#it wasn’t bad enough to worsen my ptsd to a state where it’s the worst it’s ever been | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunasilvermorny · 3 years

Text

Maria Black - Harry Potter OC

Introduction:

This is my HP OC that I created a long time ago, when I was around 12-13 y.o. (so, you know... it’s been a while!)

Over the years I’ve developed her story more and more, changed it as I got older and basically kept the headcanon alive for years - but I never wrote about her. Everything I had I kept inside my head, and all the potential stories remained as nothing but a day-dream.

Until today! (or a few days ago, when I came up with the idea.)

It’s time to document this headcanon, even if it’s not going anywhere serious other than some stories and drawings.

I can’t emphasize it enough - I made most of it during the mid/late 2000′s, waaaay before the Cursed Child. So please don’t associate any part of my HC with this terrible excuse of a canon. JKR already proved that her judgement is questionable, so for me the only thing that is canon are the books and my headcanon relates to them and nothing else!

Anyway, let’s dive in!

-------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------

Bonus drawing from baby-OP:

-------------------------------------------------------

General plot:

Maria is the daughter of the Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange and was born a few months before they were sent to Azkaban. Her aunt Narcissa took her in and she was raised by the Malfoy family.

When she was about 5/6 y.o., she went to Azkaban to see her mother. (in the headcanon, her father died in Azkaban). She got scared by the Dementors and when she tried to find the exit, she came upon Sirius’ cell. This encounter changed her life and made her realize that her family is one of the “bad guys”, and she’s decided to leave the first chance she gets.

The day she left to Hogwarts was the last day she spent with her family.

Since it’s a HP OC-insert kind of headcanon, she befriended Harry, Ron and Hermione and was practically the 4th member of this friend group. So most of the plot of the headcanon correlates with the plots of the books, so I’m going to focus more on the individual parts that doesn’t relate the regular plot.

Before she got to Hogwarts she asked to be referred to as Maria Black and not Maria Lestrange. In the future she’d also legally change her name.

Because she’s decided to never go back to the Malfoys ever again, she was basically homeless for the first two summers away from Hogwarts. She mostly relied on magic (around other wizards, so no one will know she’s a minor using magic) and some friends that let her stay with them every once in a while.

(The is a LOT more, so if you’re interested, keep reading ^^ )

After the 3rd year was over, one of her friends that was an exchange student from Beauxbatons, invited her to spend the summer at his house in France. The reason he wanted her to come over was because his father was a coach for the French junior-league Quidditch team and wanted him to let her into the team, so in the future she’d be able to become a professional player. He knew that she plans on filing for Emancipation of minors, that will strip all the legal rights from her family and free her from them - but for that she needed a sufficient income. Her friend’s father was glad to help and after she showed him her skills, he let her into the team. When she was 15, she got into the professional league. (I based this part of the HC on the fact that Viktor Krum was also a student, when he became a Quidditch star.)

Sirius was the most important figure in her life and became like a father figure to her. Through him, she also felt that Harry and her (although not by blood) were related.

For a long time, the ending of the headcanon was that Maria killed herself after Sirius was murdered, but in recent years I’ve reversed this decision and kept her alive for the duration of the book and beyond that.

During her 6th year, after her mother already escaped Azkaban, she was forced to hide in Hogwarts (she wasn’t allowed to keep her role in the Quidditch team anymore), because Bellatrix made it clear that she’s going to kidnap Maria and force her to join Voldemort’s side.

She was able to avoid this fate only up to the plot of the 7th book, that’s when she was finally captured and held hostage in an attempt to force Harry’s hands and save her. However, before she was kidnapped, Maria asked from the Order and Hermione that if she’s ever to fall captive, to prevent Harry from saving her at all cost, since it’s an obvious trap.

Frustrated by the fact that the trap hasn’t worked combined with Maria’s general resistance, Bellatrix tortured her daughter for the entire duration of her incarceration, mostly by using the Cruciatus curse on her over and over again. At a near-dead state, Bellatrix used the Imperius curse on her to try and make her fight on Voldemort’s side at the Battle of Hogwarts, but Maria was too weak and wasn’t much of use to her in the end.

After the fight, Maria was in a coma for a few months and even after she woke up, she had a very long recovery period. The worst expression of it manifested in her PTSD from the Cruciatus curse that caused her to scream in agony almost every time she went to sleep. At some cases she was in such bad shape that no one was able to wake her up.

After a partial recovery, she returned to her pending career as a Quiddich player.

Her relationship with Fred Weasley:

Maria was fairly popular and had dated a few people (in a non-serious way, due to her age), but her first love was Fred Weasley. They’ve started dating in secret when she was in her 5th year.

During the 6th year, she has prepared him for the possibility of the kidnapping and asked him not to come rescue her if it ever happened.

In the summer after her 6th year, to reassure her that they will both survive the war, Fred gave her a ring and told her that after it’s all over, they’ll get married. (It wasn’t a proposal per se, but an attempt to give her hope when she was sure she’s going to die.)

Maria wasn’t aware that Fred died since she almost met the same fate herself at the Battle of Hogwarts, and found out about it from George after she woke up from the coma.

Her relationship with Neville Longbottom:

At the beginning, no one knew she’s Bellatrix’s daughter. People were suspicious of her during year 3 (after all, she is Maria Black) because they thought she was assisting Sirius (and at some point there were rumors that she was his secret child), but it wasn’t until year 5 that the news about her being Bellatrix’s daughter has spread out by Malfoy.

Maria considered Neville a close friend and was afraid of his reaction once he finds out, but even though he had to get over the initial shock, he told her that he knows that she’s nothing like her mother, that she has proven she’s on their side and that he’s not going to judge her over something that is out of her control.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, during her recovery, she’s met Neville’s parents and also spent time with them while she was admitted. The fact that she was tortured by Bellatrix too was a bonding factor and made her and Neville even closer.

After a few years, Neville and Maria have started dating, but their future together in unknown.

PTSD and irreversible damage:

I mentioned that due to the torture she experienced, Maria suffered from PTSD, caused primarily by the Cruciatus curse. She would have recurrent nightmares that caused her to scream and cry in agony, as her body turned and twitched, as if she was under the curse.

In most cases people were able to wake her up, but in more severe cases, she was able to stay in that state for hours. The worst case was a day and a half without a break. She was taken to the hospital by apparition, but the snap switch in location has severely worsen the situation and she was taken to the ER (or a magical equivalent of an ER), where she was under treatment for days until the outburst finally got under control. She was in a coma for two months after that and had to go through the long recovery once more.

In addition to that, Maria also suffered an irreversible damage in her reproduction system. Bellatrix knew she doesn’t share her purist views, so to make sure she doesn’t “taint” the family legacy with a mixed-blood offspring, she completely destroyed the system, to a point that it was almost impossible to reconstruct, even with magic. Maria went through many treatments, but was eventually considered infertile.

Her relationship with the Weasley family:

Maria was accepted as one of the family back when she was still in Hogwarts.

Even though her relationship with Fred was a secret - Molly, George and Ginny knew about it. After Fred’s death, Molly has told Maria that she still views her as a daughter and said she’s always welcome at their house.

She usually spent the holidays with them and came to visit Molly and Arthur almost every weekend. She usually brought game-tickets to anyone that was interested, especially when she’s started playing for the biggest teams. (Nothing will make me do the proper research of all the Quidditch teams, so let’s just suspend our disbelief just a bit more, because I don’t have a specific name.)

Her relationship with the Malfoy family:

During the year she was Bellatrix’s prisoner, she was held captive at the Malfoys’ mansion. Even though Bellatrix showed nothing but cruelty to her, Narcissa secretly tried to help her, mostly by giving her food during starvation punishments, clean her room and at extreme circumstances - heal her wounds.

Even though she hasn’t set her free, Maria appreciated the fact that Narcissa risked herself by helping her, so after she heard about Lucius’s death, she agreed for a reconciliation.

Although there were some push-backs (especially from Ron), she accepted an invitation for dinner at the Malfoys’ mansion, where she reconnected with both Narcissa and Draco.

After that she came to visit every now and then, although not as frequently as she visited the Weasleys.

Maria and Harry:

As I mentioned before, Maria is basically an OC inserted into the main plot, so she’s best friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Harry and Maria always had a sort of sibling connection, that was reinforced by their connection with Sirius. After his death, they referred to each other as the only family they’ve got left. (Even though Maria technically had Tonks, but that’s a story for another time.)

Maria and Ron:

Their friendship was a bit more complicated. Although not romantic in nature, they had a mutual crush on each other at a certain point (but nothing came out of it), and they always had a certain tension afterwards.

They also have very different personalities and got into many conflicts. Ron usually accused Maria of being a fake friend, because she was very friendly in nature and had many friend-groups other than the main three characters. Maria in return accused him of being too judgemental and had a hard time taking him seriously.

However, with all the flaws, they also had many things in common - their love of Quidditch, their disregard to the rules and in general they had a lot of fun hanging out with each other.

Maria and Hermione:

Probably have the rockiest friendship out of the three main characters. They are almost opposites, aside for their academic approach. Maria is more reckless and easy going, and she usually can’t handle Hermione’s stiffness.

Maria was especially sensitive to any criticism of Sirius, and they had many fights over it during their 5th year.

But even though their friendship wasn’t ideal, when it came to real struggles, they were there to support each other, especially emotionally.

Her special connection to Sirius:

Sirius was the catalyst that made her realize that she was born to a dark wizards family. She’s met him only once (before the events of the 3rd book), but it was a strong enough impact that affected her entire world view.

She put Sirius on a high pedestal and saw him as a parental figure. He was the first in the family to openly rebel and she followed his footsteps when she left the Malfoys’ household. This is also the reason why it meant so much to her that she was sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin.

During the 3rd year, everyone suspected that she helped sneak Sirius into the castle and was covering for him, since she refused to accept the accusations against him. She didn’t have any proof that he’s innocent and Sirius never told her that he is, but she was determined that he’s a good guy.

After Sirius escaped, he hasn’t kept in touch with her as much as with Harry, but it didn’t discourage her. She had a feeling that he’s hesitant to accept her because she’s still Bellatrix’s daughter and never resented him for it. However, after his death, Lupin told her that Sirius was very proud of her and had greats hopes for her - he just didn’t know how to show it.

Dobby:

Since she grew up with the Malfoys, she has known Dobby her entire life. They were pretty friendly toward each other, but they were instructed not to talk with each other.

Once, she tried to give Dobby clothes to set him free, but because she wasn’t technically a Malfoy, it didn’t work. After that, Lucius forbid Dobby from ever interacting with her again.

AUs:

Did you really think I don’t have like 200 different AUs for this headcanon? Of course I have! I’ve been building this headcanon since I was a literal child!

My favorite AU is the one where Fred didn’t die in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he and Maria got to be together after all. They usually get married (although there is a variation where she broke up with him instead), and in one AU in particular, healers are able to restore her fertility and they have a child together.

Maybe in the future I will make more posts about these AUs.

HPHM

Since Luna is very close with the Weasleys too, in most AUs Maria gets to meet Luna and the two become friends. Luna is also Maria’s private healer, since Maria gets injured a lot during Quidditch games.

---------------------------------------

There is so much more!!

But I will leave something for future posts :)

#my art #drawing #my headcanon #hp headcanon #harry potter #harry potter hc #harry potter oc #oc #original character #hp oc #maria black

34 notes · View notes

marril96 · 5 years

Text

Beneath the Nougat Sky

Characters: Jack, Rowena, reader

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: While the others look for a cure for Jack, Reader keeps him company and they talk about Rowena.

A/N: This is a sequel to my story Haunted, but it is not necessary for you to read that story to understand this one. Both can be read as standalones. Huge thanks to @ultimatefandomtrash61 for giving me advice on how to write Jack, and to @oswinthestrange for coming up with the summary.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

Things in the Bunker had been hectic since the early morning. Sam, Dean, and Castiel were going from book to book on their shelves in a desperate search for something — anything, a slightest sliver of hope — that could help Jack.

There appeared to have been nothing.

Every book was empty of anything useful, every clue a dead end. At times it felt like a conspiracy, as if someone had hidden the necessary knowledge just to make the search difficult.

Nephilims couldn't be that rare, could they? You knew they weren't the most plentiful of species, and their existence had been forbidden since the beginning of time, but there had to have been some information about them aside from the very basics.

There was nothing. Not a single damn thing. Not in the Bunker's books, not in The Book of the Damned that Rowena had checked cover to cover, not in the old grimoires you'd brought along in hopes of finding something useful.

By the time noon came by, everyone was getting frustrated, and rightfully so. A kid — one who appeared to be in his late teens and used to be able to obliterate cities with a snap of his fingers, but a kid nonetheless — was dying, and there was nothing either of you could do to help him. All that knowledge at your disposal, and it had failed. It had failed you and, most important of all, it had failed Jack.

Rowena swung by the nephilim's room every half an hour or so to check if he was alright. Sadly, his condition seemed to be worsening. Every time she'd hold her hands over him and utter the enchantment you knew by heart by now, having heard it over and over since yesterday, her face would fall and, while no words would leave her mouth, her expression would scream sadness. Jack was dying. There was no telling when, other than the vague soon, but he was dying. A few days, weeks if he were lucky, and he would be gone.

Rowena acted nonchalant, but you could tell it affected her. She was a bad liar, a terrible actress; as much as her mind was set on selling the indifference, her body told a different story. One just had to know how to read between the lines to see it. You knew Rowena well enough by now to see the truth in her body language.

She cared about Jack. She'd only known the boy for a day, but she felt for him. She liked him. She'd misjudged him at first, likened him to his father (in all honesty, who wouldn't? Not that many people would be chill around the son of Satan), but she'd quickly realized she was wrong. All it took was for Jack to utter a few kind words and flash her a smile, and he'd won her over. He was innocent of his father's crimes. Just another one in the long line of Lucifer's victims. Rowena knew the feeling well enough.

You pulled a chair over to Jack's bed and sat down. Pale and cocooned in blankets, he looked impossibly frail, as if the slightest rougher touch would make him fall apart. You'd never met a nephilim's before, but you knew this wasn't their natural state. They were supposed to be strong, powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Jack looked like a flu-stricken schoolboy on the brink of death.

Which he kind of was.

His eyes opened, big, beautiful, bright despite the illness. He flashed you a boyish smile, the same one that had melted Rowena's heart in the matter of seconds. "Hi."

"Hi." You couldn't help a smile of your own. The boy's joy was infectious. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. For now."

"That's great!" You ignored the 'for now' part. No need to dwell on the bad.

"Where is everyone?" Jack asked, looking around.

"Library. Still researching. I'm on a break," you replied. The truth was, you'd quit. There was nothing there for you to find. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Rowena had, as a last resort, started going through the books they'd already checked, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything. A waste of time, you thought. There was nothing there for them to find.

Jack raised an eyebrow, curious. "And you came here?"

"Thought you'd like some company." That, and you wanted some company of your own. The Bunker could get terribly lonely if one was on their own long enough. "I can leave, if you want."

"No. You can stay." The boyish smile was back. Even dying, the nephilim was all charm. "I do like company."

It was a deal, then.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, unsure what to say. What were you supposed to talk about with a one-and-a-half-year-old teenager? Half the time you didn't know what to talk about with Rowena, and you lived with her. You usually compensated by wrapping your arms around her and pressing kisses all over her jaw and neck.

That didn't seem appropriate in this situation.

Maybe silence was good. You were never a fan of small talk, anyway.

"Y/N, can I ask you something?" Jack asked all of a sudden.

"Sure."

"What happened tonight? To Rowena? I heard screaming. It was her, right?" He looked at you, asking for confirmation.

You nodded. "Yeah, it was her. She had a nightmare."

Jack's face was all sympathy. "It must have been a bad one."

"It was." He had no idea how bad. For the sake of his innocence, you hoped he never would. What Rowena had gone through you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

"I have nightmares sometimes. I never scream like that."

"That's good."

He nodded at your words. "Why did she scream?"

"Because…" Because she was traumatized. Because, despite Lucifer being long gone, she was still scared to death; scared that he would find her, that his hands would wrap around her neck again and his feet would pound at her skull until it crushed under the pressure and fire would swallow her alive. Because she didn't feel safe, and it was doubtful she ever would. You sighed. How were you supposed to explain that to a child? "Sometimes, when something really bad happens to you, it stays with you."

"PTSD," Jack said, full of childlike pride at having remembered the term. "Sam told me about it. It's trauma."

"Yeah," you said, breathing out in relief. The boy was knowledgeable enough.

In Rowena's case, though, trauma was putting it mildly. The flashbacks, the nightmares, the random outbursts of fear — they were more than mere trauma. The woman's soul was scarred, permanently, if her current condition was anything to go by.

Jack's face grew serious, as if he had suddenly grown up in the span of a second. The brightness in his eyes shut off like a switch had been flipped, all dark, no stars. It was an unnerving change. "Is it because of my father?" he asked, voice terribly quiet, almost a whisper.

"Yes," you replied, taking a small breath. There was no point in lying. As sick as he was and as much as you wanted to make it easier on him, he deserved to know the truth.

Guilt spread over the nephilim's face as soon as the word left your mouth. His eyes trailed downwards, stopping at his hands that were clasped over his sheet-covered stomach.

Your heart broke for him. It wasn't his fault his father was a monster. Nobody could choose their parents. What they could do, though, was strive to be good, to be better people than those who'd brought them into this world. From what you'd seen — and heard from Sam, Dean, and Castiel — Jack was doing a great job at that.

"It's not your fault," you said. "You're not responsible for what Lucifer did." All of that was solely on the bastard, may he rot in hell. "Rowena doesn't blame you."

Why did it matter? Why did you care? Because he's a child, your inner voice said. You were far from motherly, but you could recognize a child in pain. There was a time when you were that child. If you could help in any way, no matter how miniscule, you wanted to give it a try. You had nothing to lose, while Jack, hopefully, had something good, something positive to gain.

"She doesn't?" Jack asked, perking up at the prospect.

"No." You gave him a smile. You'd have preferred to give him candy, but you had none, so you settled for the next best thing. It worked, if the sparkling sliver of light, miniature and barely noticeable but there, in his eyes was any indication. "What she told Sam… She didn't mean it. Not like that. She was just scared."

The boy had won her heart quite fast. She knew she was wrong about him, and you could tell she regretted being so cold. Her cruelty had already hurt two children in her care. She wouldn't let for there to be a third. That wasn't her anymore.

"I understand," Jack said, a small smile playing on his lips. So forgiving, so understanding, even so close to death. Bless his precious soul.

"I think she really likes you, actually," you said and grinned in emphasis of your words.

Jack's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. "You do?"

"Yeah. She talks nicely about you, and she's been so gentle with you. Trust me, she's not like that with everyone."

Not by a longshot. Usually, it took a long while for people to earn Rowena's trust. Yet, all Jack had to do was utter a few kind words and flash her a smile, and she was all his. It was the mother in her, you guessed. Mourning for the son she'd lost, the son she'd left and hurt in unimaginable ways. She couldn't bring Crowley — or Oskar, for that matter — back, but she could be kind to another child. Jack was innocent, uncorrupted. He deserved kindness. His genetics didn't define him. He wasn't his father, and he'd proven it the moment he'd first shown himself before Rowena's eyes. He was no danger, no threat, no monster. He was a child, and she treated him accordingly.

Jack was grinning from ear to ear. "I like her, too."

That filled you with warmth. You couldn't remember the last time someone other than you said they liked Rowena, and said it so genuinely, so purely. Rowena would be happy when she heard it — and she would hear it. She still struggled with her redemption, struggled with other people accepting her. Knowing that this boy, whom she'd only known for a day, liked her would help. It would give her hope.

"She's really nice," Jack added. "Like a mom." His face fell for a short moment. "Sam told me she had a son, and that they didn't get along, and that he died."

"That's true," you said sadly. As much as you loved Rowena, that one was all on her. She would carry the guilt for her mistreatment of her son to her grave.

"That's a shame. She seems like she'd be a good mom."

You thought so, too.

"Back when she was a mom, she wasn't very good at it." Understatement of the century.

Jack frowned. "But she's changed, right?"

"She did," you confirmed. "She's very sorry for hurting her son."

"My dad wasn't sorry."

He looked away as he said it, features twisted with pain and hurt and yearning. He'd loved his father, and he'd wanted him to love him. But Lucifer wasn't capable of such emotion. People, even those in his own family, were pawns to him, puppets to use and abuse and destroy as he saw fit. Jack could love him all he wanted; the Devil couldn't — wouldn't — change.

"He said he was, but he wasn't. He lied to me. He pretended to love me, and he… hurt me," Jack said. His eyes met yours, as wounded as a puppy's. "Rowena's a good mom."

Better than my father, was the insinuation.

To be fair, a lot of people were better than his father. But you understood what he was trying to say. Rowena's change was genuine. Lucifer's wasn't. That, by virtue, made her a better parent, no matter how bad she used to be. It made her a good mother.

That was for Crowley to decide, though. He was the one she'd hurt the most. Sadly, he wasn't here to give his point of view.

"She's always been good to me," you said. Even back when she was a wicked witch, thought by many to be heartless, she'd treated you well. She'd never hurt you.

"Sam told me you guys have been together for a while," Jack said, genuinely happy to hear about your relationship.

You and me both, kid, you thought. "A little over two years, yeah."

"I'm happy for you."

This time it was your face that lit up. "Thank you, Jack. That's really nice of you to say."

No one had ever said something like that before. Not to your face, anyway. This boy was a gem. You hoped he could be saved. The world would lose a wonderful person if he were to die — and god knew there weren't all that many of those left.

Jack coughed, once, twice, three times, the sound tearing from his throat more like that of a sixty-year-old smoker than a sick teenager. A sick, dying teenager, you reminded yourself. This wasn't a common cold. The boy was mortally ill.

All because of his bastard father.

How many lives could Lucifer possibly ruin? He'd permanently scarred Rowena. He'd pracically murdered his son. He was dead, gone, rotting, and yet, his presence still lingered over his victims, destroying them from the inside one little piece at a time.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently.

"Yeah," Jack said as the coughing fit slowly died down. "I'm fine."

You're not fine, you thought. You're dying. "Would you like to see some photos? Of Rowena and me." Maybe seeing some happy pictures would cheer him up. It was worth a shot.

The idea thrilled him. He smiled through the pain. "Yes!"

You returned his smile. Dragging your chair closer to the bed, you pulled out your phone and started going through the gallery. You and Rowena lived high risk lives, so social media was out of the question. You had profiles on a few sites, but neither was in your name, and you had a strict policy of never posting your pictures on either of them. It was too dangerous. Jack was the only person who would ever get to see them.

The thought excited you. It felt nice to share your happiness with someone else.

There was a picture of you and Rowena smiling, arms around each other in a light embrace. One had Rowena leaning on your shoulder, and you resting your cheek on her forehead. One was of the two of you in bed, hair messy, smiles wide. One was from your trip to the beach a few months back, sun shining brightly in the background and almost obscuring your faces. One showed Rowena asleep in your lap, while another showed her sleeping in bed, with your hand on her forehead in a gentle caress. One had you making funny faces at the camera; it made Jack laugh out loud, which in turn elicited a laugh of your own. There was one of Rowena pouting while you kissed her cheek. And one where she was glaring bloody murder at the camera, with you resting your head on her shoulder and holding two fingers over her head as pretend horns.

Jack loved every single one. It warmed your heart to see someone genuinely like your relationship. After years of judgment and snide comments about Rowena being too much to handle and warnings about her leaving you out of the blue without saying goodbye, it was a nice change.

"There you are," Rowena said. She entered the room, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. "I was wondering where you'd run off to."

"Miss me?" you teased.

"Terribly. I can't live without you," she said sarcastically, a small smile playing on her lips.

You clasped a hand over your heart dramatically. "Be still, my heart."

"Aye, aye." She walked over to the bed. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Good," the boy replied.

Rowena was unconvinced. However better he got, it was only temporary. She knew that. You knew that. Jack knew that. Still, she gave him a smile that was almost motherly, warm and sweet, the kind of smile she always gave you when you were sick. I'm here, it said. I won't leave you. No need to ruin the mood with the awful truth.

"I made you a cup of tea," she said, showing him the beverage. "I hope it will be to your liking."

"Thank you," Jack said happily. "I'm sure I'll love it."

You didn't have the heart to tell him it was bitter. Who knew? Maybe the nougat-loving nephilim liked his tea without sugar. It was doubtful. But he would drink it and, even if he wished for sugar, he would tell Rowena it was great. That was the kind of person he was. Kind. Sweet. Innocent.

"Any progress?" you asked.

Rowena shook her head, lowering the cup on the bedside table. "Nothing. I was thinking of ringing some witches I know, see if they know anything."

"I could call a few people, too," you said. There were some acquaintances you'd made over the years, as well as people — humans and monsters — who'd owed you favors. It was worth a shot.

"Thank you," Jack said, "for doing this for me." His face grew sad, solemn. "Even if it's a waste of time."

"It's not a waste of time," Rowena said.

"If we can help, we will," you said. It was the right thing to do.

Jack gave a small nod. "Thank you. Both of you."

You smiled, and Rowena followed suit.

"Let's look you over, shall we?" she asked.

Jack expressed his agreement with another nod, and Rowena's hands were over him in an instant, eyes wide and flashing purple as she chanted. The news, as expected, wasn't good; he was getting worse. Every passing minute brought him closer to death's door.

All the more reason to keep trying. You weren't going to give up on this kid, and neither was Rowena. He deserved to live. And the two of you would do everything in your power to help make it happen.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @darktweet @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @elaspn @faeyla @hotdiggitydammit @1-800ahs @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @sunseteer5 @ruthiesconnells

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #jack kline #supernatural #spn #my fics #beneath the nougat sky #fic #fanfic #fanfiction

50 notes · View notes

theforeverhiatus · 6 years

Text

Don’t Leave Me || oneshot

Hi, this is my first phanfiction I'm uploading to this Tumblr, though not my first phanfiction written! I apologise for any typos. I've just bought a new laptop and the keyboard is a different size to my old keyboard.. If anyone wants to beta read for me, just let me know!

Read on AO3

Words: 3979

SUMMARY

Dan suffers from PTSD. He has a flashback whilst at Phil’s apartment and Phil finds him on the bathroom floor shaking and sobbing. Comfort and fluff ensues.

Rating: 17+

Warnings: PTSD, moderately detailed mentions of sexual assault, swearing, v fluff, vomiting

Notes: I am writing this fic based on my own experiences with PTSD. PTSD is different for everyone and can be expressed in different ways. In case you aren't familiar with what a flashback entails, this is a definition given by RAINN:

"A flashback is when memories of a past trauma feel as if they are taking place in the current moment. That means it’s possible to feel like the experience of sexual violence is happening all over again. During a flashback it can be difficult to connect with reality. It may even feel like the perpetrator is physically present."

A flashback can be relating to any trauma, not just that of sexual violence. If you require any help with this topic, you can message me and I'll be more than happy to help you find a helpline for your country or direct you to information.

Don't Leave Me

It was 2am. Dan had just arrived at his friend, Phil's house after trailing through Manchester in the dark with a bag of laundry and an ever-growing feeling of dread rising through his body from his toes to the tip of his wavy hair. He wasn’t entirely sure what had triggered him to slip his shoes on and head for Phil’s, but he figured that if he shoved his dirty clothes into a bag and brought them along too, then he had an excuse regardless of how weak an excuse it was. Manchester was quite intimidating so early in the morning given how empty and isolating it was, so Dan walked quickly and with purpose in the direction of Phil’s apartment block. It was only a 40 minute walk, but it felt like much, much longer. He daren’t even put his earphones in his ears for the fear of someone creeping up on him. His chest felt tight, and his throat constricted as he tried to take in deep breaths, but he tried hard to push away his anxiety, telling himself it was just because of how unfit he was. He was fine. He just wanted to do laundry.

By the time he arrived, the adrenaline was racing through his veins as he tried to reason with himself for the fourth time that day that he wasn’t actually having a heart attack. He hated the dark, and he had known before he left that getting a taxi was probably the more sensible option, but what student has enough money to spare for a taxi across Manchester on a Friday evening/Saturday morning? Not Dan.

As he rang the buzzer for Phil's flat, he suddenly realised that he hadn't actually warned Phil he was about to turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. After several minutes and no sign of Phil, Dan's anxiety began to sky-rocket. He was going to be stuck out here, in Manchester City Centre all alone, and cold, and he was certain there was a giant rain cloud looming above him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He blinked and tried to pull himself together. He was 18 for God’s sake, and he was acting like a child. Suddenly, the intercom let out a long beep and Dan heard Phil's tired voice. He could listen to that voice all day; the sound of kindness, reason, and love. "Hello?" Dan blinked rapidly to hold back his tears and cleared his throat. "Phil, it's me, Dan." "Dan?" Phil repeated, concern evident in his voice. "Umm, okay. I'll let you up. Hang on." Phil went silent as he tried to decipher the buttons on his intercom panel. Finally selecting the button to open the door, he clicked off, leaving Dan standing waiting, with small drops of rain beginning to fall onto him. The door began to open and the intercom fell silent. Dan began to drag his laundry bag up the 6 flights of stairs, reluctant to use the lift at this time of night. He trudged along the hall to Phil's door, careful to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible for the sake of the neighbours who were all no doubt sleeping by now. Dan crept along until he reached the right number, where he was greeted by a bleary eyed Phil, dressed in cookie monster pyjama bottoms and a red hoodie. "Are you moving in?" Phil asked. His tone was serious, brow furrowed with worry. "No, you spork. I came to do laundry," Dan replied quietly, walking past Phil and into the apartment. He dumped his bag next to the washing machine in the kitchen and began to kick off his shoes. He’d grown accustomed to treating Phil’s apartment as a second home, because it practically was. Phil told him that he needn’t knock, and had even given him the spare key. Too bad he couldn’t give him a spare fob for the main entrance so that he didn’t have to stand in the rain at 2am waiting for Phil to work out how to use the control panel. "At 2am?" Phil followed Dan through to the lounge and motioned for him to pass his coat which he then went to hang up in the cupboard. Busted. "Yeah. Laundry." "Dan..." Phil raised his eyebrows and looked into the boy's eyes, searching for the truth. He was met by slightly wet, brown eyes staring back at him, dark rings encircled beneath them. "You having a bad night?" "Maybe...” Dan muttered, defeated. If he couldn’t be truthful with Phil, then who could he be truthful with? Phil nodded and went to switch the kettle on. "Tea?" "That's so fucking British, Phil," Dan smirked. "Yeah, go on then." He went to sit down on the sofa, watching Phil as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head there. He sniffed, and Phil turned around to check that Dan wasn't crying. "Do you want to talk about it?" Phil yawned. "Sorry, I'm not bored, I'm just tired." The kettle came to a boil and Phil set out two mugs on the countertop. "Not really," answered Dan with a shrug. "I kind of just want to forget about it for now." Truth was, Dan wasn’t quite sure what exactly had brought him here in the first place, and until he had mulled it over in a safe space with Phil by his side, he had no idea what it was he was even meant to be talking about. "That's okay." The wind howled outside and Dan was thankful he'd set off when he had. The weather was worsening, just like Dan's emotional state. He smirked to himself at the pathetic fallacy and accepted a mug from Phil with a topless anime character on the front. "I only give Haru to people I really like," Phil smiled, "You're lucky." He sat himself down next to Dan, wondering what he could do to help. He settled for switching on the TV to try and help Dan distract his thoughts from whatever was going on in his mind. Tomorrow, they'd probably have a good chat about it, but for now, Phil knew that wasn't what Dan needed. He was also fully aware that Dan may not actually know himself what was bothering him, and that was okay too. Feeling low didn’t have to have a reason. The TV switched on to BBC1, and began to run through the news. A suspected terrorist had been identified in London, an outbreak of Norovirus was threatening to close an A&E department in Bristol, and a man had been sexually assaulted in Manchester; a third in a string of attacks. Phil flicked through the TV guide looking for something to watch, but the news played in a small box in the corner until he selected E4 which was showing reruns of the Big Bang Theory.

Dan flinched beside Phil, who didn't seem to notice. It crept up slow, burning in the pit of his stomach as the nausea began to rise, threatening to make him puke all over Phil’s cream rug. His mind slowly began swirling with a thick, black fog and he was filled with that all too familiar sinking feeling. Dan suddenly found himself having to exert extra effort in a bid to keep his vision focused; his mind was pulling him deep into the depths of his worst memories. He knew what was likely about to happen, and he had to protect himself.

"Uhh, I'm just going to the toilet," Dan muttered, quickly getting up off the sofa and rushing down the hall with urgency. No, not now. Please, not now. Dan's face began to burn up, and his cheeks flushed a bright red. Thankfully, Phil didn’t turn away from the TV as he mumbled his acknowledgement, sipping his tea slowly. As Dan walked into the bathroom, he was forced to steady himself against the radiator in order to stay upright. He tried to breathe just like his counsellor had taught him; in for 7, out for 11. He even opened Tumblr and searched for the GIF of the pentagon that helped you to breathe during a panic attack. He loved that GIF, and sometimes even found comfort in the slowly expanding pattern that moved rhythmically before him, counting his breaths when all he could focus on was filling his lungs with air. He tried grounding techniques; he counted the spots on the bathmat, and he counted how many shades of blue he could see in the room. Slowly, slowly, his focus faded. He lost grip of the radiator as he hit himself on the side of his head in frustration. Sliding down the wall, Dan curled tight into a ball and brought his knees to his chin. Why am I like this? His plan was to just sit tight and ride out the flashback as quietly and subtly as possible. The trouble was, Dan was an expert in judging the severity of his flashbacks by now; he knew this was going to be one of the worst ones, and he couldn't guarantee what he'd be like during it or who long it would last. For a long time, his counsellor had told him you can control this, Dan. You have the power to take back control of your thoughts. And Dan had tried, he really had, but it was just so disheartening each time to fight and fight against his memories, all the while being consumed by fear and despair until he was shaking uncontrollably on the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed as tight as he could, willing away the images that were flashing through his brain. He felt a soft, breathy whisper against his ear. Keep still. Dan let out a moan as it all came thundering back in full force. You're not going to try to run are you? No, Dan thought. He was firmly fixed to the spot, his legs like jelly. He couldn’t run even if he tried. Rough hands were pressing against him, tearing at his clothes as he sobbed. He held himself tightly, and cried out in terror. "GET OFF ME! STOP!" Angry eyes flashed him, and all he could smell was the bitter scent of whisky. And strawberries. Strawberries? A soft handed rested on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Dan. Dan. Dan!" This voice was different from before, and not as forcibly in his personal space. It was a softer voice. Huh? This isn't right. This isn't how it goes. Dan was sharply tugged back to the present, and his every atom was suddenly filled with embarrassment as he stared up at the black haired man standing before him. "Where are you?" Dan croaked out in a whisper. He could see Phil, but he couldn’t comprehend how the man was standing before him as he was hurled through this memory. Phil wasn’t meant to be here.

Phil didn’t quite understand what Dan was asking, but from what he had just witnessed, Dan wasn’t entirely in the same room as Phil. "Can I come closer again?" Phil spoke softly. "I think I frightened you a minute ago." When Dan didn't reply, Phil slowly edged toward him. "It's just me, it's Phil," he murmured, watching Dan carefully for any sign of discomfort. When Dan didn't flinch this time, and didn't continue to scream, Phil slowly lowered himself onto the ground beside him until he was sitting flush against him, their backs to the wall. Dan was watching Phil intently, his eyes still somewhat glazed over, but more focused than they had been moments earlier.

"Dan?" Phil whispered. "It's just me, Phil. I’m here." Dan remained silent, but slowly lowered his head onto Phil's chest, and he was quickly engulfed in warmth, and the very certain scent of strawberries. This was Phil. Phil was a safe person. He began to run through a list of things he knew about Phil; another grounding technique. Phil has black hair. Phil is 6ft 2. Phil hates cheese. Phil's birthday is January 30th. Phil wouldn't hurt me. He began to let out small, shaky sobs, which soon turned into loud, ugly wails. Just as he thought it was all over, the panic and terror returned all at once, and Dan promptly threw up all over Phil’s bathroom floor, narrowly missing Phil by inches. This only caused him to cry harder. If Phil was repulsed, or at all bothered by the smell, he didn’t give anything away. He gently directed Dan to the toilet where he continued to throw up until he was just retching, and his throat felt like it was on fire. Phil sat behind him rubbing small circles into his shoulder blades, whispering reassurance. “I’m here,” he soothed, “Just here, right behind you. Get it all out.”

Dan flopped onto the cold tile and Phil took this as a sign that Dan was done. He reached over him and flushed the toilet, pulling some toilet roll from the holder and wiping Dan’s mouth. “I’m about to take your shirt off, Dan. You just tell me if you want me to stop and I will, but it’s covered in sick.” Dan just sighed and continued to lie on the floor. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. Everything hurt; his chest, his throat, his head, his eyes, his heart. Though he remained fuzzy and distant, he was finally returning to the real world. Phil gently encouraged Dan’s arms out of the sleeves, and then pulled the t-shirt gently over his head, all whilst consoling Dan in hushed tones. He tossed the t-shirt into the corner and made a mental note to wash that as soon as he’d sorted Dan out. Standing up, and making his way to the door, Phil heard Dan whisper so quietly that he barely heard him. “Don’t leave me.” ”I’m just going to my bedroom, just across the hall to grab you another shirt and I’ll be right back.” Dan groaned, but Phil was concerned about how much the boy was shaking with fear and cold, so he quickly walked over to his dresser where he chose a pacman t-shirt and brought it back to the bathroom. He took a flannel from the side of the bath and began to fill the sink with soapy water. “Here’s a wet cloth,” Phil explained, holding it out to his friend. “Just give yourself a quick wash if you can, just to get the sick off. I’ll turn around if you want.” Dan whimpered softly. “You.” He opened his eyes, still lying on the floor shaking. ”Me? You want me to do it?” Phil asked. He was eager to have Dan’s explicit consent to engage in this intimate act, especially following what had just happened. The last thing he wanted was to scare Dan, or to make him feel uncomfortable. Dan’s head nodded ever so slightly, and Phil knelt down and gently encouraged Dan into a sitting position. He slowly wiped Dan’s torso, and then dipped the cloth into the sink, squeezing out the excess water and tossing it into the wash pile alongside Dan’s shirt. Tears continued to run down Dan’s face, and Phil felt a surge of sadness. His friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do but be there. He had so many questions, none of which would help right now, so he pushed his thoughts away from everything he wanted to do to the bastard who’d damaged Dan, and focussed himself on just simply being there. Towelling Dan off felt strange; not because of the intimacy, but because Phil had never done this to anyone before and it just felt unnatural. Once he was convinced Dan was dry, he tugged the pacman shirt over Dan’s head. “There you go. Do you want pyjama bottoms or do you want to sleep in your boxers?” ”Pyjamas,” Dan whispered. He wasn’t sure he could handle wearing so little clothing right now, even though he trusted Phil with his life. He wanted to cover as much of his skin as possible; create a barrier between him and the world. Every touch lingered on Dan’s skin, and though Phil had stopped wiping him down, Dan could still feel the memory of it against him as though it were still happening. That’s how he knew he was beginning to come back to reality; he could reason with himself that Phil’s touch was gentle and kind. He wanted Phil’s touch. “Okay. I’m just going to have to go and get some, but I’ll be straight back.”

Phil returned moments later holding some Star Wars bottoms to find that Dan had already shuffled out of his trousers…an improvement, thought Phil. At least Dan was managing to co-ordinate his limbs slightly better than he had minutes earlier when he’d lashed out at Phil, apparently unaware of who was nearby. Dan’s eyes were watching Phil intently rather than being fixed absent-mindedly ahead, and Phil noted the progress, however small. Phil passed over the pyjama bottoms, and Dan slipped them on quietly. Though he seemed calmer than he previously had, he was still shaking hard.

”Dan, I think it’s best we get you all comfy. You don’t have to go to sleep, and I’ll leave the light on. I’ll be right behind you, but I need to clean up,” Phil spoke softly, holding his hand out encouragingly. Dan grabbed it, and Phil pulled him up, slowly leading him into his bedroom. He flicked the bedside lamp on, and settled Dan under the covers, tucking them around him. “I’m just cleaning up. Nothing else. Then I’ll be right back and we can talk about it, or we can just lie here. It’s all your decision.” Dan nodded slowly and reached out for Phil’s hand, which Phil took immediately. Dan squeezed, and Phil leant down to stroke Dan’s fringe from his face. “Two minutes, okay?” Dan nodded again, and Phil left to grab his cleaning bucket from the kitchen. He hated sick. Usually, the very sound of someone being sick made Phil gag, but something about the urgency of the situation meant that he had successfully stayed by Dan’s side. He wondered if that was what being a parent was like; if that’s how his Mum coped when he and Martyn were sick - because you had to. The stench hit him as soon as he returned to the bathroom. Man up, he thought. He crouched down and began to clean his floor, spraying it with disinfectant that smelled like lemon and lime. He’d never seen Dan in this state before. Sure, Dan had come round to his apartment before, sometimes with an extremely anxious demeanour about him, and he’d even cried into Phil’s chest, but he’d never been like he had been tonight. Phil knew that it was some sort of intrusive memory, and he knew that Dan must have been through some sort of trauma that he hadn’t yet disclosed to him; the very thought almost making him throw up as well. His friend was suffering, and he felt an intense urge to help in any way he could, no matter what it took. Suddenly, he heard soft sobs coming from his bedroom. Dan was crying again. Phil sped up with his cleaning, and within a minute or two had finished; his floor looked cleaner than it had before Dan arrived. Quickly throwing some toilet cleaner down the toilet and setting his washing machine away on a hot wash, he rushed back to Dan’s side with a glass of water. “Hey, hey hey hey…I’m back. Dan, can you hear me?” Dan looked up in acknowledgement, his head rested on the pillows. He looked exhausted, and Phil knew he wouldn’t take long to fall asleep. He was prepared to sleep on the sofa if Dan needed space, but he thought he’d ask if he could join him in the bed anyway in case he needed the safety of having someone nearby.”Please,” Dan whispered. Phil lifted the covers and joined Dan under them, reaching out to find his hand. “Shhhh,” he soothed, “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Dan’s cries lessened, and his breathing slowed until he was taking deep breaths. Phil knew he shouldn’t ask questions, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to know who. If Dan didn’t want to answer, that was fine, but Phil really needed to know if Dan was safe now or not. ”Who was it, Dan?” Phil murmured, so quietly that for a moment, he didn’t think Dan had heard him. Dan’s eyes stayed closed tight. ”Eric” Phil knew Eric. Phil knew that Dan still knew Eric. This was going to need to be dealt with, but it would have to wait. “From Reading? The one I met at the reunion we went to?” Eric was Dan’s ex-boyfriend, who’d been with Dan through some of high school. Phil knew the break up was messy, but that’s all Dan had told him. He felt Dan’s head move up and down beside him on the pillow. ”Before I left for uni. Every time I saw him...he would...make me...” Dan’s tears began to flow again, and Phil pulled Dan closer, enveloping him in a warm hug. He held him close and whispered reassurances to him soothingly, running his fingers through his fringe. The sobs continued to rack through Dan’s body and Phil’s neck quickly became wet with tears. “Every damn time.” ”We don’t have to talk about it now, but listen to me; I will hold you for as long as you need, and I will be right by your side wiping away your tears.” He hushed Dan, and continued to thumb his fingers through the boys fringe, until he quietened once more. ”I’m sorry,” Dan muttered. “For turning up so late. And being sick. And pushing you away. And-” ”Dan. Stop.” Phil interrupted him urgently. “You have nothing - nothing to be sorry about. I am here for you always. You aren’t alone. Dan, I love you with all my heart and I will do anything for you.” His love for Dan, regardless of whether platonic or romantic, soared through him, and he needed Dan to know he wasn’t on his own anymore; that he would never be on his own ever again. The two of them lay there in silence for a long time, before Dan’s breathing began to slow, and he let out a little snore, relaxing into Phil’s embrace. Phil only hugged him tighter, quietly vowing to never ever let anyone hurt Dan again. He would protect him, hold him tightly, and most importantly, he would never ever leave him.

~fin~

If you’ve been affected by any of the topics raised in this fic, please feel free to message me. Also, I really welcome feedback/prompts, as it’s so hard starting out a new tumblr and I’d appreciate it so, so much!

#danielhowell #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #phillester #phanfiction #phanfic #phanmindpalace

11 notes · View notes

yourejustdifferentnow · 5 years

Text

Personal

Trigger Warnings: mentions of emotional abuse, mentions of suicide.

I highly doubt anybody will read this, and I don't necessarily care if anybody does or not, but I just need somewhere to vent and talking to my friend didn't really help.

I was diagnosed with severe depression, generalized anxiety, and ptsd at the age of 13. The summer leading up to high-school was one of the most stressful times of my life, and those hardships soon made me realize how abusive my mother was, and would become. Before then, we'd have typical mother-daughter arguments, but nothing impactful enough to ever damage our relationship. That changed drastically during that summer, when she began to lash out at me every time I expressed an insecurity or even considered shedding a tear. Instead of comforting me, she'd yell at me and invalidate my feelings. Obviously this only worsened my condition, and I'd find myself crying more often than not, and panic attacks/breakdowns had become my norm.

After a few months, she finally decided to send me to therapy and attending was one of the best things I'd ever done. I finally had someone validating my mental illnesses and truly listening to me, but because my mom didn't see much improvement within as little as six months, the abuse began once again. She'd constantly threaten to take me out of therapy, or accuse me of bad-mouthing her to my therapist. Whenever I'd choose to stick up for myself, she'd call me an array of names such as: selfish, lazy, bitch, etc. Rather quickly I began to resent her, and recognizing her true colors made me want to do anything but trust her.

This continued for the next two years, until I was 16 (going onto 17). She was the cause of the worst day of my life, in which her and my biological brother mentally and emotionally abused me for nearly an hour. I had decided to finally express my feelings to my mother in a letter, saying how terrible she makes me feel, and it wasn't all-too surprsinging to hear her lashing out only minutes later about it. She watched as I stood in the doorway of her room and shook in fear, and told me that she no longer loves me. She said I disgusted her, should be sent to a mental institution, and will need to find a place to live because she no longer wants me. Empty threats are her forte, it's a defense mechanism and her way of forcing me into submission and compliance rather than addressing the actual problem, but in the moment I couldn't have possibly known she didn't mean those things. That was the first time I ever wanted to genuinely kill myself, and I was moments away from swallowing a whole bottle of pills. If it weren't for my brother (not biological, I met him a few years back and he's been a better brother than my actual one) talking to me on FaceTime and calming me down, I'm not sure I'd still be here today. I recorded nearly the entire thing, her and my biological brother abusing me, and to this day I still haven't listened back to it because I just can't. Simply writing about that day brings me to tears, let alone talking or hearing about it. I recorded it in case I needed to take it to authorities to report my mother for child neglect and abuse, which was a serious consideration. For months after that incident I thought about reporting her, whether it be to my school or the authorities, just to get away from her, but ultimately I decided not to. Being taken out of my home and placed in a foster care seemed much more terrifying, and at least the abuse was familiar. Plus, my one cat, Angel, is my soulmate and I refuse to ever leave her. Even in this moment, I know for a fact that I could not live without her. I would impulsively end my life if I lost her now, and especially then. She's sitting next to me as I type this; she is my anchor.

After that day, it was blatant that my mother and I's relationship would never be the same. She eventually apologized in a therapy session where I had admitted that I couldn't wait to get away from her, and presumably that broke her heart because she bursted into tears. I did have some hope that maybe we could get somewhere, but deep down I knew I could never forgive her for that day as long as I lived with her. Things seemed to be okay for a little while, but then I graduated from high school this past May, and once again things worsened. My depression basically leaves me bedridden most days, and my anxiety prevents me from doing simple things like getting a job or my license. Therapy helps, and I tried five different medications but none of them made a difference, so I abandoned that path. I've made a lot of progress, such as returning to public school in 11th grade when I had previously isolated myself to online schooling. I used to not shower for days, not brush my teeth or ever leave my room, and now I take care of my hygiene on a daily basis. I move around more; I am slowly (very slowly) getting better. But that isn't enough for my mother, and so she's been down my throat about getting a job. I've had multiple conversations with her explaining how difficult it is for me, and that I'm truly trying, and maybe in the moment she listens but it never actually sticks. The threats have returned, whether it's about her putting a bullet in her head because she's tired of everything, or me getting kicked out because I don't contribute. I understand that I am 18 and therefore carry more responsibility than a minor, but the circumstances are drastically different for a person like me. Regardless, I don't want to blab on with excuses, so I'll get to today.

I confronted her about money she had technically stolen from me ($95), and I already knew it wouldn't go down well. My heart was in my stomach the entire day, and when I finally mentioned it, she lost it. I have been diagnosed with ptsd, but she only thinks it's in relation to a specific event that happened with another person. She doesn't know that I also experience it with her, and the moment she raises her voice, my heart quickens, tears threaten to spill, and in that moment I literally want to die. I walk on eggshells with her because I want to avoid setting her off; it affects me terribly. Anyways, instead of handling the situation like adults, she brought up me not having a job again and said I have until January 1st to get a job or else she's kicking me out. It's December 15th, and the holidays are just around the corner. On top of that, I do not have my license and my permit needs to be renewed, but in order to do so I need her to take me to the DMV. I don't have friends in real life due to my years of depression and isolation, so I am completely alone and trapped. Talking to people only helps so much, because at the end of the day I am still stuck with her.

I do not love my mother anymore. It truly hurts to say that, and even I want to doubt that I mean it, but it is simply the truth. I once loved her, and I still care about her life, but I no longer view her as a real mother-figure. She's a woman who gave birth to me and raised me, but not a woman that ever taught me anything. Not a woman that set boundaries, that allowed me to confide in her, or that consoled and validated me. She knows how to physically care for a kid, she knows how to buy them gifts, but she doesn't know any other love language and as a result, she does not love her child in the way that she needs. Talking to her is pointless, having my therapist talk to her is also pointless, this is just who she is. My mother is a manipulator and emotional abuser. She is not a good person, and I cannot wait for the day that I get away from her. I want nothing more than to run far away from here and never see or talk to her again, but clearly that is not realistic. I try and hold hope for the day that I move out, but as a college student, that will be years from now. I can not afford to live on campus, nor can I emotionally afford to be separated from Angel for months at a time. I truly am trapped, and I can't imagine that I'll live past my college graduation if things remain the same. Sometimes death seems like the only escape from her.

I didn't go into details/specifics of certain events or things she's said/done simply because anybody could read this. Police have been involved in one specific situation and it led to nothing; the case was closed. I'm sure that things don't seem that bad in the way that I've described them, but I wouldn't wish my situation on anybody; no matter how awful people can be. I hate that I'm pitying myself, but god do I wish I didn't suffer from mental illnesses so that I could function like a normal human being. I could get a job, get my license, actually have friends and want to hang out with them. My mom wouldn't lash out as much, and it'd be so much easier for me to just get the fuck out of here. If I could, I would run away to another state to live with a friend, as long as I could bring Angel. I wish I could live with my brother (the one I met a few years ago online) but he's still living with his parents and it wouldn't be ideal/possible.

I try not to allow room in my heart for hate, but how I feel about my mother is on the border of hatred.

I forgot to mention that I don't have any other family, because we've cut off contact from them over a year ago due to a few really terrible issues. My entire family on my mothers side are disgusting (this is factual, it isn't my mother making things up) and my father isn't in my life so I don't have his family.

I have.. no one.

#gosh #i kind of hope no one reads this #if i read this on someones blog my heart would shatter #and id just want to save them #my heart goes out to every kid/young adult stuck in an abusive household #it is so fucking hard #it never stops being hard #i just wish my life was different #personal #tw: emotional abuse #tw: suicide

0 notes