#Learning to Cope

[pupdoc0916]

Red

His shaking hands gripped the cool granite of the kitchen so tightly that he could feel the microscopic grains of the stone buckle under his touch.  He would not break it.  That would upset the family.  But the strain he felt within his large palms as he gripped the durable stone was almost a comfort.

It could buckle but it wouldn’t break.  A parallel to his never ending cycle of a new domestic life.  A life that still escaped him.  A life he felt he didn’t deserve.

He pulled his eyelids tightly down, his nose wrinkling with the pressure.  The pressure to fit in and thrive.  The pressure to assimilate.  The pressure to hide who he used to be.

Behind closed eyes images began to swarm.  Walls of stone.  Chains.  Forms laying at his feet, unconscious or worse.  He never knew.  They never told him.  He would be pulled away, back towards the dungeons, looking over his shoulder for any sign of life as the crumpled forms were dragged away.

Puddles on the floor.  Spatters against the white cloths that covered his hands.  Trickles from unseen wounds, ones he wouldn’t feel until the adrenaline of battle waned like the pain in his heart.

Blood.

Red.

His eyes shot open and he shook his head of the intrusive images.  Ones he would rather forget.  Ones that would haunt him forever.

He swallowed hard, then, with much effort, opened his palms to release the stone beneath.  Rapid breaths, his chest rising and falling with the effort.  As air moved in and out of his nose he picked up a familiar scent.  

He took a few steps forward until he reached the proper cabinet.  His shaking fingers fumbled with the door before finally gripping and pulling it open.  He took another sniff.  Maddie’s tea.

The tension within every muscle lightened ever so slightly.  He pulled up the stool that sat just to his right and stepped up.  He was too small to reach the upper cabinets without it.  His claws reached forward to grab the small ceramic bin that held the bags of leaf water.  The ghost of a smile found his lips as he ran a nail over the perfectly organized packets, feeling the paper thrum against his touch.

He stopped once he reached the yellow, packaged toward the back of the small vessel.  He closed his fingers around the thin, fragile packet and pulled it away from the others.  He  sniffed the bag again, jaw unclenching and the familiar scent  ran through his nose.

Chamomile.

He finally released the packet from his grip and laid it gently on the counter.  He could not make the relaxing leaf tea without hot water.  He had watched Maddie do it many times.  Any time he felt tense or stressed she would lead him to the kitchen and have him sit while she made the tea.  They would sit quietly together with their drink and she would give him support as his body softened.  She always seemed to know when he needed it.

He hoped it would help him now.

He took the metal pot, the one she had filled many times before, and let water run into it.  He carried the pot to the stove of fire, placing it on one of the open burners.  He had learned the hard way the danger of the burners.  Though it only glowed red, it held the heat of true fire beneath.

As he placed the kettle on the heating stove his eyes met with the red heat, intensifying as it grew.  Fire, heat, burning.  Searing pain.  Cleansing flames.

Red.

He shook his head and pulled his gaze from the stove.  What was the next step?  Cups.  He needed to get a cup.

Gathering his breath and slowly releasing it through his mouth he turned toward the crevice with the cups of tea.  He once again climbed on the stool, his feet pushed in tip toes to reach the glass of choice.  A small cup decorated with leaves and painted grapes.  It was his favorite.

He brought his shaking hand back down, cup held in his finger tips.  He stood and eyed the ceramic cup within his bare hands.  The cool surface of the vessel drew him down.  His purple eyes scanned the delicate colors, so small and intricate, and soft.

His exhausted gaze naturally flowed to his calloused hands resting around the glass.  Scarred and broken.  Hands that still caused him pain.  Hands that had fought, hands that had hurt.

Hands that have killed.

His eyes clenched shut against the thought.  He had been young.  He had been so very scared.    Kill or be killed.  Harm or be harmed.  There were times where he truly wondered which he would prefer.  Stay alive (harm) and live to finish what he people could not, or to be killed and finally join his father again.  The fear and anger.  His eyes pinched harder against the intrusive feelings causing a flash of electric red behind his lids.

A high pitched crack pulled his eyes back open.  It took him a moment to pull his thoughts back to the present in front of him.  As the red charge receded from his eyes he looked back to his trembling hands only to find the cup was gone.  Shattered within his grasp.  Pieces of the cup remained, sharp edges penetrating into the soft areas of his palm.  

No pain.

He watched in morbid fascination as the blood bloomed from the cuts, sprouting from his hands as a seedling from dirt, however instead of the beginning of life, it was a slow drip of demise.

“What’s going on?”

A voice registered in his consciousness but the growing numbness left him without response.  

“Knuckles!  Are you OK?  Don’t move!”

He blinked slowly.

Hands gripped him under his arms and he felt himself lifted from the ground, causing his own hands to fall away.  He was placed on the cool stone of the kitchen counter, legs dangled over the side from his knees.

His hands came to rest back in his lap.  The trickle of blood mixing with the fur on his hands.  

Red.

So much Red.

Anger.  Fire.  Violence.  Blood.  His fur.  His energy.  Red.

A soft whistle startled him and his eyes snapped forward, the haze drifting away as if waking from a dream.  The kettle.  It was screaming.

Foot steps rushed toward the stove, pulling the pot and turning off the heat.  The fire receded, the screaming stopped.  His anger…fading.

A face swooped into his vision.  Eyes soft and confused.  Concern and fear painted across each crease around his eyes, lines around his lips.  Blue eyes met purple.  

“Knuckles.  Are you OK?  You’re bleeding.”

He just stared back.

Cool water began to flow over his palms.  His eyes turned, watching as the fresh blood was carried away by the current moving across his palms.  Strong hands cupped his palms, gently removing shards and cleaning the fissures caused by his own dangerous strength.

He finally returned his gaze to Tom as he finished flushing the glass and blood.  He swallowed hard, shame filling him, burning him from the inside.

“I broke the cup.” he said softly, his voice foreign in his own ears.

Tom looked towards him, fingers still gently cleaning and massaging his injured hands.  He pulled a strained smile across his lips.

“Hey, it’s OK buddy.” Tom replied.  

He looked away for a moment to turn off the water then began to gently dry the red and wet away.  Knuckles allowed his gaze to drop back to his lap as Tom worked, unable to look at the man who had come to his pathetic rescue.

“Don’t move.” Tom ordered, voice more stern than before.  Knuckles flinched.

He heard foot steps rush away.  He felt bad about waking his chief.  He had not meant to.  But, at this moment, he was just happy that the rest of the house still slept.

Tom came back quickly, stepping around the shattered glass that still littered the floor.  He once again picked Knuckles up, and Knuckles did not fight it.  Tom pulled the boy against his chest and Knuckles could hear reassuring breaths rush through his ear as his head settled on the man’s shoulder.

He was sat gently on one of the kitchen chairs.  Tom sat across from him and reached for the gauze he had retrieved moments before.  He picked up Knuckles’ hand and gently turned it palm up and began wrapping his palms in the white bandage.  White so stark against Red.

“I’m not as good as Maddie,” Tom started, with a soft tug to his lip.  “But, hey, I think I can make do.”

Knuckles continued to stare as the bandage material rolled over his palm, secured tightly by strong hands.

A breath escaped the man in front of him as he reached for the echidna’s other hand.

“I am sorry.” he found himself saying, causing Tom to look up.

“What happened, Big Guy?” Tom asked gently.

Knuckles eyes dropped back to his lap.  His breathing felt more strained under the weight of such a question.  Should he speak with Tom?  Honesty was honorable.  But for him, honesty was also painful and dangerous.  But Tom deserved it.

“I…I am Red.” he answered, causing Tom’s eyes to squint in confusion.

“I…know that, bud.” he answered with a lilt of humor.  But Knuckles didn’t smile.  He shook his head.

“Blood is on my hands.  My whole life has been blood and fire.  Chains and fear.  I…I do not know how to leave it behind.  It is me now.  I drown in it.  I have hurt so many.  I did not want to.”

His voice cracked and he felt moisture build below his eyes.  He took a few breaths.  “How can I be in this family?  If you only knew what I have done…to survive.  I am dangerous.  You should fear me!  Why…how…can you want me here?”  The truth spilled from his mouth like water through a broken dam.  

A silence fell between the two.  Knuckles kept his eyes downcast, afraid to meet the eyes of his chief.  He could not bare the disgust and fear.  Not from someone he had grown to respect.  He was ready to be cast out.  He deserved it.  

A long breath came from his chief.  He felt the man’s hands tighten on his bandaged ones, could sense the tension wafting from the man in front of him.

Tom was shocked.  Tom was scared.  Tom was going to cast him away.  There was no place for a murderer in their tribe.

A long silence stretched between them.  Knuckles hand still rested within the palms of his chief.  Then another deep breath escaped the man, lightening the tension in his grip.

”It sounds like you had no choice.”  He said, but Knuckles thought the words were more for the man than they were for him.  Knuckles shook his head.

”But I did.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper.  “I could have chosen death.”

A hand reached for his face, a contact so unexpected he bristled against it, but this did not deter the touch.  A gentle pressure pulled his head up, causing his pained amethyst to meet soft blue.  Tears pooled at the bottom of his eyes.  A shameful thing for a warrior, but he did not have the strength to push them aside.

Tom looked at him.  He really looked at him.  Knuckles felt his chest clench.  What did he see?

“You are Red.” Tom spoke, voice slicing through the thick silence.

Knuckles head drooped as he nodded slowly, but the hand under his chin refused to let him sink.  His eyes were brought back up to gaze at the man in front of top him.

“I know your life was lonely and scary.  You were…are…so young.  Impossibly young to have faced what I fear you did.”  Knuckles eye closed at his words.  But they snapped back open quickly as the man continued.

“But you know what else is Red?”  He commanded Knuckles’ attention.  “Courage is Red.  And you are one of the bravest I have ever met.

Red is inner strength.  The strength to survive insurmountable odds.  The strength to finish what you started and to do what is right.”

Knuckles swallowed hard, pushing down the forming lump in his throat.  His lips parted, but Tom had not finished.

“And most of all, Red is love.  Love for your tribe.  Love for your family.”  Tom squeezed his injured hand gently.  “And Red is the love I have for this family.  The love I have for you.”  Tom took a breath.  “And I am so relieved you chose life.  I’m so happy you are here with us.”

“You are Red.” Tom stated.  “And we love you for it.”

Knuckles’ throat began to burn and the gathering tears began to trickle down his cheeks.  He felt Tom’s hand move to the back of his head and tilt him forward until their foreheads were touching.  Knuckles’ breaths continued to spasm and stutter against the overwhelming relief.  He felt Tom’s fingers gently rub the fur behind his head, the gentle touches causing the tension to slowly flutter away.

“Thank you.” he whispered through tears and sniffles.

“You’re my son.” Tom answered back.  “You can tell me anything.  Even if it’s scary.  Even if you think it will hurt.  Buddy, we…this family…we are here for you.”

Knuckles relaxed further toward the man at his words.  It felt strange to feel so light after carrying so much on his shoulders.

“I…I will clean the mess.” he whispered.  Tom’s chuckle rumbled in his ear.

“I’ve got it buddy.” he answered.  “And if I’m not mistaken, that was your favorite cup.  The one with the grapes?”

Knuckles nodded against the man’s chest.

“I am sorry.”

“We’ll need to get you another.” Tom answered, overlooking his continued apologies.  A deep breath from the chief.  “Do you want me to finish your tea?”

Knuckles weakly shook his head, his eyelids drooping.  The continued massage of the man’s fingers through his fur and the weight of his pain drifting away was causing his exhaustion to return.

He vaguely registered being picked up again, only for a moment, then situated next to his chief’s warm body.

As his eyes closed there was no blood.  No violence.  No anger.  There was only love.

He was Red.  And he could find a way to live with that.

@year-of-the-echidna

[oak1985]

Whole Foods’ psyllium husk—a product used primarily for gluten free baking—has a note saying it may contain wheat. Of course I didn’t read this until after I’d opened the bag. Because WHYYYYYYYYY???? wtf wtf wtf

And the xanthum gum has a gluten free stamp but is processed in a facility that processes wheat.

People with allergies and intolerances, I am so sorry. I really never understand even a little bit of how hard it is to stay safe.

[giddyandgolden]

I Am Autistic. I Have ADHD. And I’m Finally Saying It Out Loud.

I’ve known for a while — Autism since last year, ADHD for who knows how long. And I’ve been ignoring it. Pushing it aside like it wasn’t relevant because I’ve gotten this far without “knowing,” right?

But now I’m 33 (well, 32 when I first learned this) — and it’s getting harder to ignore. I’m seeing it more in how I do my jobs, how I manage daily tasks, and how exhausted I am from masking all the time. The challenges are clearer now, and pretending it doesn’t matter? That isn’t helping me anymore.

So here it is: I’m Autistic with (severe) ADHD.

I’m finally giving myself permission to understand what that means. To look at myself through a lens of compassion instead of shame. I’m learning how to support myself using tools I picked up in past therapy sessions — and new ones too. My sister, who’s also Autistic and an advocate, is helping me make sense of all this. Her support has been everything.

This post might not reach anyone. Or maybe it will. But I needed to put it somewhere. Not for pity. Not for validation. Just to make it real. Because it is real.

And I’m learning — slowly, awkwardly, painfully — that I deserve to understand and care for this version of me, too.

⸻

[ireallyneedaintrestinglife]

Vacillating wildly between:

If something doesn't bring you joy then avoid it there's no need to make life more difficult than it has to be and sometimes you have to deal with unpleasant situations in order to grow and become a better/stronger person.

[balimaria]

I just realized I can cross over my favorite characters and literally no one can stop me. This is way too much power.

(these captures are from gll99's GX fansub! you can find it free on their blog @/kaiowut99)

Part 2

[eggdrawsthings]

“Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit. 'Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.” ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 10: The Wake

[nadiasna7]

What if WWX lived to see his forties in his original body (without the core, of course)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A Most Mousterious Mind.

[jenanigans1207]

What I wanted so badly was for Mary to learn about her boys from Cas. Like that night where Cas finds her when she can’t sleep and she expresses that she just doesn’t know anything about her sons since she missed so much?? All I wanted was for Cas to sit down with her at the table and just start telling her about them. Basic stuff at first: their favorite foods, their sleeping habits, the stuff he’s just observed by being their passenger for years.

And then I want him to say something totally Cas, like “Dean always wears more layers but that’s because his body naturally runs two degrees colder than Sam’s. But that’s normal for him and not indicative of any illness, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

And as they talk, it starts to get a little deeper, and Cas tells her more. He tells her about what she missed, about all the horrible things that happened to her sons and how they coped; how it changed them. And he tells her about Sam, he does, but really it ends up being all about Dean.

He’ll tell her about how Dean clenches his fists when he’s upset, even as he tries to keep his face impassive. About how Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel when he’s anxious. He’ll tell her about Dean’s nightmares, about the ways he’s chosen to cope. He’ll tell her how to know when to approach Dean and when to give him space, how to gently acknowledge what he’s feeling without pushing him too far.

And with every word he says, Mary’s curious head tilt from when she’d seen them hug in reunion turns into a bone deep type of certainty. Because Cas is telling her things that only someone who paid special attention would notice. He’s telling her things that only someone very, very close to her son’s heart would know.

Cas will tell her the cliff notes of what they’ve been through; will tell her how the whole world looked to Dean and he rose to the occasion over and over again. He’ll tell her about Dean’s doubts in himself and then vehemently declare them as wrong and explain, at length, why. He will tell her about the people Dean has loved— the people who loved him like he was their own— and lost. He will tell her about Bobby, Ellen, Jody, Donna, and Charlie. He’ll tell her about Claire, too, and how Dean stepped up.

And the whole time, Mary will have this realization that oh, she may not have been around to guide and protect her sons, but there was always someone there to care for them and support them when they needed it. She will realize that she and John may have left them, but they were never alone.

But more than that, there was someone there for Dean. Someone picking Dean over and over again while Dean picked Sam, or the world, over himself. There was someone fighting for Dean when he wasn’t fighting for himself. There was someone who saw Dean, and loved him unconditionally.

Sitting across from her, at the asscrack of dawn, filling her in on all the things she missed was every mother’s dream: someone who loved her child with the kind of devotion that would break the world. And from the sounds of the stories she was being told, it did break the world. Someone whose love is entirely untainted and comes without any strings attached.

It’s so clear to her as she listens to Cas talk that Cas loves Dean with no expectations. That loving Dean is something he just does, like he doesn’t know how not to love Dean, like the possibility of not loving him never occurred to Cas. He loves Dean in a way that Mary knows can and will soothe Dean’s sharp edges and battered heart. He loves Dean in the kind of pure way that tells Mary that it will continue to endure and overcome everything without ever diminishing, even the littlest amount.

Mary, through tears, will tell Cas how she always told Dean that there were angels watching over him. And before Cas can make some comment about Dean being the Righteous Man and the interest of most of Heaven, she will place a hand over his and give him a motherly look that will convey all the things she’s not sure how to say— and the things she’s not sure Cas is ready to hear yet. And Cas will flush and look away, mumbling about how her son is very special to him.

And when she pulls him into a hug and murmurs thank yous into his shoulder, she will be comforted in the knowledge that her sons turned out to be wonderful men, and that they managed to stay together through everything. She will be comforted to know that no matter what happens, no matter her shortcomings as she tries to fill a role she never meant to leave, Sam will have Dean and Dean will have Cas.

And this time, when Cas tells her that she belongs here, she will believe him. And she will tell him that he belongs here, too.

And when Dean wakes up a few hours later and wanders in to find Mary and Cas still chatting over the table, he’ll be surprised— but pleased— to find Mary looking more at ease. He’ll be pleased when she gives him a warm hug and pats him on the cheek and tell him with all the sincerity that only a mother can muster that she’s glad that he met Castiel. And when Dean agrees, a little confused, Mary will just smile at him.

“I always said I’d like a third son.” She says, “so give him a reason to take our last name, won’t you?”

And Dean will splutter and turn fifteen shades of red as he steadfastly doesn’t look at Cas but mumbles something that suggests he’s not against the idea at all.

And Mary will laugh again and wink at an equally red Cas before heading towards the kitchen like “Cas said waffles are your favorite, so I hope you’re hungry!”

[borderlinereminders]

do you know how sad it is that as a recovery blog you can’t manage your disorder and don’t realize you’re experiencing it?

Do you know how sad it is that you’re taking the time to send me asks like this?

I do actually want to talk about this though. I don’t see a need to fix everything. Some things aren’t hurting me, or are low priority when I want to focus on other things.

Meds haven’t stabilized my moods and with my coping mechanisms, I have control of my impulses and know how to handle depressives and anxiety.

Instead, I just accept my disorder. I use times of being manic to prepare for depressives. I meal prep and freeze it. I pre make products for my business. I sometimes queue a bunch of posts.

“Accepting it” really bothers a lot of people but trying so hard to fix it was causing me so much anxiety and stress. And some things aren’t fixable. So, I learn to live with it. And I think that’s valid.

I work on my behaviours that are harmful (impulse control, lashing out at people, sabotaging my relationships, etc), but I can’t just fix my disorders.

It’s a disorder that isn’t ever going to just “go away”. I’ve learned to adapt to work with it instead of trying to fight against it. And let me tell you, my mental health has never been better 🤷‍♀️.

[a-compass-without-a-needle]

This is what happened after 3.1 isn't it?

[spaceacekid]

I remember coming out as ace for the first time around 2017/2018 when "ace discourse" was really bad and my coming out post was so apologetic, I was saying stuff like "I know this doesn't technically make me LGBTQ" and "it's not really a big deal" and looking back I just...should not have had to apologise like that. Please don't apologise for who you are. You are queer. Very much so.

[littlestarryagere]

How to tackle chores when regressed :

Ello!! I’m here bc sometimes I find it sooo hard to check off my to-dos bc my liddol(s) out ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა

Here are some ideas for folks tht may be struggling getting up &&doing the tingz !!

♡ Print off a sticker chart !! Ik for me having external motivation aka cute lil stickers showing how good I’ve been can rly rly help !!

♡ Bring along your stuffie/favorite toy !! They’re your fren & wanna help u do the thing !!

♡ Play age-appropriate music & dance & sing along while u work !! This can make the thing feel less daunting & more silly & fun !!

♡ Have a kid-appropriate movie/tv show on in the background !! Just be sure to not get too distracted, little one !! ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

♡ Ask your cg for a reward if u complete all da tingz !! Rewards can be things like regression time w them that night, sweets, etc !! If u don’t have a cg, thts totally ok !! U can also do these things solo !! ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

♡ Make urself a snack/meal first !! Ik for me sometimes the energy boost is definitely needed !! Some age-appropriate foods can be apple slices w peanut butter/caramel, mac n cheese, milk in a baba, etc !! Just stay healthy little ones !!

♡ This one’s may be harder for some, but try calling another liddol fren/someone who supports your regression if you’ve got any !! I’m lucky enough to have this option, it’s ok if u don’t !! But sometimes talking to somebody helps me get up & at’em !!

♡ Play a regression podcast !! This one’s good for those of us tht may not have a cg/regression buddies to talk to !! When I’ve been cg-less these have rly rly helped me !! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Feel free to add more, & have fun bein a good little kiddo !!

~ Starry ⋆⭒˚.⋆

[hootgrowlhootgrowl]

completely obsessed with the fact that ed and fang missed the entire cursed suit plot bc they were out fishing the whole day

[y-elleven]

i dont think sae would ever fall out of love with you once he gets serious. neither time nor routine could ever dull his affections, because loving you meant clawing his own chest open to get to the battered and vulnerable heart he'd kept hidden behind walls of sea-rotted boards for years. he fought for that softness, for the ease and surety of having a love that's returned, brittle edges and all. there's no way in hell his heart would ever stop bleeding with want and pure affection for you. that's just not how he's built

to begin, being in a relationship with him isn't easy. he knows this. he's made you cry enough times in the beginning to carve a resolve to never make you cry ever again for the rest of your lives together now. sae will always be grateful for your patience and persistence, for not giving up on the two of you (on him) when he already had so many times. for all his effortless cool and nonchalance, he's a messy adult with even messier feelings and a tongue sharp enough to keep almost everyone right where he wants them: at arm's length. his words cut like burred steel and the hurt that comes with them always fade into scars people resent him for, but the fact that you still persevered and met him where he stood, even when he refused to meet you halfway, means so much to him. he'd never be able to put into words even if he tried, so he shows it by doing his best to be a better man for you every day instead

he loves your routine. loves the life the two of you have begun building together. loves the simple reassurance of being able to kiss you goodbye in the morning and kiss you hello in the evening. loves the press of your body against when he goes to sleep and the warmth of breath against his collarbone when he wakes up. loves brushing his teeth next to you and running his fingers through your bedhead to try and tame it. loves having you sit with him in the kitchen while he fixes a quick snack for both of you. loves when you're chatty. loves when you're quiet. loves you when you're sweet on him. loves you when you're pissed to hell. loves when you're all cleaned up and gorgeous, dressed like you're his to show off and adore. loves when you've got sauce stains on your shirt and dressed for a night-in of crappy reality tv and gossip where you talk and he just listens

he loves that simple life. even when you stress him out with your antics sometimes and your own messy feelings make you listen to your insecurities instead of him, he wouldn't trade it for the world. not when you've looked at him and all his mess and decided he was still worth the effort. you've met him where he refused to budge so many times, so he has no problem pushing against his own anxieties and fears to find you when you get too lost in your own head

he's come so far from who he was in the beginning of your relationship and he's proud of that. sae's still a little difficult sometimes, especially when it comes to your health and comfort (two things he refuses to compromise on; he wants a future with you and won't let anything, not even your self-destructive habits, get in the way of that), but he doesn't hide from you anymore. when you've seen the worst of him and still offered the best you could in return, how can he ever do anything but love you forever?

[bunshipping]

your f/o fucking hates your abuser. your f/o wants to rip them apart and mangle them. your f/o wants to slit your abusers throat and mail you their severed fingers so you know finally, finally you are safe.

your f/o is never ever ever going to let them touch you ever again.