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ochrearia · 25 days ago

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Angel Talk

Holy shit I have such bad brainrot for Peacock right now I need to blow up anyways here's bonding time for him and YS. I don't think I did a good job writing Peacock properly this time I started zoning out because I got derailed a bit. Sorry if he sounds like another BF more than himself

BFs in this one-shot: sfa!BF (Peacock, Shed's), Yourself (YS)

“When was the last time you went outside for some fresh air and sun?”

Peacock knew that YS was slowly making progress on moving forward from his grief and trauma, and all of that visible progress was great to see. But he was still a long way away from being properly ‘better’. So crossing through the mirror to find his brother huddled pathetically under his blanket in bed wasn’t surprising, but enough to make him still worried.

“Dunno.” YS mumbled with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “Haven’t needed to do anything outside of my apartment of late. Time is still a bit lost on me.”

Peacock sighed, walking over and sitting with his back to the side of the bed. “Come on big guy. There’s always something to be doing, you have a procrastination problem and you know it.” He watched YS pointedly look away before continuing. “Sun’s good for you. I’d say more so than a human considering how much time us angels are meant to spend in the sky.”

Right, he had to plan his words carefully here. Just because Peacock knew about his missing wings didn’t mean YS knew that he knew. The fact he had to essentially lie didn’t sit well in his gut, but the truth here was guaranteed to make him upset. That wasn’t what the other was here to do. However…

“Has something changed? We’ve all noticed but no one’s bothered to ask. You got so much more, like, affectionate all of a sudden. I never actually asked what kind of angel you are, since there’s multiple. Well, multiple in the world I come from, I guess I’m assuming that also is a feature for you.”

YS groaned, turning his head and burying it in his pillow. “I swear I am trying. Trying to ignore it because it’s fucking embarrassing. Stupid, annoying instincts. Dumb. If I was normal I wouldn’t feel embarrassed over it but I’d also not even be here if I was normal.”

“This is giving me little insight into what the fuck you’re actually talking about.” Peacock deadpanned lightly, reaching a hand over to poke at YS’s cheek and getting a chuckle out of the irritated grumble the action caused.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll tell, because it doesn’t matter and you already know most of my secrets anyway. I think. Probably. I didn’t tell you I was an angel so I’m assuming it works the same way as how I knew you were one without asking.”

“Well, yeah, that and Beefer came to me to talk about it a little.”

“That fucking lizard…” YS sighed, but there was no malice behind it. “Shows up seeing through absolutely everyone’s disguises like nothing and then doesn’t have time to slip away from his world much anymore. I’d go over there myself but he doesn’t want me doing that, says he can’t make time to get away from his Pico and GF long enough for them not to question it or see me for that matter. Miss that stupid idiot. Hope he’s okay… better be.”

Something about those last few sentences made something stir in Peacock’s head. “Wait a minute. Wait. Clingy, and apparently needing one of our brothers to be safe. Holy shit, you’re specifically a guardian angel aren’t you?”

“I didn’t!” YS started, before cutting himself off, huffing, and continuing quieter. “I didn’t plan on this happening. I didn’t even think it could happen, stupid fucking instincts, I don’t know if you have any of those. I don’t even know what kind of angel you are. Very great and fun biology prank built into my damn DNA or something. When I get attached to someone and start acting as theirs- their guardian angel I mean- makes me clingy as fuck. Possessive. Even more so than I already might have been in my own choice to care about someone. So I don’t slack off and not do my job or some stupid shit.”

“Well that explains the sudden change, then.” Peacock snickered. “Which one of us is it then? That you attached to, or whatever? Didn’t start that way so it happened recently. Do they know?”

YS paused, turning his head again and giving Peacock the most ridiculous stare. “You can’t be this stupid. Like we’re all dumb as fuck and that’s a universal attribute but there’s no way you’re this dumb.”

“Rude.” Peacock snipped back, but it was still underlyingly playful. What was he missing? Something big, clearly, from the incredulous look coming from his brother- Wait.

“Oh shit it’s everyone.” He cackled- he couldn’t help it, that was so fucking funny-

“Shut up.” Even with part of his face covered, the other could tell YS’s face was burning. “I’m opening up to you and saying things the majority don’t know yet and you’re laughing at me. Absolute betrayal.”

“Sorry!” Peacock gasped between his giggling. “Sorry, I’m not trying to laugh at you. I didn’t think guardian angels could attach to more than one person, much less thirteen of them. Don’t you think that’s a little much? Ooh, maybe not, if everyone found out you only got attached to a few instead of all there’d be so much offended fighting. But also that’d be hilarious to witness.”

“I didn’t plan on this.” YS insisted again. “You know my- um… she’s still around, her spirit is in my microphone. Doesn’t have a lot of energy to do much, but she allows me to be able to mirror walk. I’m still pissed everyone else can do it without the damn stipulations my version of it has. So dumb. I had started wondering why she was so insistent to push me towards you guys, letting me travel across universes and probably breaking several rules. It’s her fault. She knew before I did. Tricked me.”

There was something he was missing. Some piece of information that the other was refusing to mention, dancing around it instead and hoping what he was saying would be enough for Peacock to understand without it. Unfortunately for YS, he already knew. The big guy must have thought none of this angel stuff would still be able to happen without his wings. Looks like the universe proved both of them wrong.

Because if YS had truly lost his wings by being a Fallen angel, then that assumption would’ve been right. So he didn’t Fall after all.

But that meant something really had torn his wings off like Beef theorized. What could’ve possibly been cruel enough to do that? Like he’d said before, there were very few things strong enough to even do that. A Fall gone wrong, somehow? No, that wouldn’t make any sense either. Angels at least had enough sense to know that tearing off a fellow angel’s wings as a claim to “Fall” would end in them Falling too, no matter if the other deserved it or not. No sane angel would’ve done that.

No sane angel… No. No, nonono-

“Peacock?” YS’s concerned voice cut through his thoughts. “What happened? You got upset all of a sudden, did I say something?”

“No, it’s okay.” Damn, this guy was good, he could feel that happening? He really did attach to all of them. “Thinking about something. You know how it is.”

“Is it about your Pico again?” YS asked, moving to sit up. “Is it getting worse? Man, I really wish I knew how to help. I don’t know why that guy’s being so… stubborn.”

“Not that. You’re worrying yourself over nothing, you don’t need to get all worked up YS.” He didn’t want to have to start lying more than he already was, he needed to get this conversation derailed. Quickly. “Don’t think this has made me forget about my original question. You look like you haven’t seen the sun in months, man. You need to go outside. Stop moping around.”

The subject change seemed to work, YS returning to his silly grumbling. “I’m fine. There’s nothing interesting to be doing outside anyway. It’s comfortable here. Don’t want to get up.”

“Okay, are you bed rotting because you’re genuinely not feeling great right now, or are you doing it because it’s familiar?” Peacock asked.

“...Fuck. I need you idiots to stop being so smart.” YS rolled onto his back properly, rubbing his face with his hands. “Can I go outside tomorrow instead?”

Holy shit this guy was such a procrastinator. “Dude, you’re worse at taking care of your health than cleaning up your soda cans. It’s actually a mystery how you lived this long with how often you put things off until you start dying.”

“Not my fault the bed is comfy and I don’t have energy.”

“You don’t have energy because you’re staying in bed and not going outside!” Peacock exclaimed, exasperated. “Don’t even get me started on the times we have to almost beg you to fucking eat something. It’s not like we’re going to give up on you but can you at least try to make it less like pulling teeth?”

YS started playing dirty, pulling his lips into a pout. “Maybe the sun shouldn’t be outside then. The sun should come into my room directly and provide me the benefit without me having to move. That seems reasonable.”

“You’re a literal toddler.” Peacock sighed, letting off a few chuckles again. “Come on. You would be telling me the exact same thing if it was me. You wouldn’t let your brothers do this, not even for a second. You’d have us up and out of bed and protecting us while doing it, because you’re a stupid guardian angel and that’s your incentive. So… if that’s your incentive…”

“I don’t like the plotting going on right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare to keep doing something that would make your poor little brother upset, now would you?” Peacock grinned, really playing it up.

“I hate you.” YS groaned. “Biggest reason why I didn’t want to tell anyone about this. Because it’s abusable.”

“I have to find something to blackmail you with, Biff never told me what that secret was.”

“How the fuck have none of you let go of that yet. It is not that interesting and I’m never going to say it. There are better ways to get me to do something rather than subjecting me to lit up nerves.” YS paused, smacking a hand over his mouth a bit too late. “God dammit! Stop fucking around with the fact I don’t think before I speak!”

“I’m saving this information in my brain so fast.” Peacock replied, grin widening. “You’re actually ass at keeping secrets.”

“Did you only come here today to torment me? Is that your goal?”

“Nah.” Peacock said, standing up. “Came here because I care about you, big guy. Thought that would be obvious. Come on, get up, time for sunlight. Don’t make me drop my disguise just so I can drag you out of here by flight.”

“Do I get anything out of this if I agree?” YS asked, pushing himself up even more. “Or am I abandoning my comfiness for nothing?”

“Not nothing. You’re gonna get sunlight and it’s going to help you feel better, than isn’t nothing.” He paused, before adding: “And if you really need extra incentive, I could go for an hour-long hug from a guy who takes care of his health. Specifically a guy like that.”

The death glare Peacock got from YS as he fully got out of bed was incredibly worth it.

#RGBFverse #Title is lame but Im terrible at naming things #So whatever /silly. Two dumbass angels tormenting each other #Also I don't fucking. Know the extent of knowledge Peacock has about angel types tbh #Ochre makes shit up again whos SURPRISED

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wildbluesorbit · 11 months ago

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London II: Uncensored || JTK

18+MDNI

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

A/N: Howdy! I am honestly so nervous about the turn of this story. Although London is only my first, and is honestly a big smut sandwich, I’m a whore for character development and really wanted to challenge myself to dive into the potential of these characters …for now. This piece in particular exists in two variations. In the interest of everyone looking for the easier read, mama @tommie-gvf advised a revision to care for all their soft readers, which dawned the “London: Refined” alteration. However, for all my trauma junkies alike you’re in the right place. I still wanted to share my original draft for the full teeth-gritting, soul-grating, angsty flourish. I’m really crossing my fingers y’all enjoy the twists and turns to come but I am honestly already awed by all the love received. As always I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think!

p.s. I apologize for all these alliterations you’re about to read

Summary || Wounds fresh and head spinning, you try and find your footing without Jake in the picture. However, you are found by the dawn of a different peril.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, depressive disposition, sickness such as fever, fatigue, vertigo, nausea, vomiting, and fainting, verbal aggression, graphic depictions of physical aggression/voilence/sexual assault and bodily injuries such as bruising, gashing, swelling and inflammation, and body aches, ptsd, nervous breakdown, mentions of alcoholic consumption and drugging, brief mentions of being undressed and bathed while unconscious, technical kidnap, allusions to rape

Word Count || 7.4k+

The sweeping sound of the door swinging shut behind Jake only solidifies his parting words. Like a fool praying for snow in the desert, you remain still, naively pinning for him to rush back through that door and take back what he said. You swear to every star if he will just reappear you’ll forgive and forget every trivial thing he’s said to hurt you.

You are more than capable of leading a fruitful life without him, you just have no desire to. With every molecule of your being you ache for him to please just walk back through that door.

When he doesn’t, you can’t help the hot tears that now downpour.

Consternation weighs heavy on your limbs with the understanding of just how bonded you had become with the concept that there is always a next time with Jake. You had taken advantage, maybe even abused, his phone number underneath your finger on speed dial; you became cozy in the comfort of knowing that when you pressed it he would always answer.

It harrows you to think Jake might be right. Maybe you are no good for each other. Maybe he did the right thing. Too little too late is a cruel ascertainment; Jake is not just an ecstasy, a high you procured an addiction for, but he had become a sanctuary. One you’ve never met in anyone else. A shelter not even you could provide for yourself and like a child you went and broke it.

You will your begrudging limbs to ooze forward but as soon as your feet lead their trek the walls around you begin to whirl worse than before. You don’t dare let it deter you though; you fear the grief that threatens to swallow you whole in that very bathroom if you’re to stop for air.

You catch the corners of the sink for stability, your disheveled appearance ruthlessly relays your casualties. You smooth your hair down, wipe your running mascara, and run your hands down your skirt.

You sloppily make your exit out of the bathroom, no longer being able to withstand the ghosts of the haunted room where Jake had just kissed you goodbye.

You spill into the hall and rashly scour for any signs of your deserter. You figure he’s fled from the flat entirely as his twin has now vanished as well. Despite the vertigo, you propel yourself towards the table where Claire is without a Kiszka twin as well, but is now flirting with her own stranger.

Positively glowing, she radiates delight. A presence to be demolished by the foreboding whirlwind that you are. The last thing you want is to be the helpless girl who’s best friend can’t finish her regaling tale of a handsome stranger because of your shitshow, especially when Claire has made her stance sorely evident.

Mercy for Claire’s night presents itself in the form of a fleeting drive-by. You swiftly breeze past with a sweeping touch on her shoulder and briefly whisper in her ear that you need some air and are going to step out for a minute.

You know she protests but you make it your mission to distance yourself by half the room by the time she can process your abrupt bulletin and conceptualize her inquiries of, “But..," and, "What happened?”

It helps that your vertigo has germinated past tolerance; the sensation demands you not slow down or your body might continue its course without you, making a rolling tumbleweed out of you, held prisoner by this illness’s tempestuous winds.

You clumsy and cleat a path through the thicket of socializing bodies until you finally topple into an exit. You sling your body mass against the heavy portal to be transported to a stairwell that you pray spits you out in the main street.

You thrust yourself upon the railing and cling to it as you slosh down the stairs like a teetering toddler. The stairway traffic makes its way around you as if you are some stationary obstacle, some even slow down to behold the scene unraveling on the steps. Fortunately, the only concern that permeates through the fumes is the night’s cool air at the bottom of the staircase that promises remedy, and you have only a flight to go.

You brake your staggering down the incline to briefly rest against the wall. Fatigue has found a home as it settles in your bones. However, regret seeks you out the moment you become motionless as the spinning now invites a monstrous nausea.

Your want for fresh air has mutated into a need for your own bed. Any and all will to stay awake evaporates into the torrid air, and the concept of supporting your own weight any longer than necessary becomes a daunting notion.

You coach yourself into mobility again, telling yourself that you just need to make it out to the street and into a cab. You would feel better after you have a chance to recompose in a taxi until you reach your flat.

After you endure the marathon of the final flight, you achieve ground level; the price being your senses, including your best judgment, fogged by the fever’s stupor.

Foolishly, you pour out through the first exit door you spot and catch your weight against the opposing wall of a narrow alley.

You clamber against the wall a bit further to see where the alley lets out. By the time you realize the backway has no outlet the door has swung itself shut, the unnerving slam of the metal mass sending a jolt through your entire frame

You sluggishly creep back towards the door, your stomach kneading itself into nauseating knots as you discover the steel barricade is locked from the inside with no way back to shelter. With your sickly strength, you bang and beat on the door, begging for someone to free you.

You can barely hear your own knocks suffocated beneath the overbearing bass. Having foolishly spent what was so little of your energy left on trying to be heard through the steel frame, you finally accept that no one is going to find you unless they come looking for you.

You slump back against the wall once more, the fever journeys to the pit of your stomach. You hunch over, your weight finding balance against the brick wall and some sort of electrical box as your whole body begins to tremble devoutly. You burn alive as the high-grade heat rises to your face and you expel your guts right there.

Having all frail muscles tense up in commitment to the deed, you plunge to your knees and land on all fours. As soon as you feel able, you rock back on your legs and wipe the residual sickness from your mouth. You optimistically anticipate the familiar wave of relief to wash over you but it never arrives.

This sickness was not brought on by alcohol, this is something else entirely.

You momentarily careen, scrambling to summon strength to find your way back on two feet again just as the alley door swings open and you hear Hunter gasp out your name.

He runs over to you, paying absolutely no mind to the door due to shut behind him.

“The door,” you wheeze out and weakly gesture towards the entryway just as the lock clicks securely.

“What- Oh, I’ve got a key, don’t worry,” he mumbles as he leans down to gain access to you, “What happened?”

Your touch shoots for Hunter’s shoulders to regain your structure and you prompt him to help you back inside. Your request generates something of an indecipherable grimace to dart across his features. You can see the cogs turning in his head and you find your hands instinctively retract back to your sides. You watch the prospect of salvation wither away before you.

He must recognize your sudden vigilance as he immediately agrees to comply, but only after he’s made sure you’re okay. Hunter bluntly forces his mulish hands to your waist and sharply hoists you up against the wall, triggering upsetting shards to pierce your aching muscles.

Once you become vertical, you expect him to retire as your personal forklift and give you breathing room but he instead confines himself within your orbit, hands still digging into your hips.

“Okay, I’m up now,” you try to shoo him, “Would you just open the door?”

“Not yet,” he protests impetuously.

No longer bothered to maintain the cordial facade, Hunter’s gaze is now fully enamored by your pallid body; panic’s tide rising higher and higher.

His hands, ice cold against your feverish skin, shocks a hiss from you as his fingers slither their way under the hem of your top. He shrilly hushes you and takes liberty to plod his trail upwards towards your ribs. Forcibly, Hunter dips his fingertips into every ridge in your cage, eliciting another pained sibilation from you.

You make an effort to jerk away from his molestive frisking but are far too wasted to make any sort of adequate escapade. You huff at your defeat as your exertion only results in you scantily swaying to the side. A defenseless speck absurdly fighting to escape the current it's been sentenced to.

You manage to limply place your hands against his chest in an attempt to disturb his afflictions.

“I’m just trying to help,” Hunter poorly disguises his unwelcomed touch as a well-intentioned examination of your health.

With your hands still planted against his sternum you thrust in order to pry him off, but you know the only force you create is a dull pressure, your fingertips barely even sinking into his flesh. He almost snickers at your second failed escape; fatigue only setting in deeper by the second.

“Get off me you, fucking creep,” you grunt, still sickly yet stubbornly squirming.

“Oh, really-,” he hisses, ”you were so into it earlier though. Why are you being such a fucking bitch now?”

Hunter intrusively shoves his gangly frame into yours, further crushing your achy flesh into the callous concrete rooted against your backside.

He brutally crowds your head with his, invading your earshot, “Keep squirming if you want to make this worse for yourself.”

You ignore his warnings and he closes in trying to force his mouth onto yours. His foul breath reeks of liquor, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable sulphuric odor that stirs your nausea. You snap your head to the side to gag.

“Be that way but your body won’t be able to fight off that drug much longer. I’m only taking what would have been mine had that wanker not ruined my night.”

And there it is, he confirms your suspicion of foul play and you immediately remember how he brought you a drink and seemed so pleased when you finished it. But this isn’t what angers you most from his admission, but the way he slanders Jake.

The very thought of Jake’s name in Hunter’s cruel disparaging mouth catapults you to new heights of contempt. He doesn’t even know Jake and doesn’t deserve to. How could he possibly categorize your Jake and a piece of shit like himself in the same league.

Although the last few affairs had been less than ideal, you had seen the most concentrated parts of Jake. To most he is some mysterious charismatic poetic rockstar invention of a man, but whether he meant to or not, Jake had let you behind the curtain to reveal the inventor.

You found behind the facade is a truly kind and attentive man. A man who loves to laugh and will do whatever he can to bring a smile to anyone else. A man who hides behind big words because he still gets nervous when he speaks. Someone who doesn’t like being angry and always tries to be the bigger person. Someone raised on chaos, morality, and the classics. And no matter what he endures, he’s a family man first. He likes to operate on a low profile but won’t hesitate to become loud and brash to make sure everyone around him is taken care of. A delicate wholesome rarity. To know Jake is to love him and you know anything he asks of you is already his.

Therefore, hearing Hunter traduce Jake’s name like some foul swear, only to implicate your night that would always belong to Jake was actually his set you ablaze.

You rear your head back towards Hunter’s face and spit on target, “Let go of me you sick fuck!”

He flinches as your saliva coats his face and his lip peels back in a snarl of disgust. You can’t help but feel some regain of control as one of his hands releases you to wipe his new glaze.

You unwisely decree this your opportunity to flee, gaining some advantage by shoving him away. Yet, Hunter only refills the space and barbarically thrusts you back into his pinhold. Your vulnerable skin catches the teeth of the exposed brick as it grates into your backside, eliciting a broken cry from you.

He irately swipes the back of his hand over the rest of his contaminated features and lifts it to the air in a fist. He tempestuously brings it down to make agonizing contact between your eye and cheekbone.

The sudden blow sends trauma throbbing throughout your head. The abrupt pain bleeding into the drug induced haze is paralyzing. You stand apathetic, striving to stay conscious at this point. Hunter matches his left forearm up to your shoulders to pin you against the wall and he moves his right to untie your blouse Jake had just gracefully done up minutes before. He yanks the material off your shoulders, the dark’s frigid wind and Hunter’s greedy gawk pricks your helpless frame against your concession.

Hunter reaches his hand to grope you freely now, lingering in annoyance where you're sure the love marks Jake had left behind are beginning to develop.

Even as hope for some sort of salvation begins to flicker out, you refuse to concede in your tussle to shimmy out of his hold.

He lets out an offended grunt, as if you are being a rude victim. He rolls his eyes and moves swiftly and precisely to jab you in the ribs, knocking all air out of your lungs and remaining will from your limbs; as well as pummel whatever fortitude your body was using to brave the drug’s gravity.

“I don't even know why you’re being so stubborn, you’re little wanker boyfriend isn’t around to see what a slut you are,” he growls through concentration and clenched teeth.

Out of all the elaborate ways he could have invented to torment you, this cuts you deepest. Simply because he is right.

Jake isn’t here. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t driven him away, you wouldn’t be here.

You’ve never possessed a moment more worthless than this moment. The thought of Jake seeing you like this is a weight you are sure you wouldn’t survive. You hope to never see him again. He would be absolutely heartbroken.

All the torment and tears you had stifled while fighting for your freedom suddenly bubbles and bursts to the surface. You are startled by the loud ugly sob that leaves you. A howl so eerie and animalistic, you hardly recognize it as your own. You immediately throw your head up in a sharp inhale to abolish any other cries that plan to escape on their own accord, as if this would preserve some portion of your pride.

Hunter forcibly snatches your jaw into his hand and steers your face towards his so that no matter how you maneuver you are forced to hold him. His pupils swivel back and forth across your face studying this new breed of terror your eyes produce.

He curtly arrives at a diagnosis, “Oh, I see, he broke you.”

The last fiber of your sanity slipped through your clenched fists: the notion no matter how fucked up he was, he couldn’t possibly read how shattered you are. The only thought keeping your head just above the violent current.

But he now stripped that from you too.

The concept that he might feel some perverted pity for you only diminishes your spirit further. But as quickly as it comes, he zones back into his mission.

Instead of returning his hand to your chest, Hunter travels to fumble with the zipper of your skirt. As he struggles to pull it open, clarity of what is about to take place cuts through the smog. You contemplate what is about to be stolen from you and just how powerless you are to stop it; how you will most likely struggle with the unrelenting haunt of this moment for the rest of your days.

Your pathetic shrieks voidly echoes throughout the lifeless alleyway, “Stop! No- Red- Get off- please!”

He grows impatient, demanding you shut up as a note of tattering intersects your imploration. He mercilessly pinches the hem of your skirt and tears the material apart, the two assaulted shreds hanging from your hips granting him full access.

Enslaved to complete stupor, he’s admitted to run his fingers over the waistband of your underwear.

You finally accept this as your fate. You accept that this will be the horror story you will have to recite everytime someone inevitably asks why you are so prodigiously fucked up. You accept this is the warning label you will have to tow around for the rest of your existence.

Your teary vision starts to tunnel and you finally feel your conscious giving way to the void. You just hope it consumes you before his deed.

Just then, you feel a gap finally open between you and your oppressor. You spill onto unkind asphalt once again, scrambling to register what has occurred but you're unable to refocus. The only sight you can identify is the hazy reflective neon glow against the wet blacktop.

You flail about on the ground to best cover your indecency. As you can’t see, you listen for any clue of the phenomenon proceeding just above your head, except your audio is now faltering too.

You hear the slurs of two tussling and shouting. In between the intervals of din, a familiar rasp of your name rips through the tumultuous turbulence to grace your ears. Then again. And again.

You snap your head upwards to decipher whether this is just another trick of the drug. You can only make out his silhouette as your line of sight slowly becomes clouded with black spots.

It is Jake. It has to be. You need it to be.

Yet, you do not trust your senses as they are obviously failing. You hold your hand out to ward off the figure now reaching for you and faintly crawl away. The being flinches at your motion and frets your name out like a mantra, begging for something you can’t seem to process.

However, the poison in your blood holds no regard for this development. You are suddenly enwrapped in the amplified feverish fire you felt earlier and almost immediately eject the rest of your stomach.

All tension finally leaves your muscles as your body becomes a burden too heavy to support upright. You recognize the sensation of falling backwards but everything becomes so still, so quiet, so black before you ever feel the ground cruelly collide with you.

It's the sensation of the cool crisp white bed linens caressing your dormancy heated skin that wakes you. You force your lead heavy eyelids open and peer around what you suspect is a hotel room.

The space is dark except for a halo of light around the blackout curtained window, so you know it is daytime wherever you are. You tense in a stretch, freeing your bones of the deep slumber you had just escaped. You feel as if you have been asleep for a thousand years and struggle to recall anything existing before the darkness.

The recollection of how you ended up bedridden rushes through your mind in a searing headache. You spring yourself upward to find that the nausea and vertigo has left you but the febrile aching and a throbbing head remains.

Your first instinct is to flee until all at once your senses flurry with him. Jake’s aroma fills the sheets and emits from your skin as well. You seek refuge in the sight of his well-loved shirt draped against your torso; along with a pair of boxers, and fuzzy socks. You assume he must have helped you shower at some point.

You reach over to tug the remaining blanket off your limbs, the simple shoulder motion detonates a chain reaction of sore strain all over your body. A pain induced squeal resonates through you and against the foreign vanilla walls of the vapid hotel room.

You freeze and bite your bottom lip in an effort to stifle any other oncoming cries. You survey the room as if your siren can disturb anything within the lifeless compartment.

Nothing.

You draw in a deep breath against your aching rib’s wishes and wincingley scoot to the edge of the mattress to discover the bathroom is a few yards away. You vacillatingly make it on your feet, your legs shake as you stand but you are devoted to wobbling over to the bathroom.

Pitifully exerted from your trek, you throw your balance towards the counter and assign your weight to the marble slab by bracing the edge with your hand; careful to contain your yelps this time. You stabilize yourself before feeling out the wall behind you for a light switch, deliberate in your objective to only move the parts of your body necessary for this daunting task.

Immediately, regret pierces your eyes in blinding light. You swear the sudden attack on your sight is so vile it causes a ringing in your ears. What you logically know is mere seconds, seems to last for hours until your eyes finally focus.

As you cower your head to shield yourself from the bright sting, grisly bruises on your palms and legs that weren't visible in the bedroom are now illuminated.

You laggardly drag yourself over to the full body mirror in hopes the gruesome hues are an optical illusion and your reflection would prove you unharmed. You reexamine the skin in question, only for the glass to cruelly confirm your injuries. Sleeves of sporadic purple, green, yellow, and blue are strewn against your every limb.

You want so badly to be outraged at the sight. To be irate at how you were wronged. Yet the only words your mind will carve out for you are how could you be so foolish and so weak as to let this happen? It only further mocks your grief that you can’t seem to purchase any strand of anger.

But you don't let yourself succumb to the bleakness; your intuition anticipating the worst is yet to come.

You hesitantly raise your shirt to heed the discoloration traveling up your ribs. The sight abruptly brings back the petrifying sensation of Hunter excruciatingly shoving his prickly fingers into the crevices of your torso.

The intrusive recollection makes your stomach swell into your throat. For a brief instant, you think you might have to somehow shuffle to the toilet to be sick but you swallow it down.

You continue to raise your top past your breasts just enough to uncurtain your shoulders. The skin there is littered with dark fingerprint devised bruises.

It isn’t your victimhood now recorded all over your body that corrodes and eats away your insides, but is your inability to differentiate the assault from Jake's love marks. A palette of colors Jake left as a reminder in that moment you had given yourself to him completely; that he’d seen all of you, every last inch, and still he wanted more. He needed to consume you more than physically possible. A token he wants you to think of him just as much as he is thinking of you. A note that no matter how many times he unconvincingly tries to deny that he cares, he blatantly thinks of you as his. An objet d’art now defaced by the stains of a sick thief.

It is getting harder to see your reflection as grief starts to pool in your eyes and any desire you’d once had to examine your abrasions flees. You decide to barrel through the rest of your appraisal as you know your dark inquisitiveness will not let you rest till you have dug up the entirety of this aftermath’s hidden bones.

You try to lift the loose shirt completely from your body but are seized by an inadmissible fire catching throughout the flesh of your backside. Certain strips of your skin feel as if they’d split if you move too fast. Stubbornly, you trudge through the flames, determined to remove the piece of clothing. The sound of air shooting through your clenched teeth joins in with the rustling of the cotton material.

You finally rid yourself of the restriction and twist to see your back in the mirror, your expedition arriving at the concentration of the calamity; your skin tone a minority against the tyrenous bruising.

A shudder delivers the image of savagely being thrashed into that brick wall, rattling around your head like a pinball stuck on its course. A small sob drills its way into the room despite the defense of your palm sealing over your lips.

White rectangular bandages are taped exactly over where you had felt the splintering pressure threatening to tear your skin. You remove your hand from your mouth, no longer bothering to contain your shrills, and contort to the most accessible bandage starting at the bottom of your ribcage and extending to your pelvic bone. Your lethargic inertia only enables you to peel the material off slowly, the adhesive taking its time to part with your raw skin.

Fixating your gaze to your handiwork, you tug the gauze about halfway off to notice it is not white like the outside. The threads are dyed with streaks of dark red, brown, and discharge. Your eyes quickly flit up in the mirror to see a deep vile gash that hasn’t even yet begun to scab.

Your glistening brown eyes now overflow into warm streams down your cheeks. The left side of your face is pierced by a stinging sensation at the introduction of the salty tears.

You realize you have been avoiding your reflection above your shoulders and for the first time since the bar bathroom you allow yourself to study your own face. To your dismay, you discover your left eye and cheekbone are grotesquely swollen and bruised.

Ugly.

There is no other way to put it. No other word your brain would provide. No further way to break it down. You had never felt so broken and unlovable in your life.

You had never felt so fucking ugly.

You futilely attempt to wipe your tears away as they are already being replenished. As you vainly swat at your face your attention is drawn near the nape of your neck; alluring as it is the only pristine scene amongst your features. Your hair has been neatly brushed and delicately laid back into a single looped messy bun; just the way Jake always does his own.

A cruel notion ripples its way throughout your mind. Jake witnessed you beaten in that alley. He graciously undressed and bathed you and aided your wounds. He got to shelter you in his clothes and fix your hair and put you to bed.

And part of you hated him for it. You hate that he got to see you in such a vulnerable odious state. You hate that you let him.

How could he proclaim you are no good for each other only to turn around and take such inordinate care of you? You loathe his words of disownment that crash against such ardent acts of affection for you. This deep level of intimacy is the first for the two of you and most likely the last. Yet, you aren’t even sure if you were conscious, you certainly weren’t in your right mind. You don’t even get to archive the moment. He had no right.

You yank the band from your dotingly tied up hair, tangling it once again and thoroughly erase any evidence it had recently been combed. You thrust the band with as much might as your body will allow, intent for it to land in some bathroom abyss, never to be seen again.

Your glossy eyes dart to the population of hygienic products to pinpoint the first-aid supplies within the cluster. You swing your arm towards the kit, sending the medical equipment soaring off the counter. The clattering din of the tools crashing to the floor reverberates throughout the small room and rings in your ears.

You don’t even realize you are yelling until your voice cracks against you gasping for an air supply. You can’t bear the concept of facing your execrable appearance any longer and find your hands and knees bracing the piercing chill bathroom tile.

You give in to the malaise. You are swallowed whole by your own laments, the suite humming with the songs of your weeping howls. You have no will to ever cease your decimation. No desire to ever lift yourself from this very bathroom tile. You are going to decompose here.

But as quickly as you give in to your grief you are snatched from it. More than startling you, two hands from behind graze around your shoulders. You hadn’t heard any doors open or close, much less were you aware of any life stirring in the room.

Before any discernment or recognition can approach, you careen forward, leading with your pounding chest to cower near the floor.

You blare your terror in a panicked squeal, “No! Get off of me!”

“Whoa-,” the voice announces itself and you immediately recognize the lull as Jake, “hey- babygirl, you’re alright. It's me.”

He circles in front of you with his hands up indicating your safety and crouches down so he is eye level with you. Your favorite eyes, the prettiest pools of amber and fresh autumn now plagued by uneasiness. You immediately dive your beaten face into your hands not wanting to be held by those tormented brown eyes.

“You’re alright, you’re safe,” he passifies.

Jake places his hands to cup yours and slowly peels away the mask they were providing. You fling his hands away with your own and find you gain some unexpected relief from the slight blow.

Instinctually, you start to throw your hands towards him to achieve whatever contact you can, shoving at his shoulders and beating your fists against his soft chest. Jake doesn’t fight back or stop you or even protest. He only scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky exhale; as if you are some toddler and he is simply tolerating your tantrum. He cups your jaw, freezing your thrashing movements.

He searches your eyes through his glassy ones and begins to fuss, “I know, babygirl, I’m so sorry.”

His sentiment does little to console you though. You shove him from your vicinity harsher this time, releasing you of his touch and knocking off his balance. He gently lands back against the nearby bathtub wall but he is still in reach. He frowns as you gain momentum again, thirsty for a mere drop of the initial remedy your first feeble impact released. Anything to rid you of this eroding ache in your chest.

His eyebrows turn upwards in clemency, which only makes you drive through your swings harder. However, it doesn’t seem to make any difference as he catches one of your wrists in his stark hands mid-swing, and then the other.

In one skillful motion, he jerks you forward into an upward kneeling position by both arms. Jake slings your limbs around his shoulders, causing you to lurch into him. Before you have any chance to protest, he nimbly takes hold of your hips and delivers the rest of your body into his lap.

Every nerve under your skin is on fire with the impulse to retreat, “No, Jake! I’m not worth it!”

Your own words draw light to why you are so hellbent on repelling from Jake’s touch. It hadn’t been that he said you are no good for each other but that some part of you had always felt he is too good for you. That's why when things got tough you would argue and run to someone else. You were constantly trying to flag his attention that never veered from you. He had fooled you with his placid exterior but little did you know you only had to ask and he would grant you the world.

You are not good enough for him, yet he still spoils you and when it came down to it he was your salvation; harbored you away from the monster that had its claws around you.

But you’re more trouble than you are worth. You are tainted now, only baggage he would grow to resent. Jake did not deserve to be dragged down by you. You won’t allow it. You certainly wouldn’t survive it.

You try to evacuate his embrace but he only squeezes you tighter, “I’m sorry, I never should have left you!”

You squirm further, lifting yourself to your knees in preparation to somehow walk away. But Jake is not having it. He clings to your waist and stabilizes you by placing his knees to the back of your thighs.

You frantically beseech him, “Jake, please, there’s no room for junk in your world, trust me.”

He shakes his head and nuzzles his face between your jaw and collarbone. He sighs against your neck and speaks a muffled decree against your skin, “Don’t speak about yourself that way. You’re more than worth it.”

Your need for space is overwhelming, but your urgency to be held together overpowers anything else in existence. Exhausted from fighting, you let your weary body go limp and melt back into his gravity.

He loosens his arms a bit that are sealed around you, no longer afraid you’re going to make a run for it. Your head heavy, you rest your forehead against his clavicle and your hands center against his supple chest, trapping your arms between bodies as you bend your legs to the side and lean into him.

Your grief returns to you as soon as you stop moving and you concede to its demands. You find that these clamors, though, are different. They’re muffled as they’re collected by someone else. Not echoing void into space, an expression lost and forgotten with no purpose once they’ve passed from you. Now there is someone to record your sorrow, you are no longer just an inconsolable calamitous clutter on the bathroom floor. You let yourself fall apart in the arms of someone you trust can put you back together again.

“Jake, he almost- I-,” you struggle through your hiccuping breaths.

“I know,” he doesn’t pressure you to finish your thought.

Your voice becomes concerningly soft, “You saw?”

“I did,” he gulps.

“I wish you hadn’t,” your shame doesn’t let you speak above a whisper.

“Don’t say that. What if I hadn't been there in time? What if I hadn’t- you could have-,” you can hear his voice begin to crack and splinter, rendering him unable to finish the unbearable horror.

For the first time it occurs to you that you are not the only victim. You imagine Jake must have lost his mind at the sight of you. You most definitely would have been petrified if the roles were reversed. And though he doesn’t owe you a thing he took you upon himself as his own responsibility. He acted while his mind must have been racing up and down, pondering the right thing to do. Whether you would wake up okay or not. Whether you’d wake up and blame him. Would you forgive him for leaving?

But you would never blame Jake for this. Even if you had, you’d never been capable of sentencing Jake to your storm for long. You’d forgiven him so many times before for a hundred things and you would continue to do so for the next ten-thousand offenses. And you prayed he’d never wake one day with enough sense to forget about you because you know now that you need him in this new season.

“Jake, hold me tighter,” you heedlessly pule, acutely aware of how needy and demented you sound, consumed by the exigency to be closer to him than ever, “tighter, please?”

“I want to, baby, more than you know, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he fretts.

You could hear the compulsion to accommodate you in his trembling tone and the sudden tense of his arms that carefully circled around you.

“How could I be so invisible? I feel like some foul disposable thing,” your own words ambush you, a blubbering tumble into the air on their own perturbing accord; subconscious thoughts you had not dared let slither into the forefront of your reality. Mere shadows come from the corners of your mind that have expedited any real contemplation.

“And I know I'm not supposed to but I feel like this is all my fault,” you sob out the confession.

Your sadistic ears register the fractious cries inhabiting the small room now as the same ones that haunted you in the alley. Sounds you hadn’t known you were capable of prior to your casualty. You have no idea whether the grotesque marks along your body would stay with you in a scar but you know that this despairing tune was one of an everlasting requiem and these tears would never dry.

Jake pulls away from you to tug his sleeves over his fists. He examines your face and shakes his head before swiping his cuffs to carefully towel the tears away from your afflicted skin. He kisses both of your eyelids shut and draws back into you, cradling the nape of your neck to bury you further into his shelter.

“Nothing you did, my love,” he begins to vow, “was even remotely deserving of what happened. Don’t you ever let anyone ever make you feel less than beautiful, not even me. You are perfect, I swear it.”

Your consoler rakes his fingertips along your backside, between your shoulder blades, down to your tailbone and back again. However the migration of his hand doesn’t follow your spine. The irregular pattern of his touch graces around your wounds without him having his eyes navigate. How long he must have studied your comatose skin to plot a mental map and detour your injuries. The cozy concept grounds you, enabling you to finally catch your breath.

The air eventually stills. The only stirring sounds of your sniffles and shared quaking breaths.

You hoarsely whisper, “Jake, where am I?”

“My hotel room, babygirl,” fragments of his side of the nightmare begin to spill out, “and I know I should’ve taken you to a hospital or something but- I’m sorry- I didn’t- I was terrified they might make me leave or not let me see you or something and I couldn't- I just- no- and we had to move on to the next city- I was not leaving you again- or ever.”

Now he holds you tighter as if he can no longer deny the urge; afraid you could still be confiscated from him, a kid clinging to his favorite blanket.

“I had one of the medics I trust come check you out,” he rambles on.

You choked a bit at the thought of another man having access to your unconscious body, “He-”

“No, no. She said you were going to be fine and your body was working through whatever it was you ingested. She only handed me pain meds and some heavy duty first aid for liability. I tried to dress your wounds as best I know how. I’m sorry if i-”

You slip your arms around his neck, cradling his nape to bring him closer into your orbit, “Stop apologizing. Thank you, Jake.”

“Don’t thank me, you could have told me you hated me a million different ways in that bathroom and I still would have done the same thing,” he precisely threads his words, conviction weighing down every syllable, “I take care of what's mine.”

The room grows quiet once more as you bask in contemplation of his last words. Jake starts to rub your back again and you find yourself tempted by a drowsy spell once more.

“Jake?”

His hand springs from your back, “God- Am I hurting you? I’m sor-,”

“No, just thank you for taking care of me,” you drowsily sigh against his skin as slumber cocoons you in its grasp.

You flicker in and out of consciousness until you wake to Jake carrying you back to bed. He sits you down on the edge and pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket.

“For the pain,” he gives the bottle a good shake and pulls a water canister from the amenities on the dresser, handing it to you.

After you’ve taken the medication he encourages you to drink the rest of the water. Once you appease him, Jake helps you recline, careful not to lay you on your back. In his assistance, you grab his hands, the bruised and split sight commandeering your regard.

“Your hand- It's bruised,” you gasp.

He lets out the smallest chuckle, “Yea, I broke his nose.”

“Jake, that's not funny,” you lethargically scold.

“I know-”

“But thank you,” you make sure he understands your gratitude before he can beat himself up.

Still holding onto his hand, you pull Jake to lay down next to you and curl around him. He reciprocates by tucking your head under his chin. The grounding warmth of him travels across your skin and brings you to safety.

He tilts his head towards your ear and bashfully asks, “No more games?”

“No more games,” you concur.

He draws in a breath deep of solemnity and panic as he runs a finger down your temple and tucks your hair behind your ear. You prepare yourself for his bad news before he can even speak the opposite.

“I think I love you but I can't keep chasing you from halfway around the world,” his confession so subtle you almost miss his first five words.

“Well, lucky for you I don’t think I can go back to London and I have nowhere else to go,” your antic tone does less than mesh with your words.

Jake mimics your earlier sentiment back to you, “That’s not funny, baby.”

“I know- I just- I don’t want to go to London,” you drop your facade.

“You know I have a few guest rooms at my house,” he begins fidgeting, twirling your hair around his fingers, “but they never see any guests. And I know my house gets so lonely when I’m gone.”

“You mean- your house-,” you gulp, “in Nashville?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice now, “Yes, gorgeous scenery and a lovely people. It also happens to be very far from London. You’d be doing me a real favor if you came and looked after it.”

You ponder his proposal as if you have a choice. As if you hadn’t slowly been moving towards this leap since the dawn of Jake and you. As if you could ever grant your caretaker any answer that isn’t yes.

And of course any life with Jake would be better than a life without but still you never thought the question would come, certainly not before others. You are clueless as to what role you are to play and what life is supposed to look like after this, outside of London. How would you even fit into his tumultuous musician’s life?

He breaks your thought flow. You can tell Jake is trying not to pressure you but your silence terrifies him, “What’s swirling around in that pretty head of yours?”

You tilt your face up towards his and speak against the corner of his mouth right where his lips begin to curl when he gets giggly.

The course hair there prickly against your whispered affirmation, “I love you too, Jacob.”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist❤️‍🩹 -

@ageofbajabule @alwaysonthemend @anythingforjtk @becinabubblegvf @carbondancingthroughtime @dannys-dream @dont-go-home-without-me @edgingthedarkness @gretasfallingsky @gretavanglimmers @gvf23 @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @jakeysbuttsheeks @lipstickitty @livkiszka @lyndz2names @mindastreamofcolours @mountain-in-springtime @mrbrownstne @nina-23-45 @sacredjake @smoking-jakelane @sparrowofthedawnsworld @styles-canvas @takenbythemadness @dancingcarbon @thewritingbeforesunrise @tommie-gvf @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @violet-hayes @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

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i-likethesummer-rain · 23 days ago

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It’s so hard for me to explain how I’m feeling. I just need an outlet and I haven’t been on this app in seven years but I remember the comfort and relatability and vulnerability tumblr had allowed me in my teen years so I guess I’ll try to type my feelings out here at the ripe age of 26.

I just want to start off by acknowledging that Liam Payne had made some mistakes. It’s really difficult because I feel guilty having such strong emotions about someone who I know has done some bad things. I guess I’m learning that grief and mourning are very strong emotions and feelings. Just because he did some bad things does not mean he deserved to die. I think what is very upsetting to me in particular is that Liam was never able to grow and heal. It just makes me so sad that he didn’t accept the help that he so desperately needed. Liam deserved a chance to right his wrongs. He deserved a chance at redemption. But in a way, he was set up for failure for a long time. I truly wish I was surprised but anyone could see he was clearly not well and had been using substances for a long time. His alcoholic tendencies that stemmed from one direction set him up for failure and inevitably put him on this path. But, I still don’t think any of this is an excuse for his abusive behavior. I am mourning Liam but I am in no way excusing his actions.

I’m not just mourning Liam. I am mourning the true end of one direction. I feel like I never truly believed one direction was over. Maybe it was delusion, maybe it was hopefulness that one day, maybe 10 years from now, we would have some sort of reunion. I hoped that these boys would heal from the trauma caused by one direction. I hoped they could all work out their problems and that with time and maturity it could be something healthy. The boys were so young in the band. Now that I’m older I can truly see how toxic one direction was. I’m so saddened that this time to heal from one directions trauma has just caused even more trauma for these boys. I’m saddened that Liam never truly found his place after the band ended. I’m saddened that one direction brought me so much joy, but being in that band killed Liam.

Part of me wishes this band never happened. The sweet loving boy I fell in love with through my screen would still be here. I’m so conflicted on how to feel about one direction now. I can’t even listen to their music right now. How did something that caused so much joy lead to something so tragic. I think of how much one direction changed my life. I was a lonely teenager. I had friends, but I never had a “group.” While other groups of friends would go out after school, hang out at each others houses, have sleepovers, I would spend time by myself. Watching one direction music videos, video diaries, concert videos, interviews, performances, funny moments, over and over and over again. I had blogs and instagrams and twitters dedicated to this band, and I would get to talk to friends online who related to me. It was like even if I was having the worst day at home or at school, I could log onto my laptop and one direction was there. And then there were the few friends I met at my school. I made a best friend and we were both going through horrible circumstances, but we bonded over one direction together. We went to their concert together. We had each other. Even if it was for a short time and we grew apart as we got older, I had someone who truly understood me. If it weren’t for one direction I truly don’t think I would have anybody.

One direction truly change my life ever after they disbanded. They made me realize I had a passion for live music. After I went to my first one direction concert, it was like I was addicted. I needed to go to more. I was lucky enough to see them twice in high school. Once I was in college and had the means to go to concerts, I was forever chasing the high of one direction. Even well into my 20’s, my passion for live music hasn’t changed. From going to music festivals, to following Harry around on tour, to still going to 5sos shows after I saw them open for one direction in 2014. I wouldn’t have any of this life that I live without one direction. Concerts have become my happy place. My comfort zone. My safe space. And I’ve experienced so many new things and discovered so many new artists.

It’s just really hard that one direction changed my life in such a monumental way, but brought so much pain to those in it. I’m going to zayns first solo show next week and I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I don’t know how he’s going to do it. My thoughts on the Zayn situation have also changed so much as I’ve gotten older. Initially I was angry and upset but now I see how these teenage boys were being controlled and emotionally abused for years. I’m worried about how this is going to affect Zayns confidence on stage and his anxiety about performing that he’s worked so hard to overcome. But I am mostly worried about Louis. This saint of a man has gone through so much. I just truly hope Zayn Louis Niall and Harry can get through this dark period together.

I’m just sad. I’m sad that Liam Payne is gone. I’m sad that Liam Payne never got to heal. I’m sad that the boys reconnected this way. I’m sad that it will never be 5/5 ever again. I’m sad that one direction is actually truly over.

Thank you Liam, Louis, Niall, Harry, and Zayn for everything.

Rest In Peace Liam Payne.

#liam payne #one direction #sad #mine #me

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months ago

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Tw for death and grief and such

This is about a woman (68) in my (27) friend/family circle. We don't talk a lot anymore (maybe every few months) but we have somewhat of a trauma bond because she was employed by my abusive parents and worked in our home during my entire childhood. She is essentially somewhat of an honorary aunt to me, but we don't talk a whole lot because inadvertently we always end up crying and re-triggering each other over our experiences with my family.

Now in the middle of December her husband died. I only know this because my sister saw it in her status in Whatsapp or somesuch. But essentially it was a short announcement with text that asked people to refrain from sending condolences or well-wishes for the holidays.

Given that she explicitly asked not to say something, I didn't text/called her (I live too far away to visit in person). However I'm not sure if that was the right call anymore. It's now a month later and I kind of feel like the AH for not saying anything - especially because of our shared history. And because I have zero experience with deaths in the family

I wanted to contact her today and I just feel so guilty, so what am I the AH for not expressing my condolences?

Was

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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dailypositivequotes · 5 months ago

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personal and long life update

I feel comfortable to say this now. This is going to start sad but get better.

TW: miscarriage

Two years ago was the worst summer of my life. I was excited and happy as school ended because my spouse and I found out we were expecting a child right before the end of the year. We initially didn't tell anyone, was going to wait. But then I started to have issues and I talked to my mom about it and my fears that something was wrong. My mom ended up letting me know she was having health issues and they found a mass. And on the same day my mom was diagnosed with cancer I miscarried. I will never forget crying and telling her on the phone and her sighing sadly and saying she had hoped one of us would have good news. I was traumatized. I felt betrayed by my body. I felt betrayed by the universe. I felt like a failure. I felt like it was my fault while knowing it wasn't. I lost a lot of faith in things. I was angry and grieving. I was terrified I was going to lose my mom like I lost my child. And then one of my siblings was in a major car accident (they're fine now but it was really scary and I thought I'd lose them too) and our beloved bearded dragon died. Loss was all around me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even say the word miscarriage for a whole year. Therapy was extensive on it among other traumas. And one thing that also sticks out from that summer is "Running Up that Hill" was popular cause Stranger things aired its new season. I broke down any time that song came down because of the line "I'd make a deal with God and I'd get him to swap our places" made me thing about my mom and my lost child. I told family members. We previously were having pressure from family members on children and the LAST thing I needed was someone asking me for the millionth time when I was going to have kids. Fortunately family was understanding and backed off on the topic. My one sister was pregnant at the time too and we bonded over the fact this was her rainbow child, something she had not shared with any family member and I was able to go to her for support that other family couldn't provide as they never experienced this. Another thing from that summer is disassociating because I love my sister, I was excited for her and her baby, but the topic was very raw for me. I know I attended her baby shower but all of it was blur. And the final thing from that summer / year was I was also obsessed with trying again and "getting it right this time" because I didn't want to face reality or the grief I was having, and honestly...every failed month was also extremely triggering (for reasons I hope are obvious enough for me not to say) so I'd spiral again. It's taken a lot for me to be where I am now.

Since that summer, we got a second dog. Trained our first dog so she is officially a therapy dog. We both were in therapy - individual and couples. We strengthened our marriage. My mom beat chemo and radiation. Currently, she does not have cancer. Discovered I have a medical anomaly, and learned it doesn't stop me from successfully having kids but I could have a trickier time getting there as there were other complications it brought into my life. (Which honestly discovering this, and that it was something I was born with, answered SO MANY questions). We worked out together and made healthy meals together. We stopped obsessively TTC and just focused on us, loving our life as is, and healing. We discussed in January of this year about seeing a specialist and possibly starting fertility treatments in the summer if we felt we were in a good enough place for that. It was a very good, chill and no pressure conservation. In Feb. was the anniversary of would have been due date and therapy, coping skills from therapy, and planned activities helped a lot of with my mental health that day. And then in March, after my dogs were acting weird about me and I was feeling off as well, I discovered I am pregnant. Sure some anxiety immediately spiked but I am doing okay. I think if this would have happened sooner I'd have not been okay mentally due to the anxiety of the past repeating, but I've worked on a lot of trauma from that awful summer and I decided I would celebrate every second of this and if its a shorter journey than I hoped, so be it. I did have an emergency session in therapy during the week of pregnancy that was the one I miscarried at previously since I couldn't quite shake the nerves then. However, this time and last are night and day. All tests and appointments have come back healthy. Symptoms are what they should be. Everything is looking good and I am thankful. I am filled with gratitude. I have a good feeling. My family and my spouse's family are excited, who we told in April as I learned I'd rather lean on people for support if I needed it than grieve or celebrate in silence. My students and co-workers just before the end of the year realized I was pregnant and both set of people were very excited for me. My students created a lot of cards for me. We are excited. I am halfway through the pregnancy. I have seen him (through ultrasounds). I've heard his heartbeat, and am so thankful that it is so strong. And I've felt him kick just now. I am at peace.

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glitchinginthegarden · 17 days ago

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Give me 9 & 21!

-> choose violence ask game

augh giving me some toughies here

9. worst part of canon

"Worst". Ughhh. I think...I think I have to go with The Tower ending. I hate it. I won't go into massive detail because I know there's some folks who still haven't played PL entirely and might not know everything still, but I hate it. It left me feeling more hopeless for V than any of the other endings. Not to mention the fucking GRIEF over what and who V loses. I am not a true tragedy enjoyer. I'll take it in small doses. But The Tower was too much heartache for me.

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

The Oil Fields No, I'm kidding. I promise lol

Uh in all honestly, and this might be a hot take idk, but all of the romances. No, not just because I'm a SilverV shipper. I cannot ever see my V engaging in a romantic relationship while actively dying with no cure in sight. Not to mention the fact that doing so would involve a third person who, depending on choices made, their partner may not even be aware of. None of the romance options sit quite right with me and they never have. Judy's tastes like trauma bonding. Kerry's is low key about Johnny. River's is just...too much and too white-picket-fence for my taste. Panam's is probably the only one I kinda of vibe with but I still go back to the fact that V is gonna be worm food in a very measurable amount of time.

I support V wanting some happiness in their last days. I do. But...these romances are set up to be serious relationships and I just can't commit V to that knowing the future - PL ending included.

#ask games

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my-coven-is-claudia · 2 years ago

Text

Katelyn has BPD analysis

i love psychoanalysing my favourite characters whenever i am currently questioning my own mental state.

disclaimer!!

this is based off extensive research,, the people in my life who deal with this condition and my own personal experience. i very much doubt jess intended any of this but once i began to notice the dots connecting when it comes to katelyn’s behaviour and common symptoms of bpd my brain had to make this post.

i aim to have be as accurate as possible with the resources and knowledge i have at my disposal about bpd. if you wish to add anything or believe i’ve said anything inaccurate please feel free to say!

so finally,, without further ado…

1. causes

“If you get a BPD diagnosis you're more likely than most people to have had difficult or traumatic experiences growing up, such as […] losing a parent” - Mind.org

in her early years,, katelyn’s mother left her and the rest of her family,, leaving them poverty stricken and in a single-parent household. losing a parent in any context can be deeply traumatic,, especially if the child does not have the right support systems and/or has to fill the role of the parent themselves. losing an attachment figure can increase a child’s poor psychological well-being,, changes in behaviour and mental health issues. although we don’t have much information,, losing her mother most definitely negatively affected katelyn. this is amplified by the fact this happened roughly during her preteens where a parent’s death is more likely to have a significant effect as the child and parent would have developed a close bond by then.

with what information we have on how elizabeth’s disappearance specifically affected katelyn suggests that there was a refusal to move on. it is said that she would throw tantrums whenever her father planned to be with another woman. this shows that katelyn was likely one of the most affected out of her entire family by this trauma; whilst the rest of her family attempted to move on with their lives katelyn was still stuck in the moment where she first learned that her mother was gone. she was stuck in the trauma. a fear of abandonment was instilled in her and her father disrupting the walls she had made would throw her into a state of distress. witnessing her father treat other women the same way he treated elizabeth possibly even triggered a return of the past trauma of losing her mother.

katelyn describes these episodes as “tantrums” a common way to phrase bpd episodes when the person experiencing them is undiagnosed. without the proper tools to address and control these episodes katelyn likely was left to process it all herself. this would have added to her complex trauma as a mishandling of an episode can also be a form of trauma. having no idea why not only your mind but your body is having such a violent reaction and your cry for help is being met with even more mishandling only leads to the problem becoming worse. if you struggle with any kind of mental disorder and your symptoms aren’t being questioned this will negatively affect you. these outbursts are usually cries for help in some way or another and them being simply ignored only digs the hole deeper.

with all this said katelyn does state that she eventually overcame her grief and was able to move on. we see that the grief over elizabeth’s disappearance does not affect her nearly as much as it once did as an adolescent and is no longer debilitating. but at what cost?

2. emotional instability

“If you have BPD, you may experience a range of often intense negative emotions” - NHS official website

one of katelyn’s most defining traits is her intense emotions,, usually extreme anger. in the early seasons of mystreet we see her snap and become easily irritated with people,, even with her friends. when she displays emotions such as panic or rage it is always extreme. furthermore,, violence is usually the next step as she regularly threatens the people around her and even sometimes goes through with it.

an important note to make is that those who struggle with bpd are not inherently violent. not in any sense of the word. however,, this does not mean people with bpd cannot be violent,, whether this is a byproduct of their bpd or something else. katelyn is someone who i think is violent because of her intense emotions brought on by bpd. she is not equipped enough to deal with these and consequently,, let’s it out on other people. no one has questioned why she acts like this and so she doesn’t find an issue with it. her problematic behaviour has been so normalised and the people around her are seemingly used to it,, aphmau and nana mostly notably so.

Nana: “Oooh you know Katelyn~Sama… she just likes to get in a snarky remark. She does that… a lot… to our customers at the restaurant.”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 1

nana and aphmau do not take any notice of katelyn’s behaviour,, simply brushing it off as her being well - katelyn. this shows that she’s been like this for the majority of her life,, long enough for her two closest friends to consider it normal. her knee-jerk reaction is defensiveness and fury and it’s a habit that goes deep and is ingrained into her.

it is deep in her veins,, so intrinsically a part of her being that she cannot be separated from it; the people around her quite literally solely associate her with wrath. this passive acceptance of this toxic trait likely enables her behaviour,, preventing her from healing. although she mentions that she does meditation it cannot replace actual professional help. she doesn’t appear to have enough self awareness to keep herself in check that she ends up hurting others in an irreversible way. but that’s for later on.

another example of her extreme emotions is her anxiety.

Katelyn: “Do you not remember high-school? I always freak out before tests.”

Travis: “Oh yeah. But you usually passed so why worry now?”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 23

although anxiety over exams is common, travis points out that katelyn has been repeatedly successful in tests so this worry seems to be a lot more like paranoia than simple nervousness. katelyn feels like her whole world is ending and is completely frazzled.

Katelyn: “There’s no way I can [calm down]. The test is in 10 minutes - I need more time.”

no amount of rationalising will make the situation any less stressful for her. she only experiences in extremes; in terror and alarm and not simply nervousness and worry. on top of this,, she doesn’t appear to have any proper coping mechanisms for this outside of meditation. no grounding method. no breathing technique. she either lashes out or freezes up. for a character who when it comes to picking between fight or flight usually chooses fight she has a pattern of being so overwhelmed by her emotions that she cannot function. her brain’s rationality is drowned out by anger,, anxiety,, sadness whatever she’s dealing with and all that is left is pure instinct.

3. impulsive behaviour

“Impulsivity is regarded as a clinical, diagnostic and pathophysiological hallmark of borderline personality disorder” - PubMed.gov

impulsivity in the context of bpd is thought as usually being something of the like of drug misuse or unprotected,, risky sex. however,, it can also present as less extreme actions (although still harmful) like binge-eating or going on a spending-spree. impulsivity in someone with bpd goes deeper than individual reckless actions and can affect the personality of the person. for example,, maybe they’re charismatic and charming or dramatic and seek thrilling activities. this all can actually be tied back to lower impulse control.

i bring this up because although we don’t see katelyn acting impulsive much,, her true symptoms may be more clear in her personality and this does happen in those with bpd. for example,, katelyn is playful with her friends and has flirted with quite a few people. her flirtatious behaviour doesn’t seem to hold much meaning,, however,, usually being meaningless. this kind of attitude to love and relationships is an example of how reckless behaviour in bpd can affect someone’s personality and day-to-day life. in episode 31 after a chaotic string of events due to zane and aphmau faking a relationship whilst zianna visits,, katelyn ends up stepping in and lies about her and aph being in a relationship and even goes as far as being willing to kiss her. all of this is obviously in jest but that is the key issue here. to katelyn it is a joke,, nothing serious. she appears to be much more comfortable with the idea of romance and intimacy than having a genuine and raw connection with someone.

in this episode once zianna is told this lie by katelyn she encourages katelyn and aphmau to kiss. aphmau is flustered and is made even more distressed than she already is whilst katelyn immediately leans into it.

Katelyn: “Well, if you insist.”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 31

again all of this is casual but the fact that she gives less than a second of thought before agreeing to this clearly implies how lightly she takes the situation. it’s superficial at most. not in the way that she has no desire for intimacy but more so that she doesn’t view it with the same meaning and significance as someone else would. as a result,, this leads to her impulsivity.

this recklessness,, especially when it comes to romance,, comes to a climax when katelyn kisses travis in an attempt to prove a point to lucinda.

Katelyn: “Because he doesn’t deserve a kiss from you. Plus you’re terrible at kissing.”

Lucinda: “Excuse me but I am amazing at kissing… because I have a potion for that.”

Katelyn: “Pft let me show you how it’s done.”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 34

katelyn promptly kisses travis and doesn’t realise the implications of what’s she’s done until a good few seconds later. in response to travis reading the kiss as a declaration of love she immediately punches him and runs off,, denying any meaning behind the kiss. she doesn’t realise the implications of what she’s done until it’s laid out right in front of her.

a lot of her impulsive actions seem to be done to prove herself or a distraction from reality. when egged on to prove her confidence or superiority in some way she lunges at the opportunity. she doesn’t critically think about the effects this may have on others or the general aftermath. if it seems like fun to her she won’t hesitate to do it. this ties into her general lack of care for other’s feelings in these situations. when she pretends to be aphmau’s partner and when she kisses travis she causes both of them to be flustered,, clearly not thinking about how her words/actions affect those around her. although these instances are not severe she shows a pattern of disregarding people’s feelings. she isn’t self centred per say but her impulsiveness leads her to not register the severity of what’s she’s doing. not until it slaps in her the face.

4. intense and unstable relationships

“To split something means to divide it. Those with BPD tend to characterize themselves, other people, and situations in black and white.”

- healthline.com

splitting is when a person with bpd alternates between extremes of idealization or devaluation. the key part of this is the exaggerated and rapid change in perception of a person or situation. this usually applies to relationships,, causing the person with bpd to have a distorted view of their partner,, seeing them only in the best or worst possible light. sometimes this derives from projection,, pushing their negative view of themself onto their partner. this black and white can destroy relationships as the person with bpd is consumed by their distorted thinking whilst their partner is left in the dust.

katelyn exhibits this black and white thinking very clearly. she antagonises people like zane,, refusing to get to know him and disregarding any possible positives about him. in contrast,, she adores her friends like aphmau,, thinking only good of her and defending her at every chance. she clings onto quick-second first impressions of people and doesn’t let go even when she’s been proved wrong. very rarely does she feel neutral towards someone,, either loving them and showering them in praise or despising and only thinking the worst of them.

this is shown when aphmau asks her to be nicer to zane and she refuses to change her stance.

Katelyn: “Um.. I think you already know the answer to that. You know he and Jeffory don’t get along and Jeffory is my friend. So no.”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 15

even if she may not have a negative experience with someone personally if someone she trusts and values doesn’t like someone she will automatically share that same opinion.

this kind of black and white thinking doesn’t appear to massively negatively affect her relationships as she appears to have enough rationality to keep her thoughts to herself. however,, this awareness that good and bad can exist together in one seems to falter when it comes to her relationship with travis.

from the moment that katelyn meets travis her view of him is engulfed him in negativity

Katelyn: “I also bet you didn’t know what pain was until I-“

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 15

in their very first interaction katelyn punches him. without any thought or remorse she just hits him. however,, this first instance of abuse is somewhat understandable as he approached her by flirting which reasonably and justifiably upset her. travis is the one mainly in the wrong in this situation,, even if his flirting is mostly humorous.

what appears to anger katelyn specifically in this context is that nana appears to be ignorant to travis’s inappropriate behaviour.

Nana: “Katelyn-sama that’s not nice. Travis has a broken heart and needs more chocolate!”

Katelyn: “How blind are you Kawaii~Chan? He’s just trying to smooth talk you!”

this passive reaction to travis’s behaviour is a pattern throughout the series. no one particularly appears to have a problem with his comments or flirting. but katelyn does. everyone else doesn’t feel uncomfortable around travis and her friends expect her to feel the same. her discomfort around travis is undermined and minimised again and again,, played off as a joke.

an instance of this is when in an attempt to distract katelyn,, lucinda teleports travis into her home.

Travis: “Oh- what the- where am I? I was just about to take a shower and… heyyy Katelyn.”

Katelyn: “What the- Travis?! Lucinda you said….”

Lucinda: “I said I wasn’t going to use any spells on you. You said nothing about a teleportation spell. Oh, and don’t bother to smack Travis I put a temporary spell on him to prevent physical injury.”

- Mystreet Season 1: Episode 28

this is presented as lighthearted fun between katelyn and lucinda. just another instance of two friends trying to annoy each other. very clearly,, katelyn wants nothing to do with travis,, even despising his presence but she is forced into the same room as him repeatedly whilst all her friends laugh at her. it’s no surprise that she reacts with violence.

this is in no way to excuse her actions but her abuse towards him grows more and more extreme because she’s being constantly taunted by those around her. her own friends push her buttons with no regard for how she feels and treat her like a rag-doll. both travis and her have been pushed onto a stage,, all eyes on them and forced to play caricatures of themselves. the only difference is that whilst travis appears to live off the attention katelyn cracks under it. she smashes to the ground and shatters into a million different pieces. and they all aim towards travis.

where katelyn’s behaviour veers off from being simply weirded out by travis to physical assault and abuse is when she starts taking out all her of anger on him and him only. it goes from her only hitting him when he flirts with her to when he even utters a word.

this is why her behaviour is so toxic because it seems she begins to want to hurt him for merely existing. she already has a history of allowing this black and white thinking to harm those around her,, even those she cares about,, and her own self-destruction turns into destruction of others. too blinded by her own anguish and suffering,, she doesn’t realise her wrongs and that she’s hurting people.

why she likely doesn’t see her mistakes is because she’s been told all her life that she’s dramatic and overreacts. as i said previously the mystreet cast brushes off travis’s harassment and pushes katelyn to be in situations with him. despite what her friends say,, she doesn’t believe that she’s in the wrong to be suspicious of him and stands her ground. but that doesn’t mean their words don’t affect her. her friends’ lack of understanding worsens katelyn’s mental state as she feels misunderstood by her own friends. this leads her to grow suspicious of them and ignore them. at every turn she’s told that’s she overly aggressive and no one attempts to even comfort her or try to understand why she doesn’t like travis.

on one occasion when she displays this distrust she is only met with mockery.

Lucinda: “I assure you it wasn’t any potion I used.”

Mystreet Season 1: Episode 25

on the surface this may not appear that malicious but it’s the fact that this isn’t the first time someone has brushed off katelyn’s concerns is what likely pushed her over the edge. cutting back to when travis first moved in nana does not listen to katelyn and defends him.

Nana: “Katelyn-sama that’s not nice. Travis has a broken heart and needs more chocolate!”

Mystreet Season 1: Episode 15

but despite her seeming hatred for travis katelyn is revealed to actually like him. sprinkled through season 1 and 2 katelyn is shown to have some sweet,, soft moments with travis; moments where her perception alters and it appears that she tolerates at him and at times is even… fond of him.

this is called splitting.

this flip-flopping between hating and loving travis is not due to her discomfort being an ‘act’ or her being ‘dramatic’ instead it is as a result of her own distorted thinking. most of the time she only views travis in absolute negativity and disgust. even when she appears to tolerate to him she treats him coldly and considers him with suspicion.

Travis: “H-Hey Katelyn, these flowers are for you.”

Katelyn: “Oh… thanks.”

Travis: “Y-You looks beautiful….”

Katelyn: “What’s wrong with you?!”

Travis: “Why, can’t a guy be nice?”

Katelyn: “No suggestive remarks? No trying to get close with me? No looking at my butt?”

Mystreet Season 1: Episode 25

however,, as per the nature of splitting,, there are times where she thinks the complete opposite of him. during season two when travis suddenly appears katelyn initially regards him with a lot more care and kindness,, especially after shoving him off from atop a building.

Katelyn: “Travis, you really worried me.”

Mystreet Season 2: Episode 7

this drastic change is a clear indication of splitting and its effects. in a very short amount of time katelyn goes from completely despising him to seemingly harbouring romantic feelings for him. this juxtaposition only confuses travis and worsens their relationship as katelyn continues to stick to her black and white view of him,, without any communication.

this all comes to a climax at the end of season two where travis finally confronts katelyn for her mistreatment of him. travis admits his own faults and puts out a hand to katelyn,, asking for a fresh start between them. all that is left is for katelyn to own up to her mistakes too.

Conclusion

do i think all of this was intentional? no. do i think it’s a justification or excuse for katelyn’s toxic and abuse behaviour? definitely no. am i emotionally drained after writing all of this? yes

hope you enjoyed reading !

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