#I don’t know what my therapist meant by it being normal like will I remember those things? or will I continue to forget

[velvette3]

Draft #2

WARNINGS: long post, rant post, mentions of sh and suicide, and a lot of other things, personal rant(s), LIKE REALLY LONG POST, please do not read unless you think you are comfortable with repetition, and idk what else. I am a warning in itself.

(4/2/24) (mentions of sh and suicide)

It’s 1:38 in the morning. I don’t really know anymore. I’m just so worried I won’t amount to anything. My stepsister has always been better than me at everything. I still remember my middle school and high school years when I heard my mother and step-father talking shit about their kids, about my step-brothers. But I hardly ever heard them utter a bad word about my step-sister. I became something I didn’t want to be in my high school years, in hopes I could live up to my sister, hoping maybe it would make sure I wasn’t the next kid they talked shit about.

I already knew at the time that they didn’t really take me seriously back then. Not when it came to my morals anyways.

At times when one or the other was driving, I would have to text the other. And that was when visiting my father was mandatory. So every once in awhile, the message would pop up “you pick up the brat yet?”

I know they never meant it in that way. At least I hoped not. But honestly being someone I wasn’t, and being someone I’m not still, to this day, it sucks. I hate having to pretend to my parents, even to this day, despite my independence. I’m just so worried about acceptance, that I find it hard to face them. I fear telling my parents (on both sides) anything.

Mainly, because when they first found out about the self harm in middle school, it was a difficult situation. They said they wanted to help me. And then they took me to a therapist for a total of three-five times before they said ‘this isn’t working fast enough’ and pulled me out of it. I was always scared of being yelled at when I made mistakes. That lead to me fearing ever telling my parents anything, including my own emotions.

For a long time, once I finally lived with my mother again, I never saw her cry. I only ever saw her angry, or happy. But I never saw her sad. That made me think that being sad wasn’t normal, or that, I shouldn’t be sad about anything because she wasn’t. The reason she hid any of her sadness was because she didn’t want her own child worrying about her.

But her hiding her own emotions from me made me feel like I had to suppress mine as well. So I never trusted my parents with my emotions, either.

But I guess it didn’t help that they always said I was either ‘overreacting’ or just being a ‘drama queen’. Go this day idk if they were right, or if they were just, avoiding it.

I don’t know which one I’d want it to be. Because if they were wrong, and that my emotions were actually valid, what would that mean for me? For them? Would it make it seem like they had neglected my own emotional and mental well-being? If they were wrong, if they thought because of my overreacting and drama queen the fancies that my emotions weren’t valid, then what is the limit to validate emotions? What would it have taken for them to stop accusing me of overreacting or being a drama queen?

They never made me feel valid. They still don’t. The only good throng I’ve done so far with my life, is get good grades. It’s been so long since I heard one of my parents (step or not) say they were proud of me, so when they got the letter in the mail about my good grades in online schooling, when that happened and they said they were proud, I almost cried.

It’s strange.

For a long time back in middle school-high school, I desperately wanted to die. I didn’t want to live in a world where everyone would judge me for my smallest of mistakes and ignore my feats.

I knew that, being the youngest, I was my parents last chance to have a child they were proud of. Everyone else but my stepsister had failed to be a kid that my parents were proud of (or at least didn’t talk shit about). I knew that if I didn’t want to be talked shit about, I’d either have to leave, or change.

I was so done, with the world. I hated myself for my failures, I hated the way I had been raised. But I also hated myself, because I had no reason to. Im not living on the streets, I have a family, I have food, I had shelter. I shouldn’t have been sad. “It couldve been worse”, as the mentality goes. I didn’t deserve to be sad, and it made me feel worse. I felt like all I was doing was trying to gain attention, even though that’s not what I wanted. I thought I was being selfish because of my own emotions, and it still gets fucked in my head sometimes.

Back in my freshman year of high school, a girl (which for the sake of her identity and name I will not be naming), had hung herself in her closet. Rumor was because she was having problems at home.

Way back in middle school, even. A girl in my 8th grade year tried to kill herself. She planned it all out. She wanted to hang herself in the bathroom, and if she couldn’t do that, she had some sort of sharp object to try and slit her throat. She couldn’t hang herself, and she cut her throat, barely enough to bleed. It was not deep or long enough to kill her, only to sting. When her parents saw the injury on her neck, she got in trouble for it, and was threatened to sent to a mental hospital, with padded walls.*

I knew both those girls, in a sense. And I knew that the one from high school had it worse than I did. I felt shitty. I felt like I had no reason to be sad.

Like I had no validation, because I wasn’t supposed to show that much emotion in front of others, because what I learned from my mother without her knowing, was to surppress the sadness. I want to amount to something, I want to be something my family can be proud of. I don’t want to be the next disgrace, I don’t want to be the person without control of her emotions. I don’t want to become a failure because I lost, or because I couldn’t do what I needed to do.

4/5/2024

Time is going by so quick, it’s killing me. Just today with my grandmother. I went to stay with my father for the weekend, so I’m going back to her house Sunday night to spend the eclipse with her. But as she left the house which I’m staying with my father and his girlfriend, I feared ‘what if this is the last time I see her?’

She is less than 20 years younger than my GREAT grandmother who died only a few months ago.

I love this grandmother with all my heart (I’ll call her grandma J from now on), and I’d hate to see her die, at all. I’m literally going to see her on Sunday, only two days from now, why am I worrying so much? Why did I wonder if it would be the last time I see her?

I’m so scared. I’d be lost without her, she has been my rock for a long time. Even though she is heavily Christian, and I don’t feel as connected, I always feel better after spending some time with her, (whether we speak of God or not). I grew up, spending every other weekend with her instead of my father, because he wasn’t able to take care of me where he lived for a long time. I lived with Angela (another grandmother of mine who I HATE) for the first seven years of my life. Spending every other weekend with my Mother, and the weekends I didn’t spend with my mom, I spent with Grandma J. Things have changed heavily since then, I barely remember that time in my life.

But my grandma J. She means everything to me. I always leave her house happier than when I left it. No one else does that for me.

I’m so, so fucking TERRIFIED, of who I’ll be, where I’ll be mentally, when she’s gone.

I’m so so scared…

(4/8/2024)

It’s 12:41, so technically eclipse day. Had a serious talk w my grandmother. I told her I was Ace, (not the pan-romantic part, but yk) and she was pretty okay w it. Especially when I told her I wasn’t gonna have children of my own creation (I might adopt, cause I wanna make a home to those kids who don’t have one yk?) and I just got really emotional. It doesn’t matter how many times I fucking say it, I am so scared to lose her. I cried, thinking this may be the last time I see her. You never know. She almost got hit on her way to see me on Thursday last week! I know she might be gone soon and I am not ready for it. It may be a last time for everything, and I’m so so so fucking scared words can’t even describe it. Not through type/text. If I were recording myself, you’d hear my ugly crying, and my voice in general breaking so no. But the point is, I dunno what’s gonna happen. My future, and hers, scares me to death. When she’s gone… I may as well be too.

So if I disappear for a long time, you will know why.

If I go batshit crazy (whether it’s lashing out, or self-isolation, or pretending to be fine [ya know, the stages of grief]) you know why.

This woman is one of my few rocks. My grandmother, and my eldest blood brother, who I shall call ‘E’ for the sake of keeping their identities secret.

I, don’t know what’ll happen to me once either of them are gone. Same with my parents, but I trust my brother and grandmother more than I do them, so it will be harder to lose them, as much as it may seem crazy to say.

I’m scared. I know I keep saying it, but every day I spend, is another closer to my grandmother’s inevitable death. I hate the thought, yet it keeps coming back since my GREAT grandmother died a few months ago. It’s not fun.

I hate feeling this terrified.

I feel paralyzed, like a record skipping, the never ending thought(s).

It’s horrible.

(4/12/24) 12:43 am

I don’t think I’m good enough.

I keep failing myself and others, over and over again. I want to help people, but it’s so fucking frustrating when they won’t accept it. I get it, sometimes it’s hard to accept help. But (per specific example) when I’m asked for help for the smallest of things like understanding some work, and you apologize a million times, it hurts. I hate seeing people I care about apologizing. I don’t know how to help them because they refuse to let me do so. I just, feel like I’m failing them. I can’t help them and it makes me feel like shit.

I wanna help people. At this point, the people I care about, and my drive to help them always, is the only reason I’m alive. The past few years since I last therapied someone, have been shitty. I hadn’t been able to help others and it just went by so fast, and almost without any emotion. It was awful, I felt lost. I lost my will to write, read, and draw. I lost everything about myself. When I picked up drawing again I cried because I thought I lost what little talent I had because it was shit at first. I don’t even know who I am. Am I even who I used to be, or am I a carbon copy of my successful step-sister?

I forced myself to change in high-school so my parents would be proud of me, so that I would be successful.

So I wouldn’t struggle in my future, so I could get a scholarship to college so I wouldn’t be drowning in debt like my mother was most of my life.

I just wanted a steady life. And one without the shit talk my parents would do behind their kids’s backs.

Fuck I’m so tired of it.

I feel so useless damnit. I feel worthless. I don’t want to be here anymore, I just want peace. Because these thoughts, these voice keep coming back no matter what. Telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t try hard enough and that I’m too lazy, that I make up excuses. But when I try to say I did try, they always say I didn’t push myself enough. I dunno, do I not try hard enough? I dunno. I’m just so sick of this endless battle and I want it to be done. One day I want those people to realize it was an act. I want my parents to realize that they fucked me up. That they put too much expectation on me without their own realization. I want them to know that the therapy they took from me only made it worse. Then being upset over one singular missing assignment (that we’re hardly ever my fault) only made it worse. That threatening to put me in an asylum at the age of 13 only made it worse. That talking shit about my step-siblings right in front of me only made my fear worse. That hiding their emotions from me only made it worse. Cause god fucking damnit I’m scared of you now! I’m scared to come to you for anything! I have to contact my brother, or my grandmother! And one day I might not even have them! You say I can trust you with anything but then you turn around and call me a drama queen, that I’m being too sensitive, that I’m overreacting, making up excuses, being a liar, just being lazy, not trying as hard as you know I can, stop making things a competition.

God damnit, what am I even doing? I’m nothing, nothing but a failure. I should be trying harder but here I am, still being lazy. And I’m just blaming everyone for it when it’s all my fault.

(4/13/24)

^i didn’t move on to someone else four days later. Just because me and my bf were friends didn’t mean we were together. And I never, EVER cheated on her. Sure, I found someone new and he’s my bf now, but at the same time me and her, we both realized we were never romantic with each other. And I broke up with her? She was the one who approached me and said that she felt like her feelings for me weren’t being returned (which was true, I realized. We called each other girlfriends but I felt like she was nothing more to a friend to me) and I thought she was okay with it. Mind you when she came up to me I thought she was going to ask me to an event, but instead she called it off. I thought it would be better suited that way anyways, and we both agreed on that but I did NOT break up with her! And apparently, when she talked to me, she was scared to tell me that I offended her every once in awhile by some things I said (which she never said what do I still don’t know and it’s fucking killing me), ^because she thought I was gonna blow up at her. Apparently I fucking scared them and I don’t even know I didn’t realize they felt that way and just about a month ago I get this message on top of it like.

I probably should’ve realized I was a piece of shit. I was just like that bitch from high school we all collectively hated. God I’m so fucking sorry…

I thought we were still friends. This is a message I got from them through my old asf Wattpad account that is cringe. That I stopped checking until I saw that post today. They never intended for me to read that message so soon. They even said so themselves but fuck.

I’m sorry, to you both. I know you’ll never see this. But I’m so so so sorry, I didn’t realize.

I’m trying I am TRYING to never do this again but I still do this shit to people, don’t I? I just Fuckin manipulate and hurt them. I can’t just, spout off my trauma or whatever the fuck and shit like that! I know that now and I feel so fucking bad damnit… I didn’t realize I promise I am so sorry.

Why didn’t you say anything? I should’ve noticed, you shouldn’t have HAD to say anything after the fact I should’ve just known. Why can’t I see these things? I never see red flags, I never see my OWN red flags and manipulate tendencies until someone points them out. Why can’t I read social cues and shit?

God I’m trying, but I’m not at all, am I?

I just hate that I didn’t realize! I didn’t break up with her she broke up with me! We both agreed it was better, but I guess she was a lot more hurt by it than she let on and I thought we resolved things but. God fucking damnit.

I can’t ever do this to anyone I REFUSE! I can’t do this, I can’t put this pressure on people ever again, I don’t want to push them away. I never want this to happen again I don’t want to hurt people like this again.

I lost my two closest friends. And I didn’t even fucking realize it.

Fuck I don’t know what I’m going to do. I already apologized like a million times for scaring them with my slight anger issues, but I never actually hurt hurt them physically I didn’t realize I lashed out at them and I didn’t realize I was forcing them to listen to my problems. I thought they were okay with helping me but they didn’t say anything all because they were scared and I just.

I’m fucking freaking out, but I need to calm down. I need to calm down, and just breathe, and everything will be fine. Fuck it’s now 1:14 am I shouldn’t be thinking right now it’s dangerous.

But fucking damnit, I knew I shouldn’t have just dumped all my shit onto them but FUCK.

I need a fucking therapist for that, not my FUCKING FRIENDS.

God what is wrong with me, making my friends my therapists?

Fuck. I lost my friends, I almost have no one left Irl except for this one small friend group, which has drama and way too many sex jokes for me to even want to be IN it anymore. But they’re all I got and we stick together until the end. Most days I don’t mind it, but sometimes I hate being one of the only girls in said friend group.

Fuck I don’t know what to do, I can’t tell my bf about this or else he’ll flip, and I can’t make him my therapist, that’s wrong I was told so! My bf has had it so much worse than I have I shouldn’t be freaking out about this as much, this is nothing compared to what him and so many others have gone through.

But damnit. I DONT have a therapist, not anymore, and I can’t ducking afford one or even talk my parents into helping me get one because as said before they think the process is too damn slow. I can’t fucking tell anyone without feeling bad and knowing I’m a shitty person, because until now I didn’t realize telling people my problems was a bad thing, that asking them to help me out as if they were my fucking therapist (WHICH THEY ARENT AM I STUPID? To just dump all that shit on them without them even saying if it was okay or not?) was a bad thing.

So I’m alone, but that’s fine. I can’t tell anyone anyways so that’s how it’s gotta be and I can live with that. I have for awhile. But I don’t want to be alone. But I’d rather struggle alone than hurt anyone else because I don’t want to lose anyone else, or hurt them, or push them away or scare them like I did with these two.

I don’t want to be w/o my friends. I don’t I really don’t.

I’m never doing that again I promise you I’ll never do it again. I’m so fucking sorry I never realized and I know I’m a piece of dirt shit for not realizing sooner, and for scaring you guys to the point you couldn’t communicate with me w/o fear on your end. I should’ve known and I am so so sorry.

Fuck I even talked to my brother and we have the same timezone I shouldn’t have bothered him. Thankfully he let me go quickly. Fuck I hope I didn’t scare him off either…

(4/14/24) 10:44 pm

I’m so tired. Tired of feeling useless and like a failure. If I fail the people I care about then I am NOTHING. I don’t care about myself, I don’t I just want to make people proud of me. I don’t want them thinking I’m a waste, I don’t want them seeing me the same way I do. Please oh fuck… I don’t want to be a disappointment. I really don’t. I don’t want to hurt people, I want to help them. I feel like an utter piece of shit. I can’t ever talk to my friends about my problems again im not doing that to anyone every again. That’s why this will never be posted, I can’t hurt anyone else with my stupid rants and tendencies. I feel like im manipulating and hurting people by being open with them and I don’t want pity I do not want that, I just want them to know I’m not perfect. And even that is scary because if I am not PERFECT in every single aspect then I failed.

I keep apologizing, sounding like a broken record of an ex trying to get their relationship back but I really am sorry. I talked to my step-father about what happened yesterday concerning my friends. He said that I was one of the nicest person he’s ever met, saying how he knows I try to go outta my way to avoid hurting people but what if he was lying? Cause what if I did say something mean?

I call people idiots and jerks a lot, but I never mean it! I normally mean it in a joking matter but that’s not really nice is it? I’m reeling trying to figure this out and I just want to know what I did wrong so I never do it again. I know not to spout my problems off like I did, I know to watch what I say but how am I supposed to watch EVERYTHING I say?

Fuck I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll do anything, anything to make sure I never hurt anyone like that again. Scaring people, hurting them, it’s so fucking scary to me. I don’t want to do that, that’s the person I aim to NOT be. I wanna help, I wanna heal! Not hurt and scare. I sound like a fucking broken record and it’s pathetic.

I can’t ever post this, it will only make things worse and it’ll only make me feel worse. Because if I post this draft, I’ll be forcing everyone who sees this to be my therapist and I swore to never do that again.

Fuck man. I want help. I’m actually asking for help for once, straight up saying it. But I can’t, the one time I want it, the only time I feel I need it, I can’t ask for it because it’s wrong to do so.

(4/18/2024)

I know that none of my “friends” will be texting me in my birthday this year. I’m not expecting them to text me this year, because I’ve lost all my friends. I don’t think anyone will care this time around. At first I was excited! But getting older isn’t fun at all. People start leaving, start to say things they held back, start to tell you things you didn’t notice before. You grow apart and soon you become alone.

I realize that I should be happy my family is texting me, cause sometimes people’s families don’t even text them. But it’s kinda a requirement, that’s your fam, they should know these things. And most of the time, they wish you happy birthday as an after thought. Friends don’t do that (unless they need to be reminded) but still.

I’m gonna miss those two.

(4/19/2024) 11:31 pm

It’s almost my birthday! Hah. What a cruel joke honestly.

I miss those two so much, every time I see the one who messaged me I instantly go quiet, turn my head away until I’ve walked past them. Fuck, I moved around so much during my elementary school years, those two were the longest friends I’ve ever made.

Everyone already has their best friends.

I’ll always be the outsider.

I really am alone aren’t I? That one friend that never gets invited, that hangs back.

The last one they pick to partner up w in classes kinda shit (which, is also true atm).

I’m alone and it sucks. I miss them so much. I don’t care what that one said, I want them back I just want my friends back.

I want my gossip gals back.

My face to face, same time-zone, Irl friends who I can trust my life with.

I’m losing people left and right. I can’t take it. I’m fucking crying less than 30 minutes before my birthday and it’s pathetic.

People are without families, without homes, and I’m crying over this?

Fuckin stupid…

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Future

numero 11 here we go. @youngroyals-events <3

Wilhelm writes a letter to himself.

read below the cut or on ao3. (T, swearing, grief)

Hi.

It’s me, Future Wille. Or, I guess, it’s you, but in the future. Like, you are Past Wille and I, writing this, am Future Wille. Although, technically I can’t actually send this to you and the whole naming thing would make more sense if I was Past Wille writing to Future Wille. Whatever, you get it. I’m stalling. 

A few years ago, I (Past Wille but less Past than you are, you are pre-Hillerska Wille) wrote a letter that was meant for Future Wille, but I figure it got lost in the shuffle when the school was shut down (spoiler!). My therapist suggested that I write a new one, but to the past, and I thought, hey what a fun way to relive the most tumultuous and traumatic time of my life? Now I can see Simon watching me because he can probably tell I’m still stalling. How does he always know? (Just wait until I tell you about Simon.) 

Listen, the next few months are going to bring some of the best and worst times of your life. You’ll feel the greatest pain and loss you’ve ever felt, but also experience some of the most beautiful moments of love. 

You will lose your brother. It will hurt. Bad. You think those panic attacks you’ve had were tough? Just wait! You will feel like you’re no longer human. You’ll feel like no one fucking gets it. You’ll feel like you’ve forgotten how to speak, how to function, because how the fuck can he just be gone? You’ll think, what do you mean I just have to continue living without him? You’ll officially become Crown Prince and you’ll hate things even more. You’ll self-destruct a little bit. You’ll beg your parents to fucking see you. You’ll try to remember they’re grieving, too. You’ll continue on with your life, you’ll have to. The grief will get easier to carry and realizing that will almost hurt worse than anything else. You’ll learn to live with it, you’ll think of him every day. 

You will lose your brother a second time. I’m not sure I’m even ready to tell you all the things that will bring up. You will work on forgiving him because it helped you come to one big, important decision: You will step down from your right to the throne. 

It will be okay, just trust me. 

During that first year at Hillerska… where do I even start? You’ll be betrayed by someone you were told you could trust. Your parents will basically abandon you, too, and everything will go from periods of being actually pretty good to being absolutely horrible. Just know, this is proof, that you will make it through and be better for it. (maybe things didn’t have to go quite that shit for me to be ‘better for it’ – because holy shit – but isn’t that the way we’re supposed to talk about the past?)

You will learn so many things after leaving Hillerska. You will be happier than you’ve ever been. All of it will feel worth it, in a way. You’ll finish school and go to university like a normal kid. You’ll take a bunch of random classes because you’ve never really had a choice of career, so you’ve never really thought about it. You’ll still not really know what you want to do at 25. But you will be okay. 

I saved the best for last. Simon. 

Simon will appear in your life and he will be everything. He will be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He will challenge you, he will test you, he will make you feel things you’d never thought you could feel. You will lose him, three times, all of them your fault, in a way. You will cause a few national scandals (don’t ask). You will hurt him and he will hurt you. You will try to fix things and make it work. You will love him with every cell in your body. He will love you back. 

Listen, Simon will be the best thing that has ever happened to you. He still is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Keep him close. Kiss him as much as you can. Tell him you love him as much as you can. Make him sandwiches and make him laugh and try your very hardest to make him as happy as he makes you. Know that you end up together, in the end. 

I can’t warn you about everything. Just know that you will make it through. Be kinder to yourself. Take a step back, when you can, and let yourself breathe. Lean on Felice (but be there for her, too, she needs you). Forgive Mamma, forgive Pappa, remember they are just humans, too, and they are trying their best. Forgive yourself. 

Okay Simon is looking at me now in a way that means I’m done with this letter. Much more important matters to attend to. Namely, kissing the hell out of my boyfriend. You’ll understand soon. 

I believe in you. You can do this. 

Wille. 

[apus-neverstoplooking]

807 words, prompt: Hallway, @jegulus-microfic

cw: codependency, the relationship can be read as toxic but it’s not meant to be, angst w/ a happy ending, fighting (not physical), unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied past nsfw. It sounds worse than it is, I’m just covering my bases here, I promise it’s happy at the end.

Regulus doesn’t even remember what they were fighting about. Probably something small, it always is; James is too hot-headed and Regulus is too stubborn. Neither can admit that they’re wrong until they’re yelling in the kitchen saying words they don’t mean.

Until James walks out the door and Regulus sits in the front hallway pathetically awaiting his return, if he returns at all. Everytime James slams the door behind him, Regulus wonders if it’s for the last time; if he was too cruel, too anxious, too sad, too Regulus for James to keep loving him.

But still he waits because he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he needs James like stars need hydrogen. And he knows logically that it isn’t healthy, that James shouldn’t be able to have this much of an effect on him, but it’s James. His Jamie.

Normally Regulus sits in a chair and reads. When James walks in the door they drag one another upstairs pulling clothes off and kissing marks into skin, apologizing but not really fixing anything.

This time Regulus trails after him and when the door slams shut he can only slide down the wall. Sobs wracking his body, convinced the sun has left for good.

That’s how James finds him an hour later when he walks through the front door, eyes flicking to the arm chair in the corner before finding Regulus curled up on the floor. Still gasping for air and tears down his face, but no longer crying.

One look at him and James immediately walks back out the front door. Regulus is sure James is leaving him now, and those little sniffles turn back into full body sobs.

Too much.

To cruel.

Too anxious.

Too sad.

Too Regulus.

He can’t communicate. He can’t be good. He can’t love James right. He can’t… he can’t… he…

Too much and never enough.

When James walks in the door for a second time an hour later, Regulus’s head hurts ten times worse than it did an hour ago, his lungs ache and his throat is sore.

James automatically sits down and pulls Regulus into his lap, gently rubbing circles on his back, scratching the back of his head with other hand.

“Reggie, I need to talk to you about something.” He whispers gently. “We can’t keep doing this, it isn’t healthy.”

Regulus immediately stiffens and grips onto the front of James’s shirt. Desperate to keep him close, to keep him here.

“We argue about the dumbest things, then we fight about it. I run off and you sit waiting for me, and when I do get back we just go fuck and don’t even talk about our problems or why we were fighting in the first place.”

“I know bu-“

“I signed up for a therapist, who I’ll be seeing weekly. I don’t ever want to be reason you’re crying on the floor of our entry hall. I want to be good enough for you and love you the way you deserved to be loved. And you don’t deserve being yelled at and abandoned. I love you so fucking much and I’m going to work to be better for you so we can work out because you are by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t lose you.”

It’s silent in the hallway. After what has to have been ages, it was only a few minutes, James thinks Regulus has fallen asleep so he gets ready to bring Regulus up to bed.

Regulus murmurs against James’s chest.

“What was that, mis Estrella?”

Regulus pulls back a bit.

“I’ll go too, to therapy I mean. This isn’t just your fault. I know I’m fucked up. I know that. And I’m so sorry. For everything. For every time I didn’t just let shit go. For every time i was so so cruel to you. For every time I made it hard to love me. So I’ll go to therapy too, I think I’m finally ready to accept that I need it.”

If James had the smallest morsel of doubt about his decision before it’s completely gone now. He knows that Regulus wants this relationship to work just as much as he does; that some of his friends were wrong when they said it would be better to breakup, that he was fighting for a dead relationship.

“You’re not hard to love Reg. Loving you has to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” And it is, James isn’t lying.

“I love you, Jamie, more than anything.” Regulus has never meant something more.

“I know, my love,” James kisses the top of his head, “go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And Regulus does, he falls asleep and wakes up in James’s arms and he continues to do so for the rest of eternity.

[rickie-the-storyteller]

“Notice Me, Reader!” Tag Game

Thank you very much for the tag, @mysticstarlightduck!

Rules: Share 3 (or more!) small details from your WIP that you feel have gone/will go unnoticed. (You can choose whether or not to share why the detail is significant!)

Here's some for the Steph adventures:

I’ve actually been meaning to write a detailed post about this, but Stephanie and Bret mirror each other in a lot of ways. They’re both pretty traumatised and flawed, they both crave attention and connection to a certain degree, hating the feeling of loneliness, and they both have a capacity for being quite selfish, impulsive and hedonistic (as well as being major fans of instant gratification). This is partially why their affair storyline is so significant and impactful the more you think about it (and to think, it almost wasn’t going to happen…). An example of their connection that often goes unnoticed is that their dialogue has a bit of a parallel… in the beginning of book one, Bret says something along the lines of “Grades don’t actually mean anything in the real world when you think about it.” This was back when he hated school, before his whole self growth arc and wanting to change his life for the better. And towards the end, Stephanie basically says that same exact thing, almost word for word (despite disagreeing with Bret at the start of the story). It was in the context of her and Ben contemplating leaving the country together right before sitting her final exams. There are other small examples of parallels between their two arcs and thought processes in the story, too… many of which actually existed before I even wrote their affair storyline. Perhaps it was always meant to be lol.

I tried to write my characters in a way where you can kind of tell which parent they take after more. This is one of the reasons why I have the parents and family members be such a prominent part of the story - big part of who you are stems from your environment, and this includes the people you are surrounded by. It also adds a bit of mystery to our main protagonist… Stephanie doesn’t know her parents, so we don’t know why she is the way she is (like, we even know why Bret is the way he is, despite the fact that his parents are no longer around. He remembers his parents and we get a strong sense of what they were like, and this is something we don't get with Steph). A big example of this is Elise and Adam. Elise takes after both Maggie and Paul (maybe Paul a little more than Maggie) - she shares her mother’s drive and determination (comes in handy when you’re a lawyer), and her father’s empathy and intuition (comes in handy when you’re a therapist). Adam takes after Maggie, as well as his grandmother to an extent, in terms of his natural creativity (he has a heart of gold, but he is also very stubborn and prefers to do things his way. Whenever he gets pushback, he fights harder in the opposite direction. Very much like his mother… not that Maggie would ever admit that. Good thing both of them grew out of it somewhat after becoming parents! And by that, I mean she was much worse when she was Adam’s age lol). There are other examples of this in the story, but this one’s my favourite.

I got a fair amount of inspiration from the shows I mentioned in my intro post lol (plus Gossip Girl, which wasn’t included in the post. That's where I got the secret blogger idea from. Speaking of... I was meant to reveal that to you guys ages ago. Sorry about the delay lol. Saving that for a proper future post alongside the Bretanie analysis). Especially Bojack Horseman. I don’t know if I want to elaborate on this point… I think it’s more effective if you check out the shows for yourself, and see what I mean that way. But to give a vague little example of what I mean… Stephanie is sort of in and out of the crew’s lives, and whenever she’s not around, the others tend to thrive and live relatively peaceful, normal lives. In many ways, she’s the root of a lot of their drama. She does a lot of crazy things that cause damage to a lot of people, and she wrecks a lot of her relationships beyond repair. And throughout the course of the trilogy, the main crew members often find themselves wondering whether they should stay loyal to their friend, set some boundaries with her, or cut ties and separate themselves from her completely. Kind of like in a certain show (Bojack). They all take different approaches to this, each saying a lot about them as characters (Elise, for example, decides to cut Stephanie off. May seem out of character at first, but then you remember that this is after ages and ages of being patient and understanding with Steph… as well as everyone else who has hurt her immensely in her life. That makes her choice to end her friendship with Stephanie a little more understandable… she reached her last straw in book two), but they’re all better off once they reevaluate their relationships with one another.

I didn't mean to write so much... but what can you do.

Hopefully this was interesting! This tag game is such a good idea. Inspires you to look deeper into the stories and pay attention to small but significant details.

Tagging these folks next: @gummybugg, @winterandwords, @jessicagailwrites, @dyrewrites, @harleyacoincidence, @exquisitecrow, @leisoree, @wmlittlemore-is-writing, @mjparkerwriting and @janec23.

[sixx-writes]

                                                         Mother II

Second Form/Semi-Perfect Cell x Reader

Word Count: 4,121

cw: noncon, lactation, drug/toxin use, cunnilingus, overstimulation, breastfeeding, rough sex

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: AU where reader finds Cell’s egg in the woods and he’s just an alien instead of an android. (AKA my idea for Cell if he used a particular human as a surrogate ‘mother’ instead of eating people to reach his other forms). Meant to be scary/creepy so heed the tags for stuff you’re not comfy with but it is Cell after all so I hope I do it justice :D (chapters are in the same order as Cell’s forms.)

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3

18+ ONLY NSFW BELOW THE CUT 

It's been a little over a month since the encounter with the alien and you had made good on your decision to sell your old house.

You had given it some time to see if you would be able to sleep normally in your room and even on the living room couch but every little noise and shadow glimpsed from the corner of your eye made you paranoid. You simply couldn't relax knowing that Cell was still out there somewhere especially after his ominous final words. You had made up a lie saying that a bear had tried to get into the house if anyone asked, even though there were no signs that anything was broken, and moved into an apartment on the outskirts of the city closer to your mother's house much to her delight.

It was over a hundred miles away from your old place but even a thousand didn't feel like it would have been enough.

You had also made the decision to buy a gun and keep it in the nightstand next to the bed at all times for a little extra security.

The changes to your body had faded by the time you had awakened that night after Cell was finished with you, all that remained was the sticky evidence of what had happened, most of the tenderness in your breasts had vanished. You had sat on the floor of the shower afterwards with the images of Cell between your legs replaying over and over and you hated that you still felt aroused just remembering it. His pale pink stare lingered behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes and you refused to give in to any sort of urges you felt even if it meant being kept up all night with panties that were so soaked by morning you started to change them twice a day.

You had turned into a zombie on auto pilot going through the motions while your mind was still in your old bedroom feeling Cell's tongue inside you forcing you to orgasm.

You didn't know if you needed a boyfriend or a therapist more.

                                                         ⛧

You jumped to your feet, startling your mom, and knocking over your tea when you felt something wet on your leg underneath the kitchen table.

"Y/n? What on earth?"

It was your scheduled monthly dinner date and you had started to space out again while she mentioned how sickly you looked for at least the tenth time since you'd walked through the door. Naked panic was on your face when you checked underneath and found that it was only her golden retriever sniffing your leg curiously now wearing the same confused expression as your mother.

You laughed it off as best you could, "I'm sorry mom, you're right, I don't feel too good. I think I'm going to go home and take a nap. I might be coming down with that bug everyone is getting at work and I don't want to make you sick."

"Oh. Okay, well call me if you want me to bring you some soup."

She didn't bother hiding her disappointment that you were already leaving but you couldn't get back in your apartment with the door locked and reunited with your gun fast enough.

You checked and made sure it was loaded before sighing and sliding under the blankets starting to thumb through your phone mindlessly. Taylor hadn't tried contacting you since that less than well executed date and you were both grateful and a little sad. He wasn't really your type but you didn't want to be alone even more than before. Partially out of fear and partially out of the unrelenting ache that stayed between your legs.

You couldn't touch yourself knowing where your mind would go if you did.

So you chose to stay miserable and unsatisfied as some sort of petty revenge against Cell even if it felt more like you were the one being punished.

                                                          ⛧

It seemed that fate was giving you a second chance after all when you received a notice from your office saying that there was going to be a birthday party for your boss and everyone was invited.

 If someone else ends up fucking my brains out then it's fine, right? As long as I don't have to think about Cell..

The boss' birthday party always had copious amounts of alcohol and you had known a secretary that had gotten pregnant after going to one of them. It made you confident that you would see some activity if you were determined enough.

Sure enough on the day of the party after your head was pleasantly fuzzy from the wine you were chatting up some hottie from upper management who definitely seemed interested if the way his eyes kept darting to your cleavage was any indication. You'd intentionally left the top two buttons undone on your blouse just to up the odds and it had been the right decision it seemed.

You were living on borrowed confidence and for once you didn't see Cell's reptilian gaze staring back at you from the shadows. All you could picture was having this guy's cock in your mouth and your hands threading through his immaculately trimmed lilac hair while he fucked the stress out of you. His cheeks took on a faint pink tinge when you brushed your hair back over your shoulder invitingly showing off the column of your neck.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asked a little shyly. It was endearing and made your chest flutter.

"Mhm," you said biting your lip in the most sexy way you could manage, "Let's go back to mine?"

"My place is ten minutes away if that's alright?"

You nodded.

That was how you ended up in his car, your hand massaging his growing erection over his pants, while you gave little nips and kisses along the side of his neck and ear. You were acting overly sexually aggressive because you were drunk, not usually one to take the lead, combined with how you hadn't so much as masturbated in over a month. You let what was happening fill your head so you didn't have to think anymore just enjoying the moment and the scent of his cologne.

You would have given him head right there if not for the short trip made even shorter by how fast he was driving.

You saw that his apartment was much nicer than your own in the brief few seconds you had to take it in before you were slammed against the door, his hard on grinding against your core tantalizingly, while he shoved his tongue in your mouth in a drunken make out session. You sighed contentedly feeling yourself getting wetter until his hand was under your skirt starting to rub at your panties.

"Bed," he said.

You only let out a soft moan in response.

 No arguments here.

The two of you continued to make out while you undid the buttons of his shirt starting to move downwards, pleasantly surprised at how muscular he was underneath, placing kisses on your journey to his waistband. You had just pulled his zipper down when a noise caught your attention from overhead. You shot back upright only to find that your potential lover had fallen asleep already snoring softly.

"Hey," you said, "Wake up-"

 I don't even know his name.

You slapped his chest trying to get his attention but he only groaned and threw his arm across his eyes completely out of it.

"You've got to be fucking joking."

Indeed even his hard on had gone soft leaving you in a very awkward position. You'd came here in his car which meant you would have to do the walk of shame back to the party to get your own. It was tempting to just call a cab and sleep it off at your apartment before going back but the idea of someone you knew calling and asking why your car was still at work was the least appealing. That would lead to even more awkward questions you didn't want to deal with.

You rolled off of him and stared up at the ceiling hating your life and the fact that you were still somehow left sexually frustrated despite everything playing out exactly how you wanted.

                                                          ⛧

In your overly excited exit you hadn't even grabbed your coat and now you were freezing in the chilly autumn air desperately rubbing at your own arms for warmth. There were practically no cars or people around at this hour, much later than you thought, and the moon hung fat and bloated over head. It started to make your mind wander to places that it shouldn't, remembering how it had reflected in Cell's eyes from the window.

 Like blood mixed with water.

You slapped your own cheeks trying to bring yourself out of the weird morbid place you were rapidly sinking into. Your failure at getting laid had put you in a shit mood and that wasn't helping.

You decided to take a shortcut through the park near the pond starting to feel a little worried about the wrong person seeing you in your skimpy outfit alone. You'd worn a near dangerously short skirt for your mission that just showed the tops of your thigh highs when you moved. It had made you feel sexy in your bedroom but now you just felt humiliated. You kicked a rock into the water with a loud splash and then stopped to grab another and another throwing them angrily into the pond.

You hoped there weren't any homeless weirdos nearby to witness your mental breakdown.

You didn't stop until you couldn't find anything else to throw, finally falling back onto your ass into the dirt, letting out a growl.

"I thought I told you not to go far, human?"

Cell's voice rang out and you scrambled to your feet, nearly falling again from how unsteady you were, wildly checking around yourself. There was no one that you could see hidden amidst the trees and the many shadows they cast. That didn't make you feel any better.

 Was I imagining it?

You were starting to sober up a little, a cold sweat breaking out all over your skin, and you splashed your face with pond water trying not to think about how much rotten bread and duck shit was floating in it. It only served to cause all the things you were trying to forget to come back in full force.

 Cell's stinger sliding through soft flesh.

 Cell's tongue wriggling deep inside.

 Cell greedily sucking at your red swollen nipples not letting a single drop go to waste.

You whimpered trying to plug the burst dam in your head feeling yourself starting to leak onto your thighs beneath your skirt.

 Need to get home.

You stumble ran the rest of the way across the park, taking off your heels to move faster, and still tripping a few times along the way. You threw a nervous glance back over your shoulder every time expecting Cell to be there but each time there was nothing.

The drive home was just as tense, partially out of fear and partially because you were still too drunk for it to be considered an exactly 'legal' experience, with the added danger of your eyes being everywhere but on the road expecting to see Cell any second. Upon finally reaching your apartment building, you heaved a deep sigh of relief, nearly falling out onto the pavement. You were annoyed that you had ruined your favorite pair of stockings seeing how they both ended up with runs all over them from your little jog through the park.

It was the final stretch; you just needed to get into your apartment building and you would be home safe. Heels in hand you hobble walked as fast as you could fumbling with your keys as you went and trying not to hyperventilate.

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?" the back of your skirt was lifted off of your bare ass cheeks thanks to the lacy thong you had elected to wear, "How should I punish you? First, you don't listen to what I tell you and then you run away from me so that I have to go out of my way to chase you. Twice now I've had to chase you."

Your foot was on the top step, you hadn't even made it to the door this time, and your ass was still uncovered presumably being inspected. That didn't last long until you felt a sharp blow connect across your buttocks making you cry out and fall to all fours. The keys slipped from your hand and hit the bottom of the door frame with a soft jingle that may as well have been your death knell.

You clumsily rolled over onto your back with the intention of kicking out in a pathetic final act of self defense but froze when you saw the monstrosity before you. Cell had gone through another metamorphosis since the last time you'd seen him and was hardly recognizable. He was much larger than before, built like a fucking refrigerator, and disturbingly more human.

He watched you while you gaped at him in open shock; his newly acquired lips twisting into a proper smirk.

Most disturbing of all was how he was hovering above the ground making him seem that much more intimidating from his elevated position over you. You noticed how his shockingly blue eyes slipped down between your legs where your skirt had ridden up giving him an unobstructed view of your panties. You slammed your legs shut and he tsked disapprovingly.

"Stay away from me," you hissed.

"Hmm. No. Also, I don't appreciate this attitude when I've gone out of my way to be reasonable with you."

"Reasonable?! You shot me up with some fucking alien aphrodisiac and all I can think about is-"

Cell's brow was furrowed, "I think there's been a misunderstanding. The effects of my venom last around two or three hours. Just long enough to complete the feeding process. Anything you've experienced since then has nothing to do with me. Unless," he grinned in the most evil way you'd ever seen, "You've been imagining me fucking you, haven't you?"

Your started to protest but your flushed face gave you away as you decided that one of the cars in the parking lot was more interesting than you making eye contact right then.

Cell began to laugh so obnoxiously loud that it nearly hurt your ears and you had to wonder why no one was looking out of their window to witness a nine foot tall bug man floating outside. Once recovered he gave you the most unnerving predatory look and you knew you were in for it, "So that's how it is. If you enjoyed my first form so much I can't wait to see how you'll react once I've attained Perfection."

You had no idea what he was talking about but he was already starting to move in closer to you sending your mind and body into conflict. Your common sense was telling you to run like hell while your pussy was already getting wetter just from the sound of his voice. Even in this repulsive form it did nothing to quell how badly you wanted him inside you again. His tail closed the distance first, lightly trailing along your calf until it reached your inner thigh and started to tease the bottom of your skirt. You couldn't help how your legs naturally parted just the tiniest bit in anticipation.

Cell noticed this and his smile got wider, "My, what a shameless little kitten you are. I've never seen prey so eager to be devoured."

The endearment sent an involuntary shudder through you.

"Just shut up and do it already," you mumbled out not really knowing what you were asking for.

Cell stopped, "Do what?"

"Fuck me," it was nearly shocking how easy it was for you to say when you'd spent the past month not even so much as allowing yourself to masturbate. You just needed to be put out of your misery already.

"No."

You blinked.

"No?"

"No," he repeated, "It isn't possible at this stage. And I think you're forgetting that you defied me twice now so I still need to punish you I'm afraid."

The familiar feeling of fear fell down into your stomach like a coin dropping into the black depths of a well. Too late you realized you'd squandered your only chance at escape, if it had ever existed at all. Cell must have noticed the panic on your face because he suddenly grabbed you in one of those too fast to follow moves of his and tucked you under his arm. You were carried upwards in a blur before being dumped into the alley next to the apartment complex.

A locked privacy fence caged you in on both ends so there was no way you were getting out if you tried to run. Not that Cell needed any extra precautions to stop you.

"Put your hands on the wall."

You hesitated and he sighed, "Do you really want to make it three times?"

You didn't - so you did as he asked.

You were trembling not just from the cold when you felt him move behind you, his massive hands going to your waist and back to bend you more to his liking. Your heart hammered like crazy when he lifted your skirt out of the way exposing your ass. You hated that you had practically gift wrapped yourself for him like this in your sluttiest skirt and panties. If only your potential fuck of the evening could handle his alcohol better you would still be sleeping off an orgasm or two.

Cell hummed appreciatively and something stroked between your legs across where your thong had ridden up between glistening lips.

He pressed his hips against your backside grinding against you suggestively, "Do you want it so badly? Such a strange little human you are getting off on something like this," his stinger was beneath your ear stroking against your pulse like before, "Did you imagine me feeding from you, too? All of this time?"

You had, although, you would never admit it out loud and never to him. You couldn't say much of anything at the moment, feeling lightheaded, it took all of your willpower to hold yourself up. Cell's hand was on your breast then and you shuddered beneath his rough touch that you had tried to replicate in moments of weakness when you were alone in bed or the shower. It was the most fucked up part of it for you. You had enjoyed the unique feeling of leaking from your tits and the pleasurable relief it had given you and this monster to drain you dry.

It was foolish how you weren't trying to fight him with how easily he could break you if he truly wanted. He settled for popping all the buttons off your blouse snaking his tail underneath and tearing it open from the inside. The sound you made was horrendously embarrassing and you tried not think about it too much when your bra met the same fate.

 If this keeps happening I won't have any bras left..

Cell's stinger was at your inner thigh, nearly touching your pussy, and you gasped when he pressed in just hard enough to leave a thin scratch behind, "Do you want it inside you? Hmm?"

You wanted to say no, that was one of your most tender areas, but you only mewled in the most pathetic way while grinding into him, nearly cutting yourself deeper in the process. Cell was entertained by your eagerness; you were just as excited as you had been while under the influence of his toxin. Maybe even more so. It seemed he had chosen well for his surrogate.

Although he would have, admittedly, appreciated a little more fight than this.

Cell penetrated you and your eyes rolled back from a twisted amalgam of pain and ecstasy as those blistering waves of heat spread through your blood. It wasn't as agonizing as before, in fact, it was nearly euphoric and you wondered if it was because his venom had undergone changes just like his physical form. It made sense that he would need a different formula produced from your body for the next stage and that was why the effects from the first feeding were temporary.

"God," you whimpered. Your nipples were already starting to tingle and your breasts felt full.

"Not yet. But very soon," Cell purred next to your ear, "It's a strange thing but I'm actually looking forward to fucking you, human. You should feel honored to have my cock when the time comes."

Cell toyed with one of your nipples encouraging it to leak milk through his fingers. Or whatever weird shit he was making your body create as sustenance - you didn't fully understand it and weren't sure if you wanted to. He popped them into his mouth sucking them dry with the same insatiable hunger as before. His chest rumbled against your back as a sign he was getting more excited coupled with how he held back less in the way he handled you.

Unexpectedly, he flipped you around and looped your legs around his waist, the size difference between you having never been more apparent with you pinned against the wall.

The end of his tail came up underneath you and you felt a cold chill of fear with the sharp end so close to your cunt. You thought he may actually stick it inside you when he altered the shape of it, having more control over it's form that you originally believed, it now closely resembled a phallic shape. It was a very minimalist idea of a cock with a mushroom head and widening ridges along it's length. You wondered if it was modeled after his own.

There was no warning, no preparation, not that you needed it, when he brutally slammed it inside you ripping through your panties in the process. You threw your head back in a wild scream of blissful pain that made you forget your own name feeling a line of drool coming from the corner of your lips. Cell growled and silenced you with the most filthy kiss you had ever experienced, his wide tongue invading your smaller mouth, and you could taste your own milk. It was oddly sweet and you sought more of it sucking at the invading muscle which seemed to make Cell even more feral.

His tail rammed at you from below through the hole in your panties soaking the fabric with your juices while you flopped helplessly against him. Your breasts bounced and leaked droplets all over his chest. That seemed to remind him of his hunger so he lifted you higher and took your breast into his mouth enveloping the entire globe while he sloppily sucked never breaking the rhythm of fucking you. All you could do was ride it out, one of your hands going to the back of his head in encouragement to take from you.

Cell hummed against your skin forcing the end of his tail all the way in hitting against your cervix and bringing fresh tears to your eyes.

Heaven and hell collided in your body as you had the most blindingly painful orgasm of your life, the pleasurable contractions offset by the awful uncomfortable feeling behind your stomach of having your cervix abused at the same time. He didn't stop this time when you came, just kept fucking you through it, the sounds of your body turning wetter and louder where you were connected. It was a troubling sort of pleasure not knowing how much damage he was doing to you at the same time. You quickly understood Cell intended to make you suffer by the sadistic glint in those blue eyes and the machine like way he never slowed no matter how many times you came.

Indeed you were a broken thing by the time he dropped you back on the stairs of your apartment you were crawling unable to stand trying to find your keys with the insides of your thighs coated in what you hoped was only your cum.

"I would suggest there isn't another incident like this one. I'll find you when the time is right so be sure to wait like a good girl," Cell said from somewhere behind and above you.

By the time you turned around he was already gone.

 So much for buying a gun.

[spxceclxwn]

[Where are you now?- The Wrecks]

Dear Kiwi,

This is going to be kind of all over the place.

Things have been so messy recently. The past couple of months have been pretty crazy, from losing lovers and friends to losing family members to creating stronger bonds with people I never thought I would.

In February, I was admitted to the psych ward. i spent so much time thinking about him and how I’ve been fighting my whole life to be the person everyone wants me to be, yet somehow I've never been good enough. It's either I’m to crazy and clingy or I'm to distant and distracted. Recently I’ve learned that no matter what, it doesn’t matter how people view me. When I was released in March, I tried so hard to fix things between everyone, yet somehow I only made it worse. I thought that getting help would prove to everyone that I can change and I can get better, that the meds and therapist could cure me from my own mind, but that wasn't true. My mind still wanders and screams. I still cry every night trying to figure out why... why things had to be like this.

My phone is still flooded with memories I can't seem to get rid of. Every year, popping up with a new smile, melting inside every time, yet I don't even know you. I don't know the person behind those gorgeous eyes anymore. You've now long forgotten about me, but every waking moment, you flood my head like a storm. I still see you in the moon. I hope you are doing alright. You never fail to shine so bright.

Growing up, I was constantly told that life wasn't always going to be rainbows, but i wasn't expecting it to hurt so much. I didn't have a lot of time to just be a kid. Now I'm almost 20 and going to the playground with friends and smoking weed, trying to heal the child that never was. If you were to ask me how growing up was, I would tell you it was fine; it was normal. The breaking of glass and constant screaming in those walls was like music at that point, but I knew it could have been worse, so yeah, I'd lie and say it was fine and move on, but nothing would have prepared me for the day I’d have to be an adult.

I don’t blame my parents for the way things turned out; they were still kids when I was born, and they did everything they could to keep us safe. I especially don’t blame them for my mental disorders. I remember my mom saying, “If I knew it was genetic, I wouldn’t have had you,” and that broke my heart, knowing how much she meant that.

I know being around me is hard. Hell, being around anyone with bipolar is hard, and it’s tiring. We have bad meltdowns and bursts of anger. We are so loving one minute, and then bam, our emotions are so hard to contain sometimes that it's so exhausting for everyone involved. The constant ups and downs and no way of knowing when, yeah, it's hard for people on the outside, but imagine being the one it's happening to. The pain and agony never go away, not with the meds, not with the people that do stick around. No matter the amount of effort, it'll always be too much to handle.

I'm so tired of fighting this battle of life when all I want is love and peace.

[oyasuminto]

Ok, but Argus children after they’re adults (and after some good therapy sessions) looking at their parents clearly abusive marriage, maybe one of them even confronting him about and saying how fucked his relationship with their mother is? Because I don’t think he would take it very nicely!

>:3c perfect time for me to use those fankids I made

Their parents' relationship has always been a matter of contention among the Sullivan siblings.

As the oldest child and, until the twins were born, the only son, Atticus knows all two well what an awful fucking bastard his father is. He's watched Argus beat his mother black and blue, leaving her to sob and scream threats of suicide and murder and murder-suicide from her place on the floor. He can remember all the times his father struck him for stepping out of line, the gasping and sputtering after Argus punched him right in the back, winding him.

He can remember the fear of being choked by his own father, clawing at his hands, and almost passing out before his mother broke a lamp over Argus' back. The ensuing beating was the most violent he'd witnessed up to that point; a broken nose, dried blood matting her dirty blonde hair, and her glasses shattered against her face.

Molly and Carrie, the two oldest daughters, are no less familiar with just how toxic their parents' relationship is. They thought it was normal at first, of course pa has to hit ma, that's just how marriages are.

Molly was the first to realize that wasn't the case. She still cringes remembering the stares she got when she expressed shock that her best friend's mom didn't even get slapped for talking back to her husband. She considers herself lucky for rarely drawing her father's ire. She deflates when she realizes it's only because she was desperate for his approval. No boyfriends, no clothes that wouldn't be approved by a hyper-conservative Catholic school, nightly phone checks, he had to meet all her friends and their parents before she could even text them.

Carrie wasn't so lucky. She swore he was going to have a heart attack the first time she came home with black and purple hair, dark and dramatic make-up, and clothes that would immediately get her dress coded. She still grins whenever she sees that little scar on her dad's cheek. Fucker didn't think her dumb fake nails could do anything. She had to prove him wrong.

Rebecca doesn't know what her siblings are talking about! Sure it's not fun hearing ma and pa fight, but all couples fight, don't they? Besides, pa has always been so sweet! He spent so many hours making portable wooden ramps for Rebecca after she got her wheelchair, and he carries her around whenever there's stairs! He may be overbearing, and maybe it's a little annoying that she's babied more than her sibling... but pa loves her! He tells her that all the time! Ma does, too, she was always telling Rebecca that pa needed to let her grow up, but he just wanted her to be safe, didn't he?

Will and Wendy have always been the babies of the family, even when they no longer were. They'd defend their pa to their dying breaths! He's a great dad, and they don't understand why the oldest three hate him so much! Will only grew more defensive when pa slinked into the house with a black eye and a split lip after one of his and Atticus' regular screaming matches.

Wendy, meanwhile, never thought much of Atticus and Argus' rivalry. She always assumed they were roughhousing, like when she and Will were kids who'd bite and pull each other's hair. Of course as she grew older and began to understand what "fucking abusive piece of shit" and "your ma wanted to abort you" meant, she realized that wasn't the case...

Argus had forbidden any of his kids from seeing a therapist, or even a school guidance counselor. "My fuckin' kids are fine!" He'd say, even as his youngest got sent home after biting three people in one day. "Ain't nothin' wrong with 'em," he'd insist, while his eldest compulsively cheated or dumped his girlfriends as soon as they wanted to get serious.

Sure. The Sullivan kids were totally normal, well-adjusted, all-American youths. What a fucking joke.

Carrie never listened to her father's anti-therapy, anti-psychiatry ramblings about people trying to fuck with his brain and how "none of that shit's even real! They just want y' money!"

Her therapist had their work cut out for them.

Especially when Molly and Atticus began awkwardly hanging around the waiting area, Molly compulsively chewing on her little paper cup and Atticus angrily tapping his foot.

Three siblings, one therapist, and the worst family dynamic most people have ever seen.

The next morning is tense, suffocating, like hands grabbing and squeezing and choking the life out of those present.

How familiar.

"I heard the Edwards' are probably getting divorced." Atticus can feel a set of eyes boring right into his soul. "Yeah, I heard Mrs Edwards was caught in bed with a dashing young blond man."

Argus' utensils loudly clatter against his plate, causing his wife to flinch. "You disgustin' motherfucker."

"Guilty as charged."

"Where the fuck did I go wrong, I thought I taught y'all that cheatin' and shit ain't fuckin' right."

"Please, can we not fight? I don't wanna do this..."

"Shut the fuck up, Cher."

Atticus slams his hands on the table. "At least I don't beat my wife and kids. At least I'll never trap some poor bastard in a shitty loveless marriage. At least I can admit I'm a piece of shit."

The enraged glare Atticus receives is almost enough to make him cower, almost. He's not a scared little kid any more. He's a grown-ass man, one who's only hanging around for the sake of his mother and siblings.

"Outside. Now."

[fierceawakening]

(Putting this in an ask instead of replying to the post because I get the impression people on it might not take well to someone responding with "yeah I can see that") On the post you reblogged about people making diagnoses based on their impressions: I get these are meant to be examples of bad criteria and I get why but my reaction to hearing about the "glass wall" reaction was "huh, interesting" more than offense because I've been told I come off that way but I don't think it's just other people's perceptions because it feels that way on my side too. People feel like they aren't getting through to me because they often aren't, the impression is not inaccurate. It's obviously still not good to diagnose based on vibes, but my reaction was "wait I'm supposed to be upset that people say this?" because to me it just feels like a good description of what a lot of interactions with me feel like from my side too and having descriptions of the subjectivity of an experience seems helpful to me. (Though again, I get why other people are bothered by it and I don't endorse it being a diagnosis criterion)

I’m not sure they are bad criteria. I mean the example is pretty clearly supposed to be “talk therapist doesn’t get along with client, client ends up stigmatized based on it.” Which is unquestionably bad.

But… a lot of whether human interaction is successful or not is about how it feels. I find interacting with my mom exhausting and draining because she shifts almost every conversation to talking about her, never remembers what someone else likes or why, etc. it’s really been a relief to have a therapist say, “you know, the reason you feel unsatisfied by those interactions isn’t because you’re a jerk, it’s because they’re pretty unsatisfying. Most people would feel ignored in that situation too.”

Where tumblr sometimes seems to me to take almost any description of anything like that as an attack on neurodivergent people, somehow.

And I don’t know what to do with that. I thought this behavior from someone I loved was normal, and that my own discomfort was me being selfish or aggressive. I only started to realize this wasn’t so when I started to make real friends, who I quickly noticed WANT to hear me do things like talk about Phyrexia whether or not it’s their thing.

I feel like there’s no acknowledgement at all that sometimes typical mental illness behavior actually is hurtful to others. It’s like no one is expected to protest how they’re being treated EXCEPT people with diagnosed illnesses, who are totally allowed to respond to “this is hurtful and you won’t stop doing it” with “you just don’t like my vibes man.”

[ear-motif]

i was blabbing in the tags of north’s post but imo, season 1 alana represented the allure of normative society to will imo and I wanna talk about it. No new revelations tho I’m honestly just solidifying my thoughts. I’m focusing on season 1 because that’s what I watched most recently so I remember the most stuff from it lol.

So Will’s attracted to Alana right out the gate; she’s beautiful, smart, and a bit snarky and sarcastic, so of course he’d like her. And, most importantly I think, she’s interested in him but doesn’t have a use for him. I don’t think Will’s felt someone wanting him for the sake of wanting him in a long time. Plus, she’s a well-respected colleague of all of his coworkers/acquaintances. She’s beautiful and popular and if he can start a relationship with her he’ll have the most solid tether to normative society he’s probably had in years, if ever*.

But she won’t be in a room alone with him. She doesn’t want to “spook” him; she probably thinks she’s letting him meet her on his own terms, but really she’s treating him like an abandoned feral dog. But Will wants that tether, that anchor, so he keeps pursuing her despite her condescending insistence that she knows his own mind better than him. Which…idk, it’s complicated. On one hand, it’s absolutely fair of her to not want to date him because she knows the relationship would suck. But she’s clearly still attracted to him and Will is crushing too hard to be friends with her so she should step back if she’s concerned for their mental well-being. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She’s too attached at this point. She caught a glimpse of Will’s mind and now she wants to save him; it’s exactly what she predicted would happen.

But what does she want to save him from?

If Will ended up with Alana, he would better integrate into normal society. She may work through his righteous bloodthirst issues or refer him to a regular therapist to help. She could teach him “coping strategies for his empathy disorder” (read: how to mask. come on its how to mask he’s autistic empathy disorder my ASS, BRYAN-). She would be the angel on his shoulder, and of course part of Will wants that.

But it’ll never be perfect. One, bc obviously he has that with Molly (a normal relationship about healthy love) and that doesn’t fulfill him, but in the narrative language of the show (or my delulu brain), because her adherence to society’s moral code, her “innocence”, is her weakness (in s1 and 2 i havent gotten to 3 yet plz no bully). She can’t see what Hannibal is doing despite her friend’s emphatic declaration that he is because he is playing the part of a well-integrated society member too well. So when talking to Will, she becomes the angel on his shoulder that tells him what society at large thinks, and society at large wants to gaslight him into thinking he did this to himself because the loss of a mentally ill autistic man is less abhorrent in the current social climate than the loss of an elite socialite and medical practitioner. For Alana, it’s naïveté; an unwillingness to look at Hannibal beneath what he presents. I think, deep down, she was scared Will was right. So she never looked.

Meanwhile, Hannibal is the devil on his shoulder, beckoning him to taste the fruit that he already knows is so sweet (murder. its the murder fruit). Hannibal could be Will’s tether to normal society, and kind of was in s1, but it soon became clear that that wasn’t gonna happen. Because when Hannibal looked into Will’s mind, he didn’t wanna guide Will out of it into the light, he wanted to jump in there with him. This is, objectively, the worse outcome for Will. But this one is fulfilling, he has a love that sets him on fire instead of providing him distant, impersonal warmth. With Molly and Alana, Will had someone who could tame his nightmares. But only by knowing your own evil can you make your nightmares dance. And for Will, knowing himself meant throwing away his last tethers to society and morality, in a way that wasn’t innocent or naïve, but antisocial and enlightened. I could say more but I’m writing dorky ass metaphors that’s a sign to Stop

*This is kind of a wobbly analysis because we don’t know what Will’s childhood or young adulthood was like, I’m assuming that he was always kind of a misfit. This is supported by canon in that Will was always the new kid at school, but I think his isolation runs deeper than that and I think most ppl here would agree. Still, maybe Will was a chad in college and then decided to love murder again who knows

[interwebois]

Dissociative Identity Disorder/ Other Specified Dissociative Disorder

In October of 2022 watching Moon Knight because Cinema Therapy did a video about it saw a bit and was like well I have Disney plush and its Oscar Isaac, (Poe) so let’s watch it. Little did I know our life will change after that. I Alice don’t remember watching Moon Knight the first time or watching The Making of before watching the Series. The only think I Alice remember is episode 2 but it’s a 3rd person prospective. I remember right before and after watching the series and for 2 weeks having non stop panic attacks and not know why. Some of the thoughts I do remember like, “this happens to me all the time”, “Other people experience this” “I don’t have DID because I don’t have Amnesia but other than that it’s all relatable” “This is how I experience being Trans or having an OCD voice” (being Trans is real what I’m referring is the body looking like someone else and me thinking that’s what it meant to be Trans, only time feeling Dysphoria) and searching “Is it possible to have DID and no Amnesia” “Is it possible to be Autistic and have DID” “How Steven and Marc interacts with each other, well that’s too relatable” “Have to show this to my mom because I can finally explain what I experience” watching DID channels to look more into it and every video, every article, every post. The more and more I read, the more and more was like umm “So all those weird things that happens, and I don’t tell anyone even my therapist at that time because If I say it out loud what’s happing they will think I’m weird and the fact that we brushed it off all as having Autism, other people experience theses, what?” but still being like “I don’t have this because I don’t have Amnesia” (Later in November finding out OSDD-1b and still being like nah TW: my trauma isn’t that bad, now knowing more about it and being like that happened what ohh:) and in October started to look like Steven Grant and me being like “Well this is normal, It’s the phase where I look like someone else”, (because this happens with different people) it happened in July of 2022 with Neal Caffrey from White Collar, felt like was about to happen but didn’t (Now we understand that Steven is either was a Fragment that turned into an Alter as he was figuring out his identity or he was an Alter but didn’t really identify with a particular look yet and was trying figure himself out, because this reminds me especially of high school, well I couldn’t control what I was saying when getting excited (but now with a British Dialect, which I Alice can not control, or feeling things for guys but at the same time not since young) and it happened with Isaac Kalder in high school and he was the first Alter that I Alice was able to see and similar things happens with him, rewatching The Devil Inside and My Virtual Escape from McJuggerNuggets on YouTube later after knowing DID/OSDD being like “Oh my, did not realize, how much Isaac was Passive Influencing us” Literally how he talked, walked, songs that he listened to how he handled his depression or when someone triggered him. In 2019 I Alice feel bad about this now, threw all of the clothes that he bought (except one), stopped listening to songs that he liked, stoped watching TDI and MVE (even though gave us comfort) because was like every time I look like him. I’m sad, I feel dysphoric, I want to look like him, to the point I Alice was forgetting what the body looked like and forgot the body’s biological gender or forget that Alice is a thing, depression, which caused him to go dormant until 2021 where I started to hear him from the inside but with his voice) (Sorry🙁). and also TDI is like an accidental representation of DID because I remember now rewatching (the first time I Alice do not have those memories just remember right before and after, when TDI was out but not MVE, just like Steven absorbed those feelings) TDI when the split happened because a lot of stressful thing happened at that time, being like well I can relate to Jesse because he switches with his characters that he has from his childhood and can’t control what’s happening.

And in December still not think I have OSDD-1b but thinking maybe I’m just really autistic so I don’t understand my emotions at all, “Is there any similarities between TDI/MVE and Moon Knight” and the amount of things that are similar was like “wtf”, and later rewatching Moon Knight and getting told why they related to Moon Knight other than the DID symptoms and well yeah. The amount of things in Moon Knight that tides into our childhood is actually astounding especially Steven, which make sense, when watching a movies, series your brain lights up the same way as if it were happening, (TW: my leading theory before I knew this was a thing was, the stuff that happened when younger that’s how we reacted, felt and those same brain frequencies were getting turned on:)

Difference and similarities

btw there are other Alters just talking about Isaac and Steven and well Alice/Ashla.

Isaac Kalder

Similarity: Identifies like 90% with his source

Difference: His age is 19 and the source he’s 18, I think it’s because I Alice always wanted an older brother and now the body is 19 so he’s like a month older, I always saw him as an older brother even before knowing about the System)

Steven

Similarity: Identifies with the look, name, dialect, how he carries himself, body cadence, just more romantic (finding these thing along the way being like why do you do that, I guess that’s a different thing from your source that’s cool and rewatching it being like oh that’s where that quality cam from)

Difference: He’s more like Episode 5 when Steven (MCU) is comforting Marc and now he’s more confident in himself, basically after Season 1. It’s like instead of (TW warning: the trauma that happened to Marc, Steven and Jake it’s replaced with what happened to us. also he’s a Subsystem (For us an Alter in a Alter) mostly because of flashback that happened fair recently and yeah, all those flashback kind of went to Steven and he kind of split with Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewelyn Davis, that was confusing when it was happening, now Steven is more bi they kind of passive influence each other sometimes but when triggered Steven kind of goes inside and Llewyn kind of comes out. DEPRESSION, Steven and Llewyn are kinda figure things with Isaac where if Llewyn feels more the same way which when the split happened Llewyn did absorb the liking guys thing more:) (our Steven is more Romantic I guess the feeling of love)

Alice/Ashla (Biological Female but doesn’t really identify with that mostly so I guess I’m Non-Binary, still figure things out, I do like woman though no question about that)

Love Star Wars and Moon Knight and Disney and McJuggerNuggets content. It’s rare for me to feel like Alice but when I do it feels weird, higher voice etc so kind of go by Ashla just like that name mostly because it’s a SW thing.

It make sense that we have a lot of fictives, Autism and because of it have hard time connecting with people and understand peoples actions and only able to relate, and understand fictional characters, or since younger only having emotional comfort from fictional characters, and love everything about film from filming it, acting, voice acting editing, sound design and want to do those things we want to do, we all like different aspects of the Film process

Consent forms:

Alice/Ashla: I agree to publish this

Steven/Llewyn: Yeah sure. We agree to this s***

Isaac: Okay

[screechthemighty]

Hello, People Who Read My Resident Evil Fanfics, I'm back!!!! (May be back even more over the next few months, tbh. I don't want to make any promises, but Dracula Daily is hyperfixation-adjacent and getting back into RE4 Remake is up next on my content roster, so who knows?) AO3 link will be in a reblog, but here's the next chapter of catch me floating circles in my fish bowl!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part three:

May 2, 2021:

“Zoe’s fine. She’s shopping at the grocery store like normal, at least.” Carlos showed him a picture on his phone. It took Ethan a second to recognize her. Her hair was all white, and she looked less desperately thin than he remembered. She was buying chips and standing next to a brick wall of a man with a serious case of resting bitch face. He looked familiar, but not quite familiar.

“Joe Baker?” Ethan guessed. “Glad to see she’s still got some family left.” Especially family like Joe Baker. If Chris was right, the guy had punched his way through the site to get to Zoe. He’s probably the only person in this mess more unhinged than I am. And he meant that as a compliment. “Thank you again for this. I know it’s probably paranoid, but with everything going on…”

How was he to know that the BSAA hadn’t gone after her? She could be just as valuable a resource as Ethan.

Speaking of…

“Still nothing from the BSAA?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I feel like that’s not gonna change until you leave. They don’t have a cause to investigate Blue openly and I don’t think they’d suspect Chris of bringing you here, so…” Carlos shrugged. “They’re probably keeping a closer eye on Terra Save. You have physical therapy today?”

Ethan’s mood soured instantly. “No,” he admitted. “I mean, I was supposed to, but I fell last time and they’re worried I fucked up my ankle, so we didn’t do much.” He hoped he didn’t look too petulant. “I know, if I hurt myself it could slow my healing down, I need to be careful…”

“Don’t forget it’s a miracle you’re walking at all,” Carlos pointed out. “You should still be bedridden.”

“Technically, I should be dead, but I get your point. Still, it’s just…”

Frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. His self-appointed deadline was this month. He didn’t need to run a marathon or anything. He just wanted to walk on his own. Any patience he might’ve had for his body and its shortcomings had gone out the window now that the novelty of being alive had worn off.

“...to be clear, I’m asked this as a concerned friend, not as the guy responsible for you, but…they’ve got you seeing a therapist, right?” Carlos said. “Like…for your brain.”

“Yeah, they have,” Ethan said. “We’re still working on Dulvey. Turns out, almost being murdered under extreme bullshit circumstances is even more traumatic than just almost being murdered. Who would’ve thought?”

Carlos wince-laughed in a way that said he knew exactly what Ethan meant. “At least your guy has probably heard it all by now,” he said. “We didn’t have that when I was going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think the chainsaw scissors threw him off.”

“...the fucking what?”

Ethan probably shouldn’t have found that funny, but honestly? It was a little hilarious that he could one-up Carlos in the weirdness department.

Just a little.

.

Mia had been avoiding her therapist.

She knew, objectively, that avoiding her therapist probably looked worse than anything she could have actually said in therapy. She knew that whatever she said would stay in that room, that even her criminal past was safe to talk about. She knew this could be helpful, that it might let her sort out her thought spirals and fears and her increasing discomfort with being around Ethan.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go. Going meant actually admitting to everything–to all these dark thoughts, to all the shit she’d done. The thought of saying it out loud and having another person hear made her physically sick.

But she couldn’t stay away forever, so she finally went, with the intention of appearing as put-together and fine as possible.

She failed within five minutes.

“So, you’re concerned that Ethan is pushing himself too hard,” her therapist said. Doctor Reid was a no-nonsense sort of woman, the kind who cut right to the chase. It probably made her a great therapist, but these days, it mostly made Mia want to kill her.

“Ethan’s…” Mia tried to think of how best to phrase it. “...selfless to a fault. I don’t want him thinking about me right now. He should be focused on himself.”

Dr. Reid nodded and wrote something down. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve had this argument before?”

Mia tried to stay calm. It was difficult when visions of every argument they had since Mia learned she was pregnant started dancing through her mind.

We matter, Ethan! You matter! He’d been so caught up in protecting Rose, even before she was born. She’d known the lengths Ethan had gone to protect her. Known that he would go just as far for Rose, if not further. It was part of the reason she’d been so afraid to tell him what the mold had done to them. If he’d come to the same conclusions they had–that the BSAA had been deliberately negligent to unknown ends–who knew what he might have done?

The sound of pen against paper drew her out of her racing thoughts. Dr. Reid must have taken her silence as an answer. “Have you discussed this with him at all?”

Mia forced her voice to stay flat. “I’ve told him it’s okay to recover at his own pace,” she said. “He knows that we’re safe.”

“Maybe, but there’s more to the conversation than that, I think.” Dr. Reid put her pen down. “Are you frightened of what your husband might do?”

Damn this woman. “Why would I be? He protects us.”

“And he nearly died doing so, twice. That’s difficult to discuss. Objectively, he’s not wrong. Protecting those you care about is noble. But the survivor’s guilt you would’ve felt…” She picked back up her pen. “...and the guilt I’m sure you feel now are still very real. It could be easy for him to forget that.”

Mia felt her jaw go tense. “It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?’

“It’s my fault…”

Damn it. Damn it. Doctor Reid knew about the Connections, of course she did, but that didn’t mean Mia had to bring it up.

Doctor Reid glanced up. “You blame yourself,” she said finally, “because you think your time with the Connections is the reason Ethan ended up the way he did?”

The plan was not to reply, but Doctor Reid just sat there, waiting for an answer. Screw it. If this woman wanted an answer, she’d get her damn answer.

“I don’t think. I know. If I hadn’t been working for the Connections, I never would’ve ended up in Dulvey and he wouldn’t have had to save me. That’s where he got infected. That’s where the Rose got infected.”

“And if the BSAA had been honest, Ethan would’ve been cured, or his condition would have been managed,” Doctor Reid pointed out. “Maybe if they’d been honest, you two would have chosen not to have children. If Mirand had left you alone, or never learned about you, Ethan wouldn’t have had to save you a second time. Yes, your actions were one of the dominoes, but they were also just that. One of the dominoes. Why do you think you should shoulder all the blame?” Doctor Reid paused. “Why do you think Ethan thinks you should shoulder all the blame?”

“I don’t think that. I…”

She didn’t know. And that was really the worst part. So much of her was convinced that he wouldn’t blame her, which was bad in its own way. But the anxiety, the guilt, had her convinced that he would. There was no version of the story where this ended well.

“If I may,” Doctor Reid said. “You worry about Ethan pushing himself too hard and you worry about him getting into danger again. I assume this worry is compounded by the fact that you blame yourself for everything that’s happened, which in turn makes you feel that you’re not worthy of that protection. These are very strong emotions that are going to impact your interactions with Ethan, especially since you’ve had these disagreements before. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“...no.” It was a miracle it hadn’t impacted things already–or, at least, that it hadn’t in such a strong way that Ethan had noticed and started asking questions.

“Have you tried communicating with him about what’s been bothering you? You said Ethan had been keen to talk in the past. Perhaps if you had some mediation…”

“You offer couple’s counseling, too?”

“Actually, I’d find a third party, but we do have those.”

Of course they did. Nothing like a viral outbreak to put a strain on a marriage, right? Mia nearly burst out laughing at the thought, but managed to keep it together. Barely.

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said.

And she would. She just had a feeling she already knew what her answer was going to be.

.

May 5, 2021:

“You’ve got to be absolutely shitting me.”

Credit to everyone in the room: they were really doing their best not to laugh, or were treating it just as seriously as Ethan felt. Because he was taking this seriously. Because it was bullshit.

“Everything I’ve been through,” he said, staring down the cold compress on his arm, “all of that bullshit. And I’m still…” The only thing that kept him from swearing was Rose being in the room, staring him down with a slightly concerned look. “...I’m still allergic to bees?!”

“It would seem so, yes,” Doctor Marshall said calmly. “Do you want to hear something reassuring?”

“There’s something reassuring about this situation?”

“Your body is having a normal reaction to the sting. Not an exaggerated one, and it hasn’t triggered anything else in your healing. That’s a good sign.”

Damn it, he had a point. “I guess,” Ethan grumbled. Then, “Bees?!”

Jill finally broke the no-laughing rule with a barely muffled snort. “Sorry…” Her pale blue eyes were lit up with amusement as she tried not to make eye contact. “...no, it sucks, it really does…”

That probably should’ve pissed him off more, but…okay, yeah, it was funny-not-funny now that someone was laughing. Ethan deflated a bit, a bemused sigh escaping past his lips. “Just please don’t tell my wife,” he said. “She worries about me enough as it is. You’re telling her I’m fine, right?”

“I’m giving Mia medically accurate information,” Doctor Marshall said. “Unless you want to withdraw her as your-”

“No, no, it’s…” Great, that just means that either she’s misreading the information Marshall’s giving her or the results are worse than I realized. He wasn’t sure he liked either option. “It’s fine,” Ethan said. He peeked under the cold compress again. “Does the medically accurate information include that this bee sting isn’t gonna kill me?”

Ethan thought he felt a shift in Jill’s mood after that comment. That feeling was confirmed as she wheeled him out. “Everything okay with you two?” she asked. “I don’t want to be nosy, I just know this kind of thing puts a strain on…everything.”

“It’s…” Ethan sighed. “Complicated. Conflicting support needs, I think.” That was what his therapist had said when Ethan tried to describe the disconnect between how they’d handled Dulvey. Ethan wanted to talk. Mia wanted to forget. Neither was wrong, necessarily, but it did contribute to why they’d been butting heads on and off before the village. They hadn’t started couples therapy yet. Ethan wondered sometimes if they should move that up the list.

I basically died on her. That can’t be good for her mental health.

“That’s always tough,” Jill said. She had that tone, the one that said she and Carlos had been through the same thing. That was so weird to think about. They seemed rock solid, the two of them. Then again, they’d been together for a while, and lived through a lot during that time. Nothing like practice to improve your communication skills. “The give and take of it all. You’ve got to be supportive without giving up your own needs.”

“And hers,” Ethan added, tilting his head towards Rose as she grabbed at his coat collar. That was definitely a complicating factor. “I keep trying to tell myself that all couples have these problems, but…they don’t. You can say it’s the same thing, but it’s not.” Maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe he was playing the trauma Olympics, but he’d kill for regular problems. He’d kill for so many of their problems to not be tied up in dumbass crime syndicates and undead werewolves and potentially world-ending bullshit. If he could swap places with the Ethan who’d lost an arm to a car accident, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Zero hesitation.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jill said. “I think that’s why I was never able to make normal friends. Almost everything feels minor compared to…” She gestured vaguely. “...everything.”

Everything was a pretty good summary of things. And that really summed up how shitty things were for the both of them. “How did you two make it through things?” Ethan asked. “I mean, if you’re okay with sharing.”

“Couples’ therapy,” Jill said without hesitation. “It helped with everything. Even the mundane stuff. And we talk to each other, as much as we can. It used to be a monthly thing when we were active duty. There was a lot happening and we wanted to make sure we had the time.”

That made sense, but it didn’t make Ethan feel any better. How were they supposed to do this when Mia still didn’t want to talk? He couldn’t force her. He’d tried, if he was being honest. It had only made things worse.

How much longer could they just let things stew again?

.

May 15, 2021:

Apparently, at least another week and a half.

Maybe the mounting anxiety had been a warning.

She’d known from the second she opened her eyes that today was going to test her. Mia hated to blame Ethan, because it wasn’t entirely him. She’d been slipping towards a shitty day for a long time.

But opening her eyes to see Ethan standing upright didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” Mia yelped.

Ethan nearly fell over. Fortunately, he’d been clinging to a chair to support him; it was the only thing that kept him falling down. “Shit!” he yelped back. Then, quietly, “Shh!”

Mia’s gaze darted guiltily to Rose. Fortunately, she was still fast asleep. “What are you doing?!” Mia hissed once she was sure her baby hadn’t woken up.

“I was cold,” Ethan replied. “I wanted a sweater.”

“I could have gotten one for you.”

“You were finally sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“What do you -” Mia took a deep breath. “Please sit down. I will get you a sweater.”

Ethan nearly protested. She could see it in the way that his shoulders went tense and his eyes met hers directly. But just as suddenly, he looked away, his shoulders slumping, as he sat down. Crisis averted, she allowed herself to think as she got up to get him a sweater.

That was stupid of her to think. She knew Ethan better than that. She should’ve known. Ethan only stayed quiet for as long as it took to get him the sweater. But once he was holding it…

“I don’t want to do this again,” he said.

Oh, no. “Do…what…?”

“It’s just…” Ethan sighed and rubbed his eyes. His fingers seemed to linger over the scar tissue across his nose. “Back in Europe, it felt like every little thing was an argument. But we never really got at why we were fighting. I don’t want to keep doing that.” He met her eyes again. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve been sleeping well. I haven’t always, either, and sometimes when I wake up in the night or when Rose wakes up, I can hear you…moving around, talking in your sleep. Like how you did after Dulvey. I can walk short distances and you looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re dealing with enough without adding sleep deprivation on top of that. I’m worried about you.”

She’d heard those four words so many times. She was starting to get sick of them. “I get that, I do, but you have…” Mia took a deep breath. “You have to start worrying about yourself. Ethan, you died a few months ago. If you get hurt again, if you’d fallen and hit your head…I have enough to worry about without worrying about you doing something stupid, okay?”

She knew, immediately, how harsh she’d sounded. It was starting to remind her too much of the argument they’d had that day in Europe…the one that had nearly been their last argument. Mia rubbed her eyes, hoping that she wasn’t about to start crying. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. No more walking without someone watching me,” Ethan said soothingly. His one hand reached out to rest on her knee. Even with the sweater sleeve covering it, she could vividly see the scar on his forearm. “Stressed about what, honey?”

About the fact that I almost got you killed. That they have to run tests on our daughter and it’s my fault. That you’ll find out the truth and nothing will be the same ever again. That nothing is the same already.

“Don’t do that,” Mia said out loud instead. “Please. You can’t fix everything, Ethan.”

“I’m not…you can talk to me, Mia. I’ll listen. No problem-solving, promise.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. And even if she did, she couldn’t make herself say the words. “It’s…this whole situation,” she said finally. Not a lie, but nowhere near the truth. “It’s this whole situation.”

She was dodging. From the way Ethan looked at her, he knew she was dodging. She expected him to call her out on it. He always had before. Instead, he just looked sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

He hugged her carefully. Mia was able to embrace him back, but she hesitated at first, the surge of guilt getting the better of her.

She knew Ethan had felt that, too, but he still didn’t say anything.

.

If his problems had a face, Ethan would have shot them by now.

He guessed Ethan could say his problems had some physical form: his bones, his muscles, the injuries and scar tissue that had hobbled him, the mold that had merged with his cells and turned him into something not quite human. But he couldn’t exactly punch himself in the face. Multiple BOWs had already done that for him, and look where that had gotten him.

He could still be mad at himself, though. Either his body had betrayed him forever and this was just his life now, or he wasn’t trying hard enough. One of those answers was easier to accept than the other one.

Unfortunately, accepting the latter only made the moment that he ended up face-down on the floor in the middle of PT all the more painful.

“FUCK!” Ethan shouted as he flopped onto his back. He wasn’t bleeding, but he’d hit his face pretty hard. “Son of a bitch!”

“Easy…” His therapist helped him carefully sit upright. Tom was usually a pretty chill guy, and usually had the decency to not visibly worry so much when things went wrong. This time he looked worried. “Did you hit the bar on the way down?”

“I didn’t hit the fucking bar. Shit.” Ethan looked around instinctively. He knew Rose wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help double checking. He tried really hard not to swear in front of her. He was just so…

Ethan carefully touched under his nose, checking for blood. There wasn’t anything that he noticed, but he knew what was coming next. “Let me guess, this is the part where we take a break for the day? We’re done?”

The words came out in a snap. Tom didn’t take it personally; the worst part was, Ethan was so pissed, he only felt a little guilty for being a dick about it. He felt even less guilty when he was informed that this was, in fact, it for the day.

At least he could wheel himself around the facility now. It meant he didn’t have an audience for his frustration.

Ethan probably should’ve gone back to his room and lay down. The session had been draining as it was, and he was kind of sore from that landing. But he went down to the ground level and right out the front door. No one tried to stop him, thank God. They probably figured he couldn’t go very far.

He went further than he had before, right out the front door and out into the parking lot, all the way to the far edge. There was just a field out there, and a barbed-wire topped fence. Somewhere on the other side of that was the rest of the world.

A world that he might never get to be a part of again.

Ethan took a deep breath and screamed. It was wordless at first, but quickly devolved into a rapid-fire barrage of every swear word he knew. They could probably hear him inside, but he didn’t care. What were they gonna do? Force him back inside? Revoke his wheelchair privileges? It wasn’t like his day could get any worse.

Eventually his voice gave out. He sat in silence, just him, the midday sun, and the random cars. The sound of approaching boots broke that silence eventually. Ethan didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to guess who it was. There were only three people he knew who wore boots regularly, and one of them was out of the country again. “I can’t go back in there,” he said dully.

“Wasn’t going to make you,” said Jill. “So, how’s a parking lot for a mental breakdown space? I haven’t tried that one yet.”

Points to her, the comment did get a laugh out of him. It wasn’t the sanest sounding laugh, but it was something. “It’s, uhm…” Ethan tried to wipe some of the tears off his face. “...better than a bathroom, I guess. Air quality’s nicer.”

“Yeah, bathrooms are like a bottom three pick.” She sat down in the grass, in his line of sight but off to the left. Her white-blond hair caught the sunlight, contrasting it more sharply against the black hoodie she was wearing. It looked a few sizes too big–one of Carlos’s, maybe. “You want to talk about it?”

He did. Keeping it bottled up was killing him, and maybe Jill would actually understand what was going on here. But for a long time, the words didn’t come. He just stared down at his one remaining hand. It had been working fine lately–grip strength almost back to normal, no more freezing up at random, sensation much better. Why couldn’t everything go that smoothly? Why did this have to be so hard?

Hadn’t they all been through enough?

“...Mia and I’s anniversary is this month,” he said. “Ten years.”

“Ten years? With two disasters in the middle of that? Shit, that’s not bad.” Jill sounded genuinely impressed. “I’m guessing you wanted to get out of here before that?”

“No, not even that. I can handle being here if we really have to.” They were safe here, at least, and safe was all he could really hope for. “I just…I was just hoping I’d be walking more by then. I wanted her to see that I’m okay. And don’t give me the whole oh, you should be dead, who cares if you’re not walking yet speech. I care. I can’t…” He rubbed at his eyes desperately. “It’s not enough. I thought even a few steps would do it, but I can just feel her pulling away and she’s so focused on being worried about me that she’s not thinking about anything else and I can’t…I can’t see her like that. I can’t live through that again.”

He was bracing himself for more questions; what he got instead was a slightly bitter, huffing laugh. A sound of recognition. “Fuck, yeah. Been there.”

Ethan lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Chris didn’t tell you? I was MIA presumed dead for three years.”

Chris had definitely not mentioned that. “Chris doesn’t really talk much about his BSAA days. Was this before you left?”

“Yeah. One of my last missions with the old crew, actually. It’s a long story, but Carlos was…” She sighed. “...he kept it together for me. And I appreciated that, I really did, but I knew it wasn’t going to last forever. It was just a matter of when.” She started rubbing her sternum as she spoke. Ethan saw her do that sometimes. “Worst part was, I knew that. I just had no way of knowing what would finally do it. It was just the one time, thank God. We were able to talk about it after that.”

“So what you’re saying is that she might have to break more before we can fix it?”

“No.” Jill hesitated. “I mean, that’s not wrong, but that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that what you’re going through isn’t abnormal. I don’t know if I can fix what’s going on with Mia, and I don’t think you can, either. She has to figure that out for herself, like Carlos did. But you know what kept me sane when everything went to shit?” She made direct eye contact with him then. She had such an intense gaze, her pale blue eyes seeming to stare right through Ethan’s skull. “You’ve gotta lower your expectations, man. I know that you want everything back to normal, trust me, I get that, but that went out the window three years ago. I’ve lived it twice. It sucks, every time, but if you try to force it, you’re just going to hurt yourself worse. Physically and mentally.”

Ethan forced his gaze away from her. It was stupid, all things considered, but he didn’t want her to see the tears starting to form in his eyes. “This sucks,” he said finally.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not fair. I wish it were. But you can make it work. It’s possible. And believe me when I say…she’s just happy you’re still here.”

Ethan didn’t doubt that. He just wasn’t always sure it was enough.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

.

“Mrs. Winters?”

Mia’s head snapped back up. Doctor Marshal was staring at her with a worried look. “Sorry,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. “I just missed that last part…were we talking about skin samples?”

“Yes, but they’re optional, and more for Ethan’s benefit. How is he, by the way?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. The conversation from that morning was still dancing through her head. The wounded look on Ethan’s face was burned into her eyelids. “He’s…still a little stir-crazy,” she admitted. “Nothing we can’t handle, I don’t think.”

“That’s understandable. How about you? How are you doing?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wasn’t sure she could lie, not when she had zoned out in the middle of the conversation. There was so much going on, so many things she didn’t have a handle on. “...can I ask you something personal?” Mia said finally.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you get past your old job? How do you…ever make up for something like that? After everything that happened…” Doctor Marshal’s face changed quickly, growing more closed-off than she’d ever seen the doctor. Damn it. “...I mean, I don’t know how much you were involved…”

“Bioweapons development and research,” Marshal said. “So, yes, I was involved. Not directly in Racoon City, I was never assigned there, but…only a few degrees of separation between my department and theirs. I’m sure members of the Nemesis team used my research.”

Oh. They had more in common than she’d realized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be. It’s a valid question.” Marshal sighed heavily. “Honestly, it took a lot of time. Joining Blue Umbrella helped. Actions feel more like atonement than words. But I had to accept at some point that I could be as sorry as I wanted, but I couldn’t change the past. Even trying to act like the past didn’t happen kept me stuck there. I wasted so much time trying to figure out how to dance around it that I may as well have been stuck in my room, blaming myself. I had to face it, admit it, figure out what I could do instead now, and move on. I still feel guilty now, but I’m not drowning in it anymore. It’s just a feeling. Usually a productive one.”

The difference between guilt and shame. Her therapist had brought it up. Mia was really starting to hate how much the woman was right about things.

“Not everyone is going to forgive us,” Marshall added. “That’s within their rights. That shouldn’t stop us from trying.”

“...yeah.”

They dropped the subject after that, but it stayed with her. It took up so much of her mental space that she almost forgot…

“You’re doing really good,” Carlos said suddenly.

…she’d had an extra set of ears in the hallway the whole time, looking after Rose.

“What?”

“At…all of this. Considering.” Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. “Just in case no one’s told you that.”

Carlos was an easy man to read. He reminded her of Ethan that way. She could tell he meant it. That didn’t do enough to ease the sudden dread in her chest. “How much did you…?”

“Nothing I won’t have forgotten by the end of the day,” Carlos said. “I’m great at keeping secrets. I can’t retain shit.”

That sounded sincere, too, and just self-mocking enough to get her guard back down. “That’s…”

Goot to know was what she wanted to say. It got stuck in her throat. She was barely able to hold back the alternative response.

I’m scared.

But Carlos seemed to understand anyway. He reached out carefully, only resting his hand on her shoulder when she didn’t move away. He had a reassuring grip, what she’d imagine a touch from a cool older brother or a non-shitty father would feel like. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“...no,” Mia whispered. The dread was back, joined by a heavier sense of resignation. “No. I have to do this myself.”

Deep down, she’d known it was inevitable. In fact, it was long past overdue. No matter what the outcome…

She owed Ethan the truth.

She wouldn’t be able to fix this until she’d told him.

[tiny-yam]

I’m going to offer unsolicited advice about your osdd 1-b post so don’t read on if you don’t want that.

*･゜ﾟ･*🪻 🪶🤲🏼🫧🌦️🪷🐚🕊️🪺🌻 *･゜ﾟ･*

If your partner is faking it, it sounds like a pretty manipulative thing to do. That’s not to say that they’re a bad person or that they’re doing it on purpose.

If you do suspect you’re being gaslit/coerced focus on how it’s made you feel, and ask yourself about other times you’ve felt this way. Go through who, what, why, where, and when you’ve felt this way in the past. It puts things in perspective before you decide to take action. It’s important to forgive and work with people where they’re at in a relationship, however, you need to find a balance that’s most comfortable and optimal for you between your partners intentionally and outcomes.

I stayed in a shitty relationship for six years because my partner and I were young and figuring things out, and they (mostly) never meant to hurt me. But at the end of the day what they were doing was negatively impacting my life, even if they didn’t mean to. I had to live with the effects of their actions no matter what their intention was. And they would only change so much, and so slowly. I had to accept that this was the person I was binding my life to—not their intentions and words—and decide from there what I would do.

Best of luck and I hope this gets old to your partner soon and they go back to normal 💛 hope you have a good day and get to do something you enjoy

Oh my goodness you are so sweet, anon - this is wonderful advice (I'm gonna post this so others can see)! 🥺💛 I was actually talking about myself in this post - I have a new and "punitive" (if you will, in schema mode terms) alter that seems to be stuck in a trauma from when I was around 5yo. When I think back now and kind of assess things, I theorize that the split happened a few days ago when I accidentally (somehow; I honestly forgot) found out my boyfriend had bought me an engagement ring. We've been together for a little over 4 years and have discussed this in depth & beyond, so it wasn't an out-of-the-blue surprise to *me,* but it must have triggered something very deep that I didn't even know was festering. I've been seeing my trauma therapist for about 6 years now (it's only been 2 years since finding out about my system though), I've been on and off different meds since I was twelve (you name it, I've tried it)... and I *cannot* bridle the oppositional and antagonistic behavior of this alter even with my arsenal of coping methods/skills and personal knowledge of psychology and how childhood trauma works. My boyfriend knows very, very little - near to nothing - about OSDD/DID/MPD despite me quite literally begging him to learn at least the very basics, otherwise the disorder looks too messy, as if nothing can be done to help. I take full responsibility every time that alter says something out of line, because it's *still technically me* that said it. I don't blame my boyfriend for not knowing what to do about the behavioral pattern, either, because... how would he know? Even *I* don't know. And that breaks my heart, knowing that a part of me can just pop out and take over whenever, without my consent, and just... shatter everything Good in my life. I assume this 5yo part of me doesn't want marriage because I was left alone with strange men at that age. That's all I really need to say.

I made this post earlier out of frustration, after I switched back, because I remembered that there are people out there that *think* they want multiple personalities. Even if you don't have a "mean" alter, it isn't cool or fun or quirky or whatever it is people think. It wreaks havoc on every aspect of my life, even in tiny ways. Thank you again, anon, you're a good soul 💛🙏🏻🌱

[sevarix-blogs]

I don’t know how many times I’m going to drop by with a problem :(

but here it goes:

everything was going perfectly fine until my dog decided to snatch some chicken from my mom. She throws it away but the dog immediately goes to take a tissue. My brother yells, “there’s a bone in the napkin”. My mom yells at me to get it, please note it’s that time of the month for me so I don’t exactly feel comfortable moving so fast. My brother pushes the dog and takes the tissue as I help pry his mouth open. My mom says, “why didn’t you do anything?” I might have messed up here by pointing out she didn’t do anything even though she was there. She gets mad and yells, “I don’t have to, I already do so much! You can’t do this simple job?” I asked why she wanted to blame me and not my brother for leaving it there carelessly for the dog to get. She then goes on to say, “you’re giving me all this attitude when I give you everything? Who paid for the tv? Who gave you your things?” I don’t exactly remember what I say (doesn’t even matter since they didn’t listen, I was probably saying something along the lines of “that’s not what I meant, I just think it’s a little unfair…) she goes outside (as usual when she’s mad) my brother asks why I didn’t apologize, why didn’t I just shut up and now it’s all my fault. I hate it so much, why am I being blamed for everything? Every choice I make is always met with “what’s wrong with you?” I always doubt if I’m doing the right thing, am I doing something wrong? Is it my fault? Would things have been better without me? My mom comes back in and says, “if you’re so smart then leave, just leave. I don’t believe you can get any job with that attitude of yours.”

I just don’t know what to do anymore. These things keep happening. I’m always attacked. I just keep silent sometimes but everyone assumes I’m mad. Am I mad? Does being mad really mean feeling like you just want to curl up and cry wondering what’s wrong with you? No tears come no matter how much I want to let it out. Is this normal? I’m still not independent.

I don’t have any therapist or any friends to turn to so I always end up here on Tumblr.

ahh i am sorry you are going through this anon!! i don't think you have done anything wrong. it sounds like you are trying to set boundaries but your family is not honoring those boundaries. They are being very unkind to you from the sound of it. It almost sounds like they are taking out their frustrations on you without trying to understand your situation

I'm not sure if what you are feeling is anger or sadness or what to call it; in fact, i think that is only something you can identify. it can be hard to identify how we feel at times. do you feel betrayed? frustrated? attacked? that is how i might feel in your situation, but i am not you. it is ok to feel negative emotions! it is healthy to, in fact. but most importantly i think you should try to identify those emotions. once you understand that, perhaps you can decide how you want to proceed.

also i just want to point out that your mom is wrong about lots of things. you don't have a bad attitude, you didn't do anything wrong, and your actions don't have any indication on how well you would keep a job. i think you would be able to get a job just fine. i am sorry you have to deal with her saying such mean things to you!

wishing you the best anon!!!!

[liliansilverstuff]

Found in my WIP files, the start of a Dark!Hermione dramione fic: “Karma”

Hermione sat in the dreary office that she’d been travelling to once a week for the last four months, staring at the same brown stain on the carpet, and wondering, as always, whether it had been from blood or red wine.

Her therapist, Anna, a middle-aged woman who she thought looked like a cross between Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood, cleared her throat with intention.

“You don’t have to answer me, you know,” the woman said. There was a tone of voice that Anna used, which indicated to Hermione when she was being textbook therapised. It set her teeth on edge.

Gritting them tightly, she looked up at the woman and simply said, “I know.”

Your move, Anna.

It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t believe in therapy, she was just bloody angry. The war had ended and people had behaved as if all was well. Even those who had lost family members and close friends, all seemed adamant on getting back to “normal,” whatever the hell that meant.

Hermione had declined the option of going back to Hogwarts to finish her schooling. She chose instead to get a flat in Diagon Alley, and to take on a home-study course in preparation for her N.E.W.T’s, which she would take whenever she damn well pleased. Consequently, her studies had been pushed aside, in favour of obsessing over the trials of all the escaped death eaters.

Hermione had taken to attending the trials. She would sit in the far back and Glamour herself for good measure, so as not to attract press attention.

It seemed that the only moments when she could gain a sense of peace were when some Voldemort-loving-scum got what was due to them.

It was fleeting, always, and she found herself in a constant state of looking forward to the next one. This week, however, she’d been properly disappointed and wasn’t sure she’d be going back, if it was only going to diminish her mood further.

“You know,” Anna said, after a prolonged silence, but Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the carpet stain. She always imagined it was blood. 

“I wonder if the Malfoy releases are particularly triggering due to your experience at their manor house in the spring.”

At this, Hermione jerked her head up, the scar on her forearm throbbing as if it could sense what was coming. “You will not make me relive it again,” she said, tacitly.

Putting a placating hand up, Anna said, “Of course, I wouldn’t ask that of you, Hermione. And I’ll remind you that you are always at liberty to decline any line of inquiry that you deem-”

Hermione scoffed dramatically. “I might be able to decline, yet I’m mandated to be here weekly as if continually talking through the same series of events could somehow make me feel differently about them!”

She’d gotten to her feet without realising it. Anna stayed in her chair, seemingly unaffected by the outburst. This made Hermione even more angry; she wanted nothing more than to see this woman rattled. For once.

To that end, she posed a question to her therapist for a change.

“Tell me, Anna, if you were me… if you had just watched those people walk free... the people who stood idly by and allowed you to be brutally tortured in their home, for an amount of time that you can’t remember because it seemed like an entire lifetime to you… what would you do? Because I would love to hear it if you have an answer.”

Anna took a deep breath and stared down at the carpet, her eye landing briefly on the stain and then moving away as she searched for her response. Red wine was more likely, you’d want to ensure a blood stain was hidden.

“I suppose I would be angry, sure, but… honestly I would call upon something my mother always used to say, and that I have found over and over to be true.”

She paused, seemingly hoping for a sign of intrigue from Hermione, but when she didn’t get one, she went on. “She used to remind me that when people really deserved to be punished, that I shouldn’t worry about providing the punishment myself, because karma would get them in the end.”

Hermione took this in for a moment, before bending to grab her beaded bag from where it had fallen from her lap and turning towards the door. With a look over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Anna and said, “Karma is too slow.”

Shifting her eyes from Anna’s to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, Hermione said, “My time is up.” With that, she walked out, feeling rather satisfied by the sound of the door clicking shut, paired with the clacking of her boot heels on the tacky linoleum floor.

[shallowbreaths]

I remember not long after my parents died I was in therapy and talking about my life. The therapist said, “You do realize that what you’ve experienced is not normal right?” I just burst into laughter. How could a person possibly know that? Don’t we base our beliefs primarily upon our experiences? So if you have had very similar and traumatic experiences then how could you ever say, “Wow, I must be super unlucky?” Nope, you say, “Wow, better not step into that trap again!” It’s like being the only one around who sees ghosts. Some think you’re a liar, some think you’re crazy, some think it’s all very dramatic and exciting and want every detail, but this is their life. It’s all they know and they’re probably exhausted by it, so maybe you need to step away from it rather than be defined by it. Eventually you decide, “I don’t think I’m really meant to be interacting with others, if I have to be haunted every day then at least I can do that without all the human drama.”

This song is kind of sweet, but it’s one of the things I really don’t get (my friend thinks I’m autistic and I’m seriously starting to wonder because humans confuse the shit out of me), if the love of my life called me today, even though she made it really clear that I’m an ass, I’d answer. If she asked if I still loved her I’d say, “of course, I told you I’d love you forever.”, but I could never reach out to her because she made it clear that it was over. This song sounds like she’s saying the same thing, that she ended it, he reached out, and even though she still loves him she’d rather write a song about it than simply tell him. She says he said he missed her, so why wouldn’t she call and say she misses him too and if she’s afraid to say she still loves him then simply ask him what he feels, or say something like “you must hate me” if she’s too scared for THAT! Life is so short and miserable and this world is such a mess and it’s only getting worse, if you love someone who loves you back then WHY wouldn’t you be together?

[slyviaplathoncocaine]

Completely true off my chest, I know things. I know things that I shouldn’t know. I am a carbon copy of my mother. I am my mothers daughter. I know it. I know I will have an empty, unfulfilling, boring, draining life. I know I will have a mid-life crisis.

I know it is all down hill from here. I know this because I feel things very deeply. It’s not empathy i feel, I don’t feel bad, I don’t feel guilty. It’s my mind playing tricks on me. Nothing my mind does has an effect on my physical being. I am not me. I know it. This is not me. All I feel is that I know. I know things. I know everything. I don’t mean that I know how to build a rocket or a thing but I know that I know everything about myself and about these feelings. I know. I feel it deep inside of me. I know it. I know my life will be meaningless and I know that when I am lying on my death bed, I will beg the doctor to unplug my life support. I know it. I don’t have “meaningful” relationships because nothing is meaningful.

I have people I like. I have favourite people like I have favourite characters in a tv show. I know it. I feel it. I am complex and complicated and no one understands because they have never understood, no matter how much they try. It is all empty. They don’t actually try because they don’t actually care. They care about me, sure, but not about *me*. They don’t care about these feelings and I feel like I’m going insane. Not figuratively. But literally. I am going insane. I am slowly killing myself and I can’t stop because I had never began in the first place. This is not something you can just begin. I don’t think this is something I can recover from, I have a counsellor and therapist but I really don’t think I can, or frankly, anyone. I am stuck in a riff of time. I am stuck and I don’t know why. I feel like a ghost.

I remember telling someone about this and they called me a critical thinker. This is not what critical thinking is. Critical thinking is not what I am. I am nothing. I am nothing but a body with conciseness. This is not real. This does not feel real. I am not real. Nothing is real. I know it. I don’t do things because it comes naturally to me. I do things because I have had it beaten into me that I must do it. It is the human thing to do. I don’t feel human. I don’t feel real. I don’t feel here, I am viewing my life through the eyes of someone else. I am nothing but a spectator. Silently observing. That is what I’m meant to do. I was not supposed to be here. I am not supposed to be here. I have been ruined. Ruined by myself. I have ruined myself. I know it. I know what I am destined to and I do not like it. I hate it. I can’t bare to think of it. I have to do it though, that is what I am supposed to do. that is what I’m supposed to do. I am manufactured. I am not real. I know that I will have a boring life. I know I can’t do anything to stop it and I know that I can’t fix it. There is nothing to be fixed. I just have to learn how to live. How to function. I don’t feel human and I don’t feel real. I know it. I just do. I am scared of myself, I am scared of what I can do because I’ve seen it first person. I don’t feel like I should be here, I shouldn’t be in a suburban setting, in a place with normal people all the time. I shouldn’t be anywhere. I feel like I don’t belong in this world, I feel like I don’t belong in any world. In anywhere.