#i’d like one (1) fucking day of not getting sent into a panic spiral after a conversation with a parent this week lmao

[lavampira]

😐

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

[knitting-with-norbert]

Normalising Anxiety Stuff

So this is basically the short cut of my full blog post about this, but anxiety is shit in general but what’s even more shit is some things that come alongside it that people just don’t talk about? Because I know that there were some parts of my anxiety that I didn’t realise were normal for people going through the same things as me - and so I wanted to try to write about some of the stuff that went on with me that I’ve since learnt are normal, in case there are other people who are going through what I went through

(Also I put a load of photos of my dog because she’s cute and makes dealing with this shit a whole lot easier)

1. Sensory Overload

So this is a big one and I genuinely think that I could talk about it forever, but I’ll try to keep it short. I hadn’t actually realised until very recently that sensory overload was a real thing.

All those times I was sent spiralling into a panic attack because everything was too loud around me? Or when I would have to literally cover my ears and start humming to try to calm myself down because I was finding some background noise too loud? Or how, year after year at my dad’s birthday party I would end the night sobbing on the ground because the fireworks were just too fucking loud?

Yep, sensory overload.

And there I was thinking that there was no real cause, that I was just being dramatic or perhaps I was just a little jumpier than most people. But no, it’s a very real thing that doesn’t get talked about enough, and I wish that I had known that it had a name and that other people were going through the same thing because I think that then I would have known how to better deal with it when all my senses were too overwhelming

You’re not strange for getting overwhelmed in situations that are too loud or by textures that you don’t like or anything like that – it’s not just you that it happens to. And so please reach out to someone who you know does understand it and don’t be afraid of asking them if they can help you figure out healthy ways of managing those times where you are feeling that overwhelmed

And if you don’t know who to ask, then I’m here. Be it on my instagram, twitter or Tumblr (where I do have anonymous asks open) if you feel like you want to talk to me about it please don’t hesitate to. I will repeat again that I’m not at all a medical professional, but I do have a solid past 19 or so years coping with my own sensory overload bullshit so I can try to help you to figure out what works for you

It sucks to feel alone going through any mental health shit, but in particular this always makes me feel so, so lonely and if I can help anyone going through it to feel even just a smidge less isolated then that’s a win in my books

2. Adrenaline Crashing After Social Situations

This is such a big one for me, but I think that a lot of my friends who I’ve spoken about it with all already knew that this was a thing and I was just being dumb about it. But I wanted to put it down anyway in case there are people who don’t realise that this is pretty normal

When you go out into a social situation or even just somewhere out of your comfort zone like leaving your house and going to a public space or I know I get it when I go into a shop, even if I use self service I still get a huge adrenaline rush just from being outside basically. 

Because to your anxious brain’s mind you have just returned to somewhere safe (your home or school or friend’s house for example) from an environment that it deemed as being ‘unsafe’, hence why it activated your fight or flight. So naturally upon returning to a place that you feel comfortable in and it starts to regulate your hormone levels again it’s going to leave you drained and sometimes the comedown from that can send you spiralling into a panic attack

Again: it sucks. But it���s a normal thing, please don’t think that you’re overreacting or exaggerating or whatever because of it. A lot of people with anxiety have this happen to them

3. Post-Event Rumination

It’s essentially just being completely and utterly self critical over everything that you did, even if you weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary

For example, if I ran into my neighbour and had a quick conversation with her, literally just exchanging no more than just “hi, how are you?”‘s, that run-in would be playing on repeat in my head for at least the next day and I’d be sure that I must have said something wrong or she knows something that I don’t or anything like that.

For me, if the adrenaline crash wasn’t enough to send me spiralling into a panic attack, post event rumination pretty much always is. But I found a weird amount of comfort in being told that, actually, it’s a thing that a lot of people deal with! A lot of people do it and I’m not strange for being one of them. So that was nice for me to hear at the time, especially to find out that it’s real enough that it had a name, and so I thought that there was someone else out there who might need to hear it too

4. Crashing/Spacing Out

This one is so, so common for me, but no matter how often it happens I always just feel so fucking rude, like, it can literally be the most interesting conversation in the entire world and I just…. won’t be able to concentrate? For the life of me?

As it turns out, though, that’s apparently completely normal for people with anxiety, especially in regards to the social side of it. It’s something that I actually did research in myself rather than trying to talk to one of my friends about it. And that’s because I didn’t know how to admit to being constantly spacing out in conversations with them (as in, more than they would notice) without it straight up just sounding really rude.

But it only took me a pretty quick Google search to tell me that it was actually not at all uncommon. A lot of the time, it just comes from being completely drained by conversations or sometimes (going back to the sensory overload thing) the environment just making it too hard for me to fully concentrate because of fucking birds or something

So yeah, next time that you catch yourself spacing out in a conversation please don’t feel bad about yourself because of it. Of course, it’s incredibly inconvienient and will probably always make you feel a little rude, but it’s got a cause and it is normal and usually it’s totally out of your control, too. Most people will understand it if it does happen so please, please don’t beat yourselves up about it

5. Romanticisation of Mental Health

I guess that this isn’t really, like, normalising something any more than it’s just me having a bit of a rant about how mental health is seen a lot of the time from the outside thanks to it being completely misrepresented in the media

I just know that the very first time that I saw a panic attack on a TV show was during one of the earliest episodes of Teen Wold (which I still haven’t finished by the way – anyone who’s reading this and has seen it, should I watch the rest?) and I remember Stiles getting kissed by Lydia as a way to bring him back from a panic attack.

I genuinely cannot stress enough how averse to that I am now, knowing what I do about how I and my friends deal with my/their panic attacks and anxiety – that is my worst nightmare!

My aim in making this post was to try to bring some people going through these things some comfort by being able to understand that what they are going through is completely valid and that there are ways to cope with it no matter how lost and alone you feel trying to navigate it

So please add on your own things that you wished you knew about anxiety earlier, what you wish you had known was normal or even things that you think not enough people are aware about – comment it or DM me or whatever, I just want to be able to raise awareness of these kinds of stuff

Anyway, figured I’d fill the post with photos of my dog looking sweet as fuck because she is the loveliest dog in the world (send me dog photos boys)

Thank you for reading, I hope that you’re well and if you wanna check out the full post I wrote it’s on my blog - there’s a link in my bio to it!

I hope that you’re well,

Freddie 🐸

[7-wonders]

Season of the Witch

Summary: While you’re attempting to survive being kidnapped by a coven of vengeful witches, Michael is not taking your disappearance well. Like, at all.

Word Count: 3082

A/N: Welcome to the trash heap (aka another chapter of Mad Love). Hope everybody is safe and relatively happy right now in the midst of these turbulent times. If you ever just need someone to chat with, I’m always willing to lend an ear.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Much like the first time you were taken against your will, you wake up feeling like you’ve just taken a long nap instead of regaining consciousness after being knocked out. Lights shine harshly on your face, forcing you to squint your eyes while you take in your surroundings. The room is small, with no windows to be seen. You think you might be in a basement of some kind, especially with the pipes running along the ceiling. There’s not much for furnishings, just a couple of chairs at one end of the room and the threadbare mattress that you’re settled on. When you try to stand to further examine the room, a heaviness on your left ankle makes you look down and realize that you’re shackled to the floor. At least the Satanists had the decency not to chain you up when they kidnapped you.

“Hello?” you shout, walking as far as the chain will allow you to go towards the door. “Is anybody out there?”

It’s difficult to fully remember what happened before you ended up here. You’re only able to see flashes of scenes; a deer, slamming on brakes, crawling on the damp ground, and four women. You’re supposed to have a sizable cut on your forehead, but prodding the skin reveals no blemish of any kind. Did you just imagine the crash and your injury, or have you been out for longer than you thought?

You’re startled when two of the women you had seen in the woods appear in the room without the door opening. The blonde with kind eyes and the redhead who’s dressed like your elderly grandmother’s floor lamp stand across from you, both staring as they attempt to learn what your move will be.

“Who are you people? Where did you take me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you meant, but you really can’t be blamed.

“Why don’t you have a seat (Y/N)? We can further discuss what’s going on, and talk about getting you unchained.” You narrow your eyes, but sit on the mattress since you’re not exactly in a position to be arguing. “My name is Cordelia Goode, does that sound familiar to you?”

“No, should it?”

Cordelia pulls a chair closer to you before sitting down, but the other woman remains standing. “I was just trying to gather the extent of your knowledge on the situation. What do you remember before ending up here?”

“I was,” you pause, the argument that you and Michael had making you huff angrily, “there was a deer that ran out in front of me when I was driving, and I lost control of my car and crashed.”

“I do apologize for that. We weren’t aware of how much it had rained, or else I would have never conjured that illusion. The crash was not something we were planning on.”

“Wait, you made me crash my car?” It only takes a second for you to connect the dots. “Holy shit, you’re witches!”

You don’t know if this is good or bad. The witches are Michael’s enemies, which means they took you for a reason. However, you didn’t need rescuing from Michael; it had been almost a year since your arrangement had begun, and you were far from his captive. Although Michael had never outright told you how Ms. Mead came to be an AI, you had snooped in his office one day and found files related to her creation. A descriptive summary of the background told you everything you needed to know about the capture and execution of Michael’s mother figure, with the goal being to weaken Michael’s resolve to carry out his father’s mission. 

Seeing the panic on your face, Cordelia offers you a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to worry about, you’re safe.”

“Safe? How the hell am I safe? You kidnapped me!”

“You’re not dead, though, which is ‘safe’ in my book.” The other blonde appears now, obviously not pleased at having to be here.

“But you’re planning on killing me.” They glance at each other awkwardly, not sure how to explain their plan. “Oh, don’t act coy now. I know what you did with Ms. Mead. It was only a matter of time before I was next.”

“As of right now, you’re just...a bargaining tool. You’re what will bring Michael to his knees. It’s obvious that our original plan failed, which is why we’re trying a new tactic,” Cordelia says.

“You couldn’t have just sent him an email?” you ask dryly.

“This was more likely to get his attention.”

“Michael’s going to come for me, you know,” you fold your arms across your chest haughtily, “and when he does, he’s gonna be pissed.”

The other blonde smirks as she bends down in front of you, and you hiss when her manicured nails dig into the skin of your cheeks. “Mm, bold of you to assume that he’s going to show up at all.”

“Madison,” Cordelia chastises, yanking the younger woman up.

“Look, I don’t feel the same, but Michael loves me. And though I don’t know a lot about whatever’s going on between you, I do know that Michael hates all of you.”

“But you told him not to contact you for a few days.” Your spine stiffens when you hear a voice that’s all-too familiar, with Mallory completing the quartet that had found you in the woods.

“Mallory,” you whisper in disbelief. “How do…?”

“You got into a fight with Michael and you told him that calling and texting would do no good because you needed to be alone for a couple of days.” 

“You were in on this? You’re a witch?”

Mallory gives a pained nod, filling you with sick pleasure at the knowledge that she’s not enjoying this. “I wasn’t able to--”

“What the fuck, Mallory!” You lunge for her, determined to get your hands on her and show her just how hurt you are, but the chain around your ankle jerks you painfully to the ground. Mallory opens her mouth to speak, but Cordelia’s hand on her shoulder stops the words before they can form.

“Why don’t you leave for a little bit?” You glare at the women, scoffing darkly.

“Yep, run away Mallory, go ahead and do whatever Cordelia tells you to do!” Mallory’s cheeks flush pink, but, just as expected, she teleports out of the room with the other blonde like the woman (her mom? her boss?) asks her.

“(Y/N),” Cordelia turns back to you, “we’re on the same side here. We both want to see Michael fall.”

“What makes you think I want to see Michael fall?”

“Did he not force you to be his wife?” The redhead finally speaks, her eyes looking owlishly large behind her glasses. “You continue to remain married to him under threats, yes?”

“Michael’s my friend,” you insist, “and you’re going to try and kill him. Regardless of how we came to know each other, I care about him. You don’t sit by and watch your friends fall into a trap that’s going to end with them dead.”

Cordelia’s lips tighten to a thin line as she attempts to hold in her anger. “You’ll come around. Come along, Myrtle.”

The remaining witches disappear right as you tug your shoe off, the footwear being flung at nothing but a wall before you let out a yell of frustration.

Days pass without any sign of Michael, a fact that’s not too surprising considering what you told him before you walked out. Still, you enjoy making the witches’ lives a living hell, so when you’re not flinging profanities at them when they bring you food or unchain you so you can use the restroom, you’re reminding them that Michael’s going to come for them. If you’re being honest, you start to say it more to convince yourself than the witches. It’s been five days since you’ve been kidnapped; surely Michael would have tried to contact you now and realized that something’s wrong?

After seven days of being mostly confined to your small room, you start to lose hope. What if Michael just doesn’t come? He could easily decide that you’re not worth the trouble that you bring and leave your fate in the hands of these witches. For all you know, his father could have picked a perfect Satanic bride for him and he could already be creating heirs with wife number two. It’s a dangerous thought spiral, but what else is there to do when you’re trapped in a windowless cell with minimal human contact for days on end?

As day seven draws to a close (you can tell the days have changed by who comes into your cell: Madison Montgomery in the morning with breakfast, Myrtle Snow brings you lunch, and Cordelia Goode tries to glean more information from you over dinner), you lay facing the back wall on your mattress. You’re trying to figure out if screaming in your mind would reach Michael when you hear somebody say your name from behind you. Turning around, you roll your eyes when you see Mallory standing nervously in the center of the room. She hasn’t shown her face since the day you were thrown in here, which means Cordelia must be trying a new tactic.

You roll back over to face the wall, a silent cue that she’s not welcome here. Instead of leaving, which is what you had hoped for, she sighs and sits down on the chair. “You have every right to be mad at me,” Mallory says.

Mallory’s expecting you to yell at her or throw her a sarcastic insult, which is why you choose to remain silent. She’s obviously not expecting that, and you can hear her shifting her weight as she waits in the hopes that you’ll crack before she does.

“If I were in your position, I’d be mad too.” You admire her tenacity at attempting to get you to speak. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for my involvement in this. I don’t regret protecting my sisters, though; Michael is a threat to our coven, and I will do anything to protect my home. But I’m sorry for lying to you, and for spying on you. When I was given this mission, we were all under the impression that you were going to be this devoted Satanist of a wife.

“Instead, I found out that we were completely wrong. You didn’t even want to be married, let alone married to the Antichrist! You stand up to him in a way that I don’t think he’s ever experienced from anybody, and you treat him like he’s a normal person. You’re...so fucking funny, (Y/N), and you’re caring and kind and always willing to do anything for anybody. You’re my friend, and I’m sorry that I abused that trust to continue with this stupid mission when it obviously wasn’t yielding any answers.”

As you continue your silent streak, you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing when Mallory huffs loudly. The legs of the chair squeak harshly against the ground as she abruptly stands, her patience obviously reaching its end.

“Can you at least say something? Anything? Seriously, anything! Yell, scream, curse, whatever! I don’t care what it is, I just want you to say something.”

While you could, quite literally, say ‘something,’ you decide to indulge her. “I think I got over being mad a couple of days ago.”

“You did?” Mallory asks, voice full of hope.

You turn to lay on your back, still refusing to actually look at Mallory. “A couple of weeks after the Satanists kidnapped me and forced me to marry Michael, I came to the realization that it doesn’t do anyone any good to always be angry. Being constantly bitter and resentful comes at a mental and emotional cost, and that’s not the type of person that I am. I can feel other emotions about a person or event without being angry.”

“Let me guess: you’re not mad, just disappointed?” You chuckle before you can stop yourself, shaking your head.

“No. Mainly, I just feel betrayed.” Heartbreak colors her face, but you continue to talk. “It’s like Michael stabbed me in the back, and then you took the knife out before stabbing me in a different spot.”

“I wish I could change this. I never meant for any of this to happen. You shouldn’t be here right now, and Cordelia should never have kidnapped you.”

“You can change it, Mallory. Get me out of here.” She’s visibly torn, and you sigh. “Right, you can’t. Duty to your sisters, and all that.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Just because you keep saying it, doesn’t mean that I forgive you.” You close your eyes. “Can you leave? I want to be alone right now, and I can’t exactly leave in order to be alone.”

Although the last thing Mallory wants is for the conversation to end like this, she’s trying to win back your favor, so she obliges and leaves. You bury your face into the mattress, refusing to let the tears streaming from your eyes see the light of day. 

///

The first couple of days after you had stormed out of the manor, Michael had respected your wish to not be contacted. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed, but the memory of unbridled hurt on your face when the pieces of this puzzle came together was enough to have him setting his phone back down. He would give you your space, even though it pained him immensely.

As the fourth day without any word from you came and went, Michael began to get concerned. While he had been worried about you before, this was different. You’re the type of person who always keeps to their word, and he knows that you should have--would have contacted him by now. Even if it was just a single sentence saying that you needed more time, he would have received a text from you by now.

Thus began a search that Michael was desperately hoping would not be a search. Sure that he was just overreacting, he attempted divination to figure out where you had gone after you left. Although he could just use his powers to find your current location, he knew that would be a breach of your privacy that would only add to the amount of trouble that he’s in with you. Using a stray hair tie that you had left in his office, Michael then watched in horror as the scene of you crashing into a ditch and being stolen away by witches played out like a movie in front of his eyes.

He had found your car, still sitting wrecked in the same spot where it had come to rest after you hydroplaned across the road. Much to his dismay, there were dark splatters on the ground that he just knew were made by your blood. Even worse was the fact that the witches must have put some sort of magical veil over you, as Michael couldn’t find any trace of you after the crash.

The house became a series of war rooms as Satanists streamed in and out of Michael’s office, each leaving more terrified than they could have ever imagined. He’s heard the whispers from his followers that he’s become fully unhinged, and he can’t say he disagrees. It’s been ten days since you disappeared, and Michael can’t recall actually sleeping once in those ten days. There have been occurrences where he’s passed out from exhaustion on top of his desk, but those moments are few and far between.

The only reason he’s not wearing the same clothes from nearly two weeks ago is because of Ms. Mead’s motherly presence refusing to let him waste away to nothing. She sticks annoyingly to a routine, making sure that Michael eats at least three times a day and takes care of himself. It’s hard to do anything, however, when it feels like a piece of himself is missing. It takes him nearly a week to decipher this new emotion, but when he does, he comes to a startling realization.

Michael misses you. He’s never missed anyone before, but the rawness of a gaping hole in his chest where his heart has been figuratively ripped out can only be described as longing. If he wasn’t suffering from sleep deprivation, he would be able to compose poems about all of the things that he misses about you. Mostly, he just misses your constant presence. He’s not only in love with you; you’re his best friend, and having that companionship taken away so swiftly is something that he’s not dealing with well. 

It’s midnight when he’s stirred out of scrolling through pictures you’ve taken of both of you on his phone, a loud knock on the front door echoing through the house. It couldn’t be a Satanist, since they’ve all gone home until tomorrow, and Michael doesn’t know who else knows where he lives. Getting up to answer the door, he’s half-hoping that it will be you knocking. Instead, it’s someone he never would have expected to see.

“You’re (Y/N)’s friend, right? Mallory?” He’s doing a terrible job at pretending like he’s not shocked to see the small brunette standing at the front door, but attempts some form of nonchalance anyways. “Uh, (Y/N)’s actually not here right now. We got into a fight, and now I don’t--”

“I know,” she cuts Michael off, cringing at the surprise on his face. “Look, before you kill me, you need to hear me out.”

“Kill you? Why would I kill you?”

Mallory takes a deep breath in preparation of her potential impending death. “I’m actually a witch, and a member of Cordelia Goode’s coven. I know where (Y/N) is, and I want to help you get her back.”

Michael stares at her, his face refusing to betray how he feels. His hand flexes at his side as Mallory clenches her eyes shut, having heard stories of how the young Antichrist was able to obliterate his victims’ souls with a single glance.

“You had better explain this situation to the letter, as I’m really not in the mood for games lately.” He spins on his heel and walks into the manor, leaving a stunned Mallory standing behind him before she realizes that she should follow, for better or for worse.

//

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[onthevirgeofdestruction]

35 Q’s for Fanfic Writers

From this post

I’m having a shitty, rude alter-y, crap night so I’m just going to answer all of these to distract myself and focus and to not bother anybody just making my own post and putting it under the cut btw, notice to anyone not aware: since I’m moving I won’t likely be updating anything until I’m done doing so.

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing?  (No downplaying yourself!) 3/5? Could use more editing and description and can be weirdly paced.

2. Why do you write fanfiction? Because it’s better than focusing on pain 24/7. 

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works? I don’t seem to have a specific narrative voice that people recognize but I’m pretty proud of mostly organic dialogue. 

4. Are there any writers that inspire you? as a rule i never look up to anybody for inspiration but there’s some stuff in my ao3 bookmarks I fawn over.

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of? Right now, none of them. It changes normally, anyway. If get too proud then I’d get my ass kicked by RSD if someone didn’t like it so it’s safer this way

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily? Dialogue. 

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most? Organic description, poetic language kind of stuff. I can paint a scene but I’m not so great with bring out out a feeling with description alone.

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write? Janus and Virgil are probably tied. They both have things I struggle with but I don’t have to go back and do much adjusting of language and tone with them. Though admittedly my Virgil is signifigantly more foul-mouthed than canon and I tend to prefer pre-AA feral asshole Virgil.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write? Patton. I write him the least, so people can probably tell. I love Patton, I really do, but it’s so hard to keep away from fanon Patton. 

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for? Angst w/ H/C obviously. Or if you’re talking about regular book genres, Fantasy. I fucking love fantasy world building.

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most? Trauma. I blame Daeram. As if Ayri isn’t a giant Angst Demon.

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about. Slopes. I’m really into it. I’ve got three one shots running right now. Patrons can read the first part of the unnamed cat remus one, there’s also a coffeeshop au tropey nonsense one like eglantine & lycoris, but Slopes is addiction angst. Mmmmm. Virgil is addicted to coke and alcohol and will listening to his friends even be in time? Who knows, especially not me, but there’s already over 30k. 

13. First fandom you ever wrote for? InuYasha. Or was it Harry Potter? Or shit, The Blue Sword? Fuck, I’ve been writing for a long time, I really have no idea.

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for? Sanders Sides. The characters are the perfect dynamic for writing since they exist in balance of each other and the popular, easy to project on archetypes featured are incredibly fun to do basically any scenario with.

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for? Weird storywise? Kingdom Hearts? I can’t even follow the plot anymore. Weird Fandomwise? Sanders Sides. Its simultainiously the fluffiest and angstiest nonsense at the same time.

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)? Vampires. Gay ones. Gay Vampires. I also love calm tol and angy smol.

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for. Any tropes that normalize incredibly toxic behaviour or tropes that are inherantly ableist, but I can’t think of any.

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written? Incorrigible continues to be complete nonsense.

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between? AUs. I mean closest I even have is canon-divergence other than a single short.

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff? I like it when there is gay nonsense along with a plot that is treated as more important than the relationship the most. But I like both. There’s more shippy stuff in tss so i read more shipping action by default.

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!) Anxceit/Sleepxiety, but in general, give me darksides or give me death/j

22. Do you listen to anything while you write? Almost everything I write has a special playlist I listen to to help me write it, but otherwise I listen to my Nyan playlist, an alter is picking the tunes, or a voidfam playlist. I never have music off. When my internet is down I just listen to the songs I own or Anxiety’s theme on loop.

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas? I’m fine with all of them. I love working with prompts but I tend to deviate. And I’ve never done a challenge since I can’t do deadlines and bad things happen bingo never sent me a card and I applied three times.

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works? I am generally multi-chaptered stuff, but I’ve been working on a few one-shots lately that are much longer than most one shots.

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them! I was originally thinking of doing some little 13-year-old Dreaming!Roman (y’know, the one with a job) shorts but it turns out I just had an alter of that little bastard and that’s why I inexplicably know more about him then I ever even considered. I still might do them after Dreaming is done. But that’s paced so slowly who knows when that might happen. Otherwise I put stuff in my notes and just do shorts of it if I’m like “oh you know what’s cool???” but since I can’t daydream maybe this question doesn’t apply to me.

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try? I want to do more autism stuff, and I’ve had it demanded a few times, but I’m scared of being that explict about it for some reason. Possibly because I might be, possibly because I’m scared of doing it wrong even though I’ve accidentally coded multiple characters autistic. I’m scared of explictly tagging them as such, too. 

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received? That I can remember off the top of my head? I’m going with one from @a-genz-with-trauma-and-kins. It really helped me out and was just so kind and literally the best christmas gift I got in 2020. 

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing? I can handle it alright but Daeram is a little fucking pissbaby about it. Constructive criticism helps people get better, so I appreciate it. I can’t handle critism that is incomplete, though. “i just don’t get it” or “I don’t know I don’t like it” kind of things. If I can’t understand the why to fix it then things get out of control. And then I spiral and RSD for like four days minimum. If it came from an anon or a troll, too, It might not bother me for as long. Things that are just like “this is shit and you should feel bad” just make me laugh. Couldn’t even bother to read it long enough to insult me proper? I don’t care.

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out? I have a few times. Mostly in shorts and prompts, I think. I think they turned out okay. They’re not particularly inspired or anything.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst? Depends on my mood. Am I triggered? give me the fluff. Am I vibin? Angst. 

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them! Fuck, fam, no, I can’t, I have so many. I have multiple original stories and some of them have very large casts and like holy fuck. Or do you mean in Sanders Sides fandom? Um, Morgan and Thorn in PD. The lesbian and her himbo dynamic. I love them. They’re dorks. Morgan is strong person with sharp tongue and soft romantic heart and Thorn is just so kind and so dumb and so exciteable he’s like a puppy. They were just filler characters and I got attached to them. Felton even gets redemption for being an ass later in PD, like oof i never intended to include so much OC content, especially for names I just picked randomly. 

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less. nope I’m doing all of them because these are fun plea for my new self: 2 gay vampires, 4 humans, 1 braincell dreaming while I wake: trauma child needs therapy and so do you break: big oof, oh dragons, oh why, go virgil go rebuild: virgil is so not okay there’s more virgil to deal painful death: gay teens drink themselves into a new religion stargazing: whoops we didn’t realize people actually cared whole castle: everyone will throw down for kid!patton, even you incorrigible: found family with a shot of psychological horror and crack dangerous instincts: wholesome crime syndacite action  slopes: addict gets mugged and thinks that’s just fine with him conflagration: logan avoids everything ever like a champ cat!remus: bored fae shifts gay pining from one person to another  caffeine cyptids: caffinated gay panic goes faster than regular gay panic eglantine & lycoris: more tropes than you can toss a shoe at storytime: overpowered virgil also overreacts literally always

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process? an alter and I write together and I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen, what I’m writing about, or even what year it is. I often don’t even remember what I wrote. There’s no outline. I have an idea and I pick things at random for it. There’s just notes and an evil gleam in a demon’s eye. The only reason I know more than readers is because I take a long time to edit and some of these stories have fucking alters up in my head who can tell me things. Daeram tells me nothing. The writing demon supposedly has all this knowledge but I have absolutely no clue because he does not talk to me, he just fronts and slams out 9k in a few hours or we cofront to write and I’m like “oh no she didn’t” while typing 

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of. i’m fond of the entire painful death series and I tried to find something I really liked without spoilers in stargazing and I couldn’t so here’s a random thing from incorrigble: “So, what do you do with your friends?” Patton continued on with a megawatt smile. “Grand larceny,” Virgil deadpanned and glared at Patton, who was taken aback. Remy and Andy just broke out laughing while Virgil tentatively sipped his still-too-hot-cocoa. 

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!  slopes my dudes slopes i have learned so much about cocaine! like wow! I thought for a minute it was going to end with MCD around 30k but it swtiched from whump to hurt/comfort and I still don’t know if it’s going to be MCD but look at that funky little coke/alcohol addict go, it’s a medical wonder he’s alive! It’s not like there’s what seems to be a little talked about interaction between alcohol and cocaine that causes a toxic chemical to build up in the liver which can result in liver failure and sudden death at basically any moment! Which is part of why it may result in MCD but this time no ghosts! maybe it’ll be h/c with whump elements or maybe it’ll be whump with h/c elements we can’t know for sure

[pochapal]

rank every year of the 2010s from best to worst i want some pochapal lore

[warning for discussion of my fucked up mental health and my myriad traumas. we’re really opening the pandora’s box here gang]

ok time for me to overshare on the internet again! super long post because i can’t shut up and you asked for it. anyway, by objective ranking: 

#1: 2012 - halcyon era, my personal peak. spent the whole year writing hunger games oc fics with my deviantart fanfiction besties whom i still think about all the time and always hope are having the best possible day. if you were here for this era understand i still hold you so closely and dearly in my heart <3. 

#2: 2013 - god i was such a good example of a human being back then. was the year my writing like actually took off and i had a healthy balance between creative stuff and a social life (said social life consisting of spending lunchtimes at school breaking into classrooms and discussing fandom shit with five other people. reading homestuck updates in the music room on one person’s really shaky mobile data...legendary). highlight of the year and maybe my life was in the april of 2013 when i got out of failing to submit a hard deadline essay by telling my english teacher i wrote a whole novel over the two week break and then producing said novel. god i wish i had that level of like. fucking confidence back me back then knew what i wanted and how to get it. 

#3: 2010 - the last year of childhood. i was 12 and played pokemon all the time with my friends and went places and had a moderately successful youtube channel and it didn’t matter that i was bullied so badly at school because i was basically high off life. summer of 2010 was so good specifically. i’d used to get the bus with a friend and go see movies and break into historical sites and get into normal childhood mayhem and maxed out my pokewalkers twice a month and i was buzzed because i had two (2) whole friendship groups to choose from and that was such a huge deal to me the terminal social outcast. it was so simple and carefree and even though everything and everyone involved in this era grew up to suck except for one specific person i kinda really miss it.

#4: 2018 - this was the first year i wasn’t depressed to the point of nonfunctioning. it was 20gayteen, i was on antidepressants, i was as close to thriving as i got at uni (going into town with people once a week, attending art and culture events, getting good grades across the board), i started to write for fun again, i got my cat whom i love dearly, i was exhibited in my uni’s city’s literature festival, GOD i actually nearly attended a pride event that year can you imagine. this year was basically my life’s second peak. miss getting the 8am train and daintily sipping on a cherry coke to keep me from passing out. wish this time could have lasted longer.

#5: 2019 - kinda absolute middle of the road year not for lack of anything happening but because the overwhelming amount of good and bad things cancelled each other out. so like there’s the fact that i was at the top of my uni game this year, was basically making the first steps into a professional writing career (covid i will never forgive you for killing all that dead </3), finally saved up enough to buy myself a gaming pc, and the summer after the homestuck epilogues, but equally 2019 was the start of the Pochapal Gender Fiasco which is by far the most horrible thing i am still currently undergoing and i burnt myself out mentally about halfway through the year (being stuck overnight in a hospital for a panic attack absolutely horrible horrible irredeemable) and then got like super death plague flu that i was sick with for three months (literally recovered less than a month before rona hit. god’s cruel karma.). so like...it kind of averaged out? the good shit was good but not as great as other years and the bad shit was awful but nowhere near as terrible as it could have been. gotta give a shoutout to 90% of my current mutual cohort for following me in 2019...omelette route gang make some noise !!

#6: 2014 - oof. this year essentially marked the start of a four year long downward mental health spiral because everything fell into awful alignment. i’d just turned 16, finished secondary school, had all my friends up and ditch me at once, was home alone for a whole summer, and was hit with Sudden Intense Body Image Issues that i couldn’t explain until uh. after very recent developments lmao. this one goes out to the me of july 2014 who did nothing but lay in bed and listen to the same two marina albums on a loop because fuck i’m attracted to men and also my facial and body hair are really starting to come in and if i think about this for too long i will literally kill myself because oh god i can’t handle getting older which is clearly and definitely the issue going on here. my brain fucking broke super hardcore and it’s a miracle that an overeating disorder was like the worst thing i walked away with. 

#7: 2015 - downward spiral year two!! i was so volatile this year it was such a mess. i was totally socially isolated after a brief stint of falling in with a group of people at the start of my first year of sixth form until january where in quick succession a) it turned out every single one of these people was friends with the person who sexually assaulted me whom i obviously had a lot of complicated feelings towards and b) baby’s first crush came out as bisexual but in the “women and also trans women” kind of way which tore me up so terribly in ways i couldn’t begin to understand. no words for the experience of seeing a girl kiss a boy and crying so hard at night you threw up because you could never be her no matter how much you wanted it. actually kinda get the sense what was going on there was bigger than just some crush lmao. then after that i was so mentally ill i basically attended school less than half the time and it was the only year in my life i failed my exams. i ended up having to resit my entire set of first year a level exams because jesus christ was i in such a bad way it was a miracle i even showed up to them. all i did was either have anxiety attacks or enter bedbound depressive slumps for weeks at a time. but it’s okay because it gets worse.

#8: 2016 - downward spiral act iii: the spiralling. prefacing this by saying that i actually had two whole good months (april - may) in that i was functioning enough to do my exams and finish school with decent grades. the rest was super extra mega terrible. my school attendance for year 13 dipped below 65% and literally the only thing that kept me from being kicked out was the fact that i was naturally smart at the subjects i took and also because the school would have a lot to answer for after letting me get to that state despite having a hefty file on how damaged i was. keep in mind every single part of this was fully untreated btw - i was just floundering around and letting it all fester. i spent three solid weeks going to school but locking myself in the bathroom all day every day and having mental health episodes then going home like nothing else happened only to continue the breakdown that night. then things got kicked into fucked up overdrive when i moved out to uni and was cut off from what little support structures i did have. it was so bad all i did was cry all the time and never went anywhere to the point where three separate sources recommended me to the wellbeing and crisis counselling service that i stopped going to after two sessions because i was fucked up in ways cbt techniques could not even touch. at least i tried to make an effort for the first two months of uni which like. good for me?

#9: 2017 - what lieth at the base of the spiral. helltrench year. i was at literal rock bottom. i stopped going to class, i didn’t hand in a single piece of work. i lied to my parents and would book trains each day only to go back to my student flat and sit there and contemplate suicide. like i would just slump on the floor in a catatonic state and vividly contemplate one of four or so ways i could end my own life. i only didn’t because i wanted to wait until the summer to collect my last student loan and transfer it to my parents as an apology for my death which obviously didn’t end up happening. honestly i can’t remember much of the first half of 2017 that’s how bad it was. i remember taking a gender studies class and the teacher made it Weird that i was the Only Male Student in the room and then she sent me a scolding email after i walked out halfway through a class and never returned. apparently i got into a lot of online discourse in this year but i don’t remember anything other than being put on a blocklist by the milkfic author over ace discourse which is funny if you have the context. mostly i just baited terfs and weirdo freaks to get them to say horrible things to me as what i guess amounts to some kind of digital self harm. anyway breaking point came in late august when i got kicked out of university and then nobody could ignore it any more so there was no choice left but for me to seek out help and recover enough to function which luckily i did. i really Do Not remember 2017. you could tell me anything about that year and i’d probably believe you.

#10: 2011 - extra circle of hell for this little fucked up gem of a year. on the surface it wasn’t actually that terrible, until the Summer 2011 Domino Effect Of Bad Shit. up until like may/june it was a pretty all right year! i was 13 and had a surprisingly successful youtube channel uploading pokemon soundfont remixes to an audience of i think ~350-400 subscribers at my peak? anyway then i got hit with the early summer triple combo of childhood friends moving away, cute and quirky sexual assault at the hands of a person in my friend group, and then having some Really Great and Super Appropriate interactions with adults on deviantart. like obviously there’s the actual ptsd-inducing event which totally disrupted and killed the person i was right up until that moment and reshaped every facet of my life for better or worse (there’s an alternate timeline where that didn’t happen and i got into electronic music and/or coding instead) but really it’s the events that followed in its wake which were kind of more fucked up. so like all of a sudden i was super aware of my body and me growing my hair out and being mistaken for a girl in class suddenly became this Less Innocent thing and i ended up spending hours overnight going to transgender questioning forums and looking up hrt timeline videos and having the wikipedia article on tracheal shaving saved because it was a life raft to me whose voice was imminently gonna deepen and i was simultaneously reeling with constant trauma flashbacks and the whole thing was so so fucked up. then i was on deviantart and i don’t remember exactly how but a small group of furry guys ten to fifteen years older than me started messaging me and encouraging and requesting me to produce nonsexual fetish stuff for them and talking to me about stuff like if i’d ever thought about growing up to be gay and i didn’t think anything of it for a long while because they called me a very talented writer and it felt so good to have someone be nice to me after being so alone and isolated for months on end. anyway the only reason i got out of that before it got bad was because they invited me to one of the big furry sites and i was weirded out because i thought it was a porn site and thinking about sexual stuff was a huge trauma trigger so i just ended up blocking them all and pretending like it didn’t happen. at the time half this shit didn’t bother me but in retrospect holy fuck 2011 was such a damaging year. to think if like three events didn’t happen i wouldn’t be the fucked up mess you see before you today.

god fuck this turned out super long but i’m not apologising because this was a therapeutic exercise for me and also constitutes as one of the biggest pochapal lore dumps of all time. come get your food or whatever.

[syntaxeme]

I Could’ve Danced All Night [RadioDust]

[Read on AO3]  CW: Blood, knifeplay Summary: Alastor goes to a strip club looking for a victim and ends up finding something very different. It turns out Al and Angel Dust are fucked up in similar (or complementary) ways, and Alastor doesn't know how to handle 'clicking' with someone like this. (RadioDust Week day 1: dancing)

— — –

It began with a dance.

The music wasn’t of the sort Alastor typically enjoyed. Too much bass. No feeling in the composition. Mindless, almost, there for one purpose and one purpose alone—though he supposed he shouldn’t expect much more from a strip club. Besides, it served its purpose well enough; the dancers on stage certainly used the rhythm to their advantage.

Alastor sat on the far left side of the room, simply waiting and observing, keeping an eye out for a potential target. There was a girl strutting and preening on the stage nearest him, but she was focusing her attention on the other men in the area, likely unnerved by his smile. That was fine. She was too meek to be a satisfying kill.

It didn’t much matter to him exactly what type of demon he wound up leaving with: a patron, a bartender, maybe even one of the limber performers. Every person’s death was unique, so it wouldn’t do to count anyone out based on conditions like that. All he really wanted was an individual, someone singular, someone who stood out. And then he planned to spend the entire night exploring exactly how that individual responded to fear, to pain, to panic. The thought had him almost giddy with excitement.

“All right, you filthy fuckin’ sinners,” a gravel-voiced demon announced from somewhere unseen, “how many of you ever seen an angel up close?” A lascivious cheer raised in many of the patrons, but Alastor was puzzled by the phrasing. Surely they couldn’t mean an actual angel. Was it even possible for one of them to survive in Hell? Now that would be an interesting target. “Give it up for the hottest piece of ass in Hell, Angel Duuust!”

The music kicked up louder still as, on the stage in the very center of the room, yet another scantily-clad demon descended into view, spiraling down one of those poles to stop just inches from the floor in a dramatic pose that sent the audience into a frenzy yet again. Not a real angel, clearly, but an interesting figure nevertheless.

He—at least Alastor assumed the demon was a man based on his body language and general lack of curves—was a tall, spindly creature with two sets of arms and legs for miles. A gold tooth glinted in his sharp smile as he danced, and it was obvious from his playful demeanor that he was perfectly at home in this position. And the way he moved… Alastor had trouble taking in every aspect of the performance at once, his eyes lingering on one hand running through Angel Dust’s hair while the others slid slowly down his slender legs. Then all four hands grasped the pole again to fling the dancer’s lithe body around it in another quick spiral.

Oh yes, that was very promising. The entire performance was meant to arouse desire in the viewer, and while it wasn’t of a sexual sort, Alastor’s interest was piqued nevertheless. From the sound of things, this Angel Dust was a popular performer, meaning it would be noticed if/when he disappeared. But that had never stopped Alastor from pursuing what he wanted in the past.

When the song finished (in a manner of speaking, as the music here seemed to be unending), Angel Dust strolled around the perimeter of the stage collecting tips from his audience, pausing here or there to reward individual patrons with a come-hither smile or a stroke of their cheek. So that was the way to get his attention. Fair enough.

As he sauntered across the catwalk that led from the center stage to the one along the far wall, Alastor produced his wallet and tossed a handful of bills at the feet of the dancer in front of him, not making any particular effort to connect with her. Unfortunately, this little stunt had an unexpected side effect; like sharks smelling blood, the dancers saw him so blithely spending money and swarmed him immediately.

“How are you over here all alone, handsome?”

“Is that mean ol’ Stella ignoring you?”

“If you wanted company, you could’ve just asked.”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, another on his arm, a third even so bold as to stroke up his knee, and he struggled not to show how uncomfortable he was with suddenly being crowded and touched without his consent.

“Ahem. You girls are lookin’ pretty thirsty,” a new voice said, and Alastor looked up to find none other than Angel Dust gazing down at them from the stage. The previous girl was now gathering up her tips to move elsewhere. “Why don’tcha go get a drink? My treat.”

Although the other dancers seemed put off by his interruption, they didn’t argue, one by one taking their hands from Alastor’s body and stalking off toward the bar. “Sorry about that,” Angel Dust added, his eyes sweeping curiously up and down the Radio Demon as he gracefully sank to his knees. “Some gals don’t know how to read between the lines, y’know?”

“And you do?” Alastor didn’t even try to pretend he was looking over every inch of the demon in front of him—but then, that was probably what he wanted.

“Sure. Like I can tell by lookin’ at ya that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just any girl. I get the feelin’ your tastes are a little more…” He licked his fingertips and ran them lightly down the center of his chest with a knowing smirk, posing to display his lengthy figure. “Exotic.”

Oh, you have no idea.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Well, you were watchin’ me awful close in my first dance,” Angel Dust pointed out, lifting two of his hands in a shrug while the other two moved along the shape of his body. Seeing the mild surprise on Alastor’s face at having been caught staring, he laughed. “Eyes like yours are kinda hard to miss in a dark room. And I’ve gotten pretty good at noticin’ when someone wants me. So what is it you want, baby?” While he awaited an answer, he rested his hands on the stage and leaned forward, showcasing the unusual curves of his chest.

“Now that would be telling,” Alastor teased, fishing another twenty out of his wallet.

“All right, play hard to get if ya want.” The dancer’s two-toned eyes were fixed on the money in his hands. “How about your name? Will ya tell me that?”

“Alastor.” He offered the bill folded between two fingers, but when Angel Dust reached for it, he pulled away. “Say it for me, would you?”

Though he looked surprised by the request, he still obliged, dropping his voice slightly and purring in return, “Alastor.” His voice was nice enough. Something about the sound, in fact, was enough to send a surprising chill through the Radio Demon’s body.

“Once more?” he prompted, his own volume lowering a bit.

Angel Dust leaned closer still, enough that he was on his hands and knees and leaning off the edge of the stage, and moaned breathlessly, “Alastor.” Suppressing another chill, Alastor surrendered the money without further argument, and a pleased smirk curled the dancer’s lips as he took it. “I’m Angel. And hey, if ya like hearin’ it that much, maybe stick around after my shift’s over and we can talk in private.”

“Is that so?” He’s making this entirely too easy. “You may want to be more careful about making offers like that, cher. You’re certain to get more than you bargain for someday.”

“Mm, you promise?” Angel asked mischievously, his eagerness not fading in the slightest as he got to his feet again. “Hey, I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself. I’d be more worried about whether you can keep up with me.”

Well, he’d never been able to resist a challenge. “I suppose we’ll have to find out, then.”

“I suppose we will.” At the sound of some drunken demon from another table obnoxiously demanding Angel’s attention, his smile soured into a pout, and Alastor’s eyes flashed with irritation. Clearly, Angel had done an admirable job of catching his attention; he now couldn’t imagine leaving with anyone else. “If you’re interested, meet me out back at one fifteen.” With a wink in Alastor’s direction, he strolled delicately down the stage to meet the lummox who had called for him, planting his hands on his hips and playfully chastising the other demon for his impatience.

The following two hours were torture, and Alastor enjoyed every anticipatory moment. He remained where he was, absently tipping whichever dancer happened to be in front of him at the moment, but his eyes stayed on Angel as he worked the room. Not once but twice more, Angel was called to center stage for a feature dance of his own, and both times, he stole a glance or two in Alastor’s direction to be sure he was still watching. Which he was. Intently.

The club closed at 1 a.m., and Alastor did as instructed, going around the back of the building to find out exactly what ‘talk in private’ translated to. Unfortunately, it seemed that some other demons had a similar idea, as he found two of them waiting under the light of a yellow halogen bulb when he arrived. Noticing them watching him warily, he gave them a winning smile and a polite nod. “Gentlemen.”

One of them seemed fully ready to ignore him, but the other narrowed his eyes. “You were the one takin’ up all Angel’s time earlier,” he growled. Alastor only then recognized him as the same brute who had stolen Angel’s attention before. Quite a forgettable face, apparently.

“We spoke, yes. Is that a problem?”

“Only if you think you’re takin’ him home.” The other demon took a step closer, drawing his shoulders back, trying to come off as imposing. Still drunk, clearly. “I been savin’ up for weeks to get him to myself, and no bowtie-wearin’ radio talk show host is gonna steal him out from under me.” He grasped a handful of Alastor’s coat, and the Radio Demon’s smile broadened into something menacing.

“My friend, I’m going to allow you five full seconds in which to remove your hands from my person and yourself from my sight before you lose something much more valuable than a single night of good company.”

“Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do to make me?”

“Four,” Alastor answered simply. Really, the restraint he showed by offering this grace period was impressive in itself. “Three.”

“Uh, Tino, maybe you should listen to him, man,” the remaining demon said as he noticed the shadows lengthening across the ground, darkness edging into the halo of light around the club’s back door.

“Two.”

“Fuck this.” Tino had apparently gotten fed up with the countdown, but as he drew back a fist and Alastor reached ‘one,’ the light snapped out, just long enough for the shadows to overtake both Tino and his companion. Alastor didn’t bother taking extra time to savor their deaths. They were meaningless, nothing but an obstacle to what was sure to be the most enjoyable night he’d had in years. He crushed them and dropped their bodies into the dumpster against the wall without so much as a hair out of place.

When the light flickered back to life, he had managed to contain himself into a veneer of nonchalance. Consider this an appetizer, he told himself. And indeed he was only that much hungrier for something with more substance.

It was actually closer to 1:30 when Angel finally exited the club, but when he saw Alastor there, he smiled brightly. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, now dressed in a scant mini dress and half-jacket, still showing off his shape nicely. “So let’s talk prices before we go any further.” Alastor listened with vague interest as he explained how much his ‘company’ would cost per hour, which acts would cost extra, etc., and he agreed to all of it. He could afford the cost if necessary, but that wasn’t how he planned for the night to end.

He then led the way to the hotel room he had booked for exactly this purpose, Angel clinging to his arm and making all sorts of suggestive comments, none of which really did much for him. Once they were inside and Alastor locked the door behind them, Angel shed his jacket and set it aside along with his purse. “So where d’ya want me, handsome? Right here against the wall? Bent over the table? Ooh, maybe out on the balcony where anyone could see?” It was difficult to tell how much of this was just teasing and how much was serious.

“Why don’t we start here?” Alastor gestured to the bed, and although Angel pouted over the vanilla selection, he sat down nevertheless. It seemed he was always aware of how to hold his body and how it looked, always keen on keeping his angles as attractive as possible. “Are there any ground rules you’d like to set? Boundaries?”

Angel laughed at that like it was a ridiculous question. “Nah, I’m down for pretty much whatever. Whatever you’re into, baby.”

“Really? No restrictions at all?” Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow at him. This was already going much smoother than usual; how could Angel so easily trust a man he’d only just met?

“Well, like what? Whaddaya have in mind?”

“Like pain,” Alastor answered readily enough. Sliding his fingers through Angel’s hair, he grasped a handful of it and tilted his head back, drawing a gasp from his lips. “Biting. Clawing. Cutting.”

“That’s…fine.” He leaned his head easily into Alastor’s touch, apparently willing, even eager, to be abused without protest. Another inexplicable shiver—of what? interest? excitement?—coursed through the Radio Demon’s body. Still, he managed to keep his voice even.

“What about being bound?”

“Yes, please,” Angel purred. “I told you, whatever you wanna do is okay. Just don’t keep me waitin’ all night.” He leaned closer, lifting his head, eyes locked on Alastor’s lips, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine what he wanted. So Alastor gave it to him. After all, how often was his prey so agreeable? Why not explore the more unusual aspects of the situation? Their lips met, and already his tongue was forcing its way into Angel’s mouth, tasting lemon and liquor from whatever cocktails he’d had earlier. Gradually, his blunt ferocity faded into something slower and easier, and his dancer-turned-escort treated him to soft whimpers and whines of desire.

“Uh. You…said somethin’ about tyin’ me up?” Angel mumbled, clinging to Alastor’s coat even as they separated. Something about the gesture felt very different from his experience with Tino earlier, so it didn’t bother him. He unknotted his tie and slipped it out of his collar, then knelt behind Angel to tie his wrists at his back. “Sounds like you’re gonna get a little rough. Maybe we should have a safe word?”

“No need,” Alastor answered, determining the best way to bind all four of Angel’s hands at once and making sure they were tied tightly. “If you want me to stop, just say so, and I will.” Or not. It would depend on how the evening went.

“Huh. What a gentleman.” Once Angel’s hands were bound, Alastor got up to shrug out of his coat and rolled his sleeves up, then turned the lights out to leave a single lamp in the far corner as their only illumination. Despite being so tall, Angel turned out to be surprisingly light, so rather than ask him to lie down, Alastor simply lifted him and then pushed him down against the bed on his back while his breath turned heavier with anticipation. He did look nice this way, sprawled and squirming, awaiting whatever Alastor chose to do with his body.

Part of his enjoyment typically came from his victim’s fear—but he supposed there was no need to rush. They would get there in due time. For now, he pressed his lips to Angel’s neck, kisses quickly turning rough and leading to bites that broke skin and drew blood. Angel shuddered and arched and groaned “fuck” under his breath but didn’t try to escape. His hips lifted slightly, so Alastor pressed them down with his own, enjoying the choked cry that fled his guest’s lips. His blood was hot, hotter than most, and delicious, but Alastor made a point of not lapping it all up, preferring to let some stain Angel’s skin and the sheets instead.

“Beautiful,” he purred, and he could’ve sworn an anemic blush painted Angel’s cheeks.

“Y-y’know,” he breathed, “you were kinda scarin’ me a minute ago. Talkin’ about ‘pain’ and all. But if this is the worst you got…” That almost sounded like a challenge. In fact, judging by the playful smirk curving his lips, it absolutely was.

“Careful what you wish for, cher.” Alastor’s hands slid up the sides of Angel’s thighs, underneath the hem of his skirt and up toward his hips, then dug his fingernails in and dragged them down roughly, forcing Angel’s hips closer to his own and coaxing a deep, tortured cry from his throat. Although visual art wasn’t typically Alastor’s genre of choice, he couldn’t help but appreciate the angry, stark red lines against Angel’s pale skin.

“More,” the dancer begged, pleading at Alastor with eyes hazed in lust or pain or distress; it was hard to say which. Regardless, it was compelling. Slipping a hand into his pocket, Alastor produced an ivory-handled switchblade knife, which he opened with the press of a button. This little blade had seen him through countless situations much like (yet far different from) this one, and it was still sharp as ever. Upon seeing it, Angel’s eyes grew wider, but he still didn’t protest, biting his lip and waiting to see what Alastor would do with it.

The Radio Demon was sure to take his time about this, first running the cool metal along the still-hot welts on Angel’s thigh to make him shiver. He then traced the edge very gently up Angel’s arm, but even this soft pressure was enough to break skin, leaving a thin, thin red line in its wake. The dancer took in a shuddering breath but tried his best to keep still, watching as Alastor ran his tongue along the wound, then sat up to kiss him again. Despite tasting his own blood, he participated as actively as before, even teasing a soft hum of pleasure from Alastor’s lips as well. He couldn’t help himself; everything about this moment was so strangely familiar yet new, so expected but not, and he found his feelings about it weren’t all the same as usual.

When the kiss ended, he slowly, lazily cut an X into Angel’s right shoulder, enjoying the way he shivered from the sensation. “It hurts,” the dancer whispered, so soft as to be almost inaudible. Still, his tone was unmistakable.

“And you like that?”

Again, he flushed slightly, and it wasn’t until Alastor held his chin and forced him to look up that he answered. “Yeah,” he confessed, his gaze shifting between the Radio Demon’s eyes and his lips. “Are you…actually gonna fuck me, or are you just gonna hurt me all night?”

Alastor recoiled slightly. At no point during all this had he seriously considered going through with anything sexual. He was there to satisfy a craving, certainly, but not that sort. This was a game, a farce, nothing but a way of extending his devious enjoyment of his victim’s pain. So what was it in him that wanted to say yes, to pin Angel down against the bed and make him scream in a different way?

“Didn’t you say there were no rules?” he prompted, trying to brush those thoughts away and focus.

“Sure. It’s just…now I’m all worked up.” Looking up to meet his eyes, Angel admitted softly, “So I want it.”

Every moment this went on, every moment that Alastor enjoyed the pain he was inflicting and the moans that came with it—knowing the pleasure was mutual and that Angel wanted it too—served to further cloud his mind about exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable. It wasn’t supposed to be something his victim wanted more of. And worse yet, he wasn’t supposed to like fulfilling their wishes. It was meant to be him taking satisfaction in the suffering of another. Something about this night had thoroughly thrown off that formula.

Trying to move past it and away from all those confusing should-be’s, he sat up slightly and dragged the knife to the juncture of Angel’s neck and shoulder instead, cutting in slightly and watching the dancer—no, his victim—flinch. “H-hey, not there,” Angel finally protested, trying to move away but more or less trapped against the bed by Alastor’s body. “Anywhere below there’s okay, but—”

“Oh, but I thought you liked this, cher,” Alastor insisted, trying to find his way back to the cold and detached tormentor he typically embodied in these moments. His blade moved higher still, closer to Angel’s throat, and he relished the more panicked squirming of his prey’s body.

“I’m serious.” Angel’s voice quavered with nervous fear as he tried to draw away. “Alastor. Stop it.”

“What, does this cost extra?” the Radio Demon chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever you like.” The tip of his knife came to rest just under Angel’s chin, where his pulse was visibly pounding, and he stretched his head as far away as possible. This would be the easiest solution to the confusion that had come with this night. Just end it quickly. Cut right here, only an inch or two, and watch his life spill onto the sheets. No more questions. No more doubt. Just enjoy it for what it is and then on to the next.

“Look, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s working. I get it, okay? You win. Just stop.” The discomfort in his voice was frustrating, in a way. He’d been responding so positively all night, yet now was the moment he faltered? It was much easier to believe that Angel was doing something wrong than that Alastor’s change in behavior had frightened him. As Alastor pressed down on the knife, ready and willing to put all this behind him, Angel snarled and coiled up his legs. “I said, get off!”

His feet planted against Alastor’s chest and kicked, hard, much harder than expected, forcing the Radio Demon to stumble backward off the bed. When he managed to right himself, he realized Angel Dust had sprouted a third set of arms and was trying to use them to unbind his others. There was fear visible in his eyes, but more than that, there was anger. Good. He was indignant, willing to fight. Good. It began with a dance. It should end with a dance.

“Who’s the one playing hard to get now, cher?” Alastor asked with a wicked grin, pouncing on the bed to pin his playmate down again. This part, he could do without thinking, by reflex, which made it much simpler. As he tried to plunge his knife into Angel’s chest, however, the dancer twisted away at the last moment and the blade was buried in the mattress instead.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Angel hissed, still struggling to free his arms.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been enjoying my attention, chéri. Now hold still so I can give you more.” Grabbing up his knife again, he started to attack—but Angel was ready this time and delivered a surprisingly solid kick to his jaw. Apparently, those boots were more functional than they looked. Even as Angel finally got his hands free, Alastor managed to recover and force him down on his back again.

Then something unexpected happened. After a moment of futile struggling and realizing he wasn’t strong enough to break free, Angel met Alastor’s eyes for the briefest moment, then sat up and kissed him again. This reaction came by reflex as well, and he found himself delving deeper into the kiss, as close to ‘turned on’ as he’d ever been before. Angel shoved at his shoulders, rolling them over as one so he was kneeling over Alastor’s hips.

Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible turn to take, Alastor supposed as his hands slid up the dancer’s thighs again. Maybe he could be satisfied with a different form of pleasure, as long as Angel was willing to—

He broke off the kiss with a gasp at the feeling of cold metal against his throat. Angel remained close, still panting against his lips, but his eyes had turned cold. He had apparently retrieved the weapon Alastor had absentmindedly discarded while they kissed, and he now held it firmly to the Radio Demon’s neck.

“Get your hands off me,” he growled softly, and Alastor obeyed without a word.

Somehow, he found himself at a loss. Maybe he was disappointed in himself for being distracted so easily. Maybe he was subdued by the warmth of Angel’s body or the sight of him—still bleeding, flushed, panting hard—or the knife held to his jugular. Whatever the reason, the fight had left him altogether and he was now just a bit bemused.

“Now fuckin’ stay there,” Angel ordered. He shoved away to get to his feet, keeping his eyes on Alastor and a tight grip on the knife. While the Radio Demon watched, he stepped back toward the table where Alastor’s coat had been discarded, then rooted through it for a moment to find (of course) his wallet. It was almost disappointing to see him back away to retrieve his own jacket and purse, then head for the door.

Was that it? All this excitement, then he just took his payment and left? Was this how most sex workers felt about their own encounters? And why didn’t Alastor make more of an effort to stop him? Was he an Overlord or wasn’t he? If he’d tried, he could have easily overpowered the slender Angel Dust, regardless of whether he had two hands or ten. Yet there he lay, on his back, on the bed, watching his would-be victim shrug his jacket back on and walk to the door.

“Guess you couldn’t keep up after all,” Angel sighed, standing in the doorway and combing mussed hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “Too bad; I was havin’ fun there for a minute. See ya around, Al.” With this, he flung the knife expertly across the room to stick into the mattress between Alastor’s legs. Was it a trick of the light, or was he actually smirking as he left the room and pulled the door shut behind him?

Alastor let his head drop back against the bed. Well. That certainly was an experience. It was the first time in his long and colorful career that any victim had successfully escaped him. There were those who fought, perhaps, but none who had ever won. Yet Angel had caught onto…whatever it was that made this night different from all the others, well and truly ruining Alastor’s chances of regaining control.

He could try again, tonight or some other night. But now, he found, he no longer wanted Angel dead. He still wanted something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what. No, Angel had said the word himself. More. Whatever bizarre tango they had just performed, Alastor needed an encore. Next time, he told himself, he would be better prepared. And he had no doubt that Angel would find a way to throw off his rhythm nevertheless.

[mandowh0re]

Peter’s Emergency Contact

Would you look at that! I finished this earlier than I thought I would. I did this last night instead of studying for my test... Oh well.

Hope you all enjoy this!

part 1/ part 2/ part 3

The interview portion of this is based off of this post.

Words: 1670

Comments: I don’t really watch news interviews or read any actual newspapers so sorry my interpretation of them is shit.

Happy reading!

Part 2

Tony’s sitting in his lab with the article projected in front of him, clear as day:

Tony Stark has a son?

New information has come to light suggesting that Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries and superhero legacy Iron Man, has a son. A source, who chose not to be named, came forward to claim that they personally heard Stark call a teenage boy “his kid” and the boy call Stark “dad”.

Because the boy is a minor, his name cannot be released to the public.

He isn’t quite sure how this happened, but May insinuated that it had something to do with his meeting at Peter’s school yesterday.

He’s pissed off, because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the teenage boy in the article is.

He hasn’t heard from Peter yet, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. The kid is in school and Tony is terrified about what will happen if this gets too far.

“TONY!” The man jumps at the sound of his wife’s voice.

“Shit.” He was so busy worrying about Peter that he didn’t even think about what would happen when Pepper found out, “Yes dear?” He calls out to the redhead barreling down the stairs.

She holds up a newspaper and Tony cringes, “What the actual hell is this, Tony? What did you do?”

His hands fly up in a defensive manner, “I swear! I didn’t do anything!”

Pepper raises an eyebrow at him and crosses her arms, “You have to forgive me for not believing you.”

Tony sighs and puts his head in his hands, “Peter was in trouble at school because they thought he put my name down on a mandatory form as a prank. They didn’t believe May either when she tried to clear it, so I went down to set it straight.”

The anger leaves Pepper’s face and is replaced with understanding, “And he called you ‘dad’.”

“Apparently I called him ‘my kid’ but I don’t remember doing it.”

“Probably because you do it all the time. You are basically his dad.” Pepper steps forward and runs a hand through her husband’s hair.

Right then Tony’s phone goes off, but he doesn’t make a move to answer it, instead choosing to feel his wife’s fingers carding through his hair.

He and Peter had that in common.

The moment is brutally interrupted by FRIDAY, “Boss, you need to answer your phone.”

He grunts, “Why?”

“It is Peter calling.”

Immediately he jumps from his spot and grabs his phone.

“Peter?”

“MISTER STARK,” Tony has to jerk the phone from his ear because of the pitch Peter’s voice is currently at, “I’M SO SORRY I SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE CAREFUL I DIDN’T KNOW THAT SOMEONE WOULD-”

“Woah woah woah kiddo, slow down there.. Are you talking about the story?”

“YES EVERYONE HAS SEEN IT AND SOMEONE LEAKED MY NAME AND OH MY GOD WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO MISTER STARK,”

“Peter, calm down kid. Someone leaked your name?”

He hears Peter take a breath, “Yeah, and now nobody at school will leave me alone. They’re even harassing Ned and MJ.”

Well fuck.

“Okay, take a few deep breaths for me. I’m gonna have Happy pick you and May up and bring you to the compound so we can figure this out. Pepper knows and I’m sure she already has a few ideas in mind,” He looks up to her hopefully and she rolls her eyes but nods.

“Okay, okay yeah. That works.”

“Good. Don’t worry about it, kid. We’re gonna get through this.”

-------

Honestly? Tony has never been more nervous for a interview in his life. Probably because this one doesn’t affect him as much as it will Peter.

The day that Tony had sent Happy to rescue Peter from school, he, Pepper, May, and Peter sat in the common room to talk about the options they had to get ahead of the rumors that had begun to contort and change into other disgusting theories.

So after two hours of talking and deliberating, they had come to a conclusion.

And now here Tony was, about to begin a live interview with ABC News, and he was terrified.

But right before he can spiral into a panic attack Peter walks up to him, squeezes his hand and whispers, “I’m nervous too.”

Tony shoots a look at the kid next to him, but Peter isn’t looking at him.

“We don’t have to do this-”

“No,” Peter interrupts, “I want to do this.”

Tony huffs out a long breath and throws an arm around the teenager’s shoulders, “You’re gonna be stuck with me after this, you know.”

Peter smiles, “Maybe I want to be.”

Tony feels a warmth spread through his chest. He pulls Peter into a hug, kisses his hair and whispers, “I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

Right then Pepper approached the two.

“They’re ready whenever you are.” She fixes the microphone on Tony’s shirt, then Peter’s.

May walks over and gives Tony a hug, and for a moment he doesn’t respond because he definitely wasn’t expecting that. But when he recovers he wraps his arms around her, “Thanks for raising the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

May pulls away and she has tears in her eyes, “You know, I used to hate you.”

Tony chuckles, “Believe me, I know.”

May looks at Peter who’s currently chatting with Pepper, “But I can’t hate the person that put the light back in my kid’s eyes,” She looks back at Tony, a tear falling from her face, “After Ben, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him light up like he used to. But then you came along and took him under your wing. You made sure he was safe. Protected. And you’ve done your damn best to keep him alive while he goes out there catching bad guys. You even moved heaven and hell and manipulated time and space to bring him back from the dead.” She pauses to take a steadying breath, “So really, I can’t thank you enough, Tony.” She sniffs.

Tony reaches up and wipes away the few tears that have made their way down the woman’s face, “I know he’s not biologically mine, but I love him like he is. That makes him family. You too, May. Family sticks together.”

She laughs, and playfully nudges his shoulder, “For all intents and purposes, he pretty much is your son.”

Pepper signals Tony to get a move on, so he flashes another smile at May and quickly wipes away the moisture from his eyes and clears his throat from the emotioned balled up in it.

Tony walks to the chair designated for him in front of multiple cameras, microphones, and false lighting.

A man next to the camera begins to speak, “And we’re live in three,”

He looks to see Peter, Pepper, and May smiling at him.

“Two,”

He takes a deep breath.

“One!”

“Hello everyone, thank you for tuning in. I’m David Muir. Tonight we have a special guest with us, Tony Stark, who’s here to give us an exclusive interview. Thank you for being here, Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you for having me, and please, just Tony. Mr. Stark was my father.”

David nods, “Alright Tony. So for the past few days there have been stories and speculation surrounding the rumor that you have a son.”

Tony nods.

“Now first the claim was that this kid called you ‘dad’, and you called him your ‘kid’. But once his name was leaked, more claims came in stating that this kid is your personal intern. There are even a few photos of the two of you out in New York City.”

Tony folds his hands, “Yes. So, I’ll just get this out of the way immediately. He is my son, and his name is Peter.”

“Peter’s a teenager, correct?”

“Yes, he’s sixteen.”

“Have you always known about him? Or has he been a secret this whole time?”

“It’s an interesting story actually,” And just as planned, Peter interrupts the interview by walking in front of the cameras, effectively blocking Tony.

“Oh I love this story!” Peter exclaimed. Tony looks at Peter, then at David as Peter grabs the hidden chair, “Hang on, I’m gonna pull up a chair.”

“Pete, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just joining in on the fun. I was bored.”

“Now, Pete, we talked about this. You can’t just walk in on my interviews.” Tony wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“But I wore your glasses and everything!” He motions to his face where a cheap pair of yellow/orange glasses that resemble Tony’s pink tinted ones sit on his nose.

“Where did you even get those? You didn’t have them on when we left.”

“I hid them in the car.” Peter was smiling like a child.

“Right.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“As I was saying,” Tony began the story again, “Peter is incredibly smart, his IQ rivals mine. So I chose him to be my personal intern when he was 15. His aunt came to me several months afterwards to tell me that I was his biological father, and that she had proof. Of course I didn’t believe her, so I ran a quick test and what do you know? It’s a boy.”

“So you’ve only known him for a little over a year?” David asked.

“Correct, but even before I knew he was my son we had already developed a sort of, I don’t know,” Tony twirls his hand in the air, “Father-son relationship.”

“Now is Peter going to inherit Stark Industries?”

Tony nods, “Yes. Stark Industries, Iron Man, all of it.”

“Woah, I get the suits?” Peter mused.

Tony pauses, “I change my mind,”

“No take backs!”

Tony rolls his eyes and squeezes Peter’s neck, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day, squirt.”

“Well you’re already going gray.” Peter smirked at the camera.

Tony’s jaw drops, because that wasn’t in the script.

“You little [CENSORED].”

[trustyourgutblog]

When Shit Got Real - My Journey to Digestive Disease Diagnoses

Greetings everyone! C Here :]

One of the reasons that S and I decided to create this blog is that we both struggle with chronic health conditions. I thought a good place to start would be talking about my journey of how I got diagnosed. In May of 2016, I graduated from my clinical social work master’s program. The previous 2 years had been among some of the most stress-inducing years of my life and I have a feeling that the life stressors, along with genetic predispositions, were significant catalysts to my diagnoses.

I had grown up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (s/o to all da Yoopers reading this) and in order to pursue my dreams of attending graduate school to become a mental health provider, I had to move away from my family, friends, and the place that I had always called home. 

*Enter huge stress catalyst number 1*

A few weeks before I was scheduled to leave for graduate school, I started to experience some major anxiety about moving so far away from my family and friends and attending school (thanks to the semester that I had taken off). I wasn’t experiencing full blown panic attacks, but my episodes of racing thoughts, rapid heart rate, and shortness of breath were enough to make me ask my primary care provider for anxiety medication. Thank the universe that she was a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine (DO) and encouraged me to try more holistic ways to manage my anxiety such as going for walks, staying active, and seeking out help from natural supports.

Fast forward to finding an apartment, completing the 400 mile move, and entering graduate school. The first few weeks were pretty difficult, but eventually I made friends and began to somewhat relax. The academic and scheduling demands of grad school were constant and I was experiencing a baseline level of stress at all times (juggling classes, homework, reading, my internship, and a side job). Not to mention, I also pushed myself out of my comfort zone to study abroad in Europe for 2 weeks during the summer between my first and second year. Don’t get me wrong, I was having a blast and the busyness of my new life was exhilarating. But, I was putting my body under months and months of ongoing stress without pause.

Grad school seemed to fly by and before I knew it, it was May of 2016 and I graduated with a 4.0.  You guessed it – I’m Type A and a self-proclaimed perfectionist (I’m including my GPA here to illustrate the level of chronic stress that I was experiencing – if you’re a control freak like me, you know this type of stress).  A few weeks after graduation, I continued to work my student assistant job as I looked for a job in social work. I was also on the hunt for a rural location so that I could get more assistance with my student loans. Seven applications later and I had gotten a call back from a Community Mental Health agency requesting to schedule an interview.

A few days after the interview, I received a phone call stating that I had landed the job! Praise be! I was so excited that thinking about the stress of finding a new place to live and the 2- hour commute hadn’t even occurred to me. It turns out that they were short-staffed (big surprise in social work, I know) and wanted me to start right away. So, I gave a 2 week notice at my other job and began looking for a place to live. I started working a few days a week at my new job (since commuting 2 hours a day, 5 days a week is enough to make anyone go mad), and was able to able to find a place that was halfway in between my boyfriend’s job and mine. About a week after my boyfriend and I had signed the lease, he was given another work assignment and he would no longer be working at this site – he was now going to be assigned a traveling job where he would have to visit sites all over the country. So here I was. Stuck in a 1-year lease in a town with no friends or family and facing the cold, hard reality of a long distance relationship. Well, shit. I was now going to be separated from my best friend who I had lived with since I was 17 years old.

*Cue mental breakdown*

I tried to stay positive and began my new job with my typical enthusiastic, bright personality.  However, your first job as a social worker, fresh out of graduate school, is anything but bright. Don’t get me wrong!  I gained some invaluable experience and met the most phenomenal people.  But, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it was confusing, stressful, and straight up terrifying.

*Enter gut health spiral*

A few weeks into my job, I started noticing some changes in my digestion. If you feel uncomfortable with females talking about their bowel movements, then you may want to stop reading here. Seriously - there’s gonna be a lot of poop talk. As a kid, I’ve always been a 3,4,5 times a day pooper (where’s the poop emoji on this thing?!). My bowel movements always seemed “healthy” and I never had any trouble going. So, it was very strange to me that I was starting to experience constipation.

Huh, that’s odd, I thought. 

Too busy to think much of it, I “just kept swimming” with my fast-paced life.  After a few weeks of on and off constipation, I started noticing that I had blood in my stools.

Woah. That’s not right.

My mind immediately thought of my older sister. She had been diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease within the last 2 years. My first cousin had also recently been diagnosed with Crohn’s after a major hospitalization and the removal of some of her colon. Naturally, I began to panic. I immediately thought I must have it too and texted my sister. She texted back a few minutes

later –

“You need to go get a colonoscopy.”

So, I went about finding a primary care doctor as I had barely been moved to the area for a month and hadn’t been established with anyone yet. The provider I found was nice enough, but she totally dismissed my concerns as some mild constipation and potential hemorrhoids. I requested that she refer me to a gastroenterologist for a colonoscopy and instead she sent me to a colorectal surgeon. 

*eye roll*

 Looking back, I wish I would have advocated further for myself. This provider was clearly dismissing my concerns and referring me to a surgeon would get me off of her back. She expected him to examine me and find that nothing was wrong. No, I’m not making a judgment. The next time she saw me I had already been diagnosed and she was genuinely surprised. I should have trusted my gut (see what I did there ;]) and pushed for a colonoscopy right away.

At this next appointment, the provider (who, mind you, was a dude) performed a Sigmoidoscopy.  This means that he put a long tube with a camera attached to it up my butt (WHILE I WAS AWAKE) and promptly told me that he was seeing inflammation and I needed a colonoscopy.

NO FUCKING SHIT.

So, after spending an uncomfortable $40 at this appointment, he referred me to a gastroenterologist and said that there’s a potential that I have Ulcerative Colitis. Phew. Anything was better than a Crohn’s diagnosis.  Since I had that appointment with the surgeon, I was able to skip right to a colonoscopy without a GI consult prior. I had to call my boyfriend (who was currently across the country in Utah) and ask if he could fly home for a few days to drive me to and from the appointment. Being the supportive angel that he is, he agreed to come home and a few weeks later I had my first colonoscopy.

My new GI doc - a pretty, blonde, and particularly cold woman, explained that she couldn’t figure out if I had Crohn’s or not. Basically, the inflammation in my colon that was causing the bleeding and constipation was so far up in my tract that they needed to try an Esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD). Aka go in the other way. She prescribed a mild steroid to help control the inflammation while they tried to figure out exactly what was going on. Thankfully, my boyfriend was home for a week, so I was able to schedule the EGD while he was home. Another round of prep (aka pooping my brains out), another 2 days off of work, and a procedure later and they STILL couldn’t definitively diagnose me with Crohn’s.

So, another procedure was recommended.

“We’ll need to complete a Capsule Endoscopy.” 

Aka swallow a giant horse pill that is actually a camera and it takes pictures of your insides while it moves through your digestive tract.  Am I actually in an episode of the Magic School Bus? Another day of prep and another day taken off of work to walk around with a giant fanny pack (and not the cute kind) of wires taking pictures of my insides.

Finally, here I sit in an exam room at my new GI’s office - four months later. Anxiously waiting at my GI doctor’s office for her to come in and inform me of the results of the plethora of testing that I had undergone. It had been 6 months since I first noticed the blood in my stool. Six months of labs, procedures, and office visits. If there was ever a drum roll moment, this was it.

My GI doc walked in, greeted me, and said, “Well, it looks like you have Crohn’s.” My heart stopped and ironically, my stomach dropped. Watching my sister endure the complicated symptoms of her Crohn’s over the last 2 years did not give me a hopeful look into my future. She had told me horror stories of having to poop in the woods while on a run because she just couldn’t hold it any longer, extreme fatigue that caused her to feel like she needs 12+ hours of sleep per night, and stomach cramping that was so unbearable it caused her to double over.

I wanted to cry, but I didn’t (see earlier reference to my doctor being cold AF). We discussed treatment options, she prescribed medications, and told me to “eat bland foods like bread, grilled cheese, and rice,” and sent me on my way. I got into my car after the appointment, called my boyfriend, and immediately broke down. The way I saw it, a Crohn’s diagnosis was a “see you later” to my former, happier existence. I couldn’t believe that this was my reality. My next call was to my sister, who I appreciate beyond belief. Because she knew the heartache that I was experiencing at that exact moment.

Okay, pity party over – flash to present day. I’ve now been living with Crohn’s, Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), and Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) for 3 years. Surprisingly, I am doing pretty well. My health isn’t perfect, but I’ve come a long way from 2016. If I’ve kept you entertained this far, I’d like to share more of my journey on how I’ve made my way to this healthier place in my next blog post.

As much as I felt like my diagnoses were a death sentence – I can now see that they were just a beginning to a new chapter in my life. This new chapter includes becoming more aware, mindful, and attuned to my body. In my upcoming blog posts, I’ll share how I have been able to improve my self-care, nutrition, and lifestyle in an effort to lead a more fulfilling, aligned life.

[alien-origins]

ok so I haven't been feeling that the arrangement/relationship was giving much bc it was a purely sexual thing and I was getting bored and low key disgusted.

and like when we met we both agreed for this to be no strings attached bc neither wanted a gf/bf. however I noticed like a year in he was catching feelings because he said "would you like to be exclusive?" and I asked what he meant and he said "that we only have sex with each other" and I said that I didn't know.

cut to like a few months later my sex drive goes down and I don't want to meet up bc it's just for sex and I tell him I'm not really wanting to do anything and he's like "oh but we can hang out still", but hanging out with him is literally sitting in his bed playing video games which isn't interesting or fun for me or watching a movie and have him dry hump me and tell me he wants me to which I get annoyed at because I EXPLICITLY said I didn't want to do anything.

and I also need to mention other things that annoyed me with him. every time in the morning I wanted to leave I always had to like come up with something like a "plan" so I had somewhere else to be and couldn't stay because dude I want to enjoy my weekend. and every time I was like "well o gotta go" and he said "it only takes 6 minutes to the train from here" but like I have smaller legs than you, want to have an extra 5 min in case and I HAVE ANXIETY which I've told him so I need extra time or I'll literally panic. so I almost missed the train several times because he would sometimes refuse to let me get up from bed and I was clearly annoyed at him like this isn't funny and idk why he thinks I'd want to miss my train bc then I'd have to wait 30 min for my bus.

time management. I'm the person that gets to class 20 min early. Gets up 2-3h before I need to leave the house and make sure I have n extra 20-30 min of I'm going to find a new place. this dude was more of a "few seconds before" type of person which gave me anxiety and just felt disrespectful of my time when HE decided time and then never managed to meet me in time. even if 90% of the time he just had to walk down to the lobby door of his apartment to get me on he'd be 10-15 min late.

however I think what was the breaking point for my tolerance was when we decided to watch captain marvel in theatres. I said I'd like to eat before and he was like "sounds good, the movie starts 21.30 so we can meet 20.35 and eat" and I'm like, weird time but okay. and I arrive 10 min early to the mall we're gonna eat at (where they also have the theatre) and I tell him I'm there. 20-30min later I get a text that says "I'll be a little late" and I'm like okaybim in the lobby. he comes through the doors 20 minutes before the movie starts and then is like "so what do you want to eat?" and I say "do we really have time for that" I'm annoyance and he's like sure we do and I'm like....sure....so we have Lebanese food but I can't eat quickly because of my anxiety and past ed so I eat half and put the rest of the shworma in my bag for later. then he wanted to go to another store to buy drinks with like 3 min left until it started. RIGHT OMG when we got there FORTY MINUTES LATE he wants to go say hi to a friend who works in a store there LIKE???!!???????

and onto kinks. he noticed me posting pics of kris wu sometimes going "omg daddy choke me😩😩" as we know I do, and he's like "you're into that?" and I'm like yea, thinking about choking. and then he asks about what I mean with daddy and I explain that's like "he's hot" it's a term used for hot men and he's like "you can call me daddy😏". and me, who only have like 5 names on my daddy list is laughing internally but I'm like whatever, sure.

next time I get to his house he asks me to call him daddy mid sex and I'm like ok??? and I do and there was nothing more to it. like 2-3 times later he goes full dd/lg and oh my gOd was it disturbing. he said stuff like "cum for daddy", "you have to keep quiet or your mom will hear" etc. and I said I didn't like talking during sex prior to this AAAAAND I TOLD HIM ABOUT MY VERY BAD RELATIONSHIP WITH MY DAD so this made me nauseous and I told him I didn't like talking like that during sex. i don't even remember his response but he did it like 2-3 more times before he stopped but like omg I felt so uncomfortable. he kept asking what kinks I had and I said I enjoy hair pulling, choking, being restrained and roughhoused but idk why he translated it into dd/lg.

I had told him vulnerable things about myself that he didn't understand like my anxiety, issues with my period pain, my relationship with my dad and some things about sugar babying. and he really thought he could fix all these things.

third thing. he sent me links to oils, meditation methods and other "natural" ways of getting rid of period pains. and I tell him thank you but if this worked I'd know already. and he's like "but it works for some" and I'm like I'm not saying it isn't, it's just the fact that I almost got immune to strong pain killers specifically made for cramps so rubbing some lavender oil on my vulva won't do shit boy.

fourth. I get that he was probably trying to be nice and give me compliments and I told him I was insecure about my tits because they're not that big. they're a size AA and A on food days I guess. but he said every time that my boobs had gotten bigger like, I'd have a F cup at this point if they actually were getting bigger and he noticed it every time. then however he started saying "your ass had gotten bigger" and it made me feel so selfcouncious. he KNEW about my ed and he KNEW I was still having issues with it so I don't understand why that comment was necessary???? I spiraled after hearing those comments and almost started dieting and skipping meals again because of those comments. and I know it's in and hot to have a big ass rn but o don't want one, love em on other people but I don't want one bc o feelnotd be disproportionate with my small chest and I already feel so uncomfortable sometimes with not being curvy and like it messes me up ......

and just being treated like a sex object in general. sure it was a sexual arrangement, but some respect please.....he would call me sexy even though I said I didn't like that comment bc I didn't see myself as sexy and didn't think it described me well (plus I look younger than I am so it makes me kind of uncomfortable). and saying only things about my body and how hot and sexy I am and it didn't make me feel good. ever. I don't think he ever complimented me on anything else but looks and it gets very boring after a while.

the end of it. as we know I'm in Korea rn studying and he knew this since months back and we hadn't talked since my bday in February and I avoided sc bc we almost only talked there but then I posted something and he replies around July/August and never stops writing even though I don't reply for 1-4 days. immature of me maybe but I was working a lot and didn't even think of replying bc it gave me anxiety to talk to him at this point.

then September. it's 1 month left until I leave and I have a LOT to fix before going and friends to say bye to. he says "can we meet this weekend" and I tell him I work weekends and I have other things to do almost every weekend up to when I leave and idk if I'll have time. he kept pushing again and again and I told him I didn't have time. then like a week left and he asks me to come over tonight and he knows I need to know these things I'm advance or I don't do it bc I'm not an impulsive person. and I tell him "honestly I don't think I will have the time to see you before I leave. I want to say bye to my close friends and my family" and he's like "wouldvevliked to see you one time before you leave though ://" butbi don't reply.

I talk to a few friends and they tell me to break it off but I only did it last week and BOY. I sent him a message on fb saying that I'm sorry but I don't think this kind of relationship works for me anymore, I'm not interested in it and won't be when I come back either probably and I say that I hope he understands. and he just replies "what kind of relationship is this?" and I say fwb at best. and he's like. .....well...I was hoping for more but I could sense you didn't want it.

LIKE!!!!!WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME SO WE BOTH DIDNT WASTE TIME OMG. LIKE HES AN ADULT. A FULL BLOWN ADULT. HES TURNING 30 NEXT YEAR.

but I tell him yea no I was never looking for that and we agreed on nothing more. and he's like "too bad liked your vibe" and I laughed out loud bc omg that's hilarious!!!! also fuck you. and I say sorry again and that I'm not looking for anything at all and he asks "why?" this dude has the audacity to ask WHY I don't want to suck his dick and I'm trying to be nice about it but I said "do I need more of an explanation than that I don't want to?" and he's like no, but hmu if you change your mind. he also said he wasn't looking for a normal relationship, he wanted something between fwb and a real relationship whatever that means and like ugh I'm so tired....

In conclusion I hate men and I removed him from sc and fb.

[airspaniel]

Retrospecticus 2016

I didn’t do this for 2015, because I thought that year was such a terrible tire fire that it didn’t deserve documentation. But well, we all saw how 2016 went, and now I’m sort of sad I don’t have a concise round-up of why 2015 was so awful. I’m sure the perspective would’ve been valuable.

Anyway, here’s my 2016 in review

1. What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before? I was the sole creative and technical producer for an animated feature from one of the best beloved brands in the world. After a rough start to the year, this ended up being on of my best years professionally, thanks to [redacted] and [redacted]. Also, I took up circus, experimenting with flying trapeze, aerials, tight wire, juggling, and other general circus arts. I took a tumbling class and did front and back handsprings for the first time in like, twenty years, so even though that’s not something I’ve never done, I think the time delay makes it notable. Also, I explicitly came out to my family and my Facebook, which has been both a total non-event and deeply traumatic at the same time.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I didn’t really make any, but I thought about the song “Stay Alive” from Hamilton a lot, and I managed to do that, so good job, me. For 2017 I’ve brought back a resolution that served me well in 2009: “Ass, Gas, or Grass - nobody rides for free.” I’m more concerned with the latter part of that statement than the former. I also have spent a lot of time putting other people’s needs over my own, and I don’t think it actually helps anyone, and it actively hurts me, so I’m gonna try to do that less. Also - ONE HUNNERT NAZI SCALPS.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? My awesome friend Jess had an awesome baby! And like, some Facebook friends from college, which is cool but is less cool.

4. Did anyone close to you die? I mean the answer is yes and no. Because we lost the patriarch of my old folk music family, which was a gutting loss made only worse by the fact that I have been disowned by that group for the past seven years or so. Fuck cancer, is basically what I’m saying.

5. What countries did you visit? I went to England and Poland, and can’t wait to go back to both. I also did a lot of travel within the states, both for business and for pleasure, and got Delta Gold Medallion status for 2017. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

6. What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016? This is the part where for the past seven years I’ve said something about a relationship. Well, I left 2015 thinking one thing was going on romantically, and that didn’t pan out, and it honestly took me most of the year to get to a good place about it. And I honestly don’t know that I’m in a place mentally and emotionally where a relationship would be a good thing, though I do miss closeness and intimate physical contact. I think what I really need is better self-esteem, and to find the confidence I have in my professional knowledge and abilities in my personal life. Maybe I’ll get a cat?

7. What dates from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? The first week of March, for the worst most gaslight-y performance review I’ve ever received, which sent me into a depression/anxiety spiral that had me thinking about suicide a lot. Also, the end of March, for the time I sacrificed my Hamilton tickets for the sake of my job. But then on the plus side I took a wonderful Vegas vacation with @lindsayribar at the beginning of July, and I’ll never quite think of champagne or the Cheesecake Factory in the same way ever again. The August-November corridor was a great time for me at work, and I got a lot accomplished that no one has ever done before. Thanksgiving with @joshversus and @dontbearuiner was also a particular delight.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Producing that movie. I was in charge of the script, the casting, the music, the direction, and the final mixing, as well as all the scheduling for every component of the production. I’d been scheduling producer for these movies for years, but I’d never gotten to do the creative producing as well, and I crushed it. I mean, we really made a great movie, and I’m super proud.

9. What was your biggest failure? I don’t know honestly. Most of the things I failed at don’t even matter anymore. I could say putting others’ feelings/needs over my own, but in the situations as they occurred, I can’t honestly imagine handling them any differently. I think I could’ve said no more often. Or maybe said yes. Maybe been less afraid.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Not physically, not really. I had some pervasive bladder issues for a while, but nothing that wasn’t solved fairly easily. Mentally I was a disaster, but I’ve got some better anxiety meds now, at least. I need to get a therapist this year.

11. What was the best thing you bought? Pretty sure it was that Vegas trip. I also gave a lot of money to my friends so they could make art, and I feel really great about that.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? Mine did, honestly, though I didn’t get a lot of recognition for it, not even from myself.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Fucking, just... just most of fucking America at various times and in a lot of different ways.

14. Where did most of your money go? Rent. Plane tickets. Alcohol. I really can’t overstate how much I drank this past year.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? My movie. Vacations. Last minute shout out to Yuri!!! On Ice, which single-handedly saved 2016.

16. What song will always remind you of 2016? I mean, at this point if I said anything other than “History Maker” by Dean Fujioka, I would be lying. I would say the entirety of Lemonade, but Queen Bey is timeless and that album cannot be bound to a single year.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder? December 2015-January 2016 was one sustained panic attack, and even though that’s 100% still the case now, I feel more resolute. I had the rug yanked out from under me so many times in 2016, and even in just the past couple days, but I’m determined now in a way I haven’t been in a long time.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Feeling good. Writing. Being physical.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Keeping this from 2014 - Being lonely, being angry at myself instead of doing something about it. Also, thinking I’m not good enough, or that I don’t deserve good things. Like, that’s still a process but I want to keep making progress on it. I can’t hate myself forever, right?

20. How will you be spending Christmas? I spent Christmas Eve with my folks, taking it easy, drinking some beers and watching Die Hard, as is tradition. Then Christmas Day we went up to visit my dad’s sister and that side of the family. Aunt Pat had decided that she was tired of traditional crap, and so we had a taco bar for Christmas dinner. Also I fielded a lot of comments on my green undercut. If anyone doubted who was the queer cousin, I set all of those doubts to rest this year.

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?  My folks. Vendors. I fucking hate the phone, but I did also manage to have some really good conversations with friends.

22. Did you fall in love in 2016? Nope. Had a lot of complicated feelings, though.

23. How many one-night stands? Well, I mean, I didn’t think it was at the time, but the answer is one. Also, the only time I had sex with another person all year. It was still the second most sexually active year I’ve had in the past seven, so...

24. What was your favorite TV program? Yuri!!! On Ice stole the title at the last minute. But like, I also started rewatching Leverage, and that show is great. Cutthroat Kitchen, Bob’s Burgers, and Rick and Morty all got me through some shit this year.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? I mean, yeah. Basically every Republican, all Trump voters, literal Nazis I can’t even believe we are at this point but so it goes.

26. What was the best book you read? The Nice Guys by Charles Ardai. Yeah, it’s a movie adaptation, but it’s really fucking good.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? For total greatness, it’s an absolute tie between Lemonade and the Hamilton Mixtape. For sheer number of repeat listens, the Yuri!!! On Ice OST. Honorable mention to Ariana Grande’s album Dangerous Woman, and “Castle” and “Control” by Halsey.

28. What did you want and get? My movie. To know if I can still throw a back handspring. Drunk.

29. What did you want and not get? Oh, a lot of things. Also, President Hillary Clinton.

30. What was your favorite film of this year? Deadpool. Also The Nice Guys.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I was 34, and I went to my favorite izakaya with my parents and some friends from work.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Someone telling me I was good. Believing it.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016? Fuck, can I even get this on? Ugh, fine, it sort of looks okay. (I put on a lot of weight this year)

34. What kept you sane? Alcohol. It almost didn’t work, but it usually did. My anxiety medication.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Man, I don’t even know. Probably still LMM and the Rock.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? Don’t even fucking talk to me about this trash fire election. 

37. Who did you miss? My friends in NYC, my friends in Texas, my friends in LA, my friends in London.

38. Who was the best new person you met? I met a lot of cool circus performers this year.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016:

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year: Pour up (Drank), head shot (Drank) Sit down (Drank), stand up (Drank) Pass out (Drank), wake up (Drank) Faded (Drank), faded (Drank) Kendrick Lamar - “Swimming Pools (Drank)“

[unnamedjournals]

Let’s Try This Again.

For the very few people who actually used to follow this page and the one or two that have followed since I dropped off the map, I’m not dead yet. Keeping a journal only when I wasn’t doing well wasn’t the plan, for the record. I could explain but to be honest I don’t remember all that clearly why I stopped except that I know it was probably a lot of reasons. I didn’t feel like it was helping, I couldn’t make time or energy, forgot over and over and over and fuck it, whatever. 

It’s been almost two years? Over two? I don’t know, I didn’t do the math before I started writing and now I can’t scroll to check the date and time on the last entry. Doesn’t matter. 

Good hell a lot’s happened and changed since then. 

Let’s see... uh. 

A lot of this happened concurrently and intermingled but I’ll do my best to make heads and tails of it. 

Broke up with the guy I was dating in previous entries. Found out a whole lot about him recently. I was upset when he ended it but now I see I dodged a bullet.

Briefly (like a week) dated another guy, things happened, we tried to be friends for about a year and change after it but more things happened and long story short he’s not allowed to be around me at game anymore. A story for a different time. It’s a doozy.

I quit the delivery job. I didn’t feel safe driving under that much stress with the zoning out thing. Still do that by the way, it’s actually gotten worse. As it happens there was a panic attack about that just two hours ago, fancy that. I’ll come back to that though.

Started LARPing a hell of a lot more, kinda took over my weekends for a while there and I had to cut back some. I’ve played some really awesome roles though.

Turns out I’m bi? Happy Pride Month everyone. Yeah figured that out mid 2017, dated a fantastic woman for three months. Didn’t work out by no ones fault, but the only thing I regret is how poorly I handled the end of it. She was the first time I’d fallen in love, and it ended way too quickly for me, and I made a right mess of it. I’ve been meaning to apologize for the last year, but again, that’s a story for a different time.

Oh right, on the zoning out bullshit. I went to a neurologist. Two actually because the first was a sexist sociopath. So the first sent me to get a 15 minute EEG (brain wave scan) that came back saying I had Partial Complex Seizures. He then made some very sexist comments and I left. The second neurologist said he agreed with seizures but based on all my symptoms it sounded more like Absence Seizures. Buuuuuut he wanted to do another EEG to be sure, this time for 24 hours. I had to wear a shit ton of wires taped onto my head all attached to a box that I brought home and carried with me everything. Kinda cool, kinda sucky. But I did it, and even had two episodes during it that I marked down the time and what I was doing. Test came back totally clean. No sign of seizures at all. Doc said he was at a loss because I made a perfect story for Absence Seizures but completely lack the neurology so there wasn’t really anything he could do. I did just last month get diagnosed with ADHD though so that’s probably a good portion of where it started. 

I finally let go of a person in my life who was doing more harm than good. She got married yesterday. I wasn’t there. Eventually I will stop being bitter about the things that went wrong, and eventually I will stop thinking about how she is or how things might have been different if I could have stood up for myself better. Not today apparently, but eventually maybe.

I began paying attention to politics. Gonna stop there on that one, but long story short there is a part of me that now hates my father for the words that come out of his mouth.

I dropped the community college classes I was taking because I was too depressed to manage. And then started again the next semester because I thought I found a career option. Switched that career path twice before deciding to just get my associates and work from there. I only went for two semesters, but at least I didn’t drop half way through this time. I stopped going for a year, absolutely positive that I would never go back. I was just going to start working full time and build a career on experience. Didn’t really work. I’m now signed up for fall classes in apparel construction to eventually lead into a career in costume design with specialties in historical fashion and LGBTQ+ fashion needs. But there’s some emotional shit in the way, because of course there is. More on that soon, probably its own entry.

Started a new relationship after I had time to heal from the previous. We were both nervous about dating again after the hurt from our lasts and we thought we would take it slow. Slow didn’t really happen. It’s been a year and seven months yesterday, and in that time we’ve said I love you more times than I can count, we’ve fought for each other, we’ve fought with each other, we’ve cried together, we’ve laughed for hours, they moved in with me and my parents, we’ve made big plans, we’ve made small plans, we’ve lost and changed plans, they moved out of my parents house, we’ve put our relationship on the line, and we’ve nearly broken. The last few months especially have been messy. Even a summary would need it’s own entry. 

A little over a year ago I started having persistent and ever worsening pain all over my body. Every part of it. Even there, wherever you just thought of. My primary care doc sent me to a rheumatologist, and last June I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. And again by second opinion in November. For the unfamiliar, fibro is hard to pin down as a diagnosis because for so long it wasn’t really a “real” condition. It was doctors going, “Well it’s not arthritis and it’s not lupus, so I don’t know what to do but I have to tell the patient something.” And a lot of times, it still is that. But it is actually a condition with characteristics. Think of it as the whole nervous system is in fucking overdrive. Some days are better or worse than others, and where on your body can shift around, but I don’t know that I’ve had a single day in the last year and change that I wasn’t in pain somewhere to some degree. I’ve been to more doctor appointments in the last year than I think I’ve had in my life leading up to this. It’s terrible and comes with a million other symptoms. Like migraines. I get migraines now. Mostly from auditory overload, but bright light can add to it. And guess what else comes with it. It’s commonly called Fibro Fog, which is problems with concentration and memory loss. Remember how I said the zoning out thing was getting worse? Yeah. Fucking great. So I’ve got ADHD, depression, anxiety, and now fucking chronic pain all doing the strong arm clasped hand meme of making me forget shit left and right. And my shoulder and fingers have been hurting from typing but I can’t stop or I won’t have the nerve to finish and post this. 

I turned 21 the other week. Great. Finally. Moving on.

The Crash finally hit. 

I spent the first year constantly worried it would, but somewhere along the way things actually started looking good. Like not 100% of the time, but like even when outside things were bad I didn’t want to die because of it. I was handling the curve balls and enjoying life and taking a step forward every day. I didn’t always know where that step was going but I was taking one and I was damn proud of myself. And then last week. Yike. Trigger warning imminent, skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want to read about thoughts of suicide. Last week was the first time in so long, so, so long, that I imagined my own death in detail. That I came up with a plan. That I imagined carrying it out. How far down this spiral I would have to go before I killed myself. How I would feel if I got there and made that decision. And I’ve thought on it multiple times since then. I won’t describe it now, but I will say that it’s a new plan than I had before. I’ve always picked my plans on the likelihood of them working and what damage would be left with my body if I failed, but also clean up for whoever would find me. The current idea is a trade off. Worse in the way of clean up but better success chance I think and the same in the way of damage in the case of failure. (I wonder if it’s weird that I’m so clinical about this.) I haven’t said these words out loud yet to anyone. 

My mom and partner know I’m more depressed than I’ve been in a long time, so much so that I’ve considered looking at anti-depressants, but not the full extent. I want to talk to my therapist first but getting a hold of her for the phone check in last week didn’t work. Turned into phone tag. My next in person appointment is Thursday but I’m going to leave a message for her tomorrow asking if we can scoot it up because I don’t know that I can make it that long. 

Uhh. Yeah. I think that covers the recap. Fucking hell, it’s been a wild ride. 

1:44AM Sunday, June 16, 2019