#fucking bipolar and the need to feel pretty is fucking killing me

[tinyxgoddessx]

SOMEONE TELL ME NOT TO DYE MY HAIR ALL BLACK! I am in need of a change and I don’t have the money to go get my hair done currently but I do have black hair dye under my sink…

I won’t do it but fuck I need a change soon or I’m gonna snap and do it

[seraphicsentences]

hlllo can you pleas do football!ellie ina rush and really needing her sport shirt that reader is wearing, but since reader is so unbothered to change she takes it off right there n it gets ellie thinking if she should even go!!!!!! maybe a little smutty smut ‼️‼️inluv with yur writinggg

hi baby yes i can thank you for the request sweet girl. sorry this took a little while i appreciate your patience. also yes i know i said i was going on a break yesterday and then proceeded to bang out this entire thing, my bipolar ass got bored. enjoy! <3

“BABE?”

“BAAAABE?” ellie calls louder as you hear her stumbling through your shared apartment, clearly in a rush.

“babe, have you seen my-oh there it is,” she swings into the room abruptly, stopping in her tracks when she sees her much needed football jersey, adorned by yours truly.

“hey els, what’s up?” you ask, propping yourself up on the bed, and shooting her a look so sickly sweet, savage starlight comic in hand.

ellie’s existence can be found in all aspects of you at the moment, from the clothes you’ve “borrowed” and your choice of fine literature, to the purpled bruises littering your jaw and collarbone.

ellie can’t help but let her buzzing pre-game thoughts slow at the sight of you, and fester around thinking mine, mine, mine.

“hey pretty girl, i just really need my jersey for practice. do you mind changing, pretty please? i’m late,” she says softly, leaning over the mattress to press a warm kiss against your forehead.

“aw, fine, i’ll just wear nothing then,” you joke, reaching over your head to pull off the top in one swift move, revealing your bare chest with marks to match your neck.

you watch knowingly as ellie quite literally shutters: caught up in the sight of what’s literally a physical manifestation of the guilty pleasure that is her possessiveness.

—and you revel in the power trip that this is. because how is it that mere nakedness, something that’s more you than anything else you could put on your skin, is enough to make ellie fucking williams crumble.

and so all you do is smirk when, without sparing even a glance away, ellie tosses the held-out jersey lazily over one shoulder and leans in to indulge herself with another kiss; this time a proper, messy one on your parted lips.

“on second thought,” she says, in between breaths, before diving down to swirl her tongue around your hardened nipples, greedily sucking and licking at them like your own fucking baby.

you’re nothing but powerless to her hypnotic ministrations, as much of a fool for her as she is for you, letting low moans out freely from the back of your throat.

moving back up to kiss you like she wants to consume your sounds, the aggressiveness of ellie’s actions leave you nowhere to go but fall backwards onto the bed, chest pressing up to brush your pointed nipples lush against ellie’s chest.

“fuck, baby,” she rasps into your mouth, slipping her hand between the two of you to knead at your breast, calloused fingers thumbing over your nipples. she watches in awe as you shudder at the sensation, hooded eyes begging for more.

“fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles with a smile, mouthing over her previously left bruises with a hot, flat-tongued lick. feeling the vibrations on your throat as you laugh at her, she gently nips at your skin, letting out a laugh of her own as she feigns annoyance.

“shut up,” she chuckles, suffocating your laughs with the press of her mouth, continuing to make out with you in the delicious way that it is to make out with her.

ellie pries a knee between your squeezed thighs, nudging it upwards in such kind offerance to your burning heat— to which you take, hips immediately grinding up in desperation.

but just as quickly as it was given to you is it taken away.

ellie sits up with a jolt, mussing with your hair as she replaces her shirt with the jersey hurriedly. she stumbles towards the door with a guilty look in her eyes, pausing only to ramble, “coach is gonna kill me, sorry babe. that’s what you get for being such a tease! i’ll make it up to you, you fuckin’ minx. i love you!" before sprinting out the door, shoelaces undone.

you lay there, frozen and topless with your panties soaked, and you curse ellie out, that little bitch.

[worldlxvlys]

hello🙋🏻‍♀️ I'VE GOT A REALLY GOOD FIC IDEA! i've got a request for dwb!chris. okay, here it goes: reader doesn't answer his texts so he kinda gets worried but since reader is lowkey bipolar he gives "her" space and all but he hasn't seen her in a few days so he kind of gets worried and after a while he finds out she's being held hostage by guys chris have deals with and shit yk? you just go from here just don't kill reader nor chris please🥲 (not yet) ily🫂

taken

dwb! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: reader held hostage, mentions of blood, violence, knives, guns, mentions of gun shots, reader is tied up, cursing

a/n: for @mbbsgf ily <33

it will make more sense if you read prison for life first ;)

silence was the only thing i could hear.

my eyes were open, but i was only met with darkness.

there was a stinging sensation where my hairline met my forehead and a faint ringing in my ears.

i tried to move my hands, but something held them captive.

my fear started to grow as i tried to move my feet, only to find them immobilized as well.

i couldn’t move and i couldn’t see. i needed to rely on the senses that i could use.

taste. there was a copper-like taste in my mouth, blood.

feel. something rough was wrapped around my wrists, it dug into the skin, creating a burning sensation.

hear. i tried to focus on what could be heard beyond the silence. wait, silence ? no, not silence. there’s a slight humming noise, almost like an engine.

smell. gasoline. i’m in a moving car.

fuck. how am i gonna get out of here ?

what if i don’t get out of here ?

are they gonna kill me ?

stop, breathe. you need to calm down.

i focused on my breathing, doing my best to keep it at a normal rate.

i just need to stay calm and think.

CHRIS’S POV

at first, i figured she needed some space. it wasn’t unusual for her to need time to herself, and i’m always willing to give it.

but the second her location turned off, i panicked.

we always agreed to keep each other’s location turned on, no matter how angry we were with each other, to give the other peace of mind.

once her location was off, i immediately called around.

anyone and everyone who could have seen anything suspicious or heard anything at all was called.

the odds of absolutely nobody knowing anything were slim to none.

and sure enough, after a few calls, i found someone who had information.

“yeah, chris. not too long ago, jerry saw your girl with jones and his boys”

my face fell at his name.

“jones?” i asked in confirmation.

“yeah, why ? what’s wrong?”

“he took her. and it’s my fault”

“what ? he took her?”

“i’m getting her back. i can’t lose her”

“i’ll get the boys”

READER’S POV

the car came to a sudden stop as i heard muffled voices get closer.

there was a loud beeping noise before a rush of cold air hit me.

i was forcefully yanked out of, what i assume to be the trunk, both arms being gripped tightly.

i was thrown over someone’s shoulder, which roughly hit my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

i broke out into a coughing fit, trying to regain my breath, which is pretty difficult to do when you’re hanging upside down.

“shut the hell up” a gruff voice spoke.

the voice seemed familiar, but i couldn’t quite put my finger on why.

i assumed that it had something to do with one of the many drug deals i had went out with chris to.

i assumed that this entire situation had to do with chris and his dealing habits, but i really had no way of knowing for sure.

i couldn’t, however, think of any other reason why i could be in my current situation.

hopefully, chris would be able to find me.

after what felt like a long while, i was placed onto a chair.

suddenly, the blindfold that had been covering my eyes was yanked off, making me squint my eyes at the harsh lighting.

i blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the change.

“what’s wrong, princess? the light bothering you?” the man in front of me spoke.

he saw my eyebrows furrow in confusion and removed the piece of tape that covered my mouth.

“you recognize me yet?” he smirked at me.

i blinked up at him.

“of course not. we met briefly a while ago, but i’ll reintroduce myself. i’m jones, jake’s best friend”

my face fell at the revelation.

jake. as in the dude that chris beat to a bloody pulp and put into a coma, that jake.

“that’s right, honey. the one your boyfriend put in the hospital ”

well, i’m fucked.

he took in my frightened state, finding the way i shrank away from him amusing.

“yeah, not sure why your little fuck toy thought he was gonna get off scot-free, but he was wrong. cause i got the one thing he would do anything for, right here in front of me” he spoke as he twirled a knife between his fingers.

“can’t say i blame him though” he whispered as he brought the knife to my cheek, drawing the faintest bit of blood, making me grimace. “you’re a pretty little thing”

his hot breath blew in my face, making me back my head up as much as i possibly could.

“i apologize in advance” he spoke as he ran his finger along the edge of the knife, “but i do have to rough you up a little bit, send a message to your boy”

CHRIS’S POV

“are we sure that this is where he took her?” i asked as jerry pulled up the address.

“the street cams put him here about 20 minutes ago. he couldn’t have gotten much farther”

“i just wanna be sure, we don’t have any time to waste here. but if you’re positive, we need to move now” i spoke as i tucked my gun into my waistband.

suddenly, my phone dinged with a text message.

i pulled it out, seeing it was a text from her.

i was met with a photo, and my heart dropped at the sight.

several bruises covered her face, along with a cut by her hairline that was surrounded by dried up blood.

her face was covered in sweat and her eyes were tired, her white shirt covered in blood.

underneath was a text that read:

123 RANDOM ADDRESS

RANDOM CITY, STATE

better hurry.

READER’S POV

i had been in the same spot for hours. i was cold, hungry, and my legs had fallen asleep.

i was trying, but struggling to stay awake, knowing that i was losing too much blood to let my eyes close.

my face was sore, the constant blows to the face finally taking its toll on me.

there was a deep cut from jones’ knife that laid across my ribcage, but i tried not to focus on the stinging sensation.

i knew i was really starting to lose my grip on reality when i heard chris’s voice, as i knew he couldn’t possibly be here.

suddenly, the sound of gunshots going off around me made my eyes shoot open.

that definitely woke me up.

the ringing in my ears intensified as the sound of gunshots rang out.

i could barely keep up with what was happening as the room around me began to spin around.

i looked directly in front of me and was barely able to make out chris and jones fighting.

so i wasn’t hearing things.

my vision began to get blurry as i struggled to figure out who was who.

the sounds of grunts and blows being landed echoed through the room.

“chris” i whispered out, but not loud enough for him to hear.

chris spoke angrily, but all i was able to make out was, “you fuckers need to learn how to stay away from my girl”

chris was able to get on top of jones, and he punched him over and over again.

he seemed to be blinded by rage, and he had no intentions of stopping.

“chris” i spoke out, loud enough for him to hear this time.

his head snapped up at the sound, and he rushed over to me.

“oh my god, baby. the fuck did he do to you?” he whispered as he worked on untying my restraints.

he gently ran his hands over my wrists, looking at the bruises that the rope left on my skin.

“alright, i got you. come on” he whispered as he picked me up, bridal style.

“you made it” i smiled lightly, before my vision was consumed by darkness.

——

when i woke up, i heard the sound of monitors beeping next to me and i felt chris’s hand laying on top of mine.

i took in my surroundings, realizing that i was in the hospital.

when chris saw that i was awake, he immediately sprung up.

“hey mama, how you feeling?” he asked.

“i’m just glad that you’re here. i didn’t think you would find me” i whispered to him.

he brought his hand to my jaw, lightly caressing it “i’ll always find you, baby. i’d do anything to make sure you’re safe, you know that”

“i love you so fucking much” i spoke as i leaned my forehead on his.

“i love you too, ma. i got you, always” he said as he placed a kiss on my cheek.

—————

thank you to @lustfulslxt for reassuring me and pushing me to keep writing, i literally would not have finished this without you <33

main masterlist

dwb! chris masterlist

tag list: @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @oliviasturniolo21

[raythekiller]

🗒 ❛ Personality Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: just my general take on the creeps. hope y'all enjoy! requests open :)

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He's a total fucking prick, for a lack of better word. He doesn't care about other's feelings, he thinks he's better than everyone so he's "allowed" to treat people badly, and he has anger issues to top that. Protesting against his bad treatment is gonna earn you some screaming at best and some blood spilled at worst, depending entirely on his mood.

He has the potential to be a good friend and person in general, he just doesn't want to. However, you might catch him trying to awkwardly comfort Toby or Ben when they have mental breakdowns. Well, not as much "comfort" but more of a shy pat on the back and a "Stop being a little bitch" comment, but that's his way of showing that he cares. Take it or leave.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Generally a pretty chill guy. He's not an extrovert, but he's still fairly outgoing when it comes to meeting new people (when he does leave his room, that is. He's kind of a shut in). Since he died when he was about twelve, I think he's forever stuck into the pre-pubescent boy mentality, so he can be quite the little shit.

That means he's also kind of a pervert and just immature in general. The type to play certain games just to gawk at the female character's slutty outfits and make fart jokes. He can also be very sarcastic and witty when he wants to, just a total smartass. Also, he's a pothead.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Probably one of, if not the nicest creep in the manor. Very upbeat and cheerful, at least most of the time. As someone that has bipolar disorder, it personally doesn't make me very violent and as unstable as Toby is canonically said to be. What does make me does things though is my BPD, so I headcanon he has that as well. He's all sunshine and rainbows until someone says something in a slightly off tone and suddenly he's screaming and throwing his hatchets at the fucking wall.

That also means he's extremely clingy. He wants every last bit of attention he can get and is extremely possessive of people he likes. And, while he is nice most of the time, when he's having an episode he's probably the most cold and cruel person you'll ever met.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

One of the most chill creeps. He's not aggressive and kills only when he needs to eat, and tries to make it quick and painless for the victim. He eats any organs, not just kidneys. Also, he's a fucking great cook, Hannibal Lecter style. He really likes reading and is extremely intelligent, probably knows two or more languages, and is probably the most mature member of the manor after Slenderman.

He's not actually blind, but he's not not blind either. He sees the temperature of things instead of the actual object. He hates drama and argument and loud noises, so he normally stays away from the other creeps (especially our favorite trio, Jeff, Ben and Toby), but he gets along really well with Jane.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Another prick, though a more reserved one than Jeff. He's a perfectionist and natural leader, so he expects everyone to obey him without questions and no mistakes allowed. He has this rivalry going on with Toby because, even though he's the leader and Slenderman's right hand, he feels the tall guy has a certain favoritism or soft spot when it comes to Toby (which is true).

He gets very aggressive after missions and just wants to be left alone for at least a few hours, just until he calms down a little. After he's rested, he's actually pretty decent to be around, becoming less defensive and more accepting of others.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

The coolest guy ever. He's calm but great to be around and is always willing to listen to others when they need to vent. He's kind of the manor's therapist and gives great advice. He's mute, so he talks either through sign language or writing down on paper. He also plays guitar and likes to write his own songs sometimes. Ben and Sally really look up to him as a kind of cool uncle.

Since he's so level headed, he's always the one to calm Masky down when he's being a bit much. Toby really appreciates this, since he's normally getting the short end of Masky's bad moods. As mentioned, he's great with the younger members of the manor and just kids in general and they all love him. The type of uncle to give them candy while saying "Don't tell your parents" playfully.

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Hi!

I kill anti vaxxers on sight

I do not answer donation asks and do not reblog most donation posts. For my mental health. Seriously.

Nicholases: Anthony Mikey

Nicks: ant; glow

Gender: wobbly (transmasc enby)

Pronouns: ey/vey/zey/they/he any just get silly

Orient.: aro/ace

Status: queerplatonic whore

Age: minor ig

Pronouns Page

Blinkies

Languages: English (native), Spanish (decent), Romanian (bad)

Brain Stuff: OCD, psychosis, bipolar disorder, and suchlike

Physical Stuff: hyper-mobile Ehlers Danlos Spectrum Disorder; postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome; migraines

DMs?: I’m awkward and may not answer at all. If I don’t say anything after like, two days just assume I either forgot or was just uncomfortable but didn’t want to say anything. Feel free to try again if u want with something else I might reply then. I’m an unpredictable feral rat about DMs sometimes. Idk. Don’t assume I hate you.

Tone tags?: yes

Asks: anything nonsexual and not asking me for money I will not respond to those

Flirting/compliments?: non romantic and nonsexual

Swearing: I swear so much I don’t always register the use of the word fuck and my phone has autocorrected ‘duck’ to ‘fuck’ before.

Previously pinned post: horses

My overly active ao3: ant_is_in_an_anthill

My neglected art blog: @ants-awesome-art-blog (also present here tagged as ‘ant art go brr’)

My danger days fic specifically: endangered gays fic (yes! That’s me!! I’m that guy!! Yippee!!)

Side blogs:

@cherri-cola-soda & @broken-acid-in-the-morning-light & @moth-moon-the-whore & @dead-spider-in-the-sun & @crazy-yellow-bitch (kjrp)

Things I talk about pretty consistently:

- danger days

- Myself

- My danger days fic

Blog tags and more abt me under the cut

Things I talk about sporadically:

- Dracula

- The Historian

- The end Cretaceous Extinction Event

- Star Wars

- TMA & TMAGP

- Languages

- Bears in trees

- Other assorted music artists

- My intense craving for a Mikey Way 2012 fender bass guitar

Tags (I’m still sorting my blog so it’s sporadic and more will be added)

Chaoticbuggybitchboy - literally anything I said words on

Some blogs I interact with semi regularly have their urls tagged

Malevolent ant - me thinking about malevolent whenever I remember to listen to it (sunny I’m so sorry)

Complaining - me. Complaining. About anything and everything

I have a couple levels of vent tags there’s mild vent and cw vent

Infodumping in the tags again - what it sounds like

Ant activated - things relating to world events and general activism stuff

Making up words - for when I’m making up words again

Me when he /p - me posting about a boy I like. I’m sorry. Not stopping.

Ayudame - when I need help but in Spanish

Wtnv rambles - welcome to Nightvale, where I ramble.

Ant the space cadet - Star Wars talk

Showing and telling :] - yeah

My posts that hit it off - ones that took off in some way

My hit bit posts - the two(!!!!) posts bears in trees official reblogged

Marigold corpse fic - a different thing I wrote, also up on ao3 :]

Ant makes polls - get this I make polls

Danger days tags:

Danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys - umbrella tag for all danger days content (yes I chose the longest possible tag)

Endangered gays fic - my massive fic series and anything at all related to it (including when I ramble in the tags so remember to check there if ur interested)

Loosers au - “like a cigarette”

Danger days - general danger days; not associated with my fic

Danger days art - art

Ddttlotfk - album stuff talking about the songs rather than the lore

Cosmere tags for my own sanity:

Ant in the cosmere

Ant on scadrial

Ant in the final empire

Ant in the roughs

Ant on roshar

[amiiancasselmanyet]

Fix Me is a Mid 2000's Classic, You're Just Not From Canada

before I start this essay series, I would like to clarify that this is NOT a series of reviews but just me genuinely expressing my feelings I have towards the albums in question because I’m a highschool dropout…bon appetite or whatever

also tw for eating disorders, self harm, general mental illness and addiction but this is fix me, you probably knew that

When most people think about early to mid 2000s rock albums that became staples and bands that became household names, there's a few that genuinely come to mind. Let’s get the “emo trinity” out of the way; From Under The Cork Tree was Fall Out Boys sophomore album from 2005 that is still widely loved for good reason. The songs are good and the lyrics hit when you least expect it. Every. Single. Time. Then, of course, we have The Black Parade. I cannot express my love of this album enough, it is quite literally my all time favorite and while Three Cheers has a more solid concept (man kills other men to try and get his lover back, homosexual antics ensues), there's a reason it’s arguably their most well known and beloved by the kids who used to bully you in middle school. Of course we have A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out coming in right after this, there’s not much I can say since this album truly deserves it’s own essay that I won't manage to write (Ryan Ross please come back the kids and I miss you) but, like the other albums, it's a STAPLE at Emo Nites and Emo Nite knockoffs (shout out to Sneaky Dees in Toronto). There is, however, an album among them that's a hidden gem due to the fact that . Fix Me was the debut studio album from Marianas Trench, arriving in 2006. This album stands out from the others in a lot of ways, its sound, its vulnerability and its general lack of a concept. This album was a shot in the dark and a testament to taking chances. Let's talk about it. 

If you’re even a little bit familiar with Marianas Trench (you definitely are because you are on a blog dedicated to the drummer, my beloved bias Ian Casselman), the sound you’re used to most likely isn’t here. This album is gritty, it’s production is grungy. When you look at the other albums at face value, it stands out as nothing like the rest. If you dig deeper, however, you realize that this album truly was the foundation of what was to come. The guitar heavy sound continues throughout the discography, even if it feels less clean than its successors. It adds to the aggression a lot of the songs have, it makes the lyrics hit harder. It was too rock for the pop charts but too pop for the rock charts.(I’m pretty sure Josh said that but this thing isn’t getting a bibliography, this is a more sophisticated shit post on a blog that, again, focuses on the silly drummer with mutton chops) While the sound is incredible, the true core of the album lies in its vulnerability.

Fix Me is essentially an auditory diary, with each track feeling like a new entry. There are themes focusing on the actual struggles Josh Ramsay dealt with at the time. There’s a lot about addiction (specifically heroin), self harm, eating disorders (specifically bulimia) and general depression. It's angsty. It's difficult  to hear at times. You're not supposed to get personal during essays but this is literally on a blog where I refer to the followers as “casselman nation”, it’s a lawless land and fuck you I’ll do what I want. This album, at its core, felt like it was almost a diary entry from a younger me. 

14 year old me was very different from the current me, I had a different name entirely, a different outlook on life and a lot of things that shaped me today had not happened yet. I was unmedicated and everyone else's problem. If you ever scroll down on the personal tag of my main (you WILL NOT, you DO NOT need to see my digital footprint and angst), you'll notice that there's a lot of themes on this album that pertained to me at that time. I was VERY depressed, undiagnosed bipolar 2, bulimic and…doing things in school bathrooms I shouldn't have with items from my art class I shouldn't have had access to in that state (not going to elaborate, I’m sure you get where I’m going). When you deal with those things head on, you tend to, from experience, seek out public figures, whether it be musicians or celebrities or youtubers (shout out to Dan and Phil lmao) who have similar experiences that you had. For me, a big one from the get go was Marianas Trench. There’s something oddly comforting in not only knowing you’re not only alone but that you’re ALSO going to survive. I truly wish I was able to hug 14 year old me but I also know that they’d be proud that I DIDN’T do the thing I wanted to do before I turned 17.

There’s another reason Fix Me is truly removed from other albums and it truly feels like the biggest component; there's no concept. Fix Me has its own identity but it's not through a story or through successful singles, it's through the fact that it has none of it. It shines through its simplicity, its impact is through the way it can stand alone. It’s an album by the band that could be, and should be at times, put on shuffle. It’s an album where you can pick any song, off the top of your head, and listen to it when you’re feeling angry or sad or full of unbridled angst. Sure, you CAN listen to other songs on other albums one at a time, Masterpiece Theatre is the first on I can think of off the top of my head, however, would you want to? Would you want to listen to The End of An Era and have it followed up with a song like This Means War? It 100% kills the immersive nature that the band has carefully crafted over the last 20 years. (yes they’ve been a band that long considering the fix me bsides are from 2001, yes it makes me feel geriatric) I think the biggest reason that it personally hits every mark imaginable for a grungy punk record is the fact that there is no secret meaning hidden in each song, its open and honest from the get go. It’s raw, real and does exactly what it needs to do.

Through its sound, its ability to be honest and vulnerable in its writing and the easily accessible material, it's a staple. Shake Tramp belongs in an Emo Nite just as much as something like Sugar We’re Going Down and more than Welcome to the Black Parade (I love that song but it doesn’t fit the vibe as well as House of Wolves or The Sharpest Lives, Emo Nite is just catering to the normies and preps). Decided to Break Its video should be as beloved as I Write Sins Not Tragedies. Marianas Trench deserve their flowers for being such a staple in the lives of canadian teens who are struggling, the adults who want to comfort their inner teen selves and those who, in general, are feeling small.

[poetic-wyvern]

i originally liked powder a lot, i thought she was a bit whiny sure but yk. most kids are and she was a sweet little thing who was literally always trying to help and be included and enough. but nobody really wanted her i guess. vi loved her sm but treated her of more as a responsibility than a sister which i get. powder was a responsibility to vi and i understand vi’s pov too, dont get me wrong. but powder’s eight-ish and wishing she was just a little better, faster or smarter or just a little bit more because she wants to be enough to be loved and wanted. she ends up heavily traumatized (for the second time because she got caught up in the explosion her parents died in with vi) by messing up and killing her second dad, and her brothers. and she did fuck up. big time. but it was an accident. it wasn't her fault, how was she to know how much of an explosion her gems would cause? and she fully fell apart and i also understand some of it was because her big sister was angry at her to her face for one of the first times— but she’s also just killed her family and she’s got to be terrified yk? and even as she grows into jinx, we see she probably has something like bipolar and potentially schizophrenia, which are both pretty serious things that can be issues and they definitely are for her. her only support system is silco, and he’s pulling and pushing her into his successor, in a way. he wants her to be his main weapon and while he does love her, he also sort of loves the idea of having just jinx. when she isn’t just jinx. she does a lot of things that are pretty much unforgivable in a sense. but she’s also not just a crazy lady yk? at least not how i see it. she’s heavily emotional, because i fully believe she never fully mentally got to the age that she is, sort of like stuck in this state of constant disarray because she doesn’t really know who or what she is. she relies on people and when the person she originally leans so heavily on (vi) leaves her, she never really gets a chance to learn how to be her own person because silco pops in and takes vi’s place. i like her, not for her actions, but because she’s a little lost like so many people out there. she would’ve been so good if everything had let her, but it didn’t. jinx, as powder and as she is now, just needs to be enough and to be wanted and loved and i can relate to that to a certain degree. idk if that quite makes sense but i love her, because i love the way that her character is written. because eventually, in the end, she just wants to help. to fix things. we see this sort of with sevika, not to a huge degree- but her little "it was something i could fix" i feel like we get to see just how much jinx needs to be needed. she got better when she had isha around because isha needed her. for protection, company, love and all of that, but isha needed her. she needed jinx and powder together and i really think that if isha hadn't died, jinx would've found a way to let herself be pulled into that learning period of self-reliance. not in the sense that she doesn't have any help, but in the sense she'd have gotten to see who she is, instead of who zaun, or silco, or vi, or vander even, wanted her to be. we see with ekko, when what finally gets her to at least stop pulling the bomb, is "us"? she may have wanted to hurt people before, but maybe. just maybe, she grew and didnt want to then. maybe that's a long shot, but i really do think that even inside all of the confines and restraints jinx has, meant to be perceived or not, she grew. as a person, a friend, a sister and a caretaker. she learned how to love and be loved, but she lost it too quick. so yes, i love jinx. she's a hugely complex character and while she may not have done what was conventionally right, she did what she thought was right. whether that was right for herself or otherwise.

[zizzlekwum]

Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The BAU goes to New Orleans to solve a series of murders. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 18 "Jones."

Trigger Warnings: mentions of and mild descriptions of sexual assault

Word Count: 6,396

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin @fatherfigured [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

NOTE: Sorry it took so long. I was sick for a week, and then I was almost finished last night (I had one more scene to write) and then my bunny, Pippa, unexpectedly died, so that ruined the rest of the night and I basically stayed in bed crying.

You arrive at work early, yawning as you sit down at your desk. You’re not surprised to see Hotch already at work. He gives you a nod as you sit down at your desk and start researching crime statistics.

“Morning, Y/L/N.”

You look up to see Prentiss sitting down at her desk across from you, giving you a small smile. “Hey, Emily,” you greet before yawning again.

“Rough night?” she asks.

You shrug. “I’m bipolar,” you explain. “I’m medicated, but about once a month, like clockwork, I go three days without sleeping.”

She frowns, eyebrows furrowing in sympathy. “That sucks. What do you do all night?”

“I lay in bed and pretend I’m sleeping,” you tell her. “I read a study once that found that pretending to sleep is actually more beneficial than just saying ‘fuck it’ and not trying. Basically, laying down and trying to sleep will help you feel more rested, even if you don’t actually sleep.”

“That’s really interesting,” Emily says.

“I thought so, too,” you say. “I would try to find the study for you, but it was back in my own universe, so I’m not sure it exists yet.”

“You should tell Reid about it,” she says. “I’m sure he would be interested.”

“What would I be interested in?” Reid asks from behind her, walking through the doorway.

“Just a study I read years ago,” you tell him. You’re filling him in when Hotch comes out of his office.

“We have a case,” he says. “Conference room, please.” You all nod and follow him into the room, where JJ is standing in front of the TV.

“We’ve got a serial killer in New Orleans who killed at least three men pre-Katrina,” JJ informs you. “Until now, the New Orleans police department believed that the serial killer died in the storm.”

“What’s happened to tell them otherwise?” Morgan asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“A fourth body was found in the French Quarter last night.” JJ pulls up an image of the victim. “Same MO. Another male. Throat slashed, eviscerated.”

Prentiss frowns. “A year and a half? That’s a long cooling-off period. Are we sure this is the same unsub?”

“Well, he was probably displaced by the storm,” you point out. “Maybe he kept committing murders in another jurisdiction?”

“Possible,” JJ says, nodding at you. “He send a letter to William LaMontagne, the head detective on the case, claiming to be the same unsub.”

Gideon crossed his arms in front of him. “LaMontagne have any leads?”

“He died in Katrina,” JJ says. “His son is actually heading the case now.” You fight back a smile at her unknowingly mentioning her future husband.

“That can’t be easy,” Morgan says, frowning.

“Well, we need to pour over the evidence from the first three murders and determine the pattern,” Hotch says.

JJ shakes her head. “Katrina washed everything away. The three victims we know of, their autopsy reports, witness statements, DNA test results.”

“So basically, all we have to go on is the latest victim?” Reid says.

“Until he kills again,” Hotch adds.

“Fun,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

*   *   *   *   *

On the jet, you’re playing Pokemon Diamond on your DS, since there aren’t any files to go over.

“Hey Reid,” Morgan says. “What’s going on up there?”

Reid shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I was just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas— Ethan. I’m pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now.”

“Really? Gonna give him a call?” Morgan asks.

Reid shrugs. “We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau, but… first day at Quantico, he backed out.”

“He probably just couldn’t take the heat,” Prentiss jokes with a smile.

“It’s not really for us to judge, is it?” Reid frowns.

Prentiss’ smile fades. “Right. My bad.”

JJ clears her throat. “These are copies of the newspaper articles on the murders, dating back to early August, 2005.” She hands you a stack of papers as you close your DS and put it back in your bag. “It’s all we have to go on.”

“He killed three times, he stopped for eighteen months, then he started killing again,” Hotch says.

“We should have Garcia run a list of any offenders in the area,” Gideon says. “Anyone who spent the last year and a half doing time, and like Y/L/N suggested, anyone who was forced to relocate after the storm and recently moved back.” He nods at you.

“What is the victimology in killing a mechanic, a real estate broker, and a cook, with ages ranging from twenty-two to forty-five?” Prentiss asks.

JJ nods. “And this latest is a thirty-three year old taxi driver. They just don’t seem to have very much in common.”

“Apart from being men,” you say.

“And walking the French Quarter at night,” Morgan adds.

“Which is notorious for muggings off the main drag,” JJ says.

Prentiss frowns. “Yeah, but this guy isn’t in a rush to flee the scene. A slaughter like this takes time.”

“Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives,” Reid chimes in, “and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero.”

“The city’s barely back to life,” Gideon says. “Something like this could cripple its psyche.”

“So where do we start?” JJ asks.

“We don’t have any case files or anything,” you remind her. “We really only have one place to start.”

Hotch nods. “Square one.”

*   *   *   *   *

When the plane lands, the team splits up. You go with Reid and Prentiss to the ME to examine the body.

“Four layers of fatty tissue sliced through like butter,” the ME says, uncovering the body. “I only seen that three other times.”

“You work this case initially?” Reid asks.

The ME nods as you slip on a pair of latex gloves. “You don’t forget victims like this. It’s like they were dissected.”

“I can still smell the alcohol on him,” Prentiss notes, also putting on gloves.

The ME shrugs. “This is New Orleans. Dead or alive, it’s a smell you get used to.”

“No defensive wounds,” you note, carefully lifting up the victim’s arm.

“Most likely a blitz attack,” Reid adds. He examines the stab wounds. “No hesitation marks or rapid thrusts. Cuts were methodical. Almost procedural.”

“My guess?” the ME chimes in. “Whoever gutted this guy was taught to.”

“You’re thinking he might have some medical training?” Prentiss asks.

The ME nods. “How else could he carve around every organ and leave each one intact?”

“Has anyone come to claim the body yet?” you ask.

“Anyone we could speak with?” Prentiss says.

“No,” the ME says, shaking his head. “I’ll end up boxing up the poor bastard’s ashes, left to collect dust in storage. All the bodies I’ve been through in the last year and a half, it’s a wonder I still have room.”

*   *   *   *   *

When the three of you get back to the station, Hotch is looking at a projection on the wall.

“Is that the letter from the unsub?” Prentiss asks.

“Yeah,” Hotch says. He reads it aloud. “‘I’m back with a vengeance. I wanted you to know… the last guy made it easy, being out so late, stumbling home drunk. I enjoyed slicing around the organs, thought about sending you one. He was asking to be ripped. Don’t you think, Boss? Yours Truly.’”

“To say that the victims were asking to be killed denies all culpability,” Reid says. “Most sexual sadists rationalize their own behavior by blaming the victims like that.”

Prentiss shakes her head. “But there was no evidence of sexual assault in the autopsy. He could be a homosexual male stabbing because he needs violence for arousal.”

“Every kill he’s acting out a fantasy of revenge,” Hotch says.

“What if he’s trying to act out something else?” Reid says.

“Like what?” Hotch asks.

Reid glances at the projection of the unsub’s letter. “With the exception of the victims being men, it’s the same MO.”

“What are you talking about?” Prentiss asks.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Jack the Ripper?”

Reid nods. “Exactly. All four victims were found with their throats slashed, eviscerated, and the murders perpetrated in semi-public places after dark. Investigators taunted with letters addressed to ‘Boss.’ The only difference is that case was a hundred years ago and the murders took place in London.”

“And the unsub wants us to think that he’s the modern-day version loose in New Orleans,” Hotch says.

*   *   *   *   *

The next day, you find yourself at the scene of another murder. You, Morgan, and Reid are questioning the victim’s friends.

“So the three of you were out together last night?” Reid asks.

The man to your left nods. “Mark had just paid his tab at one bar and was on his way to meet us at another.”

“You guys get in any trouble?” Morgan asks. “Drunken brawl? Anybody get out of hand?”

The other man shakes his head. “We were just out to have fun, you know? Minded our own business.”

You adjust your glasses on your nose. “Could Mark have met a girl? Maybe upset her boyfriend?”

“No, ma’am.” The man on the right shakes his head again. “He struck out like we all did.”

Morgan nods. “Thanks guys.” You, Morgan, and Reid turn back to the body, where Prentiss, Gideon, and Detective Will LaMontagne are standing around the victim.

Will crosses his arms. “I can hardly keep up with this guy.”

“Well, if he’s mimicking Jack the Ripper, that might be precisely the point,” Prentiss says. “He terrorized London for months without ever getting caught.”

Gideon looks at Will. “I’d appreciate it if you’d gather your men. We’d like to give you a profile of who you’re up against.”

*   *   *   *   *

Back at the precinct, the team stands in front of the New Orleans cops, ready to tell them the profile. Hotch stands in the middle, while Emily is leaning against the wall next to you.

“The offender we’re looking for is friendly, agile, somewhere between thirty and thirty-five,” Hotch starts.

“He’ll lure with charm, kill with rage,” Gideon continues.

“We believe he’s murdering men to reclaim his power,” Emily says. “This unsub suffers from low self-esteem, but he probably covers it well. He dresses impeccably to feed the facade. Jack the Ripper himself was an impetuous lust murderer, whereas this offender is organized, calculating. He might even stalk his victims for days before the actual kill.”

“We believe this killer identifies with Jack the Ripper because he’s lost his own identity,” Gideon says. “Maybe through years of child abuse or some catastrophic event.”

Hotch continues the profile. “Because he overcompensates to hide his insecurities, we believe he may hold a position of authority at work.”

“We also believe the unsub has had medical training,” you add. “Consider EMTs, doctors, and veterinarians, people who may have an advanced understanding of the human body.”

“Please be careful,” Gideon says. “For this unsub, the French Quarter is a hunting ground. He’s certainly already proven he knows the terrain.”

The cops disperse and you and Emily return to the conference room to look over the evidence when Emily’s phone rings.

“Prentiss,” she answers, putting the phone on speaker.

“What was the thing Jack the Ripper took from one of his victims?” Garcia asks. “Besides. Well, you know. Her life.”

“Oh, uh….” Prentiss trails off.

“Tick, tock,” Garcia says.

You think for a moment. “Kidney?”

“Ding ding ding! Y/N’s right,” Garcia exclaims. “How horrifyingly fantastic is that?”

Emily nods at you, making you smile. “Garcia, are you going anywhere with this?” she asks.

“Just that I found an unsolved murder that happened four months ago in Galveston, Texas, with the same MO, the victim missing that very organ. I amaze myself.”

“Hey, I did wonder if the unsub was displaced by the hurricane,” you point out.

“Y/N, you are also amazing,” Garcia says.

Emily laughs. “I agree,” she says, causing your cheeks to heat up. “Great work, Garcia,” she says.

“Who was that?” Gideon asks, walking into the room.

“I may have been right,” you tell him. “Garcia found a case in Texas that fits the Ripper’s MO, four months ago.”

Gideon nods. “A lot of Katrina refugees relocated there after the storm.”

“It could definitely be our unsub,” Prentiss agrees. “He removes the kidney, just like Jack the Ripper.”

Gideon gestures to you. “Call Reid and Morgan. I want the four of you on a plane to Texas tonight.”

You nod, biting your lip. “Will do,” you tell him quietly.

*   *   *   *   *

Emily glances back at you as you follow her up the stairs into the jet. “Are you okay? I know you had a hard time in Texas during the last case.”

You sigh, fiddling with your hands. “I’m treating it as exposure therapy,” you tell her with a shrug. “It’s how I got myself used to the grocery store during the weekend days when it was wicked crowded. Besides,” you say, shooting her a smile, “I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, even if my asshole ex somehow did show up.”

She chuckles, throwing an arm around you. “You got that right. We have your back.”

The two of you settle in and wait for Reid and Morgan to get there, chatting about the case as you wait. After a few minutes, Morgan walks onto the jet.

You nod at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, putting his bag down. “Where’s Reid?”

“He’s not with you?” you ask. Morgan shakes his head.

Next to you, Emily frowns. “We were hoping he was.”

“Thought you said you called him?” Morgan asks her.

She nods. “I did! Four times, nothing.” She glances at her watch. “The victim’s fiancée is expecting us.”

“What do we do?” you ask.

Morgan shakes his head. “We got one option. Wheels up.” He goes to tell the pilot to take off.

*   *   *   *   *

When you get to the fiancée’s house, it’s dark out. She invites you in and you take a seat next to Prentiss on the couch, Morgan on her other side.

“Everyone kept saying crime’s gonna skyrocket after the relocation,” the victim’s fiancée says. “You just never think it’s gonna happen to you.”

“The report said that your fiancé was bar-hopping for his bachelor party on the night he was killed,” Prentiss says.

“We were supposed to be married in October,” the fiancée says. She takes a deep breath. “He was just out celebrating that with friends.”

“Was there anyone at Leonard’s bachelor party you didn’t know?” Morgan asks.

She shakes her head. “We all grew up together. They’re like family to me. Whether they met somebody out, you know, that’s a different story.” She laughs humorlessly. “They’re a rowdy bunch. They’d party with anybody.”

You finish up the interview and leave the house. You hop in the back seat, giving Emily the passenger seat while Morgan drives. Emily sighs. “Each of the last two victims was traveling with a group. Both were drinking, both in public arenas, bar-hopping. So how could their friends not see anything?”

“It’s like when the lion preys upon an antelope,” Morgan says.

Emily frowns. “You lost me.”

Morgan laughs. “Well that’s because you, Emily Prentiss, have never been one of the antelope.”

“Oh, scratch that,” Emily says. “You totally lost me.”

“Me too,” you say, frowning.

“Okay, check this out,” Morgan says. “The antelope travel in packs. So the lion just sits and waits. Waits for just one of the antelope to break away from its herd, so when he’s alone, vulnerable, and completely unprotected, that’s when the lioness strikes. That’s when she makes her move.”

“Wait a minute, ‘her’ move,” Emily repeats.

Morgan nods. “There’s only one thing that’s gonna make a straight man leave his friends on a guys night out. And it’ll make him leave every time. One of the victims was out for his bachelor party. Another one out with just the guys. What’s the only temptation that’s gonna lure these men away from each other.” He takes out his phone and dials.

“The unsub’s a woman,” you finish.

*   *   *   *   *

Back at the precinct, you, Morgan, and Prentiss are looking through the case files again when Reid walks in.

“Hey, you guys are back from Galveston?” he asks, sitting down next to you.

“First light this morning,” Morgan replies. “Where were you?”

“I was out with a friend, I already told you,” Reid says casually.

“I called you four times,” Prentiss says.

“I didn’t have any cell phone reception, so I didn’t get your message until late,” Reid says.

Prentiss rolls her eyes. “Right.”

Reid looks to you. “What’s going on?”

“Unsub’s a woman,” you tell him. “We’re looking through the evidence again with that in mind.” He opens his mouth to respond when Hotch walks up behind him.

“We just found another body in the Quarter,” Hotch says. “Let’s go.”

*   *   *   *   *

At the scene of the newest murder, Morgan is examining the body as you, Prentiss, Gideon, and Reid watch him.

“Throat’s been cut,” Morgan says. “He’s been disemboweled, too.”

Gideon crouches down next to the body. “Reeks of booze,” he says. “It’s more than a pattern.”

“Only this time, she cut off the earlobe,” Morgan adds.

You nod. “Like Jack the Ripper.”

Prentiss looks at you. “What do you mean?”

“In one letter or correspondence, Jack the Ripper promised to cut the earlobe off his next victim, and he did,” Reid says.

“Wasn’t that the only day he killed twice?” you ask. Reid nods.

“So she’s gonna kill again by the end of the day,” Gideon says.

“Most likely,” you say. “Unless we can stop her by then.”

“Okay,” Prentiss starts, “what do we know about female serial killers?”

Gideon nods. “Basically, you have two types.”

“The Sante Kimes model,” Morgan says. “Cold, calculated. Preys on men for money. Takes her time building relationships.”

“Doesn’t sound like this unsub,” you say.

“It’s more likely we’re dealing with the Aileen Wuornos archetype,” Reid agrees, nodding at you. “Motivated by paranoia and fear, luring men with sex.”

“This unsub’s organized,” Gideon says. “She follows a routine. She meets men in a bar, flirts with them over drinks, and suggests they consummate the evening in an alley.”

“We should patrol the streets tonight,” you say. “Especially knowing we can expect another body by the end of the day.”

“Office just brought me this,” Detective LaMontagne says from behind you. You turn and see him holding out an evidence bag with what appears to be another letter from the unsub inside.

Emily takes it from him and reads. “Dear boss, by now I have rid the world of one more. So many men, so little time. I hope you don’t mind the mess. They make it so easy, I just can’t help myself. Yours truly.”

*   *   *   *   *

Later that night, you and Emily are patrolling the alleys together.

“Most of the women are in groups,” you note, looking around.

Emily nods from beside you. “We should be looking for someone on her own.”

You frown, thinking of the latest letter. “So many men, so little time,” you repeat. “She’s dead set on killing men. I wonder why?”

“She might be misplacing the rage from a father who molested her,” Emily suggests. “Some people think Jack the Ripper mutilated women after his mother sexually abused him for years.”

“She seems apologetic, weirdly enough,” you add. “At least for leaving a messy scene. I don’t understand why.”

Emily shrugs. “That might be what the detective’s father figured out before he died.”

You sigh. “Okay, I’m going to preface this with the fact that I’m not victim blaming, simply curious, but why are these men just fine with following a stranger into a random alley alone? I would never.”

Emily chuckles. “They’re not thinking with their head.”

“At least, not the correct one,” you respond. She laughs.

“Exactly.” The two of you continue looking around for anything that stands out, conversation lulling for a bit.

“Do you know what’s going on with Reid?” Emily asks after a little while.

You let out a long breath. “He… I mean, he hasn’t been the same since Tobias Hankel, and understandably so,” you tell her. “But I wish he’d let us in.”

She looks out at the crowd around you. “Not to change the subject, but I feel like we’re missing something. Let’s go meet up with the others, see if they’ve had any luck.”

You nod, following her through groups of people, fighting the urge to reach out and grab her hand so you don’t lose her. You find Morgan and Reid first.

“Hey,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “We got nothing.”

You frown. “Well, we’re running out of time. Day’s almost over.”

Emily sighs. “Hopefully Hotch and Gideon or JJ and the detective had better luck. Otherwise….” Her voice trails off, but you all know what she means.

Otherwise, you’re going to find another body.

*   *   *   *   *

The next morning, you arrive at the scene of the newest murder. Detective LaMontagne is kneeling next to the body, shaking his head.

“She’s mocking us,” he says, standing as you, Emily, JJ, Gideon, and Reid duck under the crime scene tape.

“And she’s true to her word,” Emily notes.

Reid crouches down next to the body. “Does anyone have any tweezers?” he asks. One of the crime scene techs hands him a pair. “Thank you.” He uses them to extract something white from the victim’s mouth.

“What is that?” JJ asks.

“I have no idea,” Reid says.

You look closer as Reid stands. “A note, maybe?”

Reid unfolds the paper and nods. “Y/L/N is right.” He looks over at the detective. “It’s addressed to your father.”

“Let’s see it,” Gideon says. Reid hands him the paper. “��Dear boss,’” Gideon reads, “‘he wanted it, with that sharp tongue and vulgar hand. Thought you’d like to know, another will soon get what he deserves. Yours truly.’”

“It’s weird,” Reid notes.

You frown. “How so?”

“Typically offenders write letters to be heard,” he explains. “Jack the Ripper bragged about not being caught, but this unsub isn’t using correspondence to flaunt her latest kill, only to explain why she did it.”

“It’s possible that she considers herself a vigilante,” Prentiss suggests. “That the men she’s killing deserve to die.”

“Or maybe she’s contacting your father, not because he was the lead detective on the case, but… because she believes he’d understand,” Gideon tells the detective.

“You think he knew her somehow?” Detective LaMontagne asks.

“Can you think of a woman in your dad’s life he helped through a tough time?” JJ asks. “Might be another police officer, I don’t know, a prostitute he helped get off the street?”

The detective shakes his head. “Nah, he hasn’t dealt with prostitutes since he worked sex crimes.”

“The unsub wrote, ‘he was asking to be ripped,’ ‘I just couldn’t help myself,’ and ‘he wanted it,’” Reid says.

“Wait, that sounds a lot like what rapists say to excuse their behavior,” you say. You turn to the detective. “You said your dad worked sex crimes? Maybe she was one of his victims.”

Reid nods at you. “Exactly. She may be mirroring the man who raped her.”

“Detective, where are the files stored from your sex crimes division?” Gideon asks.

Detective LaMontagne shakes his head. “They were housed in the same place as homicide. Most of them washed away.”

“Did your dad have a partner?” JJ asks.

“Yeah, J.R. Smith,” the detective says. “Smitty, they called him.”

“Maybe he remembers something,” you suggest.

“Yeah, but they had a falling out,” Detective LaMontagne says.

Emily frowns. “What about?”

The detective shrugs. “I don’t know. They stopped talking when he left sex crimes. That was nine years ago. The guy didn’t even come to my daddy’s funeral, so….”

“Do you have a problem calling him?” Gideon asks.

“Not if it means breaking this case,” Detective LaMontagne says. He looks down at the body, frowning. “Honey, may I borrow your hand for a minute?” he asks JJ. She nods. The detective uses her to look at the victim’s hand, where there’s a stamp. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” you ask.

He gestures to the hand. “That stamp? It’s admittance into the Mon Cherie. It’s a bar in the French Quarter.” He stands. “Nine years ago? It was called Jones.”

“Bingo,” Gideon says. He turns to JJ. “Get Garcia on the phone.”

*   *   *   *   *

At the Mon Cherie, Detective LaMontagne leads you all towards a man sitting alone at a table. “Smitty, how are you?” he says, holding out a hand to shake.

Smitty stares at him. “I hope you got a good reason for dredging this crap up,” he says coldly.

Detective LaMontagne lowers his hand. “Well I was hoping you might remember being called here with my daddy nine years ago.”

“Is that a joke?” Smitty asks, glaring at him.

The detective shakes his head. “No?”

Gideon steps forward. “My name’s Jason Gideon. We’re from the FBI. We’re investigating the series of murders in the French Quarter.”

Smitty shrugs. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“We need you to tell us what happened the night you and Detective LaMontagne answered the call in this bar,” Emily says. Smitty just stares at her.

“Am I missing something?” the detective asks.

Smitty smiles, and it makes you want to take a step back. “You really don’t know, do you? After that night, your daddy tried to bring me up on sanctions.”

“Why?” Detective LaMontagne asks.

“It was Mardi Gras. Some girl claimed she was raped,” Smitty tells him. You grit your teeth at his wording and flippant attitude. “I wasn’t buying it.” You fight the urge to cross your arms.

“What did she say happened to her?” JJ asks.

“Brass backed me up,” Smitty continues, ignoring JJ. “They ended up transferring your daddy out to shut him up.”

“What happened here?” Emily asks, glancing at you with a frown.

“It almost cost me my career.” Smitty ignores her.

“Do you mind telling us what happened?” Gideon asks the question this time.

Smitty stands, walking across the room. “My best recollection, she said she was sitting at the bar with two friends. One of the boys asked her if she wanted to play some pool. Witnesses claim she was up for anything.” You grit your teeth again but say nothing.

“She followed him up here?” Emily asks as he gets to the stairs.

Smitty nods. “His friend not far behind. She knew he was there.” You bite your lip. “That girl was a tease,” Smitty says. You want to punch the smug look off his face. “She was looking for a good time. Anyway, a couple guys were going along with that.”

“Did she yell out for help?” JJ asks.

“She said she did,” Smitty says, rolling his eyes. “But not a single person claimed that they heard her.”

“That’s what you registered as a disturbance?” you ask incredulously, your voice coming out louder than you mean for it to.

“It was Mardi Gras,” Smitty tells you. “Listen to me, that girl had enough beads hanging from her neck to jewel a small city. Anyone who exposes themself that much in one day isn’t a credible witness in my book.” You flex your fingers in an attempt to not curl them into a fist, a habit you formed as a child when you would get upset.

“But she wanted to press charges,” Detective LaMontagne says.

“I told her it was a waste of time,” Smitty says. “I knew one of the accused. He was a good kid.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t need the stink of that accusation.” You grab the bottom of your shirt into a fist.

Gideon sits down next to Smitty. “So you protected a rapist.”

Smitty scoffs. “Well, that right there was a bone of contention between his daddy and I. As far as I was concerned, no such rape ever took place. Now are you gonna tell me why you went and dragged this dirt back through my life?”

There’s a pause, and then Gideon speaks. “You know the serial killed who’s cutting up men in the French Quarter? She was your victim.”

“We’re trying to find a name,” Detective LaMontagne says. Smitty shakes his head.

“You don’t even remember her name?” Emily says.

Smitty rolls his eyes. “It was nine years ago.”

“Okay then, how about the name of the ‘good kid?’” you ask. “You know, the one who raped her.” Smitty takes another sip of his drink, not responding.

“Smitty,” Detective LaMontagne says. “You tell me right now or I’ll file a new sanction against you, and I guarantee you, this time it’ll stick.”

“Ronnie Thibideaux,” Smitty grumbles.

You turn and stalk outside, where you allow yourself to clench your hands into fists.

“You okay?” Emily asks from behind you.

You turn to face her. “I don’t like him.”

She smiles softly. “I can tell.”

“Was I that obvious?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Maybe not to a normal person, but I am a profiler, and it was written all over your face.”

You sigh. “I’ve watched enough SVU to know how common his mindset it, but I can’t fucking stand it.” You kick a pebble. “Like, he’s supposed to help protect people, not victimize them further! God, I fucking hate people.”

She puts an arm around your shoulders as the others exit the bar. “Caring so deeply about other people is a good thing,” she tells you. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Gideon gives you a questioning look, and you nod resolutely at him. “I’m good. Let’s go interview a rapist.”

*   *   *   *   *

Back at the station, you’re watching from the other side of the glass as Emily and JJ talk to the rapist, Ronnie.

“Mr. Thibideaux,” Emily starts, “we need you to answer a few questions about a disturbance you were involved with in 1998.”

Ronnie looks at her, a small smirk on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At a bar called Jones,” JJ adds. “It was Mardi Gras.”

“Well, then, I must’ve been drinking some, because I don’t remember a thing,” Ronnie says, that stupid smirk growing wider.

“We just need to know the name of your accuser,” Prentiss tells him.

Ronnie shakes his head. “Look, I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

JJ shakes her head. “The statute of limitations is up,” she says, rubbing her face. “We just need a name.”

“Someone accuses me of rape, I’m gonna remember her name,” Emily says, sitting down across from the rapist.

“Unless you’re used to it,” you grumble to yourself. “Probably raped other women, too.”

“Well what can I tell you, cher?” Ronnie says, slight agitation creeping into his voice. “I guess she didn’t make that good of an impression.”

“Oh, that fucker,” you seethe, fidgeting. Your cross your arms, then uncross them.

“Unlike yourself, right now?” Emily is saying to Ronnie.

“Y/L/N, take a breath,” Hotch says quietly from beside you, his tone soft.

You sigh. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “Just really hate rapists.” You refocus on the interrogation room.

“You know,” Ronnie says, leaning forward, a dangerous glint in his eye, “I’m guessing if someone did do something to that girl that night, then she was probably asking for it. Maybe even liked it.”

“Oh, what a fucking ass hat,” you say. “He’s not even gonna tell us a name!”

“Guy’s not giving up anything,” Detective LaMontagne says from behind you.

“Reid, after the double murder, what was the Ripper’s next move?” Hotch asks.

“He mutilated and dismembered Mary Kelly in her one-room flat until she was unrecognizable,” Reid reports. “It’s believed to be his most vicious kill of all.”

“He had privacy,” you say.

“And time to torture his victim before killing her,” Morgan adds. “Maybe we’re not too late.”

You shift your attention back to the interrogation room, where JJ is showing Ronnie pictures of the victims. “She murdered these men, and I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before she works her way back to the one she really wants to kill.” Ronnie looks at her abruptly, alarm written all over his face.

“She make an impression now?” Emily asks.

Ronnie swallows. “Sarah Danlin.”

You turn and walk away, grabbing a drink of water while JJ calls Garcia. She’s hanging up when you return, water in hand. “We got her,” she tells you.

*   *   *   *   *

At Sarah Danlin’s apartment, the team spreads out in groups to cover all entrances. You’re paired up with Hotch and Morgan, while Reid and Detective LaMontagne take the back entrance.

“Sarah Danlin! FBI! Open up!” Morgan yells. When there’s no answer, Hotch gives him a nod and he kicks the door in. You follow behind Hotch and Morgan, gun drawn, as you check each room.

“Clear!” you call out.

“Clear!” Morgan shouts.

You meet in the living room. “She’s definitely not here,” you say.

“Guys, there are some ripperologists who speculate that Mary Kelly was actually killed in a flat that Jack the Ripper rented for the night,” Reid says.

Morgan takes out his phone. “I’m gonna have Garcia check Sarah Danlin’s credit card accounts. It’s a long shot, but maybe we can trace her room back to her charge cards.”

You look closer at the coffee table. “Look.”

“Souvenirs,” Hotch says, picking up a paper. “These are from bars in the French Quarter. This is from Mon Cherie.”

Morgan shakes his head. “She’s trolling for victims in the place where it all began.”

“She can’t move on,” Hotch says. “The rape isn’t the whole story. I’ll bet there’s a history of sexual abuse that contributes to her rage as well.”

“It’s almost like by taking on the Ripper persona, she was trying to kill something within herself,” Reid says.

Morgan’s phone rings. He opens it and puts it on speaker. “Yeah, mama, what do you got?”

“Sarah Danlin’s Visa was charged an hour ago at the Royal Ruby Inn,” Garcia tells him.

Morgan smiles. “Ah, baby girl, you never disappoint. Thank you.” He hangs up and looks at the detective.

“That’s two blocks from here,” Detective LaMontagne says.

“Let’s go,” you say, everyone rushing out of the room and back to the SUVs.

It only takes a minute to get to the Inn, and you jump out of the car as soon as it stops, following Hotch at a run. He quickly describes Sarah Danlin to the desk attendant, who directs you to her rented room.

Hotch kicks the door open to find Sarah Danlin standing over a naked man who’s tied to the bed by his wrists. She has a knife in her hand. “FBI!” Hotch shouts.

“Drop the knife!” you tell her.

“Drop the weapon!” Hotch repeats.

“He wanted it,” Sarah says, pointing the knife at the man’s throat. “And he got it.”

“Put it down, now,” Morgan says.

Hotch raises his wrist to his mouth. “We need an EMT tech right away,” he says quietly into the receiver.

Sarah looks over her shoulder, focusing on you. “What are you waiting for?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Ma’am, we don’t want to shoot you,” he says.

She smiles humorlessly, looking at Morgan. “Be such a shame to waste this. Do you want it, too?”

“What we want is for you to please put the knife down,” Morgan says.

“Come on,” Sarah tells him. “Don’t fight it.”

You shake your head. “Sarah, please. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Detective LaMontagne comes into the room, lowering his weapon. “Sarah,” he says carefully. “My name’s William LaMontagne Jr. You knew my daddy?” Sarah’s eyes fill with tears as Detective LaMontagne inches his way closer to her. “Hey there. You trusted him, so trust me.”

“Where is he?” Sarah asks him.

“The storm took him,” the detective tells her. A tear rolls down her cheek. The detective puts a hand out, slowly reaching for the knife. “Come on. It’s over.” Sarah gives him the knife and breaks down, falling into his arms. “It’s over,” he repeats, carrying her out of the room.

You immediately start working to free the victim from his restraints, taking out your knife and slicing though the fabric. “You’re going to be okay,” you tell him as the EMTs rush into the room and begin their assessment.

You follow the EMTs as they load the victim into a stretcher and wheel him out to the ambulance, breaking away from them when you notice JJ and Prentiss pulling up.

“Hey,” you greet them. JJ gives you a nod as she walks over to where the detective is leaning against his car. You smile over at them.

“What’s that look for?” Emily asks, following your line of sight.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease.

She laughs before her expression turns more serious. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re okay.”

You nod. “I’m good. I just hate that rape isn’t taken seriously a lot of the time. There’s a quote, something along the lines of, ‘rape is the only crime where you have to prove the victim’s innocence.’ I just hate that that’s pretty much true. It doesn’t matter if the victim was walking around naked, as long as they say don’t provide consent, it’s rape.” You sigh. “I’m lucky enough to never have been sexually assaulted, but I know a lot of women who were. Well, you know. I used to know a lot of women who were,” you correct yourself, frowning. “Anyway, as much as I miss my old life, I’m glad I found a new family, too. The BAU and the Jeffersonian team are the only reason I’m able to function, really. I’m not sure what I’d do without you guys.”

She smiles, putting an arm around you. “You’ll never find out.”

[necroromantics]

Hey hey tomb is there anything more about tobin?? We need more of him plss he is so cooll we love him so much pls spill we're listening:3

*puppy eyes*

UHHHH I DUNNO WHAT TO SAY SPECIFICALLY... Heres a bunch of random facts though... If you want me to expand on anything specifically lmk (None of these are particularly relevant to the plot of Creepedverse, if you wanna know more about that feel free to leave an ask on the account @creepedverse )

-He has a little sister named Emily. Shes 8 years younger than Tobin. The last time he saw her was before he killed his father. He was 17, she was 9.

-His mother dealt with severe mental health issues all his life, and his father was heavy into drugs and alcohol. Tobin was really the only one who raised Emily. He would steal chocolate bars from the store to give her, cook her supper, get her ready for school, etc

-Tobin knows how to braid hair. He learned one night after his mom yelled at Emily when she asked her to braid her hair. He took his crying sister into his room and spent an hour trying to figure it out for her

-He used to run away all the time, or would get kicked out, but always ended up back home. Either he calmed down, his mother calmed down, or the cops dragged him back without asking why he ran away in the first place

-Tobin is very interested in guns. Something he picked up from his father. He likes older models the most

-His favourite music artists are Green Day, The Offspring, Three Days Grace, Alice In Chains, Aerosmith, Eminem, and NWA

-Despite being insensitive and callous, he's very loyal and very protective of the people he likes. But he's insanely picky on who he deems worth his time and energy

-Tobin is awful with emotions. He doesn't like when people vent to him, he never knows what to say, and he doesn't really care about their problems

-Being in and out of school his whole life, Tobin is very set back on his education. He barely even knew how to read until Tali taught him. She was his tutor in high school, which caused a lot of arguments between the two hotheads

-He's good with his hands. He steals bikes and takes them apart for scraps. He's also very into welding and later in life, he'd spend his time in chop shops fixing up or taking apart busted cars

-Tobin is very unserious and goofy. 99% of the shit he does is because he thinks its funny or entertaining. He has a mindset of "nothing matters", to a fault. He finds it very difficult to understand why others might take certain things seriously, or be hurt by things

-He's a troublemaker from birth. Always starting fights, running his mouth, getting his shit rocked. Tobin is not one to hold his tongue for the sake of peace. If someone has a problem with him, thats their issue, not his

-Before he killed his dad, Tobin was pretty well known by the local cops (small town). They'd sometimes drive past and ask if he was staying out of trouble. Nobody was really surprised when they heard about what he did

-He has untreated bipolar disorder (not borderline.) and goes fucking insane for a week or two every so often. Tali can always tell when he's heading for an episode before he can, and is always there to help him out

-He got the scar on his mouth from being attacked by a dog when he was 8

-He doesn't have a middle name

-Tobin carries his backpack with him everywhere. It holds his entire life (Wallet, switchblade, cigarettes, candy bars)

-He skates (board) and has busted his ass more times than he can count

-Freedom is the most important thing to him. The only thing in the entire world that he'd ever even consider giving up his freedom for is Tali. Anything for her

-His love language is acts of service. Heavily. He wont buy people gifts or say nice things to them or spend time with them, but if they need help with something, he's there, he'll do it in a heartbeat, whatever they need

-He's a big hypeman and likes encouraging people. On his good days, he's funny, outgoing, and optimistic

-On his bad days, he's a piece of shit who'll blow up on anyone, do anything he can to cause problems, put others down. He'll lash out, hit where it hurts. Horribly self destructive

-Tobins favourite colours are orange, blue, green, in that order

-He was really into dinosaurs as a kid. His favourite dinosaur is the bruhathkayosaurus

-He's very open-minded, like this guy does NOT care at all about what someone else is doing. He was raised to always mind his own business, let people do their thing, and he kept that mindset growing up. To a fault. He doesn't care if someone is a killer, sexist, gay, a furry, conservative, a cannibal, whatever. He has his own views, and does not care enough to be bothered by other peoples

-Despite being very morally skewed and being a chronic idgafer, Tobin is fiercely against harming, and people who harm, children and women (Physically. He doesn't care about emotional). He grew up defending his little sister and sometimes his mother from his father. He thinks people who prey on those weaker than them are pussies, and always stands up for the smaller guy

-Due to this, Tobin tends to pick fights with people who are bigger than him, or people who he views as a threat. Authority, people who act tough, disrespect him, etc. He'll pistol whip a guy twice his size he does NOT have any regards for his own limits or safety

-He was close with his grandma growing up. He's a grandmas boy. She never really knew all the things he was up to (drugs, selling, fights), but she's been around for a long time so she always had a feeling. One of the things he thinks about from time to time is how he never got to say goodbye to her before he ditched town

-Tobin had a few close encounters with death. Almost getting his brains blown out, accidentally overdosing, nearly drowning. The feeling right before you're about to die is something he's well acquainted with

-He's big into anarchy and knows how to make various bombs. Never gets around to it though. He doesn't trust his knowledge in chemistry enough to not blow himself up

-He does boxing when he needs to blow off some steam

[alexafaie-asd]

It took me a while to figure out that my bipolar disorder mood swings, particularly to mania were caused by stuff more closely linked to my being autistic than bipolar.

All the support group stuff was focused on stressors and whenever I suggested stuff, they said I didn't understand what they meant - they didn't mean getting overwhelmed by sensory stuff (granted I just listed the sensory things didn't explicitly say overwhelmed since we were just making a list so I thought that bit was a given), they meant actual stressful things. Or stuff that causes anxiety in general. None of the stuff I listed "counted" as bipolar triggers.

Wasn't until I had a massive meltdown in one of the sessions (including S.I.B) that they considered that something else might be going on too. And then they realised that yeah, maybe for me my stressors aren't ones NTs would experience as triggers for their mood episodes, but given the difference in brain wiring they very much are for me.

And the fun bit is there's only so much you can do to control for sensory sensitivities. Like the sound of the boiler running is a massive issue for me, however I can't wear ear defenders to block out the noise because they press on my glasses too much which causes a different bunch of sensory issues, they amplify the sound of my blood rushing through me which is also a Bad Sound, they don't fit right so need holding on to stop them falling off (I'm an adult with a tiny head so they don't fit). Can't do earplugs due to the blood rushing sound, plus my EDS causes my ear canal to collapse under the pressure so it feels like something trying to suck my brain out through my ears... And can't just not have the heating on when needed because I have Reynaud's Syndrome and it really fucking hurts to have your extremities respond like they're trying to save your life in the arctic by cutting off blood flow. You know, how you might lose a finger or toe, but if it keeps your core warm to do that, you might survive the cold. Except in my case my body does that when the temperature drops below 24C and/or there is a breeze which my body can interpret as cooling temperature. So it can even happen when its 30C+.

But what has helped was me trying CBD oil. I'd read some journal articles on research into using CBD oil to help with bipolar disorder because it can act as both an antidepressant, but most importantly like an antimanic agent too. There were also studies on it helping with anxiety. So since I'd had bad reactions to every med I'd been trialled on for bipolar disorder and was kinda running out of options I thought it was worth a try. And the psychiatrist I saw at the time thought it was ok to try as the doses were so low in what you can buy as "food supplement" that it was unlikely to do anything negative and he felt it might not do anything positive, but like no harm trying.

And its helped me massively. Haven't had a single manic episode since taking it (used to have them very frequently as I rapid cycled) and my depression is limited to a day or two before my period when my hormones understandably get out of whack. And its pretty minor. Just get a bit teary. Which is a drastic difference from sleeping for days at a time almost (just toilet breaks) and wanting to kill myself constantly.

But what I didn't expect was how much it has helped with my sensory issues due to being autistic. People have likely seen that video of someone going into a shop which was saying you could take CBD oil to help with autism to have a yell at them. Well guess what? It can actually help! Does it make me not autistic? NO! But what it does do is raise the threshold that has to be reached before a sensory bad thing tips over into sensory overload. Am I at neurotypical levels? Still a big NO! But it feels like it slows down the signals coming in just enough that its way easier to process them as opposed to having such a massive wave of sensory input to try to wade through all the time. Still disabled, just a bit of a nicer time trying to cope you know?

Its made it easier to interact with other people too. Like before taking it, if my partner was eating something in a way that was making Bad Mouth Sounds, it would send me straight into overload & I'd either respond angrily, or meltdown or similar. Now I hear it, it still irritates me, but there's enough buffer to process "oh this is a Bad Sound, what can I do about it? Oh I could let partner know so that they can try to chew quieter". And then I'm able to actually communicate that calmly enough that it doesn't seem angry or rude. How do I know its not just that I've learned some other coping mechanism? Well I had a week without taking any CBD oil due to it being out of stock for a bit so I ran out. Guess what came back with a vengeance? That's right! My sensory issues in all their horrible not-glory. Right back to tiny amounts of Bad Sensory Thing causing a tip straight into meltdown or shutdown. And I may or may not have exploded at my partner for chewing something a bit louder than normal. They were eating a pack of crisps downstairs and I yelled at them from upstairs to shut up with how loud they were crunching on them. Except less politely because I couldn't figure out the words.

one of the things that makes autism a disability (and why some of us choose to label it as such rather than an “alternate neurotype”) is the stress. 

part of autism is just being incredibly stressed. overstimulation? stress. holding a conversation? stress. something happening to our schedule? stress. people talk about how often autism is recognized and diagnosed via our stress responses (like meltdowns) because it is just so common to see autistic people stressed because of lack of accommodations to how our brains work.

and this matters because stress kills. stress causes a lot of health issues, or it can trigger pre-existing ones by making certain chronic conditions flare up. i once had a psychiatrist very unhelpfully tell me i “just need to manage my stress” when the stress i was describing was things i could not avoid in neurotypical society and can’t “just get over”. i can do “self care” all i like but i cannot at the very base level change the way my brain inputs information and reacts accordingly.

[bpdonni]

im falling apart and i dont know if i can fix it.

ive never felt worse in my life. ive been in the psych ward twice, but those times don't hold a candle to now.

i cant afford to live. i cant afford to die. my family can see that im struggling-the very ugly and worst parts of myself are on full blast. im hurting everyone, especially cedric. he's just trying to keep everything afloat, but im too busy in my own head to do what i need to in order to make up for it. most people who interact with me hate me. i always wondered why, but as i lay around in this ball ive been in all day, im realizing that everything i was put through was too much. it made me into a monster. im always mooching off my mom and brother but they hardly ever even message me anymore. my own fucking father hates me. my best friend in the world got tired of my shit. ive become tired of trying, so i only really try at the one thing that keeps me useful at all. the only thing that is keeping me alive, but killing me even more: work. i like my job! but its lonely because of the night shift, and that im too awkward to try to make any friends there.

my coping mechanisms are further dragging me down. ordering food when we can't afford it at all. hypersexuality. self-isolation. it's making me a selfish, horrible person. but was i ever not a shitty person? i don't think so. all i have to offer anymore is the money i make that very barely keeps us afloat. and i keep going to the train station, but i just... can't end it. i want to. but i can't bring myself to do it. whether it's because of the stop being crowded, or chickening out, or realizing me dying won't actually lessen the load on my family... i know this last point to be true in theory, but what good am i doing here? i dont have the energy to be the parent i need to be. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO BE A PARENT I LOVE THEM I SHOULDN'T FEEL LIKE THIS BUT WHY DID THEY DO THIS TO ME WHY THE DUCK AN I THE ONE PICKING UP THE PIECES IM BIPOLAR AND BPD IM DOOMED BY THE MOTHERFUCKING NARRATIVE WHY ME WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY IM DESTINED TO KILL MYSELF IM NOT GONNA LIVE PAST 30 SO WHY AM I THE FUCKING ONE WHO HAS TO DO THIS WHY COULDN'T THEY STAY OFF METH WHY DO THEY REFUSE TO LOVE ME- ah i can't blame them on that last part i hate me too. that's in large part their fault. and the part of my life that i cling to, the one thing i know for certain: my queerness. i love it but why couldn't it be something that you know people liked? so many people voted for donald fucking trump so they could see people like me kill themselves for their comfort? why do i need to be the bigger person and deal with it? i can barely think of anything else besides death, WHY? my baby polar bear. it occurred to me that i think she was actually only 10 or 11. what did i do wrong? i know the answer to that. couldn't afford to take her to the vet when i KNEW something was wrong? now instead of paying back the vet, im drowning in the costs to cremate her. god, i cant get her face out of my mind. i tried to close her eyes, her mouth, but rigor mortis had set in too much. i could smell the death on her not quite breath. i took the responsibility of making sure the kids and my partners didn't have to see that. i wish she hadn't been alone. i wish that i had checked her cage as soon as i came home. god, the smell of death is one that you never forget. i can still smell it now. from when i saw the decapitated corpse and her sloughing skin, to boo boo... this is the most raw look of death ive ever seen, two instances in the past couple of months. it's gross, it's ugly, it's scary. so why do i want to be dead so bad? why do i want to do this to everyone i love? why can't people see that im in complete fucking ruin? it's starting to become pretty apparent now, but still. i can't really... get this out. because if i tell anyone the extent, my trips to the train station, typing my legal information in my phone when i forgot to bring my id, because i was so sure that time that i was going to do it. ive also been staring longingly out the window of the 7th floor at work, thinking about taking the elevator to the 10th floor and jumping. it'd be a nice view before i go at least. i could also take all the pills in the house (except the others prescriptions.) weve got all these huge bottles of tylenol- talked to my husband. theyre making me a grilled cheese.

[solardick]

What i do.

But this is hell.

And of course. The indian speaks english fluently. He had a thought one day. And when i said. “Well, how am i supposed to know? Half the time you’re being a fucken idiot.” He laughs. Other times. He doesnt want to inderstand.

Im already dead man. Wtf do j care. I can do all kinds of mean rwisted shit now. Because im not going to be alive much longer somthey eont be any consequences.

They ve been doing this to me simce i was a fucken child man. Dame fucken tactivs. If fact its has my brothers signiture all

Over it.

My noose is ready and lovked on my door. All i

Need is a push. Theyre fucken wi th y hormaines for fucks sake s

Lets go

Back home and think about my asshole cause its the only thin gg i can feel. 24 hours a day. At leadt its not spwaking like a girl. With all that estrogen laced weed thyeve been giving ober the last several years.

Sorry ive never liked looney toons. I font have a sadistic sense of humour. Brainwarping children with violence and laughter. Degenerating the inner spyche to produce degenerating invclined offspring. And neither do i have beef with nature: “cuz nature sucks!” Lets all get high and touch thr moon and based or future generations eith ambitions to please the body over the spirit.

Ive come to put it all together. Over these years. This is the third reich. The nazies won. And all it took is 60 million lives to make possible. And half of those lives were russians. Didnt hear a single care in all of my education about world history.

Not enough russians lives were taken thoigh. So the north western idealogy is trying to side curb its way into foreign lands to take over and dominate the world. Nazies.

I wanted a job at the pet store or the art store so the pisces moon would have a positive outlet. And the at osphere would be calm and positive. But they didnt want me to. The plans are in motion to continue raping my existance.

Then on the brink of suicide, again, i find a roofing job serrounded by toxic, degen, masculine personalities. With thr exception of one. Theres not mych in the way of media that gives positive light to the masculine. Its all connected to hardship. And lack. And degen, tendencies.

And people have always taken it for themsleves to put themselves over me. That has been thr only reality ive ever known. I dont want to be alove anymore. Especially if i get treated and punished fir being how the world has always treated me.

Im not even a person.

Gay men, women, hetero’s, government bodies of people. family, friends. To a lesser extant. Going on 40 and people are stoll making decisions for my life. I dont get to make them. Because they do.

All the world has ever done is harm me. And im the bad guy. Growing up hearing all this shit about peace and love and the age of aquarius. Just to insult you. While your surrounded by Leos. And disfunctional familial habitudes. Watching sibblings go after each other and me with hammers and axes and shit. Giving young teenagers ciggarets and drugs. Purposefully rolemodeling bs cause its funny. Killing animals and pets. Burning down buildings. Driving drunk. Fag bashing, bigotry, elitism. Destructive habits. Bipolar eruptions of violence. Absenteeism. Zero guidance. No communication. Lack luster tries at it.

Over 30 years of that. Then battering after battering, year after year. Into a beligenrent mess of bs.

And now, years after being complety fucked with to the extreme. Theres an entire community of dicktwats fucking with my system, and sexually manipulating me. Into becoming a queer. And through right back into childhood and fortifying self destructive lunar habits. So they can all feel good about being superior humans beings. And quenching that demonic thirst.

Thats pretty ficked up man. Dont blame me for tending to phatasize about national destruction. Because its the maine theme of pop media.

Since birth the world has been nothing but a giant fuck you to me. Everythign in between in inconsequential on that regard.

This isnt the real world. Its a pre-life. Or an alter life if another being. Which is me. Experimecing this instead of that. To break it all doem. Its the only thign that makes any sense.

And then after at those places. I wanted to work at. Id need an avenue for physical work. So i would have been more inclined and have the motivation to go to the gym instead. But nope. I need to be sexually harrased by another girl and then raped into become a girl. Not allowed to be away from toxic intended people, playing to a script. Somim still sick. Not allowed not to be.

In all that darkness and negativity and entropy. Once the light is seen, a peace and normalcy is glimpsed, in the venusian qualities upon the face of a pretty girl. Drive me insane. With the desire for tranquility and good tidings. Motivation and will to produce good life. Comes over like an obseesion from desperation and lack. But they harm you all the while. Boices and shadowed faces hiding in the background in the crowd. The will to drop it. Isnt strong enough to hold. For what if. An accomplishment from something good. Would strengthen my spirit. And i could live again. Or for the forst time.

My life is little foot vs freddy krugger. But i come from the generation where horror was intwine with child phatasy. Theres not much defermeve bewtween land before time. The original. To a nightmare on elm street. Beyond finding the garden of eden versus just surviving the T-rex and still being lost. Comsidering im living on maple street. Is just another insult to being alive.

I cant afford a noce appartment. I live by myself and always will. An di dont make 30$ an hour.

In fact Ir wasnt far between watching land before time an dmy life going to shit.

Heres some dick, kid. And the entire world thinks its hilarious. Perverting children.

It should be manditory for all families to get psychologically evaluated every 1-5 years. Which i don’t understand all this pride about free health care. What health care? If uou can give an athlete 10 million$ a year. Im pretty sure you can find some funding for better health care practices.

Then the bs about national compassion and what woukd have a stringer expression in the masses knowing that these games to pay exorbitantly for is actually supporting their freinds and family and a better world jnstead of giving entitled assholes an easy life of luxury. If a movie actor cane make 60 million $ a film then wtf. Fuck tom hanks.

Too bad its not my thy hair that is patching. If it were a choice it be the other way around. Then it be more like the arms. With heavier forarm than upper arm hair. Am i right? Maybe i will do the ipl treatment. Then use the electro therapy to get whatever is left over. Leave the pubic region, the love trail and the fuzz on my belly. Insteas of looking like a satyr. You know since i’m a woman now. Nd it be sexy. Since sex is all that matters.

You should have seen the expectant joy on my fathers face while he was calling me a woman. That was like what. 8-9 years ago now.

His favorite song. Used to sing it around me all the time.

Dont have a choice i have to kill

Myslef.

I just want a girl whos loves sucking dick. So she can squirt over my dace as i stair up i to her browneye and ponder the mysteries of life.

No need of shame for the sexual appetite. Of dirty vs. carnal desire. I know most then some.

Fucken creep. Yeah, i am. I was. Will be again apparently.

I want a woman, help me feel like a man. Instead i have an entire community of smut peddlers.

Kings are ni longer bred. There is no ower to veto a way of life. It’ll just fester.

Pray ipon my god and see, i never stop burning.

Man, i feel like a woman. And along eoth it everything worth living for is gone. Intellectual persuit. Gone. Artistic persuit gone. Desire to sedate increased. Desire to socialize gone. Desire to produce. Gone. Desire to accomplish gone. Desire for further education. Gone. Desire for physical satidfaction increases. Women suck. Its a handicap.

Looks like i was born and bred for the sole

Purpose of being a slut. Something to be proud about apparwntly.

Mrystal is the closest thing. Though a lie, ive had to hanging out with a girl for over 25 years. Just toxic masculine and feminine personalities. Thats all there is.

Hard to live in your own head. When theres an entire army manipulation from the external. Been fighting it for years. Hasnt brought me in anything

Well shit. Hello dark side of me. Hows it going? You go n abe alright not being monitered. Not going to do anythignstupid now are you? Creep some people?hive my body full reign to the family demon. Become possessed. Give in to sin. Noones safe.

Why they want that. Fuck their dumb.

Too i secure to walk i to a bisy stire anymore. Back to where i started there goes 8 years of life.

Guess ill be dressing up as a souless demon this holloween.

Maybe i can pull card lettered И, centre it by maybe 8 other cards to be connected to. Maybe. See what influences bare upon it.

Do that while the world is busy olaying with my penis. Pervs.

Ger me out of this nughtmare. 40 years is too mich.

Theyre fucken kilking me and laughing at the same time. My entire fuckne life man this has lal it ever been.

What to say to the dictor in the shrinkwarf. I have an entire army of cocksukrrs raping intk suicide and indotn want to be alive anymore. Tired that already. Didnt do anythign. Half of rhem are probanly in in it anyway. Can youvexorsize this demon. Fucken ne since birth? Look how populous its become.

Die for what you belive is certsinky gonna happen.

Maybe one day i wont be thrown into an envrionemt. That is full of enemies. Or assholes who just oass it off their shoulder like it doesnt matter. Mothwr was good at that.

Oh you know its just him. Hanging out with a bad crowd. Instea dof being talked to its being talk about while your still next to the person talking. Noe like ive ever been treated as a person anyway.

Apparently im not allowed to have a job or any social connections. Not allowed havign want i need to live.

Only endless years of people talking about you than to you. Thats all its ever been. 40 years.

I lneed to leave. Byt noones going to

Help me so im stuck here being taped by fucken cocksucker s

Doni fo to work today or do it quit. And count down till im dead? Tough decision.

Dtarted crying again lastnight over how fucied i am.

Kife will always fo this to me. It always has abd it always will.

I have ti kill myself. Its the only way to keep wveryone feom interference with my lifw and forcing me to kill myaelf.

Quit the job and start passing out more cvs i can di that much atleast. Not that ill find a job anyway. Not one ill be happy with.

I deswrve to be raped into suicide foe being born. It only makes swnse

Indont know what not being serrounded by enemies feels like. Something that will never getnoff the bucket list.

I simt have a single cruel abusive bone in my body. Always strived for whats good. Fight agaisnt people fucken with me. They jsut fuck more with you.

So the reason i was born was to be bullied into suicide. So that my family can work out the demon.

They’re trying everything except giving me a substantial anount of money.

The anount of time, resources and man power to rape me into suicide is staggering.

Well rested for the first time in months. Almost died again yesterday. Spend the day half conscious, puking and depressed. Wonder what they dosed me with me.

I forgot what it feels like not fighying got tour life.

What s the point. Im being gorceably removed from the gene pool and im not going to accomplish anything thst will outlive my life and influnce the fallowing generation. Theres no poing being alive. Instead i was born so that other people can enjoy thrmeslve putting themselves over me.

I wush the same fate to all tour children. Thats all

Ive ever known. I cant even do anythign withmyself because thats my only life experiemce.

So i dont even bother trying and i just do this instead. Norn i to a world where not a single person has ever been upfront with you.

Hey look im dtill 8 years old being treated likedhit by my family. Hahhahab

Im afraid if a get a et soemones is judt going to kill again.

What about. Y brother he should be in my shoes. Guys a sexist, fag-basher, drunk driver, drug popping macho. Whis killed several of his sibblings pets. Gave drugs and ciggarettes to minors. Racist. Had. Apicture of the nazi flag accomanied with a sense of pride. Trashed every behical hes ever had. Put lots of lives in jeoperday. Broke peiples bones in highschool while fucked on chems and steroids prabably. It just seems to me that im being punished for his crimes. He gets to have a wife and a family. I dotn eant to be alive anymor e.

Well im ten years too young for hormone problems. What ghe fuck did tgry inject me eith? Not wven my “best” friend from going into highschhol would wven tell me.

I dont feel safe. I dint feel secure. Ive been co sysntky under attack fir years. Cherry was my last hope for having sonething that wasnt chaoctic in my envireibnent. Donething better, abseebce of bs. A perdon to comune with. Would havw dolved all my problems. Would have gotyen healthy. But, whatever.

Now my only motivation is to kill myself. All i can feel is my ass 24 hours a day and its dtiving ke tucken insane.

All the best partd of me are dying snd all thets honbs be lrfy over is bs. Fuckrn kill me already.

Just survive a while longer. Everything will be ok. You’ll see. You’ll be ok. I don’t waht to anymore. Theres nothign good for me

In life. Its just full of fucken evil. Theres nothign good init. Theyve just waste my life away framing me ip for bs. Whats the point

I just want to quit this dayrape job and go back to having nothing. Cuae whatever they gove me is fucken bs.

I just go around spending everyday likes everything i s ok and so do they, will they rape my existance. Sometime sinsnap becaus eof it. And then they just hurt me.

Im hust ehatever they say i am. Which i don’t know what.

Asked my mother for help one. While she was busy stairing off at nothing and she told me she didn’t care. Next thing i m ow my btothrrs trying to mill me with an axe. And i get kick oy tog thr house again. And now im here.

I dint belong anywhere and i was just born to be fucked

[blogfromthedead]

May 5th, 2024

Hi, Evie here.

Today was pretty uneventful considering everything, but honestly after a pretty shitty and hectic week, this was kind of needed. A nice comfortable rest day in the company of some people I've just recently met... we'll call them Group L.

Group L is honestly a fun bunch of people but there's an awkward social boundary that I have established between me and them seemingly invisibly. I don't speak as much as I kind of just let their voices occupy the space. Generally I just tag around and listen. Of course I do interact from time to time. I don't want to be socially intangible. I actually really enjoy the company of others albeit this sometimes wrecks my social battery.

Today we spent most of our time together that day in a voice chat. It was nice! We played a game you've probably heard of maybe in passing or play yourself for most of our time together. This weekend was a little special as the game features these little simulated 'tournaments'. It's a really cute novelty and a great excuse to hang out in the company for others.

As a team we're not very good at said game but that feels totally okay for me. I used to be a very competitive person but as I've begun to feel out my identity and who I want to be I decided the woes of a competitive environment weren't for me. Instead I've transitioned to using the guise of competitiveness as a means to meet other people and get to know them.

As fun as this can be this isn't all sunshine and rainbows. A big issue when it comes to groups of gamers at times is the level of social immaturity and inability to exercise emotions in a healthy way (rich coming from a person scheduling her own suicide, I know). Often times some of the people in the group will shut down entirely—one to the point of tears—despite it just being a game.

Situations like that often feel like social asphyxiation. I am unsure of how to defuse another's emotions. Honestly it's not my job to do so but as someone veiling as a 'friend'... I often feel responsible.

After some mind wrecking losses to them we ended up forfeiting as a group in order to maybe move onto something more fun. We played party games for a while, then went our separate ways.

Everything considered... it ended okay. A little somber for me but oh well.

I am not looking forward to tomorrow.

I plan on attempting once more to enter the gauntlet of healthcare in order to figure out if this dentistry will actually accept my insurance. They've been vague about in the past, but with a scheduled appointment on the 7th I may as well try to get them to verify it over the phone before potentially wasting my time.

I also plan on trying to find a new psychiatrist. Last visit was fucking awful. The long and skinny of it; I ended up in a room with a 75 year old man with a Viagra clock for about 35 minutes trying to talk about my current issues and ailments (Including my suicidal ideation). I proceeded to get stonewalled and kind of hurried off by this doctor?

This doctor was fucking awful. For numerous reasons. Calling the process of undergoing hormone replacement therapy as 'mimicking a woman's menstrual cycle' to dead naming me several times after establishing that I was a trans woman twice. He did not ask for my name even. He just did not care for me. I tried bringing up being screened for ADHD, Bipolar, BPD, DID, getting treatment/therapy for anxiety and depression. All he did was ask me a few questions in regards to bipolar. He then quickly prescribed me anti-psychotics (without a proper bipolar diagnosis) that I am completely unsure of whether I should take them due to being not informed of their affects or side effects properly, and then said goodbye seemingly abruptly as the next patient arrived.

I need help mentally. I am aware of this. You are probably—hopefully—aware of this given the nature of this blog. Despite committing to the idea of killing myself currently I am also committed to the ideas of trying and having no regrets. These two thoughts co-exist. I also accept that there is fully a possibility that I wont be suicidal. But currently I accept that I am.

Hopefully my insurance will be gentle in this process and help me identify an office that is friendlier next. I will do my best to explain the situation like above. Hopefully this goes well. Wish me luck.

Other than that... just some grocery shopping and I'm free to laze around. I think I might visit the library. I look forward to these things the most. Growing up in poverty I did not get much variety in choice in what I ate. I am still poor now but under government assistance I can at least have some variance. I need to better my nutrition. I am on a sole protein diet it feels like and I would like that to change. I want to at least try and live healthy.

I think for the library I'm going to check for a copy of some pretty known books for literature as a means to try and start reading. I've got a few that I'm interested in; Wuthering Heights and Moby Dick specifically.

That's all I think.

Thanks for stopping by if you see this, and I hope things are going well for you.

Have a great day. Have a great night.

[elsmaster]

Every other social media platform has turned to burning garbage and I haven’t made weird life updates on Tumblr since November 2019, so let’s do a brief rundown, because oh man, it’s been a ride! Everything is mainly related to mental health, so if you somehow still follow me but also don’t care, you can just carry on!

I was diagnosed with

 LQTS2, which is a heart thing (”abnormal feature of the heart's electrical system that can lead to a potentially life-threatening arrhythmia”) that generally only acts up once, with the consequence being “death”. Except mine’s the more chill version, and the cardiologist’s genuine professional opinion was “if it hasn’t killed you by your thirties, it’s unlikely to do so at all”. So I guess it’s great I haven’t... died? I’m not allowed to do competitive sports though, which is absolutely tragic oh no whatever will I do with my life now??? I shouldn’t eat licorice either, but fuck that. If licorice is what gives me a heart attack, then so be it. 

Bipolar 2 and generalised anxiety, which is probably not even a little bit surprising to anyone who has met me, ever. Especially the bipolar bit. Again, I got the slightly more chill version, so I only get a little manic sometimes, and the annoying kind of depressed where you’re not really sad or happy, but rather just...meh. Mixed episodes seem to be my jam, and they’re absolutely 0/10, would not recommend. 

Somewhat related to the previous two: I did one more round of burnout, and I’m currently maybe going through a Burnout Lite, which is honestly not even surprising at this point, because my mental health has been confirmed as wonky af, and my coping skills are still pretty much “I DON’T NEED HELP I CAN DO THIS OK”.

I have a therapist now. She keeps telling me I keep intellectualising my feelings, which is a very rude thing to point out, but also 100% true. I’ve told her I like to think of my feelings as something I’ve stuffed into a worn-out cardboard box that I’ve the taped up, tied with a nice bow, and buried under my bed. She does not like this. (We’ve actually made a lot of progress and I can already feel my feelings. Sometimes. It’s awful.)

I have a job that doesn’t destroy me emotionally, even if it’s 1000 % not something I ever thought I’d do for a living. Which I guess is kinda nice, because I have no emotional attachments to it, and I can just leave my work behind after my work day. Buuuut I also still kinda live to overachieve (see: Burnout Lite).

I was given manager-type responsibilities in my previous job, with no extra pay, and I was supposed to manage a team while also doing my own work tasks. This was the key reason for the second round of burnout. This was also why I eventually, finally quit. 

I started studying for a new bachelor’s degree (see: overachieving) in August, and completed 61 credits by the end of the year. You’re supposed to do 30 per semester. Maybe perhaps perchance a little less if you’re working full time (see: Burnout Lite).

My dog is still the absolute best and the light of my life. She’s almost ten and getting grayer by the day, but she still acts like a puppy most of the time. Look at her. 

Anyway, I’m still around. I’m closer to 40 than 30, feel like 80 or 20 depending on the day, and can apparently still pass for 25. I still browse Tumblr daily, and miss the olden days, when there was life and constant garbage fires, and stupid fandom wars that I could watch fly by in utter confusion. 

[jocielynn-blog]

CW: Mental Health talk-

I've had a horrible couple days guys...my issues have been in overdrive.

Not just my stutter, aphasia, or migraines even, though these have been pretty bad (I struggled hard to not show it yesterday,) but my paranoia and hallucinations are...becoming unbearable. On top of that my anxiety is through the roof to the point where my pulse wouldn't drop below 100 today...

Hell, at the grocery store I had to remind myself that just because there were two customers near me, one of whom was going down the same aisles as me, that had the exact same color of red hair doesn't mean that they are fae agents out to get me....fucking schizo episodes suck..

Then dealing with trying to figure out words, and worry that people are starting to be disgusted with me, then seeing all the shit go down online, then building up to the fact that situations aren't the cheeriest for me right now, the lack of meds for either my ADD, Bipolar, Schizo-affective disorder, or even just plain fucking hormones...let alone access to a doctor...

The fear of how much rent is going up this year as well as our renters demanding all tenants to get renters insurance from them in the next few months...

To my birthday coming up and me just not wanting to think of any of this for a few days but all my fucking issues, situations, and what not seem to tell me I'm not worth having a birthday and to forget doing anything for myself because fuck me I'm a piece of shit that just exists on the fringes of what society views as human...

I know I've surrounded myself with amazing people who remind me of how amazing humanity is...but sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm just a poison killing everything around me...fucking up the world next to me...

...I need help everyone, I know that...but sometimes I need to exist and live...but my brain makes that hard.

Don't worry, I'm riding the wave, but this is a bad wave this time...

[barbwillbrb]

I can’t say the same for everyone, but when a hyperfixation gets to the point where I am actively engaging in the fandom, let alone creating for it, it just becomes part of the random braincells floating around in this noggin’ of mine. One braincell might be taking up the center stage at any given time, but the others are there, always lurking. A good example is that while I am posting a ton about BG3 currently, I am working on my first Mass Effect and Magnus Archives OCs, as well as more serious art for those fandoms (in fact the very second the Flesh rears it’s ugly head in TM: Protocol, I am gonna become a DEMON). In other words, I really don't know how to like/engage with things casually, haha.

If I do feel myself start to get a little tired of a current interest, I will simply switch to one of my others/give it a break.

Also, creating original characters/content related to a fandom really helps me cling on tighter to a hyperfixation. I personally take my own OCs and remake them into my favorite fandoms (similarly, I might take some of my favorite characters from my favorite fandoms and try them out in different AUs).

TBH, I only ever dropped two fandoms/fixations:

Harry Potter. I was really into it as a teen and ran online roleplays with my friends about it; plus I had a total crush/obsession on Alan Rickman. Rowling's rising bullshit in the 2010s, my growing interest in literary criticism that made it completely impossible to ignore her text, and Alan Rickman's death killed that one.

Undertale. This one I still like as a story and the game means a lot to me, but parts of the fandom made me feel bad for liking it? I dunno; it's been a while, but I feel there was this idea that if you were an older teen/young adult who enjoyed the story you were a pervert/pedo? I just remember being made to feel like I was bad for liking the game, which fucking sucked because it helped me so much through a really dark time in my life and just wanted to talk about it. I dunno man; I was dealing with undiagnosed OCD at the time and did not need some internet strangers making me feel like shit over pixels.

Basically, tdlr:

Enjoy the hyperfixation as long as it is here, but don't force it if it goes. Ask yourself what drew you to that interest, and find new content to consume (or create your own! I often use hyperfixation burnout to work on my original content/characters!)

While I can't say it works the same for everyone, hyperfixations are like an ever-rotating carousel for me; once a fandom/interest reaches that status with me, it's here to stay. There might be a day where BG3 content takes a small back seat to TMAP or Mass Effect (hell-- we might even see some Hunger Games make a retro pop up), but it will be here to stay...

... unless the creators/artists behind the thing do something super fucked and supporting them would be causing harm.

Additionally, as a whole, fandom spaces need to not be jerks to people or we will lose them (looking at some of you, Astarion and Raphael fans; some of you guys can be kinda mean/telling people their faves are problematic/indicative of some moral failing, which is pretty rich... >___> ). Tumblr for the most part is pretty cool compared to Reddit and X, but we're not perfect here either.

Also on a very final side note: if you find yourself not just losing interest in one hyperfixation but many in addition to other interests, that might be indicative of depression (coming from someone who's just now accepting depression/bipolar might be a thing with me) or external factors causing you stress. A healthy personal life is key to a healthy creative life (which is rich coming from me given half my posts are "why does my body hate meeeeeee" but hey, do as I say not what I do lol) .

anyhoot this is just my personal experiences with fandom; just some thoughts.

Hi. I want to ask you. What about the end of hyperfixation? A character, a game, series, books...I mean, when you arrive at that point where you don't feel enthusiastic about your blorbo or brainrot source.

How do you know you are there? How do you usually feel?  Is another hyperfixation the reason you abandon a fiction world? Is it real life? Has it happened to you? If so, which was the most memorable of these changes?