#tw negative self image

[storytellersumayyah]

a softer shade of blue

cw: discussions surrounding gender identity, lightly implied homophobia, negative body image, sex, discomfort around gendered terms, reference to past dubious consent (not between main pairing), tristan fears that wanting "feminine" things will mean something he doesn't want it to mean

spoilers: tristan wants to wear lingerie. he doesn't want it to change anything about who he is, and struggles to reconcile the two wants with each other. it ends happily and doesn't need to mean anything more than what he wants it to mean (which is for him to look pretty.)

Tristan realises he liked to feel pretty at some point in his life he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d known he was handsome, but then he’d grown into his features, and he’d observed other people, and he had realised that he wanted to be pretty as well. Beautiful seemed like something out of his reach, and he wasn’t sure he wanted that, but prettiness was easily attainable for him.

But he doesn’t want anything else. He doesn’t want princess to be used as a way of referring to him. He doesn’t want to be someone’s girl, even if it was just a roleplay and nothing more. It made his skin feel tight and uncomfortable. It makes him feel like his body wasn’t his own, which was something he swore he will never feel again.

So he hides the things that made him feel pretty from people he didn’t think would handle the words with delicacy. Like the pearl necklace an ex-girlfriend had brought for him after he’d not stopped staring at the image on his phone. When he’d tried to deny wanting it, she’d frowned and said it was just a necklace. And it was.

He hides the shirts that were slightly too large, and the shorts that cut higher than most.

He hides the make-up.

And then Rafael rashes into his life. And for all the snarky remarks, and all the teasing comments, and all the bickering, they never once comment on his appearance, unless he looked hungover (he wasn’t, which was why it was annoying). Even when Tristan forgot to take his nail polish off before a tutorial, they didn’t say anything. They just looked down at his hands and back up, and then they smiled because he’d been panicking that this was going to go too far.

He thought things might change when they started dating. It was one thing for someone to exist as they were, but it was different when they were so close to you. Or at least, that was how his parents had always made him feel.

But they don’t.

At least, not when he wears jewellery. And then nothing changes when he wore one of his favourite shirts. The one that always slips off his shoulder if he didn’t adjust it constantly.

When he wears make-up, all Rafael does is compliment him.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” they whisper under the cover of night a few days later.

Tristan frowns. “With what?”

“Your beauty.”

Rafael is so calm, and so relaxed about it, that Tristan almost believes it could be that simple. Almost, but not quite.

“It’s not- I don’t want to be anything but who I am.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you think that’s strange? It’s just… something. It’s not really anything.”

“Tristan. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You like being pretty, and that’s all it has to be. If you want it to be something more in the future, that’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s also fine.”

“It meant something for you though.”

Rafael cradles Tristan’s hands in his own. Tristan always likes it when Rafael holds his hands. Theirs are bigger than his, and he likes how small he ends up feeling. Because he’s chosen that delicacy for himself. And if one day, he wanted to feel bigger, if he didn’t want Rafael to overwhelm him in all the best ways, they would step back.

“It did. But that’s because I’m me. You might be different. This isn’t a children’s puzzle where everything fits neatly into its slots.”

“I like the way you describe things,” Tristan confesses. It’s not the priority, but he needs to say it.

Despite the darkness, he sees Rafael’s smile.

“Do you know how to do eyeshadow?” Rafael asks suddenly. In all honesty, Tristan had assumed they’d fallen asleep given the slowness of their breathing.

It feels embarrassing to admit at the age of twenty-six but he shakes his head. “Was never patient enough.”

“I have a palette that will suit your undertones better than mine. I’ll do it for you.”

It is such a simple act, but it does so much for him. He grins and nods. “I’d like that a lot.”

Tristan tells himself that will be enough. To wear his make-up, and his jewellery, and the clothes. There is nothing else he wants, because Rafael always said he was pretty when he made the effort to be so. But they also always call him little prince, always say this is his future husband, and never question why Tristan wanted that and nothing else to be used.

And it is enough.

Until it isn’t.

He’s out shopping with one of his friends. She’d told him he could wait outside if he was uncomfortable going into the lingerie shop, but she needed to go because her anniversary was the next day and she wanted to surprise her girlfriend. He’d frowned and said he didn’t want to stand outside looking creepy, so he’d gone in with her.

She goes to try on a set, and he doesn’t want people to think he was in the queue, so he stays on the shop floor. The designs re stunning. They are meant to make people feel good. And pretty. Maybe, if the person was right, beautiful.

So before he knows what he’s doing, he is picking up a piece of blue lace, rubbing the material between his fingers. Despite its lacy appearance, it feels comfortable. He wonders what he would look like with it on. Probably ridiculous, but maybe not. Maybe he will look like one of the models. Maybe he will look perfect, as he is sure his friend will.

“They have a men’s range, to account for the differences,” she ays from behind him. The items she’d chosen are packed in a discreet bag. It shocks him, how lost in his mind he’s gotten.

“I’m not a girl,” he blurts out.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be a girl,” he continues. He has no idea why. He just didn’t want her thinking it’s something it isn’t.

“I know.”

“If I’m not a girl, and if I don’t want to be a girl, if I still want to be Tristan who gets referred to as little prince and boyfriend and your favourite brother even though you’ve got two, then I shouldn’t want it. I can’t want it. I’m not allowed to want it. It’s different to everything else. It’s more. It’s not- it’s not for me. It’s- I’d be taking it away from someone who had to struggle with all those big feelings and-“

“Shh, shh. Let’s go and sit down somewhere,” she says.

He nods, allowing her to guide him to somewhere quiet.

“Why aren’t you allowed to want it?”

“Because-“ he suddenly pauses. He doesn’t have a reason. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly. When you picked it up, how did you feel? I don’t want to know how you ended up feeling, or how you think you were supposed to feel. I want to know how you felt in those initial moments.”

He thinks about it. “I felt like I would be pretty. Maybe ridiculous, but maybe pretty.”

“What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“Nothing. I just- it’s not a thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a thing. You know that.”

He can’t find the words, and it’s frustrating him. She is just trying to help. It isn’t on her to try and read his mind.

“Is it because this is clothes? Specifically aimed at women?” She asks, gentle and non-judgmental.

He freezes. “I’m not a misogynist.”

Even though she tries her best not to, she starts laughing. “I know.”

But she’s right. Even though the make-up was always advertised on female models, even though the jewellery sometimes came from the women’s section of the shop, it is different. feels felt different to him, even though it’s probably the same to everyone else. The shirts he brought to feel pretty have always come from the men’s section.

“I think it is. Because it’s clothes. Aimed at women,” he says, feeling pathetic.

“You don’t have to do it. But you should not do it because you don’t want to. Not because you’re punishing yourself for wanting it. There’s no heroicness in suffering. There’s just suffering.”

Hearing her say that makes him realise his other fear.

“I don’t want Rafael to look at me differently.”

“But are you doing this for them or for you?”

It is an easy answer. “Both of us. I want to feel pretty in something that’s almost a secret. People can tell when I’m wearing make-up or jewellery. They wouldn’t know if it’s that. But I want him to think I’m beautiful. He’s never called me that before, and that’s because I haven’t wanted him to because it feels too close to something. But I want him to call me beautiful and have it not be anything more than that. And I don’t know if he will.”

Rafael will. Rafael will never go further than Tristan wants. Even if he doesn’t understand why something was so important, he will accept it without question and only ask if he’s unsure. Tristan knows he deserves more credit, but it is the age-old anxiety.

“Then you need to tell him that. Tristan, there’s no deadline on this. You can do as much or as little as you want, and you only need to do it when you’re ready. It will always be there waiting for you.”

He smiles. “I know. Thank you.”

“Of course. Now let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

He nods, stomach rumbling as if on cue.

She sends him a link that evening.

For whenever you’re ready.

He opens it on his phone. It is designed like the average clothing website, which he appreciates. He still only gets through two rows of three designs before he closes the tab, suddenly too overwhelmed to do any more than that.

If Rafael is aware of his inner turmoil he doesn’t comment. Tristan appreciates the space because it comes from a good place.

Eventually he grows tired of his hesitancy. Rachel, his best and only friend from college, always said she responded to situations that terrified her with five seconds of bravery. Five seconds is nothing, but it is enough to start. And once she started, things weren’t scary anymore. They were just something she was doing.

So he waits till Rafael goes out and he filters by his size and the colour blue. White feels like too much, and he knows how good blue looked on him. Some of the items are still too far out of his comfort zone, so he filters those out as well, in order to make sure he actually places the order.

Confirming the purchase doesn’t make him feel sick as he thought it might have. If anything, it makes him feel relieved. He could want something, and take it, and the world wouldn’t end.

When the parcel arrives, he puts it inside his bed drawer. He isn’t ready to wear it yet, but he doesn’t feel guilty about that.

Sometimes he takes it out and looks at it. Once, when he feels especially brave, he holds it up against himself. But then he sees his reflection in the mirror and he has to put it down. Has to put it away in his drawer, underneath the rest of his clothes. Which are all meant to be worn by him.

Holding it up, he looks stupid. He looks like he is playing dress-up. He isn’t delicate or soft enough. He isn’t Rachel, or his friend. He is calloused hands and hard lines and roughness. He isn’t pretty enough, and he never will be, no matter how badly he wants it.

Rafael inds him sitting on the bedroom floor, tears flowing from his eyes.

“My little prince. Mi corazón. Come back to me whenever you’re ready. Come back, and we’ll make it all better. I swear.”

It is an impossible promise, but he managed to breathe.

“My good boy. He’s so brave,” Rafael says.

Tristan smiles. “Raf.”

“My little prince.”

“You’re perfect.”

“I’m not. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head immediately. “But I want to take care of you. You’ve been running yourself ragged and I need a distraction.”

Rafael has learnt to trust that Tristan will be honest. So they nod, smiling as Tristan leads them to the bathroom and runs them a bath, complete with a hair wash and snacks. And then Rafael looks up at him with loving eyes and a perfect mouth and asks to take him to bed. Tristan nods, needing to feel close.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against Tristan’s stomach.

Tristan whimpers. He isn’t wearing make-up. He’s taken his jewellery off. His clothes have been discarded somewhere- probably in the bathroom. He is sitting in Rafael’s lap, legs trembling and completely overwhelmed. And yet, Rafael thinks he is pretty.

“Was that okay?” They ask, suddenly remembering that they hadn’t really discussed this.

Tristan nods. “Perfect. It was- you were- you can say that. Even now. Promise.”

Rafael nods with a smile, ducking their head slightly to press light kisses to his skin.

Tristan takes the items out of the drawer the day after.

He repeats that for another month.

And then he decides to be brave for another five seconds.

He changes, but he doesn’t look in the mirror. He isn’t ready for that yet.

“Tristan, I’m back!” Rafael yells.

Tristan swallows. Then he covers himself with the blanket, making sure none of what he is wearing was visible. “I’m in the bedroom.”

Rafael immediately enters, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and feet bare. “Well hello there handsome.”

Tristan can’t help but laugh. “I have a surprise. And you can use feminine descriptors, but no feminine nicknames okay? And you can’t laugh. If you don’t like it, you can tell me, but don’t laugh. And it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a thing. It’s not something.”

“I would never laugh at you. I think I might know what you mean, which is why I’m asking this. Do you feel good?”

Tristan thinks about it. He’d been stressed about accidentally seeing his reflection, and what he would do if Rafael decided this was too much, and that had left him with very little time to consider how he was actually feeling.

“I think I do. Yes.”

Rafael nods. “Then that’s all that matters, mi corazón.”

Tristan has heard the words so many times that they were finally starting to sink in. So he takes a deep breath, and he tells himself to be brave. Just for a few seconds. And he unravels the blanket, leaving him in the items that had come so long ago.

Rafael’s breath catches in their throat. “My god, Tristan.”

He blinks, not expecting him to be so enthusiastic. “Do you like it?”

Rafael steps forward, then hesitates. “Of course I love it. You look- you look beautiful. Stunning. Tristan. You’re a piece of art.”

Tristan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “Do you really mean it?”

“My little prince. When have I ever lied to you?”

Prince. Because that’s what he is. “Never.”

“Exactly. Can I- can I touch you?”

“Please,” Tristan begs. Rafael’s gaze is an overpowering thing. He needs more.

As though he’s been released from chains, Rafael surges forward. But then he kneels down in front of the bed, looking up at Tristan as he lifts a stocking-clad leg to balance on his shoulder, pressing gentle kisses from his ankle upwards. Tristan exhales shakily. Even though it is through the fabric, it is setting his skin on fire.

“You look so delicate. So fragile. I almost- I’m scared I’m going to break you,” Rafael whispers.

He whines. “You won’t. You won’t- you know you won’t so just-“

Rafael shushes him gently. “I know, my little prince. You’re the strongest person I know. But I still want to be careful with you. You’ll give me that won’t you?”

Tristan can never deny Rafael anything. He nods. “Always.”

“Thank you, my beautiful boy,” they say, pressing several kisses to his inner thighs. Tristan squirms, but Rafael places his hands on his hips and pushes down, trapping him against the mattress.

“It’s so soft,” they whisper, in reference to the fabric covering him. It is slightly stained, but Tristan doesn’t want to take it off. Not just yet. It’s why he makes a sound of protest when Rafael goes to tug it down his legs. They immediately let go.

“Don’t stop. Just don’t take it off yet. I don’t mind the feeling,” he says.

Rafael nods, pressing one final kiss to his hip before moving up to kiss his mouth, deep and slow and perfect.

“Did you tie this yourself?” He asks, placing his hand on Tristan’s back, right over the corset ties, in order to raise him slightly.

Tristan nods. “Want you to do it next time.” It’s nice to say there will be a next time. Every other item had felt overwhelming, or too much, but the corset had felt right. And tying it had felt nice, even if it was just so the ribbons weren’t just hanging loose.

“I’d be honoured. Do you want to leave it on?”

He shakes his head. “Want you to take me apart. Feel ready now.”

“Mi corazón. My little prince. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Thank you. For this. For trusting me, always. For everything.”

Rafael undoes the corset ties with such care, and with kisses to every part of exposed skin that Tristan can’t do anything more than close his eyes and let the sensations overwhelm him, in the best way possible.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than when you’ve been spread out underneath me, unable to hide how good I’m making you feel,” Rafael says. And it should’ve been awful, should’ve killed the mood or sounded like a terrible pick-up line, but it doesn’t. It sounds good and honest and true. All the things that Rafael is.

The word beautiful penetrates the haze that Tristan’s mind had become. He goes lax in Rafael’s hold.

He feels good.

He feels the way he had been craving for so long.

And it isn’t because Rafael is encompassing him from every angle, so gentle, like he really does think Tristan is something that could break.

It is because he feels comfortable in his skin. He feels pretty, but he still like himself. He can have what he wants, he can have it mean as much as he wants it to, and he can be happy. He can wear lingerie and still be Rafael’s boyfriend.

But more than that, he can be beautiful. And nothing will change.

It is like Rafael read his mind. “Tristan,” they exhale. “My beautiful, little prince.”

He goes tumbling over the edge, safer than ever before as Rafael never lets go of him.

When he comes around, Rafael is wiping him down, pyjamas already on the bed.

“You scared me a little,” he says.

Tristan rubs his eyes a little. “Sorry.”

Rafael shakes his head. “It’s okay. Wasn’t too much, was it?”

Tristan considers. “Liked it. And it wasn’t. Was good. Thank you. For always being good to me.”

Rafael shifts so he can kiss Tristan’s forehead. It is that, over everything else, that makes Tristan melt into him. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Tristan smiles, bringing his arms up to wrap around their back. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my little prince.”

And in that moment, Tristan knows that nothing he does will ever change that.

buy me a ko-fi! | read my novel!

[inkalight]

Let me care for you part 11

First

Previous/ next

[ajokeformur-ray]

Michael Langdon wouldn't love me. Does that stop me telling myself otherwise? Nope. Except for days like today when I hate myself more than usual.

[sanctuary-for-the-mad]

Confession of a writer:

As much as I hate my work normally, I double down and hate on it much harder than I actually feel about it, in order to make me feel less excited about it. I'm not supposed to be excited and proud of my work, that's the fan's job. My duty is to make it. To make it for my fans. I'm not allowed to be hyped about it, because that's not my role.

A necessary action to stay humble. It may hurt to keep constantly talking badly about what I made, but it must be done. Killing my excitement for it, as difficult and hurtful as it may be, is vital to stay humble and keep working and facing the challenges.

Remember, my duty is to make, not to enjoy. That's the deal. I make things, and my readers enjoy them. This is how it is. I'm not allowed to be a fan of my own work, then what are the normal fans for?

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

God it's fucking wild how someone says one thing to you and it sticks with you forever in a bad way

It's been a year now and every so often my brain decides to remind me that one time in a Bucky Twitter GC I was in one of the people in it had this joke (that had stopped being funny a while ago imo) where they would Photoshop our selfies so we were bald, and they kept sending mine over and over, and one of the people in it called me "not a looker", and when I woke up and saw that and called them all on it everyone acted like it was no big deal and dismissed it as "well maybe they're just saying that because you've been acting weird in chat" and then used the fact I was mad about it as the catalyst to confront me on how I'd been acting in the chat. And I won't minimize, I DID do things that were absolute shit in there and I still feel guilty and have been working to be better. But they mixed genuine concerns with things like "you project too much onto Bucky" and "you only started posting BuckyNat stuff on Twitter after we mentioned liking it" and like...?? They also said that mentioning a situation with a person that had been in the chat was triggering for one of the current members and that I "knew that, but was still bringing it up by saying i didn't want the current situation to turn out like that one". And obviously that's AWFUL, and I hate that I was responsible for triggering someone, but I genuinely did not know that it was a triggering thing for them, and they never said until it was brought up during this.

And like. Looking back a year later I've realized they also sucked too. And again, I KNOW I did shitty things. I know that. But like the instance with the GC member essentially calling me ugly and everyone dismissing it as okay because of my misgivings was definitely a thing, but like. I watched them start to make a fake pro shipping Twitter so they could make fun of the people that followed it (they ended up deleting it bc me and one of the other members said it felt like a bridge too far), I saw the shit they said about people who would leave for a bit for whatever reason until they came back and suddenly they were best friends again. They got mad at me when I said I saw Bucky as Bisexual, going on about how he was "CLEARLY gay" and that I was "projecting onto Bucky because *I'm* Bisexual", and it made me really upset because I felt like I was being shouted down.

I don't know what this is, and I'm purposely being vague about what group it was and names and stuff because I absolutely REFUSE to call people out by name. I have no desire to make it a smear campaign or anything, I just needed to get out the fact that someone said something to me in a Twitter GC I was in that is permanently branded into my brain and has left me feeling more self conscious about my body and my fear that no one will ever see me as beautiful or worthy of love and the one year anniversary of that happening is coming up so it was on my mind.

Again, I KNOW that I did bad things in there. I'm not minimizing and I still feel guilty about them. I'm working on being better. But idk with the privilege of hindsight I also kinda think the entire group was sort of mutually toxic I guess

[anthromimicry]

okay, but i think it is about time to talk about one of misao's fears is, because i believe that they can tell you a lot about a character and their psyche — and i came to tell y'all that the one i'm going to be talking about today is that misao fears becoming a mother / motherhood. the first reason in which why i believe this is because misao just genuinely thinks that she is not the nurturing type and that she would likely be a terrible parent to her child ( which i know is a very depressing thing to think about. but it is something that she has feared for a long time, unfortunately. ) this likely stems from a mix of misao's inability to deal with her own emotions, though, as she feels like it's better to just bottle them up and deal with them all on her own rather than the alternative. and this would be to try to confide in someone and/or get help from them should she need it. so, misao feels as if her child were to come to her needing emotional support from her, she would absolutely fail at it and the last thing she wants is to emotionally neglect someone the way she had been as a child ( p.s. of course, this was mostly just borne out of unfortunate circumstances, as i've stated before because of kaiyah's illness. though this hasn't stopped misao from feeling the brunt of the impact that it had on her. )

plus... i feel as if misao also doesn't have a lot of confidence in herself whenever it comes to the concept of always being able to put a child first, as she has a pretty negative self-image of herself deep down if i'm being honest. she sees herself as an extremely selfish person who can't even become friends with one person because she is so afraid that someone will hurt her, and in her opinion, that makes her pathetic or weak. so she doesn't feel like she'd be able to take care of a child with the amount of responsibility that is required to in order to raise them properly and protect them at the same time.

though this isn't necessarily true as misao has put up those barriers that would normally let people into her heart mostly due to trauma, and having experienced trauma doesn't make anyone weak. i just feel as if she desperately needs to remedy her self-image because it is very damaging to think of yourself like that and it would be really good for her emotional health if she were to try to ways to better cope with everything that she's experienced throughout her life. there are other reasons as well behind why misao fears motherhood while i'm talking about it, however, and these are arguably one of the more bigger ones: the act of giving birth itself and suddenly being thrust into having to not just take care of yourself, but the baby inside of you as well. which sort of makes sense whenever you connect the dots as to how many horror stories misao has heard about delivering a baby and also how much a person's experience while being pregnant can vary from others. i mean, it has been shown that some people may have more morning sickness than others and that they just don't have a very good experience with being pregnant in general, for example. but other's may be 'glowing' as they say and may find it easier to deal with.

so, you never really know what kind of pregnancy you're going to have until you actually become 'with child' as misao would call it. and the unknown aspect surrounding it scares misao more than anything. plus, as it stands now, she isn't sure whether she'd want to go through the process of giving birth as there can be a lot of complications regarding it. but there can also be so many good things about inviting a new member of the family into your home and misao feels as if it is kind of expected of her to have children so she can continue the kanade line.

but misao is just so afraid of it for these reasons that she can not see herself as a mother, even in her head. however... there is the matter of adoption that she has yet to take into account, but with how focused the jorōgumo are about having biological children, i feel as if misao hasn't even considered it to be an option for those who are afraid of giving birth and also to give a baby / child a loving home as everyone deserves one of those. but yeah. i hope that this gave y'all a little more insight into her character, as misao is scared of re-enacting her past in a way, though i feel as if you become a mother yourself... you have to separate what will be your own experience of parenthood from your parents. so, in order to overcome this fear she has, misao would have to treat it as an entirely different thing from kaiyah's experience as a mother and her own child self's experience of her as a mother.

and this is definitely possible. it would just take some work, as overcoming any kind of fear would. plus, i feel as if misao were to accept other people's help it would also benefit her, since discussing motherhood / plunging into the topic of the sometimes seemingly scary thing that is parenthood is definitely not something that you have to try to go through alone.

[compassionatereminders]

I despise myself. I can't look in the mirror without feelings this deep sense of disgust. I can't buy clothes, I can't try them on. Everything feels like it looks awful on me. I have short legs, a long torso, broad shoulders, no butt, big feet, no breasts, a small head. I find nothing about myself desirable. No one has ever thought of me being desirable. I hate how I look down there too. My clothes are almost 10 years old. I know I need new ones but I always end up sending them back/not getting anything. I wear baggy, long clothes all the damn time because I can't show myself. I've gained weight too, not overweight but I'm now healthy. I liked myself more underweight. Nothing looks good. I just want to rip off everything I am. I don't belong. I'm just so...monstrous inside and out. I can't put in words how much I hate every aspect of myself. I've tried accepting my body, myself but I can't. It's so disgusting. I'm so disgusting.

No body is disgusting. No body disgusts everyone. But I am deeply sorry that you are feeling this way, and I recommend trying to work through it in therapy if you haven't already. Because you don't deserve to feel this way. No one does.

[storytellersumayyah]

and grief said goodbye

tw: implied disordered eating, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, negative self image

Tristan could count on his hands the number of real conversations he’d had with his parents since the fire. Most of them had taken place after he walked away from Camilla- and even just thinking of her name made his heart hurt- because they had wanted to know everything. They had accused him of being involved, and that had stung more than anything else. Once they went back to the manor, the conversations centred on his new school.

And after he started, they stopped. Almost completely.

He left before his parents showed their faces. When he returned, he went straight to his room to do his work, and he never saw them in the living room working together. They would eat dinner together, but words were never exchanged. And their seats had changed. Victoria sat at the head. James on her right. Tristan two seats away. He knew why they still sat together. No matter how much his parents hated him for what he served as a reminder of, they would not let him get physically worse.

It made him angrier than if they had just left.

When they did speak, it was short sentences. Brief questions. One word answers. Victoria never called him by his name. James never called him Laurie. He never reminded them of what they were supposed to be for him. His father, who had once been grateful that Tristan was there, if only so his wife remembered they were married, seemed like he couldn’t wait for Tristan to leave. His mother didn’t even acknowledge his presence enough to despise it.

He didn’t ask them for anything. When he got an email saying his bank statement was ready to view, he took a deep breath and opened it. The balance had increased. The money was from James. Not Victoria.

He didn’t ask for anything because he would not be given it, and everything he needed, he worked out himself.

But there was something he couldn’t do alone. No matter how many hours he spent trawling the internet, no matter how much research he did, he couldn’t find the information. Anywhere. It was like the details had been wiped. For all he knew, they probably had.

He needed to ask.

So he waited. Until his mother switched on him again. Until his father called him Laurie. Until they asked what the letter had said. Until they told him they had filled in the documents for his college loans. Until they did something. But they didn’t.

He had stared death in the eye once and he had lived.

Maybe he could do it again.

“I need to talk to Mr Carter,” he announced at dinner.

Both his parents stopped eating.

“No,” James said, completely flat.

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care how important it is, we are not communicating with that man ever again,” Victoria snapped. She hadn’t recovered. She blamed Mr Carter for what happened more than she blamed Camilla. In her eyes, Camilla was just a girl. Mr Carter had encouraged and aided her project and nothing would undo that. Not even the testimony he had delivered in front of everyone who mattered, vouching for them.

“I need him.”

“You don’t,” James said. It was sharper. Almost like he knew what Mr Carter had been to his son.

But Tristan did. Mr Carter told him that he’d taken certain information from everyone’s files before they physical ones were destroyed in the fire and the digital ones as a result of the closure. He said if there was ever anything they needed, he would tell them.

He had sent the photographs taken at the dance a few months after Christmas. Tristan had hidden them from his parents. He’d told himself he would destroy them, but someone had captured the moment Camilla lit up as she told him how things had changed. And in that photo, he was smiling.

That was the version of them he wanted to remember. So he kept them all.

“I need him to tell Camilla-“

“You will not mention that girl if you want to stay here,” Victoria cut in.

“Mom. Please. Just this once. I just- I need him to tell her, I need him to try and tell her that I was wrong. That it was never her fault. And I shouldn’t have said it was. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t because she is good and she is loving and I forgive her for what happened because my actions were not her fault and she needs to let go of the fear because it doesn’t deserve and-“ he took a deep breath.

“Tristan?” James kept his voice level.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I need her to know. Please.”

“Tristan,” Victoria said.

“Mom. Please. I will never bring either of them up again. Please.”

She didn’t reply.

“Dad,” he whispered, trying to remind his father of who they used to be.

“Tristan.” Victoria said his name again. Tristan hated it. His name felt like a death sentence. A prophecy he was doomed to fulfil. Sadness. That was his name.

“Please,” he tried, one last time.

“Just this once, I will allow it.”

He couldn’t believe her. “What? Why?”

“Because you need it. Because Camilla does as well. Because that is a heavy thing to carry. Because you have forgiven yourself, and you have forgiven her, and she deserves to know. Because nobody deserves to feel guilty or ashamed when they did the best they could,” Victoria said, and she looked at James as she gave her final reason. James looked down. Tristan knew they were both thinking of the summer, and sentences they couldn’t take back.

“Because you are our son. And this is the only thing you have asked us for since you came back,” James added.

Even though the manor was not home, and even though it wasn’t enough to make up for any of their mistakes, Tristan smiled.

And in that moment, grief wandered out of his room.

Two weeks later, and an ocean away, Camilla unlocked the front door to her first and real home with a deep sigh. Things at school were still tense and she was growing tired of it. She hadn’t been able to warn anyone she was returning, which had led to a mix of reactions, but Ari was trying her best, even as she kept him at arms length.

She’d broken him once. She wouldn’t do it again. Not after Tristan.

But there was no time to think of Tristan. Her A-Levels were just around the corner (well, they were a few months away, but same difference) and she needed Cambridge more than they needed her. Which meant meeting her grade requirements as a bare minimum.

She was going to go straight to her room, but then her mother called her from the living room. She had been so caught up in wondering what had happened to Tristan- she sometimes wished she had his number, but it would’ve killed her if he’d blocked it so perhaps it was for the best- that she hadn’t even noticed the pair of shoes next to hers.

She went into the living room. Her mum was sitting on the sofa, phone in her hands.

“Hey mama.”

“How was school?” She asked, almost nervously.

Camilla shrugged, awkwardly standing in the doorway. Her parents had forgiven her for her role to play in Tristan’s downfall. They had forgiven her for her role to play in the destruction that was caused. She would forever be grateful that they didn’t hate her, and forever scared that she would never be good enough to make them forget.

“I received a message today. From Mr Carter.”

Everything around her froze. Mr Carter had helped her. He had wiped away the tears that spilt on her eighteenth birthday. He had read her personal statement and had faith in her and told Tristan to run and let her slip away. But he had also broken her. She had cried the first time Mr Kennedy told her it was okay she got something so easy wrong because she was convinced he would call her stupid. He had knelt down before her and the image still terrified her.

She never wanted to hear from him again. The photo of her and Tristan, both realising they could be soft and accept who they were, was tucked away in her room, but that was the only thing from him she would keep. All the lessons he taught, all the lies he told, she would forget.

“What did he say?”

“Tristan-“ and that name still hurt but she couldn’t let her mother know how much they had meant to each other so she just kept her face as neutral as she could, which wasn’t very but it had to be enough.

Her mother wasn’t continuing.

“Tristan?”

“I don’t understand what it means. But Mr Carter said that Tristan needs you to know that it wasn’t your fault, and it was never your fault. He said he crossed a line when he told you it was and he’s sorry.”

Camilla did something she hadn’t done in what felt like a lifetime.

She cried in front of her mother.

She couldn’t help it. But she had been carrying the secret since she returned. Her parents hadn’t heard the conversation. Jonathan and Adelaide had assumed he was acting on pure emotion, but Camilla had heard the things he wasn’t saying. She had heard the way it was more than just a way to hurt her. She had heard the belief.

To know it was false, that he hadn’t meant it, that it was never real, convinced her that she could be good again. She could be soft. She could move on.

And so could he.

But then her mother did something that she hadn’t done in a lifetime either.

She stood up, and she walked over to her daughter.

And she hugged her.

And she didn’t let go, even as Camilla’s knees gave out because of the pure relief she was filled with.

“Come on babu. Just let it go. It’s okay.”

She didn’t bother wiping the tears away. Camilla needed them.

When she calmed down enough to talk, she sighed and pulled away slightly. “Can you tell him I said thank you?”

Her mother’s initial review of Mr Carter had been glowing, but when Camilla accidentally let slip that he had called her a stupid girl, she became his biggest hater. So it was a long shot, but she nodded and Camilla smiled.

It was the first real one since they’d come back, and for her mother, it was like watching her baby’s milestone all over again.

“Do you see what this means? Tristan has forgiven himself. He has forgiven you. Your father and I have forgiven you too. All that is left is for you to forgive yourself. You are allowed to do that Camilla. I promise.”

Camilla nodded. “I know I can.”

And for once, she wasn’t lying. She forgave herself, on the floor of her living room. In the original uniform she was meant to wear. With her mother, in her shalwar kameez because she didn’t let anyone take anything from her, hugging her.

And in that moment, grief walked out her front door.

-

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[f1-birb]

okay so this mentions body image/weight so if that's triggering or just something you don't feel comfortable reading about, pls just don't read any further and delete this.

but during that stream today

went from 🥺🥹 as lando squeezed his own cheeks to 😔😒 as he used it to start criticizing his body

then pietra with the "that's just skin" and theo looking at him like he's grown two heads

idk it just makes me feel kind of bleehhhh all of the times he criticizes his body. he has the strength needed to handle the G forces and whip that car around a F1 track, he's healthy, idk idk. just wish he was a bit easier on himself sometimes.

Thank you for checking in with me <3

I didn't watch the stream, just spent a while scrolling through opinions on his haircut some of which made me giggle (he did look like a poodle with the clips in) and then Max's reassurance the curls will be back ("gotta let it marinate") but I did find a clip of that moment you're talking about

Weight has always unfortunately played a huge part of the sport and so many drivers have suffered from it, but with the minimum driver weight now being 80kg it's meant a lot of them (especially taller drivers who can't help how much their bones weigh) have been able to ease up a little bit which is great but there's old habits I think some people can't shake and unfortunately this is not the first time Lando's commented on his weight in a slightly negative way

He talked in streams over the winter break about how he'd been working out and eating more but losing weight (which can and is possible with proper nutrition and training and is not necessarily a bad thing) and he seemed really positive but those comments, especially about his face - which sometimes you just can't change the way parts of your body sit or are like cheeks - are a little concerning

I'm just glad how quickly Theo, Max and Pietra all reacted to be encouraging that he's fine the way he is, and P enforcing my point that sometimes that's just the way you are

I'm hoping it's just a blip and his esteem being a dick and making him listen to nasty comments and he knows people love him the way he is, he's fit and healthy and we know Jon takes care of him, and it's nice to see that he's got plenty of people in his corner (despite P telling him and Max to be less codependent and Max to be less of a simp which I found hilarious)

[sugirandom]

Major Trigger warnings for mental health issues, low self-esteem, negative body image, dysphoria, misgendering, mention of toxic parents and abuse, it's very personal, not positive so you don't have to read it.

Hey guys, gonna be honest here. My mental health is still pretty shit at the moment. I mean, it hasn't really been particularly good for a while but I completely spiraled after a really honestly trivial experience at Walmart so it just shows me how my tolerance for stress is just not there right now.

The fact that I was only healthy for one week so far this year doesn't help, I got sick again at the beginning of the week because my best bro got sick and inevitably I got sick from him (again). So yeah, I'd just got back to auditioning and felt good about that but now I'm sick again so can't really audition.

We were buying cold medicine at Walmart and apparently they have to check your ID for this medicine. With me, the lady didn't even bother but when my best bro was buying his medicine she asked for his ID and after seeing his birthday said "You look younger than that." and that's the silly thing that set me off. My best bro who is one year older than me being asked for his ID because for some reason he looked under 18 to that cashier and she didn't even bother with me. That's what set me off and I know it's stupid but my brain said "ha, you look old now!" And it went into all my other insecurities.

I realize a lot of what I dislike about myself is stuff I can't change and it's hard for me to swallow that even though I know on a mental level that is what I have to do somehow. I can't wear men's shoes because my feet are too small, I'm constantly being misgendered when I wear my mask probably because of my height and how my hips look. These are also things I can't change. I could dye my hair I guess when I make more money and that would fix some of looking old I guess but the bags under my eyes won't go away unless i fix my insomnia which I've had next to no luck with, especially getting sick again.

I've also just felt insecure about my talents and kept wishing i was just a little more talented so I could actually making a living doing the things I love rather than being forced into doing work I don't want to do if I can even get hired at some point. I know that a lot of my perceptions are warped by my own low self-esteem and being surrounded by one parent who was abusive and another who as much as a I love her was very vain. So I still have a lot of toxic crap I've internalized that I've placed upon myself and it's pretty overwhelming to work through it all. I think my mom passing at an age I feel was way too young also panicked me, that and the fact that she looked much older than she actually was. I guess that's what made me spiral. I guess I thought "Oh, is it happening to me now?" "Do I look 20+ years older than I am." The answer is probably no but my brain won't let me see that.

The craziest part is I'm an Empath so at the end of the day it's possible that all that insecurity I've harbored for myself and my skills and talents could be from my parents, it's how they felt about themselves. My mom with her looks and my stepdad with his talents and skills, he hid it behind pride but we could tell. Writing this out like this is a small first step to healing from it I know, so thank you for putting up with me posting it on here. I don't really know how I'm going to heal going forward but I do want to somehow because I want to succeed in my goals in life and live a life i can be happy with rather than feeling like I'm just going to progressively get worse each year. I want to figure out how to make optimism less exhausting and easier to obtain again.

[sanctuary-for-the-mad]

I'm not meant to improve. I'm not meant to be healthy. I'm not meant to inspire people to get better.

I'm meant to get worse. I'm meant to be a warning for others to see what happens when they don't try to get better. I'm meant to make those who are close to me worse. I can't show you that you can improve, but I can and will show you what happens if you don't.

I'm what you'll be if you don't try to improve yourself. Broken, cruel, miserable. That's what I am, and that's all I'll ever be.

[one-abuse-survivor]

I feel like I might've gotten triggered in the last couple of days without realising it, because all my thoughts keep circling back to what a waste of space I am and how I need to make up for existing and being a burden to others. Which is fun when you add summer-induced dysphoria into the mix.

Right now, I just can't help but feel like I'll never fully stop hating myself.

Sigh...

[little-bloodied-angel]

I dunno, maybe I'm crazy, but if I had a kid with such severe body dysmorphia that it has driven them to self-harm, caused psychotic episodes where they tried to mutilate their body, and heavily influenced their chronic suicidal tendencies, and they found two harmless, non-invasive things that help alleviate it (gel nails and professionally done eyebrows, especially considering that left to their own devices they'll use the tweezers to destroy their face because they also have dermatillomania), I wouldn't deny them those things, tell them that they're going to get them and then ensure they don't, and call them a spoiled rotten brat the few times they manage to have them done, simply ask for them, or remind me that I made a promise. But like I said maybe it's just me? Everyone acts like my mother is perfect, so I must just be delusional.

Then again if I had a kid with body dysmorphic disorder and an ED, I also wouldn't constantly be making negative comments about their body, face, skin, hair, general appearance, makeup, preferred clothing or even their weight. Oh well.

(life in general and the holidays in particular are going just great, y'all)

[brooklynislandgirl]

Honest and embarrassing question . If you ever think about being married, who do you imagine putting a ring on it ?

Be Brave || Accepting

The question hits Beth in just the right way that is blooms into a bittersweet ache in the middle of her chest, spreading a sort of shade throughout the rest of her. The simplest answer screams loudly in her head, echoing through her ears, behind her eyes, and almost makes the marathon sprint to her lips before she is able to rein it back, give it more consideration. "I t'ink everyone fantasises about it a' one point or anoddah in dere life. It sorta comes almos' pre-built as an encouragement, if ya born wahine. An' in some ways I t'ink wantin' t' be wi' da person meant for you is sorta like a biological imperative...but for da soul." Her smile is soft. It carries the weight of an incalculably heavy grief.

"Back in small kid time, I said to my braddah dat some day, was gonna grow up an' marry da shark dat bite me, an' left it's indelible mark. He tole me I nevah could. Dat people an' shark no can marry. Jus' goes t' show dat my braddah nevah really read Hawai'ian legends." She shrugs a shoulder, though it hardly moves. "Den, when I was a lil older... doctah say dere's somet'ing wrong wi' me. Dat I was...well, broken, from a certain point of view. What's really da point in bein' da spare...den da heir...when you no can continue your bloodline? It was made clear t' me dat as far as da Admiral was concerned, I was...useless." When she finally looks up, she doesn't make any significant eye-contact. "I'm not da kine you marry. I'm not even da kine you really wanna date. Mos' people...dey...got mo'beddah options. Dey don' want..." Her. "But dat's not da question, really. I don' imagine, is da answer. Or mebbe, I can't. I don' really see who would want to, or why, or wha' I got to offer dat's beddah dan literally anyone else dey could choose. It would need to be someone I feel connected to on an emotional or spiritual level. Someone who would be willin' to put in da effort t' get to know me. An' den go fardah still, an'...overlook every bad, broken, or sad part of me. Someone who could keep dey word, an' actually...stay."

[compassionatereminders]

hi! just a little vent - i feel so despicably unattractive and like such an outsider as a woman in every group of girls i’m in. i have a crooked smile from an injury and acne scars all over my body and i just. cannot fathom anyone seeing me and thinking Wow that is someone i want to be with. and it’s so frustrating because i so deeply crave love. but i feel so annoying whenever i talk about it with friends. i know i am so much more than my appearance but it feels like i’m trapped in it

Honestly though this world has seen people with all kinds of bodies and insecurities find love and they will continue to do so. Because love isn't about how clear your skin is or how conventional your body looks. I'm not denying that it's harder to move beyond looks if you aren't "conventionally attractive", but people with all kinds of bodies keep finding love and you're not the exception to that. You just gotta give it time

[cagesings]

johanna’s self hatred never fails to make me unbelievably sad. turpin raised her to not have an ounce of confidence in herself because who is easier to take advantage of: the confident girl or self-loathing girl? he knew exactly what he was doing when he threw criticism in her face when she was a child. he knew exactly what he was doing when he told the household staff not to show her any kindness. even in an au where life is a lot better for her, johanna still lacks any real self-confidence. turpin takes advantage of that fact. he tells her that she’s the reason her mother did what she did. he tells her that she deserves every wrong thing that happens to her. his punishments are cruel and unjust. for a man who claims to have been guilty for doing what he did to lucy and took her child in for that reason, he just sought to destroy her. even post canon when johanna is happier and when she’s getting healthier, she still can’t fully love herself. she doesn’t think she’s worthy of it. she wants to be beautiful, but never feels that way. she wants to be the good wife she was raised to be, but she isn’t perfect enough. this girl could’ve been raised in loving circumstances and grown up getting help that she needed, but turpin deprived her of all that.