Oh and Revy is using another girl's bondage gear as a holster.

After a while, the kid stumbles back out.

I'm damaged, she mutters, eyes glazed, voice thick. I'm damaged—

Not in any useful way, Handler says, curt and contemptuous. *Get,* and the kid totters away, aimless and broken.

Got off light, or not, depending how you look at it.

hi the goddess wants to check in and– oh wow people have gotten really good at killing you, huh? how many [A Clean Cut, Sword of the Novice]'s have you given out? gotten used to it yet? is the terror of dying still fresh in your mind? hehe. oh! looks like another is here! ill leave you to it.

How can I go on when even the joy is tinged with despair?

The only place in the world where I can scream as loud and raw and despairingly as I want to is a non-place, a liminal place on the highway where the tires drown out my screams and I am gone as soon as I arrive.

i dont create art to invoke or exorcise. i create because i have to create or wither. it is sustenance, a movement i will shrivel and rot without. it is like water. i need it and i would draw in the mud with a stick if i had to, wherever i am. but i am glad to see what it invokes. it brings me joy

Don’t believe you’re safe. You’re never fucking safe. There’s always people around, there’s always people who can hear you.

even as I’m doing stupid insane things, I still have a risk threshold be beneath which I won’t go
Which, doesn’t that defeat the whole fucking point? Isn’t the point of a mental breakdown to be, to be uncontrolled?

fuck this life I never asked for it