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i hate to see you hurt but i love to watch you cry
i want to make you squirm, i want to get you high
i like to watch you sleep, watch the light break through your eyes
i want to crawl into your skin like a poison parasite
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
you won't love it anymore
cause you only love me when you're bored
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
you won't love it anymore and i'll always hate you when you go
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
i want to make you smile, i want to push you around
i want to kiss you soft, i want to hold you down<
i want to live inside your lungs, i want to feel you from inside
you know i'll never stop until your skin's all mine
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts you won't love it anymore
cause you only love me when you're bored
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
you won't love it anymore and i'll always hate you when you go
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
i want to hold your hand, i want to hold your throat
i want you marked with blood and broken bones
i want to eat at you the way it eats at me
i want you so bad that i can't breathe
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
you won't love it anymore
cause i only hurt you when i'm bored
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
you won't love it anymore but you'll always love me when i'm gone
tell me if it hurts, tell me when it hurts
there's two hearts on the floor
one mine, both yours
i try to ignore, but i need much more
there's no time, you're bored
you walk out the door
i guess it's on me
'cause i can't give you what you need
i won't try to deny it
i might end up liking it
i hate when you're late
but i like the silence
you're quiet but violent
you don't let me breathe
if i could ask you, please
what are you doing to me?
you end up on me
you be scared to breathe
you're looking at me
i wonder what it means
there's two hearts on the floor
one mine, both yours
i try to ignore, but i want much more
there's no time, you're bored
you walk out the door
i guess it's on me
'cause i can't give you what you need
you end up on me
you act like you're jesus
you be scared to breathe
if i could ask the lord
what are you doing to me?
you end up on me
you act like you're jesus
you try to break me
if i could ask the lord
why did he try to break me?
if i keep going and flowing, i might end up knowing
the truth is i hate that
but if i deny it, i try it, i might end up liking
i just try to take that
if i exclude all my feelings, will he end up feeling
the way that i felt back?
but then i denied it
he was so silent
he wasn't here for all that
you depend on me
you act like you're jesus
you rely on me
if i could ask the lord
what is he doing to me?
you depend on me
you act like you're jesus
you try to break me
if i could ask the lord
why did he try to break me?
"got you mounted on a wall in the back of my mind, " he said
"i just can't forget, try as i might
i've got this photo i've tried to burn, but it don't light
i stay on the drink and you stay on my mind
as you were when you were laying just like a two page spread
from a magazine in a negligee on the bed
by the window in moonlit flesh
so gaunt your skin looked blue and wet
you were my girl, my thing, my pet
to do anything i wanted with"
"i wanna hold you in my hands
like a porcelain decanter
take off the lid and fill you up with liquor
smash you against the wall and let you fall to pieces in my hands"
he said, "i love you so much i can't stand you and
"i got you mounted on a wall in the back of my mind
and this piece of your soul caught in a thirty-five millimeter slide
i see right through you like lace lingerie when i hold it to the light
and my girl, i pray you can feel my eyes
going right through you"
and the drunker he got, the truer he spoke
he said, "i pray to god, you know
i keep a piece of you locked in my heart
with memories i can bend into any shape i want
and i put you over the bed
or i break you in half instead
sometimes, you're my girl and sometimes, bitch, you're dead"
disquisitions.
at the very forefront of this is a quote i preened from a tweet i saw long ago and can no longer find. why isn't he sexualizing me i feel so unwanted. such a theme is alluded to in mikan's shot through the heart, saying:
why did hajime choose this place . . . ? is he planning to do "this and that" to me . . . ? nut he never tries to do anything to me . . . why doesn't he do anything ? even though he talks to me, he might actually . . . hate me . . . hajime doesn't care about me . . . that's right, that has to be it !
she cries if "this and that to me" is negated, wherein hajime says "no, i won't do anything to you."
that's right, you won't . . . that means you don't care about me, right ?
this and that here is acting as a euphemism for sex — mikan is desperate to feel validation and care via sex. even if those sexualizing her / engaging with sex don't actually care for her, the physicality or otherwise harrowing notion of being attractive and desired is enough for her. this rings especially true for how mikan behaves with men ; they are more reactive to her behaviors. she craves the intimacy.
per sexlab, "self-objectification occurs when a woman emphasizes her physical appearance rather than her competence-based characteristics, which can have negative implications". mikan places a lot of emphasis on her physical appearance, though not in her manner of dress. her physicality veers much towards the self - sexualization, such as the puffing her chest, and any 'accidental' trips and falls she may stumble upon. oh no, she's fallen, legs splayed and face thick with desperation and apprehension ; she is the perfect victim. as though sex is something done to her, not something she is an active participant in. sex is engaged in as a performance instead of for pleasure. she's cast as the starring role of desirability. her self - objectification functions as a defense mechanism for unwanted sexual attention : can anyone truly hurt her if she always allows it to become wanted sexual attention?
in theory, mikan knows herself ( or her body, at the very least ) to be attractive, even if she's unaware of the nuances why. she knows that she's busty, that her ass is shapely, that overall the look to her body is what makes her wanted and desired, but she doesn't comprehend the why . . . nor does she particularly care to.
back in the realm of sex as love and sex as attention, mikan absolutely feels as though there is no love and affection in her life without the reality of sex. but it's not something she parses in an appropriate manner. because she knows sex is impending, she feels compelled to rush towards it — perhaps part of her presumes they will leave once they have gotten exactly it is they want ( her body ), and another part is just eager to revel in the validation for as long as she can. my mikan has borderline personality disorder, which is another factor in play with the enormity of her sexual impulsivity : a sort of desperation to affirm the automatic thoughts flooding her mind.
per another essay, "an individual with an objectified body consciousness closely monitors their body from the view of a third person, exhibits body shame when they fail to achieve the cultural expectations, and believes that individuals are able to control their appearance, respectively". i think a lot of what mikan does pertains to her monitoring her body from the view of a third person, or even more evidently, the male gaze, and controls her appearance in such a regard. she leaves her hair chopped messily and remains enveloped in bandages to play into her vulnerability : does the weakness people can perceive off of her play into her attractiveness? she assumes so. again, the perfect victim.
something i touched on in a headcanon post with her bdsm test results is mikan's . . . almost lack of desire with sex. not that she doesn't want it ; i think she's very sexually forward and experiences lust to a degree she cannot exactly fathom, verging on hypersexual by way of victimhood in youth and for the sake in it's entirety of love as attention. molding herself and being malleable to any desired sexual sort of deviance is satisfactory to mikan because she wants to be as desirable as she can be. that is the only way she can fathom someone genuinely loving or caring about her. also a time to note any proclivities skewing more dominant are not something mikan can feign very well, but it's not exactly a situation she's encountered. anyone desiring her vulnerability and meekness is, chances are, more dominant in nature already.
another thing i wish to brush upon is mikan's yearning for usefulness. it is her thesis statement. she feels that usefulness is the only thing that gives her purpose, like she can only exist in peace with her proximity to other people. this is evident in her talent, as well, granted that she is a nurse. she loves to help people ! in more ways than one. her unwavering loyalty to any of those that show her any semblance of kindness. her adept hands for the ill and needy. and, if all else fails, her sexual forwardness for a release she presumes all covet.
in infant stages, she expresses affection shyly. a soft hand tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. chaste kisses. hand - holding. she's apprehensive about public displays of affection, fearing the scorn others will cast for such a daring act. but she eases into it with time. mikan finds herself splayed out in ability to properly utilize all love languages. a learned behavior, maybe. but one she's learned and held close to her heart : how to give out affection and remain loveable.
she doles out words of affirmation in an unmeasured frequency, an unrelenting constancy of reminders of her love and care for her loved one, doling out droves of verbal encouragement and saccharine ❛ i love you's ❜ . . . speaking of, mikan is very quick to say i love you for the first time in a relationship. she disregards any norm as to when is an appropriate time to say such a thing. she feels the love, the obsession, the fixation, whatever it is, she feels it and she feels it hard, and she wastes no time in externalizing it.
quality time, too. mikan's always desperate to share space with the one she loves. admittedly, she's thankful someone's willing to spend any time with her at all, something she bitterly reminds herself of constantly, fearful she'll toe the line too hard and do something to drive them away. so she has to be the most warm, loving beacon she can fathom. she's quick to introduce one of her 5,000 gathered conversational topics to truly indulge in time spent with her loved one, nosediving into meaningful conversation.
acts of service is one that comes most easily to her. she is naturally thoughtful, by nature wanting to ease the lives of all those around her, including but not exclusively whomever be her loved one. the first is obvious : the tending to of them when sick. what kind of nurse would she be if she didn't ? but even the menial tasks envelop her in lovelight. doing the laundry, bringing a fresh coffee or tea. nurse, then a servant ; devotee above all else.
she's not the most thoughtful with gifts. but she makes a comfortable salary with her nurse work, it is moreso a matter of doubting any ideation towards what a good gift could even be. she keeps a note, any sort of notation, be it on a scrap paper, a spiral notebook with pretty pink pages, the back of a pharmacy receipt, and she keeps a note of how to gift well. colors they like. media they like. objects, characters, concepts, themes — mikan will fill herself with knowledge and better herself until she bursts. that is how to love. that is how to love. that is how to love.
and, of course, she's remarkably physically affectionate. like mentioned before, there is an initial shyness pertaining to public displays of affection. but there is a comfort that love provides in a way many do not understand, and it is a comfort that empowers mikan and gives her strength. she loves to play with hair, perhaps because of how damaged and destroyed she views her own hair as. hence, she loves nothing more to to plunge her shaking fingers into a soft head of hair, tracing heart outlines on a loved one's scalp and immersing herself into a plush solace. kisses, hugs, and cuddles are all in her wheelhouse, as well. there have been few times in mikan's life where she has been bestowed any of the above. so, in some strange, sad, sickly way, she's desperate to revel in any of the trifecta for as long as she can manage, breathing the other's scent deep in until it floods her lungs with an overdose of intimacy. her propensity for self - sexualization pertaining to physical affection is significant, also. she has spent years tormented by the idea of her body being a vessel meant for the viewing and kinesthetic enjoyment of all those around her. so she has no qualms about opening her mouth or her hands, spreading her legs or bending over. she does not know if she enjoys it. but in her eyes, that is not part of the question. her enjoyment is not a factor if it means she can exude an even greater display of love.
in terms of reaction, however, mikan's tendencies are more unpredictable. as aforementioned, she has not frequently experienced many forms of affection. in fact, affection, to her, is moreso that of attention : good or bad, to be known is to be loved, to be addressed is to be loved, to be commanded and berated is to be loved. this is with heavy emphasis pertaining to sex : she's excessively prurient, prone to feel a sharp sting of rejection when her sexual advances are rejected or ignored in any manner . . . what else was she good for, then ? a question not worth answering. she's learned, through time, that people do not take kindly to the constant refusal of compliments : slowly, but surely, she manages to accept them with a demure smile, though whether or not she believes them is a matter solely for her own head.
she's quite shaky with physical affection, too. she jumps like an hit dog, prone to squeaks of astonishment and trembling based in all negative associations to physicality. in mikan's mind, physicality is a vessel in which to end the bad : if they touch her like that, they will stop throwing darts at her. they will stop putting cigarettes out on her. they will stop spitting on her. though she is reluctant, she eases into it with immediacy. she melts at a loving touch. she just does not know what it is. she is, contrarily, not very accepting of acts of service. mikan attempts to keep to herself so much so as to not burden anyone else that in her mind, there are no acts of service to be done. they make her feel awkward. but she appreciates, of course she does. ungrateful girls don't deserve love, do they ? and through gifts and quality time, she still feels burdensome. how can one take up no space except for the confines of the heart of their loved one ? why wasn't it possible ? why not ?
she loves love. she loves loves loves love. and, as she has studied the many books she's read on the 5 love languages, and though they are not entirely conducive to the navigation of dating, love, and affection, she makes her best attempts. conversely, the love languages make a decent itinerary for her being, for all those desiring to feast upon the wounded gazelle.
she has a propensity for seduction to spread despair. she utilizes sex downright manipulatively. and, at the very least, the promiscuity is despair - inducing to her nature as a nurse : no condoms to protect against sexually transmitted infections or pregnancy, and unsafe kinks and fetishes that would more likely than not put her health at risk with poor execution ( bloodplay, breathplay, etc ). additionally, sex functioned as a proxy of self - harm as much as it did of manipulation ; functioning perfectly both to harm her body and well - being, and to lead people down the long, dark, and narrow hallway that was despair.
this fanart is definitely the typical appearance that mikan has in despair. i think she'd take up having nails, acrylics or otherwise, especially because they'd normally be an impediment in her nursing work. the red is for junko, of course ! ♡ but i think maybe that junko gave mikan a sort of makeover ( manipulation under the pretense of beautification, molding mikan into exactly who she wanted her to be ), hence the more revealing clothing, newly distinctive hairstyle and a change in footwear. the skimpiness of the nurse's outfit plays nicely into her promiscuity for despair ordeal. and junko was soooo kind to fix up her hair and perhaps give her some extensions . . . !!!!!
definitely had a wee bit too much recreational xanax usage. it aids in her sexual inclination and makes her feel nice, a bit too nice — a pleasure she's verging on too eager to indulge with alongside her fellow remnants of despair. after all . . . to be so reckless with her health and have her despair - inducing abilities enhanced ? she'd be stupid not to.
likewise as having spent her youth patching up her own wounds, mikan's adapted to caring for herself in all other facets. one of these in particular is cooking & otherwise nourishing herself. and though she is no super high - school level nor ultimate dietician, she's proficient with know - how for healthy meals, how best to prepare and indulge in them. they are not extravagant meals by any means. but those vegetable and rice medleys are all she needs.
also, more adjacent to food overall, but mikan is decently sensitive to sweets. she ate them rarely, if ever, in her youth, so she's not attuned to sweetness. when she can indulge, though, it's blissful. mikan likely makes her own sweets with frozen fruit ( fruit popsicles, anyone ? ) or indulge lackadaisically in some kakigori. much healthier, too, than some processed gummy candy or what - have - you.
cooking is fairly stress inducing for her, though. there was a time wherein she attempted a double boiler on stove - top to melt some chocolate for whatever recipe she was attempting at the time, and the combined stress and heat of the kitchen left mikan spiraling into neuroses. she's never tried it since.
she, additionally, has volunteered her time and meagre cooking skills to certain volunteer organizations. one in particular is second harvest, who most notably provides hot meals to the homeless in ueno park in tokyo every saturday. there is no drawback to having a nurse nearby for any kitchen mishaps, getting over - eager with kitchen knives or burns from splashing water. mikan is happy to help nurse people in such a sense, as well : what better nursing is there than to aid the negatives before they appear ?
to close, some of mikan's favorite recipes are as follows : ginger rice, barley and brown rice bowl, miso salmon with zucchini noodles, and okonomiyaki - style brussels sprouts.
medical file.
mikan's life, rife with too much certain horror. she could not escape her perpetual torment from her peers, neither in her home nor in her schooling. but it showed they cared, didn't they? every time they cut her hair, burned her with cigarettes, shoved her under the water until they were near certain she had no choice but to breathe. every time they buried her in the ground, slapped her for a wrong choice in verbiage, used her sexually — oh, to be used felt oh so good! to be used meant that people cared, that they gave her attention enough so that she was not left alone ( and mikan tsumiki could not bear to be alone ). so she'd endure the harassment, the injuries, the molestation, healing herself up every time, seraphically armed with gauze and isopropyl.
tending to her own injuries gave mikan a sort of adeptness with all things medical. an adeptness especially useful, in fact, for treating those around her. oh, what another way to be used — the most delightful way to be used. those poor people. . . those sick and weak people, they needed her, they needed her prowess! their lives were in her hands, and didn't that just feel wonderful? it made her heart simply swell to be able to tend to the sickly, no matter any dichotomy of sadistic pleasure being derived from finally having power and control for once. no, no no no no no! simply untrue!
when she wasn't being used in either sense of the word, mikan's childhood and adolescence was remarkably lonely. she had absolutely no friends, and conditioned herself to not even look at people unless addressed and instructed. her maladroitness leading her to get viciously beaten after tripping over someone was to thank for that.
there were few sanctuaries from the relentless torment of her life — the library, and the bathroom. the library was a warm and resurrecting refuge, one where she was surrounded by shelves and shelves full of books, books that, for brief, fleeting moments in time, transported her away from her vile reality and into a world unlike her own. be it fiction or nonfiction, mikan would always slot in time into her busy schedule of violations and nursings. her absolute favorite books were about parasitology, though she frequented anything in the dewey decimal system class 610. the bathroom, conversely, offered no solace in a wide open space, but rather in the claustrophobic confines. no one hurt her in bathrooms, and bathrooms were rife with pleasant things — medicine cabinets and first aid kits, rife with gauze and bandages and isopropyl to say bye - bye to her ouchies.
isn't it the same thing, love and attention? what did it matter what people did to her, so long as they spoke to her, addressed her, gave her purpose with their tasks and their actions and their neediness?
her tender lovingkindness did not suffice enough to keep adversarial hands and barbs away. but mikan didn't mind. she was happy to exist in the minds of others at all, even if for sinister purposes. and she continued her nurse work, learning more and more and more how to help people to the very best of her abilities, tending to somatic and emotional wounds. her refinedness with her work leads mikan down one warmly lit path: that of being invited to the prestigious hope's peak academy as the super high school level nurse.
she looked to hope's peak with stars in her eyes. was this her chance to be treated kindly, like an equal, not be sneered at for her strange behaviors and mannerisms? things weren't the best, though mikan assumed the best was just not in the cards for her. but, for the first time in her life, she had friends.
hiyoko saionji, ibuki mioda, mahiru koizumi, and satou. an inseparable fivesome, they all made, even if hiyoko was not the kindest, ibuki wasn't the most socially aware, and mahiru and satou were most concerned with one another. mikan was simply happy to be there, happy to not have her presence entirely loathed by those around her.
in her mind's eye, and perhaps in some splitting of infinities, her time at hope's peak is two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
in one reality, things are as usual. she comes to class late on occasion, tripping and making herself out to be the most sexualized of spectacles: all eyes on her, the human plaything! demure - eyed ideal student, quiet and kindly, always offering a helping hand / helping hand that gets a slap on the wrist in exchange.
and it is in that class of 77-b, where she and all her classmates, witness their own downfalls. it begins with one gyaru, junko enoshima, one analytical enough to preen all of mikan's insecurities; all her yearning for love and attention and care. i'm gonna get down on my knees, would you kick me in the face, please? mikan would be anyone's lapdog if they'd allow her, it is simply junko that gets to it first. mikan is so happy to be useful, to picked up and put back together in the aftermath of satou's (and another poor girl from the reserve course's) death. anything that you want, i will beg like a dog.
her brainwashing takes a bit more than some horrible video of abject terror personified. no, it is both simpler and more difficult, requiring physicality of junko where it wasn't for her other classmates. a soft squeeze of the thigh. caress of her hair. and suddenly she's overcome with lust and determination to seduce in the name of the one she loves, the one that loves her. and so it is she that takes responsibility for sending chiaki to her strange, cruel, and unusual punishment; though killing in the name of her beloved is a small ask in the grand scheme of things.
and thus she allows despair to so serenely envelop both her and her classmates: poor chiaki did not deserve such a horrid fate . . . the mere thought of it flooded them all with desolation and desperation!
during the tragedy, mikan is just the most perfect of medics. her dance with the world is some sinister variant of munchausen by proxy: creating ill just for the swelling in her heart when she heals it . . . even if her methods of healing are questionable at best, leaving with wounds and damage worse than before her practice began.
and, after the death of junko, wherein the remnants of despair, her remnants, do the most deplorable of things: take her body parts and stuff them within themselves, so their beloved leader can both remain with them and live on through them. mikan, in all of her dastardliness, implants some of junko's ovum into her ovaries. perhaps there is some wicked yearning to produce an offspring of junko's, perhaps simply coveting feeling junko inside her, deeper than a stab wound.
and, of course, there's the overtaking of their bodies for the sake of their ai overlord. teehee.
island living is somewhat daunting to mikan: a privilege and joy she's never before relished in, but simultaneously the apotheosis of horror as she's trapped with the unfamiliar. for the sake of the neo world program, she's reverted to her younger self, even if by a year or two, majorly stunting any emotional and trauma - based recovery and change she's attempted.
so she is the way she's always been, fearful of new introductions but always so eager to trip suggestively and sexualize herself: for the betterment of the group, she tells herself. leer at me, derive lust from my countenance, anything to ease the trepidation heavy in the air and in their hearts. i will heal you. whatever it takes.
and she gets to be useful, too, useful in ways she hadn't anticipated her prowess coming up in such a circumstance of the mutual killing island life. yes, i can identify these wounds, these murder weapons; i can discern all the fallacies that otherwise collapse inward on us. am i liked yet? are you thankful? am i good enough to be used? for something, anything? used for my body? used for my talents? do i get to live beyond my myth?
even when her poor classmates fall sick, mikan is so happy to tend to them, offering all the attention and patience possible. is it really her fault she then contracts the despair disease? sees the world for what it truly is, and not just the sunshiney gossamer leaving all the rest of them disillusioned from reality?
is it her fault she had to kill ibuki ( and hiyoko, unfortunately ) for the sake of her beloved? doing anything to appease her from beyond the grave, knowing she will be allowed to meet with her upon her retribution?
she doesn't quite know it, when she awakens, but she's been purged of the brainwashing. washed clean of yet another abuser down the long list of harm in her life. it is a strange emptiness, feeling as though the only purpose her life serves is to be used. but it's one mikan knows she must adjust to.
and she knows, deep within, the onus is on her to rebuild all the rot she had inflicted, hand in unlovable hand with her fellow former remnants, monsters both alone in the world and uplifted by their togetherness.
but another part of her feels as though that never happened. that there was no tragedy, no misgivings in her time at hope's peak, no licking of junko enoshima's platform boots, and no living as her pathetic little mutt.
in fact, in this reality, everything seems more bearable: even the acidic, barbaric tongue of one hiyoko saionji. and ibuki, even her hurriedness of mind, still interrupting mikan a bit more than she intends to, does it with a glowing adoration for the conception of friendship. it's so foreign to mikan. so, so foreign.
people are so much nicer, here. they never take up her suggestions of taking her clothes off for being late, or kicking her in the stomach as revenge for her insolence.
though she's grown, and she's older, the bruises of all her past trauma have not healed in a productive way. no, she's still desperate to be useful, fearful that if she is not useful to people, they will leave her. and mikan could not bear to be alone. she's quick to offer herself up sexually, in particular, the disgustingness of molesting intimacy being the closest thing to genuine physical affection she's ever felt. hence, she's needlessly crass and lustful, thinking that the sexualization will suffice to be loved, to be cared for — to be tended to, in any sense of the word.
basics.
full name. mikan tsumiki.nicknames & aliases. none.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. bisexual.
ethnicity. japanese.
age. twenty - two.
birthday & zodiac. may 12th, taurus.
occupation. registered nurse.
physical.
height. 165cm ( 5'4" ).weight. 57kg ( 125lbs ).
body & build. slightly curvy assets.
complexion. fair skin.
scars & markings. beauty mark below her left eye's corner.
tattoos & piercings. none.
hair color & style. long, choppy, and dark plum - colored hair, cut unevenly as a result of bullying, longest point is past her fingertips and shortest point is above her neck.
eye color. gray - mauve.
clothing style. typically wears her nurse uniform, which has a pale pink short - sleeved shirt, a pale blue pleated skirt, and a white apron over top.
signature scent. fresh cream soft suede by philosophy ( notes of whipped cream, vanilla, caramel, suede, whiskey, amber, and musk ).
notable features. looks like a frightened baby animal.
mental.
positive traits. considerate, thoughtful, intelligent, kind.negative traits. paranoid, manipulative, spiteful, delicate.
speech patterns & voice. stutters frequently, profusely apologizes, very meek, quiet, and soft voice.
skills & proficiencies. proficient with near anything medical, very adept with reading people.
ailments. generalized anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder, dependent personality disorder, autism spectrum disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder.
fears & phobias. abandonment, being ignored.
likes. bathrooms, isopropyl alcohol, horror movies, syringes, attention.
dislikes. oversized things.
introspection.
mbti. isfj.enneagram. 2w1.
tritype. 269, the good samaritan.
four temperaments. melancholic.
instinctual variant. sp/sx.
soul type. server.
sin. lust.
virtue. kindness.
tv tropes. apologizes a lot, attention whore, beneath the mask, beware the nice ones, book smart, casual kink, conditioned to accept horror, covert pervert, cute clumsy girl, dark and troubled past, desperately craves affection, extreme doormat, hospital horror, the medic, mood - swinger, nice girl, nightmare fetishist, pink is erotic, prone to tears, psycho pink, reluctant fanservice girl, shrinking violet.
a vivisection of. female hysteria, being a lovable object, love is attention, dependency, and only being useful when you're being used.
muniments.
spotify. here.pinterest. here.
triggering content includes: bullying, abuse, sexual harassment, sexual abuse,
needles & medical paraphernalia, self-objectification, and manipulation.