#the burn out is also not helping with the anxiety. isolation is getting worse again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

norman-fucking-reedus · 2 months

Note

Not really a sexual request but… thoughts on Daryl coming home upset? Like genuinely hurting over something or anxious about something. Personally I think Daryl would have some level of anxiety that every now and then can get bad so maybe something happens with that? Idk I just love your writing and wanna see your take on sad Daryl🫶🏻

UGHH I’ve been CRAVING some sad Daryl for a while I have this idea of Daryl having a mental break where he isolates himself from everyone because he has no clue how to properly communicate his feelings so instead he decides to stay in his own space and silently drown to death alone in his own thoughts.

Normalize holding adult men like babies because obviously thats what they are

I feel like lately my writing has been kinda bad?? 🧍🏾‍♀️Maybe this is just too short idk but something is OFF.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It had been two weeks since Daryl locked himself and your heart in the basement.

He needed some space, that much was obvious, but the worrying started the first week when Daryl didn’t touch the plates of food you or Carol would leave outside the door. He never left the room, never made a sound either. If it weren’t for the years of a living in an apocalypse, you would’ve thought he was dead.

Daryl felt dead, his bone weighing heavy with emotion and anger he just didn’t know how to get out. Years of bottling up everything now seeped through his grimy skin, mind running two miles a minute as his hands fisted his greasy matting hair.

He almost felt like a teenager again, rotting away feeling sorry for himself in bed while internal screaming at himself because lord knows he couldn’t do it vocally. He pushed everyone away, he needed to. Nobody needed to see him like this. Nobody needed to deal with him like this. Nobody needed to help him like this.

Daryl knew you and Carol left food outside his door, but he felt like he didn’t deserve to eat. Didn’t deserve to drink. He didn’t wanna open the door one day and see one of you standing there with a pitiful look on your face. He didn’t need pity.

He also didn’t need the jarring sound of pounding at said door. “Go ‘way” He mumbled, but instead the door creaked open, softly shutting. Maybe he should learn how to use a lock.

“Daryl” You voice was soft against his burning ears, however he felt a twinge of anger surge through him. “Get out. Don’t need anythin” He pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and only glancing over at where you stood with your arms tightly folded. “It’s been weeks”

He knows. “So? Gonna be another weeks too, now leave” You stood firmly in place, not budging.

Daryl screamed at himself for trying to throw you out, you of all people. Only his internal monologue didn’t match the one coming out his mouth. “Dammit woman I told ya ta leave!”

You stared at him silently, taking a few steps towards him and not faltering when he stood up, merely inches from your face. “Don’ need ya in here feelin’ fuckin’ sorry makin’ me feel worse”

“Well if it makes you feel any shitter I feel sorry for you inside and outside the door” You shrugged up at him, looking at him with a more causal expression than anything. “Why are you pushing me away Dixon?” Daryl bared his teeth at the question, angry at himself cause he didn’t know why. “Why’re ya in here?”

“That’s not answering my question” You scoffed, and Daryl turned to frustrated kick the night stand. “I don’ hafta answer tha’ stupid fuckin’ question! Why can’ ya jus’ leave me tha’ fuck alone?” He began pacing around the room, trying to put distance between the two of you continued to stubbornly close it. “Because I give a shit? You don’t get to suffer in here alone because think you deseve it”

You shoved Daryl’s chest, and surprisingly he shoved back, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Why not?!”

Your face softened and you grabbed Daryl’s hands, holding them tightly in yours. “Fucking stop!” He tried pulling himself out your grip, shaking his head as more traitorous tears spilled. Daryl grunted as you pulled his arms towards you, causing him to stumble which gave you the opening to finally capture him in a tight hug. “Get offa me” He mumbled even as his body desperately melted against yours. “It’s okay sweetheart” You whispered the words and walked backwards, lying on the bed when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“Ya shouldn’t- Ya shouldn’t see me like this” Daryl buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling an unfamiliar lump form in his throat. He no longer felt anger, but saddness. He was sad, so sad that he didn’t know what do to other then straying away. His chest hurt, and he felt so vulnerable in your arms that he just exploded, body shaking as sobs racked through him. “I’m here now babyboy, it’s okay” You, quite literally, tangled your fingers into his hair, soothingly scratching the scalp as Daryl’s tears ran down your skin and soaked your shirt.

It hurt so bad yet felt so good to finally, finally let it all out.

You moved to sit up against the wall, bringing Daryl along with you and positioning him to lay across against your shoulder, brushing hair out his red as he sniffled. You wiped his tears with your hand, staring down lovingly at him as you stroked his cheek. “Tell me what's hurting you” You whispered, listening to his soft whimpers and snotty sniffles. Daryl leaned his head against you, eyes flickering up to meet yours as he searched your face. He felt so grateful to have someone like you, caring about someone like him.

“Jus’ everythin” He whispered back.

You kissed his forehead, letting your lips linger there. “Anything in particular?”

Daryl shook his head, soaking up every ounce of attention you gave him. Each tear was wiped away by soft fingers, followed by a gentle kiss.

For the first time, Daryl felt like a little kid, huddled up sweetly in your arms as you ran your hands across his back, slowly rocking his frail frame.

He cried harder than he ever has, muffling sobs into to the fabric of your shirt. You only stroked his hair and told him that it was all okay.

And he believed you.

Daryl could physically feel the love radiating off you, seeping through his clothes and filing his weakened body.

It was so peaceful in the room beside from Daryl’s sniffing, he felt like you were the only people left on earth. As he glanced up at you through clumped lashes, he wished that you were.

“M’sorry” He mumbled.

You quirked a bow. “For what?”

“Fer pushin’ you”

“Away or earlier?” Daryl shook his head slightly.

“Both” He responded.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Ugh. I guess I forgive you”

Daryl cracked a small smile, one of his fidgety hands reaching for yours. His fingers were cold compared to yours.

“I love you” You whispered, squeezing his hand in yours.

He searched your face, eyes glassy as they once again filled up with tears. “I- I love ya too”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #norman fucking reedus #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion smut #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic

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acerathia · 4 months

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somebody's watching me || Chapter 4: Distrust

Summary:

Meeting him was your fate, your salvation, and you shall do everything to keep things this way.

Wordcount: 3.3k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Getou Suguru / Reader

Tags/CW:

no-curse au, Getou is still a cult-leader, cults, Getou's fake personality, dark content, Major Character Death, Paranoia, schizoid form of anxiety disorder, isolation, overthinking (in connection to the anxiety), some form of descent into madness, violence, stream of consciousness to show the mental state of reader, everything has meaning (dreams, colors, symbols etc.), warped look on reality, dissociation, blind trust, indoctrination, manipulation, mind-altering practices, polarisation of people/society, peer pressure, denial of reality, emotional abuse, body horror, drugs (implied), hallucinations,

Note:

Please be cautious reading this work, as it contains heavy themes, which might affect some people. Minors do not interact!! update!! i dreaded editing, that's why it took me so long, sorry oops, enjoy tho <3

You awoke from your suffocating sleep with a jolt. The hair stuck to your forehead and the back of your neck. Your body felt far too warm. Your breath went into your lungs, in and out, at regular intervals. Only a hint of horror was still in your veins. With a quick glance, you recognized your bedroom. You didn't remember how you had gotten here. Nor did you remember anything else after the visit to the woman. You frowned and tried to remember anything. Instead of memories, nausea rose up. One hand flew to your cramped stomach while the other freed your body from the yellow blanket. Legs cramping, you stumbled into the bathroom to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. A choking retch escaped your throat. Your stomach tried to get rid of the emptiness. But only a bitter liquid escaped you. The yellowish color of the bile had mixed with the purple of yesterday's tea. That was all you had ingested.

The emptying caused a throbbing headache to develop at your temples. Your sore body indicated that you were getting sick.But you were not sure. All you knew was that you felt drained.

With limp movements, you slowly straightened up. A little cold water on your skin would help. But when you looked in the mirror, you couldn't see your own face. It seemed as if your features were obscured by fog. This seemed to only clear the longer you stared at the image without blinking. Nevertheless, it never disappeared completely. But you could recognize your face again. Your skin was covered with burn blisters. With an alert look, you stared at them in disbelief. You did not understand where these wounds came from. Finally, you dared to put a finger on your face. Your fingertip lightly scratched the edge of a blister.As if it had been waiting for an opportunity, the skin burst open. Yellow pus splashed across your face, over the mirror.

You gasped for breath, trembling. One hand reached blindly for the toilet paper. When you finally got your hands on it, you began cleaning the mirror in a panic. It didn't even occur to you that this might make the situation worse. You simply grabbed a clean piece and pressed it onto the festering area. You then glanced at the paper you had placed on your face to assess the extent of the injury. But it was clean, unblemished. Not a drop was on the white. With trembling hands, you tossed the pieces into the toilet bowl and watched the water destroy the evidence of your situation. Your lungs constricted and you had to remind yourself to catch your breath with slow gasps. After a few breaths, you stumbled out of the bathroom without looking towards the mirror. All the way, your fingertips ran over the intact skin of your face, as if the burn scars would come back if you even lost control for one moment. All the while, you still avoided looking at your hands. The possibility that they might also be stained bothered you too much.

After a few breaths, you began to prepare for your daily life. In the process, an idea occurred to you .Why should you go to school? You preferred to visit the man again, especially now. You didn't understand why you suddenly thought that way, but your body longed for that place. Was it because of his words or the attention he had given you? You honestly didn't care.

With the decision made, you swung a bag over your shoulder and left your home. But instead of taking the usual route to the school, you turned toward the man's apartment. Worry gnawed at you at first, since you were normally not absent. But you reminded yourself that your absence would not be noticed by anyone, too few people cared enough about you for that. Why should they? No one was even considering striking a conversation with you.

When the thought occurred, a mirthless giggle escaped you. There was no other way to get rid of the pressure of loneliness in your chest. At least you knew that for this very reason, there was no way to get punished.

Your steps led you determinedly in the direction of your goal. While you had never moved with a specific destination in mind, it didn't feel bad. The problem was your memory... You had always had a hard time remembering paths and streets, let alone recognizing them. But you were too happy about this small success to worry about it. With a low hum, you marched on. Somehow it seemed to you that he was the only hope in your gloomy life. He was the first person in a long time to give you something resembling understanding, to offer you help without causing guilt in you.

Still, you hesitated outside the apartment's wooden door.What if you had misunderstood the situation? How were you to know if you were really wanted there? Whether you were allowed back? Was it even a good time to visit?

Your throat felt dry and you had to swallow a few times for it to feel normal again. You chewed on your lower lip, biting some dry bits of skin from it. Your heart was pounding in your ears and you felt that pounding in your stomach, making you nauseous. Still, you pulled yourself together and actually managed to knock. Once, twice, three times. Then you stood waiting in silence. Was it right to knock? It was too late to decide otherwise anyway. But had you knocked loud enough? Was anyone even there to hear the knock?

Before you could get to another knock, the door opened with a swing. You felt as if you had arrived home. But this was not your home; this was only your second time here. You didn't understand why you felt that way, but you returned the man's smile from the bottom of your heart anyway. Without a word, you were let in. Again he led you toward the living room, your footsteps muffled on the carpet. Should you have taken off your shoes? For some reason, you had completely forgotten about the previous day. A slight pressure settled on your shoulders, around your throat. But not as strong as usual. Still, you did not investigate this feeling. Without a word, you sat down on the sofa. For a moment you waited for a reaction, but none came. So, you did not dare to move, even if a pillow pressed uncomfortably into your back. Your bag was wedged between your arms and your chest. For some reason, you felt the urge to want to protect your body, to hide.

With a soft click, a cup was set down in front of you. Tea. The rising steam showed that the drink was still hot. The warm haze of the liquid drove the sweet aroma into your nose. The smell mingled with and intensified the pungent stench of burnt flesh. Your body seemed to rebel against it before you even put the cup to your lips. Your stomach clenched, as if in memory of the morning. The pressure around your throat intensified, clogging your throat. With difficulty, you swallowed a few times in an attempt to loosen your muscles. You didn't feel ready to drink the tea, but you could feel his waiting gaze on you. The fear of his disappointment had a much stronger effect on you than the physical reaction to the smell.

Your bag slid off your lap as you reached for the cup. Your hands felt shaky, but the man didn't seem to notice. Then, as the cup rested firmly between your palms, your forearms twitched reluctantly. Felt as if they were on fire. Your gaze wandered from the violet liquid toward your host. He had his eyes firmly fixed on you. Almost as if he was waiting for your reaction, as if you were the subject of an interesting experiment. You didn't want him to dislike you. You didn't want to disappoint him. You wanted to make a good impression. So, you pulled yourself together and forced your muscles to move. Forced the rim of the cup to your dry lips. The first sip flowed into your oral cavity and burned on the roof of your mouth. For a few seconds the liquid stayed there, rolling without having the chance to enter your throat. After a few attempts, you finally managed to choke down the tea. This action seemed to satisfy him, as he leaned back with his own cup. The tea in his cup seemed to be of a different color, but you attributed this to a sensory illusion or the glaring light. You cared too much about your impression on him to ask questions.

After words of excitement about the tea, there was silence for a moment. Only your strained breathing sounded far too loud in your ears. So, you took a deep breath to loosen your lungs. As you did so, your gaze met his. His eyes asked you a question, filled with expectation. For a brief moment, you had actually forgotten why you had come here in the first place. As you struggled to remember anything, your brow furrowed and you stared thoughtfully into the tea. A distorted image stared back. This one did not seem to move at the moment. But looking at your reflection still triggered a reaction in you. A hand was already on your cheek, but it was soft, without bumps. Then you remembered the reason for your visit. The morning. The alleged illusion in the mirror. The terrible dream. With a slight nod, you looked at him again. You had decided to only mention the dream. Nothing about the distorted images or the hallucinations. Nothing about the missing memories. He didn't need to know that.

Your tongue ran briefly over your teeth. With halting words, you recounted your night. You felt exposed as you revealed your feelings to him.You weren't even sure you felt anything while recounting your experiences of the past. You didn't want to show your feelings, didn't want to show your weakness. Therefore, you told from a purely narrative point of view. Removed the proximity from what had happened from yourself as a person. In this recount, you were merely a spectator, not the protagonist. But was this distance actually of any use? You only felt how you talked. You only heard how the words rolled over your tongue. So, why was your voice trembling?

After you finished telling the story, the man put a hand on your knee. His fingers barely brushed it, but for some reason the touch caused a pleasant tingling sensation inside of you. The warmth of his fingers penetrated your pants and heated the skin beneath. Even though you were normally not comfortable with the touch, you did not break the contact. It was different, somehow. And after all, this was supposed to be a comfort, you were supposed to be happy. You should be happy that someone cared about you. And you were, you told yourself, his proximity changed something inside of you. Yet you didn't want him to start despising you if you spoke out loud, once again laying your insides out to him to spectate. Especially not when finally someone wanted to be there for you. But touch was only part of his reaction. So you waited for words, for any changes in his face to distract you from the heating spot.

But words never arrived. Instead, he changed the subject completely. Was he too uncomfortable with the situation? Had you crossed a line? You swallowed your disappointment and tried to process the new reaction. He had handed you a brochure for a trip. A weekend with the group he was leading.You frowned at it. No part of you longed for the company of a support group.You wanted to decline. You really did. But you held back. Before you could really think about it, he began to explain the concept of the trip to you. In a sense, it was more of a gathering of people looking to connect, whether socially or spiritually. According to him, most of the people there suffered from the same problems as you did. You doubted that statement a bit, but it probably all seemed the same from a sane person's perspective. You bit the inside of your cheek and made a thoughtful noise. Granted, you didn't really feel like being social with completely random people, but maybe the spiritual part could help you. Still, you didn't say yes outright, just that you'd think about it. After all, your family did have some influence on you and you couldn't just be gone for an entire weekend. Maybe you could tell them it was a trip with the support group? That wouldn't be a lie, but it wouldn't be the truth either, but they had no way of knowing that. As long as you didn't have anything planned that weekend, you should be able to go.

You let him fill you in on the details, despite your uncertainty. The meeting place, the rules, the daily schedule. Then he handed you a registration form. It asked for the most important information, but also some information that you didn't think belonged on such a sheet; what did they need to know your deepest insecurities for? But you said nothing. After all, your host was also the leader and questioning his decisions would only lead to hurt feelings, mainly yours. You flipped through the pamphlet a bit, but didn't question any strange rule or description.

Then you packed all the stuff into your bag. Great, they would surely look amazing later.

Then, as you slowly lowered your bag back to the ground, he grabbed both of your hands. His fingers ran hotly over your skin, almost as if he knew where your supposed burns were, almost like he was soothing them. But you were probably imagining that. After all, you hadn't told him about the hallucination. Nothing about the phantom pains. At least, you didn't remember it. Had it just slipped from your lips as you'd talked? Your jaw ground your teeth and yet you did not pull your hands away. The contact to his skin was too comforting, too nice to avoid, let alone escape.

Your gaze traveled over his pale, strong hands and arms until it reached his lips. they seemed to move, seemed to form words. But at that moment not a single one reached you. When you noticed this, the words, the sentences flooded into your ears. You heard only pity from the sounds.You didn't know how to react, except to simply nod. You didn't want to understand those words, but you still had to respond. After all, you didn't want to lose his favor.

No matter what you were about to do, you couldn't suppress the almost silent noise of complaint when he released your hands from his.The warmth lingered, however, and you hoped for it to stay, to persist as long as possible. You felt stained, as if the strange hands had left an imprint on your soul. For some reason, the heaviness on your shoulders disappeared completely. Even if it usually never fully disappeared in his presence. You had to swallow hard. It was probably just the way being with him distracted you.

Still, your nerves didn’t take a long time to return as your thoughts wandered their usual route once again. This time, the reason had to be the proposed trip. Usually trying new things didn't go so well with you, and you didn't want to destroy what little good there was in your life once again. That made sense, yes. Your body only warmed up that way when you got nervous.The tightness in your throat was part of it, too. As if your emotions were looking for a way out through your skin, through your mouth. You wanted to wash out the pressure in your throat, but the only possibility to do so currently was through the tea. Its steam had fully dissipated, leaving the liquid cold. Too cold to be drunk anymore. You licked your lips briefly before noticing that silence had fallen. You avoided his gaze and decided to leave. Finding an excuse was easier than you thought. You were hungry, someone was expecting you, you had somewhere to go. The words of lies, of not lying, came far too easily to your lips. Since when could you lie as easily? Had the composition of your thoughts made any sense at all? For a moment you doubted it, but then he gave you an understanding nod. Whether his eyes appeared truly knowing, you would probably never know, didn't want to know.

With a jerk, you stood up and carefully swung your backpack over your shoulder. However, you didn't dare reach out to slide your other arm into the other carrier. With long strides, you made your way to the door. In doing so, you wanted to keep as much distance from him as possible, afraid you might be tempted to stay longer than necessary, than wanted. You knew that this would simply be rude, and you did not want to upset him in any way. So, you stayed at an acceptable distance. His touches had crept under your bones and you didn't know if you could take any more before you gave up on yourself, before you gave yourself to him. For that reason, you simply waved at him as you stepped out the door. The moment you stepped out onto the street, you wanted to turn around, but you managed to pull yourself together. You never knew when someone was watching you. When you could no longer see the building, you began to run.

You didn't know what you had actually expected from your visit. But it certainly hadn't been that. He seemed far touchier today. Of course, you didn't really know him, but first impressions were probably deceiving. Still, all his feelings did seem sincere to you. You were an uninvited guest, but you were promised comfort anyway. And comfort you got. Shining from his deep eyes filled with the stars and hope. The small chance of recognition was tiny in comparison. It almost seemed as if he had been expecting to hear from you. And that possibility filled you with a restless sort of energy. Yet, you hoped for more and more. Maybe that was why you immediately decided to just go on the trip. Then maybe you had a chance to prove yourself worthy of him.

Something inside you knew that this situation was twisted by your own mind. But you would rather did something yourself before someone else did, and causing you pain and disappointment. You didn't feel the need to be disappointed, so you preferred to disappoint the others first, even by doing the wrong thing.

That hurt less. Perhaps that had led to the fact that you no longer trusted anyone else, not even yourself truly. But in your opinion, they had only themselves to blame. The very thought made you uncomfortable. You shook your head slightly. He did belong to that category of everyone, and you didn't want to repeat the past, no matter how much you supposedly wanted to help your, yet your thoughts around him wound in an entirely different way. Everyone always seemed so nice, so friendly to one, but then secretly they had expectations, as if you owed them something. And yet... You had decided to give him a chance, give yourself a chance. You didn't really understand why yourself, but you already regretted it somehow. But as long as you had a plan, nothing could go wrong. You had prepared yourself for any eventuality, in case anyone did expect something from you.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto x you #geto suguru x you #getou suguru x you #getou x you #jjk x reader

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oncedied · 9 months

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Oh look someone finally put it into words. Ranting below.

But I have my own thoughts now about it and how like. I am desperate to be liked. I am desperate to be enjoyed, I am desperate for people to love me and love being in my presence. But I am also so, so scared, so, so easily intimidated that I see people interacting in and among each other and I burn with envy because what do I have to do to be worthy of the same. I know I don’t have to do anything.

BUT my brain tells me ugly things that I did something wrong or I’ve committed some unforgivable sin and that I’m some sort of public embarrassment, or I’m annoying, or I make people uncomfortable, and a whole slue of things that I dare not say aloud if someone asks because I don’t want them to worry or burden themselves with me when I’m sure they already have enough to deal with and even if they ask me I cannot bring myself to add more onto their plates.

And because of how vehemently intimidated I am and how violent my anxiety can get I distance myself from everyone. I become avoidant, vehemently so. I have no idea how to interact 90% of the time. And I am in a position where I want to ask my friends for reassurance that I haven’t done anything wrong and if I have how can I fix it, but I can’t. Because what if it blows up in my face and I end up hurt again?

I worry that I’m being ignored. But I can’t say anything because it’s accusatory, and how are they supposed to help when I’ve been struggling to engage to begin with? And I’ve been too reclusive to really put my best foot forward? I want someone to approach me about it and ask me what’s up so I don’t feel so bad about it but I also know nobody will unless I say something first.

So I’m just on the outside looking in on just about every single group I’m involved in. I can’t say I’m used to it because I’m not, it’s fucking isolating to be surrounded by people who you enjoy being around but you aren’t sure they enjoy your presence the same, it’s isolating to be surrounded by people you call friends yet you’re as lonely as ever.

It’s genuinely painful. My social needs are next to empty and are running on fumes. I’m tired of bottling up this entire mess because it’s genuinely starting to impact my health but I’m also incapable of saying anything because every time I tried to communicate with people it’s just ended in me hurt so I am SCARED. I’ve been told “it’s okay you can tell me anything” enough times by the wrong people. And I just don’t want to make life worse for the people I care about.

So I want to say it’s best that I’m just a ghost to everyone, so that nobody gets hurt even if it’s starting to toll on my health. I know I most likely have nothing to fear but I am anxious and traumatized and fearful and I would very much rather keep an illusion of happiness and stuff like that than risk potentially everything falling apart for the hundred thousandth time. But I also don’t want to turn tail because I’m not a coward. I know I put myself in this situation but it’s also out of my control at the same time.

I don’t know what to do and I’ve been dehabilitatingly depressed, socially starved, and in incredible pain because of this. I don’t know what to do and “just communicate” isn’t an option as of now because of my aforementioned fear that has had me hunched over the toilet a few times already deathly nauseous over it. I want someone to approach me but I also can’t wait but also if people approach me then I’d feel less scared.

#caydeposting #I want my friends back.#I’m going to take yet another nap #I hate when my mental illnesses get so severe I sleep either less than 2 hours or more than 15

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sarcastically-serious-smiles · 1 year

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It’s not much but it’s mine.

Recently, I’ve come across a fanfic where the author is someone from English major and the characters in the fic are pretty much passionate about books and yes I can see exaggerations but the underlying flavor is there. You can’t bullshit out of thin air unless you have an inking of what it’s supposed to be (and what is this saying about all the slow burn tags in my bookmarks) but it all comes down to another life that I would have liked to live if I was ever given a chance.

I’m just one in the 8 billion people suffering with my own foes just like everybody else is. I was born into an Asian household and one of my parents decided to fuck off and never came back even though they lived 3 streets afar in the same damn city. All of my favorite childhood memories include the times I was left alone in the house with my toys and thoughts so that’s probably saying something.

Then one summer, I discovered the wonders of books and I stayed up till 4 am when I finished my very first book at 8. It was translated from English but I was instantly hooked with the narrative of a soldier stuck on an island on a battle that they were inevitably gonna lose.

Looking back, that probably should not have been what a 8 year old in a country like ours should be reading but I was just curious because mom mentioned it was grandpa’s favorite who had passed away 20 years ago.

I think it all begun from there and I’ve pretty much loved reading as a hobby as a passion until in my mid tweens where I actually was too depressed and filled with anxiety and just latching onto any sort of authority figure in my life (read teachers) to find some sort of, I guess, purpose in life.

It got to a point that my grandma found the knife I was admiring my own veins from, and not knowing what to do but isolate me more, so rather than getting some sort of professional help, I was given more books.

Sometimes I remember crying because I could not buy the book I wanted and I’ve always had trouble making friends. I pretended a lot, and the very first time I read about imposter syndrome, I was left crying for an hour because I was living a lie that I’ve told myself and others.

It’s not a pretty lie, but it didn’t get any worse. I wasn’t physically done anything by anyone but fuck I was lonely.

Life was a bit kinder in high school, I got good marks to get into a good school, not of my own choosing,of course, it was never about my choice but my family’s. Like, you can’t throw away your life and all these Asian drama semantics.

In another life, I would have chosen literature. Any other life, I would have chosen to live with books rather than literally not this. Not who I’ve become. Not who I am now.

But it was never my choice. I was living in a life that I can show my mom what it’s like to be in her dream school, and put my bastard of a father into place if we ever met again and all the relatives talking shit about my elder sister can shut the fuck up.

But life was not that simple.

Mom would never blame me if I ever chose to rebel against my family and chose another school. She would be disappointed but she would understand in the end. She would not have to live day by day, seeing me suffer at uni, at home, at outside, and try to compensate my life at home for all the guilt she feels for putting me through it.

And I’ve never met my father even after 20 more years now.

Also my relatives never learned to shut up, they just shifted to different topics, and that was that.

It’s not what I wanted but I was given this and I should appreciate with gratitude, hmm?

Is this truly my mid-life crisis? Or is this my executive dysfunction making me wanna run away from the very important thing I have to perform 2 months from now on?

What’s with this timing and feeling?

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creaturebehavior · 1 year

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damn. life hurts. i think i’ve been having a really hard time.

i feel like i will never get out of this hole because the world wasn’t designed for me. i get burnt out every time i try to do what everybody else is doing

all i want is to run away. i have no income and nowhere to run.

i wish i at least had money for drugs.

i can’t believe i’m alive. i don’t want to do this anymore. i can’t wake up to this anymore.

i wish i at least could afford to use drugs. i can’t believe how suicidal i feel today. i haven’t felt this way in a really long time.

i wish i could be more normal. all i want is to work a little job and to make enough to get my needs met but i can’t even hold a conversation with a human or barely leave my house

I feel trapped. and i know if i try to kill myself again i’ll just end up not getting the help i need like every other time and for some reason i can never fucking die like i just won’t die i always live no matter how many overdoses or seizures are car crashes or the whole town burning down while i’m driving through it in my car but for some cruel reason i just won’t die.

i have to find another way. i’m honestly kind of afraid to die but i’m also so afraid to keep on living. i think if i were to seriously attempt suicide again, i would try carbon monoxide poisoning in my car in the garage but i’m just afraid i would have too much time to change my mind. i always think a lot about hanging myself so that i can’t change my mind but i can’t find anywhere in my house to hang myself from.

idek. i’ve been having a really bizarre week, mentally. i lot of flashbacks. a lot of dreams. a lot of recent fumbled social interactions m, reinforcing my fear of interacting with people. a lot of awareness around my behavior, past and present and how toxic of a person i’ve always been. i don’t know how to heal from this or change. i’m in so much pain all the time i’m such a selfish person, i’m just like my dad, my whole life is about how much pain i’m in and making it every im else’s problem. This is the reason why i avoid people and isolate myself from everyone, because i don’t know how to behave. i don’t know how to not act out. i don’t know how to regulate my emotions. i don’t know how to filter my thoughts. even if it’s accidental, i am rude. i feel feral. i feel completely detached from the song and dance everyone does with each other. i have such low empathy. i find it hard to care about anybody. i’m so burnt out, i find it hard to continue to politely pretend i care about anybody.

i’m clearly very unwell. at least i’m aware of it now, right? i just can’t fathom how i’m gonna get better. i’m exhausted. i don’t know how to try to care i don’t know how to be better. i cut myself off from the world. i try so hard in my little interactions when i run my necessary errands and i try to be nice but i still am accidentally rude and i come off very strangely. whenever i’m stone cold sober i appear to be on drugs because i’m so out of touch with reality and i’m so mentally fucked in the head. don’t know what it is. severe dissociation and anxiety i guess. I have been having to confront my internalized ableism as i haven’t been this sick in awhile, and the older i get the slightly more self aware i’m becoming. I realize how visibly ill i am. and it’s been difficult to bring that around other people because i feel so much shame being as.. out of whack… as i am. i wish i could hold it in but i just can’t mask anymore. i got so burnt out and i’m so sick.

ugh. i don’t know how i’m gonna get past this. i know something obviously needs to change. clearly i need some kind of help but i’m scared to get vulnerable with more mental health professionals. i’ve had some bad experiences in recent history that really messed up my relationship with therapy and treatment. i’ve developed trust issues that i know i’m going to have to get over but they are very real. my last therapist made me feel worse at every session but i kept seeing her because i was convinced it was a me problem, because i have a really difficult time opening up to people already. we didn’t click but i saw her for like two years because i thought i just needed to warm up to her because i already have trouble trusting anybody. and now i’m all screwed up cuz we had so many bad sessions i can barley remember what it’s like to have a good therapy session and when i reflect on all the years i’ve been in therapy and i’ve only really connected with one therapist out of idek what feels like countless therapists i’ve tried. It’s so hard to find someone i feel i can be open with.

idek. i feel stuck

#processing

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

Text

Heavy Heart | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Another Vent Fic, sorry. This time with Arrowverse!Roman Sionis (Batwoman Season 2), though. The episodes still aren’t out here, but I think I’ve seen enough Clips to at least get his voice and feel right. Sorry if not (in case anyone even ends up reading this).

summary; You’re struggling with personal issues, regarding your interpersonal relationships. Roman unexpectedly shows up at your doorstep and you have a heart-to-heart.

notes; Male!Reader; Reader has Borderline Personality Disorder; Favourite Person (FP); Rejection; Abandonment Issues; Spiralling; Mild Dissociation; Self-Harm (Scratching and Cutting); Blood; Hurt/Comfort; Unexpected Visit; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Hugs; Little Dialogue.

It’s only been a couple of months, since you and Roman have started dating. Honestly, you’d never expected it to happen at all. You’ve been his assistant at Janus Cosmetics for over two years at that point, while you’ve been silently crushing on him the entire time. So to say that you were ecstatic about the fact that he liked you, too, would’ve been an understatement.

Naturally, as it always happened, Roman has become your new Favourite Person all too quickly and crushingly. Of course, at this point in your still blooming relationship you couldn’t care less, because you were happy, you were on top of the world when you only thought about him and the way he kissed you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

Still, in the back of your mind, this tiny voice kept reminding you that every time you’ve had an FP in your life, it didn’t end well; and it never lasted very long – a year tops, maybe. So, you were cautious, like you always were. You were hyper aware of everything you said and did around him; how often you texted him; how fast you responded to him; how many gifts you made for him and how much time passed in-between them. All so you wouldn’t fuck it up by being too much or too little. You were desperately trying to find this golden balance between it all.

The last time you had a Favourite Person wasn’t too long ago, actually. They had still been it when Roman has asked you on your first date with him. But not even a week afterwards, they had suddenly stopped responding to your texts and ignored you. They had never tried to contact you again and you were far too afraid and anxious to do it on your own accord after too much time has passed already. After all, you had already convinced yourself that they had lost interest in you and hated your guts all of a sudden.

Of course, you had tried to forget about them, which was made a little easier by the fact that your entire focus was on one Roman Sionis. Still, it didn’t prevent you from thinking about this supposed friend at least once a day, if not more, and wondering where it had gone wrong and if the same would happen with Roman very soon. It was bound to happen after all, and since this particular friendship had ended so very suddenly after not even four months, you could only fear how long your relationship with Roman would last.

Every single day, you tried your damnedest not to ponder too much and let anxiety overtake your body. Instead, you attempted to just focus on Roman and how much you loved him, which was a whole lot and far too much, to the point where it caused your chest to hurt. Often times, you wondered if it would be acceptable of you to already say those three particular words to him, or if that would ruin everything. You were incredibly uncertain, and he never seemed as though he was going to say them any time soon. Either way, you forced yourself to be patient and not fuck everything up again.

The fact that Roman had asked you out, even though he very much knew about your BPD diagnosis had shocked you to your core, but it somewhat calmed you down to know that it wasn’t a secret between you two (you had even checked in with him if he really knew upon his question). Still, you often wondered if he was truly aware of how much baggage you had on your shoulders and just how exhausting it could be to be in a relationship with a person who had this particular disorder – not only for you, but for him as well.

As the months have stretched on with barely an incident between you two, you had allowed yourself to get a tiny bit more comfortable. Whether or not you should regret it was beyond you, when your best friends have suddenly ceased to respond to your texts and more and more people around you have seemed to ignore you. At first you’ve given it all some time and tried not to jump to conclusions, because you knew they were all busy with their own lives and weren’t always in the mood to talk or text – and you respected that, you knew exactly what that was like.

But as two days have turned into four and essentially a whole week, you couldn’t help yourself anymore.

Feelings of utter loneliness and rejection overcame you in waves. You’ve been short of crying every couple of minutes; your chest hurt so much; your skin felt so tight – you desperately wanted to claw it off.

Then, you started to isolate yourself more and more. At work, you acted mostly normal, just like always – putting on this mask of being fine and a good worker – when in reality, your entire world was falling apart piece by piece.

None of it went past Roman, of course, he was way too perceptive for that. But when he asked you what was wrong, you deflected the question and said that it wasn’t important, it would be okay in a few hours or days anyway.

That wasn’t the case, though.

It didn’t get better at all. The feelings just wouldn’t go away. Every time you looked at your phone and saw all the unanswered messages you’d sent out to people weeks and months ago made your heart heavy and your chest tighten painfully. The more time passed, the worse it got.

Eventually, you also just couldn’t help wondering about Roman and doubting his interest in you. Was he truly interested in you at all? Would he have enough of you soon? Would he drop you gently or harshly? Would you even still have a job when he did? Fuck, it certainly wasn’t the best idea to date your boss, was it?

As you sat at your desk at home, preparing Roman’s schedule for the next week, your phone suddenly pinged. Immediately you took it into your hands to see if it was Roman – he was the only one who you were talking to at all anymore, after all. But then you saw that it was your previous Favourite Person, the one right before Roman. They had reacted to something you had posted on social media. They had commented on it as though they hadn’t suddenly stopped talking to you months ago.

As soon as you saw it, your eyes burned with tears that suddenly pricked them, your heart clenched so painfully and your skin was crawling. You were hurt and confused. It was all too much.

Just half an hour before that you had exchanged a few texts with an acquaintance you had on social media, which was as unfulfilling as it always had been. They clearly didn’t care about you, since they would never once truly ask how you were feeling, but in fact only talked about themselves and their life’s struggles. You were nothing but a tool for them to vent their worries to without an ounce of care in what you had to say in the least. It was a role you’d been very much used to, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

So, naturally all of this was a lot for you to process – too much, really – and you felt so many negative emotions all at once. They were crushing you. You were in agony.

As the urge to hurt yourself to relieve the emotional pain and exchange it with a temporary physical one overcome you, you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and distract yourself first, before you did something you would later regret.

Unfortunately, it only lasted for a few minutes at a time, as the urge became bigger and your anguish stronger.

Only a few hours later, you decided to shower and as soon as you got dressed, you couldn’t even think twice before your fingernails met your neck’s skin and scratched it open. You stared at yourself in the mirror as your hands just kept on moving, all across your neck and collarbones, scratching away intensely until it was bright red, irritated and bleeding.

For a moment, you inspected the fresh wounds.

It still wasn’t enough.

You quickly disinfected the irritated, scratched-open areas and then proceeded to take out the small blade you kept in the drawer below your bathroom sink. Then, you pressed it against your inner forearm and drew a small, deep line with it, causing blood to well up instantly as sharp pain shot through you. You set the blade down and squeezed around your wound, forcing out more blood. You desperately needed to see it flow out of you.

A few seconds passed and you took the blade back into your hand and rested it a few inches below your fresh cut.

You hesitated.

Shaking your head, you put it back into the drawer and instead nursed your still bleeding wound.

After all, you’ve already done more than enough damage.

The loud and sudden ringing of your doorbell startled you and you quickly, but quietly, walked towards your apartment door to look through the peephole. Roman stood in front of your door.

Were you supposed to meet him and you forgot amidst all the pain you’ve been in?

Nervously, you opened the door and smiled at him. It hurt to smile. You could only guess how strained it must have looked, not to forget the angry red and mildly bleeding wounds on your neck that you had no way of hiding, then.

“Roman, wh- what are you doing here? Sorry, uh, come in first, maybe,” you stammered out your awkward greeting, stepping to the side to let Roman into your apartment, while your heart violently hammered against your rib cage.

“I’m sorry for suddenly coming by, but I’ve actually been in the area and thought I could pay you a little visit. I missed you,” he replied as he walked past you and hung his coat on the hook on the wall, “Besides, I tried to let you know by sending you a text, but I suppose you were busy showering by the looks of it.”

“Oh- yeah. Yes, sorry. It’s okay, though. I missed you, too. I’m glad to see you,” you responded softly, nervously looking around the room and avoiding his eyes.

Suddenly his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, your bodies flush against one another. His left arm travelled up and around when he cupped your cheek with his hand and gently stroked his thumb over it, before he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. You were entirely too overwhelmed and still a little beside yourself, but you reciprocated the chaste kiss automatically and put your arms around his shoulders.

When he broke the kiss, he looked you over. You could feel the shame crawling beneath your skin, making you feel far too hot.

“I didn’t catch you at a good time, did I?” he inquired quietly, grazing his fingers over the wounds on your neck so very lightly so as not to hurt you more.

Because of how tight your throat felt, you could only shake your head and avert your gaze.

Roman heaved a deep sigh and kissed your forehead softly, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmured against your brow, “May I ask what’s caused this?”

Hesitating, you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, so short of crying again, as you thought about whether or not it would scare him off if you told him the truth. In the end, you nodded, though.

“Let’s sit down first, please. Can I get you something to drink?” you said brokenly, daring to look at him for a second.

“Water, please.”

Quickly, you walked into the kitchen and got Roman a glass of water, while he sat down on your couch in the living room. Your hand was shaking when you passed him the glass and he looked at you with such a soft expression that it took your breath away.

Why wasn’t he up and running already?

When you sat down next to him, he set the glass down on the table in front of you two and put his arm around you, once more pulling you close against him. Your sides pressed together and you allowed yourself to rest your head against his shoulder.

“You can tell me as much or as little as you want, okay, my sweet boy?” he told you softly and kissed your temple shortly.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and exhaled a shuddery breath. Then, you started to tell him everything that’s been going on lately and how much it all hurt. Sometime into your explanation the tears that have burned your eyes started to flow and run down your reddened face, leaving painful streaks behind. All the while, Roman was quietly shushing you and rubbing your upper arm soothingly, and peppering gentle kisses on the top of your head.

When you were done talking, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your entire body into Roman’s side in an attempt to both vanish and be close to him one last time, before he would leave you (at least that was what you’ve expected to happen anyway).

Instead, Roman wrapped his other arm around you as well and embraced you tightly, lovingly.

“I’m not going to leave you, baby. I’m not going anywhere. It angers me to know how much pain people have caused you in your life, especially as of late, but I won’t be one of them, alright?” he assured you and kissed your temple once more. “I love you, Y/N.”

Stopping to breathe altogether, you could barely believe what you’ve just heard.

Despite your disbelief, you choked out a quiet “I love you, too, Roman. So much”.

The issues that caused you so much pain in the first place may not have been solved with it, but you felt a little more secure in your relationship with Roman now, at least. That way, you could now quiet down these nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that kept telling you that he was going to drop you any second.

Sighing deeply, you relaxed a little and wrapped your arms around Roman’s middle as you pressed your face into his chest.

For the time being, you could pretend that everything was going to be alright.

#tw self harm #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #roman sionis #roman sionis x male reader #roman sionis fanfiction #black mask #black mask fanfiction #peter outerbridge #cw batwoman #batwoman roman sionis #arrowverse #arrowverse roman sionis

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years

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Ur take on a malec beauty and the beast au please

ugh you got me in a difficult position here because on the one hand, i do love the idea of a beauty and the beast malec au. i just think the idea of a socially isolated person who thinks themself/is perceived as monstruous and who has locked away their heart and doesn't believe they could ever be loved fits magnus like a glove. but on the other hand, i don't want to make magnus, a brown character, animalistic, for obvious reasons. and i can't really think of a way to make him monstruous that doesn't fall into animalization/beastification (both racist tropes) or ableist tropes

so i'm thinking... maybe the spell is just that people are repulsed by him/fear him automatically? like it just creates this horrible almost impossible to ignore repulsive/fear/"fight or flight activating" aura around him for absolutely no reason and makes ppl be repulsed and/or hate him. even if it doesn't change his appearance at all. it's not really a changing or shifting spell, more like a spell of hatred

which like.... i know doesn't sound like anything poc/queer people don't already go through but there is a main difference which is that it makes it impossible to find a community. like even other brown and queer people look at him and feel this... huge disgust and even fear and might even hide and so the isolation is absolutely total and it fucking hurts. and besides it is one thing (a very bad thing) to walk around and have to be on constant alert because you never know if someone is going to be violent, and have to deal with occasional comments and disgusted reactions... it's another to consistently have like, children screaming and people cowering 100% of the time without exception, you know? he's basically living the life ppl with social anxiety think they live and he has nowhere to turn to, no one who understands or who's more likely to actually want to talk to him because of his differences. there's no one to lean on. even the people who love him aren't immune to it, even if of course they are not turning their backs on him

so anyway here are my thoughts: this was totally done by camille lol beacuse the whole backstory about being mean to an elderly lady doesn't fit magnus anyway and also i just like sprinkling camille angst where i can. so after magnus finally got himself free of her and her stupid claws she hexxed him back into isolation. both as punishment (a kinda "if you don't want me, then you have no one" logic) and just to make him more vulnerable because again, abusers want you alone and isolated and away from a support network so you are more dependant on them and more likely to buy into their thwarped logic if they can immerse you in it. so she's just trying to manipulate him into getting back with her, because she wants him and most of all his power

and basically you know the drill, if he doesn't find anyone who will love him romantically until the rose withers yada yada he will die. and again she just wants to make the spell so it constantly drives home how alone he is and how he can't find anyone who will love him (except for her), and make it so he's more and more likely to come back to her as time goes by because then the spell will be broken

(sidenote: camille obviously doesn't actually love him, because anyone who does that to someone doesn't love them. but as the one who cast the spell, she can lift it whenever she wants. so all she has to do is kiss him and lift the spell and be like "see, magnus? who else would love you like this, but me? even after all these years?". and honestly if it had come to that magnus would know she was lying because there is no way this is love, none. but anyway it doesn't come to that, that's just what her plan is)

anyway it still doesn't work because magnus is done and he won't get back to her, and he particularly doesn't want to get back with her after, you know, all this trashfire. and he just sets his jaw and is like "fine" and accepts that he will live however long he still has with his friends and people he loves and away from her, basically

and like gosh sidenote but this would have been so painful for his friends. camille very deliberately made it romantic love because she knows magnus has so many fucking people who love him, but him and the immortal squad have found family dynamics, not romantic ones. so there is nothing they can do even though their love for magnus is just... so real and pure and they hate to see him like this, hate to know that right when he finally got rid of her she made sure he still couldn't go out in the world. especially since magnus has always been so damn sociable, loved to be surrounded by people and to meet them and care for them. but here he is, walking as hidden as he can and with his head down avoiding eye contact because he knows the horror is there and some children run away screaming when they see him

and i just picture this desperate little scene with raphael in particular where he's just like.... "i'll try to kiss you. we have to try" and magnus is all, "my boy, you don't even like kissing, and she was very adamant that it had to be romantic" and raphael is almost in tears like "but i do love you, goddamn it! i should be able to undo this spell" and it's so sweet that he's trying and willing to be in this really awkward position where he kisses (yikes) magnus (which is just weird especially since magnus is kind of a father figure to him) because he's just... so desperate to have him free of her, finally, once and for all, you know?

but obviously it doesn't work, not even with dot, who had a kinda fling with him in the past but doesn't really feel Romantic Love™ for him even though she does love him, it's just... not what the spell requires. and it's unfair as hell and there are lots of tears but just the fact that magnus falls asleep surrounded in a teary cuddle pile after some of the absolute worst kisses of his life because his friends/family love him enough to put themselves in such an uncomfortable position in the hopes of making him free, is enough to make him feel a little better. and the fact that they are still there for him and obviously still love him so fiercely even though looking at him now literally evokes fight or flight instincts in them is already more than anything camille could ever give him. if anything, she's proven how loved magnus is

and that helps him get through it that day and is something he tries to hold unto in the worst days, but still, it's hard and it just... sucks. it's tiring to go out in the street and always have people staring at you and to see the horror in their faces and be so isolated and never really know what might happen, if he will be attacked or harrassed or what exactly will happen. so he isolates himself more and more and soon the only people who ever see him or visit him are his friends. and fuck, do they hate seeing him like this

things settle in a weird kind of way. magnus is still living his life and working as a wizard and etc and in a way the spell even helps him have some more credibility because you know, isolated scary person is kinda what ppl expect from wizards. but he avoids having contact at all costs and mostly sends the potions they request and stuff their way, and the only ppl he sees are his friends unless he absolutely can't avoid going outside. and he's fucking miserable. and every once in a while camille will come back to be like "so, magnus, are you ready to stop with this little tantrum of yours and come back to me now? how is the rose doing, by the way?" because god forbid he catches a break

also it turns out that magnus' adoptive streak becomes even stronger because he is 1- extra lonely; and 2- empathizing more than ever with the outcasts. don't get me wrong, he always has, he's a fucking brown, bi trans man for fuck's sake. we all see ourselves in the stray dogs and lonely people one way or another. but now this is turned up to a thousand, so, you know

so he has one (1) extra kind of contact in his life which is basically with stray animals (particularly cats cuz u know, this is magnus) that he finds around in need of help. they can all leave if they want, but a lot of them stay, particularly the black cats, disabled animals, and others that have a particularly hostile environment outside. you know

(not me again with my very specific hcs about deaf pitbulls who fall in love with my faves but LOOK pitbulls are very sweet and caring animals who don't deserve the fame of monsters that they have and if the idea of one being best friend's with magnus and them having a loving and caring relationship doesn't appeal to you then idk what the fuck to tell you)

this of course doesn't help his image cuz this guy is just going there and collecting black cats and snakes and has a huge pitbull around with him at all times but it's not like it can get any worse so magnus doesn't care, and besides, he can't just leave them out to die in the cold and harrassment of middle ages white ppl who think black cats are the worst possible thing but rats carrying deadly diseases are fine (and look, i know rats are also animals that get a lot of shit and persecution, but like, seriously, clean the streets)

and every once in a while there will be a person in need too, like a homeless person in need of a place to stay or some sick person who has been abandoned or something of the sort, so magnus brings them in as well and cares for them as well as he can, but also tries to maintain minimal contact because he's been burned too many times, okay

so like, cue alec! i know in the original BATB belle ended up with the beast to save her father's life but fuck that. i lowkey consider making it "izzy ran away from home so alec comes after her and they both end up staying with magnus" but i think i like it better if it's just alec who decided to leave. like he's done with the abuse both towards him and his sister and he wants to be able to live his life even if he's gonna have to start over in some other village all alone. anywhere but here and all that

and of course alec used to be plenty rich and he has a lot of skills that help him pass by - he's a good archer and hunter, he's a good leader and organizer so he could do wonders for a failing business, he's smart and cunning - but he also has, like, 2 gold coins to his name. maybe some more from stuff he took from home and sold, but still

initially he is living at a tavern and i guess i'm making simon, raphael, and maia tavern owners again! i don't even care anymore, it suits them. rapha is the cook and the three of them run the business and simon also makes musical appearances during dinners every once in a while, and they are living the happy queer polyamorous life of their dreams. we have no choice but to stan

anyway alec is staying with them and he becomes friends with i think maia in particular since, you know, she is the one with the most contact with the customers since rapha is in the kitchen and simon is up the stage most of the time. plus they are both the same brand of bastard and they have an easy understanding between them that just works

and look! simon, raphael, and maia are 3 trans, non-christian/non-white (unnecessary addendum: the concept of whiteness didn't exist until around the 17th century, but whiteness as a concept came basically as a substitute for christianity [link to source], so i'm counting the fact that simon is jewish and raphael and maia are not culturally european as equivalent to non-whiteness in this context) people, so it's not like they would ever kick a gay man running from an abusive home out. but you know what they also are? magnus' friends. and after a while of talking to him maia thinks he is trustworthy enough for them to send magnus' way, because magnus needs as many friends as possible. plus, he wouldn't kick a person in need out, so unlike with them magnus can't really push this newcomer away so he'd have more company. plus, the possibility that he might fall in love with magnus and undo the stupid spell is there, i'm just saying! i'm not saying it WILL happen but why not give it a fucking shot?

raphael in particular is of course super protective of magnus and he swears to god that if this guy gives him half a bad look raphael will end him, which earns him some pats on the shoulder for his troubles and "rapha, we don't want magnus to be hurt either"s. maia says that she's been assessing him for quite a while now and she's pretty positive that he won't be terrible to magnus, but if she's wrong, she'll kill him personally too. and rapha trusts maia. how could he not? she's maia

so, they send alec magnus' way. "i'm sorry alec, but we are struggling to make ends meet *hides gigantic gold stash* and the tavern is packed *raphael upstairs stomps at maximum speed to make it seem like their 13 empty rooms upstairs actually have people* and we really need your room to give to this customer *simon in a wig* BUT we have a friend who we're sure will give you shelter if you ask, it's not very far away, and once we have a free room we will let you know". and alec is just like, okay, because he's been staying there for free or considerably less than the usual fee/in exchange for some stuff he hunts for quite a while now, and they are nice, so it's not like he can complain

and they don't tell him about the spell exactly because it is not their story to tell but they do let him know what to expect re: magnus' vibes and say it's a spell. and alec's like ok i guess. alec's very practical, he doesn't really care, and it's not like it's the guy's fault anyway. which is exactly why maia is sending alec there

so they send magnus a heads up ("magnus this guy is HOMELESS and we are SOOOOO packed can you please give him shelter for a little while thx xoxo"). alec arrives there a while later carrying like 3 prime rabbits he has hunted as a thank you gift because he hates being dependant on people but it's not like jobs abound in the middle ages, and he is actually a little embarrassed to go in and ask this guy he doesn't know for shelter but he IS kinda desperate. for now

anyway he is standing there with his 3 rabbits debating whether or not to knock on the door and magnus just opens it magically like "i know you're there, dear, just come in" so alec does and awkwardly presents him the rabbits and shit and is all "thanks for letting me stay, uh. i can help you with food and taking care of the house and stuff" even though, you know, magnus has magic and doesn't need it

(and magnus appreciates it deeply, because it is tiring to do it all magically on his own but most non-magical people don't even consider that)

and like... it is very awkward at first because magnus does NOT trust at all and he mostly just wants to keep away from anyone who can... look at him. but they ARE living together (oh my god they were roommates!! just kidding they each have their own room but you get it) so it's inevitable. but like magnus' insecurity makes him keep to himself for long times and makes things awkward, kinda like how the initial days with the beast and belle the beast was rude and kinda shitty except magnus is not shitty, just... private

and maybe the subject even comes up like "thanks for the meal alec. i'll go eat it in my room" "i mean, you could eat here if you want" "and ruin your appetite? no thank you" and alec is just like "*shrug* it won't ruin my appetite. unless you are my parents, the concept of failure, or some girl wanting me to marry her, i don't think there's a lot the spell can do to make me scared. besides, you literally have a kitten on top of your head right now and you refuse to remove it and are using a spell to keep her from jostling when you move" "her name is Fluffy, and she is sleeping!" "right, my bad" "wait did you say the concept of failure?" "yea"

it's not that the spell doesn't work on alec; it does, just like it works on his friends. but he is willing to go beyond that initial repulsive reaction that he knows is illogical anyway (and alec is the kind of guy who is just like "if my feelings aren't logical, i don't listen to them" which in this case is useful lmao). and the thing is that once you get to know magnus there is nothing about him that is scary, and the feeling just becomes completely ignorable, because humans are nothing if not adaptable. but most people don't want to go through the trouble to try, and magnus himself doesn't want to let himself be vulnerable enough to give them a chance because there IS a great chance that he will be met with some level of aggression, even if it's an unintentional microaggression

and eventually they grow closer and build trust. i think this happens particularly when camille steps in for one of her regularly schedule shoving-it-in-magnus'-face visits and alec is just like. "hey why don't you just use magic to keep her away?" and magnus realizes that he never even THOUGHT of that and like, jesus, how much has he been unconsciously torturing himself? so he does it, and he ends up telling alec about the story of the spell, which might be the first time he's told someone that didn't know him before the spell was cast

(alec: "so she's basically just killing you slowly?" magnus: "don't be silly, alexander. torturing me first is the most important part". and he sounds self deprecating and almost resigned and god alec feels murderous)

ohh but wait bonus: magnus says that she will only undo the spell if he gets back with her, he doesn't mention that it technically can be undone by romantic love or whatever bullshit's going on because he doesn't believe it can happen anyway, so, who cares

anyway! time goes by. fun fact: alec and magnus get along really fucking well. magnus is so so smart and knowledgeable and he shows alec many of his inventions that never got to see the light of day or that were stolen by someone else who wasn't cursed and took all the credit. he also fascinates alec with his magic, but mostly with his personality. there's something just endlessly endearing about this guy who is so fucking proud of his puns and so so nice and gentle to every creature he encounters, be it a kitten or a pitbull, who's letting alec stay with him for no reason other than that alec needs it

and alec is so goddamn appreciative of it because like he IS and we stan! and he's always trying to give back to magnus which is kind of a rarity, but most of all he's also extremely funny beneath the whole no-bullshit attitude, he's caring and fierce and resourceful and strong (so's magnus) and they click so well. they can also talk about their similar experiences with like, abuse and trauma without making it super heavy and they're just,,, so supportive of each other. so like yeah surprise surprise they fall in love

but they don't really say anything because (on magnus' part) that's just fucking ridiculous, he's a monster; and (on alec's part) he will put magnus is a way too uncomfortable position if magnus doesn't like him that way and they will just... be living together. and magnus will feel like he has to compensate to alec somehow and alec doesn't want that. it's just complicated when one of them is dependant on the other, and besides, alec has had very little to offer magnus so far

(no, he has no idea how much his company means to magnus and has brighted his depressed ass life. he is stupid)

sometimes magnus' friends visit and they're always just so happy for him, to see how he's hanging out more and let someone into his life after so long. it earns him a lot of forehead kisses and "i'm so happy to see you like this". and over time he starts to invite them over more as well as just open up back to the people in his life :')

angsty but also kind of fluffy sidenote: i picture that every time they kiss his forehead or cheek or whatever they linger for a little while and then open their eyes slowly and sigh like "i had been hoping that it would work this time. magnus, you know i love you, right?" and magnus is all like "i know just from you saying that, darling. it's just not how the spell works" and aaa

and like to be extra clear im not saying that alec fixes him or romantic love heals him or whatever, just that having let someone in, someone who didn't know him before the spell, and have them completely accept him and realize how much he had been missing out re: touch and human contact helps him realize how much he misses his friends and how pushing them away is stupid when they've never been anything if not supportive of him. they don't care that he's cursed. and obviously magnus was already on the way to that if he even managed to let alec in anyway

anyway! dramatic healing scene. LOOK. usually i'd be all for "they don't change back actually because people don't have to look beautiful to be lovable". like the original BATB disappointed me sooo badly because i had just been hoping that he'd stay the same way and still be loved. but in this case it's not that magnus doesn't look beautiful! it's that the spell has made him be hated by people for no reason other than existing. and breaking the spell is not changing magnus himself, it's changing that hatred. so, yeah. i'm not saying it's a deep metaphor or anything, just, you know daudhasdja it's different from the usual monster thing

and i'm torn here because on the one hand i LOVE the drama of the original BATB where everyone decides to gather to kill the beast and belle saves him and shit, but idk if it fits with the vibe ive been building here. no actually @ me shut the fuck up. you know how i mentioned that they kick camille out with magic finally? i actually had no intentions of following through with this in any way but like of COURSE she would be absolutely pissed out of her mind and want to get back in some way, we already know she's vindictive. so i'm gonna use that. this is what neil gailman meant when he said that writing is just making a rough draft and then writing it again but like it's on purpose this time

anyway! so after they yeet her camille is obviously furious and fuming and it might have finally dawned on her that magnus will NOT fucking cave and she is losing power over him, not gaining it. so she decides to play a last card and get him to almost die so he kind of HAS to take her bid, you know? so she makes up some shit about how magnus has kidnapped the lightwood heir and she's only now hearing about it, and no one else is safe and yada yada. and she has "proof" because alec IS indeed there and again the spell just helps everyone easily agree with her that magnus is That Kind Of Guy or whatever, and middle ages ppl weren't exactly waiting for a good enough reason to grab their pitchforks. and they don't even KNOW about the spell, really. all they know is that he's very powerful, secluded, and they all fear and almost hate him just from one look

so camille makes up some bullshit story about how he made a deal with the devil to become extra powerful, and that the source of his powers is the rose, so they have to get rid of the rose to kill him. (sidenote: i never understood why the hell the rose was never used as a weakness against the beast. like was he keeping it super guarded and safe just for the fucking shits?) so they devise an attack so someone can sneak up and get the rose, and camille makes up some bullshit story about how they have to destroy the rose a specific way so it takes longer and she has time to manipulate magnus before he dies. man, it's easy to be a villain when your target is secluded

anyway! big attack at magnus' house. magnus' friends don't hear about it until it's too late because camille knows exactly who they are and warned them that they were on "the witch's" side. alec is maybe away hunting when it happens? camille obviously has magic in this AU so she can check for that information. maybe she even says that she will be the one responsible for finding the lightwood heir so there is minimal risk of him revealing that she lied lmao

oh no, violence! they battle and yada yada. catarina is probably the first one to realize what is happening because i figure she, madzie, and dot are the ones who live closest to magnus'. they send fire messages and get ragnor, simon, maia, raphael, and meliorn to help. oh yeah, and alec i genuinely forgot trust me to forget about romance in a romance-focused au. but alec is the only one of them without any magical resources and he's far away and on foot, so he's gonna be the last to get there, which camille had been counting on

but alec or no alec, they can keep the attackers at bay because they're all powerful and smart and shit and a lot of them have magic as opposed to the mundanes who don't, but of course that's mostly because they are holding off on attacking and the invasion is mostly a distraction because their PLAN is to use the rose. and camille tells them all to leave once the petal puckering starts so she can "protect them from any lashouts" (have her big villain speech). and it's not like any of magnus' friends is gonna leave to go after them when magnus is dying, bUT they also won't attack camille because she's his only hope. and they won't be able to get to stop the rose plucking in time because that's in another room and while she made it slower than something that the person can use to kill him in a second it's also not slow enough for them to get there on time (maybe there's a spell against magic use near where magnus keeps the rose? just for extra safety, so the ones with magic can't portal there or whatever)

anyway. big villain speech. magnus screams in pain every time a new petal is plucked. his friends are either running to the rose thing desperately or trying to get camille to stop this madness, she's going to kill him for fuck's sake. i don't know which chooses to do what so you can figure that out i guess. and for that extra drama, right when the last petal was going to be plucked, wee woo alec lightwood arrives! and he went straight for the rose because magnus had told him about it and he figured that there was a good chance the attackers might go for it. so he shoots the person's leg or something and gets them away from the rose and yay, day saved! mostly. because now there is only one petal left to fall before magnus dies, so at the very least, his lifespan has been shortened considerably. also, he is still in pain

i'm torn about what happens to camille then. on the one hand, i love killing camille! bonding activities for the whole family. on the other, she kinda is the only one who can save him now. they all know magnus won't want to get back with her, but hey, it's not like camille wants a relationship! she wants magnus to be her asset. a relationship was just the best way to get him to do that she had initially. but magnus doesn't want to cave and be dependant of her, so, you know. but maybe they can try to convince her to stop this fucking madness, god knows how

so okay yeah no camille-killing yet because they don't want to jeopardize magnus' safety, so she just leaves convinced that either way, she wins, and this might be the best possible scenario actually because magnus will have lots of times to think it over and be real desperate and come to her and strike a deal. so, yay her! she just needs to lie to the mundanes that the mission was successful or whatever, and it's not like that's gonna be hard because magnus won't want to be seen there again, so

we are all running to check up on magnus now. he's kinda like, on the ground coughing blood, but he'll live for as long as the last rose doesn't fall. still, they all settle on trying to help him, getting him in bed, tending to his wounds, etc. and thinking about what the fuck they are all going to do now. so you have raphael and maia making magnus soup, simon running his mouth as he throws around ideas on how they can fix this, ragnor, cat, dot, and madzie (who is here now that the danger is over ofc) checking and rechecking magnus' vitals for the billionth time and trying to figure out how much time they have, meliorn using their fae powers to stop his pain. and madzie is all snuggled in bed with magnus holding his hand and asking if he wants her to tell him a bedtime story, and magnus just... feels cared for and loved

alec meanwhile i think would tell what ACTUALLY happened to the person who was doing the rose thing - i actually have thought about it and think it might make sense for it to be luke. just because i love him and it kinda fits the whole "initially sided with shadowhunters, lately became a downworlder" thing. and like luke genuinely believed he was saving a person/people so alec brings him in too and magnus is all "catarina, dear, can you help heal his leg? i would, but i don't think i have enough magic right now" because he is the sweetest man immediately wanting to help the guy who almost killed him. and luke is in awe

(and alec brings him on purpose, too, because he knows that anyone who actually talks to magnus for a little while will see what an amazing person he is. and he hopes that luke, as a mundane, can tell the others that and turn them against camille)

and after that, of course, alec sits down by magnus' side and Does Not Leave. he's just there holding his hand and talking to him and magnus' friends, who are all also kind of. sitting there, trying to snuggle up in a gigantic pile of like 10 ppl to cuddle close to magnus and make sure he feels loved and cared for and that they know he is real. madzie gets special privileges in that sense because she's smaller and also a kid, so she gets to be kinda snuggled up with him. so alec has to be content with holding magnus' hand lmao (which he is, he's just happy that he's alive and okay. and he has a whole plan to get camille to undo the spell, mostly involving getting the mundanes against her and telling her that she is only safe for as long as magnus lives, because once he dies, she will have a bunch of ppl who will hunt her down to the faces of the earth to make her pay for what she did to him. the only reason they didn't do that yet is because she can still save magnus' live, so is she really going to let him die knowing that she will be next?)

so alec takes his hand and tells magnus that they will fix this, he promises, and give a little kiss on magnus' hand. just a little peck, no deep intentions, but magnus gasps a little because he feels something, and his eyes water a little bit because he's so touch starved and tired and hurt and alec kissed his hand and he can feel this kind of ache inside him, somehow a good ache, but he just can't explain it. and so alec notices his watery eyes and he very tenderly wipes his tears away and tells him that they're all on his side, will always be, and kisses him on the forehead. and this kiss? this kiss is full of adoration and love and purpose, and magnus gasps and the wounds that hadn't been healed suddenly mend together, and the petals that had fallen go back to the rose before it disappears in a beautiful flash of light, and suddenly magnus' magic is back full force and he just looks at himself for a second, and everyone erupts into joy because holy shit, the spell is broken

and alec is so confused because again! he didn't kNOW about the whole true love's kiss thing or he would have asked magnus to let him kiss him as soon as he learnt about his feelings, because even if magnus didn't feel the same way, alec could undo the spell. and he's like "why the hell didn't you tell me?? we could have fixed this months ago" and magnus is like "i didn't think it would make a difference. wait, you're in love with me? have been for months?" and alec is like "first of all, yes. second of all, i have nothing else to say, i just said 'first of all' because i was so indignant"

and magnus laughs and jumps on him and kisses him on the mouth this time and they are both smiling and laughing into it and so so happy. and raphael is kind of just peppering kisses on maia's face too, like, "you were right, he undid the spell, thank you" and maia was never sure that this would happen but she will take the credit actually please and thank you

and they all live happily ever after and kill camille together the end i guess. god this post was so long i'm so sorry

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Text

look me up and define me (please remind me) (part 2/2)

He is whatever puts Thomas first. But that changes so often that he doesn’t know what he is beyond that.

He is Janus when he is alone, but only when he is not someone else.

Janus has never minded the fact that his identity is fluid, ever-changing. He acts as whoever Thomas needs him to be in the moment, and if that means he doesn't know much about himself as an individual, well. It's never been a problem for him.

Until he gives away his name, and then it very much is.

Chapter Warnings: identity issues, body dysphoria, body horror, panic attack, self-harm (hair pulling), mild injury

Chapter Word Count: 5,947

Pairings: platonic TDLAMPR, implied Moceit

Notes: This is the second part of a two-part fic, so I’d start with part one if you haven’t read it. Also, this fic as a whole was inspired by the awesome ‘The Record Player Song’ animatic by @turbovickii, which, 10/10 would recommend if you haven’t seen it

(part one)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

“Do you ever think about the past?” Patton asks him. It’s a gloomy day, rain beating against the mindscape’s windows to mimic the downpour keeping Thomas trapped inside his apartment. On days like these, he has learned, Patton tends toward melancholy reflection, toward sipping wine in the living room rather than attempting to cook or bake.

He has found himself glad of it, most of the time. Even on a good day, Patton is often too distractible to bake without supervision, and on these days, his eyes glaze and his movements slow as he reminisces on days long gone. Frankly, he should not be trusted anywhere near the kitchen, and they both know it.

“Not really,” he lies. “Not unless it suits. Do you?”

He already knows the answer to that, of course. Patton hums noncommittally, eyes flitting to the rain-splattered windowpane. It’s just the two of them right now; the others emerge from their rooms more often now than they did just after the wedding, but still not often enough. Patton is struggling, both with himself and with his relationships, and for that reason alone, he will do his best to support. Even if he doesn’t know quite how. Even if he himself grows more and more adrift with every passing day.

“I wish we’d been friends sooner,” Patton says. “I was pretty mean to you when we were kids.”

He sighs. “I was pretty mean right back,” he says, ignoring the implications of friends, all the meanings contained in that one word. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Patton smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat. “Still,” he says. “I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.”

He doesn’t have a response to that. He can’t tell Patton that their friendship is based on a lie, that who he thinks of as Janus is nothing more than a shadow, that in these moments, he is drawing on a Patton-like persona more than anything else. He can’t tell Patton that he thinks about the past far more than he should, simpler times, when he was someone else, young and fresh-eyed and hopeful, not just willing but eager to do anything and everything to help Thomas and the rest of them.

That was when the trouble started. When deception became integral to his being. When he lost himself under all the rest, if there was ever anything to be lost in the first place. Isn’t it ironic, that Thomas’ sense of self-preservation has no sense of self of his own?

I’m glad we’re friends now, Janus.

He would be, too, if Janus were real. But Janus isn’t real, and he doesn’t know how to make him so.

So, he doesn’t respond to Patton. Just smiles, smiles and smiles and smiles and hopes that he can’t see through the facade. It’s something Patton himself would do, he thinks, and pretends that the thought doesn’t make him sick.

And so the days pass. Life continues. Nothing is solved. He grows closer with the others, more welcome in their discussions, more appreciated by Thomas, even, and he would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that interacting with them is like pulling teeth. They all look at him in a certain way, now, like they understand him, or want to, and it is all he can do to prevent himself from shouting at them, from telling them that they understand nothing. He is a mask built upon another mask built upon more masks, and there is nothing underneath them. Janus is the name given to the void they hide.

How could they possibly understand him when he doesn’t understand himself? When he is slowly beginning to realize that there is nothing to understand at all, that Janus is just a name, and a name means nothing at all if there is not a person behind it, attached in a way that he has never been?

Janus isn’t his name. It isn’t, and it is, but the difference between those is negligible. They all expect him to be Janus, now, but he has never known who that is, has never been anything but an amalgam of the others and of Deceit. How is he supposed to be Janus when he doesn’t--

There is a hand on his arm.

He jerks away, blinking. Virgil is standing close to him, too close, hand outstretched, but rather than his typical snarl, his face is neutral, nothing but a crease between his brows betraying his discomfort.

“You back?” he drawls, but the words are nowhere near as biting as they usually are.

He blinks again, looking around the room. Thomas’ living room. The others are all present, all but Remus, and all of their eyes are on him. They are discussing Thomas’ next creative venture, if he remembers correctly, going over potential ideas and plans, and for some reason, they wanted his input as well. He’s not sure why; they’ve gone through this perfectly well without him in the past, and once the meeting starts, he barely has anything to say. Which allows his mind to wander.

A mistake.

He steps away from Virgil, hoping that the movement comes off as casual, and brushes a bit of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Apologies,” he says. “Lost in thought. What was the question?”

He ignores the way Virgil’s eyes narrow.

“Uh,” Thomas says, oddly hesitant. “Are you sure about that? We’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” he says. “A bit tired, perhaps.” Not a lie. He’s exhausted. It’s hardly the whole truth, and something in him burns to be showing any amount of weakness at all, any vulnerability, but better this than sharing any of the rest.

“Oh,” Thomas says. “Well, I just--”

“Falsehood.”

The word is quiet, but it cuts through the conversation like a hot knife through bread. Because for all that the word is Logan’s trademark phrase, it is not Logan who speaks, but Virgil. Virgil, who is still standing too near, hunched in on himself, his face set in an expression he can’t begin to interpret.

For a long moment, there is silence.

“That’s my word,” Logan says. It seems a halfhearted complaint.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Roman says. “Where’s the falsehood?”

“I’ll admit, I’m confused as well,” he says, though he’s not, though his heart is beating far too quickly, though he knows exactly what Virgil means, and both fear and betrayal swirl in his chest and stiffen his spine. His nerves rise to a crescendo, and he has to focus on his breathing to make sure his form doesn’t slip. He must remember how they view him now, how they look at him and think Janus, must remember to maintain Deceit’s face, though the anxiety flooding his senses urges him to exchange the yellow for purple, the scales for eyeshadow, because that’s what he’s always done when he feels this way, when his chest feels tight and his breaths come too short. This is a Virgil-feeling, but he can’t shift right now because he’s supposed to be Deceit, is supposed to be Janus, and if he changes now, the house of cards on which he’s built his acceptance crumbles.

He can’t let that happen. He feels terrible now, but the isolation of before was worse. Now that he’s admitted as much to himself, he wouldn’t be able to bear going back.

“Now, now,” Patton says, “let’s let Virgil speak.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, brow furrowed. “Virgil, what do you mean?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Let him explain,” he says, jerking a thumb in his direction. “He’s the one lying.”

And just like that, all eyes return to him. He wonders, idly, if he could get away with summoning Remus, if he could throw a bit of chaos into the mix and watch them all scramble. They’d forget about him in the wake of that, he’s sure. But no, he can’t do it now, not when it would be so obvious. His strengths lie in his subtlety, his skill at misdirection. Remus is a blunt instrument, one not suited for this task.

He raises his hands, claps sarcastically. “Well done, Virgil,” he says. “I’m so impressed by your ability to remember my basic function. Good job. Can we refocus the conversation now?”

The sarcasm helps him focus. Helps him settle into the persona, into who he’s supposed to function as in this moment. He can lie his way out of this. He’s done it before. He can do it again.

“Okay, usually I’m all for calling him out,” Roman says, “but he’s said, like, two things this whole time.”

“Yes,” Logan adds, “and one of those was-- oh. I see.”

“What?” Thomas asks.

Patton gasps. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.” Patton looks at him, then, so much warmth and empathy in his gaze that he wants to die, just a little bit, because he doesn’t deserve any of it, doesn’t deserve his friendship, because the person that Patton thinks he is getting to know has never existed in the first place. “If something’s the matter, you can tell us! You know that, right?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” he grits out, but no one listens. He takes a moment to glare at Virgil, who stares back, nonplussed.

“Oh, hey,” Thomas says, looking surprised. Like he never considered the idea that something could be wrong with him. He would have liked to keep it that way, but it might be too late for that now. “Yeah, if something’s the matter, we want to hear about it. You don’t need to lie about that, Janus.”

And Thomas is so genuine in his concern, so compassionate, so kind to a side that he used to hate and fear. But it’s the name that sends him over the edge, the name that makes him flinch, hard, because he can’t escape it, can’t escape the fact that they all expect him to be something that he has never been, that he can never be.

He is whatever Thomas needs, but Thomas has never needed Janus, and he doesn’t know how to be something that Thomas doesn’t need. How to be a person in his own right, how to be the person they believe he is.

Thomas sees him flinch, because of course he does, because it was obvious. He steps forward, worry written plain on his face, but he mirrors the motion, stepping back. Thomas stops.

“Is there anything I can--”

“He doesn’t like it when you say his name,” Virgil says, and the room goes still. Virgil swallows, clearly not comfortable with the attention, but he soldiers on. “He didn’t tell me why.”

“Shut up,” he bites out, before he can stop himself.

“Is that true?” Thomas asks, asks him, all wide-eyed and hurt and he can’t take this--

“That doesn’t seem to make sense,” Logan says, and yes, please, keep talking, Logan, everyone pay attention to Logan now, thank you, “considering that he told us his name himself. Though, to be fair, the way in which he did so could be construed as an attempt to gain trust, rather than because he actually wanted to share.”

“Oh, come on,” Roman snorts. “Nobody was forcing him to say anything.”

“Oh my god, Roman, that’s not helping,” Virgil says. Defending him? That makes no sense, but alright.

“I’m just saying! He took his glove off all on his own--”

“That doesn’t mean Logan is wrong,” Patton ventures.

They just keep talking, all their voices overlapping and intermingling, talking about him, arguing about him like he’s not right here, and he backs up until he hits the wall. He needs them to stop, needs this to stop, needs to spend another week or two alone in his room before he can even think to face them again. He threads his fingers through his hair, pulling hard, but the pain does nothing to help him focus. He wishes he could cover his ears, wishes he didn’t have to hear this, wishes that today hadn’t happened at all. Wishes he could come up with an excuse, a lie to throw them off and redirect their attention, but his mind is frighteningly blank.

“Guys, enough.” Thomas’ voice silences the room, and then, Thomas turns to him. “Janus?” he prompts softly. “Are you okay?” And he means well, he does, but--

He can’t do this. Can’t do this at all, can’t think of a single lie to tell, and nothing else is helping either. He can’t think logically, and his rolling emotions are no help, and trying to summon bravado is a failure, and he is already so scared that he doesn’t see how indulging in any more anxiety could possibly help matters.

He needs--

He needs something else, anything else, anything but this, and--

He shifts before he can stop himself. And once he starts, he can’t hold back, can’t stop seeking comfort in another form because that’s what he always does when his own doesn’t cut it. He cycles through all of them, melting and changing and remaking himself with every second that passes, but nothing helps, nothing abates the buzzing under his skin or the ringing in his ears. But he keeps doing it anyway, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And the damage is done. His eyes are screwed shut, but there’s no way they’re not all staring at him. The silence is deafening.

He stands there, trying to land on an identity, and finds nothing. Because there is nothing.

“Ja… Deceit?” someone says, and it’s Patton’s voice, trembling and unsure, and somehow, that is the breaking point.

He opens his eyes, meets Thomas’ shocked gaze. And then he sinks out.

He rises up in his room unsteadily, lurching. He almost falls, though he catches himself against a bedpost, panting. His form is still shifting, still fluid; he can feel the changes rippling across his face like rushing water, so continuous that it’s beginning to hurt. He stumbles over to the mirror and watches it, the parade of outfits and hair styles and eye colors, morphing and twisting his face into nothing he recognizes.

And then suddenly, he settles. On scaly skin, on one yellow, slit eye. On a bowler hat, on a capelet, on yellow gloves. It’s his default setting. The serpentine tempter.

He looks, and who he sees staring back at him is utterly alien. The image moves when he does, blinks when he blinks, and the same tears that he feels streaming down his cheeks are reflected there. It’s him, he knows, because it couldn’t be anyone else. But he feels so disconnected from it, feels like he’s looking at a stranger, and perhaps he is. Does he know himself? Does he have a self to know?

He stares, and the image in the mirror stares back. And then, he rears back and punches the glass.

The sound it makes when it shatters is the most satisfying thing he’s heard in a long time.

He stands there, gasping, heedless of the shards embedded in his hand. For a moment, he feels safe, feels secure, as if the enemy has been defeated, as if in shattering the image, he has shattered himself, too, and is finally free. But then, he feels himself shift, feels his body do it entirely without his permission, as if on instinct, and catches a glimpse when he can’t help but look down, a glimpse of capelet sliding into hoodie sliding into green sash into red sash into cardigan into hoodie--

His legs give out, and he lands hard. Glass digs into his hands and knees, but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to do anything but shake and struggle for breath and hope that this will end.

He doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be. If he could figure it out, maybe this would stop, but he can’t think straight, can’t think about much of anything at all past the fact that it hurts, and that he’s scared, and that he feels as though his very bones are trying to burst out of his skin. It’s coming so fast now that he can barely keep track; he is Virgil, then Patton, then Roman, then Patton, then Logan then Remus then Roman then Virgil then PattonthenLoganthenRemusthen--

The door bursts open. Someone enters, black and green, and he can’t focus on their face, can’t do anything but flinch back as their footsteps approach, huddle in on himself and pray that they won’t hurt him, that they won’t exacerbate the pain.

“--ee? Dee?” The voice filters in, and it’s Remus, loud and shrill and concerned, and he wishes he had the strength to comfort him, to reassure him, but he thinks that if he opens his mouth, he’ll scream. He feels like his skin is sliding off, like it’s cracking open, and he has no way to anchor himself, no port in this storm, no control over what’s happening to him, and he’s so scared.

“--ell me what to do, what’s happening--” Remus is saying, and then there are hands on him, on his face, and he jerks away because the touch burns. Remus is still babbling: “--kay, won’t touch you, but Dee, please, you gotta tell me what to do--”

--then his room is suddenly full of people, people standing, watching, talking, saying words he can’t understand, moving toward him, and he flinches back and away, because he doesn’t want them here, doesn’t want them to see him like this, doesn’t want them near him because no doubt they’ll only make it worse and he can’t breathe and he can’t stop shifting because it’s supposed to help but it’s not, it’s hurting him, and he thinks he hears Remus shouting at them, telling them to get back, to go away, but he can’t--

Then, someone presses their hand into his, and tells him to breathe. The rest of the world dissolves into static.

It takes a long time for him to be able to follow their example, but he focuses on the point of contact, on their hand holding his, and part of him wants to jerk away as though he’s been scalded. But the touch is through his gloves, fabric separating their skin, and somehow, that makes it bearable. And the other part of his mind wants to hold on and never let go, so that’s what he does.

His breathing slows. The shifting stops, and the pain subsides into a dull ache.

He looks up, and Virgil is crouched in front of him, the rise and fall of his chest outlining a familiar pattern.

“Can you hear me?” Virgil asks, his voice quiet and the closest thing to calm he ever gets.

He nods.

Someone lets out a breath, a sigh of relief, and he looks around. They’re all here, all of them, crouching around him. Remus is closest, is right by his side, hands hovering but not touching. Patton and Logan are sitting to either side of Virgil, Logan with furrowed brow and Patton looking near tears himself. Even Roman is here, hovering over Logan’s shoulder, and though he’s keeping his distance, worry mars his face. He knows, knows he must look absolutely pitiful if Roman is worried about him.

And Thomas is here, too. Kneeling at his other side, kneeling in broken glass from the mirror, and all for him? After that wretched display, Thomas still came after him?

Thomas is looking at him. His eyes are shiny.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and then frowns. His voice is lower, rougher than he anticipated, and glancing at himself, it is easy to determine the reason. His hands are gloved, but purple-patched sleeves cover his arms. He’s Virgil right now, Virgil, even though the real Virgil is sitting right in front of him, is still, for whatever reason, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Virgil-- the real Virgil-- says, “don’t do that. C’mon.”

He pulls his hand away, trying to school his face into a glare, into any expression that would suit Virgil’s face better. He’s sure he looks miserable. His mind races, supplying him with biting words and insults, and it makes him angry, a bit, because where was this when he needed it? It’s too late, now, too late to pretend that this never happened. They’re all here, in his room, his safe place, his sanctuary.

Only, it hasn’t been that for a long time, has it? How long has it been since he was comfortable here? Since he was comfortable anywhere?

The realization makes him shudder, and before he knows it, he is sliding into Patton’s form instead. The grey cardigan settles around his shoulders, but it brings none of the comfort that it usually does. He just feels pathetic, and he knows the others must see it.

He can’t look at Patton. Doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking. Doesn’t think he could bear to see rejection painted there.

His breath hitches.

“Hey,” Thomas says, and he can’t help but turn to look, because he has never been able to help but do what Thomas asks of him. He turns to look, and through vision that is once again blurry with tears, he sees Thomas reach out. Slowly, accentuating the motion so that he has plenty of time to reject him, to pull away. He is tempted to smack the hand away, to gather up the strength to eject them all from his room and lock the door behind them, anything to avoid having to talk about this.

But this is Thomas, so he allows him to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Thomas says softly. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too, but we’re here for you.”

It’s not a lie. He knows because it chimes in the air, clear and bright and true, like a clamoring of bells ringing in the morning. No tricks, no subterfuge, just the one person he would do anything for, telling him that it’s going to be alright, that everything is going to be alright.

He forces himself to shift again, forces the scales back across his face, focuses on maintaining the gloves to cover hands that are cut and bleeding and embedded with glass shards. It itches, itches and burns and doesn’t feel right at all, but if he’s going to do this, he could at least try not to look like any of them while he speaks.

“No,” he says, and jolts at the sound of his own voice, strange and foreign. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Maybe,” Virgil says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you owe it to us.”

He swivels his head to stare at him, and Virgil scowls, glancing away.

“Look,” he says, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt you, back there. It’s just, you’ve been weird and spacey ever since you came to talk to me, and I just thought that if something was wrong, and I didn’t know what to do, then maybe somebody else would. But I’m sorry for going about it like I did.”

“I--” His tongue feels clumsy, thick in his mouth. An apology from Virgil is not something he ever thought he would receive, but this, too, hangs between them like a breath of fresh air, nothing but truth in his words. “Apology accepted,” he says, and it feels lacking compared to all that still lies unvoiced between them, but Virgil visibly untenses.

“Cool,” he mutters. “Don’t read too much into it.”

Despite himself, he smiles, just a bit, an upwards twitch of his lips.

And then, Logan clears his throat. “I don’t want to put any undue pressure on you,” he says, “but if you would be willing to discuss what ails you, I am in complete agreement with Thomas. Perhaps we can help you find a solution.”

He takes a breath to steady himself, taking a brief survey of the room, watching all of them gathered around him, attentive and unsure. He… could tell them, he realizes. He could tell them, and they would listen, and they might even believe him. He could tell them, and there is nothing stopping him from doing so but himself, old habits that have been ingrained in him over years and decades, habits that insist that he cannot afford to be vulnerable, that he cannot afford to show weakness, that the moment he bares his throat to them, they will pounce.

But looking at them, at Patton, so determined to help, at Logan, face open and non-judgemental, and even at Roman, who has the least reason out of all of them to want to see him well and yet is here anyway, he wonders if that is the case at all.

Thomas’ hand is still on one shoulder, a steadying point of contact. Without looking, he reaches back and finds one of Remus’ hands, still hovering, and guides it to rest on his other. Remus makes a sound of relief and tightens his grip, and it is almost uncomfortable, but it also serves as a reminder that he is not alone, for once, and that perhaps, he can have help, if he asks for it.

Does he dare do this? It will hurt him, and it will hurt them. Will likely hurt Thomas.

But, he realizes, it’s too late to prevent that. Thomas is already hurt, is already lost and confused and worried. The least he can do is tell him why.

So, he looks to Patton. If he’s going to share this, if he truly wants them to understand, he needs to start at the beginning.

“Do you remember what I used to call myself?” he asks. “When Thomas was young, I mean, before I was labeled Deceit. Back when you were Feelings and Logan was Learning.”

“I--” Patton’s face screws up in an obvious effort to remember. “That was so long ago, I don’t--” He pauses, mouth working silently, and then, his eyes open wide. “You know, I’d forgotten that we used to call you something else,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy about it. “Weren’t you Self?”

He nods. “Self,” he repeats. It’s been so long since he said the name aloud. It’s like an old favorite shoe, well-worn but now half a dozen sizes too small. “That’s right. Back then, I was entirely about self-preservation. Anything that boosted Thomas’ sense of self, I was in charge of.” He closes his eyes, slipping back into the memories. “Deception didn’t become a major part of that until later, until there were… issues. Until Thomas began to doubt himself more, experience more internal conflict.” He opens his eyes again, meeting Patton’s once more. “Then, I did anything I could to keep things running smoothly. I was… whoever I needed to be, whenever I needed to be them, as long as it would benefit Thomas. You usually didn’t catch me.” He splays his hands, relishing the sting of his bloodied knuckles. “I’m like glue, filling in the cracks.”

“You impersonated us that much?” Virgil asks, voice strangled.

He shrugs. “For all intents and purposes, I was you,” he says quietly. “I got used to it after a while. Too used to it, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?”

It’s Thomas who speaks now, low and urgent and worried, and he turns to him, turns to the man he has given everything to protect.

“As best I can tell,” he says, and he is not trying to be bitter, but something of the kind leaks through anyway, “I’m a… a mimic, of a sort. Or maybe just a mirror. I’ve spent so long being whatever was needed that I never developed into anything else, and then I told you my name and you started calling me Janus, and I-- I couldn’t handle it. I can’t.” He shudders, closing his eyes. He can’t bear to meet Thomas’ gaze anymore, can’t bear to see the condemnation he knows must surely come now. “I can’t meet those expectations. At best, I’m… a fake. A sham. Janus… it’s my name, but there’s not a person attached to it. Everything I am is built on traits I’ve taken from everyone else.” He shakes his head, a sour smile curling his lips. “Take away the lies, and there’s nothing left of me.”

“That’s why you don’t like us using the name,” Thomas says. “You don’t feel like it’s yours.”

“Nothing that I am is mine,” he answers, and falls silent, waiting for the sentence to fall, the gavel to pound.

For a moment, no one says anything at all.

“That’s not true,” Patton says, and the fierceness in his voice takes him aback. His eyes snap open.

“Patton--”

But Patton shakes his head, his face flushing pink. “No, you let me talk,” he says. “That’s not true, and I’m so sorry that we’ve let you feel like it is. I should’ve--” He breaks himself off, biting his lip. “No, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re not just a mimic, or a mirror, or what have you, and you should never, ever have been made to feel like you had to be.”

He didn’t expect this, didn’t expect a passionate defense. He’s not sure where this is coming from, not sure what he did to provoke this.

“I--”

“I mean, we’ve been spending time together, right?” Patton continues. “And you’ve been enjoying that, unless you were faking, but I don’t think you were. Do you really think that you were only having fun because it was something you’d done when you were being me?”

His throat runs dry. His first instinct is to say, yes, of course, because he’s spent so long thinking this way. But instead of his usual conviction, his mind fills with a buzzing noise, and he can’t bring himself to speak.

“I agree with Patton,” Logan speaks up. “True, there may be some activities that you initially took interest in for the purpose of impersonating one of us. However, that does not make your own enjoyment of those activities any less valid, or any less a part of who you are. You, specifically, not you when you are attempting to emulate one of us. Unless you don’t actually enjoy our chess matches.”

But--

“Yeah, and you don’t have to actually be one of us in order to feel something that one of us feels, or do something that one of us does,” Virgil says. “Just because Logan is Logic doesn’t mean that you have to be Logan in order to be logical. I mean, can you imagine if Logan were the only one capable of basic logical reasoning? You dumbass,” he tacks on.

That, at least, is enough to prompt an answer out of him. “It’s a habit,” he says weakly. His head is spinning. He doesn’t know what else to do, what else to say. How can they be saying these things so easily? How can they so casually uproot the foundations that his existence is built upon?

“You are worthy of personhood in your own right,” Roman adds, quietly. “I… I know that we have had our arguments. But you are our equal, just as deserving of an individual identity. There is nothing you need do to earn that.”

“You’re my best fucking friend,” Remus says suddenly, his grasp on his shoulder tightening. “You are. Not you trying to be someone else. I like you. I’ll kill anyone who says different.”

He feels a pang at that, because that’s just it. Remus thinks he’s his friend, thinks he likes him for who he is, but how can he, when even he doesn’t know who he is himself?

“I know it hurts to not know what you’re doing,” Patton says softly, “or even who you are, or who you’re supposed to be. But you’ve got us.”

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not trying to be someone else,” he says, the admission ripped from him almost unwillingly. “I don’t know who Janus is.” The tears well up again, and he lets them fall.

Patton is so kind. They are all being so kind, even Virgil, who hates him, even Roman, who he has wronged. What has he done to deserve this kindness?

“I think,” Thomas says haltingly, “that I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s okay.”

And he startles, remembering again that Thomas is here, too, even though he’s been quiet. Though he hasn’t been quiet, exactly, has he? They are all part of him, after all; they all make up his thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams, so in a way, Thomas doesn’t need to be vocal himself to make his opinions known.

The realization hits, then, as Thomas wraps his arms around him, that Thomas cares about him. And not just Thomas, but the rest of them, too, piling around him, Remus clinging to his back and Patton tucking himself into his side and Virgil laying a hand on his arm. They are here for him, came after him, and for the first time, he considers the idea that their regard might not be contingent on the presentation of a certain identity.

The concept is foreign to him. He has spent so long being whatever he thought they needed, thought they wanted, and that was what led him here, attached to a name with nothing behind it. He has spent so long pretending to be strong, to be cool, to be collected. There has never been time not to be, never been time to make himself vulnerable, to allow himself to discover who Janus might be, if given the chance.

He shudders, burying his face in Thomas’ shoulder.

“It’s okay not to know,” Thomas says, and the love and acceptance in his voice is so real and so true that he begins to cry harder. “You don’t need to know right now. But we can help you figure it out, alright? We’ll do this together.” His voice softens. “You’re not on your own.”

He doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know where to begin to find out. But that much, perhaps, he can believe.

“Okay,” he whispers, and just this once, lets himself trust.

----------

Patton is at the oven, cursing under his breath, trivial words like “shucks” and “darn” and once in a while, a particularly vehement, “Damn!” The kitchen fills with smoke and the scent of burning cookies.

He hangs in the doorway for a while before making his presence known.

“Not having any trouble at all, I see,” he says, and Patton jerks, spinning around. His face lights up upon seeing him, and he hopes the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.

“Hi,” Patton says, and laughs ruefully. “What, you don’t think I’m smoking hot?”

He has to bite back his instinctual response, which is just as well, because Patton continues before he can think of anything appropriate.

“I’ve still got enough dough for another try, if you wanna help,” Patton says cheerfully. “Um, is Janus okay right now or no?”

He considers. It still doesn’t fit quite right, doesn’t settle on his shoulders. But he thinks he can do this without falling into the mindset that he has to be somebody else, that he has to wrap another identity around himself. He can do this maskless, and if he finds himself faltering, Patton will help him.

He can do this. And it’s not perfect, but perhaps, here’s a start.

“Janus is fine,” he says, and steps into the kitchen.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii

Part 2 Taglist: @bunny222

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vennilavee · 4 years

Text

the warm vortex

[main masterlist]

Pairing: bucky, sam, steve, natasha and reader. more platonic than anything really. and it’s mostly reader centric.

Please read the warnings before you read!!!

Summary: you’ve had high functioning depression for as long as you can remember. sometimes you can manage it, and sometimes it’s extremely difficult. you’re finding it hard to reel yourself in and you’re spiraling, but luckily you have some pretty great friends to help.

Warnings: really heavy discussions and inner thoughts of depression and anxiety. Also heavy use of alcohol. Please don’t read if any of these topics are hard for you to read about- you gotta do what’s best for you!

Word Count: 6596

A/N: written for @barnesandco‘s 1k challenge, with the prompt stay by rihanna ft mikky ekko. this was pretty therapeutic to write. this is also a rewrite of mutual and make me feel (undecided if i want to leave it up or not though).

It wasn’t always like this, that much you knew. You can’t think of a time when it wasn’t like this, but you knew there was a time when this bottomless pit didn’t exist on a permanent, full-time basis. There was a time when this darkness didn’t live rent free in your head, seeping energy from you in places you were hopeless to defend.

It’s not so bad most days. The darkness is mostly background noise, drowned out by the sweet taste of light. You have mostly healthy habits. You see a therapist once a week, and you text her sometimes, too. You have a journal. You paint. You read. You see your friends once in a while. You enjoy being in the presence of people who see you. The boxes are mostly checked. You’re just the perfect portrait, aren’t you? But you’re not immune to your vices. But you’re human, so wonderfully human. And you’re trying your best.

Just like anything else in life, things ebb and flow. Some days are relatively okay. Some days, you just want to be alone and let time pass you by. Some days, your mind is racing at a speed that you can’t catch up to. Some days, your mind and heart feel empty.

But somehow, you pull yourself up. Whether it’s by yourself or with the help of your friends.

The last time you felt that it was unbearable, that you felt numb, was when you were in college. You can’t remember the reason or the catalyst for it- perhaps you had always some of that numbness trailing along and blooming quietly. But you had finally found the word to describe it. You recall sleeping at any moment that you could, your appetite waxing and waning, seeds of hopelessness and guilt planting themselves in your heart and making homes there. It felt endless. An endless tunnel of...nothing. You recall drifting through your days, passively sitting in lectures, half listening to friends, somehow convincing them and yourself that you were okay. You were good at deflecting and you knew it.

Until it had become too much to bear by yourself. You couldn’t take the waves of uncharted sadness, the weight of the world on your shoulders. You were on the edge of something and everything was spinning out of control and yet you were standing still, unmoving.

Somehow you had gotten through college and graduate school, with the help of your long term therapist. For the first time in a long time, you felt a morsel of hope. For the first time in a long time, you could feel the sun illuminating your back.

After graduate school, you had managed to land a job at Stark Industries. It had taken you two video interviews and three in person panel interviews, but it was yours. You’d be right in the heart of Manhattan, in your favorite city. New York City was meant for you, and you were meant for it. You quite enjoyed the feeling of being in the midst of the chaos, bustle, and noise of the city and knowing that you were virtually a nobody. The anonymity of the city has always comforted you.

It had been about six or seven years since you had landed the job with Stark Industries. Now that your career had a solid start with Tony Stark, you were a well known name not just in the building, but amongst competitors and your peers in the industry as well. You were grateful that Tony encouraged your career development by letting you explore department to department. Tony often called you the jack of all trades because you were able to seamlessly offer perspectives and evidence based opinions for nearly any department at Stark Industries.

Which is why your agility and eagerness to learn had gotten you to a director role in less than ten years, a feat very nearly unheard of in corporate America. Let alone at Stark Industries.

And that meant that you knew many of the Avengers on a professional and personal level as well. You were quite fond of your relationships with them- the fact that you can call them friends has ceased to amaze you now. It feels normal. After all, they are only human.

You can recognize the tells of when things are getting bad. There isn’t a specific thing that you can pinpoint that makes it worse, even after all these years. It just comes when it wants. And it lifts a little bit when it wants. You’re constantly on edge, and yet at the same time you can feel the familiar pull of numbness. You’re not sleeping or you’re sleeping too much. And of course, you’re isolating yourself subtly. So as to shield yourself from perceived vulnerability and intimacy.

And yet, isn’t that just what you craved?

A dullness hangs over your head and you try your best to see through it.

You don’t really notice the concerned looks that you’ve been on the receiving end of from your friends. Bucky and Natasha, ever so perceptive. Steve and Sam, ever so observant. Or maybe you do notice, and you just avoid any display or discussion of vulnerability. They text you every so often, just to say hello. See how you’re doing. Or they’ll somehow find you in the tower, and they always come with snacks and water for you.

What great friends you have, and you can’t even look them in the eye. Your cheeks burn with shame, but you grin and bear it. Claiming that you’re just tired. Busy. You’ve got a lot on your calendar.

Bucky jokingly had asked if your executive assistant could pencil him in, even just for fifteen minutes. You had snorted and told him that you didn’t make enough money for an executive assistant. Yet.

Bucky often finds you around the labs and tech transfer rooms. Most of the time he sees you alone, completing some documentation and drawing up plans for the next day or week. Sometimes he sees you with your coworkers, discussing strategy. You always offer him a smile and a wave, even if you’re deep in heated debate with your team members. Maybe it’s something of a happy coincidence that you both are around there at the same time. Similar interests and all.

It’s the nights when he sees you alone in the laboratory corridors that you both get to know each other, beyond pleasantries. It takes a few weeks for you to even ask what he’s doing there. That’s when you learn of his interest in the industry part of ‘Stark Industries’, and how he is fascinated by the advancements of the century. The nights turn into almost daily hangouts, complete with takeout and snacks. Bucky finds himself comfortable enough to sit in your office with his legs up on the desk.

You always chide him with a roll of your eyes, but there’s never any heat behind it. Small talk had slowly evolved into a very real friendship between the both of you, and you looked forward to seeing him at the Tower whenever you could.

Natasha Romanoff was the one who had suggested you apply for a job at Stark Industries after graduation. While she was a former SHIELD agent, now Avenger, you had met her at your favorite coffee shop to study at. Perhaps it was destiny then, that you had met one of the most elusive spies of the 20th and 21st centuries and you hadn’t even recognized her. All she had asked you was for a pen, and you had stumbled over your words and nearly spilled your coffee on yourself in an attempt to reach over and hand her a pen.

What a menace. She still never lets you live that down. What were you meant to do when someone like Natasha Romanoff asks you for a pen?

From that day, you had made it a point to study at the same cafe, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once again. And maybe have a chance at a redemption arc for your terrible first impression. Eventually, she had come back and you had struck up a conversation with her. One conversation led to another, the seasons had changed, and suddenly, Natasha Romanoff was present at your graduate school graduation ceremony, looking onwards proudly.

Becoming friends with Sam had been easy. On your first day of work at your brand new big girl job, he had been one of the first people to poke his head around and introduce himself. He had even had lunch with you on your first day, and that is a memory you hold near and dear to your heart. To remind yourself that people do genuinely like you, and that you are not the version of yourself that you’ve created in your head. The version of yourself with virtually no redeemable qualities. The figment of yourself born from your own anxieties and insecurities, that truly does not exist anywhere but your own mind.

While it was in your own mind, it didn’t make it any less real.

You and Sam had fun together- he had managed to make himself a permanent fixture in your life by sharing music and movie recommendations with you. You had even established an exclusive impromptu movie club with him, where the both of you shared opinions and thoughts on movies while tasting new wines.

It wasn’t so much as an official club, as it was two friends hanging out and enjoying the company of the other.

You had been most intimidated by Steve Rogers, and you had no reason to be. You had seen Bucky and Sam tease him, you’ve run into Steve during late nights when you were working late, and you had seen him come into the Tower bruised up and bloody after missions. You had seen him during times of vulnerability, and for whatever reason, it took you the longest to open yourself up to him. You had mostly ignored him aside from pleasantries, if you could.

Until it was a cold winter’s night, around 1 AM.

You were just getting ready to leave the Tower, making a mental note to be better about your work/life integration. Whenever you left the Tower late, Tony always made sure you were protected so you wouldn’t have to walk home alone. He also had given you a guest room in the living quarters of the Tower, but you rarely stayed there.

The smell of burning sends your adrenaline into overdrive and you quickly found the source of the burning in the kitchen. It’s Steve and Natasha hovering over an oven as billows of smoke begin to engulf the area. Steve attempts to open the oven with his bare hand before Natasha whacks him over the head and hands him an oven mitt.

You’d laugh if you were sure that the kitchen wasn’t about to get burned down.

“Uh,” You say, “You guys need help or should I leave you to it?”

They both turn around at the same time. Steve looks like a deer caught in headlights while Natasha just looks exasperated.

“We were trying to make cookies. Apparently Steve can’t be left unattended.”

“Me?! You were the one who was supposed to keep an eye on them! Now they’re all burned!”

Apparently it takes seeing Steve and Natasha bickering about who left the cookies in the oven for longer than they should have for you to feel more comfortable around Steve. Nothing like burned cookies to humanize Steve Rogers.

And so you end up baking a new batch of cookies with Steve and Natasha, helping them clean out the burned bits. And you end up staying in that guest room that Tony had gifted you many months ago.

It’s a night of firsts.

Relatively speaking, the rational part of your brain knew that things could always be worse. But repeating that to yourself like a mantra didn’t seem to soothe the near constant ache in your heart. Sometimes the ache felt like a bleak numbness more than anything. In fact, you had come to at least appreciate the ache. Because then that meant you could at least feel something. It wasn’t fair to compare pain. Pain is pain. That became your new mantra, after your therapist had framed it in a way that just made sense to you.

You can’t be faulted for the way you feel, you know that. You can’t be faulted for constantly questioning everything and everyone around you, questioning intentions, and questioning yourself. Wondering if people even liked you, or if people merely tolerated you when you could barely even stand yourself.

Once those thoughts start coming, they don’t stop. Your friends notice you digging yourself into your work, isolating yourself and avoiding them. Perhaps this time, they’ll finally realize what you are.

And yet, they still find it in themselves to invite you out for a night out. They know you’ve been struggling and just want to show you that they’re here for you. They just want you to believe them.

***

You were at a quiet but vibrant bar near your apartment, one you frequented often with Natasha, Sam, and Steve. To be honest, you hadn’t really wanted to come. But they had been resilient in their efforts to see you and make sure that you were okay. You’re able to see through the fog for a moment, cracking a smile at Bucky who is sitting at one of the barstools, chatting up the bartender. He’d taken an interest in the art of crafting a drink lately, and you quite enjoyed seeing curiosity light up his eyes. You also enjoyed being his taste tester, but honestly you were game to try anything.

Months ago, you and Sam had told Bucky that maybe he should put himself out there. He looked at the pair of you like you had grown five heads each.

“Out where, exactly?”

“Meeting people. Getting into casual dating. You’re a catch and I wish you would realize that, too.” You had said it so genuinely that he finds himself nodding slowly. The memory nearly makes you cringe- it irritates you to no degree when people tell you that you should put yourself out there. Who were you to say the same to a friend?

God, how could anyone stand you?

You take another long sip of your drink and try to center yourself in the conversation around you. Bucky sits down across from you at the booth and tells you and Sam what tips the bartender gave him when making drinks.

“Maybe you could teach him a thing or two,” You remark and he grins appreciatively.

“I think I should get one of those bartending books. To see what mixes well with what,” Bucky muses.

“I feel like you’re enjoying the experimentation of it all. That’s half the fun,” Sam says, absentmindedly peeling the sticker off of the bottle of beer.

“Did you know that if you peel labels off of bottles, it means you’re sexually frustrated?” You say off-handedly, grinning when their eyebrows rise in unison.

“Sounds about right,” Sam sighs, “Lemme tell you somethin’. I’m hittin’ a real dry spell right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky agrees, taking a swig of his drink.

“I guess nobody wants what you’re selling,” You tease and glance over at Natasha, who is currently chatting up a man on the other side of the bar. She’s all charm and flirty smiles and you wave at her when she catches your eye.

“Someone wants what you’re selling,” Bucky muses, tearing your attention away from Natasha, “This guy has been looking over here for the last fifteen minutes. Think he’s tryin’ to be sexy or somethin’.”

“Is he? Bein’ sexy?” You laugh, “Maybe he’s lookin’ at you, Bucky.”

“No, it’s definitely you, baby girl. Bucky’s not half as nice to look at as you are,” Sam grins, earning himself a whack on the shoulder.

You turn your head and see the man in question, giving him a once over. He’s cute, you suppose. Part of you welcomes the new distraction, and the other part of you wants to stay within the walls of your comfort zone. Sam and Bucky look at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is going to be.

You shrug and chug the entirety of your drink, getting out of your booth to walk over to the bar. You’re certain that the man who had been eyeing you will join you in a few short minutes. Asking you what you’d like to drink.

“Let’s see what happens, boys.”

Little do Sam and Bucky know that you’re about to find yourself slipping into old habits, and fast.

***

A night of drinks, one night stands, and walks of shame had turned into a routine over the course of the next few weeks. It was a welcome distraction from reality and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You can almost hear Natasha’s voice in your head- ‘there’s nothing wrong with sleeping around. But you’re sleeping around to actively avoid something deeper and you have to talk about it.’

Even if she’s right, you’ll gamble on it.

You’re spiraling into a whirlwind of self-deprecation, and you know it. The thought flits around in your head and disappears as quickly as it had come. You quickly toss back a pair of tequila shots and thrust the lime in your mouth for sweet relief. You enjoyed the way the tequila burned your throat before settling in your stomach with a happy hum.

Admittedly, you had begun to pull away from your friends even more over the last week or so. You weren’t sure, you were losing track of time. Worried texts and phone calls went unanswered for hours. Which would gradually become days. You had shirked off scheduled therapy appointments several times. Voicemails from your therapist were left unlistened to. Bless her heart.

You threw yourself into work until that became your primary excuse and then you just stopped answering altogether. Sam, Steve, Natasha and Bucky had all come around knocking on your door. Both physically and digitally. But you pretended like you weren’t home most of the time. You wished they would break down the door and find you, a complete mess. But you didn’t have the physical or mental strength to just open the door yourself. They probably thought you needed space. Which maybe you did.

That night you had taken that random guy home from the bar had sparked something inside of you and you didn’t want to let it go. The recklessness made you feel alive, it made your blood burn, and it made your heart thump with anticipation.

They probably deserve better than someone who’s head is spinning from self-loathing, someone who can’t stand the sight of themselves anymore, someone who can't seem to get themselves together.

But they’re your friends. They love you regardless, comes a small voice that you’re easily able to quash.

You find yourself unable to even brush your teeth without a frown jarring your face. The thoughts that bounce around in your head are wrong and you know it, but they are relentless. And you find yourself powerless to argue with them. You can only focus on what’s right in front of you. Focusing on anything else hurts too much.

So you focus on the music pumping through your veins. The burn of alcohol seeping into your blood. You focus on the arms wrapped around you and the neon lights blaring at you.

You barely feel lips kissing your neck and you’re surprised to taste saltiness on your upper lip. You’re crying, you realize. You’re crying because all of a sudden, you get flashes of your friend’s concerned faces and you’re here. Alone, of your own accord.

***

The first week you started pulling away, Steve had suggested that they should break down your door. You had been completely unresponsive, sending all of them into a state of alarm and concern. They did toy with the idea, but they ultimately let it be. Maybe you needed space. After all, wouldn’t you come to them if you were upset?

But then, you didn’t.They wouldn’t have known how you threw yourself into alcohol, barely ate proper meals, barely slept properly. They wouldn’t have seen how much you were barely keeping your head above the water. You were good at hiding it, in the beginning. You were all smiles at work, making small-talk and doing what you did best. Then you stopped caring about hiding it. You had called out of work a few days and hadn’t left your apartment. Tony and Pepper were most definitely concerned- it wasn’t like you to pull away like this. They had reached out to you several times to no avail. You had only said you weren’t feeling well. They only knew you were going through something and didn’t know how to handle it. Did any of them know how to handle it?

You’re out again in Chelsea this time, at a club lined with smoke, mirrors, and strangers. You’re singing along to the music as the drink in your hand sloshes with your movements. A sudden wave of fatigue washes over you.

You don’t want to be there anymore. The realization feels like a weight has landed on your chest, but you feel the familiar wings of freedom embrace you. Maybe this is it- maybe you’re finally breaking out of your spell. You just want to go home. You think of your friends again. How you’ve ignored them for weeks now. How they still reach out to you and you just… do nothing.

Downing the rest of your drink- because you’d be damned if you’d ever let a drink purchased from a club in Chelsea go to waste- you hold your purse close and make the decision to leave. Once you’re in the comfort of your home in your pajamas and under the covers, you open up your messages app on your phone. Your finger hovers over Natasha’s name.

With the courage of a small lion, you finally text her, and it feels like liberation. You just text her saying hi, with a simple heart emoji. That’s the most you can muster for right now.

It takes another week or so for you to get sick of the long nights out and of partying the way you have been. Then another week to get sick of the alcohol. It doesn’t numb you anymore; instead, it just makes you feel disgusting. This week, you’ve spent most of your days in bed. You’re afraid to go into work, so you’ve worked from home as much as you can. You even reached out to Tony and Pepper. And mustered up the energy to make an appointment with your therapist.

The fact that you’ve come this far on your own is even a surprise to you. This spiral felt different to you. Looking back on it, in previous years, you felt that you were able to snap out of it more easily. Whatever it was. Even if it took weeks or months for you to snap out of it, somehow you always did. Whether it was by a momentous epiphany, an intervention, or a conversation with a stranger. Somehow, for whatever reason, you always snapped out of it. Even if you haven’t seen or spoken to the few friends you have and the people who care for you, they’re still on the forefront of your mind. Feeding you bits of strength to get you through the days, whether you realize it or not. The fog, while it still shrouds you, feels a little easier to see through.

You hope you’ll have the energy to see your friends again soon.

***

On days that you’re not working, you find yourself sleeping for most of the day and wide awake at night. You’ve taken to roaming the city during these nights, walking around familiar places. The idea of showing up at the Tower unannounced has crossed your mind once or twice. The thought scares you, so you decide against it every time.

You’ve been doing better about texting Natasha once in a while. To let her know that you’re still breathing, even if it’s barely. She has offered more than once to come over for company, but you can’t bring yourself to agree. Bucky, Steve, and Sam all still text you everyday, even after your lack of responses. They even call you once in a while and leave short voicemails, letting you know of their days and how they miss you.

And still, what kind of person are you to continue living as if you were empty when there was clearly all of this love and care surrounding you? You couldn’t help it. The dark cloud has lessened somewhat, but still floats over your head. It’s just there, and you try to think back to a time when the cloud didn’t exist.

Your therapist’s understanding eyes and warm gaze simultaneously makes you feel a little better and makes you want to cry. She validates your feelings and tells you that it’s okay for you to not be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But she tells you that whether or not you can see it, it’s still there. And that you deserve that light and so much more. She’s keeping a close eye on you as well, texting you every so often to see how you’re doing. She sends you gentle reassurances, and you begin to echo those same reassurances to yourself. While the voice has gotten quieter for now, it’s still there but it doesn’t feel as loud as it did a few weeks ago.

What a ride it’s been. You’re exhausted from your own mind. If mental gymnastics was a sport, you’d surely achieve a perfect score.

It confuses you, how you’re sent into this dark shroud only to re-emerge on the other side. Well, sort of. Why did it even happen? Did something cause it? Or was it your own chemistry betraying you without any rhyme or reason?

Whatever the cause is… it’s not a great feeling and despite how overwhelming it feels, how it feels like you’re drowning. You still manage to keep your head above the water to get through the next minute. The next hour. The next day. The next week.

After neglecting your journal for longer than usual, you decide to buy some new pens and markers for doodling on the pages. Even if you can’t necessarily get the words out on paper, you still want to be able to focus some of the energy you have into something.

You can spend hours doodling and coloring in the pages. And so you do.

After your evening of doodling, you even dabble with the idea of calling Natasha. And so you do.

She’s ecstatic to hear from you, and she doesn’t bother to try to bottle it. Her enthusiasm makes you feel warm inside. It reminds you that you’re still here. That your friends are still here. In a display of courage, you ask her if she’d like to come over for pizza and ice cream. She immediately accepts, and you can’t help but feel slightly proud of yourself for taking that step.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have reasons to smile.

***

You had cleaned your apartment in preparation for Natasha’s arrival, and had even lit her favorite candle scent that you owned. It’s called black cherry, but smells sultry with hints of sweet and spicy. Boxes of pizza were hot and ready on your counter and two tubs of ice cream were in your freezer.

When Natasha arrives, you nearly lose your breath from seeing your friend after so long. You don’t know what to do- should you hug her? Shake her hand? How awkward and formal of you. Both seem wrong and Natasha picks up on your unease.

“You gonna let me in or what?” She asks with a raised eyebrow and you beam at her. You welcome her inside, insisting that she sit down on your couch. You hand her a glass of water and place the boxes of pizza on your coffee table, feeling the cobwebs around your heart begin to melt away slowly.

It’s after a few slices of pizza and making small talk that you feel that you have to bring up the last few weeks-

“Natasha,” You begin, “I’m just- I don’t know. The last few weeks have been really hard. I’m just sorry I ghosted you. And everyone. You didn’t deserve that, when you were only trying to be my friends.”

“Hey,” Natasha shakes her head, “It’s okay. Believe me when I say that we all understand. Sometimes your mind takes you somewhere you don’t want to go. We just worry, you know? If you need space, then that’s what you need. But I don’t want you to… be alone because you think nobody’s here for you. Because we are. We are.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the sincerity in her voice, and you believe her. You believe her with everything in your bones and it lifts you up higher than you’ve felt in a long time. The rest of the night is spent in a flurry of laughter, some tears, and lots of pizza and ice cream. Your heart is singing by the time Natasha leaves, cotton candy clouds of contentment surrounding you as you fall asleep quickly.

***

You go back to work at the Tower the following week, where Tony and Pepper embrace you with open arms. You’re quite blessed to be surrounded by people who understand you and want the best for you. You can’t be helped if a few tears leak out of your eyes when you see Tony and Pepper after what feels like is years.

You clean up in your office, brushing off the thin layer of dust over your things. Opening the cover of your laptop, you go into your Outlook calendar. Too see what was on the agenda for today. And you schedule an impromptu lunch with Sam, at your favorite food truck two blocks from the Tower.

You had gotten over the fact that you were able to schedule something as mundane as meetings with the Avengers during your second week of working at Stark Industries.

It was time to see your friend again. The thought sends nervous butterflies fluttering in your belly, but you’re proud of yourself for reaching out when it felt impossible only a few weeks ago. Sam accepts the meeting almost immediately and a smile stays on your face until you meet him for lunch.

***

Despite the awkwardness you initially feel about seeing Sam after weeks, it dissipates quickly once you see him at the food truck. He’s waving at you, genuine excitement radiating from him at being able to see you after so long.

He’s already bought your favorites from the truck and he’s waiting for you. So you both can walk to the bench you usually sit at while having lunch together. Sam refers to it as ‘our bench’, and you do, too.

“You look good, baby girl,” Sam greets you with a smile, patting the space next to you.

“Yeah, I guess the aftermath of a six week long bender is the look I should strive for,” You say with a laugh, giving him a good-natured shove of his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Sam says pointedly, taking a bite out of his food.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you. You gaze out in front of you, taking in the people bustling past you. People on their phones, people with smiles on, people who look stressed. People in a hurry. The call of birds, the sound of people walking over leaves. It’s bright outside as the sun beams over the plush grass.

You tear your eyes away from the grass and turn to Sam, who is patiently waiting for you to speak.

“I really,” You murmur, “I really appreciated your texts. And phone calls. And voicemails. I’m sure you all would have come and broken down my door at some point.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Sam shrugs, “Breakin’ down doors. Steve did want to. But we were sure you wouldn’t have appreciated a broken down door, on top of everything.”

You let out a loud laugh at that.

“The real reason I asked you to come here,” You swallow nervously, “I just wanted to say. Thank you for believing in me, too. I know I get in my own head and it takes me time to snap out of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never snap out of it. And every time, I’m surprised that I do. So thank you. For not giving up on me, even when I was barely responsive. Even when I wanted to give up on myself.”

Tears are swimming in your eyes, as well as Sam’s. He sets his food down next to him, and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly.

“I know this is something that we can’t control. And it feels like it’s here to stay. But so are we,” Sam says and you pull away to give him a watery smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

***

You see Steve when you have a really late night at the office a few days later. You’ve been trying to properly catch up on your work and you had lost track of time. Leaning back in your seat, you rub your eyes and stretch your neck.

You’ve been craving something sweet all day and have been unsuccessful in satisfying your sweet tooth.

You wonder if Steve is still awake. Maybe he’ll make cookies with you. Before you lose your nerve, you call him and familiar butterflies of nervousness flit around your belly.

“Hey, Steve,” You murmur, “Wanna make cookies with me?”

And so you find yourself in the kitchen with Steve at nearly 1:30 AM with mismatched oven mitts on. He’s quiet, as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“And look at that,” You grin, “We didn’t even burn the place down.”

“Don’t let Natasha know, she’ll get jealous,” Steve says and you laugh.

Another poignant pause.

“I-uh, I’m glad to see you again,” Steve says, scratching the back of his head, “Things are tough. But uh… we’re here. I mean, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you, Steve,” You murmur, “I know. And I appreciate everything. I’m glad to see you again, too. Who else would be here to make sure you didn’t burn the Tower down while making cookies?”

Steve snorts, and that’s that.

***

You see Bucky that same night. It had been close to 2:30 AM when you and Steve had finished making and eating cookies. You had both shared a few laughs and yawns when you decided you’d stay at your room in the Tower for tonight.

But before that, you decide to go down to the laboratories for a quick peek. Just to check on the progress of several projects and check the logs and data sheets. You haven’t been down here at night since… well, it’s been a while.

You end up just walking around, taking in the vastness of the room. You’ve always liked venturing down here at night, because the moon shines into the laboratories at an angle that it doesn’t anywhere else. Everything has a silvery hue to it, almost reminding you of something magical. And wasn’t it- wasn’t this the closest thing to magic that you would ever get?

You’re mesmerized by the jagged edges of one of the old trinkets on the workbench. It’s been here a while, it seems. Dust has gathered upon it, blanketing it in a coat of grey.

“You come here often?” A voice calls from behind you and you nearly drop the trinket in surprise. It’s Bucky, complete with a small smile and cozy sweatpants.

“Only when I want to be scared into having a heart attack,” You mumble, trying not to stare at him.

Your throat goes dry.

“How… How’ve you been?” You ask, leaning back against the workbench with your arms crossed.

“Been good. And how have you been?” Bucky asks.

“Well,” You begin, “I think you kind of know the answer to that. What with disappearing for weeks due to falling into a whirlwind of self-loathing, depression and who knows what else.”

“You’re talking to the king of disappearing for weeks due to a whirlwind of self-loathing, depression and who knows what else,” Bucky says with a quirk of his lips and it widens when you smile back.

“Two regular peas in a pod,” You murmur. He comes to stand next to you and bumps hips with you. You swallow again.

“I’m glad to see you again. This place was gettin’ boring without you.”

“Don’t I know it,” You reply, casting your gaze to the concrete floor with a deep breath, “Thanks for… Just thanks for understanding. And thanks for bein’ you.”

You meet Bucky’s eyes, and it feels like it’s in slow motion. His gaze is tender, illuminated by a splash of moonlight. He offers you a warm smile, one that you can’t help but return.

Even if he doesn’t quite say it, you feel it. You feel it in his gaze, the way he teases you lightly. You feel his unmistakable warmth and you allow yourself to feel warm, too.

***

The threshold for your depression feels like it’s been shifted higher. While it still exists and is very real and tangible... It feels like if depression was the ocean floor, you were hovering several hundred feet above it. With your continuous therapy sessions and better habits, you feel like you’re doing better. Even from before you had started spiraling.

Tonight, you were hosting a board game night at your apartment with your friends. You had asked them to only bring themselves and to not even think of bringing food or drink with them.

You were stocked with everything under the sun, from snacks to food to drinks. You had spent the better part of the day cooking and baking.

The familiar but unfamiliar feeling of warmth has you excited.

While some days still felt quite heavy and impossible, you had the courage to get through those days. You knew seeing your friends more often wouldn’t cure you… But it would certainly make you feel supported, cherished, and valued. And despite knowing that your friends would be there for you, you still sometimes can’t help but feel like too much. Those thoughts are sometimes hard to dismiss. Some days, you’re louder than those thoughts. And other days, those thoughts are louder than you.

But you get by.

Soon enough, your apartment is filled with the sounds of laughter and music, and you’re certain you haven’t quite stopped smiling. You wonder if this could be what the meaning of life is- this warmth that truly only came from a place of comfort with yourself and with others around you. You watch Bucky and Steve bicker while Sam instigates and Natasha looks on, shaking her head in amusement. Sam looks up at you, laughter fading into a gentle smile. You wonder if he knows what you’re thinking.

You wonder if the answer to the question that had transcended all of time could be found right here in the middle of your apartment.

#sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #tw: depression #tw: alcohol #im nervous lowkey for this LOL

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imaginebeatles · 3 years

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Hi...?

So... Where to begin? I’m back? Maybe? Kinda?

First I want to apologize for suddenly vanishing about half a year ago. If anyone was worried about me, I’m sorry. My mental health suddenly declined very rapidly and I needed to stay away from social media for a while. I didn’t even make the conscious decision to do so, I just physically, mentally and emotionally couldn’t.

I’m not the type of person who lays out all of their problems on the internet, so I’m not gonna do that. In short, it’s been a very rough year (as it has been for most people). On top of the regular problems that come with a pandemic (isolation, additional stress, etc.) the pandemic also forced me to address some issues that I’ve been dealing with for many years, but that I always managed to deal with in ways that I’ve now realized weren’t really... healthy. Basically, I have been overworking myself for years for a variety of reasons and it all kinda blew up in my face last August when I had a terrible breakdown.

I had already experienced a breakdown back in March, but managed to find some time to rest by pushing my master thesis for university back another year. I thought things would be better if I took a short break, but then back in August it just got worse and had another breakdown that was even worse.

For the past few months I’ve been emotionally exhausted and was close to a burn-out. I got easily overwhelmed by the smallest things and was crying multiple times a day. I could not enjoy anything and did not feel any kind of positive feeling for weeks. On top of that I also got frequent anxiety and panic attacks, which were scary and exhausting. It’s been a really difficult time for me, but I’ve gotten some help and have been working hard on myself, doing a lot of reflecting and trying to build better and more healthy routines for a better work/life balance. I have also been trying to change the way I think about myself, and I’m glad to say I’m doing a lot better now, thankfully.

I don’t know if I will be back back on tumblr, but I wanted to let you guys know I’m okay and fill you in on what’s been going on with me this year. (Don’t worry, mean comments haven’t deterred me from writing, if that’s what you were fearing, it’s just me and my stupid head).

I have also been getting back into writing, if anyone’s interested. I’m not really focusing on a particular set thing, but am rather just writing whatever I feel like writing in the moment. It feels good to write like that again, but I’m still in the process of getting back into it fully. My creativity has been seriously lacking the past few months and I’ve only recently been getting back into it.

Anyway, I hope this kinda explains everything a little and I hope you guys are all good and happy despite the circumstances, and if not that things have been going better than they were. I love you all. If you wanna chat or whatever, you can always send me an ask or message me.

#so... i'm back?#maybe?#we'll see i guess #i've been stalking some people in the notes #so i haven't been gone gone but...#yeah...#it's been a very tough year #personal #mental health

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sambinnie · 3 years

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1. Happy Mabon! Every autumn, I forget that the darkness comes clanging down in a great rush in the mornings. One day, I am greeted by a pinking sunrise. 48 hours later, it’s so dark on my run to the river that I have to stop a passing runner and check the time, in case my disturbed sleep sent me dressing and leaving the house at 2am. This summer may not have given us those mornings where it’s so hot I can barely get out of the water, where those early hours feel like full silent days carved out just for me to sit in the light and wait for everyone else to wake up, where the only extra thing I put on to run home is my trainers — I look at my waiting winter gear, neoprene socks and gloves, head torch, two more thickening jumpers, hat, thermal mittens — but every season, every day, is beautiful.

Today we go early for celebrations, and the water is silky, and Orion hangs over us with his phallic sword dangling and Betelgeuse winking on one shoulder. The near-full moon spotlights us and I feel almost ready for the shortening days.

2. Hilary Mantel continues to be a literary god. How does she write with that clarity? How can I ever speak with her calm good sense and wit?

3. We have two main problems at the moment, as far as I can see. a) What we’re doing (“curating” our lives; twitter spats; purity spirals; division and isolation; wanting ‘debates’ that can only be won or lost; encouraging people to buy more things; trying to buy our happiness; letting marketers tell us how we feel about the world rather than encouraging major moral lessons from throughout the ages to challenge us on our weaknesses; refusing to accept that life is suffering; asking self-care to be a plaster for everything we don’t have) and b) what we’re not doing (joining together to stand against those with more money and power; protecting the people who have even less power and voice than we do as a matter of course; learning from history; protecting nature above all else; prioritising going for walks; learning to repair things and campaigning to make things repairable; having a basic belief in human dignity for all, not just those with whom we agree; accepting that truly, we are all different and no amount of shaming or disgust will change that; working to shape our societies, culture, economies, production, food supplies and communications around improving — not just sustaining — the air, water and land, and fighting to ensure all of those new shapes protect women and children).

Individualism has morphed into something so completely self-destructive that we’ve forgotten we need nature more than anything — literally, more than anything — and we need to unionise and unite and put aside differences and work together even with people we don’t like.

Because when there are wicked people in power, when it’s genuinely exhausting to think about all the corrupt, venal, toxic, divisive, false, and cruel things they have done since coming to power, those people love to watch everyone below pointing their fingers at one another, saying, You, You’re The Enemy, You’re The Problem, while corrupt populist leaders rub their bellies and chuckle at another promise broken, another mass death on their hands, another building site on a protected forest. Do you understand the stakes here? Do you understand that it’s actual survival? It’s not about being right any more, it’s not about besting someone in the argument. It’s about having decision makers who can not only ensure there is still food to eat and air to breathe, but that relations both within a country and between countries are built on care, and support, and compassion, and believing in human dignity. And while it sounds wishy-washy and hands-clappy it’s the schmaltzy, sentimental truth. It’s the only one, really.

If we instead continue to believe every single day that my feelings are the most important, that my beliefs are the right ones, that I’ve got to prove those baddies there are evil and awful and wrong, then honestly, what the fuck? If we’re happy to live in a country where hostile architecture is the starting point for all public builds, where we send refugee boats away from our shores, where affiliate links are a career goal, where we haven’t stormed the Daily Mail offices with accounts of all our lovely immigrant friends and family and had a huge feast together and compared our long and tangled family trees, then come on. It’s only a race to the bottom if we all keep running.

Because, pressingly, whatever the spark of a major global conflict — assassination, fuel shortages, hyperinflation, invasion — the kindling is almost always a populace fed pure hatred for months, for years, until they can’t even taste it anymore but are ready to spew it out again, and are ready to use another populace as the receptacle. And hatred is brewed up in silence and isolation, and in the ashes of bridges burned between disparate groups.

And on that note, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, mainly because I don’t believe governments are generally competent enough to manage Grand Plans, but it’s annoying that technology and social trends and culture have developed in such a way that no one knocks on anyone’s door for a chat as a matter of course now, that it’s a given that a ringing phone triggers anxiety, that it’s not the norm for cups of tea with your neighbours, that we don’t know each other’s neighbourhoods, that we don’t even talk on the phone, with live words and intonation and synchronised laughter, but in text, in WhatsApp chats, in tapped out words and symbols that we know can be screen-grabbed and misinterpreted, that we know are kept, filtered and sold by the tech companies. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s just a reality that every single one of us can choose to do differently.

Sometimes exactly the right thing comes along at the right time. All of us here watched About a Boy at the weekend, a film which is so wonkily weighted and oddly rhythmed, but a perfect depiction of everything I’m banging on about here. Hugh Grant’s character likes being alone. He’s happy that way. It suits him. It’s his choice. Then, between one thing and another, he finds himself drawn into a world of a suicidal single mother, a duck-murdering young boy, more single mothers, more tricky teens, plus exes and mothers-in-law and awkward support groups. And it turns out that actually, being with people is better. Being uncomfortable often develops you as a person. Constantly prioritising only yourself produces a waxen, pointless baby. Making shared sacrifices might just be the point of being alive. Remember that to be human is to be flawed. That no one is ever completely right, and no one is ever completely wrong. That the boring stuff makes us feel good, and the glossy stuff, if all we strive for is gloss, doesn’t.

If you want anything practical, here are the things that have really helped me over the last few years:

Writing a letter or email regularly to my MP, to CEOs of organisations, to anyone I want to communicate my strong feelings and how I’d like things to be done better. Tweeting eats your soul. It’s a horrible myth the media pretends is important. It really, really isn’t.

Inviting people to go in front of me in queues, in traffic, getting on to buses and trains. It lowers my stress levels right down.

Learning the names of my neighbours and people I meet regularly on walks and letting them learn mine. (I definitely haven’t just decided I loathe a neighbour because they cut a bird-hatching tree down in their garden on the last day of the year it was legal to do so. It’s fine.)

Joining a few political parties, and the closest thing I have to a union

Making something, anything — everything can be done with love, and learning to not get sucked into the capitalist conceit of having to make it perfect, sellable, exhibitable is a genuine gift to yourself; making a cake or a film or a coaster and not putting it on social media, letting it be ugly or serviceless and loving it anyway. I felt extremely overwhelmed the other evening, but instead of doom-scrolling I knitted a… I don’t know, something flat and woollen, and it helped to have my hands and eyes working on directionless introspective creation.

Trying to stop hating. Every time I want to tell a negative story in my head about someone, I attempt to turn it into something positive: how unhappy that person must be, what they must be missing out on. It’s so nauseatingly Pollyanna-ish, and of course it isn’t always successful, and of course every single day brings a hundred thousand examples of cruelty and injustice and wickedness, but the alternative only makes my life feel worse, so why would I indulge that?

Teaching myself the names of birds, trees, flowers, clouds and constellations. I’m still at the most basic levels on all of these, but the difference one feels in the world when you can name things — let alone use them and know their stories — is a very real sort of magic. (For that reason I hope to read this book very soon.) This episode of The Cut is also good on the wonder and power of learning the names of the weeds that grow in your nearest pavement crack.

4. Creating anything is always a gamble, isn’t it, but writing a book you actually like for once and seeing it slowly and beautifully sink to the bottom of a river never to be seen again is ever so slightly crushing. However, it turns out even Thom Yorke feels that way, so I am comforted.

5. I’m sure I’ve mentioned plenty of these before, but if you want some suggestions of where to find joy, here are my favourites from the last year or so:

I was given Lucy Easthope’s book, When the Dust Settles, for work recently, and I was surprised and delighted to discover the most uplifting, hopeful, human and rightfully angry book I’ve read in a long time. Do yourself a favour and preorder it. I bought this other book for my own birthday, gave it to a housemate to give to me, forgot about it, and was delighted to later unwrap He Used Thought As A Wife. Laughed a lot, cried twice. Marvellous.

Now even the youngest housemate here can recite John Finnemore sketches and sing the songs. Has also taught them various composers, gods, logical fallacies and gothic story tropes. Also v funny. Oh, Kate Beaton! Her two books (Hark! A Vagrant and Step Aside Pops) are a bit like a comic-book version of Finnemore, but swearier and sexier and utterly unsuitable for all the housemates who have read it and been educated about the Brontes, Katherine Sui Fun Cheung, Tom Longboat, Nancy Drew, Ida B. Wells, Sacagawea, and the Borgias.

Had to give Inside a restraining order against me for the sake of us all, but Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade is a masterpiece of writing, acting, sound design and optimism. Spy is dumb action comedy polished to perfection, and Yasujirō Ozu’s Good Morning seems like the inspiration for almost all US arthouse films since 1990, and is also beautiful, funny, thoughtful, and good.

Taylor Swift’s Evermore, like all brilliant albums, isn’t completely perfect. But most of the songs are. And Hole’s classic Live Through This is still just ideal for turning up very, very loud after a tricky day, for the enjoyment of any neighbours who may have hacked down a bird-friendly tree on the last day of February.

Watched both series of Liam Williams’ Ladhood when I had a week off this summer, and really relished the location, the intention, and the writing. More please.

Miles Jupp and Justin Edwards continue to be my comforting bedtime listening in In and Out of the Kitchen. Has it ruined Nigel Slater for me? Well, a bit, but no more than any of us deserved.

I thought this would be a book I’d mumble through the first chapter of, then let get buried in my To Read pile, never to re-open. Instead, I found Whatever Happened to Margo? laugh-out-loud funny, drily written, and full of humanity. Excellent Women has made me want to read everything written by Barbara Pym, a goal I am slowly but surely working towards.

6. I’ve spent the last few years trying to find hazelnut trees, and finally found a copse between a car park and a play area, full of nuts the squirrels hadn’t noticed. Now I’ve found them, the spell has been cast and I see hazel trees everywhere, on walks and on pavements and running along motorway slip roads. A tray of green and brown frilled hazelnuts now dries with the laundry. They are so beautiful.

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testicularmanslaughtrr · 3 years

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I kind of just want to...babble so pardon me I don’t really want to *talk* ironically given the subject matter I just want to confess myself and here seems like a good place for it so forgive me

Dunno why I’m apologzing, I know it’s my tumblr just a force of habit

My emotions have been so strange lately. It was weird having to tell my new...prescriber... counselor person that it’s hard to officially say my “mood” because I’m never in one constant state. One second I’m as close to fine as I can actively describe The next I am a sobbing panicking mess on the floor And another 5 seconds later I either feel nothing or I am laughing and having a good time. It’s a whirlwind and it’s confusing and honestly it has been making me very self conscious.

I suppose that goes hand in hand with many of my other fears and laments.

Lately I have felt very lonely. A feeling I haven’t deemed...allowed since I have somewhat isolated myself. The fear of being seen as a hypocrite is very real. I don’t want to be in a groupchat right now, not even one I created because it just made that lonely and unwanted feeling all the more unbearable. There’s no worse feeling than being miserable at a party, and that was the vibe. Surrounded by people I do ultimately like but Either my brain says it’s not the right interaction and or I just Want to leave the party. There’s other reasons sure, but I don’t want to think about that.

There’s this pit, this desire for interaction that I can’t fulfill and it’s troubling. I want to talk about my problems, I’ve been openly criticized about opening up but...Professional help so limited and among those I care about I don’t feel I have a place for that. I’m an overwhelming presence. I know this about myself, as much as people may try and soothe those anxieties I know I am. I have many many deep rooted issues I need to sort out, I am drowned nearly every day in my misery and my paranoia. None of these are easy to deal with Even less so to help carry. All those I trust with my more fragile tendencies are also those who suffer greatly. People I’ve promised I wouldn’t overburden with my struggles, people who I don’t *want* to constantly have to lean on People who have already told me they can’t handle my weight I don’t blame any of them for this, I blame myself mainly. No one should have to suffer my pain with me. Say what you want about “support groups” but How am I supposed to not feel guilty when I share my pain and have to see the tired look on someone’s face or hear their awkward silence when they don’t know how to respond? “I have a support system that helps take care of me. you should try it sometime.” Lately those words have been burned into my brain and I can’t unsee them and it’s torture As if that is really a luxury I have. I have never truly felt like I have had people able to take care of me. Possibly cruel to say but who in their right mind is equipped to take care of a mess like this? Such a volatile and...just truly stupid creature? I know I know, you shouldn’t say awful things about yourself it just solidifies it etc but Many honestly agree with me I’m not smart, I’m not wise, I’m... A Lot And i hate being a lot. I hate being this. I hate being unbalanced and stupid and impulsive Yet scared and panicked so often. I’m terrified I want to die I’m so afraid people are going to leave me I want to convince everyone to cut their losses and live their lives without me I’m so desperate lately from scraps of affection from certain people And at the same time I want to convince them why I’m unlovable and why I am not worth their time The duality of mental illness I suppose ha Last night was...so hard.

All of the last 24 hours has been so hard. My partner collapsed again, second technically third time in about 3 years? He acts like it was nothing, I shouldn’t worry I still sobbed hysterically and was terrified all night about losing him. My mind flooded with visions of his funeral What I would have to do without him Practically seething at him that he wasn’t worried Because to him he just blacked out and then was back It’s fine right?? He feels fine afterwards! I sobbingly wailed at him that he doesnt have to see his eyes go strange, the color and life leave his face, to see his body slump so heavily as he *stops breathing* He doesn’t understand when he comes to why I am prying his mouth open desperate to get air in him, why I’m sobbing and clinging at him to not leave me. He’s okay, he assures me We need to schedule him a doctor’s appointment Which falls on me to do the work, the research, the calls It always falls on me Appointments, cleaning, laundry, cooking, shopping etc etc etc It falls on me, the household burdens and I feel my back shudder The weight wanting to snap my spine and crush me beneath it I’m so fucking tired I’m so tired of being scared and angry and sad I either want to cry every second or I can’t make myself feel anything I know a lot of this is a chemical imbalance...but environmental factors certainly play a crucial role.

On top of that And realizing my best friend has moved which I am happ for my brain just hates being happy My father also once again drunk texted me thus leading me down the rabbit hole of both resenting my parents and feeling the shame of being an awful son. We’re really just a family of awful people. Ha It’s genetic I’m so tired I want to be happy, but also I don’t think I do? At the very least I’m not allowed. I’m afraid to be happy. I know what I want but I’m in no place to seek any of it. Fuck ups don’t have any room to ask for happiness. I have many things to say. To spit. But I must keep everything neatly folded. On top of that the fear of being happy and then ruining it Shattering it Very very real. At least at rock bottom I feel like it can’t get worse If things get good, I’m terrified. I will still strive to be better, keep pushing forward But gods I am so afraid of the future.

My this is Very long and unfocused If you did read this I am so sorry But thank you for letting me vent Something about a public diary is comforting Anyways I have a sandwich I have been neglecting to spew all of this

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pruinesce-a2 · 3 years

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about all your recent posts for fuyumi i can understand how she feels & the constant fear & anxiety she has. to have incompatible parents & your the eldest so it's always a small trigger could make everything fall apart & your trying your best to keep everything together. you over analyze everything action and word to know if things are still okay or is something going to happen? to want everyone and everything to be fine. the amount of responsibility (1/2)

and sometimes you do want to just crash but you physically can't because it's how you've trained your mind to be always 'breath ur fine breath it's okay breath & get up & fix things it'll get better one day. maybe' you wish you had someone who could take off the weight for just a little bit but what if they don't do it right, what if that means i'm getting weak what if what if what if and it is just a nightmare (2/2)

Also because fuyumi's situation reminds me of mine, you feel terrified of romance and don't believe it actually exists, you have the fear of this repeating but with your own family and you dont want your kids to go through the same thing. Also you've never been responsible for only yourself so you're wondering if you ever will figure out who "you" are really. There's so much of yourself defined by the situation you are in that if it's gone, you don't know who you are (3/2 😭😭)

i’m incoherent bc i just got outta class but yes to pretty much all of this. and also, my friend, me too ! fuyumi is a HUGE comfort character of mine because i relate to her so much for the same reasons - and now i wanna go bit by bit n talk about all the stuff you mentioned because i’ve mentioned it in pieces on this blog but never in full and i just go crazy thinking about her.

trigger warnings for child abuse, death, and just. general unpleasantness.

first of all in all honesty, there’s really no situation in which endeavor could ever be compatible ( which isn’t a jab at you - just want it to be clear that this is beyond parents that don’t get along ! ). he’s straight up abusive and drove his wife to a complete mental break, as well as, as i’ve said before, y’know. beating the shit out of his kids. i wanna also clarify some things on the timeline before i get started ( i’m not sure if you’ve watched/read bnha, but also this is for my mutuals that haven’t ) - fuyumi is now the eldest living. the todorokis had four kids: touya, the firstborn, then fuyumi, then natsuo, and then shouto. and i want to follow that by linking you to this page, where we find out that..... touya died AFTER rei’s breakdown and subsequent hospitalization.

AFTER.

i honestly don’t know the timeline of touya and shouto’s training.... bc in this panel we see that baby touya didn’t have any burn marks, no bandages, he was fully capable of playing and running around. i also think if he would have been trained the same way shouto was, rei’s break would’ve come a lot sooner, and we wouldn’t have panels like this - i think before shouto, while the todoroki family was incredibly dysfunctional, they still had some semblance of a normal family, and that’s why fuyumi is so desperate to try to have a family again; because she knows and has seen that they were a family, or at least were in her understanding as a child. this seems particularly reinforced for me because natsuo, in the light novel, talks about how he always wanted endeavor’s attention as a kid! he thought it was unfair that shouto was the one who was getting it all, so it implies to me that.... one, they had no idea at first, and two, they had to have had at least a decent relationship with him before.

so i think what happened was.... after shouto’s quirk manifested, endeavor began to change. he started training shouto because he developed the quirk he wanted, all that stuff we already know, and the stress of it all drove rei into pouring the boiling water on shouto, and then we know she was put into psychiatric care. fuyumi was 12.

rei leaving was, obviously, hard on all of them. i think fuyumi was the most disconnected from her mother, because rei saw so much of herself in fuyumi and couldn’t stand it at times. natsuo in the light novel also mentioned he didn’t mind the lack of attention because he had his mom! so it hurt fuyumi, a lot, but she was able to be strong for them because a) she was older and b) she and her mother had a strained relationship anyway.

i headcanon fuyumi was the one who found rei and shouto. she heard the kettle whistle, the screaming and crying from the kitchen, and when she rounded the corner she saw her mother and shouto on the floor as we’ve seen in canon. it was incredibly scarring. fuyumi gets frequent flashbacks and invasive imagery from this event, especially when she hears that kettle whistle / sees her brothers in the kitchen. i’ve said it over and over but she hates them being there, shouto in particular - and i think this is backed up in the light novel when she immediately makes the boys leave the kitchen after shouto tries to come in and help.

i also think endeavor thought shouto was ruined after that. his “masterpiece” was ruined because there was a very strong possibility he’d never recover from that injury, and so endeavor, in desperation, turned to his first-born son as a replacement. his wife definitely wasn’t going to be giving him any more kids, and shouto as far as he knew was out of commission. fuyumi had an ice quirk and natsuo was practically quirkless, if not ENTIRELY quirkless. but touya.... had his flames. i don’t think endeavor initially wanted to train him because he wasn’t the perfect combination that he kept trying for with rei - but here, he’d reached his own breaking point, and touya was the only option left to continue his legacy.

but it’s implied endeavor pushed too hard, or was somehow directly involved in touya’s “death.” i put this in quotes because y’know, dabi is a todoroki theory. and this obviously just made things worse. i’m linking to this page again because it says that rei got worse, too, so much so that she couldn’t see shouto anymore - but it also implies to me that natsuo and fuyumi would still visit. but anyway ! touya dies, rei gets worse, and surely soon after endeavor finds out that shouto, while he’d have that scar on his face, would recover... and still be able to be trained.

so ummm.... now i can talk about fuyumi. all that and we’re JUST getting to her.

i’m kind of starting from the last ask here, but you’re entirely right - since the age of 13, fuyumi has never been able to define herself. from here on, she was entirely shaped by her trauma, and by roles she was never supposed to have fulfilled - i.e., motherhood. as a reminder, shouto was 5-6, natsuo was 9-10, and fuyumi, at age 13-14, truly began to step in rei’s place. so fuyumi starts taking care of the two of them while touya was the one who became isolated while he was trained. and like i said in a couple other posts, her brothers rejected her mothering them at first - i.e. natsuo lashing out and saying she’s NOT their mother and shouldn’t act like it, and shouto begging for their mom all the time and not understanding where she went. fuyumi barely had her own time to process what was happening and process the loss of her mother.

and then touya died. fuyumi probably feels partially responsible for his death, too, in the same way she and natsuo have said felt responsible for not helping shouto - she often thinks she could’ve done or said something to prevent that, too. and as you said, she overanalyzes everything and she’s incredibly hypervigilant to her father’s moods, because his satisfaction is, essentially, paramount to survival. touya died because he couldn’t meet her father’s standards, or maybe because he made endeavor angry, or whatever the case.

and you’re also right about the fact that she has no one to share the burden with - or, at the very least, feels like it. the one time natsuo tried to make it easier on her by cooking dinner, their father forbade him from never doing it again. i can only imagine what this fight looked like, and how scared fuyumi was of something so small turning into something irreparable. fuyumi says on this page they “take turns”, but i only think it ever happens when endeavor’s not home.

not to mention, as a defense and coping mechanism, became the image of a perfect mother to her brothers, and a perfect daughter to her father. always putting the boys first - i headcanon when either of them were sick, fuyumi would stay home from school to take care of them. always making sure her father was pleased and mediating between him and the boys. she developed this personality that consists of nothing but love and gentleness and understanding. i talked about this in my post about her and complex ptsd, but i’ll add the relevant excerpt here, too:

it’s also very common for these survivors to re-experience emotions from trauma intrusively - particularly when triggered. these feelings are often disproportionate to the present situation, but are equal to the intensity of what was required of them at the time of a trauma – also known as an emotional flashback.

fuyumi’s trauma has always put her in situations where she plays the peacemaker, the level head, the kind and gentle and understanding one. and because fuyumi is CONSTANTLY re-traumatized and exposed to her triggers because that entire house is one, it’s become her entire personality.

so fuyumi doesn’t really get to discover herself, at all, outside her trauma. her live revolves entirely around her brothers and her father. i think this also contributes to her desperation to repair her family now, because.... she doesn’t know what else is beyond that.

she’s stuck here. she can’t heal or move on right now.

fuyumi is a busybody because she KNOWS if she ever stops moving, she’ll crash, as you said. and it happens on occasion - but always behind closed doors. she has these.... quiet breaks, before she’s “fine” and moving on the next day. shouto and natsuo have never seen this side of her. she keeps this perfect facade of being put together tight under wraps.

i think the last thing to address with this ask is the aspect of romance and family - and once again, my dear friend, you’ve hit the nail on the head ! to start, fuyumi is deeply afraid of romance. she’s in love with the idea of it, as we can tell from her obsession with soap operas and trashy novels, but in reality it takes a long, long time for fuyumi to ever feel comfortable enough to define or initiate things between herself and someone else. it’s why she’s also always involved in people who are very straightforward, who won’t keep secrets from her, because she needs clarity in a relationship always. not to even mention a family of her own - fuyumi is so terrified of becoming her mother. even now, it’s why she refuses to let her brothers in the kitchen with her - because she knows how alike they are.

what’s really incredible to me is that despite all of that, fuyumi’s love and optimism and empathy and all that kindness and gentleness for the world is still very real and true. you can see it in the way she smiles, it’s in the way she sees the little things in people and remembers them, it’s in the unconditional love and understanding she gives to her friends and partners, the care she takes in tending to the family garden, the attention to her students - she truly embodies the good of humanity, the good of people - an aspect of her character that i love is how entirely mundane she is, and yet... she’s so, so special. her path to healing will always begin with forgiveness (though once she’s able to get away from endeavor, she’ll never be around him again), because she’s not a person that can live with anger in her heart, and i will always love how that’s presented as an entirely valid thing to do.

as a final addendum to this post, nearly no one knows about any of that. fuyumi won’t talk about it unless it’s entirely unavoidable, and even then she tries to make excuses and dance around it. like.... she stops up, she can’t speak. she freezes and completely stops functioning. ironic considering how openly her brothers will talk about it.

so anyways. i don’t think you expected this long winded answer, but i couldn’t help myself. thanks for sending this in !

#anonymous #✲ \ 𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝙴 ‚ meta.#long post //#child abuse //#domestic abuse //#child death //#ask to tag //#GOD THIS GOT SO LONG WINDED BUT I REEEEEAAAALLY WANTED 2 TALK ABT THIS....#BUT YES !! TO ALL OF THIS !!#MWAH THANK U ANON

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naturepointstheway · 3 years

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Faith in a Futile Hope (Life is Strange 2; Parting Ways)

Post Parting Ways ending, takes place up to fifteen years after the events at the border. May or may not have a second part. Daniel attempts to look for his brother in Mexico, knowing all this time that the plan is doomed to fail from the beginning.

Also, constructive feedback well-appreciated; using this as testing grounds before AO3, just to see if people think it goes too fast or too slow or something’s missing. (Also, to see if anyone catches what Sean’s trying to do with his drawings he’s sending to Daniel.)

All I can think of to tag is @msmooseberry, but hmu if anyone else wants to be tagged in future LIS2 fics as well. :)

When they take off Daniel’s ankle bracelet shortly after his 21st birthday, naturally, his first instinct is to take off to look for Sean in Mexico—and he would, but he resists.

He’s smart—he knows this is exactly what the government expects him to do—

So he doesn’t.

(The hell it’s hard not to just buy a plane ticket and go.)

Instead, he fantasises about the day he reunites again with his brother—he’d find him the moment the plane’s wheels hit tarmac, the moment he exits the terminal, and all would be well again.

(Sean still sends letters to Beaver Creek—all redirected now Daniel’s moved back to Seattle. Shit. What’s worse—Sean clearly refusing to imagine Daniel perished in the 2020 plague, or Daniel never being able to assure him for real?)

He has faith that Sean still loves him—even after Daniel leaving him alone at the border—but where is he? Faith and fantasy alone cannot guarantee him ever finding Sean in Mexico.

(He believes anyway. It’s what keeps his hope alive.)

He can wait another year.

He can.

Fuck, it aches to walk past travel agencies or see internet ads boasting cheap holiday plane tickets. He could walk in, or click an ad. Just one step or click and—

And he would cave in, he would book a plane to Mexico on the spot.

And so he doesn’t.

A year passes.

He’s now twenty-two—

And still he resists.

God. It’s torture.

He blocks all travel websites, avoids streets where there are travel agencies. It’s so bad, he’d sooner pass a church that looks eerily like the one in Havenpoint, than trust himself to walk past any travel shop.

Only one envelope from Sean this year—

A drawing—

Of Cassidy and Hannah with a herd of rather adorable-looking llama-like animals behind them. Underneath, Sean had written: “Vicuñas! Warm and fuzzy and stupid adorable.”

It’s not cold comfort, but nor warm and fuzzy, knowing at least Sean isn’t entirely alone. That at least he can see the old gang from Humboldt County.

Lukewarm. Lukewarm comfort.

He lets the weeks and months plod on by, he buries himself deep into his first year of university.

A degree—he really doesn’t care much for his studies (Cs get degrees, as the saying goes), but at least it keeps him distracted enough from just flying off to Mexico.

And so another year passes.

Twenty-three, he still doesn’t quite let himself go yet—

Maybe they’re still watching and waiting, expectant. But it’s been two years, hasn’t it? If he goes, he might not end up leading them straight to Sean.

But…what if he did?

It would be his fault, his doing.

They’d capture Sean, throw him behind bars, probably for life.

All thanks to Daniel.

So he resists, still. The agony is beyond unbearable.

But there’s no way he’s leading the government to Sean—he doesn’t trust them, ankle bracelet or no ankle bracelet.

At least Chris is there to distract him—he’s always there for him. Thank god.

Maybe he’ll go next year, but not this year. It’s too soon, too early.

He wakes up with a start on August 15th—Sean would be thirty now.

Thirty to Daniel’s twenty-three.

He’s never felt so old in his life. He’s twenty-three, and Sean has missed out on being there for all his milestones (so far anyway), for all his teen years.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of other people who still had their older brother around. If only he’d never taken Sean for granted.

“I took you for granted, and I’m sorry!” Those words from so many years ago still haunts him.

Unlike Sean, he can’t say sorry for doing the same too.

If only he knew where Sean was now.

If only.

Another couple of drawings and a little photo from Sean: the drawing of a glorious waterfall catches his eye, and he practically frames it on a wall, it’s that stunning. Underneath is written: “Angel Falls—the highest waterfall in the world.”

The other drawing is of a group of adorable little monkeys (“Capuchin monkeys” is written underneath) feeding and resting together. It’s actually quite sweet.

But it hurts all the same. At least Sean’s not wasting his life in a 9-to-5 job that has, amazingly, not yet stolen Daniel’s soul.

It hurts. And he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a healthy dose of jealousy too.

Still, he waits, biding his time still, waiting for the right moment to go.

And so another year flows on by.

Twenty-four, and he still doesn’t know where Sean is, though he knows he must be alive somewhere.

For Daniel receives a couple of photos and a drawing; the photos both have generic blue skies and tropical greenery in the background, nothing that would identify him as being in any particular country.

The drawing—coloured in this time—is of a couple of yellow flowers; one has a little bee perched on a petal. Underneath are two words: “Ipê-amarelo.”

So where is he?

Is he in Mexico?

How will Daniel find his older brother again?

What plan does he even have beyond “take a plane to Mexico”?

How is he going to do this?

These thoughts stress him so much he gets the old nightmares again.

Of cults, of Lisbeth, of Sean with glass in his eye, of borders and vigilantes who hunted them.

Of being trapped in burning churches, being forced to endure punishment for his “sins”, of being trapped in a prison cell and not knowing where he is.

Chris insists that he has to go to Mexico, if not to give him some peace of mind, to give him something in his search. Surely by now, the government has moved on.

Chris tells Daniel he hates to see him in so much internal torture over going to Mexico or not—and he must. It’s not healthy for him to keep forcing himself to stay here in the USA, always wondering, never searching.

Sean would not want him to torture himself like this—

The road is scary, and Daniel is too comfortable in his little corner of the USA to venture outside.

He’s not like Brody, nor his mother, nor his brother—he has little desire to brave it out and travel.

The traumatic journey from Seattle to the border of Mexico all those years ago hadn’t helped matters at all.

But if he stays here, he’ll forever wonder if Sean is in Mexico, or elsewhere.

And so maybe Chris really is right, he really should go to Mexico.

If but for the peace of mind, to let him go on the journey he has to go on. Even if he doesn’t find Sean, at least he’ll know he tried.

So he finally caves in. He books a plane for next year—2032.

It is now 2032—he goes in August, books in a holiday for two weeks, the second-to-last day not-so-accidentally coinciding with Sean’s birthday.

Surely, two weeks is enough time to drive around Mexico (he can rent a car and just drive around the place), and somehow run into Sean.

Mexico isn’t a big place, at least not compared to the United States. But Daniel wonders if Sean is even still in Mexico; it’s been fifteen years, he could have gone anywhere.

Surely he’s wandered far from Puerto Lobos by now—maybe he’s just as likely in Canada as he is at the tip of South America, where only the wide cold ocean separated him from Antarctica.

But at least for now he has to believe, has to hope that Sean’s still somewhere in Mexico. It’s a big, big planet, and he doesn’t know if he has enough bravery to go through dozens of foreign countries just to look for his brother.

It was one thing for Sean to look for him in Nevada—at least that was a place, one next door to California—but at least he’d had an idea where Daniel was at the time.

Now? Daniel may as well throw three darts at the world map and pick the first three countries to try to look for him.

Mexico was as good as any place to start—it made sense anyway, seeing as Sean had always wanted to go there.

He could only hope that he wasn’t about to waste two weeks and a few grand only to find no sign of Sean.

He lands at Aeropuerto Internacional de Ciudad Obregon, and it isn’t the most flattering of places, the little town where he ends up staying for a couple days, but at least he’s here in Mexico. The buildings are sparse and plain, and there is little greenery to see, but the sky is as blue here as it is in Arizona across the border. The houses make him think of matchboxes and lighters and little motels huddled away in some isolated corner of Nevada.

If only he could have taken his own car down here, but he couldn’t, so he’d had to rent one for a fixed price per day—at least his office job back in the States paid him enough to be able to afford this. He can’t exactly live in it like he’d seen people do, but it gives him something to work with regardless.

He can’t help the anxiety that overwhelms him as he navigates a language not his own, but a language that was his father’s and his brother’s. Part of him wants to smack his past teenaged self for refusing to ever learn Spanish, after his brother had tried to use him to cross the border. Instead, he had learned French, much to his grandparents’ delight—both had learned French as high-schoolers back in the day, and were more than happy to help him out, even if they were a little rusty.

Now French was next to useless here in Mexico, and Daniel doubts that Sean was in France or in some other nation like Canada where French was one of the main languages.

Ironically, Chris had been the one to learn Spanish—he would’ve been a very useful presence right now.

Nevertheless, at least Daniel is in Mexico, and Puerto Lobos is not far away, Daniel being able to make his way northward, toward the same border Sean had crossed so many years ago.

Maybe he’s in Puerto Lobos, he hopes, even if some part of him tries to reason that after fifteen years, he might not even be there anymore. Or…maybe he’s moved somewhere along the coast?

Mexico was a bigger place than he had realised: perhaps its small size compared to the US had somewhat tricked him. Its border alone touched four states from west to east: California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. It wasn’t exactly a small island nation stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

But no way Daniel was going to give up—and so he made his way up the west coast, the Gulf of California appearing and disappearing from view depending on what road he ended up on. Maybe, just maybe, he would see Sean along the way.

He can’t help but stop for a good part of a day at Punta Chueca, walking barefoot in the warm sand, the sun hot on his shoulders (it was tank top weather), sitting down at midday to have lunch, and then—fuck it—might as well have a swim too. At least he’d brought along swimwear just in case. He ponders the island of Isla Tiburon, which looks so close he imagines he could just swim right across to it. And he wonders if Sean might be on this island too, but he wants to stay on the mainland, keep going up the west coast.

It’s sort of a blessing that the places he passes through are so small, and it shouldn’t be that hard a task to find Sean, if he was still here. And that was a big if.

At least he’s now less than a day’s trip away from Puerto Lobos.

Puerto Lobos greets him with soaking sunshine, lulling bright blue ocean that melts into the cloudless sky, and a tan, sandy beach that seems to go on forever. It is a lot smaller than he expected it to be; somehow, Sean had made it sound like this big, wide world where he could just get lost and never be found again.

Instead, it’s a little village, perched on the coast of Mexico, forever gazing out at Baja California that appears nothing more than a hint of land like damp watercolour smudged across a blue canvas. There is one little hotel here, with just a few rooms and one staff member who does all the things, but Daniel doesn’t mind. At least he can stop here for a day or so, and drive up and down Puerto Lobos to look for Sean.

He doesn’t know why it disappoints him so deeply when he doesn’t find Sean at all—he’d even shown the photo to some people, and they’d all shrugged or shook their heads, not recognising the man with the black glass eye. Did Sean even still have a black glass eye, or had he replaced it with another colour, or even something that more closely resembled his remaining eye?

It doesn’t take long before Puerto Lobos’ width and breadth is exhausted in his search, but Daniel doesn’t let himself give up—yet. He still has another week or so; nevertheless, he spends the self-same night just staring at a map of Mexico, drawing with bold marker how far he’s been now.

It isn’t that impressive. It’s barely even much of the west coast, and this fills him with a sense of something dropping into the pit of his stomach, and he lets his head rest on the map, closing his eyes, feeling he could just fall asleep here from sheer exhaustion and burn out.

I can’t possibly search all of Mexico in two weeks…how am I supposed to search the world?

He wishes that Sean had at least sent a hidden address to their mom’s P.O. Box, but then he might have forgotten it, or hadn’t wanted anything more to do with Karen. Daniel had asked Jacob through Sarah Lee again and again, but Sean had never sent him an address either.

Nobody, not even their mom, seemed to have an idea where Sean was—not even a cellphone number to call.

It really, really wasn’t helping at all—and he knows now that it would take nothing short of a miracle to find him; if he can’t find him in Puerto Lobos of all places, then where the hell could Daniel look for him?

He doesn’t go any farther north than Puerto Lobos—he doubts that Sean would’ve wanted to be anywhere near the border.

And so Daniel returns to Ciudad Obregon, and he has but a few precious days left to venture southward this time, but with less enthusiasm than before.

He’s not going to find Sean.

He’s never going to find him here—

He could be anywhere in Mexico or the world—if Mexico felt so vast and endless now, how would South America, much less North America and Canada, then feel to Daniel?

This planet is just…way too big.

The towns south of Ciudad Obregon remind him again of the ones he’d seen farther north, and agriculture dots the landscape everywhere he looks. Daniel is sure Sean would never live in many of the little villages he passes through, but he keeps his eyes out anyway—

And suddenly, it’s time to go home—

He hadn’t even covered the entire west coast of Mexico.

When the 15th August comes around, Daniel has given up the search, and instead chooses to spend his day around Playa Huatabampito.

He wishes he could enjoy the palm trees, the setting sun, the lapping waves, and soft, cooling sand as much as the beachgoers here.

But he cannot, because now it’s all over.

It’s over.

Two weeks.

He had failed to find Sean.

All that money he’d wasted on a childish hope, a fantasy only found in fairy tales and fiction.

Today was Sean’s 32nd, and Daniel had failed to be there to surprise him for his birthday.

What a stupid, foolish man he was, to have fallen for his own naïve hopes and dreams—

The dream he’d find Sean in Mexico was as real as any he ever experienced in sleep. He’d fallen for his own stupid naivety, so gullible to believe and fall for his own convictions.

Of course he wasn’t ever going to find his brother. Mexico was way smaller than the USA, but that didn’t mean he’d find Sean any easier. Fuck. He could be anywhere on the fucking planet.

Would Daniel have to search the literal ends of the world for even the tiniest hopes of ever finding Sean? How many years could that take?

Either way—he had failed.

Maybe it would have been better if he’d never tried.

He should give up—there was a reason reunions between long-lost relatives happened only in movies and children’s books. Besides, would they even recognise each other now? He’d forgotten Sean’s voice.

Daniel stares out at the watery sun sinking into the distant horizon, drowning in the ocean, helpless. The otherwise soothing rhythm of the lapping waves does nothing to console him. It only hurts, thinking how in another time, in another life, he could’ve been here—or hell, in Puerto Lobos—enjoying the warm Mexican summer with his brother, perhaps even sharing a beer and pizza together.

But no.

He was alone now.

He’ll never see Sean again. Ever.

Daniel fumbles around for the sketchpad and pen he’d been carrying around since he’d landed here in some stupid hope that just having them in his backpack will give him la suerte—the luck—he needs to find Sean.

Placing the sketchpad on his crossed legs, he opens it to a new blank page, settling back against the lone palm tree behind him. He clicks the pen, a stark image of a lone little wolf cub howling at a bright full moon burning in his mind’s eye. After a few false starts, he begins sketching, the ghost of a wolf form emerging on the page. The world around him collapses to the wolf, like it was the only thing in existence, but for the whoosh of lapping waves, the wind striking his bare arms, and the soft warm sand under him.

When he finishes the sketch, he taps his pen on the page, thinking of a title to go with it. After a few seconds it finally comes to him, writing three words under the wolf’s little paws:

“The Lone Wolf”.

He stays very still, staring at the lone wolf cub howling at a cold, uncaring full moon. A drop of water blots the wolf’s front paw. He tears out the page, closing and dumping the sketchbook on the sand next to him.

“I—I wish I knew where you are. But now I know. I’m never gonna find you.” Daniel swipes his hand over his eyes. “You could be anywhere—and—we wouldn’t recognise each other anyway, right? I don’t even remember your voice anymore, Sean. I’m not even sure how to feel about that.”

It’s weirder still to think that the last time Sean had heard his voice, he still had the high lilt unique to a child’s. Or that his face was forever ten years old in his memory.

Daniel had grown into a full adult man, and yet, in Sean’s memories, he’s forever frozen in time as the ten-year-old he’d left behind. Sean had never seen him grow up into teen-hood, never had the chance to tease him when his voice broke, nor joke that he’ll never be as tall as Sean, nor ever make fun of the scant “beard” he managed at best. He never even saw him dress up for his first prom, go on his first date, discover his sexuality, or even graduate. To his surprise, his high-school graduation had felt bittersweet—yes, his grandparents and even his mother had been there, but…it was still not right for Sean to be absent, to not be there to be proud of him, to see him graduate high school.

Whether prom or graduation, he’d have given anything to have had Sean around.

Now, Daniel had not only robbed himself of having his older brother around, he’d also robbed Sean of watching him grow up into the young man he is today.

God.

It’s—

It’s enough to make him want to scream at the unfairness, to shout “Why?!” at the deaf, mute fates, to make him want to sob until his throat is raw, until his tears dry up and leave him an exhausted, shaken mess.

And so he—

And so he curls up into a ball, pressing his lower back into the tree trunk, pulling his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms, only the silent shuddering of his shoulders betraying his state. He feels the paper flutter from between his fingers, but doesn’t care. Let it fly over the sand, roll into the waves, disintegrate in the foam—like he cared.

It didn’t matter anymore.

He’d never, ever see Sean again.

It’s not like he can repeat his teen years over again, so what was the point? He was twenty-five, what more could Sean miss, short of engagement and marriage and graduation from university?

What even was the point if Sean wouldn’t even see him cross the stage for his undergraduate degree? If Sean would never see him marry the love of his life? If Sean would never see him promoted in some nebulous dream career?

They’d all be tainted with the knowledge he had robbed Sean of seeing him grow up, seeing him succeed in life—

All because of a second of impulse, a moment of panic, of not wanting to hurt anyone else—not even the policemen at the border who would have killed him and Sean without remorse.

And now he knew: he had no choice but to give up.

And now tomorrow…

Tomorrow, he will return to the USA, none the wiser about Sean’s whereabouts in Mexico, let alone the whole world.

#Life is Strange 2 #LIS2 #Daniel Diaz #Diaz Brothers

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never-changing-muses · 3 years

Text

Character Profile: Shinji Wataru

Name: Shinji Wataru Romaji: Wataru Shinji Age: 18-20 Gender: Male

Overview

Shinji Wataru is a character whose nature is that of a shut-in. He rarely leaves his house and spends most of his free time surfing the internet and reading light novels. He lives with his older sister whom he often describes as a "helicopter sibling" and he works as a shopper at a local super-market. His story involves him trying to find himself while also seeking the connection with others around him, despite his fears due to events that happened in his past. Along the way, he discovers the existence of magic and seeks to learn more about it, hoping his answer and peace can be obtained from such.

Background

Childhood

Shinji's childhood was what he described as an average one. He and his sister was born to his parents, Tesuo and Ari Wataru and the earlier years of his childhood were described as some of the happiest he'd ever known. He was loved by his parents and got along well with his sister who often protected him from bullies. This had started to change though when Shinji began his first year of elementary school. Here, he had been somewhat excited about the prospect of meeting new friends, but things did not go the way he thought. Instead of kind greetings, he had been met with jeering and mocking by his fellow students due to his appearance and certain quirks he displayed at the time, the bullying being a very disheartening for him. His parents, although they felt bad for him, tried to encourage him by telling him to ignore it and keep moving forward. During this time, he tried just that, but as the bullying got worse, he failed to ignore it all. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that he was just too different from everyone else, that he wasn't human at his core. But at the same time, he developed a burning hatred for his classmates who constantly hurt him and the teachers who refused to do anything about it.

Middle School Years

Although the bullying had subsided somewhat, his view of himself plummeted by the time he started middle school. His peers often steered away from him because of his moody attitude and once again, his appearance being a factor. His hatred for others was particularly strong during these years as he failed to understand why people hated him and why he felt even his own family didn't understand his plight. Some point during this time, he had made two friends and this resentment and moody attitude seemed to lessen when these two individuals had came into his life. He had fun with them during the two of the three years of his middle school days, often going to arcades and hanging out, but come the third year, this was not to last. The two friends had gotten into a dispute which left their relationship strained, with Shinji getting caught in the middle of such, having nothing to do with the initial dispute. He devised of a plan that would force the two to meet up, and with the hope that they would rekindle their friendship and go back to how things were.

This had not gone the way that had been intended, as when the two saw each other, hostility and harsh words were thrown at each other, and when Shinji had tried to explain, that hostility was directed toward him, with accusations of him trying to start drama. The male friend, having had enough, decided to cut ties with not only the female friend he was feuding with, but also Shinji as well. The female friend later scolds him and chastises his decision to go behind their backs and arrange that meeting, calling his belief that it would have caused them to become friends again stupid. After trying to argue his point, the female ultimately declares that Shinji never once understood the hearts of others or valued their safe zones and for that, decides to cut ties with him. For the first time, Shinji snaps and goes on a tirade about how stupid their whole dispute was and claimed that she never cared about him or the other friend. She seemed to be hurt by this and leaves.

Shinji has had no contact with both of them since.

For the duration of his third year, he entered a "delinquent" phase, becoming what others saw in his appearance. He was prone to violent outbursts and even beat people up, which ultimately got suspended from school. His parents were furious with such and berated him harshly for his actions, which caused him to enter a period of reflection and regret, only to come to the same conclusion as before, that he wasn't human and his erratic emotions was proof of that.

Highschool years

With his first year of highschool dawning upon him, Shinji was nervous, and wondered how he would navigate through a particularly important period of his youth. In elementary school, he was seen as a creepy looking weirdo which made him subject to bullying, and in middle school, people were put off by his appearance and his failed friendship turned him into a monster that everyone hated. He wanted to make an entirely new impression that wasn't negative, so he had taken a few pages out of his father's book and took cues from how he interacted with others and how he had many girlfriends before he met Shinji's mother in a story he had told him very recently. So when high school came, he tried to emulate his father's mannerisms and personality traits, but this seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of drawing people to his side, he ended up pushing others away, everyone disturbed by his behavior and appearance. He had asked out at least five girls out at some point and had been rejected by all of them. The final one had even gone as far as to say, he needed to have plastic surgery before he even had a remote chance with her. This had essentially killed his self esteem, enforcing the belief that he was not human and had come to hate his facial features to a large degree.

To make matters worse, both of his parents had been killed in a brutal accident, which hit him hard while it forced his older sister to step up and take care of not only the house, but Shinji as well. All of these factors had hit him hard and he gave up trying to connect with others, and spent his remaining high school years as a loner all the way to graduation.

University

After graduating, Shinji had very little drive for his life, but after being pushed by his sister, he decided to apply for a university that specialized in Culinary Arts, since it was something he had a passing interest in. he applied and was eventually accepted into the school. He had some measure of fun, making pastries and bringing some home, even though some of them turned out messy. However it was not to be, his difficulty focusing and learning something, which had plagued him through out his educational life, had reared its head and he struggled in the curriculum. Eventually after the first quarter of the year, he flunked out altogether. This infuriated his sister to the point where she had implied he was a burden. This had a profound effect on him, increasing the hatred he had for himself even more due to what he perceived as his inhuman nature and dead spirit. he wished that he was like everyone else, all in appearance, personality and intelligence. With this, he reclused even more.

Present Day

A year has passed and Shinji spends most of his free time on the Internet's largest video sharing website and reading novels and comics, often imagining himself in intimate situations with the characters. He has a job where he works four days a week, shopping for orders in a supermarket, although his sister wants him to do five days, much to is chagrin. His engrossment with media is to take his mind off of the darkness that lies within him, as he has not found an answer to the question imposed on him and has resigned himself to a life of isolation, understood by no one.

Personality and Characteristics

Shinji is many things, but the best word to describe him would be 'complicated.' From a glance, Shinji can be seen as rather eccentric due to his enthusiasm about certain media he consumes. The bulk of it though comes from emulating his late father, a trait that hasn't fully gone away in some instances, often using exaggerated motions at times when he is excited about something. He is socially awkward but tries to be as amiable and friendly as possible and depending on the circumstances, he will even offer to help someone with their problems as long as it lies within his own ability to do so. When getting to know him, he is rather shy but hides it well under his upbeat mask and it is only dropped when he can no longer maintain it or feels the need keep it up in certain situations. As he once went to a culinary university, he knows how to cook a few things well and is willing to cook something for someone, provided it is within his budget and ability to do so. Overall, he is a warm and welcoming individual in initial appearances, but there is more to him than what the eye can see.

Darker Aspects

Despite his positive personality traits, underneath them is a slew of darker ones which are concealed. Because of his past, Shinji is very insecure about his general appearance, mainly his facial features, which many had seen him as creepy or disturbing. An interaction with a girl had led to him resenting his appearance to the point where he wanted to rip his face off. This view of him goes back to his childhood where he was harassed and called a demon by his peers, leading him to believe that he wasn't human and thus, never saw himself as one well into adulthood. In certain situations, his general facade is dropped and he can become agitated and filled with anxiety, causing him to say things he wouldn't normally say or to act rashly and while he hasn't lashed out at someone since middle school, the anger he holds within himself is extremely powerful. He has a poor view of himself because of these emotions, believing himself to be further away from humanity because of them, thus giving himself a reason to resent himself. Because of this, he often wishes that he could become emotionless so he could 'fit in' and not hurt anyone from his anger.

Shinji appears to have a strong desire to 'fit in' and be one with the crowd because of his experiences. He has an odd and rigid set of criteria for someone to be considered human, and he believes he does not fit any of these due to how he is and is often hard on himself for not being like 'everyone else' and is especially harsh when he makes a mistake. This would hint at a perfectionist mentality that he holds himself to, yet does not hold others to it as he feels everyone else around him is what he wants to be: normal.

When it comes to relationships with others, he is very mixed in how he feels. On one hand, he wants to find someone who would understand him, a person who he could call an understander, life partner, and soulmate, and it was a desire he had since he was a teenager. But he feels that such a relationship with others is out of his reach, due to what he believes is his repulsive nature and the belief that there is nothing to understand. His only friends abandoned him due to drama and he was unable to form connections with anyone else, resulting in him giving up such ideas altogether. Although he laments it, he resigned himself to living an isolated life where his only companions are fictional characters in his head. Along with this, the reason he isolates himself is so that others won't be exposed to his rotten nature.

And lastly, he is someone who has no idea or interest in his future. He is someone who always lives in the present while avoiding the past and discarding the future, yet his sister has constantly asked what he wanted to do, even in the event of his failing university, screaming at him about it, which forces the question upon him. he does not know, and feels he will never know, yet he feels he is expected to know, to already have the answer like everyone else, but doesn't. He laments this, up to the point of calling himself defective because he hasn't found a purpose yet, or to become human enough to satisfy the world around him. At one point, he even admitted how envious he was of everyone around him --- they were able to form bonds with others so easily, find love and already know what they wanted to do and have the path set out for them. Yet he failed to obtain anything but scorn, isolation and misfortune. These feelings have led to him considering ending his own life, believing the world would be better off without a useless creature like him.

Discovering Magic

Depending on his path, Shinji will discover the existence of magic and attempt to learn from it in order to find his peace. One system of magic he gravitates toward would be Thelema, created by one Aleister crowley, and he would thus work to try and become a magician, if not to at least make something of himself besides a nobody.

#Muse Information

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