#but my therapist told me to write even if I'm busy with school so I don't become too anxious lmao

[varpusvaras]

Coruscant gets its own Guard.

As her duty as the Queen keeps her on Alderaan, Breha wishes to see more of what happens on Coruscant, and how the troopers stationed on the planet are doing, as the war rages on all across the Galaxy. Bail sends her pictures of the Guard, and one Commander catches her eye.

Then she hands Commander Fox her comlink frequency.

Then he picks up her call.

Part 2 of Up that Mountain, from Breha’s point of view.

[chrisbitchtree]

Dear Younger Me

My piece for the @harringrove-relay-race!!!

I'm now passing the baton on to @oopsiedaisiesbaby! I can’t wait to see what you’ve written!

4k - M

***

When Billy’s therapist had first assigned him the project, to write letters to his younger self detailing the twists and turns his life would take, and how he’d somehow managed to navigate them and get to a place where he could truly call himself happy, he’d laughed, because frankly, it sounded like a waste of time.

He knew he was happy and successful, so what good would it do to tell the long gone, scared, angry seventeen year old version of himself about it? But the more he wrote, filling page after page with his messy scrawl, the more he felt that he could let go of all the hurt and pain of his youth. It felt good. So good, in fact, that he’d allowed himself to be talked into giving Steve the letters to read.

Now though, as he stands on Steve’s front porch, he feels a really strong urge to run. It’s too late though, he’s already rung the doorbell, and he can hear Steve’s approaching footsteps. There’s no way he’d get back into his car and out of sight before Steve opens the door. He takes a deep breath, holding the stack of letters in front of himself.

“Hey Billy,” Steve greeted him, a grin spreading over his face, looking unfairly sexy, shirtless on this hot summer night. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you at 10pm on a Tuesday?”

“Uhhhh,” Billy replies, almost chickening out and saying he was in the neighbourhood and in the mood for some company and a beer, knowing Steve won’t ask questions, good guy that he is, but he knows that its important for Steve to read the letters, for Billy to let him in, if he ever wants to be more than friends with the man. Steve’s made it clear that he wants Billy, so the ball is firmly in Billy’s court. So, he takes another deep breath and hands the envelopes to Steve. “I want you to read these. Or my therapist does. But I do too. Just read them, okay, pretty boy?” With that, he walks away before Steve can answer.

***

At first, Steve’s confused when his doorbell rings at 10pm, and then he’s excited when he finds Billy on his front porch. They usually hang out pretty steadily, grabbing beers after work, having BBQs with Max and Lucas, watching endless movies, and hiking in the woods on the edge of town, but lately, every time Steve asks Billy to do anything, he claims that he’s busy working on a project, but won’t tell Steve any details about it. He’s starting to worry that Billy’s trying to freeze him out.

His excitement turns back to confusion when Billy hands him a stack of envelopes, telling him to read what’s inside of them, but he does as he’s told, grabbing the beer that he’d cracked open just before the doorbell had rung and taking it out to the backyard, turning on the patio lights so he can read.

He pulls a small stack of papers from the first envelope, unfolding them to find a letter.

“Dear younger me,

I know you’re upset right now. It’s not easy leaving your friends, your school, the ocean, the only home you’ve ever known behind to move to the middle of butt fuck nowhere. I won’t lie, it’s going to suck at first. Neil’s been with Susan long enough that he isn’t putting a show on in front of her anymore. He’s going to yell and threaten you and get in your face.

Starting at a new school is going to be terrifying, and it’s good to put on a brave face, to not show fear, but try to remember that it’s ok to admit that everything isn’t ok sometimes. Even if it’s just to yourself, curled up in your bed late at night. Let the tears fall, I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.

It won’t be long until you meet Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins High. You’re going to be such a dick to him, and he’s going to spend a long time hating you for it. You’re going to spend a long time hating yourself for it. You’ll eventually work your way to friendship, but you’ll save a lot of time if you don’t spend your entire senior year of high school treating him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoes.

Because you can’t manage to get your head out of your ass, Steve’s going to push, rightfully so, and you’re going to pull, until the tension’s going to come to a head at Harrington’s graduation party. The night’s going to start with the two of you throwing barbs back and forth and end with you on your knees in the Harrington’s pool house, Steve’s cock between your lips. You’re barely even going to stay long enough for him to finish cumming, to scared to see what’ll happen in the aftermath, but you really should. Tell him how you feel about him, tell him that the way you treated him all year was an act, a way to protect your heart, and his response just might surprise you. You never know.”

Steve has to stop reading for a minute, his face flushing as he thinks back to his graduation night, how good Billy had looked on his knees, looking up at Steve as his tongue swirled around the head of his cock. He remembers how strong the urge to run his hands through Billy’s hair had been, but it had seemed too intimate an action, so he’d resisted, as hard as it had been. He’d wanted to reciprocate, but Billy had fled the scene before Steve could even catch his breath, not to be seen again for three years, until Neil and Susan Hargrove had died. He picks the letter back up, curious to see how it will end, and what will be in the next one.

“You’re going to blame yourself for a lot of what comes after. You’re going to tell yourself that if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t hightailed it back to California while the ink on your diploma was still drying, if you’d stayed, even just for Max, and nothing else, or if you’d finally stood up to Neil for once, things would have turned out differently. Please try as hard as you can to be kind to yourself. I promise you didn’t cause this, that nothing you could have done would have stopped Neil from being an asshole.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

You just found out that Dad and Susan died, and you’re going to have a lot of mixed emotions about that. Relief that Neil can’t hurt you, can’t hurt anyone anymore, grief, as you mourn the dad you never got to have, regret, that you weren’t there to take the keys out of Neil’s hands that night when he drank too much and decided that Susan was cheating on him instead of going out to a girl’s night at the bar, sadness, for Max, who, at only seventeen, has no parents left, only has you to take care of her, when you can barely take care of yourself on the best of days.

It's going to be tough, I’m not going to lie. You and Max are going to fight about anything and everything. She’s going to blame you for this, and it’s going to take a long time for her to apologize, and it’s going to hurt, even though you blame yourself too.

You have to stay strong, though. Strong for yourself, and for Max. You need to put down the bottle and find a good job so you can take care of Max and yourself. It’ll be hard to even make yourself get out of bed most days, but you have to grin and bear it. I promise it’ll eventually get easier, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. It’ll all be worth it when you see her walk across the stage with her diploma.

Love,

Billy”

As soon as he’s one reading the second letter, Steve folds it up and slips it back into its envelope and takes out the third letter, eager to see where this is going, to find out why he’s being asked to read them. He takes a sip of his beer and settles in for the long haul.

“When Max is twenty one, she’s going to call you and tell you that she’s dropping out of college to work at the garage with you and help you work towards your goal of buying it from Mr. Dennis when he retires, and you’re going to feel like a failure, like all your hard work, all the hours you put in at the shop to help pay for her education are going to waste. You’re going to fight long and hard about whether she’s fucking up her life, and you’re going to say a lot of things that you regret, but you need to remember that she’s an adult now, and she’s smart, and she knows what’s right for herself.

You won’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you know you’re going to be happy to have her back where you can keep an eye on her, instead of way out in Boston. There’ll be growing pains at first, as you both get used to living together again, but it’ll be nice to have someone else around the house again.

And be nice to Lucas when Max has him over. He’s a good guy when he’s not being a smartass, and trust me, you’re going to need him later. Show him a little respect, and you’ll save yourself a lot of embarrassment later.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

Two years after you finally take over ownership of the shop, just as you’re really starting to feel like the place is yours, Max is going to beg you to let her renovate the attached luncheonette and run a small diner and bakeshop out of it.

You’re going to resist for so long, finding a million reasons why she shouldn’t do it. The kitchen requires too much work, there won’t be enough customers for it to be profitable, she should be doing something better with her life than planting her roots so firmly in Hawkins. You worked hard so she can get out, and you don’t want to enable her sticking around.

Trust me, it’s going to be easier if you just give in. She may be stubborn, but she’s right, the place is going to be a huge success, and you’re going to wonder why you didn’t let her have at it sooner. That is, until two weeks after the diner opens, on the night of the launch party, Max is going to get drunk and take your motorcycle out and crash it.

She’s going to survive, but just barely. It’s going to be a very long road to recovery, and that’s where the thing I mentioned earlier about being nice to Lucas will come in. He’s the only one that’s going to be there for you in the early days, when you’re trying to keep two business afloat and be at the hospital with Max. He’s going to take a year off from school to work in the diner and the garage when you need to be with Max and be with Max when you need to be at the diner and garage. You’re going to be each other’s rocks when it gets to be too much, and you’re going to be embarrassed about how you treated him before if you don’t stop treating him like shit right now. I know I’ve already said this a lot, but trust me.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

I know that more than anything, you’ll want to make sure that Max’s diner stays open, that it’s there for her when she gets better, but you’re too stubborn to ask for help, and too busy to have it open enough hours in a day to turn a profit, so you’ll think about throwing in the towel and just focusing on the garage.

Tired and frustrated, you’ll head to Chicago one evening to blow off some steam at a bar. You’ll think to yourself that you’ll just go for a few drinks, and maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find someone to take to whatever shitty hotel you can find a room in for the night, but instead, what you find in there, or rather who you find in there, is going to change everything for you.

Standing near the bar nursing a bottle of beer is Steve Harrington, looking every bit as pretty as he did back in high school. You’re going to try to turn around and run like the coward that you are, but Steve’s going to spot you before you can head out. Caught, you’re going to let him buy you a beer and sit and catch up.

He’s going to tell you how he feels lost after dropping out of law school, a failure in his father’s eyes, how scary it is to not feel that much more mature at twenty five than he did at eighteen. You’re going to tell him about your dad and Susan, and Max’s accident, how it feels like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one there except Lucas to occasionally lighten the load.

He tells you that drinks are on him for the night, and he orders another round, and another and another, until you’re both shitfaced and stumbling towards his nearby apartment. On the way, you tell him that unless you get some money fast, you’re going to have to sell the diner, and then you forget you said anything as he asks if he can kiss you in the elevator.

You’re going to have a moment of panic, as Steve presses you up against the door of his apartment and runs his lips all over your throat, about whether this is the right thing to do or not. You think that it might be best to turn around and forget this ever happened.

Don’t. Stay, have fun with the hottest guy you could ever hope to be with, and create enough jerk off material to last you the rest of your life. Ever the gentleman, he’ll ask if he can take you to bed. You’ll both lose your breath laughing as he tries to carry you there and fails miserably, and you’ll smile to yourself every time you think about that moment.

Once you get to his room, you’re going to have to fight the urge to do all the work. You keep telling yourself that Steve deserves to be worshiped, but he’s going to insist that you sit back and enjoy it, and you should listen to someone else for once.

He’s going to do things you didn’t even know someone could do with their mouth, leaving your moaning, hands twisting in the bedsheets, and your eyes will roll back in your head as he fucks you six ways to Sunday. Afterwards, he’ll clean you both up and hold you in his arms while he snores softly in your ear, and you’ll think about how nice it is to be taken care of, that you could get used to it.

By morning, you’ll have talked yourself out of it. You don’t deserve this, you don’t have time for this, it’s too much, you’re not enough, and you’ll sneak out before Steve wakes, feeling like an idiot as you walk back to your car with your hair all stuck up in the back, knowing that everyone giving you side eye as they walk down the sidewalk with a coffee and a briefcase knows what you were up to last night.

You’ll be embarrassed, but relieved that you got out of Steve’s place without having to have an awkward morning after conversation. You’ll open up the shop for the day and put all your energy into working on the cars and running into the diner to check on Lucas and the lone waitress in between appointments, but no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be able to take your mind off Steve, how he looked the night before, looking down at you with his big brown doe eyes as he asked you if it felt good. Part of you is going to wish you hadn’t left his place, but you know it’s for the best.

The days will keep marching on, until a couple weeks after you have your run-in with Steve, when you’ll get a call from the bank. You prepare yourself for the worst, sure that they’re calling you to tell you that it’s time to give up the diner, but no, they have a potential investor, and they want to meet with the two of you.

You show up at the bank feeling ridiculous in your one pair of khakis and your best button up, and of course, the first person you see when you enter the bank is Steve Fucking Harrington, grinning wide at you as he chats up a teller. You want to turn around, but you can’t, because this idiot is your only way to keep the diner alive.

When you ask him why, why he would do this for you, when you’ve just been an asshole to him. He says it’s not for you, it’s for Max, and for Steve himself, because his dad apparently has no problem writing a huge cheque to invest in the diner if it means that Steve won’t be sitting idle any longer.

You’re not going to be sure how involved Steve plans on actually being involved in the day to day running of the diner, but you definitely don’t expect him to show up two days later, apron and baseball cap on, ready to work his first shift. He’s going to suck, dropping plates, burning food, forgetting to dress burgers before they go out to hungry customers.”

Steve has to laugh at how right Billy is. He was just about the worst waiter and cook to have ever worked in a restaurant. He had no clue what he was doing, and there were many days where he was surprised that Billy didn’t kick him out, no matter how badly he needed the help, and there were a lot of other days where Steve was ready to throw in the towel, but he’d kept with it, determined not to give up on this like he had on law school, and he liked knowing he was lightening Billy’s load, even if it only got him groans of frustration and sighs of despair in return. Over time, he thankfully got better at both tasks, finding that he was actually a pretty good cook. He picks the letter back up, eager to get through the rest of the shortening stack.

“I promise the shitty times will end though. Soon, you won’t be able to imagine the place without Harrington there, telling bad jokes and bringing you coffee when your eyes start to droop in the evening, after you’ve had a long day at the shop and the diner, and then still need to go check in on Max.

Eventually, Max will be released from the hospital, and you’ll be happier than ever to have Steve around, to help Lucas moderate arguments between you and Max, while you get comfortable giving Max small freedoms, and she comes to understand why you’re so scared to let her out of your sight.

When Lucas finally has to go back to school, Mrs. Sinclair will try to step in and pick up shifts at the diner, and at first, you’re going to push back. You don’t want to take any more time and energy from that poor family, and you’re sure she has better things to do than do Max’s bidding as Max sits on a chair behind the counter telling her what to do.

Steve talks you into letting her stay, though. You need the help, and she’s willing to give it, and it’s another lesson in accepting that people care about you and Max and letting them help you. Between Mrs. Sinclair, Steve, you, and Max, as she starts to get stronger, along with Erica Sinclair waiting tables after school and on weekends, replacing your waitress who decided to go back to school, the diner actually starts to turn a profit, based on great food and fast, friendly service. When Lucas comes home for Christmas, he jokes that he can’t recognize the diner with more than a couple customers in it. For the first time, you’re going to feel like everything will be ok.

I promise you, things only keep getting better from here.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

Now that you have your professional life somewhat under control, of course, you’re going to turn your attention to your personal life for the first time in a long time. I can tell you it won’t be easy to take that first step and finally accept that you need therapy. Nobody wants to admit that they need help, so it’s going to be a long battle of talking yourself in and out of it, but I can also tell you that once you commit to going regularly, and putting in the work to help yourself, things are going to be so much better.

You’re going to rush into things with Steve, but it’s important that you take time for yourself, to figure your shit out first. If Steve want this as bad as he’s been saying he does, then he’ll respect that you’re not ready yet, and wait until you are.”

Steve takes another sip of his drink, shaking his head at his own behaviour. To say he badly wants a relationship with Billy is the understatement of the century, and he’s far from quiet about it, confessing almost daily to Billy that he’s crazy about him, wants to date the heck out of him, hold his hand when they watch movies, make him dinner, tell anyone that’ll listen that Billy is his.

But for all of his enthusiastic rambling, he’s more than willing to wait until Billy’s ready. He doesn’t want to rush things, because he wants Billy to want it as much as he does, wants his heart to truly be in it. He doesn’t want Billy to date him just because it’s what Steve wants.

Over the past year, Steve’s come to learn that Billy’s not only literally the hottest guy Steve’s ever seen, he’s also selfless, caring, hilarious, hardworking, and secretly sweet, and Steve needs him like he needs air, so yeah, he’ll wait. He continues to read.

“My best advice for when thinking about Steve gets to be too much. Take a deep calming breath, a cold shower, or if that doesn’t work, think about seeing the ancient librarian at the public library naked. That should be more than enough to cool you down.

Love,

Billy”

Steve picks up the last letter, and slipping it out of its envelope, he unfolds it, noticing that it’s a lot shorter than the rest.

“Dear future me,

I know you’re panicking right now, sitting on your couch, biting your nails and nursing a beer, while you wait for Steve to read through the letters that you handed him tonight. You want him to know that you’re ready now, as ready as you’ll ever be to let him in, let yourself be loved and love him in return, and you can only hope that he feels the same way as he did this afternoon when he told you that he can’t wait to wife you up, whatever that means. Try to calm down. It’ll be ok.

So, hey Steve, if you’ve gotten this far, I’m ready. Bring your jammies, and we can have a sleepover. I promise not to run in the morning, and if you wake up early enough to make me cum a second time before breakfast, I’ll make you pancakes before we head into work.

Love,

Billy”

Steve slips on a pair of sandals and grabs his keys, running so fast for his car that he doesn’t realize until he’s halfway down the driveway that he’s not wearing a shirt. It doesn’t matter though. He’s gotta see about a boy.

[ghostgirlgeist]

task #3- absence

november felt like it was already moving quicker than phyllis could keep up with. the library had been receiving an ample amount of business lately, and when phyllis mentioned it to other librarians, they would inform her that it was not out of the norm for reading to become a more desirable hobby when the air outside grew a bit crisper and spending time outdoors wasn't the preferable past time of most evermore residents. phyllis never minded when the seasons changed, though she was exempt from feeling the bite of cold air against her skin being as she was, you know, a ghost and all.

slipping the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, she nestled deeper into the chair behind her counter, head lulling to the side as what could be considered exhaustion hung heavy on her lids. eyes focused on a pen that was sitting atop her unattended paperwork, her mind allowing it to spin oh so faintly to keep her somewhat grounded. her efforts failed, of course, and as weighted lids rested shut... her mind wandered, drifted, into what wasn't particularly sleep but a phantom's equivalent of it.

the pen found itself lifting from the old and worn desk, it's drying tip due to a cap long-lost finding companionship with the parchment that now lay blank beneath it. phyllis, sleepily blinking herself awake, watched as it began to dispense ink against the page... reading as it did.

❛ dear miss grimwood,

hello again. it's me, phyllis, writing another letter to you even though you'll probably never receive it. now, whether that's because i don't understand how the post service works or because the weirdness of this town won't let me, or any part of me, leave it ... i'm not sure. but, maybe it's for the best you're not able to read the letters i've written to you. there have to be hundreds by now, even though i don't write as often as i used to. i'm sorry for that.

when i first came to evermore, i spent a great deal of time missing you. i'm sure the other ghouls felt the same way but, it seemed like they all had an easier time settling in then i did. maybe that isn't true, i dunno, but it felt like it. i used to see this therapist, they were so grool, you really would have liked them— but all i'd do is sit there, the whole time, and just wish i was talking to you. it made me feel guilty, like i was wasting their time, like i didn't really care if they listened because they weren't you. i think they noticed this, because they started to ask me why i didn't talk to you anymore or why i didn't just reach out to you. it's not that i don't want to talk to you, miss grimwood, i just didn't know how. i still don't. i don't know a lot of things, i've realized.

i think part of me is scared to tell you about my life in evermore. it's nice, it's lively and the people here are particularly peculiar and fascinating enough to keep me on my toes. they're not all human, i've learned, but all of them are strange. i know we aren't strangers to strange but... somehow, even still, i'm still feeling like the odd one out. i find it harder to grasp onto things than i did when i lived at the school with you and all the other ghouls. even with coach. i just feel... different. i know i am different, and you always told me that being different is what made me phyllis but, i'm growing tired of being SO different i don't feel like i could have anything in common with anyone if i tried. i am lying to more people than i am not, saying silly things just to hide a part of myself that i worry will scare people away if i'm not careful. i make up ridiculous excuses for why i can't eat the delicious looking food the cute man at the tavern offers me, for why i don't want to go outside when it is raining, why i couldn't ride any of the carnival rides or how, when i doze off, i just seem to disappear... i'm so tired of lying but i'm too scared to tell the truth. i know you'd assure me you aren't disappointed in me but, you practically raised me and i know that wouldn't be true. a part of you, even if it was the smallest bone in your body, would be disappointed i took all of your talks and lessons for granted like they never happened.

you always told me to embrace the things about myself that make me different from anyone else. i try to remember that you always told me you could only count on one hand how many ghouls you knew who could spin their head in a full circle like me. i try to remember you told me it always chilled your heart how i could laugh so loud even though i had no lungs to fuel the sound. how you could feel when i entered a room, even if i was silent and invisible all at once. the ghouls here do a lot to make me feel better but the guilt for putting that responsibility onto them eats me dead. coupling that guilt with the potential disappointment just feels like.... it just feels bad, miss grimwood. you are one of the only people who truly has ever made me feel seen, even when i don't have the energy to make myself visible. i just miss you so deeply and am so ashamed because you worked so hard to teach me to love myself and.... i just don't. i find myself wanting to be like everyone else and i just picture you, in the back of my mind, shaking your head. i know you're right. i'm disappointed too.

i'm sorry i don't write to you as much. i'm sorry none of the hundreds of letters i haven't sent don't have anything good to say. maybe one day i'll send a letter, but like i'm doing to everyone else, i'm sure i'll lie to you too. i'm sure i'll tell you i'm having a shrieking good time, that i'm settling in great, that there is no where else i'd rather be than here in evermore with all the new friends i've made...

if i ever do send that letter, miss grimwood, i hope you don't reply.

forever your little boo,

phyllis geist ❜

a sudden clearing of the throat had phyllis stirring fully awake, her breaths heavy and infused with emotion as she looked around a bit sporadic for a moment. eyes, brimmed with what could be called tears, lifted to meet the tentative face of a concerned library-goer. stitching a smile upon her face, rubbing at her eyes, stifling a yawn — phyllis disguised her emotion as exhaustion. ❛ gosh, i'm so sorry... i uh, must have dozed off there... what can i help you with ?? ❜ the individual then dismissed phyllis, politely, and instead opted to inquired if she was alright. the most insincere smile fluttered across the phantom's lips, hands waving around as if to shoo off the mere IDEA of her being anything but alright whilst simultaneously covering up the letter with the paperwork she had neglected.

❛ oh, i'm just fine, i promise... a little tired, is all, but truly- i'm happy to help you with whatever you need. ❜

ah yes, phyllis, yet another lie.

[gay-kurapika]

God I just had the most infuriating dream of all time and I honestly think it was incredibly indicative of how I feel other people have treated me in regards to my sexual trauma and ptsd that resulted from it. The ptsd that literally didn't get diagnosed until this fucking year despite the events happening 10 years ago because I literally couldn't talk about what happened unless I was drunk because I kept repressing it, pretending it didn't happen the way I remember it happening, or finding ways to think of it as my own fault, despite the fact that there is no logical way this was my fault.

In the dream, I was in college, in a creative writing class. Instead of being where I was at emotionally in college, denial, I was where im at now, out of denial but still uncomfortable talking about what happened. And in this class there was this rich boy whose family had sway with the school, so for some reason he got to plan the lesson on the first day and subsequently the first project, which involved writing a story based on your emotional reaction after playing a "game" in which you relived something painful (like you could physically see the memory replaying) in front of the class, so everyone else saw it too. What played for him was like him feeling rejected by his parents for not being artsy instead of a business major. What played for me was really obvious. And the class was like lauding him as a tortured genius, the teacher was sucking up to him, and I was fucking pissed because I had just had to relive my sexual trauma for a fucking school project and yet my story wasn't good enough, wasn't acknowledged, wasn't moving enough? Was too "unclear"? Because it wasn't obvious and artistic, it just fucking sucked? Like I'm so sorry my trauma wasn't interesting enough for you! So in the dream I got into this huge argument with him about the "game" and how he was a misogynist. I didn't hold back, I said everything I hated about him. And when I turned in my writing project, I learned all of our projects were being submitted into some kind of national contest, and mine won. The kicker was that in the dream, he was pissed about not winning. He was supposed to win, entitled to the win by the school for being rich and making up the project. So the teacher said before the paper was published i had to include a reference to this boy that basically thanked him and made him seem really great. Not as a forward, which I suggested, but within the actual body of the text that was literally about my own emotions regarding my trauma. I was supposed to make him the hero of that somehow. Of course because this is a dream he was slowly morphing into the person who sexually assaulted me in the first place, so this was them asking me to write the man who assaulted me into the hero of my own story. I woke up while I was arguing with the dean about this in a room that had his father, the dean, him, and the male teacher, and when I was pointing out that I couldn't thank him in the body of the text without the story no longer being about my trauma I heard his dad scoff behind me about the word "trauma" and I woke up because I was literally so pissed off I couldn't stay asleep. But like, this is a bizarrely accurate way of how I feel people have treated my trauma since I've begun to acknowledge it. It fucked up my fucking life, but no one takes it seriously. My therapist wasn't even letting me talk about it, she was teaching me techniques to not think about it, which is what I've done for the last 10 fucking years, and I don't want to shut up about it anymore!!! And when I told my mom I couldn't tell her the full truth about who did it because I knew she wouldn't believe me or take it seriously, despite the fact that I was so messed up from this mentally that it took 7 years before I slept with anyone ever again because I had a fear reaction to anything more than a peck on the lips, and still fucking do. How is that not real enough? It had real fucking consequences! God I hate dreams how the fuck am I supposed to get back to sleep now I'm fucking pissed.

[x-amanda]

**Apologies for no updates for a week, I've been sick, busy with school and some other personal stuff

I love food, now I know that makes me sound "fat" or whatever but seriously, I like food a lot but for the past 2-3 months I've been eating a lot less and I don't know why, or well.. I do but I see it as a dumb reason, 'His' behavior made me.. Let's just say depressed for a while, it's still a bit like that but I am doing a lot better now, I can eat a bit more now than what I could 2 months ago and it was all because of 'Him'.

Things are fine between us but there is one "Problem" and it's 'His' other Friend.. who is a girl, they're like "flirting" with eachother, 'He' showed a picture of a car with a bed in it and then told HER "we could smash there".. I didn't know what to say at that moment, I wanted to cry which I eventually did and also confront 'Him' about it and ask 'Him' why 'He' would say something like that to another girl, they then suggested a Threesome, 'He' said it was a joke but I'm 'HIS' GIRLFRIEND and he's saying that to another girl who APPARENTLY didn't know me and 'Him' were in a relationship even though we've mentioned it so many times before, luckily my friend confronted 'Him' about it and he DID get mad at my friend even tho my friend had every right to be mad at 'Him', jokes like those are disgusting but I don't want to say that to 'Him' because I'm afraid 'He'll' be upset at me which I don't want and now I go by every day worried that there's secretly something going on between the two of them and that they're still saying those things in dms..

Let's move on from that.. It is making me emotional which I can't be right now. School started last week, 10th grade yippie, I haven't been there a lot this because I've been sick which I mentioned earlier and because of some other stuff, but I'll try again next week.. I have to, I want my grades to be as good as possible to higher my change of possibly becoming a therapist! I haven't told anyone that I want to become one besides my teacher and now you guys (my 0 readers lol), I'm afraid 'He'll' make fun of me and that other people will do the same or just tell me that I can do so much better

--That's all I have to say right now, I'm really tired and this was all that I could think of tonight, I'll try to give another update soon, if I have something to write about that is, loll.

// Amanda - Aug 31st 9:53 pm

[mostlymalena]

July 22nd 2024 9:22pm

Okay let's hash this out. I'll tell you guys what happened first then I'll address the slander Grace has been posting.

Grace and I broke up last Thursday. Reasonings were that I needed more space and I wasn't giving her what she deserved or needed. I did not have enough time between her and my last relationship to really heal and that was catching up to us. That's my fault for not giving myself the time I needed. I really just felt off and needed more time to myself, Argentina is super close and we were going to breakup when I moved there anyways. I also started feeling really guilty for not being able to feel the way she feels about me and I also started feeling resentfull for the sexual assault thing, her putting her hands on me one night when drunk, and for her fucking her Ex behind my back and lying about it. I was realizing I did not process that either. Anyways that was all building up hence why the breakup. I didn't want to even breakup till after I had therapy Friday bc I wanted to make sure I wasn't being a freak about things or just doing things out of being overwhelmed.

Anyways Friday is not good either, I get food poisoning and am so grumpy and she goes out on the town and gets fucked up - doesn't text me back so of course Im pissed off. My therapy is moved to Monday bc my therapist's kid had something come up. We fight about her smoking again and decide we should maybe reconnect after I move and get settled and O to his first day of school. I texted her later in the evening apologizing for being grumpy earlier and she doesn't answer.

Fast forward Saturday she texts me this long thing and I just get more confused more upset - I'm overthinking things and doubting myself. I ask her to come over to talk. We do just that and talk about my fears and my distrust with her bc the little Emma stuff and the other stuff mentioned before. I talk about my guilt in not showing up for her the way she deserves or being more actionable in the relationship. She tells me it's okay that I need space but she thinks we can do that still in a relationship. I tell her if thats what she wants then I can try better. We have two months left anyways. She gives me some ideas on how she feels loved and seen and I write those down. She spends one last night with me bc Ive asked for no more sleepovers till I'm settled in the new house.

Sunday. I pack and cry and pack and cry. It's so difficult leaving this apartment but at the same time I cannot wait to leave. Many loves and losses have been here and 3 years is a lot to leave behind.

Jo and I decide to have one last wine night at my place since last summer thats all we basically did. She ends up getting sick so I decide to have one by myself. I drink a bottle and watch a movie. For those who don't know - I don't drink that often and I am a lightweight. I am drunk at 10pm on Sunday by myself. Bent texts me asking to stop by and catch up and smoke a cig (I had Jo's favorite cigs for our wine night). Bent and I haven't caught up in a bit bc I'm so busy so I say sure. Something we've done a millions times. We chit chat and share 3 bottles of wine, sitting on my porch just hanging out. Around midnight I text Grace that I'm blackout drunk. I know this bc I reread our texts. I was in fact blackout drunk. Bent was also goneeee. I would need 3 hands to count the amount of times in the last year even that Bent and I have been fucked up together. It's not a rare thing is the point I am trying to make here.

Listen I know you all want details but I don't have them. I remember me and Bent sitting in my room talking about work. I remember opening my eyes at one point and the whole room was dark and we were kissing, I shot up and turned the light on and slapped his face a little and told him we were crossing a line and it was wrong. I told him we need to think of Ruby and Grace. That was the last thing I remember. I can't tell you if it was good or bad or how long. I also cannot tell you why we did it. I woke up the next morning and threw up everything I have ever even thought of putting in my stomach.

There was no tension that night leading up to it, there NEVER has been sexual/emotional/romantic tension between me and Bent. It's just me and Bent. Sorry to disappoint everyone with the following: that is the first and last time Bent and I will hook up. We have never in the past ever come close. No he did not cheat on Jade. I also have my own opinion that he did not technically cheat on Ruby. Rubes dumped bent a while back and they have just been fucking and hanging out since. If that isnt the case then thats between them.

Now my part: I do feel and think I cheated on Grace. I told her I needed space but did not want to sleep with anyone else and that seeing other people wasn't my goal. I was very very wrong to cheat on her. What I did was terrible and gross. I know I hurt her and what I did was unforgivable. I never thought of myself as someone who could do that. It was bad. It's plain and simple: it was wrong and I was wrong. I feel so guilty.

I cannot tell anyone why I did that. I wish I could but I'm also relieved I don't remember any details because I think that would make it worse.

Ruby and Grace both found out while I was in therapy this morning. Many of you readers might have already seen the things Grace is posting on her story. She is hurting big time and I betrayed her so I'm not mad about the posting. I write on my blog so I would never be mad about something like that. If she feels better about it then thats her thing!

What I do not appreciate is posting our texts out of context to further her victim stance. Grace you are the victim here you don't need to manipulate the masses. For example her post of a screenshot of this:

It was her worried about doing coke.

She did unblock me today to tell me she is on her way to her my house to get her stuff. I told her not tonight but I'll gather all her things and put it on my porch tomorrow. I have things in the dirty clothes that are hers and I am also packing so Ive packed some of her stuff. The other big reason was the Olive was home and I was not going to allow her to freak out around him. I told her this several times and apologized for inconveniencing her. She showed up anyways and banged on my door, screamed a little, and dumped the cat food I have on my porch to feed a stray cat all over the place. She also called me a bunch so I blocked her. I also threw up again bc the nerves and the guilt. Hearing her so upset and knowing it was my fault was terrible.

Ethan comes over and we are on the porch (this is several hours later) and she pulls up again with her friend Emma. Ethan tells me to go inside and I stand up and she gets out and runs up the stairs and I go inside and lock the door. She stand outside my door and says she isnt leaving until she gets her stuff. Ethan reiterates that I'll gather it all up tomorrow. She says she just wants some cosmetics that she leaves at my house. I go and look for them but find razors, I probably fucking packed it all already. I am also in a panic not gonna lie. I throw up again and I'm shaking and I'm scared. Scared of what I pushed her too and scared in general. Ethan gives her the razors and tells her that he will personally drop her stuff off at her house tomorrow on his lunch break. So she doesnt have to drive this way again and she wont have to see me. She loses it and starts screaming at Ethan calling him a piece of shit for being my friend, telling him I'm trying to keep her stuff so she is forced to see me again. Just really upset and rightfully so. She leaves in an echo of a car door slam.

And of course all the posting stuff.

My only issue with this all is the her blaming Ethan for being my friend still when her best friend Jordan just recently cheated, her best friend who has a wife "they cheat on each other all the time" and Grace and I both share really good friends who have cheated on their partners. Grace CHEATED ON HER PREVIOUS GIRLFRIEND. They make bad decisions not bad friends. I fucked up big time but I also am taking responsibility. I know what I did was wrong and this is not an excuse, just an explanation. I was WRONG and what I did was TERRIBLE, disgusting, and if Grace wants to blast me on social media and do what she needs to do just let her. I hurt her in an unimaginable way. She will gain her composure when the initial shock is over.

I think that is all I have to say right now but of course I am open to questions and criticisms. I am to blame and only me in this situation.

I'm just going to post this and not reread it so sorry for grammar and spelling.

[moss-covered-thoughts]

I need a funner way to have clinical depression

Obligatory don't read if you have triggers

Like fuck me

I have a Dr appt today, gonna ask about my crippling oversleeping patterns. I'm exhausted and can barely do anything. I barely want to do anything

I have a dentist appt in 2 days where I'm sure I'm gonna get shit for not taking care of my teeth. Should I tell them I was too busy trying not to kill myself to remember to brush? I feel like I wanna tell them they're lucky I'll be there at all, but I've decided I don't trust med professionals anymore

I probably should find another therapist but that's back to med professionals problem

Which brings me back to sh. Def into it rn. I'm considering pulling out a student loan just to go get a tattoo so I can experience a socially acceptable form of pain

I mean I'm gonna need student loans anyways cuz I can't afford much rn. But does that stop me from wanting to get more tattoos? No

Also I should probably be more invested in helping Gaza rn. There's real families really suffering. I'm emotionally on autopilot. Everything I'm doing RN is on autopilot. I brush my teeth on autopilot. I eat food on autopilot. I write my emails on autopilot.

I wanna die but I told myself id try another 5 years to see if it gets better

But Jesus Christ am I even gonna make it that far? Do I want to make it that far?

Just. Fuck me. I'm so tired. All my friends have real lives and work and school. I haven't done anything in like 2 months except rot. I don't have a reason to be tried but I feel like I'm barely alive either way

[surviving-cptsd]

Current Events before we get into the Early Years - Part 2

Well do to being limited it seems on posts, I've had to split this past post into two parts, so continuing on from where I left off; I will do my best to keep up on posts, but there may be periods of time where I post nothing at all because I'm still getting used to this change and helping my other children bare these changes as well without their brother.

We all know this is what is best for him, and I've been told by therapists this is not my fault, and I know that, but I had hoped and prayed that by some miracle, he'd be okay after sometime around people who love him. But love wasn't enough, and it seems I was doing what other people would tell me, "Prolonging the inevitable."

Tonight, after picking up my one daughter from work, I have to pack up a small bag for him, they will have uniforms for him at this place but he can bring a few things of his own (He will likely be here a year or longer and whenever he is released, his therapist are recommending a step down unit and straight into independent living). Then I have to prep my other children to have rides and babysitters for after school tomorrow since I will be gone most of the day (It's about a 2 hour trip north from our area). My one daughter works (She's also 17) and my 14 and 9 year old, plus my 18 year old step daughter participate in Tae Kwon Do on Wednesdays and my 6 year old needs to be watched while the 20 year old makes sure he finds an alternative ride to work (He doesn't live with me anymore, but I still help him get to and from work when I can). Also tomorrow is the 2nd day of Finals for the 17 year old and 14 year old so their day is significantly shorter and the 17 year old is also in band and has volunteered to play during this years graduation (she graduates next year), so she needs to stay after school for a short time for practice.

These posts I write will be written when I find time between these days and hopefully, when not going through another major event. I just wanted to share with all that realistically, I'm busy like the rest of you and even when I'm not, sometimes I just need to rest to wrap my head around what's going on.

Like I've said before and will keep saying, you don't really get over CPTSD, you just learn to live with it.

Next post I promise will be the start of my early years, so look forward to that shortly.

Thank you all again for taking the time to read.

My ending post quote today shall be a reminder to rest. You may not physically run daily, but your mind can and you deserve to take some quiet time for yourself to recoup that energy.

[blissfullybloomed]

Yeah, it's been a while, but today felt like the right day to write again. I missed it. 

So let's get all the updates out of the way since my last post(Dec 2023). Oh man…it's a lot. 

I spent New Years with my boyfriend(yeah we're still a thing), and his best friend. Had to go home early though…cause like…im old, and we work in the mornings. 

February I picked up a few extra gig jobs to pay off school. I delivered for Instacart, Spark, Shipt, and Amazon Flex. While working two other jobs. I had to pay it off and I was tired of waiting for money to just appear….cause that's totally not a thing. 

March was my man's birthday! The first one I got to spend with him. Gifts that I got him don't matter…like i'm not gonna sit here and list them off…just his face was all i needed. That look of just you didn't have to do that..but he was glad I did. 

I started therapy to heal from a relationship with a family member that I actually never really understood until very recently. I'm learning that , in the words of Taylor Swift, “Hi, it's me , I'm the problem”- I know that now. I know a lot now actually. 

Started reading a book that has helped immensely with my healing as well. I won't mention the title in this blog as it's specific to one person in my life…but I will say this: No one is perfect, no matter the title they hold in your life. Additionally titles don't mean shit. We're all human and that's the only title I care about…unless you're an alien…then like, can we be friends. 

The Medical Board of Ohio gave me my massage license, and I have signed a lease for my own business and actually have two clients ( sister and friend.) Yeah…Blissfully Bloomed is actually a real , tangible thing now. 

I moved in with my boyfriend. Yup, the WHOLE sentence! It's been about 3 weeks , and let's just say we are slowly adjusting to the new. The animals are a little testy, but we love them all.Spray bottles are in every room now. LOL!  He has been incredible throughout the entire process. I even know how to plug my tire now. He is patient, and kind. Even on days…i don't want to be human…he is still right there. I will tell you this- I never knew love could feel this deep…this solid…this safe. He truly is the person I was supposed to find. Someone in my life once told me a long time ago,  “he has brought back what the locust stole”- When it was told to me the first time it didn't make sense, and in hindsight…I know why it didn't make sense. Now…I understand the phrase…I understand what a healthy and honest relationship looks like. I understand that MEN operate completely differently when they too feel safe and understood.  I love you like crazy baby. 

I started a solid vitamin regimen…and boy oh boy has it helped immensely. My anxiety only peaks during stress, and unknown areas of my life now. It's not at the forefront anymore. Vitamins, therapy, massage, counseling, coloring, legoing, and being surrounded by motivated individuals who only want to better themselves have been the key to my success. Sure I have days just like everyone else where I just don't wanna. But as my boyfriend says”it's allowed, just have to find a balance”- So i'm working on it…BUT vitamins are so good! 

So I think that covers it for the updates…Lets chat about whats to come! 

Moving through all of the above has required high energy and focus to obtain a goal. The focus was definitely fueled by my sister jessica. My sister was the entire inspiration to become a Massage Therapist. What's crazy…I had a client last week…she was a nurse at Nationwide in the pediatric unit….I think she would have worked with Jess at some point, and she was on MY table. Small world sometimes ya know. 

Massage gave me my heart back and I've said that since school…you can't be heartless and be a massage therapist. It's impossible. We comfort through the power of touch. We calm anxiety, recirculate blood to all the necessary parts of your body, we hold space for others to relax. Coming from someone that was very very selfish in her past life…to be able to have people on my table is a gift I will always attribute to my sister Jess. Man do I miss her. What I wouldn't give to wheel her into my massage studio and give her some relaxation for a brief moment. She showed me native american flute music too. I love ya sis. We all do. You can come visit me anytime anywhere. I love you. 

Okay well, on that note…I'm crying. So I think it's a good time to get ready for the day. I have three clients. One of which lost their mother last week. Like I said, massage is so powerful. It truly brings joy and I am able to give joy to others now. What an absolute gift. 

Thanks for listening to my ted talk- see ya on the flippity flip! 

[blackasmyhangryfurrybrokensoul]

Childhood. The best time of a person' life. Right?

Childhood. The days where I could (not) play outside with other kids. Childhood. The days where everything was (not) fun and you were responsible for nothing (but the welfare of myself and my whole family). Childhood. The days I could go up to strangers and pet their dogs (and get yelled at for it).

The days I could not even make eye contact with the neighbors daughter because I wasn't allowed to play with her because she wasn't muslim. The days I'd tell my mom I'm starving and she couldn't do anything about it because my dad wanted her to pay attention to him instead. The days where I parrotted my parents' beliefs to my grandmother, criticizing her beliefs. The days I was told to avoid people in stores and parks. The days my mom would sob for hours and all I could do was watch or pat her on the back. The long afternoons I spent in an empty apartment, making a game out of the bare floor tiles. The days I would watch the cars come and go from my apartment window. The days where I spent more time in my head than outside. The days where I didn't understand why no one would stay my friend. The days where I would get forgotten at school. The days when crying made me oversensitive. The days when my anger wasn't taken seriously. The days when my mom was too busy with my sisters. The days when my parents were always angry. The days I would pray to god in the backseat that they calm down. The days when any car ride with them felt terrifying. The days when I would write notes to my dad telling him i was upset about stuff, and he wouldn't even read it. The days where I had no idea what any of my peers were talking about. The days where I was the only one who didn't have the cool TV channels. The days where I couldn't afford to buy books when I wanted. The days where I had to teach myself because nobody could be bothered to hire a tutor. The days that I went over to my aunt's house to snack on her food because we didn't have anything. The days when my family bothered me about my low weight when I could do nothing about it. The days when I wasn't allowed to hang out with any friends. The days when I only left my house for school and the doctor. The days when I'd get yelled at for wearing lipstick. The days I'd get yelled at if my aunts took me out and we came back past 9. The days I'd be scared to death of missing my bedtime. The days I became a therapist to my mom, then my sisters, then my dad. The days I became the family moderator. The days no one noticed or understood my harmful stim because no one would actually ask me what's going on and no one would listen, not even the doctors. The days when bleeding and open wounds felt good. The days when I would only get seen as a struggling child when I would explode on others. The days I'd only get taken seriously if I yelled. The days I had to act like I didn't care for love or cute stuff or soft feelings because they seemed taboo and "pointless" in my household. The days I felt really really lonely. The days I was felt so confused by the people at school, not understanding how they all seemed able to interact with others so well. The days I did creepy art in hopes they'd disturb the people around me. The days I craved shock because that was attention without friendly commitment. The days I wasn't allowed to really dress like a girl. The later days where I didn't know how to dress like a girl. The day I got slapped for asking for comfort. The days I had no internet.

I can't wait to get older. "But you'll wish you were young again". Not at all. Maybe I might wish for a DIFFERENT childhood. But i would never want to relive the childhood I had. I would barely stand reliving my teenage years, and only if I could know what I do now. Getting older is one of the best things to happen to me, and I don't wanna look back too much.

I had to be so alone and independent and responsible then. Now I feel like a child having to catch up to a bunch of more emotionally developed people.

I walked out of my house yesterday needing space, with this newfound freedom that really only came with guts and age. I was a kid, now finally able to run away from people asking too much of me. Finally able to tell my family that I've had enough of their bullshit. There's so much anger I can't express. So much that I just wanna drop it all and walk away. Never mention it, just disappear. I had o tire myself out, so I powerwalked, sometimes ran, through my neighbourhood. It felt like the child I was was running in my place, running from something more than a creepy car in the parking lot. It felt like a memory I never got to have. It felt like defeat. It felt like fear. It felt like sorrow, sorrow that I could put somewhere besides myself. It felt like "fuck it all". It felt like not caring if I upset people anymore. It felt like knowing that my dad's reaction to me wandering the streets at 10pm can't be worse than how my sister and mom have been acting.

I'm exhausted

My misery is not just my dad. Or just my mom. Or just my sister. It's the collective experience. Each one alone might be okay. Just not together. My mom says that we'd be fine just without him. He thinks so too. I still don't think that would fix everything. I cannot be their therapist. I cannot be the only reasonable person in this house. When I say I wanna run away from my family, I mean them all. I don't mind having to deal with them from a respectful distance. I don't mind dealing with them as long as they don't hold me closer than they hold the voices in their own heads. I don't mind, if they actually improve on the things they say they will. As long as I don't always have to be the one raising them and walking them step by step through life. I'd rather not be so close to them if this is how they're gonna deal with me.

[diaryoftheunidropout]

DAY 78

I totally missed day 69. Also, there are now more days between the day I dropped out of university and today than there are between today and the release of Heartstopper season 2 (76 days) and I think that's cool, insane, and insanely cool.

I'm at my grandma's right now. It doesn't feel like life is quiet nor peaceful. I still get some paranoia at night, I still feel anxious about the future, I still feel annoyed at my mom for not taking care of herself. But I do feel loved, so at least I have that.

The way I write on here is quite inspiring for a potential future book. The thing is, I need to start writing a first book before I get there. I have ideas. I have a whole main character planned out, some specific scenes planned out, but the main plot is still sort of blurry so I can't really start writing anything until I have figured that out and the second main character. Maybe I should look writing prompts online and reappropriate them? I wish I could ask Alice for tips on how she did it. Does it. Anyway.

My grandparents on my mother's side are apparently worried about what I'll do with my future. They actually have no idea I lost all will to ever go back to university/school, and it's so taboo for them they refuse to ask me. They'd rather ask my mom, or my grandma on my dad's side, probably because they're too afraid of hearing the truth. The truth, ah the truth, the disappointing truth that, just like all of my other cousins, I will never pursue long studies and have some big diploma they can brag about to the rest of the family, to their neighbors, to their friends. I think they'd rather hear me say I hate my life for the next three to five years but get a shiny piece of paper, than hear me say I am at peace and happy with my life even if that means never pursuing big studies.

I told all that to my therapist a while ago and she said my grandparents probably wouldn't be disappointed, just sad, but considering how they rejected and insultee my mom when she dropped out of university, I think I am allowed to doubt they would take the news well.

Talking about my therapist, I haven't gone in probably a month now and my therapist was kind enough to text me to ask how I was. I quickly explained the whole business of me stopping all my medication because I didn't trust the psychiatrist I saw (I'd told her a bit about it in person too) and she said she understood but I probably should still have some psychological support, even without any medication. I think it's worthless going to therapy without medication in my case, just as it is at least partly worthless to take medication without going to therapy but... I don't know.

I'm still definitely psychologically unstable, but most days I manage quite okay. Recently I was finally able to book my flight tickets to go to the US this summer, which had been stressing me out non stop because it was always in the back of my mind but knowing I was going to have to spend so much money when I have no income was kind of scary. But I did it!! And now I can look forward to something fun this summer. New, exciting, kind of scary, but mostly fun I think. I want to quote "Nick and Charlie" right now:

"We were both fucking terrified and the whole thing was kind of terrible because we were fucking terrified. But it was good too, so good, because we were a mess of emotions, and we were scared and excited, and everything felt new. So, this sort of feels like that."

I think this quote actually reflects my entire life quite well right now. There's good in making such a big change but it's all so new and I have no idea where it's going, which is just as exciting as it is daunting.

Lately, I've been feeling really lonely. I've kept saying that my life was in Paris, but I'm not so sure anymore. I used to have a whole friend group in uni that I would see often. But recently, I've been a lot less close to my "uni best friend", and since they're often the one organizing stuff and they stopped inviting me to the stuff they all do together, I've been more and more isolated. It started when one night I was opening up about how I was feeling miserable and they told me that it probably wasn't that bad considering they'd had depressed friends who ended up in the psych ward or couldn't get out of bed. Except I still have days where I can't get out of bed, except I don't brag about it, obviously. And I still have lots of negative behaviors like not feeding myself properly, like, ever, and also self-harming, terrible sleeping habits... And this "best friend", they knew a lot of that, they knew that barely a couple weeks prior I had been preparing a suicide attempt. And they still told me I didn't have it that bad. And it hurt me so much, and I didn't want to confront them because, fuck, I just don't have the will nor energy for that. So I just started texting them a lot less, caring about them a lot less, checking up on them a lot less. And apparently they didn't really care so they did pretty much the same, and they seized that opportunity to also not include me in the friend group anymore. So basically, the only friend I have left in Paris is my chosen godmother, whom I actually went to Disneyland with recently. Gosh, I love her so much. She cares for me so much.

So yeah, otherwise, I have one friend 350km away in one direction, another one 350km away in the opposite direction, and one friend in Paris. Cool! I'm usually very independant but, I don't know. I still feel lonely. Maybe even lonelier lately because my mom has been so... elsewhere. Not distant, just elsewhere. She's so in her fucking bubble of "I need to work out this many hours a day and massage my face this many hours a day and wear this belt that's supposed to make me sweat to lose weight this many hours a day, and take this many pills a day that are supposed to make me prettier, skinnier, with stronger hair, whiter teeth" and also CONSTANTLY pursuing men that are going to break her heart over and over again. It drives me fucking insane and I am so glad I don't live with her anymore because it would probably drive me so mad I would get violent and never talk to her. Or maybe it's all my fault. Maybe she wouldn't feel the need to run after bastards if I was still at home with her: but for my own good, I cannot. So it's either I am selfish and try to salvage the little in me that's salvageable, or I protect my mother for as long as I can. It's fucking unbearable. Also, the only way I could ever feel completely okay would be either if she got better, or if I just stopped loving her and caring about her. And both sound about as impossible as the other. So, that's that.

Sorry for ending this all abruptly but I feel overwhelmed and I'm done getting shit off my chest today. Time to distract myself.

Buh-bye.

[androgynousstrawberrystarfish]

20230203

The last few days have been pretty shit.

I've been juggling work, catching up on work from missing Tuesday, and getting everything my kid needs up to their grandma where they live now. They already transferred schools so I just had to find the school laptop and bring it back. They had no record of a locker so that's just another thing they lied about. I wonder what happened to the $300 in school supplies we had to get because they "accidentally" threw them all away last school year too.

All the doctors appointments are cancelled. Wraparound was cancelled. Dentist is cancelled. Mailed their meds up.

Last night I packed a 31 pound box full of all the clothes they left, a winter coat, and 5 pairs of shoes that they wore the most often. It'll be there by like Friday and cost $100. Its a lot but I don't know what alternative there is and they need their stuff. This is just how it is now.

The kitten has been looking for them every day since they left. Calling out too. Different tones, different pitches. Clearly *looking* for something. Once I realized what was going on it broke my heart and I've been trying to take care of him and play with him even more to help distract him. I don't know if he'll ever stop looking for them, but I think I'm doing a relatively good job.

I'm still going to go to the ice cream place they wanted to check out this weekend. I'll go to the tea place and try the seasonal tea with the macaron. Its gonna be... lonely. By myself. Going and doing stuff. But I won't meet people unless I go out and do things. Any things. Maybe I'll make a point of posting reviews and pictures, that'll be something to distract myself and more of an outlet for writing.

Therapist told me I need to take the week to focus on myself but I need to make sure I absolutely go out and do something Saturday so I will.

Mood: 3/10

Day: 2/10

Overall feelings: I miss my kid. I'm nervous about once I run out of things to "do" to keep myself busy and not feel this stuff. But its gonna happen soon.

[glitchedcoyote]

The older I get the more I mourn who I could have been if I had support at the right times. I mourn and I get angry.

If my parents had taken a interest in mine. Had fostered healthy habits. If I wasn't forced to raise myself. I was fully capable of making my own lunch as a kindergartener due to sheer necessity. Get out of school, walk to an empty home, cook my own lunch, and watch PBS. Maybe play outside if the weather was nice.

I was alone for hours.

Who would I be if someone was there?

Years of medical neglect means my teeth are a mess. I'm a mess.

As a teenage I went from a beanpole to a pumpkin and no one cares. My mother was busy with her abusive husband and my father was busy calling my mother a whore even if he was the cheater.

If they had given half a crap and taken me to the doctor. Did some blood work I wouldn't have gone nearly 20 years with an unteratythyroid issue.

Maybe I wouldn't have had to have two root canals in a years. Maybe I could have had my depression treated instead of being told a therapist would lock me up in an institution because every time I was in the passengers seat of a car I dreamed we would get t-boned so I wouldn't have to find a way to kill myself. At 13.

Where would I be if mom didn't think giving all the money saved for college to the asshole she married cause he just had to buy his own semi truck. Who later kicked me out the moment I turned 18. And now somehow forgets the fact he nearly left me on the side of the road because I didn't want to hug him because, surprise! My autistic teenage self doesn't like being touched by abusive assholes who put to ass in sexual assault.

Who would I be if people who were supposed to care about me did?

I am not who I wished I could have been. That ship has long since sailed. My childhood dreams are dead. I wanted to dig up bones or work in a museum. I won't ever do that. Maybe I can still write, but my creativity is dead. Eaten by the hellscape of capitalism. I mourn all that was promised. I mourn the future self I saw for me and my heart breaks to know that little girl could have done so many things if only someone gave her a little support.

My life now is very different from what I wanted, but my found family has given me more than my real family ever has.

[2busy4life]

So this text will be a write and direct post it text about me and self harming. It's a little bit strange that I don't have memories of my childhood until the age of 12, where I had my first suicidal crisis. But my first intentional cut was with my moms razor at the age of 8. I cut in my feet and I remember how my mom struggled to stop the bleeding. I think I forgot this until the age of 20. But I really started self harming with a bomb of depression at the age of 12. I had depressions, was suicidal and started to cut with razor blades. I was bullied at school since first grade and even changed school when I was 10 or 11. But the phrases of the bullys were still the same. And I would say after few years of being bullied, you have no choice of believing what they sayed to me daily. And if you change school and they tell you the same shit you start to see al the phrases as a fact. So I was 12 and half of my life I already spend in therapy. I only cut on the surface of the skin, but always my whole left arm was a mess. I ate lotions to poison myself and I told my assist group about it. Normally they never tell your parents about all the shit that you told them, but if you start to be a danger of yourself they are forced to tell your parents. I was cutting many times a day. Every school break, ever toilet break I straight went to the bathrooms and cut myself. It was an easy relief from all the pressure the bullys put on me. With the age of 15 it became better and I was able to reduce it to 3 times a year. I was busy with my hobby horses and I spend my whole free time on the stable to take care of all horses. I started to move inti my own first appartement at the age of 18, because my home was a little bit difficult. I wasn't grown up and I failed with my whole appartement. But it was still better than home. I started again to self harm on a daily routine with 19 years. I only made it 2 weeks to cut on the surface, then my first deep cut happened. I hit a small arteries and the blood was spreading around my whole appartement. I was more shocked about what happened than about the deep cut. It was the first time I went to hospital and got stitches. From this moment cutting deep was normal, going to hospital at night was normal, getting clamps or stitches was normal. And I went to a therapy ward for the first time. But they kicked me out after 2 weeks and put me on a different hospital on the closed ward, because cutting daily isn't good if you are on a therapy ward and even tell them about your suicidal thoughts isn't good if you don't wanna end up on closed ward against your will. Because the hospital saw me the first time and I was so young they left me out after few days. But I came back very quick, because the hospital don't like it if you are pin their emergency room every night. The following years I was inpatient 80-90% of the years. We tried a lot of crazy things. Like day care from Monday to Friday and closed ward from Friday evening to monday morning. Thay really tried, but my ill head didn't. So I tried a therapy in a hospital every year, but was always the "difficult case" and because of the BPD diagnose most wards didn't trusted in what I told them. I never lied or manipulated people. But they always thought I would do that. So I got kicked out of every therapy after few weeks, because they couldn't handle me, I didn't showed any progress and most times they didn't believed me in what I said. And the I found my therapist in my city 3 years ago and I like him most of the time. It's not like we work on my past the most time, we spend 90% of our time with things that only happened the last week. I'm honest. Before covid I made progress and learned a lot of selfreflection. We thought about me going to university again. Then covid fucked the planet and my anxiety became as bad as it never was before. My normal week is self harming/destruction, suicide attempts, panic attacks and dissociations. Hospital is just a casual thing.

[wingedcat13]

Synovus: Siren Call (1)

[Surprise! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! I took a break from writing these for a bit, but I did want to get through the idea I had about something from Minerva's perspective. This one is in third person, set after Villains Never Retire. No idea what I'm talking about? Check out the first of the Synovus works here! There'll be a bit of a delay, but this one will join the rest of the Synoverse up on Ao3 here. How many parts will this be? I've learned my lesson, I'm not estimating.]

Minerva had stopped expecting her life to be ‘normal’ before she’d graduated High School.

When at 16 you were already having to downplay your physical strength to avoid taking doors off of their hinges, and realizing that you could never, ever join the swim team even if you could absolutely destroy any of the times they posted, there were a few other things your mind put together in the background.

Like the fact that you would never be safe again.

Hiding things about herself wasn’t exactly conducive to the kind of relationship she wanted, so romance was dead. That was fine at the time, actually, most of the people she’d been interested in had turned out to be more interested in… well, a variety of things ranging from other people to free emotional support. The point was, she’d been more upset by the idea that any of her personal goals for a career were now permanently marred by the terror that she’d have to do some kind of blood test that would brand her as a ‘cape.’

And that it would have to be hidden was never even a question. Sure, there were heroes around who people were proud of when she was younger. But every so often, those heroes would go out to fight, and be seen again as scorched remains in a crater left by a man called Sunhallow. Other villains, too. People said he was targeting anyone who might be a threat to him if they didn’t work for him.

Kids in her classes had mostly made fun of the costume.

Even after Sunhallow’s disappearance and rumored death, when she was in her senior year, people were wary. Things like Sunhallow didn’t just die. They always came back. There was always a second shoe to drop.

And no one knew about her then, not yet, so she thought maybe... maybe she could live a little?

Going off to college had felt like the last chance she had at any degree of ‘normalcy’ and even that was tempered by the gnawing sense of something missing, something wrong. She’d put it down to anxiety about her classes and pushed through it, sure it would eventually pass.

Minerva hadn’t been a teenager for about two decades now. But that sense of… something missing had never really gone away.

She'd experimented with drinking and with a few variations on marijuana, and a variety of at-home remedies like aromatherapy and meditations. She'd tried a therapist, twice, even though she felt like she couldn't tell them everything about herself, and she knew that kind of defeated a lot of the point of therapy. And that gnawing feeling continued, until it seemed stranger to imagine a world without it.

There were times it was so muted, so quiet that she could forget about it - when she was in a fight, or diving, or when Alexandria had been little. Sometimes Albion could drive it away, and make her feel sane.

But she’d never felt quite as… at peace, as she did when she was in costume. That was the only time, the only place, that the sense of something missing really faded away.

Plenty of people had told her that every cape had something deeply wrong with them, to be the kind of person to do what they did. Minerva had never corrected them.

—-

“You’re awake early.”

Minerva glanced over one shoulder, unsurprised to see Synovus draped against half of her doorframe. She’d left the door open, and Synovus was very carefully on the edge where she could shut the door in their face, if she’d wanted. Trying not to be an intrusion, even as they unrepentantly stuck their metaphorical nose into her business.

“Judging by your face, you haven’t slept.” Minerva said critically.

Synovus made a noise of mock dismay, and Minerva risked giving them a closer look. Yes, the bags under their eyes were more pronounced than usual, and their hair was a barely-contained mess, but none of that worried her. The haphazard state of their clothing was, frankly, par for the course around the island these days.

“Evil never sleeps, m-Minerva.” The slip up was slight, covered for quickly and smoothly. Once, she wouldn’t have caught it. Now, she knew Synovus better.

‘My Dear Minerva,’ they’d almost said.

Minerva ignored it.

“I’m taking that trip to the mainland I talked about.” She explained, turning her back on the most confusing human being she’d ever known in favor of checking her case’s contents for the third time.

Synovus hummed, and Minerva stiffened on reflex. She relaxed almost as quickly, but still mentally scolded herself. Synovus hummed when they were uncertain of themselves, not to try and trap her into an argument. They’d said several times that she was both welcome to stay and to leave at her discretion.

This was normal. This was fine.

“If you should… need anything, while you’re out there-“ Synovus was picking their words carefully, skirting around potential condescension or worry to come off as affable, almost disinterested. It didn’t really work.

“I will be fine.” Minerva says firmly, turning to glare if need be.

Instead, she meets Synovus’s gaze. Their eyes are clear for the moment, no shadows flickering, no lights swirling. Instead, the only thing she sees in them is… confidence.

“I know.” Synovus says, and even the faint lilt of humor isn’t enough to hide the certainty in that statement. They clear their throat, “I have no misgivings about your strength and ability to use it, Lady Minerva. But, should you wish to be better than ‘fine’ while out and about in the world…”

They trail off, and Minerva wonders, idly, if it’s possible to push them so far into discomfort that they start using ‘thee’ instead of ‘you.’ She’d rather think about that than the sheer faith Synovus had in her, and what that might mean aside from further proof Synovus was -

There were too many ways to finish that sentence. Her mind rejected all of them with a studious determination before Synovus realized she wasn’t going to finish their sentence either.

“… you will call?” They asked softly.

A few months ago, Minerva might’ve sneered at the implication she would ever ask Synovus for anything. But then she’d been captured, ‘outmaneuvered’ by a pair of up-and-coming villains with a hostage trick, and then each and every one of her backup plans came crashing down when her daughter had been thrown into a trap right beside her.

And then there had been rain in the desert, and the sound of a Villain’s taunt ringing through the spire’s PA system, and eventually - Synovus themself, there to take both of them home. Even if they’d had several reasons to do it that had nothing to do with her, or Alexandria.

“One day, Minerva.” Synovus had murmured then, “I'm going to prove to you that my affection for you is not a trap”

“I’ll call when I’m on my way back to the island.” Minerva said coolly now, closing a mental door on the reverie. “If only so you don’t wake your entire staff in a panic.”

Synovus winced. A week prior, the sensors that alerted any Cape’s approach to the island had mis-triggered, mistaking a particularly dense patch of seagulls for someone with flight making an unauthorized approach. Watching the way everyone leapt to alarm stations and fell immediately into place had been impressive. Watching a sleep deprived Synovus throw their helmet at the birds (and miss) once they’d realized what had happened had been hilarious.

"Who's panicking?" The bleary voice comes from behind Synovus, and they shift aside to let Alexandria through.

Minerva's wayward teenage daughter looked like she was still contemplating waking up - like her body had just gotten ahead of schedule, and the rest of her hadn't caught up yet. Synovus ruffled her hair affectionately as she passed.

"No one yet, though the night's still young." Synovus replied, while Alexandria stepped forward to hug Minerva.

Minerva was still trying to learn not to hug too tightly, every time something happened. Logically, she knew there was nowhere in the world safer than Synovus's island. And she knew her daughter could defend herself.

But Minerva had been afraid of losing her long before she'd ever been born, and that fear didn't die easy.

"It's seven in the morning." Minerva scolded over Alexandria's shoulder.

Synovus frowned, and made a show of finding their phone to squint at the time it displayed. Their frown deepened, as though they had caught the bit of technology lying to them.

Alexandria had shifted from a full hug to standing to one side, still leaning on Minerva. "I'll call Rosie." She threatened. The yawn that cut her off kept her from living up to her chosen moniker.

Synovus shrugged, slipping the phone back into a pocket. "I won't sleep any faster if they're yelling at me." They point out. "Anyway, your mother-" It was always 'your mother' in front of Alexandria, "-agreed to call ahead on her way back. So we don't get another birdstrike scenario."

"It'd be more like the time with the dolphins." Alexandria remarked. Minerva raised a brow, looking from her daughter back to Synovus, who turned both hands palm up and looked mildly chagrined.

"Nevermind, I'm sure I don't want to know." Minerva says, waving it off both to avoid the headache, and because she's still itching to get going.

Alexandria knows the tone well enough - she gives Minerva another squeeze, then slips away to join Synovus by the doorway. She yawns again, and calls back over her shoulder, "Tell Gran and Gramps I said hi."

When she's gone again, Synovus and Minerva consider each other - one hesitant, the other wary. After a moment, Synovus extends a hand, offering, "Safe travels."

Minerva checks their palm for a sign of something they might be trying to slip her before shaking it. "Thanks." She said flatly.

And if she finds herself rubbing her fingers on the walk down to the beach, well, it's a subconscious tic. Unrelated.

---

There’s a common phrase that’s worked it’s way into becoming a whole saying.

“You never forget your first.”

For most people, that’s a marker of a degree of intimacy - a first crush, a first kiss, a first sexual experience. But it holds true for other things as well - like a first horrific allergic reaction. And arguments can be made that that’s all love really is, anyway.

Among the caped community, there’s a different list of firsts. The first person you told about your abilities. The first time you found out you had abilities. The first other hero you’d ever met. A popular ice breaker at parties is ‘the first person you ever saved.’

Less popular are the counterpoints: the first person you couldn’t save. The first villain you encountered. The first time you had to choose in the heat of a moment, and you chose wrong.

For Minerva, a terrifying amount of her caped ‘firsts’ have the same name - Albion.

He’d been the first person to find out about her abilities, and the first powered person she’d ever met face to face. A misunderstanding wherein he thought she’d been swept out to sea by a riptide and she assumed the figure dropping from the sky was out to get her had resulted in a very confused half-fight, wherein they’d saved each other from their own nonsense.

She’d thought once that that was how it would always be - saving each other. Things had turned out more in favor of the slap-fighting and misunderstandings.

—-

Minerva is working up the courage to get out of her car when her phone buzzes.

Alex: So how’s it going?

Despite herself, Minerva smiles, just a little. She can’t put her finger on why, and doesn’t try to.

Min: I’ve only just gotten here. Haven’t even knocked on the door yet.

Alex: Okay, then how was the drive?

Min: It was fine.

Minerva grimaces. That feels insufficient. She wracks her memory for something else to add, but the drive was hardly anything, nothing stands out. Before she can come up with something else, there’s a response:

Alex: Y’know, I should’ve offered to fly you over.

Minerva raises an eyebrow.

Min: And why’s that?

Alex: I still want to let you talk to them alone and everything, but they could’ve just seen me drop you off, and been like “who’s that really cool goth girl?”

Alex: And you could say something like “I have much to tell you” and bam, ice broken.

Min: Is Synovus giving you advice on dramatic entrances?

Alex: You never told me that one time they stole a whole cruise ship for the ambiance.

Min: Is that what they’re calling it?

Minerva’s mouth twitches again. Yes, Synovus had commandeered a cruise ship, and spent the whole fight spouting off about how it was good to have ‘variety’ in one’s combat scenarios. They’d also convinced part of the ship’s entertainment crew to set up a big ‘reveal’ of who had taken over the ship, as though anyone else would’ve bothered to think of musical cues.

She’d been tempted to sink the ship.

While Alexandria goes briefly radio-silent - presumably to grill Synovus for more details on the cruise ship story - Minerva looks up towards the house she’s never seen before.

It’s a relatively unassuming one-story. It’s ten minutes on foot from here to where the coast starts, and she could have her feet in the water by the fifteen minute mark. The sound of the waves is different here than it is on the island - there aren’t any cliffs or underwater tunnels, only the long smooth curve of a beach made more of rocks than sand. It’s soothing.

A twitch of a curtain in one window reminds her she’s looking at the house, not the ocean. Mentally, she scolds herself for wasting time.

She allows herself one last white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and one last deep breath.

Then Minerva gets out of her car, and goes to talk to the parents she hasn’t seen in seven years.

—-

When Minerva became a hero, it went something like this:

She’d always been a strong swimmer. Her family lived near the water line, always, so it wasn’t unusual for her to come into contact with the ocean at least once a day, when the weather was fair, and rain or snow when it wasn’t.

Her parents had always seemed overly cautious about calling her out of the water before it got too cold, or before she could get too tired, but that’s any child’s perspective. She wouldn’t get sick from a bit of splashing around, even if there were frost films on the windows and flurries in the air. And as she got older, they trusted her to know her limits more and more, and her confidence had only grown.

Which was why, when they’d seen the small crowd gathering at the road not far from where they lived at the time and heard the murmurs that someone had been swept out to sea, Minerva had been absolutely certain that she could save them.

She’d gone home, put on her wetsuit, and been out of her window in minutes. It wasn’t hard to find a cove out of sight of the news crews and nervous watchers. And even as the light was dimming, she didn’t feel afraid.

Because once Minerva was in the water, nothing could touch her.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t feel the currents, the motions of the waves - she did. They just didn’t have sway over her unless she allowed it. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t tell the light was darkening, or the temperature falling - she could. They were just minor shifts, like the movement of a sunbeam across her arms while she read in the windowsill.

So Minerva had swept out on the same current that had ripped a man from the shallows, and looked for the signs of a person’s floundering.

This, admittedly, had been the weakest part of her plan, because she had no idea how to find someone in the vast expanse of potential that was the ocean. All she really had going for her was that she was fast, could manually follow the currents, and didn’t get cold. And, she eventually realized, she might’ve been looking for a corpse instead of a person, and how would she find that?

Those doubts had just had time to start to settle when she found him.

Minerva never did learn his name, but he was a few years older than her, there visiting his family, which was why he hadn’t known the signs he needed to look out for. He knew what a riptide was, and that he was supposed to try and swim parallel to shore to escape it, but everything happened so fast and it was so cold, that all he could really do was tread water. At least, that’s the story she got out of him as she towed him back to shore.

The only time her courage had faltered had been when he’d asked for her name, after she’d brought him to the secluded cove, and directed him towards the crowd.

“You saved my life.” He’d explained, still dazed and weak. “Who do I - how do I thank you?”

And there had been a sudden feeling of ice water down her spine, as she’d remembered the stories of what happened to people who were saviors.

“Tell them a Naiad saved you.” She’d called, moving back into the waves. “It’s true enough!”

There’d been speculation that he misheard her, and that her name was ‘Maya’ for a while. But in the end, the story faded - and Minerva never forgot.

—-

There’s no good, simple way to repair a cut tie with someone you love.

Whether things frayed until they snapped, withered and disintegrated, or were cut cleanly, that thread can never be respun. You have to start over, and try and weave with the tangled threads of what’s left.

Sometimes the threads are still the same color - soft pastels of passing friendships that blend well enough when they’re given the opportunity. Sometimes you find that while you weren’t looking (and sometimes when you were) the threads have been dyed, and the red that meant love once has been shot through with the purples of bruises and resentment, its original hues shifted to rage. That was what Minerva expected to find, when she came home. That’s what most of her own tapestry looked like these days, after all.

Instead, she found the golden honey color of home.

—-

It took a few hours for them to all wind up at the kitchen table. They’d covered for some of the awkwardness by showing her the house - her father’s most recent crochet project, pictures of last year’s garden, how her mother had finally decided to organize the spice cabinet after six years of deliberation and relabeling.

(She’d frowned and swapped two canisters while Minerva’s father wasn’t looking, and Minerva nearly cried at the familiarity of it.)

Then had come the insistence of refreshments, of warm drinks against the coolness of the weather. The porch was a bit damp, and the living room a bit dark, but the table was mostly clear so long as she didn’t mind shuffling aside a few skeins of yarn, would that do?

And so they’d settled in, as the rain drummed softly into the roof and dripped from the overhang that shielded the window. And her father had taken a breath, met her eyes, and said,

“We love you. And you don’t owe us a damn thing.”

Minerva had blinked. That wasn’t what she was expecting.

Her mother nodded firmly, adding, “Not an explanation, not an apology - if you want to talk about any of it, Min, you know - I want you to know - that we’ll listen, anytime, anywhere. But if all you want is to come over for dinner, then that’s all we’ll do.”

Minerva stared at her cup, trying to think of where to begin. What would be polite - no, they didn’t stand on manners with family. What would be right- well, by whose standards? What did she want?

Finally, she croaked, “I think I - I want you to ask.”

And so they did.

And so Minerva told them.

She told them about how she’d become slowly convinced that her continued nearness to them was putting them in danger. She told them about how Albion was always reminding her of the need to be cautious, the importance of not ever being caught. She told them about how sometimes he’d bring up the Sunhallow purges, and try to make a plan for what they’d do if it ever happened again.

She told them about how he’d begged her to make the move, citing crime rates and health statistics and population graphs, anything to get her to concede they would be better - safer - away from the city, further inland. If not for her, then for their child. And how she’d eventually caved, because if he was so worried, and this would bring him more peace of mind, then she could bear it. It would keep the people she loved safe.

She told them about how she’d tried to look into finding a place near water - a lake, a pond, a river. Every time, Albion had assured her that he was keeping that in mind, but that he’d handle it, really. She didn’t need to stress, especially when she was keeping up with so much otherwise. He admired her for being able to manage so much, the house and the hero gig, and could he just do this one thing for her?

She told them about how the house had been twenty minutes away from the nearest large water source. About how she’d begged him for something - anything. A koi pond. A pool. A goddamned well.

“Think about how that would look to the neighbors, ‘Thena.” He’d said worriedly. “I know you - you get underwater and you don’t come out for hours. They’ll think you’re drowning yourself.”

So they’d bought the largest tub she could find, and she’d spent as much time as she could submerged in it, staring at its porcelain sides and the bathroom lighting and feeling like a fish in a bowl. She’d told herself it was a selfish thought.

She told them about how he would sometimes grab her too roughly, or slam things around her. Sometimes it was a joke, played off as training her instincts. Sometimes it wasn’t.

“I just - you’re the only person in the whole world I can let my guard down around.” He’d muttered to her, mid-apology after a shove had left her sternum aching and purple. “I love you so much, I don’t stop to think.”

Somehow, she’d wound up being the one comforting him.

And she chokes out how having accepted those reasons made it easier to believe them herself, when Alex had the occasional bruise. When she reached out to slap her hand away from something, or pulled a bit too roughly. It felt like validation for everything Albion had said - look, it was easy to fall into. It didn’t mean anything.

It happened all the time.

And there was no one, by then, to tell her otherwise, because friendships were liabilities and risks that they couldn’t take, because it wasn’t right to endanger others with a secret they would never share. There were no work friends. No PTA rivalries. No soccer parent associations.

There was only the house, and the freedom that came from going out in costume. And even then, there could be no interviews, and every statement had to be carefully measured so that no one - not a villain, or a civilian, or even another hero - could learn something they shouldn’t.

Laying it out like this, Minerva realizes that it’s no wonder she only ever felt like herself in a fight. It was the only time she didn’t have to hold back any part of who she was.

She’s expecting her parents to condemn her for not realizing when she’d turned from - (her mind skitters away from the term ‘abused’) bystander to accomplice in Albion’s behavior. She’s expecting hurt that she didn’t trust them to make their own decisions about risks. She’s expecting them to say they taught her better than this.

Instead, they listen. Even when there are times one or both tightens their grip on their mugs, or wrestles to avoid showing some emotion (because it is no mystery where she got her temper; none of them are strangers to righteous rage) they do not interject outside of the quiet, prompting questions. And when she finally stumbles to a halt, before she’s even gotten to Synovus and the kidnapping, her mother comes to kneel beside her and wrap her arms around her, while her father stands at her other shoulder and does the same.

“You’re free now?” Her mother asks, running her fingers through Minerva’s hair. “You and Alex both?”

Minerva nods. She clears her throat, enough to force two words out, “Albion’s dead.”

She realizes that there’s an implication there, that she wielded the spear that killed him. The idea doesn’t hurt as much as it would’ve once - but neither of her parents so much as blink.

“Good.” Her mother says firmly. “Then that’s all you need to focus on right now, Min. No matter how long it takes you to untangle the knots he’s tied you in - you’re free.”

—-

Truth be told, Minerva doesn’t know when her parents figured out she had powers. For all she knows, they had known since she was born.

But one night, when she and Albion had been staying with her parents for a week, and they’d gone out to fight, they came back to see one of her parents on the porch, the other in the windowsill.

“You’re both alright?” Her father had asked.

No surprise. No exclamations. No how-could-yous. Concern. Acknowledgement. A reminder of when breakfast would be ready.

And that was that.

—-

The guest room in their new house isn’t the same as a childhood bedroom, but to Minerva, it feels similar. She’s under their roof again, with all the reflexive memories and half-forgotten ones tugged along with them.

She had expected to feel… well, different. Not good, probably kind of bad. And she didn’t feel lighter yet, the way people said confessions were supposed to make you feel. Instead, Minerva felt… raw. Sticky. Like the truth she’d tried to ‘set free’ had just come back to cling to her.

She was too emotionally exhausted to try and parse that. Better to get some sleep, if she could.

Minerva unzipped her suitcase, flipping it open on the bed. Her suitcase, that she’d checked so many times over. The suitcase with all of her clothing and things in perfect organization, untouched.

And a postcard sitting loose on top of them.

It had to have been custom-made. There was no stamp, for one thing, no actual postal markings. Just the same shape and size, with the same stylized ‘Wish you were here’ emblazoned across a picture… a picture of Synovus. On the beach. In full costume. With the necessary additions of a woven wide-brim hat and loose Hawaiian floral shirt left unbuttoned, on top of the helmet and body armor. They were holding a glass of juice with a little umbrella and a silly straw.

Alone in this bedroom that wasn’t hers, but might’ve been, Minerva burst out laughing.

[serenityseventeen]

Love & Letter: To The Thirteen Boys I've Loved Before

The Eighth Letter

----------------

To: Xu Minghao

From: Y/N

Dear Minghao,

I just want to thank you for being my friend despite my awkward confession, even if this current friendship might not last long. Actually, I don't think it will.

I'll be honest here since I didn't tell you this yet.

I spent a few years away from love. My high school years had so many different love stories and none of them exactly had a happy ending. They were all bittersweet endings and even the love story with you is a bit bittersweet.

I guess I misinterpreted your actions. I'm not mad or extremely sad that you rejected me, I feel like that put me in my place. Now that I think about it, maybe we weren't meant to be lovers. So, I don't want to drift away from you just because you rejected my confession. I'm not going to love you like that anymore, I want to keep you as a true friend.

I hope you won't feel awkward around me. I can already feel the awkward air but I wish for it to fade quickly. Let's not stop being friends. I'll stop loving you though. I hope you won't think of me differently now that I've confessed. I feel like you would pretend that it's fine but inside, the awkwardness only grows.

As I'm writing this letter, the fate of us is still being determined. Even I don't know what we are going to become. If the ending for us is unhappy and we decide to stop being friends... Well, I would blame myself for it. I would be losing a friend that I adored.

MinghaoI won't ever talk about my confession again so I'm writing this.

, you're a really attractive guy. I'm sure that anyone would fall for you if they got to know you. You're fashionable, fun, kind, warm-hearted, and also a great therapist, haha. You give me the best advice and always listen to my problems whenever I need to let them out. You always encourage me to speak up.

Remember that one time when I was getting yelled at by the professor over a misunderstanding? I was just standing there like a complete idiot, listening to the professor's words of criticism when you stood up and said, “Professor, it wasn't Y/N's fault. If you looked closely, you would have seen that the dress already had holes in it from the beginning. It was a part of the design. As a fashion professor, how could you overlook that?”

Your expression was so serious and you completely cornered the professor. I feel kind of bad talking about the professor like this but I just want to praise you. The professor apologized after class but I knew he was unwilling to admit his mistake.

When you stood up for me for the first time, you left such an admirable first impression. I wanted to get to know you immediately! You were so cool speaking straightforwardly like that and not hesitantly speaking your mind and standing up for me. I still admire you.

Minghao, honestly, I don't think we'll be okay.

The words still kind of hurt me. Whenever I see you, I think back on those words you said to me.

Since I was just a friend that confessed, I don't think you would remember your response to my confession, so let me remind you; not in a bad way. Since this is a keepsake letter, I just want to remind myself.

I think you and I were in front of an art museum together. You invited me along that bright, sunny morning, and of course, after realizing my feelings, I couldn't deny your offer. I was excited.

I'm sure you'll never know my side of the story so I'll tell you everything that happened that day and why it leaves a small scar in my chest. I'm not blaming you for it, I'm blaming myself. Minghao, it's all my fault.

Honestly, I was too expectant. Gosh... I was way too ahead of myself that day. Our friendly hangout in my head was a date.

After you invited me and told me that you'd come to pick me up in 30 minutes, I rolled out of my college dormitory bed and rushed everything. I did my hair, makeup, and tried to dress prettily for you.

I did my best in that short amount of time but the only thing you complimented was my outfit. Sure, I was happy, but also disappointed. I was bummed because I didn't even have a chance to breathe, meanwhile, you were looking as fashionable as ever with almost no effort.

The museum was fun. I always had a knack for art so everything was admirable and lovely. What made it better was that I was able to spend that time with you. We shared our thoughts with each other but to me, you looked way too serious. I should have gotten the hint then that you didn't feel the same way about me as I did toward you.

Suddenly, this lump started forming on my chest and I just felt like I should get it off. I didn't want to hold back anymore so after walking around the art museum, the words just slipped out of my mouth.

Then you went silent while staring at me.

“I'm sorry.”

I said it was fine then because I thought I was really fine with the rejection. But just a bit after, I realized that I couldn't ride in the same car as you. I wouldn't be able to. Everything came flooding back into my brain, the memories of us that I thought were memorable. That's why I told you to leave first. I'm sure you knew that we both were uncomfortable.

After you left, I just sort of... reminisced our sweet moments that seemed romantic enough to make us more than friends. I did that while taking a walk.

I especially remembered the days when we went shopping, worked together after courses and talked about our days. Even these things that seem so small held so many memorable things to me, including moments that made my heart pound and race.

Since you rejected me, friend-zoning me, I can only conclude that you don't like me back, thus the conclusion that these moments meant nothing more than acts of kindness.

Minghao, you shouldn't be so kind, or else people would misunderstand you, like me. Why must you be so attractive? You're masculine but at the same time, you can become so soft and cute and caring.

Anyway, at this point, you've probably lost interest in reading this letter (if you ever read it). I hope you'll trudge on though as I keep going forward with the reminiscing. I know that you like reading, Minghao.

So, when we went to the bookstore, there was something memorable that happened to me there.

Yes, it made my heart pound too.

Yes, it made me fall harder for you.

I was really sleepy that day. All the college work piling up only made me more stressed and I was so tired. You didn't know that I was, did you?

I ended up falling asleep at a table while you were choosing books.

When I woke up, I saw your face. It wasn't upside down, you were sitting next to me, with your head lying against the table, facing me. It's still a question to me why you did that when you could have just woken me up or sat somewhere else, but well, you rejected me.

You and I just stared at each other. I was wondering then, what were you thinking?

At that time, I didn't know how you felt about me, so every little thing was hope. Your face was so close to mine and our bodies were against each other slightly. I was able to feel your warm breath.

“Are you wide awake now?” You asked.

Minghao, when you asked that, I honestly got the feeling that you were nervous because you quickly got up and removed the book you have placed under my head while I was sleeping.

You? Nervous? I guess I was wrong.

Even now, I feel a bit hopeful that maybe sometimes, I did make your heart race, but that's all just false hope.

We went clothes shopping around a month ago.

You wanted to get some new hats and I tagged along because we were friends. While picking hats, we were talking about normal stuff that we always talk about, so I was busy with that conversation. I was talking to you while looking at hats and then suddenly, I felt a hat plop down on my head.

When I turned around, I nearly bumped into your chest. Your hand was still on my head, where the hat was placed. I was so nervous and my whole body was burning up, you know that?

After that, you had to attack again with your soft giggles and smile, making me completely melt.

Then, you took off the hat and patted my head and ruffed my hair, then continued the conversation as if you didn't just do that to me. Of course, you probably never knew how I felt.

This is the last one, I promise.

I picked this one carefully.

That day after courses. It was a rainy afternoon and we were together at the library, studying and working together.

It was getting dark but we didn't expect the rain so we didn't take umbrellas with us. We ended up staying at the library for hours, just talking.

That was the important, special part of this memory.

We talked a lot and I was happy. You made a lot of jokes and I learned a lot more about you. You also smiled a lot. I was just really happy to be around you, talking about your life and mine.

I don't know why this one is the most memorable for me. I just always, constantly, remember the scene of us sitting at a table in the library, talking to each other beside a window painted with raindrops.

I don't know if you felt it but to me, it seemed more like we were flirting.

Minghao, now that I've reached the near end of this letter, I think I've decided the future for us.

Let's not stay friends. I don't want to fall for you. I don't want to love you. Being your friend would only make it worse for both of us since you didn't feel the same way.

You asking me to your b-boy competitions, you asking me to look at your art projects, it was all just normal things that friends would do but I overreacted.

It's all my fault and I'm sorry for it. I'm sorry and I know that I can't fix our friendship. I was such a fool.

Minghao, I hope you can find a better friend than me; A friend that doesn't misunderstand you, a friend that can love you without falling for you romantically, a friend that can be better than me.

My love stories always have a bittersweet ending so don't worry, you're not the only guy.

Thank you for being my friend for a year. I really appreciate it. You were a great buddy, fun, kind, serious, and caring.

I'm sorry for being this way.

I'm sorry for what I did, though I can't take back my confession.

I shouldn't have fallen in love, right?

Sincerely,

Y/N

-----------------

© serenityseventeen

7/1/21 - 10:28 pm

a/n: Get well! Wishing our best leader a healthy recovery!!! + it's the month of July, which means... Wonwoo's bday (and my sister's). + Ending fairy Boo = iconic ><