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Literature
The Crooked Tree [Prologue]
Fandom: Durarara!!
Pairing: Shizuo Heiwajima/Izaya Orihara
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Trees, like people, are made to grow along a certain path, generally up if one is being literal, but for the latter, morally upright. Izaya had always been a crooked tree, as long as Shizuo had known him. An ugly, twisted willow tree that tarnished everything with its mere presence. That was just how he was, but what if that seed was never planted. If that was possible, who planted it there in the first place?

"Celty. We both know this is pointless."
Fire, smoke. The room practically exploded into flames, sucking the air straight from his lungs like a punch in the gut. He doubled over and fell to his knees, the heat from the flames scorching from the inside out. Sweat dampened the bleached hair, rolling down his temple and jaw, evaporating before they ever touched the ground. It was so hot, his organs were ignited.
'This is
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Literature
I miss
I miss being sick
I still see the numbers in my head.
When I look at me in the mirror
It will never not be disfigured.
Not since the day i woke up
Or fell asleep if you will.
Because no matter the numbers
The progress, the pain
No matter the dedication
The starvation
The “strength” it took to be ill.
No matter how much I worked
Or how little I ate
No matter how much I lost
Or how little I weighed
It was never enough.
And here I am.
All over again trying to make some sense.
I want to play again
Gamble my winnings
For every step I took to get back out of the hole is a step i wish I never made.
I miss being sick
Because being sick gave me a feeling I never knew.
It made me feel miserable and weak
And how I would panic and cry
And lose sleep planning my next week around some arbitrary number.
It made me feel strong, like I had control over a life that was spiraling away
It grounded me to reality like nothing in my life before.
It kept me awake because I was too focused on what
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Karla by red-stained-december Karla :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 2 0
Literature
My Cage has a Name: Stress
Warning: Graphic Depictions of Bulimia
"Elizabeta!" Eva called from across the studio, waving to the brunette happily, The blonde was no more than 13 years old, but she already glued herself to the group of older girls in the studio. She had a lot of promise, especially in ballet; they'd have been fools to ignore her abilities and leave the sweet little girl to fend for herself among the more vicious and competitive wolves prowling the class.
"Hey dear," Eliza smiled tiredly, dropping her heavy dance bag before plopping in the chair beside it, "I am exhausted! The restaurant got slammed thirty minutes into my shift and just went downhill from there."
"Oh no," Eva gawked, looking up from her stretch on the floor, legs splayed out in a wide second as she reached forward. Seriously, the kid was like rubber. "Are you gonna be okay for the auditions?"
"What, you dropping out?" Danica asked, walking up to the two girls. Danica, the smaller brunette with her hair in a braided bun who l
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Literature
My Cage has a Name: Judgement
He could feel the eyes on him as he slouched in the stiff office chair, trying to make himself even smaller in the cold waiting room. Across the waiting room, his mother spoke pleasantly with the receptionist, the two acting like good friends. Probably they were. Sounds about right, his mother friends with the secretary, bet she had access to his private files. Probably called his mom when he was at school to tell her about how fucked up her kid was and that they needed to upgrade from one session a week to two.
Which was exactly why he found himself here, in this freezing little waiting room with a woman reading an outdated and overused fashion and gossip magazine. She had short blonde hair tucked behind her ear, and some huge breasts. Like those were real. Then there was his mother and that bitch of a receptionist chatting it up at the front. Glaring, he looked back down at his basketball shoes.
Shoes were good. Shoes were safe. Familiar. He real
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Napoleon crushes Prussia by red-stained-december Napoleon crushes Prussia :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 11 8 Prussia WIP 2 by red-stained-december Prussia WIP 2 :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 20 1 Prussia's Hetalia Character Dissection by red-stained-december Prussia's Hetalia Character Dissection :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 77 3 Prussia [Transparency] by red-stained-december Prussia [Transparency] :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 39 0 Prussia WIP by red-stained-december Prussia WIP :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 88 8 Eye of the Phoenix by red-stained-december Eye of the Phoenix :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 1 0 Far-Away Blue Skies [Cover] transparent by red-stained-december Far-Away Blue Skies [Cover] transparent :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 0 0 Dance Among the Lotus - Cover Art (Part 1) by red-stained-december Dance Among the Lotus - Cover Art (Part 1) :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 11 0 Italy Colour Comparison by red-stained-december Italy Colour Comparison :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 1 0 Dance Among the Lotus - Cover Art (WIP Sneak Peek) by red-stained-december Dance Among the Lotus - Cover Art (WIP Sneak Peek) :iconred-stained-december:red-stained-december 10 0
Literature
Dance Among the Lotus - 0.06: Laws of Attraction
The courtyard was packed with students, the patches sewn into their uniforms marking each one as a Meister. Unlike the Weapon children he had seen the other day, they were all much older, himself being among the youngest in attendance from the looks of it. The seats were aligned in perfect rows, possibly never having been moved since the Weapon orientation. A platform had been erected at the far end of the piazza, six seats arranged in such a way that each one could be seen from every angle. It looked sturdy, but also temporary. Even with it, the enclosure was quite large, easily housing an ornamental fountain, which explained why the hallways inside the main building felt so unnecessarily long.
Already having taken their place, the teacher from their first day sat in the farthest most left seat; leg crossed at the knee and arms cradled over his chest, it took Ludwig a moment to realize the teacher was in fact sleeping sitting up.
"Hercules Karpusi," Francis spoke beside him, the Frenc
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Latest works

Activity


Fandom: Durarara!!

Pairing: Shizuo Heiwajima/Izaya Orihara

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Trees, like people, are made to grow along a certain path, generally up if one is being literal, but for the latter, morally upright. Izaya had always been a crooked tree, as long as Shizuo had known him. An ugly, twisted willow tree that tarnished everything with its mere presence. That was just how he was, but what if that seed was never planted. If that was possible, who planted it there in the first place?


"Celty. We both know this is pointless."


Fire, smoke. The room practically exploded into flames, sucking the air straight from his lungs like a punch in the gut. He doubled over and fell to his knees, the heat from the flames scorching from the inside out. Sweat dampened the bleached hair, rolling down his temple and jaw, evaporating before they ever touched the ground. It was so hot, his organs were ignited.

'This is really it, huh?' a familiar voice in his head mused. His jaw clenched so tight, he wouldn't have been surprised if his teeth chipped. It laughed. 'What's got you so worked up?'

Rage boiled over, his first instinct was to pull back his arm, hand clenched so tight that the short , rounded nails bit into his skin like knives. It just took one punch. One punch and the concrete cracked and crumbled, caving into the floor below. The air was instantly clear. The monster growled.

'I didn't change the rules.'

Vorona.

You tried to kill Vorona.

'Isn't that your fault?

The monster looked up, could see him sitting there. Just sitting, watching, that fucking smirk plastered on his face, illuminated by the inferno he started. The growl became a snarl.

'What made you think you could be human?'

It roared.


"Celty. Let's go home."

A cold gust blew through them, pulling her hair, his coat. Everything was so quiet up here. Alone. In the sky. She turned from him, looking over the far-away city. Her eyes could see further than before. It was like she was among them, in the fight. Smelling the violence. Ikebukuro was on fire, tasting like iron and salt. In the middle of everything, she could see him. Once upon a time she would have felt the bruises on his face and skin were well deserved. A tinge of red pooled at the corner of his mouth, but still he smiled. All of this was his doing.

Or rather, she onced believed that.


Shinra let his head be cradled by the pillow she had just fluffed for him, sighing in blissful comfort. "Izaya promised to make him pay for it. That was the first time I had seen that look in his eyes. Despite the fear in the foreground."


If she had never influenced Shinra to make friends, he never would have sought out Orihara Izaya. If he had never tried so hard to make her happy, he never would have taken the knife for him. It never would have happened. The club, the gambling, none of it. If only she hadn't existed, his game never would have began and Anri, Mikado, Shizuo… her friends.

"You're right. By leaving now… it won't change anything."

'I don't want him to forget me.'

"Celty." He sounded so hopeful, a small smile graced the head in her arms.

"So selfish."

The shadows hanging over the city grew, an ominous black hole in the sky. The confusion on his face was endearingly bitter sweet. She chose to remember the way his lips parted as he craned his head up, forming a small 'o'. How he stared with wide-eyed childish intrigue. "Good bye, Shinra."


Something changed. He couldn't explain it, but there was a paradigm shift that threw everything off. The growing darkness drew his gaze upward, and it was the moment he couldn't take back. The beast charged, arm drawn back. He had no time to do anything but brace and hope, kicking backwards to possibly reduce impact. It sounded like a fireplace, the snapping of twigs in the heat of the flames, popping from the pressure. He felt heat, not pain. He could remember reading to Mairu and Kururi in front of the hearth on winter break. He remembered the smell if the wood, the coolness of the paper, the creak of the book's spine as he turned a page, rarely used anymore since his parents were always away. The twins smelt of their strawberries and cream shampoo. Mairu yawned. Kururi leaned her head against his knee.

Was this shock?

Everything rushed back. The city, the head, the war, the monster.

His back slammed into the asphalt, a crater forming around his broken body. The adrenaline kept the pain from registering too strong, but he could tell his arms were useless. Hanging limply by his side, the forearms shattered, shoulders dislocated. His ribcage and spine took most of the trauma from the landing. They had to be bruised at least. His brain slowly caught back up, still seeing the long shadows cast from the fireplace.

'Move!' It screamed at him. Blinking slowly, digging in, he pushed up with all his might. There were humans here, his humans. Watching him, their god. If this was where he'd die, he would do it in such a way that inspired awe. His left eye twitched in a wince, something hot and thick bubbling up his throat, suffocating him. He spat out the clot, blood staining chapped lips as he tasted iron. It was becoming so hard to breathe.

The monster stalked up to him, preparing the killing blow, unaware that if he were to just sit and wait, the same results would be made. This was the end. He was dying. He couldn't help but smile, goading animal in front of him to strike and strike quickly.

This was it.

His vision grew hazy, but from bloodloss or slowly drowning in his own blood, he couldn't tell.

This was okay.

"It is you." A voice seemingly whispered directly into his ear, carried on the breeze. Shivers ran down his spine as the short hairs along his neck stood on end. He could feel something behind him, but no one else seemed to be able to even see it. "The true victim of my existence. You pulled everyone with you."

Darkness covered the world, not because of the shadow overhead engulfing them, but because he didn't have it in him anymore. His body just couldn't take any more.


Shizuo finally realized that something was not right. He blamed being surrounded by strangeness all his life for why he hadn't noticed sooner. Half the city, no, a third? Maybe more? Bit by bit, his city, the whole world, all of it; vanished.

Shizuo fell.

The Crooked Tree [Prologue]
Oh god. What am I doing? I've had this idea around for a long time and just never felt worthy of posting it. I love Durarara. I could talk forever about theories and character dissections and analyses on Izaya and Shizuo. One thing that always got to me was after the last novel's release, Celty spends all this extra time with Mikado because, somehow, she figures she ruined his life the most. But seriously, Mikado never would have gotten roped into this if not for Izaya, and if it wasn't for Izaya befriending Shinra in middle school, he never would have become... well, this. Meeting Shinra warped him, or at least that was how I interpreted the scene after Shinra was stabbed. Before that, Izaya was a rather normal kid, especially for his upbringing. I just really wanted to play with that. And screw the fact that Dullahans can't control time. I've seen weirder, so if you could just go along with it... I'd appreciate it.

Next Chapter: [N/A]
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I miss being sick
I still see the numbers in my head.
When I look at me in the mirror
It will never not be disfigured.
Not since the day i woke up
Or fell asleep if you will.
Because no matter the numbers
The progress, the pain
No matter the dedication
The starvation
The “strength” it took to be ill.
No matter how much I worked
Or how little I ate
No matter how much I lost
Or how little I weighed
It was never enough.
And here I am.
All over again trying to make some sense.
I want to play again
Gamble my winnings
For every step I took to get back out of the hole is a step i wish I never made.
I miss being sick
Because being sick gave me a feeling I never knew.
It made me feel miserable and weak
And how I would panic and cry
And lose sleep planning my next week around some arbitrary number.
It made me feel strong, like I had control over a life that was spiraling away
It grounded me to reality like nothing in my life before.
It kept me awake because I was too focused on what I ate to even care about how I felt.
I miss being ill
Because being ill gave me the peace of mind that no medication could offer.
One step from laughing
Two from crying
Three from fighting
Four from trying
Five from dying.
I miss being ill
Because when I was ill was when I was most alive.
Karla
My coworker and the head waitress at my workplace. I love my coworkers soooooooo much. But we deal with so much shit and it is like some anime or K-Drama. It is insane! I'm thinking about doing a comic about half the stuff we go through!
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Warning: Graphic Depictions of Bulimia

"Elizabeta!" Eva called from across the studio, waving to the brunette happily, The blonde was no more than 13 years old, but she already glued herself to the group of older girls in the studio. She had a lot of promise, especially in ballet; they'd have been fools to ignore her abilities and leave the sweet little girl to fend for herself among the more vicious and competitive wolves prowling the class.

"Hey dear," Eliza smiled tiredly, dropping her heavy dance bag before plopping in the chair beside it, "I am exhausted! The restaurant got slammed thirty minutes into my shift and just went downhill from there."

"Oh no," Eva gawked, looking up from her stretch on the floor, legs splayed out in a wide second as she reached forward. Seriously, the kid was like rubber. "Are you gonna be okay for the auditions?"

"What, you dropping out?" Danica asked, walking up to the two girls. Danica, the smaller brunette with her hair in a braided bun who looked more severe than she should have for her child-like size. She was also the only real competition Elizabeta had to look out for, both excelling in the contemporary style.

The green-eyed teen smirked haughtily, "And give up on the solo? You're tripping kid." Danica muttered something about being the same age, which Eliza waved off with a laugh. "Anyway, I gotta get changed, I'll be in the bathroom."

"Alright, don't take too long, you may still be warm from running around at work, but you still need to stretch!" Eva called after, contorted on her back as she worked on stretching both her quads and her hamstrings. Seriously, had the girl escaped from a travelling circus?

The bathroom was a single serve, which was ideal. When she was on the school's dance team, it had been nerve wracking to do this in one of the stalls, but she had never been comfortable outside her own home, even now she felt her skin crawl thinking about all the people who may or may not have used this toilet before her. Well now the gross out factor was up at nine thousand.

She dumped her dance bag on the floor, a change of clothes out of the black polo and jeans she wore for work, tights, high-waisted shorts, a flowing midriff to allow more air and keep her from overheating. Littered on top were tens of dozens of wrappers. Three or four from a burger joint, several more from the convenience store as a ready-made meal, on top of it all were chocolate wrappers. They were what she ate first, unfortunately, so this was going to be unpleasant. Turning on the water and pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, the brunette looked at herself in the mirror. God she had a major food baby. If she looked like that normally, she'd have never dare to look at herself in the mirror. Running her fingers under the tap a second, just to get them initially wet and make this slightly faster she doubled over the mouth of the porcelain throne.

When she had first done this, it had terrified her, and she couldn't seem to do it right. She felt so stupid. How can you have a gag reflex and not make yourself puke?! Everyone made it sound like it was so easy, and it really fucking wasn't. There was a secret to forcing the purge, and it came in the form of crescent marks just above her belly button as her left elbow braced against her slightly bent knee, pushing a pointed fist deeper into the engorged flesh. She felt hot, her temperature always spiked when she binged. Slipping the first two fingers of her right hand into her mouth, they hit the back of her throat easily, but that wouldn't bring anything up. She shallowly thrust her fingers against the sensitive nerves at the back of her throat, feeling her stomach repulse with an reflexive dry heave. Two more quiet gags and she pulled her hand back to keep from getting the majority of the half-digested food on her hand. As it was, her fingers would smell, she didn't need her entire arm smelling like this.

Bread came up relatively easy, at least for her. She knew others had trouble with it from perusing the internet, but to be fair she had a bitch of a time with ice cream. So to each their own. Meat too, protein had a tendency of coming up in nearly one piece. And in all respects, they tasted nearly the same coming up as they had going down, not that she could honestly claim to have tasted anything halfway through the binge. After some point everything tasted like nothing, it was like eating dense air, made chewing more tedious. No, what was the worst part was the chocolate. It melted so quickly, so it was basically chocolaty bile, giving the candy a bitter after taste that made her reach for one of the half dozen water bottles she still had on her.

Water was another trade secret she had picked up. It helped push everything back out, and it never hurt to resupply on the stuff during a purge. It was absolutely fucking necessary afterwards, For after, she had low-calorie electrolyte mix powders to add. That would give her that boost she needed to keep the high. The light feeling she got after every purge, as though all the weight was gone. The food, the world, her problems, the stress. All the weight of everything flushing down the toilet. She chugged the water bottle empty and started on a second before leaning back over, smelling the meat and the vomit, making it even easier the second time around.

She kept going until she couldn't get anything more, subduing a cough as she dry heaved. Looking back at the mirror, the sink still going, she first appraised her stomach. Flat as a board, like nothing had happened at all. No, the evidence was all on her face. Tears smeared down her cheeks, mixing with saliva and snot, her lips slightly swollen, along with her cheeks. Chipmunk cheeks, but they weren't that noticeable. Besides, most people were too ignorant to actually know what to look for with bulimia. Not that she only kept her first two nails on her right hand short while the others were a decent length. Not the way she would disappear an hour after eating, or the insane amount of water bottles she carried everywhere. No, no one really noticed this kind of crap, not unless you looked like a bag of skin and bones.

A knock on the door cut into her thoughts. "Hey, are you done in there?" another girl called impatiently. Elizabeta washed her face, picking out pieces of backsplash from her bangs. That was probably the worst part: backsplash. But three years of this shit and it didn't seem so bad anymore.

"Yeah gimme a minute!" the brunette called, quickly changing. No, that didn't take much time. Taking a wad of toilet paper, she wiped down the seat, the back, the sides, the rim. She even traced the inside of the lip, fingers dangerously close to the slop that had once been her stomach contents.

'And I used to think this was the most disgusting thing,' she thought with some amusement. Three years did that.

You flush twice to make sure it is gone. You wash your hands and then cover the smell with perfume and gum and hand sanitizer. Lucille frowned as she exited the restroom, the younger teen giving her that disapproving glare of knowing. So what if she knew? Who cared? Not Elizabeta. No, she didn't care, because no one would believe the pipsqueak. And besides, she couldn't afford to feel the weight right now.


He could feel the eyes on him as he slouched in the stiff office chair, trying to make himself even smaller in the cold waiting room. Across the waiting room, his mother spoke pleasantly with the receptionist, the two acting like good friends. Probably they were. Sounds about right, his mother friends with the secretary, bet she had access to his private files. Probably called his mom when he was at school to tell her about how fucked up her kid was and that they needed to upgrade from one session a week to two.

Which was exactly why he found himself here, in this freezing little waiting room with a woman reading an outdated and overused fashion and gossip magazine. She had short blonde hair tucked behind her ear, and some huge breasts. Like those were real. Then there was his mother and that bitch of a receptionist chatting it up at the front. Glaring, he looked back down at his basketball shoes.

Shoes were good. Shoes were safe. Familiar. He really liked these shoes. The laces were starting to fray and one of the leather loops on the left one had totally broken, making them tie unevenly. He'd need new ones soon, but he hated going out. He hated shopping, it took forever and cost too much energy. After school was out of the question, and he needed his weekends to recuperate. Maybe he could talk his father into buying them off the internet, that saved everyone the trouble.

The door clicked open leading further into the little suite, Gilbert fighting the instinctive urge to look, he could feel the eyes again, every time someone came or went, they always looked at him. They always looked.

His skin was crawling all over again.

"I'm so happy you came today Natalya," the therapist practically cooed. Perhaps he was trying to be enthusiastic, but really it came off as condescending. "Same time next week. You will show up, yes?"

Boobs smiled, standing and grabbing a small bag. She looked younger now that he could see her face better from the corner of his eye. "Yes we will."

"Payment was already settled, so I'll see you both in a week. Take care."

He watched them leave without moving. Moving drew attention to him, attention meant looks, looks were judgments. He was so fucking sick of people judging him. The girl, Natalya, walked several paces behind Tits McGhee, scowling at nothing in particular. Oh, well at least he wasn't the only one coming here under duress.

"Gilbert."

He glowered, refusing to budge. He had just been here Monday! He refused to make this easy. He liked schedules and any change made without his explicit okay was absolutely unacceptable. His entire schedule was fucked now! He would be late for dinner and that meant the Hunger would come and gnaw at him.

"Gilbert," his mother scolded loudly, making his face flare in a blush self-consciously. Was the public humiliation really necessary!? It didn't matter that there was literally no one else in the room, it was the ethics of it all. Giving the blonde woman his filthiest glare, he stood stiffly, his vision going black a moment as he realized how bad of an idea that had been just a little too late. He refused to show weakness, however, walking blindly and doing his best not to sway too bad.

"Right this way, Gilbert," Francis Bonnefoy smiled, standing aside to let him into the dimly lit little room with the couch and coffee table.

It wasn't like those red couches in the movies and all the jokes about therapists. No, it was a regular couch in some boring beige colour that fell in a little too much from all the asses that had sat on it. He scowled at the cup of water Francis set in front of him, of course the bastard would have noticed.

"I'm sure this isn't the real solution, but it should help you make it through," Francis spoke plainly, settling in a plush blue arm chair on the other side of the table. "How have you been Gilbert."

"Dandy, until someone decided they should spend two days a week wasting my time."

Francis smiled sadly, shoulders dropping slightly in some silent sigh, "So more of the same, is it? Remember when we could talk? Why don't we go back to that?"

"Sounds fucking beautiful," the albino barked a ragged laugh that actually hurt his throat, forcing him to actually accept the plastic cup of water. Francis waited patiently until he was done, not done drinking mind you. No, even something as simple as that was a ritual. Sip, swallow, feeling the coldness travel through his body before pooling in his stomach. His real stomach, behind his left ribs. It spread from there to his arms, his legs, his heart. God why did it have to be so cold.

But it did the trick, his fiery temper cooling as he shivered under the baggy sweatshirt. Francis took the subdued look in the teenager's kaleidoscope eyes to finally shift his legs into a more comfortable position, drawing the boy from where ever he had wandered off to inside himself. "You used to be more open Gilbert, I don't understand what happened."

"Of course you wouldn't," he muttered bitterly, he had given up. The look was not attractive, rather it bordered on heartbreaking. "You wouldn't understand what it's like to have the whole goddamn world know you are pathetic. To go to school and have your teachers watching you during lunch, have them judging your food. Having the other kids whisper about what is going on. Rumors about you everywhere. To go home and have your family, your friends' families, your mom's friends' families, even her fucking coworkers! Literally the entire fucking planet knows there is something wrong with me."

"What do they say?"

"What are they gonna say!?" the boy snapped. His hood fell off his head, he looked thinner again. His cheekbones and jaw more defined, sharper, but not naturally. A little food would round out the edges, give him those boyish features he used to possess when he first started coming here. Now he just looked tired, like he could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. "How are you? Are you eating? Your mom told me everything."

'Ah,' Francis thought, rubbing his temple with a knuckle as the truth came out. Three weeks and all Gilbert had to do was tell him. Perhaps he should have figured that out himself, however. Helmine was that sort of parent; she hovered, tried too hard. She did only have the best intentions for her oldest son, but that was how the road to Hell was said to be paved.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Gilbert move, drawing in his knees to his chest, hiding his face. "Even Ludwig. I don't know what is more fucked up, the fact that my mother cages me with her spies or that my own little brother treats me like an infant. I don't need to be taken care of. I don't want to be."

"He doesn't understand."

Red-violet eyes, now more red than violet as he blinked back tears, stared balefully from across the room. "Do you? Does anyone? No one but me understands."

"You're right-," Francis started, but was cut off.

"You have hundreds of patients I bet. Girls. All of them are girls, Because it's so stupid. It's weak . Boys don't get eating disorders!"

Francis let those last words echo in the little room, the waiting room couldn't hear anything, so it was trapped here, between them. But it wasn't welcomed here either. "Gilbert, that's obviously not true." He could see it, the little light in the boy's irises. The little bit of validation.

If only validation was the magic cure.

My Cage has a Name: Judgement
Judgement
red-stained-december.deviantar…


I want to make this clear. This entire story is more of a slice of life series following several characters. While these characters will overlap in their stories, they are not linked by any substantial story line. Everything in this fic is based on real life experiences I have personally lived or those of my dearest, closest friends. So this story is and will be extremely triggering. I want to give you all, the readers who do not live in these cages, a real, true, honest, raw, emotionally-driven idea of what it feels like. And for those who know this reality all too well, you aren't alone.
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NickRoberts10 Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, fellow Code Geass fan!
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:icondanny-the-hedghog:
Danny-the-Hedghog Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
HORRY SHEETU YOU LOVE HETALIA TOO?  YAY America (The Hero) [V2] APH America: Sparkle Glasses YOUNorth Italy Talking Icon  HAVE MY FRIENDSHIP FOREVERItaly (Free Hug) [V2]  ^^Emoji32 Emoji02 Emoji06 Emoji08
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:iconmomothemuffincow:
MomoTheMuffinCow Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2015   Traditional Artist
*caresses this place*
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:iconpoprox5:
poprox5 Featured By Owner Oct 22, 2014
WHOOPSIE. I thought I watched you before, but apparently I didn't. :sweatdrop: Overhaul I watched you now, tho.
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:iconpoprox5:
poprox5 Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2014
I like your profile pic! Is that actually you?
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:iconakumaryoshi:
AkumaRyoshi Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Cool artwork :D
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:iconsteelheartdragon:
steelheartdragon Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hello! I don't know if you already know this but I am the one who has been partnered with you for the hetalia traditional contest :3


(Sorry if this comes off as awkward, I'm tottaly not used to this, lol)

I believe they told me your a writer and I'm the drawer for our 'team' ?

Anyway, I was just wondering if you had any ideas for the submission so we could discuss and stuff :)
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:icon33starrynight33:
33starrynight33 Featured By Owner May 29, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
:iconsayhiplz: Hello! I was wondering if you needed a partner still for :iconhetaliatraditional: contest? I was pairing people together. If you have a partner then I'm sorry to bother you!
:icononibowplz: Thanks for reading this!
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:iconsaeedamahmood:
saeedamahmood Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2013  Hobbyist
hello :iconhiiiplz: check out my new blog i will be thankful to u ^^ :iconsweethugplz:
[link]
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