May 15, 2024
self dx culture is oh god what if im wrong. what if im being dramatic. what if nothing is wrong with me. what if im being a hypochondriac again. what if im wrong oh god what if im wrong.
felt
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self dx culture is oh god what if im wrong. what if im being dramatic. what if nothing is wrong with me. what if im being a hypochondriac again. what if im wrong oh god what if im wrong.
felt
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@elizabeth-ithink @sunflower1000 @scared-and-crying @thelazywitchphotographer @wolfeyedwitch @lonesome--hunter @whump-me-all-night-long @dabi-s-whore @jadeocean46910 @emeraldwhump
TW: General angst, pinned, doubt, fear of being left/abandoned, lashing out
"Why do I feel so weak all the time..?" Morgan asked, walking into the living room where August sat, playing an old piano.
"Hm? You're a new vampire. You're not weak— You're much stronger than you were before— you just feel that way because your body is still adjusting." August played quieter. "It's like when you get really sick and then you still feel weak for a while even after you're 'better'. It'll pass in a couple more days probably."
Morgan sat on the piano bench next to August, who glared at him. "That doesn't make it easier to play, you know." August scowled.
Morgan smiled. "I didn't know you could play piano."
August rolled his eyes. "What, you thought I just kept a random piano in my living room?"
"Well do you know how to weave since you have a loom?" Morgan pointed across the room.
"... Yes, actually, I do."
"Really? Can you use all of the things in here? Even the... whatever that is?" Morgan pointed to a device hanging on the wall.
August stopped playing and stared at it. "That’s a trolley bell. Of course I can use that— so could you. I used to drive a trolley, so it came off that."
"Why would you keep that..?"
"Why would I get rid of it?" August snapped.
"Well your house is kind of crowded. It just seems kind of impractical to keep so much stuff. Doesn't it kind of make you a hoarder?"
August hit a sour note and stopped.
"... These things..." He trailed off. "I'm not a hoarder." He picked up playing again.
"I guess you have lived for a really long time... I'd probably have a lot of stuff too... Are they sentimental?"
August didn't answer.
"August?"
"I heard you." He played louder.
"Are you lonely?"
He closed the piano. "Why do you always ask such personal questions? You barely know me."
"How am I supposed to know you better without asking questions? Why don't you ever ask any questions?"
"Because you're not going to be around forever! What's the fucking point in getting to know someone who's just going to leave!?"
"I'm a vampire now. Aren't I by definition going to 'be around forever'?" Morgan rolled their eyes. "Unless you're anticipating my murder— which, by the way, is kind of rude."
Before Morgan even knew what was happening, they were pinned against a wall, August leaning in close to their face with a snarl, his hand forcing Morgan’s face upward. "I said you'd leave, not die. As in voluntarily."
Morgan’s heart was in their throat as they tried to push August off. Their hands were shaking from the panic rising in their chest.
But August let them go a moment later and was out the door in a moment, leaving Morgan to wonder what the hell had just happened.
—
Why would you keep that? Are they sentimental? Are you lonely? Aren't I by definition going to 'be around forever'?
"Fuck you. Fuck that. Fuck all of this." August shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the street. "No one stays. Dont fucking pretend you won't leave too."
How am I supposed to know you better without asking questions?
"You don't need to know me better."
Why don't you ever ask any questions?
"Why did you wait for me outside the police station? Why did you choose to trust me with your life? Why did you let me turn you into a vampire? And why did you ask if we could be friends?"
August squeezed his eyes shut.
"And why did I just fucking snap and almost hurt you? Damn it im such a fucking idiot..."
August kept walking. Walking until he got to his park. The one that was always empty. The one he had taken Morgan to.
No.
He didn't want to think about that.
This was just a park. That's all it was. And he didn't care about Morgan. He didn't.
He couldn't.
It had... Been some time since Lav left the room.
He finally opened his eyes.
But... He didn't stop counting.
He looks tired.
Shaken.
Refusing to do anything but count.
He never cleaned his room after it happened.
What's the point of it anyway if they're just going to put him back?
It's all artificial.
They're...
They're all just pretending, aren't they?
Pretending to keep him safe.
They're just pretending to like him, but they're going to put him back.
And he finds himself continuously struggling to breathe.
They're going to put him back.
He just wants to live in the lie that they're all happy forever.
But he knows the truth.
He knows it's not real.
He knows that they're going to put him back soon.
He didn't leave his room.
He's been still there, counting.
Not counting the seconds he's trapped...
But counting how long it takes them to put him back.
//@bubble-steven.
Even after it wore off, he hadn't moved.
Everything around him was broken.
He was still on the ground, curled up.
He didn't dare open his eyes.
The never-ending sight of orange wasn't helping, so he wasn't going to look at it.
He's still shaking.
And he's still counting.
Things were broken on the floor.
Some were sharp.
But they all surrounded him, and he had paid no mind to them.
He's stuck, after all.
And he can't stop counting.
And he doesn't dare to move.
He doesn't dare to look up.
Because he's scared that when he does, what he sees will be too much to handle.
Because he doesn't want to see Varian, covered in blood, asking him why he did it.
He doesn't want to see Bubble, trying to free him out of this cage when in reality, they all knew it was safer that way.
They all knew it was safer that way.
They all knew that if Lav was trapped, they would be safe.
They knew. And yet they took him out.
But now they put him back in.
Was it just a tease?
Just- just to get him thinking he was forgiven?
When in reality, everyone still hated him?
When everyone still was scared of him?
He was a threat, and he still is.
He deserved to be put back in here.
And he doesn't dare open his eyes to see the truth.
"Maybe this was all my fault"
"maybe I'm just scared"
"maybe I just killed and didn't want to admit it"
"maybe they weren't cursed"
"maybe they wanted to keep me here so I would rot"
"maybe he didn't love me"
"maybe they don't love me"
"maybe this is why they don't love me"
A person, with devil horns and a tail drawn in the corner.
Am I a monster because others got hurt when they touched me?
“i’m faking being plural”
the voice in my head last night: