Guilt - Blog Posts
Psyche Weeping, Kinuko Y. Craft I Ophelia, Friedrich Wilhelm Theodor Heyser
Do you guys remember how kidnap fantasies were popular on wattpad because young girls and queer teens were both made to feel shame at the thought of their own sexualities, so the fantasy of being kidnapped totally against their will was a way for them to engage with a romantic or sexual fantasy without feeling morally in the wrong for doing so? Added bonus that the fantasy involved being whisked away from repressive environments like home or school, right?
Finding out that Bram Stoker was in a sexless marriage and that scholars believe that he very likely was closeted gay puts the entire book into perspective as to WHY it reads EXACTLY like a self insert wattpad Dracula kidnap fic:
“I TOTALLY love my wife and would never do anything that an upstanding Good Straight Working Man wouldn’t do but oh nooo, big strong man with broad back and strong enough arms to carry me back to bed like a princess trapped me and claimed me as his, completely against my will 👉👈 But he protects me against the bad evil sexual women (who I assure you, I am TOTALLY sexually attracted to, as any straight man with a choice would be) but trust me, I do NOT want ANY of this. What’s that? The Count is not capable of feeling love? Would be a shame if I had the special ability to change tha-”
Chuuya's backstory is so insane because like, any one event from 15-Stormbringer would be enough to constitute a lesser man's entire tragic backstory. Heck, that one scene from Dead Apple where you learn six of his friends died would be enough to be a tragic backstory. Grew up on the streets, forced to become the leader of a group of children who only saw you as a weapon, struggling with your own humanity, betrayal, five friends being brutally murdered because of you, even the detective who wanted to bring him out of the Mafia dying could be enough of a backstory, and I haven't even gotten to the torture yet. But Chuuya's just special like that.
Whump Prompt #595
Submitted by Anon - thanks!
There’s a huge misunderstanding and character B ends up hurting character A out of anger for something it turns out they didn’t actually do. B’s guilt when the truth is revealed is immeasurable.
The Way I'm Sure Mice Are Meant To Die
I'm not always sure what God's I worship
I'm not always sure of my own morals
I'm not always sure of my theories of the afterlife
But something I am sure of and always have been is my belief in mother earth
And my hatred of cruel glue traps
I know the mice are not meant to be here
If I were fast enough to catch them to release I would
But I know I am not
So if it must come to a trap I will use something that is fast
Because between a quick bullet to the brain execution or a long tortureous death of struggle and starvation
I think all of us would choose the first choice
Mind you this creature is dying for such a petty crime
Just trying to survive somewhere they don't even know they shouldn't be
When it's over I'll bury him
The mouse in my room that will soon be in a trap that I've set
And I'll feel bad for murdering something more innocent than my own kind
But I will feel better knowing he did not suffer
And that I return him to the earth from which he came
Become throwing a creature of earth
of flesh and bone once granted life
Into layers of plastic with the pollution bound for a graveyard of garbage
It feels so wrong
Even as a child I knew that
It goes against all nature and worse starves earth of her meal
It's take with no true give
I'll likely repeat this to deaf ears of family
When they find me digging a hole for a pest
If I had a choice I'd be buried with no coffin
But I know I don't
So all I can do is hope for the cheapest one
Made of the softest wood
Something easy to rot
I'd rather not keep mother earth waiting long for her meal
For now I'll give her back the small mouse that wandered away from her to my own den
And hope she sees his death not as unatural cruelty but as predator sharing prey
The way I'm sure mice are meant to die
i love characters angstily refusing to look at someone
when they’re ashamed or guilty or scared and they want to keep the peace for just a little longer. they know it’s going to go downhill soon so they’re holding onto the last little shred of calmness they have even if it’s fake
and then the character they’re worried about being mad gently grips their chin and says in a quiet voice “hey, can you look at me?” AAAAA then they hesitate. there’s no way that character isn’t mad at them, this is too good to be true. it just makes them refuse to look up more because they want this dream to last forever and ever
but after a few moments of holding back, they slowly look up, tears in their eyes, to see that the character truly isn’t upset with them. if anything, the character visibly relaxes when they finally make eye contact, confirming to the character that, maybe they’re not okay right now, but they will be eventually
bonus points if they’re injured somehow, esp on their face, and the person that’s holding them drags a finger near the wound in concern, examining it and making sure it’s not worse than it looks 😍😍😍
It's so hard to not feel guilty about being upset at the people who mistreated you. Especially parents.
"But she gave me soup and stuff when I was sick. She even cried when I told her I was having dark thoughts."
Yes but she also basically told me to end myself, showed clear favoritism, frequently used corporal punishment, and a whole laundry list of other things.
It's so hard because she hasn't done too many harmful things as of recent. I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and it almost feels like I'm being overly dramatic about it now. It almost feels like maybe it was all in my head in the first place.
Then I remember that I was so desperate to get away when I was younger. Desperate enough to think about taking drastic measures. Desperate enough to dream about someone just taking me away from my family.
And then I feel guilty again five minutes later
People keep telling me my job is supposedly easy, but it's not to me. It's so hard every damn day. and I feel guilty because I'm making more money than plenty of people who have it way worse, but I've gotten so depressed. I don't feel like it's worth it most of the time. I'm off 2 days a week, the building has air conditioning, and we get an hour for lunch, which is more than most people, but I'm still so upset all the time. And being so guilty about it is even worse.
knowing that every big milestone of my life is tainted by grief for everyone around me, and guilt on my end about the fact that there should’ve been two of us going through it together. I feel guilty for surviving, even though it’s not my fault, and it was a matter of circumstances. It’s weird knowing I’m grieving a half of me, a person I never got to meet and grow up with.
Getting over guilt
Image by Pexels from Pixabay. Enhancement by me in Luminar 4 and Paint Shop Pro 7. I’ve had a rough time with this one lately. Anyone else? I don’t know if it’s the “obsessive thoughts” part of obsessive-compulsive disorder or the fact that I’m still kind of a recovering Catholic, even though I’ve partly returned to that faith, but either way, I am just haunted by guilt. Maybe the word…
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I’m sorry
Dream bubbles, a creation of the Horrorterrors. A alternate form of afterlife, some might say. Vriska was sure there was more after death, especially after a bunch of ghosts haunted her for a short time. But for now she was here, in her memories. She dated a doomed timeline John for a short time, but it didn’t work out in the end. //Because I want the Alpha Timeline John? Am I even the Alpha Timeline Vriska anymore?// Vriska shook her head. No time for such ideas. She had to find her friends. //Why? Oh, right, I have nothing better to do these days.// She thought about how to reach another dream bubble. //Mindfang's journal... Yes!// In seconds the Spidertroll was in her hive and was fetching the legendary pirate's journal. //Maybe I can find you with this. That would make my day! ::::)// She turned to a random page and started to read it without looking twice. //It should work, right? I mean, these are Mindfang's memories. She may not be here with me but........// The words showed her the way and she followed them quickly. The words flew out of the book and transformed into a bridge that lead her to another dream bubble. She landed on Mindfang's ship. “Fantastic.“ Vriska had butterflies in her stomach. It looked exactly like it was described in Mindfang's Journal. A beautiful, big ship built for combat. Made to look harmless to trick the enemy. Vriska was impressed as she started searching the ship. Everything was as she had imagined it. //I should make a trip with this ship at some point.// She heard the sound of knitting from another room. //Mindfang and knitting?// Vriska opened the door with a wham and demanded: “Who dares to knit on this ship?” Vriska got a soft laugh as an answer. “I do, my dear, but don't worry, I have a license!” The Spidertroll saw a grown-up troll sitting on the ground, her back turned to her. Vriska skipped into a battle pose. “Don’t come near me, grown-up. I have killed nastier enemies than you.“ “I believe you, little pirate girl. But there is no need for death threats. Especially if dead came already too one like myself, or too you.” Vriska relaxed slightly. “And who are you? Do you know Mindfang?” “Yes, I know her personally.” “Really?”, asked Vriska, a little excited. “She is the coolest person in alternian history! It sure must have been special to know her.” “Yes our relationship was pretty “special” my dear.” Vriska walked around the Troll woman until she saw her face. “Hmmmmmmmm........ I don’t recognize you........ Where you one of Mindfangs pirates?” “No dear, I was one of her slaves.” Vriska stoped. She took a closer look at the woman. “The Dolorosa...” “Exactly my dear. The First Troll-Lusus of a Grub.“ Vriska lowered her eyes in disappointment and sighed. She read a passage about Mindfang and her brainwashing of the Dolorosa........ The brainwashing. Vriska suddenly felt uneasy. “And what is your name, if you are allowing me to ask this question my dear?” “Vriska Serket........”, came the mumbled answer. “And yours is........?” She noticed in that moment that she didn’t know the real name of that woman. Only her title. It stands to reason that the names of the Signless and his entourage were erased from history. At least, she didn’t know them or more about that subject matter. She didn’t care for the history of the Signless that much. “I like Dolorosa“, the women said and smiled warmly. “It sounds good. Let’s leave it at that for the moment, okay?” “Okay.” Awkward silence ensued. Vriska loved and admired her ancestor, the mighty pirate Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. But even she couldn’t defend certain things she did. “Was it bad?” “What exactly are you referring to my dear?” “Your........“ Vriska faltered. She never faltered, ever, before anyone, she was confident, strong, cool. “Your time with Mindfang.” “Oh, it was fantastic my dear. Slavery is a fantastic lifestyle, you should try it out some time.” “No thanks.” The Dolorosa chuckled. “Well, my dear you should give me a little bit of company. I love to make new acquaintances.” “You goooooooot to be kidding me!”, Vriska laughed. “I’m searching for people I know. No time to drink tea with old ladies.” “We could play Baccara instead.” “Do you know flarping?” “I... I didn’t often engage in modern sexual activities, if it that’s you are referring too.” Vriska blushed and said fiercely: “No, you are way too old........ And dead........ And you look more like a good moirail than a matesprit in my opinion. For me anyway, other trolls could think otherwise for themselves.” The old lady laughed again. “That was a joke my dear. But thanks for the compliment. Do you have no moirail?” “None.” Vriska thought about Kanaya. Her old friend, her moirail. “Our relationship was at a chasm before I died. I didn’t know why, and worse, I flushed red for her shortly before I died. I wish I had talked to her one last time.” The Dolorosa looked sympathetic. “That does sound awful my dear.” //Why the hell I’m so talkative before this stranger? I should go........ But where to?// Without another word Vriska put herself beside the Dolorosa. “I hope you don’t mind........” “Not at all.” //And now I’m polite. I should annoy her and call her names, not be so friendly. But on the other hand........ She is........ Oh, gog, don’t think about it. Speak about everything, but not about that...// “Ahem........ Anyhow how is your sex life?” In that second the Thief of Light decided to kill alternate John for showing her “The Room”. //Curse you Tommy Wiseau.// “To be honest, not much lately”, said the Dolorosa, deadpan. “Sorry, it's........ I saw that movie and........ It stuck in my head........ Please, I didn’t........ Sorry!” Vriska blushed more severe than before. She didn’t want to be caught dead by her friends while she was nice, apologetic and rather open to someone. “It’s okay my dear. You are funny.” “I’m not funny, in life I was the strongest and most badass Troll on Alternia!” “You don’t say”, the Dolorosa said, slightly intrigued, and smiled warmly. “I want to inquire about your life on my old home planet, if you have nothing against such a tale.” Vriska grinned. Somebody who actually WANTS to hear her tales. It has been a long time since somebody wanted to listen to her stories. The bubble began to change. Vriska's memories melded into the dream bubble of the Dolorosa. The Scorpio had to admit that a dream bubble was an excellent way to tell her story. “Your story is pretty good, for being a propagator of laaaaaaaame pacifism and love and being the mother of Jegus, but nobody's story is as good as mine,” Vriska said, smug and confident. She felt a little bit safer again. “It is often a matter of perspective my dear, and one story should be compared to others about the same thematic. My story sounds very different from yours in themes, succession of events and style, at least I surmise that fact.” “Yes, yes, yes, yes, you’re right. Gog, you are remind me of........” Vriska faltered. She didn’t want to think about her now. “Nevermind.” Vriska commenced to tell her story. The dream bubble changed accordingly and gave a 360° show with realistic sound and awesome special effects. She showed the Dolorosa her trials in her wriggler days and being chosen by the spider lusus. “This type of lusus is known for only eating trolls”, the Dolorosa remarked. “And their charge has to feed them.” “Yes........ Not a jolly job to be honest. I was pretty good at it.” “It is one of the most gruesome things troll society does”, the Dolorosa said frankly, no accusation in her voice. “You didn’t choose this lusus.” “No, I didn’t........”, Vriska said. “But it doesn’t free me from the debt and guilt for all the times I killed.” “Guilt is something”, the older Troll said. “A very good thing. It means there is still hope.”
Vriska continued to tell and show her the life she lived. She became friends with other trolls, crippled one, killed one and blinded another. Her tone was confident but at times a little shaky during that segment. //I........ It is like with John........ With her........ These are things only a moirail should know.// She talked also about her own mishaps. She boasted that everything that didn’t kill her made her stronger. The Dolorosa nodded and listened. “The Sgrub Game wasn’t really all that hard”, Vriska told. “I mean some of us where waaaaaaaay too strong for the majority of the enemies.
And with alchemizing you could build stuff that is ridiculously broken. Feferi accidentally built an atom bomb once using only bubble gum, a atom and rice crackers. Somehow. Sollux thought it was because the bubblegum was special or the crackers had pepper instead of salt.” “That game sounds pretty dangerous. Does it really destroy the world?” “Yes, but we found out about it after we started the game. Except Aradia, I think she knew what would happen.” Vriska proceeded to tell the Dolorosa about the final battle against the Black King, Bec Noir who stopped them from attaining the prize and what happened in the Veil. “It waaaaaaaas probably a little tense........ It was only a matter of time until a few of us blew a fuse........ Including me.” Vriska felt the sting of guilt again. The same guilt she endured as Aradia summoned all those ghosts to haunt her. Or on other occasions. //Argh! What is going on? I’m a Troll, only the strong survive and the weak perish. No reason to feel guilty, it is our way, our way........ Our way.// “The trolls are as violent as ever”, the Dolorosa concluded. “But in you, one of the most brutal and infamous of them, I see hope........ You are a confused young troll. Wanting to be the best but hindered by your feelings. You can still decide to change your way.“ Vriska stood up vigorously. “NO!”, the cerulean-blood shouted. “My way is the best and will always be the best!!!!!!!! It made me the strongest, made me the hardest, the most confident and the strongest of all Trolls! I only died because it was masterstroke of a brilliant young troll that can out-think everybody!!!!!!!!” “Oh........” The Dolorosa smiled. “Sounds like you like your Friend Terezi greatly.” “I DON’T NEED HER!”, screamed the Serket. “I’m the descendent of the powerful Marquise Spinneret Mindfang and I’m exactly like her!” Vriska thought that non-existent coldness suddenly struck and it became as cold as on an ice planet. She really didn’t want to say that. “Ahem........ I meant........ Ahem........” The gaze of the Dolorosa was unreadable for the long haired girl. “I........ I........” Vriska gathered all her confidence, conviction and strength. She wanted to scream that Mindfang was the best, that only a powerful warrior like the Summoner was capable of beating her, that she was a master of survival, the most feared Alternian pirate of all time, that the Dolorosa should have felt honoured that Mindfang made the jadeblood her Slave and Matesprit, that she........ She........ The Scene changed back to Mindfang's ship and they saw the Marquise and the Dolorosa in plain slave clothing approaching. The scene then changed to the desert, Tavros's Land of Sand and Zephyr. Neither of the two wanted to watch what would have followed. Vriska remembered the time she tried to mind control Tavros into kissing her. It felt creepy and wrong. She didn’t do it. But Mindfang did. “I can’t........ I can’t........ I can’t defend this.” “What is the subject you’re unable to defend?” Vriska dropped to her knees. “I never thought to say that but........ I’m sorry.” “For what exactly? For being a little loud during our mesmerizing conversation?” “No, you........ I’m sorry that my Ancestor........ That she........ That Mindfang........” “Yes....?” “I’m sorry that she brainwashed you and made you her matesprit against your will.” Silence for several seconds. The Dolorosa looked sympathetic and stroked Vriskas cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, my dear”, the Dolorosa said tenderly. “You’re not her.” The younger troll carefully pushed the Dolorosa's arm away. “I didn’t brainwash anybody to do........ You know what. But I’m a murderer. Mass murderer even. Eventually, I had no problem killing my friends. At first. The guilt crept slowly into me........ I........” Tears welled up in Vriska's eyes. “Come my dear.” “But........” Vriska looked away, ashamed. “Please, I don’t think I deserve........” The Dolorosa sighed, drew Vriska gently to her and embraced her. “Why........? I did so many terrible things........ All of them!” “Nobody is beyond redemption.” Vriska trembled. The waterfall broke. She began to cry. She cried like never before. She didn’t remember the last time she cried for somebody. It was something that would seem weak, but she did it anyway. It didn’t matter anymore, for the moment at least. “Why........ WHY?!”, Vriska cried out into the afterlife. “Why did I have to kill all those trolls?! To feed a useless fat spider? Why?! It was stupid and senseless!” “I think the idea of the dilemma was to make you independent, strong and ruthless”, the Dolorosa analyzed the situation. “Yeah, a monster that can kill everybody she meets with no sense of loyalty to anyone is SUUUUUUUUCH a great concept”, said Vriska between two intense sobs. “You’re not a monster.” Vriska weeped without an end in sight. “I hurt so many and I was hurt in return. Was I not properly punished enough?” Vriskas head sunk into the Dolorosa's lap, weeping relentlessly. The old women stroked Vriska's hair gently. “Shoosh...” “Stop it you’re not my........” Vriska began, furious, but then wept again. “Oh, Kanaya........ Where are you? Please, Fussyfangs who are you?” The Dolorosa stroked Vriska's Hair gently and papped her back. The 8-obsessed Troll looked up. “Well........ You’re a good enough substitute I suppose.” “There, there....” Vriska calmed down a little. This woman worked miracles on her, the young, dead troll thought. And she reminded her of Kanaya........ Vriska wept again. “Shoosh...” “Stop that! You are reminding me of........ Please no. It feels terrible. I miss her.” Vriska hissed. Impotent fury filled her mind. “FUCK! I want to see them again! Tavros, Terezi, Kanaya, John........ Anyone. Even Eridan. ARGH!” “It seems unfortunate that I’m like a person you care for.”
“No, no, its okay”, Vriska said fast in fear of chasing that ridiculously nice person away. “All right.” The Dolorosa used the next few minutes to pap the young troll. Vriska controlled her breathing as much as possible and tried to fight back the tears. “I didn’t ask for this.” “I know.” “But you had a choice”, Vriska said. “Why throw everything away for a little grub nobody wanted?” “Compassion and the love that exits only between most Lusii and their charges.” “MOST is right”, mumbled Vriska. “Mine could only scream for more food. Food, food, food. And the only thing she could eat was Trolls. And what kind of Troll would let her Lusus die?” “Not a good one.” “Yes........ I fed her........ The killing became so easy with time, and part of my everyday life. The weak perished. Burgundy, yellow, teal, purple, violet, nobody was safe. The color didn’t matter to me.” “Not a big fan of the Hemospectrum I augur?” “Strength has nothing to do with your blood color. I watched purple highbloods begging for their lives and burgundys fighting with everything they had, better than some violet seadwellers.” Vriska stopped weeping and felt relaxed. “What was the point of my existence? So much killing........ What I have done so far is not enough to make look it was worth it. That cannot be the end.” “You still exist,” the Dolorosa reminded her. “Your story is not over. Trust me, the opportunity may come.” Vriska hoped for it. A chance for redemption. “I’m so sorry........ I feel so guilty........ But I couldn't talk to anybody about this, with two exceptions.” “You’re welcome.” Vriska drew her legs and the rest of her body onto the Dolorosa's lap and curled up like a kitten on the legs of the jadeblood.
For a moment, she wished she knew how to imitate a purr like Nepeta. She tried it nonetheless. “It sounds you are trying to imitate a meowbeast my dear.” “Uhm........ a good friend of mine does it often........” “Sounds like a pretty special person.” “Yes........ somebody who knows how to make friends........ and keep them.” “You should ask her how she does that if the opportunity should presents itself.” “Yeah........ I miss that shipping cat.” “Sounds very familiar to my ears”, the Dolorosa said. “Did you see her?” “No, sorry. I meant somebody else.” “Bluh, bluh, whatever.”
The Dolorosa wiped the tears from Vriska's face carefully. “Are you feeling better than before, little spider troll?” “Not if you call me that again.” “Why not? It sounds mignon.” “I’m not cute, I’m evil.” “Evil can be very cute.” “That is total nonsense.” A innocent grin came across the face of the older troll and she started to tickle the younger troll. “Oh, stop that. I‘m not tickl........ Hehehehehehehehe!” Vriska's laughter spluttered, uncontrolled, from her mouth. “Stop that!” “Nope, that is too much fun.” Vriska didn’t know what to do. She could easily free herself from this predicament. But on the other hand she liked it. Kanaya tickled her at least one time as far the cerulean-blooded troll could remember. It was more fun than Vriska would ever admit to herself or to Kanaya. After a while the Dolorosa stopped. “That was pretty sneaky, tickling somebody out of the blue.” “The Signless loved it. He sounded like a little wingbeast every time I tickled him.” //I bet nobody wrote THAT down.// “Did you also tickle the Disciple and the the Ψiioniic?” “Yes. It was more fun with the Disciple though. She was always the liveliest and happiest of us.” “I’m sorry that it ended for your little family the way it did.” “It was so many sweeps ago; I had enough time to process it. And in death we are all together.” “Good to hear........” Vriska felt sleepy. Very sleepy all of a sudden. She felt weary, her eyelids heavy. “I don’t feel so good........” “You are probably tired my dear.” “I’m dead”, said Vriska, eyes rolling. “I don’t need sleep anymore.” “The body and the mind both need sleep. You lost your body, but your mind still needs sleep.” Vriska knew that. She did sleep in the dream bubbles but she thought that this part belonged to her memories not an actual need for rest. “Sleep, little troll”, the Dolorosa said and stroked Vriska's back. “I’m sorry........ I am so sorry........ For everything........ I hate myself........” “Shoosh. I believe you. You can still redeem yourself. You can. You only have to want it.” “I will get redemption........ All the redemption........ All of it.” “You will, my dear, you will.” Vriska closed her eyes, snuggled herself closer to the body of the Dolorosa and drifted into a long sleep. The Dolorosa smiled upon the little troll. She looked into the sky. Night struck the heaven as Vriska started to sleep and she saw the starry sky. “You can imagine really beautiful nights.”
Notes:
Well, that is my idea how Vriska could be in a certain situation. I wanted to make her wish for redemption a little bit clearer by giving her somebody she could rather trust. And every time the B2 Trolls meet a Ancestor, it was THEIR Ancestor. I wanted to change that a little. And I think those two fit together.
Thanks to SilckenSoul and Shaula from the MSPA Forums for proof-reading.
Hope you all enjoyed it.
My mom sent me a pair of dangly earings for my birthday. I hate wearing dangle earings with a passion, but she didn't know that bc we aren't very close. I decided to re-gift them to my father's girlfriend for her birthday, but now I feel kinda bad for not keeping them. Did I do the wrong thing?
(on depression and chronic pain, and those without it.)
Ignorance is Bliss
I had never truly understood the saying
“Ignorance is Bliss,”
The thought of not knowing is terrifying
But then I let someone in, and saw it there;
“Ignorance is Bliss.”
She has lived a life in Difference.
I wonder often if I would like to be
“Ignorance is Bliss,”
For to love without its opposite has become my day-star wish.
So now I see her in her Difference,
“Ignorance is Bliss”
And evny how she must live in her bones,
For in my bones lives a thing unblessed with
“Ignorance is Bliss.”
It knaws happily at the displacement in my gut.
Now spilling these guts from your mouth makes her wish for
“Ignorance is Bliss.”
But the wish manifests as disgusted pity.
How could i ever make the world love me?
“Ignorance is Bliss.”
When it is shrouded in all of this?
And you wish to understand the saying;
“Ignorance is Bliss.”
i wrote this about a friend who would only ever feel sympathy not empathy and the effort of the explanation exhausted me. Her ignorance is blissful as she has never woke up tired in a physical and mental way, bone deep aches that have to be left unrelieved.
please never offer condolences, sweet nothings
so now i ask you to think, what do you feel, sympathy or empathy? sure you may feel more, but of the two? can you feel the anger, the sence of injustice lingering between the words? can you hear that i am desperate?
I think there's horror media that's really similar to this, where the character is 'guilty' of something but from an external perspective it was not really bad. In the story, it makes their situation feel more inevitable and helpless
I think a fun revivalist genre would be like, overbearingly didact medieval morality plays but with absolutely incomprehensible morals. like here's a heavy-handed fable about how if you use the past tense too many times while talking to your nieces, all of your milk will spoil
Not that anybody asked, but I think it's important to understand how shame and guilt actually work before you try to use it for good.
It's a necessary emotion. There are reasons we have it. It makes everything so. much. worse. when you use it wrong.
Shame and guilt are DE-motivators. They are meant to stop behavior, not promote it. You cannot, ever, in any meaningful way, guilt someone into doing good. You can only shame them into not doing bad.
Let's say you're a parent and your kid is having issues.
Swearing in class? Shame could work. You want them to stop it. Keep it in proportion*, and it might help. *(KEEP IT IN PROPORTION!!!)
Not doing their homework? NO! STOP! NO NOT DO THAT! EVER! EVER! EVER! You want them to start to do their homework. Shaming them will have to opposite effect! You have demotivated them! They will double down on NOT doing it. Not because they are being oppositional, but because that's what shame does!
You can't guilt people into building better habits, being more successful, or getting more involved. That requires encouragement. You need to motivate for that stuff!
If you want it in a simple phrase:
You can shame someone out of being a bad person, but you can't shame them into being a good person.
For you it was love and war
Planted cluster bombs
Between my ribs
Turned passion into crime
Came back to the scene
On your guilt trips
With your favorite knife
3 stabs into your heart
And 3 into mine
In your spider webs of lies
I hung on for dear life
And you set it on fire
I'm torn between trust and mistrust
And the thought of my betrayal of you
Fills me with guilt, shame and disgust.
I'm so sorry that I hurt you bad and
I wish I wouldn't have done that to you
So I tear my heart apart in deep regret.
My Heart, I Am The Soul
My darling, my darling
You are my darling,
My heart in it's true form,
With every color of gold and blue
Oh so vibrant blue,
In my arms would be my sun,
That shines brighter than anyone,
Any star in the sky could never compare,
My sunshine, you make me laugh the sound of a thousand wind chimes.
My darling, my darling,
You're an idiot, you know that?
You're mistakes make me crack up so much
And my composure falls through like sand
While I'm with you,
My sunshine, my heart,
Will you stay by me at my lowest?
When my voice echoes louder in this cave of
lost loves,
In this cave where we could never call home,
In this cave where the cold clings to my coat like an unwelcome guest,
Where I hurt you farther than I would like,
Where I lost myself in the dark,
Not even your light could pull me out,
You were so young, you never were meant to keep me sane,
It was never your responsibility to keep my heart intact,
After all, you are the heart of our home,
I am it's soul,
And so you are my heart,
If you are my heart, why do cracks line your face
Like a frantic, manic artist, trying to make pace?
I am not to be kept in your life, am I?
I don't truly deserve your forgiveness,
But knowing you,
You'll give it to me anyway,
And with that, I cry.
whumper 4 & whumpee 14 maybe? :)
Whumper 4: “Let's see what's more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?” / Whumpee 14: “I'll do anything!”
Okay so I'm trying to do some different things with these prompts, so here, have some team whump for once. And a defiant whumpee because I realized I go for quiet ones way too often 🙃 Anyways, I hope you like it Anon <3
-
It’s Whumpee’s fault that they were captured. If Whumpee had been a little faster, a little smarter, Whumper wouldn’t have reached them. If they hadn’t been caught with a blade against their neck, their team wouldn’t have been forced to let go of their weapons and let themselves be captured to save Whumpee’s life.
It is Whumpee’s fault, even if no one dares recognize it. Maybe it’s because they are the youngest member, the one the rest of the team sees as their younger sibling. But the lack of blame on their part does nothing to alleviate the knowledge – if it weren’t for Whumpee, the whole team wouldn’t be locked in a cell right now, hands shackled in front of them and the heaviness of anticipation in the air.
When the door opens, all four of them get up in unison. A true team, Whumpee thinks with a lump in their throat. A true family. One they might’ve ruined.
“So, I see you are all settled in,” Whumper smirks, walking inside with a line of guards close behind. “Have my men been treating you well?”
“Oh yes, feels like a much-needed vacation,” Whumpee replies dryly.
Leader shoots them a warning glance, but all Whumpee can think about is their family’s wrists surrounded by metal because of their failure.
Whumper raises their brows, utterly unimpressed, and looks around the room, eyes wandering through all of them.
“Tell me Whumper, how long did you spend planning this? Did you dream about the moment you’d catch us so you wouldn’t be so alone anymore?” Whumpee smiles, and then wider when Whumper’s eyes slide from Caretaker to them. “I bet it’s awfully lonely here. I mean, who would put up with you? So, my question is: is all of this just so you can have at least a little bit of company you didn’t pay for?” they continue, gesturing at the guards standing against the wall.
The smile on Whumper’s lips doesn’t move, but their eyes grow darker at each word that leaves Whumpee’s lips.
“Whumpee, shut up,” Leader says through gritted teeth.
“But I didn’t finish,” they pout, tipping their head and flashing Whumper a grin. “I was just about to give Whumper some tips. You know, if you want to seem intimidating, you have to work on your tactics sweetie, because right now all you look is pitiful. I’d say you could–”
“Say one more word, sweetie, and I’ll make you pay for each of them with blood,” Whumper says, any trace of a smile gone.
Whumpee only blinks innocently.
“See, this is what I mean, you have to up your captor game, Whumper, you look like–”
“Please excuse them, Whumpee doesn’t know what they are talking about,” Caretaker cuts in, wide eyes locked on Whumper’s. “They do that when they are scared, they don’t mean it. Just tell us what you want for our freedom.”
“What? I am not scared, I'm biting my tongue trying not to laugh–”
“Whumpee stop,” Healer says from their side. It’s barely a whisper, but it carries all of their fear, and Whumpee feels it like a punch to their gut. Their fault. That fear is their fault.
“As I was saying, you look pathetic Whumper, and–”
A hand around their throat stops them this time, pushing them back against the wall with a loud thud. Whumper looks down at Whumpee as they squeeze, only tight enough for Whumpee to know who’s in control.
The team loses it. Three screams sound at the same time and through the corner of their eyes, Whumpee sees Leader, Caretaker, and Healer throwing themselves forward, only to be held back by the waiting guards.
“Go on Whumpee. Tell me all about how pathetic I am.”
They open their mouth, but only a breathless gasp leaves their lips. Whumper smirks.
“Not so funny anymore, huh?”
They open their mouth again, and this time, Whumpee spits right at Whumper’s face – saliva hits and stays on their nose. Whumpee smirks back.
Whumper blinks once before letting Whumpee fall to the ground clutching their throat and fighting for air. They look up just in time to see Whumper wiping the spit away.
“Please, they don’t know what they are doing!” Caretaker shouts, thrashing against the two guards that hold their arms.
With a wave of their hand, Whumper sends one of their guards to grab Whumpee by the arms and pull them up, shoving them toward the door when they don’t resist.
“Whumper! If you want to hurt one of us, take me. Torture me if you will, I won’t fight,” Leader says in a calm voice that barely betrays the fear underneath the words. Whumpee can still see the stiffness on their shoulders and the clenching of their jaw, though. Whumper can too.
“We’ll give you what you want, just don’t touch them,” Healer tries.
Whumper simply turns to the door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give them back to you,” Whumper says over their shoulder. “As soon as I’ve taught them a lesson or two on how to treat their betters.”
Whumpee doesn’t look back when their team shouts threats and pleads behind them. The mere idea of how much despair must be etched on each of their faces is enough for Whumpee to feel tears pricking their eyes. They are the reason their team was captured, Whumpee tells themself as they hear the door lock behind their back. It is only fair for Whumpee to be the one to hurt.
They aren’t taken far. A door right beside the cell is opened for them, and all Whumpee does when they are pushed inside is suck in a sharp breath and square their shoulders.
“Where are all the jokes now, Whumpee?” Whumper enters the room right behind them and flips the light switch.
The room isn’t big – it’s about the same size as the cell. The only addition to the new one is a small cabinet on the side and a mirrored wall. Whumpee doesn’t dare look at the stains on the floor that look disturbingly like dry blood.
The guard places Whumpee in front of the mirror, and there they stay.
“Jokes?” they repeat, mock shock lacing the words, “I was trying to help you be a better bad guy and you call it jokes? This is exactly why you look like such a–”
“Say one more word, and I’ll have my men bring Caretaker here instead of you.”
The words die on their tongue, swallowed along with the bitterness of fear.
“Ah. I thought that might be it,” Whumper nods, pacing around the room. “You got them captured and now you want to make up for it, huh?”
“And then people say I’m the one who can’t stop talking,” Whumpee rolls their eyes, trying to ignore the squeeze in their heart.
“Do you see that mirror behind me, Whumpee?” They do. It’s the one right in front of them, of course they do. “That is a one-way glass. Do you know what that means?”
“My team is watching this,” they breathe, looking at the mirror for the first time. Only their wide eyes look back.
“Yes. Pity we can’t hear them,” Whumper takes a step closer, stopping right in front of Whumpee. “Because I bet they’ll scream beautifully when I do this,” they say as their closed fist flies into Whumpee’s stomach, making them gasp and double over in pain.
Whumper chuckles and steps away as Whumpee holds back a moan and leans against the wall to keep standing.
“Now, what are we going to do about all those insults?” Whumper muses, crossing their arms and staring at Whumpee as they fight to breathe.
“How about you let my team fucking go and then–“
“Did I allow you to talk, Whumpee?”
Whumpee looks up and bares their teeth. “I don’t need your permission to fucking talk, you fucking creep.”
“Alright, I know where to start. Whumpee, kneel.”
They only laugh. A genuine laugh, that shakes their shoulders and shoos fear away for the time it lasts. “Yeah, right.”
“You can kneel, or I can whip you until you can’t stand anymore. It’s your choice,” Whumper says.
“And you can kiss my ass. That’s all the choices I’m giving you though,” Whumpee smirks, straightening up.
Their captor sighs, but instead of keeping their promise, they tip their head to the side and smile back.
“Let me rephrase this. Whumpee, kneel, or I can whip Caretaker until they can’t stand anymore. And then I will whip Leader. And sweet Healer last, just so I can hear their lovely screams while the others have their backs ruined.”
The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor echoes around the room, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the idea of their team being hurt in their place. Neither does Whumper’s laugh.
They only watch as Whumper goes to the cabinet and takes something from the drawer. Something made of leather.
“Put it on,” Whumper says, handing it to Whumpee. They laugh when they look at it, but this time there’s only incredulity in the sound.
“You want me to put on a muzzle?”
Whumper raises their eyebrows.
“No fucking way,” Whumpee says, throwing the thing on the floor.
“Did you know that I can have the air passages to your team’s cell closed, Whumpee?” Whumper looks back over their shoulder at the mirror. As if Whumpee could forget that their family is watching this. As if they could ignore the despair they know they are all feeling. “How long do you think it’ll take until they pass out? How long until the air goes out completely and they start convulsing on the floor, fighting for one last breath that you didn’t allow them to take?”
Tears sting their eyes, and though Whumpee fights them, they can’t help the shiver that runs down their spine.
“I bet they would forgive you. They don’t even blame you for getting caught, do they? But you and I both know that all of this is your fault. You already took their liberty, will you take their lives now too? In the name of what, dignity?”
Whumpee looks down at the muzzle, thrown between Whumper’s feet and their knees. Pictures themself putting it on. They feel sick.
“Guards!” Whumper calls, and pure dread fills Whumpee’s veins.
Whumpee reaches for the muzzle. It feels cold in their hands, but the fear feels even colder when they look up at the mirror, watching themself kneeling on the floor, holding the muzzle in their shackled hands. What is their team thinking? Are they screaming and fighting to get to them? Are they watching in silent horror?
“Let’s see what’s more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?” Whumper’s eyes are locked on Whumpee’s when they look up.
“If I do this, will you promise me you won’t hurt them?”
“Oh no, I’m not promising you anything, dear. Where did that idea come from? You insulted me in front of my men and my prisoners. Every time you open your mouth I debate cutting your tongue off. Why would I make you any promises?”
“Why would I do this if you'll hurt them anyway?” Whumpee snarls, clasping the leather and clenching their jaw.
“Guards, cut the team’s air off,” Whumper commands, eyes still boring into Whumpee’s with disturbing intensity. Drinking in their panic.
“Wait–”
“On second thought, bring me Caretaker first. I want to see this one scream for their family before they are all dead.”
“Whumper, I’ll–”
“Bring the whip along with them. We’ll have some fun.”
“Whumper, please–”
“What are their lives worth to you, Whumpee? Really? What would you do to save them? Because it sounds to me like you wouldn’t so much as put on a muzzle, so please tell me, what would you do for them?”
“I’ll do anything!” Whumpee yells, choking on the images Whumper painted so, so terribly vividly. On guilt. On love. “I’ll do anything, just don’t fucking touch them.”
“Well, then why am I still hearing your voice?” Whumper croons, nodding at their hands. Though Whumpee can see the amusement in their eyes, all they think about is their team’s screams when they were taken from the cell as they raise the muzzle to their face. With their family's voices sounding in their mind, echoing with each beat of their heart, they find that it isn't hard to do it at all.
It’s with Caretaker’s soft murmurs when Whumpee has trouble falling asleep in their ears that they bite on the bit. Leader’s gentle hands guiding Whumpee to the correct position when they were learning how to fight is the memory that guides them as they fasten the muzzle behind their own head. And it is with Healer’s affectioned smile whenever Whumpee asks them to bandage the most meaningless wounds shining in their mind that they hold still when Whumper places a finger under their chin and tilts their chin up.
“Look,” Whumper whispers, shifting to the side so Whumpee can see their reflection in the mirror. So their team can see it too.
Their eyes shine with unshed tears. They had never realized how small they look when they aren’t using their words to make themself bigger. How their wrists look so very thin surrounded by metal. But there’s only so much Whumpee can look at before their eyes fall on the muzzle.
It covers half of their face, stiff leather locking their mouth shut. They look… defeated. Young. They look so terribly young with that thing covering their mouth, only big scared eyes and empty defiance left.
“So much prettier when you’re quiet,” Whumper sighs, letting out a low chuckle. “Why don’t we work on the lack of respect, now?”
When they unsheathe a knife and let the sharp tip shine near Whumpee’s face, they can’t help but pull away with a scared whine. The guards are there in an instant to hold them still as Whumper laughs out loud and presses the blade against Whumpee’s chest, delighting in their muffled screams as it draws a line of blood across their skin.
On the other side of the mirror, though Whumpee can't hear them, their team screams themselves hoarse as they watch Whumpee’s blood run and pool around them. They don’t stop even after Whumpee is left in a bloody, sobbing heap on the floor for them to stare at.
-
Prompts from this list
People will never look like flowers.
Death is all I want to test now. I have had a glimpse at everything possible. Death, can you find me please?
Birds flying out of there nests, the sun unwrapping itself for the day some geniuses are being born and some are breathing there last. In the same chaos the fearful are sneaking into the world as if they can do a thing or two in it. Others fearfully in defeat escape it, they have lived it all not as they wanted but as fear mapped it out for them.
Birds flying out of there nests, the sun unwrapping itself for the day some geniuses are being born and some are breathing there last. In the same chaos the fearful are sneaking into the world as if they can do a thing or two in it. Others fearfully in defeat escape it, they have lived it all not as they wanted but as fear mapped it out for them.
Willful Neglect
author:
Anonymous
summary:
"Dazai..." Chuuya's voice comes out too tight and small, unlikely to ever reach Dazai. His hand lifts shakily, in some dazed attempt to stop him. There is panic wild and fast in his chest, the beginnings of hyperventilation, his breaths shallow and quick. Something's wrong, something's wrong— This hurts too much, it's not supposed to be like this— His vision is blurring, and his head is taut and aching with the stress and anxiety and so much anguish that he can barely comprehend it. The last of Dazai's hazy form disappears, far in the distance. _______ Forced into a difficult situation, Dazai has to leave Chuuya behind post-Corruption without his usual thorough check-up. Only, he has no idea just what state Chuuya was in as he was walking away from him that night. Grief is a good teacher on how to value those you love. When he gets Chuuya back, Dazai uses his lessons well.