#(and one of the reasons i’ve been able to keep my head above water this break)

[ajournalingtrex]

“how was your day?”

it’s one of my favorite questions. (it’s also easy to notice that it’s maybe always the first question of the day i ask someone). on both the receiving end and the giving end, i love it.

whether it’s the words of affirmation love language in me and i didn’t realize it until this break or that it’s been almost two weeks since i’ve seen so many of my friends i don’t know,,,, but i really love it when people ask me how my day was??? it makes my heart do a little butterfly flutter

it’s that whole casual intimacy thing that’s the same thing as wishing someone sleeps well. the i care so much about you that i wish for every moment of your day to be pleasant, even your unconscious hours. but it’s the step beyond that??? the curiosity about someone fueled by love?

i care so much for you that i not only wish you well, but i want to know how you spent your hours away from me in as much detail as you’d like to give.

it makes me so happy when people ask; if you know me well, you’re guaranteed to get at least one animated story about the day. it also means i get to hear from the people i love about what stuck out about their day, which makes me really happy to listen to. it paints a vivid picture of someone’s day to day life that’s honestly so valuable to me in knowing someone. loving people in the mundane >>>>>

i live partly for words. reading was maybe my first love, with writing as my second. i love expression, i love all forms of subtle and non-subtle communication. i love vocal inflection and facial expressions, how easily we can give ourselves away to a knowing eye (and it makes me weak in the knees when people describe how they read or perceive me).

and as i’ve grown older and more confident in my identity, i’ve loved talking. there are so many topics that i could go on about for hours—very little exaggeration there. (especially with a back and forth!!!) when i’m talking and it’s very clear to me that someone is listening (via body language, probing questions, and/or building off what you’re saying) it’s such a validating feeling. it fills me to the brim with so much love. it makes my heart soar. some of my most memorable moments with my chosen family are moments where i’ve shared something ridiculously personal and it was met with least the confirmation they were listening (though so much of the time they reach so far above that and it makes me cry).

(probably also why someone remembering something about me sends my brain into a spinning frenzy.)

but one of the most beautiful things about words are the innate desire for a return!!!! letters aren’t sent to be read and then shoved into a back drawer, never to be seen again. no!!!!! communication is a two way street love!!!

i love responses. i LOVE hearing other people talk. other people are so interesting!!!!!! please just talk. what i would give to hear certain people just talk forever. i love listening. (i try hard to be good at listening!! it’s one of the things i'm most conscious about.) i love when other people infodump. i love hearing nuanced opinions and i love personal stories. i love asking questions that people give thoughtful responses to. i love hearing things about other people. i love knowing things and remembering things. elaborate stories and simple anecdotes and personal details and self-proclaimed preferences make me so happy.

tldr; i just love words, i guess. i just wanted to write about words and how i love words and why i love words so deeply. (and it’s my blog damn it. if you got this far you clearly wanted to hear me rant about words).

and i miss people and i try so hard to love people with so much of myself. (and a surefire way to brighten my mood? ask me how my day was.)

#sometimes i’m like there’s no way i’m words of affirmation #then i remember how much i love words and i see #probably common misconception: words of affirmation isn’t just compliments! #or at least it isn’t for me and i can speak (lol) for me #(though compliments do make me cry) #please just let me talk. or talk to me!!!! it makes me feel so full #my boyfriend and i talk for a lot of the day now #he gives me a play by play of what he’s doing (so i do the same) #and uses it as an obvious excuse to talk to me #even though he already knows everything i’ve done with my day #he still asks me how my day is #it hits my heart in a very fond spot #(he is not an outlier) #(which is why the lot of you have heard from me so often over break) #(and one of the reasons i’ve been able to keep my head above water this break) #(thank you for talking to me you dumb fucks) #(please keep talking to me if you can/if you want/if you have the time/energy) #(rank lettuce leaf shapes. send me pictures of dogs. tell me your strategy for cutting hangnails) #(i don’t care) #(except for maybe that last one. i’ll still hear it just not in grotesque detail)

[kasdan]

𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦 {𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝟦}

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a/n: i had such a hard time writing this chapter for some reason and probably would not have gotten it done if it wasn’t for my beloved @hathay ily my spicy cheese cracker<3

Summary: you try to adjust to the life outside of the lab and frank tries to help you learn what things are.

Pairing: frank castle x reader

Warnings: blood, injury, language, the fluffiness begins, reader not knowing what most things are, frank being babygirl yet again

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Song: Devil Town by Cavetown

I turn from the door and head towards the other room that the stranger—Frank, pointed me to. I push open the door that was cracked open all the way, and it reveals a small area with a toilet, shower, and sink all together. How convenient.

I shut the door behind me, and I set the clothes down on the edge of the sink, placing the gun on top of them. There’s a mirror above the sink that I look into and almost jump at my reflection. My eyes are sunken in with bags under them, and I look like I’ve just been trampled with my torn clothes and cuts and bruises littering my skin. I shake my head and move to remove my clothes. It turns out to be a hard and painful task, as most of the fabric has stuck to my skin, and I had to peel the fabric off of me.

After I manage to peel my clothes off, I go to turn the shower on, only to be quickly confused by the knobs that I see. All the showers I’ve taken in the past only had one knob, which consisted of freezing cold water. The showers were never long, but every time I got out, I would be shivering the whole time I tried to sleep.

I turn the knob closest to me, and water starts streaming down from the shower head. I put my hand under the water, expecting the water to be cold, and jump back when the water is scalding hot on my hand. 

I can see steam start to rise from behind the curtain. I’m not completely sure what to do now, but I figure I should probably try turning the other knob to see what happens. I go back to the knobs and turn the other one. 

I hear more water being pushed out of the shower head, and I go back to check the temperature of the water. It’s still hot, but it’s slightly cooler than it was before, making it so I can keep my hand under the water longer.

I go back to turn the other knob slightly more to see if the water will cool down a little more. I check the water again and decide the temperature is fine before making my way into the shower.

I let out a relaxed sigh as I feel the water run down my body. I close my eyes as I tilt my head and let the water fall over my hair and across my face. This is the first time in my life that I don’t feel rushed and uncomfortable as I shower, and I take advantage of that.

I spend a good amount of time just standing under the spray of the water, reveling in the feel of it. I eventually open my eyes and reach for the little bottles of soap that are on a small ledge next to me. I lift up my right arm and let out a cry of pain when I move my arm up, forgetting that it’s injured.

I feel my arm throb as I put it back down at my side, and I see blood and dirt wash down the drain as I work to clean myself the best I can with only one arm.

I’m able to get most of the dried blood off of me, but my scratched arm still has some on it that I can’t get all the way off without wincing in pain. 

When I decide that I’ve cleaned myself to the best of my ability, I turn the water off and open the curtain, grabbing a towel that lies folded on a small table next to the shower.

I dry myself to the best of my ability and grab the shirt off the pile of clothes I was given. I move slowly, putting my less injured arm into one sleeve before forcing my other arm through, wincing as I move it through the fabric. The shirt is big on me, the sleeves falling almost to cover my entire hand, and I roll them up slightly so I can put the rest of the clothes on.

There’s a pair of skin-tight shorts that cover my thighs when I put them on, and after, I put the sweatpants that were there on, tying the string in the front as much as it would go, trying to make it so they don’t fall off of me. 

I grab the gun that was left on the sink, glancing at my reflection and looking more refreshed than I did before I got into the shower. I turn to walk out of the bathroom, stepping on the pant legs as I walk.

I walk back into the other room to see Frank rustling through a bag. He looks up when he hears me walk in, and one side of his lips quirks up as he takes in my appearance.

"I take it the clothes didn’t quite fit." I look down and see that I’m practically drowning in the clothes. I shrug my shoulders in response and immediately regret it as I feel a shoot of pain go through my shoulder. Frank’s eyebrows creased, his mouth turning into a slight frown when he sees me wince at the movement.

"You hurt?" It takes me a minute to process what he says before I’m shaking my head.

"Oh, um, I’m okay." I don’t even believe myself as the words leave my mouth, and he looks at me like he clearly doesn’t believe it either. I still don’t exactly trust him; I have no idea who he is or what he wants from me.

"C’mon, sit on the bed." He motions next to him, patting the surface with his hand. I hesitate before slowly walking towards him, putting the gun in my waistband and trying to make it so it won’t fall out.

I manage to get the gun to stay, and I sit down next to him on the foreign object, not fully expecting it to dip down as much as it does. Frank goes to gently touch my shoulder, and I jump back, not expecting the touch and cringing from the pull in my shoulder.

"Sorry, I’m sorry." I move back towards him, apologizing, and take deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

"No, no, I’m sorry. I shoulda told you I was gonna touch you." His hands are up in a defensive position, and he scooted back from me after I jumped away from him.

"It’s okay; you’re fine." I manage to say through bated breaths.

He waits until my breathing has calmed down before he moves towards me again. He sits there for a moment, waiting for me to give him the okay to proceed. I nod my head, and he takes that as his queue to start.

This time, when I feel his hand touch my arm, I don’t jump away from him and wait for him to assess the problem. I let out a hiss of pain through my teeth when he moves my arm a certain way. I hear him let out a curse and an apology before he continues, being gentler than he was before.

"It looks dislocated. Gonna have to pop it back in place." He speaks in a gruff voice, still assessing my shoulder. I swallow hard, knowing it isn’t going to be an easy task to get through.

"You need a moment to prepare?" He asks me, and I quickly shake my head, just wanting to quickly get it over with. He lets out a breathy ‘okay’ before he’s bracing one hand on my shoulder by my collarbone and the other on the upper part of my arm. I try to steady my breathing as I feel him adjust himself to a better angle.

"Ready?" I nod and clench my jaw in anticipation. I get a brief countdown before I feel my arm being pushed up and back into the socket with a crack. I let out a strangled cry of pain, trying to keep as quiet as I can. A metallic taste engulfs my mouth as, during the process, I bite down on my tongue hard enough for it to draw blood. 

Frank steps back from me, and I’m able to roll my shoulder back without as much pain as before. "Thanks." I look down at my hands when I speak, finding myself fiddling with my fingers again.

"No problem." He responds, and I feel him stare at me for a few moments before I hear him move to open the plastic bag that was next to me. 

"Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just got pancakes, ‘cause who doesn’t like pancakes?" I look up to see him smiling as he holds out a container for me to take. The container is heavier than I thought it would be as I grab it from his outstretched hand and place it in my lap. "There’s also some eggs and bacon in there to get some protein in ya." I don’t know what he’s saying at all, but I end up just nodding at him anyway, like I understand. 

He hands me a pointed plastic object that I feel like I’ve seen before, but I’m not sure. I stare down at the object, twisting it in my hand, trying to figure out when I’ve seen it before. 

"Actin’ like you never seen a fork before." I look up to see Frank staring at me with an amused look on his face, and I get embarrassed by the way he says it, like it’s a common thing to know about.

"I have seen one before, thank you." I try to mask the embarrassment I feel, but I seem to not do it very well. The amusing look on Frank's face vanishes, and it turns into something I can’t make out.

"You really don’t know what it is, do you?" I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, and I end up just staring at him. He seems to take this as confirmation and grabs the item from my hand, taking the container that was sitting on my lap along with it.

I watch him as he opens the container, the top of it flipping up and settling behind the other part. He brings the item that was grabbed from me, places the pointed side into the container, and hands it back to me. 

I look into the container and see two brown circular things next to a yellow clumped mess that Frank put the item he took from me in. I look up at him expectantly, wondering what to do. 

"Okay, take the thing I just put in there." I pick up the plastic item with some of the yellow mess coming along with it, "yeah, there ya go, now you can eat that." I bring it up to my mouth but stop right before it reaches, my mind swirling. What if something was put in it? I’ve never seen anything like this before; how do I know it’s okay for me to eat? I can’t help the thoughts that keep swimming in my head, and it seems Frank notices.

"Here," he lets out a soft breath and walks up to me, carefully taking the item from my hand again. I watch as he puts it in his mouth and starts to chew it. "There’s nothin’ in the food but food." He notes when he’s done chewing, handing the container back to me so I can finally start eating.

I used the object to get the food on it and slowly bring it to my mouth, glancing up at Frank and continuing when he gives me a small nod. I ready myself and put the food into my mouth, chewing steadily, still not sure about it.

It’s strange, and I’ve never had anything like this before, but apparently I don’t mind it as much as my mind is making me believe because half of it’s gone before I get the chance to realize I’m eating more. It’s a drastic difference from the bread that I’ve been forced to get used to as my only source of food. 

I’m so busy piling the food in my mouth that I didn’t notice Frank coming over with a smaller container with what looks like some type of liquid in it. I look up at him questionably as he opens the smaller container and holds it out to me. 

"It’s syrup; you usually put it on pancakes to make em taste better." I’ve been so immersed in the type of food that I'm eating that I forgot about the other kind in the container. "Here, dip your finger in it first to see if you like it; it’ll be sticky." He brings the container down in front of me, and I raise my hand to the container to dip the tip of my finger in it. The liquid is thicker than I thought it was going to be, and I’m surprised when it takes a little bit to drip off my finger.

I tasted the liquid from my finger, and the taste that hit me was a completely different flavor than anything I’ve tasted before. I knew it was going to be different, but I wasn’t expecting it to be that drastic. "Good right?" Frank asks after a moment after I’ve tasted it, and I just nod in confirmation.

He tips the liquid over the other food that is in the container, making sure to cover most of it. There’s still some leftover in the container after he’s done, and he puts the rest back into the bag where it was originally.

"You can cut it with the fork to make it easier to eat." He explains, motioning to the item that lay unused for the time being in the container. I pick it up, slightly unsure of what he means by cutting it with this. "Turn it sideways and place the pointed part where you wanna cut." I try to follow along with what he says, and it takes a slight adjustment from him for me to be able to have it placed correctly. 

"There ya go. Now you wanna put some pressure on the pointed part usin’ the handle. Don’t need to put that much into it; should cut easily." I do what he says and put some pressure on the pointed part using the handle, and it cuts through like he said it would. I’m able to cut a piece off small enough for me to be able to eat it easily. It has a soft taste that I wasn’t expecting as I chewed through it. 

"Good?" He asks me, and I nod with a mouth full of food. "‘M glad." He chuckles as I stuff more food in my mouth, not knowing the last time, if ever, I’ve had this much food in one sitting. 

Frank grabs the other food container and goes to sit on the other object in the room with pillows on it that looked identical to the one I was on. I vaguely remember Frank referring to it as something, but I don’t remember the name he used for it. He leans against the pillows, legs stretched out in front of him, as he opens the container to start eating.

I turn back to my own food and continue eating. It’s silent for a little bit, the only sound being slight movements from one of us, until I see Frank reach for something next to him. He’s holding some kind of rectangle device in his hand, and he pressed a button on it, which turns on a screen that faces where we were.

I hear voices start coming from it, and I see people in black and white moving around the screen. My eyebrows crease, and I lean forward, trying to get a better look at the screen.

"You ever watch TV before?" I look over to see Frank looking at me and my reaction to him turning on the screen.

"Oh, um, no?" I rack my brain to see if I’ve seen anything exactly like this at the lab, and the only thing I can come up with are the screens with the moving pictures I saw when I was escaping the lab, and now that I’m thinking about it, there’s probably more to it than I initially thought. "I’m not quite sure exactly... There was this screen type at the lab, but it looked different than this." I continue, and he looks at me like he knows something but doesn’t say anything about it.

He clears his throat before making a reply. "Different how?" His eyes are trained on me as he waits for me to respond.

"Well, the pictures were less clear, and there wasn’t much happening on the screens; they showed different rooms and halls around the lab." He nods as he licks his lips, releasing a small, breathy laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, that’s not what TV is; what you saw were security cameras used to keep an eye on everythin’ 'round the lab." He clears his throat again, looking at me before he continues. "On TV," he motions to the screen he turned on just moments before, "most of it’s just actin’; no one's watchin' people in real time, and it’s made for entertainment." He says this right as a woman on the screen lets out what can only be labeled as a dramatic scream before collapsing into the arms of another person on the screen. "See?" Frank laughs as he witnesses the events happening on the screen.

"Yeah." I let out a soft chuckle as I watch more of the events that happen on the screen. We continue to watch what’s happening on the screen, and soon, both of our food is gone from the containers, and I can’t think of a time when my stomach felt as full as it does now.

"Alright," Frank stands up, collecting the empty food containers and throwing them away. "I’m gonna head out again; I shouldn’t be long, but just make sure not to open the door to anyone; I’ll have the key to get back in myself." He walks towards the door before stopping short of it. "Also make sure to keep these shut." He grabs the cloth that is hanging on the wall and pulls it together for emphasis.

"Got it." I respond back to him, and he gives me a nod before opening the door and walking out of it, the lock sounding after it’s been shut. 

I get a brief thought of trying to leave, but I wouldn’t know where I was going, and Frank hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him yet, so I sit and just watch what's on TV for the time being until he returns.

It wasn’t long until I heard the door being opened again, my hand instinctively reaching behind me for the gun but moving away from it once I see Frank walk through the door. 

He holds a smaller plastic bag that he sets next to me after closing the door behind him. He takes out a stack of what looks to be mini pieces of paper stuck together, along with a pen. He says nothing as he writes something on it, walks around the room to place it on an object, and repeats the process, putting a piece of paper on different surfaces in the room.

"What are you doing?" I finally ask him when he’s placing a piece on the pillow behind me.

"I’m helpin’ you learn what shit is." He says writing something else down and sticking it to my shirt. I look down to see the paper with the word ‘shirt’ written on it.

"I know what a shirt is."

"Just tryna cover all the bases, darlin’." This is the second time he’s used that word to refer to me, and I get a weird feeling that I’ve never felt before. I shake the feeling off as I concentrate back on the man who’s wandering around the room.

He continues writing the names of things down and sticking them to the things the name written on them says. Soon the stack of papers he originally had has diminished greatly, and the room consists of yellow papers all over.

He starts showing me certain things, like the bed, the lamp, the TV and the remote that goes with it, and everything in between. When we got through all of the ones in the room we were in, he brought me over to the bathroom to start the process all over again in there. 

After I practically had to beg for any kind of break from my mind being scrambled with all the new information at once, Frank finally caved in, and we laid on the beds and watched different and random things on the TV for a long time.

@sleeperthelazy @hathay @lunaticgurly @casa-boiardi

buy me a coffee ♡

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic #frank castle series #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x y/n #the punisher x reader #the punisher #embers fury #Spotify

[purgemarchlockdown]

MY (SORT OF) INITIAL PURGE MARCH THOUGHTS

Purge March is out and I'm never getting over it so let's talk about it! CWs for: Discussion of torture, child abuse, and cults, general Amane warnings but there still important to keep in mind!

So Purge March is a very fun MV and twists what we already know about Amane to fantastic effect and expands upon things that was already evident in some of Amane's previous scenes but not expanded much until now.

Before getting to the rest of the MV let's talk first about Amane's view of her own abusive situation, specifically her seeming self-awareness.

Seeming because she hasn't fully examined her and her situation yet. She Knows that her situation is caused by Someone and not Just her (the just being a keyword for reasons we will get to later) however she hasn't fully figured out that her cult as a whole is causing her pain. She's still championing herself under the cult's flag, under the cults ideals. The same ideals that Hurt her.

She even beats herself up About not upholding them in this MV, right at the start actually.

We know that Gozake's punishment is some kind of water based torture and since the flag is blue it's obviously representing him, and while the MV does show someone who is presumably Gozake doing this exact thing.

Amane is the one inflicting the punishment on herself in her head,

It's a cold, emotionless Amane, one showing no compassion for the one being hurt (wow I wonder why Amane might think that.) But still a representation of Amane, Amane is Still beating herself up here. Still beating herself up for not being able to Uphold her cult's ideals.

And what Ideal does Gozake Repersent?

Tis ordained, thou shall discard vulgarity

Huh, now I could bring up the actual definition of vulgarity but I doubt that's what the cult's actually talking about here huh?

I've covered this topic in my Animal analysis (which I will need to Expand On Greatly after this as, well as all my other analysis) but other than the obvious "violent animal" parts of Animal, Animal is about, indulgence, wants, going farther than what is considered appropriate.

The problem is, literally anything in Amane's life is considered an indulgence depending on how her abusers are feeling that day.

I brought up cake a lot in that post and that's because that's the most obvious one, cake is a dessert, it's sweet and delicious and Amane Cannot have it. It's too frivolous, too indulgent. However this extends to other things like...simply wanting to be Actually happy.

I'll get back to this but for now just keep in mind that Amane is still Punishing herself here, it doesn't seem like it due to how bitter and angry the lyrics seem and how Amane talks a lot about how SHE apologized and SHE was hurt (and we will also get to that!) but Amane is still blaming herself for a lot of things here.

Though, aside from that, she has recognized something else:

It's now your turn to say that hopeless "I'm sorry"

This is undeniably a very bitter and angry song, in contrast to Magic's cheery tone that has Amane constantly blame herself for her cult's actions against her and treats the cult as something that is an undeniably good thing (something she hasn't Stopped doing as mentioned above), Amane wants retribution for her pain, this is something that we could see in even the T1 Video drama. People who know my posts are probably sick of me bringing it up but that drama has her call her parents unkind in a roundabout way. Amane has Always been bitter.

Amane has also maintained the idea that if she is just a Good Enough Girl she will be okay. If she's just Good Enough she won't be hurt this time. If she's just Good Enough she'll be happy.

Magic: Not meaning to brag but I’m pretty happy I’ve made up my mind so they don’t make that face at me again Purge March: If you become a bad girl, monsters will come out. This is the magic that stops that from happening

The magic is following what you think your abusers Want you to do even though you don't know what it actually is. The magic is pretending that you are alright and satisfied and okay so that they won't get angry with you. The Magic is an Illusion that Doesn't Actually Exist, it was rigged at the start Against her.

Magic emphasizes this already with how Amane gets punished for...doing medicine but Purge March goes even further by showing that Amane had no reason to believe what she was doing was wrong.

She is Literally just putting a handkerchief around the cat's leg! I sincerely doubt that her cult seminars about the horrors of medicine or whatever covered "putting an handkerchief over a wound" and Amane is probably Used to hiding wounds. She's been tazed, beaten, drowned, the works. She's had to hide injuries before.

Why would she think this is "bad" in any way? What reason would she have to assume this is something bad.

Magic has this turned into a medical kit.

Because in Magic and probably still now, Amane thinks she should of Known Better. That she should of known that Covering a Wound with a Handkerchief was actually a bad medical thing.

It doesn't even seem to be a bad wound! Not as bad as Magic portrays it to be! Magic portrays the pain as something close to fatal, as the "sin" being premeditative, as the right answer being presented to her.

Except it isn't! Amane isn't with anyone when she's with the cat! And the cat seems to just hang out under the bridge if it doesn't straight up live there, and it doesn't seem like Amane brought it there as it looks like she just came back from school! The only thing that's weird is the collar but again I'm pretty sure Amane didn't bring the cat there.

It's genuinely possible that the action here was something that Amane did just because she saw a wound and went "Oh I should cover it so the cat won't be in a pain, this is a very good thing because animals are precious!" and did it without realizing that the cult higher-ups would find this to be a bad thing.

(The cat being an actual cat makes Amane even more isolated than I already thought which is really depressing btw)

Now this change in Magic makes sense, Amane is blaming herself in Magic constantly, it makes sense for her to interpret it as something she should have Known beforehand, to make it seem like an obvious wrong, Amane still believes in her cults values after all, it makes a lot of sense.

Do you know what else is probably included in the cult's values?

People have noted that it's possible that Amane's cult is vegetarian and is not supposed to hurt animals due to Amane's eating habits and how after the cat is killed the vow has been "broken." Which goes back to how Amane still holds her cult values in high regard, albeit in a less extreme and harmful way.

But this has also highlighted something else, whoever did this, is willing to break important cult rules so that She Suffers. The rules don't matter, the only thing that does matter to whoever she's talking about, is her getting hurt.

So, with that knowledge, If when SHE gets messes up she isn't allowed a second chance then whoever this person is, isn't also.

I love this because so often you see abuse victims in fiction be portrayed as totally selfless nice people and how could Anyone Hurt Them which is fine and all but it's important to me to see messy abuse stories! To see abuse stories where the victim isn't as morally squeakily clean...and still has the abuse be portrayed as a bad thing! Amane being angry and bitter and even committing murder does not mean that she should of been hurt.

Because trauma doesn't turn people into good people, it turns them into hurt people, which might sound cheesy to some people but it's true! Trauma doesn't make you stronger or kinder or any of that. Amane is in pain and angry and not at all a better person because of the abuse she's experienced. She wants retribution because she's Tired of being hurt, she's tired of being in pain and wants the people responsible to be hurt.

Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of "I'm sorry" that I said to you?

I love how its phrased like a question, do they even remember it? Did her well-being even matter to them? Did they even care? Magic Amane is forcing herself to believe the answer is yes, Purge March Amane knows that the answer is no.

It's spiteful and bitter and so very real.

But here's the thing, Amane thinks in black and white. Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Allies and Enemies. It's how she's been taught to think after all, anyone inside the cult is good and anyone outside is evil.

So when...I don't know, a bystander is there watching her help the cat.

One who probably also has dealt with abuse and is as powerless as her against all this as she is.

Amane sorts her into evil.

Because she's a silent bystander, because She's the reason why she was found in the first place, because if it wasn't for Her she wouldn't of been hurt.

Well...maybe, I'm not sure who she really killed here now honestly.

It could be her mom, but it also could be the balloon kid. This matters because there's very different meanings and implications depending on if she killed a cult superior or someone like her.

If its her mom well- I'm being very honest when I say I support this choice and I hope she gets to kill the rest of her abusers. I'm sorry guys but as much as there is actual complex themes you can write about this interpretation I'm too excited handing out party hats and eating cake to care. If her mom or any of her other abusers are dead it's a net positive in my book.

If it's the balloon kid though...well it's a bit of a different story.

As established Amane Wants to find something she can blame, she Wants to find someone who can take responsibility. But the people who are actually responsible, the system that is actually responsible, is so much bigger and stronger than Amane.

The "It can't be helped," from the scum who can't be helped.

So what do you do in that kind of situation? A situation where you feel so powerless and angry and bitter and sad and tired and lonely?

You find someone else to blame, like yourself,

or someone like you.

Because what else can you do right? What other things are there to blame?

But I hope it's the mom, I want the mom to be dead so so bad.

Uh so that's on initial thoughts! I will have more detailed posts about Everything and (probably knowing me) rewrites of some of my Pre-Purge March posts coming

#milgram #amane momose #008 #milgram amane #milgram meta #milgram analysis #cw cults #cw child abuse #cw torture

[lampmanliveblogs]

Oh never mind, that’s just Eda. Decided to cheat the system by just stealing the money, did ya, Owl Lady? That’s a pretty sick pirate outfit though, not gonna lie.

The Golden Guard heard Eda say ”You could have gotten yourself killed!” and decided to manifest himself out a giant water hand like his name was Lapis Lazuli. I do appreciate a sense for the dramatics. Bro was like ”Interpersonal conflict? I ain’t got time for that, I’ve got Plot to advance!”

Same energy.

Someone, PLEASE edit Eda's face onto Arm Fall Off Boy. I beg of you, I need it.

Anyways, as it turns out, the Selkidomus is a peaceful creature (too bad Eda didn’t mention it before, it might’ve stopped Luz from going after it) and it’s the actions of the Emperor’s ships that has been provoking it. The Golden Guard was tasked with slaying one for some reason. He don’t know why and don’t seem to care much. Just because the Bee-Plot is about Lilith getting materials to make a potion, I’m gonna say the Emperor needs part of the Selkidomus to make a potion or something.

For now though, he’s happy imprisoning Eda and forcing Luz to work onboard the ship to repay all the money that Eda lost.

We’ve only seen him a little bit so far, but I can definitely see what Lilith meant by him being a brat. He’s very confident if nothing else. He brazenly disregard the possibility of Eda and Luz as being any threat to him because they can’t use ”real magic,” despite the fact that Luz can very clearly use her own form of magic and that she’s quite adept with it. She was even able to surprise Belos!

Granted, Belos might’ve not told the Golden Guard about that little miscalculation on his part, we wanna keep the child soldiers good and mind controlled after all.

Aaaaaaaand he kicked their asses without even breaking a sweat.

A few things

Firstly, The Golden Guard, having asserted his dominance now proposes a deal. He’ll let them go if one of them ventures inside a cave and slays the Selkidomus for him. This kinda reminds me of the ultimatum Belos gave Luz in the last episode of Season 1. That being, she could give him the portal and save Eda… or she could keep the portal and let Eda be turned to stone.

The similarity is that in both cases, neither choice is the right one. The Selkidomus is (according to Eda) a peaceful creature that doesn't deserve to die. But Eda and Luz don’t deserve to be imprisoned or forced to work on a ship either.

Secondly, his magic. The red power and the weird fleshy tendrils that create this sword reminds me of Emperor Belos magic, adding further fuel to my theory that the Golden Guard is an apprentice of Belos. That would also explain the above-mentioned sadistic choice; Golden Guard is picking up some of his master’s personality alongside his magic.

Also, he’ll kill King

And with that fun thought looming over our heads, I’m gonna have to say goodnight for today folks. See ya tomorrow when I finally finish this episode.

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #toh s2e1 #separate tides

[aller-geez]

why do people assume everyone is the good protagonist that can't be hurt and is invincible and doesnt get affected by hate seriously i- listen i fully understand how you feel, and that you made an apology is amazing. But i also understand you rant on the internet because it hurt you more than you hurt anyone else. And now ppl are suddenly shitting on your hair, only because of one photo i seriously can't imagine how you must feel right now. I'm literally so angry.

Listen, this is what happened. Geezie worked super hard to create all the drawings she created, and did something admittedly pretty horrible once, and now people are ignoring the effort from earlier, hating on her, claiming she did it everytime, which i can kinda understand. But what i do NOT understand is that someone can come over and tell you to improve because you're mental health is affected by it!! I cannot grasp that mentality! You must have a great fucking life to be able to say something like that. Now if anyone hates geezie more because a FAN of her (aka not herself) can't take the critisism she received, dont you fucking dare to direct even more hate at someone who's been bullied for a reason, but nevertheless bullied. Listen, viceous words are as sharp as knifes and it hurts even more coming from a community that has loved and accepted you for a while. Can't no one understand that??

That’s honestly kind of where I’m at with it all..

Like, I know I fucked up, trust me. I am in no way trying to excuse what happened, or minimize it in the slightest.

But the amount of pure hate I’m receiving about personal shit due to something as vulnerable as fetish art that was instantly taken down, apologized for, and even the reblog that started it all was deleted.

The space I felt the safest with who I am suddenly made me feel like less than nothing over something that could have been handled by sending me a dm and I would have had the same reaction.. But instead there’s people insulting my appearance, and I can’t even scroll through my dashboard without seeing someone post about it. I’ve drawn over 200 pieces since April when I joined, which is an embarrassing amount of hours and finger calluses from my Apple Pencil.

And all of it was set on fire because no one could just shoot me a message..

So I feel, as someone who is diagnosed with a grab bag of mental illnesses including bpd, and autism, I’m allowed to feel depressed that 4 months of work and all of that time I’ve spent on art to go up in smoke..

Yes, I definitely caused it and haven’t tried once to defend my actions. I am extremely sorry.

But the hate I’m getting is so hard to not internalize when I already struggle every day with keeping my head above water.

Idk, maybe I’m expecting too much, maybe I’m just rambling and this will just further the clown image I already have going on for myself. Idk

either way, thanks for your support and kind words, it really means a lot to me.

#geezieanswers #struggling

[fettl3]

Hey friend, long time no talk.

How is this fireball of a world treating you?

Fair - I hope.

I miss you. Think about you all the time. Think about the times full of laughter and sarcastic comments. Long walks and trolley rides. Sharing music and stories. I reflect a lot on my adolescence and when I get to the part with you in it, just like with many other friends and ghosts, I’m grateful.

I’m not sure if you viewed our friendship the same way I did or even if you valued it for the same reasons I did. In a lot of ways I felt like you were one of the few people that understood me when I spoke. I feel like my Words never fell on deaf (ignorant) ears. It’s been so long I hope I still make sense.

I remember writing letters to each other. Trying to remain in touch until our fingertips finally lost grip. You helped me a lot in my first year of college, smoothing into things. I hope I helped you. Going to Chicago and all, always thought you were so brave for that. Envious, even. But always proud. We were into my second year when we stopped talking. We got busy I suppose.

I’m not sure what this message is, nor do I have a desired intent. A passing “hello” is what makes the most sense. I hope life has been kind to you. Hope you have a lot of new friends to depend on and share your love with. I hope the shadow in the back of your mind has been stunted by how full of light your life has become. And if not, I’m sure it’s on the way to becoming true.

Please keep your head above the water. I know the weight is heavy sometimes. People like you and I don’t really have the option but to keep on going. For our families, for ourselves. Don’t stop, ever.

Love ya, pal.

I’m on the train to work rn & started crying reading this. I feel like I’ve been waiting years for a whisper from you, & this beautiful little letter was more than I’d have ever hoped for.

I’ve missed you so much, but never knew what to do to contact you or where to start or I guess what to say. There are places in chicago that remind me of you because I go there when I miss you so much I can’t even talk to other people.

When we fell out of contact, I was wrapped up learning things that nobody, especially not anyone from where we are from, could have followed. I used those years to get answers I’d been dead set on getting, no matter the cost to my soul.

But my experiences pretending to be somebody I’m not has since made me stronger in my convictions. It gave me a strong sense of who I am not, who I’ve always actually been, and a clear & grounded idea of what I’m up against. A direction.

I say this to say that, had I heard from you just a year or two ago, I might have been ashamed of myself & not really able to connect with you. My memories of us are so treasured, almost crystallized, and in those times I need them like a map to come back home to myself.

I hope this explains the silence. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped thinking about places I’d take you if you were to visit me. I never stopped hearing your music, in my dreams of trolleys & downtown adventures. On the floor of my favorite memories. I hide those memories of you in the drawings I pin up in my apartment. I put our memories into my ceramics: letters to the souls that are missing in my daily life.

Please reach out again. Remarkably, I still have the same phone number as I did the day you google-maps-directed me through the then-foreign streets of chicago. As I did the day you drove up to San Francisco to pick me up. As I did the days we would freestyle & swing on swings into dusk. The same number as the day I spent my only $20 on chipotle for us to share because I knew that we were going to be friends.

Please reach out. I’d like to continue our adventures.

[clottedcreamtea]

Chapter Seven!!

my semester is officially over!!!! so im gonna try to get back into writing and I'm actually working on a cutscene featuring the costume i made for royal milk tea cookie :) hopefully i can finish it before the update ends lmao.

here is chapter 7. prepare for some heavy fanmade lore :)

The table was covered in luxurious treats– jelly steaks and loaves of bread, plenty for everyone to dine on. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt his mouth water as he began to fill his plate.

“We are eternally grateful for your hospitality, your majesty,” Financier Cookie announced from her seat at the table. She was still avoiding speaking to Royal Milk Tea Cookie after their discussion while approaching the fortress, actively avoiding looking the Oyster heir in the eye.

“I’m sure House Oyster would be more than happy to lend a Pearl Legion ship to your kingdom, Dark Cacao Cookie,” Captain Caviar Cookie offered, attempting to show his gratitude through material matters while Financier Cookie performed it vocally. “The new technology allows free travel throughout the Licorice Sea! Though, Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s tough powers saved us from an untimely demise as well.”

The king froze, knife and fork clattering against his plate. “Powers, you say?”

Confused at the change in mood, Royal Milk Tea Cookie simply nodded. “Yes, your majesty. A large monster made of licorice attempted to attack us– it stole me from my cabin, actually– and somehow I was able to control the beast. The licorice actually began to orbit me. It’s still here!” Royal Milk Tea Cookie set down his silverware and motioned toward the small pearls circling his chair, laughing a bit in amusement. The reality of the encounter did sound a bit unbelievable.

Several guards stepped forward, only just noticing the orbiting spheres around their guest. Dark Cacao Cookie’s face was unreadable, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie could only hope it wasn’t because of anything bad.

“You claim you can control the Licorice Beast?” The king rephrased, clarifying.

“Um, yes. I do believe that is what happened,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie agreed.

Dark Cacao Stood up out of his seat, motioning for Royal Milk Tea Cookie to do the same. “My esteemed guests,” He began. “I must depart for the remainder of dinner. Please continue to enjoy your meals without me. My guards will be more than happy to answer any questions you may have. Milk Tea Cookie, please, come with me.”

Beginning a brisk walk from the table toward a hall behind the throne, the Creme Republic’s ambassador quickly ran forward to keep up with the much larger Cookie as they departed from the dining hall.

“What’s wrong, your majesty? What’s wrong with my power?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie insisted, continuing to follow his host with a brisk pace. He cursed his short stature as he struggled to keep up. Dark Cacao Cookie opened a door with a key that had been hanging around his neck, allowing Royal Milk Tea Cookie to enter and take notice of rows and rows of portraits lining the hidden hallway. “I didn’t even know I had it in me, actually. I’ve never been in combat before, nor have I ever fought a beast like the one we encountered!”

“Royal Milk Tea Cookie,” The king began, ending Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s ramblings and walking toward the portrait at the end of the hall. He wasn’t using his given name, for some reason. “Do you know how the Five Ancient Heroes came to be?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie simply shook his head. The portrait above the pair looked to be of a small family, with a green and brown Cookie in the middle, and a chocolate Cookie on his right, a vanilla Cookie on his left, each woman holding a small child. 

“There is a collection of Cookies simply referred to as Cookies of Legend. They are spirits, representing different elements of Earthbread. The most accepted story of how they all came to be is that we were simply baked with Soul Jam in our dough, and while this is true, this is not the full story.

“I was baked by a different approach. The other Cookies of The Five may have been baked similarly, but I only know of my baking.” Dark Cacao Cookie pointed to the portrait, speaking in reference to the main bodies portrayed. “The Cookie in the center here, my father, is known to my people as Theobroma Cookie, though he goes by many names,” Dark Cacao Cookie moved through the hall, approaching another portrait, this one of a younger version of himself and the Cookie to the right of Theobroma Cookie in the first picture. 

“My baking was special. Theobroma Cookie had immense power that he blessed among all his subjects. Immense power from my father blessed me with the power that I possess now, and that I have passed down to my son. We are of a special lineage that very few Cookies are aware of. Did you notice the other woman in the first portrait, Milk Tea Cookie?”

“Yes, your majesty. She looked like a Cookie from the Vanilla Kingdom, though.”

“She was. My father had two Cookies he loved dearly. One of them was my mother, and the other was your great-grandmother.”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie gasped. “My what? Your majesty, I’m simply–”

“I know what you are, Milk Tea Cookie. I kept close tabs on my half-brother,” Dark Cacao Cookie assured. “Just as my might was passed down to myself through my father’s jam, your Mother, Oat Milk Cookie, was blessed with a similar sense of immense power.

“But I thought my mother was a simple Milk Villager?”

“So did I, before I heard about your powers. I tried to keep track of my half-brother’s lineage, but Oat Milk Cookie seemed too distant to be any Cookie of note. Now, however, I see that the powers simply skipped a generation.” Dark Cacao Cookie continued walking, this time approaching a portrait that looked as though it was revealing a great tragedy, Cookies strewn across the landscape as a great beast towered over the nation. “While my father blessed me with great strength, a yin must always have its yang. My half-brother, Swiss Choco Cookie, was given the gift of controlling great licorice beasts, like the one you met in the sea.

“He was warned the powers may become too much, but he believed he was an Ancient Hero and was worthy of his destructive powers,” Dark Cacao Cookie’s voice filled with sorrow as he continued. “He had a loving wife and a wonderful child, but he grew hungry for power and demanded my throne, not understanding that he had no right to claim it. His mother’s kingdom was already under the rule of Pure Vanilla Cookie, however, so I assume I was the last resort… he attacked us, and I had to stop him.”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie slowly pieced together the story that Dark Cacao Cookie– his half-grandfather– was telling him. Swiss Choco Cookie was nowhere to be found in any subsequent portraits. Stopping him didn’t mean trapping him or hiding him away somewhere… Swiss Choco Cookie had been crumbled by Dark Cacao Cookie.

“So,” The shorter Cookie took deep breaths, looking at all the portraits that provided visuals for the tragedy that had befallen his bloodline. “My mother is of Ancient lineage like you are?” It was an attempt to shake the murder from his mind, regardless of how righteous it had been.

“The very same. And I understand that you have come to realize you carry the same powers that your grandfather once tried to abuse.”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded slowly, scared of what he might be capable of. Dark Cacao Cookie quickly attempted to assure his guest of safety.

“Please understand that I don’t mean you will cause any destruction. I know you are on a quest to find Oat Milk Cookie and put a stop to the disastrous path of the wishing dragon that has given you such fortune,” Dark Cacao Cookie crouched to Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s level, continuing on. “My father is your great-great-grandfather, Royal Milk Tea Cookie. You are a grandson to me. The powers that you hold are nothing short of those exactly like us Ancient Heroes. I only want to warn you to be careful… something I didn’t try with my own son.”

It was a bittersweet sentiment, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded, letting the truth wash over him. Divines, it had only been a day on the journey, and not only was his life a lie, but his mother was a child of Ancient lineage. It was almost as though it couldn’t be real!

“Thank you, Dark Cacao Cookie,” The blue-eyed Cookie spoke softly, unsure of his place in Earthbread after the conversation. “I believe that I have been schooled well, and while these powers are… new… I don’t think I will turn to evil as quickly as your brother may have.”

The king nodded, standing back up to his full height. “I hope not. If every yin must have its yang, I do believe your other half is fulfilled. My son… has not been the kindest to all,” A sadness filled the king’s eyes once more, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie could only wonder what tragedies had struck his kingdom. “But let us return to dinner. I’m sure everyone else has already finished, and your beloved shall be ready to retire for the night.”

Jam filled his face. “No�� Clotted Cream Cookie isn’t–”

“I understand how it feels, Royal Milk Tea Cookie. My dearest… she was loved by all of us before her disappearance. I can sense how you feel about Clotted Cream Cookie, though I may despise him. Come.”

The pair exited the hidden hallway, Dark Cacao Cookie locking the door once more with his key and escorting his guest back toward the dining hall, where everyone looked quite full and tired after the wondrous meal.

“I thank you for your patience,” Dark Cacao Cookie bowed to the sailors and representatives from the Creme Republic. “I shall begin my watch for the night with my citizens. We will keep an eye out for this dragon, and wake you if it makes an appearance in our sky so that you may begin your journey toward the Hollyberry Isles.” With a swish of his large cloak, Dark Cacao Cookie disappeared out of the castle, heading toward what was likely a tower to observe the skies alongside his watchers.

“Must you now depart?”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie turned to see Financier Cookie speaking with a Dark Cacao watcher. She had a bow and arrow in hand and a soft smile on her face as she spoke with the paladin.

“Yes, I am one of his majesty’s most trusted advisors. He will want me to be with him tonight, I’m sure. It was wonderful speaking with you,” The watcher bowed to the paladin, smiling as she turned. “I hope you may visit the kingdom again soon.”

Before he could ask what had unfolded between the pair, Clotted Cream Cookie was running up and sending heaps of questions at Royal Milk Tea Cookie and what his conversation with the king had been about. 

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning,” He dismissed, grabbing the Consul’s hand and dragging him toward the hall of rooms in which everyone was staying. “I’d much prefer to get some rest now before the dragon appears. Is that alright?”

Mouth agape slightly and eyes directed at their clasped hands, Clotted Cream Cookie could only nod wordlessly as he followed the shorter Cookie into their shared room for the night.

#potr #royal milk tea cookie #clotted cream cookie #dark cacao cookie #financier cookie #lgbt #ship #self insert #crk #crk oc #crk fanfic #fanfic

[ina-nis]

(Sighs) This kind of thing is so conflicting for me... As someone who is queer and aspec myself, I grew up dealing with amatonormativity everywhere, and the things it enforces in regards to relationships.

I try to be always open-minded and listen to different perspectives. I’m friends with different people, many who are polyamorous, and/or view relationships in ways that break with amatonormativity. Of course, these friendships are just superficial (and online) for me, and I purposely keep people away for all the reasons I’ve been discussing in this blog for so, so long.

It made me question whether or not polyamory is for me, for example.

I’m a person who falls in love easily, with anyone. I can fall in love with several people at the same time, too. But reading about it, and seeing how, for some people, it’s less a matter of being poly X mono, and more a matter of “do I have the emotional energy for more than 1 relationship?”, “do I have the spoons to juggle several connections with different people?”, “can I nurture and maintain all these relationships?”, among other questions and the answers I arrived to were all similar: my own life is already a handful, I already spend a lot of time trying to keep my head above water. I do not think I’d be able to sustain more than one relationship at a time.

Another thing that bothers me is that, in therapy, whenever I brought up romantic relationships and what I would want from them and think would suit me, somehow it sounded like I was “looking for a parental figure” or that I was implying that I wanted to establish a co-dependent relationship with another person. Even when I always made it very clear that I will prioritize my life and myself first and foremost, then others; and I would like for my partner to prioritize their own life first and foremost too.

I think one of the big issues is how my trauma (and mental illnesses in general) skew the way I view relationships.

So I’ll see things like that post and immediately get defensive, because “breaking” relationship norms feel unsafe for me. It’s not me disliking, condemning or judging people who do these things; it’s how me, seeing things that I consider special and important, becoming trivialized and common, and how it feels unsafe.

Amatonormativity says that romance is the most important thing in the world, and that people should prioritize their partners and a bunch of other nonsensical things, that trap people in abusive and unhealthy relationships. It exists in insidious ways, when loveless aromantics are considered a danger to people for wanting to and liking to have sex without strings attached; when asexual people can have happy and healthy marriages without sex but they’re somehow subjecting their partners for abuse by withholding such “important” part of a relationship; when people in queerplatonic and/or polyamorous relationships do not get the same rights as people in monogamous romantic relationships; and so on...

And people are right to complain and wanting out of this system.

Some things about the other side, that I see people proposing, don’t feel safe to me either...

It tells me that it’s ok for me to be single. That I should work to better my own life and find happinesses elsewhere (even if being single is causing me so much distress). It tells me that my desire for a closed, committed relationship where I prioritize and feel prioritized is toxic and abusive (even when I feel like the alternatives are unsafe for me, and I make it very clear that I will preserve my own individuality and other people’s). It tells me that the fact that I wouldn’t be able to commit to more than one person and that I will prioritize my romantic relationship over friendships, makes me a bad person and a bad friend (even when maintaining any relationship is extremely exhausting to me). It tells me that it’s my fault that I’m single because if I can’t abide by a new ruleset, or lack of thereof, that means I’m in the wrong (and it doesn’t take into consideration my mental health or history with trauma).

...

I went through the replies and reblogs from that post and most people are on the aro and/or ace umbrella, so I can at least imagine how living in a world where romance is put on a pedestal is like... really, really bad. That’s how I feel about many sex-related things in society, as someone on the asexual spectrum.

To me, one of the possible solutions would be to give space for all kinds of relationships and dynamics to exist. And extend legal protections to them, among other things.

Personally, I do not think I’ll be able to thrive in a non-hierarchical polyamorous or in a queerplatonic partnership, I don’t think I’d be able to thrive having many friendships either. I have other needs and priorities. I’d rather have a small circle of people in my life, and a closed committed relationship with one person, whom I would be able to prioritize and dedicate a good chunk of my time and energy to nurture a good relationship with. My partner will be my best friend and I think that’s what would be good for me. I will feel safe and trust that this is a connection that will last a long time, because I like, want and need stability in my life. I will not have any friendships to mourn because I’m ok with not having many deep, close friendships.

And all this is not because not because I’m falling for the “relationship escalator” from amatonormativity or any of its other influences/demands, but because I require certain accommodations due to my mental illnesses and trauma. And because I know what would work best for me, personally.

As someone (the only person actually!) wrote well in the tags of that post:

#Yeah I was gonna say like #i know it’s annoying af when you feel like you’re loosing friends to the honey-moon-phase/young love relationships #where ppl in them Only have eyes for the other person and u feel expendable #but once you reach adulthood I guarantee 90% of it is bc ppl are basically FORCED to prioritize the person they’re building a life with #like regardless of if it’s romantic or a qpr or whatever. a partnership takes a LOT of work and a LOT of time #trying to sync up your life with someone and maintaining a relationship with that level of involvement is not a casual matter #so I absolutely can’t find myself blaming friends for the loss of our friendship when western society and capitalism #smothers every ounce of personal time and then solely encourages/rewards the remainder of whatever time they have left #be spent with their life partner #if your time is so severely choked by capitalism then of COURSE you’re gonna prioritize the one whose strength determines the stability o f#your life #of COURSE you’re gonna choose to dedicate that time to the person who’s most accessible because you don’t have the energy or the scheduling #to socialize outside of work or home life #i think it’s important to let ourselves mourn the loss of relationships to amatonormivity but in doing so I think we also need #to be kind to each other and realize that the issue is not only societal but systemic as well #i promise you that humanity is social to its core and most of us don’t want to relinquish friendships in favor for the nuclear model #we want friends we want acquaintances and mentors and partnership and community #but we’re forced to pick the one that capitalism can benefit best from #queer stuff

Capitalism aside - and it is such a huge problem in the matters of relationships, to start and maintain them - there’s nothing wrong in wanting to prioritize people who are closest to you, and not being able to deepen all other relationships. There’s just so much one person can do and, believe me, when you deal with mental and chronic illnesses it becomes much, much harder to do pretty much anything.

Call me toxic, abusive or a bad friend for wanting what I want, but give me an alternative then. Something that would work for me. I’m already in therapy and going through all kinds of treatments I could find and afford.

I don’t complain about people having their own relationships and lives to prioritize. It’s possible to find people like you, who are more compatible for you and your relationship needs. There’s many different people. There’s many different relationships. There’s no right or wrong way to connect with others I guess.

Ps.: I have no issue with any individual or community. I believe the queer community will only truly thrive when everyone start working together, that includes aro, ace, aroace, polyam people and anyone under those spectrums. I speak for no one but myself. If something I say is out of place, I welcome people to correct me in good faith.

#inanis post

[kagetsukai]

I posted 541 times in 2022

13 posts created (2%)

528 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@jellydishes

@feralgoblintea

@heroofshield

@mapplestrudel

@out-of-the-embers

I tagged 473 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#avenue queue - 425 posts

#dragon age - 65 posts

#art rec - 58 posts

#da:i - 37 posts

#signal boost - 32 posts

#i'm wheezing - 32 posts

#cullen rutherford - 28 posts

#commander handsome - 26 posts

#humor - 22 posts

#love it - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#every other flavor of white person i know (in europe) would rather die than have their guests be hungry

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Someone just tried to “shame” me for reblogging a hospital color theory post

Sir, we’re both on Tumblr in the year of our lord Beyonce 2022 and YOU are calling ME out for being cringe? Baby, that ship has sailed a LONG time ago. Get with the program. We’re all cringe here, but you in particular. Have a nice day 😘

6 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#4

Well... I guess I’m middle-aged now.

7 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

#3

The reason it’s hard for me to be a person who is positive about the future is because anytime my life starts looking up and maybe things start falling into place, something huge and negative shows up and knocks me the fuck down. I always have, and continue to, merely keep my head above water.

7 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#2

End of the year writing round up

I was tagged by @barbex​ and @roguelioness​

Overview: This year I mostly stepped away from writing for Dragon Age after a series of unfortunate events that made me bitter about the fandom. I kind of started writing a fic for The Wayhaven Chronicles, but the story uses so little of canon that it might as well be an original at this point. That being said, I did write a fair bit of it and I’m quite proud.

As you can see, I wrote 72K words last year and I am thrilled, because it’s the most I’ve written in one year, ever - by about 20k words. As a bonus, here’s the percentages of how often I wrote in the last year. It’s not great, but it sure is better than 2020. Go me!

See the full post

9 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

This was supposed to be a time of excitement and hope for the future. Instead, it’s become a nightmare.

About three weeks ago I finally made the decision to separate from the man I was living with. After several years of living like casual roommates, he was still blindsided when I told him I wanted to move out away from him, as if our relationship hadn’t been the worst joke in existence. Alas, after some sulking and some FB dramatics on his part, I was excited to move on. I was looking at new places to move into.

And then I found out my mother had a serious fall and had cracked her head enough to not be able to speak for a day. This stubborn woman had *refused* to go get it checked out and it wasn’t before I yelled at her that she chose to go get tested. It wasn’t until the day after that I found she had been admitted to the hospital. It wasn’t until the day after that I got the worse news of my entire life.

My mom has brain cancer.

The doctors are convinced that based on imaging they’ve done, the cancer had come from a different part of her body, but before they could give her all the testing to find out, she refused treatment, refused further testing, and went home. She hasn’t worked since the hospital stay and has been struggling to pick up things, or take care of basic needs.

I am still in shock, tbh, but I’m not afforded the luxury of processing my own emotions because suddenly she’s deteriorating at an exceeding pace and it looks like she might not have a lot of time.

In the meantime, I was approved for a wonderful one-bedroom apartment that looks absolutely *lovely*, but it’s incredibly hard to celebrate this new chapter of my life when it looks like I’m going to have yet another reason to hate my June birthday.

I don’t think I can explain more. All I can think about is the dry details, the information, the things that require logical parsing of what’s going on, because the moment I think about what I feel, I’m both numb AND like I’m about to break. None of it feels real, all while it’s way TOO real.

11 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

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[annihilate-this-week]

A scene I’m most likely cutting from the novel I’m editing.

I like it a lot, but my manuscript is over 150k words, and hey, kill your darlings. This doesn’t really advance the plot at all -- more in here so I can have two transfemme characters, one freshly out, one a few years into hormone therapy, talk about how transition works on a social level, and a bunch of other things I wanted to say.

I’ve done a fair amount of writing for this novel that turns out to be basically me making statements about life as a trans person -- especially life as a trans person after you get all the basics like hormone therapy and changing your legal identity taken care of, and ESPECIALLY if you’re a trans person who can barely keep your head above water financially (and maybe emotionally). I make them in dialogue form so that they aren’t so fucking clunky or whatever, but sometimes that takes up a lot of space. It’s fun to write, it’s maybe fun to read? But I can’t keep ‘em all or I’ll never get this thing published. So again, here’s something I probably can’t keep. I was working on editing it when I made the decision, so there are some track-changes artifacts in here, for which I apologize.

Putting it behind a cut in case you’d rather not be bothered.

Two hours later, she and Sam sat in a small cafe that was mostly full of hipster kids, withplus a smattering of older, traditional white Southern types mixed in. Tanya was feeling much better about how she looked after shaving, showering, and putting on makeup. She wore a black-and-white checkered skirt, a red White Stripes t-shirt, and cheap black tennis shoes. Across from her, Sam was had a more straightforward punk look, wearing black denim shorts and a black sleeveless t-shirt, the only hint of her femininity being the hint of a sports bra showing under her shirt. Tanya wondered if she'd had the chance to buy any clothes since transitioning.

She didn't have to ask. Sam started talking about it almost as soon as they sat down. "I love your outfit, by the way," she said. "I really want to be able to... I dunno, 'girl-ify' my fashion sense, but I have no idea where to begin."

Tanya shrugged. "I know a lot of crust girls who dress pretty much like you're dressed today," she said. "I think the question is whether you want to go for a more conventionally cute look. I try to do so while also remaining somewhat punk, but let's be real -- that gets lost a lot of the time. When I show up at a basement show in a frilly red dress, that might make a pretty strong impression on the punks, but when I walk down the street like that... Well, I guess in my frilly red dress, they think I'm goth, which is something. But still." She gestured at what she was wearing. "I look like an aging hipster dressed like this, which isn't nearly as punk as your vibe. But I think when I used to look more punk pre-transition, the main reason was because I didn't feelhavve any realistic hope to look any better than I did." SAfter a moment, she paused.said, "I hated how I looked."

"I know what you mean," Sam said. "I still kinda hate how I look. Wearing lipstick and makeup helps, but it's such a pain in the ass. And my clothes... I mean, I just decided a few weeks ago I was gonna transition fully. And now I'm stuck with all these boy-coded clothes."

"So you weren't like me? All collecting clothes in secret that you put on when no one was around?" Tanya grinned. "I was so ashamed and embarrassed of it at the time. Then when I started going out in women's clothes, people were like 'Where'd you get these outfits?' and I was like, 'I've been ordering stuff off the internet for years, y'all.'" 

Sam laughed. "Nah, can't say I ever did that. I think I was running from it all. I never really even started to face up to my gender issues until like... two years ago?"

"How old are you?" Tanya asked. Just then, a waiter showed up to take their drink orders. Neither of them had even looked at the menu. Tanya ordered a Diet Coke. Sam asked for a mimosa. Tanya nodded silently to herself.

"We're gonna need a few minutes to figure out what we want," she told the waiter. "Or at least, I am." The waiter walked away. As Tanya studied her menu, Sam set hers down at the empty chair to her right. Tanya figured she ate here regularly and knew what she wanted.

"I'm 23," Sam said. "All of us are. Me, Chris, and Tammy, that is. I think Ginger's a year or two older. She didn't go to school with us. I'm honestly not sure how Tammy met her."

"Maybe I'll ask," Tanya said. "Anyway, the reason I asked how old you are is to try and figure out how old you were when you really started questioning your gender identity."

"Yeah, I guess I was maybe 20," Sam said. "But it's like... when I was younger, I was trying to be a normal dude or whatever. I still liked girls, I looked like a normal male. I mean, I guess I did. I gotwas into punk starting when I was around 12 or so. I found Tammy and Chris in high school because of punk. We were like... the three kids our age who were into it."

"Are y'all from here in Mobile?" Tanya asked. She was pretty sure she was going to order the breakfast burrito. Which was predictable, in hindsight. She set her menu on top of Sam's.

"Yeah, I mean, the suburbs, but still, greater Mobile, for sure," Sam said. "But our school was full of shitkickers. Everybody out there's into like... Taylor Swift and Blake Shelton or whatever. It was so backwards that most kids didn't even like pop music, they liked country."

Tanya laughed. "I grew up in Nashville in the 80s and 90s," she said. "I know exactly what you're talking about."

Sam laughed too, then paused. "Wait, the 80s? How old are you?"

Tanya made a wry face. "I'm 39. Didn't start my transition til I was 35. Didn't get on hormones until I was 36."

"Whoa!" Sam looked shocked. "I would never have guessed you were that old. I mean, not that--"

"I know, I know." Tanya held up her hand. "It's not a bad thing, but it's weird. Believe me, I agree. I still don't know how I got past 25 at some point." She grinned. "I'd like to make a joke about how I only look this good because the spiro keeps me young, but..."

"Spiro?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Spironolactone. The anti-androgen. You're on it, right?"

"Oh! Yeah, for the past day," she said, and laughed. "I took it before I came out to meet you. But I've never heard anyone use a nickname for it before. That threw me a little."

Tanya chuckled. "You're a babe in the woods!" she declared. "But seriously, I'm so excited for you to see what's coming."

"Me too," Sam said. "I'm really hoping it makes me a bit less hairy."

"It does!" Tanya said. "I thought I'd just have to shave huge portions of my body forever, but at this point I've lost 80% of my body hair. I thought that was all hype, but it's real."

"Oh thank god," Sam said, and at that point their waiter arrived to take their food orders. They both started self-consciously. 

"I'll have the breakfast burrito, with chicken, hash browns on the side," Tanya said. 

"Very good, ma'am. And for you, sir?" The waiter turned to Sam. She didn't react, but Tanya immediately slapped her hand to her forehead, and held it there. Seeing friends misgendered was the worst.

"I'll have the huevos rancheros, with avocado. Beans and rice on the side," Sam said. 

"Sounds good! I'll get these right in to the kitchen." With that, the waiter disappeared. Tanya, who'd been watching the interaction between her fingers, finally took her hand away from her face.

"Do you think he heard what we were talking about?" Sam stage-whispered to Tanya.

"No, but I know he misgendered you," Tanya said. "He was totally oblivious."

"Really?" Sam pulled back in surprise. "I didn't even notice! I wondered why you put your hand over your eyes."

"Yeah, that's why," Tanya said. "Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. That kind of thing always made me feel like I was gonna die."

"It sucks that I didn't notice, though," Sam said. "I need to get better about thinking of myself as a woman."

"That's an adjustment, for sure," Tanya said. "It took me about a year before I was a woman in my dreams on any kind of consistent basis."

Sam thought for a second. "I'm definitely still dreaming of myself as the confused non-binary person I spent the last year or so identifying as." She shrugged. "That's better than dreaming of myself as a man, though."

"Fuck yeah it is," said Tanya.

"So tell me about this tour you and Tammy are booking. What's the plan?"

Tanya shrugged. "A month or so. I guess I'll end back up in Nashville after. I haven't really planned all that out though. The real point is to get me away from places where I need a fixed address. At least for a little while."

"Wow. I don't think I've ever heard of that before." Sam grimaced. "It doesn't sound good."

"No, I suppose it's not. I'm going back on tour to avoid homelessness. That's a hell of a thing. But at the same time... I mean, there's not much left for me in Nashville. I have this long history there, but it's in a punk rock scene where I'm pretty much universally known as a guy. There are people who've completely turned on me since I came out. People I never knew were TERFs showed their true colors as soon as I made it public. But that's the kind of thing... it wasn't anyone I'm particularly close to or anything, you know?" Tanya sighed. "It's more the way a whole bunch of my friends were just completely unable to shift their mindsets. Like, I get it, I've fucked up on pronouns with other friends who've transitioned. It's tough to relearn things like that when you've known someone for a while. But it mattered to me to try and get it right, you know? I cared about these people. And I always respected trans identities, going back to the 90s when I was 14 and saw trans girls on Donahue or whatever. It seemed valid to me in a way that most people didn't seem to think it was. So I tried! And when people don't try, when people I care about and who supposedly care about me don't try, it makes me feel like they don't see me as valid. Which is tough to get past, even if they clearly still like me and I like them too."

Sam nodded. "I've honestly got a little bit of experience with what you're talking about, even having only been identifying as non-binary and not fully transitioning. I suppose there are people out there who were using he/him pronouns for me this whole time and I wasn't paying that much attention. But now I'm gonna have to start paying attention."

"Well, it's not even that," said Tanya. "People can handle non-binary identities because it generally doesn't require full recontextualization of a person. People who identify as non-binary often don't go through an actual change in their presentation, and I've found it's pretty rare for enby-identifying people to engage in medical transition of any sort as well." She shrugged. "Of course, that could be because the medical industry makes it hard to get what you want to do done if you deviate from their script. Thank god, things have at least gotten past that whole bullshit Harry Benjamin 'I was born in the wrong body' narrative. But there are still things that you can say about your desired gender or whatever that'll get you shut down as pathological when really, the truth is that there are just a lot of potential ways people might want to express their gender, and ALL of them are valid!"

Sam was nodding as she finished speaking. "I've already been looking at stuff online about transitioning -- since a while before I fully came out, if I'm entirely honest -- and I've already noticed this. People will tell you 'I said this to my doctor and it caused six months of problems' or 'my first doctor didn't understand at all and I had to move to a different city before I got the care I needed' or whatever. I went into my intake conversation at Planned Parenthood with all this stuff I could say, and lo and behold, they didn't really care that much. I told them about my history of gender feelings and they just kind of nodded and said, pretty much, 'Sounds legit,' and had me sign some papers."

Tanya nodded. "Informed consent's been a godsend for me too. I can tell you one story, though. I had to go to my doctor and get three months of prescriptions taken care of in advance so I could go on tour. And she was like, 'Why are you doing this?' and I totally did not tell her that it was better than being homeless, so why not? I knew that would be an issue. So now my doctor at Planned Parenthood Nashville thinks I'm in a touring band that plays to 500 people a night." She shook her head and laughed at the memory. 

Sam laughed as well. "Normal people have no idea that reasonably big bands that they've heard of can't necessarily draw 500 people in most of the country."

Tanya nodded, thinking of the time she saw Kings Of Leon play for 50 people at a sparsely attended promotional show. That was years before they'd gotten big, though. These days she didn't even like them.

At that moment, their food arrived. 

Tanya was pretty hungry, and dug right into her breakfast burrito. Sam seemed to be in the same position -- which was no surprise, after her escapades the previous evening -- and very little was said for a few minutes as both of them chowed down. Tanya came up for air after she'd gotten about halfway through her burrito. After a big swig of her water, she looked over at Sam. 

"I've been thinking," she said. "I know you're just starting out, and I've been doing this for a while. So if there's anything I can help with by talking about it or whatever, you're welcome to ask. I want to do whatever I can to make this whole process easier on you."

Sam set her Diet Coke down. Once she'd finished the mimosa, she'd switched to non-alcoholic drinks, a move Tanya had appreciated. "Yeah, there is something," she said. "This is a weird question but I'm just gonna ask."

Tanya nodded, hoping to encourage her.

"Can you explain to me how the heck you figured clothes out? I just have no idea about sizes and all that." Sam gestured at her body. "I don't have much of any definition, curve-wise, at this point, but I want to find stuff I can wear that makes me feel more, you know, girly." She held up her hands in an at-a-loss gesture. "What should I do?"

"Well, it's tough," Tanya said. "I was and am built a bit different from you. I mean, to be honest, this is the thinnest I've been as an adult, and I'm still a bit overweight if you ask the BMI or whatever. But like, I started wearing women's clothes full time months before I took my first hormone pills. So I started out by working with what I had, and I had a bit of extra weight up top." She gestured to her breasts. "They developed more once the hormones took effect, which was lovely, but even at the beginning I had a sense of what was up. You don't have that. Which isn't good or bad at this point, it just... is."

Sam nodded. "True. So you at least understand the problem."

"Oh, for sure," Tanya said, nodding. "One thing I can tell you is that you will develop, not just in your breasts but in your hips, your butt, the backs of your thighs... It'll take a few months, but changes will start to happen. And you won't know the full extent of them for years. So I would say to start out with stuff that you feel good about, and the only way to really find that stuff is to try things on. I used to go to thrift stores, spend half an hour collecting a double armload of potential stuff, step into a fitting room with it, and find that 90% of it didn't fit me or looked terrible. I'd go in with 40 things and buy two. But that's the way it has to go."

Sam nodded. "That makes sense. Doing the thrift store thing makes me nervous as hell, but I guess I've got to take the plunge."

"If you need a partner for thrift store runs, I'm in town for a couple of weeks," Tanya said. "I'm always glad to help."

Sam smiled. "I will take you up on that. Let's swap numbers before we leave here."

"What are you doing today?" Tanya asked. "You seem to have money... want to hit up some places later?"

Sam's smile grew even wider. "That would be awesome, honestly. You sure you're up for that?"

"It's always fun to hit thrift stores," Tanya said. "Who knows? I might find something I want too. I mean, I probably shouldn't buy anything, it'll just be more stuff to wash while I'm on tour... but I'm not saying I won't anyway." Sam laughed as Tanya picked up her breakfast burrito.

#am writing #solo tour story #second draft

[snowflakeanimelover]

Alana Rose The Hedgehog: The Magic Within

The quiet buzz of the light attached to the ceiling above me made my ears twitch. The gray, metal room was deafening. Sitting in the interrogation room for hours with scratchy orange prison clothes was starting to get on my nerves. My stomach growled painfully for food, which I haven’t eaten yet for practically a whole day, and I was very tired. For as long as I’ve been in this room, I could've gotten some sleep. Being in a prison doesn’t technically give my body and brain the ability to be comfortable for sleep.

I could feel enjoyment rising in my body as soon as footsteps were being heard. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing good about being in a prison but being able to talk to someone after a long time and maybe even ask for food and water got me excited. The handle on the only door attached to the room started to move, the door cranking open as a Zone officer walked in.

The Zone officer is a blue hedgehog. He had a very serious expression under the visor helmet he wore. A funky red and gold skintight outfit hugged his body. The usual Zone officer uniform I’ve seen around the perimeter.

Just behind him stood another officer. This time, unidentified. The helmet covers their whole face. But in their hands was a tray with food and a cup of water on it. My mouth watered at the smell coming off of the tray, but I kept myself calm and professional. 

After the officer puts the tray on the metal table in front of me, they leave the quiet room to just me and the blue hedgehog cop. Although I kept my professionalism up, I wanted to push that facade aside and eat as much as I could. But hearing the clanking of the metal cuffs gave me a suitable reminder why I couldn’t eat such delicious food.

The hedgehog didn’t say anything. He poked around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of wonky keys. The cuffs weren’t your typical city life cuffs. It was as if they took the idea from the medieval times of a stockade, but with no head piece. It was just for the wrists. 

Either way, with this inhibitor collar tight around my neck, I had no power or strength to get out of the cuffs. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I was caught for a reason, and I’m going to pay for that reason. Anything to get me faster out of here and to find my little sister.

Back to reality, I notice the cop unlocking the cuffs. He nodded towards the food, allowing me to eat. I didn’t go after the food like some animal. I was hungry, but not that hungry. I took the fork and butter knife, cutting some small bite sized pieces of the steak, and taking a bite. It wasn’t the best, but it was food.

The Zone cop clears his throat, sitting down on the opposite side from me. “Alana Rose. I am Zonic, the elite Zone cop.” He paused, a long silence taking over. I took a few more bites of my food by the time he spoke again. “We know about your power-”

I coughed, almost choking on the half swallowed food. Quickly grasping the plastic cup of water, I down it in one go. Gulping down the now spoiled food, I took a big gasp of air. A couple more small coughs, and I was back to normal. Sort of. 

“What?” I manage to spit out. 

Zonic wasn’t fazed. “A very powerful power, am I right?”

I wipe my mouth from the lingered liquid. I wanted to deny it. A thing I had to do for practically my whole life. But if they already know, It’s no use to keep it a secret from him. I just have to hope for the best, and not for the worst.

After a bit of silence, I slowly nod. “What of it?”

“We want you to tell us your story.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Then, I laughed. What kind of statement was that? Why ask about my life, about my power? I decided to humor him. “Okay. Well, I was born, I was raised, I was in a town to learn more about my power, then I was arrested…and now I’m here.” With a firm nod and a smile, I got back to eating my unfinished food.

Zonic kept his serious facade. He leaned back, arms folding as he got comfortable in the metal chair. “From the very beginning.”

He was definitely being serious. Alright, why the hell not? I took the last couple of bites left of my meal, relaxed back, and started from the very beginning.

— — — —

With great power comes great responsibility. A saying my mother used to tell me all the time when I was young. When I was at the age of ten, with my sister being a year younger than me, my family and I lived in a small town. A nice neighborhood around. It was just me, my sister, and my mother.

It was like any normal day. The sun was shining brightly, the warmth from it spreading onto the earth as it touched. Amy and I were playing in a park not far from home. Tall trees surrounded us as we played in the big sandbox. 

“Come on, Amy!” I called out to my sister. “Let’s make a castle.” 

“Yeah!” She said excitedly. 

We were having a lot of fun. But, more kids joined the sandbox. One in particular, we knew wasn’t the greatest kid in the neighborhood.

“Hey!” Amy and I said simultaneously as we watched the just-made sandcastle being kicked down by the boy.

“How could you do that?!” Amy screamed at the boy. She stood up, tears brimming at the corner of her emerald green eyes.

My sister is known for fights. She has some…anger issues. She can easily get angry, and ready to fight anybody who stands in her way, or causes problems. Of course, we were just children. So, she’s not really strong. She pushed the boy out of anger, and well, he ended up punching her right in the face.

“Amy!” I called for her. She laid still on the sand. I got on my knees, shaking her body. “Amy? Amy, wake up!” 

She was breathing, but seeing her unconscious made me angry. I was very protective over my little sister. And, at that moment, I was crying and having trouble with what was going on. Seeing the boy smile after what he did, it made my blood boil.

Before I knew it, I could feel my body growing hot, and some white patterns grew on my arms and legs. It looked like an artist painted these…designs on my body. A bright light got brighter from my stomach. To this day, I understand what I was feeling.

— — —

“And what were you feeling?” Zonic asks, now leaning on the table with his arms resting on top. His fingers weaved together.

“I felt…power. But, I blacked out. A flash of light took over my vision. And the next thing I know, I’m waking up from what felt like a long nap.” I sigh, remembering the not so good memory of my past. 

The hedgehog straightens his back. “Then what happened?”

I looked away, avoiding eye contact. “Um…it looked like a crater hit the sandbox. There was…black everywhere, like uh, like it was charred. Like a fire broke out.”

“And the boy?”

“He was fine. Shocked, but fine. I guess…I guess I missed him. He was on the ground, shaking and shivering with fear. Staring right at the burnt area.” Reliving that moment wasn’t the greatest. What if I did hit that boy? Would he have died? What would’ve happened to me if anybody found out? I was just a little girl…

What would’ve happened to my family?

Zonic cleared his throat once more, grabbing my attention from the deep thoughts I was having. “What happened next?” He continued, standing up to lean against the wall. Man, this guy can not sit still.

Folding my fingers together, I lay my arms on top of the table. “Then the neighborhood found out.”

— — — 

It was no surprise a crowd started to form around us. I was terrified. Mostly because I had no idea what just happened, and my sister still laid on the ground unconscious. The boy was probably more scared than I was, since he saw the whole thing. He cried to his mother about how scary I was. 

“Alana!” My mother called as she ran up to my sister and I. She looked frantic, trying to understand what was going on. But then, she noticed something. There were white markings still sprawled on my limbs. My mother gently grabbed my arm, taking a closer look. “We have to go, honey. Now.” She picked up Amy with ease, and grabbed my arm with her free hand to drag me away.

The crowd was gasping at the weird marking on the ground in the sandbox. Parents, uncles, and aunts I knew well looked…terrified. They looked at me with those judgy eyes.

My mother–

“What did your mother look like?”

— — —

I grumble at his sudden question. “Do you mind not interrupting my story?” I ask begrudgingly. He chuckled lightly. Probably from my angry expression. “And why do you need to know that, anyways?”

“Information on you. Now tell me.” He demands.

With a long sigh, I think purely on my mother. “She looked exactly like me. My whole family did. Pink fur– hair. Hers was longer than mine. All the way to her knees. But her eyes…her eyes were different from mine and Amy’s. They were purple…”

“Meaning?” He caught on quickly. 

“Meaning my eye color came from my father. Who I do not know of.”

“Why is that?”

To my surprise, there was now a notepad in his hand, with a pen in the other. He was writing notes. Funny how I didn’t see that earlier. “Not sure. My mother never told us about him. Like, nothing. When we asked about him, she only responded with ‘he’s far far away, dear.’ And that was it,” I take a deep breath, the room suddenly feeling stuffy. “When we asked why he was so far away, she would tell us that we would find out sooner or later.”

I pull up my pointer finger towards the cop, telling him to give me a second. I stood up from the chair, stretching my arms and legs from sitting in a metal chair for so long. They were stiff, but hearing my back pop after stretching was a good sound. Refreshing, even. I then sat back down in my chair with a contented sigh. 

“Alright. Anyways– my mother was the stubborn type. Scary, too, if she got mad. But very protective of my sister and I. She took good care of us…” I stared off at the gray, metal wall. My fingers started fidgeting, thumbs circling each other out of nervousness. 

“What about your sister? What does she look like?”

It felt like a rope snapped in my mind. My eyebrows furrowed as I glared at the officer. “No way in hell would I tell you about her.” 

The hedgehog was amused. He chuckled, standing up straight from leaning on the wall and stepping towards the table. “Oh really? And why is that?”

My back straightened, my face getting closer to his in a threatening manner. “Because she has nothing to do with this. And I swear, if you ever hurt her– or touch her– I will do the exact same to you. Ten times worse.”

The officer wasn’t scared. It was obvious. And being a cop at a prison really shows how much this guy has been through. He has seen worse, and heard worse. In fact, he smiled. Sitting back down in his own chair, he laughed. The notepad is set on the table, his hand with the pen hovering right over it.

“Alright. Then move on with the story.”

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #zonic zone cop #zonic the hedgehog #zone jail #alana rose the hedgehog #amy rose the hedgehog #alana my oc #sonic oc #story #fanfiction

[winter-literature]

Le Chat et le Serpent - Chapter 39

Please note that the entirety of this story is a ****TRIGGER WARNING***** - mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, alcohol use, mental health, suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm - basically a constant blow of pain towards the characters - as well as some "steamier" moments.

Chapter Summary:

The team faces a pre-selected Akumatized Civilian.

This chapter does have an original character, they weren’t supposed to be a big part but it kind of took off.

Chapter 39: Regeneration

Belle peeled skin off her breaking lips. She worried that perhaps they were only meeting her as a farce. A sickening sense of irony flooded through her regarding embarrassment. Did she really have anything left to be ashamed of? 

A pained reminder of destitution flipped her stomach; the aroma of fresh food teased her. Forcing her body to accept its condition, she swallowed some of the water she ordered. It had been so long since she ingested anything that the water felt like it bruised as it slithered down to her stomach. She tried to ignore the eyes that were glued upon her; they were a blend of direct disgust, or untalented attempts to be discreet through peripherals. 

She was a reminder of the grotesque that they fled everyday, that they think they’re so far above. One wrong step and it would be them at this table. But that’s painful to imagine; it’s easier considering her to be a victim of her own creation while they hold onto their cretinous belief that if they keep their head up they’ll amass riches on par with the Agreste’s. 

Her brittle teeth clenched as she thought of that name. Agreste . The whole reason she’s in that situation was from an ill planned tryst. Gabriel visited her bar six years ago. It was never supposed to amount to anything of purpose, especially once she saw the hatred behind his eyes. But she’d always wanted to be a mom. 

He screamed that he would ruin her. That she would never survive within the streets of Paris if she dared to say a word. She hadn’t anticipated the boundlessness of Gabriel’s power. Anywhere they knew her, she was marked as a whore , someone whose mere presence was a stain to the business. If they didn’t know her, the moment her identification was searched, Gabriel would get notified and abruptly tell them she was unfit for their business. 

She’s ill. 

She steals. 

She’s terrifyingly violent. 

The worst case of histrionic personality I’ve ever seen. 

Please, for the safety of my family, send her away. 

No one questioned his statements. No one paid attention to the young girl that cried at the table, waiting for her mom.

A couple of years ago, she swallowed her pride. She showed up with her heart in hand at the Agreste manor, begging for help. She thought, maybe without Emelie close to hear, he would finally cease his maliciousness. She pleaded, nearly on her knees. Not for money, but for release from his cruel injustice. She would sign NDA’s, anything! She just wanted her daughter to be able to eat. For their daughter to eat. 

It was beyond Belle, how a man so cruel bore children so sweet. Adrien thought nothing of the young girl in the lobby; he instantly treated her as an old friend and started amusing her. They were uncoordinatedly singing and dancing when Gabriel chucked Belle to the marble. Belle was scrambling across the floor to her daughter as Adrien stood tall. He didn’t understand what occurred, but that didn’t matter. As Belle fled, she tried to cover Allie’s ears so that she wouldn’t hear the cracks echoing through the house. 

Since then, Belle did whatever she could. From poorly paid labour jobs to filing the title Gabriel had donned her with. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Allie needed school, she needed to eat. She was half the size of children her age. 

Last night, Belle finally accepted that there was nothing left that she could do. 

As the sun set, she embraced her daughter one last time, letting go of the last shred of light within her life. She was terrified of what kind of horrors she would face. Foster homes could be a blessing or a curse. But, at least there she had a chance; Belle could barely keep her alive. 

Accepting her position within the world, she spent her night on a Paris rooftop. This was her and Allie’s favourite building. Not many ‘undesirables’ had been able to crack the security to find the hidden coves within the building. It was ironic that the building that had helped save her and Allie’s life was the one that would see her last breath. 

Gaining the courage to stand, the wind blew through her hair as she neared the edge. 

Memories flashed of the last time she sought respite forty stories below. Her daughter shivering in her arms as she lulled her to sleep. 

I remember tears streaming down your face

When I said I’ll never let you go. 

The song was always sung as pleas. Begging Allie to sleep so they would not get caught. 

Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. 

You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. 

After this, she would never have to lie to Allie again. She wouldn’t have to sing veiled promises that she knew she couldn’t keep. Belle would never have to struggle with the truth that, no matter where the sun sat in the sky, they were never truly safe. 

Hold on to this lullaby even when the music’s gone, gone. 

“Lovely singing voice you have.” A man’s voice spoke. 

Her limbs froze, she hadn’t realised she was voicing the lullaby. 

“I agree - who would sing such a sweet lullaby to your daughter now?” A girl’s voice rang beside the man’s. 

“What was your daughter’s name?” The man’s voice was soft yet carried a threatening slice to it. 

Where do I know that voice? 

Her eyes fluttered up to the billboard in front of her. Though it no longer carried his face, the logo on the bottom corner was enough to spark her memory. Agreste. 

What the hell does Adrien Agreste want with me ?

“Leave my daughter alone!” Belle screamed at them, still not strong enough to look behind her. 

Does he remember her? If he had any interest in his sister’s life, he would have said something long ago. 

“Gabriel can be such a meanie, can’t he?” Lila animatedly pouted at the back of Belle’s head. 

“He is dead to me!” Belle shrieked over the whistling wind. 

“Well… he’s dead to everyone.” Felix continued with his soft tone. “Allie, that was her name, right?” 

“We can help you get her ba-ack.” Each syllable out of Lila’s mouth was a taunting song. 

“You can do nothing for me.” She spat the roof below her. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Felix leapt forward and pulled her from the edge of the building. “I’ve been told I have quite the connections.” 

Belle stammered as infamous jade eyes dazzled upon her. Felix recognized her shudder of familiarity, an all too common mistake. 

“Sorry to disappoint you dear, but I am not Adrien Agreste. But I can do a hell lot more for you than he can.” Felix sneered at her. 

“What do you want from me?” It wasn’t until the wind grew stronger that she realised she was still crying, the tears chilling from the cold air. 

“If you make it to the morning - meet us at the restaurant where you served Gabriel Agreste. Lila will be there at 10am. If you’re not there, we’ll assume you jumped.” 

With those departing icy words, he sagged her body to the roof. 

“Byeeeee! Hope to see you tomorrow!” Lila confidently sashayed away, only a few paces behind Felix. 

She rolled a piece of skin between her teeth in thought. It was ludacris, probably her brain’s last survival instinct driving her to insanity. A vivid hallucination. 

Did some part of her subconscious hold on to a last glint of hope that the Agreste family would finally help? 

Hmmm… but then why would my own mirage say he wasn’t Adrien? Was it a form of Freudian slip that indicated she wanted him to step in, but hated so much she only wanted a stand in? 

After years of torment, she had finally prepared her final escape from Gabriel’s clutches, but the inability to understand pulled her down the fire escape instead. 

“Isn’t that Belle?” Whispers of recognition around the restaurant built bile in her throat. Though the restaurant had changed, it was still the local hub. 

Maybe it was just one of his last jokes. He knew that I would eventually need to give up Allie. Formulated a plan to stab her one last time. He would be the type of sadistic fucker that would put something like that in his will. 

“Here.” Lila, disguised with an atrocious hat and large sunglasses, slid a confection onto the table. “It’s not much, but enough to keep your body from making those revolting noises.” 

Peeling at the paper lining of the thickly iced cupcake, Belle continued to wonder if every move from this mysterious woman was a tactic to trick her. She wasn’t strong enough to bother drugging, so in reality, putting anything in her food would be futile; but resurrected self-preservation warned her to tread with caution. 

“Tell me - you were a bright kid. What do you think would solve your problems?” Lila initiated their uncomfortable conversation. 

“A shotgun.” Belle mumbled as she poked her finger into the icing, trying to validate it’s authenticity. 

“Mmm… Not really a solution. Why did you give Allie up?”

Regret seeped through Belle, she should have never agreed to this. Why were people after her daughter? 

“Please, just - just leave her alone. She is an innocent child.”

“Hmmm… interesting… But aren’t you innocent too?” Lila fingered off a chunk of her icing, knowing that Belle was questioning its lethalness. It seemed benign since she was willing to throw herself off a building, yet couldn’t trust a cupcake. She wouldn’t be any use to Lila dead.

“I am. I’ve done nothing wrong!” Her teeth threatened to crack under the pressure of her fury. 

“And what do you think would fix that? How do you get your daughter back?” Lila was rummaging in her purse. 

“Be born a man with money.” She snidely responded. 

Lila paused to giggle at her response. “Well, I’m not too sure about the required appendage part - but I may be able to help you.” She pulled out a small necklace. 

“Why? Is that necklace the key to Ali Baba’s cave?” Belle suspiciously glared at the jewellery dangling from Lila’s fingers. 

Lila wrapped her hand around the necklace, not wanting to flash the Miraculous for too long. “You see, we usually do things a bit differently … But this needed some special care.”

“Who are you?” 

“Can I trust you?” Lila answered a question with a question. 

“I have nothing to lose.” 

“Perfect, here, put this on.” She slid the necklace over to her victim.

With trembling hands, Belle placed the choker around her neck. 

“Wow, I wasn’t actually expecting you to look that good in it.”

“How is this necklace going to solve any of my problems?” Belle’s tone started to seethe, not enjoying feeling like a bitch in a dog show. 

“Oh, it won’t solve everything. I heard that’s what money is for.” Lila smirked as she set a twenty down on the table. “Maybe one day you’ll grow up enough to see more than this.” Lila sneered as she stepped away from the table. 

Fucking heinous bitch. Belle’s vision was so encompassed by rage, she was blind to the Kwami now hiding in her tattered hoodie. 

“Belle, I am Wish Maker. And I can offer you something far better than that Lila character can. All I ask for in return is Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous.” 

-

“Hey Bugaboo! It’s been a long time since we had a good cat fight!” Chat Noir chimed into the communication system. 

“Where have you been? This villain is wreaking havoc!” Ladybug’s voice was not one of anger, but appropriate terror. Even with two rings on, they couldn’t erase the dread that this Akuma carried itself with a strength they had never witnessed before. 

Regeneration aimed her power of multiplication towards mundane objects, making them lethal. There were the aspects they had come to expect, such as a simple fountain multiplied to the point that it could flood a street. But this villain carried a knowledge of the underbelly of Paris. Even if the Miraculous’ could erase the damage, the news would surely replay the piles of used needles. 

“Have you ever made a mistake?” She screamed at everyone. “One wrong move and you become nothing. Oh look!” She nabbed a pill bag from a stunned bystander. “Here’s something to deal with the pain.” 

Bright pills flew in the air as she rained them down. 

A father tore his son by the wrist, trying to pull his teenage boy to safety. “Don’t worry!” Regeneration shouted out. “I’m sure he’s already tried it!” 

“I take back every bad thing I said about Mr. Pigeon.” Chat stared in horror as Regeneration magically destroyed the city by making it face its reality. “Viperion can you-,” A tug pulled at his head as Ladybug spoke over him. 

“Not today Chat, we need to be methodical before we start sending people out.” 

“May I remind you what happened last time we waited to-,” Once again, Ladybug cut him short. 

“Shut-up!” She stomped the roof as she yelled. “I need to think.”

To the group’s surprise, Chat muted. 

“We need to stop her from moving. I think we should send Vesperia in as soon as possible. But I don’t know where her Akuma is. And sending ammunition at her until she - ARGH WHAT?” Chat was bouncing on the roof, pointing erratically at his throat. Sneering at his comedical obedience she asked, “Cat got your tongue?” 

Pain seared through Chat as he forced a shriek. “HER NECKLACE! LOOK!” 

Ladybug shot her attention over to the jewellery. “No! It can’t be!” She gasped. “Viperion - call for it!” 

Rena pitched in, “I think no matter what, we’re going to need that Second Chance, let’s start going towards it and take it piece by piece.”

“You’re good to go.” Viperion croaked, dreading what horrors his five minutes would hold. 

Backed by Rena’s statement, Chat Noir bolted to the villain. Beyond the ability to gain intel on the villain, he couldn’t have anyone seeing the blood that dripped from his nostril. 

“Welcome to my game Kitty Cat!” She bellowed as orange basketballs bounced around her. 

“She waves her hand over everything she multiplies, I think it must be something around her hand.” Ladybug informed Chat.

Chat continued to gain closer, Carapace and King Monkey close behind. 

Chat dictated his thoughts out loud, no longer bound by Ladybug’s command. “Mmm…it looks like she touches everything she regenerates, so the Akuma must be coming from her hand. That would mean she would have to be close to her target. If we can get to her faster than she can multiply things aroun-,” 

“Regenerate!” They hadn’t considered the fact that regeneration would include more than simple replication. The metallic fence below Chat shot three stories in the air, impaling his abdomen. 

*Second Chance*

“She can multiply in numbers and size and she doesn’t have to be close to do it.” Viperion stated. 

“Well - there goes my idea.” Huffed Rena. 

“Carapace, can you Shell-ter Vesperia?” Ladybug was reviewing old game plans, anything to take on this new villain. 

“And I’ll distract her!” Chat played the role of a martyr too well. He nearly reached her necklace before he was hit by an orange ball. He flew through the air, suspended by an invisible force. 

*Second Chance*

“She can multiply in numbers and size, she doesn’t need to be close, and those basketballs are the real deal. We’re fighting with Barkk too.” 

“What tactics have we used so far?” Chat questioned. 

“You keep trying to be an idiot and leap in front of her.” 

“Ouch - someone’s got their claws out.” Chat was pressing the second knuckle of his finger below his nose, trying to create the impression of pensiveness.

“Chat!” Everyone shouted towards the boy’s defence mechanism. 

“Fine, fine, let’s use the buildings to our advantage. Maze through them to try and get to her.” Chat dropped to the ground. The buildings expanded and multiplied around him to increase its labyrinth quality. 

“Looks like you need a way out.” Pegasus ran beside Chat. 

Chat tumbled over his foot at the sight of Pegasus, he thought Max had completely given it up. 

“Pegasus, where did you transform? I want to get to you as quickly as possible.” Viperion sped through his words. 

He had barely finished the description of his location as a hurricane of wind hit, doing nothing to stop the buildings from crushing him and Chat. 

*Second Chance*

“She multiplies and expands, she is wearing Barkk’s Miraculous. Vesperia, run north. Chat, run south. We need the help of our old friends. Ladybug - for God’s sake call up your charm!” 

* Lucky Charm!* 

“I don’t understand?” Ladybug spun the picture in her hand, it was of a little girl. She had grey-blue eyes and thick blonde hair. Ladybug scanned back and forth, the girl looked like she could be a younger version of their villain. 

Five imitation Chat’s taunted Regeneration as Ryuko’s windblast caught her off balance. The real Chat Noir stood just behind her, preparing to shoot towards the green at the bottom of her palm.

“No one will ever push me down again!” She screamed as she swished her power towards Chat’s hovering cataclysm. 

*Second Chance*

“JESUS CHRIST, CHAT.” Viperion screamed. “DO NOT - I REPEAT DO NOT - GET YOUR WORLD ENDING WEAPON BALL READY UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO USE IT.” 

“Oops.” Chat bashfully shrugged.

“Ladybug - your Lucky Charm, she might be her daughter - it would explain the resemblance.” 

“Huh? Oh! Lucky Charm!” Ladybug called for her charm. 

“Chat, go North and find Ryuko. You two are on the offensive - BUT DON’T BE AN IDIOT. Vesperia, go South and find Peagasus. Stunning her is essential.” 

Pigella grasped the photo from Ladybug. “I think you’re right… She might be her daughter… I think she needs a Gift!” Pigella ran up to the roof, Tigress immediately behind her. 

Holding a bright pink box before her, Pigella projected an image. Belle was lifting the young girl from the picture in her arms and spinning her around in front of a yard with a ‘sold’ sign on the lawn. 

“Allie…” Her voice cracked as she held out her hand towards the illusion. 

This time, Ryuko did not use her powers at all, instead she chose to speak to the Akumatized civilian. “Regeneration, what happened to Allie?” 

Allie… Chat couldn’t grasp the sensation of Deja Vu that rippled through him at that name. Do I know her? Have we been here before? 

A portal opened up behind Regeneration as she glared towards Ryuko. Before she could respond, Vesperia immobilised her. 

“I wasn’t ready!” Ryuko shrieked at Vespira. She ran to comfort the frozen villain, softly brushing aside her hair before she removed Barkk’s jewellery. 

“Thirty seconds on the clock.” Viperion reminded them of the urgency they faced. 

Ryuko gently lobbed the necklace to Ladybug, who quickly placed it in her Yo-Yo. Chat Cataclysm-ed the underlining of her palm, followed by the swish of Ladybug’s Yo-Yo. 

Chat watched in horror as the Akumatized object fell.

Money. She can’t be with her daughter because… How am I so incredibly ignorant? 

“Hey, you okay?” Ladybug voiced what the other holder’s were thinking as Chat fixated on the ripped bill. 

That name… I recognised that name… Allie…

Red Ladybugs cascaded down the sky. 

Chat bent to his knees to catch the tumbling human, purple ink blotting away from her. 

“What-what happened?” Glowing eyes surrounded her. 

“You were Akumatized.” Chat tensed as his memory was smashed back to him. He played with a young girl as Gabriel threw a woman across the floor. “Where is she? Where did Allie go?” 

Chat was nearly begging before she could even comprehend the magnitude of the situation. 

“With someone who can look after her.” Belle scoffed as she dusted her legs. 

“We can find you and your daughter a house, take you grocery shopping, I don’t know, whatever you need to not get re-akumatized again!” Chat’s pitch continued to squeak. 

Viperion returned to the scene chewing on a gummy worm. His stomach fell at Chat’s posture of defeat. He already lost him enough today, what happened this time? 

“If only money fixed everything, hey?” She started walking off, ignoring any offer for a help home. 

“Please, let me help.” Chat’s ears drooped as he stayed planted on the ground. 

She was already too far, not even pausing at Chat’s offer. She couldn’t trust someone who hid themselves from her. They were probably one of the people who mocked her every day. 

“No one can help me anymore.” 

Chat’s balance wavered as he sunk further onto the concrete. 

“Hey Kitty,” Ladybug picked Chat up. “I’ve got you.” 

Viperion couldn’t find amusement in the scene of petit Ladybug easily lifting the black cat twice her size. It hurt how readily he accepted her comfort, curling into her chest. Viperion couldn’t protest, or ask to bring him home himself. They were now, for the sake of image, exes. And now that Ladybug was running on a regular clock again, she had ample time to bring him to safety.

“Come on, let’s go for a drink.” Tigress spoke to the remaining holders. 

Most of the crew had petered out, drained from the battle they endured. No matter how difficult it was for them to fight, they were never subjected to the same agony as Viperion. They hadn’t seen Chat’s deadened eyes as blood spilled from his mouth and across his hair, dripping to the concrete below. No one took a moment to understand that if his power was needed, he would witness scenes that would break a normal person. 

“Yeah - that was… I don’t think I’ve ever felt so empty after a win before.” Vesperia nodded in agreement, her eyes following the red speck that flew across the city. 

They had won the battle, but it was a mere speck in the war Paris was losing. They’d gotten Barkk back, but lost in a far deeper way. 

Author's Note:

Belle and Allie are likely to be mentioned again, but will not be a huge part of this story.

Further explanation of Belle/Allie focus and other questions you probably have will be coming in the next chapter. There are multiple hanging things in here that will be explained!!

No matter what Luka tries to do it seems like he’s always hitting a roadblock 😭 Break up the two so that they can be themselves and now he can’t comfort his boo and that’s all he wants to do after seeing him taken so many times 😭😭

With the ‘second chance’ I always try to leave ‘blanks’. Where there might have been more and I try not to over explain or it could all be too repetitive. Just wanted to take the bulk information out of it!

They got Barkk back! Yaay!!!

Once I started talking about the slippery slope of destitution, I fell down hard. This wasn’t quite what I had planned for the villain, but it works quite well, I think.

Also, after all the work in getting someone with a multiplying power, still is barely able to do anything with the tons of balls haha the team’s too good!

We got Peagasus and Ryuko back!!

Let me know what you thought about this chapter, I kind of fell down an unexpected rabbit hole. I 100% cried when singing Taylor Swift in my head and picturing a mother and her daughter and I died which made me commit. It also included my angst regarding social inequality… so… ahh!

Disclaimer * The characters and original plot were written and created by Thomas Astruc. This writing is merely an interpretation in a sad gay type of way.

#lukadrien #lgbt #everyone needs a hug #post cannon #aged up characters #bad dad gabriel agreste #luka #adrien #mental illness #suicidal ideation #mental health #suicide #secret relationship #everyone is insane #fan fiction #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #luka couffaine #angst #chat noir #viperion #slow burn #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #chat noir needs a hug #viperion needs a hug #angst and comfort #hurt and comfort #mature

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[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 222,

Taking another rest stop, this one on that island with the cave that marks the start of our deviation from Tristan’s route.  We took some time to walk around a bit and stretch our legs but soon realized we’d need to watch our step.  There are a few large trees scattered about, but for the most part any competing plant life is choked out by a carpet of leafy vines.  And these vines cover up holes.  It seems this island is largely hollow, or if not hollow, then actually multiple smaller islands with channels running between them and the occasional land bridge.  

Cass actually put a foot through one of these holes.  Fortunately she managed to catch herself and pull back instead of falling through.  Her shin’s a little bruised and her elbows are a bit scraped up from where she overcorrected and fell backwards, but Lin checked her out and she seems to be otherwise no worse for the wear.

We’re not telling James about that when we get back.

The really pretty part though came when…

And Cass is calling to get back to the boat already.  I’ll pick that back up this evening.

*******

Maiko and Lin weren’t able to do much scouting this time before we made camp on the beach.  And yes, the beach rather than just inside the treeline like the last couple nights.  Most of the interior here is covered in brambles.  And where you don’t have those you have pitcher-plant-like flowers that start dripping some sort of goo or sap or something when you bump them too hard that burns when it gets on you.  Not a particularly hospitable place, but at least that doesn’t seem conducive to large predators.  

We did wind up spending the better part of an hour walking around the perimeter of the island, and Maiko claims she didn’t see any sign of anything coming down to the beach on a regular basis.  That doesn’t really satisfy her though and she’s insisted on having us stay up in shifts to keep watch.  I’ve volunteered to go first.  

And no, I’m not just writing instead of watching.  More like I’ll look out for several minutes, jot down a sentence or two while trying to still keep an ear out, then go back to more actively watching.

As I was saying earlier about the island this afternoon though:

The really pretty part though came when we found a crevasse too wide for the vines to bridge.  There they draped over the sides in great curtains reaching all the way down to the water.  Must have been the interior of the cave we were using as a landmark.  It was close enough to noon that we had fairly good light looking down in, so we could see the fish swimming about, nibbling on the tips where they reached the water.  More impressively, for whatever reason here the vines had purple flowers blooming in far greater density than we’d seen up above.  And between those flowers the vines were practically crawling with crabs.  A shimmering haze of red and brown movement contrasting on the green and violet background, sun glinting off their shells.

It was when we saw one of those crabs venture up to the top and then get snatched up by a thin, wriggling shape that we decided to head back to the beach.  A snake, not a predatory vine, as it turned out, but well enough camouflaged that we didn’t want to linger and risk stepping on one.  That said, our motion to leave didn’t stop Maiko from first taking a few minutes to break off and haul up a few of the hanging vines, crabs and all.

The nature sprite just appeared.  I started a bit when I noticed it, but not enough to wake anyone.  Nor am I going to unless it actually does something.  And I am sure the others are all asleep now.  I don’t think it would have made itself visible otherwise.

So far, it’s mostly just crouching over there staring into the forest with its back to us.  Every now and then it will glance back in my direction.

If it’s followed me all the way out here, does that mean it becomes intangible as well when it disappears?  Or perhaps it flies?  Surely we would have noticed its weight on the boats.

I wonder what it thought of the island with the vines.  We left before I could really get close and examine them, but I’m pretty certain that the trees there were all long dead, their dried frames supported by the interwoven vines that had consumed them more than anything else.  Did the nature sprite feel kinship for them?  Mourn them?  Did it bear ill-will to the vines?  Fear them even?  Or was it indifferent, or perhaps even appreciative, viewing them as simply another part of nature?

Or are those all too human concepts to project onto it?

As for the vines Maiko brought back to her boat, she claims they’re edible.  We asked if she had eaten them before when she came this way with her mother.  She said she couldn’t remember, but had been pulling off pieces and popping them in her mouth while we weren’t looking, much to Lin’s distress.  In a similar manner, as we were making our way back to the boats we heard a crunching from behind us that could only have been Maiko plucking one of the crabs from her bundle and eating it raw.

Once again we found ourselves reminding her that her idea of edible is not necessarily our idea of edible.

Which isn’t to say we didn’t wind up trying them.  I volunteered to go first.  Well, technically Cass did, but I wasn’t about to go home and explain to her parents that I let her eat strange plants and die.  I mean, they probably weren’t poisonous if both Maiko and the fish and maybe the crabs were all eating them, and Lin was on hand with something she claimed would make me vomit up anything if I had a bad reaction (less reassuring than she probably thought), but I do have a responsibility for my apprentice’s safety.

As it turned out, the vines are pretty bland save for the leaves and little stringy root bits being salty.  The main stem you can practically suck on and get fresh-ish water out of though, but I had a tough time chewing it.  We tried boiling a bit of it with the crabs this evening though and it was… tolerable.

Speaking of the crabs, we tried picking them out of the vine bundles and shoving them in the pots we’d brought along for boiling water but Cass still wound up with having to deal with them scurrying around the boat for the next several hours.  As she let us all know at length once we made shore for the evening.  Of all the things to bother her, I’m somehow surprised it’s that.

And now that I’ve just written that, I feel kind of bad about waking her up to take the next shift.  But, she did volunteer along with me, arguing that since Maiko and Lin were doing most of the boat work they should get to sleep longer.  

I suppose I can let her sleep a little more.  I’ll just watch the stars over the water for a bit until I start struggling to keep my eyes open.  Well, I should probably be watching the woods, but it’s strange; for all my… issues with the nature sprite for some reason this I trust it with.  Writing it down like that, I know I probably shouldn’t.  But I do.

*******

Just woke up with a crab on my face and the nature sprite’s laugh in my ears soon after.  Fortunately, judging by the moon, I don’t think I drifted off for more than a couple minutes.  Time to wake Cass for her shift.

If you’re reading this over my shoulder again: That doesn’t even come close to making up for everything else you’ve done, but… thanks.

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#writing #original fiction #serial fiction #sliceoflife #Writeblr #daily writing #epistolary novel #writers on tumblr #WIP #creative writing #literature #prose #writers #web novel #novel #journal #isekai #epistolary #fantasy #slice of life #fiction #my writing

[pokesmotuwu]

a little about me

there are some things that are true, and some things that i tell myself are true. sometimes these things blend together in a way that makes them hard to distinguish from one another, like when red and white paint mix together to form pink. 

i love working hard. i’ve been climbing the ladder the past couple of years, and there’s a lot of momentum for me to continue to work hard. i got a promotion/raise and am moving to the flagship location of our company in a week. it’ll be more time away from home, more responsibility, and probably longer hours, but that’s what i want... right? i want to be a successful name in the industry. i want to make better money than my partner. i want to be able to say that i made it as a woman cannabis refugee that turned her passion into a career.

i want to say all of these things, but at the same time i am barely keeping my head above the water. i keep assigning more responsibilities to myself, keep taking on more and more projects and roles, when i wasn’t able to accurately do them in the first place. everyone says i’m doing great. everyone thinks i am some natural-born leader who is dependable and responsible, but i am running myself into the ground. i am putting my teeth up to a curb and asking someone to stomp on my head. the composure that i apparently exude is enough to mask the sheer panic that i feel on the daily. have i done all of my tasks correctly? have i made sure everyone has been taken care of? did i fuck up a transaction? did i lock the doors and set the alarm? 

i’ve never been late to work since starting at this company. i’ve only been late to work a few times in my life. i thrive off of being early. i like to present myself as a punctual person who is considerate of other’s time. sure, it can be frustrating when others are not as considerate as i am, but i know not everyone runs on the same panic that i do. i wish i could be carefree and not give a shit about being on time or how others view my actions. i wish i didn’t scrutinize every snapshot of my day like a disappointed parent overlooking a child. i’m so obsessed about what others think of me that i forget who i am supposed to be.

people probably think i am pretty easygoing. i’m not one to complain about things very often, and if i do, it’s usually to people i trust well. i put on a smile and mask my emotions, never bringing them to work with me. it’s hard to tell when i’m having a bad day, which is probably due to the antidepressants processing in my liver. my partner is a huge victim of this phenomenon, because i can rarely ever truly tell him what i am thinking or how i am feeling at any given moment. 

there are so many reasons for me not to stay. i am second to video games. i am a second mother and teacher. i am the one who holds us all together. i am the responsible one. i am the one who makes sure that he is keeping up with his relationships. i am the one that makes sure he grows. without me, it would be very hard to function and that’s probably why i am scared to death of any feelings i have that steer me in the direction of wanting to leave him. 

we have built a life together; moved from one state to another together, leaving our friends, family, and comfortable, predictable lives behind. he moved with me so i could chase my dream of working in cannabis. every time i go to work, i’m reminded of the sacrifice that he made to get me to where i needed to be. we have two cats. we live in a beautiful, safe apartment complex. we both have good paying jobs and i’ve made a lot of friends here. 

to be honest, i’m scared about falling out of love with him. some days i feel worse than others about the direction our relationship is going. we don’t have sex often enough for me, i have been questioning my sexuality and gender identity and have a fear of missing out of being in a relationship with a woman. our libidos don’t match, and oftentimes i end up having to do the job myself. but once again, i am good at not telling him when things are wrong. 

all of these things could easily be fixed by me opening my mouth. it’s probably not fair for me to assume that he has been picking up on all of my hints and knows that i have been dissatisfied for a while, but dammit i wish he cared more. i wish he would say that he wants to get married and wants to plan to get married at a certain time/day... not that he’s fine with whatever i want to do. he’s too easygoing about a lot of things that matter and i’m tired of being the only one in the relationship that cares about this stuff. 

i want him to do things for me. i want him to buy me things because they remind him of me. i want him to actively do the dishes without me asking, or wash our sheets. i wish he would get his medical card so that he could visit me at work more or buy me things from the dispensaries that i don’t pick out myself. i want him to cuddle with me and rub my back. i want him to go to bed at the same time i do so i’m not falling asleep alone. are these things too much for me to ask? i feel selfish often.

i talk to the people in my life about these things too much. i am worried that i am bothering them with my complaining and lack of taking their advice. i know i should be doing what they want me to do, but i can’t. i don’t know why my stupid little brain can’t think rationally about this and just do what is best for me. it’s probably because i don’t have a clue what’s best for me. there are too many reasons why i can leave and can’t leave. it’s easier to stay.

i’m almost done with school and it doesn’t feel real. i can finally say that i graduated college. i will no longer have that added stress on my schedule and i can focus on my career. i can look into things that will make me feel fulfilled and at least happier than i am in the present moment. this has been such a word vomit rambling mess but it needed to come to light. i don’t know if i’ll be writing on here often because it seems like i abandon every writing project that i begin, but this is a good start.

i’m pretty toasted off of some frosted apricots, a cross between slurricane and irene og. it had a nice floral smoke with a hint of mint, a super light smell and taste and a really relaxing feeling. it’s helping me type because my joints feel pretty good at the moment. i have a nice creative energy about me but i also feel like i need to go to bed pretty soon for class in the morning.

godspeed to me.

#wordvomit #passthedutchie #workaholic #directionless

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Fire is the Test of Gold

I’ve openly said in my previous blog posts that I’m depressed. A lot has played a part in that, but by now, you probably have a snippet of context from the post Gráinne and I shared on my mental health.

The illnesses have stopped me in my tracks. They were not anticipated, and nor would I have ever expected to have that many, or suffer that long each time. Every single month from October 2021. That cut off my outlet – exercise. I haven’t been able to get any consistency or progress in the gym as a result, and I feel like a beginner every time I go back. Exercise has always been my way of coping with my diastasis and the mental toll it takes. Having that taken away from me every few weeks, has not helped in the slightest.

In turn, I haven’t been able to channel my frustration about the fact the aesthetics just will not change this time – no matter what I do, and no matter how hard I work. I feel like I’m trapped in a constant downward spiral. I get my head above water, gasp for breath, then immediately get dragged back down again.

I now realise it’s more than likely my work which has caused the illnesses and I’m convinced I’m burning out. I came back from maternity leave to a short-staffed team, low morale and within weeks I was given a whole other territory to cover as well as my own. Basically, I was doing the job of two people and I did that for 6 months until the start of August. I was off work twice with illness within a couple of months, when I had only ever been off once before in 5 years with suspected kidney stones. Coupled with the fact I had only just returned from maternity leave, I felt I couldn’t then take annual leave. By the time I reached July, I had taken 3 and half days total and have reached a point where a break isn’t just required, it is absolutely vital. I go to sleep, and wake up as drained as when I went to sleep. On weekends, I’m regularly napping when the kids nap, because I literally have no energy. I’m just exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. 

Do you know how difficult it is to try and not think about surgery? I do my damnedest to not think about it, then something always reminds me. I get a random message from someone who is now post-op. I have to arrange a trip to Dublin for work and I think, is this one of the last before the date? I get followed on Instagram by plastic surgeons in Spain. You really couldn’t have made this stuff up, and yet it happens just when I think I’ve managed to put it out of my head. I’m so touched that women have messaged me to tell me about their surgery and then wish me luck with mine. I’m so pleased for them that they have no regrets and it is what they have hoped for. However, there is a small part of me that thinks: I really want it to be my turn now. This has been the slowest, and one of the hardest years of my life, and I just cannot wait until it is over.

I keep having nightmares that surgery isn’t going to happen. I get within weeks, but there’s another setback and I have to wait months until the next date. Or that it’s that bad, that I’m beyond help and there’s nothing that can be done. 

I made the decision to have surgery back in February 2020. That’s a long time to wait once you’ve made a decision. I almost wished I had only just made that decision this year. Whilst I’m very grateful that everything has lined up how I wanted it to (even way back then), this year feels unbearable. But I have no one to blame but myself for that. I have been ahead of myself for so long. I can be indecisive at times, but once I have made my decision and once I have set my heart on something, it is almost impossible to change that. So here we are, in the longest, most unbearable year of my life, that feels like it’s getting even longer by the day.

I guess I should address the post. Did I have my reservations when Gráinne asked to post it? Truthfully? Yes, for a few reasons. It would open me up completely to a much, much bigger audience, but also to people I wouldn’t tend to discuss these things with from my own perspective. I was very vulnerable in that post. Yes, I have disclosed very honest and raw emotions in this blog – but it is entirely different story when you’re filmed doing that and speaking about those things. I feel I can speak to Antony and Gráinne about anything, but I was very, VERY aware that the consult was going to be filmed. It would be made available to some at a later date, but that was going to be further down the line. Ultimately though, I knew it could help a lot of people in the same position, and it was important, so that was the reason I agreed. I never disclosed any hesitation or reservations to anyone.

You can tell I’m a bit less comfortable than usual a few ways: I say ‘like’ a LOT. I say it in general speech normally, but in that 60 second clip, I say it loads. That is an indication that I’m finding it difficult to articulate myself and how I feel. I don’t hold eye contact for as long as I normally would do. I frown when I speak or laugh it off when I do. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I gesture with my hands a lot when I speak, but I either keep my arms folded (which everyone knows is a defence mechanism) or I shift them but never seem comfortable. Like I said already, I am very comfortable speaking with Antony and Gráinne, but it was the what I was speaking about, that I wasn’t comfortable with. What nobody knows though, is that I messaged them both to explain how I was feeling prior to the consult, because I didn’t want to blindside them. I really felt it was important to speak about it though, as it is clearly hugely underestimated. 

The comment on Gráinne’s post from our consult was something I was actually completely unaware of until someone sent me a snapshot of it. Because the person who commented had been blocked, I was unable to see the comment. My husband was incensed and it took every bargaining tool to ensure he didn’t write a reply. The only way he agreed not to, was if I deleted Instagram. We were away for a few days at the time and Alex was right: it completely changed my body language and my mood. Just as I was starting to relax and switch off, that happened. 

To say it felt unfair, is an understatement. I share in the hopes that it might help others who are in similar situations, and like me, don’t know anyone personally who has diastasis. Who feel they cannot speak to anyone about it, because no one understands. There are plenty of professionals who have a professional understanding, but unless you have been in this position, you cannot possibly understand what it feels like. 

It says a lot more about that person that they were willing to hijack Gráinne’s post on my mental health to make passive aggressive remarks and take a swipe. I don’t block people lightly. I have only blocked a handful of people - mainly, postpartum coaches who try to spam me with their programs (knowing full well my situation), or a random few who have tried to suggest it was my diet, or weight that was the issue. 

However, there are a handful of women who have abused my openness to bombard me with messages all about themselves. Who have no thought of what it might be like to receive numerous messages going on and on and on about their thoughts. I reply to 99.9% of all messages. The majority of those messages are women seeking advice or sharing their story and I am always very humbled by the fact they have taken the time to message me. Sharing their story (no matter how difficult it is to hear and no matter how much it can enrage me when they have been treated poorly) is not the issue. I’m always happy to listen. Jumping on my feelings and challenging what I am doing, ignoring advice I have repeated over numerous messages which involves seeking help from someone qualified, IS an issue. It drains me. 

I remember full well the person who commented. While I do not remember exactly the message that she sent which was the final straw, I remember telling my husband: “you won’t believe what I’ve just been sent.” Once I repeated the message, he told me to block her. That it wasn’t fair for me to put up with that, and I shouldn’t have to. So I did, but even then I still hesitated. 

Most people probably don’t expect to have any consequences to blocking someone - the idea is that you don’t have to hear from them again. But apparently, I do. Apparently, it’s okay to use a post on mental health to attempt to discredit me to my physios, and to anyone else who read that comment. 

I don’t apologise for the way I reacted. I don’t think I have been disrespectful in any way. I had my very good reasons for doing so, and the irony is, I did it to protect my mental health. I have already been in a bad place for some time. I shouldn’t have to put up with that. That is not what I signed up for when I decided to share my journey, or when I agreed to my physios sharing my story. 

Alex regrets me sharing so much. He says I’ve given too much of myself to it throughout the 3 years and counting. That may be so, but the question I asked myself and then asked him, “is it worth it? Has it been worth it?” My answer, despite feeling the way that I do right now, is yes. Despite how bad I feel right now, to know that something I have shared has potentially helped someone feel a fraction less of what I’m feeling right now; it is worth it. Despite the fact that there is no one there for me in the same way, it is worth it. The messages I have received from women, or physios or fitness professionals on behalf of some women; it’s worth it. That is the only reason I’m continuing to share. It’s for the women who have been misinformed, mistreated, and even blamed. The ones who do not have the support that I do. They are worth anything I am going through right now in my own journey. I have always put others before myself and that is something I cannot change.

Going forward, I will have a few more in person consults before surgery. The nature of these has now completely changed for me. It would be interesting to see if the tissues have changed at the next appointment. It would be mind-blowing to think they were still changing at this stage in the game. I almost hope they have, but not for myself, for my physios. That will be another indication that their theories on loading are correct. For me however, I couldn’t care less. It is no longer about the numbers for me. We all know full well that there is nothing that will fix me other than surgery now. Even if the tissues haven’t changed, I have made significant changes from where I started at 11cm (twice). I know I could not have physically done anything more, nor worked any harder to try to make it work. I’m proud of that.

Claire’s core blast will continue, but I can no longer do it under the guise of flogging the dead horse that are the aesthetics of my diastasis. The goal is all wrong. I feel like I’m doing it because I have to. In order to continue working, I need to reframe my thinking. It is now about muscle bulk: lots and lots of muscle bulk and as much of it as possible before surgery. The aesthetics may not change - but the bulk will if I continue to work. I have to focus on that, to give me the best possible repair and recovery as possible. To make my life post op, as easy as possible. To make the route back through rehab, as straightforward as possible. I plan on being ripped at the end of this 😉

Knocked down, but not out;

Struggling, but surviving;

Slow, but still moving;

Bruised, but not beaten;

Fighting every urge to give up, but still fighting.

“Fire is the test of gold; adversity of strong [wo] men”

#mybumpbirthandbeyond #diastasisrecti #postpartumrecovery #postpartumbody #mental health #pelvichealthphysio #pelvichealth #abdominoplasty