#messy recovery

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Still

cw: alcoholism, bad coping mechanisms

previous // Wildefire Masterlist // next

•°•°•

He held the plastic water bottle in a tight metal fist, not bothering to snap the seal and open it. Spyglass had handed it to him, right after she'd ushered him to the beat-up sofa in the rogues’ living room. Hospitality. It felt like a foreign concept to Alexei these days; a polite garnish that didn't matter to people like Chopper or Uriah, at least not when they were dealing with people like him. 

The bottle of vodka was still in his other hand. Spyglass hadn't tried to take it away, and he supposed he was grateful for that. At least he was free to make his own bad choices. Still, he wished he'd thought to sober up before collapsing on their doorstep. Allies or not, the last time he'd been here, he'd woken up without his cybernetics, shut in a room, and yeah they'd fucking saved him, but he hadn't asked them to, he hadn't…

Lex took a shaky breath, eyeing the vodka. 

(cry, fly, sigh, why)

No. Steady on.

This time, he was asking them to save him, wasn't he? Or at least asking for help to save himself. He wished the room would stop spinning, he wished his heart would fucking slow down. He was in the company of familiar strangers and maybe that was safer than the streets but was it really safe? (Strafe) He should've sobered up, he needed his head on straight, his wits as sharp as he could get them. If coming here was a mistake (break), if he'd jumped the gun, he had to be able to run, he had to be able to fight them off. 

Could he? 

(spry, dry, lie)

Could he?

“Hey.”

Lex flinched at the voice, the stinging smell of burning plastic filling his nose as his arms flashed hot, melting away the hospitality bottle. Plastic stuck to his hand in a goo, water puddling on the ground below it. Fuck.

“Whoops.” It was the kid who'd startled him. Firebrand. Spyglass had said something about telling the others he was here, didn't she? His memory was as blurred as his vision. Not good.

He dug a metal knuckle into his cheekbone, willing his head to clear. Firebrand stood on the other side of the room, her head canted to one side.

“You look rough.”

This kid. “I had a long night,” he replied, trying not to let his words slur. He wished he'd left the bottle outside, in an alley, something.

“I didn't think you'd come back.”

“Mhm.”

“Spyglass said you wanna kill Uriah.”

He clenched his jaw, nodding.

“So do I.” Her chin lifted, and his eyes caught on the silver beads twisted into her hair, clinking softly with the motion. They'd been gold before. 

“I think we could do it,” the girl said. “You and me. We're strong enough.”

“You don't look like a killer.”

“Could probably kill you if I wanted.”

He was struck by the sudden urge to laugh. Her audacity never ceased to amaze him. With the state he was in, she was probably right, but somehow, the notion didn't fill him with panic. Felt a little more like old times, like banter with other Neath contractors. But unlike them, the kid was face to face with every ugly scar he had and not giving a damn. It was... refreshing.

“How would you do it?” he asked. The weight of the bottle was becoming more noticeable in his hand, but he tried to ignore it. Not in front of the kid.

“Burn down his office while he's stuck inside,” Firebrand said without missing a beat. “All of Titanium, gone.”

“What about the fallout?”

“I'm a fast runner.”

Lex let out a huff that bordered on a chuckle. Maybe she could. Maybe what they really needed was the audacity to act against Corp, to stop being afraid of what could go wrong, to stop thinking of the consequences, of the aftermath, of being hunted down and outnumbered and taken—

“Cinder?”

Alexei clenched his jaw, wrapping both hands around the neck of the vodka bottle, trying to steady himself, steady his breaths. Usually the booze distanced his fears, at least a little. Usually it let him sleep. Tonight… this morning… all it was doing was scrambling around his thoughts, dredging up things he didn't want to remember in front of anyone.

He could see Firebrand taking a seat from the edge of his vision, didn't want to look closer, didn't want to see if she was confused or concerned or disgusted. He kept staring at his hands, dully aware of twisting in his core at the sound of movement to his left.

“Okay, finally got Rosie out of bed. Cinder— ah, shit, let me get you a new bottle.” Spyglass hurried down the stairs, a skinny boy and a pallid blonde girl following behind her. A fresh water bottle was extended towards him, and he took it without much thought, eyeing the newcomers as they took to seats around the room, their own eyes carefully lingering on Lex.

He tried to fight the way his muscles tensed at their arrival; he wouldn't be put on edge so easily, no better than an untrained dog. (slog) He could deal with people, and these people supposedly were on his side. And if anything happened, he could still run. (shun) The sofa seemed pretty flammable. (damnable) That would make an adequate distraction, and the only one with any combative powers was Firebrand, and her powers couldn't hurt him, and—

“Cinder?”

Had Spyglass just said something? He glanced at her, trying to blink her face into focus, trying to sharpen everything.

Her face was open, something… soft about it. Maybe it was the way everything was still a little blurry, maybe it was just too early for her to be on edge.

“I want you to trust us,” Spyglass said after a moment. “So… I think an introduction is in order. A proper one.” She fiddled with her glasses, eyes dropping for a moment before she continued. “So yeah. I'll go first. I'm Sarah.”

He knew. He'd read all their files, after Fox sent him to kill them. He nodded anyway.

“Akeela,” said the kid. “I do fires.”

“Hugo.” Scrawny boy. “Tech stuff. I fixed your arms.”

“Rosie,” said the blonde, not offering anything else. He already knew. Possum. Couldn't die.

Lex swallowed, wishing for the familiar trail of fire down his throat. Four sets of eyes on him were too many. Even before Titanium and Fox and the Tower, it had been ingrained in him to never be the center of attention. Blend in, stick to the shadows. To be noticed is to be in danger of compromising a mission.

“Just Cinder works,” he said. “You all… you know what I do.”

Spyglass—Sarah—didn’t push it, though her smile seemed to tighten at the edges.

“Great. Yeah. Well, Cinder is gonna take the second-story bedroom. I know it'll take some getting used to, but—”

“Isn't that the room that's full of junk?” Rosie piped up, chin in her hand.

“We'll clean it up.” She sighed, turning her gaze to Lex. “Sorry, we just… I wasn't sure you'd come back.”

“It's fine.” He shook his head. A fucking bathtub would be a suitable room if it meant Fox wouldn't find him.

“Yeah, well. That's the team. Do you want me to show you where the room’s at?” She stood as she spoke, keeping a few feet back as she gestured for the staircase.

Yes. Being in here was better than being outside—the feeling of a wall at his back, drawn curtains, locked door between him and any suspicious eyes—but there were still too many strangers surrounding him. Kids or not, he couldn't keep his skin from crawling. He followed her up the stairs, grateful his legs didn't betray him when he stood.

Just like the blonde kid said, the room was full of shit, like whoever'd abandoned the place had used it as a storage room. Sheet-draped furniture cluttered the space, a musty smell sticking to the scattered objects. One small window, covered by a thick curtain. One internal entry point. The door looked flimsy, but he tried to push past that observation. There were allies on the other side, not spies. Maybe he couldn't trust the rogues, not really, but they stood to lose as much as he did if Uriah found them.

“I'm glad you came back,” Spyglass (Sarah) said behind him, and Lex flinched at her voice. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It's fine.” He should've heard her. The fucking booze was dulling his senses. “I had to come back.” Metal fingers clutched at a covered sofa, dropping as the smell of singed fabric hit him. “I meant it,” he said. “Uriah needs to die.”

Spyglass sighed, leaning on the doorframe. “I know.”

“I'll do what you need me to,” he said. “Kill who you need me to kill, fight, anything. But Uriah needs to die.”

She hesitated. He didn't like that. She had to want the same thing, they all did. If Uriah was gone, maybe they could stop fucking hiding, couldn't she see that?

“It's not that easy,” she said at last.

“Why?”

“Killing Fox won’t get the target off your back. It's not just him. It's all of Corp. Taking out one of their CEOs would just throw gasoline on the fire.”

He knew. Corp was rotten, but it wasn't personal for them the way it was for Uriah. “They wouldn't catch me,” he said.

“What about us? You don't think they can track it back, now that you're here?”

“Then I'll leave,” Lex said through clenched teeth. “I don't need your help to take him out.”

“Then why did you come back at all?”

(spall, brawl, crawl)

He couldn't find an answer to that. He could take Uriah out by himself. He didn't need them, he was endangering them just by being here, so why the fuck would he come back at all? Why had he come here instead of storming Titanium, instead of dragging Uriah out of his bed and finishing the job?

Because he didn't have anywhere else to go. Didn't have anyone else he could take a chance on. Because his weeks of so-called freedom had been a blur of booze and violence, a desperate attempt to move so fast his own fear wouldn't catch up to him, an attempt that always failed. 

Because he was still scared.

“I can't sleep,” Lex answered.

Sarah's brows lowered, eyes searching his face. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft. Nothing accusing, no pity, just something that almost understood. “Okay,” she said again. “Look, I swear we're working on the problem. We'll figure it out, something, one way or another.”

Working on it how? he wanted to say. Was there anything other than death that would be safe enough? Final enough? But all he said back was, “Okay."

Sarah gave him a tired smile, backtracking for the door.

“Wait and see,” she said. “And while you do, I hope you can sleep.”

•°•°•

tag list:

@whumpacabra  @enteredin2eternity  @kixngiggles  @whumpsday  @kiichu 

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @shywhumpauthor  @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise ,

@whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump ,  @snakebites-and-ink

[chimerafeathers]

you know what i think Mirabelle deserves to get a little fucked up freaky in how she processes learning about Siffrin’s loops post-canon. for fun. as a treat

thinking about this line in particular and stretching out the implications like taffy

this is a more romanticized, cutesy facet of her interests but she’s still framing Siffrin’s situation through storytelling. so like. What If.

i mean. this woman loves horror and gore and monsters and horrible things happening to innocent people. IN FICTION. in fiction!!! obviously!!!! and it’s beyond terrible that something even remotely close to any of that happened to her real friend in real life!!

BUT.

maybe. maybe sometimes, if the conditions are right, she gets a little too wrapped up in her imagination about the bloody, awful poetry of it all. maybe Siffrin tells a joke that's a little too dark and gory for anyone else, borderline or full-on Concerning, but she latches onto it without thinking about the Implications and plays along with increasing gruesomeness because FINALLYYYYY someone will play with her in the Horror Space (like Isabeau does in the romance space!!) and then. OOPS. the implications!!!! and she has to recalibrate out of Fun With Fiction mode into Oh No, My Friend Underwent A Horrifying Ordeal mode.

but being able to joke about things, even the awful things, is...kind of comforting, to Siffrin. makes them feel less like they're being babied and pitied and more like what happened was something...normal, almost? something that doesn't have to feel like the end of the world all over again every time it's mentioned, at least. so he tries to reassure her, and Odile and Isabeau have to go “actually can you PLEASE not joke about dying horribly it’s freaking us out and also might not be the Best for you? mentally???”

maybe Mirabelle will get a little Too Into trying to weave meaning and symbolism into the scant details that Siffrin gradually reveals, like she’s trying to finish the orange poem all over again, or eagerly meddling with the romantic reunion of the two actual people in the House with undelivered bonding earrings, writing their story for them without their input.

it’s easier to justify the tragedy of it all when it has a purpose, isn’t it? finding the beauty in the darkness, the love powerful enough to end the world. romanticizing the horrors until her friend can talk about them without shutting down.

and she feels guilty about hearing something and immediately thinking “ohhhhhhh this is JUST like Blorbo From My Novels,” because she should treat Siffrin’s situation with the gravity and care he deserves!! they’re a real person, not a character who exists for entertainment, to represent the ~themes~ of some story.

but if she admits as much…maybe Siffrin is safe to admit that he had started seeing the rest of them as actors, endlessly reciting their lines. maybe that’s just how people process things sometimes, grasping for metaphors when unfiltered reality gets to be too much. maybe it’s okay to talk about that part of it all, too.

[watercolourcritters]

trot trot trot

[ID: marker art of a kiwi bird running with text reading "I will keep putting one foot in front of the other even when it sucks." Sucks is underlined for emphasis. The background is plain white, and the artists signature is @ watercolour critters. End ID.]

Instagram | Etsy

[thepeacefulgarden]

[planeentertainer]

A state of affairs

[maythray]

my beautiful angel with a disorder (brainfic ramblings post)

"brainfic" refers to my fanfic idea that focuses on the aftermath of the first handful of months KO and TKO spend merged (co-fronting) together as MKO.

I imagine when they first have the realization in LFTTE, they act on it in the most straightforward way, becoming essentially one homogeneous mix of both TKO and KO. However this doesnt really work as well as intended and cracks begin to form as both KO and TKO struggle to maintain this perfectly merged form.

At the start, neither of them are willing to take a step back and properly assess how they now work as a pair (getting to the reasons in a sec). This causes both TKO and KO to place themselves, and the body as a whole, under immense stress. On TKO's end, she runs the main thought process of "This is the closest I've ever gotten to being a person and its the most agency I've ever held. I'm afraid of what will happen if I dare to let go of it for even a moment." On KO's end, her fears are more externally focused, being "I've grown to accept myself and every part of me, but not everyone else has. I'm afraid of what will happen if I'm not always there to reassure everyone that its okay."

With this, the question turns into which of them falters first, and I have to imagine its KO. This leads to a scenario in which TKO is fronting, alone and without anything to fight against, for the very first time in her entire life. This fanfic focuses on what TKO does in this moment and the many moments following it.

[catastrxblues]

EVERMORE by taylor swift (feat. bon iver) — “and i was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step. and i couldn’t be sure, i had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be forevermore.”

my #swiftiegiftexchange2024 for @lovesickallovermybed!!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

How do I recover from severe burnout with an overwhelmingly messy recovery space

How do I clean my overwhelmingly messy recovery space properly if I am severely burnt out

How do I recover from severe burnout if I’m constantly using all of my energy doing the bare minimum

How do I recover from severe burnout

How do I recover

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

cw: alcoholism, bad coping mechanisms, referenced violence, emeto

previous /// Wildefire Masterlist /// next

°•°•°

Alexei trudged back to Chopper’s with the sunrise to his back, dried blood crusting the seams in his arms. Some was his, some was the mark’s, a loan shark he'd made quick work of, though it had taken most of the night to catch him alone.

He was exhausted, hopefully exhausted enough to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, hopefully exhausted enough to dream of nothing. He doubted he'd be that lucky. 

This was all he'd ever hoped for in the last two years. Of being free, of life going back to business as usual. So why couldn't he sleep?

Making it away from the Tower, from Uriah, had been some big, stupid, out-of-reach fantasy. And in that fantasy, as soon as Lex was free, it was all better. Things were back to normal. The last two years were a bad dream. Easy to bottle away and forget about.

But in the real world, it wasn't so simple.

The contracts should've been easy. They were familiar, ironically safe, but sometimes he'd forget if he was taking down a mark for Chopper or for Uriah. Those moments made him stumble, force himself to press a hand to his throat, remind himself that the collar was gone, that the only one who controlled him anymore was him.

Not that he did a good job of it.

He'd all-but handed the steering wheel to Chopper, taking any job the older man so much as mentioned, if only for a way to distract himself, to try to find a rhythm, but the rhythm he found was nothing steady.

Track, kill, collect. Drink himself to sleep if he got sleep at all. Repeat in a day or two. Look over his shoulder every time he was out of the building, feel his heart start to race at every stranger who stared too long.

Once he'd sobered up enough to track his surroundings, he found he couldn't even attempt sleep unless the lights were on, or else he'd wake up back in the cell. The door couldn't be closed, because then he was trapped, but it couldn't be open either, or someone could sneak up on him. He couldn't be around people, because any of them could be a spy for Uriah, but he couldn't be alone or the damned silence would choke him.

And as it turned out, pretending he could be okay, pretending he'd never been taken in the first place, didn't help anything.

The other Neath freelancers knew it all. People he could've called friends once, who he should've been able to fall into step with, now looked the other way or fell silent when he passed by. They could see the Tower in his scars, in his flinches. They knew how Uriah had owned him.

He'd done the impossible and escaped both, but it still hadn't saved him.

He still wasn't safe, and he never would be.

Not until Uriah Fox was dead.

The thought gave him some solace as he sat awake that night, back flat against the wall, sipping on a bottle of something he hoped was strong enough to knock him out.

Fox had to die so he could sleep, so he could go outside without being seen and caught and trapped. It was the first long-term goal he'd had since being taken, the first goal that wasn't just avoid angering the guards, avoid pissing off Uriah, survive one more day.

Lex staggered to his feet. How late was it? Was Chopper still awake? He had to do this now, he had to get this done now, he didn't care if he was tired, he didn't care if it killed him. He stumbled down the hall, just sober enough to stay on his feet, and that was all he needed. The light was on in Chopper's office. Good.

The older man was leaning back in his chair, sifting through a handful of papers. His eyes darted up when Lex passed the doorway, expression turning from neutrality to mild concern.

“Cinder…”

“I need a contract,” Lex said.

“You just got back from a contract. Sleep.” Chopper laid the papers in front of him. “And take a shower, for fuck’s sake. I can smell the blood on you.”

“I can't sleep,” Lex muttered, rubbing at a splotch of dried blood on his arm until it began to flake away, tiny pieces floating to rest in the ground like a macabre snow. “Are there any hits out for… for higher ups in the city?”

Chopper frowned at the question. “Higher ups?”

“CEOs.” He'd play this as casual as he could, in spite of the tightness in his chest, in spite of how the knowledge that Uriah was still out there was locked around his throat.

Chopper sank back in his chair with a heavy sigh, pulling open a filing cabinet. “Slim pickings. Not many people have the guts or the funds to go after them.” He pulled out a folder. “Why the sudden taste for golden blood? You can't possibly be low on cash already, unless you…”

He trailed off, eyes landing on the bottle still clutched in Lex’s hand, and he knew what he wanted to say. Unless you already drank it all away.

“Does it matter?”

Chopper opened the folder. “I guess it doesn't.” He scanned the pages within in silence for a moment. “Looks like we've got some attorneys… project manager, company director… any of those shiny enough for you?”

Lex grit his teeth. “Are any of them Uriah Fox?”

The folder snapped shut. “Uriah Fox,” Chopper repeated. “You want to kill Uriah Fox?”

His fist tightened around the bottle. “What do you think?”

“I think you should know the code by now. We don't make it personal.”

“I can't fucking sleep, Chopper. I can't…” He let his head drop. “I can't keep doing this. I need… I need him to be gone, I can't—” He pressed a palm into his cheek, cold metal on hot skin. “I don't need a contract to do it. I'll do it on my own. With or without your help.”

Chopper let out a sigh, laying the folder on the desk. “I'm afraid I can't let you do that.”

Lex's stomach churned, uneasy at the way he said it. What did he mean? Weren't they allies? Hadn't it always been us against them?

“You understand.” Chopper spread his hands, something apologetic on his face. “Fox is one of my top investors. It's a conflict of interest.”

Investor. Lex took a stumbling step backwards. Investor, pester, sequester, how had he not seen it? How has he not realized he'd been hiding in the fucking lion's den this entire time? How could Chopper do this, side with Uriah, didn't he realize what he'd done to him? That he'd come for him, take him back, let him rot in the Tower, even further underground than a grave would put him?

Chopper pushed himself up. “I don't want you panicking over this. I'm perfectly capable of maintaining both relationships.”

“You… Y—” Lex hunched over, emptying his stomach on the linoleum tile.

“Fuck, Cinder,” Chopper muttered, moving around the desk. Lex staggered backwards, wiping acrid bile from his chin with the back of his hand, eyes wide and locked on the older man.

Maintaining both relationships. He knew what that meant, he knew Chopper would have no issue handing him over to Uriah if only he was asked to. How had he thought this was a safe haven? (raven) How could he have passed out drunk here, let his guard down so severely? (clearly) He'd been lucky. He'd been so damn lucky Chopper hadn't seen fit to give him up in the last few weeks, and fuck, it would've been easy. Lex had made it easy, by being stupid and trusting and complacent (adjacent).

“Sit down. We can talk about this.”

We can calm you down and keep you in place long enough for Uriah to come barging through the door.

“You're not thinking rationally. I know you haven't been yourself lately.”

You haven't been the same since your return from hell. 

“It was a bad idea to set you back to work so soon.”

You came back ruined.

Lex's back hit the wall, and he flinched away from it as if it were another enemy. He couldn't stay here, it wasn't safe, nowhere was safe.

“Cinder…”

He whirled around, head spinning, heart pounding in his throat, not safe.

“Alexei.”

He barreled through the door, feet hardly moving fast enough to keep him upright as he made a mad dash through the front door and stumbled out into the cool night air.

Nowhere was safe (waif, chafe, strafe). Chopper had dozens of freelancers on his payroll, hundreds of allies (spies, cries), thousands of eyes that could watch for him, nowhere was safe, he couldn't sleep (cheap, creep).

He didn't stop running until he was several blocks away, practically collapsing against the wall of a locksmith shop. What now? He couldn't stay awake forever, couldn't stay vigilant, and it was only a matter of time before he passed out and someone took the opportunity to snatch him or report him and fuck, fuck, he hadn't escaped, he'd never really escape, nowhere was safe—

…was it?

He forced himself to inhale, shuddering breaths fighting against the way the world was spinning. There were like-minded people out there, people who hated Uriah as much as he did, people who wouldn't hand him over to Titanium, if only out of spite.

Enemy of my enemy.

He sucked in air, his heartbeat slowing down, if only a little.

"You don't have to go out and face the world alone.”

He still didn't believe that, didn't trust any of the rogues, but he could trust in their shared goal.  He'd saved them once, weathered Uriah's anger to protect them from his own fire, and maybe they were still grateful enough that they'd be willing to watch his back and let him rest.

He pushed up from the wall, squinting into the darkness. The rogue's safehouse was miles away. He couldn't even be certain that they'd still be there, but it was the only plan that made sense.

Lex took a swig from the half-empty bottle, still clutched in his fist, hoping the liquor would beat back the fear that still clawed at his chest.

He had a long walk ahead of him.

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump ,

[sofiaruelle]

Guess what finally came in the mail!!!!! My copy of Seasons of the Valley fanzine and these gorgeous lil goodies!!!!!!

Thank you so so much, @seasonsofthevalley for having me as a guest artist!!!

Also big shout out to my fellow contributors and the amazing mod team!!!!

[watercolourcritters]

it's worth it, i promise it's worth it!

[ID copied from alt text: Marker art of a Pallas cat looking at the viewer over a simple white background. Text reads "There's no guarantee it'll get better, but isn't it worth it to try?" The artist's signature reads @ watercolourcritters. End ID.]

Instagram | Etsy | Tip Jar

[thepeacefulgarden]

[dimaq-whump]

Exposure Therapy: Naked

CW: Nudity, descriptions of trauma, implied torture, short but toxic trauma response

“Alright,” Ashanti begins, sitting cross-legged like myself and facing me. “Me and you are gonna do this for just 5 minutes, then we can do somethin’ comfortable together.” Her voice is sweet, a little soft, but there’s a slight hint of toughness, not just in her words.

“Um… okay.” I respond. My voice quivers heavily. My hands twiddle each other. I absolutely do not want to think about what that white demon did to me. There’s a strong sickness in my stomach, causing me to breathe slowly but shakily.

Ashanti nods. I stand up, keeping myself focused on her. My legs are shaking, but she looks back with determination. My hands reach towards the top button of my dark fluffy onesie; an item of clothing that has been my protection. Shakily, I unbutton all that are below it, until Ashanti can see the front of my nude figure.

At once, the cold air blows against my front. It immediately reminds me. I know that right now I’m not naked and tied to a tree, a group of white cultists in front of me, and her standing with her hands on her disgusting, fat hips, grinning at me. But it does feel that way.

My stomach churns, and I almost feel light-headed. I keep staring at Ashanti, as I very slowly let the onesie fall off me. My arms are tight, and I breathe quietly but very quickly. A quivering frown had already formed on my mouth, I feel my lips trembling heavily, just as quickly as my body.

Hesitatingly, I let the onesie slip off a little quicker. I desperately want to savour the last few moments of warmth, softness, protection.

Slowly, I take off my onesie. It falls against the floor.

I am now stark naked.

The air hits the rest of my skin harshly, like something heavy being thrown at me. Even though only my love is here, my Ashanti who will protect me from anything, I feel watched by thousands. I can almost see that white devil in my vision. My eyes widen.

“You’re still here,” Ashanti whispers, “don’t panic. You’re doin’ well.” She places a gentle touch against my skin.

Despite her words, all I can think about is the woman who cut my finger off.

I look towards my hand, my left hand. The stump is still a bit bloody, with a bandage wrapped around it. I can’t help but cringe, even though I’m obsessively repeating “I’m safe” in my mind-

SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE

Suddenly, I look up. She’s not there. I look around the room, expecting to see that woman, smiling at my fear, but she isn’t here.

“It’s alright,” Ashanti coos, “you wanna walk around for a bit?” I nod my head, shakily. “We’ll do that, then how about we cuddle for a bit?” I nod again. I don’t want to speak.

Ashanti puts her hand on my back. My foot slowly steps forward, the cold, hard floor causing a slight shock as I step down again.

“I’m scared,” I whimper, my voice barely hanging on. I breathe out, shakily.

“You will feel scared, but that’s normal. Just keep tellin’ yourself that you’re here and safe.” That’s what I am doing. It works, just a little bit, but I still feel my stomach churning violently, and the sound of that white devil, yelling manically in my ears, even though she isn’t here. I can hear the smile in her voice, how she told me exactly what she was going to do, and exactly why I deserved it.

I try to force my brain to think of Ashanti’s hand on my shoulder as she guides me in circles around the grey room. It works, a little. That, and also focusing on the sound of wind, the cold on my naked body. My chest is still hollow. I want to run. I feel like getting my onesie back on, but at the same time I feel as if I could survive a just a few more moments.

I do, surprisingly. The fear only subsides slightly, but I am able to focus more on the present. The white devil still speaks, but due to Ashanti’s calm words, I am able to realise its just in my head, even though Ashanti doesn’t know.

“I think we should stop now,” she says, looking away. She’s looking towards the onesie that slipped onto the floor moments ago. It’s crumpled against the dirty-ish floor, but I still desperately want to feel it against my skin.

Ashanti’s hand is no longer there. I crunch into myself slightly, still standing. I should know that she’s just getting my coat, but my brain won’t let me think that.

“Here, it’s done now.” The sound is beautiful to me. Peaceful, at last. I quickly put the onesie on, sighing in relief. My body feels a lot warmer, and a lot looser and softer. It’s finally done.

“You were so brave,” she whispers. She places a gentle hand on my face. But I… Just this moment, I felt my body fly in relief, but now I’m beginning to burn in anger. I push her hand away, hesitantly backing up.

“Dimaq?”

“D-Don’t talk to me!” Why did she make me feel this? This fear that gripped and suffocated my chest, made my body quiver. Even now, my hands are up to my chest, shakily twiddling, seemingly out of fear even though my body is beginning to burn in anger. “You don’t get how hard this is. That was so hard for me! I was- this- this is-!” I don’t know what I’m saying.

“Dimaq, calm down.” She says, firmly.

“No!” My arms straighten behind me. “You made me feel so vulnerable just then. I shouldn’t be feeling this, I should be moving on. Taking care of our 2 children. But instead, y-you’re making me feel terrified!” My voice breaks, tears suddenly coming in my eyes.

“Dimaq, calm down.” She says, firmly.

“You want me to calm down?!” She flinches. I grit my teeth. “You will get on your fucking knees, and beg me.” I say these words slowly, but my voice aches with anger. “Down, lady!”

Ashanti doesn’t get down. She stares at me, her eyes narrow with disgust. She begins to breathe harshly. Her body towers over me, like a giant. My body jolts in fear, and I look away. “Um, uh, I’m sorry, I- I-“

“Dimaq, it’s okay.” She says bluntly. I cannot look back at her, not after what I’ve just said. My hand quickly rubs my fist, and I breathe quickly. Suddenly, 2 large hands wrap around my fist, as well as the hand rubbing it. “Sit down, with me.” Her voice is a lot sweeter now.

I sit down, whimpering a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t, I really didn’t.” My hands squeeze my head, my left hand pulling a little on my locs. My palm smacks on my forehead a couple of times.

“Hey, hey,” she coos, “it’s alright.” She brings me into a hug, her large, chubby body comforting me a little. I still whimper feebly. “Getting’ angry is completely normal. I’ll… tell you somethin’.”

“I’m listening.” My voice cracks, and I rub a tear from my eye. She brings me a little closer into the hug.

“Not long after I gave birth to our twins, my mama had me do this. She’d do it whilst you were takin’ care of them with your mama or father. She used to kneel right on my stomach, and say things that she said whilst I were givin’ birth. It was terrifyin’. I would scream and shout, but it got that out of my system.

“I’m tellin’ you this because… after we were done, the first few times, I’d scream at her way worse than this. I was so angry at her. But she forgives and understands. She’s a healer.”

[beaucereza]

her face is a map of the world, is a map of the world moodboards based off moots: @yumclaire 🤍

[faulknercore]

Leigh Whannell recovery layouts ᯓᡣ𐭩

[dyke-husband]

Hey you!!! Are you queer? Are you a trauma survivor? Do you experience desires and longings?

Fill out my google form! Or at least share with your friends! Everything is anonymous and just between you and I. I’m looking for honest, shame-free responses about the intersections of queer desire and trauma.