#this should be a book

[broadwayfangirl222]

Not on TikTok often but I heard this audio I had to make this edit with it. Here's a link to the original

[atlas-hope]

so. i had an idea

[s0up1ta]

toxic yaoi or something idk i haven't watched gravity falls

[villagecrier]

A Voice Heard: How Samantha Béart Inspired Me to Live My Own Life

A Primer

I’ve been hesitant to share this in a public place, due mostly to the borderline-graphic and potentially triggering nature of the content, and because I’ve been trained to feel a sense of shame for admitting when I really admire someone or look up to them. (It's why I edit myself on socials, and worry I've said or done something wrong, sometimes.) What Sam has triggered in my life is so profound, however, that I can’t help but sing about it to people when asked what caused the inspiration, and I get asked that a lot in real life circles. After finding out I am not the only one who Sam has inspired, I’ve decided to share my story here. In my case, it wasn’t just Sam — there were three people who triggered my transformation.

CW: addiction, alcoholism, and mention of abuse. I don't believe any of it is graphic enough for a mature tag, but just in case, there's the cw.

Introduction

It’s been one hundred and seventy-five days. One hundred and seventy-five days since I first began this chaotic and turbulent journey from what was the worst ten years of my life to where I am now. I don’t write that with any amount of frivolity. I’ve been through the worst of it, amassing over two dozen abusers before I even left home on the morning of my seventeenth birthday. If it exists as a form of abuse, I've probably endured it. Some left scars that I will never lose, some people can see. Some people can sense when they first meet me.

Where it seems like most are violent and aggressive because of their past, I’ve become more empathetic and sensitive to the needs of others, instead. It's a superpower. My crux is in how I treat myself. I am not kind to myself. I’ve come a long way in these 175 days, but being kind to myself is still not a mastery. I’m getting there…slowly. It doesn’t mean I’ve not begun investing in myself, however.

My most recent issue with the topic of abuse was narcissism in the form of emotional and financial abuse. Due to the circumstances, I had been largely isolated from the world for about eight years, two of which were without any form of communication at home. As a result, I was incapable of finding the care I needed, and soon learned that better living through chemistry did not include as much alcohol and benzodiazepines as I was consuming to self medicate. As a matter of fact, the substance, combined with my mid-brain actions, almost killed me…more than once. Technically, I did die for three minutes one of those times…actually, it was eight, and I wound up in a coma for three weeks.

I was always open-minded to suggestions that I could try in my situation, though I was always subservient to those in control of me for most of it, and nothing ever really rooted. There was always something that I’d hear, and over a time of trying it, would become disheartened. Though it sounded like the appropriate thing to do, there was always something missing, always something I wasn’t getting right.

How I Got Inspired

In the early part of April of this year (2024), I decided to take a break from Elder Scrolls Online, a game that I’ve notched over 500 days worth of play time since its 2014 launch (that’s over 12,000 hours). Living in the situation I was in gave me plenty of time to sit and do nothing like that. I chose Baldur’s Gate 3 to divert my attention to, and was immediately impressed by Karlach, finding her voice strangely familiar. I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t figure out which game. That’s because Samantha Béart wasn’t in any games I’d played up to that point. As I learned in the interview I’m about to mention, they’ve been in several of my favorite audio dramas.

I wanted to learn more about Sam, because if I’m going to invest any amount of time or money into a person and their work, I need to ensure we’re at least of similar positions on things like LGBTQIA+, politics, among other areas. I found quite the list on Spotify, and the first one I selected for listening was an episode of It Is Complicated, a podcast about the trans experience (and other areas of interest — very engaging podcast) hosted by Josephine Baird and Dr. J Harrison. The conversation was warm and inviting, one that invited the listener to the table with a cup of coffee. I lost all inhibitions as a listener doing gig work all over town. I was completely immersed. A small part of me wished I’d been able to have a conversation like that with people…with a real cup of coffee.

Somewhere in the conversation (around the 42 minute mark), Sam was talking about their experience with trans women asking them how to tackle the world with the same bravado as someone like Karlach. Sam reminded them that it’s not quite legal to just punch people, and then said something that made me think. They said, “…you’ve actually done the work. You’re okay. You are in an oppressive environment. It’s the environment, it’s not you, find your people, if you can.”

I pulled over, rewound it and let Sam say that several times before I dissected “find your people.” Something I’ve never tried to do, because at that point, I didn’t feel like anyone cared. I knew what I needed: I needed therapy. I needed addiction counseling (or at least a group meeting). I needed friends who got it. I needed LGBTQ friends. I needed my people.

I turned off my gig work, went home, and made the list, then found locations and times, and then drove to parking lots and sat in my parked car and cried because I was overwhelmed with fear. What if nobody in the meeting was friendly to diverse people? What if they just said they couldn’t help me like every other time I tried to get help? On April 21, I gave up. I ended up consuming 366 ounces of 5% hard tea, most of which I don’t actually remember drinking. I woke up to a broken neck on my classical acoustic guitar, two bright red burners on my stove (and a pan on one, slowly turning to kibble), I couldn’t see clearly, I could barely stand up, and I was physically sick. After seeing the crazy tweets that I’d made, I was embarrassed on top of being sick. Thankfully, the messages were all jovial, but holy shit, Seth…hey! At least years from now, I can laugh about being too drunk to actually remember when I “met” Alyssa Mercante.

Fear be damned, I marched (more like wobbled) into a meeting that night. The first person I met was a lesbian who introduced me to about 20 other LGBTQ people. I was safe. Two days later, I went to a LGBT group meeting, and that’s where I got connected to my therapist. By the end of the week, I had everything I knew I needed: the meeting, the therapist, and my (new) gay friends. Taking into account how excruciatingly difficult it was to just try, yet eventually having the whale of necessity swallow my timid Jonah and spit me out at the door of the meeting, I kept looking back for Sam for the first two weeks. Why did what Sam say move me to actually try, when I’ve known I’ve needed these things for so long?

“You Are In An Oppressive Environment”

Unfortunately, the answer came sooner than I expected. As I began to grow away from my addictive behavior, I discovered why I was doing it in the first place. My remaining two blood relatives noticed my positive changes, and they began to change…for the worst. They began calling and questioning me on things, demanding my attention at various specific hours, asking me about my friends, if I had new friends. I knew from experience that they were looking for ammunition to start a fight with. I politely attempted to deflect their questions. I was met with letters taped to my garage door, phone calls calling me disgusting, filthy, nasty, and “you look like a man” (as if that weren’t a compliment).

One day, when I was out for my afternoon 5km walk at the park across the street, I saw one of them trying to break my door down, something they did last year that ended up with me running out of the back door, breaking my foot in the process, and then attempting to flee across the country to get away from them. I was afraid to even go back to my home. I realized that the most important part of what Sam said was something I glossed over: “You are in an oppressive environment.” Sam didn’t even know who I was, yet there they were on this podcast from eight months ago telling me about my current life situation.

A fellow Villager and I spent one afternoon finding numbers to shelters across the country, and we both found one I was familiar with but didn’t even think about. For privacy purposes, I will leave it at that. Knowing from past experience that I would lose what I couldn’t fit in my car (they literally moved someone into my house when I was away for an extended amount of time once, something you apparently can do when you own everything that another person has), I packed everything I thought I would need, rehomed my two beautiful kittens with a dear friend down the street, and left for the shelter.

I felt bad about it at first. I didn’t even tell them goodbye. However, as the words from the one piled up via text messages: words filled with threats, gas lighting, name calling, and the like (which I never responded to), I shrunk further and further back. I went from feeling remorseful for leaving them to feeling justified by them for leaving. It got so bad that I changed my phone number. The last thing either of them will ever say to me is “YOU MAKE ME SICK!!!!!”

"Find Your People"

My roommate for the first month was a godsend. She’s on the rainbow, and we both feel like we found a goldmine in one another, because getting a trustworthy roommate in shelters like these is rare. Through her, I was introduced to a whole new circle of friends and allies, and a massive network of friends and allies all over the state, and technically all over the country. If I’m traveling and need a meeting or a bed for a night, odds are I know a guy. I’m a part of the conversation, and we’re having those conversations over copious amounts of coffee. Not only that, but I managed to rebuild a relationship with my step-family, loving people who the other two isolated me from (or tried to), and spoke so poorly of them that I began to wonder if their words were true for a time. My step father has been instrumental in my ability to stay where I am, and I’ve not seen him so proud in a very long time, especially of me. I’m also an uncle, now, and I wish I could share pictures of my sweet little baby niece, but alas, I cannot. Privacy and all that (she is the most beautiful thing, let me assure you).

Growing Forward

I picked up my two month chip on the 9th of October. Today is day 175 since I woke up to two flaming coils and a broken guitar neck. And today, I reclaimed the job my abusers forced me away from all those years ago. I had to advocate for myself, due to the non-amicable separation that I had so many years ago, but they understood. I ended up with a much better version of my former job, with the hours that I want, and I think I’m getting the days that I want off, as well. I credit learning about self-advocacy on It Takes A Village — a term I didn’t even know until I started watching the show. Oh, I also have my own place, now. It’s in an adjacent building to the shelter, but this place is for however long you want to stay. I like the safety and security it offers, and also appreciate the continued accountability. Honestly, even if I did have the money to get my own place, I don’t believe I’m ready to be entirely on my own just yet.

It wasn’t Glib, it was Gold

I know I repeat this story a lot, but I can’t even imagine where I’d be, had I chose to dismiss Sam’s words as not for me. I took a chance on the synchronicity, however, and it’s paid dividends. I am in a much better place in my life, now. I’ve got a lot of therapy and recovery ahead of me, but I’ve got such a wonderful network of friends and family that I am never alone in my journey, even in my darkest moments. I’m truly grateful that I was able to translate those simple suggestions into action. It means more than anyone will ever know.

I often worry that I am overenthusiastic, or that my words might sound honeyed, but if I hadn't heard those words at that exact moment, I'd not have left my circumstances, I wouldn't have my relationship with my step-family, I wouldn't be an uncle, I wouldn't have my own place to call home, I wouldn't be sober, I wouldn't have my friends, I wouldn't have my job back, and the way things were going, I might not have my life. I also wouldn't be so proud of myself for daring to try. So I think it's understood. I hope so, at least.

Thanks for reading, everyone. 💛

[goddamnshinyrock]

I had a new "oh, my family were the weird ones" moment recently: it seems no one else's family celebrated Frog Night (the first warm rainy night of spring) by going down to the local vernal pool after dark to help the amphibians safely across the road and listening to the spring peepers. (We'd then go back in daytime later on to observe the egg masses, of course.)

Apparently "Frog Night" as a holiday is a thing my mother invented and not a widely-accepted idea, which is a shame because I've been referring to it as if it was for the past 30 years.

[thorinds]

1000 Books You May Have Actually Read

[bixels]

me too, luna.

[twofoursixohjuan]

please elaborate in tags :)

[givemeureyes]

day 1 without ao3: i have gone through all 5 stages of grief multiple times and have invented a 6th. i will not disclose what the 6th stage of grief is.

[egophiliac]

since Eng is getting 7.5 soon(?), I felt motivated to go back to my Meleanor rig and make her a couple of lesson animations! ...except for alchemy, because the cauldron bubbles proved too hard to photoshop around, whoops.

maybe she just got lost on her way to the classroom...?

(credit: backgrounds are from the game, I just put her on top of 'em)

(aside from the backgrounds, this is not an edit, I drew her from scratch! please do not tag or treat as an edit!)

[owlbelly]

so. i understand where the sentiment "listening to an audiobook is the same thing as reading the book" is coming from - i mean, yes, the bottom line is you are taking in the same words in what is possibly a more accessible (or maybe just more enjoyable) format for you! and i'm 100% in agreement that "book snobs" who say "no you didn't really read it" if you listened to the audiobook are full of shit. ofc you should engage with stories in whatever way works for you, there is no moral or intellectual superiority to reading words off a page vs. listening to them

but it also is different? an audiobook is a performance. choices a narrator makes about line readings can drastically influence the meaning of the lines. even just different voices, accents, etc. - there are creative choices being made by the person delivering the words to you, and that affects your experience of the story in a different way than if you were making those choices in your own head. it might even change the way you visualize what's going on!

this isn't a bad thing it's just An Actual Thing & i think it's worth talking about. it rubs me the wrong way when people act like accommodations (and for many people audiobooks are an accommodation) always result in a completely identical experience, or even that they should, & if you suggest that people accessing media in different ways are having different experiences it's somehow ableist

anyway on rare occasions i really enjoy audiobooks but mostly they are much less accessible to me than words on a page (i need to be able to reread, flip back and forth, go at my own pace) & i also just really strongly prefer to encounter a text on my own before hearing someone else's performance of it, if possible! again i don't think it's "better" to read a physical book i just think it is a Distinct form of experiencing a story & acting like the two things are entirely the same is sort of doing a disservice to both

[angstflavoured]

i think too many people misinterpret what i mean when i say i ship billford. like no, i do not want them to be together happily eventually. i dont even want them to be together. the ship so goddamn toxic that there is only misery and old broken remnants of feelings and longing for something that couldve been but never will be. they will never be happy in each others lives and i want to keep it that way. dont get it twisted thinking im just shipping cute little yaoi and i want them to kiss in canon. no. this is something much deeper and intimate and painful. this aint my first Toxic Old Man Yaoi rodeo and it wont be my last. there is no happiness here.

[oooocleo]

wipes brow... these are all part of tomorrow's Big Admin Round so pre-any requested edits, but im v happy w/ them so i wanted to share fdfg

patreon

[doctorsiren]

“It would eat you alive, Sixer”

(Available as a print on my Etsy shop)

[spiralling-spires]

Being jurgen leitner the day that gerry almost killed him was probably really surreal. Imagine you’re minding your business, collecting fucked up books, and out of nowhere this goth guy covered in eye tattoos shows up and beats you half to death, then stops, goes, “no you’re too pathetic to be jurgen leitner” and leaves without further elaboration. And you dont correct him, you like being alive after all, and after that you just… continue with your life. And then several years later you tell this to some random guy in the tunnels you’ve been hiding in, and he not only knows who the goth was, but seems somewhat fond of the goth. And then you get brutal pipe murdered by the random guy’s boss. Oops

[saltair-and-webweaves]

i get mean when i’m nervous like a bad dog

Unknown/@papayajuan2019/a hero of our time - mikhail lermontov/poor things (2023)/ @sarakleijn/venetta octavia/ @papayajuan2019/@ https.c0rps3 on instagram/cop car - mitski