#and I know she is mentally ill and can't help that

[icarusredwings]

Baby Eveyln small update

Tw: Mentions of miscarriage, child loss, voices, mental illness, argueing.

Logan is starting to get worried. A little too worried. Some of the things he is saying make far too much sense, the way he holds the baby, becoming way too serious to be simply coping. If anything, Evelyn was making him cope less, forcing him to spend most of his time with her, taking her to the park, taking her to the store, and even to work. It was getting to the point where Eve was "crying" during class and began to freak out some of the students.

"..but.. Mr. Wade.. she's a toy."

"She's crying!"

The silence was loud to them, but not to Wade, who was now on paid suspension for two weeks to try to settle his mental state but now Wade couldn't even sleep without the doll. He didn't laugh as much anymore. He didn't take many merc jobs anymore. Hell- he didn't want to take any jobs at the moment, even bringing up the idea of being a stay at home dad. This, of course caused an argument.

"Wade, you cant be a stay at home dad if we don't have any kids! If you want to take a break thats fine, but you can't use her as an excuse, shes... shes plastic, honey. You need to realize that. Shes not real. You are making the crying on your own."

"I'm not! An-and she IS crying!"

"All she does is cry apprently! It's not healthy, Wade. Something is wrong!"

"She laughs too! S-she giggles at me! It's real! I-i can hear it!" He cries, still holding the doll in his arms, yelling back like a tired mother in a Drama who just found out her husband was cheating.

"If you don't want to be part of this family.. t-Then don't! Leave us alone! Go! She dosn't need a father like you anyway!" He screams, wearing nothing but his silk nightie robe and a pair of boxers... storming off into their room.

Slamming the door..

So, It leads him to consult an expert in Wade's manic depressive episodes. Vanessa. Wade mentioned them both taking parenting classes to see if they were ready for a kid but the way Wade was describing it... there may have already been one.. Infact that's why he called her here.

At first, he pitter pattered around the subject. Lightly implying, and then beat around the bush, beating the bush finally when she ignored the question, acting as if she hadn't heard. Logan knew already by her avoidance, but he needed her to confirm. To be sure.

"Were you... ever pregnant?..while with Wade, I mean.." It's a whisper, in the corner of some run down diner. He had bought her a piece of strawberry short cake and a coffee in hopes to soften things over, he himself a coffee and buttered pancakes.

"What? No.. why would you think that?" She says, but looks away, quickly taking a drink of her coffee, looking longingly out the window.

"...Ness.."

She glances at him with such wide eyes, frowning. "What is it, Logan?"

"I won't tell him." He states, watching as she swallows, looking around before whispering.

"...It would destroy him."

That's what Logan thought. An internal sigh washed over him as he glances down at the table. "I know.. but with Eve-"

"That stupid babydoll he carries around to torture me with? What about her?" She grunts, by now her eyes teary, begining to look at the ceiling, clearly angry that she couldn't have what she wanted, and yet Wade could play with the doll.

Ooh... that made sense as to why Vanessa wouldn't play mommy and daddy with him. His brows crease upwards, head lowering as he looks at her with such sympathy. "Yeah....Why didn't you tell me? I can put her up when you visit.. so.. It's not as painful..."

"He can't know. No one can know. If he found out, he'd-" Her throat tightens, cutting off as she took a deep breath, now staring at him in his eyes, serious and biting her tounge.

"...Promise me."

"I won't tell him... I promise." Taking a napkin, he passed it to her. "I just.. I need to know what's going on so I can get him help. By helping me, you're helping him." He whispers, letting things sit like that for a while, silently starting to eat his food, waiting patiantly.

Finally, Vanessa took a breath. "Don't let this be for nothing.."

"I won't...Do you know if anyone else could possibly-"

Vanessa gave him a glare. One that said 'Ive been engaged to this bastard for 10 years and you think he has a kid with someone else?'

So Logan nodded. "Got it."

But now this leads Logan to wonder... Did Wade deserve to know? It was his kid afterall...

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[thewalrusespublicist]

is it true that john in the 70s would listen to pauls records and comment you’re here or there you are or something along those lines? if so, i just don’t understand it, like what does he mean by that. also, couldn’t he just call him?

(Quick note: the first bit of this is really similar to what was discussed in the first episode of @anotherkindofmindpod's Strange Bedfellows series. I think what I say is enough to constitute a slightly different perspective but as it's borderline I've linked the episode here. It's a great series so recommend people check it out regardless.)

Hi anon! Yes, it's true, the source for it is actually Paul:

PAUL: ... after [John] died, the thing that helped me the most, really, was talking to Yoko about it. She volunteered the information that he had . . . really liked me. She said that once or twice, they had sat down to listen to my records and he had said, "There you are." So an awful lot went on in the privacy of their own place. So, yes, it was very important.

--Paul McCartney, 1984 Playboy Interview

So it's true but ... like you said, what does he mean by that? I think there are two options. Option one is a ''Well Yoko, there you are, he's brilliant you can't deny it'' kind of ''there you are'' which is sweet in itself. The other, more insane option is him tenderly stroking the record player like ''there you are, we've grown so apart that sometimes I feel like I can't recognise you anymore but there you are, here is the person I love, right here where I thought you would be, right here in the music.'' It's a shame we don't have a audio or video (actually do we? Someone correct me if I'm wrong) because tone would be a BIG help here. The crazy thing is from the other stories we have of this account from Yoko via Paul, John is crying and saying he loves him really so it seems like the second option is the more likely one which goooooood god.

As for why he can't just call him? Ugh, great question! If the real life/stepping out demo is about Paul, even John himself is telling himself to just call him on the phone. We know that in some cases, John does call him and does reach out. So why not more if he's crying over records about his undying love for the man? Well, I've discussed it in greater detail elsewhere but John's feelings for Paul were complex and distorted by hurt and mental illness. Sure in these moments he was filled with his overwhelming love for Paul but in the very next moment he could be back to boiling 'hatred' or jealousy or anger. It's also hard to call someone when you have so many feelings of hurt and rejection that could slip out (and have in the past causing screaming arguments down the phone). You would have to be really brave and open and willing to be vulnerable to do that which is a lot to ask. This is especially a lot for John who did not call people by his own admission out of insecurity.

So to sum up everything, it is true and John didnt call because emotions are hard, relationships are hard and mental illness is REALLY hard.

[tobias-hankel]

Everyone always talks about how much Spencer loves his mother, Diana, but the relationship just hurts when you think about it.

Here Spencer is after having an incredibly long day. He flew from Las Vegas back to Quantico, figured out an extremely hard puzzle, found out his mother was in danger - then had to admit his mom is mentally ill and that he could be too one day. His mom is rude to him about his body, letters, and over the fact she was flown there to save her life. He then failed a negotiation and a man killed himself in front of him. He was hurt by a bomb, caught on fire, and helped rescue a victim while escaping a burning house.

And then after all that, he stands in front of his mom - exhausted, charred, vulnerable - and he doesn't tell her how he was hurt or about what he did. He says how she helped save Rebecca's life and Diana doesn't even look up.

Diana doesn't give any indication that she even knows who Spencer is and she doesn't ask about the ash all over him. It's clearly nighttime and she asks if it's lunchtime. She doesn't remember that she read the books she asked him about to him.

Then Spencer, even though he is so tired, has to help his mom on the flight back across the United States, while reading to her and taking care of her while Spencer has no one taking care of him.

And this is medicated, well taken care of, Diana. If this is Diana on an alright day, on medicine - what was she like when Spencer was a child.

[starflungwaddledee]

some rather strong first impressions were made.

required reading for the magical "voice" headcanon and another for starstruck's signature in particular. asked by @trainerbob23 !

[katyspersonal]

Lrb dear god, this reminded me of that time when Alfred-chan got sooooo mad at my post explaining why fans should respect bisexual headcanons for Maria and Malenia instead of pretending like they're canonically lesbians and that they get oppressed and erased by mxf ships with them. They kept vagueing that post for like a MONTH in their blog including in tags under reblogs of Maria fanart, passively-aggressively changed their url to character+sexuality to "spite" me and then even made a sockpuppet account to start shit with me in the comments.

They deactivated when me and Val completely obliterated their "you cultivate lesbiphobic following by telling people why they should respect all sexuality headcanons instead of acting cultish or assuming their experiences and stereotypes equal canon confirmation" garbage with actual facts and logic tho but I screenshotted everything fjthfgfj (I learned to document everything the hard way after they've changed the she/they pronouns to they/they pronouns ONLY to accuse me of misgendering, so thank you for making me wiser I guess 😎). Even more vile, as they, a white person, larped as an Arab in that sockpuppet to hold even MORE "privilege" against me in discussion gjtjfh Because for them race, gender or sexuality are just badges of honor and dishonor, they don't see these as traits of actual human beings. And Dr Eugene X, who worked with them and weaponized her race to accuse everyone who disagreed with her of racism, didn't bat an eye at such a terrible act too?? As usual, rules are not for their friends, lol

It is not even the worst thing Alfred did, and yet all of this just, just, JUST because I wrote a point on why bisexual headcanon people did nothing wrong and there is no ground to claim something is canon when it isn't. 🤦‍♂️ Like, they were soooo convinced that I hated lesbian headcanons and that I'd feel angry if they called Lady Maria a lesbian, when what I was angry at is this exact toxic behavior in the fandom. No matter how much you like a headcanon, don't be a bitch about it. Maria doesn't """belong""" to any gender or sexuality, she belongs to anyone who likes her and is invested in her complexity as a character!!!

Yet, apparently, common Malenia simps / Finlay shippers are no better than common Maria simps / Mariadeline shippers. Just, wild how after shit like this, many people have the guts to claim that it is "sexist redditbros" who are the biggest problem of creators in the fandom. 🤦‍♂️ They'd actually blush if they encountered what such self-proclaimed "feminists" do to their own (!!!) over headcanons. 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️

[honey-skulls]

HUGE VENT

I'm sorry but i need to get this out, just please don't worry too much or take anything personally/gen

My routine these last two weeeks has been:

-Wake up at my 10 am alarm and spend the whole day in bed, mentally and physically exhausted, brain fog and no motivation for anything, only getting up to eat, having to wait for the "food time" hours to roll around that my therapist gave me because I'm not allowed to eat outside of those hours and if I'm hungry but missed the last food time then too bad, struggling to stay awake because again I'm not allowed to sleep out of the "sleep hours" she gave me and that includes naps, excitedly waiting for 21h30/22h to roll around so i can finally sleep

-Spend the evening mentally screaming in my mind because, while my body is still just as physically exhausted, my mind is suddenly sharp and full of ideas and motivation, but i'm still too tired to get up and draw

-Then spend midnight and onward rolling around in bed, hot and bored out of my mind because my physical tiredness also vanished, but i'm not allowed to get up and draw because it's "sleep hours" and i need to reschedule my body, and end up falling asleep at around 5 am

I'm totally not slowly loosing my mind 😃👍

Edit: Oh also the constant noise in my ears has gotten worse, i don't know what silence is anymore

Silence is actually worse than loud rooms

It's driving me insane

It's so loud

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Me: hey sis, I'm sick

Sis: omg I will help you. Whatever you need, just let me know.

Me: Cool, can you get some toilet paper, and chicken noodle soup, maybe some waffles too.

Sis: UGHHHHH Why are you asking me to do things?!

Me: ...you said anything I nee-

Sis: FINE!!! (buys chicken rice soup, which is too herbal and makes me vomit... and takes a shower for the second day in a row knowing I've been throwing up and having explosive diarrhea all day... also buys me valentines day chocolate I can't eat and covid tests that have to be mailed into the lab instead of the fast home tests)

Me: ......bro. Pleas.

[dokjaism]

man i feel so unfair when i talk abt how my relationship with my mom makes me feel

[createacamillahect]

camilla hect and her elderly dog she loves and handles so gingerly. she beams around them

[sutille]

one of the endless things I hate of the patriarchy is that it taught me from a young age that every single one of my emotions is automatically invalid during menstruation.

i am now grieving my late best friend, but i can't help but feel that this "doesn't hurt that much". "this unbearable pain is just a result of menstruation. it isn't that bad".

yes, menstruation means chemical and anatomical processes will work a little different from usual, making one more irritable and amplifying how one person experiences their emotions, but that doesn't make them any less valid than they would be if one weren't menstruating.

[toomanyfandomsneverenoughtime]

.

[micechicken]

The Showers is my fav creepypasta as I've said but OH MY GOD does it have one of the most punchable characters in a creepypasta ever.

[teethcore]

i can't even complain about our cruel housemate without my angel making it about her.

[sadfraudfrogs]

I currently need to throw my phone into a river because if my mum looks through my phone I'm fucked