#i think i went into therapy with expectations i shouldn't have had
Text
Therapy
(Wrote this in five hours without stopping. Nothing fancy. Maybe sloppy and unpolished. Bon appetite???)
"Leave it alone, Darius," Hunter snarled, slamming down his chisel and wooden shape on the desk as he whirled around to face him.
"I'm doing a load anyway!" Retorted Darius, one hand gripping the laundry basket against the hip and the other holding a graphic tee with the solar system printed on it. "You know it bothers me to walk in here and see dirty clothes tossed all over the floor."
"I can do my own laundry!"
Hunter internally winced at his tone the second it burst out of him.
He sounded like the cranky, whiny child that he had once been, always gnashing nonvenomous teeth in an effort to be taken seriously.
Being treated as a child was one of his most explosive buttons. And the worst part was that if pushed, he always acted up in a way that proved them right.
He reeled himself in, filling his lungs to steady his wrung nerves before turning back to his work.
There was a pause.
"I know you are," said Darius, his voice softer than it had been a moment prior. "But considering you've been letting it pile up for the last few days, I figure I'd lend you a hand."
"I don't need a hand." Hunter took furious chunks out of his hunk of wood. "I'm gonna do it myself. I'm just....busy. Right now."
Hunter was "busy" a lot lately, leaving things such as laundry overlooked, as he focused on one obsession after another. Darius referred to his bouts of productivity as "manic episodes."
It was preferable to the other half of the time when he went borderline unresponsive. Those days weren't fun.
He heard a fwump, which was presumably the sound of Darius dropping the shirt back on the floor.
"Ocellena called," He said.
Hunter's rough attempts at whittling went still. "That's...the therapist's name, right?"
"Yes. Your first session is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. 3pm."
"Right. Okay." Hunter intoned. "Thanks."
When he offered nothing else, Darius pushed a bit.
"I know you're scared."
Hunter wanted to hotly declare that he wasn't. But he felt like the blood of a lie would seep through his words. He said nothing.
"But you haven't been doing well, Hunter."
He wanted to argue that he was actually doing awesome. But Darius was a lot better at arguing than he was, so he'd probably just end up looking stupid.
"And I promise that this is a step in the right direction."
"I said I was sorry," Hunter found himself uttering in a quiet, scratchy voice.
There he was again, that whiny difficult child inside of him. And in that moment, he had touched Hunter's throat, letting out one final plea to be forgiven.
He didn't know what he expected to happen.
Maybe deep down, he desperately wanted Darius to soften up and say to him, "Oh Hunter, what am I thinking? I shouldn't send you to therapy. You don't deserve that."
Darius said nothing of the sort.
Instead, he sighed. "You have nothing to apologize for,"
Hunter felt fingerpads gently drill against his temple. "How do I get that through your stubborn skull?"
His insides writhed with empty dread.
So, apologizing was worthless in this case. Noted.
Before Darius left the room, Hunter's hair was affectionately ruffled. He slid his eyes shut and savoured the feeling.
Every day for the last few months, Hunter was handled with such gentleness by the people around him. It had become so frequent that he had come close to taking it for granted.
He once caught himself wondering if maybe one day he'd forget how it felt to be treated.....the other way.
Well, it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon.
Hunter was, quite possibly, one of Bonesborough's most insufferable roommates. The number of times Darius and Eberwolf were awoken at untitanly hours by the sound of him suffocating on his own serrated screams was embarrassing.
The memories still seared raw and achey, nowhere close to scabbing over.
He couldn't forget.
And now, he was about to experience it all over again. But for morally correct reasons this time.
Hunter exhaled, irritated by the way it rattled. He leaned forward and hung his head in his hands.
There was a persistent gnaw of guilt in his abdomen that he was doing his damndest to ignore.
He did not want to go to therapy. But he knew he'd be a coward to admit that.
This was supposed to be a noble thing, right? Atonement. He was supposed to be owning up to his mistakes like an adult. But, being faced with the imminent appointment made him feel more like a spineless child than ever.
"Do you know what therapy is?" Darius had asked a few weeks ago when the topic had first been broached.
His tone made made Hunter bristle. He felt patronized. Nothing made him shrink in humiliation more than being confronted with the fact that he still didn't know a lot of things.
"Of course I do!" He snapped, not bothering to mention that he had only learned of the concept a few days prior when Steve brought it up in conversation.
"It's so chill, dude," He had explained. "It really made me reflect on all the bad stuff I did as a scout, y'know? And now I feel like I can finally move past all that business without the ol' baggage wearin' me down."
"But what is it?" Hunter prodded. "What happens in therapy?"
"Well it's...y'know,"
Hunter frowned, impatient. He did not know.
"It's just you and them. In a room together. Alone. And...you talk. About stuff..." Steve shrugged airily. "It's just that, man."
The last words Steve uttered sounded like they were underwater because Hunter had mentally blipped out after hearing the words 'In a room,' 'Alone' and 'talk'
His blood had frozen over.
Steve's wrist was promptly squeezed by Hunter's jittery fingers. And when the older scout curiously met his eyes, he said solemnly, "Steve. You don't have to go there."
Steve smiled his pleasant, lopsided smile. "I want to, Hunter."
His voice was so soft, so sure of itself, that a heavy weight of devastation unloaded in Hunter's stomach.
"Sure, it's scary at first." Steve continued, giving Hunter's knuckles a comforting rap. "But over time....it helps."
And then, he said the words that Hunter selfishly wished he had never heard.
"I go to therapy, and I think I'm now a better guy than I used to be."
The rest of the interaction had fallen flat because Hunter suddenly felt very disconnected from his body, and Steve could not reel him back.
He remembered the curt businesslike knock on the door of his castle bedroom. He knew it as the sound of guards delivering a message. A slip of paper from the Emperor himself, requesting his presence in the throne room. To talk.
He remembered the soft-spoken echoey order once he entered.
"Close the door,"
Hunter would obey. And then, they were alone.
'In a room'
'Alone'
'Talk'
Hunter knew how to read between the lines.
He felt stupid. Naive. They had told him that the things Belos had done to him were wrong.
They promised him that it was wrong.
But it seemed as though Hunter had severely misunderstood.
The actions themselves were not wrong, but the reasoning.
Hunter did not deserve to be punished for failing to carry out the dirty work of a vile, depraved man.
Every punishment was undeserved by default, on the grounds of it being delivered by Belos.
But Hunter, idiot that he was, had foolishly believed that he was never going to be hurt like that again.
And if he was, he would at least take comfort in the fact that it was wrong.
The realizations were crashing over him in overpowering waves. He felt pathetic for not being able to take it.
I'd like to leave the Emperor's Coven and never set foot in that throne room again
I go to therapy, and I'm now a better guy than I used to be
There were people on the Isles who hurt you and....and it was right...?
You face the consequences of your actions, and you allow them to hurt you in a way that was ethical, and then....you were a better person.
Of course.
Of course that was how it worked.
How could he possibly believe it worked any differently?
It had struck him the moment Steve had said it, that nobody on the Isles deserved therapy more than Hunter.
The actions of the Golden Guard had been unspeakably cruel. All the times he had stood there, turning a blind eye, as his uncle tore open a living creature. All the carnage Hunter had allowed to happen directly in front of him.
It was borderline brainless of him to ever assume that he could escape consequences.
He desperately wanted to be a good person. He would start ripping his own innards out if it meant he could be deemed a good person.
He'd do anything. Really.
Which was why he had decided to steel his nerves and agree to therapy.
He would walk into that room and his legs would not shake.
He would tilt up his chin, close his eyes, and stomach the consequences he had earned.
And then, Titan willing, he'd be one step closer to being good.
And yet...he would rather be dismembered than admit it, but...
Hunter was scared. He was scared to receive his punishment.
After everything he had done to innocent lives, Hunter had the audacity to be scared of the punishment.
He disgusted himself.
_______________________________
With the Emperor's Coven dismantled, the vacant police precinct currently had a plethora of uses.
Most notably, it was a research facility that Darius frequented. The current project was working on a safe sigil extraction procedure. Hunter gave Darius a headache by asking for updates every damn day, despite the latter's insistence that it would probably take years to perfect.
But today, when Hunter visited the building, he and Darius did not turn right towards the lab, but they ventured down an entirely foreign hallway.
Hunter was doing everything in his power to keep his breathing steady.
"Would you like me to sit in the waiting room?" Asked Darius.
"No," Hunter answered.
They continued to cut through the hallway in silence.
"Yes," He corrected himself, so quiet he worried Darius wouldn't hear it.
He did hear it. "Alright. I think we'll pick up some fatty junk from the market for dinner tonight. I don't feel like cooking."
Darius hated fatty junk.
Despite the terror teething his insides, Hunter's lip still quirked upwards, feeling the tiniest surge of warmth.
He loved fatty junk. And Darius knew it.
His therapy session was not the end of the world. Life would continue afterwards, and there would still be little pleasures.
And he would be a better person than he was now.
Once Darius checked him in, Hunter tried not to squirm in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, debating whether he wanted to pick up one of the trashy magazines on the rack.
According to the front cover of one of the tabloids, a star grudgby player had an organ eating scandal. Typical tabloid stuff.
"Hunter?" Called a soft, docile voice that nonetheless made him glad he didn't eat breakfast because he wanted to puke.
Darius tapped his knee to signal him to stand up, which Hunter did. He managed to not cave in.
He crossed the waiting room and pushed the door open, pretending that he wasn't experiencing alarming flashes of hands and eyes and dripping green blades.
He was ready. He was going to be a good person.
"Hello, Hunter~" Singsonged a small pudgy woman, who was in the process of donning an ankle length cardigan. Occellena. "Do you find it chilly in here, by any chance?" She asked.
Taken aback by the question, Hunter dumbly shook his head.
"Guess it's just me, then. It's a curse. Cold blooded n' all."
She had a head of plump indigo tentacles, and her bright amber eyes were magnified by jar-like spectacles.
"Well, let me know if you catch a chill and I'll turn up the heater."
The heater in question was a crystal ball the size of an ottoman with a blazing flame contained in the glass.
Occellena swept across the room to where Hunter stood and put a hand to the door. "Let's just close this and we can get--"
As far as he was aware, he did not do anything. But something made her take pause, and when she glanced his way, he felt himself jot.
"Or would you prefer to keep it open?"
The question initially escaped his comprehension. It seemed out of the realm of his own reality.
Hunter's throat tightened. And when he tried to speak, he failed.
He nodded again.
"Okay!" She said cheerily, like this was the best thing she had heard all day.
Out of the thousands of tangles in Hunter's stomach, one of them spread loose.
It was faint, but he distinctly felt the way that tangle relaxed itself.
"So, we'll leave the door open for now," said Occellena. "And if you decide at any point that you don't want that anymore, you can just pop right up and give it a swing shut."
Defenses still scaling high, Hunter had no idea what to make of this.
"Anyway," She made to walk towards her own chair, politely beckoning him to follow with one of her tentacles. "Shall we sit? I recently got a new couch. I'd really like some feedback on how comfy it is."
_______________________________
Darius would never say it, but his heart was hammering like a jackalope with worry for that ridiculous kid. His legs kept crossing and uncrossing in the waiting room chairs that seemed specifically designed to be uncomfortable.
Darius had bumped into Occellena on a few occasions in the upstairs kitchen. He had spiked his apple blood while she grounded oyster shells into her tea. He had never been one for chit-chat, but she had been nothing but bubbly with him, in spite of his less than enthusiastic responses.
He couldn't determine her skills as a therapist from just a few conversations, but the extensive research he had done to find a qualified candidate had promised that she was highly competent
But was she 'Golden Guard as a client' competent?
Was anyone?
If all else failed, she was sweet. Hunter loved sweet people.
He needed this to go well. If Hunter had a bad therapy experience, it would both stunt his recovery progress and leave him far less willing to try again for the foreseeable future.
Darius resisted the urge to stand up and pace the room, knowing his footsteps would probably disturb Hunter's session.
He noticed that the door remained slightly ajar, which he found peculiar.
Were they not supposed to keep the doors closed? Client confidentiality and all that mumbo jumbo?
Granted, he could not make out the words being said. The pitch of two voices, definitely, but it was all muffled nothingness.
His nerves were barbed during those first few minutes, in which Occellena carried on speaking for several seconds at a time, while Hunter only offered singular sentences as a response.
It was fine, he convinced himself. They were just warming up.
The moments passed, and the session seemed to take a turn in a positive direction.
The seconds in which the slightly lower pitched voice stretched a little bit longer every time he spoke. Louder too.
At some point, he seemed to take off babbling, presumably having one of those obsession buttons pushed.
Darius could only imagine that Occellena had asked about one of Hunter's many passions. That would certainly work wonders.
He had such terrible control of his own volume when he got too eager, so this was a promising sign.
After that, the conversation took a subdued dip, the silences hanging for longer.
And then, he heard footsteps. He straightened his posture, startled by the session seemingly wrapping up so soon.
But no. It was the door clicking shut.
From then on, total silence. Thirty minutes of just Darius, his trashy tales of organ eating athletes, and the vacant uncertainty of how Hunter's first therapy session was going.
And then it was over.
When Darius saw Hunter emerge from the room with Occellena's hand on his shoulder, his eyes were strikingly rimmed with red.
"So I'll see you next week. Don't worry yourself with telling Jewel, I'll have her put it down in the system. Be sure to take it easy for the rest of the evening, alright?"
Though he looked like every ounce of energy had been sapped out of him, Hunter still pulled up a smile for her, and Darius recognized sincere warmth on that face when he saw it.
"I will. Thanks, Occellena,"
And when he approached Darius, he looked relieved, ashamed, and dazed all at once.
"Hey," He greeted, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Hey," Darius responded, softly incredulous. "Shall we go ruin our skin with your accursed bag of grease now?"
His reddened eyes glinted with light boyish amusement. He nodded.
Hunter did not say much during their quest through the Bonesborough marketplace, and Darius vaguely wondered if he should be concerned.
As much as he complained about the boy being an incurable chatterbox, his silence unnerved him.
Hopefully, the session had used up too much of his blabbering muscles.
It wasn't until they were home and seated on opposite ends of the dining room table that Darius understood.
One of his most strictly enforced household rules was that dinner must be served on an actual plate. No takeout containers allowed on his property.
His nose wrinkled in distaste at the atrocity known as deep-fried eyeballs that were making a greasy mess out of his ornate lilac dishes.
Hunter was rolling the unsavoury little orbs around with his fork.
He seemed relaxed, if distracted, so Darius decided to pop the question, only to fill the silence, if anything.
"Do you want to tell me how it went today? With Occellena?"
Hunter's fork went still, but his eyes never dared to draw away from the fatty dinner in front of him.
When he opened his mouth, his bottom lip wobbled, searching for a voice that he did not seem to possess right now.
"It's alright," said Darius. "What happens in therapy stays in therapy. Isn't that what they say?"
Hunter did not respond to that, not even with a glance or a nod or anything of the sort.
He remained hung up on the struggle of getting his initial words out. The bump of his throat bobbed.
Finally, with a small, feeble voice that cracked around the edges, Hunter said, "I didn't think she was gonna be nice to me..."
The silence that fell was born of complete and utter bewilderment. Darius was so flabbergasted by the statement that he spoke before he fully thought it over.
"Well, that is to be expected from therapy," A touch of laughter rose and fell between the words. "I mean, surely you didn't think she would--?"
Darius cut himself off, his smile dropping as he noticed the visible tremor of Hunter's mouth, which he had forced into a thin line.
"Hunter?"
The boy lifted his head, bright brown eyes already pooling with an open, lost, childlike anguish. Then he blinked and it spilled to his cheekbones. He looked to Darius searchingly, like he wanted to ask something, but he could not utter a sound more.
"Hunter...? What did you think was going to happen...?"
235 notes
·
View notes
Note
AITA for not telling my mom about my heart surgery?
I already know this is going to be a bit long winded so sorry in advance, there's just a lot that I feel is relevant here.
I (21 M) had a heart surgery about a month ago now. It was cardiac ablation, and for anyone wondering, it went just fine and I'm already fully recovered and walking around like normal. I had known about it for weeks prior and of course had been calling my dad and keeping him updated about all this. However, I hesitated to tell my mom, and ultimately never brought it up to her. I still haven't.
For a bit of backstory, my parents split when I was 16 because, to be blunt, my mother was being abusive in just about every avenue. She was mean and cruel and sometimes violent. I don't want to get into all the details because I don't think it's really necessary, but know it was bad. After she finally left I went no-contact with her, as did my dad and older sibling. This seemed to really upset her and she repeatedly tried to reach out to me, sent me expensive gifts, etc. After a while I made it clear to her that the only way I would ever even consider speaking to her again would be if she went to therapy and sorted her shit out, then gave me a real apology for her behavior, and even then she'd be lucky if I spoke to her afterwards.
And, being perfectly fair to her, she did it. She went to therapy, she did the work, and from what I've seen she has really put in the effort to change. She wants to keep me in her life and once I made it clear I wouldn't budge, she got her ass up and did it. She even gave me an apology I wasn't expecting, where she admitted that she only stayed with my father because she was afraid of being a single mother, and she took that resentment out on me and my sibling for most of our lives. Over time, I've maintained contact with her and we have a relationship now. Not sure how great it is, but we have one. She takes me out to lunch sometimes and I actually answer when she calls me.
Back to the topic of my heart, I've always had palpitations here and there, usually three times a week. I thought it was normal. Then after a pretty scary morning that landed me in the ER and lots of testing, the doctors decided surgery was the best option for me. I called my dad, like I said, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell my mother. And it wasn't out of fear or anxiety or not wanting to worry her. I just... didn't want to.
My dad said she had a right to know as my parent, if I was keeping contact with her. I spoke with my therapist about it, and while he didn't outright say I shouldn't tell her, it felt very much like he was leaning that direction. In the end, I never said anything to her, and she's still unaware it even happened.
It's been weighing on my conscience a bit. I had no reason to not tell her. There was nothing stopping me from being up front and honest with her. So I wonder, am I an asshole for not telling her?
What are these acronyms?
75 notes
·
View notes
Note
this is just me thinking but I feel like at this stage the fandoms own guilt over how many treated dnp for a long time is bigger than any feeling dnp themselves have about it. even if fans weren't directly part of it, I think a lot of us still carry that history of just how far off things went at certain times. I definitely think as hurt as especially Dan was, he's forgiven us, he's over it (man's had enough therapy) so now most of it comes from ourselves really.
oh for sure like we're all so traumatized from that shit and i think we're still beating ourselves up more than dan and phil ever would but also i don't expect them to ever explicitly say all is forgiven (and they shouldn't have to!) because it's one of those things we (as in us and dnp) don't have a dialogue about and that's okay. i do hope this new era eases some of the guilt though
#anon ask#half the time its like that feeling when you were a kid and the whole class got in trouble but you werent doing anything#and half the time its like youve taken on the burden for the entire community and feel like you personally were responsible for their pain#every time dnp almost kind of admit they like us it feels like a 50 pound weight is lifted
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lestat in Ep5: Louis as a Believable Victim
Although I responded to comments in the post I made last night when the trailer dropped, IRL got in the way, so I had to wait to talk at greater length about this WILD shot of a bloody Lestat, presumably during the Ep5 fight, which we also see in the trailer.
The Injuries
I wasn't the only one who saw Lestat's bloody face in the trailer and was like Ok, we're off to the races now! Cuz this implies SEVERAL things, some I'm more interested than others:
Lestat being bloody in and of itself doesn't surprise me--as seen in the film, even Claudia cut Les hard enough to made him bleed (more on that below). And we know there were MULTIPLE times Loustat physically fought, where Lestat (deservedly, he admitted) caught Louis' hands. However, I'm most curious about how long it took Les to HEAL.
AMC frustratingly does not follow a lot of the diehard Rules(TM) of AR's vampire universe (daywalking, being awake b4 sunset, smoking/drinking/eating/etc, Louis having the Fire Gift, etc).
How impervious they are to physical injury is another large point of contention, particularly when it comes to Ep5 & Ep6, when we see the full extent of Louis' injuries at Lestat's hands; and then see Louis get his payback after the hate-sex.
Especially cuz in the books/film, these kinds of open wounds/bruises shouldn't actually be a thing! Vamp skin/flesh is VERY tough & resilient--we know as early as TVL & QotD that old/strong vamps are darn near hard as stone, though ofc it's not until PLatRoA that we learn WHY (cuz of the Luracastria in their/Amel's blood). It's quite the feat to hurt them; hence why AR vamps often bite/cut their own flesh to help their mortal lovers drink their blood, as human teeth/nails can't pierce it. And any wounds they DO get heal very rapidly.
At the end of Ep5 Lestat floats down into the courtyard with a perfectly clean face. (Although his mouth was all bloody in the sky from having bitten Louis.)
But in their bedroom (BEFORE Lestat dragged them into the courtyard) Lestat's forehead and nose/mouth are bloody.
Until shown otherwise, I'm most willing to assume that Lestat was bloodied up, then his wounds rapidly healed & the blood evaporated, a la the film. What took Lestat mere minutes to recover from took Louis MONTHS on end. Cuz this was 1930/31, at the very peak of Louis' depression when he wasn't taking care of himself AT ALL. When Louis doesn't eat he is physically WEAK. But in his righteous indignation over Lestat choke-slamming Claudia, Lou's Papa Bear instincts/adrenaline allowed him to STAND UP & fight Les off of her.
There are MANY IRL cases where smaller/weaker people have been able to beat the crap out of much bigger/stronger opps--particularly if the opp isn't expecting it, or underestimates how serious/motivated their victim is (*cough* Ike vs Tina *cough*).
And ESPECIALLY if said opponent's deliberately HOLDING BACK and LETTING themselves get beat up. As we KNOW Lestat did!
This is the very heart of Loustat's power imbalance. No matter how strong Louis is/gets, Lestat is still stronger, & more experienced. Just cuz Lou managed to smack some sense into Les, doesn't mean Les was EVER in any real danger from Louis (esp. since AMC!Lou never even set Les on fire 😔). AMC's been demonstrating over & over how the game was rigged from the start. Lestat, the "finest ACTOR to ever walk our stage," OFTEN played with his food and PRETENDED to to be weaker, stupider, or more vulnerable than he REALLY was, Monsieur "Did I Not Tell You I Was Bad At Cards?" de Lioncourt. In Ep6, Lestat WANTED Louis to get mad at him, and did NOTHING to defend himself when Louis went FERAL on him.
I think Lestat was all bloodied up when they got back to NOLA cuz this was 1937. It's 6 years after Ep5, after Louis went through physical therapy so he could see & walk again--finally strong again--enough to swim the entire Mississippi River. That's what Lestat wanted most of all for Louis: healthiness & STRENGTH.
If letting Louis vent & feel empowered by beating him up would get Louis to crawl out of his passivity, Les would do ANYTHING for Louis--including playing along (a la the house rules w/ Claudia).
So like I said, until we're told otherwise, I hesitate to give Les a pass, cuz the show's literally been weaving a narrative that presents Lestat as the oppressor and Louis & Claudia as the oppressed. Oh, Les' pretty face got bloody? GOOD! Serves the narcissist right; it'll build character! 🤣
Traumatized Victims: Believable =/= Reliable
The other side of the argument, pointing out the contradictions between Ep5 & the trailer, inevitably goes back to the dreaded question of Louis' reliability as a narrator & believability as a victim.
Louis' 2022 recollections are FLAWED, not LIES (a la the petty AF skulldragging he did in 1973).
IMO, Louis' sincerity in seeking the TRUTH is what makes him 100% believable, even though he's OBVIOUSLY not 100% reliable. His memories are compromised, yes, but I DO NOT believe he is deliberately lying to Daniel in 2022. And it's already been established that book!Lestat VERIFIED that even when book!Lou contradicted himself, got details wrong, etc, his overall tale still captured the atmosphere of everything that went down, even at his utmost pettiest.
The ONLY outright "lie" Dubai!Lou tells Daniel is the whole "Rashid" ruse--but I strongly suspect that has WAY more to do with ARMAND and Devil's Minion (and AMC tryna throw us off the scent), than anything to do with Louis himself.
So yeah, regardless of Louis/Claudia getting it right about Lestat's face being bloody or not, S2 revisiting Ep5 I think will STILL capture the atmosphere of the toxic environment they were all living under, that culminated in what was obviously a REAL fight that DID happen, that was BAD enough that whatever happened to LOUIS--EFF Lestat, really, ffs--officially made Claudia mad enough to hate Lestat; and Louis guilty enough to go along with her Murder Plot.
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
I don't think that many people realized what actually happened at the second therapy episode Sun had with Earth..
Sun was even more quiet than in the previous therapy episode. His responses were.. actually they weren't even full sentences.. He was just saying "I don't know" and "yeah" or "uhh" most of the time..
And whenever he was talking he tried to give Earth hints to how he actually feels.. he was silently asking for help.. but unfortunately Earth didn't pick on any of those hints..
Cause first thing that Sun said was that he feels stuck.. and I think that he meant that he feels like that in general.. he's just stuck his whole life.. as an evil one.. unable to change..
Later he said that he feels like he should feel more about Solar's death.. that hit too close to home ಥ‿ಥ It's not that Sun wasn't upset about Solar's death but he feels like he doesn't feel as upset as he supposed.. He saw how much everyone was upset about Solar's death and he realized that his reaction just doesn't fit.. that maybe he wasn't actually upset..
It happened to me too many times.. I often felt that if I wasn't shooketh by bad and upsetting things.. that means that I just don't care.. which only fuelled my delusions more..
And later what Earth said sounded as if she was implying that maybe Sun didn't like Solar that much.. as if it was Sun that chose not to hang out with Solar and not the other way around.. this part upsetted me slightly :/
Sun saying that Solar's death just just happened so suddenly.. he wasn't prepared for it.. and later saying that Solar and Moon were doing things cause they were smarter than him.. confirms to me that Sun wasn't expecting that someone will die because Solar and Moon are smart so that shouldn't happen.. Sun wasn't involved this time and yet someone still died.. and like always it wasn't him even though he's the one who should've been dead..
And ofc Sun felt useless and bad that he can't do anything to help..
Later Sun brought up a topic of drinking.. and like always he said that he doesn't have any problem and that he doesn't drink that much.. and even if alcohol doesn't affect Sun that much.. how Earth reacted to this didn't sit right with me.. Why she completely dimissed that Sun most definitely is drinking as the way to cope.. like come on she can't be that dense?! But you know what he's drinking to relax! Which isn't a good reason to drink especially if you have mental disorder..
And she said that Sun seems the happiest now.. What?! Did you see Sun's reaction? That silence and "yeah" like.. it had to hurt him so badly.. like Earth, you can't be serious.. And when was talking about his dumb cat trying to get his head to a glass of wine.. he sounded like he covered his mouth.. as if he was embarrassed about something or maybe lying..
Also dumb cat trying to get to glass of wine seems weird.. especially if you realize that dumb cat is some sort of representation of Sun..
Before I went to the last thing that Sun told Earth, he like always said that he's worried about Moon.. because Moon is working non-stop.. hmmm.. Doesn't that sound familiar? And when Earth proposed that she'll help Sun talking with Moon.. Sun was awkwardly silent once again.. I bet that it reminded Sun of the last time Earth made them a family therapy.. We all know how poorly it went..
And Sun tried to redirect conversation onto talking about Earth's situation..
And he also said that he appreciates that everyone is there for him.. but he said that almost as if he felt bad about something.. maybe that he isn't as much helpful to others as they are to him?
And the last thing that Sun told Earth was that he wonders if it'd be better if he and Moon never separated.. which means that Sun thinks that it'd be better if he was dead.. that if he died at the beginning none of this.. these bad things would happen.. Sun hinted here that he's suicidal.. but Earth's response shows that Earth didn't pick on that something is wrong.. and Sun's reaction is so heartbreaking.. because you can feel how his "yeah" sounds defeated.. because he realized that no one will help him.. because no one sees how much he suffers..
Sun seems to be the most comfortable around Foxy. And that's why he so openly drinks wine in his presence.. and that's why he's swearing a lot, saying some awfully horny shit around him.. he can basically say anything around Foxy. And that's why he said those things to Foxy sounding as if he tried to flirt with him.. He feels like he can say and do any shit when he's Foxy because Foxy won't judge him cause they both very similar in their misery..
Sun seems to hang out with Foxy more than with others and he's doing it more as of recent because I think that he just tries to not think about anything. He just tries to be in the moment and I think that Foxy is able to give him that. That blissful "living in the moment"..
I often did the same.. and even more when my mental issues were getting worse. I was spending time on playing games and laughing at stupid shit with my sisters as an escape from my awful reality.. and I see that with Sun as well..
Unfortunately Foxy also doesn't see that there's something wrong with Sun.. I mean that he also doesn't see the hinted Sun gives..
Now Sun knows that he's completely alone with all of this.. he's alone with suicidal thoughts that plague him.. he's alone with his suffering.. Like Earth said to her and everyone else Sun seems the happiest now.. while Sun is dying inside without anyone realizing that..
That's why I'm 100% sure that Sun will try to kill himself.. I'm not sure though how he'll try to do it exactly.. hang himself, drown himself, jump off the roof.. or maybe something else..
I can only hope that someone will try to stop him.. or at least someone will find him on time..
#sun and moon show#sams#sams sun#sun and moon show sun#laes#laes earth#lunar and earth show#tw suicide
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Analyze Piss" was a great episode but not what I expected, which made it hard to write a review at first. I assumed that most of the episode would take place in Dr. Wong's office with Rick hashing out some of his issues. Admittedly, I guess that's what happened in a more indirect (and more entertaining) way.
When Jerry's fight with Pissmaster went on for a good couple of minutes, I was like...are we seriously spending valuable screentime on this? But I guess we needed to see Jerry being a badass and humiliating Pissmaster to understand why the world was fawning over him.
The topic of change keeps coming up this season. People tell Rick that he won't change, and he doesn't want to, but he IS changing. Unfortunately, no one seems to notice.
He tries to tell Jerry that acting like a superhero is a bad idea. The family boos him. He tells them at the end of the episode that he knew Jerry's adventures would fall apart, and they boo him again.
Rick tells them that they're only praising him for trying to change because they want to feel superior--and maybe he's right. In their minds, THEY don't have to change anything. HE does. And it's 100% true that Rick's fucked up a lot of shit, he's been abusive, he's hurt Morty in ways that he probably can't atone for, and he needs therapy more than anybody.
But they talk about his therapy visits in a condescending way, like "Aww, that's so cute! Are you going to change for us, Rick? Are you going to be docile and passive?" They praise him when they think that Rick concocted some crazy plan to boost Jerry's ego for no reason. When they learn the truth, they turn on him again.
I won't say that he doesn't deserve it. They don't owe him anything, and they'd be well within their rights to kick him out of the house and never talk to him again. But Rick didn't create the toxic family dynamic that Beth and Jerry had been cooking up for 16 years before he showed up. I think they're telling themselves that everything that happens is his fault, and he's getting to the point where he's kind of letting them think that.
Rick smiles to himself when the Smiths leave with Jerry on his ship (although he does drink from his flask) and ignores a couple of the bad guys tailing him. When they start fighting each other and leave him alone, he thinks that he's got it all figured out.
But inevitably, he starts to fall apart. He gets drunk and hears people at the bar mocking Pissmaster. "Who could relate, being that much of a piece of shit?" Rick can. He and Pissmaster aren't that different--they provoke people, they're pieces of shit and everyone wants them to be the villain. He's going to visit Pissmaster so they can drink beer and bond over their shitty lives.
He arrives to find that Pissmaster killed himself. Through the door, Rick hears Pissmaster's daughter apologize and say that she's worried about him, she loves him and she'd blame herself if something happened to him--all things that Rick would love to hear from his own daughter, and probably never will hear. At least not in that same fretful, emotional tone.
Everything goes to shit for everyone except Pissmaster's daughter, who believes that her father died a hero. Admittedly, Rick shouldn't have told Morty about the note--it's understandable that he'd want someone to know the truth, but he can't trust a 14-year-old kid with that information, and he needs to stop seeing Morty as his peer anyway. He should've taken it to Dr. Wong.
But telling the truth just makes the Smiths turn on him again. And after all that, why should Rick change? Why be honest? Why not play the roles that they want him to play: the aggressive villain or the docile old man, or both?
Sometimes, the people around you don't want you to change even if it's for the best. I don't think the Smiths want anything to change. That would force Beth and Jerry to face their shitty marriage and the ways they abused and neglected their children, especially Morty, and that's not going to happen.
Just keep blaming everything on the drunk old man in the garage.
But Rick IS changing. In seasons 1-4, Rick would have taken the fact that they believed that he was always Pissmaster as an opportunity to gloat and manipulate everyone. Here, he just looks at them sadly. He tries to talk Jerry out of doing something that he knows will end badly. He desperately tells Morty the truth because he's sick of lying. And the entire premise of the episode is based on Rick willingly going to therapy.
Seasons five and six have countless moments that show that Rick's trying to grow up, show affection, be a father figure, admit to his fuckups and treat Morty gently. Even in season four, he was starting to cut the bullshit a little.
And it must be hard on him. Everything was easier when he was a monster. Beth loved him, Jerry was out of the way and he did whatever he wanted with no guilt, fear or regret while suppressing his trauma and shame. Wouldn't it be easier to be the heartless patriarch who can manipulate his family into doing anything? Go on adventures? Cook and clean for him? Stop talking to Jerry? Show him affection? Actually want to be around him? Make him feel human again?
There's no going back even if he tried--they know him too well now. And he shouldn't go back because he was a monster destroying his entire family. But he needs the Smiths' affection and encouragement if he's going to get anywhere because he's not going to get it from himself.
#rick and morty#rick sanchez#analyze piss#beth smith#jerry smith#review#rick and morty season 6#rick and morty season six
683 notes
·
View notes
Text
Liveblog 5: many words much analysis
His favorite parenting technique: Bullshitting
Yet again, we have the tenets of Lou theorizing reiterated here by Kerubim and Simone, as well as this flashback:
She left sad, and unlike many other times, without any anger for Kerubim.
She left Luis with him to watch over him.
She also left Luis because he couldn't go with her, but that could mean many things.
She left after Ecaflip City, obviously, and at that time, their relationship seemed the healthiest. (Well, as healthy as it could be.)
Unlike all the other times, Kerubim didn't go searching for her. It seems this separation was final in a way no other was, and there had to be a reason that he didn't go and try to make up. An unsolvable issue.
Both Luis and Kerubim blame Kerubim, and the first one uses this to make the second one angry.
Adieu, translated here as Farewell, is a word used for when you never expect to see one another ever again.
And sure, Luis really hated that. To the point of not allowing anyone to clean him ever again.
And yet...
That's what I thought you'd say, you lying asshole. In this liveblog, so far, I had taken a stance against referencing future episodes, but I feel the need to pinpoint this now:
Aux Tresors De Kerubim is a show that will lie, cheat, and deceive you. A show that is incredibly transparent about being at least a little bit, but an in-universe fiction.
Kerubim Crepin is a man who has mastered the art of not really lying, but, more-so, fudging the situation. Usually for the better.
And, as seen from this screenshot of the shop as it was two years before Joris was born, sometimes, for the worse.
Kerubim had many ways to solve his situation — convince Luis to let him clean once in a while via the use of psychic warfare, find a different house, or clean while Luis was sleeping, which Luis canonically does, like Kerubim will later do, after Simone is gone, because unlike her, he's not good at not pissing Luis off.
Or, perhaps, he could have continued doing whatever maintenance he was doing, during the time Atcham showed up and tried to boil him in a sauna. Because back then, Luis was allowing him to clean the house. Just food for thought!
Even Luis doesn't really like the situation they're in.
So, letting himself and their home go, never trying to get them out of this situation, — are both his active failings as a parent, not something he passively went through.
There is absolutely no excusing the way he raised Joris.
So yeah. I will just have to make these two into soup.
The thing is, his lying doesn't come from malice at all.
Kerubim hates disappointing people or appearing weak, because, as we'll see, from his personal experience, relationships just don't end well if you present your authentic self without thinking, or just don't lie well enough. He will keep lying in even the most dire circumstances, because not being good enough is the worst sin he could partake in.
He doesn't really have a self-esteem, or a way to like himself, without outside validation, because of the sheer brainrotting trauma of his childhood and his relationship with Ecaflip. And it just so happens, that being a parent is having a little validation machine running around... As long as the child believes he is competent and an indisputable authority, that is.
Which Joris will, one day, realize, just isn't true.
(hint: before the end of Aux Tresors, but fully set in stone in the movie.)
.......yeah to end it on a funnier note, i really do think Kerubim Crepin shouldn't have been at the club.
he should have been getting therapy. he should have been doing inner child healing. he should have been researching coping mechanisms for cluster b personality disorders, of which he has 2. Imagine having a kid instead of therapy.
Choosing beggar Keke!
If they ever make a second Dofus movie via crowdfunding, I will enshrimpify myself. I think she would destroy Bakara's cringe teenager self. I think Bakara would be jealous of her and Joris's aunt-nephew relationship.
...Yeah I love Bakara and Simone a lot. How could you tell?
Some canonical info on Luis's cleaning protocols.
When Kerubim thinks things are going bad, it's "It'll be ok! Don't worry! We can make it!"
When Kerubim is suffering through it, it's "I don't know. Don't ask me. I don't know. Probably. Not a good situation."
But when Kerubim truly loses all hope, it's "THIS IS ALL MY FAULT, AND I FAILED YOU, AND I'M AWFUL, AND I'M NOTHING, and it's OVER, and we are going to DIE."
A very helpful thing to keep in mind, to see how distraught he is during various events.
He's good at putting on a casual front while under stress, but it means that when he cracks, his fears burst out like an ocean and take him out of the commission entirely.
It's both a character flaw, and a strength of his, allowing him to not lose hope even at the worst times / help others not feel as distraught. We will see this in some significant, albeit very subtle, portrayals of his character in the Wakfu OVA, as well as the ease with which he takes control of dangerous situations.
Him being insecure and a liar never really changes, but he really does do it all out of love.
One of the most significant lines of this show. It appears both in the second episode, and second-to last episode, expressing one of the main themes of the show: the uneven, often clumsy and painful, nature of love and family. From a chance meeting that doesn't go the best, like here, to, well... the way it's used later the second time.
Kerubim's musings on items in this scene introduce the other theme: Stagnation, progress, and memory. In his opinion, it is only natural for artefacts to pass through different hands, instead of being locked up in a vault. Yet, Kerubim himself is stuck in this shop, collecting dust, being a subpar parent to his son, and never moving on from a multitude of painful break-ups that happened decades ago.
Joris's recitation of his words introduces his, for now, unwavering belief in his papycha. Which makes Kerubim's insecure self feel very giddy and loved.
Then, Simone kicking them out promptly introduces the theme of her being literally the best.
It must feel nice for Joris to see their home look good for the first time in his life. As sad as it is, I am very happy for him. The way he begins running around the house, looking at everything, while Kerubim is walking around in a literal daze, is just so adorable. Makes me even forget I want to make his dad into soup, for a little bit.
This brings us to a close with episode 2. Here's to more insane posts to come.
#wakfu#dofus#krosmoz#ro liveblogs dofus#kerubim crepin#joris jurgen#tagging because I managed to do a lot of character analysis here#ep2
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Banished from Wakanda
A continuation of my late night chaos, where M'Baku has banned Attuma and Okoye from Wakanda for a week.
Note: Okoye isn't pregnant. Yet. This is happening in the sun and the sky multiverse, lol. So she can get tipsy.
°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°
So, Attuma and Okoye were "banished" from Wakanda for a week and expected to apologize and help the owners of the restaurant they had been intimate in.
It had all started with a petty argument when they were getting ready for dinner.
Neither of them knew why they were arguing.
Perhaps the lack of intimacy had them a little more fired up than usual.
Either way, Attuma and Okoye weren't backing down and they were both too stubborn to stay home. So, they went out and joined their friends for dinner.
It probably would have gone well if so many women hadn't been looking at Attuma. Typically the attention wouldn't bother Okoye. He was a handsome man. Of course he'd get looked at. But after arguing with him all night, she found herself mentally spiraling with a few things she was still unpacking in therapy, thanks to her ex-husband.
She was mature.
So fucking mature, most of the time.
But after downing three glasses of something that could get her blood flowing, she was definitely moving into demon time.
"Uh..." Oni looked the couple over skeptically from behind her veil. "...Something is off about you two."
Attuma only shrugged.
And that shrug made Okoye roll her eyes.
"I bet women are easier to handle than men." She smiled.
That was enough to get Attuma to down his own drink now.
Oni blinked at her sister. "Uh... I doubt that. It's more so the soul in the body that makes life easier than the body itself."
"Really?" Okoye mused. "Have you ever been with a man before?"
Oni stiffened at the question.
Namora frowned. "Her former lovers do not matter."
"Well, technically, she shouldn't have any."
"I didn't break any vows." Oni waved off Okoye's gaze.
"Sure."
"I didn't."
"Right. Then I don't think you can really give me any input."
"Fine." Oni raised her hands up in surrender before refocusing on her appetizer.
Namora arched a brow. "If you were not drunk and dear to my wife, I would have run my spear through you for speaking to her in such a manner."
"If Oni can kick your ass, I don't think you're capable of landing a hit."
"I have never tried to kill Oni." Namora's eyes darkened. "Would you like to test that theory?"
Okoye only shrugged before looking away from the table.
"Okay. Well..." Shuri started. "...let's just all take a breath and talk things out like adults."
Okoye snorted. "Attuma doesn't want to talk."
Attuma frowned. "I tried, but you do not listen."
Okoye scoffed. "I listened, but it sounded like you were still missing the point."
"You are always fighting with your words. They do not always mean the same thing. I do not always understand you. How would you feel if I did the same thing to you?"
"That's not even why we're arguing right now."
"We are arguing because you won't forgive me for what I said. I did not mean it!"
"So the entire argument is my fault?"
Attuma let out a groan of frustration before grabbing the bottle of liquor. "Are men easier than women?"
Namor shook his head. "No. Oni was right."
Shuri nodded in agreement with her partner before plucking the bottle from the warrior's hand. "And drinking away your anger is not going to squash your rage."
Aneka lifted an index finger. "Alcohol makes being reckless easier. You're not able to think as well."
The couple both shot her a glare, and she raised her hands in surrender.
Ayo shook her head. "Hey. If they wish to start sparring, I will not interfere."
Meanwhile, M'Baku and Ross continued to read their menus and decide what they were eating. They were not participating in martial drama.
M'Baku didn't want to get punched again and Ross never felt like it was his place to give input without being asked first. At least, not in spaces where he was the outlier.
With all the hostility in the air, he knew better than to speak.
And he was wise not to.
All it took was for their beautiful waiter to return to their table and say. "Are you ready to order?" To get the ball rolling.
Okoye stared up at her and offered a warm smile. "I am." She looked over the menu. "But I'm afraid you're not on it."
Namora choked on her drink and Aneka laughed as they all watched Attuma lift his wife up and drop her on the empty table behind them.
"Attuma no!" Namora snapped. "We are in a public establishment!"
He ignored her as he began to snarl at Okoye in xhosa while pinning her to the fabric.
"You wouldn't dare!" Okoye bared her teeth at him before she began to curse him out in xhosa.
Shuri looked up at the waitress. "Please screen off that area. The public doesn't need to see them."
The waitress nodded before running off. She was fast to get three screens and close the section off. Fortunately, Attuma had half the mind to not begin tearing off clothes until they were properly hidden.
But that grip he had on Okoye's neck had the warrior panting in ways that did not come from exhaustion.
No one in the group was particularly surprised by this, considering that Attuma had been away on a mission for almost two weeks and recently returned. But to lay Okoye out on a table in a restaurant? That was new.
Namora rubbed her temples before noticing her wife was sulking.
"My heart?" She gently touched her shoulder. "What troubles you?"
"Why don't we ever do that, Amora?"
Namora felt like the sun had bounced off her face at the question.
"In yakunaj, if you need to be pleasured, we will do it at home."
Oni huffed before bowing her head in prayer. "Why couldn't it be me, Bast?"
Namora knew she was purple now.
"Oni!"
°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°
The next day, Okoye woke up at home, tangled up in the arms of her husband.
She couldn't recall much of the night before.
All she could recall was being dropped onto a table. Attempting to fight Attuma until he grabbed her neck and them getting nasty while he pumped two fingers in her mouth to keep her quiet.
She clutched her head and inhaled sharply as the memories came crashing down.
She was going to kill Attuma if they got punished.
And when they did get punished, she failed to carry through.
They both left for Talokan after M'Baku made his decree and settled into their second home.
Attuma spent a few hours tidying up the area and retrieving food for her, but Okoye's anger did not diminish.
If anything, it brewed and got stronger with each minute.
She was a volcano who would erupt if he was not careful.
Attuma knew she would come around eventually. He'd just have to get sunburned a little.
After two days of giving her space, he began to leave small gifts as offerings.
First, it was her favorite food.
Then, it was her favorite dessert.
He'd bring her earrings.
Bracelets.
Necklaces.
Extravagant gowns.
Flowers.
Once he noticed she was interacting with his gifts, he began to sing songs for her.
Pouring out a heartfelt apology into the first few songs before moving on to more spirit lifting songs.
Once her anger had mellowed out, she allowed them to start sparring together again.
She even allowed him to give massages that didn't result in her becoming one with the mattress ten seconds later.
By the sixth day of their punishment, Okoye was petting Pakal and acknowledging Attuma as her husband again.
She had been spoiled rotten and pampered like royalty.
Her friends had visited her a few times, too, to lift her spirits.
There was never a dull moment, and for a moment, Okoye could honestly say she didn't miss the pressure of Wakanda.
She never actually felt secure there since the late Queen Mother had denounced her as General of the Dora Milaje. And honestly, she was only trying to stick things out for Shuri.
Talokan hadn't felt like much of a home before, but this somehow felt better than her home back in Wakanda.
The people were very welcoming.
Kind.
Helpful.
Giving.
In contrast to Wakanda, nudity was not frowned upon. Which could be affirmed by their king who wore small shorts while amidst his people and not on the throne.
Their garments came in many styles.
Varying from the elaborate gowns, Namora loved to wear to the simple tube tops and short loin cloths some warrior's wore while harvesting food.
It was all a matter of what felt best and the formality of the event.
But even then.
No one would curse their king if they saw him bare.
Or anyone really.
Which I'd why Attuma was praised by some people when he explained why he was banned.
Some people, however, preferred to be private.
Like Namora. (Although we all know she gets nasty behind closed doors. 🤣)
It brought her some peace to not be looked down on in Talokan.
To be seen as a General and revered in a world she had only visited a few times made her want to never leave.
There's wasn't a stupid council or anything.
Maybe she could stay here for a little longer.
Attuma's head popped out of the water before he crawled out and dried off. "Good morning, K'iin. I brought you breakfast." He beamed as he carried a sealed container towards her.
Okoye blinked away her thoughts before looking at her husband, offering a warm smile.
"Thank you, my love."
Maybe she could get used to this.
#okoye x attuma#attoye#attuma x okoye#the sun and the sky au#okoye x attuma fanfic#namora x oc#attuma x okoye fanfic#oni daughter of zuri#onimora#ayo shaking her head at her wife#aneka x ayo#namshuri in the background#m'baku was minding his business#everett ross was minding his business too
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
WEARY MEMORY: 7 - FOUND A PHOTO OF YOU
Kit: I'm sorry I haven't reached out this week.
>> I understand if you need space.
>> But we do need to talk about it.
Kit: I know.
Kit: Can you meet me somewhere for lunch? My schedule is open today.
>> Yeah, of course.
>> I could just come to yours if you're home.
Kit: Anthony.
>> What?
Kit: Terrible idea, considering, don't you think?
>> I can keep my hands to myself. Can you say the same?
Kit: Bullshit.
>> Someone's cocky.
Kit: Well, someone shouldn't have a problem meeting in public if someone doesn't have any ulterior motives.
>> …
>> I can't think of anything clever.
Kit: Shocking. A public meeting, then.
—
Anthony got to the café first, standing when he saw Kate approach the table. A hug was their typical greeting, and that's what Kate went for. But Anthony added a kiss on her cheek, evidently surprising her and causing her to falter as she backed away from him.
“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair as they sat down. “Um, I clearly don't know what the fuck to do.”
“It's OK. It was nice. Or, it would have been, if I had known what the fuck to do.”
They shared an awkward laugh.
“Um,” Kate started, “What did you mean, exactly, by all the things you said on Saturday? I just… I don't want to assume or misunderstand. This is too important.”
Anthony nodded and cleared his throat. He'd been struggling all week with exactly what he wanted to happen, how he expected it to happen. How to explain it all.
“I think we should get married.”
Or, I could just say that.
Kate's eyes widened.
“Is that…? That's what I was trying to say, when I said we made a mistake. Did that not…? Are you surprised?”
Kate shook her head. “It’s just… Just hearing you say it like that. As if it's that simple.”
“What do you mean?” Anthony furrowed his brow.
“Well, there are a lot of steps to take before marriage is back on the table, don't you think?”
“Of course. I mean, I don't know about ‘a lot,’ but I know we'd need to decide how to tell the kids and everyone else, what to do about the townhouse–”
“No, Anthony. I'm saying that we can't jump straight to getting married. You have to know that.”
“Right,” Anthony said, feeling foolish. Kate, of course, seemed to read him perfectly. She reached across the table and put a hand on top of his.
“Please, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it can't happen, but… Look, whether it was a mistake or not, we got divorced for a reason. Things were bad, Anthony. We were bitter. And aimless. We were…just so sad.”
“I remember,” he said quietly.
“We are in such a better place now. And, who knows? Maybe we would have gotten there anyway if we stayed together. But… We can't take anything for granted. We absolutely cannot fuck this up.”
Anthony rubbed his thumb against Kate's hand. “Yeah. Of course you're right. So, are we, I don't know, dating?”
“Something like that,” she mused. “Exploring, maybe? I don't think we can really date properly until we tell the kids, and we should definitely hold off on that.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
They sat in silence for a while, both thinking. They ordered some food, and when the server walked away, Anthony spoke.
“I guess we should get back into couple’s therapy.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Kate agreed. “Not the same guy as last time, though.”
“Right. Last time we went to that guy, we got divorced.”
Kate laughed, and followed Anthony’s lead when he intertwined their fingers on the table.
“I was just… I don't know, Kit. I guess I was hoping there was a way for this to not feel messy.”
“Well, we made the mess. Can't change that now.”
“You're right,” Anthony shrugged. “So, step one…”
“...book a therapist.”
Anthony rubbed his chin. “Hmm, maybe we call that step one A.”
Kate chuckled as she bit into her chocolate croissant. “Why?”
“Because there's a one B. I hope there is, anyway.”
“And what would that be?”
“Well, what about what happened on Saturday?”
“That's…” Kate narrowed her eyes at him, “what we've been talking about this whole time, isn't it?
“We haven't gotten to one very important detail,” Anthony said as he looked her up and down, smirking.
“Ah.” Kate sat back.
“Is that on the table?”
“I thought you didn't want messy.”
“You just said the mess was unavoidable.”
“So, might as well? Is that what you're saying?” Kate was smiling, but there was something else behind it.
“Kit…” He leaned forward, taking her hand again. “I'm not taking you for granted. Or seeing you as some kind of convenience. I mean, shit, it seems to me like it would be pretty damn inconvenient for the time being, finding time to be together. But I want to. Do you?”
He flashed her a smile he couldn't suppress. Kate rolled her eyes, but Anthony reckoned it was because the answer to his question was yes.
“Perhaps I do…” she conceded.
Anthony waggled his eyebrows over his mug of chai.
“Nevermind, I definitely don’t.”
“I’m not allowed to be happy that my wife wants me?” he asked smugly before taking a sip, enjoying the way Kate’s pupils dilated a bit when he called her that.
“I’m not your wife,” she countered weakly.
“Eh, technically. We’ll see how much longer that’s the case.”
—
In the weeks between that lunch and their trip to Scotland, part one A of their reconciliation plan was completed with relative ease. Of course, booking a therapist was easier than actually speaking with one. The first two sessions had Kate and Anthony recounting everything that had happened in their lives, together and apart, that they felt brought them to this point. Those sessions were a slog. They’d known they were going to have to do it, but there appeared to have been no way to prepare for going through all of that again. Kate and Anthony didn't speak much in the days following those sessions.
Mercifully, their holiday came up soon after, a much needed break for both of them, even more so than they had anticipated back when the trip had been booked.
All in all, by the time they got to their vacation house, Kate and Anthony had indulged in only a few stolen kisses and just one proper snog since the night of Edmund's birthday party.
—
“Anthony Sharma-Bridgerton, you did not pick the bedroom directly across from mine.”
After an afternoon flight, dinner out, and settling into the house, bedtime came early, and no one was complaining. The kids picked their rooms with relatively little bloodshed, and Anthony had been strangely evasive about which room he'd wanted. Now, Kate knew why.
“Oh, but I did.” He looked unfairly handsome, leaning back against his door, his smile shamelessly self-satisfied.
“Really subtle.”
“I just think–”
“Lower your voice!” Kate hissed in a whisper, looking towards where the kids’ room were, admittedly moderately far away. But Anthony was all too keen to get closer to Kate, stepping across the hall to the threshold of her room. Kate tried to keep her face neutral as he crowded her, putting a hand up on the wall next to her head.
“I just think,” he started again, “that we should take advantage of the fact that we're sleeping under the same roof this week. It'd be way riskier if I had to tiptoe across the house to get to you, wouldn't it?”
Kate scoffed, armed with her best poker face. “You're being awfully presumptive. Have I said I even want you to ‘get to me?’”
“Point taken.” He leaned in and ghosted his lips over hers. “Would you like that, Kit?” he whispered. “Come on. Let's make the most of this holiday, hm?”
Kate almost kissed him. Almost. And she enjoyed the thinly veiled frustration that washed over Anthony’s face when she moved away from him. She backed into her room a few steps, and cocked her head to the side. “Are you proposing a holiday fling with the woman with whom you share three children?”
Anthony’s face fell into something more serious, something darker, as he followed Kate into her room. He put his hand on the doorknob, and looked at her in question. She nodded, biting her lip as Anthony softly closed and locked the door behind him.
“You're more than just the mother of my kids to me, Kit.” He walked up to her and put his hands on her cheeks. “I mean, you are that, and that's fucking amazing, but…” He kissed her, slow and consuming. He pulled away, and Kate leaned toward him as he did, chasing his lips, but he resumed speaking, his eyes boring into hers. “That's not all I see when I look at you.”
“And, no, I don't want a fling,” he laughed, unbuttoning her shirt, doing the same with his own once hers was on the floor. “I want everything.” A kiss to her throat. “All of you.” Her sternum. “All the time.” Each breast, his breath gliding over her nipples.
Then, Anthony retraced his path until he was looking into Kate's eyes again. “We had it, we gave up on it, and then we lied to ourselves for over three years about it being the best thing for everyone. I refuse to fail us like that again, and I won’t let you do it, either.” His eyes flicked down to her lips, and he licked his own. “But if a fling is what you're offering, we can definitely start there.”
The next thing Kate knew, she was being hauled onto the bed.
—
Anthony could easily have been convinced he was dreaming, that his mind had gone back to a time when he was at his happiest, his most settled. It happened more times than he could possibly count since Kaveri was born, when it felt like he and Kate were well and truly drowning, and taking the kids with them. He'd dream about entire days, full of details, from back when they’d thought they had finally found their footing in life.
But after several blinks, Anthony readily accepted that this was indeed happening. He was waking up in bed with Kate. They were on their sides, facing each other. His arms were around her. Her head was buried in his chest. Her hair was tickling his chin. There'd been no fitful bouts of intermittent sleep. Kate hadn't passed out in the nursery after crying for hours. Their night had been blissful. It'd been easy. They could have these nights back, as a feature of their everyday lives. He was sure of it.
“You stayed,” Kate said, her voice a rough whisper.
“Of course, I stayed, Kit.” Anthony tightened his embrace.
Kate fought to get her arms free so she could wrap them around his neck. “Good morning,” she yawned into his neck.
“I think I can make it better.” Anthony kneaded Kate’s bum, and encouraged her to place her leg up to his hip.
“Too late,” she murmured, though she let him roll her onto her back, releasing a content hum as he settled between her legs.
“Too late? The sun is just now rising, Kit.”
“Exactly.” She sounded more awake now. “It's getting light out. One of them could be up at any minute.”
Anthony laughed. “Have we not always prided ourselves on having kids who don’t wake up at the crack of dawn? We used to take advantage of that fact all the time. Do I need to remind you how?” He started to kiss his way under the covers, but Kate grabbed at his shoulders.
“No, no,” she whined. “You need to go to your room.”
Anthony sighed and crawled back up until they were face to face. “OK.” He gave her a quick kiss. “You're sure?”
“Well, it's not at all what I want, but yes, I’m sure. We just need to be careful, OK? If it's not annoying, we aren't being careful enough.” She pulled his face down for another kiss.
“OK,” he pressed against her mouth.
It took about seven more minutes, but Anthony did eventually leave Kate's bed, and was well settled into his own by the time he heard the sounds of their kids emerging from their rooms.
—
#bridgerton#kanthony#anthony x kate#kate and anthony#kate x anthony#kate bridgerton#kate sharma#kate sheffield#anthony and kate#anthony bridgerton#kanthony fic#kanthony fanfic#kanthony fanfiction#the viscount who loved me#kathony#kathony fic#kathony fanfiction#kathony fanfic#bridgerton au#bridgerton fic#bridgerton fanfiction#divorce au#co parenting au#weary memory au#weary memory
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stiles Stilinski x Wheelchair!Reader
Stiles slowly made his way down the hospital halls. His boyfriend, Y/N had gotten into a pretty serious... "car"accident and had been hospitalized for a couple days. Stiles had been away for about a week, so this was the first time he was able to visit Y/N.
Room 238, room 238, Stiles repeated in his head. Every number he looked at made him more and more anxious about what he would find once he got to Y/N's room.
Stiles stopped walking as he reached the room. The door was closed and the blinds in the window were down. If he wanted to see what was inside, he would have to go in. Stiles reached for the door handle and let it rest there for a moment. Did he really want to know how bad it was? What if Y/N had lost a limb? Or maybe had burns somewhere on his body?
Stiles took a deep breath and slowly turned the handle.
A nurse was helping Y/N into a wheelchair. The noise of the door opening caught the attention of both Y/N and the nurse.
"Hey..." Stiles said shyly. Y/N gave him a soft smile.
Y/N had really missed Stiles. He felt a little guilty because he hadn't contacted Stiles since he woke up and knowing his boyfriend, he knew that Stiles was worrying as much as he could.
"I'll leave you two alone," the nurse said and left.
"How are you feeling?" Stiles asked nervously.
"My head doesn't hurt as much as before, so that's a plus. They want me to stay in this wheelchair for 3 weeks until my legs are ready for physical therapy," Y/N explained.
Stiles sighed, relieved that the wheelchair wasn't a permanent thing.
"So, I doubt a car accident is what actually happened knowing what goes on around here. What actually happened?" Stiles asked.
"Werewolf, obviously. I went out for a jog and he attacked me. He crushed my legs. I think he was gonna kill me, but a group of guys found me before he did. I didn't recognize him either," Y/N said.
"Don't worry, I'll call Scott and make sure that bastard has his legs removed." Y/N giggled.
"You're so cute when you try to be scary." Stiles felt his face heat up.
"H-Hey! I'm scary. Just because I'm not a werewolf doesn't mean I'm not scary," Stiles said, crossing his arms.
"You know, I feel kind of guilty," Y/N said, changing the mood.
"Why's that?" Stiles said, his voice softening immediately.
"Well...I-I don't know. I wish I would've been able to take care of myself so I wouldn't have to worry everyone when I get hurt. And now for 3 weeks, and possibly even more, I'm gonna be so high maintenance. It makes me feel...pathetic," Y/N said, his voice faltering every once in a while.
Stiles stood there in silence, in complete shock that the person he loved more than anything was feeling bad for something he couldn't control. He didn't know what to say to make Y/N feel better.
"Sorry, that totally brought down the mood. I shouldn't have said anything." Y/N quickly took back his statement and tried to push it away.
"Please don't feel like that. It's not your fault that you got attacked. How were suppose to take care of something like that? Werewolves are strong. You're human. No one expects you to be as strong as someone like Scott or Derek. Don't think you're pathetic just because you can't fight off a werewolf of all things."
Y/N didn't respond. He had went so long thinking the opposite. He wanted to believe Stiles, he really did, but something in him was telling him that it wasn't true.
"You're smart, way smarter than most people. You've helped everyone so many times, in the human world and the werewolf world. You are so much more than you think and I won't give up until you believe that as much as everyone else does." Stiles knelt down in front of Y/N and grabbed his hand.
"I love you, Y/N. Never forget that." Stiles leaned over and placed a soft, slow kiss on Y/N's lips. Y/N reciprocated it immediately.
"I love you, too, Stiles," Y/N said once they pulled away. Stiles gave Y/N a soft smile and stood up.
"Now, everyone is waiting for you at my house, so we're gonna go there and have a good time. Movies, food, you name it." Stiles took a hold of the handles on the back of the wheelchair and began pushing Y/N through the halls.
"How fast do you think I can run while pushing you?" Stiles leaned down and whispered in Y/N's.
"Don't even think about it, Stilinski," Y/N warned. Stiles chuckled.
"Alright, alright. But once you're out of this thing, I'm taking it for a spin myself."
#teen wolf#stiles stilinksi x reader#stiles stilinski#male reader#x reader#x male reader#teen wolf x reader#imagine
166 notes
·
View notes
Note
Meaningful gestures 30. "Wow, you really did your research, huh? That's amazing..." is eating my brain because of college!Bruharvey. Like, this doesn’t have to be a prompt but just picture Harv/2-F’s reaction to seeing Bruce do research just to help them.
(I can’t decide what would be better, Harv or 2-F fronting in the moment they find out.)
god my requests are closed because ive had such a hard time writing recently but youre right. youre right youre absolutely right. i had to take a shot at it. i went with harv just bc i think 2fs realization is more of a gradual thing of like, hes engaging with me, hes asking questions about this, hes been talking to harvey, hes researching this. whereas for harvey hes the king of denial and repression and its just going to hit him all at once
bonus: ive got bundle of joy from the inside out soundtrack looping as i play this and i think it adds to the devastation
heres the prompt meme
The stack of books on Bruce's desk feels like an impossible tower, its shadow looming over Harvey the way his father used to during those late nights, clothes disheveled and beer still in hand.
Except, it's not like that at all. It's huge and overwhelming, terrifying in its size, but its scary because of what it represents- not what it might do. The hit comes before Harvey ever knows he has to brace for it, finding an unguarded place in his ribs and striking straight through to his heart. The air leaves his lungs. His steps stagger. His hands feel shaky and his knees are untrustworthy, at risk of giving out beneath him at any minute.
They're just books. They're just books. It's what Bruce does. He inhales knowledge like his life depends on it, drawn to every bit of esoterica he can get his hands on. It shouldn't matter.
But it does.
Harvey half expects the books to vanish when he reaches for them, but the spines are cracked and worn, the pages soft and bending under his thumb. Sticky notes feather the edges and a journal is wedged somewhere in the stack, the telltale leather a sign that Bruce has been taking notes. It's the kind of journal he uses for things he wants to remember, too- the things that really matter, and not just the stuff the teachers drone on about in lecture. The words choke in Harvey's throat and they come out too small, but he says, "You really did your research."
"Of course," Bruce says, like he's surprised there was ever even any doubt that he would, like he never even considered that there was another option available to him. "It's a part of you. I should know about it."
Except no one has ever wanted to know about it before. No one ever...
Harvey's mother loved him more than anything, but it was always beyond her. She sent him to therapy and she tried her best, but she never understood it. She didn't ask questions. It was her way of trying not to make him feel any stranger than he already did, but sometimes it just felt like she hoped he would be as normal as they pretended he was. Few people outside of her ever knew. Fewer of them were understanding. None of them ever asked beyond what was immediately strange or interesting, and it didn't really matter to them- not really. He was just an alien experience in their otherwise normal lives.
"Harv." Bruce's face is suddenly the only thing Harvey can see. His eyebrows are furrowed, the scar on his forehead pulling with it. His frown is perfect- a soft, pink pout that Harvey wants to trace with his thumb. A calloused palm cups Harvey's cheek, the edge of Bruce's thumb sweeping under his eye. It feels wet. "Hey."
It's too much. It feels like Harvey's rib cage is caving in around his heart and there's no space left for air. When he falls, Bruce is warm and solid and there, strong arms wrapping around Harvey's back and squeezing him close. Harvey's arms loop around his shoulders and his fingers grasp at the back of Bruce's shirt, and the way he jams his face into Bruce's neck, he's sure he's getting tears and snot on Bruce's collar, and it probably sucks, but Bruce doesn't complain for a second. Bruce holds him and it just feels safe.
Harvey had thought there was nothing more terrifying than telling Bruce he had DID. It'd felt like the ultimate plunge, plummeting off a cliff and just trusting that he'd hit the water right, cutting through the waves instead of splattering against the surface. But to be loved like this- to be stripped bare and step into the light, and to have someone place their hands on his scars and press promises into his skin, to not just accept him, but embrace him- it feels like drowning. It's dark and overwhelming and it burns, it burns to think that someone could look at the parts of himself he holds so much shame in and still love him, because it means maybe he deserved that much this whole time.
But when he breathes again, it's like breaking through the waves. It's the relief of being alive, the giddiness of adrenaline, and the warmth of the sun on his face again. It's the kiss Bruce presses into his hair.
It's being madly, madly in love.
#twobats#bruharvey#bruce wayne#harvey dent#two face#my fics#tumblr drabbles#posting this before i can look at it too hard#asks#child abuse //#FUCK I FORGOT THE TAG SORRY
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I'm in therapy for my ADHD and depression/anxiety and my therapist has told me exactly what I see in a lot of posts here, like how happiness is a feeling, not a goal and it's never constant and that if we don't face our fears then we let them control us, but it's never helped me because I already know, but the issue comes when I try and do anything about it. I don't expect everyone to like me or even want everyone to like me, but when there is a near weekly social beatdown because I simply lack the ability to understand social cues, tone of voice or volume control, that leaves me fucked up, and when I try to work on that, it gets to be nearly impossible to ever make any progress, and it never gets better.
Every time someone tells me that I shouldn't expect to be happy all the time and that life just sucks and I need to get used to it it makes me want to put my head through the drywall because I already fucking know that, but clearly it sucks more for me, even if it looks like I'm fine or like I should be happy because the root issue is not material, but psychological, which can't be fixed with a simple "cheer up." The issue has never been me expecting to always be happy, but never being happy. What really makes it suck is that people only see me when I'm having a good time, so maybe in that moment I'm fine, once I'm at home I go into withdrawals from just being normal to the point of suicidal thoughts. I love being with people sometimes and Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgivings and other events like that are almost always a great time *until* the day is done and I lay down at night, because then the good time is over and there's nothing to distract me from the depression which hits hard and all at once right then. What should be me riding the high of having a good time with friends and family is instead me holding myself to my bed to keep myself from either killing myself or finding some substance to dull the pain.
I think what makes the depression so bad is the fact that I don't think I really have anything to be truly depressed about, I'm just depressed because I am. If I had something to actually be this miserable about, at least there's a reason, but I'm just sad about being sad. It just makes me feel like I'm faking it, which only creates a negative spiral of self doubt and self loathing.
So that was all a pretty big downer, and I'll admit that I'm not in a good place, but after all that I feel like I should end on a high note, so here's a few.
I turn 17 in January, which is a checkpoint of sorts for me. On one hand I'm stressed as hell about the fact that I'm almost 17 and about just how much I still have to grow mentally and emotionally in just the next few months because of how early I'm moving out, but on the other hand, holy shit, I'm amazing, I made it, and I get all these opportunities and options. It's a lot and there's a lot of strong and swinging emotions, but as long as I have the friends I have I think I'll make it.
I've also made new friends and cut out cancerous ones, and I've built what I think is a good support group and in general a good friend group.
I got myself out of my high school, which was definitely a toxic and unhealthy environment, and into a dual enrollment program where I do work from home and go to a college class in the evening where I can pretty much just sit in silence. Also since my hyperfixation has been in HVAC, I have been shining in that class.
I know that post went all over the place with little or no cohesion, and if you made it this far you're more dedicated than me, but I honestly needed to put all this out, and doing this has helped in the past.
#adhd#autism#neurodivergent#tw: depression#tw: depressive thoughts#tw: long post#tw: sucidal thoughts
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
Do you have any advice for how to manage stress and like constant fear? Or maybe advice about what I should do? (Tw suicide, not mine) My younger sister is severely suicidal and depressed and I've been talking to her every night and sleeping on her floor to stop her from killing herself and I keep talking to my parents about how she needs to go to therapy but they aren't doing anything and they haven't for over a year. My mom told me that it's not my place to decide what's best for my sister. And my dad said that because I'm only 17 I don't know anything about this but I've begged them like five or six times and they still don't believe me. My mom insists I'm being over dramatic and it's my fault that her and my dad talking to my younger sister like 1 time didn't make it better. But they won't talk to my sister at all if I don't or help her and my younger sister has tried to attempt before so I think we need to talk to her more than once? I guess It seems pretty clear to me that my younger sister should go to therapy but maybe I'm thinking about this wrong? Idk. Um. So I guess I just feel really overwhelmed because I've tried asking my siblings for help about my sister and one of my sister's said they wish my younger sister had never been born so we wouldn't have to deal with this (which made it pretty clear she doesn't want to help. Also she's done exactly 0 things to help she just gets inconvenienced by the very idea she might have to and things won't revolve around her problems for like 2 seconds) and my oldest sister who's married and moved out I talked with but now she wont do anything anymore because my parents told her to back off after my mom went on a huge spiel about how I'm over dramatic and blowing things out of porportion and my oldest sister has no right to do anything because she doesn't have legal custody. I don't know. My entire family talks to me about their stress and worries and concerns and I shouldn't be so upset about my younger sister cause I'm used to it but I'm scared all the time that the moment I fall asleep she's actually going to hurt herself so I try to stay up all night to listen for her and I just don't know how to manage the stress and get her help. My parents homeschool us and I don't get to leave the house by myself cause my mom is convinced I'll get murdered. So idk who to talk to or how or even if I should. I don't think this is really abuse, cause my parents haven't hit us and I don't really fit the criteria for emotional abuse either according to your masterlist, (I mean my sister has hit me a few times (not the one moved out) but siblings are different) but idk. It's still trauma? Maybe. Unless it's not? I don't know. Maybe my mom is right. Sorry if this is rambly and weird im just really tired.
Hey, from what I'm reading here, you're the entire's family emotional support, you take all of the stress and complaints from everyone, you alone are responsible for your sister's continuation of life, and you are not even allowed to leave the house, because your mom is worried you'll get killed? And you got hit, but you don't think that was serious?
There is so much stress on you, I'm worried that you might get pushed under the edge. I can sense your utter desperation in saving your sister's life, and that comes from a place of deep compassion, concern, and kinship with your family member. I can tell you'd do anything to save her, and you fear that if she dies, it will be your fault.
But it can't be. Because you alone cannot be responsible for what others do. You've already done everything. You've asked every other person for help, you've raised the alarm, you've been trying to help her, you can't even sleep at night. It cannot be expected of you to go to these lengths, be in this amount of stress, for prolonged amounts of time, even when someone's life is in question. You are not a suicide line, you're not an institution that provides support and watch over people who might do something to themselves, you're not in control.
I believe you're under too much stress and that nobody has any compassion for what you're going through. If even one person cared, they would have helped your sister and watched over her for you. They would have shared the responsibility of saving her and wouldn't make you the sole person responsible. If your sister does, in the worst case scenario, die, you will be the only one who isn't responsible, who's already done everything to prevent it. The fault will be on everyone else.
You seem to be in a prolonged crisis, and I'm not actually equipped to help someone in a crisis like this, so I can't tell you what to do - or rather, I think you've done enough. You've been through enough stress, enough apathy, enough pain. You've been left alone to suffer through this stress, even though you've expressed how scared and anxious you are, and asked for help.
You being kept inside the house at all times, is a form of physical abuse, I should have added it to the checklists - it's a form of violence to restrict your movements. It doesn't make any sense that you will be killed if you step out, when everyone else can walk freely. You are being parentified, and used as an emotional resource, instead of cared for and raised as a loved and nurtured child.
This list has a category of 'parentification', I hope you can find some resources there. I believe you are being abused, and you were taught that it doesn't matter if it happens to you.
I hope you manage to get some sleep. I'm so sorry you were put into this situation, you are not responsible for this. Your parents should be taking this stress, not you. You cannot be responsible for anyone's continuation of life, and being put in a situation where it's expected of you, will break you. This is not on you.
#tw suicide#tw being responsible for preventing suicide#tw child used as a suicide prevention measure#parentification#abuse#psychological abuse#apathy#exploitation#fear mongering#preventing children from leaving the house by fear mongering#upsetting#child abuse#abusive parents#abusive family#abusive siblings
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trauma layers
Therapy is such a mindfuck sometimes. I 100% get it when people say they don't think therapy would help them because they are pretty self-aware or self-reflective. Cause, that seems so freaking logical. But, I swear, with the right therapist you'll find yourself routinely shocked at how blind you actually can be to your own bullshit. Our brains try SO hard to hide our bullshit from us, it's insane. I guess I shouldn't speak for everyone, but it's so true for traumatized brains, at least. I know that minimizing or outright hiding your issues from you is how the brain responds to trauma. But it's still eye opening to me when I catch on to new pieces of this in myself.
I went into my appointment today with several ideas of what to potentially talk about written down. I knew what had been on my mind the most, but I wasn't sure if it made sense to use the appointment to discuss it because I've discussed essentially the same thing with my therapist multiple times in the past. So a big part of me was like eh, that'd be a waste of time. I know everything there is to know about myself in this area. Probably spend more time on these other things as that'll probably be more productive/helpful.
But I decided to at least mention it and see where it goes. I expected to jump topics pretty quickly as I didn't think we'd find new ground to cover. But we wound up spending 45ish minutes out of the hour on it. And it was productive. And yet, it's hard to really express why. It's not like there was some big new revelation. I largely went into it knowing what my trauma is, why I have this trigger, what my default response is, etc etc etc.
To spell out this piece of my trauma a bit...
I had an eggshell stepdad, and a constantly-overwhelmed semi-eggshell mom. My stepdad exploding was my mom's biggest trigger. And anger from either of them basically means anything could happen. Some of what I saw happen after anger, much of it starting off with really low level things like..someone shutting the door a little harder than normal (not really slamming it) or tossing their keys onto the counter a little too loudly. These kinda things were triggers to me as a kid because I knew they could mean an explosion was coming. Anyway, what I dealt with related to my eggshell caregivers' anger...
Emotional abuse between adults (very common)
Emotional abuse at kids (very common, my siblings who were externalizers caught more than I did, but I couldn't avoid it either)
Lower-level physical abuse of kids (semi-common but was my siblings, not me that I ever recall)
Domestic violence between adults (very rare, maybe 2-3 times ever)
Items being broken/physical aggression with household items (Rare-ish, maybe once a year?)
Recurring arguments or break-ups (extremely common. Fights rarely stayed as one event. They'd usually argue, try to wrap it up, and then explode again within a few hours, or perhaps even a few days later, but there was almost always a round two, at minimum. Core issues were never resolved, clusters of several related arguments over a week or two were common as well.)
Once I saw an adult hold a gun to their head after threatening suicide.
Once I saw an adult pull a gun on another adult (neither was part of my household).
Maybe 4-5 times over my childhood cops came to our house following arguments and/or violence.
My coping method was to try to be pleasing when the anger was lower-level. Keep things light if you can, but at minimum, don't do anything that might set anyone off. Once anger was bigger, just try not take up any space. Outright leaving (like going to my room) would sometimes get noticed in a negative way, so don't flee, but stay as far away as you can without actually leaving. Like...stay in the living room but sit silently on the couch, pretending you don't even notice the argument happening. Try to go unnoticed...blend into the decor. Stay out of the line of fire when the bombs are going off, basically. And when that failed and you're in the line of fire, fawn/people please to try to 'fix'.
What this looks like for me now, as an adult - is still to try to 'fix' other people's irritation, frustration, low level anger if I can find any way to. Or with 'big' anger, kinda freeze, or try to fawn/people please if it's directed at me. I can't feel safe if others are upset, so I try to absorb it so I can do something about it. And after someone around me shows anything adjacent to anger (like frustration) my brain likes to assume this is just 'round one' of anger, and round 2 will happen soon and will be bigger and scarier. So I'm very on-edge after 'detecting' any anger in my environment, even when it's really small. And my brain tries to pull my down a rabbit hole of finding potential things I've 'done wrong' that might be making this person secretly angry at me. Even when I logically know it has nothing to do with me. My brain wants to find a potential reason it could involve me. I'm pretty good about not letting it go down that rabbit hole very far, but it sure tries - and I have to spend energy holding it back from going there.
None of this is news to me, at all. I sort of forget when I've made certain realizations in therapy, but I think I've known all of this about myself for at least a year? So I wasn't sure there could be anything productive to come out of sharing how someone was frustrated around me this week and it triggered me...and how I knew I was triggered, and talked to myself about how my brain was reacting the way it did when I was a kid, but how my current situation is safe. How someone else's anger isn't a threat to me anymore. How I've created a life for myself that is safe, even when people get angry. I can have tough conversations with those closest to me. I don't get very close with anyone I can't do that with. So I consciously recognized all of this, but it didn't get rid of the anxiety. I stayed frozen in a moderately anxious place, hyper vigilant, unable to focus, and so drained from all of this emotional energy being spent on basically, nothing productive.
I expected my therapist to remind me that I'm trying to literally rewire the pathways in my brain, and I have 30ish years of my brain going down the "anger is very unsafe, I must regulate others' emotions and people-please." pathway. And that was said. As well as some usual points about how some of this equates to expecting myself to be able to mind read, and given that I am not a superhero or someone with magical powers, that expectation is cuckoo for cocoa puffs. I know this, but the reminder is good. But some new things were said too.
They asked if, after detecting someone else's frustration recently, I was able to put a loved one in my own place. We've talked a lot about how it's easier for me to empathize with myself if I imagine someone I care about in my shoes. Would I tell a friend that they should 'fix' someone elses frustration? That if someone sighs in their home that they should become hyper-critical and over-analyze anything they could have possibly done 'wrong'? Of course, the ridiculousness of this is apparent to me when imagine someone else in my shoes. But I admitted to them that I hadn't been able to remember to try using that trick to change perspectives until after I had settled some. That when I'm first triggered, I kinda seem to lose access to that more logical side of my brain that would allow me to try to remember specific suggestions or tools that had been suggested to me. They said it makes sense to forget when you're that emotional, so sometimes visual reminders are good. Like wearing a bracelet with a compassionate statement on it or something. Honestly, that feels cheesy to me, I don't really care for wearing anything that has text of any kind on it, to be honest and growing up with no positive feedback/praise has left me with a strong aversion to positivity like that..which is something else to work on but, one thing at a time. Anyway - I do like the idea of some sort of symbol in my environment serving as a reminder even if it has no text on it. Something that I'd take as a reminder perhaps, without anyone else needing to have a clue what it's about. So it was nice to get a little bit of a fresh idea on something additional to try.
But bigger than that...they helped me realize that I have continued my pattern of self-abuse, and just disguised it as trying to help myself.
Meaning...I see myself being triggered, I see myself starting to fall into old patterns of trauma responses to try to cope, and I know that reaction is maladaptive at this point in my life. So I try to stop myself from repeating that old pattern of trauma responses...and on occasion I can stop it in its tracks. But not often with this anger related trigger, it's a real powerful one for me. And when I'm not successful and I find myself becoming hypervigilent and self critical due to someone elses anger..I beat myself up about it! I beat myself up for beating myself up...because I'm 'supposed to' be working on being more compassionate. And that's still part of this cycle, it's just another layer of it. I beat myself up because keeping myself in a position of guilt/shame keeps me small so I can stay in this position of feeling like I am wrong and they are right and I am guilty and need to fix.
It's bonkers that even in my attempts to heal, my old self-harming mindset comes out disguised as a cure for.
In other words..
My logical brain "I need to stop beating myself up. That is a trauma pattern that used to serve me as a kid, but is just harmful to me now."
My trauma brain: "Right! We're hurting ourselves and that's dumb! Let's beat ourselves up about that! That's the solution!"
Fuck.
#ptsd#cptsd#trauma#ogres are like onions#onions have layers#trauma onions?#want to watch Shrek now#attachment trauma#childhood emotional neglect#childhood emotional abuse#emotional abuse#fear of anger#fawning#people pleasing#developmental trauma#internalizing#internalizers
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Psychoanalysis Sunday #37
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
Part 1 | Previous | Next
"I was right," Regulus says as soon as he settles into his seat. "He went to see Andromeda."
"You spoke to Sirius?"
"Yes. And he admitted it! He said he went to her house where she lives with that man and he had a far better time without all of us, which is very rude."
"I imagine that was hurtful to hear."
Regulus frowns and tilts his chin up. "I have grown accustomed to Sirius telling me how much more fun it is to spend time with anyone but me. It no longer bothers me."
"Hmm."
"You don't believe me?" Regulus asks, narrowing his eyes at the analyst.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't though, do you?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" the analyst asks.
"None whatsoever," Regulus says. "It is frankly upsetting that you would doubt me."
"Interesting. It is hurtful to imagine that I do not believe you, but it is not hurtful to imagine that Sirius had a better time without you?"
"See, you don't believe me."
"I am not saying that I don't believe you, Regulus. I am surprised, though, that it does not bother you."
"Oh, because you think I am sensitive, is that it?" Regulus' face tightens in anger, his brows knit, and he leans forward in his seat. "I cannot handle one stupid comment from my stupid brother without going to pieces, that's what you think?"
Dr. Robertson raises his eyebrows in surprise and Regulus leans back in his chair, face flushed, embarrassed by his sudden outburst. Nevertheless, he levels the analyst with a challenging stare and says, "Well?"
"No, I do not think you are especially sensitive," Dr. Robertson says after a moment. "I think that anyone in your position would find what your brother said hurtful."
"Well, you are obviously completely wrong because I do not find it hurtful at all."
"I stand corrected."
Regulus clenches his jaw and stares out the window for several long moments. He can feel the blood pumping in his ears. He closes his eyes and bites down on the inside of his cheek.
"He hates me," he finally says in a half-whisper. "He hates all of us."
Dr. Robertson does not respond and Regulus finds the silence a bit of a relief. He turns to look at the analyst and he cannot hide the sorrow on his face nor the pleading in his voice. "I asked him if he was going to run off like she did, doctor."
"What did he say?" Dr. Robertson asks gently.
"He said he hopes so." Regulus swallows and returns his gaze to the window. "He said he can't wait to be rid of us all. He said..."
Regulus sighs and shakes his head. "He said that Andromeda offered to let him stay with her and her - the man she married. And he said he is thinking about it."
"I'm sorry, Regulus."
Regulus angrily wipes the tears that spill down his cheeks and glares daggers at the window. "I told him he should go," he says, his tone hardened and bitter. "I told him if he loves it there so much, if he is so miserable with his real family, then he ought to just go and we will all be happier."
There is another long pause before Dr. Robertson begins to speak. "Do you think that - "
Regulus turns to look at him, his expression once again open and vulnerable. "What if he listens to me, doctor? What if he goes because I told him he should? What if he really leaves us?"
Dr. Robertson exhales heavily and gives Regulus a sympathetic look. "If he decides to leave, I am sure it will not be because of one comment you made to him when you were hurt and angry. And you can tell him that you didn't mean it and you don't want him to leave."
"But what if I tell him I want him to stay and he leaves anyway?"
"It is certainly a risk. It is easier, in some ways, to pretend you do not want him to stay. You expect him to reject you, you have grown accustomed to it, as you said. It is easier to dismiss that pain than to feel the hurt of it fully. If you don't take the risk, though, you lose the opportunity to build a better relationship with Sirius. And to be honest about how you feel."
Regulus sighs. "I knew you didn't believe me."
"In my defense," Dr. Robertson says with a small smile. "You were not the least bit believable."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "I shall get better at lying then."
"It does you no good to lie to yourself, Regulus."
"I am not lying to myself, I am lying to you," Regulus says, although he privately thinks that lying to oneself surely has its benefits.
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Annual Duck Competitions With Pastas And Tons Of Other Shit[Crack]—Part 2
"What the fuck..?"
Even Clockwork did not expect to hear something so absurd, she gave a hard punch on the shoulder upon to what her so-called friend said.
"Ow, why?"
While Jeff was rubbing his arm in pain, he didn't make a sound because he knew that he was acting wrong.
In addition, he was afraid of Clockwork's anger.
He had almost died when he had to fight her before, and he was also sure that he did not want to go through this experience again. Unlike him, Clockwork was more skilled at using a knife and also more experienced, which made her an opponent he wouldn't want to face.
But Slenderman was like a teddy bear to him. He was a fluffy plush with a soft heart.
A plush that pushes you out of the window when you hug.
"Because you're a dick-headed idiot!"
Masky, with a rather serious expression, was trying to put up with the absurdity of the situation he had fallen into, and on the other hand, he was thinking among the possibilities. He would have expected all sorts of things from these two fools, but he couldn't predict exactly what they were planning currently because he was too surprised to do it right now. That was bothering him, too.
And a disturbed Masky meant disturbed everyone.
"If you two fools are thinking of selling drugs, I swear to fucking God-"
Clockwork put her arms back together again, which she had released, and began to stare at Masky with an extremely upper-looking expression.
"No, calm down, big guy. That's for another time."
Jeff tried to get in between the conversation, he didn't like not having attention on himself, so he was trying to attract all kinds of attention on himself, positively or negatively.
"Yes, its season begins in winter."
"Shut up!"
"Shut up!"
The two enemies, Masky and Clockwork, had finally managed to agree on a topic.
Disgusted with herself for making the same sentence at the same time, Clockwork decided to take her revenge later on Jeff, who caused this situation to happen. Now she was in a pretty complicated situation again because of the same stupid guy, and if she wanted to get out of it, the whole job was up to her.
"Look, concrete-face, we have a pretty important job, so piss-"
"Why am I listening you, clock-fucker?"
"Oooo!"
Jeff suddenly cheered like an elementary school student who was about to sit next to a girl.
Clockwork, who was quite right to be angry, punched Jeff even harder in the same area of his shoulder.
"Whose side are you on, asshole!"
"Sorry, sorry! But he has a point."
At any other time, Jeff would have easily taken the revenge of these two punches, but he was also aware that he was wrong; he was aware of how difficult Clockwork's situation. Besides, lately, he's been going to Ann's therapies with Toby to control his anger better, and he's kind of making progress.
Clockwork was content to just grunt in response.
And Masky would have liked to rub his nose with an exasperated attitude, of course, if his mask hadn't prevented it.
"Now that your friend shut his mouth, you gonna tell me what the fuck you've been up to?"
“No."
"No?"
Clockwork answered by repeating the simple question asked to her.
“No. My 'friend' is the only one who will explain this situation to you."
Then she walked to the side of the Masky, who was watching them with a very confident and superior attitude.
While Masky was waiting for what she was going to do, Clockwork pressed her finger hard on his chest, then pointed to Jeff with her idle hand as well.
"And you broke his heart."
Without realizing what was going on, Masky could have sworn that he had never been in such a strange situation like this in his life before, staring at Jeff in a weird way.
If only he had remembered his past.
“What?"
"Really?"
Even Jeff was surprised, since this shouldn't have been a planned move.
Clockwork went to his side and put her hand on Jeff's shoulder in a warning attitude.
"Uh-huh. Really."
Jeff understood what was going on just now, but he shouted like that was too obvious to him.
"Oh yes, you broke my heart so bad, it shattered into pieces! You cruel bastard!"
After rolling her eyes at the unnecessary excitement of her 'friend', she turned back to Masky again, making a great effort to maintain her seriousness.
"And if you want to know what's happening, you gonna apologize from him, Masky."
"Yes, apologize to me, Masky!"
Jeff was screaming like a background sound, while Masky was almost shocked.
They couldn't have been asking him to do something this ridiculous, could they?
But if he thinks about it, considering who the people opposing him are...
They couldn't have been that stupid.
Are they?
"You're kidding, aren't you?"
Clockwork focused her green eye, which was burning with anger, into Masky's brown eyes, a rather creepy-looking look in fact. But it wasn't that much thrilling for Masky.
"Do I look like?"
"Do you think Clocky looks like a bitch, Masky?"
Clockwork was tired of this now,s he called out to Jeff without even deigning to turn around.
"Shut up, Jeff."
"Hey, I'm backing you up here!"
Without turning around again, she looked at Masky with all her focus. Her green eye, shining in the dark, was more full of earnestness than ever.
"No, you're not. And if you don't wanna get punched in face, shut up."
Masky spoke up, deciding that their conversation was not further interrupted by Jeff.
"I'd rather die."
"Oh, your master will kill you anyway if you don't know about this thing."
After a short but rather uncomfortable silence, Clockwork felt the need to speak again.
"Which one do you prefer?"
While saying this, she felt like she's in that iconic Matrix movie scene where a person is asking "Blue pill or red pill?" and she liked it pretty much.
The silence kept going.
Even Jeff didn't dare to make a sound.
Going and going and go-
"I'm sorry that you're a fool, you bastard."
Clockwork spoke, repressing every single word.
"A proper apology."
Masky's voice came out in a whisper reminiscent of the angel of death; it was such hateful, such harsh.
"Sorry."
Jeff, who thought that the environment had finally calmed down, obviously, could not stop using this right to the fullest.
"Couldn't hear?"
"Don't push your luck, dickface."
Masky hated every one of the two words he said.
He hated Jeff, he hated Clockwork, he hated himself; he hated everything...
Clockwork spoke again.
“All right."
"Well what now?"
"Now if you wanna learn what's going on, go call everyone who is in the manor into the living room."
Masky spoke angrily through clenched teeths.
"That was not what we agreed on."
"And who says we had a deal, motherfucker?"
As Clockwork raised one eyebrow in the air, she was aware that she had pushed her luck quite a bit.
"Mhmp."
Masky turned around with a grunt, and just when he thought he couldn't be humiliated anymore, he heard Jeff's voice.
"Come on, chap chap."
"You're gonna pay for this, Jeffrey Woods. You're gonna pay for this."
He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't let them make a fool of him anymore.
"If you want to snitch us to your master, no, I won't pay."
But damn it, they knew his loyalty to his master.
Damn, they knew what his only fear was.
Damn, they were still alive.
"I'll kill you in your sleep, Clockwork."
And Masky faded into the darkness of the corridor and disappeared from sight.
Clockwork took a deep breath, although she didn't show it, she felt that she was getting extremely nervous every time she had talked to Masky. And it was even more stressful when she had Jeff with her who she had to babysit.
After making sure that Masky couldn't hear her, she muttered to herself.
"Keep dreaming, you statue-faced bastard."
Other parts
#creepypasta#creepypasta fandom#clockwork#fanfic#creepypasta headcanon#fanfiction#creepy#creepypasta clockwork#ao3 fanfic#jeff woods#jeff the killer#masky creepypasta#tim masky#masky#creepypasta meme#clockwork creepypasta#creepypasta fanfiction#creepypasta fanfic#creepypasta family
6 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
greeenphent
It Looks Easy Through Borrowed Eyes
the-massess
I have no name.
theqdbibliophile
The Quick & Dirty Bibliophile
austinofficefinderstx
Austin Office Finders