#maybe ill let it get posted i just feel bad for myself in that moment specifically more than anything..

[gemharvest]

How many times can I go "I feel like ass but it's fine I'll be fine" until it becomes hollow to everyone around me. BHASJGFNJFGNK

[themindelectricdemo4]

Oh gurrrl I got some sort of illness. The things I queue in here are insane .

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FOUR

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @patscorner @makethemhoesmad @wbbgetsmewetter @authentic-girl03 @ohbueckers

kalena speakss 🪽! i had no clue what to write for this chapter but i scrapped something together and here it is! pls know this was supposed to be out like two hours ago but most of it got deleted and i had to rewrite it, so ignore any typos for the moment, ill fix em eventually 😭

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California

My leg bounces anxiously in the passenger seat of Julian’s car. The vehicle is silent, oddly enough, a complete 180 turn from the atmosphere of the last few days.

Things were really good. Julian and I were getting along better than ever, date nights and sleepovers. Up until we were arguing again. About schedules, staying out late, and of course the biggest disagreement in our relationship; the public.

We stayed up through all the hours of the night last night yelling at each other because I didn’t post about our date on my story; which I thought was childish but Julian evidently thought it was very serious.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe it was a big deal. Even when I thought about it from his perspective, I would probably be upset too. But the issue was we’ve talked about this before, countless times.

I sat looking out the window, an air-pod in my right ear that softly played music to keep my head clear. Briefly interrupted by my text tone going off.

Marayeeeee

Paige. Obviously. She’s been the most consistent number in my phone since the dinner party a while back.

don’t ask me for more banana pudding please

You trippin 😭😭

Wanted to see if you were busy, I miss you

“Who’s that?” Julian asks me.

“Just Paige.” I responded, my eyes only briefly looking up from my phone to look at him. It didn’t take a genius to notice how his demeanor changed. The slight roll of his eyes, and the shift in his seat.

“You guys have been talking a lot lately, no?”

He would be right. Aside from the texting throughout all hours of the day, we’ve gone out for lunch a few times over the last couple weeks. She was good company, and very easy to get comfortable around.

“Yeah, something like that.”

i’m actually heading to the airport rn…

Oh

Where to?

dallas! i have a few shows in texas and atl

but i’ll be back next weekend since you miss me so bad ;)

She doesn’t respond right away and I take that as the opportunity to shut my phone off and stick it into my pocket.

Julian lets out a long sigh as his hand runs over his face. “You know we still have to talk about last night, right?”

“What is there to talk about if we’re just gonna keep disagreeing?” I ask softly, trying to avoid raising my voice and starting yet another argument.

“You want me to stop bringing it up? Fine. But don’t get mad when I don’t put up with it anymore.”

The LAX drop off comes into my view and I turn my head to avoid looking at him once more. I don’t miss the lump that sits in my throat, or the tears that sting my eyes. I’ve never considered myself emotional, normally just keeping how I felt to myself or writing it in music, but that one stung.

“Okay Ju.” I shake my head, unbuckling my seatbelt when the car comes to a stop. “That’s fine.” I comment before stepping out of the car. Even after all that, he still hops out to help me get my bags, and I know he’s upset with me and I’m just as upset with him but the way he hugs me and kisses my forehead nearly makes me forget about it.

Nearly.

Because even then, I’m thinking about how his arms don’t feel like they used to. And after a few seconds the kiss that is lingering on my forehead just feels like slobber that I can’t wait to wipe off.

—

May 2025 — Las Vegas, Nevada

I sit comfortably on my hotel bed, a game playing as background noise in front of me and film on my iPad. We play the Aces tomorrow on prime time television and though I should probably be getting some rest, there’s only one person that could possibly be keeping me up at midnight before game day.

Maraye. Obviously.

I can see every bit of her from the phone screen. She’s laying on her bed quite literally giving me a show of her entire upper body. She has on a gray tank top, and I have to remind myself to look up at her face rather than the way her tits sit in that top.

“Paige?”

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

“I said shouldn’t you be watching film instead of me?” She joked. I turned my head before she could get a look of the flush of my face.

“Yes, actually, but you wanted to talk about um, what’s his name again?”

“Julian?”

“Yeah him, and I’m trying to be a good friend.” I shrugged. “What was the issue again?”

Maraye sulks on the other line, shaking her head before speaking. “It’s like we always argue about the same shit. I don’t have the energy to put up with it anymore.”

I’m probably the world’s biggest asshole for giving her relationship advice while wanting her in my bed right now, but oddly enough there isn’t a bone in my body that cares.

“Don’t y’think you should tell him that? That it’s tiring or something?” I suggest. My head leans to the side to get a better look at her and it’s so hard to stay focused on the topic at hand when she’s looking the way she does right now.

Maraye’s skin is glass. I swear if I were to look hard enough I would see my reflection in it. There’s a few freckles that sit on her skin that I can’t just barely see in the light. She has on her reading glasses, wide round frames that complement her brown skin and brown eyes beautifully.

“I tried! But then it makes me look like the bad guy, and I don’t wanna seem like an asshole.”

“How would you be the bad guy for saying how you feel? It’s not that hard, I mean you’re doing it with me right now.”

She laughs at this. “That’s not the same.”

“Yeah? How?”

There’s a silence on the other end, and I notice the way she breaks eye contact with me. Her head turning away from the phone screen and instead looking up somewhere else in the room.

She’s right, it’s not the same. I’m not the one she goes home too, or will introduce to her family, no matter how often I daydream that I am. Nevertheless, still I convince myself that it is.

“We’ve been friends as long as you guys been together, and you can tell me everything, right? Why not him?” I ask. My eyes trail away from the phone screen and over to my iPad to make the silence a bit more comfortable.

“You’re just easier to talk to, Paige. I don’t know.” Her voice trails off at the end of her sentence. “I’m just being dramatic, it’s fine.”

Now in the last two-ish weeks that I’ve been blessed with the pleasure to call Maraye my friend, I’ve picked up on quite a few habits of hers. One of which, being her ability to toss her feelings to the side as if they don’t matter. There’s probably nothing I hate more than that.

“No you’re not.” I sigh, looking back at her. “I’m sorry, but if he’s gonna be mad about how you react to how he’s made you feel instead of fixing it, then he ain’t the one for you, angel. You should find someone who is.”

—

June 2025 — Atlanta, Georgia

Paige’s words have hung over my head like a cloud over the last week.

I’ve made a great handful of friends since leaving Atlanta for LA, all of which I’d like to think have made huge impacts in my life, but none of which even compare to my friendship with Paige.

She’s amazing. Not a flaw in her Godsend personality. And not just in the building-a-grocery-store-in-her-hometown kinda way, but in literally every way imaginable. I laugh harder around her, she gives me amazing advice, and we just clicked almost instantly. It was so, different?

That’s probably the best word, different.

At first I thought it was admiration. I was a fan of hers and as such I felt a certain way about being friends with her. It felt good.

In reality, my idea couldn’t possibly be more far fetched.

I’ve never once questioned my sexuality. For me, my “normal” has just always been guys. There was never a girl friend of mine that made me feel a certain way, or a girl crush that was anything more than a brief fixation. So believe me when I say that how I feel about Paige— when she texts me, or calls to say she misses me, and especially when she calls me angel— that is far from my normal.

It all happened too fast, too much for me to process. I thought my connection with Julian was quick, I mean after a week I was all about him. But me and Paige? We clicked off of one conversation, maybe even the second she fell into my lap at the game. I have no idea how to feel about that.

So as a result, I haven’t spoken to her since that night in Dallas. It thought it would be simple, since it gave me the opportunity to focus on my shows and my career. Yet, all it has me doing is fucking missing her.

I’m seated on the couch in my dressing room backstage before my show in Atlanta. My thumb is hovering over the girl’s contact. Her contact photo stares back at me dangerously. It’s a photo of the two of us from Cameron’s dinner party, Paige’s nose is scrunched as she throws up a peace sign and I’m showing all 32 while throwing up one of my own.

I’m about to press the contact. I don’t know much but I assume she doesn’t have a game tonight, and all I want before going on stage is to hear her voice as she talks about literally anything.

I don’t care about how wrong it feels to be thinking about her in this way, or the fact that I should probably be on stage in less than 10 minutes. All I’m thinking about is Paige.

So yeah, I’m about to click on the dial button when the janky silver door knob twists open. I catch a peak at some royal blue flowers before all 6 feet and 3 inches of Julian steps through the door. My face doesn’t even try to mask its shock.

He looks handsome in his outfit. He always does. A white shirt with a black zip up hoodie along with jean shorts and a pair of Timbs. He’s gotten a haircut, I can tell from how clean his lineup is. His natural curls are pulled into cornrows down the back of his head.

It’s my first time seeing his face in a few days and in person since our awkward goodbye at LAX last week. Oh yeah, I haven’t spoken to him very much this past week either. Oddly enough, it was easier to do than with Paige.

When he steps closer, Julian hands me the flowers first before sitting next to me on the couch.

“What’re you doin’ here?” I ask incredulously. He pulls me into a hug from where we sit on the couch, cologne travels through the air and up into my nose. Dior Sauvage, I could point it out anywhere.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute.” Julian says. He leans into me and our lips connect softly, much different to the manner we’ve been treating one another with over the last couple weeks. Even then I don’t hesitate when I kiss him back. His lips feel so familiar, and they are because I haven’t felt them in quite some time. “Thought I should surprise you.” He mutters against my lips.

I pull away haphazardly, his eyes stare back into mine. Only this time it’s not as familiar, namely the fact that they aren’t big blue orbs that I swear dilate ever so slightly when they look at mine.

My feet lift me off the couch and over to the vanity. I place the flowers he gave me, roses, on the surface. “Sure did surprise me.” I joke. When I turn back around, with my hands pressed to the vanity chair behind me, Julian is manspreading slightly, the look on his face one that I call suggestive. “I have to be on stage in like… seven minutes.” I announce awkwardly with a glance to the gold watch on my wrist.

“So?”

“So, you have to get outta here and I have to finish up sound stuff.” I explain. My fingers fix the smeared lip gloss on my chin while I look down at him.

Julian stands up and approaches me, it’s times like this where I forget how tall he actually is. And the shoes on his feet give him another inch or two.

“What’s up wit’ you, babe? If you don’t want me here, I can go back to LA.” I don’t like the tone in his voice, mainly because it’s pointed as if he wants to say something to me but knows that it would upset me.

“What? No, I literally have to be on stage. You know how Kaylee gets.” I tell him. My hand reaches up for his tanned cheek and he doesn’t fight me off. I hear my phone ring in on the couch, but I can’t take it on stage with me so ignore it. It’s probably Kaylee cursing me out for being late.

Julian presses a kiss to my palm and I internally shudder. “You sure?” Just like that his tone is different. It’s the soft and deeper baritone that made me fall for him in the first place, not the aggressive accusatory voice I’ve become used to.

I nod. My mouth opens up to speak when I’m cut off by multiple bangs on the door before it swings open.

“Julian, I told you to wait until after the show. Raye we gotta go, now!” It’s Kaylee, as it always is. She reaches for my arm, which is bare due to my stylist's decision to fit me in a strapless top for tonight’s show. “You give me gray hairs, I swear.” She mumbles as she pulls me away from Julian.

In my head I’m silently thanking her for what I think was either Julian trying to have sex with me or him trying to start an argument about me not wanting to have sex with him. Either way I’m thankful.

As we leave, I hear my phone ring again from the couch. Julian reaches for it, and just before the door shuts I see him press a button and toss it back onto the couch.

It shouldn’t bother me because I have bigger priorities, namely the crowd of 10,000 people who paid money for this show. But still, it plays in the back of my mind while Kaylee scolds me and my sound manager fits the earpiece to my ear and puts the microphone in my hand.

[pixeltwix]

-Unrelated McGucket Ramblings

Because my mental illness is metal illnessing my brain has been having a wonderful time combining interests. Specifically gravity falls and the Odyssey of all things?

The parallels between Fiddleford, Emma May, and Tate -& Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus is driving me bonkers. EVERYTIME I hear songs like ‘There Are Other Ways’, ‘I’m Just A Man’, and ‘Love in Paradise’ I can so vividly see Fiddleford so ardently longing for home, for his wife, for his son, but something or some event keeps pulling him back every single time he has a mind to just go home. I can’t help but let my head make the connections and rewire silly lyrics to fit closer together than I already feel they are.

‘Back at home my wife awaits for me, she’s my everything, my Emma May. And she’s all my power, all my power, but it’s been (x) long years. Oh (x) long years since I have seen my wife, and now the god of (chaos) is out to end my life-“

Additionally while I do not see Emma May as Calypso to any degree, her few lines in ‘Love in Paradise’ stuck out so hard to me if it was outside of the context of Calypso & Odysseus’s no good very bad situation. Just the-

“It will be fine dear, come back inside dear, love of my life come back to paradise. I know your life’s been hard, I’ll stay inside your heart. I love you my dear, I love our time here, life would be so much worse if you had died. Please stay away from harm, stay in my open arms.”

Is SO POST FIRST PORTAL TESTING FIDDLEFORD CODED- when Emma May finally comes up for herself to check on him in Gravity Falls and sees his condition. I refuse to believe for a moment that she didn’t at least try to understand what was going on before fearing for her and her sons life. Finding her husband most likely stumbling around like he doesn’t even know himself or where he is, trying to soothe and bring him back to her. And at first it seems like it’s working, like he’s slowly piecing together what she’s putting down, but then he’s sparking, spiraling again. She tries a final time to coax him from whatever whirl of madness he’s gotten himself into, but it never gets better. In fact it keeps getting worse. But just the vISUAL ALONE of her with that part of the song trying to bring him away from harm all the while he’s still deeply haunted with the ‘all I hear are screams’. AHHH-

Additionally the narrative of Penelope stalling her suitors for YEARS because she’s hoping, praying, that her husband is still alive, still out there somewhere. That maybe just maybe he’ll come home. I am screAMING and pointing at the Emma May core of it all. I’ve been meaning to develop elderly FiddEm dynamic be it platonic for the sake of recovery, but my biggest thing with her design is despite after all these years she sTILL carries aspects of her husband with her. Be it wearing his old specs he left at home or still keeping her floral motif with her brooch. She still loves him deep down- she always will, and she’s always gonna mourn the life that could’ve been if Bill hadn’t been involved, but still. Keeping him as apart of her even if she ‘hated’ him for so long kept her going.

Also idk plus just the-

‘Hell no, I could kill you where you stand. I’m no pet, I’m a married man.’

Is silly to me because I know it would be very ooc for Fiddleford to have THAT much bite even if he is capable of ‘lashing out’. Regardless it’s still amusing brain movie content to envision-

If I didn’t already have so many other ideas on hand I’d draw this all myself, but raaaaa so many other concepts I wanna draw first :(

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers day 26 version 2: Cock warming. Max/GP. About 1.4k words.

Max walks towards his hotel room, slightly dragging his feet, feeling tired to the bone. Even in a building as big as this one, he can hear the pounding of the rain outside, see the occasional flash of lightning. He changed clothes at the track, after trying to dry himself up a little, but he hadn't had time to shower between the interviews and the post-race debrief.

He barely had the energy for it anyway.

It had been a very long and frustrating weekend, rain slowing down every session, almost stopping them from having a race at all. Not that they had ended up racing much, between red flags and safety cars.

Now, he wishes he could go straight home, but the weather is bad enough he had been advised to wait for the next morning, so one more night at the hotel it was.

He leans slightly against the wall as he looks for his room key, his eyes threatening to stay closed with every blink. The headache that had been steadily forming during the day seems to be back with a vengeance, pounding at the back of his skull.

The door opens with a beep, and he pushes it open, just wanting to go take a shower, or maybe straight to bed, no matter how disgusting he might be, when he realises the lights are on.

He blinks, not really wanting to have to deal with an intruder at the moment. If there is a murderer waiting for him, he might let them do their job without arguing.

He walks in, tiredly trying to muster up enough energy to send whoever it is out of the door, but what he finds isn't a murderer.

Instead, GP is sitting on the small couch, a stack of papers in his lap and an highlighter in his hand.

He raises his head, flashing Max a smile that is just as tired in the corners as Max feels.

"Hey," GP greets him, "I let myself in, I hope you don't mind."

If it was anyone else, Max would very much mind, but with GP he just shakes his head, toeing out of his shoes.

As soon as he's shrugged his jacket off though, his momentum stops, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, the following tasks (taking a shower, changing, maybe eating something, going to bed) feeling too draining to even start. He wishes he could teleport straight back into his bed at home, his cats curling on the blankets next to him.

"Max?"

Max looks up, and finds out that GP has moved, now standing in front of him, a worried expression deepening the wrinkles on his face.

Max should probably tell him that he's fine, he's just tired, he just has to get going and then he'll be fine, but he can't get his mouth to move. What he does instead is tip forward, until his forehead lands on GP's shoulder, his hands hastily coming up to steady him at his waist.

GP presses his cheek against the top of his head, moving half a step closer to make the half hug more comfortable.

"Are you sick? Or just tired?" he asks, keeping his voice soft but stern. It's a fair question, it wouldn't be the first time Max hides a illness to be able to race, but it's not the case this time.

"Tired," he mumbles, voice raspy. Even just that one word feels like too much effort, tongue stumbling around the letters, heavy and drained like every other muscle in his body.

GP hums, rubbing one hand up and down his back. His presence alone is so comforting it makes Max feel like he could fall asleep right there, standing in the middle of the room.

GP gives them a few more moments, before gently pushing Max back, keeping his hands on his hips while he waits for Max to hold his own full weight again.

"Shower?"

Max wants to say no, wants to lie and say he's had one already, but he knows this is pretty much just a rhetorical question and GP will make him shower anyway. So he nods, trying to muster up enough energy to get to the bathroom.

He looks through half lidded eyes at GP, who's now rifling through Max's suitcase to find some clean clothes, and then heading to the bathroom, turning the water in the shower on.

"Come on, Max, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can go to bed."

It's not the first time they have showered together, but it's the first time it's not following, or preceding, sex. Normally, it's all languid kisses, wandering hands on warm skin, but this time Max can't do much more than just standing there, letting GP take care of him.

GP is thorough with it, but careful. He makes sure no shampoo gets in Max's eyes, and that Max is always at least partially under the spray, not getting cold.

It's meditative, in a way, to let the water wash over him, feeling GP's strong hands moving over his naked body, turning him this or that way, and he turns his brain off.

When they're done, GP helps him into a towel, drying his hair for him with another, and then into clean clothes, warm from being left on the radiator.

"Have you eaten?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence once they are back in the main room.

Max nods, sitting down on the bed and rubbing at his eyes, so tired they sting. He wants to go to sleep, but he knows that if he goes right now he won't fall asleep anyway.

For how tired he is, for how much his muscles hurt and his head aches, he knows his brain is still too awake, the last dregs of adrenaline still cursing through him.

He looks at the sheets of data GP had abandoned on the small couch and pushes himself to his feet again, ignoring GP's quizzical look to gather them up and bring them over to the bed.

He sits down near the headboard, and pats the spot beside him until GP sits, the data next to their legs.

"Max, I don't think going over data is going to be productive for you right now," GP tells him, his eyebrows wrinkled again with a worried pinch. That's fair too, Max knows. Both saying that he would be useless right now, and worrying about Max working too much. But that's not what he plans to do anyway.

So he shakes his head, pressing a hand on GP's shoulder until he is sat back against the headboard, then handing him the data.

And then he slides under the blanket, moving down on the bed until he's parallel to GP's legs, head in his lap, nosing against the underwear, Max's, he had put on after their shower.

"Max..." GP stops him, carding a hand in his hair. "I don't know if either of us is up for that. Quite literally."

It's true. Neither him or Max are hard, but that's not what Max wants.

"I just..." he tries, words clumsy in his mouth, "I need..."

He doesn't know how to end the sentence, doesn't know how to explain he just wants his brain to be quiet, to be able to sleep, but GP seems to understand anyway, his eyes growing softer.

"You need this?" he asks in confirmation, one hand coming down to cup Max's cheek, making him look up, his neck straining as he nods.

"Go ahead then."

Max's hands feel too big as he tries to rid GP of his underwear, but he gets there in the end, placing his head back in GP's lap, guiding GP's still soft dick inside his mouth.

He sucks at the head for a moment, tonguing at the slit, listening to GP's breath hitch, before taking into his mouth properly.

It's immediately perfect. Even when not hard, GP's dick fills his mouth nicely, the noise in his brain quieting down, the feelings of the day washing away, leaving him empty. All that counts is right here, just the weight on his tongue, the smell in his nostrils, the hand in his hair.

After an indefinite amount of time, he hears rustling of papers, and the sound of GP's voice, reading data aloud, creating the perfect background. In any other moment, Max would listen, would try and remember as much as possible, but not right now.

Right now is for sucking spit back into his mouth, breathe through his nose, and drift.

[dreamdolldiary]

you either make moves or burn.

this one is for the people who are prisoners of their own mind and depending on who this post reaches, this one is gonna hurt but you need to hear it.

drag yourself out by the hair if you need to.

you want something? go get it.

before you think this is a "rise and grind 24/7" culture type of post, hear me out first.

stop pitying yourself and stop wanting pity from others. stop waiting and wishing and start creating. stop holding yourself back with fear. i have MDD and countless of other disorders and it has all made me weak. physically and mentally. hard circumstances at home, you get it, no sob story. i had the medications, i had the counseling. 2 times in my life since high school, i had to take off and even quit my jobs because i couldn't deal with it anymore. i just didn't want to be here. at all.

i would always try to find the answer "i need to find my purpose in life. i'm scared that i won't be able to work because of my illness. what if i can't show up to class or work because i'm just not in the mood? i can't perform my best."

you want to "find" your purpose? create it. don't wait for it to just show up. you're scared to work, go to school because of tough circumstances? do it WITH your tough circumstances. do it scared. do it sad. you can't just wait until everything else in life is all dandy for you to start making moves. that is NOT how it works for the people who are prospering.

can you give it ONE more? the only correct answer is yes for those who want to actually be the person of their dreams. be SO sick of wishing you were better, be SICKKK of crying over spilled milk - things that you CANNOT change and just CHANGE YOURSELF. if you aren't doing anything at all to be your dream person, you are just chasing. desiring. we don't do that here. we take inspired action.

you are here anyway. might as well create a meaningful life while you're at it. okay?

i used to let myself pass on by with "yeah, well it's a disability. it's not my fault." and there's nothing wrong with what i said but it's about what is MISSING from this sentence.

"it's not my fault. i hate wishing i had a better life but since i'm still here anyway, what are some things i can do to be better? even if it's in the slightest way?"

"no pain, no gain"

"pain of discipline or pain of regret"

so used to seeing those quotes as a bad thing. yuck. but with a new perspective, you don't have to anymore.

nike's slogan is so simple but so effective. "just do it." but what did i do? it was summer. i drove myself to a nice neighborhood in a nearby city, put my headphones in and walked. i just walked. i kept walking. 20k steps that day. it made me feel accomplished. i went back, i enjoyed it. i kept going back and some days i dreaded it but i looked up at the trees, the people who lived there who also indulged in daily walks all said hi. the dogs walking. the sun beaming. the people in the car who let me cross the street. the clear roads i get to walk on. my shoes i had the privilege to wear. i noticed something new to appreciate and be aware of everyday.

i did that mostly every single day. i walked when i was okay, i walked when i was in a good mood, i walked while bawling my eyes out. (and while i was driving there too, so bad that i had to pull over). but i kept doing it. and it was so good for me. my body, my mind, everything.

one habit led to another, i took my dog with me, i started to eat healthy, i started a fitness journey. i gained a spark to study code, i picked up multiple habits by doing a full reset of my life and even though i've had my down moments, i'm here and better.

it's a snowball effect. do something simple. it doesn't have to be physical but first, maybe a mental shift. start to realize that if you're here, on earth, reading this post, that's a privilege you have and something you could/should cherish. you literally have an abundance of information and opportunities at your literal fingertips. one decision can change your life completely but it all starts with you and the first step to take. oh its hard? yeah well it's supposed to be if you're in a tough place in life.

you are here. you are living. you are ALIVE.

ALIVE.

do something good for you. it's supposed to be challenging. not everything will be hard in life, the same way, not everything will be easy peasy. you deserve good and it is VERY possible to live a life of smooth sails but lead yourself out of the storm you find yourself in or the waves are just going to take the wheel for as long as you let it.

[jimmedicated-jambino]

hiii umm feel free to ignore this if u want. im not really good at words and articulating things and i know the full project and context is still yet to come but i would really like to ask what direction you’re coming from with this… cause im perceiving like, a sort of unempathetic “HA stupid shit idiot loser finally realized he needs therapy and medication to be worth something” undercurrent (yknow not maybe in those exact words but this general vibe) and i would really like to know if im totally wrong about this, cause i like your art plenty and it gets shared in my circle but something still pokes the back of my mind y’know? i hope the rest of your day is good :)

Ok I avoided mentioning this because I really prefer not to share details about my mental health and personal traumatic experiences, but I guess I should've said this sooner:

TW: Depression, su*cide attempt

Note: To be clear, whenever I mention "Jimmy" I am NOT talking about the character from the game. I'm talking about the Jimmy in my AU.

This AU is rooted in my own experiences with mental illness, severe depression, and taking medication. I have struggled with depression for the majority of my life and around 4 years ago I reached my lowest point. It got so bad that just being alive hurt. Living hurt. Everything just hurt. From the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep all I could feel was just pure pain. Not just emotional pain, it manifested into physical pain. And it was bad. I felt like I was rotting on the inside and my soul was trying to climb out of the torture chamber that my body had become. I was willing to do anything to make the pain and suffering stop. I was prepared to end my life and if I hadn't made the decision to try medication as a last resort, I can say with 100% percent certainty that I would be dead right now. I really couldn't take it anymore. I had reached the absolute bottom. I gave up.

Jimmy in this AU is sort of a projection of myself, both past and present. Good and bad. Not sure why my brain decided to pick this character specifically to project onto. I hated him with a passion when I first finished the game. Idk might have something to do with me having autism and adhd or something or all the jimcurly fanfic I started reading. I'm doing better now, but that experience will always stick with me. Because it's part of me now in a way and I found that using creative outlets to sort of cope really helps. Like taking parts of my trauma, creating something new out of it, and then just putting it out in the world and letting it go. It's not trapped inside my body anymore. It takes some of the weight off my shoulders. It's helped me heal a lot. I also have a tendency to use self-deprecating humor as a coping mechanism. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Maybe I've been too hyperbolic about Jimmy's traits? I'm not sure. I tend to do that a lot to myself.

But, all of this au stuff isn't just something I pulled out of my ass or made up. It's all based on something real that happened to me. This is built on an actual person's experience. My experience.

Jimmy is also meant to be a lot more nuanced. There's an animation in progress that tells the story a lot better. It's like one of those animatic music video things ppl make and post on YouTube. The song is really important to this AU, honestly it's kinda like the theme song to me?? Idk It's called TENSIONNN by Webcage (such a bop legitimately) it's meant to describe the tail end of the "fallout" and the entirety of the "split" from Jimmy's pov. The most important lyric in that song and probably the lyric that this AU was created around is:

"I won't leave you now, It's too poetic"

It's poetic that Jimmy left with the intention of watching Curly crash and burn without him in his life, only to turn around and watch him succeed and soar. It's a tragedy. But it's ALSO poetic that Jimmy started to heal and worked so hard to get to a place where he could re-enter Curly's life and have a healthy relationship with him. Now they're together again, but this time they're not two impulsive, emotionally immature, 20 year olds. They're two adults that have had time to learn and grow as people. And that is beautifully poetic to me. Also super interesting to explore that concept.

If canon Curly and Jimmy sticking together was what allowed the events of Mouthwashing to happen, then them spending some time apart could be what prevents it from happening. Atleast that was my logic while writing this. I wanted to make a sort of fix-it AU to fill the "wholesome Jimcurly" hole in my heart bc fanfics like that are scarce as fuck (understandable bc of the source). I tried to write this whole thing as a fanfic, but I quickly realized that 1) I'm not good at writing anything longer than 1,000 words and 2) this story requires visuals to properly tell it in the way I intended.

Also, I'm having fun. Drawing and writing all of this makes me happy. Obviously, the story isn't very "fun" (I've cried for hours while writing and drawing the more depressing parts probably 20 times by now), but telling it is. I don't know. I'm just a guy that draws. A depressed guy that draws and is still healing. I'm in no way "cured" by the medication I'm on. I still have depressive episodes, but I've been managing them better. I'm in a much better place mentally rn and I'm proud of myself. I've been fighting an intense mental battle against depression everyday for 10+ years of my life at this point. I'm not like 100% happy, I'm just kinda chillin rn idk.

I'm glad you asked this question! I encourage other people to ask questions! It helps me grow as a beginner writer and storyteller.

I hope that answered your question. I appreciate you.

TLDR: No, that isn't at all what I'm doing here. Jimmy is a reflection of myself and my experience with having severe depression and how I started my healing journey. It's based on very real events and thoughts that I have had. No, I don't have any bad intentions. No, I don't hate mentally ill people. I'm mentally ill and neurodivergent. I'm diagnosed. (We're in this fight together, man why would I do that??) I'm not a mustache-twirling villain with an ulterior motive. I'm a tired, mentally ill college student with audhd that is recovering from severe depression that literally almost killed me and drawing these guys is my current hyperfixation that helps me cope with that. That's it.

Also Jimmy is my favorite character (in this AU!!!!) idk why ppl think I hate him. Don't artists usually dump all their trauma on their ocs and make them suffer incomprehensible horrors bc they love the oc?? I thought we all did that. I did that. That's what I'm doing rn. 💀

[insufferable-prettyboy]

I want to talk about @mothercain 's body of work for a moment, specifically in relation to the profound affect it has had on me during the last few years. I don't really know if this is for anyone but myself, tumblr has always been a place I can just sort of throw things out into the void when I have nowhere else to say it, besides what is a tumblr blog but a place for yourself.

TW if you do read it i'm going to talk about uncomfortable and personal things so i guess don't if you don't want that. I suppose this is a review, maybe it's just a way for me to just talk about how important these pieces of art are.

I grew up in rural england, in a controlling home with an abusive christian mother and a very mentally ill atheist father, at Christmas we would go to rural wisconsin to see family. My only escapism was tumblr, porn and substances.

In 2018 my father died of an untreatable illness at the age of 47 and two days after the funeral I went into hospital for mtf gender reconstruction surgery. I was a little late to the party with the the discography and like many I didn't really know about it until Inbred. I have gone back and listened to the earlier works and they have been beautiful and touching, but the thing that makes Inbred, Preacher's Daughter and now Perverts so special to me is how they have shadowed my life as I have dragged myself through and back out of my downward spiral.

Inbred came to me at the worst part of my drug addiction. I had been using substances as a coping mechanism and was at the time still living as a woman. There was something that touched parts of me about the lyrics, the music, but most of all the way it seemed to take influences from everything I hold dear musically. Classic rock, The darker more introspective atmospheric black metal, the hymns i would sing in choir as a child in church. It reminded me of how i felt the first time I heard natural born losers. It made me feel ok to be fucked up and ok to be a mess, it made me feel like i wasn't a monster for wanting nothing more than to get fucked and be fucked up and then when I started to realise that I was in a bad place, it helped me through getting off drugs and moving out of the warehouse i lived in back into a real house. It's anthemic, there are songs that make you want to sing at the top of your lungs in the shower, or dance in the kitchen while you're cooking eggs.

I first listened to Preachers Daughter while riding home from work on my Harley, a bike which was the only thing I had gotten from my father's death, a consolation for mother refusing to let me have dad's bike in favour of it sitting and rotting in her garage. I'd gotten into a habit of listening to music while riding because the commute was boring and it stopped me riding like an idiot to make it more interesting. I had always been a very feminine boy prior to my transition and one of my major reasons for it was that I had always leant to that side of things. Post my surgery I had lost so much of myself that i had begun to dress as masculine as I possibly could in order to counteract the way my body was changing in a way that I hated, I couldn't look even look in the mirror.

When i heard western nights, and the words "He's never looked more beautiful, On his Harley in the parking lot" rattled around the inside of my helmet I pulled over to the side of the road and cried for the remainder of the album because I exactly in that moment realised that I had made a mistake with my transition, that I had listened to everyone else instead of myself and that I had tried so desperatley to push down who i was that it was easier to be a woman than it was to accept being a fem gay man. I have listened to that album regularly through my detransition period and it has been a friend to me as i've worked out how to love myself and push through this awful period of regression to find out who I really am and what my life looks like now. The landscape of the album reminds me of rural america, it reminds me of rural england, it is the essence of long open roads and sleazy dive bars and roadside diners in your own company. It's perfect to drive to, to lie in bed smoking to, to work on your motorcycle to, the tonality and instrumentation is a masterwork in minimalism and I cannot stress enough how hauntingly beautiful I find it.

I listened to Perverts for the first time today, I have been putting it off because I knew it would make me feel something. I knew it would awaken a feeling in me. It has been sat in the corner of my conciousness since it's release like the monster in the back of frame in a horror film. I don't know if I was ready to hear it but it was exactly what I needed to hear. Perverts has come into my life in a time post breaking up with my fiance of multiple years, where I am craving intimacy without love. A time where I have been trying to lift myself up and have been taken advantage of in my vunerable state and pushed back down again. Perverts it's a natural flow forwards in the body of work, it moves back and forth between being horribly uncomfortable to listen to, and being one of the most warm and comforting things I feel as though i've ever heard. There is a familiarity that has run through all of the releases as Ethel Cain, there is a warm sepia toned polaroid photo of a living room with a stained rug that sits in the background of all of these works in my head that feels very comfortable to lie on. The space that was there in the previous releases has on occasion been filled with harshness and repetition of pain, and sometimes allowed to breathe and bring comfort. I know that I will listen to perverts a lot this year, I know that it is a piece of art that will need to be heard multiple times to truly let it sit with you. On my first listen I couldn't even make it the whole way through without pausing it and taking a break, to me that is the hallmark of good art, It should make you feel deeply and loudly and aggressivley.

I don't know why i wrote this. I think more than anything, I felt a compulsion to. I needed to talk about how important and insane I feel having had these records hit me at such massive milestones in my life and be exactly what I needed.

If you haven't listen to these records, take some time, make some space and do it, I feel as though you will find something of yourself in there that maybe needs to be perceived. I guess this was more of a thank you note than anything else.

[spinnerprincess]

"New Discoveries" (Triangle Strategy, Geela/Hughette, 1,006 words)

Femslash February prompt for 2/17: Sand

Post Frederica ending.

The sand is very, very hot.

Hughette hadn't expected it. Snow is just as bright as sand, just as granular, and yet snow reflects heat away and chills easily. She had thought that this beach sand might be the same, a cooling contrast to the humid weather, but if anything it's worse.

She yelps and yanks her toes away from the cursed new sensation.

Geela laughs at the look on her face, hanging on to her fur cloak with her free hand and giggling into the other. Flugie is ruffling his feathers, uncomfortable in the weather. Unlike Hughette, he has no layers to take off.

Hurriedly, Hughette puts her socks and boots back on. "Why is it so hot?" she complains.

Geela hums. "I suppose because it's made of so many tiny rocks. You've seen boulders warm in the summer sun, surely? This is no different."

"Warn me next time," Hughette mutters.

Geela, adopting a regretful smile, seems sympathetic. "I didn't mean to make fun of you. I apologize," she says, holding the cloak back out to her.

Rather than putting it back on, Hughette sighs and drapes it over her shoulder. "No, it's fine. I'm in a poor mood. It's none of your making."

She knows she shouldn't decide to dislike the beach on the basis of its hot sand alone, but it just feels like another frightening unknown. They came in search of peace, in search of salt. In the process, it feels like they've lost and given up so much.

Roland has lost his crown. Frederica has lost her faithful partner. They've all lost their homes in this awful conflict, with only the distant hope of freedom to show the way out.

"This experience is bound to be educational for all of us," Geela says. She casts her eye down the beach, where others of their timeworn, refugee army have spread.

Many are content simply to stick to the safer soil and rocks, gazing out at the endless water with awe. Some have approached the ocean, feeling more daring. Roland, leaving his boots behind him, is one of them, standing in the shallows with clear delight. Near him, Frederica stands barefoot in the moist sand, clutching her mother's pendant in grief.

The circus girl and Hossabara have started a collection of interesting stones and shells. Ezana has stretched out a blanket against the sand and sat down, observing the waves. That excitable young smith boy stripped immediately to his binder and shorts and plunged himself into the water. Now he yells gleefully about how cold it is while their pharmacist frets over the possibility of unknown water-borne illnesses.

Hughette manages a smile as she watches them. "I know it's not all bad. But I'll feel better when we find a place to stay. When I can find a purpose again."

Geela raises an eyebrow. "Your purpose? Yours is clearer than mine. Until we arrive somewhere we can call home, you're still Roland's bodyguard, and a protector of us all."

"It's not the same," Hughette says. There's no Glenbrook to swear to, no long history of Kingsguards to follow. A bodyguard is all well and good, but it's not what Hughette had aspired to be.

There's a long, thoughtful pause. Geela can be quick to judge, sometimes, but Hughette has found that sometimes she takes a step back, if you allow her to think things through.

"I suppose maybe it isn't," Geela admits. "Maybe we're both just feeling… at loose ends. As a tutor and a scholar with nothing to research, no libraries to delve into, no students to lecture… I also find myself bereft of purpose."

Hughette shakes her head. "Even so, your knowledge has helped us to get here. And we'll continue to survive with your help."

"Then let's agree that we're both plenty useful, in the meantime, even as we wish for more." Geela leans against her shoulder for a moment, supportive.

The vast ocean pulls in and out in front of them. It's surprisingly tranquil, watching it move, hearing the distant shouts of others down the way.

"I want to be more than just useful," Hughette says quietly. "I just don't know what, or how."

A moment later, seemingly changing the subject, Geela says, "There are benefits, you know."

"Benefits?"

"That you no longer truly have royalty to guard, and I am no longer a mere scholar, bound to Frederica's side by way of my lesser station. If I serve, I serve of my own free will, as do you."

Hughette turns to Geela, her irritation sparking. "What do you-"

Geela interrupts her with a kiss at the corner of her lips. Hughette instinctively stills.

"No conflicts of interest," she says, drawing her fingers lightly over Hughette's chin. Hughette inhales lightly, afraid to break the moment, as Geela continues. "No real social standings. We are all the same now, we refugees, even if we play pretend that Roland, Frederica, and Jerrom remain our leaders."

Hughette searches Geela's face for understanding. Geela seems as poised as ever, but there's a frisson of tension underneath. Hughette had not considered - had not consciously, at least - that such a change in their friendship was ever on the table.

"You and I… Just people, just equals," Hughette says slowly, looking for confirmation.

"Who knows what new discoveries might come of it?" Geela says, a hint of mischief mixing with something more sultry in the lowering of her voice.

Hughette glances at Flugie, who, awkwardly standing among the reeds, waits for her command. She gives a sharp duo of whistles, and he takes wing at once, off to seek prey for a while.

As Flugie leaves, Hughette tugs Geela's arm away from the sand and the water. "I'll try the sand again at night, when it's cooler," says Hughette, hoping she sounds more interesting and alluring than awkward. "I have other discoveries on my mind for now."

"Lead the way," Geela says, tucking herself into Hughette's arm, carving out a space for herself at her side.

[furiousgoldfish]

(osdd, personal, tw suicidal ideation)

So I know I just posted about how happy I am to be back, but I am also incredibly confused and have nobody to talk to about this, so I'm going to try and sort out my thoughts here.

After I came back, I didn't hear any other alter in my head, I assumed they understood I was too overwhelmed with emotions to take care of them all, and maybe some of them just didn't wanna talk to me anymore because I was mute for 6 months. However, I soon found myself depressed, sick and starving, because I will be generally too sad to make food or to eat. Sickness has caused me severe pain but I'm used to waiting it out, pain feels normal. And also, it seems that my old protector, who used to jump in when things were going bad, isn't here anymore.

My old protector was working tirelessly to block any suicidal thought I had, before I even had it, so that I was unaware of how suicidal I am. I knew this was going on only because this alter showed me exactly what they do, and let me experience genuine suicidal thoughts I had for 2 days, and it was like, endless stream of suicidal thoughts, very difficult to deal with. And just to be clear I'm not even suicidal, I want to live, the reason I have a stream of suicidal thoughts is just because life is so unmanageable and painful, the suicidal thoughts just get naturally generated, because the brain is looking for an exit from all that pain. I think naturally, some things are worse than death, like torture, or endless pain, and we as a community understand that. And I'm often exposed to that kind of pain so my brain is just like, 'ummm isn't it time to cut this shitshow short', and then my protector would be like NO and block the thoughts so I would just be 'yeah pain is normal lets keep going' and that's just my life.

Anyway, after a few days of not eating enough, I started hearing an alter just yelling at me to buy food, very determined and persuasive, they were listing all the things I needed to get, and I'm very reluctant to do such a thing, but the alter was very insistent that I absolutely have to, so I got some food, immediately ate it. Then later I was in too much pain to be able to fall asleep and they yelled at me again, to take pain medicine, and they kept on and on until I eventually took some.

To me being yelled at felt like someone caring so I'm quite content with this, but I don't know who this alter is, I cannot recognize them. Even though I had alters yell at me about things before, it was never really like this, in this protective manner, they just yelled about things they wanted. I wanna know who this is, and they're not telling. And why can't I hear anyone else? I doubt they all merged or disappeared, unlikely.

It also seems that the only method this protector has to protect me is to yell at me until I do whatever is necessary for survival, they can't block my thoughts or take over and do it, which has me a little concerned. I'm used to protectors just taking over and doing things that I can't, and physically preventing me from taking any suicidal actions, and now I have to be persuaded to do it myself.

Part of me is enjoying that I can have all of my thoughts now, even the suicidal ones, but I can also easily be pushed into suicidal ideation, especially when in pain, I feel a bit on edge, like something bad could happen at any moment and I wouldn't have good protective measures to deal with it.

Also it feels like my body was just waiting for me to be back to spring into all kinds of illnesses and pain, while the other host, who does not feel emotions, was active, we weren't even sick! I am starting to believe that getting in touch with all the traumatic emotions just destroyed my immune system completely, half of my body is inflamed and it's not even getting better, and I can't even chew solid food. And also I have nobody to talk to and I'm just trying to hang on and believe that it will not always be like this and eventually I will find a way to heal.

[lianreine]

Hi! I hope you're doing well! I just found your page and have to say that I love your writing! I do have a request if that's ok tho. How do you think a relationship between MC, Idia, and Vil would work? It seems chaotic but I feel like it can have some wholesome moments.

Thank you for taking time to read this! Remember to drink some water and have a good day/night/morning/afternoon

Vil X GN!MC X Idia REQUEST #1

I must say i screamed the second i saw a request, this is my first request so I'm sorry if it isn't to your liking (i saw this in class i got stared at- and I'll probably edit this on my pc for any spelling or grammar mistakes♡)

This is all my personal opinion please do not compare me to other writers who may do it better than me :'>

____________

Vil Schoenheit

-I can see Vil spoiling the hell out of Idia and Mc with compliments whenever they doubt themselves, and giving them kisses and a spa day in Idia's room cause let's be honest Idia doesn't wanna go out and Ramshackle ain't the best- (I'm sorry i practically insulted myself with that also-)

-Vil would come watch Idia and Mc play especially if Mc also likes gaming cheering them on and giving kisses whenever they win (who am i kidding when they loose they still get kisses)

-Vil is the type to encourage going out even though he doesn't favor the paparazzi, he is a bit worried that You and Idia will get attacked online

-But it he also can't help posting the dates you three have he can't help but brag having you and Idia

Idia Shroud

- He almost had a breakdown when he fully realized he was together with the fairest of them all and the big hotshot of Nrc all he could think was "HOW THE HELL DID I DO THAT!?"

-He loves Your cuddles and the way you and Vil pamper him when he looses having a player 2 seemed impossible for him but having a player 3? He basically thinks of it every time he plays

-he always gets so nervous when you and Vil say your coming over but he warms up to it when he feel you and Vil hugging him

-yes he did buy you and Vil your own controller customized obviously

-When someone talks bad about vil and or youhe goes mental, basically looking through the person's account (maybe even hacking it-) to find something shit about them to insult

-but when someone insults him while he is defending You and or Vil he doesn't really care but when someone insults him like from a photo or something then he gets insecure but no worries~ you and Vil will always be there for little Idia ready to kiss and pamper him till he begs for you two to take a break

Both

-the both of them are kind of like the combo no one would expect but it works out fairly well

-Idia would go to any of Vil's shows or gigs with you with him ofcourse, Vil would make time to see what ever tournament Idia has been excited about and same for you if you have any sports or tournaments yourself (if it was me i would not even tell them cause ill be to embarrassed like i have two amazing boyfriends like why would they care- again they will find out either way and will support you or go secretly-)

_____

You having a tournament and you didn't tell them:

Mc pov

I tell Vil and Idia that Crowley made me do something again i could see they were upset about crowley giving me another chore that he himself should do and not a student especially one without magic.

I mean...id love to have their support at the ***** but id just be embarrassed to tell them and what if i lose? So I rather not say....

Vil Pov

Mc told us that Crowley has give them another chore, I Immediately went over to Crowley's office and started complaining to him about what he is making my Mc do. Mc is still a student here.

Idia was also with me but a floating Ipad I never forced him to come but Idia seemed frustrated aswell, these chores has taken so much of Mc's time

Me and Idia made Crowley flinch when we started yelling which Crowley immediately protested

"I didn't send Mc anywhere! They asked me to pretend I sent them on a chore! I think I over heard them saying they are going to *****"

Crowley put his hands up in protest

Idia pov

Vil came back to my dorm as he watched over my shoulder as I search about ***** we find out theres a Live event Looking at the Teams...there it is..

"Mc Yuu"

Vil reads outloud in a whisper

"Why would they hide this from us?"

I say a bit confused

"It doesn't matter it says its starting in two hours the location is just 30 minutes away lets get ready"

Vil says also confused but determined

"Wait- we're going?-"

"Yes Idia we are, they are part of the event and they have always come to out events and gigs why won't we go to theirs?"

Vil says to me like i offended him somehow

"Thats true.."

Mc pov

I won...holy shit I won?!

I look around me as people cheer for me then something caught my eye- Idia's hair isn't hard to spot, my heart drops and I smile seeing Vil and Idia cheering for me, they must have realized i saw them because they started to wave at me

Skip(im sorry)

3rd person pov

The three are in Vil's room relaxing just after they started to say to Mc how amazing they were...then to why Mc didn't tell them, they then understood Mc's insecurities and comforted them, now The three are just laying down cuddling together as they drift to sleep

And they have a Happily ever after Thee end

_______

I hope you like it because i haven't wrote Idia yet this is my first and my first request aswell so I really hope you like it♡

-Reine Lian

[angel-fruitcake]

Hello just need to vent with someone else cause I feel like im stressing all the people around me irl feel free to not answer if you dont want to its ok really ill understand (im just writing this to you cause i saw you posting about it)

Im not american but ive spent the last months watching the campaign (mostly from misha but also in general on the internet) amd i was scared. Then biden stepped down and I felt relieved and hopefull that harris could actually win this cause "whos gonna vote HIM again? Right???" Then (or maybe before ive lost semse of time) the assassination attempt happend and I got scared again cause he had just gained if nothing at least the coolest picture he could ever wish for. But after that so many people, celebrities and not, started endorsing her and I thought there was still hope

I remember how anxious i got in 2020 and the exact moment of relief seeing Georgia going blue. And that was bad because of covid and all the stress of that slow counting but this felt worse

I spent yesterday rewatching destiel episodes to celebrate the anniversary but also to distract myself from the election but at night I just could sleep i was so scared. I talked about it with all my friends and family but they were not feeling it like me. Like tes they were scared a bit but not... not in the same way. Maybe its because its my first year out? Half out (family still doesnt know) like... i fear for the queer people (and in gemeral all the people who might be endangered) in the us cause now i feel more in the community maybe? Idk but I couldnt sleep at all

This morning I woke up and spent the morning on the destiel tag and on the AP map watchung it going redder and redder every hour and now... i dont even know what to feel

Im at loss of words thoughts and feelings. I DONT KNOW

Im scared like if I couldve done somethng for it or if it could directly affect me. It will sure but not today tomorrow or in january. It will be slow and scary and ill have to watch it happen without tje possibility of doing anything about it. Just like i have seen two wars start and my vote been wasted into nothing when my own country elected the far right just this june

Im hopeless and so fucking scared rn and my friends look at me amd dont get why I feel like a lone freak going crazy over somethung i shouldnt care about when I know I actually have to and they should care too and idk how to warn them i dont know what to do

And im not even american. I cant begin to imagine how it feels to know you have even done anythung you could and it changed nothing

So right now I wanna tell you all of you americans that you are not alone. That we are as scared as you are. Maybe it might be totally useless know this but... to me just seeing on line people going nuts makes me feel less crazy so yeah

sorry for the bad english my brain cant think straight rn (or ever lol)

omg anon i'm so sorry i didn't see this until just now !

it's perfectly ok for you to vent in my inbox. let all your fears and worries out, don't bottle them up. i'm glad you at least won't be directly affected in the immediate future, and i hope to god it stays that way.

i'm very scared as well, especially being a woman of reproductive age in america. i live in a red state too, so i already have less freedoms than my friends and family in blue states. i don't know what the future holds for america or the world, and that thought is terrifying. but all we can do right now is cling tight to our loved ones and take care of each other the best we can. i hope things will turn out okay for us all 🫂💕

ps. keep watching those destiel episodes if they bring you even a little bit of comfort. i know they definitely do for me when i feel like i'm being suffocated by the weight of everything around me

[deliciouskeys]

Kink of your choice: people of diametrically opposing ideologies having a tense conversation but not killing each other

#Lockhimup

Warnings: Gen. And just kidding, this isn't really for Kinktober. It's even more self-indulgent than that. Set shortly post S3. It's not a pairing fic. It's Homelander; Billy Butcher. Dedicated to the 1.3 people other than me who might possibly enjoy this. AO3 link.

After the hospital, Butcher's been staying at home to recover from his nausea and illness. His brain might not be getting better, but his body was slowly recovering-- not throwing up nearly as often anymore, and able to get food down and walk around more or less steadily.

But his brain was definitely deteriorating. He was having very vivid dreams, and auditory and visual hallucinations were cropping up more and more often. Maybe this is the reason he didn't rush over to the balcony when he saw Homelander out there. He figured he must be seeing things again until the cunt approached the glass and tapped on it gently before stepping back and putting his arms behind his body, waiting patiently for Butcher to unlatch it.

Butcher sighs heavily and opens the glass door, but doesn't bother to come out or officially beckon him in. He sits down in the chair, just in case he starts feeling sick and woozy again. He's already feeling lightheaded from the unpleasant surprise. Homelander makes his way in, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

“What brings you here this time. You’ve already got Ryan. Come to finish me off?”

Homelander frowns. “Why are you so obsessed with this idea that I’d come here, uninvited, and kill you in your usual pathetic mudperson state? And sick with some kind of pathetic chronic illness on top of that." Homelander wrinkles his nose. He can probably see the damage through Butcher's skull, or maybe his nose is actually detecting the scent of his illness. "Have you ever seen me stalk and kill someone?”

“I haven’t seen you, but I’m sure you have. You had no problem trying to kill Hughie down in the tunnels.”

“That was–” Homelander rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. “Hugh Campbell’s a non-entity to me. And you were all fugitives from the law at the time. So yes, I have pursued and killed lawbreakers.”

“And I happen not to be one at this moment? Didn’t know you were such a stickler for the law.” Butcher lights a cigarette, hoping it will annoy Homelander. “You still haven’t answered my question. To what do I owe the pleasure of this divine visitation?”

Homelander makes that strange snuffling sound that Butcher recognizes by now as pure unadulterated frustration. He makes a movement to pull out the chair where he sat last time, but Butcher hooks his foot and pulls it in tight against the table.

“Really?” Homelander looks at him impassively. “You let me sit down last time.”

“Last time you were trying to find Ryan. You have him. So I don’t see what you need here if you ain’t gonna blast me in the head.”

“Feels bad, huh? Well now you know how it feels, to have your child out of reach,” Homelander says, and shoves a bunch of Butcher’s kitchen paraphernalia further down the counter and makes room for himself to float up and sit on it, first moving the cape out of the way as always. Butcher hopes his counter is dirty and this cunt gets stains on his ass for doing this. “No, I’m just sick of Vought trying to manage this ‘crisis’ for me.”

“You mean you killing a bloke in plain daylight on camera? That 'crisis'?”

“Yes, if that’s how you want to describe it, yes.”

“That’s what happened, it’s not some subjective description.”

Homelander’s jaw tightens and grinds for a moment before he speaks. “Yeah. I’m alright with that. What I’m not alright with is doing an apology tour and saying it was inadvertent or whatever the fuck Vought wants me to say to “soften the angle”. They’re idiots if they think either side is going to buy that. The people who like me don’t want to hear me tying myself into knots trying to explain away what I did. And the toxic idiots who hate me aren’t going to suddenly change their minds if I say ‘hey I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t mean to kill that child-attacking shitstain! I don’t have any fucking control over my lasers! Please don’t hate me!’ I mean if- if that were the case, then I should be fucking locked up, because I’d be a menace to society. If I have that little control over my powers.”

Homelander pauses in his tirade. It grew louder in volume and faster in delivery as it went. Butcher has to admit it’s fun to see this cunt lose his mind with anger, when he’s always been curated to look forever happy and imperturbable. Although the mask has been slipping more often of late.

“You are a menace to society. But yeah, not so much into locking you up. I’d be much more at peace seeing your head on a pike.”

Homelander chuckles. “And you call me needlessly violent."

"Vought's probably thinking ahead about the lawsuit, and not your popularity. Maybe you should listen to your handlers."

"I don't have handlers, I have idiotic underlings. And you're talking as if popularity with the public has nothing to do with how a lawsuit will pan out. From where I'm standing, it's better to have a group of strong supporters than a mass of people confused by some milquetoast, apologetic statements from me. But you know what? Fine. I’m used to the fickle idiot public, with their fucking short-term memory, not remembering everything I've done for them, and still doing for them. They can hate me, their loss. But you see the shit trending today? It's not just #lockhimup. It's #ASAB and #FuckVought and #CompoundViolent, and even the ever-lovely #KillAllSupes cropping up periodically. That's why Vought wants me to backtrack. As if that will do anything to stop those kinds of hasthtags.”

“Don’t know why you’re whinging to me about it. I’d be retweeting all of that if I had an account.” Butcher gets up off his chair and walks past Homelander to fill his teakettle with water, because this is turning out to be a longer conversation than he expected. He still doesn't turn on the light in the kitchen, only one lone lamp on in his entire apartment in an effort to avoid any migraines. Homelander just swivels himself around to face Butcher in his new spot.

“You know what’s better about you than those mindless parrot drones all over social media? At least you say what you mean to say. You really want to kill us all apparently. That apply to Ryan by the way?”

“He’s a child, so no.”

“But when he turns eighteen? Or whatever the fuck age you British people consider majority? Then he’s fair game?”

Butcher feels his irritation rising. “He’s Becca’s son, so no, I’m not gonna lay a finger on him.”

“Other supes are people’s sons and daughters too, but that doesn’t seem to deter you.”

“Hell no it doesn’t. Sons and daughters of people who doped up their kids with Compound V to try to make a buck or get some glory? Off the parents too, if you ask me.”

“Ah interesting! So you do think the people who made the choices are worse than the people who had none.”

“Every one of you supes has plenty of choices.”

“At what age would you kill someone like me?” 

Butcher sighs. Vogelbaum’s words flash in his memory. He asked about what Homelander was like in childhood because he wanted to know if Ryan was genetically doomed to be an evil cunt. Homelander probably doesn’t realize Butcher knows about his sordid lab-confined childhood. He’s throwing this question out flippantly. Butcher thinks about making some stinging remark to show just how much he knows. But that will only lead to him having to acknowledge that he wouldn't have killed off an innocent baby labrat. Butcher also thinks about not answering at all, but Homelander is sitting there silently, ugly red boots dangling above the floor, raising his eyebrows to show he’s expecting an actual response to his stupid question. 

“At whatever age you were when you decided to rape my Becca.”

“So… this is purely personal then?”

“Of course it’s fucking personal,” Butcher mutters, not liking how much this cunt is forcing him to think this late at night. “What else could it be, at this point?”

“Wanting to kill off a whole big group of people over a personal matter seems kind of petty to me.”

“You’re not people. You don’t treat us like equals, so we don’t need to treat you like equals either.”

“So normal human morality doesn’t apply.” Homelander grins. “That’s what I like about you, William. You stand by your words, no matter how vile they are. When you say ‘supe genocide’, at least you really mean it.”

Homelander peers at him, looking unimpressed. "Your brain looks like Swiss cheese and you still make more sense than everyone else I'm forced to talk to. But I do wonder: you're kind of an honorary supe now. Certainly spent some time in our shoes. Do you deserve death too?"

"I'll take an honorary suicide once you're all gone, if you want me to be consistent."

Homelander smirks. The kettle starts whistling, and Butcher takes the opportunity to avoid saying anything else and focusing on steeping a cup of tea.

“Can I have a cup?”

Butcher seethes inside. Get your ass off my counter, get your shiteating grin out of my house. But he proceeds to just brew another cup, because it’s easier than having this conversation. His degenerating brain can't take much more of this.

They wait for the tea to steep in silence. Welcome as it seemed at first, Butcher finds himself wanting to break the silence because when Homelander’s not talking, and Butcher stares at him in the darkness of the apartment, teeth shinier than the rest of his face, he starts to seem increasingly otherworldly, scarier, like there really is a different species perched on the kitchen counter, and Butcher starts to feel his fight-or-flight response kicking in. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker,” he says, as he hands him the cup. At least his hands are rock-steady, and his tone sounds nonchalant as ever.

“I’m not. But I wanted to see what all the hype is about, at least in the UK. You guys are obsessed.”

“‘You guys’ were too until you got radicalized and decided you didn’t want to pay taxes on it.”

Homelander’s smile just grows wider. “That’s true.” He sips and makes a face. “Wow, that’s… strong. That’s almost as bad as coffee.”

“You really never had tea before?” Butcher can’t help but ask, incredulous at the reaction.

“I don’t think so. This tastes like bitter puddle water or something.”

“No one’s forcing you to drink it, cunt.”

Homelander takes another sip anyway, making a face again, actually shuddering. “Don’t people add milk to it? And sugar? Am I making that up?”

“You can,” Butcher says, shrugging. Then notices Homelander glancing at his fridge to verify there's milk inside and looking back at him expectantly. “Unbelievable. Alright you little candy-ass, would you like some milk and sugar with your unbearably bitter tea?”

“I would,” Homelander answers, disregarding the insult, holding the cup out in front of him expecting to be served.

Butcher takes it from him, in disbelief at what he’s doing, but again, it feels futile to refuse or argue. He dumps in more milk than he ever would for himself. Maybe this git wants a lukewarm, tasteless cuppa.

When Homelander drinks the modified version, he nods. “Much better, actually. Thanks.”

“Why did you come here, really,” Butcher asks as he finally gets to drink his tea, leaning back against the counter across from the one Homelander is perched on.

“No ulterior motive. Needed to vent. I feel like I’m taking crazy pills when I’m in the Tower and they keep telling me I need to appease the other side. Talking to you cements it for me. People who hate me aren’t going to come around. People who’ve decided to blanket-hate all supes won’t come around.”

“So you done? Feel better now?”

“I do, actually. Thanks for the company.” Homelander smiles, puts down his cup of bastardized tea, not having the courtesy to finish it off, hops down off the counter and walks off towards the balcony to take off with an obnoxious force that Butcher's glad didn't crack the balcony cement at push-off.

He stares at the skyline visible from his apartment. He hates a thought that has been creeping in during the conversation, and now that the supe is gone, he can contemplate it fully. For what it’s worth, he might have done the same exact thing. He knows what having heat lasers is like. How easy it is to power them up. If someone threw something at Becca, or, yes maybe even just Becca’s son, he might have done the same exact stupid thing and sliced the man's head. Why on earth is he thinking about that? Maybe it’s his strange irritation at the public finally, finally after so many fucking years, finally noticing that there is something fucked up about Vought. He should be happy that some people finally see the truth. But it feels like too little too late, and it also feels like they might get distracted off of it. They don't really understand how far it goes. Vought wouldn’t exist without the money these crowds of people have paid them. It’s not funded by the government. It’s not beholden to anyone but American public opinion. The very people tweeting angrily about Homelander’s public murder are still subscribed to Vought+, and still using Vought-owned social media to complain about it. This monstrosity grown in the lab was grown for them. For their protection, at least internationally speaking, and most importantly for their entertainment and cult-seeking mentality. Homelander is the hero they voted for with their dollars, and they’ve maybe only just wised up to the fact that what they’ve been paying for is a mentally unstable killing machine.

[lykaios2]

blog hiatus details

if you're reading this you probably saw my blog title so let me explain (tl;dr at the end)

life has been a tad crazy at the moment (moment meaning like the past 3 months as of posting this) for a few reasons. i am currently doing my first year of college/running start so dealing with that and adjusting to a different workload/workstyle has been interesting and frankly time consuming. my family has also been going a bit crazy and while it doesn't really affect me personally it sometimes does take a portion of my thoughts. i am also just kind of in that age where i'm preparing for the real world; driving a car, getting a job, college, etc. and while i have thankfully got through my horrendous seasonal depression (it was so bad this winter) it is only replaced by anxiety so that's pretty epic as well.

throughout the past few months the busyness and mental illness caused a really bad lack of motivation, and as you may have noticed i just started reblogging like hell. i did feel a bit bad about it ngl. on the bright side, i do have a few ideas in store for when i finally get back my motivation and time (which might be soon). also hopefully with the seasonal depression out of the way it'll be easier for me to get over any negative thoughts i have about doing art

also i slowly just kinda forgot about this blog with life needing my attention a lot more. when i come back, i'll probably make another blog for rb'ing, so i can make more meaningful posts here on the main blog. i did get the classic "doing it for the likes" feeling a lot, and i probably will still have that when i come back, but i'll try to be doing stuff for myself more. maybe i'll also actually get good at art

i also apologize to those who have been tagging me in stuff, i do feel really bad about not responding. i miss you guys and i am super excited to come back, i just need to prepare myself a bit more

tl;dr: life has been crazy, motivation has been down. i have ideas for when i come back, which is hopefully soon. also i will try to change my view on how this blog works and operates

anyway thanks for reading all this, see you guys soon ❤️❤️❤️

also i am dating someone now. whoops 🙃

[borom1r]

hmmm 3, 5, 6, 11, 14, 20, 22, 26, 38, 40 for the fun questions meme <3

ooooooo ok these’ll b inchresting :3

3- 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

th lotr trilogy (duh), I Saw the TV Glow, The Last Unicorn :3

5- what made you start your blog?

THIS blog? suicide bait on my old blog :3

tumblr in general? a friend showed it to me in high school n i made one n my life was irreversibly changed lmfao

6- what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

ATTENTION. double edged sword. like ok i try not to let myself care abt attention and try to be rlly careful now abt who i interact with but at the same time it rlly is validating when things Get Attention. some of my favorite fics have little to no engagement :( n like yea its not healthy to create FOR engagement (fast track 2 burnout) but its also like very disheartening to put time n effort n passion into sth only for it to fizzle out in the void

but whatever. ill make weird art forever

11- what do you consider to be romance?

THIS IS SO FUNNY 2 GET bc soooo much recently has made me reevaluate like. how I perceive this lollllll

anyways short answer: idfk man!!!!!!! close friendships n romance r incredibly cloudy in my mind cuz ive got a bad case of dogbrain!!

long answer is i just don’t quantify that stuff the way neurotypical ppl do :3 ties into th autism + nonhumanity. i also think cis ppl being attracted to me is gross lol. ideal romance for me is bein held n tended to like a noble knight tends their sword. I feel love like a dog feels abt their human!!! dogbrained!!! romance is being a guard dog, being a Really Good Boy but just soooo disconnected from like. idk allosexual/neurotypical quantifiers of “romance” for me lol

+ i don’t use th label rlly but im def somewhere on th ace spectrum lol like physical intimacy is only rlly “safe” conceptually when its completely disconnected from th realm of possibility. like thirsting over celebrities or like th knight i have a crush on. + cis ppl desiring me is rlly like.. ew 😒 don’t look @ me anymore man

14- what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

UM. funnily enough im gonna do th Big Thing this summer :3 im going 2 th renaissance festival shirtless this year now tht im post op

s’gonna be scary showin off my scars but i rlly wanna go all out n celebrate finally havin top surgery. like im alive!! despite everything im alive n im happy ^_^ so cis people be damned, im gonna run around like a lil wolfguy for the first weekend!!!!!

20- favourite things about the night?

i love the moon :3

i also love how still n quiet things get

22- say 3 things about someone you love

ITS SO BRAVE!!!!!!!!! ITS LITERALLY THE FUNNIEST GUY I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM SO PROUD OF IT FOR HOW MUCH WORK IT DOES TO BETTER OUR COMMUNITY N PROUD OF IT FOR PURSUING TRANSITION + CANT WAIT TO SHARE MORE TRANS JOY W/ IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(hiiiiiii Ly hehe!!)

26- fave colour and why?

when i was a kid my favorite colors were neon yellow n neon pink :3 they still kinda are but now i usually stick to like lime green or bright red paired w black. forest green + dark blue r gr8 too

38- fave song at the moment?

DONT ASK ME TO PICK JUST ONE???????

here r some I’ve had on loop lately: Far Away (Roadside Ghost), Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl (Broken Social Scene), I’m Already Gone (Baroness), Sex for Homework (MSI)

40- any bad habits?

oh yea i have dermatillomania lol

it doesn’t rlly bother me to talk abt bc i think “gross” stuff like that deserves to be less stigmatized— my shoulders n back are COVERRRRREED in little scars + scabs

[moodr1ng]

re last post while im being chatty (sleeping pills do that to me): i have a kinda strange relationship w my knuckle tattoos. when i was 17 i was in a pretty rough spot in life. though i wasnt in The Absolute Worst Years, things werent going great on pretty much any front. i was failing out of school at the time, i saw no future for myself, i felt like i had fucked up all my options beyond any redemption. i lived in a "bad neighborhood", in a social housing apartment where i shared the one bedroom with my sister and my mom slept in the living room. i had like, two irl friends and one of those friendships was quite toxic and codependent. my mental health was abysmal and my parents were at the end of their rope with what to do with me. nobody even believed id manage to graduate high school anymore. i had no money except what i could glean from art commissions on tumblr and whatnot. i was perpetually broke and so were my friends (we shoplifted quite a bit at that time). i always knew my mom and i didnt exactly have much money but i was really feeling it then, and more than that, i felt like this prophecy was hanging over my head, that i would too end up like my parents: an underpaid worker in a shit job with seemingly no upsides or ways to move forward.

yet i had an inkling that one day i might get out of this; that i might one day escape this and 'rise above my station', 'make it' in some way. i pictured myself as someone who did make it: an older version of me, who i pictured very clean-cut and acceptable-looking, maybe wearing a suit or something. i hated that version of me; the sellout. i looked at that future me and thought: dont you dare forget about me. dont you dare forget about all of us here - not just my family but everyone i loved, and the people in the same neighborhoods and the same situation. i guess it was a moment of class awareness and solidarity. i thought: ill never let myself become a clean-cut, law-abiding, middle class sycophant who looks down on people like me.

so i got commission money for the cheapest tattoo machine i could get, some $50 crappy machine i got off ebay that came with needles and inks, and i sat at my kitchen table one afternoon with an internet friend on a skype call and tattooed my own knuckles - right hand tattooed with the left hand and all. i chose "DIRT POOR". i thought: there. not only can i see it, everyone can. i can rise up as much as i can in the world. but there will always be this neon sign on my hand that says: i came from here.

and i stuck with that for a very long time. i loved those tattoos. when i stopped loving them (because theyre kinda ugly, and i dont like explaining them to people, etc) i still loved the meaning behind them.

but then i actually 'made it'. i mean, not really. i didnt truly make it. i dont have a job, my main income is disability benefits, but im blessed that i also have my etsy shop and a roommate who helps with rent and a very cheap apartment, all of which means i have an income thats almost minimum wage and benefit from a lot of government aid, and through that ive set aside sizeable savings. i dont have to worry about paying for my food or home or clothes or other necessities, and i can go for drinks with friends or order takeout or buy myself little eccentricities just because i want to. i certainly didnt turn out clean-cut and proper in a suit, but i got to a place that 17 year old tattooing himself on a dirty kitchen table thought hed never get to.

and now that im here the tattoos feel.. silly. shameful. the people who ask me about them are most often panhandlers - and when i translate what it means to them i feel like such a poser. like, dirt poor? really? but im not dirt poor. im doing fine. if i dont get into the extensive backstory of the tattoos every time, i just.. look like someone trying to look rougher than i am. i feel like im appropriating a struggle that is no longer mine. and i dont even like the tattoos anymore and havent for a long time, and now the message itself doesnt feel worth having them.

like id forget where i come from if i didnt have it etched in my hands? like i even needed that reminder anyway? in the end, i got these because i didnt trust myself - because i thought my class solidarity was disingenuous, opportunistic, based only in my current circumstances. but ill never forget how i grew up. the message is already in me. i never needed a reminder. my past will always be a part of me.

so, anyway, ive been thinking of getting the tattoos lasered off. im far from being sure i wanna do it, though almost only because of the price, but ive been considering it often. i still feel a bit like its a betrayal of my 17 yo self. but then again, i think if he saw me now, 10 years older and in the position im in now, hed probably get it. hed see i havent really changed, not in the important ways. i think in the same way i need to forgive my past selves, maybe they too need to forgive me for moving on from them. so i really might get the laser, if not soon, then someday.

if i do, ill still have other hand and finger tattoos, so it wouldnt change much if i get new knuckle ones. if that does come to pass - im thinking "GOOD LUCK" this time.