#tw: mentions of delusion

[transmascgoblin]

Tw: Possibly Delusional Behaviours in a loved one

(I need help figuring out my next steps)

Right. how do I start.

I'm dating this guy. he's a couple of years older than me, and we hit things off pretty quickly. we were friends for about 8-10 months before we started dating a month ago. while we were friends, he (Liam, we will call him Liam for this story) would say things that don't quite add up normally. it started somewhat in the normal realm of possibility. one night, we stayed up late talking and he said something about "opening his Eye" (capitalized, too) and seeing something "unsettling" and therefore not sleeping for the night. I assumed he meant. you know. his eyes. the ones on your face, under your eyebrows and on either side of your nose. but No. he meant his third eye.

uh. ok then.

I assume he's just spiritual, or subscribes to a religion that I don't know much of. normal stuff, right? I'm not religious or anything, so I kinda brush it off and say "yeah haha, are you big on meditation? I never could figure it out", attempting small talk. he then divulges in me that no, it's not a religious thing. this is "traveling to an alternate dimension" thing.

Um. What.

now I'm thinking "oh god, he's one of those Shifters from TikTok. how do I handle this". so I kinda awkwardly ask him about it, like, "oh yeah haha. what? where do you go?" and his dead ass response is "this place called the Other side"

..........uhm.

so now I'm worrying. what is this guy on. the other side???? what the fuck is that? but then he elaborates, saying things like "yeah, it's almost a copy of our earth, but it's all greyed out. and there are alternate versions of me and Smith (his friend, and apparent accomplice/ prophesized teammate to save the world. I'm using a fake name to protect his privacy) are there, and a version of me owns a bar in the Other side. there are lots of Smiths in there, they're surprisingly common"

........ how do I tell him that there's no way this is real

and he just. keeps going. I ask clarifying questions and I'm just thinking about how crazy of a story this would make in a book. until Liam drops this bomb: "me and Smith are supposed to work together to save our Earth. our alternate versions of ourselves have failed countless times, loosing their earths to (name of big bad I have since forgotten. we shall call him "the dark one" for the purpose of this story) The Dark One. but here's the kicker, me and Smith have no idea when The Dark One will attack our earth"

I. how do I respond.

I say something like "oh. damn. that is. alot of responsibility for a couple of. not even 20-year olds" (ohH I'm dropping my approximate age.)

and he just, meets me there. "yeah, it is a lot of stress. and I can't talk to anyone about it because they think I'm crazy, but I know I'm not because other people have seen the same things I have."

and. I just. I don't know how to handle that.

we are dating now, I thought that hey, what's the worst that can happen? I know Smith, but not well. but I can ask Smith about this, because I have seen him text Liam, and Liam has texted Smith about this and sent audio messages while I was in the car with him. the audio message Liam recorded today has a blip in it where I was talking to him. Smith knows it's me.

today Liam told me that he thinks he and I are soulmates. like. real soulmates. and I just, don't know how to respond. he's low-key freaking me out. I'm planning on asking Smith, but I have no idea if Smith will tell me anything.

anyways. please. this is a call for help. what is going on. is this real. am I involved with someone who is experiencing delusions. god I hope not.

[mishervellous]

What are your significant other’s green flags? If you don’t have a s/o, what would you consider green flags in a potential partner?

kinda ot but can someone explain to me what a beige flag is? i’ve seen that term going around recently and i’m confused anyways:

-listens and believes you (or at least doesn’t straight up invalidate you right away)

-doesn’t belittle your feelings (and by feelings i also mean whatever stems from heavier things like paranoia/delusion and the likes) (and by that i don’t mean they just enable them, i mostly mean they don’t shut you off on the basis of those feelings being exaggerated/unrealistic)

-understands and respects your boundaries; establishes boundaries of their own

-is honest

-is communicative as best as they can (about their own struggles but also about potential struggles in the relationship itself)

-values your input/opinions (mostly if it’s something that has to do with the relationship itself)

-is a silly goose and kinda weird (positive)

[spectral-pup]

Btw therians are cool and valid

Btw copinglinks, funlinks and any other otherlinks are cool and valid

Btw physical alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw spiritual alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw psychological alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw delusional alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw fictionkins are cool and valid

Btw objectkins, plantkins and other “unusual” kins are cool and valid

Btw wolfkins, foxkins and other “common” kins are cool and valid

Btw all alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw you’re cool and valid

[star--stricken]

*clicks on an interesting drama video* ”this person is a psychopath/sociopath/psychotic/narcissist/delusional!”

*sighs*

*clicks off the video*

[gor3sigil]

I have to share a story about why I HATE the term "trauma dumping".

So basically, we were at my at the time partner's house with friends of them and we were talking about mental health.

I don't remember exactly how we came to this but one woman started talking about psychosis and her sister who is schizophrenic.

She had a lot of preconception about this and, while I am not schizophrenic, I dealt with psychosis and hallucinations.

So I started to talk about my experiences with that, stating AGAIN that I wasn't schizophrenic but I thought it was an interesting point of view.

Some other people started asking questions so I answered them, asking here and there if it was okay for me to talk about it, and nobody, INCLUDING the woman who started the conversation in the first place, said anything.

And at one point I saw she was uncomfortable and asked her if she'd rather drop the subject.

And then, she BLEW UP on me saying that I was trauma dumping, that she felt like she was partaking in a conversation she NEVER ASKED to partake in (again, she was the one who brought up the subject), that I was being insensitive and over sharing shit and that she didn't like it.

Like, bitch, I asked a bunch of time if it was okay, you were the one talking about these symptoms without even living it and trying to teach people some crappy over the counter shit, but now that she wasn't the Main Character with the Knowledge it became an issue and I was the problem.

I know that I'm open about my experiences and tend to talk about it but I ALWAYS make sure that people on the other end are okay with me sharing this. This was just utter bullshit.

And online or IRL, I just noticed that the term "trauma dumping" is just the easy way out of a conversation that makes you feel uncomfortable while putting the blame on the person doing it.

You can absolutely put boundaries, but don't you dare guilt someone just to avoid being seen as an asshole and make yourself clean of anything. It's healthy to state that you are uncomfortable talking about things, but you can do so without making up shit about others.

[system-hottakes]

Thoes weird irls i see on tiktok always make us cringe. THEY STEAL PLURALITY TERMS?? and also fall into their delusions of pretending to be a character (not a alter) if they were a sys it would be fine!! But thoes people wre not and just falling into their delusions. They are horrible and also ruin our community as well.

yeah.. I don't blame people for having delusions but expecting others to 1. Feed into it (which is both harmful to you and potentially to the other person if they also have delusions) and 2. Let you into fictive communities is stupid. Fair enough if you're a system or fictive with delusions, but as a singlet you should not be using system terms. You aren't a fictive, you do not have a source. You have delusions. Stop trying to get into our communities

((again not mad at people with delusions, I don't blame them for that but stop stealing system terms and stop calling fictives doubles. They aren't you.))

[delusi0nalraik0]

is it really love if you don't want them tied up in your basement?

[wilbur-of-the-coven]

fuck you

To the anti-endo who suicide baited us, sincerely, fuck you, I hope you never find peace in life.

because of your inability to simply co-exist my girlfriend had to be pulled out of front and she coughed hundreds of flowers- she’s *comatose* right now, we had to create a GODDAMN hospital to put her on anesthesia so she’d stop coughing up blood and flowers.

Sincerly fuck you so much. You claim you’re defending trauma victims, but guess what? You just traumatized me but all my headmates!

Because you simply couldn’t co-exist with a non purely traumagenic system you decided to tell them to kill themselves?

That is not fucking okay! Alright? It is never okay to tell anyone to kill themselves! No matter what they’ve done.

which in our case? Was absolutely nothing! We simply made a fucking notes post and you thought it was soooooo hilarious if you asked how many notes it’d take to commit suicide!

No! No! It’s fucking not! You have no goddamn shame in your body! Because guess what?

You just told a minor- 3 minors, 1 young adult, 1 adult, A FOUR YEAR OLD, and an age less being to kill themselves! Oh! And we’re bodily a minor too if we forgot to goddamn mention! So even if we were “faking” you still told a minor to kill themselves!

it’s not funny and will never be funny to suicide bate someone. My girlfriend who was the one fronting btw suffers from such strong delusions oh hanahaki that the headspace made it real there.

if our ONLY TWO adults hadn’t been awake and able to pull her from front- which btw 2 other of our headmates had to help with- did I mention the 4 year old was there too?- then she would’ve started to have a coughing fit in real life.

sincerely, *sincerly*, fuck you, we’re not christian but god has a specially low pit of hell for suicide baiters like you.

[doombum]

Can we hear your scooped Mikey head cannons?? Or just head cannons in general

I love scooped Mikey, he's my favorite Mikey

He had a very hard time while Ennard was controlling him because he was conscious for most of it, kind of going in and out of consciousness because of the sheer pain

I feel he'll have a lot of new triggers from the experience, main ones would be relating to touch: he can't directly touch metal and needs to wear gloves to do so, and he'll go into panic mode if someone touches him unexpectedly

He also has delusional episodes when he hears the Funtimes arguing in his head or feel Ennard move inside his body even though they left a long time ago

He doesn't have any organs anymore, so he can't eat drink or breath

He has to redo the stitches on his chest and face every couple of weeks because the wounds never healed and stay open no matter what he does

It's hard to move in general, but even more in winter because his joints become very stiff. As a result, despite not being able to feel cold, he has to be very covered in winter to not end up freezing and being unable to move anymore

He isn't rotting more than he already has, the remnant in his body is keeping him stuck in the state he is in. He is not getting any better, but at least he's not decomposing even more

He was terrified of going home after waking up on that pavement, scared that Jeremy would be afraid of him and finally have enough of him and the horrors he drags with him. But Jeremy was having none of that and was fully ready to support him and help him through his new undead situation the same way Mike helped him after the bite of 87.

Intimacy was very hard to get accustomed to again. The memory of feeling Ennard inside his body made him very wary of touch and it took him a long time for Mike to let Jeremy touch and hold him comfortably.

[skinnynsourrvi]

✯ ANA AFFIRMATIONS✯

October 16, 2024

♡ If it's not hurting, it's not working

♡ Your muscles should be sore and aching, if you're doing it right

♡ Your stomach should be growling and you should be 🌟ving, if you're doing it right

♡ You should feel you're dying, or else it's not working

♡ Skinny isn't easy

♡ Skinny people aren't quitters

♡ Skinny takes hard work and self control

♡ You want to be skinny? Stop taking it the easy way

♡ Don't give into the hunger

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Marshmallow dust.

This is the crap I drew @ant1quarian

this... is Marshmallow Dust. A weighted plushie designed specifically for mental health reason. The plush is... semi sentient??? Nightmare had it designed after a bad episode Dust had.

While soft, it feels like dough. Huggable but kinda heavy, it can be hugged abd out on your chest for compression therapy.

The plush does what it deems best for its current owner. It can walk around and do tasks, suck as cook (if it can find a way to climb onto the counter) and will make sure you eat properly.

It has a glow feature, as it's intended to accommodate for fears of the dark, or being alone.

(TW: the next part talks about mental health and the plushes use for preventing things like s/h and bad eating habits!)

It will do anything in its power to prevent its owner from anyform of S/H, and will alert any contacts if it believes it's owner is a risk to themself (In this case, Dust) and it cannot prevent it.

It encourages other coping mechanisms from smoking, and will steal cigarettes and throws them away.

It can be annoying, but it's doing its best. It's just doing it's job. Nightmare is the one alerted if the following happens:

Dust has caused bodily harm to himself on purpose.

Dust has refused to eat or drink for over 24hrs.

Dust has refused to sleep for over 24hrs.

Dust is exhibiting symptoms a panic attack, hallucinations, delusions, high anxiety, or if requested.

Dust is a threat to himself or others.

Requires any other sort of help.

Dust wants to hate the plush, but, he keeps it in his room when he sleeps and just let's ot help him.

[psychotic-system-culture-is]

Tw: ableism, syscourse.

Psychotic system culture is people calling you delusional because you support endos, but they're actually right.

📺🐑 (Is that signature available?)

<-w->

[thecovenofcrows]

Discord Server

Vesper here, recently I have been experiencing delusion regarding hanahaki disease. However I cannot find a server openly about/or has channels for experiences with psychosis/delusion and welcomes people within my age range (we are bodily a minor, we would prefer if the only age rule was about Discord TOS due to uncomfortability sharing exact ages on the internet, though we would share it during verification if necessary). I would like to know if anyone is in or knows about any server that supports both while also not supporting trans-abled/colored people (We really don't care about any other trans-IDs beyond finding these incredibly disrespectful).

[alleiwentcrazy]

“Wow, man, that’s nasty. You should get that checked.”

Someone’s standing in the doorway, Steve’s sane enough to notice that. This someone is wearing the infamous hospital gown, is hooked to an IV, and has Nancy’s hair. Which is exceptionally weird, because Steve has always believed that no one could achieve that kind of volume. Especially while living in a hospital.

This someone is also, not unlike Steve, wrapped in several layers of dressings to shelter their burns from everything that’s bad in this world: infection, stares, more pain.

(Steve isn’t so certain about the last one, though. He sure is in a lot of pain at the moment.)

So someone is standing in the doorway, he’s positive. This someone is staring at him, their gaze curious and open, and it’s not a nurse, and it’s not a doctor. Partly that’s why Steve doesn’t believe that this person is even real at first. His visitors must wear gowns and gloves—something about it being too early to risk an infection. So despite the hair, it is not Nancy.

It’s a someone. Maybe. Probably. Steve doesn’t know—his eyes are barely open and he’s too high on painkillers to differentiate between dreams and reality. When the sweet numbness overwhelms him again, he has half a mind to say: Maybe it’s an angel, standing in my doorway.

***

As Steve’s recovery progresses (and the amount of painkillers he’s being pumped with decreases), he gets more and more aware of reality.

For starters, he learns that he’s not living some sort of fever dream. He was—is—a firefighter, who got pretty badly burned, and his sides, some parts of his belly, back and arms need very special and very expensive treatment. Hence the hospital bed, the gown, the dressings, meds, pain, et cetera. This burn center is going to be his home for the next few weeks, and Steve’s okay with that. It means that he got to save a life, even if his own was put at risk in the process.

He can live with that, definitely. With the scars and the pain, no problem. What’s killing him now is his own curiosity.

He hasn’t been seeing angels, turns out. He’s been seeing fellow patients – one patient in particular. That someone who hovered over the threshold when he first started his recovery. Steve’s been seeing him almost every day, taking slow steps across the hallway, dragging his IV behind him, the patchwork of dressings and scarring tissue changing frequently.

Without fail, each time this man passes Steve’s room, his steps slow down. Sometimes, he sends Steve a wink. On better days, Steve supposes, when the scarring on his cheek doesn’t bother him that much, he gives a flash of a smile. Even on the worst days, when walking serves as torture, he acknowledges Steve with a nod, like they know and respect each other.

Everything about him is a mystery to Steve, though. He, too, returns a small wave or a nod or anything, but he still half-believes he’s seeing things that aren’t there, so when this man with long, wavy hair and ridiculously brown eyes passes his room again, he can’t hold it back any longer.

“Beth, who’s that?” he asks. Beth, his nurse slash new hospital friend, looks over her shoulder. When she finally figures out what he means, she smiles.

“Isn’t that your angel?”

He looks at her completely mortified.

“Please, tell me you’ve just made that up.”

Beth laughs and adjusts the position of his bed. “Sorry, love. I’m afraid that everyone heard your delirious tirades about long-haired angels taking you to heaven.”

With how heavily her “everyone” implies everyone, he doesn't even have it in him to groan. He shouldn’t have listened to Robin when she told him that his high is one of the best things in the world.

***

“How come you never scream?”

Steve’s eyes have been shut tight for the whole time his doctor was poking and prodding around his wounds, but now they’re wide open and he, too, wants to ask himself that. How come he never screams? It’s the most pain he’s ever felt in his entire life. It’s ripping him apart, it’s eating him alive, it’s killing him, but he never screams.

He just keeps his eyes closed, waiting for it to be over. Thinking about Robin and his kids, about how he has to stay strong and never show fear because it’s his job to keep them safe and away from the pain even if—or maybe especially if—it comes with taking the pain on himself, bearing it, being torn by it. He keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t think about his failures or the times he was too late to save them; he keeps them shut because he knows that there are going to be more times when he’ll have to keep his eyes open to spot the danger ahead.

But his eyes are open now, open and staring at the man standing in his doorway, backlit and glowing like some non-human entity, asking him such a simple thing that will, without a doubt, make Steve circle down the drain when he’s alone again.

Steve doesn’t dare open his mouth. He’d scream if he tried, and he cannot afford to do that.

“Mr. Munson, you really shouldn’t be here right now.”

Steve shuts his eyes back again.

***

Steve’s recovery is slow, slower than anticipated. When he first got here, his doctors said he’d be able to walk soon-ish, but it’s way past “soon-ish” now and he’s still tied to his bed. It still hurts like hell, he’s still woozy from the painkillers, even though the strongest stuff is out of the question, he’s made sure of that. He’d rather feel everything than risk another embarrassing situation. Maybe it’s stupid, but that’s how it is.

Mainly, Steve just feels lonely. He’s allowed to have visitors, but they can’t stay with him as long as he’d like them to—mostly because they have lives outside of this hospital while Steve’s entire life is in this hospital. He’s lonely, he’s bored, and he’s envious out of his mind, because the man from his doorway gets his walks every day and Steve dreams of nothing but being able to move a little.

Each time Munson walks past his room, he stares. He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a mirror in here, but it’s painstakingly clear to him that he’s glaring daggers at a man that hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just so jealous—his body aches, but it’s a different ache; it’s an ache of being still for too long. An ache of being out of the game. Steve hates being out of the game. It makes him come up with the worst possible scenarios—but he has to thank both his burns and his head trauma for the dizziness, weakness and total lack of coordination that keeps him from starting physio.

With each passing day, his stares get more daunting, but the man doesn’t stop sending him smiles and nods. He knows it’s irrational and unfair, taking out his own fears and anger on someone who can’t do anything about his situation, who’s in an equally shitty situation, actually, but he’s still working on not being mean without a reason. And it seems so harmless, because this stranger never stops smiling at him. No matter how much Steve tries, he can’t seem to convey his feelings, because Munson never stops.

It irritates him even more, enrages him to a point. When Munson smiles at him one day, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“Are you always this chirpy?” he asks, his voice dripping of malice. It disgusts him a little, makes him want to retreat—retreat far away from the version of himself that he dropped years ago, although it’s haunting him to this day. He wants to retreat, but he doesn’t. He pouts instead.

Munson stops in his tracks, raises one eyebrow. He looks amused, and it pisses Steve off.

“Your life must be quite miserable if walking around a hospital with unhealed wounds is your definition of chirpy,” Munson says. It’s supposed to sting, probably, but his smile is still there, despite his injured cheek. Steve’s pout deepens. Munson looks like a cat who got the cream. “Oof, soft spot. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he coos, looking like he’d like to lean against the doorframe, but his injured arm won’t let him. “We can be miserable—oh, sorry. Chirpy, we can be chirpy together.”

Steve doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how. He feels warm all over. It’s not something he likes. He’d cross his arms over his chest if he could.

Munson stays silent for a moment, a smirk still playing on his lips. The quiet moment stretches out until he takes a big breath and takes a look around. “I’m Eddie, by the way. And I’m very, very late for my usual ‘walk as much as you can but be reasonable, Mr. Munson’ appointment, so I have to get going. But, uh,” he looks at Steve like he’s not sure of something for the first time in his life, even though he’s still playing along. “I could come around tomorrow, Mr…?”

“Steve,” comes the reply. Munson—Eddie smiles, again.

“Alright then, Mr. Steve. Get ready to be the chirpiest you’ve ever been.”

***

The worst thing is, it works. Steve does get chirpier.

It starts out small. Eddie just stops in front of the threshold, spits out the most random, obnoxious and seemingly nonsensical (although Steve suspects they’re all true) fact, like Did you know that cows have four stomachs? or Did you know that geckos can’t blink and they have to lick their own eyeballs to keep them from drying out? or something of sorts, and then he leaves while Steve lies in his bed, suspecting that he’s having hallucinations and fully questioning his sanity. Again.

It gets progressively worse, it does. It gets weirder. At first, Steve isn’t sure what to think of it. Eddie’s strange. He’s also a nerd. He talks in codes, his sentences are long and Steve finds it hard to follow his logic altogether from time to time. But he also makes Steve snort, sometimes even laugh—truly laugh, laugh from his belly. Eddie’s weird, but he’s Dustin-weird, Steve decides. Good-weird. Familiar-weird. Safe-weird.

He makes him feel less lonely. Steve invites him to sit beside his bed after a few days, so now Eddie comes, spits out his random nerdy facts, and they sit and talk around it until the nurses kick Eddie out for not doing his laps.

Steve’s less lonely. He’s so much less lonely he even starts missing Eddie when they’re not together—only a little, but he does. (He knows it’s dangerous. But what’s the harm in that if they’re both stuck here anyway? What’s the harm in a little hospital vulnerability?) It’s quite difficult not to miss Eddie, to be honest. Eddie makes it difficult—he listens when Steve talks, he never hesitates before explaining something when Steve doesn’t get it immediately, he’s patient, but at the same time, he talks so much. The room fills with intricate, engrossing stories and anecdotes whenever he opens his mouth.

The only moments when Steve feels even less less lonely than when he’s with Eddie is when he’s with Robin, and Robin’s the most important person in Steve’s life.

“Contraband,” Eddie says, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed one day. He puts something on Steve’s thing – cherry jello and a plastic spoon. His favorite. “Don’t rat me out.”

He smiles at Steve. His cheek is practically healed now; the scar isn’t as big as Steve imagined it from afar, but it sure as hell must have been a menace to get it more or less healed. That’s the only thing they don’t talk about. How they got here, how they got their scars. They support each other through it, but they never dwell.

At least Eddie doesn’t. Steve’s sure everyone knows his story – people love when firefighters let themselves get burned to a crisp while trying to save somebody else, after all, and gossip spreads around the hospital with the speed of plague.

“And get my best dealer behind bars?” Steve asks and scrapes a spoonful of jello from the cup. “They never have cherry. You’re the only one that seems to know where they store it.”

Eddie grins devilishly and leans a bit further. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asks and Steve mumbles something unintelligible in response. “I used to deal,” Eddie says. Steve’s not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he starts playing with the hem of Steve’s sock, his fingers barely brushing the skin on Steve’s calf. It tingles, but he doesn’t mind.

Steve’s brows go up. “Is that how you got here?” he risks, not really knowing why. He’s not that curious—but it’s the scar on Eddie’s face that’s been haunting him for ages now. So different from his own forming scars, yet, in principle, the same.

Eddie’s face gets softer. Steve can’t recognize the expression properly, it’s different from Eddie’s usual, mischievous smirk. It’s quiet for the longest time, so quiet Steve thinks he’s going to choke on his jello from build-up pressure.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says, suddenly, his voice totally cool and leveled while Steve—

“I’m bi,” he blurts out in response, practically out of breath. To his absolute horror, Eddie chuckles.

“Well, that’s useful,” he says around his crooked smile, “but that’s not what I meant.”

When he points at his face, everything clicks. Steve tries to control his face, but the realization is too sudden.

“What?” he asks before he can think better of it.

Eddie shrugs. His expression is unreadable, but he isn't looking at Steve anymore, his eyes fixed on his own fingers that are still playing with Steve’s sock.

“My band has this one place for gigs that we all don’t really like, but they actually pay us some money. I’ve always thought that it’s enough – this and my arrogance, anyway – enough to scrape by. I’m not too cagey about being gay, and I wanted to spite them, I guess, show them that they can’t win,” he looks up. He looks sad, almost defeated, as much as Steve hates it. “They got their way, as you can see. Tried to pour something on me when I was leaving the stage, but they fucked up, both in terms of chemistry and their aim. It didn’t get me as bad as it could have, so I guess I won anyway.”

Eddie smiles again, but it reaches nowhere near his eyes. He looks so sad, so hurt, and Steve’s so, so angry. It’s easy for him to turn to anger, it’s easy and it’s freeing and he suddenly feels bigger and stronger than he really is, because he wants to destroy something, anything—but he’s not a fighter. He’s a protector. He’s not Nancy; he’s Steve. No matter how hopeless, how betrayed he feels, he doesn’t want to hurt. He wants to heal and save.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, afraid it’s too dumb and too obvious.

“I know,” Eddie replies impassively, looking at him from underneath his too long bangs.

“You said you wanted to spite them. But it doesn’t matter, it’s not your fault,” he drills. Eddie opens his mouth again, but before he gets to say anything, Steve squeezes his knee and looks at him intently. “It’s not,” he insists. “Whatever you said or did, it never mattered. They would have done it even if you’d praised them, you were never the problem.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s not malicious. His eyes are a little bit glassy. “So you’re saying I’m perfect?”

For some reason, Steve doesn’t have a problem with reading that. Please, let’s not talk about it now. Then foreign fingers graze his own, and he gets it. Thank you, though.

Steve sighs, something tugging at the corners of his lips. The change of topic makes this both heavier and lighter at the same time. He flicks his spoon at Eddie and aims perfectly between his eyebrows.

“Bring me more jello tomorrow and maybe I’ll grace you with saying that out loud.”

“So you’ve thought—”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

Their fingers intertwine in the silence that follows. They look at each other like they can see each other and suddenly, Steve feels the weight of this moment. They’re not strangers anymore—maybe they have never been strangers. Maybe this was meant to happen from the very beginning. He most probably wasn’t seeing angels a few weeks back, but whatever it was that he saw hovering over his threshold, it’s just entered his house and is, hopefully, planning to stay for longer.

[rainandsugarcane2000]

i call my cat puppy

[delusi0nalraik0]