#last comment comes from me being pissed about the people like 'intrusive thoughts won and i bought a puppy uwu'

[jinxed-venting]

a few things i need to make known about this post and my past regarding the topics mentioned in this post before i continue:

trigger warnings include: crime, drug abuse/addiction, homelessness, the criminal justice system (i'm from the united states so i'll be focusing on that), poor coping mechanisms (self-harm, etc), abuse, ableism, and overall triggering subjects

i was in the legal system starting at 13 until i was 16. for a large chunk of this (from the ages of 13 to 15) i was in a group home for youth (fuck the troubled teen industry, that's an entirely different can of worms i will not open here though).

i have experience with self-harm to the point i would say i have an addiction to it. it's not something i'm proud of but it heavily influences my view on self-harm (that being it usually starts as a coping mechanism and spirals into an addiction).

this is largely me venting about my issues with the united states criminal justice system and legal system generally. if that bothers you, please don't read this post.

"people have more empathy for criminals than law abiding citizens"

or maybe some of us have actually been through the fucking legal system as teenagers and understand that criminals usually have something deeper going on besides just deciding crime would be fun??

general issues i have with how crime is talked about

non-violent robbery and burglary both exist

plenty of the people (but not all) who have robbed or committed burglary in the past are likely not stable enough to be able to afford things on their own. on the other hand, some thieves suffer from kleptomania; being thrown in prison is not going to help a kleptomaniac recover from their kleptomania.

drug addicts should NOT be thrown in prison for being drug addicts; they should be offered treatment and if they decline, make sure they're safe. i am 100% in support of harm reduction facilities (which would allow drug users to continue to use drugs but have immediate access to medical care should they accidentally overdose). if someone gets aggressive or violent when they're high, yes, that's an issue that needs to be taken care of.

systemic issues exist that make certain minority groups more likely to be found guilty of a crime they didn't commit; there are way too many stories of people minorities who were accused of heinous crimes, convicted, and either spent most of their lives in prison or were executed before they could be proven innocent.

drug addiction: risk factors

family history - if you have a family history of drug addiction, you're at a higher chance of becoming addicted yourself.

certain medications you're taking - from what i know, this is actually the most common cause of opioid addiction. this is why people want the pharmaceutical industry held responsible for the opioid crisis. as far as i know a similar thing can happen with benzodiazepines (which was one of my anxieties when i was prescribed xanax). i'm not addicted to sertraline but i am dependent on it, as i found that when i stopped taking it i was emotionally incapable of functioning properly. whether this is because i am actually dependent on it or because it's just been helping me that much i would not be able to tell you.

mental illness - for plenty of mentally ill people, myself included, this is something we don't like admitting, but mental health issues lead people to unhealthy coping mechanisms, including drug addiction. back to my previous point, part of my anxiety with being given xanax was that i would lose control of myself and start taking it outside of how it was prescribed and end up addicted to it that way. thankfully i took one dose, passed out, and decided i didn't like it, so i'm not taking it. my mental health issues have made me tempted to try other drugs though, the main thing stopping me being i have no clue how i'd get my grubby little paws on them.

homelessness

people really like to act like people are homeless by choice for some reason. i'm currently still living with my grandparents and don't know when (or frankly even if) i'll leave because i'm not able to be independent (mostly due to disability, that disability being epilepsy). people who are homeless are not homeless by choice. so let's go through a list.

there is an upsetting amount of disabled homeless veterans. they fought for us but we can't return the favor? like not all veterans have access to the programs that will provide them with government assisted housing.

lgbtq+ youth and young adults get kicked out of their parents' houses way too often without anywhere to go afterwards, ending up homeless as a result. i don't give a fuck what you think as a parent, when you have a kid, you agree to take care of that child until that kid is 18 and you have an obligation to do so (there are exceptions but not agreeing with your kid's sexual orientation or gender identity IS NOT FUCKING ONE OF THEM).

it is so fucking hard to make a fucking living wage in the united states and it doesn't help that the mentality seems to be "but you're just entering the workforce, why should you be paid a living wage?" which will lead to an unstable income, which could result in being evicted. honestly most people with this mentality probably also have the "once my kid is 18 they are on their own" mentality which is also super not great.

home environment

it's common for teenagers to get involved in smaller scale crimes (vandalism, theft, drugs, etc) because of how their home life is. how do i know this? i lived with kids in that exact situation for a year and a half. the kids are almost NEVER the issue when it comes to behavioral problems; for example, i was aggressive as a kid, but that likely came from me having undiagnosed autism and nobody knowing how to handle it (something my family agrees on).

in that group home the kids were never the problem. their home lives were. they were almost always either abused, neglected, or just didn't have a great relationship with their parents (or parent, depending on the situation) in general.

genuinely if i found a teenager committing a crime i would explain my history and ask about their home life because 9/10 that's where it starts.

we are not dealing with a crime issue. we are not dealing with a drug issue. we are not dealing with a homelessness issue. we are dealing with a mental health issue first and foremost that is causing the aforementioned crime, drug, and homelessness issues and society's fucked up views on mental health are only making everything worse. to fix criminal justice systems, we also need to fix our mental healthcare systems, including STOP FUCKING DEMONIZING PEOPLE FOR SHIT THEY CAN'T CONTROL. THIS INCLUDES INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS. intrusive thoughts are fucking horrifying to the person having them, THAT'S WHY THEY'RE CALLED INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS.

[corpse--diem]

Dead Friendship Forever | Regan & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @kadavernagh​ & @corpse--diem​ SUMMARY: Former DFFs bump into each other in a cemetery with death on the brain.

Cemeteries were full of more life than most people gave them credit for. Mornings were her favorite, when the sun started to warm the world again. Erin had her biases and the added convenience of living across the street from one her entire life. But there were few places in this town that grounded and comforted her all at once like Strawford Park could. It made this place feel like home again if only for a few moments. Not even this place could silence the voices in her head--especially her uninvited guest--but it was worth it for what she hoped it would bring. Her feet slowed at a portion of the path that broke off into the middle of the cemetery that stretched into a sea of assorted headstones and greenery as far as anyone could see. Knew that if she took a left now and another left at the second tree further up she’d be at her parents’ plot. It probably looked like an overgrown, weed-riddled mess at this point. She could hear her mother’s scorning, teasing tone. How does someone kill marigolds, Erin? I picked these on purpose! You’ve got to try and kill them! A small smile lifted the corner of her lips and she stared hard at the path. She almost made that left turn. Almost.

Something stronger than nostalgia won control of her movements and she continued forward. Not today. Not now. There were enough demons she had to face these days without diving into that emotional baggage. Lifted her head when she heard footsteps not far and a jolt of panic stopped her again like a brick wall had just shot up in front of her. Shit. “Regan…” she started, a soft roll of her eyes. A taste of the anger from their last encounter months ago in the morgue flared up in her chest. Present, but considerably tame in comparison. Time had an effect on emotions like that sometimes. “What are you doing here?” Erin asked, wincing inwardly. Regretted the insanely obvious question as soon as she’d asked it. This was Regan, after all. “I--uh--,” she shook her head quickly, narrowing her eyes at the path just beyond Regan. Fuck. She could do this. Play the pleasant adult before moving on. Hopefully. “How are you?” She asked.

The moon is so wonderful tonight… I bet Ulfric is loving it. “What?” Regan asked aloud, even though she suspected no one would answer. “It’s daytime. And who is Ulfric?” That name sounded familiar, though. A scream that seemed to shoot out of a nearby headstone made her freeze in place, before sprinting away. Cemeteries used to be so peaceful and quiet. Even though they still had some kind of tranquility to them, some kind of indescribable comfort, it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Regan kept her eyes low, sweeping them across the grass in front of her to watch for signs of squirrels and birds. She almost didn’t see that someone else was going for a stroll of their own nearby. But then she heard her name, coming from-- “Erin?” Oh, no. The last time they saw each other flickered through Regan’s mind. The broken glass, the fear in Erin’s eyes. And even before that, Erin nearly drowning in a glass of water because of words that Regan had spoke. A shudder rolled down her spine. There was no way Erin wanted to be here talking to her right now, and she couldn’t even blame her for that.

“What am I doing here?” Regan looked around at the sea of headstones. A disembodied voice shouted something about the lake, and a whisper curled past her ear. She shivered, but did her best to ignore it. “I go for a walk here a couple times a week. I live right nearby, remember? I assume you’re doing the same thing.” Regan eyed Erin, studying the dark circles under her eyes and the slump of her shoulders. She seemed tired, and not in the way of being sleep-deprived. “Uh,” she sputtered, as Erin seemed to do the same. Small chat. That’s what this was. “Look, you don’t have to-- I mean, I know things aren’t-- I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want--” She pressed a cold palm to her forehead and sighed to herself. At herself. Looked back at Erin. “I'm... things have improved recently, by a little over five feet. Are you alright? You look tired, and just a little bit annoyed, both of which are reasonable.” She paused, considering for a moment. “Do you want to talk about--” Nope. She clamped her mouth shut. Bad idea.

Crap. Did this mean Erin was going to have to avoid certain cemeteries now to skirt around awkward interactions now? She hadn’t thought about it before literally, and even as justifiable as her anger was, the pettiness layered in there too. Was she still going to do it? Probably. The hurt in her chest was as real as her fury. “Yeah, right. I remember. Dumb question, sorry,” she said. Ugh. That night she’d accidentally stumbled upon the medical examiner’s door felt like a lifetime ago. Almost instantly, that macabre bond formed over anatomically incorrect skeleton cookies and wholly invested death chat. It was almost still a sweet memory. She’d promised Regan more than she’d ever bargained for that night too. “Five feet, huh?” It was petty again, she knew that, but a small genuine smile overtook her. Oh, Blanche was going to be pissed, but the words left her before she had the better sense to shut it down. “I heard something about you flying out of the window--I mean off the handle for a little bit?” She asked. Nope. She couldn’t do this. This conversation had gone on for less than two minutes and already she was snipping at her like a toddler who hadn’t napped.

A heavy sigh fell from her and she regretted her last comments already. “I’m fine. And I hope you’re fine too, Regan. I mean that. I’m glad you’re… better.” She shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. That’s a nice skull. Seriously? Her eyes snapped back open and she looked up. “What? No. What did I just--I don’t want to talk about skulls. I don’t want to talk about anything.” She shifted tensely where she stood. “Should you--should you even be here? What if you, uh--” she gestured with her hand towards her mouth. The scream.

Regan felt a sigh leave her mouth as Erin seemed to make peace with the fact the two of them were standing closer than a mile apart. She even did her best to ignore the curt comments. “That’s not amusing.” She wasn’t taking the bait. Blanche had thrown so much of it her way already; Bishop, too. But the sudden jerking of Erin’s head made Regan jump. “What? I didn’t say anything about-- I mean, I can talk about skulls if you want me to. But you just said you apparently don’t want to discuss them. Unless… do you have one with you? Can I see it?” Doubtful. On both counts. Erin looked like the only thing she wanted to hand over was a punch to the eye orbital. But there was a fresh skull nearby, wasn’t there? It flicked at her senses from a short distance away. Every second she stood there seemed like a bad idea-- maybe worse than inviting her to the morgue before. “I should probably, uh-- I mean, it’s getting dark out.” Regan motioned to the sky, which was slowly filling with the colors of an old contusion.

But Erin asked a question and, wait, what was she doing with her mouth? Oh. Oh. Of course. “We’re in a cemetery. If that did happen, it’d be much safer here than just about anywhere el-- uh, not that I-- I’m not going to scream at you.” Regan hissed air through her teeth. Lungs, don’t make me a liar. The pressure stirred, but didn’t try to escape. “It’s still, uh, I’m working on it. Trying to.” She hung her head down for a moment, kicking up a small bit of fresh grave soil. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the morgue. I never meant to hurt you. Really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I still think everyone in this town is out of their mind, but I’m doing everything I can to avoid hurting anyone else.” She met Erin’s eyes, frowning. They had been friends, once. Maybe not close, but they’d connected in a way few people could relate to, and that was something special, wasn’t it? But looking at Erin, it seemed the wound from before was still very much open, and given how her lessons with Deirdre were going and the lack of progress being made, maybe that was for the best. “I’ll leave you to it. But if you did want a skull -- and not a human one -- there’s one buried a few inches underground there, I think.” Regan pointed past a few headstones.  

Erin could see that Regan was trying, and she felt a twinge of guilt for being so short. Not too guilty, but enough to stop her from letting loose much more of her barely contained wrath. It wasn’t meant for the doctor, not right now anyway. But wait--she didn’t say anything about the skulls? Fuck. That must have been Kaden. Again. “Right,” she shook her head. That was getting old too. But even as Regan tried to comfort her about the screaming thing, some fear nagged at her regardless. Once you endured a Regan scream, even a scream-lite, you didn’t want to have to tolerate another one. And they were in prime death territory. Bodies were buried beneath their feet and completely surrounded them.

“No, no, that’s--okay,” Erin shook her head, turning down the skeleton offer. Another time, that probably would’ve been a pretty fun way to spend her morning but those days were past them. Not like she had much time to spare for light, fun things anyway. “I should--” I wonder if the wings also flutter during an orgasm. The loud, intrusive thought made her stop mid-speech and all Erin could do was gape like a fish over at Regan. And now she was thinking about it. And suddenly this all had become way, way too much. “I’ve gotta go. Now,” she averted her eyes, suddenly blushing red. In her haste to rush out of there, she brushed Regan’s arm and fumbled a little, mumbling a small apology as she tried to keep going.

Get out of here, Kavanagh. As each second ticked by, it became increasingly clear that Erin was either still angry, or still afraid, or both, and there was no way to change that. Not now, and maybe not ever. Regan tried to ignore the sting of it, of such a potential friend lost, but it was hard to leave it well alone instead of trying to dislodge it and figure out exactly why everything had to go so wrong. Just as Regan was turning away, and just as Erin seemed to want to do the same, Erin froze like something gripped her from behind. “Erin?” Regan turned back toward her, heels swiveling in the dirt. I’ve gotta go. Now. “Did I-- what did I--” But Erin’s face was burning red, probably the warmest thing in the cemetery. “What happened? Are you alright? Did you have a heart palpitation or--”

Erin’s skin against her arm. She really was warm, but something about the contact filled Regan’s insides with an icy dread, and the cemetery around them unmade itself, headstones falling into nothingness and grass turning into wooden floorboards. There was a flash of fury as Erin lunged toward the man with a baseball bat. It made hard contact with his temple and he was on the floor. Regan screeched, falling backwards. She could feel wet grass caught in her palms and her coccyx collide with the dirt, but she couldn’t see it. Instead she saw Erin scavenge his pockets. Gun catching the light. Erin rolled him into a body bag, her face hard and determined with not a hint of guilt or disgust or shame or-- another flash, this time of death all around her, dark and suffocating rather than familiar and comforting. Regan could feel it thick in the hearse, thick around Erin. Could feel the pull of the man from the trunk. “Of course you bled in the van. You had to ruin one last thing on your way out, huh?” Erin was talking. To the cadaver of the man she’d just smacked with a baseball bat. The man she’d killed. Regan repeated the words aloud trying to make sense of them, trying to pull them apart and understand just what she was seeing, but if Erin was a murderer, then there was no understanding. None to be found. The cemetery rebuilt itself and Regan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push down both the nausea and the scream threatening to pry itself from her lungs.

Erin was still making strides to get away when she realized Regan had stopped talking. Regan didn’t normally just stop talking--babbling and nervous rambling was easily one of her more noticeable traits, and she had been in the middle of exactly that when she’d suddenly stopped. The glance back froze Erin’s entire being in place. Those fucking eyes. The same black ones she saw at the morgue. She was bracing for it--the scream. Hadn’t she literally just voiced her fears about that? Was this literally about to be the morgue all over again? She didn’t have time to be angry--her body was already slipping into an adrenaline fueled flight stance. Regan fell back, staring off at nothing again, though she knew that wasn’t true. She saw something. Oh fuck. Oh, here it came. Erin was turning to run now when Regan opened her mouth--

“Of course you bled in the van. You had to ruin one last thing on your way out, huh?”

It took a few moments but the chilling realization built up thick in her chest the longer she stared. Dale. Slowly, her face burning deeper than before. “What di-” she tried to ask but words scraped the inside of her throat. How could she know that? Where the hell did that come from? Had she seen something? No. No. That was impossible. She didn’t come any closer to her, didn’t try to help her up. Just stared, that itch to run needling at her thighs. “What did you just say?” Erin finally managed with a slight waver, nearly devoid of her previous anger. The chilling fear was rapidly rebuilding that one, though. “What the hell did you just say to me, Regan?” She snapped, stepping forward.

For a moment, Regan could still see it pulsing behind her eyeballs. Erin’s fury and fear. Erin killing a man. Erin shoving him into a body bag. Erin sticking him in the back of her hearse. As headstones and statues remade themselves in front of her, she tried to summon that dark room back like it had been a memory rather than a hallucination. It felt close, but before she could get ahold of it, it streaked away, replaced by the solid feeling of the ground underneath her. But it-- it didn’t matter. Erin would never-- she wouldn’t, right? But how well did Regan really know her? They were friends, once. They were. Was she capable of killing? One hard lesson learned from the autopsy suite: everyone was.

But trusting a hallucination? Kaden thought they were real. Visions, he’d called them, ridiculous though it was. Erin, too. And now here she was, in a situation where she probably hoped Regan would still refuse to put any stock in them. Regan laid her palms flat against the wet grass and looked up at Erin’s petrified face. The blood had drained from it, and she looked as lifeless as the skeletons under their feet. Erin was trying to say something, trying to stutter through it. And there was that look. Stony but fearful. The same one Erin had given her at the morgue that was etched into Regan’s mind like the sound of a funeral bell.

“I said-- why? You clearly heard me. Does it mean anything to you? I thought I saw, I mean, I did see you--” Regan gave Erin a hard stare. Was she looking at a murder right now? Had she known the words had been her own? As impossible as it seemed-- no, of course it wasn’t possible. But it was difficult not to look past it, to not factor it in, to not even consider it. And Erin was angry now. She was, wasn’t she? Slowly, Regan wobbled to her feet, bracing herself on a nearby headstone, just for a second. “I, uh-- sorry, I got lightheaded for a-- I’m going to go. Now. I’m going to go now. Right now.” One more look over at Erin before she started running. It had to be all in her head. But if it wasn’t, and if for just an instant she could set aside centuries of medical knowledge and publications and logic, then… then she needed time to make sense of the unthinkable.

[kenneth-omega]

Could you do 1 and 5 with Gwilym? Like some love/hate relationship? If you can't it's totally fine thank you anyway ❤

Damned If I Do **Gwilym Lee**

A/N: Thank you anon!! I went super overboard on this and wrote nearly 5k words for it, but it’s some good-ass Gwil smut. I tried to turn it into a love-to-hate-each-other relationship, with very BDE from Gwil and major Dom! vibes. So I hope you like it!

Warnings: SMUT, swearing, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, Dom!Gwil x reader

Word count: 4.9k

PROMPTS:

1: “we’re in public, you know”

5: “mine” “say it again”

prompts came from this smutty prompt list

□■□■□■□■□

In your head you knew it was wrong of you to piss off Gwilym, but that man hadn’t half gotten on your nerves earlier today. As you sat at the all-inclusive bar next to Ben, sipping your Aperol Spritz, you cast your mind back to the events of the late afternoon.

“All I’m saying is that if you hadn’t insisted on having your hair appointment today, we wouldn’t be running late.” Gwil sighed, stood in front of the floor-length mirror, trying to fasten his bowtie. You were sat at the vanity, where you had been fixing up your makeup.

Slamming the lipstick down on the wooden surface, you turned to look over at him, eyes glaring into the back of his head.

“Are you freaking kidding me, Gwil? You’re saying this is my fault?” You snapped, watching as he started trying to tie his bowtie once more, having mucked it up for the tenth time. You could tell he wasn’t focusing properly, and that the added frustration was making his temper fray. But frankly, you couldn’t give two shits, as your own fuse was close to being blown.

“That’s not what I said–” He began, but you cut him off, getting to your feet and putting a hand up in a gesture for him to shut up.

“No, but it’s what you’re heavily implying.” You responded, stalking across the bedroom to grab your purse off the dresser top. Gwilym gave a short grunt of frustration as he almost messed up his neat bow, although you had a feeling it was also in response to your statement.

“Well, I’m ready.” You huffed, folding your arms as you stood by your hotel room door, waiting impatiently and tapping your velvet-clad, stiletto-heeled foot, as you watched his reflection in the mirror. Gwil’s eyes flickered up from his bow to look at you, before returning to watching his hands.

“Makes a change for once.” He mumbled, finally managing to get his bow fastened around his neck, pulling the black collar of his shirt down over it. You huffed through your nostrils angrily, probably looking like some enraged bull as you stood silently, shooting daggers with your eyes. You tapped your index finger against your bicep as he grabbed his wallet and began fastening a watch around his wrist.

Finally, he was ready too and stood in the middle of the room, arms extended out at his sides as he presented himself in front of you.

“Handsome as ever.” You bit out, before turning on your heels and opening the bedroom door, stalking out and down the hallway. You weren’t meaning to sound so horrible, but his last comment had driven you up the wall, and the intrusive thoughts in your mind were making you feel rather shitty.

Did you really spend too long on yourself?

You were shaken out of your little daydream by a soft hand brushing your elbow. Turning to your left you were met with Ben’s soft smile.

“You okay? You look a little lost.” He asks, picking up his bottle of beer from the bar top. You smile at his obvious concern for his friend’s girlfriend, and you know it won’t have gone unnoticed by him that you two hadn’t been speaking all night.

“I’m fine, Ben, thanks for asking.” You assure him, finishing the rest of your drink, regretting it as the bubbles tickle your nose and made your eyes water a little. Now it looked like you were getting emotional.

“You need me to get Gwil?” He asks you, starting to get off his barstool to go find your boyfriend. You grab onto his bicep, the steady muscle underneath the soft fabric of his blazer tensing up under your touch.

“No!” You exclaim. Ben shot you a suspicious look. “I’d rather not hang around him right now.” You admit, eyes downcast as you knew Ben would no doubt be looking at you with pity.

“Y/N, did you guys have a fight?” Ben asks you, backtracking and returning to his seat, but leaning in a little closer so as not to be overheard by anyone. You really did appreciate his concern for you both.

Shaking your head, you ask for another drink, simply requesting the same, before turning in your seat to face Ben who is waiting patiently for you to speak.

“Just an argument, really. But I’m just so furious with him.” You growl, tapping your nails on the bar as you try to keep your temper in check. Yours and Gwilym’s relationship had always been a little volatile, but in the good way. Your friendship had been the same, both of you falling out over stupid things and not speaking for a day, until one of you would cave and text the other, and you’d go grab drink as if nothing ever happened.

“Okay…” Ben began, eyebrows furrowing together. “About what?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing how stupid it must sound. “Over which one of us made us late for tonight.” You look over your shoulder at the scene before you. It was the afterparty for the Oscar’s, Bohemian Rhapsody having won four different awards at the ceremony, so celebrations were in full swing.

You’d been late to arrive at the carpet, and after the ceremony was over you’d all returned to the hotel that you were staying in, having rented out the bar downstairs for the party.

Ben laughed next to you, but you didn’t register it at first, as your eyes met Gwil’s from across the room. You hadn’t spoken since the ceremony, where you had said congratulations to him and the others. After that, you’d remained distant and sullen.

Now he was leant up against a wall, drink in hand as he stood in conversation with Joe and a woman you didn’t recognise. Joe seemed to be trying to hit it off with her, however she seemed an awful lot more interested in Gwilym and what he had to say. Your eyes remained locked with his, until he was asked a question by the woman and Joe nudged his arm. Although he looked away to speak to the girl, giving her his trademark charming smile that he always reserved for you, his eyes kept flicking up past her head to look at you.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him knowing you were staring, you turned back to look at Ben. Although innocent enough, that girl had rubbed you the wrong way and you didn’t like him smiling at her. As idiotic as it sounded.

“Hey Ben?” You ask the blond, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try not to get too het up about what was going on across the room from you.

Ben, mid-drink, looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, raising his eyebrows in question. You place your hand on his leg, just a couple of inches higher than his knee, but it was enough to make him choke a little on his drink.

“Thanks for being a good friend.” You told him sweetly, giving him sincere smile. Ben put his bottle down and put a hand on your shoulder, giving you a wink, something he was renowned for doing. It wasn’t a flirtatious gesture from him, more of his way of telling you that it wasn’t an issue, and that he was always going to be there for you.

“Not a problem Y/N.” He assures you, squeezing your shoulder.

Although the whole exchange was innocent enough if someone were to hear you two talking, but you knew that from across the room it wouldn’t look quite the same. That’s what you were hoping for.

Looking out the corner of your eye, you could see a tall, dark form shifting through the throng of people, and before they even got to you, you knew it was Gwilym.

In less than a few seconds, he was by your side, pushing himself a little bit in between you and Ben, cutting off your view from him. You look up at him through your eyelashes, giving him a little smirk as he glares down at you, his face like thunder.

“Hello Gwil.” You greet him politely, your tone sweet yet sharp, as you pick up your new, full glass of Aperol Spritz, taking a sip from it and running the tip of your tongue across your top lip as you wait for him to respond.

“Are you finished?” Gwil asks you, his voice dangerously low as he towers over you. His deep, cobalt-blue eyes were practically burning a hole into your mind, a flash of jealousy illuminating them. You hum, looking at your nearly-full glass as if it were a tough question, pondering over your answer.

“Not quite.” You tease, flashing him a smile that was all teeth and no humour.

“That’s not what I meant.” He hisses, eyes shifting to the left, aware of Ben sat behind him, looking a little confused and forlorn.

So he had seen you.

“I wasn’t doing anything.” You tell him, the tone in your voice growing sharper by the second. You could feel another row coming on.

Gwil scoffs, his eyes rolling as he raises a singular eyebrow at you, as if to say “really?”. You got off your stool, the legs scraping on the floor as it pushes away from you, and stood in front of him, brazenly looking him in the eye.

“Don’t take that attitude with me.” You snap, one hand balling into a fist as the other grips the bar top. You’re almost shaking with fury as Gwil glares down at you, not even flinching at your sudden act of defiance.

Leaning in, his face draws ever closer to yours, and were it not for both of your vicious scowls, people might mistake you both for getting close and cuddly. Just inches from your face, Gwil’s arm slips past you and you get ready to push him away if he tries to grab your hand or pull you into him.

Instead, you hear the scrape of the barstool behind you and feel a soft bump as it hits the back of your legs, making you startle slightly. Gwil doesn’t break eye contact for a single second as he pulls the stool up.

“Sit.” He commands you, his voice a husky growl that sends a delicious chill down your spine. You do so immediately, scooting your bum onto the seat and waiting to see what he’ll do next. It’s a little unexpected, and not what you had thought might happen.

Gwil straightens up and turns around to his friend. Ben, who had been sat with his drink, was minding his own business and scrolling through his Instagram as the whole fiasco went on beside him. But when Gwil turned around he couldn’t help but notice the obvious waves of rage rolling off of his friend.

“Ben, can you give us a moment? Alone?” Gwil asks his friend calmly, the intimidating glare dissipating instantly as he addresses him. Ben shrugs, thinking none the wiser of it, and gets up from his seat, walking off to go find Joe and Rami.

You swear under your breath, realising that Ben had now sent you to your doom, as Gwil spun back to face you. His expression held no malice or anger, just frustration. You didn’t know whether it was the good or bad kind, however.

Stepping closer to you, Gwil slips his leg between yours as he closes the gap between the two of you. His body shields you from the eyes of the rest of the room, with the cool metal of the bar keeping you pinned against him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gwilym hisses at you, all the while looking around the room, instead of at you. To anyone else, it might look like you two were having a meaningless conversation as Gwilym simply seemed to be observing the party. Nothing overly suspicious.

“I told you before, I wasn’t doing anything!” You snarl, picking up your glass and taking a big gulp of your drink, before slamming it back down on the surface, much like you had done with the lipstick earlier that day.

Gwilym’s hand suddenly grazes your knee, the pads of his fingers brushing the inside of your leg.

“Liar.” He responds, still refusing to look at you. You froze on the spot, unable to move as his hand rest firmly on your leg, his thumb digging into the soft flesh whilst his fingers lightly stroked across the soft skin. It sent tingles up your leg, straight to your core, and you tried not to let it bother you.

Besides, you were a little occupied by the fact that Gwilym had just called you a liar.

“What did you just call me?!” You demand, the volume and shrillness of your voice getting a little higher. Gwil’s hands slip up your leg, underneath the skirt of your dress, in a flash, gripping the flesh of your upper thigh tight, no doubt leaving marks. But it causes you to clamp your mouth shut as his fingers lay mere centimetres from your panties.

Bastard.

“Hush now.” Gwil murmurs, eyes twinkling as he tries to keep his face impassive, knowing full well what effect this was having on you.

“Fuck off.” You hiss under your breath, but it soon turns into a whimper as his index and middle finger slip further up and press harshly against your clothed clit. You have to resist the initial urge to move your hips and grant yourself some friction against his fingers.

Gwil leans down, so that his mouth is brushing against your ear, his beard scratching your cheek. His hot breath feels so good on your neck, and you can’t help the fact that you’re starting to get rather wet for him.

“Play nice, princess.” He hums, rubbing his fingers in a singular circle against your clit, feeling your body jerk against him in response. You clamp down on your bottom lip hard, another small whimper coming from your mouth.

“We’re in public, you know.” You mumble a weak excuse, when you finally manage to recover from the sudden stimulation. You were so furious at him for everything that had happened today, and yet it only seemed to make his touch, his fingers, and his presence more magnetising.

“I know. The perfect punishment for being such a naughty girl tonight.” Gwil chuckles, the low hum of his voice making your clit throb against the pressure of his fingertips. You couldn’t help but spread your legs a little wider for him. A silent plea for him to touch you more.

“Don’t know what you mean…” You moan gently, his fingers starting to rub slow circles through your panties onto your clit. Your hips begin to twitch involuntarily, succumbing to the magic of his fingers.

“Behave, or else I’ll stop.” He growls, removing his fingers from your clit, the loss of his touch leaving you feeling high and dry. That is, until his hand moves your panties to the side and his fingers begin to slide through your folds, spreading the wetness that has begun to pool in your underwear.

You gasp in delight and horror as you realise that there are people all around you both.

“Gwilym–”

“No.” He snaps, cutting you off.

You moan softly, knowing he won’t listen to you, not when he has you like putty in his fingers.

“Please, baby–” You whine, inching forward in your seat, hoping for him to get the hint. Gwilym sighs happily at his nickname, it offering some form of comfort to try balm over his jealousy. A name he knows only he can get you to say, and only say when you’re desperate for him.

“Much better.” He praises, fingers dipping closer to your entrance, but not quite enough. You roll your hips forward, your leg which is stuck between his brushing against his crotch, his hard on rubbing against your thigh. He’s just as turned on as you are.

This snaps you out of your mewling, submissive state, your half-closed eyes flicking up to look at his face that remains stone cold as he continues to tease your pussy in the middle of the party.

“Baby?” You ask him sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him as he looks down at you, slightly confused as to why you’ve stopped begging and squirming under his touch. You sneakily slip a hand up the inside of his thigh, until you reach his crotch, and rub his hard cock through his trousers.

Gwil almost stumbles at the sudden contact of your hand against his erection, palming him through his tight trousers, and has to bite back a loud moan. You can feel his dick flex and twitch under your palm and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“You were saying?” You whisper, rubbing your hand along his length, the tips of your fingers pressing down a little to massage his shaft through the material. Gwilym’s fingers sink into your wet entrance without warning and you gasp, your free hand coming up to slap your mouth shut and stifle the moan that was soon to follow after.

His fingers curl inside you as he pumps them slowly, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

“Fuck–” You cry, as quietly as possible, through your fingers.

“Don’t you dare tease me without my permission, do you hear me?” Gwil growls, fingers moving slow inside you as he leans in to plant a kiss on your neck, right below your ear. You whine and nod your head in response, unable to open your mouth for fear of a moan coming out.

Gwilym savours the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers for a little bit longer, before he pulls away, leaving you feeling empty without his long digits inside you, fucking you just right.

He pulls out a tissue and wipes his fingers, internally fighting the urge to lick them clean like he normally would, to be able to enjoy the taste of you. But he knows there’s time yet.

“Get up.” He demands, pulling you to your feet and taking your hand in his. He begins to drag you towards the door that will lead you into the lobby, where the lifts are. You follow after him like a lost sheep, giddy with excitement and arousal. Gwilym stabs the button for the lift, and the two of you wait in silence, the lobby is almost dead, save for you and the receptionist who doesn’t even raise his head at you both.

Gwilym leans down to whisper into your ear. “When you get into that lift, I want you to take your panties off like a good girl.” He informs you, just as the lift dings and the doors open.

It’s pretty late now, so you know that there will be barely anyone else around.

The two of you step into the lift and Gwil pushes the button for your floor, before the doors close softly. He turns to you, leaning his back against the wall of the lift, his arms folded as he waits expectantly, eyes glittering with arousal. For a second you stand there defiantly, until he raises an eyebrow at you, his gaze promising punishment if you don’t comply with his wishes.

You slip your dress skirt up, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and pulling the down over your ass, letting them drop onto the carpeted floor. Gwil’s eyes remain focused on your face as he extends a hand out, waiting. You pick your panties up off the floor and place them in his outstretched palm, watching as he pockets them without another word.

“Good girl.” He tells you, as the lift dings and the doors slide open to reveal your floor.

The walk to your room is silent, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation and lust. Gwilym unlocks the door to your room, flicking the lights on. Throwing his blazer onto the little armchair, he begins to undo the tie which he had tried so hard to get perfect earlier that evening.

“Get on the bed.” He growls at you, noticing you stood in the middle of the room, watching him begin to undress. “And take everything off.” He adds, eyes flicking down to your dress.

He begins to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers from where it had been neatly tucked in, kicking off his shoes in the process. You remain still, watching him slowly remove his clothing, his slightly tanned skin rippling as his muscles flex with every movement, in the soft glow of the lamps. Just as he starts to undo his belt, he looks over at you and realises you’re still not doing as he asked.

With a sigh, he stalks over to you and slips behind you. His fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair aside, scooping it over one shoulder, so that he can get to the zip of your dress. You can hear the little whirr as he pulls the zip down, the material of your dress loosening as he slides it off your shoulders, letting it slip off your body.

You look down and see it pooled around your ankles, leaving you naked in front of him. Gwil sucks in a deep breath as his eyes move over your bare form, unable to contain his obvious admiration.

“Fuck, princess.” He groans, his hands grazing your hips. Gwil leans forward and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs against your hot skin.

You lean back into him, the bare skin of his chest warming against your back, relishing the contact between you both.

“I’m so lucky to call you mine.” He sighs, both his hands slipping up to cup your breasts, kneading them in palms, fingers grazing over your nipples. You instinctively arch your back, your ass pressing against his hard cock, earning a low moan from him.

“I’m all yours.” You assure him, tilting your head back to give him more access to your neck, allowing him to plant open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin. He takes one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger, rubbing it gently. Your skin erupts with goose bumps and you groan, his hard cock straining against his trousers.

“Mine.” He growls, before going to your neck and slowly sucking a deep purple bruise into the skin. You reach a hand up to run it through his floppy brown hair, having recently got the back and sides cut short, so it feels soft and fluffy.

“Say it again.” You beg, feeling the familiar rush arousal between your legs, knowing you must be soaking wet right now.

He removes his lips from your neck, spinning you around to face him, cupping your face with his hands.

“Mine.” He whispers, his eyes blown with lust and love for you, lips plump and red from how much he’s bitten them.

“Then fuck me like I’m yours.” You tell him firmly, eyes never breaking contact, as you take one of his hands from your face and gently wrap it around your throat, adding a little bit of pressure.

Gwilym needs no more hints, pushing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you in an instant, sliding his belt off and pulling his trousers down so he can rub a hand against his hard cock through his underwear.

“Legs, princess.” He tells you, opening your legs and slipping them over his shoulders, with you helping him without hesitation. Gwil, his head between your thighs, looks up at you and gives you a warm smile, all the dominating swagger he usually has vanishing for a moment, as he looks at you like he’s the luckiest man in the world.

And then it’s gone, as Gwil dips his tongue between your folds, the tip flicking against your clit. You can feel the bristles of his beard scratching against the inside of your thighs and creating more friction against your pussy.

“Fuck, Gwil.” You cry, your back arcing as you slip your hands down to run them through the long strands of hair on the top of his head, tugging them a little. His instinct is to moan as you pull on his hair, and the vibrations against your clit make you buck your hips, grinding your pussy against his tongue.

“So wet, baby girl.” Gwil teases, removing his mouth and using a finger to rub slow circles on your clit, watching you squirm under him. He can feel his cock leaking pre-cum in his boxers, and he so desperately wants to be buried in your soaked pussy.

You seem to want the same thing as you beg for him to fuck you, your legs trembling as he switches from using his finger on your clit to using his thumb, allowing him to tease your entrance.

“Want my fingers in your pretty pussy?” He asks you, dipping them in slightly, but not fully, liking to watch as you gasp at every movement. You nod in response, your soft moans giving him all the encouragement he needs.

He buries two fingers into you with ease, curling them inside you to rub against your walls, before he starts to pump them. The sight of your legs opening more for him, taking his fingers so well, makes Gwilym rock hard. He pushes down his boxers, finally relieving his erection from its confines. It springs out, the pre-cum dripping off the tip as he wraps his spare hand around the shaft, and slowly begins stroking himself to the sight before him.

You open your eyes, wanting to see Gwilym’s face as he fucks you with his fingers, and you almost cum when you see him jerking off over you.

“Such a good girl.” He moans, mouth falling open slightly as his fist pumps his cock quickly, still praising you as he gets you both off.

“Gwil, fuck me.” You beg, knowing that you can’t hold off your orgasm much longer, and wanting to feel him deep inside you. He slows down his rhythm, teasing himself as he strokes just the head of his cock, removing his fingers from your pussy and greedily licking all your juices off them.

He shuffles himself so that his cock is lined up with your entrance, moving his hand from his member to the base of his shaft.

Gwil slowly pushes the tip inside you, pausing as you moan at the teasing sensation, before slowly pushing deeper and deeper inside you, until his cock fills you up entirely. He can’t contain the hungry growl in his throat, as his desires are slowly fulfilled.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He moans, relishing the way your walls clench around him, before he begins to pull back out, and then in once more, building up a pace. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you quickly, his arms pinned at either side of your head as he leans over you, the new angle allowing him to fuck you better.

“Baby–” You cry out, one hand gripping the sheets whilst the other holds onto one of Gwil’s wrists. Noticing the way you grip onto his arm, he leans down, using his left forearm to prop himself up, whilst he slips his right hand around your throat, holding you in place. Your hand reaches up to rest over his, not adding any pressure, but just wanting to feel the sensation of his hand around your neck.

“God you’re so fucking hot, and you were so naughty tonight.” He growls next to your ear, panting as he fucks you harder, your skin slapping against each other as he drives his cock into you.

“…Wanted your attention.” You whimper, turning your head towards his, leaning in for a heated kiss. Gwilym runs his tongue along your lips before sticking it down your throat, your lips coming together in a wet kiss.

“Because only I can make you feel this good.” He gasps when you pull apart, looking at you through his long eyelashes, a little bit of spit coating his bottom lip. You gently suck his bottom lip, pulling a breathy moan from him.

“Of course baby.” You assure him, a hand slipping down to your clit to begin rubbing it at a fast pace, matching every one of Gwilym’s thrusts. “Now let me show you how you make me feel.” You tell him.

Gwilym brings himself up onto his haunches, his hands falling down to hold your hips, allowing him to control your movements and watch you play with yourself on his cock. With every clench of your walls around his cock, his thrusts grow a little more desperate, and he prays you’ll cum soon so that he can join you.

Your mouth falls open as the beginning of your orgasm starts to creep up in your stomach, and Gwilym has to bite his lip as he watches you get closer and closer.

“Say my name.” He begs you. “Say my name when you cum, princess.”

You nod at him, knowing he won’t have to wait much longer, as you reach the edge of your climax, going over the edge and falling into bliss.

“I’m–Fuck, Gwil! Oh, fuck baby…” You moan, the waves of euphoria washing over your body with every thrust of Gwil’s cock inside you.

Gwil, knowing you’ve reached your high, doesn’t try to hold off his own orgasm any longer, his thrusts getting sloppier, until he’s finally cumming too, his hot load spurting inside you.

“Jesus! Holy fuck–” He exclaims, hips still rolling against yours as he rides it out, wanting the pleasure to last as long as possible. After a few more shaky thrusts, he carefully pulls out, before bending down and pressing soft kisses up your stomach, past the valley of your breasts, until he’s kissing your chin all the way up to your lips, where he plants quick, hot kisses.

His hair is hanging down over his face, getting in his eyes and tickling his nose, but he doesn’t care, because you’re there in front of him, looking up at him with an incomparable amount of love in your heart, your eyes slightly glazed from exhaustion, as you reach up to stroke his beard.

No matter how mad he may get at you, he knows nothing can ever beat this feeling.

[evelyntransitions-blog]

Day 39 recovering from crap

It’s been a while since i’ve posted here, mostly from depression and because a lot of lame shit happened we’ll start from the top. -Fuckin’ Kekistan ball won the battle of the balls. Mostly because the admins used a bunch of bots. Then kept making fun of all the leftist esc’ balls. Top tier trolling but kinda shitty. Don’t cheat at your own contest. That’s lame. -Speaking of anarchy I had this little debate with one of the admins, that stemed from me trying to see the good in people from all the political philosophies, and that they were misunderstood leading them to fend for themselves because of their ideal society. Nevertheless most peoples ideals come from wanting to help other people, even really die hard Conservatives don’t want a bunch of lazy people, who can’t have any faith in anything good and want to save their kids from hurting themselves or going to hell. They seem to care about their country too and hate immigrants on the grounds of wanting to look out for their family, because they believe immigrants are making things like healthcare inflate due to the mass amount of people on it. It’s fucking awful and prejudice as fuck, but they’re still looking out for their own. As terrible as ingroups are, to care about a group of people still shows some compassion. No one is truly selfish. They can be evil, but not truly selfish.  So random anarchy ball admin praises me on acknowledging how “Selfish” people become in the face of adversity and explain, that An-caps are selfish too but they don’t want to hurt anybody they just want to make money and be left alone. This is obviously false because if you do something like own a business you’ve created a hierarchy volentary or not, you’ve gained control of other peoples lives for the sake of survival. One could argue all philospohies would implement this, but business overall demands a person strip away their identity for production more often than not blah-blah-blah etc. etc. etc. That’s why people say they’re not real anarchists because they suppress a persons identity for the sake of giving others power or something like that. I actually talked to the purple and black ones, one of them gave me a long reading. Sheesh. It’s a good read none the less, but I think i’ll stick cleaning up the environment and hopefully in the future growing food for the less fortunate and giving it away for free to spite corporations and businesses that sell food or take up land. I don’t want to stick myself into a dogma though. But I digress. I try to explain that people aren’t necessarily selfish, they can do good things and this admin seems to take it really personally, and goes all out in treating me like i’m naive and says people just do good things to feel good. Boi’ you don’t know my life. Have you dealt with someone who’s co-dependent and tried to help them when you have depression because you don’t want to see them kill themselves, not because you want them around (because frankly they’re a burden to your happiness as awful as that sounds), but because you see how wonderful of a person they are and want to see them love themselves, when i’d be easier just to leave. Fuckin’ parents raise kids and make sacrifices sometimes not out of romanticization of motherhood-fatherhood but just because they care. This isn’t as common as people think, but it happens. Forgiveness within itself exists not out of feeling good but knowing it’s right and compassionate. In reality forgiveness is alturism because having to put up with someone who wronged you, and risking feeling like shit (and also feeling like shit for having to listen to them and apologize or hear them apologize) is fucking work, and annoying as piss. I have a lot of stuff to do some i’m not going to go into personal examples. Point is the guy to me sounds like he’s trying to justify sociopathy and i’m not down for that. So we argue but it doesn’t get far. I take the cheap example and go for people who risk their lives on impulse to save others. If people naturally risk their lives without thinking or wanting to feel something, they’re more naturally selfless or at least have the capacity to be totally selfless. There’s HOPE. They have nothing to say to that. Nevertheless I spent 2 days post this between volenteer work and work-work debating myself to make sure I was correct. In case this example tanked, I tried to look for another one in my life or a person and thought back to when I wronged my now best friend as a child, and left him for a girl. I remember meeting up with him and him wanting to serve me shit or tell me to fuck off, as he often tells, but he decided to forgive me. He didn’t even want people around. He wanted to be alone and to die. Maybe he secretly wanted someone, but it wouldn’t make sense that the childhood shithead (me) would be that person. I have faith that he decided to be selfless on his own accord. I’ve grown to love him, and we’ve risked our lives for each other, between standing up to oppressive people, and keeping each other from killing ourselves. We’ve had co-dependent patches when we started but nothing too insane. It’s become guiene love and we can respect each other as opposed to looking at what’s best for us. Little human sacrifices.  Faith-Hope-Love that’s what Christians, they’re clearly unto something. Heh’. Nevertheless the whole discussion made me depressed because I started worrying about the person. All political philosophy aside, if this person is that cynical, I want to know what’s eating at them. Solving that mystery and feeling good about helping them is selfish, and would probably lead to backlash, but I hope they find peace and ditch their cynicism. This  tore me up and fed my depression; me worrying about someone I didn’t even know.

-So more politics but no anarchy. This part isn’t bad but a quick note. The Libertarian party is doing pretty well and they seem optimistic. Though i’m not from New York i’ve looked into a particular candidate named Larry Sharpe. I’ve been watching his posts for a while and he seems to sacrifice a lot of his personal beliefs for what he thinks is fair and liberates the masses. He seems to hate taxes and his opponent. His opponent hasn’t said much about him so far, but seems to mean well too. He’s tried to help a bunch of people from what I gather, but has raised taxes so high that small businesses are failing and people can’t move to new locations are get their bills paid. In helping people he overstepped his shit, and fucked up. I gather this from the comment section on his posts. Generally speaking, people don’t like him on those grounds, but the ones who do only like him because he’s nice. This constant debate on how much people should help is fucking with my head. What really is best for humanity? It’s fucking with my head, but I can’t let it control my life. Personal shit/Shit regarding taking care of myself. I went to my therapist and he’s being a butt. I gather he’s worried about me transitioning because he asked a lot of questions about my presentation as a (trans) woman. The questions felt very intrusive asking why I don’t do “x”. Some of them were redundant and I felt the need to justify everything. I don’t like being put on trial, my Dad that and it fucked me up. I wanted to give him the right answers as opposed to how I felt, or just be avoidant. There was a lot of glaring and him sounding stressed. So when Mr. Therapist did something similar, it fucked me and I had an “episode” and began spewing out a bunch of information and asking him what he’s going to do, what he thinks, if he would just listen, that he doesn’t trust me and that all the doctors visits make me feel less like a woman and more like a lab rat. They feed my dysphoria. I had sort of this weird out of body experience where I was just talking but my body felt like it wasn’t there. That I had separated myself form reality to keep myself safe. It was pure anxiety and miserable. He proposed that I didn’t trust him and that I thought he was against me, but I tried reassuring him and it just ehhh. I kept going over the possibility that I might have autism (See next paragraph) considering my psychiatrist keeps thinking that because I can’t always communicate my thoughts, and it was a mess. I “yelled” a lot trying to get my points across, not really angrily but my voice was raised. He gave me a journal to write in. Even after he said our time was up, I got really selfish and glued myself to the couch wanting him to reassure me and asking him questions with what ifs. Like what if I just took estrogen, and he said he’d support my decision and root for me. This is why I think he’s decent. None the less the intrusiveness and lack of transparency bother me. The think that bugged me most is that he said he didn’t think I was ready because I had “one last hurdle to overcome” And when I asked “What?” He said he didn’t know. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I spent the time after in my car having a panic attack and feeling numb. I didn’t even schedule another appointment. I wanted to just die but my inner voice told me to breathe, strap in my seatbelt, drive home and get some sleep. I posted on Facebook about my depression and everyone got worried. I’m glad I got good friends. I went home and got to sleep. Woke up and went out with chinese food with my roomate and her boyfriend(?).

-I went to get tested for (Asperger's) Autism earlier in the week because my psychatrist seems to think I have it. Every doctor I have says one thing, while others suggest different. It’s the same with friends and family. Mom thinks I have it. Best friend doesn’t think I have it. Mom knows me at home, Best friend however has autism and has autism run in his family. Am I autistic? Who knows. I’m sure right wing neckbeards edgelords would think I am, because I respect women generally speaking. Nonetheless they did an interview sort of thing, and i’m able to go in and get officially tested. This will be when I have money. That doctor said it was a 50/50. The visit was the same as all the others XP

- After a good 3 bottles of Mikes hard practically in a row I finished that fucking English Essay and turned it in. -I was able to talk to my school councilor for the first time in months. She’s the best. I’ve had her around since I started figuring out my gender identity (I think that’s a stupid as word tbh, considering the brain is an organ, so to some degree i’m female). I gave her an hours worth of rambling and she as always responded with kindness, listening and sincere advice. She doesn’t care for my therapist or psychiatrist from what I can gather, and I already know she doesn’t care much for my parents. She did want me to try to be more honest with the therapist though, despite the panic, and just address my needs upfront. I’m not sure how capable i’ll be of doing that, but I can respect the advice, mostly because it’s her. I can almost fully trust her. She’s at like 99% where most people are at like 40%. My best friend is at 100% unless it’s making plans. He tends to fuck up with that. Oh well, nobody is perfect.

- I did some volenteer work over the weekend which was nice. Blockers/lack of energy and stiffness in my limbs didn’t fuck with it too much. It feels nearly impossible to lift boxes at my work though.  -Though it doesn’t have to do with me, some fucker stole shit at my work and got caught. It was a thing of cool whip, in which he’d do something that a manager described post arrest as “whip its” in which a person would inhale nitrogen from a whip cream can. Personally if he wants to do drugs and ruin his life that’s his own business. Sure someone cares about him but trying to prevent shit like drugs via police seems to cause more problems. Just let people voluntarily go to rehab and be there for them. I am glad he got caught for stealing though, i’m not a fan of stealing unless someone is trying to feed their kids, or themselves because they’re living in severe poverty and prices for x company are high. Even still a lot of businesses can be decent at times and if you tell them you’re poor they sometimes really help people out (been there done that). You’d think someone who prasies things like anarchy would be like “DOWN WITH THE COORPERATE GREED” you could also argue that someone who’s okay with Captalism would be like “NO THIEVERY PEOPLE EARNED THAT MONEY” there’s also the thought of “HOW DOES ONE LIKE ANARCHY, CAPITALISM BUT HATE ANCAPS. WHAT ARE BELIEFS (I’ll talk about that in another post).” Nope my reaction is that stealing is terrible for everyone because x company will just give employees less hours or jack up prices. It makes things harder on the poor. Stealing also lets in police prescence and furthers the police state. If people really wanted to piss on the government if applicable be totally obidenent and expose police violence. If people don’t believe in police and don’t feel a need for them the state would eventually defund them or people wouldn’t become cops. It’s happening in the county I live in, and it’s awesome. Hopefully one day there won’t be any police or at the very least police that are more social workeres than anything. I could live with social worker police. Some countries have that. That’s how it’s supposed to be (except in terms of major riots which may not happen due to less police, and kidnappings. Police existing to hunt down kidnappers is ideal. I wouldn’t mind private cops to do that though) That’s it, no go outside =w=