#I am genuinely starting to get suicidal again like sorry to be crude but I don't know how a Trump presidency ends other than me just

[musical-chick-13]

Guys, you've gotta vote. You've gotta do everything it is possible for you to do in order to keep Trump from getting into office again. Yes, this means voting for the new Democratic candidate, whoever that ends up being. Yes, I know it sucks. Yes, I know it's exhausting fighting for harm reduction and making tiny steps at best. You still gotta do it. You still have to do your part to make sure the world doesn't burn.

[thebeautyoffanfics]

ah thank u!! i was wondering if you could write a amane yugi found family fic with a gn!reader if that makes sense :]

(platonic) amane yugi and gn!reader

a/n: of course!! I think it makes sense, so I do hope I do this right! It wasn’t really specified, so I just sorta,,, started writing, and kept found family in mind? So I really hope it’s alright- Thank you so much for requesting, I’m genuinely so sorry for the time this took, and I hope you enjoy!! :D

(YOOOO GUESS WHO HAS A COMPUTER AGAIN!!! I'm unstoppable, babyyyyy, and am determined to get the requests done as quickly as I can-!!)

warnings: none?

word count: 872 (the angsty bonus bit is 270)

Amane understood what it was like to be a bit… indifferent to your family? He couldn’t be sure whether your relationship with yours was any similar to his, unless you told him first, but he did know one thing. For the most part, you were more like his family than his blood family.

He loved his family, sure. He had a decent relationship with his family at one point. Unfortunately, that point felt like it was forever ago. It mainly started when his brother went missing, he thought, but… upon the return, Amane really began to wonder if his brother being gone was better. It was cruel, yes, but whatever creature was posing as his brother was more so. Between his distressed parents, and that strange look in “Tsukasa”’s eyes, Amane was certain he was beginning to much prefer you. No, it wasn’t beginning… from the moment the two of you became friends, he was able to find comfort in you. Amane could only hope he provided you a similar sense of comfort, but- judging based on how you came to him just as often as he did to you- he liked that he could assume so.

You smoothed your shirt down, glancing over at Amane. “You should have told me you were coming,” You muttered, walking over to him, and laying down. Your parents were away, and both you and Amane knew they’d be gone for a while. That’s one reason you were so comforted by him… even if your parents weren’t, Amane was always around.

“Should I have? It’s not like I usually do,” He responded lightheartedly, not taking his eyes off of the stars. So, you did the same. Your eyes traveled upwards, as you took a moment to admire the sky. Amane had told you many times to just look up- every night, if you take a moment to think about the stars, your worries feel a lot smaller. You feel a lot smaller.

“Hey, what’s that one?” You questioned after a moment, tossing your hand up and pointing at some random star. You were doing it on purpose- wanting some sort of reaction out of him. His knowledge on the stars seemed endless- it amazed you. Capturing your attention, as it would most younger siblings. Sitting and listening to someone who was like your older brother, letting him ramble as he pleased. Maybe it was boring at times, but Amane let you ramble about whatever you wanted, so you could do the same for him.

Moments passed, as Amane spilled every little fact he knew. Perhaps he didn’t know as much as a professional, but he still knew so much more than you did… It was cool. How did he know that much about a little burning ball in space? There were billions. For a split second, you wondered if anyone would care to know as much about you as Amane did the stars- but the thought was crushed by Amane adding something a bit off topic.

“Anyway… maybe we should go inside? Mom got dinner, so I brought you some. I wasn’t sure what you had in the house, and cooking’s a pain.”

That’s right… Amane cared.

“Ohhh, alrighty! Thanks, haha- honestly, I was probably gonna procrastinate cooking until the last minute, so I appreciate it.”

The two of you made your ways off of the roof, and inside your house. As if it was his home- and, by this point, it very well could have been- Amane walked into the kitchen, unpacking two little boxes. Put them both in the microwave, setting a time, then glancing over at you.

“You didn’t eat at home?” You questioned, not wanting him to feel pressured to explain, but wanting him to feel welcomed to share.

“Meh, at this point, I can’t tell whether or not mom really cares. She’s on-board with me visiting you so you don’t get lonely, and making sure you eat, and whatnot. Aside from that, I… I dunno, the house feels more weird than welcoming. You’re family enough, ehehe.”

“Hm, the only weird thing now is that laugh,” You joked, opening the microwave a second before it beeped. “Sorry though. I really do hope things get better. I’m sure they will!”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. You don’t need to apologize,” Amane ruffled your hair lightly, causing you to swat at his hand in annoyance, “Thanks though. Whatever has to happen is going to happen, I guess…? And what needs to happen now is dinner.”

You laughed at that comment, taking the box he offered you, and taking a seat at the coffee table in your living room.

Amane tossed you the remote, then sat next to you, letting you turn on a show the both of you found interesting. The only sound coming from either of you was the sound of eating, as the TV’s noise filled the room. Yes, these nights were your favorite. They were both of your favorites. When the two of you didn’t have a real family, you had each other… These simple things really were what made a family. Dinner and TV, a comfortable silence between the two of you, and both of you perfectly content with that.

BONUS LITTLE,, ANGSTY BIT. Anon didn’t request this, so don’t feel obligated to read it- I just felt like angst <3 feel free to consider this just… an alternate end. Amane doesn’t have to die in the main bit <3

WARNINGS: mention of death + suicide, vomit, pain-

“Amane… is dead?” You muttered, staring at the flowers sitting on his desk. The same flowers rested on his brothers’. Tsukasa had caused Amane distress… right now, you couldn’t help but focus on the death of your best friend.

“Did you not hear? Apparently, he killed Tsukasa, then,” Your classmate motioned crudely, dragging a finger across their neck to indicate his death, “offed himself.”

You were going to be sick. You were. You were sick- clumps of your breakfast splashing against the floor beneath yourself. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

Unable to control your actions, you ran out of the room, practically collapsing outside of the school. You wanted to run away. Yet, there was no escaping it.

“It’s a lie,” You muttered, tears spilling down your face. “They’re lying.”

Your heart ached worse than you thought it ever could. Amane couldn’t kill anyone- Amane couldn’t be dead. You sobbed, fists balled up as you let out all of the grief that was rapidly building up.

Students looked your way, several rushing to grab teachers. Before the day could even start, it was over. Going home sooner than you expected to like, with words you never wanted to hear ingrained in your mind.

Upon your return, some time later- giving you barely enough time to learn what you could (though you still couldn’t process it), you heard mutters. Little whispers- rumors floating around.

“Have you heard the rumor…? Apparently, there’s a ghost in the girls’ bathroom on the third floor. It says, she’ll grant your wish- for a price, that is.”

[hopescamp]

a small thing of seigo and jun’s first interactions 

Seigo always felt it was important for people to connect with each other, especially in times of strife. But here, in what was supposed to be a bonding experience, many people were jumping to hostility immediately.

Akemi had been the first to try to talk to Jun, hoping her classmate would be able to see reason. He'd told her to stay away; that he wouldn't talk to the others outside of a group of three or more.

"What are you saying? You're going to kill me if I try to talk to you?"

"Of course not," he retorted, gesturing with the crude wooden club that hadn't left his hands. "But there's no trial for broken kneecaps."

"You're being absurd." "That's the appropriate reaction to an absurd situation. A man died, Akemi. It won't be the last death, and I have no intention of becoming a victim. Now, get the hell out of here." He paused for a moment, then added: "or let me check you for weapons." She shook her head with exasperation, but finally walked away.

After Akemi told the rest of the group what had went down, no one else was interested in making the attempt to talk to him. If he was so suspicious of everyone, they were happy to let him sit out in the forest until his paranoia drove him crazy.

But Seigo had always been told he didn't know when to give up on someone.

-

For a moment he thought he must have gotten lost, but a rock whizzing past his ear proved he'd finally found his destination.

"Fuck off."

Jun was sitting, his back against a tree, watching him intently. He had a second rock in one hand, and with the other he held a club. Sticking out of his coat pocket was a visible knife handle, and who knew what else he had on hand.

Seigo stopped where he was standing and waved.

"I came to say hello. My name's Seigo -" "I'm not making friends. I said fuck off."

"Well, Kahata told us what you told her. I'm unarmed."

Jun narrowed his eyes, clearly regretting having talked to Akemi at all.

"That meant her, not the rest of you."

Jun had been spending most of his time in his cabin or in the woods, and though he joined the group for morning meetings and meals he largely kept to himself. Perhaps the solitude was starting to wear on him. Maybe he was just curious.

Seigo just stood there, thumbs looped through his belt loops, looking as patient as can be. Jun gave him another once-over - no sign of anything in his pockets, no bag. Though he was shorter, Jun felt pretty confident he could take the man in a fistfight.

"Fine," he said, standing up and casually pulling the knife from his coat pocket. "Stand still. No fucking around - I will cut you."

"I'm sure you would," Seigo said, and Jun frowned slightly. Despite the words sounding mocking, the tone was completely sincere.

After carefully patting him down, Jun finally leaned back on his heels.

"Fine. What did you need to talk about so damn badly?" "Like I said, I just wanted to say hello." Jun stared him down, but once again, the taller man seemed completely genuine.

"Don't you have something better to do with your time?" "No. I mean, I feel this is the most important thing I could be doing." Jun raised an eyebrow.

"Not looking for an escape, finding information, protecting yourself, plotting a murder?"

"Well. We've been doing that too. Er, not the murder bit, but..." Seigo trailed off for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, and Jun sat back down against his tree.

"I feel like...in a situation like this, the most important thing we can do is try to stay united. If people stress out and don't work together, it'll just be even worse." "So you're saying there'll be no murders as long as we all get along?" "I believe so."

"That's moronic."

"I th-"

"There's already been a body. People kill each other out there in the real world every damn day, and that's without a demonic kids toy trying to pressure them into doing it. You're assuming the best in everyone will prevail, and it's not optimistic, it's suicidal. There will be a murder. There will be several. Hope and friendship aren't going to save shit."

Jun was expecting Seigo to get upset, to storm off, to attack him, but instead he just gave a thoughtful nod. "I know what you're saying. I just can't agree with you."

--

There were several things Jun had expected to take place once the true nature of this camp was revealed, and so far all of his predictions were coming true.

One thing was a surprise, though: Seigo came back two days later.

"Good morning, Ikarashi." "What."

He didn't look even remotely fazed, and Jun was too confused - and frankly annoyed - to process what was going on at first.

Once again, Seigo insisted on talking, seemingly unbothered by the weapons check.

"So, what is this?" Jun asked, well on his way to pissed off now. "Are you trying to convert me to your friendship circle?" "No. I understand why you don't want to join the group. I'd still like to get to know you, though." "Why so interested in me?" "I want to get to know everyone here. You're just proving more difficult than most." "Most?" "Have you met Yoneda?" Jun snorted. "Fair enough."

"Besides, I know you won't actually kill me." Jun started to argue, but was interrupted. "Akemi and Takara know where I am, and when I'll be back. And you've established yourself as being aggressive. You'd be caught too easily." For a moment, Jun just sat there. And then he laughed.

Maybe this chipper idiot had more brains than Jun gave him credit for.

--

"How on earth are you a taxidermist?" "Huh?"

"With the way you are. Soft-hearted. You cried at a killer being executed for killing your friend, for fuck's sake."

"Well...I don't kill the animals." "You're still carving out their organs and taking their skin." "You're deliberately being crude. It's...it's respectful." "I sure hope you don't respect anyone here, then."

"Though they die, they get to be remembered. Made into something useful, something beautiful. Instead of rotting broken by the side of the road, it can be honored."

Jun was silent for a moment, contemplative.

"You're goddamn weird."

--

Even though Seigo made a point of coming around frequently, no matter where Jun was situated, Jun hadn't dropped his guard. It didn't matter how friendly he was being; Jun wasn't the type of man to take chances.

He still felt some surprise when the routine was broken by a sharp metal object found in Seigo's overall pocket.

Pulling it out and swiftly stepping back, Jun studied it out of the corner of his eye while still trying to watch Seigo, who had paled.

It was a scalpel, so thing it couldn't be seen in the pocket. The edge of it was slightly green and sticky.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I was helping Hiroji cut some herbs and he told me a sharp edge was better to use for the plants so -" "And you couldn't use some scissors?" "Well, I usually keep my tools in my pocket. It's a habit."

It was definitely suspicious. Jun gave him a hard stare, saw that he didn't look scared, just apologetic and a bit embarrassed.

For a moment he waited, and then, quietly cursing himself, put the scalpel in his own coat pocket.

"You should break that habit."

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

How I Got Sent To Rehab For Being Too Gay

Flickr / rabble

I grew up as a sassy little boy in Arkansas. My parents separated when I was three or four years old and had an ongoing custody battle for me and my two older sisters until my seventh birthday. I was raised by my sisters, who had to grow up far beyond their years at such a young age. While they were raising me, my parents would use us as pawns in their game against one another. Wed be carted from one parent to the other every other weekend, despite our tears, screaming, and demands for all this to stop. It wasnt our choice; the court had ordered it.

Ive always known that I was gay. In fourth grade I told my best friend that I was in fact a bio-sexual. Yes, I said bio-sexual, and I remember explaining to him that that meant that I liked both boys and girls. He looked at me for a moment, as if planning his next move, and he promptly said that he didnt want to play with me that day. I went home, and the next day I told him that Id just been joking. Though he accepted my excuse, he became my enemy when he rode his bicycle down the street, called out my name, and then spat in my face. Rage filled me as I stomped down the pavement after his bicycle, grabbing at his backpack in anger. It was then that I realized that Arkansas was not the best place in the world for me. I had to get out.

It wasnt until I was 14 years old, after I had read Harry Potter and done copious amounts of research, that I decided that I wanted to go to boarding school. My mother was against these sorts of ideas, coming up with all manner of excuses, including telling me that I was going to die and that Id never see her again. My father, on the other hand, loved this idea, because the only way it could be properly executed was if he had custody of me, a thing he had been seeking so desperately for many years. Years later, I question his motives. Why would he want custody of his son when he was just going to send him off to boarding school? Why would he want kids if he wasn’t going to raise them? But I wanted to go to boarding school, so at the time I didnt care. For the first time, I thought I was finally free.

My freshman year of high school, I attended Stevenson School, a private, co-ed boarding school located in Pebble Beach, Calif. This was an absolute dream. I had finally found a place where I could be myself. I was gay, from Arkansas, and now living in one of the most open-minded states in the nation. By the time Christmas rolled around, I had completely come out of the closet, with minimal resistance from my peers. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had truly found a place that I could call home without the fear or anxiety that my parents caused me.

Spring break arrived, and I traveled back to Arkansas to visit my family. One day my father and stepmother sat me down in the study, a routine they often engaged in when they wanted to catch us children off-guard about a problem that they had with us. This is something that I like to call the sneak attack, where they would gaslight the situation.

My stepmother began. Back at Christmas, your sister found your journal and was shocked by something that you wrote, she told me. We know youre questioning your sexuality, but what do you have to say about that?

I looked from my father to my stepmother and knew my life was about to change. My response: Well, Im gay.

Thats when the frowns began, and I dont think Ive seen my parents genuinely smile at me since. Their questions came at me like bullets: What do you think about the Bible? Dont you want kids? Youre backing yourself into a corner; why dont you wait to decide to be gay when youre 25? I’m far past 25 now and I am most definitely gay.

That summer my father forced me to work as a maintenance man. I had the pleasure of working alongside some of the most ignorant, grotesque men. These middle-aged men would spit homophobic slurs and make sexually suggestive comments about my sisters, and when I used their restroom, I was forced to stare at pictures of naked women that they had posted on the wall. As I endured my own personal hell, I came to the conclusion that my father was somehow trying to butch me up. It was as if he thought that if I spent enough time doing manual labor, listening to crude humor, and keeping away from the arts, the gay would eventually just wash away. It didnt work. What worked was that that I learned patience, perseverance, and the value of staying true to myself. I also learned how to fix a sprinkler system. I chronicled all those days in my LiveJournal that summer. Finally it was time to go back to my boarding school.

My first week back at school, my father and stepmother came to pick me up to send me to rehab for being too gay. I was sitting in biology class when my advisor came to pull me out of class. I asked her if I was in trouble, and she assured me, Of course not. On our way to the admissions building, where her office was located, she casually asked me what Id done over the summer, how my siblings were, and how my parents had been taking my coming out of the closet. I told her that my summer had been hell, that my siblings were grea,t and that my parents werent really handling my coming out very well. As we walked into the admissions building, I could see two men sitting on the couch eyeing me suspiciously (I later found out that they were narcotics officers who had been hired to restrain me and escort me if I tried to escape), as well as my advisors husband and the dean of students. Everyone was just staring at me with the saddest look in their eyes. My advisor then walked me to the door, and I will never forget what she said to me: Im so sorry about whats about to happen. Just know that Tom and I love you. And everyone here at Stevenson does, too. Your parents are here, and theyre taking you away. She then opened the door, and sitting there were my father and stepmother.

My parents told me that theyd hired someone to go through our home computer. Theyd found my LiveJournal, and they were shocked to discover that not only was I gay but I was in fact super-gay. My stepmother looked me in the face and said, You need to butch it up. My father said that theyd also found a profile I had created for myself on a support site for young gay teens. In my biography section, I had said something to the effect of, Since there arent a lot of people in this area, I decided to include myself in the San Francisco area. For this they accused me of soliciting sex online. The wording they used, soliciting sex, made me feel like a prostitute. Additionally, theyd found transcripts of AOL instant messages in which Id discussed with a friend how I would eventually come out of the closet to my younger siblings, who were merely hypothetical at the time. (My stepmother was going through in-vitro fertilization.) Of course, they accused me of wanting to turn my hypothetical siblings gay. I do have younger brothers now, identical twinsbut I’m unaware of what they know about me. I just hope that our parents hate and closed-mindedness didn’t seep into them.

At that point my parents escorted me out of the admissions building, the two narcotics officers holding me by the arms as they led me toward a car. I didnt know why I was being escorted by the two officers; I would later find out that my parents believed that I was on drugs. My peers were watching me as I took the slowest, most humiliating walk of my life. Those two burly men placed me in the car and forced their arms against my shoulders on each side of me so that I was incapable of moving. I felt like a criminal. Then my parents put me on a private plane and sent me to Timberlawn Mental Health System in Dallas, Texas.

As I was admitted into the mental institution, I was visibly upset. Of course I looked crazy, in a Claire-Danes-in- kind of way. I was being put away against my will for being gay, not to mention in a drug and behavioral facility that focused on kids with eating disorders, drug problems, and suicidal tendencies. I didnt belong there. I was stripped of my shoelaces so that I couldnt kill myself with them. I was tested for drugs (it came out negative), given a full-body cavity search (completely clean), and started on a dose of Zoloft that rendered me incapable of feeling any type of emotion. Talk about completely losing every shred of privacy and dignity in a matter of 24 hours. I was a zombie. I was stuck. I was gay and couldnt get out of there.

The kids that I dealt with while in rehab werent the same as me. There was a girl who had tried to cut her fingers off with childs scissors in order to kill herself. There was another girl who had tried to kill herself by wrapping shoelaces around her throat; she was forced to sleep on a mattress on the lobby floor so that the nurses could keep an eye on her at all times. I was the only kid in the unit who was allowed to go to sleep at night with his or her door closed. Several times staff members asked me why I was there, telling me that they thought I seemed pretty level-headed for a teenager. I told them that I was gay and that my parents werent ready to accept it. I was a minor, though, and there was no way of controlling my own destiny when it came to getting out of there. Luckily, I was discharged on my fourth day. I called my parents, thinking that theyd be happy for me and would return me to my boarding school. I was wrong. They were too busy to pick me up, and I was forced to stay there for a full week.

The next facility I was admitted to was Meridell Achievement Center, located outside Austin, Texas. This was a longer-term stay. An alternative program would have been something like Outward Bounds Intercept program, which takes troubled youth on camping adventures in order to teach self-sufficiency and survival skills. I like to describe the differences between these types of programs in MTV terms: Meridell Achievement Center is like The Real World, with youth living in the confines of a safe, structured environment, often fighting (in group therapy in our case), whereas Outward Bounds Intercept program is more like Road Rules, with a group of individuals forced to work together on adventurous outdoor tasks.

I actually enjoyed Meridell Achievement Center, in a Stockholm Syndrome sort of way, because although I was there against my will, the staff assured me that they werent going to try to turn me straight. They asked me what sort of treatment I wanted instead. So I decided that instead of becoming a straight man, I would become more assertive. Over the month and a half that I was at Meridell Achievement Center, we would chronicle our treatment via journaling and a group session called Goals and Feelings. This is where we would sit around in a circle and discuss what our goals and feelings were for the day. This was an extremely cathartic experience. I read the dictionary for fun and worked on my vocabulary.

Eventually my parents began to call and ask me how I was doing in my treatment. They were always vague about why I was there and what I needed to do in order to get out of there. They just kept telling me, You know what you have to do. Work on your treatment. Whatever that meant. After Id been there for a month and a half, they would call and ask, So when do you think youre going to get better? My response was that there wasnt anything wrong with me. Because the facility was so expensive, they once again decided to send me to another facility, for a much longer stay.

I arrived in Sutton, Vt., to attend the King George School upon the first snowfall of the year. If there is a hell, Im convinced that its actually cold and in Vermont. KGS was somewhere between a boarding school and a rehab facility. It was kind of like a prison for shady kids. I was essentially stuck there until I was 18 years old and allowed to discharge myself. Though Im still friends with some of the kids I met there, I was surrounded by misfits. It was horrible. I had a roommate who defecated on the floor, forcing us all to evacuate the dorm for health code reasons. I had another roommate who poked my eye with his penis while I tried to sleep. There was a girl who decided to eat my puzzle pieces so that I wouldnt be able to complete it. These kids were far more troubled than I was as a hormonal gay boy. During my first four months there I didnt receive any kind of psychiatric treatment whatsoever, and then the appointed psychiatrist declared me completely stable and normal. He even told me that I never deserved to be there in the first place. But how to get out?

I remember during Christmas, my parents and my sister came to visit me. They took me off campus to stay at the Wildflower Inn just outside of town. We were having dinner one night and all having a glass of Chardonnay, which only furthers my point of the absurdity of me being in rehab in the first place. The candlelight was dancing across our red faces when my stepmom blurted out that I was an accident, meaning I wasn’t a planned pregnancy between my father and mother. When I asked my father if this were true and if I were a last ditch-effort to save his marriage with my mother, he solemnly answered, Yes.

Finally, after 279 days of rehab, I was released back into the wild. As it turned out, the person who convinced my parents to let me return to Stevenson School was the very woman who had helped my stepmother through her first divorce back in the 1990s. That must have been one hell of a mental breakdown, because that was my ticket back to the place that I loved, the place that had accepted me unconditionally, the place that had made me the strong-willed, no-holds-barred, wonderful gay man that I am today.

As for my relationship with my parents today, Ill tell you this. I called my father the other day and left him a voicemail. I had left him a voicemail every day all summer long, begging for help financially because I don’t know when I’m going to eat next or let alone be able to pay my bills or rent. He hadn’t answered or returned a single phone call. I finally called and asked him if he wanted to have a relationship with me at all. He called me back and began to list all the ways that I had manipulated him over the summer in trying to receive help. Mind you, I suffer from and seek help for major depression and PTSD from childhood and adolescent abuse caused by this man. I am also a recovered alcoholic and have a little over two years of sobriety. By no means am I trying to manipulate the situation, but he instead gaslights the situation and backs me into a corner to make me feel that I had. I let him know that I felt the same about him with this situation on the phone. He did say he wanted to have a relationship with me in the end, but based on his actions and words, he doesn’t. He has five children and he could care less about any of them. Why have kids if you aren’t going to be a father?

In terms of my recovery, I drank a lot because of my memories of my childhood and the experiences I had while in rehab. I have explored in trauma therapy one in particular that had me at the bar almost every night staring into the mirror ahead of me sipping on whiskey, replaying the events from childhood. At the age of three, in his truck, propped up against the steering wheel, the pleas to, Come on, and Quick. That’s the man who sent me to rehab for being too gay. He’s a hypocrite. He sickens me. He’s a monster. And I might as well be done with him for good.

I never got the chance to come out of the closet on my own terms, so I would like to take this opportunity to let everyone know, Looks like I relapsed, because Im still gay.

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