#Just existing is leaving me in borderline unbearable pain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

e-claire · 1 year

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Misophonia sucks so fucking hard and no one anywhere ever wants to talk about it. Literally the only people I've ever had listen to me about my Misophonia are other people with Misophonia. So fuck it, Misophonia Awareness Post or something, I want to vent.

Allow me to describe what it is first for all the lucky people who aren't fucked over. Misophonia is likely an Audio-Processing Disorder (Potentially some form of Synesthesia) in which certain sounds trigger a fight or flight reaction. Trigger sounds can vary and sometimes after long term exposure it can create a reaction to the visuals associated with those sounds. It is possibly genetic, there is no known cause, there is no known treatment, there is only suffering and ways of generally kind of reducing that suffering. When I hear people chewing I am filled with a rage that can only be described as "Bordering on a primal desire to Kill." and there's nothing I can do about that. A family member or friend takes a bite of something crunchy and I have to sit there and exist with thoughts of pounding their fucking skull into paste with my bare god damn hands and then afterwards I have to go back to "being normal". I have to just pretend that didn't happen, I can't do anything with those emotions, I can't put them anywhere, I can't talk about them with anyone or gain any understanding or sympathy from others for having them.

When I see someone chewing food anymore it's borderline impossible for me to remain in the room with them for any more than a few seconds because the mere sight of them chewing makes me physically ill and inspires in me a sense of deep disgust and panic that I could never ever hope to describe.

I tell people about what it's like and I get one of four reactions :

"Oh I think I have that too" With a weird amount of curious excitement at the concept of having a fun new quirky thing to mention in conversations. This means that they don't have it, and they'll then proceed to list off a couple different things that literally no human being likes to hear and how much that thing "annoys them". This makes me want to kill myself.

"Wow, Yikes." Through a grimace. This means I was too open about how it makes me feel and they now think i'm a either a freak, liability, time bomb, or over-dramatic, and will do everything they can to avoid the subject in the future so that I can't make them uncomfortable. This makes me want to kill them AND myself.

Immediately eats something really loudly to set me off as a "joke". This means that they're an obnoxious piece of shit that I have to try my absolute hardest not to beat to death with my bare hands. This makes me want to kill them, if that wasn't already obvious.

"Oh. So that's what this is called." This means they have it, and we can both engage in a brief period of mutual trauma sharing that helps us know we're not alone, and that our curse is unfortunately shared with others. This makes us both somewhat melancholy, and kinda ruins the vibes until something fun happens.

And then we get into the "How do you make the pain stop", and good news! You can't. There is no way to make it stop. But you can make it hurt less with ✨Spending Unbearable Amounts of Cash✨

You can buy a billion different types of earplugs that will all do great at muting the world but always leave you incredibly unaware of the world around you and leave you fucked in-terms of listening to media.

You can buy normal headphones that will kind of work but never mute the world around you anywhere near enough and vaguely frustrate you constantly, but hey at least you're a bit more accessible! Try combining these with a combination of rain and static noise playing at all times in the background for an extra layer of silence :)

You can buy ANC headphones that cost infinitely too much money and are almost always built to break so that they can farm cash from you in repairs, but the ANC is so useful despite not working perfectly that you can't really exist without it so you're gonna spend 200+ dollars every couple years because you don't have a choice, and spend every single day 24/7 wearing hot heavy over-ear headphones! Use the Rain and Static Noise combo with this as well for the best ANC effect.

And inevitably, all of these options will give you hearing problems, potentially make you aware of new trigger sounds, and always leave you a step behind everyone else when a conversation happens. Pro-Tip : For when the sounds are really intrusive and you're on the verge of a breakdown, Combine ANC with Ear Plugs and the R&SN background audio to basically kill noise in it's entirety for a little while :)

AND NOW WE GET TO THE PART WHERE I SAY WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU NORMIES DO TO MAKE OUR SUFFERING LESS FUCKING CONSTANT.

Listen to us. Don't ostracize us for experiencing emotions we can't control and don't mean or want to act on. If you can, try your best to do the trigger noises quietly, and try your best not to do the trigger visuals in-front of us. We know it's not something you can control entirely, but if you can make the effort to make our lives suck less, we'll really fucking appreciate it.

And if you try to get back at us during a fight by eating something really crunchy to abuse our disorder for your benefit, I swear to god I will hunt you down personally and subject you to the most violent and painful torture I can manage before killing you and hiding your body somewhere no one will ever find it so that your loved ones never have the closure of knowing if you died or if you're still somewhere out there. Thanks for reading even though I know you didn't because the length of this post is frankly unhinged and i'll probably only get like 2 likes at best.

#Misophonia #Misophonia Awareness #Actually Misophonic #Disorder Awareness #Mental Health

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

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"The night is long and the path is dark" - Matt Murdock x vigilante!Reader

[TW: major injuries, near-death experiences, Matt is a human wreck, explicit language, praying (specifically Catholic)]

SUMMARY: It's not supposed to be like that. Matt believes it's him who should be bleeding his life out, not you - you were too deserving of a normal, peaceful life. While you're toeing the line between New York and Heaven, he has to face the restless night of premature mourning, sunless hours that seem to be endless.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

"Oh, fuck me," you groaned feeling a sharp but unclear pain deep underneath your skin. The unbearable ache was completely unknown to you, never having experienced anything akin to the grave soreness of your weak, bleeding body. It felt odd to be in so much pain and so inexplicably confusing: you were freezing and hot at the same time, fully conscious and yet at your wit's end. Your brain, too sheltered to comprehend the extent of your injuries and agony, made you question whether the ache truly was there; maybe this kind of sensation could exist only in wild imagination. After all, for what horrid reason would the human mind be able to feel this type of pain?

"We'll get to that when you stop bleeding," he said. Humour was a poor attempt at hiding his paralysing fear - no matter how cheesy his line would be, his hands were shaking all the same. "Just lie back and don't move too much. Let me take care of you."

"I always wanted to be a pillow princess." Your words were becoming a bit slurred and so Matt became all the more anxious. He was battling time itself and it wasn't a merciful opponent - its perverse strength only grew with each prayer for the minutes to be a little longer than mere sixty seconds. At any other time, he would have laughed at your confession, gladly considering the enticing suggestion.

Although he knew you were very much against it, Matt ripped apart the tight material wrapped around your torso in hopes of easing your ragged breath and you would've argued against doing so if your mind wasn't drowned in a hazy flux of borderline unconsciousness. His calloused fingers brushed against your flushed skin, each touch to the swollen cuts made you slightly wince. None of them came from his hand or ill will and yet he felt guilty, responsible for your agony. It should've been me, he kept telling himself.

You felt his trembling hands as Matt did his best to dress your wounds, foolishly leaving the deep cuts to be stitched at the end as if your fleeting life could stop terrifying him at some point in time. Yes, Matt managed to fool himself into believing that the soundness of his mind was going to return in the nearest future.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna be fine," you said not without a struggle. The unbearable pain was barely noticeable anymore but so were most sensations of the outside world. "I still have like 200 bones intact."

Maybe it was another surge of adrenaline or the effect of Matt stopping some of your bleedings but for a moment you were back in touch with the present moment, skin pulsating and burning with pain. Straining, you grabbed Matt's trembling hands. He clenched his jaw feeling just how cold your touch was.

"Thank you," you whispered weakly to him. Maybe it was the broken rib or the absolutely pathetic sadness on Matt's face that made your heart ache inside your bruised chest. "For everything you did and didn't do."

"You'll thank me in the morning, alright?" Matt tried to put on a brave face and swallow his tears. He knew you hated to see him cry. Angel tears are too expensive to just pour them out, you told him many times.

However, you didn't get the time to answer him. Right around the end of his question, your world fell into a chasm of silence and darkness, a peaceful limbo for the stubborn sinners who refuse to die quietly.

For a moment, his heart stopped and maybe so did the entire universe, watching the scene in terror no smaller than his own. Matt knew he had to finish dressing and stitching fast - the little grip he had on himself was fading and his panic wouldn't be good for anyone.

When at last he threw away the needle and thread, there was no strength left inside him to keep those salty tears at bay. He fell to his knees, finding himself on eye level with your limp, bloodied body. You looked so... peaceful. Not in pain anymore.

"We fly to thy protection," he began in a shaky voice. Words, although holy and god-fearing, struggled to move past his lips. "O holy Mother of God."

Devout prayers flooded from his mouth until he finished the entire rosary. It was a Tuesday night as it befits Tuesdays, Catholics meditate on Sorrowful Mysteries: how their Lord prayed in the olive garden, how Romans decorated His head with a crown of thorns and how He carried the cross; how bitterly funny of a coincidence it was. When the last Amen left Matt's lips, the night seemed even quieter than before. Cars were no longer passing by his window and for the first time in long months, he felt truly alone in the most desperate and miserable of ways. His knees hurt from kneeling on the hardwood floor but he didn't mind that - it partially took his mind off the even worse pain wreaking havoc in his entire being. Your palm, once cold and dry, was now warm and wet from his feverish prayers and unending tears.

"Don't leave me," he whimpered pathetically against your limp hand, cradling his own face with your fingers. His trembling lips pecked your bruised skin every now and then. "What the fuck am I supposed to do without you here?"

But Matt knew what you would have said, it was as if he could hear your own voice laughing at his misery in the back of his head: You live on, Matthew Murdock! You disown fear and cruelty and you live on. To make matters worse, he knew the real meaning behind your lighthearted words - you just wanted him to be okay, to live a humble life of a loving man. Maybe his pain would have been a little lighter, a little easier to carry, had he not seen through your carefree facade. For a short moment, he swore he nearly hated you for ever telling him to be fine while you're gone; how audacious of you to even suggest that there was anything good left for him in a world you were no longer part of.

He remembered when you made him promise that, in case you die, he wouldn't mourn you. How can I move on if you can't let go?, you asked. Matt agreed, making a half-hearted oath to you that he never truly believed he would have to fulfil. But now, when the night seemed to be nothing short of endless and filled with terrors, he regretted his promise knowing that no force could ever make him complete it.

The night was going to be long; the path ahead was painted in different shades of black, hopeless doom. And he, Matthew Murdock, was just a stubborn man who wasn't exactly on good terms with his God.

Overbearing pain woke you up. Your whole body felt too heavy, too sore, to move it. Straining your neck, you looked to the side, at the all too familiar and beloved sight. Matt was awake, his face was vacant, swollen, red and somehow grey. Most probably, he hadn't slept at all as if his insomnia could be of any help to either of you.

"Hey, handsome." Your voice was raspy and words were still a little slurred.

Momentarily Matt lifted his head from your hand, his heart picking up a truly athletic pace. His breaths became ragged, shallow, painting him somehow scared and excited at the same time.

"You're alive," he said quietly, disbelief seeping from each letter he spoke. He wasn't asking - he was stating a fact. A state of affairs that the more pessimistic part of him couldn't believe at first. Maybe your words were nothing more but a feverish dream, a lover's last goodbye as people often experience in regards to death.

You gave him a weak smile, hopefully easing the burden that had been pressing down on his chest, suffocating him, throughout the whole night.

"Yeah, had a change of heart," you said caressing his tired, tear-stained face. Absentmindedly, Matt leaned into your touch, sighing when your cold fingers brushed against his hot lips. "What's gonna be left of your world if I'm not in it?"

He couldn't quite understand why shaking hands with Death wasn't enough to rid you of your humour. Before he answered, his rough hand grabbed your own and Matt placed a chaste kiss on your wrist:

"Nothing much."

The morning sun always seemed to wash away the fears of a terrible night. And Sun, to Matt's relief, was always shining somewhere - he just had to get there, even if it was half the world away or, as it was so that night, half the death away.

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yourdogwalkerhasanonlyfans · 11 months

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pt. 2

story continues in the spring of 2016. i was completely reeling from a miserable existence. things were going pretty badly in all areas of my life: at work, in my romantic life, and with my personal health. i got out of one of the most horrifying relationships of my young life and felt so free for the first time that i went on Tinder, which lead to all sorts of debauchery. simultaneously i was planning to meet up with some friends to have my first MFF threesome (i guess i should talk about my first ever threesome which was MMF sometime).

i was also royally fucking up my financial situation by maxing out any credit card that i could get my hands on. pretty much all the things that someone does who is spiraling .. i was doing them.

over easter holiday i booked a super nice hotel room with a jacuzzi (that i could not afford) for a few nights and invited someone from Tinder one night, had that threesome with friends one of the nights, and had just a platonic friend who was driving through town come by for a night. i think i was alone maybe one night. i know i spent a huge amount of money on credit cards, ordering room service, being high and drunk the whole time, just really checking out from life.

not long after that bender, on mother's day evening, exactly one year after i graduated from college, i got into a fight with the guy i was sleeping with / mostly living with at the time (who i met on Tinder). we had been drinking all day at his family's house, then we smoked a bunch, then kept drinking which was usually a pretty good setup for me to blackout. remember - at this time i am also on a heavy dose of psych meds + struggling with an eating disorder; might have weighed 90 pounds at most. so it's 2 or 3AM, there's me, him, his two pit bulls, and my siamese cat. at his apartment, which is located above his family's business (a porn shop). i was a complete mess. screaming and fighting and acting physically violent. i locked myself in his bathroom, poured a bunch of my Klonopin out into my hand, looked at myself in the mirror, and took the pills. i probably peed, then lit a cigarette, and went back out to the couch where he was sitting. i guess i doubt he was just sitting there - i'm sure he was following me around and trying to get me to tell him what i did while i was in the bathroom. either way, i know i was still actively drinking a beer when i told him that i took a bunch of pills. he was clearly not happy about that confession. i was probably starting to fall asleep at this point. all i really know is that he was probably all pissed off, because he didn't want to call an ambulance and attract attention, which forced him to drive me in his work van to the ER. in the shuffle of us being extremely intoxicated & fighting we had misplaced the keys to my car. which in hindsight was actually probably a good thing that we couldn't find my keys because i know before i took the handful of pills i had been trying to leave his house and drive away because it was that unbearable to be there - i would have probably died and/or hurt other people if i had gotten behind the wheel that night.

i wasn't driving, however, my very drunk and high boyfriend did have to drive the somewhat short distance to the closest ER. i literally fell out of his van onto the pavement when i opened the door, which i had many bruises from & confirmed happened, due to my lack of memories. i guess i was rude and belligerent to the ER staff. my BAC was 0.2 and i had an alarming amount of THC & benzodiazepines in my system. i think i had also been taking some pain killers here & there. either way, i was basically a zombie of a human. they flushed my system with charcoal because too much time had passed since taking the "handful" of pills to pump my stomach. i'm sure that i was considered borderline emaciated, as well.

i woke up around 1PM on that Monday with IVs in both my ankles & both hands. i was severely dehydrated in addition to needing to be detoxed. i was alone in a room. i could see the nurse's stand outside the door and started yelling for someone to come help me because i didn't know what was going on. no one was paying any attention to me and i was frustrated. i started banging my arm against the bedrail. someone eventually came in to tell me that my sister was on the phone, which was very confusing to me because i didn't even know where i was.

my sister told me that my friend had contacted my boyfriend on facebook after she received a really concerning voicemail from me the previous night. i, of course, have no recollection of this, but when i arrived to the ER and they said they had to admit me, i made two correspondences. i emailed my boss and told him i wasn't going to be at work due to "hospitalization for dehydration." then i called my friend and left her a voicemail telling her a similar story. apparently i told her that "[boyfriend] had taken me to the hospital but that i am okay." so my friend wakes up, gets that voicemail, gives me some time to get back to her, when i don't respond she panics a little and starts looking on facebook for the boyfriend. once she got in touch with him, he told her where i was, and that he left because he had to go to work, and didn't know how to get in touch with any of my friends or family. my friend then contacted my sister, who i guess after calling the hospital and confirming that i was indeed there, she left work & called my mom, telling her to prepare herself to be picked up because they had to go see me in the hospital. i guess it was a simple and not-too-surprising phone call for my mother to be receiving. everyone kinda knew what it was about.

my sister said on the phone to me that her and my mom were coming to see me .. not to pick me up. which was confusing for me to hear. not sure the exact order of events, but eventually a case worker came into my room and explained to me that i was at risk of hurting myself and the hospital couldn't release me to my family. they explained that i would be moved to another hospital & put on a 72-hour psychiatric hold. they said i would be able to talk to someone there about being released after a few days. they said i could either do this voluntarily, which was highly recommended and positioned as the best choice, or else the hospital would have to involuntarily commit me, which sounds pretty much as bad as it is. if committed involuntarily, it means you can be held at the psych hospital for much longer, as you'd have to appear in front of a group of case workers and essentially explain why you think you know better than doctors and other medical professionals. people who recently overdose aren't usually thought to be able to make smarter decisions than doctors, which means the appeal is 99% of the time denied, causing the patient to be scrutinized even closer, and as i said, held at the hospital for "liability reasons" for even longer than if you had just gone of your own volition. long explanation shortened: if you admit you have a problem and need help, go get the help, show people (/make them believe) that you want to continue to get better, then they will let you go out into the wild again. play the game and do what they tell you to do and it'll be over way faster than if you fight it.

as i reflect on this and write about it now, these words come to me easily. they make sense to me, as i exist now. of course i needed to go somewhere for treatment. but at the time it felt very confusing. i was not aware of these types of protocols. i really genuinely did not understand why my family was coming, but i wasn't going home with them. even though i was thoroughly confused, i signed the form to voluntarily commit myself.

it took a while but eventually they found a bed for me at a psych hospital. they said i'd have to be transported on a stretcher via ambulance, for liability reasons, but that my sister could ride with us, with my mother following behind in her vehicle. it took at least 30 minutes to get to this other facility, and it was getting dark outside, if not dark already. i remember joking around a lot while in the ambulance .. i always make jokes when uncomfortable or in tense situations. good ol' defense mechanism. i was encouraged when the EMT person told me that the facility i was going to allowed smoking cigarettes (this was not true).

we arrived to the psych hospital, and i remember when they were wheeling me inside an elevator, still on the stretcher, someone made a comment to my mother about ".. she is quite thin, isn't she .." this fuzzy memory is something i won't ever forget. my mother solemnly nodding, as if she hadn't really really noticed how bad i had gotten until i was laying down on a stretcher with sharp cheekbones, dark sunken eyes, chapped lips, protruding collarbones, bruised arms, & hip bones poking out from under a thin hospital gown & even thinner hospital blanket. i guess some things are easier for complete strangers to see.

my experience while at the psych hospital is something that will take up a lot of my time & mental energy, so i will continue with that next.

if you read this, thanks for your time.

#eating disoder trigger warning #mental health crisis trigger warning #addiction trigger warning #overdose mention #struggle #smoking #addiction #hospitalization #life story

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jay-and-dean · 3 years

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Worse

Dean x reader

Summary : Is it possible to love someone so much, you just wish you’re lucky enough to die first ?

Warnings : This is ANGST. I’m not kidding, this is panic attack, suicidal thoughts, grieving, light thought of murder, borderline domestic violence angst. This is kinda Dark and be careful that it’s not too triggering for you, please.

Wordcount : 1.8 k

Note : This is my fic for @negans-lucille-tblr‘s 6k “roll the dice” writing challenge. My genre prompt was Angst (I think you got it by now) and my prompt was “I’ve been pulling you close but pushing me further”, it’s blod in the fic.

December is a harsh month for me, so here is a harsh fic.

Jay’s Masterlist

_____________________

Dean did it again.

He swore on his life he wouldn't, you should have known that it meant nothing.

How fucking ironic it is ? Dean Winchester swearing on his own life that he will try to protect it, that he won't shield every person on Earth with his soul and body.

You're holding your painful chest, sitting on that stupid bed in this stupid motel room where nothing makes any sense anymore because your world is crumbling again. And your mind is going all the way down its own spiral of pain, the worst there is.

Your breath is short and your thoughts go so fast, a super computer giving you all the details of the movie that will be your life once Dean is gone.

The silence.

The implacable silence in the bunker, the void left by the end of his voice, the kind of silence that hurts so much it could kill you, harassing cruelly, again and again, with no break at all until you're ready to open your skull on a wall to make it stop.

That kind of silence.

The empty bed back home, the empty room. Your mind makes emptiness rain on you : Empty kitchen and no bacon, no joy ever, no sex, no one holding you and telling it's going to be okay. No one really understanding you and no hero on Earth, no butterflies ever again. No reason to live. Empty heart. Empty life.

Empty fucking world.

In the middle of this chaotic din, you think of his toothbrush, of throwing it in the trash because he won't need to clean his cute, going slightly inward, teeth ever again. Of his clothes waiting on the closet forever, and how fast the smell on it will fade.

You think of the nights spending screaming for him to come back because nothing is bearable without him, nothing... Screaming until you can't, strangling yourself with sobs, knowing it won't help because begging, threatening and bargaining won't change a thing.

And the days being even worse.

You think of the moment you will manage to forget the loss just enough to breathe, for a second, sitting on your bed, imagining he is just gone to the bathroom and that he will show up, pass this door again... Then remember he will never look back in your eyes again, fall even harder... And now you want to die.

Right now.

Even if all this is not real yet, even if Dean is still alive, you just want to die. You need to stop feeling anything forever now, just not exist because you don't want to be here when all of this happens.

And it will happen.

He just proved it. Your love for him doomed you and you're done praying that anyone listening would let you take his burdens...

Your thoughts shatter when he opens the door of the motel room and walks in with his heart beating and his chest breathing, blood running through his veins... But seeing him is not a relief this time, not anymore, and the deafening fear is still compressing your ribs with its vise talons.

"Baby" he sighs and you whimper at the pain of thinking one day you won't hear it anymore.

Everything hurts.

Until now, you always managed to calm after Dean almost died. It always took a few days being extremely anxious, living in the shadow of fear, feeling like nothing had any meaning anymore, but he always managed to make you whole again. With empty promises that he won't leave you, that he will always be by your side...

Bullshit.

Last time, the unbearable despair of knowing he will go before you didn't leave you completely, and you still suffer this horrible void caused by the idea that nothing worth living, if it is not forever.

This time, you know it, that horrible sorrow won't leave you. Not ever.

"Dean, it's over."

His big green eyes widen and his large body comes in front of you. His beloved body that you will have to burn one day, watching it as flames eat his freckled skin and flesh, as they turn to nothingness the man you love.

"Don't say that" he groans. "Baby, look at me. I didn't know for the metal thing."

You close your eyes, seeing the vampire impale him on this stupid bar again and again and it's like the spikes goes through you too.

"You know this one is not on me" he sighs. "It's not like I did it on purpose !"

"This one" you mutter his words in echo. "Maybe if you hadn't worn my heart out with all the times it was actually 'on purpose' like you say..."

He squats in front of you but you can't look at him. He was ready to say goodbye... Again. He was ready for you to lose him, who cares if you are ready or not.

"Don't say that..." he tries to touch your cheek with his fingers, the ones you held while performing that horrible spell to save him at Death's door.

To save him against his will.

But you flinch away and repeat.

"It's over. I won't watch you die."

"I won't, Baby" he tries again but those lies are hollow and your soul burned out.

You get up and pace the ugly room, unable to bear his face so close after seeing it turn dead pale once more.

"You know how lucky you are ?" you say in a broken voice, way too sad to cry. "You're obviously ready to die, to leave me. You will be the one leaving first and th-that is the luckiest place..." he looks down and takes a loud inhale. "You're so fucking ready to quit."

"I'm not" he states but you ignore his words, they are just wind now.

"But I'm not" you continue, seeing tears fill his perfect eyes. "I can't... O-one day I will have to burn your body, Dean... How selfish is it ? Have you ever thought of what happens after your stupid blaze of glory ?" he keeps his eyes down without saying a word and you could hit him, you want to but instead you let out a desperate strangled scream of pain. "HOW FUCKING SELFISH ARE YOU ! YOU'RE WILLING TO SAVE EVERYBODY BUT ME !"

The burning rage rises in your soul, in your body, and it's like flames were consuming you too, like you were on a stake. Your skin is burning, blood boiling and your heart feels like ember.

"Y/n" he tries, paralyzed by his inability to face this paradox :

If he keeps trying to save you and everybody else with his life, it will kill you ; but if you die, he still burns.

Is it possible to love someone too much ? Is it possible to actually die of love ? Is it possible that it is too late, that you're already dead...

"I CAN'T SLEEP BECAUSE YOU" you scream and a costumer of the motel yells for you to shut up behind the wall, you couldn't care less. "FUCK YOU DEAN WINCHESTER !"

He walks to you but the blazing pain is killing you, and you push him violently, making him step back in a huff.

"It's the job, Baby, you know that" he tries but it feels like gasoline on the pyre of your heart.

"Those suicidal shits to talk to Death ! Fucking OD on meds !" you feel tears roll on your face, down your chin and chest, but you don't think you're crying, or maybe you have been all this time... "Michael ! HELL ! THE MA'LAK BOX ! I NEVER FORGAVE YOU FOR THAT !"

"Y/n... I'm trying..."

"You should have tried harder ! I have been there, following you everywhere, accepting your stubbornness. I've been pulling you close but pushing me further. I'm dying of loving you Dean... I have to go."

You turn to put your clothes in your bag.

"You can't leave" he states, coming closer.

"WATCH ME !"

With hunter speed, he wraps his arms around you, hard and fast, with all his strength, preventing your every moves. All you can do is scream, and hit his arms to get free like they were enemies.

"You... You're not leaving me Y/n" he states through tears while you're fighting like you can. "You can't leave me... You're the meaning of my life... I love you more than anything in the world."

"LIAR !" you sob, hitting him with all you have, hitting him with your pain and your panic, with the despair that is consuming you.

You're fighting in a desperate last attempt to survive, like it was your last breath but when he squeezes your weak body harder, you hit and scratch every parts of him you can reach even more.

"I could die for you" he sobs.

"DON'T SAY THAT ! LET ME GO" you scream again, your voice hoarse and throat sore.

The neighbor knocks on the wall... And your eyes catch a glance at your gun at reach.

You grab it with the speed of rage and point it to Dean's temple. Nothing matters anymore, and maybe if you both died in that dirty room, you would end up together in Hell...

He doesn't move. You look at his tears soaked face, this face you love more than it is healthy to, to his tired wrinkled eyes, so red that the green seems greener... You cry at how beautiful he is, and press the barrel harder on his temple.

"I could kill you..." you mutter with clench teeth through your blurred mind.

"Do it" he orders. "DO IT !"

His shouting makes you flinch when his nose grazes yours at how close he is.

"WHY IN HELL WOULD YOU SAVE MY LIFE TO LEAVE ME AFTER ! I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU !" he screams and presses his head harder on the gun. "LEAVING OR PUTTING A BULLET IN ME ARE JUST THE SAME ! SO GO ON ! DO IT !"

You fall.

His arms catch you and keep you up, but every crumb of your will just fell. The gun slips from your hand...

A few years ago, you swore to love Dean forever, even if it meant death or Hell or even worse... So you will stay here, just here in his trembling arms until you have to burn him, for you neither can face that cruel paradox.

You know you will walk on that pyre, that day, and hold him until the end. You will burn, but you will stay...

Because this is it.

This is worse.

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hubblebubblehub · 4 years

Text

yona 197 thoughts

Firstly, behold. I am alive. This chapter honestly made my brain malfunction for a good minute or so, I legit had something akin to a stroke. I honestly believe this chapter encapsulates what has gone wrong with Yona’s storytelling. I understand this is a ‘memoir’, but even backstories whose existence is to deliver exposition require decent consistent characterisation, and a balanced mixture of ‘show don’t tell’ mixed with foreshadowing to result in something... bearable. This chapter was legitimately almost unbearable to read because I think Kusa herself has lost the plot.

To organise my thoughts Imma just put some lil subheadings.

Yon-hi

You know what? Ever since chapter 190 I realised that Yon-hi didn’t have much of a character other than that of an exposition clown. So this lame wrap up on her character was bearable to read, because it’s not as if she had the potential to be anything more than a ye old exposition dump. It’s still frustrating to read her ‘acknowledge’ her own faults, which also make no sense since we haven’t seen a proper build up in a change of thoughts. Yes, she acknowledged her husband was a brute to a certain extent, but apart from this chapter I don’t see her recognising the IMPORTANCE of her position and how her passiveness is stopping her from wielding more influence to prevent tragedy that so clearly hurts her. Sure, she notices that as a country bumpkin amongst nobles she stands out, but even 10 years after the genocide of the priests she never once confronted her husband about it. Or anyone really. Why the change of heart now? The excuse that her husband and Kashi (whom she wasn’t really friends with in the first place?? Honestly I think she was just attached to her out of guilt for what happened) are dead doesn’t explain why she would suddenly have the urge to take some sort of action since the past decade proves she thrives in complacency.

Additionally her relo with her son... I don’t even understand it anymore. She claims she loves Soo-Won but then she writes a letter to her brother-in-law basically asking him to ‘watch out for him’ like MA’AM HE IS YOUR SON. What happened to the role she devoted herself to, as a MOTHER?? I honestly give up trying to understand it.

Oh boi. I thought Yon-hi and Yu-hon had an awful characterisation but Il really takes the cake. I thought I could accept Il’s cowardice since it his duality has been hinted at throughout the whole manga, but honestly it makes close to no sense here. I’m surprised no-one decided to assassinate him the first few years into his reign. I would’ve done it tbh.

This chapter just brings more questions into his passive nature. Why the HELL did he just sit and wait around for something to happen after hearing about the future? Yes, as a religious devotee, he probably accepted the future as fact, but why didn’t he do ANYTHING about it? It seems like he banned weapons out of guilt of his murder, not to actually stop Soo-Won (since he ‘accepted’ that destiny of dying by his nephew’s hands).

If he knew that Yona would not only face hardship from her position as a reincarnation, but her own freaking family, why didn’t he take counter measures? I don’t understand why he wouldn’t try to empower her so that when he would eventually leave her, she would be able to take care of herself. His attitude to Soo-Won also makes no sense too. If he already accepted he would die by his hand, why didn’t he ban/prevent him from visiting the castle? And if he already accepted his fate, why didn’t he just let the marriage go through anyway? He could clearly see that Soo-Won didn’t detest Yona and would care for her, Yona would be happy with him (provided the murder wouldn’t happen lmfao).

Oh and also, if he knew all these shitty events were going to happen? What was his excuse for not taking care of the country, leaving more than hundreds to starve, live in poverty and die? ‘I’m a placeholder and my brother must not become King. Also I leave everything to the gods’ divine will because I’m a really great religious follower uwu’. Not ‘I’ll properly communicate with my brother, nephew and court to make this country a better place while I’m here to prevent the mistakes of the past.’ He acknowledges he’s not a great King. Why doesn’t he acknowledge and humble himself asking for advice from his advisors. Like whAT

Il & Kashi

Poor Kashi lmfao. Kusa in this chapter really trying to convince us they had a loving relationship and Il was simply just trying to avenge his wife. Sure, let’s say Il did love Kashi. He did a really awful way of expressing it, to the point Kashi genuinely believed he only married her to make the designer baby that is Yona. And I don’t see proof of otherwise tbh. I guess you could argue that Il & Kashi had some chemistry during the garden scene with Ik-Soo... but also Kashi was a ‘kid’ apparently so call the FBI lmfao. There are honestly no scenes or buildup that convince me that Il loved Kashi without the involvement of the divine. Kashi, maybe. I think she admired him but I see none of that from Il. Even when he flat out murders his brother, his defense isn’t ‘YO THAT WAS MY WIFE YOU JUST MURDEREDDD’ It was ‘THAT WAS THE MOTHER OF THE RED DRAGON’. I think these are self explanatory.

Also to that anti-Soo-Won translator who was saying how this line by Il basically disproves everyone who thought he didn’t love Kashi- it really doesn’t. If anything it just shows how terrible the writing has been for this arc because it’s nowhere near believable enough to accept as truth. Show me scenes where Il is actually.... showing affection and being in a loving and equal relationship with his wife smh

Romance

Il’s reliance on ‘love’ also makes no sense as well, and also highlights how problematic romance is in this series. Considering how ‘girl power’ this series is with Kouren, Lili & her bodyguards, Yona and even Kashi to a certain extent, it makes no sense that Il would choose to leave everything to a man who simply ‘loves Yona and will never betray her’. Like,,, did the events that transpired TEACH HIM NOTHING??

Sure only men can become Kings but it seems Queens have a significant position as well. And since Yona is the red dragon... wouldn’t like,, everyone know and respect and hold her on a higher level regardless lmfao like WHAT IS IL THINKING?? He knows that Yona ended up as a superficial spoilt princess as she grew older, but what did he do to rectify that?? n o t h i n g, except attempt to throw another man (Hak) to help solve the (future) problem.

A great grey point this manga has made since the beginning of the series is ‘Prioritising one individual will cause an entire Kingdom to fall to ruin’. So this is why I don’t understand Il’s actions. Yu-hon committed genocide for his wife, whom he loved (also a really poorly built up romance but this chapter ain’t about them), and APPARENTLY murdered Kashi too (dang it... such a weak and predictable outcome, I’m disappointed in you Kusa). Il killing Yu-hon caused Soo-Won & all the Yuhon stans to seek vengeance (although he also did kinda murder him for the sake of Kouka, but nonetheless her adored his father). SO WHY ON EARTH DOES IL THINK LOVE FROM ANOTHER PERSON IS GONNA SAVE HIS DAUGHTER. MAYBE FOR SOMEBODY ELSE BUT CERTAINLY NOT THE ROYAL DAMN FAMILY.

Also just because Hak clearly was devoted to and had affection for Yona, did not mean that Yona would feel the same way, which is arguably is ANOTHER IMPORTANT FACTOR IN A RELATIONSHIP. It seems like Il doesn’t give a damn about his freaking daughter honestly. But maybe who knows, Il has 500 IQ and decided to be passive so Yona would develop feelings for Hak. It was all part of his master plan, while he left most of his kingdom to suffer, no biggie.

Writing

This was such a painful arc to read. I swear Kusa tried to engage her fanbase by constantly making plot twists every chapter. Yu-hon is a good guy. SIKE he’s not. SIKE Il is kind of worse. SIKE Yu-hon bad and should never be one the throne. Il is an okay guy. SIKE he’s borderline religiously fanatic. SIKE Yuhon the crazy one. SIKE Il weird af because he marries Kashi to have baby dragon Yona. SIKE he actually loved Kashi he just DiDn’t MAkE HiS FeElings KnoWn.

Honestly that doesn’t even cover how inconsistent other characters like Yon-hi are either. Bleugh

Predictions for 198?

Maybe Yona will take it upon herself to rectify the wrongs done and pull herself together. Perhaps also do something more substantial than have a deus ex machina bunch of books deliver to information right into her hands. Also maybe show what Soo-Won thinks of this memoir? Surely he’s read it... if he hasn’t then like bye. This series is honestly breaking my heart with every monthly update I swear.

///might rant more later

#akatsuki no yona #akatsuki no yona manga #akatsuki no yona spoilers #akayona ch 197 #ch 197 #akatsuki no yona 197 #yona ch 197 #yona 197 #rants #akayona rants #i have to study for my midsems but this chapter really made me mad lol

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commonalex · 3 years

Text

future ready

future ready by common alex

Listen/download: future ready by common alex

It was around three months after I've been fired. I didn't dare to talk about it much, but it wouldn't that much of a mystery for someone to figure out why the short chick with the plaited hair isn't on the cash register giving wrong change to the old ladies anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty devastated that I managed to fail even at working at the supermarket, where all you needed to get a grip was knowing how to count, wearing an "Olga" tag like a war medal, and acting like everything's okay at all times. Maybe that's why I ended up sneaking into it like a thief that day, out of stubbornness. It was the last sense of routine I had while everything was going under outside the window.

I could barely get out the bed before four in the afternoon. And when I did, all I had planned was dragging my body before the tv to catch some telemarketing and dumb commercials until the sun was out again and I successfully forgot who I am and what I'm going through. Because what other choices did I have really? For the last two years I was jumping from one dead end job to the next, either until I get fired or until I quit. I was leaving on benefits and a sad amount of savings, and I was starting to accept the fact that this would be my life from now on. Like, what else did I really have to rely on? Studies? Big deal, the world wouldn't end with just one english teacher less. Friends? Don't get me started. Family? All I was left with was a mother with a mission to make me feel horrible every time we spoke on the phone because I wasn't bothering to go see her. But even if I did, what would I have to say to her? I was mentally collapsing. So I said "leave it for now" and kept the thought pushed back for later. That's the reason why on that particular day I didn't pick up whenever my mom was ringing this cherry ericsson I had at the time. It wasn't like I really needed to answer, I already knew everything by heart.

"Have you seen how this girl you used to hang out at school does lately, Olga?".

No, mom, I haven't. It's been like ten years since I finished school.

"She's studying this thing you used to like, she got settled, she even has her own house".

Well done for her I guess, and?

"And you?".

I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life anymore, mom.

"But don't you ever think about your future?".

My long awaited future, huh? What a glorious future that was. It was so good, half of the people I used to know didn't make it halfway through.

Outside things were a bit more casual that the deep existential turmoil that was described by the news at the time, yet I was indeed shocked by that eerie amount of silence that was stretching through the cold winds that was piercing my purple coat. I could hear a tv screaming from two blocks away and the screeching roars of the phone lines echoing around the city, but there was barely any human voice left. I was only catching some mumbles and grunts here and there as I was jumping out of fear every time I had to turn around a corner. So it was just like everyday Athens, only with a little more of snow and fear of getting mugged. My social atrophy made me feel like I was being chased as the surrounding landscape was rapidly being stripped from anything that was reminiscing of a typical day. Like, that was the first time I ever saw people looting kiosks and butcher shops. I only managed to see like three to five people with their backs hunched, covering their faces while carrying those huge gray tv screens with the vhs player still attached or fifteen bags of chips, with their eyes moving around uncontrollably. All I had in my mind seeing these scenes was the word "brutalization". Maybe because all this time I wasn't fully aware of what was going on, or maybe because the news told the truth for once.

I snuck from the side door where the staff entrance was, because all the glass on the front of the supermarket was smashed to pieces and I didn't like the thought of my hands sliced open. It was a mess on the inside and the aisles stood empty like sad metal canyons. People must have broke in trying to get all the toiler paper and canned foods left in the previous weeks. From the expired milk bottles at the back to the unstoppable static noise of the refrigerators in front of me, there were all those special little touches to make me feel like I was working in this hole of a job again. And no, I did not bother searching for supplies. Instead, I walked around like I was out shopping with my mom, opening the boxes of the diabetes flavored cereal that no one bother to take, just to steal their toys. I also found a bunch of unopened boxes of the supermarket's very own faux chocolate milk (yes, the one with the dark industrial waste left on the bottom) that was probably expired as well. But, I was a lady, right? So I took some of them to the cash register, because Olga ain't no petty thief. I got around my place of work and scanned the bottles to find out that they cost something less than three hundred and seventy-five million. "Luckily, I don't have to calculate any change now", I thought. Never before have I ever experienced such relief while being there. I was sitting in the same place I was rotting for hours before the world turned to shit, and I was patiently waiting for a huge line of old ladies to pop out of nowhere just to ruin my vibe with their pension money bills. I almost started to miss all of those stuff. This must meant that things have really turned to shit.

The new millennium have begun just like any other year, against the disappointment and secret eagerness of some people. All that screaming about the revelation, the second coming of Satan, the aliens, and the revolution of the machines faded miserably as the days went by and absolute destruction was not to be seen. Yet, at least. Because the first planes that crashed mid-flight in South Africa and Indonesia didn't appear before the end of January, but all were like "okay, technical problems". And when missiles were accidentally landing on Iraqi cities, people were like "well, what to do, technical problems yet again". Only when the bank deposits got erased people started to cry and run like headless chickens. Young people now would call me cynical, but you had to be there to see it. It was crystal clear that people had all of their hopes and dreams for tomorrow stored into a single digit of a computer. A kind of tomorrow which was now failing to promise anything anymore in front of millions of simultaneous personal bankruptcies. Then the reactors in Italy exploded due to a system failure and tomorrow officially died. This tomorrow that we were told would bring everything to us, from cancer treatments to all of Britney's music stored in a tiny mini-disc. From flying cars to underground metros. From huge tv screens for each living room to the giant digital information highway better know as the INTERNET. Nowadays all of these sound so silly, but the pain in the faces of people from the betrayal of their dream did not seem to go away. Until mid-February, everyone lost their minds. Those who saw all of this coming ran away in fear of the new Chernobyl to leave the rest of us behind to die. Shops, services, offices, all ceased to have any actual reason to exist in from of the impending disaster. All you could see around anymore were padlocks, deflated bodies on the street from people that couldn't take it anymore, and some shadows of people left to wander like animals while pretending to be alive. Maybe that's why the tv was constantly playing commercials and other irrelevant bullshit during all of this, it was the last useful thing they could show to the people that were preparing for the grand finale.

But that grand finale wasn't so tangible for me. Everyone had this type of end predetermined, but this panic of theirs seemed more like a slightly less shallow version of the preexisting self-preservation to me. I wasn't convinced by those who screamed that the world was over simply because it already happened to their world. Like, just as Rome wasn't built in one day, their illusions weren't shattered overnight. I mean, at that time the supermarket was filled with those obnoxious promotional banners featuring the new slogan that was everywhere lately, before things change for the worse. They had the "FUTURE READY" catchphrase in large white letters that spread noisy and ridiculous lacking any particular meaning as everything was collapsing. What future exactly was that slogan referring to? The future in general, as a concept of time and space? They wouldn't have thought that out that much. Was it the future of humanity from now on? I wouldn't be so concerned for this with all those rich fucks that had already kissed as goodbye from their shelters, we were far from being extinct and in maybe less that ten years we could wake up with someone like Will Smith ruling the world. No, the catchphrase probably meant that future with the flying cars and the internet. The future only fools would believe it would come (and yes, people actually believe that). That future we lost just as fast as we were promised for it.

So in short, we were crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down in excruciating depths. This wasn't living nor surviving; we more or less kept on functioning like bio-robots with depression. But for me, things weren't looking so grim. "Look at me", I would say, "I reached twenty-nine and haven't done crap to be proud of, I drink expired chocolate milk and I'm secretly glad the world is ending because every day was borderline unbearable for me anyway, so how good would the future be for someone like me?". Nowadays the denial of any form of reality in this reasoning stands out, but at that moment I was reaching redemption. I was now reassured by the thought of the end, acting like a barrier that could block this endless loop that was running relentlessly against me. "So finally", I said to myself, "let's calm down once and for all". I was spinning around in the cashier's chair like a silly kid and was finishing up the bottles of milk like there's no tomorrow, while convincing myself that once everything goes to hell, my torment is over.

My phone’s vibrating through my coat cut me off the carefree twirling around my craziness. "Mom" was flashing on the screen again, but by that point I couldn't be bothered for explanations. Still, the dialogue kept running automatically like a script inside my head.

"I just can't get you. Do you keep on acting unbothered by the world? Even now? Who are you trying to convince anymore, Olga? Me? Because I know you have roughened up out of fear".

Well, truth is I was actually fearing you would start with that kind of shit again.

"You are getting more and more difficult to talk to. You are basically denying something we both clearly see at this point".

We seem to say the same exact thing, ain't that something? I guess I was kinda doomed from the start to be and look just like you.

"You really do me dirty with all these conclusions you're drawing out of anger".

Okay, so what? Did you get upset?

"Why are you angry at me, Olga? Can I hear you say it, just for once?"

I don't have the time for this thing again, mother, I need to enjoy my remaining days over here.

"How much do you think this will last for you? When will you stop stalling and start looking after you and your future again, Olga?"

What future do I have, really, are you kidding me?

-Are you talking to yourself, ma'am?

I almost slipped out of the chair. I had never experienced such horror before. I was barely held off the bench to help me get up again slowly with my heart sinking to my stomach, only to see a little girl with plaited pigtails looking at me half-frightened. She wasn't over nine years old, judging by the face and the childish dress she wore under this puffy purple coat.

-Why are you here? Where are your parents?

-Over here, come and take a look! But mom told me not to talk to strangers!

That of course made zero sense to me. Just like it made zero sense for a child to be left alone in a destroyed supermarket with the sun setting outside. I asked for the girl's name, nothing. I asked again, she hid her puzzled frown behind her pigtails trying to playfully imitate my posture with her hands on my waist.

-I'm Olga, I work here. And you?

She started to say something and suddenly changed her mind, running like hell to the back. I was confused thinking how would I look like to someone who saw me chasing a little girl in there, but then I reminded myself that probably nobody would be left to live to the end of this month, so I wouldn't be considered crazy for too long. I began running under the flickering ceiling lights and with each step I had to swallow my vomit. This little girl felt sorry for me in the end and stopped to wait for me at the end of the far right aisle, leaving one sleeve of her huge coat to stick out on purpose. I approached with an awkward smile and glanced at the strange grace she had on her face, with those weird baby hair that can't be caught for nothing in plaits pointing upwards. Despite my awkwardness, the girl stood unworried and expressionless as if I put her on timeout. I asked her name again. She slips away from a second time and runs like the wind, squealing something at lime while zigzagging the aisles.

-You should probably pick it up!

My phone was stabbing my pocket. It was "Mom" yet again, but I really wasn't in the mood for "Mama". I had to pick up my lungs from the floor at the top of my priorities, because this little devil wasn't running but galloping like a damn horse. I finally caught up with her in the aisle with the products of the day and tightly grabbed her by the shoulders. The little devil screamed and was banging her feet in pain. My hands had been too coarse for people after all this time.

-Hey, ma'am, did you get angry? I was just playing with you.

-I'm don't have time to play right now, please go to your mom.

-But I told you, My mom's right here.

"Where is "here"?

With just one finger sticking out of the sleeve, she pointed to the right middle shelf at the end of the aisle. She put her finger before her mouth to stop me from talking and I followed her on tiptoes. When we approached the end of the aisle and my eyes got used to the darkness I saw a woman laid inside the empty shelf. She was in her sixties and wearing an old black nightgown with holes on it. From her short hair down to her nails, there were ice flakes stuck everywhere as if she was just found buried in the snow. Her face with her eyes closed was carrying such an expression of pain and torment. I was so weirded out that something made me want to follow those ice streams that filled her skin's scratches with my fingers, however her body felt so stiff I jumped back. She looked more like a porcelain doll than an actual person.

-Ma'am Olga? Are you alright?

I threw up all the chocolate milk I drank. My body got the chills and my teeth were trembling so much that my breath was coming out in sharp puffs in front of the flickering lights of the refrigerators. I must have look like shit, because I scared the little girl for good and made her get five steps back from me while I was going crazy and trying to clear my eyes from the shock.

-Why is she here?

-Nobody wanted her. Nobody called to take her.

I didn't pay much attention. I pulled out my cherry ericsson to call for help, but the chaotic hum of the phone lines echoed in the aisle before I even put the phone to my ear.

-Who put her here?

She was just staring at me. I asked again and again. She let her lower lip half open. I grabbed her by the shoulders like before and she pulled out a choked scream due to my clumsiness. She started crying and feeling loose in my hands. It was then that I felt like something broke inside me and I crawled away from her because she would pass out in any second just by looking at the state that I was. I sat on the floor watching her wipe her tears from a distance, all while fixing her plaits and stressfully straightening the dress inside her coat. Every now and then she would throw these incoherent excerpts from conversations that seemed weirdly familiar, waiting for me to remember the answers I had given to each of the discussions. I felt sick, like my insides would explode at any moment. My mind was working overtime and I started seeing red. I understood, but I did not want to accept it.

"But how?" I was saying again and again. I can't just live through this stuff. I was thinking that maybe that's it, we are officially past this tomorrow. Maybe that was the end of the world and the time I had at my disposal. Only instead of cloud islands or pits with flames I was stuck inside this supermarket with a little girl and a dead woman. Was this fitting? Not really. It might be considered symbolic, but still not at all subtle. That's why I was stuffed with anger and distress. I couldn't digest what to feel after all that I saw. And what was the meaning of all of this? To make me feel remorse? To help me maybe? But how? So many questions hanging above my head I began to feel like I was melting from the uncertainty. Luckily, the little girl found some courage to pick me up from the floor.

-You still don't recognize her, do you?

-I recognized her just fine the first time.

-Are you sure, ma'am Olga?

-I don't know, what do you say?

-You tell me.

-We have to get out of here, kiddo. We can't get through it like this. Even now, with everything else going to hell with us.

-Do you really want me to come with you?

-I don't know. Maybe I want to, maybe I should.

The phone started screaming again. It was dimming "Mama" with small flakes of ice filling its broken tiny screen. The girl bent down and put this in my palm with no emotion on her face. I answered it. I waited for an eternity so thin you could fit it inside a moment like this. "Hello? Mom?". Eventually the same confusing static noise creaked from the other side of the call, and I stuck there waiting through the buzzing to find her smoker's coughing that she used to do before starting to complain about how I constantly forget about her. Waiting just to tell her that I was here, I was fine, and the world might not end there. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, there's even some future we can fit in it.

-So are we ready now, ma'am Olga?

-Ready for what?

She pointed at the banner hanging from the ceiling.

-Future ready.

I didn't catch my mother's voice at the other end of the line, of course. I hung up and weakly threw the phone on the shelf where the woman was laying, just to hear its dying snout. This felt way more fitting.

-Nah, not really. But it probably does not matter right now.

-But. I'm scared.

-I'm scared too, being in here and all.

-So when will we be back? When everything was normal again?

-"Normal" may no longer exist. We'll just have to see. For now, get up.

-You know better, ma'am.

-Ma'am my ass.

The little girl glanced just once at the self with the phone on and continue to walk with me, with her palm lost and warmed up somewhere inside my own palm. An analog clock on the wall pointed somewhere after nine o clock and the sky was bruised from the clouds that were pouring snow on everything around us. I put my hand with hers in the pocket of the miserable purple coat and lifted our hoods to escape the cold on the way home. I don't really remember how long we walked with our backs hunched over somewhere between the white and the gray. I only recall that we took the long way home, like a punishment of some sorts.

Thinking that I would never hear again the saltiness in my mom's voice was my most bitter torment. I never thought of such a possibility. I always had in the back of my mind that she would find a way to defy any rule of the universe, just so she could care for me. That's science fiction, after all. It seems I was holding on to my illusions for so long, so waking up hurts like hell even today. And if my mom died, I believe she must've left with that pain and concern during her last moments. "Look at me now", I catch myself saying here and there "I avoided her only until I had to mourn her". Until then, the only thing I had on my mind was working on what I should say when I would get asked about her, only to answer that we "fell off" with no emotion. What exactly happened to fall off with her would be like unnecessary little details. Still, to this day, that's exactly what I tell people when it's being brought up. I can't talk about it without sinking in remorse. I can't get the right words to come out anymore, not even by force.

Of course I tried to find her. Especially with the years that were to come upon me, I needed this to have my mind calibrated just to not go crazy over the batshit hysteria that was building up inside of me. Deep down, though, I knew I didn't have the courage to look at past trauma anymore, and I was secretly hoping I would never fine here. Maybe because the end of the world not coming anymore, at least as I thought it would, and now I have to live with it forever. Maybe because the worst that could have happened to me in the end was the postponement of the apocalypse. And this falls heavily on my shoulders to this day. Every day I have to justify why it was worth it to stay behind, either as punishment or by luck, trying to convince myself that there is something left to do with the leftovers of my future.

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zipegs · 4 years

Photo

i’ve been toying around with the idea of posting a fic rec list for a while, and finally decided that if i do, it might be nice to focus on newer and/or underrated fics in the fandom! some of my absolute favorites are on this list, and i highly suggest checking them out (and leaving the lovely authors some comments and kudos!)

this got pretty long, but it’s organized alphabetically by ship name (including gen) and then by length inside each ship!

blanky/little

Trysails by saltstreets / 2k, t

“I know I can’t do much,” Blanky said, “but you can always talk to me. If you’re so inclined.”

A (very late!) offering for Tender Tuesday, "a friend in need".

okay!!!!!! okay!!!!! hear me out on this one!! this fic is wonderful. i’m a sucker for fics dealing with edward’s suffering during the worst of crozier’s captaincy, and this one is so good. blanky is so wonderful in this; i feel like his tender, kind side frequently gets overlooked in favor of his bigger, bolder attributes, and this fic truly delivers on everything i’ve been missing! it’s really gentle and sweet and i urge you to give it a read!!!!

bridglar

in the low lamplight by stelleri / 338, g

It’s endless freezing rain outside, but the house is comfortably warm.

short and sweet! a really lovely little slice-of-life modern au

state of grace by aes3plex / 860, m

He doesn’t mean to see it. He never does.

bridglar may be the most featured pairing, but this is told from irving’s pov and also contains irving/little and references to hickey/gibson. really sad, conflicted little peek into irving’s mind (and some nice, soft bridglar as well!)

passer iagoensis by greenery / 3k, g

Night falls on the Beagle and Henry Peglar has just finished reading his very first novel.

Set in 1832.

this piece is so good!! it has some really beautiful (sad) foreshadowing of the franklin expedition, and is just... so soft, with some wonderful romantic tension!! and it’s funny! darwin and fitzroy are wonderful in this, and i’m always here for fic that deals with peglar learning to read (which this does!!!).

cracroft/crozier

the beggar’s opera by pyotr / 990, e

for all of his usual anger and surliness it was almost fun to fluster francis, to rile him where he could not retaliate. sophia had spent all her life under the thumb of some man or another; she loved francis in part because she always had the upper hand.

sophia is my queen and that’s all i’ll say about that. seriously though, this piece is just... *chef’s kiss*

fitzconte

A Cheetah Never Changes His Spots by onstraysod / 1.2k, m

Being the particular friend of James Fitzjames has its drawbacks, as Henry Le Vesconte learns during the expedition's first carnivale. But it also has its advantages, as Henry learns once the carnivale is over.

Written for Day 1 (A Special Disguise) of the 12 Days of Carnivale.

on beechey island, fitzjames reveals clio’s cheetah to the men. or... something like it! this piece is really a blast; fitzjames is in rare form, francis is glaring form the sidelines, and le vesconte is an absolute champ. and the ending is wonderfully witty and racy!

fitzier

wake me up, wake me up my darling by norvegiae / 1.4k, g / mcd

James Fitzjames feels like a new man.

The old James Fitzjames lies on the cot in front of him, cradled by the man he wishes he could have had more time with.

set during 1.09, this fic is a really poignant, heartwrenching piece in which james comes to terms with the reality of his death, and of his life, as he watches francis grieve. very sad, and wonderfully written!

what the stars give us by WetSammyWinchester / 1.7k, t / implied death

"They may know space, James, but you know what it means to truly fly."

70s scifi (space program!!!) au. really great translation of the terror; the mood in this is so good!!! and the little flashbacks are fantastic. it’s pretty sad, but it hurts in a good way.

fitzrossier

Take Your Turn, Take A Ride by courfairyac / 7.5k, e

Francis agrees to accompany his friend to a masquerade, and stumbles onto something quite unexpected.

In short: Festivities! Voyeurism! James in a dress!

listen... fitzrossier is my new weakness, and this is a really fun, hot, canon-universe (pre-expedition) au.

gen

salvation by scribomania / 250, t

The Concordia brings them survival, but not salvation.

featuring hodgson and little, and jopson. for a survival au, this little piece hurts!!! it’s so short, but it packs a punch. really, really good.

but no one remembers yet by disastermovie / 885, t

“From the mutilated state of many of the corpses and the contents of the kettles, it is evident that our wretched countrymen had been driven to the last resource—cannibalism—as a means of prolonging existence.”

—excerpt from Dr. John Rae’s report on the fate of the Franklin Expedition to the Secretary of the Admiralty (written from Repulse Bay on July 29, 1854)

sad little epilogue concerning sophia and lady jane dealing with their grief

the weary world rejoices by disastermovie / 1.3k, t

Fitzjames goes to his first Christmas party after the survivors are rescued. It doesn't go well.

this!!!! fic!!! i can’t even do it justice, it’s just so good. the slow build of james’s panic, the caroling and gaiety as a backdrop... it’s just so painful in the best way. i’m incoherent; pls just read it,

la belle dame sans merci by drowninglovers / 1.7k, g

Nobody is quite sure who the first one to start making her clothing is, but one day she scampers over the shoulders of the ABs as they line up for lunch wearing a tiny shirt to match her pants. It’s nothing special, no fancy detail, navy blue like most everything else they wear. Whoever made it must have cared a great deal, to make sure it fit her perfectly.

this is incredibly fun!!! just some good, wholesome fic about boys dressing up their favorite lady. 10000/10 would recommend.

Come Here, Fellow Servant by whipstitch / 1.9k, t

The sea is dangerous, but so too is the open sky. And in that case, Cornelius determines, a friend is an unexpected boon.

okay, i made a rule that i wasn’t going to include wips on this rec list, but i had to put this guy on here. it could be read as a stand-alone, actually, which is what i used to convince myself to include it. peglar realizes that hickey has no fucking idea what he’s doing, and tries to help him, kind, caring sweetheart that he is. this is a really, really nice little piece—i love everything about it.

lie alone by greenery / 2k, g

He turns the page. And maybe this is it. Maybe writing a letter to young Tom Hartnell is reason enough to leave the berth.

really nice oneshot featuring two good boys (hodgson & hartnell) and their wholesome status as pen pals

the crooked kind by darrenjolras / 2.3k, m / non-consensual voyeurism

“You and I, Jopson,” Hickey says, and Jopson startles at those words alone, turns an affronted gaze his way. Hickey bathes in the glacial blue of it. Like being thrown overboard. “You and I aren’t so different, you know.”

Based on that Hickey/Jopson scene. You know the one.

the terror bingo fill: court martial

not totally gen, but also not really hickey/jopson? twisted, but very much in character; hickey is his delightful self in this, and his verbal sparring with jopson is very well done and quite fun to read!

gibson/hickey

Touch Her Not Scornfully by skazka / 2k, e

Stolen moments down below.

this fic is just... really fucking good!!! it’s a fantastic look at the very early days of gibson & hickey’s relationship, and an intriguing little venture into billy’s head.

goodsir/mcdonald

And That is How it Starts by Intrepid_Inkweaver / 1.2k, g

It starts with a handshake and a warm smile at their introduction at Greenhithe.

a really sweet, lovely canon-divergent piece. written in 2nd person pov. these two are just such a good, wholesome pairing and this fic really does them justice!!

hartving

let loss reveal it by disastermovie / 1.6k, t / mcd

Tom could never quite see himself taking a wife.

this shit fucking hurts!!!!!!! it’s a beautiful glimpse at irving & hartnell’s relationship, told through hartnell’s introspection, and is written really, really well. also did i mention that it fucking hurts???

Lookout Blues by ClockworkCourier / 2.1k, g

John and Tom Hartnell talk about the future while they wait on a new shipment.

hello??? 1920s au??????? the world-building is so tangible in this, even in such a relatively short piece. it’s a really lovely little conversation between the brothers, and i absolutely loved their little discussion of irving.

we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet by drowninglovers / 6.3k, g

If this is to be the last time they interact (and it likely will), Tom wants it to be memorable.

survival au survival au!! tartnell runs into irving at john’s grave, and convinces him to stay with his family until new year’s. it’s kind of bittersweet, with some really great flashbacks (and discussions of said scenes!), and oh man is it soft!! just! really beautiful and tender, and the ending is just so cute!!!!!

hodgson/hickey

the chaos moves by itself by bluebacchus / 1.3k, e / violence, mcd

Hodgson's mind cracks and the heavens flow in.

(Written for Day 7 of Halloween TerrorFest: A disquieting metamorphosis and posted separately because I don't want to taint my main post with borderline vore)

fair warning... this fic is fucked up, but in the best possible way! the religious imagery!!!! the philosophy!!!! just!! god.

hodgson/little

Allegro, B Flat Major by whalersandsailors / 5.3k, g

George is freshly moved from his childhood home, ready to tackle the school year and his newfound independence all at once.

Too bad he's lonely, miserable, and homesick.

He turns to music when adulthood becomes unbearable, and when someone knocks at his door and leaves an anonymous note, George discovers another music lover not too far away.

have i mentioned i love george hodgson? because i love george hodgson. this fic is a beautiful modern au featuring our own georgie playing his way through his feelings (literally). the buildup to the reveal of george’s secret admirer is wonderful, and had me rooting for them from the start! really sweet, stunning fic for a pairing i’d never considered before!

joplittle

get out of the wind by Cicadaemon / 1.6k, e

Edward Little is smitten with a certain bartender.

modern au. really lovely, wholesome, and happy; just what these boys deserve!

The Thylacine by Gigi_Sinclair / 1.7k, t

"Thylacines. That's what Sophia called them, all those years ago in Van Diemen's Land. Dogs with tiger stripes, cats with pouches. They stretch their jaws at him, as Francis struggles to sit. The movement makes his head spin. He pushes the discomfort aside. He has no time to entertain it; he must escape."

also features cracroft/crozier. this is a really clever, funny piece set during francis’s withdrawal; poor francis is a bit muddled in the throes of his fever, and gets caught up in a memory from van diemen’s land. i absolutely loved little and jopson’s reactions in this, and especially jopson and crozier’s conversation the next morning.

Prelude in D Major by scribomania / 2.7k, t

Hodgson is very fond of the musical apparatus in Terror's great cabin; Edward is not.

For the Terror Bingo square "denial".

i’m a big big lover of terror lieutenant nonsense, and this fic absolutely delivers! just absolutely delightful.

When the Lights Go On Again by Gigi_Sinclair / 4.1k, t

"Edward Little's ancestors were Naval officers, almost to a man. Nevertheless, from a young age, Edward's eyes turned to the sky rather than the sea.

He longed to fly, as high and as frequently as possible. In the Royal Air Force, he got his wish. He was happy there, thriving, rising in the ranks apace and doing what he always wanted to do. Then came the first of September, 1939."

wwii au. edward is a squadron leader in the royal air force, and jopson is a corporal working for group captain crozier. i’m weak for wwi and wwii aus to begin with, and this one is done beautifully. while it doesn’t hand-wave the trauma and heartbreak of war, it doesn’t hit you over the head with it either, and the result is a really soft, bittersweet, hopeful piece.

lozer

a lily for my love by whalersandsailors / 3.7k, m

Solomon never thought that soul-signs were real, and the stories he heard about them made soulmates sound more like a prison sentence than any fairy tale romance. It is not until he finds a soul-sign on the skin of a very dear friend that he realizes their importance, as well as their undoing.

this piece is!!! beautiful!!! very poignant, and really had me feeling for solomon. i love what’s been done with the soulmark conceit—it’s not just a simple “we have soulmarks, we’re soulmates!!!’ au (which i’ll admit to enjoying too), but a really thoughtful take on the trope. the slow way tozer puzzles everything out is wonderful, and i love the glimpses we get into several of his friendships & relationships.

morfin/weekes

to help you remember by whalersandsailors / 1.2k, g

An anniversary, during which Weekes presents Morfin with a gift, and Morfin struggles to remember why.

do you ever just get clotheslined by a pairing you’d never even considered before? because that’s what this fic did to me

#the terror #the terror fic rec #the terror fic #the terror amc #fic #haven't proofread this at all so pour 1 out for the dumb mistakes #that im sure it's riddled with #anyway this is how i spent my afternoon #anyway read these fics i'm beggin u #this also showed me just how much terror fic #i have yet to read...#thinking emoji

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once-upon-a-ouat · 5 years

Text

“Favor”

Summary: Weaver goes to Roni for that favor she owes him but the woman that made that deal with him is forever gone. Canon divergence in which Roni and Henry never went to San Francisco in search of Zelena.

Word Count: 1k (precisely)

Read on FFN or AO3

She wiped at the glass she was currently holding with abrupt motions, restlessness evident in every single one of them. It used to calm her before. When she was Roni. But now all it did was make her want to smash the glass into something. Preferably Drizella's face. It would do nothing to quell her anger though and would only cause more problems and she already had like a ton of those. She didn't need more.

That was when she heard the door of the bar open and knew without a doubt who that was. And in fact, when she looked up, she was faced with exactly what she'd expected – another one of her countless problems.

She watched him walk to the counter, a death glare that refused to bend to anyone's will–his or hers–on her face.

"I take it that my chances of a free drink are significantly lower after our last chat," he spoke with that annoying composure of his that always made her want to claw his eyes out. He sat on one of the stools, taking his time and making himself comfortable. As if time wasn't of the essence. And for him it usually wasn't. But they were all running out of time. Gothel and Drizella were planning something that could be the end of them all.

"What do you want, Weaver?" she asked, almost growling out the name. Her grip instinctively tightened around the glass in a way that was a second nature to her–only, she'd used to hold hearts before–so she slammed it down on the counter.

His eyes followed her movement and he winced in mockery when the glass clashed with the countertop. "You might wanna watch that anger, love," he said, having the audacity to look her in the eyes and still call her 'love' in an empty attempt to convince her he was still under the Curse. "Someone could get hurt," he said, concern finding its way to his gaze and making it unbearable to look at him.

It wasn't Drizella's face she wanted to smash the glass into anymore and Weaver was, conveniently, right in front of her but she made herself let go of the glass nonetheless. She threw the towel she was holding on her shoulder and braced herself on the counter, making an effort to make the pose look intimidating even though she knew it would be in vain. "I don't have time for games, Weaver. Say what you want or get out." If he wasn't going to help her, he could at least do her the courtesy of staying out of her way.

"I came for that favor you owe me," he said, all the seriousness returning to his gaze.

"Forget it!" she snapped, moving away from the counter and as far away from him as the surroundings allowed. "I don't owe you anything," she crossed her arms to keep herself from reaching for the baseball bat.

"You do," he spoke, unmoved by her outburst. "Those were your exact words." He had the insolence to demand that she keep her promise, all the while fully aware that the woman who'd given it was a completely different person from the one he was looking at right now.

"I didn't say that," she punctuated, the words having a palpable edge to them that would leave anyone else bleeding but the only thing that could hurt him was his goddamn dagger.

"Well, perhaps you don't remember it," he said, the words a heartless mockery of her entire existence. "Maybe an arrest could freshen up your memory."

"I'm not playing your game, you bastard," she leaned forward, like a snake ready to strike.

He mirrored the action and she moved back but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him. His other hand tangled in her hair and his lips crashed on hers.

She was forced to stay on her toes, her whole body pulled taut over the counter in an almost painful position. Everything in her was screaming to pull back but she couldn't. She was paralyzed by the fear that she'd been wrong all this time, that he was still very much under the Curse and she'd been talking to Weaver all along. She was terrified because if he wasn't awake, then the Curse was more powerful than she'd thought and they had lost. They were all lost.

His tongue brushing against her lips, seeking entrance, was what soothed her anxious mind, and she opened her mouth, welcoming it in. Because she knew him better than he cared to admit and the very fact that he was trying so hard to convince her that he wasn't awake was proof that he was. She could tell it was him by the way his tongue slid against hers and his hands held onto her in a way that was rough and borderline painful but still not completely without care. Because he cared about her, just not enough.

She pulled away, a few of her hairs tearing out and causing tears to spring to her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself when a shiver ran down her spine. "Belle deserved better," she said, knowing full well that if there was anyone for whom Rumple had done his best, it was Belle. But it was the only way to hurt him and she knew it. "We all did," she added nonetheless, wishing to delude herself that he might feel a spark of guilt for what he was doing to her too.

His expression didn't change, that annoying composure of his too thick to be penetrated by her weak words. He locked eyes with her though. "Do me a favor, dearie, and pull yourself together. There are people who need you," he said before getting up from the stool and heading for the door.

The tears started falling then. He was right and she knew it. There were people who needed her. But she needed him.

#once upon a time #ouat #golden queen #regina mills #rumplestiltskin #roni #weaver #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #this has been sitting unedited in a notebook for four months now #i finally finally decided to rectify that #operation end

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pointlessdedication · 7 years

Text

An Untitled Story Pt. 3

So what happens after Dan collapses? Find out now! (it's 1802 words long, i really hope u like it)

Phil

The Uber finally arrives after what felt like the longest two minutes in the world. I hurry to the car with Dan wrapped in between my arms. The driver opens the door and I carefully help Dan inside. He is gasping for air and crying and I am freaking out. I run to the other side of the car, open the door, get in and yell to the 20-year-old boy to hurry up. I get on the phone and rush the words as I try to explain to Doctor Michigan the situation. We finally arrive to the hospital, and thankfully the doctor has sent an emergency team to receive us. They quickly put Dan on a gurney and run towards the entrance. I follow and I try to understand what they are mumbling and what they are giving Dan but all I can think is that he is in pain. I follow them until they tell me that I have to stay behind. I protest. “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? I WON’T LEAVE HIM ALONE. HE NEEDS ME. I NEED HIM. YOU NEED TO LET ME IN. RIGHT. NOW.” I’m screaming. I’m yelling so loud I’m pretty sure the entire hospital can hear me and I don’t care.

“Sir, please let go of my arm. You need to stay here if you want us to help him,” A woman says.

I realize only then that I’m squeezing her elbow in between my fingers. I let go like all of a sudden her arm is on fire.

“I’m sorry,” I step away from her and stare at her hair as they take Dan away.

––––

It’s been an hour and I still haven’t heard news from Dan but of course I had already googled all that I remembered. I encountered quite a few results. I got to the conclusion that the one that made the most sense was that Dan’s chest had filled with “liquid". A classic symptom of lung cancer as the webpage described it. I had gone through so many results my head was in quite a lot of pain. It was when I had decided to go get some food that I saw Doctor Michigan coming out of the crystal doors where I had last seen Dan. His caramel eyes were wide and he was in a blue suit.

“Hi, Phil,” he greets me with kind eyes and a discrete smile.

“How is he?” I do not have time for formalities right now.

“He is okay. You got here just in time. His lung would’ve collapsed had you gotten here a bit later. His chest filled with liquid. It’s normal, when it comes to lung cancer, I’m afraid. I was actually surprised Daniel hadn’t had an episode like this yet. But he is stable now. You can come see him, if you wish,” he points at the elevator. “Floor 5, room 507, I believe.”

I'm so angry and frustrated but also extremely relieved. I feel like my knees are going to give in so I sit back on the chair.

“Is this going to happen again?” I try to ask with my kindest tone.

“We’ll give him some drugs to control it, as I said before, it is extremely common for a patient with lung cancer to suffer from episodes like this. The gdfgdjf will have to be increased too, of course, we don’t want him to have gastritis too, now do we?” He forces a laugh. I just stare at him. “In any case, I will explain the new treatment with more calm later. I wish Daniel to stay here for a couple nights for observation. I want to see how the medicine works for him and if it’s the right one for his state. Wouldn’t want to send you fellas home with a nonfunctioning drug, huh?” He chuckles again. “Well, I’ll stop by later. He needs to rest,” he looks at me intently. “I’d say you let him sleep the rest of today and I’ll see you tomorrow first thing in the morning.”

“What about the new medicine?” I asked with a monotone voice.

“It’s already been administered to him. I can explain everything right now if you wish so, but I think it would be better to do so when Daniel’s awake,” he looks at me expecting an answer. I just nod. “Well then, until tomorrow,” he says and then he leaves. I stare at him until he goes behind the crystal doors.

My hands are shaking and a numb feeling has spread down my legs. What did he mean by ‘a bit later’ and how could he casually suggest the possibility of Dan’s lung collapsing? Why would he use the term ‘normal’ when there is absolutely nothing normal about having a malign tumor eating the life out of you? How could he laugh at Dan’s condition? Was it a nervous laugh? Was he trying to make me feel better? Lighten the mood? It clearly didn’t work. What a stupid way to refer to Dan. “Daniel”, the guy with an almost collapsed lung and borderline gastritis. Ha ha ha. Hilarious.

––––

The next morning I wake up with a cramped neck and an almost unbearable backache. I look towards the bed where Dan’s chest is slowly rising and falling. I get up and stretch my arms and legs. My back is certainly going to hurt all day. I walk towards the bed and push Dan’s fringe back, away from his forehead. He looks so peaceful, completely unaware of what could’ve happened had we gotten to the hospital ‘a bit later’. I grab my phone from the table across the room, it’s 8am and I have a missed call from Dan’s mom. I called her as soon as the crystal doors closed after Dan and then again after doctor Bitchigan had explained to me what had happened to him and I was able to assure her Dan was stable. She was in America when the incident happened and had booked a flight as soon as I informed her what had happened. I call her.

Dan

I wake up to the sight of Phil pacing and talking quietly on the phone. I assume he's talking with my parents so I close my eyes and pretend I'm still asleep because I want to know what the fuck happened yesterday. I can feel tubes coming out of different parts of my body. I try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that is spreading in my chest. I would tell Phil if it started feeling anything like it felt yesterday, but what I’m feeling now is just an echo of the hell I was in. I can feel the warmth of the sunlight dancing on my face and I turn my head towards the window trying to absorb as much of it as possible. Phil notices.

“Yeah, I think he just woke up, give me a second,” he says to the person on the phone. “Dan, Dan are you awake?” He whispers very close to my face. I don’t reply. I’m not ready to face his eyes. “Oh, I guess he’s not.” I can feel his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, he looks a lot better,” he traces the dark circles under my eyes with the tips of his fingers, “but he does look tired. No, he slept all night, the doctor asked me not to disturb him. Yes, I did sleep in the room; a nurse came in twice in the night to check on him… No, no he hasn’t come by, he said he would first thing in the morning… Yes, I know, I already texted him but he has not replied. Yes, okay, I’ll see you soon then. Right, sure, take care, bye,” he hangs up and sighs.

Phil

I sit on the couch and stare at Dan. The dark circles under his eyes are a deep purple and his lips are so dry they’ve parted in the middle. I can see his heart rate in the IVM machine and it’s steady. That makes me feel better. I unlock my phone and text Doctor Bitchigan.

Dan’s mom will be here in an hour, please do let me know when you are arriving. I’m sure she’ll want to know about the new medications and all that. Thank you. -Phil L.

I lock my phone and get up again. I rumble though my backpack for change; though one of the tubes connected to Dan’s body is supposed to keep him hydrated the state of his lips makes me think it’s not doing its job properly. I head for the door and towards the pharmacy at the lobby.

Dan

I hear the door close and for a second I wonder if either the doctor or my mom have arrived but when the room is submerged in absolute silence I realize Phil left. I open my eyes again and look around the room. The couch where I’m guessing Phil slept in is smaller than a loveseat and I feel a pinch of guilt in the pit of my stomach. He could’ve gone home, he should’ve. I take advantage of the fact that I’m alone to see what they’ve done to me. There are tubes under my nose, and a needle on the inside of my elbow connected to a bag filled with transparent liquid. I feel a burning sensation on the inside of my throat, like somebody stuffed my mouth with shredded glass. Last night I thought I was going to die, there is no doubt in my mind, and I wasn’t ready. All I could l think about was how easily and rapidly everyone would forget me, no trace of my existence left; nothing worth reliving anyway. I feel the crushing fear again; I’ve felt it ever since I found out I had cancer but last night made everything seem more present. I hear my heartbeat race and try to steady it with no success when the door flies open. Phil rushes in with a plastic bag in his hand.

“Is everything okay?” He’s out of breath.

“You mean, besides the fact that I almost die last night? Yeah, everything’s tip-top!” I say dripping sarcasm.

“Not funny Dan, here,” he says handing me the plastic bag, “I got you some Chapstick, your lips look like they are about to fall off.” I take the bag and rumble inside to find the Chapstick. There’s also Haribo in it.

“I can’t believe I almost died and yet, you still somehow managed to find time to buy snacks, it’s truly an impressive skill, Phil,” I apply the Chapstick and my lips feel relieved.

“You were out of any immediate danger already and it was next to the register, let me be,” he replies opening the bag of Haribo.

#daniel howell #amazingphil #dan howell #phil lester #fanfiction #phanfiction #phan #fanfic #danisnotonfire #daniel howell fanfiction #phil lester fanfiction #amazingphil fanfiction #dan howell fanfiction #danisnotonfire fanficiton #short story #dan x phil #dan and phil #dnp

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grateful--life · 7 years

Text

BPD

I’ve tried to reach out blindly to so many people for help these past few months, and all that’s done is given me the label “attention-seeker,” written off as manipulative, a liar and a waste of time.

Attention-seekers like myself are written off as lost causes instead of treated like people who are seriously and constantly hurting, who are only “wasting your time” because they know their own is running out. I want your attention the same way a person drowning wants the attention of a lifeguard, but I can’t scream for help and raise my hand because instead of drowning in water I am drowning in my own heightened emotions.

One of the most severe symptoms of borderline personality disorder (BPD) is recurring self-harm and suicidal behavior/attempts.

When it comes to feeling suicidal, I’ve noticed people stop taking you seriously after a while. If I was going to kill myself, surely I would have done it by now. In the minds of those who aren’t consumed by this disorder, I’m simply crying wolf in order to feast on some nice juicy attention again. The thing about “crying wolf” is that the wolf is invisible, but it’s still there. The reason I’m crying wolf is because the wolf is going to kill me.

I don’t know how anyone can feel like this for even one second of their entire existence and not explode fragments of their bleeding heart everywhere, because every second of being alive is exhausting. BPD has been described as the emotional equivalent of having third degree burns over 90 percent of your body. This disorder I wasn’t even aware I have has impacted every single part of my life.

The sleepless nights that turn into empty days.

The drugs and alcohol that numb for a minute and pain for an hour.

The constant, always present feelings of worthlessness and shame and of guilt. Guilt for who I am and what I’ve done to the people who used to be around me or are still tied to me because of relation or university class or a lease.

Cooking enough food to feed four even though I’m not hungry because it’s been days since I’ve remembered to swallow anything solid and that’s how many attempts it’s going to take to stay down. Pretending there’s something wrong with my scales because there’s no way I could be that weight, is there? It hasn’t been that long since I last ate…has it?

Holding knives against my throat at 3 a.m. because I can’t stand another second alone with my thoughts, tying scarves and chords into nooses that break, routinely overdosing on drugs not just on weekends with “friends” but in the middle of the afternoon alone in my bedroom, praying this is it. This will be the time my heart finally gives up and shuts down.

Crying, then laughing, then needing to cut, then laughing, then crying again, then arguing with myself about jumping off a building, then needing a hug. All in the space of an hour. Every hour. No breaks, no time outs, not even when I’m asleep because apparently with BPD even your subconscious is as unstable and spasmodic as you are. Nightmares and pleasant dreams lurch back and forth at sickening speeds until you awake confused and frightened, your reality questionable.

Always letting down the people in my life because no matter how hard I try I can never be more than what I am. Knowing that everyone I love who hasn’t already done so will leave me and never look back because they think there’s nothing left to look back on.

The look of disgust but not surprise on my beautiful housemate’s face when after everything I have put him through, from suicide attempts to uncontrollable emotional outbursts that required him to physically restrain me and call the police, he comes home to find me in my room drunk or high.

He thinks I don’t care, but all I do is care and that is why I can’t stop doing the things that are ruining my life. There is no neutral or in-between emotions for me, and until I learned what borderline personality disorder was I thought everyone felt the way I did and just handled it better.1

Every emotion is like getting in the shower and either being hit with a stream of freezing ice cold water that makes your skin turn blue with cold and your teeth chatter, or getting assaulted with boiling hot water that stings your flesh and burns you deeply. I understand what lukewarm showers are, but I am unable to experience them.

The shower analogy also explains the way I see people around me. Black and white. All good or all bad. I will meet someone at a bar, share a laugh with them, accept their friend request on Facebook and then all but propose to them. Strangers will become family almost immediately and things like them not replying to my messages within a quick manner or rejecting an invite to hang out have the same impact on me as if they had punched me in the face or told me they wished I was dead. They have just confirmed everything I had always known about myself to be true. I’m disgusting. I’m unlovable. I’m nothing. Everyone hates me. I’m alone.

One of my best friends who now refuses to speak to me, once spoke to me on the phone for four hours when I was distressed. Not for the first time that week he did everything humanly possible to put me in a better headspace and reassure me I was loved, and it worked. Until he said goodbye and hung up the phone. Then it was as if those four hours had never happened. I remembered everything he had said and I still believed it all to be true, but I couldn’t retain the positive emotions I felt when he was speaking to me. I couldn’t hold on to the sense of relief and love I had felt only seconds ago, the shower was turned back on full blast and I was burning. So I called someone else. And when they hung up I messaged another person. My phone became full of screenshots of words of support and love from all those I communicated with, and for a while it helped me, but if I wasn’t continually receiving messages that proved people cared about me I would assume they had come to their senses and realized they would be better off without me in their lives. This fear of abandonment consumes me and causes my emotions to manifest into situations in which I will impulsively act out in dangerous ways in an attempt to communicate my pain to those around me or to try and sooth the storm inside me. These impulsive behaviors may seem like they are for attention, but more than half the time they take place when I am alone and no one is aware of them.

I’ve woken up more than once on my bedroom floor after purposely overdosing on a cocktail of drugs, surrounded by suicide notes I have no recollection of writing and a bleeding wrist. I have then continued on with my day because the world doesn’t stop just because I have. On my mother’s birthday I nearly took my own life after an argument with first my housemate and then her. I sat sobbing for nearly 10 hours trying to simultaneously convince myself to “just do it!” and also “Don’t be stupid!” I had convinced myself the best present I could give my mom was to not be in her life any longer. I convinced myself the only way I could make things right with my housemate was to permanently end my existence so he never had to look at me again.

I can’t remember the last day I’ve had where I haven’t seriously considered killing myself as the most viable option at least once. I am plagued by hopelessness. I can’t hold down a job because my emotional breakdowns happen out of the blue and I am unable to turn up to my shifts. I can’t do or say anything to get the friends that mean absolutely everything to me back in my life and in my corner again because no matter how badly I want to change and get better, I am a prisoner of my own pain and there is no key1. I can’t find permanent accommodation because I can’t afford to live by myself and no one can stand to live with me. I can’t walk past a store without spending whatever small amount of money I have saved for bills or food on something to numb the pain.

It never stops and I don’t know where this disorder ends and I begin. Realizing what was causing my life to be so hard also made me realize I don’t know who I am, but I know who I’m not.

I’m not J. Jarvis anymore. Maybe I never really was.

I lost her somewhere between the sixth drink and the second pill. After the nightmares started happening while she was awake and the sun went down permanently.

I’m not the stand-up comedian or the soccer player or the writer I once prided myself on being.

I’m not anyone’s friend or anyone’s housemate or someone you met at a party once.

All I am is pain and loneliness and defeat swirling around in an underweight, scarred and tired shell. I’m only 20-years-old and already my life feels over. I want it to be over.

If you know someone with BPD please, just give them a hug because for that three to five seconds, you’ll make the unbearable agony inside of them endurable, and that’s all we are trying to do. We have no other choice. Every poor decision, every attention-seeking action is us trying to endure.

#bpd triggerwarning

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