#anyway i got diagnosed with ADD like so fast

[yarrowleef]

guess who finally got ✨✨medicated✨✨

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Dialogue v. Tags v. full sentences

A (mind numbing) fight on the internet, particularlly twitter goes something like this:

"Absolutely no tags on any of your dialogue." (or it's bad writing)

"Tag every line of dialogue." (or it's bad writing.)

"Superlatives on every line of dialogue." (Or it's bad writing)

"I absolutely will not change the way my characters speak so full sentences everywhere before the dialogue." (or it's bad writing.)

Can we do a face drag here? If you did all of these to the extreme like they suggest, yes, they are all bad writing.

!@#$ Twitter makes it hard to read the entire argument. So, I'm going to go over the origin of the advice for each of these in a fit of, WTF is with the extremists missing the point?

And please, advice isn't an either/or, often it's a yes and, and try it for yourself. Also, this is why you should give credit to your sources. I originally improved my dialogue from an old back isue of Writer's Digest who went over part of this. I like story theory over hardcore rules.

"Absolutely no tags on your dialogue."

This was originally posted by me into Nanowrimo in order to DIAGNOSE Dialogue. The point wasn't to get rid of stage directions, which was a Brandon Sanderson thing as part of an exercise he did for writing excuses, but from the original article in Writer's Digest it was to ask the following questions:

If you leave the writing alone for a week, without tags, can you tell who said what in the dialogue? This doesn't have to apply all of the time, but it should apply about 80-95% of the time.

To check the flow and pacing of the dialogue.

To check the emotionality of the dialogue.

THEN, you put back the tags, then check if the tags are necessary still. This is a good way to get rid of adverbs on tags.

So instead of:

"I was waiting a long time," he said angrily through clenched teeth.

You can rewrite the dialogue to:

"Unbelievable. I've been waiting over an hour," he said.

See, the difference? The second one has more punch and personality.

Also, it can help with checking the flow and pacing of the dialogue.

Sometimes dialogue sounds jerky, and you don't know why, so dropping tags helps, figure out if you need a pause, or if you need to change up the mood. So slow, fast, snappy, snarky, etc.

After you finish diagnosing, then you can cut down on the tags.

"Tag every line of your dialogue."

No, this is bad writing in this extreme.

This is a crutch and makes you do things like post, "he said, storming across the room." instead of using dialogue and the tags to support each other.

Who wants to read every line of dialogue with a he said, she said, they said?

C'mon? Who invented this idea? I didn't post it anywhere. This both makes the dialogue weaker and the tags weaker.

YES, you absolutely need some tags, sometimes as a lazy way FOR THE READER so they don't have to spend 20 minutes figuring it out, but once you have it established, NO, you don't have to tag every line. Sometimes objectively, it's easy to figure it out and you will still need to tag the dialogue anyway. And if you go over a page, it's a good idea about every page to add a dialogue tag. (This comes from Brandon Sanderson.) (~250 words)

But adding it to EVERY Line. No, your reader isn't that dumb. Sometimes it's better to edit the dialogue itself.

"I went to the park yesterday," she said.

"Oh, was it fun?" he asked.

"No, it was terrible," she said.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," he said.

"Yeah, a wild bear got loose," she said.

Why are you tagging every line? After the first she said he asked, you can cut it, unless there are more than one person in the conversation. Then you better make sure the way the character speaks is clear as day.

Superlatives on every line.

Face drag again. No. Improve what's inside of the dialogue unless it is overly short. Try to make shorter dialogue pack a punch.

"Hello," he whispered.

Probably would work.

But if you're writing something like,

"Hello," he said to his long time acquaintance otherwise not quite his friend, but teacher.

REVISE PLEASE unless you're making fun of bad dialogue or purposefully being pedantic. You're better served by writing, "Hey, Mr. Jerico."

See, contrast. You can probably figure out from one line of dialogue the type of relationship it is and it's much shorter.

If you're at the point where you have to explain the relationship to that much detail, replace it with dialogue.

"I was not at the movies with that girl," he shouted.

You could probably rewrite this to something like:

"I saw you cheating on me with that girl," Mark said.

"That girl was my friend."

"Kissing? If you were polyamorous, you should have told me."

See... more punch.

I absolutely will not change the way my character speaks so full sentences before and after the dialogue without any tags anywhere.

Cue me eye rolling again. WTH is with this idea. Do you know how terrible this would be to read?

Let's take the scenario up above and do this.

Mark paced the room. "I saw you cheating on me with that girl."

Patrice growled significantly. It was not true in the slightest that Patrice had cheated on Mark. "That girl was my friend."

Mark turned towards Patrice and stared. "Kissing? If you were polyamorous, you should have told me."

TT It ruined the pacing. Every single line with this. NO. Please. God, no. The snappiness of the dialogue is gone. and the feel of an argument has been diluted a ton. It's pedantic to read.

This was originally suppose to tell you if no matter what you are doing to the dialogue, it's not working, and you can't do anything about it. BACK UP, read from earlier and swell the emotion from an earlier point.

(Yeah, not conflict, but yes, emotion.)

So if your character has to say something with a long supporting tag like...

"I was at the mansion earlier to find the study where I found the clue in the second drawer." Juan said very self-satisfied with himself. He saluted to his chief.

But it's in the middle of the book, either you need to write that scene and establish Juan better, earlier, or you need to completely reassess the new scene.

"Was it where we said it was?"

"Yep," Juan said.

See... if you established the previous information, the dialogue becomes shorter and snappier.

If you're writing between two characters who know each other, such as a mother and daughter,

"As your mother, I hope you have completed your homework and completed your chores before you leave to school today."

It sounds unbelivably stilted, and ABSOLUTELY you should change what's in the dialogue and how your character is speaking instead of thinking that what's in the quotes is super precious. What mother really speaks like that?

It would sound more natural to say, "Did you finish your math homework? Don't forget breakfast. And finish the dishes when you get home from school."

Then you don't even have to add the mother bit at all. What the hell is that dialogue. No, the point of editing dialogue at all is to make sure the character SOUNDS UNIQUE and SOUNDS like them, in relation to other people in the scene and works in the setting. The character should not be speaking to someone they have an in-joke system with the same way they are speaking to a janitor they barely know.

If you think the way your character speaks is too precious that you need to add huge swaths of explanation afterwords in full sentences, you really need to work on your dialogue so you can occasionally not put full sentences afterwards.

Conclusion

Use all of these techniques and whatever else you need to get the scene to work.

[t0rdsd1ary]

Hiii!

Just started my own blog, so I wanted to introduce myself! :3

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Name: Tord

Age: 19 y/o

Pronounce: He/They

Sexuality: Pansexual 💖💛💙

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

My name is Tord, I’m 19 and welcome to my blog!

I’m going to be posting mainly about my interests and hobbies!! Perhaps a little about my friends and I, idk lol!! >_<

Ask me anything you want but I can’t guarantee I will be fast with replying!! LMAO!!

-

I am currently studying to become a astrolophysicist, continuing on observational astrophysicist in 3 years! I’ve had a big passion for the outer space and the unknown for as long as I can remember, and would LOVE to have someone just as passionate as md!! ^^

I’m feeling kind of lonely being the only one in my friend group with that major :,(

Aside from astronomy, flowers and gardening has a place in my heart! I spend a lot of time gardening in my spare time aaand I tend to talk to them.. A lot when I’m in my room lol

My favourite is succulents btw! They’re easy to take care of and they come in various shapes and shades of green ⋆·˚ ༘ * One of my favourite colours!

◣ ──•~❉᯽❉~•── ◢

Speaking of colours, I am a huge fan of pastel colours :3 I tend to buy most of my clothes second hand with any pastel colour on it! Ugh! I can’t get enough of it!! (´；ω；`) My mom made me throw out a few pieces of clothing because I had no space for it in the wardrobe..

She even took some of my favorite clothes >:( Whatever.. I still have a few favourites left.

I like to be creative and crafty when I style my clothes. Like, accessories! Of simply just that extra click! I always have my nails painted in different colours to match mt outfit :3 Or different earrings, necklaces, paper-made flower crowns, braclets, you name it!

If you’re interested, I may open my own little shop to sell braclets ;) So I can send the money for good’s sake and help people!

◣ ──•~❉᯽❉~•── ◢

I think I have adhd or add, but I’m not sure. Never got the chance to get diagnosed since my parents won’t let me see a phychiarist, but I try to get help from my therapist to to apply ( *｀ω´)

Anyways, that is all I have for now! I might write a little more later but this is goodbye for now!

See you soon!

Love, '*•.¸♡ Tord ��¸.•*'

[arctic-hands]

Long ass post about being a sick and disabled child with pediatric imposter syndrome and inattentive and flat out ableist adults ahead. It got ahead of me but there's nothing I want to cut. No I'm not putting it under a read more. Look at my post, boy.

I wonder if my childhood fascination with wheelchairs was based in the chronic pain and exhaustion I was feeling even by the age of seven.

In second grade we had a "disability week" (tho I wouldn't be surprised if they had called it "differently abled" but I can't remember for certain) where we had disabled adults come to speak to our (allegedly) able-bodied class and the school as a whole. The ones i remember were just explaining the disability and a simplified ways to treat it and things like it's rude to stare and such. Not too too glurgy in that out of context...

...but the memories about it are def tainted by the fact that any kid who was sick or disabled was forced to give presentations on their medical conditions to "educate and de-stigmatize" the students.

This wasn't part of Differently Abled Week, we were just forced to present when we just got diagnosed or whenever the condition got noticed by anyone. The first one i saw was in first grade as a fifth grader gave all the individual classes a presentation on her diabetes. I was forced to give one in third grade after I came back from being dramatically rushed to the hospital after my heart started beating so fast and hard that you could see it thru my shirt, and after about a week out of school in another hospital in the bigger city two hours away because my hometown hospital wasn't equipped to treat pediatric cardiac problems. My third grade presentation on supraventricular tachycardia was well-received, and the school was sympathetic because all my classmates and teachers were like omg this angelic little child has a heart condition and everyone was scared that I might die 😢

... Next year's fourth grade presentation on I Shit Too Much Disease was less well-received, even as I tried to self-censor the inherently disgusting details. To add to that, my SVT had been corrected (for a few decades, it appears to be coming back after 2) by an ablation in late third grade, so the Scary Heart Explodey (not really) Disease had been tied up neatly and I was free to live as a Normal Child. But Crohn's disease was something else, something relatively new to the lexicon in the early millennium and I constantly had to explain my health to strangers as the unwilling IBD Ambassador of the town. This would be and still is life-long and particularly hard to treat (my Crohn's was once compared to brittle diabetes in the way it never did and still doesn't respond to treatment), and the sympathy of the ableds is fickle and short lasting. Even just a year after my Diagnosis, my teachers stopped caring WHY I was missing school and sleeping all the time and in the bathroom too long and only saw these as delinquent behaviors to be punished, and my classmates no longer had sympathy for the perceived special treatment I barely got and were convinced I was faking it all for attention

Anyway I'm digressing, but I did need to feel the need to give context to my school's attitude towards sick kids. Back to Disability/Differently Abled Week

...We were allowed to play with mobility aids. Yeeeah. To de-stigmatize of course, totes not to keep us occupied. At one point we played with wooden beads of different shapes to make "hearing aids" and microphones in the style of the day, and each class was allowed one wheelchair, two sets of crutches, and a few arm slings for kids to be assigned to use for half the day.

I had seen these before. There were only a few sick kids in my school and none in mobility aids, but 7 year olds do have some life experience in being in the outer world, and my hometown was a city and not insular, so I had been exposed to disabled people before. My grandmother's best friend was an old lady with a basic prosthetic foot and used a cane, and she was patient and i daresay a little proud to show it off when i was really little and we'd go to have tea/hot chocolate with her and i stared in fascination and asked innocently offensive questions. At seven I hadn't been diagnosed with SVT or Crohn's yet and my intense and agonizing leg pains had been dismissed by my pediatrician as a hysteric and melodramatic little girl's response to "growing pains" (I've stopped growing but still feel them, I'm just used to them enough after thirty years that I barely notice them unless my legs are touched). I knew about broken bones and as someone who still had potent memories of toddler ear infections that were bad enough to send me to the E.R, I had even taken a few rides in wheelchairs.

But being in a wheelchair constantly was a new experience for me, especially as this was a manual wheelchair that you pushed yourself with the big wheels in, not the hospital kind that nurses push for you. The thought of never having to use my legs was an intoxicating thought, and I had childhood delusions of being strong and muscley enough to be able to handle maneuvering it with my scarily emaciated noodle arms.

Aides were assigned by last name down the list, and the teacher just arbitrarily decided which one you'd get. My last name is fairly down the list, so I waited the better part of a week to get assigned, all the while eyeballing the wheelchair enviously as my classmates assigned to it got to play disabled in it. I wondered how to pop a wheelie in it (for the record, my immediate reaction to being given roller skates on my fourth birthday was to immediately try to do a trick jump off the porch and landed hard on my ass with miraculously intact bones and face). But mostly I was fascinated by the thought of never having to use my legs for an entire half a day. I kept my composure at school so not to be labeled a crybaby, but by the time I got home I sometimes couldn't even focus on Pokémon because my legs were too agonizing and I'd be crying. My parents were sympathetic enough to my leg pains that they bought me hot water bottles to sooth my knees and tried to get me to take my mind off it by meditating the pain away (I'm too bipolar to focus in meditation even then but everyone's reaction to my bipolar is another long ass post in the making). But they didn't care enough to advocate for me against my pediatrician, even as he ignored all my other dramatic symptoms that were beginning to become un-ignorable. It took until my heart emergency for any adult (ily Dr. Stein, my pediatric cardiologist who immediately realized I needed more help than just for SVT) to notice the misery I was in and get me the right help (ily Dr. Maizle, my first pediatric gastroenterologist and the only one who actually listened to me when i said some of the meds felt worse than the disease).

Anyway I was assigned crutches when my name was called and i nearly did finally snap and cry at school. Nearly. And the crutches (basic under armpit ones, not forearm crutches) sucked. They were painful in my armpits, they weren't adjusted to my height properly, and I fell a few times because I was trying to swing both my legs at the same time because BOTH my legs were in constant agony and I was trying to alleviate my body's pressure on them both. I had a miserable time "pretending" to be disabled, but I was the only one who complained about the crutches and so I went ignored, setting up the theme for my childhood.

This fascination with wheelchairs stuck with me and as I became a bigger kid and my body just piled on more illness and pain, but despite all that my legs were technically functional so I kept my yearning for a chair quiet for fear of being offensive (didn't know what appropriation meant back then but that was the feeling) and an actual attention seeker like my classmates accused me off. Sure, I was sick and constantly in pain, but at least I wasn't actually "stuck in a wheelchair". Could be worse. At least it's not cancer, after all.

It got to the point that by middle school i was having idle fantasies about being grievously and dramatically injured to the point I lose my aching leg(s) and thus was finally granted a wheelchair. In my darkest moments I wondered how much pain doing it myself would be in the moment, but the thing that snapped me out of crippling (I use that word deliberately) myself was that I genuinely love the feeling of sand beneath my feet and the way beach sand (I wouldn't see the ocean until my twenties, but the artifical lake we went to had sand) felt in between your toes and how my feet didn't ache so much as the hot sand conformed around them. I still kept this quiet because I knew it was crazy and was beginning to realize that I as a whole being was crazy, but I didn't want to be treated as crazy so I kept my fantasies secret.

I've lost the point I was trying to make as I ramble on about these physically painful memories but I'm going to end by saying lmfao I've been using a cane for my pain (to not great success tbh) and have been told I'll prolly need a wheelchair in the next few years. My trepidation about this is totally devoid of any "be careful what you wish for!" karma and everything to do with how infamously inaccessible the Atlantic Coast of the United States is for mobility access. The buildings are all old and pretty and no one wants to ruin the aesthetics of the rowhomes and the shops (except the liquor stores, make of that as you will) don't want to put in the money to add or replace the stairs getting up to the shops with ramps.

This is really dumb even before I started using aides, because EVERYONE can use a ramp while only SOME people can use stairs. And that's not even the end of it, if you manage to get into the shops the aisles are too small to get even a folding chair in between, and no one wants to put in the extra work to rearrange the store to cater to those seeking "special treatment". For years I thought the A.D.A had a grandfather clause that said historical buildings didn't have to adapt unless they renovate and that's why the older cities on the East Coast are the way they are. Nope, that clause doesn't exist. But no one is willing to enforce the A.D.A except SOMETIMES for federal buildings. Even some medical facilities are on stairs with no ramp. Baltimore IS in the middle of a years-long A.D.A lawsuit, but it's only for the absolutely abysmal sidewalks that prevent wheelchairs from going over them at all and makes it treacherous for canes and crutches. I see people in wheelchairs on the road more than I see them on sidewalks because it's the only way to get a wheelchair to move. Baltimore drivers are legitimately and legendarily terrifying. I wouldn't even want to ride a bike (were I still able) in the bike lanes, let alone wheel myself IN a major road. This is going to be a terrifying experience here, unless something very much changes and soon. But will the abled leaders care enough even if they're under lawsuit? I don't feel optimistic. But what choice do/will I have? It doesn't HAVE to be hard, but it WILL be because ableds don't care enough to make even the slightest change to make it easier for EVERYONE if it takes even the slightest bit of effort. See: their collective response to covid

[fluffnflightillustrations]

I just need to get it off my chest.

Another vent post, since this month has been just... terrible, really.

So we were doing well, paying the bills, even making a little extra... then my roomie quit her job on the spot without a backup job on the rear cooker... right before my birthday.

maybe its selfish, but im really frustrated and pissed about it? she got a small job after jobhunting for two or three days and they let her go the next week, so once again, we are out of more than half the bill payments. usually, if i were healthy, i would be able to try to float us for a bit, but im just. not. healthy. at all.

i cannot afford my medication i desperately need to maintain myself, and my paranoia is getting so much worse with all of the stress piling higher and higher. for those unaware, i am diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, GAD, and Psychotic depression... that last one is basically super intense depression, but add on some hallucinations and a lot of paranoia.

I cant get enough sleep and i keep waking up with tachycardia and night sweats and feeling weak and i dont know if its my paranoia as usual or if its actually some new heart condition and its freaking me the hell out

I'm working as much as i can at my new job and i still don't think im going to make ends meet, so I opened commissions but the guilt from being able to finish them fast enough is eating me alive and i feel like im really falling into a huge hole i cannot crawl out of

i want to disappear and hide from it all... i wish it would all just disappear. the world, the bills, the stress, the hallucinations, the anxiety, the loneliness. my entire life. im not going to act on an attempted... unaliving, since ive tried and failed too many times to have any faith in myself to be successful, but im so... so tired. so exhausted.

We had planned a trip to New York, even bought nonrefundable tickets and a hotel a few months back when we were doing well... but im going to have to go and spend the whole time working, and my friends i was going to meet might have to cancel, and honestly.. part of me just doesnt want to go anymore. its hard to feel any excitement for a trip that will just be spent being anxious and feeling guilty for not working in that time period.

My friends are all busy, so i don't have really anybody to get it off my chest to, and then another few friends i suspect of actually hating me, but maybe its my anxiety speaking... im just tired of it all. i want it all to perish

anyways... commissions are open. ill post about it tomorrow probably when i feel better, if i feel better

[meditating-dog-lover]

Intermittent fasting day 8

I had a good day. I woke up at around 7 and had to head out with my dad at around 11:30. During my morning at home, I was laying in bed on my phone scrolling through Youtube shorts. There's a holistic dermatologist I found on Youtube who makes videos on eczema (she struggled with it too, and so do I). Doctors are smart and care for their patients. However there is something more personal when a doctor is not only smart and can remember diagnoses, pathologies, symptoms, and treatments they memorize from a med school textbook, but also struggled with a certain medical disorder in the past. A dermatologist spends years in med school and being a doctor is not hard, and they will give their eczema patients either oral or topical steroids. However it takes a doctor who had a personal struggle with a medical condition (eczema in this case) to know that steroids do work in reducing inflammation, but a lot of patients don't like using it because it is a temporary solution and does not get rid of the itching as it will always come back in between applications. Therefore they will do a deep dive on the disease and its root cause (for eczema it is inflammation and the cause of inflammation can be extremely multi-factorial). Anyways I still want to watch her eczema videos in depth. But I've seen some of her shorts and she does intermittent fasting and wieiad videos and the recipes are very healthy and creative. They don't seem "restrictive" or "disordered" at all either. I love watching them because they can give me ideas for healthy meals and snacks and because seeing a doctor living this type of lifestyle makes them set a really good example of health. Which is what they're supposed to be doing. Overall I felt like her videos were cute and wholesome, yet also educational and informative, and I'm sure they'll provide a lot more insight on dermatology than what my dermatologists recommended to me in the past. As someone who struggles with eczema, I hate steroids and I do not like quick fixes. So I want to find the root cause of why I'm getting it and what's the root maybe multi-factorial cause of my eczema. Flaxseed oil (orally) and petroleum jelly (topically) helped me a lot, but they're not permanent cures. My eczema is mild now when it used to be moderate thanks to the 2. I'll get to the bottom of it eventually. Eczema sucks and it can be so debilitating for some people.

I went to a very nice touristy town to pick up a gift for my aunt. I held my fast pretty well and wasn't hungry in the morning. I was able to walk around the town pretty well.

My dad then offered to get me coffee, so we went to another nice town to pick up some chocolates as a gift and then a coffee. I love chocolate, it is the only sweet I enjoy. I don't like candy or non-chocolate baked goods or ice cream. But anything with chocolate I love. The chocolate shop was kind of like Godiva where there is an assortment of chocolates in front of you and you pick a box size of your choice and fill it with whichever chocolate assortment you select. Obviously with chocolate sitting right in front of me and it being 1 PM which is time for me to break my fast, I asked if I can have 1-2 pieces of sea salted caramel dark chocolate (I obviously want chocolate but not too much). So I really enjoyed those. I got coffee too, I love cafe mochas in general though I felt like with this one, the chocolate was a bit sweet and the coffee was a bit strong. I felt thirsty and dizzy after drinking it, and I drink coffee every day. But I was fine, I just needed some water. I had that with my morning oats (I didn't add dark chocolate because I had enough sweetness and chocolate from the 2 chocolate pieces and the coffee). Also I liked the city because it looked like the city I lived in when I went to college.

I had my usual avocado sandwich for lunch at around 5. My dad and I were getting ready to head out because we were invited to a dinner.

We had dinner at around 7-7:30 at a restaurant. They served us some appetizers like tomato salad, bread, tarama (which is a roe dip), feta cheese, leafy greens, and french fries. They served us octopus and then calamari (I am not a fan and I prefer fish), and then grouper fish which I did eat from. It has a flaky and rubbery texture which I liked. I normally eat salmon which is a bit firmer and drier. But in general I enjoy fish. And for "dessert" I had a pomegranate wedge. I finished eating at around 9. I did eat but I didn't stuff myself. And after the main course I had a bit of pomegranate and that was it.

I went home and began fasting. I was perfectly fine too. It's been 4.5 hours and I'm doing fine til now. I did go for a nice, long walk too. It gave me the chance to get my steps and sweat in, to enjoy the scenery and houses and streets, and to do a lot of self-reflection. Walking makes me relaxed and at ease and it helps me be in touch with my inner thoughts and my peaceful, simple, happy, and kind personality. I become simple and happy and forget the bad in life. Even though my life is easier now, I feel like I pressure myself more with responsibilities because I am now an adult with a full time job with adult responsibilities. I'm no longer a college student. I remember 10 years ago I felt like I was at ease walking and being happy and free spirited. Now I felt like I lost that with time.

Being responsible is good and I already am. But being happy is also good. I've always been a happy person who has aspirations and makes people around me at ease. I can maintain that even as an adult. If anything I don't want the stress of adulthood to take that away from me.

[justrandommethoughts]

The Start

This post defines the start of my journey. It was way back in 2019 when I first went to therapy (Yeah for me that's way back, the whole covid period just makes everything before feel soo long ago).

I was still together with my first girlfriend back then, almost for 6 years to that day. I never thought I have mental issues, but I was never the 'feeling' kind of person. I did not really feel anything. Of course, I would tell my ex I loved her, I was sad at the funeral of my grandparents, but it felt artificial, not real. I was just acting along how I was supposed to feel, without really feeling it. But for me that was normal, I've been this way for as long as I could remember. But then, I started to develope random symptoms of illnesses that could not be diagnosed by doctors/specialists. I had issues/pain peeing, my head skin was itching, I developed a tinnitus. After going through some painful proedures (I am very much referring to an urologist, who had to take a 'sample' of my urethra and was sticking some thing into my penis. I think that was the most painful thing I ever experienced, I can't even describe the pain I was in. I really never cried, but that, that made me cry) Well, anyways, after all these tests were showing no results of some illness, my doctor referred me to a therapist. I even got a pretty fast appointment, it only took me a few weeks. I was super lucky with that and I am still grateful (I might have to add that I live in Germany, so I did not have to pay for any of these doctors visit, I am super lucky)

So, the first therapy session was ahead. I was super nervous and could not imagine what it would be like to talk to somebody like that. I had no clue what to talk to him about, as there were no emotions or internal thoughts that I could tell him about. It was just empty, nothing, a void. It felt a bit odd, but honestly my memory is rather blurry about these past days. I was with this therapist for almost a year and a half, having sessions about every 2 weeks. And it helped, I noticed my feelings again, I could feel again. It's crazy to think about it, but I actually can't remember what exactly we did. He asked me how I felt about certain things, and I could not answer. Like what do you feel when you think about this teacher. I could not tell, I had numbness. So we went through all feelings there are, and I tried to imagine what it would feel like. And after some time, I noticed them again, at least something. A tickle maybe, but enough to talk about it.

An interesting event we pointed out, which back then seemed to be really important was something a teacher did to me when I was in 6th grade (so about 12/13). It was geography, and the teacher was a real asshole. He was that kind of teacher that takes pleasure in embarrasing kids, making him feel superior. He would always insult classmates and tell them how dumb they are. Well, and then one day it happened to me. I was rather more open back then, more expressive. I wore a shirt saying something like 'Homework are dangerous for my freetime' and he looked at it and shouted across the classroom 'It should rather say Homework are dangerous for your stupidity'. It really hurt thinking about this event, back then during the therapy session it felt like a turning point. It had such a massive impact, I could not really deal with it. After the therapy I went home and I was feeling unwell already. I then basically puked the whole evening and cried until my parents came and picked me up. They live about an hour away by car, so not too close. I thought that was the event troubling me and being a turning point in my development, so processing it really helped (At least back then it was a good start, but not to imagine what would come lol). Anyways, a few weeks after my girlfriend, then ex-girlfriend broke up with me. I was done with everything, the whole world. My world was falling apart. Even though I did not really feel that I loved her, I was still having a connection. A closesness that I can not really describe, she just felt like home. The therapy really helped processing it, having somebody to talk to who does not judge you no matter what you say. Who even understands and helps you order your thoughts and feelings. I wrote letters to her, which I never sent, just for myself. A lot of letters. I also sent her one message, a very long message, talking about what good times we had and that we should try it again, but to no avail. It was over. About three months later she had a new boyfriend, somebody from her work, and I thought it would not really affect me. I was just shrugging it off, saying its her thing, I don't care. Thinking about it from my perspective now, I actually cared and still do. It made everything before feel artificial, questioning if she also wanted him when we were still together, if there was something happening maybe. I don't think so, my rational self tells me no, she is not such a person, but I nevertheless have these thoughts.

Then Covid hit, I still remeber it in March 2020, when everything shut down. I then moved back to my parents. I was living in a shared appartment, but I had no real connection to my roommates and all my other friends also moved back to their parents. I had remote therapy during that period, and it was actually ok. It felt a little hard to open up over a video call at first, but I can recommend it if you can't see a therapist in person. After a few months the therapy was at an end. We had to either file an application for long term treatment or stop, and we both agreed on that I was feeling better and could deal with myself without any help (Oh how wrong we were).

The next part of the story will come whenever I feel like it and have the time, but until my next therapy a couple years went by. It actually only started a few months ago. I will then also go a little more into detail, but that backstory might be intersting to see where I am coming from.

[kikibridges13]

So I'm posting this here instead of anywhere else on the interwebs because shy of a select few friends I mutually follow from college, nobody from home, friends, family, or people at work know about this platform. And right now it's the only safe place I feel like I have.

Yesterday, I got a call from my doctor updating me on some CT results I had to get done over the weekend. Backstory: Almost 10 years ago (September 29th, to be exact) I was diagnosed with a brain tumor on the lower hemisphere of my brain - it had been a slow-growing, tangerine sized mass that had been there probably my entire life, it just had finally grown to the point it was affecting my life. Anyway, surgery was required, radiation followed, despite being benign. There was a 85% chance of it never returning. It wrecked my entire fucking life; I had been out of college 4 months at this point, and my doctor wanted me to do nothing for a year.

What a way to start your life, right?

Fast-forward 10 years. I've been married, divorced, been at a job for the last 5 years that I finally love and thinking about going back to school for social work so I can expand on my current discharge planning occupation. Been in a relationship for 4 years with the sweetest guy.

And then my dizziness symptoms return. First it was a couple of times when getting up and thought it was normal. Then I started having them completely stationary at work. So I called my doctor.

And that's what you missed on Glee!

Despite my dry attempt at humor and acting like it's not a big thing, I'm absolutely fucking terrified. After I got the call yesterday, I was shaking so back my supervisor kept asking me every 10 minutes or so if I was okay.

It seems like every time I get to a good place in my life, everything fucks up. Graduated college in 2013? Four months later, diagnosed with a brain tumor.

My first job once I was able to work at let me go the same day I decided to move in with my ex-husband.

Said ex-husband announced that he had been cheating on me pretty much our entire relationship when I suggested that we start trying to expand our family. Guess I should thank anybody out there listening that I never got pregnant by him.

Went on vacation once travel restrictions had let up post-Covid, just to wreck my car the next day.

Recently, I traded said car for a new one at the beginning of June. Got called into a department meeting a week later that our on-site call center was being removed to remote and some of us wouldn't have a job. My ever growing skill set and the fact I'm a reliable employee saved me, and I transferred to where I am now.

And now, here I am, about to maybe move in with my boyfriend, thinking of other life changes, and I get a call I've been absolutely dreading for the past 10 years.

I'm posting here because I'm absolutely terrified of what is going to come out of that neuro consult when I have to go to it. Most likely I'm going to have to do an MRI, I know that. But if they tell me another surgery? Another round of radiation? The last round damn near killed me, literally. I stopped eating, lost over 60 pounds in about 5 months, and it left me with no appetite and no will to even continue on with my life. I fought so hard to build where I am today. And I'm terrified of watching it all crumble down around me.

I'm tired of all the "thoughts and prayers" posts that now litter the post I made on the book of faces. I realize I live in the heart of the Bible Belt and there are more churches than literally anything in Southwest Virginia, but to be honest, I stopped believing in a lot of things related to religion years ago. I just need a place to feel scared for a moment, and to have my feelings valid, and to take a moment to get this all out somewhere. Because if I bottle it up, then somebody I love is going to get the brunt of this and it'll be another bridge burned to add to the pile that's been growing for the last 10 years.

[sleeqwalkinq]

vent . tw || — bpd . manipulation . self harm .

all i ever do is hurt him. genuinely. all. of. the. time. and i cant stand myself for it. i do it subconsciously. i want to be able to stop but it is so hard. i know im manipulating him but i cannot stop no matter how hard i try. i dont know why he puts up with me. before , like a yr into our relationship i was fine and we were happy and i kept all of my bpd fits to myself. now that were almost 4yrs in, i take it out on him because im more comfortable. being more comfortable with someone does NOT warrant you abusing them daily. it hurts to see and hear him hurting because of me. but i cannot stop. it ruins me day by day because i either am getting so mad at him over random things that have no value to warrant my anger or im just straight up telling him he doesnt love me anymore because he didnt answer my text fast enough. he tells me it hurts him constantly and i always say i understand and wont do it again but i always do it again without fail. he told me that when i tell him he deserves someone better it hurts him because it feels like i dont wanna be in a relationship with him anymore and i kept doing it until he basically told me he was gonna break up with me if i kept doing it!!!!!!!

i want to be good for him, i really do. i know he loves me dearly and wants to be with me forever, yet i constantly need reassurance from him.

at one point this year it got so bad whenever he was with me and he made me slightly upset i would lock the door to the room i was in and start cutting myself as he banged on the door to beg me to stop. this is a really awful thing for me to admit to. at the time i didnt do it for manipulation i do want to clarify. i was in an awful mental state and had nothing else to turn to when things went wrong. i see now that this is SUPER manipulative and i should have NEVER done it no matter how much i was hurting and unable to cope. the guilt that follows me for this haunts me everyday and i constantly want to apologize for this but im not sure how. ill tell him someday.

i really want to reach out for help for my problems because i am pretty sure the only way ill get better is with therapy, but ive been putting off finding a nee therapist. my mother doesnt know about any of these things, and is sending me to therapy about my fathers passing, but i want to also have it as an outlet to treat or lessen my abusive behavior. i want to get better . i need to get better. it destroys me everyday knowing all i ever do is abuse the ones i love. i truly do not want to atall. it tears me apart. living with this mental illness is ripping me apart.

also another thing that i just wanna add— I AM NOT HOPPING ON THE BPD BANDWAGON. i understand that its considered a “trendy” mental illness but i would like to clarify i am no where near that. infact- i have been researching and questioning about bpd for YEARS. wayyy before it became a “trend” to have it. if i could choose a reality where i was normal- i would. this illness is destroying my relationships and my mental wellbeing. anyone who self diagnoses from tiktok who has not done proper research is fucking stupid. why would you want to live with an illness that does irreparable damage to you and all of your relationships? who would want to constantly unwillingly abuse their parter, friends, siblings… etc. who would want to deal with hallucinations? who in their right mind would want to unwillingly get so physically and mentally attached to someone that if you dont speak to them for more than a few days you start to genuinely lose your mind and question if they still really want to be with you? who would want any of this? i dont think they understand how horrible this illness is to live with and it pisses me off.

anyways yeah. downloaded tumblr for this because i wanted to get shit off my chest . i hope i can also use this account in the future to listen to my silly alex g as i type about my issues. its 1:57 am — goodnight all.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Fun fact actually really really sad fact that I need to get out of my head to be able to fall asleep.

My ex best friend (which seems like a really juvenile phrase to use for the situation tbh. The correct word is bully ig. Possibly abuser. Which feels harsh? Bc we were both so young. But she did, and so did her mother. It's a lot to come to terms with tho. Anyway. Not the point.) She would always use her "mental illnesses" (I add quotes bc she was one of those people to be like Im So OcD abOuT tHaT rN. Idk what diagnoses she genuinely had) as a weapon. Or as an excuse. She'd be like AAGAHAHAH YOU HAVE TO DO WHAT I SAY BC OF MY OCD UWU. And one that she loved using was adhd. I laughed at you bc I have adhd. I insulted you bc I have adhd. I dumped water on you bc I have adhd. I lied about you bc I have adhd. I destroyed your self esteem bc I have adhd. Feel bad for me now :). It's all ok bc I have adhd WHY DONT YOU FEEL BAD FOR ME.

Then. Around the same time as this ig? Idk I don't remember most of my childhood especially in order. But. I started realizing things about myself that could be adhd symptoms. And logically. I knew that it wasn't adhd that made her do those things. And that not everyone who has adhd is a bad person. And that symptoms of adhd don't include vapid bullying. But something in me didn't want to be associated with it. I can't even explain it. I was also still a child. But I pushed it away bc of her.

Now fast forward. I've been diagnosed with adhd at 19. After high school. After a lot, possibly all, of college. After I convinced myself I was just dumb and stupid and incompetent for having the struggles I've had for a long time. And its just another reminder of the power she had and still has over me. This is a personal thing and a personal struggle I shouldn't even connect it to her. But I heard it so much all the time.

And I joke about it. I'm like hahaha I got the official diagnosis now time to start bullying people!!!! I have adhd wheres someone i can TORTURE lol. I joke about it with my mom and my best friend who went through all of this with the same person too. But its not really funny is it. Look what she did to me. What happened. Why is this my life.

[ha-youwish]

May I ask very nicely about the twewy au of your last fic? Pretty please 🥺

you read fast i just posted that lmao

this is the fic if anyone is wondering

okay so hm i really wasn’t prepared to talk about this. this fic came from an idea about post-apocalyptic situations, and im not sure where i got that idea from. so basically i started crafting a whole Thing based around that but then i scrapped it once my brain made the joke that its just The World Ending (with you) (again).

basically add this fic to my list of reasons i need to get diagnosed

anyways about the actual au shit going on in the background, please understand that this is hastily put together with duct tape so if it doesn’t make sense idk what to tell you

so it starts like this. this whole thing runs off the (correct) assumption that Neku is the most powerful being not in the UG right now, and possibly one of the most powerful in general. now someone (idk who, maybe another trigger-happy angel) decides that neku can be the perfect centerpiece for the next thing that will try to destroy shibuya.

and so, in some kind of ritual not to different from the taboo sigils from the first game. everyone in shibuya basically are like mindless wandering half-ghost things and theres a shitton of noise.

most UG folks and people who were caught up in the whole spell thing made it in one piece, but the rest of the city turned into those soulless beings, including rhyme and eri. and where did all those souls go? well. neku’s kinda still connected to all the minds in shibuya oops so guess what

now this ends up being kind of like some zombie apocalypse bc this whole thing Will spread to other areas of tokyo if they dont hurry and its already leaking into shinjuku, which is still recovering from their own world-ending event. and not only will this soullessness spread but so will the strain on neku which is fun.

the reason they have to be so cautious when going out (and why rindo being injured was a thing that was mentioned) is because of that whole “shitton of noise” thing i mentioned earlier that spread that soullessness stuff or whatever

sometime during a battle or something, shiki, beat, and neku sync up and realize very quickly how much hes been carrying and use the sync to help share the burden (but he silently refuses to let them actually help bc its That Bad that he doesn’t want them to feel even a little bit of it)

joshua’s abilities as composer allow him to help neku feel better almost exponentially, but the Ending the World Spell accounted for that and so it tends to do more damage after some time.

anyways at the point the fic is set in, they’ve found out how to reverse it (hopefully) by basically drawing giant No U sigils all over the city. the next part, the part that would come after the fic, is when neku would go to each sigil and activate them to get rid of some of the people in his head at a time until all of them were gone and the noise went away as well

i think thats all i got for this one. definitely not as interesting or fleshed out as other ones i have but i like the fic that came from it so who cares

[indecisive-behaviors]

Originally I was just going to add this as a reblog to my previous post about the parking lot scene in KK2 but it’s almost 2k words so now it’s getting it’s own post. Be forewarned- this is fucking long.

TW for discussion of PTSD, child abuse, neglect, injury, and death, in relation to topics surrounding the show, under the cut-

Obviously, Cobra Kai is a show based around the premise of “what happened to that Lawrence kid after he got kicked in the face?”, which is honestly a pretty cool idea for a show. Johnny’s story is never explained past sitting on the sidewalk with his head in his hands at the tournament, and there are no real context clue’s to figure out what may or may not have happened.

In the show we get to learn early on that Johnny’s life spiraled after the tournament, going from bad to worse to “holy shit how are you still alive”-dropping out/never going to college, working jobs he seems to hate, becoming an alcoholic, presumably many dead end relationships, and not being there for his kid. And yeah, obviously, this would be a hard pill to swallow for anyone watching the show if Johnny had just lost the tournament. If we never got the scene in KK2, he would have just been some kid who lost a tournament- we see at the end of the first movie that(through tears holy shit Billy) that Johnny is the one who gives the trophy to Daniel with his famous line, “You’re alright, LaRusso.” There’s a level of grudging respect in that moment that isn’t lost on anyone who sees that movie- that Johnny, who throughout the movie only sees Daniel as some whimpy kid, gets proven wrong and respects that. If we didn’t have that scene, there’s reason to believe Johnny would have apologized, tried to make amends, Something, even if it was just being less of a dick at school.

But then, we get the parking lot. We get a far off shot, intended to distance you from the scene, framed over Daniel’s shoulder. This makes sense, Daniel is the main character, the protagonist, the underdog hero- why wouldn’t it be framed in his perspective? But the scene is about Johnny. We get the shouting match, the back and forth- “No, you’re the loser man.”- and again it’s fairly obvious how Johnny sees this situation. This is a man who we assume(and is later confirmed) to be a surrogate father figure, who set his friend up for failure, and then basically forced him to do the same by targeting an injured opponent, and forcing him to fight without honor. This same man presumably follows a teenager out to the parking lot, to harass him, to tell him he’s off the team, to tell him he’s a loser, that he’s nothing.

But at that point, Johnny knows the truth, even if subconsciously. At the end of the day Johnny knows that Daniel LaRusso was a worthy opponent, and that regardless of the cheating and manipulation, Daniel could have won anyway, and did win, despite of it.

And then Kreese grabs him, too fast to react to, Johnny too surprised even knowing that Kreese is the bad guy here, not believing that he would ever willingly hurt him- and Johnny isn’t strong enough to fight him off, none of the boys are, so Johnny is forced to suffocate for almost a full 30 seconds(which I double checked for the record- also as a reference, 30 seconds is about the average time it takes for a person voluntarily holding their breath to pass out- this does not account for the oxygen lost during a struggle, and the lack of preparation from both surprise and panic. The only silver lining here is the fact that Kreese was most likely compressing his windpipe, not his jugular, which would have made him pass out in about 5-10 seconds, and would have caused permanent brain damage or death in about 15).

Now, PTSD is a complex thing. I’m not a psychiatrist, and what small amount of information we have is all we have to work off of, but I feel fairly comfortable in saying Johnny mostly likely developed it after the incident. This not an uncommon take in the fandom as far as I’m aware either. But, if we assume this, we also have to assume that after the fact nothing would have been done about this. Not just in the sense that we still don’t really know everything that happened right after the tournament, but that in the early 80s, PTSD wasn’t really a thing yet.

Sure it was absolutely a condition that existed, but Post Traumatic Stress Disorder wasn’t even added to the DSM-III until 1980- and for a long time afterward, was only seen as a condition that affected primarily war vets. Even after an event as traumatic as having a man you considered a father trying to kill you, in public, without remorse, would not have been seen as something to warrant the diagnoses, let alone treatment.

Johnny Lawrence was 17 when Kreese tried to kill him, and this boy would have been offered no resources beyond filing charges with the police. And as we see in KK3, either this didn’t happen either, or someone(presumably Silver) got the charges dropped. So on top of almost being murdered, Johnny had to live with the fact that the man who did that to him was still out there, and to top it off, still ran a dojo at least for a few months after the event. The only relief he could have gotten is after Kreese faked his death.

And sure, Mr Miyagi may have gotten Kreese to let go eventually, but as several people have pointed out in comments and tags, left him and the other boys alone with Kreese still standing there in the parking lot and just... drove off. Kreese has already been established to be a psycho with no problem hurting children, a little bit of glass might not have prevented him from trying again.

So why did I talk about all of that? Because it all contributes to why Daniel LaRusso works as a credible antagonist in season 1 of Cobra Kai.

Think about this- Johnny blames losing everything on Daniel in season 1, but we specifically get a shot in KK1 and later KK2(”You’re alright, LaRusso” and “I did my best” come to mind) where he seems to be at least mostly accepting of the fact that he lost(with what was actually an illegal kick but that’s a rant for another time). So why does he blame him for everything 30 years later?

Because 30 years later, Johnny is forced to go outside, go to work, and pretend like he doesn’t see what feels like every street corner(including right outside his apartment mind you), a literal billboard sized reminder of what happened to him.

The rest of this is mostly speculation but it makes sense in my head so bear with me.

When we get introduced to Robby, it’s made pretty clear that Johnny has not been in his life for a bit. In season 2 we get Johnny’s heart to heart with Miguel, where he divulges that he missed the birth, because he spiraled after his mom’s death. This however doesn’t suggest that he stayed gone, especially knowing that it wasn’t long enough for Robby to not consider seeking out his dad. Because tacked up to the fridge, is a picture of Robby in his soccer uniform as a kid. It’s an early detail you can see in previous episodes, and says a lot about how Robby grew up. To be fair, this could have been given to him by Shannon, and not taken himself, but it’s the sport Robby’s playing that makes me question this. KK1 dedicates an entire scene to Johnny being on the soccer team in high school. Soccer, while maybe not as important to him as karate, is still part of his character. Robby does not know karate in season 1, Johnny obviously didn’t share it with him, but that doesn’t mean Johnny didn’t share anything with him.

So Johnny’s back in his kids life, maybe doing better for himself, maybe cutting back on the drinking. LaRusso Auto is already established to exist at this point but it’s in Encino, a place Johnny has no reason to go to, and probably doesn’t want to. He’s trying again and things are okay. But Robby knows enough about Daniel to know that going to him will piss off his dad. So Johnny had to have talked about him at some point. The billboards here are what’s important- they’re in the first episode, the first scene montage, Johnny draws a dick on one of them as some petty revenge.

The first billboard goes up in the late 2000s to mid 2010s. Johnny sees it, maybe he has Robby with him at the time, maybe he goes home and says something there, but he says something in a way that sticks with even a child as being important. More billboards go up. Dealerships starting popping up more and more. Daniel’s face, and by extension, the memories, the flashbacks, become inescapable. Johnny, for a third time, spirals again. Before he even knows what’s happening, he’s lost his relationship with his son. And it’s all Daniel’s fault. Of course Daniel doesn’t do it deliberately, but the constant reminders are enough to send him back into a tailspin and Johnny blames him for it.

Because it’s Daniel who is a constant reminder of his failures- it’s Daniel who caused him to lose the tournament and almost get killed, Daniel who put up the billboards that trigger his flashbacks, it’s always Daniel Daniel Daniel.

And then Johnny gets it in his head that he wants to be better. He opens a dojo, teaches Miguel and the other kids, wants to try again- and he almost succeeds.

Johnny up to this point has not deliberately antagonized Daniel in any way. Sure he named the dojo Cobra Kai, but Cobra Kai is all he knows. Besides Johnny doesn’t blame karate for his failures, his best memories are Cobra Kai and he’s trying to be better than Kreese. So what’s the harm in this really? His building is in Reseda, there’s no reason for Daniel to ever be there, he doesn’t do it out of spite, it’s because he lives there and rent is cheap. He doesn’t know about KK3, doesn’t know about Daniel’s own trauma. This isn’t an attack. Johnny sincerely just doesn’t know.

Enter Daniel, stage left. Daniel makes no attempt to talk to him- he simply makes demands and accusations, before he starts making active attempts to put him out of business.

Sure, we as the audience know Daniel has good reasons to not want Cobra Kai back. But Johnny doesn’t. All Johnny knows is that the kid he picked on in high school- who won, who got everything Johnny wanted, who grew up to be successful, has a wonderful wife, two kids who love him, a thriving business- is doing everything he can to make his life hell 30 years after the fact.

And this could only have happened because in 1986 John G. Avildsen decided to add in a scene meant for the original movie into the sequel, for absolutely no fucking reason.

[tonenoth]

Unknown Something: II

I have felt alone most of my life. Lonely most of those times. As a kid, I always felt like I didn’t fit in. Teachers called me smart, kids my age called me weird. As I got older, teachers saw me as a nuisance. Kids my age still called me weird. I made friends along the way, as anyone does, but none ever really stuck around.

I think I have been a poor friend in general. I always seemed to betray anyone who I was close to. I chose to stick around people that didn’t value or appreciate me. I yearned to be accepted by those who did not accept me. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cared so much about what people thought of me. Now, I sit alone with thoughts that no one seems to care about. I still yearn to be accepted, but now I do not know who I want to be accepted by.

Many disorders fly through my head in search for some kind of understanding. I have been diagnosed bipolar and schizoaffective with very, very little discussion or insight on how those labels apply or even make sense to my identity. I considered autism as a label, or Asperger’s at least. ADHD quite possibly. Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder. I believe I am just paranoid.

What does it matter? What someone calls me or thinks of me… I can’t even settle on my own definition. Another’s half assed attempt to toss me into a bin of others who wouldn’t accept me anyway seems so futile and fruitless. Still, I want to belong to something.

I have somehow managed to survive a horrifically reality altering, mind sacrificing, and soul damaging experience that has only led me to a desert filled with snakes. Nothing adds up. Humanity seems so distant to me. I don’t even know if I am human, in the natural sense. I don’t know if I am anything that anyone can understand. I don’t know if anyone can really be understood anyway. But, sitting here alone, thinking all of these grandiose thoughts with all of these flowery words, I can’t help but feel some sort of… value. To me. My mind. My life. Something I am compelled to share.

Does anyone even want what I have to offer? Do I even have anything to offer? Do I even know what value is? I do not know. Quite often, I’ve felt I don’t know anything. Mostly, I’ve felt as if I know everything. To be told otherwise unsettles my soul to a degree that is foolish and near impossible to shake. I must know. I must discover. I must find the answers to this world that has no real answers to give. No other answers but what others have deduced.

Whether they be terrestrial, cosmic, or artificial. Magical, conceptual, or simply domestic. I want to know more than I can carry. I want to see more than I can fathom. I want my ridiculous, absurd, and possibly corrupted mind to undergo a deep, boundless, unnecessary shift into something beyond what a black hole can generate. I fear that at some point, my mind will freeze. My experience will glitch and whatever I have searched for will be delivered directly into my unprovable being, only for me to stall for infinity, wondering forever whether or not knowing even exists at all.

I guess I am a masochist with a martyr complex. A simple being with an innate desire to deconstruct whatever falsity I have built within me, and build something so massively unsustainable, that I collapse under it’s weight. I imagine myself laying in a field of dirt, staring up at a star filled night sky, incomprehensibly asking, “What else?”

I both envy and pity people who do not consider anything outside their realm of entertainment. People who spend their whole lives chasing money, fancy clothes, and fast cars. People who stay up all night to buy tickets to the next hit movie, join chat rooms to discuss rumors of the next cameos, and passionately relay their theories as to what story will unfold in the next chapter of their Disney stories. I wish I was a real human. I also wish I wasn’t able to deny myself the definition of human.

Words and their meaning have no purpose other than to convey an idea or principle. I have no use for words beyond conveying what I do not know. Always encapsulated in what I imagine and define, I am simply shouting out to everyone I meet “I do not know what is going on.” I only know that whatever is going on is not encapsulated in whatever is being sold to us. Whatever we can find online is not an answer to the mystery of existence. Whatever existence is, it does not seem to care what it is. It simply is, and I am just a person.

Comfort is a poison that I have become addicted to, and I am only comfortable when I generate discomfort. Whatever the hell that means, I am stuck in this reality with no goal but to get through it with some sort of revelation that I can leave behind. Whether or not it is useful, satisfactory, or even true, I just want to get through this in the hopes that something else is promised in return, even if it is only eternal vacancy.

[texanredrose]

@holyschneet​ dear god I could hardly respond to things on tumblr 3 years ago and they’ve only made it more annoying since. Anyway, first, get a big pot.

Fill it with water and put it on the stove, high heat, and let the water boil. While it’s doing that, take a look at your bookshelf, movie shelf, or video game collection. Pick an old favorite to reexperience. For me, it’s Voltron or Brutal Legend.

(Old Voltron, mind, not the Netflix wank.)

(Clue (1985) is also a great one I enjoy.)

I know streaming is the new hotness but physical media, in all its forms, still has a place in today’s fast pace environment. Plus, this gives you something to do while the water boils. Picking it out, I mean; if you’re like me, it’s hard to pick just one thing sometimes, so by the time you’ve picked your thing and set yourself up to enjoy it, water should be at a pretty good boil. Turn off the heat and add a cup of sugar per, I dunno, 2 quarts of water. I’m not a scientist or a baker; measurements are guesstimates. Pour the sugar in slowly and stop pouring it when it stops dissolving instantly, then add another 1/2 cup of sugar to be safe. Once the sugar’s all dissolved, throw in some tea bags.

(I advise using bags without googly eyes but you do you I guess.)

Brand really doesn’t matter but, for best results, black tea, at least 5 bags per quart of water. Throw in a few extra if you like strong tea.

Next, find you a snack.

These are the ones that come in certain MREs. As such, I can eat these fuckers no matter what. Nauseous as hell? I can still eat ‘em. It’s a nice little mindless snack that can tide me over for a bit. Bread also works. 

Now, while the tea steeps, go enjoy whatever you picked out. 

Here’s the trick: this is an old favorite. While nostalgia colors it enjoyable, you’re probably gonna notice some things that are annoying now or even upsetting. Jokes won’t land. Pacing will seem weird. Story elements will feel tired. Plus, you already know where the story leads.

Enjoy it anyway. Get lost in it. Remember why you loved it initially. Acknowledge the faults, the rough patches, the parts that don’t work anymore. Consider which has changed more: the world or you. Did you used to enjoy something that you don’t enjoy now because you’ve changed? Did you never ‘get’ a joke, and now that you do, you don’t like it? Isn’t it strange how these stories, though in some ways timeless, are also a capsule of their time? Who were you then? Who are you now?

Tea should be done steeping now. Grab you some pitchers and fill them halfway with ice.

(Why are so many pitchers nowadays so fancy? Btw, I recommend plastic and not glass; glass gets so heavy when it’s full.)

If you’ve got the patience, put your pitchers in the fridge for about an hour. If you don’t, grab a glass and fill it with ice, then pour the tea straight in, letting it sit about a minute.

You’ve now made yourself some sweet tea, had a snack, and took a trip down memory lane. Neat! Now here’s the key part: recognize that you did something and that has meaning. It’s really tough in today’s world to remember that slowing down, relaxing, and enjoying things are pretty vital to our overall wellbeing. This is coming from a diagnosed workaholic. So, whether you actually followed these steps or just read this post, you’ve taken a step back from all the pressures being exerted on you. You probably needed it. At the end of the day, you need to take care of you. And if you do that by indulging in old favorites, finding new ones, cooking, cleaning- whatever, indulge when you can, and enjoy it unabashedly. Life’s too short to be embarrassed about liking things.

Also, people are always going to get mad about things. Someone’s probably losing their mind right now about how I make sweet tea. That’s fine. I ain’t gonna stress it. If something or someone starts stressing you out, walk away. It’s better for you in the long run.

Also, there’s a reason I specified physical media. Unplug now and again. It’s not all about metrics or hits or engagement. Exist because you have the right to exist. Have fun because fuck opinions.

Just, ya know, try not to be too big a dick about it. Like, yeah, enjoy yourself, light a sparkler because they’re pretty, but don’t burn down your neighbor’s house. Even if your neighbor’s a dick, the house didn’t do anything wrong.

The only way I’ve made it to where I am today is by just... letting go of a lot of the negatives and focusing on the positives. Making light of the dark times. Chasing the sun even while standing beneath the moon. The one thing I have learned is that it all comes out in the wash. Give your friends hell and let them give you hell in return. Try to laugh, and when you can’t laugh, remember the times you could and that you’ll be able to laugh again, soon.

That’s all I got. If you’re asking for writing advice, I’m afraid it’s more of a monkeys with typewriters situation.

Specifically, this monkey. Although I think he’s an ape. Or a gorilla. Or a dude in a suit.

The hamster fell off the wheel at some point.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 11 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Plans For The Future

You're seated on your knees, on the floor, before the coffee table where several sheets of paper are scattered around. The possibilities for your future. You left the League in the cave to discuss their business and came up here to do this. But it's been twenty minutes since you wrote down the last option, and you're still clueless.

“Any luck?” Barry is suddenly seated across from you, the wind he makes with he's speed messing with the papers. But he quickly gathers them again.

“No,” you mutter, feeling a little defeated. Seconds later the others are here too, and as if they were told to, they sit all around the coffee table, on the floor. Expect for Bruce, who sits on the couch, his legs near you.

“Isn't there anything you would like to do?”

“I can't really picture myself doing anything.” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh.

“You were so excited about it in the cave. What changed?" Diana asks, and you notice how everyone seems focused on you. In the last week, since they got back from Washington, the League seems very interested in you. There's a lot of effort to make you feel comfortable, and engage you in their conversations.

“Am I going crazy or are you guys like... Trying to make me get used to normal human interaction again?” Crossing your arms, you have your answer by the way they all exchange a glance and then stare at Bruce. “I knew it.”

“How did you find out?”

“Well, right now everyone is literally seated around the coffee table with me. Except for this weirdo here.” You elbow Bruce's leg, making Barry and Arthur giggle. “You're planning to take me out, aren't you?”

“You're very perceptive.” He says as he moves to seat on the floor with you, an arm around your shoulders. “I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“Do you think I can deal with the real world?” You ask him in a lower voice. You haven't been on the streets yet, and you're not sure how you'll feel among the people.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know people will think Bruce Wayne has a girlfriend, right? If we go out and you do things like hold my hand...” You bet it won't take half an hour for his name to be on the headlines again, and the news channels will talk about it. The world will know about your existence, and every girl who has her eyes on Bruce will know they lost their chance. “You'll have to keep a distance.”

“(Y/N), we're dating. I won't keep that a secret so yes, people will have to find out eventually.” He places a soft kiss on your nose before his lips connect to yours.

“Uhm... We're still here...” Barry mutters, reminding you of the public.

Weird how it only took half a second for you to forget you have company. “So... Now that I know why you guys are still around, help me find something to major in.”

“Let's see what you have here.” Diana starts, and everyone takes a piece of paper or two. “Doctor?”

“Nope. That was just a joke.” Bending over the table a little, you take the paper from her hand. “Moving on.”

“Nurse," Arthur says.

“Vet.” Clark reads.

“All jokes.” Wanting something isn't enough, you have to feel like you can do it. And you don't think you can.

“If you become a nurse you could patch him up.” Arthur gestures at Bruce who nods.

“Sweetheart if this is what you want you just need to say and I'll help you.”

“Me? A nurse? No way, it's too much for me. I need something easier.” You're not saying you're stupid, but why put effort into something on which you'll probably fail? No need to hurt your feelings.

“So you don't think you're smart enough?” Clark asks and you nod.

“If you weren't smart you wouldn't have survived this long as a criminal. And wouldn't have escaped the prison twice. Or fooled the Joker so many times.” Bruce says, and you tilt your head to the side a little, thinking. It did take some brain to do this stuff, calculations, memorization, and some random knowledge.

“It looks like this is what you want,” Arthur mumbles, elbows on the coffee table.

Nurses help people, and that's the exact opposite of what you did. You never really enjoyed hurting people though, at least not normal civilians.

“Yeah... I've been thinking about being a practitioner nurse.”

“You've been doing some research on the subject then.” Wonder Woman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. They can diagnose diseases, initiate treatments, and prescribe medications. They're more independent.” Shrugging your shoulders, you lean closer to Bruce. “But I don't know. Maybe we should keep looking into the other options.” Pretending you're not insecure is useless. Building a life is both exciting and terrifying.

“No. I guess we found what you want to do.” Bruce says and kisses your cheek. You bite back a smile, but it escapes anyway. “Anything as long as you're happy.”

“I can die in peace now,” Arthur says, and everyone turns their heads to look at him. He simply gestures at you and Bruce as if it would explain everything. “I lived enough to see Batman being soft with someone. The rest of my life will be dull.”

It took long enough for the funny comments to start. “Let the man be, Arthur. Everyone softens when they find love.” Diana adds.

“Aren't you a little too young to be dating Bruce actually?” Barry asks, shrugging his shoulders. “Just-just saying.”

“I haven't really thought about that,” you say.

“I have,” Bruce admits.

“Obviously. In this relationship you're the morals part.” You start gathering the sheets of paper, making a small pile. “I'm the impulse part.”

“Impulse part?”

“I did kiss you out of impulse. I was trying to control myself for quite a while but the thought of another suicide mission finally made me give in.” Looking at him, you smirk. “What would you do if I didn't kiss you before the mission? Were you planning to tell me about your feelings?”

“Shouldn't we discuss that in private?” He raises an eyebrow, and you give the guys a glance before looking back at Bruce.

“We don't mind. Go on.” Barry mutters, getting an annoyed stare from Diana.

“Let's give them some time." She says before getting up. The others soon follow, but Barry is the last.

“The fast one seems very curious about Batman's love life,” you say in a sassy tone when you're left alone.

“He turned the mission in Washington a nightmare the moment I mentioned you.” Bruce moves closer, caressing your cheek.

“And how was that?”

“I told them we had to make it as quick as possible because I had someone to go back to.” He places a soft kiss on your lips and you can't help but smile. You can't believe that someone was you. “Then he just wouldn't let it go. And yes, I was planning on telling you how I felt.”

“What would you do if the feeling wasn't mutual?” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you move to sit on his lap.

“I was pretty sure you felt something for me.”

“Really? I was trying so hard to hide it.”

“Miss Quinzel. Master Bruce. Dinner is served.” Alfred announces and you're just about to stand up when Bruce lifts you up with him.

“Because that will make Barry stop sassing at you,” you tell him, not even bothering to ask him to put you down. He can carry you all the way he wants. It feels funny though, and good to float like this. But the best part is how close your faces are, so you take the chance to kiss him as he takes you to the dining room.

Dinner goes on very well. The chattering is constant, and you manage to get into the conversations. You do feel like you're getting along with the League. Maybe you'll do well with other people too. If you can deal with the supers, you can deal with regular humans. It gives you hope, makes you a little more excited to go out. For dessert, you have brownies, one of your favorites, with vanilla ice cream.

“(Y/N), you said something about a suicide mission?” Barry asks after Diana gives you more details about the Washington mission. “What was that about?”

“Yeah... It was a terrorist attack in New Mexico. They mounted a base there but we never knew their plans.”

“They send you in a mission completely in the dark?” Diana furrows her eyebrows.

“We're the Suicide Squad. Well, that's what we call ourselves. The official name is Task Force X.” You move in the chair a little, but you notice you're not as uncomfortable as you were before talking about it. Bruce says you have to accept who you were in order to be free to restart. Trying to ignore it will only allow the past to haunt you. “When the soldiers can't deal with it but it's still not bad enough to call the heroes, they send us. The whole point is that it doesn't matter if we die in the process. The order is to finish the mission. We're... Spendable.”

“I never heard of anything like that,” Clark says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nobody is supposed to know. But it doesn't matter anymore. The mission was a success and I'd be fine with it if the guards didn't beat me up on my way back here.” You say it without really noticing what it means, but by the way they exchange glances with each other, there are questions in their heads. “Some of them knew me from Belle Reve. So they knew I was going back somewhere they wouldn't be able to punish me for my crimes. They said it was a taste from home.”

“Everyone who was in that van was fired.” Bruce's voice is heavy with anger. “And I doubt they'll get any other job in Gotham.”

“If you're in prison to pay for your crimes, why did they beat you? Isn't the confinement the punishment?” Barry raises his eyebrows, and Arthur nods.

“Uhm... Yes. In any other prison, yes. But Belle Reve is different. It's like we're not on Earth anymore they... They can do pretty much anything they want. Every man and woman who acts as our guards are military or ex-military. Soldiers... And they have so much hate for us.” The memories come back in flashes of lightning, flooding your mind. The pain is still a vivid dream, the darkness is still terrorizing. “I can only speak for myself but I'm sure almost everyone who gets there tries to fight, to run away. I did. And maybe... Maybe I deserved it, maybe what they did was right.”

“(Y/N), don't you think for a second that you deserved what they did to you. Just because someone is a criminal doesn't give them the reason to treat you like an animal.” Bruce takes your hand over the table, and you smile to feel his fingers brushing against the soft skin of the back on your hand.

“They don't treat animals like they treat us.” The acknowledgment is dark and heavy, and you feel as the atmosphere gets tense. The League seems uncomfortable, perplexed.

“What the hell happens in that place?” Diana is the first to speak up after several seconds of deep silence.

“I can only tell what happened to me. By the rumors, it depends on who we are. Killercroc, for example, is left alone in a hole on the ground. Me... I always fought back.” Taking a deep breath, you revisit the endless days you spent in hell. The longest year of your life. The terror was usually suffocated by anger, burning rage, but it was always there, creeping through the walls. “I was kept in the dark. The only light source came from the small gap under the door. It had a blueish glow. My cell was open three times a day, at 10 a.m., 04 p.m., and 08 p.m. The two first were to feed me. They put a straw through my nose all the way down to my throat and fed me with some kind yogurt.” You cringe at the memory, a shiver rolling down your spine. “The last one was the shower. If you can call that a shower... They made me take my clothes off and back up into a concrete wall and blast me with water from a hose. If the weather was hot, the water was ice cold... If it was cold, the water was so hot that it burned my skin.” As you speak, Bruce moves his chair closer to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“You don't have to tell us anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Clark says in a low voice.

“No, it's ok... It's good to say it. To... Let it out.” Holding it inside has only screwed you up over and over again. Dealing with it alone has isolated you. And you don't want to be alone anymore. “Before or after the shower was usually when the beat me. Men, women... They didn't really mind if they were a 6ft tall man kicking me. The drugs, the... Several different kids of drugs they gave me numbed the pain, but it was worse, at least to me.” The tears are rolling down now, as you're looking at the table, holding Bruce's hand as if he's your anchor. “I knew my body was being broken, sliced, bones being fractured but I only felt the impact. It's a psychological torture they play alongside the physical one. They liked to know that I was feeling my body being hurt, but I could never feel it... The drugs never wore off, so they never treated to my wounds. I was always left there, in my cell, as the blood dried, as the darkness threatened to suffocate me but I always told myself I was Havoc. I was freaking Havoc and I did not only deserve that, but I also could deal with it. That I was used to the pain...”

“Alright, that's enough.” Bruce raises his voice, and you notice you were yelling. He pulls you close and you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“I speak for everyone here when I say we're very sorry for everything you've been through,” Diana says, and you feel a hand on your shoulder. When you look up, you see that not only her but all the others are standing around you and Bruce. “And I'm sorry I brought up such terrible memories.”

“Thank you.” Your voice sounds terribly weak, and Bruce dries off some of the tears with his thumb. When you get up, Diana holds both your hands on hers.

“I want you to know that you have me now. To talk, to ask for help, anything.” Your eyes quickly fly through the others when they nod.

“More than Bruce's friend, you're our friend now,” Arthur says.

“So now you not only have friends but superfriends.” Barry steps ahead and pulls you into a hug. You're surprised at the sudden affection, but it feels nice. The others join you soon, and you're in the middle of a group hug.

Not for a single moment in your life you thought you'd ever had anything like this. “Guys, you know you don't have to do this,” you mutter because you can't help but think you don't deserve it, that you're not the victim. Guess you still have a lot to work on, and Bruce is right to still give you some therapy sessions.

“Of course we do. You're an incredible woman who overcame so much. And you truly seem to want to leave the past behind.”

“Clark's right. You're the proof that villains aren't too far beyond repair.” Arthur says with a smile.

“Thanks again.” You're blushing a little because you think they see you as more than what you are now. But it's good to know they believe you.

An hour later, you're on Bruce's bedroom, getting ready to sleep. You're reading about Gotham's University as Bruce brushes his teeth, getting a little confused by how complicated it seems to be accepted there.

“Bruce, all these papers... I don't know if I have them.” You complain, suddenly losing hope.

“I'll deal with them, don't worry.” He comes to the bed, sitting beside you and resting his back against the pillowy headrest. “Worry about studying.”

“And about the fact I'll be surrounded by people all the time.” You sigh, putting the tablet on the nightstand. “It's still confusing, you know. Terrifying sometimes.” You're used to making people fear you, and when that's not possible, they just hate you. Hurt you. You're not sure how you'd manage to stay in between. To be normal.

“The classes only start next semester, so you'll have some months to get used to people.” Bruce pulls you to lie down, and you lay your head on his chest. “Tomorrow we're going out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. We'll walk around, buy you some new clothes, eat at a nice restaurant...” He caresses your hair, making it hard to keep your eyes open. “I'll be right there with you, so no need to get anxious.”

“Okay...” Noticing you're a little thirsty, you roll your eyes as you get up. “I need water. Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“I'll be right back.” Crawling out of the bed, you make your way downstairs, straight to the kitchen. You hear low voices, so you walk slower, making sure you won't interrupt anything. When you get there, you see it's Diana and Barry, who's eating your ice cream. “Hey, guys,” you announce yourself.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Diana says as Barry waves with the spoon.

“You know this ice cream is mine, right?” Raising an eyebrow, you try to look mad. It apparently works because he gives an apologetic look and lowers the spoon.

“Sorry.” He mutters as you walk around the island, getting a spoon for yourself, sitting beside him and starting to eat too.

“Relax. It seems that I have to share now.” You keep the sarcastic tone, but Barry still doesn't seem to understand. “I'm joking. You can eat it, it's just ice cream.” You smile when he starts eating again. “Don't you want some, Diana?”

“No, thank you.” She raises the mug she's holding. “I usually just drink some tea before going to sleep.”

“Yeah. I just eat. I need a lot of calories.” Barry says with his mouth full of ice cream. “What about you?”

“Actually I just came to get some water. Bruce is waiting for me upstairs.” You forgot about the water, but now you feel thirsty again, so you get a glass and head to the fridge.

“You guys sleep together?” He asks.

“Barry.” Diana reprimands him, and that makes you giggle a little.

“We share the bed.” Shrugging your shoulders, you speak as you pour some cold water on the glass, closing the fridge and making your way back to where you were seated. “I have... Nightmares. They were more often before, but they still come. But when I'm with Bruce it's just... It's better.” You feel safe, secure, but you're too shy to tell them that. It's too much that you're telling about the nightmares, but it's a good sign that you're able to open up, even if it's just a little bit.

“You love Bruce, don't you?” Diana asks in a low voice.

Looking down at your half-full glass of water, you nod. Love isn't the word you use to express your feelings for Bruce, but that's just because you're way too scared to let those three words flow out. ‘I love you.’ You've been biting your tongue for quite a while now. Those words hold power, you know it, and you're scared that he doesn't feel the same way. “Don't tell him,” you beg, looking up at Diana.

“Why?” As she asks, Barry takes the ice cream and gets up, leaving the kitchen.

“Girl talk.” He mumbles on his way out. And yes, you feel a little more comfortable knowing it's just Diana.

“Because maybe it's too soon and... If he doesn't feel the same I'm afraid it'll push him away.” Your feelings for Bruce only grow, and even though being in love with someone is something new, you know how things should play out. Or you think you do. The fact that he's Batman and you're Havoc, a villain he tried to catch before, only makes everything worse.

“I know Bruce. He would never officialize a relationship if he wasn't one hundred and ten percent sure of his feelings.” She moves from her place at the table to seat across from you on the island. “And I understand that what you did before may get in the way but it only makes me even more sure about his feelings towards you. So yes, I think he loves you and there's no reason for you to be so scared.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to accept that. “How could he love me?” You inquire in a low voice because you can't help but go back, to remember who you were and what you did. You do regret it, and you do want different things now, to have a whole new life. But... Sometimes the fear of losing Bruce hits hard, and you start going back to your shell.

“Why don't you let me answer that?” His voice makes you jump, and you stand up abruptly. Your heart beats so fast that you can hear it on your ears, like drums.

“I'll get some sleep. Good night, (Y/N). Bruce.” Diana stands up and leaves the kitchen, as you stand there, looking at Bruce.

“You weren't supposed to hear any of that,” you mumble.

“But I'm glad I did. Let's head upstairs. We need to talk.” Nodding, you start following Bruce. “I need to make things clear with you, sweetheart.”

×

@fionanovasleftnut @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.