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words-at-4am · 1 year

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I am posting to vent really.. I feel as though I am stuck in this loop. I’ve worked 7 days a week for the past 3 months straight minus a week for getting the cold. And it’s really messing with my mental health. At first I thought I could handle it.. I was making some more money, I was active every day.. I thought it was making me more productive.

The other is a stable reliable job in the medical field, which I never wanted to be in. One that drains me the second I enter the door. One that is extremely stressful because, while it’s stable and the spot is secure and easy to get to, it pays way less. I’m a pharmacy technician with no schooling background or prior medical knowledge in a low income area. Someone’s always screaming and crying. We are constantly denying ppl there meds because of insurance issues and it’s just mentally a lot on my soul. Not to mention i dam near break down everytime someone asks me an array of questions I don’t know the answer to even after working here for 7months. Rightfully so since pharma n POC don’t have the most trusting relationship. They look at me and think they can trust me, which they can I try my best to fully assist anyone and use every method to help even ones my coworkers would “overlook”. But It’s a lot. I know nothing about pharmacology. I barely took Tylenol before this job. I thought it would be a good stable job to signify that I was finally getting my life in order, dropped the arts, which I love and got a “respectable” profession.

They said I didn’t need any prior knowledge and I’d pick it up as I go.. the only thing I know how to do by heart is fill pill bottles. And even then.. I can’t pronounce half of the pills. Someone ask me a question I have to tell them to hold on and ask someone else…. And they always side eye me. Like somehow I, who was hired with no prior knowledge at all.. should know things they did after years of schooling. If I had a headache I drank tea, I’m Caribbean🤣 I didn’t go buying 3 types of pain killers it’s not “common knowledge” to me. In any case I feel like I need to drop one. I’m so tired now. Bags under my eyes, skin a mess.. I have more money I suppose but not enough to keep running myself into the ground. I have no time for doc appts , hair appts , spend time with family or friends. Do any hobbies, I just sleep. I don’t eat properly anymore I just eat whatever is closest outside..lately I’ve felt the urge to randomly bursted into tears having to go to bathrooms to pull myself together.. I force and drag myself up every morning but especially to the medical job. & no I got no kids. I live with my disabled mother. I know I need to make a change.. But I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to make the wrong decision & end up without a job. The first one is so finicky they could tell me that it’s not working out tomorrow and that would be it. The medical one is unionized. But tbh I suck at my job.I wanted to go back to school, but it’s been so long since I’ve dreamed of something to do that wasn’t just to survive...

In any case.. I feel like maybe I just stick with the pharmacy because it stable. I am looking for other jobs but there isn’t much luck. I still apply everyday to at least 5. My friends & family say follow my heart and care for my mind. But I don’t want to be the only person in my circle without an “adult” job. Or in school. I don’t want to be end up the broke or liability person, I don’t want to burden those around me, I don’t want to be 25 in my moms home still lost on where to start. I had a rough childhood, abuse of many kinds etc. I never thought I’d make it to 25.. now I’m here I’m grateful.. I just want to be able to take care of myself financially and also have time to care for myself in other ways, then care for my family. So.. yeah this is the first time in months I’ve said a word about how overwhelmed I feel. Sorry if it’s a lot or sounds like it’s not that deep.. it is to me.

And thanks for having a space I can release.

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pertemis-lover · 4 months

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hi guys. so i joined tumblr like... a bit over a year ago? iw anna say liek 18 months? honestly i just joined for the textposts and other assorted fandom stuff but i wasnt a rly big fan of the site so i didn't really use it much untill around july 2023. at the time i was going through some shit with a friend who means/meant the absolute world to me and at that point she'd been ghosting me for like 8 months on and off, since nov 2022 and i used to browse this app for vent posts/mental health shit. i remeber when I started cutting. it was the 22nd of october 2023. i was having a really shitty day and i couldn't get her off my mind and my dad was yelling at me because i was too tired to go down and get my meal and i just. did it. since then i've done it way more times than i'd like to count. sure, not as bad as some of the other users on this site but way more thna i'm comfortable with doing. at the start it was just a coping mechanism but it went wrong one day. i grabbed some ice and i did it and that day just happened to be a bit too deep and now the marks are never gonna leave, like she warned me would happen. i cut one last time after that, before realising that they were permanent, and i've been clean since. currently im 26 days clean which is the longest time i've been clean. im hoping it lasts for good this time. the whole point i'm writing all this is because i've just realised something. i think i'm at risk of developing an ed. i've had problems with eating for like the last 4+ months, but i thought that was mostly just due to depression/being tired/not physically having enough energy to eat. earlier i used to eat 3 meals every day, maybe 2 if I was having a bad day. recently i've realised im going as low as one meal sometimes, skipping food in the morning, not having anything in school, having luncha round 8 and skipping dinner. and i'm not a very mentally stable person as a whole but my sh messed me up so badly and i really dotn wanna develop a fully fledged ED on top of all that because i have no clue how i'll deal with that without killing myself. i've uninstalled tumblr from my phone, i'm typing this on my laptop. i'm not gonna delete my account, but i don't think i'm going to be on this site anymore since its too much of a risk to be on edblr or shblr and honestly, that's like 50+% of the blogs i follow. to all my mutuals and people i've interacted with here i wish you the best with life and hopefully with recovery. i love every single one of you guys, even if i've never shared a single word with some of y'all. peace out, goodnight, take care fellas.

#tw self destruction #depressing shit #mental health #coping #mentally tired

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flirtyhyuck · 3 years

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a night's escape

; in which you find home in a stranger

; dysfunctional families, angst, comfort, strangers, mention of donghyuck and johnny.

; jaemin x gender neutral reader

; 3.4k wc

The shouting is the loudest you’ve ever heard it, the sound of your father’s resentful voice pushing against the thin walls of your old home to pound in the chambers of your heart, later drowned out by your mother’s shrill screams and the crash of her favourite flower vase being thrown to the ground. You can see the blue porcelain shattered on the floor, water puddling around the shards to help the pink carnations survive only a little longer, a mirror image of the last time she had done just the same.

You stare at the smashed open earphones that lay by your feet, a product of your mother’s previous rage from when she had had enough of you ignoring her yells, now unable to block your ears from the noise just outside your room. Not even blasting the loudest songs could distract from the way you flinch as they raise their voices, battling to be the loudest, most controlling.

You curl up and throw your hands to your ears, staring into the pitch black of your room and mumbling assurances to yourself, desperate to tune out your parent’s screams. It’s a second later that your mother lets out her true frustrations, making the guilt build up in your chest like bile after overeating.

“It's your fault I'm stuck here. I didn't want a family. You made me unhappy.”

A choked sob leaves your lips and your ears ring, more piercing than the words of regret you overheard just a moment ago. Your father responds just as passionately, just as fired up, roaring back about how it was not his idea nor his wish to start a family. You aren’t his fault.

You need to get out.

Throwing a coat over your shoulders, not bothering to change out of your two-day-old pyjamas, you put a hand on your bedroom door knob and hesitate, listening to their curses and shouts, before forcing your room door open. The volume increases the moment you pull on the door, your heart constricting painfully tight as you will your way into the main area of your home. You can feel the headache coming on and you rush to leave as soon as you can, scurrying to the front door where your parents are too busy trying to prove each other wrong to notice their child throwing on a pair of old sneakers. A small spark lights itself up in your heart as your father glances your way. He does nothing to acknowledge or assure you but the small motion is enough.

So, you decide to make the effort.

Your lips tug up into a timid smile, hand raising up into a half-hearted wave, and you keep in the fear when your mother shoots you an angry look. “I’m going to go out for a bit.”

You inwardly scowl at the shakiness in your voice but it seems it doesn’t matter, neither of them spare you another second of their time. Your mother waves you off with a flick of her wrist and you can’t help the disappointment that overcomes you with the dismissive reaction. You hate yourself for even caring - for taking notice of how they don’t think twice about letting you out so late at night or worry about exposing you to their broken relationship - for wanting to be nurtured when even they’re at their lowest.

Ignorance seems bliss right about now.

The evening is apparent, the air still and freezing cold. The yellow street lamps are the only things providing a sense of life in the empty suburban street. The front door doesn’t fully muffle their yells and you wince at the thought of neighbours unwillingly witnessing your weak home.

Glancing to the left, you see Donghyuck’s house just a few blocks down and contemplate seeking his comfort. Not even two steps later, you backtrack immediately and begin to walk in the exact opposite direction, imagining his mother’s offer of dinner and his older brother Johnny’s invitation to join them for a game of Monopoly, it has your lungs tightening up in embarrassment. On the way to whatever’s on this side of the street, you continually argue with yourself, bouncing between feeling like a burden and knowing that Donghyuck would be nothing but happier to give you a sense of home. Though, none of your best friend’s comfort could help to drown away the shame that comes with running away, the envy of not being part of his loving family or the guilt of throwing all your problems onto someone who deserves nothing but good. Your arrival would only shatter the stable home.

You end up at a park, away from Donghyuck’s warm hugs and blissful smiles.

You’ve seen this playset in passing the few times your mother wants to invite you shopping. There are no children being pushed on the swing set so late at night, the slides and seesaw unoccupied and wet. Strange, you hadn’t noticed that it rained today. Despite the droplets that threaten to soak through your sleep pants, you step forward and make to sit in the small cubby house by the monkey bars, cramped because the space wasn't made for anyone over the age of ten in mind.

Apparently that was the wrong move. The crunch of playground bark under your foot alerts someone already here and in turn, their movement startles you. A hooded person, tall and nimble that you hadn't noticed before, stands up and calls out, glancing around before landing on your frozen figure.

“Hello?” His voice is deep and firm, not shaky like you know your own would be. You stare as he slowly comes closer and you feel your fingers loosen from the fists they were tightened into, fear lessening when you notice he isn’t much older than you, maybe the same age or slightly younger. Yet that air in your throat doesn't loosen up in the slightest and you force out your next words.

“I promise,” you hiccup, sniffling, “I’m not trouble, just wanted to- uh- hang out.”

He glares.

"Alone," you reaffirm, "I wanted to be alone."

He loses the tension in his shoulders when he hears the tremble of your words and steps forward. You move back protectively and feel your breath catch in your throat, regretting your decision to come here rather than Donghyuck’s house. The embarrassment seems so much nicer than this threat.

“Are you… okay?” he asks.

Somehow, you feel safe instantly, his voice just as deep but holding a softness in it that you hadn’t heard anyone use when speaking in so long. Maybe it’s the desperation or the loneliness but you feel all your worries melt away immediately, wanting nothing more than to let in the stranger. It's pathetic and you think back to all those safety videos and those ugly statistics that come up on the news often. Yet you can't help but let yourself trust.

You swallow harshly. “I’m not.”

He nods and gives a little snicker, amused at your honesty, and comes closer. With the street lamps now able to reach him, you can finally put a face to the voice. “Are you crying?”

You nod.

He chuckles again but this time, you can see the small smirk that forms on his mouth and the sliver of straight, white teeth that shines through the slight part of his lips. Your heart pinches but you find yourself enjoying the feeling this time. He runs his fingers through his hair, knocking off the protective hood of his jumper and revealing the washed-out blue colour of his locks. Without the shade of his hoodie, his eyes are considerably more visible. They’re dark brown, almost black, but have a glimmer that’s able to shine through the hair that falls past his brows and into the empty night. His nose is tall and slim, lips thin and chapped.

You gulp and fail to hear what he said, distracted with only the movement on his lips to show he was speaking at all. You mumble an apology and ask if he can repeat himself, unknowingly wandering closer to the attractive stranger.

He sighs impatiently but looks at you with just as much kindness as before, looking to have dropped any fear as well. “If you’re here to hang out, want to hang out with me?”

It’s weird and very suspicious of an invitation but the slight purse of his lips and expectant raise of his brows are terribly convincing. You give in to the offer and nod again, not feeling the need to speak and watching him drop on the ground right there.

“Well?” he murmurs, looking up at you from where he sits criss-cross applesauce, “are you going to join me?”

“Right,” you cough, rubbing your eyes red and shaking off the strange feeling of security that comes with settling by his side.

“I’m Jaemin,” he introduces, raspy and slow.

“I’m Y/n,” you give back.

“Y/n,” he lilts your name, dragging out the last letter with an ending hum, “pretty.”

“Thanks.” You hope it’s dark enough to hide the shy smile that works itself on to your lips.

His hands, veiny and strong, pick up a piece of bark and toss it away, toward the footpath behind you. Not looking away from where he picks for another piece worthy enough to be thrown, Jaemin regards you in a hushed, thoughtful tone, “what are you wandering into a park late at night for?”

You stare down at the empty patch he’s created and offer a tight laugh, “I could ask you the same.”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, calm, and looks up at you with a teasing smile, not breaking his strong gaze even when you turn away, “but I asked you first. Shoot.”

“Oddly demanding of you.”

Jaemin flings another bit of damp wood over your shoulder, dangerously close to scratching your cheek, and falls back on his hands, scoffing. The bark is sure to be digging into his palms painfully. “It��s good to get it out.”

You glare, challenging, before scowling at his know it all attitude and dropping your head to face the ground. “How do you even know it’s something I’d need to vent?”

He laughs with a humoured shake of his head, loud and genuine. “You were crying just a second ago.”

“True.” It isn’t like you know Jaemin properly, you won’t see him every day after this and be able to feel shame or regret – like a diary page you’ll chuck out the next day, tangible evidence gone.

You tuck your knees into your chest, circling your arms around your legs to lace your fingers together at the front, holding your own hands tight. You bite your bottom lip harshly, not worried about your skin potentially splitting under your teeth, and feel your eyes dart from his own patient gaze to the swing set to the empty road.

“Whenever you want,” he whispers, knowing you’ve given up on arguing.

Dropping your forehead on the steadiness of your knees, effectively balling up, you try not to worry about whether or not Jaemin’s judging you and begin speaking. “Parents don’t want to be with each other. They regret having me- forced to stay together for a child they didn’t want. They love screaming about it every chance they get.”

“Yikes,” he hisses, unsure how to respond, “sorry you have to go through that.”

You dismiss him with a shrug, so used to being nonchalant about the topic with Donghyuck or worried friends who catch sight of your parents arguing in the car. Jaemin's response is nothing different from the default that you've always been met with, a fake pinch of pity in their eyebrows. “It’s whatever.”

He pouts, clearly not agreeing, but doesn’t bother to scold you on your act of apathy. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, stopping all motion of his hand to show a careful grin, “I like having you around.”

“Thanks,” you smile playfully, not taking the comment to heart but enjoying the good hearted change of pace, rocking back and forth as he laughs along. “Just sucks to know I’m here out of necessity rather than love. Doesn't really feel like my existence has worth.”

“Right,” he agrees, breathless. You don’t think he really understands but the way he goes along with it, listening without argument or a rush to correct your dejected feelings, it’s nice. It's more polite than anything else you've ever been told and you can't find yourself appreciating it more. “Some people just aren’t ready to be parents and don’t know it until it’s too late.”

“Correct,” you applaud quietly, “but that’s not what I mean.”

Jaemin tilts his head in confusion and goes to apologise but you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad for not understanding, “it’s more so that being parents- my parents- is what’s keeping them from happiness. I'm holding them back or whatever.”

His head bobs up and down slowly, fully processing your words before settling into an understanding frown. “That sucks,” he mumbles, looking at you with sorrowful eyes. You refrain from balling yourself up anymore, his gaze reminding you of Donghyuck’s pitying smile and hesitant looks. Though, you feel yourself lighten up a little with his next words, “I’m proud of you… for enduring that every day and still having a sense of worth- no matter how much it may have weakened. You’ll be able to get out of that situation one day, the future is your oyster.”

It sounds genuine and your brain racks at the sentiment of being listened to properly.

You smile, small and flattered, in place of verbal gratitude and turn away, tired of his twinkling eyes. “I don’t think that’s the saying."

“It works, doesn’t it?” Jaemin grumbles, kicking at your foot.

“I suppose so.” You click your tongue and kick at the little heart he’s drawn into the now exposed soil. He glowers and slaps at your shoe, mumbling about how ungrateful and mean you are before sighing, giving up on drawing any more. “Now,” you begin, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your knee, “why are you here?”

Jaemin huffs, upset it was already his turn to share his sob story. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m just here for some fresh air?”

“Not a chance,” you grumble, giving a half smile before sighing yourself, “I know a miserable loser when I see one. You're one of me.”

“Miserable loser?” he repeats with wide eyes, offended and disbelieving.

“Alright,” you loosen up, apologising with a simper, “that was an exaggeration.”

“I’m…” he stutters, hesitating a little. He meets your eyes and you offer a wide grin, cheesy and light hearted, and laughs. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

"Tomato pasta?” you cut him off, joking. Hopeful that it'll ease the tension in his shoulders.

It seems to work, his brows furrowed in confusion and lips parting in slight amusement, pupils darting around to study your face for some kind of explanation. “What?”

"That’s why they fought,” you giggle, finding it stupid now that you’re finally out of the situation itself, “dad asked for fried rice today but mum said she’s been craving pasta.”

“That…” he spaces off yet again, completely lost. The thoughtful pout of his lips is adorable and you find yourself inwardly cooing, feeling light. “That’s a weird thing to have a such a big fight about.”

"I agree,” you nod, toes dancing in a fiddle, “crazy how angry you can get when you hate someone.” You decide against explaining the escalation of the argument, letting Jaemin create his own story in his own head. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, “here for the same reason as you. Can’t stand my parents.” There’s slight hesitation to his words, the way he rubs at the back of his neck and the guilt that shows in the way he smiles but won’t look you in the eye. He glances in your direction once before darting away the moment he meets your analysing eyes, wondering. It's wimpish when he mutters, “hate how in love they are.”

The words leave his lips and you freeze, frowning ever so slightly and allowing your eyes to drift away from his apologetic stare, self conscious. “Way to rub it in,” you mumble. You feel your body lean away from his, suddenly insecure and regretful about what you’d just shared.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips with a harsh breath, pushing out an open hand to rest on yours before pulling back when you flinch, reminded you had only just met. “It’s more than that, I swear.”

“What?” you scoff, hurt, “you can hear them having sex at night?” You let out a laugh but Jaemin finds it isn’t at all pleasurable to listen to this time.

“No,” he sighs, head falling in his hands. He looks up and sees you observing the empty road, unable to look at him but too tense to get up and leave. He gives up and gets it out, hoping you’ll understand if he gives you the context all at once, even if you've already decided you hate his privilege. “My stepdad. I hate him.”

A second father. Your eyes drift down to your feet and you ask him a question, it’s only to reassure yourself but he doesn’t mind, understands the curiosity. “Is he a jerk?”

“No,” Jaemin chuckles painfully, watching your frown reappear, distasteful, “he’s an alright guy if I let him be.”

“Then why-” you choke, punching at the ground and feeling the bark dig into your knuckles, the pain distracting you from your outburst for a small moment.

He doesn’t let you finish, desperate to clear the air and have you see the full picture. Wanting your approval and not for his sob story to be pitied but for you to be on the same page, he values your perspective of him already. “My stepdad’s a homewrecker,” Jaemin blurts, holding his breath and watching as you let your guard down, angry scowl fading into a look of realisation. You dart your head up, wide-eyed and rushing to apologise, but he sighs in relief, waving you off with an understanding smile.

You don’t look any less regretful as he continues to explain himself but Jaemin finds it sweet, not at all offended by your previous attitude. “I don’t like seeing my parents happy together. My mum doesn’t deserve it,” he hisses at the blunt words and laughs at himself, digging a hand in his hair, “I wouldn’t mind her moving on and finding love but she found him when she was still with my dad- pursued that relationship behind our backs.”

“Jaemin," you struggle to find the words, "that sounds like such a hard situation." He nods in confirmation and you purse your lips at the pained smile that comes with it.

He stares down at the ground, unsure why he can’t look you in the eye but loving the feeling of a weight being lifted off of his shoulders, his feelings finally being let out into the open. “I don’t know whether or not to hate my mum for breaking up our family. I think she already hates herself for it- she's never talked to me about it… I don’t even know if she knows I know- but she has to settle or else she’s alone.”

“Whatever you feel,” you say slowly, carefully, “is complicated but valid. It’s understandable.” It's a shit response, sounds like a script but it's the best you can do with how unprepared you are. Jaemin a lot better at this than you seem to be.

“Thanks,” he whispers back, finally looking up at you.

You meet eyes, lips parted and breathing steady, neither of you making a sound but giving the other words of thanks with your steady gazes. Both of you are grateful. The way he stares, silent and caring, makes you wonder if you’d prefer to see him more after this, if having him in your tomorrow would be good for you, if he’s thinking the same. But for now you just sigh, delighted you can look at him in this moment and feel some sense of normalcy, feel understood, lost.

“You’ll be out of there soon,” you chuckle, blinking slowly. With a hushed tone, you reach for Jaemin’s hand and remind him, “the future is your oyster.”

#jaemin x reader #jaemin #na jaemin #nct #nct x reader #nct dream #nct angst #jaemin angst #nct fluff #jaemin fluff #jaemin fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin smut #nct smut #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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bigsteeb · 4 years

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this is gonna be a long post so bear with me, growing pains got a b i g emotional reaction out of me & I need to share my thoughts & feelings about it because jesus fucking christ.

ok first things first, someone hug this boy immediately. he’s sat in his room, still in his pajamas, in day time watching dog copter. this whole scene is just steven going “lol I’m sad, I’m gonna comfort eat & stay in my pajamas & watch a kids show I watched when I wasn’t as sad haha” & it’s not only upsetting, but relatable too fuck. his room is a mess along with him eating ice cream at what I assume is morning… making it his breakfast? geez steven. also idk if it’s just me here but in this shot he looks… bigger? like ignoring his body size shifting later on in the episode he looks a lot wider than he usually does when paul & drew board episodes to me, he’s rivalling etienne & maya’s steven’s wideness. did he… get chubbier from comfort eating? how much time has passed since together forever for him to put on weight if he has? this could literally just be steven slouching or his pajamas making him look bigger but as someone who is an advocate for the body positivity shown in su & suf it has me curious. I want to hug this soft, sad boy. It could also be due to how steven’s design fluctuates through the animation process, it’s never really on model all the time.

the grunting noise he makes in this scene is very distressing, as are other moments from the episode too. a glimpse at the glow-bracelet he proposed to connie with is enough to physically pain him? fuck me man. is he leaving his room where there’s already ice cream… to get more ice cream? sobs. also the puns in this shot. I cant? slow burn?! you’re evil crewniverse. not to mention his body size changing throughout this scene, god this poor lad.

screams, this was when I started worrying. the boy is now in an environment he has never been in before & is feeling extremely uncomfortable & vulnerable. look at the lines under his eyes, his sad eyebrows & pout I hate it. also don’t even get me started on this part. the slight raise of a voice being enough to send him into panic?! fuck I hate how much I relate to that.

here’s where I immediately broke, no god damn pun intended. seeing steven’s skeleton, steven’s fucking skull, like this pained me. that crack on his skull is from fucking jasper in jail break. I can’t express all of the visceral emotions that were going through my body at this. there was intense sadness for steven, extreme anger at jasper & the gems for allowing shit like this to happen to him. turns out he’s not as resilient as we thought he was. each hit he takes physically breaks him & then his gem instantly heals his wounds, my heart fucking broke at this. think back to everything that happened to him, everything that physically hurt him. it broke him I can’t deal with it! then there’s what priyanka says to steven next;

“you seem to of made a series of miraculous recoveries, but that doesn't change the fact that you experienced trauma. you’ve recovered physically but, have you recovered mentally?”

this part here along with her reassuring him that there’s nothing wrong with his brain, how childhood trauma can have an impact on how your body responds to stress & how you act in your social life, the usage of the word “cortisol” too. this stuff being in a children's tv show is incredible. the writing for priyanka describes trauma simply enough for kids to understand, but for adults to fully realise too. folks, steven has ptsd. there wasn't one bit of sugarcoating about it or nothing, this is canon fact & it hurts me. for so long have I wanted steven’s emotional issues to be alked about, to not only be brought to steven’s attention but to the audience’s too.

everything that has happened to him has built up to this moment. this moment where his behaviour & coping methods are finally making sense to a large majority of the fandom, & to steven himself. he’s hurting; physically, mentally & emotionally, & he isn’t coping well what so ever about it. his emotional support system is complete garbage, no one regularly checks in on him & folks just take steven at face value like “oh yea glowing pink? he’s fine it’s just steven” but he’s the bad person?! I hope a lot of you out there who genuinely believe steven is a bad person re-think yourselves after this. dealing with trauma is tough as shit. some days you even wonder if that one thing that fucked you up is really worth being labelled as trauma. I still can’t believe this is the route they’re taking, if he doesn’t get some form of therapy by the end of future I’ll be furious.

then things begin to spiral as he remembers what happened with connie. he clutches his chest in pain & begins changing size over intense amounts of stress & it was extremely distressing to watch. steven immediately reassures connie that this isn’t because of her, but because of everything else that happened to him. however. I believe that that’s a slight lie, he wouldn’t of spiralled if he hadn’t of remembered the proposal, steven you fucking himbo. he continues to reassure them both that he’s fine, just that he needs them to leave so he can calm himself enough to control himself.

then this happens.

“I. CAN’T. BE AROUND YOU RIGHT NOW!”

this was fucking intense. he means this literally in 2 ways btw. his body size shifting over the stress he’s feeling is a danger to both connie & priyanka in this moment, but it’s also because of how it started. being around connie hurts him. he’s not mad at her though let me make that very clear, just that thinking about what happened when he tired to propose to her is sending his head in a fritz. he did what he did full of confidence in together forever, for connie to then make him realise how silly he was being. these two are destined for each other, but that advice from ruby & sapphire has really fucked with him. he looks up to those 2, looks up to garnet, their relationship is so strong & stable. for them to give him that advice & to then scream “DO IT!” in his face is incredibly tasteless imo.

then greg gets here. I knew connie was calling for either greg or the gems when she was on her phone as she left the room, fuck yea connie I love you. the breathless, strained “thank you” from steven towards connie for calling his dad? g o d. connie telling him she’ll be there for him when he’s ready?! g o d. these next boards were done by rebecca, I knew immediately when I saw steven’s face. it makes sense that rebecca boarded these, because fuck.

how do I move on from all of the stuff I’ve been through? how do I live life if it always feels like I’m about to die!?

I’m tearing up as I type this. when I first heard the leak of this audio I so badly wanted to believe it, but to also believe it was fake too. I was an emotional mess off & on for about 3 days over it because I couldn't stop thinking about how fucking distressing it was. like… shit steven. he seriously feels this. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain he felt just saying this in front of his fucking dad. he is hurting badly. this boy, this sweet sweet boy we’ve watched grow & develop into the person he is today is distraught about his future & life. it is… soul crushing to watch this. a group of friends of mine have found joking about the episode as a form of coping with the intensity of it & as much as that’s valid as fuck, any joke coming from this episode feels morally wrong to me. I can’t bring myself to join in it feels terrible even thinking about laughing at it to cope. I love them all, but I can’t bare myself to join them. this moment ending with greg comforting steven, telling him he’s here for him & all of his struggles, got me weeping. greg is possible the best father figure I’ve seen on tv, let alone a kids tv show. he’s amazing.

the final scene right here is lovely. greg making steven a hot chocolate & listening to him vent, reassuring him over his worry for his future. this right here is exactly what steven needs. someone to talk to, someone he could trust to talk about his feelings to. this the start of his support system, tag on peri from in dreams, bis in bismuth casual as well as connie from the past few episodes & it’s already looking great! even when greg eased him about being there for him steven still feels guilty about him leaving his tour, leaving his tour because he got a phone call from connie about his son being in need & steven feels guilty about it. fucking hell man. I did enjoy how the episode ended though, with that little moment between the both of them;

“just get some rest kiddo. you don’t have to solve all of your problems in one night.”

“yea. thanks dad.”

it’s a great message too, all of your struggles can’t be dealt with all at once. I’ve used a similar analogy before but it’s like removing a dead tree. you have to deal with all of the little things surround this issue first before you get to the deep, harder stuff. along side the message about trauma they’re both very important messages, I’m glad they exist in the show.

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one more thing before I end my thoughts & feelings over growing pains.

this ending shot;

as soon as I saw the frog mug my mind raced back to the promo for this scene, & this whole moment to come entirely. if you remember this moment has the first set of leaked audio within it, the audio of the gems basically cornering steven about him not opening up to them. christ pearl even gets mad at him for his gem building a wall behind him, protecting him from them. it’s common knowledge, I hope, that steven’s gem reacts to his emotional state. pearl herself has said this;

“I think your gem is reacting to your state of mind.”

his gem building this wall? it felt like steven was being threatened by them. this scene now has awful connotations with it. because since we now know what the pink mode is doing to steven, how actually painful it is, think back to these;

yea. fuck the gems. I’ll let it slide if steven, greg or priyanka haven’t told them about what happened at the hospital. but if they do know, if they know how much it hurts steven being in his pink mode & still press into him about it I’ll see red. with steven’s trauma & now ptsd being cemented into the show I fucking hope garnet, amethyst & pearl get held accountable for what they put on him as a kid. that shit will not slide with me if they don’t. do not condone what the gems put him through. do not condone the gems for making steven feel like he had to be his mum for them. just… don’t. please.

#thanks for coming to my ted talk lmao sdngsjfhg #this episode fucked me up in more ways than one #i dont even think ill simmer down about it before next weeks episodes either #it was… a lot... to listen & deal with #i care deeply about steven as a character #& see it being canon that he has trauma & ptsd… possible c-ptsd #it fucking breaks my heart #god dammit it crewniverse #i hope you handle this with extreme care #i trust you but still… jesus christ #steven universe #steven universe future #su spoilers #su future spoilers

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

A Steven Universe AU

Hello all! Today, I am going to document an AU I had for Steven Universe! I would like to personally thank my friend Flamestar50 for the help I received to build this AU. I am going to mark down the information for the AU I had discussed with Flame when discussing this AU, so here I go! To note, the information will be about the questions Flame asked me, and my responses.

Okay, I talked to Flame and they are okay with this. Enjoy fully.

ALRIGHT!! Basically, assuming you know who Doctor Priyanka is hopefully, before Canon starts, Greg accidentally says something to Rose while they are talking after she got back from a particularly stressful mission, and it causes all the repressed pain and guilt, along with a not so healthy dollop of self-loathing, to come surging to the forefront.

To better process her feelings, Rose heads to the Beach and, well, ends up lamenting to herself, attracting the attention of a visiting Priyanka Maheswaran (Hope I spelled that right), who decided to approach the giant gem and get her to talk about her feelings.

Flame: huh, how does that go

Me: Well, because Rose has a LONG history of not thinking things all the way through and often not being able to see the full picture accurately, she ultimately decides to just spill it all. To vent every little thing about herself, all her actions, all her choices, all her mistakes, to a total stranger, because she genuinely cannot TAKE IT anymore!

Surprisingly, or probably not, Priyanka is moved, and understandably worried, by Rose's pain, and makes a point of comforting her, with Rose herself having shapeshifted back into her Diamond Form for the first time in CENTURIES.

Priyanka is genuinely in awe of all that Rose has done, and all that she has been through, and decides it is her duty as a medical professional, albeit not one licensed in psychology, to take on Rose as her patient, as the Gem is clearly not in a healthy or safe emotional state. Oh, and the other Gems and Greg all ended basically overhearing the whole thing while the two are none the wiser.

Flame: oh no, how did they react

Me: Well, shock for the most part. Amethyst and Garnet are, understandably, angry at being lied to, yet they can't bring themselves to be angry because, unless you've got a serious callousness to you, it is hard to be angry at someone who so clearly loathes themselves so completely and utterly.

Pearl is mostly shocked, and a touch despondent, that Rose had withheld all this hurt and inner turmoil from her. Greg? He doesn't know how to process what is going on, but what he does understand is that Rose, the person he loves more than anything else in the world, the one who finally made him see his own value and worth and could never even try to judge him, is hurting, and in need of comfort. They basically decide to shift the discussion back to the Temple for the rest of the initial event.

Flame: How will this effect Steven in the future?

Me: Well, I haven't finished describing the set up just yet, but it will have its effects on his future (HA! Snuck in the reference!). After moving back to the Temple, Priyanka in tow, the Gems (and Greg) basically hash out everything they can. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl are all understandably distressed and hurt by the secrets Rose has been carrying, but the sheer pain and hurt she clearly feels about herself convince them to work through it together.

For Amethyst, it partially convinces her to stop bottling up her insecurities, not after seeing what a wreck it made of Rose. Garnet knows she will have to fully confront her feelings on the subject later, but decides to be there for the others now. Pearl just wants to finally help Rose the way she feels Rose helped her. And Rose? She just feels such intense, unconditional joy and love at the fact that they don't see her as a monster, that they still love her, flaws and all, that she doesn't have to run away anymore.

The revelation of her feelings acts as a catalyst that causes her to involuntarily shapeshift into a new default state that merges her Diamond and Quartz forms, a symbol of her finally accepting herself completely, taking the name Rose Diamond; she isn't going to pretend she is something she's not anymore, she's going to show the whole world the entirety of who she is, flaws and all, so she can finally start to grow.

And then they realize that they never got Priyanka's name, and everyone starts cracking up at the sheer absurdity of it all, Rose included! I got more, but that is the initial intro to the AU.

Flame: what else ya got

Me: Well, because of her sense of obligation, and the fact that she honestly enjoys Rose's company, Priyanka more or less becomes the Gems' therapist, and often silently screams in her own head that she isn't trained for this. One of the things Rose does once she comes clean is to try and make amends for the things that came about due to her lies; for starters, she releases Bismuth, after she tracks down Lion that is (that crazy feline does whatever it wants, I swear).

Much like in canon, Bismuth is snapped out of her hyper-blood-rage once she is exposed to the Corrupted Gems and figures out that the Corruption partially came about due to her giving the idea of faking her shattering to Rose. Bismuth is MASSIVELY uncomfortable around Rose, and often adopts a loose, battle-ready stance whenever around her, but, partially due to working with Priyanka to help treat her PTSD, is gradually coming around.

Bismuth more or less does her own thing, but makes an effort to be there when needed, like when the Gems find an experimental Warp Pad. The Warp Pad, according to the notes Pearl finds, is supposed to be the ultimate escape system, allowing any being to enter the warp stream and proceed to a pre-determined Warp Pad across the Galaxy, and the next time that corresponding pad is used it will automatically bring them back.

Upon discovering that information, and seeing that the Warp Pad hasn't been set yet and still can be, Rose, without actually explaining to the others, uses the warp to rescue Spinel. I'm gonna leave it here for you to process and ask questions before I proceed.

Flame: Oh god, how is spinel gonna react to this version

Me: Well, considering she is still near-totally innocent, she basically asks if she won the game. Yeah. Rose basically cries her eyes out, and tearfully says that, yes, Spinel, you're the winner, and gets an ecstatic hug that feels just a little too tight.

Upon noticing that Spinel is subtly shying away from the plants, and that the roots of some have actually started growing over her, Rose carefully picks a weary Spinel up, and carries her over to the warp pad back to earth. When Spinel asks where they are going, Rose simply says they are going home, getting a content smile in return. Upon returning through the experimental warp, Rose is bombarded by a storm of panicked shouting from the other gems, only for them to calm down at the ragged Spinel in Rose's arms.

Rose attempts to brush off the danger of using an untested piece of potentially lethal tech, only for the warp to blow up behind them; none of them were hurt, it was more like a collapse, but the implication that that could've happened while she and Spinel were in the warp stream causes all the gems to shoot Rose looks that scream "We told you so." I'll let you process this while I gather my thoughts.

Flame: oh dear

Me: Yeah, Rose doesn't like to think things through when there are people who need help she can give. After carefully explaining who Spinel was and the situation surrounding her, which involves Pearl face-palming, Garnet pinching the bridge of her nose, Amethyst a little shell-shocked, and Bismuth pummeling a concrete pillar into gravel in anger, they take the sweet gem back home.

After making sure Spinel is situated comfortably, Rose breaks the news; she never planned on coming back. As Spinel freezes up, whether from shock or hurt is up to debate, Rose explains that she had never understood Spinel, always seeing her as a silly doll that the other Diamonds gave her to be a toy who couldn't take things seriously, with each word causing Spinel to slowly shake her head, shuddering more and more, before Rose apologizes for being a bad friend.

Before Spinel can completely LOSE IT, Rose, tears of shame, regret, and heartbreak, pulls Spinel into an impromptu hug, begging, pleading, for the chance to let Spinel be happy. After calming down enough not to lash out in out of control pain, Spinel, shaken but not broken, asks as calmly as she can to be alone for a little while. They give her her space. And another pause point!

Flame: I thought she was gonna lose it, I sure would have.

Me: She came VERY CLOSE, but Rose's presence, which she still associates with good things and happier times, manages to keep her just stable enough to go off the deep end. Spinel quickly becomes a regular patient for Priyanka, who makes a point to try and help the child-like gem to grow and develop as an individual like it's her personal missions.

Over time, Spinel gradually manages to come to terms with her situation. Spinel developed a phobia of plants due to her time in the garden, but also enjoys gardening, seeing it as a representation of her happiest memories, as well as a way to conquer her fear by leveraging control over the plants.

With prompting from Priyanka for the both of them, Rose and Spinel make an effort to rebuild their old relationship into something healthy for the both of them; for Rose, it is a chance to finally befriend and learn about Spinel as a Gem, and not the toy she treated her as, and for Spinel, it is a way to come to terms with her past and start making new friends in the present and future.

The two manage to reach a mostly amicable bond, but things occasionally get tense between them; Rose's past actions left deep scars on Spinel's heart, as while she still acts like her happy-go-nuts self, albeit tempered with proper emotional reading, she now holds a deep disdain for other gems and gemkind as a whole, making an exception only for those who've also been burned by Gem Culture and her friends, often acting similar to her initial debut self when communicating with gems who don't meet this small criteria.

Spinel genuinely loathes the fact that she is a Gem now, and finds human company effortlessly more enjoyable than any time she spends with other gems, no matter how much she views said gems as friends and family (Spinel very much enjoys the concept of family, and sees it as one of the many ways organic beings are superior to Gems in her eyes).

Flame: awww,poor spinel

Me:Yeah, she's a sad bean, but she wouldn't change herself for anything in the universe! Did I ever give the name for this AU? If not, the name is Here For You. One of the biggest divergences from canon in this AU? Rose lives after giving birth!!

How you may ask? When you are good friends with a doctor, and you suddenly spring on them that you, a non-human, non-organic alien plans to have a half-human child and you most likely won't survive the experience, you can expect them to put their foot down and help with the situation.

Priyanka essentially grills Rose on everything she knows about her race's biology, such as it is, her understanding of human biology, and makes her research methods to create gemstones and such; Priyanka isn't willing to have Rose relapse into her suicidal impulses again, even if it is to bring a child into this world, and is dead set on finding a way for them both to survive.

With Priyanka's help, and some scavenged Gem Tech from the Kindergartens, Rose manages to conceive (HA!) A method to have a fully half-gem-half-human child without killing herself. It largely involves artificially mixing her own gem essence with that harvested from old injectors and eating. SO much eating. Rose essentially is ingesting and absorbing the needed materials to build a human fetus and Diamond Proto-Gem together as one, without sacrificing her own gem in the process. And it works!! Mostly.

Flame: what do you mean mostly

Me: Well, the process was completely experimental, and they had no actual clue what they were doing, just making their best guess. The process worked, but it left Rose horrifically weakened. Her Gem's internal structure was dangerously demineralized, as in it lost a lot of minerals that compose its structure, and became insanely fragile and delicate as a result.

Giving birth essentially permanently crippled Rose; she can no longer shapeshift at all, her bubbles have a high chance of popping after forming and she can no longer teleport them, and a lot, if not all, of her powers besides her healing tears have been hamstrung to near uselessness.

She is now both weaker, and slower than any human, and constantly falls unconscious at random to conserve her compromised energy reserves. But it was worth it to bring her twins into the world!! ...Maybe that had something to do with it...

Flame: wait, twins!?!

Me: YES!! ULTIMATE SURPRISE REVEAL!! Yeah, in canon, before they settled on whether they were having a son or a daughter, Rose left two tapes behind for whichever gender her child ended up being, Steven Or Nora. So, in this one, she ended up giving birth to Twins!! Nora and Steven Diamond Universe!!

To clarify, Rose would've been weakened no matter what happened, but giving birth to twins nearly shattered her and permanently affected her abilities, not that she'll ever regret it, though she grows frustrated with how frailly she is treated by the others. You wanna hear about the twins next?

Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it, the twins were only partially an accident, as Rose didn't intend to have two kids, but is fine with it, she just overdid it on the eating and stuff needed to create the children and had just enough left over to jumpstart the development of a second child. Yeah.

Flame: go on and tell me about the twins!

Me: YES!! Due to Priyanka's influence, both twins end up actually, you know, GOING TO SCHOOL. Steven is, well, basically exactly the same, and still heavily takes after both his dad and Rose's Quartz form, but being around other kids his age has improved his social skills and given him a larger group of peers and pals.

Nora is a bit of the opposite, polite, a little standoffish, neurotic, snarky when stressed, with a vicious temper towards anyone that hurts or messes with Steven, she basically looks like a miniature, human Pink Diamond in terms of appearance. Nora has a natural knack for her gem powers, and more easily manifests those powers more closely associated with Pink Diamond as opposed to Rose, with her Gem Weapon being a MASSIVE Two-Handed (Zweihander) sword whose foremost section resembles the shield everyone thought it would originally be, whilst still possessing her family's flower motif.

Nora is the younger of the two by about five minutes, but is much more mature as compared to Steven, not helped by him still having his aging problem while she ages more normally, and people are often shocked at both her age, as her height and attitude give her an older feel, but that she is also both Steven's TWIN and the technical younger of the two!!

It kinda mindblows people. (I was considering shifting some of Steven's personality, but I couldn't bring myself to do it)

Flame: any last points

Me: Well, Spinel basically becomes Beach City's premiere part-time employee, as she works on and off at literally every place in town at some time or another, and she bluntly refers to Greg as "The Deadbeat."

Spinel adores the twins, often serving as their babysitter, as well as a babysitter to most of the other kids in town, and basically acts as their bodyguard whenever she goes on missions. Oh! I also have special plans for Lapis, as well as some other Homeworld Gems, but I'll save those for tomorrow.

Due to their parents being friends, Connie basically grew up with Steven and Nora, and is currently entering the phase of life when people start to develop more mature crushes, and has shown signs of crushing on both of them. Yikes.

#steven universe #connie maheswaran #priyanka maheswaran #greg universe #rose quartz #pearl steven universe #garnet steven universe #amethyst steven universe #bismuth steven universe #spinel steven universe #crystal gem spinel #crystal gems #the crystal gems #Here For You AU #steven universe au

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master-sass-blast · 4 years

Text

Release.

Hmmmmm... this thing is solid projection. Whoops.

Summary: You're exhausted. No matter what you do, you can't get enough rest to save your soul. You try to keep up with everything, try to not let the fatigue hinder you

--And then it all comes crashing down.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue, and general angst-hurt/comfort vibes.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical,” but this one is special in that it doesn't directly impact the canon. It's sort of a special one-off.

Author’s Note: So, as some of you may have gathered from the tags and preamble, this fic is basically me venting my own frustration.

I've been dealing with some pretty wicked chronic fatigue for the better part of... coming up on a year now, actually. Wow. I didn't realize it'd been that long.

It's made life really hard for me, from everything to eating to doing chores to hanging out with friends to writing. We don't know what's causing it, and we're trying to take care of it through lifestyle changes and making sure I don't exert myself too much (we meaning me, my family, my fiance, and my doctor). There's been a few things that have helped, but by in large it's still been kicking my ass.

I know I was gone for a long time. Part of that was the fatigue making it impossible to write or post. To those of you who are still around, thank you -and I'm sorry. I'm trying my best, I promise.

If you're dealing with chronic fatigue or think you're dealing with chronic fatigue, just know that it's okay that you're tired. You're not lazy. You're not a failure. You're not going crazy. You're not a burden. Your body needs rest, you need rest, and you *deserve* to rest.

Here's a resource on chronic fatigue syndrome and what it looks like.

I hope you're all doing well. Stay safe and wear your mask.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It creeps over you. It starts as a wispy, soft cloud, hanging over the horizon of your existence.

And then it grows. Larger, more oppressive. Until you’re fully immersed in it, with no sense of direction or how to get out.

***

You’re not really sure you remember when it started. You’ve always been tired to some extent –anxiety, nightmares, and running on the X-Men schedule will do that to a person.

Exhaustion hits like a brick one day after training. You slump against the tiled wall in one of the shower stalls in the locker room. Water streams down your sweaty face and body while you struggle to make your eyes focused. Shit. I must have pushed too hard.

You manage to get yourself cleaned up and trudge back to yours and Piotr’s home at the back of Xavier’s property. You collapse onto the couch in the living room. Your limbs are stone, too heavy to drag another step. Your body throbs in time with your heartbeat. I need a nap. Just for a couple hours.

You only want to sleep for a couple hours.

You only mean to sleep for a couple hours.

You wake up at nine in the evening, to Piotr gently nudging you.

He tuts, fussing over you like a worried mother hen. “Are you feeling well, myshka?” He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You have slept for long time.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, mind still cloudy with exhaustion. You force yourself to sit up. You jaw cracks when you yawn. “Just overdid it in training today.”

Your husband gently chides you, ushering you into the kitchen so you can eat. “It is important to replenish energy.”

You go straight to bed after eating and sleep for another ten hours.

***

Part of you wonders ‘how did I let this happen? How did I let it get this bad?’

The other part of you wonders if you had any say in it at all.

***

The fatigue starts seeping into other areas of your life as well. Training, grading, hanging out with friends, eating…

You’re so tired. You chalk it up to mission stress, to going too hard during training, to running on weird hours all the time.

You start sleeping through the day to cope. No matter how well you sleep at night or how much sleep you get, you’re always so fucking tired.

Piotr notices the change in your sleeping habits. Because of course he does. It’s ingrained into his very DNA to be an observant, loving nurturer.

He brings it up during dinner one night. “Are you doing alright, myshka?”

“What? Yeah. Of course.” You’d woken up from a nap a couple hours before, and you feel good for once. (You’ll crash a couple hours later.) “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You have been sleeping at odd hours,” Piotr says, stirring his soup with his spoon. “I just want to make sure you are not having mental troubles.”

“I’m fine, baby.” And, on that front, you are. You’ve got your meds, your support system, a home, creative outlets, and a fulfilling –if occasionally dangerous—job. “I’ve just been tired lately, is all. I think it’s the weird mission hours just putting my body clock out of whack.”

“You should try to stay on normal schedule, then,” Piotr points out. He frowns, concerned. “Is not good for mental health to keep odd hours.”

You bristle. You are trying, dammit. You push through training and grading and your obligations every single damn day, even if all you can do is collapse in bed afterwards. Who the hell is he to say that you’re not trying?! “I am, Piotr. You don’t have to micromanage me. I’m not one of your teens.”

Piotr recoils, blue eyes widening. He holds up his hands. “Easy, dorogoy. I am not trying to micromanage. I just want you to be healthy.”

You drop your gaze down to your bowl of soup. Your heart races in your throat. “Sorry.”

***

It’s like being one of those houses infested with termites. You’re being consumed from the inside out. On the outside, you look fine. On the inside, you’re crumbling away like a sad, dry cookie left in the bottom of the cookie jar for five long, lonely months.

You’ve always been weird. You oscillate between outgoing and reclusive like nobody’s business. You’re a lot like Wade –somewhere between amusing and a nuisance to most of the adults, though most of the teens and kids like you.

(Piotr insists that it’s not true, that everyone likes you well enough, but you’ve never quite had the full faith to believe him.)

No one notices that you’re hurting. No one notices that something’s wrong. No one notices, no one notices, no one fucking notices—

But, to be fair, you hardly notice it yourself.

***

You kind of start to lose your mind, if you’re being honest.

It’s hard enough to keep up with your workload with the mission scheduling –but being tired all the time slams the nail in the coffin. You manage to drag yourself to training on time because it’s mandatory, because it’s important, because it’s for the good of your team, and—

And everything else falls apart.

You spend countless late night hours on the couch cramming through your grading, because you needed to sleep earlier, and the deadline’s only looming closer, and you have to be productive, dammit—

More than once, you drag yourself up to bed when Piotr’s just getting up for the day.

He frowns, forehead creasing. “Myshka—”

“I had grading to do,” you mutter as you crawl back into bed.

He finishes buttoning up his shirt, then sits down next to you. The bedframe groans under his bulk. “This is not healthy, moya lyubov’.”

“I’m fucking working on it, Piotr!” you snap, glaring at your husband. “Just –leave me alone!”

He swallows hard, blue eyes shining with hurt. He looks like a kicked puppy.

You huff and slam your face into your pillow, mostly to hide the fact that you’re crying.

Piotr smooths your hair down, then kisses the back of your head. “Ya tebya lyublyu, myshka.”

You bite down on your pillow and cry harder.

***

It’s more than just being tired.

It’s guilt. It’s enough guilt to fill an ocean. No amount of effort you make is good enough; no matter how hard you try you wind up failing. Or snapping at someone you love. Or being unable to do even the simplest shit.

There’s so much anger, too. At the world, at anyone who points out that you’re not doing well, at yourself. There’s a scream constantly behind your lips, trying to crack its way out of your chest.

You’re failing. You’re trying to scoop up handfuls of sand to keep an entire dune from consuming you, and the grains keep running through your fingers; it practically looks like you haven’t done anything at all, and you’re so fucking tired…

***

The ‘house’ collapses over a load of dishes.

One load of fucking dishes.

It’s ridiculous.

You manage to drag yourself out of bed one morning, trying to get the haze that seems to be a permanent fixture in your mind to clear. You trudge downstairs, energy sapping out of you with every step you take.

You see last night’s dishes in the sink, waiting to be rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher.

It’s an easy task. The dishes aren’t all that dirty, and there aren’t that many of them.

And you can’t do it. You don’t have the energy. You’re just too fucking tired.

You failed.

You crumple to the floor, weeping against the wooden floorboards as the dam you’d been trying so hard to keep stable gives way. You scream, anger and guilt and frustration and self-loathing washing over you, crushing you beneath their weight. You clutch at your hair, seething as the past few months finally come to a head—

And then Piotr’s arms are around you. (Later, you’ll learn that he stopped back at the house to pick up a gradebook, which is why he was even around during the day in the first place.) He scoops you up, cradling you against his chest. “Myshka, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

You sob into his shirt, beyond words.

“Okay, okay.” He checks you over to make sure you’re not visibly injured, then carries you upstairs to bed.

You whimper when he tries to tuck you in. “No –I’ve got stuff to do—”

“It can wait,” he says, loving but firm. He gently tugs the comforter over you, then toes his shoes off before laying down next to you.

“It can’t,” you cry, even as he tugs you into his arms and tucks you against his chest. “It’s already waited for so long.”

“And it can wait longer.” He kisses your forehead. “It is okay, myshka. Rest.”

You snuffle and sob and gasp—

And, eventually, you fall asleep.

***

You wake up to Piotr stroking your hair. You inhale sharply, blinking to cast the bleariness out of your vision. “What time is it?”

“About noon,” he says.

Your heart sinks. “Shit. I’ve got grading—”

He places his arm over your waist, holding you in place. “It can wait.”

“But—”

“You had breakdown this morning, myshka. Health comes first.” He gazes into your eyes, brow furrowing. “Talk to me, moya lyubov. Please. What is wrong?”

Your heart rips into infinitesimal pieces at seeing him so worried –and then you start crying again. “I can’t…” You squeeze your eyes shut and buy your face against his chest. “I can’t. I can’t do it. No matter how much sleep I get, or I don’t get, or how much I exercise or don’t exercise, or what I eat or –any of it. I’m so tired, Piotr.” You let out a choked sob. “I’m just so tired, and I keep failing—”

Piotr rubs your back and kisses the top of your head. “It’s okay, myshka. It’s okay.”

***

Eventually, you settle again. You’re snuggled against Piotr’s chest, sniffling and sighing while he strokes your hair.

It’s not a bad place to bed.

“How long?” he asks, voice quiet and gentle. “How long have you felt tired?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, lulled to a state of near drowsiness by his ministrations. “A few months? Maybe a little longer? I’ve always been kind of tired, what with anxiety and nightmares and all that shit.”

He ‘hmms,’ kissing the top of your head. “Have you eaten yet?”

“…does leftover pizza at three in the morning count?”

He sighs, exasperated and amused. “Okay, time for food.”

“I can’t,” you whimper, tears coming back as frustration swells in your chest. “I’m too tired to eat.”

Piotr shushes you, gently drying your cheeks with a tissue. “What if I bring you something?”

You stomach churns with guilt and self-loathing. “I’m not a baby. I don’t… I shouldn’t need people to make food for me.”

“No, not baby,” Piotr agrees, kissing your cheek. “But you are unwell.”

“I’m not sick!”

“Unwell is unwell,” Piotr states, voice brokering no room for debate (though it never loses that gentle intonation of his). “If I bring you food, will you eat?”

You hesitate, then manage a small nod. “Something small, please. I don’t want, like, a whole meal.”

Piotr nods. He heads downstairs, then returns a few minutes later with some toast, fruit, a glass of milk –and some Cheetos.

You giggle when you see the fluorescent orange cheese-snacks on your plate. “You do love me.”

“Navsegda.” He hands the plate to you, sets the glass on your nightstand, then waits for you to start in on your toast before speaking again. “I think you should see Dr. Mccoy about fatigue.”

“But I’m not sick,” you argue after swallowing a bite of toast.

“That you know of,” he corrects. “Lots of things can cause fatigue. Is best to check, to make sure more serious problem is not happening.”

“But…” A lump rises in your throat. “What if this is just me now? What if… what if I’m just broken?”

Piotr takes your hand in his. He presses his lips against your knuckles. “Then we know, and we make life suited to your brokenness.”

“I can’t slow everyone down, Piotr,” you insist. Your eyes burn with unshed tears. “I can’t –I can’t be a burden. It’s not fair to everyone else if I’m getting some sort of special treatment because I’m tired.”

“You are not burden,” Piotr declares, gaze boring into yours. “You are never burden. Understand?”

“Piotr—”

“Things happen, myshka. Sometimes, our bodies just… do not work right anymore. You still deserve comfortable, happy life. Nothing is unfair about that. Nothing.” He kisses the back of your hand again when you sigh, then pats your leg. “Finish eating. We go to doctor afterwards.”

***

The only way out is through.

Who would’ve guessed.

***

Dr. McCoy runs a series of comprehensive tests. Thyroid, allergy, iron deficiencies, vitamin deficiencies, glucose levels—

It comes back negative. All of it.

On one hand, it’s a good thing, given that you don’t have some sort of life-threatening condition that needs treating.

On the other hand, you just feel worse. It’s like proof that you have no excuse, that you’re tired for no reason, and that you just need to try harder.

“You are trying,” Piotr says when you admit as much. He draws you into a hug and kisses the top of your head. “We just need to find tools so that trying isn’t so hard.”

“What if there’s nothing?” you ask in a horrified whisper. “What if we try everything and nothing works?”

He kisses the top of your head again. “Then that is okay, too. However you are is okay, myshka.”

***

“How’s the tai chi going?”

You shrug. “It’s fine.” Nathan had switched you over to low impact exercise the second he got wind of your fatigue issues. “Wade likes to do it with me; we like to try and incorporate lame dance moves into our sets to see if Nathan’ll catch us doing it.”

Alyssa chuckles and shakes her head. “And does he?”

“He definitely did when Wade started doing the worm.”

The two of you laugh together.

“And how’s your task setting going?” Alyssa asks when you both settle back down. She grins when you scowl. “Ooh, I knew that’d be your reaction. I knew you were not going to like it one bit. You keep trying to eat the whole whale, sweetheart. You’re gonna choke!”

“I know, I know.” You sigh, frustrated and dejected in equal measure. “It’s just… hard. I used to be able to do so much more. And now –it’s like my body was stolen away from me.”

“I know, sweetheart. And I’m so sorry. But it’s important that you learn to readjust your scope for what’s reasonable and what’s not. Otherwise, you’re gonna keep spinning yourself in anxious circles –and you’re gonna keep making the fatigue worse by overworking yourself.”

You groan and rub at your face with your hands. “It just… it feels wrong! Like I’m being lazy! I don’t have a reason to be so tired.”

“Sure you do,” Alyssa says, as if it’s that simple. “Your body is healing. You spent a lifetime being traumatized and abused. Your body put itself on hold to help keep you alive. You’ve dealt with your anxiety, depression, and trauma to the point where you’re stable, so now all those years of stress and pain are finally catching up. This is your body’s way of saying ‘hey, it’s my turn!’ So, now you need to listen to it.”

“But what if I don’t get better?” you ask, voice fraying. “What if I’m like this forever?”

She shrugs, tucking her braids over her shoulder. “That could happen; the amount of trauma you went through would be more than enough to result in a permanent presentation of chronic fatigue syndrome. But it could also get better, too. There’s no point in trying to predict the outcome.”

“But if I don’t get better, I’ll have to step down from being an X-Man.”

“There is more to this life than being an X-Man, honey,” Alyssa says, smiling warmly at you. “You have an entire world to discover. You just might have to do it at a different pace than everyone else. Your goal isn’t to get back to being an X-Man. Your goal is to take care of yourself.”

You tuck your knees under your chin and wrap your arms around your legs. “That doesn’t feel like enough.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s me. I have to do more to make up for the fact that it’s me.”

Alyssa points her pen at you. “That’s the anxiety and depression talking. You are more than enough, just as you are. Your worth is not based on your productivity or what you can offer to society. It’s based on your existence as a human being, that’s all.”

You drop her gaze, opting to look down at the ornate, ocean blue rug she keeps in her office instead.

“I want you to keep working on adjusting your goal setting,” Alyssa says as she jots down a few notes in your file. “Three things a day, whether it’s chore, work, or self-care related. Nothing else goes on that list unless you need to remember to do it, like taking your meds. Okay?”

You mutter your assent.

“Attagirl. I also want you to do your positive affirmations. Three times a day, plus whenever you get caught in negative thought patterns.”

You groan and slump down on the couch. “No! Positive affirmations suck!”

“They’re wonderful,” Alyssa fires back, chuckling. “They’re so good for you, so good for your brain…” She laughs when you retch, then closes your file and stands. “Alright, sweetheart. Keep at it. I’ll see you next week.”

Piotr looks up when you walk out of Alyssa’s office. “All done?”

“She’s making me do more positive affirmations,” you grumble (you can hear Alyssa laugh at your admission).

“Ah, is good for you,” Piotr says as he ushers you down the hall. “Good to say truth out loud.”

You retch again. “Not you, too. I need to go find Wade. He’ll understand.”

Your husband chuckles and shakes his head. “Come on, myshka. Back home with you.”

“Why does it have to be so far?” you groan. “It’s so much walking.”

“Are you feeling tired?”

You sigh. “Honestly, yeah. I’m really wiped out.”

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulder in a one-armed hug. “I am sorry, moya lyubov’. Would you like me to carry you?”

“I shouldn’t need carrying.”

Piotr stops. He cups your face in his massive hands, making you look up at him. “Is not about ‘should’ or ‘should not.’ If your body needs help, then you need help.”

You hesitate, but ultimately nod. “Yeah. I’d be nice if you carried me.”

He nods. He waits until you two are outside, then kneels so you can clamber on his back. “Hop on, myshka.”

You loop your arms around his neck. You wait until he has his arms looped around your legs, then point in the direction of your house. “Home, Jeeves.”

Piotr chuckles. “I am transport service, now?”

“Damn right.” You gently slap his burly chest. “Mush. I want Poptarts.”

Piotr laughs again, then sets off across the lawn.

***

You’re not alright. Not technically. Alyssa’s right that you’ve been hurt. Healing takes time, and you’re just beginning your journey.

But you’ve got Piotr. Your family. Your friends. You’ve got Dr. McCoy and Alyssa as professional support. You have a home to rest in when you’re weary.

You’re okay –and on the days that you’re not, you will be.

And that’s more than enough.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #*sighs*#well this happened #tw: anxiety #tw: depression #tw: chronic fatigue #not technically canon to the series #the author needed some catharsis #angst #hurt comfort #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Text

Day 5 of Revalink: Truth

Did I post these out of order? Yes, yes I did, because I suck at writing quickly. Nonetheless, today I bring to you a collab with one of my friends @xcookix

This is the part 2 of a little fic, he wrote part one here so read his first if you want to understand whats going on in this one!

Anyhow, enjoy!

- - - - -

A part of me longs to see him

A part of me dreads it.

Link got off his horse, boots falling onto the grass and dry pine needles that surrounded Rito Stable. The Princess’ hair whipped wildly, the breeze crisp and cutting. Even his own blond hair was barely being tied together. Zelda, quill in hand, was scratching away in her journal, jotting down some unseen royal notes before turning abruptly to Link. “Alright then, you can just escort me up until we reach the elder’s house. I just have to discuss a few things with him for the day, so you can go off and do whatever it is you do in your spare time.” The knight held up his hands to sign, confused.

‘Shouldn’t I still be there? I can just stand in the corner or something.’

“Oh please, you and I both know that the last time you listened in on these kinds of meetings you practically fell asleep. When we were at the Domain you literally asked for a pillow!” Zelda exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged, ‘They were cool! Both literally and figuratively.’

The princess let out a scoff, “I would have thought you would have been excited at the chance to run off. Considering we’re so close to you-know-who again.”

Walking towards the wooden bridges, Link shook his head.

‘No, I am definitely not excited about that.’ He clenched his fists tightly. ‘Revali probably doesn’t want to see me either.’

Zelda paused and cast him a curious glance. “Why’s that? Oh no, did something happen between the two of you?”

A frown crossed Link’s face as he thought back to that day at the castle. He thought back to how he had opened up to Urbosa. He recalled how shaky and frustrated he had been, how he vented about his frustrations without restraint, how he had talked about his exasperation about his relationship with Revali, and all of his faults, how he…

Link let out a deep sigh.

He remembered how before he could finish his last sentence, he felt a rush of air from around the corner, and the faintest streak of blue from the corner of his eye. A shade of blue he knew all too well.

Revali had heard everything. At best, he heard everything, at worst, he only heard the bad parts. Either way, he probably hated him even more for it.

Zelda broke into his thoughts. “Link, do you not have those feelings for him anymore?”

‘No, I do, I just—’

“Did he do something wrong?”

‘No! I mean, maybe? No, it’s not really him. It’s nothing, not a big deal really.’

“So, you don’t want to see him?”

‘I do! I mean, I want to but I just think—’

“I thought you told me that—”

“I KNOW!”

They both blinked, startled at his sudden outburst. The princess looked at the ground, embarrassed. She hadn’t realized the situation was so serious that it even brought Link out of his silent oath. After a beat, Link started to sign again.

‘I know that I said I liked him and all, but something happened. I am almost positive that he hates me now. So I don’t think it’s wise for me to see him…’

They continued on their path as they made their way up the stairs, passing through the bustling Rito. Finally, they arrived at the Elder's abode. Zelda turned to Link once more. “To reiterate, you aren’t staying here.” He nodded. “Maybe you can just walk around for a bit. I’m sure Revali is at the Flight Range, per usual, so you won’t run into him if you just stay around here.” He nodded again. Another pause. Link took the silence as a cue to start leaving. Then Zelda called out.

“I still hope you can sort out whatever confusion you’re going through. It seems to me you really care for him, afterall…”

- - - - -

The view was nice enough, except for the constant whipping of wind. The clouds merged into silver and murky grey strokes, and a snow storm seemed to be forming along the Hebra Mountains. The wooden landing creaked from Link’s weight, as he lay his crossed arms across the railing.

He had been out here for the last thirty minutes, watching the wind rush through the pine trees. Every now and then, he’d fix his hair as it flew into his face— the simple ponytail his blond hair was in wasn’t cutting it in these conditions.

The said wind started to pick up again and, instinctively, Link started to run his fingers against the flying strands of hair. However, this time, the wind was rising from under him. He didn’t notice it at first, but after it started to swirl in large gusts and pick up in speed, his blue eyes suddenly shot up in realization.

Wait! He’s back? Link thought, frantically.

He started to move himself away from the railing, ready to start heading towards the stairs, but he hesitated, for just a moment, wondering to himself if he should stay.

Then, it was too late, and a familiar blue streak shot through the air.

Link held an arm in front of his face, covering himself from the rushing winds. After another moment, it stopped, and Revali landed and perched himself on the railing.

What would he say? Probably something along the lines of, “The Hylian Champion? So deterred by a few gusts of air?” Followed by something like, “As expected, considering my ability requires an unprecedented amount of strength and concentration. Nonetheless, one would assume such an important figure such as yourself would be more resilient.” Yeah, and he would follow it up with a quip with how messy his hair was, or something about his skill or—

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it.”

Link could only stand there, unsure of what to say. After a moment, all he could bring himself to sign was:

‘Yeah, I guess it has.’

Not like he had been counting the days or anything.

There was a gentle look in Revali’s jade eyes, something Link couldn’t quite place. Not only was it weird to start off a conversation with Revali so...naturally, but the fact that he was just standing there, quietly, well it was new to say the least.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Revali said, softly.

Link chuckled to himself. At least this was slightly familiar.

‘Yeah, I know. It’s the wind up here. It keeps…’

He let his arms fall, as he looked at Revali, curiously. The Rito was shuffling through a satchel on his waist, focused on finding some unseen item.

“Now don’t go blaming the forces of nature for your irresponsibility. You’ve been here plenty times before and still haven’t developed any foresight? Ugh, where is my gi— Aha!”

From his satchel, he pulled out two long pieces of thin fabric, an emerald green in color.

Hair ribbons.

Revali smirked at the look on Link’s face. Holding them out, they danced and fluttered in the wind for a moment. “These should do nicely. If you’re capable of braiding them correctly, it should keep that monstrosity that you call a haircut at bay.”

He stepped off the railing and offered them to him. “And...I suppose the colors work well with your little golden head. The coincidence works out in your favour I guess.”

Link took them, and held them in one hand. Then he looked up.

‘So what are you doing here? Weren't you busy at the flight range?’

The Rito shrugged. “Was practicing with bomb arrows today. So I needed to get some new targets.”

Ah, so that was the reason. Nothing else, huh… Link thought to himself.

‘Oh, well, don’t let me keep you. You go on ahead, I’m just waiting for the princess to finish up some stuff,’ he signed, gesturing towards the wooden stairs.

Revali’s eyes seemed to narrow for a moment, an assortment of words seemed to bounce around in his head, but he said nothing. After an uncomfortable silence, he sighed and started walking.

“Right, I’ll do that, then.”

He started walking towards the stairs. Link continued to stand there in silence. More thoughts started to rush through his head. What am I doing? Who knows when the next we’re going to speak. I should be apologizing! For everything! Or at least thanking him for these ribbons. I should have kept up the conversation! What am I doing?? I’m such an idiot, I just need to—

“Revali, wait!”

At the sound of his voice, Revali immediately whipped around to face him, a new glimmer in his eyes. Link let out a huff of air.

“No need to act surprised. We both know you were there that day.” The Rito just stared at him. Then, Link raised an eyebrow. “Although, I’m a bit surprised you reacted so quickly to my voice.” I would have thought he would have at least taken a moment to recognize it...

Revali strode towards him, and as if reading his mind, he clicked his tongue. “I haven’t forgotten the sound of your voice ever since that day. I remember it quite well, so if a shocked face is what you were after, then I’m terribly sorry to disappoint.”

The two stared at each other, Link’s hand still clenched around the hair ribbons. Looking up at the Rito, he could see the reflection of his own face in his eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“I just...I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to relax.

“All those bad remarks I made about you...I’m not sure how much you heard...but you have to know none of that was true. I really do respect and admire you, Revali, I think… I was just stressed out that day, so I hope you know that I’m really, really sorry and I regret it fully.”

Another silence. Link tensed himself, ready for some harsh rebuttal.

Then, Revali let out a laugh. A loud, boastful, beautiful laugh. He let it echo out for a few seconds. “You really are a fool if you think you are the one who needs to apologize in this scenario.”

“Revali you don’t—” he began, starting to protest.

“Ashhshhshhshh!” He exclaimed, holding up a feather to silence him, “You’ve decided to remain quiet throughout our entire relationship, what’s five more minutes?”

Link looked away, his cheeks rosening, embarrassed. The Rito straightened his scarf.

“Now then, concerning our aforementioned scene at the castle, I did happen to hear quite a few things from you. As you have said, I heard your comments about me, and the fact that you failed to mention that you had the ability to communicate verbally.

“I won’t push for details. I can only assume it has something to do with the whole stoic demeanor you attempt to keep up at every waking hour of the day. However, something you said did...stick with me.”

He turned his back and paced across the landing. “If I recall correctly, it was something about ‘seeing good’ in me. Now I don’t know what led you to that conclusion, but obviously you’re mistaken. Everyone can see good in me, considering I am the best at my craft. Sure, I recognize that my comments about you might have stung, or that sometimes my unwavering confidence can be...prickly, towards you.

“But of course it’s not my fault that you took those comments so personally, or that you decided that your best course of action was to avoid me for so long. And it’s not my fault that you’re...”

He snuck a glance at Link’s face. Revali let the confidence in his posture fall.

“No...no, none of that’s not true. This whole thing is, in a more significant portion, my fault.”

Link shook his head. “Revali, I’m the one who was so butt hurt about the quality of our relationship, and then turned around and kept a secret from you for so long.”

“Well, it’s at the very least half my fault, for lying to you.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About a lot of things. Every single one of those comments about your hair and your face and skill and whatnot...though, not everything. I do despise you to be clear. I despise your unwavering strength and strong will. I despise your courage and generosity. I despise the way your stupid blue eyes light up when you look at something in fondness.”

Link could only stare at him, his blue eyes glistening.

Revali let out a huff. “Yes! Exactly! Like that, why do you keep doing that around me? Even when I’m trying to open up, you keep acting all cute like this. Stop it, stop it!” Link held up his arms in surrender, the sliver of a smile creeping onto his face. Revali let out a sigh and continued.

“Now, most of all I despise the way you make me feel. We’re supposed to be these great accomplished Champions, correct? How am I supposed to fulfill that role when I’m thinking about you all the time? I hate that I’m too much of a coward to actually confront you about this sooner. I wished I did do this sooner, because now…”

He made a motion with his wing, gesturing to the space between them.

“Now, I’ve made it weird. It wouldn’t be too far fetched to say I’ve ruined it. In my haste to preserve my foolish pride, I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

The final silence sat between them.

Seeing Link fail to respond or react, he sighed, “I completely understand if these...feelings aren’t mutual. It’s only natural that after everything I’ve—”

Suddenly, Link shot up and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his lips against the tip of his beak.

After a moment, he let go, and held out his arms to sign.

‘Apology accepted.’

The feathers on Revali’s neck started to floof up. “What in Hylia’s name was that?? You really are an idiot, you can’t just do that to people out of the blue.”

Link could only smile. ‘I don’t just do it out of the blue, I’ve been saving it for you.’

His cheeks flushed, and if Revali didn’t have any feathers they probably would have been blushing together. Finally, Link held out the hair ribbons.

‘Why don’t you help me with these then, as a further apology?’

Revali scoffed, but complied, too elated to think of any interesting quips

Looking to the side as Revali started to braid the ribbons into his hair, Link sighed. ‘The color does match really well’

Revali scoffed. “Of course, I’m never wrong.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #revalink #revalink week #botw fanfiction

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garlic-bread-sensei · 4 years

Text

Brain, buddy, please

I sit here after working on my mental health actively for the last 2ish years feeling far more stable than I ever was. Processing personal issues and bad experiences through therapy was a positive experience. With that said, being stable and being fulfilled are on two different levels. I have so much to do to actually reach a state of my life I can be happy with. I am fully aware how I dress, how I present myself, my surroundings, and the work I do is not ideal. In time, it will come.

As of late, I currently ache for my brain to allow me to cry to relieve me of some emotional pressure. I have become somewhat of a sounding board or a person who people vent to. Which I am happy my friends and family feel comfortable enough to feel they can do that with me. It has just been a bit much as of late. In time though, I’ll find a balance. Till then, I’ll do my best to maintain, and help friends and family where I can.

Lastly, had some conversations about gender and how that relates to myself. I don’t identify as a male at this point, but neither as a female. I don’t really know what “I” am at this point. Just definitely not the social construction that has been placed upon me.

All in all, while my current state is not ideal, I am much closer to who I want be then I was 2 years ago. Take care everyone ^_^

#me #gender #mental health #progress

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stinkysmoothbrain · 4 years

Text

Plot

Kai (Rough draft Sep 11, 2020)

Origin: Deviltown, A place in hell. He was born in a moving house that is constantly changing to fit its guests, though this may sound nice, its not. The house brings out the deepest part of your mind and bring it to life to occupy it in its 4 walls.

The Moving House is a maze that not many can escape. Every door leads to another and every window leads to another "world" in the house. The more windows and doors you go though the deep you are in the maze. The vents are the only place that does not alter, it is hard to find and many cannot fit through it. Time is not a friend but a mere illusion in the house.

The house is fully aware of everything you do, if you gain its favour they can let you in and out, at its will. But be favoured too much and they might just keep you forever. To be loved by the house is much worse than to be hated. Though to be hated brings out more pain, being loved is a slow burn which prolongs your suffering.

Arcs:

Childhood- Most of his childhood was spent inside the house, he spent so much time there that he lived a thousand lives in it while sustaining his childlike brain and body, He has memorised every nook and cranny of the house and knows which window would lead where. Though the house takes many guests if you observe hard enough there are clues among the 4 walls on how to escape.

The house both despised Kai and loved him, the house could not live without Kai. He [Kai] was its only source of true entertainment, this shook the house to its core. Knowing that the house itself has a weak spot for a mere unwanted child, it was a sign of humanity in a demon.

In denial and vain the house kicked Kai out, with the key to its ever-changing front door. "Promise me that you will come back, the world is ever cruel, as am I, possibly even more. You are my weakness, take my heart and leave. If there ever should be a time you shall return, do not disappoint me as I will make a place for you; a throne, with it you will be my home."

This was Kai's journey, a journey that ends in unhappiness.

Journey through hell- (many things happen here, lots of unnecessary fighting and action scenes, fan service, everything that lead up to train to find the 6th demon sword.) The 6th Demon Sword isnt as powerful as the first nor the third. However it is the most stable, and if used, treated and trained correctly it might as well be the strongest weapon, excluding heaven's arrows ofc. The Sword has been passed on to many underdogs, be it knights, warriors, mages, unruly demons. Never has the sword chose a "Top-dog" [Vain creatures who blame the sword for its weak slices, stabs and casts, rather than their technique of attack.]

Path to unhappiness- The journey begins when Kai, who gets power hungry due to the lack energy he needs to bear when wielding the sword. To solve this problem he searches for companion. Gaining a true companion will benefit both parties if the pair builds a proper friendship or relationship. There are easier ways of gaining ‘easy’ energy but they do not last very long: fornication, (one of the most easiest way to gain energy, leaves the donor feeling lifeless for less than a week.) energy transfer, ( very excruciating but is worth it, recipient wont run out of energy for months, donor gets night terrors, cold sweats and ultimately unstable for the passing months; most do recover but the side effects alter their reality.) Drugs, (energy inducing opium, has little side effects but with persistent intake it will slowly deteriorate your body, there is no known cure for this.) Kai ultimately decides to try looking for companions, after finding out that the easy methods could not satisfy the sword. The sword increases the amount of energy needed every time it feels disdain towards its "owner". Kai heads to Earth, a place which thrives on relationships.

Path to unhappiness (2;Friendships =the longest arc both in terms of story telling and time in the world=)- ~How Kai meets the REDACTED and the other characters. The arc revolves around ultimately Kai's character development but as well as the others. Kai gains humanity blah blah blah.

Journey to unhappiness (3;Light)- Human what do what humans do best, decay. Friendships come to an end and some stay as strong as a lone sapling in the ground through a hurricane. This arc revolves Kai's unhappiness; confronting his friends about mortality. His friends die one by one refusing his offer on becoming immortal with him. (Being immortal isn't an easy mission, you would have to sacrifice everything you think is factual, not to mention the agony you would have to endure for a few hundred years to fully become immortal.) One friend was willing to give up everything to be immortal, REDACTED. This decision led up to the destruction of Kai; his unhappiness commencing.

Journey to unhappiness (4; The End)- REDACTED, the sweet, bubbly, the overall personification of what happiness is; to Kai, disappeared. Personality alteration is little especially when it came to the mission of immortality, most be more "themselves", more "refined" when going through immortality, REDACTED didn't. She had turned into a whole other person, a person that was locked and buried deep in her, a concept of her that was never meant to ever see the light. REDACTED became all of what she never wanted to become.

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this-is-a-new-me · 4 years

Text

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really know why I’m posting this. Maybe just as a call into the void. Maybe because I don’t have anyone who gives enough of a shit about me to care. Or maybe in case there are others out there like me. Who knows. I’m not even sure how many people will care to read, and in the end I guess it doesn’t really matter.

This is I guess half coming out story, half venting about the present so, if you care to read here goes. If not this one’s just for me. It’s pretty long so, kudos to those who do read and get to the end.

To be frank, my story isn’t a great one. It’s not a heroic show of bravery, it was actually pretty cowardly. It didn’t make my life better, at best it stayed the same. It didn’t end with me running off into the night with the love of my life, in the end I lost her.

My first girlfriend was also my first relationship period. We met freshman year of college and were instant best friends. There’s some backstory that isn’t important for this, but by second semester sophomore year we started dating. In the end we dated for just shy of 5 years. 2 years in, she proposed and I accepted. At that point, my family knew nothing. They didn’t know I was gay. They obviously didn’t know she was my girlfriend/fiancé. They knew her only as my best friend.

Some people have loving families that they easily feel comfortable coming out to. That was not my family. Over the years some had made comments that made me know they wouldn’t accept me, at least not the way I wanted to be. My sister and two cousins I trusted were the only ones who knew. But I just couldn’t tell my parents.

Even though we were engaged, my fiancé and I decided not to get married right away. We agreed I should finish school first, and we wanted to be more financially stable. As my last year of school wound down, we decided it was time and picked a date for the following July (we were impatient by that point). Now, considering I was pretty sure my family wouldn’t be fully accepting, some would say we should have just gotten married and said fuck them. Even my fiancé felt we should elope. But I couldn’t feel that way. Fears aside, I have always loved my family and wanted them to at least be given the chance to be there. Plus, a part of me felt that just eloping or getting married without them knowing would be betraying myself. Like admitting it was wrong or that I didn’t deserve the same kind of wedding day straight couples get to have.

So, I decided to tell them. Problem is, I’m a coward when it comes to confrontation. I avoid it at all cost because I have this horrible personal quality that thends to make me value others’ feelings over my own. And given how I thought they would react, I guess part of me wanted to give them a chance to know and...understand? process?....before speaking to me. So I left a letter explaining everything. That I’m gay, that my best friend was my girlfriend then fiancé, and that we were getting married. I left the note and went to work, knowing my parents would both get home before me. When I was eventually asked to come home I was terrified.

Now, I should clarify. I don’t believe in comparing situations. The same way I don’t believe in comments like “you shouldn’t be sad when others have it worse” I don’t believe any bad coming out can be objectively better or worse than others. That said, I always imagined that the reaction to my secret would be either acceptance (even if it was slow to come) or outright rejection. That’s not what I got. I got yelled at for two days. Questioned on how I knew we were in love. Made to question every feeling I ever had. And then....nothing.

After those two days, the topic of my relationship and my sexuality became a black hole topic. It has never been mentioned. I wasn’t kicked out, but I wasn’t accepted either. I just...am. I have never had the experience of talking through the ups and downs of my relationship with my mom. Never got to ask for relationship advice. When my fiancé and I eventually broke up I couldn’t even go to them for comfort, I suffered in silence hiding myself away in my room so they couldn’t see the pain and the tears. My mom has since realized on her own we’re no longer together, but the only comment she’s ever made on the topic came when she saw I was texting my ex (who I have stayed friends with) and said “I thought you didn’t speak to her anymore.” Not a question, just a comment with no follow up.

For financial reasons I still live with my parents (what I’m starting to think is a new normal among millennials). At the moment we’re getting ready to move. I bothered writing this story down because as I was helping pack some things, I saw the letter. I saw that damned letter and almost fainted. Then all I felt was rage. A damned piece of paper that led to screaming, silence, and eventually a broken heart. A letter detailing a life they won’t even acknowledge and it’s stashed among family photos and baby books like it’s an important artifact.

I don’t even know if my rage is justified. Part of me says maybe she kept it because she really does accept me. But then I say if that was true why is the topic of my sexuality still treated like a secret that needs kept behind a locked vault away from the ears of everyone around us?

Now that I’ve written this out, it sounds like little more than babbling. But I guess that’s what a blog is for. To babble. Clear the mind. Scream into a digital abyss when life wants to kick you. I’m frustrated and angry and so fucking lonely that I don’t even have anyone to talk to about it. So, I guess if you’ve read it I should thank you. I can’t say it made me feel better, but it’s a story I’ve held in for...hell almost three years now. If I do have anything I want to come through from this story: if you are someone who came out to family and the result was falling between the cracks to a place that makes you stuck in a purgatory neither accepted nor rejected, just exisisting, I feel you. If you’re a parent and your child has come out to you, they deserve to be heard and understood and given some kind of reaction. I would hope rejection isn’t it, but sometimes I think rejection would have been better than nothing.

There is no good way to end a babbling post so, for anyone who made it this far in reading, thanks. Peace ✌️

#lgbt #comingout #gay #lesbian #lgbtq

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punkgrogg · 4 years

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Silent

I wasn't known as a quiet child, honestly, I was the complete opposite. I was outspoken at a young age and was able to string together full sentences shortly after uttering my first words. I was also expectant, especially on why my aunt came to visit when I was young. “You here to clean my room?” I’d exclaim every time she’d enter our small apartment at only a few years old. With the confidence built by adults who were enchanted by my words, growing up, I relied on the assurance that I was smart and well-liked by all who heard me.

I had several cousins that varied in my age range but I was the one who excelled in any area that required words. They relied on me to be the representative for us all. I’d speak for my cousins, teach them what different words meant, and be the first to speak when we were addressed. I always chattered incessantly until around the time I started school or more specifically started changing schools.

I’ve gone to a wide range of schools throughout my elementary school years and I remember turning into a different me than I had known. Going to so many schools, ten to be exact was bound to drag me down from the pinnacle of self-confidence I hung myself from. Maybe it was the snickers when I was first to raise my hand in class or the fact that my ‘baby fat’ hadn’t yet shed but by the fifth grade I was an entirely different girl. I only spoke when I deemed necessary and the girls in my classes avoided conversations like the bubonic plague. My teachers always listened to what I had to say and often encouraged me to participate in class discussion but it was as effective as milking a snake.

My cousins were my only stable ‘friends’ throughout my childhood and had always attentively hung on to my every word. Then they started to change once puberty hit, they glued their eyes onto notes passed between friends and messages sent from some boy down the lane. My voice fell on deaf ears.

For most of my middle school years, I yearned for someone to listen, but my voice was dying in my throat before I could open my mouth. I just wanted something more than static silence to greet the words that tumbled from my lips. By the time high school started, I was tired of speaking to myself. I was tired of being the quiet girl whose voice barely made it past the book that she hid behind. I decided to reanimate the Me that had cowered in the corner of my mind from the fear of being judged and instilled in her the fake front of confidence. Once again I was the first to raise my hand or speak out whenever a thought lazily made its way across my mind. I made new friends. I developed a new sense of comfort that wasn’t derived from the security of silently being herded like a sheep. I changed who I was and it seemed like a positive move on my own behalf but it destroyed me mentally.

The anxiety brought on by the prospect of keeping up the cheerful, chatty girl of my past made it harder than ever to socialize. I agonized over the simplest of interactions and it became harder for me to speak to my family let alone my peers. Tuning me out was a function that most of the people I was around constantly learned easily. My mother is especially skilled in this field and it brought to mind the mentality:

If the people I lived with didn't care about what I had to say then who did?

Maybe my best friend, but she was a quaint quiet girl who constantly complained to me that I was too talkative. Too verbose. My friends? As if, I was thanked on several occasions by various members of my friend group for “being quiet for once”. I was obnoxious to many and I was no stranger to the term “shut up”. Then one too many had echoed through my ears and I finally decided to.

I stopped speaking.

It was a strange but exhilarating experience. I wasn't disappointed when I was ignored because I hadn't drawn enough attention to myself to get the full cold shoulder from anyone in particular. My thoughts ran rampant in my mind and it sometimes felt suffocating to not be able to voice it aloud, but I also wasn’t pressured to keep up with the social norms I hadn’t been fully informed on. I learned more about myself by biting my tongue than I ever could chatting up the first person who would carve out a few minutes of their time for me. I was self-assured that I was doing this for my best interests, no longer would I be embarrassed to say my opinion, nor would I be speaking to myself in a room full of people. I had never felt so peaceful, but then again I had never felt lonelier.

I kept up the charade for two months, give or take a few days, and my only means of communication was through a tattered notebook that I lugged around in case I needed to ‘talk’. I finally broke when I saw my dad.

My mother and step-father had decided to go visit my dad in Florida for spring break and I was subjected to hours of a torturous car ride since my mother refused to even glance at what was scrawled across the pages of my notebook. When we arrived it was midday and my dad was lazing about in the kitchen. The refrigerator and cupboards were surprisingly bare and my dad quickly dragged me from the house to the local Publix.

I focused on the shrubbery as we rolled smoothly through the heavily developed suburban area. If not for the slight variations in the colors of the houses we passed I would easily be convinced that we were at a standstill. Every yard was manicured to meet the standards of the strict Home Owner’s Association and they all mirrored the same exact landscaping. Overall the scenery was bland and could only capture the attention of the Home Owner’s Association.

The air in the car was tense, my dad had thought it was some sort of twisted joke that I wasn’t speaking. My notebook was held captive in my painfully tight grip and the wire spiral pressed painfully into the bare skin above my knees. Cold air rushed from the vents and nipped at my cheeks as I blatantly faced forward and ignored the niggling urge to speak. An urge that I had never had to fight in anyone else’s presence.

“You’re really going to ignore me?” he asked incredulously as the sixth question targeted towards me was left unanswered. My composure was breaking and my will to be silent was hanging by a thread. An answer was on the tip of my tongue, but my tongue was roughly pressed against the roof of my mouth as my jaw was on the verge of shattering my teeth with the force keeping my mouth shut. I turned to him noiselessly and shook my head ‘no’, hoping to convey what I wanted to say with the expression painted across my face.

He sent a scathing glare at my nonverbal assertion and turned his attention to the road ahead of him. The air turned suffocating with the irritation radiating from him and my resolve wavered. What would I lose to speak? I’d lose the inner peace that I was searching for, the feeling of being complete without any input from outsiders. As we neared the end of our short drive I was battling with myself and was caught off guard by what he said next:

“If you don’t start talking then I’m not taking you to warped tour.” He said it with such finality like a concert could mean so much that it would drag an answer out of me.

I was so bewildered by the statement that the inner turmoil I was facing paused, and before I could stop myself: “what?”

The shock from my hoarse voice and the strange feeling of speaking after such a long time registered in my mind only after the giddy expression adorned his face. My dad was like a child, he never really grew out of his teenage mentality, which was obvious in such situations where he teased me for how I sounded. Which to be honest was utterly ridiculous, imagine a cat screech mixed with the screeching of tires on ice.

#personal essay #personal #me #silence #sad?#storytime

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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Harley & Heat Lightening

A Tommy Conlon/Reader Imagine

This is just my own little guilty fantasy....

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Mentions of night terrors. I mean, I just feel like Tommy Conlon in general is a warning.

Word Count: 2,149

(Photo from Google)

The beaming white glow of a notification on the chipped screen of your phone face-up on the nightstand seeped through your closed eyelids. The chime notified of you the facts you already knew regarding a warning for heat-lightening throughout this blazing summer night. You praised the heavens for the air conditioning blaring from the vent in the corner of the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend, who was seemingly missing concluding from the cool sheets on his side of the queen bed. 2:53 in the morning by the looks of the alarm clock, which meant Tommy was probably up with a nightmare again, and was roaming the house somewhere, most likely clutching a sleep aid in the form of a whiskey bottle. He had those relentless demons under control for the most part. But, you always kept a single bottle of his favorite brand tucked away for emergencies. You didn’t understand what he went through, and you certainly couldn’t cure him. So, you’d love him amply, and if he needed a swig to knock back a terrorizing flashback here and there, so be it.

You squirmed and rooted amongst the tangling wad of sheets, fluffing and flopping your pillow to seek a comfortable position in the empty bed, but it was useless. You’d worked yourself into a restless, irritable tizzy, so you decided to mosey downstairs to investigate Tommy’s state. The ribbed, white tank top belonging to the man in question fit your frame loosely, and the lightweight cotton kept you cool on nights like this. And of course, he never complained about your skimpy preference in sleep attire. You tied your hair into a floppy muddle at the top of your head so the ensuing sweat on the nape of you neck could drink in some breeze, as your bare-feet padded down the four stairs leading into the tiled kitchen.

The hanging light above the sink which Tommy usually flicked on when he escaped the bedroom for a night cap wasn’t on, and the entire span of the lower level was pitch dark aside from the thin lines of moonlight coming thru the blinds to paint the floor.

“Tommy?” You whispered. Truthfully a bit alarmed at the bleak silence around you.

When receiving no answer, you tip-toed stealthy to the side door leading into your garage, peeping around each corner like a scared cat along the way. When you gripped the handle to pull open the door, and the yellow, dingy light of an overhanging bulb dilated your eyes contrasting the darkness, and you saw Tommy twisting a wrench somewhere on the motor of his bike, you sighed with relief.

“Hey you. I didn’t wake ya’, did I baby?” He turned at attention when the metal hinges squeaked upon your opening. Tommy sat shirtless on a scuffed stool, the wheels attached to its legs rolled him towards a toolbox to exchange out his wrench. His torso glistened in the light just so subtly, and his top lip beaded barely with sweat, which told you he must’ve escaped the bed much earlier than you discovered.

“Not at all. I just noticed you weren’t in bed, and I thought I’d come check on you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to conceal the noticeable peak of your nipple raising through the shirt you wore. It was teetering 96 degrees, and there wasn’t a single waft of wind outside, but you knew it was simply a reaction to the sight of Tommy, basted with perspiration, and smudged with motor grease. As he clanged a hammer onto some unknown piece of the motorcycle, the muscles of his back crawled and stretched beneath his suntanned skin, and the heat at your center could make this July night in Pittsburgh seem like the North Pole.

“Yeah, I uh… I couldn’t sleep. I was tossin’ and fuckin’ turnin’, so I came on out here so you could rest.”

You felt proud, and at ease that he’d chose to tinker with his motorized toy, rather than turn straight to the liquor as an outlet. The dreams, and the panic had become less present since you’d moved in permanently, and you thought maybe there was a sunny horizon in the near future. Peace for Tommy, and less worry for you.

“I know the feeling. That A/C is nice and all, but on a night this hot, nothing really keeps you comfortable enough to rest really. Whatcha workin’ on?” You inquired, lazily approaching to look in on his little project. Before you reached Tommy, you sidetracked to his work bench in the corner, clenching onto a stained, but clean rag to wipe down his dripping neck. When you patted his back, and blew cool, airy breaths under the hair that rested on his ears, Tommy huskily sighed and leaned further into your feather-like feminine touch.

“Nothin’ you’d be interested in. Just tryin’ t’ distract myself. Idle hands, y’know?”

He reached backward to clench your hand from where it rested on his hard shoulder and pulled it closer to his mouth where he could kiss your soft palm. His always moistened lips lingered, and you ran your fingers through his disheveled, musky-scented hair to relish furthermore into his touch.

“Seems like I got anotha little distract that needs my attention though, hm?”

He slothfully laid his head back to rest on your standing form behind him, and the crown of it settled perfectly between your barely shielded breasts. Tommy turned his cheek into you, nuzzling into your pert, pink bud. He remained planted in the mobile seat, but suddenly decided to roll the wheels around, circling a 180 to face you.

Your fitful, whimpering squeaks of approval made him grin callously, and he continued his works to have you panting and damp like a shameless nymph. There was nothing Tommy didn’t put his whole mind to when he wanted it, and making sure your screams were louder than the time before, was no exception.

You sat willfully onto his open lap, straddling and grinding heartily on the pulsing member inside his flattering track shorts, eliciting Tommy’s strong hands to claw at the teasing, cheeky exposure from under the hem of your nightshirt.

“Did this hot little pussy wake up lookin’ for me, huh? Had to come ‘n find me so I could help her sleep? Is that it, baby?” A thumb ghosted between your legs so he could damped it with your wetness before sliding in between his own lips.

You hadn’t come in search of a night cap in the shape of Tommy Conlon, but judging by the drenched crotch of his shorts below you, it was something you needed and didn’t know it until now.

“T…. Tommy. Wait…” you words barely resembled your own voice as you attempted to briefly protest. “The door. We should close the garage door, Tommy.”

Doing polar opposite of your request, the seething man boldly scrunched both fists around the neckline of your white tank and ripped it brazenly in half to discard onto the mud-stained, dirty floor of the garage. Leaving you fully exposed, and speechless.

“Let ‘em see. Once you go yelpin’ and beggin’, they’re gonna have a good idea what’s goin’ on anyway, baby.”

Your nails were digging into his pecs, and you tensed your legs tighter about his waist as Tommy stood from the stool to place your naked cheeks on the padded seat of his iron horse. Tools, and gas cans clanged and toppled to the floor as he roughly kicked off his clothing, kissing you with sensual, and raunchy purpose as he did so. You were already substantially aching, and prepared to take him in, but even still Tommy squatted to greet your southern lips with his tongue.

He gently tasted you, lapping from your entrance, up toward the bundle of nerves between the apex of your thighs. One hand squeezed all too tightly in his now knotted hair, and the other gripped around one handlebar of the bike you writhed atop of. The two-wheels, and kickstand didn’t seem too comfortably stable in your opinion, but you trusted Tommy always in his spontaneous sexual tendencies. The pair of you may wind up crashing on the concrete below if he thrusted too hard, or your legs quaked too swiftly, but he’d still have you blushing with release regardless.

“Taste me, Tommy.”

His sucked, and spit, and nipped with his teeth cautiously at your center, moaning satisfactory curses about how you always tasted so sweet. Never in your life, could you ever imagine a man who enjoyed the oral pleasuring of his mate as yearningly as Tommy did. Your closest friends pouted, and resentfully congratulated you for finding a man as such.

“I’m gonna lose it if I don’t get inside you, Y/N.” A concoction of your own arousal, and Tommy’s saliva dribbled down his chin, and he greedily caught the liquid with is tongue upon standing to line himself up with you. You could see in his lustful, now black appearing eyes that he was a glutton for your flavor.

The deeper he slid in, the higher your orgasmic daydreams took you. You were full to the hilt, and nearly to the throat as his eager tongue explored your mouth upon a hard, knee-quaking kiss. Crickets sang outside sporadically, unbothered by the bursting connection of skin on skin echoing from inside the garage where Tommy was currently kneading your breast with his fight-scarred hands. The jet-black motorcycle rocked with his thrusts, but he held you dutifully in place, keeping his balance to ride you out to complete, blissful release.

He tried to politely, and teasingly shush your amplified pleads for more by placing his index finger over your gaped lips, but it was utterly ineffective. Not that he indeed wanted you to hush though. He got harder, and crazy with desire the louder your pitch rang out, and the more he heard his name choke from your raspy throat.

“Tommy! Yes, Tommy. Ahh, more!”

You felt every ridge and ripple as he pulled himself from your insides, then ruthlessly, and enjoyably a bit painfully drove in again. His hand massaged and trailed down the stretch of your silky throat, and his chewed his lips watching you take every steel inch of him.

Unexpectedly, just as your peak of release danced upon your tongue, a jolting rumble of thunder pulsed over your ears, following a crack of erratic heat lightening. One by one, an abstract pattering of rain drops began to peg the rooftop, bringing forth a gust of lukewarm, thunderstorm breeze. Tommy’s arms broke out into goosebumps as he watched your hair blow loose with the wind, and your insides clenched and pulsated around him.

“Drown me, baby. C’mon… can you come for me?”

The filthy demand shoved you dangerously towards the cliff of orgasm, and you whimpered airily watching his taut abs flex as his own breaths hitched and hiccupped. His brows didn’t furrow in bliss when in the cage. And a good workout didn’t make him shiver and come unwound like this. No, it was only you who could claim the title of vicious Tommy Conlon’s one and only weakness.

Your hand sought blindly a reliable, unwavering surface to grip onto as you prepared for the storm raging outside, and the one rising forth from your insides. Looking solely and focused into your boyfriends’ mysterious blue eyes, you began to smile and shake your head wildly signifying he was yet again about to render you spent and fulfilled. Tommy tilted his head and patiently waited for his queue that you had indeed finished, and he had to green light to spill inside of you.

“Lookit that. The whole city owes us a ‘thank you’ for coolin’ it down out here. We worked up a damn thunderstorm out there, baby.” Tommy joked as he easily slid your tiny, manicured feet on the ground underneath you, wiping the outpour of sweat from his face with his tattooed forearm.

Inside your mind, you compiled a list of secluded locations, and parks he could take you on the bike tomorrow morning once the rain had moved out. After that exchange, you suddenly desired nothing more than to bounce harshly on the bare lap of Tommy, gripping and scratching at that perfectly weathered and beaten leather jacket he always wore.

You strained on tiptoes to kiss his puffy lips before nervously darting towards to house, now afraid to be seen by the neighbors since the overflow of adrenaline and spontaneity had worn off. Tommy flipped off the garage light, and chased you down the hall towards the bathroom, pinching at the most ticklish corners of your body along the way.

“Good idea. I think you need a cold shower. Oh, ‘n if I ain’t in bed when you’re done, please feel free to come and find me again.”

TAGS: @torialeysha @ea91935

#tommy conlon fanfic #tommy riordan #warriorfanfic #tommy conlon x reader #Tom Hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tommy conlon #tommy conlon imagine #tommyconlonfanfic #warrior #fanfiction #fanfic

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utopianparadoxist · 6 years

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Dialectic Identity? Thoughts on Fozzer, the Page of Heart:

OK this is gonna be shorter than Marvus obvs but Fozzer DID give me a good amount to think about, so here goes

Fozzer outright identifying as a dialectical materialist is exciting for a couple reasons. There’s a lot one could say about dialectics and Paradox Space in general (I’ve been trying to write that script for about a year) but here I want to focus on the Materialist half of that, because it immediately reminded me a lot of @arrghus’ idea of the notional/material divide between aspects.

Ever since the Extended Zodiac, we’ve been wondering if the way the Aspect wheel is laid out might suggest some relationships between Aspects, either original to Homestuck, mirroring the relationships the Signs share in the traditional Zodiac wheel, or some combination of both.

Arrghus’ essay series proposes a model for how those relationships might work, at least in part. I’d suggest checking it out for the full picture, but here I want to focus on the divide I find clearest and most compelling: That between the Ideal/Notional Aspects and the Material/Physical ones.

The gist is this: The top five Aspects (Mind, Hope, Breath, Life, and Light) are more closely aligned with the World of Ideas, and so those bound to them tend to be more concerned with the ideal, abstract, and imaginary. The bottom five (Void, Doom, Blood, Rage, and Heart) are more closely tied to the material, physical, and real.

If you’ve seen my prior writing on Homestuck, you might note that this dovetails easily with Gnosticism’s old cosmology of reality as divided between an imaginary world of Light and a physical world of Darkness. That said, this isn’t a hard binary--Blood obviously refers to some concepts as well as physical experience, and Breath obviously links to some things that happen in physicality, even if those elements are by definition elusive and insubstantial.

Space and Time are an even split, as much conceptual law to be deciphered as they are physical element of reality to be experienced. It could well be that this reflects most strongly in the perspectives those Bound to each Aspect are given to, as opposed to an underlying reality of the Aspects themselves, and in any case all twelve Aspects are necessary to describe a full picture of reality.

One of the most exciting possibilities this model raises for me is the idea of Aspect “Mirroring”, which is essentially a different kind of relationship Aspects can have. Aspects that are Mirror each other vertically, for example, might express the same ideas through the filter of the Ideal vs. the Material--reflecting the hermetic/magical principle of “As above, so below”.

Heart and Light are a pretty good way to express the relationship between vertically mirrored Aspects, as it turns out. Consider:

In Gnosticism, “Light” refers to directly to Information/Ideas, as the world of Light is the world of the imaginary. This is where “Platonic Ideals” live--the perfect imaginary version of any object, from which all physical manifestations of that object are derived.

Humanity gains the ability to access this world, the self-aware conciousness necessary to think, when the Goddess of Wisdom Sophia descends from that realm and imbues us with her Light--the light of curiosity, of wisdom, of the power to know. The light of the soul.

In this way, we can think of the Soul--the Heart--of living beings as their inner Light, expressed throughout their lives in the realm of physicality. And we can think of Light/Ideas as abstract concepts, that can only enter reality proper through the doorways created by the self-expression of individuals, as enabled by their soul.

There are a lot of ideas and concepts that Dirk’s soul seems consistently inclined to express onto reality. The shades, the concept of “being a Bro”, the idea of the Hard Anime Dude, Stoicism, the pervasive homoeroticism innate to the Greek ideals he’s generally shaped by, etc.

The clearest example of this might be his sword, which is itself a physical object seemingly ripped directly out of the “fake” (read: imaginary) world of anime. An idea, made physical, through the sheer expression of will manifested by Dirk’s soul.

This is what makes his katana so powerful:

It’s quite near to being a physical expression of our collective idea of the “Perfect Sword”, much like Bro sets an impossible ideal of “Perfect Manhood” that Dave wrestles with living up to. This might give you an idea of some of the more direct ways Heart’s conceptual toolbox could be exploited or weaponized.

The point here is that just expressing the idea of a “Bro” is extremely important to Dirk, and expressing the idea of “Cats” is similarly important to Nepeta and Meulin.

In the same way, Fozzer seems like an acutely intense expression of a political Persona. A philosophical idea, expressed in the physical world as an intense commitment to an associated identity. His shovel is an expression of that identity, much the same way Dirk’s katana or Nepeta’s claws are expressions of theirs.

But then again, Fozzer’s identity ain’t exactly stable, is it?

Before we talk about The Thing That Happens, we should note that as much as Fozzer seems to genuinely believe in his communist philosophy, he mostly seems interested in it as a means for self-expression, rather than an actual political movement with direct goals and results he’s looking to achieve.

And even though he’s very intense and earnest about it, Fozzer seems inclined to exploit his own identity in somewhat self-serving ways. Unintentionally or no, he more or less uses his ideological speechifying to conscript the Reader into doing work for him, therefore inviting the reader to Serve him through Heart, for Fozzer’s own benefit.

This, coupled with his strongly noted cowardice, leads me to consider him a Page. But my real point here is that even if a lot of us here on Tumblr find Fozzer’s ideology appealing, Fozzer seems less invested in ideology proper than with the identity it comes with--and even here, Fozzer isn’t exactly being portrayed as unambiguously Good and Correct.

Even if he’s preferable to the alternative. Sigh.

Let’s talk about the thing.

[WORLDBUILDING INTERMISSION]

So the biggest surprise of this friendsim was that we stumbled onto what’s basically a swell of Scratch energy just...hanging out under Absence Park, apparently?

Which is. A lot. This energy resets our conversation with Fozzer and changes his personality, which we’ll get into in a minute, but first I want to speculate: How the hell does this thing exist at all, and what does it even mean? There’s a couple of possibilities.

Since this is essentially Time-coded Scratch energy we’re dealing with, @blindrapture pointed out that it could have something to do with the Handmaid, which I’d expand to include Lord English--and though I doubt it’s directly linked to Scratch himself, since he’s not too associated with Time the way the former two are, he may be aware of or able to use this...”glitch” in reality.

It’s also possible this is a natural consequence of a Scratch, and pockets of leftover Scratch energy like these are present in some locations of Post-Scratch worlds. For that matter, it could be a consequence of John’s retcon powers, which act like the scratch in some ways and might have had consequences we don’t yet fully understand.

Finally, given the language, I suspect that the hole in Absence Park is actually just a hole into the Void, leading to the Furthest Ring, much like Roxy’s windows. This Scratch energy seems to have entered the Furthest Ring, and is presumably writhing there until circumstances allow it to vent out through this particular entrance to reality.

What are the implications? Who knows. If this is a hole into the Void, then this is another avenue through which Hiveswap’s cast might be able to exit Alternia and find a new world.

If the Scratch outbursts are recurring enough, then we have at least one way for our heroes to “Time Travel” and basically save scum to try and achieve optimal desires results, like saving a troll friend who gets killed by going back in time for example.

That’s probably the biggest takeaway to me, because having a way to time travel built into Hiveswap’s text already makes me that much more sure that no matter what kind of carnage and brutality our beloved troll friends get subjected to, we’re ultimately headed towards a happy ending where probably nobody dies-- I can reasonably see the possibility that even antagonistic figures like Ardata and even Trizza could be saved, under these circumstances.

Ok back to Fozzer.

So the thing about “Post-Scratch” Fozzer is that I feel he’s being dismissed somewhat due to his admittedly unsavory politics. This still strikes me as a very genuine and direct expression of Fozzer’s Classpect inclinations.

Fozzer is still taking a very materialist view of reality here, for example--he’s interested in the actual physical history of how this system evolved, and considers understanding that history necessary to understanding society.

And however he disagrees with you, his instinctual response is the same. He storms off after verbally thrashing the Reader, but its interesting that he does it the same way both times: By imposing identities onto the Reader. Hilariously, Fozzer is unwittingly owning alternate versions of himself, too, and unwittingly inviting self-owns is basically the core of the Knight/Page aesthetic.

So really, Fozzer’s core personality is much the same--what’s taken place is a binary flip in the persona he relates to the world with. In one reality, he conveys the ideas of the hopeful revolutionary underclass.

In the other, he projects the identity of a happy and willing member for the Empire’s war-machine--the joyful slave, the pain of his own exploitation cushioned by a strong sense of societal purpose and identity. Note how the shovel easily parses as a strong symbol of this identity, too--a triumphant tool with which to serve the empire, rather than an ironic symbol of oppression.

I don’t think we should be hasty in assuming one Fozzer is more real than the other, even if we’re inclined to like one of them more. Especially since Fozzer works in Absence Park and seems familiar with these lights, meaning these scratch shifts might have been happening to him for a while.

The two Fozzers give us a fascinating window into the nuances of Heart, and indeed we’ve been told this sort of splintering of self can be common to the Heartbound by Calliope. Their opposing ideologies present us with a self-contained dialectic, in fact.

A dialectic at its core is a search for truth carried out by contrasting and comparing two diametrically opposed ideas, which in Hegel’s dialetic at least are defined as the Thesis and Anti-Thesis, respectively.

In Hegel’s understanding of the term, we can only truly understand an individual idea (say: Fozzer) by examining the tensions and similarities between these two opposed perspectives.

And these tensions are usually resolved not by one winning out over the other, but by achieving a Synthesis that combines he best traits of both.

Maybe because of that, I find the fact that we can only “win” by embracing the “Happy Slave” Fozzer unnerving. It’s hard to say how Fozzer’s path will evolve going forward, but given how central the idea of conflicting opposites is to his expression of his Classpect, I highly doubt we’ve seen the last of “Comrade” Fozzer.

So, I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes?

[Closing disclaimer: I’m not entirely sure how different Marxism’s Dialectic Materialist approach is from Hegel’s Dialectics. For instance, I’m unsure if it also uses the “Thesis”, “Anti-Thesis”, “Synthesis” model Hegel describes, or if I’m accidentally mixing the two.

@gamblignant8 on the Perfectly Generic Podcast described Dialectic Materialism as being Hegel’s Dialectic applied with a focus on physical reality, mixed with an analysis of humanity’s historical evolution on the physical plain.

Cursory Wikipedia research seems to bear this out, with Marx even describing Dialectic Materialism as simply the opposite of Hegel’s more philosophical and idealistic take on the idea, which Marx regarded as full of “Mysticism”. As a Hopebound more comfortable with the ideal than the material myself, I suppose its no surprise I find Hegel’s dialectics more immediately approachable and comfortable, for now.

What I’m saying here is, take everything I’ve written about dialectic materialism here with a grain of salt: I’m trying to do my homework and make sure I have the facts straight, but it turns out philosophy can get hard to sum up, especially when you’re trying to reconcile it with a fantasy metaphysics system. Feel free to clarify if I’ve messed details up. ]

#Homestuck #fozzer velyes #fozzer #Hiveswap #Hiveswap Friendsim #My MSPA Analysis #Gnosticism #Heart #Light #Persona #Dialectics #Dialectic Materialism

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pandaegirl · 5 years

Text

The Stages Of A Breakup

DAY ONE

Things between you already weren’t great. In fact, just the night before, you basically had the same argument about him being distant and non-reciprocal. About him being evasive when you’ve asked for clarity repeatedly. Him telling you that you’re manipulative. It ends with “What did you think this relationship was going to be like?” “The title” “Just the title? Not the supportive partnership you offered just this summer?” “I don’t want to say anything dumb, let’s talk tomorrow.

“I love you.”

“I love you” can be so reassuring, except when it’s fake. Or maybe it wasn’t and you’ll tell yourself that because who would say something so heavy, so real when they don’t feel it. I did, this summer, beginning this whole relationship even though I didn’t want to, knowing I shouldn’t. Because of who he is and who I am and all the problems that come with us. I wouldn’t have said it if I would have known it would come to this - feeling so in love with someone who could never give me what I deserve. Wouldn’t have let it get to this point, except when there’s already so much uncertainty in your life you grasp on to anything that could seem stable. Even if you know it’s not.

The next morning you aren’t feeling great. You haven’t felt great in a while, because you don’t believe a word he says and are hoping for the best from someone who can’t give it to you. You know a big conversation is coming. You decide to skip your class with your best friend, mostly because you don’t want to go, partially because you don’t want the uncomfortable feelings that comes with him ignoring you.

But you weren’t expecting the big conversation to be a break-up, that is until your best friend receives a text from a mutual friend. He was talking about you last night, in the house he lives in with everyone in your program. Told them he “would just let things fizzle out” like he’s done in previous relationships.

At first you’re heartbroken. You haven’t cried like that in a long time. The type of crying where you can’t stop the tears. You feel betrayed, upset, and hurt, hurt above anything else. Why can’t you be more than someone to him? Is it karma for once thinking that he was just someone for you to be with as opposed to having no one?

Then, after you’ve retreated to your room and your loyal best friend has gone downstairs to let you get ready, you get angry. You drink to get yourself to that point and the slight numbness lets you feel angry, as you should. Fueled, you put on your makeup, make yourself look good. Get in the car.

Your best friend drives you to meet him. You tell him it’s important, won’t take long. You buy yourself a coffee and a croissant you’ll never finish. Don’t eat anything else the entire day.

He shows up earlier than you’d thought. The anger stops when you see him, the hurt setting in. But you squeeze your best friend’s shoulder and seek out a somewhat private table to talk. Let the anger return when you walk away from him, make him sit down.

It goes something like this.

“Are you pregnant?” The worse thing he could say. A prime example of how many times you’ve comforted him over his irrational, frankly crazy thoughts. When he can’t reassure you of the simplest things. His only reassurance is “I love you” and that’s not even true.

Anger is a crazy emotion.

“No I am not.” You laugh cynically. “Just going to let it fizzle out like last time?”

“Who snitched?” Even worse.

It get’s a little hazy here, the anger is unadulterated and large. I tell him who, that it shouldn’t matter because he shouldn’t be talking about a private relationship with a group of people we are both friends with. He is defensive, oh so defensive. “Everyone” was telling him to break up with you, that he was trying to get them off of his back. The things they said about you. You shut it down. Everyone was telling you to break up with him too.

“So should we just let it fizzle out?”

“No, I am breaking up with you. It’s over, I’m done.” You’re practically spitting at this point, who the fuck does he think he is?

“It doesn’t need to be hostile though.”

“Yes, it absolutely has to be hostile.” You went behind my back, you hurt me, betrayed me. “I don’t want to see you, don’t want to talk to you again.”

Defensive. He can’t vent or talk to people? Not when his intent is to hurt you. “I hate that smug look on your face” he says. Good. He isn’t going to convince you you’re wrong. Not going to manipulate you further, not when you are in the complete right.

You leave before he can try. Say you have to go to work (which you do), pack up your things and leave.

“I deserve much better than you.” Just before you leave the table.

He follows you out, says “Deserve much better like (insert the names of people you’ve slept with here)?” Trying one last time to hurt you, to get the last word with things you confessed to him. In confidence.

You see it for the defense mechanism it is and try to slam the door in his face. Watch him run to catch a bus. Feel triumphant.

The triumphant feeling doesn’t last for long, but it lingers for a while when you recount it all to your best friend. Vow that you will be sleeping with just the people he tried to use to hurt you. While he’ll be sleeping with no one, because you were the last person to care about him.

It isn’t true, but it feels good to say.

And you do sleep with someone else that night. Only wallow a bit at work, let your boss drive you home and tell you everything will be okay. Start drinking early cause numbness is welcome where emotions are not. Smoke a little too, fully fucked up to see the production he worked on with you all summer, his beautiful scenic design. You think the show made you cry but don’t particularly remember. You used to cry just thinking he might commit suicide, confused why that now feels welcome. Return home with your best friend and her boyfriend, invite over the hot musical theatre major you had been flirting with the last time you had problems with him. Don’t know why you didn’t break it off earlier.

The sex isn’t great, but he’s hot and wants you and you feel triumphant again before passing out. Too numb to miss him.

DAY TWO

It starts not great. You sleep in, don’t feel too hungover. Feel upset, not the fullness of it just yet. Don’t worry, that’ll come later.

You try to work on homework and distract yourself. Get out of the house and force yourself to eat a little. Try to not cry at the coffeeshop down the street, text your friends and family for comfort to stop any tears.

You fall apart a little when you try to make plans and your best friend has to go home. You open yourself up to someone you had a falling out with a while ago, a new friendship has been generated between you two but things aren’t certain. But you do it anyway, text her and make plans to go to a party. Try to pretend you aren’t crying over him. Feel a little secure because you already have plans to hook up with the football player he slut-shamed you over.

You begin drinking well before you go over to her apartment. You socialize with her friends, you’re friendlier than normal, what do you have to lose? Drink anything and everything in sight, barely remember the party.

Leave with a guy you vaguely know, another actor. He’s hot, you’re pleased by the turn of events. You have much better sex with him than you did last night. Don’t think about him much at all.

DAY THREE

It starts great. You slowly work on homework, but you make progress, watch TV, order a full meal. You feel, dare I say, happy? Proud of yourself for putting yourself out there, feel like you’re winning. You want him to know but figure that will come in time.

You don’t cry until later, when you feel a heaviness deep down and pull out the condom from the night before. It had been in there all day. It’s disgusting and you immediately feel shock. Fear. Can’t move, can’t think, sit on your bed in pure horror. You didn’t even remember if you had used a condom. Didn’t remember it slipping off inside of you. Didn’t remember walking home, barely remember the guy who was practically a stranger who had his dick inside of you.

You text your best friend in panic, she encourages you to get Plan B. But money. There’s never enough money. You text your mom to help and she’s disappointed. You’re disappointed in yourself. You wanted to have sex, the sex made you feel great and powerful but now it makes you feel like a whore. Like the whore he said you were.

It hurts. Everything hurts, the body you’ve been abusing. How cyclical everything is and that you can’t text him for help. You can’t text him at all anymore. He wouldn’t care anyway.

You remain numb, buy the Plan B, take it with shaking hands. Buy another vape because if you can’t be drunk at least you can feel the slightest numb with nicotine. Go to see the show you were supposed to see together. You’re so alone, knowing he’s probably there with his roommates. Hide in the back and try not to cry. Tired of crying. Exhausted and traumatized for reasons not just regarding him.

The show is good though, it distracts you a bit. You see him leave at intermission, don’t see him come back, hope he won’t come back. Midway through the second act you see him leave. Seeing him hurts. Things could have been so different, you may have been sitting next to him. But he wouldn’t have held your hand, would have said things that would have made you double guess everything. It would have hurt eventually no matter what.

He returns and sit behind you. You try to forget the condom, try to return to the triumph. Bounce your head to the music, feeling his eyes on you. Or were you just hoping he noticed you were there?

He leaves again, sits in a different spot, still behind you. You openly stare at him, not knowing if he sees you. Hoping he knows the stare is malevolent, angry, not hurt.

You hope he will try to talk to you. Try to apologize, try to say anything. He is waiting outside when you leave, but you don’t know if he saw you. Maybe he just wanted you to see him. Maybe he wants you to know he’s hurt too.

You leave anyway, hold it together as you walk home but it’s raining and you probably cry anyway. Talk with your roommates to try and feel normal. Sit with your best friend, work on homework until too late, go to sleep knowing for certain you will see him in class tomorrow and he will see you. Wishing that didn’t feel important.

DAY FOUR

It starts okay. You are panicking a little about school and that feels normal in a surprisingly good way. You don’t wake up early to keep working on homework, you choose sleep and that feels healthy.

You do see him in class. He’s wearing a shirt you don’t recognize but you don’t look long enough to find out what it is. You talk to other people, take good notes in the way you know he hates.

You make eye contact with him once and it stings. But you walk past him and try to hold your head high. You are right and he’s wrong. You are going to go to school and keep living your life and he can watch. You want him to feel bad, to feel remorse, to see you and miss you.

Your meeting with your teacher goes well, a boost you needed. Hearing his voice makes your skin crawl but you try to ignore it. You meet your brother for lunch, tell him you aren’t doing well. Feel comforted by his hug and push back the few tears that come with it. Notice how good the brother of the guy you used to sleep with looks. Wonder where is brother is at now, feel mostly normal.

Then you see him walking to the bus stop with her. The girl you expressed worry about, because you knew deep down he has talked to her about you. Feared that they liked each other. Told him that, told him you didn’t like her and thought she liked him. He denied that, but he’s lied about plenty. Said she was too husky for him, I believed that much. Now I’m not sure. What if I put the idea into his head? Couldn’t bear if that happened again. Not again.

This is the first time you feel the hurt full-fledged. It’s intense. You feel shell-shocked and afraid and utterly bad. You start to miss him, feel the weight and the depression and the pain you’ve been numbing. You don’t want him with her. You don’t want him with anyone. He could very well not care that you have already slept with two other people. He could very well be finding solace in her, latching on to the only other person who hasn’t shunned him. You’re so deeply upset by everything and it hits you just by seeing them. You’re panicked and so emotionally raw.

You think about suicide. It’s stupid and you haven’t thought about it in so long. But it’s all too familiar and almost comforting and that scares you. You’re scared of yourself and what you might do. The future scares you, you don’t know where you’re going. He wasn’t certain or stable but it felt like it sometimes. And that was better than not having stability at all.

You keep the tears at bay until you talk to your mom. She knows exactly how you feel because last time you slept in her bed for weeks feeling the same things. She tells you there’s a point and you try so so hard to believe her. Try so hard to not think about ending your life, about cutting, to not think about drinking or having sex or him.

You tell her you really loved him. You don’t know if she believes you, but you believe it. Because even through all he’s done, you still do love him. And miss him. And feel sick over the whole thing. But by the end of the conversation you’re reminded of your worth. You’re reminded of how he did not deserve you. How you could have given him everything but he doesn’t deserve that. But you do. You deserve more and better than manipulation, lying, not caring, not apologizing. You deserve better than that, better than him. He doesn’t deserve your love.

You think of a plan. Just make it through day five and six and seven and the next week and the week after that. Don’t talk to him, don’t talk to others about him. Return his clothes, rip up the drawings he gave you. Talk to friends, take care of yourself, eat goddammit. Know that you are better off. Know that he will regret it and that you’ll get the apology you deserve. Know that you deserve better. You always deserved better.

#heartbreak #break up

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m-cree · 5 years

Text

you know what I am feeling very full and very thoughtful right now and I never really ramble about my own experiences so much as I ramble about my opinions but it’s pride month and I love being queer and I love other queer people and I just need to write this shit down, I think.

my sexuality and the way I approach it was so deeply affected by the way I was raised and the experiences I had as a child and ive never really given myself time to think about those ideas until now. it’s only recently that I realised the reason why im borderline repulsed by the idea of dating men despite being attracted to them and identifying as bisexual is because when I was 8 or 9 I briefly went to a school where everyone in my class just up and decided that me and a boy who I hung out with were dating, even though i had in no way expressed interest in him – keep in mind I was LITERALLY a prepubescent child. I can even recall a time where a girl who I sat next to at lunch had said “don’t u think [name] is cute?” and I responded with a shrug because “yes” or “no” was out of the question for me because even as a child when the idea of having a boyfriend or girlfriend is this cool, mystical thing that only cool kids have, my interest in males was very little.

this entire series of events was the cause of my first emotional breakdown, which, by the way, I had FAR too early in life, and also led to a whole bunch of other issues. being told by a load of girls in my class that this boy apparently did like me, when I didn’t share the same feelings, gave me this giant narcissistic complex (that I still experience to this day may I add) where I crave the idea of male attention, validation, and affection despite not wanting to return any of those feelings, that severely affects the way I act around males, even males who are my close friends.

watching a tv show with my dad when I was a little older, maybe 12 or 13, made me certain I was never going to be able to come out to him. a transgender character said that he’d known he was a boy since he was a child, and my dad just muttered very passionately about that being “bullshit” and various other expletives. the feelings I have towards my dad and his opinions is very strange because I know he is fully accepting of queer and trans people. my brother is gay, and my dad is fine with it. my cousin is trans, and even if he again said that he didn’t think my cousin was old enough to know he was trans (even though he was 17 at the time of coming out and at least 19 or 20 now) and often trips over pronouns and names, he still does try to respect his identity. ive even talked to my dad before about homophobia and the application of politics to sexuality and he’s said things that I whole heartedly agree with like “there’s nothing political about the way someone is born, it’s not something they can help, it’s just the way they are” and yet im still absolutely terrified of coming out to him and know I could never do it myself. my mum has had to out me to my siblings (upon my request) and has told me she will do the same for my dad, although I don’t know if she’s done that yet, and the uncertainty of whether or not my dad knows about my sexuality makes every visit to his place a minefield.

even coming out to my mum was a trainwreck because I never even intended to come out the way I did. I had an emotional breakdown in a car park because I have certain problems with communicating because sometimes I don’t understand what people (particularly adults) are asking me/don’t know how to answer them and when that happens my brain just shuts down and I cant respond. my mum didn’t understand the problem and just assumed it was some other ~teenager thing~ so asked me if I was upset and repressing things because I was having issues with my sexuality. I nodded and didn’t actually say a word the entire time because despite being proudly and angrily and purely bisexual I physically cannot say the phrase “I am bisexual” out loud to my mum. I can acknowledge myself as queer, I can say “we” when referring to queer people when I talk to her, but I cant call myself bisexual in front of her, and I don’t know why. my mum has two queer children – even if my brother is raging racist transphobe – and is very clear about being fully supportive of both of us, but I cant verbally state my identity to her. I also cant talk to her about queer stuff for too long without crying.

i don’t rlly have a concrete end to this post. mostly bc it’s a vent post and not made to be ~rebloggable~ but I felt the need to spill some stuff bc it’s only recently that ive realised im not as stable in my queer experience as I thought I was. let’s just end it with “I want a gf” bc at least it’s true

#txt #very long post im sorry

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