#internalized self hatred

[transjudas]

A world where roses bloom

#ofmd #ofmdedit #our flag means death #ofmdaily #ofmdsource #ofmdblog #alivedean #usereena #userkristi #izzy hands #ed teach #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd spoilers #i know ed and izzy still got so so many issues but i love that we got to see #ed having a moment of like... community with him as he sang la vie en rose in drag makeup and hair #because there's still the recognition that this is new and not easy for izzy #and izzy is one of them #yes he has done awful things to ed and vice versa #but izzy is finally slowly starting to deal with all the self hatred and internalized homophobia #and ed sees that #in that moment #augh

[furiousgoldfish]

One of the issues you run into when you're not allowed to express anger as a child, is that you're no longer able to get angry. When you're in a situation that should evoke rage, you instead feel fear, anxiety, panic, or grief, emotional hurt and helplessness. You end up operating a body that cannot feel or express anger. The only times you do feel angry is when you're directing it at yourself, it comes as a form of self hatred, and desire to cause pain and injury to yourself. Because this is the only way you would have been allowed to be angry, only way it was safe, to direct it at yourself, same as everyone else is doing constantly, teaching you that it's normal and expected.

Growing up like this means that all of the anger from your childhood keeps getting stored into your body instead of externalized, and you still cannot get angry when the situation demands it. Instead, when you're being disrespected and injustice is served in your face, you can either feel helpless and lost, or the frustration you feel irritates you so much you cannot stand it. Your body is not used to feeling anger and doesn't know how to process it. Instead it feels like you're going to explode, restless, endlessly irritated and at a complete loss on how to handle it. Because you never learned how to handle anger, except to take it out on yourself, and you might be driven to just keep doing that, forever.

Taking a stand for yourself and confronting whoever deserved your anger might still feel terrifying and all of the insane things that happened to you as a result of childhood anger might get triggered. You might feel too frightened to confront them because you can imagine all sorts of ways it could come back to hurt you - this person could try to get you fired, for example. They might smear campaign you and get you evicted, they could threaten you with something or blackmail you, they could destroy something of yours, spread rumors, hold a grudge and do thousand times worse to you. Those are thoughts evoked by memories of childhood, where abusive parents threatened and did any or all of these things, including torture, in order to keep you from expressing anger.

However this person is hurting you right now, unprovoked, and getting no resistance. From that, they're learning that they can keep doing it, with zero consequences, because you've already been broken and cannot fight back. That is a dangerous situation to be in too, even if it is impossible to predict whether this person is insane like your parents and will try to get revenge for any bit of resistance for their abuse.

I had situations where I would be pushed over the edge and allowed my anger to come out at someone - and people would sometimes complain about it, but they would usually back off, and I would regain my peace of mind because I created a consequence for disturbing it. Anger, however, doesn't feel good. My body is not used to it so it makes me incredibly tense, stressed, frustrated and upset, and it doesn't go away for several days, even weeks sometimes. Because scratching the surface of it evokes the repressed childhood anger which is almost unbearable with how giant it is.

Human body can learn to process anger, it can feel better, more powerful and more in control because of it. It can protect you without inflicting damage to others. It doesn't make you anything like your abusers, who let their anger out at someone who wasn't their equal, had no way to fight back, and did not deserve any of it. Your anger creates boundaries that keep you safe, it doesn't exist to torture others for existing.

It's easy to fall back into the place where you don't want to be angry, and try to be accommodating and allowing of injustice, just so you don't have to feel frustrated and afraid. I often fall back on it too, just wanting to live and have peace. But life around other people often doesn't allow it, and sometimes anger is necessary to send a message of what boundaries will not be crossed without a consequence. Anger is not a bad feeling, it is an act of self love. It comes out to let you know that you've been treated unfairly and it's there because it's telling you that you matter. That treating you unfairly is something to get mad about.

#anger #rage #anger issues #cptsd #abused child #abuse symptoms #trauma symptoms #repressed anger #processing anger #anger builds boundaries #ptsd #traumatic anger #internalized anger #anger directed at self #not being allowed to bring angry creates self hatred #self love #abuse recovery #trauma recovery

[mewtwo24]

I just started reading the svsss volumes (and re-read them again because A LOT IS GOING ON) but like. This shit is so hysterically funny I don't even know where to begin.

Was no one????? Going to tell me that one of the cornerstone jokes in the damn series is that lbh's adoration for his one and only 'tism person who literally cannot express his emotions to save his life is basically genetic?????????

Was no one???? No one AT ALL going to tell me that Mobei-Jun straight up yeets Airplane at the problem in one of the scenes?????? And that in the most hilarious twist of fate Airplane then unyeets Mobei-Jun not twenty minutes later?????

It's one thing to see people joke about sqq and lbh being unable to communicate but it's on a league of its own when you have to read HUNDREDS OF PAGES of sqq's inner monologue be like 'that's my darling boy. my baby. my sugar plum pumpy umpkin you're my sweetie pie' but on the outside he says "get lost binghe" and somehow deems that an effective expression of his affection that lbh will surely understand. 'Why is lbh whining and crying and tugging at my sleeve like a plaintive wife, why is he so angry?' Sqq asks, the entire circus, as lbh is about to fling himself off a cliff for attention--

In short, MXTX is the queer comedian of our generation and nobody appreciates her enough

#svsss #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #mxtx what must it be like to carry the gays on your shoulders like this #she ran so that the rest of us could walk oh my actual god #i just can't get over how much of the novels are sqq panicking because he needs to 'do right' by lbh #aka make lbh the absolute lunatic from the original #so its just this uproarious back and forth between a guy trying to make a bbg desperate for his love into a human weapon #AND make himself disappear before that weapon is turned on him (also probably the self-hatred talking) #amazing showstopping spectacular **slaps sqq's back** you can fit so many repressed internalizations of toxic masculinity in this mf #legit as i read these volumes i just kept thinking of that meme like 'congrats sqq buddy that's the worst anyone's ever done it' (joke) #not that lbh is any better but in fairness the lad is going through a lot too so i spare him too harsh a judgement #also sincerely i dont think i was prepared for just how stupid how crazy lbh goes for sqq. it was. MAGNIFICENT #I was like 'surely he isn't that dramatic' and then by god everyone. by god I started reading and went #'jesus christ that's a nuclear missile shaped little meow meow and that's HILARIOUS' #i also just can't get over sqq insisting 'IM NOT GAY. I DONT GAY. IM THE STRAIGHTEST STRAIGHT!!!!' #while. literally. saying full stop to lbh of like 'wym i smile more genuinely at everyone else they're just scarecrows around me' #sqq--the man who couldn't bear to see lbh suffering as a young boy. #who was so affected he was crying in his sleep and calling out lbh's name over and over #ON WHAT LEVEL IS THAT HETEROSEXUAL SQQ. THE JIG IS UP #literally EVERYONE around sqq being like 'congrats on being the last to know' about his love for lbh #and can we talk about sqq being like 'we used to communicate so seamlessly that we had no need for words. there was no greater joy for me.' #and highlighting that though gongyi xiao was a similar and talented young lad he fell decidedly short because he did not have above quality #and then sqq still being in denial; i swear i LOVE the little hints mxtx drops i feel like the happiest mouse scampering around for crumbs #additionally a question: how does anyone take liu qingge seriously #when he's displeased he just yells 'HEY' and does nothing about it (most times) #that is the most boomer dad energy i think i've ever seen #also :(((((((( all the jokes about tianlang-jun (though accurate) were so deceptive my heart was broken at the end of vol.3

[benveydraws]

i can't love you in this skin

#twittering birds never fly #saezuru tori wa habatakanai #suggestive #<- jic #interpret this as you will #there's A Lot about gender and yashiro's relationship with gender and heteronormativity especially in relation to doumeki #he asks him what type of Women he likes. they only watch m/f stuff together. “i wonder if he's gentle with women”. #the anger and disappointment when he realizes that doumeki is actually attracted to him #unless he's remembering something that happened he only fantasises about doumeki with a woman and not with himself #(same was with kageyama iirc) #except for that kiss in the elevator but that's a whole other conversation. and even then there was a woman present #he even tells kamiya that doumeki is basically straight and he's just a rare exception #yashiro's is so so desperate to push doumeki towards a “normal” life #aka not in yakuza. not with him. in a normal (straight) relationship #just. a lot of self hatred and internalized homophobia #all that being said. i think regardless of the author's intent reading yashiro as a closeted trans person is also valid #the “i could never afford myself to reflect on this and i also don't care enough about living to even bother atp” type of closet #would it contradict some of the things yashiro says? sure. but he contradicts himself all the time #am i projecting as someone who will live and die in the closet? sure #i think it's interesting that the only person who genuinely asks him about gender is ryuzaki #in the same conversation where he asks him about falling in love #and yashiro's response is basically “it wouldn't change much” and “i'm fine with what i have”. are you tho #there's a lot i can say about yashiro and aoi and yashiro and ryuzaki's girlfriend but i can't articulate it well rn so whatever #the way dumeki's lie about dating a woman affects yashiro is also interesting regardless of which interpretation you go with #which is also why i'm using post time-skip for the art. the topic keeps popping up #but yeah uh. take it as you will i just have a lot of feelings about. This #art tag

[lovesickeros]

☆ what a kind god, what a cruel god

{☆} characters zhongli {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, light angst {☆} word count 0.5k

You are a kind God - with hands that heal instead of hurt. Words that forgive, instead of rightfully insult. The stories do little justice to the breadth of your gentleness, extending your love to the slimes that coalesce at your feet, eager to know the touch of the Divine. The birds that sing with the wind your praises from upon your shoulder.

But to him, your kindness is so very cruel.

They do not deserve it. He does not deserve it.

Your forgiveness should be a blessing after all they have done, but it feels like swallowing acid instead. It makes him feel sick and lightheaded, throat constricting until he struggles to breath against the weight of his sins, heavy upon his chest.

He wonders if your hatred would be easier. Even apathy, he thinks, would be preferable to the way your screams intermingle with the softness in your voice as you cradle his face between his hands within his dreams. Even in the waking world, your every word is shadowed by broken pleas, drowned in golden ichor as it rises up your throat, silencing your screams - it haunts him, and he cannot handle seeing the way you look at him in concern. He does not deserve it.

Try as he might, he cannot forgive himself. He does not think he ever can - not when he wakes to the feeling of blood on his hands, his tongue, filling his lungs until all he tastes and smells is blood.

If you had been a little less kind, he thinks he would find comfort in your cruelty.

Your anger would be a mercy.

But you are not. You are..kind. Gentle. So many things he once praised on bruised knees at an altar that towered far above him, drowned in gold and silks, every word he speaks a prayer to the most Divine. And he cannot bear the weight of knowing that he could have destroyed that part of you - he cannot bear knowing that he didn't, and you look upon the man who wore your blood like a second skin with a kindness that burns him like a hot iron.

He did not deserve such a loving God.

"..Zhongli?"

He pauses in his internal struggle, hands shaking on his lap. He clenches them into fists, blunt nails digging into his palms until they stop - yet you look at him with furrowed brows, concern gleaming in your eyes, and he feels sick all over again. But for you, he would do anything. Even if it meant pretending he did not feel like a monster in a mortals skin when you smiled at him like he was worth anything.

"Yes, Divine One?"

He chokes down the phantom taste of iron upon his tongue, forcing himself to smile to soothe the worries that crease your brow.

"You said you'd take me to the Chasm today."

He feels..relieved as the worry melts away from your features. It is the very least he can offer - he shall take upon your burdens, your worries, so that you may look upon Teyvat with love, and not fear. He will carry the sins of the many, so that you may look upon the nations with pride, and not horror.

It is all he can do, to ease the way his chest aches when you smile at him, hand tugging at his sleeve and forcing himself unsteadily to his feet.

He does not deserve you - but for today, he can pretend. Just a little while longer.

#sagau #self aware genshin #self aware genshin impact #genshin sagau #imposter au #sagau imposter au #fic tag #angst #zhongli #sagau zhongli #pulls out the whiteboard who wants 2 hear my psychoanalysis of zl in sagau!! #imposter au zl who resents himself and is just a little fucked up over what happened and refuses to accept that he can be forgiven :) #he needs therapy bc he refuses to accept that hes allowed 2 be a little traumatized!!!! #as u can see he did not handle anything well ever and he is mentally unwell. perhaps a little unstable. #making the genshin men as pathetic as possible one man at a time #I JUST THINK. there is a lot of potential 2 be had for post imposter au characters. #slaps zl this bad boy can fit so much self hatred and internal resentment and trauma and lack of self worth and #yeah :) #writes the most unhinged shit ever. refuses to elaborate. leaves

[a-sketchy]

#sorry i’ve just been thinking about this forever #personally i’m team performs allyship + internalized self hatred and societal pressure + reads theory + gay + casually homophobic #hes complex like that #polls #rambles #goro akechi #p5

[uncanny-tranny]

I often see this impulse from other trans men* that involves hypervigilance of being one of the "good men" who set ourselves apart from the men who hurt others, and I wonder if this ultra-policing actually prevents us from being "bad"

I wonder if agonizing about doing everything "right" is only contributing to poor mental health of trans men* because you are seeing a distorted, monstrous version of yourself, somebody with whom you have to kill off. It forces you into this space of having to be perfect, to beat yourself up over any perceived infraction.

And I just don't think it's an effective measure to ensure we are "one of the good ones." Constantly treating yourself as the beast, treating yourself like a leper who has no place in the civilized world? How does that ensure that you both treat others well but also ensure that you aren't fucking miserable every single moment you're not alone?

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #nonbinary #i'm still trying to be More Normal arpund others because i still to this day immediately treat my manhood... #...like a slight. i can feel the way people stare when i am over-apologizing and they're assuring me to my face that i am /fine/... #...i accidentally touched a coworker and i could feel her amusement that i wouldn't accept her acceptance of my three+ apologies... #..i've heard so much about how Awful men are and i carry around this impulse both to protect my manhood but to also apologize that it exist #and that internal shame and isolation doesn't contribute positively because you aren't focused on action if that makes sense #you're so focused on not rocking the boat that your feet grow roots in the ground that prevent you from moving forward #and that feeling of being Stuck is honestly scary and isolating and there's a lot of self-hatred in that (at least in my experience) #because i KNOW what i believe about my manhood is wrong and yet... i often still believe it #it's fadcinating that you can know something is Wrong and yet still firmly believe in it with all your soul #why do i always make these thpe of posts while playing skyrim. damn you todd howard (lighthearted)

[commander-goo]

the way you carry yourself

(alt ver below. smile)

#trigun #trimax #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #gooarts #(pointing) do you think that strange blonde man is uncomfortable in his own skin. #do you think he wishes to discard it or to bury himself deeper within.can a beast love its shell #can a caterpillar love its cocoon. the rejection of change as a form of self hatred ok im done #(pointing again) that disheveled 40 something man looks awfully bogged down by all of the things he internalizes #do you think he regrets wanting to live. do yo think he regrets living for others #body horror #blood #trigun spoilers #if you saw this last night um. no you didnt <3 i made a complimentary woflowd. hehe #im really enjoying working in this style it makes me feel like im a machine girl music video #“oh the comp looks a little plain you should add htthe punisher” <-THE DEVIL TALKING

[holysaintscathedral]

Genuinely and truly if you believe this and still date men, I hope your partner dumps your bitter ass and dates someone who won't constantly put him down and act like dating him is a terrible burden because he's a man. There's nothing inherently wrong or gross about being a man or being attracted to men, quit shaming yourself and others ffs.

#quit projecting your self hatred into others omg #maybe its not my place to say but I'm so tired of shit like this #its not quirky or funny #bi people do this a lot and I'm sure its because of internalized biphobia but cmon #dating someone like this would be very draining #men are hot #men are wonderful

[coachbeards]

beard and jamie deserved a dynamic and this is my proof

#jamie going towards the blue moon...beard trying his best to get away from it #ted lasso #jamie tartt #coach beard #remember when keeley told jamie that he needed to stop battling people who just want to help him #and when beard's hallucinations told him he doesn't accept the love and support from the people around him #children of abuse bonding <3 #AND ALSO. #since i love rambling in tags #beard internalizing his abuse + it creating an intense amount of self-hatred and self-flagellation #whereas jamie (s1 jamie) externalized it because he didn't know any other way to properly express himself #TRUST

[louis-the-french-one]

Joel Miller x Teen!GN Reader

AFAB Reader

Request : *verbal request from my friend* Can I have a Joel Miller fic of Reader coming out to Joel as Trans after they get attacked? Platonic/Parental relationship !

Type : Comfort

Relationship : Platonic/Parental

Summary : While on the road to get to Tommy, Joel and Reader get attacked, they get out just fine but Reader is exhausted, which leads to Reader coming out as trans and explaining that they wear a binder

Warnings : self-hatred, internalized transphobia, abusive wear of binder (BE SAFE MY LOVELY PEOPLE), coming-out, violence, swear words

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You and Joel were still looking for Tommy and had stopped in a town to get some more food and supplies. While wandering in the lonely streets, you had suddenly heard people talking just across the street.  Three raiders were coming your way. It took only a second for Joel to notice them as well.

“Fuck! Run Y/N, Run” Joel suddenly whispered/screamed.

“Fucking hell Joel ! Fuck!” You said, startled.

You did as asked and ran to safety in a nearby house. Joel though, quickly hid behind an old car and took the raiders by surprise, killing one from a bullet before going to fight the other two with a knife, whom ran towards him. While Joel was fighting them the best he could, and you were hiding, you quickly realised he was gonna need help seing he had managed to kill another one but the last was putting up a great fight. Taking a deep breath, already tucking at your binder, you opened the back door of the house and ran as fast as you could to where Joel had parked the car, you knew he had extra shotguns in there, though he never let you use them.

Running as fast as you could, it took you a few minutes to get to the car, you took a shotgun he had hidden in the trunk, loaded it, took bullets with you and got ready to run again. Your ribcage was already killing you, ‘now is not the time to take my binder off’, you thought. Even out of breath you got back to running. You tripped a few times, your mind dizzy from the pain and the lack of air. You manage to get back to Joel whom was struggling, stuck under the last raider alive, He put all his strength into stopping the knife that was currently threatening to stab his throat.

Once you got a few meters away from the scene, you stopped and lifted the shot gun. Your vision was blurry but you had to do it, you had to help Joel. Gathering all the strength you had left and taking one last short breath, you shot the raider in the arm, hurting him just enough so that Joel could get back on top of him, steal his knife and cut his throat.

But your brain had reached its limits, you fell to the ground, desperately tucking your binder in a last desperate attempt at breathing,you just needed a little more air. Joel, instantly worried about you, ran to your side and picked up your head, laying it on his legs.

“Are you okay?! Fuck Y/N are you hurt!?” Joel asked you in a grave voice.

“Hm Hm, yeah, I’m fine, I just need to catch my breath” You whispered, your eyes were closed. You were focused on trying to breathe through your stomach.

“Y/N look at me, you don’t seem fine”Joel said. You could sense the panic in his voice although it was steady.

“I- I ... I can’t breathe, give me a minute please”You said, your voice cracking up with each word.

“Why? Why Y/N ? let me see”With his words Joel went to lift up your shirt but you quickly stopped him, your eyes now open and looking right at him.

“NO! No... Please, Joel, Don’t...”You struggled to breathe. “Don’t look.”

“Y/N please, I need to know what’s wrong.”

Your head was spinning, your eyes were in his. Not knowing what was happening anymore, you decided to tell him. You knew you would have to say it someday, well today was the day, right there, hardly breathing in his arms.

“I’m just, I’m... I’m wearing a binder Joel...” You waited but he didn’t say anything, of course he didn’t understand what you meant. “I’m trans, Joel. I’m wearing a binder, to compress my chest.”

“Okay”He simply said.

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes”You repeated, very nervous.

You and Joel stayed like that, your head on his lap, in complete silence for a few minutes. His gaze alternated between you and the streets, checking for any danger. Yours was fixed on him, still waiting for him to say something, anything. Finally, after what felt like forever, you breath steadied and your head stopped spinning.

“I’m sorry”You said suddenly.

“For what?”Joel replied.

“For what I said, for fainting, for who I am...”You started crying.

“Hey, it’s okay kid. I can’t force you take off that thing. It seems important to you” Joel assumed respectfully.

“It is, it really is” You quickly noted.

“And if it stops your breathing obviously it’s gonna make you faint,it’s fine,just be careful, you won’t have to save my ass next time hopefully.” He laughed a bit at the end. “And never apologise for who you are kid, you do you, I respect that”

“But, But it’s not normal, I’m not normal Joel.. I-I hate myself and I hate my body, and I hate how I have to wear this binder to feel like myself while it kills me slowly and put us in danger. Fuck, I’m so sorry Joel”You are left sobbing on his lap, turning to hide your face.

Joel lifted you and hugged you tightly. One of his hand in your hair caressing it to sooth you.

“shhh, it’s okay, you’re just a kid you’ll be fine, we’ll be fine. You are you and it’s all that matters. I am not mad at you. I just want you to know I see you as you and nothing else, this thing or not I don’t care. What I care about is you, and I'm sure if your chest really bothers you we can find a doctor that can do something about it. It’s okay kid” He declared.

“Thank you, thank you so much Joel” You continued crying, but were relieved.

“It’s okay, now let’s get going, it’s not safe to stay out there”He reminded you.

Eventually Joel let go off you and helped you get up. He smiled softly at you before taking the shotgun and walking back the car. You had had enough action for today.

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!Reminder that english is not my first language, be kind in the comments!

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #coming-out fic #self-hatred #internalized transphobia #comfort #dad!joel miller #teen!reader #be safe with binders #yes even in the apocalypse #x gender neutral reader #afab reader #x reader

[paradisaeaparedrae]

I cannot and will not stop thinking or ever talking about the connotations of Aventurine having BPD please i could go on about it for hours but never know where to begin. I am down on my knees crying and begging.

#they do such a great job at portraying it and showing us why and how #this representation is so importsnt to me #even if its not “canon” #we so clearly see why and how and the corrolations #he has to be manipulative because he was forced to have to be growing up to survive #he has no true sense of self #we hear of him actively trying to off himself #GAMBLING is a big “trait” too under self destructive behavior #his internalized self hatred we see #man if anyone wants to hesr more about this and ask more specific questions to help me focus in please i need this #it also makes me so sad how bpd is considered manipulative and abusive and #while some people certainly pribably see him as such #people will take characters like this with open arms but reject those of us irl who exhibit the same traits #anyway #hsr aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr 2.1 #bpd

[furiousgoldfish]

traumatized individual: endures inhumane amounts of stress, panic, and fight-or-flight situations, keeps a mountain of rage and terror down every day in order to try and function, struggles in secret with exhaustion, shame and grief, has to control their emotions every single day in front of other people to hide how badly they’re doing, goes above and beyond to appear normal and to continue their daily activities

also traumatized individual, as soon as one (1) emotion slips out: I’m overly sensitive and need to get over myself right this second. I’m the most pathetic weakling in this world, I have lost control over myself and my life and I should be shot for this

#cptsd #the aftermath of abuse #trauma symptoms #child abuse symptoms #toxic shame #self persecution #harsh towards yourself and nobody else #internalized hatred #internalized psychological abuse #brainwashing

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance isn’t good at asking for help. Really, he never has been. He doesn’t like it. It makes him uncomfortable, having to look lesser than he already does. And, like, he’s not trying to say that in a macho, I’m-too-manly-to-be-vulnerable, bullshit way. Nor does he think that asking for help is, inherently, an admission of weakness. He’s always very happy when people come to him for help, and he would never in a million years think less of them for it.

But the rules are different for Lance, and that’s a fact.

For whatever reason, one he’s been unable to discern, people tend to immediately think the worst of him. Always. He’s always the slacker, the guy who can’t take anything seriously, the guy who fucks things up and needs instructions explained to him twice because he’s too stupid to understand the first time. He doesn’t fucking know why so many people think this of him. He’s a goofy guy, sure, but, like… so is Hunk. So is Coran. So is Marco, so is Lance’s abuela, so are dozens of people in his life. But for whatever reason, those people are allowed to be goofy and smart. Goofy and wise. Goofy and talented. Goofy and kind.

Not Lance. Lance is, for whatever reason, one-dimensional in everyone’s head.

And he knows he’s right. He fucking knows it. He remembers complaining about homework in the Garrison, and hearing Pidge make a comment about helping him in math because “that must be what you’re struggling with, right, dude?” Lance was top of his fucking math class. He was higher up than her. Lance is really fucking good at math. He didn’t and doesn’t need her fucking tutelage, and it pissed him off that she asked. That she assumed he did.

But he swallowed it down, and laughed, because he knew she wasn’t being malicious.

And, like, if that was it? Then this wouldn’t be a problem. Lance would be able to shrug it off and move on.

But that’s not it.

Take the Nyma incident, for example. The team brings that up, no word of a lie, every single day. Somehow someone finds a way to squeeze in a joke. And it’s not even just the jokes — there’s the underlying tension that everyone truly believes, in the back of their minds, that Lance can’t be fully trusted with his lion. Which is fucking ridiculous, because each and every person on the goddamn team has made a mistake that nearly cost them the goddamn war. Pidge trying to run away from Voltron in the first few days. Allura and Keith when they decided to run away, leaving the rest of the team defenseless. Hunk succumbing to the mind control and nearly fucking killing Lance on the mermaid planet. Every time Shiro has a PTSD episode, even though of course it’s not his fault. Of course Lance has fucked up. Drastically. But so has everyone else. How come it’s only him who’s the butt of the joke? How come he’s the reckless one, who can’t stay out of the pods? (Even though he won’t touch those fucking death traps unless he’s unconscious, so that’s not even true.) How come he’s the dumbest team member? How come he’s not allowed to help in strategy meetings? How come he gets singled out when Shiro and Allura are asking them to behave, even though Pidge and Hunk — and he’s counted — have caused three times as many diplomatic crises as he has?

How come he’s not allowed the same forgiveness as anyone else?

It frustrates him. But it’s been like this most of his life. In school he was the class clown, even though he really didn’t make jokes during lectures. (Not intentionally, at least. He asked a lot of questions that made people laugh, for whatever reason, but that was almost never his goal! People just weren’t very clear when they spoke!) He can remember having teachers offhandedly mention to his mother that he had ‘behavioural issues’, but were unable to provide examples when she pressed. They just assumed he did. He can remember getting singled out by every fucking officer at the Garrison as the reason the sims failed, even though it really wasn’t always true.

He’s not sure what it is about him that makes people think he’s so pathetic. But he’s sure as shit not going to make it worse for himself, so unless he’s completely, physically incapable of handling a problem on his own, he’s going to keep his mouth shut and head down.

He’s pretty good at that, too, even though no one would believe him. Take the pods, for example.

Lance fucking hates them.

He’s terrified of them. Like, actual, palm-sweat panic-attack terrified. Unfortunately, getting stuck in one fucked him up more than he realised. He can’t think of them without shuddering. So he did what he always does when he’s afraid: learnt every possible thing there is to know about them. He did it as a kid, when he was afraid of drowning. (His best friend, when he was five, got caught in a riptide and drowned right in front of him. He’d been terrified of the ocean, after. Made himself walk closer to it every day while learning every possible thing there was to know about it until he could live with the terror. Until he could even turn the terror into exhilaration, swimming as far out as he dared and staying under as long as his lungs could bare, just to feel his heart pound in his ears and his hind brain go haywire.)

He did it in space, after the pods tried to bury him alive.

He learned — from Coran and from the castle’s library — that the pods are not miracle workers. They cannot make something out of nothing anymore than they can reanimate the dead. The pods, really, are a sort of advanced coma. They can accelerate what healing the body can already do. They can even take cells and other parts of the body and make skin grafts, kill tumours, all sorts of things — but they can’t repair what no longer exists.

Lance, after the Rover explosion, lost two things.

First was almost the entirety of the skin of his back. Ripped to shreds, it was. His head, by some miracle, had remained largely unscathed — except for the concussion that went untreated for too long, that affected his brain in more ways than he was willing to admit, that made memory recall a lot harder than it used to be — and his jeans had done a pretty good job of protecting the backs of his legs.

But his thin t-shirt did nothing to protect his back. And there was only so much the pod could do.

Most of his back was one giant mess of scar tissue and skin grafts. And as scar tissues and skin grafts tend to do — they hurt.

They hurt a lot.

Nerve damage is a strange thing. Sometimes it makes entire parts of your body go numb. Unfortunately for Lance, it’s the opposite: regularly, and unpredictability, his back feels like it’s burning. Like he never left the explosion. Like he’s in a constant state of purgatory.

And for the first few weeks, Lance handled it. He grit his teeth and waved off the concerns of his teammates, assuring them with a wink and a grin that he’d healed up just as handsome as before. (Which, of course, was a lie for several reasons. Every time Lance caught a glance of himself in the mirror — of the writhing mass of revulsion that makes up the skin of his back — he wants to wipe his memory. Restart. Pretend it never happened, pretend he’s still pretty, still untouched by twistedness. But that’s nobody’s business but his own, so he holds his tongue.)

Day after day of the skin of his back feeling the constant, never-ending excruciating pain of cooking flesh, he gave in. Hunched in on himself, dragged himself to Coran’s room, and asked if there was something to be done.

Coran was horrified, of course. Baffled that Lance didn’t come to him sooner, that he swallowed down the agony and tried to deal with it himself. And he of course had a solution; a balm that would provide instant, long-lasting relief. But there was no permanent fix. No pill he could take, either. Every couple of weeks, he had no choice but to slump his way to Coran and have the man rub to ointment into his back, because he couldn’t reach himself.

It was humiliating, being so reliant on another person. Being so totally incapable of handling things himself, of being his own goddamn person. At least Coran was kind, was discreet — he knew without saying that this was not something to be shared with anyone else. He knew to help Lance as quickly as possible, so Lance could retreat to nurse his wounded pride in peace.

It was because of his wounded pride that made the second thing so difficult: along with the skin of his back, the explosion had stolen his hearing.

Not completely. He wasn’t completely deaf. But he was no Altean superhuman, and the delicate hairs in his ears that allowed his brain to pick up sound waves have shattered so close to the explosion. Broken. He’d taken some sort of magnifying device himself to assess the damage, the night he fell out of the healing pod, panicked because his fucking ears weren’t working and dreading what he would find: hundreds of little hairs, much smaller than they were supposed to be. Too small to hear words, to hear people speak.

He could of course still hear them speak. He could hear when people were speaking, still hear the tone and pitch of their voices and the way they crafted their sentences. But it felt like he was dozens of feet underwater, far away from everyone else, completely incapable of picking out individual words and phrases and lost on their meanings.

Luckily, he adapted.

He’s always been pretty good at reading lips. Since it’s always been hard for him to make any kind of eye contact, he tended to focus on people’s mouths when they spoke, and inadvertently picked up some skills as he grew up.

But lip reading isn’t very reliable. You can be the best in the world, and you’re still going to miss half of what people are saying.

Especially if, say, people are speaking your second language. Or an alien language you don’t even know, at least not fluently.

Luckily for Lance, he lives on a magical space castle that has magical space translators. He doesn’t know how they work — and, honestly, aside from Coran, doubts anyone else does either — but he knows that they translate the words of whomever’s speaking into the language easiest to understand for you. Before, he was hearing everyone else’s words in Spanglish — now, he was seeing them. Little close captions appeared above the heads of whomever was speaking. He looked a little odd, sure, constantly looking just above everyone, but holy shit, he did not care. So long as he could communicate, it did not fucking matter. (It was even easier when he was in his armour, and everyone’s words flashed along his visor, colour-coded and in order. He’s been remarkably more fond of training and missions since that explosion, fancy that.)

The biggest flaw to this system is that everyone else still has a communicative advantage over Lance, and they do not know it. They speak as they always have, often excitably and all over each other, and Lance can’t quite keep up. He’s never been a particularly fast reader, but even if he was, there’d always be a delay, a millisecond of processing that stretched just long enough that people looked at him strangely. And, of course, Lance could only read one thing at once. If two people were talking at the same time, or if they were trying to talk to him without looking at him, it was inevitable that Lance misses. Chunks of the conversation, inside jokes, and worst of all, instructions. He’s taken to asking people to write important things down for him, which does not help his reputation as resident dumbass.

All in all, it’s not a perfect solution. But it’s a solution, at least, and that’s something.

Except when magical space castles break down.

It turns out, you see, that space magic is not in fact space magic, but instead ridiculously advanced space technology. And if there’s one thing that technology can be universally relied upon to do, it’s break down.

Which does not bode well for Lance, currently.

He walks onto the bridge — late, of course, because the alarms are barely fucking alarms for him, they do not wake him up, so of course he shows up in his pajamas and for sure everyone thinks he’s a lazy piece of shit who can’t be assed to take anything seriously — to a lot of thinly veiled panic.

And to a lack of closed captions that he’s been heavily relying on for the better part of a year.

Based on the general air of panic, expressions of frustrated confusion between the Alteans and humans, and the lack of fucking captions, Lance can wary a guess as to what’s going on.

The translators are down.

And, obviously, that bodes a bit of a problem. Especially because they have a mission today, one they can’t afford to fuck up. (Not that they can ever afford to fuck up. No, Voltron needs to be perfect every time, because there are lives at stake, except Voltron is made of humans, so they fuck up all the time. It weighs on each of them. When Lance is feeling particularly masochistic, he wonders what’s going to happen when they snap under the pressure. When he snaps under the pressure.)

Lance stands to the sidelines, carefully watching what everyone else is saying and doing. Shiro and Allura attempt to converse for a while, with words and gestures, but it goes nowhere and they both give up. Pidge and Hunk are talking just fine, but they both look nervous, and they’re curled inwards towards each other enough that Lance can’t see what they’re saying. Coran is nowhere to be found, likely attempting to fix this mess, and Keith is — Keith is watching him.

Lance looks away. He cannot be under scrutiny. Not right now. Because… well.

You see, deaf people can’t be fighter pilots.

Period.

Commercial airlines are one thing, but fighter pilots require a lot of split-second decisions to be made after audio information, be they orders or the sound of your fucking aircraft going up in flames. If you can’t hear those sounds, can’t make those calls, you’re a liability to those around you.

Lance knows he’s being selfish. He knows it in every part of him, from the meat of his brain to the marrow of his bones. He know he is putting everyone at risk — putting himself at risk — by keeping quiet about his condition.

But he’s terrified.

Of course he’s replaceable. He’s a butt in a seat, basically. But unlike everyone else on the team, he is only a butt on a seat. He doesn’t bring anything else to the table, perhaps other than someone who can pick up the slack in the chore schedule when everyone else gets busy. He can’t hack through any computer known to man, can’t MacGuyver his way out of any situation with a screwdriver and sheer force of will, can’t offer piloting skills better than anyone else in the universe, can’t use his quintessence to open up wormholes. If he’s not a paladin, he’s useless.

And they don’t have enough resources to support useless people.

What are they going to do when they replace him? Keep him on the castle as a deadweight? Unlikely. Unbearable, too. Drop him off on a random planet and promise to pick him up when it’s all over? Too callous, even though it would be the best option. No one on the team would ever do that.

Drop him back on Earth? Alone? Knowing what’s out there, the danger Earth is in?

No. He couldn’t bear it.

Besides — he’s lasted this long. With captions, sure, and without them he can’t communicate at all or hear orders or get instructions or be a fucking paladin, but he’ll… manage.

They’ve already received their instructions for today’s mission. Lance already knows what he has to do, and it’s what he always does — provide support from a distance. Keep an eye on the team. Make sure no shots slip through.

(Sometimes, when he’s feeling grateful instead of masochistic, he thanks any higher power to every exist that he lost his hearing instead of his eyesight.)

Lance is startled from his thoughts by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turns wide eyes to Shiro, looking at him carefully, assessing.

“You okay?”

Lance is used to those words. He gets them a lot. So that’s not hard to read.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he knows he’s too loud even before Shiro winces, because even his own broken ears heard that. “Um, just a little stressed. ‘Cause the translators are down, and all.”

Truly Lance does not need to read Shiro’s lips to guess what he is saying — we’re gonna be fine, we’ll get through this together, this is rough but we’re strong, et cetera, et cetera.

Fuck, Lance thinks, dread piling up his chest, if only you knew.

Shiro voices a few more short instructions to the team, Pidge haltingly trying to translate for Allura with her limited Altean — which, judging by their expressions, is going not so great — before clapping his hands and sending them to their hangars.

Lance squeezes his fists to hold back tears as he runs.

Fine. Fine. This is going to be fine. Magically, this time, things are going to go exactly to plan, and he’ll support as he always done and somehow there will be no issues, this time, and everything will be fine and the translators will get fixed and Lance will continue delaying the inevitable. It’s fine.

God, Lance is so fucking scared.

He settles into Blue, greeting her softly and getting her gentle affection in return. (It’s something, at least, that Blue knows who he is and loves him still, believes in him still. It gives him hope, even though he knows it’s foolish.)

And, shockingly, the first part of the mission goes…okay. It’s not great, obviously, because they’ve basically got no castle support, but Blue manages to make her own kind of captions on her dash so Lance gets a refresher of the plan and stays on the same page as everyone else.

It’s the infiltration part that’s so much harder.

He doesn’t have Blue’s captions on his helmet, so he’s going in completely blind — or, deaf, rather. The only thing he can really hear is his own laboured breathing, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s really that loud or because he knows he’s panicking, but it doesn’t really matter. He slinks through the shadows, carefully avoiding patrolling Galran soldiers. (Which, actually, is really fucking hard since he can’t hear them coming. In the first few weeks post-explosion, it was literally impossible. He was caught every time, and regularly blew stealth missions as he tried to cover himself and keep himself alive. He also didn’t know when he was being loud, back then, so regularly led himself straight into ambushes, which didn’t help the team’s trust in him to be able to handle his goddamn self. It took him months of secret training in the dead of night to learn to trust his intuition, to memorize patrolling schedules and anticipate when he has to make himself invisible. He is pretty good at it now, though, so at least something good has come from this mess.)

Finally he reaches boiler room tucked into a corner of a hallway, which he knows from experience and from memorizing layouts to Galran ships has an air vent that leads to the tiniest of alcoves near the ceiling of the bridge. He’s not sure what purpose this alcove is supposed to serve, but he knows it’s excellent for his purposes — remaining hidden and invisible so he can provide support while the rest of the team goes ham.

Even without the captions that tell him what everyone’s saying on the comms — and dear God, he hopes no one is talking to him, but that usually doesn’t happen because of his position anyway — he thinks he’s doing okay. This ship they’re infiltration is pretty run-of-the-mill: no fancy info or prisoners or even soldiers. Just regular. All he has to do is keep his eyes trained on the battle scene in front of him, muffled sounds of violence fading into the background, as he picks off soldier after soldier, drone after drone, to keep his friends safe.

And then a hand wraps around his mouth, and panic fills him up so quickly his vision actually whites out.

Lance has a lot of nightmares. It’s a rare night that he doesn’t. And most of them are reoccurring — a select few scenarios that he sees again and again, night after night, that wake him up sobbing, in a cold sweat. The worst is watching as Earth — as his family — is destroyed by the Galra. Next is any dream where one of his team members doesn’t make it. After that, though, is a dream that always scares him so bad he can never get back to sleep after. The thing about being a sniper is that Lance can’t pay attention to himself. At all. All of his attention needs to be on the people he’s protecting, so he can shoot straight and keep shooting. This means that he is not, in any way, shape, or form, watching his own six. And since he lost his hearing, he’s completely defenseless, up in his little alcove. He can’t hear if someone’s coming, can’t even hear if someone’s spotted him. He’s pretty confident in his little alcove, but there’s always a risk. Always that fear. Always that nightmare, reoccurring night after night.

And now that nightmare is coming true. The hand around his eyes slides down his face until it’s wrapped around his throat, squeezing tightly. Lance doesn’t have even half a second to react, staring in mute horror as the Galran soldier — a commander, judging by the symbol on his chest plate — sneers at him, saying something that Lance can’t even hear, lips moving around words that he doesn’t know.

Finally, he recognises three: “Vrepit Sa, Paladin.”

And then he’s dropping to the floor, three stories down, limbs crumpling on impact and vision doing dark.

———

Right before the door of the pod opens, there’s a second of clarity. A millisecond in between when you regain consciousness and the glass clears.

That second always makes Lance panic.

But then he’s tipping forward into strong arms, familiar arms, and a familiar face and headband, and Hunk is saying, “Can you hear me, buddy?” because that’s the first thing anyone says when you come out of a pod and there are still no captions and Lance bursts into tears.

The whole team is gathered. Everyone sees. Everyone watches as he pushes Hunk away, ashamed, and covers his face in his hands and sobs.

“No,” he whispers, in between great heaving breaths so sharp they hurt his lungs. “No, I can’t hear anything.”

He’s not sure how long he stands there, shoulders hunched in on himself, tears and snot streaming down his face and dropping down his chin, arms wrapped tightly around his torso in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling apart.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, falling to pieces in front of his team. He’s not sure into how many fragments he shatters, falling to the MedBay floor.

Eventually, though, his sobs peter out, because no matter how miserable you are and how stressed and how much you hate yourself there’s only so long you can cry. Only so long your rational brain can take a break and let your emotions run free before it says ‘alright, okay, that’s enough, dry up’.

By then, he realizes there’s a gloved hand on his shoulder, two warm bodies pressed on either side of him, one big and strong, one small and sharp. He feels the presence of three more people staring at him, sitting somewhere in front of him.

He takes a great shuddering breath and drops his hands from his face, forcing his eyes open.

Coran kneels in front of him, hand on his shoulders, eyebrows drawn in and expression deeply concerned. Pidge and Hunk sit on either side of him, pressed close, and Keith, Allura, and Shiro sit just behind Coran, looking at him with wide, confused eyes.

“What do mean, dear?” says Coran, or at least Lance thinks.

“I can’t hear. I’ve been deaf since the explosion.” His voice cracks as he says it, he feels the raspiness of his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He feels Pidge and Hunk exhale sharply next to him, and watches as Coran’s expression breaks.

“Oh, Lance,” he says, and apparently Lance can cry more.

But before he can cover his face, this time, Coran tugs him forward, tucking his face into his neck. He mutters something comforting, Lance is sure, even though he can’t hear it, but the vibrations from Coran’s chest are soothing enough that this round of tears doesn’t hurt so much.

This round doesn’t feel like he’s shattering into millions of tiny little glass shards. This round, someone — lots of someones — is holding him together.

———

Lance, it turns out, is a lot more damaged than he thought.

Apparently his head didn’t emerge as unscathed from the explosion as he thought. Apparently there was a lot more brain damage than expected, and apparently a lot of the parts of Lance’s brain that are supposed to secrete chemicals — namely, happy chemicals, chemicals that identify love and keep one’s mood and self-esteem from plummeting into the fucking dirt and refusing to come back up — don’t work right anymore.

Apparently, there’s a reason Lance feels like he’s unloveable, and that he’s useless, and that he’s disposable.

So. That would’ve been nice to know a year ago.

But that doesn’t matter. He didn’t know a year ago, but he knows now (after a long overdue MRI and brain scan that makes everyone on the castle so fucking guilty Lance can taste it, which should be uncomfortable but Lance is so desperately happy that his friends actually care about him enough to feel guilty that all he really feels is relief).

Now things are better. A lot better, in fact. He still needs to ask someone for help every couple weeks with his back — which has gotten a lot less shameful and humiliating, go figure — but Hunk and Pidge made him some truly groundbreaking hearing aids.

Yeah. He can hear again. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near what his ears used to be, but the first time he turned them on and heard actual words, in a sentence he could hear and understand, he went pretty hysterical.

It felt like when the flu finally breaks and you can breathe properly again, only magnified by a million.

The last thing to change is kind of a mix of several things. For starters, he has meds, now, that he takes every day to keep his brain working right. It was startling, a few weeks after taking his medication, to look in the mirror and for the first time in a year not wish he had died in that explosion. (He mentioned that offhandedly to Coran when the man was asking him how the medication was working, and was shocked to watch the Altean break down into sobs, apologising to Lance for not noticing.

Like, holy crow.)

Secondly, after everyone stopped walking on eggshells around him, they started being more careful with their words. Lance hasn’t heard a Nyma joke in months. He’s regularly asked for his input when they’re planning missions, hell, he’s asked for help all the time for things that aren’t chores! It’s amazing. He’s not sure if the team has always had faith in him and his brain just couldn’t see it, or if it’s new, but honestly? He doesn’t care.

He didn’t realise how fucking long he had been treading water until he was finally allowed to put his feet on the ground, and it’s relieving.

There’s nothing like discovering you were loved the whole time.

#now this is a heavy one yikes #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #langst #deaf lance #partially deaf lance #depressed lance #chronic pain lance #triple whammy for this poor bitch #self hatred #internalized ableism #lance & coran #lance & voltron paladins #injury and recovery #violence #struggling lance #insecure lance #hurt/comfort #heavy angst #my writing #fic #longpost #mentally ill lance

[pnjrnk]

i wanted to try and put a serious caption on this but i literally cannot take a single thing i do seriously 😎 anyways here is a very original and creative idea

gonna be honest, i kinda hate this but i spent WAYYYY too long on it to /not/ post it like. you know the time lapse replay feature on procreate, which is the program i use to draw? the replay for this. is 23 minutes long. hope u enjoy it bc i dont ☺️🤗

#south park #christophe delorne #ze mole #gregory of yardale #gregstophe #christophe idolizing gregory and believing himself to be inferior/unworthy in comparison my beloved #christophe internalizing self hatred my beloved #when u love a character so much u put him through immense pain for your own enjoyment

[whump-queen]

“You’re better than this.”

[tw angst, depression, self-hatred, sort of a whumper-caretaker combo, implied suicidal ideation if you squint]

They felt their throat close up.

Was this supposed to feel like a pep talk?

They could read between the lines, you know. They weren’t that thick. They could hear the sentences finish in their head.

‘You’re pathetic. You’re lazy—’

“I—I know." Their throat clenched down again, the muscles tightening and squeezing around their words. They nearly grimaced at the sound of their own broken voice.

As if to prove them right.

“Hey. Look at me.”

The edge of frustration in that tone sent their emergency signals on edge. They lifted their gaze from that spot on the floor.

Whumper could see them fully now, and whumpee loathed how they must have looked right then—eyes brimming with tears, trying hard not to blink—god forbid the heavy drops breach their eyelashes and make everything worse.

Whumper grabbed them by the shoulders, their frustration boiling over, and shook them hard. Whumpee's voice cracked.

"Come on, snap out of it!"

“You know you’re better than this. You know you are—fuck, I know you are.“

They felt the tears now, streaking their cheeks and cooling in the chill of the room.

'Look at how far you’ve fallen.'

Whumper's tone grew more frantic now, that frustrated edge in their voice giving way to a full on desperate anger—

“Come ON— where did that FIRE go?”

'What the hell happened to you?'

“you used to be so—“

What— so strong? So self-assured? So confident?

. .

Was I?

Was that why you first fell for me?

It’s been so long. I can barely remember now.

.

Was that why you looked at me so differently that night, all those years ago?

With all the reverence and adoration in the world in your eyes—

as if you'd raze everything to the ground at my feet.

Please—tell me what it was— What did you see in me?

What did you see when you looked at me like that?

What was I like?

Please—please tell me—I—I cant find it anymore—

Whumper released their shoulders, turning away exasperated.

“Nobody’s gonna pull you up but you now.”

Whumpee curled in on themselves, the sobs were impossible to hold back now.

'You've got no one but yourself.'

Too much.

It hurts.

'Nobody but a person you despise.'

They let the tears fall willingly now, grieving something they could barely grasp.

That person they must've once been—they felt no more real than a ghost now.

Long dead.

They couldn’t do it anymore.

It hurt to remember.

It hurt to grieve.

Please.

Let them melt into the walls.

Let somebody find them in a week.

• • •

if you need therapy like me you can read more terrible angsty shit here:

Regrets | Tile | In the blur of the rain

#tf when u just— #*cries* #ammirite guys haha #whump drabble #angst whump #sad shit #angst #whump writing #my writing #tw mental health #depression #self hatred #tw depression #idk prolly more tags but #no energy rn so #lmk if I missed anything #pffft lmfao #when u get whumped by ur own brain pffskskdjfj #the real whumper was our own internal dialogue all along #✨✨✨ #rip that this is the first drabble i’ve posted in ages and it’s this shit #will be back with your regularly scheduled power trip content shortly 😭