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tempestsreach-blog · 3 years ago

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Fuck Diet Culture

This is going to be long. It’s going to be rambly. It’s going to be sad. It’s going to be angry. There’s going to be language some people don’t like. I can’t NOT talk about it though.

Fuck diet culture. Let me say that again. Fuck. Diet. Culture. It has taken such a huge chunk out of my life. I have lost pieces of myself I’m not sure I’ll ever get back. The only way to heal is to go through. I can’t go back. I have to move forward. But I can’t do it quietly. I can’t hide. I can’t live in the same shame I’ve spent the last 40 years in. Literally. 40 years of my life wasted to this. I can’t bear to live the back half of my life in the same way. What the hell is the point? I’m not going to write this in any particular order because all of the thoughts and feelings swimming around are snapshots of things in my life that diet culture has broken in me or stolen from me. A lot of you aren’t going to agree with me. That’s okay. Truly. This is about ME. This is to help ME heal. You can talk to me about your struggles, your diets, your ups and downs, your successes and whatnot. I am here for you in all of it. But I won’t diet with you anymore. Never again.

Currently I am having severe knee pain. One knee is worse than the other, but both are bad. I should go to the doctor. I should have gone to the doctor years ago for it. Want to know why I didn’t? My weight. I have injuries from overuse and over exercise and I am terrified that I am going to go to the doctor and the first words they’re going to say are “Well, if you lost 20, 30, 40, 50 pounds, it probably wouldn’t hurt so much.” instead of listening to me, examining me, scanning my knees and HELPING me. I don’t feel this way irrationally. This shit happens. I am in pain. I don’t know how to get help without being told to go on another diet that will not work.

Because diets don’t work. Not long term. I am excellent at losing weight! I’ve done it over and over and over. Then I stop restricting, counting, starving, and pushing myself. Then my body says “What the fuck were you doing?” and puts it back. I lost the ability years ago to know whether I’m actually hungry or not. I eat too fast when I do eat because if I snarf it down super fast I can get it in before my brain says “You’ve had too much. Did you count those calories? How many miles on a treadmill will you do to make up for that? Did you actually earn this meal?”

Every time. Every meal. Every morsel.

I have never been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder. Only been told by therapists and psychiatrists that I definitely engage in disordered eating.

No shit.

Every diet under the sun. Cabbage soup. Phen Fen. Weight watchers (MULTIPLE TIMES), TOPS, Noom, My Fitness Pal calorie counting, intermittent fasting, and every whacky bullshit thing in between promising results. I’ve purchased fancy scales. I’ve even tried one that wouldn’t show you your weight, but the color of your progress in the app. Here’s a hint… if you gain, your color is black like death. I’ve failed a million times and I’ve blamed myself. I am the failure. So I hate my body a little more every day and I stress about how I’m going to NOT pass my disordered eating and my food issues onto my kids. My stress levels are through the roof and 98% of it is diet culture related. What the fuck is that about? Every time I start a program I hit it hard. Last time I tried anything involving tracking or counting I was so starving by the time I got home from work that I almost ripped a child’s head off (not literally OBVIOUSLY) but I screamed at her at the top of my lungs because she hurt my feelings. It wasn’t until after finally allowing myself to eat another morsel of food that I realized I was hangry.

Why is living in a larger body not acceptable? We all talk about diversity and equality as though we believe it with our whole hearts, but that doesn’t cross over to fat. Or skinny if we’re really being honest. How many times have you heard or seen online “Oh my god, she’s so skinny. Feed her a damn cheeseburger! She looks anorexic.” I know I have. I know I’ve said those words. I will punch myself in the gut if I ever say them again.

Every body is different. We are supposed to be. Let’s not BLAME genetics like it’s a bad thing. Let’s realize that it’s what nature has intended. My father is over 6 feet tall and a large man. He’s just a big man. He went on Nutri System when I was young, lost a ton of weight, and put a bunch back on over the years because he is a big man. My mother was not tall, but was always large. I hated her body because HER PARENTS told her all the time she was fat and unworthy and cautioned me not to grow up to be like her in any way. Even when she was poor and homeless she was still large. That was the way her body was. I wonder how different her life might have been if the size of her body hadn’t been a factor in the way she was raised or treated. How might that have made my life different?

I know a lot of you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now about being vocal about another health plan or saying to yourself “just because you have trouble with diets doesn’t mean they don’t work” I know there are people close to me thinking “She just always gets excited when she discovers a new diet, that’s probably what this is.” NO.

This is me finally realizing that I can heal and healing doesn’t mean I need to weigh 157 pounds. (That’s the weight limit for women my height to enter the air force when I did in 1992) This is me finally realizing that I’ve been lying about the weight on my drivers license for 30 years because gods forbid anyone saw my real weight on that document. This is me realizing that I’ve spent my life trying to live up to other people’s ideals of what I should look like because I assumed they wouldn’t like me otherwise. This is me realizing how much unintentional harm I could have been doing when sharing another diet, another idea, another bout of “well this is working really well for me!” with people I care about. This is me realizing how much damage I’ve been doing to myself living with this level of shame for 40 years. Hiding what I’m doing. Suffering in silence. Hiding food. Restricting. Binging. Over exercising to compensate. Spending money on one last diet. Spending emotional energy on one last hope. We were in Las Vegas for what was supposed to be a fun vacation last week and I was so hot and miserable and so steeped in hating my body because my painful knees were betraying me that my internal monologue was a never ending loop of “I’ll hit weight watchers REALLY HARD when we get home and get rid of this weight, then I’ll figure out my knees and work on maintenance” Let me say that again, clearly. I struggled to enjoy my vacation because I was obsessing about restricting food AFTER my vacation. One last time. One last meal.

BULLSHIT.

We walked by shops with weird and pretty fashion dresses. (I freely admit I don’t understand fashion) the husband and I would both point out ones we thought were pretty. My brain would get stuck on “Yeah, but they don’t make them in my size” or “Yeah, that would NOT look good on me. It looks fine on that size 0 mannequin” Pretty on other people. Other people are pretty. Not me. Diet culture is pervasive and all consuming. In big ways and little ways. I’m 5 ft 9. I’m not a tiny person at any weight. I’ve always been told I’m too big. Even when I sit, I slouch a little and/or tuck my legs and feet up under me to try to make myself appear smaller and less invasive. This is subconscious. I don’t always realize I’m doing it until my knees remind me. Most of my life has been things that get in the way of my diets. “I should start the diet today, but it’ll have to wait until next week because so and so’s birthday is this week and I want to be able to enjoy that.” or “It’s late fall, I should just start now but first there’s my birthday, and then Thanksgiving, and December happens and there’s all kinds of treats then. Better wait until January, but not the first because that’s new year’s...maybe the following Monday.” or the ever popular “I already had a bad eating day today, I’m a failure. Why bother? Fuck it. I’ll try again tomorrow.” That one was always followed by binging because of the last supper mentality. If I’m starting a diet tomorrow I better eat EVERYTHING NOW. This is how I’ve lived my whole life. The time not spent dieting was just the time in between diets where I was planning my next diet. So much life wasted. The only time I was not actively dieting or planning the next diet or suffering from “I’m just too exhausting to put effort into food right now” was during my 4 pregnancies. I let myself eat whatever and whenever because I was nauseous all the time anyway and something in my brain made me fuel my body for the babies. When the youngest was born and the on call doctor who delivered her told me I was too fat to have my tubes tied I definitely started planning diets again in that moment. I believe now, years later, that my diet and diet culture ruined mind and body is part of what kept me from being as successful at nursing the kids as I wished I had been. I assumed my body was broken and not good enough for my babies. The last time I lost a LOT of weight it was because I didn’t want to ruin someone’s wedding pictures. True story. This was nothing that person felt or anything they told me. IT’s what my brain said to me. It’s how I de-valued myself. There are very few current pictures of me now because I’ve been stuck in a place where I feel shame when I see them. When I’m dead, memories and pictures are all my kids and grandkids will have, and I hate myself too much to let anyone take them. That’s not okay.

I dream about food. I daydream about food. Food I “shouldn’t” eat. Food I “should” eat. When to eat. When not to eat. Every spare ounce of energy is spent thinking about food or hating myself which leads to more thinking about food. I am not in a place where I can prepare dinner for my family right now because it’s too hard to put that much energy into food. I force myself to pick the recipes from the app and get the shopping done via instacart so all anyone else has to do is pull up the recipe and make the food. If I’m looking at the ingredients or trying to prep anything I stare at every individual thing debating whether or not I “should” eat it. This is going to take me a long time to break free from. Today I finally feel like I CAN break free. There is nothing wrong with being in a large body or a small body. Food is not good or bad. Food is food. I have to say these things. I have to repeat them to myself or I fall down the rabbit hole again. None of this is work anyone can do for me. I have to live it. I have to work through it. I have to figure it out. If you read this far, my statement stands. If you’re on a diet, I will listen to your woes and hold your hand and I will not judge you for it. This was very hard to write because I am certain some of you who believe in diets, ways of life, and wellness eating may block me now because I spoke my mind. I’ve clung so tight to the people I love and refrained from being honest and speaking my mind for fear of abandonment. I’ll have to live with it if that’s the case here, because people sometimes need to do what’s best for them. Airing this out is one of those things for me. It’s a scary thing for sure. I also want to say that I’m happy for this to lead to discussion. I’m not going to shut anyone down for wanting to talk to me about this. I am always open to learn new information and see different perspectives. Just know that if I’m emotional and feeling a lot of strong things about how my life has been up to this point, and I am entitled to believe what I believe just as you all are. I’m happy to share sources and books I’ve been reading on the subject. They are not diet books.

Here’s to doing better from here on out.

Here’s to finally being free.

#intuitive eating #anti diet #mental health #fuck diet culture

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thestarpletsystem · 8 months ago

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Fine, I’ll bite. First, I would like to say that your art is very lovely and I’m glad I’ve gotten to see it.

This goes back to what I reblogged earlier, which I doubt y’all would see since it’s a pro-endo post. Nobody is asking for there to be more abused kids. If they are, they probably aren’t speaking in good faith on this argument or they have something else they need to work through.

Let’s say that we know, 100% for a fact, the only way to be a system is through trauma. There is still use for you in that phrase. The point of “the future is plural” is not what it says on the tin, as you've shown. We’re not asking for there to be more systems, if we’re thinking strictly in your terms. We’re asking for it to be believed; for it to be taken seriously. We want it to be normalized in the way where if someone says “hey I’m plural” we believe them. We want there to be more understanding and less hate. We want to ensure that those ahead of us don’t have to face what we have, and that what those before us have done was not in vain.

You know why it’s not okay for clinicians to abuse their patients with DID? It’s not because they woke up one day and decided “maybe we shouldn’t be treating our patients like this.” It’s because activists before us did their job. Back in the ‘80s there were so many fucked up practices being done to those with DID, named MPD at that time. Which I must include because it is pertinent to the history of our disorder. Law suits have been brought to court and have been won over these practices. Now, while we are quite a bit better in terms of clinicians that specialize in DID, we aren’t in terms of the general population. They may still believe we are voilent and scary. They may still believe that it’s not a real disorder. They may still believe that it’s just like what they see on TV. Which, as everyone here knows, it isn’t.

We want to make sure they understand that we are humans, too. While we may be many, we aren’t terrible or lying or any number of things others who have no experience with DID think. We, as a community, deserve better. We deserve to be believed. We deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.

And so, I bring it back to one of my first points. Even if we were arguing for there to be more systems, it’s not in the way you desperately want to believe. It’s not begging for more traumatized children. It’s not through pain and suffering. Its a call for pride on all sides. It’s also recognition of the systems that just happen, it’s to celebrate the beauty of those who found their plurality and aren’t traumatized like you or I. You can believe that systems and dissociation ONLY form from trauma, but you wouldn’t be right. To the end where even Dr. Collin A. Ross, one of, if not THE leading researcher in the field, outright states that there are those out there who have been diagnosed with DID and who struggle with dissociation who have no trauma history. He himself has said that there are even people who are multiple that would not fit the criteria or don’t have the difficulty that those with DID must to experience for it to be the disorder it is. (Thanks @sysmedsaresexist!)

If you won’t listen to those who experience endogenic plurality, if you won’t listen to those who have done research and have still come to this conclusion, if you won’t listen to those leading in the field of trauma and dissociation, then who will you listen to? How will you be able to make sure you’re not spreading the same misinformation and hate that the phrase “The future is plural” is a desperate plea to combat? How are you better than the endogenic systems you want to demonize so badly?

I’ve seen some art with the line “the future is plural!”

I hope it isn’t.

More systems means more abused kids.

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bellafarella · 4 years ago

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angst 17 and/or fluff 13 and/or misc 1

choices 😉

Thanks for sending me these!! I wrote for all 3; the angst one is a fic on it’s own, and the fluff & misc are in a fic together.

The sentences came from this post

You can also read both of these here: angst & fluff/misc

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Put your arms around me

Angst #17: “If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart.”

Ian and Mickey have been taking care of Franny for the past three months. Debbie took off with her loser, new girlfriend and she promises she’ll be back in another two months. She was going to take Franny with her but Mickey offered to let them watch her. Franny got all excited, begging her mom to let her stay with her favorite uncles. Debbie relented and took off the next day. Ian and Mickey have a second bedroom in their new apartment that they were going to convert into a guest room anyway so this became Franny’s room until Debbie comes back for her child.

Ian picks Franny up from school, meeting her in front. She rips her mask off as she runs over to him, hugging his legs. “Hey Fran,” he greets her, tapping her back.

“Hi,” she says in her tiny voice. “No uncle Mickey?” she asks when she lets go, looking up at him and shrugging her shoulders.

“Not today, he had something to do,” Ian tells her. “We’ll meet him back at home later.”

“Okay,” she says simply. She takes his hand when he offers it to her and the two walk off school grounds. He asks her how school was as they make their way to the ambulance parked down the street. Ian has Franny ride in the back, strapped in so that she stays safe as he drives them back home.

They get inside the apartment, Ian locking the door behind them as Franny runs in. “Go wash your hands, Fran,” he yells after her.

“I know!” she yells back in her little voice.

Ian walks to the kitchen sink to wash his own hands. As he dries them off, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s from a private number so he picks up just in case, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Ian Gallagher?” the person on the other end asks.

“Um, yes, who is this?” he asks, making his way back to the living room where Franny is now dumping her stuff from her school bag on the coffee table.

“I’m calling from South Shore Hospital. We have a Mikhailo Milkovich that was brought in today and -”

“What happened? Is Mickey okay? I’m his husband,” he says in a panic, realizing they must know he’s his husband since they called him.

“Yes, sir. Mikhailo was in an accident, he’s okay, but he’s asked us to call you,” the person tells him.

“I’m on my way now,” he tells him before the person tells him where exactly he is and then he hangs up. “C’mon Franny, we gotta go get uncle Mickey.”

“Can I bring a toy?” Franny asks.

“Just one,” Ian tells her.

Franny grabs one of her toys quickly from her room before the two are back out the door and in the ambulance. Ian doesn’t park too close, seeing as this is still a stolen ambulance, and the two walk the rest of the way to the hospital.

Ian finds the nurse’s station of who he spoke to on the phone before she leads him to Mickey’s room. Franny’s holding Ian’s hand as they make their way inside and see Mickey laying on the hospital bed with his leg in a cast.

“Oh my God, Mick,” Ian says, tears threatening to fall already.

Franny lets go of Ian’s hand to run to Mickey’s side, she looks at him and he says, “Hey, kid.”

“Are you okay, uncle Mickey?” she asks so softly he barely hears it.

“I’m okay,” he tells her but he looks up at Ian, nodding his head softly, reassuringly.

Ian joins them closer to Mickey and leans down, kissing him softly on the lips. He pulls back and asks, “What the hell happened?”

“Some jackass wasn’t looking and hit me with his fuckin’ car,” Mickey tells him. “Fractured my leg. They said I’ll be in this cast for like six to eight weeks.”

Ian looks down at his leg in the cast and how this could have been so much worse. A fractured leg is nothing but had this car hit him harder or at a different angle and -

Ian starts tearing up and Mickey says, “Hey, Ian, I’m okay,” his hand grabbing his where it’s resting on the bed beside him.

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart,” Ian tells him, letting the tears slip down his cheeks.

“Come here,” Mickey mumbles, pulling him closer. Ian leans down and Mickey wraps his arms around Ian awkwardly seeing as he’s sitting up in bed and Ian’s crouching down.

Ian shoves his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck and lets the tears fall, breathing in his scent, and praying to whatever God there is that his husband is okay and here in his arms.

Ian feels Franny hugging his legs so he pulls back and lifts her up. Mickey pats the bed next to him, away from his broken leg, and Ian puts her down next to him. Ian sits in the chair, pulling it right up beside the bed and waits. The doctor comes in not much longer to explain to them both what Mickey can and cannot do for the first couple of weeks and how recovery will go, before they are free to go.

Ian wheels Mickey out of the hospital in a wheelchair with Franny walking closely beside him. He brings Mickey all the way to their stolen ambulance in the wheelchair, helps him into the vehicle and tells them both to wait there before rushing back to return the wheelchair and running back to get them all home.

That night while they’re lying in bed, Ian sleeping on the other side of his fractured leg, he snuggles close, resting his head on his chest. “I felt like my heart was going to drop out of my ass when I got a call from the hospital saying you were in an accident,” Ian whispers.

Mickey’s arm is wrapped around him and he’s soothingly running his fingers up and down Ian’s arm. “I’m okay,” he says softly.

“It could have been so much worse though, Mick…”

“It wasn’t though. I’m right here,” Mickey reassures him.

“Uncle Mickey?” they hear from the open doorway.

“C’mon in, Fran,” Mickey tells her.

“Be careful of uncle Mickey’s leg,” Ian reminds her.

Franny slowly climbs onto the bed, Ian moving over so she can get in the middle. She snuggles right up against Mickey like Ian just was and says, “I’m happy you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Mickey tells her, kissing her forehead.

Ian snuggles up behind her, reaching his arm over so he can hold Mickey’s hand. Mickey squeezes his hand and the three of them fall asleep together, thankful that Mickey’s okay.

/////////////

A teenage crush

Misc #1: “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” & Fluff #13: “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Ian hates his warehouse job. Well, he doesn’t hate one part about it, which is his very grumpy but very hot supervisor, who on his first day meeting him was told, “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” It immediately made Ian like him.

Ian hasn’t had a legal job since he worked at the Kash’n’Grab when he was like fourteen. So much has happened in the last ten years. Most of it bad but also some good. He was able to finally get stable after being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder like his mother and he found himself this job. It’s been about six months that he’s working for Amazon and the only good part about coming to work every day is seeing his supervisor.

Usually people don’t develop massive crushes on their superiors but not Ian. The first day he started and he met Mickey Milkovich, Ian thought his heart would jump out of his chest. He’s never felt this way before. He’s been with plenty of men in his short lifetime but there’s something about Mickey that - mmph. He makes Ian act like a teenager with a crush again.

Mickey is abrasive. He has crude knuckle tattoos. He has the most fowl, dirty mouth Ian’s ever heard. He has piercing blue eyes and black hair. He’s been at the center of Ian’s dreams for the past six months.

He has no idea what Mickey’s sexuality is. They don’t hang out. Mickey’s the warehouse supervisor, he’s his boss. They chat here and there but it’s never anything more than pleasantries. Mickey doesn’t do small talk and has told him multiple times to ‘shut the fuck up and get back to work, Gallagher’. But Ian has his suspicions. He’s noticed Mickey’s eyes wandering his body when he comes into work in tight shirts or if his jeans are a little more snug than he normally wears.

Ian tries to get Mickey to notice him more than just his employee. He wants to spend time with him outside of work. He wants to bend him over and fuck him, give him the best dick he’s ever had.

Ian snaps out of it, trying to get back to work. He continues going through the box, making sure the products aren’t expired. It’s not the most thrilling job Ian’s ever had but it’s a stable job, a stable paycheck - even if it’s minimum wage - so it’s giving him the security and stability he needs in his life right now.

“Gallagher,” he hears and knows immediately it’s Mickey. He smiles to himself before turning around to see the shorter man making his way over with his trusty clipboard. He looks so good today. He looks good everyday but today he has on some dark blue jeans and a burgundy crewneck sweater that’s rolled up his forearms.

“Hey, Mick, what’s up?” Ian says, going for nonchalant and not like he was just checking his boss out.

Mickey rolls his eyes slightly like he always does when Ian says Mick. No one else calls him that but he doesn’t tell Ian to stop so he doesn’t, he likes the tiny smile he sometimes gets from him when he calls him that. “When you’re done with those, come see me in my office,” he tells him.

Ian gets a sudden wave of nausea and panic. Mickey must notice because he clicks his tongue and says, “Man, calm down, you’re fine. Just - come see me after, yeah?”

Ian nods, mutters out a, “Yeah,” before Mickey walks away.

Ian works quickly, wanting this over with so he could see what Mickey wants. He said you’re fine so this can’t be a bad thing, he can’t be getting fired… right?!

Less than an hour later, Ian knocks on Mickey’s open door. He has a tiny office in the corner of the warehouse. It’s not much but it’s his own private space so that must be nice. “Hi,” he says softly when Mickey looks up.

“Come in, shut the door,” Mickey tells him.

Ian nervously steps inside, closing the door behind him before walking over to the chair on the other side of Mickey’s desk and sits down. Mickey says, “So I have a job opportunity for you.”

“What?” Ian asks a little louder than he expected.

Mickey smiles softly before it disappears. “Yeah, man, what did you think I was gonna fire your ass?”

“Kind of,” Ian tells him honestly, making Mickey laugh.

Mickey clicks his tongue, “I told you you were fine, man.”

“How fine?” Ian tries to flirt.

It fails because Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and he asks, “What?”

“Nothing, so a job opportunity?”

“Uh, yeah, so I’m leaving and they need a new warehouse supervisor and figured you should do it,” Mickey tells him.

“Wait - what? Where are you going?”

“Another job opportunity elsewhere for more pay. So, you interested or not? You get a higher salary and benefits.”

“Why me? I’ve only been here six months,” Ian asks confused.

“It won’t be for another couple months or so but - look, you’re a hard worker, you don’t take any shit, you work quickly and efficiently and you’re always on time and never call in sick. I was told to choose a replacement and I chose you,” Mickey explains, shrugging a little right at the end, looking a little nervous.

Ian smiles softly. Hearing Mickey say these things about him - things he’s noticed about him, it makes him feel really good. “Fuck yeah - I - sorry, yes, I’m definitely interested in the job,” Ian stammers.

Mickey smiles at him and nods. “Good so there’s like paperwork and shit you’re gonna need to fill out. Do you have anywhere to be right after your shift or can we do that then?”

“That works,” Ian grins.

Mickey nods again before saying, “Cool, now get the fuck out of my office and get back to work, Gallagher.”

Ian can’t get rid of his grin as he stands and leaves his office. He’s getting a promotion and Mickey won’t be his boss soon so he needs to try and seal the deal soon. Spending some time together after work is exactly what Ian had been hoping for since he started this job.

Ian’s working late tonight, doing some overtime since a few people called out today so by the end of his shift it just seems to be him and Mickey left in the warehouse. He quickly uses the washroom, making sure he doesn’t look too much like shit before heading to Mickey’s office. Just like earlier, the door is open so he knocks on the side lightly and says, “Hey,” before walking in and going to sit across from him.

“Hey, did everyone else fuck off yet?” Mickey asks him.

Ian can’t help but chuckle lightly. “Yeah, just us.”

Mickey hums, eyeing Ian. Ian sees this look, appreciates it, and definitely wants to jump on it but before he can, Mickey looks down at his desk and grabs a stack of papers. “So, this is what you gotta fill out. Mostly stupid information shit we already know and just some other forms mostly for you to keep that shows proof of your increase in salary and the benefits you’ll get. Just need to make sure you sign the copies for us and the rest you keep,” he explains.

Ian takes it from Mickey’s offering and quickly glances through it. “Do you need this back right away?” he looks up to see Mickey watching him.

“Nah, just bring our copies back whenever,” Mickey tells him. He thumbs at his bottom lip gently and Ian just wants to bite it. “Don’t wanna keep you if you got somewhere to be or whatever.”

Ian smirks, “Are you flirting with me?”

Mickey smirks right back and says, “You finally noticed?”

This shocks Ian. “Sorry what?! When did you ever flirt with me before?” he asks.

Mickey rolls his eyes, “Maybe it ain’t obvious or whatever but I’m your boss, man… can’t just straight up tell you I want you to fuck me in my office.”

Ian’s heartbeat speeds up and blood rushes straight to his cock, it twitching in his jeans. “You - I -”

“Just get the fuck on me already,” Mickey says, putting him out of his misery.

Ian stands, pushing his chair back. He walks around the desk in time for Mickey to stand before he’s grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him hard on the lips. Mickey moans into the kiss, his hands grabbing onto Ian’s waist and pulling him hard against him. Ian brings his right hand down Mickey’s side and to his thigh, lifting it slightly and pushing Mickey up against his desk before he hops up and sits on it, Ian getting in between his legs.

“Wanted this for so long,” Ian tells him as he kisses his way down his jaw and to his neck.

“Mmm, me too,” Mickey says, running his fingers through Ian’s hair and keeping his head where it is, sucking on his neck.

Ian pulls back slightly, looking into those piercing blue eyes that he’s fantasized about looking back at him just this way. They hear a noise from outside of his office so Ian steps back. Mickey jumps off the desk and makes his way to the door. He looks out and turns back to Ian, “Just the cleaning crew. We should probably -”

“You wanna come over? Um, if you want to like pick up where we left off?” Ian asks hopefully, a small smile on his face.

“You live alone?” Mickey asks, eyebrow cocked.

“Um… no,” Ian says, sadness creeping in that his one shot with Mickey got ruined.

“I do. Grab your shit and let’s go back to my place, Red,” Mickey flirts.

Ian grins, doing exactly what he’s told before the two of them rush out of there and Ian gets exactly what he’s wanted for the past six months, Mickey Milkovich, more than just his boss.

Send me some sentence prompts

#southside-forever #reply #my fic #sentence prompt fics #ian x mickey #gallavich #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fan fic #gallavich fan fiction #read on ao3 #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #franny gallagher #shameless us #shameless au #fic stuff #coworkers au #hurt and comfort #uncle mickey and franny r bffs

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voidpunk-culture-is · 3 years ago

Note

hi this is a genuine question. in your dni it says no anti endo systems can i ask why. is it because you believe you can have a system without trauma or that you believe they’re a system who hasn’t come to terms that they have trauma. i’m not anti i just don’t have an opinion on it i just genuinely want to know your pov and reasoning! /srs

Hi! If you have questions in the future about this or anything else, we would prefer that you ask them to us on our other blog @mogai-corvidae, but for a first time we’ll just answer this here. I’ll try to answer as simply as possible.

Endogenic systems are real. To imply that endogenic systems are all either lying singlets or traumagenic systems in denial is extremely ableist, as it frames fakeclaiming as acceptable and mentally ill/neurodivergent people as unreliable narrators of their own lived experiences. The only situation where it is ever okay to talk about anyone “faking being a system” is when they literally admit to it or hard evidence (as in them literally saying it in private or something like that) is provided, because it is never okay to open the door for ableds (or anyone else) to fakeclaim others’ mental health conditions or neurodivergencies as it is impossible to ever know for certain whether or not someone is faking their condition unless you are that person yourself or in some cases their healthcare provider. There’s plenty of evidence for systems existing outside of strictly the context of disorders like DID/OSDD and mental illness as a whole, and the idea that systems cannot define themselves this way if they so choose denies them their agency. If a system who fits all the criteria for DID chooses not to identify with that label, as a historical movement of plural advocates have, it is their right to choose the ways in which they label themselves. Often, this is and was done as a protest of the incredibly ableist psychiatric institution, but even in situations outside of this mentally ill and neurodivergent people deserve the autonomy to exist outside of narrow definitions and conceptualizations of their identities and experiences. Systems are simply multiple people who share one brain and body, and that’s an incredibly diverse experience that should not be restricted by the often ableist and incredibly stifling categorization of abnormal psychology. We personally choose not to disclose our system origins at all, for example. Maybe we’re endogenic, maybe we’re not! You won’t ever know, because it’s none of your business. /nm

We support our friends and loved ones who are endogenic systems and we don’t want anyone who disrespects or is “against” them in any way to interact with us. Obviously not everyone will respect that, but we like to avoid it when possible. (Note also that usually people who are “neutral” or “don’t have an opinion” tend to actually see endogenic systems as secretly fake. If this isn’t you, good. Anyone who respects all systems is welcome. If that is you, though, we’d prefer you sought out whatever your preferred content is elsewhere.)

#cw sysmed #cw system gatekeeping #/nay anon this is just for triggers #also ask if you need this tagged in any other way

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awed-frog · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have any tips on how to stop binge eating? No purge yet but i’m close

Hey, sorry you’re going through that. I don’t know if I can help, but here are a few tips.

First of all - if this is something that happens frequently, you might have Binge Eating Disorder (if you purge, we’re going straight into bulimia territory), and that’s serious, so don’t leave it alone. Find a therapist if you can, or at least an online community (and NOT something HAES-based, if they say bingeing is normal behaviour or that you have to stop ‘restricting’ to fix this it, run).

For right now: I’d say, the most important thing is DON’T PURGE. Throwing up frequently will do a lot of damage to your stomach, and taking laxatives will mess with your entire digestive system, which that can be hard to recover from. I know you’re afraid you’ll gain weight if you don’t purge, but you do not want to spend the rest of your life avoiding most foods because you have an extra delicate stomach or become addicted to laxatives because you can’t poop without them. So even if you mess up and have a binge, do NOT purge.

Tips for not bingeing:

Don’t keep foods that trigger you in your home. If you feel like something specific, buy it and eat it outside - not in your car, but outside. In a restaurant if you can, and on a nice park bench if you can’t. That way, you’ll be less tempted to keep eating indefinitely, and instead turn that urge into a normal meal or snack. Don’t buy ingredients for several meals you’re craving (if you’re craving pizza and pasta, only buy a pizza or pasta sauce, not both) and don’t buy multiple packages of whatever even if it’s cheaper (one packet of crisps, one pizza and so on; and, if possible, snack-sized packets of biscuits and peanuts; if you’re craving cake, go to a nice bakery and get yourself a big slice instead of buying a cheap cake from a supermarket).

Be aware of situations that triggers you and plan around them. If you aren’t sure about connections, start keeping a very honest food / mood / events diary so you can spot patterns. Triggers can by situational (a fight with a loved one, your mom being annoying, having to buy new clothes and so on) or physical (PMS, insulin out of whack so even one piece of chocolate will lead to overeating more stuff). Once you know what triggers you, avoid what you can and try to plan ahead for what you can’t.

(For instance, if a weekly review at your job triggers you, arrange to see or call a friend afterwards or go to the movies.)

To make PMS better, there are things you can try: the best ones are exercise (especially outside) and satisfying meals (eat healthy but add fats even if you’re craving sugars).

Distract yourself and get away from passive &screen-related activities. Try putting on some music and dancing, or cleaning the house. Reorganize your closet. Start a hobby you have to do with your hands - knitting, crafts, clay. Go for a walk if you can. Listen to audiobooks. Take a nice shower. Call someone (it can be a support buddy you can talk to about cravings, but also someone who doesn’t know: it’s nice just to talk).

Tips for after bingeing:

Do not feel bad about it. This is a mental health issue. Bingeing doesn’t mean you’re weak or worthless, it means you have a disease and you’re trying to get better. You wouldn’t say someone who’s got the flu is weak-willed, and this is exactly the same.

Clean your kitchen and throw away everything that’s left. I know - it’s not ideal to waste food, but chances are, if you have any leftovers that can trigger you, you’ll start bingeing again tomorrow morning. So put everything in a bag and physically walk out of your house and throw it away.

Make yourself a nice cup of tea - if possible, something that will help with digestion.

Cheer yourself up: this was a stumble, and doesn’t negate your achievements and how far you’ve come in your life.

Go to bed early.

Do not fall into the trap of the ‘I might as well’ mentality. This is called black and white thinking and is common in many kinds of mental health issues: the idea is that if you ‘ruined’ your meal or your day or your schedule, ‘you might as well’ give up for the day or the week. This is your mental health issue speaking, and it’s bullshit. I don’t particularly like Jillian Michaels, but she was right when she said ‘Think of it this way: If you got a flat tire, what would you do? Change the tire? Or get out of the car and slash the other three tires? No! Get back on the road. Don't dwell on it; don't beat yourself up. That gets you nowhere.’

You had one bad meal, or one bad day. It doesn’t feel great, but it’s not the end of the world. Have a good night’s sleep and start fresh tomorrow.

General tips:

Binge eating disorder often starts when you use food as a coping mechanism, so work on that. Many of us are messed up because parents generally associate food rewards to good behaviour and good food to joyful occasions, but that connection needs to be broken down. If you had a good day, don’t reward yourself with food (go to a spa, buy yourself some fun earrings or a nice book) and if you had a bad day, absolutely do NOT console yourself with food (call a friend, go to the movies, go to a fun place like an aquarium, buy yourself something nice that’s not food-related).

Unless you’re underweight (check your BMI and fat percentage), pregnant or breastfeeding, do compensate for a binge - in a healthy, sustainable way. Do not have a water fast day, but maybe cut down on portions, sauces or sweets for a couple of days?

I know people say there’s no bad foods and ‘everything in moderation’, but imo that’s not true. We’re surrounded by fake foods that mess with our hormones and bodies, and cutting them out completely can be a great idea. For instance: junk food sucks. I know it’s made so be enjoyable so we enjoy it, but it is what it is. Sugar is also very bad, and should be eaten very rarely, if at all (my favourite book on the subject is The World Corrupted, but there are many out there).

If you’re craving a particular food, make it yourself or get a ‘good’ version of it. Enjoying a restaurant meal with someone or cooking a nice dish or glorious cupcakes for your friends, spouse or kids is much better and more satisfying than hoarding low-quality food from some 7/11 (it might not feel that way in the beginning, but that will get better).

Try to make your health the priority: eat good food (lots of seasonal veggies, grains and beans, healthy fats, quality source proteins), stick to water, tea and some coffee, move around regularly (we should all do some sport that makes our heartbeat raise, but if you’re not used to that a gentle walk around the block is perfectly fine: the idea is to make it a habit), check your vitamin levels (a lack of something will cause bad moods!), manage your stress (easier said than done, but stress does have a very harmful effect on your entire body, so we all have to try what we can).

If you don’t feel in control of your eating, and if your eating habits are affecting your quality of life or preventing you from having a normal life (rapid weight gain or loss, spending money you don’t have, lying to loved ones, recurrent fights over food, obsessive thoughts, withdrawing from social life etc), then SEEK HELP IMMEDIATELY. Eating disorders are a disease, and it’s very rare that they get better on their own.

Be patient. You didn’t get an eating disorder overnight, and recovery will also take time. That is fine and normal.

Again, stay the hell away from fat activists and HAES groups.

I hope this helped. Please remember you’re not alone. Eating disorders are extremely common, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just look after yourself, and treat this as you would any purely physical health issue. Recovery is possible, managing the disease is possible. Just hang in there and best of luck.

#ask #eating disorders for ts #binge eating disorder #ed #bed #bulimia #purging #mental health #life tips #you can do this <3

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bitchesgetriches · 4 years ago

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Auntie bitches, I come seeking advice but not the financial kind. My best friend moved out of her parents house a while back and in with her brother at their (since passed) grandparents house. She has a chronic illness and depression so I know keeping up with housework and chores is hard but,, it’s to the point where I’m wondering if I need to stage an intervention with her parents. I’m 95% sure her pets are being neglected. I visit her a lot and she never mentions her bearded dragon. When I checked on him the other day his tank was filthy, his heat lamps completely off and cold to the touch. He had some weird discolorations on his skin that I’ve never seen before and don’t appear in previous pictures of him. I asked her when she last checked on him and she kept dodging the question and would not give me an answer and couldn’t be bothered to actually come inside the room and look at him or check on these dark black spots. She has a kitten that she adopted a bit after thanksgiving that lives cooped up in her super messy bedroom and is only let out a few times a day (The kitten (Callie) and brothers dog have never been properly introduced or socialized to each other so it’s just stressful and scary for Callie.) The bathroom connected to the bedroom has liter scattered absolutely everywhere and the rug reeks of piss. Her box is always way too dirty for such a small cat (speaking as a cat owner myself). Her tiny (read Concerning-ly small) 3lbs cat has more poop and pee built up in the litter box than my 9lb tabby produces nearly a week. So it obviously hasn’t been done in a while and is absolutely never done when I visit her multiple times a month. The stinky rug has been like that for at least a month. I can’t count on her older brother for help bc he honestly doesnt take care of his dog properly either since he has depression as well and is severely overweight, basically obese. I’m scared for her pets, I’m genuinely worried that I’m going to find her bearded dragon dead one day. She loves her pets and would have never let any of this happen before she moved out, but now I just feel like she’s lost all standards of living for herself and her animals. She genuinely believes that having pets is one of the very few things keeping her from ending it all but I’m worried that she’s just not in the right mindset to have her own pets and hasn’t been for a while. She and her mom have a messy, mostly bad relationship. On the flip side she and her dad have a good relationship, so I’m wondering if I should go ahead and call him and ask if we can talk in person. I just feel hopeless, I grew up with her and through her depression diagnosis at a pretty young age so I’m used to depression rooms and perpetually messiness but it’s gotten bad. The rest of the house is messy but not that bad, the dishes are forever piled up in the sink, her brother and I have expressed concern that she literally never leaves the house and constantly has every single blind/curtain pulled in the house and spends hours, if not basically the entire day on the computer gaming.

I almost didn’t answer this, since it’s really not our area of expertise. But mental health and pets are, like, two of our main interests outside of personal finance so I couldn’t resist.

Your friend needs immediate help. If she’s struggling with depression (and possibly a gaming addiction, or relying too heavily on gaming as her only outlet), then she probably can’t see that her neglect of her pets is abusive. She needs to consult with a mental health professional, and she needs the support of people in a position to help her.

Which leads me to: that person might not be you. In fact, the best help you can provide her with is getting her parents involved. The only other thing I’d do is to sweep in and do what you can to set the animals up for better health. Because one person’s mental illness should not put another living creature in pain and distress. But again: it is OK if you aren’t the person to give her all the help she needs. You’re her friend, not her parent or her doctor.

This is probably controversial, but... I have a big problem with those who allow their mental health to negatively affect children or pets in their care. I know this isn’t necessarily fair, but it stems from my friend’s daughter being neglected by my friend’s ex-husband, who blamed the neglect and emotional abuse on his bipolar disorder. As far as I’m concerned, the best thing he could have done for his daughter at the time was to relinquish custody, but instead he held onto custody until the state had to get involved. It fucking sucked. And if I’m being honest, my bias in this scenario has me saying that your friend should have her pets temporarily removed from her care.

Ok, this was probably horrible unhelpful, so I’ll just end with a link to some of our mental health advice:

Ask the Bitches: "How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?"

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

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abbybubbls · 4 years ago

Text

Nothing is Wrong, Doc, Trust Me

“Thank you for coming here today,” Dr. Iplier said, in his spot on the table. Dark just sat down on their spot, seeing that the rest of the seats were empty.

“It’s… just me,” Dark awkwardly said.

“I know,” Iplier replied, smiling for a second before having a serious face. “We need to talk about Wilford.”

Just at the tone of his voice, Dark knew that this had to be one of those conversations.

“What about him,” Dark asked flatly. “He seems perfectly normal to me.”

This was usually Dark’s go-to sentence; something quick and dismissive, which would get rid of something quickly without much thought. Sure, Dark would say it whenever the topic of Wilford is brought up, but nobody has really caught onto it yet.

“That’s what you say all the time,” the doctor said. Well, shit. “There’s no other way to put it, but Wilford is not normal. In fact, he’s the most… mentally unstable person I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a bunch of wackos ever since we came here.”

Dark frowned.

“I don’t see how you think he’s worse than anyone else,” they said.

“No, I don’t suppose you would,” Iplier replied, scratching his chin. “I was able to meet up with him a few days ago, and… well, I think you may need to see this.”

The doctor pulled out a piece of paper from underneath the table, and slid it in front of Dark.

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

Name: Wilford Warfstache (that can’t be his real name…)

Birth date: 11/9/????

Age: ???

Hair: Black

Eyes: Hazel (with a hint of pink?)

Height: 5’10

Weight: ???

Other: Pink handlebar mustache, no idea if it’s dyed - Forgets to wear pants most of the time - Carries a knife and gun everywhere, even when nothing bad is happening.

Story: Something bad enough to make him like this, I’m sure…

Now: A TV show host, even though he’s killed multiple guests… Talks to Dark… a lot. A hopeless romantic. Cheerful, friendly, but can be intimidating when he doesn’t know he is. Dismissive over time, and pops in and out of nowhere when we least expect it. Everybody suspects he has no laws of physics. He causes trouble when he says it was an accident, or he’s dismissive of it. He takes certain things too seriously, and ends up getting himself in trouble for it. Spontaneously shoots in random directions and excuses it for “target practice”. Can get very violent and easily offended. Mood swings, random violence, gun and knife handling, random bursts of singing… possibly more than that.

Likes: Dark (literally the first thing that came to his mind), fidget toys, TV, collecting weapons, vintage clothing, helping, storytelling, dancing, colors, music, straws for drinks, creativity, distractions, Bubbles™, himself

Dislikes: Interruptions, feeling alone, sitting still, too much detail, loud people, losing motivation, being lied to, smoke, thunderstorms, himself (???)

Diagnoses: Anxiety, Astraphobia, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autophobia, Mania, Memory Loss, Schizophrenia, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Treatments: Will talk to Dark about it. Medication, therapy, or both.

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

Dark paused for a while after reading the paper.

“You’re actually serious,” they said, staring at the doctor.

“Dead,” he crossed his arms. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s been going on with Wilford lately. He’s been very trigger happy this past year.”

“He’s always trigger happy,” Dark said. “He just needs a reminder every once in a while to stay out of trouble.”

“He almost shot Captain Magnum over choosing a song for Yancy’s karaoke party!” Iplier exclaimed, but trying to keep his voice down.

“And?” Dark asked. “Magnum is a pirate, he’s been through worse. He lost his legs for crying out loud.”

“He shot multiple guests on his show!”

“He didn’t mean any of it. It was an accident every time.”

“He almost killed our creator!”

“Mark insulted him, he deserved it.” Dark almost sneered by saying Mark’s name, even though they knew it wasn’t the right Mark… probably.

“He ignores his problems and blows those stupid Bubbles™ everywhere!”

“Wilford needs a good distraction. Besides, he said those things solve all of life’s problems, why stop him?”

“Because-!” Iplier tried not to raise his voice. Instead, he tugged at his head mirror. “Why do you always have to defend him when there are clear issues?”

“Because Wilford has no idea what he’s doing,” Dark said, plain and simple. “He told me so. I see an innocence in that, so it’s justified, right?”

The doctor stuttered. “I- you- he- no! No, it’s not!”

Dark’s eyes narrowed, and Iplier stood up from his seat.

“Dark, I know that you have the best intentions with him,” he said. “But you need to recognize that there are so many things wrong with Wilford! He’s traumatized for God’s sake!”

“Wilford is fine,” Dark said through gritted teeth.

“Have you read the paper?!” Iplier asked loudly. “It’s right in front of you!”

Dark didn’t bother to look down at the paper in front of them. “I don’t care what a piece of paper says about Will.”

“I wrote it all myself,” Iplier said, pointing an accusing finger. “Papers don’t write themselves down.”

“He is innocent,” Dark almost growled under their breath. “You’re lying.”

“Dark, I’m a professional!” Iplier exclaimed. “I notice when somebody is acting unnatural, and Wilford is anything but natural!”

Dark tried not to clench their fists. “He is when he’s with me. He tells me anything and everything. Wilford is happy.”

“I’m not stupid, Dark,” Iplier said. “I see the way you are with him, and it’s clear that you really want him to be safe. If you really care about him, why don’t you just do something about it?”

Dark breathed in. They wanted to scream. They wanted to punch a hole through the wall. Instead, they kept their voice calm and steady.

“I’m doing what I’m doing because I know him the most,” they said. “I’ve already done so much to make sure that Wilford is alright. He’s too far gone to even try to get professional help, even from someone like you. It’s the best I can do right now.”

Iplier’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he was at a loss for words, as if Dark had won this argument. The corner of Dark’s lips crept up to make a smile, but they paused as the doctor opened his mouth. Dark quickly interrupted.

“If you’re going to suggest we’ll go ‘Of Mice and Men’ on him, that for sure is not going to work. Wilford is far too clever to fall for something like that.”

Iplier froze, with his mouth agape. “I wasn’t going to suggest that at all.”

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” Dark rested their chin on their hand, looking down at the table. “He’ll always get back up.”

The doctor looked like he was at a loss for words again until he glanced to the desk at the other side of the room. Wilford’s gun resided there, right next to the TV remote. Iplier froze, having no idea if it was there the whole time he and Dark were talking.

“Wilford left his gun here,” he said.

“I know,” Dark replied with their eyes closed. “I’ll give it to him once I see him.”

Iplier turned to them. “He killed people with that thing.”

“I know,” Dark repeated, quietly. “To him, it doesn’t matter. He’ll forget anyway.”

“Then give him more reminders,” Iplier said, sitting back down in his seat.

Dark kept a glaring look at the doctor. “What?”

“Give him more reminders,” he repeated. “Make sure he does something he’s supposed to do; drink water, take vitamins, when it’s time to eat, having time away from weapons, going outside, all that…”

“Wilford is not a child,” Dark said, almost bitterly.

Iplier defensively put up a hand. “I know that, but just… give him some kind of schedule. At least something to give Wilford something that affects him mentally in a healthy way. Teach him grounding, suggest he goes to therapy…”

“He already goes to the Host for that,” Dark said matter-of-factly.

“The Host isn’t a therapist,” Iplier replied. “He’s a radio host, it’s literally in his name. He knows a thing or two about mental health, but he’s not a professional.”

He shook his head to quickly change the subject. “Look, the point is, just give him a new routine so he can have something to look forward to. Something that’s positive, and won’t be so dangerous. It can’t be that bad for him.”

Dark exhaled slowly, as if releasing an angry ghost from their nostrils. “Alright… I don’t like it, but you may be right.”

They eyed at the gun across the room.

“Thank you very much, Dark,” Iplier said, standing up from his seat. “I know this isn’t a very fun topic for you, but I just wanted to address some concerns.”

Dark silently pursed their lips. “You’re welcome.”

The doctor nodded goodbye with a small smile, and nudged the paper closer to Dark before he turned to leave the room.

Dark sat still in their seat, staring at the TV screen. Then the gun. Then the paper.

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

Diagnoses: Anxiety, Astraphobia, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autophobia, Mania, Memory Loss, Schizophrenia, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

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

Dark’s mind was blank as they read the list of diagnoses over and over and over again. Mental health issues, Wilford has always had them. His brain just works differently because of them. Not better, but different. Dark was pretty sure that Wilford would be aware that his problems would be a bigger deal to other people than to himself.

Wilford would get in trouble, apologize or dismiss the problem, and go on about his day. None of it would really be a big deal, right? It was just something that happened, just another thing to be anxious about. Wilford was only human, after all, and humans make mistakes…

Still, it’s not a bad idea to have some type of safe routine, for Wilford, and for everybody. It can’t hurt to try. They’re just rules, like no shooting indoors. It’s not even a real punishment; it’s just grounding. It doesn’t have to be so bad.

Dark pondered to themselves… There was that one ukulele that Wilford kept begging for that one time he and Dark went on a walk around the town. Now that Dark thought about it, they could get that for Wilford the next time they go out. It’s something that Wilford wanted. It’s a positive thing to look forward to, at least.

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

SO! I wrote this a few weeks ago, and I wanted to make a series with this, but then I quickly lost motivation and decided to keep this as a oneshot. This is a new headcanon of mine where Dark and Dr. Iplier befriend each other by keeping Wilford in check in terms of his mental health.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! Reblogs and likes are always appreciated! 💗

#abby writes #markiplier #markiplier egos #darkiplier #dr. iplier #wilford warfstache #darkstache

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rechoired · 4 years ago

Text

A problem with the Tales Of Arcadia community

First and foremost, I’d like to ask anyone taking the time to read this to please read the post all the way through before commenting on the matter. There is a lot of dirty laundry to unpack here, and some points will be building off previous ones.

I’ll get right to the point. Most everybody in the Tales of Arcadia fandom will have heard of the blog imthegingerninja / ginger-le-gay. She is one of the most well-known ToA-centric blogs, after all. (If you’re wanting to avoid her on Twitter as well, her account is Margaret Bell, or @The_Book_Bell.)

This is your PSA, TOA fandom: Ginger is a toxic, manipulative person.

This is not a claim I like to make lightly, but it’s long overdue that this issue is properly brought up within the fandom.

I’ve seen so many people wonder why the Tales of Arcadia fandom is so small. Well, I and many others very strongly believe that Ginger is one of the main reasons for that, if not the main one. To make matters easier, I’ve tried to break this down into some main points. So let’s take a look at how Ginger falls under this category.

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT look at this post as an excuse to harass Ginger or any other blog mentioned here. This sort of behavior is NOT acceptable. The point of this post is to educate those who may not know the extent of her harrowing behavior, nothing more.

1. Dishonesty and Death Threats

[EDIT: Shortly after this post went up, she started blatantly lying about me to try to cover for herself. You can see those lies being easily disproven here]

Ginger has been kicked from at least three Tales of Arcadia servers, all for similar reasons of violence. While I cannot provide screenshots as I am no longer part of the servers they were in, there are multiple witnesses that can verify the disgusting behavior she engaged in. The one I saw specifically was her saying that certain members of the fandom should be gathered up and hunted for sport, among other gross things. (Elaboration of why can be found in point 3, though it still doesn’t excuse this kind of talk)

Here is some points made by another blog that also sums up similar issues with Ginger, though:

While there were multiple instances of her inciting violence towards others, this is unfortunately one topic I cannot provide specific screenshots for at this time. But I will add them in as I can find them. That being said, I want to move to the dishonesty, something I do have a screenshot for.

While you could argue that people sometimes notice the similar things, this is far too close together to be considered an “original find”. The reblog button is there for a reason, but she instead decides to steal the OP’s premise and present it as her own original thought.

There have been a couple other blogs that have confirmed that their theories and analysis posts were often stolen and presented as Ginger’s own as well, to the point where they stopped bothering even making such posts, as the above blog points out. (Out of respect for their privacy, I will not be naming these blogs. Say what you will about that possibly weakening my point, but if she’s willing to so blatantly steal from that person shown above, it shouldn’t surprise you that she’s so willing to do it to others.)

Theory-making and analysis posts aren’t as solidly “original content” as a piece of art or fanfiction, sure, but it’s still common fandom courtesy to give credit where it’s due. Ginger has intentionally avoided extending that courtesy far too many times.

2. Hypocrisy

Most of this is going to be about past Merlin vs. Morgana drama, though there are also words to be said for the incredibly shaky relationships she forms with “friends”.

But first let’s talk about those wizards.

This is a topic I’ve tried to approach with Ginger before, but she borderline refused to acknowledge any of the points I was trying to make, and when she did, I don’t know if I just wasn’t being clear or what, but it honestly looked as though she was purposefully trying to misunderstand what I was saying in her bizarre responses. (To be fair, I was sending messages out of anger because she vagueposted about a blog I admired, calling them a “disgusting creep” because of them simply saying they’d hoped Jim and Merlin would be able to actually bond at some point... Not really a justifiable reaction to such a harmless thought, in my opinion. But my point is, I recognize that the circumstances may have clouded my ability to vocalize my thoughts clearly.)

That aside, we should first acknowledge this post Ginger made to save face after having gotten some backlash about hate-train related things (Side note: I couldn’t find the original post, so this is a screenshot I got from someone else. I did not add the writing. The text underneath it should still be slightly readable, I hope.):

Taken at face value, this is a very reasonable post. I think everybody would and should be able to agree on it. Hate-meme him for fun, sure, but don’t actually harass or insult others over a fictional character. Simple, right?

Apparently not, because Ginger’s done loads of that to others. Probably why the “LOL” was added in, I bet.

This post confused me. First of all, exploring dark topics (”angst”, as you put it) has never been a rare occurrence, every fandom has that content, most in heavy abundance. I’ve noticed no staggering difference in volume of this fandom compared to others I’ve been in. People enjoy angst not because they think the character “deserves to be in pain”, they enjoy a fictional blow to their own emotions. There’s lots of different reasons people like angst, but it’s barely ever been out of a genuine hate for whatever character’s the focus, from all the things I’ve seen. Your own friends have indulged in Jim angst and body horror posts before, does that mean you think they’re awful people? I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain something like this.

Also, way to basically admit you think all Merlin stans get off on child torture. So much for “If you like Merlin as a character, you’re valid”, am I right? God, what a mess of a post. (It’s been very recently deleted, which makes me wonder if she got more backlash on it, but just... wow.)

Let’s look at another one.

Again. Vagueposting about someone specific, I’d wager, since most of the people I’ve seen comment on this topic either think both characters are morally gray, or hate both.

But of course, when it comes to Morgana, suddenly excusing bad behavior can be justified. Ginger can call someone a disgusting creep because they want a familial bond between Jim and Merlin, that’s just wrong, but pushing the Mom-gana narrative with the genocidal abuser and Toby is completely fine, folks.

(Note: I would like to point out that I really don’t care about what theories and hopes people have for Morgana. You should be allowed to love that character in any way you want, same as I would say for Merlin. My issue with these examples is the completely brazen hypocrisy in which these two characters are treated. You’re obviously allowed to love Morgana without consequence, but the same should be said for any character of the show, and yet it’s not.)

The most obvious instance of this double-standard is well observable here, I believe:

... I think this mostly speaks for itself. Sorry, but this is very blatantly trying to excuse Morgana’s actions, here.

Oh hey, remember that post about Ginger saying that liking Merlin must mean you want to see Jim in horrible pain?

Say anything similar about her with Morgana, and suddenly she takes issue with this line of reasoning!

I’m sorry, but if you can’t take this sort of thing, then you shouldn’t be dishing it out. One of your own friends is still getting hate over the simple fact of liking Merlin, and all this mentality is exactly why.

Let’s look at one more.

Fun fact! Morgana horrifically abused somebody for centuries, tried to kill multiple kids, took horrible advantage of Claire (probably traumatized her), and canonically wanted to genocide humanity, not to mention all the OTHER murders she's committed, both directly and indirectly.

But somehow pointing any of this out “doesn’t count”. This is why the fandom keeps saying more and more things like this:

And this:

I could be going through her constant hating on Merlin and people who like Merlin for days straight, but I hope you all get the idea by now.

Again, I would like to just reiterate: You can like whatever character you want for whatever reason you want. The problem with this case is the hypocrisy and mistreatment of others, not your taste in characters.

Now interestingly enough, she’s lately been singing a different tune about the guy, switching from the “I hate Merlin I hope he dies!!!” mentality to “Oh he should get a redemption arc too :)” sort of thing.

I’m highly convinced that the only reasons for this “change of heart” is because of the constant backlash she was getting for the obnoxious amount of hate posts being thrown around all the time, but also because Aaron Waltke keeps tabs on the fandom more lately, and has spoken himself about Merlin not being a villain.

I could go on about this point forever, but I think I’ll just leave the Merlin topic with this post going through the hypocrisy of the Merlin Hate Train. In fact, here’s two just for fun.

Now onto more real-world focused areas of hypocrisy. One such instance can be found in Ginger’s Janus Disorder server.

Just take a look at this post.

While the offender in this case isn’t Ginger specifically, it still takes place in her server, and she made no moves to enforce her “No discourse” rule. All over... what? A random kudos on a fanfiction that’s not even about anything controversial since all characters involved are adults? I immensely don’t understand the point of why this ever had to be an issue, or why nobody spoke up about how ridiculous this is.

I’d also like to point out a certain user called firecat17. For some quick context, waaay back in the Kung Fu Panda fandom (around 2018), this user had been harassing people and saying incredibly vile things, a person of which Ginger had a bit of a feud, but firecat’s anon threats had gotten to the point where Ginger ended up having to block their IP.

Obviously, the user firecat was the one in the wrong, here. (Also, the irony in this comment is through the roof...)

Interesting point there, Ginger. Sure would be nice if you practiced what you preached.

Why am I bringing this random old drama up, you may ask? Well, it just strikes me as strange that someone who was so vile to Ginger is suddenly on her okay-list again, sending her asks and getting casual responses as if nothing ever happened.

To be fair, there is the possibility that they worked out their differences in private. But given the severity of the kinds of words being exchanged, I would still find that rather suspicious.

When someone who’s said things so vile can be so easily forgiven, yet something as harmless as leaving a kudos on some random fanfiction is considered grounds for harassment, it’s obvious there’s no stability or room for trust among this group of people. Unsurprising when there’s been several instances of this “friend group” turning on each other.

If you think you’re somehow different, that your “friendship” with Ginger or the others is more valued than that, then I’m sorry to burst your bubble but it’s likely not true. She’d throw you under the bus at the hint of you doing something she deems problematic, as it’s happened to multiple blogs before you.

3. Demonization of and insensitivity towards s*xual abuse victims

(This topic is one that’s hard for me to talk about, being a victim of CSA myself, so I’ve gathered some different sources to do most of the main talking for me. I tried to form more commentary on this myself, but I get too emotionally charged in my responses, and I don’t want that to cloud any reader’s perception of what I’m trying to communicate here, so I’ll try to keep most of my comments brief on this one.)

One thing recently brought to my attention about Ginger and her squad that especially bothers me is their rashness in labeling people p*dophiles and p*do apologists. If these claims were true, then I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

But these people are accusing others of these horrible things and threatening them on the sole basis of fictional content.

Now before you fly off the handle at me, let me be very clear: I absolutely understand that there are gross people out there who use the “It’s all just fiction” argument to hide their actual, pr*datory behaviors. (We’ve all probably seen at least one or two neckbeard memes of that caliber)

But like it or not, exploring traumatic themes through a fictional lens is something that has been studied and proven to be a genuine coping mechanism for some. It’s not something that works for me, but I knew a few people from past therapy groups that it worked surprisingly well for. Bringing a trauma into a controlled environment and processing it through fictional means can and does help some victims deal with what they went through.

It’s important to understand that not everyone processes their experience in the same neat, little boxes you have laid out as the only “acceptable” ways of coping. Trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy are commonly used by victims, and it does help some people, whether you like it or not.

I’m already dragging this on too much, so here are some sources for better-worded information on the topic (Warning: Most of these deal with highly sensitive themes such as gun violence and s*xual abuse.)

Source 1 - Source 2 - Source 3 - Source 4 - Source 5 (pages 61 onward, specifically) - Source 6 - Source 7 - Source 8 - Source 9 - Source 10 (and believe me, if those all don’t satisfy you, I can easily supply more.)

And this quote from source 9 I think sums it up best:

“Fiction works differently. My imagination gives me a framework to process the grief and terror and the consequences, even when I myself have not found any resolution. It allows me to enter my own traumatic experiences sideways and linger inside them, if I know I can give them to characters who might be lucky enough to find the antidote: love, connection, community, family. In other words, I can enter — and exit — the trauma loop through stories that are not exactly the same as mine.

This goes for the reader also. Recent studies periodically assure us that stories — literary fiction, hardcover books, even the simple act of reading — promote empathy. We rarely have identical experiences, so fiction is how we practice linking our similar or parallel realities so we can feel them. This seems particularly useful in our current society, where we are all so separated, and are working so hard to block the violence that keeps happening to us from our minds.

Fiction connects us, and it can also contribute to our healing. When we see ourselves in worlds we don’t live in, like The Handmaid’s Tale or The Color Purple, sometimes, that very different violence helps us finally process our own. Because as much as our memoirs and testimonies are brave and validating, fiction does not just mirror our truths so they are safe to experience; it also helps us endure the aftermath. Because long after the immediate experience is over, survival struggles onward, in every moment of our daily lives.”

While most professionals have in the past advised that victims keep their trauma-related works more private, to only show it to your trusted friends or family, the fast-growing use of the internet has led more people to sharing it in an online platform, which is not unexpected behavior.

I unfortunately don’t have the screenshot of the original post, but there was a post made some time back literally telling a fandom member to go and hang themselves over this garbage. A survivor of s*xual abuse, no less. And to top that off, one of Ginger’s squad @emmy-puff commented in support of that violent post, as well as blatantly misgendering the target of it. While, again, I was unable to get screenshots, there are multiple witnesses to this instance, one Anonymous even having called them out on it back when it happened. (I suspect that Emmy deleted that answer due to how bad it made them look.) If anybody reading this has screenshots of the initial post or the ask that came of it, please feel free to share.

I don’t care who you are or who you’re talking about, if you use misgendering someone as a way to hurt them, then you are an insult to the trans community. That is an awful thing to do, and you lose so much credibility if that’s the only thing you can fall back on when getting in a fight with someone. While this post isn’t about Emmy specifically, this is exactly the kind of hateful rhetoric that’s being encouraged in the environment Ginger’s made.

Another thing I would like to point out on this matter is an instance that happened in the ToA fandom a couple years back. I, again, don’t have screenshots available (I believe the original post ended up deleted) but the post in question caused enough of a fuss that I’m sure a few people must remember it...

A while back, there was an artist that posted uncensored, untagged r*pe art of Aaarrrgghh, Gunmar, and Jim in the main Trollhunters tag. As you can imagine, this infuriated many people. Many of which are among the list of those who’ve been labeled “p*do apologists”. Almost the very minute that post showed up in the tag with no trigger warnings of any kind, the fandom immediately got on OP’s tail about it, because they all shared that basic understanding of “This is a traumatizing subject for many people and they should have the ability to avoid it”. If the people you’ve labelled as pr*dator supporters were really as awful as you say they are, they would’ve jumped to that person’s defense, too. But they were completely against OP’s horrible lack of consideration of survivors, right alongside the rest of the fandom.

Am I saying you have to like trauma fiction? Absolutely not. Are there people that make trauma fiction that are actual pr*dators? I’m sure there are. But those people would be that way whether trauma fiction was out there or not. Gross people have existed and will always exist regardless of what media is out there.

I deeply understand the controversy, uncertainty, and stress that surrounds this topic, I promise you, I do. But the fact of the matter is, some people actually do use trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy as a way of coping, as has been observed in people even from ages as young as 5. To say otherwise is blatantly untrue. This isn’t a matter of opinion or morals, this is plain, studied facts that you cannot change about human psychology.

Nobody should ever have to go through something as horrible as s*xual abuse of any kind, and I know how deeply upsetting it can be to see certain images or stories with those themes in play. Those users with a sense of decency and understanding for fellow victims will tag their posts with the appropriate warnings. After that, it’s up to you to filter out what you don’t want to see. You curate your own internet experience, and it’s just plain irrational to try and harass everyone into conforming to your rules. While it’s an 18+ blog’s job to make sure to tag and label their content appropriately, it is your job to block the things you don’t want to see, whether you’re an adult or a minor. It is YOUR job to blacklist content that you know will upset you, because it is always going to exist on the internet, and any internet user needs to know and understand that. Multiple times I’d seen people going off about posts that were already appropriately trigger-tagged. If you don’t have those upsetting tags blacklisted by now, then the fault is mostly on you in that kind of case, not the OP.

Before I end this topic off, just one more example of blatant disrespect towards victims:

I’m sorry, but the absolute nerve of comparing some random fictional character you’re petty over to an actual pr*dator who’s terribly hurt real children is just awful. Imagine how insulted one of Onion’s victims would be if they saw that. Lord.

Ginger claims to care about victims, but she’s made it abundantly clear that she only cares about those that behave the way she think a victim should.

4. Ableism

I’m going to just show a couple posts here and let them mostly speak for themselves.

Just... my God. You looked at the definition of psychopath and decided that was enough to give you qualification to speak like this about it? Do you realize the extensive work and study of human psychology goes into the diagnosis and understandings of psychopathy? Not to mention, you just admit to thinking people deserve hate because of a mental disorder they legitimately have no control over? I’m sorry, but that is just cruel. Demonization of the mentally ill is not cute or funny. Next.

While I’m still annoyed with Emmy’s transphobic treatment of another user mentioned earlier, they make a very solid point in this instance. (The first post they referenced has since been deleted, but here’s the second one speaking out against the ableism.) I feel I don’t need to add much to this, as these points have already been argued very well by users better qualified to speak on the subject than I.

5. Manipulation tactics

This part is more observations of two kinds of abuse tactics Ginger appears to demonstrate, using the above as points of reference.

First, there’s DARVO.

Then, less formally, there’s this good point about online cult mentality.

Before you say anything, obviously I don’t think Ginger thinks of herself as some sort of deity. While it could be argued that she considers herself a point of authority within the TOA fandom maybe, I haven’t seen enough of this to say for sure how far that goes. So that point can be ignored, because it mostly doesn’t apply in this case. (The “Dictating parts of your online life” might also not apply, but I can’t say for sure as I haven’t gotten any confirmation of that sort of thing in Ginger’s group.)

But there are grains of truth in the other four points, especially that last one. Plain and simple, she’s made people afraid to speak their minds about even harmless things such as character analysis.

Ginger is someone who can’t seem to comprehend different viewpoints and life experiences. She’s extremely unsympathetic towards people she doesn’t understand, as can be observed in above examples. Assuming malicious intent from everybody you can’t understand is a dangerous and hurtful mindset to have, for both you and those who you unnecessarily scorn.

There are a few outcomes I’ve speculated should she ever come to see this post.

1. She will ignore this post completely, pretending as if it doesn’t exist

2. She will dismiss me as being some sort of horrible person, a p*do apologist or something of the sort (despite being a victim of that myself, clearly she doesn’t care about who’s actually been hurt by real p*dos or not if they don’t conform to her narrow worldview), and claim nothing I’ve said bears any meaning, despite the extensive evidence I’ve provided.

3. She will get people to try and attack me.

4. She will actually address these points in a tactful, mature, and serious manner instead of her usual act of trying to dismiss everything at the slightest hint of non-conformity. (The least likely outcome, but one can dream.)

I could add to this post all day, but it’s long enough as it is and my focus was on getting the main points out of the way. I understand that I lack some of the receipts necessary to back myself up in a few parts, but I know that many other fans have bared witness to those things, so I know there will be at least some people who’ll know what I speak of is true, and that’s good enough for me.

That being said, if anybody has screenshots of the instances I wasn’t able to provide for, it would be greatly appreciated if you could add them into the conversation.

!!!-If you have screenshots, but are too uncomfortable to get involved in this, then you can private-message them to me and I would be grateful and more than happy to add them in while keeping you completely anonymous.-!!!

(I've removed the section with all the tags, as I recognize it was probably going overboard. My goal was just to spread information, not to try and involve those tagged, but I understand how that may have gotten lost in translation and made people uncomfortable. Also, it apparently was showing up multiple times in people’s notifications when I only tagged people twice, so I’m not sure why that glitch happened, but I apologize for that annoyance as well.)

Now, to end us off, my responses to questions or angry comments I’m probably going to get:

You don’t even have all the evidence! How are we to know you’re not just lying about some of this?

Admittedly, I don’t have as much screenshot proof as I would like, that’s true. But for most of the instances I couldn’t provide for, there were other witnesses to her bad behavior. I don’t really have the need to lie when there’s already a lot of knowledge out there of the bad stuff she has done. Nor do I really have the emotional investment in this fandom anymore to lie for the pointless reason of causing drama.

Why post this on a throwaway account if you think people are on your side?

I just don’t really want my main blog associated with TOA anymore, to be frank.

You tagged a bunch of people, so you must be trying to get them to attack Ginger!

No. I tagged a bunch of people because I think this information should be heard on a wider scale, considering the position Ginger has in the fandom. I don’t want her or anybody else to be attacked, but her negative impact on this fandom deserves to be acknowledged.

Again, I don’t think Ginger or any of the others deserve harassment or cyberbullying or anything of that manner, that’s kind of what this whole post is against. And it just hurts the situation more than it helps it. What bothers me is how she’s never apologized for or even once acknowledged the gross way she’s treated people. While she might be more low-key about it now, she still treats people who don’t deserve it like garbage. There are still several people upset about the damage she’s caused to this fandom, rightfully so. I wouldn’t be so loud about making this post if I didn’t think it was something worth drawing attention to.

Thank you for reading.

#TrollHunters #3Below #TOAwizards #Tales of Arcadia #TOA

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thatfilthyanimal · 4 years ago

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I know I've talked about this before, but possibly not publicly, and definitely not recently.

When I say "The movie Megamind saved my life" I am dead serious.

So, heavy tw for descriptive suicide, abuse, adult themes etc below.

Maybe a month before Megamind came out, my partner of about 3 years and I broke up. This relationship had been a rebound of a long line of others who were (mostly) abusers in some way or another. I was 23, and had been rebounding relationships since I started my first at 13 with a person who was debatably grooming me.

So like, 10 years there to get super messed up by people insisting they loved you. At some point I developed Borderline Personality Disorder, probably best known as a disorder that involves heavy fears of abandonment and unstable moods due to black-and-white thinking.

So my partner and I break up, and no, of course it couldn't be a normal sane breakup, god why would it ever be? It had to be followed with him admitting that the last two years of it he didn't think he loved me, and was only staying because he was afraid I would kill myself.

So also, two years of phone sex (we were long distance) with a person who was lying to me. I felt... sick. Violated in the worst way. Used. But most of all after ten years of this shit? Done.

I fell into the worst depression I've ever had. I felt a disconnect with reality in the most frightening way. I no longer felt like I could trust anyone at all. I loved my friends, dearly, but I also realized to my own horror that I couldn't bring myself to speak to them about these thoughts I started having. I felt like I was existing in a daze, knowing fully well that I was considering ending it, more and more each day that passed with the louder loneliness felt. Every time I saw my friends or mom I felt sadder, knowing I was about to let them down in the worst sickest way I ever could. I knew they would hate me. I knew they would wish I hadn't done it. But I couldn't care. I couldn't talk to anyone about it. And I cried myself stupid knowing that there was some relief to everything, knowing a finality to things was coming, and feeling sick for wanting it. Days went on and the pain wasn't going away at all, and I knew, deep down, what was coming. I started making plans. I knew what I would use. I was going to do it far away so my friends or mom wouldn't be the one to find me.

It was the most terrifying shit I've ever experienced.

My birthday comes, and, sickeningly, my partner had gotten a plane ticket to come see me for it, stay for the week--- prior to the breakup. He let the ticket lapse, and despite hoping he would show up, somehow, like... come back and be like "I'm sorry, I really do love you"... yeah. No. It was a ruined birthday that my friends truly tried to make better, tried to celebrate with me, but here I was, floating in my own thoughts of upcoming relief and shame that they would forever hate me for hurting them so bad.

At some point, one of my friends approaches me, and mentions Megamind because she's seen it a couple times and loves it. I feel bitter about it, because, unfortunately, that was a movie my partner and I saw a trailer for and wanted to see together. I'd forgotten about it. My friend insists, and passively mentions Minion, and I have to stop and laugh because, wait, the robot fish henchman is named "Minion". Deadass. Okay. That's stupid. That's hilarious. Okay, I need to see it.

So she takes me to see the movie. I'm expecting it to be bad.

It's not bad.

It's amazing.

Here I was, feeling like my life was a mistake, and that I was an unsalvageable mess, only to see this blue alien dude going through similar feelings. I bonded to it instantly. He changes for better, saves the day, and gets the girl.

It did things to me.

I immediately come home and download a camvid of it. I watch it a second time in blurry glory that night. I pray there's a fandom. I find the LiveJournal community. There is.

And I did the only thing I knew to do at this point, which was cling to this movie and fandom like a sinking life raft, which felt like my only lifeline left. This movie gave me some weird feeling of hope, and some feeling of needing to hang around for more.

It deadass saved me.

I clung to the fandom long enough to get more of a hold of myself. I was so happy. I was, admittedly, burying my feelings, which would come up later (this last year), but for the moment I was happy.

2010 ended, despite me truly thinking I would never live to see it happen.

I eventually came out about this to the fandom, feeling some odd obligation to, and more people came forward with frighteningly similar stories. I didn't feel alone. And I felt like I had to protect what was here. When Dreamworks canned the sequel, I was absolutely gutted, unwilling to believe that the thing that saved my life, and the lives of others, was seen as disposable.

So, ten years later?

Not only am I not in some terrifying state of being suicidal, I'm thriving. I got diagnosed with Borderline which I desperately needed, went to therapy and learned to control my feelings better, and got a job, got a car, and saved up to move. I met Megamind fans in person, multiple times, multiple people. At DashCon (yes) I realized I had fallen for one of my fellow Megamind friends, Vamp. We'd been having a huge fandom meet up, and it blindsided me. I moved up to Illinois to live with Vamp. We went to another fandom meetup, and a fandom friend's wedding. We got another dog (named her Minion). We got engaged. My dad passed away and, yeah, left trauma with it, but money. We bought a home. We still live near one of our Megamind fandom friends. I felt comfortable to come out as trans and the fandom was still listening and cheering me on. And... you know what?

I'm fucking happy.

I'm so fucking happy.

Ten years ago no part of me believed that anything would get better, and it did. It did amazing.

I still hold out hope for a sequel someday, because of course I have to. It saved lives, I will always hope for more of it. I will always salt at Dreamworks until they listen.

I'm not asking for sympathy really, just understanding that what comes off as weird obsessive cringe behavior is just unfiltered love for something that made my life worth living. I know some of my friends didn't even understand, and probably felt resentment for the fact that a movie did what they couldn't. It's not their fault, and I understand. But a lot of people don't know where I'm coming from? And I want them to?

If anyone at Dreamworks sees this, thank you for working on Megamind. Thank you so much. I know I'm full of salt but damnit, it's out of love. I wish the higher ups of Dreamworks had any care in the world for the impact this movie made on lots of people. It was so ahead of its time and it deserves so much more.

I will die loving this movie, because without it I would have already been gone.

I guess it’s also worth mentioning, that if you struggle with similar thoughts, at all, ever, please remember what I’ve been through and do me a favor and reach out to someone, anyone, find whatever your sinking life raft is and hang on. I’d of missed so much in only ten years. You would too. You will be happy you stayed. I promise.

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theladyofdeath · 5 years ago

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Alone in the Ashes {1}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Yay to new, angsty fanfics full of hot mess scenarios, sexy men, and foul language.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that's really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.” ― Ned Vizzini, It's Kind of a Funny Story

It had been two weeks of Feyre living with Rhysand, and although he had been her best friend since high school, she learned more about him than she had ever cared to know since she moved in.

For one, the man was a complete mess. She blessed every woman that had ever had to step foot into a man’s bathroom, starting from the first night she walked in there to pee. After taking one look at the toilet seat up, the toothpaste all over the sink, the trash can full of Mother knew what, and the shower curtain hanging halfway off the hooks, Feyre felt the need to put on a hazmat suit and go buy five bottles of bleach.

Secondly, he didn’t have enough food to make a complete meal. Not even close. She knew he wasn’t a fan of cooking, but they couldn’t live off of ten boxes of cereal and half a gallon of milk.

And, lastly, he snored. Loudly. So loudly that, on multiple occasions, she was hurrying across the hall in the middle of the night and throwing him onto the floor with a string of curses.

It was early on a Saturday morning when he awoke and rounded the corner to find her standing over the stove top, scrambling eggs.

He smiled, brightly, his hair a mess. “Good morning, Feyre, darling.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “It would be if I got enough sleep last night. An obnoxious caveman inhabits the room across from mine.”

Rhysand’s smile widened. “Sounds like an asshole. You should get rid of him.”

Feyre laughed, taking a package of bacon out of the fridge. “Yes, but then I’d be lonely.”

Rhysand shook his head as he hopped onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Can’t have that.”

With a murmur of agreement, Feyre dropped slices of bacon onto the burning skillet. She always loved the sizzle food made when it hit a hot pan. It always reminded her of the little, family owned diner her mom used to take her and her sisters to when they were little, every Saturday morning.

“Good thing you moved in,” Rhysand went on, opening a carton of orange juice and putting it to his lips. “I don’t know how I didn’t starve before.”

Feyre turned to face him, scowling as she caught him drinking from the carton. “It’s scrambled eggs and bacon, Rhys, not a gourmet meal. You could easily-”

“No!”

“- cook them yourself!” Feyre finished with a laugh. “Lazy ass.”

“I am not lazy,” he said, hopping off the counter and flicking her nose. “I worked fifty hours this week at a restaurant. The last thing I want to do is go home and cook for myself. I prefer endless take out and best friends that do it for me.”

It was true. Rhysand worked at a popular local bar, one that had to fire two employees the week before for getting high in the kitchen. Until they found someone else, Rhysand was taking up extra shifts.

When Feyre didn’t say anything more, Rhysand stopped what he was doing and asked, with a quiet voice, “Bad morning?”

Feyre’s head swung his direction. “What? No. Well...I don’t know. Yet.”

He raised his brows.

“Tamlin texted me, wanted me to come get some stuff I left behind,” she mumbled.

Rhysand’s lips tightened. “I’ll come with you, then.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“No, I should come with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Feyre snapped. “I dealt with him for years, I think I can go pick up some shit.”

Rhysand’s shoulders tensed, and Feyre instantly felt guilty.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning off the stove top burners. “I’m obviously not looking forward to it, but really, I’ll be fine. And if he sees that you’re with me, he’ll start a fight, and I really just want to go get my stuff and get it done with.”

Rhysand nodded, although it was obvious by the way his eyes darkened that he didn’t like the idea, at all. “Just...call me if you need me.”

Feyre promised she would as he picked up a slice of bacon out of the skillet and took a massive bite.

Her eyebrows rose. “Is that not hot?”

“Fucking burning,” he mumbled, chewing. “I can’t feel my tongue.”

Feyre laughed, shaking her head. “Dumbass.”

He flicked her nose again, and she punched him in the arm.

They ate together at the little, rickety table, just as the front door opened and Azriel appeared. He was wearing black sweatpants and a t-shirt that said Velaris High Basketball on it. Given that it was nearly ten years old, Feyre was impressed it was still keeping itself together. The tattoos on his arms stood out, especially the new one on his left forearm, still ringed in red and covered in ointment.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

Rhysand lifted an eyebrow as he chuckled, and Feyre was certain they were sharing the same thought.

“You look like shit,” Rhysand observed, as Azriel pulled a chair up to the table and laid his head against the tabletop. “Too much to drink last night?”

Azriel mumbled something unintelligible.

“There was a girl, wasn’t there,” Feyre crooned.

“Let’s just say that it took me a few minutes to remember her name when I woke up next to her this morning,” Azriel muttered.

Feyre gasped as Rhysand howled. “You’re better than that, Az. I am so, so disappointed.”

He looked up, glaring at his old friend. “Don’t worry, I feel shitty enough without punishment from you.”

Feyre stood, chuckling as she ruffled Azriel’s hair, and took her plate to the sink. “Good.”

“Ready for a run, then?” Rhysand asked, cheerily.

Azriel cursed before pushing himself up from the table. “Yeah. May as well. I have to get my shit together before one. I’m supposed to go into town for a job.”

“Ah, and what will you be building this time?” Feyre asked, intrigued, as she loaded their dishes into the dishwasher.

“Turning a garage into a bonus room,” he said. “So, I’ll be there a few weeks, it seems. But, the garage is small so….”

He let his words trail off and Feyre nodded, impressed. “Well, aren’t you handy.”

Azriel snorted. “It pays the bills.”

He was being modest, as he always was. Azriel was a brilliant craftsman and made the most beautiful, wooden furniture. However, he couldn’t seem to make a living that way, so he did small renovations and handyman work when he could get it.

Rhysand had finished tugging on his shoes just as Azriel took the Advil and Gatorade Feyre had handed him.

“I’ll see you this afternoon, then? After I get back from helping Cassian?” Rhysand asked, eyeing Feyre. “And you’ll call me if you need me?”

Feyre nodded.

“Alright,” he said, hesitantly, before following Azriel out the door.

Once she was alone, Feyre let out a long, deep breath. She should go now, get it over with. The thought had her hands shaking as she reached to turn off the kitchen sink.

~~~~~

“She didn’t want you going with?” Azriel asked, as they slowed to a jog along the Sidra.

Rhysand shook his head. “Thinks he’ll start a fight.”

It was common knowledge - Rhysand and Tamlin did not get along. They never had, even in high school. He also knew that Tamlin thought Rhysand was the reason Feyre left him, which was complete bullshit. She left him because he was a controlling, manipulative dick.

“She’ll be alright,” Azriel said.

Rhysand didn’t reply. He knew she could stand up for herself, but he saw way too much in the years that Feyre was with Tamlin. He knew the things Tamlin used to say to her, knew the things he used to threaten her with.

“It seems to be going good,” Azriel continued, after catching the gleam in Rhysand’s eyes. “Roommates.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand agreed, as they stopped to stretch. “It is.”

Azriel was watching him in the quiet, articulate way he typically watched people when he was thinking something he didn’t want to say out loud.

Rhysand looked up at the early morning sky. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Azriel mumbled, but when Rhysand looked back down, he was smiling.

“Fuck off,” Rhysand muttered, lying back against the grass. “I wouldn’t try anything.”

“Not yet,” Azriel added, jumping to his feet, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “Don’t say never.”

Rhysand didn’t comment. Yes, he loved her, but he would be an asshole to try anything. She just got out of a long, shitty relationship. Besides, she was his best friend, and trying anything more would be a betrayal of her trust.

“Alright, get up,” Azriel grumbled. “If I beat you back to your apartment, drinks are on you tonight.”

Rhysand looked up at Azriel from where he was in the grass. Azriel stared back. Before Rhysand jumped up, he kicked Azriel in the back of the knee, causing him to go down as Rhysand took off.

~~~~~

Elain looked in the mirror.

The dark circles beneath her eyes grew heavier, she would definitely need to layer her concealer. She had pulled on a pair of jeans she had bought the month before, but they had grown baggy, so she settled on leggings and a tank top.

Since she had to move back in with her father, after her breakup with Graysen, things were...interesting. Neither she nor her sisters had spoken too much to their dad in recent years, so having to call Isaac and ask if she could occupy her childhood bedroom was uncomfortable, to say the least. Asking him to take her to her appointments had been even stranger, but they say that she cannot take herself, in case she had a meltdown when she was there, she would always need a ride home.

However, she felt better the past few days than she had in some time. She thought it may have been the new medication Dr.Jones put her on, or the fact that spring had turned into summer. Everything was better in the summer, right?

Isaac was gone that morning, but Elain had to stay put. A contractor was coming, apparently, to give a quote on transforming their garage, which Isaac had been talking about doing for years but never went through with it.

Elain wondered why he had chosen now, perhaps as a way to bring a little change into Elain’s life. Either way, Elain was stuck until the contractor arrived, not that she had much else to do.

It was just after one when the doorbell rang, and Elain hurried from her spot on the couch, where she had been watching a ridiculous reality love competition, to the front door.

She opened it, and blinked. “Hello. Can I help you?”

He was tall, his lashes long and dark over his hazel eyes. He wore a hat, backwards, over his black hair. Elain could see the tattoos peeking out above the neckline of his t-shirt, as well as those that covered his arms.

“Is Isaac home?” he asked, voice low. “He called about your garage?”

“Ah, yeah,” Elain said, stepping aside, unable to break her eyes from his. She knew him from somewhere, although she couldn’t quite place it. “Come in, please.”

He nodded his thanks and entered.

They stood in the doorway, an awkward silence growing overwhelming.

Elain, at last, cleared her throat. “Um, my dad’s not here, but, I’ll pass along the message.” She turned on her heels and, a second later, his heavy footsteps trailed after her. They went through the kitchen and out the door, down into the garage.

It was a small garage, but an absolute mess. When Isaac had lived alone, this is where he seemed to have stored anything and everything.

Elain couldn’t tell what the man was thinking as he looked around. She knew her father had talked to him on the phone about what he wanted done, so she didn’t bother with providing the contractor with any details.

“I know you from somewhere,” Elain said, quietly, as he walked through the garage, avoiding the clutter.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing her way, shortly. “From where?”

Elain bit her bottom lip. “Where did you go to high school?”

“Here,” he said, walking back to the bottom of the stairs and looking up at her. “Velaris, in the city.”

His brows suddenly shot up and Elain suddenly realized she was alone with a man twice her size. “You’re an Archeron. Feyre’s sister, yeah?”

Elain froze. “Yes.”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “I’m friends with your sister, saw her just this morning actually. We graduated the same year, you and I. Elain, right?”

Elain nodded, slowly. His name was on the tip of her tongue, but she could not remember it for the life of her.

“Azriel,” he said, looking away, and Elain blushed, feeling guilty. “You were valedictorian, if I remember correctly. Cheerleader.”

Elain suddenly remembered. “Oh, you played basketball.”

Azriel nodded. “I did, yeah.”

And you smoked a lot of stuff and drank under the bleachers, Elain thought, but figured it best to keep that to herself.

“Well, I suppose I’ll give you the estimate to give to your dad,” he said, scribbling a few things down on the notepad in his hand. “When he gets home, have him call me. I can come in Monday.”

Elain nodded, taking the sheet of paper from his hand before leading him back through the house. He didn’t say goodbye before he left. Elain watched him drive away.

She had to admit that he had aged nicely in the last decade.

The dark, dangerous boy that had a hazardous reputation at Velaris High.

Elain resumed her position on the couch, playing the next episode of her stupidly entertaining television show.

She pulled out her phone and opened instagram. The first image that popped up had her gasping for air.

Graysen was smiling, his arms around her.

She didn’t read the caption. She couldn’t. Before she could go any further, Elain dropped her phone, covered herself with a blanket, and laid on the couch.

The show faded into background noise as Elain stared at the coffee table.

~~~~~

Nesta was trying to sleep, but the noise going on outside of her apartment was unbearable.

With a miserable groan, Nesta rose from her bed and stomped through the halls before reaching the front door and throwing it open.

Two men stood there, carrying a kitchen table, one of whom Nesta recognized all too well.

She leaned against her door frame. “Rhysand, didn’t expect to see you standing out here...or, be anywhere on this side of town. How’s my sister?”

Rhysand, and his companion, set the table down on the concrete. “Nesta...Is this your apartment or the guy’s you fucked last night?”

“I’m assuming you two know each other,” Rhysand’s companion muttered.

Nesta shot him a glare. His dark, brown hair hung around his shoulders, tangled and a mess. He wore torn jeans, laced up leather boots with the laces undone, and a black t-shirt. His hazel eyes were taking Nesta in, from the top of her bedhead to her bare legs, hanging out beneath Tomas’ old, white t-shirt.

“Feyre’s sister,” Rhysand said, eyes still on Nesta.

His friend lifted an eyebrow. “No shit? The oldest, I assume.”

Nesta tensed, wondering what all her youngest sister said about her to her friends, then deciding she did not care.

“This is Cassian,” Rhysand went on, gripping his side of the table, once more. “Your new neighbor, it seems.”

“I would say it’s a pleasure, but you kinda look like you want to shove a knife into my chest, so,” Cassian began, then trailed off.

They lifted the table once more, bringing it inside the apartment. Nesta hadn’t even turned around before they came back out to grab something else.

“Well, keep it down,” Nesta snapped. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Rhysand ignored her, but Cassian seemed to not catch the hint. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Yes, and I was up until five this morning,” she scowled.

She heard the bedroom door open up behind her and looked over her shoulder, to find a disheveled Tomas walking toward her, cigarette between his lips.

“There a problem?” he asked, coming up behind her.

“Just meeting my new neighbor,” Nesta said. “I was just coming back inside.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, then went back to the kitchen and out the sliding door to the balcony.

Cassian didn’t take his eyes from hers as she took a few steps back and slammed her door.

They didn’t bother to keep it down, at all.

~~~~~

Feyre was sitting on the couch, in silence, when Rhysand got home.

Careful not to startle her, he shut the door quietly behind him.

She looked over her shoulder, tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She had been crying.

Rhysand didn’t say anything until he was sitting beside her, his feet kicked up. “You didn’t call me. I assume it went well?”

Her lip quivered, and his arm went around her shoulder as her face fell into his chest. “I hate him. I hate him, Rhys.”

“I know,” he whispered. He hated Tamlin, too. Hated the years he stole from her, hated the lies he fed her. “I know.”

She wiped her eyes across his shirt. “I’m making you wet.”

Rhysand opened his mouth, then it snapped shut, before laughter sputtered out of his mouth.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh herself as she hit him in the chest, not moving from her position.

Rhysand’s arm tightened around her as she said, “Take your dirty mind somewhere else, I’m upset.”

“You’re right,” he said, smile fading. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

She shook her head.

She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet.

“Well, we all have the night off, so we’re going out,” he said, lifting her chin by his fingers to meet his eyes. “Come with.”

It was moments like this that made Rhysand have to focus on his breathing. In and out, don’t overthink, don’t think about how her face is only inches from yours, don’t think about how easy it would be to close the space, don’t think about the feeling of her lips on yours.

“Okay,” Feyre whispered.

Rhysand nodded, quietly clearing his throat. “Well, we should get ready, then.”

Feyre chuckled. “You may want to take a shower if you plan on impressing anyone tonight.”

Rhysand knew he wouldn’t be bringing anyone home, the only one he wanted to bring home was coming home with him, anyway.

But he nodded. He didn’t smell great. It was true. “Probably should.”

With a smile, Feyre pushed off his chest and started down the hall. She shut herself inside of her bedroom as Rhysand looked down, at the betrayal going on beneath his sweatpants.

He had to take a shower.

And it would be a cold one.

~~~~~

Nesta’s phone vibrated in her back pocket as she lit her cigarette.

She fished it out to find Elain’s name, and once she opened it, she read, Meet for lunch tomorrow?

Elain had a lot of time on her hands since she broke up with Graysen, and Nesta was trying her best to meet her from time to time and help her pass the time, but it was difficult. Then again, she should be spending time with at least one of her sisters.

Sure, tell me when and where, I’ll be there, Nesta replied, taking a long drag.

She was waiting for Tomas outside, waiting to go out on a Saturday night, but he was taking forever. She hated waiting. She hated waiting for Tomas, in particular. She swore he made her wait just because he could, just because he knew that it bothered her.

The door across from hers opened and Cassian stepped out.

He looked as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. His long hair was still wet, but tied at the back of his head. He still wore his boots, but his jeans were cleaner than the torn ones he had been wearing earlier, and his button down shirt was rolled up to his elbows, showing off the ink that decorated his tanned skin. He locked his front door behind him as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and noticed Nesta leaning up against the wall.

He didn’t have a chance to say a word before her own door opened and Tomas stepped out.

He saw Cassian looking at his girl, his eyes turning feral. Tomas met Cassian in height, but it was clear that Cassian was much broader, much stronger.

“Ready, Nesta?” Tomas asked, eyes still on Cassian.

Nesta didn’t answer. She took her cigarette between her lips as she watched Cassian’s gaze sweep over her, just as he had done earlier that afternoon. He did it slowly, no doubt to piss off Tomas more.

“May I help you?” Nesta asked, voice low.

Cassian chuckled, lips parted. The gesture defined his jawline, defined his cheekbones, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice. He had a handsome face, sculpted from stone. It was difficult not to imagine the body that lied beneath his clothes.

“Have a good night,” he said, at last, and shoved his hands into his pockets before walking away.

It took everything inside of Nesta not to watch him go.

“I don't like that guy,” Tomas muttered, closing the apartment door and resting his hand along Nesta’s lower back. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Cut the alpha male bullshit. I can take care of myself.”

With that, she walked away, Tomas close on her heels.

She needed to start drinking immediately if she was going to make it through another night, another morning, with him.

~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty

@photofeesh

@mariamuses

@tswaney17

@amaranthas-whore

@awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr

@rachaels14

@hashtolanashoba

@poisonous00

@chemicha

@mynewdreamwasyou

@candid-confetti

@my-fan-side

@ifangirlninja

@sleeping-and-books

@burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls

@sannelovesreading

@halstudies

@amren-courtofdreams

@wifeofchrishemsworth

@goldr0ses

@humanexile

@booksbooksbooksworld

@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03

@emilyrose111294

@negativenesta

@argentumstella

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae

@feyrethedarklady

@starryandbooks

@gingerglides

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit

@6255igntm

@littlehoneyybee

@the-regal-warrior

@awkward-avocado-s

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#tacmc AITA #nessian #feysand #elriel #nesta #cassian #feyre #rhysand #elain #azriel #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm #modern au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #and so it begins

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alexeiadrae · 4 years ago

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Sleep Paralysis, and What Makes Satisfying Horror

I starting re-watching The Haunting of Hill House today and got to The Bent Neck Lady episode. When I first saw this episode it completely creeped me out, and I am not easily spooked. Part of the reason I was so scared is because I get sleep paralysis, I developed it when I was a pre-teen and had it on and off throughout my life. The worst time was when I was working overnight shifts at a domestic violence shelter in grad school and had shift work disorder, which made the sleep paralysis more frequent and worse. It got better once I got a job with daytime hours and I’m now at the point where I rarely get it.

Before Hill House, I’d noticed some horror movies had tried, and failed, to recreate sleep paralysis. This led me to think about what made sleep paralysis so terrifying, and bottom line, it is the fact that you can’t move and act. And because this is so physical, I’d wondered if a movie or tv show could successfully recreate it. And then Hill House came. When I saw the first episode I suspected Nell had sleep paralysis, and it was because one of the things they’d done brilliantly was to use the artwork that has existed for centuries depicting sleep paralysis to show the Bent Neck Lady hovering over Nell as she slept on the couch.

The Bent Neck Lady is where the show really delivered. And re-watching it a second time, it still had a deep impact on me. Let me share some things about my experience with sleep paralysis first though.

I first had it at my grandparents’ house. I’d been traveling with them and we’d just returned to their house after traveling through several other states, and because of this I think my sleep patterns were a bit disturbed. Back then I used to sleep on my back (sleep paralysis more frequently happens in a supine position. Because of this, through the years I have trained myself to not sleep on my back), and I would become paralyzed and unable to move. It freaked me out, but I didn’t make a fuss or get help, it just wasn’t the type of kid I was. I made up the story of some ghost girl to scare my sister but I had no idea what had happened. Later when I was in junior high I woke up early, and when I was lying on my back trying to get back to sleep I became paralyzed and I saw a green light envelope the room and a fleet of black hooded figures surround my bed. In that moment I wondered if I was being abducted by aliens. I woke up, wondered what the heck was going on, moved back on my back...and it happened again. If I wasn’t sleeping on my back I was fine, but if I moved to my back it would happened again. Now, part of me thought it would be cool if it was aliens, but it also made no sense that they would abduct me multiple times a night every time I laid on my back. But at the time I had no explanation.

I didn’t say anything to my parents. I didn’t want them to think I was losing my grip on reality. I later found out what sleep paralysis was when I read Carl Sagan’s The Demon Haunted World. It explained all about sleep paralysis and how people in European cultures used to interpret it as demons but now people interpret it as alien abductions. Once I’d read that I did talk to my parents about it because it had a harmless explanation, and both of them told me they get it as well. One of my mom’s sisters also gets it, so it runs in my family to say the least. I am definitely the one who has been the most affected by it.

Just because I had an explanation it did not make the episodes less scary. Because in the midst of an episode there is this real sense that I am going to die. And the kicker is that I don’t experience visual or auditory hallucinations most of the time. While I have experienced my fair share of them, most of the time I have one of two sensations, the less common one being this sense that right outside my door is a homicidal maniac who wants to kill me and if I don’t grab my phone and call the police and run he will, but I can’t move. But the most common feeling is this sense that I am suffocating and if I don’t move right then and there I will choke to death. But during one of those episodes I am so helpless I can’t even change the position I’m in in bed.

And that, good people, is what makes sleep paralysis so terrifying. You have no control of your body. You can’t lift a finger to help yourself. Even after all these years, after knowing that no one has choked to death during sleep paralysis, after knowing the feeling of suffocation is all in my mind, it feels so real in the moment that most of the time I still go into a full fledged panic when it happens as I tell myself repeatedly, “wiggle your big toe.”

If I can get my toe to move and focus EVERYTHING on getting my toe to move I can usually snap out of it. Sometimes it is easy. Other times it is hard. Being able to act and move is fundamental to keeping ourselves safe. And when you can’t, when you lose control of that, it is terrifying.

Because what if an emergency actually did happen while I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t act?

Which is why the death of Nell’s husband when she has an episode is so terrifying to me. The episode expertly broke down what makes sleep paralysis so scary, the loss of control, and then realized my worst fears as some who experiences sleep paralysis. And then added an extra layer of terror with that ending.

The Bent Neck Lady is the most terrifying horror shows I have seen and I think it will always remain so. It hits all the right spots and I am glad I chose to revisit it this Halloween season. The Haunting of Hill House is spot on all around and I can’t recommends it enough.

And now, here’s hoping I don’t have nightmares!

#the haunting of hill house #nell crain #eleanor vance #sleep paralysis #horror #what makes good horror

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tetrakys · 5 years ago

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Sweet Elite - chapter 10

I finally played the episode on both my active accounts, review below the cut.

The episode starts with Scholar reminiscing the Halloween party and finally openly admitting to themselves they have a crush on the person chosen in the previous episode. As you probably remember I’m currently on Tegan’s and Axel’s routes.

Tegan:

Axel:

I... am destined to suffer with this game.

After this realisation we decide that the most important thing is to focus on our studies to be sure we’ll be able to remain at the academy. After studying we go to the cafeteria to have dinner and we find there the person we are in love with, we have a lovely dinner together

Axel:

They talk about school for a bit

(Babe I forgive you only because you are cute, and also because you are teasing, your file says that math is one of your strengths, so cut the crap. )

Then he talks about him leaving school to go on tour.

(LMAO his face)

(!!!!!!! YES PLEASE!!!! but admit you’d do it because YOU want to see ME day and night 😏)

[...]

Ah! Someone who understands that scholarship students are brighter than the average Arligton student. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out... I mean... someone would have to be veeeeery stupid and close minded to think the opposite... wouldn’t they... 🙄

Funny but... I’m sure we can come up with another form of punishment 😊😏

Tegan:

There’s not much to show about the dinner with Tegan, as I said multiple times until we literally jump on him we’re going to get nowhere with him.

SCHOLAR SHOULD I REMIND YOU THAT YOU’RE IN THE MATH DEPARTMENT TOO??

Then he makes his back crack and Scholar gets spooked and they talk about being weird and true to themselves.

I’m a bit sad that in all the cute moments with Tegan you can rarely tell if they are flirty or just friendly. I know they reflect his personality, but it’s disappointing.

At the end of the dinner we agree that we had fun and we should do this again after the exams.

And this is where the episode ends.

......

Okay, no, I’m jooooooooking

This is where most interactions with our crush end and Karol/Neha’s arc begins (still not sure if the arc is only about Karol or both, I’d say both).

Someone took a picture of scholar hugging Tadashi to console him during his arc and it got viral for some reason, so now Arlington’s sweetheart is again getting attention and the school board has decided to use the free publicity to raise the school’s profile in people’s eyes, so scholar is going to be one of Faxion’s judges. Scholar and Tadashi are called in Lady A’s office to talk about this, but they have to keep the secret until it’s publicly announced.

There is a very funny group chat scene where people try to get information out of Scholar and Tadashi, the picture comes out and we get no reaction from Tegan (he is the one who shares the link, so he might have at least brooded about it for a bit I hope), but we get a small cute scene with Axel

(Also, apparently he’s a dog person. Nice.)

Scholar, my child, could you try to use a bit of this sass with Tegan? You’re gonna die alone if you don’t.

After this, Faxion is announced and Scholar’s role too. You would guess that the smart thing to do is to treat well ALL the people who are going to to judge your work, right? Right? With respect, like any other human being deserves at the very least. But noooo of course not.

I’ve tried really hard to like you Karolina. I really did.

But you are a bitch.

Someone who defines people’s worth by how much money their parents own is even less than stupid.

She even tries to show she has some higher moral ground respect to another model who is just as an asshole as she is. I can’t see much of a difference between the two.

What’s the difference with Karolina? I see none.

Scholar tries to make peace with Karol and be an impartial judge. We meet the other judges, among them there is a Luis Vuitton knock-off who is apparently friend with lady A and knows things about both Scholar and Neha. They are really fishy. In fact they out Neha as a scholarship student in front of the whole school. This is where things go to shit. Up until this point Neha and Karol where a great team and way ahead of everyone else, but now Karol can barely stand Neha’s sight.

I see how Karol can be hurt that Neha has lied to her all this time, but it doesn’t justify the shitty way she treats her at this point. Also, try at least to be smart and civil until the competition is over instead of actively sabotaging everything because now that you know Neha is not rich her ideas are worth less in your eyes. But no, why be smart when you can be completely stupid.

In all this we also find out that Karol is anorexic, which we suspected since episode 2, and that Neha is in love with her, which we knew since episode 1. We talk to Raquel, Claire, Tegan and Neha about Karol’s eating disorder and the episode ends with the winners about to be announced (Karol and Neha of course) but Karol faints in front of the entire school.

A few comments:

- I appreciate when the writing is solid enough to make the reader see where the plot is going, instead of pulling things out of nowhere for pure shock value. Surprises are good only when they are well planned.

- I also liked that Scholar had an active role. I didn’t expect them being a judge and even if it’s a bit of a stretch I liked seeing that we are not a secondary character in our story. However I’m still turned off by the fact that scholar’s department makes no difference in the story. A scholar in the fashion department can’t be considered the “general population” vote. I know that the excuse for them not being in the competition is that they don’t have a ranking yet, but it makes no sense in my opinion. Even blaming it on the school board is a stretch. But this is not the only instance something like this has happened, a scholar in science needing someone to explain them the science lecture. A scholar in math teaming up with Tegan and Ellie to only end up shopping for computer parts online. I wish these things were better thought.

- I’m calling out whoever in the dev/art/writing team has a CLEAR preference for Neha. She is the only one we can raise the meter this episode. In my gameplays the only one we got a romantic interaction in one of the past episodes. The only one we have an extra solo illustration with. And I assume we have a 1-1 illustration with her here because this is her arc (same as what happened with Tadashi), so I’m expecting a 1-1 illustration with Karol next episode. However I feel the bias for Neha, same as what I felt the last episode with Axel, and no one can change my mind.

- This episode made me dislike Karolina a lot. I assume I should be nicer with her because she has an eating disorder, but her being a bitch has nothing to do with her anorexia. The two things may come from the same issue, her needing to be perfect for whatever reason, and I’m sure we will get a teary explanation at some point that will make me forgive her, but still... she deserves take accountability for her own actions. I hope she looses the award.

- Neha doesn’t deserve to loose, she is talented and works hard, she deserves to find another partner. Don’t worry Neha, there are lots of people who can walk in a straight line in the world, there’s no need to attend an elite school for this. However she is also quite spineless, but there’s still hope for her, I understand why she has been lying all this time if she was trying to build a business in such an elitist world. I hope this serves her as a lecture and she learns to stand up for herself and others when such things happen.

All in all I liked the episode. It’s not perfect but as a character arc episode is thousands times better than Tadashi’s was. I just hope we’ll be done with Karol quickly and move on to better things.

#sweet elite #se #se chapter 10

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thistangledbrain · 4 years ago

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Day 19 & 20!

Day 19 - “I hate it when...”

As you’ve gleaned from prior posts, I hate it when you forget autism is a developmental disorder and not an intellectual one. We are so. Fucking. Tired. Of being treated as lesser, or like we don’t understand what you’re saying to us.

Outside of the reactions to others’ behavior, though, I have some personal “I hate it when”...I’ve let you into my mind and told you what I appreciate about how my brain works, but there are things I don’t like, for sure.

I hate that personal stressor things trigger a toddler-like need to SHUT DOWN. Like writing this blog, for example...the vulnerability I feel usually leads to a need to go to sleep for a long time, once I’m finished. Or after a long day socializing. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to engage my brain anymore, I just need to shut all systems down and sleep. Especially if there’s been a meltdown (meltdown—->shutdown)...and oh boy do I hate meltdowns. They’re really rare, thank dog.

I hate that my executive function is an absolute bag of ass. This is probably the biggest thing I would change. It got infinitely worse when my disability got bad (EDS), for some reason. And it drives me up the damn wall.

I hate my low function days/moments. It’s like my brain just won’t kick into gear, or the gears and wheels are rusty and grinding, & it’s rather anxiety inducing. I usually “hide” on my low days, sometimes in my darkened bedroom, and watch favorite shows or movies, or get lost in a good book - if I can. On low days I find myself re-reading crap constantly because it’s not making any sense, so I’ll even avoid complicated recipes...I have no idea why these days/moments happen, but boy do they piss me off/make me anxious (that’s kind of the same thing for me. My anxiety nearly always manifests as anger). On my low days, you’ll see (if you were a fly on the wall, because I suppress this even around my own family), me walking in tight, anxious figure 8’s and flapping my hands in a distressed way, as I anxiously try to mentally kick my brain into gear. (It doesn’t work, but it IS a little soothing. And my dogs are SO sweet...they gather around me tightly and just seem to know I need them.)

🤷🏻‍♀️ There’s probably more I could expound on that I don’t like, but writing this one has been pretty distasteful. I try not to dwell on things I hate anymore, so I’ve put this entry down multiple times and come back to it when I’m in a decent frame of mind. I think I’m tired of talking about it now, so I’m gonna just stop talking.....

Which is a good segue into Day 20 -

————————————-

“Communication”

Ahh communication. This entry will be long, because I have a lot to communicate LOL....

Personally, I write far more coherently and eloquently than I speak. My brain goes too fast...I often trip over words; my brain’s three steps ahead of what’s coming out of my mouth and I get scrambled sometimes. I can also take the time to think about what I want to say/HOW I want to say it. Like many autistics, I’m a blurter. LOL...I am constantly trying to remind myself, just because I think it, doesn’t mean I have to say it. This gets a LOT of us in trouble...one of my most memorable examples is, I *loudly* blurted “that’s BULLSHIT!!” in a church one time. (I was speaking on how my devout Methodist grandmother, who regularly takes communion at her church, was not permitted to receive communion in a Catholic church, merely because she isn’t Catholic, despite the fact that this woman is all about some Jesus & a devoted churchgoer - not just on Easter and Christmas.) In my defense, it WAS (IS) bullshit. I just didn’t need to practically yell that in church. As you can imagine, it was like a needle scratching across a record & everyone turned to stare. (My poor husband rescued me.) 🤦🏻‍♀️ Sigh. It’s a good idea to keep me out of most church services.

I am rather famous (infamous?) for calling bullshit straight to someone’s face, BLUNTLY. It’s out of my mouth before my brain’s “tact gatekeeper” I’ve spent over a decade trying to train is even half awake at his post (it’s a him because my husband is the one who taught me how to use tact in the first place. And it’s a him because said “gatekeeper” is lazy and falls asleep on the job all the time 😆). Have you ever just blurted your honest thoughts and heard shocked gasps or someone just busts out laughing? Yeah. That happens to me regularly. Or uncomfortable chuckles and someone will blink a few times and say, “oohhhkay, well, you could said that a different way.” (My old response to that was, I’m not responsible for what your reaction is to what I say...you’re in charge of your own feelings. I *understand* now how irresponsible and unfeeling that is, and I try to keep that in the front of my mind, even when I’m frustrated and nearly burning up with the desire to speak my thoughts in their raw form, but this is routinely an area I struggle to adapt to...and I am very sorry when I hurt someone I care about.)

On the other side of this same coin though, this is a trait my friends respect deeply, because I’m not cruel hearted or anything. You always know where you stand with me, and I’m the last person to try and lie to you. I SUUUUUCK at lying. And on the rare times when I do, I usually end up eventually telling on myself (this drove my older stepsister NUTS when we were kids, because she liked to do lots of sneaky things, and I don’t have an inherently sneaky nature LOL...so “DO NOT tell momma” was a *serious* risk for her, if she let me tag along 😂). Lying to someone just feels disgusting. Oily. Shameful. I hate lying. Plus, my short term memory is a grabasstic bag of CRAP, so there’s a good chance I won’t remember the lie and get caught anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️ My boys also suck at lying or hiding stuff, and generally prefer not to...but I also give them a safe forum to be honest. (I’m sure there’s LOTS of crap I don’t know, but you’d be surprised how much they DO tell me.)

Another thing with me personally is that I go mute sometimes. I’m not being deliberately obstinate. I’m not REFUSING to speak in those moments...sometimes I literally can’t, and the effort of doing so will make me gag, or even projectile vomit. Sounds very dramatic, doesn’t it? It is. (And it annoys the SHIT out of me.) There’s not a fucking thing i can do about it. The movement of my tongue in my mouth will literally begin to trigger my gag reflex, and if I try to power through it, I’m rewarded with my lunch returning to the surface anyway, regardless of my desires, and sometimes rather unexpectedly & violently. USUALLY this happens when I’m uber stressed, but sometimes it seems kind of out of the blue & catches even me off guard. If this happens but I still have something to say, I start texting instead, and explain. Most people - especially my hubby - are very kind when this happens. (I don’t want your pity, I just want you to switch to written communication for a minute until I can figuratively kick the fuck out of the engine in my “speaking center” and get it to work again.) Other times, I will literally get tired of talking. Like my mouth and tongue - and somehow, the “word forming” part of my brain feels physically exhausted (weird, I know, but I also spend the vast majority of my life silent - I am home alone all day, hate talking on the phone, and simply don’t speak much, by choice. So maybe it is actual “mouth fatigue” 😂😂😂 - I’ve stopped eating before because I just got tired of chewing, too, even though I’m still somewhat hungry. 🙄) I am usually *perfectly* happy to keep listening! And I’ll stay engaged in the conversation usually. I am just...done audibly talking. I’ll literally say “my mouth is tired of making the sounds now, but please keep going”...but I think my husband is the only one who doesn’t find this unusual, and rolls with it. It usually happens after a long, animated conversation...instead of winding down, though, it just..stops. If I try to keep going, cue the gagging. I can stay engaged in the conversation if you let me start writing/typing instead of speaking, for my responses. So that’s a “fun” little trait of mine that many neurotypicals find unsettling. Please don’t take it personally. My mouth just doesn’t want to make the words anymore - and I’m probably mostly done adding what I needed to add to the conversation anyway. I’m a great listener when this happens, though. 😆

Communication is a really interesting thing with all of us, because it’s a struggle on one level or another. I will tell you, it’s a frequent topic in my groups. “WHY CAN’T NEUROTYPICALS JUST SAY WHAT THE FUCK THEY MEAN?!?! 😩😩😩” I’m dead serious - you might think, because we’re sensitive (generally), we can’t “handle” it? You’d be so very wrong. What we can’t handle is when you dance around a subject or we have to try and translate what you just said to us (which most of us are not that good at). Just fucking say it! Nine times out of ten, you’ll just get a look of dawning realization and a “oh, shit, okay” response. We can handle it. Just. Say. It. We’ll respect you a lot more in the morning, LOL 😆

I think every autistic has some sort of beef with neurotypicals when it comes to communication (as I’m sure you have yours with us, obviously).

You guys operate under some weird ass rules that we simply don’t understand - especially if you don’t tell us those rules & just expect us to know. Like, if my husband hadn’t patiently taken years to show/teach me how the way I said certain things were hurtful, I would still be in the “yeah she’s cool but she’s kind of an asshole” territory. (I still struggle to grasp this, or at least it still frustrates me....truth is truth, whether it’s an ironclad general fact or your own personal truth - and yes sometimes the truth hurts, but like...I don’t pin any responsibly for that on the truth teller, if that makes sense?)

Working in rescue also helped hone my ability to speak “neurotypically” to others - I work with a LOT of women, and boy do a lot of them NOT appreciate when you bluntly tell them what you think. Men on the other hand....

I know *lots* of autistic women who prefer friendships with men, largely centering around this communication thing. We hurt men’s feelings a little less regularly than other women’s. I know I was like that, until I got a little more used to how I have to modify my communication with most women (but that annoys me, I’m gonna be honest - it annoys my Autie friends, too). The only time I am as starkly blunt as I used to be, is when speaking to my female Autie friends (because they can handle it), or most of the dudes I’m friends with. But if my message is getting “lost in the sauce” and you’re not getting my point, I usually give a frustrated sigh, WARN you that I’m about to tell you flatly what I need to say, because we aren’t getting anywhere, and just say it.

Yes I am the friend who, when you gush on and on about your new back yard bred puppy, talking all about how you’re gonna breed him when he grows up, is gonna flatly say “he’s not breeding quality”, if they’re not. Then I’m gonna ask you why you want to do such a thing, given that you’re aware of the massive load of rescue dogs (PARTICULARLY Great Danes and Cane Corsos) - and probably beat your argument down every step of the way. That doesn’t always go badly though - one of my closest friends was considering breeding their dog, and while it was a beautiful dog, it was not one that should reproduce (from an “improve the breed” perspective). We barely knew each other, but I gained a reputation for being kind but starkly honest...and I knew what I was talking about...and now I have this person’s deep respect, and they have mine (because they listened and did the research I asked them to - and did not add to the breed population). So it’s not *always* a trainwreck, because the people who end up respecting how I communicate, usually end up VERY close friends. AND I WANT THAT IN RETURN, which is refreshing for a LOT of people. I want your dead honesty in return - PLEASE. It’s so much easier for me to process and accept. For example, my house is almost constantly in some sort of disarray. I have one friend who will come in and go, “girl. I almost can’t breathe in here - this clutter is too much”(and then she offers to help me tackle it!!).

Or, fairly recently, “oh my god those curtains are so horrible, I hope you’re getting rid of those when you redo this room.”

“But I MADE those curtains! I love that print!”

“Ugh. No. They’re terrible. Get rid of them.”

My feelings were not hurt in the LEAST (I of course had a flash of “you bitch, I was so excited to find that print and I MADE THOSE, ya jerk” 😂). At first I said, “well you’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with my shitty curtains, because I like them” 😂, but then as I was redoing the room, I took them down...and it DID look a lot better, so I left them down 😂😂😂....

So I guess my point with all this is: every autie I know deeply wishes you’d just fucking spit it out. We WILL often miss or misinterpret the point if you “fluff” it too much (around my neck of the woods, we call it putting too much gild on the lily, though I’ve never understood that one. Idk if a “gilded lily” is/was ever a thing, why anyone would gild a lily in the first place...LOTS of us struggle with colloquialisms that don’t make literal sense. 😆 Recently a friend was baffled over “shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up faster”, and fully half of the respondents to her post were people baffled by why anyone would shit in their hand - I and a couple others had to explain, and it just ended with them going “well that’s a fucking stupid saying anyway, and wishes aren’t things you can put in your hands, either” 😂😂😂...but I’m from the south, and these things are just part of our vocab. MOST of them are easy to grasp for me, like “nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”, because I immediately picture it and can grasp the meaning. But others I don’t get - the gilded lily is one LOL)...

We are LITERAL AS FUCK. It’s why we ruin lots of jokes, too. My poor husband is the dad joke king - and I ruin fully 1/3 or more of his jokes by being too literal (which he also finds amusing, so that’s good). Sometimes we realize we’re ruining the joke but we don’t care, because it’s dumb, or we just .... can’t....HELP IT. 😩😂

Jeez, I could almost write all day about autistics and communication LOL!!

But to summarize (and not succinctly, sorry), I guess, for me and many many others...we are often blunt, direct, almost painfully honest, and very, very literal. Your unspoken rules of communication absolutely go over our heads, unless you - yannow - *communicate* and explain them. We’ll probably tell you those rules are stupid and exhausting, but we will TRY and stick to it as best we can. But see, we literally have to think about every single word that comes out of our mouths, because we communicate far more directly than you weird fuckers do. And it is literally actually exhausting. It’s not an easily natural thing for us to adapt to, your weird way of saying things but not saying what you really mean. You’re wasting a LOT of words there, sir, and we are now getting obsessively confused over why you would do such a thing. 😂 It’s also why I keep getting banned from Facebook. My recent one was because I said - in one of my Autie “safe” groups, where I should be able to just say what I mean - that I tend to punch or want to punch people who deliberately startle the shit out of me. We were talking about how stupid April Fool’s Day was, and how we hate pranks. Three of us got banned for 30 days for just...well. Facebook called it “incitement of violence”. 🙄🥺🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

But I haven’t met - yet, maybe? - an autistic person who is cruel natured - not one of us gets any joy from being a bully type. WE feel everything on a higher level, so we kind of assume you do, too...you might think, “then why are you such an asshole?!”, but it’s simply that we - or every Autie I know, anyway - struggle to grasp how directly communicating your feelings is so fuckin hard or hurtful for y’all. I think anyone struggles to grasp something they themselves don’t experience. All you have to do is explain, though, and keep guiding us towards communicating in ways that we both find acceptable. I mean we’re champs at accepting all manner of different human - regardless of race, sexuality, and so on - but the communication is one area that frustrates the ever loving SHIT out of most of us, because it makes so little logical sense why anyone would say a bunch of useless words that muddy up their intent.

My closing advice? Help Your Pet Autie ™️ (this is absolutely a tongue in cheek term btw) understand how you’d like to be communicated with, and guide us. BE SPECIFIC for fucks sake - we suck at guessing what you might want, and it’s so frustrating that we’ll often just stop communicating at all. Instead of saying “it hurts me when you say this”, try saying “the WAY you said this hurt my feelings because of ____. Maybe you could put it like this instead” (or, “you know, you should really just keep shit like that to yourself”) and *give examples*. Don’t expect us to come up with different ways of saying shit, because we don’t understand what it is specifically you want, and it’s not very logical, therefore it’s not “natural” for us. Plus, everyone is different. I can’t talk to one of my sons the same way I can talk to the other, without certain negative reactions. Give us a chance to know your needs - we DO CARE!!! - but be CLEAR. I know in your world, tact is a big deal, but MOST of us will miss the fucking point if you’re too tactful (and when we misinterpret, we always err on the side of worst case scenario, and make the issue wayyyyy bigger than it should be. Being clear is soooo important).

And hey. Maybe it’ll help clear up some communication in other areas of your life. Being clear isn’t a license to be a fucking asshole; nobody’s giving you a license to unleash on everyone about how much you can’t stand humans...if WE hafta be quiet about that, so do you lmao...fair’s fair. 😆 But quit hedging and hinting and hoping we will pick up on the whatever your grievance is - because we won’t. We’ll just know you’re unhappy, and start panicking over guessing what we did wrong, and just shut down, because we have no idea.

Just. Fucking. Say it. 😘

#asd #autism #autistic #acceptance #awareness #actuallyautistic

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