the thing about my aus, is that i tend to make them fluffy and happy and low-stakes as compared to canon, because canon is already pretty fucking awful, what with battling for their lives and losing family etc etc. but lately i’ve been haunted by this mighty nein modern high school au that is not at all happy or fluffy--it’s heavily based on my own high school experience, and, from what i’ve seen on tumblr, a lot of other people’s, too.
under a read more because this shit be triggery, y’all
caleb widogast struggles with self-harm. people think he’s taken up smoking in order to combat the depression brought about by his parents’ deaths; they’re right, sort of, but not really. he doesn’t smoke them, he lights them and then he burns himself. there are rows upon rows of neatly spaced cigarette burns down his thighs; no one ever sees, because no one ever checks thighs.
jester lavorre is fake. she is bright and cheerful and always laughing, everyone’s favorite friend, and when she goes into her room at the end of the night it’s all she can do to keep herself from screaming. she’s tired, she’s stuck, all she wants is to be free, why can’t anyone see how much she’s hurting--
veth is just...not. not pretty enough, not cute enough, not thin enough. she stares at the fridge full of food and feels the rumble of her stomach; she’s too weak, she can’t, she--
she eats until it hurts, and then she throws up until she’s better. when she sees yeza brenatto the next day, she ducks behind her hair in shame.
caduceus...feels like something might be wrong with him. when his siblings or friends talk about sex and getting off and all that stuff, he just. doesn’t get it. yeah, they’re pretty. yeah, they’re handsome. so what? is he supposed to feel...something else?
lucien doesn’t feel like his name is lucien. he feels more like a molly, really, but he’s afraid to say the name out loud: isn’t that a girl’s name? he’s not a girl, either, but he’s not sure he’s a boy, either. he’s heard of some people using they/them instead of he/him and she/her; he tests it on his tongue, they test it on their tongue...not sure yet. he’s not sure yet? they’re not sure yet?
fjord’s name is fjord, and his pronouns are he/him. his name is not fiona, he has never been a she/her. the only person he’s ever told is his foster father vandren, who looked him in the eye and said, “hello fjord, it’s good to meet you” and shook his hand, man-to-man.
but now vandren is gone and he’s alone and--what is he going to do. what is he going to do?
fuck you, mom and dad. beau is a lesbian and that’s the end of it. wasn’t this what you wanted, a nice little boy who would marry a nice girl and provide an heir to the winery? well, she failed the nice and she failed the boy, but she’s still going to marry a girl someday, so fuck you. fuck you and what you want.
yasha loves zuala so much, so much, but skyspear can never know. skyspear has bigger dreams for her sports star yasha than zuala, bigger dreams than settling down and a little florist shop and living happily ever after. yasha doesn’t know what to do, but she can’t lose zuala. she can’t.
eight teenagers, in a single classroom, sitting in their seats and listening to their teachers--all of them struggling, all of them quiet, all of them keeping their heads down and just trying to survive.
Violet doesn’t meet Hancock’s gaze as he speaks, instead gazing down at the scars littering her arm–self-harm.
She’d felt worthless since coming out of the vault–hopeless and weak, even with all the examples of strength still in the Commonwealth.
Her family was gone and she was far from finding her son, apparently now in the Institute.
Hancock had stumbled in at the absolute wrong time as she’d held one of her knives to her wrist again, drawing blood just so she could feel alive–know everything was real.
Unfortunately, her Hell was real.
“I’m–I don’t know what to do….” she tells Hancock, leaning into him as tears run down her face, head on the shoulder of his red frock.
She wanted the help, but had always been scared she was not worth it.
Dull eyes watched the blood trickle down the side of his arm; barely even able to feel the pain through his drunken state. Then again, his pain threshold had always been very high. Why was he even doing this? To feel something in his dull and numb life? Even pain didn’t seem to stimulate him anymore.
Well, that’s what you get after downing a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he should cut back…
The thought of being sober wasn’t a feeling Simon wanted anytime soon. He wasn’t even aware of Alex’s presence as he pressed the sharp edge of one of his keys into the already nasty looking gash. Wondering how far he could sink the metal in before he could actually feel something.
He hated this. Wanting to be numb to the world; but at the same time desperately wanting to feel something. It played tricks on his already troubled mind.
