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MATURE: beneath my thumb

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a table of contents
pre- a prefix occurring originally in loanwords from latin, where it meant “before”
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hello everyone. while i iron out some unexpected knots in an old project of mine, i cowardly present to whatever audience may be present a boorishly angsty and self-indulgent juriken (as in suto) fanfic, written simply to keep myself afloat
the premise is as simplistic as they come; two severely mentally damaged people meet and help each other grow, but not before going through hell first.

content warnings:
  • i can't give an exact estimate or anything, but this will likely have a fair amount of strong language. "shit," "fuck," "bitch," "cunt," you know the drill
  • there will be innuendos. NOTE: in this fic, allusions to anything sexual are used to add to the story, especially the characterization of juri. actual details are never supplied for obvious reasons.
  • there is violence. there are really no further depictions beyond what's canon-typical for a series like street fighter, but the core gameplay of that series always has been people trying to beat one another into unconsciousness.
  • another note: this story contains in-depth looks at mental illness - the point of view used here will switch between third-person and that of the two main characters, and all of these will explore that topic. these are very jaded people with horrible lives and their mental states reflect this. there will be discussions about suicide/suicidal idealization, self-harm, severe depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and anxiety - there will also be references to child abuse and torture and brief implications of past sexual assault. (once again, nothing specific is ever shown here.)

...but let's be real, what is juriken without the angst?

finally, i need you, the reader, to fully understand something about this work.
this was not written as a glorification or fetishization of depression or any other traditionally "dark" topic this fic tackles. nor was this written purely as romance. this is a personal piece for me, one that serves primarily as experimentation on my behalf (much of my private work is in this vein, but i've never shared any of my more serious works in a public setting - thus, this is my first-ever time writing one with the intention and full knowledge that an audience is bearing witness to the story in question), as well as a character study of two people who mean a lot to me, particularly exploring their mentalities and how their trauma has affected them.
the romantic aspects toward the end of the story are, as i said, self-indulgent. and also a plot device + further aspect of the actual character study... still self-indulgent, though.

this piece does tread into new territory for me in some ways (nor is it beta-read, but i don't think any of my works are?), so i ask that you be kind; however, comments/reviews/constructive criticism are always very welcome.
the prologue needs a few touchups, but it will be posted within 24 hours unless something major happens on my end.
i appreciate you reading this, and i hope you enjoy what's arguably my most ambitious piece yet.
 
prologue: wake up call
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the inscription on the grave reads as follows:

[REDACTED]
Mother and Daughter, who was equally loving and beloved


you will notice that the dates of birth and death have been omitted. this is intentional.

now, the current. the influx, the grand ceremony.

this grave is open to the public.

noises.

a cacophony of strangers speaking. crying of a decidedly reptilian nature. crying from people as well. you can hear a lot of shit here. bullshit, fake shit, whatever other kind of shit there is.

they loved her. she was so sexy, like a fucking supermodel, they think. she could've had a better life, could've done so much more. but at the same time, she really was just all that. she was perfect. a goddamn malibu barbie doll.

she was a beautiful bag of decomposing flesh meant to be pitied and envied. being betrayed must have been so terrible. but that aside, she lived a totally idyllic life.

why, oh why did she steal it away from herself so?

her husband knows the answer.

he arrives late, long after the initial crowd disperses. a few friends, a few family members. mostly gossipmongers and paparazzi (for some godforsaken reason).

ken masters is allowed to be alone.

he stands there, the most unrecognizable he's ever been. all dark-haired and dressed down. he is alone. he's ditched the days of hair dye and colored contacts. there is nobody left to impress.

so ken reads the text on the tombstone, alone. then he reads it again.

eliza masters, the loving mother and daughter. there is no mention of him. he finds it very fitting.

he opens his mouth in a feeble attempt at speech. closes it. opens it again. huffs, closes it.

he's not entirely sure what to say. he was so sure of himself, but somehow, he can't bring himself to say it.

it would have felt so lovely to show up to his dead wife's grave and chew her the fuck out. call her out for what she really is. a coward, a swindler, an abuser.

a bad person.

ken struggles to speak ill of the dead. pretending that his eyes aren't welling up against his will, he sighs once more and leaves wordlessly.



"bitch. bitch bitch biiiiiiiiitch. just die already. bitch."

clearly, this one has no issues saying what is on her mind.

juri han pokes unrelentingly at her prey. the pressure points are her favorite. it always makes them twitch, you know; it's a little satisfying.

"c'mon. hurry it up, i don't have all day. he clearly said he wanted you dead, you can't not die-"

she grabs her latest victim's wrist. his pulse is weakening.

juri is no stranger to the art of deliberate torture. hell, sometimes it's part of her job. this time, it is not; the old man moneybags who gave her the hunt this time around just said to find this guy and erase him.

she's no stranger to murder either. she's not always fast; she gets a thrill from 'em putting up a fight. but this?

this is different. she's just toying with him.

he was fucking gasping. now his breaths have been reduced to snuffles. she gives him five more minutes if he's lucky, and takes to checking her phone. she gets bored less than half of a minute later, and decides to rip his fingernails off instead.

for fun and entertainment.

he cries. that's it. then he stops. juri groans, because she wasn't even finished yet.

let her make this clear.

picking up randos just to flay them alive and gauge out their eyes isn't her hobby.

she gets paid to do this shit.

juri is having fun because it makes her dough.

and she's feeling lazy right now. she would've snapped his neck hours ago if she didn't think he deserved a nice, slow death.

you understand, right? what, are ya gonna feel bad when she plucks the nails off of a serial child predator? pshaw. give her a break. this is a fraction of the suffering he's inflicted on others. he's lucky she didn't return the favor.

the thought of such a thing makes her feel grody.

the body. she picks it up and stuffs it in the fucking bag. she feels guilt and remorse for herself only as she ties it, heads out of that dingy little shack, and secures it to the back of her bike.

the world feels fuzzy as juri hops on and speeds away to someplace different.



where are you?

you, the reader. the audience and the consumer.

look at your surroundings. is anyone beside you? friends, passersby, acquaintances. enemies, perhaps.

what's the setting? maybe you're in a car. maybe you're in your room. maybe you're at school or work. at a library. at a store. at a restaurant. hell, maybe you're reading this from the inside of a fucking jail cell.

maybe there's nobody. empty? alone?

maybe you're nowhere. aimless? afraid?

do you feel this way? do you try to hide it? if so, how good are you at keeping these feelings to yourself?

how good are you at keeping a secret? can you keep those of your friends? what about those of your enemies?

think about these questions. when you've come to a conclusion, reevaluate it. then ask yourself these questions again.

how you think and how you feel are two separate things.

there is more here than meets the eye.



ending note: hello everyone~ sorry for the wait, something major DID happen - if you've seen my headcanon blog you know the application i use for writing has screwed up a bit lately and deleted some of my drafts :/ so i had to start from scratch!! but i like the results, and i hope you all do too!
if you have questions... make sure to ask yourself!! d: but that aside: this fic is meant to be somewhat cryptic or hard to understand at parts, but others are designed to be very easy to follow and explain what is going on in a more matter-of-fact manner; some parts though are meant to be up to interpretation!
(and as a side: if my wording ever seems clunky or odd at times, there is a reason. this was written very carefully and deliberately!)
anyway, i hoped you like these little snapshots? they're part of a bigger picture that you'll all get to see soon <3
and ofc reviews/constructive criticism/comments/whatever are always allowed/encouraged, etc etc
love yall
 
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WAKE UP BABE NEW BERYL WRITING DROPPED

hfuijdvnkjen this is super good! I love the way it's structured, as it gives you a chance to see it standalone and really get those feelings instead of just moving to the next sentence. And I love how you're able to write things that make the reader question stuff at points, or leave it to interpretation. Sure having a clear set thing that's happening which is easy to understand is nice, but where's the fun in that?

solid stuff all around, I can't wait to see more out of this!
 
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