#my therapist is probably so sick of hearing about these guys | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lycankeyy · 13 days ago

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where do you see yourself five years ago?

Haha hey it's me. Your boy. Um. Coping fanfic /refBDKQNEK

TW: helicopter parenting, Cyber-typical trauma stuff

bfs in this one-shot: fc!bf (boyf, mine), cyborg!bf (cyber, mine)

Boyf wondered, frequently, if the listlessness, the "placelessness", he called it, and he didn't care that it wasn't a word - would go away. It was just another side-effect. Another symptom. Something to be managed and coped with that would eventually scab over and scar into a reminder, not an invitation.

He was sick of how many there are, frankly. Made him feel too... much.

Maybe that was why he coped in a way that hewas sure a therapist wouldn't quite understand, but would probably see as moderately unreasonable. If he didn't want to be here, he simply wouldn't be.

Other realities were just a step through the mirror away, after all.

Most of the others were at the very least fine with him. There were his brothers, of course, who cared about him - but even if he stepped through with no clear intent or purpose and found himself with one of the ones he didn't know quite as well, he was an easy presence to tolerate. Easy to excuse, too - why explain that you were struggling when everyone was so quick to believe that you were just being silly? Stupid, silly Boyf. He was his own perfect excuse.

So when the feeling - the anxiety, the squirming in his chest, the fevered trickling against his skin - returned once again, he didn't even think. An off-hand mention to his partners that he was going to visit someone for a bit, and he was gone.

Like most times, he didn't have somewhere specific in mind. Just focused on that yearning and that desperation for somewhere else, and he was up on the counter and reaching through.

Most BFs were accessible through their bathroom sink mirrors, so Boyf was a bit caught off-guard when his height suddenly dipped beneath him, and he was sent tumbling onto a carpeted floor. Hadn't had an entrance that graceless since... well, okay, that was hard to quantify, actually.

He propped himself up a little. The only other him with a full-length mirror that he could think of was YS, but the floor was a different color. Excited to potentially be visiting someone he'd never hung out with one-on-one before (and maybe it was Beefer, which would probably successfully make him decide to stop doing this), he finally pushed himself up onto his knees, and--

What caught him off-guard wasn't who he saw perched on the bed. It was the room.

His room. His childhood room.

When his eyes locked with ever-focused, cat-like yellow ones, he wasn't surprised, but he couldn't say his dread didn't deepen. Cyber tilted his head slightly, like a confused animal trying to make sense of what it was looking at. "Nobody comes to visit me," he said, like he was simply stating a fact that the other should hear.

All of the BFs were, obviously, versions of the same guy. They all had pretty similar brains at the end of the day, no matter how different they were. That being said, Boyf had noticed the odd connection between himself and Cyber pretty much the first time they'd interacted. Like their brains were even more the same. Like they could always tell what the other was--

"Jumping through realities at random? That sounds dangerous."

-- thinking.

"You could end up somewhere Yourself doesn't have contact with yet. They could hurt you," Cyber continued on. He snapped the 3DS he was apparently playing on closed, setting it aside as Boyf got up and brushed himself off. At a single dismissive thought from his older self, Cyber insisted, "it could happen."

I don't live walking around worrying about what could happen, Boyf thought. Cyber didn't respond to that one - it wasn't like he could hear it, just - ugh, whatever. Even if he was sure Cyber was just as stubborn as he was, he wasn't sure he should be hanging around here.

Exactly as he expected, Cyber replied to the unspoken again. "You can stay. My parents are at work, and my friends are at school. The company would be nice." A pause. "Even if it's you."

Another very strong feeling that the younger him hadn't meant to phrase that so dismissively. Briefly wondered if he thought about accepting the apology hard enough, if Cyber could feel it.

Either way, Boyf couldn't exactly bring himself to say no to... himself. So with a slight sigh, he rounded the bed and sat, with more than a tinge of awkwardness, at Cyber's side. He wasn't sure what would even come of this. It's not like either of them had any idea of what to talk about.

Either unaware of the tension or uncaring of it, Cyber picked his 3DS back up and flipped it open. Curious, and hoping he was correctly picking up on the implication that he should watch anyway, Boyf leaned over to look at the screen.

Oh, shit. Sonic Rush. He'd loved that game as a kid. He'd gotten it a garage sale when he was ten and had been obsessed with it as the second Sonic game he'd ever played. He remembered being so pissed when he'd realized he'd lost it somehow when he was...

... almost fifteen.

Boyf blinked down at his younger self, a sudden awareness washing over him. It was less a realization of how small he was - that was always in the back of his mind, along with how short all the others were to his comparatively Slenderman-ass stature - and more of how he'd been that small once. He'd been a late bloomer and had most of his growth spurts in his later years of high school.

Cyber would probably never get any taller, though. Metal bones and all.

"You were startled by my room when you got here," Cyber said suddenly. Boyf leaned back, resting against his own palm in an attempt to look casual. "Is it familiar to you? Is anything different?"

That second question implied a level of knowing that he was pretty sure they were both in rapidly deteriorating denial of. Still, he humored him. Glanced around the room, looking for anything that seemed off.

Of course, when you see your childhood room, it looks a little different than the memories, but in a way that makes you go, "oh, that's right," more than anything. Everything knew its place here better than he did. Except for one.

Boyf pointed at the exact place he'd entered from. "Meer," he stated simply, realizing that it was pretty obvious. He'd never had a full-length mirror in his bedroom. Especially not one that looked so... post-apocalyptic.

Cyber looked at for a second. As he did, a strange sense of warmness spread in Boyf's mind. Comfort. "That's Yourself's mirror," Cyber explained, like that was all that needed to be said.

It was. That mirror must have been the first contact. YS had been in kind of a... state, after finding Cyber. To be fair, anyone would be. He didn't know the details because YS never went into them, but Cyber had yet to be fully "rehabbed" when he found him. All he knew was that, and that Cyber's Pico had been "trying his best".

The mirror was visibly old. Cracked in places, and the frame was clearly made of some authentic metal, as it had since rusted over. Its produced reflection was also dim and muggy - like the amount of dust that had been caked onto it had stained the glass and could never be fully removed.

It certainly wasn't a pretty thing to look at, and it sat against the room like a gross stain on a carpet. He wondered if Cyber knew that the exact mirror didn't, y'know, matter, and he could get one that was a bit easier on the eyes--

A sudden shift in tone jarred Boyf from his thoughts. Though his robotic voice was the same, a low, threatening rumble rolled out from Cyber's chest. "That's Yourself's mirror."

Immediately, and ashamedly due to being a bit startled by the much smaller him, Boyf sat up and lifted his arms, palms out, in obvious submission, as if to say alright, alright, that's YS's mirror, geez. To be fair, it wasn't like he didn't kind of get it - everyone told him he should get a new laptop, but that old broken-down thing was practically a part of him now. And maybe that mirror was like that; a part of him, or maybe a part of YS he liked to keep, or something like that.

At that, Cyber huffed and immediately backed down, starting the next level in his game.

Well, it was starting to feel like he was just making things worse by being here. This felt like it should be one of those golden opportunities people always talked about - "if you got to talk to yourself from five years ago, what would you say?" - and thus far, he was completely butchering it. God, who was he to give advice to anyone, even himself?

Just as he thought of that, something hit him. Something that maybe wasn't the best advice, and maybe not the most responsible, but it was something to offer to his fourteen year-old self, anyway, and he might as well try.

Cyber didn't even question when Boyf reached over to grab his phone off his nightstand. It was an old model with a chunky rubber case around it that his parents had bought in case he dropped it (fair), and he recognized it so vividly.

So he was not surprised that when he went to look for it, the app was exactly where he thought it would be.

It seemed the sheer amount of focus Boyf had on his face finally intrigued him, as Cyber finally looked to see what he was doing. "I think you'll get me in trouble for that," he said with a frown, watching as Boyf disabled it.

He prayed thinking hard enough would get the point across, here. You'll thank me later. It's not just a GPS tracker. It monitors what apps you use, who you're texting, and lets mom get remote access to your mic.

Boyf remembered when his mom had first downloaded it. She initially explained it as just what he'd said - a GPS tracker - to make sure he was getting back and forth to school okay on his own. When he found out about the other features, he'd been pissed, yet another massive overstepping of his boundaries, completely ignoring his right to privacy - but he let her get away with it for two years, because it made her feel better after what happened at the middle school.

Again, maybe this wasn't the best idea. Especially with what Cyber was now. He maybe him, sort of, but he also wasn't. Wasn't even really human anymore, actually.

But if he could say anything to his fourteen year-old self, he would say, you are not your parents' pet.

If they ask, say your friend disabled it. Tell Pico, they should trust him still, and he can make them understand that they're being unreasonable, he continued to think "at" him. He handed the phone back, unsure from Cyber's expression if he'd gotten literally any of that.

He stared at the app's settings screen blankly, thoroughly conflicted expression on his face. "They only want what's best for us," he said, tone uncharacteristically soft. Us. A final admission of what they both left unsaid that sent a brief shiver up his spine.

Boyf nodded.

"I don't know what would happen if they got mad at me."

A pause. A breath. Boyf nodded again.

Their eyes were locked through the one-sided exchange, contact not once breaking until Cyber finally left to shut his phone off and place it to the side. "I trust you," he said with finality.

Something about the simple statement made Boyf feel like he'd just been stabbed. He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad feeling.

"I want to be alone now, if that's okay," Cyber said, a thoughtful expression still on his face. It was obviously tense, and Boyf could feel the confusion and the sadness and the frustration coming off of him in waves. "You give me a lot to think about."

Another neutral statement that sounded more sour than intended. Boyf didn't know what to say or think, so he didn't. He merely patted Cyber on the shoulder and headed back mirror-side, for once grateful to be returning home after one of these little excursions.

That was enough reality-hopping for a while.

#didnt thoroughly spellcheck this i wrote it all in a couple hours BSMWNDJ #sorry i keep giving Boyf an increasingly fucked childhood and more mental issues.nit will continue to happen /sillyNSKAJ #💛#rgbfverse #fc!bf #cyber

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saiiboat · 9 months ago

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i’d love to hear about your fuga sailing stuff \o/

HII ^_^ awesome. ok. so atm i have one silly racing au that i rotate in my head and one fic in the works which takes place directly after fuga when guaxinim, pac, and mike leave the island together on the boat. this one is heavy on the hurt and lighter on the comfort and is essentially just pac on one massive spiral now that he's starting to process everything that happened in prison and the island. lots of pac feeling guilty about cell's perceived suicide and struggling with his anger at mike for getting them into this mess. he's very much an emotional wreck LOL. hes been through so fucking much man. also going from being enclosed in a prison for a year and a half and then being out on open water and the crazy anxiety of being in such an open space is. well. its really getting to him. i'll leave some snippets of it under the cut 💪💪💪

the racing au is really just silly⛵💪💪🔥🔥🔥the nature of the sailing autism being that i always need to take some guys and throw them on a racing team, all of their insanities included.

when i talked about this au before i said that they sailed j22s but im upgrading them. they now sail Melges 20s. its official. ill put images under the cut. god. gorgeous boats.

the general idea is that JV and cell are two sailors looking for new members for their respective crews. felps is already on cell's crew and guaxinim sails with JV. probably at some point jv was on cell and felp's crew and now they have some kind of crazy beef. anyways. cell is just as weird and gross and intense as he is in fuga and he really wants pac and mike on his crew and having nothing to do with JV. obviously mike is skeeved out by the weird gross guy who looks maybe a bit too hungry sometimes and tries to get pac to join JV's crew with him. unfortunately pac is way too enamored with cell's negative rizz and cell proposes the idea to pac that tazercraft splits ways and mike can join JV's crew on his own. Mike is understandably upset at this but still ends up joining JV and guaxi's crew. the two boats have insane tension and pac is torn between pretending none of this happened at all and ignoring mike/sending worlds saddest eyes back to mike. mike is hurt and pissed off at pac and cell and felps and does his best to pretend that they dont exist at all while also needing to beat them in every regatta ever or he'll DIE because maybe if he wins against them enough times it'll prove something to pac. what will it prove? i dont think even he knows lol.

cell is actively trying to drive a wedge in between pac and mike and JV is doing the same thing on the other side. felps is purposely looking the other way during all of this and guaxinim is watching it all go down with some sick sense of fascination. definitely just hanging around to watch it happen like a long drawn out car crash.

cell in this au is especially fascinating to me. squeezing him like a stressball. he's ten ways fucked in the head and the reason why he started sailing in the first place is because his therapist told him to get a hobby and it was downhill from there. anyways cell tells his therapist about pac and the next time cell sees pac he walks up to him and says "my therapist says that we need to get coffee together and have normal interactions so i stop thinking about eating you" and pac just goes. oh! and its the hottest thing anyones ever said to him

obsessed with them, frankly

^^ sexual images fr

#ty for the ask :333 it was fun to get to talk abt them ^_^ !!!#wsdanon #courtesy of ro #suicide mention #<< pac recounting the end of fuga #our answers #saii.answers #saii.writing

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nobodywritingao3 · 9 months ago

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i feel kind of sick making this post so please excuse me if i sound like a rambling mess. i am not the type of person to talk in detail about my life in online places cuz i live in fear of this getting back to my abuser but shubble's story punched all my most sensitive spots and i want to talk about it

(really long sensitive post)

ive gotten kind messages from people that i havent responded to. the idea of responding to people individually kind of makes me feel sick. so im doing this instead. and im also going to vent really hard because i am not doing well and talking about this to my therapist is soul crushingly embarrassing because wilbur soot is a minecraft man and im a freshly turned 20 year old who pays rent and is respected by my therapist and i dont want to admit that i wrote fanfic about a 30 year old white boy i discovered in quarantine when i was 15. can you imagine that conversation? id have to explain what the dream smp is.

when i watched shubble's video for the first time, i was in total disbelief. i couldnt believe that wilbur soot had done these things but i knew that the liklihood of it being anyone else was pretty low. i chose to hope that the story was not about him, and that if it was that he was a reformed abuser who had reorganized his value system and respected his partners now. i had a lot expectations. then he released his statement and i was horrified. i was disappointed and kind of in denial. his statement was worse than anything i had prepared for as 'worst case scenario.' as time has passed my denial has mostly dulled but im ashamed and im embarassed and im badly triggered.

i kind of hysertically hoped that it was a sick prank that shubble and wilbur cooked up and would get horribly cancelled for, but its not a prank, theres no "haha sike" moment, and wilbur abused shelby.

his response undid me because i saw so much of my own abuse in the words he used.

abusers are really good at making people take a centrist "two sides to every story" stance. i dont know how to describe this to people who have never been abused, but i will do my best

most people are taught that when theres an argument between two people, both parties carry some amount of blame and if you want to resolve that issue, it's a good idea to look at your part in the dynamic. we're also taught to keep our disagreements between ourselves and to not involve other people in our drama.

these are sensible sentiments, but abusers are very good at manipulating these sentiments.

when a victim speaks up for themselves and they call someone an abuser, what they are saying is: "this person cruelly bullied me and hurt me and exerted control over me that i did not deserve or ask for or elicit."

that's a heavy accusation and it contradicts sentiments we are taught like "it takes two to tango" and "dont involve others with your relationship drama."

many abusers are charismatic people. id even say most. when you hear this accusation about someone you think is really cool, your natural instinct is to ask for their side of the story.

they will tell you some version of this:

"i am shocked and hurt that she would call me an abuser. we've been having relationship problems recently, and sometimes i lose my temper. im not proud of that. ive done a lot of things im not proud of. it's true that i did [insert played down act of violence] to her, but you wouldnt believe the horrible things she was saying to me. i lost control, and im so ashamed of myself."

this version of events makes the abuser seem reasonable, it makes the victim seem irrational and quick to blame and hysterical

from here, a lot of people will nod thoughtfully and go. "yeah. yeah. that makes sense. everyone has a unique perspective. the fact that shes attributing all the blame to him without recognizing her own flaws and contributions to the relationship while he does shows that hes the reasonable one here. hes such a chill guy. the things shes saying dont make sense at all. i probably wont say it to her face, but i think shes in the wrong."

wilbur's response hit all the beats im familiar with. it was so in line with everything my abuser used against me, and in line with what ive heard other victims say their abusers used against them, and in line with examples ive read and witnessed and had countless psychiatrists walk me through that reading it was like getting hit by a train.

the hope that i carried with me through that week was that wilbur was a reformed abuser. but reading that response gave me the gut wrenching confirmation that he wasnt.

thinking about it too much literally makes me sick and shaky in a way i havent experienced since my own abuser tracked me down the first time and gave me a beautifully wrapped gift. with my abuser, i had several years trapped with him where all the love i felt for him disappeared and was replaced by total hatred for everything he put me through. i wasnt expecting this from wilbur at all, and i feel fucking sick because this was a man i sincerely admired and looked up to a lot. i really liked wilbur soot. he released that response and this image in my head that i had of him was tainted by the memories of my abuser.

im reminded of one event several years ago where i was choked. i tried to ask for help but everyone who knew immediately reached out to him and asked for "his side of the story." i dont want to talk about what he did to me after that. all that matters is that in the end, no one believed me. everyone took his side over mine and insisted that i was lying or exaggerating or trying to get attention or trying to make him look bad. people who i loved and thought would always be there for me sent me paragraph long text messages calling me a bitch and a cunt. the person i loved the most in the world told me that i was out of line and said point blank that they were sorry, but couldnt believe me over the person who choked me. i had never felt so alone.

ive been having a rough time. i confided in a friend who is trying to escape his abusive husband, and he gently told me that this might mean i have "a type," meaning im naturally drawn to people who are abusive. after i escaped, i took a lot of solace in the fact that i was inspired so much by wilbur soot. i thought he was progressive and stood up for womens rights and was anti bigotry and all those lovely good things. this man i admired so much was the image of healthy, nonviolent, kind masculinity. finding out he isnt has made me question myself and my own judgment and it's making me wonder if the people i let in my life and the people im drawn to are people who i subconsciously know will hurt me.

as of now, its been a year and a half since i escaped my abusive family at 18 years old. i turned 20 like half a second ago. the past 18 months of my life have been devoted to looking into legal protection, getting therapy to undo nearly 2 decades worth of ptsd, trying to keep all my baggage to myself because i dont want to burden my friends anymore than i have, and holding down a steady job so that i can afford rent without having to rely on the parents of my friends to house and feed me and keep my location secret from an insane group of people who reeeeally want me to come back even tho im pretty sure one of them might """""accidentally"""" kill me one day

i feel ashamed and embarrassed by being this affected by wilbur soot. parasocial relationships are looked down upon and i feel like the perfect stereotype of a hysterical, delusional teenager / young lady finding out that her hero is "a flawed human being, just like you and me - seriously, what did you expect?!"

i already see people jumping to his defense, although i try to look away because that is also extremely triggering for me.

it is hard not to acknowledge wilbur's humanity, and i want to clarify that i do feel compassion for the amount of death threats, doxing, and isolation he is undoubtedly experiencing right now. no matter what you do, i dont believe that retributive justice or revenge is a proactive, sane response. i am sincerely worried that he will either try to kill himself as a last ditch attempt for sympathy OR that he will actually just kill himself from the public shaming. i do not want him to experience a mental health crisis and i do not want him to die, even tho he has horribly disappointed me and reminded me of so many bad things

this was kind of an insane post. im ready for it to get 1 note and then experience a horrifying amount of embarrassment as i realize that people read this and know disgusting amounts about me as a person, but i want to share my experience as someone who has been abused. i want to offer solace to people who are in the same boat and possibly reach someone who might have otherwise believed wilbur was telling the truth.

i want to end this post on a positive note, so im going to share some naive hope ive been repeating to myself for the past few days

i hope that people believe shubble. i hope she finds comfort and compassion and healing. i hope she can internalize that what happened to her was not her fault. i hope she lives a happy life surrounded by people who see her and care about her

i hope that the people close to wilbur make him confront this side of himself. i hope he fixes his abuse problem and reorganizes his values. i hope his network of people is strong enough not to abandon him entirely but to intervene and make him work on himself. i hope he stays alive and i hope that he becomes an advocate for abused women

this was cheesy and unrealistic but ive been sending my hope into the universe and trying not to shut down because i dont know what else to do and my two hours of government issued weekly ptsd therapy is already devoted to the horrible things i experienced firsthand

anyway

as far as my fanfiction goes???? i dont fucking know.

im not going to delete it. im definitely taking a break and at least stepping into a pause so i can properly reflect on what to do in the meantime. as a musician and writer and creative in general, i was inspired by many aspects of wilbur soot for years and i need a second to chill out and get a hold of myself

maybe ill complete my work. if i do ill upload the finished products in one go and probably orphan them. and maybe delete my ao3 account. god knows at this point

i am still cringing so hard at myself for making this post. it's very emotional and i try to sell myself as serious, intellectual person. maybe this post will be received great or badly or just be ignored. in any case ill be embarrassed so it doesnt really matter how anyone feels about me after this. if you took the time to read, thank you for hearing me out. and if you didnt, im glad that i got a little catharsis

#wilbur soot #im embarassed of myself #whatever #wilbur situation #shubble supprt #cw domestic violence #i feel sick after typing this #this was basically a diary entry #tldr wilbur soot reminds me of my own experience of abuse and i think i wanna throw up #cw abuse #oh god goodnight everyone #i have read peoples compassionate messages to me and im very thankful for them #it has been very sweet and helpful cuz this isnt smth i share to my offline friends so i havent gotten my usual support and affection #thank you to people who are being nice to me

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bakafox · 7 months ago

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Sharing hell therapist stories with Roz today and now I'm wondering how the guys who were at New Day Academy are. If they're alive, if they're still in gangs or on drugs, if they're doing well. I'm not even sure reliably how many were really and truly into hard drugs and gangs, because all the adults and employees there were very unreliable narrators, considering they felt I was a pathological liar and disruptive etc.

Basically a really bad counselor/therapist my parents trusted in the late 80's told them this great out-patient center was specialized in dealing with school refusal. Because that was a huge 'problem' that I didn't want to go to school where I was bullied and abused.

Shit I forget if I was 9 or 10, maybe 11 or 12, but I was the youngest person there, everyone else was a teenager.

I was the only girl there.

I was one of two white kids there, which yes, was just weird to me at that age, and probably did mean I was treated differently when I try to think back on it.

And ALL of those teenage boys were supposedly there for having problems with hard drugs/huffing paint and being violent and in gangs.

Those guys more or less were the most decent people there towards me, even the guy who nearly chaired me in group therapy because my small dumb ass thought I was being cool and dramatic and grown up saying something and acting like it was a book and insulting the shit out of him accidentally.

The staff were... not Dickensian abusive to my memory. But they definitely weren't all hoping to gently rehab the guys there, and they also basically assumed that since I was there, I was a Major Problem. Any breakdowns I had were just me seeking attention or acting and trying to manipulate, etc etc.

Once when I started crying over something particularly hard, they picked me up bodily and just put me in a dark padded room until I'd stopped crying. That took a while considering I panicked in there and also felt like I was being punished.

ANYWAY.

I don't remember any names at all. I barely remember personalities. I remember shooting hoops and playing pool with some of the tough older guys during whatever they called recess there, and I remember that I was very uncomfortable on the van ride home because the driver let the guys pick music sometimes and it was gangsta rap. Which NOW as an adult I have respect for at least some of it, but as a very sheltered pre-teen it freaked me out to hear about killing cops and so on. Even just the cussing freaked me out.

But I basically, again, remember liking all those supposed fuck-ups way more than I liked any of the staff, even though the staff could be nice until they figured you'd done something wrong.

I hope shit turned out alright for those guys, though they probably had a shit ton of decks stacked against them.

And I wish that I didn't remember being tossed into that dark padded room so well.

And I wish I could punch Jim Falbo in the face for convincing my parents that my going there was required so that I'd stop throwing up and saying I was sick most days before school.

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clunelover · 7 months ago

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C starts with a new therapist today (like, a regular behavioral health type therapist as opposed to his occupational therapy which he is going to keep doing too). This is something we'd considered before, been on and off century-long waitlists, etc, and then finally got more serious about after he punched someone in the face at school (it's not even so much the punching, it's the absolute disconnect when you try to talk to him about it. Like you say "it's not okay to punch people, no matter what they do" and all he can say is "but she took my pencil and I kept asking and she wouldn't give it back." Does NOT compute that that's like...not an answer. Anyway, I was very concerned and felt like we needed more help getting through to him on an emotional level).

We finally got in with this guy, and it took so long of waiting and calling and everything, and of course the last few weeks C has been SO SWEET, and still has some tantrums but far fewer and lower key, and we're doing the IEP eval stuff and going to meet to hear the results in a couple weeks and I just DON'T! WANT! TO! GO! I'm sick of having so many obligations and activities and appointments.

But of course I know if I changed my mind and we didn't start this therapy, he'd probably strangle someone tomorrow (he wouldn't - just, via the laws of the universe, things always get worse as soon as I decide they might actually be fine).

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field4thought · 9 months ago

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there's a frog in mom's throat (essay)

In my first memory, I am about three or four years old. My father and mother are lying in their bed and chatting, sometime in either the early morning or late afternoon, judging by the rays of light that had reflected through the floating dust (fairy dust, I thought) onto the floor. My mother was sick, and she sounded funny when she spoke. My father told me she had a frog in her throat. I climbed onto the bed, sat on her stomach (which did not feel to great for her, but was perfectly fine for me), and leaned forward. "Can I see?"

Dad explained that there was not a literal frog, and that it just meant she sounded croaky. I was disappointed.

After that, I don't remember anything for about a decade. When I'm reminded of a particular moment, I see something for a brief instant, but the scene always disappears before it comes into focus. My therapist said it's common for people who have experienced childhood trauma. The person I dated in eleventh grade said maybe that's why I keep repeating the same mistakes. All my mother had to say was, "We'll work on it." We did not, in fact, work on it.

I think my mother regrets that she was not perhaps the best mother she could have been. No, let me rephrase that: My mother was not the best mother, and she regrets it deeply. When we talked about the cuts on my body, she said she felt like she'd "fucked me up" in some way. To be entirely fair, she did - she told me that she couldn't wait until I was eighteen and left the house. I was in first grade at the time.

Now I am eighteen, and we are doing much better. She still says hurtful things, but I can now tell when she means what she says and when she is just snapping because of her untreated mental ailments. It still isn't great when she says she hates me and my siblings and should never have been a mother, but at least I can tell when the chemicals have gone sideways. That's more than I had when I was seven.

We talk now, sometimes. I ask her for advice on how to make friends. She asks me for advice on how to relate to her other teenagers. She understands me the most out of all of us kids, and that's because we're so alike. Nobody else in my family could read an entire book composed of one guy's essays like I am right now. Nobody else really appreciates getting up before the sunrise and taking a mug of tea into the woods. I am definitely her child, even if I don't carry her blood.

It's odd, the relationship I have with my mother. Oftentimes, I am afraid to speak to her about something, so I wait a week or two until we are alone in the car and doing an Uber Eats order to tell her things. "I'm cutting" is something I know she never wanted to hear from her children, especially followed by the word "again."

What really started this openness between us was a night in early October of my senior year in high school. I told her that she had never cared about me, quoting the time in my sophomore year when the first thing she said after hearing from my school counselor that I might be suicidal was about how the counselor had said Harrisen instead of my legal name. That night, three police officers put me in the back of a squad car and drove me to the hospital. I went to a mental hospital instead of wherever people who jump off bridges go.

She visited me once, halfway through my stay. She said almost nothing, and neither did I. Dad mostly updated me on everything that I was missing out on, including his friend from Germany visiting. He came to the States the day I went to the hospital and he left the same day I did. There's probably something symbolic there, about how being suicidal has kept me from the larger world. About how the call of the pills or the chemicals under the sink is louder than the call of new things, and how bed rot can take root in your mind and cause fungus to grow in your brain.

When I came home from the psyc ward, I unloaded a lot of information on her about a week after. I had a friend who had committed suicide. I had been cutting myself in various ways since I was eight. I had been doing most of my self destructive behaviors because it was the only thing that felt good, that gave me a high. Adrenaline is as close as I have been able to get to dopamine for years now.

I still have trouble remembering things. Even this past Christmas and my eighteenth birthday are fuzzy, and that was only two and a half months ago. All I will have of my years is held in my poems, my stories, and my photos. For a while, I would delete everything I came across that was more than a month or two old. Then J stopped doing that. I started paying more attention, finding the one out of focus bird on the rooftop in the corner and thinking, 'oh, that's why I took this.' I read through my poetry document, which at this point has years of my work in it and is over a hundred pages long, and I think about where I've been and who I've been in those places.

Hindsight is a bitch, but she's also my best friend. We're joined at the hip. It's a toxic friendship, but I'm short on friends right now, and I'll take what I can get.

#essay #my writing #writing #suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide #relationship with my mom #i dont know who is gonna read my shit essays #honestly #im only posting these for my gf #our pinned discord dms are full af lmao

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weebsinstash · 2 years ago

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bro 😨 i swear some of these are actually psychological horror books

I think the problem at least for me is really how it's handled and a lot of these authors are like obsessed with high school teenagers having sex. Like for example if you just spent like several chapters describing all the ways she's been physically and sexually abused by her own father to the point she literally doesn't even understand what the mate bond or love actually is, like her dad fucked her up so bad he would molest and beat her and say it was love, and she's instantly terrified when she meets her mate because she fears his love too, and then the story will switch to his pov and hes like, LUSTING for her, that's not ok? That's fucked up, like tone wise?

Like for example i know teenagers who are 5'4 and curvy probably do exist but is it like truly appropriate to be describing how sexy and hot to protagonist is when she's 1. A high-school girl, a child 2. An incest victim and has been since she was 13 and 3. The abuse literally just ended like a chapter or two ago and she hasn't even mentally recovered

Rm for length

Like this story goes from her new future Alpha mate who is also a high schooler saving her from being raped, he literally walks in on, ew, her father forcing her legs apart, and then like maybe 4 chapters later "oh maybe to help her understand the mate bond and help her be more comfortable, we can have her spend time with these other two kids her age who are mates" and she's like watching them touch and cuddle and be physically affectionate which i find insanely inappropriate actually, she was molested and told it was love so you're exposing her to other people being touchy with each other? Like an actual talented author would have made the connection that, realistically, the protagonist would probably be massively uncomfortable if not outright triggered by this, like at one point she has a panic attack so bad she passes out. and the dude who is her mate like, tries to cuddle her while they watch a movie and stuff, and she kind of likes it, but from my perspective as an adult and as a reader i just keep thinking "can you guys not even give her like a couple of months before trying to like lowkey manipulate her"

Like for the love of fucking god I don't want to hear about how he's literally getting fucking hard by cuddling with her and his internal monologue about how sexy she is and how badly he has to hold his wolf back from pouncing on her when BOTH OF THEM ARE MINORS like GROSS, what age group is this story even intended for, it's going from really adult topics to like really tropey mid tier highschool drama bullshit? I don't want to hear the fucking boyfriend thinking shit like "she shifted just slightly, briefly putting her hand on my thigh for a moment, and it sent waves of electricity straight to my cock" when she's like. Trying to just watch a movie and let dinner settle into her stomach because she's so poorly malnourished she can't even take full bites of a sandwich, she has to tear pieces of it off and eat slowly bc she feels so sick. Like it's the WHIPLASH.

Like sorry maybe when you're still a teenager, shows that show teenagers being flirty and sexual with each other might be appealing, but im a grown woman, and it rubs me the wrong way, idk? IS there an appropriate way for adults to write about kids in this way? Sometimes it's cultural I guess but imo I basically consider everyone a kid until they're like 20, 21 and it just. It's creepy. Please stop talking about how this like 16 year old is gorgeous and doesn't even need makeup and she has double d size breasts and a flat stomach and a thigh gap and a fat ass but is somehow also dangerously malnourished like, it's very. It's just outta pocket. It's weird man and that's coming from me. I'm gonna listen for a little while longer but I just find the handling of her abuse a little bizarre.

And also like. They have her speak to a therapist about how horrific her abuse was and the therapist immediately goes to her future mate and is like "I'm not supposed to tell you this but you are her mate, so--" and just tells him all her personal shit. That should have been her choice to make. They're not giving her enough time to heal. Maybe it's just upsetting for me because I'm dealing with a lot of mental health stuff and these plotlines involving being manipulated and betrayed behind your back and not respected or having your own autonomy is really hitting me

#weebwolves

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screechthemighty · 2 years ago

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

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

May 2, 2021:

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

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

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

Speaking of…

“Still nothing from the BSAA?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...the fucking what?”

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

Just a little.

Mia had been avoiding her therapist.

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

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

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

She failed within five minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it about?’

“It’s my fault…”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think that. I…”

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

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

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

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

“You offer couple’s counseling, too?”

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

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

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said.

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

May 5, 2021:

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

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

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

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

“There’s something reassuring about this situation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How much longer could they just let things stew again?

May 15, 2021:

Apparently, at least another week and a half.

Maybe the mounting anxiety had been a warning.

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

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

“What are you doing?” Mia yelped.

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

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

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

“I could have gotten one for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. “Do…what…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t they all been through enough?

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

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

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

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

Ethan lifted his head. “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was wrong about that.

“Mrs. Winters?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yeah.”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

I’m scared.

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

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

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

She owed Ethan the truth.

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

#resident evil #resident evil village #fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

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elisastales · 1 year ago

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So, I like to hear other autistic people experiences, all the time, like a querter of the content I consume on Youtube is about it, and I’m listening to this girl talking about how her childhood and early puberty was, and I feel so understood.

My mom says I used to be such a happy little girl and I’m like??? I don’t remember being specially happy? I was always the bullyied/left aside girl on the class, when I started primary school (I don’t know what grade that would be, here in MX is age 6) I was so asocial and other kids found me so weird that my mom had to come everyday at lunch and bring me some of my baby dolls so I could play, or that’s what I thought she was doing, when in reality it was to attract other girls so I could be able to make friends cause people didn’t came to me and I didn’t search for them. Is always been like that, if a person doesn’t come to me I won’t come to them, I don’t know how, that’s why I kind of stalk people, cause I don’t really know how to interact (just once in my life I did it and later I fell in love with that guy, who was even more introverted than me).

This girl talks about how now that she is a teacher it’s so obvious that other kids notice this differences in autistic/neurodivergent children, they don’t know what is going on, but definetely know something is going on. And I remember having an autistic friend, I remember my mom telling me not to get mad at her cause she was “malita”, it’d be like...a diminutive of “sick” and that made so, so confused cause to me she was like me, i saw no difference other than she didn’t looked at me when talking, it was literally it for me, cause I clicked with her.

And it kinda hurts cause why didn’t they do anything?? didn’t they noticed how different I was? They ignored it or they thought it was common behaviour because it’s probable that hey’re ND as well? I don’t know, I just...it makes me so sad to see that I could have got a diagnosis before and actually understand what was ‘wrong’ with me, and see that I wasn’t actually wrong.

And now im 25 and in this little town abandoned by god I don’t even know if there’s a way to get a diagnosis even if I had the money, cause in this place all therapist I went to were so fucking weird, so...over the limit, talking about crystals and energies or about how I could give them my organs if I didn’t wanted to live...like what do I do? what’s the first step? I have no clue.

#autism #undiagnosed autistic #undiagnosed autism #venting #tw for medical stupidity

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thepolyamorouspolymath · 2 months ago

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Does anyone remember the guy who I slept with in January who every few months tries again and I have to run him off, sadly lacking a shotgun?

He messaged me after being so mad and I'd never hear from him again bc he has so many other options, blah blah, ego saving bullshit at being repeatedly rejected, blah.

But ah, now he has a new tactic. He listened just enough to know I'm a coach though apparently missed that I work with WOMEN.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First he asked if men could do sex magic.

Well, yes sex magic isn't gendered. But what kind bc there are several? Also I'd teach him none of them as it shouldn't be taught to anyone who has demonstrated a lack of integrity, which he has repeatedly.

Then gets into how he's sick of not listening to his wants or his body and blah blah blah and he knows I'm a coach, which he somehow confused for sex therapist which he seemed to also confuse for someone who has sex with clients (which there are, but that's not the norm).

I'm like well first im going to repeat the same thing I've said before and you've gotten hostile and mad about which is you don't know what you truly want, you just tell yourself you want what you should want bc it's easiest for you

You need to get clear on your big d desires -- little d desires are "I desire a cupcake" big d are "I desire safety in my body."

And he's all agreeing and how he can help with money. No. You want me to coach you, you aren't helping with money, you're paying my going rate. Which when I quoted was way out of his range, and so I offered a generous payment plan based on how much he had paid for sugar babies in the past.

Also I said he'd need a set schedule of 1 hour via Zoom or phone or possibly in person if he need privacy per week for 9 weeks. There's also a daily practice but he can work that into his daily schedule however he wants.

His response? He offered to set me up an onlyfans he'd manage and I'd get all the money, presumably full of footage he took of me or him fucking me.

And he could probably see me in person every two weeks but it'd have to be flexible based on what works for him at the moment.

So essentially you're asking me to provide you with sex on your schedule with no strings or benefit to me at all? Huh, that sounds exactly like your last incredibly manipulative offers that I've shot down every time.

The audacity of cishet white men.

#this motherfucker #ive had lots of novel atrempts to try to get under my skirts but this one was new #the lion the witch and the audacity of this bitch #the unearned confidence of a mediocre white man

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dopaminergicaddictions · 9 months ago

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I wish you hadnt blocked me. I wish you'd readd me and talk to me. I'd do anything just to talk to you.

I know I'm crazy. I have good intentions though. I can't make you talk to me. I can't make you want to know me. I only hope you still do. All I know is I'm sorry.

I should have moved on. Your Instagram was a ray of sunshine shine in my life. It gave me hope and kept me alive.

It also confused me and lead me on but nonetheless every post you made made me smile. I used to have them saved on my phone and they actually kept me alive. I have them saved on Dropbox now cause they make me sad cause I feel delusional thinking you were posting about me. All I know is everytime you posted it made my day to see through your eyes.

I don't want to know you in that capacity therapist and client but I don't think you'll ever give me the option to know me personally.

I only hope one day I'll hear from you. I'm going to keep writing. This is my dairy.

You've made it into my dairy thats for sure. I'll never harm you. I'll always love you and care about you.

You probably read some of this and cut me off cause in crazy. Just know I'd never hurt you. I only want you to be happy. I just want to talk to you but I want you to want to talk to me.

I tried to readd you awhile back but you never accepted. I don't think you will but you have to know my intentions are good

One thing I hope you remember about me is I'm a good person. I'd never force someone to talk to me. I wish I could make you want to talk to me but I can't do it.

I hope you don't think psychosis made me into a lunatic. I hope you still see me as the same guy.

I hope you remember my eyes. I know i remember yours. I don't want to lose you but I already did. I urge you not to come to my tumblr if you don't want to read my writing about you.

This is where I get my feelings out. This is where I make myself feel better.

I can't say I'd add much to your life. I love myself. I'm a good person and I'd be there for you for anything and everything but- I'm useless otherwise. Broke. A loser. A nothing. And I'm crazy.

I'm not dangerous crazy. I'm just so sick life isn't worth living.

If you ever messaged me it would light up my life. That's the sad thing. Your email won't but I'll take it. I might not even ask your boss. Cause then I feel like I'll be forcing you to talk to me. I can only meet at 430 anyways.

I don't think you want to know me in any capacity. The sad thing is, how can I blame you. I don't have anything to offer but love and a genuine friendship.

It's not much. Not matter what Elise, I want you to be happy. I truly mean that. I would have felt honor to have dinner with you and your whole family brendan included. I feel I have to add that bc I can't hide my feelings.

Something that kills me is I waited a year bc I thought I'd hear from you. I didn't talk to other women. I really thought you were my soulmate.

I guess you're not but I'm glad you find your soulmate and you're happy. I can only hope I can be your soul friend.

My time is limited with this auditory hallucination.

I'd really like to reconnect. I can't make you.

More than anything as selfish as I am- your happiness means more to me than closure. .

If you're still reading I ask of you to do what's best for you. Be happy. You don't have to read. You don't have to care. You don't have to check in on me.

I'm not worth it. But you and your beautiful family is. You're lucky. I wish I could have enjoyed dinner with you guys. I wish I could play minecraft with your daughter. I wish I could be apart of things but I can't make you want that.

All I can say is I'd never throw you under thr bus. That's the thing.

Sometimes I think what if she's trying to getting her own practice and then talk to me after when she doesn't have someone to report to..

The problem is my brain wants to believe you love and care about me so badly it'll say anything.

This is what I believe:

1) you were never here until maybe after you blocked me on Instagram

2) you may hate me or maybe you care and can't talk to me

3) maybe you are waiting to get enough clients for your own practice but idk.... that's stupid of me to assume if you did it it would be to expedite us talking.

4) I don't believe you'll read anymore. I'm writing thinking MAYBE :) as a stupid hopeful person. But I don't expect you will.

5) maybe just maybe you did have feelings for me and you lost them. I don't think you do anymore.

Just live your life and be happy. That'll make me happy. I really wish i could have been the cool guy who came over and hung out with your girls. Gamed with you and your husband.

It's okay that I can't be that guy.

I know I'm a lunatic now. I'm a good guy though elise. My intentions are good.

I only hope you remember my eyes.

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itsallyscorner · 4 years ago

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Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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