#tw for suicidal ideaton

[anulithots]

TW for mentions of self harm, self hatred, suicidal ideation.

(thank you all for kind responses to the previous vent post. It's fine I think. Should be fine. I have coping mechanisms for a reason and lotff will be written if it's the last thing I do.)

Okay so here's my justification for not writing as much as I should, as much as i WANT to.

My parents know about the land of the fallen fairies, they used to want me to read what I wrote to them.

Trying to please them made me do so many revisions, rewrite so many times because no matter what I did it was never good enough for them.

"too complicated' 'too dark' 'your stories you wrote when you were ten were better' 'this is just a hobby why do you let it take so much time away from schoolwork'

My happiness takes away from schoolwork and that's so much of an issue I guess and anyways:

'your going to dissaude 90% of your audience with how you write' 'why can't you write a happy story' 'do stories even need conflict' 'if you write your emotions into your writing then you aren't actually writing something good. It's from the outside world and it isn't yours'

(And fine. FINE. Do you want to hear what's mine? Do you want to hear my conglomerate of coping mechanisms I need just to get through 24 hours? No? Too dark? What do I do then?)

And that's not even mentioning the time that using non gendered pronouns caused their anger and a subsequent self harm event.

(WOuld you like to hear about that? that's mine, isn't it? The time where I locked myself in the bathroom and raked an eyebrow razor down my arm until the skin ripped off? It bled a lot. You banged at the door. it didn't even hurt. I didn't regret it at all. I was only scared that you would find out. I stuffed the blood full of toilet paper. It didn't stop bleeding. more bangs at the door. I pulled my sleeve to cover it and pressed it into the blood. Later I had to pull the threads out of the scab. that hurt more.)

Or the time that you fled to the bathroom all upset and it was my fault because my story wasn't tinkerbell happy.

Or all the times when there was something wrong with me and you mentioned lotff by name, ANuli by name. They belong to my intneral world. My safe place. My reason to live at times. 'I have to live because who else is going to finish the land of the fallen fairies?'

And you mentioned it by name to say what's wrong with me. That I should stop spending so much time on it.

(rewrite to make it better and justify it's existnece. my existence. over and over and over again.

Pour and frustrate over every word, every sentence a poetic struggle because hopefully it's enough to make it okay. To make it not a mess. It's myslef and I barely exist outside of it.

Strange coping mecahism huh?

You'd think I keep my reason to exist safer.

Nope. this is myself we're talkign about. My mess of a personality that shouldn't exist.

Blabbered about it with all my dumb words, too fast so they wouldn't bore anyone else, yet understood. I dug my own grave. silly silly.)

It needs to be perfect and it needs to be perfect the first time because it's what's in my head and all I have to say as myself and they hate it. It's known and they hate it.

they saw that fricking video and I wanted to take it down.

"you act psychotic'

ANd what if I am? What if I'm sooo messed up inside and barely keeping it together?

What if that's what I put on paper because that's me isn't it?

'burden everyone with your emotions'

SO. I. WRITE. THEM. DOWN. SO. NO. ONE. ELSE. HAS. TO. HEAR. THEM.

SO I CONFORT MYSelf with them so eveything's okay. It's never gooiing to be and I'm just fooling myself because what an utter fool am I. Wasted potential and all that.

Yes whatever's wrong with me (all of it and everything) comes out on paper and what I say and every bit of it is a burden to you all and you all would rather it didn't exist and SO do i so i don't show you all so I write it down so I perfect it with every once of myself so I mark down my existence through the characters you hate.

Making ANuli got me in trouble.

silly silly.

Spent too long on faer during vacation. Yelled at. Finished faer in the closet so no one else would see.

took faer out when I thought it was safe and you thought fae was great and that I should display faer and not mess with faer. i want to use faer for photos but how do I do that if I don't have a phone?

Fae's broken now.

how nice is that?

in cannon fae tears off all faer borken leaves and I finally get to put my self harm onto paper how nice how nice how ncie.

'writers are like this, tortured and thinks too much.'

yes yes. SImple misunderstanding. Writers like me are insane and broken and BECAUSE of that they write. The writing does not cause anything. AN effect an effect. My reason to exist and I cannot take a break if I'm unhappy with it.

Why would I take a break?

I stop existing.

and it's swirling in my head. coiling in my heart. it hurts. write it down and it's not right. not good enough. not what I had in my head. who would wnat to read this it's long and tedious but it's anuli's and you deserve to exist as you are but aren't you my vessel for feelings of self-hatred so I must exist then.

I don't want to exist.

I want my existence to live as it is.

Understand my dilemma?

[facesofone]

Thinking about what the future might bring is tough and always brought with it anxiety. I never planned to make it to 20, even 10 years later I still struggle to see what life could be like.

[allovesthings]

[cantdwellonanyofit]

Sledgefu Fic Dedicated to @stolperzunge

Hello @stolperzunge!! I decided to finally make an account. I’m the anon that has been messaging you Sledgefu asks for a couple of days XD 

I finally wrote a fic, and wanted to share it with you. Let me know what you think! It’s based on all of the meta we have been talking about recently.

Please note the warnings in the tags. There’s some mention of suicidal thoughts, dissociation, internalized homophobia, and descriptions of gore related to the war. This was meant to be a oneshot and has turned into a multi-chapter fic already. :| Creative criticism is requested and would be appreciated.

Rating: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh R? For now?

He couldn't sleep. If it wasn't the nightmares, it was the intrusive thoughts. The thoughts were always gently sliding their hands around his throat like an enemy sneaking up on him in the dark. Trying to snuff him out before his comrades could hear. The dreams were worse. They waited until he was lulled into a false sense of calm, warm, security. Finally too tired to fight them off. Blackness opened up to screaming women holding babies. Blood rained from the ceiling of a hut while a woman reached her hands towards him. She begged in a language he couldn't understand. But blind panic was the same in every language. He could see it in her eyes, and he couldn't wipe it out. He couldn't stand to put either of them out of their misery. So he planted his feet and watched until the hut crushed her in front of him. Paralyzed by his fear and angry at his weakness. He would jolt awake, and every morning the anger and shame followed him into waking life.

He used to be a morning person before the war. He'd wake up before sunrise with a cup of coffee. He'd take Deacon on his morning walk. He enjoyed the solitude of morning, and watching the world wake up around him. It was like he and the world slept and woke together in the same rhythm. Everything felt aligned. But now the silence was like screaming. His mind would race while he tried to deal with the onslaught of thoughts and dream laden memories. He began to confuse what he really witnessed in the war with what he dreamt. But he didn't much think it mattered. The feelings that overwhelmed him were the same. He hated himself. He hated what he had brought on himself. He resented his mother for not understanding. He was angry at his father for being forgiving. Didn't his father know what he had done? Who he had become? He crawled in his own skin every waking moment.

He didn't go to Sid with his problems. Sid was busy creating his life with Mary. Gene couldn't bear to burden Sid with his troubles when Sid was just trying to forget and move on. He knew Sid also had trouble with sleep. But unlike Gene, Sid tried not to torture himself about the things he saw and did in the war. 

"You can't dwell on it. You can't dwell on any of it.” Ack Ack had said. And it seemed like everyone but Gene was able to abide by that law. The only person in the world who seemed able to pull Gene out of his moods had abandoned him. When Gene woke up on the train to a gentle shove, he expected Snafu's big blue eyes to be staring a hole in him. Like they always did. But instead, he realized another soldier had nudged him awake to ask if he was meant to be disembarking the train. They had arrived in Alabama. Gene looked around confused for a moment before the soldier repeated himself. But Gene wasn't listening. Where had Snafu gone? He couldn't have left without waking him. It wasn't possible.

But it had been possible, and now here he was. Alone. Like he deserved to be. God was punishing him, and Gene couldn't blame him. He'd killed countless people. And by the end of the war, he didn't much care about the damage he caused. He wanted to kill every Jap left with his bare hands. He wanted to make them feel as helpless as he did. He often thought back to his conversation with Leckie. 

"God created Japs too, right? Yellow slants who've tried to kill me on many occasions. Japs come from the garden of Eden too?" 

God had sent Gene on a mission to kill Japs for what they had done. But he also sent the Japs to bomb Pearl Harbor in the first place. And Gene no longer had any idea what God wanted from either side. Were they all meant to die? Had he survived by accident when God had deemed him disposable? And now God cursed him with these thoughts and dreams. To haunt him for daring to make it out. Maybe they had all been too dirty for God's love in the first place. He knew he'd never again feel the safety of that embrace. He tucked his bible away under his bed months ago after unpacking his suitcase. He couldn't bear to open it. He worried it would burn his hands if he even tried. He was no longer welcome in God's plans. He just knew it.

So, with no faith, no plans, no life, he withered away. He spent hours staring at the walls, off into the distance as he sat outside. And he tortured himself with his thoughts and his lack of purpose. He had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He wondered if God meant for him to commit suicide. If he had somehow messed up God's plan for him to die. If someone else had died in his place. If he no longer had God's love, then killing himself wouldn't matter. But he lacked any motivation to go through with it. It was as if he was meant to remain stuck between life and death. A ghost among the living. 

He knew God had more than one reason to reject him. Not only had he lived when he was meant to die, but he had been born homosexual. He was doomed from birth. He knew something was wrong when he was 6 years old and Betty Cannon had kissed him on the cheek, and he had cried. Sid would nudge him and point out the pretty girls at school, and Gene couldn't have cared less about them. He'd tease Sid for being a pervert and they'd laugh. His sinful nature was further solidified when he gazed at the nurse on Pavuvu. He demanded himself to feel something for her. She was beautiful. She had a kind voice. His mind recoiled as he tried to imagine kissing her, sliding off her clean hospital whites. He felt repulsed. "Alright, you had your looksey," the lieutenant had jeered. If Gene could've glared a hole through that lieutenants body he would've.

If he could've grabbed that asshole by the head and slammed it repeatedly into every damn cup on the table he would've. ‘I feel nothing, I see nothing, I am nothing,’ he would've screamed at him. Can't you see it written all over me? I'm a sinner, you fool. He couldn't ignore the fire in the pit of his stomach every time Snafu leaned against him. Played along with his jokes. Watched him. Snafu always watched his every move. And it drove Gene crazy. Gene thought about what Snafu's curls would feel like in his fingers. What his sweat would taste like as Gene ran his tongue along Snafu's neck. Along that fucking smirk. He went mad with lust thinking of all the things Snafu could do to him. So when he gazed at that fuckin' nurse and felt nothing another piece of him snapped off and was taken by the ocean. He was ruined, and God knew it.

All through his thoughts Gene found himself biking. As he came to, he realized he was approaching Sid's house. It had to be no later than 0500. He hesitated at the start of the driveway. This was crazy. He couldn't bother Sid. But then he felt his right foot swing over the left side of his bike to land beside his left foot on the ground. He began steering and walking towards the front door. He was like a man possessed. Before he could stop himself, he knocked three times in succession. He waited. What the hell are you doing? His mind screamed at him. He was about to knock again when the door slowly opened. Sid was holding his rifle, but quickly lowered the butt of it to the ground when he realized who was at the door.

"Eugene, you scared the daylights out of me. I heard the bike coming along the drive and just about jumped in the bushes to scout." Sid was laughing, but Gene was not. Sid's smile slowly faded. "Get in here," Sid made to grab for Gene's arm but Gene blurted out, "Can you take me to the train station?" Sid's brows came together in confusion. Or maybe it was concern. Sid's hand halted in the air, "You need me to do what now?" Sid's hand landed gently on Gene's bicep. He tugged him gently through the doorway and into the kitchen. "Have a seat." Sid moved to the stove and grabbed the kettle. "We can have coffee and talk it."

Gene was already shaking his head. "I don't need to talk about it. I need you to do this for me. I don't have a car and it'll take me days to bike there." Sid was pouring coffee anyway. "What are you going to do at the train station?" Sid asked.

"Ride the train." Gene answered, curtly. Sid laughed, and set the cup beside Gene. Sid added hot water to his own cup which had likely gotten cold while Sid had watched a stranger approaching his home from the window. Gene could tell the curtain was off-kilter, as if someone had pulled it aside in an attempt to spy without being seen. Gene felt guilty for worrying Sid. He'd have felt guiltier if he woke Sid up, but it seemed Sid had no better luck sleeping than Gene did. "Ride the train where, you smartass." Gene debated whether he should be honest about his intentions. He trusted Sid. He and Sid had been friends since Gene could remember. Sid had always been on Gene's side. But this would be asking something else entirely of Sid. It would be asking Sid to see him for all of his sins, and accept him anyway. If God couldn't manage, he doubted Sid could. "Louisiana." Gene answered. He provided no context. He planned to provide no further geographical context. Sid didn't know about Snafu. He wouldn't even have guessed what Gene's plans were even if Gene told him he was going to New Orleans. But this secret pounded loud in his ears. Matching the beat of his heart. He felt like he was shouting the word Louisiana so he could be heard over the thumping of his heart. He was laid bare in front of God and his best friend. And he planned to deceive both of them. He really was beyond saving.

"Louisiana?" Sid answered. "What's in Louisiana that has you sneaking up to my front door and demanding I drive you down to the station this instant? Did you meet someone you haven't told me about?" Sid's eyes were mischievous. They were full of hope. Hope that Gene had something or someone out there to look forward to. Would they be so full of hope if Sid knew it was a man that Gene ached for? "You could say that," Gene found himself replying. He was skirting the truth. He was living in half truths and short responses. He was a man to be hanged but he kept outrunning the law. "You sly dog!" Sid slapped his knee and scooted his chair back so fast it made an awful screech. There was a thump from where Gene assumed was the bedroom, when Mary emerged from the doorway in her silken robe. Gene would've blushed had he been his old self. Had he been anyone at all anymore.

"What in the Lord's good name is going on out here?" She didn't seem to be mad, but rather playing at it. "Eugene Sledge, is that you causing trouble in my house?" Gene caused trouble everywhere. That's what the devil did when he got inside your soul. He made you destroy yourself and those around you. His lips lifted in one corner in a true Snafu impression. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to cause such a disturbance." He stood and bowed gently to her. "Sid and I were just about to head out to the train station." Gene looked down at his untouched coffee and thought to hand it to Mary. She might as well enjoy it before it gets cold. Sid stood up and grabbed his coat. It seemed letting Sid believe this was for a woman had propelled him into action. "I won't be long," he kissed Mary on the cheek. Sid grabbed his keys from the same hook his jacket had been on. "Well, come on now lover boy we best be gettin' on." Gene couldn't move fast enough to get out of his seat. He needed to keep moving before his mind came to. Before he hopped on his bike and rode all the way back home and never came back out again. This was his only chance to act. "Lover boy?" Mary smiled, "Gene, that's wonderful. I wish you the best." Gene cringed inwardly. "Thanks." He mumbled. It was a benefit to him that everyone thought him shy. His guilt could easily be mistaken for sheepishness.

He nearly squeezed himself through the front door at the same time as Sid. He took long strides to the car, and grabbed the handle before Sid had even reached the car to unlock it. "Alright, alright, I'm comin'!" Sid had picked up the pace to unlock the door and climb in. He leaned to the right and opened Gene's door for him. Gene immediately flung himself into the seat and fastened his seatbelt before he could run away. Strapped himself in good. "I'll take your bike home later for you." Gene nearly threw up. He hadn't even told his parents he was going on a walk. And now he was planning to leave the state entirely. His mother would call the police. "Shit, Sid. I forgot to tell them I was leaving. I didn't even leave a note." Gene began attempting to unbuckle himself. He needed to get home. If the police came for him and found him with Snafu they'd be arrested. They'd be blue discharged. He didn't know which one was worse. Sid stopped his hand, "I'll tell 'em when I drop your bike off. Don't worry about it. I'll be home and back to your place before they even realize you're gone."

Gene steadied his hand under the pressure of Sid's. Sid would probably never touch his hand again if he knew. He'd never jokingly wrestle with him. He'd be too afraid he'd catch what Gene had. That Gene would be attracted to him. That Gene would ruin everything like he always did. This was just another secret he would have to take to God before he was banished to hell. Why couldn't he get the devil out of him? But despite his inner chastising, Gene let his body rest in his seat. Sinking into the leather and willing himself to calm down. No one knew. No one would know. Sid would take care of him like he always did. Sid, who trusted him, while Gene wore a liar's face. Gene had no idea if Snafu was even still in New Orleans. Gene had no idea if Snafu even wanted to see him. Snafu had left him on the train after all. Gene had probably read into ever stare, every gentle touch, every time Snafu seemed to cut in the shower line until suddenly Gene and Snafu were undressed and standing close. Every time they searched desperately for each other on the battlefield, or in the line of fire, until they knew the other was still breathing. Both sneaking glances, but doing well to hide it. He had imagined all of it in his sick homosexual mind.

"You alright?" Sid asked, glancing sideways at Gene. Unbeknownst to Gene, he had been wearing a pained expression and holding his breath. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you. You don't need to be so nervous." Gene almost laughed. Sid had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea at all. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept well in ages." Gene responded, changing the subject. He couldn't stand telling Sid anymore lies than he had to. And there was no way to explain the worry without explaining the truth. "Yeah, I hear you there. Some nights I get a couple hours. Some nights it feels I get a solid couple minutes. Mary's understanding about it." Gene's mind wandered to whether he and Snafu would keep each other up at night with their nightmares. With their stirring. Maybe they'd both stay up together knowing what it was like in each other's brains. Maybe they'd get real good at distracting each other instead. Gene would give anything to let Snafu use him as a distraction. Gene could wrap his legs around Snafu. He could let Snafu move inside of him until they both forgot about everything but each other.

"I'm happy you two have each other," Gene shouted over his thoughts. Sid laughed at him. "Well, I'm overjoyed you want the whole world to know how happy you are for us, Eugene." He was ripping apart at the seams and it was only a matter of time before he lost the ability to pull himself to reality. He had to get away from Sid. From this town. From these burdens. Luckily, the rest of the drive remained uneventful as Sid let Gene get lost in his thoughts, and Gene willed his thoughts to stay in his head. He worried every thought was writing itself out on his face. On every inch of exposed skin. And when he stepped out of the car to say goodbye to Sid, the truth would be there staring back at him. And Sid would stare on, horrified. Until he called out for the police, and Gene was taken away. All his rights stripped, as if he had never existed at all. Just as God had intended.

They pulled into the station, when Sid slammed on the breaks and the car jolted. "Eugene, you don't have any bags with you! How did I not notice? What the hell are you going to do? You can't show up to your lady looking like that." Gene's head snapped to look at Sid. "How dare you? I've never looked so good?" He left his mouth slightly agape in mock horror at what Sid had insinuated. Sid laughed in return. "You haven't shaved, and I think you slept in those clothes." Gene hadn't even thought about clothes. About belongings. He guessed he'd have to start over when he got to Louisiana. "I bet they dress differently down there anyway. I'll consult the best shopkeepers around when I arrive." Gene wanted to get on that train before he changed his mind. If they left to go to his house to grab clothes he'd never come back.

"Do you even have any money?" Gene could've kicked himself. He really brought nothing. He wouldn't even be able to leave if he wanted to. Sid leaned slightly and dug in his coat pocket until he pulled out a wad of bills with a rubber band around them. Sid had a lot of distrust for banks, and often kept cash on him or hidden in his home. "No," Gene was already protesting. He would go home. He would forget this foolishness. "Yes, take it." Sid was pushing the money into Gene's coat pocket. "Absolutely not, stop it. I won't take money from yo-" Sid unfastened Gene's seatbelt and then pushed open his own car door and stepped out. "Sid!" Gene threw his door open and their eyes met over the roof of the car. "I can't take this." Gene couldn't lie to his friend and then rob him of his money too. "Eugene. If you don't take the money and get the hell out of this town I will take it personally. You can't stay here and keep doing this. Look at you. This is your chance to start over. Don't you want that? I'd do anything to get you back. This is the least I can do for you. Now get your ass up to that counter, get your tickets, and get out of my hair before I drag your scrawny ass up there and embarrass you in front of all of these decent folk."

"Sid--"

"I mean it!" Gene snapped his mouth shut. "I won't take no for an answer. Now get."

Gene came around to Sid's side of the car. "I'll never be able to repay you." Sid wrapped an arm around him in a gentle hug. This may be the last time Sid would ever touch him without disgust. Without questioning what dirty thoughts Gene took away from these interactions. Gene loved Sid, but never in that way. He was his brother. But Sid would never understand that distinction. Sid would be horrified by every time Gene had ever touched him. Gene hugged Sid, hard. He loved him like family. The thought of losing Sid crushed him. He tried to pour every ounce of his love into Sid with one hug. 'Please,' he mentally begged, 'Please know that I'll never be able to repay you for all the love you've given me. I've lied to you. I've deceived you. You're pure, and I'm rotten, and I deserve none of this.' Sid hugged him back with a similar strength before pushing Gene gently to arms length and putting a hand on each bicep. "You write to me, Eugene. You tell me everything." Gene nearly crumbled under the weight of his lies. He'd never be able to tell Sid everything. Even if he died to.

"I will," he lied. He was becoming a pro at this.

Sid stepped to the left and turned around to rest against the drivers side of the car. Giving Gene the room to leave and head towards the counter. Gene took the opportunity before he could stop himself. He approached the long line to wait for his turn. He stole a glance at Sid who waved goodbye at him, and got in the drivers seat. Sid must've wanted to keep his promise to return to his house for Gene's bike, and notify Gene's parents before they worried. Gene again mentally thanked Sid for every single thing he ever did for him, and moved one step closer towards his future.

[rocket-remmy]

Dissolve Me

Content: Heavy Suicidal Ideation, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse mention

Remmy’s hands shook as they sat in front of their TV in the room they stayed in at Morgan’s place. They hadn’t left the room in three days. Not to eat, not to shower, not to do anything. Even Morgan and Deirdre were taking Moose out to walk him. They didn’t want to move, they felt rooted. Glued to the floor, the bed, as if they had sat there for centuries and hardened in place, statuesque. They could recall another time they’d felt this way. It was the one time Remmy couldn’t remember how to put the TV back together.

It was nearing 5:30pm and their father would be home any minute. He would kick open the door and stumble into the house to the kitchen, grab his beer, then settle onto his armchair and flick on the TV.

Except that the TV wasn’t working. Remmy’s hands trembled as they tried to remember which wire went where and why the people who had built this originally hadn’t color coded the wires like the person who built their microwave. They heard his car pulling up, the garage opening. Their hands shook more. They screwed on the knob and shoved the wires into whatever place they would fit and threw the back cover back on, stumbling out of the living room and into the kitchen. Up to the table, where their homework for the night laid open waiting for them.. When the already drunk man stumbled in, Remmy didn’t look up, holding their pencil as tightly as possible. He didn’t acknowledge them either, like usual-- just grabbed his drink and stumbled out of the kitchen into the living room, sinking into his chair. Remmy watched out of the side of their eye, biting their lip nervously. Waiting. Just waiting. He picked up the remote and Remmy slid nervously from their chair, ready. He clicked the power button and-- nothing happened. They winced, started skirting from the kitchen as discreetly as possible-- maybe he wouldn’t notice. He clicked again and still nothing. Again and again and again, until his head swiveled towards the kitchen, ready to yell, only to find Remmy retreating towards the stairs.

“REMMINGTON!” he roared, flying up from his chair with a speed they hadn’t thought possible for such an old, drunk man. Remmy yelped and leapt for the hallway, running down it as fast as possible. Heard him lumbering after them, roaring still. Remmy slid across the floor, scrambling at the wall to right themself before using the leverage to fling their body forward and into their bedroom, slamming the door shut. Locked it and pressed their back against it, eyes screwed tightly shut. He slammed just as hard into the door and Remmy felt it give just ever so slightly. Their quiet tears streaked down their face as he pounded against the door.

He pounded until the door needed to be replaced the next day and his fists cut through wood and met skin. And he pounded until Remmy couldn’t cry anymore and even then he didn’t stop.

The next time Remmy took apart the TV they made sure to put it back together right.

The wires were easier to remember on TVs nowadays. There was less to remember, and Remmy plucked away at disassembling it like a methodical robot. Their eye was unseeing, unfocused, arms going through the motions even as they shook. 

They were trying not to let their mind slip away from them again, to go back to those dark places, those dark memories. But they couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but remember every person who had hurt them, wondering where they’d gone wrong in life. Wondering why it chose to always hurt them, when all they wanted was to help. To be kind. To be soft. The world was always so painfully hard on them, to them. They just wanted to know why. They couldn’t figure out why.

Why had their father taken out his anger, his sorrow, on them? Why had their friends isolated them and made them the brunt of their pain? Why had their lieutenant yelled at them, made them the one responsible for that kid’s death? Why had Remmy pulled the trigger? Why had Remmy gone into that house? Why had Remmy gotten bitten? Why had Remmy woken up?

If they’d never woken up, they wouldn’t have had to go through any of the pain White Crest had dragged them through. They never would have had to make friends with Alain only to watch him turn on a dime and raise his sword. They never would have fallen into the trap of the Ring, and ended up caged and broken. They never would have had to watch their best friend die, only to have her curse and blame them for trying to save her. 

They never would have met Lydia.

And those people, those people they thought about, they had all taken something from Remmy. Left them empty and alone. So, what, then, had Lydia taken from them?

Perhaps she had taken everything.

She had given them safety when others gave them fear. She had given them softness where others had been hard. She gave them patience where others had given them intolerance.

And she had taken it all away.

She had hurt them more than most everyone else in their life, because she had given them hope first.

A tear fell from their cheek onto the screen of the TV in their lap. And that’s when they noticed a face that was not their own staring back at them.

“Murderer,” she said, and hands lifted themself through the glass and she pulled the rest of her abdomen through. Remmy stared, but didn’t move. Hands went around their throat and tightened. Nothing happened, they didn’t need to breathe. “You have taken the lives of others, and now I will take yours.”

Remmy stared at her with empty eyes. “I’m sorry,” they finally squeaked out, “I-I never wanted to hurt anyone...” they rasped.

The woman paused, then, and looked at them with a curious stare, even with her cold eyes and her rotting skin. “You are ashamed,” she said to them. Remmy felt their body slackening in her grip, not for lack of oxygen. Perhaps it was time to just give up. People continued to hurt them, to use them, to destroy them. And they’d let the world make them hard, if even for just a moment-- and blood had stained their hands. More than once. Jax, Ben, the man in their scope. The once pulled trigger had started their descent. They’d let the anger and the violence that festered make a monster out of them. And it was their fault. It was always their fault.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Remmy replied, feeling their voice crack, tears welling in their eyes like dams in the winter, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

The woman’s grip tightened, despite their words. Her eyes, though empty, seemed distraught. . The woman’s hands grew so tight around Remmy’s neck, that they felt their windpipe collapsing, bending under her pressure. “You are a murderer, there is no escaping that.” 

Remmy didn’t know what to say. “I am,” they answered, “I am. I did it. I killed people. I hurt them. And if I-- if I could give my life for those I’ve taken, I would. If I could give every part of me to bring back the people I killed, I would. Even Jax. I would change what happened if I could, I didn’t want to kill him. He was horrible and he tortured me but I-- I didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t deserve to die. Killing him just made me what he wanted me to be, a killer, and I-- I never wanted that, I never wanted to be that.”

The woman stayed still for a long moment, watching Remmy’s tears as they fell down their cheeks and onto their hands. “Why is it different now? Why do you not beg for your life? Beg me to spare you?”

Remmy felt their lip quiver. Their heart wrenched. They missed Lydia like they missed air. The warmth of her arms when she hugged them, the soothing tone of her voice, the strength of her grip as she held their hand. Remmy couldn’t help but let out a loud sob. “Because I’m so tired of being hurt,” they cried, “I’m so tired of hurting people.” Their hands tightened on their lap, and if their skin could pale anymore, it would have turned their knuckles white. “I should’ve died years ago,” they sobbed, “I wanted to die with them. I don’t want this pain anymore. Please,” they begged, “make it stop. Make it stop.”

If death was due here, then Remmy was prepared to accept that. Perhaps they even wanted it more than they admitted to. They just wanted it to end. Maybe it would just end.

But the opposite happened. The woman loosened her grip and stared at them, before finally letting go. “I do not need to kill you,” she said finally, sinking slowly back into the TV, “you will change, or your guilt will consume you. Either way,” it was just her eyes now, staring up at them from out of the TV, “I win.” And then she was gone.

Remmy dove forward as if trying to grasp her, to hold onto her, pull her back up through and demand her to finish it. To not leave them here alone and suffering. Their whole body shook. “Come back!” they shouted, clawing at the TV screen, “come back!”

Their hands curled into fists and they pounded on the screen, stretching fingers out and scratching them down the vinyl. “Come back, please! Finish it,” they begged. “Please, I need you! I need you to finish it!” They raised their fists and smashed the screen, threw the rest of it aside. Collapsed onto the floor, curling in a ball, black bloody fists pressing against their chest, shards of glass stuck in their palms. 

“Please...I need you, Lydia,” they sobbed, rocking back and forth, “I needed you so bad.” 

[wetpapert0wel]

hmmmmm...,,,

[ratbabyy]

Tw: suicidal ideaton, self harm

Tldr: I'm thinking about turning this blog into a more positive one because of how much negative I filled it with when I was young. I then ramble about mental health.

As I said in the tags of one of my posts, I feel like I gained a bit of my followers by being a suicidal teenager. When I was 14-19, I was in a very dark place. I had several attempts on my life and even until now, at 22, I have had several relapses on self h*rm.

I wanna turn this blog around, because now that I'm in school to go into the mental health field, I feel like I can use this for the better.

It does get better. I know it really doesnt seem like that sometimes but you have to be alive to see better days. Something that helped me stay alive for a really long time was picking a handful of people (for me it was my dad, my sister and my fiance) to think of every time I wanted to do something drastic to myself, and I would think about how they would feel and react to finding out that I was gone.

I used to cry nightly on here (which I now know was a side effect of an ADHD med I was on) about how lonely I was and how I was going to die alone. I just had to give it time. I went to college, found a handful of lifelong friends and reconnected with old friends who have also grown and are now my best friends. And I met my fiance, who loves me so deeply. 4 years ago I wouldn't believe you if you told me I would be planning my wedding with someone who makes waking up every day worth it. But it happens, because I kept myself alive and didn't off myself at 19 when my shithead ex boyfriend who was 25 working at medieval times and cheating on me was ignoring me and I was fighting with my sister and my job sucked. I didn't end it sitting up against the bathroom door of my family's small apartment where I didnt have my own room. You know what I did? I got myself up and talked to someone.

When I first started dating my fiance, I was in a horrible place. I was reeling from past traumas and I literally didnt trust him. I kept expecting him to call me and be like "sike bitch I was just playing a prank on you" but one thing that really helped me was therapy. I found that my university offered extremely cheap therapy to anyone who needed it. I paid $10 a week to pay to a grad student and it honestly changed my life. I trust my fiance so much now and I'm able to deal with anxious thoughts before they spiral out of control *I also gotta give a shoutout to Lexapro, that shit saved my life*.

If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to reach out.

If you ever need help locating a therapy, I can assist you (if you live in the states, I'm not too sure what the policies are everywhere else, I'm sorry!) Dm me, I can attempt to help you locate someone to talk to.

But what I'm getting at with this fucking novel is life gets better. It literally has to, that's the only option, but you gotta be alive to see it.

[goodeveningtraveler]

Amaryllis

by Arin_I_Nira

“Do you have a name, or only determination?”

Words: 794, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Penumbra Podcast

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Rilla (Penumbra Podcast), Original Characters

Relationships: Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)

Additional Tags: trans!Rilla, which I insist is canon, Angst, hormone replacement therapy, tw: mild suicidal ideaton, tw: canon typical misogyny, made-up plants, Technobabble, One Shot, probably, Not Beta Read, speedwriting aaaa, rilla growing up

from AO3 works tagged 'The Penumbra Podcast' https://ift.tt/2CUNvzB via IFTTT