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#cw mental health
catboybiologist · 15 days
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Me: hi I'm a barely functional idiot tranny faggot that threw my entire existence into academia as a coping mechanism and am now barely holding on through burnout. I probably have an unhealthy relationship with caffeine, alcohol, weed, and online attention. I've fucked up a LOT and regret a lot. I have a fucked up self image and nervously boymode to hide who I am day to day, and run like a scared rabbit if I see someone I know while I'm in girlmode. Even online, I hide my face. Starting HRT was the first decision I made in my life that made me happy after some traumatic events, and now I'm picking up the pieces and figuring out what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I'm iust coasting until I do.
All y'all: omg role model?!?!? Accomplished and confident QUEEN?!?!? Everything is so perfect in your life?!?!? How are you so smart?!?!? How are you so confident?!?!?
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risustravelogue · 2 months
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Gifts of A Kind
Summary:
His love for you is the gift he's offering.
Featuring:
Zhongli, Alhaitham, Wriothesley
Tags:
Emotional hurt/comfort, love confessions, self-indulgent, reader has mental health issues and huge insecurity about her worthiness of being loved. Fem!Reader (referred to as a woman) who is having her birthday!
Note:
Me: Happy birthday to me! 🥳 Also me: *writes an emotional hurt/comfort piece with my favorites to cry* Haha. Also, I'm resting from the 1-week EBG grind, so have this for now. As always, enjoy~
🔗 AO3 | masterlist 🔗
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It’s another busy day at Bubu Pharmacy.
Sorting the medicinal ingredients in one of the back rooms, you were humming to yourself when a familiar baritone voice came from behind you.
“Happy birthday.”
You turn around to find your crush, the handsome consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, walking towards you with a huge bouquet of silk flowers, dotted with the biggest glaze lilies you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Zhongli! You remembered!” you squeal.
When the man you fancy remembers your birthday, you say thanks to Celestia above. Especially when he’s actually Liyue’s beloved archon.
—This is fine. He can never be mine, but I can have my small joys, can’t I?
“I have a gift for you,” he says with a playful lilt to his voice as he hands over the bouquet to you.
“You mean this pretty thing?”
He smiles. “No. It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”
You obey. Your heart thumps with anticipation. Maybe you’re finally getting that cute hairclip you’ve been eyeing for a while? Or maybe…
Your thoughts dissolve into thin air when you feel a soft warmth pressing against your lips and the scent of his cologne entering your sense of smell. Your eyes flutter open to find your vision filled with him.
But it’s not joy you feel inside your chest—it’s dread.
You struggle in protest, only for him to snake his left arm around you and press his lips harder against yours. He takes the bouquet away from your hands and sets it on the table behind you while nipping at your lower lip, as if asking for permission. You put your hands on his chest and push him away, breathless.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask.
Zhongli blinks, surprised.
“I thought you wanted it. Was I wrong?”
You shake your head and offer him a frown. “Why?”
“Is that not obvious? I love you.”
—What?
“What did you just say?”
He smiles as he repeats, “I love you.”
“... Heh,” you chuckle, and it turns into a full-blown laughter. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t.”
He only stares into your eyes with those golden pupils of his, his soft expression still like the mountains. You shake your head, dispersing the thoughts that maybe, just maybe—
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No one would, especially not you.”
You feel his left hand clench at the small of your back as his expression hardens. “Why not?” he asks.
A bitter smile grows on your lips. “You know why. I’m—you know. I’ll only be a burden for you. For anyone.”
“I can bear it, and you know that.”
“But I’m—I’m defective and you know it!” you shout, pushing him away to no avail. His eyes widen, his heart taken aback at how much you must have hurt. You feel your chest clench as you mutter, “I am not the right person for you.”
Zhongli sighs and caresses your cheek, so gently as if you are the most fragile piece of porcelain he has ever held.
“Listen. No one is perfect. Not even me. And you… you awaken something I have never felt in the thousands of years of my life. And I want—”
His lips quirk to form a painful smile.
“I want to keep you by my side, for as long as I am allowed.”
You chuckle bitterly as you slap his hand away.
“Stop it. I don’t want this. I don’t—you’re mistaken. You don’t love me. You can’t.”
Tears roll down your cheek as your fingers clench on the fabric of his suit.
“Please… you can’t.”
A heavy silence hangs between you. His fingers find their way under your chin, tilting your face up towards him.
“Look at me,” he whispers. You shut your eyes in defiance, and you can feel tears dripping down your chin.
“You are the kindest woman I know, and have a strength beyond what even most gods can comprehend. And please believe me when I say I have never met anyone like you in my life,” he says, his voice gentle like you’ve never heard before. You open your eyes to find his gaze looking softly into yours.
“I love you. I will be yours if you want me to.”
He smiles, and you can feel your heart melt.
“Let me be your strength, your rock, your home. Will my word as the God of Contracts do?”
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Expressive is one of the last attributes one would assign to the Scribe of the Akademiya, who also happens to be your longtime crush.
So you were surprised to find a saccharine sweet love letter in a pink envelope containing the words “I,” “love,” and “you”—in that order, next to each other—in his distinctly neat handwriting arriving at your doorstep on your birthday.
It’s not funny anymore, you think, deciding to confront him for playing with your feelings. You stroll to his office and bang at the door harshly, your face hot with anger.
“Come in,” the room’s owner says. You barge in, slamming the letter he sent you onto his desk.
“Out of all of your jokes, I rate this shit minus a hundred out of ten,” you say, voice shaking.
The silver-haired man tilts his head, seemingly confused. “What joke are you talking about?”
“This,” you smack the tip of your index finger onto the pink envelope, the force nearly ripping the paper in two. “This fucking letter, Alhaitham.”
“Oh, that,” he says with a smile. “I assure you, it’s not a joke.”
“Stop playing around!” you shout. “You said you love me, you liar.”
“Careful, I did say that, but my patience still has an end,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. He sighs. “Why would you say I’m lying?”
You scoff. “Because there’s no way, right? You’re perfect, men and women alike want your hand in romance, and you said you love me?”
You laugh derisively as you try to ignore the sharp pain penetrating your chest.
“You can’t love me. You can’t. I’m just a pathetic woman fumbling through life, unlike you. You’re fit as a fiddle while I have to take medication every single night, else my sanity would crumble like dust. I’m a burden to everyone I’ve ever cared about. So please, just stop.”
You feel your lips tremble as you grit your teeth in pain. Alhaitham frowns.
“Yes, I know about all that. I still love you, though.”
“Shut up, Haitham.” You lower your head and turn away, stifling back a sob. “I don’t deserve you. Nobody wants me, and that should include you.”
He slams his fists against his desk as he stands up, making you jump in surprise at his loss of composure. He saunters over around the desk and stops in front of you, his much taller figure looming over your head. His hands find their way to squeeze your shoulders.
“Who hurt you?” he demands, his palms trembling in quiet rage. “I swear I’ll hunt them down and make them suffer for making you think so lowly about yourself.”
“No one,” you lie. The pain in your chest pulses. “I’m just stating the truth.”
“It’s not the truth,” he says, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. “One as strong as you shouldn’t have such a low opinion of themselves.”
He lowers his head to meet you in a slow kiss. A tear rolls down your cheek as you relish the feel of his soft lips against yours.
“There,” he mumbles after pulling back. “Now do you believe me?”
“I don’t want to,” you finally admit, tears now streaming down your face. “I can’t.”
“Then—give me the chance to prove my love for you. Please,” he says while pulling you close. You shut your eyes, taking in his presence like a thirsty deer greedily drinking from the water’s surface. The words he whispers next have a certain promise woven into them.
“I am going to make you the happiest person in the universe.”
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The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide looks a bit different than usual today. You are certain of that.
Whenever he catches sight of you, he’ll either hum tunes to himself, smile like an idiot, or walk towards you with a skip in his step that others barely miss.
Too bad you’re only his personal mechanic. Pointing his strange behavior out is way above your pay grade.
… Which is what you’ve been saying to yourself, but your feelings, your amour for him screams and rebels inside your chest, threatening to spill into the flirty sentence of “Wow, someone sure is happy to see me.” You bite on the insides of your cheeks to hold it back. After all, he knows that you’re literally sick in the head, and he wouldn’t want someone like you by his side.
He would never, ever fall in love with you.
But, if that is true… what is that beautiful bouquet of Rainbow Roses doing in his hands, then?
“Happy birthday, wonderful woman,” he greets, a grin plastered across his face. “Please accept this duke’s gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” you ask, folding your hand over your chest where your heart is—the organ working super hard to pump more blood to your already-pink cheeks.
“Yes. Gratitude for all the work you’ve done,” he says in a sing-song voice.
You sigh, trying to rein in the butterflies in your stomach. “Wriothesley, I’m not an idiot. I know what Rainbow Roses mean.”
His smile turns melancholic.
“So what do you say?”
You harden your expression, trying to keep your tone as flat as possible.
“I’m sorry… I can’t.”
An uncomfortable silence goes on for a few seconds.
“Sure you can. Why not? I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“No, I can’t. Now please stop this nonsense, Boss.”
He takes a step closer, and you take a step back.
“Go away,” you say, turning away from him while stifling back a sob. “I can’t have you.”
He puts a hand on your shoulder. “You can. I want you to have me.”
You shake your head and shrug him off, tears starting to roll down your cheeks as the pain in your chest grows stronger.
“I can’t! I won’t burden you with… with me, of all things!”
“Stop saying that!”
Before you can react, he turns you around and pulls you into him, wrapping you with his strong arms like he’s protecting you from the cold, cruel world.
“Please stop saying that. You’re not a burden. You are never a burden.”
You try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. His shushes drown your grunts of struggle.
“Let me go. Please, I can’t want this—I can’t want you,” you finally plead, but he only pulls you closer, trapping your hands between your chest and his. You limp, pathetic sobs filling the air as you finally surrender.
“You want to know a secret?” he asks. He does not wait for your answer.
“I think you’re perfect. The way you pursue growth, the way you love. You are the most precious thing I have in my life,” he says, his voice half a whisper. “I am eternally thankful for you. Thank you for coming into my life. I’m at my best when I’m with you, and I don’t only mean because you can fix my gauntlets.”
His embrace tightens around you. You can feel his growing stubble rub against your temple.
“And if I don’t at least try being with you, I’m sure I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
He sighs as he presses his lips to the crown of your head, the warmth sending goosebumps across your skin.
“I want to be your home. I want… no, I need you by my side,” he continues.
Your grip on his vest tightens as you feel him bury his face into your hair.
“I love you. I love you so much, my heart hurts every moment I remember that you’re not mine,” he whispers. He pulls back, only to press his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss the next moment.
“Please… be mine. I will never let you down. That’s my vow to you, and I intend to keep it for the rest of my life.”
He looks into your eyes, his gaze as gentle as a beautiful snowflake. You tiptoe a bit to meet him in another kiss. He chuckles as he returns the favor with passion.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
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© @risustravelogue 2024 • FEEDING THIS WORK TO GENERATIVE AIs IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. • do not repost. • reblogs are precious. • feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. 💖
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kingkonoha · 3 months
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♡ — Levi goes to therapy to cope with your death . . . || mentions of: depressive behavior, poor eating & sleeping habits
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“You are so incredibly strong for coming here, Levi. Showing up today was the very first step. I’m proud of you.”
Levi Ackerman didn’t respond, only because he had nothing to say.
That was the excuse he repeated to Onyankopon, who had been chirping in his ear over and over again about the benefits of therapy.
In the middle of yard work underneath the hot sun, he’d put down his shovel, wipe off his sweaty forehead with the towel draped across his shoulder, and tell Levi that mental health was important.
While making dinner, chopping up vegetables alongside Gabi and Falco — they all enjoyed having meals together at least once a week — he’d drop the potatoes into a pot of boiling water, look over at Levi, and tell him that he knew an amazing therapist who would love to speak with him.
And, eventually, Levi caved. Not because he thought it would benefit him, but so his dear friend would finally shut up.
“What are you expecting to get out of therapy, Levi?” The older blonde-haired woman asked, leaning back in her big brown chair. “What brings you in today?”
“My friend wanted me to give it a try.” Levi looked down at his lap, staring at the place where two of his fingers were supposed to be. “I couldn’t exactly outrun him, so . . .”
“I understand,” she nodded slowly. “Why does your friend believe that you need therapy?”
Levi’s jaw twitched involuntarily. His eyes were glassy with tears — tears that once never fell down his face as easily as they do now. Levi’s eyes darted from his lap to a random spot on the beige wall. His uninjured leg started to shake a bit.
“Uh . . .” Running his hand over his mouth, he said with a slight tremble in his voice, “I lost someone.”
“Go on,” the therapist nodded encouragingly.
A lump started to form in Levi’s throat, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t swallow it down.
He couldn’t speak.
All he could do was sit in his wheelchair and become a victim of the onslaught of horrific memories that flashed in his mind.
When he blinked, a tear rolled down his pale cheek.
“She is my- she was my . . . damn it.”
Levi ran his hand over his face once again. This time, when he did it, the woman noticed his wedding ring.
“Take your time, Levi,” she said.
“She was my wife,” Levi paused. “And she’s dead now. That’s all.”
“Can you tell me more about that?”
“It was the rumbling.”
“I see. How did you discover her death? Did you witness it?”
All at once, it felt as if Levi’s heart stopped beating, and snapped into pieces. His breathing — he could hardly control it.
“Stop,” the words fell from between his lips before he even knew that he had spoken. “Too much.”
“I apologize.” The therapist nodded. “Let’s start with something easier. How are your eating and sleeping habits?”
That topic wasn’t easy at all.
He found himself moving bits of food around with his silverware more often than not, unable to bring the utensil to his mouth most days. And, he could hardly sleep before he lost you. Now? He never even bothered to close his eyes.
The dark bags underneath them were a telltale sign — a silent answer to the therapist’s question.
“This was a bad idea,” Levi glared at the woman. “You can’t help me.”
“Yes, I-”
“Can you bring her back?” Clenching his jaw, he spoke with a tone heavy with dread and sadness.
“No, I can’t.”
“Then you can’t help me,” Levi said.
“Levi,” the therapist took a deep breath before she said, “I can only help you if you’ll let me. Healing takes time, and it won’t work instantly. It seems as if we’re taking things too fast for your liking, and I understand. So, how about we start with something else? Tell me something about her. Anything you’d like to share.”
Levi played with the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt, pinching the soft material between his fingers.
“She liked sleeping,” Levi paused. “I hardly sleep at all. Always thought it was kinda funny.”
“Did she help you sleep?” The therapist asked.
“Yeah.”
“How did she help you fall asleep?”
When the therapist asked that question, Levi felt his cheeks start to warm up, the formerly pale skin becoming a subtle pink.
Being vulnerable in such a way was like having an exposed nerve, but, even so, he had to push through.
Any form of help — any relief anyone could give him from his own misery — was well worth it.
“She’d run her fingers through my hair,” Levi said. “And she’d always make sure that I could feel her next to me. An arm, a leg, her breath — anything.”
“Well,” the therapist smiled softly, “I hope you know that she’s still with you, Levi.”
Levi didn’t respond. He couldn’t; the lump in his throat had returned, if it had ever truly gone away.
But he knew.
He wouldn’t go as far as to say he believed in ghosts or anything of the sort, but the warm presence that he felt within his soul was enough.
It was enough for him to keep on living, as he knew you would be upset if he joined you in the afterlife too soon.
It would take a lifetime of therapy to work through the trauma — the sight of your ODM gear malfunctioning as you fell to your death, and Levi wasn’t fast enough to grab you — but he’d do whatever it took to heal.
And, with that, he’d continue to live because it’s what you would have wanted, and because he knew one thing for certain: you would be waiting for him.
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mysillyside · 5 months
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Analysis of Ice King's Mental Health and consistent Self-Sabotage
(a needlessly long analysis of an episode I really didn't like as a kid but grew to respect a lot upon rewatch as an adult)
I wanted to rewatch some Ice King episodes I haven't seen in awhile, and the season 6 episode "Friends Forever" really reminded me how Ice King is such a good portrayal of a mentally ill person who unconsciously self-sabotages himself and his relationships.
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Summary: The premise of the episode is Ice King inviting Life Giving Magus over for a hangout, when in actuality he is planning to trick him into bringing his furniture to life so they can be his friends.
The setup is obviously comedic: "Haha silly Ice King, you don't need to bring furniture to life so they'd be your friends, when Life Giving Magus is right there offering you friendship!"
Coincidentally, that's the tragedy of the episode and Ice King's character in general.
He already painted a convoluted picture in his head of what he thinks he needs in order to be happy, so when other possible (even easier) routes of achieving said happiness present themselves to him, he shuts them down completely. It has to be his way or no way!
Content warning: While I don't go into anything too intense, this is an analysis of self-sabotaging behavior and how it pertains to people struggling with mental health issues, and I even briefly go into my own experiences surrounding this topic. Keep that in mind if you decide to read!
I'll leave the rest of the analysis below, because it's a bit wordy. But I hope you enjoy!
Throughout the episode, we are continuously shown the same scenario. Ice King is presented with an alternate (usually more achievable) solution to a problem he's dealing with and proceeding to ignore it, as he already decided how he wants to solve it as other avenues appear too challenging. He wants simple, fast solutions, despite the fact mental health improvement is a slow journey.
Abracadaniel
Early in the episode, we find out that Ice King ended his friendship with Abracadaniel, because "he kept trying to analyze him" From previous episodes we know that this friendship made Ice King really happy, so it might be suprising of first glance to see it break off so suddenly.
But of course, it makes sense. The reason Ice King liked the friendship in the first place is because it was fun. It's nice to have friends who are able to distract you from your own saddness.
In the episode where he first befriends Abracadaniel in the season 5 episode "Play Date", Ice King explicitly states he likes spending time with Finn and Jake because it distracts him from his thoughts, hence why the duo introduces him to Abracadaniel.
And that's what the friendship probably was for awhile, the two of them having fun! But considering the fact Abracadaniel seems like a relatively normal guy (at least for a wizard), it makes sense that eventually he would pick up on the fact that something is very wrong with Ice King, and that he's dealing with some pretty intense mental health issues.
This leads him to start analyzing his behavir, which leads to Ice King getting irritatated and upset.
He wants to have fun when he's with Abracadaniel, not think about things that upset him. (Knowing Ice King, he probably thought Abracadaniel was criticizing or even attacking him.)
Life Giving Magus
This is a shorter section but still important to mention. The main irony of this episode is the fact that Life Giving Magus clearly wants befriend Ice King, but because that's not how Ice King invisioned his "get friends" plan, he ignores this way more practical/achievable solution in favor of a fantasy where everything works out just how he imagined it. Things will work out surely. The stars just gotta align. Fast and easy solutions only. What do you mean these things take time and effort?
The Furniture
So the furniture comes to life and Ice King is ecstatic. That is, until he realizes that the furniture doesn't act like how he imagined it. The once inanimate objects appear to be intellectuals that like discussing complicated smart people things and using big words Ice King doesn't understand.
After Ice King continually tries and fails to fit in, leading to him becoming frustrated and sad, the Lamp suggests an alternative solution.
Maybe Ice King can be the cool quiet guy who listens to the other people in the room and occassionally adds his input, instead of forcing himself to talk about things that are clearly beyond his scope and knowledge
Ice King of course, completely ignores this and gets upset.
He doesn't want to adapt to this situation or even compromise, this isn't what he wanted, this isn't how things were supposed to go!
So he'd rather end the whole thing.
And so the episode ends with him turning all the furniture inanimate again. Maybe its better things just stay the way they were.
Ignore the fact Life Giving Magus is once again offering him his friendship, despite everything Ice King put him through in that episode. But Ice King declines it, as he would still rather stick to what he's used to if he can't achieve his convoluted solutions to obtain happiness, than try new things. Who cares if it's practical, it's way too uncertain and challenging!
Conclusion
I think Ice King characterization is very reminiscent of a mentally ill person who clearly wants to be happy, but only in this very specific "let's not uncover the root of the issue" way.
He likes chasing manic highs of in-the-moment happiness, which leads to selfish, destructive behavior which eventually starts crashing down, culminating into long depressive episodes.
Ice King doesn't like being sad don't get me wrong, but he'd rather wallow in his own misery for weeks if it meant not having to utilize those brief occassional moments of stablity and happiness, to adress his issues and figure out how to get better in the longrun. He doesn't want to sacrifice them!
(If you want a clear real life parallel to this, have you ever had those moments where you're like: "Wow I've been feeling so much better lately, maybe I don't need to go to therapy this week!" and then you end up spiralling right back to square one when you inevitably get sad and depressed again, because you ignored your mental health in favour of not utilizing those happy stable moments to get better overall. I've been there. So yeah, Ice King is suprisingly relatable.)
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And not only that, but even when he is trying to make an effort and find ways to become happier, he's doing it in such a surface level way.
This whole episode is a great example of that, but this goes even further back. Just think about his princess kidnapping tendencies. Kidnapping a princess is a quick and easy solution to stop his saddness and loneliness. He wants to be loved, so surely has can force it. We never really see Ice King actually achieve his goal of marrying a princess, but let's say hypothetically he did. Than what?
He wanted friends for a long while too, so when he got them he was happy... until even the slightest cracks started showing.
If he managed to marry a princess, sooner or later he'd realize it doesn't make him truly happy. In the episode where he comes closest to achieving his goal (Princess Monster Wife), it still ends with him alone and sad at the end, because you can't cheat your way to happiness.
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For him to truly be happy, he'd need to start addressing the core of where his issues come from. But he doesn't want that! So when other people start digging deeper, wanting him to self-reflect, he gets angry.
"How dare you make me think about why I'm sad!" "I'm gonna achieve happiness in this specific impractical way or no way at all!"
As someone who deals with this type of mentality, yeah. It hits! The last time I watched this episode was actually when it first aired, and since I was still a preteen back then, so a lot of this stuff flew over my head!
But now I get it now and am able to appreciate this episode a lot more. To be honest, I used to hate it! I find later seasons of AT a bit humorless and awkward to watch, especially season 6 . While these opinions haven't really changed., I think I can finally appriciate the thematic and emotional meaning of this episode now. Preteen Kat might have been a bit of a hater.
Final conclusion: I don't know how an episode about Ice King's furniture coming to life ended up being such a good exploration of mental illness, but that's Adventure Time I guess!
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intermundia · 9 months
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one thing that kind of makes me sad seeing all of the (extremely deserved) love that hayden christensen is getting since the kenobi show press tour, and ahmed best getting that (wonderful, extremely deserved) jedi role in the mandalorian, is the conspicuous absence of jake lloyd, who has not returned to the public eye in a similar way. mr lloyd also did not deserve the harassment that he got back when the movie came out, he was a literal child who did an amazing job with his role. the bullying and negativity must have been so difficult for him to manage growing up. as a bipolar person myself, i have so much empathy for the difficulty in managing schizophrenia. i just hope that somehow, somewhere he knows that prequels fans have so much love for him and appreciation for his work too
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legitcookie · 11 months
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CW for mental health mention, and dead Eddie. I’m sorry. I tried to make it funny though 
Steve loves his job, which he never imagined would possibly happen.
He doesn’t have a manager breathing down his neck, the hours are consistent, and the work is rewarding. The customers are hit and miss, but what else is new?
At 8pm sharp, Steve pulls up to Roane Hill Cemetery, whistling a tune to himself as he exits his car and gets all the necessary supplies he needs for the night.
“Keep it down! Some of us enjoy the peace and quiet, Steven.”
Steve sighs and turns to look towards the shrill voice. “Good evening to you too, Mrs. Springs.”
The voice harrumphs. “I don’t like your tone.”
“Sorry. Want me to start on yours first?” He asks, walking to the first headstone in the first row.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
A cold washes through him suddenly, a complete 180 from the humid warmth of the summer air. Steve rubs his arms and mumbles to himself, “I hate when they do that.”
The first time one of the spirits passed through him, Steve thought he was going to have a heart attack. In his interview, they hadn’t said anything about the supernatural, although after Hawkins Lab that didn’t surprise him.
Now it’s been three months, and Steve’s gotten used to them. Despite being dead, all of the residents of Roane Hill Cemetery are pretty much exactly how they were when they were alive. Well, minus a body.
As he makes his way down row after row, cleaning off the headstones and maintaining the plants, a familiar chuckle dances through the breeze, melodic in Steve’s ear. He closes his eyes and just soaks it in before a voice says, “Hey there, big boy.”
Steve runs his brush over the words Eddie Munson 1965-1986 with reverence. “How ya doin’, dude?”
Eddie’s incorporeal voice hums to himself, and Steve can sense the shrug. “Same ol’, same ol’. Oh! Logan’s best friend came by, and oh my god,” he ends excitedly.
Steve perks up, eyebrows raised, and a wide smile on his face. “Tell me! Did he get into State?”
“No, but he got into the dean’s pants.”
“No fucking way!”
It’s amazing what people talk about, what they confess to, when they think no one is listening. The massive amount of information about random people around town that Steve knows from talking with the spirits is ridiculous. He knows more about who cheated on who, who stole money, where they hid it, etc, than anyone else probably. It keeps the seeming monotony of his job interesting.
Eddie had been the reason Steve got this job in the first place. When he went to visit and talk to Eddie’s headstone, he felt…something. Like he was being watched, but not in a horror movie way. It was comforting. Like an angel, if Steve believed in that. At the time, he didn’t know why it would make any difference. It was just an empty casket they buried after all, but when the groundskeeper found Steve scrubbing spray paint off Eddie’s headstone for the fifth time that month, he had been asked to apply so that he could at least get paid for doing the groundskeepers job.
It only took two shifts before Eddie said something, and being the dramatic asshole he is, it was a simple “Hiya, Steve-O” right by Steve’s ear.
Highly effective on someone who is:
1) alone
2) in a goddamn cemetery
and 3) is standing in absolute darkness
Steve still remembers the shiver running down his spine, his body instantly tensing, and breathing picking up dramatically. Eddie had to bring him back from what was pretty much a panic attack, explaining as best he could what was going on. Still, despite everything Upside Down related Steve had been through in his life, he was convinced he finally lost his mind and had a one-way ticket to Pennhurst.
It took Eddie revealing his most intimate secret with Steve to believe that it was really Eddie he was hearing. The secret had been way too good for it to be Steve’s mind making it up.
“Steve, you have to swear on your life that you will never reveal this information to anyone,” Eddie had said sternly.
Steve held back a laugh that threatened to burst out hearing the tone in Eddie’s voice, but he went along with it, sarcastically saying, “I’ll take it to my grave.”
“Uh uh,” Eddie tuts, “even after that. There’s a lot of loose-lips in this fucking place. So, swear you’ll never reveal this to anyone,” Eddie finishes.
Steve rolls his eyes, but still takes a finger, crosses it over his heart like he did in grade school, and holds his hand palm up. “I swear.”
Eddie lets out an unnecessary long breath. “I bought a Wham! tape once.”
Steve’s jaw drops. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Why would I lie about that?” Eddie asks incredulously.
Steve beams at the thought of Eddie Munson listening to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go in his van.
“Now do you believe it’s really me?”
“If you sing Careless Whisper to me, sure,” Steve says with a laugh.
And that was that.
Since Robin and the kids all moved away for college, Eddie had become Steve’s only remaining friend in Hawkins. It should make him feel pathetic, his only friend in town is someone he can’t even see, and some days he does feel that way. That thought doesn’t put a damper on the fact that he has Eddie again. Even if it’s just a fraction of him.
It's fine.
It's fine as long as he can come here every day.
It’s fine as long as Eddie isn’t just a bloodstained memory he revisits in his nightmares and daydreams.
------------------------------------------
“Hey, Harrington, wanna play 20 questions?”
Steve wipes the sweat from his brows. The heat from the ninety-nine degree day is still lingering, even with the sun far past setting. “Sure.”
“Okay, cats or dogs?” Eddie starts.
“Both,” Steve answers, still scrubbing away and cursing the assholes that keep vandalizing.
“You swing both ways, eh?”
Steve chuckles and shrugs. “I guess.”
Eddie hums to himself. “Favorite ghostie here?” Steve can practically see the wide, shit eating grin Eddie would undoubtedly have if he could see him.
“Oh, that’s easy. Phyllis. She promised me her banana bread recipe.” Coldness hits his shoulder, like someone smacked him playfully.
“Hardy har har, you’re fucking hilarious. Then Gary is my favorite groundskeeper, so screw you.”
Steve laughs. “Gary retired, like, two months ago.”
“But he’ll live in my heart forever,” Eddie says, ending with a wistful, dramatic sigh that makes Steve snort. “First relationship?”
“Oh god. Uh, I was in seventh grade, and Linda Albright and I dated for a single day,” Steve says, turning his head towards Eddie’s voice with a smile. “She said I was too clingy when I asked to hold her hand, like, five times.”
Eddie chuckles. “I’m sure Linda Albright is kicking herself to this very day.”
Steve snorts again and shrugs.
“Have you ever been in love?” Eddie asks next.
Steve hesitates a moment, and tries to keep his voice neutral when he answers, “Yeah…a couple times.”
“What happened?”
“Well, you know about Nancy.”
“Yeah.”
“And for a minute, there was Robin.”
“Who is gay,” Eddie says matter-of-factly with a chuckle.
Steve laughs. “Who is very gay, yep.”
“Anyone else?”
Steve pauses for a moment, thinking about the week from hell and the man that unwittingly changed his life. His mind supplies him the image of a wide grin, dark curls, and deep, brown eyes that made Steve feel like they could swallow him whole if he looked at them too deeply. His stomach twists the way it normally does when he thinks about the possibility of what could have been, but what ended along with Eddie’s heart beat.
“Almost,” Steve whispers. They’re both quiet for a moment, and he starts scrubbing the slur in red spray paint with vigor. “What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?” Eddie replies, voice lower, and with a twinge of sadness that makes Steve’s heart ache.
“You ever been in love?”
Eddie’s quiet for a while, and Steve thinks he might have left, gone to wherever they go when they’re not hanging around him. A coldness slowly moves closer to him, like Eddie is sitting right next to him now. Steve imagines Eddie twisting his rings, eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice as close as Steve expected.
He wishes he could reach out to him, to comfort him in the ways he’s most familiar with. Since he can’t, Steve asks, “Wanna tell me about it?”
A dry chuckle, and Eddie says, “As long as you promise not to punch me in the face.”
“Little hard to do considering I can’t even see your face, dude.”
“Touché.” Steve waits, letting Eddie take his time. If he can give Eddie anything, it’s time.
“I guess I should start by saying it’s a guy. Kind of an important fact,” Eddie states, clearing his throat despite not having a need to. “Probably the straightest guy I’ve ever met. Or, at least I thought so.”
“What makes you think he’s not?”
Eddie sighs. “I don’t know. There were some moments between us, like, in the 24 hours before I… y’know, became bat food and all that,” he chuckles. Steve doesn’t. He sits there at attention, hand stilled and gripping the brush.
“I had always had a crush on this guy, and always hated the fact that I did. What really sealed the deal though was finding out he was actually… a pretty good dude,” Eddie pauses, and Steve feels that wave of comfort wash over him. “And then this guy kept looking at me like…like maybe he felt the same way. I don’t know, it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”
“Eddie —”
“Hey, it doesn’t matter. He’s got a full life waiting for him, and I have the afterlife,” Eddie says with a forced laugh. “Que sera sera. Or whatever Doris Day sang about.”
Before Steve can respond, the coldness and comfort are gone, and he’s left with a hollow ache in his chest where his heart should be.
In the weeks after, Eddie acts like it never happened, and Steve doesn’t know what he can say. In his mind, there’s no happy ending here. No possibility that what he wants, what they both want, can come to be.
So, Steve does what he knows. He shows up, he upkeeps the grounds, and he spends precious time with the man that could have been more.
____________________
SORRY! Inspired by this post, but make it sad. Thank you @sidekick-hero for looking over this and making me feel better when anxiety brain was being a right bastard.
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cosmic-d1ce · 5 months
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q!Phil's mental illness is portrayed so well
it's so clear that something is wrong, to everyone else and to himself but he will deny it forever. He won't admit something is wrong or that these things really are messing with his head
He can't. He just can't do it! it's nothing and he's fine and he isn't sure if he's a real person anymore but that can be fixed!!
He can just distract himself with small tasks and talking to people and accompanying Tubbo and Fit when they want to go somewhere. He can just venture out 300k blocks or go do dungeons or explore those places where he knows he really shouldn't go. There has to be something he can do. Something that will make him feel real again. Can't feel pain in a dream!
None of it was real so why does he feel like this? He's certain it isn't real, it couldn't be. But he doesn't feel real either. None of it is real. He isn't real. He's stuck in a never ending nightmare and he's never going to wake up and- god he needs to find something to do before he starts questioning things again.
He can check on Fit or go see someone else, it's a distraction, it stops him from thinking about everything. It stops the feelings and thoughts for a time but was that bird there a second ago? Is it real? Why is there a bird in a cage here?? What the fuck??? That's real, right? Yes. Okay, it is there. Why? He should take it home. He needs to go home. He'll catch up with the others later.
But he doesn't. He doesn't come back and nobody will notice and he knows that and it's okay it doesn't matter! He doesn't want to be bothered he needs to go to bed. He wishes his friends would check on him more.
He wonders how long it would take for someone other than Fit and Tubbo to notice if he disappeared. He doesn't want to think about it, he needs to go to sleep. He goes to the nest to sleep. It's nice out here.
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autistic-af · 4 months
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Dear followers
I may seem slightly off over the next few weeks. I am in bad autistic burnout with 3 1/2 weeks before my annual Christmas break.
This burnout is particularly bad as it has triggered my passive suicidal ideations (my husband and therapist are aware and I've made an appointment with my GP to discuss). This only ever occurs when I'm in a really really bad place mentally.
So, please be patient with me and understand if I randomly don't reply to asks for blocks of time etc. Thank you.
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joelsgreys · 3 months
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tw: mental health
i am not the best at checking in with people. between my own crap mh, having a short attention span and very shit memory, i’m all over the place. but please, if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t ever hesitate to reach out. we can talk here, you can come on anon, i can give you my discord, etc.
whatever is in my control/whatever i have the capacity for, even if it’s just to listen, i’ll do it.
sometimes i get busy with work, school just started, etc but truly, if you need someone i will do what i can to make the time, even if it’s just enough to listen to what you have to say so you can get it off your chest.
don’t suffer in silence. don’t feel like you’re alone.
you’re not. i promise you, you’re not. 🤍
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gabessquishytum · 2 months
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TW SUICIDE
Screenshots of a convo with my friend lol. This but make it dreamling
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Lmao I kinda like the idea of Dream as a vaguely vengeful, nasty water spirit perpetually trying to drown people. And then Hob comes alone and just. Refuses to be dragged down. Literally or metaphorically.
He swims in Dream’s river, he goes fishing, he walks along the bank whistling happily. Dream will pop up and attack him with his gloomy vibes and Hob is just like "no thank you, I don't want to drown today. I just saw a duck :)))" leaving Dream utterly frustrated.
They become entangled, meeting day after day for years. Dream always tries to persuade Hob into submerging himself in a watery doom, Hob always politely declines. It's more of a token thing at this point. They're friends.
When the day comes, when Hob is at his lowest, when he finally craves the relief that Dream could give him... Dream refuses. He won't take Hob - he'll spit him right back out again. This makes Hob smile, and he quietly thanks Dream for that. He promises that he'll never ask Dream to take him again.
You can see them down by the river. An oozing, murky figure, half drowned corpse and half mud itself. And Hob too, a perfectly ordinary person. Holding the hand of the river spirit and watching the world going by.
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the fact that aurelia and hudson denholm canonically have entire LIBRARY SECTIONS dedicated to their exploits WHILE THEY ARE STILL ALIVE AND KICKING (according to p!owen) makes me feel. extremely unwell.
good god when p!scott is on about being under pressure to live up to the family name and p!acho is on about feeling like a family disappointment. HOW do you even… no WONDER…
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insert depression joke here that makes everyone concerned for my safety (place reassurance that im fine here)
anyway . needed to make these because hoo boy is depression a battle we are NOT winning rn . hope yall are doing better .
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ofsaintandsinner · 7 months
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Slip Out The Back
a Max Verstappen imagine
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a/n: I don't know what came over me, but it did and I am glad it did? I've been missing writing for the fandom and it needs more impostor syndrome coded imagines if you ask me...so yeah
tw: the reader deals with something akin to impostor syndrome, keep in mind I am no psychologist
word count: ~800 words
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You watched him pull ahead of everyone else from the safety of the garage, sat between various types of engineers, (social) media staff, and other Red Bull Racing employees.
The tension in the garage was thick enough to be cut with one of those plastic knives, despite how much time and space he was putting between him and P2.
Maybe they were worried about Perez' performance, though. The garage on the side of car #11 did seem far more concentrated than the one you had been told to sit down in.
You turned the word over in your head; concentrated was perhaps the wrong way to describe the atmosphere.
All hunched up shoulders, lips stretched thin over clenched teeth, nervous tics becoming more and more apparent.
Stressed, you decided. They were stressed.
You were interrupted in your people-watching by the mechanics on your side of the garage, car #1's—formerly #33's—side, jumping out of their folding chairs and into action. The gap Max had built up had now become substantial enough that even a botched pitstop wouldn't matter much.
The social media intern to your left didn't seem to care much, nonchalantly chewing away on some bubble gum like a bored teenager in maths. She was tapping away on her phone, her false nails clacking against the screen ever so often. The sound was hypnotising, in a way.
Not that it took much to take your attention from the race. You've seen it play out this way in most races this season.
Max would do well in all Free Practices, getting the setup for his car just right for Qualifying. He'd sneak his way into Q3, as sneaky as the fastest man on the grid could be, and only then show off what he could make the machinery comply with.
Sometimes it felt like the RB19, Newey's latest and greatest masterpiece, was just an extension of Max's limbs—an extension of his entire being; he was one with the car, and the car was one with him.
"You see that?"
The intern asked, pointing her phone at the overhead television screen. You had not seen it and, in fact, had no idea what she was talking about.
"Huh?"
You oh so eloquently replied.
She countered by pointing her phone at the TV screen more aggressively.
"That," she said, as the screen showed a replay.
A slow-moving Alfa Romeo had been passed by Max.
"Lapped for the third time now, they should just retire at him at this point," she helpfully added.
Her eyes drifted back to her phone screen as you settled back in for the last few laps of the race.
Max had managed to build up his lead again; 35 seconds ahead of Alonso's Aston Martin, he was racing in fresh air.
Perez had fallen back; the Mexican was lagging behind in P5 and had been overtaken by both Hamilton and Leclerc. Sandwiched between both Ferraris in the fastest car on the grid really wasn't a good look for him. To add insult to injury, the McLaren of Piastri was catching up steadily.
The camera switched to a bird's-eye view of the track as it showed Max passing the line to finish yet another lap. It held the view until Alonso passed it more than half a minute later.
And in those agonising seconds, you reflected on the differences in your and Max's lives—intertwined by some joke of the universe.
You, a failing uni student, stuck in your own head. With goals and dreams yet unachieved. The closer you got, the less attainable they seemed.
You, who were being dragged along in the slipstream of your best friend's—and totally not your longtime crush's—career.
You, who could barely even afford to sleep for five hours if you wanted to have enough money to cover the cost of living in Monte Carlo.
You, who felt more like a leech, a parasite, than a friend.
And then there was Max.
Max, the national hero of the people of Belgium and the Netherlands, and Austria by association.
Max, who had achieved the unbelievable two times in a row now, was about to prove to the world that he had what it took a third time.
Max, who couldn't be stopped, didn't let himself be stopped—team orders and everyone's expectations be damned.
Max, whom you looked up to.
The stark difference made bile rise in your throat.
You needed to get out of the garage, and you needed to get out now.
Your hasty exit made the clacking of nails and chewing of gum stop for a few seconds as watchful eyes burned themselves into the back of your skull.
But you didn't care.
There was simply no need for you to be a hero now, not when you had been a coward for so long.
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sleepanonymous · 7 months
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I think I’m mentally in a good enough headspace to finally write about this. This will be a ranty post, so skip it if you’d like. I’m also not going to pretend I’m not wildly speculating here. I do not know Vessel, nor am I a mental health professional. This is just me rambling into the void; I did my best to make it coherent.
So, to start, we’ll need the message from Vessel that he played during his The Room Below set and the text on screen from the Fall For Me music video. Since I’ll call back to them, I’ve transcribed both below.
Fall For Me:
The truth is I am due a harsh lesson in truth itself and how bitter it can be. Will you teach me? The truth is I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost, I am no god. The truth is, I want, to want, to live, and so do you. I just can’t do this any longer. I am afraid. Are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go. So for now let me live as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged let us be submerged together.
Vessel’s Room Below Message:
We are here to silently connect. To project ourselves onto one another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget. We are here to worship. Some time ago, I was given a message. It was a message that originated from one of you. Someone possessed by a strong desire to tell me something. The message read very simply: You saved me. I have thought about this message a great deal since. It left me with a feeling that I have somehow been mistaken for someone else. I did not save anyone. I do not believe I have the capacity to save anyone. All I have ever given anyone was a small window into the emotional waiting room of my mind. I do so whilst doing everything in my power to minimize my own vulnerability. In this way, I am selfish. I chose not to give what others can, and yet I am the benefactor of this thankful praise. |I experience a great deal of pain in my life. However, I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that is another reason why we are here. At the very least, we have all suffered. I would also like to take this chance to tell you something. To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. We are all limited by something. We are all guilty of something. My own path towards a place of greater self-acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path that I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else. I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask. So, in this sense, the message I received was true, but only in an inverse sense. The truth is I did not save anybody. You saved me.
For a bit of background, the Fall For Me music video was released in September of 2021, right before the release of TPWBYT. The Room Below show was initially set for January 2022. It was postponed twice due to COVID-19 and was finally set for the end of April 2022. To be honest, most bands would have just cancelled the show after it was postponed, especially if it was a single show, not part of a tour, and not meant for the entire band to be present. According to an online article, the show itself even started half an hour later than it was supposed to. Again, I’m wildly speculating, but Vessel wanted to do this show specifically to deliver his Room Below message. He doesn’t communicate any other way with his fans aside from the occasional chuckle on stage and his awful (/affectionate) heart hands. So what else was he supposed to do in order to respond to that person who told them that he, specifically, saved their life?
Let me back up a bit. Again, this is speculation, but I believe this person with their strong desire to communicate their message to Vessel did so before the music video for Fall For Me was released in September of 2021. It’s possible the message came after, but before makes the most sense (at least to me). I say this because the music video for the song has no direct connection to the lyrics. The base subject matter for Fall For Me is about longing and wanting someone who does not want you back, at least not in the same way.
On the other hand, the music video is Vessel (or a character he is portraying, if that makes you feel more comfortable) committing suicide by sea, and, upon first watch, the words on the screen are his suicide note. With closer examination, this is not the case. The words on the screen, though some statements do seem like they belong in a suicide note, are more like a precursor to Vessel’s Room Below speech, especially with the “I want to want to live, and so do you” quote. Even more than that, the statements show Vessel disproving himself and his importance to Sleep Token fans.
“I am ugly”, “I am inadequate”, “I am selfish”, “I am nothing without this mask.” With these four quotes, I’ll move on to the second part of this post. These four statements are coming from a man with severely diminished self-worth. Plainly, Vessel is struggling, or, to use his word, he is suffering. Without pulling more from his music, these quotes alone are a tell-tale sign that Sleep Token’s anonymous marketing strategy has backfired in the most spectacular way for Vessel. While it has captured the attention of over two million monthly listeners on Spotify and garnered over ninety-nine million views on YouTube, the anonymity has ruined Vessel’s self-esteem.
With the above stated, I believe he’s still on board with keeping up the anonymity of Sleep Token. To be frank, I think he’s the only member of Sleep Token who is still 100% on board with the gimmick. The Vesselettes recently unmasked back in July 2023 (good for them; they deserve to be recognized and praised for their talents), and there are multiple accounts of II, III, and IV walking around festivals and venues unmasked, sometimes even wearing their full stage costumes sans masks. Vessel relies on his masked identity like a crutch to deliver his art. He does so because he believes he has to. He plainly stated this fact to the six hundred people at the Lafayette with him in April of 2022 and, by conduit, all of Sleep Token’s fans who have heard the multiple recordings and edits of this message.
The other members, II, III, IV, even the Vesselettes, the old keyboardist, OG IV, and 2020 session player Sam Kubrick, have all achieved variable success without the Sleep Token façade in the public eye. But not Vessel. The best he had was performing on a small stage hosted by his former university at a music festival in 2014. Before that, he struggled to get subscribers on YouTube and played open mic nights at a local café. Vessel didn’t achieve any recognition or fame until after he put on the mask and bought entirely into the idea that his music, his art, should be wholly separated from who he is as a person.
This mindset reminds me of a Miley Cyrus quote (stick with me; I promise this is relevant) from a few years back. She did a podcast interview and said the following about her Hannah Montana persona: “When I looked like myself, when I didn’t have the wig on anymore, no one cared about me. I wasn’t a star anymore.” Her quote helped put Vessel’s statement, “It left me with a feeling that I have somehow been mistaken for someone else”, into perspective. I saw that snippet on YouTube a couple of weeks ago, and it was like everything instantly snapped into place involving Vessel’s insistence on remaining anonymous.
With the above said, do I believe that the anonymity schtick is a trash idea and that the band should ditch it? Absolutely not, because it works. Without anonymity, the band would not have blown up the way they did after The Summoning dropped in January 2023. Without anonymity, there wouldn’t be extra layers of added lore. Without anonymity, there would be no mini ARGs for the fans curious enough to wonder why there are no credits on the songs their streaming services are suggesting to them (thanks for fucking that up, by the way, Apple Music. A+ shitshow right there). We would not have such emotional, beautiful, heart-wrenching songs without Vessel’s anonymity. Vessel has said this last point himself with his quote about minimizing his vulnerability. Would Vessel have had the confidence to put out songs like Bloodsport, Atlantic, High Water, Missing Limbs, or even Vore without his mask to shield him? In Vessel’s words, all he has given his fans is “a small window into the emotional waiting room of [his] mind.” But what a gifted, beautiful, turbulent, fractured, and brilliant waiting room we have been allowed to see.
In closing, whoever it was that gave Vessel the message about saving their life, I sincerely hope they were in attendance for The Room Below show, and I hope they heard Vessel’s response. I hope they both, as well as anyone else touched by this interaction between the two, have found support channels for the weight of their pain. I hope that they are happy.
TL;DR Vessel is a beautiful, talented, and humble human being who has and continues to save lives with his music. He deserved so much more attention than he got before Sleep Token. I want Vessel to know this (even though he will never see this post). However, I also do not think that he and the other boys should not drop Sleep Token’s anonymity act at the expense of their comfort.
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lackablazeical · 7 months
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One of the best forms of self care after SH is to make yourself a little snack. Usagi's preferred one is salted cucumbers
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catboybiologist · 2 months
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SKINNY WHITE TRANS GIRL IN THE TGIRL TUMMY TAG LMAO STUPID RETARDED ASS BRAIN DEAD BITCH KILLLLLLLLLLLLLL YOURSELF YOU STUPID FUCKING RETARD YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT AND HAVE NEVER SUFFERED IN LIFE SLIT YOUR WRISTS YOU ARENT ONE OF US YOU ARENT MY SISTER
Eh. Get better bait. Ten bucks says this is a terf RPing to start infighting. I probably shouldn't be replying to this but eh it's kinda funny
But on the slitting wrists thing: been there, done that, 0/10 the food in the teen pysch ward sucks. All it did was make me avoid mental healthcare the next time I needed it, after I was sexually abused.
Like genuinely. You have no idea how bad it was. I was excited when I tasted canned ravioli again after I got out. Then again canned ravioli is fucking great so maybe that wasn't unique to that situation. Pretty sure the zucchini they gave me had mold on it. At least you're already in the hospital lmao
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