#hurt every day and hiding food and like trying to fend for myself and shit. i almost started crying when he told me

[imkylotrash]

Black And White (2)

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Summary: Farah discloses an uncomfortable truth concerning the Burned Ones leading you to fear for Saul’s life. 

Tagging: @grey-girl @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @bitchwhytho @estelmei @music-of-melody​

Series Masterlist

A/N I know this isn’t exactly what happens in the series but I have to change it a little to make it work with the plot. 

“Fuck.” You have no idea how to tell Saul without telling Dowling too but it’s clear that he hasn’t spotted it. 

“Thank you for seeing me this late. I want your perspective before I do anything,” Dowling says making you realise that this might just be something serious. For a second, you forget about the piece of evidence dangling off the chair instead listening in on the conversation. 

“Of course. What’s going on, Farah?” Saul asks concern evident in his voice. 

“The Burned Ones. Marco’s team found a whole group.” You furrow your brows wondering why this is so important to discuss with Saul right this instance. The Burned Ones have always been a concern and part of the reason why Saul insists on training the specialists so hard but when you think about it, you’ve never gotten that much information on the Burned Ones. 

“A group? How many?” Saul asks clearly as worried as Dowling. 

“Eight. Maybe more.” 

“They’ve never done that before. They never hunt together,” Saul says revealing the reason why they’re so worried. A change in behaviour like this definitely means something. When Dowling starts moving further into the room, you remember the bra hanging off the chair. It’s only a moment of time before they’ll head for the chairs. 

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath knowing that the only way to solve this is getting Saul’s attention but you’re too worried about what you just heard to think clearly. Very slowly you push the door to the closet slightly open cringing when you hear it creak. They both look towards the closet but Saul recovers quickly.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to get that door fixed.” He hurries over to close the door giving you the chance to whisper bra. He looks back spotting it immediately. You feel like you can finally breathe when he manages to grab the bra and throw it in the bin. But then Dowling sits down and starts talking. 

“We haven’t seen a Burned One for sixteen years. Not since Rosalind was here. And now they’re back seemingly stronger. I fear for what that means.” There aren’t many who can hunt Burned Ones. Specialists have been trained to do so but practicing is very different from being out there. You remember Saul telling you about his father one night and the story has haunted you ever since. 

“We’ll do a search party tomorrow,” Saul insures her in turn striking you with fear. You know he’s one of the best there is for haunting them but it’s also been almost two decades since he had to do it last. He’s a great fighter but he’s also not as young as he once was. You know he’ll never agree to you going with him but how are you meant to stay here when he’s out risking his life? 

“Marco is returning tonight with what’s left of his group,” Dowling sighs covering her face with her hands. Ever since you could remember, you’d been told just how dangerous the Burned Ones are and now Saul will lead to search for them. Just the thought of it chills you to the bones. It takes everything you have to not just burst out and forbid him from leaving but you know you can’t do that. Instead you wait patiently for her to leave for the night and Saul to open the door once it’s safe. 

“You can’t go out there tomorrow.” It’s the first thing you say when you’re finally alone with him and apparently, he expected it. 

“I have to! I can’t send my soldiers out there and stay behind the barrier. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself.” In any other situation, you’d commend him for his loyalty to the soldiers but right now you want to chain him to the bed and make sure no harm comes to him. 

“I know that! But what if you get hurt?” You didn’t mean for this to turn into a fight but you’re already on edge and the fact that he’s not meeting you with more of a reassurance just add fuel to the fire. 

“That’s a possibility every day. If anyone should understand that, it’s you!” It’s true. You’re a specialist yourself and you know that danger is present every single day with this job but it’s different when it’s Saul. Logically, you know you wouldn’t think twice about it if it were anyone else going out there tomorrow. You might even volunteer. 

“I understand the danger. It’s the reason I’m worried about you. I can’t lose you too.” You cover your mouth in shock from your own outburst. Your father never returned from the forest leaving you to fend for yourself and now you had to watch Saul head into the very forest that stole your father from you. 

“You won’t lose me. I’m coming back for you.” He reaches out to touch you and you let him. 

“You don’t know that,” you say choking back tears. He gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him. 

“I promise you I’m coming back,” he whispers kissing your forehead. He gives you a minute to just breathe before gently placing two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up. 

“You can’t promise something like that, Saul. No one can.” Images of your father leaving the house that morning flashes before your eyes proving that even with the best intentions, it doesn’t always go the way you intended. 

“I can promise I’m coming back because I’ll need this back when I do.” He holds out his ring to you. It was his father’s ring and in the time you’ve known Saul he’s never taken it off. Carefully, he unlocks your necklace and adds the ring to the chain before closing the lock again. The metal feels cold against your chest even though he just took it off. 

“I will be coming back for this. And for you.” This time you don’t argue. Instead you kiss him trying to convey all your feelings for him through it. You don’t much sleep that night and as you get ready for the day, the feeling of his ring against your skin feels like a constant reminder of what’s about to happen. 

“It’s time,” he says giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“A kiss for good luck,” you say giving him several kisses before finally letting him go. By the door he stops to look at you a final time and even with his promise of returning, you can’t help but feel like this is a goodbye. 

“I’m coming back for that ring,” he says trying to convince you as much as himself. 

“I know.” You stand by the window in his room watching the group of specialists cross the barrier and head into the forest. In an attempt to clear your head, you make a beeline for the training rooms. There’s no one there giving you the chance to work off some steam without anyone asking questions. It’s several hours later before you finally collapse knowing you won’t be able to move tomorrow. You don’t even notice that your necklace has slipped out from under your shirt before Terra comments on it at dinner. You meant to just grab a plate with food and hide in your room but of course, it’s not that easy to remain anonymous. 

“Hello. My father told me to tell you to meet him in the greenhouse this weekend. He has some new mix of herbs to show you.” Expanding your knowledge of herbs and natural medicine has been a private project with Ben Harvey and a reason why you and Terra have gotten to know each other over the years despite her being a first year. 

“Right. I’ll stop by,” you reply not paying much attention. 

“That’s a pretty necklace. I feel like I’ve seen that ring before,” she comments and you freeze. At last, you realise that you can’t feel the metal against your skin. If Terra realises that the ring is Saul’s, you know the whole school will know tomorrow. As much as you hate lying to her, it’s necessary to keep your relationship with Saul hidden. You tell yourself that lying is okay when you’ll be able to tell her the truth in a couple of weeks. 

“My mother sent it to me. It was my fathers,” you reply hoping that the mentioning of your dead father will shut her up long enough for you to make your escape. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Terra quickly says properly feeling horrible about mentioning it but definitely not as horrible as you feel. Lying right to her face somehow seems worse than keeping you and Saul’s relationship hidden.

“It’s fine. I’m just really tired so I’ll get to bed.” You don’t wait for her reply as you hurry off to your room. It’s tiny but right now you’re happy that you have it to yourself rather than suites like the fairies. That night you try your best to fall asleep but nightmares of Saul and your father torments you. Clutching the ring in your hand you tell yourself over and over that Saul will return to you. This is not where your story ends.  

#saul silva blurb #saul silva x reader #saul silva gif #saul silva imagine #saul silva #fate the winx club #fate the winx saga #fate winx club #winx saga #winx club #fate winx #fate

[laequiem]

She kills my self control - Chapter 12

/  Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince Chapter 29

"Entering your brother's coronation, a mortal girl on your arm. It seems we once again share a lover."

He is trying to provoke me, or so I think. Does he want us to fight here? When I do not reply, he continues his mockery.

"How is she? I can only assume you two have been tumbling since I last saw of you."

"Surprising," I say, spinning a false narrative of half-truths, "very creative in her use of accessories."

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

read on ao3  • previous chapter • next chapter  • all chapters

Chapter 12 - I believe in days ahead

Soon, it will be over. Balekin will be out of my life. The Grand General will watch over Elfhame until little Oak is of age, and I will be far, far away from this palace. 

If I never see Jude again, perhaps she will stop invading my every thought.

Still, as I walk into Hollow Hall with her arm tucked into mine, I feel as though, together, we could overcome any obstacle. I feel pride. I relish in the baffled looks of the Gentry, not caring if they are more surprised by their lesser prince being with a mortal or by me actually being here.

Jude is dazzling in her green gown, enough that I forget my own vanity. It matters not that the borrowed outfit I am wearing is drab, long as I am next to her. 

Amongst the gathered folk, the biggest vulture of them all spots me. I gracefully maneuver Jude towards the refreshments table, needing the wine to ground me as I face my brother. 

“Little brother,” Balekin says as he catches up to us, “I’ve sought high and low for you.”

I am convinced my eldest brother knows the effect he has on me. In his presence, I feel small. I am back to being the young boy who got kicked out of the palace by his other brother, vulnerable, wanting nothing more than to be accepted by someone, anyone.

I look at the drinks table, seeking something stronger than wine to burn my throat and keep me from spiraling.

“Doubtless so,” I reply with a cocky smile, “I turned out to be useful after all. What a terrible surprise.”

A battle of smiles and stares ensues. I refuse to lose. He won’t hurt me, right? He cannot. He needs me, and he needs me willing.

“And you,” he says, turning to Jude, “What have you to do with this? Leave us.”

I hope my panic does not show on my face. My mind races, trying to find an excuse to keep Jude around, when Madoc comes to stand next to his new ally. 

“Jude, you found him,” he says as he puts a hand on Jude’s shoulder. He turns to Balekin, “I hope you’re intending to reward my daughter. I am sure it took no small amount of persuasion to bring him here.”

Madoc's fingers dig slightly in Jude's shoulder. By the way Jude stiffens slightly, I know his touch to be more controlling than paternal. Still, has my father ever even touched me? I cannot remember.

“I will give her anything she asks for and more,” Balekin replies, as if I were nothing more than a lost pet given back to his master.

Jude pours two glasses of wine. I reach for one of them, but she gives the second one to Madoc. They clink their glasses together and drink. It’s the first time I have ever seen Jude drink.

I pour a glass of red wine for myself and drink the whole thing in one go.

“Take the bottle, I am prepared to be very generous,” Balekin tells me, “Let us discuss what you’d like, whatever you’d like.”

I have a feeling that if I were to leave with him, our discussion would be quite one-sided. “There’s no hurry, is there?”

“I think everyone would like to see the matter settled,” he replies coldly.

He speaks with that voice he uses when we are alone in his office. I will my face to keep the mask of indifference.

“Nonetheless,” I say before taking the bottle and sipping from its neck, “we have all night.”

“The power is in your hands.”

I clench my jaw ever so slightly. 

“After dinner, I will tell you my terms. But until then, I am going to enjoy the party.”

“I do not have endless patience.”

“Cultivate it,” I say with a small bow as I drag Jude away from both men.

I make towards the dining table, but I am stopped by delicate, blue-ish fingers.

“Where have you been?” Nicasia inquires.

The princess of the Undersea considers us with a look, wincing at our linked arms.

“Jude here made me her prisoner,” I say softly with a smile, “She ties very tight knots.”

“Good thing you finally managed to slip her bonds,” she replies.

I raise my brows. 

“Did I?” Do I even want to?

“Must you be like this, even now?”

Even if she betrayed me, I do not want her to worry. Not for me, not for anyone. And I do not want anything to happen to her. She puts her hand on my arm.

“Nicasia,” I say as I shrug her hand off, “Stay away from me tonight. For your own sake.”

I tug Jude away, ignoring the look Nicasia gives her.  I feel a sick kind of satisfaction at her blatant jealousy. She traded me after I offered her everything, let her feel as low as I felt.

Across the room, Taryn and Locke are staring at us. I hold Locke’s stare for a few seconds, and he does not look away. The childish part of me is tempted to stick out my tongue at him, but I settle for a wink.

“Part one completed,” Jude whispers, “We got here, got in, and are not yet in chains.”

“Yes, I believe the Roach called that ‘the easy bit’.”

Jude lets go of my arm.

"Don't go anywhere alone," she reminds me as she leaves my side.

Not a command, but it stings all the same. I nod at her and give her a forced smile. I wish the plan did not include 'leaving Cardan to fend for himself'. 

It does not take long for the vulture to find me. On cue, Balekin grabs my arm and pulls me along.

"Come, little brother," he says tightly, "let's have a talk."

He starts dragging me towards the room behind the throne. Shit. Where did Jude go? She must have known this would happen. Maybe Locke could help me, but he is way too far.

Then, I spot my salvation. Long, curling horns over a mop of brown hair. The exiled Alderking's son, Severin. I make a B-line towards him and start making small talk. How do you like it here? I hope the food is to your liking! Yes, it is a shame about my siblings. Dull, boring talk in the hopes that he will stay to chat for a while and not leave me alone with Balekin. When I fear the conversation starts to run dry, my brother eagerly joins in.

"It seems, Lord Severin, that we have a lot in common," my brother says.

"How so?" Severin asks.

"Certainly not for our choice in consorts," Balekin scoffs.

I laugh. It's not funny. Balekin's disgust for mortals does not seem funny for the Alderking's son either, who just stares at him blankly.

"Both of our fathers died and passed the crown to us," Balekin tightens his grip on my arm, "Perhaps you can teach me how you dealt with your grief and the responsibility of a new kingdom."

"Perhaps," Severin replies coldly.

Soon, too soon, we are interrupted by one of Severin's knights, the red-haired mortal girl.

"Seve—", she catches herself, "My Lord, we have an... issue. Ben is drunk, and it seems his singing has gathered quite the crowd."

I watch as Severin's eyes widen and excuses himself, following his knight. Once again, I am left alone with Balekin. The perfect opportunity for my brother to resume his threats. He grabs my wrist in his thorny palm.

"Have you enjoyed the party enough yet?" he growls.

"I remember saying after dinner," I retort with more confidence than I feel, "Perhaps I should also start serenading our guests."

"Careful, Cardan. I would rather have you willing, but I have ways to force your hand. I need you alive, not whole."

I tighten my hold on my bottle to hide my trembling hands. Jude would have a plan. I am not Jude. My usual technique, cruelty, does not work on the person after whom I have modeled it.

Thankfully, I do not need a plan as someone drapes their arm around my shoulders.

"There you are," Locke exclaims, "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Balekin tightens his hold on my wrist, "Yes, he has made himself… hard to get ahold of."

"I go where the wine is," I hold my bottle up as proof and drain the rest of it, "Surely, you remember Locke, brother. He joined me in many of your delightful revels."

"Delightful they were," Locke praises.

"Will you forgive us, Balekin? It seems I have already finished my drink."

He jerked me towards him and hissed in my ear, "Don't try to run."

"Where would I even go? I  live  here," I remind him, "I will talk to you after dinner."

He lets me go and I drag Locke towards the refreshments, glad for an excuse to get away. It has been months since I last enjoyed Locke's presence, but his presence is definitely more appreciated than a beating from my brother.

I grab another full bottle, not bothering with a glass.

"I saw you arrive," Locke says with an insinuating grin, "quite a statement you are making."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Entering your brother's coronation, a mortal girl on your arm. It seems we once again share a lover."

He is trying to provoke me, or so I think. Does he want us to fight here? When I do not reply, he continues his mockery.

"How is she? I can only assume you two have been tumbling since I last saw of you."

"Surprising," I say, spinning a false narrative of half-truths, "very creative in her use of accessories."

Locke raises a brow. He bought it. Good. After all, I learned to create falsehoods from the best: him. At the dining table, I see people are starting to sit down. I excuse myself and go take a seat at the table.

There is a lump in my throat. Have I been poisoned? It is entirely possible, seeing the quantity of alcohol I have imbibed without even testing it first, taking whatever bottle I can get my hands on. When I finally see Jude, I realize with dread that I was worried. She slips next to me as if everything was normal.

“There you are, how has the night been going for you?” I ask her as I watch the servant refill my cup with dark green wine, “Mine has been full of dull conversation about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.”

I grab my cup and lean back in my chair, watching the wine swirl and its golden specks glitter in the light. She does not answer me. Fine, then. 

“Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?”

“No,” she says coldly, “Tell me.”

I turn my gaze to her. I expected her to get angry, scoff or straight up ignore me. I wanted to provoke her-I certainly was not planning on actually telling her. Of course, looking at her, the lie dries in my throat. 

“I cannot," I tilt my head to the side and frown. “Jude?” 

Her makeup is still perfect, even with the light sheen of sweat coating her forehead. But there, on her jaw, a purplish discoloration. I clamp my hands under the table to prevent from reaching to it.

“There’s a bruise coming up on your jaw.”

“I’m fine," she snaps back.

Around the table, everyone is seated. Soon enough, Balekin gets up for a toast and I brace for the explosion.

#the folk of the air #tfota #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #holly black #fanfic

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles and me, johannstutt413)

It was the end of the day - almost time for Gummy to go home. Not that she really wanted to today; it seemed the Doctor needed everyone but her out in the field. Why couldn’t she go with them? Sure, she helped out in the kitchen, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fight. All she wanted to do was help her friends…

Without people to cook for, the chef wasn’t sure what she wanted to do for dinner; while trying to decide for herself, someone else came into the room. “Excuse me, is anyone- Oh, hi, Gummy!”

“Blue?” She managed a smile. “You need the oven, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, I do...Are you okay?”

Gummy weighed her options: lie and say she was, tell her the truth but not the reasoning, or tell her everything...She settled for the middle road. “I could be better, I guess.”

“Did something happen?” The Anura uncovered a bowl of purple dough, her eyes remaining on the Ursus. “Normally you would be making dinner right now...Are they out on a mission?”

“Yeah...The Doctor sent everyone out except me.” She figured it out for herself, but then again, would you expect anything less from someone like her?

Blue Poison thought for a moment while Gummy debated leaving to grab dinner for herself. “Would you like to eat with me tonight, then?”

“Huh?” The question caught her completely off-guard. “I-I don’t want to bother you-”

“No, it’s not a bother at all. Actually, it’d be nice to not eat alone for once.” She said it casually, but the chef knew someone hiding their demons when she saw it; after all, she had to look in the mirror every morning.

Agreeing also meant she could focus on someone else’s problems, which was a great distraction from her own, and she didn’t have to worry about what she was doing for dinner. Blue really had come to her rescue. “That makes two of us, then. Can I help with the cake while we’re here?”

“Keeping me company is already a real help.” Still, there were a couple things she could do if Gummy wanted to keep herself busy - which, the Anura supposed, was why she’d asked. “Could you help me with the fryer? I’ve never used one before.”

“Sure! Are you frying a cake?” Gummy immediately started working on that.

The Anura did a ‘sort of’ gesture with one hand before using it to punch her dough. “I decided to try making donuts; since most of our Operators drink coffee, I thought they might be better received.”

“Better received?” The idea boggled the mind. “Your desserts are amazing already!”

‘I’m glad you think so...Not many people eat them, though.“

The oil was ready for Blue now, so the chef wandered over to where she was working to watch. “Why not? They’re really missing out.”

“They’re worried about my toxicity.” She didn’t want to abuse the dough too much, so she dumped it onto the floured cutting board and frowned. “Still too bubbly. Could you help me? I might not be strong enough.”

“Sure! What’s this about toxicity?” Gummy took over, slapping the dough with the back of her hand. One, two, stop; one, two, stop.

Blue picked up on her strange rhythm, but simply filed it away for the moment. “The others worry that I might leech some of my toxin into my baked goods. You’ve never seemed bothered by the thought.”

“You wouldn’t poison your co-workers, Blue; you’re not that kind of person.” She didn’t quite stop herself before adding. “Besides, there’s a chance it might work.”

“...What might work, Gummy?”

Shit, she said that out loud. “Um, nothi- no, no, I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you.” Crunch went the cutting board as she accidentally followed through with a third slap.

“Wow.” There was a good chance there were splinters in the dough now, but the Anura could care less about that at this point. “You’re really strong.”

“Sorry! I didn’t ruin it, did I?”

...Frankly, Blue wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t what mattered right now. “Don’t worry about that. What might work, Gummy?”

“The um...the poison bit.” The Ursus didn’t want to cry in front of her, even though she’d already seen past the mask. “I wouldn’t mind if...if it killed me.”

“...Oh, Gummy...”

She backed away from the counter. “I think the board splintered when I broke it-”

“How long have you felt like this?” The Anura’s brain was working overtime to connect the dots between this revelation and what she knew about Gummy and her history. “What...what happened in Chernobog?”

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

Fair. “I know, and I won’t force you to, but- I’m sorry, I just didn’t know...”

“That’s how I was hoping it’d stay.” The chef sighed, leaning against a stovetop behind her. “If the other girls knew how I actually felt about...about what we did, then I wouldn’t be able to help them by making them smile. I need to be happy so they’ll be happy, you know?”

“If you really think that, then I would think you would want to be happy yourself rather than pretend, though...right?”

Gummy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter that much how I really feel.”

“It absolutely does!” For the first time in years, Blue raised her voice. “Your feelings matter!...You matter, Gummy.”

“Then why am I still here while they’re out risking their lives?” One, two punches on the stovetop.

She didn’t have a concrete answer for that, but a few options came to mind. “Did they go on a mission together, or did they get split between different operations?”

“That doesn’t matter! If they’re fighting, then I should be fighting! That’s how it was back then...I wasn’t strong enough then, but I’ve gotten stronger…” It was getting really difficult to hold back. “I...I just don’t want them to get hurt anymore...Even if we deserve it.”

“There’s nothing you could have done to-”

That was the last straw; Gummy hopped back to her feet, a nearby pan (not hers, but it’d do) suddenly in her hand as if she was back in Peterheim. She could practically smell it. “You don’t know that! I killed people, Blue! Other students! And then I cooked them, so my friends and I could have something to keep us fed so we could fend off the others who would’ve done the same thing to us! We were worse than animals, because at least an animal doesn’t kill its brother when there’s another meal in front of them!...And now, after damning myself - not that they’ll ever know that - I spend every day in this kitchen, smelling the steaks and sausage on the stove and remembering the nights I spent grinding long pork so they didn’t know...I’m a monster, and- why is there a pan in my hand?” She tossed it behind her as if it’d burned her and held that hand at arm’s length with her other, staring at it. Did...did she almost attack Blue?

“...You still don’t deserve to be hurt.” The Anura closed the distance between them, looking her in the eye, hers brimming with tears and empathy. “None of that justifies someone hurting you. Yourself included.”

“I wish I could believe that.” She let go of her own wrist, and her hands fell to her sides, limp, as she felt the weight of it all fresh again.

Blue, mustering every ounce of courage she had, hugged her. “Even if you don’t, I...I won’t let you carry this all by yourself. Not after all you’ve done for me.”

“Done for you?” Gummy’s brow furrowed as she tried to think of what she’d done for the Anura. “What...eat your food?”

“You said hi, and you asked me about my day, and you talked to me, and you let me bake for you, and...you let me hold your hand.”

The chef blushed. “That’s not much-”

“It’s everything, Gummy. You’ve given me so much happiness, so much hope...Let me try to give something back to you. Let me share the burden - your fears, your worries, your sins and your scars...I’ll carry them with you, like you did mine.” She sniffled. “Please. I can’t imagine my life here without you.”

“Is that...really true?”

Blue buried her face in Gummy’s jacket. “Really. I- I can’t even think about it without...without...” She squeezed her, trying to remove even millimeters of space between them as she absolutely soaked the chef’s shoulder with tears.

“...I trust you.” She finally lifted her arms again, settling them around Blue’s waist and her cheek against the Anura’s. “I don’t want you to be alone, either.”

“Thank you...you’re so warm.”

Gummy nodded. “You are, too...Do you still want dinner? I can make us something.”

“I think we should go somewhere and eat; you’ve worked hard enough today.” She managed to compose herself a little again. “It’s been so long since someone has let me hug them. What are you hungry for?”

“Burgers. I know a place...Blue?”

The Anura still wasn’t letting her go. “Yes?”

“Since you...you want to stay, you should know that I have a few...habits.”

“I do, too.” She pulled away so they could start walking to the restaurant. “We can talk about them at the resta-”

Gummy held onto her hand and remained motionless. “There’s one I need to tell you about right now.”

“Oh.” At this point, Blue literally could not let go, so she simply stepped back into her arms. “What is it?”

“When I hug someone, I have to kiss them on the cheek.”

The Anura, without even thinking, asked, “Does it have to be on the cheek?”

“I’ve never tried another way.” Gummy blushed. “But if you’d rather...” Even though the suggestion was accidental, neither of them stopped themselves as they turned to look at each other directly, slightly tilted their heads, closed their eyes...

Gummy, from that day forward, had a new habit: whenever she saw Blue Poison, she felt like she might feel happy someday.

#arknights #blue poison (arknights) #gummy (arknights) #ow ow ow ow ow #why did i do this to myself #feels like drinking my own poison... #and it tastes like pure sugar #gonna write some stuff i need to see done #give some operators who need some love exactly that #by the time you see this they will already be in the queue waiting to be posted #arknights fic

[blueberrytictac]

hey sorry i need a place to vent my shit

i hate looking back at my childhood and seeing a miserable chain of events that led to me having extreme anxiety and being terrified of upsetting anyone

my parents were so young when they had me and my older siblings. and between just working constantly to make sure they could feed us- and trying to live their own lives- i feel at times we had to fend for ourselves as children.

for YEARS i didn’t know ANYTHING about nutrition, or portion control, or health, or even basic adult functions. Being in pain from undiagnosed physical conditions and an obesity problem, because no one seemed to care to even try to help me?

I remember asking for help so many times. cutting myself to the point of blood dripping down my arms, and asking my parents if they loved me- shitty i know but i was fourteen

they cleaned me up and then needed to go back to their own lives. i never got mental health treatment

everyone just saw ‘sad and fat’ and never thought to ask WHY or try and help me shed weight beyond ‘eat a salad every once in awhile’

as if that cures and entire lifetime of LEARNED bad eating habits?? As if it would suddenly cure my horrific depression and anxiety?

everyone just wanted to say ‘just do some exercise’ as a solution to all of it. ‘kill yourself exercising and starve yourself and then you’ll lose weight and be happy. until you do that, you aren’t worth helping’ 

They laughed or got frustrated with my pain in TRYING to work out or work on myself. Of course my fucking knees hurt after 15 minutes of walking. My legs hyper-extended on every step, with an added 80lbs i shouldn’t have HAD. I didn’t know that. I felt so SHAMED that I SHOULD be able to keep up with my 125lbs sister, while i was literally twice her weight. I didn’t know why things hurt so incredibly bad. 

i started retreating inward. my siblings didn’t want to associate with me at times. I could see the disappointment in them. Both tall, athletic and attractive. I was the odd one out, always. they didn’t want their friends to know I existed. felt embarrassed by my presence. they were ashamed of me

my parents used to scream at me for not doing more in the house

I was near 100lbs overweight and moving was not only exhausting- but with my joints actively trying to jump out of their sockets, some days just existing was agonizing. 

i would wake up tired. i would sleep 10-15 hours and wake up exhausted. 

pcos, eds, adhd, major anxiety, major depression

‘you don’t fuckin DO ANYTHING IN THIS HOUSE’

‘why are you tired you haven’t done anything today’

‘why are you stressed, you don’t work’

i believed them. i hated myself. i could never do enough. i was a failure. i still feel like this. my pain isn’t real. my stress isn’t real. my anxiety was just ‘over reacting’. 

i was in so much pain, but was always brushed off. To the point where I started hiding my own pain. I felt shame in complaining. i felt shame in being in pain. i felt shame for asking for help

i went through 5 gallbladder attacks before finally going to the doctor. i had to plead to be taken, and my dad yelled at me before i got taken down.

i think he thought i was exaggerating.

i needed surgery that summer. i took it like a champ- i felt so validated that they finally had to see- i wasn’t making it up. for once they had PROOF they couldn’t ignore. things weren’t quite better yet- but thank god it led to at least a small change. 

i wanted to die from middle school to 24

over half my life i on and off self harmed, i had no self esteem, and i felt i was unworthy of help, because i had been brushed off/yelled at/had someone annoyed with me for complaining, and i internalized it to the point where i didn’t feel like i deserved to live. 

i didn’t feel like I was worth working on, cause i thought i’d be dead in ‘another few years anyways’. Either by my own hand, or by my health. 

I was in so much pain, everyday

i had a plan on how to kill myself. i was going to take pills and drown myself at the ocean. I didn’t want someone i loved to find me

i didn’t want to hurt them

i just wanted to go out quietly

i couldn’t 

i couldn’t for two reasons

the honest love for the people i cared about, and not wanting them to suffer a loss

and the mortification i pictured. Someone finding my body and making fun of it, when i was already dead. calling me a beached whale- when i had drown myself already for my self hatred.

i stayed alive

and still, through all of this, i hated any resentment i felt to my family

i knew they were sick- we all struggled with major depression or anxiety. a horrible chain reaction, from my parents suffering toxic work relationships, and bringing it home. taking it out on us, and us taking it out on each other

i hated how much i hated them at times. I knew they were suffering. I remember crying in relief when my sister moved out. We’d fought so consistently that her presence used to give me a twisted gut of anxiety. 

she tried to use ‘tough love’ on me

she would tell me people would get sick of me

that they wouldn’t take care of me

that i was being a burden

i remember feeling some of the most extreme emotions, crying myself to sleep, afraid of my parents getting sick of me. She said these things cause she wanted to ‘motivate me to lose weight’

i wanted to die so badly that night. i didn’t want to be a burden. i thought about throwing myself off a cliff. there are so many around. it would have been easy.

the thought of someone laughing at my huge, mangled corpse kept me miserably alive. a running theme

i had tried to reach out to counselling a few times in my life

when i was 11, i talked to my elementary school counselor about how i felt alienated by my friends. how lonely and anxious i felt. She ignored what i said in its literal entirety. Went on to talk about how ‘when your parents take you out for fast food- why not get a salad instead?’ At 11 i was speechless. I just quietly agreed and never went back. I had never felt less heard and more shamed. I was there because I was struggling emotionally. Not because of my weight. but it was all she saw. and that was grounds to dismiss me. I had been bullied at my last school because of my weight. I felt the same shame and pain, after that conversation.

Part of me wishes I could find that woman now and slap her. I never wish violence on people, but she started an aversion to asking for help that sticks with me 15 years on

I can’t remember if I started cutting that next year, or if it was the one after that.

I was constantly sick with anxiety. there would be weeks where i felt like i couldn’t leave the house by shame and by the sheer pain in my stomach from anxiety. I was told to eat less sweets. the pain never stopped I would be constantly nauseous while at school. I dropped classes completely if i didn’t know anyone in them. I constantly started to skip, stay home if I could. I felt so miserable. I felt so sick. I would be yelled at for my grades. I would be yelled at for missing school. I would be yelled at for feeling sick.

I stopped talking to anyone about it, save for a handful of friends.

I would literally hide in our back yard, at 11, so i wouldn’t have to face school or my parents. I would spend 7 hours some days, if one of my parents was home sick, sitting out there. It was vastly preferred to spending another day at school. I remember living in fear of my parents cars. I lived in fear that because i stayed home- with all the fucking shit i was dealing with then, that I would get ‘caught’ hiding at home. And then I would be screamed at and shamed. They thought I was lazy. They thought I was faking. They thought I was a shameful, useless little lump.  I started getting very good at hiding things. In high school- my counselor said “You have the most absences out of any of my students, did you know that?” She didn’t want to help me. She didn’t want to know why. She was shaming me.

I had a friend who was thin and struggling in the same way. Who’d been absent in the same way.

She was treated for it. People paid attention to her cries for help. I was shamed, and continued to barely attend. I tried to talk to her about my anxiety and she brushed me off. I had such bad insomnia

i had such bad pain

i was so sick

it was plain as day, and its one of the few things i’m mad about in my childhood. the one thing i do hold resentment for

I was expected to be able to ‘fix’ myself without having any fucking idea what was wrong with me. 

I’ve lost the weight now, and you know what it took? Having a fucking healthy mind and home life.

turns out when i fuckin wanted live, i had reason to work on myself

turns out i was just left to my own devices on how to care for my body at fuckin NINE YEARS OLD, AND THEN WAS SHAMED FOR EATING LIKE A FUCKIN CHILD

MY PARENTS PASSED ON THEIR OWN FUCKIN DISORDERED EATING ON TO ME, AND THEN BLAMED ME FOR ‘NOT KNOWING BETTER’

I WAS A FUCKING CHILD

I WAS A FUCKING KID AND YOU NEVER THOUGHT THAT ‘huh, maybe our youngest cutting themself and wanting to die at 13 could mean that they need professional help’ I was a fucking kid who’s legs would literally randomly GIVE OUT when running, cause my knee or ankle would slip out of socket. No fucking wonder i hated exercise. 

i got physio for my legs fucking deforming as a child- but no- can’t imagine that you could POSSIBLY follow that up by finding out WHY my legs where deforming.

once i stopped being able to play and run without getting hurt i just stopped fucking doing it. and started resenting it. and the pounds piled on. cause- again, nothing fuckin healthier that just letting your actual child decide what they want to eat. and then i would get hurt worse, the next time i tried to exercise. i was expected to keep up with people literally half my weight and was fucking SHAMED IF I COULDN’T

anyway, i think what i am trying to say is Childhood obesity is a fuckin problem, but its not the fucking KID’S FAULT if your reaction to ‘counselling’ an overweight child is to make THEM make the adult decisions on how they’re being fed, instead of talking to their fuckin parents, then, I’m sorry

but you lack fatal critical thinking.

also for the love of god, if your child is literally crying most days of the week because they’re afraid to go to school - or if they’re hiding in their room and flinching every time you come home. then for the love of god think that something MIGHT BE WRONG!

I still have so much to say, and vent, and work on, but it felt good just dumping out word vomit. I am such a better place now,- once I started looking back, I couldn’t believe how fucked up things were growing up. And how frustrating it is to look back, and know i was left broken and traumatized just because of how people saw my weight. I didn’t even care what I looked like! But it was the shaming, and disgust and occasional vile treatment from others that destroyed me emotionally. 

I felt like if someone had just helped me- talked to me like a person, and helped me sort out my home life- that so much of that suffering could have been avoided. 

i also can’t leave this off, without saying that I fucking LOVE my parents. That I love my family- even thought so much of my trauma came from our home life. This is only a show of the worst of it- and not going into what each of them were dealing with themselves at the time. As much as my parents might have left me struggling with an intense lack of worth- they also never did stop supporting and loving me. They CRIED when they realized that I hadn’t been exaggerating my pain, when I needed surgery. And have taken my physical pain seriously since then. Recently too, I have been reconnecting and getting closer again with my siblings. My relationship with my bro was consistently good, but oh man my relationship with my sister was a painful mess. two way toxicity, but by god we have been working on it in the last few years. I love her literally so fucking much- its hard to look back at our fights now, without crying

uh anyway

yeah thats my whole weight/mental health/family trauma

i just wanted to write it down and get it out of my head and just process some of it remember why i started getting anxiety attacks from my parents being in bad moods- and not let myself spiral because someone’s tone was a bit hostile.

[wildfires-n-thunderstorms]

 photo credits: not mine; ctto

Journal Entry No. 3 Nov. 10, 2017 3:01 AM

Sometimes I feel like my life is a big question mark. 

Am I deluding myself that there is something out there for me? That my future, twenty years from now, will be much different from the present - that it will be better. And I wonder, truly, if that is possible or is it just one of the hopeful fantasies we tell ourselves to sustain our lives, to get us through another day?

Will it truly be better? And if so, how?

I weigh the options - extract the possible futures laid out for me by my current conditions and... It’s bleak, to say the least. I just don’t see it. What do I live for everyday? To who or what do I wake up and rise and endure and suffer? 

God. I’d say, but even then, I don’t feel the privilege to answer as such because I admit honestly that I haven’t been quite as devoted to Him as I would have hoped and to answer in such a way only seems hypocritical and unfair. I am already a liar; but as much as possible, I want to be as honest as I can be with Him. 

Maybe someday, if I can get my priorities sorted out, maybe someday I can answer the question with an answer that feels right.

So if not God, then the closest would be my family. It all roots down to my family; everything I ever am is all founded on my family. I endure everything for them, even if they are the ones to break me to pieces. 

The situation at home hasn’t been great for three years now. My heart has grown weary with the pain and resentment and with the effort of trying to keep shit together. It’s frustrating; everything is hanging on by a thin thread and it’s fucking fragile and I am so tired of walking around eggshells so everything won’t fall apart but even just one movements chip a large part of the broken glass and I am rendered motionless. But even in immobility, it still falls apart.

It still breaks; and how do I fucking stop it to break? How do you fucking stop the ground from breaking apart under your feet and preventing yourself from falling in its bottomless pit? 

I feel helpless. Futile. And I am so tired. 

I don’t know what to do anymore and life just doesn’t come with a fucking manual. I need my parents because aren’t parents supposed to guide you through this? Aren’t they supposed to... I don’t know, be the example of shit, of explaining shit? 

Is it fair for me to say that I am so tired of being parents to my parents? All of these childish arguments and I know that my ears have already heard enough hurtful words, and my eyes have seen quite enough to stray me away from marriage life. 

Everyday I know that my parents can barely stand one another. And I don’t quite deserve to be raised in such an environment; and most especially, my brother. I am being poisoned by the toxicity of our home and this hatred and anger in my heart is making it so hard to breathe. I don’t want to feel so miserable anymore, and I don’t want to always be hanging on the edge of everything, so fucking scared every time that today may be the time that I finally fall down.

 My mother is great at hurting people. I try to understand her, I really do. But she has pierced me with the sharpness of her words enough times, and I have bled because of it enough times that I hardly feel the need to defend her. I want her to be happy, because I love her but forgive me if it hurts to know that her happiness is only guaranteed when she is finally away from us. She regrets her life, I know, she’s said so herself. Regrets she married my father and by extension, having us. It is not to say that she does not love us - of course, she does as much as any mother might their child. It’s just that, if she were given the opportunity to redo it all - even at the expense of our non-existence - would she say ‘yes’ to the opportunity? It says so much that I truly do not know the answer. 

While other children may readily, and firmly, answer that ‘no, my mother will never’, I, on the other hand, am quite certain she will say ‘yes’. And you know what? I want her to say ‘yes’ because I want her to be happy because maybe then, when she’s finally content with her life maybe my suffering would finally end. She watches X-Factor auditions, Pageant videos, so religiously every night that I know she watches it wistfully - hoping she had done something better with her life than us. She goes to job sites every day, looking for someplace she can go where she can be someone else - maybe someone she will actually like. She hates that we’re poor, that we barely get through the day; she’s proud like that. I almost want her to go; it’s not like I can stop her anyway, I will beg and beg and I am so tired of begging for love to be given to me when it should have been rightly mine in the first place. I know, deep inside her, that she appreciates being away from us - the freedom from the everyday pretenses of being a devoted wife and a loving mother (because my mother is so concerned with outward appearances like that, so affected by other people’s opinions and has no qualms whatsoever with putting up a facade to please whoever she’s conversing or interacting with; she always wants other people to have the best impressions of her, even if it’s not real, and throws fits whenever her reputation is tarnished in anyway, perhaps it’s the reason why she’s so outraged with my father’s rumored affair - I am almost tempted to believe that it was more because of her hurt ego than anything else). She will go abroad sooner or later, away from us/free from us, and she will go saying good intentions: to provide money for us, give us convenience - but truly, it will be a relief for her. And I am so tired of fighting what she wants that I will let her go. 

For so long I have been crying for my mother, calling her name silently and asking her not to go, not to leave us - I’ve never stopped begging her to stay but she never listens. She wants to go and what does a daughter who does not want to be abandoned by her mother can say to that, when her begging has already proven to be ineffective? What more can she do if she is no longer her mother’s happiness but is part of her suffering? Her love for her mother compels her to want her mother to find her happiness, even if she has to be left behind. And she can’t even hate her mother for it - because she loves her so unconditionally that seeing her mother unhappy is more painful than being left behind.

Financially, my parents support me - they provide me with everything I need, materially speaking. I never go hungry. I have clothes to wear. I have shelter. I have the opportunity to build a decent future for myself. Heck, I even indulge my luxuries once in a while. For that, I will be eternally grateful to them, and for that, for raising me, I will love them fiercely. 

But emotionally, mentally, I have always fended for myself. I have depended on myself entirely, and occasionally with my friends. I have grown emotionally apart from my parents - they know nothing in depth about me through my own mouth. What does it imply when a parent has to resort to other methods to divulge their daughter’s secrets and emotional troubles than simply just asking her? 

My father had to spy on me through a trusted friend, who betrayed me later on, asking her to share all the things I tell her in secrecy, trusting her to keep it to herself but then doing the exact opposite by reporting to my father as if she was some hired journalist. 

My mother had to secretly read all my diaries, going as far as hiding them from me, had to invade my privacy by going through all my social media accounts - reading my messages, my notes, all the things that were my secret. And you know, if they had just simply asked, I would have told them because I have been begging in my heart for so long to have the chance to tell them, to share who I really am, only I have been so afraid that they would not listen, least of all understand. But with the way they handled everything, going behind my back and without my permission, invading my space, invading me. I feel forced out of my own closet, harshly forced out of myself when I would’ve gladly let them in if they had just knocked. And yes, it makes a difference. Consent makes a great difference, willingness is a sign of trust. And this act of theirs, it becomes building blocks of the wall already in between us, still steadily rising and to my fear, might become impenetrable one day, if I had finally had enough.

I have been abused enough times. Verbally. Emotionally. Physically.

Emotionally, I have been brought to the realms of the most negative of emotions. On the edge of madness, on the edge of things I never imagined I would experience. Emotion is a horrible, uncontrollable monster. Losing control is such a frightening experience - and as a human, I never knew I was capable of doing and saying the things I’ve said when overcome with rage and sadness. It’s suddenly so very clear to me - understandable even - the drastic change of a decent person into a capable murderer; of a carefree person into suicide. People have their limits and limits are there for a reason - beyond that, if they are pushed enough, if they are tested enough, the consequences are much too dreadful. 

I have done things I have regretted. Said things I wish I hadn’t. Being exposed to such extreme emotions, such negative experiences, it tears apart your soul - it takes a toll on a person. 

I am sure my father regrets hurting me as well. In the midst of his blind rage, it might have been the only way for him - to punch me in the face or anywhere he could reach, to hit me with a broom, with a slipper, with anything he could grasp on, straight to my face or anywhere he could reach, to make me bleed, to bruise and wound me - I am sure he regrets that. I am sure it hurts him after to realize what he has done after his anger fades away, and I can see his remorse every time he tries to make up for it by subtly giving me gifts or indulging me with my food cravings.

Even so, even if he regrets, he cannot take away the fact that he has hurt me. Has rendered me helpless and vulnerable and feeling so small and submissive and unimportant. And fearful for my life, most of all. It changes a person - damages their self-esteem, their self-expression, and their interactions with other people - when they are physically abused. 

He cannot take away the trauma he had induced to me - how I flinch so hard, so involuntarily, whenever someone raises a hand near to my face - and I hate it. Because every time it happens, the fear of what I had experienced under his hand rushes through my veins once again and I relive the experience all over again. And I hate being so vulnerable and being so fucking afraid. 

See, you don’t hurt people into submission. Because they may obey you for a time, merely because of fear and self-preservation but when the first opportunity that empowers them arrives, your authority will crumble like a stone wall built on sand on a rainy day. Fear, tyranny and dictatorship does not win affection or loyalty, but understanding and compassion will.

The only thing you gain by hurting people physically is their distance, from you to them, and with each hit, with each wound and scar, is another step away from you until you can no longer see them at all, until in the place of their opinions and thoughts they tried to express but you pummeled into submission, is silence. A deafening silence of nothingness, not a word, not an emotion but a wall that won’t hear and won’t speak. Something no longer within your reach, because you pushed it too far away. 

I have expended all my emotions and all my efforts to them. I feel numb now, most of the time. Jaded. I’ve learned to separate emotions so I can no longer feel them, to ignore it, to keep a straight face, to hide it all.

But there are times that I break down - how I can never be alone anymore, because it makes me go insane, how the mere mention of my parents and family and anything related to it can bring me so easily to tears, how I can never talk about my emotions.

My parents aren’t very emotionally intelligent. I believe that I am, but I am incapable of expressing my emotions through speaking words - I don’t trust my voice enough and frankly, I don’t trust people, even my closest friends, to understand. It’s easier to assume that they won’t. 

And you know, my father is exactly the same. I’ll go so bold to say it’s where I got it from. He’s so inexpressive of anything remotely emotional. He lacks so much initiative, he’s cowardly, easily disheartened, and so non-confrontational. A complete opposite of my brazen, loud-spoken, scandalous mother. He cowers so easily and he’d rather to stay silent and accept the verbal abuse rather than defend and explain himself - so really, I don’t know the fucking truth about their situation except that my mother keeps throwing accusations at his face (the authenticity I know not) and he barely explains himself. Sometimes, he would actually attempt to defend and his explanations appeal to the logical side of my brain because he does make much more sense than my mother but then that will quickly be overthrown when my mother, shockingly, provides evidence or past examples I have previously no knowledge about that debunks his seemingly ‘logical’ explanation. And that confuses me, because I don’t know who or what to believe anymore - and that I wonder, maybe my father is just as a great as a liar as I am and that maybe, that’s where I got it from. 

It’s a recurring problem in our family: we’re not open to each other enough, Yes, we’re close and casual and all when everything is alright. But we’re not intimate in the emotional sense, not at all. 

I can’t even ask them for the truth. I can’t even reprimand my father or speak my mind honestly. It’s just not how our relationship works. 

I find that it is much easier to no longer meddle. To let them sort out their problems and stay on the sidelines without picking any sides. but of course, that creates problems with my mother, when she’s acting exceptionally cruel to my father and I take pity on him, because I love my father as well and as much as my mother, and I show him kindness because I know deep inside that he is self-loathing and incriminating himself again as if he doesn’t look lowly on himself enough. 

They are both self-victimizing people; they pity themselves; they both don’t enjoy their current lives. And while my mother fights for her own selfish desire to have a better life, my father is resigned and has already accepted that there is nothing more better for him.

I wish he’d fight. I wish he finds his courage. Because I am tired of keeping this family together, of it not falling apart as they badly want to, I wish he makes an effort. If not for me, but at least for my brother, he deserves to grow up with two parents that don’t constantly argue. 

My mother is fierce, dominant, and my father so submissive, cowardly. She keeps throwing punches and he keeps accepting them, believing that it’ll make things better. It doesn’t. He has to start speaking, because he is the only one who can fix this - we all deserve the truth.

So here we are in a stalemate. Will this weekend be abusive once more? Or will it feel like we’re a family? It’s such an unstable thing; one moment everything’s fine, and then the next, it’s not, it’s chaotic, destructive. It’s like being on guard all the time, always on your toes, always prepared to have your heart mauled anytime. 

It’s so fucked up. I’m so fucked up. 

The main reason why I’m studying, why I want to find a stable job is so I can provide everything my parents need. Maybe if they don’t have to work anymore, maybe if they have all their desired luxuries, maybe there will be less reasons for them to be so abusive with each other. Maybe they will finally forgive each other, finally love each other again, or atleast be content in each other’s presence. I really only want them to be happy in the end, never mind all the pain they’ve given me. Nevermind that I will always hold some form of resentment over them because of everything they had made me endure, I will always strive to just make them happy. I will snap at them sometimes, maybe raise my voice and maybe say things a child should never say to their parents but if I do, don’t I deserve a bit of justification as much as I have tried to provide for them for everything they have and everything they haven’t done as our parents. 

But then, what if before I have accomplished anything, it all falls apart? What if I’m too late? Then what am I still fighting for if in the end of the battle, I still won’t have my family and they still want to be distanced from their life with me?

What happens when giving them all the material things they desire still isn’t enough to make them want to want their life, this life of theirs, of them as husband and wife and with me and my brother as their children? 

Is there a still a purpose for me here?

My brother. I’d answer. If my parents don’t choose me, if their happiness isn’t with us then I’d live, I’d try to make everything better for my brother. He is the last thread that I will never let go of. So please, fucking please, Life, I am talking to you right now, don’t ever attempt to take him away from me because I will fucking lose it. There is no greater threat to my sanity than the thought of a life without my brother. He is my most stable purpose for living. 

I love him with all my heart and I am trying everything in my power so that he doesn’t go through everything I am going through. That he doesn’t end up as fucked up as I am. 

That’s it then, in my pondering, I have found my reason to wake up each morning. Him, if not my parents, even just my brother. 

If there is anything good coming out of this whole ordeal, perhaps it’s my discovery of how it really is, how it really feels to love unconditionally. Because even after everything, even when I don’t want to become and live a life like my parents, I still love them. So much. 

And unconditional love, it hurts. There is no thing in this world, even the most horrible thing about them, will ever completely diminish my love for them. It may darken or lighten throughout my whole life but it will always be there. It is a curse somehow, and a blessing, I guess if you look at it. No matter what they do, truly, and no matter how much the truth of who they are is revealed to me, I will always accept them. Even if I no longer defend them from myself, I still will be fiercely protective of them from others - I will never let others think ill of them, never let others freely say shit to them or to oppress them in anyway - I will fight for them. Perhaps it’s the reason why I never share too much about my parents to anyone, I’m afraid it will ruin them to other people. Funny, how I still feel so strongly of presenting to others that we are still an ideal family even if clearly, there are some very serious problems. Although sometimes, a cry of help from my tired heart escapes and they get a glimpse of the truth. The truth is ugly, and I will never let my parents be tarnished in other people’s eyes. They have flaws and inconsistencies as parents, but I will never let other people be the judge of that. 

And so I find myself keeping all of this in the deepest recesses of my thoughts, no matter how damning the burden of it is in my heart. My friends will never understand my parents as much as I, and I will never give them the opportunity to pass judgments on them. I will fight them, no matter how much sense they may make - they need not make sense of our condition at home, I am not asking them to and they certainly don’t know better than me when it comes to this. 

But sometimes, all I need them to know is that I am sad. And I need some semblance of support. And that most of the times, I am on the edge of madness and nothing feels right and nothing is right. I don’t know how they’ll be able to help though, I really don’t. Maybe I am all alone in this after all. 

I just hope, you know, that one day it will come that it no longer feels like my parents’ happiness is exclusive from mine.