the ghosts of the past were the only thing that truly scared the ghost, the man who if someone'd seen him walking towards them from across the street at night, they would've started calling the first helpline number available and saying their prayers, even if they weren't believers .
in truth, ghost wasn't a troubled man, he barely was what was left of one, simon.
ghost wasn't a troubled man, but he was all that was left of one. every time the thick balaclava slipped on simons face, he'd turn off the few emotions that were still left in his body, mind running on autopilot as he coldly shut off his scarred heart. simon needed that, both a relief and a way to turn everything off, he needed to know it wasnt him killing people. it made his heart rest better to know it was ghost, not simon.
simon, who'd gone through hell and back, watching his friends, honourable soldiers, fall by the hand of a simple yet fatal mistake.
simon, whose family was slaughtered and he felt so helpless and unworthy, because why join the military and train to fight when he couldn't even protect his three years old nephew?
feeling so low he could barely keep his brown eyes open, he didn't think he was a man who deserved to live. why, when nobody was there to live with him? sure, johnny and kyle could try to cheer him up and distract him as much as they wanted, but they couldn't follow simon to his flat by the railways, in front of the man united stadium. price regularly called him: every other day to check up on him, ask him if he fancied a pint. simon rarely said yes, but he was grateful price didn't forget about him the moment they left base, it made him feel like he was, after all, someone. more than once even kyle booked a cheap hotel room near simon's place so he could spend time with him. forcing him to go outside and meet up with him and price. sometimes even johnny could make it, hopping on the first train from glasgow to see his lieutenant.
simon studied the pub. ironically, kyle always decided to drag him to the pub where simon spent his late teens with his mates from the time. that was, of course, before simon turned eighteen, and without speaking a word to anyone, left to join the military a week after his birthday. when he'd first come back, almost a year later, all his friends had either moved out of manchester or thought he'd moved out too, cutting off contacts. it was a shock for the few ones left to see his dog tags underneath his shirt when he first showed up again.
it was meaningless.
he was meaningless. flesh on bone, a heart pumping his veins full of life without him being able to stop it.
simons complete view of life was of suffocating suffering, a meaningless amount of time he had to spend on this earth for what he used to believe was for a greater good. there was not such a thing, simon was sure of it now, a bottle of beer in his left hand as his right one brought his cigarette to his chapped, pale lips. he looked down the river irwin, the city noise muffled out by the quiet and calm chatter of people walking past him. he felt almost envious. they had someone to talk to.
but he'd never been the loquacious type either, tommy always did the talking, simon usually dragging both of their arses out of the messes tommy brought them in. that's how it worked, their dynamic. his brother talked, too much sometimes, even for him, and he made sure nothing happened, as easy as that. simon was the one who stepped in when things got bad, in any situation: outside of the pub with a drunk man that tommy'd pissed off with his witty remarks, older boys at school when they were children, or at home, with their father. needless to say, simon got the most of the beatings, scars adorning the skin of his back even before stepping on the field. the cigarette burns on his arms and legs itched every time he'd think too much about it.
ever since finding his brothers corpse on the stairs of his own home, front door unlocked, his wife and son dead on the master bedroom's bed, he'd been craving what it felt like to love someone again. he craved loving someone, craved the feeling of something so strong it would change every fiber of his being, that would alter the chemistry of his brain. it was almost visceral, the need he had to satisfy. he despised everything good there was in life, anything that should bring happiness bothered him, but he was still a human being, and being human meant longing for someone else, another half.
throwing the cigarette butt in the river, he turned around, not ready to be home in less than fifteen minutes. the feeling of getting swallowed in the darkness and silence of his own home made him almost paranoid, he was driving himself crazy. simon would have chosen to throw himself in the river if given the choice to pick between that and going home, but the early rays of the dawn started blinding him, and the shadows under his eyes were becoming darker by the second. maybe he'd take a longer route.
simons restless nights became quickly part of his life, following him everywhere around the globe during the years. he found in the lack of sleep a way to control his life, he desperately needed control. when all was to shambles, control was all he needed. sleep, exercise, food, sex, attitude and performance were things he could control, and the less he let himself slip into, the more in control his tired body felt.
"five hours of bad sleep every two days won't keep you alive." price'd told him, and simon groaned.
"good then."
"we need you alive, simon."
"ya need a soldier, not me."
"we need you, simon." price insisted, shaking his head. "you're a good man, we need you."
"i'm not a good man."
until his seventh year of mourning, simon never thought he would find peace of mind, but he found it coming along with spring's sweet scented flowers and chilly breezes; you.
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I feel a bit afraid to even post this, for fear of someone else lashing out at me for questioning received wisdom but I still kind of feel like people are so invested in explaining their point of view (which I’m already saying is valid) that they’re missing part of mine
And that is that for me, part of my trauma is that I was both physically violated AND physically altered. And also I’m afab, and very often girls and women bear the brunt of purity culture in ways men and boys… definitely can but I’m not sure they always do.
And what purity culture says to little girls is that their worth is in their… well purity. Their innocence. That’s what’s beautiful and lovable about them.
So what happened to me… at least as I experienced it, I felt it stole my innocence. Destroyed my purity. I was still a virgin, but I’d kept a tight lid on any interest in anything dark or sinister or anything like that (and it turned out there was a lot to keep a lid on.)
After my trauma I was so angry and disillusioned I couldn’t do that any more. I got angry. I got cynical. I got bitter.
Which is all understandable. But here’s the kicker: I felt bad about it. Like a monster. Damaged and broken.
I kept getting diagnoses of situational depression. I’d get talk therapy until I felt a little better and then it would end and I’d need it again, later, like clockwork. It didn’t dawn on me that this indicated a chronic problem, not clearly enough for me to say “let’s look at diagnoses that include recurrence.”
In grad school, I read the book Trauma and Recovery which is an in depth look at PTSD, mostly as suffered by women who were raped or sexually abused.
In it, the women described my deep feelings of having been defiled so well it was eerie. They talked about feeling like there was dirt or oil or mud or sludge way down in their soul, where they couldn’t remove it.
That it made them fundamentally unclean in ways other people weren’t. Dirtied deep down, in ways that would forever separate them from other people who hadn’t been polluted.
Which is how I felt and still feel when things get bad, and what makes me feel suicidal. I can never be clean again, so I’m fundamentally unworthy, so I need to die and get it over with already.
Trying to frame it as that I’m still clean, or that the dirty one is the perpetrator(s), may work for other people, and I wish them the best. But trying to reframe it that way has never worked for me personally. As I said my body is literally altered surgically. I can’t avoid that something changed.
So what has worked to help me feel less like I don’t deserve to live?
Seeing the new thing that was created as worthwhile rather than poisoned.
Because of that, I get a lot of reassurance out of monster stories, especially ones where the monster isn’t fundamentally evil, just threatened and lashing out, or confused, or a child that doesn’t know its own strength or the like.
Which overlaps A LOT with “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”
It’s not quite the same but it’s a cousin concept, a sibling. “You tried to kill me. You really should have finished the job.”
So when I see people say “don’t tell me I’m stronger now, I get to be the judge of that thank you very much,” that version I get.
But when I see “the idea that I’m stronger now is bullshit, all I did was break,” that one twigs me.
Because it pulls me back to the broken doll oozing ichor. Nothing new came out of this. Nothing brave. That’s just a demon trying to justify continuing to exist, when deep down it knows all it is is pollution.
I make these posts not to tell people that they need to see themselves as stronger. I don’t know how they should heal. They know that.
I make them to remind people that there are a lot of different ways to reconstruct a self, and that it’s easy to overstep if you generalize too much.
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TROLLS HOLIDAY OF HAVOC- A VALENTINES FANFIC: Part 1 (warning, rlly long)
only read this story if you are like REALLY bored and have nothing to do for the next bajillion minutes cuz ITS LONG
Its a mix of Broppy with a bit of Cliva!
I wrote this on Wattpad if you would rather read it there. 😘
"UGHHHHHHH," John Dory groaned as he and the rest of the BroZone brothers fell onto the couch the morning after one of their shows.
They were in Branch's bunker living room, where all of them except for Bruce lived now, though Bruce did live there when he was planning on staying in Pop Village for a while for shows, like this last week.
And there was only one way to describe what the brothers felt now: EXHAUSTED.
"I can't believe we did six shows in five days last week!" Clay groaned.
"I don't think I've slept since Monday," Branch sighed.
"At least we were all together," Floyd suggested. "It's better than when we were all apart, right?"
They all stared at him. It was obvious from their faces that they didn't really agree.
"I miss Brandy," Bruce sighed sadly, taking a picture of his wife and kids out of his hair.
"You always miss Brandy," John said, annoyed. "Why don't you enjoy hanging around us for a little while at least?"
"Because you guys never tell me how much you love me," Bruce shot back.
Floyd touched his shoulder. "Bruce, we love you a ton."
Bruce stared at him, then shrugged Floyd's hand off of his should. "Ehh, it's not the same."
"I'd be concerned if it was." Branch stood up. "Guys, we're all acting weird and mopey. You know why?"
"Because you didn't make us pancakes for breakfast like we asked?" John asked.
Branch frowned. "What? No. I told you; I don't have all the ingredients!"
"Well, I offered to go to the store for you, but nooooo you said--"
"It's because we all need a break!" Branch interrupted. "We've been working our butts off ever since we got back together, which is good, but we deserve a break sometime. Which is why--" He turned and grabbed the BroZone Planner book from off of the breakfast table, "--I completely emptied all of our activities this week." He placed it in front of Clay.
"What?! No way!" Clay opened the planner to the week that it was. It was true. The whole week had nothing written anywhere on it.
The brothers stared at it for a while.
"Omigosh, yes!! This is what I've been secretly wanting for the past two months!" John gave a sigh of relief.
"That means we can do whatever we want all week!" Floyd smiled. "This is gonna be so much fun!"
"Guys, we should totally go bowling!" Bruce suggested.
John gave Bruce a funny look. "Why?"
"Cuz I haven't been bowling in forever! Last time I went bowling with Brandy, I broke my left pinkie toe!" He lifted his foot to show his toe, which was hanging in a weird way.
"Eww, that is disgusting, put that down!" Branch shrieked, covering his eyes.
"Dude, it's just the way of nature. Things break. Including toes," Bruce explained.
"That doesn't mean we want to see it!" Floyd gagged.
"Okay, okay!! If you put that foot down, we'll go bowling!" John compromised.
"Okie!" Bruce put down his foot and gasped. "We can call it-- browling!!"
"Haha!! Yes! I love it!" John laughed, nudging him.
Clay had been quiet. His eyes were so wide they looked like saucers. Then he gave a relieved sigh. "Oh my gosh, it is so satisfying to open this planner to this week and see nothing in it."
"There's not nothing in it," Literal John pointed out. "It says 'Valentines Day' right there."
Clay gave him the bro, are you kidding me? look. "Thanks."
"You're welcome! 🤗" John answered.
"Ahhh, Valentines Day," Bruce gave another sigh, this time full of relaxation and enjoyment, as he sat back. "You know, Brandy and I met on Valentines Day."
His brother turned to him, annoyed.
"Yah, we know," John grunted. "You tell us every Saturd--"
"It was exactly ten years ago," Bruce began suddenly.
The rest of BroZone groaned.
"I was new to Vacay Island and the Islanders, and watched them party in the evening of Valentines Day, all partying like they were never gonna stop. I watched sadly, wishing that I had my own Valentine to party with."
"And then that's when you saw her," Branch predicted.
"By the snack stand," Clay continued.
"All alone," Floyd reminded.
"Looking kind of depressed," John finished. "Maybe a bit like us right no--"
"And then!" Bruce didn't wait for JD to finish. "I decided now was my chance. So I walked up to that beauty. Her eyes were shining like bits of heaven itself. Her skin as yellow as a really ripe banana. Her hair as stringy as the cheese in a cheese and spinach ravioli."
"Why do you always describe her like that?" Clay asked. "It absolutely disgust--"
Bruce ignored him. "And I walked up to her and said, 'Hey, you must be today's special cuz you're making me hungry!"
All the brothers winced, just as they always did whenever Bruce got to that part.
"I'm really surprised she didn't punch you after saying that," Branch remarked.
"Oh, she did," Bruce chuckled.
"Wait, what?!!" Clay gasped.
"Dude, how come you've never told us the one interesting part in this lame story?!!" John gaped.
"I don't know. It didn't really matter," Bruce shrugged.
"What is wrong with you?" Clay asked.
Floyd laughed.
"Well, anyways. After I said that, she--"
They all groaned again.
"BROOOOOZOOONNNEEEE!!!" came a high but sweet voice from the hallway.
Queen Poppy burst into the living room, her face full of excitement and joy. She waved a pink envelope in the air before twirling excitedly in the room. "I'm sorry that I just popped out of nowhere, but I had to tell you--!!"
She stopped, noticing Bruce's mouth open, mid-story. "Oop, am I interrupting something?"
"Nope, you just saved us," Clay said gratefully.
"Yes, please continue. Even your news may beat Bruce's story," John pleaded.
Branch smiled and rolled his eyes. He was completely grateful to Poppy for interrupting though. Hearing the same story every week wasn't very fun.
"What'd you want to tell us?" He asked, walking toward her.
"Well, you know how Valentines Day is in two days?" She sang in a happy voice.
"Ugh, don't start Bruce all over again!" John said, alarmed.
Bruce crossed his arms. "I don't get why you guys don't enjoy it. It's absolutely lovely."
"Sure, Bruce. If you say so." Floyd patted his shoulder.
"We were just talking about it," Branch informed Poppy, who looked a bit confuzzled.
"Oh. Well, good!" She grabbed his left arm. "I wanted to invite you all to--"
"Wait, invite us to?" Branch stopped her. "Poppy, I thought I told you, we were taking a break from parties and everything else all week!"
Poppy looked at him, remembered, then blushed. "Oh. Well, uhhh--" she scratched the back of her head. "It's not really a... party."
Branch sighed and took the pink envelope and opened it. Inside the card said:
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO POP VILLAGE'S FIRST ANNUAL VALENTINE'S DAY DANCE!!
Formal Dress Required. Snacks Provided! 6pm to 9pm.
"Popppyyy," he gave long groan.
"I'm sorry, I didn't-- I forgot, you don't have to go!" Poppy's face flushed even more.
"Another party?!" John moaned, leaning back on the couch.
"But I was hoping to go back home that day!" Bruce said. He sighed. "Well, I guess..."
Clay also gave a sad sigh. "There goes our empty week." He grabbed a pencil and tried to bring himself to write in the planner Valentine Dance.
"For the second time, it's not empty! It already says 'Valentines Day', right there!" John pointed out again.
"DUDE HOW LITERAL CAN YOU BE?!!" Clay shrieked.
"Guys!" Poppy yelled.
They all turned to her.
She turned back to Branch. "Look. You're right. You told me not to invite you to a party. I thought the ball would be alright since it wasn't really a party, but I shouldn't have taken you so literally, and I'm sorry. You all don't have to go, no pressure." She gave him a kind smile and turned around and left.
They all stared after her.
"That was really sweet of her," Floyd said.
"Wow. Branch. She practically got on her knees, begging for forgiveness, and you just stand there like a doofus!" John said.
"Yeah, Brandy never would never have done that for me," Bruce said, impressed.
"Mostly because she doesn't have knees," Clay smarted.
The Clay and John snickered.
"I don't find that funny!" Bruce shouted.
Branch sat down next to Floyd.
"Penny for your thoughts," Floyd said gently.
"I think I'm gonna go to the dance," Branch said shortly.
"What?!" John turned to him. "What happened to browling?!!"
"We have all week to do that, it's just one day, guys." Branch shrugged. "Besides, I kinda want to make this Valentines Day perfect for Poppy. The past few haven't gone-- well, very well."
"What do you mean?" Floyd asked.
~~~ THREE YEARS AGO~~~
"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!!" Poppy held out a Valentine's Day card to a grumpy Branch.
He took it with a plastered smile then stomped on it angrily.
"😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped.
~~~ TWO YEARS AGO~~~
"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!" Poppy held out another Valentine's Day card for a grumpy Branch.
He took it and stomped on it.
"😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped.
~~~ONE YEAR AGO (Branch has his true colors now, y'all)~~~
"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!" Poppy held out her annual Valentine's Day card to a now happy Branch, sure he wasn't going to stomp on it.
Glitter sprayed in his face.
"EEEWW, I GOT GLITTER IN MY MOUTH!!" Branch shrieked. "I THINK IMMA PUKE-" runs away gagging dangerously.
"😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped.
~~~BACK TO PRESENT TIME~~~
"Oof, yah, you do owe her a good Valentines Day," Floyd completely agreed.
"And maybe this is my way of doing it," Branch said. He got up. "I'm going to go tell Poppy. But none of you guys have to go."
"Oh, don't worry, we've got that in mind," John said, annoyed.
"Poppy!" Branch ran out of the living room smack into--
"Hiii!!" Poppy gave him a giddy smile.
"Poppy, were you standing there the whole time?" Branch asked, lifting an eyebrow.
She shifted uncomfortably. "Mayyybeee."
He couldn't help smiling.
"I was hoping you'd say you would still come! And you did!!" Poppy gave an excited squeal and jumped onto him, giving him a big hug.
"Okay, okay, but I don't think the rest of them are coming," Branch gently pushed her off of him.
"That's okay." She waved her hand carelessly. "As long as you're there."
He grinned.
"Viva and I are so excited, we're planning on decorating it all by ourselves and we're ordering the biggest cake you've ever seen and--" she gave an excited gasp. "Branch!! You'll have to come over tomorrow! I have so many ideas for your tuxedo!"
"Well, I-- uhh." Branch wasn't sure if he wanted to wear another tuxedo in his life. He had worn that all week so far.
"How about around 11am tomorrow?! Okay, good!" She kissed his cheek, not waiting for an answer. "I'll see you then!!!" And she danced toward the elevator.
Branch gave an exasperated sigh.
~~~ The Next Day~~~
"I'm off to Poppy's to see about tuxedos, guys," Branch said.
"Ouch, good luck with that." John lay on his back on the couch, covering the whole thing.
Branch rolled his eyes.
"Branch, do you have a mailbox?" Bruce asked from the breakfast nook. "I haven't had mail in forever!"
"Pfft, who'd send mail to you?" John asked. "You aren't a thrilling teenager anymore, Bruce."
"As a matter of fact, I get tons of fanmail, Mister I'm-Jealous-Cuz-I've-Never-Gotten-One-Fan-Letter-In-My-Entire-Life. But I was talking more about my family," Bruce said defensively.
"Mmm." John had no comeback.
"As an answer to your question," Branch finally managed to cut in, "No, Bruce, I do not. Poppy's working on that. I can go get your mail at the post office if you want."
"Ooh, and while you're there," Clay handed him a letter to mail.
"What's this?" Branch asked.
"Well, it's--" Clay began in his I'm-about-to-blab-about-serious-boring-and-important-stuff-for-about-fifteen-minutes voice.
"Ya know what, doesn't matter, I'll take it." Branch was not about to stand here for fifteen minutes. Not when he could be talking to Poppy. "Anything else?"
"Oh! I have a grocery list!" John got up and handed him a five-foot-long list.
"John, I'm going to Poppy's pod. I'm not going anywhere near the grocery store."
"Well, you asked 'anything else' and I told you!" John went back to the couch. "You're welcome."
Branch rolled his eyes.
"Here, Branch. I'll go do that stuff." Floyd got up from the breakfast table. "You can go on ahead to Poppy's pod."
"Oh. Thanks, Floyd." Branch gave him a smile.
"We're off!" Floyd announced.
"Hmm."
"They don't care, let's just go before they order us to go pick up something somewhere else," Branch whispered.
"Good idea," Floyd agreed.
They started off toward the direction of Poppy's pod (the post office was on the way).
"Soooo...." Floyd said in a singsong voice.
"Soooo?" Branch asked.
"What's your gameplan?"
"For what?"
Floyd laughed. "Asking Poppy to the dance!"
"What?" Branch gave him a funny look. "I have to ask her? She's not just gonna assume we're going together because we're dating?"
"Well, of course she does. But it's more fun for the girls when they get asked." Floyd grinned. "You know, you'd think you've never been in a famous boyband."
"Yeah, well, girls weren't always my first priority, you know."
"I can see that." Floyd's grin turned into a gentle smile. "Branch, I want you to do how proud I am of you."
Branch shifted uncomfortably. "For what?"
"Getting along. Without us. Even before you had your true colors back. You dealth with Grandma..." Floyd gulped. "Well, you dealt with that all alone. And you still went on."
"Barely." Branch shrugged. "If it wasn't for Poppy, I don't know where I'd be right now."
"Well, it wasn't just Poppy." Floyd looked straight into Branch's blue eyes. "Poppy isn't in control of you changing, Branch. That's almost all you. She may have changed you, but you let her. And that's why you're here now, dating the Queen of the Pop Trolls."
Branch flushed.
Floyd chuckled. "I remember the day you were born. Clay made ten lame jokes about you right away, laughing at them by himself, Bruce seemed to be grumpy because you had blue eyes when he had always wanted them, and John looked like he wanted to die because he now had four brothers instead of three. But I knew right away, you were something special, Branch."
"I'm not that special," Branch said. But he couldn't stop smiling. "Oh, there's Poppy and Viva!"
They were in front of Poppy's pod, doing backflips in the grass, giggling like crazy.
"Oh, man, they're gonna break their necks!" Branch rushed to them. "Poppy, wait, don't--!!"
Floyd laughed, watching. Then he looked at Viva. She was laughing at Branch as well, giving him a teasing push, and he turned on her and tweaked a blonde curl, grinning, something he had grown to do lately as he as now as close to her as his brothers.
Branch knew a lot about Viva already because he hung around Poppy so much. Floyd wondered if he was close enough to her to be able to jokingly tweak a curl.
No, definitely not. But it would be fun to have a friend like that. And he hadn't had very many since he went to Mount Rageous.
Suddenly, an idea popped in his head. It sounded alright. Would Viva think so?
He smiled and walked toward her calmly, on a mission.
...
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