#feeling super super super suicidal

[ribcracker]

religiously listening to teen idle when i wasnt even a teen yet may have caused irreparable damage. just a thought

[itsays]

marina was so real

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

i’m really really fucking sad :(

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[fvedyetor]

american sigzai

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

11/18/24 TW/CW: vent (sort of), mentions of blood, vomit (slightly), mentions of yelling, trauma, blood, et cetera. Thank you.

“My brain works in a weird way. It’s sort of like how celebrities or others online only show their best side. They only reveal the highlights of their life and positive moments, and the audience may look up to them or feel… insignificant, in comparison. After a bit, in my case, my mask can wear down. I play this positive character in this show, and my depressed states are merely my expressions when I am off-stage. And so, I want to find a way to cope with all my stress, my trauma. And until I do, it is broken. I cannot wear it again, or lies will show. I can’t play out-of-character in a live show; the live show being, well, my life. No- I need to find a way to cope. If I don’t, I’ll never forgive. I’ll never forget. I’ll never get over it. All I have sinned for. But. I am scared. What methods do I have where my writing keeps safe? What platform is not going to be tracked by my guardians? No matter where I go, they are there. They are watching. I can’t feel safe online if they are there. I can’t express my true potential if my mom will eventually find my account and brag to her friends over how great I am. Over how… talented I am.”

“I’m crying too much. Emotions flood me as if dams are broken. The water, a growing flood, overcomes my emotions and my rationality. I do not panic, but I am scared. But I must hide my sobs before my father finds me and mentally beats me up about it. ‘It won’t do any good for you’; I can’t help it. If you keep yelling at me, what am I supposed to do? For I have not matured to your liking. I only exceed your standards, and my mother’s standards, in art. Something they seem to never get over. I start overthinking things. I grow anxiety. My head starts to throb and my hands begin to tremble so much. I feel so sick, I might throw up. The idea of multiple tests this week doesn’t help. I sit in the bathroom, silent. If I am caught, I am beat. I am lectured. They will ask me: ‘whats the matter? Why are you so sick?’, as if they are clueless that they are the main cause. I grow weak at the thought of the future, the past, and the present. ‘This could have been worse’; I comfort myself. This isn’t the worst, but it’s not the best. Tears slowly roll down my face at the memory of all the people I have lost. I’m sorry. Everything I’ve done. Every sin I’ve committed to have gotten where I am today. I’m so sorry, everyone. I deserve this. Don’t I? My lack of rationality grows my thoughts to believe in your lies. Am I just in denial? At this point, I’m stuck in here for 3 hours. I’m too scared to leave, but too scared to stay. I close my eyes and hope everything will go away. I hope everything is merely just a dream, I just need to wake up. Wake up, or you will die. Fuck. Why me? I sob silently, watching my volume as I can lightly hear the footsteps of my family emerge from the hallway. I feel so sick.”

“After another hour or so, I leave carefully. It’s midnight. They are all asleep at this point, and I am spared for another day. I immediately retreat to my room in a silent run, which slightly makes the nauseated feeling return. My pace slows as I walk to my bed, flopping down. My hand immediately reaches for my phone, an instinct. I feel something dripping from my mouth, and I carefully run my hand over it. Blood. Or so, I suppose it is. It tastes like it at least, but it’s too dark to tell. I ignore that and change my glance to my phone, going to Tumblr. My hands still tremble and my eyes are dry. The nauseated feeling slips in and out: irritating yet worrying. I scroll, looking at more art. I force a light smile to myself, and my jaw aches. It leaves after a few seconds. ‘Is this my last resort?’; Do I have to do this? This will only cause me more overwork, stress and anxiety. I exit the reblog. I am sorry, but my body still aches with the need for drawing more, making up perfect animation and drawing ideas in my head. This needs to stop. No. Please. This can’t be it. I can’t draw anymore, but my body refuses. My mind races with the thought of all my requests I have not finished, silently apologizing to the users.”

“…I can’t do this anymore.”

“I need to stop. I need to take a break. I can’t continue this continuous cycle of self-torment. If I do, I’ll become depressed. If I do, I’ll distance myself further from my friends.”

-

Thank you all. I appreciate your support and words of encouragement, and I know this may be a bit excessive, but I felt like releasing my emotions into a piece of text, even at the risk my mom may see this. I apologize if I have not finished your art requests. I am not taking a break, and I will continue making art (I’m sure you little shits are gonna be happy about that, huh, you guys who only care about my art). But I will not be as active, for school is still occurring. I have a break for a week next week, so I’ll try and make more art then. I just want you all to be happy, I’m sorry. I know this is a bit of a 180 from how I was earlier, but I gotta cope. My parents are arguing again (fml). XOXO.

[idolomantises]

I think I’m gonna discuss this once and hopefully never have to bring it up again. Originally I wanted to talk about it on Twitter but people are very disrespectful when it comes to mental health so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Basically, I haven’t been doing so great, mentally. Nothing bad has happened to me, I’m safe and surrounded by people I care about, and it’s been like that for months. I just, I haven’t been feeling good.

For people who do follow me on accounts like Twitter and Instagram, you may have noticed I haven’t posted anything new since January. I was struggling to feel motivated to make something for my main accounts despite having countless ideas I’d love to work on. I feel better now and do plan on getting something done in March, but that sudden lack of motivation is pretty rare for me. Art is not only my job but a big hobby for me, I just love drawing. I did get some nsfw art done at least.

I don’t know what really prompted my mental health decline, I’ve been getting a few worried messages and fanart because someone insulted my art. But that didn’t hurt me at all, it actually boosted my account and patreon.

I guess I just… got sad?

I have a really bad tendency to suppress and even ignore my trauma and feelings of guilt. And I guess one day I really sat with my thoughts and I just, lost it I guess. I have so much traumatic memories and sudden and intense feelings of self loathing, something I’ve never felt in almost a decade, that it got overwhelming. I couldn’t reassure myself, I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it because how do you confront things that happened years ago? You feel almost irrational. It’s just memories that haunt you, it’s nothing physical or tangible and yet it’s a crushing feeling of anxiety, self hatred and resentment.

I was crying almost every day, and crying so much that my eyes kept hurting long after I was done, and I could barely see my own screen. I’ve had paranoid thoughts about myself and others, thoughts I can’t get into because they’re so deeply irrational. I was feeling suicidal urges and thoughts of self harm. I don’t see myself doing it, but it’s so frequent and overwhelming it’s like I’m already planning my suicide note.

I was talking to my therapist about it, that I was starting to hate being alive. That I hated living. That I could spend the next 50 years of my life with no more conflict or trauma and I’d still be in intense misery and turmoil. They’re feelings I couldn’t really bring myself to tell friends about because what could they say? How do you calm yourself down and reassure yourself. I can’t even talk about my trauma verbally without crying. And it’s funny because sometimes minor irks started to affect me negatively. I was feeling anxious about what to draw because I didn’t want to do deal with homophobic backlash.

I went to a therapist, I talked to friends, Ive been working out more and eating better, I did everything I should do to improve my mental health and all of a sudden a single night just sitting in my room destroyed everything I was slowly building up over the past 5 years.

It’s been really difficult for me. I think also, I just felt so much guilt over not being the best person I could be. I decided to lessen my online usage, not just for my mental health but because I really wanted to work on being a better person. I want to stop hating myself and letting my trauma push me down and I want to do just be better and do better as a person. A lot of people have been very forgiving and kind to me but I don’t feel like it’s enough and I want to do more and I want to feel better about myself. I want to give everything I can to people around me. I’ve been going to therapy a lot more lately and things are getting better for me, but it’s been a very slow process.

I just want to repeat that nothing serious has happened to me. Nobody attacked me in a way that negatively affected my health. A lot of people, friends and strangers have been really nice to me these past few months. I just was doing a lot of self reflecting and unintentionally forced myself to confront a lot of my trauma. I’m saying trauma a lot. I don’t want to get into depth about what I endured because it’s my business but people who do know me know how bad things were for me. I don’t want to feel like that again. I want to feel better, and I want to do better.

Sorry for the long read. That’s just how I feel.

[trans-leek-cookie]

listen I'm not gonna be a Curly apologist he did Fucked Up as captain but I genuinely recommend ppl watch a playthru that goes thru the game in chronological order. It kinda helps clear up the events and gaps between them, bc even tho u See the times, you still experience it out of order.

The stuff Anya says definitely sets off alarm bells but it doesn't seem like he Fully Understands what she means, and I'm going to be 100% honest I think she was trying to repress it herself. This isn't to say that she is AT ALL "at fault" for what happened after and she should've gotten help even if she wasn't ready to fully discuss the issue but I genuinely think she herself was still coming to terms with things, so she didn't necessarily process the full impact before talking to Curly, and a lot of what happens occurs after they're laid off- like this delves into personal interpretation but I genuinely think Anya only registered Jimmy as a serious danger after his outburst towards Curly. Ofc my interpretation is limited bc of the limited pov in game and not having gone through what she has, but it personally reads more akin to coercion over time than a singular Obviously Violent incident (like. Not to say that Sexual Assault isnt violent in nature, just that coercion often specifically works to obfuscate the fact it is a form of violence.) The layoff is a Massive catalyst for her bc of Jimmy, in that she now has a very clear understanding of his capacity for aggression.

To extrapolate a little from the "Dead Pixel" conversation, she starts by saying she Likes The Screen (even though it's fake). While Curly has his quotes about the pixel "not ruining the illusion" which. Y'know is Symbolic Of His Flaws. She doesn't say the pixel ruins it, just that she can't get it out of her mind.

If we take the pixel to represent her Or jimmy, either way the way she talks about it kind of downplays things, like it's a Minor Thing that's Slightly Upsetting, but she's still okay with the big picture. Idk I could be 100% wrong but that is my take

Besides that, Anya tells curly she's pregnant 2 days before the crash, and it isn't until she outright states it that he starts Putting The Pieces Together. I want to note, he says "I'd do anything" and "this doesn't have to go on our performance evals" 1. Before he knows shes pregnant 2. Under the assumption she might attempt suicide, and I doubt he even thought about her using the gun on anyone else before she brings that up. He says literally before the line where she tells him she's pregnant that "being laid off isnt a reason to hurt [herself]". Like I've seen ppl talk about the performance evaluation thing like it's about her and jimmy, but I think he's referring to (his belief) that she might attempt suicide or similar which might genuinely be a consistent thing he's seen her struggle with, given she's able to go through with it. Also just to note: assuming their society is like ours (hellish) reassuring her he won't blab Abt her mental health is like. Genuine reassurance- lots of mentally ill ppl will Not Open Up bc it could have long term consequences (like. For example. On employment) ANYWAYS I hope it doesn't come off like "Curly never failed Anya" but rather "Curly approached this specific situation without the context of why Anya is panicking and (possibly validly) assuming she's dealing with a very different issue"

Also let me say again the time frame is 2 days. We don't Really see what happens, but we know Anya tells Jimmy without Curly knowing. I genuinely believe he maybe didn't do a Great Job in those two days (the fact he says Anya should've talked to Him before telling Jimmy is uhhh. Mm. 1. Your job to create an environment where she comes to you my man 2. Weird to tell her what she should do with HER OWN PERSONAL INFORMATION) but like.

I get a lot of ppl want immediate consequences but consider that they can't really get rid of Jimmy (co pilot. Which is. Y'know it's Own Problems) but also like. Curly knows Jimmy, and we know that Jimmy tends to lash out. Curly should probably Not Confront Jimmy Unless He Knows Exactly How To Keep Him From Hurting Anya. Like I'm not an expert but this is something genuinely important- when confronting an abuser you NEED to take into account the impact it can have on their victim, and sometimes for the victims safety you need to wait until you have a Solid Plan. It sucks but it's important.

And theres discussion to be had about Curly kinda going along with Jimmy saying "well what if we all died" and like. I do believe he Didn't Realize What Jimmy Said. Like he was just processing/trying to keep the situation under control (and failing because he underestimated how willing Jimmy was to hurt everyone including himself).

Like he's definitely an enabler but I would say his problems are mostly before he understands the gravity of the situation, in that he's friends with Jimmy and assumes the best of a man with abusive tendencies, and fails to create an environment that can keep Anya and the others safe. Like, he definitely doesn't handle in game events perfectly (psych evaluation for one- he does do it instead of Anya which is actually helpful, but he still treats it like. Weirdly.)

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about this game and I don't necessarily want to defend Curly but more like. Anya's situation is very delicate (and light on details) so sometimes the way ppl talk Abt it feels like they aren't actually focused on what she wants and what it means to prioritize her safety y'know?

Edit bc I just now figured out kinda how I want to word it: curly is an enabler and making things worse bc he doesn't put a stop to Jimmy's BS, but in the specific scenario we see in game I think he's trying to use his Skillset of like, people pleasing not for Jimmy's sake but for the crews (like "if I nod my head and say I sympathize he won't lash out and hurt them") which like. There are situations which that is unfortunately the safest option (on an individual level yes, but sometimes it's also necessary to prevent abusers lashing out in response toward ppl who are more vulnerable) but it was the Wrong Choice.

It's like. I think Curly was trying and had good intentions, and understood that he needed to protect the crew, but he didn't have the toolset/experience to realize he can't Just go along with things and that he needs to be able to set hard limits, even for ppl he likes and trusts. Like he failed but the failure was "for want of a nail", where it began way before what we see (for want of an understanding of power dynamics I guess.) Again, don't think this makes curly more forgivable or whatever, I just think he's a good example of trying to make the right choices when you never realized you'd have to make these kinds of decisions and therefore are unprepared and/or unaware

Second edit: personally I don't think you can really incapacitate jimmy without there being serious risk (again he's the copilot) but curly should've given Anya the gun when she told him Abt the pregnancy

[natsmagi]

adding onto my last rant from a while ago a little bit, it is fascinating how many people in this fandom completely miss the point of tsumugis character and misconstrue what hes actually about which, ironically, is just what eichi did. and its done in such a similar fashion too, such as making assumptions about his motives, his family relationship, and missing the point in why he chooses to look the way he does. and, time and time again, eichi has been proven to be WRONG about tsumugi. he misunderstood him deeply, and now its eichi whos stuck mourning the past while tsumugi has long since moved on, not the other way around, as tsumugi is on the path of getting his happy ending. and i dont get why people keep trying to take this positivity from him

(s. element epilogue 2)

[rabiesofficial]

[crushedsweets]

I know this shit is long as hell and you probably won't answer since you have so many asks but I just wanted to say I found a backstory for Cody(X-Virus) for your AU!!!

It's not as creative as your ideas but I tried to do something original and meaningful for him. He deserves more love and recognation.

I'm so so sorry for bothering you and I apologize for my mistakes.

Hope you like it and can't wait to hear your opinions about it!!!!

▼・ᴥ・▼

Cody never got adopted by a scientist, instead, he lived in an orphanage where he constantly got bullied. The reason for this situation was just straightly absurd. He just couldn't understand peoples and their emotions like other kids because of his lack of emphaty.

That's why he focused on academic knowledge rather than human relationships. Because mathmetical problems were easier for him compared to comforting a crying person.

Cody always was a succesful and smart kid so he could easily pass his exams in middle and high school. Because of that, in high school, he didn't bother to focus over boring topics like his daily lessons anymore.

No, he focused on more complicated science fields such as quantum physics, anatomy and organic chemistry.

Of course Cody couldn't understand everything he read easily, that's why he spend hours and hours on studying and having countless nights without any sleep. He read articles and textbooks, he watched professors' lectures on youtube, he tried to solve problems on his own and more.

Overworking on university lessons was not a good way for socialising, he got more and more isolated and the bullying was increased.

In last year of high school, he was worried because of the fact that he needed to win a success scholarship for all the cool topics he worked over, moreover, for a diploma. He could easily go to a college, however, he wanted the best of them. Because only the best could satisfy his hunger for research and true knowledge.

Cody was also confused about choosing which major to pick and he was stressing about this topic all the time. So many good fields were lying ahead him but he could only choose one of them and he wasn't sure which one is the one he wanted to dedicate his entire life. What if he would made a mistake and regret for his lost years for the rest of his living?

So yes, this was a very overwhelming decision for Cody. Since he was anxious all the time and he was going through a serious depressive episode, he decided to give a shot to the Chernobyl school trip in his school.

Obviously it was not like they really went inside of the nuclear powerplant since most of them weren't even over 18 years old. More like they wandered around the places in Ukraine which were close to the powerplant(Chernobyl City) and they visited some important museums.

But this was not enough for Cody.

He wanted to see the inside of the powerplant. He wanted to learn more details about behind the scenes. He wanted to see the deformed bodies. He to carry out experiments on dead humans who got affected by the radiation.

That's why he stole a gas mask and sneak out to the powerplant while everyone else was sleeping in a hotel.

He was truly breathless because of what he witnessed.

That's when he decided to became a chemistry engineer.

Of course he they got him and he took a huge punishment which caused to screw his school life.

Even though he got a really high score in his university acceptance exam, his applys were rejected by all the big schools he dreamed about. He got so, so upset about this that he even wanted to kill himself rather than living as a worthless piece of shit.

While he was rolling in thoughts of negativity, a teacher who respected Cody's success wrote a reference letter for him to an school.

The school decided to accept Cody with a few conditions. This school was not as big and as fancy as other schools he wanted but it was still better than what he could aford without that reference later. So he immediatly accepted this offer and thanked his teacher.

He did not became a chemistry engineer.

He majored in psychology which provided him the chance to do some different kind of experiments on mental health hospital residents.

He did a double major in chemistry, not in chemistry engineering.

But he's mostly using all his time for psychlogical experiments over chemical experiments. Sometimes he uses chemistry too for topics like neurotransmitter matters and the structure of hormones.

He's mostly a psychologist who you not want to cross and he works in mental health hospitals. He mostly manipulates his patients for doing something morally grey or hurtful for them either mentally or physically.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS AND PLSSS DONT BE SO HARD ON YOURSELF ITS WRITTEN BEAUTIFULLY AND I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE SHARE THINGS WITH ME. I PROMSIE UR NOT BOTHERING ME AND ITS SO GOOD.

OK IMMA CHAT A LITTLE WITH IT UNDER THE CUT CUZ I LIKE IT

"That's why he focused on academic knowledge rather than human relationships. Because mathmetical problems were easier for him compared to comforting a crying person." I ABSOLUTELY LOOOOVE characters like this. who lean into math and science because they just cant grasp all of the wishy washy of emotion and that kinda stuff. characters who like clear, linear paths with rules and whatnot. i think its really interesting way to try to define a character

which is why i love "No, he focused on more complicated science fields such as quantum physics, anatomy and organic chemistry."

i love how much you focus on his desire for knowledge. i think its cool when someone CRAVES for intelligence, they want to learn, they wanna know everything they possibly can - and i think its especially interesting when that turns into scary, morbid curiosity

and i fucking love how scary it is that he decided to go snooping around during his Chernobyl trip. it just sounds like a really unsettling turn of events and i think is such a creative, yet creepy, take on what made such a big shift. going from a kinda awkward, focused, troubled kid to someone who is willing to hurt and sacrifice people for his own morbid curiosity. SUPER SCARY

and i like that he still couldnt get what he wanted. i like that he still got stuck doing smth that didnt truly appease any scary urges he had, and that he has to do his freaky killer stuff in a roundabout way by manipulating his patients

would be interesting to see if any other creeps could perhaps be his patient . . .

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

“because he never accepts that it's never been about righteousness--it's about repentance.” except javert killing himself IS repentance.

well, it’s like 12 different things, because bro had gone days without sleeping and very little food and water and he already had low self-worth and kept asking the amis to kill him and just assumed he was going to die AND THEN valjean upended his understanding of the world and morality. he was really going through it & there are a lot of overlapping reasons for why he jumps into the seine.

but javert is like Number One Most Responsible guy in the whole story. taking responsibility is his Thing (forever bitter the musical doesn’t include the punish me monsieur le maire scene). how else, in his derailment, could he atone for his conceived misdeeds other than by handing in his resignation to god? in the brick he had already left a note urging his superiors to treat convicts at toulon better, which is another step in his repentance (and another crime the musical commits by not including it). jumping into the seine was another step.

honestly a lot of ppl who like the book think the musical was dead wrong to exclude him from the big heaven group sing, because it COMPLETELY undermines the themes of forgiveness and compassion threaded throughout les mis. like the musical was simply wrong lol.

This is helpful context! I am still finishing the brick, although I have fully read the abridged version, and that detail about the letter wasn't included, so I didn't know that occurred! (And thank you for the message--this is a long response but I'd love to hear more of your thoughts!)

I agree that Javert is certainly deeply distraught and remorseful; like you mentioned, his worldview is literally falling apart, and his actions reflect his mental state. But his death isn't really repentance--in the sense that it's not what God would have wanted. To me it reads like a Judas situation: a desperate realization of a huge mistake, and doing the only thing you think can make it right, namely, ending it all. That's the just punishment for someone so wrong, isn't it?

But true repentance, meaning the repentance that the Lord desires, is about changing your ways, not "paying a price." Had Javert really understood the beauty of Valjean's mercy (an image of Christ's, just as the bishop's undeserved mercy was to Valjean himself), rather than killing himself, he would have lived to also become "an honest man"--in heart. One who could forgive and understand forgiveness, for himself as well as others. One who could recognize that he is not The Law, that he can fall, but that he can also be "brought to the light." One who could accept that men like Valjean, and men like himself, CAN change, and be changed.

It's tragic to me because so much of "Stars," and his character in the book as well as the musical, is about wanting to be righteous, to rise above his birth and the sinfulness he associates it with. It's about wanting to please the Lord by his actions. But in his end, he shows he never understood what God really wanted from him, and that's where my original phrase comes in: not righteousness, but repentance. To live, and face the man you were, knowing it's no longer the man you are. That it's never been about what you've done or can do, but about what's been done for you. That's the Gospel that he could never fully accept.

To use another example you mentioned, that misunderstanding drives why he asks the Mayor (Valjean) to punish him--in his worldview, mercy is unjust, or at the very least, unfair. Evil must be punished; "those who fall like Lucifer fell" receive "the sword." But "as it is written," God "desires mercy, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). God would have wanted Javert to live, and Javert couldn't see that, and that's why it's devastating to me. In his misunderstanding of the heart of God, he misses what would have set him free from the chains of sin he's always been trying to escape.

That's why he's contrasted with Valjean, who (though he carries guilt about his past till the end of his life) is eventually able to face it and confess what he had done to those he loves. He knew there was mercy to be found, if only it was asked for. Javert was too blinded by pride and shame to realize it, and so, while broken, he never was able to truly repent.

For that, you must go on.

[spookythesillyfella]

the best friends

[moth-flowers]

moth-flowers #20

[chaoticallyfluffy]

I slightly bent my glasses and instantly started wondering if I’d be able to drown myself in my bathtub or if my body would go into autopilot to get me out

I may be a teensy bit over dramatic

[livsspecialinterests]

hi lads quick question are there any coping strategies for when it's too warm at night and the sound of the fan you use sometimes dowsnt bother you but sometimes cant be drowned out, and your partner snores (sometimes right fucking next to your head!!) and every single strategy people try to suggest is already something you do?? if one more person tries to "just use earplugs, they really work!" me I'm going to lose it.

basically it's 4:50 AM I've been awake since 3 and have to be up anyway in less than an hour so I've just got up to do my skincare stuff and might try to write for half an hour.

I've been on the whole sleeping better since starting ADHD meds, maybe that's why I react so strongly to having a shit nights sleep now. Like I work weird hours and have a decent number of days off between shifts for the next few weeks but just because I can sleep in some days doesn't mean its okay that I spend half of the night awake??

and my husband doesn't mean to snore, obviously, and he sleeps downstairs on the sofa if it's been a few nights where he's been snoring badly so I'm not even directly complaining about him but I know the shit effect that long term sleep deprivation has on people's health, let alone how fucking annoying it is in general to lie there listening to someone REALLY LOUDLY sleeping for hours on end and then needing to get up at 5:45 AM for work

I know it's partially an issue of my mood regulation but jesus fucking christ if lying awake for hours/drifting in and out of sleep/dragging myself downstairs to sleep on the sofa doesnt make me want to kill myself literally nothing does (and don't get me fucking STARTED on the process I have to follow in getting changed, moving my pillows downstairs etc because the sofa is "dirty" and my pillows are supposed to be "clean", yes I probably have OCD but I've never managed to get anyone to take it seriously so I just deal with it)

like my poor husband if he wakes up while I'm on my way downstairs says I'm really mean and like... yeah? my tone is a mixture of being pissed off that I've not slept AGAIN, trying to not cry because insomnia is something I've been dealing with since I've been a literal child, and also trying to not just flat out tell him that I want to die because I know he knows its hyperbole/something that I say in the moment to try to express my distress but I know it worries him when I talk like that so I don't want to do that

(though he will now check with me before saying he's had a bad night's sleep, since for him a bad night means he maybe woke up a few times before going right back to sleep ie he slept for like 7 hours but it wasn't great quality sleep, whereas for me a bad night is getting maybe an hour or two, interspersed with rage/sadness/loneliness/anxiety)