#tw organ mention

[oncewaskas]

hello, very very sorry to bother you, but, I have a few questions. i may not know much about you, but from what i do know, i'm not entirely sure if these questions may be triggering, or upsetting to you. anyways! how do your bones taste? and, what are your thoughts on your organs, insides, or any other various part of your body being eaten? thank you, and once more, i am incredibly sorry to bother you with this.

also:

BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEASTBEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST BEAST

sincerely,

-the one who someone warned others against

i have never tried my own bones, but ill ask my mommy about it! ive eaten human organs but my own? i think my mommy ate them during my birth or something, ill ask what it tasted like!

[metamorphesque]

Hammond B3 Organ Cistern by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

[mr-viwick]

I really feel like writing down some thoughts about Anya and how people criticise her for being a “bad” nurse bc I’m not too fond with how quick people are to judge her (and kinda adopt Jimmys view of her being incompetent)

Spoilers for Mouthwashing, tw mentions of SA and abuse in general

I think Anya not wanting to be the one to feed Curly his meds is more than understandable

Think about it in context, the scenes are so uncomfortable, we see nothing but we hear Curly choke and sob (and one time even get presumably beaten by Jimmy)

It’s like a parallel to Anyas own experience with getting assaulted by Jimmy, additionally with Curly being completely unable to do or say anything in his defence due to his extreme injuries

It’s a situation he can’t consent to but obviously doesn’t want, of course she’s gonna feel awful and nauseous as hell doing that, she knows exactly how that loss of agency feels

This woman is heavily traumatised AND in an unwanted pregnancy, I think she’s already doing more than she should on that ship

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom! 

I love giving Hangman a difficult family life, sometimes for more reasons than one. 😅🫡

Jake doesn't marry Bradley because of his family. He breaks up with the only boy he's ever really loved because he loves him enough to understand that they will be dragged into The Life, in one way or another. He doesn't want that for Bradley. 

When Giacomo Ferretti Jr, called Jake by his friends at school and Buddy by his family, was a little boy — he didn't know any better. He was a surprise baby, born ten years after the last of his six brothers; ten years after they stopped trying. So, when he was born, they gave him his father’s name and called him Little Buddy instead. 

He thought they were a normal family when he was small, that every father had a job he didn't like to talk about and that everyone’s big brothers started to go off with their father on special trips when they got big enough. He thought everyone’s father had a band of close friends who were like honorary uncles to their children, shepherding them to school and the park with a scowl on their face and a gun on their hip, hidden by their leather jacket. That everyone’s father had friends who would appear at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, blood soaking through their shirts like deepening sauce stains from dinner. 

“Buddy!” One of his uncles, Tommy, orders him. “Get a kit from under your Mama’s sink!” 

It’s the first night that Jake plays Patch-Up, but it’s far from the last. He gets his undergraduate degree in Human Physiology and becomes an EMT, long before he joins The Navy. If only to be of greater help to the soldiers he puts back together on the table where he eats his meals. 

It’s only when he's a teenager that his long-grown brothers sit him down and explain, properly explain, the rules of The Life. The one that they were all born into, but that they chose and the one that nobody wants him to join. 

“You don't need to be a part of this,” His oldest brother Enzo tells him, eyes turned hard. “Pop will keep you out of this and when Pop goes, I will. You understand?” 

Jake nods and they take him to the airport the very next day. 

Still, The Life is always there. It doesn't matter that he changes his name, or that he's a decorated naval aviator now; he will always be the Godfather of New Jersey’s youngest child, a massive target. 

Bradley doesn't deserve that life; that constant worry that someone will find out, that someone will break the laws that govern The Life and attack/hurt someone who isn't in it. 

So Jake never tells him, he just runs away. 

It’s what he's always been the best at, after all. 

[bizlybebo]

anyways since it’s the holidays shout out to religiously traumatized people, people questioning their religion, people who just got out of their religion, people considering getting back into their religion, people who miss their religion even if it ended up hurting them, people who never practiced religion, people who have practiced religion their whole lives, and people who don’t celebrate christmas/celebrate other holidays because of their religon

and FUCK the mormon church

[whereismyhat5678]

*clears throat*

*turns microphone on*

HELLO FELLOW PEOPLE‼️‼️📣🗣️📣🗣️

I HAVE DONE AN ARTRADE WITH LUCIA AND I WILL MAKE IT VERY CLEAR THIS TIME-

It will include: organs, blood and BODY HORROR

I want to make this EXTRA clear since I don’t wanna scare anyone like how I did last time- I still feel incredibly bad 🥲

🚨You have been warned🚨

Alright, now come here @little--critter :DD🫶🫶

I’d say it turned out pretty good! 👀 And I polished it nice for you so I hope you enjoy it my lovely 🫶🫶💖💖

[atherflame-theconcubus]

Yeah, I’m beating moon and Monty. Hold my shattered, twins and traveler I am going to rip their robotic intestines out.

A doodle of the ✨boy✨

[circular-bircular]

(Want context for this post? Here's the full post that instigated this one!)

I've sent an ask to OP (as their pinned post said to) asking genuinely why my response was hidden. However, I find now that even my main blog (which was the only blog I could send an ask from) is now blocked as well. For those curious, I did forget to screenshot my ask before sending it, but I believe this is akin to what I sent:

Hello, This is circular-bircular. I was wondering if you'd be willing to clarify why my response to your post was hidden and why (I believe) I am now blocked. I've looked at your pinned post, and I am wondering if you consider me to be part of the groups you listed, or maybe you blocked due to my aggression, or perhaps something else? Feel no obligation to answer. Thank you for your time.

It's been frustrating, lately, how users on all sides of these debates refuse to engage with criticism of any kind. But I also acknowledge that it is nobody's job to engage with criticism. OP is in their rights to block, and I am not frustrated about that.

What I am frustrated by is the sheer amount of notes that post got, with not a single other person -- seemingly -- remarking on the ableism in many of the claims.

I want to be able to discuss these things and gain new perspectives. I want to be allowed to be angry and upset about ableism I see, and discuss that ableism clearly, and maybe even learn from others where the flaws in my thinking are. Instead, my responses are hidden, and I feel once more shunted into the quiet corner, never able to be heard, because clearly something I said was wrong -- but nobody sees fit to explain what.

The worst part being, that post was in the disordered tags. That post was in my home; my supposed 'safe space' (though I use that term very, very loosely). It wasn't even meant to be a syscourse post, with "syscourse" not even being originally tagged...

And yet.

In any case -- as the ability to view my impassioned response has been limited, I decided to make my own post, about all of the various thoughts that I have at the moment about everything. Time for yet another long ass post. Word count, ahoy!

Plurality, as we know it today, is a relatively recent term. Plurality formed alongside and well within the CDD communities, and came to be popularized as a term sometime in the mid 90s.

It was coined explicitly to distance from medicalized CDDs. Specifically, it was used by the coiner (whom I believe is the Vicki(s) but I could be mistaken in my timeline here) as an alternative to "multiple." However, many people simply used Plural and Multiple interchangeably.

Equally as important to this history is the fact that, around this same time, Astraea's Web reared its ugly head. Forgive my distaste; however, this is the basis of a lot of the harassment I have faced as a DID system. Astraea's Web is the source of the term "natural multiplicity," and dedicated itself to the idea that MPD was not a disorder at all. While this was more than likely a case of endogenic plurals trying to find a place in a highly medicalized environment, it came at the cost of severe ableism directed toward medicalized systems.

This led directly to the spawning of "survivor multiples" and "empowered multiples," with empowered multiples being the ones who were nondisordered, and survivor multiples being seen as lesser, weaker, and highly dysfunctional. This led to countless amount of pain and suffering for systems of any and all kinds: endogenic, traumagenic, CDD, plural, and anywhere between. The Natural Multiplicity Movement, which called for systems to boycott the DID diagnosis altogether, really kicked off in the early 2000s, and led to countless conflicts with medicalized systems who fought hard to be recognized with the disorder they had.

Therefore, the claim that the sorts of Syscourse Divisions we see in modern day -- pro-endo VS anti-endo, traumagenic VS endogenic -- is a problem unique to the last decade is false. This dichotomy has existed far longer than that. I still consider this a recent issue (it happened within my lifetime, sadly), but to say that it started with the change from MPD to DID is inherently erasing the history many systems went through. Again, on all sides; the ableism CDD systems faced was happening at the same time as the ableism endogenic systems faced. It was just different breeds of the same problem.

Now, it is correct to state that endogenic as a term was not popularized before 2014; it was coined that year by a system by the name of Lunastus Co (then the Trashcan Collective, if I recall correctly). While I have certainly been vocal about my feelings regarding the term endogenic, they really don't have a place on this post; it suffices to say that endogenic was popularized to indicate non-trauma based plurality at that time. Similarly, traumagenic was popularized to indicate trauma based plurality at this time.

As an aside... reading the post I've found on the coining of endogenic, it's something I genuinely love. It's an unfortunate circumstance the commonalities endogenous and, well endogenous (Freud) share, but overall, I'm supremely jealous I'm not an older system who got to experience the joy of the endogenic community, and instead experienced so much hate.

This did create an uproar in the community, with quite a large division between traumagenic and endogenic systems. Similar to when any label is created, to be honest. The term endogeinc was very clearly meant to replace natural/healthy multiplicity, as the terminology was seen as offensive to traumagenic systems striving for recovery, indicating they were somehow "unnatural." This created even further divisions and divides between communities, something I believe Lunastus has lamented in recent years.

The claims against endogenic systems are numerous; as are the claims against traumagenic systems. As the dichotomy has always been, seemingly, Disordered VS Non-disordered and Trauma VS Non-trauma, it became easy to classify every struggle under that lens. That is where my history in syscourse comes into play, where I was fakeclaimed repeatedly, but moreso by endogenic systems, simply due to being traumagenic.

I was told repeatedly that saying I had DID was ableist, because DID was coined by an ableist man. This has already been debunked -- here's the most recent debunk, done by our lovely pluraldeepdive, as always. I was also told repeatedly that I couldn't have DID, for many reasons: because I was born rich, because my parents loved me, because I owned a freaking gamecube of all things. All of those to say: Endogenic systems frequently told me I was not traumatized enough to have DID.

Don't worry -- anti-endos don't get cut slack here either. Being told "if you really had DID, you'd be put in a mental hospital and raped repeatedly by the staff" certainly did not help me get confidence in reaching out to my life-saving therapist.

But the fact is, I was harassed more my endogenic systems and/or pro-endo systems than by traumagenic and/or anti-endo systems. The fact that I was harassed by any of them is already sheer ridiculousness.

Alright -- why the trauma rambling? The point here was, the ableism I faced, simply for being openly a DID system (mind you, who identified as pro-endo at the time) is still running rampant today.

Reading through LB Lee's two essays that were linked on the original post (at the top of this ramble), I was shocked to discover the same rhetoric I had been faced with repeatedly in all my years of syscourse. That traumagenic VS endogenic is an "internal pecking order so as to feel superior to each other" (rather than origin labels many use as liberally as LGBT+ labels). That disordered multiples "have a culture of overly deferring to their healthcare team: never making a move without asking the doc’s opinion, treating therapists as their parent replacements, relying on their shrinks for things they should really learn to do themselves, such as taking care of their internal children" -- this idea that all traumagenic systems are completely dysfunctional and unable to care for themselves. Continued onto the next lines immediately with "I met multiples who had been in care for decades, never improving, never seeming to learn any skills, but still absolutely enamored of their brilliant therapist (who they apparently couldn’t function without). These weren’t children either; these were people old enough to be my parents or grandparents!" This constant idea that you can examine someone else's systemhood and determine if they are healing "correctly" or not...

"I have seen no indication that traumagenic multiples, actually want to do those things, despite all their blathering about ableism."

This ableism comes from somewhere. The ableism I "blather" about has a source.

Sigh.

I don't have the energy to go through all of the article again, but it's heinous. It was horrifically offensive to me, even if I DO agree with many of the points it made! And that's likely because I have seen the same rhetoric over and over and over again, used against DID systems.

And it is still used consistently today.

As recently as the past 4 years, one of the OSDDID subreddits -- a meme one I believe -- completely combusted because some people made memes that were against endogeinc systems. Yet again, more syscourse bullshit. One of the moderators posted a big long ramble about how all anti-endos are just experiencing "traumagenic embitterment." This idea that all traumagenic systems who hate endogenic systems are just bitter to see "someone else doing better than them." I see this take frequently in plural and endogenic tags.

As recently as last year I saw endogenic systems calling for the removal of DID as a label entirely. Don't believe me?

Abolish all diagnostic terms! They're harmful!!

<- Is a system who feels most comfortable identifying with diagnostic terms.

As recently as maybe 4 months ago, I had to convince an endogenic system that saying RAMCOA was just "trumped up Satanic Temple bullshit" and was often "moral panic" was horrifically ableist. This was while another endogenic system bemoaned how they "couldn't believe anyone could ever do something so horrible" as RAMCOA.

As recently as last month, a friend of mine was rewriting an article about fusion, the original wording of which is firmly against final fusion and demonizes it. Said friend has repeatedly been called a sysmed for... defending final fusion and the ToSD for CDD systems.

As recently as yesterday, I was working on my debunk of a Power to the Plurals article that someone sent me in April, one that depicts the ToSD as inherently ableist and bad because... reasons? Mind you, the ToSD is the most prominent theory of how DID forms.

And then, as recently as today, I am trying to explain to someone who posted in the dissociative identity disorder tag with tags that I agree with, with points that I agree with, why the post they made about the "Bible of Psychiatry" was ableist and offensive. What a shame they've blocked me and likely will not be seeing this post, continuing to be ableist elsewhere.

All in the name of activism.

Ableism against DID systems is alive and well. I wish people would understand that. I wish people would see how pitying me in the plural spaces I'm in comes off as infantile. I wish people would see how "debunking" the most prominent theories and healing methods of DID is only hurting those of us who do align to them. I wish people would be willing to acknowledge the hurt they cause more readily.

And I wish that, as a DID system, I didn't have to become a historian on endogenic as a term, as a community, and as a personal source of pain.

Does this all make sense?

[mitchelf-citadel]

I wish I were a bird

There are those who consider their closest friends people that were never born.

I wonder, does watching the everyday lives of those that don't exist heal the rot in one's heart?

...

Or does the dissonance between real and fake lives merely accelerate the decay?

Azumanga Daioh x Nirvana

[thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls]

@oneinchfrog Me when the church is alive or something

Uhhh meant to draw Evelyn but the drawing ran in a Dianne direction so. have this!! Everything but Dianne is just a collage and a fuck ton of layers so yeaghhhh

[ashes-writing-corner]

So! I finally managed to kick my butt in gear and get this one shot done! I hope you guys like it cause it's the first in a series I hope!

Ghosts that We Knew

Part 1

You had no idea what exactly it was you were trying to accomplish here. This was just plain ridiculous, ghosts and spirits didn’t eat, and you knew that. And yet here you were sitting in front of a closet with a set of four mini rolls that you had baked earlier on a plate in front of the door. You supposed it was more a peace offering than anything else. Tension was high, at least on your end. You had let your initial anger at the spirit subside for now. Despite the fact that it scared your daughter, it hadn’t tried to harm her or you for that matter. At least not until tonight, and even then, its anger seemed very much controlled in a sense. 

The freak out had seemingly come out of nowhere. The throwing of items, the faint outline of the spirit’s visage, and the strange sense of familiarity that washed over you when you saw them. You felt as though you SHOULD know them. Something in you knew who they were, but not necessarily what they wanted. They didn’t want to harm you, and something told you that aggression was not the way to approach this. 

Maybe it was a sign of weakness, but you decided to go with a kinder, gentler approach. So there you were, sitting across from the door of the closet, where you knew the ghost went after something like this, with a small plate of hand made dinner rolls. You sighed softly, tired from the night's events. You couldn’t sleep, not after this. You had managed to soothe Ellie, getting your little girl back to sleep in your room, before deciding to try this approach to the spirit. 

“I know you’re in there” You said, watching the door as if waiting for something to happen, “She’s asleep, she didn’t mean to upset you…if she did”. 

No response, but you were expecting that. You shifted your position from your knees to sitting cross legged. You knew you weren’t going anywhere for a while, so best to get as comfortable as you could…

“Could I…come in there actually? Just really quick. We’ve got spare blankets in there and I’m most likely camping out here for the night” you asked with a hint of humor in your voice. 

Again, no response. They were so quiet now…probably exerted too much energy after the initial freak out. There had to be some way they could communicate now. 

“I don’t wanna push boundaries, but I just wanna grab a blanket real quick. You don’t have to answer verbally. Three knocks for yes, two for no, okay? May I just come in and grab one really-”

You had no chance to finish your sentence as the door flew open and a blanket was thrown at you as if to say shut up and take it. While you were struggling with it, the ghost closed the door again, slamming it shut. 

“Dude! My daughter is asleep in the next room over and she’s got school tomorrow…Keep it down!” you hissed as you took the blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, “Jeez dude, what is your problem tonight?”. 

Once more, no response. You rolled your eyes and sighed in frustration. 

“You’ll throw a blanket at me and yet you won’t communicate. Look, I don’t know how best to put this, but you’re not making this easy on me, my daughter, or yourself. We have three options, one of which I really don’t wanna consider because I’m not particularly religious, but if I have to do it to protect Ellie, I will. Option one, We can talk. If I need to, I have my phone here with an app I can use to translate what you’re saying. Option two, we can keep this up. Not favorable, but just know I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry if that pisses you off, but we don’t have anywhere else to go. The third option, and one I really don’t wanna do, is that I can get a priest in here to hopefully exorcise you or something. I’m not religious, but again if it's to protect my kid, well…I’ll do it. The choice is yours” You told them as you took your phone out and brought up your ghost translator app, “All you gotta do is just talk into the phone and it’ll tell me”. 

You kept it next to the plate of rolls, curious as to what they would do. You’d start with the basics. 

“I’m not upset with you, if that’s why you’re upset. I’m just worried about Ellie. How all of this will affect her. I just want her to be okay…and I actually want you to be okay too. If we’re gonna live together, we may as well try to do it peacefully. Hopefully without throwing things in the future”. 

The closet door handle turned and you watched the door open a crack. You felt a soft smile go up your face. 

“There you are. See you’ve chosen the easy way now. Do you have a name?” 

A single word popped up on your phone. Ghost

You chuckled a bit. “I know what you are. I don’t know WHO you are”. 

It showed up again. Ghost. 

“Hm…Okay, this is what we’re going with. Ghost it is. Well, it’s nice to meet you, I guess. I wish it was under better circumstances, but…I guess we all can’t choose. My name is Y/N, and the little girl you keep scaring is Noelle. I call her Ellie for short. Do you want us to leave? Is that why you’re upset?” you asked, keeping your tone soft. 

It took a moment before another word popped up. Negative. 

“Then why were you upset? Did we do something?”

Affirmative. 

You nodded. “Okay, what did we do?” 

Isolate. 

This confused you a little. “Isolate? Hm…” you looked thoughtful at the cracked door, “Is that you feel isolated? Do you feel isolated?”. 

Affirmative. 

Okay now you were getting somewhere. “I’d imagine it’s a very isolating feeling being dead and all…wait, are you even aware that you’re dead? If not, shit, I’m so sorry you had to find out like this”. 

Know. 

“Alright, oh thank the gods…okay…I think I got it figured out. You got upset because we made you feel isolated. Got it. So how can we fix it?”. 

No response. The hallway was dead quiet, no pun intended. The door still remained cracked, but there was no other movement. 

“Ghost? Are you there?” 

Affirmative. 

“How can we fix this? I can’t fix it if I don’t know”. 

Don’t Know. 

“You don’t know either?” 

Affirmative

You sighed sadly and pulled the blanket around yourself. “Okay I get it, I think you were military. You can stop with the military jargon. But…I know how that feels, trust me. I’ve felt that way myself for a while now”. 

Why?

“Why? It’s…a long story. I don’t wanna bother you more than I have”. 

Why?

You hadn’t spoken of your operation since the night it happened. You felt out of your own head, out of your own body half the time. Ellie was the biggest thing keeping you going at this point. Even finally establishing the beginnings of your own sweets making business felt so hollow. You loved what you did, and you wanted to do more, but the joy just felt…sucked out of you. 

Why? 

“I um…” you sighed a bit and put your head to the wall, “I had a surgery a while back ago. A transplant actually. A little over a year ago. I was born with a heart condition and it was only a matter of time before I’d need a new one. It was an inevitability, not a matter of If, but when” you looked at the door again, “Then moving here didn’t help as much as I thought it would”. 

Silence again. Were they still there? Were they listening? You cocked your head. 

“Ghost?” 

Here. 

You let out a breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna trauma dump all over you. Whatever the hell I’ve been through is probably nothing compared to what happened to you. I mean, anything’s better than…death I suppose. Everyone’s told me I should feel lucky to be alive but I don’t. I just don’t. And I don’t entirely know why. I feel like I’ve lost something. I lost something major and I have no idea how to get it back, if I even can”. 

Heart. 

“Yeah, they took it out and it feels like they replaced it with a clump of lead half the time. Or maybe mercury because I’m a little crazy”. 

Crazy.

“I mean look at me, I’m sitting here in front of a haunted closet, talking to a ghost with a plate of dinner rolls while wrapped up in a blanket which said ghost threw at me and trauma dumping about a surgery that is arguably nothing compared to being dead. I dare you to tell me that’s not crazy”. 

Not. 

You chuckled. “You’re funny. I can tell”. 

Joke? 

“Are you asking me to tell you one or are you asking if I want to hear one?” 

Tell. Me. 

You giggled a bit. “Alright…okay, this one’s kinda stupid, but…what did Yoda say when he first saw himself in 4K?” 

What? 

“HDMI”.

You waited a moment and the door slowly cracked open a bit more. You swear you heard a snort coming from inside. You smiled fully at that. 

“Ah so you like puns and lame jokes don’t you? Well at least someone appreciates my humor. Ellie doesn’t really get it right now, and the few she does she rolls her eyes at”. 

No. Taste. 

“Nope…none whatsoever. But she’s young, so she’ll learn” you reached a hand out and took one of the rolls, “Sorry, I’m hungry. May as well have a midnight snack” you went to take a bite, but stopped. 

What if he missed eating? What if he took offense to you eating something you initially offered to him? Sure ghosts couldn’t eat, but it was the principle of the act. Carefully you set it back down. 

“Sorry, I don’t wanna rub your nose in it. You probably miss eating. I know if I was a ghost I would”. 

Fine. 

“You sure?” 

Yes. 

“Thanks, this excitement tonight made me hungry” You took it again and took a bite. 

Miss food. 

You looked at the phone and then at the door. “If you could have anything right now what would it be? Like…maybe in the morning, I can make you something before I have to fill out my orders”. 

Silence reigned again. You waited, curious as to his answer. What did ghosts miss eating, you wondered. 

Muffin. 

“I can make us muffins tomorrow if you want. Any in particular?” you asked. 

Blueberry. 

You nodded. “I think I have some blueberries left. If not I can pick some up on the way home tomorrow after dropping Ellie off at school. Sound good?”. 

Good. 

You smiled at that. “Alright. Looks like we’re off to a great start then. Hey, um…Ghost?” 

Yes. 

“If you ever need to talk to me, come to me and give me a sign you’re there. Like a knock or something, and we can talk. I don’t want you to feel isolated and it was never my intention to make you feel that way. I’m assuming you lived here first, so I don’t want to make you upset again. Just let me know okay?” 

K. 

You chuckled and shook your head. “Not even a whole word. As for Ellie, give her some time. She’ll get used to you. Just try not to scare her again”. 

Afraid. 

“Afraid? You mean she’s afraid? Well, she’s six so she doesn’t entirely understand. Just give her time, okay? I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. She’s just a kid”. 

You could’ve sworn you saw a faint white shape in the closet. It wasn’t solid, as you could still see through it. You smiled a little, as the faint familiar feeling reared its head again. You felt as though you knew him somehow, but you couldn’t figure it out. 

“You can come out if you want” You told him. 

Negative. 

You rolled your eyes. “And we’re back to this…Look, I’m a former military spouse myself. I know you guys are all about that, but you don’t need to do that with me, okay?” 

You didn’t get a response as you slowly drifted to sleep in the hallway in front of that closet. You didn’t hear the door close, or the faint whisper of ‘Good night’ as it closed. Maybe things could work out. Maybe you could help him, and in turn, help yourself…

[zanukavat]

OOOO OP DROP RICK AND MORTY OCS

OH BOY HERE WE GO.

so, I made these cute ref sheets in the shows style yesterday (and today), apologies if you cant decipher my scribbly handwriting, ill summarize below:

Rick (nicknamed on the citadel "Seven")

Rick's home dimension is M-121.5 but you could hardly call it a home. He left his Diane and Beth behind shortly after acquiring portal technology from Prime or one of his subordinate Ricks, wandering off to absorb himself in the vastness of infinity.

His original dimension never ended up birthing a Morty, since his Beth and Jerry had trouble supporting themselves and had Summer as their only child.

Rick, eventually growing lonely but refusing to admit it, joins the citadel in an effort to be useful and climb the ranks there with the hopes of living a fulfilling life in a safe, Rick-made bubble. He gets assigned a Morty as standard, but said Morty dies in combat on a riot not too shortly after.

Rick gets a (small) punishment, one you'd get for breaking a doorknob or forgetting to turn off the lights in the building before you leave; getting a Morty killed. He probably just has to scrub toilets for a week or something.

He gets his new Morty and resumes work on the teleportation deck as normal and lives with his Morty in a small apartment, until S301 where they manage to flee the citadel together.

Morty ("unlucky charm" / other similar insults behind his back)

Has forgotten his original dimensional code due to constant changes of ownership. Only the Morty databanks know it now. He took M-121.5's dimension as his and carries a small wristband with the code written on it.

This Morty has gone through a LOT of Ricks. Six in fact, which is why his new Rick is mockingly called "Seven" by others on the citadel, making fun of him for ending up with such a shitty excuse of a Morty. Asking him if he'd lost a bet.

Morty's left arm has been surgically altered to fit a tracker interface that'll show Rick's current position and vitals to Morty. Though he only gets this later, after they flee the citadel.

The jacket he is wearing was originally merchandise stolen from a small shop he worked in while living on the citadel. They later add patches to it in an effort to cover up the citadel logo, since Morty doesn't want to give up the jacket, and Rick is paranoid about association with the citadel after they've fled. Pretty rich coming from the guy still wearing his uniform under a stinky coat, but what can you do when those are the only clothes you've got.

They go through an intense period of struggling for survival, with the Federation collapse and chaos left behind, the two of them retreat to more desolate spots of the universe to wait for the dust to settle. After a bit of "holy shit we lived" euphoria, they fight a lot, with Rick slowly noticing the many flaws in this Morty he is now -- in his assumption -- forever stuck with. He also pushes Morty too far numerous times but reels him back in again anytime because what other option is there? Being stranded alone in an asteroid gas station restaurant?

Eventually Morty suggests returning to "their" home dimension. Rick's home dimension. He's reluctant but eventually (after a really long while and lots of convincing) does give in since their circumstances are dire and they could use a little civilization, even if it means returning to the family he abandoned.

I don't have much worked out for this Smith family, but I'd assume Summer is a good deal different from the Summer we know, due to being an only child. Beth's daddy issues are just as intense as Beth Prime.

This Beth and Jerry probably also never end up divorced and stay together for Summer's sake, honestly probably unhealthier than just splitting up for the time being and working out their issues separately.

Once they crash (probably literally) into their new "home" and everybody gets over the initial insanity of the situation, Rick struggles to confront the reasons he left and kind of just drowns himself in unhealthy habits. Besides the known drinking issues which is kind of the baseline, he makes sure to never let Morty out of his sight and pretty much makes a normal life for the kid impossible despite desperately promising it to him when they turned to move to Earth.

He builds a new portal gun out of scrap they've harvested while surviving and old things Beth never threw away because they reminded her of her father, and he's gone again. Gone with Morty. Gone God knows where. Except he returns at night to sleep in a shitty little cot and fuck he probably drags Morty's air mattress into his room with him without any explanation. Blames it on Morty not being able to sleep alone since they left the citadel. Blames it on anything but himself.

They go into what I'd describe as a narcissism-fuelled grace period, or honeymoon period, the more time they spend together off-planet after crashing at the Smith's house.

They go from Rick being very controlling and making Morty feel like an inferior sidekick, to Rick actually opening up and helping him become better. Very slowly and gradually, he realizes that, well, he's stuck with this Morty now. This is *his* Morty by all intents and purposes, and he doesnt have a fuckin replacement Morty ticket and after constructing and unregistered portal gun he'd not be let back into the citadel anyway even after reconstruction - so might as well invest his time and effort into this one Morty as much as he (claims to) hate it.

The kid is so broken already, having witnessed so many versions of his grandpa die, which Rick realizes after a while would just make it easier for him to reassemble him anew and mold him how he wants it. He's a sick bastard but if it aint broke dont fix it and especially dont fix it if it promises to always stay by your side and begs you not to leave

The whole "unlucky charm" curse only serves to fuel Rick's ego too because, unlike all these previous Ricks he only knows about on paper, *he* hasn't died yet with this shitty excuse of a Morty around him. which makes him better than all those before him. He's cocky, priding himself on living where those Ricks failed.

He gets too confident, as all Ricks do, and after a few too-close brushes with death he does decide to invest into various failsafes and "upgrading" Morty to a standard he sees fit. This is when Morty gets the tracker arm enhancement and various other augmentations that'll essentially turn him into a lifeline for Rick. He's driven by anxiety of his past mistakes, past deaths of Ricks, repeating. This time there'd be no scolding by teachers and new Rick two weeks later. There'd only be grief, and nothing.

Morty's trained not only in combat and survival skills but also shown how to reboot and even replace certain cybernetic parts of Rick's body.

surgery, baby!

Not on a clone, not a simulation, the real him. Train for the real deal.

They spend weeks in the newly constructed underground labs, Morty cutting him open and putting him back together; surgeries upon surgeries without any anesthetic so that Rick is fully aware and awake to guide Morty through it.

Eventually Morty does have to put those skills to the test when shit goes wrong on an adventure, but this is already so long so I'll spare you!! I'd be surprised if you read to here, if you did, thank you and I'm glad you're interested in my little guys !!

[notasecrettelepath]

Update!

In this chapter, Eddie starts to Lose It™ (not that he would admit it (it also for sure has nothing to do with buck having a new boyfriend btw)), Buck gets a new couch, and the word "Fine" is repeated 34 times.

Chapters: 5/20 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Rating: M | Words: 36k (slow burn babey)

Chapter Snippet:

Once, at Buck's request, Eddie had watched a documentary about a tribe deep in the Amazon rainforest. When the boys of the tribe reached twelve years old, they could go through a rite of passage to become men. For the rite, they had to put their hands inside gloves filled with Bullet Ants, one of the most painful insect bites on the entire planet. They kept their hands in the gloves as they danced and the ants stung. And Eddie was horrified. As a father, as a son, as a man himself. But he kept wondering about it. Wondering what it’d feel like for him — to earn his manhood through one single ritual. Not having to slowly learn and muddle his way through it. Not having to be repeatedly punched in the face by his failures at it. Thrown into the Texas dirt, dragged through the Afghanistan desert, crushed by 40 feet of Californian earth. The thought made him at ease. Attaining manhood by trading in a few days of semi-unbearable pain. Eddie had had quite a few of those already. But they didn’t make him feel more like a man. He just kept fucking failing.

Read Chapter 5 on AO3.

[disconnectedkid]

Hurt.

TW FOR WHUMP, HEAVILY IMPLIED SA, HEAVILY IMPLIED RAPE, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, MENTAL MANIPULATION, PHYSICAL ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, AND OVERALL UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS

there is no explicit sex in this fic/srs

Abel is the worst and Harry goes through it

Everything hurt. 

Harry was crying, quietly, one hand over his speakers, as his chest heaved, taking weak, shaking breaths of air, trying to fight the pain. 

He hoped Abel would think his crying was pretty, and not annoying. He would hate to ruin Abel’s good mood. 

After all, Abel had seemed so happy, and so even if Harry was curled in on his side, bleeding and bruised and still dripping from what Abel had done to him, it was worth it, wasn't it? 

After all, Abel said that he hadn’t been acting right lately. That is why he was doing this, to make him act right. 

To make him act like Scott. 

His chest hurt. 

He heard footsteps and twitched, quickly turning over and attempting to sit up, wincing at the feeling and wiping at the running tears with the base of his hand. 

Abel had exited the bathroom, and was staring down at him, his pajama pants already on, all evidence of his prior activities having been purged from his skin. 

Not as though he would have allowed Harry to leaveany marks in the first place. 

“Hey Scott.”  

Abel’s voice was hoarse and cold, as he stared down at the Harry, still curled up in his bedsheets. 

He was Scott, right. He forgot that sometimes 

He let out a small noise of acknowledgment, shifting to sit as straight up as possible, aware of the tears still dripping down his face as he blearily looked around for his clothes, everything in the room blurring together. 

Abel let out an impatient grunt, grabbing Harry’s arm and roughly jerked him up to kneel on the bed, earning a startled yelp from the smaller man. 

“Here.” 

Something was draped over Harry’s shoulders. It was silky, and too big for him, and a pale lavender and- 

Oh.  

It was Abel’s dress shirt, that had been allowed to hang unbuttoned on Abel until now. 

Harry shifted, stuffing his arms inside the sleeves, letting them hang over his hands, as he buttoned up the front. 

“Th-thank you sir.” he said, bowing his head, and his heart jumped. Abel hated his stupid stutter, especially because he couldn’t get rid of it. Hours of prodding around in Harry's voice box had proven that much.  

His throat hurt. 

He flinched, expecting to be hit, but only received an exasperated sigh in response. 

Abel must be in a better mood than he thought. 

He looked up at Abel. It was always hard to tell what he was feeling. Of course, none of the phones had faces, but Abel didn’t even have a visible dial like the rest of them did, able to spin and click to display emotions. 

Instead, he stared blankly down at Harry, before offering him a hand. Harry stared at it in confusion, before realizing what Abel wanted. 

He took the hand, and unsteadily climbed off of the bed, his feet hitting the hardwood floor gently. 

Abel let go of his hand instantly, dropping it to hang limply at Harrys side as he continued to stare at himcoldly. 

“Your clothes are in the wash. Go get cleaned up and come to bed.” 

Harry simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak again as he headed into the bathroom. 

Once inside, he saw the mirror. With a sigh, helooked into it, prepared to assess the damage. 

Unbuttoning the shirt Abel had given him, he revealed the canvas. Purples, browns, reds, blues, and blacks swirled and blossomed on his skin, painting a picture of everything Abel had done. 

There were bruises everywhere. There usually were, but Abel tended to keep them to easily covered up places. These were everywhere, from his neck, where Abel had choked him, to his wrists, where Abel had pinned him down, to his thighs, where Abel had- 

He cut off that train of thought with a shudder. There wasn’t anything he could do about it right now, and he needed to focus on what Abel had told him to do. 

He looked back in the mirror, noting the dried blood that coated him, specifically his hips, shoulders, and collar bones. 

Everywhere Abel had touched hurt. 

He took a washcloth out of the cabinet, and, with a bit of water, began to gently scrub away the red-brown blood that had been caked into his skin. 

He scrubbed at it until his skin was raw. He wasn't sure why, but looking at the bloody bruises made him feel sick. He kept scrubbing, trying to scrub his skin off, scrub off any remnant of Abels touch. 

Now, looking back in the mirror, he took the washcloth and gently wiped the sweat and tears off of him, especially his phone casing, it would be bad if he rusted.  

Abel wouldn’t like that. 

He gave himself another once over, and, after determining this was all he could do for the night, he buttoned the oversized purple shirt back up, placed the washcloth back in the cabinet, and stepped out into the bedroom. 

Abel was already in bed, propped up by a pillow behind his back and reading a book. Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself as he took slow, nervous steps forward. 

Abel looked up from what he was reading, taking notice of Harrys hesitance, he beckoned him to the bed with a finger. Harry sighed, defeated, andstepped to the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath, before sliding himself in bed next to Abel 

He tried to stay on the edge of the bed. For some reason, the feeling of Abel touching him again made his stomach churn, but despite that, the second he sat down, back pressed against the headboard, Abel slid his arm over Harrys shoulders, pulling him flush to Abels side. 

Harry felt sick. And yet, he still couldn't pin down exactly why. Abel was giving him everything, wasn't he?  

He had given him a place to stay, other than the factory, he made sure Harry stayed in line and did what he was supposed to do, he filled Harry with so much love it was almost painful- 

Did Abel love him?  

He had given Harry a purpose, and in Harrys eyes, that was close enough. 

Abel stroked Harry's arm absently, pressing smugly down on the bruises and scratches he had made. 

His touch hurt. 

“You did well tonight, Scott, good job.” 

That was enough to get Harrys fans whirring. Abel never complimented him, so he must have truly been exceptional tonight. 

He felt his face and skin grow warm from the praise. Why would he ever grow sick of this feeling?  

Especially when Abels skin felt cool on his, and his sheets and shirt were soft and silky. 

“Thank you, again sir. I truly don't deserve you.” he said softly, his voice box crackling slightly from the overuse, but not stuttering, this time. 

Abel let out a wry laugh, and, not dropping his book, his other hand moved to grab the edge of Harrys case. 

“You really don't. You're lucky that your... other abilities outweigh your utter incompetence at being a manager.” 

Harry let out a nervous laugh, the backhanded compliment stinging more than it should have, especially considering it was true. 

His words hurt. 

“of course, sir, I understand.” his voice was quieter now, and shaky. 

Abel let out a satisfied hum, pulling Harry to rest his head on Abels shoulder. Harry nuzzled his face into the comfort of Abels neck, the sharp angles of his phone casing not seeming to bother the other man. 

As the night carried on, and Harrys shaking breaths evened out, exhaustion overtook him, despite how hard he tried to fight it. 

 Abel moved his book to the bedside table, and pressed Harry down to lay flat on the mattress, sliding in next to him, and holding Harry's trembling, warm body against his own, quickly falling asleep. 

When Harry woke up, Abel was gone, as he always was after he did this. Harry thought he didn't like to see the aftermath of what he had done.  

Harry sat back up, wincing as his body protested, sending cold, dull aches through his muscles. 

Everything still hurt. 

He sat there, taking a moment to breathe, before pulling himself out of bed. His clothes were neatly folded on the bedside table, a note lying on top of them. 

The note read: 

“I'm at the factory today, don't forget about your shift at location 14, or else. 

-Abel” 

Harry sighed. It seemed like Abels good mood was gone. He hoped it wasn't his fault; he liked to think that he had been doing better. 

He shivered, pushing those thoughts to the back of his head as he quickly removed the lavender shirt, putting on his now-clean suit. 

Still flinching at every brush of cloth against skin, he buttoned up his jacket, making sure the sleeves covered up his bruises, and straightened his tie. 

Scott let out a shaky breath, readying himself for the day ahead. 

Everything hurt.

[creativewhizkid]

THIS is what i do with my artistic talent

(BTW I DID NOT DRAW THE BACKGROUND I TOOK IT FROM S1EP2)

original meme image under cut

[wolfish-nightmares]

i understand why hannibal wanted to eat will so badly i nearly take a chunk out of my boyfriend's arm everyday just because he's so damn hot