#but he probably would be a good dad after years of therapy and forming healthy coping habits and making friends

[daydreaming-ace]

I think Taranza would want to be a dad, and has wanted this since childhood.

I'm now realizing this kinda conflicts with my shipping of Taranzalor/Magoranza, since Magolor doesn't seem like he'd want to be a parent.

I only realized this while writing a Magoranza fic. How do I do this to myself?

[teamdilf]

For the OC asks, please may I have: -💯, 💔and 💘 for Cecilia pls 🥺 and then maybe... -🥯, 🍃 and 🎮 for Adrien (I know it says OC but frankly you know him better than bioware shh)

Cecilia:

💯

She likes to sing! She's not an amazing singer, but it's one of her favourite ways to comfort her kids when they're young.

She's allergic to varrens and the thought of experimenting with allergy medication to find a combination that works exacerbates her anxiety. This is something that was missed during the gene therapy she received while her mother was pregnant with her, and her parents probably could have pursued some sort of claim, but figured a pet allergy is hardly the worst thing that could happen.

She's only had a few sips of alcohol in her life - after her anxiety disorder diagnosis, she resolved to avoid intoxicants. Plus she just didn't like the taste of it and never understood why people would want to drink something that (in her mind) tastes gross.

💔

She's stubborn, and sometimes pushes too hard when she encounters red tape or a rule that prevents her from doing something. Garrus gets that from her!

When she's hurting, she can be blunt in a way that hurts those around her in an attempt to get through to them. This is most apparent following her diagnosis when Castis is struggling with the reality of the situation.

If you buy her the wrong brand of food/personal care products she gets cranky.

💘

I'm gonna cheat and say Castis, Garrus and Solana. Castis would claim that she puts the kids above him (and believes that is the way things should be), but when the kids are old enough to be left with her sister, Val, once a year she travels to the Citadel to spend a week with Castis - just the two of them. Her marriage is important to her and she recognizes the need to have time alone.

Adrien:

🥯

Before having children, it was usually a protein bar as he was going out the door, but after the kids are born, he and Tullia really want to get their children into the habit of eating healthy meals for breakfast, so one of them cooks breakfast every morning. When he's home, this means he almost always has a hot breakfast - eggs, toast, sausages and dextro bacon are common breakfast items in the Victus household.

🍃

Military tactics and the pre-combat lessons he received in grade school before beginning basic training. He was obsessed with strategy - partially because he wanted to find a way to do things better.

🎮

Bad movies! It started out as a form of rebellion for him - his dad wouldn't let them watch action movies, indicating that they'd rot their brains, so as soon as Adrien left for basic training he downloaded as many action movies as he could get his hands on. Unfortunately no one intervened as he wound up with a bunch of really lame ones, but he discovered how fun it was to crack jokes while watching them, and it's something he got his sister, Sabina into, and then decades later, he started watching them with his daughter, Aurelia.

Exercise. Keeping in combat condition is a priority for him, which means he maintains a strict exercise regimen that includes an early morning run and at least an hour in the gym. He doesn't necessarily spar with someone every time he visits the gym, but he does several times a week, and post-retirement often finds himself fighting fairly green young people who haven't been around at the gym long enough to realize that he's really damn good at hand-to-hand. Most of the people his age at the gym are smart enough to stay well away from the sparring ring when he's around!

Photography. As a boy, someone gave him a camera and it became an excuse to escape the estate. He prefers landscape photography and enjoys hiking to photograph captivating views, sunrises, sunsets, and anything else that happens to catch his eye. He refuses to ever sell his photos - at least while he's still alive, because it's important to him that it remain a hobby and not an occupation.

[todomitoukei]

would you be happy if Touya's endgame is a reconciliation of sort with Endeavour? like, Endeavour genuinely validating his feelings and them trying to heal together. bc, as much as I personally don't like Endeavour, there's no denying his relationship with Touya is the most complex and interesting of this storyline, and they both still obviously love each other even if its fucked up. I think it could be an 'happy' ending for Touya tbh. I wasn't too sold on it but now I'm wondering

In short: no, I don’t think so.

I fully understand why some people want Dabi to end up forgiving him and for them to be a happy family, but in my opinion that is neither realistic nor healthy (in this case).

Dabi’s whole life thus far has been about Endvr - first, it was about trying to get his attention and love and when that repeatedly failed, he decided to dedicate his existence to destroying Endvr. Once Dabi gets saved (and hopefully then put in therapy), he will most likely have a big mental breakdown considering it doesn’t seem to be his intention to make it out of this alive nor is he happy with the person he turned himself into. He is fully aware that his actions are wrong, but “knowing” that he will die in the near future as well as the fact that this is all for his own big goal is probably what makes him able to keep going for now, anyway. So once he gets saved and realizes that he will have to now spend the rest of his life knowing about all the things he’s done that go against his actual morals, he will have to learn to accept that part of him first and foremost.

He will also, realistically, have an identity crisis because his whole life has been about his dad. Of course, those parts are all part of him, but he has been so focused on Endvr alone that once saved, he will have to also figure out who he is after all of this. What does he like? What does he enjoy doing? What are his goals or dreams or ambitions? Because he’s been so focused on Endvr, it’s going to feel like he has nothing anymore so a huge part of his recovery would be dedicated to figuring himself out. This is a long process and it’s hard to say how long exactly that would take since that depends on the individual. But Endvr should not be present for that and could not contribute to Dabi’s healing (since he has to figure out who he is outside of Endvr) much like he wasn’t allowed to visit Rei, either.

Sure, at some point in the future, he could maybe possibly be stable enough to see Endvr again, but then the next question is why should he? I think this would also heavily depend on what happens to/with Endvr, whether he genuinely changes or not. Regardless, if we look at Rei, she was in the mental hospital for ten years. Let’s say the same applies to Dabi. Let’s say he is in there for ten years with the rest of the League. He learns to accept his past, figures out who he is, finds peace, and rebuilds his relationship with the rest of the family. Would letting Endvr back into his life add anything?

At the end of the day, that is a personal choice only Dabi can make and it’s basically impossible to predict. For me, though, it’s not really relevant to focus on whether or not he would because they never had a healthy relationship to begin with and Endvr neglecting Touya is what ended up causing a lot of insecurities, so it’s more important for Dabi to surround himself with people who truly love him unconditionally. And Endvr hasn’t been able to selflessly and unconditionally love anyone thus far, so I’m not sure if that would ever happen.

I’m pretty sure Endvr’s dream of his whole family having dinner together but without him present is already foreshadowing that at some point (probably once Dabi is saved), he will leave the family for good.

Could Dabi ever forgive him? Possibly. Could he ever talk to him again? Maybe. But honestly, I don’t think they’ll ever form a proper relationship and sometimes, parting ways is the healthiest choice to make.

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Redux! Oct. 13, 2020)

Gooooood evening good evening good evening, all! I started the VOD late for this recap and somehow the first four or so minutes of the show have a Twitch audio copyright claim, so I am reduced to only reading Brian's lips when he asks if we're on the internet. Hilariously, Marisha's background room is a comfy-looking blue/gold fabric wall with a ceramic colorful abstract lamp and a yellow silk scarf over the lampshade, and Taliesin's is an industrial looking games room in grey and black with multiple monitors, overhead speakers, and mysterious metal fixtures behind him. What a treasure this group is, honestly.

Tonight's guests: Marisha Ray & Taliesin Jaffe, discussing episodes 110 and 111 again. I wildly speculate once more about what might have caused their absence: jury duty? Sam appearing on The Masked Singer? Something to do with the animated show? One day, we’ll know, one day... (One day this “copyrighted audio” section will come back from the wars, too. Ugh!) Finally! The audio comes back to reveal Brian discussing the endless reality of digital meetings and Marisha talking about (I think) her glare-reducing glasses she’s wearing. Welcome to the New Age (welcome to the New Age, to the New Age).

Announcements: Marisha suggests checking out Dimension20, another live tabletop gaming group, which premieres live on Wednesdays at 4pm (CollegeHumor). 

Brian immediately wants to know how they feel about the revelation that Molly is alive. Taliesin’s personal reaction: he “knows some things” he can’t talk about and is aware of several possibilities that might be going on, but had a sneaking suspicion that there would not be a body for them to find. He says it’s almost all there for anyone to see in past material. Marisha’s personal reaction: she just wants to know how she’s doing with her theories, & was trying to block Tal’s face out deliberately as she was going off on her theories in the last episode. Taliesin says he thought her ideas were pretty good!

Cad has no clue what to think - it’s like listening to your friends talk about Buffy. Marisha thought it was a 50/50 Molly would still be there, but Beau had no idea. Not that it mattered, because as soon as Matt went through with it the reveal still blew their minds. Tal laid out his plans for the character with Matt during Campaign One (towards the end) after they all got their VM tattoos.

It is a “horrifying and gross” thing to dig up a body, and Beau was pretty reluctant to do it. Tal, as Cad: “Sometimes dead’s better.” The moral quandary of trying to speak with a dead friend was very different here than the frequent occasions they used the spell in C1.

Taliesin says his poker face is very bad, so it’s easier for him to over-react and let it all play out. The only other player he can see very easily from his place in their current setup is Travis, and because he knows Travis doesn’t watch TM, tweet, or participate in social media, he admits he thoroughly enjoyed watching Travis freak out at his freaking out. He says he only knew about 20% of what Matt described at the end of that episode. He was picking things to mug to increase Travis’s surprise. I love this so much.

Taliesin provided the table left leg shake; Travis provided table right. Ha!

Beau is really accepting her role in the Cobalt Soul. It’s good when “as a person, you feel like you can settle into your calling. Sometimes you can do more from the inside than fighting from the outside.” It’s a mirrored but opposite path of Keyleth from C1; Beau felt like she was too good for her duty, while Keyleth thought she wasn’t good enough.

Caduceus is not a big believer in jumping to conclusions. He does have an idea/notion of the “city of the undead” and thinks all this necrotic energy must come from somewhere, and wonders if this is the “capital of anti-death.” He’s willing to believe whatever he sees. This is one of the few things that trigger a bit of loathing and disgust in him. It was terrifying that the Wildmother didn’t know anything.

Beau is pretty confident in her Charlie Day impression laying-out-the-research last episode. She enjoyed taking the things that were known & extrapolating around them; this is a huge facet of Marisha’s own personality and she really enjoys it, so she built a character this time that would allow that kind of puzzle-solving. It’s also why she repeatedly notes when Beau journals, so she can avoid metagaming. Trent’s mention of Vess Durogna’s tomb raiding was completely circumstantial, and the only reason she’d made the connection to the Tombtakers was because she’d recently reviewed those notes for a separate unannounced project. Sometimes she tries to make connections and Matt is like, “It was...just descriptive. Just flavor. The curtains were red...” and she has to discard a paragraph of notes. She feels like it’s still something they have to do because of “look at what he does! Look! It’s totally valid!”

Cosplay of the Week: @kitsunstudios with a gorgeous Caduceus with a very intricate silk vest.

Caduceus’s takedown of Trent! One of my favorite moments in the entirety of C2. Taliesin felt Trent was an asshole; Caduceus felt sorry for him because of how dumb he thought he was. Caduceus’s response was "this is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s so dumb! Is nobody going to tell this guy how dumb he is? Oh, they’re all freaked out. Somebody needs to tell this guy he’s an idiot before somebody gets hurt.” (Marisha: “Before?”) Tal says it was the product of several years of therapy and many drunk conversations with Whitney Moore. It was from a genuine place of concern from Caduceus. “How are you allowed to have this much power and be that dumb?”

Brian loved how funny it was to watch everyone tiptoe around Trent and then Caduceus bulldoze through the end of the meal.

Taliesin: “Damage doesn’t make you interesting or better. It’s not what makes you good. Character isn’t found in damage. Just recovery.”

Brian & Marisha commiserate going through the stage where believing surviving something automatically made you a stronger person, better for the pain; instead it just meant you had to pick up the pieces after. Marisha talks about how strength through survival may be true for some people, but it shouldn’t be considered a necessity. Taliesin talks about how he used to think he had to be miserable to write. Brian talks about how believing he liked reading and writing miserable things only limited him for years.

Marisha feels it’s a C2 theme that almost all the PCs have someone trying to handwave or take credit for their accomplishments or explain their pain as being for their own good (Trent, Beau’s dad, Obann). She thinks it’s interesting to see all the various ways people try to take credit for your work/delegitimize you as a person. She loves that RPGs allow you to explore these odd moralities in interesting ways. The only way to fight it is to have a sense of your own self-worth, which is a problem a lot of the M9 started with.

Caduceus likes everyone, and really likes people who appear to need role models (Eodwulf). “With the right friends and the right bar and the right attitude, I think he’d be okay. Come over here where it’s so much better. That seems like an exhausting friendship that you have there.”

Marisha loves the mix of personalities in the M9; Veth, Cad, & Jester were all “we kind of like them!” after the dinner, and she immediately made eye contact with Travis and they both shook their heads. She knows Beau has to go along with it for Caleb’s sake for now, but she & Fjord are pretty sus of Trent’s proteges.

Beau is less concerned about Artagan’s relationship to Jester because “he showed his ass--she’s less worried about Jester now because a little of the magic is gone.” It’s a little like becoming an adult and realizing your parents are also just adults & human. Caduceus wasn’t suspicious of the Traveler for a long time until they got to the island. Aside: Taliesin loves the pantheon in D&D. “The notion of attempting to apply common Western conceptions of religion to a world where you have a pantheon of interventionist gods as baseline makes no sense to me. Everyone admits that every other god is there and doing shit; it has more in common with ancient Rome than anything else.” Now that he knows it was a con, he feels the wind had been taken out of it. He does have a sense that Jester’s gotten back together with an ex: “I hope that I’m really happy for you.” They’re both interested to see how Jester navigates the new relationship.

My internet goes out, of course. I panic for a second, thinking I’ve lost everything above, but all is well! Thanks, Form History Control addon!

Marisha loved punching Artagan, but regretting rolling so poorly. “I miss violence.” Dani lets us know it’s been about four episodes since the last battle.

There’s no way the Cobalt Reserve doesn’t have a single document on the Eyes of Nine. Beau believes “there are no real secrets” because people are just bad at not writing things down. For there to be no information at all seems really suspicious for her.

Fanart of the Week: @oddalchemist on twitter with some awesome Beau conspiracy red-thread boards overlaid a distant shadowy Molly walking away.

Caduceus feels a little guilty for really enjoying his time right now with the M9 and not wanting to go home. He’s starting to suspect that he’s going to go home very different than when he left. “He has the softest problems. I don’t know if I want to move back in with Mom & Dad.”

Beau is trying to get comfortable with the idea of being happy. Jester is probably Beau’s first real best friend & one of the first healthy female friendships she’s ever had. As long as she still has Jester in her life, she doesn’t care. For Yasha... “At the end of the day, Beau is a lonely person and has always been a lonely person. And I think you kinda reach this point where once you’re not lonely anymore, you can kind of come out of the fog and realize that was horrible! And terrifying! And is even more terrifying now that I know what I could have, and I don’t want to go back to that. At the end of the day Beau doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. There’s always been that flirtation with Yasha, but everyone had to figure their own shit out. And now it feels like it’s coming out a little bit of that haze, maybe this actually could be...” There are a lot of ways they complement each other & are good-different from each other. Marisha believes people can be attracted to more than person at once.

Caduceus doesn’t think nature turned against him on Rumblecusp, it was just a reality of nature being dangerous and violent. “He has a complex relationship with nature.” He doesn’t expect special treatment.

Thoughts on the mansion: “Man, it’s nice to be seen.” Marisha: “I don’t know how I ended up becoming the Scanlan of this campaign, but I’m living for it.” It felt like an echo of “I’m better for having known you.” They compare Marisha taking specific notes on the campaign to Liam taking specific notes on people’s favorite tapestries, comics, etc.

They talk about missing theme parks and daydream a park version of the mansion in CritRoleLand. It’s lovely.

Taliesin never expected Divine Intervention to work; he just wanted to roll some dice. He’s still processing what he saw/heard. They all agree it was very useful in the Vokodo fight.

Vilya! Marisha: “Ah! Ah! Ah!” As a player, Marisha was so deep in Beau’s eyes she didn’t pick up it was Vilya at first (especially since Matt really emphasized they should not be looking for C1 NPCs). Marisha’s brain melted. She bawled her eyes out on the ride home after that episode. Right after it ended, Laura told Marisha “Keyleth finally gets her happy ending,” and it makes Marisha emotional again since Keyleth’s story ended so bittersweetly. She talks about the very real feelings of “just wanting them to be happy, though!” She went back and listened to all her old Keyleth playlists. Everyone was teary after the episode. “Everyone has these 100% real memories of being these characters and having these good times.”

And that’s that for that! Thanks for your patience, all, and is it Thursday yet?

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

Okay, I will try to ramble less in this one (so sorry!) ^ well that didn't happen!

In terms of when I did leave hospital, as I mentioned a tiny bit in the last post, my EDP was completely AWOL. A month before I was due to be discharged she came to a meeting with myself and my consultant, during which we set up 4 appointments that would be over zoom before I was discharged to help with relapse prevention and the transition home, as well as setting out, in principle, the therapeutic support that I would be getting once home...it all sounded great, so great. But as usual when it comes to my team, it was too good to be true (should have called it). I attempted to contact her when our appointments never happened but I kept being met by a brick wall; no one knew what was happening, all I got told was that she was "off"... Time passed and I was discharged with only a phone call booked in from someone from the general team to check I was safe a few days later (it was literally 5 minutes, long if that) and an appointment to do physical monitoring the next wee....a far cry from the original discharge plan *sigh* Coming home was a bit of a whirlwind. We were approaching Christmas but we were still under a lot of restrictions with COVID, so it was a very strange/messy/weird few weeks.

Time continued to pass and there was still no confirmation around therapy or support, even the ED team didn't know what was happening with L, I just continued to go to two weekly physical monitoring. In the end, with nowhere else to turn, I contacted my consultant from hospital. To say that she was mad that nothing had been in place/I had no support would be an understatement and I thank my lucky stars that she was able to get involved. It took a couple of weeks but I finally had my first session with a therapist in February. In total it took about 8-9weeks from discharge to see someone, which, well, was hard.

Upon reflection, I think one of the biggest things I struggled with with coming home was that I had literally no leave to practice beforehand. This meant that I unfortunately slipped back into old habits very quickly as, well I know it is no excuse but coming back to the same environment your brain easily slips into automatic mode and you find yourself doing what you "used" to do without realising it.

I was in, I would say, quite a vulnerable state when I left hospital (the last few months there were pretty rocky to say the least) and the day before I was discharged (as I mentioned in a previous post somewhere) I was handed 3 different, very conflicting, meal plans and the nutritionist who had previously been very horrible to me and who had been away for a number of weeks, told me that she did not think I could continue to recover at home and that the best possible case would be if I only lost a bit of weight over the next 6 months....I think you can probably guess how badly this was taken and how messy my mind was. So with 3 meal plans in hand, none of which I had practiced, with little to no support from the ED team, I was, essentially, crisis managing, simply trying to get through each day.

I know, I know. Classic kitty - stuck record. failure. mess. making a million and one excuses. trying to make out like she is fine to the rest of the world when in fact inside she was falling apart. sigh.

In terms of my weight recovery I was not discharged at a healthy BMI/weight, which my consultant was sad about, however I was in a much better place than when I was admitted (I think I had gained about half the weight I would have needed to from when I was admitted to get to a healthy weight). I will admit that part of me does wonders whether staying would have been beneficial, because on a very basic level yes it could have helped in some ways. However if I stretch my mind back to when I was still on the ward ,it actually still floods me with anxiety and fear because of how UNHELPFUL the environment had sadly become. It is hard to explain to someone who has not experienced an EDU, but the patient groups can and do make a massive of differences. I was vvv lucky that when I was initially admitted, and for the first good couple of months, it was a v supportive and recovery focused environment. However, by about late Sept/early October ,things turned completely upside down (which was not helped by the fresh COVID lockdowns either) and even staff were saying how terrible it had gotten and how they could not believe the things that they were being asked to manage on the progression ward. There were times when I felt incredible unsafe on the ward and feared for others patients, which is not "okay". I genuinely believe that staying any longer would have likely made my mental health decline further; I had already found the massive shift was negatively affecting me and I think staying would have been unwise. I had also gained quite a lot of weight and was, I hate to admit, struggling with both coming to terms with that along with dealing with everything that you are continually facing when going through treatment/recovery alongside working on trauma stuff. I know none of that is any worthy excuse, but that was how it was...At this time I was struggling a lot with my meal plan and had quite a few lapses whilst on the transition phase of the unit however despite screaming out for help/support from staff, because of the acute situation on the ward, I was just left. They knew I was struggling, I was told time and time again that they had not forgotten me, but did I get help? no. It was actually made worse by the then nutritionist who sat me down like a naughty school girl and basically told me that I was a failure and that I would never achieve anything in life blah blah blah (please see a past post if you want to know more) which made me even more scared to reach out for 'help'/'support'. So no, I don't think staying would have helped much, which is a real shame.

Therapy wise I had a bit of a rough ride in there (god I'm really selling this aren't I?!). When admitted I was not in a place for 'traditional' therapy what so ever; looking back I honestly have no idea how I was even 'functioning' (was I functioning? probably not) and even the group therapies were a struggle but my consultant stuck with me and with time I was able to process a little more. One thing that helped me beyond words was 1:1 Art Therapy. This was not something I had accessed before, only ever doing group sessions in the past which was mostly about getting away from the ward and doing a bit of art. I cannot reiterate enough how different and HELPFUL the 1:1 sessions were. The art therapy, who I knew from the last year and is an absolutely GEM, helped me to begin to process and work through the trauma that I had experienced with dad. It took a lot of time and persistence but I was able to use those sessions in so many ways and I will forever be grateful to P for supporting me (I was so lucky to be able to have 1:1 sessions for the majority of my 8 admission).

The more traditional therapy initially took the form of 30min sessions with my consultant once to twice a week (as much as I hated them, she was bloody good). I also had a review and a few sessions with the lead therapist via zoom (she was heavily pregnant so was working from home) not long after being admitted, but she soon went on maternity leave. This left me to be picked up by her student, who was actually incredible. We did a long extended piece of work on my perfectionism which, again, was SO helpful but she sadly left (for bigger and better things) and I was left hanging for a while as there were no other openings. A new lead therapist started and after a while he did a few sessions with me before leaving suddenly (I think even staff only had a weeks notice, which was ridiculous), so I was back to twiddling thumbs for a few weeks. I then met with a therapist who worked 2 mornings a week that I saw a bit during my last admission but we didn't do many sessions and it just fell away. This was mostly my fault as by this point I was questioning my admission and whether I would self discharge as there were some not good things going on on the ward, so I wasn't really in the headspace to explore things deeply and had been picked up and put down so many times that I just couldn't do anymore. Throughout that time though I continued to see my consultant weekly, mainly focusing on mindfulness and other therapy styles thrown in there too at times.

I will forever be thankful/grateful for the admission I had, especially to be under a different consultant (for COVID reasons they had to split things differently as they would usually do it by area but that wasn't possible at the time I was admitted) as her approach made a huge difference. I still remember one of the first things she said to me was that she couldn't believe/was that I had been placed on the SEED pathway and that she believed that I could be more than that, which honestly, gave me a little bit of hope (something that had been ripped apart and shredded by my usual consultant multiple times).

But back to now.... I have now been seeing a new therapist weekly (when possible) since February and, in a backwards way, I am so glad that L disappeared off the grid because the "support" I was going to be getting under the original plan was just sessions with her to do some self guided self help stuff, whereas with this therapist we have actually been doing some HELPFUL work. In terms of L, I think the last I was told she never returned to work and has now left the team (we have a sneaky feeling that she either had a complete break down or that it was due to too may complaints (mum called this a long time ago as she was not qualified for the role at all and was utterly useless), which, yeah, was strange to not get an ending as I had worked with her for a few years. Anyway, I've been doing SCHEMA therapy with this new lady (I'd not heard of it before) and at first I was a bit reluctant but it's been incredibly insightful. I continue to learn more about myself and the reasons why I may have gone down certain roads each session. HOWEVER. and this is a big however. There has been a bit of a snag in the rope.

In short, yes I have been engaging really well with the therapy side, my weight and physical health has only continued to deteriorate since i was discharged. We are talking classic kitty of slowly slipped backwards, nothing dramatic, nothing to make alarm bells go off or warrant a review, but it's not been good. Anorexia is screaming at me for saying all of this, it shouts "but you weigh so much more than when you were admitted, you are a complete fraud blah blah blah" which is all the same old boring drivel it always spews out. But basically Im in dangerous waters now in terms of losing therapy/not being able to engage with therapy properly if things dont improve. Ive been in classic stuck mode, getting so absorbed by the numbers and the bubble that AN offers, that I have been numb to it all. The HCA I was seeing was really trying to help me to make changes but she left a while ago (she was going back to train as a nurse) and since then I have had the odd appointment here and there (I think it fell to every 3 weeks for a while as there were no available appointments) with people trying to cover the clinic until someone else is hired for the role, which is far from ideal as they literally just do the necessary obs and send you on your way.

Okay that sounds like yet another excuse, which is probably is, but it's not been an easy ride since I left hospital to say the least.

BUT this past week things have begun to shift a little. I was honest with my therapist about the whole food/meal plan side of things and we actually spoke about how we can't focus on therapy things until I am in a more stable place, which is both really hard to hear but also exactly what I need to hear. I am actually being more open to change, which is a shift from where I was just a week ago. It is bloody painful, even just thinking about it all hurts/is exhausting and I am still very much in the darkness /struggling with it but there is now a little part of me that is screaming out and trying to be heard. There is a little part of me that WANTS to get out of this endless messy limbo that this relapse has been and wants to start stepping back into "recovery". There is part of me that wants a chance. And I've got to start listening to that side a little more.

I promise, the next update will be a little more positive Stay tuned.

[lennoxstone]

maggie lindemann & she/her / female ‷ watch out , lennox stone has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty-four years old and celebrate their birthday on october 30th . they are from dallas, texas, reside in tripp’s trailer park and are currently working as a photographer. one thing you should know about them is she can be very stubborn and intense. 

tw: death, foster care, mental illness, drugs, child abandonment, neglect, suicide, self harm, blood

Full Name: Eleanor ‘Lennox’ Stone

Age: 24

Birthday: October 30, 1996

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Pronouns: She/her

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Siblings: Two brothers; 12 years old and 1 year old, from the family that wants to adopt her

Mental Illnesses: Bipolar II Disorder

Occupation: Bassist for Graveyard, freelance boudoir photographer

x

Eleanor Stone, who later renamed herself Lennox Stone, was born in Dallas, Texas to a drug addict. She was very clingy with her mother and had intense separation anxiety, likely due to her mother leaving her alone as early as five years old for one, sometimes two nights, in a row. When she was alone, she’d play the little keyboard in her bedroom, familiarizing herself with the notes eventually and teaching herself, later, to play keyboard. Ellie, her mother called her at that age, slept in her bed with her at night, and her mother believed that Ellie played the card really well of being ‘scared’ to do things by herself, when in actuality, Eleanor was scared. Did she sometimes manipulate because of that? Yes. But at her core was deeply ingrained fear that her mother would leave her forever. The only thing she knew about her father was that he was dead. She only found out in her young teenage years that he took his life, and was an alcoholic, after looking him up and meeting up with a living relative. 

One night, Eleanor’s mother had an accidental overdose and showed up with Eleanor at her side at the neighbor’s doorstep. Her mother proceeded to have a seizure right there, with the seven year old girl looking on. The neighbors called an ambulance and they arrived, a social worker meeting them at the hospital. Several calls to CPS had already been made due to strange behavior going on with Eleanor’s mother, and she’d seen people come in and question her mother. Nothing came of it then, but this was the final call. 

She believed for a long time that she was wrongly ripped from her mother at a young age, but it was only later that she came to have feelings of hate for her biological mother. Seven years old and withdrawn, she was mute for a year at her foster home. She said nothing to her foster mom, but would talk at school and to the therapists and to her foster dad. She manipulated him often, and ignored her new mom completely. Truthfully it was too painful to have a new mom. She told the therapist everything was fine. Nonetheless, her foster parents gave her up, and she went on to her second home at eight and a half years old. She stayed with them for three years. At nine, she would cut her wrists just to feel something. Her foster parents believed it was an act of manipulation, but it wasn’t at all. This time, she responded to therapy and stopped cutting her wrists for the most part, though she sometimes does even to this day when things are really bad. At ten, she had night terrors and would wake up screaming horrifically. She had moments where she would stare emptily, or just stop talking mid-sentence, and it scared both of her foster parents. Again, manipulation or acting--’faking’-- was suspected. She was later diagnosed with depression and reactive attachment disorder. 

At eleven, she got into her parents’ liquor cabinet and in a fit of rage smashed all the bottles, cutting her feet accidentally as she tried to leave the kitchen, and her parents found her, horrified, blood and glass all over the floor. She, luckily, didn’t have an infection when they rushed her to the hospital with nasty cuts and open wounds all over her feet and knees. 

She would scream out for her mom at night, and when her foster mom came to her side, Eleanor pushed her aside and screamed in her face. She said, “Fuck you! You aren’t my real mom!” They frequently cried at night, at wits end with this child who they had welcomed in their home who wouldn’t bond with them. They finally came to think that they weren’t suited to be her parents, and it was with a heavy heart that they stopped being her parents and she went on to the next home. 

Eleven and a half, she found a permanent home--well, permanent until she aged out of the foster system at sixteen, and decided instead of staying with them, she’d start her life somewhere else, and picked a random place. While the time lasted, anyway, it was for the first time that Eleanor was able to bond with a foster family. They had a cat that she loved and a baby boy. So, why, did they want her? Well, they told her---because they had lost a child a few years ago, and they felt something when they first saw Eleanor. They felt that they intensely wanted to give her a good home. 

She thrived with them for the first couple of years, getting involved in music, fine tuning her skills on the keyboard, and branching out to other instruments, feeling like she was finally good at something, even had a natural talent for it. 

She began getting into alcohol and smoking marijuana at fourteen. They found it in her room and questioned her about it, not upset at all, very gentle. It was due to their gentle parenting that she decided to quit what she herself even believed was acting out. At least in that way. She still went out at night a lot without telling anybody, just needing to escape. She would mostly walk by herself, but she had one good guy friend, Matthew, who would be awake whenever she called. Eleanor fell in love with him and he fell in love with her. They were together for two years. During that time span she had found out the truth about her father, that he had been an alcoholic and had ended his life. She had enough of Texas. Her parents assured her she had a place with them for as long as and whenever she wanted it, but she left without a proper goodbye. She called them a month later to let them know where she was. She was staying at a friend’s house (someone she’d met and partied with upon landing in Roswell--they knew each other a week before she moved from her motel into their apartment.) She and the other female quickly began a romance, full of drama. She began questioning a lot about herself. Playing around with her identity. Who she was. What she liked. What she believed. But mostly, she was reckless, restless, and impulsive. 

Seventeen, she changed her name unofficially from Eleanor to Lennox, left her girlfriend, and became apart of a group who were forming a band, moving back and forth from place to place. She’d become even more musical, and it had become a discipline for her, even; it was the one thing she felt like she was good at, and she took it seriously. It was and is really the only way she can express herself. And she loves the bass guitar, and can also play drums and piano. She felt like it was a good release for her anger. It was then that she found Cyrus, and the two formed a toxic relationship, almost always fighting. She had genuine feelings for him and probably still does, but the relationship wasn’t healthy in nearly any sort of way, and she didn’t feel she could handle that kind of thing anyway. Even though inside she hated being alone, felt this gaping hole in her heart when she was, that gaping hole didn’t take long--that emptiness didn’t take long--before it swallowed her whole again, even when she was right there in someone’s arms. Maybe the echoes of her childhood catching up with her?

She’s a tortured soul, feels like she’s lived way longer than her twenty-four years, and the “accidental deaths” that happened when the band was hanging around in mosh pits utterly ruined her. She beats herself up for it everyday, even if it couldn’t have been her fault. She still asks herself, is it my fault in someway, indirectly? She misses Cyrus. Now using music to get to him, even going off on her own and creating a hauntingly angry solo song that was leaked accidentally, showcasing her talent in a way that no one had quite seen before--who knew she could sing, or play the piano so well. And just when they’re working on creating their fifth album. But she was always known, even in childhood, to cause problems. And she did so in Graveyard. Frequently. Acting out, not showing up to meetings, or showing up late, or high. Lennox spends a lot of her days doing drugs and drinking alcohol, finds difficulty in getting through most days without them in some form, and she’s definitely rebellious, even aggressive at times. But underneath all of that is a scared inner child that actually feels things very deeply and loves intensely. In the past year she’s gotten into boudoir photography, and has found she’s decently good at it. She’s managed to accumulate clients, enough that she can afford living at the trailer park. Her foster family moved to Roswell a year ago, after their son was born (a happy surprise), after communicating with Lennox through phone calls and webcam for several years. They’ve just asked her if she’d be okay with them adopting her, even though it seems to her that it’s pointless at her age. Her sleep schedule is shit, as she often finds herself wandering around at night, not able to shut off her mind, thinking about running away and starting her life over someplace else. But she never does it. At least, not yet. The urge to run away in every area of her life is always so strong. 

[lifeofroos]

Part 71. The epilogue, if you want. 

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, it has been a few years since their last session when they meet again. 

 AO3 - FanFiction.net - KoFi

This Might Be Crazy Chapter 71: Red wine

‘To think it has been nine years since we last saw each other...’

‘It would explain why you suddenly look like an adult.’

‘Wel, I was already an adult when I left.’

Dionysus shook his head while he pulled back his restaurant chair. ‘When your Twenty-two, you’re not really an adult. People only tell themselves that.’

‘And people who are thirty-one are adults?’

‘Barely.’

I snickered and sat down myself.

‘I wanted to know how you were doing, after all that time.’

I put my hands on the table. ‘I am doing alright, I think.’

‘You think?’ He peered at my wedding ring. I failed to hide a smile. 

‘I know,’ I corrected myself. ‘I know I am doing alright. Eh, and yes, I am still with Will Solace.’ I drummed on the table with my left hand.

‘You put a ring on it, even.’

‘Yes.’ I blushed a little. ‘So… that’s good.’

‘It sure sounds like it’s good.’

A waiter came over to out table. After he asked what we wanted, Dionysus gave him a smile. ‘Two glasses of wine.’ 

My mouth fell open. ‘Are you allowed to do that?’

‘It’s more the question if you are allowed to drink it.’

‘I am thirty-one. Yes, I am.’

He winked, as the waiter walked away. 

‘What does this mean?’ I asked. 

‘I am not released, if that is what you are implying. Yet, I…’ He narrowed his eyes, ‘...I don’t know if you heard the news…’

‘The news about you raising hell on Olympus after it leaked that Zeus manipulated the evidence that got you punished…’

‘Exactly....’

‘Because you rose up against the lord of the heavens, you had to stay in camp Half-blood, but you did gain certain privileges.’

‘I only have to be there during the summer, and Ariadne gets to visit. Which means she’s basically a second director at this point.’ 

‘What are you doing with all this extra time you suddenly got? Did you consider getting a job at a year-round camp?’

‘Thin ice, Nico.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Wouldn’t be you without it.’ I snickered. ‘Care to tell me what you do during the day?’

‘It changes. Right now, I work at a secundary school as a mental health counselor and an Italian language teacher. Sometimes I do some work for my father, when he needs help with the other death gods. Yet, that might be different if we ever meet again.’

‘Uh-huh.’ 

‘The Italian teacher part was Gloriana’s idea. We still go to the di Angelo’s every Easter. And to the Solace’s every Christmas.’

The waiter came over, with our glasses. I trailed my hand over mine. ‘After I left college, you told me I should come call if things got to bad. I am sorry I never did, but it never felt necessary.’

‘On one hand not needing me is a lie you tell yourself, on the other, that’s good, Nico. I take it that you learned enough in those seven years to be mentally healthy for a good chunk of your life.’

I snickered. ‘I think so, too. Then you did the job you had to do, right?’ 

He nodded. ‘Perhaps a little too well. Don’t forget that the other part of my job is madness.’

‘I haven’t.’ I took a sip. ‘Do you know what Mary is up to these days?’

‘She’s a designer with a few of her own shops.’

‘That’s a big step up from Fast food employee.’

‘Literally everything is. Her son’s okay, too. He goes to a high-end school somewhere in high-end America.’

‘As we always said: Perhaps the gods did bless him.’

‘Oh, Perhaps they did, yes.’

I held a hand under my chin. ‘And how are you, Dionysus?’

‘You don’t have to ask me.’

‘I am asking you, though. If I can say it: It amazes me that you haven’t changed. Not physically. I knew you wouldn’t have, yet part of me expected you to look like… fifty. Not still somewhere between twenty and thirty. People probably think I am older than you now.’

Dionysus shrugged. ‘I prefer this form to anything else.’

‘I understand, but it’s still weird.’

‘And now?’

I blinked and looked back. He didn’t look much different to me. ‘You shouldn’t drive me insane during a check-up.’

‘Not?’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘I can’t remember that you tried to pry open my brain in the past. And I think I had enough therapy during my teens.’

‘Then it’s as you said: I did my job.’

‘Yes, yes, but you haven’t answered my question yet...’

‘Dad?’ I felt someone tug on my leg. A little girl was looking up at me and - oh crud, it was my little girl. 

‘Anita!’ I stood up and I picked up my daughter. I looked around. ‘Where’s dad? The other one?’

‘There!’ She pointed to Will, who looked a little confused. ‘I thought you said you would be going to the other side of town...’

I did, you just can’t trust the god of madness to stick to your rules. I turned to Dionysus. ‘Anita. Our daughter.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘Yes.’ I began to grin. ‘It’s like with Ernest. As if she was blessed, or something.’

‘She may have been.’ He got up from the table. ‘And to answer your question, Nico: It’s difficult to call an immortal life good or bad. Right now, I’d say it’s good enough. Good enough because I’ve got my domain, I’ve got my freedom and I’ve got my wife, which proves to be all I need. I hope that answer gives you the mental rest you wanted.’

‘I does.’

‘I’ll still come when you call.’ 

‘I’ll remember that. And thanks, Dionysus…’ 

He was already gone. ‘Thanks,’ I whispered. A warm feeling spread through my body. It might have been the wine, it might have been a sign that he heard me, but then again, what was the difference?’ 

Will put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Sorry...’

‘No, that was perfectly fine.’

He snickered. ‘How was that?’

I hugged Anita close. ‘Still alright,’ I said, while stroking her hair.

A/N: Almost all the time, I had seventy chapters, until it STILL became 71. A last chapter will follow tomorrow, to tell you my thoughts on writing, say my thanks, that work. 

[akw-aka-awkward]

TW: Mentions of Self Harm, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Mentions of Slight Physical Abuse. I put TW in front of the paragraphs I felt needed them as well for those of you that want to skip those parts.

Since it’s Autism Acceptance Month I thought I’d share my story with you. I don’t think anyone actually knows all of what I’m about to tell you. It’s gonna be long. Each paragraph will be a different part of my story. You can skip around to whatever part(s) interest you. So, here we go.

When I was a baby my clothes had to be just right. If my clothing, especially my socks, didn’t touch me in the right way I would flip. My mom always said I never cried except for these times. I also slept through the night always. One night I just kept screaming, but only while in the bed. My mom removed everything from the crib but it kept happening. She picked up the mattress and there was a tiny baby sock underneath the mattress. After it was removed I instantly fell asleep. From then on my mom called me Pea, from Princess and the Pea. She didn’t really think anything past that this would be a funny story to tell in the future.

As I got older my parents noticed it wasn’t just my clothes. Everything had to be organized a certain way or it bugged me. My mom would say ‘Just let it go, Sweetie’. But I couldn’t. Some things she accepted. Like how when we went to the store I had to rearrange all the products on the shelves I could see so that everything was aligned and facing the proper way. If something didn’t belong we had to find where it went and put it back. She saw this as just me being quirky and helpful.

Others she had a short fuss about. Like when the radio in the car was to loud and I would scream, cover my ears, and pull my knees up to my chest. She would pull over and pull my hands from my ears saying, ‘Now, you listen to me. This is not how normal people behave. I’ve taught you better than to behave like this. Your scream could have made me crash the car. You have to think about the people around you. If it’s to loud you ask politely for someone to turn it down. Do you understand?’ I never knew why I didn’t react to things “normally” and I adapted as my mom said. I think I just started masking at an early age.

I was always talking and fidgeting in school. My teachers told my parents that I had trouble focusing and refused to participate in nap time. The blankets and mats never felt right and I could never fall asleep. Later I realized my thoughts were just going to fast and I couldn’t focus on trying to sleep. Around the time I was 8 is when my insomnia got really bad. Sometimes I’d go days without sleeping. My dad wanted to take me in to the doctor and see if there was something wrong. I always got good grades though so as far as my mom was concerned my teachers just couldn’t deal with how unique I was.

When I was 11 my grades started to slip. That’s when my mom got concerned. My doctor had his suspicions that I could have an autism spectrum disorder, but he’d been my moms doctor for a long time and knew how she was. He told her he wanted me to get a special kind of hearing test. Luckily with my dads insurance it covered specialists. My mom is deaf and it had made school hard for her so she assumed that must be what was wrong. The specialist did a series of tests. A hearing test, a vision test, a balance test, a memory test, they even hooked me up to all these wires to test my reaction to different stimuli. My mom knew this wasn’t just a special hearing test, but we were already there. It took hours. It was 4 or 6 because we had to take breaks.

A couple weeks later we went back in for the results. The doctor said that I had a very specific type of ADD. It was called Sensory Processing Disorder. The way he explained it to us was that the Autism Spectrum was like a tree. SPD was a neurological condition. It was the mildest form of ADD and ADD was the mildest form of Autism. My mom said that ADD wasn’t real. That it was bad parenting because every kid she knew that had it she would never let their parents watch her kids. She said she was a good parent and there was no way I had that.

The doctor said that my mom was wrong and I had inflammation in every part of my body. Because of that I either had SPD or I had an infection that was eating me alive from the inside. My mom opted to try medications for the possible infection to see if that was the problem. I was on them for over 6 months and nothing changed. My mom accepted the diagnosis after that and they started me on Vyvanse when I was 12. It really helped with my concentration and a little with my sleep which was all my mom was concerned about. So, all was well and good right? Wrong.

TW: Emotional/Physical Abuse. I felt like I had to be the perfect child because I only had an issue concentrating and my sisters had a lot of mental problems. Which they took out on me. My parents never knew the amount of emotional abuse my sisters put me through. I was always really clumsy. My balance was terrible so I was always tripping and falling over. My distance perception was super off so I was always running into things. It made the result of when things did get physical easier to hide. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but it did happen enough that I probably should have told my parents what was going on. I thought it was just how siblings were, you know.

My sisters where going through so much and my parents were trying to deal with my sisters stuff. So, I stayed in the background not complaining and being the “good/perfect child”. So I continued to “adapt”. I continued to mimic my mother because she was “normal”. I continued to mask until I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Until the mask was all I was, or in better words all I let myself be.

TW: Self Harm. As the years went on and I actually did research on SPD I realized there was never anything wrong with me. I learned that the way I coped with stimuli I didn’t like was unhealthy, but it worked. So I continued to mask and cope how I always had. The way I coped was with pain. I would scratch myself until I bled because I couldn’t really feel the pain, but I could feel enough that it distracted me. I would hit myself and bang my head into things. When I started to realize I didn’t always have to be perfect I still only let my best friend and my dad know the real me. I never had to do any kind of therapy because that was for people with real issues. And according to my mom I learned how to function properly with mine unlike my sisters. So there was no need. I was healthy and normal as far as my mom was concerned.

After I graduated college and got a job was when I decided to stop all of that. The management at my job was terrible and I couldn’t keep up the bullshit at work and at home I was just to tired. And I was hurting myself so much it was bordering on dangerous. I always had minor dissociation episodes, that my parents called selective hearing. But I was dissociating a lot at work for longer periods of time.

As I was starting to figure out who I was without the mask my mom and I were fighting a lot. She asked what happened to me and why couldn’t I be who I had always been. I said this is who I always was and I was done pretending. And she said if this was the real me then she didn’t like this me very much. After another year I realized that still wasn’t me. I had been masking for so long I still didn’t know who I was.

It’s been a very long and sometimes torturous journey to get to where I am now. But I am now able to be the real me. Me telling this story is in no way me bashing my mom. She loves me very much and was very uneducated at these times. She also had a lot going on with her own and all three of my sisters mental health issues. If I had talked to her or my dad about what was going on things would have gone differently. She didn’t find out any of this until last year.

If you made it this far or even if you skipped through I hope you guys enjoyed my story. Maybe this will even help someone. Who knows. I love you all and as always my DM’s and Ask Box are always open for questions or comments.

[and-it-freezes-me]

AUgust Day 1 - Coffee Shop

Content: brief alcohol mention, bullying mention, divorce mention, fluff

Words: 3,456

Nobody is quite sure when the café became their haunt.

It couldn’t have been when Logan suggested making the front left table, the one beside the large potted fern and next to the window, their designated study space. He was determined to drag Patton through Geometry if it was the last thing he did (although, he would remind them, he would really prefer it not be the last thing he did), and Patton was paying him back by bribing Roman with chocolate cookies to tutor Logan in literature. Back then, the café had been a convenient place to spread books over a table, to spend an hour complaining that Shakespeare knew far too many words for his own good, to spend another complaining that Euclid was far more interested in circles and straight lines than was entirely healthy. It hadn’t exactly been somewhere they wanted to go: nobody, Logan included, wanted to leave at the end of a seven hour school day and immediately study more, no matter how good the hot chocolate was.

It wasn’t really their haunt when one of Patton’s moms had left out of the blue - it had just been somewhere they could sit and comfort their friend, Virgil with his arm around the tall boy’s shoulders as he shook, Roman bribing his then-boyfriend with kisses to get Patton extra cream on his hot chocolate, Logan torn between scolding Roman for making out with Remy over the counter and trying to find the right words to say to Patton. There hadn’t been any ‘right words’, of course - but his efforts had been met with a huge, tearful hug. They had all slipped into the same side of the booth that afternoon, Virgil with his scalding coffee and six sugars, Patton with his unbearably creamy hot chocolate, Logan with his mint tea, Roman with his raspberry frappé (Logan insisted that it was unethical that Remy give him free drinks just because they occasionally kissed, but Roman argued that they kissed slightly more than occasionally, and anyway, Logan’s dad gave him free drinks whenever they kissed, and Logan countered with the firm statement that this wasn’t the time for ‘your parent’ jokes, then threw a packet of salt at Roman when he cocked an eyebrow and replied, “that’s what he said last night”).

By the day in their junior year when Roman dragged himself there half an hour after than the rest, lip split, eye blackened, and limping and they hauled him into their booth and fussed over him, they had been going almost every day after school. It was where they blew off steam, complained about teachers and their peers and their homework and their extra curriculars and Logan’s college admissions essay and Patton’s mom’s new girlfriend and his other mom’s new boyfriend; that evening, it was where they took a dishcloth full of ice from Roman’s ex to press against the swelling on his face, and where they borrowed the first aid box from the other part timer and stuck plasters all over the grazes on his knees and elbows. Virgil had sworn vengeance against the seniors that had taken issue with Roman’s rainbow-dyed hair, Logan had moved a finger slowly back and forward in front of Roman’s nose before finally announcing that he (probably) didn’t have a concussion, Patton had made bad puns about the coffee (“it tastes like mud! Well, I suppose it was only ground this morning…”) until Roman had smiled again. Then he had sworn when his lip cracked open again and more blood trickled down his chin, and Patton had pulled their portable swear jar out of his bag and tapped it menacingly against the table until Roman had dropped a coin into it.

When Virgil’s acceptance letter arrived, he didn’t bother messaging anybody: he knew they’d be at their booth in the café, waiting eagerly for his news. He had thrown himself down on one of the cracked vinyl seats and tossed the opened envelope on the table. Only Logan had bothered opening it to read the words. Patton and Roman had taken one look at his beaming face and thrown themselves across the table to hug him. His letter had been the last to arrive, and they had all known how anxious he had been about it. When they had eventually emerged from the hug pile, Virgil had raised an eyebrow at the empty table, wondering why drinks hadn’t gone flying, and Logan had smirked broadly before pointing first at the lack of baristas behind the counter, and then at the café bathroom. When a scarlet Remy and an Emile who was making no attempt to hide his cheshire-cat grin finally emerged, they had each ordered a coffee, and Patton had pulled a flask from his bag and discreetly topped up each mug with vodka. “We’re celebrating,” he had explained earnestly, but nobody had been about to argue. All Virgil had wanted to know was how long he had been carrying the flask around and waiting for the opportunity, and he had sheepishly admitted that he had swiped it from his mom’s cabinet over a month ago and had been carrying it around with him ever since.

In between those big moments, the café had seen all the little ones, too. It had watched Virgil finally shrug off his black hoodie and replace it with the purple one his dad had bought him when he started therapy; it had watched Logan pour over countless charts and biographies before finally giving up and flipping a coin to choose between medicine and engineering, knowing that he would be thrilled to be doing either. It had watched Roman bury himself in scripts as he auditioned for school play after school play; it had watched Patton grow his hair long, cut it short, and then grow it out again. It had watched Logan shyly voice the idea that he might be gay, to be greeted with Virgil slinging an arm around his shoulder and telling him to join the club, Roman shooting him with finger guns, and Patton nod enthusiastically. It had watched Virgil flit from music production to programming to archeology, his passion never wavering as it changed forms. It had watched Roman moon over Remy, watched them flirt and date and break up as amicably as ever two people have, watched them flirt even when they were no longer interested in one another. It had watched Patton teach everyone to play poker, and to proceed to absolutely annihilate them every time after, and then count the buttons they used as chips back into a jar as though they were made of gold.

This evening, it watches the four of them sprawl in the booth, a milkshake the same mint green as Patton’s tie on the table in front of him, Roman’s crimson jacket a twisted mess on the seat beside him and his white shirt rumpled and untucked, Logan’s clothing as neat as ever but his hair no longer slicked back as it had been at the start of the evening, instead falling over his face and into his eyes, Virgil cradling a cup of black coffee (six sugars) in his hands, socked feet curled up beneath him, his dress shoes empty under the table.

It’s almost midnight - by all rights, the café shouldn’t be open. It isn’t, not really: the sign on the door is flipped around to closed, and everybody who was supposed to be working that afternoon has gone home. Remy, however, has a key - there are benefits to having his parents own a small coffee shop, after all - and let the six of them in; he’s leaning against the back wall, chatting quietly to Emile, occasionally blushing crimson at something his datefriend says. They dressed to match: a handkerchief the same hot pink as Emile’s ballgown is folded over the breast pocket of Remy’s leather jacket (he flatly refused to wear a proper suit jacket). The top few buttons of Remy’s shirt are undone, the edges of several hickies visible around his collar; Emile leans forward and rests a hand on Remy’s shoulder, running a thumb slowly over one, and Remy goes red again. For all his bravado, Remy is very easy to tease.

Smirking, Roman turns his attention back to his friends. Patton is watching him - he winks at him, and the tips of the taller man’s ears go slightly pink. Logan is doing an impression of their head teacher. If he hadn’t been so set on becoming a doctor, Roman thinks, Logan could have made a killing on the stage: he never misses a single tick in his impersonations. Virgil is resting his chin in his hands now, empty cup on the table in front of him as he watches ‘Mr. Hammond’ deliver his end-of-year speech with wide, coffee-dark eyes.

“... done well, very well, superbly well, in fact,” Logan continues. His tongue darts briefly over his lower lip. “These past four years will be ones you, all of you, I am sure, remember for the rest of your lives. Tonight -” he slips his glasses from his face, polishes them briefly on his tie, and then balances them precariously on the end of his nose once more. “Tonight is the time to celebrate your accomplishments, your friendships, the lasting bonds you have made here at Kilahaede High. To the class of -” he licks his lower lip once more, and Roman imagines leaning in and kissing him. “- the class of 2019!”

Patton applauds enthusiastically, and Roman joins in, nudging Logan gently with his shoulder as the bespectacled man allows his posture to straighten once more, Mr. Hammond’s mannerisms dropping away. Virgil is grinning lazily, the caffeine clearly doing very little to counteract the weeks of late nights and early mornings as their final exams had loomed, broken over them, and then passed by.

They are quiet for several long seconds, during which Virgil shuffles a little closer to Patton and rests his head on his shoulder. He’s so relaxed that he doesn’t even flinch when a clatter echoes through the quiet room; only Roman glances around, rolling his eyes when he sees that Remy, clearly distracted by Emile’s tongue in his mouth, has managed to knock a tin of tea bags from the countertop.

Then Patton speaks up. “Feels like the end of an era, doesn’t it?”

“Our time in highschool is not really long enough to be called an ‘era’, Pat.” Logan removes his glasses, cleans them properly with a small cloth he keeps in his pocket, and settles them firmly on the bridge of his nose. Roman rolls his eyes and nudges him.

“I just meant… Everything’s gonna change now. We’re not kids anymore.” He’s staring at his milkshake, half finished now, as though it holds every answer he has ever wanted.

Virgil shifts a little, and Patton wraps an arm around him almost without thinking. “Yeah. Things are gonna be different. But that’s not a bad thing, you know, Pat?” Patton nods automatically.

Leaning across the table, Roman takes one of Patton’s hands and squeezes it between his own. “And we’re not going anywhere, padre. We’ve got all summer together before anybody moves away, and every holiday after that…”

“Virgil and yourself are even going to the same college,” Logan adds. “Roman and I will be in cities adjacent to the two of you. This summer won’t be the last we see of one another…”

“I know… I’m gonna miss this place, though.” Roman isn’t surprised to see Patton’s eyes begin to water, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He slides out of his and Logan’s side of their booth and slips in beside Patton, so that he’s sandwiched between him and Virgil, and wraps an arm around his waist. The café has truly become their place now, and none of them can really imagine not coming here to relax after a long day. “I’m gonna miss you guys.” Patton finishes in a whisper, wiping the sleeve of his pale blue jacket over his face.

“Why, Patton,” Roman jokes automatically, “It almost sounds as though you like us.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

Patton butts his head gently against Roman’s shoulder. “I do like you, dummy. All of you. So much. You’re my best friends.”

They’re all silent again, a comfortable silence, one that drapes around them like a blanket at one of their many movie nights.

This time, it’s Roman that speaks up - he doesn’t think about it before opening his mouth, but that’s pretty normal for him. “I like you too. All of you. Like, as more than friends.” The silence that follows is slightly more charged than before, but still not uncomfortable. Not quite.

“Like… You want to date us?” Virgil. Roman had half thought he had fallen asleep, but apparently not.

“That’s the gist of it, Hot Topic.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot.”

“Given that Roman just expressed a desire to date you, Virgil, I don’t see why that fact causes you surprise.” Logan is looking at the three of them. An outsider might say that his expression is unreadable, but Roman knows him well enough to catch the way his eyes flicker between the three of them, the way his fingers are pressing lightly against the plastic table between them.

Roman is about to say something back when he feels fingers against the back of his neck, and then Patton’s hand is in his hair and tugging his head toward him. The kiss is sweet, gentle - Patton taste like mint and ice cream and -

“Whiskey? Have you been drinking?”

Patton looks vaguely guilty, then shrugs. “Just a mouthful after the dance.”

“And you didn’t sh-”

“Wait, time out.” Virgil sits up properly now, staring incredulously at him; a look of mild amusement has crossed Logan’s face, twitching the corners of his mouth skyward. “Patton kisses you, and all you can do is ask if he’s been drinking?”

“I tasted alcohol,” Roman protests, but the rest of his words splutter into silence when Virgil practically climbs into Patton’s lap to kiss him.

Their kiss is significantly longer than Roman’s, and he’s almost beginning to get jealous when they finally break apart. Patton is still grinning, glasses slightly crooked, but Virgil just nods as though kissing Patton is something he does every day. “Yep. Definitely whiskey. Shut your mouth, Princey, you’ll catch flies.”

Roman collects his jaw from the floor and attaches it back to his face, but almost loses it again when Virgil leans in and presses a small kiss to his cheek. “That’s better. You’re much more handsome when you’re not clueless.”

“I’m never clueless!” Roman protests, and Virgil merely rolls his eyes.

Logan clears his throat, and all of them look up, Patton with the slightly dazed expression of somebody who had forgotten that there was a third person at the table. A pink blush is creeping up Logan’s throat. When he realises that he has everybody’s attention, it spreads to his cheeks. “You are… Um, you are all aware of the strain that long distance relationships put on their participants, correct?”

Roman can’t help the grin that’s spreading across his face. “Are you aware that I don’t give a damn as long as I get to kiss you?”

“Besides, kiddo, we have all summer before we move. You were just saying how close we were gonna be…” Patton is shifting, and after a second Roman realises that he’s trying to move up to make space on their side of the booth for Logan to join them. He follows, and the three of them squish against the window.

Logan hesitates.

Then Virgil reaches out, managing to grab Logan’s tie from across the table and tugging him forward slightly. “Just get over here, nerd.”

Logan does, tugging his navy blue tie out of the grip of Virgil’s painted nails so that he can move around the table without strangling himself or abandoning his straight-backed, perfect posture.

That posture evaporates a moment later when Roman reaches for him, resting one hand gently on Logan’s cheek. He can feel Virgil’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder, can feel one of Patton’s arms around his waist, can feel sunlight melting slowly over his insides. He guides Logan closer as the dark haired man slides onto the seat, pausing when their faces are only millimeters apart. Logan’s breath dusts his lips when he parts them to speak. “May I kiss you, Pocket Protector?”

Logan’s eyes flicker over his face. Then he nods, and Roman leans forward to press their mouths together. Like his kiss with Patton, it is gentle, warm, affectionate: there is no slide of tongues or clacking of teeth, and Roman wouldn’t have it any other way. Patton sighs behind him and he feels Virgil’s hand tighten slightly, further rumpling his dress shirt - when he and Logan draw apart for breath, they turn to find that Virgil is kissing Patton again.

Roman laces his fingers between Logan’s as he waits for them to surface, and Patton is the first to speak when they finally do. Virgil looks as though he’s seeing stars - Roman has the feeling that Patton is a far better kisser than he would have expected. “Are we dating now?”

“I believe that is the case, Pat.” Logan looks as though he’s about to lean across Roman to kiss Patton as well, but pauses when Virgil tilts his head.

“The four of us?”

“Duh, Wuthering Frights.” Roman nudges his shoulder gently. “You know I don’t like half-measures, right? I can’t imagine only picking one of you…”

“Polyamory, whilst not common, is not unheard of, Virgil. In fact, there are multiple studies-”

“Ey, Sanders!” Remy cuts across the start of Logan’s speech with all the tact of a herd of rhinoceroses, slamming his elbows down on the table. His shirt is all but completely unbuttoned now, eyes bright, face flushed, and there are several new hickies on throat. “Past closing time. Get out.”

Emile is leaning against the door behind the counter, the one that leads to the staircase to the part of the building where Remy lives. Thair hair is ruffled, glasses askew, and quite obviously staring at Remy’s ass as their boyfriend leans over the table to grab the empty coffee cup and the milkshake glass.

Logan and Virgil raise single, cool eyebrows at Remy, who has never had the grace to look ashamed in his life and certainly doesn’t now. Patton smirks at Emile over Remy’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened to mates before dates, dude?” Roman argues, though he’s getting up as he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re kicking us out just so you can get laid.”

“Like y’all weren’t about to get busy right here by the window,” Remy quips back, and Virgil responds with a time saving gesture that relies heavily on his middle finger as he slips his feet back into his shoes. “See you tomorrow, gurl. Call me with all the deets, yeah? Ciao!”

Roman barely has time to grab his jacket as Remy herds them toward the door.

The door slams behind them. A second later the lights flick off.

The four of them exchange a long look, Patton clearly struggling to keep a straight face, Logan faring only slightly better until Roman snorts. Then they’re all laughing, and Patton is clinging to him for balance, and Virgil is practically doubled over and leaning on the wall. It wasn’t really that funny, but they’re floating on the sugar high that is happiness, and every time they start to calm down, one of them snorts and sets them all off again.

Eventually, their laughter stops, and Roman finds himself with Virgil’s hand tucked in his left, Patton squeezing his right. Logan is on Virgil’s other side, one arm draped over his shoulders as they turn their feet in the direction of Roman’s home - they were planning on sleeping over together already.

As they round the corner, the café disappearing into the night, Patton sighs a soft, happy sound. “It feels right, you know?”

“What does, Patton-cake?” Roman stands on tiptoe to press a small kiss to Patton’s temple.

“That that happened there.” Patton tugs his hand from Roman’s and wraps his arm around his waist instead. “It’s our place. It’s only right we start a new era in our café.”

“Again, Patton, I’m not sure that you can count this as an ‘era’ by the official definition,” Logan starts, and the four of them are absorbed into the caffeine city to the sound of his voice, the simple pleasure of being in each other's presence, and the sweetness of something new on their lips and in their hearts.

[b0ttl3d-up-st4rs]

Well I'm gonna do what I do best and self reflect to an insane amount. This is probably gonna be a long post so buckle up.

To be honest my behavior for nearly the past year now is concerning to say the least. There's this little voice in my head that just desperately wants to get more and more hurt, more and more traumatized. Why is that? At first glance the negative approach could be to say its some sort of masochistic behavior and any negative repercussions as a result of this behavior is deserved, but I don't really think thats the case.

Self sabotage is a characteristic that can be exhibited in many mentally ill people and I am no exception. I think this behavior, of seeking to be hurt by grown men on the internet is partially self sabotage.

And I remember when I first started this shit show, I just wanted attention. Sounds mean to say, but craving attention is something the human soul desperately wants. And I was starting to feel some sense of self beauty but I didn't feel as though anyone around me was appreciating it so I tried to get attention from grown men because being showered in compliments and attention felt so good when my whole life I've never gotten any of that.

I think there's more too it, though. Looking back my whole life it's almost as if I've wanted to get hurt. In books I liked to sit around with the pain the characters felt. And its almost like I wanted to get traumatized. I've heard that people with trauma that they don't acknowledge is trauma or think its bad enough to be traumatizing seek put worse forms of trauma, in order to feel that pain is valid. And I think that's part of my issue too.

I do have unaddressed and repressed childhood trauma. I was given unrestricted internet at a young age and was exposed to the horrors of the internet. Nothing like straight up porn, but a lot of suggestive content. And in general being exposed to that caused me a lot of catholic guilt as I was raised catholic. I remember feeling like knowing these things were my fault. Many days I felt so guilty that I would pray to god to let me not wake up in the morning.

As a child I also questioned my religion a lot, which i think was traumatic in itself. Religion is a big thing. And as a kid I had a big issue knowing reality from fiction. Heck I still do. I remember as a kid my friend telling me that we were all demigods and one day we were going to run away to camp half blood. That the percy jackson books were real. It sounds stupid now, but I processed that as real and it was so stressful for me.

And I remember being 12 coming out as trans and as a part of the lgbtq community to my parents. They didnt react well. They said I was confused. My mom said I was both too young and too old to know. I fought a lot with my mom. And in general have a lot of unhappy memories from then. I was outed multiple times in my life.

My relationship with my parents still isnt good. My mom has a tendency to be toxic. I hate that I have to stay in the closet around my family its so painful. Like a month ago I mentioned the lgbtq community for the first time in years, asking my mom her opinions on it and if it changed since 2017, and it turned into her yelling at me and making herself a victim. It really hurt. I forgot how much it hurt.

I don't really have much of a relationship with my dad. We barely talk. Hes very emotionally distant. When I'm at my dad's house I sort of fend for myself. Its the exact opposite at my moms house. She's overbearing and never leaves you alone. It's like going between to extremes.

And honestly I can't wait to move out. My mom and I have arguments a lot. But hey at least I have some relationship with her, I don't really have a relationship with my dad.

I remember one time this year, I was during the end of a school semester. I needed to catch up on work because after talking to my abuser for like 5 months and then unlocking him I was left in shambles and fell into a really bad depression to where my motivation for school just disapeared. Im still dealing with that tbh. Anyways I had to go to a online meeting to choose my classes and I didn't get to choose the classes I thought I would be able to, and that made me really upset. But after the meeting I had to go to do am act of kindness (I chose picking up litter at a graveyard cause i like graveyards) for my school project but I was still distraught. If I was given some time to myself I probably wouldve been able to go without issue, but my mom wanted to go immediately. We argued. And when I got there I refused to leave the car because I felt so much like shit. We argued more. It was the worst argument I ever had. She even swore at me. Which she's never done before. And she ended up playing victim again. She does that a lot I guess. And doesn't really listen to my feelings. Whenever I try to communicate about my feelings with her it turns into an argument and she makes it about herself. So yeah our relationship isn't the greatest. And I think having mommy and daddy issues is a trauma in itself. Ppl deserve to have happy healthy supportive families.

Oh right and another trauma I completely forgot (funny how that happens) is when I was 14 and admitted to a mental hospital because I tried to off myself. It was so surreal and they forced me to learn how to make eye contact with people cause apparently thats "how they know im doing ok". Which is kinda fucked considering the fact I recently realized I might be autistic. And eye contact is literally so painful for me. It especially was back then. Anyways the place itself wasnt too bad but the feeling of being trapped overall sucks and being disconnected from the rest of the world isnt fun either. Also I dissociate all the time but I especially dissociated hard thru the whole experience. And sort of made myself into the perfect patient, repeating all their bs and literally lying to myself to convince myself that I was ok so they would let me go. So that was kind of weird.

Anyways I know I have it better than others. And honestly sometimes it's hard to tell what exactly was traumatic in my childhood. I probably forgot and repressed other parts of it too and am forgetting things. But needless to say these unaddressed traumas didn't help my mental state. And i do think that's a big part of the voice in my head begging me to just get hurt more.

Overall my mental state is fucked, It's been really hard for me not to be taken advantage of by another internet pedo. Heck the only reason that isn't happening rn is because no ones dmed me yet. Also I unblocked my old abuser and we are talking again now so thats fun. It definitely doesnt help the cognitive dissonance in my brain of him being actually a nice and supportive dude. I think thats also a part of me wanting to get more traumatized. Since my abuser is a nice person that should counteract all the fucked up sexual things he said to me in the past right? I mean others have it worse, had worse abusers that were actively cruel. That's part of the bitch in my subconscious brain talking. It sucks tbh.

Anyways yeah I probably need therapy but I don't feel comfortable talking about this to my current counselor and honestly its really hard to say out loud. I can talk forever about it by writing it down but the moment I speak words from my dumbass mouth I break down in tears and can't do it. Plus idk, I'm scared if I say anything she'll have to tell my parents and that my phone might be taken away or I'll have less privacy and for a closeted queer where my only current life line is the internet and my online friends: that is a terrifying idea. Idk. I'm fucked basically.

[thefivenights]

corpse, business man, and mother dearest?

i put it under a cut bc william is doing that blood tear thing again and i warn to read the tags because i dont just do those willy nilly and if i missed one please tell me so i can add it on!

Inspiration: I'm gonna be honest I have no idea

Micheal was a product of a drunken night between Jennifer and William and the direct cause to their marriage. Takes more after his mother in attitude and most of his looks.

While he had a somewhat better relationship with his father than William did with his own, he didn't have a healthy one. He craved any sort of attention or praise from his dad and soon resorted to bullying his siblings to get some form of attention. He never got any regardless and was told to 'try harder' and he'll be rewarded.

This bullying stopped after he shoved his brother into Fredbear's mouth and got suspended from school due to a nasty fight. This was partially due to being traumatized and also William allowing him to help out with his projects (aka Jen told him to and the couch wasn't comfortable)

He gained a talent for robotics and was even the one who made BonBon for Funtime Freddy

He had no idea until the events of Sister Location that the robots were made to kill, or that his sister was killed by Circus Baby. He genuinely thought that Elizabeth just ran away again.

Moved away from the house after his mom said William wasn't coming home again. Part of him was relieved.

Went to therapy and finally realized that his dad sucked and he can break this toxicity that seems to curse the guys in his family (well, most of them)

Got healthy male role models in the form of Henry and his Uncle and made some friends in the neighborhood

Curiousity kills the cat when he gets a message from an unknown number recommending a job at Circus Baby's Pizza World that featured some familiar faces (he was overjoyed at seeing bonbon again but not when funtime freddy was also involved)

When he took over the role of Mike Schmidt, it was less a new name and more of the actual Mike Schmidt needed to leave town for safety reasons and Micheal offered to just take his place at the pizzeria so he could focus on skedaddling (win-win)

Was unaware of Springtrap/Scraptrap being his dad until he spoke, and then Henry let Micheal have an extra taser because he refused to do his work without it handy (eventually it was agreed that Micheal would be allowed to have metal bat because he kept breaking his computer with the taser)

Grew close to Henry after the move and working with him made them closer, Micheal got a father figure and Henry got to care for someone again (to the point where they sat next to each other in the final moments)

Returned from the dead to assist other spirits with animatronic ties with the task of moving on, regardless of whether it was because of his father or not. Is assisted by his brother who took the form of Fredbear in what he finds to be the darkest joke Louis has ever made

Inspiration: I always think of the Clown from dbd but that's very loosely related but its a lot of the dbd killers tbh

Was always that kid who had animal skulls in his room, or knew just a little too much about medieval torture methods

Had a horrendous relationship with his father that was physically and mentally abusive

Was more or less raised by his older brother (who isn't that much older mind you) and his doormat of a mother, who he cared for dearly

Has only used a firearm once, and it was to finally rid the house of the monster that hurt everyone inside, he hasn't touched one since

Was forced to move to America by his mother after his brother convinced her that he killed her husband

Was favored by his mother over the elder sibling and was effectively free from punishment

Met Jennifer after she threw her stuffed rabbit his face with enough force that she made his nose bleed, she apologized but wasn't sincere ("He looked at me funny Ma!")

Was a little bit unnerving to be around but still managed to make a few friends when he was younger in the form of Henry, Jennifer, and a kid named Casey who went missing (and before anyone asks no he had no hand in this)

Was obsessed with robotics and made a promise with Henry to make robots when they got older

Learned how to play guitar so he could impress Jen, ended up embarrassing himself and also fell out of a tree. Surprisingly, she found this charming and asked him out (while also laughing)

Got wasted on his 21st birthday and take a wild guess what happened that night

Came up with the concept for Spring Bonnie thanks to Jen's stuffed rabbit and even helped make the springlock suit itself

When asked by Henry why he did what he did (aka murder) he just laughed in his face and started talking about freeing them from the monsters while also referring to himself as one. No one had any idea what he was talking about but managed to escape getting the police called on him. He had no reason other than he knew he could get away with it, figured he might as well play tragic villain to amp up the guilt

Probably should've gotten therapy after the move but never did

Genuinely cared for his children but had an obvious favorite in the form of Elizabeth (who wasn't even his)

Figured ignoring Micheal would keep him from patricide but just made things worse

Figured out quickly after a head count during that party with Circus Baby what happened to his daughter and made off with the animatronic as soon as possible, lying to his family that she ran away again but would turn up eventually

Has never laid a hand on his children but was unaware what total ignorance towards them would lead to

After the Fredbear incident he at least paid more attention to Micheal, if only to prevent the boy from shoving his daughter into another bear mouth

Is an excellent cook and good at drink mixing

Never really got along with his own brother but at least respected him for what he did (including the biggest cover he was ever given)

After Micheal made his intent to bash his dad's animatronic face in clear, he decided that Micheal was no longer a child and free to attack (he did get tased and also bashed with a bat a few times before being dragged to hell)

"I may kill children but at least I respect my son's pronouns"

Inspiration: an older friend of mine

Jennifer was always a rebellious child, and an oddity in her mother's eyes

On that note, the two never saw eye to eye on anything, and clashed daily

Resolved to never become like her mother and succeeded

Had a stuffed rabbit named monster truck that she liked to throw at people (namely the new british kid in the neighborhood who looked at her funny)

Was best friends with a kid named Casey Fitzgerald before they went missing

Chopped her hair off at the age of 15 and basically told her mother to suck on a lemon (but with more swearing)

Generally a delightful little child /j

Raised Micheal in a tiny apartment with her then boyfriend before they got the house they raised Louis and Elizabeth in

Saw the situation Elizabeth was in and pretty much just adopted her on the spot (there was some extra hurdles but they got their daughter in the end)

Was the one who actually raised the Afton children due to William being both busy and inattentive for various reasons

Wasn't perfect in raising her kids but was certainly better than her husband

Took dance lessons when she was younger and encouraged her children's creative behaviors

After Elizabeth "ran away" she found out about William's previous... activities and devised a plan to make sure he wouldn't hurt anyone ever again

She told him what she found but mentioned that she was just disappointed in how careless his plan was in terms of the four main animatronics having his face saved in their systems, meaning it wouldn't be long until the police were at their door

When he returned home from destroying Freddy, she insisted it was better to do it all in one night to prevent suspicion, however this almost gave her plan away when he mentioned it was stupidly lethal. She succeeded when he still went back stating that he was smarter than most people

When he never returned home she told Micheal to pack his things and anything else he wanted to take with him, they were moving to another state so they could have a fresh start. She waited til he was a bit older to explain why William never returned home

Encouraged Micheal to get therapy and tried her best to give him a balanced home life. This became easier when Will's brother decided to step in and help and the duo became good friends (what also helped was that he was a teacher at Micheal's new school)

Warned Micheal to be wary about the new job at the pizza world and when Micheal finally rid himself of Ennard she gave him a place to stay while he figured out what to do about his situation

Helped Henry and Micheal set up the fake pizzeria and even wrote up fake lawsuits and ads

Is still alive after all these years out of pure determination to outlive any form of her ex husband

[dear--charlie]

Dear Charlie,

It’s been a while. I know. I’m sorry. I hope you are okay, that you are healthy and that your loved ones are okay too.

I was feeling better, genuinely. Even with a global pandemic and despite the fact that I have not hugged my girlfriend in a year, I feel better. Happier, somehow. I think it’s because I told my parents about A. They took it pretty well considering the fact that I kept it from them for more than two years and that my dad is quite homophobic - turns out he is not when it’s about his own flesh and blood. I don’t know if I told you that I told them. But here you go.

Did I tell you that I started dance classes again? Well due to Covid they stopped again, like in march. I miss it. They usually keep me sane. Now, since yesterday, I feel like I am going crazy. I finished my last exam but I still have to work on my thesis. Mind you, I even applied for an Erasmus Mundus, Glasgow, Aarhus and Barcelona, maybe even Vancouver are the cities I would live in for six months each more or less. It sounds really interesting but it’s so expensive. In some weeks they tell me if I’m admitted to the scholarship. If I don’t get that scholarship, paying might get tricky. I am looking for apartments right now and I found one I really like. It’s around 50cm2, has a kitchen/living room, a bathroom, a room and a tiny room. It looks amazing but it’s expensive. Then again, it’s cheaper than anything else I saw. It’s 400 000€, when all the others started at 600 000€. Housing situation in Luxembourg is hell. It’s so expensive. The apartments I went to take a look at aren’t even in a central region. They are all on the countryside and so so so expensive. Did you know that for an apartment that size in the capital you nearly pay a million? In other countries you get an entire house for that prize, but hey… that’s life I guess. Well, when I saw this particular apartment, I fell in love. And if everything goes right, I will buy it and borrow money at the bank, hello depts for 15 years, but hey I’m only 22. I saw the apartment and I imagined A living there with me. We have talked about names for children and Samira or Alia are the ones we stuck with. What do you think of those? I know they aren’t typical names and if I’m not wrong they have arabic and/or hindu origines, but we fell in love with them. We’d like to adopt a girl, but there are many procedures until that can happen. She will probably move in with me as soon as we both finish our studies. We want to marry. Who would have thought that? It makes me genuinely happy and the distance has made us stick together even more.

I also finished my internship with the extra third graders. It was exhausting but I miss the kiddos. They turned out to be great as soon as I found out how to handle each of them and their extra behaviour. Some of them told me they wanted me to be their teacher till the end of the year. I nearly cried when I heard that, but hey, I held back the tears.

Not-Rose and I are sometimes talking, I am on friendly terms with Sally again, and I just completely dropped the 9. Lena is distant (yea, we share that name, I’m not talking about my secret alter ego) and never wants to do anything. I told Laura and Daniel about A too. They took it well. And Lisa is like always. They are my friends I guess. But I don’t think we will stay in touch after uni. We just don’t have many things in common and some of their thoughts and ideas are… quite challenging for me. I don’t want to say they are utterly stupid, but they kind of are dunderheads. I love them though, I just don’t feel like we have a lot in common. I hope the Glasgow will accept me… because that Masters degree would give me a chance to work in a higher field, maybe even research, so that I can bring about the change I strive for. Sometimes I do feel weird for telling you all of this. I’m sorry for oversharing (if it’s bothering anybody).

Oh, also, I cleaned my emails (went from 6000 to 120, huge, huh?) and I stumbled upon some form my Spanish teacher (2014-2017) The way I wrote made me cringe, but her messages were kind. I think she is one of the people who made me change for the better. A is too. And me changing my way of thinking and being more open. It think it has helped me improve a lot. I reached out to a therapist for my dermatillomania and have an appointment in march. It’s public therapy and they have long waiting periods, but at least I reached out. Right?

I wrote the TOEFL again and the DELE C1, I hope to get my results soon. The DELE is taking 3 months already, and TOEFL should arrive in about 5 days. I think I did good. I hope well enough to be admitted at a university in Madrid if they don’t take me for the Erasmus Mundus programme.

You know what? Writing to you always makes me feel serene. I’m calm right now. Freya Ridings’ Lost Without You is my company and I am okay. Yesterday I wasn’t. A’s mom might have cancer… and it might be spreading. She was destroyed and I wanted to help but I don’t even know when the next flight are going to Spain from here… I mean, there are flights, but what if no plane flies back and I am stuck there with uni starting again here… I cried. Because of her and her mother and because some days ago she asked me to read to her out of my “Essays” (aka the crap I have been writing on my phone since 2015, which mostly is utterly depressing and consists of the things I don’t really tell people. That, and some letters to you, that is. And she asked me to read the bad parts about her to her… so I did. And oh I hated myself for those words. She is okay with them, says they make her learn what to do and how to improve, but I felt like a huge a**hole because those things were not fair towards her. I was so deep into my own misery that I didn’t realize how bad I was treating my girlfriend, even though it was only on the screen and my head. That’s too much. After reading some to her, she had to leave, and I read through the entire 268 pages again and deleted every single bad thing I ever wrote about her. That didn’t make the bad feeling go away though.

I’m sorry for having written so much. It’s just been a while. I truly hope you and everybody reading through my thoughts is okay (and hey, thanks for having read until here, I know it was a lot this time).

Be safe,

Love always,

Lena.

P.S. Listen to Daughter (“Tomorrow”, “Youth”, or whatever really. The band is great and has been my company for a loooong while now)

(22.01.2021, 11:09h)

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 17

https://weeklyfangirl.tumblr.com/post/188826127780/frat-boy-pt-18https://weeklyfangirl.tumblr.com/post/188826127780/frat-boy-pt-18part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16

hi loves, s’been a while :) I’ve been working harder on the frat boy world than you know! 

I had the nightmare again. 

I woke up washed in relief that bodiless entities weren’t hanging over my head- but before the perturbed feeling completely vanished, it snapped back like a rubber band, stinging me harder. 

 The nightmare had gone further this time. 

 The gray crusting wallpaper was, at least, the same. There was a paper house, falling apart as it peeled, and me, trying to outrun the collapse and the ominous beings down its empty corridors. The Watchers, I’d decided to call them, came closer this time as if emboldened by my subconscious inability to dispel them. They’d survived my past dreams, growing stronger with it. And the all-encompassing dread that filled my body sprung each weighted step forward. 

 But before, I hadn’t known what I was running towards. 

 This time, my dream-self knew. There was someone beyond the wall whose animalistic cries weren’t just for anyone. They were for me. I needed to reach them. 

 I ran to the door, just barely ahead of the Watchers. It was barely open, a slight crack to a dark room - but still, it was open. I could kick it further and with a satisfying swoosh, I’d see what - or who - lay beyond it. I could reach them then. 

 It should’ve opened. 

 But it didn’t budge. 

 With impossible dream-logic, it was locked a stubborn two inches ajar. Hopelessly, I tried wedging my body through the opening. A dark shadow appeared at the end of the hall, drawing closer, closer. Slowly, though. It knew I had nowhere left to run. 

 My motions grew frantic, scraping myself against the door as I tried to jam my body further inside. The darkness expanded, trembled, delighted its prey was so easily trapped. 

 There was a flash of the knife from the shadows, the cries grew louder. But I couldn’t reach it, I couldn’t reach him. 

 Darkness stabbed me.

 I woke up drenched in my own sweat. 

 The ghost of the sliding metal lodging between my skin felt hot. My fingers trailed along the dry skin, just below my ribcage, almost certain I’d find a bleeding gouge. Typically, didn’t people wake up before feeling pain?

 --------------

 Dull thuds filled the room. I blurred my vision, imagining the swinging mass to be the thing of my twisted imagination. I socked the punching bag until I felt my fingers were going to fall off. Which was about two minutes. 

 “YOU’RE ALL DOING GREAT! ALMOST DONE GUYS, YOU’RE GETTING STRONGER... besides Y/N!” 

 It was true. My arms were weak noodles. It didn’t stop me from scowling when Renny jogged over in tip-top cheer captain shape. “Come on! Let’s go!! You were doing great!!!” 

 She’d harassed me into coming to the gym tonight screaming “if you don’t show up, I swear I’m going to drag you with me.” Nobody can say she wasn’t true to her word. She’d subbed in for the usual kickboxing teacher, and honestly, she was a natural. A true prodigy. Give a girl a pair of Lulu Lemons and a kickboxing class and she’d… kick its ass? 

 “It’s a free form of therapy eh?” she reasoned, squatting while she spoke. 

 I scowled deeper, hitting the bag weaker than before. 

 “I’m tired,” I managed to moan. So. Incredibly Tired. 

 “Okay I hate to do this, but…” She paused, making sure I’d hear whatever she’d say next. “Think of you-know-whose face.” 

 By sheer Dwayne-The-Rock-Johnson-level will power, I threw my weight against the bag. 

 “There you go!!!” she encouraged, jogging back to the front. 

 I did it once more, in good faith. But my efforts were short-lived and I stopped, breathless, as soon as she was distracted. A droplet of sweat ran down my cupid’s bow. I tasted salt. Anger. Frustration at how weak I was. How helpless I seemed to be. 

 Where was the legendary endorphin high I’ve been promised all these years???! I turned out to be a sweaty sasquatch of a human being, collapsing on the floor as Renny picked up the abandoned towels around me. 

 “You are so dead,” she chuckled. 

 I half-huffed, half-laughed, wholly aware that her statement wasn’t a complete stretch.  

 “So it worked, huh?” Renny asked, driving us out to the free parking lot across the street. Three cop cars whizzed by. No sirens. Non-emergency. 

 “What worked?” 

 “Picturing Harry’s face.” 

 “It wasn’t Harry’s face I was picturing.” 

 “Oh?” 

 She waved her hand to the car waiting to turn in front of us. “Hello? Let’s go fucker!!! Ugh, stupid bitch.” The car moved, begrudgingly, and Renny bee-lined it for the lot. Her tone turned from deadly to friendly in a flip of a switch. “Also, you know there’s a parking garage next to the gym, right?” 

 “Oh, really?” I feigned ignorance. I knew there was a parking garage next to the gym. I just couldn’t afford to pay.

 “Yeah.” We idled at the entrance, and I realized I hadn’t told her where my car is. “Wait, so who were you picturing if it wasn’t Harry?”

 “You know in my nightmares there’s this… dark figure?”

 Her face fell. “Oh my God, you’re still having those?” 

 No matter how much I considered Renny the sister I never had nor asked for, I couldn’t help but feel an odd distance. It was a distance that’d been building over the past weeks, and one that I’d been ignoring, but now, the task seemed impossible. I shrugged, not sure how to explain the unexplainable. I’d dizzied myself all morning trying to figure out what my dreams meant. But in the end, I was too tired. Too tired, too tired, too tired.

 “I’m telling you dude, you should seriously try therapy. I did it after my parents split. Best thing I ever did. It’s something that’s... ugh, it’s stigmatized you know? Therapy is healthy.” 

 “Just like hating yourself in the gym for two hours?” 

 “IT’S HEALTHY!” she shouted at me for the tenth time that evening. I cracked a smile so she knew I didn’t hate it completely. 

 A notification blipped on her phone. She smiled, typing a reply. “Want to hang out with me and Niall tonight?” 

 I half-smiled even though she wasn’t looking at me. 

 “I can’t, I have dinner.” 

 “Oh shit that’s tonight?” She looked up, brows raising. The clock on her dash said 6:48pm - I was definitely late. “Fuck dude, good luck. Tell me how it goes.”

 “I will,” I said. The bluetooth in her car suddenly screeched Timberlake’s “Sexy Back.” We jolted, hands covering our ears as she rushed to turn it down. Her phone glowed - incoming call from Niall - and she looked at me in question. I nodded.

 “Heyyyy boy,” she drawled. 

 His laughter on the other line made me smile. It was crackly through the speakers, somehow making it even more likeable. “Hey beautiful. Where you at?” 

 I got out absentmindedly, closing the door behind me. Her car idled, waiting as I pointed to my car just a stone’s throw away. Nodding, she suddenly laughed at something funny I couldn’t hear. 

 I dug for my keys and slid in the driver’s seat- but my hand paused on the ignition. What in the hell?? My dash was black. Completely black. 

 Did somebody throw a blanket?? Was there a homeless person who’d decided to rest their stuff atop my car? 

 I got out, completely confused, looking at my dashboard covered in a thick liquid. Paint?

 I smeared a finger through it, trembling, a familiar scent, a sick consistency running between my fingers. Knowledge fought against logic just as I caught the tail-end of Renny’s VW disappearing around the corner. 

 There were maybe four other cars in the otherwise deserted lot, dark houses lining the perimeter across the street. The world spun. Saliva bubbled up. Yellow fluorescent street lamps lit my surroundings, but the hue it cast was sinister. I was alone, they told me. Nobody else could see me. 

 Breathe.

 Breathe. 

 The nausea that ran through me at the sudden knowledge of what I’d touched made me convulse. 

 “STOP IT!” I cried, to whoever could hear. “JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKS.” 

 I hurried into the car, locking the doors. My fingers were still wet as I ran the windshield wipers. They weren’t going fast enough. It spread, making it worse. Air vents blew metal. 

 I didn’t care. The tires squealed as I tore out, sticking my head out the window to see. My car swerved on the road as I involuntarily twitched. The blood was drying on my hands. I just needed to leave. We needed to leave. 

 My nightmares no longer lived in the confines of imagination.

 -----

 I called Renny first. It went to voicemail.

 A man exited the convenience store, eyeing me curiously as he went back in his truck. Renny texted -

 With Niall bb. Call you later 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

 Fuck fuck FUCK.  

 I didn’t think when I dialled. I didn’t notice my hands were shaking until my phone knocked into my cheek. 

 The dial tone blared in the air. Voicemail. If I was going to die at least one person should know about it.

 I forgot to speak for a moment. “Oh, hi. Harry, uh… they found me. There’s b” - I covered my mouth. Bile rose in my throat. - “...there’s blood all over my car. I’m at the gas station off PCH and Harbor. But you didn’t answer so… never mind. I’ll be fine. I’m fine- fuck.”

 I hung up. The free windshield squeegee they had stationed at each gas pump was the only option. And their murky water were about to get a lot thicker. My dad used to do it all the time for my mom, just like my grandpa always got my grandma gas. Old school chivalry. Father would do it for me now. He’d take care of this. A part of me wanted to call him, but another part didn’t know how in the hell I would explain this. He was busy. Probably already eating with the rest of them or waiting for me. Oh, that’d be awkward. There wasn’t time. 

 I scrubbed with all my weight, pretending the blood wasn’t blood at all. It was thick paint. I just wouldn’t breathe. I wasn’t breathing.

 The squeegee smeared it to a dull red now, the stains lessened but still very much there. 

 My phone rang before I could try scrubbing the other side. 

 “Are you hurt?” the familiar gruff voice asked. Just hearing his voice slightly calmed the mania. 

 “Hi,” I whispered. Why was I whispering? How did I even begin to explain- “Fuck.” 

 Wow, I was eloquent.

 “Y/N, answer the question,” he rushed. 

 “I’m fine. I’m not hurt,” I stammered. “I’m fine.” 

 “Stay where you are.” 

 “I’m sorry, I tried calling Renny but she didn’t answer and now I’m late-”  

 “Just stay where you are. Keep to the lighted area. I’ll be there in ten.” 

 It was less than ten before the grumbling of a motorcycle grew louder, peeling around the corner. It slowed at the entrance, but its rider saw me and the engine roared, only stopping ‘til the sleek machine was propped next to my car. 

 He hopped off with ease, muttering something incomprehensible.

 “I can’t hear you,” I said. 

 He pulled off his helmet, irritated that it didn’t come off easier. Curls in disarray made the worry etched across his face all the more soft. Each time, I forgot how beautiful he was, and the sight of his tall body rushing towards me hit me straight in my unsettled gut. 

 “I’m sorry.” He pulled me in for a hug. “I’m so sorry.” 

 His body held me tight, an influx of Harry and warmth and protection embodied in the steadfastness of his grip covered every inch of me. If I wasn’t so shocked, I would’ve hugged him back.

 I breathed. For a second, the slow electric buzz spreading down my spine was all I could sense. “Y/N,” he breathed. For a second, I didn’t think about why he was holding me. Nothing else processed. 

 He held on a moment longer than I thought he would. His gaze passed me to the car. He was so tall in comparison to it, he didn’t even need to walk around to see the mess.  

 “Fuck.” His words echoed mine from earlier, and he ran a hand down his face. He shook his head, for once, speechless.

 “I’m okay,” I offered.

 He shook his head, backing up only a step. He took my buzz with it. “This isn’t okay, Y/N. I didn’t think they’d do this again.” But the last bit was spoken to himself. His eyes filled with something treacherous, a darkness I’d only caught fractions of before suddenly bore itself to me tenfold. The muscles beneath his black sweater tensed as everything about him tightened. 

 “Again?” I squeaked.

 “It’s pigs blood. An outdated scare tactic.” The obvious came out sharp between gritted teeth. 

 “Well it worked.” 

 His glare locked on me, and I tried not to flinch. He bat his eyes, lessening the sting, and I watched as he tried to return to the present. “You said you were going to be late.” He was trying his best to sound casual, but I heard the strain in his voice. He caught a glimpse of my car and I saw the darkness begin to return before he turned his back to me. 

 “I’m beyond late.”

 He walked to the motorcycle, and I watched as he swung his leg and kicked the stand up in one fluid motion. 

 “Hop on then,” he said, urging me forward with a toss of his head. I walked forward cautiously. 

 “But-”

 “I’ll move your car later tonight.”

 “-I don’t have a helmet.” 

 A ghost of a smile traced his lips. He handed me his helmet. “Don’t fall.” 

 We rolled down PCH, the harbor on one side, the hills on the other. Our coastal city looked different at night. More peaceful. The glitz and the glam more subdued, the orange hues of street lamps shining in a mirrored reflection of the deep blue waters surrounding us. Everything was more approachable and tranquil with everyone tucked away into their homes by 9 PM. 

 Which made it all the more unbelievable that I’d just abandoned my blood-stained car at a gas station.

 He stalled as we crossed the bridge over our beach town’s harbor, and I tugged his jacket to the right - the system we’d established of how I’d give directions. 

 Harry turned his head, the sharp planes of his face stunningly close with how tightly my arms were wrapped around him. Every so often, he’d let an arm fall to rest against mine, letting it warm my own and fastening it tighter around him before we took off again.

 I nodded. He turned. Cruising down Bay View Drive, we passed megamansions of all varieties - tropical Tommy Bahama gated villas with imported plants, Grecian marble fortresses with columns and underground garages. The steep hill to our left held the flower street homes atop them. I rested my head on Harry’s back, wondering what he must be thinking. The girl who always shuns me about money lives here? A nice neighborhood? She clearly doesn’t have the right- 

 He paused at a fork in the road. I tugged his jacket left and we reached the top of Petunia Park’s hill, the entrance to the flower streets. Just above Bay View Drive and the megamansions that were on the water, we were now surrounded by quaint $2 million two-story homes. He paused, the engine rumbling, gently quaking our bodies. 

 I lifted my helmet just enough. “I’m on Carnation.” 

 He remained still, looking out. From the hill, we could see the harbor and the peninsula creating its barrier from the ocean. The houses were twinkling safehouses against the abyss of black horizon. Our little seaside community. In another life, there weren’t as many lights. Traders and fishermen lived in simple homes with simple lives and returned from the sea to sit down at their modest table to have a simple meal and to be simply… happy. If I squinted, I could almost pretend this were something different. That we were in a different time. Time.

 “Harry, I’m late,” I said, as gently as I could. 

 His gaze tore, ripped from reverie. Without saying a word, he adjusted my hands tighter around his waist. Further up the street until there was no view of the ocean, smaller cottages were sprinkled in between the contemporary beach homes. I pulled his jacket hard and he stopped before an earthy gold Provence-inspired home - quaint blue shutters and balconies overlooked an impressive rose garden. 

 I hopped off, handing him his helmet. 

 “S’this it?” 

 “No.” Next door, I walked to the dark-shingled home half its size. I took a deep breath, salty air and dried grass hit my nose. The scent of my childhood. I smiled. “You don’t have to come in. Thank you so much for picking me up-” But when I turned around he was already walking past me, hand reaching back to tug me forward. 

 “Woah, Harry-” I dug in my heels.

 “I’m not inviting myself. Just let me walk you to the door.” 

 Voices drifted to us from the kitchen, the windows probably open. His black BMW was there in the driveway. It blended with the other cars on the street, but to me it looked strange. I’d never get used to it here. I looked to the boy whose black ensemble blended with the night, but whose tall stature made him rise above it.  

 “Okay,” I huffed, because the way Harry’s body was cemented to the ground, I knew that even if I’d said no, he'd walk with me anyway.

 Three knocks was all it took for chairs to scrape along the floor. 

 An excited “She’s here!!” came from beyond the door. 

 “Well thank God, I would’ve eaten the last steaks.” 

 My mom’s eyes brightened as soon as she opened the door - then confusion, then recognition to the boy stood beside me. 

 “You brought your friend.” Her smile grew warmer, opening up her arms. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

 If the BMW in the driveway was a bizarre sight. This, this right here, topped it all. Harry dwarfed my mom, but he effortlessly leant down, letting her scoop him up. 

 Over his back she mouthed - Nice, then winked.

 “Where have you been? Dad tried calling a thousand times.

 “We were…”

 “At school,” Harry finished. “Her car wasn’t starting.” 

 I shot Harry a look, casually tucking a hair behind my ear. The less they knew the better. 

 “We can have dad look at the car- oh my Gosh, what’s all over your hands?” 

 I looked down - blood. Blood was literally on my hands. 

 “Paint,” I said, ignoring the nauseating fact that pig DNA was stuck beneath my nails.

 “I thought you dropped the art class-?”

 “-It’s a friend’s project.”

 “She’s alive?” a voice called. For once, he was saving instead of berating. As if suddenly realizing we hadn’t even made it through the door before her interview, she turned to Harry with a smile only a mother could give. “Would you like to come in, get some dinner too?” 

 “Oh…” Harry looked at me, almost bashful. “I don’t know,” he settled on. 

 He leant a bit to the side, crossing his arms, then stuffed them in his pockets. It was the only time I could say I’d seen Harry look… awkward. A selfish curiosity wanted to see what he’d look like in my kitchen, in my room, in other parts of my life I’d never thought I’d be sharing with him. He looked like a lost little boy. 

 He must be nervous. 

 “You should stay.” I placed a hand on his arm and he almost flinched at the contact. He looked confused. I couldn’t blame him. Originally I was telling him not to walk me to the door, now I’m saying meet the family! “Stay,” I repeated, softer this time. 

 His eyes searched mine, looking for any hesitance, any joke. He didn’t find any. “Okay,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.  

 My mom flipped around, hands in the air. “Yay, perfect! There’s two steaks, one’s a little smaller. Y/N, you can have that one...” She continued walking away, heading for the kitchen. 

 I waited for Harry to walk through the door, but he stuck out his hand. Me first. 

 If only he knew what he was walking into. 

part 18

[ccsthemovie2]

YUE!!!! yue yue yue

LETS SEE IF I CAN TRANSFER MY DRAFT TO ASK ON MOBILE W/O MESSING UP FORMATTING HORRIFICALLY WOOOOOO

YUEEEEE AN ASK AFTER MY OWN HEART <33 this is, again, super long AND YET NOT THE FULL EXTENT OF MY YUE THOUGHTS, PROBABLY??? this is a fave from a decade back or so this runs DEEP. Why I like them:

yue has just been a lifelong fave tbh. a beautiful and serious anime boy???? AND he’s the moon????? superficials aside, i am always really drawn to characters who struggle with being overly loyal to a sense of authority and deal with figuring out they’re allowed to have individual wants and needs. yue is incredibly ride or die and nearly everyone’s like....maybe don’t die actually!!! and yue says [there was a manga cap here of touya asking yue to take care of himself and yue going >:///.....alright]

it is also really funny how he immediately goes from I WILL KILL YOU to extremely protective i-am-your-angel-dad, both to watch, and to see new friends get into ccs and hear the hype about yue and go oh i cant wait to see your favori-AAAHHH HE PUNCHED TWO TEN YEAR OLDS WHATTT.

Why I don’t:

gotta say it, his clear card hit-fakeout was kinda weird, good thing i have rewritten that scene and can just refer to my personal-writing-folder discord server when need be,

Favorite episode (scene if movie):

JUDGEMEEENNNTTTT AND ALSO THE STUCK IN BIG FORMS EP AAAAHHHHH . episodes ive watched a billion times. when i was a kid i liked judgement bc i was like HES SO COOOL AND MEEEAN YESSS DEFEAT SAKURA WITH HER OWN MAGIC GO GO and now im like HE IS CARRYING OUT A USELESS CEREMONY AND FIGHTING A FIGHT HE CANNOT WIN TO MAKE EVERYONE FEEL LIKE THEY HAVE A CHOICE WHEN SAKURA’S BEEN CHOSEN FROM THE START WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. and to top it ALL off sakura telling him she wants to be his friend and him not taking her offered hand? OUCHH... ;w; big forms ep is HILLARIOUS bc its soooooo AWKWARD. the awkwardness of being at someone else’s house... trying to talk to your host when the ONLY topics you have in common are “i know a few things about your dead crush” and “my other self is YOUR crush”. sakura telling him that her dad insists love can last through reincarnation and eriol specifically being like “give up on clow because he’s dead” later, and he’s spying on this whole ep so he must be rolling around laughing right then. the fact that neither of these couples is healthy whatsoever but everyone’s working with what they have to try and lessen the awkward, and oh no its worse now. kero picking up on the clowtime pattern of “i have to do all the work around here” but honestly its just that it’s kero’s house and yue’s awkwardly hovering and sakura really really doesnt wanna make her intimidating guest do stuff. WHICH IS UNDERSTANDABLE BC ITS SUPER AWKWARD. yue then cleaning the entire kitchen while sakura is cleaning off kero. 10/10 episode.

Favorite season/movie:

sakura card arc!

Favorite line:

when he shows up at sakura’s house and and sakura’s like :0 and hes like get used to it.

Favorite outfit:

the one from that pic i have in my about where he has this light blue hair wrap aaahhhh

OTP:

YUEKITOUYAAAAAAAAAAAA. yukito and touya dating happily and then yue a few years later like OH. I ALSO LOVE HIM. yukito being super supportive and happy of it. yue and touya both feeling like “whats an amazing guy like him doing with someone like me...”. yue going in thinking oh i know what love is and touya raising the bar constantly. its good!!

Brotp:

him and yukito!! two people waking up in their situation scared and upset and stuck together, making the most of it as only they can. i think a lot of them both being like “noooo i want YOU to be happy and comfortable” and trying to do little things for the other when each is taking their turn being active. yue making yukito tea and getting him out of bed when he neeeds to wake up but just feels sluggish, yukito buying little moon decorations for the house he thinks yue would like....aaahhh yukito getting glow in the dark star stickers omg...realizing that there’s no one they’d rather share a life with like that. i think yukito’s the sort of person who doesn’t like to appear uncertain and takes his time being sure before communicating, and theres a sense of pride on yue’s part that he’s the only person, often not even touya, who gets to hear yukito put his thoughts together and be that sort of sounding board. yukito “growing up” in a big “often”-empty house i think leads to him talking to the air a lot, and now that’s yue!!

him and sakura, too!! slowly taking her up on her offer of friendship!! there’s an amazing bit soon after judgement where just her asking frantically if he’s okay??? if he’s SURE he’s okay???? after getting hurt protecting her makes him stop and stare....the switch flipped he is her dad now. i want him to feel like he can talk to her, especially about the Before Times, weigh the things he thinks are too heavy for a child against the things he wants to be heard, maybe see her face and be like oh boy i got it wrong sometimes. and also the knowledge that this is a friendship they chose for themselves!! that they were Predicted to mean different things to each other, but it would be something inappropriate and draining and a cruelty to carry out. this is an unpaved road!! if i keep going on and on i will go on all day but HIM AND KERO!!! HIM AND THE CARDS!!!! HIM AND LI, AND TOMOYO, AND oh just let him be surrounded by friends!!!!

Head Canon:

extremely touchy. like the first thing he did when he showed up for judgement was grab sakura’s face and i think thats just how he is. i think nobody in the clowsehold had any awareness of personal space and yue got so steeped in it that he is just like that now. big on affectionate hair ruffles esp with the kids and putting-an-arm-around-people that he’s barely aware of. it makes yukito a little sad to know that he and yue can never really connect like that but if he hugs himself yue will feel it so it works out!!

Unpopular opinion:

(gets up on stage) clowyue!! (half the crowd boos half the crowd cheers) was HORRIBLE (the cheering/booing crowd halves switch confusedly) essentially i really like to think about the wreckage and then healing from the sort of toxic imbalanced ambiguously requited never-labeled faux-relationship feelings-yoyo i imagine it to have been. but that means i need to acknowledge it happened. unfortunately most people who make ship content do so because they like it, and most people who dont make ship content do so because they dislike it. can you believe it?

A wish:

go to therapy please

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen:

DO NOT SEPARATE THEM

5 words to best describe them:

ok he looks very polite

My nickname for them:

moonboy...

[raeseddon]

Why Being The Parent of a Disabled Child isn’t an Identity: A Discussion

( Trigger warning for mention of abusive relationships )

A note to all the parents of disabled or neurodivergent kids, from an Adult disabled child.

For the sake of you, your child, and your relationship with that child: Having a disabled child is not an identity.

[[readmore]]

I know it can feel like it, because it's all media and society focuses on when they see you out and about with your child. Pretty much all protrayals of parents in media who find out they have a disabled child cease to be people-- they are henceforth Parents of a Child With [Insert Disability/Neurodivergence Here.] And it's deceptive because at first, finding supoprt communities of other parents with the same problems feels like Mana From Heaven. But please, watch how other parents in your support communities change as their children grow, especially when the disability/neurodivergence is managed to a point where the child can join "normal" society. If you see a parent panicking, or freaking out in a way that seems over the top, (especially when reports of how the kid is doing are positive) be careful. You might be watching the beginning spiral of a parent who no longer knows how to be anything but a caregiver. And that parent needs help.

Also, if you start to feel the urge to panic, or worry, or start inventing senarios were you are back to being a carer after your Adult disabled child leaves the proverbial roost, find someone, preferably a professional, to speak to. Because the alternative is that you become someone who infantilzes your Adult disabled child in order to hold on to a piece of your identity that--in a perfect world-- would never have rooted itself in you the way it has.

I should say something about my own experiences just so you don't think I'm talking out of my ass-- at six or eight months old my parents noticed I was only reaching for things with one arm. They took me to a neurologist who diagnosed me right-hemipsheratic cerebral palsy. As soon as I was old enough, I was in physical therapy. At five years old, I had my first ever seizure, at which point I was diagnosed with epilepsy, which has a high co-morbidity rate with CP. I came from a pretty traditional middle class (back when there really was a middle class) family where my father worked full time and my mom worked seasonally as a tax-preparer. My mom was the one who took up the bulk of the responsibility as carer, making sure I got to OT/PT, speech therapy, the works. I had no idea how much of her personal identity she put into her role as carer until the marriage disolved and her various issues lead to me spending more and more time with dad, intitially as a survival strategy (emotionally/mentally speaking) and then because I enjoyed his company, even if it meant getting to know him as a person at an age where most kids rely on dads for driving lessons and other... dad stuff. It wasn't always easy, but again, it was a survival strategy first and foremost.

It became apparent very quickly that not only did mom think I was "picking sides" but that she was furious with me because I didn't understand all of her (very real and unfortunatelt necessary) personal sacrifices so that I had the physical quality of life that I did. I was too young and hormonal at the time to realize that she A) should have never have had to make those sacrifices, and B) the blow they dealt to her personal identity would leave lasting and horrific scars on both of us.

Because when society looks at a parent of a child with disabilities, and a disabled child, they don't see two distinct people: they see a Walking Disability, and a Selfless Marytr, who willingly gave up every part of themselves to give that Walking Disability a "chance" at a "normal life."

I've known and talked to a ton of disabled adults and their parents over the years, and there are a few things that run like a universal thread throughout:

Just because a truly loving parent would choose a million times to give their entire life and identity up to care for the child, doesn't mean they want to, or should have to. If I could go back in time and provide my mother with a way to take some of the burden off of herself so that she could continue to grow along with me as a person, I would. Whether it would mean making it so that dad didn't have to work as much so that they could actually split the emotional and physical load, or some other way, I'd do it in a heartbeat. We, as a society need to stop looking at parents who are forced to subvert everything about themselves: their interests, their hobbies, their education, and their growth as a person, so that their disabled children have a fair shot, as aspirational. Parents are people, and they deserve the social support to continue being people, despite also having disabled children.

The inability of parents and carers to divorce themselves from their roles as carers damages the child's self esteem and overall ability to imagine a future of even limited independence. Speaking from both personal experience and having a disabled and neurodivergent friend group who have all admited to similar experiences. I was able to move away from living with my mom at nineteen, almost right after I graduated high school, to living with dad who was much more willing to encourage any form of independence he could. The encouragement wasn't always realistic in some ways, but when it worked, it worked, and I clung to that independence literally as long as a physically could.

If a marriage was rocky or straight up unhealthy before the birth of the disabled child 'staying together for the kid(s)' always makes things worse. There are the one in a few billion times when having the child actually forced the parents to work their shit out, but most of the time, it's a recipie for decades of misery and emotional (and physical) trauma for everyone involved. This is especially true if a degree of independence is acheived by the child that means they can live away from home. Once the child is gone, everything about the marriage/relationship that didn't work comes rushing back--and unfortunately, by then, the parents are so used to being miserable together, that being miserable apart is even more terrifying. As someone who came to realize as an adult that long before my parents divorced, the cracks were there and there were "near misses" it makes me wish they'd divorced when I was much younger. Of course, the reality is that parents who have disabled children are more likely to stay in unhappy at least or absusive at worst relationships because without shared income, caring for the disabled child would be impossible. It's a no-win situation.

Finally, circling back to my first point: Even when abuse isn't present and the marriage is healthy, the most well meaning parent may find themselves infantilizing their Adult child because once that child is gone, they will have lost a major pillar of their identity. There are times this comes close to feeling like a universal experience, it's so common. "Cutting the apron strings" can be scary even when both parents know its for the best, but the problems usually start with making harmless comments about how they'll "always be there" for the child, and if left unchecked the comments could become passive aggressive, and finally downright attempts to guilt the Adult child into staying.

This is why it's so, so important to observe your own behavior, as well as the behavior of other parents in support communities, and keep an eye on the ones who try to inject anxiety into the experiences and milestones that edge your Adult child towards the best degree of independence they can acheive. A lot of the time it'll lead with "Well aren't you worried that [insert bad experience here] will happen?" Which is why it's vital to be able to tell when an anxiety is your own or when it's someone elses. A good way to do this is to just have regular, open communication with your kid. Express your worries, talk them out, and allow your kid to make assurances, even if it's in the form of "I have a friend group/support network that I can go to before I will need to go back to you with a problem." Make it clear in the support communities that these communications are happening with your kid, and if people still try to drag you into worrying that whatever reassurances that have been given "won't be enough"... flag that person as someone who is probably having a problem with the idea of their kid acheiving independence. Every parent starts at a different place when it comes to the idea of a disabled or neurodivergent kid acheiving some form of independence, but there are ways to avoid almost all of the major issues that end up poisoning the relationships between parents and their adult disabled kids.

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 5

Requested: No

Word Count: 2838

Warning: Not really anything, maybe cursing at this point I think I at least use one swear word in if not more..haha

POV: Tyler

Notes: The next couple pieces are a bit fluffy. Currently working on Part 7, Part 6 will be up later this week. Also interested in maybe working on another piece, if anyone has any recommendations.

You were going to be a dad; it was the first thought that popped into your head as you opened your eyes. Though why that surprised you, you can’t be certain; as it was the last one you had before you fell asleep. What had transpired last evening was like something out of a movie. Never in a million years had you expected (Y/N) to tell you she was pregnant! That she loved you, you hoped; that you should go to hell was more likely. But never that she was carrying your baby.

It was crazy how when you heard the news; all the doubts you had about being a good father, good husband had just vanished out the window. When she uttered those words all you could think about was; is she ok, is the baby ok, only their well-being mattered. In that moment you realized that your passion for hockey waned in comparison to your need to protect them, care for them, and most of all love them. If you could have only known this three months ago. There was no changing the past now; you needed to work towards the future, a future with (Y/N) and your unborn child.

 That meant getting your ass out of bed, going to morning skate and start playing like you deserved the eight-year contract you just signed. With renewed hope, you hauled yourself to the kitchen to feed the dogs and yourself. Making yourself a healthy breakfast you caught yourself singing along to the radio playing in the background. It was the first time in months you’d actually felt alive.

 Entering the arena, a tad late, you bolted onto the ice; whizzing around getting your skating legs underneath you. The drills that had only just days ago seem mundane and useless, now skated with renewed precision. Working with your line; passes were crisper, shots perfectly placed. Taking aim at the net, you brought your stick back, cracking the puck and letting it soar past Bishop, into the net. God it felt good. “That a boy, Seggy,” Monty finally being able to cheer you on. The hour flew by, faster than when you were five-years-old; thinking it had only been ten minutes. You were last off the ice, taking a few extra practice shots before heading into the locker room. By the time you entered most of your teammates had left, a few lingered; but you sensed Jamie stayed on purpose.

 Once everyone else had taken leave Jamie finally came up to you. “So, I take it things went well last night?” He had known you were going to the charity event in hopes to see (Y/N). While he didn’t entirely approve of your methods, he was rooting for the two of you to reconcile.

 “I wouldn’t put it that way exactly. But we’re making progress.”

 “Wanna talk about it?” Needing to rehash some of last night, you nodded. Staff still milled around, and it was not a discussion that you needed everyone hearing. “I’ve gotta drop this shit off at my house then I’ll be over.” People didn’t give Jamie enough credit; he was an excellent captain, always knowing what his fellow teammates needed, always handling things with digression.

Packing up you headed back to your place; the short ride giving you time to re-evaluate. Jamie pulled in almost immediately behind you. Making coffee you began to recount your night. “I put her through hell Chubbs. You have no idea.”

 “I’m sure things haven’t been easy for her.”

 “That’s putting it mildly. The beginning of the night was an all-out battle. She doesn’t trust me, and I can’t blame her.” You described all the details of what transpired to Jamie, how she didn’t sleep for days, got dismissed from work, and finally how depression had overtaken her. There was just one last thing to mention; tiny as it might be in form, it was probably the biggest aspect of the night. “All that shit I put her through, but that wasn’t the worst thing. And, not that it’s a bad thing. Shit, I don’t even know how to say it. Or even if I should be.” Vaguely wondering who all (Y/N) had already told.

 “Segs I’m not going to say anything to anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. And trust me I’m not going to look at (Y/N) any differently.”

 “Well she’s gonna look differently.” Jamie just stared at you, your comment not making any sense at all. You had a feeling it was the look you had given when (Y/N) had said ‘we’re gone,’ last night. “She’s pregnant man, with my baby.” The possessiveness in you making you add that last part.

 “Fuck are you serious?”

 “Yeah, I was fucking stunned. And then of course I did the most stupid thing possible and asked if it was mine.”

 “Jesus, Tyler! You know that woman loves you. She would never cheat on you.” The fact that he just called you Tyler made you again realize how badly you’d screwed up last night.

 “Well it wouldn’t have been cheating, we weren’t together.” Jamie just shook his head at the stupidity of your statement. You’d tried to lessen the blow for yourself, by justifying your questioning. It rang hollow even to your ears. “You’re right I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking then. Anyway, she’s like fifteen weeks along. I would’ve thought she’d be showing by then or something.”

 “Usually happens around like twelve or sixteen weeks on a first pregnancy. Everyone’s different though” Your quizzical expression had him following up that statement. “What, my sister just had a baby, I know some shit.”

 “Well then you’re gonna teach me. I came home last night and ordered a bunch of books on Amazon.” Admittedly you might have gotten carried away downloading them all; there was, Dad’s Guide to Pregnancy for Dummies, Pregnancy: Put Yourself in her Shoes, We’re Pregnant, and Everything You Wanted To Know About Pregnancy But Were Too Afraid or Embarrassed to Ask. It was a little overwhelming, but you needed to prepare yourself. “I’m kind of at a loss on where to start.”

 Clapping you on the back, giving your shoulder a squeeze; Jamie encouraged you. “You’re gonna do great Seggy. I know my brother-in-law felt the same way, and now he’s a pro with my niece.”

 “Yeah, I hope I even get the chance. I need to get all this shit with (Y/N) figured out before the baby comes. Any ideas on how I can make that happen?”

 “Hmmm, I don’t know man. It needs to be big though. Like fucking fall on your knees beg for forgiveness type of shit.”

 “Thanks Captain Obvious. I know that already. I’ve already got flowers being delivered to her office on Monday, since I have no clue where she’s living at the moment.”

 “You need a god damn flower wall, not just a bouquet.” Jamie was right, you needed to think bigger. Something that said ‘I love you, I’m never leaving you, as well as I’ll never fucking cheat on you again, not even in a million years. That you couldn’t really buy a gift like that at the nearest mall, wasn’t lost on you. It needed to be something that showed her you were working towards your future together; moving on from past mistakes.

  Then like a light switch turning on a lamp; it hit you. “I got it!” excitement sounding in your voice. “A few weeks ago the realtor called. That house I’ve always wanted was coming on the market. (Y/N) and I have ridden past it a million times. We talked about buying it one day or building something like it. It has the perfect backyard for the dogs and kids. I’m gonna buy it, and give it to her. That is if it’s still for sale.” Getting the call weeks ago, you had dismissed the idea. That was your dream home, the place where you wanted to make your life with (Y/N); without her, at the time you just couldn’t even see contemplating it. Now, it was the perfect plan to show her where you wanted your lives to go.

 “I don’t know Segs. That seems a little….extreme.” You wouldn’t let Jamie’s reluctance sway you. “I was thinking more along the lines of like, couples’ therapy.”

 Flashing Jamie, a distasteful look, you grabbed your phone dialing the realtor’s number. A few quick questions and you set up a time tomorrow evening to view the home with (Y/N). Hanging up you gave Chubbs a pleased look. “This is gonna work man. I just feel it.”

 Continuing to shake his head at your strategy, Jamie got up to leave. “Look, I’m gonna head home and grab a nap before the game tonight. Just give it a little more thought before you follow this through. Would you Seggy?”

 “You just don’t get the beauty of it yet, Chubbs. Just wait you’ll see. I’ll talk to you tonight.” Walking him to the door, you glanced at your watch; (Y/N) should’ve called by now. Wordlessly you sent up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t back out. Throwing yourself on the couch, you watched time slowly tick by minute by painstaking minute. You let your mind drift to a time in the near future; you and (Y/N) walking into your new home, carrying a small little bundle in a car carrier. (Y/N) looked gorgeous as always, glancing down at the carrier you checked in on your new born; trying to determine if it was a boy or a girl. The ring on your phone brought you back from your imaginings. (Y/N)’s face appeared on the screen and you smiled to your empty living room.

 “Hey, babe.” It was an easy term of endearment that fell off your lips, after all the time the two of you had spent together.

 “Hey Ty. How was your morning skate?”

 This easy routine conversation felt like a million that you’d had before with her; one that you would have every time you were on the road. It was nice to feel some normalcy again. “Really great. I feel like tonight is going to be a good night for me, ya know.” You meant all those words, after practice you just had a renewed sense about the game.

 “That’s great Tyler. I’m glad you’re feeling better about hockey at least.”

 “I’m feeling better about a lot of things.” Unsaid words hung in the air. There was a long pause, as if she didn’t know what to say next and so to fill the void you added. “You wouldn’t want to come tonight, would you?”

 “Ummmm…I….Ummm…”you frowned knowing the answer she was trying to spit out; your brain already trying to work on a response. “I just don’t think I’d feel comfortable doing that yet Ty.”

 “Yeah sure, I completely understand. Plus, it’ll be noisy and loud, probably not good for the baby.” She laughed at that; the sound, music to your ears.

 “I think the baby can probably handle it, it’s got a lot surrounding it in there.”

 “Oh well, yeah…you’re probably right. Are you feeling ok today?” You hadn’t had a chance to discuss all the particulars with her; however, you’d read quickly last night that most morning sickness is over in the second trimester, which is where (Y/N) was at right now.

 “Yeah, baby and I are having a good morning.” You could almost hear the smile in her voice.

 “That’s great hun. You know we haven’t talked a lot about things, I mean where the baby’s concerned. I realized that when I was talking to Jamie.”

 Screaming into the phone at you, she yelled, “You told Jamie I’m pregnant!?!”

 Clearly this was another obvious mistake on your part; this was not the direction you wanted the conversation to go. You’d had enough screaming and yelling last night. “Um…Yeah. I didn’t think it’s that big of deal. I mean your friends know right?”

 “No Tyler, I haven’t fucking told a sole.” This said in a much softer voice. You hadn’t really given any real credence to her not telling anyone; automatically assuming her friends had this knowledge. After all they were the ones who had taken her to the doctor’s office in the first place.

 “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just thought…well since they took you and all.” It was yet another apology you were having to make to her.

 “No…It’s fine. I should’ve said something last night. I’m sorry I yelled.” Her regret at least showed you were making some headway.

 “Babe, why haven’t you told anyone?” It was a small question and one you wanted answered. Waking up this morning you were bubbling with excitement about the news, wanting to share it. That she had kept this secret from all those she loved for three weeks, was almost unfathomable.

 A long pause prefaced her answer. “I…Ummm…I don’t know Ty. I’m scared.” The last part barely a whisper.

 You knew that giving birth could be a scary time for a woman; hell, you had a feeling that when the time came, you would never know fear like you would in that moment. Already the baby and (Y/N) meant so much to you, and you hadn’t even known for twenty-four hours. Reassuring her, you spoke. “I know it can be scary hun, but we’ll get through this, together.”

 “I think that’s what I’m scared about Ty, the together part. Like I just don’t know.” Couldn’t she realize the life the three of you would have; correction six with the dogs. It would be almost out of a storybook. Lazy summer Sundays at the lake, where you’re laying in the grass, the baby between you. Taking them home after a victory. Hell, you’d already had a crystal-clear image of more kids to come. Knowing your sins of the past, weren’t quite forgiven yet, wasn’t an obstacle you would let get in the way of all that.

 “(Y/N), I know we have a long road ahead of us, but you’ve got to know; no got to believe, we are going to get through this. I promise you.” It was a promise you would continue to make, until she knew it deep in her bones.

 “I wish I could be as certain as you.”

 “We’ll get there, babe. You’ll see.” Silence ensued after that comment, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Your arms ached wanting to hold this woman in them right now and just reassure her. After a moment, you steered the conversation elsewhere. “So, I was kind of hoping that maybe tomorrow after work we could spend some time together. I’ve got something I need to show you.”

 Grateful for the change, she answered, “Really, what’s that?”

 “Oh no, you’re not going to ruin the surprise. You’ve just got to wait and see. So, can I pick you up about seven?”

Finally relenting with a, “Yeah, sure. I’ll text you my new address.”

 It was a step you didn’t think she would take, that she did, had your heart soaring. “Excellent!”

 “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The appointment on Tuesday is at four in the afternoon. Did you want to meet me there or go together?”

 Was this really a question, you could only imagine the stares, you would receive walking in to an OB/GYN office by yourself. “Honestly, I’d feel a bit weird walking in there by myself. Could I pick you up at the office or wherever you’re going to be and we’ll go together?”

 The light chuckle she gave, told you she already knew your reply. “I had a feeling. And yes, I’ll probably be at work; so, if you wouldn’t mind coming there, that would be great.” Plans made for the next few days, your adrenaline was pumping; knowing that you’d get to see her two days in a row. “I should probably let you get a nap; you’ve got a big game.”

 Frowning, time was always too short with her. You longed for those days when she would be around constantly; sharing naps with you. Sighing, you knew that time would come soon enough. “Yeah, I probably should. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, maybe we could grab something to eat too. Gotta keep you two healthy.” It was also an ulterior motive to be around her longer.

 “Sounds good. Have a good game Ty.”

 “Thanks, babe. I love you.” The last part automatically coming out of your mouth, but the words were always true. Silently you willed her to say them back.

 “Me too.” It wasn’t exactly the response you were looking for, but then again, she didn’t hang up on you either. Laying the phone down on the table; you focused on what tomorrow would bring, closing your eyes, dreaming of all the possibilities that your future held with (Y/N) by your side.