#Tw Identity Crisis

[diddykitty746]

Deltarune sketchpad

[groupalpha]

Warning! This comic has an act of killing and blood!

Comic under cut!

TA: ... This.... I... remember this place. I...

TA: I hated it here... they... they put me in that thing.

TA: ... I.. wasn't supposed to be here... I wasn't... I don't even recognize myself anymore... does that even matter? I... no... no no no no...

TA: ... I.. gosh I just.. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

TA: ... I need to find a way to shut this place down...

TA: ...Bubbles?

TA: Bubbles?

TA: Bubbles?!

TA: BUBBLES!

TA: GET OFF OF THEM!

...

TA: Bubbles... I... I don't think I can take you with me.

TA: Not after this... I don't want to see you hurt again. I.. I think you understand. Right?

I think you know, so... please. Find a safe spot until I come back, alright?

...

TA: Bubbles... Thank you for being with me the entire time... I don't think I could have done this without you.

Please... be safe for me.

Bubbles is no longer available for asks

[starry-skies-116]

I see your 'Cody is Onyx Prime reincarnated' theory, and I raise you:

Cody being the only adopted child of the Burns family- a child that doesn't remember his past. His conscious can't recall anything- but his body never forgets.

The date is March 7th, 2008- the time is 9:43 PM EST. Just off the coast of Maine, soldiers glimpsed a meteor shooting overhead.

Alarmed, they run to investigate the sight, only to find a giant crater in the middle of the densely packed pine woods that decimated nearly nine yards of plant life. At the center is a giant block of ice glowing from inside, the silhouette of a boy no older than three or five years old slumbering inside.

The scientists at Griffin Rock's laboratory propose advanced cryogenic preservation as an answer to the ice's existence.

The ice itself takes weeks- even months- to fully melt. When Cody wakes up in Griffin Rock's laboratory, he's not yet Cody Burns- he's a child without a name, without memories- cold and hungry and scared, unable to stop silently crying in terror.

There's no tag, no form of identification on him. He can't speak- can't yet understand the words being said to him. For the first three years, he's raised in the laboratory, being taught basic math and English. Then the Burns Family comes along and adopts him.

Cody remembers the first day he came home. He remembered all the different outfits he tried on- all the different pasts he tried to imagine for himself. He'd pretend to be the prince of a bygone world, or an infant launched from a deserted and wartorn planet- but none of those personas seemed to stick.

He becomes utterly attached to the camera the first time his father shows it to him- his bedroom's bookshelves become filled with photo albums, each page packed with countless laminated photos. Other quirks begin to develop- like him wearing an archery glove wherever he went.

A nameless child, endlessly chasing the sea and the stars with aching limbs and a mind full of questions- then Cody Burns.

And before...?

Nothing- just feelings, colors, sensations. Tears that drop onto the back of his hand. Some days, when he looks into the mirror, he feels the sudden urge to drive his fist into the glass, shatter it and cry out to the world.

I don't recognize myself.

Static all around, everywhere- filling his ears, filling his lungs. Filling our lungs- my lungs.

Thoughts turn to mush, hands tremble without will.

Where does he end and I begin? Make it stop.

Please.

Make it stop...

[decaffeinated-heads]

can I get some lore or context for your oc? Pop, right? What’s their deal?

Thank you for asking about Pop💥 Their lore isn't heavily tied to the timeline of the mega man classic games; sorry if their story is cliche or dumb

Pop is the creation of a doctor by the alias of Dr. Rose. The doctor has her own lab with many assistants (robot and human), because the labs main intention is to make Joe robots for the city. Dr. Rose believed that she was capable of making more than weaponry and military-grade bots. She'd been put down by other's for her more frowned upon ideas, and so when she was offered the opportunity to make her dream a reality, she took it.

One of the assistants to Dr. Rose was actually the parent to Pop, but she didn't want the baby. The doctor was quite persistent in wanting to care for the child even before it was conceived, and was the doctor that helped the woman give birth. Dr. Rose's plan in doing this was to ensure that no outside hospital knew of Pop's existence.

Dr. Rose used Pop more as a test subject for her ideas rather than really caring for them. They weren't reated poorly, but more like a pet fish that a human child: They were fed the same three meals and was checked up on from time to time. Dr. Rose would "upgrade" parts of them, making Pop only partially human. Dr. Rose intended for Pop to be some form of superhuman, and it she was successful in creating them, then she can present them as a prototype in hopes to make more. Pop would escape from the lap before the final upgrade was installed, fearing their identity being altered and yearning for freedom. Because they aren't exactly human anymore, they question where they belong and who exactly they are now.

Pop has witnessed cartoons and shows that show what the world looks like, and they grew to want a normal life outside of the lab. When they escaped, they were alarmed to see the amount of humans and robots. They stole a few articles of clothing from a mall, and are hiding from Dr. Rose's robots she sent to look for Pop. Pop doesn't have much knowledge of the outside world, and is fascinated by more simple and mundane parts of life.

(Dr. Rose is kinda based off of Dr. Gross from adventure time... just a little)

That's their lore ig💥 it's not alot and it's lame but yea💥

[aidsyouinthinking]

I’ll be your marble statue

I know no better in rock face I lay, But my supple stone shines strongly you say. What parts define me, will I ever know, You carve out some, is that me? I guess so. If some part of me causes one appal, You will chip it away, and nearly all. Change what you like, I hate all of me too, If you point it out, I’d agree with you. Now I resemble a much better form, Although what is “better” you do inform. ---------------------------------------------- Hey so, I'm gonna be more attentive to in the future, and prob add tw to older poems, As I realise that it's quite important, and defo should be included. Soz if the lack of tw has caused problems for anyone!

[the-hype-on-tv]

i feel safe in this acc to vent sometimes so....

(cw for existential and identity crisis, depersonalization and dissociation, a bit of religious stuff as well)

since yesterday I've been feeling a bit... off. before that as well, probably.

I'm not sure how it started, but i remember i was trying to write my thoughts down, and suddenly i couldn't hear my voice

you know, the little voice in your head narrating what you're reading? like right now? i couldn't hear it the way i usually do...

it was tyler's. and that didn't exactly upset me, but i just... it felt weird. i was writing my thoughts and feelings, it felt weird to hear someone else's voice saying it instead of mine

i tried writing about it even more (if that ain't clear yet that's how i express myself) but the more i tried to write to get a hold of myself, of who i am, the more i heard his voice instead of mine and that began to anger me

I'm not him, i could never. i get this thing that when i like someone too much I'll contemplate what being them feels like. what having their life instead of mine would feel like. but it always happens with close people, never to someone I've never seen irl

my words twisted into rap music and that was the last straw to me, because then i wanted them to have a melody behind, and a whole song, but guess what? I'm tone deaf. i can't create and sometimes even play music unless i follow it by the sheet, I've tried it before

I'll never have what he has, be that a supporting best friend who understands me even in my dark days or even the ability to express myself, to be someone

i do art as well, but recently I've been in an art block and i wondered... what if this is the end of me? if I can't create, do i even exist?

it makes no sense, probably, but I can't understand how people live without creating stories or art or something to let others know what they think somehow... that sounds insane to me even tho I'm aware it happens

i felt useless these days, but it didn't bother me as much, i can be happy being useless, i can live with it

this morning at church however, the feeling started to bother me again. like hands around my neck holding my voice, because it isn't my voice, if it's not original it doesn't exist

I don't wanna go into details of what happened (no specific reason) but holding onto you was stuck in my head like a loop. "tie a noose around your mind" it kept repeating like a broken record... "tie it to a tree... this ain't a noose this is a leash... now you must obey me...."

long story short, I'm convinced god and tyler have some sort of direct connection or something (/j) cuz the pastor says basically the same thing with other words

and i still don't really feel like myself, I'm still tone deaf (I'm learning; today i achieved playing twinkle twinkle little star by ear only) and still not original, but i know it's gonna be okay

it's weird how this band gives me such a bittersweet feeling whenever I'm going through something lol

[sansxfuckyou]

Me, Myself and I (she's not real, it's not true)

Summary: Your gift is a curse, is it even yours? Or is it simply being passed from person to person, you don't even know what you like anymore; just a curly haired teen? A giddy child? A confused girl who can't get out? In essence, they're all you, everyone is.

Warnings: Identity Crisis, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: Watched Encanto again, forgot how much angst potential was packed into this boy, convinced to actually write it by @sobredunia who has the magic touch when it comes to making me write shit, and the direction I was going with the gender bit was less on the transgender end of the spectrum, but more of the, what you could've been end of the spectrum, reblogs are always appreciated.

You look in a mirror, you don't know what you see.

You don't know who you see, every morning it's different, 'me myself and I' the therapist said; the therapist is wrong.

You're not her, you're not it- you're not Mira, you're not Camilo, you are Camilo, but Camilo is not needed, like Mira.

You aren't needed, Abuela is needed, Pepa is needed, Julieta is needed, even Bruno is needed; but you aren't, who you can become is what's really needed. You'll be given a list of everyone elses chores, and you'll do them under the guise it really is Mira playing with the neighbor kids, it really is Julieta washing the dishes even though it never is.

It's you, it's you, it always has been you. Has it really?

Felix gives you chores, you, she, it, 'me, myself and I,' one of whatever exists within will do it, but all of it is you, and none of her is you; you've lost yourself. If yourself even exists underneath the never ending life of lies you uphold for The Family Madrigal, for The Encanto and for the love and respect of those you hold so dearly despite knowing they only need you for what you can be- not for what you are.

And each morning you know it to be truer and truer as you look in the mirrors, none of them reflect you anymore, they only reflect what you're supposed to be, meant to mimic. The local seamstress, a mother in need, anyone and everyone but you, and then there are faces you don't recognize from the town, and faces that aren't human.

You see yourself, eyes emerald, hair curly, frame thin, everything so close to the same except for the fact you aren't wearing what you always do; you're wearing a dress that you've memorized. The top piece is white, the sleeves are short, the waist has a sash with chameleon sigils, the skirt is sunflower yellow, and you look so good in that dress, but she isn't you (Is she, was she supposed to be?). In another mirror you see a distorted child, crouching down to be at eye level, pressing hands together, knowing it is you, it was you, knowing it could still be you; grinning and failing the family so blissfully. You tell the child everything will be fine, nothing will go wrong and too never stop smiling despite knowing that child has a future that will change it forever for the worse- and the child can only stare at you, knowing its fate despite being so young.

This room, this cell, and this prison is all yours, everyone of the Family Madrigal resides in it, its everyones all at once, yet Casita doesn't treat them like prisoners. You know its not on purpose, you know your gift reflects in your room, you're far too aware of the fact that no matter how many mirrors you smash you're only making more. Shards of broken glass swept up as glass reforms, pulls together, lets you to see into your soul and to see nothing left but a hollow vessel that's bursting at the seams with how much of nothing fills it. It's just you, whatever components of what you really are left over, that's what there is, the girl, the child and you, she's not real, it isn't the truth.

You, Camilo Madrigal, the shapeshifter who makes everyone smile, have an empty purpose because they don't want you, and you know it chips at your self esteem every time you think that, but its true, its true, its true. Nobody needs Camilo, they need everyone but you, you're everyone but Camilo at this point, you fill roles when they can't be there to do it themselves.

'Me, myself and I,' you'll never know them, not if they never existed in a way you could understand.

You're just a chameleon, but a chameleon knows itself.

---

Waking up, you find yourself not even bothering to glance in the mirrors, none of them show what you think is you, nor will they ever because you don't exist. Why should you exist if no one wants you around, you're just a fun-house mirror that shows everyone what they want to see, and no one wants to see you anymore.

Breakfast is slow, you stay quiet, giving your two cents here and there like you always do, dread sinking in even further because breakfast is almost over and you haven't asked you of anything. You refrain from grabbing seconds, you'll get in trouble if you do that, you simply stay seated and wait for Abuela to give you a chore as she lists off tasks for everyone, skipping over you. Luisas dealing with the donkeys, Isabella has to help a farmer, Mirabel is babysitting a group of kids, and you're left without anything to do.

"Abuela?" You pipe up, tone firm, tone sharp, tone unwavering, you've become used to picking and choosing your favorite parts of everyones voices.

"Yes Camilo?" Abuela asked, turning to you.

"What about my job?" You ask, fork migrating to Dolores plate, she doesn't seem to notice as you nab some of her food.

"You don't have one today, theirs nothing the town needs from you right now," Abuela answered with, cracks in your vessel spread as she confirmed your fears, you refrained from tearing up.

"Okay, what should I do than?" You ask, unable to help the pleading tone in your voice, guidance direction, you don't know much of what you're supposed to do when theirs nothing your gift can do for you, for everyone else.

"You should help Bruno for the day," Dolores said, perfectly repressing her expressions, the Madrigal in question perked up at the mention of his name.

"Lovely idea, Dolores," Abuela said, smiling softly as she stood, everyone else following suite and filtering out of Casita, Bruno swift in his attempt to leave, you followed like an orphan duckling, still unaware of who Bruno needed for the job.

And so you followed Bruno, patiently waiting for instruction as you scaled stair after stair, he was simply mumbling to himself. The top of the stairs was to say the least, the most welcoming sight of the week, you took a seat. It was weird, doing anything and being yourself, whatever part of yourself you liked to reflect, and you weren't sure if you liked it.

"So, Tío Bruno, who do you need on the job?" You asked, stretching out your arms a little bit.

"Ah, you followed me up here, of course you did, I don't need help, but you can help if you want to," Bruno said, you quirked a brow.

"Okay, but, who do you want on the job?" You asked again, changing your words ever so slightly, this man, one generation before you, surely understood the question.

"I want you too help me drain my Vision Cave of sand so I have somewhere to give visions," Bruno said again, adding more information, you still didn't understand it entirely.

"Right, so... Luisa?" You asked, shifting your form to your older cousin Luisa, Bruno groaned.

"No, guess again," Bruno said, you shifted to Mira, he shook his head, Isabella, he shook his head, Dolores or Tonito, two shakes of the head, you give up.

"Just tell me who you want help from so I can help," you practically begged, unable to just trust that anyone out there could want your help, not someone elses.

"Come back once you figure it out, and bring a broom, there is a lot of sand up here," Bruno said, pivoting on one foot before heading further into the cave, his rats following close in line, leaving you alone, "talk to Julieta, she might be able to help."

You tried to stutter out a response, but nothing wanted to come out no matter whose voice you picked. So stubbornly, you turned to leave, pivoting on foot like Bruno, huffing a bit as you started on your trek back down all those fucking stairs.

---

You're panting when you make it to the kitchen, finding your Tía Julieta prepping a meal, she takes note of your existence by calling you over. You follow, gripping the edge of the counter for support, legs numb and shaking, a bruise here and there from when you tripped, a small cut on your face. Julieta hands you an arepa, fresh off the heat, you take it gratefully, trying to eat slowly despite how tempted you are to just wolf it down; be polite, don't be crass, you wipe your hands down on a stray towel.

"Aren't you working with Bruno, sobrino?" Julieta asked, turning to face the food on the counter, back to prep work, but you know she's at least half listening.

"He sent me off when I couldn't guess who he needed for the job, I have to bring him a broom soon," you explained, nibbling away at the morsel in your hands, delicious as always, "he said you might be able to help me figure it out."

"I don't know how much help I can be, but I'll try sobrino," Julieta said, flipping a few of the arepas on the stove before turning to you.

"He just kept saying that he wanted my help, not someone elses, which is not only estúpido, but confusing, no one wants my help, they just want copies," you explained, hoping that Julieta could even attempt to get it, to make sense of what Bruno was saying, she didn't respond right away.

"Well, Camilo, have you considered he could actually want your help?" Julieta asked gently, you gave a tilted look before responding.

"No ones wanted my help since I was five, all everyone has ever wanted in this town is everyone elses help when they can't be around, no one wants my help Tía Julieta," you explained, her expression sunk a bit, you spoke again before she could try and comfort you, "I know everyone in this town better than myself, I could be your perfect pal, be everyone in this town, but it'll never be me."

"Camilo, that's not true," Julieta said, you raised a brow at her, as though waiting for her justification for such a bold statement, "it feels that way, but we do want you around, we promise."

"This isn't even me, I look in a mirror and I don't know who I see, it's not me I know that much, I see what I'm supposed to be, what everyone needs, and no one needs me," you unraveled, trying to make it clear, trying to make your Tía understand, she wouldn't get it though, no ones gift was a curse in the same way yours was, "I don't even know why I'm telling you this, you aren't even mamá."

"That's because you're supposed to be everyone, you are everyone, you're one of the strings that keep this village held together, more so than some of the other Madrigals; you're a mirror," Julieta explained, trying to comfort your case of mistaken identity, your case of just not knowing anymore, "thank you for telling me."

"That's the problem, I'm the mirror, the truest mirror in town, and because of that, no mirror can reflect myself back at me, mirrors just show me everyone else I'm meant to reflect- I'm no chameleon, just a piece of broken glass," you said, pace hastening, heartrate picking up, digging deeper into your twisted psyche of never knowing what they'll need but knowing it won't be you, Camilo Madrigal.

"Stay here, watch the arepas," Julieta instructed, you nodded before she left, snagging a second arepa, regretting not having eaten enough this morning.

Her footsteps receded further and further until you couldn't hear her anymore, leaving you to yourself to stare at your own broken reflection of a curly haired girl in a dress looking back at you from the flattop. You smiled a little bit, you liked her, the child started to look back at you next, you had to refrain from holding out a hand to it like you always did, not wanting to get that many burns. Soon enough their reflections faded out, what you could've been and what you were, leaving only you behind; footsteps, rapid footsteps, you looked up to find Pepa clearly distressed, carrying a small hailstorm with her.

One moment your getting ready to say high the next you're no longer on the ground and the air is being squeezed from your lungs by Pepa, and you wish you were confused as to why. She doesn't let go, even why you try to nudge away, hail stinging as it hits, like ice against your neck, and she's crying a little bit. You know exactly why, Julieta told her everything, hail turns to a drizzle and she doesn't notice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry we let you feel like that," Pepa sobbed out, continuing on in a similar fashion as she let you down, using her forearm to wipe her tears.

"No, mamá, it's perfectly fine, deep breathes," you said, trying to reassure her and ease her frayed nerves in one go, somehow managing one of the two.

"It's not fine, Abuela caused this, she let everyone use you, I'm so sorry Camilo," Pepa said, sniffling a little bit as the rain cloud started to fade just barely.

"Mamá, I promise you, everything is okay," you said, she gave a questioning look, you nodded a little bit.

"I'll make sure the rest of the familia knows," Pepa said, already determined to make sure her boy could smile earnestly once again, you shook your head.

"Please don't, it's fine if they don't need my help," you said, she went to speak again, you spoke first, "I don't want them to worry."

"Alright, I won't tell anyone except for Bruno," Pepa said, pulling you in for one more hug before turning to leave you alone with your reflection again.

And when you looked at it, looked at the hollow reflection, you saw a part of yourself you always did, the two looked a little bit better though; a bit more alive. You didn't know why they looked healthier, you weren't sure if you ever would be able to perceive your 'me, myself and I' the way everyone else does, but it doesn't matter. They don't looks so forlorn, and the childs distortion has begun to fade and its just a little bit of your own miracle.

You smile and wave as though they're separate people.

And you see the you that everyone else does smiling and waving back at you, colors stuck in sepia and grayscale, distortion strong- but it's you.

[shameless-pug]

I wouldn't be surprised if the 10th/14th doctor had a full-blown identity crisis in the 60th anniversary

[hi-its-meg]

Just casually wasting my life

[aphroditestummyrolls]

I’m having A Time™️

[groupalpha]

Malg, do you really think you can do all this alone?

TA: I... I don't know... I don't even know much about myself...

TA: I Don't even know what I was... I...

...

What... what... I...

I don't know...

TA: I don't know at all...

[starry-skies-116]

Dual Soul (An Omori AU Fanfic)

Mari is alive, and all is well... or is it truly? Something feels off...

***

Sunny Suzuki had always known from the beginning that he was never truly alone.

Of course, he had his older sister, Mari- his sweet, beloved big sister Mari with eyes that shone like dark honey and chocolate glimmering and melting in a golden dawn’s sunlight. Mari, with her perfect dark hair and her most vibrant of smiles and her melodious voice that always managed to calm him down from the worst of situations, always managed to tease him out of the most solemn of moods.

Even amidst the yelling and shattering of glass, amidst the crying and doors furiously slamming, amidst the scarring beratings of his father and the complaints and wails of his mother as their family had fell apart slowly, he had Mari. Someone Sunny deeply treasured, someone he loved and admired and adored, respected endlessly with seemingly not the slightest hint of envy. Their love flowed for each other pure and clean, too clean, like a river in the most beautiful of springtimes. She was his tether, and he swore to protect that love- compartamentalize it and keep it forever with him so he could have a father and a mother to take care of him.

Mari- wise and regal, clever and playful. His beloved, dear Mari. Mari, without a flaw- so benevolent and kind. Perfect, perfect Mari.

Sunny trusted her with everything, would give her anything- every ounce and pore of him for her. And some strange whispers in his mind that had long since coalesced had solemnly agreed.

You and her are everything to me. 

He and Mari had shared everything, too- a bedroom, small and cramped yet customized to their liking. Mari’s side had become copiously decorated with little trinkets and medals, books and trophies adorning her shelves, a closet that they shared stuffed to the brim with their belongings all stacked into boxes, Sunny’s plushies arranged into neat little rows on his bed and comic books adorning his shelves alongside the few novels he actually found not-so-tasteless. 

Yet he sometimes would remember falling asleep on his bed on lazy Saturday afternoons and wake up to find one of Mari’s ornate, sophisticatedly designed bookmarks placed near towards the end of a book he never remembered even picking up, with no memory of how much time had passed. 

How exactly did such an odd occurrence happen so often? And why did other people possess the memory of him supposedly eagerly devouring all the content that lay within the folds of every page, but all he saw was a blank darkness when trying to retrieve that same memory?

That is also how Sunny knew that he wasn’t ever alone- not even in his own head.

That had brought Sunny to the thought of the buzzing of an endless space of white in his mind: they had always lived in the idyllic, perfect, sleepy suburban community of Faraway Town, Nevada; his forever home, where his heart lay, and for as long as he could remember, that endless white space had been there alongside the voice of what he could only presume to be an imagined friend that he would frequently chat with.

Although the imaginary friend didn’t feel imaginary- no, they felt almost every bit as real as Sunny was, sans the appearance of them in the real world.

Sunny had remained there whilst he slept, outside of the confines of a physical form, enveloped in an endless warmth that felt like sunlight trickling onto his back like the mist of a golden wave. While he was there, he felt comfort in the way he existed as a form of consciousness, having lengthy and engaging conversations with the presence, another consciousness so different and yet so intertwined with his, that he felt like he could trust it just as much as Mari. 

The two friends had conversations that went on and on- they droned on about the black dahlia, the tapestry of stars upon the night sky, Captain Spaceboy, picnics under the sunset, the myth that was the inconsequentiality of life and all it’s decisions, Japanese pastries, steak, and the list only continued to grow with every night that left Sunny with a melancholy feeling when morning came. And after a few conversations had passed, the voice had decided to name itself Omori, after the name engraved on the piano in the church they would attend every Sunday- the piano that Mari had always taken an intense fascination to. He still remembers the humming in satisfaction at them choosing the name.

Mari and his parents had laughed and encouraged such a ‘vivid imagination’ in Sunny, too, which made him feel all warm and fuzzy within, but also quite odd. Was Omori merely a product of his boundless creativity that many in Faraway Town would so often praise? Would that explain why he could also sometimes hear it during the day in the back of his mind, idly chattering and murmuring about in babbles only he could understand and conjure up a reply to?

Sunny supposed it was- but it didn’t feel imaginary more than it felt surreal. Not with the way that Omori had such a tangible presence, likes and dislikes and worldviews that sometimes coincided with his but were also separate from his on many occasions. Not with the way Omori possessed a consciousness and curiosity, was capable of learning and behaving uniquely and thinking and feeling exactly like a human being and felt like a fragment and yet a separate person at the same time.

Not with the way Omori felt like a real, genuine person that had trembled into existence at some time, and then into awareness whenever Father had yelled at him or whenever anything else rather upsetting happened that made him feel all icky and foggy, about and near-willing to slip into either utter darkness or that same white space he saw in his dreams behind fluttering eyelids sealed shut. 

Sometimes the interactions warranted him to think out loud, speaking to what others could only presume to be himself, even despite the few interactions scattered between periods of time that they had, that were measurable.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. There were moments in his life that were composed out of little to no sense. There were terrible, upsetting moments where he felt everything he was be threatened by the world around him, and that distressed him greatly just from thinking about the holes in his memories- the fuzzy little tidbits of him falling into Faraway Lake, the sound of Mari’s sobs growing distant despite him feeling her tight embrace in that moment. There were times when he’d slip into utter darkness, unaware of time and all sense deprived from him. And when he resurfaced, much would’ve happened that he mulled over anxiously, the memory not in his mind in the slightest. 

At times, he’d drift distantly from his thoughts, emotions blurring into each other like liquid heat incarnate as his head burned and throbbed with such a foreign sensation: and the thing that made his imaginary friend feel too real was that they would both feel adrift through space, unconscious of their actions. 

And when Sunny would suddenly return, the experience would jar him greatly, and his memories of presumably whatever experience he had would be a blank void as he stood there, disoriented and vulnerable. When he asked others so tentatively about this, especially his friends, they had reacted with a ruffle of his hair and a statement that he had perhaps not gotten enough sleep the night before, and perhaps that had caused the blackouts

Hah. What an understatement.

Basil had replied with a startled reaction of concern and mild shock, stuttering out his sentences and advising him to monitor his actions more closely, as well as his stress levels and bodily intake of food and drink.

Kel had offered in all of his lively generosity to accompany him through the hours he felt dazed and unclear, which had soon extended out into days, weeks and then months: Sunny had no choice but to decline such an offer then, though he knew from a churning feeling in his gut he would come to dearly regret it.

Aubrey had already expressed a fiery, passionate worry once the basic synopsis of what was happening to Sunny was out of his mouth- not even a second had passed before she had instantly assumed a protective state over him, assaulting him with questions filled with concern, leaving him utterly flushed with embarrassment in that moment.

Hero, of course, expressed similar worry over how he would black out and awaken into existence seemingly several days later, losing all track of time, feeling nothing remain of his memory between those moments as countless holes formed in his mind, tearing apart and leaving rifts of a static black abyss that deepened further and further with every afternoon Sunny felt himself slipping away.

And Mari…? Mari was concerned, of course- why wouldn’t she be? His dear, beloved sister always asked if she could do anything to help, listened to him vent, listen to him cry and bemoan his struggles.

But something in him screamed in fury and despondency at the ultimate fact he knew deep within his mind: No one would understand.

No one except Omori, his supposedly ‘imaginary’ friend, staring both with him and back at him in the mirror as they stood there, for hours on end, thoughts muddled and head sloshing together with the crashing of waves as their heart pounded slow in their ears, eyes filled with tears that slowly dripped down their face, trying to examine the seamless gaps in their memories and their life that was playing out before them like a hazy photo reel.

Two names. Two people. One mind, soul, body, imaginary, fake fake fake it was all fake it was all a game.

And yet the question still burned with an undying, unyielding flame, perpetually unanswered, emblazoned forevermore deep into their minds.

Who am I? Is this who I am? Will I ever be safe?

Sunny sits on the porch as the recital approaches amidst the crisp fall air, the both of them compressed into one body, resisting the urge to glare into the moonlit night and scream his troubles away to the celestial atlas of stars above. He was in no mood to focus, and day after day he could feel the fog of his mind overtaking him, everything slipping away from his grasp as he scrambled, yelled at it all desperately to stay, please oh god stay.

Please answer this one question: who are we? Who am I?

***

Sunny was overcome with pain- his fingers were hurting, scraped here and there with little scratches. He feels the urge to slam any door within his vicinity, trying his best not to let the sobs escape his throat as he wants to scream out his own throat. His eyes throbbed with the worst ache from the dull lighting, the migraine threatening to shatter his skull and explode his very brain- he hadn’t even noticed his cheeks had become wet, his thoughts disjointed and nothing but static and wails from inside. Omori wasn’t responding, why wasn’t Omori responding. 

The realization sent shivers of panic down his spine- he heard some scoffing from behind the wall, but paid it no attention. How could he when he had no attention left to give? Sunny couldn’t do this anymore: his hands trembled, maintaining a death grip on the violin.

It’s not that big of a deal, he shudders to himself. It’s not that big of a deal.

“It’s j-j-just a r-re-ci-cital…” he rasps out, throat pathetically wet as his words slur, head becoming even more fuzzy as stars dance before his aggressively squinted eyes. “It’s ju-ust a re-recital!”

Does Mari even know what she’s doing? What’s gotten into her?

His arms holding both the bow and the violin lifts- he can barely register what he’s doing with the darkness tainting his vision, his periphery nonexistent, and Sunny can feel a hand grab him and a distinctly feminine and somewhat familiar voice crawling across an ocean to reach him. 

The violin was thankfully on the ground, left nearly perfect and undamaged save for a few barely noticeable bumps and scratches. But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care as he tries to struggle out of the grip to no avail, wailing in pain- it hurt it hurt it hurt so so so much. He practiced over and over again, playing until it hurt, but he still stumbled so pathetically over mistake after mistake. He was doing this all for her, damnit- why couldn’t she understand, why!?

A voice- Mari’s voice. Who was Mari? Choked words flew from her mouth, distorted and garbled noises and nonsensical gibberish that sounded like scolding that barely registered- the world around Sunny is behind fifty feet of glass, the shadows slithering around, encroaching him, the colors beginning to invert, the darkness whispering to him to make it stop because it hurt.

Sunny’s throat constricts as he hiccups, gazing into his sister’s furious scorn. “Stop it!” the boy wails weakly as Mari continues to shriek at the top of her lungs. “What are you doing? Stop it, it hurts!” The words were an incantation, a mantra in his mind- a manifestation of an irate, insurmountable bog of sheer fear and grief and regret and failure. The violent shaking and spasms, the convulsions of his body were making coordination exceedingly and amusingly hard.

And when the violin, clattered safely to the ground at the top of the staircase, undamaged was something he glimpsed, Mari blocks Sunny’s path suddenly, the words a muffled, heavily muted version of something vaguely resembling “I’m not done talking, young man!”

And all sense leaves Sunny, as does all control- and all the hurt in his body and mind hijack every atom of him.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

And the shriek leaves him as he shoves his arms outward in a defensive gesture, quivering like a kitten, everything feeling threatened and screaming at him that he was going to die or get injured or whatever just defend yourself.

As he.

Pushed.

Mari.

Down.

The.

Stairs.

And watches someone catch her- a faceless, grotesquely humanoid thing- wait, no… it was human, it was…! It was… Sunny squints… Hero?

Hero, with those familiar features, dressed in a warm gaze and his best formal attire for the recital, him carrying Sunny’s beloved Mari back up the stairs, setting her down as his sister shivered from the shock of falling all because of him- all because he pushed her.

“M-Mari? Are you okay?” Hero asks, that warm, wide-eyed and worried gaze gravitating towards Sunny as he could already feel both of his parents yelling, the phantom sensation in his mind and tickling his ears. He can hear and feel the four-fold chambers of his heart beating, pulsating with an accelerating thump-thump, speeding up at an alarming rate. “W-what… Sunny? What’s going on?” he stammers out.

Oh, god.

A heartbeat echoes throughout his mind in a steady thump, no longer like the ticks of an analog clock but the furious rhythm of a drum, consuming him- the convulsions, the vibrations, the spasms weren’t ceasing, why weren’t they ceasing.

Sunny stumbles back one step. Then another. Another. Another.

Before he can barely register the weight of his actions, he is sprinting across the hall to his room and slamming the door shut, the noise dull and echoing in his mind, leaving vibrations of a violent quake awakened upon this very moment’s will. “Sunny!” he hears Mari calling from outside, the voice equally as muffled and drowned out amidst the buzzing in his mind, and his legs are struggling to support him in continuing to stand, his knees dangerously wobbling.

More words strung together in a desperate attempt to form a coherent sentence, or at least a phrase. It echoed from within like he were hollow metal.

His throat constricts, his head fills with noise- dusken ice crawls up his limbs. His fears, unannounced and gnarly, emerge once more from the murky black. The world around him is behind fifty feet of glass, and the colours before his eyes begin to invert. 

His ducts are cloudy, milky like white baking like apricots in the sunset’s afterglow. His ribs seize like schools of suffocating minnows caught in a net, hysteria chokes him: from deep within, he feels cracks in the ice spiderwebbing across his lungs. Sunny is no longer bright, alit with colors and electrical. He is rather sticky and cold, a stuttering mess; a filthy person, thing, entity, object, an anything dripping wet and frozen in the arctic, trapped in the water beneath layers of ice that numbed the pain.

A dimension of hues alongside a nonexistent, almost ultraviolet spectrum of a multitude of emotions flash through him, sending a sharp, jolting pain throughout everywhere. It was as if a knife had gravitated towards his heart and decidedly stabbed him there- Sunny doesn’t have it in him to jacknife into a fetal position from the pain.

He stares to his trembling hands- swaying back and forth as the world turns like cogs and gears beneath him, the ground echoing and groaning as he begins to lose vision once more. He feels like an outsider- a spectator to his defiled body and mind, barely tethered to reality as he stumbles into the wall. Steady breathing was so difficult… even as Sunny tried to tell himself what Mari always told him- to calm down, to focus, to persist- the clamor of voices outside and inside his mind are consuming him, driving him mad in the roar of the world being so loud.

“What’s wrong with me!?” he exclaims, his tone coming out incredulous as he tries his best not to stutter or slur. “A-Am I sick…? No… no! I can’t be sick, not with the… the… ahh-!”

A whisper comes from within. “Sunny.”

A cry comes from outside. “Sunny!”

Sunny, you’re panicking.

Sunny, open the door!

Sunny, you can’t handle this.

Sunny, let us in!

Sunny, let me save us.

He ignores them, the chants and drones of his presumed name- they’re too muted, too nonsensical, and he can’t even bring himself to stutter out a reply. The shadows try to slither around him, and Sunny begins to sink. He wants to sink sink sink sink, deep into a crevice, that familiar and isolated corner of his mind, existing as a surreal pocket of a dimension in his dreams on the edge of a world only he knew- an empty white space. 

Sunny, Sunny Sunny Sunny!

He couldn’t do this- he couldn’t prolong this battle anymore, he couldn’t take another step forward. Mari was pushing him too hard.

Stubborn, selfish, single-minded, obsessive Mari. His Mari without flaws- perfect, perfect Mari.

My sweet little Sundrop, my lovely Sunshine…

And the voice inside overpowers all else as Sunny slides down the wall, his legs giving out. 

Time shall always betray.

A chill like mint and permafrost seeps through the poor, trembling boy, maintaining a death grip on him whilst his ears rang from the white noise and static fizzling along his body. He didn’t realize until a second ago that the noise was the shrieking- and merely yet another second later did he realize that the shrieking was coming from him. His own throat, his own lungs that didn’t burn somehow, so he continued to scream and scream and scream- out of what, he didn’t know.

Oh, wait. Help. He was screaming for help.

“Help!” he wails to no one in particular. “Help me, anyone, please! Someone help!”

He never expected a reply in return.

But a savior had come anyway.

Sunny is unable to resist the alluring pull of the voice as he feels darkness overtake him, no longer able to resist as he feels himself being swiftly pulled under by the crashing waves, the metaphorical rug swept out from beneath him as he tumbled to the ground.

Panic was overtaken and drowned out by that sweet, soothing, calming voice all sound: the clamor outside the room to his door, the light from the window engulfing him, his plushies, pens, drawings, clothes and toys scattered around his room in a pathetic mess- all are consumed by the fluttering of his eyes closed as he fought to stay awake and as words failed him, as sounds and sobs no longer escaped his closed throat.

Let me save us, Sunny. Let me save you.

The taste of the salty, tingling wetness of tears in his mouth fades- Sunny is being pulled deeper underwater to a safe place that his heart desperately yearns for, towards that glowing crevice of a white room deep into his mind. He can feel the sickness fading, fading, everything in him stabilizing as he is pulled away farther from his own body, from the real world- and somehow, amidst the roar of his mind, he knows everything is going to be okay.

He is at peace, cradled in the arms of his own heartbeat, the sound of a gentle wind and the misty foam of waves, resting in the embrace of a gentle love.

He feels himself plunge into the comforting oblivion long before he hits the ground.

***

“Sunny!” Mari frantically bangs on the door, hands slapping against the white wooden surface, her panic only continuing to rise as she and Hero heard Sunny’s body collide with the ground in an unceremonious thud. Her eyes widened as she imagined skin slapping against the carpet- her sweet, beloved sundrop, her sunshine.

No, no no no!

“Sunny, Sunny- Sunny no, no!” she shrieks, movements growing erratic and frantic as she desperately rattles the knob- her palms were already red and sore, hot with friction and mildly coated in sweat as Hero looks to her, equally as frantic. What was going on?

Mari was initially relieved that Sunny hadn’t thrown the violin down the stairs, recoiling in disgust at the thought of the precious violin laying shattered at the bottom of the staircase, but all of those thoughts were gone now- only sheer regret replaced them, regret that she had yelled at her sweet, sweet brother, that she wanted things to be perfect, that she was willing to be so selfish and stubborn and obsessively single-minded for it- that she had hurt Sunny without even realizing it, and didn’t even stop herself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She’s going mad here, between the roar of her own thoughts chanting and jeering at her, and the tears blurring her squinting gaze that hurt like hell, and Hero’s steady hand on her shoulder as she scrunched her brows together.

“Hero, what do we do…?!” Mari chokes out, trying to keep a steady voice that trembled despite those best efforts. “We have to make sure Sunny’s okay!”

The thought of Sunny unconscious and potentially harmed on the ground made her want to smash his stupid violin, laying near the staircase, perfectly unharmed in all of its expensive glory- how could she have not known the pain that it- that she and her parents- had caused him?

Hero shakes his head desperately. “It’s no use,” he replies, just as desperate as her. “The door’s locked tight, and we don’t have a key!”

Sunny, I’m so sorry. I’m so so so so so so so sorry.

“Think, Hero!” she near-snaps, stopping herself before she truly hurts the feelings of another one of her loved ones. “Anything we can pick the lock with?” she tries to think clearly, feeling triumphant when an idea emerges from the chaos in her panic-riddled mind. “Hairpins! I have so many of those!” she exclaims, turning around so fast she might as well have almost snapped her own neck: Hero, as if understanding the cue, almost instantaneously turns around, nodding as he makes a second of eye-contact with her before barreling down the stairs, combing back up with shimmering black bobby pins.

The next several seconds were a blur of Mari frantically picking the lock to her and Sunny’s room, hating herself for not unlocking the door faster, nearly hurtling inside the room as her heart soared in relief when she and Hero heard that signaling click.

“Sunny!” Mari gasps out, almost taking the door off it’s hinges. “Sunny, are you okay- what the…!?”

They had came in to see Sunny… cleaning his room?

A calm, sweet smile was written across the corners of her younger brother’s lips, contrary to his normal, expressionless resting face. The tears that had appeared on his face appeared dried and wiped away neatly with a tissue, despite his eyes being red and puffy from crying. His posture seemed relaxed and carefree as he hummed a tune that Mari recognized as something she had always sung to him as a lullaby when they were younger. Hero and Mari could only watch in awe as Sunny giggled and clapped in a innocent, childish form of delight when all of the pens, drawings and plushies were sorted back into where they belonged- it was like watching a movie.

The moment of joy disappeared immediately gone when Sunny’s smile immediately faded as he looked around at the mess of clothes and hangers. “Ugh, look at the state of this place- still disgracefully messy. If Dad finds out about this, I’m in hot water!”

What the…? Sunny didn’t usually use figures of speech like that!

She thanked Hero internally when he tentatively called out to Sunny- she was too scared to do so. “Sunny?” he asks, and those big doe eyes of dark, shimmering orbs turned to her.

“Oh, Mari, Hero! Hey there!” he calls out, quirking a brow. “Why are you both dressed so fancy? Is there an occasion I don’t know about?”

“Ahem, t-the recital,” Mari stutters, clearing her throat. How had Sunny forgotten about the recital when he was so stressed about it just a moment ago…? And why was he acting so… contrary?

“Recital?” Omori asks, and his tone sounds almost younger- so too do his mannerisms as he places a finger atop his nose and closes his eyes. “Hm- recital, recital, recitaaal… ohhh, THAT recital!” he exclaims, chuckling as he knocks against his head gently. “Aye, seems like just yesterday, it was supposed to be a week later! Silly me for forgetting, ahaha~ I’m sorry, Mari!”

The girl was at a loss for words- at Sunny’s sudden cheeriness and complete change in demeanor and attitude, at the violin laying near the staircase outside, at the absurdity of this whole situation. “N-No, it’s fine,” she forces out, stepping forward and kneeling down to Sunny’s height so she could place her hands on his shoulders. “But are you… alright? You’re not… sick, or mad at me, are you?”

Even more confusion was evident in his expression, with alarmed both Mari and Hero. “Oh, come now, just why would I be mad at you? You’ve done nothing wrong…” he says rather adamantly, and Mari can feel her heart drop from the dread at hearing the doubt in Sunny's tone. Had he already forgotten so quickly?

“M-Mari had yelled at you,” Hero said, his tone tight and nervous, and Mari nodded. “I’m sorry- I pushed you to this point,” she continues. “You were so stressed from performing that you almost threw your violin down the stairs- luckily I stopped you before you did anything drastic that you would’ve regretted.”

And Sunny tilts his head. “Is that so?” he asks, tone inquisitive. “I’ve no memory of such a thing happening…” he murmurs. Tense silence fills the air as Mari and Hero look at each other to confirm such a disturbing fact- the memory of the incident was all but erased from Sunny’s mind. And silently, they had decided it was best to not tell how Sunny had almost pushed Mari down the stairs.

“Oh, but in any case, I’m really sorry!” he exclaims, truly regretful and sounding rather sorrowful as he hugged Mari in a tight embrace- once again, she didn’t know how to respond other than to numbly hug her back. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings- t-that is, if I did!”

“No- no, it’s fine… it’s okay,” Mari stammers out, looking to Sunny. “But to forget and apologize so quickly… that’s unlike you, Sunny.”

And the cheerful gaze that came from Sunny afterwards somehow pierced into her, that carefree smile that somehow emblazoned itself into her mind and would haunt her possibly forevermore.

“Oh, Mari, I can assure you… it’s still me. Sunny. It always has been.”

It’s still me.

And somehow, Mari felt that statement to be a lie. And Hero knew as well. Everything was fine- everything was perfect, and yet...

Something was up.

[alastorous-disastorous-archived]

The Cleansing (Part One)

The end was nigh. He knew this all too well. However This year he was certain was already going to prove harder than any one that came before...

He silenced himself. Only static. Closing his eyes as he waits patiently, the time slowly ticking its way to doomsday.

If he doesn't do this now...He might not have this chance again.

It was high time he wandered his own mind...He had avoided it as much as he could...so as not to have to confront the consciousness within it. But this needed to be done.

"Well...it's about time you showed up...Dastor."

"...Miccy." As calm and cool as he could be.

"Enough of that....you know my name. My true name. Say it. NOW."

The stag sighed, eyes half lidded as he stared down the shadow before him. "...Alastor."

Those crimson eyes that glowed on the smoky mass slitted, and they dissipated. Before him stood himself. Well...almost.

"...You know while still holding That form...it's hard for me to take you seriously in this rediculous game of "Will the real Alastor please stand up~"

"Hmph. Apologies...I get rather bored in here." The single eyed form that was referred to as Miccy, Decissted his illusion and faded into his truest form. The Buck now standing before himself as though he were before a mirror...only in this place...it was all too physical.

"Rather bold of you to reveal your face to me in here, Dastor." he huffed, "Are you done holding me prisoner in here now? Finally ready to get back in your place?"

"Bah...semantics." Dastor said with a wave of a dismissive hand, "With that mishap that had occurred, and the splitting that had commenced, There really is no telling which one of us truly is the real Alastor of this one vessel~" he hummed, "Perhaps you are...or maybe I am." he shrugged, "But one thing is certain...Regardless of who's who and what's what, We are one in the same in this body. We might as well get along, shall we?"

There was a low growl from Alastor...and nothing further.

"This...being at war with one's self...it's tiresome." he continued.

"So what are you suggesting?" ask the other, "Are you asking to remerge with me...?"

Dastor shrugs. "The end is Nigh, Darling." he said softly, a slow pace beginning with hooves clicking "Even now midnight swiftly approaches us...So tell me." he paused, and turned on said hooves, "If we remain like this...do you truly believe we will make it another year?"

"....I...Suppose not." Responded the other, "We won't be much of use to or for anyone if we continue to stay at only half capacity."

"And if we don't return to full capacity, soon, Our friends, our family, we might lose them all."

"You're saying?"

"I'm saying--" Dastor huffed, he had enough, and hooked a hand into Alastor's collar tugging him forward, "That this temper tantrum within my mind? It ends. Now." he growled, "And you can be pissy, and you can be pouty and you can insist that we are not part of each other as much as you desire--No matter what you say, what you do the one fact remains--" His grip tightened, claws extending and tearing into the fabric he held so tightly, " You're MY Little Bitch now~ And I believe it's high time that you and I both realigned."

Alastor was stunned.

The side he called Dastor-- Never usually stood up to him. What had changed? He couldn't pin point it...but...

"...You've changed." he stated, "You're different now..."

"I am You." Dastor growled and it drew a chuckle from the shadow stag in his hand.

"So you are." he grinned. "So what do you say...Alastor?" he hummed, " You and I have an appoinment after all....and a very important date." he grinned as he released his other half to straighten his own collar, "Line with me again, and we both live...hm? And do keep in mind...." his voice began to warp and the scape they shared morphed on all sides, a Shadowy click, ticking away....louder....and louder.

Both of their ears flicked with each ringing tick... "Unite and we both shall live...hm?" Alastor chuckled.

"Time's still ticking Alastor....so...what do you say? Dastor hummed, leaning forward and holding out his hand. "Do We HaVe A DeAl~?"

His eyes rose up slowly, locking onto Dastor's while taking on a crimson glow. Without words, A Clap of their hands were met and the thunder rolled them back into the conscious world in it's darkness.

And just in time too...

Because right as the clock striked midnight, His door went down...

And in stepped the the comely face of the doom bringer...holy weapon at the ready. He held no reaction. Eyes narrowed as he spoke out her name... "Yolinda...." he hummed, slowly rising to his feet, to greet her properly. "...Hello, Darling~"

Her glowing eyes narrowed.

"Alastor...last I heard about you...you were at half mast...so I figured I'd take this chance first." she muttered out, grip tightening around her rapier, "What's changed?" "Well...I'm new and improved, my dear~" he hummed, arms spread, mic in hand, giving her a lovely twirl in his amusement as he approached her. Hair flowing against her wings, long ears keened back, and the gown carrying it's on breeze.

"Where is she?" she asked of him, "I won't ask twice."

"Tut tut tut. So angry~" he hummed as he paced, "I havent revaled her location every other time you came to me...so tell me what made you think I would cave, now? Hm?"

Her eyes narrowed. Silent. "Hm." He hummed and gave his shoulders a shrug, "Suit yourself." he muttered, "But you know....it is rather rude to barge into someone's home uninvited..." he said softly, his pacing slowing as his narrowed eyes darted to the visage of the Angel before him,"But...I Do pride myself in being a most curteous host~" he hummed, "So by all means my dear~" Mic staff in hand while the shadows danced around him. His eyes became sunken and dark pits of radio dials that tappered back and further while his grin grew rider. Shape slowly molding and taking to the shape of the shadows he was feeding on and his rack grew to match..Causing static amongst his own air waves.

The winged fox stood ready, Holy weapon at the raise-- Loosening a snarl of her own as he spat his last words to her~ "BE MY GuEsT~!!!"

Who could possibly be tuning into The Radio Demon's station now, Would hear nothing short of crackling static, Carnage tearing, things breaking...and manic laughter.

[aidsyouinthinking]

Inktober Golden

A city dispute

A copper statue coated in gold Cracks abundant from stories untold The brine seeps in, rusting within. It's underpin; like the wall- berlin.

Schrodinger's statute, but to check it’s state. We’ll be peeling off its way to abate. A copper statue? People don’t want that! Just hide the cracks with a newfangled hat.

Who knows if we can put it back on? A pedestal empty from an era bygone? You’re right, we can’t, it’s for them after all. Besides it ain’t human; it’s replaced on call! --------------------------------- Took me a while to think of a concept for this one, I had stuck in my head something someone 'told me' "You act like you're always on stage" the sentiment was quite positive, but it has more... well other connotations. :)

Anyway, have a nice next rest!

[undescribed1mage]

Who even am I rn

[decipherthebeyond]

Beast Boy Headcanon ;;

Garfield has a complicated relationship with gender. Being able to change shapes, become other animals - and he is, in fact, able to change between male and female between species - his sense of self has been messed up for a long time.

It's not easy sometimes to understand himself as Garfield Logan, the human, and it plays into his gender too. His identity could be closer described as... Fluid. His life has been about changing and let himself be changed for too long.

But he constantly battles against it. He wants to be the Garfield Logan he was prior to being bitten, the little Gar, son of Marie and Mark Logan. He bases a lot of himself and who he should be in the distant images and memories he has from that period of his life.

Once upon a time, Garfield used to be pretty comfortable with the male label, so Beast Boy must feel like that too.

Even if he feels that he might be lying to himself, he doesn't confront this idea and will react badly if anyone reads him differently. Sometimes even neutral pronouns are enough to set him into a spiral of denial.