#brain drain has been real recently

[chysgoda]

(@driftward) Ship meme, for Art’imis...

Aymeric. I am curious about how that dynamic would shake out.

Or Yugiri. What's that shape in the mirror.

Aymeric

Bel laid on her stomach reading the book uncle Artoriel had given her. Her mother sat on the bed next to her and stared at the wardrobe. Bel craned her head back to see how her mother’s lips pulled into a thin line and her eyebrows scrunched into the patch of ivory scales at the center of her forehead. Bel twitched her purple tail to the side to lay it alongside her mother’s sender ivory one. The young miqo’te girl placed the ribbon bookmark and closed her book. “He’s not like Ilberd.”

Art’imis expelled a breath somewhere between a huff and a laugh. “No, he’s not.”

Bel scowled when she noticed that her mom was picking at the scales on the back of her hands. She wriggled to get her knees under her and knelt up. She grasped one of her mom’s hands and pulled it towards her so that Art’imis couldn’t keep picking at herself. The paladin stared down at the hand Bel had claimed for a moment and then blew out a breath. She kissed the crown of Bel’s head and then rubbed the side of her horn against her daughter’s cheek.

They let the silence settle, soft and still between them. Eventually Art’imis sighed, “Well I know that you like him.”

“Mom!” Bel drew out the vowel into a whine, “I was ten!”

“Sorry darling,” Art’imis laughed and threw her arm around Bel’s shoulders, “seriously though, What do you think?”

Bel fussed with the end of her tail until her mother laid a hand over hers. “I think he’s kind. He never chuckles with the other nobles to keep face when someone makes a joke”- Bel raised her hands to make air quotes so aggressive she almost threw Art’imis’s arm off her shoulders - “about your scales or my ears. I know he can’t go with you when you have to be the Warrior Of Light, but he’d understand it and what it does to you.”

Art’imis hummed in thought and rested her chin on Bel’s head until the thirteen year old wriggled to get her to move. “Help me pick something out to wear?”

“Only if you never bring up that crush again.”

“Hmmmmmm, no promises.”

“Mom!!”

(The only person that doesn’t drag Bel about her school girl crush on Aymeric is Aymeric.)

Aymeric probably would have been who I shipped Art with ultimately except for one problem, I find Aymeric really really hard to write. Like to a stupid extent and I’m not sure why. On a character level though I think he would be patient and compassionate enough to wait for and help Art deal with her trauma (and Bel’s trauma) regarding the relationship with Ilberd. (Because I was evidently the only person who did NOT see that coming and I have inflicted that on Art’imis) Art was seriously messed up after the bloody banquet and it took her until 5.1 to get her feet back under her so she could trust a relationship again. With Aymeric I’d have to poke at it to get a feel for if that process would have sped up with him in a more romantically inclined role than a platonic one. As a couple I can see them working fairly well together. I can also see Edmont playing matchmaker just a bit because then he knows at least two of his kids are in a stable relationship. Also Aymeric as Bel’s adopted dad would be hilarious and adorable.

And now have some AU photos where Art’imis de Borel takes her husband to see the home of the twelve. (She’s pretty sure that there won’t be any trials while they’re there. Mostly sure. Well reasonably sure… okay she told him to bring the damn bow for a reason)

And here in particular she points out how you can see the tower that SOMEONE used to drag the scions to the first.

[aemndxx]

rafe n reader cuddlingg

𝓇.cameron. ┆ his pretty girl.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ sry this request took so long, my life is v hectic atm − but don't worry, ur req will be published sooner or later, jus' pls be patient n kind with me, thx. ! 𝓍𝑜𝓍𝑜. ♡ྀི

"mmm, y'good, baby?" rafe murmurs against the bare skin of your back, pulling you backwards tighter against himself—he had his whole body wrapped around you, possessively and nearly desperate, needing to be close to you.

you nod meekly, eyes still fluttering and puffy and a bit weepy from all of the fucking you two had just done, your body feeling completely spent and drained, completely limp in your boyfriend's arms.

"y-yes, daddy," you mewl softly, a sweet, gentle and breathy feminine sound, causing rafe to smirk against your soft skin, beginning to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses all over the back of your neck, then down to your shoulders and pretty collarbones, and then, finally, he reaches the side of your throat, sucking on a small patch of skin right below your ear, which turns into a violent, reddish shade like the rest of them, almost looking like blossoming red roses scattered across your pretty, delicate little neck.

"always..." rafe breathes long and hard, pausing for a moment, his mind spinning for a few seconds as he blinks a few times, trying to gather his words together, before deciding to just continue to say the sappy, lovey dovey shit that he knew you always loved hearing, not caring since it was just you and him.

"always so goddamn pretty like this f'me, baby," rafe coos softly into your ear once he finished sucking another lovemark, making you let out a small, girlish whine in question, your brain foggy and dreamlike after nearly four rounds of fucking.

earlier, rafe was in a pretty foul mood, downright pissed off at something or someone, you weren't really sure after he returned from the cut, but after seeing you... even though he would never say it aloud, he melted at the mere sight of you, sitting there all patiently, still sitting there in his bedroom like he told you earlier—just like a good, obedient little girl, looking so fucking pretty and so happy to see him.

it made rafe's heart skip several beats when you, his pretty girl, rushed over and immediately jumped into his strong, thick, muscular arms, trusting that he would catch you—which he did, of course—pressing glossy kisses all over his lips, chin and neck, claiming how much you'd missed him.

rafe couldn't deny that he felt exactly the same way, so he whispered it to you, murmuring it lowly into your neck, still getting used to expressing a softer, more gentler side with you, his first, real girlfriend—but rafe swears, every moment he spends with you since you two made it official, or rather, he had made it official one day after referring to you as 'his girl', and now, rafe finds it getting easier letting his guard down around you each day.

and oh, he was so fucked when he realized that before really even knowing you, and yes, he was obsessed with you for a bit, but he's come to the recent conclusion that he has always been deeply, and irrevocably in love with you—which scared the fuck out of him at first, but now? not so much, at least, not anymore.

"i look pretty?" you ask shyly, kiss-swollen lips twisting into a cute pout as you look over your shoulder at rafe, who is laid behind you, curled up around your flushed body and holding you as close as he physically can—and if rafe could, he would merge yourselves together so he could always be with you, touching you, but for right now, in this sweet, and loving moment as you both come down from your blissful highs, he feels content with just holding you in his arms like this, cuddling you.

hearing your shy, innocent little question, it makes rafe let out a low, little chuckle, before he lifts one large hand up and turns your face towards his, squishing your cheeks slightly in the process with his fingers holding onto your soft cheeks, pressing them together and making your plump lips slightly pucker, his index finger and thumb holding you in place for him as he just simply looks down at you, observing you with that usual, intense, blue eyed gaze.

however, you don't seem to mind, even with his firm, possessive grip, you loved when rafe was affectionate with you—and as your relationship with him continued, he was becoming more and more so, always needing to touch you, kiss you, hold you, and fuck you like he wanted nothing more than to impregnate you.

with that thought in mind, a shiver goes down your spine, with you both still completely nude, you obediently let him guide your head until it was in the position he wanted, allowing him to brush his lips over yours, breathing you in as his eyes flutter for a small moment, as if in awe of you.

"yeah, yea... real, real fuckin' pretty, baby."

[irkimatsu]

Hmm, anything for sexually deprived Husk who snaps at you but feels bad so opens up? You offer a hand, but only that unless he wants more? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🎉

Anon, I am so sorry if you didn't want breeding kink, because what came out of my cursed hands is breeding kink.

Husk goes into a rut, Reader offers to help him out, Husk quickly comes unglued. About 2.5k words. Seriously NSFW. Breeding kink, mating press, all that good nasty furry shit.

---

Husk has seemed especially agitated these past few days.

It’s not like he’s ever been the friendliest resident of the hotel, not by a long shot, but normally that manifests in him offering terse responses and no-nonsense advice. In fact, he seemed to have developed a bit of a liking for you. He enjoyed bantering with you over drinks, and even smiled in your presence a few times, a real rarity for him. Recently, however, he seems to be outright avoiding you. He won’t sit near you during hotel bonding activities, and when you go up to the bar, he silently pours your usual drink and seems to be waiting for you to finish it and leave. He hasn’t even looked you in the eye in a while.

Did you do something wrong?

It’s the third night of Husk’s attitude, and if anything, he seems worse off than ever. He’s making a horrendous racket as he digs through shelves, slamming bottles and glasses onto the counter.

“Where the fuck did I put it?!” he growls to himself, before finally finding a black, gold-trimmed bottle at the back of a shelf. “Fuckin’ finally…” He twists the cap off of the bottle, then tilts his head back while he gulps down as much of the bottle as he can in one go. He finally stops his gulp with a heavy exhale, then shakes his head. “That’s the stuff…”

“Husk…?” you ask as you take a seat at the bar.

“What,” he growls as he slams his liquor bottle onto the bar in front of you. His fur is bristling, and his ears are pinned back.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “I was just wondering if you were okay…”

“Do I look okay?” he asks before taking another long swig from his bottle.

“...I guess not.” You watch him drink, wondering what could have possibly happened to make him this moody for this long. “Did Alastor do something?”

“For once, no,” he says after pulling the bottle away from his lips. He’s still not looking at you. Whatever he’s looking at doesn’t seem interesting; he seems to have chosen that direction simply because it’s not yours.

“...did I do something?”

His silence isn’t encouraging.

“If I did, I can’t make up for it if you won’t tell me what it was. It’s been three days, Husk.”

Husk groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose between two of his claws. “It’s nothing you did… it’s something stupid. Just forget about it.”

“You’ve heard me talk about stupid stuff all the time,” you say. “Aren’t we friends? Can’t you at least tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

He needs to drain his liquor bottle before he can make up his mind. “...yeah. Okay. I’ll talk. But only to you. If anyone else walks in, this conversation is over.”

“Of course.”

He grabs another identical bottle from the cabinet and takes a seat next to you. “When I died, it didn’t surprise me when I woke up in Hell. What I didn’t expect was waking up as a cat.”

You’re not sure where he’s going with this as he pauses to open his new liquor bottle, but you’ll hear him out.

“I still had all my human memories, my human personality… but there was still something different in my brain. Different instincts. Stuff I couldn’t suppress no matter how irrational I knew it was, like wanting to climb and scratch things, or suddenly being afraid of water.”

“Or like chasing laser pointers?” you say with a smirk.

“That was one time,” he answers, not at all amused. Your punishment is for him to take a particularly long swig before he’ll continue talking. “And one of those instincts is… well… mating.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Every once in a while, I need it bad. I know it’s stupid! Why is that instinct even there?! Sinners can’t have kids, and even if I could, why would I want to bring new life into this shithole?! But the thoughts still take over. I need to mate. I need to have kits. It only lasts for a few days, but it’s frustrating. I can barely think about anything else.”

“I’m guessing you… can’t take care of it yourself?” You know it’s an obvious question. He’s been here for decades; if he could take care of it himself, he would have figured it out by now.

“I actually can, normally,” he says, to your surprise. “I can feel it coming, take a day or two off, maybe get some toys, stay in my room and ride it out. But sometimes…” He trails off and looks away from you again.

“Sometimes…?”

“Normally that instinct isn’t directed anywhere. I just wanna mate, I don’t really care with who. Led to some… interesting nights as an Overlord. But sometimes… someone catches my eye. I don’t know what it is. Does that person have to be someone special? Do I just have to be in their proximity the instant it hits? But whatever it is… that person ends up being all I can think about.”

Your face grows hot over what he’s implying.

“And when that happens, it’s fucking miserable. Nothing short of being with that person will make me feel any better. Trying to take care of it myself just makes it worse. Just reminds me that they aren’t there with me…”

“What if that person didn’t mind helping you out…?” you ask, testing the waters.

He raises one of his large eyebrows. “You… do realize who I’m losing my shit over this time, right?”

“I figured as soon as you mentioned someone catching your eye,” you admit. “It’s not like you’d wouldn’t tell me about it if it was someone else. And if there’s anything I can do to help…”

“What are you gonna do? Jerk me off until I can finally get some fuckin’ sleep?” He laughs coldly at his own joke before finishing his second bottle, and as he sips, he realizes you aren’t protesting. “...you’re fuckin’ serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I like you, Husk.”

“I couldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

“You’re not taking advantage. I’m curious about you, myself. Just for a bit, to see how it feels for us both?”

It takes him a moment to think, and you can’t imagine his screaming instincts making it easy to turn down your offer. “All right. Fine. But if I do anything you don’t want me doing, I give you full permission to beat the shit out of this stupid cat body.”

—

Husk isn’t wasting any time as soon as you get up to his room. Within seconds, he’s stripped of his pants and underwear. You can’t help but stare as his already-erect cock is revealed; it’s quite thick, and covered in curious looking bumps. Husk is panting, already struggling to catch his breath.

“Okay. Just a handjob,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Just once, maybe twice if we both wanna keep going. You don’t owe me more than that. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Husk, it’s fine. I want to do this with you, I promise,” you assure him as you take a seat next to him. Normally you’d warm up a partner with some kisses and cuddles, but given the way his face is flushed, you don’t think he has the patience for that. Instead, you go right for the prize, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

Husk instantly hisses through his teeth as he jerks his hips up. “Fuck, that’s it…” His tip is already leaking precum down his shaft and onto your fist. You lightly pump his cock, adjusting easily enough to the small, rough barbs that line it. His rapidly building precum makes it even easier to glide your hand against them. Within seconds, his eyes are starting to glaze over. 

“Can I hold you?” you ask.

“I mean… if you want…” he says as he jerks up again. “Fuck… that’s better already…”

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders and pull him against you. His body is so heated with need right now… you can only hope you’re helping to alleviate that need, even if only slightly. You nuzzle your head against the soft fur on his neck, and he purrs in satisfaction.

“Mmm… babe…”

He’s never called you that before, but you like it.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, burying his face into the top of your head. “Damn, you smell good…”

You grip him harder, and he gasps and squeezes you tighter.

“Oh god…” He starts peppering the top of your head with rapid kisses, seemingly unaware of himself. “You’re doing so good, baby…”

You could easily get used to this rhythm, working him up to a climax while held tight in his arms…

“I want more.” He grips at the back of your shirt as he pants. “Want more… want you… wanna mate…” He kisses you again as he tugs at your clothes. “Wanna mate… wanna mate…”

You turn your face up so that his kisses catch your mouth instead. This doesn’t stop him from kissing you. He groans against your lips as he presses further against you, his body trembling. “Want you, baby… want you…” he whispers against your lips.

“Take me,” you whisper back.

He pulls your hand away from his cock so he can seat you in his lap, leaving you free to return his embrace as he kisses you. You lean in deeply to the kiss, letting his rough tongue caress your own, as he keeps tugging on your clothes. You only break the kiss for as long as it takes for you to get your top off in one piece. He slides your pants down off your ass, and groans as he palms your cheeks.

“So fuckin’ hot…”

The instant you’re naked, he turns to pin you to the bed, landing your head directly on the pillows. He moves quickly, squatting above you and holding up your legs so your thighs are pressed against his. The whole time, he can’t stop muttering to himself.

“Want you, baby, want you…”

You cry out as in one swift thrust downward, his cock fills you to the hilt, his hips flush with yours.

“Want you… want you…” His irises are blown wide as he stares down at you. “Want you…”

You smile reassuringly up at him as you fold your hands behind his neck. “I want you, too.”

You don’t know if it’s your words or your touch that set him off, but either way, he’s launched immediately into a frenzied pace, thrusting down into you as if his life depends on it. It’s a rough way to start, but you adjust easily enough to his pace and to the barbs scraping your walls. His claws are tearing at his pillows, and he’s growling and panting, as if there’s no human thought left in his head.

He’s fucking hot like this.

“You’re… gonna look so good…” he growls as he keeps thrusting. “...when you’re filled…with my kits…”

“Fill me, Husk…!” you gasp out. His tail lashes as he fucks into you even harder.

“Have my kits… have my kits…!” His speech is becoming more choppy, his thrusts more erratic. “Have- want- fuck-”

As his cock throbs inside you, you pull him down for another kiss. This seems to be what pushes him over the edge, as he slams deep inside you and immediately lets loose. His cum fills you deep, your current position preventing anything from leaking out.

“Fuck…” he groans, just barely pulled backed from you kiss. “C’mon… take it…” He keeps thrusting, pushing his cum as deep inside you as he can. “Take all of it… you gotta have kits for me…”

“I will,” you promise before kissing him again. He relaxes against you, comparatively; his body is still hot to the touch, his cock still hard inside you, but at least he’s breathing a little easier.

As he pulls back from the kiss, he looks down at you through dazed, half-lidded pupils, his tail’s swaying now a lot slower. “Beautiful…” he murmurs with a laugh before kissing you again. “You’re gonna have kits with me… I’m so glad…”

You don’t have the heart to ruin his fantasy right now. You’re sure his mind will clear it out any second, anyway.

“Babe…” he whispers as he strokes your face. He smiles, and his cock twitches inside you. “Can I do that again? I wanna make sure…”

—

Your hips are so sore as you wake up in Husk’s bed. Just how many times did you let him fill you? You lost track after the third. It’s hard to keep your head on straight with a beast pumping you full of cum over and over again.

You know he would have stopped if you asked him to… and that’s why you never asked.

You look over to see Husk sprawled out on his stomach on his side of the bed, snoring loudly. You can’t help but smile; he’s so handsome when he’s asleep. If you had to pick a resident of the hotel to wake up next to like this, he would have always been your choice, no questions asked.

You spend some time stroking the soft fur on his head, paying special attention to his ears and cheeks. It takes him a while to finally stir.

“Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?” he grumbles as he tries to push himself up, before quickly giving up and letting himself drop back down to the bed. “What happened last night?”

“Good morning, Husk,” you greet him, voice a lot more cheerful than you really feel. You wouldn’t mind sleeping for a few more hours, and it doesn’t seem like Husk would object to that idea.

“What the-” He turns and stares blankly at you for a few seconds, as if not quite comprehending what he’s seeing. “...was that real?”

“You mean, you fucking me and begging me to have kits for you?” you say as you stroke his ear again. “It was real. Thank you, Husk.”

Husk groans as he grabs another pillow and sandwiches his head between two of them, apparently trying to smother himself. “What the fuck was I saying last night?! Of course I don’t want kits! We just barely met! What the fuck!”

“Husk, it’s okay,” you assure him as you take the top pillow from him. “It was just a fantasy, right? And I enjoyed it.”

“We just barely met,” he repeats. “And I said all that shit to you already.”

“Did it make you feel better?” you ask.

Husk hums in thought. “Well, my brain isn’t screaming at me to start fucking you anymore…”

“Then it worked,” you said.

“But now you know what I’m like when my brain goes stupid on me,” he continues. “So I bet that won’t happen again.”

“Of course it will,” you assure him. “I told you, I enjoyed it. And next time you start feeling like that… I’d rather you asked me than someone else.”

He stares at you in what seems to be disbelief. “So… you know I’m a creep, but… we’re still friends?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little more than friends, after something like that.”

Thankfully, that got him to smile. “Okay… just don’t tell anyone what just happened.”

Given how loud you two were, it’s probably a little too late.

“And maybe sometime… we can do that when I’m not a horny idiot. I have a softer side, too, I swear…”

You stroke his cheek and kiss him. “Can’t wait to see it. “

[missingn000]

a note about tpg's hiatus

hi everyone!! i've missed y'all <33 i want to share a quick note on tpg's hiatus, and how long it will last.

first and foremost, the tl;dr: i will not abandon tpg. the story remains incredibly important to me, and this hiatus is only that: a hiatus. i will return eventually, and while i am not exactly sure when "eventually" is, i hope to begin updating again soon.

now the long explanation. tpg's hiatus has lasted much, much longer than i expected. it wasn't until i took a break that i realized how mentally and emotionally drained i was after writing 600k+ in 2 years, along with being an engineering master's student then starting a job in aerospace. especially after writing sukuna's backstory (75k+ words in one month), my brain was utterly fried. all in all, it's been a lot.

as some of you may know, i started watching one piece in september. and i love it! it's an incredibly fun, well-written feel-good series. it's been a refreshing mental break to engage with a new series, especially since jjk canon has been so disappointing in both content and writing quality. 

if you check my ao3, you'll notice i took a break from jjk with other series in the past: namely dr. stone, sxf, and natsume yuujinchou. this is necessary for me to remain creative and explore narrative themes that i bring back to tpg when i return to it. but by the time my recent hiatus started, it had been well over a year since i engaged with any other series than jjk, and it was starting to take its toll on me. i'm almost caught up on one piece now, which means i'll be able to focus on tpg again soon.

when i return from tpg's hiatus, updates may be slower. releasing 15k+ word chapters every 2-4 weeks was incredibly mentally taxing and required much of my time and focus to constantly be on the story. it wasn't healthy, and other areas of my life were impacted negatively. it can be easy to forget that i'm a real person with real-life responsibilities writing this story in my spare time for free -- even i sometimes forgot this. 

another note on why taking a break has been so necessary is my mental health. when season 2 released and toji + satosugu was animated, the fandom exploded and tpg's readership drastically increased. while this meant an influx of amazing love and support, i also started to receive rude and hateful comments and messages.

don't get me wrong: not everyone has to like tpg. that's totally fine! but as a very sensitive person, receiving hate took a huge toll on my mental health and motivation, and i have needed time to recover from it. i've been doing better mentally lately, and have taken some measures to reduce unkind interactions. i'm working on becoming less sensitive in the meantime so i can handle it better if/when it happens again.

since i've been feeling guilty about not posting jjk content, i haven't been on tumblr quite as much, but i'm still around online on both discord and instagram. mutuals can request my priv @chiidoriii on IG, and my discord is @MissingN000 -- just shoot me a message with who you are when you request! i'll still post fic updates on both new stories as well as tpg content and previews on tumblr, so please stick around :)

thank you so much for your patience with me! i love you all so much, and truly appreciate your support. love, chi <333

[charlybird]

so this is more of a ramble than anything I guess. I'm a mess of a person but I always try my best to do the right thing. But social media has absolutely melted my brain in recent years. I've been sharing a few posts that I'm now realising that I probably shouldn't have. I don't know how to tell what is real and what isn't, I tried to check and thought I got it right but I think I got it wrong on a few occasions. I'm not going to explain the whole thing as I'm too drained and I don't owe anyone anything. I need to bring a new mindset with me online which is that I don't need to behave how random people want me to so I will just be sharing art from now on - IF I even decide to keep using this site. I've had to turn off anon asks now because to be fair I shouldn't have had it on in the first place but I also if I keep getting unwanted and/or hateful asks it's going off altogether which makes me sad because one of the best things about this site was talking to people through the asks. anyway sorry for those who did send me some nice asks recently but I can't quite share them yet. Actually my mental health has dipped so badly that I will probably not be very active online but please know that I do appreciate the nice asks and comments and interactions even if I don't see them or can't reply to them.

[studentbyday]

Hey guys 👋🏻 Lately even if I sleep well, I've been finding it harder and harder to get out of bed and do my work, even if I still can feel excited about certain topics in my field (if they're presented in a different enough, positive context like new research that's happening in my area). @zzzzzestforlife told me that means I'm burnt out and that if I feel like I'm so busy I can't take 5 minutes to do anything extra, I should take a hour to just rest and rejuvenate because you won't actually fall that far behind in just an hour. Proverbially speaking. She actually prescribed that I take the weekend off 😅 And I trust her judgment because she knows the pace I work at (read: slower than her) and she's burnt out enough times to recognize the symptoms quickly and take action against it before it gets really out of hand.

So this weekend, I'm just going to rest (with the exception of the little bit of pathology assignment I still have to finish before Monday and reviewing a bit more for the immunology midterm on Wednesday...and a few very light admin tasks...God, as I type this, it's really tempting to just not take a break and keep working this weekend out of fear but I really don't think I should. I should preserve the bit of passion and enthusiasm I still have for my studies and return to them on Monday feeling refreshed enough to keep going, resting each weekend, until the end of the semester because I need to build sustainable habits if I want to take 5 courses / semester next year and come out of it still whole).

And I've kind of forgotten what rest mode is like?? So I need to do a little brainstorm...again. because this list will be a bit smaller and thus less overwhelming (to me in this burnt out state) than the one I shared before and I'll only be picking the activities that will actually be helpful for my current state (e.g. i am not aiming to wake up really early at all this weekend. that just puts unnecessary pressure because i just find that really really hard to do these days as the days get shorter and recently meditating just makes all my anxious thoughts re-surface so I think I need to try more active forms of mindfulness so the full strength of the emotions don't have to hit me and drain me so much). (And I am under no pressure whatsoever to do all of these. Just whatever I feel my body and soul are most called to do in the moment. I've forgotten how to rest in the busy-ness it's so weird...like i actually had to be reminded that real rest is not something you have to try really hard to do and if you do that then it ceases to be real rest, even if you're engaging in a supposedly restful activity. Why did I have to be reminded of something so common sense. I mean, I do know, but still. It's strange, the effect that extended periods of work mode has on the brain...)

Physical movement (pilates/yoga and walking in nature are still my current faves but I only walked in nature and did yoga once this week and my body is starting to complain about it...)

Practice piano (even if I think I suck...the only reason for that would be because I'm out of practice, so the more I practice and the sooner I start practicing, the better I'll sound. I haven't played since summer ended...)

Reading fiction (Maisie Dobbs is reliably calm yet uplifting and it's what I've been reading most of this week so I might continue that, but this weekend I'm going to slow down and get cozy, i.e. away from my desk, while I read)

Yapping with those who are dearest to me

Listening to music that is stimulating in a calming way (rn I'm thinking like slow classical choir stuff haha because you've got the harmony together with occasional notes that sing out above the rest and it's just really satisfying in a calming way...there are also a couple of piano pieces that have that kind of calming vibe like träumerei... There's also slow jazz.)

Do mundane things like the laundry (I need to change my bedding anyway), sorting and folding said laundry (i don't usually like folding haha so Zesty usually does that [thankfully], but i think there will be something extra comforting about the folding patterns this time and there's just a lot still to fold...), washing my water bottle, and basically just cleaning house because the act of moving and seeing all the dirt get gone because of it is therapeutic and a surprisingly good de-stressor

I was also supposed to do my weekly hair mask this weekend which I almost completely forgot about

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

LOUISE RAW speaks to Long Covid sufferer Sam Williams and others who feel let down by a state that ignores their debilitating illness

ON NOVEMBER 29 this year, a groundbreaking study by German research centre Helmholtz Munich and Munchen University was published.

It seems to confirm beyond doubt that the condition we call Long Covid (LC) is “real” — physiological, as opposed to psychological.

The long-lasting brain effects many sufferers have reported may finally be explained by its findings — that the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein remains in the brain’s protective layers and the bone marrow of the skull, for up to four years after infection.

This, researcher say, may trigger chronic inflammation, and an increased risk of neurodegenerative disease.

You could almost hear the Long Covid community’s weary, collective “We told you so!”

It’s been a long and draining few years for them, as sufferer and activist Sam Williams told me recently when I spoke to him about the hand-grenade LC had lobbed into his and his family’s lives.

Sam says he feels as if he’s in mourning for the life he had before — and, in 2019, it was a good one.

Sam was a fit and healthy husband and father, probably fitter than most men in their forties, with a very active lifestyle, including running marathons.

Now, he describes himself as “completely broken.”

Sam has lost not just the everyday things — the ability to work and to drive — but much of the fun of life, too. Family bike rides, camping trips and long walks with the dogs are now a thing of the past.

Sam can’t relax with a drink, because alcohol makes his symptoms worse; and, he says, has rarely been able to be sexually intimate with his wife since becoming ill, which has naturally affected their relationship.

Sam’s wife has had to take on a higher-paid job to cover bills, and to take over far more household chores. “It’s like a whole new relationship,” Sam says. He feels guilty about this, and although he knows, logically, it’s not his fault, that doesn’t stop the self-blame. At times, he tells me he’s felt hopeless, and even suicidal.

It’s incredible how we ignore the growing group of people enduring similar experiences. It is also partly because we ignore it that the LC community continues to grow. Fresh infections occur as people eschew masks and other simple mitigations; so new cases of Long Covid develop, and older ones are worsened by repeat infections.

Currently more than two million people in the UK say they’re suffering the effects of Long Covid, and the vast majority — 1.5 million — find their everyday lives impacted.

An astonishing one third of all health care workers have Long Covid symptoms, and 1 per cent of all our children.

More than half of those reporting Long Covid symptoms say they’ve been suffering for two years or more.

As there’s still no diagnostic test, we can only say people report themselves as LC sufferers.

Accordingly, people can’t seem to resist “helpful” advice: Think positive! Just get on with it! Have you tried this essential oil?

No chronic illness sufferer has, as far as I know, ever recovered due to being told it might be in their head; it’s an attitude that has made Sam himself sicker, as he’s tried to “push through” his symptoms — which only increased them.

While we don’t know yet how the Munich study will be received, change seems likely to be slower than sufferers would like, and than we all need.

The current situation leaves people who are already exhausted and overwhelmed by illness facing further battles: with ignorance, with self-blame, and with the system, as they struggle for a diagnosis.

Sam is not alone in saying he feels abandoned by a society in “deep denial” about his condition. This sense of isolation is all the greater for being one of very few Long Covid activists of colour; he also suspects this makes it even harder for him to get his voice heard.

The media seems generally uninterested; this should be a national story, but appears to be regarded as yesterday’s news. LC is just not, it seems, in any sense “sexy.”

Two of the UK’s best-known writers share Sam’s struggle.

It’s well-known that Michael Rosen became seriously ill with Covid after contracting it in March 2020.

The bestselling author, poet and presenter was in a coma for 40 days, in intensive care for 48, and in hospital for a total of three months.

Rosen still has blurred vision he suffers in his left eye, and hearing loss in his left ear, which unbalances him.

“I’ve also got numb toes. It’s as if you have these strange cushions underneath your feet,” Rosen said in a recent interview.

“It’s possible that these creaks and pains which I call ‘pinball pains’ around my body have increased a lot since Covid. But if I do a lot of stretching, that does help.”

Rosen had also some counselling to talk through the hallucinations and delirium he experienced in hospital, although he says his dreams were “more hippy-like than nightmarish” — he can recall bizarre visions of, inexplicably, German Christmas parties. His sleep remains disturbed:

“There are some nasty moments when I wake up in the night. I call it ‘Lonely Corridor Syndrome’. As I’m lying there, I’m instantly back in the hospital lying there. It’s a very mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“There’s not much you can do about it immediately. I have to go into various forms of mental and physical tricks to play on myself to put it away again. It’s a sense of loneliness.”

Rosen described his ordeal and recovery in Many Different Kinds Of Love, combining prose and verse with enduring tribute to the NHS. It’s a good sign that his latest book is called Getting Better; but it’s still an ongoing process, and Rosen acknowledges the importance of family support, not available to all: “I dread to think what it would have been like if I’d just come home to an empty house.”

Another acclaimed author and LC sufferer is AL Kennedy.

I spoke to Kennedy about how she feels now, as she recovers from another Covid bout. A very fit woman with a punishing schedule, Kennedy has found her literary skills affected as well as her body: “With the LC my heart beat is still 10/15 bpm faster when I’m just generally unfit — much faster than my fit rate.

“I can work, but I’m slower.”

I can’t see a drop in quality in new work she’s kindly sent me compared to her old: but Kennedy of course knows her style better than anyone, and she can. It’s frustrating: “[My work] still needs more rewrites than it did. I need a lot more rest. The thyroid rumbles along in the background. If I lecture, I have to set out notes for safety and follow them.”

She was used to being able to speak spontaneously and just follow the track her mind took.

“I’m way better than I was,” Kennedy reflects: “In 2021 I would be knocked out for weeks at a time. Semi-permanent migraine, couldn’t finish sentences, couldn’t remember tasks to complete them, probably not a safe driver...”

Life is still not the same: “A lot has improved, but I live in fear of re-infection; and group work is hard to run in a mask. When I’m working at a uni, or travelling, I am basically in a mask for seven or eight hours straight... I compromise on stage without a mask and then signing [books] with one... It’s miserable,” she concludes.

The future is unpredictable, both in how Britain will react to the news out of Munich and how the condition will develop: researchers have found evidence of the protein spike four years after infection not because it goes away after that, but because four years is all the distance we currently have from those first infections.

As Sam says, “Many people recover. Many people get worse. A few weeks ago, I met Alan, who got Long Covid in March 2020. This March he had a mini-stroke, and lost the sight in one eye overnight.”

Sam tends to operate on pure adrenalin, which is unsustainable long-term, and means his Long Covid activism takes a toll on him: as much as he wants to raise awareness, and as vital as that is, every article he writes, every radio appearance, drains his limited resources of energy. A Catch-22 situation.

Sam is not impressed by the new government’s response so far.

Although figures reveal LC leading to higher healthcare demands and costs, meaning it is both an economic and ethical imperative to tackle it, the Department for Health and Social Care seems coy about its plans.

Parliamentary Under-Secretary Andrew Gwynne admitted, in response to a parliamentary question form the Greens, that he chaired a “roundtable” of researchers and “people with lived experience” in October this year.

The LC community has been unenthusiastic about what it calls this “secret meeting” to which they say they were not invited: and they want concrete information about Gwynne’s next steps.

Sam considers himself to have disabilities as a result of LC, as many do; he is also extremely concerned by the late November passing of the Assisted Dying Bill.

“I am absolutely horrified by it,” he tells me.

“In Canada, they started off with assisted dying only applying to the terminally ill.

“Then they expanded to include chronically ill and disabled people.

“I, and many other disabled people, are terrified it will happen here in the same way. And there’s no coincidence that the Assisted Dying Bill comes at the same time as the white paper on Getting Britain Working.”

The government must act fast to take on board the Munich findings, and involve activists like Sam and the wider the LC community in an open and transparent process for future funding, support, treatment and mitigation.

This is a frightening and unpredictable condition which could affect any one of us at any time: and an increased cohort of people with disabilities at a time when our National Health Service has been pushed to its knees is alarming.

Labour must act fast, must involve activists like Sam Williams, and must make Long Covid a priority, if we’re not going to deepen what is already a crisis.

[asterdisaster06]

i love you ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

ghost x reader [exes], platonic 141 x reader

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

summary > Soap and Gaz shenanigans

word count > 1.9k

warnings > military inaccuracies

a/n > do you guys ever have so many fic ideas but have to limit yourself to two series only? yeah, that’s me and it’s breaking my heart that i can’t keep up with 10 separate ideas

ao3

The sun shining through the military issued curtains warms your sleeping figure as your eyes flutter open - your brain taking a moment to catch up with your eyes viewing your new room. Your new home. It offers you a sense of comfort alongside loneliness at the thought of the pure solitude you were encased in. At your old base, you shared a room with a fellow soldier and someone you were proud to call a friend, but that isn’t the case here. Here, you’ve yet to truly make any official friends, and you're doubtful that the unease you feel even being on base would let you open up enough to be able to. Trust and friendship is something that you would like to keep separate on the field - most soldiers would - but you suppose it also extends into domestic moments. You find it hard to trust someone after one little conversation ended a relationship just like that. 

You shake that thought off like a wet dog to water and push yourself to get up. From what little you remember from the chaos of last night, today was supposedly stealth and sniper training with Gaz. It didn’t trouble you too much considering the connection between Simon and Gaz was a deep trust but nothing beyond simply working together. You had to have that trust with those on your side in this line of work. The job would be ten times more dangerous if you didn’t. You suppose that this training was meant to build that trust between you and the team before an actual mission, but you weren’t entirely sure if you could achieve that with Simon himself.

Brushing your teeth, you stare at the tired figure in front of you. A bruised and battered soul that has never quite healed despite your best efforts, as evidenced by the distinct eye bags and litter of scars across both your skin and heart. Seen and unseen. To the trained eye, you suppose, there was no real difference however. You spit into the sink, letting it run down the drain alongside your emotions. The cabinet holds only the base essentials provided by the base and your medicine that you throw back with a grimace. There was nothing you could truly do to drastically improve your appearance, but you found yourself wishing somehow that you could. You resign yourself to how you look and shake your folded clothes out before throwing them on in preparation for the long day ahead. You mask slips on over your head with such ease that you would

As you lace up your boots with efficiency earned only by doing it repetitively every single day, you hear a knock sound on the door. A gentle thud that almost reminds you of the sound a body makes when it falls to the floor - keyword being almost. A second knock is made just as you reach the door and turn the knob to be greeted with the sight of both Soap and who you assume is Kyle “Gaz” Garrick by his side. 

“Rise and shine, Angel!” Soap yells out, and you can almost hear bagpipes accompanying his excitement if you listen carefully. Then again, you could be imagining it. 

“Training doesn’t start until eight. It’s six,” You point out, your morning voice still fully fledged. If that wasn’t enough to signify your recent throw into consciousness the yawn after your statement should’ve been.

“He wanted to invite you to breakfast at seven, but also insisted on getting here early enough so you couldn’t say no,” Gaz offers up before he’s jabbed in the side by Soap, much to your amusement. 

“I’ll join you guys for breakfast,” You begin, already seeing the start of a grin making its way across Soap’s face. “But, only if you guys join me for my morning run beforehand.”

“Oh, how hard could it be? I bet I could beat you around the compound, Gaz,” Soap teases. 

. . .

Soap would soon eat his words, and dirt, as he ended up tripping over air twice on the run. Although, he insists there was a rock that you didn’t see that was out for him. Unsurprisingly, despite the little mishaps at the beginning of the jog, your two future comrades kept up decently with your pace. You suppose they had to if they were able to make it all the way up the ladder into this team. 

“How is Soap more clumsy than you, Gaz, but somehow you’re the one that fell out of a helicopter?” You mutter under your breath, realizing your mistake as soon as the words escaped your mouth. 

“How did you know that story, love?” Gaz asks, wiping sweat off his face with the back of his hand. 

“Word gets around,” You reply quickly. Not a complete lie. It just so happens that word got around from Simon mentioning small, insignificant details about his teammates on missions. Ones that made you laugh way back when. 

“Imagine being known only for falling out of a chopper,” Soap teases, nudging Gaz. 

“Very funny. At least my hair is regulation standard,” Gaz says, tussling the mohawk of the Scot. Almost like brothers, you notice. 

“Oi, lay off you div,” Soap says, his scotticism slipping out. 

“I’ll meet you guys for breakfast after a shower,” You say, giving a stretch and a big yawn afterwards.

“Just don’t get lost,” Gaz offers as he waves farewell. It appears that Soap has been spreading stories about your unfortunate meeting circumstances. 

“Aye, we’ll save you a seat, LT,” Soap grins with an exaggerated salute. 

You roll your eyes with a soft smile painted across your face as you turn to head back towards your living quarters. The dimly lit room offered a muted sense of comfort; although, you were itching to get some pops of color into the bland room. You’d have to check with Price to see how much you could change - considering you were contracted for five years, it would be likely that there was more leeway than usual. Especially given your position, but that could just be the fact your old roommate and you constructed a colorful, sentimental place you were proud to call home. It elicited a faint pang of homesickness within you. You’d have to call sometime soon to update them. 

Making sure the door was definitely closed behind you first, you slip off the light mask. Its design reminded you of the weeks leading up to the completion of its construction. You had a few of your fellow teammates to thank for their arts and crafts help - although you suspect that they would rather thank you for the creative outlet. You just consider the fact that all the crayons were accounted for and un-eaten a success. It has become a part of you now, whether you wanted it or not. There was something symbolic about the bird-like nature of its design; perhaps you wished you had wings of your own to escape the hurt. However, that’s more of a therapist's take on what actually occurred. 

It was more of an inside joke whenever you were a recent hire to your previous base. There was a mission or two that required you to take a position as a lookout. A bird had started chirping and cawing in your ear, sending extreme confusion over the commsat your attempts to get it to shoo. It was something that your team laughed about after the fact, saying that the bird life chose you. Ergo, your mask reflected the appearance of your feathered friends. The idea of your callsign being reflected in the feathery appearance also made it feel fitting. 

You shed your comfortable yet cold clothes and step into the warmth of the shower water, letting it run down your frame into the drain. If you stared long and hard enough at the floor, you could’ve sworn that it held a pink tint. It was a simple hallucination, but it had been real at one point in your life. You choose to close your eyes, focusing on the feelings of your hands running across scars - old and new. Your past life never held these marks, evidence of your suffering. Simon was the only one decorated with the physical damage appearing on his skin a few years ago, but you’ve accumulated more than your fair share of healed wounds.

You wash away those thoughts alongside the sweat and suds down the drain, making way for the amour surrounding your heart. The roughness of the towel as you dry yourself grounds you to reality. You actively avoid looking at the mirror, refusing to look at your scarred appearance that Simon would lose his mind over, as you get dressed. Breakfast wasn’t something that you indulged in as much anymore, not when it was no longer shared with the hugs from behind as Simon stole a piece of bacon. The very thought pained you to your core. You covered it up, swept it under the rug, in a very similar fashion to you disguising your appearance by the mask. 

You exit your room, making sure to lock it behind yourself. The beasts cage. You wander the halls until you reach the canteen, quickly scanning the room until your eyes settle on Soap. Or rather, the man beside him. Ghost. There was something about him that had changed from the person you once knew, besides the obvious appearance and behavior due to the environment. Or maybe, just maybe, you never knew him after all. You refuse to believe that you knew the real him, and the real Simon had truly tossed you to the side that easily. It wasn’t something you were willing to accept. Not yet. Not ever.

“Oi, over here Lieutenant!” 

There goes your sense of peace and internal argument over whether you could slip out unnoticed and effectively ghost this entire interaction. Your inner turmoil is only heightened by the fact that the choice was made for you - that and the fact that you’re now being perceived by the entire room as you make the walk of shame over to the table. All the eyes on you make it difficult to feel at ease. Even with your mask disguising that particular emotion paired with a heavy wince, your body language undoubtedly exuded your nervous nature. 

You trudge over to the table as the group all gives you their own greetings. You have an inkling that Soap had dragged all of the members here for breakfast as a sort of meeting for you. It’s incredibly hard for you to believe that both Price and Ghost were here willingly. 

“Goodmorning, Bonnie!” Soap says, the chipper in his voice making you wince slightly.

“Morning, little birdie,” Gaz calls out, seemingly taking a shine to that new nickname.

“Lieutenant,” Is all Price offers up. 

Although, it’s more than the intense stare and grunt you got from Ghost. You’re not entirely sure if you’re more offended or relieved by that. You pull one of the chairs out and take a seat near Soap and Gaz. It appears that they weren’t lying about saving you a seat, much to your surprise. On top of that, someone here - you suspect Soap - grabbed you a tray so you could avoid the line. It warmed your heart, a smile sent towards Soap. It’s times like these that you thank past you for constructing the mask in a way that your mouth is exposed enough to speak and eat. 

“Hey, Ghost. Have you ever thought about having your mask like that?” Soap pipes up.

“No. I already have enough of my face exposed with the eyes,” He replies gruffly. 

“Ah, I suppose that’s true. Angel does have their eyes covered. It’s kinda like the opposite of your mask,” Soap mentions. 

A simple hum from the man across the table is all you received. It’s all you or anyone else at the table received the entire time you spent eating with the team. Despite the small talk and inside jokes being created right in front of your eyes. It was so odd, sitting there right in front of the man you used to wake up next to, and him not knowing a single thing. Never noticing. These thoughts plagued you into a simple quiet as you listened to Soap explaining what “mountain chickens” were to Gaz - much to his confusion. The absurdity of the completely domestic circle of fellow soldiers sharing breakfast made you smile, if only slightly. All of it came to an end eventually as each individual had something to busy themselves with throughout the day. 

“Well, better not waste any time,” Gaz exclaims, offering you a hand up that you graciously accept. 

“Up and at ‘em soldier,” Soap adds. 

You were looking forward to the hand to hand combat training against these two. It was a formality but nonetheless you stirred at the opportunity to exhibit your abilities against both men. Prove yourself in some way or another. Maybe even prove to yourself that you do in fact deserve to be here - despite the words ringing in your ears as an echo of Simon Riley claiming you didn’t. Never would. Well, you would prove him wrong. Starting today. Not five years ago - starting today - because now he could see you. You could show him beyond a doubt that you had improved enough to earn a spot on the renowned team. Alongside him - even if he wouldn’t know it. Not yet.

-

taglist: @abbiesxox

[assortedvillainvault]

ok if acceptable I'm dropping one more before closing time

"I remember you" with a reader being the reincarnation of someone the Horned King once loved

*Clutches chest* ROOOSSEEE-

This hurts me. In like, the best way. Here we go, modern reincarnation because I low-key would like to get lost in the Welsh Mountains forever (I have deadlines).

Also please forgive the Google translated Welsh at the end I did not have the time to look up proper medieval Welsh and asking someone real to translate would have been good to think of before I started operating on 5% brain. If anyone following me is a native Welsh speaker pls DM me or leave a comment and I'll correct Google's attempt.

The Horned King x Reincarnated!Reader : 'I Remember You'

You have no fucking clue why you're here.

'Here' being the Ass-End of Nowhere, Wales. No phone reception, no services, no people and no tourists. Except, uh, yourself. Obviously.

You got up, drove out, picked a random direction between two hills and. Started walking. You don't even know why.

You just know that there's something further into the mountains that your soul is ITCHING to get to. You've always felt it, but recently ignoring it has started to feel like being pulled through barbed wire.

The ground is rough and uneven, tussocks and hidden rocks threaten to turn your ankles every other step. The trees that twist their way along the crevices of the high moorland are all but draped in moss and thorns. The mountains arching up behind them are unwelcoming, cold and cragged.

It's...eerily quiet. No birds, no people...even the sheep seemed to stop at some hidden border a few miles back. Just the low moan of the wind accompanies you.

As you walk, you find yourself stealing glances at the sky. You tell yourself it's for birds - Kites and eagles maybe - but you have to keep a strange disappointment down that it's nothing larger. What are you expecting for fucks sake? Dragons??

You're so busy scanning the skies that you topple arse over tea kettle down the next scree slope like a graceful spaghetti mannequin with a screaming feature.

You manage to scrabble and hiss to a stop, skin on your arms and legs scraped raw. And upon looking up suck in a breath that has nothing to do with your sliced up hands.

It's as though a giant scooped the earth away and set it on fire for good measure. Bare reddish black rock contends with a bitter snarl of dead grasses and lonely tree corpses. Beyond lies a dessicated crevass that looks like a lake drained away overnight.

Beyond that, is a castle.

You blink and tear the vision that seared across your eyes - of a fully fleshed gothic fortress - away. What lies before you is a ruin. The bones of the structure, at best.

The barbed wire in your soul is all but yanking you toward the ancient structure. You don't notice that the path you tread towards it is one you can find without looking, despite the terrain.

The bridge, rotted and rusted as it is, is mostly secure. You keep your weight to the bolted metal crisscrossing the wood as you make your way across, slow and steady and feeling as though phantom archers have their sights on you from atop the wall.

As you pass under the archway to the courtyard, you shiver violently. The feeling of passing under so familiar that it almost clawed it's way out from your skin.

The very air seems to hold it's breath as you make your way deeper into the crumbling structure. Water drips from the stonework, the doors all long since rotted from their hinges. Tools lie forgotten on the cobbles. If it wasn't so creepy it would be an archaeologists dream.

Why does no-one around seem to know this is here? Why is this place so undisturbed?

You stumble into what must have been the Great Hall.

Cold sunlight shafts through holes in the ceiling, the corners in absolute darkness. Skeletons lie in piles across the floor, roughly around where large tables should have been, weapons scattered akimbo as though they didn't even get a chance to use them before they fell.

Your eyes are dragged to the dias. There's a body on the throne.

It's slouched, slumped, as if whoever this was had thrown themselves back on the seat and collapsed in exhaustion. The mothbitten red robe and fur stole is strung with spiderwebs connecting them him to the throne, but this isn't what yanks on the barbed wire in your soul.

The pair of great, regal thorn like horns protuding from the figures hood are angled towards you.

Your feet carry you forward.

The figures face is obscured but you know it, the fingers curled loosely still with flesh, after all this time, no weapons around the dias but no evidence of wounds on the body as if he would need them, as if they could ever lay a finger on their King-

Your hand trembles, reaching out to touch the nearest horn irrestisably, not even daring to breathe.

The corpse lurches.

An arctic vice closes on your wrist, bones grinding as he yanks you to your knees on the stone. His fist is impossible to pry loose even as you scrabble at it, nails ripping at leathery hide- heart pounding-

His second hand closes on your neck and you freeze.

Twin red lights blaze from under the hood. Pupils in a black socket that focus hazily on your face, blinking as if rising from a dream that still has its hooks in him. The hand on your neck squeezes and you gasp, eyes bulging, wrist forgotten as you plead with your hands against the unstoppable force around your neck.

Brows twitch as he watches you struggle. Marginally, the fingers loosen and you suck in air, sounding like a broken bellows compared to the cathedral-esque empty quality of the air passing through his chest.

Gently, reverently, knarled fingers parse hair from your forehead. You didn't even realise he'd released your wrist. Your throat remains in his grip.

You meet his gaze as the last of the fog clears from his sockets. His voice, rusted and broken from disuse, still rumbles from his throat like a shuddering landslide.

"Rwy'n eich cofio, fy annwyl."

"I remember you, my dear."

[clowningaroundmars]

still suffering from bad motorcity brainrot so my brain conjured up a funny ass scenario where the gang finally learns more about texas' family.

well, more than just "texas has a real big family"

based off of chris p's confirmation that texas was going to have cerebral parents who are the exact opposite of him

Chuck shuffles in on socked feet to the pile of Burners casually lounging in their main living room area and chatting.

Mike is of course the first one to interrupt the conversation and greet him, noticing all the screens his best friend had pulled up. Then, when a semi-preoccupied Chuck didnt immediately answer back, Mike sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Hey, Chuckles. I said good morning!"

Chuck looked up suddenly, as if just realizing where he was.

"O-OH yeah hey guys, morning ahaha..." Chuck ran a nervous hand through his hair, revealing a furrowed brow that Mike immediately noticed.

"What's with all the screens so early in the day? You're usually halfway through breakfast before pulling one of those up," Mike chided jokingly.

"Uh so, like, late last night--"

"Morning. You mean early in the morning," Mike grinned, and then exclaimed when Chuck reached for a pillow to toss at his face.

"Last night..." Chuck continued, "I noticed something going on with the east gate. It's weird, the battery we found should have been full enough to last us 'til the end of the year but uh... yeah it's totally drained now, guys." By now, Chuck was taking a seat next to Mike and letting his friend lean into his space to study the screens. "And I was lookin' at the new motion sensors we installed recently and it seems like it drained fast right after someone... or something moved near it a couple nights ago."

Julie waggled her head, considering Chuck's words. "Could be a lot of things, honestly. That fusion battery wasn't really meant to last long anyways, it was only a temporary fix at the time."

"Yeah but if someone's trying to siphon off battery power from the gates, that could be a real big problem in the future," Dutch put in.

Texas kicked his legs in the air from where he laid on a beanbag at everyone's feet. "Wait, the eastern gate? Isn't that gate the one that was havin' problems that one time Kane busted in like about a year ago?" He crunched on some mystery substance in a plastic container.

Most likely something from Jacob's kitchen.

Mike laughed. "The very same, buddy."

"Tch'aaww that gate's lame. It keeps breakin' all the time! I wouldn't be surprised if it's just old and basically turning into total junk."

Julie turned to Mike and Dutch. "Y'know, he might be right--"

"Duh, Texas is always right!"

"...That gate really does have some history. It was the first offically maintained entrance into Motorcity years ago when Deluxe was first being built. I'm pretty sure Kane abandoned it on purpose after our crazy battle with those Ultra Golems."

Mike shook his head. "So he most likely cut the power from that gate then, huh. Makes sense why the battery's almost dead! That's a lot of heavy lifting for only one battery."

Chuck stopped typing on his screens for a second. "Why didn't we just scavenge for a newer battery after you beat that big robot Kane sent in? We secured that gate after, didnt we?"

Dutch and Julie smirked at each other.

"Someone might've gotten a bit distracted by an opportunity that ended up bein' a little too good to be true," Dutch elbowed Mike.

Mike guffawed and immediately tried to downplay the mistake. "Aw man, I mean yeah-- that, aaannd also we got that distress call from Doc Hudson not long after, too... so I mean--"

"Mmnn yeah, gotcha." Chuck deadpanned, returning back to triple-checking his maps and motion sensor logs.

"Anyways," Texas cuts in, "that gate's old an' dusty. It totally needs an overhaul, Texas-style. Hoo-WAH!!" He kicks his legs in the air in a flurry and uses the hand not holding his container to do a quick karate chop.

Everyone looks at him.

"Texas," Dutch starts patiently, "we're not construction workers, man. That's up to the Motorcity council to decide when the whole thing gets fixed now. I'm pretty sure they'd know about the power being cut off by now."

"Yeah, they should since I just pinged one of the council members about it too," Chuck piped up.

Texas shakes his head like a father explaining something to a child who isn't understanding what he's saying at all. "Yeah duh I know, guys, I'm not dumb!"

Dutch bites back a mean retort. Julie smirks again behind a carefully placed hand.

"I could just go to my mom and tell her everything! Then she can just send her construction worker dudes to tear down the thing and like, I dunno, hook it up to our own power supply or whatever. No effort on our part!" He flexes an arm casually.

A pause.

Mike was the first to speak up. "Wait, what? Your mom?"

"Uh, yeah, you guys didnt know my mom's head of the council?"

Dutch does a double take. "Head of the council?!"

"Yeah, Stretch. Head of the Motorcity council! She's been leadin' it since I was like a tiny Texas baby. She just keeps gettin' re-elected, heh. Makes sense since she's cleaned up and expanded a lot of stuff, I guess."

"...And she gave birth to you?!"

Mike elbowed Dutch back, hissing "dude!" under his breath. Chuck snorted.

Texas, as usual, lets the insult sail right over his head. "I know right? Both my parents are totally lame and boring. Not like Texas, hwa-CHAA!! They don't know anything about martial arts movies, sweet Muay Thai kicks or Texasifyin' stuff! They just wear boring suits and go to like a million meetings! My dad's not like in city council or whatever but he's a uh... a... what's-it-called. An archic-tech. He doesn't even build the stupid buildings and junk, he just designs 'em."

Everyone stares for a couple of seconds, Dutch rubbing his chin in disbelief.

"Wait, your dad's an architect?" Chuck asks incredulously.

Texas shrugs and stuffs his mouth with the mystery food. "Yeah? I thought I told you guys all about this!"

Mike leans forward and asks Texas directly, "does your dad only design buildings? Or does he help your mom with the city planning too?"

Texas munches for a few seconds before answering. "Mnnyeah, he's like... he plans and draws pretty much everything in Motorcity, like where the hotels and shops and stuff can go. He designed the whole downtown area I think. Obviously they're not done fixin' up the place, but the public bathhouse was his idea, so."

"He's an urban planner, Texas! Wow, not just an architect either, he does both!" Julie admires out loud.

Dutch leans back on the couch dramatically and sighs. "The bathhouse, oh damn."

Everyone took a quick second to reminisce about their trip to the bathhouse with fond smiles. It was a gorgeous Greek-inspired building as tall and beautiful as it was comforting, a recent addition to the bustle of downtown Motorcity. It had sleek marble walls, cozy alcoves for private meetups, grand staircases seemingly everywhere and polished golden accents gleaming in every corner.

The building was split into two sections with a giant-- and equally beautiful-- indoor garden separating the halves, and a courtyard with a net in the middle stationed out back for friendly games of volleyball or tennis. The bath itself sat like a reigning king in the front, right past the fancy lobby and locker rooms. In the back half, the indoor pool stayed open for swimming only in the summer. During the cold winter months the pool was frozen and turned into a makeshift ice skating rink.

Both pool and bath were massive and alive day after day with Motorcitizens relaxing after a hard day's work, meeting up with friends, or just taking the kids out to a fun day of swimming.

It was everyone's favorite spot to relax and hang out during chilly days thanks to the saunas as well.

Motorcity's gang members have officially sectioned the bathhouse and the immediate area off as a neutral zone, strictly banning violence and disputes from there. That decision was introduced by Julie and quickly adopted after everyone figured it'd be hard to tell which member was from which gang when they were all naked.

Knowing that Texas' father-- of all people-- was the man most likely responsible for that slice of heaven in an otherwise grimy and dark city was... well, it was weird.

"So," Chuck said, scratching his head, "your dad designs things and your mom orders the funds around. For, like, the whole city."

"Yyyup." Texas answers.

"Sooo... what does the rest of your family do?"

Texas takes a minute to think. "My grandma owns a shop downtown. All my sisters are out studying with people, doin' apprenticeships n' stuff. They mostly like to build and program stuff, one of them's over at the Cablers' right now. Oh yeah, my oldest sister is in a band! She's the lead guitarist and everything! She's badass, like Texas."

Dutch nods slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Uh huh. Mhm. This idiot's family is super smart and accomplished. Now I've seen everything."

Mike huffs out a laugh. "Wow, Tex. That's uhm... yeah, that's great! Think we can shoot your parents a quick message and maybe pass along some ideas?"

"I've got tons of ideas for a more efficient electrical wiring system!! With better security in place too! And a failsafe just in case!" Chuck blurts out. He then realizes his excitement and leans back self-consciously. "AHA-- ahem, that is if they're uh, if they're, y'know-- if it's not too much to impose on them, of course!"

Mike smiles warmly at Chuck and turns back to Texas. "No, I think they'd probably love the help, right Tex?"

Texas guffaws, spewing a few crumbs everywhere. "Tchyyyeaah!! Texas' parents are always so dang busy all the time like... ugh. Yeah, Skinny over here would probably be their favorite guy for a while just for takin' on some o' the work."

Chuck grins and opens up a new screen with some schematics, and gets right to work.

[fatuismooches]

SLIDES SHADES ON, KICKS DOOR DOWN AND FALL ONTO YOUR FLOOR, GUESS WHOS BACKKK!;!!;

🌕💗!!!!

BUT AHHHHHFHDH LATIN DOTTORE STILL MAKJNG ME LOSE MY SHIT

and so many of the other posts that i was binginf just now too oh em GEEEEEEE, specifically fragile/coma reader comjng back to sumeru and all that AHHFHEHHHH

ANF ALSO I CANT BELIEVE U REMEMBERED ABT MT EXAMS AND STUFF 😭💗 i got my results recently!! A* EEEKFK back on the grind tho unfortunately

also rlly rlly thinking bout dottore randomly giving fragile reader academic/research-y things to do cus he knows they crave and miss the days where they could get on wit their stuff YKKK??

also omg sometimes i’m scared to like send any kind of brainrot in cus what if someone else has said a similar thing AND AHHDHH

but yea also thinkjng bout tutor zandik + akademiya reader MNNNFFNF

ALSO ZANDIK X POET READER i feel like zandik from like the akademiya days wojld be all poetry’s stupid 🫤 but like one day findinf readers lil poetry notebook whilst tryna find his own research in their dorm and flipping through and finding it littered with references to cerulean blue locks and vermillion irises..and maybe just maybe, poetry isn’t so bad after all

smooches i’ve missed bombarding ur inbox

SMOOCHESSSS :( <33333

🌕 ANONNNN AHHH IVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad you've been doing well, congrats on your exams!! I'm glad your hard work paid off, such a scholar 😍 But you better not overwork yourself that hard again! ALSO. DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND ANYTHING IN!! I LOVE!! hearing what you have to say okay?? Ily 🌕 anon!! PLEASE BOMBARD MY INBOX. I LOVE IT.

HAHAHA it seems like a ton of Dottore brainrot has been infiltrating your brain huh 😅 Dottie speaking Latin really revolutionized ours brains hngg bUT WAIT I LOVE YOUR IDEA. THAT'S SO CUTE. Oh my gosh newdndow how do I phrase this. He knows you still have a love of knowledge and other things you used to be so into :( But nowadays it's died down since you don't think you're cut out for that stuff anymore, even though you miss it. Dottore being the one who respects and acknowledges your intelligence the most would not let you think that way! He'll let you indulge in as much knowledge as you want to. It's far better here anyway, with no restrictions. He'll even let you sit on his lap while you flip through his notes and try to analyze them. Okay and bear with me, this sounds strange but he would make up fake scenarios/brain teasers for you, and these would be PAGES long and you'd have to figure out the answer and report back to him 😭

Also made me think of this angsty af scenario of the day you officially got kicked out from the Akademiya... The sages and profs were so unsympathetic with your condition despite multiple proofs and notes of it being real... no matter how much you begged and sobbed, they refused to accommodate you and revoked your position in the school. Yes, it could be absolutely freaking brutal in there with the workload of assignments and all, on top of your illness too, but you still had dreams. Dreams that you were working so, so hard to pursue... you were trying your best, why couldn't they work with you? You go back to your room to try and pack since they want you out but your stuff just ends up strewn on the floor while you cry. When Zandik comes back you don't even bother hiding your tears or the reason behind them. You can see he's absolutely furious and about to let pure foulness leave his mouth but you interrupt him with a few simple words - "Zandik, just hold me, please." You don't want to hear any words at this moment, because you know nothing will be alright, but at least his touch grounds whatever is left of you to this world.

Okay moving on... Nah I need tutor Zandik. If he saw my dumb ahh while doing math... gone 😭 HEHE I love this trope... i can imagine initially being very serious about trying to learn. But then their tutor is this cutie? Welp, all of that going down the drain. Though, I think it would be pretty sweet if reader ends up learning anyway. Because the professor's way of teaching is so outdated or simply doesn't work for you but somehow when Zandik explains it you're like ?? oh! That's so much simpler! Another possibility - reader purposely flunking so they can get assigned to Zandik for tutoring 🤭 Bro would be flabbergasted that you're wasting both his and your time... because you thought he was... c-cute? Disgusting.

YEAAAA I ADORE DOT AND POET READER I THINK IT'S SOOO ROMANTIC 😭❤️ lmao yea that man would think poetry/non-academic writing is sooo boring like why would you even waste your time on that 😒 You gave up LONG ago trying to convince him why you love it so much but all of a sudden he becomes a teensy more receptive to it... i wonder why? Totally not because he freaking read every single one of your poems, from the serious to silly ones, most definitely not because he found one named after him with a bunch of sweet references... he doesn't care but they were not that bad... he guesses.

[someonefantastic]

Brain drain is a pretty fun ep and I like the au of it all but man, I wish that instead of going the “everything so far has only been in Piper’s head and she’s actually in an institution and the only way for her to ‘get better’ is to say the spell to relinquish her powers” route, the ep went with a “here’s the girls’ idealistic lives if they weren’t witches” approach. Like imagine an episode where Piper gets to experience what life would be like without the demons and warlocks. She has friends, she owns her own restaurant, she’s not constantly tied to a calling and instead gets to live life the way she’s been dreaming about since season one. Maybe she’s still married to Leo (because it’s more of Piper’s ideal fantasy than rooted in realism) but they got to have a “proper” wedding and an actual honeymoon and are now genuinely talking about having kids. Prue's alive but they can explain away her not physically being there as she’s doing a tour of Europe for the journal she photographs for. Maybe Phoebe is running her own company and living with her serious and normal boyfriend and local Assistant District Attorney, Cole, and Paige is a recently promoted Social Worker who just connected with Piper and Phoebe over being their half-sister. Everyone’s lives are, in Piper’s mind, objectively better. And then cracks start to form, magic begins to seep into their lives and the girls all start experiencing having powers. Piper accidentally freezes Leo, Paige orbs the phone over to her, Phoebe swears she saw a man walk into a door seconds before it actually happens. And with the magic comes bad things: Paige loses her job, Cole gets seriously hurt, Leo starts to get cold feet about kids, etc etc. Things shift from bad to worse, maybe some of the real world starts bleeding in, maybe some innocents die, until the only solution for everything to be okay, for Piper and her sisters to have this ideal, normal life, is for Piper to say the relinquishing spell. And Piper starts to but that’s when the real Phoebe and Paige show up and remind her about all the good they’ve done and all the innocents saved and how you have to take the bad with the good and Piper gets to make a choice to leave the fantasy behind and embrace being a witch, even if it sucks a lot sometimes

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

GODDD YOUR BRAIN. a lot of what you said is stuff ive been thinking about for literal years and esp now with my most recent playthrough of 1 and 2. the video was great and i also found a pdf for orientalism that i will be picking through as i have the time for it. ive had a post in my drafts ive been working on for a few days. specifically about how the crimson raider leadership (excluding moxxi and including the vault hunters) is comprised entirely of corporate settlers and how that still absolutely fuels their ideology when it comes to the bandit clans. tannis, zed, and pierce are all dahl, marcus has been both siding every conflict since the beginning of mankind, and roland and the ENTIRE military force of the crimson raiders (excluding the vhs) are atlas leftovers. and ofc its seen as necessary because there needs to be bodies between them and hyperion so every injustice against the planet is forgiven. its hardly even mentioned. even moxxi, who is pandoran born, profits in just. outright massacring the population with her fighting rings. (the underdome was sponsored by every corporation, including the shield manufacturers.) the desire that the raiders have to protect pandora just feel like protecting the. thirty or so people who live with them because everyone else is seen as not worthy to the point where mass execution and displacement is encouraged. im not going to talk about bl3 because im a bit rustier on it at this point but in FFS thats an issue brought up at the very start of the dlc: the crimson raiders are losing power and arent needed anymore because jack is gone. like they arent doing any great help to the planet. theyre not even wanted by the end of 2. side tangent but the two things that stand out to me the most on first thoughts are: destroying the eridium mine supplying sledges men in one (after already killing him and half the settlement) and doing straight up environmental warfare in 2 when freezing out the bloodshots. its just unnecessary cruelty. im sorry for taking so long to type this out i have. untreated adhd 😔

No no no it's okay speak your mind!!!

Also some additional things I didn't have the place to say in my answer:

One, you could very easily interpret bl1 and particularly bl2 as an extended metaphor for American destabilization and subsequent media treatment of the Middle East. Except Gearbox themselves is parroting the in-universe perception of Pandora as a "barren wasteland where nobody lives", i.e. the myth of terra nullius. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

Two, 2 specifically has an anti-colonialist narrative. Handsome Jack is a colonizer and you oppose him. But within this opposition is a DISTINCT subtext of "yeah he wants to kill off the bandits of Pandora but he also considers the Normal People, like Salvador and your friends to be bandits!", not "bandits are also humans with dignity". I'm not sure if the former is the conclusion the writers want you to arrive at, but it kind of feels like it.

Three, if I remember correctly the first time a tink (xenohuman/mutant) was not presented as part of the subhuman orientalized faction was fucking New Tales. And I think there was one in Debt or Alive as well (including a tongue in cheek joke about how calling your enemies slurs is kinda bad actually). Yet again, either the writers can't comprehend someone disabled in a not-"cool scifi" way being human, or the Borderlands universe has ridiculous amounts of ableism and baseliner supremacist (can you tell I love Rimworld's terminology for this sort of stuff) sentiment. But homophobia isn't real so that's funny haha right guys??????

As for 3... yeah there isn't much there. Ellie tells us that Pandora has been drained of all resources, Tyreen tells us what I already addressed, fucking Vaughn man. I'm sure I could say smth more coherent on all that but I can't rn, brain fried.

Then there's the Looters and Frostbiters and Devil Riders, who for gameplay purposes are reskinned bandits for the DLCs, but they aren't stated to be bandits for... what reason exactly, aside from geographic isolation (all the other bandits across the galaxy are universally homogenized so...)? I mean, frostbiters even associate into clans like bandits do...

And I do highly suggest you read Orientalism, it's a foundational text in post-colonial studies for a reason, but I find that it also applies incredibly well to media analysis :)

[hundredacreletters]

Letter from Rogue

to gender neutral reader

reader!xavier's intern

rogue & gambit are in a healthy poly relationship so this doesn't fuck with that

there's one from remy I wrote too so check that out

So I hear Remy has been stopping by your desk more recently. Don’t you worry about a thing, honey. I’m not coming to make a fuss. I like you. You have always been so darn sweet since you started interning with Xavier here. I can tell he has really appreciated the help. He doesn’t ask for it often so I’m glad when he relents a little.

I know when we had that last attack, it was a lot for you. You really held your own. I want you to know that. I was impressed, sugar. I know in our meetings you are usually quiet as a church on Saturday night, but I like it when you join in. I know you did recently to ask us how we deal with the stress of our jobs. I was thinking of the right way to put this and I think I’ve finally got it. I think you are better at stress management than you think. Stress typically doesn’t go away. I know my cajun thinks that way when he talks about it. He is an anomaly with that sort of thing. It is called stress management for a reason. You can move it around different places if that is what you feel you need. For example, missing a friend - you can move that stress that is most likely in your heart to your brain and remember you can call them or count down the days until you see them again. If they passed, then you can do what you need to remember them and the time you had together. Sorry all of this is sounding darker than I meant it to. I meant to come with a more sparkling energy, sugar, I promise.

A certain little swamp rat of mine mentioned that you might be interested in joining us sometime. Doesn’t matter in what way, though I do have a few ideas of my own. Dreams we can call them. I might even tell them to you, if you ask me nice. I’m sure you have noticed that I’ve been called out on assignments a lot in the past few months. I love my job, I really do. Helping people, especially kids like me, that had nowhere to turn is more than I could have hoped for. It is draining, though. I’m not necessarily feeling stressed, just deep exhaustion. I think I might take a little time off. No longer than a month, for now. I need to catch up on sleep and do some of the other things I love. I miss the cabin. I know Remy took you, so you know what I mean. It is hard not to feel peaceful there. It is also hard to get a hold of someone too. I can really take time off. All I have been aching for is quiet moments there so I’m heading over later next week. Remy is joining me for part of the time. I wanted to ask if you would like to as well. If you don’t want to miss work, then you can come for a weekend or two. I know you can take time off, too. Xavier is real easy with that stuff. It would be fantastic. Remy cooks dinners, and I do lunch. I hope you can handle a bit of heat. It isn’t too spicy; I am a lady, after all. It is more important to get the flavors. There’s also a town real close we can drive into. They have so much live music and a bunch of cool spots to check out. Maybe you and I could spend the day out there and then come home to be pampered by my cajun. Oh, just thinking about it is giving me goosebumps, sugar. Now, you just tell me to zip my lips if that isn’t what you are looking for. I sure hope it is, though. Something like it at least. I’m sweeter than you realize.

Kisses,

Anna Marie

[jackalopes-pen]

Dumb Brain Child, yes again

Well, well Sanders Sides. It's been a while hasn't it? I should hope I don't need to reintroduce myself. But anyway, we did actually learn somethings from the recent asides and I want to discuss.

In case it wasn't clear, spoilers for the new asides episode. Go watch it. come back, then deal with my bullshit.

So, one of the main things put on display that I found interesting was we got to see an upper boundary for Roman's ability. He had to manually wrap his gift, and even complained about having to do a quick switch. Could this mean that he can't wrap by his ability alone or is based on Thomas' ability? It could be that c!Thomas can't wrap a gift to save his life so Roman doesn't know how and can't expedite the process.

Another thing we saw, is that apparently the dark sides are far away from c!Thoams' living room. Logan states "They came all this way.." and he barely understands turn or phrase or sarcasm so naturally it can be hypothesized that Janus' and Remus' domains are far from the real world to some extent. Also, considering they arrived together it's not insane to say they share a space. Perhaps the subconscious?

Also, in my own excitement, Janus is 99% confirmed cold-blooded! He may be an actual biological snake which means, and this is exciting, he could have fangs or be able to unhinge his jaw. Maybe even passively smell with his tongue? The extent of biological accuracy is yet to be seen. He is also now a confirmed alcoholic.. so get excited.

There's a surprising amount learned so.. rapid fire!

Remus' shower drain is Joanne Fabrics. I'm terrified to see if he named anything after Specter's.. one section in mind.

Virgil is aware of Remus' nickname for his shower drain, and is ashamed to have the information

Mr. Fuzzy may be alive, meaning Remus may be able to make autonomous life.

Janus and Remus were actively goading Logan into a melt down, they seem of be aware of orange and want his presence

Patton knows little nothing abut Remus, and who Remus is.

Roman has the ability to put a hand in a box that can perform an action after a signal

Logan enjoys conspiracies and solving them

Virgil knows enough to make a real-life ARG of sorts

Thomas apparently asked Logan to orchestrate the gift exchange so he could get a good gift for Nico.

[bogkeep]

you know what. at this point i feel like i'm circling the topic of my trauma like water around a drain. maybe i'll just talk about it.

this is gonna be a personal one.

i was stalked, harassed, and smeared. it was years ago and i'm doing good now, but it's the worst thing that has ever happened to me. i've been referring to it as The Trauma for a while, but only recently realised i just straight up have PTSD from it.

i hate that that's what it took to finally understand how to set and hold a boundary. i hate how much better my internet habits are now, because of that. i hate that the way to keep myself safe and at peace was to never, ever speak a word of it in public lest it be used against me, and that i'm still scared of it. but what more can they do to me? they've already tried it all, and i'm still here, and the ground can't collapse under my feet anymore.

the long and messy buildup to a break up with a friend was horrible enough, but it probably wouldn't have scarred me as badly if i hadn't been stalked for well over a year afterwards. i say stalking even if it was all online, a whole ocean apart - they made themself present in every space i frequented, and i've become intimately familiar with the blocking and blacklisting systems on every platform i'm on. they tried to get to me through my roommates and my irl friends. it's difficult to fully describe how cornered i felt even in the vast infinity of the fucking internet. i regret nothing, though. cutting them off was my last resort and the best thing i ever did. i'd do it again a million times - i kind of had to, since it was less akin to severing a string and more like having to behead an eel in a bathtub full of oil that also happened to be a hydra.

i had no control over the narrative other than whatever trust my friends had in me, and i lost quite a lot of friends. (i saw one of them block me in real time.) there was this absolute helplessness of it, because what could i possibly do or say to prove that i was not a cruel or unsafe person to be around? i've never held it against them.

(i wonder, sometimes. do they ever think of me? do they shrug and move on?)

it felt so stupid, really, to feel this anxious about my reputation. oh, no!! not my precious reputation!!!!!!!! but it's

well

how do you recover your reputation? on the internet? it's such an easy thing to ruin, and it was deeply shameful to realise how easily i've swallowed the same bait myself, so many times before. never about friends, i think, but, y'know. can't fault anyone for wanting to stay safe, be it from Supposedly Skeevy Creators or the panopticon.

the worst part was how my own mind felt like wet, crumpled up paper, constantly doubting my own reality of who i am. how do i know i'm not cruel? how do i know i'm safe to be around? what if i was extorting and manipulating the masses, even if that was not my conscious intention? it took a long time to be able to do or say something nice again without intrusive thoughts flooding my brain.

i think i always knew somewhere inside of me that no, of course i'm not an evil mastermind, that's a very silly thought. i don't even believe in evil. but it's like - if i had done something wrong, then at least it would be something i could change about myself. if it was my fault, then it was within my control.

the longer it went on, the easier it was to convince myself that i didn't deserve this. yes, even if i had done... whatever it was i had supposedly done that was so deserving of punishment, i felt like nobody deserved this much punishment. like, it was a truly excessive amount of punishment, going on far beyond the point of contructivity - i wasn't doing anything. i wasn't doing anything to begin with, and whatever it was that i had been doing, i had stopped now! there were only two remaining explanations of my Crimes:

my mere existence was bad, and i would have to completely erase myself from the internet. - no, i was not so far gone as to believe that.

cutting off my friend was the most heinous act of mental violence ever enacted. - no, i did not believe that either. i wasn't super good at boundaries but i've always been a strong believer that relationships are not mandatory. - well i definitely didn't want to be their friend anymore now, and from the sounds of it, i couldn't imagine them wanting to be friends with me anymore either. - should i have ended it differently? could i have ended it differently? i had flattened myself trying to be as kind and understanding and soft and compassionate as i could be, desperately so, but that hadn't saved me. (i remember my mother asking, "but did you make it clear to them that you love them?" when i explained why i wanted to see a therapist again.) maybe if i had just blocked them without preamble on day one.

i had no choice but to accept the sheer injustice of what was being done to me.

regaining my sanity was a bit of a process. i'm very thankful for my friends. (i'm not thankful for the therapy rejection letter telling me i wasn't depressed enough to qualify. it took me a while to get an actual therapist that wasn't a tarot deck.)

i hesitate to call myself lucky, but i was. even with every paranoid prediction and worst fear coming true, i outlasted them. yes sure i sometimes cried uncontrollably to the point i got sent home from work once, yes i lost weight because i was too nauseous from the stress to eat properly, yes i had nightmares about them and yes i would have physical trauma reactions every time i saw their name written anywhere even though it belonged to completely different people, yes, yes - i fucking survived all of that. i had solid foundations to stand on.

even in the forest fire of my social circles i had an incredible, wonderful support network. i feel much more secure in myself and my relationships now. i've learnt so many things - about trauma, about boundaries, about healing, about friendship, about the internet, but at what fucking cost!!!!! my pain shouldn't have been rewarding. it's a cautionary tale about how trying to be soft enough for everyone to step on inevitably leads to hurt, and yet! how fucking dare i come out better for it!

maybe this is no tale and there is no 'better'. it's a painful chapter of my life but i am not a book. i'm a real person of flesh and blood in a confusing reality where people struggle and do their best.

i can't explain why, exactly, i'm sharing this today. it's not all of it, far from it, but i think it explains well enough where i write my blogposts from. maybe i'm hoping it will help someone else. maybe i'm just ready to own my own story loudly. i'm tired of looking over my own shoulder.

thank you for reading, if you did.