#anyways feeling irrationally angry about this today

[ellcrys]

when the fuck did publishers and marketers start using tropes to describe and promote books?????! i’ll fight a bitch!!!

[laineystein]

I am happily married and so in love with my husband but sometimes Taylor Swift’s “This Love” comes on my shuffle and makes me feel 18 again and then I get so irrationally angry at him 😂

Anyway we talked a lot about the power of music and sound to heal at my trauma retreat today and this definitely isn’t what they were talking about but…

[not-alien-girl-v]

Ross fluff please!

Kiss Me Kiss Me (Ross Macdonald)

note: cuz i don’t knoooow if i can let you gooooo. short fluff also idrk where i was going with this but i just started my period and was like wow i bet ross would be a great boyfriend and then i pumped out this

1.5k

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

something’s been off all day. it was unclear at first, but throughout the course of the day, you analyzed the clues.

you knew it was odd how irrationally angry you got at your roommate, violet, for asking if you knew where her shoes went. you don’t even share the same shoe size, it seemed like such an obvious answer, yet you still snapped at her far too quickly.

then later, when you were cleaning up some clothes from your bedroom, you were hit with an awful cramp in your lower stomach. these things, when put together could only mean one thing, but you chose to ignore the signs until you bled through your favorite underwear.

they were lace, white, expensive, but most importantly, they were from ross on valentine’s day. you planned on inviting him over tonight to have a little fun while violet went out to the club but nature had other plans for you.

you were so upset about it that you forgot to talk to him all day.

violet’s plans got cancelled tonight, so she proposed a small movie night in, starting with the first scream movie and working your way forward.

the two of you are bundled up together on the couch, under various blankets, caged in by dozens of throw pillows and a big bowl of popcorn you’re passing around.

the movie comes to a rather suspenseful moment, and she starts yelling at the tv for the girl on the screen to not open that door, though it’s obvious she will anyway because she’s stupid. suddenly, the front door of your own apartment swings open, revealing a tall, shadowy figure standing menacingly in the doorway.

you scream in unison with her.

the figure quickly reaches to flick the living room light on, and once your eyes adjust to the blinding light, your fear is subsided as you realize it’s just ross.

violet breaks out into laughter. “jesus, you scared the shit out of us,” you say as you stand to approach him. you pull him into the kitchen to talk while your friend press play on the movie, quickly forgetting his presence.

you lead him to lean against the counter as you trap him in with your arms resting next to either side of his hips on the counter.

“hi, darling,” he says sweetly, his head tilted down to look at you due to the height difference. being so close to him and how good he smells leaves you temporarily without words, so instead, you work your arms underneath his to wrap around him tightly, smushing your head into his chest.

he doesn’t let you indulge in is quite yet, placing his large hands onto your shoulders, pulling you away to hold you at arms length.

“what happened to you today, hmm? didn’t answer my calls, my texts, you worried me, hun.” his tone is so ridiculously sweet and lovey it’s almost shocking.

“i’m sorry,” you don’t know why tears begin to brim in your eyes, it’s just that he’s being so gentle with you, it makes your heart ache a bit.

“hey, hey, don’t cry, i’m not upset with you, i’m just worried. a little more now, since i made you cry. sorry for doing that, by the way.” he’s holding your face tenderly between both hands, and with his thumb, he wipes away the first tear that falls from your eye.

he hums, “i think i know what’s up with you, and if i’m wrong then you can totally beat me up, but is it your period?”

you laugh through a few stray tears and lead forward to hide in his chest, still feeling overwhelmed at the way he’s looking at you. “you know me too well, macdonald.”

his right hand strokes the back of your head a few times, holding you in place close to him like you’re going to slip away. “what can i do for you, baby?”

you pull back enough to look him in the eye. “ugh, i don’t know. i’ve felt so icky and gross all day. i was gonna invite you over tonight and i was wearing the underwear you got me for valentine’s day but i bled through it and it made me so sad i just gave up, i guess.”

he rubs up and down on your back. he glances past you for a moment, then looks back at your waiting face. “you hungry?”

you nod, excited at where his words could be leading.

“you want me to make you dinner?”

you almost interrupt him with your ecstatic ‘yes.’

he detaches from you, making his way over to the fridge to pull out some ingredients then gets cooking. he turns the burner on on the stove and glances over his shoulder at you. "ask her if she wants any, yeah?"

apparently he didn't see you staring at him like a piece of meat from behind so you leave him there, trying to erase the thoughts from your brain for as long as you can't indulge in them.

poking your head into the living room, "you want dinner? ross is cooking."

"damn, girl, how hard did you have to suck his dick for that?" you roll your eyes at her crassness.

"he's asked to do it, i don't force him."

"you're so lucky. you got this hot guy who comes over whenever and cooks for free and you don't even have to fuck him for it. any way you could talk him into doing laundry? picking up around the house?"

you laugh at her, coming to perch yourself on the arm of the couch. "hey, don't be like that, i'm sure any day now some nice guy will come along and be right for you."

"maybe you're right. does your boy got any hot friends?"

you're about to answer when you realize he's only a room away, so you lean in, dropping your voice, "oh absolutely, they're all, like, stupid hot."

"heard that!" ross calls from over the stove. mission failed.

"you're the hottest, babe, promise! love you!"

"love you too," you almost wouldn't hear him due to the sizzling of the pan in front of him.

"see? that's what i need, right there. i'm kind of tired of just casual sex all the time, i want to care about someone, be cared about and whatever."

"i can try to set something up with one of his friends next time i'm over at his place. gotta warn you, though, they're all pretty stupid."

"they can't be that bad."

"no, i'm so serious. i once witnessed them get in a multiday tearful argument about the length of shorts they're allowing each other to wear around the house. i actually thought one of them might move out because of it."

"did he?"

"course not, they all have too deep of a bromance to leave each other like that."

ross enters the room, standing right behind you and wrapping a leisurely arm around the front of your shoulders. "so, is that a no on the dinner, violet?"

"eh, i'm alright. i'm too lovesick for dinner." she falls dramatically on the couch.

"it's not that awful is it? it wasn't too hard for us in the beginning, right babe?" you strain your neck to look up at him over your shoulder and give his arm around your shoulders a loving squeeze.

"maybe not for you. i had it pretty hard, though."

"what are you talking about?"

"i was so nervous when we first started dating. scared i was going to fuck it up, scare you away. that's also why i waited so long to let you meet my mates. thought for sure that would be the end of you and i."

"wow. i don't know why you were so worried, everything turned out fine in the end. i mean, look at us now. we made it through the hard parts, right?"

"right. and i'm glad. i'm so in love with you, darling."

violet sighs, "are you guys done being all lovey with each other? i wanna watch the rest of this movie."

he raises his hands in surrender, nudging you with his knee to make space for him to sit next to you on the couch. he plops down with a heavy sigh, "dinner's on the stove, go get some, my love." he whispers it into your ear, but you just shake your head, leaning into his warm body.

you relax into his arms, which he reluctantly wraps around you, puzzled at why you aren't sprinting for the food he made for you. one of his legs is against your back resting beside the back cushion on the couch and you snuggle up to place your head on his chest, to which he immediately digs a soft hand into your hair, idly pulling and twisting at the strands.

every now and then, you flinch at a jump scare on the screen, and each time he retaliates with a deep chuckle which reverberates in his chest, causing you to feel it in your head, and he places a sweet kiss atop your hair.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Taglist: @indierockgirrl @itssimpleanditgoeslikethis @milkluvr8 @americanangel

[padfootastic]

hi! i've no idea how i came to your page but i realised i'd read two of your one-shots in ao3 before and had adored them (you'll probably get comments from me in future, btw) and i just wanted to say thank you for your writing and thank you for your prongsfoot<3

i've been very critical of this sort of new, cool and aloof and martyred version of remus lupin for quite a while now (honestly, where did all those traits come from?!) and gosh, you're so eloquent when talking about him!!!

i was wondering what your thoughts were on regulus black? because i think he's getting the same sort of royalty treatment as remus does by making him sort of-- er, perfect? i mean. i've seen so much recently of him basically saving the world single-handedly and i-- ugh. and james is always just there, like a useless idiot? it makes me irrationally angry, and this is coming from someone who enjoys jegulus quite a bit. my problem is that i don't know if this rejection i feel against those two comes from a place of genuine dislike of them or from a place of wishing sirius and james were not done so dirty.

anyway, again, thank you for your writing. it's truly beautiful. hope you have a great day!

omg hello 🥺 i’ve periodically opened tumblr, giggling like a loon, and logging off multiple times just to see this ask,,,,thank u sm , ur way too kind <3 and ur comment on ao3!!! i was just,,,,yeah,,,no words. thank u.

ooooooh i remember being asked something similar a while ago and i took the safe route and basically went ‘remus lupin-ification of regulus’ iirc. that still stands. but but. i’ve also got another answer here! all hail tumblr’s search system today!

i still basically stand by all of it, but adding onto the jegulus + sirius bits of it:

annoys tf outta me when regulus is turned into a victim and like sirius damned him to hell when he left . i have thoughts about the way both of them were treated (which,,,another time,,,this post is already getting too long lol) but i imagine the day sirius left to be a Good One for reg bc he thinks he’ll have his parents undivided attention now. i also think regulus is severely defanged in a lot of characterisations, as if he wasn’t a baby DE, as if he wasn’t a slytherin from the house of black, as if he wasn’t walmart sirius black. like man i’m almost offended on his behalf. i’m sure his shaking his lil fist up at us from wherever he is.

with jegulus…okay, i’ve only read a couple oneshots but that doesn’t mean i haven’t tried. i genuinely went thru so many fics trying to get something, anything to stick and i think the problem is me. fully. completely. without doubt. i just can’t deal with a situation where j&s aren’t each others no.1, or at the very least, equivalent to that. that’s where my issues w wolfstar started, same w this. jegulus also has the added horror of ‘james and reg sneaking behind sirius’ back’ which is just,,,,gosh,,,,i have So Many Thoughts ab that. all personal opinions, but still. they’re strong. it fucks me up just thinking about it. i also think the ship tries wayyyy too hard to fit the ‘best friend’s brother’ trope and ends up sacrificing characterisation for it. which,,,again,,,that’s fine but it’s all the ‘oh this is how it was!’ that gets to me. and then james :/// he gives off such weird energy lol. jegulus gives me drarry vibes, and james is treated almost exactly as harry is in a lot of those. reg also gets the saviour treatment, like draco, and both of their fuckery is toned down until they’re almost normal, like they never did any reprehensible shit. j&r, and d&h are placed on the same moral equivalence and it’s just a bit. hmm. okay. (my issue with this is how it leaks into the writing and suddenly i’m made to sympathise with draco bc harry slashed him w sectumsempra, but we conveniently forget he was gonna use an unforgivable, ykno?) so overall it just feels…pushing reg up and pulling james down to get them on equal footing. very similar to wolfstar lbr.

anyway. that’s a ramble and a half lmao.

also!! ‘a place of genuine dislike of them or from a place of wishing sirius and james were not done so dirty’ in my mind, both of these occupy a similar plane of existence. so very valid. for me, personally, hating remrem started as the latter and i eventually realised it’s also the former lol i was just mad a how sirius is bastardised to justify his ~deification and it eventually moved on to ‘wow i just. do not like him’. damn.

[linesonscreens]

Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - February 1953

There are lots of great strips I just don't have room to comment on. I strongly encourage everybody to read the full month at the official GoComics page. Today's month starts HERE.

Feb 5, 1953

Today: “Last night on the internet I read an AI-generated Sonic The Hedgehog erotic fanfic with ten million views”

Feb 6, 1953

I know that those are supposed to be weird thought balloons but it looks like Snoopy just talks now.

Feb 11, 1953

Bah, what's this nonsense? Schroeder never complained!

Feb 14, 1953

First Valentine comic? Maybe?? I really should have made a list of things to look out for when I started. -_-'

Feb 17, 1953

OK, so apparently “Ivanhoe” was a novel written in 1819 by Walter Scott. It's been adapted several times in various formats including an early 1940's comic book and a 1952 live action film.

Film trailer here.

I'd link to the comic but ~for some reason~ nobody bothered to scan and upload a 80+ year old comic nobody's ever hear of onto the internet. Rude!

Feb 21, 1953

Paperboy comics continue to be good.

Feb 27, 1953

Time is a flat circle.

Thoughts:

Apparently the only way to read that Ivanhoe comic (that I've been able to find) is to buy a physical copy off of eBay somewhere and consume it the old-fashioned way. Which is kind of a shame, right? I mean, would it have been especially good or noteworthy? Probably not, but reading a few issues would have been a fun way to get a peek into Schulz's mind and get a feel for the comics he was influenced by.

This kind of thing actually bothers me quite a bit and it's a topic that's been on my mind a lot lately. Think about it like this. Ctrl+Alt+Del is not a particularly good webcomic, but think about how many loss.jpg references have been made in various forms of media over the last couple decades that would simply stop making sense if the original comic were to become inaccessible.

All media is connected. Artists are constantly drawing inspiration from and commenting on works that came before and understanding these influences is a key part of decoding any given work. This is true not only for popular media that everybody agrees is good but also for the absolute garbage that may have been your favorite creator's guilty pleasure. It ALL matters, and it should ALL be available for anybody who's interested. Which is why it makes me irrationally angry when I'm reminded that access to older media can be such a huge crapshoot.

Anyways, I guess my call to action is to... upload more old comics? Sure let's go with that. Maybe support some of the groups archiving old stuff while you're at it. Art is cool, and we should be doing more to let people actually see it.

[mossarchives]

12 for Briar and Tamarack

12 was hard! That was Through Me (The Flood) by Hozier which is... very sad. I had to let this one cook for a while and it kind of diverted, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

For context: Briar and Wyn exist in the same OL universe, but Briar has lived in Golden Grove her whole life (like Qiu). Her story is one of familial pressure since her mom wants to live vicariously through her.

--

He feels the rising of a wave and knows at once he will not weather it

---

Briar peers closer at her reflection in the mirror of her locker, tracing the curve of her lips with her lip gloss. The school hallways have yet to fully erupt into the noise and chaos of the morning rush, giving her a few moments of quiet to compose herself. She leans back from the mirror, and checks the clips holding her curls in place, twisting a particularly damaged piece of hair between her fingers. Years of straightening had done more damage than she’d been expecting, only noticeable when she started growing it back out. 

Briar takes a deep breath, and smooths out the collar of her blouse. Her stomach twists uncomfortably when she glances down at her watch, seeing the numbers tick ever higher towards the start of school. 

A small bubble of noise travels towards her, the voices a familiar balm to her anxiety. She looks beyond the door of her locker and spots three figures making their way down the hall towards her. Qiu is leading the charge with Tamarack and Wyn behind them, all engaged in conversation. 

“Briar!” Qiu’s attention switches to her the instant they make eye contact, cutting off whatever comment Wyn was in the middle of saying. “Who do you think would win a fight, a trio of vampires or a trio of werewolves?” 

“What?” She crosses her arms over her chest. Talking to Qiu is good for her on mornings like these, where she struggles to fortify the image of the perfect Briar Earnest. The little back and forth they’ve been perfecting since they were kids is simple. 

“Tamarack and I are on the team of the werewolves,” Wyn says, slipping around Briar to tuck his skateboard into her locker, without asking she might add. “Qiu votes for vampires.” 

“Can I vote for neither?” She gets a resounding ‘no’ in response and sighs. “Werewolves.” 

“Hah!” Wyn loops an arm around Qiu’s shoulders, “get outvoted, Blue.” 

“This is anarchy!” Qiu smirks back. “She’s only voting werewolves to vote against me!” 

Briar shrugs, “Maybe I am.” Qiu squints at her, gaze full of friendly challenge. She isn’t really in the mood to respond in kind, busying her hands by adjusting Wyn’s board so it won’t get dirt on any of her things. 

Tamarack shakes her head at the two of them, tucking her coat into her locker. “Weren’t you two going to go hunt through the lost and found for Qiu’s water bottle?”

“Oh, right.” Wyn says, far too quickly for Briar’s liking. He starts to pull Qiu down the hall, tightening his grip on their shoulders. “Let’s go do that!”

Once the two of them have vanished around the bend in the hall, Tamarack turns to face Briar with a gentle smile. “Good morning… Did you… talk to your mom last night?”

“I did.” Briar lets out a deep breath and closes her locker. “It went about as well as we all expected.” 

“I’m sorry.” The other girl winces, taking a step closer to reach for one of her hands. Her palms are warm against Briar’s tense fingers. 

“It’s fine. One of these days she’ll get over it.” She desperately wants to scrub a hand across her face, but resists. There’s far too much concealer and eye shadow fighting for their lives to hide her dark circles today. Futile frustration and anxiety well up in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. ‘One of these days’ was just a lie she told herself to keep the fear at bay. Her mother was likely never going to stop trying to dig her claws into Briar’s life, trying to shape it to be the same as hers. Anyone who got irrationally angry at their daughter wanting to take science related classes in high school wasn’t going to give up after one argument. 

“Hey.” Tamarack runs her thumb across Briar’s knuckles, smoothing out the tension in her hands. The smile on her face is warm and her words are gentle. “I’m proud of you for talking to her, I think that was brave of you. You know I’m always here for you, and so are Wyn and Qiu.” 

Briar squeezes her hand. The feelings about the situation haven’t faded, but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Her situation isn’t something that words can fix, but it’s easier to let them sit in her chest knowing that Tamarack is there for her. She brings their joined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to the other girl's knuckles. 

Their relationship was new enough that the simple gesture blooms a blush across Tamarack’s cheeks. She twines their fingers even tighter and inclines her head down the hall. “Should we go help them search?” 

“Ah, the incredibly legitimate search for Autumn's water bottle.” Briar lets herself get tugged along in the tide. “Next time tell Wyn to steal their water bottle before you show up, and not while trying to walk away.”

Tamarack just laughs and picks up her pace, their hands still tethered together. 

[notfknapplicable]

omg I am clearly in my 'dumb bitch' era

So I have been getting absolutely awful sleep for the past 10 days or so because my sleep medication scrip ran out. My psychiatrist and I were talking about scaling back my dosage since I'm getting older and I'm on the highest possible dosage for this highly controlled substance, so when it ran out 2 Saturdays ago and I have no refills, I just thought to myself okay here we go, time to cold turkey this shit even though I desperately do not want that ever! Convinced that I'd eventually get used to sleeping without it until I went to see my doctor again in August, I just soldiered on and it has been horrible. I mean, so bad that my therapist expressed serious concern for my well-being in our meeting last Thursday. I slept for maybe 4 very choppy hours last night - lots of waking up over and over again, and I'm pretty sure I never went back to sleep after 5am. I'm starting to feel that same disassociated feeling that was emblematic of my 20s and 30s - like I am watching everything on a screen as though I'm not really there. I'm irrationally angry at absolutely, positively nothing. Panic attacks, even.

So today I decided "fuck this, I deserve to rest and feel good, how dare my doctor suddenly cut off one of prescriptions like that" and I called up there to ask for a refill. Right as I was about to go into the whole "I know he wants me to scale back to a lower dosage, I'm happy to take the 5mg instead of 10mg, which I know is the highest dosage this pill comes in, but this feels cruel and I desperately need some good sleep" thing when she informed me that my doctor had provided me with a refill back when we met in the middle of May. So I called the pharmacy to let them know that there should be one on file for me and they were like "no, we never got that." So I called my psych's office back and told them that the pharmacy never got that refill. She reminded me that they'd given me the scrip and that I should have taken it to the pharmacy...and that's when I remembered that he had written me a new prescription (it's one of those that has to be on paper) back in May and that he'd given it directly to me AND THEN I LOOKED AND IT WAS STILL IN MY FUMCKIMG PURSE. I could have taken it up there after I ran out two weekends ago but I didn't because I forgot that I had a refill on paper in my purse.

Anyway I'll be picking up the refill after work today, and tonight I'll get a good night's rest for the first time in almost two weeks. And the refill is for my usual dosage, not a reduced one because of course my psychiatrist would not do me or any other patient so wrong. I still think I'll just take half of one tonight since I've been off of it for so long during this impromptu tolerance break. All's well that ends well, I guess.

[shallowseeker]

Strangely, I think the SPNWin finale rejuvenated my need to work on Feelings of excitement and infatuation. (I'm no writer. I just like to explore things clumsily I shoot from the fuckin' hip on everything i'm so sorry.) Some spoilers for The Winchesters below, and some shoddily written fic snippets I pulled out that tickle my fancy:

I often enjoy thinking of hunting in the context of the war of it all. or being cheated out of life. God, in The Winchesters tonight, Joan hit that for me SO well, and likewise that just reverberated down into Dean, like a bell that shakes up your entire brain.

And I just...adored that Dean is STILL struggling with meaning-making outside of saving the world. He's not ready yet to value his life as a basic deserving thing on its own, so he's looking for more work. He's bargaining for a glimpse of that perfect apple pie life, all while shedding his flannel and turning up the volume on different kinds of music. This was a journey of self-discovery.

Anyway, this has definitely hit the right spot for me. I'll probably reread and edit my shit this weekend, actually, because I have beans for my brain and take a stab at righting the very necessary Claire parts I need to finish the rest. Someday I'll pay a real writer to go in and make it flow, but today is not that day.

Egads. Eureka. Etc.

I think a lot of grieving is hard when life gives you a rough shake. It's something I tried to give a nod to a little bit in chapter 2 of the fic:

///

“So if bringing people back from the dead is evil,” Jack whispers harshly, “and you brought me back, then it follows that we’re just like them. Evil.”

That shuts Sam up. Maggie gives him a painful wince. “Jack, family is different,” Sam tries again, and oh, he's struggling with this. “D-decisions coming from a place of love is not the same as a—a power grab.”

Jack gives a derisive little laugh that, horrifyingly, reminds Sam of Lucifer. “Like when Cas power-grabbed the purgatory souls to save our family.”

“Jack,” Sam says his name like a warning, and for the first time in all the time he's taken care of Jack, he can feel his own temper building, and that voice telling him to unleash his anger...sounds a lot like John Winchester. He chokes it back. He's not John Winchester. "Jack, you need to listen."

“No, you listen. You're not my dad!” His voice has enough force that it bounces through the entire kitchen, pinging pots and pans on weird frequencies like tuning forks. It's a twisting knife into Sam’s gut, and he knows what that actually feels like. This might be worse.

He watches Jack's chest heave—up and down, up and down—and then Jack thuds out of the kitchen. Sam feels his eyes water and he’s suddenly so irrationally angry. Even though he'd offered to handle it, he's furious that Dean and Cas aren’t here, that they went fucking shopping when they knew Jack was like this. Sam's never had to discipline Jack. It’s just like when Sam got stern with Claire. They don’t—they just don’t take to Sam as well when he's the one doing it. Not like how they instinctually react to Dean or Cas. It's not fair.

In his head, he’d imagined Jack opening up, tucking his head into Sam's neck, and maybe even crying, but this—

“Sam.” It’s Maggie. Sam had forgotten all about her. She looks so achingly sincere.

“No,” Sam chokes, embarrassed. He holds up a hand and tries to get hold of himself. “No. He’s right.”

“About what?” Maggie prods gently.

“About all of it.”

“No, Sam," she murmurs. "He isn’t.”

When Sam lifts his head, he doesn’t see a bubbly girl. Instead, Maggie is a battle worn young woman with sad, haunted eyes. Too worldly. “I grew up in it. In war. It’s kill or be killed. You always choose your family. That’s the tragedy of—of war. You know? It is. It’s not like normal people.”

Sam, horrifying, stifles what might be the beginnings of something watery and weak. "Okay. Yeah.”

“You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye, Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you’ll never know, The hell where youth and laughter go.”

Sam thinks he sees a smoldering wasteland in her eyes. “Maggie?”

“It’s uh—my dad used to read us poetry. I was small. It feels different when you never got a normal, right? We hang on to our families because we got cheated, Sam. It’d be easier to let go if we hadn’t.”

[buck-yyyy]

i am. irrationally angry right now, and for not even a good fucking reason

we have a sub in our art class today who is VERY adamant about not having our phones out and to do our work. thing is, i’ve finished the work i want to complete today, so i took out my phone to work on my WIP.

he passed by, saw me on my phone //while my piece was drying right next to me// and patted my shoulder and told me ‘don’t waste time honey’

and like. i know that he’s trying to help and be encouraging or whatever, but number 1, don’t call me honey, number 2, i’m clearly waiting for something to dry, and number 3, do not touch me.

bleghsvdjsbsn i am. not to be touched right now because Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew physical sensations are a NOPE (sensory issues are making me feel icky rn :/) and he just sent my entire body into anxious alarm mode and i’m now even more uncomfortable than i was before

anyways. don’t touch people that you don’t know, even if you’re trying to be nice, please and thank you

[niche-kitsch]

NaNo Day 3 update!

Thoughts: So the first two days went pretty well, and so did today :) feeling really happy I made a nice, finalized outline of my story. And so far, no plot holes! Yay!

I’ve been writing a lot at work, definitely the bonus of having a job that’s partly behind a desk. But you know what they say, boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, that’s why I write novels on company time.

Anyway, the story feels like it’s flowing so far. I’ve definitely started finding the characters’ voices, which is great. That definitely means I’ll have to go back to the beginning and do some touching up, though.

Excerpt of the day: “Can I help you?” An older woman asked, lifting her head as Anika approached.

“Yeah, I’d like to speak with Detective Brennan.”

The woman tapped away on her keyboard, though Anika wasn’t sure if she was actually looking something up, or just trying to seem busy. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“The Naveen Bhatia case,” Anika said, “he’s in charge of it.”

The woman nodded. “Well, he should be in. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll see if I can find him for you?”

Before Anika could move, a door on her right side swung open, and by some miracle Izzy appeared. He was holding a paper cup with fresh coffee sending up wisps of steam. His eyes were on his coffee. He was completely oblivious of her until he finally glanced up, looked right at her, and muttered, “Ah, shit.”

The image of him casually sipping a cup of coffee made her irrationally angry. With her brother missing, who-knows-where, it seemed absolutely incredulous that he’d be taking the time for a coffee break.

“Coffee break, huh?” Her voice held more of a taunt than she’d intended.

Izzy initially responded with a long sip of coffee, before adding, “I needed some caffeine.”

“Looks like it.”

He shifted where he stood. “Anyway, what’re you doing here?”

Was it hard to guess? “I want to know if there’s been any progress into my brother’s…” She still couldn’t manage to say that word. Disappearance. It was a word that resonated with uncertainty and the unknown. A reminder that not only was Nav gone, but he could be just about anywhere.

Izzy sighed, “You couldn’t call first?” He glanced at the receptionist, as if looking for someone to back him up. “I’m busy, for Christ’s sake.”

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Hey, as a worker in the United States of America, I’m entitled to my fifteen minute break. Labor laws,” He toasted the cup at no one in particular, then added in a voice laden with sarcasm, “God Bless this country.”

She offered an exaggerated roll of her eyes at his faux patriotism. “Are you going to talk to me or not?”

“Not for the next…” Izzy glanced at his watch, “...one minute and twenty seconds, I’m not. But I have an office in the back. We can talk there.” Then his eyes moved past Anika and settled on Ben. “Unfortunately your boyfriend can’t come. It’s an active investigation, so no one but family. You understand.”

Ben nodded, then said to Anika, “I’ll wait out here. Take as long as you need.”

***

Izzy’s office was small and simply decorated, with two large windows overlooking the station’s parking lot. If she didn’t know any better, Anika would have sworn that he’d just moved into space. Though she had a feeling that the soulless design of the room was more a reflection on Izzy as a person than anything else. There was a single photograph on his desk, a tiny plastic cactus, and a degree hanging on the wall. Those three items were the only bits of personal flare she could find.

She was sitting in one of the chairs studying his framed Bachelor’s degree– Criminal Justice from San Francisco State– when the door opened. Izzy breezed in, an empty coffee cup in his hand. He tossed it across the room towards the waste basket by his desk. It hit the rim and bounced unceremoniously to the floor.

“See that?” He tsked, “I used to be a stud on the court, years and years ago. Best white kid to ever do it. Now I can’t even sink a paper cup into a trash can.”

Anika highly doubted he had ever had athletic prowess, but didn’t feel the need to engage him in that conversation. “So?”

“So?” She couldn’t tell if he was unsure of how to start the conversation or if he was trying to mock her.

“My brother. Updates?”

[no-facts]

似訴平生不得志 / disillusionment

sometimes i wish i were still twelve. that is, i wish i still had the seemingly boundless space of future possibilities. i wish i still had the mental acuity. i wish i still had the resilience.

as it is, i am twenty-four and i feel brittle. i feel as though i am gasping for air in a crowd of people who seem puzzled by the concept of suffocation.

i do not truly wish to go back in time to when i was twelve. i do not think i could endure the loss of power and privileges, and to suffer through five or six years of Her a second time around might just kill me.

all the same i feel robbed of my childhood. many of my internal parts are trapped in the amber of what it meant to be a young me, and yet i do not remember my childhood very well.

i've been experiencing a lot of deja vu these days. very powerful feelings of "i have been exactly here before" wash over me at unexpected times, and i am suddenly awash with a strange mix of grief and confusing nostalgia. and this happens during very specific-but-ordinary life events. putting some outdoor seating away around midnight after a gathering of friends for a night of waffles. sitting on the 77 bus passing through the Porter area.

tonight i was walking back to where i live these days, in Allston, from the 86 bus stop. it's a twenty-minute walk, and i take a pedestrian overpass above the busy Mass Pike.

i have been terrified of heights as long as i can remember, and especially terrified of walking on bridges and overpasses, anywhere i could conceivably launch myself or my belongings off the edge, hurtling toward the water or the ground so far below. i had mostly trained myself out of my fear of this particular overpass; the safety railings on both sides are very high and curve inward at the top, and at the bottom there is no visible gap where something or someone might slip through.

today, however, i realized that if i tossed my phone high enough and at just the right angle, i could toss it up between the railings such that it would escape the enclosure and smash into the concrete of the interstate below. did i want to do this? no. do my intrusive thoughts care about what i want and do not want to do? also no. did my intrusive thoughts win today? no. am i certain that my intrusive thoughts will never win? hell no.

but anyways, on my walk home today, i finally internally articulated some thoughts that have been rolling around in my head.

all my life i have been searching for the perfect partner who will complete me and make me stop hurting inside. (this perfect partner does not exist, i know. the person who will make me stop hurting inside is myself, i know. my feelings do not care about these facts.)

i find it exceedingly hard to maintain friendships outside of a core romantic relationship, and tend to put far too much pressure on this core romantic relationship to meet my social and emotional needs. this follows from years of excessive reliance on one person (my mother) for all of said needs.

part of me feels like i am permanently fucked up in this way and is blindingly angry at my mother for the flaws in my upbringing. yet this is not a new discovery by any means, so part of me is exceedingly fed up with the "excuses" and wants me to "just get over it" and stop blaming my mother for everything wrong in my life.

i am horribly depressed. i got nothing done at work today. i forbid myself from searching up things related to being depressed because i get irrationally upset and angry every time i see the suicide hotline numbers the search engines put at the top of the page of results to minimize legal liability.

i feel very lazy. some people claim that no one's truly lazy, and that this sort of unproductiveness is more likely burnout. (perhaps, in my case, autistic burnout, even.) i try to give myself grace. i wonder if this exacerbates the problem.

between the last paragraph and this one, i went and scooped the cat's litter box. maybe i only did that to "prove" to myself that i am not lazy. maybe it didn't work.

i wish i had the willpower to exercise a few times a week, or even at all. i wish i had the willpower to eat healthier. i wish i had the willpower to make myself do work that i hate doing. i wish, i wish, i wish.

if this is burnout, i do not know how to cure it. seven months of unemployment didn't seem to do anything for it. i go to therapy basically weekly. heck, i had an autism coach for a bit.

they say a form of passive suicidal ideation is the desire to "go away." sometimes i want to go away. sometimes i want a sugar mommy to pay for my bills so i can just rest and figure out what the heck i'm doing with my life. sometimes i want to be twelve years old again, my whole life ahead of me, motivated and driven to make the world my oyster. and yet, and yet.

inside this twenty-four-year-old is a child who is begging to be cared for, to be wanted, to be loved. it is one of the fundamental injustices of the world that it is i who must care for, want, and love myself.

[episbep]

rehab day twenty five

once again typed it all out just for tumblr to fucking digest it into thin air fuuuucksaaake!!

finally got an answer - I’ve been offered funding for an extra week woooo!! pretty chuffed about that tbh, I was hoping it would be a little longer but that’s better than nothing and gives me time to set up support from drug and alcohol services at home and I think I will be ready to leave in ten days time, I hope anyway😄 today was fine, group therapy was good and helpful and they gave me a round of applause when I shared how I finally feel able to move on from my ex and focus on me and my recovery🥰 have been getting closer to two of the new lads and the new crackhead who is lovely - Nicole little humble reminder not to judge people by their drug use/preference cos there’s a whole ass person underneath it. Challenges in early recovery workshop was basic and I dont remember much other than to avoid relationships for the first year or so and to work through big emotions, even good ones cos they can all lead to using again… we went to the crackajack NA meeting from 5-6 and I chatted to a newcomer on the bus back to the house, was really nice to speak to someone new and realise that 25 days clean actually is quite a big achievement! 🥰 my counsellor asked me to think of why I am staying clean whilst in rehab so here goes:

• family paid £7500 for me to be here and a charity has funded an additional £1300 - bit of a waste if I fuck it up and relapse

• random drug tests, don’t wanna get kicked out cos I wouldn’t be able to live with the embarrassment of that

• reminding myself of potential consequences of using again - I have too much to lose

• knowing that I am taking steps towards a better life than the one I have left behind, one that I won’t feel the need to escape from

• everyone in here is in the same position, we’re all working towards recovery and struggling with the same kinda shit so pretty much anyone is good to chat to about it all

• regular group therapy, being able to talk about how I feel/whats going on with me and hearing about others experiences is really motivating and powerful (perhaps I could arrange some counselling or therapy sessions when I go home?)

• daily reminders in workshops/ life stories/ ex-peer shares/ meetings of how bad all of our drug use became and why we came into treatment in the first place (I’ve got back into the bad habit of minimising the damage and telling myself “it wasn’t that bad)(it was that bad and I literally couldn’t get myself to stop using in the end)

• regular assignments that help me to delve deep into the recovery world/ reminds me that I am a real addict and I can never gain control over my drug use, I’ve tried and failed many times before.

• being away from real life.

someone ate half of my cucumber which I’m irrationally angry about. but honestly why would you just take someone’s food without asking first? we have our own shelves fucking stick to your own, thieving cunt.

[wannabepokemonidol]

Nickola Robyn x Reader

"Hi, is this for sale?" (y/n) asks, placing a (y/n starter) pokedoll on the counter, pushing your (y/hc) hair out of your face.

The white-haired, ruby-eyed cashier looks at you, and for a second you think maybe she thinks you're cute, but you chase that thought from your head. No one thinks you're cute, not out loud anyway.

The cashier looks down at the tag, breaking from your gaze, and then says "Yes, its 2000. Are you looking for anything else today, or do you want to go ahead and check out?"

How presumptuous. She definitely doesn't think you're cute, you think, bouncing on your feet with indecision. You decide to get it. 

She wraps up your purchase with a kind of practiced precision, doing the task in just as many movements as it takes. She hands it to you, and for the briefest second, your hands touch. You blush uncontrollably. 

“Uhm….what’s your name?” you say shyly. 

“Nickola?” she says, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and then before you can say anything else, you are shoved to the side by an angry customer who starts ranting at Nickola. You catch something about water balloons and refunds before Nickola tells the customer to leave. 

“You ok?” she says, shooting a glance at you as security escorts the angry customer out, but all you can manage as a response is a squeak before you run out the department store. 

It’s only when you make it to your secret base that you realize that you forgot your doll at the store. 

Shoot. How embarrassing. Well, you certainly can’t go back for it now. 

There go your evening plans, you think. You wanted to redecorate, give your secret base a bit more of a homey feel. You remember a secret base you saw that had dolls on every possible surface, no room for a computer or even a bed. Something like that would be nice, you think. 

You rack your brain for something else to do today. You play with your pokemon for a bit, play on rotomblr and look at your poke-nav. Scrolling through your poke-nav, you see something about a contest here in Lilycove. 

Eh, you think, something to do, even though you’re not that into contests. You realize that the contest starts soon, so you get ready and head down to the contest hall. 

You get a pretty good seat, right up against the stage. Maybe contests aren’t as popular as you thought? 

The show starts and the presenter introduces the four contestants, but the last one steals your breath. 

She has snowy white hair and gleaming scarlet eyes, a red rose tucked into a delicate chignon, her eyes and lipstick further accented by gleaming ruby jewelry. Her contest outfit is made of short shirt and a skirt with a long slit up the side, with long batwing sleeves. 

You blush when she looks over at you, and you realize it is Nickola from the department store. You wonder if you should leave out of embarrassment, but the show starts and you decide to stay. 

Nickola’s partner is her Houndoom, Obsidian, and she does well enough in the appeal round, you think. It is a beauty contest, and she tosses roses into the audience while her Houndoom uses Will-o-Wisp. 

You catch a rose when she tosses it, clutching it irrationally to your chest. Did she throw it just for you? 

You’re going to keep it forever, you think. 

You can’t take your eyes of her, a beautiful star in her purple outfit. You’re embarrassed, but you don’t pay a lot of attention to the rest of the show. 

Nickola takes the stage again, gracefully dancing along the glossy floor like she was an artistically controlled marionette until she wasn’t. She tumbled right off the edge of the stage, right on top of you, a tangled mess of limbs and fabric. 

Neither of you speak for a second, silent and intertwined, but she pulls away, squeaking out another “You okay?” 

“Uh huh?” you return dazedly. The host is speaking, but you’re not listening. 

Nickola is blushing.

“I have to uh…get back to the show. Sorry about that whole thing.” she says and then runs off in the direction of the stage. 

You still feel like you can’t speak, eyes glued to the stage, but you leave the show quickly after it ends, retreating to your secret base. You’re still holding the broken rose in your hand.  

A couple days pass before you see Nickola again. You’re just hanging out in your secret base, scrolling on rotomblr, and then you hear the plop-plop of a water balloon being stepped on.

You smirk a bit, knowing you are about to make some poor capture-the-flag player miserable. Sure enough, the sound of a trap tile plays, and you enjoy the cacophony of the tiles playing out. 

Your eyes widen when you come face-to-face with the unlucky player, it’s Nickola.

“We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.” she says, plucking your flag.

You gamble a bit, emboldened by the past few days.

“And miss seeing you?”

She gets red at that, like she doesn’t know what to say. 

“Eh?” 

You push a little more 

“C’mon, you know you’re cute. I know I didn’t imagine you in your contest outfit.” 

“W-what?” she is bright red, looking away from you. She pauses for a second. “Well, I have something for you anyway.” 

She digs into her backpack and retrieves the poke-doll that started it all, and pushes it towards you, and you take it, settling it on your desk. 

“Thanks.” you say, touched, and Nickola starts fidgeting a little. 

“Well, I better get going.” she says, still red-faced and looking away. 

“Before you go, how about a date?” you say

“HUH?”

[thoughtsfromaveggie]

I got so excited today when I saw the “invasive” blackberry while on my walk to the library today. I’ve been at this job for a week and a half and I’m so excited.

It took me a second to feel safe with all these new humans but it’s happening! And it’s great. What makes it all better is that I was the one to break the ice and share how I was feeling. It reassured me that I’m okay when others shared that they were having the same feelings. I’m glad I am the one bringing that vulnerability to the table. I think it helps a team a lot. Im okay. Im more than okay. Im happy. Making friends is just hard.

It’s interesting. It seems like every other person is just a little bit mean. But in a playful way. It seems like we’re all the same people. Except they don’t focus on the humanitarian aspect of our work so that hurts a bit. I’ve found a bit of comfort in this. Knowing that there may not be much competition for jobs after this. It’s bittersweet I guess because that means no one is focusing on humans. I’ve taken it as my responsibility to educate others. Though it’s not my job, no one else is doing it and I just can’t let that slide.

I’ve made a few friends outside of the cohort. I’m actually on my way to one of their houses with a bottle of wine in my pack. I’ve been taking public transportation everywhere and it’s been kinda nice. I get lots of time to crochet, think, reflect, worry about my safety (jk, kinda, I just had to run out of the section I was in and into another one cause there was some questionable behavior but that’s city living for you).

On that note, this is the biggest city I have ever lived in. I absolutely hate the traffic. It makes me so irrationally angry. Also, this city is shaped so strangely and the bodies of water makes every commute long. But again, I’ve found some love for the light rail. I forgot my mask and I’m so tense :)

Anyways. I have another post in the drafts that I’m working on about the past two-ish months. I think I’m still processing the change.

I lied. Im kinda sad. The lack of sun is getting to me.

[adnauseum11]

It’s -50° here and my water pipe has frozen. It’s my brother’s birthday and his middle child’s today. They are far away. He is a red neck conspiracy theory bigot. I don’t have much to say to him. His child turns 3 today. My friends got together to do Secret Santa and want me to FaceTime them. I haven’t showered in days because of the weather and water situation. I don’t have much to say to them either. My reality is so far removed from theirs as to be another planet. Talking about it feels like complaining and they can only offer platitudes anyways which makes me irrationally angry. Just keeping warm and alive seems to be all I can manage. I feel guilty about ducking calls to both parties but I don’t have the energy to mask and play the part they are expecting.

[kimmkitsuragi]

mentally im experiencing that nicki minaj meme song for almost 2 weeks straight