#Healing from trauma

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(Photo IDs in alt text)

(this is for everyone but especially queer, LGBT+, trans, “cringy”, disabled, fat, BIPOC/BBIMP, otherwise marginalized and/or non “normative” communities, identities, and people. we love you all 💜. ~Nico)

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[zee-rambles]

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Anatawa hitorjanai.

First I Prev I Next

[manwrre]

headcanon steve is super ultra mega overprotective of his boyfriend, billy. this, i know for a fact because he told me so literally today.

i feel like he’s one of the few people who truly acknowledges and remembers that billy’s actually younger than him?? and younger than he looks in general. outwardly, he kinda gets it— billy’s a bit above average height and has honed his body into something solid and firm. his voice carries and his attitude is reinforced by his ability to pack a freaking punch, so yea, he knows what it looks like. he knows what it feels like.

but even when billy’s all wound up and angry, all steve sees is a boy who’s had to be anything but himself for as long as he’s been alive. he sees a boy who hasn’t had anyone in his corner ever since his mom died and has been forced to fight all of his battles alone; without the comfort of support or solace.

and this remains true, even after starcourt, when billy is admittedly more vulnerable; even when he’s back on his own two feet and his sonofabitch father intends on making his life a living hell. and steve remembers the hell that billy had been put through that night—how cold he had been in his arms and logically, threatens the beat the shit out of neil hargrove.

okay, he doesn’t but he does remind him, rather pointedly, that he knows “hopper, the chief?” just to watch the smug expression bleed off of the older man’s face. he takes advantage of neil hargrove’s terse silence and helps billy pack most of his things evenly into the camaro and beemer.

and living away from neil does wonders to billy. he’s a little bit shyer, a little softer but it’s much like a child who’s been gifted this wonder and is waiting for the other boot to drop.

everyone still anticipates the blonde’s sneering and spitting but he’s the only one looking for the barely perceptible shake of his hands. he’s the only one who knows, privately, that billy’s only storming out because he’s staving off hot tears.

so when the party comes over to steve’s house for game night and billy makes himself scarce, steve knows it’s because he’d rather disappear, than possibly face their rejection or be the root of their discomfort.

he understands that billy knows how important time with the kids is for him; how much he adores them. and as the night goes on, steve realizes just how much he’s missed having them around at his. he’s glittering, gleaming— happy.

that is, until their game runs a little too late and eventually, steve hears footsteps padding downstairs.

he’s not the only one that does, though and there’s a pause in their shouting, as everyone’s heads swivel in the direction of the noise.

and there he is, halfway down the stairs and rubbing at his eyes.

billy’s pretty and groggy and steve can just barely make out how sleep-swollen his cheeks are; how soft and sweet he looks. god, he’s so in love with him. he wants to kiss him so badly— “what’s he doing here?”

and that’s all it takes for the smile to get wiped off of steve’s face. his expression shutters and he can feel it happen, knows he must look furious. “you—“ he points a finger at mike and hikes it over his shoulder. “kitchen, now.”

there’s a different kind of silence now in the room and steve doesn’t even look at billy to see exactly what his face is doing in response right now, not when he’s too busy staring mike down. and poor mike, he’s still indignant and defensive about it all as he splutters out a, “but we were all thinking it,” which just makes things worse.

and so, right then and there, he’s all, “you don’t get to come in here— into our home and make him feel less than. things are different now and you don’t have to be his biggest fan but that, you won’t do that,” clearly speaking to everyone in the room. anyway, billy’s touched, it’s all so very sweet because steve’s in his corner and they live happily ever after like all the gays should.

[dragonmermaidcrossing]

[awhkacey]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐚 𝐩𝐩𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬’𝐬 “𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲“ 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐳𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩:)

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝟑𝟎 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞:

❤︎︎ 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨��𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐜

❤︎︎ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 ’𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞’ 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭

❤︎︎ 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥

❤︎︎ 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!! 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧<𝟑𝟑𝟑

❤︎︎ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭!!! 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 ’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬’ 𝐨𝐫 ’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰’ 𝐞𝐭𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫���𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!! 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲?

𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞...

’𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠’

’𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠’

’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐬’

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 @𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐥

𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲?

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮!! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!!💗🫶

[it-wasnt-your-fault]

It wasn’t your fault

It wasn’t your fault they treated you that way, it wasn’t your fault you accepted that treatment for so long, it wasn’t your fault you were taught abuse and neglect were what love is all about, it wasn’t your fault you thought it was all you deserved, it wasn’t your fault you fell for their fake charming character, it wasn’t your fault that you just wanted to be loved.

it wasn’t your fault

[furiousgoldfish]

I had a conversation the other day, with a person who seemed to have some respect for me, but couldn't understand why I'm still having trauma symptoms, and can't be normal already. I took it as a chance to try and explain my symptoms, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears;  I was told I just needed to tell myself that 'I am a new person now', and forget about the past. The person then explained to me how they weren't always the same person either, and they would sometimes cringe at their behaviour in the past, but then they would be proud of themselves for being smarter and more reasonable today. I couldn't quite explain to them that my situation was not the same.

They gave me various suggestions like 'just don't think about these things anymore', and 'these people are not going to hurt you anymore', which I strongly doubted was true. I tried to explain that I am not purposefully thinking about it; in fact, I was doing everything to avoid it. But with intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, nightmares, and the symptoms of the dissociative disorder, I had no control over it, the past was at my throat, holding me and unwilling to let go. I could tell that they still believed I was doing it on purpose, holding on and refusing to stop living in the past.

I very rarely get a chance to talk to someone about anything trauma related, so I was originally grateful that anyone was even showing an interest at 'attempting to help me', but later when I thought about the entire thing, I got pissed off.

Firstly it doesn't make any sense for me to be 'normal', in any timeline, regardless of how much time has passed. You can't have a person living first few decades of their life in belief that their life is worthless, in environment where they're getting locked up, beaten, humiliated, tortured, threatened with death, brainwashed to believe they're not human, severely neglected, and without any kind of genuine caretaker or a parent. And then leave it to this person to 'deal with it alone', never getting any help, never even getting reassured that what happened to them was wrong. That is complete abandonment by human society, and I find it sick and twisted that this person should be expected to adhere and integrate into society afterwards, for what? This person will logically feel betrayed, untrusting, bitter, feral and unnacepting the society's standards, especially their standards for victim blaming and ignoring abuse. Society continually fails these people expects them to 'fix themselves' so nobody would feel uncomfortable about it.

Secondly why is it up to me to change as a person? I am not like this because 'I was not a good enough person', I am not the one who needs changing. I am good as I am. It's worse that after being failed in every aspect, I am now being seen as the one in 'the need of change', for not acting normal and being haunted by my past. I am not hurting anybody! I am the only one suffering from this. God forbid my reality leaves someone uncomfortable, I better try to hide it better. Which I actually do unless sometimes is actively asking me about it.

And the last bit of my anger is about making it seem like the actual problem is 'me holding onto the past', and not my life being severely different and harmful in a way that isolates me from other people. I don't have the same formative experiences other people had. I don't remember being cooed at and hugged, I don't have endless experiences of being taught that I'm important, that someone will care and intervene when I'm in pain, that the figures of mother and father are safe, warm, comforting and reliable. That childhoods are a positive and fun part of life. That families work as an environment for children to be raised on. I don't have the experiences that formed all other beliefs that this culture holds, I hold nothing sacred that is sacred to everyone else, I don't believe in the authorities, I don't believe in family, I don't rejoice with holidays, I don't want children, I don't trust religion, I feel contempt towards capitalism, I don't relate or connect to people who are receptive to any of it.

And it turns out I'm right to feel as I do. Because people in this society will actively come to me asking me to 'stop being like that', while never asking any abuser to 'stop being like that'. Victims who make them uncomfortable can be spoken down to, should be told to stop being traumatized, even in private, while the abusers just need to be 'ignored' and 'hopefully they stop doing it'. What a great plan. Surely it will fix everything.

Humane thing to do would be to approach me with awareness that I've been treated like a worthless creature and address it and allow me to act genuine about it. If I'm still feeling betrayed, abandoned and outcast from society, I should be able to express that. I deserve to react with genuine responses rather than this insane preformance art I have to do every single day to make sure nobody else is aware or uncomfortable by my peril.

[neuroticboyfriend]

if people have accused you of lying about your trauma (including claims you're exaggerating), and you think your trauma isn't that bad: it is. it's bad enough regardless of if people accused you of lying, but the reason i say this is to point out to you... if it wasn't that bad, why would you be lying? what would there be to lie about if it was normal that that happened?

people accused you of lying because they refused to accept or believe that something like that happened - happened to you. that's not your damn fault. that's on them. your trauma is real, no matter what others think. trauma is bad enough simply because you are traumatized. the events themselves don't change that.

[unwelcome-ozian]

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

[dailydiarynquotes]

[wrengrif]

As a Fandom...

Can we just normalize the fact that all of Hell and Heaven's denizens have some kind of mental/physical/both trauma?

Heaven has got brainwashing cult on lockdown and Hell is just the scene from some serial killers basement in every horror movie ever.

Both are horrible in their own way. Both have left scars on angels and demons. Both angels and demons have reacted to that trauma in very different ways.

So when I say this - and I say this with all due sincerity - can we please, please, stop wanting Crowley and Aziraphale to suffer worse than that for whatever their sins at the end of Season 2? Because either way you slice this melon of abusive behaviors, it's rotten all the way through. I don't want that for Crowley and I don't want that for Aziraphale.

I want them to get away from their equally shitty employers, and I don't want them to Hurt Anymore. I want their bad days to be like - they argued about whose turn it is to do the dishes. Or, one of them is sad because they're having a bad memory day but the other one is there to comfort them. I want Crowley and Aziraphale to get the chance to heal.

And frankly, I want that for everyone else in Heaven and Hell too.

.

.

.

.

Except Hastur. And Sandalphon. OH and the Metatron. Fuck those guys.

[zee-rambles]

———

Once you start, it’s hard to stop.

First I Prev I Next

[thatonebirdwrites]

Sneak peak on a Lena Luthor, Sam Arias, and Kara Danvers fic that has grabbed me by the throat and won't let go till I finish it

(Once I finish it, I'll throw it up on AO3.) Finished so will post weekly/bi-weekly until it's all up. Here's the link.

THE EVENT

Lena realizes something is very, very wrong when she feels the heft of a gun in her hand. The fog in her mind lifts slowly as she wrestles back her consciousness. She blinks and realizes she’s in a concrete room with a desk to one side.

But far more disturbing is her brother, Lex, who has pushed himself half-up with one arm, the other hugging his abdomen. The gun she holds points at him. Blood dribbles from his mouth. He laughs, and his words swim through the fog in her brain.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very people you fight to protect. Do you know their truth?” He reaches up to grab a remote and turns on the televisions that make up a wall of the bunker.

Lena breathes in sharply. Bunker?

No, no, she can’t be alone with Lex. Bad things always happen.

Panic rises like bile in her throat. Her brother is speaking again, but his words can’t penetrate the growing haze in her head. She blinks at the televisions, but it blurs into a mosaic of color and faint soundscapes.

Her thoughts spark and sizzle like a broken circuit. She hyperventilates, lightheaded, as tears sting her eyes. The gun’s weight pulls her arms down. The fact her brother is bleeding out in front of her, while laughing, alarms her.

He believes this is checkmate. It’s not. Please, let me handle this.

The thought laces through her alarm and comforts her. The confidence in her other self dismantles her rising panic. Just like the last time in Kasnia during the self-destruct sequence. Time had warped for her, the fog saturated all awareness, until she woke in the cool air, the sky studded with stars. In her hands was an air duct grate, her clothes rumpled, one heel broken, and streaks of dirt on her legs and arms.

Oh.

Her other self must have fronted like in Kaznia. What is the last things she remembers? She briefly closes her eyes.

She had been escorted by armed guards to where her brother and Lillian waited in the Presidential room at the White House. Listened in horror at her brother’s rant of his victory over aliens. Saw evidence of Supergirl’s death. The terror that grabbed her by the throat had the fog boiling through her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she could not escape the Luthors.

Then nothing. Time evaporated until she wrestled her way out of the suffocating fog.

And here she wakes in a bunker, a gun in her hand, and her brother bleeding out in front of her.

“Do you see the lies they’ve woven? How they’ve abused your trusting nature? Your broken mind?” he continues with another irritating laugh.

He seeks to manipulate us again. Trust us. Lean into our anger.

Lena takes a steadying breath. That’s right. Her anger and horror at his brutal experiments and murder of aliens. The prison couldn’t hold him, cutting off his assets also failed — all facts she has factored into her calculations.

But this exact scenario is supposed to be the last resort. Her stomach curdles, bile on her tongue. Kieran, wait, what of the other plans?

We had to end the cycle, Lena. Otherwise, he’ll never stop coming.

Stop being cryptic. What the hell happened? She needs to reassess. There must be a better solution. She can still repair this somehow. Seek the Truth. Focus.

Fine. I confronted him and injected Harun-el as we agreed. He demanded we join his genocidal crusade. We are not his tool anymore. The solidity of the decision warms her from head to toe, even as her heart shatters at the sight in front of her.

Lena clears her throat and summons what strength she has left. “You’ve abused me, Lex. You have no ground to stand on.” She tries to avoid looking at the wall of televisions, for what is surely a cleverly crafted way to destroy her yet again. Like he always does. Her lip quivers, and she blinks back the urge to cry.

“Me? Your trusting brother?” Lex laughs then coughs blood into his hand. “I’ve given you the world, Ace. Only ever been truthful. Honed your skills. Do you still not see the truth? I’ve laid it out for you this time, you stubborn fool!”

Colors leech into grey in her periphery. Her limbs feel puppeted by her other self still. A rare moment of synergy but it leaves her nauseous and her head aching in a growing migraine.

“They’ve all been lying to you,” Lex continues as he laughs and spits up more blood. “Preying on your weaknesses.”

That’s you, Lena thinks. You’ve preyed on us.

But her curiosity overwhelms her, and she can’t ignore the televisions any longer. The scenes capture her gaze, and her ears roar with the orchestra Lex has woven into the security footage he’s stolen. Half the screens are footage from when Mercy attacked L-corp.

<<.....>>

Lena turns to Kara desperately. “No, Kara, you’re safer with me.” She can feel the grey fog pulling her toward the dark maw of her psyche. She reaches out to grasp Kara’s arm, the fabric of her cashmere sweater soft and comforting. As the emergency light goes off again, she slips deeper into her mind’s tumultuous seas.

Kieran rises forward, and her body transforms. Her shoulders straighten, her limbs more agile, her stance that of a fighter. Commands issue from her voice, but Lena can no longer discern meaning.

She wraps herself in the cold of shadows.

Time hiccups and coughs. Shots echo like thunder, safety doors drop like quakes, and the clatter of heels click against metal.

Is Kara okay? She needs to know. She swims through grey fog, until she pushes into consciousness again.

An uncomfortable weight hangs on her arm. Kara stands behind her, but Mercy holds the bigger gun of the Lexosuit. Fear curdles her stomach. Of course Mercy would hack through security to reach her experimental prototypes. Lena had built a lighter suit to be used for good. Not like this.

Lena, don’t. Let me handle this. Kieran’s smug confidence scratches into her thoughts.

Kara is still here!

Lena, we don’t have time to argue. Kieran surges to the front, and Lena watches as her body moves to block Mercy’s shot. “You did not see the upgrade. The arms hold more goods now.” A hint of excitement sweeps through her voice, the onset of a fight a thrill for Kieran, while Lena nears a panic.

Please, get Kara out of here. Lena struggles to keep them moving backward. Kara is behind her still, the door to the lab just a few feet away.

I said let me handle this. Anger filters through Kieran and burns against Lena’s presence.

Lena throws open the door. “Go, Kara.” Kara stumbles backward into the hallway, and she slams the door shut. The fog sears through her mind, Kieran’s anger pushing her back.

A blast tears through the air, but Kieran blocks the shot with their shield.

Except, Lena can’t let go fully. Kieran blocks and shoots, but Lena fumbles with the footwork. Kieran’s the fencer, not her. Mercy spars not only with the gloves but with caustic words. Kieran fights Lena for control, their dodging clumsy, their shots missing.

The fight warps and fizzles in her mind; the fog screeches through Lena’s consciousness.

She fumbles. Slams against metal.

“You aren’t deserving of the Luthor name,” Mercy says, her poison like barbs that sink into Lena’s insecurities.

Heat beams destroy the door, and Supergirl blasts into the room. Mercy is slammed against the wall, Supergirl’s arm against her throat. “No, you got that backwards,” Supergirl hisses, “the Luthor name isn’t deserving of Lena.”

Warmth floods through Lena at the strength and resolve in Supergirl’s words. A massive turnaround from the worldkiller crisis.

Stay focused. Don’t let your guard down until Mercy’s off the property. Kieran releases her hold, and Lena stumbles, back in full control. Already her mind shifts into overdrive to plan the exact route to verify the security of her building and her people.

<<....>>

This is a repeat of the Mercy incident. Where Lena couldn’t let go, and both of them co-fronted. It sparks a migraine, the grey in her periphery darkening, and her nausea worsening. She hates moments like this.

Let me handle this. We have him in a checkmate. The confidence in Kieran’s analysis softens the panic that has started to freeze her limbs. We know the Truth.

If there is one thing that unites Lena’s fractured psyche, it is an overwhelming need to protect those she loves. And her own brother has nearly killed her and her friends a dozen times over.

She’s exhausted, terrified, and wants this endless game of his to stop.

Lena raises her gun and shoots the televisions one at a time. The shards explode outward and rain down on her brother.

For once, Lex shuts the fuck up. His eyes widen.

The fog burns away the rest of her awareness.

She stumbles across wet grass, her clothes wet and clinging to her body, as the heavens pour down upon her. She’s outside the bunker in a stand of aspens. The sky sparks with lightning, the greyness suffocating.

You’re safe now. We all are. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

Lena shouldn’t dig deeper. She knows it’s not healthy. Kieran has always protected her, held the worst of the horror. It’s how they’ve survived this far.

But this was her brother. And those screens showed Kara as not human. It makes no sense with what Kara claims. How does she reconcile it all?

Kieran, what did you do?!

What was necessary. Kieran’s confidence holds a trickle of grief and pain. We must seek help now, Lena. Focus.

She feels strange, unreal, like a pantomime of herself. The urge to lie in the mud, to let the rain wash her away, nearly overwhelms her. She pushes off a trunk and stumbles forward. Her hair falls in front of her eyes, sticking to her forehead and cheeks.

The images from the televisions ripple through her thoughts. Is that the Truth?

Yes. Now focus, Lena. We must call her.

Has Kara been deceiving her this whole time? She doesn’t want to believe it.

She’s given Kara her heart, far more than she ever meant to do, and yet, those videos sync with the disjointed mess of her memories. Bits and pieces that Kieran has held for her, scattered shards unlocked like the showers above.

Wait, did you know? Shock starts to shiver through her body.

That’s not important now. Call her.

Lena stumbles and falls. Her hands push into the mud and the world crackles with thunder. It’s too loud. Too bright.

It's all so wrong; she gags and spits out bile.

She wishes Kieran would take over again, to call for her, but her protective self has faded from awareness. Fatigue throttles all of her.

Her brother is likely dead in the bunker. By her own hand. Tears mix with the rain and her fingers dig into the mud. Her senses crackle with pain. She feels herself shrinking. The hairs on her arm raise, goosebumps from the cold, her body vibrating into oblivion.

She wants to go home.

Call her now. The thought is weaker, laced with grief.

“I know. I know,” Lena says it out loud to ground herself. To stop the shrinking, to avoid the inevitable pull of a switch. She shudders and leans against the trunk of a tree.

Focus on the goal. Break it into smaller steps.

She hugs her legs to her chest with one arm. Her other hand fumbles through pockets of her suit. Too many. Suit so wet. She feels slimy, gross, slipping toward the warmth of shadows.

Her fingers grasp he phone in her inner suit jacket. There’s two numbers on speed dial: Sam and Kara.

Her fingers hesitate over the two. She bites her lip, closes her eyes, and hits the button for Sam.

(To be continued on AO3, will edit in the link or drop in comments once up.) Note, this playlist was on repeat as I wrote this piece: Shattered Playlist

Edited.

[ruminate88]

”The pain of realizing everything you felt and cared about was all a lie. You’ve been played and now you don’t know your own reality.”