#but i spent my first year of college fucking everything up severely

[halfdeadwallfly]

everybody shut up school starts in less than a week

[ms-demeanor]

*screaming*

*continued screaming*

Okay. So. My introductory Visual C# class.

The professor for that class was Alice. Alice was the person who spoke in the introductory video and the person who we were supposed to email if we had any issues.

But all of the assignments, lectures, and quizzes were written and delivered by Bob. On the youtube channel "Bob's programming academy." The quizzes included Bob's name, like "if you do X will it return the string ProfessorBob, Professor, Bob, or Professor.Bob?"

This class was really frustrating for me because it was structured in such a way that you could easily pass the class with zero knowledge of the subject - it was totally based on quizzes that you could take an unlimited number of times and we *had* weekly programming assignments but they weren't graded so there was no incentive to do them (and look, if I wanted to teach myself programming with no incentives I could fail for several years to do that on my own, I don't need to pay fifty bucks a unit for that; the reason I am in a *class* and am not self-taught is because I need external motivation. That's why I sought out a class).

Also when there *was* a problem with an instruction that was unclear in one of the videos for the assignments, or if I thought I'd done something correctly that was very much incorrect, it wasn't Alice who had created the instructions, it was Bob - in 2017 no less - and I didn't really feel like I could ask Alice for help with an ungraded assignment that she hadn't written.

So. Now. My Python class.

Today is the first day of class. Professor is Charles.

I go to the mandatory attendance quiz and it is word-for-word the same mandatory attendance quiz as the C# class, down to the final question "what is your personal email address so I can keep in contact with you after the semester?"

I look at the syllabus.

Class grade is based on quizzes. We have assignments but none of them are graded. There's no textbook, just a series of videos from Professor Bob's Programming Academy.

So I'd been toying with staying at this school and trying to take more CS classes instead of going to another school, just to try to keep my records easier to manage, but since it seems like that *ENTIRE DEPARTMENT* is five Professor Bobs in a trenchcoat, I will probably be going somewhere else (and once again trying to force myself to do projects that I already know are *good for me to do* but *useless for the class and a massive time suck*)

I should drop this class. I should drop this class and apply for the other school so that I can start taking classes there in the spring because if I take this class and then go into the object oriented programming class in the spring and it's another professor bob sock puppet and I end up taking twelve units of programming classes where all I learn is how to google answers in a short time frame (something I already know how to do thanks) I am going to fucking lose it.

Also, again: I have a Bachelor's Degree. I spent five years at a community college when I was getting that degree. I took probably a dozen online classes starting in 2005 and going until 2011 in the process of getting that degree.

THIS bullshit, this "I'm your professor but actually I'm not and all the materials were created by someone else in the department or came directly from the textbook publisher and there is no writing and there are no assignments everything is multiple choice quizzes that are automatically graded" is *dogshit.*

This is NOT how online classes worked back in my day, not even online math classes, and as much as I know adjuncts are getting fucked over by academia in general, this isn't something that these professors should be getting paid as much as they are to do. Alice checked whether or not students turned in a hello world assignment and gave a pass/fail grades for three discussion boards that were responses to youtube videos. Nothing else in the class required her input. If this is the level of instruction that students are getting then the class is already automated and the students shouldn't have to pay for it.

This is crap. This is an incredible level of crap.

[socks-nb]

“I saw someone comment how ford was forcing himself to hate stanely bc the moment he got burnt, ford immediately asked if he was okay as a reflex”

POOKIE (hiii POOKIE <<33) Sent me a comment on a tiktok video that had me sobbing at work and I’m not letting this character analysis get lost to the void because god dammit stan deserves so much better than the fucked up cards he was handed in life.

Ford definitely had to force himself to hate Stanley. Every time he started writing anything positive about him in journal 3 he’d immediately cross it out. I think that if he put any thought into it hat happened between them and his part of what he’d done it would have broke him. Because really what did he expect to happen to his brother after he got kicked out at 17? He knew it would be nothing good, but if he wasn’t angry he’d have to feel bad instead and that anger was a lot more palatable than the alternative.

Stan’s entire life has been nothing but living for and loving ford. As kids it was him who protected him from the other kids. It was Stan who was always so proud of him when their father couldn’t give a shit. It was Stan who after 10 years of being homeless. 10 years of being ignored. 10 years of his other half seemingly not caring where he was dead or alive. 10 years of horrors that “I had to chew my way out of the back of a car!” can only elude to. 10 years of either being chased out or chased down. But when he got that post card from Gravity Falls? He dropped everything and went straight there in the middle of winter. He had to travel several states to get there with what little money he might have had, gas alone must have been a nightmare. It was cold, his jacket was old asf, the Stanmobile couldn’t have been in the best of shape, and neither was Stanley himself. But he still came. And after all that he was just?? What? Threatened with a crossbow, immediately told to fuck off again, and then branded for fucks sake?

(Who else thinks about the fact that Stan probably never went to a hospital to get it treated so he had to deal with the infection on his own 😍🔫)

I’m surprised he didn’t have an even bigger crash out than he did in canon tbh.

And then when all was said and done, this highschool drop out spent the next 30 YEARS teaching himself quantum physics with a third the notes he needed, filled with ramblings of a paranoid lunatic, all to bring the only person who made his life worth something home.

Not just bring him home but making sure Ford had a home to come back too. Yeah he converted part of it to the shack but who does ford think was paying the electric bill? His mortgage? All of it was Stan. And what did he get in return? A fist to the face before later being told that at the end of the summer he’d be back on the streets. A 60 year old man, who’d lived in gravity falls, lived in the shack, for longer than he’d ever lived anywhere. Longer than Ford had even lived there. The first and only stable place he’d had since glass shard beach. He’d be back where he was all those years go, accept he wouldn’t have what he had the first time. Specifically, he wouldn’t have his youth, and he wouldn’t have his reason. The only thing that kept him going all those years was the thought of his brother and a blatant refusal to die. 60 year old stan has a hearing aid and cataracts, and is also legally dead. He wouldn’t have made it out there. Stan would have died.

Stan never got to have a life of his own. His life is and always has been his brother. Sure Ford didn’t get to go to the college he wanted, but he had a life and a pretty damn good one at that. He was never even guaranteed to get into that school in the first place.

As smart as Ford is, a perpetual motion machine is impossible. Physically and mathematically it can not happen. It was never going to happen. It would have never worked. Weather Stan was there that night or not, it would have stopped eventually.

Ford went to college, made a best friend, got 12 PHDs, got a large enough grant that he was able to move states again and build his own custom home from the ground up AND STILL ended up studying what he’d always dreamed too. And with bill he got to experience shit that he assumed no one else ever had before. His life really only god fucked up after bill showed his true colors.

Yeah, pushing ford into the portal was a fuck up. A MAJOR fuck up. But Ford acts like he’s not the reason fiddleford fell in, another person he had to lie to himself about and convince himself that they were the problem. He never even checked on fiddleford afterwards and Ford ruined his life. He took a father away from his wife and child, he made Tate grow up watching his father slip further and further into madness until he was unrecognizable. His mind was so fucked not even bill could handle being there. Or he acts like he doesn’t understand how easy the roles could have been reversed. How easy it would have been for Stan to fall through the portal instead of him. After going through the portal I don’t believe for a minute he didn’t run into at least one portal stan.

They both fucked up, but the difference is that Stan spent his entire life trying to atone for what he’d done, and Ford spent his entire life blaming Stan for everything that had gone wrong in his life, (which was practically nothing before he decided to make a deal with a demon because he thought he knew better than anyone who had ever met bill before) for a mistake he made when he was 17, like he everything Stan did for him before that point meant nothing. One fuck up was all it took for him to look at Stan the same way their father did.

I think allowed himself a minute to think even for a minute about the situation in its entirety he’d break. Being angry is easier than being hurt and afraid. It’s easier to deal with than guilt and regret. It’s so much easier than looking at yourself and having to question where you went wrong and acknowledging than you fucked up and hurt someone. But Stan spent his entire existence doing just that. Looking at himself and knowing that he fucked up and had no way of making it better. Feeling guilt and regret for a fuck up anyone could have made. Because he was a teenager and afraid of losing the only person he had, and he had t even meant to touch his project!! He hit the table and that was enough to make fords machine explode into nothing???? That always seemed strange to me. I genuinely believe that even if Stan hadn’t been there it would have broken anyways. Not that it makes it right what happened. Stan should have told Ford when it all went down. But Stan didn’t deserve what happened to him for the next 40 years after than.

These old men own my entire soul. All of it. I love their relationship so much despite how bittersweet and tragic it is but god I could talk about them for hours. I don’t know what I would have done if they didn’t get their happy ending.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Hide and Seek

"16... 17... 18... 19... 20! Ready or not, here I come, silly girl!"

Carmen kept crouched as low as possible in her hiding spot behind the blinds behind the couch. She tried to move as little as possible both to keep the blinds from moving and to keep the crinkling of her bulky disposable diaper from giving her position away. Carmen, a beautiful, 28-year-old partner in a boutique law firm, needed to remain hidden for the next 30 minutes. She didn't think she could handle the consequences if she didn't.

Carmen's home life hadn't always been like this--filled with diapers, onesies, and children's games. Just six months ago, her life was like a dream. She was married to an amazing man, Andrew. Both she and Andrew worked good paying, professional jobs. They didn't have kids to drain away their money and time. Plus, with more than a little help from their parents, they had both avoided student debt. With a surplus of money and time, Carmen had the best of everything. She had the best food, the best clothes, the best cars, the best vacations, and, importantly, the best sex.

All of that had changed when they hired Kelly. The 19-year-old, beautiful blonde, working her way through community college had dropped into Carmen's life like a bomb.

Both Andrew and Carmen hated cleaning the house, preferring to spend their time enjoying themselves. So, they hired Kelly, who was more than willing to be their live-in maid, cleaning their house in exchange for room, board, and generous pay.

At first, Carmen loved the arrangement. Everyday when she came home from work, the house was immaculate. Kelly herself was always bubbly and happy, overall a joy to be around. Further, neither Carmen or Andrew noticed the lose of one of their spare bedrooms, a small amount of food, or their money.

Carmen began to become more uncomfortable with the situation as time went on though. Andrew typically worked from home, meaning he spent the day around the attractive young co-ed. Carmen started to notice that after a few weeks of this relationship, Kelly and Andrew were getting more and more familiar. What started with a few giggles at inside jokes, quickly progressed to an uncomfortable familiarity. Carmen noticed that Kelly was quickly becoming more and more physically close with her husband, lightly touching his arm or lower back while often positioning herself physically between the attorney and her husband. They whispered in each other's ears when Kelly was around, and would occasionally try to do things outside of the house together.

Eventually, Carmen had enough. One evening, after Kelly had gone to her room, Carmen confronted Andrew, ordering him to either set more appropriate boundaries with Kelly or fire the woman with a generous severance package. Andrew agreed to set better boundaries, and, for all of a day, everything seemed fine.

However, two mornings after Carmen's confrontation over Kelly with her husband, the 28-year-old lawyer, who had never wet the bed in her life, woke up in soaking wet sheets. Kelly, as the live-in housekeeper was all too eager that morning to clean up after her employers embarrassing accident. Despite the immediate shame, Carmen brushed that accident off as the result of her stress caused by work and her recent conflict with Andrew.

But, her accidents didn't end there. Two mornings later, Carmen woke up tucked between sheets soaked in her own urine again. Once again, Kelly diligently cleaned up Carmen's mess without complaint. However, when Carmen went to get ready to sleep the next night, a pack of GoodNites was laid on her side of the bed.

"Andrew, what the fuck is this?!" Carmen said as she burst into the bathroom where her husband was sitting on the toilet.

"Um, GoodNites?" He responded nonchalantly.

Carmen nearly exploded.

"I know that! What are they doing on my bed?!"

"Leaving you a subtle hint that you don't seem to be getting!" Andrew responded with more than a hint of condescension in his tone. "I was talking to Kelly today, and she's tired of changing *your* wet sheets. And, to be fair to her, I'm also tired of waking up soaked in your pee. She suggested you wear some protection to bed until this phase passes. It seemed like a good idea to me."

Kelly fumed, "Oh, you were *talking* to that little bitch, and she suggested I wear a diaper to bed? No way. I don't have a bedwetting problem. It's just been a couple of nights!"

"Whatever you say, babe. But, if this keeps happening, you're not going to have a choice. Your 'not-a-bedwetting-problem' is already doing a number on our mattress. I've seen the damage when Kelly changes the sheets. If this keeps happening, you're going to wear GoodNites to bed. We aren't buying a new mattress," Andrew lectured his wife.

Carmen huffed and threw the GoodNites across the room. She was an adult. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing a fucking pull-up to bed. Or so she thought.

Three days and two accidents later, Carmen blushed as she walked in her room and found the GoodNites on her side of the bed again. Andrew was already in the master bathroom, getting ready for bed. This time, she chose to take the subtle hint. Before her husband made it out of the bathroom, she quickly undressed, slipped on the bedwetting pants, and threw on her baggiest pajamas. She then quickly hid the open pack of pull-ups in her underwear drawer.

Andrew walked out of the bathroom, walked up to Carmen, gave her a kiss accompanied by his customary ass-grab. Carmen blushed as she felt her underwear crinkle under his hand.

"Good girl!" Andrew said before giving Carmen a playful spank and crawling into bed.

Things continued to get worse from that point forward. Carmen began waking up wet every morning, and it wasn't long before she started having small accidents during the day, ruining her work clothes. Each time, she would call Andrew to have him bring her clean panties and bottoms. Each time, he, to Carmen's embarrassment, sent Kelly to drop off the clothes. After her third accident, Andrew suggested, and Carmen agreed, that she should start wearing extra protection during the day.

Shortly after her daytime accidents started, her wetting problem became more extreme. Every morning, Carmen woke up to wet sheets despite wearing GoodNites. Similarly, Carmen had to have her housekeeper bring her new clothes more than a handful of times because she had leaked through her protective panties at work.

It was the Saturday after Carmen's second week of leaking incidents that Andrew called a 'family meeting.' Carmen entered her living room to find Andrew and Kelly sitting on the couch facing a kitchen chair, set up in the middle of the room.

"Sit down, baby, we need to talk," Andrew said, gesturing for Carmen to sit in the chair.

Carmen sat down nervously, her wet pull-up squishing as her weight hit the hard seat.

"Talk about what? And why is SHE here?" Carmen's distaste for Kelly having only grown since her little 'accidents' has began.

Andrew proceeded to explain his and Kelly's growing concerns with Carmen's toilet-troubles. He discussed how he and Kelly had been speaking at length about the problem and both agreed that it seemed to be as a result of stress. From there, Andrew laid out the plan Kelly had devised to help her work through it, and indicated that agreed with it.

Carmen would take a leave of absence from work and as much stress as possible would be removed from her life. Carmen would no longer be responsible for making any of her own decisions or taking care of herself. Andrew and Kelly, whose role would be expanded from just a housekeeper to that of Carmen's nanny, would be wholly reasonable for everything in Carmen's life. They would feed her, bath her, entertain her, dress her, and, worst of all, diaper her. Carmen would effectively be reduced to a toddler, living a state-of-existence where she wouldn't have to worry about anything, even when to use the potty.

Carmen immediately raged against her husband and housekeeper's proposal. She threw a massive tantrum, screaming, breaking, and throwing things. Having had enough, Andrew pulled Carmen over his lap and gave her the first, of what has become many, spankings. It only ended when Carmen's pull-up ended up leaking all over his lap. Sobbing, defeated, embarrassed, and covered in her own urine, Carmen gave in.

From there, things deteriorated quickly. Carmen quickly found her life filled with baby food, bottle feedings, baby toys, and diaper changes. The woman who she had been afraid was stealing her husband was now the person primarily responsible for wiping Carmen's ass. Andrew quickly found he wasn't attracted to Carmen in her new infantilized state, and Kelly convinced him that it would be more appropriate anyways for them to convert one of their many bedrooms into a nursery and have Carmen sleep in there.

Carmen found herself tucked into her crib after a bath and a bedtime story by Kelly every night at 7:30 pm. Carmen wasn't certain what happened after she was locked in her childish prison for the night, but, from the increase in physical affection between Andrew and Kelly, she suspected that Kelly had moved into the master bedroom full time.

Worst of all, Carmen's accidents didn't get better. Instead, they got worse. Within weeks of being forced into diapers full time, Carmen was having legitimate messy accidents. She couldn't figure out why, but she had her suspicions that, somehow, Kelly was behind it.

That brought her to today. Angry after yet another messy accident, Carmen had finally confronted her Nanny about her role in her accidents. Smiling, Kelly had admitted she'd been slipping laxatives, muscle relaxers, and diuretics into Carmen's food for months. However, Kelly rightfully pointed out that even if Carmen told Andrew about Kelly's transgressions, after months of seeing his wife reduced to the status of an overgrown toddler, Andrew would never believe Carmen.

Carmen knew the beautiful, young woman was right. Continuing her tantrum, Carmen screamed out in frustration that that wasn't fair. In response, Kelly offered the babyfied woman a deal. If Carmen could hide from her Nanny in a game of hide and seek for 30 minutes, Kelly would tell Andrew everything; however, if Kelly found Carmen, Carmen had to go to Andrew and ask him to make Kelly her Mommy, permanently sealing her fate as an overgrown infant.

Confident she could win, Carmen took the deal. That confidence disappeared as soon as Kelly finished counting.

Crouched behind the couch, Carmen had accidentally placed herself in the perfect position to release a huge mess into her pants, and her body recognized it. Only moments after Kelly's announcement that she was coming to find Carmen, Carmen's ass let out a trumpeting fart.

"Oh, what was that?" Kelly asked, walking into the living room, following the tell-tale sound of her charge on the verge of a messy accident. "Is baby Carmy about to make stinkies?"

Carmen squeezed her eyes shut and focused all of her energy on keeping her pants clean. Maybe, if she stayed quiet enough, Kelly would think the sound was something else and go look elsewhere in the house. Carmen wasn't that lucky.

Moments after her Nanny entered the room, Carmen involuntarily released a torrent of shit into her diaper. Not only was her accident loud, but the smell was horrible.

"I know that sound!" Kelly said, sniffing the air, "and that smell! Pee-yew! Baby Carmy made a stinky!"

Behind the couch, Carmen turned bright red as she continued to hope against all odds that her hiding spot was good enough to keep her hidden despite her body's betrayal. Carmen couldn't live the rest of her life with Kelly as her Mommy.

Carmen heard her Nanny and tormentor sniff the air again.

"Now where could baby Carmy be?" Kelly sniffed a third time like a hound on the trail of game, getting closer.

"I know! Babies love to hide behind furniture when they make stinkies!"

Carmen screamed in frustration as she looked up and saw Kelly's face peeking over the back of the couch, grinning triumphantly.

"Found you, you little stinker! And with 29 minutes to spare!"

Carmen cried as Kelly helped extricate her from the back of the couch. This couldn't be happening! She couldn't have lost! Not in such a humiliating way!

But, as she stood there in front of her Nanny, her messy diaper drooping between her legs, Carmen knew the truth. She wasn't and never would be a big girl again. She was and always would be a loser.

"Alright, baby, you lost! Time to pay up! Go find your Daddy!"

Kelly followed Carmen as she toddled to Andrew's office and opened the door.

Andrew smiled at seeing his wife being led around by his lover.

"Hey you two, how can I help you?" He asked.

"Baby Carmy has something to tell you! It's very exciting!" Kelly said, pushing Carmen forward.

Carmen had no choice. She had lost. There was no where left for her to hide. Steeling herself, she opened her mouth.

"Daddy, could you pwease make Nanny my Mommy?"

Andrew's eyes lit up at the question. He rose from his desk, embraced his diaper clad wife, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Nothing would make me happier, Little One!"

All Carmen could do was cry as her husband then walked up to her young rival and passionately kissed her after asking her to marry him. Unfortunately for Carmen, Andrew and Kelly would forever describe her tears as tears of joy, rather than the tears of despair they truly were.

[happysoldlady]

Ok so what if Angel had a wife/gf who’s graduating college for whatever (you can pick) and everyone is there and he’s so proud of her because she put her life on hold because they became parents young and she had to take care of the kid

a/n: I almost wrote the graduating party at the clubhouse too lol! please enjoy!

You and Angel had been together for several years. The first year was mainly just the two of you trying to figure out how to co-exist. And the other four had been spent raising the tiny human the two of you made. Being a parent was one of the most rewarding experiences of your life and that experience was ongoing. But bringing a human into the world had halted the plans you had for yourself. Angel was as supportive as he could be, but club business overruled everything and eventually, you had to drop out of school to care for your child. It was only a year and a half ago that you were able to finally go back, with the help of your lovely father in law of course. And today, you finally graduated.

The university gymnasium is packed with teary eyed families and lined with thousands of graduation caps all belonging to hopeful entrepreneurs. You were slightly older than most of the graduates, your life experience calming your nerves. This was just walking across a stage. Nothing compared to the shoot-outs that so often occurred at club parties. And even as this thought crossed your mind, your hands started sweating a little bit the closer you got to the stage. Your eyes dart through the rows of proud families, scanning for a particular set of brown eyes to calm your nerves. You are three graduates from the stage when you finally find them. There, in the middle, is Angel, Felipe, and EZ. Angel is holding your kid up so they can wave from the stands. You give them a watery grin, and a small wave, and then turn to focus on walking across the stage.

——

“Gracias, señor.” You giggle as Felipe hands you a bouquet of flowers. You step into his arms and plant a kiss on his cheek that leaves his cheeks a little pink. Then, EZ pulls you into a tight hug. His face is shadowed, though, and you remind yourself to explore it with him later.

“Mommy!” Your child runs up, wrapping little arms around your legs. You squat down to give them a tight hug and then stand, immediately stepping into Angel’s arms as EZ takes the reins of your four-year old.

“Congratulations.” Angel mumbles into your hair, planting a kiss to your head before nuzzling his face in the crook your neck. Your arms tighten around him and the emotions of what you’ve accomplished nearly overwhelm you. “I’ve never been so proud of someone in my life.”

You let out a choked sob and bury your face into his chest. To hell with your makeup, you’re a fucking college graduate!

[magewolf-the-artist]

Domestic K-9: The Worst Pokemon Evolutions Ever

Oh boy, time to explore the ramifications of trauma and how it impacts people!

(Note: I do NOT have trauma or PTSD, although I've done a fuck ton of research on the subject for a different story and am applying the things I learned here. If anybody with any kind of trauma or PTSD spots any inaccuracies, please please PLEASE feel free to let me know. I wish to portray these issues with as much care and respect as possible)

So here I've display the three, I guess, stages of these fuckers. Life, the immediate response to, y'know, everything, and how they're holding up now. Except for Rosemary because I'm kind of an asshole to my blorbos. But obviously with Charles and Susan, they are not in any way "fixed" or even "healed" from their trauma, they moreso stabilized and got used to it. And now let's finally get into it!

SUSAN WOODINGS: So in life, Susan was generally closed off except for a select few amount of people and, while she could be snippy, she was actually pretty chill despite always looking like she wants to murder everybody in the general vicinity. Basically she looks a lot meaner than she actually is.

In death though, that's a completely different story. For the first year or so she had an EXPLOSIVE temper and would blow up over the smallest things, like a powder keg kept near sparklers. If the facility had a swear jar and money, she probably could've funded college for Sophie, Edd, AND Molly. She said many hurtful and cruel things to people she was close to (mostly Charles) that she now deeply regrets. It's all water under the bridge at this point but it still sometimes keeps her up at night.

As of the current point in the timeline, she's since calmed down quite a bit. She's less likely to snap over small shit unless it's Bon, to which she will gladly be just as bitchy as she was. She does have bad days though and is generally much more easily irritated and snippy.

CHARLES BROOK: In life, Charles is the ultimate dad. Easy going, friendly, very jokey, admittedly kinda naive, loves his kid. In death... well...

When they first got to the facility, he was an absolute wreck. He had resisted giving into Bon up until the point where he was starting to fade and, absolutely terrified of the idea of being Thanos snapped out of existence, reluctantly possessed the Boozoo animatronic. But even still he deeply regretted that choice. As well as that, he was extremely distraught about leaving his daughter and wife behind, on Lily's birthday no less, and that he was never found. He spent the first several weeks consumed by the intense misery and grief and was incoherent at best and delusional at worst. As previously mentioned, he got it into his head at some point that if he could just break down the walls, he could escape and constantly flung himself into the solid concrete walls. It didn't help that Susan wasn't terribly understanding and had little patience for this.

After a few weeks passed though, he began to stabilize and was generally able to recover a semblance of his goofy, friendly personality. That's not to say the trauma hasn't impact that though; he has to constantly distract himself or else he'll have a full on breakdown and desperately tries to change the topic whenever his death or his family is brought up. He and Susan have also since smoothed things over and Charles holds no resentment towards her now.

ROSEMARY WALTEN: Everyone's favorite sad mom!

So in life, Rose was generally kind, caring, humble, creative, and introverted, although she had come out of her shell since her younger years and was perfectly capable of being social.

But in death... hooooo boy, buckle up chucklefucks, 'cause this is gonna get SAD

As previously mentioned, Rosemary is a mess. Constantly crying, completely drawing into herself, rarely speaks to anybody but Rocket, and is unable to bring herself to do anything outside of draw, think, or cry. She's kinda just frozen in time, unable to stabilize like Charles and Susan, which is why she has no stage 3. The closest thing to that I can confidently say she's gotten is pouring herself into her art and caring for Rocket, but even still it's not much.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

you cheered my bedt friend up and now I love u forever

may i request some academic validation obsessed shiv hcs ?! ( definitely not projecting or anything )

hope ur feeling better !! sending oranges !!

I have no idea what you’re talking about but I’m so glad I did!!! I’m feeling a bit better thank you :) thank you for requesting anon, I love you and am eating oranges 🍊 enjoy x

academic validation (shiv)

ᝰ the two of you are high school sweethearts

ᝰ and you even went to the same college

ᝰ you’d spent the entire four years glued together, first living in a cramped dorm then your very first apartment

ᝰ you’re married now, and you both look back on those years fondly

ᝰ you both learned a lot then

ᝰ specifically with letting yourself fail

ᝰ it started with a disastrous test you’d taken senior year

ᝰ you were stressing the fuck out over it; it could’ve severely affected your gpa

ᝰ right before you graduated, too

ᝰ in the itty bitty apartment you’d shared with shiv, you’d bawled your eyes out

ᝰ she found you when she came home from class

ᝰ “hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

ᝰ she came to sit with you

ᝰ her palm smoothed down your spine

ᝰ you leaned into her and lamented over your stresses

ᝰ she kissed your forehead

ᝰ “one singular test doesn’t define you. this is just a little blip, okay?”

ᝰ “but what if i don’t get a job?”

ᝰ she’d snorted

ᝰ “i don’t give a shit if you scratched your ass your entire time at school, there will be a job for you at waystar once you graduate.”

ᝰ she’d nudged you, trying to lighten the mood

ᝰ “all the better you’re top of the class, hm? you’ll make good money.”

ᝰ while maybe it’s not the reassurance you were looking for, you knew she was just trying to help

ᝰ she kept talking

ᝰ she just wanted you to understand that it doesn’t matter what your test taking skills are like; it matters that you know what you’re doing

ᝰ and you did, you still do

ᝰ and she told you over and over that you’ll be a phenomenal fucking employee, phenomenal *human out of college

ᝰ and she tells you know that she was right

ᝰ it was all just her way of loving you

ᝰ it still is

ᝰ today, you’re both cuddled up in bed after a long day at work

ᝰ you’re scrolling through your phone, her head buried in your chest

ᝰ you stroke her hair with your free hand

ᝰ “eavis wants us for the campaign,” you murmur

ᝰ she laughs

ᝰ “really? tell him to fuck off.”

ᝰ she plants a kiss on your shoulder

ᝰ “i won’t say that. but i won’t say no, either. we might need an escape plan, mm?”

ᝰ “okay. but you’re not going anywhere without me, you hear?”

ᝰ “yeah, yeah. you know i wouldn’t.”

ᝰ “i know. i love you. and to think you were ever worried about your job.”

ᝰ you laugh

ᝰ “all thanks to you.”

ᝰ “i mean, not even. you’re smart, like really fucking smart, and you’re *hot-”

ᝰ “i don’t think that matters-”

ᝰ “and you’re all mine. i love you so fucking much.”

ᝰ “i love you too, shiv. thank you for everything.”

ᝰ “if eavis is what you want, i’ll do it with you. i swear. anything you say goes.”

ᝰ you end the night with a long, affectionate kiss

[character-of-all-time]

Now that the submissions are closed, were there any funny submissions that topped the previously stated funny submissions?

I might end up publishing the full response list to browse through at your leisure and so that someone else can seek out the hee hoo funny ha has rather than making myself go through all 1522 again, but I would like to highlight a few submissions that stuck with me:

character: Sam Winchester

from: supernatural

why?: oh COME ON. ur gonna make me defend sam fucking winchester as the most character of all time?? he literally has bangs. he died at 23. he died at 26. he died a lot of other times too but those are the most important ones. he's jesus and he's the antichrist and he gets placed on a visual crucifix too many times to count. he's an addict and he's a christian and god is making his life miserable on a personal level. he is wholeheartedly convinced that there are other people who "have it worse" than him (he was tortured by satan for centuries). again he HAS bangs. he's been possessed too many times to ever feel like his body is his own. he's in a constant cycle of being beaten down and KNOWING he shouldn't get back up, and not wanting to get back up, and getting back up anyway like a kicked puppy who thinks maybe this time they won't get kicked. never ever gives up but in a sad and pathetic way that makes u feel vaguely nauseous. he's psychic. he bought a ring for his girlfriend while they were still in college. he went to stanford. he's unclean in the biblical sense but he prays every night. he had a queer allegory arc spanning multiple seasons that people ignore so they can claim he's cishet. he totally fucked a 300-year-old witch while studying under her to become a witch himself. everyone he has ever loved is dead and he knows it's his fault. he spends the first few decades of his life angry -- SO angry -- at everything he's been put through, full of rage at the things he's suffered and the people who caused them. he is punished for this fury, taught to never be angry again, and after a while he just lies down and takes it. he is a serial killer and on the fbi's most wanted list. he uses "low sodium" as an insult. he's a vegetarian. he never drives his father's car. he has demon blood flowing through his veins and his best friend is a literal biblical angel. he's an abomination. he thinks that hope is kind of the whole point. he has BANGS. he killed his brother several times over, and he destroyed the world to bring his brother back to life a few times too. he spent time in a psych ward. he thinks he is terribly hard to love. his mother destroyed his life before he was even born and he still calls her "mama." he died at 23. he was kicked out of the house when he was 18, and then was kicked out of basically everywhere else for the rest of his life. his only family locked him in a panic room and left him to die. he forgave them for that because he doesn't know how to do anything but forgive. he's got bangs. anyway

what do you want?: u KNOW what i want. if my best friend sam doesn't win this bracket i'm crashing my car into the world's tallest and thickest tree

--------------

character: jesse pinkman

from: breaking bad

why?: Well.Well. i. so. hes THE character okay he was created in gods eyes only to be sculpted and changed by the wrath of satan (or the other way around). Its jesse pinkman. have you ever watched 5 seasons of a grown man with cancer abusing another grown man in order to support his family who hate him because of the way hes trying to support them (drugdealing)?No? well i need you to and then come back to me. jesses relationship with the aforementioned Grown man with cancer (walter white) is so multidimensional you could refer to jesse as walters affair, student, victim, partner in crime, son figure etc and it would be RIGHT because they are all encompassing and fucked up. and jesse loses everything and he cries and hes so emotional but he PREVAILS. he prevails and he precedes walter and all the toxically masculine men who hated him, who convinced him was less than who he was. and the dog motif!!!!! hes a loyal dog but his owner has been slowly feeding him poison, to break him down slowly, and its killing him so he BITES because it hurts and they all talk about the rabid dog he is, how badly the owner needs to put him down. and then his owner gives him away to much worse men, owners who wont feed him the poison slowly, but will beat and use him relentlessly. and then his old owner is going to die and he knows it and he needs to secured his reputation and put everything in place. he saves the dog and kills the dogs new owners. he BEGS for his dog to kill him, to kill him like he had done to the dog. but this dog is not like any of his owners, hw will never be. so he barks and says that he should do it himself and he RUNS. hes crying and whimpering but hes not getting beaten or poisoned anymore, hes a free dog and its up to him to make his own future without the influence of evil owners. THAT'S jesse Pinkman. hes the bride of heisenburg hes the dog motif and he loves and loves and protects animals and kids because he couldn't protect himself and he wins with tears in his eyes. um also hes trans so ^ hasnt watched this show in like 7 months i have mo idea what im talking about

what do you want?: one billion dollars

------

who: Victor frankenstein

from: Mary shelley frankenstein

why?: I don't remember anything about this book except for the incredible and relatable line of 'I raveged an oatcake' cos God man me too

what do you want?: An oatcake

-----

who: sphagnum moss

from: real life

why: Love that bitch. They are light and hold moisture well. and they also form peat bogs when they die which is swag

what do you want?: To be turned into a zebra mussel and sleep in a Marimo moss ball and not have to worry about relationships or taxes

-------

who: Guy Montag

from: Fahrenheit 451

why?: he kills his boss with fire which i think is pretty cool and something we can all aspire to. i also want him to be in an online popularity contest because i want ray bradburys head to explode from beyond the grave

what do you want?: prove life after death so i can destroy ray bradbury’s soul

[wizzard890]

what got you so into the french revolution?

When I was in school for medieval art history, I did a lot of work on saints and their martyrdoms, particularly how the viewers of art depicting suffering imagined suffering, and how the agony/eroticism of those feelings induced a sort of memetic spiritual euphoria. Which means that I spent a ton of time looking at images of executions. I've seen them all: beheadings and sexymen shot full of arrows, saints barbecued or flayed or eaten by wild animals, criminals broken on the wheel -- all the classics. Or at least, I thought I had, until I encountered this triptych in my senior year of college:

This, by Belgian artist Antoine Wiertz, is The Visions of a Guillotined Head, painted in the late 1840s. Wiertz was a symbolist, and spent a great portion of his career drawn to the macabre, never more notably than on the occasion that inspired this painting.

In February 1848, two notable French criminals were due to be executed by the state. The guillotine was of course still in use as a method of capital punishment (and would be until the 1970s), and Wiertz was curious as to what a so-swiftly severed head felt and saw. He wasn't the first; since the guillotine's invention there had been legends of heads that blinked and blushed and tried to speak after separation. Luckily, Wiertz had a friend who was a hypnotist (as you do). Timed to the moment of the execution, he had his hypnotist pal put his soul "into rapport" with the dead criminal, and claimed that he entered the head itself as it fell.

He later recalled his experiences at some length in writing, but since we're talking about me, here is the important passage, dictated as he "felt" the horror of execution:

A horrible buzzing noise, the sound of the blade descending. The victim believes that he has been struck by lightning, not the axe. Astonishingly, the head lies under the scaffold and yet still believes it is above, still believes itself to be part of the body, and still waits for the blow that will cut it off. Horrible choking! No way to breathe. The asphyxia is appalling. It comes from an inhuman, supernatural hand, weighing down like a mountain on the head and neck. A cloud of fire passes before his eyes. Everything is red and glitters.

Now comes the moment when the executed man thinks he is stretching his cramped, trembling hands towards the dying head. It is the same instinct that drives us to press a hand against a gaping wound. And it occurs with the dreadful intention of setting the head back on the trunk, to preserve a little blood, a little life.

This fucked me up so bad.

I am well aware that consciousness after having your spinal cord severed is a done deal. I was aware of this in college. But there was something about this artist's act of imaginative empathy that compelled me, for the first time, to think about the guillotine in particular. About the mechanical wait, not being pushed off a drop or axed while kneeling, about being slid through on a board, of seeing the basket beneath you, already full of heads. Maybe even heads you know.

I imagined it so hard that I made myself sick and couldn't go to class for two days.

The reason I studied what I studied wasn't because I was ghoulish. In fact, I'm a little squeamish. It was because in the experience of pain, we are all deeply individualized, but entirely, helplessly human.

I laid in bed and thought about the small number of humans who I, an educated layman, knew had been guillotined: Marie Antoinette, obviously; Louis XVI; and (in what felt like black historical irony, given what I knew of his day job) Maximilian Robespierre.

It felt intrusive to have intimately imagined their last, most private moments, without really having any idea about them at all. Better to start at the end and work backwards, I thought. So I started reading.

Robespierre, decapitated by guillotine when he was thirty-six. That's the manner of death. How did he meet his death? In terrible pain, I learned. Why? Because he'd had half his jaw blown off the night before. Jesus, why? Because he'd (maybe probably) shot himself. Why?

It turns out, if you keep doing that, a piece at a time, for years, you can learn a lot about someone's life. And, relatedly, in long and branching paths, you can find your way into every nook and cranny of what burned through France at the end of the 18th century.

[mr2swap]

Pizza

I was in my own hell, after having walked around the neighborhood a couple of times I was completely exhausted, with my shirt so wet that the fishnets and my fat tits stood out above all my obese 10-year-old body and the worst, After all, it wasn't even my real body. I got home trying not to pass out from exhaustion, and the first thing I see when I walk in is my real body devouring a pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni in my living room.

- Hey bro! Have you finished running? What do you think if you come here and accompany your older brother to eat pizza? I'm sure a slice won't hurt you! -

As I said, this was hell for me. When it all started I was the muscular and carefree older brother addicted to the gym and sex, but everything changed that damn day my envious younger brother found that damn magic necklace, tired of being the ball of childish fat that was swapping our bodies at once unknown way, for me it was the beginning of my nightmare I woke up in his small room and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the grotesque ball of fat that he called stomach stuck to me, I jumped out of bed while my belly bounced as I walked clumsily to the mirror to check that I was no longer in my body.

When I looked in the mirror for the first time I couldn't help but cry on my knees when I saw that I had lost all my work at the gym, all my diet, and all my self-esteem, but that wasn't the worst, when I was finally able to recover a little From my sanity I went straight to my room, everything looked totally different now that I was an obese dwarf of 10 years, the walls looked higher and my house looked huge now that it was half the size of what it was the night before.

I went into my old room and what I found was my younger brother using my body to satisfy his desires, he was masturbating frantically with his arms bent in front of my mirror, looking at his body sculpted by all my work in the gym, his huge cock I was glued to the mirror reflecting each one of my huge muscles while my little brother used my tongue to lick each one of those sweaty muscles that he had stolen from me the night before, he hadn't even noticed me in my room until he stained everything. The mirror with hot stinky cum that I had been holding in to fill my girlfriend's hot pussy.

I think it's been 10 years since my brother stole my body, he promised me that he would return my warm body when I put his childish and obese body in shape, but that never happened, I spent all those years carrying the obese and lazy body of my brother and went through high school again receiving insults and nicknames from his bullies like "pig" or "faggot" while he had fun at college parties, showing off all my work in the gym and using my hot adult body to fuck all the guys. College students from my school.

I couldn't help myself from eating greasy and delicious food and we both went on with our lives. I grew up an obese teenager watching my little brother take over my life and slowly come out of the closet to fuck all my friends at the gym while I struggled to lose at least 2 pounds on his chubby ugly body but his body is horrible I can't stop eating greasy food and playing video games or watching anime for several hours a day while my butt is getting bigger and bigger.

In the end I never got my body back, and, and I have already lost hope of returning to my warm and thin body, since then I have not been able to stop eating and crying, life as an obese pig is horrible, and now I am 20 years old, and I have not been able to lose my virginity in my brother's fat and loser body, I grew up watching how I adored his body, he fucked a lot of handsome men in my room while I masturbated remembering what it was like to be fit and have a hot and thin body... And speaking of something hot, is there any pizza left in the fridge?

In a couple of days, it will be my older brother's wedding and he has chosen me as his best man... I just hope I don't gain weight so that my suit will fit, although I suspect that my “older” brother chose me a smaller size just to remind me what an obese and loser that and been half of this life.

sup guys! I'm back with another one of my old stories, if you want to see my 200+ stories you can take a look at my patreon and support me to continue creating bodyswap stories.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi sex witch, i realise that this is not an actual sex ed related question and I hope this isn't overstepping any bounds.

I'm sort of in a weird spot right now a la my sexuality and am trying to figure out if I actually want a relationship and if what I feel is romantic attraction or Friendship levelled up. I've known for a long time that I'm Demisexual or Ace, and I thought I knew that I still felt romantic attraction but now I'm less sure.

How did you come to realise that you were aromantic? In that discovery did you ever wonder if it was a sort of 'mental block' or something similar that would be better off working through? (I ask because I'm sort of stuck in that state of mind right now, and I'm just curious to see if it's a common experience or not)

I realise that this is a fairly sensitive topic, and I really don't mean offense by asking.

I also realise that no two people's experiences will be the same but I was interested in hearing about it from another person's perspective.

I hope you have a great day whether or not you give this ask the time of day.

I've asked you other things in the past and it's always been brilliantly helpful. Thanks a lot for everything you do.

hi anon,

no worries about overstepping boundaries :) this is a pretty reasonable thing to ask of someone, and I'm happy to talk about it!

there's a funny story that I tell about the moment I probably should have known, but didn't yet have the language. in sixth grade my class had an assignment that involved making a collage timeline of the rest of our lives (a proto-vision board of sorts) and I think I was the only kid in the class who didn't put getting married on my timeline. everyone else did, as far as I can remember, and most of them also included having kids. being a pedantic little fuck I pointed out to several of my friends that it was really unreasonable to assume they would find someone they liked enough to marry who liked them back, to which everyone told me (paraphrasing) to shut the fuck up and stop being a little bastard.

but it still seemed very strange to me, because even when I was very young - back when I barely had the language to conceptualize being gay, let alone aromantic - I never imagined my life with a romantic partner. romantic pairings were interesting in stories, sure, I ate that shit up from a very young age! the star-crossed lovers shit going on in American Dragon: Jake Long did a number on my developing brain, and my Barbies and Littlest Pet Shops got up to INSANE relationship drama, but for myself it never really felt, like, relevant? not unpleasant, just uninteresting.

but I still had crushes on people as I grew up, and more importantly I had crushes on people of various genders, so during my teen years I was WAY more preoccupied with repressing my burgeoning bisexuality than drawing any conclusions about my romantic orientation

spoilers: the bisexuality won.

in college I had a friend who identified as asexual at the time, who spent maybe a year trying to convince me that I was aromantic. and I didn't want to hear it! I don't know why, honestly; maybe some part of me, despite loving the community I had found coming into my queerness, was still subconsciously afraid of being too different and grappling with the consequences.

so instead I did this uuuuh real dirtbag thing where instead of just acknowledging to myself that I was pretty fundamentally uninterested in romantic relationships and that that's fine, I spent the first half of college leaning hard on self-deprecation to explain my single status. oh, me? why aren't I dating? well, I'd probably be a really bad partner. yeah, I suck. I mean, I'm so busy all the time! and I'm weird.

(at the time I know I definitely had friends who assumed I was Like That because my parents were divorced, which is hilarious old-fashioned and also categorically untrue. I was Like This way before my parents got divorced!)

it actually took a relationship ending pretty badly to make peace with the idea that maybe I didn't want a relationship at all. I won't get into the details on that, because it involves another person and we were both very young and accidentally hurt each other a lot in ways we didn't mean and I don't think anyone was the villain, but I don't want it to come across like I had one bad breakup and then swore off romance, a thing I'd previously been interested in, forever. it was more like I found myself in a really heightened situation - they really desperately needed a good and attentive romantic partner after getting out of a bad relationship, I wanted our friendship to stay exactly the same but with a sexual component - that made very, very obvious what I was actually looking for in non-platonic relationships. which was, I guess, actually pretty platonic relationships, but with genitals involved.

haha just kidding, I actually didn't get that part through my skull until I spent an entire summer crying constantly, dissociating frequently, and spending way too much time on BAD dates having even worse sex that made me feel gross! but we got there eventually.

that part probably isn't super relatable to you if you're somewhere in the ace realm, sorry about that.

anyway, once the dust settled and I felt halfway human again I was feeling vulnerable and open to change - finally willing to see myself in a new way and reckon with parts of myself that I hadn't been before. I remembered what my buddy had always said about me seeming Really Aromantic, and I let it settle on me. how would I feel, if I actually was aromantic? how would it change my life, how I thought about myself?

and if I can use a cliche with you? it felt like a weight rolling off my shoulders. I suddenly had a whole sturdy base to build a better understanding of myself on, an easy way to justify the way I lived that didn't require throwing myself under a bus.

thinking of myself through the lens of aromanticism felt like a huge, HUGE relief, and frankly I think that, more than anything, is the best way for anyone to decide if they should be applying any identity label to themselves. which brings us back to you! I actually don't believe in the model of sexuality and gender that posits a secret innate Right Answer buried in each person that they'll discover if the just find the right terminology. all of the words we use are the result of our time and place, right? people like us existed all through history with different words for themselves, and they'll exist way after us calling themselves things we can't imagine.

so basically: I came to realize I was aromantic because calling myself aromantic felt like loving myself, and if that's the case for you than I strongly recommend you do it, too.

happy pride xoxo

[misscammiedawn]

For the ask game, how about 62, 34, and 12? :D

From this list again.

62: What makes you happy?

Rush concerts, seeing loved ones, big events, fiction that makes me cry, making genuine human connection, succeeding at a task, our stuffed kitty Precious, this Tumblr blog, Platinum trophies. Stuff like that.

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

I remember stops and starts. The college I hung out about when I lived in Illinois. The council flats we grew up on. A ceiling collapsing into rubble. The people who were in our life in Michigan were there.

Just a jumbled assortment of places and themes with no real grounding.

We tend to dream in locations so those two areas mentioned are the only vivid portion of the dream.

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

Two times spring to mind. Both ended in severe mental breaks. Worthy of Story Time segments.

The long and short of it is that the first time we were about a year into living on our own and our temp job at Royal Mail came to a sudden end and we had no safety net. Every day we spent without work was a day closer to losing everything.

I legitimately do not remember Jan-Feb 2003 at all. I have some journals from that time of our life but it's a black hole. Some flashes like places we went for interviews are appearing if I try hard but I know from reading it that we stopped sleeping by the end of the time we were job hunting. Terrified we'd sleep through a job offer phone call.

I remember being in the lobby of the building that became our place of employment for 5 years but do not remember the interview at all. I think we were falling asleep in the lobby while waiting for the interview and just sleepwalked through the process.

Journal says we didn't sleep for 4 days straight when the interview happened and I do not remember anything about the job offer, onboarding or anything like that.

...there's more nuance... stuff in our online life... but... we need not mention that.

2nd time was DragonCon 2004 which was my first time in the USA. Dad had moved in with us after another hospital stay and he was awful to live with during that period. He'd fallen out of his latest relationship and was hard on depression and drunk nearly all the time. We were waiting for him to end up in the hospital again.

DragonCon was a release. A freedom. Our first time in America and safe from him and the things that terrified us in England. An escape from the triggering environments and people and smells and everything.

We stayed up the entire 3 day weekend and the thought of going back was so crippling to us that...

...I don't want to talk about it.

We ended up not going back. Not right away. We got off the plane and just... didn't go to London. No plan. No aim or purpose. I legitimately do not know what we hoped to achieve. We just couldn't go back.

Instead we hopped a train to a friend who lived in an isolated village in Wales that had like 100 people in a 10 mile radius. Stayed with her for 2 weeks while we recovered. It's no small thing to say she saved our life during that time.

Staying up past 36 hours is pretty much a NOT ALLOWED for us now. We have done some things like all night film festivals since but we never push our luck beyond there. We get fucked up after 2 days.

[rafesgoldrings]

first of all, congratulations on 1k!! your writing deserves so so much love ❀

can i request chemtrails over the country club? there is absolutely nothing that can dissuade me from my headcanon that jj is really, really good at soccer but he stopped playing after his mom left - couldn't afford to keep it as a hobby. but once you start dating him you encourage him to try again on his school team and he gets a scholarship for soccer to the same university that you plan on attending (i am absolutely going so feral over the thought of meeting jj in the locker room after practice and going to his games)

I got a bit carried away😅 (Clarifying that at the end, reader and JJ are NOT minors, they’re 18 in their senior year and about 18/19 in the college section) thank you so much!🥹🫶🏻

No I absolutely see this! He’s extremely fit as we can see throughout the show and I 100% see him playing soccer as a kid. His mom would be at every game cheering louder than every other parent there, it made him feel loved, made him happy having someone be so proud of him, but then she left. All the drinking and abuse from Luke became too much for her and she promised to come back for JJ but never did, and as a result he stopped playing soccer. Partially because he was no longer able to afford it and Luke refused to help, but also because he holds some resentment towards his mom for leaving him there and playing soccer reminds him of her too much. Then you come along his freshman year and become best friends with him, hanging out everyday after school, getting to know everything about each other, you learn he used to play soccer but sense a hostile vibe on the topic and drop it.

Your sophomore year rolls around and you’re still the best of friends, the pogue group becoming your own group of friends. Things shift with JJ and you don’t know what, but something is different. Junior year comes around and you learn about the abuse, you offer him your place insisting your parents will love him and gladly take him in if he wanted. He rejects it as first, not wanting to feel like a bother or accept your pity, then he shows up at your door black and blue crying. You took him into your arms and held him that night, he accepted the offer then and moved in the next day. That’s when the relationship started to turn romantic.

Beginning of senior year the two of you are official, having spent the entire summer together and deciding to peruse a relationship, and you encourage him to try out for your schools soccer team, telling him it could be a great opportunity for colleges and to help keep his mind off things. He reluctantly accepts and the pogues are beyond stoked when he ends up making the team, throwing a small party to celebrate. You help him with trying for a scholarship, emailing the coaches, helping him with his highlight reels, calling the universities and seeing if they have open spots, it looks promising for him. Several people have expressed their interest in him, including one from the college you were set to attend. Cut to the end of senior year and you both find out you’ve been accepted into the university and he got the scholarship. You’re both beyond happy and everyone has one last summer together before you all part ways for school.

JJ is happy when the semester starts, he ends up being the captain of the soccer team at school, you’re there at every game cheering loudly for him and he finally feels proud again. Instead of his mom, you’re the one screaming his name louder than everyone. You’re the one making him feel like he’s done something worthy. You’re the one running to him after every game. And he absolutely rewards you when he meets you in the locker room and fucks you against them as soon the rest of the team leaves. He finally loves the sport again, he loves life again, and he knows you’re the one he’s going to spend his life with, he’ll take it one soccer game at a time.

[starry-blue-echoes]

So I was scrolling through my DMs and I stumbled upon a conversation when me and my friend just went. Absolutely crazy with the Gamer Echoes AU so have some bullet points :>

Echoes first started when Koichi was finishing high school and transitioning into college. Because of how swamped with schoolwork he was, Echoes didn’t have a lot to do and Koichi felt bad so he gave him access to his gaming console

fast forward a couple years. Life is fine, Koichi’s been doing more work for the SWF, and Echoes has gotten pretty good at gaming, and eventually he ends up asking Koichi is he can stream himself. He makes a whole slideshow presentation about the benefits and safeguards he’ll put into place from wearing baggy clothes, gloves, and a mask to making sure he never gives away any personal information

eventualky, Koichi agrees and thus begins Echoes’s Gamer Career, and as several years go by he actually gets pretty popular. He most does gaming, but doesn’t really stick with a genre and bounces around a lot. He covers everything from mainstream games to more obscure ones, and every once in a while will do some other stuff too

because I’m a sucker for Artist Koichi, he made Echoes’s logo, which is a stylized Act 1 curled around Act 0

Theres a lot of speculation about the nature of Koichi and Echoes’s relationship because Koichi is without fail ALWAYS there during streams. The cover story is that they’re close friends who met in high school and decided to be roommates

At some point he and Koichi start a YouTube channel, which mostly consists of edited down streams

one time during April Fools Echoes did a stream like any other day except without wearing his gloves so almost nobody could see his hands. People spent MONTHS trying to figure out how he did it and he never offered an explanation

one time during a stream around the house a Stand User broke in because Koichi’s A Chaos Magnet and nearly kidnapped him, and Echoes was too busy curb stomping this asshole to remember to turn the camera off. He did drop it, but because he was in his streamer outfit, from a Regular Person Perspective it looked like he moved Fuck You Levels Fast and punched him so hard the floor broke

they don’t come to the conclusion that Echoes is some kind of magic being. They come to the conclusion that underneath all his baggy clothes he’s absolutely JACKED

At some point they have a Q&A and someone asks specifically how they met, and in true Little Shit Fashion Echoes is pretty honest but lightly omits the Stand Aspect

“Technically we first met when an asshole shot Koichi in the neck with an arrow thing, but we only properly met and interacted when this jerk was trying to gaslight his mom and sister”

Koichi is Tired, but does admit this is kinda fun

[piperslovebot]

Summary: After Eric finds out about Donna and Kitty's plan, he does not have kind words to say to them. Takes place in 7x23.

Btw, this is connected to a different drabble that I will be writing soon.

Eric takes a deep breath as he waits outside Donna's door. He hates fighting with her and just wants to work things out.

I know it’s far away and for a long time, but I really care about this. And if Donna had a once in a lifetime opportunity like this, I would totally support her.

"You know, Donna. You should be out there trying to keep Eric from going to Africa instead of sitting her on you patootie," He hears his mom say.

Eric gasps, hiding behind the door. "What the fuck…" It was bad enough that Donna wasn't supportive of this, but his own mother? That just stung.

He continues to listen behind the door. "Well I'm doing everything I can. I even lied to him and told him I was on a date with another guy."

Unbelievable. Eric scoffs. So she wants to make him feel bad about finally doing something for himself by lying? Wasn’t this the same woman that got mad at him for limiting her to a housewife a few years ago? But apparently, if it’s his dream, then who cares right?

"Sweetie that's amateur hour," He hears his mother remark. "God gave you a very full chest. I suggest you start using it on my son."

Well you had no promise calling Donna a 'slut' and a 'red-haired' tramp a few years ago. But you'll do anything to get what you want, won't you? Eric scoffs. At least his father was supportive of this. For a hardass, Red Forman can be friendly.

Eric makes sure his mother doesn’t see him when she walks out the door.

Donna gets up, "I cannot believe Eric went out. He's supposed to be at home, agonizing." She pays her thighs.

"Well it’s great to know how you feel just right before I leave…"

Donna gasps and turns around to see Eric walking in. She puts a hand on her mouth in shame. "Eric, we just—"

"Talking about trying to stop me from going Africa, right? Getting upset because I don't feel guilty for myself first for the first time in years? Stop me from doing something I care about because of your own feelings?" Eric raises his voice, crossing his arms in the process.

Jackie gets up, "You know what? Why should I be pouting and waiting around for Steven to come back? He's the one who tried to force me to not talk about our future because he was scared of dealing with it. And didn’t even talk about that to me and made me agree to not talk about it, even though I have to focus on my future. I shouldn't be waiting around for him to want to want to marry me. Fuck it, I'm going to Chicago." She walks out of Donna's house, head high.

"Jackie, wa—" Donna lets out a sigh and shuts her eyes briefly. She doesn't want to talk about this. Just wants Eric to stay with her and they can continue to live in their bliss. Just hanging out and being kids.

"Eric, you're gonna be several miles away. A whole continent. How am I supposed to feel about that?!" Donna exclaims.

"You're supposed to be happy that I'm doing something great in my life! That I'm doing something I care about! Why are you allowed to want more for yourself than to be in Point Place, but when I do it, it's selfish?" Eric shakes his head. He knows now that trying to tie her down was selfish. No one should be tied down if they don’t want to. And he gets why Donna wanted to leave.

Donna exhales, "Y-You're right Eric. I'm sorry. I just…I don't want you to go. I want us to stay in our bubble together. Everything has been going great this past year."

"No it hasn't! That's the problem! We spent most of the time 'hanging out' and not doing anything. But you at least have college and your radio business, which by the way, why are saying you're a feminist and then in the breath, calling yourself 'Hot Donna' is pretty contradictory. Then again, I should blame those radio creeps for—not the point!"

Eric sighs, "I just…maybe we shouldn't do this anymore." It breaks him to say this, but for once, he needs to put himself first.

"A-Are you breaking up with me? Again?" Donna tears up.

Eric shuts his eyes, letting his tears fall. "Yes."

He wipes his tears and turns around. "And mom, don’t bother trying to hide. I know you were eavesdropping. It's your specialty after all."

Kitty stumbles out from behind, "And what's that supposed to mean, young man?"

"It means that you have no respect for other people’s privacy. You did it after Casey broke up with Donna and then had the gall to tell dad about it. And you're doing it right now. You never respect my boundaries. And you just see me as your 'baby boy'. What's it gonna take for you to stop treating me like a baby?!"

Eric shakes his head, "You know, what…I'm starting to get why Laurie doesn't come around here anymore."

[noonegetsleftbehind]

i debated saying anything, or talking about this at all. i know it's super personal and a very touchy subject and one that a lot of people shy away from or even hide. it's frowned upon to talk about and, for some, i know it's triggering to see it talked about it, but i kept thinking of one thing....

so, if seeing or discussing this is triggering to you? i understand. i get it. look away and don't click the readmore if discussing heavy mental illness topics and struggles/mentions of self-harm and suicide are something that you cannot handle. that is so valid and you need to keep yourself safe. skip this post and read the next and know i love you.

please understand that i am not looking for pity or for judgment. i am simply being transparent and real. i am advocating for mental health and for others that may be struggling too.

i will not go into much detail on what my bad news was. just know that it means another very crushing blow to my already non-existent self-worth and our financial status. it was such a crushing blow that it pushed me off an edge i had barely been hanging onto from months worth of physical health issues (christ i have had 3 surgeries since december and been in and out of the hospital.) it's been hard. it's been real hard and this was something i had put a ton of fucking work into and fought like hell for for over a year all for... nothing. all to be de-humanized and be forced to question what my worth at all is anymore or why i'm even here or why i should bother to keep going at all.

i won't lie. it got dark. it's still dark. i'm still struggling. it caused me to spiral into a near catatonic dissociation. i spent all day in bed crying before i just sat staring and out of it. all my brain could even think of was how much i wished i was dead. it's still there. i still question why i'm here, but i'm getting to the part where that gets a little bit better.

this is not a new fight to me. it's not. i had a complete, ugly mental breakdown in feb of 2020. jesus, february is a shitty month for me historically. i broke while at work - my job that i thought was going to be the career of my life and at the time i was going to college to further my study in. too much stress and too many years of masking and pushing everything away and ignoring...things i hadn't even realized i was doing.... and it was like someone had built a fucking damn around niagra falls. everything came rushing out all at once. these are things i am still trying to even begin to process. and when you snap, find yourself under a desk screaming and crying and trying to claw at your face at work? you don't come back from that. you don't get to stay at that job. my dreams and plans for the future washed away that night.

i didn't give up then. i went into intensive outpatient after several hours in a ward. i spent nearly 4 months in near daily several hours therapy and this was in the heart of the pandemic. it was at this time that i started attempting to finally transition. in the midst of everything, i was denied hrt for health reasons which only set off my shitty feelings and body image more. i closed myself back off and went non-binary again and convinced myself i didn't fucking deserve to live my life as the right goddamn gender and i needed to just accept and live life as a cis-woman. spoiler alert? that shit doesn't work. it will eat you alive.

i attempted to get jobs again. i had a seasonal job that i lost in jan of 2021. i got another job that i was placed in while working with a state vocational program. that one worked out well. it wasn't a fancy or great job by any means, but it was one i could do and could make money from. my boss was nice and i found parts of it interesting, but can you guess where this is going? my health popped back up. first i broke the scar tissue in my right hand where i had carpal tunnel surgery in 2020. then i got a concussion. then, out of nowhere, i started getting violently ill and was in and out of the ER like 4 times in 2 weeks for the worst pain i have ever felt. basically? my gallbladder went to fucking shit. i had to have it removed. in order to do that? they made me quit my job and come back when i was cleared post op to lift again.

i went back to the job. it didn't last long until a mishap with the pharmacy caused me to be off my meds for 5 days. this caused me to have a black out episode where i have no idea how i got there or why i was doing it but i was in the bathroom cutting myself. again. another trip to the psych er. they corrected the med issue and i got to go home. the takeaway from this? please please please please do NOT fuck around with your meds. don't just stop taking them. it's dangerous as shit. take care of yourselves.

i was fine for about a month until more stresses started to come back at me one after the other. they were piling up and i was breaking more and more. i admit it. i have next to none stress tolerance. i can't deal with change, especially sudden and a lot. i can't deal with blow after blow. i literally cannot process it or cope. it sucks and it sounds like i'm just being dramatic or a baby, but i mentally and physically just... can't. it's debilitating.

i found myself walking back home from a doctor's appointment and my ideations were running rampant. the next thing i knew, i started to make a move to walk into traffic. luckily, my brain pulled me back out of it and i damn near ran the fuck back home to tell my wife i was not okay and i needed to go to the er. this time? landed me in a full week of inpatient stay. that entire ordeal caused even more ptsd than i already have. it was traumatic as fuck and took me MONTHS of working with my therapist weekly on to even begin to process. it sucks, it does, but the mental health system is broken as fuck. a place like that should have been helpful and healing to me in a time like that, but it was anything but. it just kept me alive and i suppose that was part of the point and good enough.

by the time i was released, i had lost my job. they didn't even fire me to my face. just told my wife. the end of that year was... not good. nor was the beginning of 2022. i took the opportunity to go ahead and get my other wrist operated on for carpal tunnel and got both elbows (cubital tunnel) done in january and march of 2022 as well.

it was around this time-ish last year that my body image issues started to tank. my dysphoria was so bad i wouldn't even look in a mirror. i hated myself. everything about myself. the body i saw was not me and and i could not continue long that way. i met who became my closest friend and ally in this time. with his help and support.... i fought to fully transition. I literally do not know where I would be without him and I hope he knows that and how much he means to me. i came out publicly and socially completely and in july i finally got to start T. i am just over 7 months in and in may i have my consult for top. i'm getting there.

you would think this would mean i was finally happy and things should be good, right? while i am on a journey that has been a lifetime in the making and am changing daily and week to week closer to my true self? it's a very slow and long process. especially in a time like now when the rights of trans and lgbtqia+ people are constantly being threatened and challenged. it's scary and it's a struggle daily to be who i am. there are a lot of challenges that come with this and it is not an easy road and anyone who thinks we just up and choose to be this way can eat shit and fuck right off. nobody would choose this kind of pain and struggle.

to top that off... in case all of this wasn't clear? i have a giant list of things diagnosed and wrong with me. cptsd, ptsd, mood disorder, severe treatment resistant depression, anxiety disorder, borderline, gender dysphoria, panic attacks etc. these are things that don't just disappear. it means i still go to weekly therapy. it means i keep having to adjust to and come off meds and start new ones etc. it is a constant trial and error and a constant fight to keep going and be able to be better and just be okay. some days i'm fine and some days i'm not. sometimes i can be fine one moment and not the next. this is the nature of the beast.

so that brings us to now. once again... too many stresses.... too many blows one right after another snapped me. i broke and this time the difference is i knew it. i could feel it happening and see all the signs. the positive light here? in recognizing this, i knew i needed to fight like hell. i needed to get help. i knew i couldn't do this by myself. i can't keep going like this. so, i took the steps necessary yesterday to get in touch with my therapist and the location that handled my inpatient stay to get an assessment. this was so fucking hard to do because you run the risk of them saying you need to go inpatient. i took the risk because i knew i couldn't do this alone. bad things would happen.

so, that brings me to where we're at now. after being discussed with the psych on call, my assessment was recommended i do partial hospitalization. php is basically as intensive and the same thing as inpatient except you get to go home at the end of the day. this is the best possible outcome for me. i am scared shitless and it's a huge change and my social anxiety and ptsd for being back in the facility are through the fucking roof. i start monday. i'll be there monday-saturday 8am-3pm basically for 2-4 weeks. after that time, i will more than likely be moved into intensive outpatient for another 4-8 weeks. but you know what? i'm committed. i want to learn. i want to get better. i want the fucking help. it's not going to cure me, but it can damn well help me. that's all i want. (it's also breaking my heart that i now have to miss my best friend's wedding because i can't get out of the hospitalization. once i'm in, i'm in. it breaks me and i know he understands, but i wanted to be there for him and with him and it was important to me, but this can't be helped and i know that. it still hurts.)

so... that's my story. that's where i am. every day is a struggle, but right now... the struggle is damn near impossible. it is excruciating and it is draining of almost all of my emotional/mental/physical spoons/capacity. it makes daily life hard to even get through the day, it makes talking with people like i normally do extremely hard and it makes having enough brain power to be on here and get to anything substantial a crapshoot. some moments i can do it and have a lot of muse and feel the need to distract and writing has always been my favorite coping tool. but i just can't guarantee. i can't make promises about my activity and i hope that's understood and okay at this point. just know i WANT to be here. just know i am TRYING.

again... let me reiterate that i am not looking for pity in all of this. i'm not. honestly? i hope this HELPS at least one of you. i hope it shows you that sometimes it is okay to not be okay. it sucks, but it doesn't make you broken, even when it sure as fuck feels like you are. i hope it inspires someone to get help. i hope it makes someone remember to take their meds. i hope it lets someone know they are NOT alone. i hope it reminds someone to check in on a friend/love one. i hope it nudges someone to come out and be themselves and fight for who and what they are. why do you think i resonate with chris so much? why i love him so much? he fights. he never fucking gives up. no matter what. he grits his teeth together and he fights for himself and everyone he cares about.

"No one gets left behind. Not on my watch."

be kind to yourselves. know that you can always talk to me if you need to. if i have the spoons i will be here to listen and help if i can. know you are not alone. and most importantly?

remember that everyone behind one of these blogs that you're writing with or following... everyone on the street you see... we're all fighting our own invisible battles. you never know what someone is going through. you never know the struggle they're hiding. be kind to people, especially your fellow RPers. respect each other. lift each other up. befriend and love each other. nourish each other's creativity and hobby. stop fucking being so quick to break each other down.

mental illness is just as valid as physical illness.... you just can't SEE it. it's time to start treating it that way. it's time to stop looking down on people for what you don't understand. be glad you fucking don't if you haven't had to experience this shit then you're lucky. listen. be kind. learn. advocate.

Love, J