#but there’s gotta be something else for me to be this fuckin dysfunctional

[skatethefirs]

doing the mentally normal thing of looking into other mental disorders because you have an inkling that there’s something else wrong with you and you don’t know what but what if,,,,

this is the 53699633696356th time in like 4 years and it always ends in overwhelm, guilt, crushing disappointment, and denial aha 🤠

[princessbrunette]

babydaddy!rafe was doing one of his weekly visits.

he was on the phone when he walked in like he owned the place, because well — technically he did. he’d practically handed you one of his families properties the second you got pregnant and refused to live at the ever dysfunctional tanny hill. he figured it was an investment, he was certain it wouldn’t be long before he was living there with you too anyway. you however, was making that plan very hard to come to light.

“just have my shit, alright? you— you know i could have someone else do your job in a second alright so, prove your worth to me… okay listen i gotta go— at my gir— uh, at my fuckin’… the mother of my daughters house. so i gotta go. email me.” he’s got the phone pressed to his ear between his cheek and shoulder as he counts a wad of money, almost in a caricature of himself. you bite your lip, awaiting him to finish up as you lead him to your room where your baby had just fallen asleep.

“hey.” he drawls with a small smile as he addresses you, pressing the cash into your hand. he did this every week, and at first you refused it — but he’d just transfer it to you on your bank app, not taking no for an answer, so you gave up fighting.

“hi.” your fingers brush his as you take it from him. “i tried to keep her awake to see you, im sorry. she had a late night.” you inform apologetically in a hushed tone, watching her father scroll over with a shrug, brushing a gentle hand over her tiny head, bending over to press a kiss to her cheek. she stirs but doesn’t awaken, the familiar touch and smell of her father not disturbing enough to remove her from her sleep, at peace. this makes your heart ache. your little girl knew her dad too well.

“yeah, that’s alright.” he stands back up, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looks around the bedroom. you were always doing something new with the way you decorated, so he glances around — looking for something to use to converse with you. his face falls as his eyes land on something. now this, wasn’t the type of conversation he was looking for.

“who’s uh, who’s jacket is that?” he scratches his cheek, already holding that accusatory look in his gaze as he nods towards your vanity chair.

you turn, staring at the jacket, and at first your mind blanks. there was a few seconds where you did actually have no idea. all you knew, was that it was obviously a man’s jacket, hung almost domestically on the back of your chair like it was apart of the decor. rafe had already decided it looked too comfortable there.

“uh…” you frown, and when he walks over and plucks it up between his fingers — tossing it demonstratively onto the bed without a word. when you get a good look at it, your face suddenly lights up in recognition. like you said, the baby didn’t sleep too well last night — meaning you didn’t sleep too well. you were a little slower than usual.

“oh! its the electricians. yeah, it was hot so i took his jacket for him. he must’ve left… it.” your voice trails off when you see the look on rafe’s face. he’s squinting out a glare of disbelief, releasing a scoff when you finish talking.

“you really expect me to buy that line of shit? the electrician?” he drawls, stepping towards you.

“why would i lie? plus we — we aren’t even together—”

“hey.” he interrupts and your eyes skip towards your sleeping baby in the cot and your breath hitches.

“rafe not here, c’mon she’s asleep i don’t want her to hear us like this.” you plead and he licks his lips, glancing round at the cot before nodding towards the door, lugging his big body into the hallway. you sigh, checking on your girl before following him out, crossing your arms. “rafe.”

“so i pay for this house, i bring you money every week, and you got the nerve to have other guys in here? around my little girl? around you?” he tilts his head, crowding your space, voice more hushed now. you hate how your body reacts to him, instantly heating a little. as toxic as it was, hearing him act territorial told you that he still cared immensely and wouldn’t suddenly get bored and leave you to your own devices. your lashes flutter a little as you exhale and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “you do it to make me jealous? huh? ‘cos i can’t — i can’t imagine that there’s anyone out there that’s lookin’ after you like i am— alright, who’s gonna pay those fuckin’ bills for you hm?” he takes a step closer and your eyes practically glaze over when your bodies brush one another. he takes the incentive to reach forward and put his hand up your silky night gown, cupping your cunt. of course, no panties. “whos gonna fuck that needy lil’ pussy if it’s not me? huh? nah really, tell me?” he tilts his head, talking all low right in your ear making you mewl.

“it really was the electricians jacket!” you squeak, gripping his shirt in your clenched fists. you were so pent up.

“you swear?” he licks his lips, eyes wide as they stare into your own.

“on my life, rafe.” you breathe desperately, and he knew you wouldn’t ever swear on your life if you didn’t mean it. it was just the kind of person you were. he takes his hands off you, holding them up as he licks his lips, eyeing you over.

“alright… a’ight i’m sorry. just had a long day.” he apologises, seeming like he’s taking a moment to catch his breath. you continue to stare, thighs subtly shifting together. “you got that baby monitor?” he blinks.

you nod frantically, knowing it was turned on most times. rafe rubs at his jawline, looking around before nodding in the direction of the living room. “right. okay… go lay down on that couch. s’clear you need something from me.” he commands with no room for argument before sauntering off ahead, adjusting himself in his pants.

[geraldinesgarbagepit]

not Exactly slop. longass ramble about an art/creation thing that annoys me a lil

Alright, so.

My mentality on art/creation has kind of changed a lot in the past few years, I'd like to think it was for the better? I have a pal to thank for that change in mindset; osmosed that while he was giving advice to another friend of mine.

One of the biggest takeaways being: DO IT MAKE YOUR SHIT OR NO ONE ELSE WILL DO IT EVEN IF IT SUCKS YOU NEED TO MAKE THIS NOW OR IT WILL NEVER EXIST.

There's definitely a better way to phrase it, but that's the jist of it, right? Where am I going with this?

Well, it's something that's always kind of broke my heart art-wise in the past, but now it's something that I find myself growing oddly spiteful over nowadays?

That being: people who never try to do anything.

Once again, there exists MUCH BETTER, more empathetic ways to phrase this, but I'm spitting out thoughts and I'll continue to vomit them up until I feel this wall of text is sufficient enough.

(i do empathize with that though dysfunction suuuucks ass man)

Anyways, the focus of my attention isn't on dysfunction, but rather complacency. Getting stuck in a repetitive cycle that just Completely stunts artistic growth.

This mostly applies to a certain "genre" of person I've been exposed to in my life, and if by happenstance you know what I'm referring to, apologies if this hits close to home? I'm not saying anyone's gotta be pumping out Hyperdetailed Megashit Terabyte Masterpieces or anything, but pushing yourself every now and then is like, the only way you're gonna get better at something y'know?

Which is why in recent years, it's been annoying seeing these same people continue to rely on the same character creator tool for fuckin yeaaaaaaaaaaaaars man.

Like I understand using one to get an idea for a design, right? That's fine and dandy, more power to you. But if every single one of your character ends up looking Exactly The Same because there's like Only One Fucking Template it just ends up looking like this to outsiders.

Of course this is neglecting if they're like, solely using them to commissioning others, so take it with a grain of salt.

It's such a benign thing to get pissed at yeah, but I won't lie! It just makes my skin crawl sometimes! Especially the specific character creator being used. I feel like I wouldn't mind as much if it were a picrew or Literally Anything Else.

maybe it's just the character creator i'm mad at then? dunno. at least it's not ai.

Point is, everyone can make art. It came free with your humanity.

Please don't squander that latent creativity in your soul by relying on these tools forever. You can make something, even if it seems impossible. Pick up a pencil. Chalk. Pen. Fucking ANything PLEASE for the love of god MAKE SOMETHING.

[soil-just-needs-water-to-be]

Menswear

Chapter 3

Mention of dysphoria and dysfunctional families

The next morning

I woke up to my alarm 7 on the dot, more startled awake then by choice. George was wrapped up in my duvet next to me, like most mornings. His hair strewn across the pillow just like a halo , like the angel he is. From as young as I can remember he’s always had the most angelic face , one I’ve wanted to kiss for the longest time, the feeling only grew stronger the older I got but I just never knew how to talk about it. Like most mornings when I woke first I just watched him sleep, so peacefully. I watched his eyes flicker, the brown in them starting to make an appearance. “You know you can just take a picture right??, it’ll last longer”, he’s a dipshit but he’s my dipshit. He scrubbed his eyes harshly to wake himself up a little then rose slowly to rest against the headboard placing one hand on my forehead probably to check my temperature. “How you feeling today lad?”.

“I feel a little better, I feel a bit stuffy and my throat feels like razors but really everything else is fine, think I just have a cold”, I was a complete mess yesterday and I know it, I feel bad that the lads had to look after me but I just seriously wasn’t feeling it and something about having someone give you all there attention feels nice even when you don’t want it. “Thanks for yesterday by the way” , I’ve always relied on the boys to help me, I depend on them as sad as that may be.

“Don’t mention it , you’d have done the same for any of us”, I would have yes!, anything for them. “Are you sure your feeling alright though , well enough for school, I know what your like”. He’s not wrong I can be a right idiot at school sometimes if I ain’t feeling right. It’s fine though.

“I’m alright yeh, get your arse up we have to get ready, my mum left your stuff in the dryer , you can go get it and I’ll get dressed yeh?” , I hopped out off bed and began to get my uniform out of my wardrobe, I heard George groan and fall back onto the bed. “Bro you gotta get up”, I picked up a hat from the computer chair next to me and flung it in his direction just missing his head and hitting the headboard. “Come on”

“Ughhh….dude five more minutes”, George is quite the challenge to wake up in the morning, once he’s out of bed he’s raring to go and always full of energy but until that point, nope. Where as I can get up but until I’ve had a coffee I’m basically a zombie. “It’s to late I’ve bonded to mattress, I have become one with the bed, there’s no saving me”

“Come on you fuckin flamingo get up”, I took a minute to look through my wardrobe for my blazer upon not finding it I swiftly ran over to George’s side of the bed and jumped on him immediately tickling his chest and any piece of skin available to me “Get up, get up , get up”, his ever present stupid high-pitched laugh soon enveloped my room and hearing it myself made me giggle with him. His laugh is always contagious. He begins thrashing around begging me to stop but I continue my attack. “I’ll stop if you get up ditwit”

“Fine, fine , okay….stop…I can’t breath…I’ll get up”, I rolled off of him in fits of giggles, struggling to breath for myself. “Your actually a fuckin nightmare you know that right, in the best way possible your a dick”, he flung the duvet off of himself which inturn made it drape over me, and as he stood up he pushed me causing me to roll off of the bed. “ hah stuuuuupid”

“Fuck you , you hobgoblin ”, again we were both laughing, the amount of random names I’ve called George over the years is insane and they still get more and more ridiculous.

Finally though he did leave and I began to get myself ready for the day, binder, shirt, trousers and shoes, still not a fuckin clue where any of my blazers are. Or my tie for that matter. Just as I was tying my shoes there was a tiny little knock on my door “Maffew, are you awake”, Shit we probably woke him up we were being kinda loud.

“Yeh I’m awake kiddo come in”, Louis pushed the door open and stuck his little head through the gap in door and slid in, bounding over the the bed. “What’s wrong kiddo?”

“I have a question”

“Ask away young padawan”, he’ll have no idea what padawan means but I jump at every chance to use that sentence .

“Well , you know how Georgie stays here a lot, does he just live wif us now and does that mean he’s like my big brother now too ?” , I sat myself down next to him after I tied my shoes and ruffled his hair as he giggled.

“No no baby, George is just Matty’s best friend and George and his daddy aren’t friends right now so he’s just taking a little break, but if you see him like a big brother that’s okay”

“Why is he not friends wif his daddy , he’s friends wif our daddy and we are friends wif our daddy, people are supposed to love their daddies” , I carefully pulled him into my lap as I chuckled, loving how his brain works and can’t see the bad side of anything.

“Just George’s daddy is a little bit grumpy and gets grumpy at George a lot and it makes George sad so he just wanted a little break for a little while, like you know when you get a little sad and you get big feelings and you don’t know how to handle them, sometimes grown-ups like Matty and George we have even bigger feelings and it’s even harder to handle so sometimes we need a break”, Louis was nodding along with me as I was chatting looking up at me with his big brown eyes, he always seemed like he knew what I was saying and taking in what I said. He then brung his hand up to his chin and scrunched his face up like he was thinking.

“Well if he needs a big hug and someone to make the big feelings better, I can help right?”

“Of course you can kiddo, well done you for using your big brain, now I think it’s breakfast time don’t you?”, he quickly nodded his head and smiled up at me as he slid off of my lap and made his way back outside, I heard him give George a high five down the hallway, Moments after George came back in tying his tie.

“Is that yours or mine, I can’t find mine”, he finished tying it then began brushing his hair while thinking about it.

“Isn’t yours in you bag with your blazer you took em off on the way home on Friday, why you don’t have more than one blazer I’ll never know but I’m pretty sure there both in your bag, also glasses on your face before we leave please”, George is literally a saviour at this point, always keeping an eye on me, keeping me in line, as does Adam, but if I wanna get up to mischief Rosso is the man to call.

“Alright dad” , I looked at him through the mirror and gave him the cheekiest smile I could muster as he rolled his eyes at me, I did however put my glasses on. “Hey George, do you think it would be weird if I wore my packer at school, I wear it sometimes but I’ve got PE today and I don’t know if that’s a smart idea??”

“Dude if it’ll make you feel good, and comfortable, go for it, Ross is in your Gym class right, so that way if anyone says anything gentle giant is there to help”

“Uh-huh. Em alright, I’ll be back in a minute then”, I picked up my small bag the has my STP (a device that helps trans men use the toilet standing up, it can sit in your boxers and it can also help you feel less dysphoria because it creates the illusion that you have a slight bulge where it’s supposed to be, it’s very helpful), and scurry to the bathroom , in the bathroom I fix up my STP , brush my teeth, apply deodorant, I haven’t had a shower in a while my heads just not been in a good place and having to shower , see myself naked really isn’t something I’ve wanted to be faced with right now. Once I’ve checked that everything looks right and I’m happy with it I head back through to my bedroom, George is now laying back on the bed fully dressed and phone in hand.

“All set”, I mumble a quick “yes” and slide back onto the bed next to him.

“Can I ask you something”

“Go ahead man”

“Well uh…. I know you’ve probably noticed ….so I don’t really know why I’m telling you…but I ain’t showered since like Wednesday night and I know that’s rank…..” I watched George place his phone down on the bed as I started talking and he turned his full attention to me

“Cuz you haven’t been feeling all that great right now, right, dysphoria beating your ass??” He interrupted before I could even finish. Not that I minded.

“Yeh , how did you know?”

George paused for a moment to think about what to say, looking at me deeply. “You’ve just got these little tells I guess, like it’s always pretty obvious , well to me at least , when your feeling like that, I’ve been around you often enough to notice them”

“Really??, like what!?”

“It depends where you are” , he slightly shrugged his shoulders and scrubbed a hand over his face then began talking again,” when you’re at school and it comes on you get really irritable but very quiet you know like , everyone irritates you and you get all hopped up and want to fight everyone”, hearing that causes me to giggle a little bit because he’s really not wrong. “But your like also dead quiet when your around us at school or you just don’t go , but when your at home and feel shitty, you tend to kind of just go off the rails a little and not look after yourself, not sleeping a wink , you don’t eat, and just constantly try to keep yourself distracted but stay in bed all day being really clingy with me”

“Oh , I…uh….I didn’t know I was clingy….I’m sorry”, hearing that I get clingy with George without even realising it makes me feel bad because as I’ve said I hate relying on others to feel good.

“Hey lad ….don’t apologise, I’m just glad I can help, come on, your mum made porridge for breakfast, we can have breakfast and get going, where running late”, George got off the bed, the grace of a gazelle and helped me off. “Anyway where were you going with the conversation, I kind of interpreted you?”

I ruffled my hair again as we left my room , closing my door behind me. “Oh uh , nevermind it’s okay it doesn’t matter, it’s not important”, I pray to every god that he doesn’t continue asking but I know he will he always does.

“Come on , it must have been important if you mentioned it , please come on you can tell me” , we both trundled done the stairs heavy footed , like a heard of elephants.

“ um I was , uh , just going to ask if you could like maybe help me , like shower tonight , I’ll close the curtain obviously but just sit in with me and talk to me, keep me distracted”

“If that’s what you need then that’s what I’ll do, that is important Matty , don’t just shrug off your feelings okay , especially if they’re important enough that they’ll affect your mood okay , please don’t.” , I just nodded as we got to the kitchen and sat down next to each other

[ceilingfan5]

🤍💕🌈💝🌻 (if you feel so moved to answer them all! )

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

honestly i think most of my stuff esp published stuff has been received well but i gotta say, even across fandoms, my f/f stuff always gets significantly less attention :')

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

i mean the soul has to be there, right? it has to feel good? the rest just follows... like if you can bring it to life with love, it'll be funny, it'll be warm and welcoming, it'll be alive with what makes a world feel real, and then you can make sure the technical and mechanical stuff makes it readable. but what's the point if it doesn't have love in it

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

i have a harder time with blupjeans! i have to work harder to make them sound and feel right. on another wavelength entirely i think my style makes it feel kind of "effortless" to read, but i do put lots of work and thought into everything!!

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

im still stunned how well-received sticker stars was!! but thats my baby so. good.

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

fuckin. writing, man. executive dysfunction. getting from point a to point z with a pocketful of lint and paperclips. the fandom getting quieter, worrying about reception, worrying about whether the effort is worth it... and so on. plus theres always something else to do, and i can crochet AND watch dimension 20 AND eat potato chips... when if im writing thats allll i can focus on.

what keeps me going? people telling me how good and full of love my work feels, man. bringing to life the stories i want to read. living in it and feeling it as it comes to life. making the dumbest jokes on earth and new sentences that have never been strung together before. thats the good stuff.

[apolloloki97]

"Worthy of Him" Mickey Milkovich x Ian Gallagher

Summary: When Mickey comes across a handsome stranger, he doesn't realize it's the man who cheated on Ian when Mickey was locked up. Caleb is going to have quite a surprise when he meets the love of Ian's life. ---- Or when Mickey meets Caleb.

Word Count: 3076

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Fuckin' Perfect" by P!nk

Note: I just love when Mickey meets Ian's exes. Also, I get really happy when Mickey defends the Gallaghers!

--------

Mickey was on his way home when he heard a string of curses that even made him stop mid-strut on the sidewalk.

At the end of the block, a handsome black man was glaring at his car, his hands on his hips as he swore. Mickey knew that look, he himself had had a similar expression on his face more than once. Weighing his options, he considered just turning the other way and going the long way home, but there was something about the man that screamed “help me” and so Mickey decided to do just that.

Besides, the poor handsome bastard clearly didn’t belong on the Southside considering how well put together he was and the decent set of wheels he was glaring at. Approaching the man, Mickey tried to gauge what was wrong with the vehicle, but it seemed as if even the owner didn’t know. “Hey man,” Mickey greeted. “Wheels busted?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with it,” the man said with a sigh as he finally turned to look at Mickey. The latter didn’t miss how the stranger did a double-take, letting his eyes scan Mickey from head to toe. Since he had come out, Mickey had been noticing male attention pointed in his direction more frequently and he couldn’t deny that it made him feel damn good about himself. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, especially to Ian.

Jealous bastard, Mickey thought to himself with a smirk that the stranger before him seemed to notice immediately. Brushing off the bedroom eyes emanating from the other man, Mickey stepped towards the car.  “Want me to take a look?” Mickey offered.

“Yeah, sure, thanks man,” the man said, gesturing for Mickey to move closer. Mickey leaned over the open hood of the car, his eyes scanning for anything outwardly wrong. As he bent over the car, the owner watched on with curiosity. “So, you a mechanic?”

“Nah,” Mickey said as he examined the battery. “My brother-in-law is. Taught me some shit,” Mickey explained. Lip had only begun to teach Mickey a bit about bikes after Mickey had helped him steal from Born Free. Mickey would never admit it to the older Gallagher brother, but he liked Lip a fair amount when he wasn’t being a total asshole. Lip was also important to Ian so Mickey made the sacrifice to “bond” with his brother-in-law whenever the occasion arose and graft theft auto just happened to be one of those occasions.

“So, you’re just in the habit of helping strangers when their car breaks down?” the man said. Mickey scoffed as he shrugged.

“Only when it breaks down on the Southside and the owner ain’t belong,” Mickey said.

“Who says I’m not Southside?” the man said playfully. Straightening up slightly, Mickey looked over at him with a knowing look.

“Trust me, I can tell,” Mickey said. Stepping back, Mickey crouched down to get a look at the grill in case anything was stuck when the bottom of his pant leg rode up slightly, exposing the holster he had strapped to his ankle along with the .22 he kept on him at all times. Iggy called it a “pussy gun”, but with being on parole, Mickey couldn’t risk always carrying his larger piece and he was still paranoid that the cartel would catch up with him eventually. The owner of the car noticed it immediately, his brows rising.

“You a cop or something?” he asked, gesturing to the exposed holster. Mickey glanced down at the hardware Carl had given him before covering it back up again. He looked up at the stranger with a raised brow.

“Not exactly,” Mickey said, disgusted to be even considered to be compared to a pig.

“Right,” the man said.

“What?” Mickey asked as he stood up, leaning against the car. “Are you a cop? Gonna fuckin’ bust me for this?” he asked.

“I fight fires, not Southside thugs,” he said with a wink and Mickey laughed quickly before turning back to his task. It didn’t take him long to notice the coolant leak in the hose.

“You’re gonna need to take this to a shop, man,” Mickey said. “You got a leak here,” he said, pointing to the hose. The man approached him, getting closer to Mickey to get a better look. Mickey rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. He was ready to shove his wedding ring up the man’s nose when his phone rang. Knowing who it was, Mickey ignored it.

Ian had been trying to get a hold of him for an hour now. Mickey knew it was because Debbie had pissed his husband off again, but he had no interest in dealing with Ginger-Gallagher drama at the moment. Ian called again shortly after the first call, the shrill of the phone in his pocket permeating the tension that was radiating off the handsome stranger next to him.

“Wife?” the man asked, gesturing to Mickey’s pocket and the obvious ignoring of the calls. Mickey then realized that the stranger had seen the ring on his left hand and just ignored it. Bastard, Mickey thought.

“Husband,” Mickey corrected, always thrilled to do so these days. It wasn’t necessarily because he was proud to be a gay man, he was just incredibly proud to be Ian Gallagher’s husband. He’d tattoo it on his forehead if he hadn’t already gotten a dumbass tattoo for his husband back when he was first locked up in the joint.

“Ignoring him?” the man pressed and Mickey was starting to become more annoyed than flattered at the forwardness of the stranger.

“Just his family drama,” Mickey said, not sure why he was telling this man anything. Then again, bitching about the Gallaghers was something that just happened no matter who you were talking to. Mickey could remember the time before he was with Ian and he would hear everyone in the community talking about how messed up the Gallaghers were. Being a Milkovich, he never thought any other family could be more dysfunctional. When he finally fell for Ian and became more familiar with the inner workings of the Gallagher family, he finally understood the chaos that everyone else saw. However, that chaos was something that he had gone on to love greatly.

They were his family.

“Yeah, that shit’s never easy, man,” the man said.

“What shit?” Mickey asked, trying to see where the stranger was getting at.

“Just that I’ve dated the crazy ones before and the baggage of their family is never worth it. No matter how good of a fuck they are,” the man said and Mickey raised his brows.

“Classy,” Mickey said with a roll of his eyes. Clearly, the man realized he had hit a nerve and was trying to backtrack when a loud shout echoed from up the street. Mickey turned just in time to see Frank stumbling out of a bar that clearly wasn’t the Alibi as the owner yelled at him. Frank, who was already drunk enough to forget where he lived, shouted obscenities back at the bar, shoving his middle fingers to the sky before falling over. “Fucking Frank…” Mickey said, exasperated.

Even before they were married, Mickey had joined in on the “find Frank” game and had had his fill of finding the drunk passed out under bridges and in sewers to last a lifetime. While he didn’t care what happened to the deadbeat, he knew that Liam and Franny would, which is why he tended to try to keep Frank from ending up in the morgue when he could.

“Seems like everyone around here knows Frank Gallagher, huh?” the stranger said, leaning against his dormant car. His arms were crossed, accentuating the forearm muscles that were hidden under the long sleeve shirt he wore. The man laughed as he saw Frank try to get to his feet but failed. Mickey cringed as Frank stumbled again, crashing into a stack of trash cans.

“Fuck,” Mickey said, knowing he was going to have to do damage control with his niece when her grandfather came home looking like he slept in a dumpster. “That’s my fuckin’ cue,” Mickey said, pushing off the side of the car.

“You all take turns looking after the city drunk, huh?” the man asked, amused by Mickey’s distaste for the derelict.

“No,” Mickey said with a sigh, “just those of us who are unfortunately his fucking family.” This seemed to shock the stranger.

“Family?” the man echoed.

“He’s my father-in-law,” Mickey said and then paused, “sort of…” Mickey was never sure what exactly Ian saw Frank as. He knew that Frank was not his biological father, but he was also the only father Ian had ever known. Regardless, Mickey was now tied to the man forever. Just as Mickey was about to pull his phone out to call Sandy to come and help him with Frank Pick-Up, the stranger said something to make him pause.

“ You married a Gallagher ?” the man said, his voice holding a hint of disbelief.

“The fuck you gotta say it like that for?” Mickey said, ready to defend his family to the man. “Yeah, I married a goddamn Gallagher, so what?”

“Which one?” the man asked and Mickey looked at him as if he was a moron.

“What do you mean, ‘which one’? There’s only one fucking gay one,” Mickey said with a scoff.

“Ian?” the man asked. “You’re Ian’s husband?” Mickey was starting to get pissed off at this man’s tone and he was really starting to regret even offering to help him.

“I’m sorry, I think I missed a few episodes, here,” Mickey said, “Who the fuck are you and how do you know Ian?” The man hesitated for a second before answering. Mickey waited.

“I’m Caleb,” the man said. “Ian and I used to date.” Mickey didn’t need more than a second to recognize the name. Ian had told Mickey all about his rebound firefighter. Mickey knew that Ian wasn’t going to stay single while he was locked away. Mickey was just glad that Ian wasn’t screwing old men. Hell, he had even thought that the Trevor guy seemed great, but Caleb was someone that Mickey had hated the second Ian began talking about him. Then, when Lip had told him that he and Ian had witnessed Caleb cheating on Ian with some woman, Mickey hated him even more.

Lowering his head slightly, Mickey finally took a moment to size up the firefighter. Caleb was big and Mickey knew that those arms would pack a wallop if Caleb decided to start a fight, but Mickey also knew that he was craftier and if it came down to it, Ian’s ex would be on his way to the hospital very soon.

“Oh, you’re Caleb,” Mickey finally said, staring him down. “The fucker who cheated on him with some bitch and claimed it didn’t matter because she didn’t have a cock.” Caleb seemed perturbed by that but quickly composed his face despite the crassness coming from the other man.

“And you are…”

“Mickey Milkovich,” Mickey said, just daring Caleb to say something else stupid.

Which he did.

“Ah, Mickey,” Caleb said. “The abusive boy toy.” Mickey stopped for a second, wanting to punch Caleb in his perfect face.

“Abusive…” Mickey echoed, not liking the accusatory tone in Caleb’s voice.

“Ian told me all about how you used to beat on him before screwing him like he was your bitch,” Caleb said and Mickey could hear the anger in his voice. Mickey knew that Ian had been hurt after a lot of their arguments. The worse one being when Mickey had beat him up after the Terry incident. Mickey had never felt more horrible in his entire life than when he had done that. Even now, he tried to make up for it even if Ian said that he had already forgiven him. The thing was, Mickey had never forgiven himself for the beating he had given Ian in that gravel lot.

However, hearing that Ian had called him abusive, especially to someone like Caleb, just made Mickey more pissed off. Not necessarily at Ian, but more at the situation as a whole. This was who Ian felt the need to run to after their break up and regardless of how attractive the firefighter was, Caleb had no idea who he was speaking to.

“He did, did he?” Mickey said and Caleb nodded, acting as if he had Milkovich all figured out. “Right, well did he also tell you that the first time we banged, he threatened my ass and tried to beat me with a tire iron?” Mickey asked, spotting the exact tool on the ground next to the rest of the tools Caleb had hauled out. Ignoring the little voice in his head that sounded a lot like his parole officer, Mickey reached down and picked up the iron. “Sort of like this,” he said before taking a swing at Caleb’s windshield, shattering it.

“Fuck!” Caleb exclaimed. Mickey followed up by taking off one of the side mirrors before swinging the iron into Caleb’s face, causing the other man to stumble back.

“Get the fuck off the Southside or next time I’ll hit something other than your fucking car,” Mickey threatened. Caleb was wary of him but didn’t back down.

“You don’t deserve him,” Caleb said and Mickey’s eye twitched for a second before composing himself. It wasn’t news to him that people didn’t think Mickey was good enough for Ian, but he didn’t need to hear it from someone like Caleb.

“You don’t know shit about him or me,” Mickey said. “If you did then you wouldn’t fucking test me.” Caleb stared down at Mickey, but the latter wasn’t backing down. He would go back to jail before he let some asshole ex of Ian’s make him feel unworthy of the man he loved.

When Caleb went to retort, his attention was pulled by a police SUV rolling up to them and Caleb’s smashed car. Mickey didn’t move and he didn’t drop the tire iron as Caleb turned to the cop. “Officer, maybe you could arrest this man for threatening me and damaging my property,” Caleb said, glaring over at Mickey again.

“Mickey?” the cop said and Mickey finally looked over at the man in the front seat of the SUV. He recognized him immediately.

“Arthur!” Mickey greeted with a grin.

“Hey man!” Officer Arthur Tipping said, offering his fist to Mickey who happily tapped it with his own.

“You know him?” Caleb said as Mickey grinned at him.

“He’s my partner’s brother-in-law,” Tipping said with a goofy grin on his face. Mickey liked Carl’s partner because the man was the definition of a loveable idiot. Plus, he always turned the other way when a Gallagher was involved.

“Yeah, Carl’s a cop now, asshole,” Mickey said to Caleb. “Good luck filing a complaint or pressing charges, dick.” Caleb was fuming as he started towards Mickey.

“Woah there, bud,” Tipping said. “You might want to take a few steps back.” Caleb stopped and did as the officer said, but not without sending a death glare towards Mickey. “Need a ride home, Mr. Milkovich-Gallagher?” Tipping asked.

“That would be great, Arthur,” Mickey said with a grin as he tossed the tire iron aside. He looked at Caleb once more and then casually walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You come near my husband and I will make sure that nobody ever finds your body,” Mickey said sweetly before leaving Caleb on the curb and hopping into the front seat of the squad vehicle. Mickey flipped Caleb off as Tipping drove away. Caleb just swore and lashed out at his car.

Mickey relaxed in the car before sighing. “Shit, pull over here for a second man,” he said and Tipping pulled over. Mickey then got out of the car and pulled open the back door before crouching over a half-conscious Frank. “Fucking Gallaghers,” he said as he hauled his father-in-law into the back of the squad car and Tipping took him home while Frank snored in the backseat.

When Mickey finally got home and deposited Frank on the floor in the living room, he went in search of his husband. He found Ian in the kitchen, finishing up some dishes. “Hey, you,” Ian said as he spotted his husband walking into the room. Mickey smiled at him. Ian grabbed the back of his head and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s lips, savoring the taste and feel of his husband.

Mickey kissed him back, but Ian could tell it was less enthusiastic than usual. Pulling back, he furrowed his brow at the man in his arms. “What?” Mickey asked.

“You good?” Ian asked.

“Long day,” Mickey said with a dismissive wave. Ian didn’t look convinced so Mickey pulled him back to him, kissing him deeply. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, holding him tightly. Mickey sighed into Ian’s mouth, content to be with him after the shit he had dealt with that afternoon.

When Ian pulled back again, he leaned his forehead against Mickey’s, running his hands down his arms. Mickey looked up at him, Ian’s green eyes looking stunning in the low light of the Gallagher kitchen. Everything Caleb had said to him was coming back and he hated that he was letting it get to him. He loved Ian and he knew that Ian loved him, but there would always be that part of him that felt unworthy of Ian’s love.

Ian, being Ian, noticed the look in Mickey’s eyes. Self-doubt was not something Mickey hid very well. Reaching up to cup Mickey’s face in his palm, Ian gently rubbed his thumb along his husband’s face. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Ian whispered.

Mickey slid his hands up to Ian’s shoulder, always loving how much taller his husband was. With a breath, Mickey inhaled the scent of his love and then smiled softly. “You just...were you,” Mickey answered simply. Ian mirrored the soft expression as he leaned into Mickey once again.

“I love you,” Ian said against Mickey’s lips.

“I love you too, Gallagher,” Mickey said before pressing his lips against Ian’s, falling into complete bliss and knowing one thing for sure: Ian and he deserved each other and nobody was going to tell him differently.

[ryosei-hime]

High Stakes

Husk plays a high stakes game of poker to cheer up Angel. Continuation from Personal Space. Didn’t intend it to be a chapter fic but here we are. Can also be found over on AO3.

Husk looked up from wiping down the bar as the doors swung open. He recognized the footsteps immediately. The stride belied their owner’s confident and purposeful movements. Angel’s eyes glowed lightly as he emerged from the dark entranceway and made for the bar. He had that slow, sad way of moving that Husk recognized. 

“Long night?” Husk offered. 

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna talk about it.”

He avoided eye contact as he planted himself on a stool, his first set of hands lighting up a cigarette as the others worked his tie loose. Husk grunted his acknowledgement as he pulled out Angel’s favorite booze. But Angel put a hand out to stop him from opening it. 

“Not tonight,” he sighed, smoke seeping from between sharp teeth. 

Husk put it away, his concern betrayed only for a moment in the way his ears pricked up, his eyes becoming only the slightest bit more alert. Angel’s eyes turned from him again, his fingers scratching across the grain of the bar as he sat back before balling into a fist at his knee.

Sometimes being a bartender meant leaving the patron alone. But Angel wasn’t just some random asshole. He knew what kind of bullshit usually preceded this mood. And he knew where Angel’s thoughts would lead him. He wasn’t about to let them fester. 

Husk drew Angel’s attention as a card hit the elbow he had propped on the bar. The rest of the hand followed, each card arriving in silence. He sighed and gathered them up. Husk was a sweetheart when he wanted to be. He managed a sad little smile at his efforts. 

“What’re the stakes tonight?”  

“Me.” 

Angel’s cigarette fell from his fingers and hit the bar. Another hand grabbed it up and snubbed it out before it could do any damage.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Husk snapped. “You want me so damn bad, you gotta win me.” 

“Wait. Like. I get to sleep with ya?” 

Angel gave him the cutest goddamn grin in his arsenal, eyes big and shining with hope. Well, Husk had gotten what he wanted. Now he had a whole game of poker to decide if he’d give Angel what he wanted.  

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? Fuck, if I know why.” 

Angel practically squeaked as he held his cards up to his face. But then they fell again along with his enthusiasm. 

“Wait, yer not just fuckin’ with me are ya?”

“Not unless you win.” 

Husk gave Angel a smug, satisfied look.

“Proud of that one, are ya?” Angel shot back with a smirk. “What if you win?” 

Husk hadn’t thought about that. Wasn’t like this was a well conceived plan or anything. What he wanted most was for Angel to stop working for that bastard Val. But he wasn’t fucking stupid. Situations like that weren’t simple. Demanding Angel just up and quit could be dangerous. 

“Didn’t think of one cause you knew I’d beat ya?” Angel urged. 

“Nothin’ I can ask you to do, anyway.” 

Angel’s grin faded as their eyes met. He knew what Husk wanted. He wanted it too. But it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t do it.

“He’d kill me.” 

Husk looked away first. Dammit he hadn’t meant to bring this subject back up.

“Yeah, I know, kid.” What else could he say? “How about you just owe me one instead.”

Angel laughed. 

“Yer gonna pull the unnamed favor on a mobster?” 

“Hey, my ass is on the line here! Take it or leave it!”

 “Oh, I’ll take it,” Angel assured him. 

The game went on into the night. As usual they were both cheating and they both knew it. Angel might have picked up some of his tricks, but he didn’t execute them nearly as well. The outcome remained his to decide. If only he could make up his damn mind. 

Angel gave a little cry of triumph as he won a hand, feet kicking against the bar in his excitement. Husk growled and shuffled the deck, making sure the next hand would be in his favor. 

“What’d ya want my old ass for so bad anyway?” he demanded as he dealt the next hand. 

Angel had an innocent look as he answered. 

“You’re cute.” 

Husk made a sound of disgust. 

“Right. I’m a freak.” 

“A cute freak.” 

Angel still had that innocent, almost simple smile. Husk studied his cards, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. He hated it when Angel talked about him like that. Nothin cute about being a fuckin monster.

“Besides, you’re safe.” 

That caught him off guard. 

“What?”

“You care about me.” Angel bit his lip and avoided looking at him as he took a couple of cards. “You wouldn’t hurt me. Sometimes I have these dreams…”

Angel shook his head. 

“Now I’m makin’ it weird.” 

“Weirder than betting your own fuckin body in a poker game?” 

Husk took a few cards himself, silently cursing that Angel’d thrown him off and he’d missed the ones he’d intended to get. Angel smiled dreamily at him, but Husk kept his eyes on his cards. Not that he could really see them at this point. Felt like a fuckin panic attack coming on.

“Sometimes I dream you soar down from the sky and rip Val up like some kinda maniac.” 

“Hell, kid, I’ve had that one.” 

“And then you and me, we just stay here at this hotel. You, me, and Nuggs. A fucked up dysfunctional little demon family. Ain’t that a riot?” 

Husk called it and spread out his hand, all the air sucked out of his chest. The way Angel talked about him made him feel sick inside. He couldn’t be all the things Angel wanted him to be. He couldn’t be his fuckin knight in shining armor. He couldn’t even manage his own god damn emotions when it came to the guy.

“I won,” Angel gasped before exclaiming in glee. “Oh my god! I won!” 

Their hands finally came into focus as Angel’s celebration brought him out of his own failings. Well, at least there was something he could do for him.

“Lucky hand,” he excused. “But a win’s a win.”

Angel’s face could barely contain his grin as he hopped off the stool, practically bouncing.  

“Oh, Husk. You don’t gotta.”

What, and break the kid’s heart?

“A bet’s a bet.” 

Angel was around the bar before he knew it, taking his hands in a pair of his own. The other two cupped his face and turned it up. He still glowed with excitement, but a softness shone in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt ya, Husky.” 

He wasn’t. Not really. He still hated this fuckin body. He hated any attention being brought to it, much less ...this. But if he could trust anyone with this train wreck, it was Angel. A paw rose to grasp Angel’s wrist, pulling one of his hands away enough for Husk to turn his face into the palm and sigh. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

Angel could die right there. How could he be so damn cute?

“All right,” Husk cleared his throat and pulled back. “Everything’s your call, kid.”

One of his hands still held Husk’s and he swung it softly. 

“Tomorrow? Can we have a date?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Husk started to object. But damn that face of his. “But you’re in charge. No clubs.”

Angel nodded. 

“Can I have a goodnight kiss?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Husk felt himself detaching from his body even as he agreed. Angel did his best to bring him back. The bottom set of hands pawed at his arms as the main hands took his face again. This forced him to look into his eyes. 

From the look there, Husk expected some kind of prolonged, erotically charged kiss and braced himself. But Angel just pressed his lips softly against Husk’s and released him, a warm, satisfied smile aimed down at him.

“Goodnight.” 

“Yeah.” 

It was all Husk could manage, but it didn’t seem to bother Angel. A hand slid down his arm as he moved away and kept a hold on his hand as long as he could before the distance between them returned it to Husk’s side. 

Once Angel had disappeared, Husk turned to the bottle as was his natural instinct. What the fuck was he thinking?

[missroserose]

really think you’re fooling me

read part 1 here

or

read on AO3, if that’s your thing

the existence of this follow-up is entirely the fault of @steviespanties and their post, as well as @areyouactuallystupid, @jimhhawkins and @granpappy-winchester and their tags.  plus all the awesome people who commented on the first piece.  apparently we’re thirsty for some good good Steve-and-Billy hatefucking in this chili’s tonight.

content warning for violent sex (well, duh, but still), dysfunctional relationship dynamics, unnegotiated breathplay, and Billy Hargrove’s fingers.

thanks to @neonelectriclady for the quick beta and excellent suggestions!

*

The next time they fuck, they’re still wearing bruises from each other’s fists.

It’s another bathroom.  Another kegger.  Another drunken rager, like someone in their class throws every goddamn month.  Another opportunity to get wasted, dance, hook up, pass out in your own vomit.  It’s the Scorpions playing instead of Mötley Crüe, and Billy’s at least got lube on him so there’s no sickly-sweet aroma (Steve’s briefs still smell like tea roses and drying spunk, balled up and shoved under the bed), but everything else might as well be two weeks ago.  He’s bent over the counter, braced on his palms, pants barely pulled down to his knees.  And Billy’s once more behind him, filling him, filth dribbling out of his mouth in a constant flow.


Steve is getting too old for these.  Already feels too old for these.  But there’s nothing else to do in Indiana in the winter, so he’ll take it.  Anything to keep from having to think.

Because that’s the one thing Billy’s cock is truly good for.  When Billy fucks him, he just—disappears.  Better than booze.  Better than drugs.  Better even than three of his fingers, slick with lube and jammed up his ass while he imagines Billy’s hands on him, hating himself for it all the while—

“Goddamn, princess, you look so fuckin’ good with your face all decorated like that.”  Billy’s fingers brush the fading jaundice-yellow patch on Steve’s cheekbone, and Steve hears him chuckle deep in his throat.  “Who was the designer?  I think I’ve gotta send ‘em a thank-you card.”  

Or maybe it’s not Billy’s cock at all.  Maybe it’s that voice, trickling lighter fluid down his spine, dizzying fumes rising, saturating his hips, his gut.

He snaps his hips back against Billy’s, glares at him in the mirror.  “You here to fuck me?  Or are we just playing around?”

“Like you don’t get off on it.”  Billy’s fingers curl around the jut of his hipbones, pull Steve even closer in, grinding sweat-slick skin together.  Pushing himself deeper, somehow, like he could press all the way in, like he could fill the void that’s been swallowing Steve’s insides a little more each day.  “Or is it the bruises you like?  They make a nice change from seeing that Hollywood face in the mirror every day?”

“God, you’re a chatty fuck.  This how you talk girls into dropping their panties for you?”  Thrust, parry, taunt.  It’s a good rhythm they’ve found.  Billy pressing, wanting, needing, even buried to the hilt in Steve’s body.  Steve dancing out of the way, almost too easily.  Secure in his position in a way Billy will never be, centered enough to make Billy sweat with his footwork.  “It’s a wonder Max was the first to hit you back—”

It was a good rhythm.  Even Steve has figured out that there are buttons that shouldn’t be pushed, when it comes to Billy Hargrove.  He’s barely finished the taunt before Billy’s got a hand on his shoulder, is pulling him up and back, his back flush against Billy’s chest, heat radiating even between their layers of clothing.  “That reminds me, pretty boy,” he growls into Steve’s ear, snapping his hips in hard enough to make Steve wince a little, “You never told me what the fuck was going on that night.”  Out comes the tongue, licking a stripe in the sweat off Steve’s neck, curling behind his ear, and Steve screws his eyes shut, doesn’t think about how that makes something surge, coiling deep in his hips.  “What the hell could have you playing clubhouse with four kids past midnight?”

And here it is, really.  The flick of a lighter.  The weight of a bat, heavy in his hands.  The edge of a hole, dark and deep and filled with air that smells wrong.  That shock of adrenaline, that hindbrain-scream of dangerdangerdanger, the knowledge that he has a choice, that this can go two ways, all depending on what he does next.

Except, of course, there’s only ever really one way.

He opens his eyes, meets Billy’s in the mirror.  Smiles.
 “Dunno, man.  Must’ve been the same thing that gave you those bruises around your neck.  ‘Cause that sure as hell wasn’t me.”

The lighter flicks.  The bat swings.  Air whistles against Steve’s face as he jumps.  As he dives, eyes open to meet the fate in front of him—to catch every tiny nuance of Billy’s expression as it shifts—

Then fingers are around his neck, cutting off his air.  Are tight on his hip, bringing up berry-sized bruises beneath the skin.  Billy’s thrusting, furious and hard, but it’s at a remove, somehow; secondary to the fire that’s roaring up through his body, the concentrated fumes of days of nightmares and hours of fingering himself and minutes of Billy fucking him—all expanding, heating, filling him to bursting—the fury in Billy’s eyes, the growing emptiness in Steve’s chest, the clawing need for oxygen in his lungs all adding fuel to the fire, until he’s reaching down in desperation to take hold of himself, because he’s going to burst, the fire’s going to consume him from the inside out, leave him nothing but a pile of ash and charred bone and hair and he’s going to be thankful—

He can’t cry out, when he comes.  Can’t moan as the sensation overwhelms him, as his whole body jerks, as he shoots hard enough to hit the mirror.  Can’t whine as Billy keeps pounding into his oversensitive body, keeps him pinned against the countertop as he writhes, as he grips his still-hard cock with enough force to hurt.  Can’t answer back when Billy growls, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing in his ears—“gonna decorate that pretty face of yours again, princess, and you’re gonna beg me for it—“

He’s there, but he’s not—he’s floating, halfway to limp in Billy’s arms when Billy thrusts a final time, groans, and finally eases up on the pressure, cock twitching inside Steve.  Steve bends over the counter, gasping for air, endorphins and adrenaline and sheer primal relief pouring through him, leaving him lighter than air, giddy.  Billy’s fingers flex over his hip, like he's tugging Steve down, like Steve’s an errant balloon—the mental image almost makes him giggle between gulps of air.

Billy leans over him, a posture that might be aggressive if he wasn’t slumped forward.  Wasn’t leaning heavily on one hand, chest heaving against Steve’s back.  “Sometime—you’re gonna tell me—what the fuck is up with this town.” His voice is insistent, despite the way the words slip up, slide against each other as he says them.

Steve laughs—pollen-rough and dust-choked chuckles between sobbing breaths.  Feels his feet touch down, treacherous earth beneath him once more.  Straightening, he meets Billy’s eyes in the mirror, gives him a half-feral grin.

“Sometime, you’re gonna ask me to fuck you first.”

[froginthemachine]

I have very few followers (at least, very few who aren't bots but I'm too lazy to sift through them) so I don't imagine anyone will read this.

I'm having a lot of issues, and I just need to yell out into the vast void of Tumblr so at least my voice is floating around somewhere.

I've been dealing with what is likely untreated ADHD. I talked to my therapist about what I've been feeling and she says I should definitely get tested for it because it's greatly affecting my daily life. I didn't really want to admit it, because I was always the good quiet child who did well in school. I was an unhappy child but, as most "burnt out gifted kids" will tell you, my mental health wasn't addressed because I wasn't causing problems or inconveniencing anyone.

Over the past couple years I've had some issues with my brain's function that just seemed to get worse, and I really brushed it off and attributed it to other things - maybe my anxiety getting worse and manifesting itself in weird ways, being in the wrong environment, and of course, being stuck inside for a year.

But I moved back down to Georgia in March for school and was finally in the environment I wanted to be in - living alone, independent from my parents, hanging out with my friends again, and working on 3D animation projects which I am super passionate about.

Did my problems get better? Nope! In fact, I found it so hard to concentrate during classes, to sit still at my computer and do work, and even just to do basic daily tasks, even though I eliminate distractions the best I can. I think it wasn't caught earlier by my mental health professionals because I described these things as "racing thoughts" like it was anxiety, but it's more like an overwhelming amount of thoughts about anything and everything.

The best way I can describe it is like when your computer is being slow and you open task manager and there's a bunch of shit running in the background. Only I can't click "end task", I can't just turn off the many thoughts I'm having.

It's to the point where I lose my train of thought so easily while talking to someone. I have to work so hard to concentrate on what others are saying, because if I allow even one other thought to interrupt, I won't process a single word they've said.

I'll get undressed and turn on the shower. While the water warms up I figure I'll put my laundry in the washer. I notice a pan on the stove, and if I don't put it in the sink now I'll forget to wash it next time I do dishes. I notice there is no sponge next to the sink because I threw the old grimey one out. But I'm out of sponges so I have to add that to my grocery list. I look through my fridge and cupboards to see what else I'm low on to add to my list. I go back to my room to check the wall of post-it note reminders to see if I had written anything else to add to my list. I notice a deadline I'm about to miss, and then I hear the shower still running so I turn it off because I'm wasting water. I quickly turn on my computer and finish the thing I had to do before the deadline. I keep interrupting myself with more things and then an hour later I'm still naked, in bed on my phone. Why am I naked? Oh yeah I was gonna take a shower an hour ago.

Its a big fuckin "if you give a mouse a cookie" chain for each task during the day. I'm exhausted. My brain going so hard at all times really drains my energy physically, as dumb as that may sound. A few hours after waking up from a good night's sleep, I have to lay down for a long nap or else I will be miserable all day.

I put off my work and then go into turbo mode 1 or 2 days a week and get it done super quick. But my work quality is definitely suffering.

I just want to be able to do the things I gotta do and want to do without it being so mentally taxing. When I tell someone these things and they don't really relate, I feel jealous of their normalcy and ability to just... function as they should? It's fucking up my school, work, and social life. Hell, it makes it had to sleep because my brain won't turn off. I go to bed, physically very tired and ready to sleep. But I'll be up tossing and turning until I can't stand all the noise in my head and go on my phone, then try again at sleeping, then get up and do something else, and eventually I've been up for so long that I get really hungry and then I'm having a 2am snack but I need to be up for my 8am class and I thought I would be fine because I went to bed at 10 but no I'm a fucking disaster!

I see my psychiatrist in a month, but that still feels like forever away. My Lexapro isn't working because it's trying to treat something that isn't an issue for me. All it's done is make me unable to cry and unable to get a boner. It mellowed out the low moods at one point when I did actually have depression, but it hasn't been an issue for a long time and now it's just mellowing out the highs when I get them. I notice when I miss a few doses I feel all my emotions more strongly, especially the happy ones. I cry over listening to good music. I can whack it again :') but I get unpleasant withdrawal symptoms, so for now I'll stay on it until my psychiatrist tells me otherwise.

I've written a whole essay at this point but it feels better to just have it written down in words. It's made these feelings more concrete; I have a way to describe what I'm feeling. I know I won't feel so dysfunctional forever, and things are going to get better. I just feel so frustrated and powerless right now. If anyone reads this, thank you for listening and making me feel heard.

[ofmythsandmadness]

a favour asked like none ever before.

Fake dating. An ancient trope from the very beginning of time - or like, whenever the rom-com gods started working their movie magic. It’s tried and true, a move that always has a satisfying happy ending. 

Well, at least in the movies. In the real world, it’s a suggestion that’s much more messy and complicated for any sort of good end. It’s bitter and heart-wrenching and convoluted, leading to tears and shouts and vases being thrown - or, something like that. Could this trope even ever truly work?

OR, Diego Hargreeves needs a favour unlike anything he’s ever asked for before.

WORD COUNT: 2700+. WARNINGS: A couple swear words. A super worn out trope. Possibly bad, definitely unedited writing. You know the drill. A/N: I wrote this while I was supposed to be doing my job, while scrolling through a selection of one of my favourite cliche tropes. This is just a dumb little thing I made from it. If you want a part two of this, let me know (and as well, if you want to be added to the series’ taglist, let me know, too). xx

“I NEED YOU TO DATE ME.”

Of all the things she had heard leave Diego Hargreeves lips, perhaps that was the strangest one, to date.

It was the delivery that really sold it - though the words were crazy on their own, the way he said it did not help to make it more sane a request. Him, rushing in through her window as though his ass was on fire, clutching a bag and sporting a wild look in his eyes that never meant good. And before she could even mutter a single thing about him scaring her by doing that, or even finish the yelp of surprise she never could get over, he said those very words.

“I need you to date me.”

Y/N let her shouts of indigence die in her throat, replaced instead by confusion. She watched him dump the bag on her counter and act as he normally would; grab a beer, slip his boots by the door, as though it was his place and not hers. As though he had not just said the most outrageous sentence to ever be uttered in the history of their long and convoluted friendship.

“I - n - what!?”

Diego paused in his movements, sparing her a quick glance before turning away, as though his words were not a complete oddity - enough to inspire like, a late seventies David Bowie album. “What?”

“Uh - did you just hop through my window, say ‘hey we should date’ and then proceed to ‘what’ me as if this is all normal as shit!?”

Diego frowned only then, wagging his beer bottle at her as he swallowed his gulp. “Hey, no, I did not say ‘we should date’.”

“That’s basically what you just screamed into my previously peaceful apartment.”

“There’s a huge fuckin’ difference ‘tween what I said and ‘we should date’!”

“God, I really see why you’re single now. You have no twig of romance in your body, Hargreeves, and you also make absolutely no sense at all!”

“C’mon, Y/N I really don’t want to date you.”

And all she could say to that, after a brief moment of merely blinking, was, “well, shit, thanks?”

“Ah, c’mon - I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, nah, I mean I can’t say I’m terribly eager to hop on that relationship train with you, but you don’t have to be so harsh about it. I’ll have you know, I am somewhat of a catch.”

Diego sighed and leant his weight against the wall, cradling his beer in one hand and rubbing his face with the other. “It’s just a weird thing to talk about.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought this up, not me.”

“You got somethin’ to eat?”

“Diego, focus please.”

He threw his hands up in defense, a half-smirk just barely dusting his features. “Sorry, it’s just - look, I’ll be straight.”

“Great, please do that so I don’t combust from all this confusion,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out at his rolled eyes.

“I need a favour from you. A big one, but you owe me, so…”

“Oh, I owe you now?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember last month?”

Her hands fell to her hips, mouth agape in frustrated surprise. “Last month, when I paid you back legit the next day? Stitching your ass up at four in the morning means nothing to you now?”

“Okay, fine, yeah - I know, I ask a lot, but this...I need this. An’ it’s not like I’ve got anyone else.”

“‘That makes me feel so much better.”

He fell off the wall and moved nearer, a pout on his full lips now. His hands moved to hers, bringing them up to his own chest. “C’mon. I’ll make it up to you however you want.”

Immediately, Y/N felt a smirk grow on her face. “Oh, anything?”

“Okay, I-”

“-suddenly, I’m so much more interested,” she giggled, tugging her hands away just so she could pinch his cheeks. Diego shuddered away with a glare, only leaving her laughing harder. “Alright, alright, dummy. What do you need me for this time? Lay it on me.”

“I need you to play my girlfriend.”

Her smile remained, but it was suddenly more strained, weaker and more fake. “Uh-huh. Okay. Um....so. Just...what does that mean, exactly?”

“I need to get my siblings off my ass. They don’t shut up about it, how lonely I apparently am-”

“-I mean, I am your only friend, sweetie-”

“-an’ they keep setting me up, actin’ like they’re gonna find me my future wife. It was fine at first,” he sighed, pausing to gulp down more of his beer. “I didn’t give a shit, but now I’m losing my mind. I’ve had enough of wasting nights pretending I give a damn about people’s jobs and hobbies - you know how many people in this city who think they can sing? Cause there’s way too many a’them out there.”

Y/N chewed her lip. “I see your point, really I do, but c’mon. This is a lot. Having me as your girlfriend? That’s a lot more than just like, nightly first aid sessions.”

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s not like it’s for real.”

“We’re gonna have to pretend it’s real.”

Diego rolled his eyes and sank into her couch. “It’s not as bad as you think. I’ve got a whole plan. I tell ‘em that I’m taken, that’ll entertain them a week until I bring up the fact that it’s you. After that, we go out a couple times, do one or two dinners, and then break up maybe two months later. Simple.”

“Okay, but I don’t wanna break up with you and have things weird,” she argued, crossing her arms against her chest. Maybe it was a protective move she did not even consciously make, an attempt to hide the fact her heart was pounding harder than she thought possible. For no understandable reason, this whole concept was making her nervous - and not just because of his plan. “I don’t wanna be kicked out of your and their lives because we ‘broke up’.”

“You won’t.”

“How?”

“We’ll say we tried and it didn’t work out, that we were better as friends.” Diego shrugged, as though he was merely suggesting they order a pizza. 

“Okay, sure. But do you really think we can seriously pull this off in front of them? I don’t know how we’re gonna look like n’act like a serious couple.”

The truth was, though, that they already were seen as one to the rest of the Hargreeves. And they both knew it. Every time they were remotely interacting, one of them made a sly comment, or brought up the fact that they would look ‘so cute together’. Klaus even questioned their defenses for a long while, asking if they were just together in secret and not saying anything about it. They were not, of course, but that did not stop the dysfunctional set of siblings from telling them they should get together.

In the eyes of the Hargreeves, Diego and Y/N were perfect for each other. They probably just had to look at one another to sell the idea - but neither one wanted to bring that up.

“We’ll practice. Work out a system. It’s not like we have to get married, we just gotta attend a couple dinners and parties and hold hands and shit.”

Y/N felt her lip sting, and absent-mindedly she touched at the area she had been picking at. Her finger came back spotted with red. “I don’t know, man. This is a lot. Even just a couple months - what if one of us finds somebody for real?”

“Well, then, we’ll call it quits early.”

“You sure?”

He nodded in fake seriousness, but the smirk on his lips told a different story. “Sure, if you find the love of your life in the two months we gotta do this, I’ll find you a way out.”

“Shut up,” she shot back, though she too grinned a little - it was no secret the pair had less than desirable love lives. “Don’t tease your girlfriend like that, maybe I’m sensitive.”

Just before he could give his own retort, his eyes widened in slight realisation. “Wait, for real”

“I mean...what do I have to lose?”

Diego immediately lifted off the couch and moved to her, pulling her in a tight hug not characteristic for him. She stiffened in the embrace, unsure what to do or where to put her hands. Luckily for her, the moment was over within seconds, with him pulling away and headed back into her tiny kitchen to toss his beer. She was able to breath and push away the panic that had set in with the unexpected touch, prepare herself for acting normal in the face of unknown territory.

Y/N followed him into the kitchen, pulling a beer out for herself and tossing a second one to him. “We have to make some rules, if we’re gonna do this right, though.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah. Like guidelines and shit. I know you have your so-called plan, but I’m only going to go through with this if we have a concrete system set in place.” She paused, frowning at his smile. “What?”

Diego shook his head, still grinning. “Nothing. You’re just such a teacher.”

Y/N just stuck her tongue out and turned away. “You’ll thank me for this later, if and when we get stuck in a double date with like, Allison or something.”

“Sure, sure.”

She set herself down on the couch and reached for her laptop. Diego made his way over and sank in beside her, watching as she pulled up a new word document. In big letters, Y/N typed out the title: ‘DIEGO AND Y/N’S FAKE RELATIONSHIP GUIDELINES’.

“Okay. First rule?” Her hands flew across the keyboard. “If at any point, I want out, I’m out.”

Diego nodded. “Sure. An’ vice versa.”

“Uh-huh. Alright. What else?”

“Uh...okay, we have to do a minimum of two family dinners.” The Hargreeves monthly get-togethers were already essential in both lives, a point where all siblings could reconnect under one roof again and pretend like they were a normal family. Y/N often showed up on request, but not for every one. Though that would change. “Fully committed to the relationship.”

She chewed her bottom lip as she typed, ignoring the faint metallic taste filling her mouth. It was far from the first thought in her mind, just then. “Great, fine. Should we consider behaviour? Like, what I have to do to pretend to be hopelessly in love with you?”

Diego chuckled beside her, a low rasp that made her heart twinge in a way she did not understand. “I guess the standard couple shit. Holding hands, hugs, uh-”

“-kissing?”

She heard him swallow beside her, clearly a nervous point, yet he managed to keep his voice steady. “Probably necessary.”

“Okay,” she drew out, “but like - to what extent?”

“Well, I’m not saying we have to have sex in front of them, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not at all what I’m saying, dumbass,” she retorted, slapping his leg lightly. “I just mean, what are we saying? Cheek, pecks?”

“Nothing too big. Probably the cheek is fine, headshots.”

“Headshots? What, are you’re gonna kill me with a smooch on the temple, man?”

He let out a soft ‘ha’. “I have been known to be deadly with my-”

“-you really don’t need to even bother with finishing that sentence,” she said with a smirk. Her fingers pounded the keyboard, carefully writing out her addition to the rule. “Um, I guess we don’t have to worry about our story, considering everyone already knows we’re close. What’s the situation we should say progressed us from friends to dating, though?”

Diego shrugged. “Somethin’ simple. I came over one day and you realised you just couldn’t resist my charm anymore, and had to confess your attraction to my-”

“-or,” she shot back, turning to look up at him, “you stopped by soaking wet-”

“-why would I soaking wet?”

“From the rain, don’t be gross. It was raining of course, and super late and you came by to profess your adoration for me and everything I do, begging me to take you even though I was far from in your league, that I was the prettiest girl in the world and you could never begin to tell me how much I mean to you.”

He laughed at that, but just slightly, his face reddened - though that could have been the light, Y/N mused. “Guess we’ll meet in the middle. We wanted to give it a try, and then we realised we were actually good together.”

“Sure. Just clean n’simple. Great.”

Still looking down at her through half-lidded eyes, Diego nodded. He wore a strange expression, one she could not quite read. “Works,” he mumbled back, softer than before.

Y/N tore her gaze from his and began to type again. She coughed to clear her throat, feeling a bit odd out of the blue. “Um, so, we’re probably gonna have to fake it for my sister, too. If she hears I’m with someone, even you, she’s gonna pull a whole interrogation scheme out.”

“Sure. Guess that’s fair.”

“You know she’s ruthless.”

“I can handle her.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You say that now, but...alright. Okay, so, dates, dinners, PDA, um...what are you gonna call me?”

“What d’you mean?”

She shifted on the couch so she could see him again - that time, less so right in his face. “You know, couple nicknames and what not.”

“Oh. Do we need that?”

“Well we don’t need it, but it’s probably better if we have some set up to sell the story a bit better. We don’t sound believable if I call my boyfriend ‘man’ n’shit.”

Diego stifled a yawn and swirled his bottle, watching the liquid splash within the bottle. “Okay. What do you want?”

“Nothing cheesy - if you call me honey, or something cheesy, I will punch you. Like princess n’ all that is a no go.”

He grinned. “How about precious? Angel?”

“Don’t you dare-”

“-I’m kiddin. I think I’d barf,” he said, still chuckling. “Let’s just leave that alone, I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

Y/N shrugged, glancing down to delete the rule. “Fine. But if you dare call me something garbage, I will leave you right then and there.”

“You have no faith in me,” he teased, nudging her with the bottle. She shivered, the cold sending chills down her spine. “C’mon, I think this is fine. We know each other, we’re adults, we know how to lie. I mean, I fooled you for six months into believin’ I was just wounded from boxing fights.”

She giggled at that. “Please. I knew a week into you showing up who you were. I’ve lived long enough in this city to know what was up. You’re not as good of a liar as you think - I don’t think you can keep a thing from me, honestly.”

Diego grinned and mumbled something at that, something she could not quite catch, but she let it go. “Fine. Whatever. The rules are fine.”

“Exactly.” She cleared her throat and adjusted the screen, ready to read them aloud. “Okay, here is the extensive list of guidelines for Diego and Y/N’s fake relationship, always subject to change or additions.

At any point, either person in the relationship can ask to leave and break off the arrangement, REGARDLESS of time and place. There must be a good reason.

PDA wise, hand holding, embraces, kisses to the cheek or head, respectable touches and actions are all fine.

Kissing is fine if the situation requires it, but only the necessary amounts.

Stick with the story - we decided to try being a couple, went on a date and decided to go forward and now we’re together (subject to revision).

A required two Hargreeves family dinners need to be completed in order to fulfill the relationship - not including any separate, smaller occasions that may arise. As well, there must be a meeting of Y/L/N’s sister in order to fulfill the agreement.

A minimum of two months is required for the relationship (unless there is reason to withdraw, see first rule).

No stupid cheesy couple pet names.

No actually falling for the other person.

At the last one, Diego frowned. “What is number six about?”

“Oh, come on, it’s not serious,” she grinned. “But you know how this shit goes. In rom-coms, they always fall for each other and things get messy.”

“This isn’t a movie.”

“No shit, Sherlock. But it’s funny and it’s just a stupid rule.” She paused to poke at him teasingly. “What, you looking to marry me after all this?”

He rolled his eyes. “I just mean it’s unnecessary, but fine.”

“Great. I’ll give you a copy of this, just to consult if you ever forget.”

“Thanks so much,” he shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that it, then?”

Y/N slammed her laptop down and in response, lifted her beer bottle to meet his. “I believe that makes it official...boyfriend.”

He laughed as the glass clinked. “Fantastic...girlfriend.”

“Jeez,” she grumbled, downing a swig before finishing the softly spoken thought. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Tell me about it.”

The two then fell into a funny silence, staring away from one another and sipping at their beers, both at a loss for words. It seemed as though just then, the situation had sunk in for the pair and they had no idea what to say to their now (albeit fake) partner. All they could do was stare at the ground and wall respectively and silently wonder, just what the hell they had gotten themselves into.

[eurydice-thefool]

Surprise OC asks! What's up next for Eurydice and Mila? Anything in the works? Any new headcanons?

Well I do have things I’d like to do if I can get a handle on the executive dysfunction from my adhd– specific scenes that are great daydream fuel for me that would be really fun to write. I just gotta get past 1) the mortifying ordeal of having my ideas perceived by others 2) the h part of my adhd that doesnt want to do one task for too fuckin long

I’d like to write the scenes where Eurydice meets Asra and Mila meets Asra because those are VIVID in my mind. That would probably be a good starting place bc of how vivid they are and bc i know people will at least read it for Asra so i can tell my anxiety to stfu

I’ve a scenerio in my head about when en-route Mila finds out she’s a selkie, but I want to reread the part in Muriel’s route where he tells MC that they died of the plague cause that’s gonna have to be handled around that time. I should probably reread while it’s still infinikey week huh?

at one point i mentioned in tags that “Memory” from Cats is on Eurydice’s playlist cause I imagine that she’d like, find closure with her ghost!plague!mc!self. I’m afraid to write and post it because it would be melodramatic BUT its SO much fun for me so??

I wanna write something with them and @blues-disasters girls but I keep getting nervous about not coming up with something good enough. like i KNOW i need to kick myself in the ass and just DO it but WILL i? story of my life. But anyways it would be so cool. Modern au? Drabble about Mila meeting them as kids running around Vesuvia? Something else? I’d love it but I need to fight myself to make it happen

honestly I want to get them interacting with other apprentices but im Intimidated cause i dont want to write your ocs Wrong

Would also like to do a follow-up to Eurydice meeting Asra in which he helps her reunite with her aunt Artemis for the first time since she was a toddler cause that will be cavity-inducing fluff

As for progress that I’ve actually made uh. I made a timeline for Eurydice’s arc made entirely out of songs. A more concise playlist than the one I currently have up on spotify– the ones I have on spotify are vibe-based and don’t have to be listened to in order. If that sounds interesting to anybody I can post about it! Working on Mila’s still, it’s about half done. 

Thank you for asking @theroyalmage ❤️💙

[leostudyblr]

studying sucks as someone with adhd/add

and that’s not talked about nearly enough! in general and in the studyblr community.

i’m making this “guide” (of sorts) to, at the very least, let adhd/add ppl who struggle in school know that they’re not alone!

(also, just for reference, for the rest of this post i will be referring to adhd and add people as just adhd, because that is the official diagnosis for both. just know that i’m not excluding y’all inattentive types!!)

btw: neurotypical/non adhd studyblr are allowed and 100% encouraged to reblog this post!

distractions. my mortal enemy

writing this post is literally my distraction from writing my english essay. which is weird because i’m actually interested in the topic of my essay!

so why am i hyperfocusing on something completely unnecessary?

in short, because dopamine! that bastard.

long version is that people with adhd have unusually low levels of dopamine (the happy chemical, if you weren’t aware!) in their brain. this makes it extremely hard to stop doing something that is giving you dopamine and switch to something that won’t give you that sweet sweet dopamine.

in my case, it means that it’s hard to stop writing this post (which is about something i’m very passionate about, albeit hypocritical of me) and write my essay (which i’m also passionate about, but that includes writing an essay).

also, under this category i’d like to mention something that i found on the wikipedia page for hyperfocus that is just a great explanation of adhd!

“Some types of ADHD are a difficulty in directing one's attention (an executive function of the frontal lobe), not a lack of attention.”

thanks, wikipedia! what a nice helpful source. (note: wikipedia is a great resource that we all use, but that doesn’t mean you are bound to donate. don’t, if you don’t want to. they don’t have a fundraiser going on at the time of writing this, but.... still. don’t feel bad. other people will donate, and wikipedia will stay running.)

^ can you tell i’m adhd. geez. ok moving on

(another sidenote: apparently i lied. as soon as i went on another wikipedia page, they asked me to donate. damnit)

how do i... stop getting as distracted?

first off, understand that hyperfocus/lack of focus is part of your condition. you are not broken or “bad” for not being able to focus on what you need/want to.

try a pomodoro timer. this has literally saved me so much.

try a pomodoro... with friends! let them keep you accountable and working on what you need to.

have you been watching youtube for 3 hours and haven’t gotten out of bed that entire time? get up. get moving, walk to your kitchen and get a snack! some water, for god’s sake. take your snack time to think about what you need to work on and decide on one thing to do before you get another snack.

“but i can’t do just one task at a time! i’m better at multitasking!”

might i suggest fidget toys? i used to say that i was great at multitasking—no. no one is good at multitasking, it’s just not human nature to multitask. just trust me on this one, aight?

btw, sleep. not sleeping will only make it harder to focus on the things you have to do!!

if you take meds: take your frickin meds, dude. like seriously. take them.

if you don’t take meds and want to: talk to your doctor asap. tell them your concerns, and how adhd affects your life on a daily basis. and stimulant meds are not the only option!! be open to suggestions from your doctor, but if you feel like they don’t get what you’re going through: you gotta tell them again. give them more info, because what you tell them is literally the only way they’ll know something is wrong.

getting. overwhelmed. a trap that’s too easy to fall into

lord knows i’ve been overwhelmed. i’m overwhelmed right now. maybe you’ve been sick, or there was a really hard assignment in this class or that, and you had an exam in three classes over a two day time period—i get it. and you felt like this was your year! you were doing so well! but now you have late work in multiple classes and you’re not sure what to actually... do for those assignments.

a lot of this overwhelmed business has to do with not knowing how to start. you have this pile of work to do, how are you supposed to do any of it when there’s just so much and you know you can’t possibly get it all done.

“try and do one thing,” people will say

“just start! it’ll be easier once you start,” people will continue saying

“but it’s too much,” you’ll argue

“you don’t have to do all of it,” they’ll argue back, and you’ll realise that they’re right but it’s so easy for them. for you it’s like pulling teeth to start writing that essay outline or to start working on those chemistry problems. it feels like there’s no point if you don’t finish it—if you can’t turn it in, what’s even the point?

hey. i feel you. ppl w/o executive dysfunction just don’t understand how your brain works differently. and that’s not your fault.

the main thing i can say is: talk to people who do understand. 

your friends that have seen you struggling in school forever? they get it. maybe they don’t understand exactly how you do things differently, but they see the grief you go through each year just to survive.

if you don’t talk to people about what’s going on in your life, you’re gonna explode. like actually.

so how do i stop from getting overwhelmed?

talk about your stress early on, before it’s “too late”

that said, it’s never too late. it is NEVER too late to get help.

you got friends who have the same classes as you? have you made friends in your classes? ask them for clarification on assignments, if it’s too scary to go to the teacher.

i know that for me, at least, it doesn’t even cross my mind to ask my teacher about these supposedly silly thing! but i’ve started trying to take into account that if it’s preventing me from knowing where to start something, it’s not silly. it’s something that i need to ask about.

if you can afford to do so, consider asking your doctor if they can refer you to a therapist. this comes from someone with zero experience in therapy (altho i really want to! it just hasn’t worked out that way yet.), so take it with a HEAVY grain of salt. i just know that from other’s experiences, it has helped them immensely.

self esteem. what’s that?

with all this getting distracted and overwhelmed, it’s easy to confuse your adhd with yourself. yes, you have adhd, but it’s not all of you. and did you know that adhd people have enhanced creativity? you probably did, actually. isn’t it amazing that people with adhd have figured out how to persevere and live in a world not built for us!

now, i’d like to address some common self-esteem issues in adhd individuals and why it’s all your brain tricking you!

feeling down about our abilities.

this can mean not feeling good enough when you fail to do something that you previously thought you could do easily.

this is your brain trying to tell you that you can do better than this, but the signal is getting messed up somewhere along the way! when something doesn’t turn out as well as you want it to, you have to take that and push down the urge to beat yourself up about it and use that disappointment and turn it into self improvement!

comparing ourselves to neurotypical people.

“why can everyone else do it, and not me?”

because your brain isn’t built to work like that, silly! you need to think hard about why you can’t do it the same way as them—and find a way to accomplish the same goal but with a method that works for you.

it feels like we get more criticism than praise.

listen. maybe you are getting more criticism than praise—and that sucks! like absolutely, positively fuckin sucks. but more than likely:

that’s the rsd baby. your mind naturally takes criticism as a personal attack, AND it amplifies it in your mind! double whammy, if you will. this is why having someone to talk to who supports you is so important, so you can have an outside source telling you that you don’t deserve to feel like shit. because you don’t.

thanks for getting through this post ☺

all bases of the art in this post come from this website of open source sketchy illustrations!!

i sincerely hope that this has been at all helpful. if you have anything to add onto this post i encourage you to do so! if you have any questions about anything in this post, feel free to hmu at my ask box !!!

[himboholhorse-moving]

1 2 4 7 8 9 13 18 20 26 27 29 30 32 39 40 41 43/44 45 46 49 51 53 55 56 57 59 63 65 that is. so many dghsdghsdgv I'm sorry I just see an ask meme and go crazy aaaa go stupid aaaa. You can just answer whichever u like from those!! also 69(nice): you seem rly nice and funny from your 🅱️osts and I appreciate u... I hope you can find better irl friends who aren't trash

HDSKFJKS I completely understand but lucky for u I LOVE to talk !!

1) How are you?

Pretty good, actually!! Which is a nice change of pace. I went to Walmart with some friends yesterday and got a few things, baked a family recipe that my friends LOVE, and finally did my laundry (it’s been a couple weeks we love depression and executive dysfunction dfhkjsfd). I went to Cracker Barrel with some friends and earlier and played a 4-way game of Tetris after. :3c

2) Post a picture of yourself.

Here you go !!

4) What is your entire name?

Sierra Alexis and my last name is something constantly misspelled so I’ll give you the name of a historical figure whose name is a letter off from mine: George B. McClellan, to whom I may or may not be related because last name variations are fuckin’ WEIRD.

7) Your zodiac/horoscope and if you think it fits your personality.

I’m a Capricorn sun and moon, and Libra rising !! And from what I’ve read on Twitter from various astrologers, like Milkstrology, I LOVE her, I’d say it’s pretty accurate with my personality!! I like to say Capricorn’s aren’t cold bitches but, I Have A Tendency To Be One !!

8) What did you do on your last birthday?

God what DID I do on my last birthday… it was in January, so like, I SHOULD remember… OH I went to IHOP with my friends !! I share a birthday with another friend and I got a JoJo notebook and something called a Fuggler! They’re stuffed animals more or less but designed to be “ugly.” I got one that looks like Philadelphia Flyers mascot Gritty because I LOVE Gritty… he’s so fun and funky.

9) What is one thing you’d like to accomplish before your next birthday?

Get all my requests in my inbox over on my writing blog done KJHFDJKSF it’s been a few months and life has been. Hectic to say the least.

13) If you could change your eye color, would you?

There’s so much weird as hell brown-eye-phobia so like… I think blue eyes would be pretty neat. OR PURPLE… give me some unnatural eye colors pls...

18) Do you have any tattoos?

Not yet!! I’m going to get one the next time I go back home for break. :3c And I have a few ideas for other ones!! I wanna get a big-ass “Dragon Age: Origins” tattoo that’s the dragon on the cover on my thigh. I also wanna get a DA2 and “Inquisition” tattoo… and the Joestar birthmark… too many ideas… 

20) Left or right handed?

Right-handed !! I could have been left-handed or ambidextrous if I broke my arm AFTER I started kindergarten, but alas that was before.

26) Something you are working on right now:

This !! But also the script for my next podcast episode that I record on uhhh Monday I think. Should probably figure that one out dsjfjhsf

27) Do you have any “rules” about food?

I answered that in the last ask !!

29) What would you say is your best quality?

I also answered this in the last ask !!

30) What do you think you’re really good at?

Writing, I’d say! And memorizing trivia about the stuff I’m super into. If it’s stuff pertaining to “M*A*S*H” or old movies or TV shows or actors or specific historical events, I will know that shit FOR LIFE. Don’t ask me to do math pls thank u

32) What talent do you wish you’d been born with?

I wish I was able to do stuff with music. That was never really in my blood, despite all the music classes they make you take in elementary school. I just never learned how to memorize or read sheet music. :/ I would have loved to play violin, tho… my friend plays and she says I would have been a good cellist.

39) Do you sleep with a stuffed toy?

YES… have for years. I still have my Care Bear from when I was 5, Gritty as mentioned above, a plush of my school’s mascot, and a little Fugo !! He’s so tiny.

40) What do you think about the most?

Everything and constantly and all at once. But the past really because I can never let stuff go and even the small things I mess up on haunt me forever… Wish that wasn’t the case but it is !!

41) Share two habits:

Biting my nails and having a very specific routine in which I get ready when I wake up. Like, I’ve gotta go brush my hair before I put my important cards in my left pocket, then put on my silver bracelet, then my beaded bracelet, then my earbuds in my right pocket, then put my earrings in. I HAVE to do it in that order…

And other oddities that include, like, if I need to go around something I HAVE to follow the urge to go one way and not the other, lest I feel the need to go back and fix it. And then which foot goes first before I reach a crack in the sidewalk, or up or down a curb, etc.

43) What are your career goals?

If I can just make people happy or get some kind of joy out of the things I do, I’d call that enough. :)

44) What is your ideal career?

Mmm, either a film historian or a film professor !! Preferably at the college I’m at right now but wherever the wind takes me, I’ll go! Or a Twitch streamer or YouTuber, it really depends on my mood jdhfjskf

45) Is your life anything like it was two years ago?

It was pretty much the same !! Freshman year was pretty lively, I didn’t have a job on campus yet though, or my podcast. Everything else is basically the same!

46) Do you replay things that have happened in your head?

CONSTANTLY… good or bad it’ll play back over and over and over again.

49) Do you have any phobias?

HOO BOY, DO I… fear of heights; fear of insects/bugs/arachnids/bees/wasps; I have a strong dislike of the number 13 but I don’t know if it’s a phobia, I just. REALLY hate it; the unknown, more or less what lurks somewhere beyond where I can see. Not so much a fear of the dark with that one, just what could BE in it.

51) Are you allergic to anything? If so, what?

I answered this in my last ask, as well!

53) Ever come close to death?

Two or three times, maybe? Two of them involved what’s called a laryngospasm, typically it can happen when your sick, which is what happened to me both times. Basically your throat just closes up on your for a hot minute and you can’t breathe. The first time I genuinely thought I was going to die (and my dad still sent me to school that day… HOE), the second time I was also sick and was losing/had lost my voice DURING A JOB RETREAT and it happened in the middle of the night so that was funny sitting there gasping for breath in the pitch dark.

At the FIRST retreat I went on for that job, you had to take pictures as part of a scavenger hunt, and the place used to be an old military fort, so there were still the old bunkers there. We had to take one on top of it and I was taking the picture, and it’s a wide shot so I go to take a step back but before I do I look behind me. If I hadn’t I would have fallen a good 10-15 feet down onto solid Civil War-era bunker concrete. I’d consider that being a “close to death” moment because I really could have died!

55) A random fact about yourself:

I have a half-brother !! My sis and I finally found him after her 23andMe results came back (which she decided to do despite us being like THE GOVERNMENT WILL COLLECT OUR DATA) and we didn’t think our mom would be happy she found him but she was !! My sis might reach out and contact him, she just wanted our mom’s permission first to do it.

56) What are three things most people don’t know about you?

Well, that I have a half-brother. I don’t mention it a lot. Aside from y’all on here and my sister, most everyone else doesn’t know I’m nonbinary! Everyone else knows I’m bi though lmao. And that there were times I’d stretch or bend the truth or lie about something just to impress someone else. It’s a… Bad Habit. Another thing is that most people don’t know I like coffee? Like I need to put a shit ton of creamer in with it because I’m a Bitch, but yeah.

57) An unknown fact about your life:

I wouldn’t call this an “unknown” fact but I’d used to go to work with my dad every now and again when he worked at the Home Depot and he was assistant manager. I’d either chill in the back room which was an office he shared with two other guys, or walk around the store with him. I had my own apron, too, which was my name with “Mini Mac” next to it, “Mac” being my dad’s nickname and something easier to say than my last name. I actually helped a few customers out so I wonder if I should have gotten paid for that despite being like, ages 9-13 when I’d go jshfkjd

And I guess I technically tested video games as a kid? Basically, when my dad was stationed at Fort Knox, they’d get demos of video games that hadn’t come out yet to test I suppose? and I still have a few somewhere. He’d hand them off to me and I’d play them so there’s that.

59) Five weird things that you like:

Eating globs of wasabi for no reason.

Scaring my friends also for no reason.

I wouldn’t say using cotton swabs to get wax out of your ears because it feels good is weird, just more medically inadvisable if anything.

When I was younger I’d like to floss really hard because the slight pain from it felt good. Young me was a #Freaque KJHDFJJDHF

I don’t know if being fond of alphabetizing and reorganizing things is considered weird but I LOVE doing that.

63) A quote you try to live by:

“It matters not how strait the gate, / How charged with punishments the scroll; / I am the master of my fate: / I am the captain of my soul.” It’s from the poem “Invictus” and the last two lines are what I’m getting tattooed !!

65) Weird things you do when you’re alone:

Practice the “Lucky Star” dance. I GOT THE LYRICS DOWN… JUST NEED TO DO THE DANCE NOW…

69) Leave me a compliment:

“you seem rly nice and funny from your 🅱️osts and I appreciate u... I hope you can find better irl friends who aren't trash”

Anon pls 🥺 I do my best to be nice but my friend really do test me sometimes... my feelings bounce back n forth like if they do something my feelings can switch to angry or like, hate, and then if they do something nice I’ll like them again. It sucks but ! I just take it one day at a time. Anon I care for u 💜💜💜

[elsajeni]

Chocolate Box 2020 Letter

Dear Chocolatier: thank you for dropping by! I know I will enjoy anything you write for me, but if you’d like a little more detail on my preferences, here it is. First all the general stuff, which is all in my sign-up, but for the sake of having everything in one place:

Likes: bantering and bickering; moments of humor even in dark situations; pining; misunderstandings that turn out all right in the end; hurt/comfort; rescue missions; casual relationships; “undercover as a couple” tropes; “actually a couple, undercover as something else” tropes.

Sex & Kink Likes, if you go in that direction: light bondage; lots of talking during sex, both sweet and dirty; laughing during sex; inappropriate use of magic/Force powers/miracles; “foreplay” activities as the main event; overstimulation; orgasm denial, orgasm control, forced orgasm; light D/s dynamics.

DNWs: rape/non-con unless specified; incest; explicit scenes with underage characters; detailed description of bodily fluids; mundane AUs (coffeeshop, high school etc.); A/B/O; lifestyle or outside-the-bedroom D/s; infidelity; pregnancy, miscarriage, or infertility; unrelentingly dark and grim stories (I like a glimmering of hope); unhappy endings in Good Omens fic specifically.

Onward! to the pairing-specific prompts!

Luke Skywalker/Wedge Antilles -- this is a long-time favorite pairing, and I would love pretty much anything about them! Given the Thrawn trilogy as a setting, I’m interested in the pressures that their respective positions and commitments put on a relationship, and especially the complications of maintaining a relationship with someone who’s always running off on incomprehensible Jedi business (Luke just... up and fuckin’ vanishing off of Hoth is a pivotal moment in how I tend to see their relationship) -- whether they’re trying to make a committed relationship work, or deciding that a casual whenever-we’re-on-the-same-planet thing is the best they can manage, or what. How do you deal with loving someone when circumstances never seem to let you make him your first priority, or you his? (If it comes up, I strongly prefer Wedge’s old EU/Legends backstory.)

Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker -- another long-time favorite! Another pairing where I would like basically anything you give me! I’m especially interested in the innate connection between them that exists before they even meet, and how that shapes their relationship. I am, of course, very into their eventual true love and the canonical slow build into it; that said, I’m also super into the idea that they had the occasional purely-chemistry-driven goddammit-I-don’t-even-like-you hookup long before that. (If you’re into soulmate AUs, this is also the very rare pairing where I’m into soulmate AUs, not least because of how completely furious Mara would be about it.)

Mara Jade/Darth Vader -- I’m interested in Mara’s youth in the Emperor’s court, and the sort of... just-under-the-surface yawning horror that we know is there, but that doesn’t get dug into much in the EU. Give me something with her and Vader encountering each other -- as rivals for Palpatine’s attention, as tentative allies in court intrigue, as student and tutor? This could go in a lot of directions, from something as relatively innocent as a kid’s crush on the one person she thinks understands her to something as dark as the Emperor ordering one of them to the other one’s bedroom; whatever way you go with it, I do want you to treat the power dynamics and age dynamics here seriously, and lean into the darkness it suggests -- no one here is having a nice time or doing something they’ll be really happy to look back on.

(This is my one sort-of-exception to the “no rape/non-con” clause; it’s a pairing that lends itself to questionable or compromised consent, and I’m into that. The line between “dubcon” and “non-con” is blurry, but as much as possible, I’d like you to stay on the dubcon side of it -- deceit, coercion, and uncomfortable power imbalances, yes; violence, physical or Force-based force, or explicit non-consent that’s ignored, no. This is NOT an exception to the “no explicit scenes with underage characters” clause; if you write this with Mara as a teen, please keep anything explicitly sexual off-screen.)

Garik "Face" Loran/Ton Phanan -- listen, this is a long shot and I know it, but: GHOSTS. Give me Ton still hanging around after death -- where else does he have to go, after all? Haunting all the Wraiths, or just Face, or trying to figure out how he can go haunt some Imperials and ruin their day. Making Face miserable, or still making him laugh (and is he real, or is this some kind of coping mechanism, and does Face want to find out which?), or not seeming to know he’s dead. Just… Ghost Ton. Pls. (If ghosts aren’t for you, I’d also be very happy with them getting into shenanigans and having lots of pleasant casual sex during happier days!)

Wedge Antilles/Wes Janson -- I’m just looking for more Wraith Squadron/Starfighters of Adumar-style shenanigans here, really. Maybe some silly undercover-as-a-couple type stuff, or just some pure stress-relief casual fun? Alternately, this is a pairing that lends itself to hurt/comfort; both of these guys have more than enough canonical close calls, let’s see the aftermath of one of them. If you’re feeling ambitious, you could fix Isard’s Revenge for me by writing their post-Distna reunion, after they’ve both believed each other to be dead for weeks.

Son of Havoc/Ivelisse Velez/Angelico -- I just love these beautiful dysfunctional dipshits and I want them to love each other! I’m into this as a casual stress-relief thing among teammates that accidentally turns less casual; I would love some hurt/comfort, which I feel like wrestling fic is basically made for, and I have a special love for “oh no, *I’m* the one who hurt you” h/c in particular, which I feel like these three squabbling idiots are basically made for. My general taste in Lucha Underground fic is “turn the supernatural nonsense up to 11,” so go nuts with the “persecuted by the literal goddess of death” business; I have a particular weakness for regular mortal Ivelisse and Havoc getting dragged into supernatural nonsense because their boyfriend is a supernatural creature with no sense of self-preservation.

Aziraphale/Crowley -- hi, yes, like everyone else on tumblr I am now a full-time Good Omens obsessive. This is another pairing that I like pretty much any way you take it -- six thousand years of angsty pining and “no actually they’ve been fucking and/or married since Eden” and anything in between all equally welcome. I love the historical scenes that we get in the TV show, and would be delighted with anything looking at what they’ve been up to throughout the rest of history (ooh, how about a Robin Hood interlude?); I love rescue missions and hurt/comfort of any kind; I have a terrible weakness for the delayed-action total fucking breakdown that Crowley is clearly going to have post-Armageddon; I’m down for them not being quite as safe as they thought they were post-Armageddon, and having to fend off one last attack from Heaven or Hell or both. I love the warm soft side of how ludicrously much they love each other, and also the absolutely crucial part of their dynamic that is “I can’t believe I have somehow been stuck, for six THOUSAND YEARS, hanging around with the SINGLE MOST ANNOYING PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE”. My one specific demand is: I don’t mind some angst on the way to my happy ending, the payoff is all the sweeter if you make me suffer for it a little, but this is the one pairing where I feel really really strongly that you gotta give me the happy ending, or at least leave them on track for it if they’re not quite there yet.

(A note: I requested Aziraphale/Crowley under both book and TV fandoms, and I’m lumping them together here because I honestly don’t care much about the distinction. I love the book, I loved the show, fics set in book canon, TV canon, or a sort of pick-and-choose hybrid canon are all equally fine with me!)

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Thirteen-One, part 5

Amy’s hands trembled like leaves in the wind. Even when she tried to suppress it, tried to focus, and tried to calm herself down—the coffee mug in her hand shook, and the liquid inside of it threatened to slosh over the edge after taking a sip.

She set it down and stared at the nondescript disc that sat on the surface of her desk. Seth had given it to her. In her heart of hearts, she knew it contained another strange video. And that she would not be able to unsee whatever it would show her. What it would show her about herself.

Amy dreaded to watch that video. A single tear dropped onto the transparent jewel case.

She switched her computer on and inserted the disc. Waiting for the system to boot up took way too long. Her heart raced. Her fingers tapped on the edge of the desk.

Finally she opened it up, double-clicked, and started viewing the video.

The image was black. Something rustled. The camera automatically focused on a face. Contrary to what she expected—to see her own face in the picture like the last time she had watched one of these bizarre videos—she beheld Seth’s face instead. He sighed and slumped into a chair in front of the running camera.

It was the same dingy room that she had seen herself in, on the previous recording that these psychopaths had given her. This too, showed her something she could not remember.

“Thirteen-One is here, and Scott is—he is dead. My rage with Sara was not as much as a drawback as he initially thought,” Seth spoke into the camera. His eyes glistened with tears and he croaked out some of the words.

“By the way—I hate that Amy doesn’t accept what she really is,” he continued. His voice shook with what could only have been sadness or rage. “Twenty-Four-Five and Twelve-Twelve have accepted it. I accepted it.”

He trembled as he screamed, the sudden outburst blending into his next words, “Why doesn’t she?”

Seth breathed, his chest heaved, he took what felt like an eternity to settle back down in this rickety old wooden chair. Watching the unsettling scene unfold, Amy hugged herself. She sat on the edge of her seat, absorbed by Seth’s monologue in this video.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seth sighed. “Now it’s just about—we gotta end the game, complete the pentagram, perfect the circle. I’m certain now—Thirteen-One is to blame for Amy’s fever-like states and dreams. Can’t expect any useful contributions from her, now.”

He looked away from the camera and stared into the distance. Almost as if he had heard someone or something. When his gaze returned to fixate on the camera’s lens, he said, “If you ask her what happened to Scott, she says he moved to France. I guess that means she’s suppressing the truth, or something. Like she doesn’t know what happened. So I’m beginning to wonder—is Amy the right one for Thirteen-One? Is Thirteen-One the right one for Amy?”

Seth set his jaw during the silence that followed. Outside Amy’s house, the rain set it—first tapping against the shuttered windows and roof with a subtle pitter-patter, then transitioning into a drumming downpour.

She refused to believe what she was hearing Seth say in the video. Scott was not dead. He was in France.

Seth and the other jerks from this weird cult had to be gaslighting her.

Right?

“We’re waiting for answers, but I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of waiting,” Seth said, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna scour the tomes, and see if I can’t get some damned answers myself.”

Before Amy’s consciousness could fully absorb Seth’s video, he got up and reached towards the camera. The video turned to a static of black and white, and the audio died.

Amy’s hand rested on the computer mouse, pale as a corpse once more, then moved the input device with the intention of closing the video and clicking everything away. But before she could close the player, the static ceased to display and made way for something else. A dark picture, a close-up of someone’s mouth.

Screaming. The video had no audio, but judging by the cracked lips and the way the mouth moved, it had to be screams of agony.

It looked like Scott’s mouth, which she knew intimately from all the times they had kissed in the past. Amy stared at the video, expecting to see something else, hoping to see something that would prove her instincts wrong, praying silently for this to stop on its own or someone to jump out of hiding and tell her she was being punked.

None of that.

Just more screams. Although no audio escaped her computer’s speakers while the mouth’s teeth gritted in pain before gnashing and then stretching wide open to scream yet more, she heard dark whispers in the back of her head. The whispers were not really there—she was not going crazy, at least not yet—but she felt like they should have been there. Like she could have heard the whispers in the background, chanting, while this poor person—not-Scott, she wished, over and over again—screamed.

Amy closed the player before the video ended. It had only a few seconds left, anyway.

She refused to believe.

She removed the disc from her computer’s drive with an almost eerie calm about her. Then she snapped it in half and, without looking, tossed it at the trash bin nearby. She missed and the plastic parts clattered onto the floor.

Blood dripped from her bandaged hand, soiling the wooden floorboards underneath her desk chair.

Walking through the fog and the rain, the world passed by Amy in a trance. A familiar yet distorted voice responded to her at the building’s intercom after she rang the bell to Seth’s apartment, but it was not Seth on the other end. It was the one she expected to answer, for some reason. Like this strange world she lived in was beginning to make sense, like everybody was falling into place within a strange, dysfunctional order.

Inside the apartment, she sat on the couch once more, the water dripping from her leather jacket, the fabric of the sofa soaking it all up in dark spots. She sat across from Adam, and had buried her face in her hands. She had told Adam everything she had experienced in the past few days.

“I don’t know what you could’ve done,” Adam told her. Unlike in their last conversation, he sat up straight. Did not distract himself with booze or smoking. “Don’t know if the cops could—or would—do anything right about this.”

“They know where I live,” Amy said. “They know what I’m thinking. They know what I’m afraid of. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but why the hell did you come here, of all places? To Seth’s apartment?”

Amy looked up at him and shook her head, replying, “I don’t know. Maybe this is the last place they’ll look for me. Maybe I need to warn you, too. Maybe you’re in danger, too.”

Adam shrugged, but the contortion of his face betrayed the uneasiness that had claimed his heart.

“Eh, I have nothing to do with anything. Seth hasn’t been here in all this time, ever since the last little shindig here. Also, I’m not really part of the gang you all had together, back then, so, eh, y'know. Screw it.”

Adam scratched his head, first lightly, and then with more fervor and irritation. No itch made him do that, only confusion.

And fear.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, I feel like,” Adam said. His words and thoughts trailed off.

“I—I can't—I can’t really say,” Amy stammered.

“Go find Steve, okay? Tell him. Go take him somewhere, outside of this garbage town. Better yet, go to the big city together, or to his parents and spend some time there. Just take some vacation.”

“But—”

“No, I know I’m full of bad habits and worse advice, but this time, you should listen to me.”

A silence draped itself over them. It dragged on while Amy pondered his suggestions.

Adam asked, “Okay?”

More silence followed.

He asked again, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Amy sighed.

The doorbell rang. Not the doorbell to Seth’s apartment, but the one to Steve’s. Elsewhere. He approached the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

Amy stood there, greeted him wordlessly. Her eyes spoke volumes of desperation. They fell into each other’s arms, then they kissed. Amy’s passion suffered and Steve must have sensed her dwindling energy and broken confidence. He responded with all his affection.

She wanted to say something, but he placed his index finger upon her lips to shush her.

Amy spoke anyway, “I need to leave for a while. A few days. Maybe a week.”

Steve took his finger away and his brow arched.

“What? Where to?”

Amy slipped out of the embrace, but held his hands in hers.

“It’s gonna sound weird, but—just—away from here. Away from everything here.”

Normally, a confident sense of humor rode on every single line Steve uttered, but now he sounded like the words she said had wounded him when he asked, “Even away from me?”

Amy fought back the tears and her chin crinkled.

“There are people in my life. Here—I just—I just need some distance. It’ll just be for a little while?”

“Wait, is this some sort of break-up thing?”

“Please—this isn’t. No, this has got nothing to do with you.”

Steve shook his head, defied that, “What the hell? Of course it’s got something to do with me. I hear you talking. You’re telling me how you feel. Or are some sort of fairies talking through your mouth now?”

He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Alright, I guess I understand. I’m not gonna ask any more questions if you don’t wanna answer. Just, like, promise me you’ll explain everything when you get back? Or this all blows over? Whatever this is.”

Amy did not reply to that with words, only with a feeble smile. Heartfelt, but as feeble as Seth and the cult had rendered her now.

“So, when are you leaving?”

“I think right now. That would be best.”

Steve leaned left and then right, looking at her from different angles in a playful fashion.

“Gonna miss me?”

A feeble giggle escaped her, fitting the feeble smile that he had provoked from her. He returned a wide warm smile. He dragged her inside—she let him. He kicked the door shut behind them and they wound up on the couch in a loving embrace. Hands glided underneath shirts. Warm lips connected. Fingers interlocked.

Then the memories of Scott welled up. Amy started seeing Scott there instead of Steve. Instead of kissing Steve, she kissed Scott. The texture of their hands felt different, rougher, callused.

She felt like throwing up.

Steve pushed her up and away from himself. He stared at her in disbelief, sensing the distance and her growing discomfort.

“What’s wrong?”

���Nothing,” Amy said. “Well, fuck, I don’t know. Too many fairies around, I guess.”

“Fuck those fairies.”

She snuggled up to him again and nuzzled his neck. Steve wrapped his arms around her and they lied there for a long and quiet minute.

“I’ll always be there for you. I just wish—I hope I can stop being afraid,” she said.

Steve stared her in the eyes and said, “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here for you, too.”

“But I’m afraid of myself, babe. This fear—I’m the only one who can take it away.”

Lost in each other’s gazes, lost in a sea of timelessness, they both spoke at the same time when they next whispered to one another, “I love you.”

Meanwhile, figures dressed in black opened the front door and walked into Steve’s apartment. Hooded and masked to conceal their features, the faceless intruders each carried something different with them—a metal baseball bat, a bike chain, a metal pipe, and a knife. The couple did not notice these four men sneaking up on them.

Until it was too late.

—Submitted by Wratts

[doctormage]

i rly like that post i just reblogged (abt getting ‘unstuck’ by going back to the decision you were trying to make) and i think its a very good tactic but the real bitch is most of my executive dysfunction catastrophes do not start that way

usually im overwhelmed by the fact that whatever it is i need to do isnt one (1) thing but many things. its not just a shower, which in and of itself could take like 5min if i tried real hard. i gotta wait for the water to get hot, i gotta decide if i wanna shave & add like 15 more min to my shower, i gotta detangle my hair when the conditioner is in it, i gotta moisturize once i get out, i gotta put more shit in my hair and wait for it to dry, i gotta find what clothes i wanna wear once my body has sucked up all its lotion, and then i gotta brush my hair once its mostly dry and figure out if i want it to be straight or wavy until the next time i wash it. that is SO MANY THINGS and if i gotta get ready/pick out regular clothes/put my face on? fuckin forget about it man. it was already a 35min ordeal at best but having to Actually Get Ready? nah

same w cooking. i have to compile a list of all the ingredients, figure out WHICH kroger im gonna go to, drive there & get my groceries as fast as i can bc i fucking hate grocery shopping, figure out what order to do the recipe in, heat shit up, SO MUCH WASHING AND CUTTING AND CHOPPING, mixing & heating w the constant fear im gonna fuck it up irreparably, and then the fucking DISHES?????? fuck no!!!!!!!!

with laundry its the sorting and the folding and the figuring out where shit goes, with schoolwork it’s a vast and convoluted hellscape of not knowing what the fuck to do but knowing i have a SHIT ton to do, with grading it’s the fact that i have 60+ of these godforsaken papers which take 5min each if not more to read and evaluate, with cleaning its the sweeping AND the vacuuming AND the mopping AND the putting shit away AND the trash AND the recycling AND the sorting AND and ANd And AND and ANdDDDdddd

not to mention that my anxiety follows me in all things so when deciding what kroger to go to, i have to go to the one that i went to less recently or else they’ll think i’m a freak that grocery shops 3x weekly. if im trying to order food same thing, i dont want them to know i JUST got something from them like a lazy fuck. anxiety over doing my assignment wrong/not getting it done in time, over unread emails, over being late to something, over the food i cook coming out shitty, over someone being mad at me. these all make my decisions way more fuckin complicated than they need to be

and then on TOP OF THAT if im going thru a depressive episode then its just not getting done. even if i cut my shower routine down to like 15 minutes tops, i just cant move. even just fucking like. microwaving leftovers is “Too Much” like bitch what??? stupid. even when im not having an an episode my energy levels fluctuate SO drastically for NO fucking reason that i may have a weird manic hour-long cleaning binge and then completely run out of steam before i get to the kitchen or the bathroom and cant do anymore. or i’ll go down a weird research rabbit hole when doing schoolwork and im so burnt out by the time i emerge that i cant even get any actual required work done 

anyway my brain is literally hell