#So that I don't burn myself out to the point of crisis anymore

[there-will-be-a-way]

Starting to fall back in love with my life. Like yes, I'm not a functional member of society. I don't work. I haven't met many of the milestones you're supposed to meet. But I've made so many experiences that a lot of other people won't ever make - and, not to be full of myself but, they turned me into a pretty decent, social and kind human being. I may not be useful to the economy, but I matter a lot to the people I choose to surround myself with, and I know that I helped plenty of peeps in difficult situations, and honestly, this is worth so much more lmao. I'm proud of who I have become. I really am.

I'd rather be a light in someone's darkness than break myself trying to pay taxes and spend all my energy on trying to live up to expectations tbh

[trans-axolotl]

this is a loaded question and even admitting i need to ask it has some weird morality attached to it, but. as a disabled person, how do you make the organizing, advocating, and protesting you engage in sustainable? i'm not burning out yet but i know my current workload isn't sustainable, especially on top of work/school/medical responsibilities. i'm sure that a significant amount of sustaining this effort is the social support of other organizers, but i'm organizing an advocacy group from scratch and don't have that support at all rn. knowing the weight of the issue and feeling my anger at the injustices my community faces keeps me going, but i know it's not enough in the long term. do you have any advice? wishing you well in all aspects of your life :-)

hey anon! i think this is an important question to ask--figuring out ways not just to get involved, but also to stay involved and sustainably fight back are vital. at the same time, i completely understand why it can be a hard question to ask--this is a conversation that i think can sometimes be co-opted by people using language around rest as a way to distract from the urgency of a particular moment, or as a way for people who never had the intention of getting involved to feel better about their inaction. (to be clear, i don't think that's what you're saying at all, but just wanted to preemptively state that, because too often i do see people taking this conversation in directions that just work to ignore the realities of injustice.)

for me, what's been helpful is grounding myself in disability justice and the concept of interdependence, and figuring out how to apply that into movement spaces. because the truth is that everyone, disabled or abled, has needs, and all of us will at some point hit a wall where we literally cannot go on anymore, we're too sick and exhausted, we have so many responsibilities at once, we get locked up and taken away from our communities, etc etc etc. i think that because we live in such an inaccessible society, often for disabled people it feels like those moments happen more visibly and more frequently because our world isn't set up in a way where we can rest every time we're tired, where we can get the support we need to do our activities of daily living, where we can get easier access to pain meds, medical devices, etc etc etc. So very often we're pushed to our extremes. And often the way that we depend on people is labeled as a "burden" in a way that abled people aren't labeled as burdens for depending on each other. so it can be really hard as disabled people to feel like it's even possible for us to have that kind of interdependency, or to trust that our community will respond and support us in a meaningful way.

In the activist spaces i'm in, it's been important for me to think about interdependency from the beginning. how are we setting things up so that to the extent that's possible, we're meeting each others needs? do we know what our needs are? are the resources that we need even available? how can we step in and take care of each other? what kinds of care do we need when we face injustice, brutality, and repression? are there times we think it's worth it and necessary to push past our limits? what are the pre conditions we need met in order to sustainably organize?

i also feel complicated even saying that because there are so many situations where we can't wait for the preconditions to be met, we don't have a way to meet our needs, but we don't have any other options. some of the most vital organizing in my life has been when i've been locked up: all of us were in crisis, there was no way to meet our needs, no way to get resources, and we still needed to organize and fight anyway, at the expense of other aspects of our wellbeing. because it was life or death otherwise and we simply didn't have other options. so in some ways i think it's also important to recognize that if we are in a situation where we do have the ability to rest, where we can think about what we need and how to make it happen, if there's more choice--that is a different situation, with a different relationship to privilege then when you can't even think about any of those things because it's life or death. and i also think about this a lot in terms of how i want to show up as an ally--if i'm in a position where I'm not being directly targeted, where i have more privilege/choice/ability to rest, i think a lot about ways to leverage that, redistribute resources, and take on more labor intensive roles so that the labor isn't falling exclusively on the people for whom it is about survival. (it comes back to reciprocity versus extraction for me, but that's another post.)

that being said: if we push ourselves too hard and end up collapsing and burned out, we also aren't going to be able to be there for ourselves and our communities. and so figuring out how to do sustainable organizing can look like a lot of different things!

practically, one of the first things i think that is important is actually being aware of your own needs and communicating that openly. if we don't even know what our needs are surrounding things like time/rest/energy/etc, it's hard to make a plan for how we can fit organizing into our life. i think it can also be important to figure out what kind of boundaries you need to set in terms of what your activism looks like--i have boundaries for myself about what kind of things i will and won't talk about publicly. for example, I know that sharing a lot of intimate details about intersex trauma is exhausting and vulnerable in a very particular way that leads to burnout for me, and I don't say yes to people asking me to do that for them without support.

alongside that, i sort of have a list in my head that's like, "ways i can contribute when i'm at 10% capacity versus ways i'm going to show up when i have 75% energy," and then that determines for me whether I'm going to take point at being on the ground at an action versus scouting versus doing jail support from a distance and so on. i figure out a lot of different ways that i can contribute that lines up with what my bodymind can do in a given point and time. i cannot always do everything; whatever i can do is important and meaningful.

another piece of advice that has been super important for me, especially in the context of doing organizing work with a group with a specific purpose, is to make sure that you aren't the only one in a group who knows how to do something. write down "how-to" sheets for every role and task in the group and just have a google drive or binder full of documents that just have stuff like "list of things you need when you're making social media posts for the group" "list of steps you need to take when you're the person who's organizing supplies for mutual aid outreach" "how to write and apply for grants" "how to be the person who's running the 24 hour hotline for emergency peer advocacy at the ER" or whatever is relevant for your group. this takes a lot more time and energy at the beginning while you're setting this up, but having sort of a manual of operations is going to help you out SO Much later on. that way you can ask other people to step in, teach people how to do something they haven't tried before, and increase the skills among everyone in the group. It can make it possible for you to take breaks, take a step back, and not get caught in a situation where you're the only person who knows how to do some vital piece of the organizing your group is doing and you feel like you can never take a break because everything will fall apart.

i think it's also important to recognize that a lot of activist work often comes with increased state repression and violence, and that state repression works to isolate and tear apart communities and to diminish people's capacity for action. it's important to plan for this and explicitly create spaces to process things like police brutality, increased oppression, and the impact that's having on everyone's wellbeing. i've been in plenty of situations where there was nothing we could do to change the fact that we were facing this kind of brutality, but it helped us a lot just to have an hour where we sat down and were like "this is really fucked up, i'm having nightmares, i feel alone and i want to feel less scared," instead of just trying to tough it out and push through it and then just get burned out.

all that being said: i'm not perfect at finding this balance in my own life. a lot of my activism work is literally life or death in a way that i don't know how to take a step back from. there's a genocide going on and i'm living with all the privileges of an imperialist empire and to me that means that i think it would be incredibly unethical for me to look away or stop. there's been a lot of times that i've taken on too much and pushed myself to crisis and ended up stuck in bed for weeks. it's definitely still a work in progress for me and i don't have all the right answers.

Another source of inspiration for me that I keep coming back to is the essay "Sick Woman Theory" by Johanna Hedva, which asks the question: "How do you throw a brick through the window of a bank if you can’t get out of bed?" (Hedva, 1). The essay is primarily talking about protest and resistance in the context of chronic illness making it impossible to be in these public spaces where protests are taking place, but I've also found a lot of meaning in applying these same ideas to the times I've been thinking about protest and resistance in solitary confinement, when most other options for resistance are taken from you and all you're left with is your body and time. I think this essay is really worth a read, and that Hedva offers a really thoughtful exploration of what resistance looks like when more conventional aspects of political action are not accessible or have been taken from you.

this answer got really long, but i hope any of that was helpful, and if any followers have thoughts please feel free to add on.

sending you so much solidarity and best wishes with all your organizing, anon.

[2baddiesfanfics]

Ulterior Motives

Pairing: Arlecchino x Furina

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Cake, Virginity, Kissing

Summary:

As Furina struggles to find purpose in her life, an unexpected visitor comes to call. Bearing cake as a peace offering, Arlecchino attempts to smooth things over from their most recent interaction. When emotions flair, Furina ends up with an experience she won't soon forget.

Read on Ao3

It was odd. Furina had spent so much time looking down from her proverbial throne that the image of her humble apartment ceiling had now become strangely comforting.

There was no longer any need for theatrics. The archon Focalor was no more. She was just…Furina. Funny. After 500 years of keeping a secret, she thought she’d feel so much more relief.

Yes, a part of her did feel weightless. But not in a good way. More like an “aimlessly drifting through life day-to-day” kind of way. A “what’s the point?” kind of way. A “why am I even here?” kind of way.

Her stomach rumbled alerting her to the human need to fill it with something. Never in her time as a god did she think the one thing she’d miss would be having well-prepared meals at her beck and call.

I should really get up and cook myself something. What kind of macaroni have I not already made this week? Not like it matters. It all tastes the same anyway.

Her train of thought was unexpectedly interrupted by a series of steady raps on the door.

“Lady Furina?”

The blood ceased flowing through her veins. The only person who knew her new address was Neuvillette. This was most certainly not his voice.

This could only be the husky timbre of the Knave.

Shit! How did she find out where I live? Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away.

Her name was called a second time, only firmer.

Pretend you’re not here. She’ll give up soon.

“…I brought cake.”

Furina slowly opened one eye. Shifting off the bed, she brought herself to pull the front door open a smidge.

“What do you want?” She asked, irritation dripping from her words. “Come to gloat?”

“I only want to talk. Truly. May I come in?”

Heaving an overly dramatic sigh, Furina stepped aside. “How did you find me?”

Arlecchino moved about the sparse kitchen with a familiarity that slightly scared Furina. It was as if she knew exactly where to find what she was looking for.

“I’m waiting…”

“Patience, dear. We have all night to talk. Let me at least feed you. By the looks of things, you haven’t been eating well. Or treating yourself well, for that matter.”

She had her there. In the aftermath of the trial from hell, Furina had won her freedom, yes. But at what cost? Without her godhood, what did she have left? The people of Fontaine no longer needed an omnipotent savior figure to call on in a crisis. What was her purpose now?

Pulling a chair from the table, Arlecchino gestured for her to take a seat. Once she did, the Knave joined her.

“Now, to answer your previous question. Don’t be foolish. You know the House of the Hearth has its ways. Finding your address was child’s play.”

Furina rolled her eyes. Of course. Those three troublesome children of hers certainly knew how to make magic happen. She prodded her slice of cake with a fork, slowly feeling like she was regaining her appetite. Damn her and this rare confectionery treat.

"Look, Lady Furina. At this point, I don't think there's any more need to speak as diplomatic representatives. Allow me to speak to you now as just a Fontainian.”

Suddenly Furina wasn’t hungry anymore. She had heard Arlecchino speak these exact words to her once prior. Before she knew who Furina really was. The woman certainly had her suspicions and had come dangerously close to blowing the secret she had dutifully kept for half a thousand years.

“If you’re only here to taunt and berate me, you can leave now, Knave. I have no interest in revisiting the past. I’ve lived long enough to know it’ll never stop haunting me.”

Arlecchino pinned her with a glare that was intense enough to burn. “Furina, look at me.”

Realizing the woman had dropped her formal “lady” title, she shifted her gaze upward to meet blazing scarlet eyes that seemed to stare deeper than she was comfortable with.

“Since the prophecy is no longer hanging above our necks like a guillotine, I feel I can speak frankly. I came here to apologize for my behavior that day.”

Furina’s brow furrowed. An awkward pause filled the room.

“…What’s the catch?”

“It wounds me that you’d think I came here with an ulterior motive. After learning more about your…situation…I deeply regret calling you nonchalant and carefree. I realize now you hadn’t failed to take action, but rather, you couldn’t. I hope you’ll accept this sweet treat as an apology,” she concluded with a soft, sincere smile that looked out of place on such a sharp face.

While Furina certainly wasn’t about to turn down the delicacy, she couldn’t help a surge of rage from bubbling forth like acid.

“That’s it? You think a fucking piece of cake is going to make up for the humiliation you made me feel that day in Neuvillette’s office?” She scoffed. “You knew right well I've never ignored the prophecy, nor was I passing the time in self-indulgence. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure, and yet you waltz in here uninvited as if my forgiveness was signed, sealed, and delivered. Don’t make me laugh!”

Arlecchino’s countenance turned dark. “My sincerest apologies oh great Hydro Archon. Or should I say…former great Hydro Archon? You’ll have to excuse my behavior at the time. I was at a loss for how to properly express my anger at your neglect. How was I supposed to know you had a mighty plan to save your people? Oh…that’s right. You had to keep those you had sworn to protect completely in the dark when it came to how they were supposed to survive in a land that, for all intents and purposes, would soon disappear beneath the waves," she bit back.

Furina’s chair screeched against the aging wooden floor of her apartment as she jolted upward in disgust and disbelief.

“You bitch! How dare you! I told you then that I had my ways and I'd been working on them for as long as I’d been forced into this archon-forsaken position! To this day, even if you look down upon me, you have no right to judge!" She bellowed far too loudly for someone of such small stature.

For a moment, nothing could be heard in the cramped space but the sound of Furina’s heavy breathing. Then…the soft yet seductive chuckle of the Knave permeated the tense atmosphere.

“Why, yes. I do suppose you’re right,” she stated, rising to her feet. Towering over her, Furina took a step backward only to realize her living area wouldn’t permit escape.

“The bottom line is we all survived, now, isn’t it? I cannot claim to know what you’ve gone through to bring about this result, but I can only imagine I have you to thank,” she continued as her arm trapped the girl between her lithe body and the wall. Furina shivered.

Arlecchino surveyed her through hooded eyes, a hunter on the prowl for something far more than an acknowledgment of her appreciation. Her face was now mere inches from Furina’s. The heat of her breath danced on her lips, already parted in anticipation for what she was sure was bound to happen next. She was prey, powerless against the intoxicating allure of the predator about to strike.

“…And those who work hard deserve gratitude and praise.”

Before she could respond, Arlecchino closed the distance between them swiftly. Furina let out a muffled yelp of surprise. Questions reeled through her mind. What is she doing!? I thought she hated me. Was she not just trying to win my favor for her own political advantage?

In the end, she decided she didn’t care. In all her 500 years, she had never been in the position she now found herself. As a god, the concept of love was somewhat foreign to her. Adoration she had experienced, yes. Devotion? She’d had her fair share of admirers come up to her after shows for an autograph or two, of course. But she was getting ahead of herself. Love? Who said this was anything but raw, aching need?

Her eyes faded shut as she fell deeper under the Knave’s spell. The woman’s tongue slithered out, seeking permission to taste her. Gaining access, Arlecchino sensed the reluctance behind her acquiescence. The laugh she let out reverberated against Furina’s mouth.

“What’s the matter?” She taunted between panting breaths. “Afraid?”

Furina’s eyes snapped open. Shimmering pools of light and dark blues that reflected her mastery of the hydro element stared back at the woman before her. She was one of the Fatui Harbingers. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t frightened. But Furina was no stranger to lies - she’d been living one longer than Arlecchino had been alive.

Mustering all the courage she could, she retorted, “You wish.” Wrapping her arms around the taller woman’s neck, she pulled her forward once more and continued their carnal duel. The Knave, caught off-balance by the unexpected bit of candor, tripped forward slightly, pushing her body further against Furina’s. The girl welcomed closer contact as she let slip a soft moan.

Grabbing her by the backs of her thighs, Arlecchino hoisted her up and guided her to wrap them around her waist. Navigating them both to the bedroom, she deposited her gently on the already rumpled sheets.

There was a part of Arlecchino that truly felt sorry for her. In no way could she relate to what Furina had gone through, but if the state of her bed was any indication, it was taking her time to transition to living a mortal life. While she relished the chase and was eager to introduce her to the many pleasures of being human, she realized she’d have to take her time with her lest she scare her off completely.

“Furina, darling…remove your clothing for me,” she murmured as her lips danced down her neckline. As her hands maneuvered to undo the buttons of her shirt, Arlecchino could feel a tremble in her movements.

Well, I did say she deserved praise. Let’s see how this works…

“Mmmm…such an obedient little thing,” she purred. Furina immediately stopped shaking and instead worked faster to clear the line. Arlecchino let out a throaty chuckle. Oh, this is going to be far too easy…it’s not surprising considering she probably has received very little acknowledgment for such a massive sacrifice on her part.

Shrugging out of her own coat, Arlecchino watched with ferocity as the former archon of Fontaine stripped down to nothing in front of her. Holding a seat of power herself, she was used to being the one in control. Seeing Furina so eager to do what she asked turned her on in a way she hadn’t experienced before. This was much more…thrilling. It was time to press further.

Crawling back over her, Arlecchino continued her exploration of Furina’s body. “Yes…that’s it. You’re doing so well for me, dear,” she whispered as her teeth gently sank into the sensitive skin of her breast.

“Aghhhh…Arlecchino…” she groaned, her head canting back.

“Oh, come now. That won’t do. I believe we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Father.”

An intense blush spread across Furina’s face. She knew this was what members of the House of the Hearth called her, but there was just something so…taboo sounding about it. Nevertheless, she had to admit it fit the debonair woman looking down at her.

“Y-yes…Father.”

Arlecchino had to swallow her own moan at the use of this name in a setting far different than she usually heard it.

“That’s a good girl,” she managed. Her tongue circled a taught nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from Furina. Taking it into her mouth, Arlecchino sucked forcefully. Furina’s hips thrust upward in response, her hands twisting in the other woman’s hair. Deftly grabbing her wrists, Arlecchino collected and then pinned them above her head with one of her own.

“Ah, ah, ah. If I’m to make you feel good, then I can’t have you distracting me while I do so. Understood?” She chastised.

Furina nodded furiously, eyes hungry to discover what might happen next. Resuming her licking and nipping, she got her to a point where she knew she had to be ready for her. Her free hand sought the space between her legs, her fingers slipping through her folds with ease.

Arlecchino’s breath felt hot against Furina’s ear as she whispered, “Fuck baby girl, your pussy is so wet and ready for me.”

“Ahhhhh…Father…please…” Furina choked as she writhed beneath her, need evident in the sound of her voice.

“You’re so beautiful when you struggle for me like this…” she taunted, her fingers pulsing inside of her now. Tears, not of fear or hurt but of sheer pleasure, formed at the corners of Furina’s eyes. Arlecchino’s thumb moved in steady circles around her clit, drawing her ever closer to her orgasm.

“Yessss take it for me…I know you can…look at you…ready to cum so soon from so little stimulation…you have no idea what you’re doing to me…just like that…” Her words flooded over Furina until the dam broke.

“Father ohhhhh fuckkkkk!” Her body convulsed around her fingers as she shook under the force of her orgasm.

As Furina lay catching her breath, she detected movement on the mattress. “Very good, darling. Now, it’s only fair I get something in return. I know you don’t have much experience in these matters, but we’ll soon change that, hmm? Just do as I say,” the Knave commanded as she removed the rest of her own clothing. Shifting herself over her, she carefully took her position kneeling above her head.

“This should be simple enough. From what I’ve seen at trials, you’ve always been talented with your mouth. You’ll be the good girl that you are and help me out, won’t you?” Arlecchino purred down at her.

Furina did indeed understand exactly what was being requested of her. “I’ll do my best, Father.” The air of sweet innocence in her voice made the Knave tremble ever so slightly. Smoothing the tendrils of hair from Furina’s forehead, Arlecchino slid her fingers through her tresses as she lowered herself at just the right angle.

“Mmmm, how ironic. You may no longer be the Hydro Archon, but you sure know how to get me wet,” Arlecchino said as Furina’s tongue made contact with her clit. She began to move her hips back and forth, forcing her to apply more pressure.

Encouraged by the Knave’s praise, Furina mustered the courage needed to slip her tongue into the woman above her.

“Ohhhhh, archons…yes,” she cried out.

With a small smile at the more experienced woman’s moans of approval, Furina experimented with thrusts and licks of different paces and lengths. Sliding her hand between her thighs, she used two fingers she widened her lips to give her easier access to Arlecchino’s sensitive bud.

The Knave’s knees buckled. She wasn’t expecting that. “Fuck…that’s it…good girl!” she huffed as her hips began to move faster.

Furina swiped her thumb across her clit in a steady motion as she darted back in for another taste of her arousal. She felt the Knave tighten her grip on her hair as her legs shook and she lost control.

“Furina…fuckkkkk…” she ground out in time with her frantic thrusts. Having found her release, she shifted to settle at her side. The former archon flushed.

“I hope that was ok. As you noted, it’s not like I have an abundance of experience in this area,” she giggled sheepishly. There was something so pure about her that made it hard for Arlecchino not to grin back at her.

“Look at you. I’ve made a mess of your face,” she said apologetically as she wiped some of her slick from Furina’s lips with a gentle brush of her finger. Placing a surprisingly chaste kiss on her lips, she continued. “Archon or not, you look ravishing.”

Furina nuzzled closer to her, refusing to meet her gaze directly. “At the risk of ruining the moment…why here? Why now? Why…me?” A pensive look glimmered in the Knave’s eyes as she tilted Furina’s face upward by her chin.

“Because, my dear. While the people of Fontaine may no longer need Furina the archon, I need only Furina. The House of the Hearth does important work, but I cannot do it alone. Having someone who’s central to Fontaine would be extremely beneficial, and I believe you may be the one for the job. You’ve spent your years living for the sake of others. To have that ripped away in an instant must surely leave one feeling bereft of purpose, no? My only intention is to fill that void.”

Furina’s eyes gleamed. Perhaps helping raise those who had been forgotten by the world would bring her a sense of belonging. Lying around her dingy apartment by herself wasn’t exactly the life she had dreamed of now that she had her freedom. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a smirk.

“So…if the children of the House call you Father, does that make me Mother?”

Arlecchino rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, little one.”

[just-emerald-star]

2023: The Year of Social Media Burnout

Is it just me or has every single alternative to Twitter (including good ol Tumblr here, no shade) led to a severe case of burn out??? Cuz I personally can't take it anymore. In the time since Tumblr was taken over by that narcissistic man child, we've had A FUCK TON of social media alternatives or "twitter clones" pop up or take advantage of every single chance they get cuz Twitter falls apart at least every other week like clockwork.

-Hive (Tried it. Hated it. No Desktop version yet.)

-Spoutible (Giving off echo-chamber vibes. Shitty NSFW/sex worker policies despite being for all marginalized folks.)

-Spill (Whomst?)

-Mastodon (Exists)

-Bluesky (Run by the former twitter CEO. Fuck him as well.)

-Threads (Just launched. 6/10)

-Post (Whomst)

-Substack (An attempt was made)

And plenty more I don't know about yet. I'm sure they'll become relevant at some point. My point is this: Look at how many alternatives have come into prominence in the past 8 months.

This is all in response to Twitter malfunctioning and being run by a dumbass. And everyone's immediate response is "let's move somewhere else" but we often forget that not every site is gonna have that reach you're looking for to promote your shit (if you're a creative like me.) It's not gonna have every function like Twitter & if it does have said functions, that's a whole new system you gotta adapt to. I've tried so many alternatives in the past 8 months out of fear that Twitter may actually shut down. And yet, it's still the one place I often go to. The exception to the rule of course is ya boi Tumblr. And while I appreciate this site, it's taken a bit to adjust.

And me being a creator who just wants folks to see my work but also not be stressed by social media's ever-changing ways, I gotta tell ya folks: I am very much stressed out, burnt out & on the brink of wanting to just...delete everything.

I can't keep spreading myself thin and can't keep depending on new sites, cuz that means I have to build myself from the ground up. And that's not even counting the sites that lack certain functions & can't get their shit together cuz they launched prematurely just to get a leg up on Twitter's bag fumbling.

Not to mention (and I've been saying this shit since December 2022):

TWITTER'S TOOLS & FUNCTIONS ARE GOOD, ACTUALLY. EVERYONE WANTS TO REPLACE TWITTER BUT NO ONE WANTS TO BE TWITTER.

In conclusion: Aside from Tumblr, I think I'll be downsizing on social media presence. I can't nor REFUSE to let myself deal with being spread too thin. It's giving social media obsession and I've had enough. It's not enough to be NEW & BETTER than Twitter. You gotta show us that you understood what worked/didn't work on Twitter and put your own spin on things. Not expecting perfection, I just want better options.

TL;DR There will never be another Twitter, only Twitter Adjacent & that's sad. Cuz Twitter, despite ALL of it's bullshit, has done some actual good & given light to more issues in the last 10 years thx to it's very existence. and it's being fucked over by an old ass transphobic man child in the midst of mid-life crisis.

[silverxxxxxxxsprings]

i'm not myself these days. i've been interacting less with my friends in schools, i haven't spoken to my best friends in months now. i have deactivated my socials and uninstalled all of them. i haven't really been feeling grounded. it started on midterms when i know i'm going to fail even just as i'm answering the tests. i realized i'm really fucking dumb each fucking question and even though i laugh about it with my classmates, nothing is seriously funny anymore. i'm gonna fail. it's just an impending doom. and although they mostly take me as a never ever serious typa person, it's actually really been bugging me.

my dad also got terribly sick while i was taking the midterm exams but my mom didn't tell us. when it got very worse, she messaged us and i had to go home immediately at night on a 4 hour long bus ride. i was hysterically crying cause it occurred to me that night that I WOULD NEVER KNOW HOW TO LIVE A WORLD without my parents. i just can't and don't want to imagine. the chant practice and all their threats of demerits and point deductions were suddenly so petty and so irrelevant because i miss my family so much and i was so fucking worried. i didn't want to go back to the city and just ditch intramurals. but thankfully my dad got better and they threatened to deduct points on doc bea's subjects now which by the way i cannot afford to lose anymore points, and my brother was left alone in the city. but still, the realization lingered. what would i be if my parents would be gone? i will kill myself. the thought that i haven't even achieved anything is already destroying me. not even my graduation day will be an achievement because i won't even have an award.

i'm also having existential crisis. i need to write a letter for my scholarship foundation and i haven't written one yet. i need to submit reqs for when i will go to med school if i will, which i know i won't but my mom is still in denial. do i even take the nmat at this point? i am already so sure i will start to work after graduation. i am just so exhausted and burn out with all these. i am heavily burdened by the idea of my future and i am scared that no one will understand me and that i wouldn't make it. i couldn't even share this to my friends because again, i just don't want to talk at all.

and my skin still hasn't recovered from my breakout due to midterms and everytime i do my makeup, it's cakey. IT'S SO FRUSTRATING I LOOK SO UGLY.

[blackxmagick]

.

it really is So fucking exhausting living in my body. it really is. just constant fucking crisis mode, constant fucking emotions and turmoil and im so fucking sick of it im sick of LIVING

and for what huh. For Literally What. What's the fucking point anymore when there is Nothing to look forward to.

I have a marriage that's hanging on by the fucking sinews and my wife refuses to leave me because she swore an oath on her honor she would not leave me For Sickness and Health, Till Death Do Us Part well fucking let me die just let me fucking die so hse can be free of me

dont even get me started just dont even I am not worth it. im not worth it. im not worth almost 15 years of time im not worth any more time and im certainly not worth putting in an effort anymore

im done

i just wanna pass away i just want to fade and go in a coma and be left to dust im so sick of living of being this way of this constant fucking ache in my chest and emptiness in my head

its gotten to the point where i want to drink it away and god i know alcohol is the last thing i should turn to but god i just want oblivion

i want nothing to be Nothing

god lets not forget my doomed fucking relationship! lets not forget that fucking hot mess just why do i bother why do i torture myself why can't i just fucking die and let go and be forgotten

theyve got family and a marriage and im just there. im just me. im nothing. not worth a damn and certainly not worth jeopardizing a marriage they care about so fucking let me go please god just let me go so i can die please its better than hanging on to a hope that i know is a lie

and i fall for it every fucking time GOD

i cant stand myself when will you learn you stupid fucking cunt when will you learn huh?? when will it get through your thick fucking skull that it will never be more it will never be what you want it to be so fucking give up

just fucking. cease.

maybe i just need to be fucked. maybe thats it. if i just let myself be passed around and used then maybe ill burn out this fucking ache inside and be done with it and then maybe ill have relief or die

god i just please let me just Stop

i don't want to be better i dont want to keep going i dont want to try anymore because there's nothing that will help me anymore not a goddamn thing

what reward do i get for trying when what i want is impossible huh? I can't get the body i want or the mental health i need or the lover i desire or the fucking money to live so what's the point huh. whats the fucking POINT

WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT IN MY EXISTENCE ANYMORE BUT FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S FUCKING PLEASURE AND AMUSEMENT HUH. WHAT ABOUT ME. DO I GET A FUCKING SAY IN ANY OF THIS DO I GET TO BE HAPPY? NO. FUCK OFF FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS CUNT GO DIE ALREADY.

JUST CRY IN YOUR ROOM AND PRAY YOU DON'T WAKE UP IN THE MORNING EVER AGAIN

[schmedterlingfreud]

Welp, I really think I'm in the middle of another good ol' burnout. It's been a long time since we saw each other, you and me, old champ.

This time, in addition to being painful, exhausting, it was also almost embarrassing, because I was about to have a crisis in the middle of my work shift. The worst and most difficult part of it went on for about an hour and a half -- two hours, maybe -- but that didn't stopped me and I continued to work. The scene is as pathetic to imagine as it was to play it in my shoes. My swollen and red eyes; tears held back between quivering eyelashes; patches of redness that gradually spread on the cheeks and the tip of my nose; the trembling of my lower lip; and the repeated sucking noise from my dripping nose.

But I didn't cry. Not even a tear runned down my cheek. I continued to work in the bubble of scorching heat being hold by the factory walls. Putting packages in the cartons, stacking the cartons, taking the pallet away -- all of this with the miserable face of someone who has just been scolded by the shift boss in the locker room bathrooms. Maybe it would have been better. I would have inspired more compassion.

I carried on. I carried on as always, despite the desire to grab my hair, to fall on my knees on the cracker-strewn floor, and to scream, even louder and louder than the commotion of the wrapping machines. “It's okay,” I kept telling myself, blowing slow and deep breaths through my mouth. "It's okay. Keep working, finish your eight hours, and then you can go home and vent as much as you want, even streaming a tears flood in your car during the road trip." And the idea was tempting, indeed. Just figuring it made me feel better. Getting into the car, leaning against the steering wheel squeezed in my hands, and screaming until feeling my head deflated, until all the horrible voices that gave me no peace were broken. "Pathetic, pathetic, lame, weak, failure, useless, you're just a failure…"

I held back tears out of pride and professionality -- we were still working, after all. But there was a moment in which I sincerely considered the idea of ​​grabbing one of my closest coworkers, one of those who I don't even like too much, and then falling into her arms, simply letting her hold me for a few minutes. Crying on her chest, sobbing until my throat hurts and my eyes melt. I was looking at her from afar, thinking, "Please, E., please, come here and hug me. Just for a little while, just for a minute, but come here and hold me, let me feel just a little bit of love." Obviously that didn't happen.

Then things got better. During the midnight break I was already began to feel better. Bad voices faded, my mind was calm but still fogged. A very typical situation: "You're not youself when you're hungry, here, have a Snickers." But the pain remained. And I know it will return, sparked by the smallest thing, the smallest thought, the simplest and harmless image.

Maybe I should take a break from writing, if I'm so distressed about it, but I don't want to. The thought of not writing makes me a thousand times more anxious than the thought of writing and getting a burnout from it.

I'm scared because I've already lived through a period like this, and I came out of it badly, broken and exhausted. I'm still broken and exhausted, despite everything I did to heal from it.

That time it was way worse, yes. That time I understood what it meant to burn myself out to the point of being consumed. Making writing an obsession, depriving myself of sleep or food in order to remain with my hands on the laptop keys and continue tapping and working, to the point of exhaustion, trembling and crying with fear at the idea that something could stop me from continuing. Being victim of that little voice that tells you: "If you stop now, no one will read you anymore. If you stop writing, if you don't spend every single minute of your free time writing, your failure will be your own fault. You don't want to have regrets, right? Do you know what will happen if you give the impression that you are slowing down? All your readers will disappear, no one will ever read what you write again, and all the efforts you have made so far will have been in vain."

Scary as Hell, right?

Needless to say, it didn't end well. I burned like a fucking match, and I'm still paying the consequences -- my permanent self-harm scars are there and will be with me for the rest of my life.

I'm scared because I feel like I did then, and the images that flash in my head are the ones that pushed me to those horrible actions years ago.

I even started taking Xanax again after years of abstinence, without telling anyone. I dip it from old supplies, in fact. I hope it hasn't expired. If it is, it's working anyway, so let's rejoice! It's not a good thing to have to rely on meds, tho. It's not a good thing to be unable to control your anxiety and obsessive thoughts after all this time.

I feel like it's the same, I still feel broken like I was that time, and yet I also feel different. I'm not in a depressive state, absolutely not. In fact, since I moved away from my old home, I feel much more lively and productive than before, both in terms of housework, leaving the house to go to work, and in terms of writing. I write a lot more, and I do it with more energy. Maybe this is exactly why I feel the burnout approaching. I'm giving it my all, I'm burning more than ever, with no one to feed me with more wood.

It's a recurring image that I also had in my past years, when I happened to stop and think about my most intense writing periods, when I used to sacrifice my body and soul for my stories, but without ever managing to achieve what I aspired to. I felt like an exploited and withered old cow. The agonized cries, the old and sore skin, the peeled hooves, the dried up udders yet red from the constant chafing marks. She is milked every day, without mercy, deprived of the last drop of milk, and forced to nibble only on a few tufts of dry grass, without being offered anything else.

What recognition did I hope -- and still hope -- to receive? I'm still wondering that.

It's no readers's fault if I don't feel fulfilled, at all. The real problem is that writing is my whole life. I have a "real" job, of course. I need a roof and a meal, and I don't lack these things. I chose a job that doesn't require passion or emotional involvement -- I work in a fucking factory, for fuck sake! -- because it allows me to concentrate all my mental energy on the only thing that gives me true happiness: writing.

I have no friends. My family is broken. I don't have a social life. I don't go out to have fun and I have nobody to go out and have fun. When I'm at work I think about what I'll write when I'm at home, and when I'm at home I use all the time I have to write and work on what I'll publish online. "You have to do it" the little voices tell me. "If you don't write until your soul is dry, then you can at least say you tried with all of your strenght."

I tried. I'm trying. Why then can't I be happy?

From this point of view I feel a bit like Joe, the main character of "Soul", the Pixar movie. He has dedicated his whole life to music. Music is the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks about when he goes to sleep. Having reached middle age, despite having sacrificed his entire life in the name of his passion, he still cannot feel satisfied. He suddenly realizes that he has never really lived. Then, finally taking the opportunity he has been chasing for all his life, he realizes: "Is that all? Now what?"

I'm starting to understand him more and more.

The satisfaction I got from my writing and my stories was never enough. There was never a moment when I found myself thinking, "This is what I wanted. This is the recognition I expected to receive. This is the satisfaction I hoped to feel all along." I don't want to feel this way. I feel so so so ungrateful, but still…

It happens to me many times, reading stories online, seeing authors write sentences like: "Wow! I didn't expect all this warmth from you readers! The success of the previous chapter was truly unexpected! When I started this story and this adventure, I never expected to receive all this support and all this enthusiasm." In the comments section, to testify to this, hundreds and hundreds of different users who are enthusiastic, showering them with kudos. So many readers the author doesn't have time to answer to all of them.

I used to be happy to read famous stories. They inspired me, involve me, gave me the desire to improve and to write like that. Now I only feel a rotten and terrible envy that makes my stomach burn and crawl.

The character I most associate with this feeling is Antonio Salieri. The character from the movie "Amadeus", not the real musician Antonio Salieri. For him too, like Joe from "Soul", music is everything. Salieri sacrifices everything to achieve the success he feels he deserves in the musical field. He even takes a vow of chastity. My everything for my success! There is nothing else in his life, nothing worth living, other than the pursuing of that dream. Then here comes Mozart, who takes music as a game, so naturally, without forgetting everything else in his life, and who still achieves more success than him. And poor Salieri ends his life in madness, forgotten, crushed under the weight of his mediocrity.

The point is, I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong. I love writing so much. I love sharing my work and I hope readers will partecipate to my enthusiasm with me. When I see that this enthusiasm falls on deaf ears, like a stone in a well, I feel a part of me crumbling and collapsing with it.

Maybe I should just… stop setting expectations? I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I've been posting and sharing my work online for more than 13 years, and I feel like I've accomplished nothing, like there's something wrong with me.

I'm a shitty person. Not just to say so. It's just what I am. I am selfish, cold, closed in my solitude, not inclined to affection. Maybe that's why I don't have any friends, duh? Furthermore, I have a shitty job that offers no career opportunities -- but that's okay, I knew the deal, this is what I chose. The only shred of value I see in myself is what I pour into my writing. But this writing has no recognition. Does that mean I'm worthless in every way?

In all these years, I have crossed and spaced many genres, I have written shorter stories and longer stories, fan fiction and originals. No feedback has ever proportionally repaid all the work and effort I put behind my words.

Maybe I simply don't have the sparkle? Maybe I'm just a mediocre author? Maybe I have to resign myself that what I write will never appeal to a wide audience as much as I want it to?

At this point I feel obligated to mention one final storytelling comparison -- Mashiro and Takagi from "Bakuman".

Same old story already told with Joe and Salieri. All life and youth sacrificed in the name of one cause and one dream, in this case not music, but manga. To achieve success, they sweat, fight backlash after backlash, and even find themselves envious of other manga artists. Of Nizuma, the genius, who doesn't seem to make an effort to be the number one. But also of Hiramaru. Hiramaru hates his job, he hates working hard and he hates drawing manga, yet he succeeds. He does it well and is more successful than Mashiro and Takagi who instead spit tears and blood on every page they write and draw.

Their editor often warns them, faced with their desire to be successful: "Just deal with it: what you do well is not suitable for the bigger public, but only for a niche audience, so you will never be able to compare yourself to other authors like Nizuma who instead are able to capture much larger segments of the public. Put your heart at rest, continue to draw with your audience in mind, and be satisfied with it."

I'm not so presumptuous as to compare myself to truly talented authors like Mashiro and Takagi, of course not. Because at this point I'm thinking that my writing is just as bad that it doesn't even deserve a niche audience.

And I know that the situation is going to get worse from now on, for one simple fact. I'm getting old. The older I get, the more I distance myself from the fandom target, that is, a younger audience who will consequently be looking for thoughts and ideas that align with the minds of their generation. And that's okay. But for whom should I continue to write, then? Just for myself? Should I resign myself to the idea of ​​continuing to scream into the void for the rest of my life?

But what can I do about it? This problem may seem insignificant, yet my pain is real and it is consuming me as it has consumed me once before, devouring my thoughts, burning in the center of my head, and shattering every beat of my soul.

Now, I know that despite everything I will carry on. I will continue to write, despite the pain, and I will continue to look for my happiness, my fulfillment. Trying, in the meantime, not to return to "bad old habits" to vent the pain and frustration that would otherwise eat my brain away.

... fuck, I need a Xanax so bad, right now.

I wrote this text to vent, but I hope it can also help someone else. And please: don't take it as a whine or a complaint. I love my readers, even if they're few and even if sporadic or quiet. You are truly the only smiles of my days, the only thing that is worth continuing to sit down and type on the word document.

I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for pity. Maybe just a little… solidarity?

Do you writers (or artists!) also experience similar feelings? Do you also feel like your efforts are in vain? Do you also feel like you are constantly looking for approval that never comes? Have you also faced bad burnouts? Please, if you have any stories and experiences to share, I would be so happy to hear them. To support each other, perhaps. Or to have a little vent, to feel better and not so alone.

If you made it so far and if you read all of this: you rock! You're amazing. Please, have a candy, stay hydrate, and treat yourself well. 🍬

You deserve it. You are worth it.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Honor in Crisis

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, NTT, Titans, JLI, Arrowfam, Flashfam, GL Corps, Infinity Inc

Summary: Every chapter will focus on one character specifically and then I'll update their statuses in order.

This is a no powers au/fix-it fic for Heroes in Crisis. I wanted to focus on the characters and their healing. I decided that'd be easier to put some of these characters in a fic like this and work on it more from a real-world perspective. I DO want to say that I do not believe healing is linear so don't plan on a clear-cut happy ending. I'd say (and idk for sure) we're gonna eventually get a bittersweet ending for certain characters but nothing tragic.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kole Weathers, Lilith Clay, Eddie Bloomberg, Michael Carter, Michelle Carter, Rani Carter, Grant Emerson, Roy Harper, Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen, Helen Claiborne, President Thawne, Todd Rice, Alan Scott (DCU), Damon Matthews

Relationship(s): Damon Matthews/Todd Rice

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fix-It Fic, Angst, TW // Self-harm , TW // Suicide attempt , TW // Explosives mention

Chapter Three: Puzzled (Eddie's POV)

Eddie plopped down on a bean bag chair in his therapist's office. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Eddie got comfortable. "Morning, Mark," Eddie grinned.

"Good morning, Eddie," Mark greeted, "And how did you sleep?"

Eddie grabbed Mark's stress ball from the shelf and tossed it from hand to hand. "I didn't," Eddie answered. He chuckled lightheartedly.

Mark didn't smile back. Instead, he whispered, "Oh?"

Eddie was by no means a manipulative person. He just enjoyed having someone around to listen to him. As far as most therapists went, Mark was great. He was straight to the point, but he was funny too. It was easier to talk to Mark, but it usually took him a while to open up. Mark understood that. "I think I saw someone I used to know last night... I don't think he recognized me, though," Eddie revealed.

"Were you friends?" Mark asked.

Eddie looked up at the ceiling and shrugged. "Well, we only met once or twice in person, but he was my pen pal when we were kids," Eddie explained. Eddie didn't know why Jason was on his mind but decided to roll with it. It wasn't often that he could find something new to talk about in therapy.

Mark reached out, and Eddie tossed him the ball. "Eddie," Mark tutted, "Do you ever think about reaching out?"

Eddie's smile faded. "Funny, Mark," Eddie mumbled, "What would I say? Hey, long time no see. What have you been up to? Oh! I've been in the hospital for blowing myself up after my aunt died, and everyone thinks I did it on purpose, so I'm living in an inpatient psychiatric hospital." The question made Eddie uncharacteristically upset. He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. "No, I'm sorry. Mark, I'm sorry about that."

"No, that's fine. If I had my choice of patients biting my head off during a session, I'm glad it was you... How did it feel in the moment?" Mark asked.

Eddie froze as he pondered over the question. "Uh... Yeah, it felt—. You know that definitely came from elsewhere. I wasn't snapping at you," Eddie explained.

"Who were you snapping at, Eddie?" Mark asked. Eddie smiled uncomfortably and shook his head. "Come on, Eddie. I promise I won't take it personally."

Eddie laughed and nodded before sucking his teeth. "I didn't cry. I still haven't cried... And I guess that's weird, but I shouldn't be punished for that," Eddie took a deep breath, "Right?"

"You feel like you're being punished?" Mark asked.

"I mean, isn't that what this is? Everyone wants me to cry or be visibly upset, but it's not gonna make anything better. Neither is reconnecting with people I haven't spoken to in years. It's not gonna change the fact that Aunt Marla's gone, and no one wants me around, and I burned nearly half of my body trying to blow myself up because I can't take it anymore!" Eddie yelled before covering his mouth.

Eddie didn't mean to say any of that. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to hold back his tears. They flooded to the surface, and he attempted to laugh them away. "I didn't—. I—. What do I have to live for?" Eddie asked.

"What do you have to die for, Eddie?" Mark asked. Eddie grew silent and stared up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to pull himself together. "Better question... Do you think you'd still be alive had everyone believed the explosion was an accident?"

"No," Eddie answered weakly. He wiped his eyes with his palms. "I wouldn't be here. I don't wanna be here."

Mark leaned forward at his desk. "Eddie?" Mark whispered.

Eddie wasn't used to showing his rage like that. He tried to collect himself. "At least I look how I feel," Eddie half-joked, "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, Eddie. You don't owe me an apology. You're entitled to your feelings," Mark reassured him. Eddie nodded as if he understood, but he wondered if his outburst would be too much. After two weeks of joking his way through sessions and pretending that he was fine, he wondered if that was the last straw for Mark. "Eddie, I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," Eddie let out a breath, "Okay... Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, what would you like to talk about, Eddie?" Mark asked. Eddie reached out, and Mark threw the ball back to him.

Eddie squeezed the ball in his hand and took another breath. "My roommate, Mike's, been working on this puzzle his sister brought him, and he's been letting me help... It's this cityscape, and there are these blue and green brownstones," Eddie described, "And Mike looks at me, and he says—. He says that he has to keep living until the picture's finished. He says that every time he gets a new puzzle as a joke."

"I suppose I could kill you tomorrow," Mark quoted from a movie. Eddie chuckled.

"Yeah. It's ridiculous... Right?" Eddie asked.

"Well, actually, I think it might be a way of coping. Living can be difficult when you feel there's nothing to look forward to," Mark explained.

"Circling back to what I have to live for?" Eddie asked. Mark nodded.

"Well, I'm sure there's something you've left unfinished," Mark replied.

"Yeah... Yeah, I guess so," Eddie replied.

Eddie gave Mark his stress ball, and he apologized a second time at the end of their session. He walked outside to the courtyard. Jason sat outside on a bench, his eyes closed and his face pointed upward towards the sun. Eddie wanted to say hello. He wanted to be seen just once, but he didn't want to be seen like that.

Eddie felt trapped in his loneliness and grief. At least he could admit it now. After twenty-two days in the burn unit and nine days on an involuntary hold, Eddie could accept that the explosion was purposeful. If that was growth, he'd take it. Had his roommate not run into him in the courtyard, would've pondered over it until it was time to go back inside. Michael ran into him and smiled as he announced, "I forgot it's movie night."

"Oh, nice. I'll save you a seat," Eddie replied, "Do you think it'll be a movie from this decade?"

Michael chuckled. "Aww, come on, movie night last week was not that bad," he replied.

Michael was old. Well, not old, but old enough for Eddie to think of him as an uncle. His first night there was strange and uncomfortable, but Michael was there. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, talking about nonsense until Eddie fell asleep. It was the first time he'd felt comfort since his aunt passed away.

[rozinaaa]

I Relapsed...

Following on from this post, I realised that I made a bad decision by choosing to reactivate my account.

However, I should have not done that since I realise that Instagram is so boring yet so addictive at the same time, where I don't even enjoy using it anymore, since it's now just dumb content that goes by really quick for some reason, with all of this being something that is definitely going to mess up my attention span in the long run.

If I hadn't had that moment of weakness last week and decided to get my account back, today (8th April) would have been the day that it would have got deleted.

A quick scroll through my own profile (scarcely updated since 2021) showed me that it belonged to an old version of myself that no longer exists, and was potentially a lot more cringier than how I am now, so to be honest, having my old self on show in public definitely feels very embarrassing to me, since all of that stuff was from 5 years ago, and to be honest, I was a very different person back then.

I've also realised that some of my old art (specifically from that one time I did a group project about feminism for some reason, just before the pandemic) is borderline NSFW and very gay/other things associated with that, which I don't like at all, since that's basically the opposite of what I'm actually like as a person, so it does feel jarring to be one thing in real life (straight, modest, reserved) and to be viewed as the complete opposite online (queer (although I genuinely hate that word since it has bad connotations, is just downright filthy (I feel like censoring it), and makes me want to throw up), boastful, outgoing), which has definitely caused me a bit of an identity crisis about what I actually am like as a person.

I do think that my Instagram self was like that simply because of all the content that had been fed into my mind all throughout my teen years, which I realise was just a form of brainwashing that I now have to unlearn, since I'd never be like that in real life, and if I did get caught being like that in real life, there would be severe consequences, not to mention the sheer amount of embarrassment, guilt, and shame that I would feel if everyone found out about it, so at this point, the only option is to burn the whole thing down and never think of it ever again.

Sometimes, I cringe at the finsta that I had when I was 17 (which is something that's thankfully long gone, but still haunts me from the back of my mind from time to time), which started off like normal but eventually became super gay (due to all of the indirect brainwashing from the posts that kept showing up on my feed, even though I didn't explicitly ask for them, and even though I didn't feel the impact until I actually took a few steps back for a significant amount of time), not to mention the sheer amount of selfies I had on there, which definitely does feel weird now since I don't really like having my photo taken, so that account was quite literally a mirror for my cringy 17 year old self who desperately wanted to become an artist and illustrator in the purest sense.

I do believe that over time, being fed (perhaps force fed) certain types of content will make you become someone that you'd never normally be, and will make you act in ways that you'd never normally act, so I'd say that Instagram itself is one dangerous tool and one hell of a drug, so hopefully this time, I get to get rid of it for good instead of letting a moment of weakness quickly change my thinking, which will inevitably make me stuck with a version of myself that I don't actually identify with.

What initially started out as a way to share my work (most of which I now cringe at) quickly became something worse to the point where it slowly started to morph into a guilt and shame inducing gay nightclub for me, where the only options were to live my "best life" (according to other people, even if it does go against my actual personality and values in real life) or get the hell out of there without looking back, perhaps dousing the place in gasoline, striking a match, and watching it burn from afar.

I've tried living my "best life" on Instagram (spoiler alert, it wasn't cracked up to be), so now, I just get the hell out of there and watch it burn, since I think that's the much better option for me.

[hussyknee]

Really struggling with self-hate. Intellectually I know this is due to anxiety and stress, and the past month has been pure chaos trying to look after Garfield.

Garfield is my neighbor's cat. Well, not anymore. He's mine now. He was sick as shit and they still weren't looking after him properly, hand-wringing over everything from lack of experience with cats to the fuel crisis. Certainly were quite happy to palm him off on me, because "he's not really ours, you know, he's a stray that found us a few years ago and the kid got fond of him". By the time I got him to the vet he was half-dead from...well, everything. He had cat flu, filaria, a tick fever that had burned through so many red blood cells it couldn't raise a temperature anymore, kidney damage and so dehydrated the needle could barely pierce his skin. I have no idea how he's alive. Well, I do, it's because he's a very tenacious little kitty and I took him to the clinic every day for a week for IVs, and kept him in my room and nursed him till I exhausted myself into an IBD flare. He relapsed twice. Then last week he seemed to have recovered enough that I was the sicker one, but then this week he started getting acute kidney failure, so we're back at the daily vet treatments.

I raised money for him on Twitter and some wonderful people sent enough to cover his medical bills, but the transport and food costs alone burned through all my money. I've been too exhausted and stressed to track my expenses or do my accounts, I flat broke by the beginning of the week and have had to ask my therapist for pro bono sessions from her clinic.

She's been a godsend, being a cat-lover herself, but also I might have alarmed her somewhat. Like, the whole reason I sought her out was because. Well, it was a last ditch effort really. The country situation and me going off my ADHD meds last month because I couldn't afford them didn't help (uh, protip: do not do that. Even if they're non-stimulants, like mine), but at one point I had made up my mind that if Garfield died it would be A Sign from the universe. Also when she asked me to check myself into a hospital if I felt like I couldn't trust myself, I was puzzled and said "why would I kill myself on impulse, it'll take weeks to get everything together if I was going to, I don't want to end up a vegetable". Which wasn't reassuring apparently? Neither was "Anyway, I can't top myself, Garfield is still sick." 😬

I'm still not sure what was so off about those responses, they still make sense to me. But my therapist wanted to set up a protocol and figure out avenues of physical support. Unfortunately, my family is estranged, only 3 of my closest friends live anywhere near me, and they're all also up shit creek. One of their mothers died a few days ago and I still haven't been able to visit. She's been so understanding and sweet about it, but when I tell you I feel like a shitheel.

I just. I don't know anymore. Gar's eating and drinking and the only outward sign that he's sick is the increased lethargy and sneezing. But his respiratory infection just isn't going away. As long as that persists, his kidneys can't get better, but giving him antibiotics for so long isn't doing them any favours either.

I'm using up all my energy caring for him but I don't see an end to it. My neighbors haven't been answering my messages, and anyway I'm damned if I trust them to look after him again. I tried so hard to find a caregiver for him while I was sick earlier this month, the tweeps sent even more money to offer one, but I couldn't.

In many wayos, caring for Garfield saved me from the black pit of despair I fell into after the protests unravelled. But now I feel so trapped. I haven't seen my doggos (they're with my ex) since June. I miss my other kitty cat (he's Mum's, but again I'm the only one who does more than coo at him). I miss having a life. My room and bathroom stink, and everything is chaos. I haven't sat down at my own desk in a month. And I'm still so scared this will all be for nothing and he'll die. I'm scared I'll have to make the choice to let him go. I refused to give up on my baby doggo boy two years ago, and as a result, instead of going peacefully in his sleep, I had to watch him go into acidosis and listen to his death rattle for an hour before the vet could get to us and sedate him through the final stretch. I will never let my selfishness do that to another animal. But I don't know if I'll survive having to let Gar slip away in my arms, after all these weeks of listening to his every breath. That still feels like it would be the tipping point.

I can't shake the idea that he would have recovered so much better and faster in someone else's hands. Someone healthy and abled and competent. Someone whose best efforts aren't so poor, pitiful and inadequate as mine. Everyone in my life deserves so much better than me.

[elenadoeslife]

Opening up about weight gain after gbp surgery

I haven't shared any food, workout or weight loss related posts in quite a while. Honestly I've been going through so much mentally over the past two years, that the whole weight loss & lifestyle journey got put on the back burner. Shame and the feeling of failure also play part in not sharing this anymore.

It's gonna be a lóng read, my lovelies, so buckle up!

As you guys know, I had gastric bypass surgery back in 2017. I lost a whopping 60kg (132lbs) in the first 2 years. I was paised for this huge achievement by everyone around me, causing a confidence boost and a feeling of being included & accepted.

My personality changed as well, because I felt worthy of taking up space and expressing myself. This didn't go unnoticed in school either; both as student and teacher I would take charge, guide others and speak my mind. There was no stopping me. Looking back, this was definitely a red flag that led to burn-out.

I've always been an 'all-or-nothing' kinda gal. I threw myself in school and teaching, because I enjoyed the fulfillment it gave me. I spent hours prepping the coolest, interactive classes, checking homework, brainstorming with colleagues, etc. When my head hit the pillow after a long day, my mind was already going over the classes for the next day. I was on fire.

Then the fire burned out, and so did I. My mind was overflowing with thoughts, but I couldn't grasp them- couldn't form sentences. It felt like my mind went blank, but was racing a 100m/h at the same time. Only then I noticed I barely took breaks to eat, while I walked about 10K steps a day. I also forgot to take my vitamins for months. My 3 year post-OP check came around and the results from my blood test were alarming (vitamin deficiency). I had been unintentionally starving myself to my lowest weight (65kg/143lbs) and was able to maintain that through not eating nearly enough and moving too much.

Everything hit me once I ended up having no other choice than to take a break from school and work. This was also right around the time Covid hit. I reached out to a psychologist in hopes of speeding up the post burn-out reintegration process- without success. After a year of trying to slowly pick up school from home, but failing because I still lacked concentration and wasn't able to put thoughts on paper, I decided to quit pursuing my degree. This caused me to feel lost in life. The thing I had been working years towards, a degree in teaching, wasn't an option for me anymore. So what now?

I tried resting. I tried walking. I tried everything my psychologist suggested, but I just don't know how to properly rest & recharge. This became very clear 1,5 years ago, when I suffered from shattering nerve pains in my lower back and entire left leg. I was put on morphine pills and had to go to PT for 3 months.

I think at that point I hit rock bottom. I didn't know who I was outside of working my ass off in teaching. Honestly, I still don't know. I'm going through some kind of identity crisis, not knowing who I am and what I want to do in life really messed me up. I want to find myself & move forward, but my mind is still as scrambled as it was when burn-out kicked in, so I feel like I've just been stuck in the same spot.

Because of Covid & feeling drained all the time, I was literally stuck at home for about a year. Not moving, not going outside, not doing anything but spending time in my room. Things that I used to enjoy didn't spark joy anymore. The feeling of helplessness and powerlessness weighed so heavily on me that I just gave up (remember: I'm an 'all-or-nothing' kinda gal). So on top of the burn-out, a depression kicked in.

This is pretty much where I'm at today. I want things to change, but I don't know how to go about it. That's why I decided to ask for a referral to SMHC (specialised mental health care), which I ended up getting, by the way! I'm now on the waiting list. My treatment will be focussed mainly on personality disorder (sounds heavier than it is), anxiety disorder and the depression caused by those.

With all of this going on, I ended up gaining 20kg (44lbs) back over the past two years. Most people I've connected with since my own surgery only started their bariatric journey recently, so I don't know any mutuals my age who are struggling with maintenance. Besides one friend/mutual out here (you know who you are ❤), I haven't shared my feelings about weight gain with anyone but my boyfriend. There's a lot of shame and feeling self conscious, especially since it often feels like I'm going through this alone. Family and relatives noticed the weight gain and commented on this- which is understandable, because this is visible on the outside. What they don't see, is the mental health issues that caused the weight gain.

This is the reason I stopped posting selfies- stopped sharing posts of food and workouts; I feel watched. People connect being skinny to being healthy and that's sooo incredibly harming and heartbreaking. At my lowest weight I was malnourished, but people didn't seem to notice, because I "looked good". When I started giving my body the nutrition it needed, I ended up weighing 75kg and I was able to maintain that weight for quite some time, but then the comments started. It made me feel so insecure about my body and immediately diet culture thoughts re-entered my head; 'I have to lose weight', 'Gaining weight isn't healthy', and so forth.

NoOoOoOo!!! People shouldn't have shamed me for gaining weight due to taking care of my body. This is so fucking toxic, and the worst part is that I started to believe it myself. This is why I don't comment on people's weight loss or gain anymore. Weight has nothing to do with an individual's physical health.

That said, the reason I want to work on my physical health (notice how I don't say 'weight loss'!), is because I currently don't feel comfortable in my body. There's fluid buildup in my lower legs, my thighs chafe and I just don't feel at ease. I made a new food schedule -amongst other things-, which I will probably be sharing in the next couple of weeks.

Wow, I've been typing for an hour. I am so sorry I made you sit through this 😂 If you made it this far: thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read my post. This Tumblr community of ours is incredibly valuable to me and I love each and every one of you so much more than you realise 🥺❤

[softsebnbuckystan]

Soul ties - Part 8 (Bucky Barnes au)

“No, I don't wanna know, Where you been or where you're goin'

But I know I won't be home, And you'll be on your own”

Maniac by Michael Sembello was blasting from Wanda's room as she was going through her closet,  looking for something you could wear at the party. You were tapping your feet to the beat and shaking your head softly.

"This is perfect," Wanda said as she handed  you  jean shorts and a T-shirt. Finding something in your style had been hard, but the outfit turned out really cute on you. "And before you ask, I still have your plaid shirt if you want to wear that."

Your sister knew you too well ; or maybe it was just her ability to read minds. You were pretty sure it was a mix of both. You looked at your watch : five in the afternoon were already passed and you knew Nat was supposed to arrive soon, so you went to the kitchen after changing. Actually, she was already there.

"Nat!"

"Happy birthday, girl! How do you feel about hitting thirty, huh?"

"Surprisingly good, to be honest," you answered as you hug her tight. "I'm glad you came by."

"Me too. Steve told me pretty interesting news about some guy." She wiggled her brows, making you raise yours.

"Not that interesting. Yes, he is my supposed soulmate, but I got married last week, not matter how that's turning out."

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't be there, by the way. However, if I trust Steve's words..."

"Don't? Please." You smiled, making her laugh. You really must've sounded desperate, or in denial –  or, once again, both.

"Fine. But I can't promise I'll hold back my thoughts."

"I know you won't," you joked. "Anyway, is the cake already here?" You asked Sam.

"No, Bucky's not back yet."

"Oh, alright. I thought since he left early..."

"He had stuff to do, apparently." He shrugged, showing he didn't know any more than you did. A smirk appeared on his face. "Miss him already?"

"Ugh, I hate you all."

"No, you don't!"

Everyone around you laughed and, frankly, you couldn't hold it in either. These people always had a way of making you forget about your problems, and Darren hadn't crossed your mind until now.  Hours went by and more people arrived at the compound. It wasn't supposed to be a big party, but Tony was obviously unable to resist to Peter Parker asking if he could tag along. This kid loved being around here, maybe as much as you did. Once eight hours rang, almost everyone was there, except for Bucky. You were sure he'd eventually show up, even though you  couldn't help but feel a little anxious while everyone shared champagne bottles.

"Alright, close your eyes," Sam said, dragging you out of your thoughts. He put his hands on your eyes as you giggled softly.

"What is it now, you asked?"

"Patience, lady."

You couldn't see  anything – obviously – but you soon heard voices around you singing you a happy birthday. When Sam removed his hands, your eyes took some time to adjust to the sparkling candles on the big birthday cake. More importantly, it took you a second to recognise the man carrying it. Where had his hair gone?

"Your hair," you whispered once he was close enough.

He shrugged. "C'mon, the candles will melt if you don't blow them out." His own smile quickly spread to your face as you blew out your thirty candles. Everyone applauded and Bucky started cutting it so that people could help themselves. Once seated next to him, you took a bite of your own piece and closed your eyes in delight.

"Raspberries. I love those."

"Yeah, Wanda said it was your favourite," he told you before eating a chunk of cake. "How do you like the party  so far?"

"I love it. Everyone I love is here, so I couldn't be happier, really." You didn't even think about what you were saying. Tony's champagne did that to you for sure.

"Everyone?"

"Of course, why do you ask?" You gave him a confused look  before it dawned on you. "Oh,  I know. Well if he's not here by now, I guess that means something."

"Well I'm not the one saying it. It's your night, anyway, so let's not talk about him and let you have fun." He gently poked your arm – you felt delighted, as it was him who'd  made the move this time. It felt as if he was becoming more comfortable around you : you'd noticed he'd been laughing with you a lot more frequently these last few days.

"So, why the new haircut?"

"I wanted some change. New me, old me, I guess." He took a sip of his beer.

"I like it. Can I have some?" You pointed at the bottle. He gladly handed it to you ; damn, this man did not know what one beer might do to you, especially after champagne.

Wanda spotted you from across the room and stopped walking towards you, interrupting her conversation with Scott Lang.

"I hope that's your first drink tonight," she said with a grin. "You don't want to expose your party demon now, do you?"

You chuckled at Bucky's scared eyes. "I'm taking this back," he said, taking his beer back and finishing it.

"Don't worry, Bucky. I'm fine. I'm just a little more outgoing when I drink, that is all."

A screeching sound made you turn your head : Steve had just plugged a microphone into the speakers.

"Alright, so, as you all know, tonight's Y/n's thirtieth birthday. For the occasion, I'm sure she'll gladly treat us to a speech now."

If looks could kill, Steve would've died on the spot, super soldier or not. You never had inspiration for that kind of stuff.

"C'mon guys,  she needs some encouragement," Sam chimed in.

Tony and Peter both whoo'ed  at you with huge smiles, and you had no other choice than going on that improvised stage which consisted of the space between the speakers. You took the microphone from Steve's hand and Nat handed you a beer.

"Oh my, thanks for that," you said, chuckling. "I want to thank you all for coming. You  might have known me for a while, or not, but hum...you guys are family. I couldn't be happier to celebrate thirty years on Earth with you." You raised your bottle in front of you. "To found family."

Everyone  drank to that, and you jumped as Sam placed his hand on your shoulder and started speaking in another mic.

"So many emotions there, I love to see it. Now we're not done with you. Remember that night in Brooklyn?"

"Oh no."

"Oh, yeah... we're  gonna do it. And you're gonna love it, don't you dare say otherwise."

You stared at Sam before downing your drink. He was damn right.

"Okay Scott, fire away!"

"Toniiight,  I'm gonna have myself a real good time..." Sam started singing this fabulous bop as the music soared in the air. You obviously joined him right away.

"I'm burning through the skyyyyy, yeah." You probably were not singing right, but you couldn't have cared less. Everyone around  you was singing – more like yelling – along and you finally let go of your last inhibitions.  You were singing and dancing,  pretending you were the international rock star giving a representation. For once, you saw a wide smile on Bucky's face that couldn't seem to go away, and you decided to have fun with him a little. You pointed at him and smiled as you basically jumped to the beat.

"I'm a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb about to oh, oh, oh,  oh exploooode!"

He couldn't help but laugh and he even started tapping his feet to the beat as well. You went back to Sam and you ended the song back to back, definitely yelling more than you were actually singing.

"See, I told you you'd love it!" he exclaimed.

You laughed out loud before handing the mic to Scott. "You have fun now, I gotta rest for a sec."

You happily got back to Wanda and Bucky as Scott and Sam were joined by Peter to keep this improvised karaoke going. Your sister was less than surprised, since this wasn't the first party she had with you. Bucky, on the other hand...

"I didn't know you could do that," he said with a grin.

"What, absolutely slay the day with a mic in my hand? Hell yeah I can, only after some drinks though."

"Yeah, I don't know if your cheeks are this red from drinks, dancing or just regular blush."

You chuckled at his laugh, even placing your hand on his shoulder while doing so. When your eyes were done squinting from all the laughs, you froze.

"Darren, I-"

"That science guy let me in."

Bruce shot you a sorry look, raising his hands in the air. "He wouldn't let me ask you for your opinion first anyway."

Damn, you hadn't realised how much everyone disliked your husband. After all, no one had ever been rude to his face, unlike his friends. Bucky turned around to face him and crossed his arms over his chest : his smile was long gone now, as if it had been only a fever dream.

"You put on quite a show there."

"Wow, so not even a 'happy birthday', huh?" You didn't even look down this time : you stared at him, no trace of a smile on your lips. "When I said you could come if you wanted to, I didn't say  that so you could come and be condescending."

"I'm not gonna wish you a happy birthday after I saw you hit on that guy in a fucking song!" he yelled, pointing at Bucky. Darren's anger was so unjustified that you would've laughed at him, hadn't you been remotely nice and equally angry at him.

Bucky didn't say a word as he slowly put Darren's hand down. You noticed he'd used his metal arm, even though you knew for a fact he was right handed and usually prioritised his dominant hand. That was quite passive-agressive ; you held back a smile.

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" Keeping your cool was not an option anymore, and you walked away from everyone. Contrary to Darren's belief, you didn't like 'putting on a show'.

"We're going home, now," he said firmly. "Your little crisis lasted long enough."

"My crisis? You've left me alone at home for days and now you expect me to come back? You're unbelievable, Darren. And you started pulling this shit before we were even engaged!"

"You never complained about this,  so why do it now?"

"Because I can't take it anymore! Is that so hard to believe? Is it hard to understand that I want to be treated the way I deserve?"

You ran a hand through your hair, looking at Darren in disbelief as the anger in his eyes just grew harder.

"You know what?" you continued. "If you have nothing better to say, I might as well just  go back to the people who really love me. As far as I'm concerned, this" — you gestured at the both of  you – "is over."

You turned around, feeling a huge confidence boost that still wasn't strong enough to overcome your disappointment.

"What's that on your back?" His voice was so low compared to seconds earlier that you looked back at him.

"What?"

He walked up to you fast, but too slowly not to be noticed by Steve and Bucky, who'd been watching the scene carefully. Despite their obvious strength, they couldn't get to you before Darren violently lifted the back of your t-shirt, scratching  your back with his nail at the same time. You let out a cry and next thing you knew, Darren was pinned against the wall, held back by Bucky's arm.

"You lied," he whispered. "You do have a tattoo."

Damn. You had always been careful to wear high waisted jeans. All it took was one careless pair of shorts. You had no answer to give to him, so Darren looked at Bucky instead.

"It's you. Right? I fucking knew it." He looked back at you. "I should've known you weren't to be trusted around other guys. You're such a-"

"I think you should leave." Steve had laid his hand on his friend's shoulder to try and calm him down. Bucky let go of your husband and shot you a side glance to check on you. You were crossing your arms on your chest and your eyes had never been more interested in the floor.

"Steve's right," you uttered. "You should go." You  walked away with these words. You hadn't even noticed there was no longer any music playing in the room. Silence was oppressing and everyone seeing you cry was not an option. You walked to your room in daze. Once you felt the door closing behind you, you allowed yourself to break down. It was a knock on the door that made you tilt your head up a few minutes later.

--- You have no idea how excited I am for part 9!!! If I wasn't strictly following my self-imposed rule of having two unpublished chapters at all times, I would post it right away. x) I hope you liked this one!! Feel free to give me any notes you may have : I improve thanks to readers.

Message me if you want to be added to the tag list (seeing it grow is making me so happy)!

Tag list :

@ginger-swag-rapunzel @joscelyn02 @coniumalces @writehistorynotthegrocerylist @bluemoon-icecream @lady-loki-ren @simplybombshell

[purplerose244]

My thoughts on Ninjago the Island!!! 🏝🏝🏝

So, gotta be honest... this is not a Blind reaction thing, I actually watched it in French first so I know most of the stuff already 😅 It's entertaining, it got great animation, but nothing more than that in my opinion 🤷‍♀️

Still there is stuff I liked or I want to point out, and finally I'm seeing the English version so I can actually understand what the HECK they are saying 🤩

Alright, nothing else to say, here we go!

UNCHARTED

I haven't actually seen anything Clutch Powers related before Ninjago, is he always like this? I love that he is a jerk honestly, just wondering 😂

Press F for respect for intern Dwaine (at least he seems to like being... used?)

Clutch: It's just a bunch of rocks! It's not alive!

Totem: I'm about to end this man's whole career

Wait, Misako is part of the explorers club? ... that would have come in handy in season 11 to get the scroll of Forbitten Spinjitzu from the club instead of begging uncle Powers for it... *sighs* I don't mind plot holes in Ninjago like most fans I think, but if you wanna make Misako relevant again at least pay attention to the details 😅

Wow, after the end of season 13 I would've thought Wu was going to go through a midlife crisis, not Misako 😂😂

Oww, everytime I hear I get 😢 Bless your soul Kirby, always in our hearts 🖤🖤🖤

Well hello Brian

Always nice to see you 😊

Twitchy Tim must have been pretty interesting to voice 🤔 I like him enough, he's fun and all, maybe not at the level of the characters we got last season

Okay, the place is called the STORM belt, there are LIGHTNINGS, and the sand of the beach is BLUE. Are we gonna address any of these similarities to our Bluebell here or not? 😅

Wait, Tim was giving a hot air balloon tour, does that mean other people where with him? What of them? Are they dead? Did he let them die on the island?... am I reading too much into this? Probably 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Alright, the part of the boats? SO COOL 🤩🤩 I literally can't say anything bad about the animation at this point

Why did they think leaving Kai, Jay and Cole on one boat was going to be a good idea 😂 Also Zane just randomly doing sick tricks on his vehicle, love that nindroid

I'm guessing Nya is keeping her water abilities for her season 🤷‍♀️

Yep, yep, this is why the creators try to keep Pixal out of the adventures, with her everything is way too cool and easy to access to 😎😎

Twitchy Tim: There are statues that become alive!!

Lloyd:... so it's a season 2 stone army ripoff, we've seen worse

It's a cute episode overall 👍

THE KEEPERS OF THE AMULET

OKAY THE INTRO IS SO FREAKING COOL 🤩🤩🤩🤩

So Twitchy Tim has temporarily taken over Jay's role of spazzing out and complain about worse case scenarios... in another occasion they might have bonded over this, maybe 😂

Okay, survival position? MOOD

Nya: DRAGOOON 😱

Me: DRAGOOOOOOON 😍😍😍

Why am I not surprised that Jay was the one that named him Zippy? 💙 Also HE'S SO CUTE 💕💕💕 Love how in every adventure, we always get very different types of dragon in this show 👌 I'm a simple person, I see a dragon... 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

Oh-oh, it's the "Lloyd's done with this crap"'s face

This means serious business... am I that used to LEGO characters that this way of crossing arms on the chest looks almost normal to me? 😅

Soooo, Master of the Mountain clearly gave Cole too much development... because now he got demoted to "the one who is always hungry" 🤦‍♀️ I'm all for Cole's endearing love for cakes, which is super relatable, but if you're gonna push it on his fun side, at least be coherent 🙃

Is it just me or it feels like the writing of this special was made by someone different from the one of season 13? Like, it's not bad, just less engaging and witty. For now. Maybe I'm being premature 🤷‍♀️

New way of nerfing powers, we got... weird, sucking power totem thingies... OKAY

My gosh I really can't say anything about the animation, look at that! It's all cinematic with such a light! YES!! 🤩

I'M SORRY

WHY ARE WE LOOKING OVER THIS??? IT LOOKS LIKE COLE'S LAVA PUNCHES BUT THEY ARE JAY LIGHTNING FEET??? IT'S A GREAT IDEA AND I WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT AGAIN??? WHY ARE WE IGNORING THIS??? 💙💙💙💙

So they at least addressed that lightning isn't a Jay's thing only anymore 😅

Alright, Jay having a mental breakdown because of a bridge because it always breaks, that's the Bluebell I know and love 😂😂 Nya telling him to keep moving was cute too 💙❤💙❤

Okay, I'm sorry but this really bothers me, what kind of lightning can instantly knock out the MASTER OF LIGHTNING??? Like, my gosh, really??? I hope they give us an explanation, like it's some sort of special lightning, because this really doesn't sit right with me. Jay is lightning proof, we've seen it in Skybound, we've seen it in Sons of Garmadon, I DON'T BELIEVE HE WOULD JUST BE KNOCKED OUT LIKE THAT 😡😡😡

Soooooo, storm amulet? Being one with the lightning? Is that the reason why Jay got to be the sacrifice? 😅

THE GIFT OF JAY

Alright, I am kinda looking forward for this one, what did Bluebell actually say or do to get him into trouble this time 😂😂

Oh, he just... introduced himself... well that was underwhelming

SENSEI👏YOU👏ARE👏A👏FREAKING👏GOD👏STOP👏GETTING👏KIDNAPPED👏BY👏RANDOM👏VILLAINS👏

Bring ooooon Lloyd Grills 💪

Okay I did like the little speech, definitely resonates with how Lloyd survived this long even though everything wanted him to give up, even his father... I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING 😭

Jay out there making the real questions 😂

Awwww Edna used to call him gift of Jay? I can totally see it, so cute 💙💙 Makes even more sense if Libber actually left Jay at the Walkers' door...

Pff, Jay made the connection I would've done honestly 🤷‍♀️ Like, him being the master of lightning really didn't give these dudes any impression or inspiration? Any cool idea, full Road of El Dorado style? 🙃🙃

Lloyd out there abusing of the animation budget 💚💚💚

Somehow these ninja never actual sneak in, it's always a huge mess everyone knows about beforehand 😂 It's familiar though, I'm used to it and happy with it 👍

I might not be the biggest Misako fan, but you know what I am a fan of?

LEGO HUGS 😍😍😍😍😍

Dang it uncle Powers, you just got here to make a mess did you 😅

Not the first person of the fandom to say this, but Jay looks absolutely lovely with that flower crown 🌺🌺🌺

Oh poor greenie

Lloyd just has the worst luck 😓

Jay: Why would I be the gift?

Kai: Yeah who would want Jay?

Nya: Huh, me?? 😡

Got some very good Jaya for this little special, can't complain 💙❤💙❤

I mean, not matter how big of a snake Wojira might turn out to be, we've already seen the biggest and the second biggest snake of all so 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Whoa, at last... IT WAS THE FIRST SPINJITZU MASTER THAT HAD SOMETHING HE SHOULD'VE TOLD WU A LONG TIME AGO!! 😱 Wu, you got pulled a Wu, how does it feel? 😂

Again, Jay freaking out, kinda my jam it's too funny 💙💙

Wow Kai way to be hominous offscreen 👏👏 I miss talking about my flame babe, this really isn't his time 🤷‍♀️

THE TOOTH OF WOJIRA

So when I first watched this I was genuinely, really excited about knowing the truth behind all this. It turned out very different from what I first thought, but at least in this case it's okay (besides I was pushing with the lightning meaning just to see Libber again 😅😅😅)

I feel like the guys get their powers stolen or blocked so much it takes them a minute to remember "Oh wait I can literally burn my way out" 🤷‍♀️

SPINJITZU YAY 🤩

I... forgot that Misako knows how to fight 😅 She knows how to do spinjitzu too if I remember correctly...

NYA BEING LIKE "OUT OF THE WAY IMMA SAVE MY BOYFRIEND AGAIN" ❤💙❤💙

Gotta love how they were all crazy worried about Jay, like, this is something that never changes through the show. They really care so so much for each other 💕💕💕

Ooohhhh, okay, so Wojira does seem to be the main villain of next season according to the story. I remember Tommy saying that we needed to have faith and this is probably why. The special was okay, nothing too much, and hopefully that too much we will see in Nya's season 😍😍😍

What the- pff, I didn't notice this the first time 😂

At this point I can't tell if that one short with the chicken of the movie carried a hate or a love for chickens in the actual show 😂😂

Nice to see Jay standing up for himself at least for a little while 💪 Also Lloyd being "He's our trouble", aww family 💜

THERE IT IS

MY BRUISE HEART IS SOARING 🖤💙🖤💙

Gotta give props to the voice actors, voicing an explanation while fighting must be pretty hard! WE ARE BLESSED WITH AN AMAZING CAST!!! 🤩🤩🤩

And there he is, our favorite jerk... shaved Ronin 😂 He does look a little weird, but it's fair, new animation and all. Not the weirdest until now 🤷‍♀️

I genuinely had to make a mental check to see where we are with Ronin now, like, he started as a villain, then a partner, he betrayed us, became an ally, he hunted the ninja, then joined them, that timeline was erased, he was around in SoG and... wow this man is chaotic 😂😂

Yaaaay, Twitchy's last minute redemption act! Lloyd is too good at motivational speeches 👏👏

A bit of Lava OTP/BrOTP

Cause it's good for the heart ❤🖤❤🖤

Okay, Scooby doo reference, why not? Also honestly, I'm confident Ronin has seen A LOT of jails and prisons... probably won't stay behind bars for long 😅

Mammatus: sorry for imprisoning you and almost killing your friend

Kai: no biggie, that's how we make friends in this show

Alright the "And Clutch Powers" gag made me chuckle 😂 ... wait where is he- DANG IT UNCLE POWERS

Okay, this is the last time I say it I promise, but I mean. I MEAN

THE ANIMATION GUYS 😍😍😍

Aaaaand sensei you jinxed it 😅 But you apparently awakened Nya's season so I'm gonna forgive you on this one 😉

FINAL THOUGHTS

There are a few little details that bothered me a little, and it wasn't as exciting as I maybe hoped it was going to be, but it was fine. Enjoyable still. These characters make me like the show, even when it got nothing too impactful 🤷‍♀️

But I got triggered about that lightning thing with Jay 😅 I guess I'll just fanfic whatever I had in mind...

Don't have to repeat myself about the animation *chef's kiss*

The writing was really less engaging, a little normal in a way? Idk just a feeling. Nice to see Ronin again though, I really like him. And nice to see Jay freaking out, I really like that too 😂

To be honest I wanted to put down my thoughts on this one because I REALLY wanna do the same with Nya's season 🤩🤩 I already know that Maya is gonna be there and I am so HAPPY already!!! 💙💙💙

So that's it from me! Thank you for reading me ranting, see you next season! 😊

[throwawayy2526]

thoughts on the red album taylor's version and some personal insights red was definitely my favorite out of all taylor's album. every song, every word, even yung sequence ng mga kanta, i know by heart. which makes this very special to me. also, im turning 22 this month, so that's means sa lahat ng nagcacaption ng "im feeling 22" pwede kong sabihin na sakin yung taylor's version. lmao anyway, it's just so fun to revisit my fave album all over again and its like i'm listening to it for the first time kase yung changes rin sa audio. like its so much better! lalo na yung the last time. that's my fave song sa album and its just so much more balanced and you can hear the difference in both voices. its sooo good. i guess what I'm trying to say is it's nice to listen to it in my twenties because my 12 year old brain couldn't comprehend the emotions in this album. at the time yung mga heartaches ko lang is wattpad hahahahaha but the main reason why im writing this is a line from this song called nothing new. it says "how can a person know everything at eighteen But nothing at twenty-two?" and boy does that hit me hard. 2017 was definitely hard for me. It taught me to just do everything that i want because life is uncertain and the people around me can never save me,so i have to save myself blah blah. basically, i made a promise to myself na fuck it, just do whatever makes me happy. if I'm sad, just stop it. its not worth it. so at 18, learned to let things go. I've grown out of my shell, i was with people that made me feel safe and happy, something that was new to me. they were so good i was doubting them, and i had trust issues but they never did anything bad to me. even when my family to study another course, i followed my gut and chose my dream course and i was thriving together with my friends! we weren't all study tho, we were known to party and drink with the rest of the whole architecture family. i was an officer too, doing good for the community. i was finally happy, and i got everything figured out. fast forward to now. to say that im struggling seems like an understatement. i don't even know if i like my course anymore. i took 2 sem breaks and i really really don't want to comeback. it feels like im traumatized. i couldn't even look at my univ account for the past year. not even when i was enrolled because i hated it. i feel sick to my stomach. i couldn't enjoy being with my friends anymore because they felt like a distraction to my studies. i didn't give myself a break for a year and i still failed. i was so burned out. and trying so hard to get back on my feet, adding more pressure on myself and failing again and again felt so horrible i had to decide to take a break from it all. now i don't even want to come back. i dont even know i i like it anymore because of everything that has happened. the thing is this was my only option. this was the thing that i wanted. now, i dont know where to start, i dont even want to, but i have to. it's just not this that has been put to a halt. i dont even know who i am for the last year, heck for the last month, i have stopped talking to most of my friends. I've been obsessing about games, but lately i am burning out with them too. i really dont know anything at this point in time and surely i thought i would have figured things out a little bit more. so yeah, taylor just feels so timely rn with me having a fucking existential crisis.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-Eight

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, substance abuse

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"H-Hi." Deana tries to keep her composure upon the sight of Nikki freshly off-stage. 

He looks more pale than he was before heading to play, his sweat cloaked body shaking slightly. 

His mother, her dark hair curled and bright red lips tugging into a sappy smile as tears bubble in her eyes.

Even without probably knowing the whole story, Axl and the guys know Nikki doesn't have a relationship with his mom, and the nightmare about to take place has them slowly leaning against the wall of the hallway, quietly looking down, uncomfortable with getting caught in the middle of this. 

"What are you doing here?" Nikki asks, confused, more than likely questioning if its a hallucination from mixing too many drugs or not. 

"I made the arrangement." Doc states chipperly, stupidly thinking Nikki would be happy. "An early Christmas present." He adds. 

"I wanted to see you," She tells her son, taking a few steps closer, "I wanted to see both of you...I've already missed out on so much." She explains, looking at me. "I-I know the timing is off, but I really wanted to talk to you." 

"No, the timing isn't off--" I try to assure her. 

"--Don't waste your breath, Viv, she's just gonna ask for money and then disappear for another ten years." Nikki scoffs, brushing past her. 

"Frank--"

"--That's not my name." He snaps to her. 

"It's the name on your birth certificate, Frankie. Frank Ferana. It might not be as glamorous as 'Nikki Sixx' but--" 

"--It's Nikki. Legally. It's Sixx. Legally. It's her last name. Legally." He refers to me and she clenches her jaw. "And any kids I have are gonna have that last name. Legally. I'm not 'Frank', or 'Frankie', and I'm certainly not a fucking 'Ferana' so don't even start that shit."

"You're still my baby." She tells him, trying not to cry. "I came all this way to see you." She adds, wrapping her arms around him. 

I see the glimmer of a little boy in his eyes, for a split second, then it's quickly pushed aside and replaced with that of an angry, abused, hurt, scorned, abandoned dog. 

And he's going for the throat in a moment the second she says:

"Oh, my Frankie." 

He's shoving her off of him so hard she nearly goes to the floor. 

"That's not my fucking name!" He screams at her, throwing his bottle of Jack at the ground at her heeled-boot covered feet. 

He's storming off, Doc following after him, and Fred takes a breath and goes to Deana, to politely usher her out. 

"That's fucked." Izzy mumbles, shaking his head slightly, going to their dressing room and I walk behind them. 

"Nikki--"

"--Who the fuck do you think you are?! Huh?! Who the hell are you to bring my personal life front and center for every God damn body to see?!" 

"I didn't realize you and your mother weren't on good terms." Doc tells him, honestly. 

"You think I'm this fucked up for the hell of it?! You think I'm this way after growing up with parents who gave a shit?! Really?!" Nikki laughs humorlessly.

"Nikki, I'm sorry, alright?" 

"No, you're not, you don't give a shit and you never have, you're just another greedy fuck getting his rocks off from the money in my pocket but I'm done!" He yells, turning to walk away. "You don't know what's fucking best for me, you don't care about me, you don't care about the band, you're not my fucking father and you sure as shit aren't my manager anymore so just go get fucked, Doc, you're fucking fired!" He calls. 

"You're not fired." I assure Doc, wanting to go after him, but not able to bring myself to. 

He doesn't want to talk to me about it. 

I am surprised to see Axl rub his forehead and roll his jaw before stalking past me, Nikki's way. 

"Where you going?" I ask him. 

"I fucking hate my mom." Is all he says as he goes by. 

I didn't know what exact issue Axl had with his own mother, but I'd later find out it was because her horrible judgment in men and what abuse she'd allow him and his siblings to endure from those men, along with her forceful hand in religion that she and Axl's stepfather enforced brutally on their kids.

"Did Doc really not mean to set that up?" Steven asks me when I get into their dressing room. 

"No, he didn't." I reply. 

"Is Nikki gonna be okay?" Tansy asks quietly. 

"I don't know, Tansy." I roll my eyes and she furrows her brows, slightly. 

"Do you even care?" She asks me and I look at her. 

"Tans--" Duff starts. 

"--No, I mean, really, Vivian. Do you even care?" She cuts him off. 

"Excuse me?" I ask, practically seeing the dullness in her eyes of a mixed-drug high.

Without a doubt coke and smack.

"Of course I care, Tansy. Just because he and I are separated doesn't mean I want him to suffer."

"Way to take one for the team by sleeping with Duff, then, because surely that is the one thing that has to be done to prevent Nikki's suffering." She states. 

"What I do and who I do it with is my business, Tansy." I tell her, crossing my arms. 

"Sure doesn't sound that way when everybody on the same floor as you can hear nothing but, 'ahh, ahh, Duff, ahh!'" She mimics moaning. 

"Maybe I'm staying under Duff so much because if I don't, you'll take it as an open invitation, and there really are some people you don't have to try to sleep with mandatorily based on their wallet size, Tansy." 

"Just like there are some people you don't have to sleep with based on whether or not they're gonna be big rockstars or not." She shoots back. 

"Wanna be the pot or the kettle?" I ask. 

"I want you to stop adding fuel to the fire and then acting like your hands are clean while smiting all of us." She outbursts. 

"Smite you for adding to his problems? Offering him drugs when he's already going down hill? Letting him think screwing another woman is okay--not even screwing her, having an entire relationship with her." I correct myself. 

"Given the circumstances of your marriage, he needed an escape." She says next. 

"Given the circumstances of your new-found smack-induced courage, you act like you need my fist to knock your teeth out." 

"Viv--"

"--Then you'll really be laying on your back to get work." 

"But at least I do work. What do you do? Aside from spend Nikki's money and sleep with his friends?" 

"I'm not killing him like you and Sparkie have been with your junkie bullshit." I manage to keep myself from having an outburst, more concerned with Nikki's crisis with his mom. 

"Not yet, at least." She mumbles as I'm walking out. 

"Where you guys going?" Tommy asks as we head to leave for the bus. 

"Um… about to pack our stuff up and head out?" Izzy replies.

"No, no, no, just because Nikki's parade's been pissed on doesn't mean ours has to be." Tommy suggests to them. 

"Yeah, c'mon it's our last night hangin' out for a while." Vince points out, two groupies already under each arm. 

"I was gonna check on Sixx." Slash explains. 

"I'm fine." Nikki shows up, his hands on Slash's shoulders, tightly in an aggravating manner, making Slash chuckle as he twists away from him. 

Axl isn't far behind, he and Izzy looking at the invitation to hangout with the guys one last time on this tour, hesitantly. 

"What the hell," Izzy shrugs. 

"So glad you said that, man, because we have a special surprise." Nikki grins, beckoning them with his finger. 

"Stevie, c'mon!" Duff exclaims from behind me, Steven exiting their dressing room with Tansy behind him. 

"You good?" He asks Nikki. 

"Yeah." Nikki assures him. "I have a present." He adds, leading the guys to the double doors of what I assume is a bigger room. 

Sure enough, he opens the door, and at least ten girls are lined up, naked, asses up, thick lines of coke down their spines. 

Nausea nestles it's way into my stomach, but Tommy, Vince and Nikki look as if this is their promised land. 

Even Steven looks slightly off-put by the brazen display. 

Complete disinterest cascades off of Duff, a heavy puff of cigarette smoke leaving his nostrils with the huff of his unamused breath. 

"Who's first?" Nikki asks. 

Naturally, the guys look to their "leader," and Axl reluctantly rolls his eyes and walks over to the first girl. 

It's like he refuses to acknowledge she's naked, his main focus is the line of coke on her back. 

He snorts one-eighth of the line before deciding that's enough. 

I don't blame him--the way his fingers hold at the bridge of his nose makes me wince because I know it probably burns like a bitch. 

"Boo!" Tommy disappointedly calls to Axl as he walks out. 

He's had his party. 

Izzy follows. 

"More for us." Nikki shrugs, smirking. 

He looks at me directly in the eyes, heavy black liner sharpening the contrast of his hazel eyes as he keeps my gaze, spitefully unbuckling his belt and he starts unlacing his pants, making his way to the girl Axl was at earlier. 

He is not…

Duff's snatching me out of the room only milliseconds before Nikki enters the girl in sync with snorting the line up her skin.

That was that.

It's a bittersweet draw to an end, "thank you" and "damn, I'm gonna miss you" seeming to be on everyone's lips as hugs and high-fives go around between all the boys once we get back to L.A.

I rub my lips together and smile softly as I hand Fred my purse to put in the car, sighing softly, smiling when he looks down at me. 

"See ya later, kid." He tells me and tears swell in my eyes as I wrap hug him tightly, taking him off guard a little. "Don't kill each other...not even over that dumb shit he pulled tonight." He says, referring to the groupie cocaine platter. 

"I'll try." I mumble, wiping my eyes quickly before stepping up to say bye to the guys. 

Steven and Slash are pretty easy, but Axl just stares at me for a moment before reluctantly wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly. 

"I'm sorry I was an asshole this entire trip." He mumbles lowly in my ear. 

"I'm sorry I almost got you kicked off." I reply in the same low tone. 

"You're one of the reasons they took us in the first place." He states, pulling away to look at me, cupping my face in his hands, grinning. "You're gonna keep up my lie that we're siblings, right?" He asks and I chuckle. 

"You guys are gonna make it big and I need a meal ticket so of course." I shrug and his smile grows wider. "I love you." I tell him. 

"I love you, too." He assures me, kissing me on the cheek, giving me one last squeezing hug before heading to their bus. 

Izzy looks at me for a moment. 

"Izzy." I say to him. 

"Viv." He acknowledges me and steps to the bus. 

Just before Duff can tell me 'bye', arms are locking around my waist, and pulling me against the person they belong to. 

"Izzy?" I ask after a moment. 

"We're not friends." He says, pulling away to leave, leaving me and Duff. 

"Um, I'll see you later?" I offer and he rubs his lips together, his eyes over my shoulder, and I look to see Nikki and a woman that we'd picked up from the airport, getting into the car. 

I turn back to face Duff, biting my tongue to keep my tears back. 

"You can stay with me tonight." Duff offers. 

"Really?" 

He just smiles down at me. 

I inhale the familiarly comforting scent of cigarette smoke as we walk into Duff's apartment, dropping my bags and running to the bedroom, face planting into the mattress, exhausted. 

The weight of Duff's body laying on top of me making me laugh, his own chuckle further making me grin. 

"I'm so tired." I tell him.

"Me too." He replies, and I turn over underneath him, wrinkling my nose.

"You stink." I say. 

"I think I smell pretty sexy." He grins, teasingly. 

"No." I shake my head a little, scrunching my face to my shoulder when he tries to kiss my neck. "Go shower." I giggle when he tries again. 

"Come shower with me." He counters. 

"I don't feel like it and I don't stink, so--ew, Duff!" I squeal as he takes his shirt off that reeks of sweat and rubs it all over my face and hair. 

"What about now?" He asks and I pick up the pillow above my head and start hitting at him with it.

After a few hits are gotten in, he's getting off the bed, stretching. 

"You coming?" He asks when he walks to the bathroom. 

"I guess." I reply, following after him. 

Once I get out and have one of Duff's shirts on, I go to the kitchen to grab some water before bed, the quietness of the apartment allowing different thoughts to invade my mind. 

I can't help but wonder what Nikki's doing. Is he high? Is he drunk? Is he even still alive? They leave in a few days for Japan but I honestly don't believe they should go. They need help. 

I think at this moment everyone's just trying to see if they can get away with pressing at them a little more without anybody snapping. 

But by the looks of it, Nikki is pretty damn close to snapping, and Tommy anf Vince and Mick aren't far behind at all. 

Nikki. 

My heart tightens in my chest, remembering last Christmas, how he sat curled under our tree, shooting up. 

He'd get strung out, then lay underneath the tree and stare up at the lights for hours. 

"Are we gonna buy a Christmas  tree?" I ask, looking at the empty living area. 

"If you want to." He calls to me from the bedroom.

"I want to." I reply, going into the room and getting in bed while he follows. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. You know, homey-ness and stuff." I add. "Especially if I'm gonna be here longer." I add and he falls beside me. 

"I'll get a tree tomorrow." He assures me, kissing me chastely before yawning and getting comfortable, and I turn off the lamp and lay down, too. 

He goes to sleep in no time, but two hours later, in the early hours of morning, I smile to myself in the dark room, Christmas lights from the street shining into the window, lighting up the room and cascading a comforting dim light over Duff's sleeping body next to me. 

Reaching over, I run my fingertips softly against his cheek, pushing blonde strands of his hair out of the way, his eyes slowly blinking open slightly before a small tug of a smile pulls his lips slightly. 

"Sorry." I whisper, not meaning to have woken him up. 

"It's okay." He says quietly, closing his eyes again. "I love you, Vivian." He adds, his eyes staying closed, but he grabs my hand that's on his cheek, and presses a kiss to my palm, holding my hand when he's done. 

I snuggle closer to him, laying still and closing my eyes, too, while I reply, "I love you, too," the way I wish I would have done to Nikki all these years. 

Years later, while on what I presumed to be his deathbed, he told me that simple moment was what made him feel sure that I was the one. I took everything he had done up to that point with stride. But thinking he was going to die, reflecting on everything that could have been between us but never got to be, and hearing him tell me, "there's a ring I got you years ago when we thought we were gonna be together, but I never gave it to you. Mandy never knew about it. Linda doesn't know about it, but it's on my closet shelf and I don't want to go without giving it to you," broke my heart more than anything he could've done up to that point.

NIKKI

I turn over, seeing the silhouette of the brunette I picked up at the airport, her sheet-covered chest rising and falling with each breath. 

A part of me feels irritated because her perfume is contaminating Vivian's side of the bed that still smells like her. 

I've been reduced to plucking Viv's clothing from drawers or from in the closet and smelling it. That makes me sound like a fucking stalking creep, but it's the truth. 

How the fuck did we get here, again? 

Oh, right, me not able to keep my dick in my pants, and the woman I didn't keep my dick in my pants for, didn't keep her mouth shut.

I sit up, walking to the bathroom to piss. When I'm done I look at myself in the mirror and feel a little impressed. 

I don't look as bad as I thought. 

Well, kinda. 

I splash water on my face, wincing at the dark circles under my eyes. 

I end up staring at myself for God knows how long, remembering how Vivian would wake up and come in here to get me back in bed if I left her for too long because she didn't like sleeping by herself. 

I smile a little, slowly closing my eyes, feeling her touch across my back, the softness of her lips pressing to the skin of my spine before her cheek presses to the same place before she sleepily mumbles out, "come back to bed." 

Opening my eyes, for a split second, I see her. Standing behind me, green eyes peering at me over my shoulder, the feeling of her holding me...it's gone in a flash. She's gone in a flash. 

My nose burns with the oncoming tears cooking up in my eyes, and I erase them quickly with another splash of water to thr face. 

[thejoshuaglenn-blog]

You're a Good Boy, Charlie Brown

The key purpose of a Tumblr blog here is really a brain dump: logging thoughts, feelings, narrative and such is easier in long form than via a brief Facebook post that generates half a dozen "oh no, what happened" comments. As I'm writing this, most of it seems like bullet points and organized timelines. If you're looking for a TL;DR or current state of thoughts, it's the last section titled The Day After, and the Day After That.

A few days ago, Niko and I said goodbye to our first dog, Charlie Brown.

I'm not keen to chat about it a lot. There's more to process than I have time to type; most of it centers around being fair to myself and to Niko, taking the time to appreciate his life without beating ourselves up, and avoiding the overwhelming mire that grief can become.

Joining the Family

CB was a rescue, a hapless victim of the 2016 Louisiana floods and a happy-go-lucky participant in a "dog for a day" event hosted by a local shelter. I fully expected to rent him out for a day, give him a few great experiences, and return him. For myriad reasons, we never did bring him back to Pet Rescue by Judy, and he's been with us ever since.

At adoption, he was estimated to be around 4-8 years old. With a kicked-in shoulder that offset his collarbone and ribcage, some assorted dental issues, and other little signs of damage (cigarette burns, what the heck is wrong with people), it was tough to really gauge his age. That means he left this world at the ripe old age of something like 9-13, which isn't terrible considering all he'd been through.

Charlie Brown was the iconic good boy. He seldom barked, he never licked or jumped, and just wanted to be in the same room as his favorite people. He had a few toys that he cherished, never ripping them up, just carrying them with him from room to room and whining a bit, unsure of where he could store them for safekeeping. Apart from some separation anxiety issues and an occasional urge to bolt out the door and book it as far as he could, CB was by all accounts an easy first dog: more like a low-effort cat than anything else.

Slowly Falling Apart

Over time, the health issues increased. Intermittent but predictably regular upset tummy. Bad gums, bad teeth. Random gooey skin lesion. Eye ulcers. Since October, we've been averaging 2-3 unplanned vet visits a month — many incurring some hefty bills. We'd take out another credit card, find another financing plan, but it adds up. So does the emotional toil on the family; so does the anxiety toll on the dog.

You start to think about quality of life for the dog, you know? He'd had a few teeth removed to sew up his gums after they kinda detached and fell apart from his jawbone — so he couldn't chew anything hard. Couldn't even chew a tennis ball, which was the only toy he took interest in anymore. Couldn't have any fun treats like peanut butter or other soft chews, as his tummy would have bad flare-ups that usually ended up with him attached to an IV bag. After finally settling in and learning to play well with Atlas, Charlie Brown started to get pretty irritable whenever Atlas got frisky.

He still loved running around outdoors, and was in otherwise great health.

I can't tell you how guilty that makes me feel, even now.

Moving to Waltham

Before we left Orlando, there were so many crisis moments in emergency vet offices where Niko and I talked about how long he could ride this roller coaster. CB obviously was not a fan of vet visits: loved the staff, but was notably anxious and panicky when separated from us, and he had grown very loathe to the process of poking, prodding, and whatnot.

Shortly after moving to Waltham (he was a champ in the U-Haul), Charlie Brown had a severe colitis flare-up. He was losing so much fluid and was growing very lethargic over the day. Vets are hard to get into these days: with the sweep of "pandemic puppy" adoptions, the vet industry as a whole is saturated with demand, and practices are responding as best they can. There were just no emergency clinics available to us within 20 miles, except one that noted "we have no availability, but you can come and wait, and we might be able to see you in 4 or 5 hours." So we did.

It was a very late night. Charlie Brown came home with us with another round of the same antibiotics he'd been taking almost regularly since December for his assorted ailments, and some probiotics. The next day, CB seemed a bit better and brighter, and Niko and I went into the city for part of the day. We came home to find he'd had an accident, but it was just... blood. So so much. And he looked so in pain, so ashamed, so guilty, so anxious.

So we went back to the vet ER. It was another very late night. I didn't know how many of these late nights we could afford; neither of us knew how many of these late nights it was fair to expect Charlie Brown to endure.

Do you plan on letting a pet go after an extended crisis visit? Do you plan on letting a pet go in a time of relative peace?

Camping Analogy, and a Best Last Day

When you're off on a long hike, and you see daylight start to fade as the sun begins to set, you begin to think about finding a good place to set up camp for the night. It's abysmal to do this after the sun has already gone down: where you could have had preparation and structure, you have chaos by flashlight.

A dog's life is in your hands. You're his whole world: all food, adventure, pampering, challenge, treatment, and care come from you. More than anything, we wanted Charlie Brown to have a peaceful, restful life. Now that we started thinking about it, we wanted to be able to give him a peaceful, restful passing as well: not as the climax of another overnight crisis with injections and yelps and beeps and cowering and anxiety and fear, but in the still quiet of familiar sounds and smells.

His very last day was a great one. Fresh Pond in Cambridge: a massive stroll around a colossal lake with an absurd bounty of new smells, kind people, happy dogs, and a brisk New England breeze. He got to swim in a little side pond — that boy lived for jumping into random lakes. He ran around the broad field that is Kingsley Bowl, chasing a thrown ball the very very farthest his sad pop could throw it — and he brought it back. We bought him a steak. We told him how much he brought to our lives.

And then we waited.

Lap of Love is a sort of home delivery service of dignified passing for pets. There's more to say on that hour than I care to pen, but throughout the procedure, we never left him. Charlie Brown passed enveloped in our arms and laps and sobs and hugs.

The Day After, and the Day After That

The rest is just thoughts. Your head starts to feel like a coffee shop where your grief comes in, sits at a table with you, and unloads. You nod, listen, and wish them well. I hope I can keep processing this way — I find it helpful, and less overwhelming.

I wish he had been able to play with his tennis ball more. Since his jaw surgery — even out on Kingsley Bowl, nearly a month and a half after he should have been fully healed — any kind of chewing would cause renewed bleeding and pain.

I wish we had hugged him more. But truth be told, he didn't like hugs. They made him uncomfortable. So we gave him a hand to lay his head on, or a knee for him to pop his head upon, as often as he liked.

There were so many times I felt inconvenienced by owning a dog at all. They weren't the majority, but... now each remembered time feels like a splinter of selfishness.

I miss how familiar the back of his neck felt under my hand, just behind the ears, where the waves of fur meet and crash and make a long cowlick of foof and fluff.

His happy smile and his stressed smile were very similar, but you could still tell which was which.

I loved being there for him in thunderstorms.

When you think about it, we sort of were hospice care for him. We weren't his original owners; we just wanted the rest of his life to be painless and fulfilling. He had so many trust issues when he first came to us. And in the end, he loved anyone he met.

I miss feeling around with my feet to make sure I don't step on him on my way to bed. I miss setting my feet on the floor as I wake, stooping down, and giving his head a good squishy rub.

He never did get to see Boston snow. I mean... thousands of dogs never get to see snow. But I was really looking forward to sharing that experience with him.

I wanted so badly to bring him to a point of health, and then say goodbye when he was feeling well. Seeing him have his Best Last Day, part of me whispered "murderer" with cold accuracy, and I have a hard time shaking it. He was so happy — but between jaw bleeding after playing with a tennis ball, seeing him scratch his eyes that were starting to ache with ulcers again... I know the unbridled happiness came with the reality of his declining health.

Atlas was the best thing that ever happened to that boy. I know Charlie Brown was at least a little disgruntled that his easy-going day-to-day had been interrupted by a chompy puppy, but Atlas brought out the young pup in CB: ripping palm fronds to shreds, playing tug, playing tag, meeting new dogs with confidence and assurance.

I used to get so mad at my mother-in-law for feeding Charlie Brown cinnamon donuts. I wish I'd given him more. Heck, I wish I'd given him more peanut butter. I'm frankly surprised he hadn't died of peanut butter overdose years ago.

Where Charlie's health had limits, we kept going with Atlas. That might mean taking Atlas out to play with a ball or a tug toy, because CB couldn't. It breaks my heart now to think of Charlie at the glass door just watching it happen, all because he physically couldn't play the same. I know he didn't understand that.

We took him out to Park Ave maybe once or twice. I wish it had been more. Truth be told, it was the same as the dog park, though: he was kind of a loner. Loads of people or dogs made him anxious. So while I might idealize the past and wish he had sat at our legs for lunch after lunch at an outdoor thoroughfare, ... I think he would have been miserable. I think he would have rather just curled up at the base of the couch and dozed while we watched a show.

He was so trusting. I could just drag him onto his back and onto my lap for cuddles and a good tummy rub. No complaints.

He looked so gaunt these past few months. I keep looking at earlier photos, and I really didn't realize just how grizzly and drawn he had become lately.

I miss seeing him randomly waiting for me outside the bathroom door — or curled up on the bath mat while I was in the shower, having sneakily nosed the door open and wanting my company while I was rinsing.

For his first few years with us, he was incredibly playful. I've been going through old videos — it's like going outside just blew his mind, and toys were either for cherishing daintily, or thrashing about and throwing to oneself and gnawing. He lost that after a time. He regained it a bit when Atlas joined the party. But it still faded. I'm sure that's inevitable, but it makes me sad to see the early vibrant puppy in those old recordings, and how different he had been in recent months.