#tw; self doubt

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ The cracks are in the mirror as he looks but they aren't shattering through glass. The cracking fault lines that show the way the body is buckling from the weight are rushing over ghost pale skin.

They're getting bigger.

He has tried to be careful. He has tried to be attentive to them but he doesn't like looking at his reflection. He doesn't like looking at the way his own body is chipping and shattering like the most fragile pane that could be turned to nothing but splinters of glass if only someone where to be a tad bit clumsy and drop him.

He can't fall again. If he falls again who knows what will happen when he hits the ground.

A year ago the spot of scarred skin that occupied space on his belly was small enough that he could cover it with his hand but now he can't quite make that claim. Not as a small hand moves to cover the damaged skin and pieces of the continuous price is paying peeks out and and lines stretch out far across his body out from beneath his fingertips.

It hurts to touch. Not in a physical sense but in the way that he knows what this is doing to him. It knows what it means for him and if this one has grown so much in size it makes him wonder how much of his back is covered in the rot.

What else was there to call this?

He hasn't shown it to anyone and he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to just swallow his pride and - is it pride though? It is pride or is the fear of having to look into ocean deep suns and tell him that he's been wrong the whole time.

The cracks are spreading up now. They're climbing him like vines and he doesn't know how to make them stop. He doesn't know if he can. But on top of all this, he doesn't know how to he's supposed just live with it. How does he do it?

Black Wind's mind is shattered. He's lost his memories but he never lost his culture. He never lost his world. He never lost the core of who he was - just who they were. Just who the face filled with moonlit jade even belonged to. How does he live with it? He knows he's missing something at this point now, so how does he just keep trudging on all while knowing that there was pieces of who he is supposed to be have been shattered out?

He's lost Father's voice. He's lost Mother's songs. He's lost Usva's love Pieces of himself fade away every time a fragment falls. A sliver at a time and he's falling apart. What will he lose next? He's losing fragments of who he is. At least Black Wind can't say that.

He never wants Black Wind to be able to say that and he'll give every shard that is left of himself to make sure it never happens.

There is a sigh as his shoulders drop and he continues to stare in the full length mirror that hangs on the wall before him. It caught it attention. It wasn't always there. He's only managed to pull his pants back on after taking an overly long bath when his eyes were caught by the sight of the reflection looking back at him.

The pathways of his negligence are craved deep into his flesh now and he finds himself sighing again as he continues to fail to pull back on his shirts. Instead he pulls his hand away from his belly, fingers trembling as they reveal the damage beneath.

It's like an infection that's sat within him and eating him slowly from the inside out. That's why he called it rot. His soul is rotting. That damn beast force fed him poison for twelve years and it made damn sure that the last parting gift it left him with was an infection that had no remedy.

There was no antidote this time. He's drank his last vile and he can still feel the venom seeping down his throat. It's set in his lungs and spread in his veins. Nothing could save him now and the only thing he can focus on is the way the scar expands little by little as it follows the path of the shattering lines on his chest.

Almost to his heart now.

His hand trembles still as he reaches for the glass and fingertips barely trace over the smooth surface to follow the reflection of the line that is nearly to his heart. He can't keep going like this. Will it get there in weeks? Days? He doesn't know but it'll be there by the end of the month if something isn't done.

Will it kill him then?

His knees cave as he finds himself sinking to the floor hand still pressed against the glass.

He's out of time. It doesn't matter if he can't look that man in the eyes to tell him how scared he is. He won't make it to the end of the year. There's no way. This infection is spreading too fast. He can't bring himself to believe he'll survive much longer.

He's going to die.

And there's not a damn thing any of them can do to stop it.

[cvtmyhearttopieces]

maybe if the music is loud enough it’ll drown out my thoughts of suicide

[starheart-blog]

*sigh*

Should I stay in Tumblr?...

Or just quit being on Tumblr forever?....

At this point...I don't know anymore....

I...I just lost....

I...I think....

I want some hugs....

There has been some annoying anonymous talking to me about how bad I write things...and that I make Dumb things, stuff, posts and characters....

That anonymous event said that I should stop asking people for fanart of characters...and they saids that is the reason FresaCake doesn't like me and does not do art of my characters....

And...that hurts like hell....

I...I don't try to bother anyone....

I...i Just want Company....

I just To have someone to talk to, someone to help, someone to have fun with....

Why...why do these people hate me so much?.....

[nomkiwi]

The urge to delete everything and restart because new editors get sm praise and gifts and nobody gives a fuck about me anymore

(Not like anyone except my like. 3 closest friends would miss me lmao)

[karotka]

Paul de Pointe du Lac | Louis de Pointe du Lac

[almightyhamslice]

Hellish Nabnab redesign! I accidentally skipped over him n drew all my naughtified character designs first, but since I procrastinated on posting those it all works out anyway LOL.

In this drawing I primarily wanted to explore the abject misery Nabnab is going through. My depiction of him is half human, though I'm actually unsure if he's human at all in canon-- his case logs only list his genomes as Heteropoda Venatoria n Givanium so, that might literally be it. I think his treatment by the Resort staff and by Banban are made significantly more horrifying if viewing him as a human though, so it's what I stuck with. He is NOT an animal, he is HUMAN, but he has never been treated as such for his inability to speak, his isolation, and his unwillingness to cooperate with his so-called caretakers.

I view his transformation into Hellish form as a sort of 'culmination' of all his prior mistreatment, it's his breaking point. Banban literally backstabs him after apologizing to him for once instead of attacking him, and Nabnab is overcome with uncontainable frustration. As the new givanium solution runs through his veins, he thinks no one he has ever known values him as a person, and he decides to give them what they asked for. He will show the other mascots just how scary of a monster he can be, and make them miss the person he used to be.

Bonus horrid little drawing from when I was brainstorming under the cut:

I dunno if I'll pursue it but I will say I think it's rlly freaky when normally rigid insects shed their skin and fucking,,, squirm,,, it's rlly creepy lol. Like have you ever seen a stickbug hatch? Don't look it up if you don't like squirmy bugs. Maybe he can be a little squirmy when he first attempts to fight Sir Dadadoo?

[novasintheroom]

Oh don't mind me, just trying to get hyped for the Prince!Vash arranged marriage au I have cooking in my head :) Moodboard it is!

[canadiannationalfox]

Pre-Murder Drones Fanfic - Self Doubts - a James x Louisa Story

TW// Self worth issues, self doubt, body image issues, depression, death implications.

A month away from the wedding, and Louisa was nervous and excited, and despite her Mother's urging, Louisa was doing the trial two weeks living with James, as it was an Elliott family custom to be sure they could handle married life.

Miss L.M. Walker walked through the west wing hallway of the Elliott Manor, the part of the manor usually for guests to stay in, but it was being used as a trial home for James and her. She made her way to the room designated specifically for her, still floored by all the lovely pre-wedding gifts she had received like fancy jewelry, expensive cosmetics, bath bombs with rose petals in the centre, luxurious lotions, monogrammed makeup brushes with her soon-to-be married name on them, and other self care items.

While the gifts were wonderful, it made Louisa doubt herself. "Do I really deserve all this? I'm... nothing special... I'm just a failure..." her self doubts spoke through the narrow framed woman. Louisa sat down on the side of her bed, and fell backwards onto it, crossing her arms over her chest pretending to be dead like she used to do as a kid. This was a game Louisa came up with to pass the time since she didn't have many toys or friends. She'd just pretend she passed away and that she was laying for viewing in a casket, doing her best not to move because it would scare the imaginary guests at her wake service.

She heard footsteps coming down the hall and sat upright quickly as to not be caught doing her morbid little game, especially if it was James Elliott Senior or Thera Elliott.

There was a cheerful knocking at the doorway, which helped Louisa realize who it was. She flopped down again so her back was on the bed, smiling happily to her fiancé. "Hello James!" she greeted happily, looking at him upside-down.

"Trying to stimulate your follicles again, or do you just like being upside down?" James teased as he tilted his head to the side as he looked at Louisa.

Louisa being upside-down, caused the bodkin holding her hair in a bun to drop to the floor and made the style unraveled. Her long golden hair now draped over her shoulders prettily. "Well that clumsiness worked to your advantage."

The future Elliott family patriarch flopped on the bed on his side so he was facing Louisa. "Hi" he said in a cheerful way, grinning like a dork.

"Stahhhhp" she giggled as she playfully fluttered her left hand at him and looked away, "You're going to make me laugh."

Respecting his beloved's wishes, he gently took a hold of her left hand and kissed it gently. "As you wish, luv."

Louisa squealed slightly in excitement and looked away. "Why are you so bloody precious? What did I do to deserve you?" She froze, realizing some self-loathing had slipped out, hoping James wouldn't say anything or notice.

James, however, did notice, the twenty year old fellow held Louisa's hand still and soothed lovingly, "Who told you that you don't deserve me, luv?" "Who hurt my beautiful swan?" James' voice was worried and gentle, he sat upright, still on the bed and he gently pulled Louisa close so her head rested on his chest.

Louisa could hear James' heartbeat, snuggling up to him so she could hear it better. "N-no one... I am just scared that I'm not enough for you, that I'm not good enough for you," she insisted sadly, trying not to cry, "I mean, look at you, James... you're a handsome son of a CFO of JC Jensen, you have it ALL... hell, you even are a skilled polo player and a horse maven who can quell even the most aggressive bucking bronco...."

"And?" the fellow with the cool-toned jet black hair remarked lovingly, "What of you, my dearest?"

"I'm... I'm a failed ballerina.. I'm an unwanted daughter of my step mother... My father only kept me as a trophy child from a divorce. I'm not even a natural blonde! And I'm only good at baking sweets that I'm not EVEN ALLOWED TO EAT because I'd turn into a hippo!"

The kind-hearted fellow ran his fingers through his girlfriend's hair soothingly, his grey eyes studying her. "First of all, you're not a failure... ballet wasn't your ideal dance type. You're thriving at our waltz and tango classes we're taking in the evenings." his voice though baritone was gentle and caring, "And second, luv, even if your parents don't care, they don't really matter because if they can't see your worth that's their problem."

Louisa wiped her tears a little, still listening to James' loving words.

"I wouldn't care if your natural hair colour was emerald green," the words causing the woman to giggle a little before he continued to talk, "Louisa, you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon, while also being personality-wise ever so perfect."

"James, dear, I"

James stopped Louisa's words by kissing the top of her head before he soothed, "And even if we had no drones, I know how to cook some, and you know how to bake sweets and make other sweet things. We know enough between the two of us." He placed his hands on Louisa's hips and responded, "And even if you do gain weight, just know it won't change how beautiful you are, EVER. It's just a number on a scale for the volume you inhabit, it's not a number dictating how beautiful or lovable you are."

He soothed lovingly, holding her hands now, "You're in good hands, and if you start getting anxious or insecure, I want you to come find me, day or night." James Edward Elliott rested his chin on his girlfriend's soft golden hair as he lovingly reminded, "I'll gladly make the time and take the time to dispel your self doubts."

Louisa started crying.

"No, no, luv, it's alright, please don't be sad."

Cuddling up as close as she could to James, Louisa asked through the tears, "D-do you love me that much?"

James wrapped his arms around Louisa. "I love you so much more than you could ever imagine, dear," he trilled lovingly. He silently held Louisa close for a while, letting her feel her emotions, but keeping her warm so she knew she was safe. "I still cannot believe how many presents your family has given me... people I've only met a couple times... and they care enough to get me nice things," Louisa admitted sheepishly, "I'll never understand why but, I do appreciate it." "You know, there is ONE more pre-wedding present for you," James responded, "And it's from someone you do know." "Am I okay to let go of you for a little bit? Or do you want me to stay?"

Louisa asked pleadingly, "Will you be back shortly?"

"I will, I promise."

She nodded quietly and got up so James had the ability to go get whatever it was. Louisa smiled as she saw her boyfriend hop up off the bed and run in his sock feet out of the room. "That's not how a gentleman runs!" she teased.

"He does if it's important enough" he joked back as he ran off down the hall, hurrying back only a minute later. James ran into the room with a round box with a beautiful silver bow on-top. "Remember when my parents brought us with them to Paris a couple months ago and we were at that store that you liked the stuff at?"

"James, dear, there were so many stores we went to."

The fellow in the all-blue attire, from his blue argyle socks and navy blue jeans all the way to his royal blue sweater vest and pale blue dress shirt, held out the box for Louisa to open. "I think you'll love it!"

The curious aquamarine eyes of the young woman sparkled as she opened the box, the happy tears returning the moment she saw what it was.

"It's that velvet sunhat you liked, I even had them adorn it with silk ribbons and flower pins and-" James spoke before he was interrupted by his soon-to-be-wife's voice

"Swan feathers," She couldn't contain herself as she took the greyish mauve hat out of the box, "Oh, it's beautiful, James, I love it!"

"I've ordered more, so this won't be your only one, just the downside is, they won't be ready before the wedding, but I needed to give you this before then, I couldn't wait."

Louisa put the hat on and looked over to the full body mirror to the left of the bed. "There we are, it looks so elegant on you."

Louisa lightly nudged James in the gut with her elbow. "Dear, you forget I'm not going to wear my hair down like this when I do wear this hat."

James sighed before he admitted with a laugh, "It was worth a shot."

"Okay, maybe a COUPLE times," the woman admitted as she reached up and gently touched one of the lower long swan feathers, feeling its soft plumes, "You like when I look more soft but less fancy and put together."

"You're always fancy and put together, even if it doesn't fit the descriptors of what you've been taught," the grey-eyed fellow reassured, "would you like to come with me to pick strawberries in the garden? And try out your new hat?"

Louisa wiped the few tears still remaining in her eyes before she got up off the bed. "How could I turn down spending time with you?"

James and Louisa walked together, holding hands as they went to the manor's garden together, helping put any negative worries or feelings Louisa had on the backburner so she could live in the moment and feel happy and safe and loved.

The End

[whump-about-it]

Someone You Deserve

@whumpril Day 9: Self Doubt

CW: angst, empathy fatigue, conditioned whumpee

Whumpee was already asleep when Caretaker got home from work. Curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets and pillows and a tear stained face as they snored softly in contest with the low drone of the tv show they'd fallen asleep watching. They had a bed, but they preferred to sleep anywhere else. Too comfortable they had told Caretaker, I don't deserve it.

Caretaker sighed and took their shoes off quietly, so as not to disturb Whumpee's slumber. If they woke up they would be a mess of apologies for not being awake to greet Caretaker at the door, and Caretaker wasn't in the mood to talk them off another metaphorical ledge tonight. Anyway, Whumpee almost never slept this soundly.

A cold meal Caretaker had asked Whumpee not to make sat on the kitchen table. Caretaker realized with a pang that they had forgotten to tell Whumpee they would be home late tonight. No wonder they were on the couch. No wonder their face was tear streaked and splotchy from crying themselves to sleep.

Caretaker slumped in a kitchen chair and put their head in their hands. How could I be so stupid? They shivered at the thought of Whumpee cooking for them, cleaning, getting ready for the two of them to eat together once Caretaker had gotten home. Had they been excited? Did they hum to themselves as they cut the carrots? Dance around the kitchen while they waited for the oven to preheat? How long had they waited before they realized Caretaker wasn't coming home? Had their food gone cold too? Had they cried at the kitchen table? Wondering if it was something they had done that was keeping Caretaker away?

After a minute Caretaker stood up and went back to the living room, intending to wake Whumpee up and apologize, but they paused in the doorway realizing they didn't even know what they wanted to apologize for. Coming home late? Forgetting to call? For being the worst possible person for Whumpee to rely on?

The doctors had said that it wouldn't be easy. Whumpee's recovery would be slow, and Caretaker needed to have patience, for both of them. But this couldn't have been what they meant. It had been months and Whumpee had barely made any progress. They still rarely spoke if not asked to. They jumped at the slightest moves. And had even called Caretaker "Master" a few times, which made Caretaker's blood run cold just to think about.

Surely Whumpee deserved better than this. Caretaker was falling woefully short of providing what Whumpee needed and they were so far behind they didn't even know what they were doing wrong. Apologizing wasn't going to solve any of that.

Caretaker sighed again and turned back into the kitchen. Tears pricking at their eyes from their anger about their own woeful inadequacy at caring for their friend. They were exhausted, and in a bad mood. It was probably best that Whumpee didn't see them like this. Instead Caretaker scrapped their cold meal into the trash and poured a glass of water, bringing it into the living room and placing it on the coffee table in front of Whumpee as a peace offering for when they woke up. Finally Caretaker placed a small kiss on the top of Whumpee's head before going to their own bedroom, resolving to call in sick tomorrow and spending the day trying to be the person Whumpee deserved.

[mullet--head]

hey tw for this post it's gonna be full of self doubt

I think my mom is right, I think faking all of my identities just because I saw them on the internet

It doesn't matter that I researched them and was actually in denial before coming to terms. None of it's real. I'm not real. The people in my head aren't real. Donatello didn't rape me. I'm not fused with a younger version of me. My favorite fictional characters are bot in my head. I am not any fictional characters. I am not a baby. I am not any animal other than human.

There's no way.

[utanaza-ao3]

Title: oh, i was sleeping in the garden when i saw you first Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: Genshin Impact Relationships: Zhongli/Venti Content Warning: Minor Character Death, Self-Doubt Word Count: 3,982 Summary: But oh, he couldn’t hide; but oh, he couldn’t hide – not from him, not so close, not so near, not so tender; not when they were mere inches apart, breathing the same cold, sordid air, not when he could feel Morax’s heartbeat within his own chest; and gently, rough and calloused and battle-scarred fingers snake their way into his hood, holding his chin gingerly as Morax turns his face toward him.

“… In all the time that I have known you, I have never seen your face,” he mutters softly. “… Why must you cover yourself so?”

He gulps.

“I am nothing but an ugly thing,” Venti whispers, afraid. “… I am nothing but pathetic and lonesome and cursed; the son of Medusa, I’ve been told. I – I do not wish to bring shame onto you. Please – please forgive me.”

“Utter nonsense,” Morax tells him.

“.. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known.” ~~ Remember when this did numbers? Because I sure do. Read it here!

[eyesofcuriosity]

/Maybe it's the season because you know cold and whatnot gloomier thoughts seep into my mind.

Just feel like....waste of space, or a parasite living off someone who is much more hardworking than myself. I'm ashamed and disappointed in myself.

I am trying to change that, it's really slow and I'm worried once I reach the point of change and growth....Will I be able to do that?

Or will I just, cover in fear and take a step back and go back to the unhealthy lifestyle.

[tieronecrush]

Hi! I loved water in your hands even though I accidentally read part 2 first 😩, can I please request a little drabble from readers pov when Joel just cut her off and missing work etc when he got married? No worries if not! Just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading :)

well thank you anyways for returning to read part 1!!! and i am so happy that you enjoyed reading!

i’m not sure if you checked out the playlist for the series that i made (spotify / apple music), but liability by lorde made it on there because it is literally what i imagined reader would feel during that time. my hopeless romantic who has never felt chosen </3

liability

drabble for “water in your hands” series

rating: M

word count: 1.2k

summary:

They say, "You're a little much for me / You're a liability / You're a little much for me" / So they pull back, make other plans ' I understand, I'm a liability / Get you wild, make you leave

warnings: angst, insecurity, self doubt, mentions of water/drowning

You didn’t even have any last words from him to mull over. The last thing you’d heard from him was him asking if you were okay as you lay next to him in the middle of that field.

Instead, his silence has sharpened the knife that he’s driven into your heart, his lack of acknowledgment of everything that happened twisting it to carve out a large space for the pain to seep in. And when you’d heard that he was dating someone else, seriously dating, according to Tommy, the knife was pulled clean out and stabbed into your back.

He’d spent one night with you, and somehow that was enough for him to know that he didn’t want you. All of those messages you thought he’d sent now mixed, your recollections of those fleeting, flirty moments poisoned by the knowledge that he didn’t want to be pulled into your storm.

It was the only reason you could think of that maybe drove him away. You knew that you weren’t settled, that you had your own issues to grapple with from everything you’d been through prior to Jackson, but you were secure in yourself. Maybe Joel didn’t want to deal with your shit on top of his own.

You were a little too much for him; a liability to his own healing.

You were on your own at the end of the day, superficial friendships and mere acquaintances belonging in the daylight. The only seemingly real friendship that you’d grown here was with his brother, and the saying goes “blood is thicker than water.”

Returning to a lonely house, yellowy lamplight bathing your space but doing nothing to warm your insides. You spent nights on your own, re-reading your favorite novels from the worn shelves in your cozy living room or spinning a record to dance around and forget for a few minutes. In those times, you were thankful that you were still looking out for yourself, that you still had your own back despite all of the doubt your own mind had grown.

In those solitary hours, all you had were your thoughts, which revolved around him, throwing you into a cyclical whirlpool of heartache. Only when you thought you’d pulled yourself out, had finally felt the heat of the sun on your face above the surface, one single memory of his fingers brushing your thigh or his lips ghosting over yours or a whisper of your name rips you right back into the current.

He left you behind and moved on.

Dating someone else, ignoring you for days that turned into weeks, that’s now become months.

You remember the day you found out that they were engaged.

It happened at the end of your shift, your coworker Tracy popping in to have a nightcap. She was tipsy already, spilling where she had been prior to coming to the bar. There was a party at Tommy and Maria’s, she’d said, a wide drunken smile on her face as she excitedly gossiped.

“They threw Joel and Heather an engagement party! How sweet is that?”

Engagement? Engagement. Engagement.

Engagement led to marriage.

Marriage was meant to be for life.

And Joel never does anything half-assed.

One time, a few weeks after Joel had returned to Jackson, you’d let yourself daydream indulgently. It’d been about him, about what you envisioned a life with him would look like. You’d pictured your own wedding, the closest people to you both the only ones in attendance. In your imagination, you’d seen your brother there, your sister, too.

It was a dream because, even if you ended up with Joel, you never thought he would get married. He was loyal, devoted, committed no matter what jewelry was on your fingers. Those traits were intrinsic to him. You didn’t think something like that mattered to him; he would be a husband, a partner to you without any ceremony.

Clearly, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

Their engagement was fast. You’d heard from Tommy about a month later that the wedding was happening at the weekend. Bile coated your throat, burning acid settling there for the rest of the afternoon that you spent at work. You’d returned home that evening, crawling into bed and crying yourself completely dry and numb.

You didn’t leave that spot for days. Skipped out on work. Ignored the knocks at your door from Tracy, Maria, even Tommy. Limbs felt too heavy to move, bones ached deeply, dull pain sawed at your constricted heart.

Thoughts kept steamrolling each other, your brain was unable to shut them out as you spiraled silently alone.

A toy. A plaything. A little doll.

An achievement to be conquered.

He’d played with you; bantered with you. He was flirty -- suggestive at times. But once you’d given him everything, unveiled your thoughts and feelings to him in hopes of him returning them, even just accepting them, he’d gotten bored. There was no more chase. You’d rolled over like prey, submitting to anything he could have wanted from you.

You were only exciting to seek in the night, ghostly touches in the bar and a chance encounter under the moonlight.

Naive. Childish. Too much.

Delusions of a perfect summer with Joel changing with the leaves and eventually becoming rooted together had blinded you from his true intentions with you.

You were better off on your own, so it seemed the universe was telling you. Losing your siblings, your family, lacking friendships, and now your prospect for love slipped through your fingers in a rush, fleeting efforts made to contain it like water in your hands. No matter what, it would have found cracks to drip through, and eventually drained completely.

He evaded you, leaving you in an unrequited romance. You were in love with him. And now he was married to someone else, in love with someone that he could easily be with no disadvantage or opportunity for embarrassment. There were no means to confess your found feelings, so you lay for hours in your bed while tears soak your pillow and words are branded into your mind.

I’m in love with Joel Miller, and he won’t ever love me.

You repeated it so many times that it sounded like the truth, like gospel, and then, at a certain point, like a foreign language. The words eventually meant nothing in their countless repetitions, the weight of your self-confessional lessening with each second passing. Your limbs felt lighter, bones less sore, and the grip of pain on your heart loosened.

In the next moment, all you could think about was feeling the warm summer air on your face again. Finally, after days isolated, you were going to take a chance to disappear into the sun. You’d pulled yourself out of bed, changing into fresh clothes.

With one glance out of your window, the plans were soured when you saw it was sunset, that you’d have to wait until morning for your walk in the light. You decided to stay up all night to be able to catch the sunrise in the grazing field. To occupy yourself, you milled about your kitchen and living room, doing the small pile of dishes that had accumulated and straightening up the place. The clock on your wall read the early hours of the morning, and with no other chores to do, you turned towards your collection of books.

As you thumb through your shelves to find another novel to escape into for a few hours, the sound of knuckles lightly rapped on your door.

tagging the usual mutuals: @swiftispunk @joelsversion @johnwatsn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @pedrit0-pascalit0 @theelishad @undrthelights @ladamedusoif @ruinedbylanadelrey @thetriumphantpanda @pedgeitopascal @dinsdjrn @thepascalofus @pedgito @soaringcloud @somedayauthor @alloftheimagines @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @atinylittlepain @scrambledslut @lunapascal

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Infinity: LuLu, you think I’m smart, right?

Lunar: You’re the smartest.

Infinity: So I’m not dumb?

Lunar: Not at all.

Infinity: And I’m not ugly?

Lunar, now holding a knife: I’ll kill whoever told you that.

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

How Law Treats Your Depression

Crossposted from my AO3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44915341 

TW’s: SH (not explicit detail, but talked about, and checking the healing of it), mentions of manipulation, depressive thoughts, symptoms of anxiety and depression.

I wrote this when I was goin through a rough patch. No romance exactly, just fluff. It makes me want to cry every time I read it so I’m sorry in advance if it makes you feel the same way.

The symptoms Law lists are from the DSM 5 and my own experiences. 

----

You raised your hand, shaking from anxious hesitation. The door seemed to loom in front of you, being an impenetrable shield to your glimmer of hope for a cure.

“Oh, are you going to see the captain?” said a voice behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around with your fist still raised. You calmed once you laid eyes on Bepo. You exhaled with a small smile.

“Uh… I... I think…  well, it can wait” you managed to get out, stumbling over your words. Bepo cocked his head.

“It’s okay, Come in with me. I just have a quick question and then you can talk to him.” His wide body was accidentally corralling you towards the door as he knocked twice.

“Come in” said a voice gravely with exhaustion. Bepo smiled at you and gestured for you to open the door. You gulped but followed his silent request. Will Law even help me? I’m not technically part of his crew. Still, he healed Luffy after Marineford. I’m part of the Strawhats and we’re allied but… your anxious thoughts garbled the mundane question and answer that occurred between Bepo and Law, and before you realized it, the bear was leaving the room with a small pat on your shoulder.

“So?” Law said, cocking an eyebrow at you. Your heart thudded.

“Uh… it… It’s not too big of a deal” you began, trying to scramble for words to voice your request.

“But you’re a doctor, right?” you asked. You cringed at the dumb question. This was why you proposed this whole internship in the first place! Sure, learning about the submarine would help your crew eventually somehow, but… you had to follow through on your real reason for coming here.

“Are you feeling okay?” Law asked. There was a tone of professionalism in his voice now, different than the regular voice he used as a captain.

“Yeah I’m fine!” you replied automatically with a forced smile. His brow furrowed.

“Then why do you need a doctor?” he prodded. You swallowed, looking down. Your heart thudded and your stomach dropped.

“If… If I tell you some hypothetical symptoms, would you be able to give m… uh… the patient, a cure?”

He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin.

“Maybe. There may not be a cure exactly, but medicine or surgery could help. Or both” he said, shrugging. You didn’t like the gleam in his eye when he mentioned surgery.

“Oh” you muttered disappointedly. Law sighed and gestured to a seat.

“Sit. Tell me about the patient’s hypothetical symptoms.”

You sat stiffly in the chair, bouncing your leg nervously as you steadied your breath.

“Where should I start?” you asked, glancing at the captain. He hummed in thought.

“Start with the physical symptoms. Aching? Discomfort? Sweating? Redness? Exhaustion?” he rattled off easily. You furrowed your brow, thinking. Back to when your symptoms really acted up.

“Um… exhaustion for sure. They sleep a lot, and minor tasks seem to make them tired. Not like physically exerted, but just like they need a break mentally?”

“Any other physical symptoms?”

“Hmmm… does crying count?”

“From physical pain?”

“No… but sometimes it’s accompanied by a fast heartrate and hyperventilating. Oh, and a decreased appetite” you reported factually, gazing upwards as you thought. Law hummed.

“What about mental symptoms?”

“M-mental?” your heart dropped. This was the part you were worried about.

“Mental distress often leads to those physical symptoms.”

You held back a scoff. Mental distress? It’s not that big of a deal.

“Symptoms like what?” you asked quietly. You refused to look at the doctor.

“Low self esteem past the normal amount, feeling like a weight is holding you down, feeling worthless or guilty for things that aren’t your fault, decreased concentration, and loss of interest in things the patient used to like” he listed. He hesitated before he continued in the same even tone “thoughts of hurting themselves or others, and thoughts of killing themselves.”

You flinched at the last two. This guy really does not pull punches when it comes to medical stuff you thought with an internal shudder.

“It sounds way worse when you say it out loud” you muttered under your breath.

“I have a hunch this patient has a combination of two illnesses- depression and anxiety- which are very common together. Should I list the symptoms of anxiety, and you can tell me if it seems to fit?”

You sighed, but nodded.

“Worrying excessively about things and finding it difficult to control the worry, muscle tension, restlessness, easily mentally fatigued, mind going blank or difficulty concentrating, irritability, sleep disturbance…” he listed, trailing off.

“Basically, worry and stress that goes beyond the norms. So, like not about being embarrassed, or away from people, or during a panic attack. Of course, panic disorders are basically part of anxiety disorders and are just an intense episode of an accumulation of different symptoms, which you mentioned with the fast heartrate and hyperventilating. There’s also probably some other symptoms yo- uh- the patient doesn’t notice during the time, or doesn’t know it’s a symptom”

You tried to absorb the onslaught of information thrown your way. You rubbed your temples. Law seemed to notice your struggle.

“I know it’s a lot of information all at once” he said sympathetically. You sighed. There was only one question you had. You looked into the captain’s grey eyes.

“Is there a cure?”

The captain hesitated, but leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and met your gaze resolutely.

“No”

Your heart dropped, and your lungs constricted. Your throat burned as you fought back tears.

“There’s no cure, but there’s medicine that can help.”

“Right” you muttered as you stood. You had your answer. You needed to leave.

“Wait.”

You paused, hand on the door. You didn’t look back.

“What’s been done to treat it before? It’ll help me narrow down a more effective medicine.”

You huffed, hiding your distraught behind a veil of humor.

“Nothing. Been rawdoggin this bitch the way God intended” you said, keeping your voice light. You heard a snort behind you.

“I’ll give you what I use then. We’ll start with that.”

You froze. I’m not alone? He has it too? You turned slowly in shock. He met your gaze.

“If it doesn’t seem to work, call me, and we’ll try something different. Eventually if we exhaust all the medicine, there is a more radical solution. It’s for treatment resistant forms of depression.” You took a few steps toward him.

“Why do you call it an illness? Aren’t I just weak?”

A small, soft smile escaped Law’s lips as he looked at you in a rare moment of gentleness.

“No. You’re not weak. It has to do with chemicals in your brain. Doctors aren’t exactly sure what triggers it, and it’s usually triggered by different things in different people. But it’s a chemical imbalance that occurs, and the medicine is to help correct that balance. Of course, talking to people is also incredibly important. Have you talked to anyone in your crew about it?”

You shook your head absently, mystified that there was a real reason you felt this way.

“No. They don’t know. They might suspect, but I’ve never said anything. I couldn’t bring myself to tell sweet, innocent Chopper that I wanted to hurt myself on purpose” you said easily.

“Have you?”

You flinched at the question, wrapping your arms around your middle.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes”

You glared at him.

“A little” you finally muttered.

“How?”

“Does that matter?” you said defensively.

“As your doctor, yes” he said gently. You bit the inside of your lower lip to stop yourself from spouting venom. He’s not attacking you or demanding to know for selfish reasons. He needs to know. You took a deep breath and slunk over to your previous seat to collapse in it. You held your head in your hands.

“I try not to, you know. I resist for as long as possible until I finally can’t find any logic against not doing it” you say eventually.

“How do you do it?” he repeats, softly. You sigh, looking to the side. You tell him. The words just flow out, accompanying the tear tracks down your cheeks in a delicate dance of pain and regret. When you’re done explaining, he stands slowly, approaching you slowly.

“I’m going to check the healing of it. That’s all. I just want to be sure it’s healing properly so you don’t have further issues when you’re better” he said softly, holding out a hand. I wish it didn’t heal you thought before pushing the negativity away.

“You sound so sure I’m going to get better” you said as his hands delicately grazed over the area.

“You will. Maybe not cured, but better.” You hummed, welcoming the companionable silence. A thought occurred to you, and you snorted. Law stepped back and raised a brow.

“Something funny?”

“Isn’t it ironic that the so-called ‘Surgeon of Death’ is helping me with… this?” you said, waving your hand in the air as if to gesture to your mental state. He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. Very funny” he said flatly.

“Well at least I’m that” you teased.

“You’re so much more than that. If you can’t see it, trust those around you to. They see you the same way you see the positives in others” Law said, holding your gaze. You stopped breathing, eyes widened with shock.

“What, have you never had anyone tell you that?” he asked, looking at your expression. He leaned back against his desk, halfway sitting on it as he crossed his arms. You could only shake your head as you remembered to breathe. He grunted.

“Well. Remember it. Come back here same time tomorrow to pick up the medicine too. We’ll talk a little more too.”

You didn’t move, too shook that someone cared about you enough to do this.

“I’m sorry” you whispered. Tears gathered in your eyes again.

“Why?” Law seemed bewildered at the idea.

“I must’ve manipulated you somehow to care about me. To go through this… you don’t have to. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll live”

“I guarantee I am the last person on this ship you could manipulate” he said. Something warm and slightly heavy plopped on your head. A white hat brim entered your field of vision. You shrunk down further, starting to sob.

“You’re part of my crew, even temporarily. Even if I wasn’t your captain, I’m your doctor. You only told me the symptoms that you hide so well, not even saying at first that it was you who had it. How could you have manipulated me?”

He knelt in front of you, producing a tissue and handing it to you. He rested his hand on your head, securing his hat.

“If you see a good person who’s sick, would you help them if you could?” he asked gently. You nodded slightly, wiping the snot dripping from your nose.

“Then why wouldn’t I help you? You deserve basic human decency and respect, you know. Right now, you’re treating yourself worse than your enemies.” He said softly. Your sobs increased at his words. He sighed.

“C’mere.” He lifted you up bridal style and took your seat, holding you on his lap. You pushed him away.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re not hurting me. You’re not manipulating me. I’m doing this of my own accord. When’s the last time you had a real hug like this?”

You shuddered in a breath, unable to speak through your sobs. His warm hand rubbed your back, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

“T-t-thank… you” you wailed.

“Always” he muttered.

--

“Are they okay?!” Shachi whisper-yelled as Law passed him the hallway with you cradled in his arms.

“They will be” he replied quietly. He didn’t want to disturb your tear-induced sleep. You looked peaceful, finally. He saw the pain in your eyes, the pain you had inflicted on yourself. Shachi nodded in understanding and continued on his way. Law carried you gently to your bunk and tucked you under the blankets. He removed his hat, knowing it would make you feel guilty if he let you sleep with it. Smoothing stray hair away from your face with his hand, he unthinkingly dropped a gentle kiss on your forehead. A light blush dusted his cheeks with the realization of what he’d done. He stood quickly and walked quietly from your sleeping form.

“Sleep well”

[self-dx-culture-is]

self dx culture is oh god what if im wrong. what if im being dramatic. what if nothing is wrong with me. what if im being a hypochondriac again. what if im wrong oh god what if im wrong.

felt