#massive trigger warning

TW: this song talks of plotted assassination and plotted rape

Pretty shitty sketch since I have school in the morning and other projects I’m working on but you get the idea.

In both cases it was Merula.

It’s a complicated relationship to say the least. Andi first thought that Merula was just an annoying girl til they saw her passed out in the library reading about curse breaking and helped ,erula put with the vaults out of pity. They start to get along but are also really rude to each other. They hate each other but would give up the entire world to see the other one happy. It’s confusing how both of them became friends yet at the same time it makes sense. Two traumatized teens with complicated feelings to their mom who are left to carry the social consequences of family members. Andi and Merula’s are genuinely close despite everything. They’re trauma bonded yet violent and codependent at the same time. It all crashes when Merula reveals she knew about the portrait vault and Jacob. (Reminder that this is my AU).

Andi genuinely hates Merula in that moment and Merula gets a black eye out of it which honestly, fair. But in the portrait vault, Andi can’t just leave Merula there with Rakepick. I don’t know how I’m gonna write it but Andi basically trades places with Merula and gets taken by Rakepick like the last post and then they meet again but something’s different. It takes some time, all the way to late sixth year but they actually become normal friends. They weren’t as close during their adult years but they met up again and…

⚠️‼️Trigger Warning for Andi telling Merula to KYS after an awkward night‼️⚠️

(Obviously Andi doesn’t want anyone dead, it’s just how I imagine they’d reply to someone after they got in a situation that was definitely the other person’s fault. The usual victims are Merula, Ismelda and Ben if he kills Andi in super smash bros.)

This post contains subject matter of a delicate and distressing nature. Please proceed with caution.

If you're in a vulnerable state or sensitive to emotionally heavy topics, consider skipping this post.

This post contains subject matter of a delicate and distressing nature. Please proceed with caution.

Your mental well-being comes first. If this topic is difficult for you, it's okay to scroll past or take a break. 🖤

Last chance! Spoiler is in tags for those who don’t want to see under the spoiler.

They left their three toddlers (Madeline was the oldest at three) in an unlocked room in a resort, and went to have dinner with their other parent friends.

my mom visited for a little while. she wanted to be my meal support mainly, and came prepared with a tasty curry the first day. her thoughtfulness is mindblowing – she used only ingredients that are safe-ish for me, and even told me she didn't use oil.

before telling her about my ed, i was so sure she'd never be able to "meet me" where i am at in my illness and semi-recovery or be patient enough to deal with my fucked up behaviour. but holy shit, i was so wrong. for some reason it feels amazing and awful at the same time.

she worked from my living room while i went to work, and she always had dinner ready for me as i got back home. it was difficult. so-fucking-difficult. but i ate everything she'd lovingly put together. problem is, of course, i couldn't help but to compensate on my other meals... i've never felt sicker in my life. i don't count anymore (i can't, it drives me to the brink of absolute insanity), but i know i'm restricitng more and more and eating less and less. everything makes me anxious now. even soup. it makes NO SENSE.

christmas approaches too quickly and it scares me because i'm deteriorating quicker. at this rate i won't be able to stand on my feet by new years.

i had an appointment with my ✨️person✨️ at the ed advisory organisation, and i brought my mom with me this time. i wanted her to see things a little differently maybe, in a way i've never been able to pit into words. and my person, bless her big beautiful heart full of care and support and love, helped her understand. she's stuggled with buljmja in the past, so she knows all the most fucked up and horrific parts of an ed, and she manages to convey it in such an amazing and succinct way.

at one point, she asked me to tell my mom what it's like for me. i knew what i had to say, but the words lodged in my throat – i've always kept that particular truth so close to my heart no one has ever seen even the slightest glimpse of the truth. finally i pushed out: "i've been in pain, so much pain, for so many years, it hurts so bad, and..." my voice turned into a hoarse whisper, the only way i could admit it. "this is the only thing that helps." and then i burst into tears. my mom hugged me, choked up, said she was sorry for my childhood, sorry for not seeing me, sorry for rarely hugging me, sorry for treating me harsher than she did my sister, sorry for not protecting me from my father's ire, sorry for not being there when i was falling apart.

my person said i could let it all out, that i could rage and cry and lose it as much as i wanted to (and she KNOWS how much i want to), but i couldn't. i composed myself within minutes, shut myself off and tried not to feel ashamed.

i made a lil birthday cake for my coworker, who's so kind and lovely and fun and helpful (i love my job & coworkers so much). vegan carrot cake with buttercream, decorated as a rainbow.

i also made a huge carrot cake for everyone else to enjoy (we celebrated one-month-to-christmas, so a lot of people came to the common room to have lunch and snacks together) and i had to cut it in half just to fit it onto the plates! i know it doesn’t look particularly tasty, but people told me it was the best carrot cake they'd ever had so i'm happy!

i couldn't eat it though, not even one bite. i'd spent hours making it, but all i allowed myself was cinnamon oatmeal with chunks of apple and sugar free orange jam.

i've always found solace and a sense of meaning in going to work every day, but now all i want is to quit my job and completely isolate myself so i can restrict even more. the want is so intense it scares me.

the restriction is out of control. the panic is consuming me, i get angry just LOOKING at food now. i never in my life thought i'd let it get as bad as this. that number... it should be fucking terrifying. i don't get why it's not.

i want to escape this, but i can't figure out how. it's like a chest locked in a chest locked in a chest, and all the keys have crumbled into sand. i feel horrible, mentally and physically – my body is breaking down and I can't stop the awful descent. i'm in hell where i burn in glowing embers and i'm at the bottom of the northern sea where i freeze into crumbling chunks of fine glazed ice and i'm deep in a rotting forest where i petrify into uneven slabs of grey stone. i will turn to dust if someone puts their hand on my skin, but i'm so touch-starved, i just want someone to hold me forever. i want to feel safe.

my sister visited over the weekend – she's worried. she's been making all sorts of food for me, but i just get worse and worse. the toxic urges are controlling me almost completely now, and i'm barely fighting it. she doesn't push, but she's there for me. we talked a lot. childhood, depression, ed... friends, family, work, fun, future, movies, literature, our mom's dog. i've missed her.

we never connected on a meaningful level despite growing up together and being so close in age. i know it's my fault, i subconsciously blamed her for my abuse growing up, and treated her cruelly because of it. she never deserved it. maybe it's not too late though. i think she misses her sister too.

people generally don't take candid photos of me – it's just not really in most of my friends' nature – so seeing some of the pics my sister took me a of me this week... gods. the lines around my mouth are so pronounced. i look awful, i look double my age. dried up, shriveled little shrimp.

FREE PALESTINE

sister and i went to a public memorial service for the victims of gaza. the speeches were some of the most emotional i've ever heard – not just of sadness and softness, but of a burning rage, an inferno directed at our weak and cowardly government, at the hypocrisy of the west, at the genocidal existence of israel.

vær stille når barna sover, ikke når de blir drept // be quiet when the children are sleeping, not when they are murdered

sister & i went to my city's biggest "classical" cinema that specialises in analogue film, and we saw cabiria from 1914, accompanied by live music from an incredibly skilled pianist! i absolutely adored the start of this film: superb special effects, intriguing storytelling, beautiful set and clothing design! a stunning piece of art honestly. the film slowly began to collapse in on itself though, the longer it dragged on. why name a film after a super interesting character if the film is not actually about that character? i don't care about the men or the wars or the generals, i care about cabiria! wasteddd opportunity.

got some really really lovely snaps from friends this week, and some funny ones. i love how technology has made it so easy to stay in touch with people you don't get to see that often.

one friend wondered when do i sleep, really, because i was baking the carrot cake at 2 am, to which the answer is 'i don't' lol. i get up at 6 or 7, and i fall asleep way past midnight, every single night. surprisingly, i'm doing alright. coffee helps.

another friend made my soul weep touched tears when he sent me a picture of gorgeous traditional polish shirts because he knows i like them. i can't get over the fact that he wanted to share his find with me like this.

a different friend sent me a video she'd taken of a cool location, which i LOVED and of course i told her so, and she said to me: "i specifically took the video for you cus i thought you'd like it" and oh. the way my heart soared when i read that. like... i matter to people? they think of me even when i'm not there? wild.

and on that note... there are incredible people on this app. so supportive, so beautiful, so lovely, so capable of preservering through the toughest and most painful of times. they inspire me, they listen, they share my burdens. i don't know what i'd do without them.

This post includes: Talk of self harm , And vivid self harm imagery (written).

Do not proceed reading if this could trigger you in any way. This poem is based off my personal experiences with s/h and I am writing it to cope and not relapse. I am 5 months clean.

You have been warned. Please stay safe, okay?

- Ghost (he/him)

——————————————————————————

“It Wears Red” by @statement-of-anonymous-ghost

(Subtitled “Cravings”)

Draft poem

Unedited

The cravings are worse at night. I’ve never really understood why.

Maybe it’s because when it’s night and everything is quiet one starts to realize just how alone they are. A tiny speck on a tiny dot floating through the endless vast emptiness of space. Insignificant.

Maybe the silence provides room for the mind to spiral, warping the world around you into a twisting haze. Maybe the monsters like the dark.

The cravings are worse at night.

The figure standing at the foot of my bed is an old friend. It wears a wine-soaked suit, but its teeth are solid steel. Its eyes glow a brilliant shade of scarlet and its skin is porcelain white.

It places its hand on my shoulder and leans in to whisper about how it “can make me feel better” and presses its blood soaked lips against my forehead. I try to push it away, but it’s many shadowy arms grasp me and keep me in place. They feed the sensations in my body as I shiver and begin to cry.

It hands me my tools and says

“You know what you have to do, My darling~”

And then it is gone and I am covered in blood.

My own blood.

The cravings are worse at night. Metal against tissue that I can’t even recognize, blood soaked sheets, and lies. It reappears and laughs at me, rubbing salt in my fresh wounds.

“You’re pathetic” it says

And I just nod as it walks back into the shadows.

It wears red, but it paints the world grey

[End]

Please don’t use this poem.