Self Hate - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
VENT + CW: Mentions of self-hate, 4bu$e, SH, Su1c1d@l thoughts, death threats
this is a vent, scroll past if youre just gonna degrade my feelings or feel uncomfortable
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I hate everything about me, my jokes, my laugh, my voice, my body, everything. I wanna make jokes, i wanna make people laugh, but it just gets them hurt in the end. I wanna keep myself safe, but at the same time i wanna get comfy, i wanna be myself. Because when i was young, i never get to be who i want to be because that just gets me abused in the process. It's been too tiring for me to put on a show for people just so they can enjoy me, i'm doing everything just for people to enjoy.
its not like they'll care about my true colors or not, it's not like im anything important to them. I feel like im nothing, like a bag of meat, like a person who just needs to go back into their hole and stay there
I wanna let out my true colors, but its too difficult, people are always there to look down on you. I hate being looked down upon as if im a child. Being takes as a child just makes me feel like im inferior, and i want to be taken seriously. I wanna be myself, but being myself isnt enough. I dont become comfy in public spaces, i dont wanna be babied by people online and in real life, it makes me feel smaller and reminds me more of how much insecurities and problems im holding in my body, it makes me feel like im unimportant.
Now for the abuse part. Theres so many things going on in my life that i dont want to share, but i feel like i should share this: I got heavily abused by my sister not long ago. I will not go into detail about what is she doing to me, but it just keeps happening to me all the time. She keeps telling me to kill myself, i dont want that to happen, i dont wanna keep her in my life, i dont want her to keep doing this to me. But at the same time, i cant, she's always there, always blaming me for everything, always degrading me, always aiming and abusing me when she could. She never respects my personal space, she never wants me to express my emotions healthily, she never wants me to be myself. If i tell one of my "jokes" to her, she'll call me disgusting and resort to yelling at me and verbably abusing me.
This has gone overboard. it has gone to the point of me harming myself, i've been cutting down on sleep, hitting myself, scratching myself, and more. I cant help but feel like i wanna kill myself because of her, i want my life to be over with, its not like anyone will miss me, its not like anyone cared or liked me anyway, its not like anyone will care about me, after all, i'm inferior and a literal baby to them. I'm stupid and useless, i'm a terrible person.
A word of advice for people struggling with self hate and depression, because I've been through it too
Don't insult yourself. This may seem really simple to some people. To others, they may be thinking 'easier said than done' and just assume it's impossible. When I moved in with my aunt I was struggling really bad with depression and self hatred. It had gotten to the point where when I even walked past a mirror I would turn my head the other way, because I just couldn't stand to see myself. I would also insult myself all the time, out loud. I'd drop something and be like "oh you're so clumsy!" Or mess up and be like "what an idiot..." if I did something wrong and my aunt asked me about it, or why I did it, my response would be "because I'm stupid." Or something derogatory like that. My aunt has a daughter who went through depression, so she knew what was going on. She started scolding me for insulting myself, saying "don't say that!" Or "no you're not! You just made a mistake!" And wouldn't let me tell her stuff like that, so I wasn't able to insult myself in front of her. Even if I said it in my head, I had to watch myself and not say it out loud, so I wouldn't get scolded. It became a habit to watch what I said I stopped insulting myself out loud all together. I'm not going to say it's easy, and it's even harder to stop thinking that kind of thing, but if ever you mess up, or are just feeling down, and find yourself talking about yourself, don't. Hold it in, don't say it, go get a drink, or chew some gum, or do something to keep your mouth busy, just don't say it out loud. I'm telling you this helps so much and I became so much happier. It was just one of the many steps it took towards recovery. I still struggle, and sometimes I find myself trying to insult myself again, but I just always think of my aunt telling me not to, and hold it in. If you don't have an aunt, or someone to look up to like that, if you don't have someone to tell you that, then I'm here. Remember what i said. Don't insult yourself. It's pointless and hurtful. You can get through this. Lift your chin a little :)
Together (Dean Winchester x Reader)
Request: Hi there! Love your stuff btw. Um i was wondering if you could do a fic when the reader is just having another terrible episode of depression? Usually she can handle it by having a moment to herself or simply resting but this time its too much for her and she’s loosing control? It can be Sebastian Michaelis, Dean, Gabriel, Undertaker, or whoever you feel is worthy. Im sorry if it sounds off, cause im kinda dealing with it rn. Um aha, anyways love your writing and thank you 🙂
Words: 1378
Characters/Pairings: Dean x reader, Sam
Warnings: Depression, meltdown, self-hate
A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to get this one out! I’ve, ironically, have been going through my own shit, similar to this story. That and work and school are crazy. But also know that none of you are alone. If anyone you need to talk to someone there is always someone willing to listen, whether it’s your parents or friends or even a school counselor. Shit, you can even talk to me. You are never alone.
Another long and tiring hunt has come and gone. (Y/N) woke with a start, ready for a fight, as a warm hand shook her shoulder.
“Easy there, sweetheart,” Dean said, gripping onto her shoulder. Her (e/c) eyes locked with his and she instantly relaxed.
“Dean.” She grabbed onto his arm to ground herself. After this hunt, she had been feeling more off than usual.
While the monster is now dead, so are many innocents. And she felt it was her fault. One stupid decision had an entire family murdered by that pair of Crocotta. The beasts had mimicked Dean’s and Sam’s voices and stupidly lured her away from the family she was supposed to be protecting.
“Come on, we’re home.” Dean helped her out of the car, seeing as her leg had been banged up pretty badly. He slipped a hand around her waist as her hand wound around his neck. Sam grabbed all the bags and followed the two into the bunker.
“Can you just help me to my room? I want to continue my nap.” (Y/N) wasn’t really tired. But it was easier to act like she was than explain why she was in such an off mood.
“Sure thing.” Dean turned to Sam, “I’ll take her bag.”
Sam handed it off along with Dean’s and made his way down the hallway to his own room.
Dean and (Y/N) made their way towards her room in silence. He knew she was acting odd but he just pegged it to the unfortunate outcome of this hunt. Hell, even he wasn’t feeling himself. He knew she would just sleep it off and move on, just as she always does.
He helped her into her room and left her with a small smile. She returned it as best she could but it fell flat.
After he left, her smile fell and she looked down at her hands, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes stung and her throat tightened.
What was the point of this anymore? Everything she does, everybody she tries to save, they all end up dead and she’s the one needing to be saved by Sam or Dean. Shit, even Cas.
She was just a burden on everyone. She wasn’t the fastest or the strongest, her aim wasn’t even close to being on par with Dean’s or Sam’s. Why does she even try?
Her eyes finally flooded with tears and they flowed in small rivulets down her flushed cheeks. Her body felt as it were on fire and her stomach flipped in her body. Knowing Dean’s room was just a few doors down, she bit her lip hard to keep her sobs in.
The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. Her arms twitched in pain when she dug her nails into her skin. (Y/N)’s body shook and convulsed with repressed sobs.
Managing to detach her nails from her arms, she dragged herself under her blankets and hugged her pillow to her chest, biting down into the fabric.
What’s the point of trying? It would be best if she wasn’t even here. Best for the Winchesters, for Castiel, and the people she caused the deaths of. She was going to die one day anyway. What’s the difference if it were today and not later?
She could hold back the sobs anymore and she let out a muffled scream into her pillow.
Just at that moment, the door cracked open.
“Hey, (Y/N), I know you’re trying to sleep but we got fo-” Dean cut himself off as he hurt your yell of anguish. “(Y/N)?”
She huddled tighter in her blankets, now red-hot embarrassment filled her alongside with the self-hatred. How unsightly, to be caught during a meltdown.
Dean walked up to her bed and sat down next to her, her back was to him and she was fully covered so he made to pull the blanket off but stopped at the sound of her voice.
“Why do you guys keep me around, Dean? I’m useless, a burden. There’s nothing I can offer you.” He could barely hear her through the pillow and blanket but he could easily hear the defeated tone.
“Sweetheart…” He honestly didn’t know what to say to that. He knew she had some issues with herself, but he didn’t know it was this bad. He pulled himself onto the bed and brought the blanket down to reveal the broken girl.
He gently grabbed her arm and lifted her up so he could hold her to himself. She clutched his shirt in her hands and she sobbed.
“I-I don’t know how to help you, (Y/N), tell me how to help you,” Dean begged. He couldn’t bear to see her like this. She had always been the one to help him and Sam when they were feeling low, so seeing her like this was heartbreaking.
“I don’t deserve to be helped…” She whimpered, shaking her head into his shoulder.
“Bullshit.” His tone was borderline harsh as he pushed her away so he could look at her face. “(Y/N), you are so important to m- us. You’re always there to pick Sammy and me up; you keep us in line when we need to be straightened out.”
She was about to deny him but the look on his face told her to shut up and listen.
“What happened yesterday couldn’t have been stopped. I know we wish we could save everyone, but sometimes we can’t. It’s not your fault.” Dean paused and licked his lips, collecting his thoughts.
“I know you may not think it, but you are so strong and brave to come this far. You’ve helped us stop the apocalypse the first time, then the Leviathans, and The Darkness. Without you, I don’t think I would have had the strength to get through any of it.”
“Dean, I-“
“I’m not finished.” He cut her off again. “You are so important to so many people. You have touched so many people’s lives and have rooted yourself so far into everyone’s hearts that if anything were to happen to you, everything would die with you.”
She sniffled and looked down. “How can you see something in me that I can’t?”
“Because sometimes you need to look at things in a different way. You taught me that. Every time we were frustrated on a hunt, you would be there to help us see a new angle. And this is just how I see you.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her in place. “You are so beautiful and strong, and you are the brightest thing in my life. Don’t know what I would do without you.”
(Y/N)’s heart was racing in her chest. She and Dean had always had some unspoken thing, even after all these years. But, because of the world almost ending every other day, they never had the chance to address this unspoken thing.
Until now.
“(Y/N), you know I’m not into chick-flick moments, but… shit… I love you so much. I want to help you get through this because you are so damn important to me. I don’t even want to think of what would happen to me if I lost you.”
(Y/N) hiccupped and a few more tears fell, but she wasn’t as sad anymore. Her eyes closed as she took in the warmth and love Dean was radiating. Her hands were clasped around his free one.
“Thank you, Dean. You always know how to make me feel better.” Her eyes opened and locked with his. She gave him a watery smile. “I love you, too.”
Dean’s grin was so wide, it stretched from ear to ear. Gently tighten his grip on her head, he pulled her forward and pressed his lips to hers.
As much as we would wish it were this easy, just declare your love for each other and everything is suddenly fixed, it isn’t that way. There will always be other failed hunts, other people lost, and new thing to break down over.
But now, she doesn’t have to go through it alone as she had in the past. She has Dean. And she knows Sam and Cas will also be there for her. They will get through this together.
Pieces Welded in Gold (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Words: 2.6k
Warnings/Themes: Self-hate, sad!bucky, angst, fluff, comfort
Characters/Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve, Nat and Wanda (Mentioned), Tony (Mentioned)
She was too good for him.
This is something he had in his head from the moment he had met her. She was a light in everyone’s lives, whereas he was just a pathetic excuse for an Avenger. It took her and Steve months to get him pardoned and then even more months for him to be accepted as an Avenger. Not that he blamed the people they had worked against. He has done so much damage in his unnecessarily long life.
So watching her now, laughing and smiling brightly with Natasha and Wanda, Bucky felt like some ghostly shadow that drifted solemnly down hallways, wondering if he was ever going to feel worthy of love.
The glass of champagne in his hand was set down on a passing waiter’s tray as Bucky excused himself from the group of men he stood with. They had all been talking of some heroic thing Steve had done on their latest mission. And while Bucky was extremely proud of the man Steve has become, he couldn’t help the jealously that rose in his throat. Like ichor that threatened to drown him in resentment. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Everything alright, Buck?” Steve, of course, was the first to stop the conversation and give his best friend his undivided attention.
“Yeah, pal. Just feeling a little empty, gonna go fuel up.” To others, it might sound like Bucky was just hungry, but between the two, it was a code they came up for when Bucky’s social bar was low. It was weird… it used to be Steve having to step away and Bucky making sure he was okay.
The ichor rose to the back of his mouth. Without giving Steve a chance to say anything else, Bucky paced off to the hallway where the elevators were. The grief of his old life and who he used to be hanging over him like the grim reaper.
He made it after skirting along the walls, avoiding prying eyes. Not that anyone would really look at him right now. They were all too busy celebrating something going on with Stark Industries that he had not bothered to remember.
Bucky was barely through the door of the apartment he shared in the Compound with Steve, when he began stripping out of the suffocating suit he had been required to wear. The jacket was haphazardly hung on the hook, mostly thrown at the wall it was on. The polished loafers were kicked off and left to trip anyone who walked through the door.
He entered his room with his button-up undone and his pants barely hanging on his hips. He finally discarded the rest of the clothes in a wrinkled pile in the corner. With a huff and a heavy plop, Bucky collapsed onto his bed in only his briefs. Getting up to shower and put proper clothing on felt like a mountain he didn’t want to climb right now. So he just laid there on his stomach, staring out the window and the fireworks that Tony had arranged.
He wondered if she was out there enjoying them. He knew she liked things like that. She had once told him in the dead of night in a Wakandan hut of all the things that felt otherworldly to her. Like fireworks. Or libraries. Bowling Allies after hours. Abandoned malls. Or her living room at 3am.
She promised him they’d go to places like that when he said he wished he wasn’t here. Just to disconnect for a while, to forget his problems and just feel like he was someone else. Someone that wasn’t the Soldier, or a younger version of him. Not even him right now.
It was at that moment that he knew he loved her. She was here to help him through the problems he was facing, but she also understood that sometimes he didn’t want to try. He just wanted to float away. And she helped him do that, safely.
He truly felt like he was floating when he was with her. Tied by a string to her wrist so he wouldn’t drift away. And she didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, whenever he was near her, she would always subconsciously grab his hand. Or when he sat next to her on the couch, she would always move closer until their thighs were pressed together.
In a small part of his mind that still held optimism, he hoped that she did this because she also felt that if they were apart then she would combust. Since he met her, she had always been a comfort to him, she was there when Steve had found his apartment in Bucharest. She stopped him when Zemo had activated the Soldier by using her abilities. And she was there in Wakanda.
The one thing he doesn’t know, however, is why. Why is she doing all of this for him? Why does she seem to care so much about him? Steve, he gets because they’ve been friends since diapers. But she didn’t know him before Bucharest.
She had him feeling every emotion known to man, but he couldn’t find a way to tell her any of it. He could pour his heart out about his frustrations on his past, on how he misses the 40s, on how he felt like a burden to everyone. But when it came to owning up to his feelings about her… he froze. How could he not? She was everything.
Bucky rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes, trying to dry the tears that didn’t seem to stop coming. The fireworks continued like bombs on the battlefield. His gaze was fixed on a random speck on his ceiling. His mind felt sluggish now and his eyelids struggled to stay open, even as tears still fell.
He must have dozed off at some point as now his eyes flickered open at the sound of shuffling outside his door. The fireworks had stopped, and the air was still and quiet. Steve must have just gotten in. The sound of the shuffling sounded like his gait and weight.
With a groan, Bucky lifted himself onto his elbows to look at the clock on his bedside. Two in the morning. A late one for an old man like Steve. Must have been having a good time then, seeing as how Bucky left the party around 11pm.
A shower was sounding more appealing now that he had released his emotions and slept some. He rose from the bed and hobbled over to the attached bathroom. He didn’t bother looking at his appearance in the mirror; he already knew he looked like shit.
Y/n wouldn’t think so, a tiny voice said in his head. She’d probably say he looked like someone who has lived a lot. Too much, would have been his reply.
He took a lukewarm shower and spent too much time under the spray, pretending that the water running down his face was only that. Not a mix of salty tears that apparently hadn’t run out. Once he was feeling a little more like a person, he exited the walk-in shower and entered the closet.
A simple black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants would suffice. He tried to practice some self-care Y/n had suggested and combed his wet hair and applied lotion to his skin. It gave him a small sense of accomplishment.
Bucky froze in the doorway between his room and bathroom, however. When did she get here? Was she waiting for long?
Y/n sat on his bed, one of the lamps on the nightstand was on. She looked fresh and clean with her damp hair in two braids and an oversized maroon sweater swamping her. She wore cozy-looking bottoms and Star Wars-themed socks. And she looked so beautiful cuddled up in his bed.
“Sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer. Figured I’d wait for you here.” She spoke so sweetly to him while offering him her hand. He didn’t hesitate to take it and climb into bed next to her, pressing her hand to his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thumping.
“It’s fine… Sorry, I left so early.” Bucky rested his head on her shoulder and her hand found its way into his drying hair.
“I get why you did, Buck. It’s okay.” Her free hand came to grab his metal one and threaded their fingers together. “To be honest, I wanted to leave as soon as I saw you walking out. But Tony, of course, demanded I showed off some illusions.” She sighed and released his hair to rub tiredly at her temple.
“Does it hurt?” Bucky sat up straight and took her face in his flesh hand as if he could take away the pain with just his touch. She smiled and shrugged. His body hummed when she nuzzled her face into his palm. Maybe…She does feel the same way as him. Why would she be here at this moment if she didn’t?
“Sort of. I’m still not used to using my abilities on so many people, and in combination with people telling me what to show them next; I got a bit of a headache now.” Her head was fully relaxed into his hand now and he couldn’t help but run his thumb over her cheek.
The question was gnawing at him, but fear of rejection was a brick wall stopping it from leaving his mouth. Would you stay with me tonight? When he was younger, that might have been something cheeky he would have said to a dame. But now it was something he felt he needed to keep himself from having a nightmare. Just someone he loves beside him.
“Hey, Buck?” He barely heard her over the debate with himself in his head. Her hand covering his own drew him from his mind. He briefly thanked God that she never read anyone’s mind without consent.
“Yeah, doll?” She smiled with her eyes still closed and her fingers running gently over his. A small quirk in her smile, however, had him nervous. She looked like she was contemplating something.
“I need to tell you something.” She finally opened her eyes and held his gaze for a few moments before looking away. Perhaps it was the dim lighting, but her face took on a darker hue. There was no mistaking the nervous lip bite she did, though. The movement has his skin feeling like it was ignited.
He adjusted his metal grip on her hand to give her a hopefully reassuring squeeze. He didn’t say anything but just waited for her to be ready on her own. That’s what she did for him. She never pushed him to talk when he wasn’t ready, just let him know that she was there.
She was silent for a while, her eyes fixed on the wall above his bed. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head. Of course, this anticipation was killing him. Was she rejecting him without him getting a chance? Was she saying that she was done helping him? Is he too much?
Before his thoughts could go any further, she finally spoke up in a quiet voice filled with anxiety.
“Before I tell you, I want you to know that it’s totally alright if you’re not ready, or you don’t… feel the same. I never want you to feel pressured or rushed, and it’s up to you to respond…” Bucky was practically on fire now. She took a deep breath, held both of his hands in hers, and looked him in the eye.
“I love you, Bucky,” she said. Her voice held no quiver of nervousness now. Her eyes shone with love and confidence in that love. The sight of it sent Bucky into orbit. The tether keeping him on the ground snapped and he felt himself floating away in pure joy.
The smile that broke over his face was wider than any she had seen before. He bounced up to sit on his knees and towered over her. He took her face into his hands, taking in every detail he could. He must be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep after he returned from the party, and this was a dream.
“Doll, I – Are you serious?” If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. She laughed and placed her hands over his. She nodded and he swore her smile was brighter than the sun. “Lord, doll... I – I love you so much.”
His eyes dropped down to her lips as her tongue darted out. “Really?”
“Of course! How could I not be?” He ran one hand over her hair, letting it fall to rest along her jaw. “You – you’re everything to me, doll. I’d do anything if it meant that I could be by your side, even if you didn’t love me.”
Her smile wobbled and tears filled her eyes. Her hand gripped his t-shirt and tugged him closer. “Kiss me.”
Bucky didn’t need any more prompting than that. He bent over her and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Everything he hadn’t been able to express through words, he tried to convey in his kiss. His hands held her face and neck like she was the finest porcelain.
Her hands spread over his chest and trailed up around his neck. Her fingers toyed with the short hair at the base of his neck. The feeling sent chills down his spine. He remembers when she helped him cut his hair and how she had run her fingers through the shortened locks then.
The super soldier pulled away briefly, only to press his forehead against hers. Her eyes were still closed, and lips still parted. She looked divine. Her bright eyes slowly opened and met his. And it felt like he was being seen for the first time.
How could anyone so perfect actually exist. And how could they love me?
“You’re perfect for me, Buck.”
His eyes widened and he pulled away slightly. Had she -? She shook her head.
“Your expressions are sometimes enough to know what you’re thinking.” She sat up on her knees and cupped his face. She ghosted her lips over his cheeks, moving over his eyelids and down to his lips. When she pulled away she whispered against his skin.
“I have loved you since I first met you. And when I saw you I thought to myself, in the words of Etta James, at last, my love has come along.” She sang the words and it sounded like the voice of an angel. It gave Bucky the little bit of courage he needed to ask her what he’s wanted to ask her all night.
“Stay with me tonight?” She kissed him again in reply.
“I didn’t plan on going back to my apartment tonight anyway.” Bucky grinned at that and pulled her off the bed with him.
“Good, because I was only asking to be polite.” Bucky grinned slyly at her as he pulled the duvet and sheets back. He noticed she had brought her biggest and softest blanket from her bed. “You were really confident, weren’t you?”
She shrugged and grabbed the blanket from where she had deposited it on the armchair in the corner of the room. He took it and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulders. She gave a squeal when he swooped down and picked her up. He couldn’t help himself as he kissed her again before laying her down on the bed, and then again as he crawled in next to her.
“I love you, sweetheart.” Bucky could feel the cracks in his heart fusing, held together by the pure gold of her love. She cuddled closely to his side and laid her head on his chest. He brought his vibranium hand up to caress her cheek.
“I love you, too, James Buchanan Barnes.”
Atticus pulled his sleeve down over his fingers,hiding the glimmer of skin twisted beyond recognition by magical backlash and curses.
The mother, horrified, tugged her child away before they could reach out and trace his scars, fingers thick with wonderment.
Sawyer appeared from behind a shelf, hands holding a too bright colored cereal box, in time to watch a mother flee in horror and Atticus withdraw into himself like a soldier retreating from bloodshed.
Three pieces on a chess board playing a game Atticus had never wanted to play. Destiny, they had called it. Fate. They mixed his name with Chosen One until the lines between them blurred, until he was no longer Atticus, yet not quite a savior, and ended stuck miserably between. Never a pawn, never a queen, but still utilized as both.
A bottomless rage flickered in Sawyer’s eyes, a reminder of prophecies and villains and ‘to do what must be done’, and then it was gone.
He laced his fingers into Atticus’s as if he couldn’t feel the places where his skin was warm with magic.
“Do you want to try this cereal?” He asked. Atticus took the box from him, found a wizard smiling up at him.
He wanted to light the box on fire—he could, if he willed it. Just one thought and he could rewrite the atoms of the world.
Magic doesn’t like to leave a host when it’s found a good one, the healers had promised him. They said it like he was lucky, blessed, like he should rejoice that his skin was now marred by ever changing swirls that glimpsed into other universes, like he should be pleased that his body was no longer his but instead a vessel he co-inhabited.
Atticus was not pleased. Atticus was scarred.
He gave a little hum. “Sure. Looks okay.”
Sawyer chucked it onto the shelf without a glance, tightened his palm around Atticus’s, and abandoned the shopping cart.
“What are you doing?” Sawyer tugged them through the sliding doors, feet sure as they slid closed behind them. “We have grocery shopping to do, we can’t just leave—“
The child spotted them and let out a shriek of glee, eyes training on the swirl on the side of Atticus’s neck like a bloodhound. They smiled wide, and innocent, and bubbled to their mother. “Look mom, magic!”
A tone so reverent, that their mom paused as they set a jug of milk into the trunk. Her mouth twisted as she saw Atticus. The child stirred restlessly in the cart.
Blessed one. Savior. Pariah.
Sawyer smiled at the child and Atticus let himself be shoved into the passenger seat of their old SUV.
The engine trilled, and he avoided touching the dashboard.
Technology and magic were two siblings that fought viciously,and he was tired of the squabble.
Sawyer seemed content to let them sit in silence forever. Atticus was all too aware of his scars changing shape beneath his shirt.
“Why’d you have us leave?” Atticus said finally. Sawyer turned sideways in his seat to look at him.
“Because you were uncomfortable.”
He said it like it needed no further explanation. Maybe to anyone else it wouldn’t.
“Right, but I was fine. I could handle some horrified stares. I’ve fought villains before,” he gestured to a mass of glittering stars whorling around the skin of his knuckles. “I can handle a perturbed middle aged woman.”
Sawyer shook his head.
“I know you can. And I do not want you to take this as me disregarding the actions of others—because believe me, they are fucked—but I think maybe somewhere along the way of learning how to handle others you forgot to learn to handle yourself.”
Atticus sat back against the door.
“Sawyer, what the hell is that supposed to mean,” he bit, and Sawyer ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“Atticus, I love you, and this hurts to say, but you hate yourself.”
Atticus blinked. Then blinked again.
“What?”
Sawyer’s eyes bore into him, jade green and love and sorrow.
“You hate your scars. You hate your magic. And somehow, along the way, that started meaning you hate yourself too.”
Atticus tried to swallow around the stab wound in his chest. It felt too hot in here. He turned on the A/C.
“I don’t—“ he tried, and then stopped as the magic purred at the lie. Such a wretched thing, collecting promises, lies, and favors like candy. A petulant child always begging for more.
Sawyer took his face gently.
“Atticus,” he said softly. “I love you. And I want you to love you, too.”
Atticus was certain he did not remember how to breathe. Sawyers callus’s sat soothing on his skin.
“I hate them,” his voice cracked. “I hate it. ”
His scars twisted across his abdomen like they could hear him. They likely could.
Tears threatened to spill down as Sawyer reached down, and took his hand.
Atticus closed his eyes to ward back the onslaught, and then blinked open when he felt Sawyers lips brush over the scar on his forearm. A second later, they glanced over his elbow.
“What—“ Sawyer shoved up his sleeve, and Atticus’s voice broke as he kissed the magic undulating on his bicep. “What are you doing.”
“I love you,” Sawyer murmured against his shoulder. He tugged Atticus over the console. “And if words do not work to convince you of your worth, your beauty, how wonderful you are.” Sawyer lingered on the scar on his neck, before sliding up to whisper the last words into his ear. “Then I’ll just have to show you how beautiful you are, won’t I?”
They didn’t get the grocery shopping done. But somehow during the night, Atticus grew to like the warmth of his magic sliding slick across his skin. Because it was his—it was a part of him as his hair. And really, wasn’t it beautiful to have galaxies contained within your skin?
“I love myself. And my magic. And you,” Atticus murmured in the late hours of the morning, and Sawyer sat back like a house cat, pleased, above Atticus. Sawyer rested his hands under Atticus’s shirt as he lay entirely too flushed and sweaty on their bed.
“You sure?” Sawyer grinned, all reckless youth. “I think you might need some more convincing of how pretty you are.”
Atticus blushed.
“I think you’re right.”
Sawyer kissed him and he made a noise that made Sawyer grin further against his mouth. Atticus was beginning to like this “self love” thing.
Sawyer tasted like summer.
He never wanted to taste anything else.
You know what? No, I'm not as fucking strong as you think I am. I'm actually quite sensitive and every time you make fun of me it. fucking. hurts. I'm an idiot for letting things go and coping with every stab through my heart with all sorts of addictions to numb the pain you give me. Thanks for making me into the pathetic loser I am today.
Slowly people are seeing me for who I really am. One by one I will lose them. And although it won't be the typical we-don't-speak-anymore kind of losing, no because we're adults, it'll be more like the relationships become more formal, more stiff. I'm happy for my friends for finding better people really. You deserve better, and my pathetic sorry ass shouldn't drag you down.
I feel so dumb. Why the hell is this shit not being processed and understood in my brain?????? I know I'm generally dumb but being good in studies was what little pride I had left. Gosh I don't like being stupid. Yes I admit I get bored from being successful and getting good grades all the time but failure could and WILL ruin me. I give up easily and have a very weak will. I can't afford to lose the only thing I'm good at.
It's one thing being told you're ugly but it's something entirely different when you're told you're ugly even with make up.
She's not to be blamed for your incompetence. Just admit it, you fucking suck. Stop being a dramatic bitch. And control your fucking anger. You're so childish. I can't stand you.
She says that I'm lucky I'm strong and don't give a shit. She doesn't understand that it has happened to me so many times that I stopped feeling anything towards situations like that. I've become completely numb, not strong. Instead of feeling sad, I'd feel empty and hollow.
He hates it. All of it. It's trash to him. Just like me. I've disappointed him as usual. He said it's below basic level. BELOW. BASIC. LEVEL. FUCKING. BELOW.
I am a failure. As usual. I am below basic level. Below basic level.... below..........
"I hate you".
Thanks I hate myself too.
"You're so fucking annoying".
Sorry I got carried away with my excitement.
"It's none of your god damn business".
Sorry I didn't mean to care.
"I wish you're gone".
Me too.
"You don't deserve any of this".
I know I don't and I'm always feeling guilty about having it.
"You're so dramatic".
I'm sorry that I'm tired of hiding my feelings but I'll make sure to hide them again.
"Shut up".
Don't worry, I hate it when I talk too and if i could control it, I wouldn't utter a word.
"You're so fucking dumb".
I know...
"You're fake".
Because the real me is much worse than the fake me.
"You're so fucking sensitive".
I try to keep it to myself but its so hard sometimes.
Its always better when I'm not there. I completely understand too. If there was someone like me I'd prefer they take their negative ass as far away from me as possible.
I know I'll never be good enough. The only real use I have is to be a fake ass to make others feel better about themselves. When I'm being myself, no one can stand it. If you don't like me, then tell me. Don't just fucking string me along, yell at me, and spread lies. At least when I die, I can say I was honest.
I’m gonna self doubt myself every time and I *HATE* that for myself