#it would be lovely to actually get diagnosis but that shit seems to be taking forever so

[vogelmeister]

been feeling mixed on some of my friends recently

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[bublp0pr]

Executive dysfunction is a bitchhhhhh

Say it with me: ADHD ≠ being lazy

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART IX

—we belong to you and me

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). fluff. angst. cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: here it goes. happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 26, 2023

Los Angeles, California

The ceiling isn’t even interesting, but it’s better than everything else right now. You’ve spent too many nights staring at the same spot above you, trying not to think, trying not to feel, but the thoughts always come creeping back. Anxiety’s a funny thing—how it picks and chooses moments to make your life its playground, especially when there’s nothing left to distract you.

You think about your depression diagnosis from a year ago. It feels like a dirty word, one that sticks to the inside of your throat whenever you try to talk about it.

Shame has a way of making you feel unworthy, like there’s a crack inside you that everyone can see. And Pedro…well, he was part of that too. Not because he’d judge you; no, you know he wouldn’t. That’s what makes it worse. He’d understand, and you know it. But it was that very understanding, that softness, that made you feel even less deserving of him. It was easier to push him away, tell yourself that he was better off without you, without your darkness looming overhead.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. For a long time, you felt like shit. The medication and therapy helped, though. You feel better now, mostly. At least enough to move through the days without the weight of the world pressing down on your chest.

On nights like this, when the city outside your window hums with life, you find yourself longing for him. Wanting him with a kind of ache that doesn’t make sense anymore. Not after a year of silence.

Okay, not complete silence.

There were the text messages, the likes, the little online interactions that served as placeholders for the real thing. But the last time you actually heard his voice was on your birthday. He called, and it was brief. Polite. He sounded tired, maybe distant. You’d called him on his birthday, too, but he didn’t pick up. A few hours later, a text: “Sorry! Really busy over here, even on my birthday. Thanks for the birthday wishes. See you soon.”

Except “See you soon” never came. It was nothing more than etiquette.

Sarah came over a few weeks later. You were sitting on your couch, mindlessly flipping through a book, when she dropped the news. “They broke up,” she’d said, leaning against the counter like it wasn’t a bomb that just exploded in your chest. “Pedro and Julia. Months ago.”

Why didn’t he tell me?

That conversation replayed in your head for days. Maybe he hadn’t told you because you weren’t that person for him anymore. The one he turned to when things went wrong. Life just went on without him in it. The strange became familiar, and here you were, on a Saturday night, staring at nothing.

You push off the sofa, grab your phone from the coffee table, and start scrolling through social media. It’s the only thing that takes the edge off, numbing the ache for a little while. But even that was a trap because almost every post you see is about him.

Pedro was everywhere, and you couldn’t escape him.

The world had caught on to how wonderful he was, and now they all wanted a piece of him. The headlines, the photos, the fan posts—everyone seemed to wonder what it would be like to love him, to touch him. The universe was taunting you with his presence, a constant reminder of what you’d had and what you’d lost. Every time you saw his face, you felt a pang of regret, sharp and unforgiving.

February 4, 2023

New York, NY

The invitation had come a week earlier, but not from him. His sister, Lux, had sent the text. “It would be nice if you came,” she’d written, and your heart had swelled in your chest.

“I’ll try,” you’d replied, though you knew as soon as you sent it that you would go. The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to New York, staring out the window, wondering what you were doing. You hadn’t seen him in person in over a year, and you didn’t even know if he wanted to see you. What if time had passed you by? What if everything between you had faded into the background, nothing more than a memory?

The night of the show arrived, and you were a wreck. A bundle of nerves, second-guessing everything. You sat in the audience, people asking for pictures here and there, and you smiled, happily obliging. But when Pedro took the stage, your heart stopped. He was nervous during the monologue, you could tell, but he quickly settled into the rhythm.

His breathing evened out, and he was so…perfect. He talked about his family, about his mother, and you felt the lump in your throat rise when he got emotional. He was always funny in the sketches, but especially when he almost broke character to laugh. You couldn’t stop watching him.

And you hoped—no, you prayed—that maybe he’d see you through the crowd.

When the show ended, people started to disperse, and there he was, surrounded by his family, by friends, all buzzing with pride and excitement. You hung back, watching as Lux tried to get everyone lined up for a photo. “Who’s gonna take it?” someone asked, and you stepped forward before you could think twice.

“I can do it,” you said, and Lux’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh my god, you came!” She rushed over, wrapping her arms around you, and you hugged her back, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest.

Nico and Pedro’s nephews followed, pulling you into their hugs as well. For a moment, it felt like old times, like maybe things hadn’t changed at all. But then Pedro turned, his gaze catching yours, and time stopped.

You stood there, staring at each other, and the world spun and stilled all at once. His eyes lit up, soft and warm, like they always had. He looked like he wanted to say something, but neither of you moved.

Five seconds. Maybe less. But it felt like forever.

You smiled, and so did he, a quiet acknowledgment passing between you. Lux handed you her phone, and you took the picture, watching them all gather together, laughing and chatting. You could feel Pedro’s eyes on you the whole time.

After the photo, he walked over, his eyes locking onto yours again.

“How…what are you…?”

“Your sister invited me,” you replied quickly.

“Of course she did,” he said, glancing back at Lux with a smile.

“Congratulations, you were incredible,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “I’m so happy for you.”

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were the moon and the stars. Your heart raced, and you could feel it thumping against your ribs. He smiled, a half-smile, and his voice softened. “Thank you. I think I butchered a couple of lines, but…"

“No, no,” you insisted, shaking your head. “You were perfect. It was perfect.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, his eyes doing that thing they always did when he was holding something back. But then he cleared his throat, looking flustered. “I have to go get changed and say goodbye to a few people, but come to the afterparty, okay? Oscar and Sarah will be there.”

As if you needed a reason other than him.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, trying to sound casual.

He took a step closer, his big brown eyes fixed on you. “Thank you for being here.”

You smiled, trying to keep your composure. “Always.”

And then he turned and disappeared backstage.

•••

Later, at the afterparty, you felt like a ghost, drifting between conversations. You caught up with Oscar and Sarah, the comfort of their hugs bringing unexpected tears to your eyes. It felt good, to be surrounded by people who loved you unconditionally. But you couldn’t help yourself; you kept looking for Pedro. From across the room, your eyes would meet, and the significance of everything unsaid hung between you.

Twenty minutes passed like that. Stolen glances, quiet tension. Until you saw him slip outside to the rooftop, away from the crowd.

Without thinking, you followed him.

He stood there, looking out over the city, his broad back to you, the skyline of New York glowing in the distance. For a moment, you thought about turning around, about going back inside. But then you stepped forward, standing beside him.

“This city,” you started, “is so beautiful from up here. Makes you forget about all the bad things—like the rats and the traffic.”

He laughed—that booming, wheezing kind of laugh you loved so much—and you smiled.

Pedro smiled at you—that same familiar smile that hadn’t changed in all these years. His eyebrows lifted playfully, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. But as you looked closer, you saw it—he had changed, and yet the essence of him remained.

His hair was longer now, curling just at the ends in a way that made you want to reach out and touch it. His beard, fuller than before, had streaks of gray decorating his jawline and his hair. The lines around his eyes had deepened, like stories waiting to be told, crinkling when he smiled, as if life had both weathered and softened him.

He turned to look at you. “Hi again.”

“Hi."

“You look good,” he said, the compliment slipping from his lips with ease.

You chuckled softly. “Thanks, so do you, Mr. Popular.”

He clicked his tongue, amused. “What can I say?”

The rooftop was hushed, only the chatter and music from the party drifting up from where you stood. The world below a distant hum, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft glow of green and gold light from the city. The air was cool but not cold, wrapping around you both in a way that felt intimate, protective.

How Deep Is Your Love started playing, and you looked towards the party, a small smile playing on your lips. As if he could read your mind, he chuckled and said, "How fitting. What are the odds?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were under Pedro’s gaze—not the chaotic, feverish attention you were used to, with cameras flashing and crowds screaming your name, but something deeper. His attention had always been different. It was quiet, but focused, like a steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you without a word.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The pull between you too strong, a tether stretched thin by years of disconnect but never broken. You felt it—the weight of all that had gone unsaid pressing against your chest. You had to say it. Now, before you lost the courage.

“I was debating whether or not to do this here,” you began, your voice low but steady, “today of all days, but I feel like the right time will never come for us, so I’ll just say it.”

Pedro’s eyes searched yours with anticipation, perhaps fear or hope, watching you with that unwavering focus that made your heart race.

In that moment, you realized, you didn't know where to start.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. “I disappeared like that, and I know I hurt you. I was... I was dealing with so much, and I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t move. Some days were harder than others, and I felt so ashamed. So lost. So sad.”

The word sad hung between you, fragile yet heavy. You could see it in his face—how your words cut him deeply. His lips parted, and you saw the pain flicker in his eyes, the understanding that only he could offer.

“Baby,” he said, the word tender, rich with affection. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming yet calming all at once. His hand moved to your hair, fingers brushing it aside before resting gently on the side of your head. The touch was so familiar, so comforting, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

“No,” Pedro said softly, his voice breaking just a little. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not doing more. For not being there when you needed me. I’m a fucking coward.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. “I pushed you away because I thought… I thought you were happy with her.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through the pain. “And before that, I pushed you away because I thought you just didn't want me. I figured it was better to let you be.”

He let out a breath, stepping even closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I got with her because I couldn’t escape you,” he confessed, the words raw and full of regret. “You were always there, in my head, in my heart. I thought if I could be with someone else, maybe… maybe I’d forget you, but I couldn’t.”

You felt the tears sting at the back of your eyes. The truth of it, the weight of his words, felt like a key turning in a lock that had long been rusted shut. You wanted to say more, to tell him everything, but before you could, Pedro’s hand slipped to your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I was afraid that you'd be the only person I ever actually wanted. And now I'm afraid that my one and only chance at happiness has passed me by.” He whispered, his voice low and intense. “And I…I think about kissing you more than I think about anything else, literally in the world. It’s my go-to thought when my mind has a minute to spare.”

You could barely breathe. The air between you felt charged, electrified by everything he was admitting, by the love you had both buried for so long. “I was so scared,” he continued, his eyes glistening. “So scared of fucking up our friendship, scared of what people might say, and scared of losing you because… I’ve never known what to do with pain, mi amor. All I’ve ever done is hide from it. But I don’t want to do that anymore.”

You reached up, covering his hand with yours.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if your touch was too much, too overwhelming. Then, slowly, he opened them again, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity it made your heart ache. “I was such an idiot,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought I could live without you, but the truth is, I’ve never been able to. Not for a single day.”

You smiled, your own tears finally spilling over. “Well, that makes two of us.”

"You're my favorite person to talk to," he said, "even when we're fighting."

There was a beat, a single breath in which the world seemed to pause, and then he kissed you. It wasn’t a tentative kiss, shy, or unsure—it was everything. Every moment, every longing look, every stolen glance over the years poured into this one, perfect moment. His lips were soft but demanding, his hands slipping into your hair as he pulled you closer. You knew people could be watching from afar, but you melted into him, because nothing else mattered right now.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, both of you gasping for air like you'd been drowning and only just found the surface. His forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky, and in that moment, you saw it all—the vulnerability, the fear, the anger, and beneath it all, the raw, unrelenting love.

Pedro’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke, “I hate myself for waiting this long.” His hands slid down to your shoulders, gripping them with a desperation that made your heart twist. “I watched you disappear, and I told myself it wasn’t my place. But it was. It always was.”

His eyes bore into yours, deep pools of brown that always saw you, even when you didn’t want to be seen. His hands turned and pushed you slowly to the railing, and you could feel the cold biting into your back even through the thick layers of your jacket.

“I hated myself too,” you admitted, the words spilling out in a rush, messy and imperfect, but true. “I thought about you every day. And I hated myself for it because I couldn’t let go. I tried, God. I tried with everything I had to move on, but it was always you. It was always you, Pedro.”

His lips trembled, and you saw the tears in his eyes—the same tears that were stinging yours. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“We wasted so much time.”

You nodded, your own heart breaking at the realization. All the years you had spent avoiding each other, convincing yourselves it was for the best, when deep down, you knew the truth.

You had been running—both of you—from something that had always been there.

“I know,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the scruff on his jaw. “But we’re here now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. “I love you,” he said, the words a soft confession.

You smiled, face wet with tears, your heart finally free of the burden it had carried for so long.

“I know."

a/n: aaaahh finally!!! these idiots got it right it only took like 20 years lol.

an extra final chapter is coming very soon. i had so much fun writing this. i started writing this silly little fic right after a breakup because i was feeling lonely and it was the best way for me to not feel like that sooo i wanted to thank everyone who read, liked, reblogged or commented, it means the world to me that someone else enjoys something that takes so much of my time. love you all so much!!!

[onryosblade]

autistic hazel callahan hcs (ig?)

so . hm. hear me out. i have some random not only hcs but like "evidence" (just me rambling lets be real) of why hazel is autistic to me (or its just me projecting the recent diagnosis in my new comfort character whatever)

this is my first time doing a post so? yeah enjoy i guess :<

its a whole essay be aware!!

★THE ESSAY PART (?)★

• the way she doesn't get phrases and takes things literally like in that one scene when pj and josie are talking about the juvie thing and she is like "wait . you guys ate literal shit?" (that one scene people talk A Lot but there's more, like that one when she get "oh... so things about juvie werent real lmao ok why did u lie tho" and she seems genuinely hurt :[ oh god)

• that being said, she is easily gullible, really having the idea of "i wouldn't lie/mislead about something like this, so why would they?", the first instinct is to believe because it doesn't make sense to lie or mislead at all (exemple: the scene where the guy from the team i forgot the name tried to help her and she believe not only for this bcs because she was vulnerable, of course)

• speaking of lies, she really disliked the fact that the girls were lying to the club about what was iy really about (but that's just what every other person would think ig lol)

• she likes to organize things!!! like, the lists and every email and how she took the whole club activities so serious? omg i love her sm

• that scene where she is almost having a breakdown and doing noises and curling up in herself...

• she's stimming. all the damn time. I DONT MAKE THE RULES ITS THE TRUTH. like, literally.

anyways this is the ones i remember rn, let's go to some hcs shall we?

★AUTISTIC!HAZEL HCS★

★ ㅡ her favorite way of stimming, mainly in public, is to play with her rings or/and chain, crack her knuckles, fidget with the hem of her shirt, feel the soft fabric of her cardigan sleeves or just curl her fists around the ends of whatever long sleeve she has on that day.

★ ㅡ part of me thinks she really likes the texture of crochet or the kind of texture her clothes during the movie has, like, just sliding her nails at it almost scratching, but some days, she would absolute hate the feeling.

★ ㅡ she does have a special interest in how to make bombs but not only that, the crochet thing would be something she would really like to do, too.

★ ㅡ she likes to do lists for EVERYTHING, even silly stuff, probably does ranks of random foods once in a while out of boredom (that one is very self indulgent i must admit)

★ ㅡ when overstimulated, she usually curls into a ball and makes noises to try to self regulate (just like in the scene of the gif!).

★ ㅡ she is the type of autistic that is hyperverbal for sure, even more so with her special stuff like bombmaking ! if u want her to love you ask her about it.

★ ㅡ she have difficulty with maintaining relationships, not much starting them, so that's why she so glad she got the girls of the club to be alongside her.

★ ㅡ i like to thing the girls help her when she is in need of supporting, just like after she got beat up at the gymnasium and everyone showed up to help.

★ ㅡ moving her whole body and being overly expressive to release the pent up stress and kind of a way of stimming. her skipping everywhere would be a good one too :>

★ ㅡ she actually doesn't do that much of masking, only when very self aware like when she doesn't get a obvious joke or something, but ever since the girls became her friends, they try to help her and say "hazel... that wasn't serious, we were joking" or something along those lines and even try to explain it to her!

i think thats it for now?

i told you that was going to be long 😭 sorry i just needed to yap about my babie haze anyways thats it bye

[creature-wizard]

Sorry for taking so long. This is shy system ROMCOA anon and after seeing your response I realized I needed to write a narrative explanation of things rather then just a list of painful or difficult truths that have helped us which is more difficult then I expected. I'm going to do a bit of both I've decided. Jumping into it though, IMO simplified Narcissistic Abuse discourse can be a gateway to ROMCOA stuff when it is clear that people who hurt them aren't 100% evil monsters and another explanation is needed. I think that's how I got more interested in it. The NA explanation felt overly slanderous, plus being bitter isn't healing and is actually incredibly exhausting. The sentiments that undercut the issue of intent in a helpful way I think are these: - You don't have to know why someone did something because abuse doesn't need justified. - It is unfortunately true that love does not prevent mistreatment and abuse. - Something doesn't have to be intentional to have hurt. - It's harder that there is no such thing as someone who is pure evil and that nobody is born evil, but eventually you will find many truly kind but still imperfect people. - Intentional or otherwise, cruelty towards someone does not reflect on or diminish their inherent value.

I think people either want to absolve or hate those who hurt them because loving someone who has deeply hurt you adds an additional pain. The questions of "How could you have done that?" or "How could you not remember doing that?" tend to haunt people. Unfortunately, I also think life and trauma are often complicated in mundane ways. Nobody has to be evil or be targeting you specifically for abuse to take place, and no amount of good intentions invalidates harm done. I think this middle ground has helped me because it is tempting to imagine that my family was merely neglectful but not harmful towards me. To imagine that it was someone else with clear and bad intentions.

At the same time it is hard for others to see a middle ground where they didn't need to be evil to have hurt me. It's easier to invalidate my experiences then to own up to anything and it's hard to determine what owning up would even look like. In that regard I try to remember these things: - Everybody is affected by things differently and trauma is thus relative. (i.e. Autism made anything food related worse.) - Strong feelings do not indicate a trauma's relationship to what society considers serious, but it is no less valid to have those feelings. - "Lowercase t" traumas can stack into a bigger issue that is hard to discern the origin of because there is no clear bad thing or cause. Those seem to be the two major sticking points, intention and validity. I think they have so much sway as sticking points because if shit sucks and that's totally valid but most people and even you yourself may never fully understand it, what are you supposed to do then? It feels like a terrible hand to be dealt and an unfair game to play. While I do think the most realistic explanation also sucks ass, I also think that's not where things have to end. Some things that have helped me and system friends: - We'll never be someone without a painful history, that's ok, and it's valid to grieve. - You can't time travel, the unknowns and what if's are ephemeral so eventually the only thing left to do is make a better path forward. - Don't let the valid hurt and anger turn and bite you. If you can, use that energy to assert your value and make something better of life. (i.e. Spite is why I choose gentleness.) - Managing big feelings is a skill everyone has to learn and the process ebbs and flows, but it gets easier. - You're not alone in having complicated feelings and history and experiences. - If you can't believe the future will better, it could at least be interesting. It's worth it to wait and see.

(Please do not assume anything about me or the "level" of my trauma from this. We are diagnosed, though a diagnosis doesn't determine whether or not anyone has issues. I just gives them a name.)

(To anyone reading this: If you've heard the term "RAMCOA" but haven't heard how it originated among conspiracy theorists and was always meant to push conspiracy theories within legitimate psychiatry, further information is provided at the end.)

Oh oof I really forgot this in my inbox for over a month. 😵‍💫

And yeah, I'm not surprised that the whole "narcissistic abuse" thing can lead into RAMCOA stuff.

Like, the concept of "narcissistic abuse" is another iteration of the cultural myth that there's a distinct category of person that if we all just avoid or exclude, we can protect ourselves from abuse and toxic behavior, and it makes a pretty effective grift for people who've experienced severe abuse from people who just had zero interest in treating them well for one reason or another. The question of why anyone would engage in relentless bad faith behavior often torments people who've been through these experiences, and the concept of narcissistic abuse seems to finally provide an explanation that, while right about some things (for example,, it's true that people may lash out when their egos have been injured), is severely wrong about others (an NPD diagnoses is not a guarantee that someone will do this, and not everyone who does this has NPD). Basically, it's yet another half-assed solution to the problem of evil.

But like you say, many people have more complicated experiences with their abusers. And the alter programming conspiracy theory is absolutely a myth that seems to explain these kinds of experiences. Many people don't fully realize how someone might be handling a bad mental health day badly, or might be under some kind of stress they don't know about, or might have internalized some toxic belief that makes them act really shitty over some things, but not necessarily everything. "Your mom acted differently because she's actually a programmed multiple system, and what you experienced were different alters" is the kind of thing that makes sense when you know a little bit about DID, but not enough to understand why the idea of TBMC/alter programming is pseudoscientific nonsense.

I dunno how much you know about Michelle Remembers (the book that formed the blueprint of this mythology), but if you don't (and for the benefit of anyone else reading this who doesn't know), ritual abuse absolutely became a way to rationalize complicated relationships with parents. While Michelle Remembers didn't incorporate the DID aspect into the narrative (it just stuck with repressed memories), the short of it is that her mother was a single parent of three in the 1950's (her father basically walked out) who at least occasionally used alcohol. There's no way this lady didn't have some bad days. Plus she also died when Michelle was pretty young, which couldn't have been great on her psyche.

So yeah, it makes sense that people are getting into it today as a way to explain why their own parents were Like That.

For anyone who isn't aware: RAMCOA, which stands for "Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, & Organized Abuse" is not an innocent catch-all term for religious abuse, institutional abuse, sex trafficking, etc. It was coined by conspiracy theorists to try and make far right conspiracy theories sound respectable within legitimate psychiatry. For more information, see Cathy O'Brien - The First Project Monarch "Survivor" and Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler: Two Of The Most Dangerous Conspiracy Theorists Most People Have Never Heard Of.

[bunnidid-reviews]

DID book Reviw - Identical by Ellen Hopkins

Facts:

Date of publication: 2008

Fiction or Nonfiction: fiction

Was there a diagnosis of DID? Yes, near the end

Was the person with DID presented as evil for having DID? No, just a flawed and struggling individual

Major trigger warning list:

Alcoholism

Drug use

Incestuous rape by the father (mostly non-explicit but implied enough to be obvious)

Lots more uncomfy incest things (kissing, wanting to see his daughter in attractive clothes/getting changed)

Denial from the mother

CSEM being made (mentioned much later and not very explicit)

Bulimia (lots of binging and purging)

Grooming by a teacher

Inebriated sex with fawning into it

A dubiously consenting BDSM scene? (Nonexplicit)

Self harm

Suicide attempt and idiation

Abusers being in positions of power

There may be more that I’m not remembering. Shits fucked.

Subjective Review(this is how I felt about it)

Personal triggering scale from 1 to 10 (1 being not triggering at all, 10 being a badly overwhelming experience that might cause personal harm): ???5-7? (Unsure if its very triggering or not because of my current sense of being disconnected from most things. Still its def not been the worst/most difficult ive read, and its not explicit)

Personal relatability scale from 1 to 10 (1 being unrelatable, 10 being OMG THAT’S ME!): 6

Personal avoidance scale from 1 to 10(1 being eager to get on with it, 10 being impossible to finish): 3 (extremely easy to just keep reading, part of its probably because of the easy format)

My interpretation of the media(Includes spoilers):

I went into this with trepidation because the cover looks like it would be an edgy triller type of book, so I was half expecting the evil alter trope. This is especially common when its ‘just two’ alters, because the assumptions are made around the ‘split personality’, which is a term thats usually used negatively, associated with evil alters or used as an insult, etc.

And it can sorta seem like that, especially on the surface premise of ‘one of them is ruining their life!!’, which is also how this book seemed the be advertised. Except.. neither of them are trying to ruin their life really, they’re both coping just as poorly as eachother, and surviving just as well as they can. Does that involve self destruction? Majorly, but I read it more as trying to do anything she can to get out of the situation she’s in.

the premise:

Kaeleigh and Raeanne are 16-year-old identical twins, who live the idyllic, picturesque american household: their mother is a politician rising through the ranks, and their father is a judge. They’re both incredibly well-respected and have a lot of reach in their community. Their family looks perfect on the outside..

But is not so pretty just inside. Both parents are alcoholic in their own rights, influencing their daughters to take after them to cope through living together. Mom’s barely home and never wants to be there when she is. And dad.. controls every aspect of their lives through his unpredictable temperament and drunkenness. He’s lonely and pathetic and feels beat down by his cold wife, so the only person he can turn to for comfort is his daughter(s)

Which he does, frequently. He’s been raping Keileigh since she was 9, after a near-fatal car accident that broke her mother’s ability to feel love. Since then he’s been using Keileigh in this sick, twisted way, and controlling her so she’d never get away.

Keileigh and Raeanne’s means of coping are intense, but they’re not as opposite to eachother as it may seem. Keileigh is binging and cutting and shutting down and fawning. She’s in denial and always has a sense of being crushed under the weight of her father’s control.

Raeanne purges and seeks out her vices in getting high and having risky sex with guys who will never love her or treat her right, the more dangerous the better. She fawns just as much as Keileigh actually, just in a more subtle ‘this is what I deserve anyway/it’s too late to say no’ kinda way.

Both of the girls use alcohol and pain medications as a means to get themselves to sleep or get through the day.

As the book goes on, and the election draws near, the intensity and frequency of the abuse is driving Keileigh and Raeanne further and further into their breaking point. They want it all to end already, especially when her mother wins the election and is fully out of the picture, and the grandparents start showing up mysteriously to uncover the past. Something they knew about, something the parents have tried so hard to hide.

It takes Keileigh’s suicide attempt to make Raeanne say enough is enough. She sneaks out to meet with her grandfather on her father’s side to learn the story of what happened to make her father this way. It turned out he’d been the victim of CSEM, and deeply traumatized from the abandonment of his alcoholic mother.

This diddddnt super help her crisis, Raeanne couldn’t have just gone back into it all. She attempts to escape at least mentally with one of her drug hookups Ty, who likes sex rough and forcibly consenting. The drug trip is hitting her badly already when Keighleigh’s boyfriend shows up, mixing her and Raeanne’s world. Everything all together is enough to fracture the heavy wall between the twins, and..

All along they were one person. Raeanne was Keileigh’s twin sister who died in that fateful car crash, and from the trauma of that and being raped so soon after, she split off an introject of her sister to be a step outside herself.

The sisters wake up in the hospital, having to stay until the drugs and the withdrawl wear off safely. She ends up telling the doctor about her symptoms and shes able to get diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

But how do you go home after that? In memories that came back, it turned out that her mother knew all along and intentionally turned a blind eye. Nowhere is safe.

It turned out that the grandmother knew and was scared into silence by the father’s influences. She had witnessed sexual abuse long before the accident, making her turn to alcoholism to try to forget what she saw, to cope. She showed up in the end to make ammends, and Keileigh and Raeanne were able to go home with her.

The ending is bittersweet but hopeful. Six months in, the girls are getting therapy. They have a loving boyfriend who doesn’t know the whole story yet, but he’s endlessly supportive. The father put himself in rehab and basically out of reach of his daughter. The mother works in DC now, shes not really in the picture as much but that’s probably for the better.

-

For a story told in poems, there was so much that was said in so few words. It was really hard-hitting and felt like a realistic approach of what happens when you’re coping with incest, just how much isolation it entails, how much control goes into it.

Like I said before, the sisters are a mess. But she’s also 16 and still getting raped at home, and literally no one was there for her, or at least allowed to be there for her until nearly the end. It’s heartwrenching really, and the whole time I was going Yeah, of course they’re like this, what else can they do?? It hits just very very honestly, and I don’t feel like any of it was written with pure disdain for the victims in the story, even if the tone could be very dry and callous in the point-of-views.

The poetry was really good too. The ‘chapter ends’ where the switches were happening had a very distinct way of formatting it, so there were two poems on opposite pages using some of the same words, with the spaced apart words revealing the truth of what they were both feeling. It was a fun read and very very well executed.

I don’t remember if I’ve read from this author before, but I feel like she handled a story about DID and incest and coping really well. It’s not a light read, but I also couldn’t put it down.

What they got Right in my opinion:

Diagnosis of DID being called Dissociative Identity Disorder

The entire structure of isolation and power dynamics ensuring that incest could happen and not be spoken about felt scarily accurate

Loosing time was not always so black and white it seemed. Of course I’m just going off poems, but theres mentions of what the other twin is doing in reference to themselves (usually in Raeanne’s point of view)

Introjection of a real person felt very correct and not in some weird ‘the ghost of your sister lives within you’ kinda magical bullshit way. She is an introject. They dont use that word specifically but its really obvious

The fawning is so fucking real, man

Keileigh often feeling ‘miles away’ or spacing out frequently

Neither part was better or evil compared to eachother, they were both coping in very messy ways

The thing that got me to notice that it felt more like an alter thing than a sister thing was in this very subtle thing of, when Raeanne found that her ‘sister’ had started self harming, or had a suicide attempt, it wasn’t like.. a normal person’s level of concern like ‘oh my god i could loose my sibling’ as much as it was this almost callous way of treating one’s self the day after deciding to live or having a major self harm episode. Just sigh, clean it up, forcibly make yourself carry on. Am I making any sense? It just felt very much like taking care of yourself vs another person.

The ending not being sunshine and rainbows happy ending, everyone wins. Idk, if you read my review for Pieces of Me, you’ll notice I was pretty upset about the fact that everything worked out extremely well, over the top idyllic. When we all know that healing is actually really messy, its not comfortable, not everyone’s on the same page and not everyone can safely know about the DID always. This felt very real to me

What they got Wrong in my opinion:

I think having full blackouts to the point of having an entirely different life from one another is pretty rare(if its not let me know, ive not heard of this happening much)

Umm I was a little disturbed by one of the healing things she had to go do was apologize to the teacher for leaning into him showing Way Too Much interest in her. The only goddamn reason he didn’t go through with it was because they could be caught?? That is the teachers responsibility, is it not????? Am I being too tumblr??? Am i missing something here???

I did not super understand the logic of Keileigh’s at work but Raeanne is going and doing drugs. How are they doin that, or is she very quick? Just little attempts to hide the big reveal didn’t super make sense to me

Would I reccomend this to someone with DID to read? Yes! But carefully, and keep in mind all the TWs. You might find it very relatable and idk if thats a good thing or not

Just so you know, there is a lot to this book that I didn’t talk about, a lot of little traumas that stacked up into it getting heavier. I just couldn’t possibly write about everything, so bear🧸 in mind if you read it yourself

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

What a Pair we Make

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: dd/lg dynamics (no age play, although he gives her lots of stuffed animals and cutesy things), daddy kink, spanking, kink negotiation, mentions of abusive relationships and bad childhood, edging/orgasm denial, PIV sex, fingering

Summary: A series of short scenes depicting a very loving growth and evolution of a dd/lg relationship with Marcus. 

A/N: There’s no plot to this. I just love, LOVE, LOVE writing conversations about kink negotiation and discussing kink and the cute sort of awkwardness they can carry. The following is just several related ‘slice of life’ scenes that don’t really connect other than the throughline of a kink relationship, inspired by some unhinged DMs with @littlebirdsbookshelf. It’s mostly soft, although there is some explicit smut in some scenes. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics. Please note: reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent and has trouble communicating when upset, although no specific diagnosis is ever mentioned. 

A Further Note on Setting: There is a scene in which these two go to the National Zoo, but the actual zoo I’m describing is based on the one I regularly go to, both for plot conveniences and because I do not want to spend hours looking at a Zoo map to write my dumb stories. And because rays are cool.

Masterlist

You fume as you stalk into your building, slamming the elevator button several times in rapid succession, as if you could solve all of your problems by hitting this one button.

You’re not sure who you’re mad at. The VP of Sales, for giving you a very public dressing down for your “leadership” on the doomed project you were handed two months into your employment, that–shocker–ended up being implemented poorly, with not enough resources to achieve all of your goals? Your boss, who didn’t say a goddamn thing during the worst Zoom meeting of your life, not sticking up for you or standing up for her team?

Or are you mad at yourself for the sum of your small mistakes and missteps early on, caused both by lack of leadership support and your own naivete? Are you angry at your idealistic optimism, charging headfirst into this job and happily taking on new responsibilities, not understanding that you were being handed this project because no one in their right mind would want it? Or… are you upset because, at the most critical moment, you couldn’t manage to form the words to actually speak up for yourself, choking on your successes and looking like an idiot in a meeting where it felt like everyone was out to get you? 

Of course, the easiest punching bag is always you. You, who’s always struggled in one way or another with fitting in, and now the entire sales team knows your name and hates you. You, who’d bounced around from dead-end job to dead-end job before finally landing this first big break–a tiny little cog in a massive organization, where anonymity is your friend, and you hide in plain sight behind massive spreadsheets and reply-all emails. When shit hits the fan, though, you stumble on your words, your tongue feels thick in your mouth and all the thoughts in your head can’t seem to find their way out of your mouth.

You’re not cut out for it, you decide as the elevator dings, announcing your arrival on your floor. You may as well quit, before they force you out. Which is fine, half the time you’re hardly a functional human being, let alone able to manage this failed project, the ire of your coworkers, and still somehow cook dinner for yourself. 

It’s too much.

The door opens with a bang, and you flounce into the living room and throw yourself down on the couch. Marcus’s shoes had been on the mat beside the door, so that means he’s home before you, probably in the bedroom changing out of his work suit into something more comfortable. The two of you have lived together for about three months now, and have slipped into an easy routine. 

Sure enough, in a few minutes, Marcus comes out of the bedroom, wearing track pants and a plain gray t-shirt. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully, coming around the back of the couch and giving you a kiss on the cheek. 

“Mm,” you respond, shrinking away from him even though you crave his presence. You always do this–you push everyone away, isolate yourself, your own worst enemy. 

“Someone must’ve had a bad day,” Marcus remarks, not dropping his friendly demeanor. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m a failure,” you state dramatically. “Literally. This project is tanking, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Marcus says gently. 

“It is,” you insist. “And even if it isn’t totally my fault, even if the damn thing was doomed from the beginning, it doesn’t matter, because I’m being blamed. Very publicly, I might add.”

“Really?” Marcus sinks down on the couch next to you. “Where the hell is your boss in all of this?”

“It’s no secret that she’s scared to death of our VP,” you mutter. “She’ll never say a word against him.”

“That’s shitty management,” Marcus says, ire in his tone over your treatment. 

“Yeah?” you snap. “Well, it’s fucking happening, I don’t have any control over it.”

“Hey, I know,” Marcus replies. “It’s nothing against you, I was just saying–”

“Isn’t it?” you demand, your voice becoming high-pitched and shrill. “I might get fired, and it’s my fault.���

“I–I really don’t think that’s true, and even if it is–”

“I’m not cut out for this,” you say suddenly, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t think I’m one of these people who can handle the normal, day-to-day pressure of corporate America. I just don’t think I can. I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re plenty strong,” Marcus assures you. “You are.”

“I’m a basket case.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” you counter. “Remember last week when I freaked out when the store was out of zucchini, and I had to make an entirely new plan for dinner? Who does that?”

“Some people have a harder time with change,” Marcus points out diplomatically. 

“Ugh!” you cry. “You’re no help!”

“What can I do?” Marcus asks softly, touching your arm, trying desperately to forge a connection, and it makes you feel even worse for lashing out. Through all things, Marcus just wants to feel connected, and here you are, pushing him away because of your own personal bullshit. 

“I don’t know,” you cry out, just so frustrated with everything that you can no longer carry on a reasonable conversation about it. 

But then, almost unbidden, an image flashes through your mind. You blink several times in rapid succession to dispel it. No, that’s ridiculous. 

“What?” Marcus presses, noticing the change in your expression.

“N-Nothing would help,” you say. “It’s just my own personal shit that I have to work through.”

The image returns. You, laying in Marcus’s lap, getting the catharsis you need through something physical–

“Okay,” Marcus says, frowning. You can tell he doesn’t buy it. 

You can’t stop thinking about it, now. His hand coming down on you again and again, finally giving you a reason to let go of it all. No. Marcus wouldn’t. He doesn’t mind rougher sex, sometimes, but he’s hardly sadistic about it. Everything he does, he does for your pleasure and enjoyment. 

That wouldn’t be about pleasure or enjoyment. It would be about release. Just… being allowed to feel things instead of being stuck in your head. 

“You know,” Marcus says softly, “you can tell me anything. I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll want to hear it.”

You shake your head from side to side.

Except, your denial lets Marcus know that there is something on your mind. 

“I just want to understand,” he murmurs, his hand stroking a gentle path up and down your arm. 

“I don’t know what I need,” you mumble. “But I keep–I can’t stop thinking about–”

Marcus nods patiently, but doesn’t speak.

“I–I wonder if you would… spank me,” you say under your breath. 

Marcus’s eyebrows raise. “Come again?”

See? You knew he wouldn’t go for it. “Never mind,” you say, shaking your head again. “I just… I dunno, some kind of physical release feels like it could… help.”

“Hang on,” Marcus says. “Don’t dismiss it. Let’s talk.”

"It's stupid," you protest. 

"You haven't even given it a chance," Marcus points out. 

"It was a fleeting thought," you say. 

"Was it?"

"...No," you whisper. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"About being spanked?" Marcus asks. 

"About you. Um, spanking me. Not just in general. You," you clarify. Marcus is an integral component of this fantasy. You've never wanted this before, but something about this relationship with Marcus makes you want… something more. Something as-of-yet undefined and unexplored.

"About me?" Marcus asks, smiling. He scoots closer, putting his arm around you on the couch. "Tell me."

"I just feel… safe, with you. And sometimes I think about how you… take such good care of me. And it makes me want… I don't know."

"Makes you want… more?" Marcus supplies. 

"I don't know," you repeat quietly. "I'm not… I'm not wording this right, I can't find the words right now, I'm not in the right headspace," you murmur. "I'm stupid."

"That's certainly not true," Marcus says firmly. 

"I c-can't talk right when I'm having a rough day," you stammer. "It's too hard, I–"

"Then don't talk," Marcus says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions, and you can just nod or shake your head, okay?"

You sink with relief, nodding.

"Okay. Question one," Marcus says with a sheepish expression. "Do you want me to spank you?"

You can't keep eye contact, but you nod, looking down at your hands. 

"Okay," Marcus replies softly, reassuringly. "Next question. Can I trust you to say 'stop' or tap my leg if you need to stop?"

Another nod, still looking down.

"Last question," Marcus says, and you can hear his smile. "Do you love me?"

An easy one. You bob your head up and down rapidly, making eye contact and smiling for the first time that night.

Marcus’s smile widens. "I love you, too. And hey–I'm always here to help, okay? No matter what it is you need."

You nod again. 

Marcus scoots back, sitting back on the couch. "Come here," he instructs quietly. "Come lie across my lap."

You feel silly as you come to your stomach, face down in Marcus’s lap. You consider saying 'never mind,' but part of you is so curious, wanting to feel this so much, you don’t open your mouth. 

Marcus gently pulls your leggings and underwear down, and you inhale sharply. You didn't expect him to do that. It sends an extra frisson of desire down your spine.

"Still okay?" Marcus asks, noticing the small tremor. 

"Yes," you whisper. 

Marcus's fingertips gently trace up and down your cheeks. "How many should I give you? Ten?" he asks, his voice a little rougher than normal. Does he like this, too?

You think for a moment. Ten doesn't seem like enough, not if you want to really feel it. 

"Fifteen," you whisper. 

Marcus is quiet for a few moments. "Okay," he says. "Fifteen."

His fingers stop tracing you, and you automatically tense in anticipation. You count your breaths for stability–one, two, thr–

Marcus’s hand comes down on your left cheek and you squeak in surprise. It stings, but it's not too bad. It's the jolt that startles you more than anything. 

Another sharp sting on your other cheek, and you press your lips together and whine softly.

"Why are you being punished?" Marcus suddenly asks above you. 

Oh. You have no idea, you didn't think about this at all. 

Slap. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me why."

You suck in a breath and try to think. One thought comes to you immediately. 

"Because I'm being stupid," you mumble bitterly, thinking of your inexplicable outburst earlier. 

Smack. "That is absolutely not it," Marcus says, his voice far more firm than it had been before. "I want you to really think about why for the rest of your punishment," he says, before dealing you another hard thwack on the alternating cheek. 

It already kind of hurts. He's done what, five? And you can already feel your cheeks burning with friction. You try to think about Marcus's question, you really do, but already your mind feels like it's emptying, unable to focus on anything but the sharp stings on your ass as Marcus deals out six, seven, eight, nine–

You start crying on ten. Huge, globular tears that run down your face as you sob in relief and pain. 

"Remember to say 'stop' if you need," Marcus reminds you, but he doesn't stop. His hand comes down for the eleventh time and you give up trying to staunch the flow of tears and simply cry loudly into the couch cushion.

After the twelfth, Marcus asks, "Now do you know why you're being punished?"

You don't. You shake your head as you continue to sob. 

Slap. "Because you're not being kind to yourself," Marcus says firmly. "And I can't stand to watch you beat yourself up over and over." Smack. "So it stops now, understand? I don't have any problems doing this again."

His hand pauses for a moment. "Tell me you understand," he says. 

"Yes," you sob, open-mouthed, as all the tension you've carried all day–or hell, much longer than that–breaks, and you feel like you're floating away when Marcus delivers the last devastating slap. 

The punishment has stopped, but you can't stop crying. You take huge gulping breaths of air as you try to get yourself under control, and Marcus is pulling you up and into his lap properly. 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You can cry. You don’t have to try and stop yourself.”

You nod your thanks into his shirt, clutching at him desperately. 

“Shhh,” Marcus soothes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The two of you sit there for God knows how long. You, sniffling softly into Marcus’s shirt, and him holding you through it. The longer you sit there, the more you realize: the internal pain you’d been feeling has been washed away, replaced by a bone-deep sense of relief. 

Eventually, the tears subside, and a wave of gratitude washes over you. You close your eyes, breathing Marcus in. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Marcus asks quietly. 

“Yeah, actually,” you answer at the same volume. “I really do feel… better.”

“It helped?” 

You nod. “I just kind of feel… blank, and floaty.”

“That’s good,” Marcus says. 

“Did you–” you start. “Was that–okay? Like, it wasn’t too much, or… bad, or–”

“I don’t like causing you pain,” Marcus begins, and you cringe. “No, hang on,” he says. “But I do feel good when I give you something you want, or need, and it–it seems like you needed that, in a way. And,” he says, swallowing. “I, uh–” he ducks his head, chuckling.

“What?”

“Well, getting to spank you raw like that was… surprisingly hot,” Marcus admits, blushing lightly. 

You let out a watery laugh and tighten your hold on Marcus. A word escapes your lips, then. One word that, in hindsight, would change your relationship, your life, forever. 

“Daddy.”

Whispered, barely audible, muffled by his shoulder. More of a reflex than anything else. 

Marcus’s only reaction is a sharp intake of breath that he lets out slowly. His hand gently rubs up and down your back. You don’t think he’d heard, but then, just as quiet–

“I’m here. Daddy’s got you.”

“Can we talk?”

For a moment, you panic. That phrase has never heralded anything good in your life, ever. Seeing your alarm, Marcus quickly changes tactics. 

“Nothing bad, I promise. I wanted to talk about last night,” Marcus says, sitting down next to you. 

Oh. Right. Last night, when you’d asked Marcus to spank you out of nowhere after having a bad day. Well, technically, it wasn’t out of nowhere. It hadn’t been the first time that mental image wormed its way into your brain, but it’s not like you know how to actually talk about something like that. 

“I’m sorry if that was weird–” you begin.

“Not weird. I may be wrong–but I don’t think I am–” Marcus says, grinning, “–but liking to be spanked is very common.”

“I know,” you grumble, your face heating exponentially. “I’ve been on fucking Pornhub, too.”

Marcus laughs loudly. “Caught me,” he teases. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. “What, then?”

Marcus swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “You… you called me something,” he says quietly. “And I can’t get it out of my head.”

You don’t say anything right away, waiting for Marcus to continue. Eventually, he does. 

“I hear it in my head every five minutes, I swear,” he says with a little huff of laughter. “And all I know is that I wish I could hear you say it again.”

“Daddy?” you whisper with a small smile.

You don’t miss the way Marcus shudders. “I don’t know why I like that,” he laughs softly. 

“I may be wrong, but I don’t think I am,” you say with a grin, mirroring Marcus’s earlier statement, “but liking being called ‘Daddy’ is pretty common.”

“Touche,” Marcus murmurs, grabbing your hand and kissing your palm. 

“What a pair we make,” you say softly. 

“I think we make the perfect pair,” Marcus protests. 

“I like calling you ‘Daddy,’” you admit, your voice barely audible. “You–you take such good care of me. I’ve never felt more… safe, with anyone,” you tell him. “I know I’ve mentioned that my, uh, my childhood wasn’t a great one. My mom… she fled an abusive relationship in the middle of the night and took only me and what she could carry,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh. “I remember fucking crying because I had to leave all my stuffed animals behind. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? We were fleeing for our lives, and my dumbass was worried about–”

“Shh,” Marcus hushes you quietly, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You were a kid. You didn’t know.”

“Anyways,” you mutter, “I spent the next, I dunno, twenty years? Feeling unsafe and unmoored, and now suddenly there’s–” you swallow, “–there’s you, and it’s the healthiest, most positive relationship I’ve ever had, and I feel like I can finally… exhale. Does–does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Marcus murmurs, between kissing your forehead and temples over and over again. “Yes, honey, it does.” He’s quiet for a while, the both of you just existing together in the moment, reveling in the security of Marcus’s arms. After a long while, he speaks again. 

“What was your favorite? Of the things you left behind,” Marcus asks you softly. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing softly. “I had this bunny. It came with a book that I loved–The Velveteen Rabbit. My mom used to read it to me, and I’d just flip through and look through the pictures when I was alone,” you tell him. 

“What happened to the book?” Marcus asks, but you can tell from his tone that he already knows the answer.

“It’s long gone,” you say wistfully. “Wish I knew what edition it was.”

Marcus abruptly pulls you into his lap for a crushing hug. “I’m glad you feel safe with me,” he says, emotion choking his voice. “Please, always feel that way.”

“I will, Daddy,” you whisper, burying your head in Marcus’s neck. “I really, really will.”

You don’t know why it surprises you that, in less than a week, Marcus has a gift for you. Coming home from work, you walk into your bedroom to change into some sweatpants, and nearly fall to the ground at the sight that awaits you.

On the bed, propped up on the pillows, sits a simple brown stuffed bunny with large, floppy ears that look impossibly soft. And, sitting next to it, is a book with an old, worn cover. 

You gasp and surge forward to pick it up, flipping open the front cover and raking your eyes over the title page. The Velveteen Rabbit.

“It’s a first edition,” comes a soft voice behind you. 

You spin, and Marcus is leaning in the doorway, watching you with a small smile. 

You pick up the rabbit next–it feels just as soft as it looks–and hug it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fur. 

You don't remember the last time someone purchased something so simple and yet so meaningful. 

You look at Marcus with unnaturally shiny eyes. "Daddy…" you whisper with a watery smile, "I love it."

"Come here," Marcus says, and you don't have to be told twice. You stride forward, bunny still clutched tightly to your chest, and allow yourself to be wrapped in Marcus's arms. 

"Thank you," you whisper into his chest. 

"You might not have gotten what you needed, what you deserved as a child," Marcus murmurs into your hair, "but that won't happen with me."

Your breath catches at the quiet ferocity in Marcus's tone, but at the same time, a little sliver of doubt worms its way into your brain. This isn't his responsibility, it says. This is too much of a gift for him to possibly give you. 

"You don't have to, I dunno, take care of me or anything like that," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't want to just be a… a burden."

Marcus huffs a laugh, as if you'd just said something incredibly ridiculous.

"Oh, honey," he chuckles, "I've never wanted anything more."

It doesn’t happen all at once–there are many more funny, sometimes awkward discussions where you and Marcus hash things out, negotiating this new side of your relationship. 

The crux of all of them, though, is that, for the first time, you feel safe just being… you. You start to indulge more in the little things that bring you joy–things that you might have dismissed as frivolous or silly before, but now that Marcus is really paying attention, he notices.

Like he notices one day in the supermarket, when the two of you are buying groceries for the week, how your eyes linger on a bin of stuffed toys near the checkout. Already in line, your cart full of groceries, you look down at them, one hand reaching out briefly to touch a cute little avocado with big, sparkling eyes and a tiny smile. Something in its goofy expression makes you smile, giggling softly at the toy. 

Normally, you’d continue through the checkout aisle, putting down the stuffie with one last fond smile and returning to the task at hand, putting your groceries on the conveyor belt. When you turn, though, Marcus is watching you–with the same fond smile. 

“Here.” He picks up the same stuffed avocado you’d been admiring. “Is this one your favorite?”

“It’s–it’s nice,” you say, “but it’s fine, I mean–it’s silly, what am I doing to do with–”

“Let me spoil my baby girl,” Marcus murmurs in your ear. “Let Daddy spoil you, honey.”

He hands you the toy with a crooked grin and a quick kiss on the forehead, and you can't contain the happy smile that spreads across your face. "Thank you," you whisper. 

"Of course," Marcus answers softly. "Now help me with the groceries, hmm?"

As your comfort level grows, you realize that it’s not just about feeling a newfound sense of joy, getting to experience things that you’d lost out on as a kid. It’s not really about those things at all–it’s about safety. It’s about care, and protection. It’s not about the silly, blush-pink socks with little bows on the ankles that you like to wear around the house, kicking your feet as you type on your laptop, it’s about the care and the trust they symbolize. You’re safe to be completely and utterly yourself, to be vulnerable. You can allow yourself to slip back to a time where you felt the most vulnerable, except this time, Marcus is here to catch you. 

As much as you feel safe and fulfilled by your new dynamic, Marcus seems to thrive in it as well. Now that you’ve essentially given him license to lean into that part of him that just wants to take care of you, he doesn’t hold back. You know by now that Marcus likes to be given a direction, and now that he has this, he blazes forward with enthusiasm. Marcus likes to be useful, and it’s as if you’ve handed him the world’s most powerful tool. 

Marcus has always wanted to help you, whether by going to a few of your therapy sessions and holding your hand, or simply by being patient when you struggle to find your words. He’s one of the few people you’ve known that doesn’t try to finish your sentences or speak for you. 

It makes you finally start to feel comfortable in your own skin, like you’ve finally come to the realization that you don’t have to try to be any different, not even for Marcus. On hard days, when you need his touch but don’t necessarily have the words to ask for it, you know that all you need to do is gently butt your head into his arm or shoulder, and he’ll turn with a soft smile and kiss the top of your head while he winds his arm around you. 

You’ve never had anyone’s touch be so soothing.

Even still, there are bad days. Days where everything is too much and the words are caught in your throat and like the fighter you always have been, you push through it with sheer, stubborn bullheadedness until you collapse on the couch and draw a blanket over your head and breathe, like a little ghost haunting your living room for a little while. 

“Hi, honey.” The words are always so soft-spoken, like he’s afraid he’ll startle you, as if you hadn’t heard the click of Marcus’s key in the lock moments before. 

“I’d like to try something, is that okay?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Can I see that pretty face?”

After a few more breaths, you lower the blanket and are greeted with the warm, brown eyes of your partner, and, in spite of yourself, you smile a little. 

“There she is,” Marcus says softly. “My little girl.” He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Will you follow me?”

When you nod, Marcus stands and walks to the bedroom with you in tow. When he strips off his shirt, you look at him warily. You can’t, you think. The sensory overload would be…

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod for the third time, and Marcus approaches you and gently pulls your shirt over your head as well. 

“Come lay with me,” he says, taking your hand and pulling you with him as he gets on the bed.

You allow yourself to be enfolded into Marcus’s arms with a shaky sigh. He gently pulls you on top of him, so that you’re laying fully on his chest, and his hand trails up and down your spine. You have to admit it, the feel of Marcus’s bare, warm chest against your cheek and the rise and fall of his breaths is already starting to loosen the tight coil of tension in your body. 

Your eyes fall closed and you surrender to the feeling of being surrounded by Marcus. He doesn’t speak until your breaths lengthen and the muscles in your shoulders start to relax.

“I read this study a while back,” he murmurs, and you feel the words against your cheek when he speaks, “that skin-to-skin contact affects adults just as much as it does infants. There’s a whole range of physiological responses–heart rate goes down, blood pressure goes down, cortisol, anxiety levels, pain…” he huffs a little laugh, running the backs of his fingers up and down your neck. “I told myself I’d try it the next time you were having a hard day.”

You smile and tighten your hold on Marcus. “Such a scientist,” you murmur. “Testing hypotheses and whatnot.”

Marcus chuckles, and you smile too.

“It’s not a good study,” you tell him. “Your sample size is one.”

“Well,” he concedes with a smile. “Then we’ll have to do this again.”

You do. It becomes a habit on bad days, so much so that all you need to do is nuzzle your face into Marcus’s chest and tug at his shirt and he'll chuckle affectionately, pulling you over to the couch and letting you lounge, topless, against his bare chest as you watch a movie with the sound turned low. 

It's never sexual, even with your breasts exposed and your nipples pebbling in the cool air. There's always a clear distinction between this, the loving way in which Marcus cares for you on bad days, and the times when you're intimate. Before Marcus, you'd never paid all that much attention to non-sexual touches, but this man seems to thrive off of touching you. He has an uncanny ability to make something as tame as a caress of your shoulder into something highly erotic, while at the same time showing you that even touching an intimate area–like the way his hand gently rests on the underside of your breast as he holds you–can be comforting and chaste. 

"Daddy," you whimper pitifully. "Just… just a little longer, just a little more, just–argh!" You let out a cry of frustration as the little vibrator leaves you again and Marcus pauses the timer on his phone. 

"Four more minutes," he announces. 

"I can't go four more minutes," you whine.

"You said that at ten minutes, too," Marcus teases. 

"You always say you like to spoil me," you pout. "Why are you making me wait?"

"I am spoiling you," Marcus counters playfully. "Think about how good it will feel when you're finally allowed to come." 

You writhe uselessly on the bed, your hands restrained loosely above your head by a pair of lacy pink cuffs with little bows on them. They're only velcro; you could pull out of them easily, but you hardly want to. You know how much Marcus likes the look of you like this, and you get off on the feeling of perceived helplessness. 

"Besides," he says, rubbing soothingly up and down your inner thigh. "Oh, how I love seeing you beg for me. I love seeing you like this. Daddy's little mess."

Marcus touches the little vibrator to your clit and restarts the timer, and you keen in frustration as you try to keep yourself under control. "C'mon, just four more minutes," he says. "You can do it."

Fifteen minutes, he had said, holding up your little vibrator. Fifteen minutes of this before you're allowed to come. 

You've somehow managed to last eleven without completely breaking apart, but the last four minutes are torture. You're so close to the edge that he has to pause every thirty seconds or so, and whenever he pauses, so does the timer.  

"Two minutes," Marcus murmurs gently. "You're doing so well. You're being so good for me, baby girl." He pauses the timer again and rubs his hand up and down your arm. "So good for me," he repeats quietly as you shake for him. "Catch your breath, it's okay."

The next two minutes might last a lifetime. When he stops for what seems like the tenth time and you let out a high pitched whine of frustration, Marcus brushes the hair from your forehead and says, "You've got twenty seconds left. I'm not gonna pause again, but you have to be a good girl for me and hold it there the whole time without coming, can you do that?"

You nod, biting your lip with determination. "Okay, Daddy," you whisper. 

"Good girl," Marcus whispers back. 

He restarts the timer and you try to take deep, even breaths, not allowing your body to do what it wants and fall off the edge. It feels impossible, especially when Marcus announces fifteen and then ten, and it feels like you can't possibly last another second. He starts counting slowly down from five, four, three, but your body is already seizing up as you fight the inevitable. The heat rises inside of you, and all you can do it grit your teeth and hope you can make it to one, when your mouth falls open and you start to come. 

Marcus drops to his elbow beside you, not moving the vibrator from your clit, and hovers close to your face, whispering little praises as your pussy clenches violently.

"Perfect," he soothes. "Perfect girl. See? It feels so good when Daddy makes you wait, doesn't it?"

You nod pitifully. "Thank you, Daddy," you whimper. 

"No, no," Marcus chuckles. "Thank you, baby girl. You do so well for Daddy."

"I want to feel you," you tell him softly. "Will you fill me up?"

Marcus smiles wickedly as he pushes his underwear down, freeing his cock. "Baby," he says with a chuckle, "Daddy will fill you up anytime you ask."

He lines himself up and, keeping his face close to yours, slowly pushes inside. 

"My girl's choice," he rasps. "Slow or fast?"

"Hmmm," you smile teasingly, thinking about it for a moment. "Slow."

"Oh yeah? You like it when Daddy takes you apart inch by inch, don't you?" He asks as he reaches the deepest point within you.

"Yes," you answer blissfully, tipping your head back as he starts to to thrust, undulating his hips perfectly slowly, just like you'd asked. 

“You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” Marcus says as he collapses onto the couch next to you.

“Oh! That bad?” you ask, curling into his side.

“No, just… really unbelievable. There was an elephant at my crime scene.”

Immediately, you pull back to look at him. “What?”

Marcus smiles at your reaction–from the glint in his eyes, you can tell he did it on purpose. “I swear. A real, live elephant.”

“Why?” you say with a little laugh.

“I was at the Smithsonian National Zoo,” Marcus explains, grinning. “One of the pieces the elephants painted was stolen.”

Now you’re even more confused. “The elephants… paint?”

“Yeah, you know, they train the elephants to hold a paintbrush, and they auction off the paintings for fundraisers,” Marcus says. “They’ve got a little gallery in the exhibit.”

“I’ve never been,” you say quietly. 

“To the National Zoo?” 

“To any zoo.”

Marcus’s lips part, and for a moment his eyes are sad–mourning for something you never had in the first place, before he perks up, realizing that now he gets to be the one to show you. 

“Well,” he announces. “We’re just going to have to change that, aren’t we?”

Just a few short days later, you’re wiggling with excitement next to Marcus as you stand in line outside of the zoo. 

“Excited?” Marcus teases.

“Yes,” you answer matter-of-factly, not bothering to hide it.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Good. Where to first?”

Your eyes flit from sign to sign as you enter, momentarily overwhelmed by your choices and unsure of where to begin, before something catches your attention, and you know exactly where you want to go. 

“Aquarium!”

You love it from the moment you walk in, taking in the darkened room lit by the otherworldly glow of the water. The first large glass window you come to contains an entire coral reef, with hundreds of different types of fish and one very ugly green eel that makes you giggle.

“Look,” you whisper in awe, hardly able to tear your eyes away. “Daddy, look.”

“I am looking,” Marcus says beside you, but when you turn, he’s not watching the fish at all.

He’s watching you. 

“What?” you pout.

Marcus smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing, baby girl.” 

His hand is always a comforting weight at the small of your back as the two of you stroll slowly through the gallery, until you come to a room with one large, open tank with low walls. Lips parting in surprise, you rush forward to look. It’s full of rays, swimming slowly, moving majestically and gracefully around the tank. 

“You can touch them,” Marcus says beside you.

“What?” “The rays. You can touch them.”

You finally notice that many of the people around the tank have their hands submerged up to their elbows.

“No way,” you whisper. 

“Yes, ray,” Marcus jokes beside you, and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Daddy.”

Marcus chuckles and you step forward, leaning over the tank and slowly sliding your hand into the water.

“I’m afraid I’m going to freak out if one of these things touches me,” you say with a giddy smile. “Do you think they’re slimy?”

Marcus shrugs. “I dunno, I’ve never touched one.”

“Stick your hand in the water.”

“You first,” he laughs. “Look, here one comes.”

You press your lips together with excitement as one of the rays swims along the side of the tank toward the two of you. It passes just under your hand, and you gasp as you feel its skin below your fingertips.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly. “Oh, that’s weird.”

"Weird?" Marcus laughs. 

"Yeah, it's like, the smoothest thing I've ever felt, but it's soft and spongy."

"That is weird," Marcus says, his nose crinkling. "Hey, look, it likes you."

Sure enough, the ray turns around and comes by for another pass, one fin gently splashing the side of the tank as it swims by. It does it again and again, and you watch it with a disbelieving expression. 

"Believe it or not, rays are quite social," a zookeeper says, noticing your odd companionship. "They can be playful, splashing people to show off, and they can form bonds."

"It does like you," Marcus breathes, watching the ray swimming underneath your fingers. 

"That one's been through the ringer," the zookeeper comments. "It was rescued from a fishing net. See the big scar on its fin?"

You blink, looking at a line of darkened skin that you'd thought was simply color variation. "Oh," you whisper. "Poor thing."

"She's usually not very social," the zookeeper says. "I've never seen her do this."

"Is that right?" you say, smiling softly. "Are we friends?"

You stay there for a long time, until your fingers are pruny, in awe of the strange friendship. 

Marcus, as always, is patient, and ends up chatting with the zookeeper, who's happy to share information about her research to the two of you.

"Hey," Marcus finally says, with an amused smile. "We've got a lot more zoo to see."

"I know," you say quietly, strangely reluctant to leave. 

"This isn't the only time," Marcus assures you softly. "We'll be back."

Smiling sheepishly, you nod and withdraw your hand from the water, waving goodbye to the ray. 

"That was the weirdest thing," you say with a laugh. 

"That was adorable," Marcus hums, kissing your cheekbone. 

The two of you walk through the rest of the zoo, you tucked into Marcus's side as you look at every exhibit. Finally, you find yourself back where you started at the entrance. 

"C'mere," Marcus says, grabbing your hand. "One more thing."

He pulls you into the gift shop, smiling as you take in every conceivable type of stuffed animal lining the shelves. 

"Pick your favorite," Marcus says. 

"I don't know if I can narrow it down," you say with a laugh, overwhelmed with the sheer number of choices. But you walk up and down the aisles, looking at seals, tigers, penguins, orangutans, and sloths. They're all so cute. You bite down on your lip, looking around as you consider, and then you see it. 

Back in one corner of the store, an entire shelf dedicated to… 

"This one," you whisper, picking up a stuffed southern ray. 

"How did I know?" Marcus chuckles. 

You pause, a decades-old cycle of doubt worming its way into your brain. "Are you sure?"

Marcus frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You always get me so many things… you spoil me too much."

Marcus raises one eyebrow in challenge. "I don't spoil you too much. I spoil you just the right amount."

He gently takes the ray from you, pays for it, and hands it back. He's quiet on the walk to the car, and it's making you uneasy. 

"Daddy… are you mad?"

"What? No. God, no. I just…" Marcus sighs, leaning against the car. "I hate to think that you see this as spoiling you, baby girl. I don't see it spoiling you. I see it as giving you everything I want to give you. Everything you deserve."

"Daddy," you breathe, starting to tear up. 

"You're everything to me," Marcus says quietly. "So I'm gonna give you everything. And if all I have to give in exchange for literally everything I want in my life is a few stuffed animals? Baby, you're getting the raw deal, here."

You laugh a watery laugh. "His name's Pancake, by the way."

"Pancake," Marcus chuckles, opening the car door. "That's cute, baby girl. Did you have a good time?"

"Of course I did," you answer. "I always do with you, Daddy."

"Daddy, aren't you going to bed?"

Marcus gives you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, baby, Daddy’s got a big press conference tomorrow and I'm nowhere near prepared."

"Oh," you say, disappointed. "But I'm really tired."

“That’s okay, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“But I miss you when you’re not there,” you pout.

Marcus looks up from his laptop with a wry smile. “You want Daddy to come tuck you in?”

You let out an involuntary shiver at his words. 

"Yes, please," you whisper. 

He grins. “Go get ready for bed, then. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You giggle and hop up from the couch, hurrying to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You throw on your favorite tank top to sleep in, leaving only your underwear on the bottom. As you’re getting into bed, Marcus comes in and sits beside you on the bed. He kisses you unhurriedly, taking his time moving his lips sensually against yours. You sigh into his mouth–he’s such a good kisser. Just as you start to lose yourself in the act, Marcus smiles against your lips.

“Lay down, baby girl.”

You obey, smiling dazedly up at him as your head hits the pillow.

“What’s Daddy’s rule?” Marcus asks softly. 

“Don’t move,” you answer dutifully. 

“That’s right. Get nice and comfortable for me.”

You arrange yourself half on your side, half on your stomach, with one leg bent to the side and Pancake tucked under one arm. 

“Good girl,” Marcus whispers. His fingertips trail down your spine, over the fabric of your underwear, and then down, where he gently pulls them to one side to allow his other hand to touch. He sucks in a breath when he dips his fingers dip shallowly into your pussy, collecting your slick and rubbing it onto your clit. “Always so wet for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh contentedly into your pillow as Marcus starts rubbing in slow circles..

“My perfect girl, do you like it when I play with you?” he teases.

“Of course I do, Daddy,” you answer. “Would like it better if you gave me your c–”

“Shh,” Marcus chastises. “Not tonight, baby girl. I’m just trying to help you relax.”

You whine softly and shift your hips impatiently, and Marcus stops. 

“No, no,” he chuckles. “Stay still for Daddy.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, taking a deep breath and letting it out as Marcus’s fingers start to move achingly slowly on your clit. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Marcus soothes. “You’re doing so well for me. Look at how relaxed you are. You look so sweet, lying there and letting me take care of you.”

Your breath starts to come in pants, and you have to fight to keep yourself still as the pressure inside you starts to rise. 

“That’s it,” Marcus whispers. “Nice and slow.”

Marcus is a patient man. He doesn’t rush toward your climax; he never speeds up the movement of his hand. He slowly builds you up until the fall becomes inevitable.

Your hands tighten into fists when Marcus finally pushes you over the edge; your mouth falls open and a little, ragged whimper comes out. Other than that, you don’t move a muscle as you come undone, and it brings all of your focus to the way your pussy clenches over and over again.

“Good,” Marcus whispers. “Good girl.” He gently pulls your underwear back into place and covers you with the blanket. “I love you so much, baby girl,” he whispers into the skin of your temple. 

“Daddy,” you say softly, your eyes already closed. “You do a really good job. You take such good care of me.”

Marcus is quiet for a minute. “I’m glad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I’ll be with you soon.”

His lips ghost against your temple once more before you hear him padding out of the room. 

[synthient]

Notes from the "critics who didn't like the movie" M1 commentary (each matrix movie has a "philosophers who liked it" and "critics who didn't like it" commentary track):

for Critics Who Didn't Like It TM, they're actually pretty generous with the first movie. There's a little giggling at the dialog or poking fun at the "pretentious undergrad philosophy," but also a lot of praising the formal qualities and getting excited about its various cinematic influences. At the end, they agree that M1 probably would have been looked back on as a "masterpiece" "if they'd stopped there"

They're already dropping hints that they're going to be a lot less nice about the sequels

"You can feel the directors falling in love with Hugo Weaving here." "And the audience!" fhdjs all three critics are big Weaving-as-Smith fans and take every opportunity to gush about how fun his performance is

They're similarly effusive about Laurence Fishburne & his power to sell silly dialog with gravitas. Any time Smith or Morpheus launches into a monologue, the commentary falls into a respectful hush for a minute

On Keanu: "I don't mean this in a nasty way, but he never comes off as all that smart" (this works in the movie's favor because "I don't think most viewers connect well with protagonists who seem too smart"). It's "interesting" to cast "a leading man who's prettier than the leading lady." They don't think neotrin reads as all that romantic, and their diagnosis is that it's Keanu's androgyny and lack of masculine fire and aggressiveness that makes them read as "brother and sister" or "parts of the same person"

They think the movie doesn't really have any clear politics, and this works both for and against it. Smith has the most "compelling and coherent" philosophy

They're not fans of whenever the movie cuts from the matrix to drama in the real world, and bemoan that the sequels focus more on the real world when that's the least interesting thing the premise has going for it. On the sentinels ripping through the ship at the end: "I don't know what this is. I don't care about this." They agree that none of them really understand what the sentinels are on a basic plot level ("are the computers sending things into the real world somehow?")

"It should be illegal" to have movie characters say "holy shit"

They're also big fans of Joey Pants' Cypher and Gloria Foster's Oracle, and wish the movie had more emotive performances like theirs

Two of the critics keep bringing up their teenage sons' reactions as a barometer for the real target audience

They think Smith had the potential to be the most interesting character and "maybe become a kind of Neo," but the sequels never give him "real depth, just breadth. Literally more of him"

They're curious about the what the symbolism of the bullets dropping from the helicopter means - "it feels like it must be sexual, but I'm not sure I want to know how"

[verifiedaccount]

As I was getting wheeled in to be put under for a GI procedure today, overheard the docs and technicians talking about the election. The GI doc was a "I'm not saying I love Trump, I just think he's a good man that does good things, and his only mistake is having twitter. If he did something wrong, the impeachments would've been successful or the federal courts would've convicted him." The mixed-race group of anesthesiologists and techs seemed open to this, and to the GI doc's contention that Biden, who initially seemed reasonable, had let the far left take him over, was going further than Obama, and, "now I don't know enough about this to say anything one way or the other for sure, but I've seen people say that Obama is pulling the strings." He mentioned that he gets his news from sites that have it "unfiltered."

This in itself wasn't shocking, really. Having grown up with doctor parents, spent time around them and their colleagues, and worked in a hospital for a few years making in the supply department making rounds and catching convos, I don't have a great estimation of the intelligence or reasoning of doctors on any subjects non-medical. Not that a medical education is easy, but it's also not as much based around great reasoning skills or critical thinking. The tough parts have more to do with memorization and grueling hours; they learn to read and interpret symptoms and signs to narrow things down the right diagnosis, often by process of elimination (as this GI procedure was for, primarily ruling stuff out), and then they consult texts or specialists for the set of steps to take based on the diagnosis. A surgeon has to be able to remember exactly what to do, have the hand-eye coordination and nerves to do it properly, and the ability to think quickly the times when something unexpected happens, which again, is a specific skill not necessarily correlated to general learning. It is a trade more similar to being a mechanic or tech support person than not, just with higher stakes and a more complicated and variable system to work to interpret, all of which take a kind of focus and intelligence that doesn't necessarily translate to other subjects. Combine that with long hours that don't leave a lot of time, energy, or motivation to keep up with non-work related stuff, and you have what can be a pretty ill-informed group of people who nevertheless believe they're really smart, in part because other people tend to assume they're smart.

The part that threw me off is I thought that even Trump supporters, outside of the hardcore cultists who see him as a literal savior, weren't under the illusion that he was a good guy, they just believed he'd be effective at accomplishing what they wanted. He'd get things done, however he got them done (no need to look closely or ask questions as long as things are taken care of), and they'd get a piece of the action. I mean, he's a guy that has bragged repeatedly, on the record, about doing crimes and having mafia connections, he's openly and proudly crooked, he's personally unpleasant and bad at pretending to give a shit about anyone that can't do something for him right this second. And, christ, a guy in his 50s with that kind of straightforward faith in the court system and judges. It's funny, though, I was arguing with my dad that Biden's overtures to Republicans were a stupid wasted because he's against a party with a sizeable number of people who think he and his party literally sacrifice children for their glands, and the ones that don't actually believe it are willing to indulge the ones that do, so he should have ignored them and just focused on things people like, because his opponents would never concede anything to him, they're even accusing him of not being in the tank enough for Israel, for chrissakes. So it was validating in a sense to hear that someone considering themself a Trump-curious moderate considers Biden irredeemably corrupted by the loony left, although based on the fact that he goes places for "unfiltered" news that paints a positive portrait of Trump as an honorable, sensible, moderate Republican and Biden as an extreme leftist, I doubt the GI doc is as moderate as he presents himself. Or he thinks the Epoch Times is non-partisan.

I was reminded of working in a hospital in 2016, after the "pussy tape" came out, and overhearing one of the docs in the ICU, a blonde woman in her 30s, fully buying into and defending the "locker room talk" excuse to the puzzled male docs, who'd figured this would be the end of her support for him. That was jarring, but did fit more with the "he's no choirboy, but I think he'll get things done" mindset that I assumed to be the default position of people who vote/voted for Trump without fully buying into the Trump loyalist ethos.

Well, at least my GI issues are on the way to getting treated.

[amelylinaa]

went hiking ;]

i took myself and my little sister hiking recently, wanted to share some of the photos i guess

now it'll be more of my thoughts and feelings and other stuff that's probaly not important for you, if you're here for the cc - new infant stuff is being made, so stay tuned!

so I really feel like I've matured a lot, it's been one hell of a ride if you ask me about this year. Frankly speaking i've lost any meaning in my life, like at all, i didn't know what was I doing, who I was, where was I being and thoughts of future seemed so irrational, because there wasn't even any point of living till that time. I just couldn't see future for myself. In january I got diagnosed with CPTSD and things kind of started making sense in terms of my behavior, coping mechanisms, escapism etc. I've started reading reddit posts of people telling their stories of how they've coped with this diagnosis. I guess i never really fully moved on from it, so it mostly still taunts me when i suddenly remember that ah yes, i'm actually forever mentally ill, nice. But I just started to move on you know? obviously not without any help, first of all I started taking antidepressants, then my close ones were there in my toughest times, because the hardest and at the same time most familiar feeling is feeling lonely, like you'll never have someone who understands you, like you have so many relatives and people around your life, but at the same time you're so alone in your head and feelings to the point it suffocates you so much, that crying isn't even possible any longer.

What struck me the most when antidepressants started working (sadly only after 5 months from the moment they were prescribed) is that I never in my entire life felt so... alive??? I really can't remember the last time I've actually felt so balanced, I started having thoughts again (it was so shocking for me that in the beginning i actually had some big issues with sleeping, cause my mind just didn't know how to go to sleep when you're actually able to think), i got all those feelings of love back, that i never knew i was robbed of. Like i would look at my cat and actually start crying just from how much i loved her (now im just extremely happy seeing her hehe), I would look at my absolutely normal patreon/tumblr profile and get so emotional looking at how many lovely people like what i do and support me.

But this leads to another very sad thought that haunts me sometimes, that actually the way I was living all this time wasn't normal, it wasn't my quirk or character type or some other shit I would hear when talked about the way I was feeling (or rather feeling nothing). Like all this time I was always blaming myself. This really made me cry at first. Actually lots of things made me cry when I started my healing journey (now I just don't cry, it's an antidepressant thing).

Only after antidepressants started working all the other "normal" things started helping me cope with anxiety and feeling of loss and sadness like "oh just go for a walk", "start exercising", "journal", "drink more water and eat healthy". You now the shit people that never experienced depression tell you and it's not their fault they don't understand. Honestly it's actually insanely lucky for them, that they don't understand.

So writing all of the above I wanted to say that please, don't be hard on yourself, it's not your fault that you're that way, but unfortunately it's only you who can actually trully help yourself. Even if it seems like there's no point in doing anything and life seems meaningless, remember that there still can be things worth living for, even the smallest ones like who's gonna pet all the doggies and kitties??? or who will download all the most prettiest loveliest most perfectly done clothes by the best creator (me) on patreon/tumblr ever????hehehe. Life is unfortunately meaningless, if you don't give any meaning to it, and it's not your fault that you can't find it, just give yourself time.

I'm absolutely not even remotely close to healing (and honestly I don't even know if it's really possible with CPTSD), but I'm definitely feeling better. Actually I'm feeling kind of down right now, but that's ok!! Because well I'm sure sad for a reason and I'm just trying my best to embrace it and fully feel sad I guess, so I can move on and feel peaceful again, until a new emotion comes and I'll try to feel it again, because that's what apparently humans do as I've learned after taking antidepressants.

Hey, you've read all the way to here, woah, you know that I'm proud of you? And not just beacuse you've read my stupid thoughts, but just because you're here with us, you're very strong and I'm very proud of you.

stay safe, love you all to the moon and back, 

your silly girl, Ame <3

[call-me-chips]

alr thanks

my family is so bad bro. i try so fucking hard to be the daughter they want me to be but i just fucking can’t. see, i have adhd. part of my diagnosis is that i can’t properly express my emotions (physically; smiling, crying, etc.). i still FEEL the emotions but it doesn’t look like it. anyways, it’s my birthday a few days ago right? and my parents are waiting downstairs with some gifts. i get some cool stuff, and i really tried to express myself through smiling and thumbs up or whatever but it looked insincere to them. i’ve had this diagnosis for 2. years. 2 years. you’d think they’d be used to this but noooooo. they think i’m being a bitch and ungrateful so they yell at me about respect or smthn then take away my presents and send me to my room. meanwhile my younger sister gets all the love and attention i fucking want from them but do they care? no, they don’t give two shits about me. why would they? i’m just some mentally unstable FREAK who’s a bitch to her own parents. i don’t blame my sister, this is something out of her control, but i can’t help but feel bitter and jealous that she got more attention and love than i did on my birthday. my parents keep telling me “oh why can’t you be more like your sister” idk maybe because i literally fucking can’t. i’m so tired

My first reaction when seeing the amount of text: "Holy fuck"

My reaction after reading it: "Holy fuck"

This actually enrages me.

What the flip?

I have the EXACT same problem with not reacting to things. I feel the emotion, but I can't properly show it without fake smiling, which gets exhausting. I've gotten scolded many a time for seeming like a bitch. But like, I can feel so happy about something, but the most I can outwardly show without any faking emotion is a smile and a shy "thanks", so I totally get where you're coming from

Pls tell me they didn't completely take your gifts away forever and you'll get them back

Cuz it's fucked up if that's not the case

[spencer-reids-adventures]

if and when you have the time and brain space I would love to see your take on emily trying to get an adhd diagnosis (preferably with jemily or just gen! bonus if reid can help her out a little)

Spencer shows up at Emily’s house to pick her up for a film festival, and she answers the door half dressed, eyes wide and frantic. Spencer can see into the living room, where here TV is on, the laptop is open on the coffee table, and two books and a kindle are laid out on the couch.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily groans. “I thought I had more time, and then I forgot where I put the shirt I wanted to wear, and then I got distracted by this video of a guy cleaning a really gross carpet, and—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer says calmly. “Even if we miss the first film, we can just catch the next one. That’s why it’s a film festival. No worries.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Emily mutters as she stalks back to her bedroom to finish getting dressed. “I can’t ever seem to get my shit together.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Spencer says. “Has it always been this way for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve always been, you know…flaky.” She grimaces when she says the word, as though it tastes bad in her mouth. 

Spencer frowns. “Have you ever been tested for ADHD?”

Emily freezes with her sweater half on and stares at Spencer.

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “I did great in school, despite everything.”

“That doesn’t mean much. You could still have it. It would explain a lot.”

“I don’t need to make excuses for my behavior, Spence. I’m flaky, that’s just how I am. I’ll probably always be like this. I just have to deal with that.”

“Do you have a therapist?” 

“Yes.”

“Consider bringing it up to them,” Spencer says. “Just consider it. Okay?”

They eventually make it to the film festival, and Emily puts it out of her mind…until later that night, when it pops back into her consciousness. And despite her reluctance, she follows Spencer’s advice. She considers it.

A week later, she brings it up to her therapist and he agrees to do a screening with her. Before she knows it, she’s being referred to an outside clinic for ADHD testing.

She feels silly walking into the building. She’s a grown woman, not a hyperactive 10-year-old boy. If there is something wrong with her, it should have been caught earlier, when she was a child. She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t need this. She should leave—

There’s a chirp from her pocket and she pulls out her phone to check her texts. There’s one waiting, from Spencer.

Hope everything goes well today. I’m proud of you.

She sighs, puts the phone back into her pocket, and decides not to leave.

A few days later, she meets with someone at the clinic for a follow-up appointment where they tell her that they are, in fact, diagnosing her with ADHD. The clinician talks about what that means, and her next steps, and asks if she has any questions, but all Emily can do is try not to cry.

All of those things she’s struggled with, all the missed appointments, the lack of focus, being late all the time, all the shame and frustration and anger and disappointment…

How does she reconcile the fact that it wasn’t actually her fault? How is she supposed to accept that maybe she’s not a monster, a terrible person, a bad partner? Her whole paradigm has been shifted, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

She shows up on Spencer’s doorstep that night with a bottle of wine and tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Come in,” Spencer says immediately, as if he’d been expecting her. He walks her to the couch and gets her settled with a soft blanket and a box of tissues. He pours her a glass of wine and then snuggles up next to her on the couch with a glass of orange juice and his own soft blanket. 

“Sorry,” Emily mutters.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Spencer promises. “Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather not think about it right now?”

Emily shrugs. “It’s just so much,” she says. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’m here for whatever you need, Em. But I need you to know that it’s going to be okay. I know it feels like a lot has changed, but you’re still you. And now you can get the help you’ve always needed. You know?”

“I know,” Emily whispers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

[alyjojo]

Current Karmic Connection ❤️‍🩹 March 2024 - Scorpio

Character Card: The Botanist

Who are they: 4 Cups

Your relationship with them: The Devil

What you’re learning from them: 3 Wands rev & 6 Swords

What they’re learning from you: Justice & 10 Wands rev

Future potential: 8 Cups

Overall Energy: 6 Cups

Your reading had requirements, Spirit didn’t even really want a character card but yours shows “parent” and Empress energy is very strong here, Taurus/Libra. They wanted a red zodiac message and a blue one, because there are levels to this and it’s less about a specific person, more about the lesson involved. Some could have several people being described by this, and it’s a theme more than one connection. Oracles showing Confinement, Disturbance, and Relaxation, something about this person deeply disturbs you, maybe even makes you go bonkers, or switch it. It’s heavy Venus energy, which is not your element, it’s the opposite. Scorpio is Pluto/Mars, taking action, movement, creating your own results from your own efforts, shaking shit up, destruction (with a purpose), transforming yourself and your life - probably several times in a lifetime. Venus is about growth, money, love, taking what exists and making it better, more abundant, more beautiful, building/leaving a legacy through love or creative ventures (which Botanist says). Pisces/12th being strong here is about faith, secrets, forgiveness, submission, spirituality, addiction, dreams, the unconscious, mental health, strength through victimhood & darkness, sometimes some serious shit 💯

Examples I’m getting for a person: your mother/grandmother, a spouse, an ex you may have children with, a lover at work or you met there, someone around you that likes to spend money and buys expensive things, a spiritualist or very religious person, a person that’s in jail or has been there (I’m hearing several times), someone with a mental diagnosis/traumatic history (or you do), someone that you feel blows all of their money (they’ve worked hard for) - or the opposite, someone that you feel is only given/receives and never “earns” what they have, I’m definitely seeing a mother wound with that. I’m also seeing abuse with The Devil, Confinement, and Disturbance here, that would fit more with the 12th House energy for sure, I will mention it but not stay on that story, you’ll know if that’s you. This could be someone you’ve had a trauma bond or a traumatic experience with.

Longest intro ever, let’s get to it. 6 Cups shows you’ve known this person a long time, these things may have happened in childhood and still affect you subconsciously - that would relate to 12th House and trauma if that exists. It’s possible you have actual children involved. Strength & 5 Cups clarify showing sadness, regret, a heavy intense focus on the past, and Strength either holding this all in (not healing it) or overcoming it and growing through it - Botanist. Maybe both on some level. There is sadness and regret where this person is concerned, on your side or theirs, 6 Swords at the bottom repeats with your lesson, it’s needing to move on from this 🙏 Move away, that’s also the future potential for those sick of reading. If not literally moving, then the sadness and regret being left behind so you can move forward.

Who they are being 4 Cups, they don’t care about something YOU deeply value. Or maybe they don’t care about important shit, especially for a parent that should. Work is here, The Emperor at the bottom, the relationship between you being The Devil. This can be a mom with a cheating ass husband that just lets it slide, a parent who stood by and allowed abuse - especially regarding the other parent, someone that doesn’t seem to care about their career, how much effort you put into yours, or it’s simply a lane that’s not respected or understood by the other person /whichever. Some simply don’t care to put in the effort to make this connection work, there’s none. With The Emperor at the bottom it’s like they could do something, they should, but they don’t - 4 Cups. Could be you too and that’s the regret. Whew 😅 Note: I’m writing all this like it’s just every day casual shit but for some (not all) it’s traumatic AF and I see that, I can feel it like a pulse. I’m not trying to be insensitive or reopen wounds…I’m just not trying to linger 🙏 For most, this is not *the* abuser, it’s someone who knew, and stood by, but did nothing. For those where this is an abuser - yes this person is karmic, there *was* a soul tie, but it’s not the abuse that was karmic, THAT shit is free will - not deserved, and explains why this will never go anywhere. The ties are broken, you’re free to leave this in the past where it belongs. Also applies to an affair. Either way, you’ve got to go. In some cases it’s them that has to go and it’s all switched.

The relationship with them is confinement or control, either/both, needing to get away from this and start all over in a new beginning. Them from you or you from them, could be one of you from someone else too, especially a parent. Someone feels bound, trapped, like their hands are tied. In some cases it’s someone’s lifestyle or religion that threatens to bind the other person into a box they don’t fit in. Or even perceptions of people being rooted in the past, and the other person having to escape that & start over again. If a job, it’s one that keeps you stuck and won’t let you grow, there could’ve been a boss with some fkd up behaviors or beliefs or a twisted relationship with you (maybe an affair), and you had to get away from this. The point is, it’s toxic, or was, and someone had to leave - you or them. Someone may have cheated, if it’s a lover. If an ex, this could be someone you currently feel bound to due to a child or finances, and you’re starting over but you also feel like you can’t escape them, though you’ve tried (that’s part of the karma). You can’t outrun it, Strength for some is burying it & holding it in, not dealing with it. It doesn’t have to be with the person directly in order to do that & it’s necessary for some of you to face this sadness - 5 Cups. *So that* you can truly move on ❤️ 6 Swords keeps showing up at the bottoms and it’s here in your lesson too.

What you’re learning is you’ve waited for nothing. Waited for a parent to leave the other parent, waited to leave some job but never have, waited for someone to take control and steer things in the direction *you* want them to, but they haven’t and won’t. You’ve bided your time for a long time it looks like, waiting for Justice - which is their lesson, but it’s looking like the Justice is you. You have to take charge, you’re trying to embody this receptive Empress energy but that’s been the whole problem, you don’t vibe with that and you’re not that. You’re about action, authority, work, achievement & power, aka if you want something to happen you’ve gotta make it happen. You could have also expected an Empress personality to do that - and they won’t. That’s not who they are. It’s a gift of yours to be that way, just as Venus is theirs, whether you agree with each other or not. If the law is involved, you are the one that has to do it, for someone it could be a divorce. Or if they’re tangled up in the law, or any other kind of bs, this person won’t do anything about it. Or you won’t, and that’s why they’re not sticking around, could be either side here. Releasing control, or taking it, focusing on what you can do and letting go of what you can’t.

What they’re learning is the same, Justice is fair, could be a lawsuit, a divorce or cutting off of something or someone, because things aren’t balanced and can’t stay in Devil energy forever. 10 Wands rev is having so much pressure and weight on your shoulders you just can’t take anymore, so you drop it all and head in another direction - Page of Wands. Could be a kid for someone, that could be you. Maybe someone couldn’t handle being a parent. Or they had to give up some dream based on something that’s happened in their life, a lack of authority & control - or escaping it if it’s too heavy and crushing them. Justice is fair, something had to be done, and this person recognizes this. At the bottom is you, King of Cups, and a lot of pain that’s either been done to you or you’ve caused another person, and Justice again, something had to be done. It was too much, whatever the situation, something or someone had to be cut off, a new direction had to be taken. There may be regrets - but it looks like the right thing happened, or will.

Long term potential is beautiful, and probably separate. I’m not sure about this person, but for you 8 Cups is leaving what’s here behind, because you have to. There are 9 & 10 Cups out there and you’re not going to find them here, trapped, Disturbed, Confined, you have to break free of that. The Star clarifies as your path, healing, and a beautiful future that’s meant to be yours once you leave this behind you & heal it correctly. Feel it, be sad, mourn it with 5 Cups. Queen of Wands at the bottom can be someone coming into your life to inspire you and show you the way, or this can be your own Aries/Mars energy picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and heading in a direction that lights your fire 🔥 and makes you feel beautiful, inspired, creative and alive again. Some of you may abandon one thing for another, or one person for another, that may be where the healing comes from as the message of not outrunning karma is repeated. And again Spirit is saying there can be more than one person, I assume it’s for that storyline, the runners. Karma just repeats until you learn the lesson. Either way, you have the power to take action in any direction you see fit - it’s your Scorpio gift, action & transformation 🎁

Zodiac Messages:

North Node - Pisces - 12th House

- Have faith in your dreams, seeking one-ness with all there is.

- Do not worry about your idealization of philanthropy.

- Now is the time to be a part of something overwhelming and keep your involvement hidden

Venus - Taurus - 10th House

- The attraction of resources to maintain your destiny.

- Pleasure from the practicality of where you’re going.

- Good times resulting from the productivity of your career.

Oracles:

Confinement 🪢

Captivity - Tolerance - Unfreedom

Disturbance 😵‍💫

Obscure - Irritation - Supernatural

Relaxation 😌

Peace - Tranquility - Easiness

Charms:

Fleur de Lis ⚜️ and Comb 🪮 on The Botanist speaks of royalty and beauty. I’m seeing two things and Lord idk what it means so you’ll have to fill in the blanks. First is King (formerly Prince) Charles and the whole Diana/Camilla debacle. I assume to use as an example, you could be into the royals. Isn’t he a botanist now? Sorta. Idk, I know he likes plants. I love Harry but idk much about his dad, moving on. I’m also seeing The Beast from Beauty and The Beast, judging the enchantress’s appearance before she blossomed into beauty and cursed him. The rose 🌹 is what’s being highlighted, and Botanist again. Idk if that will apply for everyone, or which side you resonate with, could be either and it relates personally however it does.

Hummingbird 🌺 on The Star is a symbol of positivity through negativity, healing, spiritual messages and angels around you, compassion and a playful outlook on life. It loves the flowers that a Botanist would plant and nurture, idk if gardening is something you love or not, Empress energy 💯 but this could be a nod to someone considering that. Or confirmation if you do. This can also show leaving behind the ick in favor of something more playful.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Taurus, Pisces, Scorpio, Libra, Aries & Aquarius

[donnerpartyofone]

I'm learning to Hack Transcendence y'all! Or actually I'm looking at this fashionable astrology app to scratch some sort of ego itch. I'm one of those people who both knows a lot about astrology and enjoys it AND is deeply suspicious of it, the psychology of which I don't feel the need to get into. Things like astrology usually sustain themselves by offering analysis general enough that anybody could see themselves in it, and this is a rare case where half the time I was reading this I thought, Damn this is completely wrong and I have no idea what it could be talking about! I mean a few of the above notes really get me. When I was already into dark shit as a very small child I wish I could have told my annoyed parents that I was just just Confronting Human Mortality. And I definitely do have trouble with the Creation of Personal Meaning...which is almost certainly the whole reason I'm interested in things like this in the first place. But then like, it seems to think that I chronically engage in machiavellian power struggles with loved ones who I treat like enemies because I don't know how to be honest with myself or anyone else. Which is like...for most of my life the whole problem has been boundary issues that allow other people to get away with murder, that cause me to take too many people at face value, and that lead me to tolerate all kinds of abuse because some part of me thinks I deserve it and that everyone but me has the right to do whatever they want all the time so I should just shut up and take it. I'm like barely beginning to get over this mentality, as an adult. For better or worse I react by sinking deeper into solitude, my very favorite vice. Which makes the astrology app's diagnosis of me as a codependent person who gets all of her security from mindless social interaction and material overindulgence, like, really confusing to me.

But uh anyway "This makes no sense" is just one reaction I could have to this. Another response would be that we each contain our opposite, and we're always looking for that opposite in the outside world in order to feel complete, to kind of consummate with our more subliminal parts; i.e. somewhere in me is this vicious predator persona, and that may be why it seems to be mirrored by various people in my life. This is garden variety Jungian anima/animus stuff, but it's a pretty useful way to reflect on your relationships both real and desired. The funniest take on this principle is the LaVeyan Personality Synthesizer.

This appears in Anton Szandor LaVey's crazyass book The Compleat Witch, Or What to Do When Virtue Fails. If you only read one book by or about LaVey, make it this one; it's supposed to be an instruction manual for how anyone can become a powerful seductress, but it's really like a charmingly unconscious expression of LaVey's personal hangups and fetishes, of which there are many. But anyway he says that you've got a private inner self, a social outer self, and in between you get the Demonic Minority Self (love that name) which tends to have the opposite gender energy of your Majority Self, and which is very much the opposite of your main identity in general. You're supposed to start figuring out your Majority and Demonic Minority Selves by using this somewhat eugenicist schedule of archetypal qualities:

And then if you wanna be a Compleat Witch you use this information to figure out how to seduce whoever you want by trying to resemble that person's Demonic Minority Self. Which actually seems like it could be pretty effective in theory, while the truth is that most people aren't as extremely black and white as LaVey liked to think. In any case it's at least entertaining to read about.

A lot of the book is just LaVey trying to sell his own peccadilloes as universal truths; for instance women shouldn't wear pants or flat shoes, they should perfume themselves only with their own BO and menstrual blood, they should kinda act like sloppy bimbos to maximally manipulate men, and then there's also stuff like, if you enjoy certain kinds of salad dressing it means you're a homo. I'm several years into a research project on LaVey (that I keep hoping I can formally announce the fate of but this kind of thing is VERY slow), and one day I attended a talk with the current High Priestess of the Satanic Church, who wrote the introduction to the last edition of The Compleat Witch and who was lecturing on its contents. I asked her if she thought LaVey had any awareness that, while he was writing what he believed to be applicable to all of humanity, he was really exposing extremely intimate details of his own unique personality, and man she Did Not Like That. But that's exactly what's good about the book, that it's this kind of subverted memoir; if you read The Satanic Bible you only find out that LaVey really liked Nietzsche and Ayn Rand, but if you read The Compleat Witch, then you know everything about him.

Whatever else you wanna say about Anton LaVey, he was definitely very good at the Creation of Personal Meaning, which may be why I'm compelled to study him. I mean I could just read Viktor Frankl instead, but where's the fun in that?

[bonnie-is-bumbling]

"I'm not trying to steal the spotlight. I'm just neurodivergent and trying to relate to you."

My friend and I were in Discord, having a discussion, and this came up. I thought it was a worthwhile point to spread.

See, before diagnosis, I had been through the wringer over this. The most memorable was a lady in Second Life, who told me I was only stealing the spotlight and not responding to her, just continuing on my own stories.

Me? I was confused. And I truly felt awful when she told me how it made her feel. I apologized, but it was not accepted.

I was told that I was just saying that, and being told to prove I was sorry.

It was maybe a year ago, possibly two. I don't even remember her name. But I do remember how I felt. I remember it clear as day. (I actually sometimes gripe at myself for hanging onto it. My brain clearly didn't get the memo that it's waaaay done and over with.)

I felt like a horrible piece of subhuman shite. I called myself a narcissist, and went into a full panic and upset, I told everyone to block me for their own safety, I changed my username, profile, everything to just call myself a big nope and warn people away. I know- overreact, much?

I couldn't afford a diagnosis, I had been told I was Neurotypical and just 'Unique' my whole life. But it still makes me walk on eggshells. And I mean I do it with everyone. Even those I love.

The Second Life lady was by far not the only time online, or in person that I had this experience and it b r o k e me. The way I try to conduct myself is that I try to extend kindness. And to be a spotlight thief is unkind. So that must mean I am unkind?... That's how I took it. That I was lying to myself, that I was cruel, inconsiderate, a narcissist, an asshole, a manipulative piece of shit. And that's so bloody toxic to myself, and inadvertently, others.

I wanted, not to die, but to cease my existence, so nobody would have ever been hurt by me in the past, present, or future. I struggled, and still do. I still lay down like a doormat so I don't offend the people who, in all reality, would be fine if I put in my opinion or thoughts. Because my mind, even after dx, still worries about crushing the one eggshell that sends the other person into upset, caused by me. Even when I'm not the guilty party, I will still feel guilt over an upset and try to fix it.

I'm aware this isn't great, but today, it's leaps and bounds away from where I was. I've actually been able to stand up for myself some, or brush some things off. At least consciously. My self-talk has improved. I try not to rely 9n my diagnosis, but when I feel it's necessary, I will inform my partner in conversation. It doesn't always get through to them, but... After that, I can much more easily accept if it just goes awry. I do fight with myself, and have to try so hard not to label myself so horribly right away. Healing is NOT easy.

Those of us who can't afford official diagnosis, or can't access it. We're in pain and we don't know what's going on. If you see someone seeming to steal the spotlight, please don't accuse them of doing so to belittle you right away.

Look at what they're saying or why they might be saying it. Give them the same opportunity you would want. I didn't mean to be a jerk and steal the spotlight when I was accused. I know that for a fact. I thought we were making conversation, truly and honestly, and the accusations hit like a bullet to the general view of myself.

Those of us without diagnosis, please don't think of yourself as I did of myself. Look into what you truly intended, and try not to bully yourself over it. It feels horrible, especially when you don't know why it's happening, and why you're 'like this'. Your mental health, no matter your condition; no matter of your diagnosis status, does not deserve the hurt. If you meant well and were accused of being cruel, you still meant well. Hold onto that knowledge. Correct what you feel you need to. Take responsibility, but just don't beat yourself up like I did!

You've got this, and even if you don't have a diagnosis, or can't get one, know you're still valid in how you feel, function, and think.

I'm still practicing this myself, but...

Have patience with yourself. You're doin' ya best! ♡