

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bardic-tales · 1 year

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4.8.23

Good morning, my fellow authors, followers, and mutuals. I hope you have had a wonderful week.

From @oc-a-day What’s your OC’s immediately family like and their dynamic? Who do they get along with most? Least?

As I have mentioned various times on this blog, Cyras Covelli was originally a Glorendine street waif. Before her foster father offered her a place in his home, she was named Amelia.

Biological Father and Mother

Her mother and father passed on early in her life. When they were alive, Cyras was the closest to her mother. Her mother's friends would say that Cyras was her mini-me.

Her relationship with her father was strained. He was a man ruled by his addictions. For example, before he was murdered, Cyras would spend more time away from home. She blames her father for their murders, as it was over one of his shady dealings.

Children.

Cyras has two children: Camila and Francesco. Cyras adores her children and is proud of their accomplishments. She would say that her children are the only good thing that came from her arranged marriage. As per Olessan tradition, she hardly sees her children as they are respectively sent to an order of Knights and the household of a noble.

Camila was sent away to Avis to train to be a lady beneath in the Augustus household. She is a quiet, reserve young lady. Camila is full of ideas and believes in romantic love. During the events of Cold as Ice, Camila is traveling with Fletcher Augustus from Avis to Olessa. Fletcher is set to ask Cyras for permission to marry Camila. Camila is anxious that her mother will say no.

Francesco joined the Order of Agosto early in his life. He became a squire to a famous errant knight and quickly gain his master's favor. He is currently going through the Agostian trails to become a fullfledged knight.

As a knight, Francesco has little contact with his family, but when he is either in Lucci or Olessa, he will visit his mother. She is incredibly proud at the man he became.

The last time she seen her children was at her husband's funeral.

Foster Father

cw: death of an animal, abuse of a child. slavery.

When he came across her on the street, Cyras tried to pickpocket Niccolo Napoli, knowing that such a rich mark would have the coin to support her and her sister and pay the dues she owed to the Glorendine Shadow Council. He took pity upon Cyras and offered her and her sister a home in Glorendt. Niccolo, however, only needed one of the girls and noticed that Cyras held the traits that the other nobility -- especially the women -- desired.

Niccolo would proceed to sell her sister to one of his noble friends for a hefty sum and turned his attention to Cyras. He would send her away to a finish school, teach her all the mannerisms that she would need to succeed in the social hierarchy.

There was a dark side to Niccolo. He expected total obedience, and when she misbehaved, she was severely punished. There were times when she was locked in a closet in total darkness, a puppy she loved was killed, and restrained until she would behave in the manner Niccolo desired.

Her relationship with him is very strained. Even into her 30s, she is still very fearful of how he will act, so she agreed to his plan on overthrowing the Arturis family. Niccolo didn't count on one thing.

The Crowned Prince's memories of a blonde young lady treating his fever and wounds in Spacci. He loved that little girl so and even married Ambrosia thinking that she was that woman.

Husband

cw: arranged marriage. child bride. child prostitution. Hebephilia

Shortly after Cyras turned fourteen, she was betrothed to the Steward of the Olessan Empire. Chydem was in debt to Niccolo as he borrowed money from him to fuel his obsession with boys and girls. It was either take Cyras as a wife or Niccolo would contact the Shade in order to hire the Wraith to assassinate Chydem.

Chydem was a kind husband, but his addiction for the Olessan rent boys turned Cyras' stomach. He was unfaithful numerous times, often propositioning the male staff that they employed, often buying them expensive gifts. In exchange, Cyras was allowed to start the Covelli winery -- with no input from her husband.

Once Chydem started to resist Niccolo, the Wraith assassinated. This sent Cyras into mourning, but she knew that no great man died. She thinsk that Chydem brought about his own death.

Niece

Aria Vincente is the daughter of Cyras' best friend and her sister. She is part Glorendine and Drakl. Like her father, she has the ability to use her ven to shift into a more pleasing form, allowing her to hide her more Draklian features.

Her relationship with Cyras is a bit strained. She thinks that Vincento likes her mother more than he likes her. Cyras is harder on Aria than she has been on other women she took under her wing. While Cyras does this to prepare her for the Noble Court, Aria thinks it's because Cyras doesn't think Aria and her father are worthy of her presence. That's the furthest thing from Cyras' mind as Aria is the daughter of her best friend, and, later in Book Two she finds out, her sister.

Sister

cw: trafficking of a minor. slavery

Cyras and her sister, Decima, were very close. When their parents died, Cyras knew that the Glorendine orphanage wouldn't be kind to the little girl. Cyras was young, too, but she has always had a calculating mind.

They would eventually join a street gang full of children working for the Glorendine Shadow Council. Cyras would pickpocket adults, pay the dues for both her and her sister, and give a bigger portion of any food they were eating to her sister.

Cyras originally accepts Niccolo's offer as it was a means to get Decima off the streets. She didn't foresee Niccolo separating the girls by selling her to one of his friends and selling her fate as an indenture servant.

She and Decima wouldn't see each other until the events of Cold as Ice. During these events, the sisters try to reconnect and resume their relationship, and while Cyras feels there is something off about her sister, she ignores all the red flags and pursues a relationship with Decima.

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tocomplainfriend · 2 months

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It feels less like you want to address a real life problem to characters, but more like you want to have another of your characters you constantly baby and want others to fangirl over.

TW: Rape, SA, Racism, Stereotyping, Homophobia, Acephobia, Arophobia.

The representations of topics in media DOES affect real people.

Fiction can affect reality.

Let's start easy, Jaws. This goes back to Hazbin I promise.

"Since the release of Jaws in 1975, the world has witnessed a staggering decline of 71% in shark and ray populations, and around 100 million sharks are killed each year." (including multiple practices of mass hunting sharks in competition)

Both Steven Spielberg and the original writer Peter Benchley regret the movie and book. It's a big reason of the shark treatment, when it started by old fishermen worrying about shark biting people in the beaches they made money of.

Even if you aren't a shark killer yourself, a lot of things you believe of sharks are untrue myths that come from making sharks "evil" human killer animals. Sharks cannot smell blood from miles away, that's not even how water works, the particles of blood need to enter their nostrils. Sharks are not man eaters, they attack other prey animals before human. Shark attacks are extremely rare, even if they happen they are not justifiable to kill all sharks.

Sharks actually have personalities they can fit in, they are smart and recognize people and boats- and form positive relationships with people. They can even like getting pet by people.

youtube

Other level to represent other thing sin media that affects reality we can address Queer, representation as a topic.

I hope it is not a surprise for you... possible non-straight, non-cis person reading this. That the constant representation of gay man as kid predator is a problem. They used old commercial (PSA) to spread negative views of gay man. Media is used to spread messages and affect its viewer. This is, there are cartoons created by Jehovah witness (or similar religions) to spread their beliefs and teach to their children in an easy, digestible way.

Same with the amount of straight woman that went off to read shitty yaoi manga and fetishy gay wattpad stories, and went to sexualize and diminish queer men. Constantly making gay man's personality into bottom or top (uke and seme shit). I witness this irl, others have too.

Same with shitty men that view Lesbians as a porn machine for men, cause "monkey brain like woman, lesbian = two women". Which happens in general and adult media. All of these are EASY examples.

Another one which turns out many people don't think about. Having your representation of an AroAce character (on purpose or not) be the psychopath with no feelings. Associating the not being romantically or sexually to means you have no heart, to be abnormal, by then a psychopath. An abuse or serial killer.

Fiction does affect reality-

A racist film, 'Birth of the nation' Revived the KKK and let to all the discrimination, and the homicide of black people of centuries ahead.

youtube

Coming back around, how you treat the topic of SA, and r-pe- affects the real world. You would think someone who wrote that, had in mind on how that affects people in real life. Didn't you want to represent victims of SA/R-pe that are sex workers and male?

Reducing the r-pist, pimp, trafficker character to an air head to treat as silly is crazy to do. Specially as... oh idk... the creator? Both this and the tweet of the voice actor calling Val "Bubbles Coded" is so crazy. The character is also not deep enough by itself, it's pretty much Stupid and a R-pist sex trafficker. The tweet below Viv's fucking kills me too.

The fact Val is shown to be air head stupid doesn't delete he backed Angel (and by being a sex trafficker and a pimp, and him licking charlie that means he has multiple victims) into a corner and under his control. Too then abuse of him in many different ways. Manipulations are not only done by Super mastermind people, and representing it in such way diminished, affects people who have being manipulated and actually try to question if they have being or not. Manipulators can be normal, average people, they usually are not obvious. Even if Val is openly a shitty person that's really obvious, it doesn't detract from him being manipulative to people. The scene where Val threatens him in chains that is manipulation, his text messages are manipulation (even if you think it is too obvious to be successful).

How you represent SA/R-PE, and its perpetrators, do affect real life.

Going around and having your "serious R-pe episode", to then go in other episodes or the other series you are writing to make r-pe/sa jokes is terrible. For the person that directed the whole scene of poison to NOT be r-pe/sa victim (said by themselves) with a r-pe fetish with this character's in specific, to directed in the most graphic way possible is awful. To go around babying your r-pist character is crazy.

youtube

Hope you understand that this doesn't mean not treating any topic at all. Creators should be awere on how they treat topics and the scenarios they create with them, too. People and viewers need to also put their brain to understand the media they consume. But you can't always put all blame only on the viewers of a series, if media is messy is a fault of the media. You can criticize both.

You need to acknowledge Valentino is indeed a terrible person, You don't need to delete his actions or the weight of them.

I also just know that a lot of Val fans just like him to draw him in r-pe art and get their fetishized gay ship. Cause that's what they are into. You won't even do that with a woman, because you are into your fucked up fetishized gay porn from wattpad you never left behind.

If you like him, FUCK IT, just please take his abuse seriously. Don't default your entire usage, and view of the character to be 'uwufied' fandom stuff, please.

I hate how the topic has being treated, in and out of the show. I'm a victim, and I'm hurt by how these things are treated and knowing how it affects others. Even in things I haven't watched! Don't make the argument don't like it? Just don't watch it. The movies from the video of SA of men being a joke, many I haven't watch- that still affects over all. It's still a problem and it's disheartening.

Also have this:

#hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #tw sa #tw rape #tw homophobia #tw racsim #tw acephobia #tw arophobia

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papaver-decervicatus · 9 months

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Headcanons- König (featuring a bit of Sebastian Krueger)

Authors Note: Full disclosure, at this point König is basically an OC of mine with how specifically I think of him. Which, in fairness, cannot be helped when his entire characterization is limited to 20 mins of voice lines, 131 words in his bio, and multiplayer animations exclusively. I feel similarly about a lot of the other SpecGru/KorTac operators but König is definetely the most fleshed out because I've been writing a lot about him (at this point, like 30k words extended universe thing whoo-ee.)

A tag for the lovely @kneelingshadowsalome who has inspired me to write the above mentioned story and all this silly little world building about one of our favorite masked murder men~! Thanks for being so kind and pushing me to publish my work after so long ❣️

⚠️TW: Mentions of abuse, murder, undiagnosed mental struggles, ableism (?), sexual assault, and human trafficking

Birthday, March 15th, 1982

Full name: Julius Kilgore Doss

Early Life and Backstory

Born and raised in the slums of Vienna, Austria to a poor family. His father was frequently unemployed but focused on manual labor jobs (he was also like 6'10 like his son,) and his mother worked various hospitality jobs.

He gets his first name from being born on the Ides of March.

Teasingly called “Kaiser” as a child for his name. This resulted in a minor obsession with Roman history in an attempt to disprove these accusations. That failed.

Result of a “baby trap” from his father. His parents got married when he was 3 years old.

He is an only child, and he was an incredibly complicated pregnancy. His mother was on bed rest for two trimesters.

He was born with a pretty severe cleft palette, this was the original cause of his bullying

When König was 12 or so he got his cleft palate surgically corrected, but he got permanent scarring from the event.

This did not help his bullying. The site became infected and required multiple follow-up surgeries to correct.

He was severely abused by his father, who would frequently intentionally scar König in an attempt to “toughen” his “shy” son up.

The behaviors he was trying to correct were just König’s undiagnosed neurodivergence and the abuse did nothing but make König retreat further into himself.

Undiagnosed au/dhd. Primarily manifests in masking in a need of control of his environment.

As much as he desires company, he has such a hard time relating to others (not because he lacks empathy, but he experiences it differently) he tends to be a loner save a few very close loved ones.

Sebastian Krueger is his mother’s brother’s son. Krueger's father was in the military.

Originally joined the military to get away from his hell of home life at Krueger's father's recommendation. Has re-enlisted ever since.

König is 3 years older than Krueger (March 29th, 1985) and the two grew up together.

Krueger also had a little sister but she died in a car accident at 11 along with his mom. From then on, Krueger's father, König’s mother, and father, Krueger and König all lived in a medium-sized flat in Vienna. The two shared bedrooms often.

Krueger was well known as a serial delinquent and general creep when they were growing up. Despite his harsh reputation, König always stood up for him (which did not help his bullying). The only time he didn’t was when he beat Krueger to a bloody pulp for attempting to assault a girl.

Krueger never attempted that again and later thanked König reluctantly for setting him straight before he did something really stupid.

Krueger never stood up for König in front of his face for fear of showing weakness but definitely threw some punches behind his back in his stead (which further isolated König).

When he was 19 and came back from his first deployment, Krueger's father had a mental break and lit the flat on fire after murdering König’s father. Krueger was out at the time.

He got in time to save his mother, but he gained third-degree scars on the right side of his face, cheek, and over a lot of his legs.

Super insecure about it, and avoids wearing shorts like the plague.

Will never admit it, super fucking glad his dad died.

Very close with his mother's mother, his Oma. When she got too old to live on her own, she moved in with König’s mom and she gave König her house near Gosau, Austria.

Credits the metal scene as single-handedly saving his life at 13. He went to jump off a bridge and was talked down by a local metal band bass player who was 17 at the time. The two became friends and König joined the metal scene.

He became sort of a stagehand for local bands and bulked up as a result. Found he liked working out (because people were less likely to make fun of him) so he kept at it.

Got the nickname “König” from underground bare-knuckle boxing rings. He was scouted at a bar during a fight at 15 (he was 6’3 at the time, and still growing) where he beat up someone for attempting to spike a girl's drink when he was there helping his bass player friend.

He fought for around 3 years on and off and never lost a fight. He made decent money and learned a lot of stuff about sparring in the process.

He didn’t stop his tendency for fighting in the service and got reprimanded a couple of times for picking fights with soldiers he disagreed with.

Has yet to lose a one-on-one spar with another man, but hasn’t fought anyone outside of training sparring in years.

Appearance

6’10 and 280lbs at his peak, trapezoid body type. Athleticism most resembles a Hockey Player or a Boxer. Has lost some musculature with age but definitely stays on top of it.

His face is partially numb because of all the surgeries to correct his cleft palate and all the scarring.

Even though it’s been years since any trauma to the area, he has sort of a “disquieting effect” because he doesn’t emote properly from the numbness. Mostly just numb around the bottom of his “Greek-style” nose and through his burn scars. Smiles appear lopsided as a result

Strawberry blond, pin-straight hair, that gets darker when he’s deployed because the hood blocks sunlight bleaching.

As a teenager he let it grow down to his shoulders because he was involved in the local Vienna metal scene, when he joined the military he cut it short. Doesn’t care because no one sees it anyways. It’s usually in a crew-cut style.

Hair has thinned as he's gotten older, will probably bald at some point (but I hold onto hope that that one person on twitter who teased that his model does actually have hair is right because I think it would be funny for him to have an elaborate braid or something)

He has bunny teeth that he never bothered getting corrected because he was bullied so badly he kind of gave up on vanity.

Has stretch marks all over his body because he’s so massive, they tend to act up during the winter.

He is not vain enough to do anything about them besides moisturizing when needed.

Generally does the bare minimum extra besides keeping himself clean.

Uses generic military-grade laundry soap, generic antiperspirant, and unscented lotion, but he does use spruce-scented aftershave and tea tree shampoo.

Likes having facial hair, but rarely gets to.

Plenty of Freckles, beauty marks, moles, etc. beige cool-toned skin otherwise.

Has various tattoos but no piercings. Tattoos include

Skull with a crown on his left shoulder

Trash polka war scene sleeve on his right arm through the shoulder.

Bleeding Laurel crown on his sternum

Dagger at the base of his neck

Various basic things like a lion, some roses, a couple of guns

Does not wear the hood when not on duty, it was originally a last minute addition to his uniform for anonymity when in the field working with terrorists.

General

Blood type is AB+

Contrary to popular belief, is not shy so much as he is awkward. Has built up a sarcastic, cocky, and harsh persona to avoid (what is in his mind) inevitable heartbreak and betrayal by those closest to him.

Genuinely cocky. He believes his own hype on that front.

Actually, a big teddy bear but, next to nobody gets close enough to him to find that out.

He (probably) has ADHD that manifests in nervous movement.

Never got tested, never will.

Struggles with anxiety that leads to depression, but the military was decently good for his mental health because of the strict scheduling and forced camaraderie.

Does not have a temper problem as much as he has an impulse problem. He doesn’t get into fights because he’s angry, he gets into fights because he’s a cocky bastard who knows he’ll win and he wants to speed up the process of others leaving him alone/deferring to his plans

The big difference between König and Krueger is that König wants control over his surroundings and others to be comfortable, and Krueger wants others to be uncomfortable and he wants control over others and he doesn’t care about his surroundings.

König mostly wants to throw his weight around to get left on his own, and Krueger wants to manipulate others to do his bidding.

König would solve an ethical disagreement by explaining himself until he came to blows with the other party.

Krueger would go behind their back once he knew he wasn’t going to get his way, but wouldn’t result in physical violence immediately.

Krueger needs other people to feel powerful and in control; he doesn’t really believe that he has an equal or a superior. He thinks in terms of leverage and power.

König feels less powerful and in control when he has a ton of other people in the mix: he doesn’t like the unknown variable of a possible weak link. He thinks in terms of self-sufficiency and sacrifice.

Wanted to be a sniper because the position is a solitary one, he wants to be put in positions where he doesn’t have to trust other people because he simply does not trust other people

He is a really good shot

Often Times gets into little skirmishes with snipers because of jealousy

Another reason he couldn’t be a sniper was his red/green colorblindness. It’s moderate to severe.

He is a people watcher, he is genuinely concerned with the people around him. Will remember even the smallest details if he’s close to someone (which is a hard position to earn.)

Has a very duplicitous way about him. Cunning, ruthless, and bloodthirsty on the field but in reality he’s a very agitated, demure sort of guy off the clock, especially in crowds.

Gets his “berserker” energy out on the battlefield. Is typically much more relaxed in “civilian” life or when in leadership positions.

Chronically the instructor who starts off making every recruit shit themselves but becomes a base favorite after basic training when he opens up and shreds a bass solo at drunk karaoke night

He hates civilian life for more than 6 months at a time. If he has to go much longer than that without doing something related to field work he gets incredibly antsy and like. Decides to build a whole ass barn on his property from scratch because he always has to have something to do.

Was promoted to Colonel incredibly young (32) for the position due to his exemplary ability as an insertions specialist and as a leader. Never attempted a rank above it because of forced retirement requirements.

The only reason I can personally see my version of König in KorTac is because somewhere along the line he fucked up and was either going to be forcibly retired or put out of active combat in the Austrian Special Forces.

You don’t become a Colonel in the military for fun and desert for merc work, and shitty merc work at that.

More than likely I think he was supposed to retire and that made him have a midlife crisis because König doesn’t see himself as a person, he sees himself as a soldier. Without the army, he’s nothing. He needs that stability, that outlet, that free pass at total carnage- so when the army told him he had to call it quits, he “retired” and went to KorTac under the specific condition that his name not get used for fear of tarnishing the Austrian special forces.

Not a particularly big “Austrian culture” nut but he has his moments.

Prefers Austrian foods that he grew up with, likes beer a lot (and has gotten drunk only once in his life because he’s. Fuckoff massive,) and doesn’t care about culture/history all that much.

He more or less just finds comfort in stuff that reminds him of the happier parts of his childhood, mostly the mountains.

König considers himself “traditional” in the sense that he doesn’t believe women should be on the front lines of combat. If he has to attack an enemy woman, he much prefers it to be with a gun at long range.

Doesn’t necessarily think of women as “lesser” instead he firmly believes that they are superior to men because they are better humans, less violent, etc.

The number one hatred in life is men who are sex traffickers.

Hatred was acquired from his work.

Has had various stints in therapy because of what he’s seen.

Fond memories of the house he inherited from his Oma It’s where he lives when not deployed.

He also has a decently expensive townhouse in Vienna, mostly from when he was a colonel and he needed to be close to Vienna for work-related reasons.

Has a shitton of money from his work that he just doesn’t spend on anything. Drives a shitty car, and inherited a nice house, he doesn’t have anything to spend it on so he ends up giving most of it to his mom, grandma, and local charities. Still always has a ton left over.

Is a lumberjack and carpenter for hobbies, and built most of the furniture in the house.

Very much enjoys the alpine lifestyle. Hunts his own game, leatherworks, the whole nine yards.

This bitch cannot draw. Stick figures that look like marks dogs made with pens in their teeth. Awful, awful, awful at drawing.

Very much an “audio person” who can remember anything he’s heard but has sort of a terrible sight memory.

His handwriting is so bad it puts 6-year-olds to shame.

Not overly religious, but believes in god, more as a “wow. What a sicko. Makin everything then fucking it up” sort of way. Prays on occasion.

Doesn’t watch tv or movies. Would rather listen to music, go hiking, or read nonfiction books in his free time.

Small psychology fascination. He’s read a lot of early psychology essays, he’s the kind of guy who likes to read shit from Freud and go “I’m bad but thank god I’m not this fucked up”

The punchline, of course, is that he is that fucked up.

The most expensive thing he owns (discounting his guns, knives, car, or house) is a custom long-double neck electric bass.

Her name is Wulkyrie

Extensive custom knife collection. Finds cleaning them soothing.

His favorite is a Custom Glock Field Knife that is 10 inches long, has a serrated edge on the bottom, and has a red hand chord he wrapped himself.

Has the engraving of an Edelweiss flower at the base, her name is Kaiserin (empress)

She is his prized possession. Goes nowhere without it.

He also has a gun collection. It is much smaller due to firearm restrictions, but he certainly has many more than is necessary.

Mostly hunting rifles. Probably also has a custom game bow.

He can handle being a leader, but he does not enjoy it. He hates being under people, too. He is such a good leader, though, because he hates the position and the power that comes with it, so his troops are the most self-sufficient, inventive, and well-trained platoon in the army at any given time. He creates other leaders because he’s a very selfless commander.

Believes the mark of a great leader is not the willingness to lead, but instead the reluctance to let others get hurt. The only thing he hates more than having someone tell him what to do is letting down someone beneath him.

He’s taken the fall for many of his subordinates' screw-ups, but he’s an all-or-nothing guy. If you’re not loyal to him, your ass is grass.

Bonus! Romance HCs (very very very slightly NSFW)

Gave up on dating early in his military career. He had a couple of short-term girlfriends, each he ended upon realizing he probably couldn’t be there for them like they wanted.

Not sexually inexperienced, but rarely has partners more than once or twice. Has had sex with ten different people in his life tops.

Simultaneously very badly wants to and is completely terrified of being a father. Should the stars align, he’d want nothing more than to have a full house with a lovely wife and a gaggle of little ones in the Alps.

Would want a traditional Austrian wedding, especially fond of the “bride stealing” tradition.

preferably a capable woman he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving in the mountains, would also probably only end up with a pretty extroverted partner who pursued him first.

They fell first, he fell much much much much harder. Admires her from afar for a long time but doesn’t think he’s worthy so he never makes the first move. Once he realizes that she’s not going anywhere and can handle herself, he’s violently loyal.

Also desperately wants a partner who is less strong than him so he can feel like his strength can be put to good use in protecting them.

Has a marking fixation, clothing, jewelry, hickies, bruises, cum, etc.

Anniversary presents include modest but expensive jewelry, knives, tools, and replacement bed frames for the ones that. Got broken. Whoops!

Love languages are receiving physical touch and words of affirmation. Giving is physical touch and acts of service.

#navigation -> headcanon tag #könig mw2 #könig cod #cod mwii #könig

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monstrouslyobsessed · 1 year

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A tribe composed only of men in a tropical forest. They are cannibals and eat members of other tribes and trespassers. Reader and her group was captured and since the chef and the other members found her cute and breedable, they decided to not eat her and make her the "mother" of the tribe. Thanks! —anonymous

—a/n: hm, im a lil iffy doing this one due to potential xenophobia and cultural insensitivity (regardless of what one may think of certain customs, the tribes who inspired this such suggestion are still people who deserve a measure of respect), so i’ll be changing the species and incorporate it in my beastfolk au instead to hopefully avoid offending anyone.

also, this turned into a fic (plus me making it into beastfolk au so no claiming without permission) lmao so not really a concept anymore. sorry about that! im keeping the format tho.

also, I wanna make a note for you for the asterisk marking in the tag list. the word i made up (Ce’ne, specifically) basically meant both ‘mother’ and ‘father’ and can be passed as gender neutral, to have/give children. to be safe though, im marking it as gendered language.

—tw / tags: gn reader, brief use of gendered language*, language barrier, injuries, horror, implied maneating, gore, multiple deaths, implied trespassing, implied beastfolk trafficking, kidnapping, confinement, body painting, teratophilia, exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw? —readers are advised to read at their own discretion.

—featured character(s): the jaguars tribe / the ‘Jags’, the Scarred One —word count: 2.1k

—this is part of my beastfolk universe! —zoo era.

Everything hurts, especially the excruciating pain in your back. It felt as though your flesh had been flayed and then set ablaze, the agony akin to acid being poured into open wounds. You groggily dragged your eyes open with a whimper choked out from your dusty throat. Needles of numbness buzzed on your damp skin and the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your own heart in your ears.

It was dark when you came to, but not pitch-black as you could see thin gaps of light creeping through wherever you were currently. The flickering golden light was in a constant motion, casting dancing shadows across the space. You could smell a smoky scent of burning wood and the air was heavy and damp, hanging on your skin like a winter blanket. Your brain was still groggy and the answers to where you were and why, were not forthcoming.

At hearing your groans, someone hissed out for your attention, “—! —! Are you okay!?” They kept their voice low, as if they were trying to avoid alerting anyone outside the threshold you were placed in.

You could barely see with the blur of pain fogging your eyes, but you slowly shook your head, “I…I don’t know.” You desperately searched for the owner of that voice, but you found nothing but a shifting blob of shadow some feet away from you. You couldn’t move, your arms tied to what felt like a wooden pole and your ankles bounded together with bushy ropes. Your head was ringing loudly and you moaned, “Wh—what happened?”

“T-the d-director fucked over all of us, —!” Their reply was edged with a sense of betrayal, “He was one of ‘em fuckin’ zoo hunters, using us to get close to the Jags—!”

Fuck. You remembered with a contorted grimace. As an up-and-coming researcher with a vested interest in studying the feral beastfolks and animals, you had ambitions and dreams realized. You had been honored to have encountered and even personally met a handful of tribal people. Although It was no grand merit, you learned enough about their customs and languages to set up a survey to map out the possible locations of local tribes.

As you’d learned, this knowledge was a dangerous thing to have.

The director must have been after a specific tribe of the feral beastfolk; the whiskeredfolks with ringed spots in their golden fur that you and your colleagues had nicknamed 'Jags.'. Unlike the timid, long-legged tribe you had befriended with and the one with thick-maned people with whom you had more tenuous relationships with, this particular one was notorious for being dangerous and killing the outsiders on sight.

Without a doubt, you and your expedition group had flown too close to the sun and got burned for it. Despite your frequent warnings, the so-called director convinced everyone to take just a 'few steps closer' to the Jags’ territory. In a blink, all hell’s broke loose.

You remembered the sound of roaring and the sight of bodies scantily clad in animal skins launching themselves at you and your people, weapons in hand. You felt a searing pain in your back and then darkness consumed you. The last thing you saw was gruesome, with a spear tearing through a fellow researcher’s chest.

The vision still burned within your mind’s eye and tears stung your bruised cheeks.

“S—shit,” You dug the soles of your bare feet (what happened to your boots?) into the wet dirt and thumped your head against the wooden pole. You tried counting what you could see, but there was only one. “w-where is everyone else?”

Your colleague went quiet. The jeering laughter and a sole human shrieking followed your question. The screaming sounded suspiciously like the director’s—and your blood went cold when that cry abruptly ended to a gurgle.

The shadow blob nodded, their motion solemn in the darkness, “We made him confessed when ‘ey tossed us in here when you were still out. Since ‘en, ‘em cats started picking us clean one by one. ‘e bastard was the first one to go, probably because he’s big and meaty.”

You caught a hitched breath and heard them shuddering, “We’re ‘e last ones. Why didn’t we listen to you?” Your colleague choked.

Why didn’t they, you’d wonder about this for the rest of your remaining life, but now, your brain could barely function with your back throbbing in pain. You could feel the back of your shirt being soaked through with your warm blood and your body slowly going cold. With a rasping breath, you rolled over your heavy head to your fellow researcher, “H—hey, at least…at least we’re dying doing what we loved, right?”

It was a shit joke, but it was enough to get them to snort.

“Hopefully ‘ey’d put us out quicker ‘an what ‘ey did to ‘e bastard.” They mumbled.

A whispering flap of the tent’s entryway fluttered.

A flickering light blinded you, casting shadows across the dark enclosure and preventing you from seeing who had entered. Several footsteps grinding into the dirt and a brief warmth pressed against your knees. You heard a mumbling in another language, oddly approving, and a short shuffling from where your colleague was.

The light was gone and you found yourself alone in the suffocating darkness. With a slow groan, you braced for your inevitable end, hoping that at least everyone in your group had met a quick demise.

Sans that fucker of a director who lured you all into a death trap.

You closed your eyes, not expecting to see another day.

When you woke up, you saw the daylight creeping inside the gaps of the woven palm leaves and blinked in confusion. When you turned your head, you realized you were resting on a soft bedding, of dried leaves and colorful fabrics, and was staring at the knitted canopy. Weren’t you tied up to a support pole earlier, with your back gaping and bleeding?

A moan tumbled out from your lips. From the corner of your eyes, you saw movement and you jerked when a voice bellowed not too far away from you. As if they were raising an alarm—or calling for someone’s attention. Fear struck your heart—

And you so wanted to move. Your body was too stiff and your muscles soft from exhaustion and strains from your injuries. Absently, your skin itched and you somehow found enough strength to glance down your body.

You swallowed thickly at your current state.

Where had your clothes gone? Why were you half naked and wearing patterned animal skins? Why had they tended to you at all?

On your skin, leaves and odd colored globs were plastered over your injuries. Why had they spared you?

“R’oa,” a deep voice entered your ears and drenched your spine with a shiver.

Hello, you absently translated from knowing some of the local common tongue. You slowly rolled your head over and blinked at the sight of the kneeling figure. Your heart jumped to your throat when it dawned on you on who he may be.

His face and body were marked with striking decorations of rosettes and bright painted patterns you recognized as his people’s custom. He wore ornate accessories, including a heavy ring through his flared nostrils, to signify his rank in the tribe. Towering over you with ease, he was large and his presence nothing but raw power and his naked torso coiled with rippling muscles.

But, none of his features stood out as much as his scars littering his skin—and one of which had left a long, jagged pit down his cheek and left his eye an striking grey hue. He was a well fought warrior, perhaps the best in his tribe.

Without a doubt, you were in the presence of one true predator.

Shakily, you nodded with a quiet return of his foreign language.

He seemed pleased by how submissive you were being.

There were no other option left but to humor the person who could easily shallow you whole in several gulps.

“*Canu zuhs nu i'ars nuus nil zuazsu.” He grasped on your forearm, the pads on his palm were coarse and hard on your skin, and tugged you off your bed.

Come...meet…people? You groggily tried to translate, as you went along with the whiskeredfolk’s whim. A yelp darted from your lips, when he swung you into the crook of his arm and pain rung around your eyes from the sudden movement and your injuries feeling like they were being split open once more.

“Tuil i'asu uhrthisus, ilai rsizuhs ail!” Another voice snarled out, and you flinched as you distantly heard a slap on the whiskeredfolk's person. You glanced upward and saw him wearing a crossed brow.

Injured…that was all you understood from their exchange.

With his ears folded back to his skull, the scarred male grumbled something back to the owner of the other voice. He quietened at the growling reply, and you still trembled from the way his voice seemed to burrow deep inside your skin. You could feel his foreign words through his chest, vibrating into your aching ribs.

The other voice sounded feminine, possibly aged, and you wondered if they were the one who had nursed you back to health. You had no energy to crane your head over the scarred one’s bicep to see, catching a brief glimpse of a strange hood over their head.

The scarred one took you outside, pushing the flap aside, and you winced at how bright the dabbled sunlight was. When your eyes readjusted, you blinked and regretted every decision you’d ever made in your life. Your stomach curdled at the sight and your nose stung.

Within the ashy pit, still smoking from the previous night’s bonfire, black skeletal remains hung on their respective stakes. There was little meat left on their bones and their skulls were missing. You did not wish to dwell on why and ripped away your tearful eyes from your colleagues’ bodies.

Why were you spared?

Oh, gods, the stench in the air was foul, smelling like burnt meat and melted plastic. Smothering your hands over your lower face, you gagged the exact moment the scarred male barked out. You grimaced, trying to make sense of the words he shouted out.

“Mil zuazsu, I si'ass izar suu!”

People, call.

You were so distracted by the gruesome sight that you hadn’t realized how quiet the settlement was. Initially, the only whiskeredfolks you could see were several teenage males, looking at you with curiosity in their eyes.

When you blinked, more whiskeredfolks emerged from their homes at the scarred one’s call. They quickly surrounded you, keeping a respectable distance, their eyes burning holes into your bare skin. Some had hunger in their gazes, others quiet rage, and a few were wide-eyed and curious.

You gazed across your whiskered audience, noting their muscular body shapes, and realized that most were males. You could count the females with both hands, and a sense of dread sank into your stomach. Instinctively, you knew why you were spared, but your mind screamed in denial.

The scarred one thumped his feet and swished his tail, “Tu Ce’ne phsi'asus ir i'asus i'a sarph si'ars!” His tone was exuberant, eager, and his tribe erupted in an excited murmur.

You furrowed your brows, but you could only understand Ce’ne, which meant both Mother and Father. But, who was Ce’ne?

He jostled you to your feet and kept a grip on you when you wobbled. The scarred one leaned over you, his jagged teeth beaming in the sunlight. “Na nasu zuhss ais zuazsu rius suhsssurr,”

You jumped as the entire tribe erupted in a loud roar of joy. Their eyes glittered with delight and you could feel your fear intensifying. You felt colder than you were back in the throes of blood loss from the night before. Your heart shuddered at the way they looked at you.

“sa szuhrssu zuhsais i'a Ce’ne sa phsi'ars ir sir!” the scarred one finished and clapped both of his large claws on your shoulders. He herded you closer to the mass, as if to showcase every inch of you.

Grant us cubs. That was all you could make out from what the scarred male said. Your eyes widened at the realization and a strangled whimper rose from your parched throat.

There was no escaping this, was there?

You couldn't move as the weight of the leader bore down on your shoulders, his talons cutting into your skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as a hooded female appeared with a strangely shaped bowl in her hands. You were shaking like a leaf, when she dipped her fingers into the dark, coagulated liquid within.

You sobbed the moment she smeared the tribe’s pattern onto your exposed chest, as if marking you as their property.

The Ce’ne. You were the Ce’ne.

—end

fictional translation: Canu zuhs nu i'ars nuus nil zuazsu. —Come with me and meet my people.

Tuil i'asu uhrthisus, ilai rsizuhs ail! —They are injured, you stupid boy!

Mil zuazsu, I si'ass izar suu! —My people, I call upon thee!

Tu Ce’ne phsi'asus ir i'asus i'a sarph si'ars! —The Mother/Father graced us after a long last! Na nasu zuhss ais zuazsu rius suhsssurr, sa szuhrssu zuhsais i'a Ce’ne sa phsi'ars ir sir! —No more will our people suffer childless, to dwindle without a mother/father to grant us cubs!

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stygianheart · 10 months

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Chapters: 14/14 Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Summary: It’s been four years since Koby became a marine, two years since the greatest power struggle in history, and one year since he got promoted to Rear-Admiral. Life’s been great for him, really. Until a mission almost costs him his life, and a certain smiling Pirate Captain that Koby totally doesn’t (does) have a major crush on comes to his window and asks to kidnap him. Trust a pirate to show up out of the blue and successfully ruin Koby’s life for the better. Again. In which Koby is kind of forced (but not really) to temporarily join the Straw-Hat pirates in order to bring down an illegal trafficking ring. At least he gets free butter sticks?…

A purely self indulgent fic written by yours truly. And yes, it’s KobyLu! I’m honestly really excited about this one.

Like Loyal Till Death Do Us Part, it updates on Sundays! Though recently it’s more bi-weekly

(Anything that needs to be tagged is tagged, but I try to keep spoilers to a minimum)

(TW: slave trading, human trafficking, child/slave abuse. All my stuff gets dark.)

#kobylu #cobylu #captain koby #captain coby #coby centric fic #no really it’s Koby with a K fight me on that ao3 #the sun and the sea #one piece #one piece fanfic

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dissociativemagicalgirl · 4 months

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well it's almost a whole new year .... i started parts work this year (finally) (i think) which was exciting. now, i will write reviews of the texts on structural dissociation/trauma/DID i read this year. almost all available on archive.org for free if you would like to join me in reading. okay byebye.

any book titles listed with a ‼️ contain graphic, heavily triggering depictions of trauma. there is a heavy focus on these descriptions in each book. i'll try to write out specific tws in my review for each one, but i would only recommend reading these if it's safe for you to do so. make sure you listen to parts that get activated, have plans to de-escalate and take care of yourself, and avoid entirely if discussion of trauma is particularly raw for you or you're physically unsafe.

keep in mind: every book here will discuss various traumas. if you're not at a place where you can handle these discussions, it would be best to avoid these readings entirely.

amongst ourselves: a self-help guide for living with dissociative identity disorder - tracy alderman & karen marshall

5 out of 5. overall, this is a really insightful text. written by two people, one who is a licensed clinical social worker and one who is a person with DID. the way it's written was surprisingly warm. something about the way it's written feels so non-judgemental and non-clinical. i particularly liked this book's insights on things like how to come out as someone with a dissociative disorder, whether to confront your abusers, etc.

attachment trauma and multiplicity: working with dissociative identity disorder

2 out of 5. honestly im sure this isn't a bad book. unfortunately, it was too dry for me without providing much insight that's not easily accessible from other texts. i ended up not finishing it - maybe there's more to it that i didn't read? regardless, it reads as an introductory text for clinicians.

‼️ don't: a woman's word - elly danica

4 out of 5. content warning for csa, trafficking, and incest. this is a memoir. i really appreciate that it's written in a less narrative structure - events seem to take place separate from anything else, with little coherent narrative or reference to time to tie them together. i really hope that doesn't come off as a negative, because it excellently captured how childhood histories of trauma often become fractured. really powerful book with little catharsis at the end.

‼️ if you tell - it'll kill your mother - ardith trudzik

2 out of 5. content warning for csa, suicide, self harm, incest, animal abuse, and animal death. this book follows ardith's journey through therapy. it eventually falls into a pretty straightforward pattern: ardith recalls a memory, she tells her therapist, and her therapist affirms her experiences. unfortunately, i'm giving it a low rating because i personally felt like i didn't get much of it. ardith writing this book becomes part of her therapeutic process, and i'm very glad she was able to write this and share her story; however, beyond that, there's little analysis of the therapeutic process or the dynamics of abuse.

multiple personality disorder from the inside out - multiple authors

4 out of 5. a collection of submissions from dozens of systems. a lot of poems, memoirs, etc. this reminds me more of a zine than a book. really cool collaborative work from the 90s.

‼️ my father's house - sylvia fraser

5 out of 5. content warning for incest and csa. really powerful memoir on repressed incestuous abuse and its effects on her adult life. sylvia's writing style really tickles my brain in a good way. as far as i'm aware, she has never been diagnosed with a dissociative disorder, but her descriptions of having "alternate selves" who live in trauma time will likely be painfully familiar to any systems reading.

‼️ prism: andrea's world - jonathan bliss

whoever allowed this book to be published should be like... put in a saw trap. jonathan bliss' novel is a self-aggrandizing, exploitative hunk of shit from a freudian psychoanalysist with no history or training in working with DID. the novel alternates between jonathan bliss writing masturbatory exposition on how accomplished he is, taking random potshots at andrea (his patient) for being fat and mentally ill, and long recollections of andrea's trauma that seem to serve only as exposition on how crazy she is without any empathy - the equivalent of saying "isn't that fucked up?" and moving on. with the things jonathan bliss admits to in his own writing, he should have had his license taken away. the only feeling of catharsis or relief you will get from this book is when you learn that jonathan bliss has since died. content warnings for incest, csa, animal death, animal abuse, suicide.

the haunted self - multiple authors

5 out of 5. this one is kind of cheating because i haven't finished it yet - i'm about halfway through. regardless, it's radically shifted how i understand structural dissociation and its relations to traumagenic disorders - not just DID! the only negative i can list is that it's a little dry - if you're not used to reading academic texts, you might find it hard to parse. however i think the text itself more than makes up for it.

‼️ the incest diary - author unattributed

4 out of 5. i really, really, really struggle with writing about this one because it's a difficult read. part of what makes it triggering is that it describes aspects of csa that nobody really talks about, i think out of revulsion. my experience reading it could best be summarized as: yeah, that's what it was like, but i don't want to think about it. regardless of how much it repulsed my "main" self, i can acknowledge that some parts of my system felt understood in ways that other readings haven't given them. regardless, it's a really difficult read, and it's equally difficult to talk about. content warnings for... well, it's in the title.

the magic daughter - jane phillips

5 out of 5. the reasons why i loved this one so much are more personal than objective, but i still loved it nonetheless. jane's life has lined up in ways that are uncanny compared to my own. particularly, i thought it was refreshing to see a system that operates more similarly to my own: no defined identities or internal world, but there nonetheless. content warning for csa and incest, though the depictions are fairly brief. the bulk of the book focuses on jane's adult life, how she manages her DID, and the therapeutic process.

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