#fear can be irrational but. mostly this is about trauma and powerlessness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucky-clover-gazette · 7 months

Text

fandom/feelings vent i just really wanted out of my system, seriously not targeted at any one person or thing:

there are few things that make me more uncomfortably aware of my attachment issues than seeing multishipping or polyshipping of fictional pairings i really care about. i think because i put so much of myself into writing about fictional relationships, and one of my greatest fears in a relationship would be my partner wanting to be open, it’s an understandable but not *valid* emotional response. but still, i live in my head, and have to manage it. it sucks.

like, i’ve drafted this post several times. i love fandom culture and shipping communities, and it sucks that a very present thing in those spaces is such a ridiculous sore spot for me. i feel like i’m less able to support people making cool things, who enjoy the same stories i enjoy.

i never want to degrade the comfort and importance stories and relationships like these have in people’s lives. i love creating things that are close to my heart, and the reasons i care about these characters and ships are roughly the same as anyone else’s.

but it’s really bad, man, the way this stuff gets to me. like, i’m sorry to overshare, but the idea of a ship i really care about being open legitimately makes me feel like a cornered prey animal. trouble breathing, tearing up, can’t focus on anything else, heart beating fast. i understand that this is not a normal response to such an inconsequential and somewhat avoidable stimulus. while i’m not about to share the reasons why i have this trigger, i can assure you they make sense as a source of trauma. the problem is that my irrational trauma response is not a valid equivalent to moral disgust or discomfort, and it’s really frustrating that i can’t just be neutral.

rationally, i know it’s all projection, and has nothing to do with these fictional characters or stories, or the people making fan content. but i also can’t deny the very real way my body physically reacts to even the notion of non-monogamy in relationships i care about.

and i’m not just talking fandom stuff here, i live in a city where more than half of the queer people my age seem to self-identify as ethically non-monogamous or poly. both in fandom and real life queer spaces, it’s almost like i’m missing out on the party because the way a lot of people like to party makes me feel profoundly trapped, powerless, betrayed, insulted, and abandoned, which are all feelings i do not handle well.

more than anything, i just wish i could be normal about this very present facet of fandom/shipping culture and even enjoy it on occasion. when it’s not like my “otp” or whatever i really don’t mind at all. i guess i just see so much almost aggressive positivity about like “character has two hands” memes and stuff like that, where it almost makes me feel like a bad person for needing monogamy for a fictional or real-life relationship to feel safe. and while i do believe open-mindedness should be a core tenant of social spaces, i also feel alone with these rotten feelings, and i can’t really channel them creatively in a way that wouldn’t just upset me or make other people feel bad.

there is no point to this post really, just kind of wondering if anyone has felt this way/has advice beyond the obvious and very valid basics like “only interact with content you want to see,” and “what works for some people does not have to work for you, and vice versa.” i seriously have no judgment of fandom friends multishipping or polyshipping, or the idea of those relationships themselves. mostly, the presence of those ideas just cause me an irrational amount of discomfort because of past experiences, and i wish i could fix that part of myself. not saying i ever want to be poly or write those kinds of stories, but not being embarrassingly triggered would be a great first step. and i guess ultimately it would just be nice to feel a little less alone about having this problem.

19 notes · View notes

zabiume · 3 years

Note

Not to sound demanding but I'd really love it if you'd write something with a prompt about ichigo and orihime breaking up and then getting back together 😀

You know, it's funny you asked for this because I'd been contemplating writing one for the longest time ever but didn't do it because I couldn't fathom a post-TYBW, mature IchiHime breaking up, considering they generally do tend to resolve their conflicts pretty quickly now, but I loved the intrigue of this and I hope I didn't butcher anyone's characterization here (even though I feel like I did).

Warning(s) for discussions of trauma, depression, self-loathing, and explicit content. Rated 'M' for adult themes.

Read on AO3/ff.net

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

(part i)

In the end, it was Orihime who decided to end things—a fact that surprised almost every friend and ally they’d ever made in the seven years they’d known each other, the five months after, when they had first started dating.

Those first five months had been nothing but warm. Even at their clumsiest moments—the thick uncertainty in the air when Ichigo had reached for a hand but grabbed air, or Orihime had tilted up to his mouth and met his chin—it had never been uncomfortable.

It was simply the consequence of being, of learning each other in ways they hadn’t allowed themselves to before when they were teenagers. They were young, and they were in love—which, she supposed, was a miracle for two people that had spent most of their childhood chasing after battles they had created for themselves, battles that had been thrust upon them for life, or for pride, whatever side of the coin they’d chosen this time. There was a time and place for most things in their life, and this time, they had decided, was their time to just do, and be and act for a change with no demands or promises for more.

It was in January that Ichigo had come over for a sleepover, the sharp winter air smoothing over them as they watched television.

“Do you think animals go to Soul Society when they die?” she murmured into his thigh, her hair splayed all over his lap as they watched a pack of lionesses chase a gazelle on cable.

Ichigo’s thumb paused from where it was rubbing lazy circles over her ear. “Dunno.” Then, “I saw a gecko once in Hueco Mundo.”

“A gecko?” She smiled.

“Yeah. One of those lizard things. Y’know. The one that looks a little bit like Ishida.”

She covered her mouth to keep a laugh from spilling out. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“I’ll tell him you laughed.”

She could hear the smile in his voice despite the nonchalance and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to see it, twisting in place until she was on her back, his knee digging into her love handles.

"Come here," he whispered, eyes dark and full of intent when they settled on hers, and Orihime knew what he was going to do before he did it. She propped herself up with one palm on his knee and used the other to touch his cheek, looking into his eyes and hoping to convey everything she couldn't say. When he kissed her softly, so softly it ached, she might as well have been floating. It was such a wonderful intimacy, so simple and earnest that it filled her chest with joy—joy she had never thought she would get to experience again after that night she had said goodbye to him, all those many years ago.

“You’re so forward, Ichigo-kun,” she chided lightly when they parted, shifting to bury her head in his shoulder.

He snorted, but brought his hand up to rest on her back. It was warm. Safe. That was the part about this she loved best, she thought, watching the tv again, letting her mind drift.

Her first night in Hueco Mundo, she’d stayed up for so long, flinching at every passing shadow under the doorway, wondering for hours what they’d do to her; whether they’d kill her, or something worse entirely, her heartbeat fierce in her throat when they’d made her change into uniform right there, right in front of Ulquiorra and his blank, unfeeling stare. She knew now that that was the last thing he had wanted from her, but there were no words to describe how unsafe she felt back then. How afraid.

The little gazelle, now surrounded on all sides by the pack of snarling lionesses, began to tremble on her little legs but challenged them all with a fierce gaze. Ichigo yawned. Orihime felt something cold lodge in her throat, fingers digging into her arms on either side. The gazelle cowered. She was powerless; they would devour her for that alone.

“Something wrong?” Ichigo frowned.

“Can you change the channel please?” she asked tearfully, shying away from the screen and into his shoulder. She knew she was being irrational, but her hands were frigid and her heart had already welled up to her throat.

Ichigo was quiet for a moment. Orihime bit her lip, feeling small and tense when his body left hers to fumble around for the remote. When he returned to her side, his eyes were kind. “Let's watch Laugh Hour instead.”

She nodded, her chest filling with warmth when he tugged her back in place with a tight side hug, chin firmly planted on her head.

They stayed that way until the end of the program.

…

In the morning, she had felt ashamed of herself for reacting like that and apologized to Ichigo, who shook his head firmly and told her not to worry about it. His eyes had blazed in that familiar way—the way he got when they talked about Hueco Mundo, or rather, what they didn’t talk about Hueco Mundo, but said nothing. Ichigo knew the gist of it, but there were parts she kept secret because she knew he would blame himself, no matter how long it had been or how much stronger she had gotten since, and that was not something she wanted. She was different now—they were different now. The one thing she knew for sure was that she never wanted to stare after his retreating back ever again.

At the time, she could've sworn that was a one-off. But it wasn't. She felt feverish, like she'd been hollowed out. Though Ichigo had been nothing but normal towards her since that night, she felt something within her start to shrivel. She held back from reaching out to him, convinced she was growing far too dependent. Clingy. She began to wonder when he’d start feeling tired of her—when she would become more of an obligation and less of...whatever she was to him now. Orihime trusted him to be honest with her mostly, but the nagging voice in her head was insistent. After all, most people who got together as young as her and Ichigo did didn't stay together long. The magic would wear off soon and he’d see her for exactly who she was.

Useless. Weak. A burden.

She felt hollowed out.

...

Eventually, it was the smallest thing that set her off. They’d been having dinner, Orihime and his family, and Ichigo had made a little joke about her banana balsamic smoothies that burned the tips of her ears. It wasn’t even that; it was what Isshin said after that really, truly filled her with dread.

“You’ll have acquired a taste for it by the time you’re married, my boy!”

Ichigo had groaned at the double entendre, Isshin had positively beamed and Orihime—

Orihime was quiet the entire car ride home.

It was over. It had to be, for his own sake. She didn’t mind being lonely, but the last thing she wanted to do was hold him back. Though her head was in the clouds, her feet were rather firm on the ground and she knew, while she would always be in love with Ichigo, she didn’t have to tie him down. She had been selfish for wanting this, for not giving it up sooner.

Ichigo shot her a small glance from the corner of his eye. “Orihime, are you okay?”

She took a big, deep breath, knowing it was over. That she had ruined things for good with him.

“I want to break up,” she whispered, and that was the end of it.

…

The retreating winter rain held on all through February.

"I watched him die, you know. It was the worst day of my life," Orihime murmured, hearing Tatsuki's breath catch with the admission. "And I told myself, never again—I will never let him walk away from a fight injured ever again. I'll get stronger so I don't have to be a burden to him. And I did." She turned on her side, eyes brimming with tears. "So why is this happening again? Why do I feel like this, Tatsuki-chan?"

"Orihime." Tatsuki sighed gently, pulling the covers over them both. She'd seen this before, among students who'd broken a bone or been benched after a debilitating injury. They always thought they'd gotten better. They did get better. But that didn't mean the traces of the past didn't still linger in their deepest fears. Trauma didn't work that way. Trauma didn't care about how you were doing today, all it cared about was throwing your failures from yesterday right back in your face. And for someone who hated herself as much as Orihime did, it was a roadblock that told her she didn't deserve the life she had today.

"You're relapsing, honey. What happened to you over there wasn't your fault. You were scared and sixteen. You only think you could have done something now because you're older and stronger and more mature, but that girl? The girl that got kidnapped and tortured the way she did? You have to forgive her for not knowing any better."

Orihime said nothing.

Tatsuki sighed again. Orihime could be stubborn as a rock when she wanted to be. "I'm sure Ichigo would tell you the same thing if you hadn't broken up with him." She paused. "That's why you broke up with him, didn't you? You didn't want to hear it. Idiot."

"I didn't want him to blame himself."

"He does do that," Tatsuki admitted slowly, "but you two are all grown-up now. He's not the same boy he was when he met you, and you aren't the same girl. Don't you think you two have been through enough together for something as small as this to get in the way?"

Orihime sniffed. "I don't know."

Tatsuki pat her head. "You'll figure it out. I know you will."

…

The weeks leading up to April were probably the worst of it. Ichigo spent days drifting sleeplessly, wondering where he had gone so wrong at this, why he’d been unable to fix it. He knew he could be obtuse—had been told as much by everyone—but the failure of it dug deep now because they might as well have been right.

Even now, two months after the break-up, he still couldn’t find it in him to regret the time they had spent together, roaming around town aimlessly, laughing, holding hands, making love. The way she’d lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth so sweetly sometimes for no reason at all or call him, simply because she remembered him.

That day in his car, he’d begged her to talk, to tell him what he’d done and how he could fix it.

“Was it Dad? Did he say something to offend you?” he demanded desperately, feeling his heart seize at her downcast eyes. She was pale, and her eyes were red, but her mouth was firm, like she’d already convinced herself that whatever it was, it was bad. “Orihime. Say something.”

“No,” she whispered tearfully. “I just feel sick.”

“Of me?”

“No.”

She’d stared at her nails but she hadn’t said anything else.

A part of him craved her so much, hoping they’d run into each other somewhere or she’d call him, just so he could hear her voice. It wasn’t even about being together—not all of it. Mostly, he just wanted to know if she was okay, if she was eating well and passing her courses and if, when she went to bed at night, she had someone to smile about.

“I don’t know how you did it for forty years,” Ichigo grumbled, when he dragged himself out of bed to meet with Renji one day. “I felt like throwing rocks at her apartment window after four days so she would just talk to me, even just to tell me to fuck off.”

“Give her space,” Renji said patiently. “Maybe talking to you isn’t what she needs right now, and, knowing you, you’re probably beating yourself up about it—which is stupid as hell, by the way.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Ichigo demanded. “She broke up with me.” She was sick, in her own words, and she wanted Ichigo to do nothing about it but walk.

Renji blew out a big breath. “She’s probably hurting as much as you are.” At Ichigo’s dubious look, he shook his head. “Take it from me, Ichigo, it takes a lot out of your sails to let go of someone you’ve loved forever if you think they’ve got a shot at something better.”

“Being with her is better for me,” Ichigo snapped. ”How could she think any differently, after everything we’ve been through?”

“How would she know that if you two didn’t spend any time apart?” Renji insisted, nudging his shoulder. “Give her time. You’re both young, you’ve still got a lot of learning to do…”

“...Just don’t wait for forty years and two wars for that to happen, alright?”

(part ii)

Weeks pass, and Orihime does her best to rebuild herself again, fielding concerned texts from Uryu and Chad politely, pleading with Rukia not to kick Ichigo out of doors and windows for something that was of no fault of his.

Ultimately, the first time she ends up seeing him after the break-up, it's at Chad’s birthday party. She knew she would before she got here, and it's probably why she's tipsy the way she is, but it doesn't stop her from stealing a peek at him where he's leaned against the door, talking to Mizuro.

It doesn't take him long to spot her, even with a sparse crowd between them, and when his mouth edges up in an uncertain smile, she feels her heart start to flutter. He's just as handsome as he was two months ago, high cheekbones, sharp hair that's trimmed maybe two inches shorter up his neck. He's already abandoned Mizuro in a bid to make his way up to her and the air feels electric with possibility.

"I'll make myself scarce then," Orihime barely hears Tatsuki say as he gets there, only two feet in front of her. All breath leaves her in a short rush. It both feels like too long and no time at all.

"Hey," Ichigo says softly, his eyes taking her in from head to toe until his gaze alone is enough to induce a fever under her skin. "How've you been?"

"F-fine," she lies, and they both catch it, faint and uncertain.

Ichigo takes one glance back at the kitchen, where most of their friends are, before fixing his intent gaze on her again. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

...

The zipper on Ichigo's jeans keeps digging into her inner thigh, but Orihime isn't about to stop him any time soon.

"Ichigo," she gasps, tugging the short ends of his hair with blunt fingernails. Her skirt is askew, and his hands are on her underwear, and she can't breathe—he keeps bucking into her, pushing her against the wall like he can't stay away from her for too long without snapping back. Her hands push at his jacket, urging him to shrug it off frustratedly.

"Not here," he mutters against her lips, one hand distractedly fumbling against the wall to find a light switch. "I'll take you to bed."

They're at his apartment and he's holding her up with his body, his firm biceps tensing under her fingers like it hasn't been two whole months since the last time they did this.

"I missed you," she confesses weakly, and when he groans into the kiss, she can feel it thrum in the back of her throat. She needs him now and she needs him hard, as if to make up for all the times she spent remembering him with nothing but her hand between her legs. Whatever comes by later, that's for them to deal with later.

"I can't find the light switch," he mumbles, and he pulls away just long enough for her to catch her lipstick stains on his mouth.

They give up on it and collapse back onto the floor.

…

Later, with her head on his chest and his fingers trailing down the soft line of her spine, she feels content in a way she hasn't been in months. When they finished, he told her he missed her too and that's something she's been thinking about since.

"Orihime," he says gently, his mouth warm against her ear. "Can we talk about it?"

Orihime lifts her head, and digs her chin into his chest, cheeks still pink from the afterglow. "It?"

"Why we broke up."

Orihime feels her guilt twist sourly into the base of her stomach. She pushes herself up to sit on one watery elbow, eyes not meeting his. "My brain was being bad to me." She felt her breath catch when his hand reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear and suddenly, she wanted to tell him everything, every thought she'd ever had. "I was overthinking too much, and everything that was making me happy started making me sad." When her eyes finally shift up, they're wet. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want you to settle for someone like me."

Ichigo's eyebrows raise high before relaxing, and he drags her back down until his lips press against her forehead. He lets her press her face into his neck and breathe him in for a few quiet moments.

When he finally speaks again, his eyes are sad. "I didn't settle for you." There’s a cool edge to his voice. "I chose you."

Orihime's eyes widen. "Ichigo—"

"I don't know what I deserve, but I know what I want," he says strongly, "And what I want is you." His eyes finally soften, cheeks burning when their gazes meet. "Don't you want me, too?"

"I do," Orihime says sadly.

He sighs. "Then stop making yourself so damn sad already."

Orihime sniffles through a small giggle, and Ichigo smirks, just a slight tug of his mouth before growing serious again.

"You don't have to go through anything like that alone again," he says firmly, cupping her cheeks to make her look at him. "You have me. We're a team, right?"

Orihime nods, tightening her arms around him, feeling mellow and warm when he hugs her back. They’re almost falling asleep again when she lifts her head up and drags one finger under his jaw. “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to hear it then.”

He smiles, and he’s almost her Ichigo again—her bright, brilliant and beautiful Ichigo and she can’t help but return it.

“Are you ready to hear it now?”

“Hmm.”

“Good,” he says, “because I’ll keep telling you as many times as you need it."

#i can't tell if this turned out good or bad or too dramatic or not dramatic enough lol #hope you liked it anon!#ichihime #asks #myfic #happy birthday hime!#im sorry i wrote you a sad fic but it ends happy if that counts?

97 notes · View notes