#not a fun recovery month!! ill tell you that!!

[braelocutio]

✨5 to 6 slots available!

✨Fanart and OC's preferred!

✨Please comment or DM me here!

✨ I really prefer giving something back as opposed to d0nations.

✨ ❤️ + 🔁 appreciated!

[katabay]

MY DEAR VICTOR

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “he can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.

Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses for a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest action that he could towards them.

Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley (CHAPTER 5)

ah, to be cared for! the unconditional depth and gentleness of it. also have you guys ever listen to the ost for the korean frankenstein musical. sometimes I think about how musical!victor uses his henry's (dupre in the musical, not clerval, but henry all the same) head for his creation. that's also an unconditional something!!

ngl I considered attempting a full bernie wrightson homage for this, but then I thought about how I like having fun and that would totally ruin my hands for the week and settled for drawing a bunch of lines until I got tired of drawing lines lmao

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[moonstruckme]

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

summary: when your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.” 

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up. 

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.” 

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the chance.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice. 

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.” 

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction. 

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.” 

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”  

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.” 

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare. 

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d asked him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.” 

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan. 

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.” 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.” 

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected.

He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes. 

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you. 

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.” 

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often. 

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time. 

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.” 

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own. 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.” 

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.” 

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.” 

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography. 

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse. 

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough. 

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled. 

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.” 

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.” 

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves. 

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark. 

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.” 

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once. 

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”  

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.” 

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily. 

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.” 

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.” 

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.” 

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray. 

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.” 

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs. 

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.” 

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest. 

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.” 

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.” 

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed. 

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door. 

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out. 

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.” 

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.” 

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly. 

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.” 

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.” 

[becauseplot]

Still feel is one of my fav fics ever and it made me so happy to see more stuff from this AU! Your post-osnf headcannons are sooo good!! Actually im a big fan of your ordem headcannons in general tbh

If you dont mind sharing more on it...Can you maybe tell us a bit more about your ideas for the effects the symbol left on Thiago? Like, is he still connected to it or to Santo Berço somehow?? I find this consequences stuff really interesting and id be cool to hear more about it

Aw thanks!! I'm glad someone's getting some enjoyment out of my rambles <33

I can go a bit deeper, of course! Warning for the fact that this does get pretty sad and heavy, sorry :(

So Santo Berço really is gone. Equipe E destroyed it. The effects that Thiago is now dealing with are essentially mental scarring: a mix of normal human PTSD with a paranormal "flare" to it. The Symbol has seared itself not just onto his back but onto his mind as well. His dreams of the Symbol are due to trauma and the fact that, just as he suspects, he was never meant to escape it. It is stuck with him now. Anything touched by Death cannot go back to the way it was before, after all.

I kind of like to think about his mental state in terms of Ordem's "sanity" system as well. He recovers plenty of "sanity" while in injury recovery, since he's given time to rest, away from stressors. Eventually, he starts to do work for the Order again, but he quickly learns that he can't handle stressful, paranormal events like he could before (systems-wise, he has a permanent de-buff/disadvantage in the sanity checks) and missions---even the short one he starts out with---just put too much strain on his body. So, he winds up becoming part of the Order's cover-up team, helping fudge official reports and write up those "logical explanations" that Veríssimo sometimes references.

It's a role that's...much easier on him, after everything he went through. He does notice a pattern between his stress and the frequency of the Symbol dreams, so it's much better this way. He will, on rare occasions, help his friends out in the field with intel gathering (perhaps encountering a Horror on the way, which is never fun), and with he gets to serve as a sounding board for Liz's investigations, both her personal ones and the ones she does with the Order.

There are...other effects of the symbol. That he doesn't like to talk about. He's taken a sickly comfort in swirling designs, ever since he woke up in that hospital; back when he dealt with the nightmares on his own, before Liz and the others knew about them, he used to go to bed with reminders to himself ("Your name is Thiago Fritz, you live in São Paulo with Liz, she's in the bedroom upstairs...") written on his arm surrounded by swirls in the hopes they might calm him down enough to think and read it. He ponders his father's pocket watch more than he should, taking solace in the even, steady tick of time moving at the right pace as much as he does watching the second hand go around and around. He finds himself tracing circle after circle after circle with his finger when he's lost in thought or anxious about something...

He finds himself taking comfort in it. The Symbol. The thought makes him feel ill.

Over the months between osnf and opd, his mind slowly starts to deteriorate. Anything touched by Death cannot go back to the way it was before, after all. The frequency of the dreams has always been correlated with his stress and thus fluctuates, but on average they start to get more frequent, and the more intense ones happen more often, and it slowly gets worse, and worse, and worse until---

---he "zones out" one day, thinking of the Symbol. Thirty seconds, nothing much, it must just be on his mind. Then, he starts to fully disconnect from his surroundings, in his own head, pondering the Symbol for a minute or two. The white void starts to creep into his vision sometimes, reality losing meaning and definition, for several minutes at a time. Minutes turn to an hour, two hours, more, if no one is around to pull him out of it.

Thiago, as much as he hates to admit it to himself, is very, very tired. His mind and body are worn out, abused, overused. The thought that he's been living on borrowed time ever since Santo Berço comes more often than he'd like. At the worst of times, he feels like he's orbiting and closing in on some final, finite point. But he'll never tell his friends this because he knows it'll scare them because fuck, it scares him too. (Though, the times where it doesn't scare him are...even worse.)

[clockworkcheetah]

*shaking your shoulders* hiiiii tell me everything about your thought process behind writing your incredible bangfic the bad dog nerves, inspiration characters writing EVERYTHING it's so good tell us more

hiii getting to talk about my creations!!! ahhh

ok so cause its been a couple of months and my memory is nothingness aka im a little hazy on some stuff. buuuuuut i distinctly remember several things that heavily inspired TBDN im just gonna run my thoughts as they come so i apologise if its incoherent. i am also putting this under a readmore for the sake of everyone. and because spoilers for the fic

first inspo was deathmark2 cause it got its english translation earlier this year (i love deathmark but ill say everytime i talk of it its very difficult to recommend cause it needs so many content warnings). im very much the kinda person who can and will mash fandoms together- ill make those parallels. god cant stop me. basically dm is what got the ball rolling for me- spirits and possession and influenced moods. its only inspired pretty loosely by dm- very much the general concept/brainrot for both fandoms kinda deal. also more horror elements in dghda yes pls

another thing that inspired it was the doctor who ep 'midnight'. that ep was chilling- i think about how you can tell ten is fully awake and aware during his possession and it stuck with me- a+ acting from david. its a fear of mine being fully awake/aware whilst having no control of your body/immobilised and you cant do anything but wait for the inevitable. granted todd leaned more towards anger, or like the five stages of grief, than fear. but that felt more him also cause it went on longer than a few hours (or rather he expresses his fear through anger/lashing out) but i wanted that ugly rawness of it- hes nervous like a bad dog ay ayyyyyyy

(i sorta wish i went harder with it at the end with his scene with dirk, but alas he was burnt out and healing)

also tbh i just love scenes like that in media too. the character is right there! its so close and nobody is helping them so they gotta save their own ass and be a bitch about it

also i just kinda wanted more fics where dirk just fucks up?? like theres no hoops being jumped through to make what he said right (im not exactly a fan of this fanon!dirk where hes this saint who does no wrong/is always right/everyone else is to blame) so that was a goal in mind when writing this- dirk mostly, but also amanda to an extent of being wrong (not like in some horrible malicious way just. you made a bad call. u gotta live with it). also why todd was quicker to forgive farah (or at least be on better terms with her than the others- i really wish i included a convo between them aw well) granted these arent really specific to this fic- i like to have it in other fics, i need those two to fuck up. as well as todd getting to be angry/upset without this notion that he cant cause he did bad things therefore can only be bad, undeserving person forever cause thats how it works obviously (look if i wanted content of todd fucking up id watch the show lemme have something else with fics- ok ill stop being salty now asdfghjkl;)

i also really wanted the aftermath of what happened to be explored (i love the concept of possession/mindcontrol but shows kinda brush it off after the character is freed. like??? youre telling theyre all sunshine and fine now??? no way, theres gonna be a recovery period. aka todds body being weak from literally having zero nutrients, miru not taking care of the body, also learning to have control of his own body again

with the characters or i guess specifically project miru, she wasnt inspired by anything specific. i really like tragic but unsympathetic characters in media so wanted to have a try at it, and to explore the whole riggins' favouritism towards dirk and how the other projects may have felt. idk how well i pulled it off but i had fun writing her interactions with todd even if it was mostly them being dicks to eachother and being a dick to everyone

ok my brain is starting to run on empty so ill close up this haha.

im sure this is universal but when i got the idea of this fic i had the immediate The Scenes™️ for it. they were: amandas confrontation and realising that oh shit it isnt todd the whole time that scene was vivid in my head (also fave scene to write!!) and the other is the final scene with dirk and todd and todd breaking down. todds kinda the 'strong' one of the two (to dirk) and the caretaker- so someone takes care of him and lets him be upset with everyone

but yeah!!! some of my thoughts behind the creation of TBDN 💖🥰🧡 theres stuff i wish i included in the fic and ideas i had after i had already posted but im happy with it regardless. at its core i just wanted some sweet sweet todd whump i wanna traumatise that little man

[livingandthriving]

A year ago today I went to see my doctor, hoping to get some answers (and treatment) for my increasingly severe respiratory issues. She ruled out asthma and sent me to the ER to get some tests done. Little did I know I'd end up hospitalized for 3.5 weeks.

(This is going to be long, sorry.)

They tested me for Covid and allergies, and when those came back negative they did a CT scan, and that was when they saw I probably had some type of lymphoma. They did not tell me this right away, just that there was a lot of fluid build-up around my lungs, among other things. Getting that drained was Not Fun (I almost passed out). I was admitted to the hospital proper after that, and spent 10 days in the Pneumology ward hooked up to O2 and getting the pleural effusion drained every few days while waiting on an official diagnosis. They did tell me on day 2 that they'd found what might be tumor and needed to do a biopsy to confirm, so when the diagnosis turned out to be Hodgkins lymphoma I was not completely surprised, but it still felt unreal. (Mind you, when the hospital psychologist came in with the doctor to break the news, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good.)

The doctor was quick to reassure me that my prognosis was good, but there was clearly no time to lose since I was promptly transferred to Lyon to start chemo. I got my first helicopter ride out of the deal: they were concerned about potential traffic jams on the highway and didn't want to risk it while I was still on oxygen. My best friend's response when I messaged her to tell her this was to suggest I hum the Mission: Impossible theme while in the air. I didn't, but the crew found her suggestion hilarious. 😂

I made it to Lyon without incident, and my parents arrived shortly after I did (traffic was fine after all) to find that I was already something of a celebrity: apparently they don't get many patients come in by helicopter. Upon learning this, Best Friend's sister requested my autograph. (There's a reason I'm good friends with this family.) 😆

The next day was a blur of procedures, culminating in getting hooked up to my first round of chemo that evening. I was a little concerned about potential nausea, but thankfully the anti-nausea meds they gave me beforehand worked beautifully. I was still exhausted afterwards, though. That would be my default state for the next few months.

A few days in, it was determined that poking a new hole in me every 3-4 days to drain the pleural effusion was highly impractical, especially since it was going to take a while to go away, so I got a drainage tube put in. It was Supremely Uncomfortable (I was on morphine for several days), but within a few hours they were finally able to take me off oxygen! Being able to breathe normally never felt so good.

I got to go home in between rounds of chemo, which was very nice, even if I wasn't back in my own room (I had twice-daily nurse visits and it was easier for me to be in the guest room downstairs).

Going back for the second round was definitely different: no helicopter, I was able to walk in, and I knew what to expect this time - well, mostly. I didn't anticipate having to stay a couple of extra days because getting a new Picc line put in proved challenging. It's always something, isn't it? 😅

Thankfully that was the last time I had to stay at the hospital for more than a few hours: the PET scan I got a few weeks later showed that I was in remission, and I was able to do the rest of my chemo as an outpatient at my local hospital. Aside from two sessions getting postponed due to illness/low white blood cell count, that all went smoothly and I had my final session in January.

Early February I got another PET scan which confirmed that I was in complete remission, at which point I could focus on recovery. This is definitely going to be the longest part; I was told it can take up to 2 years to get back to normal. The fact that I'm already back at work, albeit part-time, is pretty good, all things considered.

So, how did all this affect me emotionally? The first few days in the hospital were probably the hardest, because something was obviously very wrong, but I didn't know what. In spite of that, I had a sense of peace and that God was in control (the song The Goodness of God was stuck in my head for days). That peace persisted even with the diagnosis, which is definitely a miracle because I'm generally prone to anxiety and jumping to the worst-case scenario. Instead, my reaction was, "Welp, this is gonna suck, but I'm going to make it." It helped that I had lots of people praying for me.

Even so, there were some rough moments. Losing my hair a few weeks in was especially difficult. I knew it was going to grow back, but I think that was when everything really started to sink in. Having to cancel my travel plans for the fall was another hard pill to swallow. Not being able to go to church was probably the hardest.

How am I doing now? Well, I'm still processing everything (hence this post), and likely will be for some time. It still feels a little unreal to tell people I had cancer. It's not one of those things you ever think you'll have to deal with, at least I didn't think I would. But here we are. I will say the fact that I'm starting to really process it all now is a good sign since it means my brain is no longer in survival mode. Hopefully that will continue.

I could go on, but this is already very long (kudos to you if you made it this far) and it's late, so for now I'll just say I'm grateful to still be here. Oh, and if you start having weird symptoms, don't wait to see a doctor.

[yandecifi]

What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter one

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

You can feel him behind you. His hips are snapping into yours, his breath ragged and close to your ear. Despite this, you can still hear the whirr of the ceiling fan. It’s strangely loud.

You can see him from the corner of your eye. Wings spread wide, one hand against your back while the other shoves your head into the mattress - you really only feel the last two. You go to speak. You can’t.

Aizawa’s speaking at the lectern, hands gripping the sides as you watch his lips move. You can’t seem to hear him speak.

Whirrrrrr.

“…went to Hawks.” You jolt at your name. “It’s up to you if you want to continue your internship at the same agency.” A shaky breath leaves you as you realize he’s not calling on you. “That’ll be all.” The class erupts into chatter as Aizawa turns to his desk.

“Are you going back to Gang Orca’s?”

“Haha! Yeah, I think I will too!”

“Last time was fun!”

“You and Tokoyami going back to Hawks?”

It takes a moment for the question to register. It came from Kaminari, who’s turned around in his seat and staring at you expectantly.

“Uh.” You blink. Then, you grin, leaning forward on your desk. You can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. “Duh! Where else?”

“If only I could intern with a friend.” A second voice chimes in from behind. You turn, though you already know who it is. “You and Hawks hang out, like, all the time.” Mina then leans in, a hand over her mouth as she looks around. “I bet Tokoyami’s jealous.”

You laugh. “Oh, c’mon. We both know he’s not the type.”

“Okay, true, but it’s still crazy how well you two get along.”

“Yeah, doesn’t he, like,” Kaminari squints at you, "pick you up from school?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Mina’s faster. “Every Friday, Kam! Every friggin' Friday!”

“Whaaat?” You awkwardly laugh as the blonde stares at you, mouth open comically wide.

“Is he replacing Mina or something?”

“Denki!” The pink girl suddenly leans over, pulling you into a bear hug. “Take that back!”

“Guys, guys.” You manage to placate them. “I just hang out with him sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you haven’t been hanging out with us!” Mina’s grip suddenly tightens, forcing a choked cough out of you. “Am I actually being replaced?”

“What? No, Mina - please let go I can’t breathe- ” She jumps back, releasing you. Kaminari's got a dumb grin on his face.

“Turning a bit red there, huh?”

“Shut up.” Right as you’re about to tell off the cheeky fucker, someone hits the side of your head. You look over like they’d just called your name.

“Food’s gonna be gone if you don’t hurry up, losers.” He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s all scowls and frowns on that disdain-filled face. It’s Bakugo. If you can’t tell, it’s Bakugo.

“Oh, shit.” The three of you look around the room. Most of the class is gone already, save for Sero waiting at the door and Aizawa-Sensei sleeping at his desk. God, what wouldn’t you give for a nap right now? You’re running on, like, four hours of sleep.

Mina lets out a small, panicked squeal as she drags you from your seat. Kaminari, Bakugo, and Sero follow just behind as she leads the way to the cafeteria.

“Oh no, the chicken’s gonna be all gone!” You lift a brow at Mina as she pulls you along.

“You like chicken?”

“No, but you do! Last time it was out you looked like you were gonna cry!”

“What?” You burst out laughing. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t know - like, a couple months ago? Doesn’t matter!” Your laughing dies down.

“Oh.” Right.

Right, the day after your sixteenth birthday, when you’d shown up to school dressed in a tank and sweats that weren’t yours. You had changed into a spare uniform in Recovery Girl’s office and spent the entire day in a state of aloofness.

“You guys excited for your internships?” Mina’s voice makes you flinch out of your skin.

“Hell yeah! Who isn’t?” You feel Kaminari poke your side after a moment. “Except for this one.”

“Huh?” Your face scrunches up as you turn back to face him. “I am, though!”

“Uhh, okay, sure.” You hear Mina giggle as the blonde rolls his eyes. “Why are you so not excited, then?”

“Yeah, you went crazy last time.” Mina joins in as she pulls you around a corner. “You didn’t stop talking about Hawks for weeks when you got accepted. Now you don’t talk about him at all.”

“Guys, guys!” The five of you push past the cafeteria doors. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m excited! If I knew you wanted me to tell you more about Hawks-”

“No, God, please, that is not what I meant.” Mina scoffs as she pushes through small circles of chatting students, holding hands with you as she makes her way through the crowd. “I’m just worried.”

“What? About what?”

“I mean, you’ve just been so withdrawn lately, y’know?” She looks over her shoulder for a moment, black eyes meeting yours. “Something on your mind?”

Ever the socialite, Mina’s ability to see through even the slightest change in behavior is astonishing. She’s so good at it, in fact, that she can apparently notice your unusual behavior before you can.

“I’m… withdrawn?” Your voice comes out small as she leads you and the guys to the regular table.

“Uh, yeah.” You turn to look at Sero as he speaks with an obvious tone. “You don’t talk, don’t pay attention - you even avoid us in the dorms. Did you think we didn’t notice?” His quirked eyebrow and accusing eyes leave you fumbling for an explanation.

“No, no I just-”

“Are you guys making fun of her again?” The teasing voice comes from the table you’ve stopped at. “You never give her a break!”

“Not this time, Kiri.” Mina and Kaminari slide in next to Sero while you join Bakugo and Kirishima. They quickly form their own little world, the redhead chattering away as he shows off something on his phone. Bakugo grunts along every now and then with crossed arms.

“So, you going to say something?”

The words that come from Kaminari make you freeze up. You look at him - golden eyes, golden hair - the question rolling around in your head.

The room is dark.

“So, you going to say something?”

“I don’t…” Your words are broken up by panting breaths. Your head’s hot and fuzzy. “…know your name.”

He grunts in response as the grip on your wrists tightens.

“What?” Your brows furrow as he burrows his head into your neck again.

You feel bile rise up in your throat.

“I don’t-” You cut yourself off, gasping as he bites into your shoulder. “I don’t want to.”

“Say it.” He licks where he’d bitten you. “Or I’ll give you a

hickey.”

“Huh?” You slap a hand over your neck. “What?”

“I said,” Mina huffs, “it’s no biggie. If something’s on your mind, tell us. Maybe we can help.”

“No, no. Nothing’s on my mind. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Everything’s been… weird with you, lately.” Kirishima's slumped over on the table, a concerned look on his face.

“Guys. I’m fine. Seriously. I’ve just been out of it.”

Mina frowns. “You promise?”

“Yes, Mina.” You laugh a bit. “I promise. Can we go get food now?”

“Fiiine.”

You shuffle out of the table with the rest of your group, nodding along with Mina as she complains about finding foundation in her color. You try not to think about it. It. You have no name for it.

You enjoy naming things, usually. It gives whatever you’re naming some personality, some life - maybe that’s why you haven’t given it a name. You’d prefer it staying in that tiny recess you’ve made in your mind, far, far away from everything else that is real.

“Yay! Look, they have chicken!” You smile at Mina as she excitedly points at the dish.

It. It. You have no name for it. You want to keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way?

“Let’s keep it that way.”

You stare out of the car window. Buildings and people fly by.

You try not to squirm.

You flick your eyes to your father’s. His gaze, one that has been shamelessly taking you in, immediately wrenches itself back to the road. You’ve learned that he always stares at you when you’re not looking.

You turn back to the window. The only thing you can hear is the gravelly sound of the car’s tires speeding down the road.

A quiet lisp catches your ears. You don’t turn your head, though your attention is fully on the sound. You already know what it is. It's your father, mouth contorting, opening, and closing in rapid succession, hands gesturing to someone who isn’t there. He’s speaking like a mime, face fully and angrily animated as he mutely talks to nobody.

Your thumb rubs soothing circles up and down the back of your hand.

“Thank you.” You say to Lunch Runch, punching in your lunch number.

“Should I post this?” Mina shoves her phone in your face, a photo of her and Kirishima singing on screen.

“Mhm.” You take a nice, deep breath. “It’s cute. Where’d you take it?”

“At the sleepover Saturday.” She scowls as she brings the phone back. “You should’ve been there. Then I’d be posting a bunch of cute photos of you.”

“Minaa,” you whine, laughing a bit. “I’m sorry! I'm training with Hawks on weekends.”

“He sucks.” She mumbles. You frown when you see she’s genuinely upset.

“No, Mina, he doesn’t.” He really doesn’t. “Um, how about I watch a movie with you tonight?”

“You’re not gonna fall asleep?” Her narrowed eyes shoot to you, honing in on you instead of her phone. You feel a bit nervous under her harsh gaze.

“I won’t.”

“You’re not gonna bail last minute?” You wince. She’s definitely trying to rub in any guilt you’re feeling.

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“YAY!” Her mood does a complete 180. She’s got a beaming smile on her face as she leans in and gives you a one-armed hug, her food nearly sliding off of her tray in the process. You stiffen, caught off guard - and then you melt. Your face warms up. You shyly pull your tray a little closer.

“Duude, what the hell?” The two of you look over at whatever’s got Sero mock gagging. It’s Kaminari, who’s shakily holding his tray with one hand and squeezing a mayo packet with the other. Squeezing mayo onto his already almost entirely white hamburger, that is.

“What, man? It’s just mayonnaise!”

“That’s your fifth packet!”

“God, Kam, what’s wrong with you?” To your disappointment, Mina draws away from you and joins their banter. You watch as Kaminari desperately tries to defend his questionably large amount of mayo, the group letting out loud laughs and retching noises. Except Bakugo, obviously, because he’s too busy staring at you.

You flinch, nearly dropping your tray. “Jes-”

“Jesus.” He curses for you, reaching out a hand to steady the tray. “Calm down.”

“I am calm.” He retracts his hand. “You just scared me.”

He snorts. “You’re such a pussy”

“Asshole.”

“Pussy.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to look annoyed, though your smile betrays you. He just always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?

You and your friends reach your table soon after. Kaminari and Mina chat as they sit down, Bakugo begins neatly eating his meal, Kirishima babbles about upcoming classes, and Sero’s still staring at Kaminari's burger with a mix of awe and disgust. You spend the rest of lunch on your phone. You do, however, occasionally throw a word or two into the group's conversations.

Once lunch ends, the rest of the day passes like usual. You get through English and Math just fine. Well, you’ve been assigned an essay, so you’re feeling a bit shitty - your final class doesn’t make up for it, either. Hero Studies! It’s an exciting class, sure, but it’s left you exhausted. It was tougher than usual. Your friends disagree.

“You kidding? He went easy on us, honestly.”

“Really?” Sero nods, leaning back on the dorm couch. Mina is sitting next to you, munching on a bag of chips that she offers you every five minutes. Bakugo and Kaminari are having an intense gaming session on the carpet in front of the couch, controllers audibly clicking and probably breaking. Kirishima cheers them on.

“Really. Yeah, we might’ve sparred each other-” Kaminari's groan of defeat interrupts temporarily. He must’ve lost, considering the way Bakugo’s raising his controller with a snarky grin. “But it was really just analysis. Working on our weaknesses and stuff, y’know?” Sero reaches for Mina’s chips as he speaks. She smacks his hand away.

“I guess. Yeah.” You watch Bakugo flaunt his unimportant victory like he’s just won the Grand Prix.

“Maybe you’re sore from last week’s classes?” Mina smacks away Sero’s second attempt at chips. You hum in response, reaching for the bag.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Mina gives you easy access, and you leave with a good handful of chips. You have to hold back a smile at Sero’s quiet ‘what the fuck?’.

“Excuse me?” You jolt at the familiar voice. You turn to face the door, the rest of your friends curious and leaning over as well. It is weird, after all, because what could Aizawa be here for?

Your teacher doesn’t look happy. He never does, but it’s a bit more apparent right now - his voice is sharp as he says your name and he’s holding open the front door like he doesn’t want to be there. “Your father’s in the parking lot.”

Fuck.

Your face scrunches up in what can only be described as a mix of a cringe and a wince. You turn away, like maybe you can just go back to what you were doing - but no, the sound of the door slamming shut brings you back to reality.

God. Fucking.

This is the third time in the past two weeks. To cut it short, he’s mad at you because you aren’t coming home on weekends. You aren’t returning his calls or texts, either, and that has him practically steaming at the ears.

‘Fuck’ is written all over your demeanor as you keel over, hiding your face in your hands. Your friends watch in silence.

You know, logically, you shouldn’t be doing that. You know he’s just going to keep coming to school, that he’s just going to keep getting angry at you until you answer his damn calls and visit his lonely ass. But the satisfaction you’re getting, even when this isn’t helping anything at all - ugh! So therapeutic! Yes, you’re petty, but the knowledge that you have this one power over him feels good.

“You gonna tell your old man to leave?” Your head lifts at Bakugo’s gruff voice. “Sensei’s lookin’ real tired of it.”

You push yourself off of the couch. Bakugo is right - your teacher looks done with this. You need to grow up.

“I’ll be right back, guys.” You trudge to the front door. A chorus of ‘see you’s and ‘be back soon’s follow you out. You can’t help but curse again, though, when you hear their chatter pick up as the door shuts.

You notice it’s gotten cooler since earlier. There’s a breeze now, rustling your hair and the trees as you walk across campus. It kind of helps the pit in your stomach.

You hate this song and dance but keep doing it. You hate when he bitterly vents everything annoying him onto you, when he justifies it because you haven’t talked to him in a while, you’re ‘catching up’ - you hate seeing him. You hate his energy. You hate the aftertaste he leaves behind. You hate him.

You’re afraid. Yes, deep down, you’re afraid, though you’d never admit it aloud. That’s what the pit is: the bundle of nerves you’ve been shoving down since Aizawa said ‘father’.

You spot your teacher up ahead on the cement path. Great, you think, you can apologize in advance for your father’s passive aggressiveness.

“Aizawa-Sensei!” You shout, jogging to catch up. He pauses and turns to face you. You’re glad to see he’s waiting for you - he doesn’t totally hate you, yet. He even slows his pace when the two of you start walking again. “I’m sorry about him. Again.”

He sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose. “I understand you can’t control your father.” You stare down at your feet. “But this - it isn’t any of U.A’s business.”

He’s being… direct, this time, huh?

“Right.” You swallow. “Sorry, Sensei.”

The rest of the walk is silent. You don’t mind, and neither does your teacher. He’s never been all that talkative and you’re afraid of pissing him off further.

Your hands start to fiddle with each other the closer you get to the parking lot. You can see the U.A gate, now - the front entrance. He’s probably just outside it. The last time you saw him he was raging, absolutely furious that you hadn’t listened to him. How will he react this time?

“He's right over there.” Your steps stutter to a halt. Your teacher has stopped at the bottom of the small staircase, farther than the last two times. He probably doesn’t want to hear it when your Dad raises his voice.

You don’t turn back to face him. For some reason, you can only seem to focus on the pacing figure that’s circling just outside the gate. It reminds you of a piranha.

“Okay.” You finally look back at your teacher. “Just, uh - can you not leave?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his brows furrow, his mouth opening, no doubt to say something. A distant shout cuts him off.

You turn back to the gate. The piranha has stopped circling, it’s spotted you - it shouts something loosely resembling your name.

“Uh, okay,” You’re speaking to yourself at that moment. The nerves are getting to you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.”

You start the descent. Continue it, really, since you’ve been on the descent since Aizawa opened the door. Your heart’s been beating faster and faster, your breathing speeding up - the knowledge that he’s waiting for you and mad always holds you in a state of suspense. Paralysis, really.

The suspense is coming to its peak. Your thumb’s digging into your hand, your steps quick but short. You want to take your time, piss him off, look like you could care less that he’s here - but with his eyes on you and what feels like no way of escape, you are a cornered animal. Your eyes drag through your surroundings. You’re looking at everything besides the man waiting for you.

You want to see Hawks. Just the thought of him brings a small smile to your face. Then you remember yesterday, and you start rubbing both sides of your neck with your hands.

You don’t realize how fucked up your vision is until you’re passing the U.A gate. You’ve got… what? It feels like a film over your sight, everything looks wonky - it’s like, like… you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Your breath hitches when you realize you’re here. You’re here. Your father’s right in front of you.

It doesn’t feel like that. You stare at him, him and his strange expression, and he feels surreal.

“Hi.” You say, eyes wide. You’re staring at him but not really - you’re staring at whatever this thing is doing to your vision. This… feeling.

Your father’s face is tight. Neutral, at first glance, but then you see the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes. You can never seem to stare directly into them, like they’ll burn you like the sun. They’re so intense when he’s angry.

He really is like the sun, in a way. Bright, glaring, making sure he’s always in your life despite being so far away from it - omnipotent, yet doesn’t even have a brain. He sees everything and yet you can’t look directly at him. He’s, though you’ll never admit it, intimidating.

He doesn’t respond to your greeting. He just stares down at you with those eyes, the fists at his side clenching and unclenching, and the way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s picturing all the ways he could break you limb by limb.

He grinds out his first sentence. You don’t think you hear him right.

“What?”

“We’re going home.” He repeats. You blink up at him with the stupidest face. Then, you look away, processing his words properly.

“Oh, uh.” You try to find a way to put this without accidentally siccing him on you. “I’m not allowed to leave campus.”

“I’m unenrolling you.”

“What?” For the first time, you're the first to raise your voice. Your head jerks back up to him and you cannot believe what you just heard because that must’ve been a fucking joke.

“You clearly don’t appreciate everything I do for you.” You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I’m tired of working so hard for a - for a bitch.”

Your eyebrows furrow, your mouth opening and shutting like a confused carp. He - what?

Were you a bitch? He has been working your whole life. You should be grateful for that.

He grasps one of your shoulders, tight like iron, pressing into that specific spot that makes you shrink and squirm. “We’re going home.”

You look down at your shoulder. You’re involuntarily holding onto his wrist.

What would Hawks do? What would Hawks say? Would he agree? Would he tell you you’re a bitch? No, no, he would - he would -

“You - you -“ You feel your eyes start to burn as you try prying him off of your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, per say - it just feels wrong. He’s pressing it wrong.

“You - you -“ He mocks like a child, his seemingly calm demeanor suddenly changing to that of a fucking schoolboy. He makes a face to go with it, even, and you stare at him in shock because he’s never done that before. His voice is condescending, nearly joyful as he leans down. “What? Fucking what?” His free hand holds onto your other shoulder. Though it doesn’t press into you like the other, it still makes you want to get away.

He sticks his face in close and then shakes you violently, his strength legitimately starting to scare you. You can’t wriggle out of his grip. You can’t get away.

This is different. This is different. This is uncharted territory - you’re feeling a different sort of fear. No, dread? Apprehension? Disgust?

Disgust because you didn’t think your father was capable of acting in this stupid, unbelievable way, because you knew he was bad but he’s never -

he has.

You can’t speak. Even when he stops shaking you, you can’t move, and this is that paralysis - you’re stuck. You can’t do anything. You’re at the mercy of your own mind and your father’s rage.

Is this how your mother felt?

You turn to look at Aizawa. Luckily, he’s seeing what’s happening, and has just started on a brisk walk. A walk with purpose - like a missile honing in on it’s target.

You should probably yell. Scream, make a scene, something - but your thoughts are too busy clouding your head up. You can’t think straight. You just feel scared, you’re scared, your father’s pulling you by the elbow. Fuck, fuck, you need to stop - he’s dragging you to the car.

“Dad!” You manage, digging your heels into the ground. It slows him down a bit, makes him struggle to continue pulling you along, and relief floods your system because maybe everything’s fine, but then he yanks you forward with more strength than you thought possible.

“Hey!” You hear, and your teacher has broken into a run, but the bulldozer that is your father doesn’t stop for a second. You stumble as he drags your heels along the concrete, he’s gripping your arm so tight it hurts, the door to the car’s opening - ah, shit -

The door slams shut the moment you hit the backseat of your car. His car. He’s mumbling curses as he hurriedly hops into the front seat, fumbling with his keys.

You sit up so fucking fast. You press yourself against the door so fucking fast, hands nearly tearing the handle off, but the door doesn’t open and the engines are already roaring.

You frantically look out the window. You’re already pulling out of the parking space. Your teacher follows, banging on the front seat window and shouting for your Dad to open the door. Your Dad, meanwhile, is acting like he isn’t even there.

Your teacher stops yelling and banging when the car is fully out of the parking space. Instead, he runs back inside U.A, which is logically the best decision but he’s leaving. He’s leaving. You’re alone.

You’re not, actually, not if you count the man in the front seat.

Hunched over like he’s driving a race car, which he kind of is with the way he’s going fifty in a twenty, he is entirely frightening. From his unusual posture, to the way he’s whisper-yelling to nobody, to the way he’s breathing heavier than you - oh, you should calm down.

Your lungs are on autopilot. They don’t even finish a breath before they take in another, they’re forcing your mouth open so you can take in more air though it somehow feels like less.

You need to calm down. You need to calm down. This isn’t happening, right? You’re fine. Calm down.

Your father slams his fist onto the dash. “Shut up!” You were already quiet, though, or you swear you were - is it your breathing? It’s hard to tell how loud your gasping is when all you're focused on is the panic clawing up your throat.

What’s going to happen? You’re alone with your Dad. He’s taking you somewhere. Where? Home? What’s he going to do when you get there? Oh, God, what’s he going to do?

A part of you tells you why. It shows you why - he’s going to fly into a rage, he’s going to do you like he did Mom -

So you sit there. You’re paralyzed. Your back is pressing into the corner of the seat, hands wrapped tight around the handle that just won’t budge, eyes bulging and unblinkingly trained on the man your mind is violently fantasizing about.

None of it is fantasy.

Or, at least that’s what your mind tells you for the rest of the ride.

[lawlznet]

State of the Meme 2023

Content Warnings: Depression, Death, SH, Hatred, a lot of self deprecation What follows is an explanation and also rant about why I haven’t been online for this entire month. If you’d just like to skip down to what I’m planning to do in 2024, scroll all the way down to where the line break is.

---

Hey everyone, Lawler here. This is the “State of the Meme” for 2023 and for the purposes of this post, I will be speaking out of character; as myself, not the vtuber.

This has not been a good year for me and it is with bated breath that I look forward to the next one. As some of you may be aware, my father fell ill in late September, suffering cardiac arrest and other diagnoses besides. His chances of survival, much less recovery, were slim given his age and the extent of his complications, but in a series of miracles that I hope to not take for granted for the remainder of his, and my, natural life, he recovered enough to be transferred to a nursing home, and then back to our home. Few of his complications remain and we optimistically foresee him returning to his “pre-accident” state sometime halfway next year. In the days since he returned, around the week of my birthday in early December, he has already recovered enough to move around the house on his own- to feed himself (via a tube connected to his stomach), to prepare his own medications, and to slowly retake ownership of household duties that had fallen to me in the months passed- paperwork and such. Prior to this blog post, it was nearly impossible for me to find time away from assisting him; even our previously late evening streams or early morning and afternoon were not a sure bet, and in fact I had to cancel my participation in a stream on my birthday for this reason.

It is with cautious optimism that things may stabilize enough in my household, to where I could possibly return to vtubing with the regularity I afforded before.

But before that can happen, I have a number of things to talk about first.

I feel like I’ve walked with death all the course of my life, and that does not just include attending one too many funerals for family members, both young and old, or that of friends and acquaintances whom either had theirs taken, or had taken their own. I generally treat the concept as the great unifier of all people, regardless of race, creed, sexuality, or any other descriptor we may use to divide ourselves from one another. It is the one great certainty and on some level, I like to think that I give the concept more weight than most.

Then I find myself spending hours doomscrolling, consuming thread after thread of outrage over strangers I had never met, and only learned hours before. A-drop-in-a-bucket hot celebrity name does something immensely stupid, either intentionally or unintentionally, and I join the lamentation that someone with so much apparent wealth and status can afford to be so flippant. Sometimes I’ll even repost OP or bits and pieces of the thread, telling myself that these individual statements, crammed into 280 or 300 characters, are somehow so poignant so as to redeem the discussion; and that by not mentioning their names, I am somehow not adding to the problem.

The problem of using my platform to further magnify people who we spend a whole lot of words discussing as “evil...” and for what?

Is it fun? Do I feel better about myself? Does anyone, besides the subject, benefit from my “contribution?”

No.

I was depressed before I burned those hours away. My employment is shaky and in a side universe I might have been laid off. I rarely have time for myself anymore that isn’t in the wee hours before getting out of bed or the minutes before falling asleep from exhaustion. And I chose to spend it on reading about how someone I claim I don’t care about did something “horrible,” or at least mildly uncomfortable- about how a country somewhere is doing bad things to people they claim are bad, or “as bad,” or, nowadays, without any sort of justification- and when I’m not doom-consuming, I complain to myself that I don’t have enough time for anything.

That I hate everything.

And well,

I’m not wrong.

But I’ve had this conversation before. I’ve complained about it before, online and on social media and in private discords, and I’ve even, in my continuing hypocrisy, chided others about it. I might try to make myself feel better by telling myself, “oh, well you see...”

“Social media is a ‘necessary part of my job.’”

“You *must* expose yourself to constant, attention grabbing toxicity, and participate in its accumulation- its dissemination, its detached, virtue signaling, people pleasing, mock-outrage generating content creation.”

As opposed... to someone who just, reads reddit, screengrabs accounts with sub two digit readership with obnoxiously bad takes, watches political discourse tiktoks and uncited youtube video essays; yes, you see, surely these people and their misery are entirely *self* inflicted, as opposed to myself, who is “mandatorily” victimized, right?

It’s bullshit.

I hate it.

And so it follows that I must *also* hate myself.

Because I participated in it.

So,

I’m going to try to stop.

Prior to this I never publicized, but internally created some rules for how I interact with this “content” and the people who produce it. Most, I believe, are not intentionally malicious. We are just the successful products of an inherently evil industry; living proof that everything is working exactly as intended.

The only way out is to break the cycle, and in order to do so... I almost always avoid, and if necessary mute, or block, anyone who:

1) Makes generalizing, sweeping statements of an entire group of people,

2) Issues ultimatums on their public facing social media accounts,

3) Anyone who regularly disparages any group of people, especially people whom they are supposed to be a part of- e.g. anyone who regularly harps about “how terrible the vtuber community is,” without the slightest bit of introspection.

For the sake of my own mental stability and to gradually wind down my own involvement in making the internet a worse place, I have decided that beginning in 2024, I will:

1) Reduce or completely eliminate reposting, replying to, or commenting on, any political or negative thread of which I am not directly or indirectly involved, or are not a subject matter expert or hobbyist.

2) Remove all feeds, block or ignore all search terms, and avoid discussing or entertaining any of the above subjects in any capacity outside of private conversations.

3) If necessary, mute, unfollow, or block accounts which only seem to exist to further spread the above content.

As some of you know, I am a cyberpunk influencer and consider myself a “cyberpunk” outside of my online personas. I’ve also recently dipped my toes into the world of Linux and am eager to dive into the worlds of cybsec and opsec beyond browser addons and lists of FOSS programs. I’ve been into this subculture for the majority of my life and I don’t see that changing anytime soon; nor will I censor content that I deem directly or inherently related.

There’s a sheer cliff of difference between merely complaining about celebrities and a toxic online culture and explaining not just how, but *why* it is in your best interest to avoid or defeat these things. Within weeks of a certain major social media website’s fall from grace, a number of user created addons were developed to make said website’s use tolerable (OldTwitter by Dimden as an example); Youtube’s attempts at forcing adblock users to turn off their extensions ironically vastly improved these extensions (uBlockOrigin), and both of these addons, in addition to their “obvious” case use, have further ramifications for the end user than simply complaining about Former Billionaire 9000 and The Evil Company.

For one thing, it’ll save you money in the form of not clicking on malicious advertisements or shelling out a monthly subscription for something you could have gotten for free. But I digress.

These changes are a long time coming, and I apologize to the people whom I long promised I would “avoid” these things... only to return to them when it was convenient, or when I told myself that “this is a special exception,” or when I didn’t care, when I should have. You know who you are.

I’ll most likely fuck up again and find myself having this conversation with myself or in the illusory safety of a chatroom.

But you see... I’m in my mid thirties. And while its true that I have these conversations with myself and others, all the time, and I regularly beat myself up and hate myself for my participating in the “culture,” the truth is... every day, I am more and more grimly reminded, of what little time I have to do things I actually want with my life.

Of how my perception of time seems to be speeding up. Of how little potential time I fear I might have. I don’t just mean the possibility of the Four Horsemen riding and causing such an orgy of misery that will make the last ten years look like Christian cis heteronormative missionary with clothes on and the lights off. I mean the fact that it is atypical for my household to travel to family gatherings in individual vehicles, and that on that evening in September, it was only through sheer chance that we decided to attend my niece’s birthday party individually- that my mother had to be hospitalized for an illness herself, and that I, for reasons I don’t even remember, chose to drive on my own. If this had been any other evening, my father may have had a heart attack while we were all together in the family SUV. On a highway.

And as spooky as that scenario is, every time I get on the road, or even walk down my own street, I think about the possibility of dying. Maybe someone’s in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention while merging onto my lane. Maybe someone’s drunk. Maybe someone needed a twenty and thought they’d rob this weirdo walking around the streets at night and weren’t expecting a fight. Even when you set aside all the political, worldly garbage that trad-media constantly shits down the throat of an unwilling (and sometimes masochistic) boomer populace, you aren’t guaranteed whatever illusion of stability and peace you have right here and now. It could change as easily as the wind blows. And I think I am so tired... of burning so much of my life on shit that has done little for me except to make me upset, when I could have so much, much more to be upset about in the next few minutes.

I walk with death every minute of my life.

If possible, I’d like my last memory to be doing something I actually give a crap about. Or talking with, or about someone that I admire or care about. I don’t think I ever thought those experiences were a waste of time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading this far. And now, for changes that actually apply to my “real” content moving forward... (as in, actually applies to you because last I checked, I’m a vtuber, not a vtweeter or a vskeeter or whatever the shit they call it these days...) I’ve worked in corporate for too long. Even if it’s a long shot or doesn’t make that much money, I really feel like a career in the entertainment and art-space is a better occupation to strive for than pushing paper in the universally and permanently depressing healthcare industry.

I’ll keep streaming video games and fighting games will always be part of that routine, but for reasons I don’t understand, I’ve neglected first person shooters. That changes now. (I hope the kind of Doom y’all like are the video game kinds.)

I am in the process of dipping my toes into youtube short form videos and will be uploading some cringey garbage to just about everywhere except Twitter, because of changes to their terms of service which potentially gives total ownership of my IP to the website. Fuck that.

I miss virtual reality.

Those vroid comics take a ridiculously long time to make but god do I enjoy doing it.

I am greatly reducing my usage of Twitter, Bluesky, and Mastodon, aside from announcement posts. Twitter is nearly unusable even with a subscription and unlike Bluesky and Mastodon (which... are basically the same thing) are bereft of the tools necessary for curating my experience and Making Me Less Wanting To Kill My Self. So yeah, Fuck Twitter. But what else is new.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I designed this blog the way I did and by the time you read this, I’ve probably reset it to be a lot easier to read on the eyes, at the cost of not looking as “cool.” I’m going to be making fiction writing a priority again. I have some vtuber tabletop campaigns to write up and then to run.

If I don’t successfully finish in time for Christmas and New Year’s, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I don’t have a timeline of when I’ll be able to stream consistently again. Thank you for your patience with me.

Love,

Lawler Hix

[imagineitdearies-old]

Alicent! You poor thing, you did not deserve what life gave u. Honestly so many thoughts are happening bc of Duty and Sacrafice but the two biggest would be Rhaenicent wedding night (fun fun miscommunication and differing expectations) and also the first time Alicent does something that makes Nyra “angry” and how Alicent try’s to placate her and the subsequent consequences of trauma for both scenes.

Oooooo now fun thoughts are happening on my end! A Rhaenicent wedding night in the D&S verse? Perhaps instead of the lucemond one that occurred....(slight NSFW warning from here on out, haha)

If Rhaenyra was as clueless about differing expectations as Luke was in chapter 4 of D&S, it probably would have gone similar on her end at first--checking in, trying to ensure Alicent's enjoyment and pleasure. But Alicent's reaction would be much worse than Aemond's. I'm sure you recall the horrifying scene with her and Viserys in HOTD episode 4? Yeah. She just starts dissociating the moment they're undressed and Rhaenyra puts hands on her, can barely find the presence to kiss her back.

When Rhaenyra checks in with her Alicent tries to smile and offer encouragement, says, No, no I like it, and yes, please keep going, it feels good. Alicent doesn't really know what to do with the stimulation to her clit, it's almost too sensitive. But as Rhaenyra starts sliding fingers inside her, tears begin streaming from the corners of Alicent's eyes.

Nyra just puts a stop to the whole thing at that point. She wraps Alicent in a blanket and says she'll call off the maester, that they'll deal with the ramifications of no mating bite in the morning. And Alicent is so ashamed, feels like she failed her and the whole kingdom, has ruined everything and will have weakened rather than strengthened Rhaenyra's claim to the throne/her reputation. She begs her to just keep going but Nyra hushes her, kisses her cheeks and her hair and holds her. Alicent falls asleep crying into her chest.

Sorry, probably more angsty than you had in mind 😂

IF this happened months/years after the events in D&S and a lot more communication between them (which is what I'm planning on), there'll be times Alicent feels herself dissociating and asks Rhaenyra to do something else or give her a minute, apologizing even after Nyra keeps telling her she has nothing to be sorry about. But in her head she'll still be wondering if the next request or denial will be the final straw and Nyra will ignore it. Or will just find her absolutely too much to handle, or too boring and inexperienced, and quickly lose interest in her after.

Even though Alicent didn't like Viserys at all, it still stung fiercely when he lost all feigned interest in her opinions or happiness just because sex didn't happen while she was later in pregnancy/in recovery from birth or once he got too ill. And that was with a person who didn't care if she was a limp doll most of the time. Rhaenyra will want her to participate, to like it, so there's even more chance of failure. Though by this point they'll have explored each other a little, enough for Alicent to be sure she does want more.

Alicent also has a lot of insecurities about being enough for Rhaenyra in the bedroom as a female omega (poor thing has never heard of a strap-on, but don't worry, she'll learn).

As for the first time Nyra gets angry with Alicent and how she tries to placate her, how scared she is...man, that'd be a terrible, fascinating scene to write. I might add it to my list for future D&S verse drabbles/one-shots 🤔 I might add all of these! Lol.

Thank you so much for this ask, it's so lovely to muse about angsty rhaenicent!!

[nicejewishgirl]

fuck the last few months have been hell. I’ve had to worry about my survival and more so my mother as we both have had very serious hospitalizations but it just happened again in Thursday. Every day feels traumatizing. I’m in a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. There’s been so much stress, chaos, and turmoil. My family dynamics have me on edge.

Now my parents and I all have covid bc our local hospital sucks at covid protocols. I didn’t even go inside but got it from my parents (who were masked most of the time even in her hospital room) a couple days later. I’ve never had covid so this was the cherry on top. It’s too much. Like no fucking more!!!

I don’t even want to write out the things that have happened because it makes it feel so much more real and it just upsets me to write out such fatal shit. I still plan to operate jewsforpalestine but I’m literally trying to make it day by day whether that’s due to my own illness or taking care of my mother as if I was a trauma nurse. I haven’t eaten in a couple of days because of the stress and because of how bad my flareup is / possibly from covid.

I haven’t even told you all about how I need full reconstruction on both feet and how the surgeon said my deformity was a 10/10 😍 and that he’s never seen feet so bad (on the x-ray) as all my bones are crunched up and in the wrong spot which is why I have several stress fractures in both feet. I am seeing a few other surgeons as this guy was awful but I also have yo see colorectal surgery to fix my colectomy���. which is fucking frightening.

I’m also trying to manage my severe iron deficiency anemia while constantly worrying if my mom was/is going to make it. Seriously, this last scare really had me panicked. I don’t even feel comfortable saying what it is because it’s her life but what happened was serious… being covid positive complicates her recovery even further. I barely leave her alone and constantly hovering over her. I’m so scared…. I rarely show it though.

There’s soooo much more that I still haven’t mentioned from these past few months but I just wanted to say that I’m still alive 👋… barely lol but I just need to vent. Covid just pushed me over the edge. I’m still free Palestine and still really want to create a collective of like minded folks but I have been in full on crisis, fight or flight mode and haven’t been able to do one thing other than trying to get by.

As I’m typing this, I’ve fallen asleep multiple times creating a variety of typos. I’m not having fun or even doom rolling, watching tiktok, or whatever, etc. I’m taking care of my mom, my dogs, the house, cooking, cleaning, making all of our appointments, dealing with insurance etc. and then fall asleep by 8pm because of my fatigue. My exhaustion (largely due to my anemia & still’s) prevents me from doing soooo much and the lack of oxygen to my brain has definitely effected my cognitive ability, concentration, and executive functioning.

I can’t wait for things to calm down so I can start this project along with answer some of my latest messages that require a detailed response! I also just want to be able to breathe and know that things will be ok. I just wish someone could wrap their arms around me and tell me that but I’m on my own in that regard… hence why my pathetic ass is posting here. 💗

[skinnywannabeesblog]

So one of my goals this year is to lose weight in a year (almost all my extra weight at least which is 60-65 kg.I started 114,5kg my diet and my cw is 108,8).

The catch is that i want to do it in a way that doesnt destroy me mentally because of my ed.I want to be able to enjoy this year and myself so when i reach my gw it can be the happiest day and not like "Yay i am happy but lets continue being sad and get stressed cuz of ed and continue our bad habits".

So i have set some rules for myself which is:

Try to lose 5kg per month at least

(although i try to at least get back to 90-80 kg and then start trying to lose 5kg a month)

1000-1500 cals but you can eat less than 1000 although dont eat for a lot of time too little so your metabolism doesnt stop.

Be kinder to yourself about your weight and your diet journal

Dont self sabotage.Like if you have one bad day and eat more or binge dont take it to heart but continue like normal while dieting even if you gain

Weight yourself once a day and note it

Eat all kinds of food as long as it is within your "calorie budget"

If you get bad side effects like bad headaches or feel dizy or as if you gonna faint etc eat at least 1000-1500 for a week.

Try to self improve and take care of yourself and by other means than just dieting(like fix bad schedule or habits etc)

Make your diet fun like keep a bullet journal,try new food you wouldnt eat before etc

Dont limit yourself to some specific foods and absolutely no fear foods.Eat whatever you want.This is a form of self sabotage not control since we both know that youll end up binging so hard once you get temted and eat your favorite fear food.

Fastings are acceptable as long its a day once a week but not every week.

So thats all my rules to lose weight in one year.This obviously is not your typical ed rules or mindset but you know....i just kind of got tired of my ed but i want the weight to be gone plus i am a art college student and i dont want to be the always tired person and sad all the time because of my mental illness...

Yeah so basically this is a semi ed semi trying to fix my mindset so recovery can be easier after this diet and rules.

Its too early to tell but so far i am 18 days in and i am doing great with these rules.Hope it stays that way and if i succeed to lose almost all my extra weight by the end of the 365 days ill post update with photos of before and after and my thoughts and if its worth trying this or not.

I just dont wanna have ed and hate myself at the same time anymore ;-;

[all-doggirls-go-to-heaven-2]

Hey I got kinda emotional and into it here so. Skip this one if you dont care but if you're my friend idk read it see if it resonates or smth

I think ill never get over the feeling that im inept or a loser because its not the fact that I'm. You know. That. Its because before even making the comparison between this person's absolute best life and my sick week I already think that. Its bad to the point that whenever I see someone share good news abt. Anything. I get jealous

And like im rlly not trying to brag but I have a decent life by my standards. I have partners that love me but don't require my affection constantly, so when I kinda shut down for 9 hours as I often do no one freaks out. I have sex quite often! (Not right now because im sick and slowly losing my mind) (and yeah this is childish but im very hypersexual and if I did not have this it would be bad for the mind) like there are people who consider me a sexy being and want to have sex with me and then we do.that. often in trios which is such a thing that my 16-year old me would have said NICE!!! To me and now its kinda of the norm for me. When its not just me n my gf having like casual fun sex its a threesome. And that fucking rules!!! I have money now!!! Saved!!!! Im moving out in like four months!!!! I already bought like paintings and tables and shit. Im finishing uni and can go pursue my dreams of becoming a film professor!!!! My art constantly gets praise!!!! And yeah, we kinda got fucked festival season because we botched some documentation but I made people cry!!! With my writing and camera work!!!! And I did that with my friends, too!! No sellout shit, no contracting a pro to get good shots, no youtube tutorial bullshit, i got three people that really liked each other and we made a fucking movie!!! And people cried watching it!!!! Like I got a legacy now. Even if its a small, insignificant one, its a fucking legacy!!! Its there!!! I can like crochet now!!! And im good at it!!!! Better than my fucking aunt who mocked the stuff I made back then!!!! And I make money selling it?? Online??? To friends??? Thats fucking cool as hell!!! Im feeling pretty? Like actually pretty? Not in a fabricated, made up, photoshopped version of me but like. I look in the mirror and I see a girl. Shes kinda messy and probably needs to brush her teeth more but its a girl. I pass all the time??? Old people call me little missy and shit. And yet I have not lost the transfem swag.

Sure, maybe some shit is bad. Sometimes you feel like drowning. Still not quite over that one breakup. Sometimes there's nothing to do. Sometimes your friends are having way more fun than you and you have no excuse to not be having fun. Sometimes uni is suffocating. Sometimes you love people so intensely that you start hating them when they dont like you as intensely as you do them. Sometimes you still put other's happiness over your comfort or safety. Sometimes you still romanticize things to make it seems like you're a less boring person than you think you are. Sometimes you need more affection than you're getting from your partners and you simply stay quiet, because you fear you're becoming like your abusers. You still havent gotten over the "I was heavily emotionally abused for the better part of a month" and recovery should have ended by now. They moved on. Why haven't you? Why do you still think of them? Why everytime someone thinks the kind of sex you have is weird you remember them telling you that and then doing it anyway? You're still the black sheep of the family. No matter how many intense life-ending fuckups your cousins fuck up, you'll still be the worst one. Because you were supposed to be perfect, to study overseas, to be the golden child. And you failed. Sometimes you wonder if you're wasting your life trying to be happy. Sometimes you wonder if you even can be. Sometimes you cry because you're sure you cant

And we just.... gotta keep on living. Trying, succeeding and failing to be happy. To have my needs met. Isnt that what its all about?

[giish]

posted by NymphaeAvernales 1 yr. ago

The comment I'm about to copy/paste came from a post in..I think it was AITA, maybe R_A….of a guy who wanted to abandon his fiancee just a few months after she was injured,and he wasn't even acting as caretaker or anything at the time. I was shocked at the number of people basically telling him he wasn't obligated to give one single fuck about the woman he supposedly loved, but this commenter really let the guy have it.

*I see a lot of patients whose partners do this to them. Many of them have other health challenges including TBIs and other neurological problems on top of what I’m seeing them regarding. In fact, I’m often seeing them because of depression or attempted suicide due to abandonment.

It is overwhelmingly men who abandon their severely ill partners. If I see men in these situations, their wives and fiancées usually stick with them and take on their care, and usually we have to step in a little to gently remind them to get the care and rest they need too where possible. When a woman is in this situation, more than half the cases I see feature the man emotionally checking out, doing everything he can to half-ass her care, blaming her, becoming emotionally neglectful and abusive, and then leaving.

So be assured that you’re normal. The overwhelming majority of other men in your situation would also abandon the woman they claimed to love and want to share a life with pretty much as soon as they’re not getting anything out of it. You won’t be alone, and you will find a huge number of people to make sympathetic noises and assure you that you did the right thing for poor you.

And you know what - yeah, this is an overwhelmingly hard situation. It’s one of the worst things a person can face. It’s terrifying. It changes everything. You will have a more fun life and be less stressed and be better cared for yourself and be happier in your other relationships etc if you leave.

But you need to be clear that the emotional trauma of abandonment kills. At least she’s physically cared for so it won’t have that effect, but taking away one of the tiny pieces of emotional joy she has left? Leaving her trapped in her wounded body, grieving for you, helpless to do anything to change it, with this whole new kind of pain and bitterness to cloud up her thoughts?

You will set back her recovery. Truly you might kill her. At the very least you will profoundly compound her trauma. She might never recover from this accident; she will also never recover from you. You will become an active contributor to how terrible the worst thing to ever happen to her was, and if she doesn’t survive it will partly be your fault.

Her parents may well react to you with disgust, as will others. People on here are suggesting you speak to them first. You probably still should, but don’t go in there expecting that conversation to involve them giving one single fuck about how sad you are that she’s no longer of use to you so poor you has to move on. Don’t try to convince them your abandonment of her is okay; it’s not. Just tell them plainly that you’re going to leave her and ask them to be aware that she will be in unbearable distress and will need even greater care once you’ve done this. Don’t try to soften it; you can’t. Don’t try to phrase it nicely; it will just add self-serving dishonesty to the list of your features. Don’t try to pretend you’re not being a bad person by doing this. You will be.

You will move on with your therapist, and you will be fine. People who do appalling things justify them to themselves with alarming alacrity; it’s just a mental and emotional self defence mechanism. You’ll be fine and picking up the next poor woman with a sob story about how you “lost” your last partner in no time.

But if you have a conscience, this will be on it for the rest of your life. And if you have any sense, you won’t ask anyone else to marry you again. You don’t want a marriage; you don’t actually want a partner; you claim to love someone, and however much you were capable of love, that’s still apparently not enough to make you treat them with decency and compassion when it might cost you something.

Them’s the breaks. You can do something incredibly hard and painful that will hurt you, or you can let down and abandon someone you claim to love in a completely monstrous fashion. There’s no way to do this and not be a terrible human being, and you’re just going to have to live with that* (context link)

[jamesheartupdates]

6 months and many breakdowns later... surgery is rescheduled

TL;DR: Surgery is now scheduled for Wednesday, February 21, 2024. James will have pre-op the day before. We'll keep updating here as we can!

The longer version...

Almost everything from the last post in August is still valid. It's still the third and final surgery for his "full repair" (called the "Fontan"). It's still not an "emergency" (although it does need to happen). And it's still happening at UVA hospital in Charlottesville (and we still live in Richmond, an hour away).

The biggest change is that James turned 4 in October! Also after having conversations with his cardiologist, the initial 2-4 week hospital recovery we were told to anticipate may be a little inflated. James is an all-star little patient and has recovered more quickly than average during his past two surgeries, so we're anticipating hospital recovery to be more around a week (or two, but you can never really know these things).

For a little background over the past several months, there have been many twists and turns since August. The August date was canceled due to low ICU staffing at the hospital. We planned again for October. We kept the boys out of daycare to prevent us from getting sick. We all got sick. We delayed surgery week by week as we continued to be sick. Then we decided to take a break from the madness as we entered into cold and flu season, and we would wait and try again in the spring.

It's not quite spring, but we're back at it again. We're anxious to have this surgery behind us, and we're hopeful James will feel relief for ailments he doesn't even realize he has (his oxygen saturation levels are in the low 80s currently, after surgery they'll be in the high 90s).

We took the boys out of daycare again and have been quarantining as much as possible in preparation for the surgery. It's important for James to not have an upper respiratory illness for the surgery and immediate recovery because his lungs need to be in tip top shape (something we didn't *fully* realize until our second attempt at the surgery in the fall).

The logistics, the considerations, the emotions, the stress — it's all a lot. We just keep telling ourselves and each other we're doing the best we can.

Here's what the next few days will look like:

We plan to tell James about the surgery today or tomorrow (the fun news is we also get to tell James he was accepted for Make A Wish, so he can choose something to look forward to after the surgery!).

Tuesday 2/20 we go to UVA for pre-op mid-morning to mid-afternoon (vitals, echo, blood draw, ultrasound, etc.), then we come home.

Wednesday 2/21 is surgery day, so Michael and I will take James SUPER EARLY to UVA. Surgery will be 6-8 hours (for those who this means anything to, it's a "beating heart" operation and he'll be on the pump for ~1-1.5 hrs). Michael and I have been in touch with the hospital about getting a room at the Ronald McDonald house — chances are it's full, and if it is, the hospital will provide a room at a hotel for us for 3 nights. Michael and I will be taking turns staying overnight with James at the hospital (they only let 1 adult overnight).

In the days that follow, someone will be with him around the clock (it's different having a newborn or 5 month old compared to a 4 year old!). He'll probably be in the ICU for a couple nights then go to the pediatric floor for the remaining days.

Another thing to note is that there are two heart transplant candidates that could move our surgery to Thursday or Friday, but the odds are still good that James's surgery will happen within the week. As long as we get through pre-op, surgery will definitely be within the week.

People have been asking how to support us, and most simply you can cheer us on however you prefer — thoughts, prayers, letters, song, dance, poem, etc. Some people have asked about meals, and we don’t have a meal train currently, but if you’d like to send an Uber Eats or Door Dash gift card or Venmo us (@ninarogers or @mikerogue) for a coffee, a meal or to just help with the extra costs that can come with traveling to and from the hospital and being out of our normal routine — that would be appreciated. Hopefully this will just be a short stint and not too disruptive for too long.

Last but not least, here are some cute pictures from the past few months 🥰 James is still our sweet, funny, sassy, spirited and curious little red head, and we love him so!

That's all for now! We'll post more (shorter) posts as we go. You can come here to stay updated!

Love, Nina (+ Michael, James & Gabe)

[sobrietywithnobullshit]

My First Post (intro); TW: drug use & addiction.

sigh I always start things i don't finish, so this blog will probably be just another unfinished project that i forget about in a month. Sorry for the pessimistic outlook- it's a big habit of mine. Along with many more. This is going to be a semi long intro so bare with me.

So let's start this out typical. Hi my name is Sam and i'm an addict. Going on 8 years now. It's probably more like 10..ish. I say 8 though because there was a point in between using for fun and needing to use daily without getting sick, where i was sober for like a little over a year. So 8 years works for me.

Choice of drug: heroin, opiates, and most recently the antagonist in this story- fentanyl. Which is quite ironic i phrase it that way because they use antagonists to reverse the effects of opioids. If i had a choice, i would have never started using fet at all but these days that i all one can find. Besides that flesh eating shit, don't get me started on that lmfao. I have been lucky enough to not run into it- yet. Plus i don't shoot (i am terrified of needles) i snort. So my skin is safe for now lol. I also have been lucky enough to have never overdosed. Or die in that case. So praise the lawd.

Let's cover recent events that made me start this blog. About a month ago i entered a detox facility about 3 hours from where i live. I drove myself and stayed for a little over 5 days. Then left. All of you reading are probably like WHAT THE FUCK BRUH you were sooo close. Trust me i know. There was alot that happened there that was so unhealthy and ill make a post about all that shit later, but to sum up how i felt there besides sick from withdrawals, i felt like a damn science experiment.

Cut to two days later me wanting them to take me back and they wouldn't unless i started on suboxone (which i didnt want to again ill explain more about all this in another post). This time my parents drove me fucking 3 hours there and back for nothing. About a week or so later i entered a rehab facility 4 and a half hours from where i live. I drove myself again. I was under the assumption it would be guys and girls (it wasn't). There were alot more things i assumed and it wasn't the case. This will also be another post. But i left 24 hours in due to safety issues and drugs literally in the facility. Which was partially my fault.

Okay so my recovery hasn't been so good. I am currently using still and felt overwhelmed for about a whole month. I kept telling myself okay i will call the new rehab tomorrow. Then tomorrow turned into a month. I didn't even realize i was doing it until a month went by.

I have found a new detox facility a bit closer to home..2 hours lmao. I live in the middle of nowhere btw. So 2 hours is nothing, i drive two hours to get my fix every week so.. no big deal. Except this one was super hard to find because the name of it wasn't anything to do with detox or heroin or ya know. I'm not sure if i am going to be accepted or if they have an opening yet because i haven't called. And im not going to until i have everything in my life in order. They also have a really nice rehab that IS coed. It's also not in a hospital, its more holistic.

So that is where im at currently. I probably will call them on monday or tuesday of next week. I had to get some cash together, my clothes washed and packed, and i also had some random shit coming in the mail that i knew would get stolen if i didnt wait. But for the most part- everything is in order. So next week i could be getting clean again for the 4th time.

So this is me. Im sam. Which i should mention isn't really my name haha. But it is my favorite name. Always love samantha from totally spies. Maybe when i start getting clean and actually have more than 5 days, i will reveal my ugly mug. Thought about starting a tiktok but who knows. Social media has never really been my thing. But you know that because im literally starting a blog on tumblr i 2023 lmfao.

Anyways, sorry for the horrible format. Just kind of writing this spur of the moment. Just wanted to introduce myself. This blog will be about my sobriety journey with no fucking bullshit. That's one thing i hate. When people get clean and they pull the omggg jesus saved me. Or they get clean and forget that dirty part of themselves. I never want to forget this part of me because it's made me who i am. I will never be ashamed of that.

Talk soon. Please be safe out there. Message me if you need anything. It gets better.

xoxo sam

[the-ugly-truth]

Covid 19

Welcome to my long COVID recovery blog, to start off I’m going to tell you a little about myself.

I was a healthy 30 year old who loved exercising, going to the gym and being out and about with my wife and dogs. I am an ex rugby player racking up achievements from club rugby to playing for my country.. Now all that seems like a distant memory as I know I will never get back to fully being that fun loving energetic person.

In February 2022 I started feeling a little shit, I finished work early came home sat at my breakfast bar and took my first ever COVID test… within seconds it showed I was positive. At this time it was still law to isolate for 10 days and log 2 negative tests before returning to normal routine. So I did as I was told, I wasn’t that ill but I am one to abide by the rules. I felt a little crappy for a week, nothing more than what I could say was like a hangover. After 10 days I was right as rain and back to work.

We carried on life as normal, still taking precautions but life was a little less stressful with restrictions being lifted. Fast forward 5 weeks… March 2022, My in-laws were poorly with a “cold” after a week we convinced them to take a COVID test and they were both positive. Sadly my other half had been to their house and was now showing symptoms. That was it she was now positive too. I lasted 5 days before I fell ill. 5 days after testing positive my life changed. It’s fair to say i probably should have called an ambulance. My breathing was awful, I couldn’t walk from room to room without needing to sit down. I was ill really ill. I managed test negative within 7 days but my health was still bad. I was chronically fatigued, my memory was poor and I really wasn’t back to normal…. Fast forward another 10 weeks and it was time to go on holiday. After a 3 hour drive I was so tired I had to stop on the side of a road because I thought I was going to pass out. A weeks holiday I came back feeling worse than I did when I went…

Summer of 2022 was awful, I really couldn’t do a lot and I was getting so frustrated with myself. The old me had gone and no matter what I did I just couldn’t bring that person back.

Christmas came and went and finally someone had listened to me and they put me on a new asthma inhaler, not that it was doing a lot but it was doing a little and at this point any change was a good change. Feb 2023 I picked up a general cold, and it brought back all of my COVID symptoms. The fatigue, the aches and pains and the breathing issues. After many doctors visits I was finally diagnosed with Long Covid. Now I’m 4 months into long Covid rehab and I’m finally starting to see a few results.

So this blog is now this blog is going to give you an invite into how someone with long Covid deals with it and their day to day life of symptoms.

unfortunately I’m 4 months late starting this blog so we will star now in October 23.