#evidence: like SO much group therapy

[tortoise-teapot]

solas haters are so annoying

like i promise you there are a million other perfectly good reasons to not like him besides "he's full of himself." which is the impression some people get after his dialogue in haven, and usually what they bring up in their crit posts. like... that's not even really accurate. hes a bit self centered sure (he's the type of guy who leaves only 1/8th cup milk in the bottle and doesn't write it on the shopping list) but at that time he's just infodumping.

if you're gonna hate him at least pick a reason that is true 🙄 for example unless you stop him he full on murders a scared guy who made a mistake out of ignorance.

"but robin he has killed a whole bunch of people! notoriously so!" i hear you i hear your point. the difference is that this time it was personal and in cold blood.

[metaphorfordeath]

Anti-Psychotic

A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.

No one is watching me.

Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again. 

So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.

Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it. 

I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.

That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.

Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon. 

I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.

By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.

“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.

My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I? 

The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.

“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”

“You too,” I mutter.

And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand. 

And getting home doesn’t even help this time.

Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood. 

I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.

Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong. 

The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition. 

Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?

---

The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.

“Feeling alright today, X?” 

My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.

“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.

Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.

“Everything okay?”

She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”

“Hmm.” 

Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.

There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.

When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.

She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.

“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”

“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”

Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?” 

She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”

“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.

“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”

Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”

“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”

“No—that’s not right. I need to know.” 

I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”

“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”

Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”

Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.

“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”

I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.

“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me. 

---

“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”

“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”

She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”

“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”

“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”

A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”

“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”

I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâché, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.

“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script. 

“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.

Wasn’t Devin an only child?

I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling? 

I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.

The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.

Click. “Hello?”

The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.

“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”

“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”

“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”

“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”

“What’s—who are you?”

“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.” 

The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.

---

Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world. 

Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.

The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.

“Do you have any questions about your medication?”

I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.

There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.

There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby. 

So I do. It’s all I have left.

The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.

It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.

Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.

Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.

When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.

I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.

All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.

“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”

I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.

He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.

“I’ve been watching you,” he says. 

I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it. 

He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.

“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”

Then he hits me again. And other things.

When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.

A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.

I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.

Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.

“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

“Okay,” I say. 

She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.

Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X. 

What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.

But now I just tell him I’m sorry.

[catboybiologist]

So y'all may have noticed I've been posting a lot about progesterone lately. I'm at the point on HRT (just passed the 9 month mark [with the asterisk that my levels didn't get good until 7 months or so]) where I'm actively considering it. I'm waiting a bit more for a couple reasons, but its still on my mind a lot.

And it bothers me how much the "no compelling evidence for progesterone" line is floated around. And this is true, for the exact case of breast size in transgender women. And yeah, maybe this study has been done.

But I have two things that I think should be said about this:

1, there will never be a clinical study that studies the exact niche case of person that you are. That's why thinking about when results can be translated from a different group that has been studied, to your group. In my opinion, most information about cis female hormones can be translated to trans women. There's far less of a physiological difference than people think, and most of those differences are dictated by hormones anyways.

2, progesterone has an enormous number of effects beyond breast development, in both cis and trans women.

Why do I bring these up?

Take a look at this review paper (if you can meaningfully read it):

This is a review paper that I somehow only just stumbled upon that summarizes a lot of my thoughts about progesterone that I developed from other sources.

It primarily uses data from cis women, but also supplements with data from trans women when applicable, about the effects of progesterone. And, as can be seen just by the sheer number of topics addressed, it finds a diverse set of functions that it regulates and improves. At that point, any breast growth that may or may not occur is a happy side effect.

Progesterone is part of normal female physiology, just like estrogen. So why the hell is it not standard practice with HRT the same way that estradiol is? It just needs to be applied later. That's pretty much it.

[baguettesandbows]

2

tw! sa undertones

P3

If you thought you felt crazy thinking that Jason was alive before, you felt ten times crazier in Arkham.

The place wasn’t built for crazy people, it was built to keep them inside. Away from the high end galas and family members who were ashamed of them. A place where Batman could put villains that were too much trouble for the GCPD.

You fit into those catagories perfectly.

Dick wasn’t lying, Bruce had gotten you the suite. The suite in Arkham. You had assumed your room might be better than the ones the Joker would’ve had. Or any other villain that’s escaped from here.

Escaped. Maybe that’s why Bruce put you in a suite.

Through unpacking, they didn’t slow you to bring in any of Jason’s items. His sweatshirt, his favorite books, even the paper band from your first concert together.

Because it would trigger your attacks.

You had punched the guards nose as they carried you out from holding.

What you had to give to Arkham, was they kept to a schedule. The point of it seemed to make everyone more crazy. Therapy was interrogating, Lunch was slop, and visiting hours… was just Dick.

You’re least favorite time of Arkham was Rec. They’d put you and the other high class young women in the same room, and expected no fights to happen. Sometimes, they’d mix the genders so there would be fights.

You learned quickly to keep to yourself and not tell anyone anything. You could practically hear Jason saying “Snitches don’t get stitches. They go missin’ in Gotham.”

Jason. Jason Todd. The boy who called you birdie. Your first everything. His red tank tops and his boyish smirk, his arm covered in friendship bracelets you’d make while he was on patrol-

“Reader?”

You look up from the table and avoid looking at the couple practically shagging in the corner, to focus on the man with a clipboard, looking around the room.

You were new, but he seemed newer.

“Here.” You mumble, getting up and walking past a small group of men who eye you in your sweatsuit.

You meet the man at the gate locking in the rec room, and meet his gaze blankly.

“You’re Reader? Right, I’m Jefferson, the new assistant to Doctor Jane.” The man says softly, yet clearly trying to be.. intimidating? “I’m taking over her clients while she’s on break after the.. incident.”

The incident. A woman had snuck a metal pipe into her meeting last week.

“Right.”

Jefferson clears his throat and smiles warmly at you, an expression not hardened yet by Arkham. “Follow me, please.”

Jefferson met with you two times a week. The first weeks were rough, since you had expected Jefferson to be the same as everyone else. To instantly deny your truth.

But he listened. He listened to your ideas, and your proof. You think he would’ve even looked at your evidence, if you were allowed to bring it in.

Sometimes, although it wasn’t allowed, he’d bring you a coffee. One from a diner on his way to Arkham.

You had questioned another woman in your cell block about if Jefferson bought everyone coffee on tuesdays. That question earned you a right hook, due to being a favorite.

You were laying in your room, staring at the top of your bed frame, fidgeting with your hands. Every night, you’d memorize Jason’s face. Especially when you weren’t allowed to have pictures of him here, you couldn’t forget his features.

You didn’t want to forget his face, in case he walked right by you.

With as much money Arkham gets from supporters and investors, the walls were paper thin. You could hear the rustling of your next door neighbor, as her secret escapades with one of the guards weren’t secret to you.

Below, you could hear pounding, most likely one of the women who was given a punching bad to ease her anger.

Your body trembled from the cold, but it wasn’t just from Arkhams shivering tempature. You had gotten used to Jason sneaking in, warming you up after his patrol. His ego boosting from his smirk as he told you about the goons he had taken down during the night.

He was so proud to be Robin. More people should’ve been proud of him for it.

You don’t realize your sobbing until the thumping next door stops, and your use of their white noise draws you out of it.

What, did your crying turn them off?

You hear rustling, before the guard walks out of her cell and up to yours. Unlocking the door, she peers in at you.

“You miss your dose of somethin’?”

You furrow your eyebrows. You knew most patients here took doses of things, but naively you assumed it was for their mental illnesses.

“For what?”

“For sleepin’. Almost everyone here gets some.” The guard says. “Leaves us less to deal with at night.”

At least she was honest.

You think for a moment, or not at all, before replying.

“Yeah. I take those.”

The pills make time in Arkham fly by.

You realize it’s why most of the patients take then. If you didn’t look at Jeffersons calendar every meeting, you’d understand why most of these people go crazy.

Jason would knee you in the vagina if he knew what you were doing. But he’s understand. Atleast, that’s what you tell yourself.

You’ve noticed one thing about Arkham, the prosedures.

Shock therapy. You wouldnt beleive it still existed, if you hadn’t seen the marks on the women at your lunch table. You had realized they hadn’t done it to you, because Dick or Bruce must be too involved with your care. Plus, Bruce could figure out anything that happened to you, as long as he was interested.

You hope that being his sons girlfriend will be enough for him to care about you for as long as your in here.

Jefferson’s office smelled good. Different than usual. You realized why when you saw a candle on his desk.

“Reader, come on in.” Jefferson says from his desk, scrubbing on his papers. “Sorry for the mess, some of the patients here have no knowledge for manners.”

He looked at you and gestures for you to sit in the chair across his desk like usual. You did as he said, and he seemed to always relax at your obedience.

“I heard we had a setback earlier this week.” Jefferson starts. “Randy told me she heard you talking to..” He checks his papers. “Jason, in your room.”

“I wasn’t talking to him.” You mutter. “I was talking about him. To myself.”

Jefferson clears his throat and nods. “Right. Well, we do know that a main reason your here is for your.. obsession to this case.”

He slides over a cup of coffee for you, which you take, tkaing a sip.

“Reader, you know that I am supportive of your ideas about this Jason. Regardless, any way out of Arkham is proving the fact that you aren’t, focused on what happened to him.”

Jefferson gets up from his desk and walks around it, sitting on the edge and looking down at you as you sip your coffee.

His lips twitch. “Good, right?” He says quietly, watching you. You nod, and he starts. “I don’t think you should be here. You aren’t like these other women. They have tarnished themselves. But you..” He draws off, reaching out to gently take the coffee from you.

Your lips were practically still on the container as he pulls it back to himself, making you look up at him in confusion. He brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip. He makes a noise as the coffee hits his tongue before looking at you. “I’m the only one that listens to you in here.” He says quietly. “I think you know that. And if what your saying is true, I want you to be able to get out of here and prove everyone wrong.”

He leans in, meeting your gaze. “I can sign you off and have you out of here after evaluation, but after all those treats i’ve given you, I think I deserve some of my own. Don’t you?”

[tinydefector]

Ok ok i thought about this and for me it's sounds funny.

Sooo on the comic where everyone just found out that Rung is god you know where Rodimus, Rachet, Whirl and Tyrest and others having existing crisis and the part where Whirl said "God was my therapist" and then I thought about it, how funny it would be if cybertronian or human MC/reader said something like "I was fuck by said God" like if said cybertronian/human was in relationship with Rung and everyone reaction (plus Tyrest too since I think he's a god fanatic) 😂😂😂😂

XD omg so I had a bit of a joke piece about fucking God over in this fic. But it gets even better that thought of Tyrest being a God fanatic and hating Organics. The horror when he finds out Primus is with a human, watch this mech just break down.

Everyone's optics and eyes are on Rung, and the mech stands there wishing attention wasn't on him. Rodimus paces back and forth, Ratchet just stares off into a wall wish above all he wasn't here right now. Whirl, for the first time, is so quiet that it makes everyone so uncomfortable. And then there was the human just looking up at Rung in shock, dismay? They really didn't know how they felt in that moment.

Rodimus finally speaks. "OK, ok, but how the Frag!, Your Primus! All this time, you have just been what? Hiding on cybertron, having a vacation!" He asked. He was bitter about this, as much as he wanted to blame Rung for everything, cybertron falling apart, his home, and the matrix in truth it wasn't his fault. After all wasn't he doing the exact same thing, running away because he didn't want to be a prime, he wasn't suited for it, he didn't want to live in Optimus' shadow and have that shame over him. He'd take being co captain with Megatron over having to be in Optimus' shadow any cycle.

Ratchet, on the other hand, just wants a strong drink. He had never been a believe in gods, yet here he was finding out the the mech who had been the Lost Light's therapist, had been a neutral throughout the war, had a space ship collection older then some mechs was Primus. It was just his luck. "Does anyone else know?" He asked, trying to be the level-headed one of the group.

Rung removes his glasses, and the stress and exhaustion are very visible on his faceplate. "Drift, I believe, he's, he's always suspected something," Rung explains. He wasn't sure, but he's rather sure that Drift knows what he is.

Whirl finally laughs. "This is Fragged. How in the Pit did I end up this fragging, unlucky that my slagging therapist is Fragging Primus!" They shout, they don't know if they are angry, hurt or just overwhelmed, so much had been fried in their circuitry after the Emputra but this, this felt like a sick joke. All the things he had told Rung now feel like they were confessions.

Tyrest is baffled. He doesn't know whether to fall to his knees or call blasphemy, but the evidence is right there in front of his optics.

Rung is sheepish as he looks to the human. He's hoping they don't hate him. "I know this is alot for you all to take in, I'm sorry you all had to find out this way, I'm sincerely sorry for everything that has happened" He calls out to the group. He goes to continue only to be cut off.

"Fuck my life, Swerve is never going to let me live this down" the human stammers out. Everyone's optics are on them, a flush tints Rungs plating. "Please we don't need to bring that-" He's cut off again.

"The fact that I've unknowingly been getting Railed by Primus!" They exclaim only for Rung to hide behind one of his servos as multiple mech's Jaws drop at those words.

"HAH, and i thought I was Fragged!" Whirl screeched, finding humour in the situation. The other mechs look just as shocked and disgusted. "No, I refuse. That's blasphemy. Please tell me you haven't been interfacing with an organic!" Tyrest almost pleaded, hoping by the all spark that it wasn't true.

Rodimus pinches his brow ridge. He could feel his processor hurting from all this information. "Slagging Pit," he grumbles. " I Owe Sunstreaker so much Shainx now," he huffs. "OK, ok. Rung's Primus, and he's fragging a human." He throws his servos up in the air, being overly dramatic.

Ratchet just glares at the two. "They both of you are to report to medical for an examination after this, You" he points right at Rung. " I have some rather choice words for you," he states before stalking off, leaving.

The human looks at the floor, and the true panic is taking over. "Oh fuck, I've been fucking an Alien God who's also my therapist" they mutter to themself, tears starting to well up in their eyes and Rung kneels down cupping their face and wiping the tears away. "I didn't mean to upset you," he says softly. Optics focused on them. " I don't want this to change anything between us. You mean a great deal to me, and I don't want to lose you," he murmurs to them, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

The sound of the others arguing and fighting drowns out as Rung focuses on his little lover. "I'm not angry, Rung, Primus, or whatever name you want to go by, but... but I'm a human, a random fucking human so why me. Why me? " they nearly sob as he scoops them up, pulling them against his frame.

"My dear, I'm the the holy being everyone believes I am, I'm just a very old mech, who did what he could to stop something bad from happening, alot fo the tales told are very twisted stories. I'm just a mech, I'm not some holy being. And as for why you. You were the first person to remember my name, you took an interest in my hobbies, I would have happily faded into dust unknown but you choose me" he coos softly. Digits tracing their cheeks as he looks at them in pure love.

"But an Organic!" Tyrest hisses out as he watches how sweet and tender Rung is with the human. Is Rodimus who speaks up next. "Ah ah, remember each time to talk badly about organic races you lose Shanix which goes right into my account!~" Rodimus sings out, trying to make light of the situation for his own mental stability.

"You two are fragged and Slag, and I thought I had issues!" Whirl huffs before pointing at Rung. "Not a word about our therapy session to anyone, God or not, I will end you." Whirl nearly snarls before transforming and taking off.

"But you are Primus! You could have your choice of any cybertronian, pillars in your name cities, why have you hidden for so long!" Tyrest utters, he wants to be angry, but at the same time, this was Primus. How could he.

Rung meets his optics. "Because that's not the type of mech I am, I did what I had to to stop Unicron, I got sick of people trying to put me on a pedestal, I wanted to live, live my life, to enjoy hobbies, travel, I gave up my old frame for the ability to live" he states. He wouldn't change his choices even if he had the ability to. He was content.

________

MC: "Swerve get me a strong drink!"

Swerve: "heya what got you so rilled up, partner problems? Give me all the juicy details."

MC: staring him dead in the optics. "Swerve, Rung is Primus"

Swerve: "Well, I wouldn't call him that, I mean, he must be a good frag but doubt that"

MC: "No Swerve, Rung is Primus, I've been fucking your God, why me, how did I get to this point"

Swerve: "you know what let me get you a double"

--

Rung: "this is a mess, I need to get myself a Therapist"

Swerve: "well doc tell me all your woos, I'm the closest your gonna get for therapy"

Rung: " ships having a meltdown over my past and the fact I'm with a human"

Swerve: " eh, heard worse, your squishy things your Primus"

Rung: " yes, well that's also part of the issue"

---

Whirl: "soo.... Rung huh?"

Mc: "Please, I don't want to talk about it"

Whirl: "What part, the part where you're fragging the ships Therapist or the part where your Fragging Primus."

MC: "Oh my fucking God Whirl!"

Whirl: "Ah, ah, your fucking my God not the other way round!"

---

MC: "fuck you Tyrest, you owe Rodimus more money now, from being a Xenophobe."

Tyrest: "Like, I would ever let you within five meters of my frame you disgusting little creatin. Your insults mean nothing to me. Filthy little flesh thing"

MC: " just remember it's your Beloved Primus who's fragging me!, yea!, your beloved God prefers fragging me!"

Tyrest: *the most horrified noise ever* " You take the Blastphamy Back!"

__________

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[gublerryswift]

omggg ive really wanted to see a fluff fic where the BAU go ice skating as like a team building thing or whatever and Spencer keeps slipping and falling and holding on to the reader its so cute HISJHFSJKD

I'd pick you up and we'd go back in time | Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

just fluff!!

warnings: none

word count: 716 words

a/n: Heey! Just finished this one, it's my first ask (tysm btw!! <3). Hope you guys like it and hope i did justice to what you were imagining for the fic!!

It's the end of December and, surprisingly, you and the team are officially off duty until the next year. You guys decided to go out and have some fun, settling on the idea to go ice skating and then to dinner.

 Much to the dismay of Spencer, which besides being an academic genius, did not have any talent when it came to sports. If it wasn't for the scientific evidence, he would pretty much argue that he was born without the ability to balance himself, so any activity that demanded that skill was his worst nightmare.

"C'mon, spence, I can convince the team to go to your favorite restaurant after!" You said to Spencer over the phone, after he said that he was not going. 

"I don't know… you know I hate sports, I'll probably just fall and annoy you guys" 

"I'll teach you, and you know you won't annoy us. Also, we really miss you." You say, in reality wanting to say "I miss you" but scared that Spencer might pick up on your hidden feelings. 

He reluctantly agreed to go, but he was super nervous about it, scared that he would embarrass himself in front of his friends, or more importantly, in front of you. 

—

It now was the day you and the team had agreed on going ice skating, you put on your cute winter clothes and head out to the rink.

" Hey everyone, missed you guys so much!!" You say, getting close to the group that was standing at the entrance and greeting them all 

"Hi honey, you look stunning" Garcia says pulling you to a hug

"Thank you pen" You say, smiling to her. "Hey spence, i did not actually believe you we're going to come here!" 

"Yeah, me either. But I decided to do some exposure therapy, actually did you guys know that it was idealized by Ivan Pavlov in the late 1800s as part of is conditioning experiments?" - Spencer says, doing his usual rambling that you found extremely adorable. 

"Alright pretty boy, enough lectures, let's get in the rink" Derek says, making the team laugh. 

Upon entering the place, you happily notice that besides you and the team, it was pretty much empty, giving you guys a chance to have fun without worrying about others. You guys all get your skates, and put them on. As soon as you guys step on the ice, you felt a hand holding your arm, you look over and see spencer that looked as if his life was in danger. 

"It's fine spence, try standing up right and walking a bit, I'll be here to hold you so you don't fall down" 

"Alright then, if I die, please make sure my books don't get mold" He says, trying to take a few steps, surprisingly he did not immediately fall down, which gave him a bit of confidence to try and actually skate, also wanting to look tough for you. "I think you don't need to hold me anymore, y/n" 

"You sure Spence? Alright then" You let go of his arm and take a few steps back, still keeping a close eye on him. 

Spencer was able to skate for a bit, but somehow he managed to stumble on his own feet, luckily since you were still close he tried to hold onto your arm, not so luckily, since you did not expect that, you both feel onto the ice. The whole team looked over to you guys, as you stood up and helped spencer to also get up. 

You both we're blushing as the team laughed at you guys

 "hey Reid, at least you fell onto a pretty girl, could be worse" Morgan said, tapping spencer's shoulder and laughing. 

That made you guys blush even harder. 

"Hey spence, you ok? " You say, feeling a bit guilty for making him do this 

"It's fine y/n, falling is part of the fun I guess" He said, not sure he meant it but happy that he got to spend time with you outside the office. 

You spent the next hour teaching Spencer, and honestly you could not be happier, he looked adorable. It was one of the best evenings you had in a long time, and it just made your silly workplace crush worse. You also paid for his favorite desert at the restaurant to thank him for giving it a chance.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

a collection of thoughts about Veilguard

it's pretty good! it's a fun, straightforward adventure story where you play the good guys, the bad guys are bad guys, and there's one morally ambiguous character but don't get scared, you have the whole game to decide what to do with him. the combat is fun, the cast is likable, and the world is pretty. if you like fantasy rpgs, you will probably like this one!

I said the cast is likeable. I didn't say they were interesting. everyone kinda comes off like they've been to therapy for at least six months, and have put in some effort to "do the work." Your party's character flaws are things like "people pleaser" or "rude (but still well-intentioned)" or "justifiably cynical." These are all more or less functional and mature adults who want to get along and experience very few obstacles to doing so.

The obstacles they do experience to getting along are pretty flimsy, and are sometimes resolved in under a minute.

Le wokisme is a problem with the factions, which is a problem with the game, because the game revolves around the factions. None of the factions are allowed to be - again - morally ambiguous. There's a faction of treasure hunters, but don't worry, they have experts to make sure they don't sell anything important to anyone's culture. There's a faction of assassins which in a previous game have been shown to be harsh mercenaries who traffic in slavery in order to acquire children to raise into professional killers, but don't worry, they've mellowed out a lot since then, and now they ~don't kill innocent people~ and all of the members are excited to be there. There's a faction of death-worshipping necromancers, but don't worry: they're pretty much treated as a joke faction, and they don't do anything darker than raising some friendly skeletons to do custodial work.

A lot of the game takes place in the Tevinter Imperium, which we know from previous games to be a racist imperial power built upon the labor of a mostly-elven slave force. I say we know that 'from previous games' because it really doesn't come up in this game. The Tevinter faction is a group of slave abolitionists, but you don't actually help them free any slaves. In fact, you never even meet any slaves. In fact, you never even see any slaves. In Minrathous, the capitol city of the slave empire.

We also never see any anti-elf racism, in Minrathous or anywhere else, or meet any elves anywhere who have much of anything negative to say about the current world state. I think it would have been interesting to engage with why some elves might actually support the Morally Ambiguous Guy Who Is Looking To Tear Down The Current World Order In Order To Restore The Elves To Their Bygone Glory, but then your protagonists might have been placed into an ethically dubious situation at some point, by opposing a guy, who is, among some more alarming intentions - let me be so clear - trying to free the elven slaves. And god forbid we make the player uncomfortable!

There are no titties in this game. You do fuck your love interest on the eve of the final battle, as is traditional, but there will be nary a titty in sight. That, like ethical conundrums or moral ambiguity, is evidently too grown-up for the target Veilguard audience.

Whoever it was on the writing team who was interested in the Qunari has either left the team, or is no longer interested in the Qunari. They are a non-presence, and the Big Grey Guys With Horns who you fight are just violent assholes who don't follow the Qun. They've also been redesigned again. They basically just look like tieflings, with even more awkward foreheads. RIP to a genuinely original fantasy race. We'll always have Sten and the DA2 Arishok.

Fans of previous games will, however, be pleased at how generous the writers have been with answering outstanding questions! You will learn what the titans were, what happened to them, what the Blight is, what caused the Blight, what the Golden/Black City is, why breaching it unleashed the Blight, who the Tevinter old gods were, what the deal was with the elven gods, and (not that anyone was in doubt of this after Inquisition anyway) that the Maker is fake for sure for sure.

Every religion in Thedas is proved to be fake by the end of the game, though, so it feels a bit less like "kids raised evangelical stick it to Big Church" this time.

Morrigan is back! Isabela is back! Dorian is back! Welcome visitations.

People are being shitty about there being an explicitly non-binary character. Fuck those people obviously, but I do wish they'd found something better to call this character than "non-binary," such a modern term that it slingshot me out of my fantasy world full of dragons and magic into a corporate diversity and inclusion training module.

Being a mage doesn't matter anymore. Sorry if you were hoping it might, but honestly that's on you. If they chickened out of doing anything with the mage conflict set up in DA:O and DA2 in Inquisition, I don't know why you expected they'd find a renewed interest in engaging with it now.

You can't be a blood mage. You can't actually do anything evil. Your PC is a Hero. I don't have a problem with this, exactly, but it contributes to the feeling of the series having moved to the kiddy end of the pool over the years.

Overall, I think this is almost surely going to be the last Dragon Age game, and I think that's almost definitely a good thing. It's a fun send-off that takes you on a whistle-stop tour of nearly all the places left in Thedas you haven't seen yet, ties up nearly all of the loose ends, and lets you hit an ogre with a warhammer so hard that he goes flying like he's full of packing peanuts.

Time enjoyably, but not meaningfully, spent.

[sarahivi]

This is a loong interview, i'll try to translate some parts

Min 0:00 - 8:12

Pati – In This occasion I have the huge privilege that in front of me is one of the most important actors in the last decades in this country and I’m talking about Tenoch Huerta. Welcome to the YouTube channel, thank you so much for being here, however only few people know that your first job after you finished the career of journalism in UNAM was of cameramen here in Azteca, how did you get here?

Tenoch – That’s right, some friends, well I was learning in a cable channel and some friend came here, the calls were opened for “La academia” and I came here as cameramen, and it has been one of the funniest experiences in my life

P – Really, why?

T – I loved it, I loved the camera, in fact I have thought if I wasn’t an actor I would have end up as camera director or film photographer

P – But you decided to be in front of the screen, it was to please your dad or because truly the interest of being an actor was born in you

T – Taking the classes was a little so my dad stopped bothering me ,truly, cause it wasn’t to “please him”, my parents are more like do whatever you want as long it makes you happy, so it was so he stopped bothering me, but I liked it and I remember that once I asked him, why you insisted so much? and he told me, because I saw something in you, and I was satisfied with his answer, above all the first part “I saw you” my dad was looking at me and it was like, lovely my dad has always been looking at me and with that I was saved of a lot of traumas and a lot of money from therapy

P – but I don’t think you save money because I heard that you are in therapy

T – Yes, usually I go to therapy, it is a personal discipline, but now it has had to be a little stronger

P – Why?

T – because dragging a lot of topics, evidently everything that happened to me in the last couple of years, are situations of a lot of stress, because not only hits you, it hits your entire family environment.

P – We are talking about Miss Rios case?

T – Yes, because with this accusations my life, my career and my work and family environment were affected, and the hardest part is when you face a lie , when there is a lie, when there are inaccurate data, and the worst part of a lie is not the lie itself, A totally fictitious construction, but when you take elements that are real and misrepresent them and move them so they can fit with things , that's the worst part because even the person that is receiving the attack, in this case myself, it puts you in a state of alert, confusion, pain, you question yourself a lot of things, even there is a self-punishment, a lot of thing mixing and for that you need a therapy

P – What kind of relationship you had with her?

T – we were colleagues in Poder Prieto, I admired her, I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting her, then we attended an event, some collectives were invited and we met there, that’s when we started to get close and at first she seems like a fun girl, very strong, very attractive too and that’s it, the relationship was always like a relationship that was not exclusive

P – An open relationship

T – An open relationship yes

P – So you had relations but you both could have other relationships

T – Yes, even that, I mean in all groups there are other groups of closer friends, in this group of closer friends she told us that she was seeing other people, which it was ok, I too saw other people, there was no problem, simply maybe it was something that we should have talked more precisely, put labels

P – Exactly

T – It could be that, but anyway, not putting labels doesn’t give you the right to destroy a person's life, so that was the kind of relationship, it lasted a few months until there started to be some attitudes, more aggressive.

P – From her?

T – Yes, there was a moment where I got closer to a colleague that is my age, we saw the same cartoons when we were kids and it was fun to talk, and she didn’t like it even if this colleague was only a friend, also it was a friend of hers, and this kind of frictions started to show a weird behavior from her, until she started to attack me within the collective

P – So first was an attack, let’s say in relation with the person within the collective, without posting it on twitter nor social media

T – Nothing, and that’s when I talked to her, we met in a park and in this conversation that we had, she suddenly told me, we were talking and suddenly told me “ ok enough, what are you willing to give to calm all of this?” and I told her, a public apology if you want , I can talk with the people, I don’t know you tell me , I thought that we didn’t have a problem, simply we should have talked more, I don’t know but whatever you say and that was it, some time later when everything exploded and I’m in a huge stressful moment, I had a reunion with some friends, I met a person, that maybe by fate he was sitting next to me and he is a therapist specialized in supporting families that are victims of extortion and kidnaps , so in the conversation the topic arose , I told him and he said, in my experience that was an extortion, the “what are you willing to give?” and I told him “ she didn’t ask for money” and he told me, no, the professionals are very subtle , anyway he didn’t know my case in detail, so I simply took it from there, then time passed, we found some information, the lawyers started investigating, we realized that indeed there were shady things of which I cannot point directly to someone because it will be doing the same that was done to me, I only can say that there are proof that are verifiable, file numbers, and that’s the job of the authority to get to the bottom of those affairs that have years, there are files that have more than 10 years

Update 8:12 - 20:32mins

P – What were the legal actions that you took

T – Legal actions, first I got a solid lawyers team in different stages, a 1st stage was a team of lawyers then a 2nd stage another team of lawyers even in USA, 1st the lawyers, they gatherd information , but also put some legal mechanisms of which I can not talk about but are legal mechanisms that are activated that are carried out, that are like a kind of, I don't know what to really call it, it's like a kind of antecedent, like putting a warning, like that there is a record that this is happening those actions have been carried out, but more important we have been monitoring this last year, 2 years, every week if there is something against me if there is a lawsuit, a complaint, something

P – She has not raise a complaint

T – No one, there is nothing against me , I don’t even have traffic violations.

P – Tenoch, what happen with you when suddenly in social media they are lynching you?

T – Is painful, is scary because once someone filter information about my daughters, with pictures and more , and in anonymity is hard to track , when the lynching started, from real people , bots, troll and more they start to attack my family , we received some direct threats that threatened the integrity of members of my family, and things of that kind so you put yourself in a state of permanent alert, you can’t let your guard down , and as i told my team, is like carrying a dragon breathing in your ear all the time , that you don’t know what might happen because with the topic of anonymous complaints you can take advantage of that, I understand where is coming from, I understand from the desperation of a lot of people that cannot achieve justice for many reasons sometimes they are only left with this, then there is a whole system that favors the men that provokes that people have to resort to this methods that at the beginning might sound good that I even say that, yes they are there for something but when you take advantage of them, you start to use it for personal purposes, politics, economic, electoral or to have better jobs, is when it start to be a problem, because is public, there is no need to prove anything there is non an authority to tell you , mr please you came to make an accusation, if you don’t show proof doesn’t proceed and if does not proceed you are affecting this person , those mechanisms doesn’t exist in social media, simply people believes it or not and that’s it, it’s over, there is no contrast, there is not a method to see if this works, to see if this is real or not and that’s the problem, I think the problem, not talking about my case, talking in general that i also want to clarify that I’d like that my case is not used to demerit the feminist movement,

P – Those are different things

T – Absolutely, and I’m glad that you are saying it, because it comes from a woman and it’s ok, and are different things, the feminist fight and the media lynching are 2 different things that’s why I don’t want that my case is taken to demerit the other, also I understand the reason why there are anonymous complaints and public complaints , but there are not regulated

P – they are not valid

T – they are not valid, and they are being used for other purposes , I think there should be another protocol , I don’t know, for example in usa to make a complaint first I have to have a formal complaint or lawsuit before the authorities, and then with my file in hand I can make a public complaint, not here in Mexico, here in Mexico you made the public complaint and if someone believes in you good and if they don’t too. I think those are the topics that are complicated and for me it was not only the personal impact, you get used to it and you take it and you say, well I’ll take care of it, the problem is when you see that your family

P – How old are your daugthers?

T – 4 and 11

P – They are so young

T – Yes, the older one had 9 and the younger one had 2, fortunately the younger one doesn’t know yet a lot of things, but the older one yes and that is so painful, also my parents,

P – They have suffered

T - *nods* my sisters

P – You being a man, this situation affected how you approach other women?

T – Yes, it affects, undoubtedly, but I’m not of the idea that things happen for a reason, I believe that things happen and you give them a reason and you take the lesson and learn from it, so the way it affected is that I tried to approach in a better way, be more careful and more selective, not everyone deserves our heart , not everyone deserves our vulnerability, not everyone deserved that we are open with them, not everyone deserves it, you have to take the time to know the person and now I’m more careful, more selective, but now I’m more clear, I have always been clear with people, I have always been like “I’m here to work, we are going to be here 2 months it might something happen between us, maybe not” you know, I have always been clear, now I’m more clear , now I’m more straight and basically I stopped interacting with many people, I’m scared that’s a reality

P – Is natural

T – there’s this alert of get to know the people little by little, I don’t interact further than a friendship ,for example at the moment I don’t have a partner , It is not my intention to have a partner in the medium or perhaps in the long term, but that’s it I have to be more careful, and yes it changes everything , changes your vision, but I believe , the people you interact with is reduced, but those relations are more rich, more profound, more beautiful, at least that’s what I have been trying to work with my therapist

P – at this moment this affected your career in a devastating way

T – Look, there were 2 things, I don’t know if I should say “fortunately” but during this period there was a strike in USA, most of my work is in USA, so is not like I was able to work anyway and the strike ended 10 months after the scandal, so anyway I didn’t had the chance to work so there was not too much problem, but once the strike is over and things started to re-activate, above all in Mexico, it becomes complicated for me , because this scares and puts in alert to producers, platforms, brands and more, even events, events that commonly actors are invited, they start to put some distance, but I don’t feel that is a distance of rejection, but more like a distance of alert, like saying look we don’t have any problem with you but solve this, the thing is to solve this topic, when we start to get the information it was like wait, here are shady things.

P – Let’s say when the bomb exploded, did you had the chance to talk with miss Rios?

T – the first time that she talked within the group, yes, I talked to her

P – But when it exploded on the internet?

T – When, the first, let’s say the first time that she talked publicly it was a week and a half, a week after I had a reunion with the president in the national palace, then when that happened it was like , wait, 2 or 3 weeks before you just sent me a beautiful message telling me that you loved me, that you admired me , that you were glad that we met she told me beautiful things in that message, after, I was in the period of interviews, tours and more (note: this was during the time of BPWF press tour) when I go back to normal, I met the president and 10 days after this appears and it was like wow, so the last communication I had with her was like “what happened?” and her replies were very aggressive, so I called the lawyers and they told me “zero contact, we understand that you want to fix things, we understand that she is important to you but us as lawyers we have to tell you that this , this cannot be fixed in a personal way, you have to stop here because from now you have to think that this person is dedicated to harm you” , we didn’t understood yet what kind of harm , that came after, when information starts coming and it was like ah! So there are bad intentions

P – at this moment you feel that you are restarting your career?

T – Yes, but not only the career, the life as well, everything and I feel , it might sound weird but I’m feeling positive, happy, and above all I feel with a lot of energy like with euphoria to start my life you know, I have always had a beautiful relationship with my daughters, but now the teenager is now a little person a little adult , with her my relationship has become super endearing, the little one always had mamitis (Mexican expression for wanting to be only with the mother) and now she has papitis (same with mamitis but with the father) so you know that

P – You spend much time with them?

T – Yes

P – You live together

T – No but the older ones is one week with me and one week with her mother

P – Are they from different mothers?

T – Yes, and the little one, she was born during the pandemic, her mother and I didn’t have anything else to do so we put ourselves to…. Kisses to her mom, she is a beauty

P – You live with her?

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I need to see more content of Color matching Killer's freak, and not just in terms of suggestive themes.

Obviously he's not direct or loud about it, obviously it's not easy reading that off of a person like him, but I imagine Killer would pick up early that Color's a bit of a freak cause why the hell else would he be trying to help him so much? Freak recognizes freak. Freakception. It's just kind freak on fire vs knife freak, that's what this has become.

Color is the subtle kind of freak. There is always a 50/50 chance that if Killer's got an urge, Color's gonna indulge it and act like he always does in the process. He is a "go with the flow" kind of guy on the surface until he decides to rip off that facade. His friends already know how freakish he is to a certain extent but it's people like Killer, Epic, and Delta that truly do vibe with it in their own ways.

Killer would want more of it and look for ways to encourage Color's "dark side", Delta would compete with it, and Epic would think of any punchline to add to how hilarious he finds it.

This is a group of equally as unhinged men.

The signs of Color's freak would be evident to Killer long before he decides to take up Color's offer in leaving Nightmare behind. He would pick up those signs and use them against him, specifically during arguments or fights where Killer accuses him of having crude ulterior motives.

And Color giving him little to no reactions on that basis would not only infuriate Killer but also fascinate him even more than he already was. Cause he can't always tell whether or not a comment set something off in Color's mind, or if there really was nnothing.

And then as time continues to pass, that is when Killer's observations start to make sense. He and Color are a lot more alike than he previously thought, well beyond the "we both used to be Sans and got fucked over by the same stupid kid" commonality.

They both have deeply-rooted trauma from two of the same fucking child. While Color was eventually provided with the resources to start healing, Killer was routinely denied those resources.

Perhaps Color has one of those warped bouts of hyena-like laughter too, except while Killer has it casually, it's a red flag coming from Color as it's indicative of a panic attack, complete breakdown, or weak attempt at stress relief following either of those things.

They both struggle at showing vulnerability because of their trauma. Killer hides that in multiple shitty ways while Color has had several years of therapy and a solid support system and because of that developed a stable "fake it till you make it" mask for only the worst case scenarios where he can't catch a break soon enough. (He's had to use that mask A LOT in dealing with Killer before he left Nightmare)

Think Stage 3 doesn't have enough reasons to regard Color as a source of safety? They've both got distinct animalistic traits and behaviors, and Color dedicated the patience and time to let Stage 3 learn that at its own pace. Stage 3 finds a mutual understanding with Color that it can't with anyone else BECAUSE of the effort and comfort Color provided.

And what about the fact that they've both lost their sense of identity and since gaining freedom had to gradually make a new one with the shards they managed to salvage? They both aim to keep some aspects of "Sans", but can never truly be "Sans" again. They've both grown past the point of ever being the exact same as they were decades, perhaps hundreds of years before.

In various ways both before and after escaping their traumas, they are both in constant physical, mental, and emotional pain. Some conditions simply have no cure, no medication to soothe their symptoms.

They are so similar yet so different. So of course Color would match Killer's freak. Under calm and casual circumstances he'd agree with (Stage 2) Killer's accusation of him being a masochist and Killer would be caught off guard because he was aiming to make Color angry. But instead Color gives him that simple admission with no strings attached.

Like golly gee fuck, Killer, it's almost like he has to be one in order to cope with the amount of agony he deals with every day. Speak for yourself, motherfucker.

Unhinged freaky old men is where it’s at.

People look at the chromatic crew and think Color’s the odd one out, that he’s the hinged one, but definitely not.

Bro probably finds it comforting and reassuring when killer licks away his tears 💀. Mans would be so willing to indulge nearly anything killer wants to try or do, and he’d likely enjoy most of it.

Need more of Color matching Killer’s freak and rolling with it. Wonder if Color ever surprises Killer sometimes.

[simblorbo-bracket]

Round 1 - Simblr's Saddest, Wettest Meow Meow - Mainline

Saxen (@herecirmsims) VS. Nancy Landgraab (@fallstaticexit)

(polls are presented left -> right unless stated otherwise)

Who's sadder? Who's wetter? Read on for more information, and vote with your heart!

What is a ‘Meow Meow’?

(taken from tumblr user @/torturelabyrinth) “The thing about a true poor little meow meow is they have to be 1) downtrodden 2) morally questionable at best 3) deeply and pathetically miserable”

Saxen

Things Sax does extremely well: fainting and bleeding (separately), fainting and bleeding (combination), rotting in bed, crying or being completely stoic (no in between), causing more problems while trying to fix his previous problems, omitting certain truths (aka lying).

Now, I don't know if he really counts as an SWMM because he's not a classic villain... but in his pursuit of Doing The Right Thing he has made some awful choices. Good intentions, poor outcomes.

I present the evidence beneath the cut:

Some of his crimes:

In an attempt to save his sister, he left his post and facilitated the escape of a world-devouring entity which he was supposed to help contain.

After his sister died he made another attempt to save her, via necromancy, and instead doomed her to an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Until recently, none of her reincarnations were healthy enough to survive infancy.

He befriended the parents of this latest incarnation without filling them in on the backstory, or his motives. After they were killed by his enemy, he took the baby and kept her hidden for 11 years (did she have grandparents, uncles, aunts? Yes, probably. He claims they couldn't have cared for her like he did and technicallyyyy he's right, since her survival required magic, but...)

He broke the arm of one of his 'adopted' adult kids (he has an enchanted cottage which has been a refuge for a lot of people) when said adult tried to prevent him from killing someone else. Yes, technically he did only push Thom and didn't intend for Thom to hit the wall so hard, but...

Long story short but his home world didn't end, it was just knocked out of its timeline for a while. Unfortunately, due to his actions on the day the Grim escaped (attacking portal guards and forcing his way through the rift, just as an unrelated-to-him group stormed the castle), he was a) assumed dead and b) immediately arrested on his return for treason and attempted regicide.

He's a constant menace and cause of stress to his man, the kindest and sweetest soul to ever live. He doesn't mean to be, it's just that his attempts to keep Fen safe often seem to involve risking himself in increasingly creative and fatal ways.

Why should you vote for Sax? Well, I think his endless complex trauma and the fact that almost all his misfortunes happened because he was trying to fix things/help people makes him pretty damn tragic and definitely very damp. He could do with a win. Plus... look at him. 🥲

Nancy Landgraab

What makes Nancy a Sad, Wet Meow Meow? Our famously known townie turned OC is the Queen of Melancholy. She's closeted, she's religiously repressed, she's h*rny, she's rich, she carries the burden of her deceased elder brother, she's the bane of her mother's existence. When she's not internalizing her self loathing, she's gazing longingly into the distance thinking about a life free of her mother's judgement and status that she never wanted in favor of running free through a sunflower field kissing beautiful women. And when she manages to actually show up for her two sons, she's still so emotionally detached that this will very much come up in a therapy session later. Her husband is almost on his knees begging for her to smile but she's still pining after her first love while being married to said husband (who's a second runner up for SWMM tbh).

She's a cheater, she's a liar, she's about to get into some risky, sketchy business, she disappoints her children, she's morally grey, she's a top, she's catholic, she's a cougar, she likes to splurge on dr*gs and strippers, the list goes on. ahhh.

[respectissexy]

I've been thinking and blogging about mental health for a while, and I wanted to re-share a condensed version of an old blog (that nobody read) about what it takes to have good mental health besides Medication And Therapy. Medication And Therapy, for those who need them, can put some guardrails around how BAD your mental health can get, but they probably won't get you all the way to GOOD mental health. Having a mental illness is like having a boot on your car; you need to take the boot off in order to drive it anywhere, but that isn't the ONLY thing you need to do.

Secondary caveat: generally speaking, in order to have good mental health, you need to have your basic needs met. If you are lacking sustenance, shelter, or safety, your proverbial car has no gas in it and you will not travel to the land of emotional well-being. The following practices might have some harm reduction effect, but they should be understood as such.

Based on my experience as a therapist and as a person who has been managing a serious mental illness for 20ish years, these are the practices that I’ve found have the strongest evidence base for promoting mental health and well-being.

1. A practice of tuning in to what’s going on with your body. Meditation and breathwork are classic ones; likewise yoga and stretching. Many kinds of physical exercise can fit this bill, but only if practiced mindfully and intentionally as such.

2. A practice of connecting deeply with another person or people. This can be a significant other, a tight-knit group of friends, a close relationship with a parent or child. Your level of connectedness to other people is one of the strongest possible predictors of good physical and mental health, so much so that joining a DnD group might reduce your likelihood of early mortality as much as successfully quitting smoking.

3. A practice of gaining mastery over a skill with repeated practice. MANY things fit this bill; most types of physical exercise, singing or dancing, playing an instrument; knitting, sewing, or other handicrafts; sculpting or pottery, learning a new language, cooking. Many people get this need met through video games, which isn’t bad, but if video games are the ONLY way you get this need met and you feel like your overall life satisfaction is lacking, and you can’t explain it with an obvious lack in one of these other categories, I would humbly recommend picking up something else in this area.

4. A practice of expressing yourself creatively. Writing, art, music, theater, standup comedy, playing story-driven tabletop RPGs, even doing elaborate makeup or putting together cool outfits can scratch this itch.

5. A practice of externalizing and processing your feelings. Therapy is what people often think of for this, but journaling, writing a song or poem about it, or having a good old fashioned bitch sesh with your bestie are also valid ways of meeting this need.

6. A practice of going the fuck outside. It feels unnecessary to elaborate on this too much; “touching grass” is a meme for a reason. There is no requirement to be rugged or outdoorsy, to get "off the grid," or to sacrifice any of our precious indoor amenities; a stroll in a public park or a few hours of sitting in your yard will make a difference.

7. A practice that provides you with a sense of positive purpose. In other words, what do you do that makes you feel like you made the world better in a concrete way? I get this need met by being in a helping profession; some people volunteer or organize; a lot of people derive their sense of purpose from parenting or some other kind of caretaking.

Obviously, a lot of these practices can overlap, and most “good for you” activities meet a few of these needs at once. Physical exercise can put you in touch with your body, give you the experience of mastering a skill over time, and (depending on what your preferred exercise is) get you outside or connect you with other people. Writing poetry can be a way to externalize your feelings, and a way to master a skill, and a way to express yourself creatively. Playing an RPG can be a creative outlet and a way of connecting with other people. Sex, when practiced correctly, puts you in touch with your body and connects you with another person. Gardening gets you the fuck outside and provides a concrete sense of having improved on something.

[brucewaynehater101]

I want Duke included in batfam family fics. being the older sibling Damian needs, relatable yet guiding. Tim being ‘Dukes robin’ and having lots of respect for Tim yet he’d also steal his slice of pie. Duke and Jason hanging out, and Jason appreciating how he never tries to lecture him. Duke and dick matching vibes (or as much as they can) when on patrol and somewhat in the family, and both trying to make their brothers calm tf down. Bruce trying desperately to not fuck up with Duke like he did his other sons, only serving to confuse and slightly alarm Duke. Alfred and duke being the only ones with more then *1* braincell.

he also has so much potential for angst of being a meta in a family everyone thinks hates metas, and people somehow forget him???

(I have more just don’t have the energy to write it all down)

Heck yes! I agree that Duke needs to be included in more batfam fics (and especially as a more pivotal role). I personally try to add him a bit, but I fear I do not include him enough as a key member of the batfam.

Duke is hella important and should be treated as such. I'd love to see more fics with him pissing off GCPD for fun. Just chaos and pranks against GCPD, rogues, Batman, and the Batkids. Also, he should he allowed to punch (or kick) as many JL members as he pleases (Hal was just the first).

Duke and Dick having similar fashion ideas is a cute idea I've seen in the fandom. I would also just love to see more fanart of Duke rocking some fun outfits for galas (especially if the galas follow the AU of Gotham being super weird with their social norms). Duke being featured on magazine covers, being asked to model, and being interviewed would be cool fanwork ideas to play around with. I've seen so many of the other batboys and none with Duke as a magazine cover.

Here's my ideas on how Duke could interact with different batfam members. Feel free to reblog if you have ideas yourself or think the dynamic should be different.

I feel like Duke and Cass would get along really well as chaos gremlins who get away with their shenanigans. Messing with Commissioner Gordon is a favorite pass time of theirs. For some reason, even when presented with evidence, Bruce doesn't believe that Duke and Cass would do the things they get away with. It's both impressive and annoying to the other batkids.

Duke could have a weird relationship with Tim. On one hand, Tim is Duke's Robin. The cases he's solved, feats he's accomplished, and respect Gotham has for Tim's Robin in general (for being Batman's therapy kid) are unfathomable. On the other hand, he's seen Tim walk into the same wall four times within three minutes. They both share a love for riddles, but Tim can be an idiot at interpersonal relationships.

For Damian, Duke has seen how the world picks up kids and spits them out. He's seen kids lashing out, how they merely want to defend themselves, and how fantastic they are once you get to know them. He's been angry and spiteful at the world too. For Damian, Duke's hella impressed at the kid's heart despite all the shit he's been dealt. Duke would encourage chaos, talk with the kid about how different emotions have impacted Duke's actions and life, and is an overall supportive figure. They can often be seen doing both wild stunts and "common for their age group" activities for fun (although the game Sorry is banned because of them).

Jason and Duke would probably have a complicated relationship due to Red Hood's actions. Their similar childhoods (as far as economically and location based) would lead to jokes and shared customs that they chat with Steph about (such as Creepy Toe Joe or that specific gas station or the phrase they say as they passed that one pothole). Despite that, they have different viewpoints on Bruce and murder.

Duke is probably one of the more emotionally intelligent and communicative batfam members. If Alfred is the sassy version, Duke would get a good laugh out of those remarks and the astute observations.

Bruce and Duke angst could go hard. Bruce is trying so hard not to make his past mistakes. Duke and his perception of Bruce (he holds Bruce in high regard) and how that affects their relationship.

As far as Duke being in a "perceived to hate metas" family, that could either be hilarious or angst. I imagine people trying to intervene or "save" Duke from the Bats would be infuriating and sad to see.

Duke could also laugh at the batkids' superhero friends and how they, even as adults, are banned from entering Gotham. Duke is free to live in the manor and come and go as he pleases. Any of the batkid's meta friends have to be snuck into Gotham.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Judas | Own Up | Romantic

Feeling left out from the group, Judas isn’t certain whether you’d be interested in him, especially since a few of the Disciples seem to be adamant in discouraging him about it.

Requested by Lizzy

A shriek unidentifiable fills the air across camp and has Judas make a wrong scratch on his parchment, a huff of exasperation leaving the keeper of the purse as he lifts his stylus and turns around to the source of the laughter now erupting from behind him, narrowing his blue eyes as he attempts to figure out what has gotten into you this time. 

Running across camp with your arms around your own body to protect yourself, you are being pursued by both Simons as they chase after you with in their possession a bug that had apparently found itself inside your tent. Your question for one of them to remove it had turned into an impromptu and thoroughly unwanted session of exposure therapy, much to your dismay. 

The men following you laugh as you hide behind Philip, who sheepishly chuckles at the display. “Now what is going on?” 

“They’re trying to put a spider on me!”

“It’s not a spider, it’s a bug,” Zee clarifies, “And it’s not that big, look!” 

You shrink behind Philip when he holds it up to show it. “Eek! Get it away from me!” 

“This is not healthy for you, (Y/n),” Simon the son of Jonah teases, “You need to touch it in order to get over your irrational fears! Look at how cute it is wriggling! Aww—-” 

“No! No-no-no!” you cry out, but there is a smile on your face and you giggle at the same time, evidence that you aren’t in actual distress in spite of your genuine disgust for the small insect inside Zee’s palm. 

Judas’ narrowed gaze loosens a bit as sadness floods over his features instead. He can’t picture himself in such a situation where he’d be teasing you or anyone else, or being used as a safe haven in the way you’re holding onto Philip’s shoulders right now as you hide behind him. Every time moments like these take place in between mission trips and sermons, the banter as well as the playfulness that ensues in times of relaxation, Judas feels further away from the group than ever. He had been the last to join and perhaps that had been the main reason for it, he had thought to himself at first, but now he knows better. 

Perhaps it’s because Judas is envisioning something different for the ministry that the others do not seem to understand. The grip on his stylus tightens before he dips it back into the ink. Attempting to focus on his work again, he fingers the loose coins on the log before him as he makes the calculations inside his mind, ignoring the way your laughter sounds behind him—

“—No! No, Big James! That’s so mean, why are you on their side?!” Judas pivots sharply and feels a strange sinking in his gut upon witnessing you thrown over James’ shoulder effortlessly as behind him the two Simons hold the bug in front of your face. 

It’s not so much the fact that he is disturbed from properly doing his work now due to the noise. There is something else that causes this tightening inside of him, this sense of jealousy that goes beyond just belonging.

It is the way you are laughing with them. The gleeful glimmer inside your pretty (e/c) eyes has envy course through him. The manner in which you hammer your fists on James’ back in an attempt to get him to put you down, the kicking of your legs, the way you are so carefree and yet so graceful. Had they done this with Mary, or Ramah, or Tamar, he wouldn’t have minded as much. Matter of fact, Judas wouldn’t have minded at all. 

“Hey, Nathanael,” he speaks up, turning to the former architect sitting at the fire, who is just feeding it another log that causes sparks to crackle. “Do you know who of Jesus’ followers is actually seeing someone?” 

“You know that in our culture you don’t just see someone, Jude.” 

“I know, I mean… Are there people other than Simon who are married? Betrothed? I— I don’t mean Thomas and Ramah, because they already met before that. I mean two people who… Who met here and then… You know.”

Nathanael turns to face Judas whilst pursing his lips, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. At least, Mary and Matthew seem to have a thing for each other but they’re just orbiting around one another at the moment. Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, just… Curious.” He looks back at his work, not wanting to be caught staring at you. “Nothing more.” 

“Most of us are focusing on the ministry now.” 

“So, no hidden relationships going on somewhere? Unspoken feelings between people?” 

Nathanael shrugs. “I don’t know that. I can’t exactly look into people’s heads, you know?” 

Judas sighs. “I know. I was just asking.” 

The architect hums and tosses some more wood into the fire. “Alright. How are the funds coming along?” 

“They’re doing mediocre,” he mutters, leaning his chin on his hand as his elbow rests on the table. “I mean, we are making ends meet. Just… Not a lot left.” 

“Is there enough for us to go to bed with full bellies?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So, what’s the issue? We have more than we need.” 

Judas opens his mouth to speak. “But if we had more, we could expand even further. If we put it on the bank, we could raise—” 

“—We have more than we need.” Nathanael repeats with emphasis, “So there is no problem with the funds. You’re doing great, Jude. No need to worry about not having enough.” 

Once again established in his belief that he is an outsider compared to the others, since Nathanael doesn’t seem to catch onto his personal ideas for the group and doesn’t seem keen on hearing him out either. Judas averts his gaze back to his work and sighs once again. “Forget about it,” the businessman huffs, cutting the conversation short. 

Another laugh from you reaches him, causing a sad, dark pit in his gut, as he attempts to block out the fact that you are having fun with others that aren’t him, and the fact that you, unlike himself, belong. 

— 

Still, Judas cannot keep you out of his head, replaying the way Nathanael had confirmed that you were very much available. For how long it will remain that way has yet to be determined. The keeper of the purse is absolutely certain that he cannot be the only one who has a thing for you, judging by how sweet you are. 

One evening whilst most of the group sits at the fire safe from Zee, Jesus, Little James and you, Judas finds himself constantly trying to find your form somewhere between the tents, where you have withdrawn yourself in order to read for a bit. Judas sighs as he smiles softly, liking the fact that you’re taking pleasure in something like reading Scripture. You are quite intelligent, which he finds attractive.

“—Judas.” A rough push against his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts. Thomas raises an eyebrow at him as the keeper of the purse gives him a strange look.

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you wanted another refill.” Thomas holds up a jar of water. Judas gives a small shake of his head. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.” 

“You were staring at (Y/n).” Simon the son of Jonah exposes. 

“I was not—” 

“Is that why you asked if she was seeing anyone?” Nathanael joins in.

Put on the spot, Judas gulps hard, running his hands over his tunic to get rid of their clamminess. “I— I’m not—” 

“—You were suspiciously interested.” 

“That’s not true and you know it. Sure, I was curious, but it was not like I was overly keen to know.” 

Big James huffs and crosses his arms. “Well, you better keep your distance from her, then. Because we have known (Y/n) for way longer than you have and we know for sure that she wouldn’t like you in that way.” 

“I...” Judas Iscariot rapidly blinks, feeling his heart tighten inside his chest. “What do you mean? Have you asked her what she thinks of me, or…” 

“She hasn’t, but it would make sense for her to pick someone else over you. The two of you wouldn’t be good for one another.” 

Feeling humiliated, Judas looks away, drawing a sharp breath. “How can you be so certain? If she has never explicitly said anything about it herself, why would you write it off like that?” 

“I agree with James,” Simon intersects himself. “I don’t think you two would make a good match.” 

“What makes you even think that?” Judas wants to know, but this only raises more suspicion. 

“That’s interesting. If you didn’t like her in that way, why would it matter?” John mutters calmly. 

Cornered, Judas sharply stands up. “Y-You act as if you like her!” he stutters. “Or—Or Big James, who are you into, huh? Why would it matter who (Y/n) likes?” 

“Are you guys talking about me?” The mention of your name falling multiple times draws you to the fire.

Sharply pivoting to where you are standing, the man from Kerioth feels his breath hitch as all colour drains from his face. “I— Um— We were just… Just talking about…” 

“—About the fact that some people find love within the group, like Thomas and Ramah, and others don’t, which is also fine.” Philip saves the day. You sigh as you plant your hands on your hips.

“Be as it may, I don’t like people talking about me behind my back. Especially when I’m trying to read and can follow their conversation just fine.” Judas’ heart rears as you look at him, a small smile on your lips. “If there is someone here who is into me, I’d rather just hear it from them personally, instead of orbiting around the topic for ages.”

“What if someone likes you and the others think they aren’t good for you?” 

You blink in slight puzzlement at Big James’ question. “I think people can decide that for themselves, no?” 

Without waiting for a reaction, you turn to head for your tent again, eager to continue your reading session. A brief silence falls over the group as they watch you walk off. “Well, that was awkward.” Nathanael quips, taking a loud sip of water. The other men chuckle a bit, turning back to whatever conversation they had been having earlier, as if you hadn’t been there at all, and as if they hadn’t just discouraged Judas from confessing his feelings for you just because they thought the two of you wouldn’t fit well together. 

“(Y/n) has good judgement,” Philip muses, nearly causing the keeper of the purse to gasp in surprise at how close he is standing. Judas looks at him, a bit confused at the knowing smirk playing over the man’s lips. “Don’t let the others talk down on you. None of them would have the guts to admit it if they liked a woman, let alone tell her.” 

“Oh, I’m not— (Y/n), she is…” Judas tries to find the right words and stumbles over them instead. “I— I mean… She…” 

“…Might be glad to hear from you.” Philip finishes his sentence for him. “Trust me when I say that I know that a few of the men around this camp wish they had enough confidence to go and speak to her, and instead of owning up to their feelings, they decide to take it out on you instead.” 

“Are you— Are you saying that Zee, Nathanael and Big James have a thing for her? And Simon? He’s married, that would be messed up!” Judas mutters in shock, causing Philip to chuckle lightly. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know what the men you mentioned feel, but I know they are protective over the women here. Try to take their words with a grain of salt and just do what the lady said you had to do if you happen to have feelings for her.” 

“I— I don’t—” Judas’ words get stuck in his throat as Philip winks at him, stepping away to get himself another drink. For a few long moments, Judas stands a bit awkwardly with his arms at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to decide what to do. When his gaze turns towards your tent, where he can see the shadow of your form reading in the candlelight, a look of determination comes over his features. 

The others apart from Philip don’t pay him any mind as Judas walks towards your tent with deliberate steps, a wave of confidence hitting him. Outcast or not, he won’t let the others talk him out of confessing to what he feels for you anymore. He doesn’t want to suppress his feelings for you just because he is afraid of either judgement or rejection. 

He halts in front of your tent and clears his throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. Judas realises he should have prepared this at least for a bit, but he’s already here and has made his presence known.

“Yes?” 

“It’s Judas,” the man from Kerioth replies, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of your pleasant voice. “May I come in?” 

“One moment,” you reply as you move to put on your veil, and as soon as it’s draped over your hair, you allow him entry. “Yes.” 

He opens the flap to your tent and cold wind drifts into your room, causing the candle on the table you’re seated at to flicker dangerously. “Can I help you with something?” 

“I’m… I’m here because of what you just said.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Oh?” 

“You said that if someone liked you, they would have to come over to you to tell you personally. So…” 

“So…?” you muse, smiling softly as your heart hammers inside your chest, having an inkling where this is going, much to your delight.

Judas straightens his back as you stand up, walking over to him. 

“So… Here I am. I— I know I’m not the tallest, or the strongest, but I’d do anything for you.” 

You halt in front of him, drinking in the determined blue eyes of the keeper of the purse. The fact that he was here right now, in spite of how he felt about his position in the group, confident enough to tell you how he feels about you; it is admirable in and of itself. 

“Here you are,” you whisper, “And I’m glad that you are.” 

Judas feels his face heat up. “Really?” He lets his hands fiddle with one another in front of him, uncertain what he should say. 

“Really.” You respond, your (e/c) glittering as you look at him, taking his hands in yours. 

[minervadashwood]

i watched a movie tonight called i saw the tv glow, and it was a movie about trans identity.

I especially resonated with the theme of wanting to stay in your comfort place. But when you begin realizing you are different, you also realize that your comfort place cannot contain the new you. so, you have to decide whether to block out the new you and continue to live the life that comforts you. Or to acknowledge and become your new self, while potentially giving up your home and family (both literally and metaphorically.)

*

I didn't realize I was nonbinary until my 30s. That is when I discovered the concept existed. Of course, I always felt left out, "off", or forced to play a role.

In my adulthood, after going through therapy for childhood emotional and physical abuse, I maintain the semblance of a normal relationship with my family. I've come out to them all. My parents either did not understand or pretended not to. My brothers said they understood, but afterwards acted like it didn't happen.

I'm reminded of the concept of the "unsayable" in literature and in life. Sometimes language fails us--or we know the words to say but cannot speak them. Fortunately, this is rarely a problem for me.

However, it is a problem for most people I was close to before I came out. My family cannot talk about any LGBTQIA topic without my parents clamming up, or later saying "I just think something went bad in the way those people were raised."

Ironically enough, I could be evidence of that erroneous claim. My gender was policed frequently when I was growing up, even well into adulthood. I know now it's because they were afraid of me being a lesbian. Jokes on them, I don't have a gender and don't care all that much about sex with anyone.

Every time they plan a "girls" night, or mom buys gifts for her "daughters" (my sisters in law and me). Or I am excluded from activities my brothers plan because it's a guy thing." I get left out 2-fold, relegated to socializing with my SILs and not my siblings, and dismissing my gender completely. Probably one of the most hurtful conversations recently is how joyous my entire family was upon learning my SIL's upcoming baby is a boy. Finally someone else to carry on the family name. Guess my family is carrying on another tradition: making a lifetime's worth of assumption assumptions about a child based on what's between their legs.

*

I turn 40 this month. My parents will likely pass away before I turn 50. I will miss them. I cry thinking of it. But I also wonder if it won't be freeing, too. I have in many ways outgrown the person they think I am, the person the subtly try to make me with underhanded comments or--even worse--their silence.

"I love you," they will say. But can they? Can they love the person I have become? The person I am now? Perhaps they are limited to loving me conceptually. Daily, I try to make my peace with that.

I don't have a replacement or "found" family. At least not yet. I have friends and a partner who accept me. But there is not that sense of acceptance and belonging to a group, the surety of unconditional love among more than two people.

Many of us are familiar with stories of outright rejection. Of parents disowning their children, of banishing them from home. It's heartbreaking, and those stories need to be told. I'll listen raptly every time someone shares one with me.

But perhaps there are other stories we can pay attention to. The less overt rejections, the conditional acknowledgements, the subtle erasure of our identities in favor of conformity and feigned ignorance.

I'd like to hear those more. This one was mine.

[kn-1013]

been recently coming up with this sally face au where the cult is still there, except like in real life, what they believe in is bullshit. there's no magic, because magic isn't real, they're just batshit, and the main focus of the story involves the sally gang + travis taking them down with the help of the FBI or something for all those murders.

jim johnson went into witness protection after witnessing the murders of greg, stacy and megan, which is why he isn't there. sandy was murdered by charley after stealing the book from the cult years later when sal moved in. rosenberg is the only survivor of that group that tried to take the cult down and has since lost hope of ever taking them down. terrance addison's entire family was murdered by the cult, and he's become severely agoraphobic as a result.

the ghosts are real, but they can't do much except tell their stories in the hopes that they'll be able to eventually move on. they tell their stories to the sally gang, who work on trying to piece together a timeline of events + evidence to send off and take the cult down.

when travis turns 18 and his father starts really indoctrinating him, he talks with the sally gang and agrees to help them take the cult down by joining and being their inside man, and they keep evidence of the cult's deeds in the secure shed-thing in the backyard of the college house.

when the cult gets taken down, jim johnson is able to come back and explain why he left, and travis and madeline testify against their father in court, betraying their sister mary, and throwing a number of prominent nockfellians into jail.

i like to keep travis as a middle child, so i'm imagining that when this is all done, he ends up having to take care of madeline through the rest of her high school days while they're living on their own now, getting insane amounts of therapy/exit counseling.

i don't know if i have the energy to write an entire fic for this but i'd really like to explore the idea, especially if other people are interested/willing to engage.

[zyafics]

Hiiiii! What do you think about Kiiara and Rafe dynamic? I don’t think that they should be romantic at all, but I do think they have a very complex and interesting relationship and I wish we would’ve seen that more this season. I agree with y him telling Kiara that’s he’s a killer was such a dramatic shift. That could’ve been a very emotionally weighted scene and they missed a mark with that.. I don’t know if the writers were intentionally doing this but him admitting to her should’ve been more pointed. I think she’s really the only one in the group that has ever seen him show some type of remorse. Kiara is such a morally strong character. She’s willing to risk her life for literally anyone, even those who done her wrong . Where is Rafe does the same thing in a way but for his dad? he also thinks throughout the season that he’s doing the right thing or at least trying to. What do you think?

here's the thing, i think the pates are planting the seeds for riara. and as much as we don't like it, that doesn't stop the fact that there's a bunch of riara shippers on twt that are vocal and PROUD, and i'm almost certain the pates had to see SOME of their tweets at some point.

i haven't watched the season, but i can't help but think of two specific scenes in pt2 that is evidence for my hypothesis. which is, kie was the one who got the knife and cut rafe out, and kie told rafe not to go out there because he'll get killed and he said "he's a killer too," he's admitting intimate details to kie that sofia doesn't even access to. remember the proposal? remember when she tried to tell him about the hollis deal, and he said he's done worse but he never went into details. why is it KIE that gets rafe's first on-screen admission of guilt? that must've been such an awakening to him and he professes to some stranger? absolutely not. it should've been sarah, but since it's not, i fear it's setting up a romantic link.

i think kiara and rafe had a very interesting dynamic simply because he sees her as both a kook and pogue, and he refers to her with a sense of familiarity that she doesn't outright hate. however, there's a large gap in maturity and age, and i don't think it would work with what happened in s4. kie is grieving, and i hate the fact that they're trying to pair people together just to find an ending. kie should be alone and figuring it out! she has her friends and a support system for that.

lastly, i agree that kie is a morally strong character. she has a strong sense of empathy that guides her decision and she has a strong sense of justice too. so despite rafe having tried to kill her, and everything he's done (esp in s3) she still doesn't seem okay with the idea of him sacrificing himself or dying regardless of that.

rafe is more.. mature, but he had his slips of psychopathy in this season (which i love). he isn't completely changed, and i don't want the narrative to shove down our throats that he has. i doubt he would've gotten cleaned of cocaine by himself, i doubt that he's receiving therapy. he can't be this level-headed, and in the moments that he isn't—it shows the rafe that we all know from all the previous seasons. i like a gradual built of rafe demonstrating his slow changes. where he is piecing together what is right and wrong. where he's trying to find a moral balance of what he wants and what is right. but i still want him to hold onto that characteristic that made him him—his ruthlessness where he goes from A -> B with little regards on the steps that made him there. he called himself proactive? i truly believe that. he's so simple-minded, that he doesn't think of long-term consequences but rather how does he get something done the quickest, fastest way. i want that to be challenged with his growing emotional maturity.