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her-power · 9 months

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Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today.

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently.

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago.

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard.

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is.

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.”

“Is that all?”

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.”

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down.

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.”

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.”

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.”

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.” I tell her.

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about.

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties?

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot.

Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school. I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class. I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write. I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could. I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season.

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums.

Please don’t feel obligated, though.

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number.

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply.

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose.

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill.

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight.

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show.

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching.

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans.

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.”

“What?” She snaps.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head.

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar. I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself.

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta. I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money?

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins.

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap. It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice. I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips.

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed.

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink.

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.”

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” He asks me.

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?”

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it.

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up.

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking.

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can.

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?”

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over.

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing.

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now?

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?”

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.”

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.”

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?”

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well.

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot.

My phone dings and I see your name pop up. Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people.

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled.

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip.

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole.

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern.

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you.

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you.

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee.

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly.

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.”

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert.

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them.

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?”

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.”

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch.

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away.

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down.

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?”

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.”

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another.

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly.

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying.

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love.

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.”

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?”

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.”

Heart exploding.

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?”

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.”

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you.

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?”

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee.

Yeah, I missed you too.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #rockstar eddie munson #Spotify

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amiiancasselmanyet · 3 months

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Fix Me is a Mid 2000's Classic, You're Just Not From Canada

before I start this essay series, I would like to clarify that this is NOT a series of reviews but just me genuinely expressing my feelings I have towards the albums in question because I’m a highschool dropout…bon appetite or whatever

also tw for eating disorders, self harm, general mental illness and addiction but this is fix me, you probably knew that

When most people think about early to mid 2000s rock albums that became staples and bands that became household names, there's a few that genuinely come to mind. Let’s get the “emo trinity” out of the way; From Under The Cork Tree was Fall Out Boys sophomore album from 2005 that is still widely loved for good reason. The songs are good and the lyrics hit when you least expect it. Every. Single. Time. Then, of course, we have The Black Parade. I cannot express my love of this album enough, it is quite literally my all time favorite and while Three Cheers has a more solid concept (man kills other men to try and get his lover back, homosexual antics ensues), there's a reason it’s arguably their most well known and beloved by the kids who used to bully you in middle school. Of course we have A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out coming in right after this, there’s not much I can say since this album truly deserves it’s own essay that I won't manage to write (Ryan Ross please come back the kids and I miss you) but, like the other albums, it's a STAPLE at Emo Nites and Emo Nite knockoffs (shout out to Sneaky Dees in Toronto). There is, however, an album among them that's a hidden gem due to the fact that . Fix Me was the debut studio album from Marianas Trench, arriving in 2006. This album stands out from the others in a lot of ways, its sound, its vulnerability and its general lack of a concept. This album was a shot in the dark and a testament to taking chances. Let's talk about it.

If you’re even a little bit familiar with Marianas Trench (you definitely are because you are on a blog dedicated to the drummer, my beloved bias Ian Casselman), the sound you’re used to most likely isn’t here. This album is gritty, it’s production is grungy. When you look at the other albums at face value, it stands out as nothing like the rest. If you dig deeper, however, you realize that this album truly was the foundation of what was to come. The guitar heavy sound continues throughout the discography, even if it feels less clean than its successors. It adds to the aggression a lot of the songs have, it makes the lyrics hit harder. It was too rock for the pop charts but too pop for the rock charts.(I’m pretty sure Josh said that but this thing isn’t getting a bibliography, this is a more sophisticated shit post on a blog that, again, focuses on the silly drummer with mutton chops) While the sound is incredible, the true core of the album lies in its vulnerability.

Fix Me is essentially an auditory diary, with each track feeling like a new entry. There are themes focusing on the actual struggles Josh Ramsay dealt with at the time. There’s a lot about addiction (specifically heroin), self harm, eating disorders (specifically bulimia) and general depression. It's angsty. It's difficult to hear at times. You're not supposed to get personal during essays but this is literally on a blog where I refer to the followers as “casselman nation”, it’s a lawless land and fuck you I’ll do what I want. This album, at its core, felt like it was almost a diary entry from a younger me.

14 year old me was very different from the current me, I had a different name entirely, a different outlook on life and a lot of things that shaped me today had not happened yet. I was unmedicated and everyone else's problem. If you ever scroll down on the personal tag of my main (you WILL NOT, you DO NOT need to see my digital footprint and angst), you'll notice that there's a lot of themes on this album that pertained to me at that time. I was VERY depressed, undiagnosed bipolar 2, bulimic and…doing things in school bathrooms I shouldn't have with items from my art class I shouldn't have had access to in that state (not going to elaborate, I’m sure you get where I’m going). When you deal with those things head on, you tend to, from experience, seek out public figures, whether it be musicians or celebrities or youtubers (shout out to Dan and Phil lmao) who have similar experiences that you had. For me, a big one from the get go was Marianas Trench. There’s something oddly comforting in not only knowing you’re not only alone but that you’re ALSO going to survive. I truly wish I was able to hug 14 year old me but I also know that they’d be proud that I DIDN’T do the thing I wanted to do before I turned 17.

There’s another reason Fix Me is truly removed from other albums and it truly feels like the biggest component; there's no concept. Fix Me has its own identity but it's not through a story or through successful singles, it's through the fact that it has none of it. It shines through its simplicity, its impact is through the way it can stand alone. It’s an album by the band that could be, and should be at times, put on shuffle. It’s an album where you can pick any song, off the top of your head, and listen to it when you’re feeling angry or sad or full of unbridled angst. Sure, you CAN listen to other songs on other albums one at a time, Masterpiece Theatre is the first on I can think of off the top of my head, however, would you want to? Would you want to listen to The End of An Era and have it followed up with a song like This Means War? It 100% kills the immersive nature that the band has carefully crafted over the last 20 years. (yes they’ve been a band that long considering the fix me bsides are from 2001, yes it makes me feel geriatric) I think the biggest reason that it personally hits every mark imaginable for a grungy punk record is the fact that there is no secret meaning hidden in each song, its open and honest from the get go. It’s raw, real and does exactly what it needs to do.

Through its sound, its ability to be honest and vulnerable in its writing and the easily accessible material, it's a staple. Shake Tramp belongs in an Emo Nite just as much as something like Sugar We’re Going Down and more than Welcome to the Black Parade (I love that song but it doesn’t fit the vibe as well as House of Wolves or The Sharpest Lives, Emo Nite is just catering to the normies and preps). Decided to Break Its video should be as beloved as I Write Sins Not Tragedies. Marianas Trench deserve their flowers for being such a staple in the lives of canadian teens who are struggling, the adults who want to comfort their inner teen selves and those who, in general, are feeling small.

#marianas trench #ian casselman #mtrench #josh ramsay #matt webb #mike ayley #pls read all of this i worked hard

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rookiesbookies · 2 years

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Tim headcanons:

- Tim has austism, adhd, and gifted IQ. None of this was diagnosed until after he met Bruce.

- Batman was one of his hyper fixations.

- Tim is very insensitive about his mental handicapablities.

- “as the resident retard-“ *cue a horrified Bruce face in the middle of a JL meeting*

- “Tim you’re not retarded,” Bruce sighs.

- “Then im ‘special’. Whatever word floats your boat. Im THE TimTard ™️”

- he lovingly got the name “Timtard” after he said this.

- Jason most often says it in a loving way cuz it annoys the fuck out of Bruce.

- Tim was shot in the throat (I dont remember what comic I just remember it happening)

- Tim’s throat now sometimes gives him trouble

- there’s a very bullet sized scar on his throat and a very exit wound sized scar on the back of his next

- sometimes his voice will say “NOPE” when he’s over worked himself or his anxiety gets to be too bad and it loses the ability to talk.

- tim, as an adult, is the smallest of all his siblings, even smaller than Dick who I cannon as like 5’9” (which isnt actually that small cuz like my situationship is 5’9”/5’10” and Im 5’4” and he still towers over me)

- Tim is 5’6” and 130 lbs

- Tim does not like being reminded he is 5’6”

- Jason will literally just pick him up and move him if he’s in his spot.

- in a “DROP YOUR WEAPON. Now kick it” situation I whole heartedly believe that Tim has deadass told Jason or Bruce to throw him at the enemy.

- Bruce did not.

- Jason absolutely does it every chance he can

- It’s basically “Get Help” form Ragnorok.

- Jason tried to get Dick to do it once

- Dick did not agree. Bruce does not like this either.

- “Throwing your brother is not a viable form of combat.”

- “AS THE RESIDENT RETARD-“

- Bruce was not amused.

- I believe that Tim is in therapy with Black Canary.

- I believe he started it after the Joker brainwashed him. The mental scars were too much and he was so emotionally broken after he needed help.

- Tim keeps files on EVERYTHING. From teammates to the food stocked in Mount Justice

- now sometimes it comes in handy. He can give a three day threshold on when they will runout of food items. He’s calculated everything out, keeps the budget, does who uses the most of what, etc.

- however he also keeps files on people.

- he has the height, weigh, powers, physical appearance and attributes, skill sets, emotional states and triggers, mental disorders/illnesses, personality, history, weaknesses, strengths, etc all written down.

- its all locked down on a thumb drive with LOTS of complex encryptions he designed himself.

- it’s usually kept in the batcave in a safe hidden in a stalagmite with an encrypted lock with batfamily dna needed to access.

- he’s very serious about it.

Let me know what you want to see next or who you want head-cannons for. If yall have something to add or something interesting I missed I’d love to hear it.

#dc #dc comics #batfam #tim drake #tim drake robin #robin #batman #nightwing #redhood #red robin

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volcanocraft · 1 month

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cw: night terrors, distressed language, and post-traumatic stress

These posts may not be very interesting or informative but i like writing them. I haven’t ruminated on this part of my life in that much detail before the last post on it. I don’t know many people with night terrors so heres my personal experience with them.

I am unable to pinpoint when it started. maybe two years ago and it has gotten more volatile since then. i would wake up in a cold sweat (literally drenched) feeling afraid of something, my body kicked into hypervigilance, but not being able to figure out what im even scared of. Its a weird feeling because you feel simultaneously silly and exasperated and shocked no one is doing something all at once. i can recall some parts of my terrors as soon as i wake up but lose the thread hours later. i know that the theme of these dreams usually repeat in different scenarios but i legitimately don’t think it should cause me the distress it does. my dreams do not resemble the flashbacks i experience when im awake and thats where i’m like whats going on dude

I was not the one who found out about these terrors. looking back, i probably had some sort of idea but was never sold on it. I regularly share a bed with a friend and they’re the one who told me that I was very distressed in my sleep.

Often I will scream or cry-yell, unfortunately loud enough that I wake up my friend and my dog. Other times i’m upset but coherent. I legitimately don’t know what I say in these instances and have to be told them. That’s probably the most embarrassing part of this whole thing because it's always stuff like "fuck off! get off of me! I'm scared." or "get away from me. please just stop" or "why can’t you just listen?” and even typing this out makes me feel so fucking lame HAHA because i really am okay the morning after

This has never personally concerned me. The only time I’ve seriously considered it as a problem is when it becomes physical. I flail, toss and turn, and all that good stuff in my sleep. On occasion I will have a violent dream that causes me to start kicking or punching or jump out of bed. sometimes i will not recognize whose beside me and start freaking out and try to defend myself. Other times I’ll bang my head on the wall or kick it and have been known to punch or fight the wall, which is kind of funny, but i do end up having a sore foot or hand because of it

i think it comes in waves. for a while I had them track me and have been doing really well. three weeks ago I suddenly started again, and it’s been happening practically every night since then, save one or two days. I’m not medicated for my parasomnia specifically, my doctors don’t take it seriously and I’m tired of pushing it. Again, I do not think it’s that big of a deal. I have been waking up distressed for a long time now and I’ve come to terms with having the same sorts of dreams over and over again. It sucks but it doesnt impact me in noticeable ways other than getting consistent rest. It very much sounds worse on paper and I’ve been doing mentally very well recently. it’s probably a side effect of my mental disorder and the symptom i care about the least. My friend has encouraged me to speak to the professional i see weekly (I don’t know how to describe her, she does social work by trade). if this goes anywhere ill be very surprised and then whatever man I suppose owe you 50 bucks. the end

#talk tag #this stuff makes no sense to me man. i have like three different doctors

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charzeewrites · 11 months

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Sick

Warning: This poem is heavily based around mental illness, specifically eating disorders.

I've grown accustomed to the taste of bile in my mouth. It doesn't bother me anymore. When your mind and body are at war you tend to just shut up and let whatever happens, happen. It reminds me of being a child again. I feel like I did as a kid, sitting helplessly on the kitchen floor, being forced to hear my parents argue over pointless things. That's what it felt like when this all started. My brain and body, arguing while I'm forced to watch. Trying to stop the constant battle is futile. It's better to just give up, at least that option is less tiring. The less tiring option is the only one I could afford even if I wanted to calm the waves of discomfort caused by my brain. Food is such a funny thing. Humans need it to survive. We can only go three weeks without food before we painfully starve to death. So when your stomach is screaming at you to feed yourself, you naturally comply. At least you would. You would if your brain wasn't screaming back that you didn't need food. I'm aware I'm sick. How could I not be? No normal person stares at food with dread. No normal person has adapted to the inevitable taste of bile as they reject the very thing that they need to keep themselves alive. No normal person starves just to keep the voices swirling in their head quiet. A normal person would cry when they know that they are at the point of starvation where they must eat or face the reality of death. A normal person would cry out of fear of death. A sick person would cry at the fact that they must painfully eat again. A sick person, such as myself, takes pleasure in starving themselves. At least then the brain is quiet. But the quiet never lasts for long. Even when my brain is happy with my starvation, my body is not. My body becomes weak and incapable of completing the task my brain wants it to. This angers my brain again. Starting the internal battle all over again. All of these things make me sick. Both mentally and physically. But I think what makes me the most sick is the comfort I find in my illness. I've been healthy before, and I hated it. I felt like there was a void inside me. A void where my sickness used to consume me. And yet I still find myself craving to be sick. Because at least my being sick kept me company when others would not. The sickness was always there to torture me. People come and go, but you're stuck with yourself. So I grew to find comfort in the sickness. Because to me, being happy and lonely is so much worse than to be sick and in the company of something.

#quick write #free write #original writing #writing #poets on tumblr #original poem #poem #poetry #tw disordered eating #disordered eating thoughts #tw eating issues #eating disoder trigger warning #eating disoder recovery #eating disorder

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years

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Tw sexual abuse, psychiatry, panic attacks, emotional abuse, dissociation, suicide, oh I really hope I didn't miss one...

Hey, unsure what I expect from this...

Without much context, for some reasons outside my control and not justified by my mental illness, I had to go to psychiatry in 2019, again. Which was hard because I had a (justified) stay in 2014 (but another hospital) and I still have flashbacks. I had to pretend I needed to be in there, I talked to a doctor from there and... you know when you talk and say something out loud and notice "Wow, that's true and I never really realized that before?".

In my case, I had severe panic attacks because I was living with my abusive mom. And I told that doc that I "felt unsafe. I felt as if, if I go on like this, I will lose control over my body. My instincts (or body, whatever is in charge of the pure survival) will kill me for the sake of my safety."

In my mind it would look like that: me, so hard dissociating that I wouldn't even realize what happens or not gain back control over my body in time or maybe my mind been blackout.

And... This phrase has stuck with me. Because it frightens me, to lose the control about my life (and death).

What is this? Have you ever heard from this, ever felt this?

I am diagnosed with cptsd but because of that time (but also other symptoms and actually for many years by now) I considered if I could be a dissociative system but... It is hard to understand. My past isn't exactly an open book to me so it is hard to say for sure if my experiences... would fit for what I know about DID.

I remember emotional abuse since I can remember and have some weird habits and reactions that seem to be of a sexual trauma. For example, I can't sleep if my legs aren't shut, if I am sitting cross-legged I have to have a pillow between my legs, I also can't sit with open legs when I watch TV and there's some "bad guy". Whenever he looks fairly into the camera, I panicky shut my legs. And ofc, I can't have sex, there's a kind of mental blockade. But much of this could also come from growing up as a woman in a society that's combines sex and guilt.

In the context of what I remember from my childhood I don't know where sexual abuse should've been. There was not time, no place, no person that's seems suspicious to me.

But I am getting lost here.

Can you explain that weird feeling I had back then? Or it is not that uncommon? What are your thoughts about all of this?

That doc didn't say much about it though. He didn't seem to care what I said tbh.

I am sorry, for me that's a really hard text to read and I hope you don't feel the same and don't feel bothered. Have a nice, whatever time it is where you are.

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry to hear about what you've been through and are experiencing.

Please just know that ultimately you should consult a professional if you're looking for a diagnosis of any kind, as we are simply volunteers with no inherent expertise or certification. So while I can explain how these symptoms may or may not align with certain disorders, be reminded that we are incapable of diagnosis.

So something that might be helpful to reference is the structural dissociation model. I explain it in detail here, but in essence there are three tiers of dissociation, primary, secondary, and tertiary. Primary is for something like PTSD, trauma from an isolated incident. In secondary, you have CPTSD, and in tertiary is where disorders like OSDD and DID reside.

I will say that blacking out and losing control of your body is a staple of dissociative disorders (alongside having CPTSD), but it's also worth noting that this can happen for other reasons as well.

I think there's this common impression that in order to have a dissociative disorder such as OSDD or DID, you need to have endured CSA. While that's definitely the case for many systems, that's not a requirement. Trauma responses are not dependent on the nature of the traumatic event, only how you psychologically responded and coped.

It's possible you could be repressing some kind of sexual trauma, but it's also possible that CSA didn't occur. That being said, there are a couple of red flags you identified that could imply some kind of sexual abuse, such as feeling the need to keep your legs closed and difficulty having sex. However, those can be arguably explained by other things as well, like how you said, the societal attitudes towards women and suppressing their sexuality. Something else you could consider is the fact that you say your mom is abusive, yet you say you can't think of anyone you suspect. Ultimately I think it could be useful to consider all possibilities, while simultaneously not trying to dig for anything that's currently being repressed (because we repress things to psychologically protect ourselves, so prematurely recovering a repressed memory can damage our mental health).

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#trauma talks #mod bun #trauma details #abuse #child abuse #SA

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sarcastic-salem · 2 years

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Finally caved and decided to watch the new Dahmer series on Netflix.

Its mostly because I read that the series covers Dahmer’s life story, and I’ve been curious about his childhood for a while. I’ve been curious about psychology (and by extension criminal psychology) since I was a kid. My parents and teachers used to say that I was a “slow learner” because of a “learning disability” but no one would ever tell me what that “learning disability” was.

So I kind of grew up knowing that there was something wrong with me. Even though I didn’t know what was really wrong. So I started reading a lot about mental healthcare in middle school.

Like after you read maybe three or four books about mental illness, you start to figure out that people aren’t just born crazy. You have to go through some really fucked up shit to get that way. And that, unfortunately, applies to criminals and murderers, too.

I’ve seen a lot people complaining about the

Commercialization of tragedy????

And I’m sorry but, really — this is the most hypocritical bullshit I’ve ever heard. Because, first of all, in another 10-20 years or probably even sooner there’s going to be another TRAGEDY that’s so mindblowingly horrific yall are going to be begging for it to be COMMERCIALIZED in some way:

People are going to ask for books or documentaries or news coverage, and then eventually movies and tv dramas. Because that’s exactly what commercializing off of tragedy is—

Creating something inspired by tragedy.

Whether those things are created to celebrate or to study the tragedy in question is is not relevant. It doesn’t matter if its a murder or a domestic abuse story or some celebrity scandal — do you think books haven’t been written about school shootings?

If so, then you’re wrong.

And whose been reading this?

Because ya know what — Jennette McCurdy is

Commercializing her tragedy because her tragedy is her story.

Because tragedy is personal and more than that

Its educational — all of motherfucking history is one big tragedy, and you’re complaining about commercializing tragedy? That’s exactly the type of attitude that leads to books being pulled from shelves in public libraries. Because even though we teach history

With the hope that those horrific events will NEVER be repeated again, people would rather bury their heads in the sand and pretend they never happened.

And, yeah, that includes serial killer stories which Time magazine has been pumping out year after fucking year for more than a decade, fyi, with their Most Deadliest Men Alive issues. Or whatever they’re called. You know what I’ve learned?

That all serial killers have incredibly shitty, fucked up childhoods and untreated mental illness because they were failed by society as children. No one gave a shit when CPS was called or when their daddy molested them, and in the case of Jeffrey Dahmer and most other infamous serial killers whose actions took place between 1960-1980s

Child abuse was not even considered a crime yet

And by that I mean, ALL of this shit could have been prevented. This conversation wouldn’t even be taking place right now if people actually gave cared as much as they claim to. Motherfucking Jeffrey Dahmer could be a Gods damn biology professor in Milwaukee right now with a husband and three kids and a chihuahua that shits in your yard every morning if people actually gave a shit.

That’s what pisses me off the most.

It all could have been prevented.

As for family members feeling retraumatized…….What Netflix did was disrespectful but it wasn’t illegal. Because Dahmer’s crimes have been common knowledge for more than 30 years. His name, his victims’ and their families have already been preserved in print and on film some of which is more than that 30 years old — that makes it a matter of public forum just like the internet —

Once its out there its out there, and anyone and everyone has free and open access to it. And they can do pretty much whatever they want with that information.

So even though Ryan Murphy did something really shitty by not reaching out to victims’ family members to ask for their permission or whatever, he nor anyone under his employ was never legally obligated to do so in the first place.

And this exact same thing has happened before — A LOT.

That’s exactly how Pamela Anderson got fucked over by Disney and Hulu when Hulu added Pam & Tommy: A series which documents and relives the tale of her extremely public career failure and public character defamation — IE slut shaming EVERYWHERE — because of her abusive, dipshit husband. And they made the show without Pamela Anderson or Tommy Lee’s permission.

Not only that but whoever the fuck vied to have this series

Pulled from the LGBT genre should be fucking ashamed of themselves. Yeah, no, go bust a nut over queer Disney villains but the gay men Jeffrey Dahmer killed — nope, not the kind of representation we need. Because, seriously who is representing all of the BIPOC queer men facing discrimination and hate crimes? I mean, there’s POSE but that isn’t exactly an laugh fest, either. Are ya gonna demand that it gets pulled from the LGBT genre next?

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nightfallsupon · 6 months

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I believe this is a case for false imprisonment, from my time being locked up in psychiatric facilities.

I found this under the common law of New Zealand.

I believe I have strongly described how the people within the mental health system of NZ have used coercion, threats, and claims of authority against me in order to keep me under their control.

As I have found (screen-captured above) in section 4A, the common law of NZ also speaks about how the doctors conflate insight with capacity. I have spoken in depth about this in earlier posts on this blog, how I do have a lot of insight, I simply do not agree with the doctors opinions of me. I know my own thoughts and emotions much better than they know me, spending half an hour with me every three months, and judging me based on this and a file of lies about me, written by other ill informed 'medical professionals,' who say I'm crazy simply for standing up for myself to them, and will find any small thing to conflate in their records to use against me in future.

I found a study spoken about at https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/07/190708131152.htm which states psychiatric diagnosis is 'scientifically meaningless.'

In this study it states "The diagnostic system wrongly assumes that all distress results from disorder, and relies heavily on subjective judgments about what is normal."

I believe there is no basis in psychiatric diagnosis. They are simply opinions of over educated, and brainwashed 'professionals.' Because my opinion differs to theirs, they say I lack insight and the capacity to make decisions. They have credibility within the system, organised specifically for their control over other people. But more specifically they have a lot of credibility within the court system, and are able to keep me under the mental health act and imprisoned in my body (drugged) and elsewise because of this.

I have seen first hand how New Zealand, and likely much of the world is imprisoning people who the doctors simply consider don't fit into societies tidy box of 'normal.' And because I was willing to do something drastic (my decision to steal a diamond ring, a car, and a campervan in 2012 - spoken about in earlier posts also), they have classified me as lacking capacity. I believe my blog proves that I have a lot of insight and understanding about what I have done, and what has happened to me. It is simply that I have never been listened to, or believed, and as a product of this inhumane system, been coerced, and imprisoned, in order to fit into their limited perception of me.

I believe it is now even more necessary to challenge the structure of society with whatever it takes for change to occur, just as the suffragettes took upon themselves in the 1900s, otherwise the world is heading toward catastrophe - as proven in scientific research of climate change. I don't believe this makes me insane, or lacking in capacity, or even a risk. As I have described in depth also, my reasons for doing these things, again in earlier posts and how I would choose not to repeat these actions. Infact I think it is a very sane thing to do alls considered, if you disagree with the way the world is headed, and the way in which humans treat other humans. Especially the way the world is currently, there should be more people fighting for others to be free. We obviously haven't accomplished much in this world with passive protesting, when there are people dying and starving throughout the world - Palestine, Ukraine... Not enough is being done by people, normal, regular humans to challenge the ingrained proposition that profit is to be valued over human life and I am fucking tired of it. I have never harmed another person, I have never assaulted, abused, or emotionally destroyed another, as they have done to me. Perhaps they should be the ones locked up in psychiatric units around the country after the cruel and inhumane actions these doctors, nurses, and judges seem to get away with.

New Zealand as a country has failed, and I deserve justice for their false imprisonment of me. One to two years of my life. Stolen from me. And tortured in the process. Imprisonment in my body of over a decade from the drugs they use to attempt to control me. Well, that didn't work did it. Read below, I've been fighting to be heard for YEARS. They might be able to control what they do to my body, but they will never control my mind. And I am ready for a battle once the world finds out.

Source:

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a-sentient-horax · 10 months

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November 27, 2023 - Part 1

Okay, well, we made it through Thanksgiving. My mom came down with my three siblings: my sister (17), my brother (15) and my youngest brother (9). I actually hosted Thanksgiving last year as well, but it was my dad, his girlfriend, and his parents (my grandparents) that came down. It's the fun of having divorced parents I guess. Now, my boyfriend and I live in an apartment. It's not small, but it's not huge. Or at least it's not really the size to host a 6 person Thanksgiving, BUT I've made it work twice. The way that we do it is we cook all the food in our apartment, load it all up into this wagon that my bf and I have had for years, and then take it all to the conference room in our apartment. The conference room has a huge, 10-person conference table, so it's the perfect place for a dinner. It also has a TV so that we can watch the Cowboys lose while we eat. I think probably definitely we aren't "supposed" to do that, since we didn't reserve the conference room and it's not meant for like, a ton of food to be in there. But I've gotten away with it twice.

My mom and I have a historically rocky relationship. When I was 12 I moved in with my dad full-time, and then when I left my home state I didn't talk to my mom at all for about two years. We have started to reconcile over the last few years and it has been mostly linear and successful. The older I get the more insight I have into my mom and her behvaiour, I mean that's sort of like, what happens when you grow up right? You can't understand your parents as adults when you are a child because you are still a child. You can't even understand yourself as an adult yet.

My mother has some kind of personality disorder, or something. I'm not a psychologist, I'm not going to pretend I can diagnose her. I see content about "cluster B" personality disorders and those seem to fit. In the past I called her a narcissist and bipolar. Again, I don't know, but she exhibits behaviors similar to the ones I hear about from those personality disorders. I have tried to make a concerted effort to destigmatize personality and mental disorders, and I would stake my life on the fact that whatever quirks my mom has are directly related to abuse (from her parents, from bullies, from her ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends, etc.); but it is very, very difficult hard to have a mother with a personality disorder. It was harder as a child, because I couldn't really understand why I was always wary of my mom, or why I could recognize she was different from others but now how she was different or why it made me feel weird. But as an adult it's like, a whole new understanding.

When I was a kid my mom was abusive to me. That's not what this journal entry is about. She yelled at me often, was rude, picked on me, punished me often, was extremely controlling and her moods were erratic and impulsive. She robbed me of a childhood and I was forced to raise my siblings and myself while constantly being berated for not doing exactly what she wanted every time and reading her mind and emotions to understand what she wanted from me. I think these things are independent of her mental illness, or at least that they weren't caused solely by it. We were poor, her second husband was incredibly physically abusive and a drugs addict. Getting out of that situation yeah probably requires that you parentify your eldest daughter and you are under constant stress. And of course her parents yelled and screamed as their only way of communication so that's what she did to us. It's not all from mental illness, it's a compounding of factors. Again, I can really only recognize that because I'm an adult now.

So, my mom comes down for Thanksgiving, and it's a weird sort of view I have of her. It's clear that I'm not "part of the family." And while that hurts, I understand. I left them all behind, the four of them live together all the time now without me, I'm not a key member of their family anymore. Man that hurts, but ok I understand. It also produces this weird thing where I am watching my mom perform for me as if I was an outsider. And I started to notice weird things. One event that I keep thinking about is when we were walking my littlest brother around a local town center area. It had been decorated with Christmas things for kids to play with, like there was a big toy wooden plane they could get in and pretend they were flying, there was a huge 6 foot tall Rubiks cube, etc. etc. Also in the area was a huge life-sized unicorn. There was a group of about 7-8 people, all childless adults who were clearly pretty drunk, and they were taking turns on the unicorn. After one lady gets off the unicorn, the group kind of huddles around and starts talking. They are still staying near the unicorn, like they want more pictures, but they are talking with each other and no one is on the unicorn. Now, my family was standing to the side, waiting our turn, definitely out of sight of the group, it's not like they saw us waiting. But we were waiting for our turn, letting my littlest brother go nuts on the toy train. My mom keeps looking over there, and it's clear she's getting impatient or upset, or at least that she's about to do something. And suddenly she takes off. She stomps right up to the unicorn and starts struggling to get on. So that's the situation. 7-8 strangers are giving my mom the evil eye, while she struggles to get on this unicorn and is like, waving at us to take her picture. And it was profoundly embarrassing. My boyfriend, the kindest loving soul I have ever met, has never in his life acted embarrassed by my or any of my family's actions, but when this happened I heard him mutter "I can't... I can't..." and he walked away to monitor my youngest brother. He does not like kids, and he decided he would rather hang out with the 9 year old.

And maybe that's what I am struggling with as an adult. It is humiliating and embarrassing to have a parent that has a disorder. And it sucks. It's mean to say, I don't want to be embarrassed by my mom, I don't want her to humiliate me and my siblings, because my siblings were humiliated and immediately wanted to leave after my mom did this. And I can't confront her about it and even if I could is it even fair? Is it even fair to force my mother to conform to a version of herself that is not embarrassing to me or to our family in public just because I don't like to feel embarrassed? And is it even her fault? Could she actually change even if I confronted her and she wanted to? She is already so stressed and so lonely and is struggling through her life, what am I supposed to say to her, "You clearly have a disorder of some kind and this immutable part of you that you cannot change is what is driving people from having an authentic connection with you so you need to change your authentic self to be more palatable for me?" I mean I just...I don't know what to do and it makes me feel sick inside thinking about it.

#journal

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nota-londra · 1 year

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I'm back (?)

Long time, no real posts

Hi :)

I think the last post I made was about a very toxic "friend" I made in college who not only lied and manipulated my actual best friend and I, but she also went around telling people things that simply were not true because they didn't happen. I think the blame game would go something like "Alondra deliberately made me feel bad about my body" (Not what I did, but if you had the same sick, twisted method of processing words incorrectly that she did, then you'd believe her) and "she made me feel like shit about an eating disorder" (I can't explain this one. I was a piece of shit at 19. I also wish that I hadn't felt like I was driven to that point [here's where I tell you I more than likely was expressing symptoms of mental illness during this time and for years to come.])

We did this thing called the "Joker Era" after college for a little bit. I blame the pandemic. You know? The whole two years or whatever that the state of Tennessee decided it was going to half-ass shut down. During the second-to-last semester of my college education, for fuck's sake. We went full-circle with that guy but it, of course, went nowhere. Now you're unemployed in your mid-twenties blogging in third/second/first person. No tense, just swag. Putting it all out here because you deleted Twitter almost a month ago (oh, buddy, don't get me started on that one). You finally decided to follow your dreams, BUT you haven't written anything that people have read since you were TWELVE YEARS OLD.

As a result, I'm drinking beer as the edibles hit while the movie about cannibalistic monsters I put on is playing. The dishwasher struggles to be louder than my boyfriend's loud TV speakers. I've managed to talk myself out of self-sabotage and destruction successfully for the nth week in a row. We're doing a lot better, surprisingly, for someone who's twenty-four years old, unemployed, and has no idea what she wants to do for work except the things she actually knows how to do.

No one really talks about how much low self-esteem and the perception of self can really fuck someone's shit up. I put my entire life on hold for things that genuinely do not matter: a man, because I felt like I wasn't good enough, because I was scared, because I was unsure. I've found myself saying things that begin with "Because girls like me don't/can't--" much more often at this age than I ever thought possible. All the versions of myself I'd make up when I was younger were nothing like the way I am now. I imagined myself being brave, strong, successful, and so much happier at 25 when I was a kid. As a teenager, I didn't even imagine myself alive, so that's a huge win.

How was I supposed to imagine all these great things about myself when I couldn't even imagine myself alive? I had to walk such a fine line growing up or I would be forced to face such violent consequences. How was I supposed to know that making mistakes as an adult was ok? How was I supposed to know that I shouldn't turn to my obsessions to cope? How was I supposed to know that an obsession with people and alcohol was as equally bad as any other substance and that finding peace and moving on was the correct answer?

I find myself still mesmerized by self-acceptance. How people seem to fully non-conform in a very conformist world and still live their truth despite it all. I still don't know my whole truth, but when I do (if I ever do), I'll know how to be more accepting and loving of myself than I ever have.

Through all of this, I've had this tumblr account. Six instagrams, four twitters, three facebooks, two tumblr accounts. The only thing I've used consistently is this tumblr account. None of the other social medias I had a decade ago still exist. For someone who likes to reset her digital footprint every so often, I've stuck with this one through a lot. From the awkward All Time Low gifs, to the moody fall photos, I can honestly say you've been the only constant in my life. As someone who's afraid of everyone leaving me, I'm thankful you never have, and now realize that it doesn't matter if people leave or not. It gets better, even though it might not really seem like it at first.

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guardianspirits13 · 4 years

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I wanna talk about Natsuo Todoroki for a second here.

tw// mentions of abuse, self harm, and suicide

Natsuo visibly has the most emotional trauma out of anyone else in his family (Touya not included), and I really wanna talk about why that is.

For starters, we haven't seen him really smile since he was introduced in chapter 187. He's introduced as having a friendly, easygoing persona and it's easy to imagine this is how most people outside of his family know him. However, every time we see him appear since then, another layer of his trauma is revealed and expanded upon, and it cuts DEEP.

I think the main reason that Natsuo still seems so vulnerable compared to the rest of his family is different than what you'd assume. Fuyumi and Shouto both spend a lot of time around Endeavor, and have been in close proximity to his (relatively recent) decision to atone. They have seen his growth firsthand and come to terms with it. Rei has obviously taken a very different path to healing- not entirely voluntarily- but she has been working with doctors and therapists for years to change and recover and reconnect with herself and her children. Natsuo is off at college, and takes every opportunity he can to avoid Endeavor. He (understandably) wants nothing to do with him, and shows stagnant resistance to his attempts to atone.

The reason why Natsuo can't move on from the past is because his trauma didn't come from Endeavor. It came from Touya.

Now initially we were led to believe that it was simply Touya's untimely death that still bothers Natsuo, and it makes sense seeing how Endeavor drove him to the edge. Losing his best friend and brother as a young kid without parents to support him or any therapist to speak of can absolutely been the source of persistent emotional damage, but the more and more we learn about Touya's situation, the more evident it becomes that Natsuo's trauma is much much deeper than even grief.

Touya, as we know, was driven by an ambition instilled in him by his father and experienced extreme rejection sensitivity when those ambitions were no longer realistic. Touya's relationship with his parents could be described as insecure attachment, a psychological term primarily regarding how kids react and respond to their parents and other close relationships. As he was raised, Touya learned to equate his potential to be a hero with his personal worth and similarly confounded attention with love. The difference being, of course, that love is unconditional, but even attention was being continually directed away from him as a punishment for continuing to train and burn himself so he could once again become worthy in his fathers' eyes.

This is where Natsuo comes in. At first it was assumed that all of the Todoroki children were born out of Endeavor's strong-willed desire to have a child that could surpass All Might, but we learned that this isn't exactly the case. I'd argue that it was narratively poetic on Horikoshi's part once this was expanded upon. Fuyumi was born to support and encourage her brother, and that is the exact role she plays 23 years later, keeping her family together.

Natsuo's case is even more intersting.

It was bad enough if Natsuo was only born for the potential of his quirk, but it's even more sinister that the sole intent behind his birth was to discourage Touya from his ambitions. I'd say it was to replace him, but it was more to promote the idea that Touya was expendable than to raise aonther kid with the same ideals but the potential to actually achieve it, although that was definitely a secondary motivation.

The parallelism in this is how much Natsuo's life revolves around Touya. He was born because of Touya, he looked up to and took care of Touya as a kid, and the absence of Touya in the present continues to drive him and his decisions in life (but more on that later).

I continue to pray that we will eventually get more solid backstory on Natsuo and Touya's relationship as kids and where it cut off, wether on a bad note or not, but there are a few things we know for certain. One, Touya was mentally ill. Yes, he was rejected by his parents but he seems to have been particularly vulnerable to this compared to any of his siblings since he was the first of them and thus relied only on his parents for validation in his early years. He shows early signs of a variety of different mental disorders, particularly BPD, which I have previously written a whole analysis for on its own. Touya is shown self-harming both by the very nature of his quirk and even by very directly ripping his hair out. He was incredibly self-destructive.

This is why it is so much more concerning to me that Natsuo, who was AT LEAST four years younger than him, was his primary source of comfort. Natsuo was too young to have known anything more than 'my big brother is sad that daddy won't train him anymore' and he obviously wasn't equipped in any way to handle Touya's severe mental illness. Touya most definitely needed professional treaatment as his forms of coping were abnormal even for the neglect and rejection that he experienced. Natsuo comforted Touya through breakdown after breakdown, and more than that Touya relied on him and came to him voluntarily for support. Natsuo was the best option he had, and he took full advantage of that. The main source of Natsuo's trauma was Touya's reliance on him.

Not to say at all that this was in any way Touya's fault- he was mentally ill and desperately in need of some form of comfort to keep him sane; it was almost a survival method at this point since neither of his parents really acknowleged him at all anymore. Touya's instability hurt Natsuo more than parental neglect ever did, but it was the neglect that enabled it and striped Touya of the supportive atmosphere he would have needed at this point not only to prevent but to heal from the mental damage he had already suffered.

Natsuo dealt with this for years and you can see how much it hurt him to see Touya in so much pain, not only from Endeavor's rejection but from his own self harm as well. For Natuso to know that his brotherly love would never be the same as having loving parents; would neve be enough- but at least it was something so he continued to love and care about his brother for little in return- is indicative of the kind of character he is.

(Edit: After the events of chapter 302 we know that Natsuo's relationship with Touya wasn't perfect. I will elaborate more on this in a different post, but I just wanted to clarify that although we were shown a very high-tension scene between them, it is implied that this was a regular occurrence that Natsuo was usually more receptive too but tired out of, in addition to Touya's spiraling mental health. It fit with the natrative to show the tension Touya was feeling with his family from all directions, but Natsu and Touya clearly had a stronger relationship up to and before this point, evidenced by their sharing a room and playing together regularly.)

He is incredibly selfless, and it's interesting to note how many of his positive qualities as an adult stem from negative experiences as a kid. He never really felt love from his parents, so he relied on Touya (and likely also Fuyumi) for that as well. If he grew up learning he had to give love in order to recieve it back, it absolutely influenced who he became in the future, a solid example of this being the responsibility he feels to reach out and have a relationship with Shouto and further regrets that he wasn't able to help his abuse in the past either. Another aspect of his character that intruigues me is how gentle he is. Personality-wise he seems about as opposite as he could be from the awkward, stoic, emotionally-stunted person that is Endeavor.

There are a couple of reasons for this, beyond what I've already discussed.

One, he had little to no contact with elements of toxic masculinity growing up, especially not from Endeavor.

Two, most of the influence he did have growing up was from Fuyumi, who is established to have endlessly cared for him since he was a literal baby.

Three, he grew up in a household where almost everyone around him was in much more literal, immediate pain than he was so he developed a very strong sense of empathy that might also have been tied to early survivor's guilt.

Now I have one important distinction to make, and that's the temptation to label him as a 'softboy' or something of the like after seeing him caring for his family and more pointedly, watching him break down in tears during chapter 252. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with men being soft or vulnerable (on the contrary it's actually so so important and relevant that Hori is writing characters like this in a mainstream shounen manga but that's an essay for another time), it is unfair to label him as such based on a moment when his trauma is being exposed.

Because his truama stems from such a young age, there is a blurry line between just being born with more emotional intelligence and the situation he was in fostering those traits. You know, the classic nature/nurture thing. My point being, it's important to tread carefully when discussing the nature of his personality to avoid invalidating his trauma; I have no doubt that he is very strong for having survived these things, and the moments we see of him onscreen are definitely among his most vulnerable.

Another thing that people less familiar with Natsuo's character might assume is that he is hot-headed and argumentative. I thought that at first too- after all, he doesn't seem to shy away from yelling at Endeavor when given the opportunity. However, this doesn't seem to be the case at all.

The first real scene we see him in with Endeavor, the man walks into the room and Natsuo decides he can't handle it and goes to leave. However, Endeavor happens to be blocking the doorway. Endeavor physically stops him and provokes him to his face, asking him to say whatever is on him mind. While Natsuo is notably not confrontational, Endeavor is. I think it's fair to say that he felt at least uneasy at this gesture. Natsuo is very honest with his feelings, and it's obvious that he's pissed at the audacity of Endeavor to be so oblivious to his own son. This is presumably one of the first real interactions they've ever really had, and at this point Natsuo has been dealing with trauma (caused by Endeavor!) on his own for years, and Endeavor seems completely oblivious to his pain and dismmisive to the rest of the family's as well.

Again during the internship arc Natsuo tries to get along with Endeavor and this time he actually gives it a fleeting chance. Tensions are high, however, and the conversation very quickly becomes uncomfortable, at which point he leaves. It is continually implied that Natsuo is uncomfortable being around Endeavor because his very presence brings up painful thoughts and memories of a time when sharing the same space as him was a warning to run and hide. This is later directly confirmed by Natsuo as he says that every time he looks at Endeavor's face he remembers Touya and the pain he was in.

I feel like an important side note is that we have never seen Natsuo outside the context of his family, which is understandable, as the role he plays in the story directly relates to them. However, if you take a look at Shouto, even though his experiences have shaped him to become who he is, he definitely acts differently when Endeavor's not in the vicinity.

Back to Touya's death, it would be very rare that someone would mourn a death for an entire decade without finding closure unless there are other factors preventing it, and uncomfortably this seems to be the same thing for both Natsuo and Endeavor: guilt.

This is getting incredibly long already, but it's important to note that Natsuo probably felt an incredible responsibility to take care of Touya and protect him because of his empathetic nature. His love was never going to be the same as having loving parents. His encouragement was never going to be the same as having support from Endeavor. Even further than then neglect and abandonement, it was not being able to save Touya that really made Natsuo feel worthless.

He seems to try and remedy this inability to save Touya and diminish his guilt by doing everything he can to be better. He reaches out to Shouto to be a better brother, he consistently pushes his limits to entertain Fuyumi's notion of a happy family, and he's working hard towards a degree rhat will allow him to help people like Touya (and Rei) because he failed to do so in the past.

His bio mildly implies that he didn't have much of a direction he was heading in after high school, but Fuyumi's encouragement led him to seek out his current college career. This goes back to Natsuo's 'purpose' in a sense revolving arount Touya, from his birth to his relationship with him to his death, after which he lost his direction. They were always rather inseperable, so naturally their seperation hit Natsuo hard. He lost his direction in life so when Fuyumi encouraged him to rediscover it, he thought of helping people, because that's ultimately what he was born to do.

Thank you so, so much for reading this if you made it to the end! I clearly have a lot of thoughts on this. Let me know what you think about it as well, and hopefully we'll get more info on this soon in the manga :)

#bnha 203 #bnha spoilers #long post #natsuo todoroki #todoroki natsuo #bnha meta #mymeta #todoroki touya

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algumaideia · 3 years

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An analysis of Octavian

This post was actually going to be an explanation of why I think Octavian is an antagonist, but not a villain. But it ended up being an analysis of his character.

SPOILERS

And as always feel free to disagree with me, just be respectful.

Sorry, because it wasn’t well-written, I’m incapable of writing good texts.

Backstory

I think it is important to say that since we don’t have any information about his backstory most of the thing said in this part of the review are what I think is his backstory. It is a mix of the facts stated in the books, the way Octavian acts and my interpretations. Besides the things I’ll make clear that were said in the books, the rest is not canon. And you don’t need to agree with me that this was his backstory.

His family is one of the richest of New Rome- In the books he also seems to act without fearing the consequences while taking the privilege/money of his family as garented. Octavian acts like someone that is seeking attention. It is so weird how he just do whatever he wants without fearing consequences when his family is right there in New Rome. For that to happen I think or his family neglects him or they are those kind of people who think the children can do no wrong and are all my baby didn’t do that. But I think that if they were the latter, they would be more present in Octavian’s life, but they are never there.

He is an augere and feels very proud about it. I don’t think there is too much to add about it besides that I think he likes to be an augere because it makes him important and necessary.

No one likes him and this isn’t something new. In Son of Neptune, Hazel says half of the camp hates Octavian and most of his friends are bought. So, Octavian is a lonely child. And he is aware of this. He is a bad person, people dislike him for a reason. But it seems people have been disliking him for some years and he is a child. According to his wiki he was 10 years old when he came to Camp Jupiter for the first time, and he spent his tweens and teens years in a place where people did not like him. I don’t think this was a good place to grow up.

He is really smart and manipulative. I think that those traits are a little inconsistent. Because in the beginning of the SoN Percy says how Octavian is really good at manipulating people with words, but then in the ending of the book and in MoA everyone is shutting Octavian up. Isn’t he this kind of master of words, how he isn’t answering people back?

We also know he’s been at camp jupiter for quite sometime. I’ll talk about it in another part of the post.

He is anemic and mentally ill. I’ll talk about those things in the Camp Jupiter, Treatment and Ableism parts.

Other thing that I would like to say is that this post is not an attempt to ignore the bad things Octavian did and pretend he is not a bad person. It is just me trying to understand his better and show why in my opinion the fandom hasn’t treated him fairly.

Camp Jupiter

Camp Jupiter sucks and it does for a lot of reasons. Some of them being the fact they have a city full of adults and most of them were demigods trained in the camp, which means they have trained adults but instead tweens and teens are the ones who fights. Hazel said that if Percy dishonored the legion they both would be executed. Hazel also says that sometimes people die in the war games. There is also the fact that people are dying all the time in missions/wars. The Camp Jupiter also expects perfect behavior for its demigods, to them all know the rules and to do not commit mistakes and I don’t have adhd but this doesn’t seem to be a good place to people that has the disorder. There is too much preassure to do not do any wrong, apperently no emotional support and the punishments seems to be crazy. It’s not a healthy place to a chldren grow up.

Other point is how they value physical strenght, hand to hand combats and offensive approache more than a lot of things. Frank said how he wasn’t treated well because he was an archer, and this was seem as cowardice. Octavian is anemic, he doesn’t have physical strenght or energy to be able to fight. The only way to be respected in Jupiter's camp is to be a good fighter, and he cannot be that because of his illness. As I said Octavian is someone that is often seeking attention and validation by his peers, and I think that this is why being an augere is something so important to him. He cannot make himself important in the traditional way and by being an augere he is necessary to the camp. People cannot just dismiss him. He buys friends, he manipulates people, he becomes a centurion, he is always dominating the senate. He makes himself impossible to be neglected.

Yes, Octavian is power-hungry. Yes, he is bad. But a lot of things he did during Heroes of Olympus was just Roman things (he was also mentally ill and his mental health was getting worse in each book). When Hazel says that Octavian will kill Percy if the greeks atack New Rome, but in the next sentence she says that Romans take oaths very seriously. However it is all written like it is Octavian being a horrible person. But it is not. The Romans are very harsh with their punishments, they seem to be violent, physical. When Octavian says the Romans should fight the greeks, he is just acting like a Roman, like someone who was raised in a enviroment that encouraged violence responses.

Treatment

Octavian wasn’t treated nicely by the narrative and other characters. I mean, this guy was the centurion of the first cohort and an augere. But no one seem to respect him. No one enters the legion without him saying yes (I know it is acording to what he sees) but he is treated like he isn’t important. He is the one that is responsable of saying what the gods wants, but no one seems to have problems mocking him. I mean fi he decides to give you a wrong information about what a god want you are dead.

Hazel said how “obsessed” with the sibylline books Octavian and it was framed as him being irrational and dumb. But in the end he was right, if the legion listened to him Ella would have been save way sooner. But no, it is just Octavian being “obsessed”.

Percy acts like Octavian doesn’t have any prophecy powers, but he saw the lighting in the Jupiter Temple. Then when Octavian is mad because there are three preators he acts like he is overreacting, and Jason and Reyna do nothing. And this is weird because it was made very clear that rules are very important to Camp Jupiter.

When he decides to attack Camp Jupiter he is always villified and not seem as a mentally ill boy that has been getting worse doing the Roman thing.

He is always dismissed, mocked, villified, ignored.

And the fact Luke was treated with sympathy, but Octavian not. Luke, who tried to kill Percy, a childre, a lot of times. Luke, who used Annabeth feelings and emotional attachment to manipulate her. Luke, who was 19-22 years old and groomed Silena, who was 14-18 years old. Luke, who poisoned Talia’s tree. Luke, who had no regards for Grover, the satyr that saved him. Luke was treated with sympathy. But not Octavian. Not the mentally ill child who was losing the touch with reality during the series. Not the guy who was just doing what he was raised to do.

I mean, I don’t even like Octavian and I cannot stand it.

Gwen

Guys, Octavian did a lot of bad things but killing Gwen wasn’t one of those thing. It is so no sense for a lot of reasons.

As we talked before he is anemic and he is also smart. This intelligent man, that is full aware of his physical limits, thought it would be a good idea to get in the midle of a chaotic fight? I don’t think so.

Some pages before that Percy hit Octavian and he fell like a straw man (according to the text, the first time I read it I thought he fainted).

Octavian always makes things because of a purpose, he isn’t just being mean because. He does bad things because his actions will give him something. Killing Gwen wouldn’t help him with anything.

Frank for some reason decided to look to Octavian during that mess and that doesn’t make any sense. He is in the camp for a month at this time the guy should’ve already known that Octavian doesn’t battle, he only commands. He saw Percy fighting for a couple of seconds during the war game and was already able to say how he fought.

Octavian was without his knive, but just minutes before he fainted, he could have lost it when he fell.

Frank said that Octavian seemed interested and not worried. But this is not enough to blame the guy, this is not enough to assume anything execpt that maybe Octavian has low empath.

Greeks

Octavian was a roman. To the romans the greeks didn’t exist anymore, and they were the enemy.

So, a random greek shows up, spends some days at the camp, becomes preator, and two of your most important gods appear and give a lot of attention to this greek. This is really suspicious. This greek also says that the romans should work with the greeks so they can defeat Gaea. And why you should trust this dude? He doesn’t show respect for the Roman culture. Then this huge war ship appears and this suspect greek guy says that they all come peace and the romans should not attack. Obviously you don’t believe it, and what happens they attack! As the good roman you are, your answer is to attack the greeks back.

The romans answers things with violence. This is why Reyna asked if Annabeth was a roman after the judo flip. This is why Hazel said she and Percy would be executed if he did a mistake during his period of probatio. Octavian was being roman. He was trying to protect and revenge his Camp against a long time enemy.

Not saying everything he did about it was logical, but this is because of his upbringing and his mental health.

Goals

I think it is really interisting the fact that Octavian main goal was to be a hero, not more powerful. Apollo didin’t say Octavian would become preator, he said Octavian would save New Rome.

I mean, since Octavian wanted to be preator and then became the pontifex maximum, so the logical think it would be to him wants more power. But no he wants to be a hero. A hero is someone that is respected, admired, liked and even loved. All the thing Octavian isn't. Don't get me wrong, Octavian is a bad person, there is a reason people dislike him. But he is also a lonely child that is hated by most of the camp.

Ableism

Octavian is often described as crazy, mad, insane. In his first appearence Percy said Octavian had madness in the eyes, and this was the way of the narrative warning us he was one of the bad guys. He is obviusly mentally ill, his mental health is obviusly getting worse, but everyone ignores it. Everyone ignores it, execpt when they are describing how insane his laugh is, how crazy he looks, how intense his gaze is. Everyone ignores it, until they need to remind us he is one of the antagonists.

Ending

The ending was terrible.

Octavian was obiously having a psychotic break, he was stumbling, laughing “in an insane” way, and he didn’t realize his jewelry was in fire. And then what happens? Michael Kahale, the person he most trusted, his problaby only friends appeared, saw the situation and did nothing.

Octavian didn’t kill himself. He didn’t know his clothes were tied in the onager. It wasn’t a sacrifice. It was an aciddent.

Nico stopped Will Solace who was trying to warn it because some “deaths are inevitable”. Nico, also a mentally ill character saw Octavian in the vulnerable state he was and did nothing to help him. And when Nico was seeing Octavian lunch himself to the sky he thought that this was a relief. No one was sad, no one thought this was a tragedy, no one cared. Octavian was dead and that was a relief.

The guy was so desperate to be the hero and no one even cared about his death. It is horrible.

Another sorry for the weird tense of the text.

If you want to read this is my post about Octavian and Azula and how their mental illness were treated differently.

Best regards,

Me.

Ps. We need to start talking how the way Bryce was written was ableist.

#pjo #hoo #rick riordan critical #rr crit #rick riordan ableism #octavian #pjo octavian #hoo octavian #octavian ableism #octavian analysis

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