#I’m deep into transformers rabbit hole now

[soroka-vorona]

Hot gossip on the Nemesis

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

“I'm gonna find a diner, dig into the lore."

-

“Can I get you anything else honey?”

Sam gives a reflexive little jolt in the plasticky, vinyl seat of the corner booth he’s tucked into, he looks up and sees the waitress who’d brought him the solitary cup of coffee he’s been nursing since he arrived an hour ago.

“Sorry,” she says, voice soft, concerned little half smile on her face, “didn’t mean to scare ya!”

Sam feels warmth flood his cheeks, embarrassed. He really needs to get a better handle on his startle response, he thought he’d been getting better lately, with the Mark finally off Dean’s arm. But she’d taken him by surprise, absorbed as he’d been in a treatise on a specific subspecies of Vetala, native to the area he and Dean were headed. He’d told Dean he was going to dig into the local lore, probably this was digging too deep, but he enjoyed letting himself go down a rabbit hole when he had the opportunity. It felt like that wasn’t often these days, there was always something bigger looming on the horizon.

“I’m alright,” he replies, trying to sound relaxed “just a refill on the coffee if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” she leans in and grabs his cup. Sam catches a waft of her perfume, something warm and woody, hint of vanilla, and a floral scent of jasmine; a late summer’s evening lingering in the air just before dusk. Something flutters in the pit of his stomach, a sensation he’s not felt in . . . in a while. He swallows, watches as she turns and heads back to the counter. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a breath, getting hold of himself. Everything drops away. Absently he twists his fingers together, thumb grazing over the palm of his left hand. His eyes open. The sounds and smells of the diner come rushing back: chink of cutlery on cheap china, low hum of voices interspersed with bursts of laughter, coffee and burger grease fighting each other for dominance. He drops his hands to the table, it feels solid beneath them.

There’s a small “thunk”. Another cup of coffee appears. Sam turns to thank the waitress, but she’s sliding into the seat opposite him. She smiles at him again, full smile this time, flash of pearly white teeth, and her eyes crinkle in the corners. “Hope you don’t mind?” she asks, sliding a plate with a pastry towards him. It's fresh and warm, little tendrils of steam coiling from it. “I know you said you just wanted coffee, but you look like you need it.”

“Thanks”, now that it’s there Sam can feel his stomach rumbling. He’d told Dean he was starving before he’d headed here, and then as usual he’d got caught up and forgotten all about food. He reaches forward and pulls the plate the rest of the way across the table.

“I uhh, I just finished my shift.” her voice is low, and she lets her false lashes drop slowly as she speaks, grazing her cheekbone. Oh! Sam looks at her again, properly this time, she’s pretty, really pretty, soft lips, cute nose, gently hooded brown eyes, long blonde hair that she’s just letting out of a ponytail. He hadn’t come here for this, and if he’s being honest with himself he usually would have smiled politely, said “another time” and then vanished off into the night. Certainly, he never would have initiated. He thinks again about the scent of her perfume, god she’d smelt good. Maybe . . . maybe he needs this. Something . . . uncomplicated. ‘You gotta learn to have fun. Seriously, it's pathetic’. His fingers grip the edge of the table again. Making sure.

“I’m Sam.” he mimics her same low tone, shapes his features into something soft and inviting, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, dimples flashing.

“Piper”, she responds brightly, pleased at the reciprocation. She gestures at the pastry, “You going to eat that?”

Sam breathes a tiny sigh of relief that she didn’t mean right this second. He finds this much easier if he gets to talk to the person first, get to know them at least a tiny bit. As much as you can ever know someone you’ll likely never see again. He’s seen Dean walk up to a girl in a bar, whisper something in her ear, and them leave together, all in the space of five seconds, he’s never been able, never wanted to do that.

He picks up the pastry and takes a bite. This isn’t something he does often either these days, eat something sweet. It's good. Soft and warm, buttery, flaky, a hint of salt balancing out the sweetness.

They chat as Sam finishes eating, sipping his coffee. Piper waves another waitress over and has her bring a cup for her too. Sam watches as they exchange looks, an unsubtle “you go girl” grin on the other woman's face.

Piper’s working here to save up to go to nursing school. And, God, Dean can never know about this, he’s already teased Sam once or twice about having a “type”. She turned 30 last year and just decided she wasn’t gonna stay in this middle of nowhere, barely-a-town forever. She, of course, asks what he does, why he’s here, and as ever he carefully treads around the edges of reality, he’s a repair guy, work takes him all over, family business.

-

They finish their coffees at the same time. She pushes her cup away, looks at him expectantly, softly biting her bottom lip.

Ok.

Standing up from the booth, Sam chucks a ten-dollar note on the table, covering her coffee and the pastry too. She grabs his hand and leads him through a staff door out the back of the building. She meets his eyes, making sure. That calms a buzzing noise somewhere in the back of Sam’s skull. He nods. He wants this. She leans in, pushing him gently up against the wall of the diner, rough brick scraping at his back through his shirt. Their lips meet. He drinks in the smell of her again, feels her hair softly brush against his jaw. Her hand snakes round and clasps the back of his neck, fingertips curling into the short hairs at the nape. Yeah, ok, he needs this. Piper parts her lips and her tongue licks across his, he opens his mouth and lets her in, tastes the lingering ghost of the coffee. Sam shivers. They pull back, foreheads lean together. Piper's breath tickles his nose. Unexpectedly, he lets out a tiny giggle at the sensation. She giggles back.

“I live a bus ride away and I don’t know about you but I don’t think I can wait around for a bus right now...” She starts trailing kisses down his jawline. A faint moan escapes his chest.

They could get a motel. For some reason though he hears himself say “car’s parked just round the corner.” Classy Sam! She raises an eyebrow and for a second he thinks he’s fucked it up, couldn’t exactly blame her. But instead she kisses him again, sloppy and wet, needy. And then.

“Haven’t done that since I was a teenager! Could be fun!”

“Me neither” Sam says. Dean is going to kill him. He slides a hand down her side to settle at her waist, his eyes drifting shut, just taking in the warmth of her radiating through her uniform. Something about body heat and soft flesh under his fingers contrasted with the cold chill of the night air is keeping him here, keeping him present. He fucked a lot the year he was soulless. He remembers it, but the memories are at a distance, a sickening disconnect between himself and the actions of his body. He has to be present for this.

-

The car is definitely not the most convenient place he could have chosen. It really has been a long while since he’s done this, at all, but in the car in particular because he doesn’t remember having to contort himself quite this much to make it work before! Piper doesn’t seem to mind though, so he guesses it's ok. He wonders vaguely if maybe he didn’t suggest a motel because of Amelia. The last time he'd done anything had been in that motel room in Texas that he’d never returned to. He doesn’t know if she did. He never will. So much has happened since then.

-

Piper’s eager to take the lead and he’s more than happy to let her. She’s straddling him, his head and shoulders propped up against one car door, lower back on the seat, feet pressed awkwardly up against the other door. She undoes the buttons of his shirt, leisurely, taking her time. She pushes the plaid aside, slipping it as far off his shoulders as the cramped conditions will allow, pushes his t-shirt up to his neck. Taking in the expanse of firm muscle she rakes her nails across his chest. His back arches against the leather of the seat. Piper gives him a satisfied smile. and gets to work on the buttons of her uniform, shimmying it all the way off, dropping it down into the footwell. She grabs his hands and places them firmly on her breasts. His breath hitches in his chest, she’s looking down at him, playful light dancing in her eyes, and her hair, her blonde hair, is cascading down across her shoulders. He’s slipping. He’s not been with a girl, with anyone, with blonde hair, since. . .

“Are you ok?” She whispers. Oh god. This was supposed to be fun. Fun and uncomplicated, and here goes his stupid brain making it anything but that. Pathetic. He blinks. She doesn’t really look anything like Jess.

“Yeah,” he responds, and he can feel himself blushing. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He means it.

“Ok.”

He slides his hands to her back, fumbling for a second to unhook her bra. He’s sure he used to be quicker at this. The bra falls into the footwell, joining her uniform, silky lace slipping through his fingers.

His hands cup her bare breasts, her skin is soft and supple, and now she’s shed her clothes he can properly feel the warmth of her. She whimpers as he brushes his thumb over a nipple. For the first time, he can feel himself truly relax into this. He wends a hand up into her hair, and uses the leverage of his hand on the back of her head to pull himself up to kiss her. She’s tugging at the fly of his jeans and he gasps softly as her fingers make contact with the hard length of his cock through his boxers. He lets himself feel every ounce of the sensation. He's here, in his body, it's his, no-one else's. The door handle presses hard into his shoulder blade. His free hand trails lightly across her stomach, and down, slipping beneath the fabric of her thong. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin.

-

He's teetering on the edge, pressure coiling, building. He can't let go, he needs something more to ground him. As if she knows, Piper suddenly grabs hold of his wrists, her fingernails dig into his skin, sharp pin pricks of pain. It's enough.

-

“That was . . .” she’s still breathing hard, struggling to get the words out. Propping herself up, barely, her hands planted either side of his shoulders, looking down at him.

“Yeah,” Sam responds, he leans up and kisses her softly again.

She collapses against his chest, a buoyant little laugh escaping her. Sam curls an arm across her back. There’s no way this is going to be comfortable, for either of them, for long, but maybe they can just rest here, just a little while.

-

“Who are you?” Piper’s confused, maybe somewhat interested, voice rouses Sam.

“Oh!” Dean's tone of surprise rings out across the car.

“Ah, good morning. That's, uh, my brother Dean.” Oh my god.

“Sorry, Sam, I didn't - I didn't realize you had company. Sam can feel Dean's palpable amusement radiating off him.

“Can you uh, give us a minute.”

-

They’ve both somehow managed to get their clothes back on and mostly presentable. Piper steps a foot out of the car, leaning down to say goodbye. “Wait” Sam hears himself say. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Do you want my number?” He doesn’t even really know why he’s saying it. It seems like the right thing to do.

She looks at him for a long moment, considering it. “That’s ok.” Maybe she’s seen something on his face. “I really did have a good time though.”

“Me too.” He means it.

She gives him a quick peck on the lips. As Sam cranes out of the car he spots Dean hovering inconspicuously a few feet away, no doubt hoping to catch a fragment of their parting. He can be so fucking nosy sometimes. He already knows he’s not going to let him forget about this for weeks, at minimum. At least he seems to have settled on teasing rather than anger at Sam “violating the sanctity of the car” or some shit.

He leans back in, his head rests against the seat. Lets out a breath. He’d wondered if something would have changed in him. If suddenly he’d feel like doing this again would be easy. It hasn't. Maybe, someday. With someone more permanent. Someone to whom he could even begin to explain the tangled knot that wraps itself around every part of his insides. He really does still want that.

-

Sam's finishing buttoning up his red checked plaid. Dean slips a tape out of the box.

“Dean, I can explain what was going on -” How does Dean still have the ability to make him feel he has to explain himself, flustered like an awkward teenager? Well, maybe the car sex had something to do with that too.

The song starts up. Fucking hell. Yeah he is literally never hearing the end of this.

“Don't “Night Moves” me!” Sam's aiming for indignation but he can't quite get there. Sometimes his brother is just too cheesy to let anything outcompete his fondness.

Somehow he ends up singing with Dean. Plays along with the teasing. Uncomplicated.

“Digging into the lore. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dean says delighted with himself at the quip.

Sam huffs out a little chuckle, tips his head back.

“Man, I needed that,” he says.

He means it.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Mature Audiences (For references to underage sex) Words: 2.8K~ Summary: It’s possible. The timing lines up. What Connie fears is one hundred percent possible. The problem is, a potential pregnancy this early into their relationship was absolutely not in their plans.

WOE, post canon Connverse pregnancy scare fic be upon ye.

This is honest to god the fastest I've ever written a fic of this length in my whole ass life- I thought of this idea literally last night and nailed it all out in like twelve straight hours. Just so y'all can make an informed decision on whether to read or sit out, this contains minimal description of actual sex beyond like one short paragraph- instead focusing in on the human fallout of poor teenage decision making.

Connie is 17 and already in college, and Steven is 19.

On a semi-related topic, Google absolutely believes I'm pregnant now after all the incessant research I did for this story, lmafo.

Enjoy! I'm putting basically all of this fic under a cut here due to its mature topic nature.

__

If you asked Steven what kind of conversation he expected when Connie called him out of the blue at one AM in the morning, one where she’s hysterical and halfway to hyperventilating definitely wouldn’t have been at the top of his list.

“Woah, woah—” he stresses, passing the phone to his other ear so he can pick on up what she’s saying better. “Just— slow down, okay? Start from the beginning. What’s happened?”

“It’s been three days, Steven!” she says, voice hitching upon his name. “I know my cycle, okay?? I’ve been tracking my cycle ever since I started menstruating, and it’s supposed to be like goddamn clockwork! It’s never been late like this. Never!”

“And you’re, uh— you’re absolutely sure there’s nothing else that could be interfering-??”

“Of course I’m fucking sure!” she hollers, making the small speaker bar on his phone vibrate against the side of his head. 

He winces, already regretting his poor choice of words with her. 

“Okay, okay, I— I shouldn’t have pressed about that. I’m sorry. Just—” he sucks in a deep breath of air, doing his absolute beat not to delve down the dangerous implication filled rabbit hole this early on, when tensions are high and accurate information is sorely limited— “what do you need right now? What can I do to help?”

“I need you here,” she warbles, her hysteria finally pushing over the brim and transforming into a heartbreaking bounty of distraught cries. “With me—!”

He clamps down upon the inside of his lip, thinking. The unfortunate part of living two timezones away from a romantic partner is that their transportation options for emergency visitations are limited. Unless… 

“Is Lion with you?” he asks, crossing his fingers and hoping beyond all hopes that this aloof feline miraculously chose this evening to make a visit at Connie’s off campus group home.

“I-I…” Brief pause. There’s a faint ruffle in the line, probably her shifting position. “I think he’s outside, yes.”

“If you can send him over to me, I’ll be there as fast as I can. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, hoarse and strained. 

“We’ll figure this out, I promise. Love you.”

“Love you…”

And with that, Connie hangs up from her end.

Steven’s humble little studio apartment falls into complete and utter silence. He cradles his phone in his hands, staring with unparalleled intensity at his seventeen-year-old girlfriend’s smiling contact photo for a good few minutes… contemplating the sheer daunting weight of the potential future life’s just sprung on them out of nowhere. 

It’s possible.

The timing lines up.

What Connie fears is one hundred percent possible.

“Shit,” he ultimately hisses, shoving the device in his back pocket and moving to grab his wallet, his keys, and a light jacket.

This was absolutely not the conversation he expected to have tonight.

_____

One trip to his local 24-hour convenience store and a ride on Lion later, Steven finds himself perched on the edge of Connie and her housemates’ shared couch holding the instructional pamphlet for a pregnancy test, intensely conscious of the sleep shattering noise they’re probably making out here despite their best attempts at whispering. Ugh. He really, really hopes they don’t wake Patricia or Natalie up with all this racket. He doesn’t want to be rude, especially not at the heart of midterms season.

“But this says you’re not supposed to take it until a week after your first missed period,” he says, tapping his finger at the relevant section of fine print.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not gonna work at all, though,” Connie shoots back, tussling the instructions from his hands. “Look, see—? It doesn’t say you’re not supposed to take it until then, it just says the results may have a higher chance of inaccuracy.”

“And isn’t accuracy exactly what we need at the moment?” he responds with a bit too much stress riding within his tone. 

(His thoughts trail back to almost three weeks ago. That kissing session that got a bit more heated than either of them had originally planned for. The expired condom that he didn’t realize was expired until after it broke in the middle of sex.)

She shoots him a withering look, her eyes puffy and damp from all the tears she’s already shed tonight. 

“No, what I need is an answer. Any answer, so I can finally go to bed and stop freaking the hell out over this. You know how I am— I just gotta rip the bandaid off, and then I’ll be fine. I’ll even test daily for the next week if that makes you feel better.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” he gently redirects, capturing her trembling hand within his and rubbing faint circles against the side of her palm for a few precious moments.

Sniffling, she gives a faint nod, grabbing the test itself from the coffee table and moving to stand.

“Okay. I… I’ll be just a few minutes. I’ll come back out once I have the sample ready, a-and… and then we can wait together.”

“Take your time,” he says.

She does.

As it turns out, peeing on demand (and on a plastic test strip, no less) is pretty difficult, even more so when one is stressed beyond all belief. 

They keep in contact over text for those long twenty or so minutes, and it’s through this feed of discussion that he starts to piece together the full picture of what must’ve happened here.

Mistake number one: Connie knew she was in a fertile period. She knew, and— horny as she was at the time— decided to progress the speed of their lovemaking anyways. All her choice. She provided him a condom she’d gotten as a free sample from some university health fair, and off they went. In any normal circumstance, that’s where this story would stop.

But then came mistake number two: right as he neared the brink of orgasm, he felt a distinct jump in sensitivity— one that not only sent him careening right over the edge, but also alerted him to the fact that his condom must’ve snapped. He’s almost positive Connie felt it too. He pulled out as quick as he could the second he realized, but what’s done was done. 

They discovered big mistake number three right afterwards: The condom was already expired. It was expired all along, and neither of them had thought to check the label before slipping it on. Stupid. Connie promised she’d talk to the campus nurse about getting her hands on some free Plan B that next morning— just in case— and Steven assumed that was the end of it. 

But then there was mistake number four: Apparently, Connie never took that Plan B at all. She was so wigged out over one of her upcoming midterms in a class she’s barely passing that (as he learns via this text thread) she forgot to go to the nurse to inquire about it in the first place. By the time she remembered, too many days had passed for it to be effective, so she didn’t bother looking into it further. Instead she merely crossed her fingers that nothing would come of this series of unfortunate happenings whatsoever, but then came late period day number one. And then number two. And then number three. And by that point, the evidence seemed so stacked against her favor that the stress simply exploded. She couldn’t study. She couldn’t even sleep. Thus, she just has to secure an answer tonight, or she’ll never find any peace, she says.

He understands, he does.

But also… he really, really wants to make sure that whatever answer they settle on with this matter is guaranteed correct. And soon, while there’s still time to do something about it (if that’s what she wants) without too much emotional investment coming into play.

Because accidentally knocking up his girlfriend in her second year of college… before they’re even married or close to being engaged… and while she’s still seventeen to boot was absolutely not in their plans.

“Ughhh… stupid, stupid,” he hisses to himself, knocking his head against the plush backing of the sofa. 

If that damned test comes back positive, her mother (and heck, probably Pearl too, for that matter) is going to kill him.

While he wouldn’t mind being a father in a few years’ time, the fact of thee matter is that they’re nowhere close to ready for such a future at this current juncture. Neither of them have jobs. Neither of them have a home of their own that isn’t partially paid for by their parents. Hell, on his end, even with regular therapy and steady medication he still struggles with the most basic self-care like showering daily and remembering to eat breakfast. So how on Earth— if Connie’s fears are right, and she is positive— is he supposed to suddenly pivot to taking care of an infant too on top of all that? Oh stars he’s not ready for this. He’s not. 

And if that’s how he feels, then he can’t even begin to imagine how much terror must be surging through her mind at this present moment.

Yikes. He’s really made a mess of things, hasn’t he? He should’ve… ugh, he should’ve said something. He should’ve gently told her ‘no’ the moment she revealed she was only a day away from ovulation. He shouldn’t have taken the risk. He should’ve thought to check in with her about the Plan B instead of blindly assuming she took care of it. He’s older, so he should’ve been the responsible one. 

He tells her as such.

no, no… it takes two to tango, silly, she responds via text a few seconds later. it’s not your fault any more than it’s mine. im sorry for yelling at you earlier, it’s just. not what i had planned.

same, he responses. 

And then, after a hard swallow and a moment’s pause… he dares to rustle up that big ol’ elephant in the room.

He asks The Question.

have u thought about what you’re gonna do if its positive yet

A set of ellipses show up at the bottom of the screen. She’s typing. Slowly. 

Or maybe… 

The ellipses disappear for a bit. Then reappear. Then blink out existence once again.

Steven sighs, sinking back into the couch and setting his phone upside down so he doesn’t have to psych himself out by staring expectantly at her contact photo at the top of their text feed for the next goodness knows how long. 

Good grief. If he weren’t already so damn emotionally drained over all this, he’s sure he’d be glowing bright ass pink right now. Thank goodness he’s not. Connie needs his comfort tonight, not the other way around. His lip crinkles into a pensive frown as he reflects on the situation… shifts his gaze around the darkened living room. (He catches the faintest glimpse of Lion snoozing outside the window again as his eyes adjust to the light level.) For the briefest of seconds he considers shooting a text to Dad, curious if he might have any advice on how to handle this sort of situation, but then…

No, no. It’s far too early to say anything. Plus, he doesn’t want to risk letting the blunt reality of their active sex life break containment unless Connie says it’s okay.

His phone buzzes.

Heart pounding with unimaginable ferocity, he flips it over to read.

honestly the reason i’m so freaked out rn is that i think id really wanna keep it. even though im SURE it would mess up all my college goals. is that stupid??

Brief pause yet again as she adds something else.

i’m so, so sorry i know that might not be something you’re ready to commit to rn. that’s half of why i’m so upset. i don’t want this to speed up our relationship in ways you’re not ready for, or ruin it altogether

Steven’s inhale is sharp and shallow, his thoughts racing as he tries not to consider the potential implications of what her decision means for him too deeply. It’s not about me, he reminds himself. It’s not about me.

hey, no- it’s okay, he types, fingers shaking. don’t fuss about me. it’s your body. your choice. i’ll support you through whatever you decide. promise.

Send.

A good while passes without a response. 

Considering the heaviness of the topic, he’s half a mind to stride across the room and go knock on the bathroom door to see if she’s okay, but then that very door squeaks open.

Connie scuttles to the couch in a hurry, the test and a generous wad of toilet paper in hand. She lays down the paper on the coffee table first for cleanliness’ sake, and sets the plastic sample cartridge on top of it.

Then, with a weary sigh, she sets a timer on her phone for three minutes.

“Please don’t let me look at it until time’s up,” she says, slumping against his side for comfort. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, shifting his position to wrap his arms tight around her. Secure. Safe. “We’re okay. Whatever happens, we do it together, all right?”

“All right.”

Noticing her heavy blinking and angling to help her feel better, he brushes a stray wavy lock back behind her ear, his touch as delicate as he can muster. “Hey. Jam buds?”

“Jam buds,” she nods with a watery smile.

They sit in silence for about thirty seconds, allowing each others’ racing heartbeats to lull them to at least some form of camaraderie laden relief.

Or at least, they try to.

“My mom is not gonna be happy about this,” Connie says out of the blue, attaching words to the daunting thought they’re clearly both stewing over.

“If it’s positive,” he reminds her. “It’s still a big if.”

“But I’m right though. I was an underage accident, too, remember? I just—” her voice breaks as she chokes back what he fears might be an impending sob— “I know she wanted better for me. I don’t want to disappoint her, y’know?”

He risks a dry joke to lighten the mood.

“Well… at least if she’s mad, you have the excuse that it runs in the family to fall back on, right?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” she says with a half-hearted giggle, playfully shrugging him away.

They lapse into a peaceful quiet yet again.

He busies himself tracing abstract shapes against the knob of her shoulder, doing his best to help ground her amidst this unexpected squall in their relationship.

“How much time’s left?” she asks, her tone shrunken and nervous 

Steven glances over at her phone on the table. “Just a few more seconds.”

The timer goes off a mere cluster of heartbeats later.

Taking a deep breath as one committed unit, their hands inseparably intertwined, the two lean forward to investigate the pregnancy test together.

There’s only a single band visible in the results window, where the control should be.

Negative.

Steven lets out what’s quite possibly the biggest exhale of his full nineteen years.

Thank the stars.

That’s step one.

It’s still not a solid confirmation— not with this singular test taken so early into what she fears is a missed cycle— but it’s a start.

“What does it mean that a tiny part of me is kinda disappointed now…?” Connie asks him afterwards, sinking backwards into the couch’s soft embrace. 

“It means we’ll have to try again in a few years,” he says, giving the crown of her head a soft kiss. “When we’re actually ready.

_____

Connie tests again just a few hours later that morning. 

Then the next day.

And the next.

All negative.

Much to their relief, their one hundred percent conclusive answer comes on day three, when she calls him at the literal crack of dawn with immense excitement to report the belated start of her period.

Just to be extra sure, she makes a walk-in appointment at the university clinic to talk through the scare with one of their doctors on day four.

“It was that damn anxiety med I just started,” she relays to him over the phone later that evening. “I didn’t even think about it. Apparently medications that function as antidepressants run the risk of screwing up your cycle a bit. Thus, the delay.”

“Well, now we know for the future, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she says with a faint chuckle. “That, and the importance of never using cheap free sample condoms. Ugh… I’m gonna be so paranoid about expiration dates, now.”

He frowns, rapping his fingertips against the arm of his desk chair.

“Hey, listen— don’t get all worked up over it, okay? Like you’ve said before, it takes two to tango. We never have to do anything you’re not explicitly comfortable with.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she acquiesces. “Of course you’re right… Still, I guess the silver lining of all this is that now I know I actually want children someday.”

“Same,” he says, his chest fluttering with unquestionable affection. “Let’s get you through college first, though. Then we’ll talk.” 

Connie giggles, lively and free. The sound is spellbinding music to his ears.

“Sounds like a deal, Biscuit.”

[phoenixisobsessed]

You know I interest with scenario human and bots or cons sharing in a human body.

I will pick sam (because he unlucky top of list and easy pick ) when sam shove Allspark into Megatron chest Allspark decide to put Megatron spark into Sam's body and they forced to sharing same body.

The funny part in this scenario that sam must listen Megatron ranting about how weak and fragile sam body is and really questioning how human can survive with wak body.

I think we need more that scenario in fanfic because that is very rare. I have one story with that scenario

(Quickl disclaimer, sorry if this response is messy I am currently having a migraine. Don’t worry though, I just took my migraine medication. Should kick in soon and they make me extremely eepy so I’m trying to race them LMFAO.)

Transformers does have interesting concepts of like consciousness, especially between robot and human. Like for example in Transformers Prime, Bumblebee goes into Megatron’s head, but a part of Megatron stays in Bumblebee because they didn’t pull out in time, (I am hilarious) and in Cyberverse there’s the whole “Windblade entering Bumblebee’s head” and stuff. (Why is it always Bumblebee goddamn) But these (in a way) make sense since, yeah, they’re robots. Hooking yourself up to something, or in these cases, somebody else, makes sense to cause consciousnesses to kind of “merge” or I guess just link? Be together? I don’t know how to say it properly.

And then…they decide that the same now works on humans as well? I don’t know if this means that human souls are like canon or something. Like I guess there may be some kind of electrical current connection between the human and robot in those cases (Sam putting the Allspark to Megatron’s spark / Spike being connected to a machine(?), transferring his consciousness to a mechanical body in gen1) but still. Humans aren’t a bunch of complex code in the way that a transformer is, (I’m not certain about that but I am just writing my thoughts) and this implies that this relates back to sparks and souls. So, are human souls canon in transformers? Maybe. And if so, it’s interesting that a spark and a human soul are so similar so that they can transfer between species, at least to a point, pretty successfully.

Like clearly, even if it’s not as deep as a consciousness transfer, humans and transformers can work together (literally). Most recent example being Mirage and Noah in the end of the movie when they merge, going all the way back to some of the older Japanese series (not gonna go into alla that rn).

And don’t even get me STARTED on the kind of connections they have in Earthspark with the Terrans. That rock is doing some crazy shit, and I don’t remember the lore of it. No I’m not looking it up right now.

And I mean, with the existence of Maximals and Predacons, there’s clearly proof that transformers can work together with organic matter at least somewhat.

I got so off topic ngl. Started going down theorising lane here for a second while we were talking about fanfics. This rabbit-hole goes so deep and I do not have the brains to figure it all out. But I agree, fanfics with this would be hilarious. Would read.

(I haven’t researched this at all and just took what information I could remember so excuse if any of this is crazy inaccurate or if answers to my questions already exist. Just thought this was a very interesting topic)

[sca3a]

Signs of affection

Gale absent-mindedly turned a page, although he hadn't read much in the last few minutes. Or at all, really. Instead his attention had been more and more focused on Trystan, and his mind had gone down quite the rabbit hole.

The half elf was sitting cross-legged outside his tent, intently focused on the spell book he was reading. Every now and then he waved his free hand, as if trying to imitate the gestures described - but whatever spell he was trying to learn, sizzled out quicker than a raindrop in a drought.

“Must be quite the page turner,” Astarion quipped as he sat down next to him.

“Hm?” Gale hummed as he tore his attention from Trystan and turned towards the vampire.

“You’ve turned fifty pages in the last five minutes,” the spawn mused, “but you haven't looked at the book once. I suspect there's something else stealing your attention. Or rather, someone else.”

Gale felt the blush spread and he closed the book with a huff. “I’m just making sure his spells don't backfire. We do not need anyone turned into a sheep.”

Astarion chuckled. It had been a running joke at camp that they risked being polymorphed since Trystan accidentally transformed himself during a fight. The dangers of wild magic.

“It's easier to teach him if you actually talk to him.”

“Please, leave,” Gale grumbled as he ran his free hand down his face. But, Astarion was right. On both counts. Trystan had stolen his attention ever since pulling him out of that stone, and maybe it couldn't hurt if he actually helped him with his spells.

Putting down the book, Gale rose. Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way towards the sorcerer. He was very mindful of where he was stepping, always making sure to be in Trystan's line of sight.

When close enough, he produced a couple of dancing lights in his palm - drawing the attention of the occupied man.

“Gale…” his voice was soft, low and had that distinct note to it that was so very much Trystan. “Can I do something for you?”

The wizard dispelled the lights and sat down in front of the other man. “I thought,” Gale said slowly, making sure that Trystan managed to read his lips, “that maybe I could help you?”

He then gestured towards the book with a soft smile.

“Oh…” Trystan looked away as a blush crept upon his cheeks and Gale thought it was the cutest thing he'd seen. The half elf then swallowed heavily and handed him the book, biting his lower lip nervously.

Gale glanced at the book and realized it was about the message spell. He looked up again, not entirely certain why he'd want to learn such a spell - but he had his suspicions.

He opened his mouth to reply but noticed that there was a frustrated wrinkle between Trystan's brows. He was annoyed that he couldn't do it himself.

“I don't know if I pronounce it correctly.”

A soft smile spread across Gale's lips and he put away the book. Relaxing he began to slowly and meticulously speak to Trystan in sign language - something he had learnt, but questioned if he'd ever need.

A surprised chuckle escaped the sorcerer, but the relieved smile that then spread across his lips made Gale's stomach flutter.

‘You're full of surprises,’ Trystan mused.

‘I have a lot of qualities,’ Gale replied with a wink, ‘if you'd like to explore them’.

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Today’s I’m talking whump with the amazing @lonesome–hunter!

(this blog and the recommended pieces contain NSFW and are 18+)

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump! Would you mind sharing a little about yourself?

Howdy! My name is Sarah but everyone usually calls me Lonesome. I'm an elder here in the community lol. I love thrifting, smoking pot, birdwatching and Disney World (I live so close to it). My favorite colors alternate between black, various greens and burnt orange. I truly love all animals. There's no way I could pick just one. I am particularly fond of moths, owls, elephants and exotic birds. 

I'm a big stoner goth aunt and I love connecting with people. So feel free to come talk to me anytime!

What does whump mean to you? 

It's absolutely an outlet for me. When I was a kid I couldn't figure out why I liked seeing people tied up in people's basements in movies and on TV so much but it never left my mind. Those feelings are there, the excitement. When I started writing in fifth grade I realized I could produce those feelings by writing the stories myself.

And trauma dumping through fictional people is almost therapy lol.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

During the first season of Supernatural I got on live journal and found other SPN communities. Then I fell down a rabbit hole that led me to whump. I finally had a word and a whole bunch of people who felt the same way which felt validating after being told I'm weird from teachers and family members.

During the pandemic I reconnected with it when I was in a dark place and really got into what everyone was doing. I thought "maybe I can do this". The rest is history.

Do you think your view on whump changed since you joined in terms of trope enjoyment or consumption style?

My view on whump has always been the same really. No one is hurting anyone and with proper warnings we can write the darker stuff some of us really enjoy.

I can't really say there are any I changed my mind over. Any trope can be good if it sucks you in with the writing. 

And your favourite whump tropes because it’s guaranteed there’ll be more than one!

 Ooh wee here we goooo lol. I dig dehumanization, whipping, sadistic whumpers, noncon, water torture, stress positions, begging. So many.

Time to share your awesome writing. Do you have a favourite piece you've written? 

So my first main series “The Devil’s Highway” has been my baby for three plus years and I’m excited to rework it now that I have more tools at my disposal. That being said, I really am proud of what I did with “Bury Me Beneath The Weeping Willow Tree”. It features some heavy TWs so be mindful of that but that almost stopped me from wanting to do it. Would showing Big Boy and Darlin’s graphic murder be too far? Probably lol. But I really dug deep in and got emotional writing it honestly. And it shows Ezra that this weird love Josiah has for me won’t protect him like he thinks it will. It didn’t work for Big Boy. Those two guys are secretly my favorite and I’m most excited about reworking that particular story.

Your imagery is deliciously brutal and creepy. I’m obsessed with it, it’s that good! Do you have a writing routine or is it more when inspiration strikes?

Definitely a night owl. I can’t focus until it’s dark out. Gotta have water and a little sweet drink to keep me focused. I tend to write when something strikes, lately it’s been extremely dry for me creatively but I’m trying to stretch my legs again and get back into it.

And do you find that it’s easier to write some things over others?

I can write the hell out of dreams, surrealism and atmosphere. That’s always been my favorite thing to do writing wise. Also death fics are fun lol.

Dialogue is my least favorite and it probably shows but can’t get better without practice.

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

Been working on the rework of The Devil’s Highway, started a fun little prompt series about a bunch of masked men and I have another forced to fight series with slow burn romance than I’ve ever done before.

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

I wish I could remember the dad joke my customer told me last night that sent me into a coughing fit but I have another one for you.

"What do you call a factory that makes okay products?" "A satisfactory."

That got a laugh out of me! Is there any writing advice you’d like to share?

Just have fun. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself and just write for yourself.

And tag your stuff!

Shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone one up here!!!

Oh man there's so many I could be here all day but these folks have truly helped me so much over the years and I would die for them lol

@knivestothroats, @galaxywhump, @girlsjustwannadrawwhump, @evermetnotforgotten, @redstainedsocks, @coldresolve, @whumpshaped, @whumpfigure, @ephemeral-phosphorescence, @whump-me-all-night-long, 

Anything you'd like to add?

Save Florida from Facists!

So good to have you here today, @lonesome--hunter! 

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[pr1ncessavar0se]

Into the Mystery Labyrinth with Lady

Author's Note: This is a short story regarding how Lady would react to the existence of Shinigami as well as the Mystery Labyrinth. The mystery scenario within this story is made up and is not present within the story's main plotline. Enjoy!

Another day in Kanai Ward, another day dealing with the Peacekeepers trying to annihilate the Master Detectives. The trainee, Yuma Kokohead, had just finished the investigation of a murder alongside his fellow detective, Lady Soot. The Master Detective was still a bit disoriented from using her Forensic Forte, a Forte which has some awful side effects that Yuma himself witnessed due to his own Coalescence. However, the initial side effects had worn off and the use of Lady’s Carnivorous Autopsy paid off, gathering useful information regarding the murder through her Carnivorous Autopsy. By using it, she and Yuma were able to gather the fact that the victim’s cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head with an unknown weapon. After they finally gathered enough evidence to conclude their investigation, the Peacekeepers showed up to foil everything, as per usual. “You’re surrounded! Surrender now, or we’ll have you executed for this crime!” Another one of Yomi’s goons shouted out at the two detectives, making sure they had no way out from the grasp of the Peacekeepers. Yuma began to shake and his face turned pale. “T-This is bad…what do we do?!” “Well, you could ask for a certain someone’s help!” Yuma heard Shinigami chime, her spirit floating right next to him. “I-I’m not doing that!” He thought to himself, which only Shinigami could hear. Yuma took a moment to look over at Lady, who was standing there with a rather shocked smile on her face, like a deer in the headlights. “Huh? L-Lady?!” Yuma called out, no response. Maybe she was still feeling the side effects of her Forte…? “Oh this is bad…!” Yuma thought to himself once more. “Come on, Master! If that sugarcoated minx isn’t gonna respond, you might have to pull out the Mystery Labyrinth!” Shinigami scolded Yuma, throwing her spirit fists in the air. Upon hearing this, Yuma emitted a soft sigh. “S-Shinigami… Please help me…!” He thought. Shinigami laughed before she responded, “Kyahahaha! That’s what I like to hear, Master!” And then, she said the magic words, “Arise! Mystery Labyrinth!” And with that, Shinigami had summoned the portal to the Mystery Labyrinth before she transformed from her spirit form to her humanized form. Once her magical girl-esque transformation was done, time stopped. It was just Yuma, Shinigami, and Lady now.

Lady’s eyes closed tight as she shook her head rapidly for a split second, her bright pink eyes studied the room as a soft, nervous giggle escaped her. “Ahahaha, am I having another intense sugar rush?” She softly asked, looking at everything around her. She began to even walk up to the Peacekeepers, waving in their faces, “Hellooooo, anyone home?” “Uhh, Lady… This isn’t a sugar rush…” Yuma stammered slightly, his nervous eyes locked onto Lady as she continued to attempt interacting with the frozen Peacekeepers. “It’s not?” Her response was immediate, her head turning towards Yuma and Shinigami at a rapid pace. “Well, Master…are you ready to head to the Labyrinth?” Shinigami interrupted their conversation, smiling sweetly at Yuma as she asked. Both Shinigami and Lady could see the look of hesitation in his eyes, the silence between the three beginning to grow. However, it was soon interrupted by a deep inhale from Lady, “Well Yuma, it’s very unlike you to refuse to take initiative. But if that’s the way you want to be, I can’t stop you.” She spoke quickly in typical Lady fashion, turning her head away from Yuma as she folded her arms across her chest. A small moment passed before Lady stopped pouting, and she herself rapidly charged at Yuma, tackling him through the Mystery Labyrinth’s portal. “Kyahahaha, I don’t even have to do my job anymore! Down the rabbit hole we go!” Shinigami chimed before she followed suit, jumping into the portal and joining the Master Detectives. After a long, long fall, Yuma, Lady, and Shinigami were now in the realm of the Mystery Labyrinth, the two Master Detectives rising to their feet. Yuma let out a soft groan as he got up, “It’s never a nice landing…” “Whose fault is that, Master? Cause it certainly isn’t mine!” Shinigami teased. As the trainee and the death god shared some light banter, Lady silently looked around with a smile on her face, to which Yuma had noticed. “Uhh…Lady? Are you okay?” he asked, watching as Lady turned around quickly, “ You seem a little quiet…” “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine! You say that like we’re in an alternate universe based on a mystery that we now have to solve together because some death god sucked us in or something!” Lady responded to him with that same, sugarcoated smile of hers, which was met with pure shock from Yuma and Shinigami. “T-That’s because it is…” Yuma timidly stuttered. Hearing his response made Lady freeze in her tracks, her bright, pink, peppermint swirl eyes widening, “…I’m sorry, what.”

“H-Huh?” Yuma stammered upon seeing Lady’s reaction. “Master, I’m confused…does she even remember anything?” Shinigami asked Yuma, her tone conveying obvious confusion. “Remember what? I literally bullshitted that entire thing!” Lady added on, her rapid speech being laced with shock. Hearing this made Yuma stammer, “Wait, you guessed…?!” “Yes, I guessed! There’s no way that was supposed to be correct!” Lady raised her voice. “Wait, in that case…Lady, what do you remember?” Yuma asked, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery revolving Lady’s guess. He was met with silence as Lady lightly licked her lips. “I certainly don’t remember tasting blood, so why the hell do I taste it?!” Lady began to panic, her body began to lightly shake. That made Yuma think, as Lady consumed blood in order to use her Forte. His eyes widened in shock at the revelation, “You can use your Forte in the Mystery Labyrinth?” “She shouldn’t be able to…” Shinigami responded, still confused by the whole ordeal. “I can’t pick up anything from it if that’s what you mean,” Lady responded, “But I can still taste the blood and it’s awful!” She sounded utterly disgusted when talking about the taste of blood, but that made her realize something, making her stop in her tracks again. “Wait. That means I used my Forte at some point, but…” She then turned to Yuma, “…Yuma, you didn’t…see me use it, did you?” The look on her face was that of worry, which was a rare sight for the pretty in pink detective, and seeing that look made Yuma frown. “…Yeah, I did.” He seemed rather ashamed to admit it, but the look on his face indicated that Lady had to know the truth. He used his Coalescence when Lady used her own Forte, therefore he knew everything. He knew about her consuming blood to use it, he knew about the awful side effects, he even could taste a bit of the victim’s blood without actually eating it. He knew how much of a mental strain it took for her to even bring herself to use her Carnivorous Autopsy, which made him realize that she was her most vulnerable when using it. He watched as Lady began to pout before speaking, “Oh Yuma, I really hoped you didn’t have to see that. It’s so embarrassing…!” “Sheesh, you’re acting like a schoolgirl whose crush found out she liked them!” Shinigami sneered as she watched Lady whine! “Anyway, enough chit chat!” With that, Shinigami floated behind Yuma, her hands resting on his shoulders as she smirked at him, “Master, are you ready to give your life the truth?” Yuma couldn’t help but softly blush as he looked up at Shinigami, “F-Fine…”

After his reluctant answer, Shinigami and Yuma did the usual, putting on a show just to retrieve the solution blade, with Yuma pulling it out of Shinigami’s mouth as if it were a circus trick. Lady watched as the pair waltzed around and fetched the sword, her eyes locking onto the blade. She let out a soft laugh as she spoke, “Now, I think I’ve really seen it all!” “Kyahaha, you haven’t seen anything yet!” Shinigami laughed as well before she deeply inhaled, “Bleeeegh!” The death god then hurled, spewing out a pretty rainbow of cutesy colors, and what else fell onto the ground? A big, golden key ring with all sorts of keys attached to it. Shinigami clapped as she had a big smile plastered on her face, “Here you go, Master! Here’s your solution keys!” Lady watched as Yuma picked up the big keyring, and then she started putting two and two together. “Wait, the sword’s got a keyhole in it. Does that mean you put the keys in it when you’re using it in battle or something?” “S-Sort of…these keys are the clues to our case, and they’ll help us advance closer to the truth.” Yuma’s response was meek, but his words made sense to the pretty pink detective. “Oh yeah, we are solving a case, aren’t we?” Lady chuckled, “Still can’t believe my guess was right on the money…” “Well, you better believe it, ‘cause now we’re all set to seek the truth!” Shinigami responded in a chipper tone, ready to conquer another Mystery Labyrinth with her master. Hearing the death god’s words managed to hype Lady up, “What are we waiting for?” She clicked her heels twice, retracting the wheels built into her red mary janes, “Let’s hunt down this culprit who preys on the truth! We’ll get them in our sights!” And with that, Lady began to skate inside the Mystery Labyrinth, seeming really enthusiastic to venture through the place with Yuma and Shinigami. “Hey, that’s my line!” Shinigami yelled out in frustration, flying as fast as she could so she could catch up with Lady, thus causing Yuma to be dragged along by the ghost chain that connected the two. “Ahh!”

[analog-kidd]

Franchises I have to avoid due to my autism:

Super Sentai / Power Rangers

I was obsessed with power rangers as a kid and now as an adult, that rabbit hole would be deeper due to having more knowledge about it being a Japanese property. I can’t go back man.

Large casts and interesting robot designs and costumes are my weakness.

Kamen Rider

It’s basically Super Sentai (minus the giant robots) with a bug theme.

Touhou Project

Again, large casts (especially them all being women).

The fandom basically keeping the franchise afloat with aus and fanon, makes it really appealing to me. It’s basically Japanese undertale and I was an undertale kid.

Any MMO

There are actual studies that say World of Warcraft is one of most addicting games and I have an addictive personality.

Animal Jam has shown me I would spend more time in an MMO than in real life.

I’m already a final fantasy fan and ff14 would appeal to me but I know I would not have any irl friends if I started playing this.

And as I’ve said before, large casts.

Warhammer

Wow it has a large cast, who would’ve thunk it?

The deep lore would have me in its tight grip.

I would waste so much money buying those miniatures.

Listen, I’m already obsessed with fire emblem, digimon, bionicle, megami tensei, pokemon, and transformers, I can’t have more things occupying my brain space.

[sanversandfriends]

Frustration with canon may be part of what motivates us to write fic, but love of character is what can make or break a WIP. @littlewriterbabe2 , FtF's favorite fanfic goblin is here to share her love of writing, Sanvers, and some advice for aspiring fic writers.

Tell us a little about yourself. How did you get started writing fic? Have you written for other fandoms? What are your favorite tropes?  

I’m a Copywriter by day and fanfic goblin by night! I started writing fanfic while pursuing my Creative Writing degree and have never looked back. My first fic was actually for the FROZEN fandom and it’s still my longest fic to date! My favorite trope is probably “love-able badass is soft for their partner/family”. That one gets me every time! 

What were your inspirations for this particular story? What was it about this/these ships that grabbed you?

Alex is hands down my favorite character on the show and her journey felt a lot like mine. I loved Sanvers and hated that they broke up but I do believe their reasons were valid. Still, my brain kept asking “what if” and now I’m neck deep in a trilogy! 

Has the time spent away from your story changed your outlook or approach to any of the storylines or themes? Have you had any new inspirations or breakthroughs/revelations in the meantime? 

The time away was a bit of a double edged sword in that it definitely gave me some perspective but also tried to send me down some rabbit holes of storylines not explored! I have had such a great response to this story that I wanted to do it justice and give the readers the ending they’re hoping for. Fingers crossed I succeed! 

Any advice for new or aspiring fic writers?

You have to love what you’re writing! The plot, the characters, the world you’re building all have to be close to your heart or you’ll never grow in your writing ability. Crafting great stories really is a labor of love so if the love part is missing, you might be writing the wrong story! 

If you were going to promote this fic with a single line, what would it be? 

Baby Sanvers for the win! Lol! 

[ladybuggirl123]

Fascism/Flop Eras/The Art Of The Rebrand

If the tone of this post is completely different from last week it’s because my prozac just started working!! If i came off as obsessive and impulsive it’s because i was!! i’m working on it 😁

Alright, Where did we leave off?…

Emotional Terrorism I believe it was-

I now see how entirely dramatic this phrase is(tysm prozac). I probably need to watch my provocative language, I’ve never In my life been a chill or fun girlfriend.

If “emotional terrorist” is a fitting title for any of these people honestly who could blame them, i’m basically an emotional fascist. After my regime is overthrown I have to rebrand obviously.

Teenager’s (and me), are calling this “having an era” . A little google action reminded me this all started with the “Flop Era”

This is what a flop era looks like for the unfamiliar:

this is what getting ur emotionally fascist empire taken down by a emotional terrorist does to a mf

#bringbackcryingselfies

i think i almost bought a “flop era” tshirt in 2021 but i went with ironically hot instead

simpler times…lol

Anyway all the sudden everypony online was in their fleabag era or their reputation era. It’s 2023 Taylor Swift’s having her eras tour and now I barely remember who I was before it became a part of the cultural zeitgeist for a normal non celebrity girl to have definable eras.

here are a few favorites of mine:

i don’t endorse any of these eras also i think i probably do this to an unhealthy degree

bpd grrl era:

grunge post woke fleabag on vyvanse era:

the I ready theory (only lasch) era

looking like I play a [REDACTED] in a [REDACTED] era:

Rebranding isn’t a new thing at all but hyper specific digital language used to describe how you express yourself obviously is and this is a tired conversation at this point.

How is “I’m in my looksmaxxed bushwick kinderwhore era” a thing you could say and how did I get to a point in my life where i know exactly what that would mean. It’s internet buzzword salad and it feels like it’s too much information for my brain to be storing and holding onto at all times (is this where my ancestors kept the berry forageing knowledge? is this really what i’m using it for??)

quick grass touching break 4 u

whatever mental illness i have was designed to pick this shit apart for hours so sometimes this all drives me a little nuts but it’s ok cause i’m a mental health warrior💪🏼

When you feel it’s time for your new era you could sift through pinterest rabbit holes and tiktok echochambers trying to find the perfect niche that describes the new and improved you. You’ll probably find a corner of the internet with other people just like you who like all the same esoteric celebrities you do, who listen to the same underground bands and who all talk the same cool way. But they are all doing it a little better than you.

Then you wake up from the digital coma you slipped into from stemming from unsupervised internet access at a young age, and you realize this is the dumbest shit in the world and ur actually and literally a full ass adult..

🎀Here is my personal plan of action for a non internet poisoned rebrand:🎀

Step 1- The Transformational Event

This could be a breakup, a breakdown, a move, or just a general realization that challenges all ideas you previously had about yourself.

Step 1.5- Deep Emotional Pain

😁

Step 2- Get Ur Ass up

Envision the you that has moved on and no longer feels held down by the emotional weight of the situation. How do they spend their free time? What passions are they pursuing ? what kind of people do they surround themselves with? lastly how do they dress how would they adorn their space? Work from the inside out.

Instead of looking up glass skin healed french girl aesthetic on pinterest you could journal about this version of you or even make a physical vision board.

Step 3- Faking it

Initially you might feel like you are not mentally stable or cool enough or whatever to be this person. But the person is you and the only way you can become them is to just start.

Step 4- God and Faeries take over

Spoiler alert: what i referred to as “faking it” in the last step is also called vibrating at a higher frequency. As I type this out I’m aware that i only maybe half believe it but also this has always worked for me my whole life so……

The circumstances in your life will basically rise to meet you where you are. you’ll start to realize you have the types of friends the new version of you would, you’ll develop the habits you wanted to and you’ll realize you have faked it till you made it.

Step 5- You are sexier and doing better than you ever imagined!

As time goes by and you think back to yourself immediately after the initial transformational event you’ll realize you have become even cooler and happier and more grown up than you hoped you’d be

If u did this right you’ll also feel a little bit of gratitude for the transformational experience because it basically provided a short cut for ur prefrontal cortex development.

that’s all the knowledge i have on this phenomenon here’s a tiktok and a podcast episode that probably inspired me to write this

[soroka-vorona]

I guess I’m into transformers now

[yeniasworld]

The universe has whispered to me that I am unlikely—an anomaly unlike anyone who has ever existed, much like Yung Bleu’s song “Unlikely.” Perhaps it’s time I fully embrace this truth, using the universe, God, my ancestors, and this elusive higher self as both my guide and my excuse to continue living in a reality others might dismiss as fantasy. Maybe this is how I normalize my behavior—by surrendering to the unseen forces that shape my life, while ignoring the constructs of the 3D reality everyone else holds so dear.

What is this 3D reality, anyway? And how does it compare to the 5D reality I constantly find myself referencing? For those who don’t understand it, I offer no explanation—just an invitation to let it go. Those who truly get it will understand, because their souls are ready. For those who don’t, it’s not about their age; their spirits simply haven’t yet evolved.

And so, I find myself questioning: am I back in this shared reality we all navigate, or am I still clinging to my private world of fantasy? How would I even know if I’ve returned? My thoughts are still driven by intuition, by whispers from a higher self that feel more like glimpses into a cosmic mind than products of my own. Meanwhile, I live in this surreal juxtaposition of chaos and freedom—a life where unpaid council taxes pile up, bailiffs knock at my door, and the possessions I call my own are borrowed at best, nonexistent at worst.

The irony is not lost on me. For someone who once valued connection, who sought to ground themselves in human relationships, I’ve become detached. My physical ties are as fragile as my emotional ones, anchored only by the material necessities I cling to: an iPhone purchased with a benefits loan I’ll repay bit by bit, and my UK passport—the only tangible proof of my identity. Beyond that, I own nothing. Not even my past.

My family, too, stands at a distance—not out of cruelty, but out of a deep-seated need to protect themselves. I can hear it in their voices, even when they send me warmth through voicenotes: “We love you and want the best for you, but not until you’re truly okay. Not until you’ve pieced yourself back together.” It’s not their fault; how could I expect them to invite me back into their lives when I’ve been through a darkness even I struggle to comprehend? And so, I accept this isolation, even as I acknowledge the pain of it.

But this wasn’t always the case. Once, they saw me as the kind sibling, the nurturing cousin. Yet over the years, they witnessed my cycles of withdrawal—the isolations I would retreat into for weeks at a time. Back then, these periods seemed manageable, even brief. But now? Now they stretch into months, years even. Now, those same family members don’t know how to reach me, how to help.

Perhaps the universe wanted it this way. Perhaps the isolation is part of my transformation, a necessary separation so profound that even the people who once loved me most wouldn’t know how to bring me back. Or maybe this is my doing. Maybe I ghosted them first, retreating so far into my inner world that they had no choice but to return the favor.

I’m no longer angry about this. I see now that every one of you is holding on by a thread, clutching at some invisible tether of sanity and routine just to keep going. Why should I expect others to reach into my darkness when they have their own families, their own dreams, their own pain? They don’t owe me their energy, and I don’t resent them for that.

Still, I find myself wondering: now that I’ve emerged from the deepest part of the rabbit hole, should I reconnect? Should I return to the shared spaces we once occupied, if only to feel the warmth of human connection again? Or would that be a betrayal of the journey I’ve undergone—a step backward into an old version of myself I’ve outgrown?

You see, this isolation wasn’t meaningless. It wasn’t just a void. It was a crucible. Every moment of suffering, every instance of chaos, has shaped me into something new. My past environments, the low frequencies I once cursed, were the very things that unlocked my potential. They brought me closer to my higher self, to the gifts I now hold but barely comprehend. Without those challenges, I wouldn’t have accessed the full spectrum of who I am.

And who am I now? An artist. A creator. A channel for something larger than myself. I’ve learned that my talents weren’t self-made; they were given to me by the universe, molded through the pain and joy of my experiences. And yet, this transformation isn’t just about artistry. It’s about responsibility—about managing the life I’m being prepared for.

I see it now: this isn’t just a journey of becoming a creator or entertainer. It’s a process of learning how to hold space for the new life I’m stepping into. A life that will require strength, resilience, and a sense of self that isn’t swayed by external forces.

As I move forward, I make peace with the past. I release my attachment to the Kanteh bloodline—not as an act of rejection, but as a way of freeing us all. By stepping into my own identity, I allow them to live their lives without the weight of my journey, my influence, my choices. I wish them love and happiness, knowing that our paths will cross again in ways only the universe can predict.

And so, I wait. I wait to see what’s next, to understand the signs the universe keeps showing me. My intuition tells me that something extraordinary is coming—that I’m on the cusp of a transformation so profound, it will ripple across the world. But what will it look like? Will it be me on every screen by the end of this year, as the universe seems to promise? Or is this just another fantasy my mind has conjured to keep me moving forward?

All I know is this: I am not likely. I am not normal. And that is my truth. This isolation wasn’t a punishment; it was a preparation. It was the fire that forged me, the soil in which I grew. Now, I step forward—not as a product of my past, but as the creator of my future. A future that is mine to shape, even as I surrender to the guidance of forces greater than myself.

To my past relationships, I say this: thank you. Thank you for what you taught me, for the love and lessons we shared. I apologize for the ways I’ve hurt you, not because I owe you anything, but because I now see the beauty of what we had and the necessity of letting it go.

I’ve changed. And as I prepare to step into a new era of my life, I do so with humility, gratitude, and a sense of wonder for what’s to come. I may never be likely, never be “normal.” But that’s okay. Because I’ve learned that being my true self is the only path I need to follow.

[spoonieverse]

Linn's Lore: Goals, Dreams, and Spoonie Strength

Can you believe we’re already a week deep into 2024? I hope this first Sunday gave you a gentle start and that you’re ready for some söndagsmys. See, I’d like to invite you to one of my favourite corners of this world. Isn’t it beautiful here under my tree? Sir Bear made this space for me so I would have a place to contemplate our stories, reflect on whatever life throws our way, and enjoy the simple joys of being. 

I like to sit here and work on something I call Linn's Lore. It’s a diary of sorts, but nothing like the Ship’s Log I keep as the Captain of the Resilience. No, my Lorebook is personal, sometimes even private, and it’s where I can be myself and talk about my life as a spoonie author. Where I can dream, plan, and deep-dive into as many rabbit holes as I like in search of inspiration and knowledge. Today, I’ve got a nice pot of tea and a gorgeous apple cake, and I was thinking we could share them and have a chat about new beginnings, New Year’s resolutions, and the delicate universe we have created here in the space between dreams and reality.

New Year’s resolutions – they’re a bit like a double-edged sword, aren’t they? One side whispers, nay sings, of new beginnings and transformation. The other speaks, rather bluntly, of past failures and resolutions unfulfilled. As someone living with the daily complexities of chronic illness, I've learned to view resolutions not as rigid goals, but as my North Star, gently illuminating a path that's kind to both my aspirations and realities. And I’ve also taught myself that resolutions don’t have to be chores. You can add as many fun and uplifting things as you like - it’s your list!

This year, after a few years of only picking a single goal, I've boldly set my sights on a whole constellation of them. Well, why the heck not, I thought to myself when I sat here chewing the back of my pen. I’ve had the same goal for so long and now that things are beginning to pick up speed I feel like it’s sink-or-swim time. Some of my goals are private, but of the ones I can share, each one is shining its own light on us. In 2024, my goals are to:

Double My Writer's Income: This is a challenge, for sure, and it may sound like a shallow one at that, but hear me out. I’ve not been able to talk about this before, and I’m not going into detail today, but the long and short of it is that 2023 was the first year I made a small sum of money in book royalties. My primary goal is for our stories to reach more hearts and minds, but my secondary goal is to build something that can help me sustain an independent lifestyle as a disabled author. I am frugal and I don’t need much, so I believe this is a SMART goal.

Release 12 New Books: Some stories are waiting to be told, others are waiting to be edited, and I have been a pretty ynklig pet for most of 2023. This year something’s gotta give and I have to believe we will find a way out of here. I write with my Sir Bear. All my stories are his and all his stories are mine. In this world we have created we are one. Between us, 12 books (four of mine, four of his, and four from the Libertalia pipeline) should not be an unreasonable goal, but it all hinges on goal number 3.

Move Into a New Home: The Resilience is my spiritual home, and my heart has found a home in a sweet and very protective Sea Bear. However, as much as I love me ship and me Quartermaster, I do need a place to stay on this peculiar island that has been my home for the past two decades. This is yet another topic I’ve not been able to talk about, but you better believe I’m like a pressure cooker inside and shit wants out.

Focus on Health and Well-being: I need to see a dentist, I need new glasses, and I need to continue the work to find out what’s going on in my stomach. I need to get my meds sorted, and I really need to find a way to get some fresh air on a regular basis. It may not sound as much, but each of these smaller goals is a huge step towards an improved standard of living.

Listen to an Audiobook/Week: I don’t know if this one needs any further explanations, really. I will try to review at least half of them and I’ve made some templates to make it easier to post about it on my socials. For the longest time, I’ve been so bad at posting reviews that it’s almost shameful, but we’ll try to do better this year. I actually have the first short one ready to go. A solid 3-star read that I would love to share with my sidekick later this year.

Get My Crafting Back On: I can’t even begin to explain how much I miss my craft stash. It was boxed up for the better part of last year and it still is. Another reason I desperately need a new home. Sure, impending homelessness is a bigger concern, but sweet baby Fenrir I miss the creative process, the meditative headspace, and the joy of seeing my work find homes in other people’s lives.

Cook and Eat: I can’t even remember when I last cooked something, because of reasons, and I can’t tell you how badly I want to try new foods. Every flavour is a story and there are so many I need to consume. I have this dream, and yes this is more of a dream than a goal, but I would really love to be able to cook with my keeper again. Imagine if I got a new home that was accessible. Imagine a kitchen I could get in and out of. Imagine rooms I could get in and out of! I don’t have much ork on the best of days, but maybe, if we started small, I could…

Get Some Fresh Air: We don’t have it in London, but the dream is to move north and rumour has it people can breathe up there. After close to four years locked up in COVID isolation (yes, some of us are still shielding!) even a quick gulp of fresh air each day to remind myself of the world's vast beauty is something I dream of. And maybe this is the year it will be possible.

Do Something Fun Each Day: This is something of a mantra for me. I am a firm believer in mys, fun, love and faith as the four cornerstones of life. I am blessed in that I get to do the things I love and enjoy every day, but the goal for this year is to do more things I haven’t done before, and more things I’ve not been able to do for a long time. 

As a spoonie author, these goals are meant to lift my spirits and improve my quality of life. They are also my acts of defiance against the constraints of chronic illness and disability. Each day I write, each story I tell, is a testament to my resilience. To the power of my Resilience. In sharing this personal journey with you, I hope I can give you more than just a glimpse of my world. I would very much like to be the person who can hold up a mirror where you can see the reflection of your own resilience. 

If you are a normie who loves to read and/or write, I welcome you to step aboard my ship and sail into the vast unchartered waters we’ll be exploring this year with me. 

If you are a spoonie who loves to read and/or write, I welcome you to enter the vast parallel universe of the unwell with me. You can board my ship and move freely between our worlds.

If you don’t like to read and/or write, you are still welcome to my fikastunder here in this Sunday sanctuary of mine.

Whoever you are, whatever path led you here today, let’s step, roll, or jump into this new year together. May this be a place where our stories can intertwine, where our dreams can get a voice, and where, despite the challenges ahead of us, we can continue to create our own reality, one word, one breath at a time.

Until we meet again, may your days be filled with mys, love, fun, and faith. 

Love always,

//Linn

P.S. 

If you found something that resonated with you in my words, I have more where they came from. You can have my lore, tales from the realm of Ulfrheim and beyond delivered straight to your inbox. By signing up for my newsletter, you'll not only get a regular dose of stories, insights, and updates, but you'll also get an invitation to become a cherished member of our growing community of lovers of books and bookish things aboard my mighty pirate ship, Resilience.

Sign up for Linn's Newsletter here.

[my-weird-news]

🔥 Unbelievable: Dinner and Hot Girl Walks Exposed! 😱

The Confusing Circus of Trendy "Girl" Labels You won't believe what my TikTok algorithm had the audacity to ask me the other day: "What kind of insufferable girl are you?" I mean, seriously, it's like the algorithm's become a judgmental aunt at a family gathering. The options it presented were a wild trio: "femcel," as in a radical feminist who's allegedly pathologically unlovable; "coquette," for those who adore bows and bop to Lana Del Rey; or "blogger," which, of course, means me. The original video might've been ditched into the digital abyss (too much insufferableness, perhaps), but I'm telling you, it's stuck in my head like gum on a shoe, not because it was an intellectual masterpiece but because it introduced me to another internet "girl" to add to my collection. Just what I needed, right? Welcome to the era of "girl" obsessions, where the internet's gone gaga over half-baked microtrends involving the word "girl." People are blabbering about their "girl dinners," which, let's be honest, are just glorified fridge clean-outs. Oh, and those "hot girl walks" we're all taking? Yeah, they're just regular strolls with extra flair. And don't forget the "feral girl summers" that somehow make us all feel like wilderness warriors. The internet has spiraled into a rabbit hole of absurdities, trying to decide whether they're "strawberry girls," "cherry girls," or even "tomato girls." I swear, it's like we're building a fruit salad cult. We're deep in "girlboss" territory, doing complex equations with our fabulously fabulous friends during the sizzling "hot girl summer." We're gulping down pink goo and green powders, hoping to transform into "clean girls" or "That Girls." But when those plans flop, what are we left with? Apparently, the crown of "insufferable girls." Eating my girl dinner, strolling my hot girl walk, binging on sad girl music, reading feral girl books, dancing with my girlianas, sipping with my girlipops—every day, a snail's pace towards... well, womanhood. — @EmmaKupor, July 10, 2023 Seriously, if you read these trend labels in sequence, you might wonder if we've all lost our marbles. And who's surprised? A good chunk of the folks riding this "girl" wave are women, and it's a smidge demeaning to treat grown women like toddlers playing dress-up. Are 30-year-olds really supposed to care about being a "strawberry girl" or a "cherry girl"? Shouldn't we have cracked the code of our own personalities by now? We could argue that boxing women into these labels reeks of gender stereotyping, or that stamping ordinary behavior as "girl-coded" merely widens the gender gap. But let's not kid ourselves—these aren't trends, they're just slick marketing ploys. Remember that Saturday Night Live skit where they cooked up a fake teen trend called "souping" to scare parents? Like, teenagers were supposedly getting high on expired soup cans? Classic. It's like today's trend journalism has taken a masterclass from SNL. One video goes viral, chats spark, media jumps in, and before you know it, you're watching the 6 o'clock news, where seniors gasp at how bizarre youngsters have become. And guess who gets the most bewildered mentions? Yep, our girls—because, naturally, they're the ones who must've lost their minds. But here's the kicker: half the time, the original video was a playful jest, meant for an audience who already knew it was bonkers. Take "girl dinner," for instance. It caused an uproar that'd make a volcano jealous, all because it blended womanhood with eating. Olivia Maher, a showrunner's assistant, labeled her medieval-peasant-inspired feast of bread, cheese, pickles, and vino as a "girl dinner." Why? Because she could do whatever the heck she wanted when her boyfriend wasn't around. But oh boy, did that get twisted in the news. Suddenly, this cute oddity turned into an epidemic—like leftover meals were a crisis worthy of international attention. But guess what? The "girl dinner" gig is so last month. I mean, I'm discussing it in August—talk about being fashionably late to the party. But no worries, the internet's churning out new "girl" stuff faster than rabbits procreate. And that's because "girls" sell like hotcakes. Casting our minds back to 2015, we had another "girl" frenzy gripping the bookstores. Remember the time when books like "Gone Girl" and "The Girl on the Train" took over the bestseller lists? Suddenly, every book had to have "girl" slapped somewhere on the cover. But the "girl" craze wasn't just literary—it infiltrated TV shows, movies, and even office lingo. "Girlboss" became a thing, and shows with names like "Good Girls Revolt" and "2 Broke Girls" dominated the airwaves. Seriously, we couldn't escape the "girl" invasion. Now, if you dive into the rabbit hole of analysis, it's not about the age of these "girls" but the themes of their stories. It's all about the transition from girlhood to womanhood, from being someone to being someone's wife or mother, whether that narrative path suits them or not. The protagonist of "The Girl on the Train" exemplifies this—she's like an erased wife, faded into nothingness once the marriage ink dried. This whole "girl" shebang is like a journey back to girlhood, where possibilities are endless. So, these TikTok women aren't merely following trends; they're strategists, plotting their moves like marketing geniuses. They've seen VSCO girls and e-girls break the internet, so they're riding the "girl" wave, because they know it sells. Heck, even this year's blockbuster movie and the record-breaking musical tour revolve around women in their 30s navigating their unique versions of girlhood. People will always be intrigued by girls—partly because they're not quite women, which makes them less of a target for scorn. Girls are like trending snacks, readily consumed, and they've got more avenues than ever. In the end, these online ladies aren't just trend-followers; they're marketing moguls in the making, crafting click-worthy labels that break the internet. We've all turned into mini-publishers, hoping to milk the anticipation of girls blossoming into full-fledged women. And in the process, we might end up a bit insufferable, but hey, at least we're stylishly insufferable. This zany column first hit the world through the Vox Culture newsletter. And hey, if you're up for supporting journalistic clownery like mine, why not throw a few coins Vox's way? They're not just banking on ads and subscriptions—they're all about bringing quality info to the masses. Will you support Vox's explanatory tomfoolery? *Most news outlets juggle cash from ads and# The Confusing Circus of Trendy "Girl" Labels You won't believe what my TikTok algorithm had the audacity to ask me the other day: "What kind of insufferable girl are you?" I mean, seriously, it's like the algorithm's become a judgmental aunt at a family gathering. The options it presented were a wild trio: "femcel," as in a radical feminist who's allegedly pathologically unlovable; "coquette," for those who adore bows and bop to Lana Del Rey; or "blogger," which, of course, means me. The original video might've been ditched into the digital abyss (too much insufferableness, perhaps), but I'm telling you, it's stuck in my head like gum on a shoe, not because it was an intellectual masterpiece but because it introduced me to another internet "girl" to add to my collection. Just what I needed, right? Welcome to the era of "girl" obsessions, where the internet's gone gaga over half-baked microtrends involving the word "girl." People are blabbering about their "girl dinners," which, let's be honest, are just glorified fridge clean-outs. Oh, and those "hot girl walks" we're all taking? Yeah, they're just regular strolls with extra flair. And don't forget the "feral girl summers" that somehow make us all feel like wilderness warriors. The internet has spiraled into a rabbit hole of absurdities, trying to decide whether they're "strawberry girls," "cherry girls," or even "tomato girls." I swear, it's like we're building a fruit salad cult. We're deep in "girlboss" territory, doing complex equations with our fabulously fabulous friends during the sizzling "hot girl summer." We're gulping down pink goo and green powders, hoping to transform into "clean girls" or "That Girls." But when those plans flop, what are we left with? Apparently, the crown of "insufferable girls." Eating my girl dinner, strolling my hot girl walk, binging on sad girl music, reading feral girl books, dancing with my girlianas, sipping with my girlipops—every day, a snail's pace towards... well, womanhood. — @EmmaKupor, July 10, 2023 Seriously, if you read these trend labels in sequence, you might wonder if we've all lost our marbles. And who's surprised? A good chunk of the folks riding this "girl" wave are women, and it's a smidge demeaning to treat grown women like toddlers playing dress-up. Are 30-year-olds really supposed to care about being a "strawberry girl" or a "cherry girl"? Shouldn't we have cracked the code of our own personalities by now? We could argue that boxing women into these labels reeks of gender stereotyping, or that stamping ordinary behavior as "girl-coded" merely widens the gender gap. But let's not kid ourselves—these aren't trends, they're just slick marketing ploys. Remember that Saturday Night Live skit where they cooked up a fake teen trend called "souping" to scare parents? Like, teenagers were supposedly getting high on expired soup cans? Classic. It's like today's trend journalism has taken a masterclass from SNL. One video goes viral, chats spark, media jumps in, and before you know it, you're watching the 6 o'clock news, where seniors gasp at how bizarre youngsters have become. And guess who gets the most bewildered mentions? Yep, our girls—because, naturally, they're the ones who must've lost their minds. But here's the kicker: half the time, the original video was a playful jest, meant for an audience who already knew it was bonkers. Take "girl dinner," for instance. It caused an uproar that'd make a volcano jealous, all because it blended womanhood with eating. Olivia Maher, a showrunner's assistant, labeled her medieval-peasant-inspired feast of bread, cheese, pickles, and vino as a "girl dinner." Why? Because she could do whatever the heck she wanted when her boyfriend wasn't around. But oh boy, did that get twisted in the news. Suddenly, this cute oddity turned into an epidemic—like leftover meals were a crisis worthy of international attention. But guess what? The "girl dinner" gig is so last month. I mean, I'm discussing it in August—talk about being fashionably late to the party. But no worries, the internet's churning out new "girl" stuff faster than rabbits procreate. And that's because "girls" sell like hotcakes. Casting our minds back to 2015, we had another "girl" frenzy gripping the bookstores. Remember the time when books like "Gone Girl" and "The Girl on the Train" took over the bestseller lists? Suddenly, every book had to have "girl" slapped somewhere on the cover. But the "girl" craze wasn't just literary—it infiltrated TV shows, movies, and even office lingo. "Girlboss" became a thing, and shows with names like "Good Girls Revolt" and "2 Broke Girls" dominated the airwaves. Seriously, we couldn't escape the "girl" invasion. Now, if you dive into the rabbit hole of analysis, it's not about the age of these "girls" but the themes of their stories. It's all about the transition from girlhood to womanhood, from being someone to being someone's wife or mother, whether that narrative path suits them or not. The protagonist of "The Girl on the Train" exemplifies this—she's like an erased wife, faded into nothingness once the marriage ink dried. This whole "girl" shebang is like a journey back to girlhood, where possibilities are endless. So, these TikTok women aren't merely following trends; they're strategists, plotting their moves like marketing geniuses. They've seen VSCO girls and e-girls break the internet, so they're riding the "girl" wave, because they know it sells. Heck, even this year's blockbuster movie and the record-breaking musical tour revolve around women in their 30s navigating their unique versions of girlhood. People will always be intrigued by girls—partly because they're not quite women, which makes them less of a target for scorn. Girls are like trending snacks, readily consumed, and they've got more avenues than ever. In the end, these online ladies aren't just trend-followers; they're marketing moguls in the making, crafting click-worthy labels that break the internet. We've all turned into mini-publishers, hoping to milk the anticipation of girls blossoming into full-fledged women. And in the process, we might end up a bit insufferable, but hey, at least we're stylishly insufferable. This zany column first hit the world through the Vox Culture newsletter. And hey, if you're up for supporting journalistic clownery like mine, why not throw a few coins Vox's way? They're not just banking on ads and subscriptions—they're all about bringing quality info to the masses. Will you support Vox's explanatory tomfoolery? *Most news outlets juggle cash from ads and Read the full article

[judy-maroon]

Imagine you have had an encounter with someone. A conversation. Maybe you’re just existing by yourself somewhere. Not exciting or eventful or memorable.

Then, some amount of time later, this moment resurfaces in your memory. You don’t know why you’ve suddenly remembered it but the more you think about it the more uneasy you feel. I must have thought of it because I messed up somehow, you think. You go over and over the moment in your mind, every second more convinced you’ve humiliated yourself but you don’t know how. That everyone you’ve seen since then knows about it. The secret is out, you’re a piece of shit human being and everyone knows.

It doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing at this point in time, you’re so caught up in this memory of a moment you can’t quite remember that it’s as though it’s happening again, right now. Your heart races, you start sweating. A panic attack is looming. And you think, if only I could explain! If I could just tell SOMEONE that I didn’t know, I didn’t mean it!

And maybe you do find someone to apologize to. And hopefully that person is kind, because your apology is going to be intense. It has to be because this feeling is horrible. And you feel deep in your soul that the only way to stop feeling this way is closure.

Or distraction. You need to calm down because this panic is unbearable so you start counting. Or snapping. Or cleaning. Something repetitive, something else to concentrate on. And maybe the distraction helps. So you begin to rely on it. Not only that, you start trying to use it preemptively.

Snapping distracted me from feeling like an unhinged psychopath so maybe if I start snapping all the time I won’t fall down that rabbit hole again. But a compulsion will never prevent the obsession, so it keeps happening and maybe the compulsions get more complex.

And now you spend all your time trying to be distracted. You never really know what anyone is saying to you because you’re too busy counting or listing all the colors in the room like it’s some kind of mantra. It feeds this feeling of disconnection and isolation, not to mention anxiety that someone will notice what you’re doing.

People expect a performance with OCD. Some visual evidence. Relentless hand washing or a meticulously organized space. And I’m getting better at not looking vacant all the time, so how would anyone know anything about the panic and despair rushing through my system? It doesn’t stop the paranoia.

This is generally my experience of ruminating OCD.

I use medication to manage it. When I take it regularly, I find that I’m better able to let go of thoughts and moments. I can always choose to remember something or think about it, but it doesn’t overwhelm me and transform into a version of reality that paints me as a monster.

I’m also better about compulsions. Rather than give in to repetitive behavior to distract, I try to stop the “intrusive” thought from fully developing instead. It’s recognizing and acknowledging I might be about to spiral and doing my best to mentally shrug my shoulders and move on.

I’m writing about this mainly because I wanted to see how well I could put into words what my experience feels like. I’m posting it because maybe other people can relate to it. And connection is important when you mostly feel like you’re floating untethered in space.

[absoluteocellibehavior]

I recently read this absolutely amazing Holy Ghosts fic and it sent me down a rabbit hole of thoughts.

Would a vampire Catholic priest be able to get by by drinking the wine after transubstantiation?

What that process is, is a point during Mass in which Catholics believe that the bread and wine on the altar is actually transformed into the body and blood of Christ. So, while the taste and texture is that of wine, the substance itself has changed. If this is the case, then the priest would truly believe that what they’re taking and distributing at communion is the actual blood of Christ and could potentially serve as an alternative.

So, now I’m imagining the height of the mass where Oscar has to lift the chalice and host off the altar, and he is shaky. He is desperately taking deep breaths to try to control himself, willing the sharp teeth edging into the inside of his lip to return where their rightful place. The wine burns going down. Sacred. Holy. As if attempting to burn the disease which plagues him from the inside out. It isn’t that sustainable. It’s probably slowly killing him but it’s better than the alternative.

A Holy Ghosts vampire!oscar x hunter!noel fic