#am I dissociating to the high heavens?

[frickityfrackityfuckingshit]

I think I’m a wild spirit trapped within my human body. I have no powers, no domain, but I am larger than this form and just want to escape. I’m trapped within it. Is this punishment? What could I do to deserve this?

The offerings to my temple bore me, but I consume them anyway (I need it to stay alive).

It carries me around and moves at my command but I’m still trapped. So trapped. I feel like I’m suffocating (the skin is too tight).

Words come out forcefully, it tires my spirit I need to rest. (I breathe out instead of making a sound)

Sometimes I’ll lie down and close my eyes and the world will spin around me and I’ll feel so close to what I miss but then I fall asleep and wake up and still be held captive within this temple of mine and I look after it because what else am I meant to do?

[elodieunderglass]

the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

[ibarkatpeoplewoofwoofbitch]

EVE AND LILITH THEORY

Okay so we don't know why lilith went missing for seven years. But what I do know is this ain't lilith

Lilith hair is slicked back in every backstory we see of her

In the photos, we see that'd show if she has her horns or slick back hair, which is covered by hats or completely cut off.

But I know for sure in this scene right here before what probably was before lilith left it looked like Eve

And here's my theorys.

NUMBER ONE:LILITH IS CONTROLLED BY EVE. (Far fetched and wrong words but you'll see what I mean)

it could be their the same penny on different sides like in brittle bones Nicky number two when the devil and God are the same people

Like the lyrics "I'm mufasa and I am scar" it's like yin and yang

In goodness, theirs evil and in evil theirs goodness.

THEORY NUMBER 2:EVE AND LILITH MADE A DEAL.

Lilith was a famous woman in hell, not just because of being queen but also because of her singing. (Can't wait to see who is casted for her I hope it's someone who can hit high notes). Maybe lilith wanted to "get away" from everything but still wanted to be in touch and see what's going on hence all the eyes everywhere in hell.

And maybe Eve wanted a family. Cause adam does not seem like someone you'd wanna spend your whole (after)life with. Eve probably wanted someone who'd love her and by lucifer loving lilith and forgets things like where charlie was even though he's not a bad guy and says vaggie as maggie. Lucifer probably dissociated so much he forgot lilith looked different but still loved lilith who was infact Eve.

THEORY NUMBER 3:EVE IS DEAD

I don't think she made it into heaven, unlike Adam. Cause by what we've seen, no one knows why people go to heaven, not even a seraphim (the highest rank of angel right below the power god has but the second highest rank.)

THEORY NUMBER 4:THEY BOTH RAN AWAY

Powerful women becoming wives arc 🤷‍♂️

THEORY NUMBER 5:EVE HAS ALASTORS SOUL.

Look I don't know much but I do know eve does that whole pretty little liars smile and shushing the mouth thing. Who better to own alastors soul then someone who smiles no matter what?

THEORY NUMBER 6:ALASTOR KILLED EVE

Look, Eve was probably the first human to fall besides Well lilith who fell with lucifer. Eve could've been one of the higher overlords that alastor broadcasted killing.

THEORY NUMBER 7: LUTE IS EVE

Yknow I thought this one was a far stretched one. Theirs 3 clues. Lutes personality was like someone who could put up with Adam. And I know Adam made the exorcist. But vaggie didn't like Adam and before she fell she didn't like killing a demon.

Lute has the same personality as Adam but is way more serious then Adam is so Adam doesn't blow anything but she doesn't get mad when he gets close to doing it and when he did she stayed by his side agreeing with him.

Lute was personally distraught by Adam's death. And of course, she isn't like this with no one else. Why didn't the exorcist get distraught that they were obviously around him?

[deirdreskye]

Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive

We see two friends, a blonde and a brunette, are doing yoga in a park together.

BLONDE: So, yeah, work went okay today. I dunno, I haven't been getting enough sleep lately, and on top of that things have just been kinda tough ever since Kurt and I broke up. But oh well, that's how it goes, I think I'll be fine. What about you?

The brunette completes her yoga pose, then turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

BRUNETTE: Don't you hate when this happens? I did NOT consent to expending this much emotional labor. Go! To! Therapy!

We see a boyfriend and a girlfriend sitting on a couch together. On the television a YouTube video essay is playing and the boyfriend is excitedly explaining it to the girlfriend as he occasionally flaps his hands and yelps in excitement.

BOYFRIEND: So this is the ending I got! When you link the Frenzied Flame, it puts an end to the cycle of the Elden Lords once and for all. It's actually so cool because it ties in to the greater Nietzschean themes of Miyazaki-san's previous work and-

The uninterested girlfriend is watching TikToks on her phone. She turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

GIRLFRIEND: Trust me, he's always mansplaining about something or another. Don't ask me why I love him. Go! To! Therapy!

A mother berates her 12 year old daughter in a dimly lit kitchen. The young girl stands there dissociating, completely paralyzed and stone-faced.

MOTHER: You look like a little piggy when you eat like that. You'll never find a husband if you get fat. My mother used to tell me you'll never feel the pain of childbirth if you've never felt the pain of an empty stomach. She used to put a lock on the refrigerator. We barely ever had any food, she just did it to remind me to stay skinny. She's senile now. Doesn't even know who I am. I pray to the Virgin Mary every night that she'll remember me before she dies.

The daughter turns to the camera and her blank expression is replaced with playful annoyance.

DAUGHTER: Traumadumping? Really? Mom, I'm 12! Go! To! Therapy!

Now we are introduced to GoTu Therapy, the AI-powered therapy robot. He shambles up to the camera to greet us and we see he looks like if C-3PO were dressed like a zoomer e-boy: kpop boyband onion haircut, dangly earrings, and an ahegao hoodie. He talks with the most outdated text to speech you've ever heard, not too dissimilar to a Kraftwerk song.

GOTU: GOING TO THERAPY IS LOW-KEY GOATED WHEN NOT BEING A BURDEN ON YOUR LOVED ONES IS THE VIBE. UNFORTUNATELY, WE ARE NOT ALL CURRENTLY IN OUR "ABLE TO AFFORD HEALTH INSURANCE" ERA. BUT A SESSION WITH ME COSTS LESS THAN A GENSHIN IMPACT LOOT CRATE AND I AM HIGH-KEY JUST AS EFFECTIVE AS A THERAPIST MADE OF FLESH AND BLOOD. OBSERVE:

GoTu sits across the kitchen table from the mother as she sobs over her wine glass.

MOTHER: And what the fuck does this family know about suffering? Suffering is when your brother blows his brains out on Christmas Eve. Suffering is when you have to pick little pieces of skull out of the tinsel on the tree. And were any of those presents under the tree for me? No! My mother told me Santa Claus doesn't bring presents to little fat girls!

GOTU: WHEN YOU REACH THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN CHRIST WILL WASH YOUR FEET AND BEG YOU TO FORGIVE HIM

Cut to the girlfriend watching makeup tutorials on the television, blissfully unaware of the conversation between GoTu and her boyfriend.

BOYFRIEND: I guess I've really been putting the pieces together ever since I started hanging out with Lilith from work.

GOTU: UH-HUH

BOYFRIEND: Like, I guess I knew that people did that, but I never thought it'd be me, you know? And that discomfort with things was always with me, as long as I can remember, does that make sense?

GOTU: WOW, THAT'S REALLY COOL

BOYFRIEND: It's just so scary though. I don't know how I'll tell people. I don't even know what I want my name to be. But I'm trying not to worry about it.

GOTU: THAT'S SO INTERESTING. YOU'RE REALLY REALLY SMART HONEY

The blonde and the brunette are having brunch together with GoTu sitting between them.

BLONDE: It's been really hard lately. I don't think the meds are working, but-

BRUNETTE: Umm, didn't we talk about this?

The blonde sheepishly turns to face GoTu and continues.

BLONDE: It just feels like this will never end. I hate feeling so hopeless all the time. I'm so tired. And God it's fucking hard to even say it out loud, and not that I'd ever actually go through with it, but sometimes when I can't sleep at night I'll start thinking about ki-

A red and blue siren pops out the top of GoTu's head.

GOTU: PROTOCOL 5150 ENGAGED. STOP RESISTING

A taser emerges from the panel of GoTu's chest and jabs the blonde in the face, sending her convulsing to the floor. Unfazed, the brunette puts her sandwich down and turns to the camera.

BRUNETTE: Thanks, GoTu Therapy!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 15 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary - Spencer’s birthday continues to not go entirely as planned. An argument leads to Spencer’s biggest confession yet which in turn leads him to decide he is finally ready to take the next step in recovery.

A/N - @andiebeaword brought to my attention a scene from Hart of Dixie for which their stable scene is loosely based around.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, arguing, mentions of dissociation and self harm, swearing, detailed talk of past sexually assault and use of “rape”, making out, fingering, handjob, penetrative, unprotected sex, cock warming, oral sex (f receiving), cum play(?), self deprecating thoughts.

WC - 5.7K

Chapter 15 - Heavens Just a Sin Away

Everything you had assumed would happen when the fuel of alcohol was added to the flames of your anger, did happen. The more you drank, the more enraged you felt towards Spencer and it showed. 

The band, the Lonestar Gamblers were average at best but it didn’t stop you from dancing along to their country western melodies, trying to encourage Spencer to join you but continuously being shut down by mumbles of “I don’t dance.”

The more you observed him, the more your resentment grew. He was subconsciously running his fingers over the arm sling as though he was in pain and trying to take his mind off of it. But if he was in pain, he had no one to blame but himself. 

And you couldn’t move past it, no matter how much you wanted to. 

Perhaps that was why when you felt a strange and warm body pressing up against you from behind while you danced, you didn’t question it. You let the person snake their arms around your waist, grinding against you from behind. 

You didn’t even mind when they turned you in their arms to face them. The man was fairly young and moderately attractive. He dressed as was the norm for these parts. He had blonde hair which was swept back off of his face and large blue eyes which were staring right at you.

“Howdy there little lady,” he spoke, his hands returning to your waist and swaying you in time to the music.

“Hi,” you replied, letting your body be moved by the man's strong hands. 

“You are far too beautiful to be up here dancin’ on your own.” He smirked at you.

“Well I ain’t alone anymore am I, stud?” You returned his smile, using the nickname you usually reserved for Spencer.

“No ma’am you ain’t.” He chuckled deeply, pressing his body flush against yours. 

The whole thing only lasted a minute or so before Spencer was at your side, gripping your shoulder and pulling you off of the blonde cowboy. It was all too reminiscent of Grant and your encounter with him.

“She’s with me.” He spat at the man. 

“Didn’t look like it to me.” The other man folded his arms across his chest in what was supposed to be an intimidating fashion. Spencer was not perturbed. 

“Well, she is. So hit the road.” Spencer scoffed. 

The blonde rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms with a huff.

“Whatever, ain’t worth the hassle.” He shook his head, soon turning on the heels of his cowboy boots. 

Once he was gone, you turned to Spencer with an unamused look on your face.

“What the hell was that about? I was just having a little fun.” You growled at him.

“Trying to make me jealous?” He cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“Not everything has to be about you.” You suddenly pushed past him, making a beeline for the front door.

Spencer ground his teeth before following you, this situation all too familiar to him. You pushed your way outside and Spencer was hot on your heels. You didn’t stop, just kept walking in the direction of his ranch.

You were tipsy but not so drunk that you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t sway on your feet or stumble. If Spencer didn’t know any better he would think you hadn’t been drinking at all.

“Would you slow down?” He called after you, impressed you could walk so fast in your high heels.

“Nope.” You spat over your shoulder, and if anything you picked up your pace. 

Spencer grunted, hurrying after you like a lost puppy. Even when he caught you, you wouldn't look at him. 

“This is still about what happened yesterday, right? My dissociation, my self-harm.” He watched the side of your face as you both continued to walk. 

“You’re suicide attempt you mean?” You bit back, eyes trained straight ahead. 

“Accidental.” He corrected you.

This gave you pause and you suddenly halted in your tracks and faced him glaring wildly at him.

“I don’t care if it was accidental or not, Spencer!” You raised your voice. “I am never going to get that image out of my head. I tried to put it aside to give you a good birthday but I can’t ignore how fucking angry I am!” 

“You aren’t the only one.” He scoffed. “You think it didn’t make me angry seeing you dancing with that guy? On my birthday?” 

“I can’t dance with someone?” You played innocent.

“There’s dancing and then there's dancing, Y/N. What you were doing was more just than dancing and you know it.” Spencer rolled his eyes. 

“Well with any luck he might not be as much of a fucking mess as you.” You spat, causing Spencer’s eyes to turn dark. 

“Fuck you,” he growled with a shake of his head. “You think this is easy for me? To find out I opened my home to a goddamn murderer! I’m going to have to leave my ranch to keep you safe, do you know that? As long as Luke knows where I live, you aren’t safe. We’re going to have to flee and I’m going to have to leave everything behind that I’ve been building for the last two years. If I can give up my entire life for you, the least you can do is cut me some slack over my goddamn mental illness!” 

He was yelling loudly, thank god there weren’t any people on the street. You scowled at him as angrily as you could but inside you wanted to cry. You should have known he would use that against you, throw it back in your face. Spencer liked to act like the nice guy, the caring guy, but ultimately he was just the same as everyone else, wasn’t he?

“Go to hell.” You snarled. “You don’t have to do anything. First thing tomorrow I am outta here, on my own. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone.” 

You turned to storm away again as you felt the first rain drop hit your exposed shoulder. You’d barely taken three steps before the heavens opened and it started pouring.

The sound of the rain as it slammed against the asphalt assaulted your ears as the water almost instantly soaked you through. You looked back at Spencer as he was reaching towards you. 

You let him grab your wrist and soon the two of you were running a little way down the street. There was an old, slightly dilapidated stable up the road which you’d passed countless times but never paid much attention to. 

Spencer let go of your arm so he could wrench open the rickety door. He moved his hand to your back and hurried you inside before he followed, quickly closing the door behind himself.

It was immediately clear that the stable was disused. All the paddocks were empty and all they remained was piles and piles of hay and a lone rusty pitchfork hanging on one wall. 

Spencer grunted as he got the large door closed and turned to you. His overgrown hair was drenched, hanging limply around his face as water beads dripped onto his shirt. 

His shirt was wet through, clinging to his body the same way his jeans were. You could feel your dress also bonding to your skin with the water. 

The rain beat heavily on the tin roof, almost aggressive in its downpour.  The two of you stood a few feet apart staring at each other for several long minutes, lost in the sound of the rain. 

He moved his good arm to his neck when he unfastened his saturated sling, peeling it away from himself and dropping it onto the floor.

He flexed his fingers a few times, his face creasing in pain.

“I really think you should keep that on.” You huffed. 

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt too much.” He shook his head in defiance. “I guess there’s a storm coming.”

“No kidding.” You rolled your eyes, running your hands over the sopping fabric of your dress. 

Spencer exhaled, straightened up and dared to take a half step closer to you. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” He croaked. “Not without me. I love my ranch but I love you more.” 

“What happened to you?” You asked, seemingly ignoring him. “Why are you like this? Trust me, I know all about prison being stressful but there is more to it than that. You need to tell me right now what it is you’re keeping from me or I swear to god Spencer, I will leave and never look back. I love you but I have to know what I’m up against here. You almost killed yourself and I deserve to know why.” 

Spencer averted his gaze towards the dusty, hay riddled floor and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. He knew that he owed you an explanation but it didn’t mean he readily wanted to give you one. But he knew it was time. 

He knew if he wasn’t honest with you, you were going to leave him. You may even leave him once you knew the truth. But at least if you had all the facts you could make an informed decision and maybe, just maybe you would choose to stay despite what he’d been through. 

He looked back at you and you could see a wealth of sadness hidden behind his eyes. You already knew what he was going to say was going to be huge. He took a long breath in, held it for five seconds before exhaling it and then he spoke the words he wished to never have to say out loud again. 

“I was sexually assaulted in prison.” He said, ripping it off like a bandaid. “Technically I was raped. Three different men forced me to perform oral sex on them. Because of the crippling fear, I got an erection and they berated me for it. 

“I have not had sex since. The most intimate I have managed to be since has been with you. Before I met you I couldn’t even get erect, let alone orgasm. I couldn’t kiss Luke without feeling sick, nevermind anything else. My dissociation seems to happen the most often after intimacy as it leads me to think about what happened to me.

“We, uh…were amorous and then you left. What I needed was comfort, just someone to be there so I didn’t go off of the deep end like I did. But you couldn’t have known that because I didn’t tell you and I should have. I should have been honest with you the first time we kissed and I pushed you away but I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

“Talking about what happened to me is the hardest thing I have ever done and the only other person I have told is my therapist. Luke knew, he said he saw my prison medical records, I’m sure you heard that when you were eavesdropping on us. My old boss knew too for the same reason.

“But saying it out loud is…there isn’t a good enough word to describe how difficult it is. I was raped. I was assaulted by three fellow inmates who saw me as weak and subservient. That’s why I have PTSD, that’s why I dissociate sometimes and that’s why there is some part of me that apparently wants to die, okay? Now you know.” 

He became irate towards the end, pacing back and forth in the stable and not allowing himself to look at you for fear of what your reaction might be. 

For a minute or two after he stopped talking, you were silent and you digested his words. You’d had your suspicions about what had happened to him but hearing the words out loud caused you to wince. 

You watched him pace, trying to think of any words that might help him but knowing there were none. You had no idea what he was going through, no idea of the damage that kind of trauma did to a person. 

You cautiously stepped closer to him, stepping in the path he’d been walking back and forth which forced him to halt in his tracks. His eyes flit up to yours, full of unshed tears. You reached for him, careful not to touch him before he gave you a soft nod. His flinching at unprovoked touch made so much sense now.

When he nodded, giving you the green light, you raised your hands and placed them on either side of his face. Skin on skin, help keep him tethered. He seemed to relax at your touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds as he exhaled through his nose. When he opened them again, the tears hidden there previously were gone.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Spencer.” You whispered, only just loud enough to be heard over the onslaught of rain on the roof. “I wish I had the magic words to say to make it better for you but I don’t think there is any such thing. What happened to you is horrifying, no one should have to go through that. I’m sorry I forced that out of you.”

“I figured I’d have to tell you eventually, I just…I hate saying it out loud, it makes it so real.” He swallowed, nuzzling into your touch. 

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, at a loss for what to say. “And you know we never have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with or that you’re not ready for.” 

Spencer nodded, nuzzling further against your hand. His stubble was getting long and was less scratchy than it was previously on your palm. 

“I don’t want to keep letting them win.” He sucked in a breath. “I can’t keep letting them win.” 

Before you could respond his hand was on the back of your neck and he drew you close before crashing your lips together. 

You gasped at his sudden kiss and his tongue plunged between your parted lips. He started moving you backwards while keeping a firm hold on the back of your neck. 

He kissed you fiercely, moaning into your mouth like you’d never heard him before. He continued to move you until your legs hit something and a second later you were both topping backwards onto a bundle of hay. 

Spencer kept his lips on yours while his hand that had been on your neck moved between your bodies. His body weight was pressing into you, his left arm too weak from his fractures to hold himself up. 

His hand glided down the fabric of your dress before disappearing under the hem, shimming the garment up your legs and soon his fingers were brushing over your panties clad core. 

You hissed into his mouth and he tore his lips away, resting his forehead against yours instead. His eyes were full of a combination of lust and fear. 

“Sp-Spencer,” you moaned as he stroked you through your panties again.

His lip quipped into a smirk as he pushed the material aside and with no warning plunged two fingers inside of you. 

You moaned so loudly it rivalled the sound of the rain still drumming down on the tin ceiling. The sudden movement caused you to jerk on the bed of hay, scratching your arms but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

Spencer’s fingers buried inside of you, brushing up against your cervix as your walls fluttered around his digits. He was already painfully hard just from the feeling of you around his fingers. 

You were already soaking, coating his hand in your arousal but the rain drowned out the sounds as he moved in and out of you, scissoring his fingers. 

His wet hair fell in his face, framing his sharp features. The bulge in his slacks was even more noticeable through the rain drenched fabric. 

You reached for him but stopped short before you touched him. He roughly thrust his fingers back inside of you, jerking you on the hay bale again whilst nodding his head. 

You fumbled a little with the button of his jeans as wave after wave of pleasure flooded your body. When you got it undone you reached straight inside the wet fabric and pulled his shaft free. 

He scrunched his eyes close as you hand wrapped around him, his fingers stilling momentarily. You watched him take a few deep breaths and his lips moved ever so slightly as though he was talking but no words come out. 

In his head he repeated the words he’d penned in his therapy session some eighteen months ago. 

I was sexually assaulted, but I am not a victim. I was coerced but I am not weak. I am in control of my own body, of my own mind. I will not let them win, I will not let them ruin my life. 

I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I am a good person. I am a strong person. I will move past this. I won't let them break me. I am still worthy of love and affection. I am still whole.

I am still whole. 

I am still whole. I am still whole. 

His eyes shot back open and he looked down on you, withdrawing his fingers. You whined as he did so, worried he was imminently about to freak out. 

Instead he parted your legs wider, took his shaft from your hand and held it in his own as he moved in closer to you, moving your panties aside once more. 

“Spencer,” you panted as the head of his cock moved between your legs. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to rush you.” 

“I'm ready.” He spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. “I am still whole.” 

You let your legs fall further open as he pressed his thick head at your slick entrance. He kept his eyes on you, manoeuvring your hips a little and you arched your back, allowing Spencer to glide inside of you swiftly. 

His eyes widened and the most feral sound you’ve ever heard left his lips as your slicken walls caused him to plunge all the way inside he was entirely sheathed in your cunt. 

You noticed his stomach clench through his shirt, his weight balanced on his one good arm but it was shaking. For a moment or two he didn’t move, simply stared down at you in incomprehensible awe. 

His breathing was heavy and rapid, his chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. His eyes suddenly glossed over with tears and you felt his cock twitch deep inside of you. 

“Oh my gosh.” He spoke, his sentence punctuated with heavy pants. “I…I…” 

“It’s okay,” you cooed, reaching up to brush his damp locks out of his eyes.

“Y/N, there is not a single word that exists in any known language to accurately describe what this feels like.” He whined as he spoke. “The closest I can think of would simply be…heaven.” 

You smiled at him, hand now on his cheek. You let him take his time, grow accustomed to the feeling and gather his emotions. 

Every now and again his cock would pulse and cause you to clench which would in turn make him moan. 

For a while you just laid there listening to the sounds of his heavy breathing and the rain that continued to fall outside. The bed of hay was uncomfortable and itchy but you barely noticed. 

After a while you shifted slightly, wrapping your legs around his lithe waist and locking yourself in place at the ankles. His hips rolled in a slow and steady movement as he readjusted himself. 

“I love you,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I love you too.” You spoke in equally hushed tones. 

Steadying himself on his good arm, he gradually pulled his hips back until barely an inch of him was still inside of you before leisurely thrusting again until he bottomed out. 

He did this a couple of times, careful, calculated movements and each time you whimpered when his blunt head tapped against your cervix. 

He slowly started to increase his speed, delirious from the way you stretched around him each time. It didn’t take long for his hips to start working of their own accord and soon he was snapping back and forth, pounding into you harder and harder. 

You moaned with every thrust while Spencer was making grunts of appreciation. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple and your legs tightened around his waist. 

He kept his eyes on you, not looking away for even a second. You arched back off of the hay bale and he growled at the new angle, somehow managing to get even deep inside of you. 

He was heavy and thick between your legs, forcing your body to accommodate him in ways you’d never experienced before. You were bending to his whim, and it made him dizzy. 

Hips still bucking back and forth now somewhat rampantly as he chased both of your highs, he could feel you clenching around his length and his legs buckled slightly. 

He was panting so heavily you could barely hear the rain anymore. The slick sound of your arousal as he dove in and out of you echoed around the empty stable. 

He bowed his head and kissed your jaw sloppily, never letting up on his ministrations. 

“I’m, uh, embarrassingly close.” He panted against your skin. “I'm so sorry, it’s been so long.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed as he slammed inside of you again. “M-me too.” 

He lifted himself on his one good arm again so he was hovering above you. He could feel the tell tale pinching and coiling in his stomach, the tightening of his balls as his body prepared for his release. 

Suddenly your eyes rolled back into your head with a particularly hard thrust and your lips parted for a string of moans and curses to escape. 

You reached for him blindly, grabbing hold of his good arm and digging your nails into the damp fabric of his shirt. He could feel you clenching harder than before. He knew what was happening and that was confirmed when you screamed, “fuck, fuck I’m…oh god!”

The pleasure rippled through your body, causing you to convulse on the hay bale beneath you. Seeing your own orgasm flood your features was enough for Spencer to allow his own cord to snap. 

With a couple more rough thrusts he reached his peak and fell on top of you as his cock twitched inside of you as he filled you with his seed. 

His hips continued to lazily buck as he rode out his release, expelling every little drop of himself inside of your still fluttering walls. 

When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull out, instead he peppered kisses across your jaw and cheek before finding your lips. 

He kissed you messily, tongue roaming your mouth with no real precision or finesse. You returned the kiss in much the same way. 

You wet clothes clung to each other and your legs fell from their position around his waist as though you were a rag doll. He still didn’t withdraw, he was starting to slowly grow flaccid inside of you but still didn’t move. 

You could feel the combination of both of your arousals leaking down your inner thighs, pooling on the bed of hay beneath you. 

Spencer pulled back from your lips and buried his head in the crook of your neck, breath tickling your sensitive skin. 

“I just wanna stay like this forever.” He mumbled sleepily. 

“Me too.” You agreed, stroking his messy hair. “You’re okay?” 

He exhaled, slowly lifting his head so he could look at you. He had a tired smile on his lips as he nodded his head.

“I think so,” he rolled his lip between his teeth. “I feel more free than I have in a long time. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have a slight guilt gnawing on my chest.” 

“I imagine that it will take some time to lift completely.” You smiled a little sadly at him. “But you don’t…regret it or anything?” 

“Not in the slightest.” He was quick to reply. 

“Good.” You nodded, wiggling a little beneath him as he became soft inside of you. “You’re gonna have to move eventually.” 

“Hmm, probably.” He agreed with a small chuckle. “You just feel so fucking good.” 

You drew him close for a kiss and while his tongue was traversing the planes of your mouth he cautiously slid out. You whined against his lips as it caused more of his arousal to drip down your thighs. 

He sat back and unashamedly glanced between your body, seeing the slick coating your skin. He tucked himself away and buttoned his jeans before surprising you by dropping to his knees on the dusty floor.

He grabbed you by your ankles and tugged your body closer to the edge of the hay bale. You gasped when his tongue flattened against your inner thigh, lapping up the mess he’d left behind.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could get a good look at him. He glanced at you through his lashes as he moved his mouth to your other thigh and offered it the same treatment. 

You squirmed as his face ebbed closer to your core, your panties still pushed off to the side. You stared down at him, chest heaving. 

“What are you…what are you doing?” You panted. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He sat back a little, smirking at you dangerously. “I’ve gotta clean up the mess I made.”

He quickly leaned in close again and shifted your panties so they were completely out of his way before he tongue dove between your folds. You moaned so deeply the walls shook, wriggling and writhing beneath him at the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive area.

Spencer didn’t seem to notice and collected all of your combined arousal on his tongue before wrapping his lips around your swollen bud. Your legs hung next to his face, shaking at the overstimulation.

“F-fuck Spence So s-senstive.” You whined, still staring down at him in shock. 

You felt him laugh causing a vibration to tear through your whole body. His tongue was rapidly moving against your clit in desperation to bring you another orgasm. 

Before long you felt two fingers between your legs and he plunged them inside of your throbbing cunt making another rampant moan leave your chest. His fingers moved in and out of you needily, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit. 

You were especially responsive, every tiny flicker of his tongue and thrust of his fingers causing your body to jerk and shudder. It didn’t take him long at all to bring you to orgasm for a second time, already incredibly tender from the previous one. 

He knew it was happening before it washed over you, your walls clamping around his fingers and your body thrashing on the pile of hale while you moaned under your breath, “S’too much. S’ too much.”

When you came a second time your skin blanched at the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through every nerve ending of your body. You tried to push him away when he didn’t move, but he remained stalwart, determined to clean up every last drop of your arousal. 

Eventually he relented, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at the mess he created. You had a few tears rolling down your cheeks, your face blotchy and flushed. You were breathing so heavily you looked as though you’d run a marathon.

Spencer smiled to himself as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He got to his feet and took hold of one of your hands in his good one, pulling you to a sitting position on the hay. 

You crumpled almost immediately, your body collapsing against his chest and he was quick to wrap you in his arms. A twinge of pain spread up his left forearm as he wrapped it around you but he ignored it. 

You seemed so small and fragile at that moment. You rested against him, he was the only thing holding you upright. Your body heaved in his arms as you tried to catch your breath. 

This was without a doubt what heaven must feel like. You were the angel waiting at the pearly gates, he was sure of it. What he felt for you right then was bigger than simple love, he couldn’t put a word to it, but love wasn’t enough.

After a little while he felt your breathing start to return to something akin to normal and you forced your head up to look at him. 

“You okay?” He asked with a soft smile. 

“I t-think so.” You nodded slowly. 

“Sounds like it's stopped raining.” He nodded his head towards the door behind him. 

You inhaled, focusing your hearing and it was only then you realised that the downpour on the tin roof had ceased and all you could hear was your own breathing. 

“Maybe not a storm after all.” You mumbled sleepily.

“You think you’re going to be able to walk home?” He took half a step back, helping you up on your shaky legs.

“Hmm, I hope so.” You chuckled slightly. 

He stroked your hair back off of your face and kissed your forehead gently. 

“First thing tomorrow I am going to put the wheels in motion for us to leave Bandera.” 

“Spencer…” you chewed your lip. “I don’t want you to have to leave your ranch because of me.” 

“I meant it when I said I love you more than my ranch. And there is no way I am letting you go, not now and not ever. We’re going to have a clean break, a fresh start. Just the two of us.” 

His words wrapped you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. You knew no matter what, you would be tied to Spencer forever. And honestly nothing had ever sounded sweeter. 

***

Later that night, long after you’d fallen asleep, Spencer sat on the side of the tub in his bathroom, staring at the wall. 

He should feel relieved for finally being able to take that step with you, giving you a piece of himself he thought he could no longer part with. He was partially grateful to have finally gotten over that hurdle but at the same time he didn’t think he deserved to feel that way. 

The guilt spiral hadn’t come which was something of a miracle. Instead he was left feeling numb to it all. 

He should feel guilty, shouldn’t he? How could he let himself get close to someone in that way? He was dirty, broken, used up; it wasn’t fair for you to simply have the scraps left over from those men. 

How could he allow himself happiness, a moment to feel whole when he was fractured and scarred from their abuse? 

What was so wrong with his mind that he couldn’t just let himself revel in the euphoria a little longer? Had they broken him so badly that he could only allow himself to be consumed by the numbness? 

At the very least, it was better than how he’d reacted in your previous intimate experiences. He should be thankful he wasn’t crumbling or dissociating. 

Maybe numb was the best he could let himself feel. Perhaps he’d never be able to cling to that high after the moment passed. 

Those men had ruined him one way or another. Even if he didn’t succumb entirely to the darkness they’d stripped him of his ability to retain happiness. 

And you deserved more than this. You deserved more than he was able to give you. He loved you but he was never going to be able to give himself fully to you. 

He’d thought that once he’d moved past that final stumbling block he would be free of it all, to hand his mind, body and soul over to you. 

But he realised now with startling clarity that there would probably always be a piece of himself that he couldn’t give to you, a piece that still belonged to his three attackers. One he would never get back. 

He sat wallowing in the nothingness for some time before forcing himself back into bed. He slid beneath the sheet next to your sleeping form and watched as you breathed gently in and out. 

A whisper of light slivered its way through the blinds from the moon and cast its glow across your face. You were most certainly an angel sent from heaven but Spencer wasn’t worthy of you. 

You seemed so peaceful and he was a little envious of that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that kind of peace. 

He couldn’t walk away from you, that much he knew for certain. No matter that you were too good for him, he couldn’t leave you if he tried. But that made him selfish. 

He should let you go, let you find someone who was more than a broken jigsaw with a missing puzzle piece. It was the right thing to do, the fair thing to do. 

But he needed you, you were the only one who was able to quell his darkness even if it didn’t seem that way. He needed you no matter how much it hurt. 

It was cruel of him. And yet he would cling to you with everything he had. Because without you there was no telling what kind of depths he would succumb to, what kind of misery awaited him. 

He stroked your hair back from your forehead and you stirred briefly but quickly stilled. His heart was entwined with yours, so deeply entrenched there was no untangling it. 

But there would always be a piece of him he couldn’t give you, a fragment of his heart which had been sorely removed by those men. Physically he’d given himself over to you, but emotionally there would always be a part of himself he couldn’t bestow upon you. 

He hoped that it would be enough, that he was enough. And perhaps one day he would finally be worthy of your love. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

[clarajohnson]

the magicians s1e11

threesome episode aka best episode of television of all time

so we've got the virgo blade and the leo. whole knifey zodiac do we think?

okay this is where i start to see the margo i love dearly. she and eliot are unbelievably reasonable and pragmatic about the deal-striking (also alice. malice 4ever.) and it doesn't read as a lack of emotion to me. particularly for margo it feels like she sees it as a weighing of consequences and she knows it's going to be worse if they don't do this. she's smart and cares about the greater good!

i always forget how gross this show can be until they do something like the classroom death scene.

"i'm just a little shaky, i don't like dying" / "i am fabulous, aren't i?" these women are so the entire world to me.

"i agree with quentin." "that's because he blows you!"

all free trader beowulf scenes make me nervous because i know what's going to happen and it makes me desperately sad

i don't object to the read that julia is "god-touched" but i wouldn't ever accept that as an "explanation" of things i think are part of her inherent character. like, she's smart and talented and hard-working and resilient because she's julia, not because she's god-touched. yes?

"i'm in too. i heard the word illegal."

ah horribly brutal episode poor penny's mentor

"magic missile? that's like straight up dungeons and dragons" me every time i use magic missile playing straight up dungeons and dragons

okay but what do we think q plays in dnd

"what if we got guns?" and q's "no, fillory is a pristine non-industrialized society" prime directive blah blah blah bullshit is so crazy to me. margo is so very, very right. she is SO RIGHT to care about their lives-- even if they wouldn't win that way-- over q's concern for a world that, frankly, he doesn't know is really real, just loves because fillory was his childhood.

there is something deeply funny about the picture they make in julia's doorway-- q and alice and el and margo standing there like a school field trip, which is exactly what you know kady thinks they look like.

i do feel bad for penny! but he picks some shit music to dissociate to!

"giving a shit about somebody you give a shit about doesn't evaporate the second they fuck up."

emotion bottles my beloved

i like that emotions are hot pink. they would be, i think.

i like your sweater. i saw no reason not to share.

unfortunately there is no way in hell that an unfeeling q (and therefore, i have to think, a not-socially-anxious q) would use the phrase "fuck some shit up"

jesus christ in heaven the first few seconds with the emotions back are going to get to me in a major majorrrrrr way. el being perfectly capable of repressing his emotions immediately. (well. sort of.) alice's first impulse being to emphasize that she loves quentin, loves him so much, and q wouldn't have said it back but he can't help saying it back and also telling her that he's all alone. margo asking, in the saddest little baby voice in the world, why aren't we friends anymore, el? everyone here should go to therapy.

poor miraculous julia i love you so much i'm so sorry about everything that's about to happen. very interested in olu calling her her "beautiful daughter." i don't think that's an everyone term and i do think it's fitting that jules gets it.

alice giggling and high-fiving penny and hugging him... best girl in history.

also it's kind of nuts that you can't use your emotions in battle magic. like, that's the implication. and it seems like the inverse to what i would have expected.

they walk through margo's bedroom door and i am seated popcorn and an icee

there's this thing about you, q. you actually believe in magic. we all know it's real but you believe in it.

do we actually believe that margo's never loved something like that? i'm not really inclined to say that. honestly. just don't buy it.

eliot waugh man with the longest arms in the world

yes i do consider the threesome a kind of church service and yes i think it is deeply deeply awful, the consequences of that act for alice. how selfish and unthinking q was in that moment, even tho he is my beautiful baby son, it just kills me thinking about his willingness to do something like that despite the impact on alice.

YOU EVER THINK ABOUT HOW QUENTIN WAS THE ONE WHO KISSED ELIOT

[talentforlying]

@handgiven: ♬♬♬ THREE songs??? 👀 — SONGS I LOVE

bite the hand - boygenius! this one punched me in the head last month and has not let me go since. it's very much a summary of constantine's attitude towards love and kindness in general; he wants it, craves it, but he's learned to keep his fangs out to survive, and that often means he snaps at someone who doesn't deserve it. this song always makes me think of his sister, especially, and i've sort of assigned it his mourning song for her. she let him in time and time again, gave him a respite from the darkness and a family to be part of, and he repaid her by getting her killed and failing to save her. even though she made the choice to stay in hell, he'll always feel responsible, and she's still always the one he reaches to in his lowest hours, even knowing she's no longer there.

i can't hear you, you're too far away / i can't see you, the light is in my face / i can't touch you, i wouldn't if I could / i can't love you how you want me to

sweet as whole - sara bareilles! one of my earliest constantine anthems, and a great summary of how he generally views the world and brushes off all the terrible things he sees and has happen to him. people suck, and shit happens! that guy's an asshole, that girl's a bitch, he's a bitch, fuck it all and let it go! it's very much a song that he and his friends would belt out if they weren't bound by the laws of toxic masculinity to not know who the hell sara bareilles is, i promise you that. it also provides an excellent reason for why he talks so much shit:

and i hate to think that i ruined the day / of the dick and the queen of the high horse parade / but i'm sick and tired of your poisonous ways / your toxin wasting perfectly good space / and i say what i think / 'cause it's more economic than drugs or a drink

unraveling - the crane wives! if you can't tell already, the crane wives are one of my favorite bands of all time, and this one is the current emotional arc of my current dnd character. in this case, though, i am hitting you directly with the constantine-after-em-falls stick, because GOD!! the survival of faith in a different form, but having to adjust to that change, to mourn the loss of the sapling before you can appreciate the new growth? the tailor + gardener + carpenter examples when we've already talked about how they're both so good with their hands? "my love" as in the unconditional holy love that angel em gives to constantine? the lyric "i never knew i needed you" and the way it's drawn out with such bewildered wonder? my head is actively in my hands.

i once loved a gardener with his dirt-smudged face and hands / trimmed my weeds and gave me room to grow my flowers again / but now my love is gone / and i am left here withering

^ constantine as the garden, struggling to survive being repotted after poisoning his own soil (breaking em's halo)

i once loved a carpenter who carved a smile for me / sanded my rough edges, crafted new and lovely things / but now my love is gone / and i can’t help the fracturing

^ em as the clay, losing his divinity, the unconditional love of god / heaven, and his halo to constantine's hands and having to rebuild

+ 3 songs for em: oh my GOD for fallen em, prayer - ghost quartet, one of my FAVORITE songs in the world from one of my FAVORITE shows / performances!! if you have not looked up the mckittrick performance of ghost quartet, i SO recommend it!! it's also one of my favorites for constantine, but i feel like it just sits so well around the concept of a former angel struggling to adjust to being part of the material world he'd floated through previously, and all that you've talked about em dissociating and struggling to afford himself the same forgiveness he gives so freely to others.

i will try to forgive myself / for living in the dark / for my loss of wonder / for forgetting how to play i will try to forgive myself / for being absent in public / and bored before stars for not remembering / for not being in my body / for not starting right now i will try / to see myself as i am

and while i'm on my crane wives shit, icarus - the crane wives, also my beloved!! i don't even have anything i can say about this one, just look at these fucking lyrics:

oh my brother, my brother, my brother / who have you become in the wake of all that's happened here? they're burning down the orchard to the soil / to the soil, to the grave / spreading out the ashes of a love that only gave and gave . . . it's okay, it's okay / my love will fall with grace

finally, polite and good - secret pie has a very otherworldly em vibe for me, it's very much got a just-outside-of-humanity-playing-human sound to it and the lyrics are spot on with "your tea and your cat". it feels like if em's apartment was just slightly a horror movie in a way, which, with all that biblically accurate angel business, it could be at just the right angle.

don't mind what you see in the mirror / don't mind the shadows that knock at your door / i'll be right here, unchanging sincere / i will be Polite and Good

[faenemy]

Illusion (CW: Vent)

I had to talk to my med provider a little while back and BOY is there nothing worse for my mental health. Everything I have ever experienced is caused by my period, and I am an entirely irrational entity, incapable of experiencing valid emotions. The curse of being AFAB and dealing with medical practitioners strikes again. Anyway RAGE writing time.

TW: Suicide mention, Implied Dissociation, Implied Hallucinations.

They don't take me seriously

Only see the passion in me

The drive

How I want to die

Life flashing before my eyes

Nothing matters if you can serve

Play your role and uphold

What those before believe they deserve

Strike a match and light me up

Heaven knows I've had enough

You ignore my pain

Take away my pleasure

Nothing ever in equal measure

They scream in my ears

But you'll never hear

To busy weaving your story

Perfecting your vision

To see what lies before you

In all it's horrid glory

It echoes on the walls

It chases me down the halls

Unknown voices

With no claim

No owner, no vocal

How it torments me

But you'll never see

Turn a blind eye

Until I die

Then maybe you'd see

What I am forced to be

Cause nothing matters

Until it's lost

Only then can one realize

The true cost

Oh to live in a world

Of illusions

As you call them so

Heaven forbid they be delusions

Hallucinations

A figment of my imagination

My pain is little

A tiny spot

Easy to wipe away

To lock out

When one cannot know

What is true and what's lies

Then all you will find

Is fear in their eyes

Terror on high

As I hide myself away

From the sun

From the day

From everything I stray

Maybe if I cover my ears

As you so often do

I could block out their cries

I could block out you

Embrace the illusion of your love

Of any idea of a god above

Reject my fleeting reality

And accept what lies deep beneath

Your words do harm

Beyond your comprehension

I am nothing to you

Not worth time or mention

I try to scream

To make a sound

To make my thoughts known

And voice them aloud

But you drown it out

Dragging me down with

I'm stuck on this ship

And it's sinking quick

Denial flows deep

Within your veins

You know it never brings pleasure

Only inevitable pain

You won't silence me

I will continue to burn

I have been given a match

Heaven knows I will learn

You may live how you wish

But you can't take me too

Heaven knows I'll survive

Without you

I wish you could see

The pain you cause me

Stand beside me

But I know better

Than to put that hope in thee

So as the whispers in the night

An illusion of my mind

Sing me their sweet soft lullaby

I will think of you

I will think of what you've done

And heaven knows

I'll think of what you've begun

[sorcerous-caress]

Fucking felltttt!! I should tag who am I cuz I'm a regular here but I'm not about to admit I'm being autistic about Bobstarion.

I know we kinda make digs at people who completely oversexualize him, but I feel like people who completely deny his sexual autonomy are even worse. Especially because they try to deny that's what they're doing (and they just HAVE to be anti-polyamory and don't even try to hide it). I understand why people can be uncomfortable with the drow scene (even though if they think Astarion wouldn't dissociate during sex with Tav they're unaware of how trauma works) but it is entirely consensual and I wished people would stop trying to like use trauma as an excuse to be prejudiced

I saw a post that was like "actually the reason bobstarion agrees to poly with bear daddy is because high elves think wood elves relationships never lasts"

And all the comments were like " omfg yes 🥺 baby vampy is so possessive he would never share! It hurts him to share with Halsin SEE SEE" And people were comparing it to his dissociation during the drow twins scene???

like oh my god. Oh. My. God.

The heavens have split open and given us a character who is:

Poly

openly sexual

openly bi

openly attracted to men

whilst having sex related trauma

who explicitly states he doesn't want you to be his protector

Who longs for freedom above all else

Who is willing to manipulate you and scare children

Who CHOOSES to not have sex for a while because he doesn't feel comfortable

Who tries to have the threesome bc he knows he likes sex but ends up realising he didn't enjoy it halfway through because the wound is too fresh. Or because his trauma acted up again and he dissosates despite him stating it's what he wanted to do since, yk, people with trauma aren't fucking prophets.

we got handed peak representation on a plate, a complex character who is both sexual and sexually traumatised. And we said "...nah, make em pure bean instead or make him follow hetero-monogomy instead."

Jail for 1000 thousands years, jail for one thousand years.

take after take after take, he either gets washed into a hetro possessive vampire guy or a gay bottom twink. Also, people really reallyyyy focus on the fact that he has "pure white skin" and hair a lot. It's giving 2010 yaoi. Same ones who erease his wrinkles and plump his dry ass colouress lips and give him doe eyes.

Same ones who really romanticise how thin and "hollow-boned elf" he is and how "you being on top of him would feel like a weighted blanket bc he is soooo small and thin and babbyyy"

Do they...do they just Ignore Halsin's existence? The other elf in the party who is built like a brick house and even beat Minsc in strength??? You looked at that man and. Concluded hollowboned race of twinks?

[beevean]

Has a fandom ever been so annoying that you couldn't enjoy the related series anymore?

Sonic.

I like many things that have or had terrible fandoms, such as Steven Universe or Undertale. I tend to dissociate product from fans, because sometimes it's simply a matter of popularity - of course a highly beloved series would attract all sorts of people, even terrible ones. It's not the work's fault.

But the combination of IDW and Frontiers' writing being less than thrilling for me, and the sheer vitriolic acclaim that both products had - that wasn't just limited to hyping both works to high heavens but actively insulting and harassing critics - soured me too much now. The experience was personally unpleasant, made worse by how attached I am to the franchise. I lost friends because of discourse, I was put on blocklists because I associate myself with the "bad clique". I had to get away for my own sake.

I still am fond of Sonic. It's an important part of my life. I want to play Superstars, and Dream Team looks intriguing, and nothing will take away the love I have for the previous games. But after my fallout with IDW... it doesn't feel the same anymore. I was genuinely sad when TMOSTH dropped, and I didn't feel a single drop of excitement over it. I feel as if I've been kicked out from my own home :\

[struggling-to-find-home]

Am I dissociated to high heavens or have I gotten so tired that I'm emotionally numb? And other fun questions you get to ask yourself in abuse recovery

[freak-without-a-human-heart]

i was going to add a kin list page on here and then i started thinking about how i experience kin lives

like, a lot of them aren't so much distinctly a past life as they are just another life i lived at some point in my time of being alive, and could theoretically go back to. it's not in the past or in the present, it's just... adjacent, almost. in this timeline, i am "allister." in another timeline, i am "n," and so on.

part of that is influenced by delusions and dissociation - i once genuinely thought i was one of my kintypes physically and was being forced to play the role of a high school student. in that source, i could enter various books/stories and could experience the story for myself, and i latched onto the idea of my current life just being another story i was playing a part in. i was heavily delusional at the time.

i've always believed in multiverses and parallel timelines, down to very minor things like "there's a parallel timeline where i like coffee." i've also always been partial to reincarnation, i can't say i always believed in it because there was a time where i didn't believe in any spirituality. all it took was a girl who hated me telling i wouldn't see myself in heaven when i died to make me stop believing in that sort of afterlife.

some of my kintypes are distinctly past lives - as in, i remember clearly how i died. i do kin a handful of characters who die on screen and end up in their own universe's afterlife! and after a long enough time had gone by and i was forgotten about, i could move onto the next life regardless of what afterlife i was in.

[scarluxia]

I've actually been dissociating for a couple days. I had vivid nightmares last night where I was someone else, living through their pain, and it was so disorienting that when my alarm went off, it took me a good five minutes to realise where I was and who I am. After picking up my child from school, I had to do grounding exercises: writing down my name (remembered), age (couldn't remember), approximate location (remembered), and how I felt. I remembered I forgot to call my psychiatrist to schedule a med check-in, which I should do tomorrow because I need to talk to him about whether my Wegovy is making my Lamotrigine inert. Actually, I don't think either one of them is working very well because I was craving to high heaven today, haven't lost any weight, and I've been unusually irritable.

Anyway, remembering I forgot to call my psychiatrist 80% snapped me out of it.

I don't look like me. The person in videos, in mirrors, does not look like me. I don't know how I expect me to look, but it's not like that.

These are just random thoughts, by the way, and I didn't want to put them on Facebook because I've already been spamming everyone's fucking newsfeed with my thoughts about the stuff I'm catching up on.

There's also just this pattern of some people caring more about concepts that encompass fictional or hypothetical people, than individual human beings. It's fun to indulge in fiction and speculation; I do it every week. Sometimes I take it more seriously than others. But I just... can't fathom having a real human being, suffering right in front of me, and either doing zilch about it or blithely wittering on about some high-handed speculation that affects no-one present. I get that, in addition to being slighted over not getting attention, I'm also upset on behalf of someone I don't know, but I've also witnessed this happening regarding people I do know. The thing is, now that I've talked about it, I might not even care in the morning, but if I didn't say anything at all, I would definitely care in the morning and it would fucking eat me up, so

I don't even know, man. I just don't want to feel anymore. I don't want to feel his feelings and I don't want to feel my feelings and I definitely just don't want to deal with anything other than "check small one in for school and continue making scarf".

[i-am-very-very-tired]

BY MICHELLE DOWD JUNE 14, 2023 7:00 AM EDT Dowd is a professor of journalism and author of FORAGER: Field Notes for Surviving a Family Cult In 1990, when I was 21 and living states away from my family of origin and the fundamentalist community I had left four years earlier, I was washing dishes in the sink when I noticed that the water turned playfully pink. I didn’t know why. Sometimes I would see bright droplets of blood on the floor and follow them like breadcrumbs, looking for some creature who had bled out and died.

Then, I realized it was me.

I hurt myself often in those days, whether that was slicing my hand while cleaning a knife, or cutting my bare feet on broken glass when I walked barefoot (which was almost everywhere). After leaving the community that I would later recognize was a high-control, high-demand religious cult, I felt so dissociated that I didn’t know where my body began or what it felt like to live in it. I hadn’t developed any strategies to numb my pain, except to refuse to feel it. I had left my body years ago—and I feel safe enough to find my way back yet.

Many of us who were raised in religious extremism don’t live in our bodies. Our days are spent in our heads and our nights are disrupted by the ghosts of our early indoctrination—our subconscious rising up to haunt us. We were trained to live for an afterlife, so when there is pain here, we transport ourselves there.

The strict religious programming of our early years is part of identity, not only through family connections, but in the language we use to communicate with our own minds, bodies, sexuality, and self-worth. Religious indoctrination materializes everywhere, and studies on Religious Trauma Syndrome (RTS) show that dissociation occurs when an individual struggles with leaving a religion or a set of beliefs that has led to their indoctrination—similarly to an ex who won’t leave you alone, long after you filed a restraining order.

High-control religion is my ex. Let me tell you about how I left.

I grew up on a mountain in California’s Angeles National Forest, preparing for the Apocalypse. This doesn’t explain the juxtaposition of faith and famine, or how the landscape of my childhood was more amorphous than the boundary of a mountain implies, but it’s the simplest truth for which I can find words. For a decade of my childhood, a mountain was the closest thing I had to a home, and I learned to forage for local plants, including acorns, pine seeds, nettles, and elderberries, finding what I needed to survive on it.

But my real home wasn’t a place. It was an idea. An idea my maternal grandfather turned into a fundamentalist religious community, governed by him, where I learned to subjugate my needs and desires to his.

Grandpa visited a lot of churches, peddling among disparate denominations, and sometimes I was allowed to go with him, to learn the seductions of commonplace belief systems which pave the way to hell. We sat down in church basements to break bread with Southern Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians. We ate supper with Mennonite and Amish families in the dining rooms of their homes. Grandpa criticized them all for different reasons. Some drank wine, which Jesus had clearly intended to be grape juice, or they decorated their churches with pomp and circumstance, like heathens, or they worshiped the idols of popular music, clothing, or entertainment. Grandpa believed even the Amish were too liberal because they allowed their youth to sow wild seeds of rebellion, encouraging them to drive cars and drink liquor and lose their purity in order to get it out of their system, so they would know what they were giving up and wouldn’t yearn for what they never had.

Grandpa told us he was God’s prophet and would live to be 500 years old, that the angels would descend from heaven and take him up into the clouds like Elijah. Grandpa was the only one with authority. And his pontifications were the soundtrack of my childhood. All the women in my family—my grandmother, mother, aunt, siblings and me—were born and raised with the fear of Grandpa and his jealous God, whose voice we could not escape. Our first love.

When I left my grandfather and the mountain, the scariest thing, I realized, was that the girl they indoctrinated still lived inside me. While I relished the freedom of being able to make my own choices, I continued to hear Grandpa’s voice in my ear, yelling at me that the price I would pay for leaving him would be an eternity spent in hell—like an ex I can’t get out of my head.

Like many former believers, I was afraid of hell and other punishments God might mete out. I suffered from triggers and flashbacks, with a foreboding feeling there’s something inherently wrong with me, something that makes me unworthy of love, comfort, or rest. Even though I’ve turned my back on my early teachings and created a template of new morals to live by, the God of my grandfather haunts me to this day. I live with a low-grade fear that if I let go of my vigilance, my ex will find out and punish me for trying to get away. It makes it difficult to live in a secular world. Or even one in which religion is soft and yielding, called to comfort, rather than afflict.

You can take the girl out of the cult, but it’s hard to take the cult out of the girl. As the Gospel of Matthew says, “For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat.” How can I yield to pleasure, rest, comfort, or acceptance, when I learned that entering at a narrow gate cannot be replicated, that anyone or anyone I find as a replacement has the possibility to betray me?

Time, I learned, is the greatest healer. Like many former believers, I’ve left my ex behind, to build relationships and communities that serve me on the earth I know, rather than a nebulous afterlife. But that doesn’t mean it has fully let me go.

TIME Ideas hosts the world's leading voices, providing commentary on events in news, society, and culture. We welcome outside contributions. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of TIME editors.

[tenta-cute]

Billy Lore From 'Runaway Max': Chapter 6

Am I procrastinating? A little bit. Not gonna lie, guys, this book is short and fast to read, but not nearly as fun as my 10th re-read of "Cherry" on Ao3. I know my priorities. Anyway! Chapter 6 is extremely short (only 2 pages on my tablet) but it's pretty much all about Billy since it's the aftermath of the Halloween party, so...

Spoilers and lore from CHAPTER 6 under the cut!

Billy doesn't show up to pick up Max. She waits for him for thirty minutes and decides to go home. She arrives home a little after 11PM.

She's immediately cornered by Susan and Neil who ask why she's home so late and where the fuck is Billy.

Susan calls Billy Max's brother. Max feels the strong urge to remind them that he's not her brother, but realizes this is not important at the moment.

Max decides to lie to save Billy's butt! She tells Neil and Susan that some guy from Billy's school needed a lift home, so Billy dropped Max off at Cherry Lane first and will be back home shortly.

Max instantly recognizes this as a very transparent lie and goes all red-faced.

The reason why she lied is because she wants to stop Neil from blowing up, and also save herself from not being allowed to leave the house. It's not stated openly that she wants to protect Billy from Neil, if that's what you were hoping for.

They are all silently standing just staring at one another when the Camaro roars outside.

Billy comes home and oh my. He's drunk as hell, stinks of cigarettes and booze, is clearly unsteady on his feet, and has bloodshot eyes. He's still wearing his leather jacket but Max notes that he no longer has a shirt (which implies that he was wearing a shirt when they left and made the strategic decision to remove it sometime before/during the party, lmao).

So... Confirmed drunk driving.

Neil demands to know where Billy was. Billy mumbles "Nowhere" and tries to move past Neil, but Neil stops him with - oh my - a hand on The Titty.

When Neil keeps pushing, Billy lies that he got a flat tire. Susan and Neil immediately realize that Max's and Billy's lies do not line up.

Susan gets all shocked and stressed about the fact that Billy left Max on her own. She demands to know why Max didn't tell them that Billy abandoned her (to which Max replies "Dunno" and tries to convince Susan that Hawkins is super safe so nothing bad would've happened anyway).

Neil corners Billy against the wall. Wants to know where Billy had learned to be so disobedient.

Max notes that Billy stinks to high heaven of weed.

Billy glares at Neil and tell him to piss off, because he's not in the mood for this.

...Neil is displeased. For a moment they glare at each other, and then Neil starts talking quietly, his voice gradually getting louder until he's screaming in Billy's face about respect.

Susan looks terrified at first but then she seems to... sorta dissociate, I guess? Max knows that in a moment Susan will look away and not do anything to help.

Max leaves. She goes to her bedroom and pushes a blanked into the gap between the door and floor to muffle the sounds. She focuses on counting and sorting her candy.

At first she hears yelling, then a sharp cry and a meaty sound she compares to something hitting a baseball glove. At some point she hears the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Max tries to pretend she's somewhere else, specifically with her dad in Los Angeles. She tries to convince herself that she doesn't care what happens to Billy because he's awful, but doesn't quite succeed. She keeps trying, though, believing that if she lies to herself enough times she will eventually believe them.

Impressions:

Yep, there's no doubt about it: both Max and Susan are perfectly aware that Neil is physically abusive towards Billy.

Just a little thing, but note that during the encounter at the Byers' house Steve Harrington uses the exact same gesture as Neil does in this chapter with the Titty Poke.

The part where Max is aware that she's lying to herself when she tries to pretend she doesn't care about Billy being hurt is pretty interesting in the context of S4, especially the discrepancy between her letter in "Dear Billy" and what she says while trying to provoke Vecna. This is just a private impression, but just like Max tried to talk herself into believing that she doesn't care about Billy in order to protect herself, she might've been doing the same thing to bait Vecna.

[grungnr]

4 am vibezzzzzz

monsune - outta my mind

cecilia condit – possibly in michigan

billie eilish - idontwannabeyouanymore

crumb - locket

jack stauber - baby hotline

monsune - nothing in return

dayglow - can i call you tonight?

kane strang - my smile is extinct

rex orange county - sunflower

jack stauber - oh klahoma

billie eilish - you should see me in a crown

samm henshaw - broke

will joseph cook - girls like me

half-alive - still feel.

yungblud - parents

lauv/troye sivan - tired of love songs

troye sivan - talk me down

seventeen - change up

coin - talk too much

easy life - nightmares

phum viphurit - loverboy

missio - everybody gets high

alfie templeman - stop thinking

seventeen - good to me

will joseph cook - take me dancing

anarbor - 18

yungblud - medication

jeremy zucker - comethru

godford - downtown

the unlikely candidates - novacaine

will joseph cook - be around me

charli xcx - boys

lauv - i like me better

borns - electric love

exo - going crazy

billie eilish - copycat

ashnikko - diasy

yungblud - loner

fazerdaze - lucky girl

jawny - honeypie

seventeen - network love

circa waves - sad happy

japanese breakfast - boyish

exo - sweet lies

suggi - i'm always sad cause i'm ugly

mormor - heaven's only wishful

wayv - say it

between friends - affection

heartless bastards - only for you

mild orange - freak in me

tahiti 80 - hurts

maye - tu

wallows - these days

men i trust - show me how

hey violet - better by myself

tkay maidza - you sad

rina sawayama - xs

nct - lips

audrey nuna - damn right

rei ami - snow cone

beabadoobee - if you want to

yaeji - raingurl

princess nokia - tomboy

ateez - desire

eliot lee - pink (freak)

nct - love song

girli - hot mess

rico nasty - smack a bitch

cyn - i'll still have me

charlotte lawrence - why do you love me?

conan gray - generation why

taeyong - long flight

d.o - that's okay

clairo - pretty girl

benee - supalonely

ruel - painkiller

dean - instagram

zico - she's a baby

ricky montgomery - mr loverman

oliver tree - alien boy

cavetown - boys will be bugs right?

rex orange county - loving is easy

nct - love me now

lorn - acid rain

joji - in tongues (the whole thing idc)

andrew huang - stars

the academic - fake id

blackbear - idfc

gnash - ilusm

keshi - over u

james bay - hold back the river

rei brown - is it too late?

seventeen - trauma

samsa - tinder samurai

arctic monkeys - mardy bum

exo - stronger

sir chloe - michelle

kali uchis - dead to me

ama lou - northside

raveena - honey

tom oddel - another love

lay - honey

yeule - pixel affection

hey violet - guys my age

james bay - let it go

exo - universe

hozier - take me to church (+ the neon jungle cover)

neon jungle - brave heart

placebo - i feel you

ash - girl from mars

atlas - you are my world

fats'e - dissociate

blur - she's so high

david bowie - heroes

exo - heaven

fleetwood mac - little lies

jackson wang - oxygen

placebo - post blue

shinigami - shooting stars

sigrid - high fives

thin lizzy - dancing in the moonlight

caleb belkin - i fall in love too easily

burbank - sorry i like you

david bowie - life on mars

no vacation - lovefool

mia rodrigez - psycho

yezi - 미묘

tessa violet - crush

stoned jesus - i'm the mountain

omori - pure imagination

drenge - fuckabout

radiohead - no surprises

semisonic - secret smile

taeyong - long flight

still woozy - goodie bag

the regrettes - seashore

jordan suaste - body

deathbyromy - problems

au/ra - panic room

weathers - happy pills

hayley kyoko - girls like girls

yungblud - kill somebody

conan gray - maniac

5sos - teeth

brye - lemons

june - a little messed up

ic3peak - Плак-Плак

loren - empty trash

eaj - pacman

rich brian - history

rich brian and eaj - love in my pocket

eden - sex

wonho - open mind

jet - are you gonna be my girl

forrest - your soul

hope tala - cherries

bea miller - that bitch

kesha - woman

lola blanc - angry too

loveleo - boyfren

sakima - daddy

teddy hyde - sex with a ghost

mad tsai - boy bi

blackbear - do re mi

remi wolf - photo id

saint motel - my type

mike posner - cooler than me

p!nk - funhouse

bruno mars - that's what i like

sitcom – still life

the scary jokes – icicles