#let me know if there's anything else that needs to be tagged

[hotvintagepoll]

Vintage movie recommendations for getting through these dark times? 🙏 Looking specifically for anything joyous, especially if it's queer/progressive for its time. Thanks!!

ooh ok! that's a big ask, because queer/progressive doesn't always show in the ways we expect in older movies. still, joyous i can do, and as poly as I can I'll try for:

the talk of the town (you knew i would say this). jean arthur, cary grant, ronald colman are all tangled up in all sorts of ways, legally but also including in each other's pajamas. it's free on youtube and tubi last time i checked!

singin' in the rain (you also knew i would say this). cosmo brown, weird little third wheeling queerplatonic ideal that you are. gene kelly, debbie reynolds, and donald o'connor have fire chemistry and all three of their characters love the other ones so truly and with such joy they break all of hollywood with the power of song. (it is gorgeous and sublime that the story is built so only these three ever actually engage with the musical format—the format that is, in universe, the way of the future—structurally equating music and musicals with love. no one else gets a song or a villain number or a little ditty that's not a literal musical number. only these three break the story and heal it at the same time.)

the adventures of robin hood—i swear to god will scarlett is good for nothing else besides being robin's hot little friend. will alone makes this movie queer for me. also, watching a movie about a socialist uprising against a cruel and unjust government sure feels apt! for no particular reason! (this one is also on tubi.)

the philadelphia story—jimmy katharine and cary are absolutely a threesome in this movie and it's a crime they didn't just make more of this movie, again and again, forever. is there a plot? they're all by a swimming pool, it's hot, there's champagne. what else do you need for a film. oh yeah there's some discussion of autonomy and women's rights and wealth and class and marriage, some of which i disagree with, but i think mostly it's katharine hepburn in an evening gown and jimmy stewart in a white terry cloth robe and cary grant standing there not minding in the least. (content warning: there is one instance of a racial slur [not directed at anyone but still there], and one shove. also on tubi.)

the lady vanishes—i love this movie, so much, couldn't tell you why (i can: michael redgrave is here being hot). there are two bit characters who read as queer coded (they are also obsessed with cricket and are mocked for being english by the narrative, which is nice), and there's a weird plucky joy in michael redgrave's performance that feels like a departure from your usual Solid Very Serious Male Heroic Main Character. this movie does trend mildly xenophobic in a very England-in-the-30s type of way—there are shady "foreign" characters and other batshit stereotypes—but nothing I think that would cause direct offense. (let me know if I'm wrong on this though and I'll tag accordingly). this one is free anywhere and can be watched on youtube.

the wizard of oz—i know you've probably seen this before but it's worth seeing again. yes you're allowed to cry at the end i always do

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Anyone else thinking about breeding kink Shimmer!Kane by chance?

👀👀👀👀👀

Don't Take Anything Less

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Kane's insatiable.

Warnings: p in v sex, cream pie, breeding kink, kisses, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 502

Kane groans deeply as his fingers dig into your hips, he pulls you back to meet his deep, harsh thrusts that rob the breath from your lungs. 

You moan desperately, drooling onto the bedsheets as he fucks you face down ass up. He’d made you come three times already, each orgasm he pulled from you only making him more determined to make you reach another. 

Sweat pools on your back, your muscles practically jelly as he keeps up his relentless pace. 

“Kane,” You manage to gasp out, your pussy fluttering around his cock, pulling him deeper. 

He snarls, bucking wonderfully at just the right spot and you cry out, your spine bending. Part of him recognises that he is close to his end, no matter how hard he tries to stave it off. He reaches his left hand around and rubs your clit with his fore and middle finger, smearing your spilled slick over your bundle of nerves and making you whine. 

“Kane!” You hardly recognise your own voice, too high pitched and desperate. 

“Come with me.” He growls, the blood in his veins singing. He needed to fill you, needed to fuck his own spend deeper inside your tight little pussy. Needed to keep you close and fuck you again the second he was able. 

You whimper, the pleasure dancing on the edge of your vision despite the exhaustion crying out from every nerve.

“I can’t,” You sob.

“You can.” He matches the speed of his fingers to the roll of his hips, moaning as you pulse and squeeze. “I know you can.” 

You shake your head, denying it even though you can feel your orgasm building to a dizzying high. 

“I’ve got to come inside.” He mutters, his voice heavy and thick. “I have to, have to,” he mutters, pulling you closer to him with one hand. “Have to fill you.” 

You scream as you come, the sensation spiking along your limbs and leaving you weak. Kane growls as you milk him, spilling deep inside and fucking your through yours, and his, orgasm until he collapses on top of you, exhausted. 

He rolls onto his side, taking you with him, his softening cock still deep within you. Kane wraps and around you protectively and snuffles into your neck, kissing and licking the sweat from your skin. 

“Are you okay?” He mutters. “You didn’t use your safe word?” There is a hint of worry in his voice that is unusual for him, an uncertainty you’re not used to.

You breathe deeply, sleep already calling you. But you nod. “Just tired.” 

He nods, but his body is still tense. “I pushed you too hard.” He mutters.

This time you shake your head, turning so that you can give him a soft kiss. He returns the sweetness eagerly, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly. 

“I didn’t tap out, didn’t want to stop.” You whisper against his lips. “I would have, if I needed to.” 

He kisses you again, just as gentle, seemingly satisfied. 

Thank you for reading!

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[firstkanaphans]

RE your tags on the bromance thing - I think I allowed myself to get a little panicky earlier when seeing a few people talk about there potentially being more, and whilst there are a few points made that I can understand, I do feel like the amount of worry I’m seeing it maybe a little preemptive?

Like, I do agree that it feels stupid to put TayNew in a bromance series; if they wanted two actors that are close & have worked together before, why not Tay and Off or New and Gun or something? BUT I did see that Tay and New actually wanted to do a bromance series together, so there’s part of me thinking that this was THEIR choice to do this series and not give it to some other actors. (And let’s be fair, I don’t think there’s anyone else who could have made this show so warm, angsty, and lovely.)

I feel like GMMTV has really been embracing their BLs a bit more if I’m honest, and sure, they do queer baiting in their non-queer shows, but who doesn’t? You can watch anything on Netflix or whatever and find ‘bromances’ that are severe queer baiting.

I kinda feel like sometimes people pile on GMMTV a bit much, all because they’re kinda like the biggest company in the drama community that does decent queer dramas? I don’t know if that’s just me being blind to their flaws, but I sometimes think they get a little more hate than other production companies and not always deservedly? (I mean I know they aren’t perfect and I call out their bullshit myself, but I feel like sometimes it’s ‘cool’ to hate on them?)

Sorry if none of this makes sense and I’m rambling - it’s almost 2am and I really need to sleep 🤣

In my opinion, these claims that GMMTV is going to pivot to bromances because they’re less gay and more profitable are absolutely baseless. Bromances are not new to GMMTV. They’re not even new to TayNew as I believe I’m Tee, Me Too was a bromance as well. Like you said, P’Dome explicitly stated that TayNew wanted to film a show together that was not a BL. Should they not be able to? And weren’t these same people complaining just days ago that CPs are never allowed to act outside of their CP? Now, they’re mad when they do.

What people are losing their marbles over is literally just the cast and crew having a good time with the fans. Did they play into the shipping aspect both onscreen and off? Of course they did! What writer worth their salt would have passed up such a perfect opportunity? But to me, it didn’t feel malicious. It felt like P’Dome was just having fun and giving Polcas a little nod. I almost feel like it would have been more strange if he hadn’t.

People certainly don’t have to like bromances, but it’s like We Are all over again where people were saying its very existence was indicative of the fall of the genre as we know it. And that’s just utterly ridiculous. This isn’t a queer story where the queerness was censored. In fact, there were explicit queer themes throughout. This is just a platonic love story and a lot of people who may not be interested in romantic relationships have found immense value in that.

Like I said in my tags, P’Aof is the Director of Content Production at GMMTV, meaning he is literally the one in charge of what content is being produced, and I’m choosing to trust the gay Thai man who has dedicated his career to this. He has such a passion for telling queer stories. Why would he stop now?

But like you said, it’s become hip to hate on GMMTV. And look, I don’t like corporations either, but let’s not pretend like GMMTV isn’t really fucking gay. Because they are. This is not a company that has ever shied away from explicitly queer content and is actually making more of it than ever before, so I’m not going to fault them for adding a few shows for the straights too. And if they have to make het stuff, I would much rather sit through a bromance than anything else.

I mean Jesus Christ. Peaceful Property was fun. I had fun. And it was also really good—easily my favorite offering from GMMTV all year—so if they want to make a hundred more bromances just like this, I’m certainly not going to complain about it. Some people just don’t want to enjoy anything.

(And go to sleep, Pip! It’s late 😂)

[ponyregrets]

I wanted to write about Buck and Eddie going in the ocean and I'd written most of it before I thought to check what the weather in LA is actually like right now (look, I'm in New England, I just think of it as Warm down there, okay?) and I decided to go with it anyway. as @frightfullytreeish said, get chilly, idiots

(806 coda, 1900 words, also on AO3)

"Hey, what brings you joy?"

Eddie is expecting some waffling in Buck's response. Maybe some suspicion. It's a weird thing to ask, obviously. Joy isn't a word he uses much, isn't a go-to. But even if what makes you happy is a more normal question, it's not right. He needs something deeper.

And of course there's the Tommy of it all. Buck hasn't exactly been mourning or anything, but he's obviously down. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to say that nothing is bringing him joy at the moment. It's not a particularly joyful time.

But Buck doesn't hesitate, doesn't question. He just says, "The ocean," and doesn't even ask why Eddie wants to know.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I never saw it until I left Hershey. We never went to the beach or anything when I was a kid. The first time I saw it, I fell in love. It was the best thing I'd ever seen."

"I didn't know that."

Buck shrugs. "Doesn't come up that much. And I guess I always think I'll get used to it? But it's amazing every time. I never get tired of it."

He should have known, right? They've gone to the ocean together. Or--well, they've had calls near the water before. That guy who got struck by lightning. The shark.

The tsunami.

But they've never just gone. Buck has never tagged along with him and Chris on any of their trips, and he and Buck have no reason to just take a beach day together.

Joy doesn't need a reason, right? He can just do it.

"Cool," says Eddie. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"What else are we doing?"

It hasn't been a problem, exactly, their lack of things to do. It's just kind of new, the way they're hanging out in the last week. Usually they have Chris, or girlfriends, or boyfriends. They have some reason to stop being together, and now they just…don't. And Buck just keeps on coming over, hanging out on Eddie's couch, in his space, like he can't bear to be in his loft now that Tommy isn't there.

Or something.

"You got some trunks I can borrow?" Buck asks.

"Are we swimming?"

"You want to go to the beach and not swim?"

Most of the time, that's what he does. When Chris was younger he'd get in the water, but the last few years it's been Eddie supervising while Chris does his own thing far enough away that it doesn't look like he's being supervised.

But Chris is in Texas. And, yeah, it's November, but Buck doesn't seem to care.

"I'll see what I've got," he says and finds he has two pairs of trunks in good enough shape that he's not embarrassed about anyone wearing them. Small miracles.

He throws the bigger pair to Buck and then goes to change in his bedroom. Buck will be doing the same thing in the bathroom, not for the first time, but he's never been changing into Eddie's trunks before. Did Ana ever wear anything of his? Marisol didn't. Buck might be the first person since Shannon.

As long as they fit, it's fine. Not a big deal at all.

They take Buck's car, the podcast he's listening to about the issues with the keto diet resuming as soon as he turns it on. Hen has gotten tired of explaining why his diets might be a problem herself and is outsourcing, which Eddie can't blame her for, but he doesn't find the resources nearly as interesting as Buck does. He already knows he doesn't want to do keto.

"You don't need to cheer me up, you know," Buck says, about halfway to the beach, without bothering to pause the keto thing. "I'm doing okay."

"I know."

It's mostly true. Buck has seemed fine with the breakup. Not happy, but not heartbroken either. He's been a little quiet about it, more so than Eddie was expecting. All he'll say is that Tommy initiated it, but he understands why.

"I'm trying to be happier," he tells Buck. "For me."

"Is that a thing you can try? Like, aren't you just happy or not?"

"If that was true, the ocean wouldn't bring you joy, right?" He lets out a breath, his stomach tied in inconvenient knots. "Someone pointed out that when I had the choice between something that would make me happy and something that wouldn't, I picked the one that wouldn't."

Buck mulls this over for a long moment. "I always figured that's because you're more mature than I am." It's only half a joke.

"Yeah, that's one way of looking at it." His breath shudders more this time. "Anyway. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm looking for things that bring me joy. So I figure if the ocean does that for you, maybe it'll do it for me, too."

"I hope so."

They set up like Eddie would with Chris, towels and belongings planted in the sand, the only difference that they left their phones in the car since no one is staying behind. He keeps his back turned as they shed the layers of clothing they have on, but when Buck hands him a tube of sunscreen, he has no choice but to stare at the expanse of bare back. The motions are familiar, nothing he hasn't done a thousand times for Chris, but…

Well, he's never done it for Buck.

Buck makes him turn around so he can return the favor, a much less familiar process. These days, he usually leaves his shirt on.

But he knows Buck's hands. They're familiar, all heat and callus. Careful, incongruously so. Buck looks like he's built clumsy, someone who can't do delicate work, and maybe he knows that too. Like happiness to Eddie, precision doesn't come naturally to Buck. He has to put the effort in, and he does. Eddie's skin lights up with every stroke of Buck's hands, so he's sure that Buck gets every inch.

And then he keeps going a little longer. Just to make sure.

"Okay," says Buck at last. "We're good to go."

Eddie is expecting Buck to run into the ocean like an overgrown puppy, all bright enthusiasm despite the chill, but he's cautious. He dips a toe in, then his foot, then the other. He walks in slowly enough that Eddie overtakes him, even though he's not running. He's just eager.

"The first time I went into the ocean, I was in Virginia Beach," Buck explains without making Eddie ask. "It was May, and I thought it would be warm enough, it was a hot May. But I ran in and it was so cold. I ran right back out."

"Goes to show," says Eddie.

"What, exactly? I know how the water's going to be today. It's cold."

The water is probably around the same temperature as it was in Virginia Beach in May. Eddie shivers, but doesn't stop, not until he's up past his knees. He smiles at Buck, who's still just letting the waves lap his toes. "Yeah, it's nice anyway. It's hot out."

"Not hot enough."

"It's fine."

He's in up to his ankles now. "You're not getting the joy, though."

"I am."

"Eddie."

"I'm getting used to it."

"You're not supposed to get used to it. You're supposed to be be making choices that make you happy right away, right?"

"I am happy," he says again, and it doesn't feel like a lie. "It's nice, there's no one else here. And it's not cold enough for us to get hypothermia."

"Are you sure this isn't just for me?" Eddie cocks his head, and Buck clarifies, "For my benefit."

"Should it be?"

Buck kicks at a wave. "He said I wasn't ready. Tommy. That's why he broke up with me. I asked him to move in with me, and he broke it off instead."

"So he's an idiot," Eddie says. "Always knew there was a chance, but I was hoping I was wrong."

"Is he, though? Was he wrong? I didn't really want him to move in. I just wanted…" He huffs. "I want to be done with this, you know? I'm ready to be with someone. And I think it could have been him."

It's not like getting shot, or even like getting punched. It's like a bullet or a fist going past him, close enough to graze the skin. Close enough that he's thinking about how much it could have hurt.

"But that's shitty, right? Like, how long could I have kepg going just because I didn't have a reason to break up with him? He was…fun. I liked him. I liked feeling like I'd figured it out. Like that was the last piece. I like guys too."

"Maybe it was," Eddie says. The water is lapping against his legs, the surf gentle. He's used to the temperature where he's submerged, but it's only halfway up his thighs. Every time the droplets splash higher, there's this shock of sharp little pinpricks.

He's so fucking happy.

"Maybe that was the last piece, but that doesn't mean Tommy is it. Maybe you're ready, but you're not ready for him."

"I'm just tired," says Buck. "I'm tired of waiting for someone to want me enough, you know? I'm ready to settle."

"You shouldn't," says Eddie. "You shouldn't be with someone just to be with anyone."

"You can build it," he argues, like Chris angling for a later bedtime or more video games before homework. "Love. Like you and Shannon did."

Nausea roils his stomach. "We didn't. It wasn't like that."

"I know it wasn't perfect, but you two were working on it. You were going to--"

"She wanted a divorce. Before she died. That was one of the last things she told me. We weren't going to have another kid, we weren't going to get married again, we weren't going to be together." He's not crying, but in that way where he is very aware that he's not crying. Where Not Crying is currently defining his existence. "I think we could have been friends," he says. "And maybe we could have figured it out. Been together again, made it good. That's what I told myself. And that's…easy."

"Easy?" Buck asks, in a small voice. Like Eddie is telling him a fairy tale he wishes could be true.

Which Eddie is, actually.

"If she was the love of my life and I lost her, then that was it. No one else would ever measure up. Nothing else could ever be as good. It was never going to work."

"But she wasn't?"

"Maybe she was. Or maybe--" He's Not Crying. "Maybe I don't just get one love, or even just one life. Maybe it doesn't have to be about finding her again. It can be about finding someone new. Someone who…"

He chokes then, the words dying in his throat. Buck is dazzling in the sunlight, his eyes as blue as the sea, his expression open, waiting. His whole existence focused on Eddie.

Eddie would marry him today. Eddie would marry him tomorrow, Eddie would marry him yesterday. Eddie would tie himself to Buck in any way Buck could think of, in every way, with wills, with contracts, with mortgages, with handcuffs, with string.

"Someone who brings me joy," he finishes.

"Joy," says Buck. He looks over the horizon, smiles, shakes his head.

Eddie's chest is too small and too big. He's never had so much in him.

"I've never had that," he muses. "Someone who makes me feel like the ocean."

"Like the ocean," Eddie says. "Yeah."

[frodopotter7]

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

?

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

[joelsgoldrush]

wip wednesday: "lovers once a year" (dbf!joel miller)

hello to you, tiny people on my phone. reaching the end of this semester has thrown me onto a motherfucking rollercoaster. if i even think about the amount of finals i have to sit for, i'm afraid i'll tear up. so here i am, drifting away from real-life responsibilities </3 still working on this dbf!joel fic cause i haven't had much time to write lately, but i'm trying not to be too hard on myself. i really like how it's coming along. i'm close to finishing, though i'm not going to promise a specific posting date because i never seem to manage it LMAO

anyway, thank you to @elflutter @joelsdagger and @ovaryacted for tagging me!!!

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend. For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the affectionate type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length. Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state. Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree. Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing seemed to throw him off. Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

AND

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another promise he won’t keep.

tagging: @lubdubology @zloshy @princessanglophile @cavillscurls @guiltyasdave @tightjeansjavi @mrsmando - so sorry if you've already been tagged :( - and anybody else who feels like doing it!

[allbycharles]

Hello @silmarillisms ! Those are valid points so I will try to respond. Thank you for your response. Let me add more details to explain why I said what I said.

Tolkien did highly probably have ptsd after going through traumatic experiences of the war. We cannot know of course. That it was traumatizing is sure.

What Tolkien and nobody else knew in his times was how to heal PTSD which is what I meant by Tolkien did not know how trauma works.

Having it and getting rid of it is two different things. To get rid of my ptsd i had to use the first available manuals of the usa army that came out ten years ago. Before that there was no solution even though of course the doctors were trying a lot of things.

Your point of elves mental health is of course valid just as me not having any rights to tell how to write. I am not saying people have to write correctly ptsd treatment. Neither that elves work same as people.

Why was it important to state how mental health works and to have elves work same as humans from my perspective which you can happily ignore of course....and why in first place i wrote my first post:

People use art as help and I hear it daily from everyone around that: they think ptsd works like this and that, anxiety works like this and that, depression is cured by this and that.........and all of that circulates through chats, tv, social media and art and all of it is wrong. And gets people hurt very much and deeply. Because they did not get the right info.

And most of population works on examples they see around and big part of it is art.

I had no goal of criticizing anyones writting....I can see I tagged my post wrong so it sounded like "stop this and do what I just said or else I send a balrog" I am really sorry about that, I am going to change it to more informative.

What I meant was if you want to write correctly a person with ptsd then here have a very simplified version of how a ptsd usually works.

And hopefully many people who are victims of abuse or anything else will be on correct path to healing. Does the artist have a job to do this? Not at all. I wrote the post as information for writers not as rules. And I hoped more fanfiction with helpful info might appear.

I dunno who you met and what kind of traumatic experiences they had. And I of course dont talk about everybody. Thats why I tagged it as very simplified version. What I wrote is the usual way it goes for soldiers in dangerous situations which what was the first ops topic.....feeling of safety after years of war.

The manual I used on myself made by the usa army describes ptsd of soldiers going like this and is used on all ptsd soldiers victims which is why I wrote it as highly pissible for Elrond to have it the same.

Lastly mellon....I am really writting all of this to help people and I am sorry it trigered you. I understand when one simplifies things too much they sound like bullshit. Yes each person is different, each trauma is different and I am not a doctor. Thank you for writting your post and pointing out what I fucked up. I am sure I missed like half of it again so please if you feel like it do respond again. I hope sooner or later we all get both therapy and kind words we need to be happy and healthy just like Elrond. Honestly good for him.

I wonder, after the Third Kinslaying, when was the first time Elrond felt truly, actually safe again

I just mean. like. no matter how kindly Maglor treated the twins, ultimately. no matter that there was love, later. from that day on, it's just, Elrond would know, all the way to his core, that he is small and defenseless and people who are bigger and stronger than him can come and tear his life apart and change it at their whim and he can do nothing but go along with it. and then by the time he is old enough to maybe have a shot at fending for himself... by then there's an ongoing war of apocalyptic proportions, that might wipe out even the strongest who still stand if the fortunes change even a bit. and he'd know it. there's nowhere that's really safe and no matter how strong and brave and skilled someone is they can only affect their own happiness and survival a little bit

by the time war of wrath ends it's decades since he last knew true safety, he's known practically all his life that the world is not safe and his life could be shattered to pieces at any moment with very little warning... even when the peace comes you don't just easily shake a lifetime of knowing that all the way to your core

[maganne-bonete]

Life and interest update ramble that no one asked for: General

And I'll probably make more for a while on a variety of topics

So I've been having, not necessarily stressful, but stress induced couple of days. It's hard for me to pinpoint but I think it's me getting overwhelmed with things. Partly my fault because of dumb decisions I've made for the past couple of weeks, and it's called going through the Youtube comment section.

But that's not necessarily the worst thing. It's more of, me deciding to air out opinions abt online celebrities in twitter dot com more than anything 'cause stans are some of the weirdest people on earth and one of them tried using my age as a gatcha for telling them off for being parasocial about a bunch of people's relationship. But anw, that doesn't really bother me anymore 'cause the twitter side of that fanbase just proved themselves to be the worse kind of fans for literally trying to emotionally manipulate their CC.

BUT, other than that, I guess it's also the reminder that I'm running out of time.

Earlier this year I wanted to get myself "prepared" for coming back to school. I took another leave to take care of my sister this time. Around last year's April she almost died after a fatal allergic reaction to an antibiotic. It left her severely disabled so I had to help her out.

In effort of trying to "prepare" myself I tried doing "productive" things like drawing, gardening, language learning, or generally cleaning up more. Which honestly, not that bad. I always considered gardening as one of my healthy hobbies. Doing more art is important for my field in the future. Generally doing other chores like putting my clothes away and cleaning up make-up brushes will be beneficial for me in the long run. I tried relearning french although it was very little like idk colors and numbers and such, but it's honestly barely anything.

But by the time it hit April I just got burned out ? And I thought, okay I'll be more productive by May. But would you look at that? It's already the end of May. And I haven't picked up a stylus, pencil, gardening sheers, or even downloaded duolingo. (Although I also have theories regarding this part of the year 'cause my mood tend to start shifting around this period)

But other than those things, I also tried writing again around those months 'cause writing has been such a struggle for me for the past few years for some reason. Like I use to write a lot but it just got difficult for me. And I NEED to get good at writing in general, fiction or non-fic, because I'll need it for college. But hey, last night I was able to write 600+ in one session over a fictional piece and I consider that a win.

Another thing that should've been something considered productive that I've been putting off was signing myself up for a comprehensive psychological evaluation. It was something I should've considered earlier in the year but the idea of leaving the house to go to Manila was always troubling for me at that time. For the past year I could barely leave the house so I could look after my sister. It wasn't really that bad. I'm fine with staying around the proximity of our house. But this year she has improved a lot and could even go to the bathroom by herself. But even then, I kept holding it off and now June's coming around the corner.

I think it's partly because I have this mindset of "I'm better compared to last year since I don't want to die anymore" but even then I still have OCD symptoms. I also still have really bad anxiety from time to time and I tend to get paranoid too. All of this is bad and are still problems that do bother me every other day. And honestly, out of everything "productive" I need to do before the semester starts, this should have been at the top of the list.

So I should probably get to it within the weekend, at least. And not get distracted with other things. I really really need to do that.

[natjennie]

okay, bear with me this requires a lot of context. imagine that you wake up on a space ship with an alien species capable of telepathic communication with you. they are also capable of instilling you with the knowledge that everything they say is completely true, there is not a hint of uncertainty in your mind. they have weapons capable of obliterating earth pointed at the planet, and are forcing you to do one of two things in order to not fire. within the fiction of the scenario you are not being given the choice, but you the real you is picking which one of these things you'd rather have happen.

you must eat an 8 ounce serving of human baby meat, by default prepared like a steak (different preparations can be requested). you do not have to keep the meat down once you're done, but you have to get all of it in your body at one point. they do not provide any information about where the baby came from or how it died. if you complete this, they will deposit you back on earth and you will be free from legal repercussions of cannibalism, and it is generally agreed that you are also free from moral blame as it was against your will.

you will be surgically impregnated with a human embryo and must carry it to term and give birth. the embryo does not contain your dna, but otherwise you don't know anything about its origins. the aliens have advanced medical technology that gives you sufficient anatomy to carry and birth the baby, and keeps you healthy throughout, with no risk of long term complications or death. you have the choice to keep or give away the baby once you have given birth, and will be deposited back on earth.

if you refuse to comply in either situation, they destroy the earth and you are forced to live the rest of your life aboard the space ship as a prisoner, until you die of natural causes.

so,

[14dayswithyou]

Give Redacted a kiss for me!!!

Do you have any dark/creepy headcanons for Redacted? I’m very curious ^^

✦゜ANSWERED: I know you asked for [REDACTED] specifically, but everything mentioned below could also apply to Ren as well ^^;

cw: mentions of gore, torture, (one line about) cannibalism, NSFW themes, and just general creepy behaviour

I'm sure most people already know about Ren's red room days, but for the newer folks: he used to livestream himself torturing his victims on the dark web. He would also harvest and sell their organs for extra cash.

His red room phase began after a group of upperclassmen started livestreaming themselves bullying people (Angel included) for attention online. If those teens wanted a taste of online fame that badly, Ren would be all too happy to give it to them — especially after he heard all the degrading things they said about Angel during their stream.

Ren has probably sniffed (licked???) Angel's underwear on multiple occasions lmao

He also keeps a bunch of their discarded cups, mugs, bottles, etc. — and on the days when he's feeling especially lonely — Ren likes to put his lips where Angel's would've been and treat it like it's an indirect kiss.

If Angel is fine with it, Ren would be more than willing to carve his name into their skin. He'd have to use an ample amount of his numbing cream though (typically reserved for when he gives himself tattoos and piercings), since he doesn't want them to be in any pain.

Similarly, he'd also be willing to carve their name into his skin as well — as many times as Angel would want. But he already has multiple tattoos of their name on his skin, so.... gksgsjj

I'm sure everyone already knows this, but Ren has an entire shrine dedicated to Angel. He keeps all his sentimental and stolen items there.

Ren genuinely has no empathy for anyone other than Angel, so if they were to ask him to murder his own mother (or his sister, his best friend, etc.) and bring back their heart, he'd do it with a smile on his face.

Because he has no empathy, Ren would probably enjoy watching snuff films like it's any other B-tier horror film. To him, it's just more research material on how he can get rid of his competition.

I've mentioned this in the past, but Ren has jacked off to the thought of Angel while in the library lol

I made a post back in 2022 that mentioned how Ren would willingly offer up any of his body parts to a cannibal!Angel, and I think the point still stands!!

He likes to put Angel's stolen laundry on his body pillow and rut into/hump it 😟

I once mentioned that Ren would slap a barcode sticker on his sledgehammer to make it look less... questionable whenever he carries it around in broad daylight — but alongside that, I think he'd also carry around some tools and an unopened can of paint to make it seem like he's just doing renovations. In reality, he'd probably force his victims to drink paint or gargle nails teehee

Builder AU except Ren mistook a body for plywood??? Why is he hammering so many nails into them?? Why is he feeding it into a wood chipper???

Builder AU except Ren gives Angel a different meaning to getting nailed and railed???????? Jackhammering???????? Getting screwed sideways????? KGJDSGNK It's 2AM I'm losing da plot now T_T I'll shut up

[inimeitiel]

𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭.

𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭, 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓰𝓾𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽.

𝓘𝓯 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓱𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓫𝔂 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓼.

𝓘𝓽’𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮, 𝔂𝓮𝓼.

𝓐𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱? 𝓐𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵?

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮.

Long time not showing OC Elia. Call it a bloody comeback. Fancy writing by @ivanhoenineteenninetyfour as usual 🙇🏻‍♀️✨

[doinkmaster5000]

Thinking Inside The Box

tw unreality (dark is a figment of chosen’s imagination)

angsty little comic about TCO and the devil on his shoulder

[theshadowrealmitself]

Again, I really really do like it when Vulcans actually are able to regulate their emotions really well and do appear as completely blank to other species

But I also have a weakness for like, Vulcans seeing a Human being really distressed because they have something that terrifies them happening, like a spider or a species that resembles spiders but really fucking large crawling on them, but the Human is obviously trying to calm themselves down and relax

Meanwhile there’s another Human next to them, making things worse, like saying stuff like “oh god what if it lays eggs on you” (not even in a cruel way, just in the unhelpful way people are like sometimes), and undoing the work the previous Human was doing to calm themselves

And the Vulcans just. snap a tiny bit, like a tiny “cease speaking.” a little more clipped than usual as they go to help the distressed Human

I just got a tiny weakness for Vulcans being a bit defensive and protective over emotional Humans still trying their best to be practical in situations despite their obvious emotions

[giddlygoat]

based on this au i made. don’t worry, i’m sure they’ll work it out

[phleb0tomist]

society at large seems to want less people to have to use wheelchairs and mobility aids. yet the world is not set up to protect or accommodate people’s bodies at all. undue physical strain obviously worsens disability, and yet rest is a huge social sin, while hustle culture and ‘willpower’ are king. everyone is impatient toward people who can’t walk or stand for long. it’s ‘disruptive’ to stand in ‘weird’ positions or to need to reposition regularly. many jobs discourage or ban staff from working while seated, even if sitting doesn’t impact their job at all. this crap leads a lot of people to deteriorate to the point of needing mobility aids they wouldn’t’ve needed if only their bodies were given the respectful and liberating space they deserved.

hostile architecture & increasing lack of public seating, poor public transport systems, bizarre hatred toward anyone who walks slowly or clumsily or needs ‘extra’ rest, insistence that an average person should be able to work on their feet 12hrs at a time with only 20mins break... all of these things tip people from being technically able bodied to needing mobility aids. some of these things contribute to permanent worsening of people’s disabilities.

almost like the system is not built with people’s wellbeing in mind and is actually structured to force people to push themselves, so we all end up feeling responsible for our alleged inadequacies of willpower and health when we can’t keep up

[teenagenutant]

a fic that has made me laugh and has very, very much made me cry just updated... so i drew about it! power up by @pickledcarrotsandradish!! wahoo!!!