#my mental illness tells me to kill myself every day

[thebibliosphere]

Not sure whose Cheerios I pissed in today, but hoo, boy.

"I hope you die."

Worstie, same. You're not special.

[coridallasmultipass]

Just wanna remind everyone that it's NEVER okay to tell someone to die.

You don't know how hard they're fighting to stay alive every day. Or if they don't even want to fight for that any more.

[this-should-do]

ugh

[yikes-ajax-thats-sad]

People really think trust issues are just "aww they're scared of love" and it's like bitch no. Trust issues as in I'm deeply in love and the issue is I'm waiting for you break my heart after undergoing periodic abuse in relationships. I'm not scared of love I'm scared of what you'll do with it.

[poemfortheprinz]

bumper sticker that just says “i have strong opinions on the tiktokification of will wood”

[olderthannetfic]

I accidentally killed my own desire to write, and I need some advice. To be really blunt about it, what's the point of writing? When I would spend lots of time laboring over making a good story with a plot and characters who were in-character and connecting all the dots narratively so payoffs were satisfying, my reward was dead silence and virtually no clicks. I posted some mindless smut to my side account one day and got more hits in a day than most of my other works combined got in a year. I know, I know. "Write for ~*~yourself~*~" is the common response. It's the "be yourself!" of writing. It's supposed to be a magical phrase that'll make everything okay. But... I don't like knowing that something I spend months working on won't be read by anyone while something I write in a car while bored got thousands of clicks. I don't like making something I'm proud of and then no one ever looks at it. That's not fun for me. It's not fulfilling.

For a solid decade, I've tried to ignore how the level of interactivity in fandom is falling. Fewer comments. Fewer kudos. No comments in the bookmarks. You put your tumblr and Discord in the AN and get a handful of asks and one person who adds you, talks to you twice and then ghosts you. Most of the comments are "well, actuallys", made even more annoying by them being wrong as opposed to actually correcting an error. I avoid fandom drama, wank, and infighting. I don't engage with things I know will make me unhappy. I try to be happy over in my own little corner. I comment on every single work I read. I want people to enjoy fandom. I used to.

Some dumb smut I wrote in 40 minutes gets five times the hits of the writing I'm most proud of, and it gets it in just under three months. I am not a great smut writer. I haven't stumbled onto an incredible talent I had that makes it so the issue is that I'm so amazing my smut brings all the boys to the yard. People just don't like what I write and put effort into. It's very likely that despite 20 years of writing fic, I suck at writing. And people enjoy my writing most when they don't have to put up with anything substantial and can just skip to the sex.

So for the last eight months, when I write, I just sort of give up. Close the Word doc without saving. No one will read this. No one cares about this. There is no fan eagerly awaiting every update like I await updates from my favorite authors. There's not even someone saying, "update soon!" Close the Word doc. Delete old WIPs. There's no point. I do not tell stories worth reading. I used to. In the FFN days people genuinely enjoyed my work. I'd never have had an opportunity to do the 'I won't update until I get 3 reviews' thing because getting that many on a chapter was usually something I'd do overnight. Post before bed. Wake up. Read the reviews before school. I peaked in high school, I guess.

And now I'm just sort of lost. I still have lots of ideas. Ideas for fics fall into my head all the time. That's never been a problem. What I don't have is any motivation to write them. What's the point of writing? If no one else is reading, I guess the point would be so I could go back and read my own story and have fun with it. Write for myself. But I can review the story and have fun with it in my head without writing it down. It's substantially faster and more importantly, isn't incredibly depressing.

So, at the risk of definitely being calld the second-coming of True Art Anon or a troll or validation-seeking or haha mentally ill haha... what's the point of writing?

--

Okay, so write porn in a car while you're bored.

Look, you can whine all you want about my response, but what you've written here is blatantly about depression.

Lots of people in fandom are still interacting. And no, it isn't just on fics that are objectively written to some pro fiction standard or whatever. Teenagers still breathlessly review poorly spelled cracky masterpieces about this year's big anime and so forth.

Yes, there may be reasons why you in particular are in a slump when it comes to fandom friendships or "plz update" comments. We can talk about that. But this ask is all gloom about fandom in general. That's not realism: that's you having a problem.

--

As for why a person should write: because the actual hours you spend doing the writing are fun.

If they aren't pleasurable in some way, find another hobby.

--

But if you want an answer to the age old "Why did my 5 minute fic get 1000000x more asspats", I've seen meta about this for literally decades.

The most likely reason is that the fic we write quickly and without much thought often feels fresher and more fun. The things we labor over endlessly can feel overworked. Even in cases where they don't, they're often heavier subject matter or more niche subject matter. On top of all that, we just care more, so even a high level of feedback doesn't really feel like enough for the effort and care we put in.

--

Do you really need me to tell you why you don't feel the same as in high school when things were fresh and new?

Go read up on combatting burnout or dealing with post-college anxiety or managing stress in a dead-end job in your 30s or finding meaning in your 40s or whatever is going on.

Everyone goes through fallow periods in fandom and in life.

Feeling reinvigorated has to do with internal factors and some general life circumstance stuff. It doesn't have that much to do with number of kudos. That's just the surface trigger for a mood that was already there.

[cryonme]

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐔𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

—graham dunne x fem!reader

—summary: the story of you and graham dunne was never simple, but his love for you never faltered.

— word count: 2.7k

—tw: addiction, implied drugging, alcohol, cursing, reader says she "doesn't wanna be here anymore", very obvious signs of mental illness, the works...

—a/n: so... I did not intend for this fic to be this long or this sad, but here we are. I'm breaking it into two parts so its easier to read, part two is coming shortly!! I apologize for how sad this is lol but I promise its a happy ending story! also, sorry for how I wrote daisy! she's my girl and I love her, it was just for the plot I swear! this is the first fic I've posted in about 6 months so im rusty, please be kind! and please, don't read if anything listed in the triggers is going to upset you, I want you all happy and comfortable! XO

(flashbacks in italics)

Nothing was ever Daisy’s fault, was it?

At least, that’s what Graham Dunne thought when he got a call from Karen saying his girl was wasted at a party with Daisy attached to your hip.

She should have known what you were struggling with, she should have known that you couldn’t handle a party, she should have known this wasn’t what you needed. Daisy Jones should’ve fucking known.

To be completely fair, they really all should’ve known. You’d been around since day 1. Everyone knew better, Daisy just happened to be the red corvette.

-

“You can’t keep doing this, my love.” Camilla whispered oh so gently, holding your hair back from your face, pressing a cold rag to your neck.

It was a small gig, at some shitty bar called Tony’s in Pittsburgh. The band always had a couple beers and maybe a shot or two before a show but you had begun to need more. You snuck vodka into your water bottles and begged the bartenders to sneak you a couple free extras by pulling your top down and leaning over the bar, using your forearms to push your tits up. 

It worked every time. Pigs.

“Can do whatever I want.” You slurred, cheek pressed to the toilet seat.

But damnit, you knew she was right.

Tony’s wasn’t the first time.

There was Rod’s, and The Ladie’s Room, and The Shiner Saloon, and some girl named Lisa’s 18th birthday party. It was becoming a pattern, everyone could tell.

You always went back to your house after a show. Your parents had been completely absent since you were 15, you never knew where they were. And after every show, their cars were never once in the driveway.

A safespace.

Billy would sit outside of the bathroom, head leaning against the door while Graham waited in the living room, arms crossed and head down, not wanting to listen to your cries and shakes of pain.

Eddie would retreat to the guest room, but he usually wouldn’t be able to fall asleep til he heard the click of your door next to his.

Warren would be passed out on the couch as soon as you all walked through the door, not that he didn’t care about you immensely, but the poor kid could just not stay awake if he was tired.

“I wanna go to bed.” You said.

Camilla sighed, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

You nodded and so did Camilla. She got up to get Billy like she always did, and he’d come and pick you up off of the bathroom floor, as he always did, and carry you to your room and lay you on the bed, letting Camilla make sure you’re comfortable, like she always did.

Graham would come in and ask how you’re doing, like he always did, and he’d make himself comfortable on your floor with throw pillows and spare blankets, like he always did.

But that night, after Tony’s, things changed.

“I can’t do this anymore, Graham.” You whimpered.

Fuck.

This was early days, Graham was still awkward as hell and didn’t know how to go about things like this.

“Do what?” He croaked, mustering up the courage to be there for you.

“This. I can’t live like this. I’m afraid I’m gonna kill myself.”

Graham was up in an instant, reaching for the doorknob. “Do you want me to get Camilla?”

You shook your head, “No, please. Just-” You wiped a tear from your cheek, “Will you just lay with me?”

“Anything.” Graham breathed as he settled into bed next to you. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, being too drunk to care about any awkwardness and Graham was thankful.

“We’ll get you out of this, promise.”

-

That was the last time anybody saw you drink anything besides a beer or two, following that was shirley temples and cherry cokes.

Nobody really knew the heaviness of addiction then, but they knew that you were happier, and that’s all that really mattered to them. You were even laughing at Warren’s jokes and Billy and Eddie’s lame bickering, everything felt okay.

“You don’t drink?” Karen had asked, the first time you properly met in California, while she was digging through the fridge searching for a beer. You shook your head, hoping you weren’t going to get some crazy reaction like you were a zoo animal in a cage like you got from most people.

She just nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she pulled two coca cola bottles from the fridge, popping them open with her ring and handing you one.

“Cheers to that.”

You were sober enough to realize you were in love with Graham, and confident enough to tell him. And man, he could’ve exploded.

There was a celebration, at the house in Laurel Canyon, just the 7 of you.

Warren recalls later that Graham looked like he’d been dipped in sunshine and rainbows.

“Like he’d just smoked sunshine and been fucked by a rainbow. It was crazy, man.”

Well, almost.

You’d been around the band multiple times while they drank and it was never a problem. You’d have the first round of beers with them then tap out, but you always stayed and had fun, smoked a couple joints and cigarettes, never without a mocktail or coca cola in your hand. Sometimes, usually Karen or Camilla, someone would join you on the sober night, and that always felt really nice.

That night had felt different, you were scared.

-

“I’m gonna fuck him up Warren…” You said as you laid on the floor with the drummer as Down By The Seaside by Led Zeppelin played from the record player, Warren laughed.

“Yeah you are.” He said, his tone suggestive as he bumped his elbow with yours.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You know what I mean, man. I’m gonna ruin him.”

Warren had known you long enough and listened to enough of the songs you wrote to where he’d like to think he knew you pretty well.

And you never opened up out of the blue unless you were drunk.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, not looking up from the ceiling. You scoffed.

“I still have a beer here and there, Warren.”

“You know what I mean, man.” He repeated your words back to you and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m going to bed.” You said and stood up, trying your hardest not to stumble or slur.

“Honey…” Warren started, pushing himself off of the floor to try to stop you.

“NO!” You whipped around, flipping your hair so forcefully it stung your face but you were quick to pull it back.

“Don’t fucking- don’t fucking do that, man!” You started, holding a hand up. “My own friends don’t even fucking trust me i’m just constantly babied! Do you know how that feels?”

At that point, Karen, Eddie and Billy had tuned in, being in the kitchen. Camilla and Graham must have been elsewhere, he had always confided in her like a sister.

“Hey–” Billy tried to interject with a hand on your wrist but you were quick to pull away.

“Huh?! Do any of you know how that feels?!” You were borderline screaming now, and everyone was speaking to you so softly, hands slowly trying to grasp you and it made you want to scream even louder.

“How dare you ‘ccuse me of something like that asshole?” You were beginning to slur your words, the tequila you’d snuck from Warren’s room starting to hit pretty heavily, making your eyes droop and words slur.

“Baby, please-” Karen started, making the move to grasp your arm but you turned and lost your balance, nearly falling but Eddie was quick to catch you, he held on tight and didn’t dare let go until you calmed down or Graham came back. Billy had left minutes ago to find him and Camilla, who had taken a walk so he could freely gush about his new girl without the chances of anyone else hearing.

“Need you to calm down, babe.” Eddie whispered, running a hand up and down your arm for comfort.

“None of you even care!”

Warren shook his head alongside Karen, both of them had squatted in front of you, doing their best to provide what you needed.

“That’s not true.”

“I fucking hate you all!” 

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t wanna be here anymore!”

And then he said your name.

You froze.

He was gonna leave you, you were so sure of it. You worked so hard to be better for him and it didn’t work.

“No…” You whimpered and you swore you saw Graham break in front of your eyes.

“You can’t- you can’t see this.”

But he didn’t care. He knelt in front of you and Eddie and gathered you into his own arms, completely silent as he carried you to his room and you wanted to disappear into him so badly.

“‘M so sorry…” You slurred, and still he was quiet. You let him undress you and replace your pretty top and flared jeans with his own tee shirt and boxer shorts.

You watched as he changed into a similar outfit as you picked at your nails. “Graham, I-”

He sighed and placed his hands on either sides of your cheeks, placing a firm kiss on your forehead that only made you cry harder. You brought your hands up to grip his wrists, not willing to let go of the feeling of his lips on your skin.

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

Graham was silent again as he pulled you into his bed with him, covering you both with the large duvet.

“Not in the slightest.”

-

That night was really the last night anybody had seen you get drunk like that.

Then, Daisy Jones came along.

And you learned how to keep bad habits a secret.

Tequila and mints in the bathroom, water and cherry cokes with the band. A shot of jameson to fall asleep. Champagne to wake up, brush your teeth. A beer in the shower after lunch, leave the evidence in Warren’s room since there were hundreds of empty ones anyway.

It’s not like Daisy was teaching you one on one, you just started watching her, and you liked the way she got away with it.

No one told Daisy about your issue either, you could hold your own and you had asked them not to, so lips were sealed.

But it took everything in Graham and Billy not to tell her to tread lightly every time they saw the two of you sneak off on your own.

And now here was Graham Dunne, sitting in the driver's seat of the van outside of God knows who’s house, with Camilla in the passenger’s seat and Billy in the back. Moral support. 

“Want us to come with you?”

Graham shook his head. “I need to do this alone.”

Billy scoffed, “I’m not gonna let you go in there with our two hot headed alcoholic rage sisters. Cam, you stay here.”

“Nope, you go I go. You two get our girl, I’ll handle Daisy.”

The three bickered a moment but finally settled on their plan. Graham and Camilla would take you, while Karen and Billy took Daisy, since the blonde girl drove.

“Fucking finally.” Karen exasperated as she saw her friends walk into the backyard of the party while trying her hardest to hold you upright.

“Where is Daisy?” Billy spat immediately, making eyes around the party. You had always been like a sister to him, in the way Camilla was to Graham, and he could’ve killed the redheaded girl in that moment.

“Beats me.” Karen said, passing off your deadweight into Graham, who was quickly supported by Billy. Your head lulled onto your boyfriend's shoulder, recognizing him as a source of comfort even in your inebriated state.

It made his soul ache.

“Is Simone here?” Camilla asked.

Karen shook her head, “Was. Split as soon as she and Daisy got into a fight. Offered to take this one” she nodded her head at you “home with her but I figured it’d be best if you guys came.”

Graham shook his head, “You made the right call, thank you.”

“Yeah, well uh, I sure as hell can’t drive. Got drunk as hell before even stepping foot in the backyard, soon as I saw (Y/n) I stepped in and called you guys immediately.”

“Do we need to get Daisy?”

“That’s a fight you sure as hell don’t wanna have. Yelled at me just for taking ‘her best friend’ away from her to get her some water.”

Billy rolled his eyes.

Graham and Billy began making their way out of the party with you slung around their shoulders, and Camilla walking arm in arm with a very drunk Karen who kept tripping over feet.

And suddenly red hair and sparkling eyes were in front of them.

“Ohhh no, what happened to my girl?” She tried to touch your face but Billy pulled you away, ready to say something before Graham spoke up, surprising everyone.

“Your girl, Daisy?!” His voice boomed, no doubt you’d be embarrassed if you were in any way conscious. “This is my girl, our girl.” He gestured to the rest of the group. “And I’d say it’s in your best interest to leave her the hell alone from now on.”

-

Graham was a mess when he got you home.

Daisy ended up at the house not too long after the rest, explaining she didn’t know the situation, apologizing profusely, informing them all you had been drinking for months. She told them in a sullen voice that you hadn’t been this bad last time she saw her, that she thinks someone must have done it to you.

Graham understood, he did. But he couldn’t look at Daisy. How could she let you out of her sight, to allow someone to do this to you? It made his stomach turn. Billy was next to his brother this time, in the living room, a hand resting on his shoulder, squeezing from time to time, and instead of standing Graham sat with his head in his hands, creating knots in his hair as he ran his fingers through it. Cam and Karen had you in the bathroom, after seeing the panic in Graham’s eyes they decided to take over that part, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for him to see. Warren stayed up, and Eddie didn’t retreat to his room, Daisy paced back and forth outside of the bathroom, biting her nails. Graham could hear it, it was driving him nuts.

“Would it kill you to be quiet for two seconds, Daisy?!” He groaned, running a hand over his red splotchy face.

Everyone knew that Graham was just upset and taking it out on Daisy, the red corvette, which wasn’t exactly fair, but they also knew better than to argue with Graham at that point.

“You know what, Graham?!” Daisy stomped into the living room, planting herself in front of the Dunne brothers with her arms crossed.

Graham didn’t look up.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!” Daisy used her thumb and pointer finger to grip his chin and pull his face up to look at her and she immediately felt guilty at his tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

She sighed, and crouched before him.

“I know it’s hard, and I’m so, so sorry this is happening to her. But she makes her own decisions, Graham. No one could’ve stopped her.”

Graham nodded, but still wouldn’t look in her direction. “Will you go check on her, please?”

Daisy would later tell the story with a frown on her face, and she’d recall never being that scared for another person before, despite the smile she put on for Graham.

“I didn’t-” She took a breath, “I’d never seen it that bad before, at least not while I was sober. I thought she was going to die.”

Daisy retreated to yours and Graham’s shared room shortly after discovering she couldn’t stomach staying in that bathroom, deciding to make herself useful by getting the bed ready, fluffing the pillows and retrieving some fresh clothes for you to wear to bed, making sure she grabbed ones that smelled like your boyfriend. She dropped the clothes off in the bathroom, and passed along the message to Graham from Karen and Camilla that it was time to take you to bed.

This had been Billy’s job, since before The Six was even The Six, that’s how it went. But things had changed, Graham had grown, and it was his turn.

part two coming soon!

[yanderemommabean]

Venting post (Homelife and abuse I guess)

Sorry for the low energy beans, my abusive grandmas been screeching her lungs out every night for hours on end and demanding the stupidest things, so I haven’t been getting much sleep.

She literally talked to me like a dog today, telling me “Come on, come here girl, come do this for me, come on”. Talk about dehumanizing.

No matter what I say or do she calls me: Lazy, selfish, slobbish, ugly and stupid, and demands that I stay on “her side” when other people tell her to back off in the family. She’ll tell me I’m a piece of shit lowlife even if I do exactly what she wants, or she’ll degrade me and mock me just because she can, and apparently we can’t do anything about that.

She genuinely needs to either die, or go to a mental institution, because my heart can’t take this stress it’s bad enough, and not being able to sleep because she’s a demanding baby is going to end up killing me.

Even if I try to ignore her, being silent does nothing and she’ll threaten more violence or nonsense, or just scream and scream and scream until you’re forced to answer, then acts like she did nothing wrong to warrant your outburst.

Going to my room does nothing, she’s right by me, her yelling and screaming and demanding cannot be blocked out.

I’m aware that I need to leave, but to do that I have to have a place to go, a car to drive, or a friend I trust and I do not have food let alone money and an income to rely on if I moved out. I don’t own a car, I’m trying to get a job DESPERATELY and my friends don’t have any room for me at their place, and have stated as such.

So I’m more or less stressed to the max and wondering why she can’t just be taken somewhere because I cannot take care of her and she refuses to listen to anyone or let anyone rest. Even if you act soft and sweet and caring she’ll spit at you this nonsense and try in some way to threaten or demean you.

There’s no “talking it out” because she doesn’t CARE. She’s never cared, not once.

I’m exhausted and I’ve been putting up with this nonsense for about four or five days now and if I don’t sleep soon and actually rest idk I might be sent to the hospital.

I hate this woman. She’s making me extremely Ill and distressed and for NOTHING.

This was just me venting, sorry loves, she’s up again and so am I so I’m trying to distract myself <3

I love you beans, stay safe and healthy

-Mommabean

[lovelytsunoda]

proud mary // han lue

summary: now living a quiet life with their daughter, han and y/n reflect on how they got there, and all the good moments that are still yet to come.

pairing: han lue x wife! reader

warnings: this is a big one so listen up: mentions of post pregnancy mental illness, mentions of pregnancy and starting a a family, weddings, ignoring tokyo drift canon because I fucking can, (actually I ignored a lot of canon) han is about to activate a shit ton of daddy issues

I left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day and I never lost one minute of sleeping, I was worrying 'bout the way the things might've been.

big wheel keeps on turning, proud mary keeps on burning. and we’re rolling, rolling, rolling down the river

2009, tokyo, japan.

the garage was dark, lit only by the moonlight and the small lamps atop the workstations. han lue had closed up hours ago, and everyone was gone save for him and his lover.

“han, what are you doing?” y/n laughed, sitting at a table scattered with nail polish bottles and a shellac brisa light. “it looks like a smudge.”

“it’s a drifting car!” han laughed, staring through the large magnifying glass that was allowing him to see the design he was attempting to paint on his lovers thumbnail. “see, there’s the spoiler and those are the headlights!”

friday night manicures had become somewhat of a tradition. y/n hated painting her nails with her non dominant hand, but she also didn’t speak enough japanese to venture out and get her nails professionally done. when she and han started dating, he offered to do it for her, easing the aggravation that sometimes came with doing mail designs yourself.

“well, now that you’ve pointed it out.” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

they had been together coming up on two years. two long, wonderful years. she was a mechanic and he was drifter, it was almost meant to be. she stopped him from getting himself killed, and in return, he loved her unconditionally.

they were sympatico like that. she loved his sense of humour, his protectiveness. he loved her smarts and the excited way she talked, animatedly and with hand gestures.

“what do you say we get out of japan for a bit?”

han should have known this question was coming. y/n was a restless spirit, never meant to stay in one place for too long. in a way, han was as well. he could tell that his lover had been more restless than usual, either from missing home or needing a change of scenery.

“a friend of mine, his name is dominic torretto, he’s got this place down in the dominican republic.” han started slowly, unsure of how much he wanted to involved her in. y/n was his whole world, and what dom and mia would be running was far bigger than street racing in shibuya.“he called me the other day wondering if I would run a job with him. but it’s not entirely legal and I don’t blame you if you don’t want any part in it.”

“baby,” she frowned, placing her hand inside the blue light machine. “of course I’ll go with you. I never pass up a chance to go somewhere sunny, and you know that I’d go anywhere with you. what we’re running here with twinkie and sean isn’t exactly legal either, you know. I’m a big girl, seoul-oh. I can handle myself.”

“I know. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. you’re important to me, y/n.”

“I know.” she said softly, running her hand up his arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. “so when does our flight leave?”

“whenever you want it to. I haven’t even bought the tickets yet. are you ready for an adventure?”

“fuck yeah.” y/n smiled, pressing her lips to his. “but you have to paint my other nails first.”

han laughed, the kind of laugh that would always set loose the butterflies in y/n’s chest, the kind that reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

“I don’t think I have it in me to paint another drifting car.”

“then what are you going to paint on my thumbnail?” y/n laughed back, looking down at her nails and realizing that her lover had actually done a very good job painting a drifting car manicure.

“I don’t know,” han shrugged. he would deny it if asked, but he actually loved painting y/n’s nails. he thought it brought them closer together, built up intimacy in their relationship.

they were moments he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“I’ll just do like a checkered flag or something.”

“but you did that on my index finger!”

laughing, y/n turned her head to kiss him. “come on, you big dork. the sooner we get my nails done, she sooner I can model that new lingerie set I bought last weekend.”

“sold!” han laughed, knocking over bottles of gel polish as he searched for the bright pink he had used to paint the car on his girlfriends other hand. “drifting car? f1 car? whatever my gorgeous gorgeous girl wants.”

“I love you, han lue.”

“love you more, pretty girl.”

2010, monte carlo, monaco.

it was set up to be another sleepless night without her lover by her side, and y/n was having none of that as she wandered the deck of the comfortable yacht, looking around at the decorations that the crew had spent the day putting up.

she was just praying that it wasn’t going to rain.

nothing was about to spoil her big day.

she scurried below deck, past a half open door through which she could hear roman pearce’s guttural snores. fingers curled around the door knob, she tried not to make any noise as she eased the door open, slipping into the cabin.

“you couldn’t sleep either?” she laughed, looking at the king size bed where her fiancé lay, phone in his hands as he texted his mother, who the crew was picking up in the harbour in the morning before the ceremony began.

“got a lot on my mind.” han shrugged. “fucking tej won’t shut up about the reception and the playlist and I’ve told him a million times that it’s not going to be some crazy rave kinda thing.” the man sat up, gesturing for his soon-to-be wife to come closer. "it's doing my head in. seriously, he wants to do a club mix of 'i would do anything for love'."

y/n snorted. han thought she looked like an angel in the low cabin light, a halo glowing around her head and shining off her white silk pajamas, the ones with the tiny shorts and 'bride' embroidered on the butt. "how the fuck do you turn the best meat loaf song in existence into a club rave song?"

"the fuck if i know." han shook his head, hands sliding up her thighs as she came to stand in between his legs. "jagi, sarang-hae."

honey, i love you.

"mhm." she hummed, a smile on her lips as she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. "i love it when you speak korean. it's so fucking sexy."

the last year had been stressful. the dominican job had been way more complex than y/n had expected, and it took a while for han's old crew to warm up to her. it took a while, but eventually she managed to crack dom toretto, and two weeks later, han got down on one knee and asked y/n to marry him.

hence why they were on a yacht off the coast of monaco, the entire thing decked out in fairly lights and tulle.

"if you think tej is bad, you try getting in between letty and those large plastic ribbons on the back of the deck chairs." y/n laughed. "who knew letty ortiz was so serious about weddings?"

she was practically sitting on his lap now, head resting comfortably on his shoulder as the boat rocked back and forth.

han seoul-oh was her home. her safe harbour. she always felt safe in his arms, at his side, even when they were plunging into almost certain danger like they had in the dominican.

"i brought you something." y/n hummed, reaching into the pockets of her shorts and withdrawing the small cardboard packet.

"fake nails?"

"help me put them on? for old time's sake." she passed him the glittery white french tips, no doubt chosen to match her dress for the ceremony tomorrow.

"i can't wait to spend my life with you. and believe me, there will be plenty more manicure mondays."

2014, monterrey, california.

"daddy, where's mommy?"

"i don't think she's feeling well, poppy." han lue frowned, looking over at his daughter, who was perched in her little kiddie chair at the kitchen table. "i'm going to go check on her, okay? stay right here."

how do you explain depression to an infant? poppy jae-i han had been one of the best things to have ever happened to han seoul-oh. but in the almost twenty-four months since their bundle of joy had been born, something had felt off about his wife.

everyone hears about the mental health complications that can come with childbirth, but no mother ever thinks it would be her.

every husband fears it, too.

"y/n, jagi?" han tried to keep his voice level as he eased open the bedroom door. the couple had bought a ranch house in monterrey when they learned they were expecting. it was one of the few things they used their ill-gotten gains as a part of dom's crew for. "poppy's asking for you."

it broke his heart to see his wife like this, hair messed and greasy, red splotches under her eyes from where she had been crying.

"am i a bad mother, seoul-oh?" she asked, voice small. she seemed so tiny and fragile underneath the layers of blankets on the queen bed. "she always seems to cry when i'm around, but never with you. poppy loves you more than she loves me."

"what?" it was all han could do to stop himself from crying as he sat on the bed, gently running his fingers through y/n's hair. "sweetheart, what's brought this on? poppy loves you. you're her mom. she needs you."

"mia makes it look so easy." y/n sniffled, pulling herself up to a sitting position. she's lost weight. not a noticeable amount, or even an unhealthy one, but enough that her husband knows. there are many things that you can hide from the man you share your bed with, but han knows. he knows she's not doing well. "and i'm fucking shit at it, han."

"look at me, pretty girl." han encouraged, reaching for her hands. "you are such a good mother. i know you're struggling right now, and i know you're hurting but you need to know that poppy loves you so much. she was asking about you over breakfast, you know."

"i don't know who i am any more. i've lost my sense of self."

han frowned, brushing a few strands of greasy hair away from her forehead before leaning down and gently kissing her hairline.

"listen, i was talking to brian last night-"

"of course you were fucking talking to brian."

"-and he thinks you should talk to mia. they're passing through town today on their way back from dom and letty's, brian and i are going to take the kids out to the zoo or whatever, and you and mia should do something." he suggested, running his hand comfortingly up and down his lover's back. "go to the mall, get a coffee. i think she could really help you. she's been through this before."

y/n inhaled shakily, pulling away from han. "what if something happens to poppy and i'm not there?"

"y/n, everything is going to be okay. i promise. brian will be there, the kids will be in great hands. go do something with mia, darling. find yourself again, yeah?"

"okay." y/n nodded, still clutching his hand like it was her lifeline. "i can do that."

"mommy?" a small voice called. poppy had managed to get herself all the way from the kitchen to the master bedroom, where han had left the door ajar just in case poppy needed them. "are you okay?"

"oh, sweetheart, come here." y/n said, tears beginning to fall.

because how could she ever think that her little bundle of joy didn't love her as much as she did? poppy waddled over to the bed, and han hefted the toddler onto the mattress so that y/n could pull her close.

"you know that mummy loves you, right?"

"yes. i love you too, mommy."

"see." han smiled. "you're going to be okay. we're going to get through this."

2017, monterrey, california.

"i genuinely can't comprehend that roman pearce is getting married."

the family of three was walking down the nail care aisle at walmart, a welcome addition to their weekly shopping trip as y/n scanned the packages on the rack for a set of acrylic nails.

han laughed, one hand around his wife's waist and his chin on her shoulder as he leaned against the shopping cart. "it's not going to last. they may be getting married on saturday but i bet that by christmas roman is going to call and tell us she asked for a divorce."

"don't be so cynical." y/n laughed, kissing her husband softly before holding up a small white box. "do these go with my dress?"

"they'll go with anything, babe." han said, moving to whisper in her ear “they'd look even better wrapped around my c-"

"i want nails like mom's!" poppy han's shout cut him off, the little girl looking at the array of disney princess nails on the lower shelves.

laughing, han knelt down next his daughter, one hand on her shoulder. "which one do you want, princess? do you want frozen, tinker bell? mulan?"

"i want the ariel ones." poppy smiled, reaching for the pack of little mermaid nails. han helped her get them off the hook before lifting her up, carrying the six year old securely against his chest.

"seoul-oh, she's like six, you're spoiling her by carrying her all the time." y/n laughed, dropping both packs of nails in the cart.

"what, she's not heavy, sweetheart." han grins. "besides, i have to stay in shape somehow."

y/n rolls her eyes. "sweetie, it's bold of you to assume that you were ever in shape. but i loved you anyways, didn't i?"

back at home, they settled in the living room, near the large bay window. y/n watched contentedly from the kitchen as han sat at the coffee table across from poppy, delicately brushing nail glue across his daughter's tiny nails, dropping the glittery little mermaid nails on top.

it had taken a while to get to this peaceful, quiet part of their life, but y/n han was so glad that they had made it. that she had seoul-oh and that she had little poppy.

"be careful with your nails, they might come off. now, go get your homework done before we make the pizza, okay?"

poppy scurried off down the hall to her room, and y/n padded across the shag carpet, looping her arms around her husbands neck as she gave him a kiss.

"i'm so lucky, you know that. i'm happy and healthy again, and i have you and poppy. that's everything i could ever ask for." she said softly, resting her head against han's chest as the man tilted his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

of course they both missed the good old days. the days of adrenaline and adventure. but brian and mia had left, and then y/n and han, and soon after was letty and dom. they were moving on with their lives, a chapter of glitz and glamour coming to a close.

"i want another one."

y/n froze, pulling back from her husband. "what?"

"i want another baby. and i know what we went through last time, and i fully understand if you're not willing to take that chance again, but god, y/n, i want a big family with you." han explained, holding his wife's hands. "poppy is growing up. soon she's going to be too cool for dear old dad. and then there will be boys-"

"or she'll be like you," y/n cuts him off with a laugh. "in which case there will be lots and lots of girls."

"god help us all. my little girl is going to break a lot of hearts one day."

"and you want another one?"

"honestly? yeah, i do."

"then i guess we'd better start trying. multiplication isn't that hard, so poppy's gonna be looking for us within the next hour." y/n hummed, kissing her lover softly.

han smiled against her lips, hands slipping into her jeans pockets to cop a feel of his wife's ass. "i only need half that."

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @mignonricciardo @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @monzabee @scuderiamh @daydreamingleclerc @diorleclerc @oconso @cl16version

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for "causing" someone's ED? (massive TW obviously)

so i (18x) have a pr0ana sideblog. i say this in the LOOSEST sense of the term; while i interact with pr0ana tags and content, i don't make any myself, and my "platform" is nonexistent. i primarily use the blog as a way to feel less alone since i can't talk about my ED in real life. it's a vent blog. i don't have the name of my sideblog anywhere on my main blog, and vice versa.

a few weeks ago, my good friend (18x) found this sideblog and decided not to tell me. over the next few weeks, we had several conversations about my ED and their dysmorphia (though according to them not a full-fledged ED), all started by them. at one point i promised them that i would try to get just a little better every day, and i do! i do try that constantly! but about ten minutes after saying that i posted something on my sideblog about how paranoid i was about calories or whatever, because yeah i'm trying to get better, but that doesn't mean i magically stop struggling. i also told them i was NOT on pr0ana tumblr or interacting with that sort of content, because i wasn't comfortable sharing that about myself. i didn't know my friend knew about the sideblog at this point.

they dmed me a while after this post to ask why i had lied to their face, or as they put it in a vaguepost on their blog, "made a promise and then turned around and immediately broken it." i got very very frustrated, since i think what i do on the internet is my business, as is my mental health. this definitely reflected in my tone, so i think i was definitely TA, at least initially.

during this conversation, though, they basically said that i needed to talk to them about my emotions and stop hiding them, and that i had to take the hand they were extending. here's where the main problem started. they then said that they considered contacting my mother or friends but decided in the long run it wouldn't be beneficial. my mother is emotionally abusive, which this friend knew, and would absolutely involuntarily hospitalize me if contacted about my ED.

i became extremely angry, both that my friend would have my mother's and friends' contact information in the first place (we met through tumblr and have only met in person ONCE -- i do not, clearly, have their parents' contact information or even their names, and this was not information i volunteered to them) and that they would use it as an ultimatum. at this point i became extremely furious and basically told them to leave me alone because no one who genuinely cared about me would do that, and i didn't understand why my mental illness was seen as something i HAD to overcome if i wanted to avoid getting literally hospitalized by my mother. at this point they told me that i was refusing to accept help and that i was "aestheticizing killing myself." they then blocked me. i was still fucking angry. i never blocked them from my main, but i did block all their accounts from my sideblog and change the url.

they later unblocked me and we tried to remain civil. we never stopped interacting with each other's posts or whatever. they initiated contact a few times, which i ignored. the first instance they initiated contact was sending me a poem they'd written about the situation, which made me feel like shit, and the second time was just saying "hey." i didn't respond either time because i didn't know how.

i saw a vaguepost that they made on their blog yesterday that basically said they were fucking angry that, after an entire lifetime of struggling to avoid developing an ED, the "person they used to be in love with" was the reason they were developing one. it was clearly about me and i felt a rush of shame so overwhelming that i didn't really know what to do with it. i dmed them to tell them that i loved them and i was sorry, that i didn't mean to hurt them, and that i didn't want things to end like they did. reading back over the message now, it feels very "woe is me" (i was crying while writing it), but basically it just involved me apologizing a million times.

i woke up this morning to their response, which was: "are you saying this because you miss me or because you don't have anyone else left? i don't want to be your last choice." i hadn't gone into the conversation with the intention of regaining their close friendship because, frankly, i don't want that. i hadn't gone into it with a goal in mind. a problem i've had with this friend in the past is that they seem to view a lot of interactions and relationships as almost transactional in a way that i don't (demonstrated by their insistence that i had to talk them about my mental health in the first place). i told them this, and told them i just wanted to apologize and that i loved them. they said that they were sorry, too, but that the timing made them "suspicious," i assume because they know i've been extremely depressed and lonely lately (i just moved to college without any of my best friends and have been making vent posts about it on my main personal blog).

i know it wasn't the intention, but it made me feel like they were using my mental illness against me yet AGAIN, and i stopped apologizing. as i'm typing this i'm trying to decide whether to block them. but i feel like shit about the whole thing, because i was responsible for the formation of their ED, and i feel like i should be able to handle whatever anger they have towards me for that without getting my feelings hurt and being petty. i don't know. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[tbhimnoteasyonmyself]

15 Day BL Challenge - DAY 14

Heyooo~~~ This was supposed to come out yesterday but I was busy, so... Sorry djsdksjdsk

Top 5 Saddest Boys

Let's do this bottom to top, shall we?

Number 5: Pete (Kinnporsche)

He barely cries, it's true, but to assume this man is fine is to ignore his entire history... I mean, he seems to cope relatively well, but what can really be inferred about a man who doesn't even think he's human? Kinda fucked up, kinda really damn depressing, kinda gonna throw myself off a bridge.

Number 4: Gaipa (Moonlight Chicken)

This list would be meaningless if he wasn't here. I mean... Imagine:

Your father died not long ago, your beloved dilf doesn't want you back and has a boytoy now, your mom just fucking died.

Number 3: Ray (Only Friends)

You thought it was gonna be Sand, right? Or Nick? SIKE!

Ray lost his mom, thinks his dad doesn't like him, thinks his friends hate him, is an alcoholic, was in love with a guy that didn't like him back for YEARS, nearly lost the only guy that maybe could help him be better bc he's overemotional and easily aggressive... Cried like a fucking baby to his therapist about all of this...

That's rough, buddy.

Number 2: Joke (Jack&Joker)

They made War cry every single episode. If you tell me Joke wasn't FUCKING SAD the entirety of this series, idk what to tell you.

His father hated him, he couldn't pass his exams, he's was a wanted criminal, he cheated an innocent kid, he went to jail for 5 whole years, the kid hated him, he gets beat up constantly, everyone around him is trynna use his skills to get somewhere, his actions keep having terrible consequences, people are trying to murder his grandma, his adoptive daughter nearly died, his boyfriend broke up with him, ppl tried to play the SAW films games with him... Like... OOf, give this man a break, will ya?? He's tired! Damn!!

No wonder he's always desperate and crying, I'd be too!! Shit!!

Number 1: Non (DFF)

I don't even have words... Like, I wish I could start somewhere about how much this boy suffered but... I really fucking can't. So allow me to quote my past self listing everything he went through (with a few additions):

Poverty

Isolation

MENTAL ILLNESS(ES?)

Severe Bullying

Guilt-Tripping

Intellectual Property Theft

Being Framed for Mistakes He Didn't Commit

Rich Assholes Asking for Money

A Money Laundry Pyramid Scheme

Owning Money to THE FUCKING MAFIA

Multiple Threats to His Life

Police Interrogations

2 suicide attempts (AT LEAST)

Falling from a Motorcycle

LITERAL Textbook Grooming

Twitter Revenge Porn

A Terrible Break-Up

A Kidnap

FORCED LABOUR

Physical Assault

Overwork

(Probably) Forced Substance Abuse

Negligence

DEATH BY EXHAUSTION

I literally cannot think of anyone that can compete with this boy, like he went through what JESUS never did. He deserved to see all those ppl die.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Kenta (PitBabe); Vegas, Big & Porchay (Kinnporsche); Alan (Moonlight Chicken) & Nick & Sand (Only Friends)

Tony threw that matcha onto Kenta's face and made him cry for thinking the man who raised him loved him as a child. Plus his teenage crush left him behind and went and fell in love with a rapist. Man just had to be mentioned.

Vegas' mom died god knows how, he was raised by an abusive dad who gave him extreme self-esteem issues and a masochist kink as coping mechanism and then the guy was killed in a coup you guys DIDN'T EVEN WIN and now he's forced to obey the people he hates the most in life, he's got no power and no parents, a brother to take care of and the compensation is a bf with as much mental illness and trust issues as him. Congratulations.

Big didn't cry but living your entire life to serve a man who didn't give a shit about you only to die protecting the boytoy he suddenly promoted to husband gotta hurt as hell, dude.

What would you do if there was a child right in front of you? Apparently, to every single adult in Chay's life, the answer was "lie to him", for some fucking reason. His uncle lied, his brother lied, his ex-bf lied, his ex-bf's dad lied, everyone is a liar (and a thief) and Chay's trust issues might just be worse than VegasPete's, not even joking.

Alan... Ah, Alan... I feel like not having any character played by First in this post would be a dishonour to his name, right? sdkjskdjskdjs Man cries so much... And Alan is the epitome of this, I feel like. Not saying I like most things he did during the series but I get him, I mean... It was a long ass breakup and it seemed like it came kinda out of the blue. I'd be fucking miserable too.

Nick kinda did it to himself, I mean, you don't see a player and think you can wife that, but hey... We all make mistakes and ig that mixtape can be worth some good money if he sells it to Atom, so... ✨Silver linings✨!

I feel like Sand... He's just like Nick, he put himself in that situation sort of. Hence not making the top 5. Nevertheless, he did cry and cry and be sad, so... Shoutout to him, my precious little terrible singer <3.

[sysmedsaresexist]

I snapped today

(Well, yesterday, but I made a point of sitting on this to make sure it was what I wanted to do)

I'll be making a post at some point to address some of the drama that I'm sure many of you have been seeing over the last couple months, but before I do, I want to just talk about something personal.

Edit: this is the post. This is the only post I'm going to make addressing the drama. This will be my response.

A vent, rant, I don't know under the cut.

The TL;dr I broke my leg in a way that fucked it up for life and I'm depressed and struggling and being dragged into drama. I want to talk about it, because I never talk about this stuff, and I'm so tired of all of it.

I'm too old for this kind of drama.

A deep dive into my mental health, physical status, my side of the story, and a message for anyone still struggling with the problemaddtic situation.

Earlier this year, I slipped.

I was telling one of my clients about it at work, he's an older gentleman, very sweet, and his reaction still makes me smile.

He asked how I fell, and I said it was black ice.

His eyes went wide. "Black ice? That's dangerous and invisible!"

It sure is, friendo... it sure is.

It was really bad. Both sides of my ankle were crushed to dust. I was in a cast for nearly 8 months. I got an infection around the metal pins and was ill. The pins had to be pulled early, which extended my recovery.

I still dream about the feeling of them trying to pry the pins out of me. You're awake when they do it.

11 months later, I'm still in physio, I've had to add chiro and ortho to my weekly appointments. Most days, I walk with a very heavy limp. I don't have full rotation of my ankle, and I hurt myself a lot by turning too quickly. I still struggle to stand for long periods-- like cooking dinner or showering.

It's becoming increasingly apparent that because of the amount of "hardware" in my leg that I won't get full rotation back. I already have arthritis, so this is wonderful.

I hurt. A lot.

It's not the pain of a broken ankle or leg.

It's this constant, dull throb in my bones. It's the constant "full" feeling as I walk, like my ankle is surrounded by a thick gel that slows its movement. It's sharp, breathtaking stabs when I turn wrong or too quickly. It's the pain that's spread to my already damaged and arthritic hips that keeps me up at night. It's never being able to get comfortable.

Mentally, I'm a wreck.

I already hated this body, and now my leg is scarred and deformed. I'm constantly terrified I'm going to fall again. I'm incredibly self conscious about whether people can tell and if they're judging me. I can't walk fast enough to keep up with crowds, and people are cruel about it. My balance is horrible. I'm realizing all the things I won't be able to do.

I love hiking so goddamn much, and my dream of hiking the orcas island is dashed.

In 2012, after the assault that nearly killed us, it was where we were sent to heal. Elevation 2,500ft. See that little tiny thing at the top?

It's an old observation tower. The end of the hike. I was only able to hike half at the time, but I was driven to the top.

I'll never hike that now. I'll never finish my goal after the assault.

My relationships have taken a massive hit.

I'm angry.

I'm so fucking angry.

He was just a kid, that was just a bit late to his job. The lot should have been salted twenty minutes earlier. As I was lifted into the ambulance, I saw him standing at the front entrance, with his little shovel and bucket of salt. The nephew of the owners, and I could see the fear in his expression. A way to save money over hiring an outside crew.

And now my life will never be the same.

I'm angry for everything that was taken from me.

I'm angry because it doesn't feel fair.

I'm angry because I'm scared all the time now. It won't be much longer before the first snow. I cry every time I think about it.

I'm struggling to come to terms with things.

Today, I had to be in the office, and it was really rough. Normally, I can work from home, but I need to be on site every couple of days. I'm really struggling with forward movement the last few days, and I'm just in a lot of pain after that much walking.

And something snapped in us today.

"Good forbid I mentally NEED to maintain my own sense of peace for a few months so I don't fucking off myself at the idea of my new depressing life as a goddamn cripple"

I have a lot of feelings about this message that I sent to the person posting about me.

I don't like the message. I want to know which one of us is responsible-- who has such deeply negative feelings about disability. I know we're struggling, but maybe I didn't realize how much.

It's terrifying when you have a CDD and your alters talk like that. Looking around in your own head like, "okay, raise your hand if you want... to die..." and everyone is like

"Does anyone want to claim that message?"

In the screenshots below, you'll see me say the above. I guess I just want to provide context and get out thoughts that have been trapped in my head.

I just want this person to leave me alone.

Between my injury, the drama with AEV and our change in stance from anti to pro--

Finally putting an end to my petty drama with Sophie, and ongoing drama with another system that we were casually flirty with for a hot minute (fucking try me, seriously, I don't care anymore, always threatening to publicly post our fucked up relationship drama, GO AWAY, YOU WILL ALSO LOOK BAD IF YOU DO THAT, YOU WILL ONLY SUCCEED IN HUMILIATING US BOTH AND ACTUALLY DOXXING ME), we refused to take part in the release of the most recent sophie doc.

All of this was happening at once.

Now don't get me wrong here-- I've already explained this in another post. It was mostly my content being used in the doc, and that of one of my friends, and I agreed to help go through my posts. I ATTEMPTED to participate in the creation of the doc, though eventually I admitted defeat and said that I would not be able to help. Every time I opened my old posts I hated myself more. I don't like that person. I hated the way I behaved.

And I was struggling so much with finally seeing Sophie as a real person with real feelings and Reasons™️ for doing things. Just like I have reasons for doing things. Just like you have reasons for doing things.

I told them I was struggling, and how and why.

I told them in my very first message that I would not publicly participate, for all the reasons mentioned.

I was not well.

And the posts being made about me are in anger that I didn't stand up for the doc or them.

The one I specifically said I would not get publicly involved with.

And while I wanted to support you in the aftermath, your final messages made me feel as though I shouldn't reach out to check on you. There are several people that will tell you that I worry about you, that I have nothing but positives to say about you, that I stress that you're Going Through It™️ and should be left alone.

People ask me about your posts, whether they're true, what's going on. You have me blocked, but I know you're going to see this. I don't need to look at your blog to know what you're saying, complete strangers fill me in.

It's fantastic, I feel great.

Every time I start to relax, someone new reaches out and it starts all over again. I'm so tired of drama.

Despite everything, despite the fact that you hurt me too, despite the fact that you're actively traumatizing me right now, I still apologized to you.

You'll get your post, but it'll be the truth.

You sent a LOT of messages, at the time I couldn't read them, I mentally could not handle it after our last conversation, but I got the impression you wanted me to post something. I was right.

Today I learned about a new post, and a new blog, and I snapped. I finally managed to bring myself to read your messages in full. And I responded, prompting ANOTHER post about how I'm trying to silence you.

I'm not doing this anymore.

Here are the messages. People can decide for themselves.

But let's actually talk about what you're blaming me for.

While I posted several times about you on my blog, these are the posts in question, where I supposedly started this "rumor", almost two years ago.

TW, SA, ending after the next set of images

When I first read your post, my first thought was, "that's what he said to me."

For survivors, "the only thing you're good for," often brings their assault or abuse to mind. Is the problem that I tagged it as SA? Is that how you think the "rumor" started?

Whether you intended to trigger people or not, you did.

I'm sorry that you're still receiving harassment, and I ask that whoever is reaching out to blue's mutuals to leave them alone. That entire situation was a mess and everyone played a part.

Chances are, though, you're not sending those messages because of me or on behalf of me. It's far more likely that you're sending them because you, yourself, were triggered by blue's words and behaviour.

I don't really have a right to tell you to stop, if that's the case, but as much as I've changed, so has blue.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

People gave me one.

Blue, I meant it, you're brilliant and funny, you deserve better, and I'm so sorry this is happening to you. I wanted to be friends, I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to. I'm sorry that I wasn't well enough to help you. I thought I had been clear.

Now everyone leave me alone.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Uncanny Valley: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: Therapy isn't something you're taking too well, but if you want to keep your job, you'll continue to go. you're forced to confront thoughts and memories of your own family when you come across the father of the unsub.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"Anything you cannot relinquish when it has outlived its usefulness, possesses you. And in this materialistic age, a great many of us are possessed by our possessions." - Mildred Lisette Norman

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock is the only thing in the therapist's office that can be heard. You arrived half an hour ago but you haven't said a damn word. You look worse than last week. You have more bags under your eyes, your hair is greasy from not washing it in a week, and you look like you've been through Hell. Melissa has been taking this at your pace but if you don't start talking soon, she'll have to go to the FBI and report this.

"Would you like to take a nap?"

"If I close my eyes, I'll start to see things I wish I didn't."

"Care to elaborate on that?"

Maybe something good will come out of you telling her your problems. If you're going to be here, may as well give it a shot.

"My nightmares get pretty bad. I'm even waking my boyfriend and he barely gets enough sleep as it is."

"Nightmares about what? Prison?"

"No. I think--"

You stop yourself from finishing that sentence.

"Go on, what do you think?" she encourages.

"Being in prison wasn't as bad as it could have been. Sure, there were one or two prisoners that weren't the best, but it could have been worse. I made a friend who's still in there for a crime she didn't commit," you sigh.

"Are you using her trauma and taking it as your own?"

"No. I knew I wasn't going to be in prison for long because I didn't murder those men. I knew my team would get me out of there. I also know either my team or myself will help my friend get out. She doesn't deserve to be in there any more than I did. I'm not worried about that and I don't think was ever worried about that."

"Tell me, then, what's bothering you."

"The problem with being in a place with hundreds of mentally ill and psychotic people is that I felt everything. Some of those women were murderers, robbers, and arsonists, and I felt everything," you whisper painfully. 

"All of their fear, their concerns, their worries, and their sadness. Every emotion perceived to be negative, I felt. There was no happiness. There was no light in all of that darkness. I got bombarded with energy and I think it's still stuck to me because I can still feel it. Their fear is fueling my own. Every time I close my eyes, I think I'm going to wake up back in that cell and relive that nightmare. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that car with those four men only this time, it's one. It might have only been one back then. I don't know anymore," you cry.

Melissa grabs her tissue box and hands it to you. You hate feeling this way. You hate that you're even here, but you know you have to be. If you want to get better, and you know you do, then you have to be honest with her and accept that she's only trying to help.

"You were raped at such a young age. The mind has a weird way of protecting the person. You might have projected four men from that one because of how scared you were."

"It happened such a long time ago. I've made my peace with it. I've met my daughter because of it. I'm having visions in the day about it. I came to terms with it so I don't know why I keep having nightmares about it."

"Your body might have been exhaled from it but your mind hasn't."

"You know, I used to let people's fear control me, but I've grown and gotten over that. Now, I feel people's pain but it doesn't control me. Until I went to prison and all that growth, all that learning just went away."

"If the energies and emotions were as high as you say they were, that might have triggered something in your brain and caused you to go backward a few steps."

"What do I do?" you cry.

"I don't suggest this to all of my clients but Image Rehearsal Therapy might help you. What it is, essentially, is rewriting your nightmares and confronting them head-on instead of avoiding them. It'll help reduce your nightmares, insomnia, and with your trauma symptoms.

"The four steps with IRT are writing down your nightmares and getting them on paper, rewriting them so they either have happier endings or have a better outcome, inducing the intention to redream these now rewritten nightmares before falling asleep, and repeat until you no longer fear them.

"You don't have to do this with all of your nightmares so choose a few core ones that really bother you and we take these steps one nightmare at a time. If done correctly, you'll start to notice fewer nightmares until there are no more," she explains.

"I've done this before. Can you believe I used to have nightmares as a child? I even have two journals filled with rewritten dreams."

"How did that work for you then?"

"It worked at that time. I got so used to seeing those bad things that I wasn't afraid anymore."

"I think this might work now but in order for it to work properly, you need to be doing this every day. Even if you manage to write two sentences. Every day, you need to be writing in those journals and reprogramming your brain into chasing those fears off."

"Okay, I'll try," you nod.

You leave your morning appointment with a slight headache. You get to work to see everyone else already there. Spencer greets you with a kiss and takes your bag from you. He would have waited for you after your appointment but he was playing a game of chess in the park. You told him it was alright to go on without you which is why you two are just now meeting here for the first time today.

"How was chess?" you smile tiredly.

"Riveting. How was therapy?"

Your bottom lip trembles at the thought of having to relive that session. You see Hotch and Rossi in the briefing room and clear your throat.

"The team's waiting up there."

He understands your desire to not want to talk about it, and he's not going to force you. If you ever feel safe enough to tell him, he'll listen but those sessions are for you to heal on your own. He'll help in any way he can which you appreciate. He's been so patient since you got out of prison. You'll honestly never find anyone better than him.

Hotch is abc as the permanent unit chief for the team. Strauss must have granted him his privileges back, and Derek had no problem stepping down to let Hotch back in the place he belonged.

"Rita Stuart, twenty-five, is the second victim in Atlantic City."

JJ puts a picture up on the screen of Rita. She was found dead in a cart on a merry-go-round wearing a blue dress.

"That's a pretty public spot for a dump site."

"Technically, I think it would qualify more as a disposal site. You don't leave a body on a merry-go-round out of convenience."

"He took some time with her appearance, didn't he?" Emily asks.

"Yeah. Her nails were polished, her hair was cut, and her clothes were brand-new. He wanted her to look her best when found. That's a lot of remorse."

"Who is victim number one?" Hotch asks.

"Stacia Jackson, twenty-nine." Stacia's picture is of her found at a playground sitting on the swings. "She was found at a local playground."

"That's a change in victimology."

Rita was a white red-headed girl and Stacia was a young black woman. That's a huge jump in picking out victims.

"What's the connection between these women?"

"There is none. Rita was married and Stacia was single. Rita worked at a diner and Stacia was a corporate lawyer. According to their credit cards, they never came within ten miles of each other."

"Both women were taken two months ago?"

"Yeah, they lived such completely different lives. The police didn't tie their abduction together until now."

"Was there any evidence of sexual assault?"

"No, there wasn't even any evidence of violence."

"How did they die?"

"Rita had a stroke and Stacia had a brain hemorrhage."

"Look at this," Spencer says as he is looking through the files, "the unsub gave them a battery of drugs like Atracurium and Doxacurium. These are neural inhibitors. They block signals from the brain to the muscles."

"He put them in medical comas for two months?" JJ gasps.

"Actually, they weren't in a coma. You'd need phenobarbital to keep them unconscious and they didn't have that."

"Wait, these victims were paralyzed but were still conscious?"

"Yeah. They could open their eyes, hear, and probably even feel stimulation. Physical immobility but mental awareness. This unsub wants total domination over them, and he turns their bodies into prisons to do it."

"Wheels up in twenty," Hotch declares.

The team shuffles out of the room but you stay behind so it's just you two.

"Hey, first, welcome back," you smile. "I'm sure you heard that Derek made me go to therapy but he's not unit chief anymore--"

"You're still going," Hotch says and leaves the room.

You sigh in frustration and watch your team from the window. This is gonna suck. You arrive at the plane at the same time as everyone else and pick up the conversation you left behind in the briefing room.

"Keeping women in a conscious paralysis reads as sadism. It's definitely dehumanizing by reducing them to objects, but there's nothing else about this profile that takes us down that path."

"These women were found in excellent condition. There was no evidence of bed sores and they were well fed through an IV," JJ says.

"His access to IVs and drugs makes it almost certain he has medical training."

"Are we sure this is a he?" you ask. "The care this unsub shows these victims, although they are dehumanized, says female."

"What about the postmortem posing? That's a lot of dead weight for a woman to carry."

So? Is he implying women can't be strong enough to carry someone? Don't get ahead of yourself, Y/N. He's not directing it to you. No one is out to get you. Calm down.

"These women are petite. They're under a hundred pounds."

"Okay, if we reconsider the gender of the profile, what changes?"

"Nothing. If anything, it fits better. Men kill to fulfill a sexual compulsion. Women don't. You see this in Angel of Mercy killers like Genene Jones and Amy Archer. They didn't care about race or hair color. It's men that do."

Penelope logged onto video chat right before Spencer had time to finish talking. She heard the last sentence he said and agreed completely.

"Damn straight men do."

Derek looks at her and he is shocked to see she is sporting red hair.

"Hello, Red. Look at you. Guys, look at her."

He turns the computer so everyone can see her, and she gives a big smile. She's beautiful but you keep quiet while everyone praises her for her looks. It's hard to find the energy to care about a lot of things these days. Is that depression or just plain anxiety? You're not sure anymore.

"Garcia, what did you find out about the clothing the unsub's dressing the victims in?" Hotch asks, getting everyone back on track.

"Only that both garments were made from chiffon, but with the wonder twin powers of the Atlantic City Police and my impeccable eye for fashion, we have also determined that these garments fit ridiculously well. They're super flattering to each victim's exact measurements, kind of exactly like the unsub whipped them up herself."

"Maybe that's what connects the victims. Maybe she isn't just killing petite women because they're easier to abduct and pose, but because of a physical type. She wants a body type. She could be sewing these clothes for specific women."

"Please tell me she is not killing these women because she needs human models," JJ sighs. "I mean, there's gotta be more to it than that."

"There probably is, but we at least have a start on the victimology."

"Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to interview the victims' families. Talk to them about lifestyle choices and any body image issues these women may have had." Hotch looks at Spencer only to notice he is holding your hand. He knows you're having trouble and decides it's best if he keeps you with Spencer for the time being. "Reid, take Y/N and go to Rita's autopsy. See if the drugs point to any specific medical training the unsub might have had. Dave and I will go to the disposal site. Garcia, I want you to check missing persons reports for the last two months. See if any abductions match what we know. We need to find out if the unsub's already taken another victim."

You have a bit of time to relax before the plane lands, and Spencer kisses your head to silently let you know he is here with you. You lean your head on his shoulder and take comfort where you can when you can.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[newfeeling77]

my least favorite urge as a mentally ill individual is the “making people see im struggling” urge… like when i would cut myself that was in fact 90% of the reason… ik its not narcissism and the reason i think it is well thats the illness itself talking. but why do i feel like everyone needs to see and know when im going through extreme pain. ive gotten a lot better at this over the years, just from natural emotional maturation and intervening from close friends who had to tell me please stop telling me you’re going to kill yourself once a week its a bit stressful… anyway i suppose thats normal we’re social creatures and for some of us suffering in silence is not an option… unfortunately im also very vain n caught up in making sure i look good every day so even at my most depressed and burnt out i cant let myself go out in sweatpants and greasy hair. but sometimes i WANT to bc i dont want anyone to get the impression i have it easy. its a combination of wanting to compete in the suffering olympics even though i know ive got the gold already and like, i guess i get insecure abt my lack of productivity and progress (which is unfounded because i get praise in nearly every aspect of my life from my school and work performance down to just surviving this long) and i feel like i need some kind of justification i guess… like oh thats why she messed up that one thing one time, bc shes fucking insane and extremely depressed. and tired. and i have no money. or maybe it’s because im just really scared of the fact that im genuinely mentally unwell and i will be forever, like i can be doing well n smiling but i still have compulsions and bad behaviors and suffer from depression regardless of how my life is going… and i worry that in the future as i get more established and live a real adult life with a career i wont be able to like, just stew in my bullshit anymore. like i wont have TIME to be in crisis. but sometimes i just want to grab an authority figure in my life by the shoulders n say listen to me i think about committing suicide nearly every night and i have for over a decade. n then we dont talk about it

[gcldfanged]

NAME?: King_Kkeungi, Kkeungi, or Soda- If you've been around for the past 700 years...

PRONOUNS?: He/Him mainly, still trying to get used to They/Them over time. I identify as AFAB Transmasculine, but also very GNC.

MOST ACTIVE MUSES?: Jae (you are here!), also a shitload of others because I am literally insane.

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS? Uhh, like back when AOL was still fucking dial-up. Shove that into your calculator, proceed to jaw-drop, and demand 'why would anyone put themselves through that, though'.

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: In order of what I write the most: Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Angst is my bread and butter- We do love the bitter hardships, because a lot of personal growth and the potential for self-reflection.

Smut is usually me having no fucking clue what I'm doing, other than trying NOT to sound totally BORING for my poor writing partner.

Fluff is something that I normally get bored by, but I'm starting to appreciate more moments of Fluff and Domestic/Slice of Life content thanks to Oni?

I think the reason why the 'Second Chances' AU hits so differently is because our muses both didn't really experience a 'normal' upbringing nor childhood, so they're super motivated to allow this poor clone to just BE A CHILD and ENJOY LIFE and DEVELOP HIS OWN PERSONALITY. So, all of these seemingly minor and 'every day' occurrences and family-centered events aren't even things that Sephiroth and Jae-hyo have experienced in the past, like ever. And it's so far from perfect- They have no idea what they're doing, they both are better at killing people and being walking weapons than being like, emotionally attuned to a fearful child in a completely foreign environment. They're learning a ton of practical things, but they're also learning more about each other as individuals on an emotional level, which is really important development for them.

Anyway- Any of these three thread types can work for me, but obviously I am super into plotting and long-term exploration of our inter-muse dynamics!

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: It honestly depends on how my muse responds to my partner's replies- But I tend to go overboard and focus way too much on introspection that my poor mutuals can't even respond to in-character... so I'm trying to work on that!

PET PEEVES?:

Being a jerk about tagging- It takes like 2 seconds? Even if I DON'T think my mutuals might be triggered, I still tag heavy subjects out of common courtesy. I don't need some random internet troll telling me I'm a 'widdle babey who can't handle real fucking life!11' just because they hate mentally ill people and are lazy. I have survived so much 'real life' shit that they would struggle handling like an adult?

Rules pages that are rude and worded super aggressively. Chill out. We've all had bad experiences, I don't turn around and decide to be a literal asshole to complete strangers who are simply interested in my writing.

Vagueing and Passive-Aggressive behavior. You don't like smut? Blacklist the tag for people's NSFW content. Making a post in public and outright shaming people who are supposed to be your friends just because you personally aren't comfortable with sexual topics is way out of line. Also, we've all been browbeaten into ONLY posting smut on Sunday for ya'll, what more do you want to enforce on other people's blogs?

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE?: All of my muses have some facet of their personalities that I generally base off of my personal experiences, but also I try to build each muse up with a strong sense of realism and do a ton of scholarly research in areas that I feel I am NOT well versed in.

Jae is probably the most... emotionally personal muse I have simply because I am actively exploring very serious and heavy themes with him that I myself have survived/been a victim of, in the past. It's a safe way for me to kind of explore said events in a more objective and rational fashion, rather than rehashing specific memories that can be extremely upsetting and makes trying to be kinder to myself incredibly difficult.

He is not a self-insert, though (not that I personally see anything wrong with self-inserts in fics or 'fan-geared content', but I also do not think it's a good nor healthy idea to roleplay yourself in an RPC). He's a character that was first birthed out of spite towards someone on my dashboard (via my Genesis blog) who was complaining about 'overpowered OCs' and claiming that there are 'too many SOLDIER OCs' and that the 'few Turk OCs are all lame yakuza wannabees and they suck'. Like, what fucking game did you play, fool? I swear to God, being exposed to all these cold-ass, rancid fucking takes from the general fandom side of the community has really soured my experience in the RPC as a whole.

TIME TO WRITE?: Morning is usually better for me, right after my medication kicks in. But it's also dependent on who I am talking to and how excited we both are for the threads/plotting.

TAGGED BY: @stupidiinspades/ @endlcssdreamiing / @endlcssdesiire TAGGING: @nightiingaled, @sadistpet, @inspiirefear, @wayan9an, @bukkuobujiendo, @serandipity, @agloryofuniicorns, @ilbound, @tredispade, @annjiru

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

GIVE @cannibaleclipseau HEADCANON ASKS ASK THE CHARACTERS ANYTHING IT CAN BE UNHINGED IDC JUST LIKE DHCHCHXHXJXH👹👹‼️‼️ ARGHGHDJDHXHD JUST SEND ME ANYTHING TO THERE… BRO I GET FREAKKNG 1 NOTIFICAGION ON THERE EVERY DAY. 😨 YES IT IS A ASKBLOG YES IT IS A RPBLOG YES IT IS VERY MUCH INACTIVE … you running out of ask ideas?? YOU CAN ASK BM, MOON, SUN OR ECLIPSE ANYTHING (maybe not the others but uh)… JUST. AGDUUDUDUFJCJDH 💔 please I fucking love attention guys. IM SORRY IM LIKE THIS BUT… please? one fucking ask is all I’m asking gays 😼… Like I GET ITS WIP BUT LIKE YOU CAN FIND OUT LORE IF YOU ASK… IDFC about my 100 other WIPS I have, I have way too much free time to just be getting off to fucking cai/j. 💀 call me fucking selfish I deserve it but dude it’s a fucking deserted island in my au blog. Am I not meeting up to your expectations? JUST TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IM DOING WRONG‼️ please you can be honest i swear. Like… i love you guys don’t get me wrong but im sorry im like this. im fucking needy and my satisfaction lasts fucking 1 millisecond 🤩!! JUST. Tell me what you want from me. And you shall receive. FUCK SCHOOL at this point. Im throwing away my social and emotional life for this stupid fucking art career. and for what..? am I really even that good. 💀 … listen I’m sorry for being such a bitch right now but i know I’m a fucking terrible person and I just want you to forgive me on that, I fucking require attention to live or ill never be satisfied. You can vote for the deletion of the blog if you want, it’s not even a big deal… 😨 all im asking is one ask and I’ll be satisfied I swear, thanks. I’m so sorry I’m like this and that you have to deal with me being such a… pain. might as well just delete it huh. I mean it was already painful to constantly be on Deviantart, what’s different? I’m destroying my life doing… everything. I WILL NOT FUCKING GET OVER HOW MUCH I AM DEDICATED TO THIS THING I KNOW WILL RUIN MY LIFE EVEN MORE, no matter how many times you convince me🤩… and I’m tired. I’m just really tired. I usually don’t write anything like this online and post it because I don’t want anyone here dealing with my emo self-hatred crap. So I’m really sorry, about everything I’ve done. All I’m asking is an ask and I won’t kill myself‼️/hj. but this whole thing mentally gets really bad for me, and I can get really suicidal but I just pretend I’m fine. I’m really sorry for asking so much of everyone, and I just want everyone to know that I am so so so grateful for all of the support I’ve gotten from my followers, moots and everyone. Be honest and tell me my au is shit. Yes I agree okay. I’m sorry I’m so terrible, I know I’m a terrible person. I don’t want to seem like I’m overreacting with this. Please don’t think of me differently because of this, I’m sorry I’m typing all of this out for everyone to read. I’m sorry you have to deal with me rambling about something so simple that I could’ve just… simply asked about. Like I know I probably sound so selfish and attention-seeking because… that’s just who I am, I’m sorry. But I don’t really care at this point, I’m just… like this 😇. And I hate that I’m reflecting this on everyone who looks up to me. So please… Im sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m actually so sorry about all of this, and me making such a big fucking deal out of a SIMPLE PROBLEM. If you think I should do anything differently, please tell me. I’d be glad to listen to any feedback you have. But for now… I hope I can get along with everyone on both blogs. And I understand that my other blog won’t MAGICALLY blow up the next morning I make it. So I’m sorry for being so annoying, so self-centered and so… selfish. I’ve never really… cared about any of you guys. But I don’t want to come off as rude, that I’m using you even if I am. Im sorry im like this way, im sorry im such a terrible and selfish person. I’m sorry i just… get so emotional when i do this shit. Please don’t take this that seriously. And please don’t judge me for being so immature. I am so very grateful to everyone, but I’m sorry I’m like this. Bye.