#like trauma

and like

diagnosed ODD and forced stimulants?

Old me: “No one liked my post… Am I not good enough?” Current me: “Someone liked my post?? Who?? Who’s watching me again?!”

I used to have heat anxiety. Now I have post-notification stress disorder.

Liking others’ fics is appreciation. Liking mine? Surveillance.

Back then, I opened my notifications to feel seen. Now I open them to collect evidence before pressing charges. This, my friends, is what we call growth.

I don’t crave visibility anymore. I crave judicial justice and responsible platform policies.

  ❝Babsi—Babette, sorry. Sorry...I have two questions. Are you mad at me? About the other day...❞ Just checking. It was the least he could do after that little display. Then, after a pause, Vigor begins to shuffle around, unsettled. He rubs the back of his neck and swallows, his nervous heart caught in his throat as he starts to stammer. ❝And, are you ever curious? I don't...I don't know where my mind was—or where it was going. Truly, I swear,❞ he only meets her gaze for a moment, to reassure her he was truly sorry, but the rest of the time he can't look Babsi in the eye. ❝But... do you wonder? If I hadn't...If I hadn't stopped it before it got...❞ he trails off, surrendering to silence rather than let himself ruin things further with his ceaseless stammering.

                                      𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 .

                                    unprompted interactions

        Mad at him   ?      How could the little lady ever be mad at him   ?   Never understanding people holding a grudge for too long, for time on this plane of existence was too precious for hate. Vigor's question almost sounded like a joke   —   certainly, Babette was not irritated, not mad not angry not sad. Maybe a lingering feeling of curiosity.

He spoke of their conversation regarding their sparring. An unfortunate talkative tadpole, which spoiled the gentleman's thoughts  &  carelessly shared the lewd imagery Vigor's imagination has woven together. Yes, the hexblood was taken aback by this intrusion of her mind back then.

Deep down, though, she wished it just lasted for a little longer. Too prudish to speak her mind. A lady would not ask to elaborate.

Stolen glances told Babette how hard it was for her companion to keep his nerves together. A brave soul he was   —   seeking her out after that, well, embarrassing scene.     ❝ Oh well . . . ❞    A breath let out, eye-contact was equally difficult as it was for Vigor, apparently.

     ❝ I . . . would think so, yes. A-After all it involved myself. Naturally so, I am at least a liiiittle curious. Not that I would ever force you to share your mind   !   I respect your privacy a great amount. And it was not my place to receive such private thoughts. I need to apologize for my own tadpole   —   accepting the projection so freely. ❞