[terrifyingstories]

tiffany, 26, she/her, aroace lesbian, grad student. prev. asuffocator, loveisaviolence. 21+. @lingeringscars is my favorite person, other half, partner in tears, and as such, my blog affiliate. this is a low maintenance, sporadically active, headcanon driven, minimal aesthetic multi-muse utilizing beta editor and big text.

points of focus on this blog: found families, coming of age stories, hurt/comfort, identity, girl monsters, messy women, complicated family dynamics, intimacy, gender and sexuality, unreliable narrators, and the healing and recovery of it all.

[thisgentle]

a multi-muse.

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: don’t try to relate to me. you and i are nothing alike.

it stings. friends are few and far between these days while enemies pop up like weeds in a garden, and for months now the core mission statement of sarah's life has been i don't know who to trust.

that's not to say she doesn't stop wanting to, though. maybe that's the kook in her- always looking for somewhere safe and warm to lay down. always craving something that won't blow away in the wind.

at the same time, if sarah has learned anything about pogues, it's that friends keep them alive.

"you're right."

she looks down as she says it, like a scolded dog.

then back up again, a mix of stubbornness and amusement. these winds have not yet taken the lighter parts of her. she will not just be a vessel for inherited weight. "you're definitely pricklier."

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars sent: [LEAN ] sender looks over receiver’s shoulder who is sitting, placing a hand on their desk while receiver shows them something

a sudden image of bellamy that clarke had no recollection of remembering pops into mind when she feels the slightest warmth gather in her cheeks at the light brush of his chest against her back. it was a lifetime ago, yet it had stuck with her - maybe because it was one of those moments early on that made clarke realize bellamy was just a boy kind of in the same way that she was just a girl.

they'd gone on a day trip to uncover supplies, and before the jobi nuts had kicked in, he'd taught her how to shoot. it should have made him feel more intimidating to her, reminded her that at her side was a man who had once taken a shot at the chancellor, but as he'd helped her correctly position the gun in her hands, he'd seemed almost flustered. for all the girls he'd brought into his tent at night, just the act of touching her shoulder had roused a blush.

it was tempting to poke fun at it after all the hell he had given her, and yet she hadn't been able to. she'd long since realized bellamy was putting on an act, but this went deeper. somewhere inside the infamous bellamy blake was a boy whose life had gone horribly wrong. a boy who, for all his boasts of confidence and air of experience, clarke now realized probably hadn't been able to have so much as a friend on the ark, let alone a girlfriend.

the young, flustered-but-hiding-it bellamy in her mind makes her heart squeeze when she thinks of the bellamy looking over her shoulder now, carrying the weight of the world tenfold and wearing the scars to prove it. but for only as long as it takes her to realize she's the flustered one now, hyperaware of his warmth and proximity to her. flustered isn't an emotion clarke thought she could feel anymore, and yet she finds herself chewing the inside of her cheek to stop the stupid little smile pulling at her lip at his closeness.

focus, clarke.

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: i just wanted to feel close to you. i thought you wanted that too.

there's a kind of steadfast, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality that tasha takes to all her stowed away skeletons that's always made melissa sick. like, what does she want, a congratulations? contrary to the longstanding hastings' belief that winning is everything, there really is no medal shiny enough to be worth that kind of deep in the trenches, down and dirty work as it relates to childhood trauma.

but the victim mentality hasn't done much for melissa either, and neither has the ever-flowing river of denial. in fact, all of her approaches thus far have kind of sucked, so maybe she'll have to try something else.

she expects it to be terrible - they all know how stellar she is at honesty - but finds a kind of control in it that almost makes her feel stable, in control (and when has melissa ever felt that? correction: when has ever melissa felt that, and had it not be a lie?)

"i spent years trying to get mom and dad's attention. to feel... like they saw me. and i guess... the closer you got to them, to me... it more felt like you were trying to ride on the coattails of my hard work. to.. take something that you hadn't earned." melissa tries to swallow the shame of that, what's left of the bitterness she hasn't been able to choke down all the way. "i didn't... know any better, at the time. you shouldn't have had to earn their love. or their approval. or... mine."

is that supposed to reassure her, that melissa wasn't thinking about her that much at all? that she was too wrapped up in the hamster wheel of looking for their parents' love most of the time to see much else? probably not, but it's honest. "i do want that, spencer." present tense. she can say that honestly, now. she's trying to say lots of things honestly, now.

[davidcorensweet]

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: i don’t think i’ve ever been this fucking tired.

the knot in her chest loosens a little at mari's admission in a way that could be mistaken for malice if not for the slightest catch of her breath at being... maybe not needed, but... helpful, at least. there's no part of jackie that's glad for mari's suffering, just... a sizable part of jackie that's relieved by the brief window of opportunity for something familiar.

she really liked being a captain. not for the reasons people thought. maybe a little for the reasons people thought. (she did like it, being listened to. mattering. but not in that cringey power trip, obnoxious, inflated perception of self-awesomeness sort of way. just- she wanted to be good at it. she took it seriously. it was scary as all get-out sometimes, the pressure of it all, nervous tingles all the way in her toes, but it was important to her.)

"settle in, ibarra," jackie says with a little prickle of pep she doesn't feel in any identifiable part of her body but hasn't yet let go of, opening her arm for mari to climb inside.

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: what happened to your face?

if fielding intrusive stares and comments were an art form, tasha would have mastered it. the questions and looks don't faze her, but the obnoxious attempts to conceal staring and hushed whispers are just irksome enough that there's a little approving twinkle in her eye when she smirks at the bluntness of harper's question, even as she raises her eyebrows at the unexpectedness of it.

well, and she just likes her, full stop, and tasha's positive regard can be quite the powerful thing. the kind that makes her offer a couch and cash she doesn't have to spare to a girl she caught breaking and entering. makes her want to dig a hook into harper's curiosity like it's a fish she can reel in before she takes off again.

"my brother." tasha answers with her own bluntness, perhaps a little more direct than she'd be with the common stranger. she isn't one to mince words, but she can read the room, toe the line of socially appropriate when she wants to. maybe it's a little trust in exchange for harper hanging around. maybe it's just to say i have darkness, too.

and because she can't help herself, "if you want to know more than that, you'll have to stick around a little longer."

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: every time something good happens, something bad comes to ruin it.

mikhail rolls the stem of a dandelion betwixt his thumb and index finger, glancing down at the weeds he pulled it from as he leans into her just enough for their knees to touch, provide the presence of another person if nothing else. "i felt that way for a long time."

flowers didn't stop blooming after he lost sonya, but he stopped seeing them. he stopped seeing a lot of things.

he knows what it's like, being swallowed up by the darkness. he walked through the world for years without so much as candlelight. he knows. "sometimes i still do." this is softer. he doesn't talk tend to talk about this as much- the darkness that lingers still no matter how much light makes it way into his life, the heaviness that sits at the foot of his bed like a loyal friend.

he reaches up to tuck the dandelion behind harper's ear, giving her a gentle, subdued smile before letting his hand drop.

"i guess another way of looking at it is that no matter what happens, good has a way of coming back around." it's not mocking or confrontational, not even really convincing. just a kind of warmth and earnestness to it that makes him look younger, softer somehow. "i know you're in the darkness right now. but you're not alone."

[terrifyingstories]

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!

thank youu🥹

[lingeringscars]

Everyone go congratulate my best friend @terrifyingstories thanks

[terrifyingstories]

i passed my licensing exam!!!!!

[terrifyingstories]

@lingeringscars: stop it. stop loving me. i'm not worth it anymore.

he almost tricks himself into believing this botched retelling of the last six months where he was a good and honorable enough guy to try to stop loving her- that is, to try and stop being in love with her. because he knows that's what he was supposed to do. it's what nikki told him to do (no, she told him to keep it in his pants - okay, he's paraphrasing, but that's the gist). he didn't wanna be a creep leering in the little window he got of harper's happily ever after with one blue-eyed russian heiress; he wanted to be a good guy, respectful and honorable and michael-like. bellamy-like, but maybe not as tortured.

he's never been a good guy. he wanted to try.

but that's all it is- unreliable storytelling. rewriting history. 'cause he never tried to stop being in love with her. he never tried to stop loving her. he never even wanted to.

he's a greedy son of a bitch. everyone knows that.

it wasn't worth it to him- being a good guy. not if that was the cost. call him a bastard or a prick or whatever you want. he just couldn't do it. he couldn't give it up- the feeling of being in love with her.

he could never, ever give it up.

he sank in deeper. he rolled around in it like a dog in mud on a hot wet day. he bathed in it. he drank it down like hot chocolate in the dead of winter. he lapped at it like you do chicken noodle soup during a bad cold. he sought it out for comfort. it soothed him. it nourished him. it was healing. it was inspiring. he'd never loved a feeling so much. he'd never felt anything better.

so even if it was a choice like her words suggest, even if he could just snap his fingers and cease to love her, the idea is blasphemous. he'd laugh at it, if the words didn't just shatter his heart into pieces. "you thought you broke my heart before," he teases gently, earnestly, in that somehow light-but-deep birkhoff way of his, eyes shining. "trust me, nothing you said packed half the punch as that did, happy."

it would almost be unfair to blame him for the way his fingers tenderly reach up to touch her temple and brush her hair back, for all the control he has over it. it's tentative- the way that last night played out isn't lost on him, he's not so lovesick he doesn't recall her venom. he knows now she was trying to push him away then, and this feels similar enough to make him slightly cautious. but mostly he just doesn't want to scare her away. "no can do," he breathes softly, finger tracing the apple of her cheek. a little gruff sniff, "not buying."

[terrifyingstories]

i miss you guys ❤️

[terrifyingstories]

WHAT COLOR DOES YOUR LOVE FEEL LIKE? quiz results for meredith beckham.

deep staining red. ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. it's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. it rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. and you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. atlas holding up the world, how are you? is your love still flowing? is your heart still open? still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? because i see them, i read them, i love them and you, you, you, you. clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

tagged by: @serendpitous <3 tagging: you!!!!

[terrifyingstories]

hi

HI i love you more than bluebeary pie

[lingeringscars]

when nikita corrects, something inside her stirs. It wasn't a fight, no comment about her being too dramatic or that birkhoff would like it just fine they're fine. she didn't realize how much she needed to be listened to as his wife. after the hell that was (is?) ronald and the semi-uncertainty that he'll stay, she needed the correction more than she realized.

birkhoff would too, she also realizes. after the hell that is ronald, he needs to be stable in himself, in his name, in his choices. he chose seymour birkhoff (he chose her) and that has to count for something. "seymour?" she teases again. her face doesn't scrunch anymore when she says it. he is her husband after all, so she has to get used to his name, especially if she's taking birkhoff on herself. she expects nikita to say that's going too far. she once said the same.

it's hard to trust that they're really, truly free. it seems like a dream, and they'll wake up in moments realizing amanda escaped or was never actually locked up. she keeps looking over her shoulder expecting to find someone from the shop; she still wakes up panicked thinking amanda killed birkhoff. it's not over for them. she doesn't know if it will ever be truly over. they'll carry division inside of them.

she wipes at nikita's tears when she sees them, gently brushing them to the side. "i think he had you pegged from the get-go." harper agrees. "owen...sam? definitely did." if she never sees sam again it will be too soon. "we get married in every state." she teases. her thumb brushes the band of her ring, a tiny smile on her features. if this is over, i'm getting a marriage license in every state. twice. maybe nikita just knows them, but she chooses in this moment to think about her knowing birkhoff wanted to marry her like this. "settle down. get a house, start a family. host the best parties anyone has ever seen." she finds that she's crying herself. "sorry." she looks over at nikita, and suddenly feels that she can relate. it takes her a minute to trust it, to not just be annoyed because nikita chose to leave them all behind. "if he still... if he doesn't leave me, i guess." with a little shrug. "he can take a lot but... we've never fought this much. we've never..." today. she clings to the 4B necklace, steadying herself with a breath, thinking of the man she knows her husband to be. "guess it depends on you. kinda always depends on you."

[terrifyingstories]

nikita gives the sincerest of attempts before her tongue gets tied up in it, the awkward and unnatural “s-seymour” she tries to slowly repeat back to harper in understanding until her jaw gets stuck. she laughs a little at herself then, because that really shouldn’t be so hard, and yet feels like harper might as well have asked her to give her a kidney right on the spot. her hands get all tangled in intestines and guts trying to carve out over a decade of knowing birkhoff as… well, birkhoff, and get with the times. “i’m sorry, does he really want us to call him that now?” a little laughter at her own struggle still hangs on the end of the sentence, but there’s a genuine spark of fear in her eyes, fear that she might actually have to learn how to call him that, fear that that last little piece of history will be gone.

no, not the last piece. or else she wouldn’t see the war still raging on behind harper’s eyes, wouldn’t be reaching out to touch her arm as she observes a painful moment of resonance in her own chest. “amanda’s gone,” she reassures her. “she is. i watched the door close. and your husband stood there for a couple minutes after making sure it was amanda-proof and grilling the soldiers about their credentials. she’s never getting out of there.” she still feels an ache thinking of a little girl trapped in a basement, but in a life-changing turn of events, forgiveness rises to the surface, too. she forgives herself for not having been able to save her. maybe she even forgives herself for not having been able to save the girl she was all those years ago, for letting her run from bad situation to bad situation until she ended up at division. she doesn’t know what to do with this new urge to protect her, to wrap her arms around her and shield her as prying eyes try to thumb through her life like a book. michael thinks knowing her will only make them love her. 

nikita wants to love herself.

she leans into harper’s hand on her face,  gently covering it with her own and squeezing it. when she met ryan, really met him, a lot of things were up in the air, including them, literally. yet, he'd found it in him to trust her. he didn't see the feral, broken girl they'd brought into division, but he hadn't just seen the hero they were painting her as either, nor the monster on the wanted poster these last months. he saw a woman saddened and tormented by the things she had done and tried to convince her there was a way back. "something like that." nikita replies. "he saved my life. not.. just on the plane or in the CIA or... any of those times. he.. um.. he saved me."

"owen." she wipes another tear. "sam." it's hard not to feel the weight of another failure, another loss. it's about your heart. your soul. she lost ryan, but maybe she got some version of the owen she knew back. maybe she gained sam. she isn't quite ready to go there yet, but there is a little hope there, deep inside all of the grief. "we... understood one another."

she smiles at harper as she divulges plans for the future, tearing up herself - this time not for fear, but for genuine happiness for them. they deserve this. and she wants every bit of it for them. she starts to reply, but something about harper's tears causes her to shift, moving closer and gently putting her hands on her shoulders, squeezing them and shaking her head at the apology. "i know," she says softly, leaning into her and allowing her the floor to continue. until harper does, and she realizes how much of the tears - how much of the fear - is her fault. she breaks at that, pulling back inside herself. she hasn't forgotten her fight with bellamy, not for a moment, but it comes back up to the surface now, threatening to take her over.

"harper..." her voice falters a little. "i'm so sorry. i shouldn't have put birkhoff in that position. we should have told you. i should have told you." she hugs herself again. "but... he didn't do it for me. not really. he was worried about me, i know that. but.. he said no. he said he wasn't going to lie to you, and he was pissed at me for asking him to. pissed at me for wanting to do it, too. he was ready to walk. but i... i was so sure it would work. that.. that we could finally put a stop to amanda. i was so sure.. this was the only way, because.. i was giving her everything she always wanted, or.. making her think that i was. and he.. he wanted that life with you so badly. and.. i was dangling it in front of him. life with you, amanda gone, avenging ryan. he couldn't walk away from that, and he thought he could tip you off. i'm.. i'm so sorry if i... for causing problems with you guys."

[lingeringscars]

she recognizes the look in nikita's eyes; she's worn it enough times herself. it gives her the strength she needs to touch birkhoff's back and leave his side to go to her because as much as she feels like she has to make up for the last few...months... it's clear nikita needs it more than him. she doesn't get it, and she'll probably never understand how he can easily sweep it aside, but she knows he will be okay in a way nikita won't be.

no. nikita will be okay. she will be great. but without a mission, without a plan, without a goal or a demon to fight, who is nikita mears? (she has a long list of adjectives from stubborn to majestic to downright cruel sometimes; nikita is left feeling empty. she knows this because she has been there, too.).

she presses her hand against nikita's arm, gently coaxing her to release the tension she's holding there. "don't call him nerd." she teases. she doesn't think it bothers birkhoff anymore. no, she thinks he appreciates the fondness that comes with the nickname and sense of family and belonging. it was once a sore spot, though, and so she feels the need to defend her husband against something even she doesn't perceive as an attack against him.

"you're free, too." fear trickles into her voice. everyone knows nikita doesn't do well without a mission, but no one believes it more than nikita. she ran once, and what is to stop her from finding the next thing? the next big bad syndicate? and if she does, what does that mean for her marriage because birkhoff would never leave her alone (she would never leave her alone). she takes a stab at what she's feeling regardless. "ryan wanted that for you."

[terrifyingstories]

something stirs in her at the touch, some knot of emotion rising to the surface and shifting underneath her skin. tears well in her eyes at the gentle pressure and she instinctively leans into it, but she doesn't know how to release the tension. which, well. she's never been much good at releasing much of anything. yet, it feels different. like maybe, just maybe, she's sat all of the wars down, or at least they've come to an end all the same. she believes the fight is over, if just because she's run out of it. maybe it was seeing amanda in that place, or the weight of the door she closed behind her when she left her there. maybe it was ryan, some release of having avenged him - or perhaps more likely the absence of him shattering what pieces of her remained without that to hold on to.

she's done stupid things out of fear before, at times downright feral things, but she's run out of energy for stupid, reckless, careless, insane. that doesn't make her numb, not exactly. she carries all of it - the fight with bellamy, the uncertainty with michael, what feels like a matter of time until she loses harper and birkhoff. maybe she should lose alex like she lost bellamy, maybe she deserves that. he was right. she never should have asked what she did of any of them. she's feeling exactly the kind of self-loathing that could make her shrink away from harper's teasing, at the reminder of yet another instance where she let birkhoff down, but instead she manages a little apologetic smile as she self-corrects, "birkhoff."

she could see how that name is more important than ever now.

nikita could crumble beneath it all - the grief, the fear, somewhere, miraculously in all of it, the hope and yearning. despite amanda's many thorough teachings, the desperate, desperate hope for a life with michael, a life at all. it doesn't seem possible, yet it feels more real when harper says it. "he did." nikita agrees, tears slipping past. she knows that. he'd wanted that for her for a very long time, maybe even before they touched the ground after that flight back from chile. "i think before he even knew me." really, really knew her. he should be here. he should be here. "what does that look like for you? for you guys? a life without running and hiding. where do you go now?"