#found out that the ''bipolar'' was just me being happier when i have my pain meds

[esggs]

choso x geto!kenjaku, cult leader and altar boy, d/s relationship, smut, part 1, choso doesn't know that geto is actually his father kenjaku, prolly my best work yet ngl

Choso lay birthed. It was the second time he’d done so, and he wasn’t any happier this time around either. The foetid water of his mother’s womb dripped from his toes. 

He was pulled to his wobbly feet by Mahito, gentle palm on gentler palm, his toes wetly squishing against the floor with every baby step he took. Mahito taught him to walk, to speak, to eat. 

It was harder than Choso had ever assumed: each finger and each leg and each eye had to move in tandem all the time. Even harder was the next step of development, socialisation. Now that he could speak, he had to learn the correct things to speak: the correct expression that went along with the words. Happiness– mouth spread upwards into a smile, eyes crinkled, “Yay!”. Sorrow– mouth downwards, tears in eyes, shaking head. 

Sometimes Mahito joked that he was Choso’s father, but that didn’t go down very well, so he stopped saying that. Mahito was simply that, “Mahito”. A fellow curse, a really good one, looked out for him and helped as much as he could. Fun-loving. Selfless. Introduced him to other curses as well, the first friends he ever had. 

Hanami was delightful, Jogo gave him good advice, and Dagon was truly adorable. They found it very funny that Choso was technically the eldest of them all. They all used to play football together in the evenings. 

It was okay. Things were okay. His brothers were okay. 

Choso should’ve been happy with that. ‘Okay’ is a perfectly good thing to be. But Choso, created to surpass the human constraints, the best of his kind, Choso, my beloved, he could never have stayed away too long. Sooner or later he would have ended up here. Perhaps the tragedy was how soon it was. He could have had a few months more. 

My son. Geto-sama was always soft-voiced. Come to me.

—------------------

Choso could never tell when he was bad.

Even now, tears in his eyes and whip in hand, he could not understand why he was being punished. I’m sorry, his lips trembled, forgive me, my lord. 

Mercurial, almost bipolar–Geto-sama would never just ‘get angry’. No, he’d fly into a terrible rage, he’d kill and torture, he’d curse whole bloodlines. He was equally benevolent when the mood struck, but at the end of the day that was that– his emotions only manifested in the extremes. And oh how he despised the very sight of Choso right now. 

Scum of the earth! He called him, rotten waste of your mother’s womb! Even now, you insolent idiot, you talk back to me! 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Choso lifted his hand to strike Geto-sama, who knelt at the floor stripped naked but for the whip-cuts. Don’t make me hurt you again, please, my lord, I don’t want to. I’m sorry. 

You think you deserve forgiveness? Getting too big for your britches? Geto-sama, mid-moan as another lash fell on his thigh, inches away from grazing his rock-hard cock, managed to spit acid out in every syllable. You think you know better than me? 

Choso struck another blow on Geto-sama, watching him shiver in pleasure. He was a cruel master, Choso knew, but such was religion. A father knows the right way to discipline his son: Choso would happily take a thousand whippings if he believed he deserved it. But no way could ever rationalise away the pain of hurting his loved ones. 

Hence sat Geto-sama’s skin tearing under the lashes, but the only one clutching at his hair and crying was Choso. The holy man was having the time of his life.  

Harder, you fool. Useless creature.  

 I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Choso wept into his rope-burnt palm, Master, may I whip myself too? 

Geto-sama climaxed onto his thighs, shuddering and laughing, semen mixing with blood dripping into the tatami flooring. Brother-seed, he’d taught Choso it was called. Taught him to crawl like a dog and lap it off the floor, to say thank you and mean it.

There was something romantic about it all, as per Kenjaku. Oedipus and Antigone rolled into one. 

Damn shame none of the Death Paintings turned out female. He’d really wanted to fuck a baby into one, see if it took, see how many generations it took to flush the cursed spirit gene out with his own. Daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter– each with greater Kenjaku than the last. Scientific hobbies to pass his eternal life.  

Did I please you, Master? Choso, eyes still watery and tongue bitter with cum, poor baby. The appeased Geto-sama’s mood swung hard the other way. He lounged back, away from the sticky puddle that Choso licked clean, already healing himself up. 

Plenty, my son. My favourite. 

—-----------------

Geto-sama’s doctrine was of austerity. When he first came to the temple, Choso was granted a robe, a beggar’s bowl, two towels and a shower caddy (soap, shampoo, detergent, razorblade)– and that was all personal items he received. The rest consisted of texts: a set of general instructions that the people living in the temple followed, a copy of the Dhammapada explaining the Noble Eightfold Path, the Lotus Sutra, a children’ comic book of The Jataka Tales, a journal, and a list of banned items. 

Keep off unnecessary temptation and false ideals, Manami explained to Choso. No pornography, no English books (those are all American propaganda), no newspapers, no unapproved books on history, politics, economics, no heresy, no mobile phones or internet connection except on the temple-issued computers, no “unkind” words. 

Geto-sama would always maintain that it was the choice of his disciples to either accept all his rules, or to not be a disciple at all. He respected consent. Besides, true devotion only comes from willingness. 

But there was never a dip in followers’ enrollment, undeterred by the constricting rules, for his pulpit stood true. Of all men in Japan, only Geto-sama’s disciples (as long as they remained loyal) never suffered from curses. 

A divine stamp of my preaching, Geto-sama would proclaim. 

I am the divine, he left out. For now. 

Choso was given the task of washing Geto-sama’s feet 5 times a day. The monk was a stickler for cleanliness to the point of OCD; Choso had been yelled at many times when he missed a spot. Choso’s fingers rubbed tallow-fat soap between his holy toes, dried them with his own robes and massaged lavender oil. Whenever Choso caught a glimpse of Geto-sama’s soles, soft and pink as a deer calf’s tongue, he felt immensely proud of his achievements.

It felt good. It felt human. 

The water used to clean his feet was collected and offered to his disciples. Many believed drinking it would keep disease away. 

Sometimes Geto-sama’s feet came back caked in blood that steeped through his socks. Choso scrubbed extra hard on those days. 

—----------------------------

[tittyinfinity]

it's crazy finding out you're autistic as an adult bc then you start to notice the ways it affects you and has affected you throughout life

and then it becomes a hyperfixation bc you're like "omg this makes so much sense now" and you start feeling a bit better about yourself knowing that there's an explanation to everything

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

almost-birthday thoughts

i'll turn 40 in a few days, on thursday. i've always loved presents and reasons to celebrate, round numbers, enthusiasm...reasons to be excited, i guess. but this birthday matters way more to me than the others; it feels deeper. i don't look to 50 or 60 (if i'm lucky enough to get there) and feel any particular way, but i felt this one coming. i needed this one to matter.

my mom was 32 when she had me, and her 40th birthday is the first birthday i remember witnessing of hers. the family teasing her, the 'lordy lordy looks who's forty' rhymes. her hair was already gray, and welfare hadn't forced her back into the workforce yet. she was happier than i would ever see her be, again.

and i honestly don't remember much else about her birthday party, or that year specifically. big, terrible things happened a year later, but when i was only 8? she was just 40, we all celebrated like we celebrated every birthday of everybody--and the number didn't mean anything to me.

now, i'm about to be 40, and the last time i saw my mom, i was 21. she turned 72 this year, which is the age my grandmother was when she died. i reached out, because of that. i get my spine from my grandmother and my stubbornness from my mother, but i yielded, just enough. i know i won't see her again while she's alive. i'm at peace with that, as much as i can be.

but it still makes 40 feel more important, somehow. like i've hit the inbetween. i've survived the rock and the hard place and somehow i'm still alive and i'm going to be 40 years old, older than my mother was when i entered the world, while she's older than her mother was when she left it.

i've never cared much about age in the way some people do: i don't worry about how wrinkles make me look, or how quickly silver began streaking through my brown hair. i'm not lamenting (or celebrating) what i've accomplished as i approach a real mile marker. until i started writing this, it didn't even occur to me that depending on how long i live, i may actually be entering middle age now.

that can't be true, right? whatever middle-aged is, it doesn't feel like me reblogging tumblr gifs and rambling about the movies i've watched or sharing my cat stories. my health issues have existed for so long they seem entirely divorced from the passage of time, so i can't even say i feel like i'm getting old because i have pain, or sleep trouble--whatever the cliches are.

anyway, being the many things that i am (autistic, bipolar, anxious, vibrating at a high ADHD frequency even while medicated), i'm probably always going to be one of those 'i don't feel my age' people. so that doesn't surprise me. it's more the principle of this year, that matters to me. it has mattered all year as i felt my birthday approaching.

so both intentionally and coincidentally, i made this one of my biggest birthdays ever. because of the timing of thanksgiving and school holidays and other stuff outside my control, my family celebrating started early. last week alone was intense, in the best way.

i found out earlier this year, with much surprise and delight, that hadestown was not only touring, but coming literally to our downtown theater. a ticket to that was my gift to myself. i'd never seen any musical i love onstage--and definitely not a broadway one, touring or otherwise. and i didn't think about, when i purchased the ticket, how the show would be happening only a week after the election. but it was perfect, even more so because of that. i needed it.

and then, @actuallylukedanes made it possible for me to see suzy eddie izzard, performing live. they're the one who first introduced me to her comedy, literally decades ago now, and her bits are embedded in the fabric of our family (who all went together). getting to actually be in her presence wasn't on my bucket list, much like i didn't actually expect to see a musical i loved until i did--i'm still a little in shock that we were really there. it really happened. and in addition to being funny, she was very sincerely trying to give us all hope. it made me cry.

before the show, we got something to eat nearby, and it's been years since i had such a good milkshake. i want to go back there and try their sandwiches (i enjoyed the fries and their natural orange soda). the theater smelled like history, and i love all the memories i made with my family just on that one day, including the hour i spent reading in the car before i ran out of sunlight while music blasted all around us. and the singalong on the ride home. i think it was nearly 4 hours of driving, to get there and back that day, but for me at least, it was worth it.

i've already gotten one of my birthday presents (besides the suzy eddie izzard show of course), because @actuallyrorygilmore had to visit early and leave yesterday, thanks to the schedules etc i mentioned above. she got me a book i really wanted, and can't wait to read, once i've made a dent in my giant partially-read pile of paperbacks and hardcovers from my distracted era. (i'm nearly done with two! i'm making actual progress!)

i also got a cupcake and a box of caramels i love...and all of that was before my birthday has even happened!

i've still got some kind of unwrappable gift coming to mark the day, and the wicked movie coming out, 20 years after i was first belting along to the soundtrack in my college dorm room, alone over thanksgiving break. (i won't be seeing wicked on my birthday, but because regal sometimes opens movies here a day early on thursdays, it will premiere on my birthday. i love that.)

a lot about this year, heading into turning 40, has been really hard. i lost my little ghost cat, bailey, in january--and mellie's son sebastian, who brought bailey to us in the first place...we lost him right before halloween. pretty horrible bookends to 2024. and now, bonus fascism! that's just hovering, a january storm cloud i'm ignoring until it's here.

so, i can't say 40 is gonna be fantastic. or, 2025 will be my best year yet! or anything else silly, like the hopeful things i remember proclaiming as we were heading into 2020. i'm sure i believed them at the time, very sincerely--but the universe gave us a pandemic instead, among so much else. that was not a year of joy.

what i can say, and be grateful for, is that i'm about to be 40 years old. and when i was a child, and i tried to imagine my life someday, it was a big expanse of nothingness. it wasn't that i was pessimistic about my future, or even that i didn't know what i wanted. i literally couldn't imagine myself as an adult, living in the world, having any life different from the way things had always been for me, growing up. i couldn't see it.

so i genuinely, fiercely, painfully believed that meant that i must not be fated to live to see adulthood. to have any kind of future. i was very much an anne shirley kind of child, and i blame my fanciful imagination for that sense of certain doom, but i did believe it. i never expected to make it this far.

despite that, despite everything, here i am. raising kittens and seeing musicals and being celebrated by a chosen family who both love and like me, for who i actually am. i have a room of my own and the choice of how i spend my time, and i'm needed in the world. i'll never run out of things to learn, and make, and new friends to meet. no matter what's coming, i still do love my small, valuable life.

a lot can happen in 40 years, i now know from experience. i'm going to try and keep making mine better.

[teddyextrapaw]

eidolons gender diaries: 7/20/2023

ever since i found out i would be able to get on testosterone i have been going through a whiplash of emotion. initially i thought this was my bipolar, or maybe my anxiety meds werent working. after.... er, too long, i finally realized it has to do with my transition

being genderfluid makes things complicated.

i dont... not relate to child me. i dont feel they were forced to be a girl, forced to perform any role or wear anything they didnt want. i dont feel my child self had to play or act in any way except their authentic self. and their authentic self? wanted to be a princess or a ballerina when they grew up. loved pink. had pink walls! loved dolls, makeup, ANYTHING girly. long hair, cheerleader, the list goes on...

somehow, it feels like im going to lose that part of me. with finality. that “she”, the little girl i was (because i do feel child me was a girl or just didnt have gender) is going to be gone, now i transition

its. hard.

its been a strange feeling. like a meteor or gray cloud hangs above my head. that feeling of “when will the other shoe drop”, the sudden bouts of anxiety and depression... inability to sleep, fearing the next day but not knowing Why.

to some degree this is ptsd and such. but a huge part of it is... were getting closer to a huge, huge change. and i feel fear, excitement, happiness and grief in equal measure. i was sure this would be pure euphoria. it is, mostly but... no.

ive never heard someone feel as conflicted as me while also being completely confident in their choice to start gender affirming care

i sing, and talk, and i think sadly of the fact this voice i use now will change. i have awful voice dysphoria, but this has been my voice so long. and while i do not like it for me, it is beautiful. its soothing, calm, melodic. when singing, its truly special.

i will have to relearn how to sing, how to talk... it makes me sad. never hearing this voice come out of me again once it has deepened... i feel a sense of loss. im so ready to leave it behind, but also... sad. because... its my voice? it will be gone

i forget how hard transition periods can be. the pain of being a tween to a teen. from being a teen to a young adult. a young adult to an adult.

euphoria and sadness have come in equal measure. i think it is worthwhile to put these feelings out there, be it only for future me or for other trans folk. if you go through this, youre not alone. we will be happier on the other side. but its okay to love parts of us now, too.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 7

“Under the Knife” - Part 7

Main Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2,100-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, Violence

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List

:

@fruitloopzzz

@theeactress

@melconnor2007

@ashenfallsof

@geeksareunique

@all-by-myself98

@sj-thefan

​

@fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude

​

@ntlmundy

​

@a-person-unlabled

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was in the middle of a phone call when you opened his office door unannounced. He gave you an annoyed look until he saw something in your eyes that said that this was important. When he looked to Hannibal, who was behind you, he nodded slightly, letting Jack know that this was for sure something urgent. 

“I’m going to have to call you back.” He calmly said before putting the handset back onto the office phone base. “What did yo-”

“I think I finally got into this guy’s brain!” Jack gives you an expectant look.

“Well?! Go on then!” You take a quick breath in as you speak, making your way to one of the chairs in front of Jack’s desk. Hannibal stood off to your right slightly.

“Okay. So, we’ve been looking for a doctor this entire time, right?”

“Yes, we have.” There was obvious hesitation in his voice, worried that you would just widen the suspect list instead of narrowing it down. You continued.

“Right. But what if our killer was actually a patient of these doctors?” 

You watched Jack quickly think it over, preparing for exactly what you thought he’d point out. You pulled out a couple of print-outs from within your notebook and waited for Jack to speak. Hannibal peeked over your shoulder at the paper and read a little bit of the top page while Jack spoke.

“It would tie the doctors together, but it wouldn’t explain the method of killing.”

“It does if this patient was a former doctor himself. A plastic surgeon to be more specific.” You hand Jack the papers, letting out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

The papers were from the initial suspect list you had gotten. You now had one person’s name and photo circled: Henry Urik. The second page was the basic information you had gotten on him early into the investigation. 

“Name: Henry Urik Age: 29 Height: 5’11” Weight (Approx.): 205lbs Hair Color: Reddish Brown Ethnicity: White Male Employment: Plastic Surgeon - Inactive”

As Jack read over the papers, you felt yourself slipping into your mental pictures. You found that missing puzzle piece that brought everything together. You could now see it all, feel what he was feeling, and truly attempt to get into his mind. Jack looked up and saw you seemingly phase-out, but he had seen something similar when your brother, Will, would be at crime scenes. He and Hannibal stayed quiet and let you do your thing.

 “Dr. Henry Urik started up his own practice relatively recently, but it failed. Probably due to some sexual allegations or misconduct or something. He popped up on the first few rounds of searches that I did, but then I saw that he wasn’t associated with any active practices or facilities, so I took him off the list. 

He lost his job, which means he is anxious and stressed, which then potentially and likely leads to a range of psychosomatic ailments; soreness, fatigue, insomnia, and most importantly, headaches. After long enough, frequent or maybe even constant headaches would drive anyone mad. Which is why Henry decides to finally go to his primary care physician: Dr. Everet. I’m sure if we get a warrant and pull a list of all of the patients that have seen our victims over the last 2 - 4 months, we will find Henry’s name on each of them.”

“That’s not a long time to plan out 4, or potentially more, murders.” Jack points out, seeing you come back to reality. 

“I don’t think these killings were really thought about or planned to every detail. He didn’t want to just kill them out of anger; that was for whoever else was in the house. He was angry and upset, but we can see that he took his time with the doctors. Maybe focusing on them and using his old medical instruments was a form of relief for him?”

“What kind of relief are we talking about here, Graham?”

“By shifting his focus from himself and his ailments, he’s distracting himself from his anxieties and stressors. Thus seeming to make his headaches dwindle.” 

“In other words, pain relief?” You and Hannibal nod in agreement. Jack continues. “Okay, but what makes him so upset that he goes out and murders four doctors and their wives?”

“We’d have to double-check with the notes in his files from each doctor, but I can bet that he wasn’t happy with whatever test results or diagnoses they were giving him.” Before Jack could say anything, Hannibal finally spoke.

“I believe I can confirm that theory.” Both you and Jack turned to Hannibal with confused looks over your faces.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Dr. Lecter?” Crawford had a hint of annoyance in his tone but kept it mostly neutral. You, on the other hand, were trying to look into his mask and see if he was being serious. As far as you could tell, he was.

“Dr. Urik was a patient of mine. I say ‘was’ because I only ever had two sessions with the man. He was referred to me by Dr. Everet. He showed signs of incredible anxiety over the idea of not being able to be in his profession after a patient accused him of sexual harassment during one of their appointments. He also showed signs that could be tied to bipolar disorder or something more severe. Unfortunately, I couldn’t form a full diagnosis after only those two sessions. I haven’t heard from him in roughly 4 months.”

“Which all lines up with (Y/N)’s profile.” Hannibal nodded.

“I tried to explain the possibility of his headaches being a manifestation of his anxiety, but he did not like that answer. Saying that it must be something tangible; something he could fix with medicine or a procedure.”

“Well, that explains why you are potentially his next target.” You spoke your thoughts out loud, which came out slightly snarky. 

Hannibal turned his attention to you. You were slightly staring off. To anyone else, it would look like you were zoning out, but Hannibal knew that it was a sign of your mind working hard.  

Somehow hearing that Hannibal had a possible solid connection to the killer, a wave of fear hit your heart. You cared about Hannibal, and you knew he cared about you. You weren’t sure he could tell, but one could say you had grown to love this man. And it only took being threatened by a serial killer to let that thought process in your mind.

“So it seems.” 

“Aren’t you glad you joined the case now, Dr. Lecter?” You poked fun at Hannibal, the sharpness in your voice only evident to him. You thought you hid your true feelings well enough, but Hannibal could see right through your facade. He knew you were scared. Not only for his well being but your own as well; using humor as a way to make the situation seem a little less harsh.

Before Hannibal could respond, Jack posed a question.

 “It doesn’t explain you, (Y/N). Why does this guy want to get to you?” You all pause for a beat. You try to get into Henry’s mindset and see any possible reason as to why you would also be targeted.

“I don’t think there is a reason. Maybe he read the TattleCrime article, saw that I was with Dr. Lecter, and then associated me with him. Or maybe he is following us and knows that I have a role in his case. Whether that means I am actually important to Urik or not, I can’t say for certain. He could just see me similarly to the wives of the other doctors. We won’t know for sure until we can ask him.”

As Crawford makes some decisions in his head, you can’t help but start to twist your ring. The idea of yours and Hannibal’s lives being in danger was a terrifying thought. You didn’t know what you would do if something happened to him and he wasn’t a part of your life anymore. Yes, there was still a ghost of confusion and uncertainty with him at the moment, but that was pushed to the backseat after today’s findings.

You looked away from Jack for a quick second to see if Hannibal showed any signs that he was scared. Much to your surprise, he was not only already looking at you, but through his stoic face, his eyes showed something. You looked away as you heard Jack lean forward in his chair, but you couldn’t figure out what that emotion in Hannibal’s eyes was.

After what seemed like forever, Crawford explained his plan of action.

“Alright, I’m going to get started on getting those files and getting a team out in the field looking for this guy. You two are going to have an armed agent following you until we get Henry in custody. They will be hidden, but know that you two will be protected.” You let out a small sigh of relief. “After you compile all of your notes and initial thoughts on Urik, have them sent to me. Then you two are dismissed for the night. Go get a drink or two. We are going to finally catch this son of a bitch.” 

You nod and start to stand up to head to the door. Before you could step away from his desk, Jack got your attention.

“Graham.” 

“Yes, sir?”

“Good work.” You couldn’t hide the proud smile that you tried to smother off your face as you said a quick “Thank you, sir” and made your way out of his office, Hannibal behind you.

Hannibal escorts you back to your office. Once you get inside, you and Hannibal spend a solid 20 minutes working out every detail that you could about Henry Urik. You quickly type it all out and send it through to Crawford’s email.

“Alright. Everything is sent and I am ready for a glass of wine and then passing out for the night for some much-needed sleep.” You started to get your bag together as Hannibal sat in one of the office chairs and watched you, trying to get you to be comfortable with him again. 

“A well-deserved rest, my dear. You did incredible work today.” You quickly looked up to see him staring at you, a rare smile crossing his face as you two briefly made eye contact. You tried to hide the small blush that you felt creeping its way onto your face. 

Hannibal didn’t smile often, and when he did around you, it always made your heart flutter. Getting to see that rare treat and have him compliment you on your work was an unexpected but appreciated way to end the day.

You let out a small “thank you” as you gathered the last of your things. Hannibal stood up and grabbed your coat from the back of your chair. He offered it out for you to slide into, but you didn’t want to wear it, so you took it from him and draped it over your arm. Another small thank you and you two were out the door, headed to your car. After being called out by your killer, Hannibal felt a bigger need to make sure you got to your car safely, even if you were going to have a guard watching you from afar.

He opened the car door, but before you could sit down, he finally asked what had been circling in his mind for the last 30 minutes. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? I understand that you have your reservations about talking to me recently, but now that you have done a marvelous job at putting a name to the Virginia Scalpel, I wonder if now would be a good time to try to talk personally. Perhaps even get back to how things were before this case.”

You stood there, the car door being a physical barrier between you and Hannibal. You instinctually fiddled with your ring, mulling over his offer. You can’t help but feel your heart hurt at the lack of time you’ve had with Hannibal. Letting yourself have time to just focus and work on the case over the last week was beneficial. You could now think about more personal things clearly and see that you weren’t as upset with Hannibal as you had been.

You look back up at him and see him observing you, trying to figure out what was going on in that wonderful mind of yours. A small smile grew on your face as you finally spoke.

“What’s for dinner, Hannibal?”

[disasterinadress97]

Dallas Winston Headcannons nobody asked for 🤷🏻‍♀️

Trigger warning ⚠️

A bit of nsfw in there too

Pre Tulsa, life in New York

• His mom was a drug addict and had Bipolar 1 disorder

• He has/had 4 siblings, an older brother (six years older) from his moms previous relationship, older sister (five years older) from his dads past relationship, a twin brother (who was trans ftm) and a little sister (eight years younger than him)

• He was always the one to take care of his mom during her depressive episodes when she wouldn’t leave her bed.

• She often left days-weeks at a time when she was in a manic state

• He practically raises his baby sister, she died when she was four due to cancer

• That was when he decided he hates kids cause they always reminded him of her

• he was always stealing and dealing to get his twin brother anything to help his body dismorphia and feel more comfortable in his body

• His mom often sold his body and his brother’s to her drug dealer when they couldn’t afford drugs (his dad did not know this at the time)

• his dad was actually a good dad till their mom walked out on them when he was 9, that was when he started drinking and abused Dallas because ‘you fuckin look so much like her’

• He was apart of two gangs in New York, one of which was a Drag Queen gang

• The one Queen lived beside him and always heard fighting, she took him under her wing and after his mom left they were practically the ones who raised him and his little sister

• the two older siblings and his twin left a little while after their mom did, that was when he learned you can’t trust anyone

• you bet your ass this boy dressed in drag with his queens, a master with make up, can’t change my mind

• can walk in high heels/‘stripper shoes’ like no other!

• started selling his body to strangers for money after his mom left and his dad started drinking to afford to feed his sister and himself

• His other gang was a bunch of stereotypical big mean, manly gang members

• He started dating a guy from said gang, this guy was hella abusive, controlling and manipulative. Also was twice Dal’s age

• when Dallas left New York he broke up with him and the guy beat the shit out of him and burned him with a poker ‘so you’ll never forget me’

In Tulsa/present?

• has some severe PTSD, also suffers from abandonment issues, anxiety, depression and Bipolar 2 disorder

• Loves him some Rupauls drag race, reminds him of his Queens and how much he misses them

• Acts so tough and mean because In New York he was tough and knew it but was always seen as the ‘little kid’ so going to Tulsa that wasn’t gonna happen again

• first people he came out to about being bi was Mr and Mrs Curtis

• they also found out he was selling his body for rent/food money and that was when they realised how much they care about him

• him and Mrs. Curtis were super close, she was the closest thing he had to a real mom.

• He is actually so soft behind the tough guy act

• cuddles? All the time

• is a total brat sub/bottom don’t @ me

• the gang found out about his Drag Queen past when he accidentally sent pony the wrong photo from his phone ‘you tell them you die!’

• he obviously blabbed

• everyone was shook.

• Johnny was amazed because ‘he’s so tough but so pretty!’

• two bit laughed but lowkey was impressed with Dallys confidence to do that

• Steve was just ‘if it makes him nicer and happier than whateva’

• you already know soda begged him to do his make up let’s ge honest

• Darrel was quiet but was also a good dad and was like ‘as long as it keeps him out of jail we will always love him’

• he was touched but also super embarrassed the gang found out about it, but was thankful they were cool with it

• gang 100% harassed him to wear drag for them Atleast once

• one day dallas brought his make up and shoes over, he did his and soda’s make up and wore his shoes and the gang was shook! ‘How can you walk in those?! So easily??’ ‘He looks prettier than half the girls at school!’

• all the support from the gang!

• Dallas actually reads a lot like pony does but doesn’t talk about it incase he gets made fun of for the books he likes

• is also really smart but plays dumb

• this boy LOVES vampires, they’re his guilty pleasure. We talking the vampire chronicles, the vampire diaries, true blood, he even liked the twilight books but will never tell a soul!

Dating headcanons!

General:

• cuddles all the time

• is very insecure and gets jealous easy

• surprisingly isn’t violent or aggressive when jealous, he’s scared if he is they will leave

• plot twist! Sylvia was actually a beard so Soc’s and other gangs wouldn’t know he’s bi

• they only said she cheated cause she was caught with another dude. The hate and hurt was all an act

• is a brat so will tease his dom in public subtly but so much

• is super clingy

• wants to be together all the time

• always needs reassurance ‘are you sure you’re still happy? Like I didn’t do anything wrong?’ ‘No, babe I love you’. ‘Oh okay, are you sure tho?’ 24/7

Johnny

• always getting Johnny to stay at bucks or his dads when his dad isn’t home so Johnny is safe

• feeding this boy all the time!

• when he hears dal is a bottom Johnny is shook but surpringly into a ‘daddy’ role

• drive in dates whenever they can

• they watch the stars a lot

• when Dallas is super anxious he picks at his nails a lot and Johnny holds his hands to help him feel a bit at ease

• when Dallas is in a manic state Johnny follows him anywhere he goes. Parties, fights, anything. He just wants to make sure he doesn’t get jailed again or hurt

• Johnny highkey loves when Dallas dresses in drag ‘you’re just so confident and hot!’

Steve

• watches while Steve works on his cars, he likes seeing Steve so interested and content

• when either of them fight with their dads they drive around all night and talk. They are both quiet about feelings usually but wanna be there for each other

• hangs around the DX while Steve and soda work

• both don’t say a lot normally but are always touching each other

• when Dallas is in a depressive episode Steve will come to bucks and just lay with him for hours

• They talk about both their moms walking out on them sometimes. They both swear if they ever met these women there would be hell to pay ‘how could she abandon this beautiful person?’

Soda

• all the spooning you could ask for

• Dallas is always complimenting him. ‘You’re so pretty wtf’

• on the anniversary of sodas parents death Dallas buys him flowers and they go to their graves

• when Dallas doesn’t answer his phone Soda highkey panics ‘what if he’s hurt?! What if he’s in jail ahain?’

• Dallas always feels bad about this and tries to make it up to him

• soda is always reminding Dallas he’s not alone and he loves him

• when soda really misses his mom Dallas and him talk about some of their favourite memories with her. Soda is still sad but it makes him a little happier knowing how much she cared about him and the one he loves so much

Two bit

• jokes 24/7

• when the gang isn’t around Dallas only calls him Keith or babe

• two doesn’t usually like his name but when Dallas says it he hates it a little less every time

• two bits mom wasn’t a fan of Dallas at first but after a while and gets to know him she loves him so much ‘mom I’m home’ ‘where is dallas’ ‘idk’ ‘tell him to come over I’m making his favourite dish’

• when two bit gets jealous or feels Dallas is he always puts his arm around his waist or kissing him so the person gets the hint

• twos little sister looks up to their relationship a lot and loves how happy her brother is

• two doesn’t stop drinking but slows down on it when Dallas mentions once it worries him sometimes

• Dallas and twos little sister get close really fast. Dallas is always giving her advice and one day brings her some old make up of his and she loves it!

• two doesn’t understand why dallas seems a little sad after times like these until one day dallas tells him about his little sister and how two should spend more time with her, ‘just in case something happens. I don’t want you to regret anything like I do’

• two makes a point to spend more time together the three of them after that

Pony

• they read together sometimes

• Dallas will go to literally any movie if pony is interested

• picks pony up from school everyday

• if Dallas gets arrested you know pony is lecturing him for Atleast a half hour. Dallas just sits there with heart eyes because ‘damn I missed this pain in my ass’

• dates at the Dingo are their Friday night ritual

• they both have terrible nightmares and are always cuddling and comforting eachother after

• Dallas is always saying little things to pony about his relationship with Darrel ‘I know he’s on your case all the time but it’s cause he means well’. Dallas then tells pony about his brothers and sister and how he wishes he could live with them and see them like pony can with Darrel

• pony and dar still fight sometimes after this but never in front of Dallas

Darrel

• they don’t go out a lot for dates but like to watch their favourite shows together (they kick the gang out for a few hours on these nights)

• Darrel brings out the brat in Dallas 24/7 and he teases him all the time until Darrel gets to a point he just looks at him and with a deep voice ‘bedroom now’ and Dallas practically trips over his own feet running to the room

• they are not quiet either! The gang sees them go in Dar’s room and they all groan and leave ASAP

• the gang found out about them when the gang came over and heard Dallas call out ‘daddy!’ And never let him live it down ‘how’s it going daddy’s boy’ ‘I will literally kill you two bitch’

• Darrel never celebrates his birthday after his parents die and Dallas puts an end to that so fast. He goes all out, flowers, presents, sexy time. Anything he can do

• always sitting on Darrel’s lap, clinging to him, hugging. All of it. He’s just amazed and thankful he has such a strong and beautiful bf who loves him

• dar once let dallas do make up on him and Darrel borderline didn’t like how good he looked in it

• Dallas got him to experiment in drag and Darrel felt hella empowered. Now they dress up together sometimes. But dar says only Dallas is allowed to see him like that

• this makes dal feel extra special and close to dar and he loves it

Tim

• sarcastism never stops

• Tim is quiet but really protective, he can say whatever he wants about Dallas but once someone says one bad thing they best be ready to square up

• patching eachother up after fights al the time

• they be kinky bitches man!

• after a nightmare Dallas told Tim a little bit about his ex and it took dallas an hour to talk him out of going to New York to kill this man

• Dallas does strip teases for Tim in his stripper shoes on special occasions.

• Tim didn’t tease him for his make up or anything, he actually found it real pretty on him

• Tim never lets him stay at his own place or bucks after they get together.

• Tim is Demi sexual

• Dallas heard his ex was released out of prison and has a sever panic attack. Tim was right there reassuring him ‘babe I’m right here. No ones gonna hurt you’.

• dals mom comes to town and Tim got Angela and her friends to give her a ‘Tulsa greeting’. Needless to say she left as soon as she came

This was so long and horrible I’m sorry

Special thanks to @sunlitcigars for helping with some ideas and encouraging me to post these

[kissjane]

SECOND CHANCE / Not so short at all fic

#28 from this prompt list

[[Warning, not very fluffy, lots of angst with a happy ending]]

We literally ran into each other

Lucas got to the supermarket at ten to eight, out of breath from running. Ever since he broke up with Didier, he had needed to adapt to doing his own grocery shopping again, and frankly, he had resorted to ordering take-out six nights out of seven for the last few weeks. But now he had run out of coffee, and he was on his last roll of toilet paper, so he needed to come in for the essentials. It was just that his long hours – which had, ironically, caused the final row with Didier in the first place – made it nearly impossible to get here on time.

As he rushed through the aisles, frantically trying to remember what he had to buy, he pondered how he had let things get so out of hand. He had settled into a job he hated, with a demanding boss expecting him to stay late every night and more often than not called him in on the weekends too. He had been with Didier for years, ever since their university days, even though Lucas had never really been in love with him. It was just convenient. But when Didier had started to hint at wanting more – move in together, commit to each other, plan for a family at some point – Lucas had distanced himself, and when the fights became more and more a regular occurrence, he hadn’t found the energy or even the desire to try to work things out. When Didier had finally had enough and broke up with him, he hadn’t even felt sad. It was honestly a bit liberating, even, to not have to pretend anymore. He felt guilty about not having the courage to break up with Didier sooner, to string him along like that – but it had just happened. One day they started dating, and the next day five years had passed and they were on very different pages.

The lights flickered in the supermarket, and somebody announced in a tired voice that they were closing in three minutes and to please make for the check-out registers.

Lucas started for them, when he suddenly realized he didn’t grab coffee. He turned on his heels and half ran to the back of the store, where the coffee had been last time he had set foot in here. He wasn’t paying attention, and when he turned the corner, he slammed into a tall body. He dropped his basket, and he heard a grunt escape from the other guy. He started uttering an apology while picking up his basket, hoping nothing had broken, conscious of the time running and still needing to find the coffee.

Then he suddenly heard a voice he didn’t think he’d ever hear again, a voice he would recognize everywhere.

“Lucas? Lucas Lallemant? Is that really you?”

Lucas froze mid-movement. He slowly lifted his eyes – dreading what he would see.

In front of him, in all his gorgeous glory, looking even hotter than eight years ago, stood Eliott Demaury.

In a flash, Lucas was back in high school, crazily in love with the new boy, kissing him one magic night in the rain. Eliott had been his first kiss, the first guy he had loved. Oh hell, who was he kidding – the only guy he had ever loved. Lucas had been confused for weeks, when Eliott had kissed his ex at a party only a few days after he had told Lucas he had broken up with her, then leaving Lucas a bunch of cryptic drawings. Eventually, they had stopped coming, and later on, Lucas had heard from someone that Eliott was bipolar, so he had put their ultrashort affair down to Eliott being manic.

Not that it had been easy to forget about the tall boy with the grey eyes. Eliott had haunted his dreams for months, and it had taken Lucas years to get back into the game. And then he had met Didier, who was tall and had messy hair, and Lucas had known it was not the smartest move to get together with somebody who vaguely resembled Eliott, as some sort of ersatz, but he had gone with it anyway.

Standing here in front of Eliott it was a miracle he didn’t forget to breathe. Eliott looked at him as if he had seen a ghost, and they just stood there, staring at each other, until a harried-looking employee came towards them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, it is five after eight, we really need to close now.”

She shepherded them both to the register lane, and Eliott went first, paying for his purchases, and waiting on the other side. Lucas wished he would just go, he didn’t want to talk to Eliott, he didn’t feel like getting back into that insane infatuation from all those years ago – it had taken him long enough to get over it the first time around. He didn’t want to “catch up” or “rekindle their friendship” or whatever – he wanted to go home and wallow in self-pity. And to add insult to injury, when he was bagging his groceries, he realized he still didn’t have any coffee.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, noticing too late that Eliott had stepped closer to him.

“Everything okay?”, came Eliott’s voice, careful, neutral.

Lucas felt anger rise in his throat, but he didn’t want to make a scene. Eliott didn’t need to know how affected Lucas was by this chance encounter.

“I didn’t get to grab coffee, and I’m all out,” he gritted through his teeth.

Eliott nodded, and seemed to waver about what to say next.

“I have coffee at home… Do you want to – I mean – or go to a café with me –”, he stammered, and Lucas threw him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“Your girlfriend might be upset if you start bringing men home. Especially men you’ve kissed.”

Fuck, he berated himself. Why did he bring that up? They could have pretended for the next thirty seconds they were just old schoolmates, but no, Lucas had to broach the subject of their awkward fling.

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”, Eliott said, blushing slightly, probably because Lucas mentioned their kiss. Maybe he had forgotten all about that, until Lucas reminded him. He must regret staying and trying to talk to Lucas now. Well, all the better, Lucas thought. The faster they could get this over with, the happier Lucas would be.

“Ah, sorry. I assumed you were still with Lucille. My mistake”, he said, as politely as he could muster, and grabbed his coffeeless bag as he turned to go. He would go home and get into bed and forget all about this day.

“Wait, what?”, Eliott called after him. “Lucas, wait a second!”

Lucas wanted to keep going, he really did, but Eliott’s legs were longer than his, so unless he started running, it would be to no avail. He sighed, and stopped walking. Eliott came up to him, and because Lucas was staring at the pavement, he saw how Eliott shuffled his feet.

“Why would I be with Lucille? I told you I broke up with her.”

Lucas looked up at that, the anger threatening to erupt in full force. His eyes were icy when he stared straight at Eliott, who seemed genuinely confused.

“Yeah, you did, but when I saw you sticking your tongue down her throat only a few days later, I assumed you had changed your mind.”

He took a strange kind of pleasure in watching the colour drain from Eliott’s cheeks.

“You saw that?”, Eliott breathed, and Lucas only nodded.

“Fuck,” Eliott said, almost to himself.

They stood in silence for a long beat.

“Lucas, I’m sorry about that. I was… confused, and trying to sort out some things… But didn’t you get my messages, then? I – I left you a few drawings in your backpack… I wanted – I wanted…”

“You wanted what, Eliott?”

Lucas heard the harshness in his voice, but honestly, he was exhausted, and he really didn’t want to do a post mortem on their… relationship, or whatever the word for it was.

“You told me you broke up with Lucille, then you kissed her as if nothing was wrong between you, and then you left me all those drawings. I have no idea what you wanted, Eliott.”

He should leave. He should lie to Eliott, say that his boyfriend was waiting for him. He should go home, write a letter of resignation for his asshole of a boss, get over Eliott once and for all, find somebody else to love, and finally start living.

“I wanted to talk to you, Lucas, I wanted to apologize, to tell you why – Look, everything was so beautiful when I was with you, and I was so fucking afraid of ruining things unintentionally I ruined them intentionally, but I regretted it as soon as it happened. I just – I just wanted to beg you to give me another chance, without any secrets between us. I – I… God. I was so fucking in love with you.”

The last words were breathed out so softly Lucas had to strain to hear them, almost as if Eliott hadn’t meant to admit that out loud.

“I didn’t know that,” he said pensively, softly. He wondered how he felt about knowing that it had been real for Eliott, as short-lived as it had been. It was bittersweet, realizing they both had been in love with one another, and yet, they hadn’t made it.

“I should have told you,” Eliott replied, even softer than before, then louder, “I should have told you, Lucas. You deserved to know. There is a lot I should have told you… But when you didn’t reach out after I left you those notes, I figured it didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, so I backed off. But now you know, at least.”

He sounded sad, Lucas thought. And the idea of Eliott thinking it hadn’t meant anything to Lucas left a sour taste in his mouth.

“It did mean the same to me, though. I – I was in love with you too.”

It wasn’t easy to force out those words, to confess his feelings out loud, but maybe this could be the closure he needed after years of wondering and pining.

“You were?”, Eliott breathed, unbelieving.

Lucas nodded, and Eliott’s eyes lit up for the briefest of moments, before they dulled again.

“Oh, God. I really fucked up, didn’t I?”, he said, and his voice was laced with so much pain and sadness Lucas almost reached out for him.

“It’s okay,” he said. It wasn’t really, but it would have to be. “I fucked up too. It’s fine, though. It was a long time ago.”

Eliott looked at him, a storm blowing through his grey eyes. Lucas wished he could read them, but he hadn’t been able to decipher Eliott’s emotions back then, so it was futile to try now.

“It may have been a long time ago, but –”

He cut himself off, looking away from Lucas.

Lucas didn’t know why his heart suddenly started beating erratically, why he took a tiny step closer towards Eliott, why he put a shaking hand on Eliott’s arm. Eliott’s eyes whipped towards it, looking at Lucas’ hand touching his bare skin as if it was a mirage.

“But what?”, Lucas whispered, afraid of the answer, afraid of the tempest brewing inside him, afraid of letting Eliott walk out of his life again, afraid of never being able to love anybody else.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s over,” Eliott finally answered, after a long silence. His words hung heavy over them, like a pressure front coming in from over the ocean, moving too fast to predict the outcome.

Lucas stared at Eliott until Eliott looked back at him.

“What – what are you saying?”, he asked, not letting go of Eliott’s arm, trying to stare into his very soul.

“I never stopped loving you, Lucas.”

The answer came fast this time, and Eliott’s voice was calm, steady. He looked straight at Lucas, unwavering, certain of his words.

Something inside Lucas shifted. A chasm he hadn’t known was there closed within him, and he felt old wounds heal.

He couldn’t control the future and he couldn’t change the past, but he had a choice right here and now. Maybe he and Eliott weren’t meant to be back then. Maybe they weren’t meant to be ever. But he had loved the man in front of him for years, ever since he first saw him, and it seemed he had been loved for just as long, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant everything.

He took a deep breath.

He smiled at Eliott, and slowly, tentatively, Eliott smiled back, his sunny smile which Lucas hadn’t seen in years but which still made him feel like he was invincible.

“I’d like to come with you for that coffee, please,” he said.

[takerfoxx]

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Season 3 FINALE, First Impressions.

=slowly sits down with my head in my hands=

=heavy sigh=

All right.

Let’s do this.

When we last left Adora, she had been instructed to “go back to the beginning” without really knowing what that means. But first she took a detour (with Madam Razz’s blessing) to go get Glimmer and Bow first. And when she arrived.

Oh. Oh no...

At first I thought reality had molded itself exclusively into what Catra wants. But now we see that it was doing it everything, creating a superficially perfect world. And in Glimmer’s perfect world, she has a wonderful relationship with her mother, Bow is still around but working as an apprentice historian (which, uh, raises...questions), and...

...um...

...and her father is still alive.

We finally meet King Micah, and he is every bit the loving and supportive father and husband he’s been made out to be. I was already steeling myself to be emotionally ravaged by this episode, but that got me. And it goes back to what I’ve said a hundred times before: execution is everything. I’ve seen this trope so many times, where a main character wakes in an alternate reality that’s happier than the one they’ve known, usually complete with a happy relationship with an absent parent. And normally it doesn’t do anything for me, but because this show had worked so hard to make me care about these characters, seeing King Micah there with his wife and daughter...it got to me. And it’s interesting to note that the “perfect” reality is constantly remodeling itself. When Adora was in the Fright Zone, the invasion was well underway with her having led the attack on Thaymor that we saw in the pilot and they were all gearing up to go after Mermista. But since the Fright Zone had been consumed by the collapse, the invasion had never even happened, and those in Brightmoon didn’t even know what the Horde was.

Unfortunately the collapse is still underway, and it comes to Brightmoon. Fortunately Glimmer and Bow come to believe Adora and they make their way to go see Entrapta for advice, but not before Glimmer’s home is destroyed, and not before Angella remembers who she is and has to say goodbye to Micah for the second time. What makes it worse is the heavy implication that this Micah isn’t some illusion conjured up to make her and Glimmer happy, but might be the actual Micah, returned from the dead. He seems to actually remember everything for himself and realize what’s going on...mere seconds before he’s consumed. 

Fuck.

Anyway, reality starts really breaking down then, and the BFS start getting shuffled around from place to place at lightning speed, all the while watching people they care about disappear. Fortunately, Entrapta lasts long enough to let them know that not only is reality collapsing around them, but it’s following Adora specifically since it was her sword that opened the portal. That’s why different places don’t seem to fall apart until she goes there. Entrapta also let’s them know how to bring things back to normal: they need to find Adora’s sword. Unfortunately, doing to will force whoever removes the sword from the portal to stay behind. When I heard that, I knew.

And well, they set off to do just that, but by then things have already gone too far. Reality is now truly fucked, cycling them through space and time. We see the old Etheria before it was removed from the universe. We finally meet Mara, hundreds of years in the past.

And we watch Bow and Glimmer disappear as well.

Yeah, I knew they were coming back, but by then I was so wrapped up in what was going on that it utterly destroyed me.

But Adora isn’t allowed time to grieve, because the long-awaited confrontation has finally come. Catra has found her, and she is so obsessed in denying Adora any sort of victory that she’ll gladly let time and space collapse in on itself and kill them all if it means that Adora loses.

Their battle through various various places we’ve visited throughout the show is in many ways a follow-up to The Promise, which was probably my favorite episode in the first season. They used to be so close, but now things have gone too far, and their relationship is all but unsalvageable. 

It’s then that Adora finally realizes that she can’t save her former best friend. Catra’s just too far gone. And as much as I love Catra and really do want her to find some measure of peace, Adora snapping back that no, she’s not the one to blame for how Catra turned out and punching her with an emphatic, “You made your choice! Now live with it!” was incredibly satisfying. Because she’s right. No, what happened to Catra wasn’t her fault, but ultimately she has to start taking responsibility for her own actions and stop blaming everyone else.

Well, Shadow Weaver could still stand to shoulder a good chunk of that blame...

And then we get to that scene. 

Well, you’re not wrong. And in the wise words of one of my childhood heroes...

I mean, I called it, didn’t I? I knew that the big tragic event was coming, and while I only figured out that it would be Angella, I still figured it out. But even though I saw it coming, even though I had time to brace myself, it still...

...

Fuck it.

Look, I have a very...complicated relationship with my parents. My dad is pretty mentally ill. At the very least he’s bipolar, and probably has several other things wrong with him too, causing him to be subject to sudden and extreme mood swings and paranoid thoughts. On top of it, he badly hurt his back when I was a kid which has left him in constant pain to this day, and what little details I’ve heard of his own childhood has painted him as being a damaged abuse survivor (sounds like someone else I know). As for my mom, well, she’s kind of like me, only a little less so. She’s a bit on the spectrum herself, and I’m pretty sure that even if she’s not outright aromantic, then she’s pretty damned close, and she has her own shit from her own past to work through. As such, he went into marriage looking for love, companionship, and support, while she was just getting married because she felt it was the thing to do, and she also wanted kids.

So while I’m glad that my brother, my sister, and I were brought into the world as a result, it’s clear that they never should have gotten together. Their relationship was constantly toxic and often mutually abusive, moreso on my dad’s end. And when you’re an autistic kid craving a stable and predictable environment growing up in a house that was anything but, when an offhand comment is perfectly fine one day but grounds for a full-on blow up the next, well, it’s...not exactly ideal. I was never physically or sexually abused or something like that, but one day he could be the goofiest, friendliest person in the world and the next one tiny joke will set him off. I mean, it wasn’t all bad. Hell, some of it was pretty great. He really did try to be a good father, and we shared a lot of the same interests, but he was a broken man in so many ways, battling demons that were just stronger than he was.

Anyway, they finally divorced when I was eighteen, and while that was pretty volatile, that was when I finally started to break out of my shell and develop into being my own person. Since then I’ve developed much healthier relationships with both of them. My mom and I have always gotten along great despite us sharing very few interests and having polar opposite political beliefs, and I still stop by to visit every other week to go to the movies or whatever. As for my dad, well, time, distance, and reflection have helped me to understand him better. I always knew that he truly does love us and was trying his best to be a good father, but he was sick and in constant conflict with his mind, with his body, and with his marriage. Nothing ever seemed to work out for him, and it got to him. But I’ll never forget this one story my mom told me about how soon after he had broken his back and lost his job as a result he would force himself to walk to job interviews despite being in so much pain that he could barely cross the parking lot, just because he felt that he had to provide for his family. I’ll always respect that about him, and while it doesn’t excuse the way he would often treat us when his demons took control, I understand him much better, and I pity him more than I resent him.

So, all of that big, long personal tangent to say this: I kind of am a sucker for stories about parental figures who are deeply flawed but do genuinely love their children and just work so hard to do right by them even if they don’t really understand how. 

I bawled at the end of Logan despite not really being a big Wolverine fan. Yondu’s funeral in Guardians of the Galaxy 2 is probably the only time a Marvel movie made me tear up. Brave might be considered one of the lesser Pixar movies, it will always be one of my favorites. 

Angella had been devastated by the loss of Micah, and that made her terrified of losing anyone else. It’s what caused the rift between her and her daughter. It’s what made her too scared to act. But despite labeling herself as a coward, she ultimately performed the bravest act, willingly laying down her life in order to save Etheria while trusting her daughter’s safety to Adora. 

Oh, Angella, you were the bravest one of us. I hope that wherever you are now, you found Micah there waiting for you.

The portal is closed, and reality is restored. But there is plenty of damage to go around. That glare that Adora shoots Catra tell volumes about how their relationship is now. And just that sad look on Hordak’s face as he touches the stone (which bears the run for Loved in First Ones’ Language!) in the armor Entrapta made for him also said so much. You know, I never considered the idea that an evil overlord might have some kind of redemption story. Those are usually reserved for rivals like Catra or good-hearted minions like Entrapta. But if they go that route...I’m not at all opposed. At the very least he has a very compelling character arc, and I really do hope he and Entrapta reunite.

Also, while I am okay with Shadow Weaver working for the good guys now, I hope she’s not let off the hook for all the pain she’s caused. Catra’s wrong about a lot of things, but she is right about how it’s messed up that Shadow Weaver just gets to be one of the good guys after all she’s done. Still, I trust this show to handle it right.

But poor, poor Glimmer. She’s the queen now! She’s the head of the Rebellion! She finally got what she wanted, but in the worst possible way.

And as for that stinger...shit. Reality might have been saved, but Hordak succeeded in getting his message out. And now Horde Prime is coming, and he’s bringing the Horde, the real Horde with him

Well, I guess that wraps that up. I’m all caught up with the show and it’s about halfway through its planned run. Thank you so much to everyone to pushed me into watching this show, I thoroughly loved it. Now we wait together.

[kingofthewilderwest]

TMI expression of my emotions below. [replies fine; *NO* reblogs]

I’m beyond the point of being able to take care of myself, and it’s been that way for years. I used to function fine living on my own, with a few quirky mistakes here and there (some friends may remember the Saga of the 3 month old Popcorn on the Floor). But now I legitimately can’t handle caring for myself in the most ESSENTIAL “keep this human running” tasks. 

Food? The refrigerator has lots of mold. I’m smart enough to subsist off things that can be microwaved (frozen vegetables, baked potatoes, etc.), done on stove top (canned soups, rice), or eaten right away (celery and peanut butter). But it means imbalanced meals with little protein and often turns into too much junk food (because it requires no cooking) ...which gives me no energy to function, obviously. And I can’t cook well, so even when I do have energy to prepare a meal, it tastes bland at best - where’s the payoff? It often turns into me skipping meals because... I’m bad at keeping food stocked - no energy to shop for food - or I feel depressed, exacerbated by the vicious cycle of no food-given energy in the first place.

Cleaning? The apartment is terrifyingly messy. Nothing is sanitary, not even the shower. I can’t access my own bed because my bedroom is piled with objects that haven’t been put away. I often trip over things. I’ll reuse dishes and clothes instead of washing. If I have an upbeat day and I clean, I’ll get part of the problem squared away, but never enough to make this place neat enough to function and be maintained. Yeah yeah, peck away a little at a time and keep it maintained, I know that’s supposed to be the trick, but it ain’t happening no matter what I do. And if a place I live in isn’t neat, it makes me feel more depressed and fidgety and unable to think clearly.

Sleeping? Well. My sleep schedule is always in flux. Currently, I’m sleeping from about 8 AM to 5 PM on a given day. Soooo I get no sunlight, either, and I’m not awake during hours when other people are awake or when most stores are open.

Physical health? Well, let’s say that I’m on several prescriptions, but because my brain is so FOGGED UP and I can’t think clearly anymore (I had such a sharp brain until my mid 20s dammit???)... and because my house is a mess... I constantly forget my pills, have no clue what they are, and am never consistent with them. The last time I took pain medication pills, I was in a desperate amount of pain, and I ummmm... overdosed pretty badly and found myself vomiting on the floor shaking for nine hours. (I LEARNED MY LESSON I AM NOT TAKING OVER PRESCRIPTION AMOUNT AGAIN). I also don’t think I’m on the right meds, either, so even if I were taking them, I don’t know how much I’d be helping myself. Let’s just say that I’m drastically overdue for asking for a diagnosis on bipolar. I want to visit a doctor, get this squared away, get help for this... but that would involve so many steps to find a doctor (I just switched health insurance), transfer my medical records, schedule an appointment, be awake at the right hours to get there, have extra money to pay for potential treatments, and lots of other steps. Which I don’t have the energy to do. Nowhere close.

Socialization? [laughter] Oh dear. Between living alone in an apartment (but I really do function better living alone because I’m such an introvert who needs My Space), living in a city where none of my friends live (most people are about 30 minutes to 2 hours away), and working remotely... I get VERY little physical social interaction.

At this point in time, I’m pretty lonely, but I’m so deprived of spoons that about the best I can do is exist in the same room as someone else. Big social events aren’t going to help me and are often too overwhelming for me to even consider attending. The little things are all I have energy for, but I need them. I want to exist in a room with someone else badly; another person in the area makes me work better, think clearer, feel happier, and express affection to them. I want nothing more than to physically curl up with someone and feel them and be with them and secure with them and listening to them and sympathizing with them and laughing with them or falling asleep on their shoulder. Can I be held? Please? Touch deprivation... yeah of course that’s going on.

Since I have so little energy, I often get behind on work. Which means that, when I *do* have energy, I have to prioritize making money. I live by myself in my own apartment; if I don’t got the money, I don’t got a place to live. And if I don’t do my job consistently, I’m at more risk for losing my job, duh. I expend ALL my existing energy on work. I don’t have time for anything else (food, hygiene, fixing my sleep schedule, socialization). It’s practical to focus my attention on the most important thing: making an income. Everything else will collapse if I don’t work.

Basic human needs are NOT being met for me anywhere. Food, cleanliness, human interactions, medical shit... I am objectively not taking care of myself. And I’m not a fucking irresponsible person who can’t handle large loads of things. This asshat graduated with four college degrees (including a graduate degree) and several minors in four years with Highest Honors in Phi Beta Kappa while working several jobs and even teaching a college course at one point - that sure as hell wasn’t lack of discipline that got me there. Sure, I’ve always been lazier on some things like cooking (I hate cooking, I’m so **BAD** at cooking, YOU eat my cooking and see if you like it). And sure, before I left for college, living with family helped me live fuller because I wasn’t taking care of me myself and I with no backup. But no period of my life was anywhere near the brain-muddled, helpless disaster zone I am now, unable to do anything ANYWHERE.

I’ve asked for help. My parents have done a lot, I’m infinitely grateful, but exactly because of that, I don’t want to put any more on them. They’re empty nesters; they don’t deserve to have this weird bag of bones they raised for nearly two decades and spent a fuckton of money on... crawl back needing nannying. As far as my friends? Either it’s people long-distance who express concerns (but can’t do what I need most because of the distance), or it’s people close-by who say they’ll do something... and NEVER follow through.

I get that we all have spoon issues. Sometimes you don’t have the energy to talk to me. Sometimes you don’t have the energy to come down and visit me, or have me visit you. But if you hear me say I need help, and say you’d like to help... and then never contact me again even when I try to contact you... because you’re so sparse replying to me... then nothing helps. Spoon issues make communication more difficult. I get that. I have that problem, too. But friendships cannot be maintained and cannot be meaningful unless you interact. I get people saying “We should hang out” or “I’d like to help” and nothing ever gets done. I’m not saying this out of the selfish “help ME help ME” - or to guilt-trip people into helping me because that’d be jackshit wrong... it’s just - if we’re all doing friendships like this, we’re just going to perpetuate loneliness and unfulfilled interactions, aren’t we??? I know lots of lonely people affected by shit like this. We need to get better about this.

Of course some of it’s on me. I have trust issues where I think that even very well-meaning loving people aren’t going to make a difference because I doubt they’ll understand me enough to get what I actually need helped. I’m a logic-oriented person and lots of my friends, precious and pure and glorious sweethearts as they are, think in more emotional ways. And I’ve noticed logic-oriented and emotion-oriented people get encouraged different ways. So I never get the help that works for my brain and needs? Not to be dismissive of the kind words people give because they do want to help, but it just feels like I’m the odd one out that they don’t understand how to help, so I’m stuck at being “unhelped”? Or people telling me, “Just appreciate what they’re trying to do because they’re helping as they can!” But it... but it DOESN’T help me!

Lots of ways people try to verbally encourage fall flat to me. “I believe in you!” changes nothing; what you think of me doesn’t make me magically able to actually do it, for fuck’s sake. The point is I can’t do it, and even if I could, you thinking I could doesn’t change shit or make the problem less difficult. Heck, “You can do it!” just makes it sound like people don’t understand and acknowledge how hard this is for me. I know other people get encouraged by things like that, but for me it’s just rubbing salt in the wound. “Things will get better!” is objectively false; life is a neutral force in how it progresses; sometimes it does get better and sometimes it doesn’t. Overly squishy stuff is too coddling and actually annoying to me. Advice tends to come off as people not having processed what I’m actually going through and telling me shit I know better than they do. I know what I need and I try to communicate it humbly because I believe communication is important to good interactions with friends, and I try to listen to others to know how I can best help them in their struggles... but it just seems like there aren’t the right people in my life to be able to get the help I objectively need. I don’t mean it to sound dismissive or selfish... I really don’t... I will be the first to jump on listening and helping to friends... I always want to be there for my friends and help THEM... and it took me years to even open up to people and admit I needed help because I didn’t want to burden them...

I’m just LEGITIMATELY stuck and in a hole I can’t get out of myself. 

If I forced myself to a near-point of breaking in exhaustion every day, I possibly could do it myself... and there’s something to say about us being determined and surviving through tough times by taking that teeth-gritting step... but I don’t feel the payoff in that, as I’m pretty depressed a lot and don’t feel like my life is going anywhere meaningful. It’s a flaw but I don’t have that determination to stick through a fuckton of really really hard life changes to climb out of this hole myself. 

It’s just... everything is a tangle. I can’t solve one issue without dealing with the other issues simultaneously. Cleaning the house to make my head clearer involves me having enough energy to clean in the first place, and the time off of work to be able to afford a cleaning day. Having enough energy to do work and then clean means eating better. Eating better means having a clean enough place to cook and store food... and more energy. Having more energy means... well... you get the point. They’re all so knotted together I can’t untie this myself in my current state of mind.

It’s pathetic, really. I know that if I had more motivation, I could potentially climb my way out of this. It’d be hard work and it’d be taskmastering, especially without taking significant work time off, but the end result would be TOTALLY worth it. I can call myself out on this lack of choice too. The most successful parts of my life were those in which I cracked down on myself and disciplined myself and got shit done. I should be doing that here, too, but I’m not. I’m letting it continue to fester for half of my days. But I keep telling myself, “It’s okay, you’ll get to laundry tomorrow, you NEED to do work to pay bills,” and such as it is, then I never get this taken care of. I keep telling myself, “You can afford to sleep in after your exhaustion, even though that means prolonging the sleep schedule fix again.” I am culpable for my own problems, too. I’m not blaming myself. I’m not guilting myself. I don’t feel blame or guilt or self-hate or anything; most else might be shit, but my self-confidence is fine. I just acknowledge this problem for what it is.

Until I get these problems solved, everything else is muted. My mental processing, muted. My ability to help all my friends with all their problems, limited. The community service and church involvement I want to get back to. My desires to work on an original novel. My desire to save up money to someday afford a house. My desire to be able to get out more and make meaningful memories with friends. All that. Instead I’m stuck in this limbo of too-tired-to-work or must-work-before-tired-again and whoops-didn’t-take-care-of-myself-today-again-huhhh.

Anyway. Rant ended. For now. 

I just really really really really really want help with this mental health struggling. And I really really really want another human to Be There and non-lonely me.

[oneletteredwondered]

Uuuhhhh sanders sides mental hospital au with a bunch of cliches that literally no one asked for but it's also a soulmate au????

uhh warnings for disorder talk, suicide mention, swearing?

Polyamsanders mostly

Main story line?

When Virgil was a kid his parents were nice and all, but they did punish him for seemingly random things

They had him do chores a very specific way and if it wasn't done that way, he had to do it again and again to make sure it was proper

It resulted in him having a very high anxiety disorder, both socially and in general

He found he couldn't talk to a lot of people afraid to mess up, and over thinking how he messed up

Especially when it came to his soulmates

Had never written to them, refused to look at their notes, didn't think he would be able to keep them with how he is

Does not do well in messy environments, not necessarily OCD, but close

When he managed to move out his anxiety left his home foodless, and he couldn't talk to get food, so he went hungry

Ended up a cycle and punishment system for himself

Can't talk so can't eat, couldn't talk don't deserve to eat

Someone found him passed out in the laundry room of his apartment complex

Doctors found him extremely malnourished and unable to communicate, so they sent him to the mental hospital to get better

Virgil had the absolute worst time adjusting, had multiple panic attacks every day for like a week straight

He wouldn't talk to anyone and could barely be forced out of bed to join group sessions or meal times

Barely ate anything and almost passed out again

After two weeks of straight up anxiety and no food exhaustion, he finally got tired enough to actually talk to his therapist

Dr Picani is wonderful, says things light hearted and never tries to pry. The kind of therapist to make a small joke or reference to make sure his clients aren't having huge breakdowns

Virgil does open up to him, they decide to tackle the anorexia first

It's difficult to convince Virgil he’s worthy of eating and that food should never under any circumstances be used negatively

But they manages to get him to at least eat something and that's a start

The first time Picani asks about virgil’s soulmate, Virgil has a panic attack

And every time after as well

Come to find out the word 'soulmate' is triggering to him

Sudden flashes of hunger pains and a blinding feeling he's not worth it

They start using the word heartbound

Virgil starts trying to hang out and talk to some of the other residents

Has a panic attack before he can say hi, but the others walk him back to his room and invite him to hang out later

He does, and its good for his recovery

It takes some time to get virgil proper anxiety medication, his body rejects the first two, throwing up and feeling too tired

Virgil wants to stop feeling helpless and so scared all the time, wants to start getting better

They get him on a small dose of one kind, and it works for a while

Picani convinces Virgil that even if he wants to get better on his own, his heartbounds deserve to know he exists, that Virgil shouldn't be afraid to do so

So Virgil does, with overwhelming support from people he doesn't know

He doesn't talk to them, but he no longer hides their notes from himself

Visiting/progress update day is coming up, and with Picani there to tell him it's okay, Virgil writes the address of the hospital asking them to come

He gets confirmation and is able to calm himself out of an attack before it can really start

It's a good day

They carefully raise his dosage till he can be more personable, more himself

He's shaking visiting day, a message on his arm that his heartbounds will be wearing black, blue, and red respectively

So when three people walk in, one in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows, another in a blue tee with a design on it that looks like it could be a grandma sweater, and another in a red shirt with white sleeves and heeled boots, Virgil almost faints

There's a lot going for him and it's hard to handle

So the one in the blue sweater is the first to notice Virgil staring bugeyed at them and just knows

So they all go over to him and Virgil stands in a daze and just falls into their arms, clinging to each of them with all he has

They whisper words of encouragement and love and someone is kissing his head and hands and gosh there's a lot going on

The actual session is good, Picani tells virgil’s heartbounds his progress (eating more, anxiety medication getting to the right spot, self confidence boosted) and they are so happy and proud!!!!

Almost a panic attack when they mention 'soulmate', Virgil manages to coax himself out of it while Picani carefully explains triggers

It's a tearful and loving goodbye and Virgil is sure he might just explode because his mind had thought about this moment before and it's never been this good and this is real and oh god hes crying and now the other ones are crying and hugging him and it's a lot

He's damn exhausted at the end of the day

But he has his heartbound now, and it's okay

Eventually he does get out, better, happier, healthier, and his heartbound are 170% so ready to have him in their lives

Other character notes

Picani and Logan are brothers, Picani is older by 6 years

Picani has cute art all over his session room, also a bunch of blankets

Always has candy

Studied psychology because of his soulmate, wanted to help them get better

Turns out you can't be your soulmates therapist so oops

He likes his job a lot anyways

Logan is a history professor

He's also on the autistic spectrum

Very sound sensitive

Doesn't understand social cues a lot, not sure how to properly small talk, and ends up leaving out information that might be important

Such as telling his brother Picani that he has another soulmate who is in therapy who finally talked to him, the day Virgil writes to his soulmates for the first time

He doesn't understand why he's being teased for this

Gets in the habit of telling Virgil "this is a comfortable silence for me" because sometimes Logan will just stop and think and its.. very quiet

He also says obvious things, because honestly, it's nice for Virgil

"I find your company an enjoyable addition to my life" "this conversation is pleasant, I am just done talking now"

Hyperfixation on space and stars and history

Stims upset but clenching and unclenching his hands, happy stims by tapping

Patton works at a daycare center

Has adhd

It's hard for him to sit still and focus, can't remember a lot of things no matter how often hes been told

Has every single fidget product ever

Works best when he has three things to do at once

When he gets into hyperfocus, it's really difficult to get him out of it

Ends up skipping meals and other daily activities because of it

Wet himself once because he knew that if he moved from his spot he would never get back into the same groove

He's very embarrassed by this fact

Hyperfixates on dog and cat breeds

Roman does a bunch of shit

Acts, dances, designs, creates, anything that involves doing and 'art' has doing it

Has manic depressive bipolar disorder

His room is atrocious and there are half finished projects everywhere

He can never seem to complete anything, and when he does he hates it

His depressive episodes come about after finishing things or having not finished something in a long time

He feels worthless and that he can't do anything

His lows are not often, but they hit hard.

He's very dead to the world in such a state, likes it when Logan reads to him

Was treated by Picani too

They have all been living together for three years before getting their first message from virgil

Patton FLIPPED OUT, Roman screamed, and Logan kind of just went 'oh' but they could tell he was happy because he kept tapping his hands to his legs

At the hospital virgil made friends with the following people:

Elliot is one of the first to welcome Virgil and always invited Virgil to hang with the rest of them, no matter how many times Virgil said no

Virgil walks past the hang out room, he calls to ask if he wants to hang out, virgil shakes his head hard and runs. every day for like a month until virgil says yes.

Got really happy when Virgil said yes

In the hospital to get over trauma from an abusive relationship, flinches a lot

Declan, is, an asshole

He's also a pathological liar

has scratches down the side of his face from when one of his parents threw a vase at him

No one knows what is real name is, said is was felio, fabian, Damien, declan, dimitri, dolos, lionel, loki, belial, cody, and on one momentous occasion, Samantha

Most of the names he give a start with d, so most just call him Dee or declan, its the name he gives out most

Sometimes hell ask to be called a certain name for a day, everyone just rolls with it

Declan learned to lie and lie well due to overly strict and picky parents, it was to protect himself from them and even protect his older brother who was a lot softer than him

older brother, who is actually called fabian, is there for him on visiting day.

Will say something, wince, take a deep breath, then say the truth with a lot of effort

Writing is so much easier for him

Has insane trust issues, his name being one of them, only his family really know it

Has only told his soulmate his name

Picani knows his name, won’t tell anyone

Remy

Is also an asshole but like in a nice way?

Fucking loud to compensate for how tired he really is

In his own words, ‘has insomnia and is depressed A-F’

Wanted to kill himself

Will claim Starbucks saved his life to be dramatic, only few people know why, declan virgil and picani know

Remy is the kind of depressed where he wouldn’t kill himself because of 'future obligation’

'My parents aren’t home I could easily do it but I told them I would feed the cats and they wont get fed if i do it now’ or 'i have so much time but I told my friend i would edit their essay and I need to do that first’

Went out with friends to just dick around, got a stupid fancy drink at Starbucks, and told his mom about it when he got home

Decided he would kill himself tomorrow, he gave his friends one last good memory, told his mom he loved her, he was ready

Next day his mom give a him a 50$ gift card to starbucks, told him it’s for him and his friends because that’s the happiest she’s seen him in so long

He fucking broke down because he can’t kill himself now, he can’t waste her money or her kindness but he’s so fucking tired and so done and he can’t do it anymore

She supports him as best she can and gets him to the hospital

During visiting day she brings his friends, all wearing matching sunglasses, and a coffee carrier with like five different drinks all for him

They all scream at each other happily and they talk about how much better he looks, how much happier

His friends are the slowmo super heroes and sun and moon

No one in the hospital knows his soulmate or if he even has one

uhh taadaa! do with this what you will

[seltzerforever]

Molly Rae, 

I’ve been avoiding this for quite some time now. I think I’ve known that its what i have to do, and have found myself holding on so desperately, that I haven’t been able to. With this, it will all become too real, which is exactly the last thing that I want this to be. I can’t write about you anymore. I actually can barely do much of anything at all anymore. Everything I’ve been asked to write has been pushed away or prolonged because the second any assignment gets to you, or the you that I remember, I freeze. I don’t know how to begin this... I don’t want to begin this. There is a part of me that enjoys the sadness because it just makes sense...With the moments I’m not sad, I struggle to understand how that could possibly be, because if you’re not a part of me, how on earth can everything feel alright? There are bits of me that tell me I need to hurt, that I need to mourn the loss of us for the both of us since you are unable to. I am holding on the hope for two because I feel if I don’t, its an insult to what we were. If I let go, I’m disregarding all that you’ve done for me and all that I’ve done for you. 

If I let go, our memories and laughter begin to blur, and my stability no longer is sure anymore. If I say goodbye, I’m losing all hope, all inside jokes, all the touching, teaching, and exploring. If I let go, I’m abandoning the most enjoyable memories of my life, the best person in my life and the one being who taught me and aided me in becoming who I truly am. There is too much tied to you to let go. I don’t know how to and I really don’t want to, because then it really means its all done. It really means that I have to say goodbye to the most genuine, loving, beautiful, hilarious, and caring person I’ve ever met. I’ll have to cut off a piece of me in the process, and actually see what the world without you looks like for the first time in 4 years. 

If I say goodbye all of our vacations slip away. All of the tearful love making and continuous whispers about the rest of our lives together were all false, and Molly and Max will never be. If I say goodbye, I’ll no longer have the right to daydream about you coming back. I won’t be able to take you to France and propose to you. I won’t be able to get you sewing lessons and interlock our fingers together as you walk me through all of the art galleries. If I say goodbye to you, the thought of you walking down the aisle of your old backyard in Cherry Valley will shrivel up, and the smile that comes to my face when I think about those big treeth, and never-ending pits of eyes you have will go away. If I say goodbye, the future that I’d envisioned for the past 4 years will become skewed and I won’t get to ever spend a Christmas at your moms with our two children. I won’t get to watch you become all that you’re meant to, or get to see the goofy face you make when you’re feeling funny. I won’t get to hold you so tightly ever again and feel in utter disbelief as to how I get to spend my time with the most wonderful thing this world has to offer. If I say goodbye, I’m saying goodbye to the thousands of exploding suns in my heart as I simply sit next to you, and your smell. If I say goodbye, I will no longer get to see the dried up orange paint lodged under your fingernails, or graze my lips over the delicate faint scar on your lower stomach. If I say goodbye, the thought of your wiggling happy toes in the morning will no longer send me into space, and the visions of you in all the wonderfulness that you are will no longer be. If I say goodbye this will all become too real, and that is why I have to say goodbye. Because this is real. What we were is what we were, and not who we are anymore. All of these things happened and overflowed me with feelings I am incapable of verbalizing because they were just that unbelievably enjoyable. Everything that happened - all the good and all of the bad happened. You and I put us to rest and it was and still is necessary regardless of the pain that inflicts me completely from head to toe, inside and out. Nothing is regretted, not a single smidge of what we’ve done. We are exactly where we are supposed to be at this current moment in time whether its what I’d like or not. 

The void of you is unimaginable, and it can never be stuffed back and stitched up whole again. It can never be replaced, but it can be healed. It can offer space for something else, and make room for all that is left to come into my life in the years to come. I will forever miss my best friend regardless of this chapters closing. My hand will still search for yours in the middle of the night and my eyes will still yearn to see the dimples of your lower back. My fingertips won’t forget the dips of your hips or the crease of your chin. My tongue will miss yours as they dance together, and the warmth of your neck. I will never forget how I couldn’t bear washing my sheets because the thought of your dead skin left behind put my mind at ease. The wave of you will forever collide into me. Sometimes I’m sure only grazing my toes, and others swallowing me whole. I will remember who you were then, and smile, and know that the you that you’ve become now is entirely different. I want to be here for you forever, and never let another person or yourself cause you harm, but I can no longer continue to sit here and wait as I dissolve into nothingness. I am so much more than what I’ve been recently, and we both confidently know it. I don’t want to say goodbye and that is why I need to say goodbye. I need to say goodbye so happiness no longer registers to me as a disappointment under construction. I need to say goodbye so I can remember the good and understand the bad. I can accept all that has happened and be aware of the change that has occurred inside of you and inside of us. By saying goodbye, I can finally allow myself to stop romanticizing what we were, and remember the sickness that drove me to terminate this relationship back in July. By saying goodbye, I can stop blaming the hurt you doused me in on your bipolar disorder alone, and realize that unhealthy or not, your physical vessel of a body caused me unimaginable pain. Sick or not, it was still you that tortured me emotionally in the weeks following our demise. 

It was you, Molly, that had unprotected sex only three days after we broke up. It was you, Molly, that looked me in the eyes and exclaimed that there hadn’t been a time that you’d been happier with hickeys covering your neck entirely. It was you, Molly, that told me in order to have sex with you again, that I would have to force myself to engage physically with others first. it was you, Molly, who went back on your word and told me you could handle having sex with me regardless. It was you, Molly, that told me the sore on your lips that you’d received from the girl you had been with only days after me was not transferable. It was you, Molly, who gave me genital herpes, covered my gums and throat entirely in sores and left me unable to walk for a week straight with a 103 fever. It was you, Molly, that when told what you had given me, exclaimed that it was closure for you. That upon hearing what I had contracted, you were finally able to eat again, because it was the first conversation that wasn’t about us and solely about me since our breakup. It was you, Molly, that told me not to talk to you for two weeks after, to give you space to actually see if you’d miss me at all. It was you, Molly, who came back home from Ohio and said you didn’t want to see me. It was you, Molly, that made countless advances on me and only called me baby the entirety of Liz’s birthday party. It was you, Molly, who continuously rubbed my leg and inched closer to me no matter the number of times I moved further away. It was you, Molly, that did not respect my blatant and very clear boundaries when I told you I didn’t want you touching me. It was you, Molly, that after consuming an entire bottle of champagne, two gin and tonics, a shot of rum, a shot of whiskey, and cocaine you’d found in the trash continued to ask me to make out with you. It was you, Molly, that disregarded all of my attempts to not engage with you, and it was you, Molly, that I took home and let you sleep in my bed due to the state you were in after you’d topped off your recklessness with a Xanax that night. It was you, Molly, that no longer had any sign of the Molly that I used to know when I awoke to those hollow black eyes the following morning. It was you, Molly, that continued to tell me in such detail about the many, many sexual relations you’d had in the two weeks after our relationship. It was you, Molly, that lacked a filter and regardless of my begging, regardless of the many topic changes I attempted, then proceeded to show me texts of those you’d asked to come fuck you in the house I’d just moved out of. It was you, Molly, that told me you liked someone else that morning, and that you were so relieved that we could now just be friends that fucked. It was you, Molly, who continued commenting inappropriate things on all of my pictures, marking a territory that was no longer yours to mark. It was you, Molly, that made me entirely sure that my decision to leave us behind had been the right one. It was you, Molly, who made me remember what it felt like to be worthless and unwanted. It was you, Molly, that due to your sickness or not, became completely unrecognizable. It is you, Molly, who is sick beyond my repair. It is you, Molly, that now has to figure out how to fix yourself, because I’ve done all that I could’ve. It is you, Molly, who I am leaving behind now. It is you, Molly, who I am saying goodbye to. 

I’ve rolled through the many stages of grief numerous times thus far. So much so that I’ve accepted that this now is what is now. I’m disappointed for sure. I’m let down and pretty bruised up. But I am okay. My ears don’t emit steam when I think about the month of August, and my stomach no longer caves in on itself to imagine all of the others that get to experience what was once so safe, and sacred to me. I am thankful that you were a part of my life, and that I got to experience what it felt like to have somebody run through my veins. I was lucky enough to witness a love I’d never imagined possible, and the bad does not negate the things that you have helped me overcome and become throughout our journey together. I’ve always said that you were the love of all of my lives, and I’m not taking it back. You were without a doubt a love of this life of mine, but that doesn’t mean the only or the last. Saying goodbye will not put a halt to my love, but I can only hope that it dims it down. I have accepted that this is necessary, and can confidently say that I no longer want you nor need you in the ways I once did. I genuinely and completely want for you to find the control that you’ve misplaced, for you to wear the smile that I met you with – the one bursting with confidence, independence, and joy. And most importantly, I want you to work through any and all troubles, and surround yourself with those that are worth your time and respect you as you should be respected. I love you, I love you, I love you and I don’t want to say goodbye, but I am ready to. Because loving you has grown unhealthy for me. Loving you has become too tiring and I need to come first. You will find goodness, as will I, and if we’re lucky, our paths might cross in the far future. 

Thank you for teaching me to no longer run away. Thank you for teaching me how to stick up for myself. Thank you for showing me how important and special communication can be. Thank you for allowing me to become a part of your family. Thank you for showing me a different outlook on life and all of the amazing colors that it is filled with.  Thank you for showing me how to love my body and to appreciate it for all that it has done thus far. Thank you for being so understanding, and listening when my mind made it hard for me to understand myself. You made it possible for Max to emerge from the ashes and aided me in evolving with your protection, acceptance, and support. Thank you for the laughter, thank you for the tears, and thank you for allowing me the time I was able to experience by your side. You, if anyone, were placed into my life with reason and a purpose. We’ve grown so much together, and all of the pain and aftermath that I endured could never make me regretful. I lived 3 beautiful years with you before we both went through such monumental things of our own. things that no one could have prepared us for. Three insanely bright years before neither of us held any more capacity to focus on “us” and only separately on ourselves. 

I do not regret parting ways with you any longer or hold blame and responsibility for it all alone. We each had involvement and did our absolute best. We tried so hard and got to explore so much. You are the best friend I’ve ever had. 

I wish you all of the clementines, hues of yellow, and mismatching patterns you can get your hands on. I wish you perogies galore, books from Brooklyn’s stoops, and trinkets upon trinkets from all of the yard sales. I wish you all of the goodness and out-of-control beauty that this world has in stock for you. I loved you then, and I love you now. Until our next lives where we can embrace our love once again...

Goodbye

Max

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

Lesson learned. Never try to talk to someone you know is taken at work even if they are or have flirted with you, and watched you walk home one day.

Just because they're interested, doesn't mean they'll leave their wife, girlfriend, or even their fiance for you.

No matter how unhappy they seem when they need you or call you at night, and no matter how many times they looked at you in your eyes and you felt like they were yours.

They're not mine. And they're not fine.

What goes around comes around. That would have happened to me too, had they actually. Being the one watching it all happen, the one who was gaslighted and manipulated into thinking their coworker was interested in them and not their partner, for a threesome.

I hid my interest in Jay first, but I never knew how they truly felt about me. Not that important anymore. I'm taking back my control for once in my life.

Just praying I meet someone single, not polyamorous, emotionally available, and someone who takes responsibility for their actions, and actually considers morals in their decision making without being so impulsive and quick to judge.

I hope the person I'm missing and moving on learns to deal with their trauma another way without hurting other women and consistently hurting their own relationship by making selfish and codependent choices.

I need to just say buh-bye and just buy me a puppy 🐶

Cause I need it right now, a lovey-dovey, loyal support animal, who won't bite me, leave me, reject me, or play mind games on me to get what they want.

And if someone else pops me on the hand or hurts me and then try to make it seem like I should Apologize for making them feel angry enough to hit me. Like I'm a 5yr old little boy?

I'm getting the fuck outta there. Nor will I take an aggressive threat. Because I deserve better, not to be treated like a child, cause I'm 24. There's no excuse. Mutual respect, or I'm out. I'm gone.

I'm no longer dealing with people's personal problems or taking their L's just because they want an easy, obedient, sub who wants sex whenever they want it, and stops having individual hurts, emotions, or needs/wants.

I'm not a doll. And I'm not a kid that you can beat up and take out your emotions on and expect me to just sit there and take it. And never talk to you about it, because it seems ok to you to hit somebody like that till it hurts, till they scream, and/or cry cause you're a sadist and a pathetic liar. I know you liked hurting me. And I know you can't take away your Dad's anger issues or your mom's narcissism/gaslighting tricks.

You have mom and dad issues. And you hurt people with vulnerabilities and sensitivities just like you were when you were younger. Hoping they would just shut up and let you hurt them for fun, alongside with your girlfriend who you never want to break away from cause she's the only girl that hurt you, kept you, controlled you, taught you how to be someone else that's not you, and she stayed no matter how many times you hurt her. A sick codependency that revolves around pain, pleasure, and seeking sadistic bdsm pleasures with other people, who are gullible and masochistic enough to stay as your (undefined, and hidden) secret slave.

Because that's what grown-ups who are abused consistently till where they can't remember, do to kids like us on the inside.

They find a other adult, who's so cute and innocent looking and sickly loyal enough to stay in an abusive family home, a tyrant, authorities, aggressively controlling based environment and then creates the same one, except worse...(because there's sexual abuse, emotional abuse, jealousy, tricks to get you to stay when you start dating other people who could make you happier, and gaslighting that makes you feel dumb for wanting to leave, but needing to leave like Rapunzel's Stockholm Syndrome because she was taught to trust this person as her mother figure, who was actually just using her) and yea using masks and potential promised plans to keep you distracted from the bad things happening right before your eyes.

Till you eventually neglect the person you became in order to survive and be with this one stranger who only comes out when they're an extremely upset bipolar mess and takes it out on everyone they care about. Because family is expected not to leave you or call the cops if you do something bad. Strangers and slightly obsessed coworkers will leave.

It was all just a game for them to have sex with me. And me be a move in sex-doll to release their shit on.

I'm glad I found a loophole. Love was a burden and it kept me stuck. So the only way I had to break out, was to break my own heart that was confused and extremely hurt and exhausted. And that fragile barrier between me just knowing or swearing I thought this person was the one for me.

Because they reminded me of my own mother, the one I wish would take better care of me right now and actually give a fuck about me crying till I go to sleep at night. And for missing quality time with my Dad where we actually had fun, go to the bar. And not have to be stuck at the house all the time and just play golf all the time....I miss my younger version of my mommy and Daddy. When they showed more care, affection, and attention towards my feelings. Where we could get along and not have to worry about upsetting them and walking on eggshells around the house.

What happened to fun and showing you still love me after you hurt or say something mean or rude or calling me stupid or telling me to shut my mouth, right after it.

It's offensive to say, but Mom and Dad is the reason why I don't wanna see myself age regress in front of them but I don't know if it's age regressing or just my brain being sick from Jay who I only shown this side of my head to.

Jay said I would talk like a baby when we were laying down and falling asleep on the phone together. But to me I didn't know that's what it's called.

That's just how I sound like when I was playful. Cause I hadn't done this is in awhile, talking lightly because I feel safe, comfortable and like back at home in my princess bed in Florida. I miss my home there and the way our family used to be.

And I can't make Jay just be my caregiver. They introduced me to it, but they didn't want to take care of me. They just wanted me to hurt and be punished. I thought it was gonna be all loyal, pretty, light, and fun, and safe enough for to kiss them and them not take advantage of me as a Virgin.

But instead they did, and it was the worst time I ever had. Jay didn't want to kiss or look me in the eye. So they had me turn around and just bend over while they fingered me. I felt scared and it felt lifeless. There was no love or attachment to this.

Cause that's how she wanted it. My first time was emotionalless. I didn't even cum from it, cause it hurt me. Her fingers were white and soft, but the pain on the inside I felt as her partner watched me. I knew who told her to say that. "I don't want you kissing me, touching me, or looking me in the eye."

And she didn't Iook happy when she said, she looked stern, hard, and in control. I couldn't tell what they was thinking before telling me to bend over.

I felt violated. Like what was the point of Ky even doing this if she couldn't enjoy it. And that's where I felt myself start to split. Jay didn't want me to get too attached to her, so she treated me like it was gross to be inside me with her hand and even to kiss me.

I've never felt so unwanted while being penetrated for the 1st time. She even said while she was in there and had blindfolded me when she told me to flip over, "I don't want you to get weird on me." And then the last thing I saw was Ayunna, jacking off herself before Jay wrapped the rest of the blindfold over my eyes.

I didn't know, but Ayunna set the tone by reaching over and helping Jay to get me to cum.

And for some odd reason, I didn't know I could cum off of pain.

And I wasn't sure why it was so scary that I wanted her to hurt me again?

It'd so damn obvious I was a submissive masochist at this point, but why did I like her spanking me on the butt and I wanted to see her face as she fingered me?

I had no clue, what this was....like toxic, cosmopolitan.

I didn't know if I hated her or if I was starting to like her more?

[hanorganaas]

never let me go

PARING: Harrison Ford / Carrie Fisher RATING: T SUMMARY:   In an alternate universe the aftermath of the infamous plane crash in 2015, Harrison reminds himself he has married a hell of an incredible women VERSE: 40 YEARS AND COUNTING VERSE WARNINGS: Mentions of a near death experience and off screen character death  NOTES: So yeah you know I had this Carrison verse floating around in my head exploring what would have happened had Harrison and Carrie did get married after all and were married for 40 years until Carrie’s Death in 2016 [still having Billie and all that jazz], mostly to help me cope with Carrie’s Death by putting her in a happier universe...but then I am like...how the fuck is this supposed to help me cope if I know Carrie is going to meet a tragic end anyway. So I decided fuck it, my verse, I am gonna explore them being married from 1977 and Beyond, thus the change. Anyway, I know Carrison is a problematic fav and I get it and I completely utterly am not writing this to offend anyone AT ALL but I can sleep better that theres a universe where this is happening DEDICATION: My friend @titasjournal needed some cheer so I wrote her this cause she loves Carrison fluff. So enjoy

Yes, there were a lot of aches in Harrison’s body. He was a 72 year old man, with possibly more fragile bones with age, who had just survived a plane crash. Of course he was going to be in a lot of pain. But there was one ache he didn’t seem to mind.

Harrison turned his head as far as he could to glance over at Carrie, his wife of almost four decades as she lied peacefully at his side, leaving no room in the little hospital bed they shared. She was curled up into him tight, but leaving enough space for their dog...well mostly Carrie’s dog Gary, to nestle in between them. The French Bulldog’s loud snores drowned out the hustling and bustling of the hospital.

Carrie’s arms were wrapped around Harrison tight. He could feel his bruised ribs and broken Pelvis screaming in agony at the pressure. He was pretty sure any tighter she would squeeze the life out of him. But he wasn’t going to complain….she needed this, she could have lost him.

Harrison didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to Carrie or how she would react if he died today, especially in such a vulnerable time. Her mother died that late January Despite the legendary Debbie Reynolds’ old age, no one saw it coming. She had just appeared at the Screen Actors Guild awards to receive her lifetime achievement award. A mere two weeks later, Carrie found her mother dead in the garden of the compound they shared with her.

No one ever took a death of a loved one well in general, hell, the deaths of his parents hit him like a punch to the gut; but with Carrie’s mental illness, it was hard for her to swallow. Harrison for one had to rip Carrie off her mother’s body and hold his screaming and flailing wife. He would have to do this two more times, once at the wake and when Debbie was finally laid to rest when Carrie threw herself over the casket refusing to lock her mother in a crypt. The swings from Manic to Depressed were worse. A couple hours on her feet, planing the funeral and the rituals of mourning, the next few in bed sobbing.

Harrison had seen Carrie go through some bad phases throughout their marriage when it came to her Bipolar, but this had to be the worst he seen in a long time. She was finally getting better, mostly with Harrison pushing her to get out of the house and distracting her with pleasant things, like the excitement that was to come with the new Star Wars. And after all he time he spent with her to make sure she healed….to lose him too….

A small hum, and the feel of Carrie nuzzling her nose against his neck brought Harrison back down to Earth. It reminded him he needed to push out the idea of what could have been, but instead think of the now. He was here, he was alive….and he and Carrie had plenty of more years together to see their children’s careers thrive and go on more adventures. That was all that mattered.

Harrison smiled and ran his hand through her soft light brown locks. He could feel Carrie push closer next to his body. He hissed a little as he felt her body brush against a tender spot.

“Easy there,” Harrison murmured, “bruised ribs and busted pelvis remember? Any movement can hurt...even with no ill intention.”

“It hurts huh?” Carrie sighed, a pleasureful chill went down Harrison’s spine as he could feel warm breath against his neck. He answered with a nod, “Good it will teach you not to be an idiot when it comes to air safety.” She paused and lifted her head. She softly turned Harrison’s head to face her. “I can’t tell you never fly again, it’s like telling a fucking Horse not to run, but next time...do be more careful, and don’t EVER scare me like that again...promise?”

“Promise.”

Harrison affirmed his answer by kissing her lips gently, then her nose, and finally her forehead. And he kissed her there again and again. He let himself take in the soft feel of his wife’s skin and the firm and loving presence that held him close keeping him safe and warm.

It did more than dim the pain. It reminded Harrison he was alive.

Lost in the feel of being engulfed in love, the sound of the nurse clearing her throat almost caused Harrison to jump at the suddenness.

“I am sorry sir, but visiting Hours are over,” She said

Harrison lifted his head to look at the clock. 9 in the evening….the last call for anyone visiting the patients to leave. He turned to head to see Carrie instead of moving, she was refusing to budge just nuzzling her head into his neck. Harrison just smiled lowly and turned his head towards the nurse.

“Hey could you just give us just a couple of minutes,” He asked. The nurse folded her arms. “I’ll give you a free autograph.”

The Nurse grumbled: “Ten minutes.”

“Thank you for that,” Carrie said placing a kiss on his cheek.

Harrison would have answered “I did it for you” because in a way, he knew it would be a lie. Part of him knew, with all that happened today, it would be easier for him to fall asleep with the woman he loved snuggled in at his side. Even if he didn’t wake up with her at his side due to the rigid set of hospital hours he would take it.

So he nuzzled his chin on the crown of Carrie’s head. He concentrated on the way she was breathing. The way her body fit snuggled right next to him. The way her tiny fingers traced patterns over his chest.

As Harrison drifted to slumber with a smile on his face, the last thought on his mind was the same thing he thought every night. He was lucky to be loved and married to the marvelous and one of kind Carrie Fisher.

But tonight he felt extra lucky, after all, a near death experience had always made everything one had more special and profound right?

[defilerwyrm]

Do you mind if I ask about whether or not you take medication for anxiety or depression? ( If you don't mind, does it help you? How can you tell? Does it change who you are in a way?) It's something I've been considering and I'm not a fan of medication but I understand sometimes it's necessary.

I don’t mind, I’m pretty open about it. I take Paliperidone for my bipolar disorder (most of the time I’m depressed but I have manic episodes too) and Vyvanse for ADHD. I don’t take anything for anxiety but I really ought to. Currently I’ve been off both meds for over two months because my pharmacy’s system thinks my insurance card is expired and I can’t afford them out of pocket, so I’m solidly confident in saying that I have noticed an IMMENSE difference from when I’m on those meds.

Antidepressants, mood stabilisers, anti-anxiety meds, and antipsychotics change your baseline to something closer to “normal.” What I’ve found is that I don’t consciously notice how much better I feel when I’m on good meds until something bad happens and I realise that I’m able to handle it pretty well.

One or both of them also greatly reduces my dissociative episodes, which is a mixed bag; as unnerving as they are, I’d missed them, because being fully seated in my meat is not often a pleasant experience—I prefer the distance of dissociation. Not really a healthful or responsible outlook but it is what it is.

I don’t think they change my personality at all, beyond taking the frantic edge off. I’m a lot less Sturm und Drang on meds. Less likely to retreat into myself as a ball of misery for no reason; less likely to have rageful outbursts when I’m upset; less likely to irresponsibly blow large amounts of money I can’t afford to spend on things I don’t need. (Not that I especially regret my suddenly-doubled rock collection or the giant care package backpack I put together for a local homeless vet, but neither were really in my budget at the time, and that’s what a manic episode often looks like for me.) The parts of me that the drugs change are the ones that keep me from functioning like a stable, rational adult. I am far and away happier and healthier on meds than off them.

My outlook on taking meds for mental illness has always been a positive one, and I think that’s because I grew up on them, but also because I consider my mental illnesses to be little different from my neurological disorders. Really, bipolar, PTSD, anxiety, OCD, and ADHD are all just as physical as Tourette’s syndrome: they manifest as real, measurable differences in my brain from a neurotypical one. Hell, PTSD in particular isn’t even just a brain thing: because our muscles are connected to memory, any part of the body can be linked to it. They’re not just mood changes or immaterial imaginings. So of you consider your depression and anxiety to be physical ailments, it makes perfect sense to try to find a treatment that will ease them. Sure, you could just tough them out the way you can tough out a headache without taking a pain reliever, but unlike a headache, you know they aren’t just going to go away on their own, even though they might ebb and flow. These are chronic illnesses, like diabetes or arthritis. You can’t cure them, so you might as well manage them.

There are so many excellent meds out there. The great thing is that if one doesn’t work, you can talk to your doctor and have it tweaked or outright changed—you can always try something different. For example, Paxil and Prozac both worked GREAT for me...for about a year, and then they stopped working completely. Quetiapine turned me into a narcoleptic rage monster, on the verge of both a fit of rage and passing out asleep at all times. Risperidone worked pretty well, but only for about 8-9 hours at a time, so I kept crashing horribly every afternoon by the time I got home from work. That’s what led me to get put on Paliperidone extended release, which is effective for 24 hours. Just as with any medical thing, sometimes you have to try some stuff out. It’s like troubleshooting your brain, lol.

I’m also a huge proponent of therapy to bolster the meds, because the meds help but they’re not a cure. Dialectial Behaviour Therapy (DBT) is particularly good for anxiety, depression, and PTSD; the mindfulness exercises I learned in DBT have pulled me out of more panic attacks than I can count. And if DBT isn’t for you, there’s also CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy), talk therapy, and others. Just like meds and doctors, you can change therapy types and therapists if what you have isn’t working out.

The only surefire way to never find out what works is to never try. So I encourage you to give it a go. Keep a day journal when you start a new medication so you can look back and see how your outlook is changing, because it can sneak up on you. Best of luck, Anon.

[padasteph-nie]

The Fourth Wall

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Vaewolves and Broken Glass

Characters: Stephanie (OC), Sam Winchester, and Dean Winchester

Pairings: Sam x Stephanie (still unofficial)

Word Count: 2,433

Warnings: Reality shifts and fight scene. Character injury.

A/N: I know what you’re thinking.. when is this going to end. Soon, very soon. 

The Fourth Wall - Masterlist

Stephanie’s Point of View

     We all loaded into the car, I took it upon myself to sit in the back. I needed all the solitude I could get. Sam already had his worried look on his face, and I knew that meant he was going to be looking back on me every minute or so.

       I decided to go back over the photos first. I pulled up the picture of the house. I closed my eyes and I could see it plain as day. The tall, blue house was sitting on a corner lot. I tried to concentrate, blocking out the sound of the roaring engine in front of us. It didn’t take long before my mind sucessfully drowned out the sounds. I felt like I was there, in the picture. I walked into the back door, somehow knowing the front would be locked. I explored the place with ease, knowing each turn and where it would lead. I went up the stairs, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a den. One room was definitely a kid’s room, and it was shared. I was beginning to think this house belonged to the people I didn’t recognize in my photo album. I went back down the stairs and into the dining room. I stood there, realizing how real this all felt. My head felt dizzy, so I shook it a little to hopefully lessen the feeling. When I set myself straight again, I noticed a family picture. It was definitely the people in the photos. Same guy; tall, blue-green eyes and a full beard. The two boys and…

      “Stephanie, hey. Hey! Are you with me?” Sam’s voice woke me out of my trance.

      Dean was staring at me through the rear-view mirror. “You just passed out. Are you okay?” His eyes went back to the road, but I could see there was deep concern in them.

      We pulled into an empty lot, covered by trees. Dean shut his headlights off. “We are here already?” I felt like only a minute or so had passed, but it had been fifteen minutes.

      Dean turned off the engine, “Stephanie, I don’t think you should come in.”

      Sam looked at him like he was insane, “Dean, we can’t leave her out here alone. This place could be crawling with vaewolves.”

      I looked at Sam, scared, but I knew Dean was right. “I’ll just stay out here and keep doing some research. I mean, let’s be honest, not one of us remembers me doing much hunting. How I’ve survived these last few hunts has got to be a miracle.”

      Sam clenched his jaw, knowing we were right. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea. “Okay, but I’m keeping my phone on ring.” He checked his phone, “we have service out here. If you even feel uncomfortable in the slightest, call me. I won’t even answer, I’ll just come straight out.”

      Dean got out and opened the trunk. I heard him rummage through it and load a gun. Silver bullets I assumed. He closed the trunk and came around to Sam, who was still sitting in the front seat, staring at me like a fragile, lost child. “She’s gonna be fine, Sam. She’s a hunter. She will call if she needs us.” Dean handed Sam a machete. 

      Sam sighed and opened his door. He reached back and pulled me to him, kissing me on the forehead. “Please be on high alert. Please?” He begged.

       I nodded and watched as he got out of the car to join Dean. They headed off into the trees. I suddenly realized how bad of an idea this was. It was late evening, and the only sound was a light breeze blowing through the trees in the dark, wooded lot.

       I needed to continue looking into all of this stuff, but I didn’t want to use my phone and draw attention to myself with the light. So instead, I cracked open the book. I observed the handwriting, cursive and, honestly, a little sloppy. I hardly ever wrote in cursive, except for when I was trying to make a journal pretty, or signing something. I’ve always hated my cursive writing. I found my marked page. It was dark, and I almost couldn’t see, but it was just light enough, and I began reading:

       Sorry I haven’t wrote in a few days, I’ve just been really down. I’m not sure why this diagnosis is affecting me so much. I always wondered if something wasn’t right, but I’m so used to being me, ya know? Do you remember back when I had just graduated, and I went and seen that psychiatrist? Probably not, I only did two counseling sessions and that was it. But the psychiatrist said I had manic depression. At the time I thought that it was a mild form of depression, because I had only heard of major depressive disorder. So, I assumed if it wasn’t major, then it was minor. Well at my last appointment, when I was diagnosed, the doctor said manic depression is what they used to call bipolar disorder. So, this isn’t the first time I’ve been diagnosed apparently.

       Anyway, I guess that doesn’t matter. It kinda sucks that we moved out here in the middle of nowhere after I found out. Don’t get me wrong, I love this tiny town, but the timing was off. I could really use a friend. I’m glad I have you, it’s a good escape from the real world. I’m actually really proud of this move. I finally got away from the hustle and bustle of being in a city where I was always expected to be directly involved with the family. My family is great, but I’m an introvert, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. I mean, you’re my main source of socializing. Like I said though, I love this tiny town.

       Nothing makes me happier than taking my two boys outside on a summer day here. Right outside the back door is a small deck, and in the summer, Dustin likes to cook out and we eat on our patio set and watch the boys play. He is such a good dad, and husband. I still can’t believe I snagged this tall, blue-green eyed man. His beard is a little much at times, but I like more facial hair than not. But on days like today, I try to think of all this stuff. When I’m feeling like I don’t really care about my life, I try to think of my kids. They are so cute, and so young. We just put our oldest in Pre-Kindergarten this year. I don’t want to miss anything, ya know. I’m not even thirty yet. It’s amazing we’ve already bought a house. Five years ago, I would have been shocked to know we’d have two kids and live in this adorable, tall, blue house. Once we got the windows put in, the white trim really made it look nice. And in the spring, the little tree in the front yard blooms tiny pink flowers. I’m really lucky. I shouldn’t dwell so much on having a diagnosis, it doesn’t change anything. Thanks for this, I really needed to vent and get my mind on track.

       I slowly closed the book, my mind was racing. I opened my phone and pulled up the pictures again. The man, tall with blue-green eyes and a full beard. The young boys, like I said, no older than six. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but I was feeling nauseous. I went to text Sam but something else happened. I looked up and I wasn’t in the Impala anymore. I looked back down at my phone. Same phone, but instead it was opened to a text conversation I was having with someone named Dustin. It hit me, Dustin wasn’t a hunter that I met randomly and just kept his number for emergencies. Dustin was the guy in this story. Those kids are his kids, and that house is his house. I looked around me, I was back in that very house. I went into the dining room to find that picture. I grabbed it off the shelf it sat on, and I glared at it, in shock. There was a woman in the photo, I didn’t see her last time. This was the woman that wrote the books. It had to be her. The only thing was, she looked eerily like… me.

       I dropped the picture, shattering it on the floor. I sat down, to prevent myself from falling. “Wake up, wake up!” I yelled to myself. I picked up my phone to call Sam, each ring making me feel more and more alone. I was hoping he’d come out to the car and get me out of this trance before it went to voicemail. He didn’t. The voicemail wasn’t even his… It was Dustin’s. “Wake up, please wake up.” I looked down at the shards of glass in front of me. I couldn’t help but think this was a way out. I needed to wake up. I picked up a large piece, and squeezed it tightly in my hand. I screamed and winced in pain, dropping the glass. When I looked down to view the piece of glass, I wasn’t looking at the carpeted dining room. All I could see were the floor boards in the Impala. “It worked.” But my mind went back to the pain, my hand was cut deeply.

        I heard my phone go off, and I looked down at it. It was a message from Dustin, 'Please, don’t do anything else. I’m leaving work now. I’ll be there soon.' My mind was lost between two worlds. I examined my surroundings, and found that the back window of the Impala was broken. I couldn’t remember how. Was it me? Did I break the window? Did something attack me?

        I decided it was better to find Sam and Dean, I’d be safer with them. I got out of the car, not even bothering to shut the door. I ran into the wooded area, and it wasn’t long before I found the nest. It was a house, and by the sounds of it, Sam and Dean were already in kill mode. I slowly approached the house, still holding pressure to my hand. I had to tend to the wound, I couldn’t walk in there fighting with my hands clasped together. I let go, watching the blood pool in my palm. I lifted my flannel to my mouth, bit down, and tore a piece of fabric off of it, and tied it tightly around my hand.

        I circled the place, until I found a branch laying on the ground. I broke off a piece after jumping on it a few times. I was armed to my best and ready to join the fight. I crept up to the door and slowly opened it. There was blood everywhere, vaewolves laying dead, their heads cut off. All except two. Sam and Dean were each on one. Approaching the closest one with its back to me, it was the one Sam was fighting. It didn’t even realize I was behind it until Dean yelled, “STEPHANIE! WATCH OUT!” I turned around to a third vaewolf, and before I could swing the branch, it slashed its claws across my arm, and I fell to the ground in pain.

        “NO!” Sam yelled, decapitating his vaewolf with one swift strike of his machete. Dean had already shot his and was after the one that had attacked me. Sam ran and slid to my side, “Hey, you okay? Let me see it.” I pulled my arm away from chest to expose the slashes across my arm. “We need to stitch these up!” he immediately got up and started to look for supplies.

        “Sam, listen.” I winced, trying to sit up.

        “No, lay down! Don’t move.” He demanded.

        “Sam, I think I figured it out.” I tried to explain over his mindless rummaging.

        “We don’t have time for this right now, Stephanie.” He walked back over to me, “We have to go back to the car, there are first aid supplies in there.” He lifted me up and pushed my arm against my chest. “Try to keep your arm there, it will slow the bleeding.”

        “Sam, the book. The pictures, there is a link. The house is her house. The man is her husband, and the kids are her kids.

        Sam kept leading me out the door and through the trees. “That’s impossible, how would you have real pictures of fictional characters?” He asked, not really putting thought into it.

        “I don’t think they are fictional.” I waited for a response.

        Sam stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me. “Where is the book?” He put his hands on my shoulders. Before I could answer he yelled at me, “WHERE IS THE BOOK, STEPHANIE?”

        “Calm down! It’s in the car.” I replied. Sam took off running, and I followed as best as I could with my arm against my chest. “What’s going on? Why do you need the book?” Sam ignored the smashed window and the fact that the door was left open. He reached in, grabbed the book and walked around to the back of the car. He flung open the trunk, and opened the book, laying it flat in front of him. “What are you doing? Sam, I need to you to help me with my arm.”

         Sam continued to ignore me and pulled out the box of our fake I.D.s and badges. He grabbed them out, a handful at a time, until he found one of mine. He laid it out next to the book. “That’s it!” He yelled. “Stephanie, what is the main character’s name in your book?”

          I walked over to look closer at what he had found. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t recall her name. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she ever says.”

          “I didn’t think so. She wouldn’t need to.” Sam pulled me against him and brought the badge to my view. “Look at your signature.” I looked at it, still missing what he was getting at. He reached down and grabbed the book, “look at the handwriting, Stephanie. That is your handwriting.”

          I compared them closely and gasped. Just then, we heard footsteps coming from the trees. “Please tell me that is Dean,” I whispered. I turned to look at Sam and he was gone. It was like he dissipated on the spot. “Sam?” I walked around the car and hid behind the open door.

         “Stephanie?” A voice called, “Oh my God, no. Please, Stephanie!” Before I could see who it was, I fell faint to the ground, broken glass shattering into smaller pieces beneath me.

@dstrehlo

@vampirebunni

@lefthologramdeer

@fluffy-metal-kitten

[siavahdainthemoon]

you have no ‘right’ to have a child

Sometimes I joke that if I ruled the world, I would make it so that people would need licences to have children. And lots of people have, rightfully, pointed out that that could never be a thing, because it would inevitably end up discriminating against various groups and end with awfulness. 

But one of the arguments that gets thrown at me is ‘oh, but they wouldn’t let mentally ill people have children!’

To which my response is, ‘and they fucking shouldn’t let them.’

Trigger warnings for child abuse and mentions of suicide and self-harm, but here’s why:

I’m two years old when my mother insists that something is ‘wrong’ with me and drags me to a child psychiatrist. He’s the first of dozens.

I’m four or five years old. It’s after bedtime, but my brother and sister and I can’t sleep, because downstairs our parents are fighting. As the eldest, it’s my job to find out what’s happening, so I creep out onto the stairs. I see nothing, but I can hear breaking crockery and my mum screaming abuse at my dad.

(She puts him in the hospital half a dozen times; he never fights back, and the authorities never believe a woman that small could hurt a guy that big.)

I’m six years old and watching again from the top of the staircase - in a new house, in a new country - while my mother calls the police because it’s my dad’s weekend to have us kids but she doesn’t want to let him have us.

I’m still six when she tries to run him over with her car. My brother and sister and I are in our car-seats while she does it. 

I’m still six when I get my four year old brother to stand on my shoulders, because it’s the only way we can reach the toaster on the kitchen counter, and toast is all we know how to make when mum doesn’t get out of bed for days. My sister is two years old and I have to take care of them both.

I’m still six when I drag my brother and sister behind curtains, or hide in the garage, because mum regularly starts screaming and throwing cutlery and breaking everything in sight.

I’m still six when I ask her why she hates me so much, and she hisses that I look like my dad. 

I’m seven when she drags me up the stairs - new staircase, another new house - by my hair. 

I’m eight when I spend hours scratching and scratching my wrists until they’re raw and bleeding. I can’t remember how many times she’s hit or hurt me and I don’t know how else to deal with the pain inside.

I’m ten, and living with my dad, when I climb the tree in our garden and cry for hours because yet another judge has decided my mother should have custody of my siblings and me.

I’m eleven when she screams at me because I have stretch marks on my thighs and why didn’t I tell her? I didn’t know what they were or that there was anything wrong with me.

I’m twelve when she hits me for forgetting to put suncream on my ears and getting sunburned.

I’m still twelve when she tries to convince me I’m having hallucinations and going crazy.

I’m still twelve when she lets her boyfriend ask me which book is my favourite, and proceed to tear it to pieces. 

I’m thirteen when she and the boyfriend hack into my email account and delete everything, years of emails, ‘by mistake’, because I’d been secretly talking to my dad.

I’m still thirteen when her boyfriend steals my phone and together they get a child psychologist to pretend to be me and text horrible things to my dad.

I’m still thirteen when she beats me so badly half my gym class tell my teachers they saw my bruises in the changing room.

I’m still, just, thirteen when she snarls I should go live with my father. I run away and get on a plane to do just that.

I’ve just turned fourteen when she drags my dad and I to court to demand I be returned to her custody. The judge dismisses my dad, because it’s between my mother and I, and after the judge interviews me I’m allowed to be represented as an adult. 

I’m still fourteen when I have to write a deposition about everything she’s done to me, every reason she shouldn’t have custody of me. The law says I’m something to be owned and that she owns me, even if she breaks me. I have to fight for the right to be recognised as a human being and not a possession.

I’m still fourteen, and the case is still ongoing, when mother dearest threatens to have me dragged onto the plane back to Ireland in handcuffs. I spend weeks having nightmares of being kidnapped.

I’m still fourteen when she finally drops the case and leaves me be. 

I’m fifteen when, via phonecall, she tells me the reason I’m happier with my dad is that I’m mentally ill.

I’m still fifteen when I go to Ireland to visit her and my brother and sister. She’s still never laid a hand on either of them. She spends the week in bed, unable to get up or take care of us.

I’m sixteen, in the middle of my GCSE week, the night before my Math exam, when my dad comes into my room to tell me my mother has hanged herself. My twelve year old sister was the one who found her.

I’m twenty-four when that same sister laughs and says ‘well, you were a difficult child, Sia.’ I stare at her, because I have no idea what to say, how to explain that, even if it were true - which it wasn’t, see my straight-A report cards and the glowing praises of every teacher and the complete lack of partying or drugs or even boyfriends - it wouldn’t make anything mum did okay.

My mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She was medicated. She went to therapy. She was even in a mental hospital for a while, voluntarily. She did everything right, everything she was supposed to, everything that makes people who’ve never dealt with mental illness nod their heads and chirp that it’s all under control, she’s managing her condition, of course she can be a parent.

She should never have been a mother, and she should never have been granted custody once my parents split, but nine of the eleven custody battles went her way, no matter what evidence my dad or I gave.

Your ‘right’ to reproduce doesn’t trump the actual rights of a child to be taken care of. If you can’t guarantee that care, you don’t get to have a child. End of discussion. I say that as someone who had a mentally ill parent and who is mentally ill herself. I don’t care whose fucking fault it is, if it’s no one’s or someone else’s, if the meds just don’t work or they make you feel awful or there’s no treatment at all for your particular sickness; I don’t care how nice a person you are really or how loving you are when you’re well: you have no right to a child you can’t or won’t take care of ALL the time.

You’re not to blame if you live in some horrible place or situation where you had no contraception or abortion available. Obviously. But if you’re too poor or too sick or too unstable or too whatever* to take care of a baby-child-teenager and you decide to go ahead anyway, then fuck you forever, I hope Hell exists just so you can burn in it.

YOU HAVE NO RIGHT.

I am not a thing. I was never a thing. I was not her fucking accessory, I was not her doll, I was not her punching bag. I was MINE, and she had no right to me, any more than any incapable/abusive parent/guardian has a right to any child ever, and anyone who insists otherwise can fuck off to Pluto. Because we don’t fucking need you here.

*Maybe your disorder/illness is totally manageable. Okay, good for you. This isn’t aimed at you and my issue is not with you and yours.