#and my old eating struggles are flaring up again

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

TW: eating disorders

There is something so unique about the flavòr of disordered eating that daughters inherit from the mothers who use them as a personal therapist, dumping heedless complaints about their own body image struggles, diet attempts, “don’t ever get fat, remember that, you’ll never be able to lose it again,” and “I’m so desperate to lose weight” and “when you get fat, no one loves you anymore.”

Never paying any thought to how it impacts the daughter. 🙃

[tsunami-of-tears]

Iris

Azriel x Rhys’s Sister Reader

Summary: Reader has been struggling with her inner demons ever since her brother went Under The Mountain.

A/N: This is really dark. Please, please read the warnings before clicking read more.

To preface: I’m okay, just tired and was pre-menstrual when I started this. I haven’t been in this dark of a place in a very long time, but I wanted to write this for 15-year-old Shelby who thought no one saw her. I haven’t talked about my history of self-harm much and it’s hard to reopen those wounds, but it’s therapeutic. 

If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I’ve also included a few resources at the end of this fic.

Wordcount: 1.2K

Warnings: ANGST!!; major depression; disordered eating (binging); graphic self-harm; Rhys UTM

Reader

Things were bad. 

Really bad.

You had completely withdrawn from your family in the months since Rhys had gone Under The Mountain. 

Rhys - your idiot older brother - had sacrificed himself to protect you and your people; leaving you in charge of his court. 

Ruling had always come easy to him, he was born to do it whereas you struggled to switch between the required masks.

These days, the only mask you wore was one of cold indifference. 

As the shield fell into place around Velaris, trapping you inside, a wall of adamant rose around you, keeping everyone around from seeing the war raging inside your mind. 

Most of your time was spent in your bedroom with the curtains drawn, unable to look at the sleeping city below your window. 

Velaris, the city of Starlight, had lost its sparkle. 

The first week after Rhys left, not a single light could be seen. The once lustrous city had gone into mourning. The Sidra, usually glimmering like liquid night, now reflected only the deepest black. 

You only dared to leave your room during the night when you were less likely to be spotted, not wanting anyone to see the ghost you’d become.

You float down the stone hallway, robes billowing as you walk to the kitchen. 

You’d taken to eating late at night. Food, usually sweets, was the only comfort you could find.

You’re rummaging in the larder when you feel a familiar sensation around your bare ankles, the cold shadow wisping over your skin.

“Y/N,” you hear a deep voice say behind you. 

You turn, blocks of chocolate in hand, to face the one person you love more than your brother. 

“Azriel,” you reply, taking in his appearance. 

He looked terrible.

His hair was dishevelled, his jet-black curls in dire need of a comb, and his once warm hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them were deep violet bruises, clearly he wasn’t sleeping much. 

You can feel his gaze on you, and wonder what he thought of the shadow of life you’d become. 

You watch his nostrils flare. “Y/N, are you hurt? I can smell blood.”

You feign a laugh, “I’m on my cycle.” You hold up the chocolate as evidence. “Cravings.” 

Azriel narrows his eyes but doesn’t push you. “I… We miss you,” he says.

You turn away from him, unable to voice how broken you feel. 

“Please, I can’t lose you too,” he pleads. 

“Goodnight Azriel,” you whisper, slipping out the door into the dark hallway. 

Neither Azriel nor his shadows follow you. 

————

You step out of the shower and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinising your reflection. 

You pinch at the skin on your hips and stomach, scowling at the growing curves, before turning to the side to inspect your full breasts and butt. 

Facing forward again, your eyes fall upon the ladders of scars across your thighs and forearms. 

Angry red and purple lines jutting between faint silver. 

You started again after losing Rhys. You hadn’t done it since losing your mother. It was the only way you knew to reflect your inner turmoil. 

The day your mother was killed, you were meant to be with her. You should’ve been taken too. 

Rhys had helped you out of the pit of despair that time, but he was no longer here. Once again, you were saved while your loved ones were not. 

You towel off your skin before sitting down at your vanity. You pull out an ornate jewellery box and retrieve the ash dagger stashed inside. 

You weren’t sure why you harmed yourself. There was a part of you that felt you deserved it, that thought you were a wretch for allowing your brother to endure all that torment for you. Then there was a part that just wanted to feel something other than the numbness that ached to your core. 

You press the dagger against your skin. Not even the sting of the blade made you cry anymore. Your tears had long since dried up. 

With each slice, your self-hatred rings in your ears. 

Stupid – cut. 

Useless – cut. 

Waste of space – cut. 

You set the bloodied dagger down on the counter, feeling nothing but apathy. 

Morning starts to creep in when you finally make it to bed. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the little voice inside your head sneers at you. 

This was the life your brother sacrificed his for? Pathetic. 

————

Azriel

If Velaris has become a ghost town, the House of Wind was its crypt – haunted by devastation and grief.

Azriel leaned against the balcony railing, looking out on the once-shining city. 

How did it all go so wrong?

Not a day had gone by where he didn’t blame himself for everything. For Rhys. For Y/N.

Y/N. He could see the pain in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but Azriel knew better. He’d always been the one who could see through her masks. 

Azriel is pulled from his thoughts by his shadows, swarming around him in distress. 

“Y/N. Kitchen. Now.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Azriel tells them. 

“She’s hurt.”

Azriel winnows into the hallway, allowing his footsteps to be heard outside the door. He turns into the room and spots Y/N searching through the freezer. 

She slams it shut, jumping as she turns towards Azriel. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” she says. “We’re out of ice cream.” Y/N tries to step around Azriel but he blocks her path with his wing. He looks her over, not able to see anything visibly wrong. 

“I’ll get you some more, just please come to dinner,” Azriel pleads. “Or we can go flying together, anything you want. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Y/N shakes her head, looking at the floor.  

“He wouldn’t want you hiding away like this,” Azriel says.

“I don’t care what he would want. He obviously can’t think clearly or else he wouldn’t have left,” she seethes, pushing past Azriel. 

Azriel grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Please Y/N, you’ve…” he trails off, feeling something lumpy under her sleeve. “What is that?” 

Y/N tries to yank her arm back but Azriel’s grip is firm. 

“Let me see,” Azriel says quietly. Tears start to fall from her eyes as he gently lifts her sleeve, revealing the bloodied bandages. “Oh darling, what happened?” 

Y/N just shakes her head.

“Can I have a look?” he asks.

She bites down on her trembling lip, tears flowing freely

Azriel carefully unwinds the bandages revealing the stark, straight lines. His chest aches for her; as if the scars were etched into his heart.

Azriel always cared deeply for Y/N, offering her a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. A small part of him felt hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. 

He swallowed his pain, it didn’t matter. He was here now.

“Come here,” Azriel wraps his arms around her, stroking Y/N’s hair softly as she sobs in his arms. 

Azriel knew she was struggling, everyone could see it. But no one realised just how much losing Rhys broke her.

Azriel curses himself. 

He should’ve known. After her parents, Rhys was all she had. 

No that’s not true - she had Cassian. And Mor. And Amren… 

And him. 

And he wasn’t letting her go.

Mental Health Resources*:  If you’re in immediate danger please call your country’s emergency number. Australia: Beyond Blue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Mental Health Hotline: 1800 011 511 Lifeline: 13 11 14 USA:  Crisis Line (call or text): 988 UK:  Lifeline: 0808 808 8000 *If I have gotten anything wrong or if you have other resources to add, please let me know

[hannahssimblr]

After eight, in the inner city, I hold the door for Astrid. We step inside the restaurant and heat hits our faces in a waft, warming our frozen skin. Astrid slips her gloves off, folds her hat and unzips her coat with ease as I struggle, suddenly far too hot in my hat, the zip of my coat slipping between gloved fingers. I’ve pulled it inside out by the time the cloakroom attendant takes it out of my hands. I have walked snow onto the carpet behind me, while Astrid, miraculously, has not. 

“They’re all here already,” she says. “We’re the last.”

“Yes, like always.” 

It’s a table for six, and there our friends sit in conversation, their menus already on the table. 

“Oh, Astrid! Jude!” Elias gets up from his seat at the head of the table to hug us. His smile, big and white, and his face flushed from the heat. 

“We’re late,” Astrid points out. She speaks apologetically, but doesn’t actually apologise. “But we have your gift.”

“Oh!” He takes the gift bag from her and kisses both her cheeks. “This is so nice, my God, Astrid.”

I bought it, actually; the scarf made with some kind of silk mohair something-or-other, but Astrid picked it out, so really it’s she that deserves the credit. He’ll think she wrote the card too, even though she didn’t. I’m the one with the nicer handwriting.

“‘Dear Elias, on your twenty-first birthday,’” he reads as we join him at the table. “‘Here’s hoping for a year as fabulous as you are. I hope I know you forever, and we can party together at ninety-one too. You won’t need the scarf in Bali, but we hope it keeps you warm when you touch back down in Berlin next month. With love, Astrid and Jude.’ Oh,” he holds it to his chest. “You two are so sweet.”

“You are not supposed to say happy birthday unless it is a person’s actual birthday,” says Leon, swirling his wine around and pretending he can smell notes of bergamot, or whatever the server said was in it. He takes a sip, then sends the bottle back to the kitchen. 

“Oh, okay, sorry,” I say. “We should have posted the card to Indonesia. That was really stupid of us, you’re right.”

His nostrils flare while Jonas, next to him, peruses a menu.

“Wow,” he comments, “Forty seven euro for the monkfish. It seems expensive.”

“Well, it’s an occasion,” Leon says, as the server returns with a second, hopefully more acceptable, bottle of wine. “We all agreed to eat at a nice restaurant.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh? What occasion is it?”

“Elias’ birthday, of course, what are you-” he breaks off to mutter to the server, who then circles the table to fill our glasses. 

“I thought we just agreed not to mention the birthday until the actual birthday, which is not today, right? What date is it, again?”

Dalia sighs from her end of the table. “Jude, oh lord.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “You are being immature.” 

What’s actually immature is a twenty-six-year-old man making an unnecessary enemy of someone who still has the word ‘teen’ at the end of their age, but Dalia is already kicking me beneath the table before I can open my mouth to point this out.

“I would love to see Bali,” Astrid sighs. “When it’s so cold like this, I feel I can’t stand it. I just want to be somewhere nice and warm.”

Elias smiles. “Well, maybe for your twenty-first birthday, your boyfriend will take you there.”

“Well, we’ve just booked tickets to Amalfi, actually,” I say. “We’re going in April.”

“Oh, I love Italy.”

“Me too,” Astrid clutches his hand in hers, a gesture of excitement in their shared love of, whatever, gelato or something. They converse about places they’ve been, and what they’ve seen, using the correct, Italian pronunciation, which is fine, because that’s how they’re supposed to be pronounced, and Astrid is fluent in Italian, but sometimes when I’m privy to conversations like this, I think of Jen, and the way she’d laugh if she ever overheard them. 

Whenever a natural gap opens up in their conversation, I consider adding in my own anecdote about the time I went to Rome on a school trip when I was sixteen, and the school was cheap, so they made us do the whole journey by bus, which was so boring that Fitzy and I started squeezing dollops of toothpaste into people’s hair as they slept and posing alongside them with our two fingers up. Our punishment took the form of the teachers revoking our passes to St Peters Basilica, so while the others were in there, taking zoomed in photos of Michelangelo’s tiny penis, we spent two hours roaming the streets in search of a Dominos Pizza, which we did eventually find. Mine slipped out of its box and onto the pavement before I had even taken a bite, and we posed for photos with our two fingers up next to that, too.  

But I know that if I tell the story, and Elias won’t react the way I want him to, but gasp, and look very sad as though it’s a tragedy, and then later, Astrid will ask me why I decided to share the story in the first place, because it was kind of awkward. When Elias asks me if I’ve been to Italy before, I simply smile, and I say no. 

“You will adore it, then. Will you hire a car?”

“I suppose we will, right? Makes sense.”

Astrid nods. 

“Well, then, if you’re staying in Amalfi, you might as well drive to Sorrento. Leon and I once stayed in this incredible hotel with a sea view. I can find out what it is called.”

“Oh, please.” Her thumb strokes the back of my hand. “We could add one or two more nights to our trip, do you think?”

I smile. “Yeah, of course we can.”

He tells her about a restaurant that does gnocchi in such a way that is notably different from other gnocchis in the region, and they continue, even as the food arrives. Tiny portions. I forgot the name of what I ordered. 

Across the table, Leon and Jonas listen as Dalia talks animatedly. 

“Right, and then, the woman, whose name is Martha, by the way, turns to me, and she says-”

She is halfway through a story that needs more context than what I have. I open my phone. 

Jen, just thinking about our school tour to Rome lmao.  Oh my God - the one where the teachers caught Ashling Duggan hiding you under her bed in the hostel? Hahahahaha yes!  I still tell people about that trip, like, it’s always my go-to story with new people.  Same, we’re just at dinner now, talking about Italy. I was just remembering all the stupid things that happened.  And didn’t Cian Hayes shit himself or something??? I’m always foggy on that specific detail. Yeah, and he turned his underpants inside out because he was too lazy to get out of bed. 

Omg sick. What do your friends think of the story?

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. 

Yeah, they laughed.  Show them that compilation of photos of you and Fitzy with all your sleeping toothpaste victims.   Oh, God, I don’t have those anymore. I think I left all my photos in Dublin.  What a waste! I’ll go dig them out someday, and take them with when I come to Berlin.  Okay! Come soon, please. I miss you. 

I miss you too, Judie. It’s honestly so weird that you have a whole new girlfriend I haven’t even met.   I know. It’s weird for me too, but you’ll love her. She’s amazing.  I bet. She’s beautiful. Understatement.  I don’t know how you keep pulling it off.  Well, I’d be stupid if I didn't go out with her, wouldn’t I? Yeah, probably. Lucky you aren’t stupid, then. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[defira85]

Chloe update (it's not grim, it's just not entirely happy)

She's doing okayish

She's struggling to walk at the moment. This all started back in the first week of August when we noticed her walking strangely, and she went downhill fast initially with not eating and not sleeping. Then we found the eye infection and we thought, great, that's probably the problem! It's affecting her balance which probably accounts for the funny walk, and an infection means her body is out of whack which explained the not eating and the not sleeping, so she had surgery and lost the eye

She was recovering okay, she's an old lady after all so she wasn't going to bounce back immediately. Sleeping better and eating better, and she started to gain weight back

But then she was clearly still limping, and she started not wanting to put weight on the back right foot at all. Didn't react with pain, didn't flinch or recoil or bite or try to get us to stop prodding and stretching it. Still reacts to stimulus so it's not paralysed. The limp got more pronounced

Then Barney died

She stopped using the leg altogether, she tries to keep it tucked up under her belly all the time. She stopped eating again, the vet said grief response to missing Barney. She stopped pooping, we thought maybe it was all the pain medications cause god knows that happens to me when I'm having bad pain flares

Yesterday she couldn't use the other back leg either. Couldn't stand up, she fell out of her little bed and onto her back and she just lay there like a turtle with her limbs flailing in the air, couldn't get back onto her tummy

The vet got her to poop yesterday, and she was ravenous for dinner AND snacks AND breakfast. She's struggling to use the leg today but she's trying! She's very clearly got energy and she's also very clearly frustrated and angry that she can't mobilise. She wants to walk around! She doesn't want to lie down and wait for death!

But I don't know if I'm just being selfish with her. Yesterday we went to the vet with the full expectation that the vet would look at us and say "I'm really sorry, but there's nothing else we can do. It's time" and so leaving with her in my arms still alive threw my emotional balance right out of whack. I'd spent the drive prepping myself for the conversation. I burst into tears the moment the vet took us into the room.

I don't know what I'm doing! I don't know if, maybe if Barney hadn't left us so abruptly and so painfully, maybe it would've been a different conversation! But I don't know how to cope with the idea of losing both of them so I don't know. I don't know if I'm being selfish. I look at her and I see my little fighter, who never backed down from anything bigger than her, and I see her spirit fighting. Barney was so quiet at the end. I can't believe the vets would send me on a wild goose chase to other specialists if they didn't think it was worth it and it was just prolonging her misery

Anyway. She's got an abdominal scan next Wednesday. If she's safe after that for more extensive sedation we might consider leg and spine x-rays but even if we find something causing her limp, she probably can't handle another extensive surgery. And what would that surgery get her? Another six months of life? Would that be worth it if she's in pain from recovery the whole time? She's so skinny from all the weight she's lost, I can feel her spine and her hips and I hate it

This got long. I'm sorry if you read this far, I needed to get it out and I can't say any of it out loud without immediately bursting into tears

[vampirecatprince]

the curtain unveiled

Words:1,187

Rating: Gen

Click Here for Ao3

"The office seems emptier than it should, it’s bigger and grander than Copia's previous one, but it had also been cleared of Sister's belongings almost immediately after her death in a way that made Aether a little uneasy. He makes eye contact with the older man and realizes what's causing his Quintessence to flare up." or Aether discovers Copia dissociating in his new office and they have a little talk about it.

A/N: I just love the characterization that RHRN added of Copia just being a floaty lil shit. There's a lot I could write about Copia's hallucinations and dissociation, but this is what came out of my brain first.

I also personally headcanon that Aether had to leave the band due to health complications, which I do mention briefly here.

Aether stops in front of Copia's new office door. It's not been long since Papa... er... Frater came back from the last tour. Since Sister’s sudden (but… somehow, not surprising) death. It’s been maybe a week since they’d all finally come back from his last tour too, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he'd been too caught up in seeing his pack again and he'd completely forgotten to catch up with his favorite human.

Aether sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and bites back a little guilt. While he likes the thought of Copia being around with him long term again, he knows just how much the man loved performing.  He's a creature of habit to a fault, prone to getting frustrated easily when things didn't go according to the script in his head and Aether knew all too well that he had been struggling with the recent abrupt changes on top of the realization that he'd never be able to set foot on stage again. 

But… Aether has actual work to do today and so does his favorite human.

With another sigh, he goes to knock on the door of Copia's new office, startled when it opens slowly- the man must've accidentally not closed it fully. Aether greets the man and pauses. He can feel his quintessence crackling a bit in response to... something and is surprised when the man doesn't greet him back. He sees Copia is sitting at Sister's old desk, a big imposing thing made of carved wood. The office seems emptier than it should, it’s bigger and grander than Copia's previous one, but it had also been cleared of Sister's belongings almost immediately after her death in a way that made Aether a little uneasy. The human seems... too small right now and Aether wonders if he's been eating enough lately....

Then Aether makes eye contact with the older man and realizes what's causing his Quintessence to flare up.

Copia seems to be staring into space, his eyes are unfocused and staring a few feet ahead of him. His body is oddly still and his shoulders are more slack than usual. Aether winces as when he can feel just how not-present Copia is and, when reaches a small bit of his astral self out to confirm, Aether winces again when he feels a cold cavernous void where his favorite human’s consciousness should be. He gently knocks on the door frame, trying not to startle Copia out of… wherever he is.

He watches as Copia blinks and shakes his head, like he’s almost waking up, and Aether sighs in relief as that odd prickling feeling dissipates. 

“Ah- eh… I… eh.. I didn’t see you there, Stellino.” Copia stutters, sounding sheepish, though Aether can still feel that he’s floatier than he should be. Copia rubs his eyes.

“I was just coming by to drop off some papers from the infirmary…” Aether trails off, his voice gentle, “Are you doing alright, Pa.. Frater?”

Copia winces at his new title a bit and sighs.

“My, eh… My focus is shit today,” He trails off as waves his hands, motioning towards his head, “Usually I can work past it but…”

Aether pauses.

“Work past… work past what?” 

Copia notices Aether's hand on his back, and realizes how close the ghoul is, when had that happened?

“Uh…. It's like…. That invisible wall between you and… everything else that pops up sometimes?” He waves his hand dismissively, “It's just worse right now because of all… this.” He motions around the office, like that explains everything.

Aether hums, his brow furrowing as he rubs Copia's back gently. Copia sighs, the contact is grounding. Aether wonders to himself, quietly untangling some of Copia's brain fog as he does so. 

“Does this happen often?”

Copia looks up at him and thinks for a moment.

“Uh- I guess? No more than usual.”

Aether pauses, unsure how to respond to that.

“I, eh.. I suppose that wasn't the right answer...” 

Copia chuckles a little, it’s tighter than Aether would like, and sighs.  

“I do know it's not ‘normal’.” Copia makes air quotes with his fingers as he says that, “but… it is my usual.” He smiles a bit and Aether resumes rubbing his back.

“I just don't know how I haven't noticed this before…” Aether sighs, that guilt returning. It was his job to notice these things after all. And all this time… All this time, Copia just seemed more… airheaded than whatever this is.

“Hey now-” Copia pipes up, “don't beat yourself up too much, Stellino.” His hand lands on Aether's, now resting on his shoulder. 

“It gets bad when I am stressed, yeah, but I've had it my whole life. It's fine.”

“I still feel like I should've noticed this…” 

Aether hugs Copia lightly from behind and sighs.

“You could ask me to help you with it, you know. I know you say it's not bad, but…” Aether trails off, shivering as he thinks about the cold void that he felt in his human’s mind.

Copia pauses and nods a bit, sighing, like he's admitting something difficult.

“I am not saying it is fun, but… uh… I honestly never thought to bring it up. And until I got my… deadline, so to speak, it was manageable.”

“Your deadline?”

Copia hums with a nod.

“Yeah. My, uh… last rituals as Papa… That.”

Aether can hear the tension in Copias voice tighten even more as he talks and hugs him a little tighter. He knows if he looked at the smaller man, he’d be tearing up.

“That really wasn't fair to you. Especially with how cryptic Sister always was…” Aether sighs. “I wish I hadn't had my own problems come up just so I could’ve been there to help…”

Aether flashes back to the end of his last tour for a moment, his Quintessence on the verge of burnout in a way he’d never experienced before. Him being sick for weeks and Phantom being pulled into the band at the last minute. Him learning that he’d probably never be able to tour again… 

Copia swats at his hand gently.

“Hey now- you be kind to yourself too. I see you thinking too hard about it again.” Copia stresses.

Aether sighs again and releases Copia, standing . He rests his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder and smiles. 

“Well, since we’re both stuck on property for the foreseeable future… Let me help you this time around?”

Copia sighs and smiles with a nod, standing.

“I’m still getting used to not being called Papa you know…” He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and looks at Aether. “But, um… I was wondering if you had the time to go on a little walk with me? We could, eh… we could catch up properly…”

Aether smirks.

“Well, If Frater Imperator wants a meeting with me… I won’t complain.”

Copia gives probably the biggest, most genuine smile he has since that evening weeks ago, and the two of them that too big office behind… even if only for a few minutes.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

For "Never Have I Ever"

...Chef Peeta/Server or Food Critic Katniss? (Or some such variation of this)

Yes chef? 🫦

Madame. You are already on my shit list for the number of fic idea documents I've added to my drive because of you. Clearly you are determined to badger me into writing this one, and le sigh. I like it. A lot. So much so that I have two options for you:

Option A: When Katniss left her home town at the age of eighteen, she had no intention of returning. Ever. Too many painful memories, like a pregnancy at the age of sixteen that ended in miscarriage. Or her father's death while she was still grieving the loss of her baby. Her mother's suicide attempt. The way all of that left her so raw that she destroyed her relationship with her high school sweetheart.

Now Katniss writes a food critique column with her work partner, Gale. They specialize in small restaurants with unique "local flavor." Then their boss assigns them to a newly opened restaurant in her home town, and Katniss begs Gale to do all the work this time. Their boss refuses to let her off the hook once he finds out Katniss grew up in that town, but a last minute family emergency with Gale's mother results in Katniss checking in alone to the only decent hotel in town.

Of course, she didn't do her research and when she calls to make a reservation for that night, she finds out the restaurant she's meant to review closes early on Thursdays. Stuck in town for an extra night, Katniss makes her way to the one decent bar in town. She's already a few drinks in when old news walks through the door.

Despite all the hurt lingering between them, it's clear that the sparks are still there, and Katniss never could resist Peeta Mellark's kind blue eyes or his sweet, shy smile. Which is why, even though a one night stand with her high school sweetheart is a horrible idea, Katniss convinces herself she won't ever see him again anyway.

On Friday night, Katniss eats at what she quickly deems "a hidden gem almost good enough to make me move back home." Enchanted with the food and the ambiance, she asks to meet the chef and is granted her request.

Suddenly, she finds a hundred and one things wrong with the food.

As much as he wishes he had, Peeta knows he's never stopped loving his high school sweetheart. He tried dating other girls after they lost their baby and Katniss left his heart in shreds, but no one seemed able to fill the hollow feeling inside his chest. Which is probably why, when he sees her in Abernathy's Pub, he reverts to his teenage stupidity. Even though she tells him that she's only in town for one night, he still returns flirt and somehow winds up in bed with her.

Of course, it doesn't matter that the sex was incredible, she's still gone when he wakes up in the morning. So he throws himself into his work, the one thing that's kept him sane all these years.

At least until one of his servers bring Katniss into his kitchen, claiming she wanted to meet the chef and introducing her as one of the writers behind the famous Local Flavor food critique column. Small restaurants like his live or die by her reviews, and she's got nothing good to say about his place.

Lovers to haters back to lovers, second chance romance fic. Spicy up front followed by a long, slow simmer.

Option B: For the life of him, Peeta cannot seem to keep a staff in his kitchen. His best friend Delly, the kindest person he knows, has suggested that maybe it's because he's too soft. Too kind, and people take advantage of him. Enter Katniss Everdeen (aka Gordon Ramsey ala Nightmare Kitchen) to whip Peeta's struggling restaurant into shape. Tempers flare and it gets hot in the kitchen until things come to a boil one night while Katniss and Peeta are alone, trying out new recipes. Peeta orders her to do something and she responds the way she's been training his new staff to respond. "Yes chef!" And Peeta discovers that he likes hearing her say that to him... a whole lot more than he should. He wants to find out if there are any other ways he can get her to say it or otherwise moan it...

Spoiler alert. He does find out, and discovers that she likes saying it to him as much as he likes hearing it.

Never Have I Ever

<3 kdnfb

[mothgodofchaos]

Would it be wrong to ask for a pt2 to the vampire actor thing? Cause he's incredibly hot

Refusal

Took me a bit to figure out what I wanted for this, but I think I'm happy with this idea.

Part One

Vampire!Actor x GN!Reader, TW: slight tantrum Words: 793

You could not sleep all night, pacing around your room as you wait for anything positive to happen. It’s a bit ironic seeing the windows covered in iron grates, considering that they’re used usually to contain vampires themselves, although it does make you wonder if you’re the only person to be held in this room. The wardrobe is stocked with old fashioned clothing of many styles, and part of you feels a bit like a dress-up doll. Your body tries to collapse from exhaustion once morning comes, but you’re determined to stay awake and glare down your captor at breakfast.

There’s a quiet knock at the door, and the butler you learned to address as “Benjamin” opens the door slowly.

“Good morning, breakfast is prepared. Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe the master of the castle will be pleased to hear that, but I’d rather you hear that from him than interfere with your interpersonal affairs. I am simply here for a job. Well, up we pop then, your presence has been requested.” 

“I’m not going.”

“...I will relay the news.”

He disappears behind the door and you resume your sulking, sitting up on the floor. You hear distant yelling, followed by running up the stairs. The handle rattles as he struggles to open it, eventually busting it open and looking completely disappointed in you.

“And who are you to deny a formal request to be joined at breakfast? First you break into my house, then you don’t sleep, and now you refuse my food! I am trying to be nice! I could drain you right now and no one will ever find your body!”

Mark just looks at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. The directness of his statement kind of jarred you, not making you realize how much mercy you may actually be experiencing right now.

“I will… be right down…”

“Thank you! Apparently it’s just far too much to ask your home invaders to be a decent house guest. Motherfucking shit, you fucking egg.”

He storms back out of the room, robe flaring dramatically behind him. Benjamin peers his head in, looking at you a bit sheepishly. 

“Apologies, but my loyalties are to the master first, and there was no way that the day were to continue without his… outburst.”

“Do you actually enjoy working for him? Living up here?”

“To be honest, it’s better than the life I led before approaching him with my services. There used to be more staff, but they’re all gone now.”

“Did he eat them!?”

“No, they simply retired due to their old age. I took the route of vampirical infusion, so age is less of a problem for me.”

He pulls up his lip to the side, revealing small fangs.

“Well, I shall leave you to it. I do suggest changing into something else, those will be far more comfortable in the long term. Leave your washing in the bin over there and it will be laundered for you.”

“Umm… thanks?”

He departs without another word, softly closing the door. You look in the wardrobe, finding some combination of clothes that fit your tastes. You don’t quite know how to get it all on properly, and your sleep deprivation is certainly not helping with your coordination. Once dressed, you exit to the downstairs banquet hall where Mark is waiting for you. He looks up from his scroll, and absolutely beams when he sees you.

“Oh do you like them? I haven’t touched those in ages. A bit too outdated for my current tastes by a century or two. But I’m so happy to see them be worn again!”

You open your mouth to speak that it was Benjamin’s idea, but a finger to Benjamin’s lips and a wink makes you reconsider.

“I haven’t really worn clothes like this before, so I’m not particularly sure I’m styling these correctly.”

“Oh nonsense! A bit of tweaking here and there can be done, but it seems like for the most part you have them on as their designs intended. Here, let me help.”

He rounds the table, straightening your shoulders and adjusting your clothes without a second thought. It’s rather strange feeling his hands on you, adjusting your clothes and really making you feel like a dress-up doll. When he finishes, he stands back and clasps his hands.

“Much better! Although we’ll have to do something about those eye bags… a matter for tomorrow. Eat up, Benjamin’s cooking is rather worth it, one of many reasons I quickly agreed to turning him when he requested it.

“You’re too kind, sir.”

“Nonsense! Now everyone, eat!”

He’s a bit bossy, but honestly, you’ve been hosted by worse people. You just hope it doesn’t go downhill from here.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Leave the Lights On

The first night in their new home after the apocalypse broke and Roman is struggling with an old phobia.

Emile gently stroked the back of Roman's head as he lay on his chest, trembling slightly. "We don't have to do this, hon."

"I need to get used to it," Roman answered tightly, echoing the words that had haunted his childhood.

"There are healthier and safer ways to do that. I understand why, but doing it all at once like this really isn't healthy. It's not gonna help you the way you're thinking it will."

"We need to save the flashlights and things for when we really need them," Roman argued.

"Okay, I want you to consider some things, okay? One, the batteries that we have are going to go bad eventually whether or not we use them. And we do have some solar powered lanterns, that don't need to take batteries. Beyond that, dealing with phobias has ways that it needs to be done. This isn't a matter of preference, Ro, it's a need. That's okay! You're allowed to still need things. You're allowed to still need a nightlight and it is okay to use the resources you have, especially the ones that are going to expire anyway, to fulfill that need. Just like eating food before they go bad so it can still be used, you can use a flashlight to help you get through the night."

"I need to get used to it," Roman said again. "I'm not always going to have a flashlight, I have to learn to be okay without it."

Emile sighed and kissed his head. "I will support you of this is really what you want to do. I'll do everything in my power to help you, but I want to do it right. I want to do it in a way that isn't going to retraumatize you."

"It's not trauma," Roman answered quickly.

"Maybe it's not right now," Emile replied placatingly. "But it can be. And I can't do that to you. I love you too much to do that to you. Let's leave the lights on for tonight, we can work up a plan tomorrow after we've had some rest, alright?"

Roman didn't answer, just tightened his grip on Emile's shirt.

"You're not going to get in trouble for it and no one is going to judge you for, honey, I promise."

"Okay," he finally agreed in a small voice.

"Okay." Emile reached out and found the little flashlight on the nightstand and it flared to life in his hands. The light glittered against Roman's tear stained cheeks.

Emile reached over the edge of the bed and set the flashlight on the floor so it would closer resemble a nightlight, then pulled Roman back into his arms. He ran a hand through his hair and began to softly sing to him, trying to offer some comfort or at the very least a distraction. Tomorrow they'd start working on a treatment plan for the phobia, but for tonight Emile just held his love close and left the lights on.

[owl127]

Could you write alpha Clarke and omega Lexa struggle trying to conceive a baby?

read on Ao3

The blurred image focuses on a woman sitting down on the single chair in the frame. Behind her is a large window with sleek modern architecture reflecting on tinted glass. She clears her throat, pats her button-up shirt, and an accompanying thud follows her hand.

"You don’t need to touch it," a voice says from behind the camera. "Speak normally, and we get it."

A shade of pink takes over her cheeks under the set lights. She chuckles, tucking blonde hair behind an ear. On the lower left, captions appear: Clarke Griffin, patient #013, 40 years old. Female Alpha.

"Thank you for agreeing with the post-treatment documentation," says the same unnamed voice, a soprano woman. "As we said before, this will only be shared with other future patients."

Clarke nods. "You changed my life. I’m happy to help."

"Can you talk a little bit about how you felt when you were diagnosed?"

Clarke works her jaw back and forth, looking down at her polished shoes then up at the camera again. 

"Well. Basically, it sucked."

0000

The punching bag moved back and forth with each new impact. Clarke’s knuckles ached and her wrist screamed, but she kept delivering punch after punch into the bright red canvas. Pain flared at her joints, and sweat ran down her back, but she needed it to keep her thoughts at bay.

Thoughts of how much of a useless alpha she was.

"Clarke?"

It was the second time Lexa came to check in on her. At first, it was an innocent call for dinner, but now Lexa’s voice had a layer of worry on it. 

"Clarke." 

Clarke didn’t stop the punching. Jab, lower, jab, jab. Her gloves burned with friction, but those jabs were the only thing keeping her from facing her incapacity to—

"I brought you coconut water," Lexa said from behind her. Clarke stopped, wiped sweat from her face, saw how useless that was since she was completely drenched, and shrugged. 

"Thank you." She didn’t look Lexa in the eyes as she accepted the bottle, downing it in three long gulps. Dehydration. Just what her body needed, being this useless bag of meat and—

"Clarke." Lexa placed a hand on her shoulder, coaxing Clarke to face her. Lexa wasn’t angry, which infuriated Clarke more. Lexa should be furious, doing to her what Clarke was doing to that bag. But Lexa wasn’t pitiful, and for that, Clarke was grateful. She wouldn’t be able to deal with pity. "Come up, eat something. You’ve been here for hours." 

Clarke took a deep breath and toyed with the lid of her bottle. "I needed… I needed to—"

Uncareful of her sweat, Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke. Warm, comforting. This was Lexa, her mate, her wife. The woman she promised the world to—and who she now failed to keep promises to.

"We’ll be alright," Lexa said into Clarke’s messy ponytail, nudging at the scar she left there years ago. "I get that you’re angry. But don’t blame yourself, my love. This new treatment is available, and—"

"We only need that because I’m a fucking failure," Clarke confessed, and Lexa’s hands on her skin tightened their grip.

"Don’t say things like that." She pulled back and guided Clarke to meet her eyes with a hand on her chin. "You’re my wife, and I love you. All of you. Don’t say things like that about yourself."

"It still doesn't change the fact that I'm a half-baked alpha."

"If I were the one with a complication, would you say those things to me?"

Clarke swallowed. "Of course not."

"So please don’t say that." Lexa kissed her cheek. "I love you."

"I’m sorry." Clarke thought the hours of punching and sweating would keep the tears away, but here they were, strong and ugly and burning just like her hands. "I’m so sorry that I can’t be the partner you need." Lexa held her. In the damp air of their basement, Lexa held Clarke and let her cry like the insolent pup she was.

"You’re exactly what I need," Lexa promised. "Nothing will change that."

Lexa was convinced. Clarke admired her for that. If only she could believe it.

0000

The image depicts a bright room with green plants in colorful pots framing the lonely chair in the center. The woman sitting on it is reading a paper, glasses low on her nose.

"Ready to roll, Mrs. Woods?" The soprano voice asks from behind the lenses. Lexa folds the paper, and a blur of a person picks it up from her hands. A similar inscription from before appears on the bottom left: Lexa Woods. Clarke Griffin’s mate and wife. 38 years old. Female Omega. 

"Yes," Lexa says, folding her reading glasses and placing them in her front shirt pocket. "Whenever you’re ready."

"Have you ever dated another Alpha before meeting Clarke?"

Lexa’s facial expression does not change as she says, "No."

"When did either of you suspect something was wrong?"

Lexa sits straighter in the chair, her lips twitching twice before she finally says, "We were mated and married for six years when we tried to conceive." She pauses, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "We had never knotted before, so we had no idea what to expect. But eventually, we realized something was wrong."

"Was it a mutual realization?"

"Clarke noticed it first. But I don’t think she brought it up until it was unavoidable."

0000

Clarke never knew there was something wrong with her. She never really thought that she might be a little off until Liam. Anya had just started showing, complaining about Clarke's food and everything else. 

"I didn’t know you were planning for a baby," Clarke said, hands soaked in bubbles. "But I’m really glad for you, Raven." They could hear their wives laughing from the dining room.

"Planning?" Raven snorted, shaking the kitchen towel to get another plate to dry. "That kid planned itself. That is, I really wasn’t planning to knot, but it happened, and well, in five months there will be a pup around. Get used to the idea."

Clarke frowned at the fork she was washing and watched the suds drip down the metal surface. "What do you mean you didn’t plan to knot?"

Raven placed a dry plate on the rack. "I was in rut. You know." She shrugged, and Clarke honest-to-god did not know. 

"Do you always knot when you rut?" 

"If I’m not super-extra-careful, yeah. Don’t you?" Raven asked in a laugh, but stopped at seeing whatever was going on with Clarke’s face. "Don’t you?" she repeated. Clarke felt her face warming. 

She looked back at the fork. There was a stubborn piece of potato stuck to it. 

0000

They talked about it. Extensively. They talked about costs, space, and time. But Clarke knew what the decision would be since the day Lexa had seen little Liam—all red-faced and crying his lungs out in Anya’s arms—and some maternal instinct sparked to life in her.

They wanted a baby.

The bed creaked with Clarke’s vigorous thrusts. Lexa met her push for push, her hips seeking Clarke’s in tandem. Lexa was not a passive omega; she took what she wanted, and Clarke loved her for that. She loved her mate, she loved her wife, and now she loved that they would make a new life together. 

"Are you close?" Lexa panted in her ear. 

Clarke nodded, her cheek hitting Lexa’s chin in the process. None cared. "Yeah. I think," she exhaled, slowing their movements to adjust her hips. Lexa moaned. "I’m not sure how long it takes," Clarke breathed, hoping her tone was steady.

"I have no idea." Lexa kissed her neck, licking the mating bite there. "It’s the first time we’re doing this." It should feel exciting. Lexa sounded excited. Clarke wasn’t sure.

Don’t you?

Sometimes she thought about Raven’s puzzled look when she admitted she had never knotted. But her friend had patted her on the back and said that each person was different. Clarke had never really tried to knot, so it was alright.

But right now, in rut, Clarke was actively trying, and Lexa had come twice, and they had changed positions twice as much, and Lexa would get sore, and Clarke could not get her damn knot to work.

"Come back to me." Lexa’s hands massaged the tight clench of Clarke’s jaw. They slowed until they stopped. Lexa sighed, but Clarke continued to pant. "What’s wrong, love?"

Clarke didn’t know. Or she did, and she did not want to voice it, because then it would be real, and Lexa would care, and they would have to go to doctors, and Clarke would be a failure as a wife.

"Clarke?" Puzzled, Lexa leaned back to find Clarke’s eyes, but Clarke avoided them. Clarke pulled out, their gasps mangling for a moment before she left the bed. "Clarke?" Naked and worried, Lexa followed her into their bathroom. The room smelled of sweat and sex. "What’s wrong?"

Clarke splashed water on her face and looked down at herself. Her erection, covered in Lexa, had an uneven swell at the base. She touched it, one large palm pressing on it, but she barely felt it. It wasn't like other alphas talked about it. It was like she was numb. Lexa watched from the door, her arms crossed over her chest. 

"Are you going to talk to me or—"

"I don’t think I can knot."

There. It was real.

0000

Clarke drinks from a water bottle while an assistant runs the mic check. A voice behind the camera mumbles, "We should try asking anyway." A new light turns on at Clarke’s right and she squints at it.

"So Clarke," the same voice from before says, now louder. "How were the side effects of the injection?" 

Clarke takes another drag from her water bottle, her eyebrows rising at the question. She places the bottle next to her chair.

"Like almost everything about this treatment, it totally sucked."

0000

"Fucking hell!" Clarke breathed through her nose, hard and gasping, her hands white with the effort of holding on to their granite sink. "Give me a moment," she gasped.

Lexa kissed her cheek, brushing the sweat away. "I got you," she whispered, always calm and serene during Clarke’s outbursts.

Clarke had been all courage and bravado until the needle—bigger than what it looked like in the doctor’s office—touched her knot. The injection site felt like fire, and every day the pain got worse. She knew it would be like this, at least until her knot inflated for the first time, and hell, that was another headache she wasn’t ready to think about just yet.

"If it hurts like that, it means it’s working," Lexa tried to argue, which did not help with the fact that Clarke’s cock was on fire. "Blood is flowing there for the first time, honey," Lexa continued to sooth, an ice bag in hand, ready for the aftercare. "Most alphas take years to go through what you’re going through in a few weeks. Give yourself some grace."

Clarke grunted, sat back on the closed toilet lid, spread her legs, and nodded. "Okay. Okay. I’m okay." Lexa kissed the top of her head and went for the second injection.

0000

Lexa hisses at something behind the camera, the mic turned off and not catching whatever accompanied the reprimand. The voice-only director clears her throat and says, "Patient 13’s, that is, Clarke’s file says her mate was the one administering the injections. That’s you." Lexa focuses on the right of the camera, sitting taller in her chair in the plant-filled room."How did you feel about that?"

"I’m not medically trained, but the mechanics of it weren't hard." She smiles, a small little thing under lights and makeup. She's aging gracefully. "Clarke was very vulnerable, and she trusted me. I would advise mates to give it a shot if they can handle the whining."

"Whining?"

"I suppose most alphas don’t take kindly to injections on their knots."

There is a chuckle off camera and a loud noise; someone else is yelling, "The mic is down!" and the off-camera voice comes back, "Cut, cut!" while Lexa chastises, "You two get down here!"

0000

Clarke woke up feeling like she had gone to hell. Everything burned. Her sleep shirt was soaked, her pajama shorts drenched, and her hair plastered to her forehead. As she sat up on the bed, she moaned, her muscles tensing. Lexa mumbled something next to her, that little sleepy snort she claimed she didn’t do every time she woke up. 

"Fuck," Clarke gasped, holding on to the wall as she tried to stand up. Besides her entire body burning, her crotch ached with a pain-pleasure mix Clarke was not conscious enough to judge. 

"Clarke?" Lexa asked from the bed as Clarke tumbled to the bathroom, half-awake and limping. Clarke almost fell as she kicked her shorts and sat in the bathtub, turning the water cold.

"Babe?" Wrapped in Clarke’s robe, Lexa remained on the threshold, her eyes suddenly awake. "Is it happening?"

Clarke looked at her and moaned, nodding. "It fucking burns," she whispered, and Lexa approached with caution. 

"Do you want to be by yourself?" she asked, her naked feet silent on the bathroom tiles. 

Clarke shook her head, extending a hand to Lexa. "Can you stay here with me?" 

"Oh, my love." Lexa sat next to the bathtub, kissing Clarke’s burning cheeks. "Always."

0000

Clarke fidgets with her microphone again, and an assistant asks her to stop doing it. "And how did you feel when you could knot?" the director asks as Clarke looks up.

Clarke’s blush is more visible under the lights, and she touches an earring before answering, "Not everything about the treatment sucked."

0000

Lexa wouldn’t stop moaning. She was not always vocal, or at least not carelessly so, but as Clarke felt herself expanding inside her, Lexa wouldn’t stop the cadence of moans. Part of Clarke was worried, but most of her was lost in ecstatic bliss. 

"Lex?" She gasped, her hips slowing as her range of motion was limited by her knot. "Talk to me, love," she insisted, because Lexa was tucked under her chin, an endless stream of incoherent words leaving her lips. As they slowed, spent and satisfied, finally tied, Lexa took another minute to simply gasp for air. Clarke held her, whispering small nothings. She tasted salt on Lexa’s cheeks. "Lex?"

"I’m—" Lexa tried, and they moaned together as she moved her hips. It wouldn’t budge; people were not kidding about that part. "Fuck," Lexa said, the first coherent thing in the last few minutes. 

"That good?" Clarke wiggled her hips, and they moaned again, and Lexa slapped her back. 

"Stop moving for a bit," she hissed. "But yeah, that good." Clarke nudged Lexa’s nose with her own, a delicate gesture like a small island in the middle of a sea of intense love making. "Are you good?" Lexa asked, finally taking a deep breath. Clarke nodded and nuzzled into Lexa’s nose again. 

"I love you."

Lexa kissed her temple, and they shared a breath. "I love you too."

0000

"Why are we here?" the little girl in Clarke’s lap asks, looking up at her.

"To tell our story, baby." Clarke kisses the tops of her dark curls. 

"Hello," the director calls from behind the camera, and the little girl’s attention moves away from Clake. "Hi," she repeats, "what’s your name?"

The girl looks up at Clarke, who nods, and then back at the camera. "Serah."

"How old are you, Serah?"

She proudly shows one hand with all five fingers and another two fingers on her other hand. 

"That’s seven, right?" Serah nods, a missing incisor showing in her smile. 

"She’s our oldest," Clarke chimes in, pulling her daughter a little closer. "The twins are three."

The image cuts to Lexa’s set, with two boys running around her chair as she types something on her phone. It cuts back to Clarke. 

"So you can say, a hundred percent, that the treatment works," the director continues, and Clarke nods. 

"It changed our lives."

The image shifts to a different set, with the entire family present. Clarke has a hand around Lexa’s waist, with Serah reaching up to her belly while the twins don’t get above her waist. Lexa placed each hand behind the twins' necks, keeping them in place. 

"You have a beautiful family. Three beautiful, healthy pups," the voice from behind the says, and both Clarke and Lexa blush. Serah giggles, and the twins start poking each other. A silent conversation goes on between the mated pair, and it ends with a nod from Lexa.

"We’re actually expecting a fourth," Clarke reveals, one of her hands landing on the twin closest to her. The boys stop their poking. 

"Congratulations! I guess three were not enough?"

"They’re definitely a handful," Clarke says as she picks up one of the twins, his blonde hair messed up by his brother’s hands. "This last one kind of… planned itself." She blushed, and Serah giggled again. 

"I guess we finally understood what other couples meant by accidents during ruts," Lexa jokes, and there’s laughter in the background of the set. 

"What’s a rut?" Serah asks, and the laughter increases in volume, even with the director joining in with a chuckle. 

"I believe that’s a cut," Clarke says, grinning at the camera.

The image fades into black, and a centered caption appears.

The Woods-Griffin family had a healthy baby girl.

As expected, she was also a handful.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Kirsty angst hurts but the headcanons? 🥺🥺

TW: Medical content, eating disorders, alcoholism, drug abuse/addiction, miscarriage, abortion, emotional abuse, not very Paris or Gilmore (Emily, Rory, Lorelai) friendly

feels like i'm still missing stuff but like oh well

Kirsty was born with underdeveloped inner ears, she has always had moderate hearing loss (undiagnosed) but when she gets a head injury in the s2 car accident, it becomes more severe and finally gets diagnosed

Whenever Kirsty is really stressed or overwhelmed, she goes into a deep cleaning overdrive until she physically can’t anymore and just ends up laying on the floor wherever she was last working

Kirsty starts wearing hearing aids when she's 17, she gets her first cane at 18 but doesn't need it all the time, and as an adult she gets a second cane (she gets the floral cane in high school, the chair cane as an adult)

Kirsty suffers from a lot of chronic pain from dance (especially hips, knees, and ankles) and is almost always using at least one hot water bottle when she’s at home, as well as even more general chronic pain

Kirsty also struggles with chronic fatigue, she struggles to force herself out of bed most days which is a significant factor in her coffee addiction, though even then it doesn't help very much.

Kirsty has Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome, which is an abnormal heartbeat. It's present from birth but it's common to not exhibit symptoms for a long time – in Kirsty’s case it first flared up the summer after s2 but with cutting back caffeine and getting treatment for her anxiety it got under control before much testing was done; she’s had a few episodes since then but it doesn’t get really bad again until season 7 where it leads to surgery and more long term heart issues

She doesn’t realize it until her s7 heart issues but she’s absolutely terrified to die

She's allergic to latex and mushrooms

Kirsty has had an eating disorder since she was eight years old – this isn't including the fact that she is autistic and very particular about her food as well. It was the result of Emily's constant criticism of Kirsty's appearance and eating habits, and a bit of Kirsty's major control issues spiralling

She started taking anxiety medication in New York, but has kept it a secret because she knows that both Emily and Lorelai would react very negatively

Kirsty battles with alcoholism and drug addiction for most of her life. It starts in her freshman year of high school – originally with alcohol and smoking but then she also starts smoking weed (doesn't particularly like it but it makes her less socially anxious at parties) and starts doing coke. She is able to get mostly sober but has some relapses over the years.

Kirsty has five children, four pregnancies, and two labours. Her first pregnancy is before season 1, she gets an abortion (Chandler is the only person who knows, she tells Logan a couple of years later but pre-Yale). Her second pregnancy is either through s3 (in piece) or just after graduating Yale (my way/most AUs). Her third is in either s6 (in piece) or s7 (my way), she miscarries. And her fourth is when she's in her thirties, the labour almost kills her. She has twins the first time and triplets the last.

She also struggles from postpartum depression. She's mostly okay the first time, throwing herself into preparing for Yale helps to distract her, but it's very bad with the triplets

Kirsty absolutely adores the snow. She loves rain too, but snow is as magical to her as it is to Lorelai.

Kirsty is also always cold. So while she loves snow, she does end up suffering a lot because once she gets cold, she really struggles to warm back up, but she'll curl up under blankets with her hot water bottles and tea/hot chocolate and look at the snow out the window

Kirsty fractures her ankle in Presenting Lorelai Gilmore ( only in My Way ), she also fractures her wrist in Teach Me Tonight. She gets a severe concussion in Teach Me Tonight as well, and cracks at least two ribs, and has a spinal injury and another severe concussion from Forester pushing her down a flight of stairs in Keg Max

When Kirsty has her bad heart flare up in s7, Colin and Finn drop everything to move into the apartment and help out – in both verses, as does Jess (in My Way, he already lived with her in Piece) and Tristan (in Piece, he already lived with her in My Way), and Logan tries to come back to New Haven as often as possible

Kirsty is the absolute worst when she’s sick!  She does not take care of herself and will keep going until the collapses!  She’s very self sufficient and will insist that she’s absolutely fine, no matter how bad things actually are!  It’s very difficult to convince her to let anyone help, or even to get her to admit that she’s sick — it started when she was a child because of her refusal to miss a dance competition over being sick, so she would just take as much cold medicine as she safely could and just kept dancing, and she’s carried that well into adulthood

(and in more serious cases, of which she’s definitely had some, her deep rooted fear of hospitals and doctors absolutely leads to her doing anything to not have to actually see a doctor, she also really is deeply deeply terrified of doctors and if she has to go to a hospital or doctor's office she will have at least one panic attack, regardless of whether or not she's the patient)

Kirsty is very prone to dissociative episodes and goes nonverbal when they happen, it's her brain's way of protecting her from her anxiety – they're set off the most by Emily, Lorelai, Forester, and Christopher

Kirsty is the reason that Paris doesn't get into Harvard. She calls Kirsty the R slur (in front of half their grade and multiple teachers) and Kirsty flips her shit and immediately goes to Charleston, throws a bit of a fit, he’s just kind of like “sucks to suck”, and looking him in the eye she picks up the phone on his desk and calls Emily. needless to say, he backtracks quickly and suspends her, and removes her as editor of the paper (I’m sort of considering having this be in s3 during the student council mess bc then she could also be removed as class president)

Kirsty is beyond pissed to end up in a quad with she and Rory at Yale, and is trying to petition to be able to move rooms. Ultimately, after Emily decides to redecorate the dorm without permission, Kirsty gets a note from her therapist saying that for her physical and mental safety/wellbeing, Kirsty will no longer be living on campus (Kirsty also threatens to sue them and to sell the story to the press) – she gets herself an apartment and doesn't tell anyone where she lives

Kirsty has endometriosis. Her periods are very irregular and very painful, it's also one of the factors in sex being extremely uncomfortable for her, and causes her severe nausea

Kirsty has (at least) three service dogs over the years, starting in s7! They're all introduced here!

When Emily is mad at Kirsty, she burns childhood photos of her (Richard has learned to have his own copies of every photo) and says she’s having a funeral for her granddaughter – side note, Kirsty has significantly more of a relationship with Emily growing up than Rory did. Emily pays for all of Kirsty's dance fees (lessons, shoes, travel, competitions, costumes, etc, plus is the one to take her to New York every year when she does Nutcracker) but in exchange, Kirsty visits her once a week (usually Sunday afternoons), is a very involved DAR member, and helps out with every event that Emily hosts

[after-witch]

Are you adjusting well after the move?

honestly--

nope, nope, nope, not at all. I'm not doing well in a serious way.

I feel very mentally displaced because I can't unpack anything extra due to my most recent back injury, so my apartment is still just Boxes and A Handful of Essential Things right now. I had to reschedule an appointment for my back issue, so hopefully I can get in soon.

I'm finding it difficult to finish things (commissions, work, anything personal) because my back issue after pulling it on Day 3 of Living Here makes sitting at a computer flare up my back pain.

But because of my feet issues, I can't stand for long periods either. I'm just constantly battling pain, inability to do normal things, while also still trying to work & take care of myself & eat food that is vaguely healthy for me.

I just feel like I'm stuck in metaphorical syrup right now, and I'm struggling to get to a flat surface where I can get balanced again. If that makes sense.

Sorry for the rant 'non, I appreciate you asking, i just wish I was doing better.

good thing:

I really do like my apartment & the area. It's a small town that I used to visit all the time when I'd get dropped off for doctor's appointments, and my apartment is within walking distance to a downtown area with quite a bit to do. (library! movies! an old fashioned arcade! parks & biking trails I can use once I get my bike fixed up!) My neighbors are totally fine and the set-up of where my apartment is in the building gives me more privacy than I thought I'd have.

edit: also I told myself I'd try to unpack one box before I go to sleep because it's on top of a table and I can reach it and BAM, finally found my desk microphone that I use when I can't type because of elbow flare-ups, but now I can use it while standing or walking around to write!! fucking yes. thank you, random box.

[dorefasolsido]

35.

Habits

Do you tend to speed when you drive?

Not normally. I've learned my lesson with two speeding tickets (I overstepped the limit by just a bit) and I'm not giving my money to this country or any related institutions more than I have to.

Do you smoke cigarettes?

Nope. I tried one once just to see how it is and I hated it. Never felt the peer pressure either since most of my friends don't smoke.

Does your temper flare a lot?

No, when that happens you know it's serious since I really am super phlegmatic.

Do you get emotional easily?

Again, not too easily. I mean, I think I'm a fairly sensitive person deep inside, but there's no way in hell I'm letting other people see that side of me unless they are really close to me. And even then.

Do you get obnoxious when you're drunk?

I don't think so. I've never been 100% drunk, so I can't honestly say, but I think I'm kinda the same as I normally am, only more relaxed and fun. Like, I'm way less in my head and care much less about what other people might think about me, so I can talk more openly.

Which shoe goes on first?

I think I do the right first.

Are you lazy?

I probably am. Tbh, I'm a weird mixture of a workaholic and couch potato. I don't know how it works, but yes, I can procrastinate forever but I can also work 12+ hours when deadlines approach. And I hated those two weeks I was basically jobless this summer. Although at the same time, I love taking days off.

Name one thing you do that people always tell you about.

Mmm, nothing specific comes to mind right now.

Are you superstitious?

So listen, I'm not really superstitious, but I like my lucky charms and I find such things generally interesting. I think they're a fun part of the culture.

Do you get bored with relationships quickly?

Well no, but I also struggle with my avoidant personality very much.

Can you sleep without blankets covering you?

Normally not, it's just comfier to have at least something covering you.

What position do you sleep in?

On the side (well, more like half stomach) without a pillow.

What do you do when you're angry?

Well, I usually go quiet and talk very little to others, especially those that pissed me off.

What do you do when you're sad?

Depends, if I'm alone then I just snuggle up in my blanket on the floor and watch videos or shows I find comforting. And preferably eat some chocolate.

Who do you call when you have a bad day?

I don't, I prefer to be alone then.

YOUR ABC'S

A - is for the last person that made you ANGRY.

My friend for not responding to a text for days. I'm not very demanding when it comes to texting, but geez, at least once in a day would be nice.

B - is for BEER you prefer.

I don't have a preference, beer is kinda gross. I still drink it sometimes because it's the easiest to order, but yeah.

C - is for do you have a CAT?

Yeees.

D - is for can you DANCE?

Lol, I don't know if I can but I love to.

E - is for do you have your EARS pierced?

I do, several times.

F - is for your best FRIEND.

Sam.

G - is for did you ever watch GUTS on Nickelodeon?

I've never even heard of it. But I didn't actually have Nickelodeon growing up.

H - is for the last person who HUGGED you?

I honestly have no clue who it was. I don't get many hugs, if that hasn't been clear lol

I - is for close your eyes.. what IMAGE do you see?

Like those weird star thingies you see when you close your eyes. And red blackness.

J - is for have you ever been to JAIL?

Nope.

K - is for when is the last time you flew a KITE?

I don't think I ever did.

L - is for the LOVE of your life.

Well if we don't count Park Jimin... which we don't because he doesn't know I exist, then no one.

M - is for the last piece of MAIL you got.

Probably some bills. I should check my post office though, I ordered something that should probably have arrived by now.

N - is for do you remember NERF guns?

I do.

O - is for do you OWN a car?

I don't yet, but my parents will soon give me and my sister their old car since they got a new one. So I technically will own one.

P - is for your favorite PASTTIME.

Doing surveys, reading, watching stuff on YT or wherever, scrolling through apps, etc.

Q - is for do you like peace & QUIET?

I definitely do. But I also like chaos.

R - is for do you like the color RED?

I'm okay with it.

S - is for how many hours of SLEEP you need to function?

My phone actually tracks that now, it turns out I get like 5.30h on average almost every day. And I feel totally fine with that, but I probably shouldn't.

T - is for what TIME is it?

1:19 PM

U - is for what is UNDER your bed?

Nothing, I think. I hope.

V - is for what you did last VALENTINE'S day.

Nothing, Valentine's is nothing special for me.

W - is for do you drink a lot of WATER?

Not as much as I should, though I've increased the intake a bit.

X - is for have you ever had an X-RAY?

When I was little yes, and also one for my wisdom tooth.

Y - is for the last person you YELLED at.

I actually have no clue. It's extremely rare that I yell at someone.

Z - is for have you ever watched ZORRO?

Nope.

RANDOM

Who do you wish you could hang out with right now?

Tbh no one right now. I haven't seen anyone aside from my sister for almost a week, but I don't really mind. I'm honestly just tired of always pushing for plans and waiting for people to answer messages and then them suddenly cancelling plans and so on and so on. So I decided not to bother this weekend and I just stayed at home.

Name one thing you absolutely can not stand.

Andrew Tate fans.

Where do you spend most of your time?

In my room, probably.

If you could fly, where would you go first?

Japan.

What was the best vacation you've ever been on?

Thassos in 2007, such fun times.

Have you ever hit a squirrel when you were driving?

No, and I hope I never do.

Did your car ever break down?

One time I think something was with its battery while I was driving, but we resolved that.

What's your favorite thing to do on the weekend?

Hang out with my friends, which is why they piss me off so much with their constant indecisiveness and inability to get to their damn phones and answer. Actually, I know they are on their phones, which only makes it worse.

What radio station do you listen to most often?

I don't normally listen to the radio unless I'm in the car.

Pick one: Papa John's, Dominoes, or Pizza Hut.

I've never tried any of these.

What is the longest amount of time you've been awake?

Like hours? Idk, less than 48, more than 24.

What would you do if you found out the world was ending in one week?

Lol I don't know. I guess I'd follow the development on social media or something. Also, I'd just quit all of my jobs and do nothing all day.

Do scary movies make you paranoid when you watch them alone?

No, or at least not seriously paranoid. A little bit, yeah, but that's exactly the charm.

Name one thing you've lied about recently.

I'm not sure, it was probably something really small and silly. But I always lie about the smallest things because it's more convenient or because I don't want the other person to feel bad or whatever. Like, for example, if I make plans to meet with someone and wait for a long time, when they ask me how long I've waited, I just say 5-10 minutes.

What is the worst movie you've ever seen?

I don't know, because some movies are so bad they are good. I'm trying to think of one that really pissed me off, but nothing comes to mind right now.

Who was the first person to ever give you flowers?

Not sure about the first person, but one friend gave me a sunflower for my birthday which was super cute but I made it super awkward and I still hate myself for it lol. Tom, I'm sorry, man.

[arcane-sync]

I'm just... not in a good way. Kind of in a very bad way, actually.

Still dragging my way through school. Which is fine at this point. No new struggles there. Just... several house problems have come up as well, and my husband has done fuck all to address them. I am moderately germaphobic, so it is very literally difficult to do certain tasks. Yet I find myself doing the litter, cleaning the dishes, and hell, even some plumbing. The sinks have been draining slowly, and cleaning the drain traps has been an actual nightmare. I asked him to at least clean out the bucket I used and put on the back porch. He emptied it, but he didn't rinse them out with the hose. I've had to do construction and handyman work. I need to figure out how to drain the hot water heater. Plus normal stuff like cleaning the counters, the floors, the toilet. I CAN do these things, even with the phobia, but it is so, so mentally taxing. Plus the litter and dishes are supposed to be his chores, and he complains about them not getting done. He just... doesn't do it. Says he doesn't have time, doesn't fit into his schedule.

The cat has been misbehaving as well. She has decided my husband's clothes are a good place to go bathroom. And my husband is loosing his temper over it, which is... very literally triggering me. My dad would lose his temper with our cats growing up and kick them across the room. My husband isn't hurting our cat, but it still triggers me that he is getting angry with the cat for doing cat things. It's not her fault. It's our fault for not training her properly and/or not seeing to her medical needs. He has been complaining about this for weeks, but he hasn't fixed anything. I finally decided to just schedule the vet appointment myself. He bought cleaning supplies to deodorize her messes, but he hasn't used them properly. He just throws the clothes in the washer without running it, making the washer smell. I should mention I am ALLERGIC to cat urine. He KNOWS this. I have asked him to clean these things. But again... doesn't fit his schedule. He just gets mad about it instead. I am just trying to keep up with the problem as best I can.

My physical health is struggling, mostly because the air quality is terrible where I live. It is causing several different health issues to flare.

Counseling has been... hard. Good progress. Amazing progress. I have met a few new parts. But with that comes... well... difficult memories. Difficult emotions. New things I do not know how to deal with. New parts to take care of. I need to publicly state I am not ashamed of them or what they've been through, because I know they fear that. It is just... hard. For me and them.

Since my mental AND physical health is flagging, older mental health issues are beginning to rear their heads again. Stuff that I usually have a handle on. Self harm just to make everything... stop... slow down for a while. I have an old eating disorder rearing its head too. I've never known exactly what it is, never been diagnosed. I'll go days at a time without eating. And when I do, there's a 50/50 chance I'll keep the food down. Sometimes I'll throw it up due to disgust with myself for eating, and sometimes its due to distrusting the food, that it is somehow contaminated (and that is 100% a trauma thing, growing up in a house with food that was frequently infested. Don't know if those instances count as flashbacks or not).

I am... scared to admit to struggling. Not with my relationship with my school now. It's pretty clear that any signs of mental health struggles will be confronted with great bias. Hell, even my marriage problems. That is one of the areas they drilled me on, saying that a poor marriage was a sign that I was unfit for the program.

I find myself missing the psych ward. The permission to just... focus on myself and my own recovery.

I am... not okay.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

[[Transcript: Comic panel 1: Header: "July is disability pride month" (Chibi version of the O.P./narrator, with horns and a dragon tail, gesturing upward to the Disability Pride Flag. The flag is captioned "Disability Pride flag (Better than the old one)," with a small arrow pointing at the flag, A second, larger, caption reads "Me (Disabled)" with an arrow pointing to the central figure.

Panel 2: "I struggle though, to find pride in myself, in my disability

I am disabled because I am ill I was probably born ill

I spent my teenage years begging to be heard, slowly getting more and more sick as everyone around me achieved more and more

Everyone talking about future plans, where they want to be in 10 years while I was just hoping I would still be able to walk in 10 years

It's hard to feal proud of something that has caused me to grieve time and time again since I was only a little kid

Every dream I had put on hold hold or abandoned as I could do less and less

(Iillustrated with a drawing of a forearm crutch in the lower left corner and two medicine pills in the upper right corner)

Panel 3: (With a large central illustration of the O.P/narrator from the waist up in their adult form, still with horns and pointed ears. Except for a single closed eye, and tears on their cheek, their face is entirely blank)

Am I meant to feel joy at everything I've lost? Am I meant to be proud of barely functioning?

Panel 4: Everything I achieve, I achieve despite my deteriorating health But I don't say that to be inspiring

[inset text in large red letters, against a dark blue wash]: I say that in pain [end inset]

Because I wish I could do more, everything I do has to be a fight against my body, a fight against the endless exhaustion

Struggling everyday has not made me strong, It's made me tired

Panel 5: Chronic illness and disability can be complicated, and for some will always be a source of pain, often times quite literally (Illustration of a turbulent ribbon with red streaks, and a white tangle laying perpendicular to it)

With many unwilling to help or understand

Watching people live and leave you behind

[Inset text in large black letters surrounded by a dark blue wash]: It's isolating [end insert]

Panel 6: Especially so if your disability is like mine, if it stems from chronic illness, if it's dynamic

It's scary navigating each new flare up and hoping it's not permanent. It's difficult to make plans when your health fluctuates so much day to day. (Illustation of a left hand in profile, with red veins, like fissures, traced around the fingers and wrist)

I can go from seeming healthy and able bodied one day, with only moderate pain or tiredness. To being unable to sleep properly, to being in too much pain to eat properly, to being to tired to speak properly - the remnants of my stutter apparent.

As the good days grow fewer I have to just hope I can continue to do what I love for as long as possible.

Panel 7: But I think it's okay, if you're similar to me you can't find pride in your disability

We may never find pride in it

We are still worthy of love, of being listened to

Even if our circumstances leave us bitter or angry (Illustration of a lemon with tendrils and a leaf)

And I hope, for all of us

That we still find joy and pride, even if not in our health (Illustration of a trophy cup with "BBQ Champ" written on it, and a medal with "Cool AF")

I hope we find it elsewhere

Panel 8: Happy disability pride month to everyone like me struggling (multiple curving ribbons, in the colors of the Disability Pride Flag, surround the text)

Transcript ends]]

Happy July, happy disability pride month

[nathank77]

6/16/24

12:27 a.m

So I didn't get any game time in today. I did the sleeping pill. And I have so much anxiety about going to my Dad's it's flaring up my ibs. I might get a chapter of shattered memories done in a little bit but it's like maximum 30 minutes of game time which is unfortunate.

My hdcp bypasser has been an asshole.

I have a lot of anxiety about going to my dad's bc even if I say fuck the car wash, I'm going to get there late. I have to drive home in the dark with my astigmatism that my glasses do not help. And skye prob won't be there bc she's going at 12. She's kinda a buffer not that the kids aren't but I'll just leave when they get the kids in their pj's before bed.

Also the last time I talked to my dad was over the phone about mark dying and he was really mad at me.

Not to mention bc of my circadian rhythm I won't get enough time to justify the cost/Time/energy it takes for me to go there. Imma go but my ibs is acting up for a reason. And make no mistake it's about having to be there.

Unless he asks me to stay after the kids go to bed i will use that as my exit but I don't really want to talk to them about anything. They'll prob push me to go into a institution as I'm not recovering fast enough and I can't recover here. They prob won't ask me to stay after the kids go to bed but I worry about it.

I wish I could get there at like 2 p.m and stay until 6 and drive home in the daylight. I wish I could go with skye. Either way I'm anxious about it.

I'm also disappointed that I'll only be there maximum 3-4 hours before the kids go to bed. My circadian rhythm fucks with my entire quality of life.

I'm so anxious about it I'm picking out my clothes now so after I use the bathroom and eat I can throw on my outfit and leave. Since I'm going late, I'm going to wear jeans and have a hoodie with me. One of the hoodies they got me. Jeans I'm struggling to find a pair out of my many pairs. I'll go into that later.

I'm worried they won't feed me and I have to take a protein bar with me. Why? Cause of the late time I'm getting there. I'll have to take my white mulberries later in the day when I get home with some kind of solid meal. I don't want to bring them in my backpack incase it's hot. Same with the protein bar.

I want to go into the attic Monday and grab my clean clothes boxes the ones from my room that just got cycled into the attic and clean the storage bin skye left in the hallway for me.

I'm planning on making that purchase at Walmart maybe tonight or tomorrow. I'll get the the pillow top mattress cover Monday and the microfiber blanket Friday, I plan to do the laundry for the shared closet (the blankets in the bin and grab the clothes from the attic and wash them and put them into the lid-less clear bin until I get the new storage bins.) And I would do whatever clothes I've naturally accumulated. On Friday I would do the new blanket, the pillow top and the old blanket and old pillow top with my sheets. So I can have a whole new clean bedding experience on Friday. And then on Friday I'd have the clear storage bins and I can swap my clothes into one of them and put the old pillow top mattress cover and blanket in the blanket storage bin. It's a good plan and leaves me Saturday and Sunday to game.

The sad part about going to my dad's today is that I didn't realize it was father's day and I planned to have a game weekend and by the time I realized it. I had already planned things in a different way than I would have if I had known it was fathers day. With psychosis everything is difficult. I hallucinate 24/7. Legit. I'm always planning, to keep myself on the ball. Never waste a minute.

I took my last Doxycycline at 5 p.m today. So any dry mouth from that will be discontinued. Not that its been a problem anymore. I still want to do l salivarius bc of how helpful it can be for gingivitis... I got to get coQ10 again soon.

My pants are driving me crazy bc I'm wearing my dillions right now in 34s. They button but they are tight... and my Arizonas (the ones I've been wearing for months that are not really skinny jeans they are prob slim but they are baggy) are a size 33!!!!!!!!!! Those are huge and roomy and need a belt what the actual fuck. I've tried on every pair of pants I had cause mrsa only lives on things for 2 weeks and I mean it'll be weeks before I wear jeans again but I'm prob stuck in my Arizonas for tomorrow. I'm trying to stretch out my favorite pairs of Dillons. I really wish they weren't so tight. I'm prob 5 pounds away from being able to wear these without being squeezed in. I'm hoping if I stretch them out a little since pants are always tighter after you wash them before you wear them I can make them work. Prob not.

The majority of my pants are 34 and 33.. none of them fit. Only those Arizonas in 33...........

[alwaysinlimbo]

April 22nd, 2024

I have a couple things I feel the need to write about today. It's been a long and strange day honestly.

I stared listening to A Fine Frenzy again for the first time in a while. It got me thinking about my late middle school early high school days. Those days were difficult in their own ways but I miss how somewhat fearlessly I approached them. I was brave when I wanted to be.

I thought to myself "huh, maybe I'll start dressing a little twee inspired again just to bring inner kid me some joy." I feel like that era of myself was the last time I felt truly sure about myself and authentic. I miss that feeling.

Little me was just a kid trying to deal with trauma. Somedays I think about her and I want to cry. I want to sit with her and brush her hair, tell her that everything is going to be okay and work out exactly how it's supposed to. I want to tell her that hey, it's okay that she made some dumb mistakes. She once told everyone she knew fluent Swedish, and it was a complete lie, but she was trying to hard to be liked because it was so difficult to exist at the time. Her friends called her boring because she was so quiet. So she came up with little lies to make her more interesting.

Not to say that was right or anything, it was definitely a dumb thing to do, but in reality how many teenagers do that. I know plenty who did and it didn't cause any great deal of harm.

I had another realization today. When I was younger I had this idea drilled into my head that if you had nothing to hide than you didn't need privacy. My mother ready my diary once. I brushed it off because I though oh it doesn't matter if I don't have anything to hide. In reality, I didn't want to make her think I had something to hide, because then she wouldn't trust me. In reality, she broke my trust and disrespected my privacy. I wish I had realized that sooner, as it probably would've helped me in many other situations.

privacy is something everyone has a right to. It doesn't mean you're doing anything bad, or that you're keeping secrets from people. It means that sometimes you have things that you prefer to keep to yourself and THAT'S OKAY.

-------** if you're not a fan of talk of body image issues I'll ask you not to proceed**------

I also have some thoughts on body image that I think I need to write about. It's been on my mind for such a long time and maybe journaling will help that.

I've never had such trouble with body image...but maybe that's because I was always small and horribly thin...I was always "the little one" growing up. Then all of a sudden I was called "curvier" than my sister. Then, my mother started being more vocal about criticizing her body and those of others. Then I got diagnosed with IBS and PMDD and began experiencing chronic pain and bloating. And suddenly here I am, sitting in a random college building at 8:03pm on a Monday night, bloated and feeling horrible about my body and wanting to go home and crawl into my bed and never come back out.

it's very dramatic I know, sometimes my silly brain decides to have a flare for the dramatics. I promise though, I was never a theatre kid.

Last night in my dream, an old school mate of mine told me I had "put on some weight." I woke up feeling very weird. My OCD likes to tell me that I have a binge eating disorder and it's only a matter of time before I become horribly unhealthy.

My logical brain tries to tell me otherwise though. I often have to tell myself " you have a chronic, incurable digestive disorder and are also a woman with organs that need to be protected. it's okay that your tummy isn't perfectly flat."

Your thoughts create your reality. Last night I read the part in Dodie's book about skin picking, something I also struggle with, and I came across the quote:

"If you tell the world you're beautiful, it will believe you, and then you'll start believing it too."

And I plan to write that on every mirror in my room. I want to engrave it on my brain, inside my eyelids, stare at it all hours of the day until my stubborn brain is able to accept it. I want to live my life in this way. I just desire to be a person who exudes light. I want to exude love. I have grown up in fight or flight mode and I am tired. I am tired of feeling like no matter what I do, I will be the villain. I constantly feel as though I am somehow inherently evil.

I am not, and I never have been. I have just spoken up for myself and set boundaries over the years, and sometimes people do not like that. And when they especially don't like that, they make you out to be the villain. You will never be the protagonist in everyones book.

Those are my thoughts for the night. I'll do a separate post about some body image prompts. I enjoy journalling prompts, but this post is becoming quite long. purely organizational. Good night <3