I’m Not Even A Charli Xcx Fan But I Felt Compelled To Make This

i think my favorite thing about sterek is how much of a loser they both are. Like, think about it. Derek, practically a loner and not by choice, had to bite a bunch of teenagers to keep them around him. Stile’ best use to his “friends” is coming in handy for research before they inevitably ignore him again.

And they both just. think the other is the coolest person ever. Like holy shit, werewolf Derek is super strong and capable and never gets flustered the way stiles does. Or how stiles is fast as a whip, always saving the day without any type of supernatural ability. It’s like they were made for just each other?

They find each other always, look for each other in every danger, when no one else does. And yea, even when stiles and Lydia got super close or Derek had allies, they still kept the other in that special spot. Not too far but still in the back of their mind so someone can look out for them.

//TW//Ab*se, M*rder//

G*ps* R*se is honestly a better person than me, cause my mom would have to beg to only have those stab wounds to part earth with.

She would’ve personally been fed every drop of medicine left from that big ass pantry from my own hand. I would’ve made sure she wouldn’t feel a thing in any of her muscles expect the brain. And rest assured, she’d be parked in that wheelchair in front of loud ass cartoons until she kills herself from lunacy.

She got off too fucking easy. Mental abuse is a killer; a million times more deadly than physical abuse the way it burns on your soul for your entire life. The lights look different, you can hear them buzz louder. Footsteps aren’t just soft padded noises, they come down like thunder and they match your heartbeat. You feel suffocated, trapped, in a cycle of betraying them or yourself. You are never the victim even when you so very much are.

The PTSD is the same, I guess. You flinch at movement, have nightmares, search for a way out in every space you occupy, think of the entire conversation and rehearse it over and over before they happen, and you never feel alone.

G*ps* is luckier in a way. Her abuser messed up by letting her feel too unloved, and the guilt that bitches life was floating on sunk, hard.

getting a job is so hard because now you have new coworkers and a uniform and an older manager who tells you that you’re doing so good. he hovers around you at the register in that ridiculous plaid shirt and you wonder if his wife bought it for him or not. you get customers commenting on your banter asking if you’re father and daughter and you bite your lip when he laughs. he bumps into you by accident all the time and says sorry as he glances back and you realizes he never glances at anyone else. his way of talking to women is to look off in the distance far above their head and it works cause he’s so tall, but he somehow always finds your eyes. he smiles and teases you in the break room and you just think, please god just do it now. then reality sets in and you remember his response to the woman’s question was that his daughter is four years old and his wife is on his lock screen. he apologizes for even grazing your fingers because there are sexual harassment awareness posters all over the staff lounge and the other manager is friends with your very protective father. and having a new job is just so hard.

I guess that’s why I like to read so much.

I’m alone a lot, and for the most part I don’t hate it- with my father’s Appalachian genetics I have realized that I am probably better equipped for that than most people. But I also recognize that isolation isn’t beneficial to me as a human, and sometimes I can feel it squeezing me from all sides, my social skills leaking away from the applied pressure. My lips dry out and glue themselves shut. When I’m reading a book I have another person’s voice with me for a week or so, and that can feel like a kind of warmth. As if I have a visitor.

claudia being 14 feels unsatisfying compared to her being 6 until you’re an emotionally stunted 20 something year old who feels like she’s in a hurricane of turmoil and hormones that mirror what you’re supposed to feel during puberty and puberty alone… but it never ended.

you’re in a constant state of wanting more: more from your parents, more from your peers, more friends, more fucks, more to fuck. her being 14 seems too old, until you remember that at 14 you felt too young. this severed limb staring at you from the table in a limbo of confusion wondering, who’s limb it is? who do I belong to? a mature woman or a young child.

you insist you’re a woman, but everyone around you feels different. you insist you are old until you’re father yells at you again and now you’re just that little girl who he thought he put in her place already, but clearly you need reminding. claudia being 14 is how we feel when we grow up mentally but everyone around us keeps us as a still image in their head. that little girl they know that will never be grown enough for the world. and sometimes, you believe it, you perform it.

but I know different, I feel that raw anger no girl knows. the burning feeling that claws up your throat. the betrayal. the horniness. the euphoria. she was heartbreaking being stuck in the body of a 6 year old. but it’s equally and as intensely tragic being stuck at 14.

"One day I will get over them I swear"

*Looks at the 200+ open ao3 tabs*

it’s weird that when i was going through the worst shit of my life , i’d consume the most vile , disgusting , gorey media possible. it was almost like a comfort.

now it’s like i can’t even look at that shit without barfing , i feel proud of how far i came . almost fully normal

forcing yourself to love the little things.

going outside and being miserable. just to have said that you went outside that day.

listening to music that makes your teeth clench.

wearing clothes that squeeze you too tight so you can look put together.

it’s a ruse. it’s a cover up. it’s a poor excuse for a life. but fuck- at least i’m trying to live it?

Leila Chatti, from “Tea”