#it will in fact be the worst shit you've ever heard in your entire fucking life

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

diversity win! another one of the guys you know has decided that rap is his future career and now wants to freestyle for you in a corner at a party

[velvetvexations]

I got this comment on my antigonism explainer and I asked for permission to address in it's own post because I think it's good feedback:

I appreciate your support of transmasc and transnull people more than you can ever know. I, however, think coming up with a phrase that distincts “transmasc friendly transfems” is deeply divisive- and will further the divide and discourse between transfems and transmascs We don’t need a speciality phrase to denote people who are friendly towards us since those that are AGAINST us are the loud minority- the majority of real world trans people (transfems especially) are in unity with transmascs I think that this may just worsen the divides that are already starting to exist, and will further perpetuate discourse where it isn’t needed. Transfems can just say they support transmascs and transNB people, you guys don’t have to come up with a special title. I mean this all with the upmost love and sincerity. Transfems who support transmascs are the majority of transfems, yes there is an issue with TIRFism online But that is not the majority of transfems on the internet- and especially in real life. We should be focusing on greater unity and talking about what makes us similar- not dividing ourselves even more into subcategories to be policed or pointed to. From a transnull who is just as deep in this discourse

I'm thankful for your perspective and that you've given thought to the issue, and wanted to share your thoughts in a way that I feel is really sweet, which as someone with NPD I appreciate a lot. This is something that's been expressed to me about the idea previously.

I disagree, though. Are transfems who support transmascs and other non-transfems the majority? Yes, absolutely! But when the vocal minority is as loud as it is, they need to be loudly shutdown. That kinna thing takes megaphones. They're going to go away on their own and I want there to be a way to take an active stance that throws oneself out there as someone opposed to that shit.

Already it's just taken as a given that transfems are all TRFs.* If we don't go further, we're letting the vocal nature of the minority take up more and more space and become more and more accepted. Because like, they are super aggressive about it. These things get spread around on posts with thousands of notes every day. TRFs do nothing but bitch about non-transfem trans, intersex, and GNC people, and in doing so make spaces an increasingly less safe place for them.

And the signaling is a really important issue too. A lot of the responses to antigonism from transmascs in particular have been saying that it makes them feel safer. I've gotten messages from people who feel really bad about the paranoia trans radical feminism has caused them to feel around transfems they don't know, and that sucks! I'm so not interested in dismissing that as people who need to be less online or something, especially since I've heard a lot of stories of IRL spaces being hostile to any expression of masculinity as well. These are people who are, at best, facing a massive bullying issue, and at worst being driven out of the trans community entirely. It's cruel and I'm not going to shame them for having this expectation hammered into them, especially because I've also constantly been let down over and over and over when I see a post about transmisogyny or the transfem experience that I really like, only to be gravely disappointed when I see they're a TRF. It constantly happens. It sucks. It sucks so unbelievably much.

Hell, a lot of TRFs are self-identified TMEs, and in fact, most of them are! Every time they do one of their polls trying to prove some dumbass point, it's overwhelmingly "TMEs" who respond. It's like, a relatively small number of transfems kicking around a little cult of sycophants, many of whom are weird as fuck in their own ways but also many who are just trying to be good allies. They should also be signaled to that, hey, when I tell them they actually didn't need to drop a headcanon of a character that gave them joy because a transfem said so, I'm not the freak anomaly I get painted as. Like, I've responded to things asking if something so not an issue was transmisogynistic, or what the problem with TMA/TME was, only to immediately have multiple TRFs zoom into the replies like "don't listen to velvetvexations, she alone has those opinions because she hates all other transfems."

And what about transfems who also need to have it made clear TRFs aren't normal, too? Who need to be gently caught before they get indoctrinated into this shit?

When you see a trans woman saying she thinks it's bad to call non-binary people slurs, identifying as an antigonist gives the messages she's not a random confused baby bird brainwashed by Big Transmisogyny to hate her sisters. She is just one of many who feel that way.

And like, is making it a "faction" like that divisive? I don't think so because holy hell, this discourse is already divisive and toxic as fuck. The intense vitriol that gets thrown at one side from another is already radioactive. What's going to make things worse than it is now? TRFs will have to put up with seeing that other transfems are enthusiastic about disagreeing with them? Those other transfems will feel an us vs. them mentality regarding radical feminists?

A friend of mine put it really well last night:

it isn’t enough to just be ‘normal’ about transmascs and intersex people, actually you do need to be actively working against the now baked in harmful ideologies that have gained traction

I don't want to be normal about these things, I want to be actively anti-transandrophobic, actively anti-intersexist, etc. in a way that sends a clear message to everyone. Being normal about these issues is only normal until it isn't. And even if it forever remained a minority with no threat of growing larger than it is today, TRFs should still have the door slammed in their face until they learn to play nice. If transfems who are Normal really are "normal", then make TRFs feel like pariahs rather than having the unmitigated gall to declare that transmascs invented the transmisogynistic concept of transandrophobia because "2024 is the year transfems united under the banner of transfeminism."

Should we let them have that, and just say oh, well, it's obviously intuitive we're the normal ones and they're the weirdos, we can just quietly continue to consider ourselves the default model of transfem while radical feminism continues to cause more and more division entirely on it's own?

*not that they use that language

anyone may reblog this!

[veetyuh]

CW: non-graphic mentions of CSAM, graphic descriptions of the mental health effects of viewing it, and rambling about antis in relation to it. If you've heard my shpiel on this, sorry in advance.

I used to do content moderation so I have seen way too much actually vile shit. CSAM included. And it is difficult to describe the gravity of what seeing that does to a normal person. But here's my best shot at what it did to me, anyway.

Imagine you're given a video from some nondescript, totally blank (firstname_numbers) account, and when you open it, you can't quite process what's happening on screen. It's not blurry or dark or otherwise obscured. It's very clear, but your brain won't allow you to accept it for a solid 30 seconds. Then, there's horror that sinks into your bones and makes your stomach turn. There's some sort of primal, lizard-brain fury mixed in — and perhaps you even fantasize over retaliating with things you didn't fancy yourself capable of. There's soul-crushing sorrow as you recall there's nothing you can do to help stop this, and all you can do is bear witness to this atrocity, then pathetically report it after the fact. The video automatically unmutes. The sounds are the worst part. If you've ever seen the brick video, this audio is similar in that it haunts you forever. It's overwhelming. You cycle between these emotions so quickly that they blend into each other, and become greater than the sum of their parts. It's a nuclear bomb set off inside your skull. You want to cry, punch a wall, and throw up. You do none of those things because you are too stunned to function. And then suddenly, there's numbness. Like a switch has turned off all the feelings in your brain. All of the unspeakable things you were feeling are gone in an instant.

Maybe you're a tougher nut to crack. Maybe the switch doesn't flip for you on the first video. So you let those emotions ride out until they've physically exhausted you. You pace and you marinate in the aftermath, feeling like you need to vent but knowing you can't. You can't even summarize what you saw without painting a picture so disturbing that it'll fuck up whoever is kind enough to listen to you. All you can do is turn to a loved one, explain that you saw something earth-shatteringly upsetting, and hope they can distract you. Maybe they express sympathy and give their best effort. Maybe you give your own best effort. Maybe you drink or use substances to get away from it, but it still festers in the back of your mind the entire time.

But that switch will flip for you, eventually. And when it does, it'll have you shitting bricks. It's like a hurricane stopping, only for you to realize you're in the eye. One moment you're feeling physically ill from the strength of your own negative emotions — the next, you can't feel anything. Your head feels different. Clearer, more room for thought. But then you move on to the next video, and the fresh horrors do nothing to you. And that's when the gravity of emotional dissociation sinks in. You can't feel anything. You could cut a man's throat and it would feel the same as tying your shoe. You have tapped into something that feels ancient. It's like you've regressed into a lower evolutionary life form incapable of emotion. Below cavemen. Humans aren't meant to experience something like this. It's the cold, unthinking indifference of a creature which could eat its own young without blinking.

But you use it for good. You use it to function when you otherwise can't, and overcome the task at hand. And it helps you tremendously as a content moderator. Eventually, you get so good at it that you can turn your emotions off at will, and do it before you even view your first video of the day.

It does not help you once you're done. While the metaphorical emotion switch can be turned off at will, turning it back on is a chore. It usually takes a while to wear off. Maybe an hour or two once you're done. But the more you do it, the harder it is to break out of it.

Imagine going back to your normal life while you're stuck in that mindset. You try to watch TV or play video games and none of it brings you any joy — like the worst, most suffocating depression. Except it isn't depression, and you have the will, the energy, and the definite need for something to take your mind off what you've seen, but nothing changes that listless straightjacket your brain is stuck in. There should be dread and panic taking root, because the accompanying thoughts are there. Is this your new normal? Will you ever feel anything again? But there is neither dread nor panic, because your body won't allow you to feel them. Not even chemical alteration gets it back on track, and it's only after you've nursed away the hangover the next morning that you can kindle a tiny spark of emotion, again. And through the searing headache, you wonder if fighting the good fight is truly worth the possibility of being stuck without feelings forever.

All of this to say, repeated CSAM exposure is anthrax. It makes you sick in ways you didn't even know were possible, and if you survive it, the experience will follow you forever. You're also not going to talk about it in public. Even vague descriptions of it are enough to seriously traumatize those who encounter it. It feels like a public safety hazard to talk about. Trigger warnings are not enough. A proper description would warrant a fucking consent form. That's something your therapist has to coax out of you like you're a Vietnam vet with war trauma.

What you DON'T do is repost it. Even if it's to argue or express anger/disgust. You don't scroll the tags looking for it, either. No one in their right fucking mind treats actual CSAM the way antis treat "cp" and that's what infuriates me the most about them. They water down the term the same way kids water down "gaslighting."

Drawings of fictional characters are not CSAM. If you can describe it publicly, if you can repost or respond to it and use it for rage bait, then it isn't CSAM. The people who do this are, very obviously, not experiencing any of the trauma which is involved with viewing real CSAM. They are acting on disgust impulses, and then they have the audacity to imply that their discomfort is tantamount to experiencing some of the most traumatizing material a person can view.

It isn't CSAM. They know that it isn't CSAM. Every sane, socialized human adult knows that it isn't CSAM and I'm exhausted with acting like it isn't incredibly offensive to call it that.

[ishouldreallygetofftheinternet]

What if I just had a breakdown here because it's the only fucking social media that won't end my fucking career, not that I have one, if I say how I'm actually feeling. I don't want 12.4k people over on Instagram to know that I'm a self-hating, self-harming, self-serving piece of shit with extremely treatment resistant depression, that I know will never, ever even get a tiny bit better but I wish to god I could delude myself into believing that it would to give any one of the six different meds I'm on, or the TMS a fighting chance.

And don't anyone dare come at me with a *hugs, or a *pat, or a "none of that is true!" because it is. Even implied digital physical contact makes me squick. I have heard it all a million fucking times and I don't want to fucking hear it ever again. Even in this state, I know that's going to hurt some people to hear. But it's how I've felt this entire goddamn time and I only haven't said anything because my fucking feelings don't matter. I have to be as small and as palatable for my chosen people as I possibly can be and if I dare hurt their feelings I should slit my fucking wrists, claw my insides outside until I'm covered in my own vile blood, kill myself in as painful and as grisly a way as possible.

And I have these thoughts and visions constantly. They never go away and they never will and I wish so fucking desperately that I could make them a reality. That I wasn't a fucking coward and I had the guts to kill myself, and actually fucking succeed for once in my pathetic life. And I know I've used this turn of phrase already, but this is my fucking breakdown and if I don't give a fuck then no one else gets to: don't you dare come at me with the "it's actually braver to go on living uwu", "you're so strong for keeping on going" because it's bullshit and if you actually believe that horseshit, then you're deluding yourself and/or you've never fucking been through this and have no idea what you're talking about. And I don't even want people who HAVE come out the other side of this going "I felt the same... etc etc" because great. I am actually genuinely happy that you found a way out. I love for you that this too really did pass, and all the other bullshit they say. Idk how in this venom filled rant to make it clear that the sentiment is genuine, but it is. But it does not change the fact that I don't want you dropping into my reblogs or replies or inbox or whatever because I KNOW that yours is the majority experience. Or at least it's the one they advertise. Majority is not all. I've spent my whole life going there's no way I could be part of the exception, that I could be the worst kind of special, because I don't matter, I'm not worth shit. Well I guess I believe I have some value because I am in the minority. I am the exception. I am the experience that they will never tell you about on the official websites, somewhere between life and death, and you have to track it down in random anecdotal Reddit threads because it's one of the few places on the internet that hasn't been sanitised beyond usefulness. But you already know all that internet bullshit and, for once in my fucking life, this is about me.

Oh Emily but you post about yourself all the time on Instagram! First of all: fuck off. You are smarter than to fail to recognise that anything anyone posts on IG is the most sanitised, best, most productive facsimile of themselves. That is not me. That is a character I play. I play her every fucking day because I don't want the pity, or the disgust, or the contempt, or the hatred that I know is inevitable if I were to put her away for even one moment. If I were to show this side of myself that I hide from everyone but I am locked inside my own head with day in day out.

And I'm also aware that, probably a few paragraphs back, you were thinking about how best to alert the authorities, friends who actually live in the same town as me. To which I say really? You're going to get me locked up in a useless psych ward and for what? I'm not a danger to myself. We've been through this I'm too pathetic. The worst that'll happen is I'll have a few more cuts on my thigh that will be healed by the time I go home, if you let me, not even scabs. That is all I am capable of "oh but Emily, what about your previous overdoses!?" What about them? Did any of them ANY OF THEM do a single long term thing to me? No, so sit down and shut up. Psych services are less than useless to me - all they serve to do is to remind me that I am a problem. That I am difficult. That I am a complex case. I fucking know. How DARE you assume that I am not fully aware of my reality. That I haven't been in this fucking swamp long enough to know what everyone's next move is, what they think about me, what they want for me. Misplaced hope. After a decade I have seen it all before. There is nothing you can throw at me that I cannot anticipate, that I haven't thought through on my own, that I haven't tried yet. If I told you that I hadn't tried something you suggest in the last five or so years, I was lying to make you feel better. Maybe I'll be proven wrong about this, I fucking hope so. I'm a scientist - we fucking love to be proven wrong (or at least those of us who aren't a particular flavour of arsehole do)

And I can feel myself calming down. So there's even less reason for anyone to act. Just let me lie in my bed and cry myself to sleep as usual without the cops or the paramedics or whoever the fuck busting down my door. I'm autistic. Do you know how much fucking extra stress with literally no positives that puts me under? If you actually care, if you actually want to help first, I'm sorry that I've tricked you (and yes, I'm fully aware that that is the bad thoughts talking. We've been through this: in this moment I don't care) then do something practical. Do my taxes, fill out forms for me, clean my flat, make me actually nutritious food and then force me not to snack because no matter what it is, I'll want to eat within an hour, take me to go exercise, respond to the 27 men in my socials inboxes at any one time, make my appointments, manage my money, secure specimens and collections visits and collaborators, manage the multiple emails I get a month asking for my advice or expertise or to communicate my science and everything else, explain to the people I love who I desperately desperately want to be happy and unbothered and flourishing, explain to them why I am a constant disappointment. I know those people are reading. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you had to see the ugly creature behind the curtain. If this rant ends up as a copypasta, or in some video so be it, exploit my pain as you do dozens of others for your own gain, be that monetary, fame, or just sick satisfaction and delight. I want to actually post one of these rants. Know that I will not answer the door to the authorities and for once in my life I will not be the placid little lamb who follows their every order even though I am dying inside even more than I was. I will kick and scream and run and fight. If you bring that upon me, you will actively ruin my life, so have fun living with that for the rest of yours. I will have my visa taken away, I will be barred from working in any country other than my own, I will be forced back into the NHS system that I am actively working through the trauma of to this day. But if you've decided you're going to do that then there's nothing I can say that will change your mind because in this moment I am not human I don't have rights and I need to be detained for my own safety. So fuck it post tweet

[callsigndreadfrost]

I'm still hung up on this. Lemme be edgy for a sec and completely embarrass myself here to take a break from writing.

Also lol sorry.

You're just some average gay guy, you're clean shaven, hair is always short, you dress like your average goody two shoes and the only time you wear black is at funerals, the crudest word to come out of your mouth is "darn", you're very anti-violence, you did great in college, graduated, found a good job, you volunteer everywhere you can, you keep up with your family and like the good little pastor's son that you are you attend church or whatever every Sunday.

Then you meet this guy and he is the exact opposite of you. His hair's really long, every other word is some cuss word you've never heard of in your life, he's got a lot of piercings (and those are just the ones you can see 👀), every time you see him he's got some black band shirt with some very confusing lettering and images that make you clutch your pearls and swallow hard, he's got weird tattoos, his nails are always painted black, you notice a necklace around his neck with a weird symbol you've never seen before, he drinks a lot and smokes and he sleeps in on Sundays because he more than likely got home at 8:00 am after being out all night with friends jumping from bar to bar. Instead of god he references gods with a plural and mentions names you've never heard of in your life.

Logically speaking you wouldn't even consider someone like that a friend, you'll be civil sure but you'd keep someone like that at arm's length and make sure your interactions are short and you go on your way. But somehow, for some unknown reason you're just drawn to this guy, yeah, he's hot but neither of you are compatible at fucking all and you're here trying to get closer and you can't explain it. Before you know it you're both making out, groping each other and rubbing on each other to the point where you can't hold it and you're moaning and he laughs in the most wicked way that sends a chill through your entire body and it makes your skin crawl but you stay. He pins you against the wall and starts groping you with one hand and with the other he holds you by the throat and every time you let out an "oh my god" he squeezes harder. Eventually he leans in and starts whispering something in your ears while teasing you with his tongue. You can't understand what he's saying, it's not in English but you don't care. He leaves and you're left there quivering and a mess and worst of all wanting more but he leaves.

Friday night he takes you bar hoping and he has plenty to drink and you wonder how high his alcohol tolerance must be because he never gets tipsy. You don't either because you're not drinking anything alcoholic because you know you can't drink for shit. You both start making out again, making out is soon followed by some tasteful groping as you're in public and don't wanna be too in people's faces. You don't wanna be left hanging like last time but you don't wanna go back to his place, you don't actually trust him. You don't wanna suggest a hotel because just the thought of it is making you feel sleazy. You still live with your parents and this guy is not the type you bring home to your parents much less sneak him in so he can fuck your brains out.

You remembered you had the keys to your father's church, the whole family was in there today cleaning and doing repairs and you were the last to finish up and lock up. It's Friday night, no one's gonna be there tomorrow. You'd have the entire building to yourselves with no interruptions. It's the worst idea you've ever had and the mere fact that it even crossed your mind is making you sick to your stomach. Besides, look at him. He's probably never set foot inside a church. What makes you think he'd agree? You lose track of your thoughts when you suddenly feel his warm tongue caressing the side of your neck and you can hear him whisper something in your ear and suddenly you give up. You tell him your plan, he laughs and surprisingly agrees and before you know it you're opening the back door to the building.

You wanna just stick to the backroom but he keeps walking to the front and you freak out. You chase him down but he ambushes you and throws you down on the floor in front of the podium where your father gives his sermon every Sunday. You try to get up but he starts ripping your clothes off piece by piece as he gropes, licks, grabs and touches every inch of your body. He presses his against yours and again he starts whispering in some weird language and you ask him what that means but he turns you over on your stomach and starts teasing you until you're a fucking mess and before you even realize what the fuck you're doing you beg him to fuck you and he obliges.

You've never been fucked like that before. He moves you around, does whatever he wants to do to you and you can't even think, you've turned into a mindless drooling mess and the only thing out of your mouth are moans followed by cries for mercy. He's bigger than anyone else you've ever been with, he's rough, too rough and you're not that kind of guy but you really can't be bothered to give a shit right now because you're absolutely lost in it and while part of you wants him to take it easy on you you also wanna let him do whatever the fuck he wants to do to you.

You start regaining some sense and look around. The walls are decorated in paintings of saints, angels and holy figures, the benches where church members sit and worship are in front of you, the corner where the choir stands in and sing gospels is to your side and the candles that adorn the church are lit but you don't remember lighting them. He sure as shit didn't light 'em. As he mercilessly pounds into you you look around again and the paintings on the walls are upside down. You can't be hallucinating from being drunk, yeah, you went bar hopping but didn't drink anything that had alcohol in it, you don't do drugs and you're stable as far as you can tell. You blink in the hopes that maybe you're so cock drunk you're seeing shit but no, everything is still there as you're seeing it.

You're starting to get scared and you turn to tell him to stop even though you don't want him to stop fucking you because holy shit you've never been fucked so fucking good before in your life and the deeper and harder he fucks you the closer you get to emptying your balls all over yourself. However, you turn around anyway and your heart skips a beat. His eyes are glowing red, his pupils are a different shape, they look like a goat's pupils. You suddenly notice he has claws on his fingers. There's four horns protruding from his head and he's snarling at you--are those fangs in his mouth!? He grabs you by the back of your neck to keep you in place and keeps pounding into you while saying something in another language but you just don't care.

As he keeps fucking you senseless you can see some figures in long black coats circling both of you and chanting something weird. You don't care anymore. He's now fucking you harder, deeper and faster as he grabs you by the throat and lifts you up, his claws are digging into your flesh and it hurts but as soon as you feel his tongue on your ear you forget about the pain. He whispers something in your ear, it's in English but you can't make it out. He pounds into you even harder as he tells you to say it but you can't recall what it was that he wanted you to say. He says it again and a tiny part of you is panicking and telling you not to do it but all you can think about is how good it feels to have his cock stretch your hole open. He tells you to say it and he repeats the sentence. Again you feel panic but all you can think about is his cock and how close you are. You start to believe that if you say it he'll let you cum so you yell it out for everyone to hear and as you do he pushes you into the floor and you cum all over the floor. You don't just cum, you explode. You've got cum dripping all over your thighs and knees, you've never cum this hard or this much. You collapse on the floor, sweat dripping down your face and you feel light headed and dizzy as you try your best to catch your breath. He's still pounding into you and then you can feel him cumming inside you, it's a lot warmer than you remember but you're too wasted to care. He stays inside you as he catches his breath but when he does he carefully pulls out and suddenly the candles are all off and the paintings on the walls are back to normal and there's no one else besides you and him. He leaves and you lay there half exhausted and half ashamed. You start to notice some pain on your right forearm and as soon as you lift it to look you see a strange symbol scratched onto your arm and suddenly you remembered you just gave up your soul to them. Who's them? You don't know but you look forward to meeting him again next week.

[sincelastsession]

Oh to be a spoiled fat house cat, no thoughts, empty head, lounging on a paper bag.

Anyway I woke up to a lil video my partner sent me. It was the sounds of the beach and little birds looking out a window. Really peaceful.

He had to drive home straight to work after that.

I'm still in freeze. I tried to get a little bit done. I'm really pissed at myself because I wanted to leave and go places and get groceries but I can't get myself to leave so easy and didn't write a list and forgot to charge my headphones.

My mom ordered me some cheap as hell noise canceling headphones when I asked her not to because I've tried the military grade which I may have to go get. She's been nothing but nasty to me with her tone and it's just like in the book I'm reading. I'd called her late to chat with her about 5mins. She was wildly mean and wouldn't stop freaking out to let me speak and before I could speak she had flipped out thinking I was going to bring up my sister. Then I told her I wasn't and she ranted more. This predicting what I was calling about and making assumptions about me and lashing out continued and she kept threatening to hang up if I didn't tell her what I called about and fussing about how I never shut up. So I finally snapped and was like "can you please calm down and shut the fuck up and quit bitching at me so I can speak you've been NOTHING but nasty to me for no reason and you know I'm having trouble and you know bitching and yelling makes me have more issues so why are you doing that? Why are you holding a Grudge about how I had a bad voice tone and was having bad compulsory issues that made it look like I was mad which I told you I wasn't and it wasn't about you and more on you attacking me the entire time because your driving is scary and I mentioned that too much?" Like she holds grudges and resentment forever no matter how I try to explain my shit isn't directed at her unless I'm like "hey yeah I'm actually mad at you" so idk how long this call is going but my mom counts the minutes because it's clear that she only likes chatting with me on her time. In fact no one in the family has ever wanted to talk to me unless it's their insane terms. She kept bitching on the phone and I said what I needed to but didn't get an answer and was about to cry and told her "you know you and dad are EXACTLY like how this book I'm reading describes emotionally immature parents and I'm not perfect either but it's on point" and then she demanded the book name which I haven't given her because when my parents do read therapy books they use it against me and cherry pick.

So finally I have enough because she's still bitching and I never got the answer to the question and I was so anxious I needed to go throw up. (Not in the eating disorder way, I was very anxious and literally couldn't stomach the stress)

I told her " You know what I'm not your parent and I'm hanging up"

This is not the worst interaction we've had it's just a typical one.

The amount of dumb bullshit that could be avoided if my parents just educated themselves on my mental and physical health issues or just LISTENED to my experiences is STAGGERING.

I know I can't make them do anything. I'm not going to let them treat me like shit though then bitch when I have enough and flip out back at them. It doesn't seem to matter what I do or how or my wording or tone they are ready to attack me.

I'm sure I do lots of shitty things too and guess where it came from? But I'll admit it and work on it and they fuckin do not care enough about me to treat me correctly.

I'm not trying to control them. They act so paranoid. I'm just trying to teach them about me and how to treat me.

They think they're normal and that other families are terrible too.

I know most of my friends have pretty chill normal families. I've heard thier drama and it's like "wahhh mom raised her voice at me because I did a dumb thing"

I'm not treated like an adult fully. I'm an autistic adult with ocd adhd and cptsd and I need accommodation and understanding and to be given cues and met at least part of the way if not half. But im treated like I'm trying to ruin their lives. It HURTS.

Sometimes I don't feel bad but 80% of the time I feel guilt and shame and I reflect and pick at everything I do that's wrong.

I was a parentified child clearly because I felt like more of an adult as a kid than I do as an adult now. Things that didn't bug me back then are scary and challenging now.

My parents haven't emotionally matured and neither has my sister. I've seen her fiancé's snap chat and she's not really happy and it's fake and I can tell. Like honestly I wish I'd had a body cam for various parts of my life just to show therapists and doctors. They're all such good actors.

I don't understand.

[callmewisteria]

Hello there! You've been visited by the random question fairy! ~ ☆

Write (in character if possible!) how your character would describe themselves in a 30-second elevator pitch!

Calinda Carter (aka Cal aka Courier Six) – My piece of shit father thinks I'm a mommy's girl all because I liked the alcoholic bitch more than him since she was actually around. I used to do coke but stopped after losing one too many bets in New Vegas casinos on it but I'm still more responsible than the entire NCR government, yes, Kimball, you heard that right. And before anyone starts a bullshit rumour, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell Caesar and his 'Legion' to do us all a favour and fall into the Grand Canyon. Now, if anyone would like to give me a drink or travelling partners who don't annoy me, I have to go kill the people who cost me my most recent job and tried to fucking off me by shooting and pushing me into a pre-dug grave.

Annette Davis (aka Lone Wanderer) – All I've ever wanted is to be happy. I didn't even have to make more than two or three 'hard' choices until I had to leave home...worst two years of my life. I wish they never happened. I never should have let the Brotherhood take my freedom from me in exchange for them finding my dad...and they let him get murdered. And for what? To cut corners? I will never go near the Citadel again...two years all but imprisoned somewhere will do that to you. I just wish I had been better before...just about eight years of safety back home in the Vault and, here I am now, never having left after escaping back home after the war with the Enclave ended, trying to find out why everything happened the way it did then...or if it could have been avoided.

Nora Norwich (aka Sole Survivor) – They'll tell you everything gets easier but it doesn't. None of us even stood a chance. I didn't, my son didn't, my husband didn't. I know what I have to do, what I'm clinging to, but it doesn't change the fact I failed. I failed Shaun as a mother, being unable to protect him from being taken from me. Maybe, if he and his father could be out there, escaped together, I wouldn't feel as bad. But they're not. They took the both of them, and then what? Killed my husband to let a psychopathic son of a bitch play surrogate father? No, they can't keep the one parent he has left from him forever. They won't.

[happy74827]

Playing Hero

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: After getting into a petty argument with the Winchester brother, an incident occurs which changes both of your perspectives.  

WC: 1,510

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff, TW - Drowning

If you enjoyed, don’t be afraid to comment and reblog!! Feedback is much appreciated.

『••✎••』

It was rather… serene. Standing and sitting in the dark abyss. Your eyes were closed, taking the moment in. The pain came only temporarily, struggling to free yourself, but now… now it was peaceful.

Your mind stopped moving miles a minute. Only focused on this moment. No memories were flashing, no pictures of what’s to come or what should’ve been. You finally felt like you've come home after years of being away.

Just before, you were on a hunt with Dean. Well… you weren’t on the hunt but rather getting information for it, wearing your best disguise as you got out of his Impala.

Usually Sam would tag along and put his Harvard manipulating skills to use, but he stayed behind to do research. That left you with the one and only: 

Dean Winchester. 

Except he was angry and pissed off at you, again.

The entire way there you rode in silence, not a single word was said due to him still pissed at you for eating his leftover bacon burger. It was rather childish for a twenty-six-year-old, but it was Dean. He was always on the immature side when you weren’t hunting.

A saddened smile was bestowed on his lips for the grieving woman you were approaching, while he was completely ignoring your existence. 

You fell silent, unsure of what to do since Dean had taken over the entire conversation. He didn’t allow even a word to slip out of your mouth. 

All because of that damn burger.

Of course, you apologized. You believe the count is at five now, but being the asshole he was, he chose to be petty and not accept it. Obviously, you didn’t know it was his burger, you figured it was leftover lunch they brought to the motel for you.

Apparently—fucking—not.

“I’ll be by the lake,” You finally spoke up, “I’ll check if anything is suspicious.”

Of course, it was complete bullshit. You just didn’t want to be around Dean’s aura at the moment. Him being pissed at you was one of the worst things ever, mostly due to the fact he never gets over it. If you had eaten Sam’s burger, you could just buy him another one and all would be forgiven. But nope! Dean has to be an ass about it.

So, there you were on the pier, watching longingly as Dean comforted the woman by himself. You were wishing that he’d eventually get over the burger, so you all could move on from this childish argument, when you heard it. 

A soft whistle, almost like a gust of wind brushing past you in lightning speed.

“The hell…?” You questioned softly to yourself, looking around to see if you could witness anything that could even remotely produce the sound. 

You didn’t find the source, but it found you.

Within a second, you found yourself clinging to the pier by your hands, your leg being pulled underwater. Shit.

“D-Dean!” You yelled, your eyes focusing on the man away from you. He was the last person you wanted to call, but being on the verge of death, you put the bullshit aside. “A little help here?!”

A nail popped loose from the board you were desperately hanging on to. It was only a matter of time before it would pop off entirely. A groan escaped your lips as you tried to kick whatever the thing that had latched onto your ankle was, but it wouldn’t budge. In fact, the thing's grip got firmer with each kick.

“Dean!” This time you screamed as loud as you could, another nail popping loose. “Dean, Please!?”

Finally, at this, he turned his head. His eyes were searching to find the source, the grieving mother followed his gaze in pursuit. With one last scream of his name, his eyes hooked on to yours.

You watched that anger and hatred from before wash away with worry. The notebook he held, writing down what the lady had witnessed, flew to the ground as he started to bolt towards your direction. But he was too far.

Before he could even hop the wooden fence, the board popped loose which immediately retracted into your face. You could feel the iron of your blood in your mouth, your eyes becoming hazy as you were pulled under.

In an attempt to save yourself, you pulled out your silver switchblade in your pocket and immediately started slashing and stabbing. You didn’t expect it to go away, but it did, making you realize that it was a ghost you were hunting.

That was the last thing you remembered before it went mute. You were in the quiet place now, drifting as the current pulled you along. 

As you were drifting, falling deeper into the abyss, you suddenly felt a pressure around your abdomen. The pressure lifting you up, as if you were flying, until a ringing noise appeared. An annoying ringing tone that didn’t go away whatsoever. You wanted to groan, as it disrupted your peaceful paradise, but you couldn’t.

Once your ears had gotten used to it, another noise disrupted your paradise.

Thump. A loud vibration tickled your ears, applying pressure to your chest. It wasn’t as annoying as the ringing, but it came in threes.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It never stopped.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was like a broken record, repeating the same vibrations every few seconds. As if it couldn’t get worse, it did. Muffles of pitches that you couldn’t make out started to appear.

It was two pitches. One was one higher and hoarse, like the person had a terrible sore throat. It talked in long sentences, letting out a shriek ever-so-often.

The other, however, was deeper. Much deeper. It spoke in a gruff, masculine voice, repeating the same muffle every time.

“Come on.” It repeated, “Come on.”

You wanted it to stop, you wanted to scream for the loudness to go away. But once your mouth opened, there was only a single thing left...

Pain.

Your chest had completely caved in, all sorts of pain shooting at you in all directions. Your legs, your arms, your head, your back… everything was aching.

You found yourself choking severely, praying for the pain to go away. A hand found its place on the small of your back, lifting you up gently. The gesture caused water to spurt out everywhere on the grass from your mouth.

It was disgusting, yet the hand only gave you pats of encouragement.

“There you go,” The voice whispered, “cough it all out.”

It was Dean. It had been him the entire time. The pressure around your abdomen, the thumps of vibration on your chest… it was all him.

He saved your life.

Your hands found his shoulders, steadying yourself. He only smiled —in relief that is — grabbing hold of your arms.

He was completely drenched head to toe, his “fancy” suit now nowhere to be found. His tie was undone, the familiar necklace that he never took off in plain sight. His voice pulled you into reality, “Hey, you alright?”

This was karma for that damn burger.

“Y-yeah, I-I’m fine.” You panted, “thank you.”

He smiled again — a genuine one at that. His eyes told you that the burger was completely off his mind. Not even a flicker of anger was left.

You stared into his eyes a little longer than you should’ve, but you couldn’t help it. It’s been a whole two days of him giving you the cold shoulder and nasty glares. Seeing him relieved and rather joyous at you was an expression you wanted to stay.

“What… the hell… was that?!” The familiar shriek of the grieving woman had made the both of you jump, snapping both of your heads to stare at her wide-eyed. You both had forgotten that she was there, but given the matter you almost drowned, it was a reasonable excuse. 

Sighing, Dean turned his focus to the woman temporarily, calming her down about the whole situation. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about the fact he actually saved you.

He saved your life. Usually you were the hero that saved lives, so it didn’t affect you all that much. Actually, it made you feel important that you helped saved people who were clueless of the true world they lived in. But being on the other side to where you needed someone to be that hero? Hell, it was a crazy feeling.

“Hey, eyes open!” Dean’s fingers snapped in front of your eyes. His eyes were staring daggers into your soul. “Don’t you pass out on me, Kiddo.”

“…I’m... I’m only two years younger than you, asshole—”

Then, you passed out due to the lack of oxygen, but instead of living in that peaceful and empty bliss, you dreamed of him. You dreamed of Dean happily — but terribly — singing to 80s rock while Sam laughed his heart out.

You knew from now on, everything was going to be alright — well… it will be as soon as you got rid of that damn ghost.

[harryfeatgaga]

Ghost story incoming 👻👻

- my bff in elementary school, her backyard was within walking distance of a cemetery ( like if the tree line wasn't there her back yard would legit be a cemetery) and would often hear babies crying in her basement. Her neighborhood was very Boujee and brand new like no other fam lived there before her. And she was the youngest on her street. We were 7-8

- every house my aunt and uncle has lived in was haunted in one way or another. One house, toys without batteries would start working, tv channels would change on their own, a random water like substance would leak from the doors. Another house, they thought this ghost boy running around late at night was my cousin, he was asleep in his room. Another, you could hear people walking and furniture moveing around on the second floor when noone was up there. Another, I remember not liking the basement (my cousin's room) and I always refused to go down there cause I didn't like the vibe, they moved out when my cousin seen a demonic old lady. I'm pretty sure a ghost follows them tho because what are the odds of every hose you've ever lived in being haunted, they also have the worst luck They could be cursed for all I know.

- my house ( not scary and the vibes are very chill compare to my aunt and uncle's and we're pretty sure it's someone in the fam looking out for us but it still freaks us out) , I use to see shadow figures all the time growing up. And felt like being watched all the time in my room. My mom and me came home from shopping to see a candle lit in the kitchen when she didn't light one that day and knows for a fact she didn't light it. My dad and me were in the crawl space once looking for a box and turned around because we felt someone behind us but there was no one there. Before my grandma died I heard some one whisper my name when I was home alone. Before my grandpa died an icy cold hand touched my cheek. My brother threw a water bottle on the floor and walked away and heard a whack on his dresser, he turned around to find the water bottle standing upright on his dresser. Any animal that I've ever had would stare and eyes would follow something that isn't there. Technology would act wonky sometimes, like one time my laptop started playing a random YouTube video but I hadnt turned the computer on yet like it was just the sound to some video the internet wasn't on either. Lights will randomly turn on sometimes.

- In college I use to live within walking distance from the Congress hotel (one of the most haunted and oldest hotels in Chicago.) And one time during an architectural tour thing I went in and right away the vibes were off. And during the tour I broke off of the group I was with and went down some random hallway on some random floor and felt like I was being watched the entire time, like I remember turning around to see if anyone was behind me but found I was completely alone and it was eeriely scilent. And while walking down this hall I would notice doors were blocked off like they wallpapered over.

- one time me and my friend went driving down this road with this hella haunted cemetery near my house and we're chased by some ghost car that legit disappeared out of nowhere. Like we don't know wtf it went cause once your on this road there aren't any side streets for a while.

-one time I was staying at this random hotel in the middle of nowhere in Minnesota and I could have swore that a little girl whispered "where am I?" In my ear. I was 20 at the time and the youngest in the room.

I know I'm forgetting so many but so much has happened soo here are a few

-NOT BABIES CRYING?!?!??!?!

-WHAT THE FUUUUICKCJC THAT SSO SCARY HELLOOOOO

-NOT THE CANDLE.....AND THE WHISPERS HELLOOOOO

-HAUNTED HOTELS ARE SO SCARY

-GODDKJFNHB EM AND MY FRIEND USED TO GO INTO HER GRANDMAS HAUNTED AND FUCK HOUSE ALL THE TIME SO MUCH FUCKED UP SHIT HAPPENED

-EWWWW NOT THATSYDUJFCV

[monkberries]

Wait what's wrong with the AKOM How Do You Sleep episode? I remember it being fine but its been ages since i listened to it so if you've got any thoughts I'd love to hear them :)

Be aware, this is only about the first episode, not about the George-focused episode. If they resolve any of the issues I have with the first episode in the second episode, then I sincerely apologize.

First, there are some things they talk about that I agree with! Near the end of the episode, they discuss the dynamic between John and the people around him in a really insightful way, and in a way I’ve often thought about it; both John and the people around him were all kind of in this mindset of “oh, Paul rejected us? Well, we didn’t want him ANYWAY! So THERE!” They also discuss the fact that John was very easily manipulated, and nearly his entire support system (minus Ringo, and shame on them for not mentioning that) basically egged his anger and viciousness on. And they also play/read some interviews with John about the song and tangential subjects, and it’s always nice to hear primary sources.

However, much like their post about Lewisohn, I find a lot of this episode excessive, overtorqued, and generally far too exaggerated. They perceive an imbalance in narratives (which I do think is there, just not to the extent they say) and overcorrect, imho.

First, I want to get my opinion on the song itself out of the way: I listen to it a lot. It’s on my Fall 2020 playlist. I enjoy the musicality, the style; the mood it evokes is extremely strong to me. Sometimes it’s fun to indulge in feeling evil or mean without having to actually be evil or mean! Plus, I love playing it right before Jealous Guy, or Steel and Glass, or I Know (I Know), just to get that maximum John Lennon Mood Whiplash effect. I think George’s solo is vicious and perfect for the mood as well. However, the lyrics are pretty horrendous in terms of their effect on Paul and his feelings; they’re also horrendous in that they’re just not well-written lyrics. IMHO you can tell it was written by three different people all throwing insults at the wall to see what would stick and rhyme. Half of the digs don’t even make sense. “So Sgt. Pepper took you by surprise/You better see right through that mother’s eyes” Wut? “The one mistake you made was in your head” ??? The hell do these things even mean lmao

Anyway. Onto the episode itself.

Around 1 minute in, they say that there’s not a lot of check and balance in the Beatles fandom w/r/t this song, and that much of the fandom espouses that HDYS was “deserved” and “honest”. They reiterate this sentiment over in different ways throughout the episode, and I just do not see that kind of thing being a majority opinion in Beatles fandom spaces at all. Perhaps they are occupying different fandom spaces than I occupy (tumblr/Hey Dullblog/beatlebioreview), and it is true where they are? (In which case, my goodness, find some better blogs to follow, babes!) They talk about how they’ve never seen anyone pick it apart before, and that the discussion around it has not changed, that people have been saying Paul deserved it since it came out. Again, this is does not jive with my experience in the Beatles fandom.

From Shout!, a book with a well known anti-McCartney streak, published in 1981: “John’s Imagine album - despite the plea for universal peace and brotherhood in the title track - launched a thermo-nuclear strike back at Paul with ‘How Do You Sleep?’ a title suggesting crimes almost in the realm of first-degree murder. The McCartney references were unmistakable, and, often, cruelly unjust: ‘The freaks was right when they said you was dead... The only thing you done was Yesterday...’ There was even a two-fingered gesture of contempt for Paul’s new outdoor life with Linda on their Scottish farm.” Also, the RS review spends two paragraphs talking specifically about how heinous and unjustifiable HDYS is. You can definitely say that rock journalism takes some of the attitude of HDYS and runs with them, such as Paul’s music sounding like muzak - that sentiment certainly persisted. But I would argue that most of the shit journos are reacting to and buying into comes from Lennon Remembers primarily, where John says all the same crap and more, and worse, rather than HDYS itself, which they seem to balk at.

They make the claim as well that the Imagine LP has been elevated to some kind of untouchable, un-criticizeable status. In the years after his death, I think there is probably some truth to that, although again, untouchable is an extreme word. Even in 2003, the LP was number 80 on Rolling Stone’s top 500 albums of all time. However, it was 227 on NME’s list in 2013 and dropped to 223 on Rolling Stone’s new 2020 list, suggesting a waning in popularity over time and a willingness to look more objectively at the quality of it.

The thing that really bothered me about this episode is like... They talk about the need for nuanced discussion of the song, right? And that’s all fine and good, and I agree, nuance in any Beatles discussion is essential if you want to get close to any actual truth. However, they then go on to say, quite adamantly, that if you say the music of the song is good, even if you think the lyrics are awful, then they wouldn’t even bother having a conversation with you. It’s very “We want nuance! NO NOT LIKE THAT! YOU’RE DOING NUANCE WRONG!” Like, I’m sorry, the music is good, in my opinion! John is very good at evoking a mood! The fact that I think George’s solo is incredible, or that the keyboard riff gives me chills, or that I think the bass goes super hard, doesn’t mean I don’t understand how rough the lyrics are or the effect they had on Paul. In fact, imho, I think it’s important that we discuss how quality the music is because it underscores the calculated cruelty John exhibited. He worked hard on this song. He wanted to create a very specific feeling out of it, and he succeeded in spades. I think if it had been crappy musically, people would have been much more contemptuous of it than they already are. As I said earlier, some of the digs don’t even make sense; I think they’re bolstered and propped up specifically because the music underneath them is so good. Also, it’s not fucking wrong to enjoy a groove.

I also take some issue with them saying that HDYS was easily among the worst things John ever did. Like... equivalent or worse than going on anti-Semitic, homophobic rants? Yikes.

There are many instances in this episode where they will go “I often read things like...” or “Jean Jackets will say...” or “I see this a lot...” and then never actually talk about where they see these things or quote directly from them. One instance goes “I often read things like, ‘John Lennon is expressing years of pent-up resentment over creative differences’, as if John is some kind of, like, drunk art teacher doling out free advice to Paul on his music.” I’ve read a lot about HDYS and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that. Just about every discussion of the song I’ve seen says very clearly that it was an unjustified, deeply personal attack. I realize there is an aversion to publicly Naming Names when you’re calling out people who perpetuate a bad narrative. But I want to know where this stuff comes from. I want to actually see what it is they’re upset about.

Lastly, they talk near the end about music innovation and experimentation, and this is where I think things go much too far in overcorrecting a narrative. The well-known narrative for many years post breakup was that Paul was a boring square who wrote granny music. That is true; he was much maligned in the press about that. However, I think post-Hertsgaard, post-Revolution In The Head, post-Complete Recording Sessions, and post-Many Years From Now, that attitude has changed quite a bit. Most serious Beatles fans know now that Paul was the first one to really get into Avant-Garde stuff; most fans know about the fact that he made McCartney 1 basically alone in a homemade studio. Most fans have probably heard or at least heard of Temporary Secretary, lmao.

But it feels like these women are still living in the past where Paul was still being maligned for being a square, so instead they go way far to the other end and say “Paul was the musical innovator, not John.” And that is just flat out NOT true. They were BOTH musical innovators. The fact that Paul was the first to get into avant-garde art does not exclude John from also being incredibly innovative and experimental in his own way. Perhaps he wasn’t doing that on Imagine; they are right that Imagine is a collection of really good but fairly commercial songs. But they utterly discount the fact that he did Strawberry Fields Forever, and I Want You (She’s So Heavy), popularized backmasking, was one of the first if not the first to use amp feedback in a song in I Feel Fine, experimented with recording his voice differently with Tomorrow Never Knows and Revolution, and also the entirety of Plastic Ono Band!!! You don’t have to downplay or erase John’s experimental contributions to music in order to elevate Paul’s. You can elevate both of them. It’s fine.

Also, this is the episode where they say Lewisohn’s book is exactly the same as all the other Jean Jackets books except thicker, and I have a viscerally bad reaction to that for many reasons I have already outlined on this blog. Suffice to say, it is demonstrably untrue (not least because Lewisohn hasn’t published anything in his Tune In series that goes beyond 1962) and unfair to someone who has done an unbelievable amount of legwork to back up his writing. They also compare Lewisohn to Goldman (???????) and call them John and Yoko’s “fuckin bitch boys saying the same shit over and over again.” I have to imagine Goldman was a misspeak and she meant someone else, but still that jarred me lmfao