#and i have so much damn executive dysfunction

[foursaints]

genuinely my inability to do any coursework the entire semester (& then instantly, all of it, within the span of 3 days) (power of stimulants) has to be studied like this can't just be my life

[ovaryacted]

I really hate how bad my brain fog and memory has gotten recently especially since like January of this year?? Idk if it’s trauma or whatever cause I know I’ve been a mess and those closest to me have fr been telling me to go see a doctor for this shit cause it’s getting exponentially worse and I’m too scared to get formally diagnosed and be put on medication cause of the administration & losing my aura on medicine; but I legit look like this fucking gif when I try to get my mind to work for once lmao:

[exile-arc]

.

[quixoticprince]

Yayyy!! Yippee!! I finally get to make one of these!! Art without the text under the cut and some long-winded elaborations:

How long I've been playing: well, it hasn't been a straight 11 years, rather off and on - but I have drawings of these guys dating back to when I was 14, so I'll give it to me. And man I had no business reading the fanfics I was reading back then It's also crazy how this was a super influential media for me in so many ways. It's the reason I ever made a tumblr, it changed the direction of my drawings for a long while, my broken sense of humor (gmod animation memes and yt poops were the brainrot back then), tf2 Sniper changed my god damned gender (rather, it was the inspiration for me to start socially transitioning at 15). This is part of my personal lore that I tend to not admit to 😓

Your main: I've always been completely ass at the game, and I can play flexibly, but I enjoy playing Sniper, and more recently as Heavy. Whenever I'm sitting around somewhere, occasionally throwing sandwiches and attracting Medics, I feel like this:

Favorite character: When I was younger it was definitely Medic, and I think you can tell that he's still up there based on how much I've drawn him! However, since getting back into it, I've felt quite a shift in focus towards Heavy, very strongly. It's unfortunate that he's side-lined in a lot of fanwork, and I think I'm also complicit in this so far - but for me it's cuz, how tf2 works is that it's going to prioritize humor over character and consistency haha, and Medic is just so loud and insane that he's really easy to make fun stuff with. Heavy is a more serious and grounded character, not to say that he's not funny or that he doesn't have his own cartoon slapstick moments! But that aspect of him is what is really really intriguing to me. I love his quiet, stoic, and intimidating character, I like how loud and boisterous he is when filled with bloodlust in contrast! I love his bird story and him getting into wrestling as a child from Poker Night. I love his back story setting, there's so much to extrapolate from a young boy in Russia growing up during WWII, what his parents must have been through before that from the aftermaths of the revolution, all the way to his fathers execution and his imprisonment. I love his strong relationship with his family, his role as an older brother, as a protector, as a man - the way that he performs these roles - and because I personally see him as bisexual - how his orientation intersects with all that! He is incredibly fascinating to me and I wish that he was played around with more to see a lot more corners and angles of these things that I listed! There's way more that I want to say here too but this is getting very long 😅

Character I relate to: It's so interesting that a lot of the characters have very strong, tho maybe dysfunctional, families. Heavy, Demo, and Sniper in particular really speak to me in that relation. From Heavy being an eldest brother (I am also an eldest sibling) the parentification that comes with that, especially with him probably being like 10 years older than his sisters from the looks of it. Demo and Sniper both struggle living up to their parents expectations (although there's a lot of love there from everyone), being disappointments in one way or another (not gonna deep dive into that lol), and the general alienation both of them feel. From Sniper not knowing why he's not like other Australians to Demo being "a black Scottish cyclops." And well, I'm Filipino, I'm queer, and mentally ill so - there's a lot to project there!

Class you want to play as: I find Medic incredibly stressful to play as but I find the idea of battle medics incredibly funny. However I usually find myself rushing around madly trying to cater to everyone, and I'd like to just not give a shit and just start stabbing people with a saw lol

Favorite ship: "I just like the dynamic" - The dynamic:

No but fr, they're really compelling to me, I'd probably need a longer more thought out post as to what I like about them and I was already going crazy up there ^ Overall tho I like that they're practically built for each other in terms of mechanics, really plays into my desire to spiral into intense codependency haha. I also think that Medic's drive to cheat death and hide behind meat shields plays really well into Heavy's desire to be a meat shield and a protector, and how nice it is in turn, that Medic can grant this man who's been around death, starvation, and war invulnerability. (He outsmart boolet, yknow?) They're also depicted together a lot and I like how much they enjoy each others company, and bring a lot of joy to each other. It's beautiful to me :'^)

Character you like to draw: What can I say! Medic is handsome! He is very fun to draw and easy to make memes and shit posts out of!

[slattlicker]

can u write maybe some comfort fluff for reader going trough a depressive episode (totally not projecting wdym)

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * a low spoons sort of day ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: a rough morning, a quiet lunch, and a long-distance boyfriend who shows up on your doorstep—and stays. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: this one’s for you, babe. for the days when it’s hard to cry, hard to eat, hard to answer a text—you’re not broken, you’re just tired. and you deserve love anyway. and remember: you are kind, you are smart, you are loved. don’t let anyone dim your light—not even yourself. ♡ i know the original request was for something fluffy, and i hope the comfort & fluff still shines through even if it leaned a little more hurt/comfort than expected.

warnings: hurt/comfort · long-distance relationship · therapist · y/n has depression · depiction of a depressive episode · executive dysfunction · intrusive thoughts/self-isolation themes · difficulty expressing emotions · eating struggles (not ED-specific) · emotional vulnerability/tough conversation · tenderness, softness, and healing cuddles

✧✧✧

you wake up because the light’s too bright.

not because you’re rested. not because you want to.

the sun’s hitting you directly in the face—low, late morning maybe, and sharp enough to hurt. you squint against it but don’t move. not really. just pull the covers a little higher and let your eyes fall shut again.

the room smells stale. your water bottle’s empty. something vaguely crusty’s on the nightstand from two-days-ago's attempt at dinner—probably takeout. you don’t remember. it doesn’t matter.

your phone buzzed sometime around midnight. schlatt’s name lit up the screen with a message that read:

gonna be real busy tomorrow, babe. not sure i’ll be able to call til later. love you. talk soon <3

you’d typed out “it’s okay, good luck <3” and then erased it.

typed it again. erased it again.

settled on a heart emoji and turned your phone face-down.

it wasn’t that you were mad. you weren’t. it just felt like... too much effort. everything does lately.

you know what this is. it’s the weight. the fog. the numbness and the ache. you’ve been through this before—hell, you’ve even sat in the therapy chair and named it. depression. clinical, cyclical, chemical. you know the words. you’ve done the reading.

it still doesn’t make mornings easier.

still doesn’t make the thought of brushing your teeth any less impossible.

you breathe out, long and quiet. your chest feels heavy. your head feels heavier.

but eventually—because you have to—you sit up.

not all at once. just enough to lean forward, elbows on knees, palms to your face.

you don’t cry. that would take energy. all you do is sit there, eyes open, breathing, trying to find the strength to stand up.

✧✧✧

you’re halfway through your soup when your therapist asks, casually:

“so, how’d the sandwich experiment go?”

you sigh. shrug. pick at the bread crust you’ve been slowly tearing into pieces.

“i stared at it for twenty minutes and then put it back in the fridge.”

she hums. not judging. just listening.

“you still have it?”

“yeah.”

“maybe toast it tomorrow. new texture, new try.”

you nod, knowing damn well it’ll sit untouched for another two days before you throw it out. but it feels nice to be given a gentle solution instead of a lecture.

she’s halfway through her tofu rice bowl—same thing she always gets on tuesdays. she’s always warm about it, too. offers you bites even though you never accept. makes quiet comments about the sauce being better this week, or how someone finally fixed the squeaky door to the front office.

she’s easy to be around. familiar.

“you seem... heavier today,” she says eventually, tearing off a piece of your untouched bread and dipping it in her bowl. “wanna talk about that?”

you stir your soup.

“i think i’m the reason i’m alone.”

she doesn’t flinch. just lets the silence breathe for a moment.

you keep going—slow. hesitant. honest.

“i—i told myself i needed space. from people. from everything. i thought i was doing the right thing, you know? like, letting myself rest. not forcing it.”

“and now?”

you press your spoon down. feel it scrape the bottom of the cup.

“now it feels like i never learned how to come back.”

her eyes soften.

“i push people away,” you admit, voice smaller. “and then i punish myself for it. like—of course no one’s here. you made it this way.”

“self-sabotage is sneaky like that,” she says. “feels like protection at first. then it builds walls you forget how to climb.”

you nod. swallow. stir.

she waits a beat longer, then adds—gently:

“but you’re not trapped. not really. just out of practice.”

you glance up.

she offers a small shrug. “you isolated to survive. that’s not weakness. that’s strategy. now we just need new strategies.”

you blink at that.

she nudges your arm with hers.

“start small. text one person when you think you don’t deserve it. let someone see you before you’re ‘fixed.’ remind yourself—connection isn’t a reward. it’s a need.”

you’re quiet. still chewing.

“hey,” she says softly. “you’re here. that matters.”

you offer a crooked smile.

“only because i was bribed with soup.”

she laughs. “see? new strategy already.”

you huff a laugh—small, but real.

for the rest of the session, she keeps it light. talks about a book she’s reading. mentions how the neighbor’s cat keeps sneaking into the front office. you listen. you sip. you chew.

it helps. it's nice to have a conversation with someone who isn't your boyfriend.

when it’s time to leave, she presses a granola bar into your palm like a secret mission and says, “for post-session blood sugar.”

you thank her. she tells you she’ll see you next week.

you nod.

but your smile fades the second you hit the stairwell.

✧✧✧

you sit in your car with the door still open, keys in your hand, soup-to-go container cooling in your lap.

you don’t start the engine. don’t even close the door.

just sit there—half in, half out—like the drive home is some far-off thing you don’t quite have the energy to reach.

your fingers dig into the steering wheel like it might anchor you. like holding onto something will keep you from dissolving.

your phone is face down in the cupholder. still on do not disturb. you haven’t touched it all day.

you know exactly what’s sitting in there.

a text from your mom, asking if you’re mad at her.

a message from robyn, still unread—from three weeks ago.

a photo in the group chat from an inside joke you weren’t part of anymore.

a voice memo from emily that you said you’d listen to “when you felt better.” you never did.

three emails from work. one of them marked “urgent.”

and schlatt—probably just a little heart in response to yours. maybe an “i love you.” maybe nothing, this time.

you can feel your face tightening, your throat closing. you tell yourself not to cry.

you don’t deserve to cry. crying is for people who still try. you haven’t tried. you haven’t reached out. you haven’t done your dishes. you didn’t even put the soup in the fridge last night, just left it on your desk until it curdled.

you’re disgusting.

your chest starts to heave—quiet, shallow hiccups of air you can’t quite catch.

you grip the wheel harder.

you remember the voicemail from your cousin. the one you deleted without listening to, because she always talks for ten minutes and you couldn’t fake interest for ten minutes.

you remember the birthday party you skipped. the friend you “forgot” to text back.

the way you didn’t answer the door when someone came by to check on you.

you remember schlatt asking “are you sure you're okay?” a few days ago—and how you smiled, tight and fake and practiced, and said, “just tired.”

you feel your lip wobble. you dig your nails into the heel of your palm.

you used to cry all the time. when you were a kid. when you were softer. you used to sob in bathrooms and hallways and curled up on the couch with your mom’s old sweater.

now you just… stare. glassy-eyed. stunned.

your body doesn’t know whether it wants to scream or disappear.

you rest your head on the steering wheel. it’s warm. it smells like your skin.

your vision starts to swim.

you’re a terrible friend.

you’re a terrible daughter.

...probably a terrible girlfriend, too.

you’re lucky anyone even wants to text you.

and still, you ignore them.

still, you disappear.

and then you have the audacity to feel lonely.

your breath catches on a sharp inhale. almost a sob.

but no tears come.

not even that.

your chest tightens, rises, falls—too fast, too shallow—but your eyes stay dry.

you press your palms into your eyes anyway, like you can force it out, like pressure might trigger emotion. like grief is a switch you can flip if you just press hard enough.

nothing happens.

you sit there, hunched over the wheel, trembling—not from sadness, exactly, but from the sheer weight of everything you’ve refused to feel.

you want to scream.

you want anything to break the silence inside your head.

but instead, you just sit.

silent. stiff. breath catching like a misfiring engine.

you used to cry easily.

now?

you can’t even muster that.

and the numbness feels worse than the pain ever did.

eventually, your hands fall back into your lap. your grip loosens on the soup cup. the lid’s a little warped now, thumbprint pushed in from holding too tight.

you stare through the windshield—vacant, blank.

you are not okay.

…but you have to keep going, you guess.

✧✧✧

you unlock your door. red key. black door. drop your bag by the shoe rack. kick off your sneakers, one at a time. brace yourself for the stale quiet, the faint funk of laundry that needs folding, the dirty dishes you left in the sink yesterday because you’d “do them tomorrow”.

you don’t brace for this.

the smell hits first—garlic, roasted something, maybe herbs—and your brain short-circuits.

you freeze in the doorway.

the lights are soft. warm. the overhead one’s off, just the little lamp by the bookshelf on.

and your apartment? clean. 

your throw blanket’s folded. the counter’s wiped. the dishes are gone. the trash has been taken out. your couch even looks fluffed.

and then—

“hey, babe.”

you turn, wide-eyed.

and he’s there. he’s here.

schlatt—real, in your kitchen doorway—grinning like he knows he just turned your whole day upside down.

he’s wearing your apron. the ugly one with the cartoon sheep. holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a potholder in the other.

“don’t freak out,” he says, totally unbothered, “but i made chicken parm and also maybe reorganized your fridge.”

you blink at him. your mouth opens. nothing comes out. you feel like your body is buffering.

“how—what—?”

he shrugs. “caught a flight. figured i’d surprise you. you didn’t really think that i wouldn’t want to talk or even text you all day?”

you should smile. you should run to him. you should fall into his arms and laugh and kiss him and say thank god you’re here.

instead, your eyes blur.

your chest goes tight.

and the inside of your mouth tastes like panic.

he steps closer—tentative now, spoon still in hand.

“hey,” he says again, gentler. “you okay?”

you nod, quickly.

then shake your head.

then nod again.

“i—i’m fine,” you whisper. “i just… it’s a lot.”

he sets the spoon down. crosses the room to you slow, careful.

“too much?”

you shake your head again, even though—yeah. it is. it’s all too much. too clean, too warm, too loving, too good.

he stops in front of you. doesn’t reach for you yet. just looks.

you try to smile. it comes out warped.

“i’ve been barely holding it together all day,” you say, voice wobbly. “and then i come home and it’s clean and it smells good and you’re here and i—i’m not okay, and i should be, and that makes me feel like—like a horrible person—”

he catches you as your voice breaks.

wraps you up without hesitation. presses your face to his shoulder.

“hey, hey,” he murmurs. “stop that. don’t do that to yourself.”

your arms wrap around him slowly. your fingers curl in his shirt.

“you weren’t supposed to come today,” you mumble. “i didn’t get the chance to be… better.”

his hands rub slow circles on your back.

“you don’t have to be better,” he says, voice low and steady. “i'm just glad that you're home...would've been really awkward if you had hid out in your car for a few more hours…i probably would have burned dinner."

“…how did you know that i hide out in my car, schlatt?”

he exhales—quiet and sheepish. “because i do the same thing, baby.”

you blink against his chest. something in your ribcage shudders.

he rubs your back again, slow. “sometimes it’s the only place that feels… silent, y’know? like nothing’s expected of you in there. no dishes. no conversation. just…quiet.”

your throat tightens.

“so yeah,” he murmurs. “when you didn’t come in for a while, i figured you were out there, just… trying to be okay.”

he doesn’t say hiding. doesn’t say stalling.

just trying to be okay.

and for some reason, that’s what does it.

not the dinner. not the clean apartment. not even the smell of roasted garlic that’s still floating in from the kitchen.

it’s the quiet recognition.

the unspoken i get it.

and suddenly, your face crumples.

there’s no lead-up. no gasping breath or dramatic sob. just—release.

your shoulders cave inward. your fingers tighten in his shirt. the first hot tear slides down your cheek, then another, then another, and you just let it happen.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t freeze up.

doesn’t try to shush you or fix it or talk you out of it.

he just holds you.

softly. firmly. like you’re soft and warm and real, not just a rapidly deteriorating body.

his thumb grazes the back of your neck. his other hand cradles your waist, keeping you grounded while your chest shakes and your eyes spill and your words fall apart before they even make it to your mouth.

you’re not even sure what you’re crying about anymore.

it’s not just the depression.

not just the fear or the shame or the aching weight you’ve been dragging around.

it’s the relief too.

that he’s here.

that you don’t have to carry it alone tonight.

eventually, when the tears slow and your body’s less curled up and more leaned in, he presses a kiss to your temple.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “you hear me?”

you nod into his shoulder. he smells like your detergent.

“and hey,” he adds, a little lighter, “i made garlic bread too. with cheese. so i’m basically a five-star restaurant who's also your boyfriend.”

you sniff out a weak laugh. “you’re silly.”

“and you’re underfed. let’s fix that.”

✧✧✧

you eat in comfortable silence.

well—you eat.

he scarfs down two pieces of garlic bread and half his plate in ten minutes flat. you take smaller bites. the chicken’s soft, the sauce a little sweet. he must’ve used your good oregano—the one in the back of the cabinet, the one you keep forgetting you have.

you’re halfway through your food when he leans back in his chair, eyes soft, voice careful.

“can i ask you something?”

you glance up. nod.

“was today one of the bad ones?”

you lower your fork.

“yeah.”

he doesn’t push. just nods. lets you take your time.

you pick at the corner of your napkin.

“i’ve just… felt really alone lately,” you say. “and i keep trying to tell myself it’s temporary. or logical. or earned. but it doesn’t help.”

he nods again—not like he understands everything, but like he’s willing to try.

“i’ve been pulling away from people. even you,” you admit, quieter now. “and i hate it, but it feels like… like i don’t deserve anyone when i’m like this. like, i know it’s messed up thinking, but it’s so loud sometimes, and i just…i believe it.”

“can i say something?”

you nod, cautiously.

“you gotta stop thinking everyone’s gonna leave.”

your stomach twists. not from the food.

you stab at your chicken. “i’m not—i don’t think that, i just... i don’t know. i’ve been left before.”

“i know,” he says gently. “and that sucked. but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen every time.”

you shrug. “it kind of does, though. it’s a pattern.”

“or maybe it’s just fear talking,” he says. “fear has a way of convincing you that it’s a fact.”

"yeah, but...my fears have been confirmed before, schlatt. more than once..."

“i know they have,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “but baby... do you ever notice how you stopped giving people the chance to prove you wrong?”

"the only one who proved me wrong...was you, honey."

his mouth quirks—just a little, just for a second.

“then let that count for something.” his thumb keeps tracing, slow and steady. “’cause i’m not the exception. i’m just the start.”

you laugh a bit at that, shaking your head. "schlatt, it's not...it's not going to work like that. so easily..."

“i know,” he says, no hesitation. “i’m not askin’ you to flip a switch. we both know that relationships...romantic and platonic, take a ton of work.”

he squeezes your hand, just enough to ground you. you squeeze back, a little frustrated.

"everything is work, it feels like. i'm just...a huge work in progress. never to be completed. never to be fixed."

“you’re not broken,” he says, without missing a beat.

then, softer—more certain:

“you’re growing, and it is going to be tough to work through,” his fingers curl around yours, gentle but sure. “but you gotta understand something: i’m not here because you earned it. or because you were happy. or easy to deal with. or perfect."

he reaches for your hand. warm. grounding.

“i’m here because i love you.”

your breath catches.

“and yeah, sometimes it’s messy. sometimes you push me away. sometimes i have to step in before you spiral. but that’s not a dealbreaker, baby. that’s just... love.”

you don’t say anything. not yet. you just stare at him like you’re trying to memorize the shape of that sentence.

and he keeps going, quieter:

“i know it’s hard to believe. but people like me? we’re real. and we don’t just leave because things get hard. we stay. we show up. and you need to stop holding your breath waiting for that to change.”

your eyes burn. you try to blink it away, but it’s no use. the tears are already gathering.

“i don’t know how to believe that yet,” you whisper.

"let me ask you a really simple question, y/n. do you want me in your life?"

your voice catches in your throat. it takes a moment before you can answer.

“…yeah,” you say, barely audible. “of course i do.”

"good. because i want you too. and i will always want you in my life."

his forehead tips against yours, eyes closed like he’s sealing a promise.

“no version of you scares me off,” he murmurs. “not the tired one. not the sad one. not even the version that forgets she’s worthy of being loved.”

his hand squeezes yours again—firm, warm, anchoring.

“i’m not going anywhere. you got it? you're my girl.”

your breath catches.

not from the weight of your sadness—but from the warmth of his words. the certainty in them. like there was never a doubt. and it's really hard to try to argue with. because no matter how much your brain starts fishing for the rejection in his tone, you can't find anything.

"schlatt..."

"y/n, you're my girl because you're always there for me too. you're not some parasite, stuck to me, stealing all my energy and love. you're an amazing girlfriend who cares for me too. you're there when i'm having a tough time, you make me smile with all your stupid jokes, and you're always cheering for me on the sidelines."

your lips part—but no words come out.

not because you don’t have anything to say, but because he just said everything you never let yourself hope someone would.

your chest tightens, but not the way it usually does. this time, it’s not panic. it’s pressure—of something cracking open. something soft. something healing.

“you really… think that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

he huffs a quiet laugh. “baby, i know that.”

he pulls your joined hands to his chest, right over his heart. “you love hard, y’know that? and yeah, sometimes you get scared, and sometimes you spiral—but that love of yours? it’s never been a burden. not once.”

his voice dips. “you’re not hard to love, y/n. you've just got to let people in.”

✧✧✧

the dishes clink quietly in the sink.

you’re not really talking—just standing side by side, sleeves rolled up, warm water running. you wash. he rinses. sometimes your arms bump. sometimes he hums a bit under his breath. it’s not awkward. just soft. simple.

you cried again. of course you did. he didn’t say anything when you did—just handed you a towel, kissed your forehead, and asked if you wanted to help clean up. so you did.

now the plates are stacked, the counters wiped, and your kitchen doesn’t look like a war zone anymore. neither do you.

you let out a long, quiet breath, drying your hands on a dish towel. schlatt leans against the counter, watching you. something fond tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“what?” you ask, self-conscious but curious.

he grins. “i was gonna wait ‘til we were under the blanket, but i’m too proud of myself.”

he crosses the room, crouches by his bag, and—very dramatically—unearths a large, black garbage bag from within.

you stare at him. “what the hell is that?”

“no questions,” he says, tugging the knot loose. “just…have faith.”

and then—

out comes your 1-foot tall, soft-as-sin, midnight-colored rammy plush. a little wrinkled from travel.

you gasp. “you hid him?!”

he looks smug. “had to. no way i was gonna walk through airport security with that thing under my arm.”

“you flew with him??”

“he had his own seat.”

you laugh—one hand to your chest, the other reaching for rammy like he’s a long-lost limb.

“i thought i left him forever…”

“you did,” schlatt says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, chin on your shoulder. “and i rescued him from the side of my bed. like the brave, selfless man i am.”

you melt back into him, plush squished between your arms, giggling.

“you know,” he says, “he kept fallin’ over on the plane. guy’s got no balance.”

you laugh—real and loud and unexpected. “he’s got noodles for legs.”

“he’s got your sleep habits, too. zero posture. just collapses.”

“shut up,” you snort, cuddling rammy tighter.

you’re quiet a second.

then, softly: “thank you.”

his voice dips. “anytime, baby.”

✧✧✧

you pull your knees up, scoot a little closer to him on the couch, rammy tucked beside you so you can still cuddle with schlatt.

and schlatt—without hesitation—pulls the blanket off the backrest and drapes it over your shoulders like muscle memory. like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“so,” he murmurs, voice dropping low and fond, “you gonna let me watch some stupid reality show with you now? or are we cuddlin’ in complete silence like psychos?”

you laugh. “i mean, you are kind of insane.”

“and you’re emotionally avoidant,” he shoots back, smirking. “we balance each other out.”

you roll your eyes, but it makes your chest feel lighter.

he settles beside you and nudges your arm with his. “hey. got your phone nearby?”

you groan. “schlaaatt…”

“just hear me out,” he says, voice soft. “text one person. just one. someone you miss. even if it’s just ‘hi.’ that’s what your therapist suggested, yeah? you should try it.”

you make a face. “they probably think i’m ignoring them.”

“or,” he says, “they probably think you’re struggling. and they miss you, too.”

you fidget with your sleeve. “what if they don’t want to hear from me?”

“then they won’t answer,” he says simply. “and that’ll suck. but it won’t kill you. and you’ll know how they really feel. but if they do answer?”

he smiles. “you’ll remember how many people don’t want to leave.”

you chew your lip.

then—tentatively—you pick up your phone.

type out a simple message.

hey. i know it’s been a while. i miss you. hope you’re doing okay.

your thumb hovers.

he watches you, patient.

you hit send.

“okay,” you mutter. “done. no turning back.”

“atta girl,” he grins, kissing your temple. “now pick a show with at least one toxic relationship in it. i need to feel morally superior.”

you scroll through a few options, then pause on one. “this one has people getting engaged after like… thirty-six hours.”

“perfect,” he says. “set the bar low. i’ll look amazing by comparison.”

you nudge your shoulder into his. “you already do.”

he quiets at that. just for a second. but it’s a warm kind of quiet. like he heard it. like he’s storing it somewhere safe.

you hit play.

and for a while, it’s just easy. the couch is soft, the blanket is warm, rammy’s squished between your hip and the cushion like he’s always belonged there, and schlatt’s laugh rumbles low against your side every time someone says something outrageous.

you don’t even notice how relaxed you’ve gotten until he reaches for your hand again—and this time, you meet him halfway.

thumbs brushing. fingers interlocked.

no big speeches. no heavy moments.

just… ease.

and then your phone buzzes.

you glance over, expecting maybe a news alert or spam—

but it’s a reply.

from robyn, who you texted earlier.

you blink.

then read the message again.

hey! i’ve missed you. i’m really glad you reached out. wanna get lunch this weekend? my treat :)

your stomach swoops.

you stare.

schlatt notices. “what’s up?”

you show him the screen.

“well,” his whole face lights up. “would you look at that!”

you’re quiet a second—biting your lip, trying not to cry for the fourth time tonight.

“i guess… maybe i don’t have to start over,” you murmur. “maybe i just have to start again.”

“babe,” he says, pulling you in tight, “that was poetic as shit.”

you snort. “shut up.”

“no, no, keep going,” he grins, smothering your face in kissy pecks now. “say something else profound. i’m in the mood for growth and domesticity.”

you giggle, swatting at him, squirming under the affection.

he doesn’t stop. not until you’re laughing again—like really laughing.

and then he pulls you in, settles the both of you under the blanket again, and murmurs:

“see? not so hard to let people in.”

and this time, you don’t argue.

you just squeeze his hand. and let yourself feel loved.

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * end notes ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ thank you for being here. if you saw yourself in this piece, i hope you also saw the care you deserve. you are not a burden. your softness is not a flaw. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

[sincerelywhistler]

Freelancer!

More headcanons (ft. Gavin) under the cut!

^ and a Pinterest board bc I have a problem

- Hux calls them Skipper

- Matching heart hip tattoos w/ my Gav design & dyed the tips of their hair pink to match as well teehee

- Can get pretty nasty academic burnout and bouts of executive dysfunction

- Boba shop employee

- A dancer! Has a tiktok where they post choreo clips to and throwing it down to whatever songs are trending

- Big softy. So!! Cuddly!! World cold and harsh, Freelancer’s arms so warm and safe

- Gay awakening was Danny Phantom

- Chronic “lol” user while texting, and it gets on Damien’s nerves because nothing is even “lol” worthy about making dinner plans so STOP ENDING YOUR SENTENCES WITH LOL WHATS SO FUNNY BRO

- Filipino 🇵🇭

- Spicy foods = best foods. If their organs aren’t melting from the inside out then what’s the point??

- Pokémon sweat tbh

- Dr. Pepper addict

- Coffee hater, but they’ll drink it anyway if they’re desperate enough. They call it “dirty bean water” which both confuses and delights Gavin immensely

- Gave Gav a pair of cat ear headphones for the holidays, but they lowkey like how they look on him a lil too much so… that’s a pandora’s box situation for another day

- So many stupid and silly bumper stickers on their car (“Please don’t watch me park, I have performance anxiety”, “I break for roly-pollies”, etc.)

- Their favorite book genre is fanfiction on AO3

- Thus, shamelessly, they get some of their best ideas of how to rock Gavin’s world from smut fics

- Calls Gavin “playboy” when they’re being suggestive ;)

- Half of their paycheck would go to DoorDash if they got their way

- Has that natural aura where everyone can’t really help but crush on them a bit

- Lets Gavin change out their dexcom <3

- Has a collection of fun tape and/or transmitter stickers for said dexcom

- California born and raised

- If there is a DAMN rowing crew, they’re on it. Was quite exceptional on their high school team

- Can surprisingly be an efficient morning person (unless there’s a pretty incubus curled up at their side, then you’re playing by Cat Rules. Can’t move until the cat does first)

- Scared of heights, you’ll never find their ass on an airplane

vibe check Miles and take a peek at their pin board

[calina-alda]

Not my usual kind of post, but this kind of spilled out of my brain at 2am. This isn’t a cry for help or fishing for sympathy, I promise. I’m okay (mostly lol). I just wanted to put some thoughts into words, partly to get them out of my head, and partly in case someone out there reads this and goes, “Wait… that’s me.” Because sometimes, feeling seen by a random internet post is weirdly comforting. So if this makes you feel a little less alone or a little more understood, then it was worth sharing.

ADHD is often seen as something quirky or endearing. The forgetfulness, the daydreaming, the hyperfixations, it’s all “cute” until it’s not. Until ADHD starts becoming the reason your entire life feels like it’s falling apart. Until executive dysfunction isn’t just a buzzword but a wall you slam into every single day, again and again, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t break through it.

You’re not lazy. You’re not stupid. You know that. But then why does it feel like you’re standing outside your own body, watching yourself crash and burn? Why does it feel like you’re screaming at yourself to just do the thing, to move, to act, to fix it, and your body doesn’t listen? You're begging, crying, panicking inside your own skin, but nothing happens. You just watch. Frozen. Paralyzed. A passenger in your own life.

Then there is the guilt. Because your life is good. You have kind, supportive parents. You have amazing friends who love you. You have opportunities others would kill for. You’re safe, you’re loved, you have a world full of possibility, and yet you’re still struggling. Still frozen. Still throwing away chances. And you start to feel like an imposter. Like you don’t deserve what you have. Like you’re wasting it. Like you are the problem.

And then the shame creeps in. Maybe you are just making excuses. Maybe you’re hiding behind the diagnosis, using it as a shield so you don’t have to face the truth. Maybe you’re scared. Because if you really gave it your all and still failed, what then? What if you’re not as smart as everyone said? What if all the praise was just a fluke? What if the girl who got straight As, the girl who had potential, the girl everyone said would go so far… what if she was never real?

Now she’s just sitting here, an exhausted adult, overwhelmed by the simplest tasks, watching everything she dreamed of slip further away, because no matter how important something is, no matter how much hangs on it, she still can’t do it. She can’t even get herself to do the damn dishes, or reply to an email, or show up on time. And it hurts. It hurts so much. Because you remember who you were supposed to be. And you don’t know how to get back there. Or if you ever can.

[kinda-pushy-fem]

I think it’s a little transphobic that there isn’t a girl who’s slowly forcefemming me while telling me that it was only a matter of time before my egg cracked and now I must face the (very pretty) consequences of it.

You know, because I have too much executive dysfunction and autism and fear of change to do it myself��

It's a cruel world indeed... I believe you can reach your dream, though! You're going to feel so damn pretty!

[narrators-journal]

Kitsunebi

Fuck yeah! I actually like more than the concept or detail for this one! Of course, I’m not ENTIRELY the proudest, but that’s because I am rusty as hell with Soukoku QuQ. But hey! For once, I don’t feel like this is uncharacteristically awful work despite it not being Ryomina lol. And, I hope you enjoy it as well, dude. Sorry it took a bit. Also, forgive me if my info on kitsune/foxes is wrong, I did my best to google and read up on things.

EDIT: Admittedly, this one wasn’t in need of an edit because I disliked how it came out the first time. But, I decided to return to it regardless because I felt it came out a bit too short? I felt like I could still sprinkle in more detail, more focus on emersion, or something. I just felt something was MISSING to fill it out. So! I hope you enjoy the boost these bitches got, and I hope this’ll give my fans some assurance that I’m not devolving in skill or smthn.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: Teratophilia, since Dazai’s a kitsune here. Creative definitions of Aphrodisiacs (aka heat/rut cycles) but no a/b/o intended. Some vague? Phone sex? Mutual Masturbation can also be read into it, but it’s not explicitly there.

With Thanksgiving, festivals, Christmas, and New Years all in the same season, winter was a season rife with dramatics. On the side of the Mafia, there were deals to make, knock offs to sell, and bonds to keep healthy. For the ADA, there was the Mafia, as well as monsters and other petty criminals to contend with. So, Dazai was sure that Kunikida hated the season with every fiber of his being. Most of all due to the fact that the bandaged brunette went into rut during the season. Granted, Osamu Dazai didn’t have a strong work ethic on the best of his days, but he was sure that his vanishing act still annoyed the Thanksgiving stuffing out of the schedule-addicted man.

Meanwhile, the annoyance he inflicted upon Kunikida was probably the one thing that the manipulative brunette actually enjoyed when his rut came each year. Which, was petty, but in the years like this one, where he was left to his own devices with only toys and the dysfunctional level of need that infected every fiber of his being like a stubborn cancer, it was something to cling to. “That toy helping any, Mackerel?” Chuuya Nakahara asked, his voice distorted by the mostly forgotten cellphone that kept Dazai company amongst the temperamental redhead’s mussed comforter and egyptian cotton sheets. Though, the amusement in his words was still clear, and was still a burr that tangled itself in the brunette’s fluffed-up tail. “Not at all.” He growled out while he humped into the soft silicone of a lubricated pocket pussy. The feather-stuffed pillow that the kitsune kept captive beneath him a bit of support to keep the plastic casing from moving. “I’d prefer if it were you beneath me right now. A toy just doesn’t satisfy my needs as well.” “Bold of you to assume I’d let you top me, motherfucker. Even in your rut.” The martial artist mocked through the phone, emboldened by the distance Mori had put between them when he sent his executive off to sweet talk some important cog of the mafia. “But hey! At least your rut only lasts three days, right? That’s a perk.” He offered, only to get back through barred fangs, “That’s if I was a fucking girl, Chibi! You know damned well how long my ruts are, cunt!” Though, at the same time that the redhead’s sarcastic comfort pissed Dazai off, it also made his cock twitch while it slipped in and out of it’s silicone prison. The simple act of bickering with his mate like a dose of gasoline for the desire in Dazai’s belly. So, no matter how Chuuya’s laughter ate at him, the brunette’s thoughts felt too much like mush for him to formulate a second witty reply.

So, he didn’t bother, and instead buried his face into the cognac-scented pillow that he kept his arms wrapped around while his hips moved as if they had a mind of their own. The unyeilding plastic of the pocket pussy’s a harsh contrast to the lubricated silicone that squeezed him. Which, was equal parts uncomfortable, and weirdly enjoyable enough to make the kitsune’s tail swish and thump against the mattress while he barked and whined. Yet, no matter how much he huffed up Chuuya’s scent from the silken cushion, it offered little to no help against the heat that seemed to carbonate Dazai’s blood.

What did offer a sliver of help, though, was the grip of the sex toy he humped into. As well as, of course, the mafioso’s voice when it managed to seep back into the Kitsune’s lust-addled brain. “Osamu? You still there, or did you finally hang up?” And, while Dazai couldn’t muster up the words to respond due to the lack of oxygen that got through the cognac-scented pillow. Though, that lack of acknowledgement only made the redhead give a small sight before he likely returned to whatever paperwork he had. Nice enough to at least sit on the phone with the kitsune as he humped needily into his pillow.

So, Dazai didn’t linger on the mafioso’s comment. He simply tightened his hold on the cushion and did his best to convince himself that the too-soft item was the muscular, scarred body of his mate. And that the muffled schlick, schlick, schlick of the slimy, silicone toy was really the twitchy, warm walls of his partner. Something that wasn’t insanely hard to do, thanks to the years he had to catalogue each one of Chuuya’s lustful sighs, but proved to be a bit difficult when the plastic case of the fucktoy brushed against his belly. A reminder of the cheap quality of the imitation in his head.

Though, regardless of the interruptions, he was able to work himself up just enough to manage a needy whine of, “Chuuyyyyyaaa…” the moment he lifted his head to gulp down the smoke-tinged air of the bedroom. Though, whether that smoke was from Dazai’s kitsune powers, or simply the scent of his own body being cooked by his Rut, he couldn’t tell. “I’m still here, Mackerel.” The redhead assured, his voice distorted by the phone, yet still a bit of a salve. “I...I think I’m gonna cum. I-I’m right at the edge.” He desperately whimpered. “Really? Aren’t you up to three, though? That’s usually your limit for consecutive orgasms. Plus, I’m sure that toy is getting nasty.” He teased, likely to try and dig into the brunette’s competitive side for some sick sadistic pleasure of his own. Though, the kitsune chose to imagine he was simply fuelling his own masturbation. Though, that didn’t spare the redhead a snarl, even if he only heard it through his phone. “Alright, alright, jeez. You can cum, mackerel, you have my blessing.”

That earned him another horny bark from the mindless brunette before his orgasm finally slammed into him so hard, that the tinge of smoke he’d tasted earlier was undoubtedly now from something in Chuuya’s bedroom. As if that could alleviate the heat that erupted onto the kitsune’s skin the same way that his load seemed to erupt out of the sex toy pinned beneath his body. “Oy! Don’t you dare burn down my fucking house, mackerel! You burn it, you buy it, slut!” Chuuya snapped out, though his words only seemed to roll through Dazai’s head at that point. His furious ranting about the cost of his furniture little more than background noise, even as Dazai waved his fluffed up tail to extinguish the flames before they did more than some light smoke damage. So, the brunette simply smiled and let him scold him so that he could use the sound of his mate’s voice as some form of white noise during his break.

[conflictofthemind]

I’ve been in such a bad mood these past few days. Not really related to online stuff much at all but. Resisting the urge to vent in a very mentally ill way on here but god please stop sending me asks about everything that happens in search of … whatever answers you think I have; I don’t do well with other people and I’m really just going to close my inbox to anons. Everyone takes everything so damn seriously here and because I’ve chosen to share and speculate leaks because I find it fun like solving a puzzle, I get all the people who attach themselves to it more because they’re severely insecure and anxious, and it wears on me too like man I really don’t care !



If I didn’t answer your ask and it’s just one of the ones asking me abt my personal opinion or theories : not applicable to you dw. I have severe executive dysfunction issues it’s a slog for me to do almost anything if not extremely motivated

[power-handmaiden]

Day 319: The Loveland Frogman Gives The Best Accounting Advice And Head I’ve Ever Gotten

Here's another one that makes that silly pattern seeking human brain of mine go "the message of this one is for me!" The frogman's advice is, broadly speaking, about the importance of taking a task in manageable small steps rather than let it become something unwieldy and daunting.

If you'll forgive me talking about myself and my blog even more than usual here... OK, damn. 319 tinglers so far. As long as nothing unforeseen happens and I am alive at the end of the year I am going to read ALL the tinglers. I am confident of that fact now. I don't think I would have managed to do it if I first conceived of my goal in terms of "read all the tinglers". That would be an intimidating thought. That's a lot of reading! I probably would have read 20 in a day and then freaked out about how much of my day it took. However, the perspective of "cool, there's enough of these short stories that I could have one every day" was a framing that was a lot more approachable- effortless on most days, even.

Taking small steps to keep track of one's finances rather than having to scramble when tax season comes. Maybe it seems unrelated to what I'm talking about. It probably is for people with a different type of brain than I have, mayne this connection is all incoherent to a lot of people. But, executive dysfunction can be awful and keep you from doing things you enjoy as much as it keeps you from doing things you should be doing. The small upside to being wired in this way is: this same strategy helps equally to improve work and fully enjoy leisure time. Taking small steps with intention, and just focusing on every next step rather than being distracted by the end goal.

[infranthrax]

here, we have a twisted wonderland commission. a special memory, one to remember. just for you. ❤️

user id: @heinous-desiree

this was communicated through discord. no tumblr ask was received. I have their message as proof below.

enter a commission?

memory archive in process… just a moment… ✨

twisted wonderland matchups (SFW and NSFW.)

minors / ageless blogs that interact with this post will be blocked on sight as per my guidelines.

tw // nsfw themes, rigging, mommy/daddy dynamic, voyeurism, subby brat bullshit.

SFW Portion

» idia shroud

so he heard from the grapevine that you wanna play d&d and he squealed. listen, your chaotic, creative energy literally makes him feel like he’s not the only crazy one. you both would get along so well that yall would be inseparable practically. he’s the type of bro to take your ocs and put them in the sims for you.

the fact that you are also willing to get buck so easily, you make for one of those bodyguards with scary dog privileges and he breathes that man, like woah. he appreciates you. he would definitely teach you how to play d&d, lol, wow, all those games, and he would definitely throw out a nat 20 roll if he could to try and go simp mode, because let’s be honest, he does simp. and when this poor soul simps, he simps hard. take a metal pipe and drop it on him, that’s basically the equivalent of how he feels. regardless his shy little ass would rather just not act up on it because he doesn’t wanna look weirder than he already is.

how you lot would hang would be so niche… like a totally individualist kinda vibe, like it’s yalls’ energies, just mingling with each other. parallel activities are very much appreciated to him, like if you’re reading a book while he’s gaming, that’s a good deal to him. he also doesn’t do well in terms of executive dysfunction, as per his younger brother. if you actually remind him that he has to take care of things, because let’s face it, this blue blur gets caught up in his games for the most part that he sometimes forgets what time it is, he’ll appreciate you even more, in his stuttering red face way of course.

but there have been times where he would have to try and shakily pull your reins back. one time you saw a wasp in his room, and then he heard and saw it while he was in the middle of a quick match, and oh lord, he lost his shit. in response you decided to take the nearest object, which was one of his microphones, and tried to throw it at the wasp. you didn’t succeed at this however because he caught wind of you trying to kill it with his mic, and he held you and started yelling, “yo bestie! fuckin chill out that’s a murder hornet!” you still ended up killing the hornet anyway for him. bro was rizzed.

you lot eventually get closer and when white day hits he decides to be mr smooth guy and tried to (very nervously,) invite you over to his dorm for a movie. of course he picked an anime movie and you lot would end up having sort of an cheesy moment where he would kinda confess to you after the movie ended, all bashful and shit. it would be such a cute little set of banter. At first,he would be just as equally nervous around you in a relationship as he was before when he was crushing hard for you. holding hands in public? that’s a post marital act, how dare you manhandle this poor man with your sinful actions?! idia is definitely more of an introverted closed off person, therefore PDA is a no go for him as he thinks it’s embarrassing. behind closed doors though, thats a different story. idia is a massive cuddlebug and likes to have you sit in his lap as he games out. your relationship with idia is none but wholesome, especially when others find out. he would get teased for finally having a partner, more so with other students of ignihyde, which he jokes to you about as you’re really the only person he can talk comfortably to besides his younger brother and those he games with. you both share a very close bond with one another– one that is damn near bedrock solid. its cute, really.

NSFW SECTION

»trey clover

now, i was actually debating on lilia and silver as well. but i was like… hm. trey definitely looks like a good choice here. if you didn’t go for the other three, being idia, or maybe lilia or silver, trey would have been who you went for. trey has the reins needed to pull you back as he’s more relaxed and level headed, and this in turn goes well with your… bratty tendencies… we all know trey dislikes conflict.

you’re the chaotic cat to his gentle big dog, basically. and oh, what a pairing this is.

i feel like trey would be the guy to insert a gentle sense of control— a soft dominant. with the air of a saint bernard, he’s careful with you with his words, his tone, his touches… but on the surface, that’s all he lets you know. key words being, on the surface.

you like ropes. and he likes control. with careful discussion beforehand, he’ll happily tie you down. hes not really into intricacies such as shibari or anything the like, as it’s too complex and busy for him, but it does look pretty. he’ll try shibari maybe a few times with you, but at the end of the day, trey definitely is a sucker for the simpler things. tying your hands behind your back, along with your forearms. handcuffs? maybe. if he’s too impatient for the ropes. they’re the fluffy ones though— he cares about your comfort.

if you wanna take the reins sometime, he’ll gladly let you… for a bit. have your luck with him— his name is clover after all. riding him slowly and tenderly, i get the feeling that trey is more so into intimate and slow love making than the rough act of sex, admiring the romantic aspect of it all. besides the rigging, if you want to introduce more kinks to the bedroom, he isn’t gonna oppose. he’ll try anything at least once, just for you.

he gets to know the mommy/daddy kink well but doesn’t go overboard with the whole idea of the kink where it goes into age play territory. trey gets off to it mainly for the moniker and strictly the moniker at first. eventually though he starts to explore the idea of being more of a caring dominant in conjunction with the daddy moniker, and shit… he’s figured out that he gets off to that so hard it hurts.

its a weekend and you’re out with the other heartslabyul students studying out or whatever, and you come back to trey’s part of the dorms to hear heavy breathing coming from trey’s bedroom. of course, your chaotic cat kicks in and you quietly open his door to see him masturbating to something on his computer. he was probably watching porn to learn more about how to please you better based off of the things you’ve already told him. the way he slowly stroked up and down his shaft, combined with the gentle squeezing he would have… it was enough to have your eyes glued to him. and the moment he saw you touching yourself to him, that’s when he would break. two things that could happen. he could hide it and he could grow heavily embarrassed, or he could break and discipline you for being a “peeping tom.” your voyeurism has gotten you your fair share of punishments from trey. and usually when he does punish you it’s filled with orgasm denial and the inability to touch until you’re crying and begging. (no. you have to be sincere. any mockery here is only gonna make it worse.)

aftercare with trey is fucking godly. he cares for your wellbeing after all and will coddle you, especially after a rough session. he’s the type of dude to go get you a light snack and some cranberry juice and cuddle you to sleep, praising you all the way down until you snooze. he’s attentive, and if you have any problems, he stops immediately without question. after all, even the most chaotic of souls also need care as well.

[the-haven-keepers-collective]

Update; an explanation for the next post being a new intro + bit of an AMA

I didn't realize when I made a 'rule' for myself about this blog, but I did. I don't think I ever post about my experiences anymore. It wasn't a conscious decision, it was just defending the status quo- sooooo I'm ending that because I'm sick of it. Have a wall of text!

TL;DR: A new kintype resulted in the realization that "oh shit, there's more than just me in my head." Turns out I'm plural. the AMA is simply because we're new and, save for me (Frog,) have a really fuzzy sense of identity. We're trying journaling to help but so far all the others are just... sort of as in the dark as I am.

This blog was made to be a sort of "interactive journal," and yet because I found comfort in the memes and sillyness that made me feel normal it became about that. I only posted about my Alterhumanity, and typically only in the form of memes. So!

Hi. Y'all haven't seen me in a while. A lot's been going on! I recently had two pretty major identity crisis /j breakthroughs. For one, I am fictionkin. I started a little sideblog ( @vines-of-mine ) for that and got to work on paying attention to that part of my identity as Alhaitham. (Yes, Alhaitham. Yes, from Genshin Impact.)

This, however, led me to something else. Suddenly I had way more ability to just decide to do something and do it without executive dysfunction kicking my ass. Different ways of speaking felt more natural. I felt like I'd been plonked into someone's life, looked around, went "damn you live like this?" and got to work. Within two days my room was clean, my altar had been taken care of finally, etc. I chalked it up to just... "Oh, well of course! It's a mental shift, and I can embrace my more serious side when there's no expectations for how I talk."

Ultimately, it was the "Damn, you live like this?" feeling, like I was an outsider in my own life, that made me question things. As often happens with me, the moment I opened myself up to the idea that I was plural, I opened a floodgate. I am fictionkin; I do believe I have a past life in a world that somehow, in some way, made its way into our world as fiction. There is just also... another Alhaitham hanging around in my head, who instead of having an identity with "also is Alhaitham" built into it, just fully is exactly as I/we were in that life. There's others, now, too. They've been here much longer. Alhaitham is just the one who got plonked in here recently and therefore interrupted the status quo enough for me to go "hey, wait, what the fuck was that?"

So now I'm here doing the spiderman meme with another Alhaitham, in my own head, while a witch and an enderman share popcorn in the background.

Now at least so much makes more sense. The way my tail phantom shifts were often more like an enderfolk tail than a dragon tail. The goddamn ears that weren't dragon ears, were more like cat or canine ears, but I couldn't figure out what that was about. The way my inner dialogue really is a dialogue sometimes, not a monologue. Etc. Etc.

I'll be posting a new intro, but!! I wanted to mention that questions are not only allowed but encouraged and appreciated :D If anyone wants to know more feel free to spam my inbox, I don't mind. We're all new to this and sometimes being asked questions helps us actually realize the answer. Beyond that, really, I just wanted to start posting more about my own experiences and this is sort of necessary context for all of it.

[sandumilfshous]

just had a wild realisation (rambling under the cut)

i've been feeling really guilty recently over my limitations in not being able to work full or part-time, and the whole process of trying to argue with the benefits dept over my medical capacity has been so draining, especially having to stand up for myself and be firm on what i am and am not capable of currently. i keep fighting feeling 'lazy' and that i 'should be able to do more' considering my work and study history, even though logically i know my physical and mental capacity is Much more restricted since covid fucked me over

and now that ive moved back in with my mum temporarily, who i love and is fantastic and empathetic and a health teacher, im so overly aware of not wanting to seem lazy or like i'm just lounging around on purpose since as a teenager i often pulled sickies or tried to get out of doing stuff

the realisation is that i was still disabled even as a teen and didnt realise it. ive likely had me/cfs since i was 13, and it only got really bad in 2022 when covid fucked me over. i was NEVER a lazy teen. i was a DISABLED teenager and we never fucking knew. why am i feeling guilty about 'falling back into bad habits' and not being 'productive' when i have been disabled for over half my life???? which has gotten substantially worse?????

fuck the internalised ableism and guilt is truly wild and just imposed by so many aspects of society. thank god my gp has been helpful and theres the local me/cfs network im a part of

but like. damn if its this bad w me i feel like im gonna be having some interesting conversations with my mum. especially the adhd executive dysfunction combination!

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Hey hey heyyya! Glad to see you're back. I don't know you, and I was introduced to both you and seeingteacupsindragons through a.. mutual. Point is, I remember not too long ago seeing a post from seeinteacupsindragons and it mentioning weekly chats or something with you, to manage expectations or something. I don't really understand much, and I'm not gonna pry haha. It's just good seeing you're back, and I thought it may make you guys happy if I mentioned how I happy I get seeing yalls interactions.

Please keep taking care. I don't think there was an issue or anything don't get me wrong, I just thought letting you know seeing all this cheered me up whilst I'm personally in a bad place yk. Stay gay lol, and much love to you both! Also, I keep forgetting messaging is a thing and I don't have to send an ask haha, sorry about that. Am too lazy to go copy paste it to messaging though, so here!

(Unrelated but affitionally cause adhd and sidetracked lol, but I love how true to your name your posts are. It resonates with my adhd brain in a good way I love it haha)

Oh yeah no, nothing's wrong or has been wrong, and I've been here the whole time haha!! (though definitely posting WAY less Moriarty the Patriot stuff since that particular hyperfixation has been hibernating a bit lol).

I actually wanted to make a post about this anyway so thank you for the prompt! The way my brain works *gestures to a heaping thrift store clothing bin of assorted undiagnosed neurodivergent traits* makes maintaining friendships very hard for me. I tend to slowly psych myself right out of them. Either I feel so much pressure to maintain constant communication that I run into some kind of executive dysfunction standstill and can't make myself do it, or I worry so much about being too much that I barely talk at all so that I don't become annoying. I find actual conversation (as opposed to just yelling random thoughts from the stage of my blog lmao) very easily becomes overwhelming, and I quickly run out of things to say and become convinced that I am the most boring person in the universe and no one would really be interested in being my friend anyway. Also life is just really damn busy sometimes! Adulting™! @seeingteacupsindragons has been amazing about working with me to figure out what works: for me, a scheduled chat day every week means we have lots to talk about, I have the energy to talk about it all, and I don't freak out about whether I'm communicating too often or too rarely. And it's ended up being one of the most wonderfully enduring and consistent friendships in my life. Marr is an incredible and patient friend and I am so grateful to know hir!

Anyway, thank you for your kind words, and I'm glad you like the blog! I will probably be making some more Moriarty posts now that I've got myself deep in writing another longfic, and then of course once the 2nd part of the manga starts up! 😊

[gaybd1]

pls allow me to make a long life update ramble here bc im sick of irl people not understanding at all

I feel like I have a feel disconnected points to make

People like me aren’t meant to get bachelor’a degrees and we’re DAMN SURE not meant to get master’s

I’m 1000% just in survival mode right now and there’s theoretically a month left to go but idek if I’ll make it that long tbh

It has taken me YEARS to figure out a healthy/sustainable work-life balance that goes with my executive dysfunction but that’s NOT POSSIBLE working full time AND doing a degree

I’ve been feeling guilty for resting at all lately (and probably should) but yet if I don’t my health suffers majorly

It has always been hard for me to get simple things done, but now I can’t even THINK about simple necessary errands like walking to the supermarket or going to get a cell phone number or updating shit at the bank because ALL my energy goes to keeping me and my dog alive, keeping a job, and trying to stay in this program

I have delayed my transition by YEARS to pay for all this which was definitely the wrong call ughhhhh

I worked SO hard all of K-12 to get into a good university, when it came down to it didn’t even want to go, was too depressed to apply to hardly any, chose my best option still not knowing what I wanted to do but forced into it and forced to take out all of these loans when I didn’t even know what they meant.

Ended up never dealing with audhd shit, trauma shit, didn’t know what I was doing with my life, tried to get jobs to pay for school but couldn’t handle class and jobs at the same time so got more depressed until I stopped going to classes altogether and got kicked out

That would have been great for me tbh but I still didn’t know what else to do so I begged them to let me back in which they did and I ended up barely graduating with some pointless major I just chose to get me a degree. And also $80k of student debt I had no way to even comprehend knowing how to use

Didn’t know what to do after that either so I ended up in retail for a couple years before I got a random rare opportunity to get me out of there and doing what I always wanted

Well. I felt like I needed to make up for lost time degree-wise and ended up basically begging myself into this half-shitty program that culminates in this masters. I applied maybe five years ago, waited a little over two to start until I had money to pay for it (this is after fleeing the US and the 80k lmao) and somehow killed the first year of it.

I took another year and a half off trying to figure out the rest of the money which I eventually did and that’s how we end up here. I will hopefully have the degree in October but will still be paying for it the rest of the school year rip

So financially this sacrifice is obviously huge and on one hand I never thought I’d be able to do it so yay me and on the other hand I have NOT been able to pursue v v important trans stuff which I notice and deal with eVERY GODDAmn day thanks AND I will also probably not be able to make my every-18-month visit home next summer with my family which also gODDAMN SUCKS because family was EVERYTHING to me growing up and they’ve all forgotten it and probably think I have too but I miss those mfers so much and they would never buy a flight to come see me so.

ANYWAY yeah in undergrad I could NOT do a job and school at the same time so I’ve been proud of being able to handle it this time around but the last fourish months of this program are so intense and I am NOT handling it

Like I have done SO WELL up to now so I feel like I just GOTTA keep going but it’s SO HARD and I’m TOO STUPID and I’ve been told my whole life I’m not meant for higher education and now BOY DO I KNOW IT

I’m just trying to keep going. I order food and groceries to my house. I’m putting off super important errands and appointments as long as I can because I JUST CANT GET THERE I CANNOT WASTE SPOONS ON CELL PHONE PLANS RIGHT NOW I’m just trying to stay alive holy shit

I hate feeling so incompetent in my personal life especially because I’ve always put my professional life first out of like. Fear of losing it. and I KNOW this “laziness” is justified bc I’m spread so thin AND have executive dysfunction and a chronic illness but holy shit it still feels bad scoob. So fucking bad.

I think what I need to do is arrange time off work just to get this all sorted and finished but I’ve literally never taken a day off in my life so I’d feel bad and have MORE anxiety figuring out how to do it lololol ahhhhhhhh