#i don’t have many coping skills other than acceptance but it’s a rough realization that probably no one will ever fit my mold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquilaofarkham · 4 years

Photo

title: end of sanctuary rating: M (violence, gore, disturbing elements, psychological horror, discussions of trauma) chapter count: ongoing summary: Trevor and Sypha enter Alucard’s dream world in order to help him confront, examine, and heal from his trauma while also reevaluating their own personal demons. Cover art by @kamek 💖

additional links: donations for RAINN donations for the Institute on Violence, Abuse, and Trauma

READ CHAPTERS ONE & TWO

I NEED A MIRACLE AND NOT SOMEONE’S CHARITY

The candelabras are made from human arms. Nails chipped, fingers discoloured and pale as they keep their iron grip on brass made to look like gold. Dim candle light flickers against darkness, dripping hot wax along the skin, burning it. They hold on without wavering, do their duty and light the way for their passenger in the corridor.

Yet with every slow step forward, closer along the individual halos of fire, the candles move away from him before they’re snuffed out by an unseen and unfelt wind. There’s nothing behind him, he is alone; so he believes. So would anyone believe, surrounded by the dark and the quiet.

He walks on, further and further, paying no attention to each broken shard of glass littering the hard floor. They cut deep into the soles of his bare feet. Smears of fresh blood follow him, wetting the cold stone beneath, but he doesn’t stumble nor slip. He knows it should be painful, realizes that he should stop, and notices how the candelabras continue to inch ever so subtly away from his presence before extinguishing themselves while his back is against them.

There is nothing on his placid face, nothing in his amber eyes. No indicative expression of what he feels within and outside. Where there should be agony, there is only apathy. Where there should be fear, apprehension, there is only a complacent incentive to put one mangled and bloody foot in front of the other.

A thin white nightgown hangs off his body, not nearly long enough to cover his legs, leaving him both guarded and exposed. Another vulnerability he doesn’t care to rectify just as he doesn’t care for the voice speaking to him in one of those darker corners of the mind. It warns him in a whimpered tone: “there is something behind you”.

It’s uncertain whether this “something” has only just appeared or if it’s been following him since the first candles went out. But he can feel it closing in, lapping up the blood he’s left behind as an offering while he approaches the very last candelabra. It begins to turn away, the light repelled by his mere existence, and he stops. Come to the end of his meaningless journey.

His unseen stalker remains silent, even when he can feel its hot breath as it caresses the back of his neck. He hears a sound akin to the wings of a creature much larger than himself stretching themselves out, preparing for flight. Weary eyes fixate on the last trembling candle flames, holding onto their last seconds of life.

Still, he does not turn around. Barely a flinch even as the nightgown is carefully pulled down, displaying broad shoulders and the top of his chest. His long hair that matches the gold of his disinterested eyes tickles the newly bared skin like feathers. Both parts of his body are caged by precise scars not yet fully healed.

Cold leathery skin presses down upon his shoulders, rough against soft. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hand reach around from behind. Massive, clawed, and inescapable. Using a single deft nail, it gifts him a choker made of ruby red drops that slide down his neck before outlining the curves and crevices of his chest. With the blood comes a revelation that brings neither peace nor panic, only acceptance:

I am with myself.

–

Alucard listens to the distant voices of Trevor and Sypha talking, huddled into his blankets, his cheek pressed firmly against his pillow. They didn’t necessarily wake him because in order for one to be “woken up”, they have to be in the deep throes of sleep and dreams to begin with. Alucard was never asleep; not for very long. And his vision was far from a dream, yet he wouldn’t consider it a nightmare either. More like a personal realization; something he already seems aware of and his mind is only giving him a helpful reminder.

The kitchen is five levels down from the guest bedchambers, but he can still hear them, if only as low indistinct mumbles. He can hear certain things more than ever before. Rats scuttling about within the castle walls searching for their next crumb of discarded food or an old grandfather clock ticking the seconds away before ringing out three deep chimes to signal midnight. Out of all his hereditary gifts most humans will never achieve, Alucard used to feel displeasure with this one the least. Then it had to grow more attuned, long past when he needed it most. Overstayed its welcome and now it’s useless.

He can’t even make out the words spoken between Trevor and Sypha.

“How long do you think he’s had those?”

The two travelers both feel as though they’re staring at themselves in a mirror crafted by a rather creative toddler. If not that, then a very doting grandmother or toymaker. A pair of dolls placed side by side on a kitchen counter, fashioned out of simple cloths stuffed with wool, buttons for eyes, and spoons in place of limbs. One is dressed in blue to match its eyes with orange fabric atop its head shaped meant to resemble short curls. The other sits next to an empty wine bottle in simple beige with two tiny red straps across its body and brown yarn for its own hair.

“I suppose not very long.” Sypha replies, bent down in order to get a much closer look at their little imposters. It’s the details of each doll; Trevor’s scar along one eye, a thin piece of string attached to his hip, and the high collar of Sypha’s robe. Alucard made these with care and attention, like he remembered every inch of them. Each individual thread, each stitch a reflection of themselves through the eyes of someone who desired their company.

Neither one is entirely sure whether to be charmed or concerned.

Sypha picks up her twin and taps at one of the button eyes with a fingernail. “I think they’re cute. Well made, too.”

Trevor finds it difficult to share her amusement. He knows what an unhealthy coping skill looks like; he could write an entire book on the subject. “Finding a hobby to keep yourself entertained for a couple months is all well and good but don’t you think this meant something else for him? Like a cry for help?”

Sypha holds the doll awkwardly before setting it back down in silent agreement. The worry was there before but perhaps she didn’t want to admit it. After all that’s happened, she needs some respite; to see something and not contemplate its’ darker connotations. Then Trevor had to go and validate her initial unspoken concerns about Alucard. The dolls are not the first sign; they knew something was amiss when they walked down the battered halls of the castle, stepping over untouched broken glass and rubble.

They knew even sooner when those bodies came into view. Both are gone now, removed days ago with haste out of disgust and before other wandering outsiders began to suspect anything, but the blood is still there. Sunken deep into the earth, staining the grass then drying up. Sypha can’t look down, no matter how many times she steps outside.

“There’s so much he will not tell us…” Her thought, voiced by a hushed tone is interrupted by a mere glance at the clock. “Look. The day is half gone and we still haven’t seen him at all.” A sense of responsibility and a desire to help surges through her, the same sort that’s always been a vital part of Sypha’s lifeblood. “We should cook him something. That might open him up to talking.”

Trevor nods. “I’ll go get him. I can only take so many “I’m fines” before I grab him by the shoulders and shake out whatever’s torturing him.”

Sypha expected such a plan. The way that Trevor cares, considers, and perhaps even loves is rougher than how others do it. It may have worked for him all those years alone with no one else to offer comfort, but it might not work now; not for Alucard. “Please don’t do that.”

It takes little time for Trevor to traverse the castle from its kitchen to its hall of bedrooms; during their first day back, he asked Alucard if he had any maps to spare. Perhaps too subtle of a joke as the dhampir merely shrugged it off and showed them to their own chambers. Before either one could say another word, another joined expression of relief to see him again, Alucard was gone. Glided out through the door as though he were a passing phantom.

Trevor stops at one of the doors and raps his knuckles against the carved door. Of course there’s no answer, but he’s lucky enough to have it already ajar. Alucard won’t care if he slips in; he doesn’t seem to care about much these days.

“Hey. You awake?” A human-shaped lump covered in blankets stirs atop the bed with its simple, humble canopy; sturdy and made entirely of wood. Nothing like the extravagant transparent silk curtains of Trevor and Sypha’s bed. A head of golden hair pokes out but doesn’t turn around. No, you’re right, Trevor thinks. It was a stupid question. Alucard’s complicated relationship with sleep runs deep.

“Sypha and I are making breakfast… though I guess it’s lunch now.”

No need to finish his query; Alucard can answer it. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something. You can’t fool me, I know that half-vampires can still eat human food.”

“I will eat later.”

First strike then second soon after without a moment’s hesitation. Trevor already knows there will be more if they continue like this but he won’t resort to ripping off the covers and carrying Alucard over his shoulder. Sypha wouldn’t approve of that. Even worse, he’d be choking on his own blood before reaching the door, torn out by a certain pair of fangs.

Trevor wants to remain alive. More importantly, he wants Alucard’s demeanor to be a bit brighter. Straightforwardness won’t work, but a different method might. If not, it will at least give Alucard some irresistible blackmail to use against him. Retracing his way through the castle, Trevor makes a mad dash back down into the kitchen. Alucard listens, one ear against his pillow, the other exposed. More voices, more words he cannot understand, followed by a series of quick footsteps coming closer, rising in volume until they stop. Something tiptoes towards his bed. What is it now?

“Alucard… Aluuuucaaaard.”

His sleep-deprived eyes open just a touch wider. It sounds like Trevor’s voice, only with a slightly higher pitch and an imitation of Sypha’s Iberian accent which straddles the line between charming and good enough reason for her to box his ears.

“Please get out of bed. If you don’t come down, I will be sooooooo upset.” Alucard contemplates burying his head underneath the pillow until he feels another presence on the bed; small, light, and flimsy like a doll.

The doll. Panic quickly seeps in, turning Alucard’s body rigid. They found the dolls. He knew it was going to happen but he needed more time to prepare his admittedly troubling explanation. It would have been better if Trevor and Sypha never found them at all; he should have locked the stupid things away and not keep them in plain sight. For this situation, Alucard blames no one but himself.

“We have food, Alucard! Delicious, scrumptious food.”

Still, it is amusing to hear the rugged Belmont carry on in this manner. “I know that’s you, Trevor.”

“I’m not Trevor! I’m Sypha Belnades, the smartest and most powerful Speaker in the entire world! And if you don’t get out of bed, I’ll burn off all your hair with my fire magic.”

Alucard stifles a chuckle at the similarities between Trevor’s impression of Sypha and his own. They both must know her too well. “For some reason I don’t think you’re the real Sypha Belnades.”

“But I am!”

“Really? Then why do you feel much, much smaller and why does your voice sound like that?”

“I was cursed! By… by a witch! That bitch turned me into this. Now I’m trapped in this pitiful body. But if you have lunch with us, the spell will be broken!” This time Alucard doesn’t try to hold back his laughter. Trevor is clearly having too much fun with his little acting production. But when Alucard, despite his brightening mood, remains in bed with his back turned to him, he nuzzles the doll against the dhampir’s cheek.

“Alright, that’s enough of you.”

“Pleeeeeeease, Alucard?” Trevor moves “Sypha” all along his blanketed body as if attempting to tickle him. Alucard feebly waves his free arm, trying to resist but he feels the doll everywhere; on every inch of him. Moving over the scars.

“Enough, Trevor…”

“Pleeeeease do it for meeeeee?”

Alucard flips over and swiftly grabs Trevor’s wrist. “I said that’s enough!”

The two men finally see each other eye to eye, surprised against panic-stricken, as Trevor’s hold on the Sypha doll wavers. A tense moment passes before Alucard loosens his grip as well, realizing how tightly his fingers dig into the skin. Had his nails been sharpened, they might have gone straight through and down to the bone. His intense gaze relaxes and he lets go.

“I… I will be down shortly.”

Trevor nods then leaves. In a way, his ridiculous plan worked yet he doesn’t feel successful or proud. He doesn’t even stay long enough to hear a regret-filled “sorry” shyly muster its way out of Alucard.

–

Dracula’s modern inventions are a marvel—and a nuisance.

Trevor and Sypha endlessly fiddle with the kitchen’s large contraption. A beast of burning wood logs crafted from metal and copper that’s been seemingly neutered by their shared incompetence. They could wait for Alucard instead of fumbling around until both of them reach their limits of agitation. But the idea was to surprise him with a fully prepared meal the moment he walks through the door. Light a few candles, pour three glasses of finely aged wine; just as Alucard would do for himself.

Now they’ve wasted too much time wrestling with basic cooking mechanisms, pining for the days when they could create their own version of hearty gourmet food using only a simple campfire. Even Trevor found himself scrounging about in the cellar, stepping over broken glass, all for a decent bottle.

“I’m using my magic,” Sypha finally announces.

“Don’t do that.”

“I am. I have had enough of this stupid thing.”

“You’ll burn the whole bloody castle down if you do.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Her reply causes Trevor to stop and think. Just as she whispered exclamations of awe and wonder after first setting her eyes upon the Belmont Hold, Sypha was mesmerized by the castle’s sheer size, the depths of its architecture, and the intricacies of its numerous machinations. Part of her regretted the use of the word “grotesque” before she crushed the castle’s heart in her own hands thus transforming the engine room into an irreparable mess.

She felt so young back then. Now she sees Dracula’s castle for what it truly is and what it may be destined to remain as; a place that causes pain. A place that hurts anything caught within its walls.

Trevor searches every corner of the room before settling on a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and some strips of dry meat hanging from hooks. “He’ll be down soon, let’s just put together something quick.”

He pulls Sypha away and brings her to the nearest countertop just as she contemplates melting the oven down into a steaming puddle. She glares at the butcher’s knife placed into her hand then at the three food items in front of her. Seems too simple given the other ingredients surrounding them, but their time was cut short to begin with.

In the midst of their frantic slicing, pouring, and preparing, they pause to hear delicate footsteps making their way down the corridor. Alucard appears in the doorway, shoulders slouched and the dark circles under his eyes visible even from a distance. He doesn’t announce himself, though his silence does nothing to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. Taking his seat at the table, Sypha joins him along with Trevor, his hands full of three plates. He places them down unceremoniously.

“There. A meal fit for a prince.”

The two wait in anticipation while Alucard sits motionless. He examines the plate’s contents, his so-called “prince’s meal”: layers of stacked goat cheese and bacon sandwiched between two decently sliced pieces of sourdough bread with a thin twig of rosemary placed on top as a last minute garnish. Not a single vegetable or fruit in sight. Then Trevor and Sypha see something from Alucard that’s been missing for almost the length of an entire week following their return: a smirk. Subdued, but plain to see on his placid face.

“Did you make these, Trevor?”

“We both did, but it was Trevor’s idea,” Sypha answers in his stead. Alucard presses his lips tighter together, an honest attempt to keep whatever’s behind them locked away—a laugh perhaps? Hard to believe as it may seem.

“What?” Trevor demands. “What is it about my cooking that makes you giggle like a young nun who’s seen something naughty?”

“There is nothing wrong with your taste in food this time… shockingly so. I’m just remarking on how… humble this all looks. I expected nothing less from you both. Thank you.”

While Alucard takes his first few bites, Trevor and Sypha look to each other with uncertain expressions. He was always genuine in the small ways he showed his gratitude towards them, and they hear that very same gratitude in his voice. But only a sliver of it; the rest felt clinical. Still, they got him out of bed. They got him to eat. That’s more success they’ve accomplished in less than an hour than they’ve had for days. What they need right now, what they all need, are small victories.

The silence they eat in is comfortable, almost peaceful. Trevor and Sypha both know it won’t last. The enjoyment they feel with each bite of juicy meat, strong cheese, and soft bread comes with a sense of guilt. They know the difficult topic of Alucard’s refusal to tell them anything will have to be brought up now. If not, the wound will only meet the same end that all others left untreated do: left to fester and rot until there’s no hope of talking to him.

Alucard seems oblivious to their eternal conflict; maybe it’s for the best. Once half of his sandwich is finished, he raises the glass of white wine and downs every last drop in one bold gulp. Trevor turns to his own glass, barely half empty.

“Show off.” He mumbles under his breath, though not quiet enough as it catches Alucard’s attention.

“Oh? Have I bested you in that particular skill set?”

“Don’t push your luck. I’m still ahead of you in experience. A good couple of years in fact.”

“Remember, there is just as much inhuman blood running through these veins as there is human. I have more of a tolerance when it comes to certain vices.”

“Give me something stronger than whatever I used to find in my aunt Delilah’s liquor cabinet and I’ll show you how to take certain vices with tolerance.”

It always happens like this between them, again and again, over and over no matter the circumstance or situation. One man must compare himself to the other, measuring up his own long list of successes and failures. Sypha suddenly loses interest in her food. This conversation could go in many different directions—merely thinking about the probabilities brings her no ease.

“Well, you’ve never been one to refuse a challenge. Let’s test that famous Belmont tolerance, shall we?”

Before Sypha can interject, Trevor does instead, pushing her further into silence. His expression turns grim as he lowers the wine glass. “I’ll pass on that challenge.”

“Showing restraint? I didn’t think you knew the word.”

“No, I just don’t want to give you an excuse to keep drowning yourself in something that hasn’t been resolved yet.”

Sypha is an excellent judge of character; she considers it to be a gift the same way she regards her prowess in the mystic arts. Simple, quiet observations of how a person carries themselves, how they move the slightest inch, and how they react to certain provocations tell her more than words can. When she sees Alucard’s eyes narrow while his fingers curl in on themselves, Sypha braces herself despite being the only one who predicted this. This will not end the way she wanted it to.

Trevor doesn’t notice those sorts of things quick enough, not like her. If he did, he would have swallowed that tactless statement before it had the chance to escape. Wash it down with the very same white wine he so candidly belittled.

“You think I’m drowning myself. How so?”

“Look at yourself, Alucard.”

“I do. Every day, in the mirror. It’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”

His words sting, laced with venom but Trevor and Sypha understand what he means. Their eyes are drawn to his wrists and that window of skin exposed by his shirt’s plunging neckline. He tries so hard to hide those new scars—the ones he still hasn’t explained—but more often than not, they catch glimpses of tender flesh turned raw and inflamed. They abhor the thought of him carrying more, yet haunted by the idea that their worries are not unfounded.

If only he would talk to them. Truly and deeply talk to them. Not in this way.

“I also do not enjoy being spoken down to like a troubled infant incapable of making their own decisions.”

“I’m not talking down to you and I’m not trying to tell you what and what not to do.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Sympathize, that’s all. And maybe help. I’ve been down that same road before and it’s not pretty.”

“I never asked for your help. I never gave you permission to coddle me, nor did I ever ask you to come back.”

“But you clearly wanted us to if those two dolls are any indication.”

“Those were not yours to see.”

“You left them out in the open! How could we not fucking see them?”

While voices and tensions rise with every heated exchange, Sypha breaks her vow of reluctant silence. “You cannot keep us in the dark like this forever, Alucard.” Both men turn towards her as all the words she left unspoken for days stumble out less like a steady stream and more like an untempered vomit. “Trevor is right; we just want to help. We want to understand what’s wrong and how we can all fix this. But you need to talk with us. What happened while we were gone? Who were those two outside the castle and why on earth did you display them like—”

A sudden loud clatter causes Sypha and Trevor to jump. Alucard holds his plate whiteknuckled while the rest of him shivers in quiet anger. He dropped it upon the table not hard enough to shatter but enough to crack. His half-eaten sandwich has fallen apart.

“I’m not hungry.” The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as Alucard pushes it back. He takes his leave without another word; not a bitter thank you or something far harsher. In a display of utter defeat, Trevor pushes away his own plate and rubs his face. A way of saying, “that was a fucking disaster”. And it all seemed to be going so well.

Sypha doesn’t want to give in so easily. She follows Alucard out of the kitchen, her voice echoing off the castle’s stone archways and walls that dwarf them both. Nothing more than mice amongst giants.

“Alucard, please.” She calls out, still a fair distance away from him but catching up quickly. “We can fix this, just let us help you.”

“You can’t fix anything. Not even I could.”

Sypha knows she should be more careful with her choice of words but fears that if she hesitates for the slightest moment, she will lose him. He’ll retreat back into his room or another place deeper within the castle unbeknownst to her and Trevor, locking himself away in self-inflicted isolation, shutting out all daylight and human interaction.

“And you can’t keep punishing yourself like this either.” She’s close now; close enough to hold him. Close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to be alone.”

“Alucard…” Sypha keeps her touch light and gentle. For him, it’s just another weight, another burden that’s been forced upon him. A sense of bodily contact he did not ask for. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Alucard feels her fingertips graze over a scar curving around his shoulder. He spins around and slaps Sypha’s hand away, his lips drawn back into a snarl, revealing fangs that have grown longer and sharper.

She takes a step back, then another until the divide between them is larger than it should ever be. There was no cry of shock or pain even as Sypha stares at Alucard with wide, possibly terrified eyes. He’s never seen her like this; not when their entire world was at stake. She holds the hand that was struck and then he sees it: three fresh claw marks. Alucard glances down at his own hand, though he already knows what he will find.

The rageful lines gracing his face soften while his eyes turn not just sad, but horrified. “Sypha, I…”

“What happened?” Trevor catches up to them, drawing Sypha into his arms. With the utmost care coupled with panic he takes her wounded hand and repeats the question, furiously shouting it in Alucard’s direction who stumbles with his answer.

“I—I didn’t mean—I won’t hurt—”

“What the hell did you do?”

Alucard forces out an apology, but is barely heard by either Trevor or Sypha. Again they fail to hear him when it matters most. They say nothing else, waiting for an admission they might never receive and stare at him as though they no longer recognize their friend. Friend. Alucard cannot breathe, cannot speak, yet his mind screams. Thoughts that plagued him for months which he tried burying now fully resurrected. Was he ever really their friend? Did they ever think of him that way? What must they think of him now?

Do they see him? Or do they see his father?

Trevor and Sypha’s poor attempts to make him stay fall on deaf ears. Alucard is gone from their sight, unable to hear their pleas. They’ll not see him again before the night comes.

–

“I’m not mad at him. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

They don’t return to the kitchen. Instead, they traverse the ruined castle hallways until they reach what was once the foundation of Dracula’s genius and intellect. A laboratory filled with knowledge of a future not yet realized by humanity; or maybe a past that was deemed too heretical, too blasphemous by modern European institutions and so it fell into the hands of a monster. Knowledge that might thrive in the hands of someone else but now lies amongst broken machines, like every other room surrounding it. Still, there are smaller forms of medicine which Trevor uses to heal Sypha’s mild injuries. He rubs the cream over her hand, soothing the angry red scratch marks left behind by Alucard’s outburst.

“Well, there might be some bruising. Thankfully he didn’t draw any blood.”

“Would you have gone after him with your whip if he did?”

Trevor leaves the question as is; hovering in an awkward silence while he mentally searches for a change in conversation. Not because he doesn’t have a reply, but because he doesn’t want to face the conclusion he’s come to.

“Why doesn’t he use any of the medicine here? Continue his mother’s work, you know?”

“Maybe he’s just being cautious especially after what happened to her. Human beings are not ready for that sort of new knowledge yet.”

“And he spent more effort cleaning up my family ruins than he did with his own home.”

“You did give it to him as a gift.”

“But now that I really think about it, he never even liked the hold or its contents. It was a piss poor excuse for a gift.”

“Then why did you do that for him?”

He closes the lid on the jar of cream and places it back on the nearest shelf. Really, giving away his childhood home was done purely on impulse (as are most of Trevor’s decisions). But there was another motive, one he didn’t want to admit to at the time else a certain someone would endlessly mock him.

“He said he wanted to make the castle his grave and… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him wallow in guilt and self-pity anymore so I thought I’d give him something to live for. A project he could dedicate all his time to and take his mind off things. I didn’t think he’d actually take it to heart like that.”

Sypha gives him a tired smile. “What you did was selfless and good, Trevor Belmont. Give yourself more credit than that.”

He tries, yet all that transpires is an exasperated sigh. “I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.”

“Don’t you want to, though? Don’t you want to help with whatever is troubling him?”

“Sypha, I don’t think it’s that easy. You remember those bodies.”

“I try not to.” Nevertheless, she still wants to rationalize Alucard’s current actions which means those two corpses along with his new scars will have to be explained. Her stomach churns at the thought. It couldn’t have been as simple as the shallow excuse of attacking the castle then attacking him.

“I hate feeling so useless.”

Trevor gently brushes a stray curl of strawberry hair from her face. His smallest gestures of affection are the ones she loves the most. “I know you do. You always want to help others and save the day. That’s what makes you so wonderful.”

“Or naive.” Sypha almost misses the time when she was far more optimistic, when her view of the world was a touch brighter, but past comforts do not fix present miseries no matter how fondly we dwell upon them—actions do. “We can’t lose another friend.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Trevor pulls her in close and kisses her head. “We’ll give it more time. Try again tomorrow.”

–

It’s not another dream but if it were, Alucard would hardly be able to tell the difference. He saunters down the hall, past each flickering candelabra, stopping momentarily to take a closer look. No soft flesh, no pulsing veins of blood, only painted brass. One piece of evidence to suggest that this is not a dream. Alucard needs that reassurance while he wanders dazed and disoriented, like walking through a thick mist.

The thin nightgown clings to his uncomfortably sweat drenched back, chest, and limbs. He’s taken to wearing the longer kinds, ones that reach down to his ankles. Hardly suitable for humid summer nights but he finds it better this way. Alucard continues on his aimless nighttime trek until he stops at a certain closed door. It’s not the first; there are many rooms within the castle which he finds no use for so they remain locked away from prying eyes. This one, however, is special to him.

After his father’s death, Alucard thought revisiting his old childhood bedroom would be too painful. A single glance would conjure up memories best left untampered with. Since then he’s looked inside and even walked among its contents, frozen in time. He’s turned these brief visits into sporadic personal rituals, ways of grounding himself—or punishing, it depends on which feels more appropriate. He never touches or changes anything, not the singed carpet, not the crumbled up bed sheets stained with blood, and certainly not the ring.

Alucard raises a hand to push open the door before pulling back. Not tonight, he tells himself. He carries onward, quickening his pace past another closed door that will stay bolted tight until either his bones disintegrate into dust or the castle does, whichever happens first.

Moonlight streams in through the tall kitchen windows, lighting the room in a nightly blue hue. Not strong enough to reach the ever-present shadows that hide in darker corners. That’s where Alucard left the dolls on their shelf, in plain fucking sight as Trevor said. It rings truer now that Alucard stands before them, staring down at the culmination of his little “hobby” long and hard.

Why did he make them with such love and care? With so much attention to their unique, individual finite details? It would have been easier to find two potatoes, a few buttons, some burlap, and be done with them. If there’s shame in the way he looks at the dolls now, then what must have been the purpose of starting this project?

Alucard knows that the real Trevor and Sypha are safe in their bed. He felt their presence during his walk; skin upon skin, hands resting along the curves of each other’s bodies. Neither one sleeps peacefully, discontented by earlier events. Because of him. He knows this for certain.

Alucard picks up the Trevor doll first, running a thumb over the plush stomach before sharpening his nail. It tears into the fabric, spilling out the toy’s soft insides. Tufts of white wool float gently float down like snowflakes as they clutter the black and white floor, soon joined by a head torn from its body in an emotional fit. Once he’s finished with Trevor, he does the same to Sypha, ripping her into pieces. Everything, the dolls, their destruction and the manner in which they are torn up, it all seems so childish. When Alucard is faced with the mess he created, he’s filled with a confusing sense of regret over his impulsive actions and the frustration that he should have destroyed those dolls a long time ago.

Exhausted, head pounding, and chest aching, he joins what used to be Trevor and Sypha on the floor. Sitting uncomfortably, worsening his ruined posture, staring into nothing. “This is all so stupid.”

–

The large platform sways momentarily, dangling in midair before it begins to lower Sypha down the derelict tower that leads far beneath the Belmont manor. This is the first time she’s seen Trevor’s family hold in daylight; even in ruins, everything is brighter. Remnants of a once grand legacy that’s been holding on by its fingernails through sheer stubbornness and determination thanks to its last surviving son. She can now see the portrait of his founding ancestor without the obstruction of darkness.

Leon Belmont, fabled vampire killer and the first to hunt down Dracula—in appearance, there are no similarities between him and Trevor. Blond curly hair like a Renaissance cherub, noble demeanour, a true knight of old. That’s what the painting tells Sypha. She knows even less about Leon than Trevor does. Perhaps she’ll discover something in their family archives, something more scandalous than a spellbook involving vampire cocks and other unmentionables both human and inhuman. Though it’s certainly not her original intention; Sypha didn’t have any set goal or purpose in mind when she decided to seek out the Belmont archives.

Only that it feels better than being inside the castle. Anywhere feels better than that incubator of sadness, death, and loneliness. Trevor may have questioned it but it’s no wonder Alucard put all of his effort into one family home instead of his own.

Upon arriving at the bottommost level, Sypha steps through the heavy door and nearly repeats her trick of igniting the entire hold in fire light. Until she notices that every torch has been replaced by the same bulbs of glass found beneath Gresit’s catacombs. There has to be a switch somewhere; always some sort of mechanism or device when it comes to the Tepes family and their inventions. She eventually finds a lever and pulls it down. A gentle humming sound fills the chamber and after a couple flickers, the bulbs illuminate bookshelves, cabinets, and other menagerie all kept in perfect condition.

“Incredible…” Sypha thought she was used to the archives. Questions dance in her mind as she descends the staircase. Is the electricity that Alucard installed the same as what she can conduct with her magic? She’ll have to ask him.

Sypha isn’t looking for anything in particular. Simply being present around books interspersed between trinkets of no doubt dubious origins is enough for her. Meandering down each aisle, taking in the various titles containing any variation of “vampire”, “demon”, “mysticism”, and “grimoire”. They merge together until one happens to stand out: The Dream World: Mind Spells, Astral Projection, & Psychological Magick. It almost makes Sypha guffaw. Trevor still insists that the Belmonts were not magicians and never dealt in the more unsavoury aspects of the art, yet the contrary keeps rising to the surface. Sypha knows magic better than anybody and there’s plenty of it running through Trevor’s veins. If he ever picks up a spell and tries reading it, then he might realize.

Sypha holds the weighty tome, carefully skimming over each worn out page lest they crumble under her fingertips. An entire account of how someone could slip their own consciousness into another’s as if stepping into a friend’s home and rearranging its contents. All of which made possible through the simple act of sleeping.

I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.

Don’t you want to, though?

Sypha shuts the book without a second thought, feeling shock and a small bit of shame. She deals in elemental magic, manipulating the earth’s natural creations—never human bodies. It’s too dangerous and there are too many risks; something, or someone, could break. Shatter beyond reparation. Some minds are more delicate than others.

But if she did the necessary research, as all good scholars of magic should, she won’t have to jump to such dire conclusions. Her predetermined fears might be dispelled; there might be hope. So, Sypha does the one thing that will always bring her comfort—she reads.

–

YOU SEE YOURSELF AS THEY SEE YOU

The water is always coldest in the morning. Before Alucard fills his two buckets with it, he dips a couple fingertips into the running stream, creating a slight shock that helps keep him alert. At the moment, the castle is empty and for good reason. Sypha is in the Belmont Hold; she always seemed more at home down there. The last time Alucard saw Trevor, he was following her outside and presumably to the archives as well. Still inseparable, those two. Meanwhile he’s here in the woods, away from castles and manors and underground chambers that have held on for generations. This place keeps him both sheltered and vulnerable.

This is a menial task, one of many that fill the days. Yet like all the others, it slipped Alucard’s mind until it reared its head and practically dragged him out of bed. It wasn’t always this way; not so long ago, the task of completing daily chores went differently. Collecting water, gathering ingredients for future meals, he treated them all as though they were part of a religion, a cycle that never stopped turning. Alucard’s mind once thanked him for it. Small distractions were blessings in the guise of simple tasks to keep himself afloat.

Alucard has tried to uphold this new religion. Though his attempts may not be so obvious to others. Occasionally, he’ll see the Belmont tower in the corner of his eye, no longer the crumbling pile of stones stacked atop of each other it used to be. He’ll feel the urge to pick up where he left off with its reconstruction. His palms are getting a bit soft, maybe it’s time to give them a few blisters and splinters again.

Then there’s the one constant thing keeping Alucard from dusting off his tools, the immediate feeling that bars him from other forms of distraction: guilt. The same way he still “lives” within the castle despite its torment, he needs the reminders of what happened and everything he did. Distraction leads to remorse, then comes self-punishment, and finally discipline. This is Alucard’s new cycle, routine, and religion.

This recent excursion may seem like a step forward, but he’s certain it will be followed by many, many steps back.

He doesn’t return with any sense of urgency once the buckets are full. Instead, something in the water catches Alucard’s attention: a grey stone with a near perfect egg shape. He reaches down and pulls it out, wiping the mud and sand off its rough surface.

“Papa, it’s just a dirty old rock. What’s so special about it?”

“Watch closely, my little bat…” Using a single claw sharper than any hunter’s blade, the vampire cuts a perfect line along the stone. It cracks open, revealing colours that only exist in the younger vampire’s imagination. His gasps of wonder bring a smile to his father’s face.

“Do you know what we call a natural phenomenon like this one, little bat?”

“Hm. A geode,” Alucard mumbles to himself. Rocks that look unappealing on the outside but once they’ve been smashed open, they transform into treasure chests of jewels and crystals. He remembers now; Dracula used to bring him to the rivers and mountains surrounding the castle so that he could show his son the smallest of nature’s gifts. Without much deeper thought, Alucard drops the geode into his pocket before picking up the two heavy buckets. Sypha might enjoy such a trinket; perhaps it will bring her some much needed distraction. A paltry way of apologizing for the day before.

Alucard prepares for the trek back to the castle, but not before getting a good long look over his shoulder, then again once he’s started walking.

–

Trevor stares into the fountain, watching as momentary gusts of wind move dead leaves amongst twigs, animal droppings, and other debris littering the cracked stone. Otherwise empty and dried up just like the rest of what used to be the Belmont courtyard. Funny, it’s always the smaller, frivolous things about a broken home that are left to the very end when more important things demand attention and repair. That’s what Alucard did and only now does Trevor truly see the extent of his efforts not just to the Hold but the entire manor itself. Give it a few more weeks of hard honest labour and the building could almost be liveable again.

Why? It’s a question he’s been asking himself since their less than joyous reunion. Trevor remembers what Alucard said on their first night down in the Hold, hearing every word while he himself fawned over a piece of metal and chain. He must have thought the Belmont couldn’t hear. “Museum”, “dedicated”, and “extermination” coupled with other unsavoury terms as the dhampir looked over a casket of fanged skulls—one of which was smaller than the others. Much smaller.

Then why do so much for a family that hunted his kind for generations? Like so much else concerning Alucard, the answer may always elude Trevor. Yet the only reaction stronger than his confusion is his own form of guilt. Trevor would say there hasn’t come a chance to show his full appreciation for Alucard’s work, but it’s just another lie and excuse.

He’s tired. Tired of staking his life on the constant movement from one road to the next, tired of putting walls between himself and others when there shouldn’t be any. During that brief, shallow time when he and Sypha settled down, Trevor felt a subtle sense of peace which had been lost to him for years—it scared him. But now that the manor is no longer a forgotten ruin, Trevor looks upon the structure not with sadness or pain, but hope. Life could return to its many rooms and corridors.

If only Alucard hadn’t halted his reconstruction progress. Still, the manor sits there waiting for the necessary work to be picked up again. He could talk to Alucard, offer a helping hand, rough up his palms a little. It doesn’t have to be a one man endeavour.

Trevor forgoes the thought before it has an opportunity to solidify itself. All of it might be fruitless; there’s no point in having such a conversation if it only ends with more arguing, more yelling, and more of them storming off in opposite directions. More of yesterday’s events.

His flimsy attention span refocuses at the sound of Sypha calling out his name. He turns around and is greeted with an unsteady pile of books where her face should be. “Bit of light reading, eh?”

Sypha peeks out from behind the stack. “If you had come down with me, I wouldn’t be lugging all of these back up,” she says with a strained grunt.

“What’s the urgency?”

“I wanted you to see these.” She places the books down by their feet and begins handing them one by one into Trevor’s hands. He takes them, barely getting anything more than a few seconds to read their titles. What he manages to see doesn’t cultivate much optimism. Dreamology makes him believe that Sypha is simply having nightmares while Thought Manipulation Through Magic fills him with a creeping sense of dread. Those are only two amongst a dozen more.

“… What?” She asks, stopping once she notices Trevor’s usual silent cynicism. He holds up Cognitive Astral Projection.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on making me your actual braindead manservant.”

She snatches the book away. “This is serious!”

“Hm. These say otherwise. Or are you getting bored of skewering beasties with ice pikes before scorching their arses off and want to try something a bit more subtle.”

“Just listen to me.” Sypha takes a breath to settle herself. “Remember what you said about not understanding what goes on inside Alucard’s head?”

“Vaguely.” But Trevor does remember, clearer than his most sober thoughts. And he already realizes Sypha’s plan before she can spell it out for him. His eyes turn dire while the palms of his hands suddenly feel cold. “Sypha…”

“No, listen, I have looked through all of these and look there are spells one can cast to, to, to project yourself into another’s mind.” She speaks faster than her thoughts. Trevor can’t even get his own opinion out while she excitedly stammers on.

“Sypha.”

“A-and it happens when both participants are asleep, you see, which means we can access Alucard’s mind through his dreams while we are both conscious yet also unconscious at the same time—”

“Sypha!”

“What?” She exclaims. “This is our chance to help him. If he cannot tell us outright then we have to see for ourselves. Otherwise we’ll never truly understand what happened. He can heal and we can all finally move on from this.”

“Maybe. Or maybe something goes wrong and none of us ever wakes up again. Maybe we end up putting another crack in that brain of his whether we meant to or not. Maybe we break him completely.”

“Nothing will go wrong as long as we follow the directions.”

“Have you ever cast a spell like this before?”

“No, but the very scholars who wrote these books were once beginners starting out for the first time in their lives.”

“Yes, and then they practiced and studied for decades before sitting down to write the entire fucking codex on mind manipulation.” While Trevor waves one of the books in her face, Sypha matches the rising volume in his voice.

“You are just afraid.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! But you can’t abandon him like this just because you don’t want to attempt the only option we have. Do not go back to the man you once were, Trevor.”

Teeth grind together, hard enough to crack and shatter. He stares Sypha down with fury in his eyes; not for her, never for her, only for what she said. “I don’t want to do this because I am so fucking sick of magic. Sick of enchantments, incantations, and all that other occult bullshit. All it ever does is hurt others and make the world darker than it already is.”

Sypha holds her ground, expression placid and immoveable. “Is that what you think of my magic?”

A simple question that breaks Trevor’s hardened demeanour. He knows his answer— her magic is terrifying in beautiful ways and she might be the only morally decent practitioner in the world—but he doesn’t say it like that. “You… Sypha, you know I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He tries placing a hand on her shoulder before it’s shrugged off. Calmly but with the right amount of force, she pushes a book against his chest. Trevor manages to guess two words from her intense gaze: read it.

Sypha steps back, about to take her leave, before giving him a valuable piece of information that’s long taken root in his mind. All he needs to do is accept it. “The Belmonts were capable of magic. As are you.”

Trevor opens his mouth when she’s too far away to hear or acknowledge.

–

When Alucard returns to the castle, he’s faced with a choice: slink back into bed and wallow in a false sense of security or take a bath before Sypha starts confusing him for Trevor. The first sounds more tempting but he’s been mobile all morning, it would be a shame to erase that progress. He could have an alright day. There haven’t been any great or even good days, only the alright ones. The slow and dull kind, which Alucard takes happily. Anything would be better than yesterday.

With no windows to the outside world, the castle’s main powder room is darker than the others. It’s only source of light comes from sweet smelling candles scattered throughout, kept firmly in their places by years of hardened wax like pearl-coloured tears. The walls are dyed in that same sort of red that reminds Alucard of red wine or freshly spilled blood. Drenched in soft candlelight, the room is more a boudoir than a bathhouse (in some parts of the world there’s little difference between the two).

He turns a few heavy knobs at the head of the large brass tub and once the pipes clear their throats, buried deep behind walls and underneath the floorboards, clear steaming water begins to spurt out. Alucard checks the temperature; it burns to the touch which he prefers. He removes his boots yet hesitates with the rest. A single passing glance at himself in the ornate vanity mirror, one glimpse at all the pieces of bare skin despite being fully clothed, and his reluctance seems rational. Even alone, he doesn’t want to see the rest of him.

Alucard sits before the vanity, listening while the tub fills itself to the brim. His eyes glaze over each cosmetic alongside his geode. He settles on a small bottle of herbal oil made from lavender and lemon balm leaves which he gently applies to his wrists. Smells divine, hurts like absolute hell. Liquid seeps into the raw, tender skin and he lets out a hiss. The necessary pain subsides; Alucard’s breaths turn deep and slow. He hates looking up into the mirror only to be faced with his overly familiar weary eyes surrounded by dark circles. It’s unavoidable.

Something on the table begins to shake. For a moment, Alucard thinks it’s because of his own trembling hand gripping the mahogany wood until he notices the river stone. It moves from side to side, teetering then tottering, like a child’s spinning top about to fall. He stares not in fear but with caution as the stone cracks, louder than anything that size should sound. An egg ready to hatch.

Alucard expects to be greeted by a newborn chick when the rock turned egg finally cracks right open. What clumsily rolls out instead is still trapped within its embryonic sack, not strong enough to break through. He assists by making a tear with his nail as a viscous substance pours out along with its inhabitant. There’s hair, two arms, two legs, and a pair of wings weighed down by the fluid. Unsure and a little nervous, he helps clean whatever just emerged, allowing its delicate, transparent wings to fully unfold.

The creature stumbles like a freshly birthed calf getting used to its own legs before using Alucard’s fingers for support. At last, he sees the long caramel hair that envelopes its entire body, not much larger than his outstretched hand. He sees the pointed ears and the earthy green tinge that covers the very ends of each limb.

Despite what humans of sound mind and reasonable logic may proclaim, vampires and night creatures exist in this world. They may very well rule it. Why shouldn’t the smaller, daintier beings of fantasy exist as well?

Softly and with the utmost care, Alucard cups the fairy in both hands and lifts her off the vanity. “Now where did you come from?” A silly question, admittedly.

Her eyes, which seem too big for her tiny face to hold, finally open. She stares up at Alucard, blinking rapidly, before her lips curl back, revealing a smile of pristine yet razor teeth. Wings flutter like a hummingbird’s and following a few delighted inhuman chirps, she’s encircling Alucard, unable to decide where she should land first. A second on his shoulder, then another atop his head. Eventually, she discovers the incomparable joy of hiding herself within the smooth locks of his hair.

“Well, aren’t we an excitable little one.” Alucard manages to pluck her free but the fairy isn’t finished with her thorough examination of her chosen imprint. She comes across his marred wrists and lets out a softened chirp of concern. He mutters the same excuse he gave to Trevor and Sypha: it’s nothing. The fairy can’t hear, or she just doesn’t listen. Determined to use every ounce of her miniscule strength, she begins pecking at the wrist, planting kiss after kiss upon his scarred flesh.

“Oh no, please don’t trouble yourself with that.” There are accounts of fairies who carry certain healing abilities, but this one is still a babe. The only world she knows is Alucard. Better she learns how to crawl before she walks. But the fairy couldn’t care less about any of that. This golden-haired giant could end up being the only world she ever knows or will ever know, and she would be overjoyed. Flying upwards, she holds his face in both arms and nuzzles against his cheek.

It’s a surprising development, but Dracula’s castle will continue to play homestead to all things strange and odd. This fairy may just be oddly wonderful.

–

Trevor’s body has always despised him for many reasons, rebelling against itself. He can’t remember what he looked like without his battle scars (if there was ever a time when he didn’t have them), some bones have been broken then rearranged so often they float around amongst muscle and blood utterly ruined. He once considered keeping a log of every time he stumbled into a back alley to cleanse his battered insides through vomiting. One column labeled “drinking”, the other “fighting”. Some nights would require both to be marked up.

Those are understandable reasons. Trevor never thought reading would elicit the same visceral reactions. His head pounds away, the backs of his eyes sting like mad, and there’s an unseen weight pressing down on his chest. It’s been hours since he made Dracula’s disarrayed library his own, surrounding himself with books and half opened scrolls like some hermit monk or scholar holed up in his study. There must be a curse on this room; whoever enters to read its contents and is not the castle’s lord or of undead blood shall be stricken down with nausea, tiredness, and frustration.

Trevor ignores how his mind pulses and aches with every written word. Sypha’s talk of dreams and mind spells is the cause of all this. He’s managed to retain a fair amount of knowledge, though whether or not any of it will be helpful he cannot say for certain. There’s one story concerning an unnamed alchemist of the 10th century who performed dream spells on himself; perhaps he still had some higher morals to not use other bodies for his tests. With these incantations, his mind created absolute paradises where he would live for decades while only a few hours passed in the realm of reality.

The effects on his physical body were apparent; the first time he cast the spell, he aged thirty years in the span of five hours. During his second sleep, he died in the dream world a peaceful old man with no regrets or unfinished business. When whatever colleagues he had left found him, he was a half-rotting corpse in his bed.

Accounts like these—factual or mere ghost stories—don’t encourage much optimism. Which is why Trevor keeps reading, keeps searching in case it’s not enough. His nose buried so deeply in knowledge previously unknown to him. He doesn’t notice that Sypha has found him, not until she lays a hand on his shoulder, startling them both. Trevor drops his most recent find while she lets out an exclaimed gasp and holds her chest.

“Christ…” He says breathlessly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up like that. This is the very last place I expected to find you.”

“I’m full of surprises.” As Trevor gathers up his resources, Sypha observes their contents; the very same she herself had been researching all morning long. Dream lore and mental magic, everything he denounced not too long ago.

Trevor makes a note of her silence. “I looked through that first book you gave me. Started thinking… which is never a good sign with me, and wanted to do some reading myself.”

Full of surprises, indeed. “Trevor, I’m shocked.”

“Hope it’s the pleasant sort. But you should know that I did all of this for you… and for him. Mostly for you.”

Sypha is used to Trevor’s deflections. She thought by now he would readily accept his growing ability to care deeply for others when his outward appearance suggests otherwise. There is always much to rebuild. “These are his books… does that not disturb you?”

“Hm, not really.” Sypha almost chides his nonchalant response, thinking back to how violently he reacted to the prospect of Alucard being his father before their silly duel was put to rest. “Dracula may have been a monster but he was a genius. There’s not much difference between what’s down there and what’s up here. Suppose one has to know their enemy.”

Genius. Trevor Belmont of the House of Belmont is either mad or drunk. Sypha assumes that if his family were alive, he would have been flogged for speaking their own form of blasphemy. The same might have happened anyway had they known about his partnership with the son of their centuries old adversary.

“So… you’ve thought about it?”

Trevor takes a breath, eyes downcast. “You wanted me to read, so I did. To be honest, a lot of this is just fear mongering, which is why I kept at it. There are things worth learning and knowing about. I’m not exactly jumping with enthusiasm over your proposal, but you could say I’m more open to it than I was. We just need to find the right spell.”

“I think I have. It was in one of the books from your family’s library.”

“What do we do?”

“There are a lot of steps involved, but the most important element is that we all have to be asleep. In order for our collective consciousness to enter another’s mind, that person has to be in an even deeper sleep. All but dead to the world.”

Trevor suddenly turns grim and angry. “I’m not fucking drugging Alucard.”

Sypha reacts in an offended manner. “Of course we won’t! Why on earth would you ever assume that?!”

“Sorry… some of the things I read about this didn’t give me the best mindset. Does it involve any other unsavory acts like blood sacrifices or ritualistic masochism?”

“No, nothing like that. We just need to prick our temples hard enough to draw blood and burn something that belongs to each of us.”

“What’s the purpose of the fire?”

“As long as the items keep burning, we remain inside the dream world. When it runs out, that’s when we wake up.”

“And the blood?”

“Supposedly to help open up our minds. The chapter explains everything in detail. But we need Alucard’s consent first.”

Trevor bites at his thumbnail, something he hasn’t done since the age of thirteen. “It won’t be easy convincing him.”

“If we fail, we fail. It’s his choice.” Though there’s a part within Sypha, deeper and more persistent than she’s willing to admit, that wants their plan to succeed. Not for her sake and not for her ego.

“Right. Let’s go find him.”

They stand up to leave but only walk so far down the corridor before they turn round a corner and nearly crash into Alucard.

“Fuck’s sake, enough with all the sneaking around.” Trevor grumbles once his heartbeat settles.

“I heard voices coming from the library and wondered if it was you two.”

“Course it was us, who else could it have b—” He squints, peering closer at Alucard. “Is something on your shoulder?” It could be an effect of reading too much, but Trevor knows he hasn’t gone insane—yet. He sees the wings, the miniscule head and the even smaller face staring back at him with suspicion.

“Oh, this. Well, I… I found her in the river and—”

“She’s precious!” Sypha interrupts, bending down to get a clearer look at Alucard’s new companion the same way a child looks in fascination at a brand new doll. “I know about these creatures… she’s a pixie, correct?”

Trevor and Sypha hear a series of quick jingles and chirps but Alucard hears something entirely different. “She prefers to be called a fairy.”

“You can understand that thing?”

More jingles, more chirps followed by a distinct growl from the fairy. “She also doesn’t like being called a thing by giant hairy oafs who smell terrible.”

Trevor would almost feel insulted if he wasn’t already accustomed to far harsher and disgusting terms throughout his adult life. So Alucard’s new friend doesn’t like him. Fine, he never liked fairies to begin with. Too many bedtime stories warning him about those who steal babies and gather in hordes to eat the flesh clean off a human’s body.

“Sypha and I need to discuss something with you.”

Alucard’s muscles seize up; he feels the fairy grow more restless, impatient with these two strangers barging into her life and what they might do to her keeper. He calms her with a light pat on her head. Don’t let what happened the day before happen again. Listen to them. Hear what they have to say then react.

“Go on.”

Trevor glances at Sypha and lets her speak for both of them. “We were thinking about what you said the other day, and you’re right. We can’t fix you. It was ignorant of us to believe we could especially after being gone for so long. But we still want to help in whatever ways possible. Talking about causes you too much pain, we understand that. So maybe if you showed us…”

She pauses, examining Alucard’s demeanour. Still face and even stiller breath. Sypha carries on with extreme care. “We read about a type of magic that focuses on dreams and projecting oneself into another’s mind. If you would allow us, Trevor and I could relive your memories and feel whatever it is you’re feeling through dreaming.”

“What she’s trying to say is—FUCK!” Trevor lets loose an entire chorus of expletives as the fairy swarms about trying to lay another bite somewhere she can reach. In between her efforts, she moves to Sypha and pulls her hair, chirping frantically. They flail their arms, ducking and avoiding the little menace as best they can while Alucard looks on. He doesn’t take any pleasure in watching this chaos, yet is in no rush to stop it. Eventually, the fairy tires of her own antics and hides behind his neck, hissing in their direction.

“If it does that again, I’m pickling it inside a jar full of ale.” Trevor threatens, wiping away the small amount of blood drawn from her many bites.

“How much did you read about dream magic?”

Sypha smooths out her curls and straightens her robe. “A lot. We found books from both the Belmont library and your father’s.”

“Were you aware that you can easily die while in someone else’s consciousness?”

“… Yes, we did read about it.”

Alucard nods, clear that he’s holding something back. He hides it behind an uncomfortable stance and glare. “And when you do, your soul wanders aimlessly between worlds. No heaven, no hell, not even limbo. The only afterlife is emptiness. You’re waiting for peace or punishment or anything you actually can feel, but it never comes. Never to be reunited with your loved ones no matter where they are.”

The final statement instills slight panic within Trevor and Sypha. They know the truth as it’s been sitting with them, a festering wound that demands attention. Neither of them have told Alucard but the way he speaks leads them to believe he somehow knows. The one parent seems obvious, necessary even, but both? Another revelation to weigh heavily upon him. The two brace themselves for his venom and the further erosion of his trust for them. They’ve accepted it; maybe they both deserve his vitriol.

“I will consider it.” Alucard walks away with the fairy still glaring daggers into Trevor and Sypha, plotting their inevitable demise.

It’s not what they were expecting, far from his first reaction to their outstretched hands offering support and help (or rather forcing). Though it does not surprise them. I will consider it, I will think about it, all of it means the same outcome. A gentle, polite method of saying no without pushing someone away.

They have failed, but Sypha was truthful. It is his choice.

–

Night arrives quicker at Dracula’s castle. It rushes across the sky and fills each hallway with rushed excitement. The earlier conversation feels like nothing more than a hazy memory, one that warns him of bad tidings whenever it rears itself, now pushed back in favour of things Alucard wants to think about willingly. He sits on his bed holding a white and gold porcelain box while the fairy balances herself on his thighs waiting patiently. He had to do a bit of searching in order to find the illusive box. There was an image tucked away in his distant memories; something his mother always carried with her during the later hours of the day. He thought it was only his mind conjuring up a false recollection but he found it by chance.

Dracula was an inventor as much as he was a conqueror, a recluse, and a legend to keep hell-fearing morals in their place. Yet in the eyes of a child and mother, his grander discoveries paled in comparison to his smaller, more intimate ones. They appreciated and gazed in wonder at the various devices that kept the castle alive like a ticking clock tower but individual items like a music box carry far more heart than gears or electric lights. With a few turns of a small winding key on the side, a soft metallic melody begins to play. The fairy’s ears perk up as do her wings, twitching rhythmically as she stares in elation.

“You enjoy music, don’t you?” He chuckles. She has another surprise in store for Alucard when her mouth opens and lyrics tumble out in perfect tune with the music box. Her high-pitched voice sounds sweeter than honey in the sunlight, but Alucard is most endeared by her skills as a little musician. Less than a minute of listening to a song she’s never heard, and already the words come more naturally to her than to a seasoned court bard.

He closes the box thus silencing its music and the fairy returns to her happy chirps. It is in these moments when he wishes he could match her cheerful presence. All he can do is return her displays of affection with a tired smile, reopen the box, and fashion a bed just for her. She squeaks in delight, immediately flying in to make herself comfortable before curling up, ready to enter a peaceful sleep after an exciting first day alive.

Alucard snuffs out the room candles and settles himself under the covers. While he dreads tonight’s sleep like all the ones that came before and will come after, he feels somewhat pleased that today has joined his list of “alright” days.

Eyes close and he hears the screams. He doesn’t recognize them as screams but instead as distraught squeals similar to that of an animal caught beneath a predator’s claws. Alucard sits upright and turns to the fairy who thrashes about in her makeshift bed, eyes shut tight as sobs wrack her body. The box clatters against the table with every movement.

“What’s wrong? Here, let me help…” He goes to cup her in his hands but her fearful eyes open, tinged red with tears. She backs away even further when Alucard tries again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.” His fingertips brush along her head; he feels how she trembles at the mere sight of him. She’s terrified of a presence she once loved unconditionally.

It takes a moment, but the fairy holds Alucard’s fingers and hugs them against her chest. There remains a hesitance in every action. It’s clear that members of her kind display certain talents that moral minds could never hope to achieve. They’re naturally attuned to the art of music, the mythic science of healing, and the magic of dreams. What did she see within Alucard’s?

He keeps the question to himself out of respect for her sanity; his own as well. Placing the fairy back into the box, she’s not as quick to sleep as she was before and neither is he. She’s too occupied with watching him close, still shaking, while Sypha and Trevor’s proposition crawls its way back into Alucard’s thoughts. It will keep him awake for the rest of the night.

He did say he would consider it.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #updates will be made periodically #ask to tag #silent hill was a HUGE inspiration for this so read with care <3 #end of sanctuary

28 notes · View notes

isa-ly · 3 years

Text

I’M GETTING A DIVORCE

TW: eating disorders, body image, weight, mental illness, depression, anxiety

Yesterday evening was rough. Completely out of the blue, getting-hit-by-a-freight-train type of rough. Usually, when these evening or days occur, I just kind of tend to start fresh the next day and pretend they never happened. Because everyone has bad days, even if you’ve worked hard to restore your general mental health, and it’s okay to just let those days pass and work on being kinder to yourself once the sun rises again.

However, I also want to actively work on not simply ignoring them all together, because while it’s a good thing not to dwell on bad days for too long, it’s also a good thing to not just repress them. And as we all know, I’m quite guilty of doing the latter and labeling it as “fine” when, in fact, it is everything but fine. Keeping a positive spirit is admirable but shutting out everything that cracks the surface of your facade is just not gonna work in the long run. Every emotion is valid and if I can acknowledge feeling happy and comfortable, I can just as well acknowledge feeling sad and shitty.

So, I’m making a compromise. While I don’t really want to talk about how and why yesterday evening was rough, I am still going to talk about something else that sometimes feels equally as hard and difficult to me. As already mentioned in the trigger warnings, there’s going to be talk about eating disorders, specifically anorexia nervosa, as well as body image and weight again. So, if that is in any way harmful to you and you own journey, feel free to just drop this post like a hot potato. (I think this actually is a German proverb, but it sounds so funny in English, so I’m just going for it.)

Now, what I’m about to say might sound somewhat controversial or really, really fucked up but I’ve found that when it comes to eating disorders (and any other mental illness, really), the darkest parts are often the ones you have to really take a good look at, even if it hurts and sounds shocking. And calling them out, dragging them into the open to point at them with your finger, is the only thing that will make them palpable enough to get rid of them. Once again, the Harry-Potter-boggart analogy works quite well here.

Shame and fear fester comfortably in the darkest corners of your brain, like a disgusting mold that slowly takes over. And I don’t really want a moldy brain, so I once again want to use this blog openly talk about something that is nothing short of crappy and awful, in order to take some of its power away. And also just to be honest, with myself and everyone else who happens to read this.

There’s a lot of reasons why it’s incredibly hard to recover from an eating disorder. Of course nothing is impossible, least of all recovery, but I still struggle almost every single day to keep pushing forward. Sometimes that struggle is close to nothing, sometimes it’s manageable and sometimes it seems like the end of the world. And one of the many reasons why it can feel like that last one, is what I and many others who have suffered from this illness like to call “nostalgia for your eating disorder”.

I think we can all agree that regardless of whether you have one or not: Eating disorders are shit. They really suck ass, to no one’s surprise. If I had one wish and one wish only to make, I wouldn’t even have to hesitate a single second: It would be for my ED to vanish forever and never return. Easy. So, then why in the living hell would I feel nostalgic for it? Why would I be hesitant to call my ED out for the life-ruining piece of shit it is? Why do I sometimes catch myself wishing back the times where I would go to bed hungry, where I would feel so in control despite never really having it? Where I would lie and deceive and watch my life slowly fall apart? What idiot would miss something like that?

Well ... an idiot with an eating disorder.

Alright, I’m not an idiot. And neither is anyone else who feels nostalgia towards this illness. Because even if it sounds ridiculous and outrageous: It’s in fact completely normal to have these thoughts and feelings.

I’ve mentioned before how, when I first crashed into the world of anorexia, it felt like I had completely lost myself and what I had considered to be my personality to this new, foreign entity that had taken over my life in a matter of days. Because actually, for a lot of people – myself included – that is exactly what eating disorders are: A filler for a gap that you don’t know how to close yourself. Like a plug to a tub that has been running out, or a bandaid to a wound that won’t stop bleeding. It’s an emergency solution to a problem that threatens to swallow you. And often times, emergency solutions can’t be analyzed or fact-checked for risk and danger because, well, it’s an emergency. And you’ll accept anything you can get to rescue yourself in that moment.

Back when I developed anorexia, I was completely lost in life. I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be and trying to answer that question overwhelmed me so much, that the only way to cope was to let someone, something else, fill the big black hole that was ripping itself through my chest. Coping comes in all shapes and forms. And mine had the form of a sneaky and cunning eating disorder.

Often, that is why personality and eating disorders go hand in hand. Because it’s so much more than just an illness that fucks up the way you eat and live. It’s a whole new face you get to put on. It’s terrifying, but that terror is exciting and new because it’s an opportunity. It makes you miserable but at least it makes you something. It fills that void, that fear of being lost. It gives you purpose, and it gave me purpose too when I was at my very lowest. I didn’t know who I was or what to do and anorexia gave me a set of rules, a daily schedule and Do’s and Dont’s that I had to follow, as it watched over me like a hawk.

Sometimes I see it almost like a parasite, like that weird alien from The Thing that takes on the form of a person to trick you into thinking it’s your friend. Anorexia is very, very skilled at that. And because it’s so skilled at it, it manages to completely convince you of the fact that it is now a crucial part of you that you will never, ever be able to let go again. It’s almost like a personality substitution and that’s exactly why it gets so hard to see it as something entirely foreign that you need to get rid of instead of clinging onto it.

And here’s the thing: As I started recovery and as I started fighting against everything anorexia told me to do, I realized that this fight also meant going back to my very old problem of not knowing who I was. In all the time of being sick and starving, I was at least “relieved” of the burden of having to question what I wanted from life. Not a very balanced deal, I know, but again: emergency solution.

However, now that I was finally trying to get better and heal, that age old question came back again: What the fuck am I doing? And I could hear my eating disorder chuckling at the back of my mind:

That’s right. I might be ruining your life but who are you without me? No one. You have no idea what to do or where to go. You have no idea who you even are. That’s why I’m here. And besides: Nobody knows you like I do.

And that’s another part of the reason for nostalgia. Please forgive the poor comparison but the closest I can get to making an analogy to it, is to compare it to the principle of Stockholm Syndrom. Just so maybe the notion of it can be understood easier. Because anorexia is abusive and horrible, it literally made me starve myself, made me depressed and hate everything about life. It caged me in and held me captive to the point where I had no freedom, no choice, no joy or happiness left. It ruined everything.

And all the while it caused me all of that horror, it’s also the only other thing, the only other “person”, voice, existence in my head that shares those memories with me. That knows exactly what I went through. Because we went through it together. It caused me all this pain and trauma – but it also shared it with me. I was never alone, not really, because even when I felt like there was no one or nothing left: Anorexia was always there. Every second of the day and every step of the way. I, it, both of us, know things that to this day, are unspeakable to me. That to this day, I haven’t told anyone because the fact that I was capable of doing such things, still scares me every time I think about them.

We share what are undoubtedly the worst and most painful memories of my entire life and as much as I fucking hate it, I cannot undo this connection. It’s a fucked up bond that I will always have with my eating disorder, even if it makes me angry and frustrated. It’s a connection I never asked for or wanted, but it’s still there and all I can do is learn how to process it in a way where it no longer holds me back and defines me.

Which is the reason for today’s blog title, by the way.

Actually, I got that analogy from a documentary about, you guessed it, eating disorders. In it, one of the counselors at an inpatient clinic compared recovery to the process of divorce. An eating disordered person might very well be aware that they’re in a bad, almost abusive relationship with themselves, or in this case: with their eating disorder. And they might very well be aware that the only way to get better is to let go and move on. But just like in so many divorce situations or break ups, this is way easier said than done. Because there is heaps of memories and emotions connected to this disorder that make you feel close to it, in a way. Feelings of accomplishment, of ambition, of thrill and yes, sometimes even feelings of happiness. False happiness, of course. But even the illusion of a false sense of joy is something that can be very powerful when you’re already beaten down.

When you’re in such a dark place and your disorder takes over your life, it takes on almost human-like properties. It’s like a friend or a partner, it’s the only relationship you’re still able to have, the only one you are “true” to because everyone else you care about, you lie to. Anorexia isolates, just like any other mental illness tends to do, and it isolated me too. I tried my best to keep face but truthfully, when I was at my lowest, it felt like my eating disorder had managed to break into places of me that had never seen the light of day before. And it had built itself its own little nest there and gotten so comfortable and settled, that the thought of ever kicking it out, terrified my just as much as the thought of continuing to live with it.

I mentioned before that I sometimes avoid talking about anorexia like a separate entity that has its own mind, just so it doesn’t seem like it’s bigger than me. Clearly, I’m not doing that now. Because if I’m fully honest, to me, it’s kind of both and also neither. One one hand, I can feel it as something that sits at the back of my brain, at the back of my neck, at the back of my every thought. It’s something I can visualize, hear, feel with every move I make. And on the other hand, it’s not an actual person. Because it’s still just me, it’s how I think and do things, it’s an extension of my need for control. I can’t just separate it into its own realm of existence because we both live in my own brain. We share that space and sometimes anorexia and its opinions and leverage are bigger, sometimes they’re smaller – but for over a year now, they have always been there, one way or another.

So, letting go of it, bidding it goodbye and trying to claim back the space my anorexia has been taking up for so long now, is hard. Because it’s like letting go of a part of myself. A part that causes me pain and suffering, yes. But a part of me nevertheless. And anorexia is a very hot-headed tenant, let me tell you that much. It does not like to be evicted, at all. But it’s not about what my disorder wants, it’s about what I want. And what I need. And that is to live a life free of the boundaries of my eating disorder. Even if it means not fully knowing who I am.

In my last therapy session that I went to, I talked about all of this to Kerstin. About feeling nostalgic and catching myself dwelling in memories that others would probably gasp at in shock. Gladly, Kerstin didn’t gasp because, well, she’d be a crap therapist if she did. But she’s a good one, lucky me. Anyway, in that last session I had, I then tried to come to a conclusion to this whole nostalgia thing, that wasn’t as depressing as the notion of it all. And what I came to was this:

I will never be able to undo what I did. What me and my anorexia did and what it made me do will never be un-lived or forgotten. It is and always will be a part of me. So, actually, trying to “get rid” of it and “kicking it out”, is not really the solution here. Sure, I’d love to flick a switch and have it all be gone in a second. But that’s never going to happen.

What I can do, however, is learn how to live with it in a way where those memories still get their proper place – without defining me anymore. And without dictating my every move and day. I’ve compared my eating disorder to a stubborn child a few times, too. One that throws massive tantrums when you tell it “no”. Because that’s what it does, mostly. However, another thing that it has in common with a child, maybe even with the child inside of me, is that it’s so, so scared of being left behind. Of being abandoned and forgotten. In a way, it’s exactly that. My anorexia is pieced together by so many of my insecurities and just like me, it doesn’t want to be abandoned. In fact, it’s so scared of it, that it fights back with teeth and claws and with all its might, to stay safe and comfortable where it is. It throws tantrums and breaks out into screaming fits because it’s terrified that once it goes silent, it will be forgotten.

So, actually, instead of treating it like some sort of external force, like a gnarly stomach ulcer (good one, Isa) or like a parasite, I have actually started to treat it more like a scared kid or a wounded animal. With patience and gentle words. With understanding but also with a certain sternness. Literally like a parent that is trying to calm down their raging child. Reassuring it that I have no intentions of cutting it out or pushing it away, but actually to let it stay under the condition that it remains a quiet and passive part of me. Until eventually, it accepts the silence I ask of it and, indeed, fades into something that doesn’t take up most of my living hours anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, 90% of the time my anorexia and me are still in a silent screaming fight over whether or not I can have a chocolate bar. Theory and practice often lie very, very far apart from each other. But the other 10%, the ones where I actually manage to practice what I preach – those are the ones that, to me, matter the most.

Because those are the ones where I can almost feel me and my eating disorder staring each other down from across the room in silence. The ones where I can tell that both of us are scared. Both of us are hurting. Both of us are smart. Both of us are strong.

But only one of us is right.

#eating disorder #anorexia #anorexia nervose #body image #recovery #nostalgia #ed

1 note · View note

antagonisms · 4 years

Photo

BASICS

Name: Evan Czarnecki

Gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him

Species: werewolf

Age: 27. Jokes about being 63, because he was a wolf for 6 years, which is 42 dog years + those 21 normal human years. Either way, age is a really weird concept now.

PERSONALITY

Traits: Pretends to be flippant to put the world at a distance. Vulgar as a means of distancing himself from genuine vulnerability. Perceptive, but won’t let you know that. More self-aware than he lets on. Self-absorbed. Self-destructive. Loves being seen, hates being known.

Moral alignment / MBTI / enneagram: Chaotic neutral. INTP-A. 5w6.

Values: In other people, he likes independence, open-mindedness, the ability to dress well, a lack of tolerance for bullshit, genuine altruism, and resilience.

Flaws: Judgmental. Narcissistic as a defense mechanism. Occasionally rude, but mostly just cheeky. Not a team player. Reckless. Hedonistic. The brokest bitch in Blackrock.

HISTORY

( shorter version is in the app. i just like details. trigger warnings for child abuse and sex as self harm.)

1) CHILDHOOD

You had a family, once. Your mother’s a piano teacher and your father is — you don’t know, really, but he’s got enough old money to buy nice things even if he’s stingy on principle. He’s polite, and she’s funny, and your fellow patrons at Sunday Mass love all three of you because you’re down-to-earth, surface-level beautiful — a perfect American family.

But they don’t know what happens inside the too-big house at the foot of the mountain. Your mother’s a pessimist, and your father’s a sniveling piece of shit who copes with his worthlessness by making everybody feel small. He’s kinda good at it. They’re both as loud as they are erratic and it’s all a matter of bracing yourself for when the floor inevitably falls through. You make do, mostly. You hide in your room. You lock the door. You put your ears behind headphones. You drown out their screaming matches and your too-loud mind.

It all falls apart when Mommy decides she hates Daddy more than she loves you. No goodbye. No explanation. She just leaves.

Her departure plants a lesson you will later find impossible to uproot: love is earned, Evan, you’re not working hard enough. At least your father stayed. At least he sometimes loved you. At least, you think so. He might have loved you when he took you fishing, or gave you that book you really liked, or when he buys you clothes that look really nice. You flip through your mother’s old sheet music and fumble through the piano keys, and you think he might love you when he watches you fill this house with her memory without saying anything.

But mostly, he’s not very kind. You don’t want to think about it anymore.

2) ADOLESCENCE

You inherit your mother’s cynicism and your father’s stingy heart. The skill you develop is as much a sense of humor as it is a safety net. If life’s a joke, beat it to the punchline. By the time you’re fifteen, you can no longer pretend that your world is worth saving. You keep it at arm’s length. Your mind makes a mockery of the darkness to keep its jaws at a distance, because if you couldn’t do that, your pitch-black pessimism would swallow you whole.

Growing up feels less like maturing and more like mutating. By the time you’re sixteen, you stop feigning perfection to earn the affection of a father who’s heart is colder than your Blackrock winter. Popular misconception claims control is a word you never learned, but that’s just what you let everyone think. The truth is: control is a lesson you pried out of your body when the need for acceptance evolved into a need to rebel. You’re an embarrassment, Evan. Adolescence meant insurrection. You’re a failure of a son. Pills and booze and boys and girls biting the hand that hit him. Your heart is a bullet and your mouth is a shotgun and you will make yourself repulsive if the alternative is admitting that — Evan, I wish you knew how difficult it is to love you.

You only apply yourself when it matters. You get into Stanford. You take a loan. You don’t let your father pay for tuition, because you’re not letting him control your life anymore. You leave your tar pit town the way your mother did, and it’s only a matter of time before your goodbye is permanent.

It gets better as much as it gets worse. You leave home, but home doesn’t really leave you, and you don’t recognize your body when it’s not in pain. You’re beautiful, though. People see you and want to make you theirs. You let it happen. Too-rough hands salve the ghosts of bruises your father left you. This is the ugliest way of putting it: you feel damaged. Every person you kiss has too-sharp teeth, and maybe that’s exactly how you want it, because if this body doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, then offer it up in a way that feels good.

You always leave first. You love much how it tears them apart. This is your inheritance: your Momma’s love of leaving, and your Daddy’s stingy, stingy heart.

3) THE BITE

Unlike your mother, you tried to come back. Your father called one night, asking if you wanted to return for Christmas, and the small, stupid flicker of hope that your pessimism couldn’t kill begged that you give him a chance.

He didn’t change. He argues about the degree you’re taking with the money you don’t have and insists on carving a future for you, his way. He doesn’t like your independence. He doesn’t like your protests. Your fights are explosive until they aren’t, until a raised fist reminds you exactly what violence he’s capable of.

At least he sometimes loves you. Maybe he loved you when he picked your wounded body up, carried you out of the woods, and bandaged up bite on your side. Maybe he loved you when he brought medicine to your room, and maybe he loved you when made you chicken soup just the way you liked it, even when you didn’t ask. Maybe he loved you when he sat by the side of your bed, and talked about his father, and his father’s father, and how none of them really knew how to grow up without making their sons feel small.

But the fever is strange. A new kind of anger tears out whatever capacity for forgiveness you might have had. Your bones are changing. Something wretched twists and grows inside you, and with a hot flash of pain, you’re something new entirely.

You have one last coherent thought before the wild takes your mind completely.

I have to kill him. So you do.

3.5) THE THINGS YOU DON’T KNOW

The news of your father’s death spreads like wildfire in Blackrock. It’s not your father’s mangled body that causes intrigue, it’s your disappearance. Wolf attacks, while uncommon, aren’t exactly rare, and everyone’s heard the folktales. Neighbors assure that you were there during the evidence, but the police find no evidence of carnage, not a pound of flesh nor drop of blood to support the fearful need to conclude that there’s nothing supernatural about this. You can’t prove the Czarnecki kid isn’t a werewolf, the gossipers say. Nobody can even prove that he’s dead.

4) WOLF-HOOD

You don’t know what strange circumstance landed you in your new body, but maybe you don’t care. Maybe the bite and the fever killed you, and the Buddhists were right. You don’t really know if you earned enough good karma to deserve this reincarnated form, but either way, you’re never letting it go. You hunt deer. You roll around in the snow. You snarl at any predator that dares to get near, and bite the ones that move into your space without permission. Sometimes you walk into the backyards of strangers and wait for children who aren’t afraid to try and approach you. You don’t eat them, because just because you’re a monster now doesn’t mean you don’t have principles.

You lie down. You let them rub your belly.

It’s a really nice life.

5) NOW

Six years after you thought you died, a woman drags you out of the woods you back into your body. Even a lifetime of pain couldn’t prepare you for the shift back. New bones tear your animal flesh apart, piercing your skin open to make room for your wretched old body. It aches in too many ways. The people — the wolves — the ones who did this to you, they tell you this is your home now.

So it wasn’t Buddhism. Maybe it’s the Catholics who’re right; eternal damnation does await the unrepentant sinner, and it looks like this: you’re here, trapped in a frat house for furries, without a cellphone, a car, or clothes of your own, or money to pay a doctor to confirm whether or not you’d acquired a tapeworm.

You realize you owe Stanford 213,000 dollars.

You are a very tired wolf.

TLDR:

Evan has a bad childhood. He becomes a wolf. He kills his father. He mistakes lycanthropy for reincarnation and lives in wolf-nirvana for six whole years. You drag him out of nirvana. The realization that he didn’t actually die puts him in a terrible mood.

CONNECTIONS

( So uhhh I wrote up possible prompts for the existing werewolf skeletons before I knew what anyone was like and I think they can be good jumping points! If you don’t feel this fits your character, or if you want a different sort of dynamic, just message me! )

1) WOLVES (AND BITTEN HUMAN)

ALDER: You’ve seen him at his ugliest — a small, scared creature writhing on the floor, that horrific cross between a howl and a screech leaving his shifting throat. Now there’s a flare of red-hot resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it makes you wonder if he’s more monstrous as a human than he is a beast. You saved him from death. You realize you cannot save him from life. He’ll never forgive you for that.

HEMLOCK: You are a bootlicker and he does not like you.

HICKORY: It’s not your job to keep the feral wolf in line, but your brother seems to resent whatever circumstance it was that landed him the role of mongrel babysitter. Consider picking up the slack. The guy’s only half-terrible — sullen and strange but mostly manageable, and maybe earning his trust is only a matter of affording him the patience that nobody else wants to offer. If it’s an opportunity to prove this pack your worth, try taking it.

MAPLE: You’ve worked too hard to protect this pack, to earn your position. Now your lot has dragged some feral creature out of the woods, offered him their home, their humanity, and still, he has the nerve to be ungrateful. He makes it clear that he doesn’t trust you. He makes it even clearer that you cannot trust him. Maybe the demons in your head are concussed, but the new demon in your home now insists on giving you a migraine.

PINE: You are a mirror of lost days. You are the young flighty creature he once was and can never become again. Home is a word you might have both forgotten, but circumstance has offered you both a new roof over your heads, and a family to go with it. Maybe these similarities should draw you closer, but there’s a glimmer of resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s there. It could be pity. It might be envy. It must be grief.

OAK: He had a father, once, and that shit didn’t end well. For some reason, he sees it fit to pass some unearned blame on you, and now years of buried resentment are yours to bear. Family’s a broken word, he seems to think, but you cannot let him break yours. Still, it’s evident that he lacks the capacity to be as self-sufficient as he’d like, and as long as that’s true, it’s your thumb he’ll be under. You know he needs you. Offer an open hand, or pull the leash tighter. The choice is yours.

REDCEDAR: He shows up at the bookstore to read a new title of Animorphs every other day and you don’t know how that makes you feel.

WILLOW: He might take more kindly to you than he does the others. You’re both new to a home you’re not sure will ever welcome you, and more importantly, you both wanted this. The bite. This beastliness. The difference is that he’s certain. Your condition is a new part of yourself that you have yet to fully love, but he seems to think he can teach you. Man and beast are equally monstrous, he tries to convince you. So let’s be the kind with bigger teeth.

2) OPEN CONNECTIONS

( Open to humans ) has taken an interest in the Czarnecki Werewolf Conspiracy. They’re familiar with the incident — a dead father, a missing son, and the wolf that allegedly kill them both. All the facts line up too neatly, and when somebody who looks to be the ghost of one Evan Czarnecki returns to haunt the streets of Blackrock, they think it’s finally time they get some answers.

( Open to humans ) once knew Evan. Yeah, the kid who always got straight A’s and played piano for Catholic mass? What the actual shit happened to him? They’re watched Evan go from familiar face to murder case overnight, but now, the town recluses have found a new adoptee — and he’s the splitting image of the boy they once knew. Maybe it’s time to reconnect.

3) VAGUE CONCEPTS

he uhhhh (spins wheel) flirted with ( open ) at last drop for free drinks and then realized that spending six years as a wolf made him de-acquire the taste of liquor and now he’s having a crisis

( open ) tells him he needs therapy. evan laughs

this is actually very hard he’s so unsociable

jsut message me... we’ll think of something

#shipper.#about.

5 notes · View notes

jvnisms-blog · 5 years

Text

♡♡ hey babes !! it’s ya gal charmi at it again, the mun of azami, with yet another chaotic child on my hands. meet jung woojin and find out more about him below the cut & hit me up for plots or like this and i will slide into your messages !! before you read on please be aware of these triggers: tw: eating disorder mention, tw: depression mention, tw: anxiety mention, tw: self harm mention, tw: parental death mention, tw: suicide mention, tw: domestic abuse mention. all of these are brief and very vague however i want y’all to be safe !! without further ado:

BACKSTORY:

was in and out of the adoption system most of his life and went to many toxic homes and families that were neglectful or abusive because he wasn't the perfect child they had dreamed of. at first thought he was never going to be fostered at all because he wasn't the ideal age or considered young enough really for many family setups to want him.

was separated from his brother in the adoption system and has never fully got over it since they grew up closer than ever due to their circumstances and were more like twins. strongly believing for a long time they were the only ones who could look out for each other and make the miserable upbringing worth fighting through. he still believes he's the only one who can really protect his brother and tears himself apart thinking of how he might have suffered without him, if it was the same way he did.

the father died of alcohol issues and early set heart failure. the mother decided in her grief and mourning she could not cope with the boys and got rid of them before taking her own life. both parents were fairly young when they had the boys, too young really.

the boy grew up believing he was a monster and that he was far too violent for loving or to be loved. that he only brought destruction and damage everywhere he went. simply put he was too rough around the edges.

was taught to believe that if he simply kept quiet and out of the way maybe his foster parents would love him more and he could make his life there more bearable.

his school and teachers did nearly find out but he always lied and covered it up well, in fact lying became increasingly easy because he didn't believe there was anything better waiting for him anyway, he did not want to be saved and a part of him still wanted to pray for the best in his foster parents, a sudden change. a part of him thought he was strong enough to deal with their violence bestowed upon him now.

of course though this made him a very angry kid with a lot of secrets and a lot of pain he had to keep buried, a lot of the time he became too agressive with his friends and people who attempted to help him because it was all he knew, agressive spat out hurtful words and rash actions that are just a touch too brutal. a shove, words spat in faces. he's trying to be better though, he really is. he doesn't want to hurt or break things anymore. that's all.

he's beaten up a lot, he tends to brush it off with a 'it happens' or 'it wasn't a big deal' when his ribs end up broken and he's taping them up himself etc.

some nervous dispositions that have stuck are things such as shaking a lot, folding arms in on himself and making himself appear smaller, biting his nails down over excessively.

abandoned foster child who fell prey to the system and came out worse for it because of it all is basically his whole niche.

a lot of things become an argument even when he doesn't intend it, apologies can come out more like taunting. he can be sharp tongued and ugly with his words.

in turn he's bad at accepting apologies even when he knows deep down things are his own fault. he struggles to find words that don't burn and hurt and take. he just doesn't know how to do comfort, he thinks he has the idea sometimes but he is scared to reach out and give the wrong touch, end up hurting more instead.

he has an issue with touching in general. he doesn't let himself do it much, doesn't bestow it on others. he knows what he can be capable of how he can't control his own strength and he is terrified of himself.* biggest promise to himself is that he never hurts anyone even in the smallest way even when its justified in an emotional breakdown or when he is trying to keep himself from being abandoned once again. he won't let himself.

' you know what they say about monsters. you know what happens to the people who love them. are you going to do that?' even if no one else is afraid of him. he is afraid of himself.

' your hands don't know how to be gentle, think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. you wolf boy, you war machine. you wouldn't know how to hold something magic and not destroy it...'

is littered in bruises and scars and burn marks.

CURRENT LIFE:

since moving to daegu he has slowly made progress, healed, gotten better. he has worked away at himself until he made himself more of a tragic masterpiece than a messy splash of unfinished painting and blurry mottled colours.

he lives with four friends, close friends who have been with him through everything and taught him how to healthily feel not only happiness and love but also let go of and exhale all of that pain and anger and violence he could not control. that was not his own but haunted him. aching to be placed somewhere else than inside his body which was too small to feel such hurt and heartbreak.

he got therapy after many tries with many therapists who botched up he eventually found one who worked and helped him look for new hobbies which would channel and turn his pessimistic and negative energy and burdens into something more beautiful or better managed. he slowly learned to trust himself at least a little bit more once again. she also helped him on a journey of distance without isolation so he could understand he would not do the harm he always imagined he was the root of.

when he leaves his family, it is in the middle of the night with packed bags and not much else to his name. he thinks it'll be easier on everyone that way, no letters or texts or calls. in fact he breaks his phone and switches it out for a cheap new one when he's ready to be contacted once again. there are no goodbyes.

he spends four years just crashing on his friend's floor of their apartment who are a couple who practically raise him and take him under their wing and simply accept him in all his flawed and closed off excellence, simply listening and accepting and providing a safe haven without expectations of any kind.

he works on painting, writing, gardening anything that will teach him how to love and nurture better than he did before. to see beauty and nourish it instead of destroy it or twist it. he learns piano finding romance in the music.

he got over his eating disorder and began cooking, become a rather skilled chef with his friends help and had more regular meals especially under his guidance when he couldn't cook then the other would do it for him. feeding him steadily every day to build his appetite back up again.

he took more care to exercise and keep his body and health much more good, nothing amazing but finally the average. he also got a couple jobs all that would help him with communication and learning new talents or discovering his own further.

slowly he stopped flinching every time someone tried to touch or did touch him. small touches from his friends ease him along, an arm slung around his shoulders, a hand in his own, a gentle hug. he finds a makeshift home and love and happiness where everyone isn't trying overly hard to find a way to nurse it into him.

eventually recently he has came to a point where he can cancel his therapy sessions comfortably and flush those pills to help with that anxiety and unbearable sadness. somehow he learns how to breathe again all by himself without someone else coaching him through it all.

EXTRA:

woojin is gay so romance plots are only applicable to other male muses however in the past before he knew of his sexuality he could’ve had an ex girlfriend or two!

potential romance plot inspiration heavily inspired by the poem yes & no by natalie wee. there’s a lot of flexibility on this one in terms of timeframing so just hit me up to discuss it more after reading the poem if you’re interested !!

the usual plots are of course up for grabs: childhood best friend, current best friend, ex’s, first love, friends he met through therapy, friends he met in the foster system, confidant, coffee fix partner, fake dating, study partner ( he’s studying music ofc and he specializes in production ), someone he writes lyrics for, someone he writes lyrics with or produces with, someone who makes him realize how amazing his lyrics actually are and how much potential lies within that talent as a career goal, his muse, i imagine he works a part time job as a waiter so do with that what u will maybe they can be work buddies?, also does babysitting every now and then for extra cash, etc.

#daegu:intro #if u managed to read all this i am proud #if u managed to read all this and not cry i am even more proud #my soft broken bird baby boy #tw: anxiety mention #tw: depression mention #tw: eating disorder mention #tw: parental death mention #tw: suicide mention #tw: self harm mention #tw: domestic abuse mention

11 notes · View notes

so-shiny-so-chrome · 5 years

Text

Witness: Weirdness_Unlimited

Creator name (AO3): Weirdness_Unlimited

Creator name (Tumblr): Burn-your-face-upon-the-chrome

Link to creator works: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdness_Unlimited/works

Q: Why the Mad Max Fandom?

A: In the Mad Max universe, anything that is completely absurd and outrageous is represented as the norm. Leather fetish gear? Oh, that's just the security guard uniform at Bartertown. Those guys over there are wearing black and white face paint? No, you're not at an ICP concert, those are War Boys, also run. Whoa, there are acrobats being flung through the air on poles attached to moving vehicles! No worries, that's just any Tuesday in Gas Town. I love this fandom because pretty much any nonsense my skull meat can come up with, as long as the mechanics of it work, I can throw it into my fics and not a single person will bat an eye. As a matter of fact, the weirder, the better.

Q: What do you think are some defining aspects of your work? Do you have a style? Recurrent themes?

A: Life is gross, humans do gross things, and the environment around you could not care less about any of your moral dilemmas. I suppose you can say my style is a lack of it. I like things straight forward and I know this characteristic often weakens any aesthetic appeal to my writing. “To Love Reptiles” reads from Slit's perspective the same way a radio manual does but with a lot more cursing. I try not to make it too complicated to digest. I'd like for people to be able to fill in any blanks with their own interpretation of the situation and then move on to the next.

Themes though, I go heavy on themes. The main theme is interpersonal relationships, coping with failure within them, and personal growth. Other themes include coping with mental illness, codependency, hunger, greed, warfare, trauma, etc.

Q: Which of your works was the most fun to create? The most difficult? Which is your most popular? Most successful? Your favourite overall?

A: The most fun work of my own, by far, has been “To Love Reptiles.” It has also been the most popular, most successful, and my most favourite. The most difficult has been an original work with no working title. I can't give away much about this original piece but it has to do with local myths and survival in the wilderness. I quit working on the rough manuscript when my grandmother passed away several years ago. I'll be picking it up again soon. It may turn up on AO3 in the next three or four years.

Q: How do you like your wasteland? Gritty? Hopeful? Campy? Soft? Why?/

A: Gritty but hopeful, I think. The wasteland is nasty but humans need hope, right?

Q: Walk us through your creative process from idea to finished product. What's your prefered environment for creating? How do you get through rough patches?

A: Alright, so that's an interesting question with a pretty messy answer but I'll try to make it brisk. Step 1: I start with a summary of the story as a whole with a point A (the beginning) and a point B (the end). Step 2: I break that summary down and and fill it out with events that can ferry the characters from the start of the story to the finish on a drawn timeline to keep things in chronological order. I also have note cards. I break this down further into named chapters. This can take a while. Step 3: I summarize each of those chapters to figure out if this story needs more than one installment. It depends out how the series of events land and how many minor arcs are included with the main arc/objective. Sprinkle some drama in there, scrap some unnecessary things, narrow an installment down to thirty (30) chapters at maximum. Step 4: I summarize individual scenes within the chapters and hack out important dialog. This takes weeks. There's typically between four and ten scenes per chapter. Also more note cards. Step 5: I try to flesh out one scene per day. (key word: Try)

I get the most writing done in the morning over coffee and before work. I usually sit at the breakfast table with my phone and spit out about 500-ish words before my husband wakes up. I'll write intermittently throughout the day. Lately I haven't been writing much because of holiday junk and winter being kind of a bummer.

If I'm in a rough patch, I can break though it by sitting in a room with no internet access and forcing myself to scratch out a scene or two in a notepad. Usually these notepad scribbles are so awful that they get torn out and chucked in the waste bin but the next day I'm keen to do the job right.

Q: What (if any) music do you listen to for help getting those creative juices flowing?

A: Ambient sound, white noise, or nothing. I do listen to music and there's a lot of songs I associate with stories, fics, characters. Tove Lo is a big one for Dune. Most of the time I find that music with lyrics or a high tempo is distracting if I'm in the act of writing something but it can be a source of inspiration separately.

Q: How do you keep track of all the details as you're writing? How do you keep details consistent in your works? How do you fact-check your writing?

A: I have a little memo pad with numbered facts that do not change at any point through the story. These are kinda the cardinal rules. I can't tell you the rules because they contain spoilers. After the “RULES” there are miscellaneous details that I'd like to remember in case they come up later. Things like birthmarks, scar placement, mannerisms, things I've hinted at without exposition that will need to be revealed later.

I fact check by googling stuff and falling down research holes for several hours until I forget what I was doing. EVENTUALLY I'll come back to writing and realize that's why there are things in my search history that probably have me on some kind of government watch list.

Q: What motivates your writing?

A: My motivation. Real talk? For AAL it's to get to a particular scene in the planned third installment. Scene thirteen in chapter seven. I know that answers exactly nothing and is weirdly specific but... yes. Other works of mine, I'm motivated by the idea that some of my ideas might entertain someone out there, even if it's just one someone then I've succeeded.

Q: What is your biggest challenge as a creator?

A: Time management. I have a lot of hobbies and finding time for individual projects is... Hard. I made a boredom jar that lets me pick an unfinished task/project/piece at random to do whenever I'm bored so that I can stop myself from starting anything new when my apartment is already full of unfinished junk.

Q: How have you grown as a creator through your participation in the Mad Max Fandom? How has your work changed? Have you learned anything about yourself?

A: Yes. My organizational skills have improved by miles and my attention span is better focused. Grammatically my work has undergone general improvement.

Learned anything about myself? Hmm, I learned that my opinion of what is canon and what makes good fan fiction are two completely different things. If you ask me anything specific about the Mad Max franchise you will probably get both opinions. As an example: Does Maxosa make for good fan fiction? Heck Yeah! Will canon Max Rockatansky or Furiosa ever be mentally and emotionally healed enough to actually be in a relationship? Probably not and that's okay. I can happily read Max and Furi getting cuddly and domestic and enjoy the heck out of another writer's interpretation of these two overcoming the hurdles of their respective traumas. I can do this knowing full well that Max and Furiosa probably never canonically saw each other again after the closing scene of Fury Road. I'm okay with this because that's the magic of fandom and why I love it.

Q: Which character do you relate to the most, and how does that affect your approach to that character? Is someone else your favourite to portray? How has your understanding of these characters grown through portraying them?

A: I relate to Max the most, and I think the reason I haven't yet published anything written from his perspective is because he'd be the most difficult to write without touching on my own fears and inadequacies too much. Max is not interested in being involved with the dramas of anyone else's life. He's already seen too much turmoil and had a hand in it too many times to actively seek people and their inherent problems, however, when presented with zero alternative he'll do what needs to be done and suffer though forming new attachments to very mortal people who may drop dead at any minute. He isn't comfortable with the process of forming attachments and he'd rather avoid it. He doesn't want another ghost. At least that's my interpretation of him.

Slit, remarkably, is my favorite to write for in spite of the fact that I don't relate to him in any way and my interpretation of his portrayal in the film is, simply put, a blunt edged euphemism for abusive relationships. He's just... a guilty pleasure to examine and write. I blame my fondness on the stunning character design and Josh Helman's energy on screen. The character says and does ridiculous things and it's just hilarious to watch Slit dig his own grave and humiliate himself. Case and point: I've got his boot! My understanding of Slit has grown through writing about him. He's probably (canonically) deeply insecure and his way of thinking very toxic and self focused. There's gotta be trauma there (I took massive creative license in that area) and a whole host of personal issues that explain his behavior, but will never excuse it. Does that make good fan fiction??? Parts of it do, the rest has to be that very human ability to grow and improve, although I don't think he'd have that opportunity in canon or accept any form of assistance... If he'd lived.

Q: Do you ever self-insert, even accidentally?

A: I think you kind of have to self-insert to a point. Writing tends to involve exaggerating your own experiences and the imagined interactions in your own head in order to make the experiences of the characters relatable. I'd rather not examine every individual facet of the issue but yes, I think Dune is an unintentional self-insert to cope with health problems before I was consciously aware of what I was coping with and since that realization, lately, she's a lot harder to write.

Q: Do you have any favourite relationships to portray? What interests you about them?Honestly? Close platonic friendship. Emotional intimacy is interesting. I draw a lot of inspiration for friendship in fiction from Mulder and Scully in early seasons of The X-files.

Q: How does your work for the fandom change how you look at the source material?

A: I see more minor details and the context of silent interactions. Some of these details are unsettling, some of them are so subtle and subliminal that they're easily missed when you watch the films, especially Fury Road. Oddly enough, I'm a lot more- Ah whats the word? Not quite critical of but unnerved by my own observations of Capable's relationship with Nux. I'm not sure why. It could be that I'm misinterpreting the actress's tone or George Miller vision/direction, but I watch the movie now and find that the way Capable looks at and talks about Nux so intensely makes me uneasy. The previous is just an example among many that I've spat out so far, it's not important.

Q: Do you prefer to create in one defined chronology or do your works stand alone? Why or why not?

A: Everything I write within the Mad Max fandom with the exception of collaborative works will probably be linked together and consistent with one another because that means less to remember and fewer mix-ups.

Q: To break or not to break canon? Why?

A: If you have to, break it. I'll read it. I like my fandom unlimited, baby. In my own works I try to keep with canon somewhat but I resurrect a lot of characters who almost certainly died because if I didn't, it would really only leave seven (I think) named characters with dialog who did not die in Fury Road. (The surviving women of the Many Mothers weren't named.)

Q: Share some headcanons:

A: 1) Max has intestinal parasites. He ate a live (two headed) lizard in the first thirty seconds of Fury Road. You really really really should not do that.

2) Furiosa didn't want to kill Ace. She could have just blown his head off instead of punching him in the face with a pistol. She didn't shoot him.

3) Ace did not go under the wheels. Foxy Grandpa lives.

4) Miss Giddy is also alive somewhere

5) Actually, most people in the wasteland probably have intestinal parasites.

Q: If you work with OCs walk us through your process for creating them. Who are some of your favourites?

A: My original characters tend to create themselves. I don't know how they do it, they kinda just decide for themselves for better or worse what they'll look like and how they'll behave. Dune was an accident and the “About a Lizard” series wasn't supposed to happen at all. It was supposed to be a one-shot word dump of what Slit's final moments might have looked like. Slit was supposed to die in a fleeting but intense two seconds of delusions about Valkyries and Valhalla... And then be eaten by a scavenger cannibal. The whole thing kind of just happened on the fly. Ardith, Phil/Crank, Featherknife, Bones, and the kids were also accidental. I had no idea where I was going with the encounter with Crow Fishermen. They just popped into existence of their own will and the rest is history. The only original characters that have been planned and designed well beforehand have been villains. This probably says something about me as a writer though I'm not sure what.

Q: When creating a new character for the AAL series, how do you approach their first interactions with your main characters?

A: The first thing I ask is “What does this scene need” and sometimes it needs a new character for villainy or friendly acquaintance reasons or for a skill-set the main characters do not posses. New characters have a habit of changing a chapter or making it much longer than intended. First interactions with Slit probably won't surprise anyone. He phases through distrust to dislike to begrudged cooperation and from there he's either on his way back to dislike or entering the tolerance phase. Beyond the tolerance phase is... The Complicated Zone. The Complicated Zone is where Nux and Dune are situated. Dune has two basic instincts with people: Should I shoot you? Or should I befriend you? Bizarrely, being friendly is the weirder option in the wastes. Shooting is almost always a consideration if she's taken by surprise.

Q: If you create original works, how do those compare to your fan works?

A: My original works are probably darker and deal more with modern problems. I turn to fan fiction for fun and to indirectly work through things.

Q: Who are some works by other creators inside and outside of the fandom that have influenced your work?

A: A lot of the fandom, too many names to name but one stands out and I can't remember their name or the title of their work. It was about Ace growing up and there was a dingo and a young Miss Giddy. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, please help. I've been looking for this fic for ages.

Q: Is there a specific author(s) that inspired your work when you began writing TLR?

A: I don't think any specific author inspired me while I began TLR but The Dark Half by Stephen King is one of my favorites and I recall re-reading it shortly before getting deep into fan writing. I may even have unconsciously plagiarized a few lines off that book. In my latest attempt to re-read that novel I'm feeling like there's a lot of Thad Beaumont in my portrayal of Slit.

Q: What advice can you give someone who is struggling to make their own works more interesting, compelling, cohesive, etc.?

A: Don't be afraid to write things that are too soft or too dark or too this or too that. Sometimes readers crave that stuff that makes us feel warm and safe and sometimes we're also here for things that make us wonder how the @!#$% the characters will ever recover or IF they will ever recover. The real world is full of all sorts of feelings, situations, serendipitous coincidences. Take us down whatever funky road you got! You're the driver, you decide. Your fic is your world. Write WILD things sometimes because it's fun.

Q: Have you visited or do you plan to visit Australia, Wasteland Weekend, or other Mad Max place?

A: I would love to take a trip to Australia one day to paint scenery in oils but that predates my time in MM fandom. I really want to go to Wasteland Weekend in the next two years but finances, necessities, costumes, etc need to be sorted out first.

Q: Tell us about a current WIP or planned project.

A: Well, I'm buying up model car kits to make little Mad Max cars for nerd purposes.

Thank you @burn-your-face-upon-the-chrome

#mad max fanfic #Mad Max Fandom Creator Spotlight #Mad Max Fandom Spotlight #fury road fanfic #fanfic author spotlight #fury road fandom #mad max fandom #weirdness unlimited

17 notes · View notes

rickyriddle · 6 years

Text

Sumireko x Banba analysis

Hi there! So here’s the analysis you were all waiting with hype (well, maybe not, but I do hope some of you were expecting it), the SumiBanba analysis! Yeah!

So let’s do a quick recap of the Banba analysis and Sumireko analysis. If you haven’t read them yet, here’s your chance to do so. It will help you understand more this analysis.

I said in my previous analysis that Banba was suffering from a dissociative identity disorder (DID), also known as split personality. She also shows signs of anxiety, psychosis, schizophrenia, and paranoia. It was caused by her traumatic past with her uncle who sequestrated and abuse her. She created a stronger personality to protect herself because no one else did and is now afraid of being close to others, yet doesn’t want to be alone. This is the reason why she kills to have relics, to fill her lonely heart.

As for Sumireko, she seems to have megalomania, an obsession for power and a deep desire to be the strongest, believing that she’s the true queen. This obsession started because she learned about Haru, and developed an obsession about defeating her. She may also have psychotic and paranoiac tendencies, caused by all the assassination attempts she undergone, which made her believe that she needs to kill Haru in order to be safe, almost as if her life depended on it. She also thinks she must remain alone, showing she lacks trust in others.

Both characters have similar traits: They both suffered from a form of childhood trauma and abuse that left them ‘broken’, Sumireko physically broken and Banba mentally broken. There both a mix of two things, Sumireko is a cyborg (so half-robotic) and Banba has two personalities. They are both lonely, and it might be because they don’t trust others and think they are better alone, because of their respective traumatic past. They both came to Class Black without an actual wish, both of their wishes can be achieved by themselves and doesn’t really require the help of Myojo (Sumireko killing Haru, Banba getting a relic), and both wishes are related to their personal mental issues and coping with their respective trauma. They are both mentally unstable, even if Banba is at her higher level, being mentally ill.

As you can see, even if they are two very different people, both of them actually have a lot in common. Now let’s analyze their moments in the series.

Their first moment seen together in the series was when Otoya bullied Mahiru. Sumireko came to her help. I talked about that scene in my Sumireko analysis, but it also has a big value for this analysis. Sumireko told Mahiru to “pull herself together” and kinda looked...annoyed? That wasn’t the same attitude Sumireko usually has towards Banba during the series. I suppose they had at least met once before that scene, since they are roommates. It leads me to believe that Sumireko, who is confirmed by the author to indeed have a crush on Banba, didn’t fall in love with her at first sight. In this scene, she most likely only protected Banba because she found it unsightly for someone to bully someone weaker. It was more about her personal belief than Banba herself.

Then, when Sumireko fall in love with Banba? Don’t worry, I’m going there. So, after that, Mahiru when to thank Sumireko. Before Mahiru said anything, Sumireko looked a little bit confused, and not that much interested in Mahiru, which goes with my guess that she wasn’t in love with her at this point. Then, after the thanking, Sumireko looked pleased and offer to have lunch with Mahiru. I think it was more out of politeness and of habit than actual interest for Mahiru, but she does seem a little happy about Mahiru thanking her (and Mahiru was freaking adorable in that scene so I guess she might have found her cute, given the blush). But then, the moment I’m sure most people found funny, when Mahiru refused and Sumireko made this face.

Sumireko really looks like she didn’t take this refusal well. She probably didn’t receive many refusals in her life, if it isn’t the first one. I mean, I’m sure anyone would have loved to go lunch with the gorgeous rich girl, who wouldn’t refuse? Apparently Mahiru. It must have shocked Sumireko quite a lot, who was clearly not expecting this. I think Sumireko took it personally. She didn’t accept that someone she invited didn’t want to have lunch with her. This is probably why, at first, Sumireko probably continued to invite Mahiru out of ego, as a way to “refuse her refusal”. But, spending so much time trying to invite her kinda forced Sumireko to actually get interested in Banba, and I think this is how she eventually learned more about her, discovered that they have things in common, and ultimately fall in love with her. So it wasn’t love at fight sight, but a love that took some time to build.

Sumireko developed a genuine interest in Banba, she helped her when she was afraid of the light and the dark and seemed to have done that in a more selfless way, while her initial intention when she wanted to invite her to go lunch was more selfish. It showed that Sumireko’s interest in Banba involved from a selfish desire to a more selfless one. It’s probably the first time Sumireko took the time to learn and have an interest into another person, because of her “watakushi am the strongest, a queen must endure solitude, etc” attitude. The only person Sumireko showed interest in before was probably Haru, and she wanted to kill her, so it doesn’t really count. So Banba is so special to Sumireko because she’s the first one who caught her interest, thanks to her refusal, and that allowed Sumireko to finally bond with someone she has similarities with without wanting to kill her *cough* Haru *cough*.

What Sumireko exactly likes in Banba? Well, as stated in chapter 29 by Sumireko herself, it’s her madness. And it’s at this exact moment realized that SumiBanba wasn’t as cute and innocent as I thought (dammit, first ChitaHitsu, now SumiBanba!). Even if Sumireko also likes everything else, Shinya mentioned, her madness is what she prefers, as well as her scars and Shinya’s existence, because it’s the proof of the madness she when through and makes her soul tough, which she finds beautiful. That may sound cute, but it’s still a little bit fucked up. Especially since she has the “crazy eyes” while saying that. But I feel like Sumireko recognized herself in Banba, she can relate to her, without feeling like her statues of queen in endangered like with Haru. Because Sumireko does relate to Haru too, but they are too similar, while Banba, despite the similarities, has a total different past and has nothing to do with the concept of queen like Sumireko views it. Sumireko doesn’t feel any rivalry towards Banba and even seems fascinated by her, she finds her interesting and relatable. So rather than just being in love with her for her madness, Sumireko loves Banba mostly because she can relate to her, enjoy her company and doesn’t see her as competition.

After that there was that scene where Sumireko found an unconscious Banba and casually asked Nio if she could take her home. I remember when I watched the anime I thought something like that would happen but nope, I was really disappointed. Then the manga happens and I was really glad. So, it may look cute, but personally, I find it kind of twisted. Let’s not forget Banba in unconscious during that scene, and here there’s Sumireko making planned to take her home, kinda like she was some pet, it almost feels like a kidnapping. Maybe Banba did agree when she woke up, but still, Sumireko making plan like that without talking to her first seems disturbing to me. I said in my Sumireko analysis that she was power hungry, well I think she would most likely be like that too in a romantic relationship. She would most likely want to be in control and position of power.

But let’s keep that for later. The last scene we saw with both of them in the manga was during the epilogue, showing that Banba became Sumireko’s maid, therefore Sumireko successfully managed to kidna...I mean, take Banba home.

And that brings us to KnR 6. I include it in this analysis because I personally think it’s canon and find it really meaningful for the SumiBanba pairing. It’s when I saw this doujin that I realized that despite the fluff, SumiBanba has the potential to be quite a dark ship. So, the first part was drawn by Morishima, but still, I think we can view it as canon (I actually made an analysis about KnR and what I think was canon in it, here). It seems that Sumireko surely didn’t hire Mahiru as her maid for her skills, because she’s quite clumsy. That’s just an excuse to have her by her side. Sumireko is really patient with her and isn’t mad when she do mistakes, probably because all she cares about is having Banba with her. The scene where Sumireko insists to have the umbrella and even took it by force from Mahiru’s hands seems odd to me, it was kinda rough of Sumireko, like she couldn’t accept that Mahiru wasn’t listening to her request. It goes along with my thoughts that Sumireko doesn’t accept refusal and want to be in control, and that also seems quite full of pride from her. Tho neither Mahiru nor Shinya were bothered by this attitude so I guess it’s fine.

Then there’s the highlight on this doujin, the fight scene between Sumireko and Shinya. It’s that part that makes me think SumiBanba was becoming darker, but I had to admit that first I misunderstood that scene. I thought that Sumireko, when she said that she’ll return the strap as a relic, meant that she might die by Shinya’s hand, thus making the strap into a relic. But it doesn’t make sense when we think about it. The strap as nothing to do with Sumireko, it doesn’t belong to her, she stole it. That strap belonged to Haru initially and she gave it to Banba, therefore, only Haru’s death can make it a relic. So therefore, here’s what I think Sumireko’s goal is in this part: she stole the strap to ensure that Banba won’t leave her, and also as a way to have an opponent to train and become stronger. This way, she expects to become stronger than Haru and plan to try killing her again, thus achieving both her wish (defeating Haru) and Banba’s (having a relic). Unlike my initial thought about a potential tragic ending, Sumireko might be actually working to get both her wish and Banba’s, as well as trying to keep the one she loves by her side. Shinya confirms that Sumireko indeed still want to be stronger than Haru and Sumireko confirms that she’s indeed in love with Mahiru. But still, even if she has good intentions, her methods are questionable. She stole something valuable to Mahiru, to force her to stay with her. Sumireko herself compared it to what Otoya did to Mahiru. That’s emotional manipulation and, in a relationship, is a form of abuse. She’s causing distress and pain to Mahiru mainly for her own desire, and that’s wrong. Sumireko’s is both being selfish and selfless, but I think she’s mostly selfish in the end. She may feel bad about it, but she still did it. And if she keeps that up, Banba might snap and things could get ugly...but I’ll keep that for later.

A question that needs to be answered first is, does Sumireko’s feeling are mutual? And who loves who? Well, we know for facts that Sumireko loves Mahiru. But what about Shinya? Well, from what I understood, Sumireko is mainly in love with Mahiru, but since she views Shinya as a part of Mahiru, then she also likes her. But Mahiru is her love interest, the series seems to be pointing to that. But as I said, Shinya is part of Mahiru, she’s a being born from her, so by extension, it’s possible that Sumireko also has romantic feeling for her, if she saw her as a part of Mahiru rather than an entirely different being. In fact, she did say she also loves Shinya in KnR 6. But, does Banba (both Mahiru and Shinya) loves Sumireko too? Well, we can’t say that she doesn’t at least like her a bit. As her maid, Mahiru seems to care for Sumireko, and be worried when she thought she might have hurt her with hot tea. And after Sumireko protected her from Otoya, Mahiru went to personally thanks her despite her shyness, which makes me believe Sumireko left a good impression on her. She also blushes quite a lot when she’s with Sumireko, and I certain case, I don’t think it’s because she’s just shy, but perhaps because she actually like Sumireko. We know that Shinya doesn’t hate Sumireko, and since Shinya is existing for Mahiru’s sake, I think they might share the same feelings, or rather, Mahiru transfers her feeling to Shinya. So if Shinya doesn’t hate Sumireko, so does Mahiru. And even after Sumireko stole the strap, Shinya still doesn’t hate her, so I guess it’s the same for Mahiru. So they might be a possibility for Banba to fall in love with Sumireko. I believe that for now, Banba does like Sumireko, but it might not be romantic for now, but it could become like that eventually.

Let’s go back to the ugly part. There is both a possibility for a good, healthy and supportive relationship for SumiBanba, as well as a possibility to be negative, abusive and even tragic. And which one of them become true almost entirely depends on Sumireko’s actions. That’s right, everything is on your shoulders Sumi. Why? Because, even tho she as her own mental issues, Sumireko is the sanest of them. She’s the one who can take rational decisions and help the relationship getting better, if she stopped acting like...well, a jerk. She kinda is. Unfortunately, considering KnR 6, the second possibilities might be more plausible…

Let’s see what it could be. So, if Sumireko continued to be Sumijerk, things could get pretty ugly. Let me explain. Right now, Sumireko is kinda forcing Mahiru to stay with her by using the stolen strap as some kind of blackmail. Now, remember Banba’s past. She was sequestrated by her uncle because he loved her too much. Now, Sumireko isn’t sequestering Banba physically, but she kinda is doing it emotionally. Mahiru might eventually feel like she’s forced to stay, like Sumireko is “sequestering” her...And Banba as a PTSD regarding that, which caused her to kill her uncle, her abductor. What would happen if Mahiru snaps and begin to view Sumireko as the same as her uncle and ended up in an episodic psychosis? She would most likely try to repeat what she had done before, not because she hates Sumireko, but because of her PTSD being triggered in a way that reminds her of her uncle’s abuse. So, the worst outcome would be Shinya, under Mahiru’s delirious order, trying to seriously kill Sumireko. Would she succeed? Maybe. This is actually what I thought would happen when I read KnR 6, until I realized that I was probably wrong about the relic thing. And, it seems more that trying to take down Sumireko is Shinya’s idea, because Sumireko offended Mahiru. Or it could be Mahiru who ask her to get back her strap. In both cases, I doubt Shinya is seriously trying to kill Sumireko at this point, but if Sumireko continued to be a jerk, Mahiru might really snap and try to get her killed for real. That wouldn’t be cool. Sumireko’s emotional manipulation could have a really bad impact on Mahiru’s psyché, and it could also make Sumireko’s mental issues worst, by getting used to manipulate in order to have what she wants. They will both remain trapped in their own solitude and sink even more in their issues. So even if Banba doesn’t manage to kill Sumireko, this option is fated to be unhealthy for both of them.

But wait, don’t lose hope yet! I also talked about a potentially good option, remember? Then here it is. If Sumireko gets her sh*t together (sorry the language), the relationship could improve in a positive way. Sumireko needs to make a choice between her obsession with power and her love for Banba. She needs to decide which is more important for her, because her power-hungry attitude isn’t healthy for her and could greatly affect negatively her relationship with Banba, like you see above. Also, both desires are completely incompatible, since in order to be a queen Sumireko thinks she needs to remain alone, thus can’t fully be with Banba. If Sumireko works on her own issues and try to overcome them, then she would be able to see things clearly, and better understand her own feelings and what Banba needs. She would be able to better support Banba and deal with her mental illness, and perhaps even help her to get better. They both suffered from a traumatic event as child, so they should be able to understand and put themselves in the others shoes. They could help each other overcome their respective traumatism. They could overcome their insecurities and loneliness by finally accepting to not be alone anymore, to work on their trust issues by allowing themselves to trust each other. They both have been broken in the past, and together they could pick up the pieces and put them back together. Realistically speaking, Sumireko would need a therapy for her power obsession and Banba medication for her psychosis, But before that, they need to work things out together, learn to not be afraid of leaving the solitude they find so comforting behind, and to be able to trust others again. Then they could perhaps ask for more medical help, but first they need to help each other with their respective issues. Sumireko could even ask help from Haru, her former rival, as a way to learn more about what a good relationship is and as a way to finally give up on defeating Haru. Really, SumiBanba has so much potential for a beautiful, loving, supportive, positive and healthy relationship...only if Sumireko stops being Sumijerk and gets her sh*t together!

So, if both options are possible, then which one is going to happen? Well, before I thought the bad outcome would happen, mostly because I had misunderstood KnR 6. But with that doujin alone, it seems that the bad outcome is more plausible. But...Nope. I don’t it will happen. I’m pretty sure the good outcome will happen.

Why am I so sure? Well, because I have actual proofs that seem to lead to the good outcome.

So, even if I believe the manga should be considered first to establish the official AnR series canon, my proofs are actually in the anime. But, the specific scene I’ll use as a proof doesn’t contradict in any way the manga canon, so therefore, should be view as canon too.

I’m referring to the anime epilogue. Yeah, both the anime and manga epilogues were different on various points, but doesn’t contradict either other, therefore can be both canons. Anyway, the anime epilogue has more content, even if for all the ships except TokaHaru, it’s kinda the same. Tho in the manga HaruI is acanon so it’s an egality ^^’

So, how is it my ultimate proof? Well, in the epilogue, when one of Sumireko’s servant told her about new cybernetic limbs, Sumireko freaking declined them. Like, miss power hungry was like “nah, I’m over that, now I want to cook”. To me, it’s a proof that somehow, Sumireko finally gets over her “watakushi am the queen” thing and found herself a new “hobby”: cooking. That’s good, really good. I can see Sumireko trying to cook stuff for Banba, or even inviting her to cook with her. It would be so cute and romantic. So it seems that Sumireko did overcome some of her issues and is actually getting better, finding some new more healthy hobby and she seems quite in peace with her decision.

Then we have Mahiru, who also seem quite happy and in peace. Something good must have happened to her, yet the last thing we saw of her before that scene is her getting her ass kicked by Isuke. I don’t think it would make her happy xD. No, I think something else happened to her between that and the epilogue, something good. Sumireko. Sumireko happened. Somehow, after Sumireko got over her obsession for power, things get better for Banba, because Sumireko started to act more selfless and cares for her needs. It might be why Mahiru doesn’t need Shinya anymore. Because she feels like she can trust Sumireko, that she can help and protect her. Shinya exists mostly because Mahiru didn’t have anyone back then to protect and save her, but if she doesn’t have this issues anymore, than Shinya’s existence is put into question.

Then, what happened to Shinya? Did she stop to exist? Well, realistically speaking, a split personality doesn’t go away like that. In fact, I’m not even sure if there is an actual treatment for DID. But there is for psychosis and the other illness Banba has. So if Banba received treatments and has her symptoms weakened thanks to Sumireko’s support, then yes, her split-personality should be lightened. Because in her case, her DID is caused by her PTSD related to light and darkness, so if she works on those issues, then the personality changes should be less triggered. So Shinya would still exist, but perhaps she wouldn’t be there every time during night. More when Mahiru feels in danger perhaps, or if she’s too anxious, regardless of if it’s day or night. But those are mostly speculation, since other than that scene in the epilogue, nothing suggests that Shinya really disappeared, but realistically speaking, her existence could diminish if things go well between Sumireko and Mahiru (and if she takes medication, something she might not even do). But if she did disappear, well...Shinya would be the only characters from the main cast who “died”.

So, the manga, KnR 6 and the anime epilogue are all canons to me, just not happening at the same time. The manga epilogue is what happened first, then KnR 6, and then anime epilogue. Something good between them happened between KnR 6 and anime epilogue, something I might try to guess and work in a fanfiction, unless KnR epilogue answer this question.

I have as headcanon that Sumireko and Banba will open a tea house together, with Sumireko as the manager and Banba the maid (and perhaps Shinya as a butler um...that would be great).

In conclusion, SumiBanba is a complex relationship between two equally complex characters. They have both similar yet different issues regarding their past that could lead both to a good or bad outcome for them. This relationship as both the potential of being good and positive, as well as bad and negative, mostly because of Sumireko’s choices. And I’ll make my coming out. SumiBanba is actually my AnR OTP. Yeah, that’s right, they are. I know most people think OtoShie is my OTP, but it isn’t. It’s true that I’m mostly talking about OtoShie and being completely obsessed over it, but it’s my second fav ship behind. That’s mostly because unlike SumiBanba who can be both dark and twisted yet cute and fluffy, OtoShie is mostly dark and unhealthy. There isn’t the potential of goodness SumiBanba has, the best it could be is less bad, because...well, Otoya. That’s it. I like SumiBanba for being both dark and fluff, it’s a good mix for me. I still love both ship tho and it isn’t a competition, just my opinion.

So that’s it. Do you have any comments or questions? Feel free to tell me and thanks for reading this (really long) post :)

#akuma no riddle #riddle story of devil #anr #koakuma no riddle #small riddle of evil #knr #sumibanba #sumireko x banba #sumimahi #sumishin #sumireko x mahiru #sumireko x shinya #analysis #ricky talk #Sumireko Hanabusa #Shinya Banba #mahiru banba

31 notes · View notes

twinflameshardcore · 6 years

Text

Disclosure and further awakenings

I have written in one of my blog post lately, that around 2 years ago I received a glimpse about an alien contact, disclosure, anything like that to happen between December 9th-24th, 2017, that it will be a preparation for a real contact with aliens, with beings from other dimension, whether energetically or physically. And so it has begun :)

This is the news on CNN today, not that this is the best media, since they cause bad blood very often but it has been said that major media will post news about aliens when the time is right. Pentagon had that ‘threat searching’ program they abandoned in 2012. How meaningful about the date. This means that somebody in Pentagon must have gotten a channeling that they should stop assuming that aliens would be a danger but rather wanted allies to let us fight against all those ‘archons’ here on Earth, and above. That they needed to let go and let the outside help in. This is also no coincidence that the newest Star Wars premiere happens this season ;)

This also means that soon I’ll be allowed to fully tell the real story of Draconians (pieces of the story I’ve received so far from my higher self, which match together well and these will be from the very source as I’m a Draco-human) because there will be more understanding about who we are and why we happened to be in this solar system. Not for bad reasons at all, but just like between humans, there are good and bad guys, those who turn to greed & control instead of staying on the original path, and those who keep supporting love and spiritual progression. I’m still awaiting that inner impulse of ‘sit down and write’. We, true Dracos, dragons and seraphim basically remained hidden and quiet during centuries to let liars talk and threaten people against us, to then let the people awaken on their own and see through illusions, to discover the truth and chase the liars away ;]

My twin cut any contact with me which is not unusual but this year has been just horrible in terms of our lack of verbal communication. It’s all him, I’ve reached out on countless occasions. I feel him and I know that he began feeling me more and more which may come as a shock for him, yet a confirmation that we share the same spirit. Merging in spirit continues, we bring each other amazing harmony and love at times. I had to let go of trying to compare it to a rough reality. There are 2 realities which are merging and helping us live in one, the better only. I had the most meaningful experience lately on 12/17 which felt as if 2 grids in your spirits and bodies matched perfectly, so called blueprints of us two. It felt like there were grids on our chests and in bodies and all of ‘eyes’ of that grid matched perfectly with the other, like numbers 1 with 1, 2 with 2, 3 with 3 etc.

Is my twin awakened yet? I don’t know, due to lack of communication. I’ve done my job, researched, understood who I am, accepted that I’m very powerful and I know the real truth different to that it is shown on Earth which definitely involves religions. I don’t see the entire picture yet but there’s definitely more to come which will be just a pure relief for the brain mostly because it will no more have to ignore, deny or search for ‘facts’ it hadn’t been taught on Earth. My higher self told me to be quiet now, because it’s his time to awaken further, to have his realizations, to research, to verify within that what I shared with him during the last 4 years - discoveries I was receiving via own channelings about myself and us. I’m now a living confirmation of all he could receive, and as a forerunner, I can be also a guide for him, if he asks. But it seems once we meet in person again, who knows when, maybe in 2018, we’ll be fully synchronized, energy, light bodies and knowledge. There’s no such a thing that one can be denying and rejecting truths which are bombarding them. If you came here and forgot who you are, then you will be recalled and you need to accept it as there comes a liberation thanks to this knowledge, a former charisma, skills, inner power and self-esteem will be retrieved to stay.

This time now is the beginning of a quick yet fast awakening of these who are only facts-orientated, who only listen to ‘specialists’, to the people with scientific degrees, to what is written in serious books published by serious publishers and also what is on the TV too - the last wave of people who are not spiritually orientated yet whose souls are ready to switch from the brain/ego to the heart/spirit. Year 2018 will be for them to wake up and understand while we, so far awakened angelics will be benefiting from our hard work, in any way possible. If you were pulled to do something which your heart enjoys, it’ll continue with fascinating effects, and you will be guided further, by your Self. Our higher original versions are entering our Earthy copies to replace them further. Often you will discover that you feel like being steered from inside, that something moves your hands, legs, makes decisions for you, that your human, fear or ego driven willpower will be ‘turned off’ and at certain times the angelic/higher you inside of you will take the lead. It’s very useful to help deal with problems we thought were lost. We still can win. I find such events fascinating. We should not fight with it, because these ‘original versions’ entering us, they are most advanced us, they spread within us, from the hearts outside. They know us, they have been observing us all the time since we were born from the Light, they are our good twins as in number 11. In a twin flame relationships, 11:11 means that we come as 4 folks together, 2 of me and 2 of the twin. They love us and they arrive with certain goals to make us do next, which goals we’ll love because they fit into what we like doing, into our dreams, favourite activities, passions, and desires. If the topic of love was your all-time direction, to give love, to be in love, to open hearts, to transmute/merge masculine and feminine through love and sexuality, to make people happy, to be with that One and only man/woman, then I feel there won’t be any replacement. You’ve been doing what you were guided to do, unless you keep sabotaging yourself against your happiness. This means there’s a negative energy attached to you, a distortion which has to be removed, and which will eliminated thanks to the ascension. These energies won’t survive in high vibration which our bodies pick up (through plasma bodies’ liberation and expansion) but it’s also your job to 'scan’ yourself, find the leeches and order them to go to hell, alone. Be guided by your heart, not the ego.

I had experienced at least 2-3 shifts this month so far, which were related to changing dimensions and the plasma body further stretching and liberation. Moments of huge inner acceleration, high vibration, rods of light drilling though me, inner explosions from the solar plexus and heart into the root chakra etc etc etc. My eyes lately felt like crying, and some layer in me felt like melting, but I’m physically and mentally OK. I’m prompted to drink a lot of water and also eat chocolate or magnesium & potassium supplements once a day to help the heart and nerves cope with the structural upgrades. I sleep with minerals/gemstones and I walk in the nature to let the Earth take & disintegrate all those ‘toxins’ from me which were created by all those energetic transmutations. Everybody have their own symptoms depending on what the light body dies within.

I also had very clear, spiritual visits from the two men from my life with whom a spiritual connection was instant. One died in 1999 so I only meet him in dreams occasionally. He was 16 y.o. when I was in love with him back then and 22 y.o. when he died in a car crash. Lately however, thanks to dimensions merging, we have gotten into what I’d call a ‘union’, an agreement that he loves me and I love him, that it was expressed openly in the dream, and obviously had no effect on me and the twin relationship. It was my personal experience to let my soul recollect the energy which was mine and which I gave the other guy in a college. For him it was to express his old love to me. I knew if he survived and he would be in his 40s now, we would meet and he would not hide his feelings or attraction to me, but it would be too late because I’m reserved for my twin.

The other whom I’ve strongly felt lately was a one time lover who I had met way before I met my twin. Me and that guy, had an amazing one-night sexual release and healing in 2002 and we also talked about stars, the Big Dipper specifically. He was 4 years younger than me, so as old as my twin, completely not into spirituality at the time, yet he liked surrounding himself with incense sticks, blue color, candles, fire, wood and plants, mostly thanks to his mother. Once I came into his house, I felt like ‘at home’ which was very weird as I never feel good at anybody’s apartment. But the energy there was harmonious, healing so I assume it was his mother who was some kind of angelic, yet I never met her. I can now ‘call’ out his energy and he becomes aware, he listens. So I assume something must have happened to him these days, most probably he had an awakening, his soul started communicating with all those beings he had met and verifying who was most important, and at the same time, he was ‘informed’ who I am (not as a human but deeper) and perhaps we may come from the same group of Dracos considering our sexual skills. We never met later after 2002 and I’m OK with bridges burnt as I don’t want to be tempted, yet we were completely different humans, with different lifestyles and interests so this chapter had been closed forever just right after it began. It was just very surprising to feel the guy again so directly around me after so many years passed by. This means that their divine masculine energies found me to give me back that what belonged to me, the fire, interest, healing, sexuality, parts of my original energy. If energy of men/women from your past appear again in your energy field and act as if accompanying you, it may mean the same - they came back to return what was once yours. Your gifts are being returned to help you feel more powerful within once your plasma body expands so that you no more stretch yourself emotionally between past boyfriends/lovers even if you moved on and forgot about the guys a long time ago.

The most important thing is to know that your soul/spirit had received all possible orders and directions way before you incarnated in this lifetime, and is aware of the timing like a good soldier to apply to orders when they are shouted. So you don’t have to work hard on yourself, meditate etc. Listen to your body and the higher self only, they will tell you what you need to do. Such an inner advice is always free, you don’t have to pay anybody to guide/heal you, unless you want it and can afford. I’ve never paid for any spiritual healing, any coaching, any reiki, because I have this knowledge on my own and I let it guide me. I’ve been always led by my Self and it’s only my impatience (the fire element) to accelerate things unnecessarily, yet when they finally happen, it’s always a relief and the inner yell ‘I knew I was doing it right!’ :)

I’ve been seeing 11:11 frequently lately, as much as my birth date and number 33 as well (my birth number). I had an outburst of inner power, and meaningful dreams and I wrote a few messages to my twin that I knew I’d been here to guide and protect him as I am the spiritually stronger of us two to take on discovering and awakening first. It’s the feminine who liberates the two twins (in this life time, I’m a former masculine energy who is a feminine in this life, might have happened I was also a female warrior before, a muscular type) Females are those strongest who have proven themselves, who have chosen true love (not suffering, slavery or delusions) as the only solution.

It’s not a coincidence that this female warrior/savior theme is being brought to the masses via movies these days. Main characters in the sequels of movies like Mad Max, Dr Who, Star Wars are females! This is a message to all masculine to tell them they have to listen to us (and their inner divine feminine part of the energy, we’re always 2 in one) because we, females are the liberators. We’ve sacrificed a lot and it’s time for a lasting reward. We have liberated ourselves from the mental programming faster, and we can bring the same healing to the men (because often they do not have the crown & heart channels open enough) through love because we can do it only via hearts, not brains. Yet we need men as much as they need us to become One again, to retrieve the whole original harmonious aspect of the angelic being, the two in one, acting as one. On thing to mention - the law of non-interference! This sucks, but we, human angelics are bound with this law as much as many aliens races and even our galactic families out there. We can be equipped with all kinds of solutions, tools and sneaky ways of delivering knowledge, but it’s the masculine who needs to want to open and be healed, as much as we need to open to be transmuted by the Light. Nothing can be forced out or accelerated, thus if you feel the Light works too hard on you, request it stops and returns when you are able to take it in again. It will be probing continuous, so you won’t miss it ;)

More and more of us will be convinced that we are forerunners and all we have endured so far was a smartest choice, that our souls have chosen to do it earlier than others. We’re special. As much as our progress had been observed, we’ll be watching others awakening these days but we will have our personal goals to continue with, as brought by our higher selves.

The movies I listed above resonate with certain groups of people - Mad Max with those of you, who like me came across a global catastrophe, most possibly on Mars but could be also on a parallel Earth or elsewhere in another galaxy. I don’t resonate with Atlantis, Lemuria etc, not my past. The main theme of the movie is a survival, by being smart, courageous, to fight, to win, to kill the enemy. Then Dr Who would be for, I’d say - magicians, empaths, time travellers, good spirits who wish to remove mistakes and change realities for the better, by making sudden interventions. Finally, Star Wars - a topic of a universal duality which causes damages, wars, a fight for control, good against evil, rebels and attackers. It’s for all of us who had fought in galactic battles, specifically during Orion Wars, for Sirius, for Betelgeuse, for Vega/Lyra, because the ‘above’ is reflected ‘below’ - the witch hunt, Crusades, an unfortunate colonization of Africa and Australia by white people, WWI, WWII, wars in Middle East, in Ukraine, Germany, holocaust camps in Poland, slavery in Egypt, abuses in Africa, Japanese kamikaze, nuclear bombs, these are only a few reflections of the ‘above’, the very old galactic issues. These have one source of war, the cult of blood, the destruction of the human DNA and a distortion of the connection humans have with other dimensions, beings, where they could get help and wisdom from. There is this ancient saying - ‘all roads lead to Rome’. Not necessarily for trading purposes. The destruction of humans is linked to the Vatican here on Earth (there’s a mirrored place in the galaxy too) but we’ll get to this when the time is right. Religion along with the politics, and money tame our original power, creativity, unity with the Universe and the truth about everything, a wisdom. Star Wars is another mass-wake up call for those who have an inner conviction (often supported by visions, dreams or DNA/astral memories) of being as old as the galaxy, working as a former space ship commander, navigator, mechanic, space inventor, galactic negotiator, space clipper pilot, who enjoys the speed of flying, who is familiar with the most extreme sensations like coming through a black hole, being disintegrated, exploded, but also who remember seeing planet-size spaceships. It’s for all those who have been fighting for the harmony, wisdom, truth and balance, who know about the problem of duality, who fight against cold-blooded behaviors, and manipulation - the light warriors, galactic warriors, those connected and aware of alien races, Sirians, Arcturians, Draconians, Pleiadians, Lyrans, but also Archons, etc.

If you’re a feminine, no matter of your actual sex, feel being an admired, respected, desired goddess again specially in the end of this year. This is the time for self-love, so much deserved as the self-esteem heals. This pulls not only the love of the twin, whether in spirit only or in person, but also financial opportunities related to what you have been doing so far, as I have experienced.

Happy awakening, and the winter solstice!

Update: I forgot to add that I had a meaningful dream about seeing an alien spacecraft and a message transmitted from it. That dream was on on the night of 12/12 and 12/13/2017. I dreamt of walking in some small, old English city. I was a tourist there. It was the day when I was to leave and I was with the twin in the city but he was somewhere else, busy with things so I was walking to learn about the area a little bit before we leave for good. On my way back to what was some rented apartment, I found myself in a street surrounded by old townhouses. There were a few young people standing and talking. Then I saw that the sky was filled with a fleet of small, 50-100 cm long ‘spaceships’ with lights, I saw no details however. They were flying above the street and houses in one direction. Then from what I thought was a big cloud high above the city, I noticed a part of a big mother-ship materializing. It was that saucer-like aircraft, very pro looking, with white and dark blue parts and a ball-like ‘viewing platform’ attach to one of the sides of the ship. It was really huge but I could see only like 1/4th of the entire aircraft, the rest was covered with clouds. I had dreamt of aliens before and here I got the same kind of telepathic message this time too - ‘Hello, we are on your side. We’re watching, monitoring, we know what’s going on. We are here.’ It felt like they knew what to do but they could take action only if things get out of control on the Earth or were waiting for an order from their main base. If there are positive aliens around, the telepathic message will have a frequency of peace and you will feel it. This is how they’ll communicate with us first, no words but harmonious frequencies sent telepathically, from the heart to heart, to not trigger the brain regardless what it sees and what it thinks. That’s why mastering the heart communication is crucial not only iwth the twin flame, but the rest of beings, and yet it’s the easiest thing to do because all humans were born with it. Human language, the verbal one is an official replacement for the heart communication.

[This post is copyrighted by the author of this blog who prefers to remain anonymous. My posts must not be used for commercial purposes of any kind. Respect my work - ask first before you copy, always include a link back to my site when you quote a part of my writing!]

18 notes · View notes

heartsofstrangers · 6 years

Photo

What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or currently experiencing?

“I don’t know how to word it. It’s like not being trapped in my head so much, if that makes sense. I would have to say, the bullying that I experienced growing up in middle school and high school and from my father. It was like a never-ending cycle of bullying. Back in the day, when I was in middle school, high school, social media was not as prevalent as it is today. You would expect that when you got back to your own home, it would be a safe place. You might’ve had a rough day at school, but you would expect to go home and feel safe at home with your family. But for me, I’d go to school and get bullied, and then I’d go home and get bullied by my father. It was a never-ending cycle. So actually these past two years I’d consider my recovery from being trapped in my head with my therapist. He really helped me with understanding certain behaviors, such as why I would avoid people. When I would come home on break from college and I would see kids from my high school and middle school, and even though they weren’t the ones that were directly bullying me, they were still associated with that time in my life that I wanted to forget. It’s been a challenge get out of your head, because it can be a safe and also a very dark place. It was a very dark place because I believed everything people were telling me and my father would say, so I had zero self-confidence, about things like my body, my ability to make friends, my ability to find love, my ability to understand myself and accept myself. So I would say in my heart the most challenging thing is bullying, and getting over that.”

How would you say that the bullying impacted you and your later years?

“That’s actually what I would like to do going forward in life. When I get my masters in social work, I would want to work with schools, and educate people on the long-standing effects of bullying. I feel like schools nowadays are getting better at responding appropriately. Where back in the day when I was in middle school and high school it was just like, ‘kids will be kids.’ That was the message I got a lot of the time, and it was just awful. I think people don’t realize the severity of how awful bullying can be, especially now with all those platforms where people can take a quick picture and you don’t even know it and they can post it on the internet.

“Bullying impacted me so that I was afraid to like make friends. I didn’t feel like I could ever make friends. I was very overweight growing up, I had awful acne (like most teenagers), and I was very closeted for most of the time, so I was very socially awkward. I just could not make friends, or I couldn’t keep friends because I was so desperate for friendship. I would do a lot of very embarrassing stuff that people would tell me, ‘oh yeah if you do this, we’ll be friends.’ And I would do it, but then they wouldn’t be my friend, so it was just, the lowest self-esteem I could imagine. I was told I’d never find a guy who will love me or I’d never find someone who will want to be with me, and I was really believing that. Whenever a guy would approach me, I just pushed him away, because I told myself it wouldn’t work, it wouldn’t last. It was the same with people throughout college, where I had my core group that I was able to open up with because I felt safe with them.

“But, even during the entire time I didn’t have any reason to believe that they weren’t my friend, but my mind would get me to think, they’re probably talking bad about me behind my back, because that happened to me a lot growing up. So it was a repeated cycle of self-sabotage. I like really believed what people were saying, especially with my father. He really had an issue around some of my femininity, because he’s really stuck in those ways and that mindset that what makes a man a man, like masculine, the features, the masculine duties that people do, like knowing stuff about cars knowing how to fix stuff with your hands. I don’t know that stuff. But that’s what my dad perceives as what makes a man. I was into theater, into pop music, and Broadway, and that stuff. So I had a really hard time accepting that part of myself, accepting the femininity, and understanding that gender is very fluid. It’s not like you’re just masculine, or you’re just feminine, or you’re just a boy or a girl. It’s understanding those and accepting your whole self, if that makes sense. I think that’s what really impacted me. I have to say these past two years with therapy have really been my recovery. So I struggled until these past two years, and that’s also when I started getting on anxiety meds.”

Were there low points along the way? Low points where you were isolated and depressed or contemplating suicide?

“Yes to pretty much all. I developed an eating disorder back in 2012. It was mainly around my weight, because I was closing on 200 pounds. It was the heaviest I ever was in my life. It was because I was eating my feelings pretty much. I was so sad, I would eat super late, I would eat the worst foods. I was also in college so I was broke. So there were many reasons that I was eating shitty, but most of it was because I was just not happy. Even realizing you have all these friends, you have grown so much, but it’s that mask, you just can’t re-see it. You still see yourself as that low kid you used to be. I think what happened with the eating disorder was just that I wanted to be in control for once. I felt so out of control. All this shit was happening. I think being able to control the eating gave me some sense of control in my life, even though it was not in a healthy way. I don’t regret the eating disorder, because it was something I needed to control even though it was really hurting me. I think everything happens for a reason. And it’s led me to where I am now. This past year has been my recovery from the eating disorder. These two years have been with therapy and understanding my mind and understanding my PTSD, the depression and anxiety aspects to that. This past year has been really concentrating on having a better relationship with food and understanding my body more.

“I never had a suicide attempt, but I’ve definitely contemplated it. I definitely had a lot of suicide ideation growing up, every day in middle school, and it was mainly around if I were to die, no one would miss me. Now I’m able to realize that a lot of people would miss me, and I’ve made that big change. I still think about it sometimes, like when I’m really experiencing my low phases. It’s a cycle still. But it’s improving, and I’m able to get myself out of that mindset a lot quicker than I used to. Now I’m able to quickly make that change. I’ve developed a lot of coping skills to get out of that mindset. I had a lot of depression growing up, and I was told I had generalized anxiety disorder for the longest time, and that’s what led me to go to therapy, because I realized I don’t just have that.

“There’s something else that crept right up on it. And then I was finally able to realize the PTSD was really affecting me. It’s been something that I’ve been trying to really educate my family about. When people hear PTSD they think of soldiers, and they don’t really think that there are so many other ways you can have PTSD. Mine is really around the bullying. I want to educate people on the fact that there are so many factors in these diagnoses, and it’s not just that one thing that you hear in the news all the time

“It’s the same thing with eating disorders; a lot of times you hear about an eating disorder and you think about females, because it’s so prevalent in like the modeling industry and everything, and it’s always in the news. People don’t really think about males having eating disorders. In this society they think that women care more about their bodies than men do, but that’s totally false. I mean women do, but men are still told that they have to be these jacked, big, strong, masculine jewels, and if you’re—people still discriminate around weight with men just as much as they do with women. That’s where a big part of the eating disorder came in because, although I love the fact that I love my community, I love the LGBT community, I love who I am, but it can be a little bit vain at times. I felt like when I was at my heaviest that people weren’t as—I don’t know how to phrase it—I felt more excluded from the community than where I’m at now. I love the body I have now. I’m really developing a positive relationship with my body, where I’m able to be more comfortable with wearing less clothing, or if I want to be at a beach, but I’ll always be that person I was when I was heavy. It’s just that my body looks different now. There were a lot of factors that went into my recovery and my story.”

You mentioned that sort of the anxiety led you to seek therapy. Was there a low point that you realized, ‘Wait a minute, I can’t continue to live like this? I need to something about this.’

“I sought counseling a little bit in my college, in my senior year. It was offered for free for students at my college. And it helped, but I just didn’t feel that good connection with the therapist, so I was talking with my mom, who I’m very close with, and she told me she would be willing to pay the co-pays for me to go to therapy. There were suicide attempts in my family. (I won’t say who.) So I think my mom was really scared when I was telling her I was feeling very low and very depressed, and I needed help. I didn’t know what to do. All I do is come home, I work, I come home and I hibernate in my room pretty much. I was not socializing. I felt very disconnected from my family, particularly my father. I was just so trapped in my head. I was not on meds at that time. So my anxiety was just through the roof. I’d misplace the littlest of things, like maybe I misplaced my iPod, and it would be a crisis for me. I didn’t want to live like that. I wanted to be able to control myself. And I could not. I failed so many job interviews because I would have a panic attack in the interview. I remember I interviewed for a DCF in Springfield. That was my first job interview out of undergrad and the simplest of questions: ‘What do you know about DCF?’ And I was in my mindset ‘stand up, get up, walk out.’ That was just how my mindset was. I was so anxious and I just could not manage a simple question. This is bad, like I need to change.

“My mom actually found my therapist, who ended up being the best therapist I ever met in my life. He is outstanding, and he’s helped me so much with understanding my own mind and realizing that I am just like everyone else. That was the big thing. I just felt so different, because I felt like no one else knew what I was going through, even though a lot of people go through the same thing. A lot of times when people talk about being trapped in their head and what goes on in their head, people are scared to put it out there. They’ll feel crazy, or they’ll feel like, I don’t know, people might think I’m a little nuts, but it’s normal for people to have those kinds of thoughts and go to those really dark places. Being able to be so open with that with my friends has been so amazing, and understanding that other people have that same experience. So I think that being able to open up to that to my mom and my mom being able to be like, ‘Well, I know you’re struggling with money right now, so I’ll co-pay for therapy,’ that was a big tipping point for me, just having my mom on my side and have someone to back you up.”

Sounds like support plays an important role, would you agree?

“Yeah, and I think just wanting to get better. That was my big breaking point. My weight was also getting really bad. I was also looking at outpatient rehabilitation for eating disorders, and I was looking at a place in Amherst, I forget the name, but that was also a big point because I wanted to get help around my eating disorder. I was like taking in like 1000 calories a day and then I would go to the gym and purposefully burn like 700-plus calories and then I’d go home and ride the stationary bike and then I’d go to bed and you burn calories in your sleep. So I’d wake up in the morning and I’d be in so much pain, to the point where I’d have to be hunched over because it was in my groin area it felt so empty, and I felt a really sharp pain all the time, and I would be scared to even eat a piece of gum. It was just another five calories, I can’t do that. That will make me fat. So it was like, being in that place and just knowing that a lot of my family was getting nervous. It’s like, you don’t look healthy, you look like a rail, pretty much. And I think, just wanting to get better, developing a better nutritional diet, I was able to line up a nutritionist, and I was able to line up a therapist. I ended up not going to the rehabilitation place, because I was able to get that treatment through my therapy. And just my own, resilient self, I guess, I was able to develop that better sense of relationship with food on my own, but also with therapy and friends and everything.”

There are a couple things I want to come back to. You mentioned experiencing panic attacks resulting from your PTSD trauma being bullied. How did you work through panic attacks when they would happen?

“I realized I had panic attacks growing up and didn’t think anything of it, so I was actually just thinking about that recently with my therapist. I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’ve had panic attacks almost like my whole life,’ but I could never put a name to it, so I thought it was me being out of control and weird and all that stuff. When I first realized it was a legit panic attack was recently. Up until a few months ago, they started cutting back, and it was around my break up. We started really going through the trauma narrative in therapy, so I was reliving some of my trauma. So it was a really scary, vulnerable place. There was a time with the body dysmorphia, that I also have on top of my eating disorder, and the mask was lifted like momentarily where I was able to really see myself and see the definition and my body. Normally I would still look at myself and even though all my friends would be like, ‘You’re fit, you’re in shape, you eat healthy. You can treat yourself to ice cream once in a while. You’re not going to gain the weight that quick.’ And I finally reached the place where I was able to see myself in the mirror, and I was like, ‘Oh my God, I’m not who I think I am in my head. This is who I am.’ It was scary and I felt myself go to the back of my brain, and then I had my panic attack because I saw my reflection. I basically have been developing my own coping skills around doing deep breathing in those moments. I also call my friend Rosa, who I’m going to be living with. Sometimes, I just say, ‘I’m having a rough night. Could you please talk to me?’ And she talks to me and she’ll stay on the phone for hours. Or I’ll just call her and be like, ‘I’m having a rough night. I can’t talk about it. Can you just distract me?’ And she’ll just talk about random stuff. Really reaching out for that support has been amazing for me, and then also being able to distract myself in those moments. I’ll listen to music. That’s incredibly therapeutic for me. I love to dance, so I’ll dance. I’ll have my own little dance party of one in my room. Or I’ll just watch TV shows and movies; that’s also been very therapeutic for me. Just trying in that moment to remind myself, you have your support group, you have a lot going for you right now. You’re not the same kid you were years ago where you felt so lost. You really put in the work. Trying to remind myself of all that I’ve accomplished. I think sometimes when you get really low, you just completely forget all the good things in your life. You’re just so focused on the bad. I think that’s been really helping me with the panic attacks and understanding what they are now. That was a big help for me, because I thought, ‘Okay, so that’s what it has been my whole life because I didn’t know what they were and I didn’t know how to control them. I felt so out of control in my body when that happened.’ Also working with the demographic that I worked with, working with that population also helped a lot. I would see my kids I worked with have panic attacks and I’d be able to see my kids also who have PTSD. Just seeing their behaviors and understanding them was making me look within myself when I was a kid and think, ‘Oh my God, I did the exact same thing when I was a kid.’ And understanding where their behaviors are coming from and being able to relate that to myself also and share that with them has been very therapeutic.”

Did you (or do you still) find it difficult to reach out for help when you hit some of those rough patches?

“Not anymore, because I’ve really developed an amazing support group. I know that the people I reach out to are not going to judge me. That’s really the mindset that I’m in now. I used to always worry that they would judge me because of the poor friendships I had growing up. But just knowing that my friends that I reach out to, even aside from my roommates, I mean I’m very grateful to have an amazing group of friends now that I’m not afraid to reach out to. In the past I would not reach out to people, except for my mom. But back then, my mom, just like myself, didn’t know what was wrong with me. We didn’t know what was happening, so my mom tried her best, but she just didn’t know what to say or how to react. But now, my mom asks me questions so she wants to know how to handle it, because there are other relatives in my family who have mental health, mental illness. And also because I’m a social worker now, my mom is always asking questions. But it was very difficult for me in the past, because I really didn’t have many people to reach out to. I did I have my friend Dave, who I have been friends with since sixth grade, but he lived 30 minutes away. So when you were kids, your parents worked, so you couldn’t ask your parents to drive 30 minutes to see my friend. We could only see each other once in a while, like an over-the-phone friendship. And that was enough for me too, just having that companion. You can’t put all your stock in one person. He was my safe place growing up, but we went to different high schools, we went to different middle schools. We didn’t get to hang out as much, so he could only do so much. But now I have a huge network of friends.”

Have you found that sharing who you are and where you’ve been and some of your experiences has created meaningful, deeper connections in your life? It sounds like that may have been what it has cultivated, support . . .

“There was a moment in my senior year in college, when I was home on a break, I was in such a low space—but it was also interesting because though I was still in that low mindset, I had the most friends I’d ever had in my life at that point. And like they were good, healthy friendships so it was interesting look back because I had what I had always wanted. I had a core group—but I was still so low. It wasn’t until I really came back from break and we got all together, that I was able to sit down with them and talk about our break, and I told them I was in a really low place this past break and I was thinking a lot about suicide. And I only said, ‘I don’t think I would ever attempt suicide because I don’t want to not be here. I want to get better.’ But I always had those thoughts in the back of my head, and I felt so vulnerable telling my friends that, and then my friends were like, ‘We’ve been there.’ So that was when I thought, ‘Okay, so I can start telling people a little bit about what goes on in my head and how I really feel,’ because you can put all these happy images of yourself on your social media and you can seem like you have it all together and really deep, deep down you’re like a mess. It was nice to know with those friends that they were really able to relate to me. You can feel that you’re not alone. Two friends I’m going to be living with now are outstanding. We talk openly. We’re freaking nervous as hell about this move to a different state. It’s been great to be able to be more of my authentic self and be more who I really am.”

That takes courage. But it sounds like, by putting yourself out there and sharing who you are and where you’ve been, others are encouraged to do the same. That creates this vibe of authenticity between you and your friends, the people in your life, which I think is such an important space to be in.

“Yeah, my friends are my family. I love my family of blood, but I definitely feel safer with my friends. I think it’s going to be great because they live in Boston. I’m not going to be far from Boston where I’m moving now. So it’s like I’m going to be closer to them. I think building that good, safe place among your friends could open many doors for them. Having that friendship done a lot for me, and I hope it’s done a lot for them too.”

What are some of the things you’ve learned about yourself over the last couple of years and in your recovery?

“I’m a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. A big like wake-up call was this past summer, when I joined the gay men’s volleyball league in Northampton, Dunes Boys. I was so terrified to ever interact with men, especially gay men, because I was so nervous about how to talk to them and how to put myself out there. I didn’t really have much experience interacting with gay men, and I had a very limited amount of gay friends in my life, so it can be scary to walk in on a group of people who have probably been going in to this volleyball for like five, six, or seven years. There were about 45 gay men there and I knew only one person, my friend who got me to join the volleyball team. But I still went every week and pushed myself to go, but I didn’t go the first two weeks because I was terrified. And then my friend was like, ‘You need to freaking go.’

“So I finally went, and it’s been outstanding. It’s been so rewarding, and I’ve met so many great friends. A couple of them are going to help me move tomorrow. So it’s been a really therapeutic big part of my summer and my life, these past three months, and it was what I looked forward to the most every week—just going to play volleyball for three hours, go to the brewery to grab a couple of drinks with people and talk. It’s been amazing because I didn’t really have that outlet to really talk about guys, you know when you get together with a couple of friends and you could just talk about guys. Talk about sex and talk about life in general. You know I have a lot of girlfriends that I love them and I could talk about guys with them, but it’s not the same. It’s been great knowing that I have the confidence that if I want to walk up to a guy and be like, ‘Hey, I’m Cale. How’s your day?’ That kind of stuff. I think how resilient and strong I am, and how I am a likeable person and that I’ll be fine. It’s also great knowing that I always have friends in this area. That was the big thing in the beginning, when I first told my friend I was going to move in with her, I was ready to be like, “Fuck you, Easthampton. I’m done with Western Mass.’ I hate this place because of so many bad memories. Since I’ve been playing volleyball, I’ve been invited to so many parties and gatherings and ‘Hey, I’m going to the mall. You want to come with me?’ I didn’t have that before. I had a couple of friends, my main crew of friends in this area, but they were about three people, and they’ve been my rock for so long. But you can’t rely on the same people all the time because we’re adults. My friends can’t be by my side every second of the day. You have to learn to be by yourself. I can learn to enjoy my ‘me’ time again and that my ‘me’ doesn’t mean I’m lonely. For a long time, I associated being by myself with being lonely and not having friends. I couldn’t be by myself. And the people I’ve made friends with here over the summer at volleyball are still going to be my friends when I’m away. So I think I’m just learning who I am, day by day. And just figuring my life out and knowing I’m going to be okay. I think that’s the main thing I’ve learned.”

What message would you offer to your younger self, say 9 or 12, who’s getting bullied?

“Some of the bullies will eventually message you and apologize. That is what has happened. I think in social work, it really helped me a lot in understanding why people act the way they do when they’re growing up. It taught me so much about my behaviors. Why I acted certain ways to people. I mean, I myself was a bully a little bit growing up too. I had my moments when I was a bully. I never in a million years thought I would be in shape and be physically fit and be confident. That’s what I never thought. I thought I’m just going to be this mess of a person my whole life. And just realizing that you really put in the hard work, which I did—granted, how I lost the weight was not healthy—but I’ve been able to keep my weight these past year and a half. I don’t know how to phrase it. Like basically just don’t give up. Keep pushing. If you really put in the effort you can get what you want. I put in the hard work at the gym and it’s paid off. I’ve put in the hard work in therapy and it’s paid off. I’ve put myself out there by joining clubs in college, by joining volleyball, and putting myself out there with my colleagues at work. I’ve made amazing life-long friendships with people. Just know that middle school and high school is only a portion of life. It sucks. It’s a long eight years, but that’s all it is . . . eight years. It’s a long time, but it’s not your whole life, and that’s why I went to college. Not the ones in this area.

“I went to the ones in North Adams because I wanted to get away, and that was the best decision I ever made. There was no one from my middle school or high school there. It was a fresh clean slate, and it was the most accepting college campus I could ever imagine. And it was the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts, so I do want to give them a plug. It’s the most accepting student body I’ve ever met in my life. They were amazing. It gets better. I mean that’s pretty much what it is. It’s one of our Trevor Projects Slogans, but it’s true. This one quote I saw perfectly resonates with me: ‘A bad day is not a bad life.’ So don’t let those eight years, as shitty as they were, define your entire life the way I did. I lived in the past for so long. I could not escape the past. And now when I finally, you know see people from my middle school and high school, Now I can walk up to them and be like, ‘Hey, how are you? Hope everything has been well,’ whereas before, I would dodge them. Easthampton is a very small community, so you can’t really dodge people. But I did it for so long. I didn’t interact with anyone because I didn’t want them to see how low I still was. People will eventually realize who you really are. Because the people, my bullies growing up probably had their own troubles. I wasn’t able to realize that back then, back in the day. I just thought they were assholes. Some of them are just assholes, but everyone has their struggles, and sometimes people just don’t know how to express themselves in a healthy way. It will all work out in the end. That’s pretty much it.”

It sounds like being uncomfortable is part of the process. You mentioned being sort of nervous about joining the volleyball league, and even going to therapy and being willing to confront things you know were painful Would you say that has been part of the process, sort of having to move through what’s uncomfortable?

“Totally. I lost out on a lot of opportunities in college because of my anxiety. I’ve always been a theater kid, I’ve always loved theater. I’ve always loved music, I just love everything about it, but I didn’t allow myself to do it in college. That is one thing I wish I did, because it’s an amazing outlet for me. And ever since I graduated I really wanted to push myself to put myself out there more, to go to more clubs and dance and not care if people see you. Or go out to join this volleyball league and make friends. So it’s putting myself in those positions that make me uncomfortable and make me like me feel vulnerable, as scary as they are, that has really led me to more happiness. I went to Bloke a couple of days before I joined volleyball and I went, you know, I didn’t ‘pregame’ before, you know, I didn’t have my liquid courage before I went to Bloke. I went in totally sober and I immediately thought, ‘It’s bad.’ I went up to the bar, grabbed a drink, and went out to the porch. I had to do deep breathing because it was so scary for me to be there. And thankfully one of my volleyball friends was there, and he walked right up to me and said, ‘Are you okay?’ I said, ‘I just need to calm down. This is huge for me to be going here.’ But I met a couple of guys I eventually saw at volleyball, so it was nice having other people I knew briefly. That’s a perfect example for me. I wouldn’t have met those other guys before I went to volleyball, and I wouldn’t have been able to notice that I can put myself out there and can make more friends, and some guys might be attracted to me. There are some guys talking to me that night, and it felt nice to be noticed. So really just putting myself in those situations. It took a couple of weeks into volleyball, but eventually I was walking up to guys I didn’t know and introducing myself, ‘Hey, I’m Cale. I’m on your team today. How are you?’ Just like knowing now that sometimes you have to make yourself feel vulnerable, as scary as it is. It will lead to better things.”

Vulnerability is huge. It’s something we are often very afraid of because we think being vulnerable means you’re going to be hurt, you’re going to be susceptible to people taking advantage of you, or it somehow means you are weak; but I think being vulnerable gives other people the opportunity to also be vulnerable, and then go to those parties and be open and willing to receive beautiful things.

“I realized that I thought, when I was younger, that being vulnerable meant you are weak, when being vulnerable means you are strong, because you are putting yourself out there. And you’re putting yourself out there to what may come your way. You might get hurt along the way. You might end up finding better things. It’s just scary because it’s the unknown. When you put yourself out there, you don’t know what’s going to happen. And thankfully I would say for the most part, I had a lot of great experiences these past couple of months and this past year by putting myself out there more. In my senior year of college, my group of about ten friends knew how much I loved to dance, and they went to my audition to join, it was a club on my college campus called Dance Company, and you had to perform on a stage. I hadn’t performed on a stage in almost four years, because I was too afraid to. So like all the other people that auditioned for the club, everyone would be accepted, so you just had to go to the audition. And no one else had this big group of people cheering them on. I was approached right after the audition by two girls who said, ‘We want you in our piece.’ And it was ballet and I’d never done ballet and I was super nervous because that’s like the most intense form of dancing. How am I going to do that? And I ended up doing it. It was terrifying, and I almost cried before going on stage because one of my close friends, Michaela, who was in Dance Company with me, was in one of my dances; and just being able to share that with her and her encouraging me the entire time, saying, ‘Don’t give up, don’t give up. You got this.’ I’d never thought I’d ever be on a stage again. And it felt really good. The same group of people who supported me at the audition was there in the crowd too. It led to great things. I’m still nervous on stage, but I’m less nervous now. And I think also with my job that I just ended with the CH New Hampshire Continuum, I had to speak openly in large meetings, and I had to interact with all different kinds of youth and families. Just being able to believe in your abilities to help these kids taught me confidence. And me being more assertive and not being a doormat. I was a doormat growing up. It was being able to realize your worth. I think that’s been huge.”

Would you say that your past has inspired your future? You mention that your social worker was that. Did that inspire you?

“Definitely. I was a sociology major in college and I signed up for a random social work class because I had to fill credits. Within the first day, I realized this is what I need to do. Because I was able to look at myself and see that I was the scapegoat in my family. I was able to really look at my past and put some pieces together. I was finishing the puzzle. And it definitely led me to my current career. After my freshman year, my mom and my middle sister picked me up from school, and they told me that one of my family members attempted suicide. Thankfully, she was found. So she was still alive. I think that was another big wake-up call for me, knowing that I wanted to help people, because it was someone in my own family. I was about eighteen at that point, and I never would’ve thought she was incredibly depressed and feeling alone. So it was just by knowing that, and then by doing my own classes in social work, that I was able to realize that this is what I should be doing.”

Has there been piece of advice or quote or a song lyric that resonated with you that you would like to share?

Beside the ‘it’s just a bad day not a bad life,’ there are so many quotes I love. But that was one that has really resonated with me, because I felt like that’s what I focused on a lot growing up. Just trying to explain to yourself, it’s just a bad day, you’ll have a fresh start tomorrow. That was a big thing for me. There are a couple of artists out there that like Sia, Demi Lovato, who speak very openly about mental health. I think that because I’m so in tuned with music, when those artists make songs that clearly come from personal places for them, you can listen to the music and it could be your own little story too. You could take it into your own. So I don’t have specific lyrics off the top of my head right now, but I know a lot of the music from those artists has really helped me.”

What inspired you to connect with me to do this interview today?

“We have a mutual friend, and he told me about your project. I looked into your project on Facebook, and I really enjoyed the work you did. I reached out to my friend and was like, ‘Is it okay if I reach out to him?’ It’s nice to know, by reading through all your stories and reading through all the work you do, that someone understands, like your story, or could understand your story. You didn’t know my story at that time, but knowing there is someone out there doing good work and bringing more awareness to a population that needs so much more resources. I feel like, with mental health and mental illness, there are so many people out there that are so lost. They need a lot more resources. I really enjoyed the work you did, and my friend spoke great about you, so I think that led me to be less nervous to message and be like, ‘You don’t know me, but can we meet up sometime and share our stories?’ Having someone you can talk to that can understand your story was the biggest selling point for me. It just felt less random than messaging you, even like knowing a mutual friend.”

Sounds like you sensed a capacity for empathy. You feel comfortable?

“Yeah, because when you meet someone for the first time, telling your story is vulnerable. You don’t know how the person is going to react, but the fact that you work in the field made me think there’s a pretty good chance he’s not going to be a judge-y person. I would hope if you’re in the mental health field you’re not judge-y. So just knowing you’re in the same field was a big point, it was more of a secure place.”

And how has it felt to share these thoughts, feelings, and experiences?

“I’m so much more open about it now. So it’s just part of my story. It’s part of my past, and I’ve accepted it. This wasn’t scary at all. It felt personal, and I like that personal connection. And I mean, I’ve shared my story with all my kids, with my friends, and with my therapist, so I think it’s lost a good deal of vulnerability, and in a good way. It’s just me talking about my life, instead of before—when I would first tell my story to people I would shake. I would shake and I’d be so nervous, my heart would be racing. But it’s been a good experience.”

Do you think it’s possible that sharing your story might potentially inspire or bring hope to someone else out there who can relate?

“I would hope so. I think with social media platform that there is today, there are good benefits, but also, as I mentioned earlier, it could lead to you know people getting bullied. I think it’s therapeutic for me to put it out there. But I would hope that if someone were to read it, maybe they would feel more of a desire to put their story out there. It just helps to know you’re not alone. I know that my sharing some of my story with my clients has really helped them develop a trust with me. A lot of my kids have reactive attachment disorder, and a lot them have their own trauma, so opening themselves up to trust a total stranger (which is what I was when I first joined their case) is hard at first; but by using my peer mentor role and my outreach worker role and developing the healthy sense of boundaries, I was able to share parts of my story with them, so they were able to realize that may not be my provider but he’s been through similar things that I’ve been through. We all have our own stories, and that’s how I would always phrase it to them: I have my story and you have your story, I could never take your story away from you. But I can relate to certain aspects of it. I had a couple of kids with PTSD and told them I have PTSD too. And just encouraging them and motivating them to be like, don’t let your diagnosis define your whole existence. I’m not just Cale with PTSD, I have so much more about me. And you know, I went to college, I graduated with honors, I have my degree, I have my job, I’m getting my first apartment; so it’s being able to tell them there is so much more to life than your diagnosis. It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t mean you’re disabled. Sometimes, when they hear ‘disability,’ they think you’re handicapped, so I say, ‘No, you’re not.’ So I hope that I am able to reach out to kids, and that this is a different platform, so I think I would have the same outcome.”

#bullying #heartsofstrangers #vulerability #yourstorywillinspireothers #mentalhealth

1 note · View note