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furiousgoldfish · 3 months

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When I was a little kid, I asked my mother 'What does a child need to survive in a desert?'. She wouldn't give me a straight answer, so I had to pull it out of her bit by bit. Would a child live if they had fruit? 'That's not enough', she said. Would it work if the child had milk? 'Maybe'. I kept asking what else, and then she put the dots together, and figured out why I was asking. 'Children can't survive without their mother', she told me curtly. I frowned, not liking this response. 'But, if they had fruit and milk?' I insisted. 'No. Child can't survive without a mother. Don't even think about it.'

But, I was thinking about it, and she knew it. She knew I was trying to find a way to escape the house we were living in. I was 6, maybe 7 at the time. She repeated over and over to me, you would die outside this house. Nobody else would take you in, there's no place for you anywhere else. You would only be a burden.

I didn't like that. I didn't like the idea of being a burden anywhere. But, I supposed she was right, other people didn't need a stray kid.

In my quest of not being a burden, I wanted to learn how to work. In the house I lived in, there were countless chores to be done, but somehow I was always stuck with the ones that required no knowledge or skill. Put the logs over there, clean, carry this over there, sweep, scrub, throw, wash, dig, gather, relocate, hold, lift, put down, bury, shut up, and don't ask questions. I wouldn't get any answers even if I did ask, why am I doing this, whats it for? I wasn't to know. I was kept blind, following orders, up to myself to figure out what was this a part of.

When I'd be ordered to do something I didn't know how, I would be told I 'should have learned it by watching others do it', but I was never free to watch while others worked. In fact, if anyone in the house was doing anything, and I was sitting or lying down, I would be screamed at for 'just watching others work and doing nothing'.

Reaching adulthood, I really wanted to know about cooking, but mother always chased me out of the kitchen if she was making something, or she would chore me with 'peeling the vegetables', which would then take all of my attention. I tried to sneak into the kitchen and learn by myself, but she chased me away as soon as she'd catch me, telling me off for 'wasting resources'. But, as she noticed my inclination, she decided to inform me, in a very clear manner, that I would never in my life know how to cook. You see, I was clumsy, slow, stupid, and would always only mess it up and waste precious ingredients. It was far above my abilities to learn how to cook. She gave me a clove of garlic to cut, and I couldn't do it well on my first try. She told me it was a proof that I was 'no good'. Then she gave me an onion to cut, and yelled at me for 'taking too long'. Now it was proven twice over. I couldn't cook. Everything would be ruined because I was taking too long to cut the vegetables. Also, I didn't know where food was even stored in the kitchen. She would never show me. (The food was stored in boxes in the basement. I would find out years later.)

With a heavy heart, I gave up on learning how to cook, and resigned myself to feeling forever guilty for 'eating their food', which was something my family regularly held over my head. You know, after I helped digging, working the soil, sowing, planting, weeding and spraying, it was still their land, and their food, and I 'had no right to it'. They were careful never to show me how to actually grow food, but just kept me busy with menial tasks that were never explained to me.

I was convinced my mother was a good person, because she usually wouldn't forbid me to eat, and if she wanted me to do a task, she would tell me in a humane way. For example 'Can you do x?'. The other family members had a more crude way, something like 'Why are you waiting to be told, do I have to spell out everything to you??' so her polite manner had completely won me over, I would have done anything for my sickly, poor, kind and generous mother, who was so worried for my troubled self, who couldn't learn how to do anything, or survive outside the house.

Even though my mother repeated through the years, that I would never be able to do anything, and also berated me if I ever tried to learn a new skill because 'it was worthless and wouldn't earn me any money', I would still sometimes gather a bit of momentum and courage, and figure hey, I should try to get a job. It would take months to gather that kind of confidence. And one such time, I announced my intentions, I'm going to look for a job! My mother laughed without looking at me. 'Who would hire you? You can't do anything.' Poof. That was my balloon of confidence, popping and then deflating into a tiny bulb. I didn't think she had any reason to lie to me. She knew me all my life. If she was confident that I can't do anything... then it had to be true. Otherwise why would she say that?

The rest of the family, of course, agreed. My grandmother, she had fantastic stories to share with me about how quickly I would be kidnapped, robbed, murdered, tortured, sold into slavery, you know all that good stuff that happens to every person outside their parents house. My father, who inherited massive amounts of land, 2 houses, illegally got his hands on a third, earned a very formidable salary, and constantly had me working for free for him, told me that it was in fact, impossible for a person to survive out there without inheritance. I frowned because I didn't agree with this, and I asked, what about the people who get a job and move into the city? They were living just from their wages. He shook his head and said that it may look like that, but they're all just living from their family's resources. I was old enough to not believe him. It's him who couldn't live without his inheritance, because he's an idiot, I thought.

So, I finally got to earn some money online. It was slow, and very tiny amount, I was freelancing and there was no consistent income, but my enthusiasm on being able to earn anything, was strong. After all, I had earned absolutely nothing working for my family for forever, and this was mine. I remember securing a big project and rushing to reassure my mother, to tell her that I was in fact, good for something, and she didn't have to worry anymore, I was going to make something of myself.

'You will never get another project again.' Her face was dead serious. 'You were lucky once. Don't count on this happening again'. I was speechless. Self doubt swallowed me whole. Was this only one-time occurrence? Was I stupid to believe it would happen again? I despaired. She was my mother, and she was older than me, and she knew the world better than I did. She wouldn't say this for no reason. Could she be right?

She brought it up to the rest of the family, and they all had things to say about it. 'Online work isn't real. The money doesn't even exist. You'll never see it. Show us where is this money. You can't, can you? And even if it does exist, it will all get stolen from you'.

Leaving me wrapped in my survival panic attack, they went on with their day, satisfied that they put me back in my place (which was an ongoing panic attack). I eventually recovered, and continued to work on projects. I was approached and told I would fail constantly, but even then, what could I do but work with my anxiety levels up to the roof and wait to fail? I had to try.

I didn't believe I would make it, because my mother's words 'you'll die, you'll die' were on repeat in my head, but I realized I would die in that house anyway, so I ran away from home. My mother was worried about me; she was in fact, so worried she called every person who knew me, all of friends, relatives, their kids, and told them about how badly worried she was for me, and how I needed to come back home. These people, well they were all worried too you see, so they had to call me, to tell me that I'm breaking my mother's heart, that I don't know how it feels to have a child and not know if their child is okay, apparently she was crying every time it rained because she thought I might be outside in the rain.

My guilt was activated, but I knew just what to do to resolve this situation. I responded to my mother's call, and she told me too, that she was dying from worry, so I said, listen! Listen to what I have! And I went around the apartment, and I listed all of the groceries I had bought and stored. I listed everything out to her, and then explained how to make multiple meals, I offered proof to her that I had already, in this short time, learned how to cook, and I was doing fine. I was sure she'd be so relieved to know that her child had food.

In my mind we were continuing the conversation we had when I was six. I have milk and fruit now mommy. You said I might survive if I have that.

'Okay, we KNOW you can do everything yourself--' She interrupted me angrily, unwilling to listen to my ongoing list of resources and skills. I froze. '--but you need to think about what you're doing to us and come back home!'

I hung up. Unbelieving. Two things I've been told in that sentence, and I had a hard time believing either. She- they- KNEW I could do everything myself. Since when? For how long? How could she possibly say this, after telling me my whole life, not only that I didn't know anything, but was too stupid to even learn? She knew I was capable the entire time? She knew I'd do just fine? And, she was angry about it. Hearing the list of resources and skills I had, it made her livid. After crying to all these people, and convincing me she was dying out of worry, she wasn't worried even one little bit. It was all fake. The entire time. She could either tell I was capable the entire time, or.. she never cared enough to even tell. It didn't matter. It only mattered that she convinced me that I can't survive. So I wouldn't run. So I would stay in that house, and so she could watch her violent husband, and violent mother in law beat me and call me animal names. While blocking my only possible exit.

Later I found out she changed her story. She was now telling people that I was now 'rich but so selfish I would not give any of my money to her'. It was almost funny. Her perspective of me rapidly shifted from 'incapable idiot who cannot survive' to 'selfish rich snob who won't give money'.

It stung. I had spent my life trying to protect her. Even after running, all I could think was how badly I wanted to take her away from that violent place, how much I wanted happiness for her. She watched me dying in that house and blocked my exit. She threw me back into the hands of violence and cheered them on as they broke me. She watched a kid being broken and told that kid they could not live, except if they stay and continue being broken, over and over again. I got jealous of all of the mothers who helped their kids escape. And of all the kids whose mothers escaped, taking them with. Keeping them safe. Why wasn't I worth keeping safe? But I can't look back in that way. That's not it. There was nobody to keep me safe. Nobody was my mother. Nobody was my parent.

My six year old self reached their goal. What does a child need to survive in a desert? Some fruit. And some milk. And some other groceries also don't hurt. And definitely not a mother like this one.

#abusive mother #recognizing abuse #cruelty concealed as worry #escape sabotage #mother keeping a child trapped in abuse #using a child as a shield from violence #abusers keeping your confidence down to stop you from escaping #abusers lying through their teeth #child abuse #survival resources #toxic family #toxic mother #i don't even know what her deal is #but her cruelty crushed me

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

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thoughts thoughts thoughts i apologise it’s 2am i have to sorry @babyboymunson

Steve knows that Eddie has a whole library of characters. And when he says library, that’s not an understatement; because Eddie has a lot of them, and he keeps all his characters sheets incredibly organised. Even those for the NPCs.

He claims not to have favourites because, “They’re all my badass little idiot children, Stevie, don’t make me choose.”

So Steve doesn’t.

But the thing is, Steve has never been above choosing a favourite badass little idiot child — sure, it might have changed daily with the kids, but still! He has a favourite character of Eddie’s. One who survived the campaign, actually, to everyone’s utter disbelief both past and present.

It’s one of Eddie’s first, from before he started taking on the role as Dungeon Master more often than that of a player.

And when Steve first finds out about the character, reads his character sheet and sees the art Eddie had made for him, that is when he knows: one day he’ll find a way to marry this blushing disaster boy.

Sir Gonthar Veten, a human paladin with high charisma and uncharacteristically low strength, laughably low intelligence but hey, respectable wisdom modifier. “A bit of a wild card,” as Eddie has put it, pulling his hair in front of his face to hide his little smile or the absolutely besotted expression.

It doesn’t take him too long to find out that Gonthar is essentially based on him, and even his name is an anagram. Oh, Eddie had it bad! He teases him mercilessly, but they both know that’s Steve’s way of saying, “You nerd, you absolute nerd, I can’t believe it took me so long, but know that you’re the love of my life, too.”

So, in 1983, Eddie has a crush on Steve and is so mad about it, he made a DnD character about it.

In 1986, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time inside his new government-sponsored trailer and begins what will be the rest of his life.

In 2006, Steve buys Eddie a star for their anniversary, and Eddie laughs through the veil of tears when he sees what Steve named it.

“Sir Gonthar Veten,” he reads, grin so wide that it has to hurt. “Can’t believe you went and named a star after yourself, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, stepping into Eddie’s space and pulling him close. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I did, Munson.”

“You’re so lame,” Eddie sniffles, and it’s the happiest little sound. “Thank you.”

Steve brushes a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek, and finally his lips. “Happy anniversary, Eddie.”

#steddie #steddie fic #this is like all over the place but i just had to get the concept out someone else can go make it good and better #just eddie having an unattainable crush on steve and projecting onto dnd like we all don’t do the same with our blorbos okay #they’re in love your honour #dio words #buying stars probably wasn’t even a thing in 1996 but let me have this #nvm i made it 2006 now but like i’ll give this proper thought when it’s not 2:30am #dio’s steddie ramblings

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