#my therapist would be so proud of me for actually posting this

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 1

i'll bury us both, fed to the night as ghosts

series masterlist | next chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, ex!Tommy Miller x f!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Summary: After your two year relationship with Tommy Miller ends, Joel takes you in — and it’s home like you’ve never quite known before. 

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, language, infidelity, eventual smut, age difference, soft!joel, AU - no cordyceps outbreak, Sarah doesn’t exist (sorry), Tommy stans don’t come for me

Wordcount: 5.8 k

A/N: I’ll be honest — I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t written a fic in damn near 20 years, so I’m just kind of throwing this out into the void to see what happens. I'm playing fast and loose with years and ages; it's 2023 and there's no outbreak. Also, not a personal fan of the ‘brothers’ trope, but…here we are. 

…I can’t wait until your next business trip…

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes as hard as you can. Who even uses email to have an affair, anymore? 

…miss your hands…

The words are hot against your eyelids, seared into your line of vision, despite the dull ache from your own hands. It had been a week, and the wound still feels gaping — all consuming, bitter pain licking at your insides what feels like every minute of the day. 

     “Dammit, peach. I’ve barely seen you in a week and a half, and this is the bullshit you start?” 

     “Oh, so it’s my fault that you’re having an affair?”

     “I didn’t say that!” 

     Tommy’s eyes wild, hands on his hips, southern drawl like syrup over each syllable. 

     “You’re always workin’. In meetings. Pourin’ yourself into spreadsheets and budgets. What  am I s’posed to do?”

     His hands in the air, desperate, shoulders hunched.

     “Still sounds a lot like you’re blaming me.”  

You can feel the tears well up, and you swallow hard to stop them. Do not cry at work. Do NOT cry at work. You breathe deep, the burning in your lungs waning, but not extinguishing. The usual busy noises of your office are absent today, save the soft purr of the air conditioning and the receptionist’s furious clicking at her keyboard. Even the phones are silent; no frantic calls from upstairs to divert your attention from the constant replay of that night. 

Finally feeling steady enough to remove your hands from your eyes, you lock your fingers together and lay your cheek on top of them. Everything feels heavy — your workload, your personal life, your head. Your gaze slowly flickers to the office window, the sunlight streaming through, the heat scorching. It seems to call out to your blood, making you feel restless, agitated, but also so fucking tired.  

Sleep had eluded you since Tommy had left, and you’d barely been able to steal moments here and there, between dinner for one on the couch and the canned laughs of late-night talk shows. How different your life had been even two weeks ago.  

“Did you bring lunch?” 

Abruptly brought back to earth, your eyes snap up to the face of your colleague, Ava. 

“Um, yeah. Just some veggie sticks and hummus. I, uh, haven’t been feeling terribly hungry.” You smile weakly, the attempt at a joke feeling like a weight around your neck. 

Ava nods in understanding, her eyes sympathetic. She had been the second person you’d called the next morning, after your older sister. Kit, five years your senior, had answered, already sounding distracted by her two young children. 

     “Well, girl, I can’t say I didn’t tell you so. Getting involved with a man seventeen years older than you…” 

While Kit had been hard and borderline disinterested, Ava had served as a warm landing for your sobbing, rushing to the empty apartment on a Saturday morning to soothe you. 

“It’s Friday. We can duck out early, grab a drink? You could use one, and Jackson isn’t back from his meeting upstairs.” Ava checks her watch, confirming. “It’s not like anyone will even miss us.” 

Ava is dependable, fun, beautiful. Her cool California attitude compliments her chic New York style, but she had called Austin home since college. She could wrap anyone around her finger with ease, and her insistence on being your friend made your heart clench. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” You nod solemnly, tears now pricking at your eyes from the tenderness you feel towards her. 

She meets the tenderness with a wide grin. “Knew you would, doll.” 

As you turn to gather your bag, a sudden lightning bolt of fear strikes you. 

“Av, what if he’s there? What if we see him?” 

She swallows down a laugh. “Tommy Miller? Downtown?” She leans closer to you, raising her eyebrows. “He wouldn’t be caught dead at Taquero Mucho. Not willingly, at least.” 

Ava is right, as always. The lush pink floral interior and neon signage on the walls of the restaurant do not, and would not, mesh with Tommy Miller’s bearish sensibilities. You instantly feel more at ease, letting Ava order pink, fruity drinks for the both of you. 

One cocktail turns into two turns into three, and the warm buzz in your veins settles your mind for the time being. Ava sits across from you, happily munching on tortilla chips and chattering away. 

“I couldn’t believe Belinda said that! Like, retire already, grandma.” She grins, rolling her eyes. 

You chuckle, only half hearing the story she’s been telling. Noticing, she gently shifts in her seat, drawing closer to you. 

“Doll, I’m sorry to have been chatting your ear off. You know how I get. Let’s hear- ah, wait!” She notices your empty glass, and as if she had snapped her fingers, the server materializes. 

“Two more, please.” She nods toward the server, who rushes away to put the order in, lest they keep Ava waiting. “Okay. So… what are you going to do? We need to get you out of that apartment. And since you refuse to stay with me…” 

Your gaze drops to your hands in your lap. If you thought crying at work was bad, crying at lunch was worse. You clear your throat, eyes catching your chipped fingernail polish.  

“I don’t know, Av. He- it’s his apartment. It’s not like I don’t make enough to get something on my own, but… I don’t know. It all feels so empty.” 

Ava nods as the server places two more pink cocktails on the table. Mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ to him, she reaches for it before responding.  

“Where’s he staying? And for how long?” 

“His brother’s. Said he’ll give me as much time as I need…but I don’t want to be there anymore. I don’t feel like I can be. Maybe I should get out of Austin?” 

Ava raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You can’t let him run you out of town! That’s outrageous. He’s not even worth that.” She rolls her eyes again. 

You reach for your drink, sipping it slowly, willing it to quiet the bitter fire in your blood. 

     “Peach, come on. I- I didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything. You’re gonna throw two years away over a one time thing? A-a mistake?” 

     “It should have never happened, Tommy! Fucking a client? And I know it wasn’t just once! What the fuck were you thinking?” 

     Tommy’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t speak. His hand goes to the back of his neck, kneading. 

     “Guess I wasn’t thinkin’.” 

Tommy had shattered you. Betrayed you. Split you open and cut your insides out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that he wasn’t a good man. Complicated? Yes. Hard to read? Yes. Prone to making colossal fucking mistakes? Absolutely. But you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t bad. 

You shake your head at Ava slowly, sadly. “I don’t know what I did wrong, Av. Two years. I don’t know what happened.” 

Your eyes well up, and this time you can’t stop the tears. You sniffle, wiping them away quickly, as Ava puts her hand on your forearm. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, doll. He’s the one who fucked up. He’s the one who ruined everything.” 

“H-he said I work too much. I’m ‘not there’ enough. And…and…the worst p-part is, I don’t think he’s wrong!” It takes everything in you not to wail. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on the in-out in-out of your breathing. 

Ava signals for the check, another of her magic abilities. You can feel the server’s eyes on you as he brings it, quietly clicking his tongue against his teeth. Another sad drunk girl. Tsk, tsk. It’s barely 3 o’clock. Ava hums softly, scribbling her signature on the receipt. 

“There’s not a justification in the world for what he chose to do. You worked hard for your career, busted your ass to be where you’re at. It’s no excuse for him to have a full-blown affair with a client.” She closes the receipt inside the booklet and stands. “Now let’s get you home, so you can cry it out in peace.”

Unlocking the door of the apartment fills you with dread. The key feels unwieldy in your hand, and you consider for a split second whether it will feel daunting or freeing to give it back to Tommy. You let yourself in, the apartment hauntingly empty — just as you had left it, just as it had been for the past seven nights. 

You’ve only spoken to Tommy sparingly over the course of the week. A few short texts here and there, mostly about the logistics of the arrangement you are both now navigating. He had left for Joel’s late the night it happened, a duffel bag slung low over his shoulder, slamming the door on his way out. 

     “This it, peach?”  

…miss your hands…

 Dropping your bag next to the front door, the tears don’t stop once they start.

Ava had offered to come up, but you knew you couldn’t let her. She didn’t deserve to have to wallow with you, no matter how much she wanted to be there for you. 

 It had been a good distraction, lunch with her, but you still didn’t know what your plan was. Where you’d be going, where you’d be living. 

Hugging yourself, you shuffle into the guest bathroom to wash your face. After Tommy had left, you’d moved everything you needed out of the main bedroom and bathroom, suddenly feeling like a trespasser there. 

     Had he brought her here? Did she sleep in this bed? Did they talk about the future together? What does Joel think?

The last question to run through your mind catches you by surprise, a small gasp escaping your lips. What does Joel think? 

If Tommy was stoic and gruff, Joel was downright intimidating. You’ve only seen him smile a few times, and you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard him laugh. He wasn’t, however, unkind, taking to calling you by the same nickname Tommy had, albeit a bit awkwardly at first. Like he couldn’t form his mouth around the languid, round letters - p e a c h. Angular as he was, he had always made you feel welcome, in his own, quiet way, teasing Tommy about you being out of his league. The familial resemblance was strong between the brothers, with their dark waves and warm eyes. But something about Joel made your soul clench, as if he had curved his fingers around your ribs and impressed himself upon your heart. He was comfortable, in a cloudy way — never revealing himself, but not pressuring you to, either. Amicable silence, as it were. 

Thinking about Joel calling you out of Tommy’s league makes you scoff, now. 

“The rich client with the kitchen remodel isn’t too out of his league, is she?” You mumble to yourself, cold water pooling between your palms. 

     “I don’t want it to end this way, peach.”  

     “I didn’t want it to end at all, Tommy.” 

 You bring the water to your face, scrubbing away the salt of dried tears and sting of betrayal.

The sun had dipped below the horizon when you wake up later on the couch. Fumbling for your phone with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other. As you check the time, your phone alerts you to two new text messages, delivered two hours ago.

Tommy Miller: Will you be home tonight? Tommy Miller: I need to stop by to get a few things. 

Your hands tremble as you read and reread the messages. You rub your eyes again, unsure if you’re understanding the text in front of you clearly. It doesn’t change. Panic rises in your throat, searing and sour. 

A vicious cross between fury and complete despair surges through you, and you drop your phone into your lap. Tears pinch at the backs of your eyes. Forget figuring out where to live, you hadn’t even considered how you’d next face Tommy.  

     I don’t want to see you, Tommy. Do you want to talk? I’ll be out, feel free to drop by. Please come home. 

You weigh your options, constructing and dismantling multiple messages. Retrieving the phone, you pray he can’t see that abhorrent blue bubble that indicates you’re typing. That shows him you’re there. 

As if he’d read your mind, your phone vibrates, his name and picture flashing on the screen. The picture gives you pause — a day you had spent on Lake Austin, the wind whipping through his hair, a broad smile on both of your faces. You feel like you’re going to be sick. 

Focusing on your breathing, clenching your teeth, you accept the call.  

 “Hey, Tommy.” Your voice is small. So small. You feel your cheeks burn at how stupid you feel. You should be screaming at him — biting back the venom he instilled in you — but all you can manage is barely a whisper.  

He sounds relieved. “Hey, peach. Didn’t know if I’d catch ya.” 

You hum discontentedly. How can he be so cool about this?  

“Uhhh, well, I, uh, need to stop by the apartment tonight to grab some things. Would that be okay?” 

You don’t know what to say. Would it be okay?  

“It’s your apartment.” 

The response surprises you, that same venom bubbling over without your permission.

Tommy sighs. 

“I don’t want it to be like this, darlin’. Can we talk? Please?” 

“Can you make it here without sleeping with a client?” 

Tommy laughs hollowly. “Guess I deserve that. Sassy today, huh?” 

You picture him then, on Joel’s couch, fidgeting with the hem of his button down with his free hand. Pressed against the cushions, eyes to the ceiling. Gently annoyed with you for ignoring his texts. Football would be switched on in the background, and your heart thrums when you think of Joel being there, watching him. What does Joel think?   

You clear your throat, refocusing your attention. 

“Let’s get this over with, Tommy.”  

Sassy, indeed.

It was easier to be hard over the phone, joined by nothing more than wires somewhere in space. But as Tommy stands in front of you now, elbows on the kitchen island, hands stretching towards you, all you feel is the velvety pull of attraction. The soft lull of two years spent shrouded in each other. 

His voice is low, but soft — practically a purr. 

“Baby. How do we move past this?” 

You don’t meet his gaze, wrapping your arms around yourself. Looking at anything but him, anything but those warm eyes. You know that if you do, it will be over. 

“Tommy…I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s that easy. You had an affair. You didn’t forget to take the trash out, or-or-or make a shitty comment about my friends. You slept with someone! You had a relationship with her.” Your voice is measured, eyes dragging from the floor to the ceiling. Avoiding. 

“What can I do, peach? Please, just tell me. I’ll do anything.” 

 “It doesn’t change what happened.” You cross your arms over your chest, defiant now. “It won’t change what happened.” 

Exasperated, Tommy slams his hand on the counter, drawing his body to its full height. He’s broad — so broad — his shoulders squared. 

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. You’ve made it clear. Joel has made it clear. I fuckin’ get it!” He clenches his fists, bringing them up to his face. “I fuckin’ get it.” 

You drop your eyes instantly as your pulse quickens. “What do you mean, Joel made it clear?” 

Tommy sighs, deeply, not removing his hands from his face. “Joel will barely fuckin’ talk to me. Can’t get more’n two words out of him. Said he doesn’t blame you for bein’ done with me. Said I know better. And you know what? Yeah, he’s right. I do. Can’t even argue with’m.” 

You hum cooly in agreement, your pulse thrumming in your ears. There is a sudden acute awareness of the change taking place in your perception of Tommy following his words; he’s been wrenched open and put on display for you, and the need to step back from the jarring offering is nearly suffocating.  

“Okay. Okay.” Hands falling to his waist, revealing his eyes. Bloodshot, tired. Surrendering, but sharp. His voice, softer now, velvet dipped in whiskey. “I’m sorry, peach. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it all back. I…I know I really fucked up.” 

You hold his desperate gaze for a moment before lowering your eyes to the floor again. 

“Tommy… ” His name splintering across your lips. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” That small voice again, cracking. Shattering. Sparkling pieces scattered across the kitchen floor around your feet. Meeting his offering with outstretched, empty palms. Nothing left to give. 

He drops his head, tucking his chin to his chest, and exhales a shaky breath. “Okay, peach. I hear ya.”

You can see his eyes bright with unshed tears. This is the softness that you know, that you’ve craved. The hushed tenderness that you’d shared beneath bed sheets, woven between fingertips brushed against silk skin, delicate whispers in the dark of a once shared bedroom.  

As good as strangers, now. 

The silence settles between you, mourning both what once was and could have been.

When the door closes with Tommy on the other side of it, it feels final. An unfamiliar liquid sense of relief floods your veins, and you breathe deeply. For the first time in a week, you feel like you can suck in enough air to actually fill your lungs. You hadn’t recognized the somber, weepy creature you’d become, and you were sure no one else had, either. Ava had treated you like you were made of glass, afraid you would shatter at any moment. And as much as you had needed that, your stomach twisted into knots at feeling so helpless. Ending things with Tommy — officially — felt like giving yourself permission to dig out the shards and stitch the wound.  

You take in the room around you - a blanket strewn across the arm of the couch, wine glasses littering the coffee table, bottles lined up on the floor in front of it. You shake your head, in something that feels a little like disbelief. The reality of leaving this apartment - your home - had begun to truly set in, but the question of where you would land hung heavy in the air. 

Of course Kit would take you in, if she wasn’t multiple states and thousands of miles away. Ava was an option, having offered her couch to you almost the moment she found out, but you had leaned so heavily on her already that taking more would have made you feel too guilty. A hotel would be too expensive for an open-ended move out date, though the prospect of not having to make your own bed or wash your own sheets was tempting.  

Dropping yourself onto the couch with a heavy sigh, you begin to aimlessly scroll through the contact list in your phone. You know, deep down, that it’s for show, though you don’t know for who. You know, too, that you’ll end up at Ava’s, despite your unwillingness to do so. 

 You lean back, pulling your legs up and stretching them across the cushions. Reaching across the empty wine glasses for the television remote, you click it on before throwing your arm over your eyes. You don’t care what’s on, you just need the sounds. Of people. Of laughing. Of life. Resigning yourself to calling Ava in the morning, you slip into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The Saturday morning sun finds you still curled up on the couch, your legs pulled close to your core. Without opening your eyes, you drop your hand to the floor, feeling for your phone. Finding it nestled partially beneath the frame of the couch, you bring it up to your face, cracking your eyes as little as possible to check the time. There’s a missed call, and when it catches your attention, your eyes fly open completely. 

 Joel Miller - 1 Missed Call & Voicemail

“What the fuuuuck… ” you mumble, swiping to your calls app and bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Uh, hey peach. It’s Joel. Gimme a call back when you get this.” 

You can’t quite place his tone of voice, and your hands tremble as your brain rolls through all the reasons he might be calling you. Did something happen? Is he angry that Tommy is still at his place? Is he angry that you ended it with Tommy? Is he going to try to convince you to take him back? You play the voicemail again, to see if you can catch any stormy inflections in his deep voice - though you glean nothing more than a hazy awareness of the hunger coursing through your blood when he speaks.  

Finally sitting up and crossing your legs beneath you, you stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity. It’s not that Joel scares you, but you don’t know of any time that he’s called you for any reason. Worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth, you finally press the little image of a phone next to his name and wait for the call to connect.

“Yeah?” Joel’s tone is curt, and you can tell he’s at work based on the construction noises you hear in the background. It sets your teeth on edge. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Steeling your nerves.  

“Heyjoelit’s-” you manage to squeak, before you recognize the quiet way his breath hitches. 

“Peach.” and he’s soft. So soft. Softer than you’ve ever known him to be. And it’s your name on his tongue; honeyed and heavenly. You could drown in it. 

“Hi,” you whisper. “I’m just…returning your call.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately, but you hear the opening and closing of a door, the groan of an office chair, and then silence. You would think he’d hung up if you couldn’t hear his deep, even breathing. 

“Peach,” he finally says again, and your skin flares. He clears his throat. “I—there’s— you doin’ okay?” His words are rushed, clumsy, as if he’s trying to get them all out at once. The thought that Joel Miller has anything to say to you, much less too much to say to you, clouds your mind. “Could kill Tommy. Fuckin’ bastard.” 

You laugh once, idly. “I’m holdin’ it together, Joel.” 

“Attagirl.”  

Your skin prickles, and you draw in a surprised gasp. 

He continues, unaware of the change in your breathing. “Look, I, uh, know you’re busy, so I’ll get t’the point. I’ve got an extra room. For you. If ya want it, I mean. I know you’re tryin’ to get out of Tommy’s place, and I’m not lookin’ to rush you or anythin’, just..wanted to offer it up. Rent free, ‘n all that.” You imagine him running his hands through his hair as he stumbles through his speech, clenching his teeth. “Least I could do, with my brother bein’ the dickhead he is.” 

Oh. It’s pity — he feels sorry for you. You bite your tongue, sink your fingernails into your palm, force yourself to focus through the haze in your eyes. Stupid. Stupid girl. 

“Joel, I—” 

“I know ya probably have friends you can stay with. I’m not tryin’ t’be weir — peach, is this weird?” He’s lost in his own thoughts, but stops abruptly when the question escapes. He sounds just as surprised by it as you are.  

 It hangs in the air between you for a moment, and you relish just slightly in the idea that he’s floundering.  

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” you reply, gently. “I’m okay to figure something out on my own. I’m a big girl.” 

“Oh, peach, no. No.” His response is quick, and firm; without any hesitancy, or a second thought. “Don’t for a minute think I don’t know how capable y’are. I know you can, I just don’t want you to have to.” 

 His words sizzle across your flesh, urgent and pleading. They leave you feeling dazed, unsure of the reality of the conversation. Your eyes flick to the furnishings of the apartment, desperate for something to ground you. Trepidation clutches at your throat, rendering you speechless. 

Joel shifts in his chair, and you hear him let out a long breath. “I- I know we don’t know each other. I feel like I’m scarin’ you, darlin’.” 

You shake your head, grasping for what to say. Chest tightening at the thought of his worry, the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What would Tommy say?” 

It feels like a condemnation; speaking it aloud, between the two of you. As if it would make Joel suddenly realize how wrong it was, to ask this of you. To offer this to you. 

“Tommy doesn’t get to say anythin’.” His whisper-soft tone now a growl, clawing at your insides. It covers you from head to toe, and you feel, for the first time in a very long time, shielded from the hurt. A hurt that exceeded the past week, or Tommy entirely. A hurt that was buried so far inside yourself that the aching reminder it even existed left you reeling. Tears prick at the back of your eyes, and you silently scold yourself for crying again. 

The silence on the phone is comfortable, as if Joel knows that you’re digesting everything he’s saying. True to his word, he’s not rushing you — just sharing the space with you, allowing you to take it all in. 

A loud knocking sounds from his end, and it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Shit, sorry peach. I gotta go.” He sounds further away, muffled; the intimacy of the conversation shattered, as if you had imagined it altogether. 

Then, abruptly, his warm, inviting timbre restored: “Please think about it. Bye, darlin’.”

 “I mean, are you thinking about it?” Ava questions, her eyes on the shirt she’s folding. She’s cross legged on the floor, while you stack books in the cardboard box at your feet. 

It hadn’t occurred to you how little you had to call your own, until you had to put it all in boxes.  

You don’t respond to Ava’s question immediately, instead chewing on your bottom lip gently. Turning it over and over in your mind, formulating the most diplomatic response. 

“How bad would it be if I was?” You avoid her eyes, which you know have turned to daggers at your back. 

It’s her turn to mull the question over, bobbing her head side to side as she considers. 

“Tommy’d be pissed.” It’s pointed, but not malicious. Honest. “But…we don’t care what Tommy thinks anymore, do we?” 

 You drop your head, smiling mildly behind the curtain of your hair. No, we in fact, do not. 

“Plus, he’s very…handsome.” Ava chooses her words carefully, but you know to read between the lines: Joel is fuckin’ hot. “The whole ‘older man’ thing really works for you, babe.” 

“Kit would be more upset than Tommy, I guarantee it.” You laugh softly, unable to help yourself. You get cheated on by someone more than fifteen years older than you, and immediately move in with someone even older? You imagine your sister tutting at you, ever the mother-figure. 

“No doubt.” Ava rolls her eyes affectionately as you turn to her. You plant your hands on your hips and survey the bedroom around you. “Seriously, though, how would the…logistics of living with Joel work? Would you, like, have dinner together? Hang out? Be friends?”

You laugh, despite the anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t know, Av. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m kind of hung up on the whole ‘moving in with my ex-boyfriend’s brother’ part of it all.” 

Now it’s her turn to plant her hands at her hips. “Are we still harboring some feelings about Tommy Miller, doll?” Her eyebrow quirks. 

“Av! Come on. We spent two years together! I’m not just gonna get over it like that.” You snap your fingers before bending down to close the now-full box below you. 

“You know what they say…the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Ava waggles her eyebrows, and you laugh, full-bellied, at her levity. “You’re a fox, girl. Believe it or not.” 

You roll your eyes, shoving the box out of the door of the bedroom, into the hallway. 

“And he’ll be helping you move all this, right? To his house?” 

“Nope!” you chirp brightly, “that would be you, babe!”

Kit, as you had anticipated, is not thrilled about the idea of you moving in with Joel. You call her from your office phone on Monday morning, gripping the receiver so hard your knuckles are white. 

“Are you kidding? How are you even entertaining the idea?” Her voice is unflinching, and you tap the fingers of your free hand against your desktop, mildly annoyed. 

“I’m 28, Kit.” You remind her, as you always do. “I’m the one who would deal with the fallout. Not you. Besides, it’s not like I have a ton of options.” 

She scoffs, and you can imagine her rolling her eyes. “So you’ve told him yes, then?”  

“No! That’s why I’m…taking a survey. Feeling it out.” You mumble, “You’re obviously not on board.” 

Kit sighs, drawn out and heavy. “I know you don’t care what I think. I know you’re an adult. I just…worry about you. I’m so far away, and if anything happened…” 

You cut her off. “I appreciate that. A lot. But at some point, I have to take care of myself.” 

“I don’t think moving in with a 50 year old man qualifies as taking care of yourself.” She’s trying to be delicate, you can tell, but her remark is biting. 

Twirling the phone cord around your fingers, you purse your lips. 

“Why don’t you come stay with us for a bit? Maybe an extended vacation?” You can picture the sticky countertops, loud toys, an uncomfortable pullout couch. And Kit’s husband, awkward and gangly, never shutting up about ‘the economy’. Kit sounds somewhat hopeful, though, and it makes your heart quiver. 

“Kit…I can’t leave my job. The one stable thing I have going for me.” 

 “They have finance jobs here.” 

 “I’m not letting Tommy run me out of Austin.” You echo Ava’s words, an indignant feeling rising in your chest. “I’ve got a whole career here. This is…a minor setback. If I do move in with Joel, it won’t be for forever.”    

She laughs softly, but you clock the reluctance. 

“I promise. I’m okay. I am okay. I will be okay.” 

Kit pauses. “You’ll tell me if you’re not?” 

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” 

“Well,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “best of luck, peach. It sounds like you have your mind made up.”

You shove the last box into the back of your Subaru, and dust your hands off on your leggings. 

     “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this, Joel?” 

     “Yes. Stop askin’ me.”   

      “If I’m too much, at all, I don’t have to stay.” 

     “Peach.” It’s a warning. “It’s Tommy that I need out of my space.” 

Calling Joel back to accept his offer had been harder than every other aspect of moving out of Tommy’s apartment. Once you and Ava had packed all of your belongings, you stood back to observe — and it was like you had never lived there in the first place. The only thing that truly felt different about the space was that you knew you didn’t live there anymore. You feel a pang in your chest thinking about how Tommy would feel without you there — you didn’t know if him missing you or not missing you would be worse. 

“Anything left?” Silas, Ava’s boyfriend-du-jour asks, from your elbow. 

You shake your head, pulling down the hatch to close the back of the car. “Just the key. Which you don’t have to stick around for.” You give him a watery smile, feeling the weight of the day through every muscle in your body. 

He nods. “Cool, cool. I’ll grab Ava. We can meet you over there?” 

You hum in agreement before turning back to the building. Going up the steps to the second floor feels mechanical, a recreation of the thousands of times you’ve done it before, and your legs carry you automatically. The last time, now. Pulling in a large breath, you exhale through your nose, centering yourself while you click the door open.  

Sunlight streams through the windows, bathing everything in the late afternoon light. You glaze your eyes over the room, not searching for anything forgotten, but committing it to memory one final time. You recognize that it feels less like a chapter closing and more like a freefall into something entirely unknown — into the mouth of something that lurks beneath the surface, teeth gnashing, ready to consume. 

Leaving the key on the kitchen island feels like an offering to that dark entity, but you’re ready — willing — to tumble headfirst into it. So you do, with no grandeur, and no looking back, just a deep breath out and the millstone around your neck lifted. 

Joel’s truck isn’t in the driveway when you arrive at his house. Ava is posted up against her car, Silas still in the driver’s seat, arm out the window at her waist. You wave as you pull up, masking the fear radiating through your extremities. 

You throw the Subaru into park, and Ava jogs over to meet you. Her eyes are wide, but kind, as you close the door behind you. 

“Okay?” She asks, her hand gentle on your arm. 

You nod, swallowing hard. “Feels kinda surreal, Av. But I’m good.” 

Brushing her off, you make your way to the front door. There’s an envelope clipped to the mailbox, ‘peach’ scribbled on the front of it, and your hands shake as you grasp it. 

‘I wanted to give you some space while you got settled. Your key is in the envelope. Make yourself at home — I’ll check on you in the morning. —Joel’ 

Your heart flutters as you pull out a house key, with a keychain in the shape of a peach threaded through the top of it. Your breath catches in your chest as you run the metal through your fingers, tightening them around it. If Tommy’s key had been an anchor, Joel’s feels like a lifesaver. 

Blinking back tears, hands still shaking, you slide the key into the lock and twist. 

Eat your heart out, Tommy Miller.

[spookietrex]

Today, my therapist and I went through the paperwork for my long-term disability appeal. It was hard to be so critical of myself (in a positive way lmao) but also nice to be validated. Like I answered originally that I liked detailed instructions better than short instructions and my therapist looked at me and said "Are you sure? You seem to do better if given one step instructions and multiple reminders for that single instruction." She also was very very very blunt with me for the first time about how socially awkward I am. (It's come up in jobs before.) Get you a therapist that listens to you. I've had mine for 4 years or so and she's wonderful. The way I've unmasked with her and started to actually make progress in figuring myself out! We also got to just like destroy the fact that I can work again because I have had actually testing done proving my IQ was at 88 and I'm now having trouble with children's books. Like I told her it took me 45 minutes to do 1 single children's word math problem and there was no judgement, just "Oh that sounds really hard."

Today she told me, "When you're chronically ill and have as much going on as you, sometimes it's just about keeping you out of the hospital rather than getting you back to work."

[sapphirerogers]

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

[1d10tch1ld]

Being Winterqueer should be the norm

(Message me if you need, I am not going to attack anyone over this subject even though it does frustrate me.)

Like how Queer Activism is the norm because guess what? Making assumptions that all white people or white passing people could not be going through severe trauma or could not be gaslighted into thinking their a bad horrible person because of their race or adding to their pre-existing trauma is not funny.

Racism is Taught, Not a Biological "gift."

Save your opinion for after you've heard me out, I know I am like the only white person affected by this but I am also autistic and have a hard time being sure on certain tones.

Most of my trauma stems from TikTok, but the thing is I don't view my trauma as that much connected to it since that'd be avoiding responsible that the creators should be taking with over 1Billion people I think the person/people should be held accountable.

I can't force someone into my opinion but I hate being spoken over, I don't mean to trigger anyone but if you are then please scroll past this post.

Racism hurts everyone, including the relationships and friendships someone can have so even if the racism is not explicitly aimed at a white person it can still hurt them because majority of people hate seeing the ones they love in pain.

2. Calling someone a colonizer for being white passing or having white genes is just as bad as calling a German person a Nzi for being originally from Germany, years after the holocaust ended many Germans were hated for being German whom did not even support Nzi's (such as children who were born after the event, It's not the childs fault for their parent including if someone has a parent who is a murderer, the child had no choice in who their parent is such as with their ancestry.)

3. I support everyones right to talk about their experiences whether they are white or not, but putting one over the other or any kind of forced ethnocentrism is wrong and gross. (as in claiming stuff that didn't originate from their country as originating from their country is wrong.)

4. the conflation between feeling good about being white and being a white supremacist is gross, I don't support stuff like the KKK or NeoNzi's. But I want people to feel good about being white since someone who is proud of their heritage may be less likely in certain situations to be against racism especially fi the person was taught to be racism because they thought or were taught into thinking that all Black people for example hated them or would steal from them (which is a huge lie but someone already told to think that when they were searching for researchs to feel good about their race from their insecurity can fall into the pipeline of becoming a NeoNzi).

5. I think it should be taught in schools or universities for people looking to become psychologists that emotional manipulation can be helpful or can provide a good tool to make people avoid becoming racist or even if it's given into someone's selfish point of view they should still use it but not to gaslight them into hating themselves. such as an interaction like this:

"I hate xyz people"

"Why do you hate xyz people?"

"Explain here or something."

:0 Then the therapist can gain knowledge on how to redirect the persons thought process to avoid any hatred against people of "xyz" race. but that should be the norm of what is used in therapy to negate those feelings of shame or doubt in someones feelings towards being or towards people of "xyz" race.

I love how black activists act like white people are the problem when for years majority of them don't care about Black men, or cared about George Flloyd yet did nothing to actually change laws or change things for Black men like putting a better system in place for them? If George Flloyd lived today he'd still have been klled which to me prove as a society we did nothing. we are the society, traditional is not mainstream society so stop conflating traditional with society.

Like the same for White people, majority of racism that would come from a white person is likely feeling threatened by POC people so it's good to teach that out of them but somehow POC people took that to mean making fun of their trauma or paranoia! Making fun of someone with Paranoia about something no matter what is ableist and I will not stand for it but purposely inducing Paranoia into someone is also ableist.

I would argue that black men are often dispositioned into roles where they are more likely thought to be dumber or less-human then black women. the whole George Flloyd thing did not get to the root of the issue which is the Police System --- since no one thought to take it to the Police Department / Head of the police to have honest discussions on what to change to make sure its less likely to happen since it'd influence the training style or it'd still make a remembrance day or something??? Like guys words aren't all you need to make a change.

(NO!) No, more gaslighting someone into not being able to talk about their experiences, some people act like therapists are just robots pre-programmed with automatically knowing how to make someone better yet these lies from POC people (not all POC people but like a lot of POC activists) do reach therapists yet a white person can't say they feel gaslighted or they feel like their trauma is not taken serious for being white --- or other white people shut the white person down, not wanting them to label their trauma as racism when it technically is.

Like the whole argument over, "white racism does not exist" so what am I to tell my therapist if the therapist thinks like that? It does not prove anything to them, it just makes it harder for a lot of people to access therapy as they may refuse or think the therapist is weak because they are basing their opinion on "empathy" and not every feels empathy.

No one is arguing that white racism is as bad as any other types of racism but yet people want to know why so many people go from being White at birth to go identifying as Trace like??? I don't want people to have to identify as Trace because it's just been adding to the trauma I have because I want people to be able to work through their trauma and what I mean by that is not the current gaslighting therapy style we have now. So please stop the way you talk or act about race, you don't need to be an activist based on the colour of your skin.

That goes to everyone, you can be an activist if you genuinely want but know this It doesn't change if you are morally right or wrong as long as you hear people out then its fine but if your not willing to on any issue then you can't really get your own activism across to them.

[sysmedsaresexist]

As someone who remembers how vile syscourse was just a few years ago, when I heard this blog experienced character devrlopment, I was shocked at first. When I found some posts explaining it, I was even more intrigued.

If anyone is open to it, I wouldn't mind a link to any explanation of how you fell into sysmedicalism and how you started unlearning it. I'm genuinely proud of you for that development, because changing your entire outlook on a topic is difficult, especially when you have people who support that old view but not the new one behind you. This isn't meant to be condescending, in case it is read that way.

Syscourse has only gotten more vile, honestly.

This ask kind of comes at an interesting time. Last night, I made a post about the TPA and my extreme hatred for them (that'll never change), but I linked a post from my second Twitter account, which brought me WAY back to my first active move in syscourse.

First off, hi, it's not condescending. I found it's a lot easier to talk about than I thought it would be. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought to say, "I was wrong and being hard-headed." I was expecting ego death, but instead, everyone has been so kind.

I was asked what made me switch sides, but as for my humble beginning...

I spent a good couple years just lurking and watching. I was out in therapy and quietly taking all these questions to my therapist. "Are endos real? Is DID really trauma based? Could I be endo? Is that what you become when you heal from DID?"

Suffice to say, not the healthiest questions. There was a lot of misinformation out there. Through talking to my therapist, I believed I was in the right, and I debated for a long time getting involved to talk about some of the more prominent myths about DID.

But then.

Then.

I met Bethany.

Well, I didn't meet her. She blocked me immediately. She was a social worker, and a pro endo, DID system, but I really didn't like the way she talked down to CDD systems.

She was actually huge on Twitter, she had her own website and everything for sex positive therapy, she was doing interviews, she made wild claims about what kind of work she had done in the field, sob stories about clients that didn't make it. She had just started something called the Dissociative Society of Canada.

She was BIG.

And she was a liar.

I'm actually genuinely curious if anyone remembers this, it was seriously a huge, DESTRUCTIVE event to hit BOTH communities.

The Dissociative Society of Canada was real. She started it. But she was not a social worker. Her stories weren't real.

Having done all the same schooling myself, in the same province, with the same rules, I knew she was lying, and I called her out for it.

The pro endo AND CDD community attacked me HARD. I was told I was harassing and stalking, I remember reading the post that called for people to mass report me and I remember the emails starting to flood in from Twitter from countries that required the email be sent for reports. The only posts I had made on Twitter had been about Bethany, but people were talking about who I must be as a person and why I was so angry and jaded and terrible.

Eventually, Bethany admitted it. She never publicly apologized. She made her board of directors do it for her in a letter about shutting down the society (they hadn't known either). I was able to get her listed as an unlicensed therapist to avoid (she's still on there). The Dissociative Society of Canada was shut down after only a year.

And I felt terrible. I hated myself. The posts that came out afterwards about how much people had loved Bethany and how their trust had been destroyed, people that had done therapy with her and were permanently damaged by the lie. She had given a lot of people hope, but it was all a lie.

That was my fault. If I hadn't said anything, I don't think she would have been caught. She was still in school to get her education, she wanted to become licensed, she just wasn't yet.

But it was illegal for her to be providing therapy and telling everyone she was a social worker. She used this title to shut down anyone who disagreed with her, even when she was clearly wrong.

It was a clusterfuck. I came out of it DESPISING endogenic systems for the harassment and misinformation, and the lies about ME. I hated the desire to ignore her unlicensed, illegal actions simply because she had been a prominent voice for the pro endo community (seriously, people wished I hadn't done it, that she had never been called out and had continued her work).

This was my first real interaction with the pro endo community. A lying POS and a bunch of endos lying about me.

I started JAS around that time, and we all know what happened from there. My first post was about the myth of the 10% non-traumagenic in the DSM (it's a misquote).

I don't want to say I wanted to replace Bethany-- I wanted to show how someone who wasn't licensed could still advocate without lies, I wanted to provide that same level of educated discussion, I actually heavily considered putting together a licensed team to start another dissociative society. I debated getting licensed to do it myself.

Unfortunately, life doesn't always work out that way.

I did get her Twitter url out of it when she deleted, though. My trophy.

Ending on a sad note, I suppose.

I was distrusting of the endo community, I was angry. I didn't trust anyone for a long time after this. Who would just go online and lie like that?

It took a really long time to get over it and let go of that anger and hurt.

Remember, don't trust anyone or anything on the internet. Fact check everyone and everything, even if you think you already know the answer, or think you know who someone is.

If she hadn't been such an actual bitch to people, I wouldn't have noticed. Seriously. This was the tweet that caught her, no therapist should talk like this to anyone. The concerns raised in the first image mirrored my own exactly, and I would not have appreciated being spoken to that way. I thought, if she IS licensed, she should be reprimanded. But I couldn't find her license, and thus began the downfall of Bethany Killen.

TL;dr if you're lying on the internet, be nice to people :)

While I didn't always live up to my own standards of civility (I can admit that), I TRIED to speak to endogenic systems as respectfully as possible, and my only goal was to NOT be like Bethany. Sometimes I failed, but at least I never claimed to be licensed.

The point is that I'm trying to be better every day. Finally admitting that I was pro endo made it a lot easier to be nice. I wasn't trying to hold up this charade anymore.

And finally, I want to remind everyone that it's not just "the other side" that can do damage or spread misinformation. Our own community can do damage if we don't call each other out, too.

The most damaging thing I've ever seen in syscourse came from another CDD system.

I think I've rambled enough, thank you!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

thinking about the sports medicine doc I saw several months ago because I fucked up a tendon last year and went to get evaluated for a cortisone shot and/or PT.

Due to white-knuckling my way through severe endometriosis for several years before getting help, and then white-knuckling through two more years of active treatment because I wanted to be SURE I REALLY NEEDED to just take out everything (that I wasn't using in the first place, not wanting children), my relationship with pain is a fucking mess. Like, I could feel it HURT when my back tweaked, and that was obviously an issue. But also, I have no idea what amount of pain is average.

So, anyway, first time meeting this sports medicine guy. Sent that way by my primary care doc who has always been fantastic. But the sports medicine doc wasn't HER, so I was worried I wouldn't be taken seriously because it wasn't until I was 29 that doctors actually started listening to me about my pain.

Doctor comes in. Asks what's up. I explain how the injury happened and when it hurts. And then I took a deep breath and said the scariest thing, "The thing is, I can't actually tell you how bad it is because I have a really unclear idea of how much pain I have because I spent several years in near-constant to constant pain with severe endometriosis, so I disconnect from my pain a lot."

And this doctor goes, "Oh, okay. Good to know. I've worked with a lot of endo patients. Let me check a couple of things."

And one of the things he tried was to put his thumb right on the lower back tendon that was flared up in anger at the overall issue and PUSHED. And I made some sort of noise, and he went, "Okay, so that tendon is super angry at you. You definitely need PT to get things healed up. Do you want the cortisone shot today? If not, I'm going to tell you to ice it and take painkillers and just be careful, but that can be easier with the shot on board."

And a part of me went, "No, of course not! Why would I need that???" But what came out of my mouth was "Yes, I would like the shot."

And I was very fucking proud of myself because, my god, the RELIEF. Did it long-term fix the issue? No. That was what the PT was for. Did it PROVIDE relief? YES. Holy shit. The level of BETTER I felt was amazing.

I don't know if I have an overall point of this post except to remind you that your pain is valid. Your pain is worth lessening. Just because you've suffered with no help before doesn't mean you have to do it again. Get the cortisone shot. Get the fat ibie prescriptions (just refilled mine). Do the PT and don't push yourself to the point of pain just because the therapist is watching (still working on that one).

[metfell]

<- posts about c!beeduo still in 2024

🕊 RIP old pinned 9/24/2020-5/7/2023 you had a good run o7 🕊

CARRD | PRONOUNS.CC | KO-FI | TWITTER | FR LAIR 68141

BOUNDARIES AND ASK FAQ BELOW THE CUT:

BOUNDARIES:

I block liberally. please don't ask me or my friends why I have you blocked, it's probably nothing personal.

I am not going to tell you how I figured out I was a system, and I am equally not qualified to tell you if YOU are a system.

I am not a therapist I am just some guy(s).

Do not jokingly insult me if we are not friends. Do not call me bitch, whore, slut, etc. I do not know you. Even if we're mutuals, please ask me first.

Dreamwastaken fans do not fucking interact. honestly in general cc!dreamteam fans do not interact.

Will Gold/ cc!Wilbur Soot fans do not interact.

You can ask me to tag for anything, though I may say no. I will sometimes ask you why you want something tagged, and that's so I can better accommodate that tag in the future. if you do not want to divulge that information, that's fine with me I get it, it's a personal thing.

Spam asks will be IP blocked. This means you will never be able to send me an anonymous ask again. Think before you send me an ask.

Please keep comments about my art in the tags, not the body of the post.

Spam liking/reblogging is perfectly fine, I don't mind at all. Just queue or reblog my art if you're going to spam-like it.

Ask me for permission before using my art in edits or stimboards.

Icon usage does not require asking me, but please add credit somewhere easily visible like your description or pinned post.

I don't use tone indicators unless I believe my message could genuinely be misinterpreted. Examples would be sarcasm or teasing.

If you do use tone indicators with me, please put the whole word. Examples: "/copypasta" "/joking" "/lighthearted".

FAQ:

Q: What art supplies do you use? How long have you been drawing? Do you do commissions?

A: I use 8x11 Strathmore Sketch books, and a very very large collection of Copic, Arrtx, and Ohuhu markers. For paintings, I use Strathmore Bristol paper in either size 11x14 or 18x24, and a mixture of various liquitex acrylic paints. A: I have been drawing since around 2010! A: In general, no. However, I actually will take commissions if you message me through Flight Rising and trade me treasure, gems, or rare apparel items! My Flight Rising followers get only the best <3

Q: Can we be friends?

A: Despite how extroverted I may seem, I'm actually incredibly nervous about speaking to new people. Send asks off anon, add tags to my art, and just hang out, and I'll probably consider us friends! If not, it's nothing personal, I'm just cagey.

Q: What is with the Ranboo's secret tumblr bit?? ..... Are you?????

A: No, it's just a running joke from 2021 lmao. Ranboolive has his own actual tumblr now but people just love pretending like I'm still his secret account

hey guys I made a new pinned are you proud of me anyways like the post if you read all of this

[dgdraws]

Maybe saying this on my 18 follower art sideblog is silly, but I want to offer some gentle pushback on the sentiment that's been going around re: notes on art and lack of engagement.

TL;DR make it your practice to be the person who rbs art with nice tags and you can build a community of likeminded folks

There are myriad reasons why online comment culture has shifted, I'm not gonna waste time pinning that stuff down, bc it's actually immaterial to my perspective, which is:

You can find or create a community of people who will lift up your art. But it requires that you participate in the culture you want to see more of.

I had been a lurker on this site for a decade. I held back participating in discussions, creating or sharing art, engaging directly with anyone outside of following blogs and rbing posts without commentary. And during that time, I made no connections, no friends, built no community.

I was afraid of scrutiny. I have felt the humiliating lurch of earnest engagement turning to dread and exposure and a deep regret of allowing myself to be vulnerable. I pulled up the ladder behind me so I would never have to hear the slightest dismissal or repulsion or ridicule from others. In so doing I also cut myself off from praise, understanding or connection. If no one gets a chance to let me down, then it's as though they're holding me up, right? Wrong!!!

I paid good money for a therapist to help me work out the lie there. The realization that I felt isolated and misunderstood because I never gave people the opportunity to show up for me was so hard to grasp. How could my safety net be the cause of my profound loneliness? But it is true. The people in my life couldn't disappoint me, but they also couldn't help me or support me or really love me the way I needed.

Opening myself up to disappointment has been a long, tough road (and goodness knows I'm not ready to let my parents let me down (again) yet). But my relationships are strengthening. My sense of identity is more stable. I am not inconsolably lonely deep in my heart anymore. Because it turns out people do show up when you give them the opportunity.

Not every time. Not every person. But enough of the time that it builds resilience. Every time I reach out and someone reaches back, I get a little braver. I trust a little more.

To bring this back around to online culture and community: I started receiving interest (and notes) after I started showing interest in others. Once again it turns out that people want to turn up for you, but you must give them the opportunity. This means making yourself vulnerable. It means taking the first step.

If you want a community, a group of people who interact w a certain set of values, you have to demonstrate it. Live those values. This is how we create culture. We choose what behavior we want to encourage and we set an example. This is as true in a workplace or a family as it is for tumblr or ao3. If your boss puts up a sign that says "we see mistakes as a chance to learn" but they punish people when they mess up, that's just words on the wall. If they accept errors graciously, if they work to suss out the root of the problem to resolve it, if they are open about their own mistakes, that is the culture.

So if we want to see more reblogs, but not just that, real engagement and chances for connection, then it starts with you.

Here's what I do that has helped me make friends and spark genuine interest in my work;

Reblog LOW NOTE art as much as, if not more than, posts with thousands of notes. Feel proud to give someone the first note on their work!

Incorporate leaving nice tags into my gratitude practice (it is a form of mindfulness! noticing what specifically draws me to art I rb both engages me more deeply with the work and makes my own art better)

Queue up several art posts from the same artist (people notice when you are consistently in their notes!)

Participate in art events like artfight, various -tobers, other challenges (as with making friends anywhere, repeated exposure leads to familiarity and chances for connection!)

Follow people back or even initiate following blogs who interact with your posts (do not approach this with a f4f mentality, only follow people you actually want to hear more from)

Set up post notifications for portfolio style art blogs (ie sideblogs exclusively for original content) so you keep up w your network/mutuals even if you're offline when they post

Low key notice what the people engaging with you like most about your work and consider expanding on those ideas. This is not about "tailor your work to an audience" it's about thinking, "so-and-so left feral tags on my post about this oc so I'll do my practice sketches of them" or "people seem interested in this storyline so let me feed off that enthusiasm and develop it more"

Don't get hung up on it when individuals don't reciprocate. Assume good faith. You never know what is draining someone's energy. Remember that you are offering a gift, your time and energy yes, but also the chance for someone to show up for you too. If it starts to feel like an obligation, reassess where you're putting that energy, but don't be afraid to be generous.

This has worked wonderfully for me. I went from a person scrolling longingly past posts about beloved mutual culture, not quite believing it could really be like that, to a person who happily gets 3 notes on my former flop posts and posts reblog bait for my besties and reblogs the bait they post for me :)

Apparently I had a lot to say! I kinda hope this doesn't break containment but if it does, please be niceys. I understand if this mindset is not available to you bc of social trauma, depression/anxiety, disability, mental illness or whatever else but please avoid venting that on this post. I love you and I hope you can get here someday, because you're worth it. In the meantime, try to be gentle with yourself and others. xoxo

[thickenmyblood]

I don't know how to thank you. This feels like the end of an era. I can't believe it's been 4yrs since you started posting hiuh and I was instantly hooked. It literally got me through the pandemic. I learned so much from the story and felt I had Neo as a therapist(the best in the world). You must be flooded with asks now but I am really curious how the story formed in your head. It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter. Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they? It really is a master piece - much much better than many published books I read and I hope you will publish someday, if that's what you want.

I'd also offer you my first born to have an epilogue. hopefully lamen with their child(ren) playing on the beach and Nicaise being the doting big brother. they all grew so much and deserve all the happiness. oh and Kastor and Jo and Galen for big family gathering. I'm so proud of all of them.

thank you thank you thank you for all your patience and genius and mostly, generosity.

hello!!!! i'm so happy that my story resonated with you and got you through some tough times. it did the same for me!

It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter.

thank you!! it will never be as good as it was in my head or as good as I know I could have made it if I had spent more time on it, but for me the most important thing is that it is completed and at least 70% of what I wanted it to be. a win is a win!!!

Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they?

i got the idea for a modern au break up fic in 2020 while I was writing and posting wtsioa. i started the story as a 20k one shot and then realized 5k into it or less that it was not going to fit into that word count. the reason was very simple: i did not want a break up fic centered around "miscommunication" in a naive, fluffy way. i did not want to write a fic where the main issue was that one loved the other too much or that they thought the other was cheating when it wasn't true, etc. i wanted to write a break up that felt honest to me, and this meant giving them both issues that felt real, that i saw in myself and in the people around me irl. which meant that it would take them both considerably more than 5k to get over them (if they ever did).

i outlined the fic very roughly. my first drafts . . . they are not it, girl. like, anyone that has read wtsioa knows that. I'm a much better editor than I am a writer, so for hiuh i outlined the main beats (nicaise calls damen after months, damen goes to therapy, nicaise is out of control and some incidents happen, laurent is dating maxime, they get back together). then, i wrote the entire thing in . . . a year? maybe less? then, i made a mistake and got cocky: i edited the first three chapters and started posting on ao3. that's why the fic took so long to post. i had to edit each chapter a lot after the first three were released.

i edited out too many things to count. things you wouldn't believe if I told you now because they make no sense when looking at the finished version. idalia was a pretty big character, and so was jokaste. in the og outline, I debated between claude/heavy drugs for nicaise. i almost named dog NIKANDROS!!!! damen actually punched aktis at the party when he talks shit about laurent . . . which led to him also punching nik. laurent slapping nicaise once. aimeric and damen baking together. then, there were things I wanted to write but couldn't because they didn't feel very real to me, despite being the best self indulgent daydream scenarios ever: damen hunting claude down (yeah, ruth wanted this to happen), dog getting sick, aimeric's EVERYTHING lol, nik and nicaise talking, etc.

thank you for sending this ask and reading the story through all the ups and downs and... lack of updates on my end!!! it has been the best experience ever, knowing that someone out there is reading and cares about what I made. thank you!!!!!!!!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, how are you? I hope it's the most comfortable season in your area right now? I had covid in the summer and unfortunately I'm still getting weaker and weaker, so I was wondering if you could recommend some exercises you enjoy? Like YouTube channels or just the names of the exercises would be greatly appreciated. Sending hugs.

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

Yes, we're finally entering the best part of autumn, where the weather is beautiful sweater weather during the day and the evenings are cool. It won't last long, sadly, because we get early wet winters so it will get really cold all the time and just... rain until December, ugh.

Ugh, I feel you about feeling weak after Covid. It took me awhile to get back to my "normal", which is going back to the gym daily and waking up at decent times and sleeping through the night. Took awhile for that.

Oh gosh, okay regarding the fitness thing, I'm trying hard to think back to a couple years ago; I had to get a nutritionist because I had a health scare (I fainted while sitting down and doing nothing) and he wanted me to get back into a routine. Let me tell you, it's SO hard, but his words of encouragement helped SO MUCH MORE than any of those """"fitness influencers"""" and personal trainers (ie. professional torturers lol) ever did because he NEVER expected more than I was comfortable with. He always said "YOU have to want to change, I'm just here to help you on that path".

Currently, I go to the gym pretty much every day for at least an hour and mostly weight lifting. It took nearly a year and a half to get back to that level of fitness for me. Pre-Covid I was doing even more to the point of obsession. Both my nutritionist and my therapist help me with coping mechanisms to ensure that that doesn't happen again. When I was first getting back into exercising, we focussed on the one exercise I LOVED doing: walking. He always said "10 minutes of walking a day is better than not doing it at all." It always started small, and walking was the thing that got me back to exercising. And, little by little 10 became 20 became 30 became an hour, and then going back to the gym was less daunting. My work has a gym which my brain deemed as "safe" in my post-covid anxiety, so I started going back via my work gym. Again, I have previous fitness experience so I started off on machines and then back into my old routines with free weights.

But yeah, definitely some walking or even just some stretching or yoga moves (my nutritionist actually tried to get me to start working out by stretching and meditating, but I don't really like doing either of those). My nutritionist, while he did want me to work towards a healthier lifestyle, never EVER pushed me to do more than I was ready for. So this is my advice to you, Lovely: what kind of exercise do you LIKE doing? Walking? Push ups? Squats? There are simple exercises that people use for physio, seniors, and limited mobility individuals. Getting up and sitting down, wall presses, light lunges, even stretches are great for working towards a more active lifestyle. Heck, even "doing weights" by lifting a full water bottle is an exercise! Mine was walking. Perhaps yours is leg lifts or shoulder rolls. Even just a little activity is GOOD!! This article here is a good place to start if you're limited mobility, and here's a good article for beginners.

Also, search on YouTube for "Workouts for Beginners"; there's quite a few workouts there, hopefully without too many ad-breaks to ruin the flow of the workouts. My favourite workouts, though are Les Mills Body Combat and Body Pump, which are both more advanced once you're into a rhythm. I used to do the classes at GoodLife before Covid, and now my CURRENT routine incorporates moves I learned in both of those (I'm still skittish about being in group settings so I kind of just do them on my own). I'm very proud of myself for how far I've come in a year and a half, when I genuinely thought I would never do it again. I could barely walk because of foot and joint pains, I was always dizzy and I was very lethargic all the time. Changing my diet helped a lot too; my nutritionist recommended a lot more protein to keep me fuller longer, and 3 meals a day with small snacks. Never have a deficit!! He doesn't believe in dieting, just "eating right". AND he doesn't make me weigh myself which helped me overcome my disordered eating triggers. He's a great nutritionist.

It can be done Nonny! Just start small, and stick to a schedule. For me I find it easier to do it during the week during my lunch break at work makes it feel like it's NOT eating into my free time, and on weekends and days off I go first thing in the morning to the gym because it's quieter. So, a routine helps for sure! I think you can do it too!!!!

Let me know if I can help you out with tips that have helped me that I haven't listed here. And, if anyone has something to help Nonny get back into a routine that has maybe helped y'all after Covid, please do offer your support! <3

ALSO as an aside, Nonny, it's recommended you start SMALL after Covid to allow your body to properly heal, so DON'T PUSH YOURSELF nor feel bad if you're slow. Every Body is different! <3

Good luck Nonny!!!

[mousydentist]

my favorite fics that i wrote and why

So, first I'll explain. I'm gonna being reccing my own fics which I'm not super sure how to do cause I mostly just yeet shit on ao3 and let the fates decide, and I'm never sure what's like, too much? Like I see other people rec their own fics and I'm like (O O) how do i do that. Like idk why I have this resistance to like, telling people that I like my own fics? So today I said fuck that, everyone's gonna know now.

And I've just been doing not so hot recently for a number of reason and I figured like, I've been obsessing over so much, why don't I get to be excited about the good things? So anyway, these are my favorite fics that I've written, not just the ones that have done the best or whatever, just my personal favorites, so without further ado...

(quick fyi, all of these are locked so you need to be logged into ao3 to view)

First up is sorry that i can't believe anybody really starts to fall in love with me , don't ask why the name is so long I just like the song lmao. This one's special to me cause it was my first KPTS fic. Is it the best? No. Does it have a super deep meaning? Nope. But it's cute and it's mine so I love it. Next!

the imperfect art of making it. Very self indulgent. I wrote this for the endorphins fic fest which gave me the motivation to write, but really I just loving transing my characters, and soft KimChay deserves lots of love.

Next up, do you look up to the sky? My first whumptober fic and the first one I wrote bc as soon as I looked at the prompts I was like "oh Kim's getting locked in the fucking basement for sure" and then he did! Success. Also KimChay are a pstd4ptsd couple, I won't be taking questions at this time.

This is getting longer than I thought it was gonna be but fuck it, I told myself I was doing this to remind myself why I like writing and that I do actually enjoy it so the longer the better tbh bc it means I really do love it. It's not a bad thing if all of my fics have a special place in my heart, right?

Ok last of the non dead dove ones is i should have kissed you. I don't exactly have a reason, I just think it's a good fic.

The next ones are dead dove cause I have two modes which are cute fluff and illegal <3

chay and kinn and chay. This thing is my baby. I love him with my whole heart. I wrote him in discord messages on my walk to and from classes. This is one fic that I would not be ashamed to say I've read several times over. This is the fic that I think of when people say "write the fics you want to read." This was also a spite fic which makes all of that even funnier lmao

Willow Dancin' On Air. This one's not dead dove but it is KimVegas so eh. But this is another fic I wrote purely for myself. I just wanted some fluffy lil somethin somethin and now every time I listen to this song I think of this fic

Ok last one, Why minors shouldn’t gamble. This one also started on discord and was written in my notes app at like. 9 am while I was still in bed lmao. Because that's where inspiration peaks. And it's hot idk. omegaverse will never not be be a special interest of mine, hopefully one day we can find out what happens when Kim joins the party, I'm genuinely curious.

OK! So. That was something. Tbh I feel a lot better lmao. My therapist would be so proud of me if I ever told her I write fanfiction pff. Normalize reading your own fics over and over. I'm saying that directly to myself cause I see all these like motivational things about writing and then I don't believe them, what's that about?? Doing this reminded me that I actually like the things I create, highly recommend. Now I'm gonna get myself a glass of water cause for the next maybe 12 hours I'm changing my life!! I'm doing self care!!! Woo hoo!!!!! Now to post this before I remember that other people can see it :) Ok bye ✌️

[aces-spade-palace]

A story for those that need it. (TW for depression, suicide, SH, and abuse talk) Life has gotten insanely better since I was younger. When I first found Tumblr, I was a depressed, suicidal pre-teen. Tumblr actually made my life so much worse. I got into the dark side. The self harm side. I would compare myself to others and wish I could do worse. I would starve myself and now I'm paying the price for it. Now I look back and see how bad it was. At the time I had no idea half of what I was doing needed medical attention. Now I look at my scars (since I worked in healthcare for 6 years) and see that I probably should have gotten stitches for many of the things I did. I had attempted. I had wanted to end it all. That continued through high school and into adult hood. I had wanted to end it so many times. I thought I hated my parents when they were trying to do the best for me. I screamed and cried myself to sleep most nights because I just hated being here. I had 7 therapists in 5 years. One trip to the psych ward. I have been in abusive relationships and friendships. Lied to and cheated on. I made terrible decisions that could have killed me and I didn't give a damn. Up until a few years ago, I had thought I would be better off dead. I was also close-minded. I was an asshole and genuinely just a terrible person. Now, I'm 25. I found that I am an agender, queer being who enjoys pole dancing and theatre. I also was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety. I am getting married in just a few months. I am working job that I make 50k in without a college degree. I have three cats and we are going to start looking to buy a house after we get married. I am genuinely happy and content with my life. I learned to love myself. Yes, I have my days where I look in the mirror and get dysphoric, I get insecure, but more often that not anymore, I am starting to love myself again. It takes time. A lot of it, but at the end, it is really worth it. YOU do have to put in the work, even if you don't want to, even if you're being forced to, but I promise you that life can be so so worth it. I lived my dream job. I moved out from my parents house and our relationship got better. People have told me they look up to me and that they are proud of me. Yes, boundaries had to be set, my heart had to break on multiple occasions, and I got hurt countless times, but that is a part of healing. The hardest part of it all is doing the things you have to do for yourself. Cutting ties with the people who are genuinely causing you harm, with the things causing you harm, even if you don't realize it. You might feel like you're being selfish, taking care of yourself, but that's because you haven't done that yet. And when I say taking care of yourself, I don't mean go live in the woods in a cabin and hibernate. I mean confronting what is causing you harm. Taking care of your body and mind. Have the difficult conversations, and actually taking steps to improve your wellbeing. No I don't post this to brag, I post it to show that life can change for the better, and it is possible. It just takes work. You got this. My situation is not like everyone else's and I know that. But it is possible to get better, and if no one reads this, that's okay. If only one person reads this and realizes that life can get better, I would be ecstatic. I just want you to know that it is okay to not be okay, and this feeling is temporary. You can do this, and I believe in you. Stay Safe, Stay beautiful, Stay Handsome, Stay Wonderful, and be the best version of you that you can be. You are loved and you are cared for. If you need anything, reach out. I'll be here, and if im not, someone will be here for you.

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

What are some healthy hobbies or self-care activities that Peter from DB and Pyrite try to take up post-trauma? Does Tony from DB also try to take care of himself? I like to imagine Peter makes collages of New York City. How is the therapy schedule like? Can they even be forthcoming in therapy? But also, DB-Tony was basically ruler of the free world almost so maybe his money can really pay for secrecy?

[[🐻ursa interlude🐻

The idea of the Peters making photo collages (reveling in being able to explore and experience the city after being kept captive, perhaps?) is very sweet! For DB!Peter, I feel like once he got to a point where he could start taking steps forward for himself, he would also majorly throw himself into charitable work as a replacement for Spider-man/his usual "I'm going to channel my own trauma into helping people" coping mechanism.

Pyrite!Peter could also get there eventually, but I think he'd have a lot harder of a time wanting to get back in the public eye when what happened to him was a huge media circus in contrast to DB!Peter! Even without any uncomfortable details being released to the public, he was abducted for months and months-- people can do the math on that regardless, oof. I think for him a lot of it would be leaning into having personal agency again and exploring that through different means of self-expression with stuff he could do at home. I could see him getting into music as an outlet!

Unfortunately I don't think actual therapy is in the cards for either of them 😢 Their situations are just both so emotionally complex and tied up in insane sci-fi bullshit that even with their respective families' blessing/influence I don't think they'd ever actually feel comfortable speaking honestly about what happened.

I have been poking at a third installment to the whole kidnapping AU scenario that looks at Pyrite!Peter's life/relationships with his family after he gets back home (with no real plan, I just add a bit more to the doc every time a new thought occurs to me haha,) and I have a snippet that actually addresses exactly that! Buuuut go in forewarned that it's not really happy healthy recovery vibes and he is very much still in a bad mental health place at the time of this excerpt:

His mom wanted him to see a psychologist. Howard did too, even, or at least he wasn't against it, which— just went to show how fucked up he thought Peter must be, because Peter knew what he thought about men who went to psychologists. Peter had gone noncommittal in his panic. His old patterns colliding with his new ones— the desire to be a good son and go with the flow to make his parents proud, the conditioning that if he let his dismay show on his face it would be taken as an excuse to be pet and coddled and fucked until he was too exhausted to be afraid anymore— and he hated it, he hated himself, he hated that after everything he was still just going to let things happen to him that he didn't want— And then Tony had piped up with, "C'mon, give the kid a little time before you start adding stuff to his plate." Maybe he'd seen the suppressed panic in the tension of Peter's shoulders, or maybe he'd just recognized what a waste of time it would be for Peter to try and talk about anything when he couldn't be honest about what happened. Or maybe he had his own reasons to not want Peter to talk to a therapist, Peter had thought even in the midst of his relief, because he had weird, mean thoughts like that about Tony now.

[clunelover]

I’ve been starting and deleting a post about C and his autism for a while (just cause there’s so much I want to get down it will take time to write, but also sometimes I lose track of my central points when I write a long post). I think the points I want to make are - it’s cool that we (parents, educators) have a better framework for identifying and accommodating neurodivergent kids, and that I’m proud of C for how much progress he’s made with his emotional regulation, as well as vindication for me who has been saying "something is Up with this kid" since he was 2, and later specifically "I think he’s autistic" but took a while to get traction with his pediatrician and with Jeremy.

Oh and also an offshoot topic about autism and video games and my relationship with my stepmom, and how awesome my therapist is!

Well first I guess I’ll say, I’m just so glad we got that evaluation done and that they said he has educational autism. That’s not a formal diagnosis, but I am kind of treating it that way - and I find it’s empowering me to be able to see certain behaviors and just think "yup, he’s autistic" rather than waffling on why he might be doing that (not that I think it’s unimportant to get at more details of why he’s doing something, I just used to agonize more over the "IS that autism??" Of it all) related to that, I’m also like "lol how did any of us ever think he might not have it??" - so one example, he has always been really good at picking out routes to places we go regularly. He could give you turn by turn directions to and from daycare when he was three. This would then become distress if you went a different way that he perceived to be Wrong. At the time we were like "what a funny quirk, also he must be very smart" (still true). More recently, my dad took him to kids chess club at the library, and I had tried to prepare C but had just told him "the library" so he assumed I meant the one by our house. But it was actually a different library. So when grandpa got on the freeway, he started melting down about it being the wrong way. My dad told me about this and said he was able to calm him down, and then he had a great time at chess (more on those details later) and then afterwards, they got ice cream…so, the issue of "we’re going the wrong way" had been resolved and several more interesting things had happened since then, but as soon as he got out of my dad’s car and saw me - "why didn’t you tell me it was at a different library" was the only thing he wanted to talk about. So now, diagnosis in hand, I can just say "aw, yeah he’s autistic and knowing what’s going to happen is a big need for him - but not just what’s going to happen: where are we going, have we been there before, and how do we get there - it would help him a lot to know." And in retrospect - the fact that he’s always been so rigidly attuned to driving directions was a big sign! But also, overall we’ve come so far, I feel like when I was a kid that would have just never been caught as a sign of an actual condition, and he would have been yelled at to "just calm down" about the directions for Christ’s sake!

As for the chess - he played two games and lost both, but my dad said they were against older kids, and that C kept his cool about it! Which is really great - he used to melt down more if he lost or things didn’t go his way, but he’s made a lot of progress there. Some of it is helped by there being rules - like I’m sure if someone played WRONG or cheated or something, he’d have had a meltdown (omg sudden flashback to the worst tantrum I can remember having - I was somewhere between age 7 and 9, and was playing memory with my dad and I was convinced he’d cheated and I fucking LOST IT, screaming so hard at the top of my lungs for so long that it really freaked my dad and stepmom out…hm interesting) but anyway, losing within the established parameters is Okay with him.

Also I met his teachers today and they seem great - a woman who came to America from Mexico when she was 15, so is "fully bi-cultural and bilingual" as she put it, and then a really interesting flamboyant man whose classroom is full of puppets, and he says he uses them for different topics, like there’s the science puppet, and the social-emotional learning puppet…oh and he showed me he has tap shoes in the room that he says he uses when teaching math - tapping along to counting, or something?? Anyway he seemed like a really special guy and I think C will like him! I told the teachers about C’s educational autism. He wasn’t with me cause he was hanging out with my dad and swimming in his pool. The woman teacher suggested - they’ll be at the school on Tuesday but school doesn’t start for most classes until Wednesday, so why don’t Jeremy and I come back and bring him on Tuesday so he can meet the teachers and they can show him where the "take a break" spaces are and help him pick a spot to sit near those areas and what the "I’m taking a break" signal can be. So I’m very reassured by this!!

Okay my other topic about his video game obsession shall wait for another post cause this one is already long.

[velvette3]

Draft #2

WARNINGS: long post, rant post, mentions of sh and suicide, and a lot of other things, personal rant(s), LIKE REALLY LONG POST, please do not read unless you think you are comfortable with repetition, and idk what else. I am a warning in itself.

(4/2/24) (mentions of sh and suicide)

It’s 1:38 in the morning. I don’t really know anymore. I’m just so worried I won’t amount to anything. My stepsister has always been better than me at everything. I still remember my middle school and high school years when I heard my mother and step-father talking shit about their kids, about my step-brothers. But I hardly ever heard them utter a bad word about my step-sister. I became something I didn’t want to be in my high school years, in hopes I could live up to my sister, hoping maybe it would make sure I wasn’t the next kid they talked shit about.

I already knew at the time that they didn’t really take me seriously back then. Not when it came to my morals anyways.

At times when one or the other was driving, I would have to text the other. And that was when visiting my father was mandatory. So every once in awhile, the message would pop up “you pick up the brat yet?”

I know they never meant it in that way. At least I hoped not. But honestly being someone I wasn’t, and being someone I’m not still, to this day, it sucks. I hate having to pretend to my parents, even to this day, despite my independence. I’m just so worried about acceptance, that I find it hard to face them. I fear telling my parents (on both sides) anything.

Mainly, because when they first found out about the self harm in middle school, it was a difficult situation. They said they wanted to help me. And then they took me to a therapist for a total of three-five times before they said ‘this isn’t working fast enough’ and pulled me out of it. I was always scared of being yelled at when I made mistakes. That lead to me fearing ever telling my parents anything, including my own emotions.

For a long time, once I finally lived with my mother again, I never saw her cry. I only ever saw her angry, or happy. But I never saw her sad. That made me think that being sad wasn’t normal, or that, I shouldn’t be sad about anything because she wasn’t. The reason she hid any of her sadness was because she didn’t want her own child worrying about her.

But her hiding her own emotions from me made me feel like I had to suppress mine as well. So I never trusted my parents with my emotions, either.

But I guess it didn’t help that they always said I was either ‘overreacting’ or just being a ‘drama queen’. Go this day idk if they were right, or if they were just, avoiding it.

I don’t know which one I’d want it to be. Because if they were wrong, and that my emotions were actually valid, what would that mean for me? For them? Would it make it seem like they had neglected my own emotional and mental well-being? If they were wrong, if they thought because of my overreacting and drama queen the fancies that my emotions weren’t valid, then what is the limit to validate emotions? What would it have taken for them to stop accusing me of overreacting or being a drama queen?

They never made me feel valid. They still don’t. The only good throng I’ve done so far with my life, is get good grades. It’s been so long since I heard one of my parents (step or not) say they were proud of me, so when they got the letter in the mail about my good grades in online schooling, when that happened and they said they were proud, I almost cried.

It’s strange.

For a long time back in middle school-high school, I desperately wanted to die. I didn’t want to live in a world where everyone would judge me for my smallest of mistakes and ignore my feats.

I knew that, being the youngest, I was my parents last chance to have a child they were proud of. Everyone else but my stepsister had failed to be a kid that my parents were proud of (or at least didn’t talk shit about). I knew that if I didn’t want to be talked shit about, I’d either have to leave, or change.

I was so done, with the world. I hated myself for my failures, I hated the way I had been raised. But I also hated myself, because I had no reason to. Im not living on the streets, I have a family, I have food, I had shelter. I shouldn’t have been sad. “It couldve been worse”, as the mentality goes. I didn’t deserve to be sad, and it made me feel worse. I felt like all I was doing was trying to gain attention, even though that’s not what I wanted. I thought I was being selfish because of my own emotions, and it still gets fucked in my head sometimes.

Back in my freshman year of high school, a girl (which for the sake of her identity and name I will not be naming), had hung herself in her closet. Rumor was because she was having problems at home.

Way back in middle school, even. A girl in my 8th grade year tried to kill herself. She planned it all out. She wanted to hang herself in the bathroom, and if she couldn’t do that, she had some sort of sharp object to try and slit her throat. She couldn’t hang herself, and she cut her throat, barely enough to bleed. It was not deep or long enough to kill her, only to sting. When her parents saw the injury on her neck, she got in trouble for it, and was threatened to sent to a mental hospital, with padded walls.*

I knew both those girls, in a sense. And I knew that the one from high school had it worse than I did. I felt shitty. I felt like I had no reason to be sad.

Like I had no validation, because I wasn’t supposed to show that much emotion in front of others, because what I learned from my mother without her knowing, was to surppress the sadness. I want to amount to something, I want to be something my family can be proud of. I don’t want to be the next disgrace, I don’t want to be the person without control of her emotions. I don’t want to become a failure because I lost, or because I couldn’t do what I needed to do.

4/5/2024

Time is going by so quick, it’s killing me. Just today with my grandmother. I went to stay with my father for the weekend, so I’m going back to her house Sunday night to spend the eclipse with her. But as she left the house which I’m staying with my father and his girlfriend, I feared ‘what if this is the last time I see her?’

She is less than 20 years younger than my GREAT grandmother who died only a few months ago.

I love this grandmother with all my heart (I’ll call her grandma J from now on), and I’d hate to see her die, at all. I’m literally going to see her on Sunday, only two days from now, why am I worrying so much? Why did I wonder if it would be the last time I see her?

I’m so scared. I’d be lost without her, she has been my rock for a long time. Even though she is heavily Christian, and I don’t feel as connected, I always feel better after spending some time with her, (whether we speak of God or not). I grew up, spending every other weekend with her instead of my father, because he wasn’t able to take care of me where he lived for a long time. I lived with Angela (another grandmother of mine who I HATE) for the first seven years of my life. Spending every other weekend with my Mother, and the weekends I didn’t spend with my mom, I spent with Grandma J. Things have changed heavily since then, I barely remember that time in my life.

But my grandma J. She means everything to me. I always leave her house happier than when I left it. No one else does that for me.

I’m so, so fucking TERRIFIED, of who I’ll be, where I’ll be mentally, when she’s gone.

I’m so so scared…

(4/8/2024)

It’s 12:41, so technically eclipse day. Had a serious talk w my grandmother. I told her I was Ace, (not the pan-romantic part, but yk) and she was pretty okay w it. Especially when I told her I wasn’t gonna have children of my own creation (I might adopt, cause I wanna make a home to those kids who don’t have one yk?) and I just got really emotional. It doesn’t matter how many times I fucking say it, I am so scared to lose her. I cried, thinking this may be the last time I see her. You never know. She almost got hit on her way to see me on Thursday last week! I know she might be gone soon and I am not ready for it. It may be a last time for everything, and I’m so so so fucking scared words can’t even describe it. Not through type/text. If I were recording myself, you’d hear my ugly crying, and my voice in general breaking so no. But the point is, I dunno what’s gonna happen. My future, and hers, scares me to death. When she’s gone… I may as well be too.

So if I disappear for a long time, you will know why.

If I go batshit crazy (whether it’s lashing out, or self-isolation, or pretending to be fine [ya know, the stages of grief]) you know why.

This woman is one of my few rocks. My grandmother, and my eldest blood brother, who I shall call ‘E’ for the sake of keeping their identities secret.

I, don’t know what’ll happen to me once either of them are gone. Same with my parents, but I trust my brother and grandmother more than I do them, so it will be harder to lose them, as much as it may seem crazy to say.

I’m scared. I know I keep saying it, but every day I spend, is another closer to my grandmother’s inevitable death. I hate the thought, yet it keeps coming back since my GREAT grandmother died a few months ago. It’s not fun.

I hate feeling this terrified.

I feel paralyzed, like a record skipping, the never ending thought(s).

It’s horrible.

(4/12/24) 12:43 am

I don’t think I’m good enough.

I keep failing myself and others, over and over again. I want to help people, but it’s so fucking frustrating when they won’t accept it. I get it, sometimes it’s hard to accept help. But (per specific example) when I’m asked for help for the smallest of things like understanding some work, and you apologize a million times, it hurts. I hate seeing people I care about apologizing. I don’t know how to help them because they refuse to let me do so. I just, feel like I’m failing them. I can’t help them and it makes me feel like shit.

I wanna help people. At this point, the people I care about, and my drive to help them always, is the only reason I’m alive. The past few years since I last therapied someone, have been shitty. I hadn’t been able to help others and it just went by so fast, and almost without any emotion. It was awful, I felt lost. I lost my will to write, read, and draw. I lost everything about myself. When I picked up drawing again I cried because I thought I lost what little talent I had because it was shit at first. I don’t even know who I am. Am I even who I used to be, or am I a carbon copy of my successful step-sister?

I forced myself to change in high-school so my parents would be proud of me, so that I would be successful.

So I wouldn’t struggle in my future, so I could get a scholarship to college so I wouldn’t be drowning in debt like my mother was most of my life.

I just wanted a steady life. And one without the shit talk my parents would do behind their kids’s backs.

Fuck I’m so tired of it.

I feel so useless damnit. I feel worthless. I don’t want to be here anymore, I just want peace. Because these thoughts, these voice keep coming back no matter what. Telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t try hard enough and that I’m too lazy, that I make up excuses. But when I try to say I did try, they always say I didn’t push myself enough. I dunno, do I not try hard enough? I dunno. I’m just so sick of this endless battle and I want it to be done. One day I want those people to realize it was an act. I want my parents to realize that they fucked me up. That they put too much expectation on me without their own realization. I want them to know that the therapy they took from me only made it worse. Then being upset over one singular missing assignment (that we’re hardly ever my fault) only made it worse. That threatening to put me in an asylum at the age of 13 only made it worse. That talking shit about my step-siblings right in front of me only made my fear worse. That hiding their emotions from me only made it worse. Cause god fucking damnit I’m scared of you now! I’m scared to come to you for anything! I have to contact my brother, or my grandmother! And one day I might not even have them! You say I can trust you with anything but then you turn around and call me a drama queen, that I’m being too sensitive, that I’m overreacting, making up excuses, being a liar, just being lazy, not trying as hard as you know I can, stop making things a competition.

God damnit, what am I even doing? I’m nothing, nothing but a failure. I should be trying harder but here I am, still being lazy. And I’m just blaming everyone for it when it’s all my fault.

(4/13/24)

^i didn’t move on to someone else four days later. Just because me and my bf were friends didn’t mean we were together. And I never, EVER cheated on her. Sure, I found someone new and he’s my bf now, but at the same time me and her, we both realized we were never romantic with each other. And I broke up with her? She was the one who approached me and said that she felt like her feelings for me weren’t being returned (which was true, I realized. We called each other girlfriends but I felt like she was nothing more to a friend to me) and I thought she was okay with it. Mind you when she came up to me I thought she was going to ask me to an event, but instead she called it off. I thought it would be better suited that way anyways, and we both agreed on that but I did NOT break up with her! And apparently, when she talked to me, she was scared to tell me that I offended her every once in awhile by some things I said (which she never said what do I still don’t know and it’s fucking killing me), ^because she thought I was gonna blow up at her. Apparently I fucking scared them and I don’t even know I didn’t realize they felt that way and just about a month ago I get this message on top of it like.

I probably should’ve realized I was a piece of shit. I was just like that bitch from high school we all collectively hated. God I’m so fucking sorry…

I thought we were still friends. This is a message I got from them through my old asf Wattpad account that is cringe. That I stopped checking until I saw that post today. They never intended for me to read that message so soon. They even said so themselves but fuck.

I’m sorry, to you both. I know you’ll never see this. But I’m so so so sorry, I didn’t realize.

I’m trying I am TRYING to never do this again but I still do this shit to people, don’t I? I just Fuckin manipulate and hurt them. I can’t just, spout off my trauma or whatever the fuck and shit like that! I know that now and I feel so fucking bad damnit… I didn’t realize I promise I am so sorry.

Why didn’t you say anything? I should’ve noticed, you shouldn’t have HAD to say anything after the fact I should’ve just known. Why can’t I see these things? I never see red flags, I never see my OWN red flags and manipulate tendencies until someone points them out. Why can’t I read social cues and shit?

God I’m trying, but I’m not at all, am I?

I just hate that I didn’t realize! I didn’t break up with her she broke up with me! We both agreed it was better, but I guess she was a lot more hurt by it than she let on and I thought we resolved things but. God fucking damnit.

I can’t ever do this to anyone I REFUSE! I can’t do this, I can’t put this pressure on people ever again, I don’t want to push them away. I never want this to happen again I don’t want to hurt people like this again.

I lost my two closest friends. And I didn’t even fucking realize it.

Fuck I don’t know what I’m going to do. I already apologized like a million times for scaring them with my slight anger issues, but I never actually hurt hurt them physically I didn’t realize I lashed out at them and I didn’t realize I was forcing them to listen to my problems. I thought they were okay with helping me but they didn’t say anything all because they were scared and I just.

I’m fucking freaking out, but I need to calm down. I need to calm down, and just breathe, and everything will be fine. Fuck it’s now 1:14 am I shouldn’t be thinking right now it’s dangerous.

But fucking damnit, I knew I shouldn’t have just dumped all my shit onto them but FUCK.

I need a fucking therapist for that, not my FUCKING FRIENDS.

God what is wrong with me, making my friends my therapists?

Fuck. I lost my friends, I almost have no one left Irl except for this one small friend group, which has drama and way too many sex jokes for me to even want to be IN it anymore. But they’re all I got and we stick together until the end. Most days I don’t mind it, but sometimes I hate being one of the only girls in said friend group.

Fuck I don’t know what to do, I can’t tell my bf about this or else he’ll flip, and I can’t make him my therapist, that’s wrong I was told so! My bf has had it so much worse than I have I shouldn’t be freaking out about this as much, this is nothing compared to what him and so many others have gone through.

But damnit. I DONT have a therapist, not anymore, and I can’t ducking afford one or even talk my parents into helping me get one because as said before they think the process is too damn slow. I can’t fucking tell anyone without feeling bad and knowing I’m a shitty person, because until now I didn’t realize telling people my problems was a bad thing, that asking them to help me out as if they were my fucking therapist (WHICH THEY ARENT AM I STUPID? To just dump all that shit on them without them even saying if it was okay or not?) was a bad thing.

So I’m alone, but that’s fine. I can’t tell anyone anyways so that’s how it’s gotta be and I can live with that. I have for awhile. But I don’t want to be alone. But I’d rather struggle alone than hurt anyone else because I don’t want to lose anyone else, or hurt them, or push them away or scare them like I did with these two.

I don’t want to be w/o my friends. I don’t I really don’t.

I’m never doing that again I promise you I’ll never do it again. I’m so fucking sorry I never realized and I know I’m a piece of dirt shit for not realizing sooner, and for scaring you guys to the point you couldn’t communicate with me w/o fear on your end. I should’ve known and I am so so sorry.

Fuck I even talked to my brother and we have the same timezone I shouldn’t have bothered him. Thankfully he let me go quickly. Fuck I hope I didn’t scare him off either…

(4/14/24) 10:44 pm

I’m so tired. Tired of feeling useless and like a failure. If I fail the people I care about then I am NOTHING. I don’t care about myself, I don’t I just want to make people proud of me. I don’t want them thinking I’m a waste, I don’t want them seeing me the same way I do. Please oh fuck… I don’t want to be a disappointment. I really don’t. I don’t want to hurt people, I want to help them. I feel like an utter piece of shit. I can’t ever talk to my friends about my problems again im not doing that to anyone every again. That’s why this will never be posted, I can’t hurt anyone else with my stupid rants and tendencies. I feel like im manipulating and hurting people by being open with them and I don’t want pity I do not want that, I just want them to know I’m not perfect. And even that is scary because if I am not PERFECT in every single aspect then I failed.

I keep apologizing, sounding like a broken record of an ex trying to get their relationship back but I really am sorry. I talked to my step-father about what happened yesterday concerning my friends. He said that I was one of the nicest person he’s ever met, saying how he knows I try to go outta my way to avoid hurting people but what if he was lying? Cause what if I did say something mean?

I call people idiots and jerks a lot, but I never mean it! I normally mean it in a joking matter but that’s not really nice is it? I’m reeling trying to figure this out and I just want to know what I did wrong so I never do it again. I know not to spout my problems off like I did, I know to watch what I say but how am I supposed to watch EVERYTHING I say?

Fuck I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll do anything, anything to make sure I never hurt anyone like that again. Scaring people, hurting them, it’s so fucking scary to me. I don’t want to do that, that’s the person I aim to NOT be. I wanna help, I wanna heal! Not hurt and scare. I sound like a fucking broken record and it’s pathetic.

I can’t ever post this, it will only make things worse and it’ll only make me feel worse. Because if I post this draft, I’ll be forcing everyone who sees this to be my therapist and I swore to never do that again.

Fuck man. I want help. I’m actually asking for help for once, straight up saying it. But I can’t, the one time I want it, the only time I feel I need it, I can’t ask for it because it’s wrong to do so.

(4/18/2024)

I know that none of my “friends” will be texting me in my birthday this year. I’m not expecting them to text me this year, because I’ve lost all my friends. I don’t think anyone will care this time around. At first I was excited! But getting older isn’t fun at all. People start leaving, start to say things they held back, start to tell you things you didn’t notice before. You grow apart and soon you become alone.

I realize that I should be happy my family is texting me, cause sometimes people’s families don’t even text them. But it’s kinda a requirement, that’s your fam, they should know these things. And most of the time, they wish you happy birthday as an after thought. Friends don’t do that (unless they need to be reminded) but still.

I’m gonna miss those two.

(4/19/2024) 11:31 pm

It’s almost my birthday! Hah. What a cruel joke honestly.

I miss those two so much, every time I see the one who messaged me I instantly go quiet, turn my head away until I’ve walked past them. Fuck, I moved around so much during my elementary school years, those two were the longest friends I’ve ever made.

Everyone already has their best friends.

I’ll always be the outsider.

I really am alone aren’t I? That one friend that never gets invited, that hangs back.

The last one they pick to partner up w in classes kinda shit (which, is also true atm).

I’m alone and it sucks. I miss them so much. I don’t care what that one said, I want them back I just want my friends back.

I want my gossip gals back.

My face to face, same time-zone, Irl friends who I can trust my life with.

I’m losing people left and right. I can’t take it. I’m fucking crying less than 30 minutes before my birthday and it’s pathetic.

People are without families, without homes, and I’m crying over this?

Fuckin stupid…

[naranjapetrificada]

Ooooh thank you for playing with me! I enjoyed your answers!

You write both Ed and Stede beautifully, but I totally get what you mean about getting into Ed's hornet's nest!

Funny, I don't really listen to music as I write because I get too distracted, but I love linking songs to scenes. Weird.

Awww... I'm freakishly proud that my words could make you cry. You'll never know how much your comments and support mean to me.

I made myself cry when I finished AWoTT because I hate the last few chapters. They did a real disservice to the story because I rushed and tried to write something readers would like instead of what I'd done for most of it. On top of that, I ruined the Buttons/Jeanne d'arc ending because I worried that it would seem like I was ripping off the show. They were both supposed to turn into birds. I can't face trying to fix it. (If you haven't read the end, don't waste your time, and if you did and were disappointed we are on the same page.)

Eeek! Sorry for the ramble... xoxoxo

Before I get to the actual reply to this ask: if y'all haven't been treated to A World of Tempestuous Things, one of the top-five best fics in the fandom, I'm gonna need you to drop everything and read it the way I did whenever I got a notification that a new chapter had been posted.

Re: the ask itself:

I'm sorry you're dissatisfied with how it turned out but if it's any consolation it felt like a fitting end to me! The first time I tried to read the final chapter I literally couldn't for all the tears in my eyes because I knew it was ending. I no longer have a neutral relationship with any of the songs you used for the section titles, especially "Don't Dream It's Over" because god if that didn't just get at the root of everything I felt about the fact that your fic existed. I miss your versions of Ed and Stede terribly and it's gonna be a tall order for anyone but David Jenkins to make them half so indelible to me. I felt like I was watching actual people I loved sail away forever.

I started reading it around when it was halfway through I think? It shouldn't have immediately worked for me when I first started. I was burning out a bit on reunion fics and I thought of myself as someone who didn't love when fics had too many OCs and those OCs got a lot of time in the story, not to mention my strict no-WIP rule, but whatever made me read it must have been fate or something. That and the reflectiveness of the characters and the times the prose knocked me off my feet and the usually gutting historical interstitials (I still think about/am haunted by the Chopin one at least once a week) and the lines I took screenshots of to send to my therapist. It's so much greater than the sum of its parts, and fiction like that can change things about a person's preconceived notions and personal tastes forever.

If I tried to list the things about it that are going to stay with me well, it would literally be easier for everyone if I just c/p the entire fic into this reply. It felt like such a journey that readers got to go on with both the characters and with the story on a like, metatextual level? It completely changed my relationship with high-quality WIPs. Now that I'm writing my first longfics I'm thinking about character and framing devices and POV voice in entirely new ways because I was fortunate enough to get the chance to read it. It's criminal that it's not in the top 5 most read fics in the fandom and I will not stop recommending it until that happens.

Even if you're not happy with the ending I think your readers are. This reader certainly is. And if you did want to go back and change it someday I have zero doubts that I'll be happy with that too. The fandom is richer for having your work in it.