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carmillatism · 11 months

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since ao3 is down: carmilla fic @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Sometimes A Mom Is Just A Goth Vampire Lesbian From Outer Space And That's Okay

For Dr. Carmilla Appreciation Week: Mom Monday

trigger warnings for implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, implied/referenced parental abuse, and light self-hatred

note: i will be posting this (and other fanfics for this week) on ao3 once it is up and working again. just don't want to wait any longer for this fic. first time posting a fic on tumblr as well, just so it's known.

fic under the cut

"So, how was your mother?"

"Oh, starting with the hard-hitting questions, huh?" She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She scooches around on the chair before giving up. She stares.

"I mean there's no other way to start it, is there? You didn't give me much to work with, so…" Carmilla narrows her eyes.

"Watch it. Just because you're giving me therapy, doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." She tries to add a hint of humor to her voice because she knows she doesn't mean it. Really. …Well, she kind of does. It's weird. That's why she's in therapy.

She sighs before leaning back in her chair, folding into herself. "Well, I guess she was fine. She wasn't as bad as my father; that's for sure."

"I'm not going to ask you about your father as we aren't here for that, don't worry, but you said 'not as bad'. What does that mean?"

She sighs, frowning slightly. She really was going to divulge this information to a stranger then. "She wasn't actively bad, really. She just allowed so many things to pass. She never really tried to stop anyone from doing anything. She was so passive, so easily used by people who just wanted to hurt her- her kids- me. She wasn't good in that way."

"And that passive response can be just as bad as the people who actively hurt you." She cringes at that.

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh, okay. How come?"

She pauses, thinking about the question. Well, she did help her sometimes. …Sometimes. "She… um, well, she helped me on occasion. She taught me how to take care of myself, make food. She sometimes helped me with my studies."

"So, the bare minimum?" The question is innocent and she knows they're trying to help, but that statement snaps something in her. The very fragile dam of emotions she built about that topic crumbles. It was never that strong anyways.

She always knew what her mother did wasn't the best. That was why she was here for the Gods' sake. But she hadn't ever thought about it in that way. Her mom had barely done the bare minimum and yet she still praised her so much… She did the bare minimum and much worse so often that Carmilla just felt like she had to praise her just for doing something… kind, that she should do. She praised her for doing what all mothers should do for their children.

She couldn't stop it. She felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes. A few started to leak out. She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box laying on the table next to her.

"I never really thought about it in that way, but… yes. If that. She did the bare minimum sometimes, and other times- most times- she didn't. She just let me get hurt and let my father hurt me with not a care in the world. And she never really apologized, more so made it about herself than anything else. She didn't focus on me that much, and if she did, it was because I messed up somehow."

Her therapist looks down at their paper before scribbling on a pad resting in their lap. Tears are streaming down her face, but she's surprisingly calm. It was almost relieving to get this out.

"And this… you mentioned that you wanted to talk about being a mom…?" Her head perks up at that and she stares at them for a moment. Did she write that down…? Oh. Right. Curse her past, emotionally volatile self.

"Oh, I guess. It's just I was wondering about how I am as a mother. I try to help a lot; I do. But sometimes it just doesn't come out right. I feel like I make situations worse when I try to help." She cringes and looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

"And what do you do to help them?"

She thinks for a second. There was a lot, she thought. Maybe… too much? She should probably mention the things she did that usually made her Mechanisms worse, though.

"Well, a lot of times I would think their mechanisms were acting up and making them feel bad, so I'd take them to the lab and get them the help they needed."

Her therapist frowns, writing something down on their paper. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. This is a safe space for her to talk about herself. She won't be judged. …But even so, she couldn't stop herself from judging her own words that came from out of her mouth.

Her therapist looks down at their clipboard, tapping their pen against it, thinking. "And what did you do to help?"

She frowns, thinks. Was it really helping? Did she actually help them? Or was what she did something that only made them worse? "I would usually perform surgery on them…" Her therapist seems to have to hold back a reaction. "I'd get to the root of the problem, their mechanism, and make sure it was all up to date and working well."

Her therapist hums thoughtfully, and she stiffens before relaxing. Her therapist leans a bit forward, chin in hand. "And were their… mechanisms really the problem?"

She stops at that. Were they? She had always thought that it had to have been something with the mechanisms that were making them feel bad. They usually worked just fine, but they were still experimental tech that hadn't been used before. She just always assumed that it had to be that. The mechanisms are the clear reason, so what else could it be?

"I mean, yeah." She stops. Well, actually, a lot of times when she'd knock them out, get into their mechanism, they would be just fine, running smoothly. So if it wasn't the mechanism then what was it?

The therapist takes her silence as a cue to add, "Did there seem to be a common throughline for why they needed help? What signs were there?

"Well… they seemed okay at first. Usually right after they were mechanized there was understandable fear and confusion, but they'd soon come to find a routine. They grew comfortable on the ship. I'd take them in to check on them, their mechanisms. I think it was only after that they seemed to get worse. Did I scare them about their mechanisms too much? Did I make them worried? They always seemed so scared and worried, sometimes defensive."

Her therapist just continued to look at her, a sad look on their face. Did she say something wrong? No. No. The therapist wouldn't judge her for that. She was just judging herself too harshly.

"I mean they would usually be fine before I took them back. I'd watch them from the other room, and they would seem fine. They would talk, play games and music, and destroy stuff sometimes." She thinks fondly about those memories before continuing. "And then when I would walk into the room with the news that I needed to double check their mechanism, that's when they would get scared. They'd always back away, beg me not to take them back. I can't believe I scared them so much about their own mechanisms." She looks up to the therapist to see if they have anything to add. They just stare at her before motioning for her to continue. She does. "But… well, even when I didn't bring up surgeries, treatment, or their mechanisms, they would get scared like that often. Almost all the time. It was always when…"

Her hand flies to her mouth before she can utter the next part. A noise between a strangled yell and a cry parts her lips and she instinctively pushes her hand harder against her mouth to stop it from getting out.

Her therapist smiles sadly, nodding just slightly.

She… was the problem. They were always scared when she walked in. They were always fine right before. They always got scared when she entered. They were scared of… her.

That… she can't believe she could do something like that, make her own kids so scared of her. That was… insane. She thinks morbidly to herself that it's almost as insane as making people immortal. It was insane just as much as it was true. Her therapist had only confirmed it.

"How could I… How did I never realize?"

Her therapist looks at her hard for a moment, and she thinks she can truly see them for the first time. She's actually focused on who they are. They're a real, living person that she's just spilt her guts to. "People can get stuck in their own head sometimes. They think what they're doing is the right thing because that's all they've ever known." Tissues barely made a dent in the tears streaming down her face. They were silent, however. Acceptance could hurt just as much as any pain. "You can think you're doing the right thing, but the right thing for one person can be the wrong thing for another. Kind of like the opposite version of 'one's man treasure can be another man's trash'."

So that's why they always seemed so scared. It was her. They were scared of her. She thought she was helping them with those surgeries, with mechanizing them in the first place, but she wasn't… She had never even thought she could be the problem.

"How could I be so bad…?" Her body was a coiled wire. A coiled wire, ready to be let go and lash out at anything and everything. But, well, not anything nor everything. She just wanted to lash out at herself.

How could she fix this? This wasn't something you fixed with a handsaw, anesthetic, and some morphine.

"It's hard. It's hard to know what you're doing, especially when you never had a good example to begin with." Oh. Oh that- That makes sense. "What you did was bad-" She cringes at that but nods. It was. "-but bad things happen and people do those bad things. But that doesn't always make them bad people. Even if they were once bad, they don't have to stay that way. It's not up to you to decide if they forgive you, but you can, either way, decide to be a better person." Oh. That was nice. She… She could be better. She had all of eternity to make things better. She could do that. She could, at least, make things better than they once were. That was a promise.

"I… Thank you. Thank you very much."

Her therapist nods. "Of course. It will take time, but you can become better. You can do it for them. Just… give them time and space right now. Rushing into it will just make things worse. And… don't be scared to reach out to help on how to become better. People are working every day to better themselves. I'm sure there's many people who would respect your endeavors and could provide advice. People do fucked up things, but that doesn't have to mean they're fucked up people."

That was… Maybe she understood why people went to therapy.

Her tears had stopped rolling, thankfully having stopped before she got to the end of the tissue box. She was… glad she went here. It was a lot to hear that she hadn't been as good a mother as she had thought she tried to be, but it was nice to have confirmation that she could get better. She could do better. So much better. She could be a better mom.

She smiles and nods at her therapist and they smile back.

And… since the session was coming to a close, she could ask the therapist a question. Maybe for a little more comfort. Mostly just because she was interested. Damn that cat curiosity killed.

"Do you think the mechanisms see me as their mom?"

The therapist thinks for a second. Yeah. From what I know, I would say so." They stop, then, contemplating something. "I don't think of you as my mom, though." Oh, WHAT? Come the fuck on.

She frowns before arching a brow at that, staring him down. "...Marius, now, why would you say that?"

Marius shifts in his seat uncomfortable, clipboard still in hand, but he has stopped tapping his hand. Carmilla laughs to herself and thinks they're more weary of the gun they have on their hip, now.

"Well, I mean, you just really didn't make me like the rest, you know? You didn't make Tim, Raph or me." Marius looks at her and Carmilla looks anywhere but him, just to rile him up some more.

She looks to her left then right before pursing her lips at him, looking slightly disappointed. Marius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They seem to want to throw their hands up in the air, before thinking better of it.

"Doc, come on. You're more like a family friend than anyone else. You're like someone who pops in sometimes to see what's going on." Carmilla feigns anger at that, and Marius sighs even deeper this time, resting their head against their hand.

"Oh, so I'm just a family friend, am I? I make almost all of you, and I'm just a family friend. I see how it is, Marius." She hangs her head downcast and sniffles a bit for emphasis.

Marius closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. They open their eyes again, and level a stare at Carmilla. "Carmilla, it's just that Raph was more the one that made me and I still don't know you that well. Like, the others are definitely your kids, but I'm- we're- just not." Carmilla notices that whilst exasperated, he doesn't seem to be stressed, moreso playing along with her. But either way, it is nice to hear where the two of them stood in reference to her. She still didn't know the two that well.

"That's docteur to you, Marius." Marius gives an exasperated sound before finally throwing his hands in the air, clipboard flying to the floor. "And, I mean, would you consider Raphaella your mom?"

"What? No!" Marius' face has turned into a grimace. He looks somewhat sick.

Carmilla hides a smile, trying to keep the conversation as serious as possible. She arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Well, then, being made by someone obviously doesn't make them your mom."

"Well-" She cuts them off.

"So me creating you obviously doesn't matter here. I think it should be more about the fact that I take care of all of you and make sure your mechanisms are working just fine. Plus, I cook for you and help you when you're feeling down. And! I do that all in a motherly way." Carmilla looks proud of herself. Marius looks… confused. "So why are you so hesitant to call me mom when it's clear that's what I am to you?" She was actually a bit curious at the answer.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me! Also, wouldn't this break some type of rule in therapy if I was treating my mom since you 'are' my mom?" He's really against calling her his mom. Interesting. Either way, Carmilla isn't worried. She'll make them see she's their mom soon.

"You're not an actual therapist, Marius. If you were, you wouldn't be giving out therapy on a ship in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a license and some of your therapy sessions wouldn't include se-"

"Hey! Low blow! You don't always need a license from some big industry to be able to do something." He's red in the face but laughing good-naturedly, and Carmilla allows herself a giggle.

"You quite literally need a license to be a therapist, Marius." Marius rolls their eyes at that.

"Oh, well, I guess that means you aren't a doctor anymore because your license surely has been taken away after breaking the hippocratic oath so many times."

Carmilla's mouth drops open and she has to stop herself from blurting out a laugh. Yeah, she could get used to this Marius kid.

"Oh, Marius, you're grounded for like 3 years now."

Now it's time for Marius' jaw to drop. He stares at her, bug eyed. "You literally can't do that! You're not my mom!"

"You may not see me as your mom, Marius, but that doesn't make me any less a mom in general, so I can most definitely ground you."

"How can you even ground me on a ship, light-years away from any planet?" Marius actually looks somewhat worried.

She thinks on that for a second and then says, "You're going to be stuck in your room for 3 years, then."

"TIM!"

Dr. Carmilla glares at Marius, tapping her foot against the floor. Of course Marius has to try and use someone else to support his bullshit claim. Can't back it up on his own. She hears Tim running towards them and rolls her eyes when she sees Tim pop his head in through the door frame.

"Uh, what's up?" She asks, before looking between Dr. Carmilla sitting in an armchair and Marius holding a clipboard, glasses on his forehead, and wearing clothes that seem more business casual than his normal outfit. This was some type of therapy session then. Tim looks behind him before looking back in the room, furrowing his brows and squinting slightly. "...If you're having a therapy session, I can just… leave…" She starts backing up, seeming to not want any part in whatever Carmilla and Marius were doing.

Marius holds up a hand out to stop Tim. "No, no, nope. The therapy session is over and I need to ask you a question." Carmila sighs, looking between Tim and Marius. Marius always had to cause a scene (which was another reason why they were her kid).

Tim comes back to the door frame, but steps a bit back and out of the way, apparently scared of what he's about to be asked. Marius would either want her to come practice some type of fucked up form of therapy, or pretend he was a Baron. Which Marius really seemed to think he was even though it was obvious to Tim that Marius didn't even know where Britain was in the first place. And Carmilla, she would probably just stare at her eyes. For a long time. A long long time.

"Uh, ask away, then-"

Marius barely allows Tim to get their sentence out before asking, "Would you say Dr. Carmilla is my mom?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. Why are they wondering about the schematics of moms…? Why couldn't they just be normal and murder people? Why talk when you can… oh, she doesn't know, explode a couple planets.

"Tim." Her head snaps to Marius and her goggles zoom in on their face. He looks… serious? Well, as serious as Marius could be.

"I mean I don't really know how to answer that-"

"Tim, just answer their question so this conversation can end." Carmilla just stares at him, tired.

"Uh, well, probably not, then." Carmilla exclaims and Tim cuts her off before she can say anything. "I mean! You didn't really make him nor have you been around him for that long, so…" Tim stops, thinking for a moment, tapping their chin for added effect. "I guess you're more like a stepmother."

"A STEPMOTHER?" Carmilla yells and Tim shrugs. Marius is laughing, doubled over.

"You know, she has a point, Doc." Marius says through tears of laughter.

"A POINT? I'LL SHOW YOU A POINT, MARIUS VON RAUM-"

"HEY. CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET AN OLD-ASS TV THEY LOOTED TO WORK PROPERLY." Jonny's muffled yells can be heard from the common rooms.

They all shut up, looking between each other, barely keeping back laughs. And then they're all in hysterics: cackling, sobbing, hiccupping, rolling over themselves as they try to gain any semblance of control over their bodies. But they just can't stop, the absurdity of the conversation– the situation– making them lose it.

And Carmilla, there, in that moment, as she's shaking from laughing so hard, realizes something. Maybe Mom was less about the title, itself, and more about the experience the word describes.

#dr. carmilla appreciation week #dr. carmilla #the mechanisms #marius von raum #gunpowder tim #mom monday #fanfic #writing #short story #tw implied child abuse #tw implied child neglect #tw parental abuse #tw self-hatred #therapy session fic #jonny d'ville

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zero-a · 1 year

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people will go all "just be yourself and love yourself! :)" and then go "if you don't act the way i want, you gotta reprogram your entire way of thinking then reach into the very core of who you are and what makes you you, discard it, and replace it with this better, friendlier, more empathetic version that's coincidentally far more convenient for me to deal with than any other possible compromise we can make that you can do for me but doesn't stretch your mind to nothing but thin bands of what you'd consider 'You' :))))))"

#mine.txt #just thinking about all those 'think positively!' and 'romanticize your life!' posts #like on one hand i can see their merit cause self-hatred though instinctual is ultimately detrimental to your mental health #but on the other hand...some of them (a lot of them) are really just unashamedly asking other people to completely change themselves huh #all in the guise of ''positive thinking'' ''self-love'' and ''betterment'' no less #i suppose i shouldnt be surprised considering most people can barely grasp the concept of someone who Genuinely has muted emotions #as a natural state instead of a depressive symptom #not to mention the human quality of escalating things #so ofc tumblr which seems to currently be in its mental health recovery phase would naturally lean in so hard towards ''radical happiness''#but man sometimes i really do just wanna shake the person from behind the screen and say #'no! dont you understand! this is just how i am! stop implying that everybody who doesnt feel joy at simply waking up is a miserable hag!'#sometimes they dont even imply it they just straight up say it 💀#im honestly fine (as in idc) with seeing them but they remind me so much of those toxic positivity bitches that sell you random hoaxes #and tell you that youre ''ruining their vibes'' when youre not just beaming like the sun every waking second #well idc most of the time that is #sometimes they just trigger my szpd (and my dpd weirdly enough)#with the szpd obviously i dont like being told what to do and what to feel and having some rando assume things about me #but with the dpd its like #oh i must be doing something wrong ofc this stranger on the internet knows more about emotions and feelings than me #cause im a dumbass who doesnt Feel things therefore i must do what they say even to my own detriment #this mainly applies to those guilt-trippy ones so ive learned to steer clear of them #possibly even block the op

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equine-fanblog · 16 days

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21: What I love most about myself

well obviously its. well. hm. well i think that, no wait that doesnt work. hm. ill have to get back to you on that

#pokemon irl #pokemon rp #pkmn irl #rotomblr #pkmn rp #ask game #cw implied self hatred #//he HATES this question

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casawio · 4 months

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spike did not have to be so damn real in owls well that ends well . Im almost crying rn cause hes kind of a bpd boy just like me <- is that insane to say

#like the fear of abandonment is actually sickening If i start kinning SPIKE of all characters.....#constantly trying to win twilight's approval and then spiraling into self hatred when she implies she's disappointed in him #im reading waaay too much into a childrens comedic relief character

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kitakami-zorua-kin · 1 month

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🎤 - An audio transcript from a recording

-Audio Recording Enabled, bzzt!- “An’ I jus- I’m so tired, Super, I’m s’ fuckin’ tired of not bein’ ‘nough. I wish I was a Zorua, m’ybe then everythin’ would b’ better, l’fe would b’ easier an’ I’d be able t’ b’ happy an’ – an’ ‘m so fuckin’ sick of wishin’ I was anyone else an’ I wouldn’t wish this life ‘n anyone else, I don’ – I don’ wanna die but sometimes I wish this was like every other universe an’ Kiki an’ Carmine didn’ h’ve a third siblin’ at all, an’ I can’t think of anythin’ I’ve improved except maybe th’ Noibat c’l’ny an’ I just – I wish I was ‘s happy ‘s I pret’nd t’ b’, I wish I was lighthearted an’ silly an’ cheery an’ I’m not an’ I hate that I’m not, I hate that ‘m a liar, I wish I wasn’ everythin’ that I am, I wish I didn’ care so much ‘t makes me sick I wish I didn’ feel s’ stupidly guilty about everythin’, I wish – I wish I could stop carin’ I wish I could stop, I wish I could hate th’ people that hurt me but all I can think is that m’ybe they were right, m’ybe Car’ never shoulda stepped in m’ybe they never shoulda fished me outta th’ ocean t’ begin with maybe everythin’ would be better an’ I wouldn’ hafta deal with the lights an’ the sounds an’ – an’ everythin’ I’ve ever cared about fallin’ apart aroun’ me an’ – an’ I don’ know what ‘m doin’ wrong, ‘m tryin’, ‘m tryin’ s’ hard, why aren’t I ‘nough t’ fix things, why is m’ best never ‘nough for nothin’ why did ‘t hafta t’ b’ me, Super, I don’ wan’ any ‘f this, I wanna g’ home, I wanna have people that care an’ – an’ don’ lie t’ me, I wish m’ siblin’s cared an’ it hurts that I cared – care – s’ much an’ they didn’ care at all- an’ – an’ it’s not fair but I don’ wanna tell anyone ‘cause I feel selfish an’ sick with guilt f’r even feelin’ this an’ I feel s’ stupid an’ used an’ I jus’ – I hate it, Super, I hate it s’ much an’ ‘m sorry ‘cause I don’ wanna dump this on ya but ‘t’s eatin’ m’ alive an’ I ain’t got anyone else t’ tell ‘cause I can’ just keep dumpin’ everythin’ on Ange an’ ‘Roki ‘cause that’s just what everyone else did t’ me an’ I kinda hate them all f’r ‘t, an’ I don’ wanna do that t’ anyone an’ they both mean s’ much t’ me an’ I care s’ much ‘bout them so fast ‘t scares me an’ – an’ I jus’ – I don’ know wha’ t’ do anymore, ‘m scared an’ I keep cryin’ an’ I wish I could turn the carin’ off ‘cause it just keeps gettin’ me hurt-“

//OOC, Non-Accented Version: And I just – I’m so tired, Super (Superconduct), I’m so fucking tired of not being enough. I wish I was a Zorua, maybe then everything would be better, life would be easier and I’d be able to be happy and – and I’m so fucking sick of wishing I was anyone else and I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone else, I don’t – I don’t want to die but sometimes I wish this was like every other universe and Kiki and Carmine didn’t have a third sibling at all, and I can’t think of anything that I’ve improved except maybe the Noibat colony and I just – I wish I was as happy as I pretend to be, I wish I was lighthearted and silly and cheery and I’m not and I hate that I’m not, I hate that I’m a liar, I wish I wasn’t everything that I am, I wish I didn’t care so much it makes me sick I wish I didn’t feel so stupidly guilty about everything, I wish – I wish I could stop caring I wish I could stop, I wish I could hate the people that hurt me but all I can think is that maybe they were right, maybe Car (Carmine) never should’ve stepped in maybe they never should’ve fished me out of the ocean to begin with maybe everything would be better and I wouldn’t have to deal with the lights and the sounds and – and everything I’ve ever cared about falling apart around me and – and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, I’m trying, I’m trying so hard, why aren’t I enough to fix things, why is my best never enough for nothing why did it have to be me, Super, I don’t want any of this, I want to go home, I want to have people that care and – and don’t lie to me, I wish my siblings cared and it hurts that I cared – care – so much and they didn’t care at all and – and it’s not fair but I don’t want to tell anyone because I feel selfish and sick with guilt for even feeling this and I feel so stupid and used and I just – I hate it, Super, I hate it so much and I’m sorry because I don’t want to dump this on you but it’s eating me alive and I ain’t got anyone else to tell because I can’t just keep dumping everything on Ange and Hiroki because that’s just what everyone else did to me and I kind of hate them all for it, and I don’t want to do that to anyone and they both mean so much to me and I care so much about them so fast it scares me and – and I just – I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m scared and I keep crying and I wish I could turn the caring off because it just keeps getting me hurt-

#pkmn irl #ask russet - answered #ask game #ask russet #//:)#//man. wonder what. brought this on.#// >:3 #tw breakdown #cw breakdown #tw implied suicidal thoughts #cw implied suicidal thoughts #tw self hatred #cw self hatred #tw negative self talk #cw negative self talk #//yeah russet is straight up not having a good time right now #//whoopsies. my hands slipped. russet angst.#//let me know if there's anything else i should've tagged but i think that covers most of it #//also surprise russet voice reveal teehee. i love writing out ribbons accent its so fun to me

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humming-pokemon-helpers · 1 month

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(@works-of-magic) Hey Vanilla, I know you don't know me very well, but I wanted to stop by to say it's admirable that you came out with the truth! Everyone has done things they regret, and, well, everyone did some dumb stuff as a kid. You WERE a kid, right? I hope you don't blame yourself... Yeesh, I've seen the way Plasma talked to the public and the way they conducted themselves around other trainers. I can only imagine what it was like to be with them all the time. I hope this doesn't come across as creepy starstruck-ness, but if you ever write a memoir, I'd be interested in reading how you escaped and overcame all that! Anyways, the world has enough hatred for things that don't deserve it. I hope you don't get slammed with "bad publicity" for your past, too.

Don’t worry about knowing me or not. Better than the people who keep trying to get my comment on the news… standing outside my house… waiting for the lights to go on…

But… kid or not… I do deserve this, no? I didn’t choose to join, sure, but I chose to stay. Even when they asked me to… harm people. To separate innocent Pokémon from their human families. I didn’t even feel anything about it, for so long… it’s still kind of hard to put feeling to it, years out. Even if I eventually came around… some light flicked on inside me or something. I still bought into that for so long. I hated people.

How do you even make up for that? I guess that’s a stupid question. Even so… thanks. It’s nice to know not everyone hates me.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #ask vanilla #high stakes pokeblogging #a vision in the mirror #//there’s a lot going on here. sorry he’s a mess now #tw stalking #tw cult mention #tw self deprecation #tw self hatred #tw implied violence

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wheelercore · 8 months

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Still on my george!ted bullshit I am so ooooh delusional about "eddie with chrissy the cheerleader?" and "you think Eddie is like Ted bundy?" I don't care if the ages don't add up!!! Age my man down!!!!!

#having a case of female hysteria rn comparing images of terry ted and el and the fact that its always implied that ted grew up in a #religious home which is only emphasized by suzie telling eden 'language!' and eden sarcastically asking if shes going to hell for cursing #and it totally lines up with georges self hatred and also- [GUNSHOT]#someone hold my hand ✋️#misc

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flowersarefreetherapy · 1 year

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You Are My Sunshine: pt. 9

CW: Self-hatred, implied past violence, negative internal dialogue, past conditioning

(takes place a few days after this piece)

They had already talked it out. Robin said it was fine, Thad assured them it wouldn’t happen again, and they went to talk with the young man. Star. That is his name. Robin went to talk to him and everything was supposed to be fine. That’s how it’s supposed to work out.

But as Thad sits there, staring at his students as they laugh about something, he can’t stop thinking about the kid. And not just him, but the others they have taken in over the years. All Romantics, all pretty faces and perfect voices and calculating movements. He loves them, he really does, and he wants to help them, want them to get out of the training and the walls that have been placed around their lives, but there's always something when he looks at them. Their beauty which has kept them alive this far is a glaringly obvious difference to his scarred skin and missing hand.

“Mr. Castillo?” Philipp runs up to him, holding up his worksheet. “Lilia drawed on mine!”

Thad forces himself back into the moment and kneels down so he is on the same level as the young boy. “I’m sorry, Philipp.”

“I looked away and then she drawed on mine!”

Thad takes a deep breath and lets Philip lead him to where the other kids are sitting. The rest of the day is spent with reading and addition and no time to think. Normally he enjoys the time, but he can’t do that now. He can’t have his brain spiraling.

When he gets home, there is a pot of rice on the table, the air thick with the smell of curry. He smiles and hangs up his jacket and keys.

“I’m home, sunshine!”

“Hey,” Robin walks into the hallway. Their hair is up in a messy half bun, a few strands falling around their face. Thad recognizes the button up they’re wearing as his own; a light blue plaid. “Dinner is ready.”

“Thanks.”

His smile doesn’t last. It drops and Robin’s follows. They step forwards, gaze darting between his eyes.

“Thad? What happened?”

“Is Star here?”

Robin frowns. “He’s in his room. Why? Thad, what happened? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s nothing,” Thad says. “Well, nothing important. It’s just stupid.”

Robin reaches out and takes his forearms. Their thumbs rub across his skin, passing over scars long devoid of feeling. Thad rests his forehead against theirs, letting out a long sigh. He closes his eyes and rests in safety, allowing his muscles to relax. Whatever he is struggling with means nothing when he’s with his partner, when they can take it on together.

“Thad, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I–I’m not them.” Their question is all it takes for his barriers to come crashing down. His voice cracks on the words, his hand starting to shake. “I’m not pretty and I’m not desirable and the only thing I’m good for is fighting and killing and I don’t know how to make you happy and–”

“Thad, what-what are you talking about?”

“Them,” Thad whispers. “The others.”

Robin’s eyes widen. They’ve drawn the connections and he can see the wheels of their mind start to turn, picking apart whatever arguments he is about to throw at them.

“They were wanted,” Thad breathes, holding onto Robin’s hand to keep from drowning. His eyes burn. “They were wanted.”

He remembers seeing them through the bars he can never forget, in that dark room where the smell of blood and urine burned his nose and eyes. Grinding his teeth behind the tight muzzle they clamped around his face, watching with hatred as the pretty, clean Pets fawned over their owners, got to have fresh water in little cups, ate bright food that wasn’t mush. He hated them, hated when he looked up, standing in the middle of the ring, covered in blood and sweat with a body at his feet, and there they were, sitting there in laps, kneeling with smiles on their faces. They were loved, they got to go home to soft beds and warm blankets and a master who loved them, not threw them away at the first sign of weakness.

Then there were the ones he saw even further back, the ones he doesn’t like to think about. Surrounded by white walls and white floors and white uniforms. They were the ones all the handlers wanted to have. He remembers them standing over his body, warm blood running down his face as they talk about one of them. Words he doesn’t like, describing things he doesn’t want, all while he struggles to breathe through cracked ribs. They were the ones who got candy and gifts and their training was always better, always leaving them breathless and smiling, not screaming for mercy he will never receive.

“They are always wanted,” Thad chokes out. Blinding pain stabs into his temples. Phantom pain lances up his arm from where his hand once was. “Always! No one wants the ugly ones, the stupid ones, the dumb mutts.”

Once a dumb mutt, always a dumb mutt. You know that. Stupid, thinking you could be anything else.

“Thad, you are none of those things. You are brave and smart and funny and handsome, you are so handsome.”

Robin’s hand cups his face and Thad leans into it. He can’t remember the last time he has spiraled this far. He meets his partner's gaze, holding it as he tries to match Robin’s steady breathing.

They would make a beautiful Romantic.

Thad recoils. Where the hell did that thought come from? Bile burns the back of his throat as he struggles to recover, but he knows the truth. Their auburn hair and hazel eyes would have been enough on their own, but once their easy grace is factored in . . . Thad shakes his head, pulling his mind away from that very dangerous path. His palm sweats, his skin crawling with the sensation that he has been defiled.

“Thad, look at me. What happened?”

Thad shakes his head. It’s the most he can manage. How can he explain that to Robin? How could he ever explain the full darkness coiled inside of him to the person who loves him the most? Robin, for all their beauty and love and kindness, could never know. They know how horrible the world is, but they can never understand all he has done, all that he is capable of doing.

He looks at them and sometimes, instead of seeing his partner, he sees the fifty ways he can kill them without a weapon. He looks at them and sometimes he knows he can take whatever he wants without asking and they won’t be able to stop him. He looks at them and sees a beauty who never deserved a beast.

“Come on.” Robin leads him to the couch and they pull him close. Thad presses his head in the crook between their jaw and shoulder, tears burning his eyes. “Shh, love, I have you. You’re home, you’re safe, you’re loved. You aren’t there. You’re with me. Do you remember your name?”

He nods. He hasn’t forgotten, he just remembers more than he wants. It isn’t the answer Robin is looking for, so he forces himself to swallow back a sob and whisper, “My name is Thad Castillo. Your name is Robin. You’re my partner. I love you.”

Good mutts speak when asked questions.

“I love you too,” Robin responds. “You’re safe, Thad. And whatever is going on, whatever lies they told you, they’re just that. Lies. You have value and you are not the lies they told you.” They rub circles across his back, forcing his tensed muscles to relax. “You are not a mutt. You are a man and you are my husband.”

Good mutts have owners. Good mutts belong to their masters.

Thad clenches his hand into a fist, sharply exhaling. His wedding ring digs into his finger, pinching the skin. The moment of pain brings clarity. Robin shakily exhales, their breath ghosting across his face.

“I love you,” they whisper in his ear. “Nothing will change that. I love you, I chose you, I want you by my side for the rest of my life.”

Good mutts stay with their masters. They protect their masters.

Thad nods. It’s easier than trying to combat the lies. He nods and can feel the tension training from Robin’s body. Good. They aren’t panicking. He hates when they panic and he doesn’t know what to do.

Stupid mutt. They don’t want you. They’re smart. Why would they want a stupid creature like you?

Tagging: @pigeonwhumps @blood-is-compulsory (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#implied past violence #angst #conditioning #negative internal dialogue #self-esteem issues #bbu universe #self-hatred #bbu #pet whump #Thad #Robin #sunshine house #amputee character

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cass-evans · 11 months

Text

search party musings

THE walls are closing in.

Somewhere, underneath the panic, Cass knows this is a ridiculous thought. The walls aren’t physically capable of closing in on him, squeezing him tight. In his everyday life, despite the supernatural undertones, he deals with the mundane, the fixable. An engine breaking down. Always with a logical reason, a solution. He’s always enjoyed that part of it, something constant and never a mystery, or at least never for long. He’s sure there’s some sort of psychoanalysis waiting to happen there, some sort of convoluted explanation that he seeks the fixable to detract from the chaos of his personality or life, probably a Freudian link to the mother available to pull at and pull at until someone pulls so hard they unravel every thread of him and leave him a tangled mess on the floor. He has no interest in that, though. All Cass can think right now is that as illogical as it might sound, in odds to his usual preferences, the walls are closing in.

He’s never been a fan of small spaces, if you can call it that. He’d learned the word claustrophobia in secondary school, English class, sometime between getting kicked out of the lesson again and going back in. (His big mouth had been apparent at an early age. Unsurprising, to those who knew him, as much as he might protest that he sits more on the side of the overly defensive than the attacker.) A list of irrational fears up on the whiteboard, arachnophobia, agoraphobia, claustrophobia. And that one had made sense, suddenly, halfway through him laughing at all of the others. Made sense of the times he’d sat in that closet - a physical one, god knows Cass has always had a desire to kiss anything that moves strong enough to override any sexuality denial - and thought he was going to die from the sheer strength of his heart beating, that it might throw itself out of his chest and bust open the doors and end up splattered on the walls outside, a red mess crushed into a flat stain no longer functional. Some might say that’s the state it’s in anyway. He can understand that thought. Just as he understands that the walls are closing in on him, and he needs to get the fuck out.

Even when he’s out of the tunnels, the taste of the night air on his tongue is bitter, not filled with the sense of freedom he had anticipated. He accepts a cigarette from another pack member, but he hasn’t smoked in years and it doesn’t hit the way it once did, simply drying out his mouth and leaving an unpleasant aftertaste, ash coating his tastebuds and burning his throat, the subsequent coughing fit leaving him feeling more like a naughty teenager than a relaxed adult. He stubs it out on a wall, only half finished, and barely hears the others talking, offering lifts home. It’s like his head is underwater and everything said is above, audible and yet barely understandable as English, the calls of lifeguards wanting to help but always too far in the shallows to reach him. Down in the deep end, he silently hopes that if he stops kicking he’ll sink quickly. So often in his life, it’s felt easier to just let the water slip over him. He wishes reflexes wouldn’t kick in, that his stupid body, not even human anymore, would stop wanting to survive. Even now, he can feel himself shake his head, robotically decline help and voice a desire to walk home. He knows it’s not Cass speaking or Cass offering goodbyes to the others. The autopilot has returned to help him out of the situation, as it so often does. Maybe he should let it take over full-time. Maybe then he would know how to let people like him.

The walk home is chilly. It’s late, a cool breeze shifting through his thin shirt and through his ribcage, rattling him back to reality. He realises, as he passes into the town centre, that he has no one to go to.

There is Theo, who’s probably expecting him after the text. Theo, who’s probably stayed up just to check everyone was alright because that sort of compassion for whatever reason comes naturally to him and isn’t a forced front, a claim to be a decent person, an effort to get something more out of someone. Theo, who thinks Cass is a nice person and worries after him. It’s almost unbelievable, and he wants so badly to correct the other man, tell him how wrong he is, how Cass has never and will never be even decent. But then he’d lose him, forever.

And he’s selfish. Cass is selfish above all else and he knows it more than anything else when he goes to Theo’s house and watches movies with him and lets him cuddle up and cook for him. He is selfish when he sends flirtatious texts and tells him he looks good and that his wife missed out. He knows this because he knows he will break Theo, one day soon, and then he’ll have to watch the expression on his face change to one of loathing and god Cass dreads the day that comes. And yet he can’t quite seem to stop. He can’t bring himself to cut it off and save him. Instead, he seems to just keep going and going and he’s seen the path of destruction he leaves before and he sees it under construction now, brick by brick, and yet he can’t do anything to stop the completion of it. He doesn’t deserve Theo. And yet here he is making a mess of him anyway. No, he can’t go to Theo’s tonight. He can’t do that to himself. Not tonight.

As he walks through the neighbourhood, he thinks about the happy couples who he imagines are inside the dark houses, cuddled up together. Mars and Ryden and baby Maria Elena. Elora and the boy she’s been heart eyes like a little girl for. It seems that everyone is coupling up, slowly, and only Cass will be alone in a few months time, watching through their windows like it’s some strange aquarium he stumbled into, this strange concept of happiness with another person. Maybe he’s not suited to that, but he likes to think the truth is simpler - that he just doesn’t deserve it. There have been people before. A girl, a long time ago, that he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. Boys. More women. Theo. None will stick, none will make it past the facade into the real version of him that even he fears. He has nowhere to go tonight, and he suspects that will be the case for a long time. He’ll be called upon when he’s needed, when people need a buzz to while away their time, be it drugs or his body, he doesn’t care. He’s always a fun moment, never good for any longer than that.

His flat is cold, and unwelcoming. He lets himself in to nothing but the hum of the fridge and the sudden patter of rain against his windowsill. Cass will be alone there tonight, and that suits him just fine.

#drugs tw #implied abuse tw #claustrophobia tw #depression tw #self hatred tw #smoking tw #alcohol tw #gore tw

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