#Took me an hour and a half in my bed past my bedtime.

[the-white-soul]

You can't tell me humans haven't taken more than 7 lives for as long as they roamed the earth. That puts it into perspective. Even then, I should clarify one of those humans wasn't killed even by monsters. Your child. Chara killed themself. Chara killed themself because they hated humans. They're "violent, selfish, and ignorant" creatures. That's what Chara said. I know not all humans are like that because my three best friends are humans. But whatever the heck you and the people around Chara did to them, you sure as hell made them think that way! So they killed themself specifically so the monster you killed could take their soul and get revenge.

So that monster holding their body you killed? If he really was violent, he would and could have wiped out EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU without a second thought. *Flowey glares at the town in front of him with hate. With hate for them, and with hate for Asriel.* You saw what really happened. He didn't do anything even as you tortured him, even though it was your own human child's wishes against their own race. Isn't that pathetic? *Flowey laughs weakly to himself, and his expression softens. He glances at Toriel for a moment before averting his eyes again immediately.*

I know none of you believe me.

...

Just listen to the others, okay?

*Flowey burrows away. (he'll be back with something next ask so don't end the speech too soon after Clover's response.)*

(Random Person 1) "You know, screw you all. I'm with the monsters. You all should go to hell. We are hate. Chara died by their hand."

(Mom) "There's no proof to that. What's your name anyway."

(Random Person 1) "My name is John, and I was in the same class as Chara. I know you are all just saying that because you can't take accountability. We all know the real reason Chara left. I saw how they looked when they got anything below 90%. Those excuses you bring, try to make an excuse for a whip across the face!!!"

(Mom) "Liar!"

(John) "I say we don't dishonor these monsters who's with me!!!"

Dead silence for 4 seconds

(Mom) "I just realized the evil flower has all the police."

(Toriel) "Please, I'm not worth it. I should've listened to Asgore."

Kara walked up

(Kara) "Everyone calm down for a moment. I have a few words. I know Chara meant a lot to some of you, but I must ask, when did the war start?"

(Mom) "It was all when two kids were playing tag. One kid was running and accidentally got stabbed by some pointy rocks and died. The monster then absorbed the soul and made a powerful being that could do anything. It took a while, but we killed them. You've got to remember the real reason we do this isn't just for Chara or Clover. They're just people wrapped in this. If one monster, for any reason, wants to kill a human, succeeds, and becomes evil, there's no stopping it. That's what we're afraid of. There are only a million monsters. Millions don't matter to me when there are billions at stake. We thought we could trap you underground, but we can't. We'll have to kill you instead. Say your final words and get out of here."

(Kara) "I will let Buttercup speak after me. Ahem You all have no way to deal with your lives. After you want to kill monsters, who's next? Violence will come one day to all that are different. Why do we do it, though? Look at Toriel. She's just a Mom. She doesn't mean to harm anyone who doesn't wrong her. Papyrus is one of the best guys I've ever met. He will become friends with everyone. We can't all say that monsters are different than humans. They have goals and more love than most others. The truth is, we all are the same. Some of us are terrible, others are good. It's not right that Chara hated humanity. People are born, and they live. That's it. One day, I want to walk up to a child and a monster sitting on the sidewalk, eating ice cream and telling stories. For those two to be friends just like Asriel and Chara were. Think of all the lonely kids who you could help make friends. If I can see the day that monster and human kids love each other, that'll be enough for me."

[lesenbyan]

yanno, for a show that seemed to always be running when i was growing up (disclaimer; I did not grow up with the channel; I only had access when visiting my mom's parents if they were even in the same state) Danny Phantom really is a short show, huh?

[zg0nuwa]

Hey, hope you're fine...and i see that you're another fan for Miguel (we are) can you write the father day with his daughter and the reader as his wife please:(?....(i just hate my daddy issues)

★ best dad ever ! ⎯⎯

i don't think you understand how much power you just gave me with this (i had like half of this written already but tumblr crashed and i was one step away from going into my joker era)

miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings ; angsty fluff, i tried experimenting with the spanish but i feel like i failed miserably, lowercase intended, i'm not a spanish speaker so you're free to correct me on the spanish.

miguels work schedule was very unstable. there were times when he would be gone for the whole day and then there were times when he could spend most of the day at home. you understood, for the most part, he had the multiverse on his shoulders no matter how hard you wished for him to have a much less dangerous job. of course not everyone knew why he sometimes had to disappear for long periods of time.

and one of them was your daughter. all she knew was that " daddy does very important things and he has to go but he will always come back ".

this year, fathers day rolled up on a sunday which meant not only your daughter was home but also you. for your husband it was a little more complicated. he woke up in the middle of the night to a notification from lyla about another anomaly going nuts in the wrong universe. you loved the ai but in this particular moment you wanted to explode her with your mind.

" i'll be back before sunset, i promise " with that and a kiss on your forehead he left through the portal in your bedroom.

the next time you woke up that day was because of your daughter. she climbed onto your bed and started to shake you lightly with her small hands.

" mom? where’s daddy? " you opened your eyes to gabi hovering above you with her favorite plush animal pressed close to her chest. she had this disappointed expression on her small face. you knew it was because of miguel being gone. she planned this whole day for him, you even helped her organize everything.

" i’m sorry sweetheart… daddy had to go to work. " you pulled her in so her head was under your chin. she clung to you like a small koala bear as you played with her thick brown hair. definitely his genes.

" but, he promised he'll be back before your bedtime sooo, we can still make something special. what do you say about that? "

after a small argument about who gets the cooking part of preparations, which obviously ended with you being responsible for it, you and gabi got to work. as you were looking through your old mexican cuisine recipe book [ that you definitely didn’t bought only for miguel to feel more at home during meals ] you saw your dughter holding a box of artsy stuff.

" cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? "

" making daddy a poster! it's going to say 'el mejor papa de todos'! " you couldn't help the big smile from appearing on your face. you knew how much time miguel put into teaching gabi spanish and it always warmed your heart when they sat down at the dining table and simply talked in spanish, your husband making little corrections in pronounciation or grammar from time to time. but no matter what he always looked as if he had hearts in his eyes.

★

you knew miguels work schedule was unstable and sometimes took him out of the house for a whole day, and you understood. but gabi not so much. so here you are, 10:48 pm on the clock and no sign of your husband. you spent the past two hours comforting her and promising her that it wasn't miguels fault and that he loved her. finally at around 11 pm she fell asleep in her bed. you turned off the cat shaped nightlamp and as quietly as possible closed the door to her room.

with a heavy sigh you went back to the kitchen to start cleaning everything up. while puting away food into the fridge you heard a specific glitching sound and you already knew who showed up home.

" you're late. " you weren't really mad at him , it was just tiring sometimes.

" i know, i'm sorry love... it's just - things got a little out of control. " you didn’t look at him and his first thought was to come behind you and hug your waist hoping it would make you feel even a little bit better. “ was there something that i forgot about today? is that why you’re angry? “

" i’m not angry, but your daughter is. she planned the whole fathers day for you. "

" ay, coño… " he sounded defeated, tired, and disappointed in himself. you pulled yourself away from him and came up to the poster gabi made, its was rolled in a tube to not spoil anything before the big reveal. you handed it to miguel with a tiny smile on your face. he was a bit confused for a second but he got the memo and rolled out the paper to it’s full extent. you could see the tears forming on his waterline as he chuckled. probably because of the spelling mistake made by gabi that you didn’t have the heart to point out.

" me and gabi made a deal for you, you have take us to the zoo tomorrow, and she demands that you let her piggyback the entire time to repay for your sins. "

" i guess there’s no other option. " he said with a smile.

cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? - honey, what are you doing there?

el mejor papa de todos - the greatest dad ever

ay, coño - oh, fuck

[scarisd3ad]

Scarisd3ad’s Halloween writing challenge | day thirteen

Prompt - first Halloween as a family

Pairing - Joel miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

[warning] - fluff, reader is not Sarah’s bio mom

When I first met Joel Miller three years ago, I definitely did not imagine myself in this position. I was 19 years old, going into my second semester of freshman year, and Joel lived upstairs with his high school sweetheart, Diana. I had a crush on Joel, but I knew it’d never, ever happen. And then last year, when Diana announced her pregnancy, I really knew I’d never happen.

But now, an entire year later, I’m basically caring for Diana’s baby as if she were mine. Sarah was born three months ago, just two weeks before Diana left town for good.

Now Sarah was three months old, and I’ve been there every step of the way, from late-night feedings to mid-day blowouts. That’s why I’m here tonight at Sarah and Joel’s new place. It was a few blocks from my apartment complex, a 2-bedroom house. It was Sarah’s first Halloween, and I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world. Joel didn’t have many plans, as Sarah was three months old, and her bedtime was 6 p.m. most days. So the plan was to hand out candy until Sarah got fussy and then watch a few movies after Sarah was in bed.

I parked my car on the side of the street and walked up to his house with my bag slung over my shoulder. It contained two bags of candy, a few movies, and a ladybug costume my mom had handmade for Sarah. On the front porch sat a small pumpkin with Sarah's handprints in bright pink paint, which we had done a few weekends back.

My fist pounds against the hardwood door a few times before Joel opens the door. Sarah's strapped to his torso with one of those baby slings. "hey," I smile as I walk into his house. "how's she been doon' today? I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. My sister needed me to babysit her kids for a half hour," he waved me off, muttering about how "it's fine" as we walked into the kitchen. "she's missed you. I can tell; been fussy all day. Haven't you?" He said as he undid the baby carrier and gently passed her into my arms.

"You have?" I Coo'd as I cradled her in my arms. I practically lived here; most nights, I crashed on the sofas and cared for Sarah during the night so Joel could sleep before waking up at 5 am. I'd then drop her off at daycare at 7 before heading off to my own job. My friends said I was stupid for doing all this for a man I wasn't even dating; I know if I was in Joel's position, I'd need all the help I could take.

-

It took about 45 minutes of handing out candy for Sarah to get tired, so we left the candy bowl outside and headed inside to get Sarah ready for bed. Joel gives Sarah a bath, and then we get her to bed, which she didn't even fuss about; she just knocked out as soon as her head hit that crib mattress.

We're now sitting on Joel's couch, with Friday the 13th playing on the TV. But we're not even paying attention; it's just background noise for our conversation. "I don't know how to say this…" he whispers as he chuckles. My head cocks to the side as he continues to talk. "With Di, we just kissed at a party, and boom, we were together. " My heart began to beat out of my chest. I've dreamed of something like this happening to me my entire life, but now that it's happening, I felt like I was going to pass out.

"I just really appreciate you doin' all this shit for Sarah and I., and I-I think I'm fuckin in love with you." my eyes widened as he said the word love. I didn't ever think anyone could love me; I always dreamt of it, but I never thought anyone could love me, of all people. I lunge forward, pressing my lips against his. I never thought I could fall in love so fast. Yeah, I knew Joel, and I thought he was cute. But I've gotten to know Joel over the past 3 months. I got to fall in love with every aspect about him. When I pull away, he chases my lips. I placed my hand on his chest to stop him as I giggled. "You're in love with me?"

"Girl, I've been in love with you since I met you."

[restwellsoon]

Hi there hey hello, I’m here for your event. Ya girl has been fighting a cold since Friday night and feels like crap so please bear with me – i have no fucks to give with punctuation rn. It’s a miracle you’re getting periods at the end of the sentences and any capital letters are because these were drafted in word and it was done automatically. Please stand by for three no pressure take as long as you need requests for your cute and fun event.

May I please have a sweet catnap with Jason Todd and Aphrodite? Thank you and please drink water and stay safe and take care of yourself and take breaks as needed ily

Not me forgetting to post this from my drafts 🙃Thanks for your patience, Onyx, and for all the lovely things you sent in for this event!

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Prompt: Aphrodite | I've been searching all my life for something that I won’t regret. Could it be that you're the one I'm looking for?

while you were sleeping

Gotham’s city glow hit all the right places that Jason’s shadow couldn’t hide, casting the curves of your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips in neon. The occasional siren and zooming cars faded as he listened to each of your breaths, every exhale slowing as you fell into a deeper sleep. He used to stay up for hours past the sun and past the moon in anxious torment over the angel in his bed. 

No.

Angel wasn’t the right word. A deity or simply some kind of divine? No, that wasn’t it either.

You rolled over, your leg hitching over his slightly. The sheets rolled and crumpled with you. When you settled, your breath of content was his. 

Jason knew the word. 

His heart.

It was true. Your breath was his as was your rhythm, and the pace you set was steadfast and quiet. It was something true that he could keep in tune.

He used to pace anxiously as you slept in bed, counting down the hours and minutes when you would wake. Years of constant vigilance made it difficult to still of his own accord. If he laid in bed, he could hear the raucous tempo of his thoughts. They blended in with the city noise–the siren, the cars, and on bad nights, the crying, the screams, the gun shots.

His heart used to fall into a discordant rhythm as if something was trying to crawl out of his chest.

It was horrifying, really, and he’d seen some shit.

But like that, you’d strike a chord with your sleep-laced song. It was a hymn, a hum, a request. 

“Come back to bed.”

On the reverb, he’d follow your command. The heart wants what it wants, after all.

It took him a while–weeks, days, months. Some nights would be good, and Jason would stay in bed all night. Other nights were bad. Those were the nights when patrol was better than sitting with worries of a future that might not ever come. 

But still, he came whenever you asked.

Your bedtime routine was practically a military march, and eventually he fell into your cadence. You had one half of the bed but also his half too. Jason didn’t mind the closeness. His heart could keep up and match your chords until one day your song became his.

Jason didn’t pace as much, if even at all. He laid in bed on your angel cloud, his heart your heart, your song his song, and his love was yours to take.

Like most nights now, his eyes weighed down until they shut, and in the darkness, he drew you closer. His heart stirred from around his chest until finally you both were asleep.

A Token of Sleep | event / Jason Todd's Masterlist / Rest's Main M.list

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 16 (Day 5)-Crown/Gentle

Being Emperor isn’t easy. In fact, in some ways, it kind of sucks. Part of a Martin Lives AU. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest  

Nord HoK x Martin Septim 

Warnings- pregnancy

Wordcount- ~1300

***

It was much later than he’d hoped when Martin climbed the stairs up to the Emperor’s Suite, grumbling a little at how many damned stairs were in this tower. It was too late to read Gemille her bedtime story; she’d have been put to bed a good two hours ago now. There were few things he hated more than the way this damned crown took him away from little things like reading to his daughter and tucking her in. 

Once inside the doors of the royal suite and having shut out the rest of the world, he dropped the tall, square-shouldered walk of the Emperor. Ironically, this grand and overly-sumptuous apartment was one of the few places he could just be Martin for a little while. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. 

Gentle arms encircled him, a kiss planted on his cheek as a soft voice asked, “How did it go, love?”

“Longer than it should have. But we’ve got the dispute sorted out. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come see the new Blades taking their oaths. I really wanted to be there.”

“I know. Baurus and I handled things, don’t worry. I’m still technically a Blade myself, among all the other titles. I’m a good substitute for the Emperor when needed.”

He turned, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Aethelfrid! Don’t say that about yourself! You are, among your other titles, Empress of Tamriel. You’re not a substitute, you’re just as important as I am. Considering how we got here, I’d say you’re more important than I am!”

She grinned. “Yeah, but you’re the Septim. Either way, it went very well. Gemille tried to stay up and wait for you, but she had a long day. She barely made it half an hour past bedtime. Come see what she got today.”

They crept over to the door leading into the nursery. Their daughter lay curled up around something wooden, her orange hair a riot around her. As she shifted, Martin got a look at what she held. 

“Is that a wooden sword?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“It is!”

“She’s three!”

“That’s probably when I got my first training sword,” Aethelfrid shrugged. “She won’t do proper lessons just yet, but she can have it and maybe we can do a few small techniques like proper grip. She’s very excited to show you.”

His face softened into a smile again, “She’s so much like you.”

“She’s more like you than you think.”

***

Once they’d come away from the nursery door, Aethelfrid took Martin’s hand and led him to another door, behind which the large bath waited. It was all prepared, enchantments keeping the water warm and inviting. As Aethelfrid pushed the robe off of his shoulders, he took off his crown, frowning at it. 

“I hate this thing,” he muttered. 

“I know, love. But we don’t need it right now.” 

He put it down on a small table, feeling the weight of it fall away. For a little while, it could. It was these few, precious moments that got him through the day, that made the weight of the crown bearable. He sighed again. 

“I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling. I’m sorry, my heart.” He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. 

She was still undoing and pulling off his clothes, and he reached out to the hem of her long tunic, beneath which her stomach had begun to get round again. She giggled. 

“I’m doing just fine. Feeling good. This feels as though it’ll be another strong, Septim child.” She pulled the tunic over her head. “It’s good it’s starting to show. Some of the nobles have been very pissy that we didn’t just have babies back to back to back. I think they just want to keep me busy and out of Council meetings.”

As they settled into the tub together, Aethelfrid’s strong, deft fingers began to message water and soap through Martin’s hair. He leaned back, savoring the feeling. 

“Can I tell you something, my dear?” he asked. 

“Of course.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“I… I wish we could disappear somewhere. Live quiet lives, just you and me and the children. Maybe somewhere near the mountains.” He’d fallen in love with the mountains during their time at Cloud Ruler Temple. “But there’s still so much to be done, even with all the progress we’ve made.” 

Her fingers stopped scrubbing for the briefest second. “I wish we could, too. My family is from Morthal, and it's not too far from there that you could find a little spot in the mountains. Or east closer to Dawnstar. It’s about as far away from everything as you can get.”     

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Let’s retire there. Once the rebuilding’s done and we get everything back on its feet, let’s retire to Skyrim.” 

“Deal.” 

Martin helped Aethelfrid unbraid and wash her hair next. He ran a gentle comb through the flame-orange waves, wondering if their second child would also inherit this color. They made many grand plans as he worked; discussing the house they’d build and where. 

“I’d love a garden,” Martin admitted. “I had one at the chantry in Kvatch. I miss it.” Kvatch was being rebuilt, but even if a new garden was planted, he wouldn’t have the chance to do more than maybe see it. 

“I need a training yard. We also need a library.”

“Of course. And enough room for our family. You said you wanted a big one.”

“I do. It’s a Nord thing. We always have big families.”

Well, I will build the house myself to your exact measurements.”

***

Once they’d bathed, they settled down for a late-night supper. More pressing realities took over the conversation; an envoy from Mournhold arriving in two days’ time, a gala planned for the day after that. The trading guild had a petition about a contract to Hammerfell, and builders in the city wanted to meet about their progress. There was also a feast day coming up quickly, and they’d have to find the ceremonial robes to wear to the temple that day.  

It seemed never-ending, but Aethelfrid was as firm in her commitment as he, and it was less daunting with both of them facing it together. After all, they’d faced down the forces of The Dead Lands and its ruler together. Once you’ve done something like that, the mundane jobs of contracts and noble posturing seemed much less intimidating.

After dinner, they retired to their bed with a book each. Snuggling up, they did a little reading, before returning their attention to the other. 

“I’m sorry for being so grouchy,” Martin kissed his wife’s cheek softly. 

“You have a lot on your plate, love. We both do. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I really wish we could retire to the mountains.”

“We will. We’ll get things back on track and retire to Bruma. Or Morthal, or wherever you want. Falkreath is very pretty and has less snow.” 

“They’re not going to let us just leave like that.”

“When the time comes, we’ll leave before they realize. You have no idea the hidden places and trails and things I found running around doing Hero of Kvatch stuff. I mean it.”

“I would never doubt you on that. And, I hope we can take you up on it.”

“We will. I promise you that.”

***

It took Martin a long time to fall asleep that night. It seemed so impossible! That he could truly leave behind this crown and the weight it carried. But Aethelfrid had done the impossible before. Many times, in fact. He had no doubt she could do so again. One day, he told himself, once we’ve got things back in order. 

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a little farm with a garden and a gaggle of flame-haired children. 

[actuallyadhd]

Hi, I wonder if you have any recommendations on sleeping schedules, I always fall asleep way too late (4am) so I end up waking up past noon, it’s a mess for holding a job and being a “functional adult” in general.

I’ve had this issue my whole life, even as a young kid I would struggle with mornings, but now I have to pay rent so I’m running out of options.

Also, any tip about getting to places on time would be super appreciated.

Thanks for all the info <3

Sent September 28, 2023

Sleep can be really hard. I don't usually go to bed until the wee hours myself, but I blame that on menopause more than anything else, since it wasn't a thing before.

When I had trouble with sleep as a young adult, it was usually because I'd gotten hyperfocused on something and forgot that sleep is good.

What I've found is that having a really basic bedtime routine can help a lot, and I try to follow the same sequence of events regardless of what time I finally start heading to bed. This helps remind my brain and my body that sleep is good, and makes it more likely to happen.

You might have to play around a bit to find what works best for you, but mine is as follows:

Realize I'm sleepy

Feed my guinea pigs

Use the bathroom

Change into pyjamas

Do some puzzles (e.g., Sudoku) until I'm falling asleep while trying to solve them

Some people read until they're falling asleep, but I can't read before bed because I hyperfocus on words and will stay up all night reading.

If you really can't figure out a way to get yourself to bed earlier, look for work that will fit into your sleep schedule. Things like night security, convenience store staff, etc. could work really well for you.

Being on time for things is hard, and different strategies work for different people.

When I was struggling most with being on time, I tried all the things everyone says to do: I had a designated spot to keep things like my keys and my wallet, I set alarms, etc. But I was still late.

Eventually, I figured out that it doesn't matter how ready I am, when I need to leave I will putter around for a while before actually walking out the door. There's always "just one more thing" that I "need" to do before I go. I timed myself, and I was puttering for an hour every time.

So I figured out what time I needed to leave in order to arrive on time (I was living in Calgary, Alberta, at the time, and it took about half an hour to drive anywhere I needed to be), and then I added an hour on to that and adjusted my alarms. I had one go off an hour before I needed to be on my way, and another go off when I needed to be in the car.

Another thing that really helped was having someone message me or call me when I should be on my way, particularly if I was giving them a ride.

These days, most of my things are with friends. I message or text them when I'm leaving, since that tells them when to expect me (I live in the country and am half an hour from the city). This helps deal with frustration and lets them know that I do, in fact, value their time. I'm not late because I don't care, I'm late because time isn't real.

Followers, do you have any thoughts on these issues? How do you deal with matters of sleep and timeliness?

-J

[dragoon811]

I have had a shitty week. Can someone manifest me some good vibes?

Sunday started nice. Monday was a holiday (Family Day) so I got some extra weekend. I was looking forward to it - then Elder Child crawled into my bed just past midnight with a fever.

Monday she stopped eating after lunch (two bites of banana), but was drinking water.

Stayed home Tuesday to help her combat the fever. Wednesday morning she had no fever so my daycare lady was able to take her and I went to work. She kept me updated etc all day.

My gut didn’t like how much she was sleeping so after work I decided to take Elder Child to the children’s hospital. Convinced my husband to pack me a bag, thinking they’d throw Tylenol at us and we’d sit in the waiting room for 8 hours to be told it’s an ear infection/sinus infection…. But I got home to her and her fever returned. (And my period started. JOY.)

Loaded her into the stroller, threw myself in, and off we went! Waited in line at triage.

Triage called us, we weighed her, we talked. And I said I was concerned because she hadn’t eaten, the fever was back, my sister was diabetic and I was starting to worry because when she was sleeping I couldn’t rouse her easily, and her breath smelled and basically asked them to check her blood sugar.

So they did. (This was NOT an enjoyable experience for Elder Child.) it was at 2 - new to how Canadians measure shit, I’m really glad the little screen added in red: “CRITICAL LOW”.

The nurse made a phone call and stressed, surprised, that Elder Child was alert.

Upon the second attempt at a reading because it was low, Elder Child was more prepared. She kicked, she fought, she puked all over herself, and bolted for the emerge doors.

Ok. Skip a second test. (Note: I did not pack spare clothes.)

We were taken right back to a room in the emergency wing. Unsettling.

Then a flurry of people - a lady trying to help Elder Child adjust and calm down. Nurses. Doctors asking questions. (Another note - I have not slept well in 2 weeks, am hearing impaired, and now overwhelmed and scared. Not a good combo.)

Gave Elder Child a nasal spray to calm her (this resulted in another bolting for freedom, also thwarted), another blood check….and once the spray started to work, we tried to prep her for an IV/blood draw.

This was ALSO strongly disliked. More holding her down. I did a lot of crying.

We went through the symptoms - tummy hurting, drinking some water but hadn’t peed in like 6-7 hours, fever, sleeping constantly, not eating. Ended up doing ultrasound, X-ray. Ten bottles of blood (and she FREAKED). Finally got her to pee. Yes, she peed on me.

Refused food. Refused popsicles. Refused juice. Started IV - first sugar bolus. Then hydration. We named the IV robot Frank. Elder Child, loopy from the spray, patted it and told it it was doing a good job. Also, during our walk to ultrasound, said she was Frank’s pet puppy and he was taking her for a walk, see her leash? 😅

Spent the night. (Another note: my daycare kept her sister until bedtime. And we arranged to take her as soon as she woke up because we cannot trust my husband with her care.) Lots more holding her down and blood checks.

Also please note: Elder Dragoon wails and screams when distressed. She was very distressed. I felt really sorry for the staff because I couldn’t calm her.

In the morning she managed to eat a bit! Yay! Tried to disconnect the iv - sugar went down. Hooked her back up. Spent the day trying to get her to drink 100ml of apple juice.

Ended up discharged at almost 4pm - diagnosis: fever, causing hypoglycemia. Apparently kids don’t have as much stores as adults and the fever was burning through what she DID have.

So I spent today waking her every 4 hours and getting her to eat or drink. It took her an hour to drink half a juice box. But by dinner today she was improved and actually had food. And accepted popsicles.

Still have to get her eating or drinking again in about 20min. Then set the timer back.

I just want a full REM cycle of sleep. I am SO fucking tired.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ritchie Herron

Published: Sep 9, 2023

Swaying side to side, I’ve finally conceded that it’s time to go to bed. In the blur of my tired eyes, a pixelated clock signals it’s about to hit 2:50 a.m. The day’s been quite a long one, I’m exhausted and have been kept awake by both my mind and body. Pains of the past I’d rather not be reminded of, but are forced through via a body that has certainly not forgotten. Pain aside, the anguish is enough to keep me awake.

No matter, perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

Slamming ungracefully onto the double bed, as is routine, both BB and Harley come for a bedtime cuddle, making it difficult not to feel at least joyous by their presence. I’m tired enough that I’ll drift off in seconds. I hope I don’t dream tonight.

Laying on my right side, I can’t hear a thing as I’m completely deaf in that ear, not even the buzzing of multiple alarms set on my phone. Barely half awake, I’m growing increasingly aware that the back of my head is cold and damp as if I’d just jumped out of a pool. Just slightly, I lift my head to swap out the pillow for a fresher one next to me. The heaviness of the pillow is made apparent when I throw it down the side of my bed, weighted like a sponge absorbing water. The night sweats come and go, it doesn’t matter if I stop taking hormones, or take hormones.

A furry glove has been gently prodding my half-awake face for the last twenty minutes. He’s growing impatient, it’s way past breakfast time. With a soothing and loud purr, the gentle taps on my face end, as Harley ever so slightly unsheathes his claws, probing my face with tiny needles. Now I’m fully awake.

The discomfort that started at the back of my wet head, from sweating all through the night, is complimented by the sensation that my spine was crushed. I’m in agony, the back pain started about three months after surgery. Perhaps it’s related? Perhaps not, it doesn’t matter at this point.

As if automated, I begin shedding the pillowcases and duvet covers in preparation to be washed. Harley’s head is bunting my lower back, as he reminds me of my duty to feed him. After doing so, I pluck a fresh towel, throw it over the glass barrier, and turn on the shower. Feeling quite nauseous, it was only the cats that had breakfast, I simply can’t in the morning. The saliva that’s lining my mouth is signalling to me that I probably will throw up. Starring down the toilet bowl, I take deep breaths, doing what I can to prevent being sick with a dry throat. It’s like my body is reacting to being poisoned, and it’s doing what it can to expel it.

Stepping into the shower, I begin scrubbing my face. My fingertips scan over patches of facial hair, beneath the lip, nose, and some on the chin and cheek, as if I was reading a brail message encoded on my face. It’s been a few days since I’ve shaved those random areas, which got worse when I took testosterone in 2022. The sheer volume of facial hair removal sessions, electrolysis and laser, means that it won’t grow back properly, at least not for now. Turning off the shower, I wrap the towel around my body, hiding the breasts and lack of male genitalia as I walk back towards my room. Navigating disorganised drawers, I catch a glimpse of my naked body from the large cupboard mirror. It’s curvy in a way that it shouldn’t be, and not quite in proportion either, like a crushed hourglass. My eyes scan downwards, and as soon as they meet my lower torso, the examination stops. It’s too early in the morning to think about this shit.

In the kitchen, I’ve carved out a little office space, where I’ve worked solidly at home for the last three years. Lockdown was a nightmare, I know, but not for me. I get so much more done working in my own space, away from the noise and bright lights of the office. After an hour of going through my morning work routine, I’m pulled out of focus by a sharp sting, which normally happens after sitting down for an hour or so. It’s my pelvic region. It’s worse than usual, some days are better than others, but today is one of the bad ones.

Normally the warmth of the shower in the morning, is enough to relax the urethral passage, making using the toilet a little bit easier, but again, not today. I’ve been sitting on the toilet for about five minutes, and nothing is coming out, though not for the lack of trying. I begin psyching myself up, almost preparing the muscles to open, knowing that the final push will sting a bit.

A dribble begins. Okay, we’re in business. Do the pelvic exercises like the nurse told you and relax your bottom half, whilst slowly breathing outwards. The tiny stream slightly increases in velocity, allowing for a short-lived burst to emerge, before turning itself off like a tap. Inpatient at the sudden stoppage, I forcibly press the muscles trying to squeeze out the final drops, but that too isn’t enough. It still hasn’t stopped though, it’s just coming slowly. Again, as I was taught, I began rocking back and forth, side to side, attempting to empty any lingering urine. I’m confident enough to stand up, whilst holding some toilet tissue on the area, knowing more dribble will occur.

Upon returning to my desk, only thirty minutes pass before the sensation of a full bladder hits me again, and I go back and repeat the routine. By mid-day, I’ve done this several times, and no matter how careful I am, the dribble never seems to end and my underwear needs changing already.

Finally, the workday is over, but I still haven’t eaten. Instead, I’ve been drinking water and coffee all day, it’s the only thing I can keep down without bringing it back up. Far too tired to even think about cooking, I’ll go have a nap and see where it takes me. Like a magnet, I’m pulled towards my bed and collapse in tiredness. I’m probably going to ruin my sleeping pattern if I don’t set an alarm, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere and I’ve got nowhere to be.

The three-hour nap I’ve just stormed through is brought to another sweaty end. Though it had nothing to do with night sweats this time, but the terrors that come with dreaming. Can I call it dreaming? They’re not quite nightmares, though they’re far from pleasant, I don’t think I’ve ever had a nice dream in my life, at least one I can remember anyway. The setting is always the same. A house that looks like it’s about to be condemned, water is leaking from the ceilings, and the wood slats on the windows are hanging off broken hinges, searching for cats and finding corpses.

That dream’s the very least distressing, there are about half a dozen that play on repeat. Some are graphic, some aren’t, and some have very clear symbology. But others are utterly confusing, such as the dream where I’m just screaming at myself not to go, but the screams are aching my throat as no matter how hard I press to create a sound, it’s muted, and the person I’m screaming at is myself during transition.

Around 7:00 p.m., a welcome needle mitten saves me from the chain of dreams. I’m not annoyed at him this time, I’m grateful for the reminder, that the dream was a dream, and nothing more.

More alert now, my hand searches down my body on its own accord. The long muted sex drive, dampened by years of SSRi’s, hormones and surgery flickers like a star, but it’s still there, it’s just dim. Not being able to do anything without lubricants, I begin thinking about searching out a fresh tube, but by the time I’ve got up, the moments passed, only to be swapped for a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration. Standing to leave the bed, I suddenly remember my reality. Even the disturbing dreams were better than what I’ve just awoken to.

Fuck this, I need a cig. Should have given up ages ago, but what does it matter now, really? What health, what future? What am I preserving myself for? Listen, I’m not about to roll over and die or give up, I just see the issues stacking up, getting worse as I get older, more complicated. Back inside the house, it’s now approaching 8:00 p.m. Every game I try to play, or any movie or TV show I begin to watch doesn’t last more than a few minutes, before becoming bored and frustrated. Another cigarette perhaps? Fuck it, why not? I’m not doing anything else.

Damn it. Why does everything feel so unnecessarily difficult again? I just want to pack this up and forget about it, but I can’t. I’m swaying side to side in the hopes that motion will take me forward, but I’m stuck right here, with these thoughts. What am I waking up for?

My mind’s running away from me again, I don’t feel any satisfaction from the recently inhaled smoke. Perhaps an evening walk will do it? Not far, but enough to maybe tire myself out. Let’s go. It’s dark enough that I can get away with a baggy hoody, no need to bind or anything like that. The chest growth is quite apparent, especially with clothes my size, which is why I opt for two or three sizes bigger.

There’s a great deal of beauty in the world, and I like being part of it. Walking through forests, hearing the crashes of waves on long, empty Northumbrian beaches. But I can’t go far or do as I used to. Exercise generally is out of the question, it angers my scar area into a red rage of inflammation. Wherever I go, I have to think about the limitations, that really, no one my age who was healthy, should ever be thinking about. The level of medical care required to sustain my ongoing issues is nothing short of geriatric. All the physical issues aside, they all pale in comparison to the angst, betrayal and grief I hold for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t sit and wallow in misery all day every day, that’s boring and tiring. Trans-age is valid because I feel a thousand fucking years old.

Daylight hours are becoming noticeably shorter at this time of year. Just a few weeks ago, going out at precisely the same time would be met with beaming sunshine, but now it’s more or less dark. I’m not straying too far, knowing if I push it more than a couple of miles I’ll be paying for it for days.

Less than a quarter of a mile away from home, I’m walking down a familiar long path, which seemingly changes with the seasons. Now it was starting to be littered with recently discarded leaves, carpeting the path in a slippery-like surface. I’m almost holding my arms out like I’m walking a tightrope, as the grip on my trainers is making the lack of friction even more severe.

Navigating the minefield of slippery leaves, I’ve neglected my surroundings, something I normally never do. With a natural disposition of being hyper-aware, I’m normally quite observant of others, but not this evening. I’ve arrived at a point where I can’t just turn around without making it look that way. The group of young lads, probably in their late teens or early twenties are partially blocking the pathway ahead of me. One is on a BMX bike, swaying it back and forth between his legs. The cover of darkness is betrayed by a freshly changed bulb in the street light, which is emitting an almost day-like level of light around the group. Their conversation has stopped dead in the water as I approach.

The ear-over headphones I’m wearing aren’t playing any music. As soon as I realised the group was present, I feigned changing tracks, but instead paused to listen, just in case. They’re silent, they say nothing as I pass by, spotlighted by the streetlight. A small sense of relief hits me before I hear:

“Faggot.” Did I hear that right? Don’t look. Look ahead, pretend you’re listening to music. Several slow-motion paces later, my heart feels like it’s beating in my head, the pulse is strong as if the headphones are playing a heavy bass track. Are they following? I raise my eye to the corner, to not turn my head to see if the shadows of the streetlight have moved. They haven’t. Keep walking.

Now I feel like a coward, it’s almost like being back at school, with the other guys knowing I can’t do anything about their insults and put-downs. But I’m a grown man in his 30’s, who should be able to handle himself, it’s disarming, emasculating and annoying. I’ll not be walking that way for a while.

Home now, the adrenaline rush is showing signs of receding. It’s not every day that happens, but it’s happening more than I anticipated. Especially workmen in white vans, and they’re always in threes. Ever notice that? Anyway, piercings and earrings don’t help, but I’ll take the risk, I like the look. Fuck them. Suddenly, I’ve remembered what I ran away from, to begin with, how men especially treat those they see as soft easy targets. Another cigarette is lined on my lips, loaded and ready to damage my health. The fourth one in less than two hours. Fuck it, what does it matter? No wait, I’ve been down this line of thought already, just smoke the damn thing already.

A sharp pain comes out of nowhere. Scrunching my face in discomfort and breathing through the ache, I concluded that it was most certainly an injury sustained from trying not to slip and walking faster after the earlier incident. Man, it feels like something is dislodged inside, it’s not, it just feels that way. So I go to the bathroom and use the topical cream, allowing me to ‘inspect myself’. It’s like it’s itching, but probably the early signs of inflammation. The only way to get some relief is to lay flat, but I’m not tired or ready for bed yet.

The temptation to mindlessly scroll on social media hasn’t quite left me, but I’m trying. Having recently removed the apps from my phone, I’ve come to realise it was just another distraction. There’s no healing to be had listening to narratives about how mutilated you are, ruined even, or worse; some sort of cartoonish demon that is responsible for the collapse of society. I’m tired. It’s all so exhausting. And I don’t need it. I live with the reminders and will do so until the day I die.

By around 11:00 pm, I still couldn’t focus, so I began chatting to others like me, others who went through transition, some happy in it, some not. Those the most harmed by this, who are resigned to ruin and regret; I’d never dream of lying to them, to tell them it’ll get better. It won’t, this is forever. Our challenge is not temporary, it’s permanent, and that permeance was lost on us in the haze of transition.

The grief of those around me reminds me of my own. It gets worse the younger they are, those few, yet vital years spent as an adult made a hell of a difference. No wonder some of them return to their trans identity. We never dreamed we would end up here, but here we are. We have traded a promise of a life and community, for what we had before; loss and confusion. The fear of ‘going back’ is aligned to this thought, because what we’re going back to are problems we never faced to begin with.

In some ways, we were always ruined, even before we manifested that onto our bodies. So, what now? Would you like a pep talk? Do you want to reassure me that it’s difficult, but it’ll get better? Nah, you don’t want that, and I don’t want to hear you make promises you can’t keep, Let’s do something else instead. Let’s be realistic.

From the rubble of ruin, I’m doing the only thing that I can, and slowly rebuilding my life through recovery. After all, there’s still blood in my body, air in my lungs, and a fury within my heart that burns bright. I’m far from defeated, but I am tired.

The digital clock is alerting me once more, that it’s nearly 3:00 a.m. I should get to bed.

Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

==

Genderists, if they acknowledge this at all, will say that Ritchie only has himself to blame. You know, because "people know who they are," their "gender" is unquestionable, and they never get it wrong.

He no longer has testicles or a penis, so no longer produces normal male levels of testosterone. If he was to take exogenous testosterone, he would grow in-grown hair inside his neo-vagina, inside a hole that he has to keep forcing open, because his body keeps trying to close it over. But without testosterone, his body remains in a weird quasi-feminine yet sexless state.

This is the gory reality hidden behind the happy brand name of "gender affirming care."

[inolescens]

the curse of the wife beater

a satire huening kai horror story because im insane

It was way past my bedtime. I knew that because my alarm went off hours ago. Despite this fact, I scrolled through my Pinterest mindlessly. My eyes tiredly glazed over the array of random Asian men the algorithm had recommended to me. I was just about to turn my phone off when something caught my eye...

A picture of Huening Kai. I mean, I had seen pictures of him before but... that tank top he wore made me laugh. "Wife beater" is what my friend Gloria called them. Someone as cute as him wearing something like that? Pfft...

I peeked at the clock, 11:21PM. It was getting late. I quickly saved the picture to my gallery and went to sleep, silently giggling to myself at the image.

I remember tossing in my sleep, I could hear Kai whisper in my ear. "You think it's funny? Wait to see what I have in store for you." I knew I was dreaming, but I swear I could feel his warm breath on my ear and his weight shift on my right side as he crawled into my bed to torment me.

I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to deal with this stupid dream anymore.

Sooner or later, the sound of my blaring Talk that Talk alarm filled my ears. I jolted up, rubbing my tiredness out of my eyes. I didn't want to go to school but I knew what I had to do. I ended up getting ready for school, nearly falling asleep about three times in the process. I quickly grabbed a container of yogurt and ate it quickly, tossing the container into the trash. I slipped on my shoes and left out of the door, beginning my on-foot trudge to my least favorite place on Earth. My backpack felt a dozen times heavier and my shoes felt tight.

When I was close to the building I swear I saw Kai across the street, staring dead into my eyes. But when I blinked, he was gone. Man, I should've taken melatonin. I walked into the building and shoved everything into my locker. I was already late and I couldn't waste any more time with my hallucinations. I grabbed my book and went to class.

I sat in my usual seat, next to Gloria. Soon, the teacher came in. "Good morning class!" I was already half asleep. "We have a new student today!" My head jolted up like the Black Mamba when it senses it's newest meal. Just when I thought my day was going bad enough.

A boy walked in..I have to be hallucinating.

Kai, that same wife beater that haunted my dreams on full display. I felt sick. "He's so cute!" Gloria practically squealed. "Are you kidding? He... I had a nightmare about him. And he's a Korean celebrity!"

I gasped awake, seeing we were in the middle of a lesson. It was just a dream. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" Gloria asked, looking up from her workbook. She was already getting on my nerves.

"Yeah... It was stupid." I daydreamed throughout the rest of the lesson. Gloria said that she was gonna give me the homework answers so it didn't matter.

The school day went by fast, memories of the night before and my hallucinations disturbing me. When I went to the bathroom during the passing period, I saw him in the mirror behind me. At lunch, I was afraid to eat because I thought he had poisoned me. All of this was because of a random image I thought was funny.

I went back home, collapsing onto the couch. "Why is this happening? Am I going crazy?" I cried to myself silently. I took out my phone and went to my gallery, deciding to rid myself of this curse. All I saw was the same image, over and over again. I dropped my phone, the screen turning into a green web of cracks.

I screamed, panting heavily. "Honey, what's wrong?" My mom walked into the living room, a concerned expression on her face. "I've been hallucinating so bad today, Mom!" I yelped, grabbing onto her work scrubs since she was a nurse.

She allowed me to skip school for the rest of the week, but she sent me to a therapist. After hearing about my issue, the therapist suggested that I go to a mental health facility.

The facility blamed it on my phone usage. When I got locked in the room I looked down at the socks they gave me. Why have I been cursed? I thought.

I looked up. "You thought you could get rid of me that easily? Pathetic."

I cried for the last time.

SHOUTOUT TO MY BEST FRIEND @c0sm1c-f3l1n3 AND THE VOICES IN MY HEAD. (This isn't supposed to be well written it's just meant to be silly and stupid think 2013 Wattpad)

[luminousvision]

a personal opinion

Dad always left at eight in the morning, maybe five past eight if he was really running behind. This performance was a fact of this world, like the rise of the sun, so firmly established I couldn’t remember when I had last questioned it. This world had many such facts. We did not eat out when we had food in the fridge. My brother and I cleaned our bedrooms on Tuesdays, bathrooms on Saturdays, and we did not receive an allowance even into middle school. Darlin’, mom said when I got exactly two books for Christmas again, knowledge will fly higher than any toy plane could ever dream.

I unwrapped a classic: Catch-22. I cracked open the pages despite my disappointment and ended up taking it to school to get my friends to laugh. And when I found the opportunity to be Major Major, I jumped. My homeroom teacher dropped a fat packet on each of our desks, a state test that didn’t count for a grade. I bubbled in A-C-A-D-E, chewed on the eraser, and went backwards with E-D-A-C-A. I drew patterns, taking particular care to avoid getting too many questions correct. I turned the test in with two hours left. I pulled out Catch-22 with a smirk and read for the rest of the day.

I had sinned, and it was good. I pushed my bedtime by half an hour. I asked Nicole to the school dance. I demanded an allowance. My parents kept their bedroom lights on much longer that night and offered me five dollars a week the next morning. I took it. At eight sharp, my dad left for work, and this time, I almost stopped him.

I could have asked why he left for work, or why he walked through that door without a smile, or even why it was him, not mom. But instead, I was very quiet at dinner until he asked me if I had tried the peas. Did he know he was going to leave at eight every day when he was my age, I asked. Dad said he never expected to value punctuality so much. Mom said it’s easier to stick to a routine. I stopped pushing my rice around, cleaned the plate, and left the table first, retreating into my room. At the computer, I dug into the lives of astronauts, policemen, and petroleum engineers. I checked when modestly successful authors and film directors retired and what their houses looked like when they did. 

When I came out, it was late. Mom was at the dinner table, staring at a single line at the top of an otherwise blank notebook page, pencil against her chin. A TOEFL book lay on the table. Personal statements are very hard to write, she said. All her life, she had written about facts, events, reasons: the hows, whys, thens, and becauses of everybody else. But never had she been asked to hold an opinion, a personal opinion at that. They don’t let you teach kids unless you write about your opinions, she said. You would have to leave at six-thirty every day though, I replied. Well, we said together, there’s always summer break.

I lay in bed, mouthing the prompt that stumped mom. Write about a time you disagreed with those around you. What did you do and why? I bit my nails, looked at Catch-22 on my bookshelf and then at the clock. They were coming, and if I wasn’t ready, they’d collect at the front door at eight every morning. The cutting sounds of my teeth sliced through the night. I threw off the sheets, shook my computer awake and opened a new document, a white expanse led by a cursor blinking with the calm of infinite patience. Here, I would craft a world they could not come for, one they would never reach.

[jaejoongs-nipple-piercing]

I’m writing this a day early because I’ll be too much of a mess tomorrow. This is a split post: half for Kim Jonghyun and half for my grandma.

For Jonghyun: I wish I would have tried harder in 2016 to go to your fanmeet in Dallas. I know it’s too far away and I would have had to take a plane to get there but I wanted to meet you so bad. I wanted to give you a hug, I wish I could have told you how well you were doing and that you have since inspired me to attempt one of my dreams of writing again. I’m not in the best place mentally the last few years and I’ve been crying more than I’ll ever admit but your songs as 5 help me get through things. In fact, I listened to your cover of Y Si Fuera Ella again yesterday on the way back home from my walk, and as soon as the instruments started my tears just fell out. Luckily I’ve been walking these roads since I was 5-6 so I know what I’m doing. Anyway, even though I never got to meet you I do still miss you. And it’s harder than ever this year because you left on my grandmas birthday and now she’s gone too. So as strange as it sounds, if there’s any way at all that you see this Jonghyun, can you please watch over an 88 year old woman named Marjorie for me? I miss her a lot too.

Grandma: I hate that you had to go through so much pain the last few years. I hate that in the process of going through the chemo and radiation that it ruined your lungs. I hate that someone decided to take you away from me, from us when you weren’t supposed to go yet. You wanted to have a big celebration on your 90th birthday so in honor of you I will celebrate the way you wanted. And if I have to take that day off from work then I will. I know we weren’t very close like we were when I was a kid and I feel bad about it. I’m so sorry. I wanted to visit more but I had to work. And you know you weren’t supposed to be driving, that’s why I didn’t want you to take me up to work. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore, it was for your safety.

I miss helping you with sewing projects. I miss making sun dried raisins with you. I miss picking blackberries over the summer in the back yard. I miss the fun sleepovers, the Christmas decorations you always had out. Your cute sleeping Santa that I would stare at for hours after we finished eating because I was so sure he would wake up at some point. I miss playing with your Barbie’s as a kid and you telling me they can’t be nude “you have to put clothes on the babies” you would say. We would stay up late and watch movies and eat popcorn way past our bedtime.

Your house isn’t the same anymore. There’s a ramp outside. Everyone is always gone. And Ethan has your phone now. They don’t want us to call your house your house anymore. But I promise you, it will always be Grandmas’ House. I hate the things that took you away and though it didn’t hit me at first it really has the last few months. And I honestly might never open the gift you got me for my birthday but if I do, then that’s it. No more presents from grandma and I don’t want that so I’m putting it off as long as I can. And I don’t have a safe place in my room to put it right now.

Thank you for teaching me how to embroider, I use some of the basic stitches to sew up my clothes so I don’t have to buy more. Thank you for letting us eat raw cookie dough even though it’s bad for us. Thank you for letting me sleep with you in your bed when I was little and scared. Thank you for the black and white striped dress you made me in 5th grade and for all the pajamas you made for me and the rest of us. Thank you for letting us hide in your house for 6 long months in 2015, I know that was hard on you but it really helped us. Thank you for the horse quilt you made me for my 13th birthday and the Quillow you and mom made me with shoes and Betty Boop. Thank you for all the sheets and pillowcases you made and embroidered for me over the years, I still have them all. Thank you for the shoe-shaped ring holder and the necklaces with the interchangeable watch kit. Thank you for letting me pick through your American Girl books and take the ones I wanted. Thank you for letting me play in your kitten heels that you always kept hidden under your bed. Thank you for making us waffles the morning after the slumber parties. Thank you for taking me to that fair where I got my cute little beaded cat necklace, I wear it almost every Halloween. And for the little fuchsia and teal striped plush fish.

I miss all of that, and I miss you.

[missdbrill]

I feel like I am either in the most confusing or the simplest relationship of all time. He says what he thinks. Literally. And is very literal about everything. I am forever trying to read between the likes and analysing what he really means. But what if he means exactly what he says 🤔 I seem to misinterpret everything he tells me according to him. When he said he wants to think short term he says he meant generally but not that our relationship is short-term. Whenever I question anything be says he m its so much simpler than what I make it out to be. Sometimes I question if he gas lighting me. But then I don't know if I am thinking that from past bad experiences. This relationship makes me feel like I kmow nothing about relationships.

But then for example this weekend, he's out Friday night, well at his mates house. Jad a few drinks and sends me the most loving messages. Tells me I'm one in a million, knows how rare I am etc. Saturday morning it joyfully continues, such loving messages

Saying he can't wait to see me. Go round there and it is amazing. But he's so quiet in person now. When we have sex all the compliments seems to have gone, the reassurances that he wants me forever. As the evening went on it almost felt dull. I felt lacking in attention from him but maybe I expect too much. He was being his usual loving and caring self. I don't know what more I was lookikg for really. I guess I miss when he truly adored me. Then bedtime cane and it took me an hour to get him to come to bed. And that seems to happen a lot nowadays. He's never eager to come to bed, he just wants to be on the sofa. It doesn't make sense to me. We only get this one night and all I want is to cuddle up to him. It's nearly 1am when he finally comes and cue me having an absolute meltdown. I don't know if it was justified or not. I think it was late and I felt neglected. I wonder if the problem lies with me. Do I again expect too much? Or get worked up over nothing. I told him I was struggling with how little time we get together, how the weekends have become so short with losing half of Saturday most weeks. Because I sacrificed the Fridays so he could always get a lie in after his long week. But I feel like surely Sundays there should be more effort in return. We go to bed so late Saturday and then he sleeps half of Sunday. Does he really wven care anymore? Am I being mugged off? I went through a stage of feeling like he only wanta me for sex, but that's not true as he still comes over when the kids are here and makes a real effort with them. Them today was the strangest day yet. Sunday and we didn't have sex at all. No morning sex. No afternoon sex. I mentioned I wanted sex and didn't get it. We went for a walk and I mentioned I was sad we hadn't had sex, got back and still mo sex. Questioned why not and got no response. That is what I struggle with. In person he simply doesn't respond. I don't know if it's disrespectful or what. I don't get any answers. I just get silence. And I get so tired of the silence. He never tries to make conversation with me. I don't know how to feel about that. I have never seen him with his friends but I have no doubt he isn't quiet around them. I don't know what it is.

So today we had no sex for the first time ever on a weekend day. And somehow it felt bad yet good. I feel like it shows sex doesn't completely underpin our relationship. That we can have a day without it and the relationship won't fall apart. Although I still don't truly understand and still feel rejected.

I do love him so very much but I don't always understand him. I don't know what any of it means. He felt like my soulmate. Yet 1 year on we have almost gone backwards in our relationship. We see each other less and there is def less effort from him. I just wish he would open up more so I could get a better idea of where his head is at. I want it to be him ❤️

[savbeachy1]

Week 2 - Digital Detox (Social Media Experiment)

            For this week’s assignment, we were challenged to alter our typical social media habits. After completing my technology usage log, I found that my biggest issues with screen time were after finishing homework and before going to bed. For the purpose of this experiment, I've set two specific rules to help me in breaking these habits, and to introduce new ways of stimulating my brain. The first rule was to not use any form of technology after doing homework for at least 1-2 hours, depending on how long I used my laptop for assignments, notes, etc. The second rule was to put my phone up an hour and a half before bedtime, and to not check it right before I went to sleep. 

Instead of resorting to my usual norm of spending an hour on Tik Tok after doing homework, I played a game of solitaire, deep cleaned, and meal prepped. In the past, I believed that scrolling on my phone was a way to "brain drain" after working on various assignments. Though, I realized that it actually does the opposite and makes me feel less productive. I discovered that using technology after already using technology makes me feel lazy and sluggish. It was difficult at first, because all I wanted to do was move from my desk to my bed so I could rot and watch videos. But, I was able to accomplish so many things then I normally would have, and I didn’t feel pressed for time. Playing solitaire genuinely allowed me to clear my head and reset myself in a sense. Taking the time to clean for a short period enabled me to not spend hours on Sunday cleaning. 

I've always heard people say that putting your phone up an hour before bed helps you sleep better, but I never thought it would have as big as an impact as it did. Around 7:30pm I set my phone on the charger screen down, and I started to re-read one of my favorite books. After that, I journaled and did my nails with my roommate. As silly and girly as it sounds, I have never fallen asleep quicker, apart from taking sleeping pills of course. It felt weird, because for so long I've trained my brain to think that watching Tik Toks is how I’m supposed to fall asleep. Though I felt so relaxed and at peace that it barely took me 10 minutes before I was passed out sleeping soundly. The best thing was that I woke up energetic and ready to take on the day. 

In closing, I was quite surprised to see how out of touch I was with these simple mundane habits. I learned that I need to take more accountability and put forth increased effort towards the small things. If I want to be more productive and involved with myself, I need to continue following these rules. 

Thanks for reading!

[mdaah]

What if we have another Nibling story?

Context: Another 2 of my niblings came to stay this past weekend (a different 2 from the last story) Also, I now have a job which means that most days, I am working from early afternoon till late evening.

My mum planned a few things to do over the weekend, mainly activities for the niblings as I wouldn’t be present most of the time.

On the Saturday, whilst I was working my mum took the niblings to the cinema, whilst my dad stayed at home with my brother. They would be gone from around 6 till I finished work so Dad was instructed to have a curry for tea (this will be important later) Everyone has a good time, Saturday done.

Sunday however, is where things go wrong. Mum planned for us to go to a park in the morning but she overslept. Dad didn’t wake her up, with the excuse “I didn’t know you wanted to go out, and if you did you should have got up yourself” , despite knowing the plan. The morning is wasted and time for me to work. Mum drops me off, has a coffee and stays for a while. During this time, my dad decides ‘hey niblings, let’s go to a playground that we can walk to!’ (That is an imagined sentence as I wasn’t there)

Context: this ‘playground’ is not the park that my mum planned to go to, is about 1/2 an hours walk from our house and doesn’t contain any play equipment whatsoever.

Context: these two of my niblings are quite picky eaters so any mes my mum prepares for them are specifically planned

My dad phones my mum and askes her to pick them up. By this point it is around tea time so my mum goes to prepare 2 burgers for the niblings, but only finds one…

Mum(m): I swear there were two burgers here

Dad(d): I had one for tea last night

M: but I told you to have the curry!

D: but I only finished putting [brother] to bed at 9:30 and couldn’t be bothered to make the curry

M: but you knew that I had them saved for the niblings!

D: you never told me that they were serving a special purpose!

M: I literally went shopping for bits for the niblings yesterday! Did you not think about that?

…So yeah, he ignored my mum’s instructions, and of course it wasn’t his fault!

After the niblings finished tea they went to meet with their parents so they could go home.

When my mum, dad and brother got home (around 9) my brother wanted to watch tv. Straight away my dad was like ‘ok let’s go’, but mum interrupted and said no since it was at least 2 hrs past my brothers bedtime and he had to get up early the day after.

Also, at some point during the day, my dad received a phone call from his daughter (my half sister and the mother of the niblings from the previous story) who is in holiday who said that she and her kids could come up to ours for the day next week. Without checking with my mum to see if we already had plans, he suggested doing something that would leave us with little time for me to prepare for work.

Context: my half sister used to be a hair stylist and a while ago I asked her to dye my hair, due to our current jobs, it’s been hard to find a time where we were both free. The scheduled day is one of the only times we are both free. My mum later asked my dad…

M: what about mdaah’s hair?

D: she can do it after

M: no, mdaah has to work!

…meaning that my hair shall remain un dyed for a while longer.

So what have we learned today? My dad is lazy, unable to take responsibility for his actions, out of touch with the local area, disregarding of pre-made plans, and is a bed-time breaker in order to watch tv, and is wilfully ignorant of my work shifts.

[andrewkhurst]

SPA DAY I: HOW I INADVERTENTLY BECAME AN INMATE OF GUANTANAMO BATH.

It was 6:34pm on a Tuesday. I was basking in the glorious post teatime, pre bedtime golden hour, a time to reflect on the day and do the dishes or coral a billion toys back into their clearly labelled boxes, where they would languish until 5:59am the next day, when their great Liberator would once more grant their freedom to lay on the floor under dad’s feet. Martha had turned the bathtub into a ‘spa’. Poor mum had been in the bath with Martha for about twenty-three hours as usual. Once a penguin floated past her face on a tiny iceberg, she decided that it was time to get out. Martha didn’t follow suit. She shouted “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD”, which was normally the signal to tell Alexa to cease playing some maudlin Radiohead B-Sides on the kitchen smart speaker while I washed up, and head up to get her out of the bath and ready for bed. Today was different. In a bad way. I got up to the bathroom, and saw my Smurf blue wife wrapped in a bath towel, and my daughter still in the bath. “Dad, come in to my spa, it’s still open”. Oh fuck.

I went to our bedroom and hopped into my flamingo patterned swim shorts, then physically and emotionally took the plunge.Martha the Spa owner told me to relax in the ice bath. Once she could see that her spa client was suitably ‘relaxed’ (i.e. in the early stages of hypothermia), Martha promptly placed a wet flannel over my face and proceeded to get all Guantanamo on me by pouring a plastic measuring jug of cold water over the flannel ‘to relax you daddy’.I told her it was NOT relaxing, but a thing called ‘waterboarding’ or simulated drowning, and actually in direct contravention to the Geneva Convention, ESPECIALLY in a household setting as opposed to a Dark Ops site in an isolated shipping container in some far-flung land, manned by shadowy CIA operatives with an agenda, and a list of confessions to tick off. She didn’t care. The Geneva Convention did not apply in Martha’s spa.

Deep joy. By the time we were out of the bath, I had confessed to being an integral part of the Al Qaeda cell that plotted the September 11 terror attacks, a key fundraiser for the IRA during the 1980s, The mysterious tramp-trousered gunman spotted by several witnesses behind the picket fence on the grassy knoll in Dallas who really killed JFK 8 and a half years before I was born, and the absolute thieving bastard who stole the bottle of gold top milk from our neighbour’s doorstep the previous Tuesday (but seriously, who gets milk left on a doorstep in this day and age and in this post code?) I also asked the court for up to two million other offences to be taken into consideration. Then I got Martha dressed in her pyjamas and read 32 Little Miss books before bedtime, while mum enjoyed the second half of golden hour by climbing inside the tumble drier set to a cotton dry setting in order to defrost from her stint in the spa.