LOTS AND LOTS OF THERAPY

Let people grow.

When I was younger I was very right-wing. I mean…very right-wing. I won’t go into detail, because I’m very deeply ashamed of it, but whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably at least that bad. I’ve taken out a lot of pain on others; I’ve acted in ignorance and waved hate like a flag; I’ve said and did things that hurt a lot of people.

There are artefacts of my past selves online – some of which I’ve locked down and keep around to remind me of my past sins, some of which I’ve scrubbed out, some of which are out of my grasp. If I were ever to become famous, people could find shit on me that would turn your stomach.

But that’s not me anymore. I’ve learned so much in the last ten years. I’ve become more open to seeing things through others’ eyes, and reforged my anger to turn on those who harm others rather than on those who simply want to exist. I’ve learned patience and compassion. I’ve learned how to recognise my privileges and listen to others’ perspectives. I’ve learned to stand up for others, how to hear, how to help, how to correct myself. And I learned some startling shit about myself along the way – with all due irony, some of the things I used to lash out at others for are intrinsic parts of myself.

You wouldn’t know what I am now from what I was then. You wouldn’t know what I was then from what I am now.

It distresses me deeply to think of someone dredging up my dark, awful past and treating me as though that furiously hateful person is still me. It distresses me to see others dredging up the past for anyone who has made efforts to become a better person, out of some sick obsession with proving they’re “problematic.”

Purity culture tells you that once someone says or does something, they can never go back on it. That’s a goddamn lie. While it’s true that some remain unrepentant and never change their ways and continue to harm others, it’s important to allow everyone the chance to learn from their mistakes. Saying something ignorant isn’t murder. Please stop treating it that way. Let people grow.

  • What she says: I'm fine.
  • What she means: Not giving Sakura the wood release was such a wasted opportunity, both narratively and thematically. All of Sakura's primary motifs are based off of plants, her main teacher is Hashirama's only living descendant, and her teammates already emulate the two other people involved in the Battle of the End (Mito and Naruto are both Jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi, and Sasuke and Madara both possess the Mangekyou Sharingan). Her inclusion in the second Battle of the End would strengthen the plot by introducing rule of three to create a more complex narrative than just two souls pitting against each other, and carry the theme of generational parallels further than Team 7's apprenticeships with the Sannin.
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J: michael and i have both been seeing a therapist since everything. i go to family counseling with my dad and michael has to drive all the way to the city for a specialist but its been helping the both of us a lot! therapy isnt an instant fix and a lot of it is wanting to be helped in the first place but…

M: its been good for us.

season 1 April: bubbly, well-meaning, tries her best, girl-next-door type friend, snarky but nice.

season 5 April: tired, anger issues, trauma doesn’t exist unless she lets it, zero fucks left to give, “look it was either i stab someone or start crying. i didn’t have much choice.”

honestly, i really enjoyed hearing taliesin straight up say that percy needs therapy but unfortunately doesn’t have access to it because, you know, it doesn’t exist and the only similar thing out there would be religious and percy is not about that

because percy is textbook ptsd and it’s extremely easy to read him as bipolar and it’s really nice to hear the guy behind percy agree that in a different world, percy would absolutely be getting help

I feel like everyone who writes Erik as having started out looking like everybody else and then gotten acid thrown at him or whatever is forgetting the legit, actual thing that existed in the 19th century (and earlier, and now) that could eat someone’s nose off and had a huge social stigma attached

Syphilis

Why do we not have a phic where Erik was a handsome young man who fell in love with someone and contracted syphilis and lost his nose because of that?

I’m ready for a syphilitic!Erik phic

anonymous asked:

Fic prompt because I LOVE your work!!! Fitz with Ophelia "I'll never stop fighting you!" I

You’re so sweet, thank you! I should have spent longer on this (I’m gonna reread it and cringe later), but I wanted to get it in under the wire before canon blows it to shreds haha! [tw: obv ophelia features in this, dealing with feelings because of non-con, but they don’t have a ‘relationship’]

Read below or at AO3!

——

He doesn’t fight. When she lands them in a desert and lets go, he barely has the strength to lean over before throwing up.

“Oh, Leopold,” she says, concern etched into her features. “I’m so sorry. You’ll get used to the teleportation.”

As if an unexpected dematerializing is even on the radar of things to churn his stomach. He has been split wide open, the core of him exposed for everyone to see. He has flaws, so many of them, and before he might have listed them dispassionately: temper, loyalty to the point of blindness, jealousy, arrogance, a false bravado when he secretly feels like a coward. Years ago, he remembers thinking: Jemma knows my flaws and she loves me anyway. I’m not a bad person.

But now the protective film has been stripped away and he’s seeing clearly for the first time; this darkness has always been there. He is a bad person. He’s an evil person, and he has hurt people. His brain spins with images of his friends and his victims. In another reality, he had yelled at Mace for sending Jemma away without warning, but the punishment for that was not supposed to be death.

“You mean nothing to me,” he had told the woman he’d wanted to marry, and he would have killed her. His hand shakes, as if still straining with the weight of the gun. Fitz falls to the ground, rocks biting into his knees. He can’t remember how to breathe.

“It gets easier with time,” Ophelia says, attempting to run a comforting hand along his arm. He turns his face from her and retches again.

++

He doesn’t fight because he doesn’t have the strength and deep down he knows he deserves this punishment anyway. Perhaps he is doomed to wander through the desert with her for forty years; he hopes they both die before reaching her promised land.

“I understand what you’re going through,” she tells him. “And I’m going to help you, because you were the only one to treat me with compassion when I was a slave.”

“Don’t you regret anything you’ve done?” he asks. It’s the only thing he’s said in hours. For a moment, he’s not sure he’s even spoken aloud.

Ophelia gazes at him searchingly and then frowns, as if working through her own emotions. “No,” she finally replies. “I have learned so much, Leopold. I fixed a single regret for each of you, to make you happy. And everyone simply created new regrets.”

He wants to tell her that she rewrote his entire life. He wants to tell her that she took away all of his choices, that he loves his mother and would never have traded her for a lifetime with an abusive father. I wanted a father who loved me and supported me and stayed, he thinks, surely you knew this isn’t what I meant.

But he doesn’t argue with her because this, like everything, is his fault. You don’t put wishes out into the universe without carefully considering the consequences—he of all people should have known that.

“Humans don’t understand what’s best for them,” she says. “This is what I’ve learned. All this capacity for feeling, for free will, and they waste it. We’re going to create something better. We’re going to help people, and we’re going to be so happy.”

He marvels at how genuinely delighted she appears. Maybe she stole his soul to become a real person because he can’t even remember what happiness feels like. He thinks of Jemma, but all of his good memories are tainted by the acrid smell of gunpowder and the words he’ll never be able to take back.

“It’s time to go,” Ophelia says, grabbing his arm to disappear him again. He shudders at her touch, but he doesn’t fight. He doesn’t know how.

++

He sits in an abandoned house, head in his hands, and breathes through another panic attack. Ophelia, it seems, is growing impatient with his weakness.

“I need your help,” she says. “For our plan. And if you’d just let me, I can make all this pain go away.”

But he needs the pain, because it’s there to remind him that this world is real. He cries when he thinks of Jemma, but he needs to replay her words over and over so that he never forgets what he’s done and why he’s here. He has lost faith in everything, but he offers up silent prayers anyway: keep her safe. Keep them all safe, and I will stay here with Ophelia and I will not fight. No one could accuse him of not accepting his prison sentence.

Ophelia’s plan doesn’t make much sense to him, although perhaps that is because nothing makes sense to him at the moment. Or perhaps she doesn’t fully trust him so she’s only letting him in on part of it.

He has so little strength, but he holds her back in small ways. He sabotages where he can. Sometimes he hears Jemma’s voice in his head, guiding his actions. Sometimes he even sees her, but she never lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he tells this imaginary Jemma. “I understand.”

“Is this how you felt?” Ophelia asks, kneeling next to him. She has procured a bed for them to share, but he spends every night curled up in the corner of the living room, the stiff wood of the floor burning his joints. “Is this how it felt when she chose someone else? Do you know how much you’re hurting me?”

No, he thinks, of course this is not how it felt. With Jemma, his heart had shattered into a fine dust. With Jemma, he had seen her videos and known she loved him, maybe even loved him the most, and that made it hurt more. But with Jemma, he had thought her happiness could be enough to save them both.

Now, he and Ophelia are locked in a sick dance and when he falls, he will pull her down with him. He will sacrifice himself to stop her, and his anger and disgust and self-hatred will be enough to save the world.

Keep reading

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Mikaela Raita and the Maiba Twins - Denzo and  Tenzo

Okay y’all know how hard it is to do all of this stuff in pain and I want someone to know the real cost and recognize my hard work. today I:

-showered, washed my hair
-made coffee
-took the dog outside 
-made and ate a toasted english muffin with banana on top
-drove to the dispensary and got meds
-went for a walk for PT
-heard and saw an owl on my walk!!
-took a bath
-ate a cold taco for dinner

More Post-Entranced Thoughts

I wore a bathing suit today for the first time in years.

Proudly.

In public.*

I’ve had insecurity about my body and wearing swimsuits for years- dating back to when I was in my teens and freaking out about being a size 8. I’ve declined going swimming and frequently felt the need to completely cover up when I did go in the water.

I don’t know what changed. I think it has something to do with Entranced? Cute people wanting to play with me? People complimenting me and saying I was attractive? Unintentional (or intentional) post-hypnotic suggestions that helped me feel better about my self and my looks? Doing an explicitly sexy thing in front of people and getting good feedback? General confidence from spending several days doing a thing I am good at?

I don’t understand how it was so easy- so easy that I didn’t even notice something was different until already being at the pool for a few hours. But I’m going to hold onto this feeling as long as I can.

If you were somehow intentionally or unintentionally responsible- Thank you.

*Very public, actually- a very popular park/swimming pool