#also i have a literal paranoia of roaches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

If it is okay, can you please write a fic where Jaskier would be braiding his daughter’s hair and the reader is awe at how close your husband Jaskier and your daughter are and while the daughter is either out playing or taking a nap, the reader and Jaskier struggle up and he braids the reader/his wife’s hair too.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,180Rating: Ga/n: I think I’ve given myself a cavity. Right in the ovaries, nonners. Also, yes, it is always ok Also, I’ve named their daughter Aksamitka which is Polish for Marigold. She goes by Sam and Mitka is the pet name Jaskier has for her.

When you’d left home that morning to run errands Sam had been all but literally bouncing off the walls. Your rowdy girl whose restlessness you recognized all too well as a dangerous blend of yourself and her father. She’d been turning whatever she could get her tiny hands on into swords since she could clasp things in her chubby, baby fists, pretending to fight her Uncle Geralt when he came to visit and always courageously felling him swiftly. Her knees were always scraped up and no matter how often you cleaned her face there was always dirt on it within minutes somehow. At four she had upped her love of sword fighting to include dramatic narrations. That was all her father’s doing. You knew it should be disturbing hearing that tiny voice talk about cleaving but she had her father’s bright blue eyes and his smile that was already getting her out of trouble too often to probably be good for her. Despite the chaos of the morning when you arrive home the first thing you notice is the quiet. There are no shrieks or laughter and for a moment you think the worst, a paranoia you inherited the moment you’d learned you were pregnant.

You see them before they see you and you duck out of the way, hiding a little bit behind the door to take in the beautiful scene. Sam sitting in her father’s lap, hands clasped as she tries to echo the sound her father is making and you realize he’s taking her through her scales. As they sing, Jaskier gently brushes through the long y/h/c/ hair, picking out the occasional twig as he does.

“I’m tired of scales I want to sing words,” the little girl complains, sighing dramatically.

“What do you want to sing, my little love?” Jaskier asks.Some would say that fatherhood had tamed him or softened him, but they would be terribly wrong. He had always been capable of such softness, a fact you’d learned before long in your relationship. And he was just as feral now, if not more. He could be doing anything in the world and the moment he heard his daughter’s cries he was ruthless in his pursuit of her, immediately ready to vanquish whatever had hurt her whether it be a tree stump or a fellow child.

“I want to sing my song,” she responds. Her father’s daughter through and through. They begin to sing one of the many lullabies he’s written about her, this one featuring a girl and her pet wolf. As they sing Jaskier threads sections of her hair nimbly and you’re in awe of how still she is for him, and frankly how still he is at all. He’d always been the restless sort and while his travelling days weren’t all behind him, he seemed more at peace nowadays. Neither of you had been sure how a child would complicate your lives and there was more than one night you could see him warring with the fear that he wouldn’t be up to the challenge of caring for a child. The moment she wrapped her small fist around his finger, it was over. You and your daughter were close but the bond Jaskier had with Sam was something truly special and you were grateful you were able to be a part of it. Jaskier ties off the end of the braid with a yellow ribbon that will be dangling from her hair within moments but it’s beautiful and you can see the pride in his eyes as he examines his work.

“Look, Mitka, look who’s home!” he says when he catches you watching them. Your daughter turns her face to yours and it lights up, the same bright smile as her father. She squeals your name and barrels at you, tackling you in a hug before you spin her around. You know you’re winding her up but you can’t help it, you love the gleeful sounds she makes. Once you put her down she runs out the door but she knows to stay within the boundaries of the yard and you let her wander off. Jaskier walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in and giving you a kiss on the temple.

“How do you do it?” you ask aloud.

“Do what? Stay so youthfully handsome?” he asks with a roguish wink.

“No,” you say, swatting him away playfully, “How do you get her to stay so still? Do you remember that one and only time I tried to do her hair? You’d have thought I was murdering her with the way she carried on.”

“I have a surprising set of skills, Y/N, you should know this by now,” he says, pulling you into the small living space with him. He sits on the floor and pats his lap.

“Come on, your turn,” he says, “I’ll show you what I mean.”

You need to start dinner but you get so little time alone, mostly when Geralt comes around to visit and takes Sam for a ride on Roach, so you agree. You sit between his legs, a familiar position but this time chaste, and he pulls the ribbon out of your hair that’s been holding it in a haphazard bun. He’s gentle as he brushes through your hair, carefully loosening the knots in a way that spares you any pain, humming quietly to himself as he does. He gently massages your scalp as he works out the last knots, pulling a contented sigh from your lips. There was a time he would have talked through these moments, never good with silences in the past. But he’s grown to appreciate the power of shared space and touch and the intimacy that can come from simply being by each other. You feel the braids begin to take shape, the weight of your hair being lifted as his hands work deftly. When he takes the ribbon from you and ties it off you let yourself lean into him, his arms wrapping around you and holding you against him tightly.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” you ask, whispering the words into his collar bones. You feel the soft rumble of his chuckling.

“Only once this morning. I was going to say something about it, ask if there was someone else, but thankfully you’ve spared me the torment,” he replies. You laugh and then both of your heads turn at the sound of scampering feet.

“UNCLE GERALT IS HERE!” she screeches, unable to contain all of the joy in her tiny frame. You help Jaskier up off the floor and after Sam runs back outside he pulls you back in for a kiss.

“How quickly do you think we can get him to take her on aride?” you ask.

“Oh about one or two verses should do,” Jaskier replies with a devilish grin. You walk out to greet your friend, your daughter already hoisted on his shoulders, happy to have your little family complete again.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #fluff #reader request

60 notes · View notes

yourladyindank · 4 years

Text

A Submission On bugs, Tumblr, and the human condition.

Angry anons & posters: "I've been taught fleas spread Plague, ants bite & come after left out food as do roaches (dirtiness), etc, etc. I don't see celebs running to jump on the bandwagon of eating crickets, but they sure love to harass and berate me, telling me I should while they eat their $1,500 a plate meals at awards shows, showing the world how 'woke' they are by being hypocrites.

Key & other people on Tumblr: "I don't understand why they're so mad. "

Firstly, you're 'bug girl', and that's cool & all, but not everyone likes them. Some people don't understand how the bugs have been raised 'clean'. Some prefer to raise/grow their own food, and feel that this is an attempt to control that/take that away from them. Yes, some do see it as an attempt to make them accept 'less than' food because of their views on the people who regularly eat them in their minds (African tribes living in huts in the middle of nowhere, farmers in communist countries whose food supply has been seized by the government, etc.) And being shamed by the same people that present themselves your 'betters' in harassing, shaming, call people names, ruin people's careers, etc, etc, doesn't exactly engender trust in a large majority of people that were already squicky to the idea in the first place.In fact, it may help create the OPPOSITE effect of making them less likely to try it because of how they've been treated. Who wants to be called a moron and told 'do as I say, not as I do', right?

Submission:

You wrote a book on anon? Honey, credit yourself.

So let’s go through this bit by bit.

1) But the rich people aren’t doing it!! Even though they say it’s a good idea I haven’t personally seen them eat a bug!

You don’t know if they ever have or not, you don’t k ow what they eat each night, just sayin

Even if they don’t, they also don’t go splashin in the crick with their cousins and they also don’t take the bus or take family camping trips and they don’t hunt deer. Doesn’t make those bad things.

2) I was taught bugs are disgusting!

And old people were taught blacks are disgusting and inherently bad and crime-y. Doesn’t give grandma a pass. Time 2 learn.

3) Not everyone likes bugs and understands how they can be raised clean

Okay, they don’t have to like bugs

That’s what education is for

4) Some prefer to raise/grow their own food, and feel that this is an attempt to control that/take that away from them.

Well no one ever told them that they had to stop? Just that a new option was on the market for others, so that’s a whole paranoia frenzy issue they need to work out. Stop assuming wild shit

5) some do see it as an attempt to make them accept 'less than' food because of their views on the people who regularly eat them in their minds (African tribes living in huts in the middle of nowhere, farmers in communist countries whose food supply has been seized by the government, etc.)

Sounds like it’s time to educate them on the actual cultures of those people and where insects actually fit in around the world. Classism and ignorance are a gross look, not an excuse

6) And being shamed by the same people that present themselves your 'betters' in harassing, shaming, call people names, ruin people's careers, etc, etc, doesn't exactly engender trust in a large majority of people that were already squicky to the idea in the first place.In fact, it may help create the OPPOSITE effect of making them less likely to try it because of how they've been treated. Who wants to be called a moron and told 'do as I say, not as I do', right?

Can I get a source on who ruined somebody’s career over not eating a bug?

Last I checked it’s scientists saying it’s new and cool, and you literally don’t have to tune into people that you feel do nothing but insult you, so don’t? Also if the people that insult you told you not jumping off a bridge was the thing you should do...would you jump? Again, spite is not a good excuse for belittling others and choosing to remain ignorant

Thanks!

13 notes · View notes

splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

Link

Chapter Summary: Geralt and Jaskier try to figure out why Jaskier is glowing.

Chapters (3/3): 1 | 2 | 3 Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Explicit Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Yennefer Additional Tags: Canon Universe, BAMF Jaskier, Stardust inspired, smut and fluff, monsters, minor injuries, nonhuman Jaskier

-----

“You’re glowing.”

Jaskier frowns, leaning back from Geralt and bringing a hand up to touch his face. Nothing feels different, but Geralt won’t stop staring at him.

“I’m...”

“Glowing.” Geralt reaches out and runs his fingers across the bridge of Jaskier’s nose, very gently. The touch makes Jaskier shiver. “Like stars.”

Something soft and quiet creeps through the back of Jaskier’s mind, but before he can focus on it, it drifts away again, leaving nothing behind but the feeling of cool night air. He pushes himself up off the bed and stalks over to the mirror, brow furrowing in confusion at the tiny pinpricks of light on his face.

“What,” he says quietly, “the fuck.”

Continue reading on AO3

“I take it this hasn’t happened before,” Geralt says wryly.

“Definitely not.” Jaskier turns back to him, chewing on his bottom lip and trying again to chase the strange sensation. Sometime familiar tugs at his mind but he can’t catch it. “At least,” he clarifies, “I don’t think so.”

“Seems like something you would remember,” Geralt says, gesturing for Jaskier to come back to the bed. Jaskier ignores him, still staring curiously at his reflection. “Can you feel it?”

Jaskier shakes his head, then looks at Geralt with raised eyebrows. “Have you... seen it before?” Unease twists his stomach. “Am I some sort of—”

“No.” Geralt interrupts him before he can spiral into panic. “Not any monster I’ve seen.” He pauses, then adds, “I’ve seen lots of monsters,” as if this is some sort of comfort. Before Jaskier can respond with something sarcastic, Geralt says, “It’s fading.”

Jaskier turns back to the mirror, touching his face as the star-like dots dim, then wink out several at a time until his skin is regular and unblemished. The strange sensation in his chest dissipates too, leaving him slightly breathless.

“Well.” He blinks a few times, then turns back to Geralt.

“What do you think caused it?” Geralt asks as Jaskier returns to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the sheets.

“Fantastic sex?” Jaskier grins when Geralt rolls his eyes. “No,” he concedes. “I’ve had plenty of other partners and they’ve never commented on my glowing visage post-coitus.” He gestures at his face. “Perhaps sleeping with a Witcher? Have any of your previous conquests started sparkling after your carnal encounters?”

Geralt gives him a half-hearted glare and Jaskier sighs, flopping back on the bed.

“We could ask Yen—”

Jaskier reaches up and slaps his hand over Geralt’s mouth. “We will not,” he says firmly. “It’s just glowing. I’d rather be radiant than talk to that…” He trails off at the mildly offended look on Geralt’s face. “Look, just because you wished yourselves together doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

Geralt shrugs, then removes Jaskier’s hand from his face and leans in to kiss him.

Despite Jaskier’s protests, Geralt does ask Yennefer. He isn’t planning to, but when they show up at an inn a few towns later and she’s sitting at a table in the back corner, Jaskier sighs in defeat and follows Geralt over to join her.

“Let me see if I’m getting this right,” Yennefer says slowly, raising an eyebrow as she searches Jaskier’s face. “You got… glowing freckles.”

“Mhmm.” Geralt watches Jaskier squirm uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Like stars.”

“Yes.”

Yennefer hums, expression shifting from disbelief to mild curiosity. “What were you doing before they appeared?”

“Having sex,” Geralt says before Jaskier can come up with a lie. Jaskier’s face moves from surprise to shock to indignation so quickly that it barely registers, and Geralt tries to hide a smile at the red flush that creeps across his cheeks.

“With… each other?”

“That’s not your—” Jaskier sputters, but Geralt interrupts him.

“Yes.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier hisses, kicking his ankle under the table. Geralt ignores him.

“I’ve never heard of anyone literally glowing after sex,” Yennefer says, lip quirking up in an almost-smile. “Has it happened again since then?”

Jaskier huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as Geralt shakes his head. “Just the first time.”

Yennefer taps her fingers on the table, then shrugs. “I’ll look into it,” she says. “But only because it’s an interesting magical phenomenon that I’ve never heard of before, not because I’m doing you any favors.”

Three days later, in the middle of the night, Yennefer’s voice wakes them both from their sleep.

You need to run.

Jaskier sits up quickly, untangling himself from Geralt’s embrace and pulling the thin blanket close as he looks frantically around the campsite. Roach nickers nearby, and everything is dark save for the soft glow of the moon through the trees.

“Did you hear that?” he demands, looking down at Geralt, who is propped up on one elbow and peering curiously into the trees. The moonlight reflects off his eyes and Jaskier shivers.

Run, Yennefer’s voice says again, and it takes Jaskier a disorienting moment to realize that it’s not coming from around them, it’s coming from inside his head.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, kicking the blanket off and standing up. “How is she doing that?”

Geralt holds out his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to be quiet as he moves to a crouch and reaches for the sword that’s lying on the ground beside them. There’s no noise to signal an impending attack – nothing beside a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance.

Jaskier’s about to chalk up the warning to paranoia when Yennefer’s voice tears through them again, this time much more frantic. RUN, you idiots!

“From what?” Jaskier shouts, looking around frantically. “There’s nothing—”

His words are cut off by something appearing in his mouth.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, but Jaskier can’t see because whatever is attacking him is also covering his face. It’s cold and tastes like iron, but when he tries to bite down on it, it shifts and oozes. Jaskier gags, trying to spit whatever it is out, but it presses back further until he can barely breathe.

There’s more shouting and a muffled thud, but when Jaskier tries to grab at whatever’s on his face and pull it away, he realizes that he can’t move his arms. The thing pushes him backward, slamming him against a tree as it wraps around his chest and starts to squeeze.

Jaskier tries to scream, but nothing comes out around whatever it is that’s currently choking him. For a second, he’s sure he’s going to pass out, but then something sparks inside him, and he’s yanked back into a memory.

He’s twelve years old and hiding in an alley, hoping that if he makes himself small enough, Billy won’t see him. Unfortunately, the gods aren’t particularly kind to Jaskier, and he quickly finds himself face-to-face with a boy much, much larger than him.

“C’mere, you little shit,” Billy growls, grabbing Jaskier by the arm and yanking him out from behind the pile of flour sacks where he’s hiding. Jaskier growls at him, trying to tug his arm away. Billy’s still bleeding from his nose where Jaskier hit him, and there’s a mark on his forearm in the exact shape of Jaskier’s teeth.

“Fuck off,” Jaskier snarls, kicking Billy’s shin and struggling against his grip.

“You’re psychotic,” Billy says, tightening his grasp and wrenching Jaskier forward until he falls to his knees. Someone approaches from behind and grabs Jaskier’s hair, pulling on it hard until Jaskier’s eyes start to water from the pain.

“Where’s your sister?” Billy asks, voice terrifyingly calm.

“Fuck you,” Jaskier replies through gritted teeth.

Billy slaps him, hard. “I said, where’s your sister?”

Jaskier glowers at him, refusing to answer. Matilda is safe at home, away from Billy and his wandering hands and his inability to understand the word ‘no.’ She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but Jaskier takes his duties as older brother seriously – even if it means getting the shit beat out of him.

“She’s gonna say yes eventually,” Billy says, hand moving to a small dagger that he keeps in his belt. “But first I’m gonna cut off all your pretty hair and kick your teeth in for fucking with me.”

Some of the rage in Jaskier’s chest turns to fear, and there’s a moment where he considers begging. Billy steps closer, blade glinting in the afternoon sun, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

Nothing happens. Instead, the fear coalesces into a righteous anger that burns him from the inside out, and something sears across his skin. There are several screams, and when Jaskier opens his eyes, he can’t see anything but a brilliant silver light that beams out of him and pushes everyone else away. It’s warm and familiar, and he grins when it flows back into him, making his skin shimmer.

“Freak,” Billy whispers, scrambling back from where he’s been knocked on his arse. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier says, taking a step forward and feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Billy flinches. “You’re the freak. Now fuck off or I’ll… I’ll light you on fire.”

He’s bluffing. This power is both familiar and strange, and he’s not certain he can light things on fire with it, but Billy is afraid enough that he takes the threat at face value and scrambles to his feet.

As the sound of footsteps fades and Jaskier is left alone in the alley, the light begins to dim, until Jaskier is left with nothing but a stinging scalp, bloody knees, and the knowledge that he is more powerful than he realized.

Jaskier opens his eyes.

This time, instead of the darkness, he can see the forest, lit up with a brilliant silver glow that’s exploded from his chest. It’s just like the memory. Starlight fills the glade, burning away whatever’s got him in its grip, and he stumbles forward when it eventually lets go of him. The bitter taste disappears from his mouth, as well as whatever was choking him, and he coughs and takes a few deep breaths.

“Oh.” Geralt’s voice comes from nearby and Jaskier turns to see him staring at the light. It’s spilling from Jaskier in waves, pulsing out with every heartbeat and driving back the darkness bit by bit. The creature – whatever it is – screeches and darts toward Jaskier again, only to be hit with another wave of light that burns it away.

Jaskier and Geralt stare at each other for a moment as the light starts to fade and sink back into Jaskier’s skin. The powerful feeling is back and Jaskier breathes it in, trembling at the rush.

He’s about to step toward Geralt when a roaring sound fills the air between them and a portal appears, spitting sparks in every direction. Yennefer emerges from the circle, looking pristinely put together despite the late hour, and her face is scrunched in concern until she sees that they’re both unharmed.

“Ah,” she says, staring at the way Jaskier is still glowing in the dark. “You’re all right, then.”

“Um,” Jaskier replies.

Yennefer nods, then takes a step back and gestures for them to follow her. “Come with me,” she says, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier listens to her without arguing.

They end up in the kitchen of a small but ornately furnished home. Geralt is given the awkward task of guiding Roach through the portal and then out the front door without damaging anything, and when he returns to sit next to Jaskier at the table, the starlight has dissipated. The rush disappears with it, and Jaskier is left exhausted.

“Thank you,” Geralt says, nodding at Yenn. He squeezes Jaskier’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Jaskier nods. “What the fuck was that?” he asks as he rubs his throat, wiping at his face again to try and get rid of the sticky sensation. He can still taste iron and ash, and he shudders at the memory of being unable to breathe.

“Void beast,” Yenn replies, handing him a cup of something that smells sweet. He takes it gratefully, too exhausted to be snarky. His entire body aches, and he can still feel thousands of tiny pricks of pain everywhere the light left his body.

“What would a void beast want with him?” Geralt asks, shifting closer to Jaskier and placing a hand on his thigh.

“The light,” Yennefer explains, sitting down across from them at the table.

“You mean…” Jaskier raises a hand to his face.

“It’s starlight,” Yennefer explains. “They feed on it.” There’s a brightness to her gaze that Jaskier’s never seen before – something akin to excitement. “I did some research, after you left. You were born in December, correct?”

Jaskier nods as Yennefer reaches behind her and pulls a book off her shelf. She flips through several pages, then turns it toward Jaskier and Geralt. It’s a full-page drawing of a couple standing on a hill under a sky of falling stars.

“Nine months before your birth, there was a shower of stars,” Yennefer says. “Not unusual, but this was the largest starfell ever witnessed. Reports say it was like watching the heavens fall to earth.”

“I remember that,” Geralt says softly, touching his fingertips to the paper. “We watched it from Kaer Morhen. The sky looked like it was on fire.”

Jaskier studies the picture intently, feeling the warm sense of familiarity bubble up inside him again. “I… remember too,” he says softly. “Or, I’ve seen it. In dreams, I think. Obviously I wasn’t there, but…” He brings his hand to his chest. “It’s inside me.”

Yennefer nods, and Jaskier detects a hint of jealousy in her gaze. “I’ve not seen it before, but I imagine others that were conceived that night have the power too.”

“But why now?” Jaskier asks, frowning. “I haven’t… since…”

He trails off as tiny snippets of memory begin to float to the surface – times where he’d been stronger, faster, braver. Protecting Matilda. Saving a little girl from drowning in the river. Helping his aunt give birth when she’d been weeks too early and managing to save the babe. Hauling Roach back from a precipice when she’d almost slipped.

Saving Geralt from the maurezhi.

“Oh,” he says softly.

Yennefer nods, and part of Jaskier is irked because he knows she’s reading his memories along with him. The other part is grateful that he doesn’t have to clarify. Geralt looks between the two of him with his eyebrows raised, searching for an explanation.

“Acts of love,” Yennefer explains. “And sacrifice.”

Geralt nods as if it’s the most reasonable answer in the world. Jaskier supposes it probably is for a man who sees the inexplicable on a daily basis.

“So why the glowing?” Geralt asks, reaching out and brushing his fingers across Jaskier’s cheeks. “When we slept together?” Jaskier ducks his head. Heat creeps into his cheeks because he knows the answer to that before Geralt’s even finished asking the question.

“Because he loves you,” Yennefer says simply. There’s no hint of jealousy or bitterness in her voice, and when Jaskier looks at her, she gives him a rare smile. “Don’t you?”

Jaskier huffs, dropping his gaze back down to the floor, but Geralt isn’t having it. He moves his hand to Jaskier’s chin and tips his head up until they’re looking at each other. “Do you?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” Jaskier mutters, and the expression of surprise and delight on Geralt’s face makes the embarrassment worth it. “What, you think I followed you around for years because I loved sleeping outdoors and having my life threatened on a daily basis?”

Geralt laughs. “Well, it could have just been my good looks,” he teases. Jaskier sighs in exasperation.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses Geralt.

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier hears her chair scrape along the floor as she pushes it back from the table.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier says, tone both fond and exasperated at the same time.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Geralt grabs Jaskier by the waist and pulls him into his lap. Jaskier sighs, tipping his head back as Geralt kisses his neck and runs a hand through his hair.

“So,” Geralt says against his skin. “You love me.”

“I already said I did,” Jaskier replies, resting his hands on Geralt’s chest and feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. It’s a counterpoint to the frantic pattering of his own as he hesitantly asks, “And… you?”

“I do,” Geralt says, and even though he doesn’t say the word ‘love,’ Jaskier knows he means it in every way he can. “I do, Stardust.” The nickname makes something warm pool in Jaskier’s stomach, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Stardust, huh?”

“Mm.” Geralt kisses his throat, then leans back and grins at him, tipping his head toward the bedroom. “Now come with me. I need to see if I can make you sparkle again.”

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fanfiction #update #new chapter #my fic

6 notes · View notes

themjinterviews-blog · 5 years

Text

48. Put your hands in the air and say hell yeah. Captain Jack! Johnny Depp!

What motivates you to do what you do? Sheer necessity, usually.

What was the weather like the last time you went out? Hot. It’s Arizona so it’s probably near 100 + sunny.

Do you go for walks often? I’m pretty lazy and try to avoid it. You sorta gotta trick me into walking, like take me to a big shopping mall or something so I inadvertently walk around it whilst shopping.

What color shirt are you wearing? Gray.

What is your favorite type of youtube video to watch? I don’t really watch any. I just use it to occasionally look up songs or to record snippets of stuff to remix songs.

Do you need any new clothes right now? I got plenty.

What’s the next project you are excited to start? I’m working on a nonsensical Adult Coloring Book featuring animals committing crimes.

Do you collect anything? If so, what? Used to collect rocks and Pokémon cards. I suppose in a sense I collect all sorts of art/office supplies.

^and if not, what would you like to collect? Nothing really.

What was the last disappointing thing that happened to you? I don’t know. Suppose work being closed for renovation for 2 weeks kinda sucks because I sort of need cash.

What is something God has healed you of? I don’t really do the whole God/Religion rigamarole... Chances are if we are healed of something, there is a psychological, sociological biological or generally rational explanation.

Have you ever experienced a miracle? Like, a phenomenal coincidence? I think as much as I hate to be a downer, there's probably a lot to do with our perceptions of events

What was the last thing you ate? Lucky Charms.

Do you ever eat food that’s intended for kids? Well, Lucky Charms. I also love pizza rolls and chicken nuggets. But I’m not eating Gerber Peas&Carrot baby foods or anything crazy like that.

What was the last stupid thing you did? Define “stupid”? Most things I do are probably stupid to others but perfectly acceptable to me.

Do you get embarrassed easily? Sometimes.

Are you wearing pants or shorts right now? I never wear shorts.

What are your top three names you like for a daughter? Elliot (this is also my pick for a boy name), Tara, Hazel.

Would you ever film a vlog of yourself giving birth? Ew. Fuck no. Honestly, adopting/fostering sounds way more my style anyway. To be totally frank, pregnancy sounds gross and being unable to take my adderall sounds awful. I’d gain like, a million pounds.

Do you like getting caught in the rain? It’s usually a refreshing break from the heat out here.

Do you think your hair looks best straight, wavy, or curly? Messy, or in a side-pony.

What was the last craft project you completed?: Coloring books for my friends’ kid.

Name 3 youtubers you would like to meet in person: I don’t know any.

Has anyone ever spread an untrue rumor about you? Sociopath ex. Not sure he actually said them aloud to people other than myself, but I was constantly being accused of weird stuff I absolutely did not do.

What’s one rumor you’ve heard about yourself, and is it true? N/A. No idea. Not aware of any relevant or applicable rumors. I literally just keep to myself and do crafts.

What color are your nails painted currently? Not painted.

Do you use a pill box? Jesus, I’m not 80.

List 3 people you know who were loving and then turned cold: it’s kind of generic to assume either of those things as permanent traits. But probably most flings or whatever. It always feels cold when one party loses interest.

Have you filmed a youtube video today? Never filmed one in my life.

Do you leave the house when you’re on your period? Um yes. Life doesn’t stop just because I have cramps.

^If not, why not? -

Have you ever felt threatened for your life? Yeah. Sociopath ex would get overtly paranoid and mistake harmless or unrelated things I did or said to be conspiracies against him. And occasionally my imaginary betrayals would lead to violent words or actions. Like, a bundle of index cards with Carrabba’s menu items and their ingredients, word for word, from the Carrabba’s menu, was somehow coded plots to who the fuck knows to have him killed. Irrational stuff like that.

What are you behind on? Student loans. And when I say behind, I really mean that I actively chose not to pay them.

Do you get enough sleep each night? No because night is my time to be productive, uninterrupted and without bothering anyone. I hate having to stop my thoughts just because other people are making noise or trying to converse with me.

Which did you like better: high school or college? Absolutely college.

Which year of your life stands out to you as the most significant so far? Probably last year or two.

…and why? Big personal transitions and revelations in my life philosophy.

What was the last store you shopped at? Walmart, most likely.

Do you have a favorite pharmacist? I used to back in NY. Her name was Evie. She wished a customer Happy Thanksgiving on Valentine’s Day accidentally once and it cracked me up and we had a running joke about it.

Do you have a favorite cashier at the grocery store? I don’t shop frequently enough and I switch up stores when I do.

What was the last thing you ordered at Starbucks? Probably a toffee nut Frappuccino.

What’s something you discovered recently?

What makes you more creative? Emotional turbulence, certain drugs.

What’s the last magical thing you experienced? Um…Magical? The herd of unicorns crossing the I-10.

What is the theme of your bedroom? None. We are staying in a spare room at a friend’s. But we're actually moving this week because being micromanaged and constantly scrutinized was getting old.

Have you ever lived in a dorm? Yes, for a few years

Who is someone whom you admire, and why? I guess the lady at work, Amanda. She’s like 64 and works open-close every day, and still has a great attitude.

When was the last time you stepped outside of your comfort zone? I don’t know. I test the waters every once in awhile.

Where would you like to travel to next? Nowhere crazy. Just back to New York for the Renaissance Faire.

If you could win three dream vacations to anywhere, where would you go? Portugal—New Zealand—Ireland.

Would you rather ride a camel or an elephant? Camel. They’re fuzzy.

Are you a free spirit? I don’t know what that even constitutes. I think outside the box and I question social conformity and other preset patterns of thought. But I don’t know that has much to do with my spirit.

Do you want to lose weight? I think I’m okay for now.

Which insects scare you, if any? They don’t scare me, they just creep me out …spiders, centipedes, millipedes, roaches…ugh.

Do you think it’s silly to be afraid of a tiny insect? It’s not like I think they’re going to murk me with a sawed off shot gun. I know they’re harmless and therefor not technically scary…but they’re still creepy and unsettling somehow.

Have you ever experienced paranoia? To some degree.

Have you ever hallucinated? Indeed.

Were you raised religious? We were raised Roman Catholic. Didn’t stick.

Have you ever been abused? Psychologically, emotionally, physically and sexually. #sociopathic ex.

Do you think the cops should do more about bullying? I think cops have enough shit to worry about as is and don’t know how effective extensive police interference would even be. I think the anti-bullying message is stronger when conveyed by people closer to kids like teachers, parents, siblings or a celebrity figure they idolize.

Is there a coffee shop you like better than Starbucks? I like them all about the same.

If you could afford to get your hair professionally done, what would you get? Probably dye and highlights. Definite trim of my bangs.

If you had a lot of money, do you think you would use it wisely? Absolutely not. I have little to no money now and I don’t even use *that* wisely.

Do you know any rich people who are very irresponsible? I don’t know many people to begin with.

List five careers that you’d like to have: Lawyer (like A.D.A. Barba!)...Graphic Designer...Psychologist...Self-Help writer...and oddly wouldn't mind being a waitress still.

List five far-out things that you’d like to do before you die: I genuinely do not have a bucket list. If I stumble upon something that seems cool, I do it. Making unrealistic lists won't help my quality of life very much.

Do you dream big? Quite the opposite. I sort of just fly by the seat of my pants. Weird expression. Can’t recall ever having very fixated dreams or visions for myself.

What was your first imaginary friend’s name? N/A

What was the name of the first pet that you loved? Comet. <3

What was the first work uniform that you had to wear? Waitress uniform of sorts. I wanna say it was white button down and black pants.

Do you like to go barefoot? Usually. On some surfaces it’s intolerable and I hate the texture, though.

Do you like the same colors now that you did as a kid? Pretty much.

Do you have a blog? You’re on it, buddy. This is a survey blog.

Do you have a youtube channel? What would I even post videos about?? I assure you, I do nothing that the general public would find entertaining.

#survey

1 note · View note

officialfand0mtrash · 6 years

Text

my giant-ass kinlist

Character, Source

anything else not necessarily canon

astrick (*) means literally me

not really looking for canonmates, however if you wanna talk that’d be ok!

note that the amount of info is not relating to how major the kin is to me, they’re just the ones with more non-canon memories. most of my “literally me” kins are either the kins i just feel the absolute most in touch with and closest to, and are also mostly the ones i identified as first.

sometimes i started talking in first person

Juniper Branch*, Warrior Cats (Dawn of the Clans)

Raven Pelt came out to me as identifying as a molly after our kits were born, because she was afraid I’d leave her if she told me earlier

Jerboa Jump, Tennessee Tuxedo & His Tales

heckin enemies to friends to lovers relationship with Tennessee himself

i mean it probably wasn’t that great looking back two angry smartass sarcastic people in a relationship doesn’t sound good but… Tennessee’s great i think he made me a better person through it

is mainly for coping.

Taptap*, Underdog

Riff & I were fucking. dating? maybe. it was the 60s.

i was still around in his gang in the other episodes, just around, y'know, robbing banks.

Underdog was my brother but he’d never admit it.

Thistlewhistle*, My Little Pony (Generation 3)

i was a transman

Starcatcher was also male!!

in fact not everyone was female,,

on Butterfly Island all our names were spelled as one word. but its. not like we ever spelled our names anyway.

Shifty*, Cauliflower Cabby

Boston and I were fucking. But we weren’t dating. It was illegal, he only wanted my body, and he didn’t care about me enough to.

Boston considered his title of Boston Bully, New Yorkie Public Enemy Number One very highly. He was afraid that showing sexual interest in a man would destroy his title. Though I’d always secretly thought that, since it was illegal, it would only boost him.

I never even wanted to be in Boston’s gang. I had maybe borrowed alot money from him years back and he wanted me to pay him back by robbing banks. After I’d made it up he threatened to shoot me if I left.

is mainly for coping.

Tubby*, The Beagles

Stringer & I were dating, and I wish I could say Scotty was the only one who knew. No, Scotty was the only one who’d take us to manage, I’m amazed his agency didn’t fire him over taking the Gays as clients. I suppose I’m glad he didn’t, we wouldn’t’ve done half the shit we did if it weren’t for him.

Our band’s name isn’t because we’re beagles… well, I’m a bagle/chihuahua mix but no way in hell does Stringer have any beagle in him. We called ourselves the Beagles cuz we really like the Beatles

we also really like Elvis (have you heard the bass in Heartbreak Hotel?)

I came from Jersey and am Jewish by race, I’ve never practiced the religion.

Fernsong*, Warrior Cats (Vision of Shadows)

stop shipping me with Ivypool she’s mates with Blossomfall!!

i’m a transtom and i’m so glad i’m not a tortie!!

i would’ve loved to have kits and a mate but everyone in Thunderclan is too old for me or just can’t tolerate me and im ://!!

i didn’t know and still don’t know if i want a tom as a mate or a molly…

Tigerheart, Warrior Cats (Power of Three)

No I never became Shadowclan’s leader. When I died my mother, Tawnystar, was leader, and my sister Dawnpelt was her deputy.

I also didn’t have children with Dovewing. In fact, I was never romantically interested in her. She was beautiful, she was a wonderful molly…. but she was born the day I became a warrior, and I refuse to mate with someone that’s a good 15 moons younger than me.

In fact, my mate was only about 9 moons younger than me. His name was Bumblestripe.

After Darktail took over Shadowclan and Tawnystar, Rowanclaw, Dawnpelt and I took shelter in Thunderclan is when I became mates with him. And I never left. He was too loyal to Thunderclan and I already felt like an outcast in Shadowclan, sharing my name with Tigerstar (What was my mother thinking?) and I’m very glad I did.

Roach*, Warrior Cats (Vision of Shadows)

Darktail gave me so much trauma for what he did i hate it so much i hate him so much. i’ll snap his neck if i ever find him again. (but maybe if you’re from a different canon and apologized for the shit you did, maybe i wouldn’t,,)

i stayed in Shadowclan after he was killed and became mates with Rain. i like to think… that i really helped him with not only the trauma of losing an eye, but helping him get used to only having one… and he helped me to trust cats, and other…. trust-related issues i had.

Percy, Warrior Cats (Firestar’s Destiny)

Duke, Thomas the Tank Engine

Smudger and I were.. dating? Married? I'm not sure, but we were romantically involved with eachother.

Windstar, Warrior Cats (Dawn of the Clans)

Yarrowleaf, Warrior Cats (Vision of Shadows)

i was a transmolly and a lesbian.

i was mates with Sleekwhisker and damn what a mate she was…

Yew Tail, Warrior Cats (Dawn of the Clans)

I had horrible, horrible paranoia… I thought… I thought that one day, that all the cats in Starclan would get upset with us and make the moon fall and kill us all. And I would pray every night and stay up for hours to make sure it didn’t. I think the tradition of holding vigils may have come from me.

#kinning #kin #fictionkin #polykin #wckin

2 notes · View notes

agapeeternal · 6 years

Text

I’m

Chester Bennington’s suicide has made me think a lot about my own attempts in the past.

Like a lot of people who gravitated to Linkin Park, and Chester in particular, I suffered from undiagnosed depression and suicidal ideation as a child. I had abuse in my childhood from a family member (though not to Chester’s degree). I never told anyone, because I was scared no one would believe me, so I held it in.

School was a hell I had to endure every day until the middle of 8th grade, when my depression spiraled. Years of bullying and not understanding why things were so hard for me study wise, I lost it. That was my first serious suicide attempt. I took a whole bottle of prescription strength ibuprofen and waited. I’m not sure if I passed out or if I just fell asleep, but I woke up and projectile vomited all over my bed. I didn’t feel that shame or the thankfulness that I had survived. I was pissed. I was pissed because not only did this not work, but now I had to completely strip my bed and throw everything into the tub until I could put it in the washer later. I ended up staying home from school that day, I mean, I was “sick”. It took an assembly about bullying and mental illness that happened at our school, a skit performed by a traveling anti-bullying project, to admit to my parents that I was depressed. But there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t think at the time.

My depression didn’t get any better, it just got worse. Some odd happenings went on in school which included an absolutely outrageous suspension and a teacher who hated the shit out of me because she got caught in a lie. And that was the point that I left public school and went into independent study. I actually loved it; for once school wasn’t hell, it was just challenging. But the help I got there as well as the help I got from my family, it worked great. Sure, I still had to do summer school every year, but it wasn’t that bad. I thought, “I can do this now, I’m ready.” So, I tried high school, but three months later I was back in independent study.

I thought I was prepared to handle the demands of a 6 period day, and maybe actually make friend’s, or at least catch up with the people I had hung out with since first grade. But I wasn’t. The reaction I got after returning was less like “girl where have you been?! We kinda missed you.” and was more like “oh you’re back? Wow. Okay. Hi. I guess.” That combined with the depression that never really left, and how exhausting going to class was, I couldn’t do it. I failed at trying to come back and experience high school. People who I had known called a few times, offering to take me to football games or other things, since being in independent study allowed me to have a parent school and all activities and classes were open to me. But somehow they neglected to tell me that they couldn’t go or changed plans until minutes before the events happened. And those were the times I wished I hadn’t survived. I hated feeling disposable, I hated feeling like no one cared about me. And they didn’t. I meant absolutely nothing to them, at least nothing more than birthday cupcakes and valentines cards and field trips when we were in grade school that my mom would help give kids that couldn’t afford it. But after grade school, I wasn’t worth anything, and it stung. But I tried to shove that down, along with everything else, and just concentrate on school. I managed to graduate on time with a 4.0 and walk with my class. It was bittersweet, but at least that was done.

All that was okay, I even managed to hold a job until after I graduated. I took a semester off and when I started college, things went sideways on me, as it usually does when mental illness rears its ugly head, and that led, eventually, to more self-harm and finally, to therapy. By the end of my first semester, I realized I couldn’t do this anymore, without help. It was hard to say, “look, I can’t handle this anymore. I can’t do this on my own, I’m crumbling.” But I did. When I made my first appointment, I didn’t experience the embarrassment at first, that came later. I was like, “fuck it, it’s either this or…it’s this.” I saw my first psychiatrist and after a couple of meetings, he dropped the bomb I was hoping to hear; a diagnosis.

I was bipolar. II to be exact.

After all these years, it had a name. Bipolar Disorder. It was scary but also a big relief, to know that all that inner turmoil I was going through wasn’t just my imagination, it was REAL.

It turns out, all this time, I had been exhibiting symptoms, even as a child. It all made sense, all the ups and downs and tantrums then crying spells, all the trouble concentrating and daydreaming in school. Everything clicked. And now I had to figure out what the fuck to do with this.

I started medication and went through every possible cocktail. I lost my first two psychiatrists to retirement and went through one therapist. Somewhere in there, a breakup happened that disturbed both the process and my recovery, and I went through another therapist until I found my current one. They say you should click with a therapist, that, even though it isn’t easy, that your relationship should help you work through whatever you need to work on. Easier said than done, but I’m more than happy with her.

I was still feeling the depression more than the hypomania, that visited every once in a while, the mixed episodes that visited far too often. But I was doing okay. My baseline wasn’t great, but I knew where it was, and I was doing as well as I usually did. Until everything went sideways again. In late 2015, I went through a horrible breakup. It was messy and painful and I lost it. Again. My therapist had suggested group therapy for me for years, but I didn’t like the idea of having to talk to a room full of strangers. But I finally went to group, and later, to IOP. The little bit of work I had been doing seemed to slide completely backwards. I was actively suicidal, and I tried.

I literally couldn’t take it anymore. I was so depressed and dealing with the breakup combined with other messy things going on and my down cycle, it just snowballed. I didn’t want to die, I don’t think most people to commit suicide do. I wanted to end all the pain and depression and just be able to BREATHE. I wanted to get away from my own head. So I took a mix of my meds and just passed out. It left me mostly drugged out but semi-conscious, hardly able to do anything other than just lay there. I couldn’t walk in a straight line if you paid me. But I was alive. Fortunately, or unfortunately. I was still around.

So when does Linkin Park come in? 7th grade. I saw “One Step Closer” on CMC (California Music Channel) before MTV or VH1 had picked them up. The DJ was a friend of a friend of Mike’s I believe, and played it even though CMC was mostly–almost entirely–hip-hop and r&b. At that time, the only thing outside of hip-hop and r&b that I was listening to was pop music that was playing everywhere else. Papa Roach slipped into the mix shortly, but that was it. Linkin Park wasn’t something I would’ve been interested in. At all. But I didn’t change the channel, I just watched that ridiculous video, and as weird as it was, I found myself really hearing the lyrics. I liked them. They were different.

Then ‘Crawling” and “In The End” came out, and I had never connected with lyrics on that level. Even though I was only 12-13, they still hit home. Hard. I didn’t know how to address what happened to me when I was younger, I still hadn’t told anyone. It haunted me, especially having to see the person. It was only once in a while, but it brought everything back like a freight train. Dealing with that and the painful reality of not having friends, of being constantly bullied, I was confused and hurt. I felt like I didn’t have a voice.

But “Crawling” became my voice. I knew what it felt like to literally be crawling in your skin, to hate seeing your reflection, to despise everything. I felt the endless discomfort and insecurity that was all consuming. Every single line in that song, I felt.

Linkin Park became the outlet I needed. I needed to be heard, I needed to be understood. I needed someone to LISTEN. But I didn’t have to explain anything, everything was there for me, in black and white. I saw my feelings, I saw what I needed. I saw it all. And I was grateful.

Unfortunately, I lost touch with them for a while. Somewhere after Meteora, I strayed. There was no reason other than new songs and artists came out and my musical interests shifted some. But when I found myself in a hole, they were there. They were always there.

In 2017, my musical taste still hadn’t shifted back to them, not completely. I hadn’t heard most of their recent things. But I got into Kiiara. And when I watched her video for “Gold”, on the side it recommended a Facebook live with Linkin Park and Kiiara which threw me a bit. That didn’t seem like a combination that would go well together. But I also saw the video for “Heavy” and I clicked on it. It was hard to watch and I cried the whole time, because 2017 had, up to that point, fucking sucked (and would, inevitably end up being one of the worst years of my life). My head was a mess, everything was heavy, and I wanted to let go. The paranoia and heaviness was everything I was feeling. Once again, they became my voice, and I fell back into them for a bit before drifting away again. I still held onto “Heavy”.

On July 20, 2017, I was packing for my family reunion. I saw that “Talking To Myself” had gone up and watched it, dancing to it as I tried to remember everything I needed with me.

A few hours later my mom called me into her room and asked if I remembered Linkin Park. Of course I did. Then she dropped my worst fear; Chester was gone.

I couldn’t speak for a minute. It literally felt like someone had punched a hole in me. I felt that in my soul, like something was ripped away from me. It was like I lost my breathe (and still haven’t caught it). Chester had brought me so much comfort and peace. He had helped me through times when I was actively suicidal. He helped me when I just needed to put words to my feelings. He did that. He made everything less heavy and helped soothe the hurt. Without him, I don’t know if I would be here, I truly don’t.

I immediately downloaded the new album and listened to it, crying the entire time. The person who had been my voice for so long was suddenly silenced. There was hurt and pain in listening to the music, but at the same time, it was strange comfort. Because, even though he wasn’t here, he would always be.

There was never anger on my side. I understood that feeling, I understood how being in that moment was. It’s horrible. But there was a strange sense of pride. A pride in that he was still here, he made it as far as he did. Most people would’ve completely given up years ago. But he kept going, he kept finding a way. A lot of it was obviously the support system he had, but a lot of it was support that we didn’t see.

We didn’t see every aspect of his life, but what we did see was someone who was both strong and vulnerable, someone who kept going, even when he didn’t want too. He didn’t give up. He was going to fuse his armor back together, he was going to pick himself up if he fell. And he did, he picked himself up until he couldn’t. We’ll never know what happened, what that final catalyst was, what those last moments were like. All we know is that our hearts are a little heavier and the world a little dimmer without him.

There’s now a tattoo on my arm of the Suicide prevention ribbon, and at the bottom are the flames that Chester had on his wrists, along with the words “One More Light”. It’s both to honor and remember Chester, but also to acknowledge my own struggles and remind myself to keep going, to remind myself that my journey isn’t over, that I still have growing and changing to do. It’s hard, when mental illness is there to tell you “NO”, to try and keep you from living, to keep you from enjoying life until you think you only have one choice. But I can’t do that. I owe it to myself and to Chester to keep trying. To hear my Battle Symphony, to not give up, fuse my armor back together and pick myself up.

You’ll always be missed and always be loved Chester. I hope you’ve found the peace you’ve always deserved.

(This is my journey. It’s not over, not by a long shot. I’m still growing and changing, I’m still trying to figure everything out. I have a lot of work to do, but I’m trying, and that’s all I can do.)

#Suicide #fuck depression #Chester Bennington #make chester proud #Linkin Park #tl;dr #makechesterproud #fuckdepression #take care of yourself #be kind to yourself

4 notes · View notes

euargh · 6 years

Text

Venting about today. It is long. Tagging as “euargh speaks long” in case anyone needs to blacklist it.

It was terrible. I usually like the cold because it keeps away the roaches, fleas and ticks, but having to walk around and wait for the bus was killing me. My shoes have holes around the sides and my feet kept going numb. It hurt to walk on my right foot because it cramped up.

When I finally arrived at the neurologist, it was such an awful appointment. We talked about my depression/anxiety. He said "well with a lot of women, when they are depressed and have anxiety, it is because their hormones are off balance." He kept going on and on about how my problem is just a woman hormone. It made me feel sick. Not only do I identify as a man, but my brain freaking literally has a huge gap and white blobs and it constantly feels like someone is drilling into the top of my skull, jfc.

I then explained to him that I have a stuttering issue and glitch up frequently, a good example is that I have problems swallowing at times. He said that is just the anxiety. Um... so apparently having trouble swallowing and choking at times even when I am by my self is just anxiety, okay.

Ugh. I wanted to scream and punch something, but I had to be careful to not let my rage slip through or hell would break loose. I did somewhat snap at him, though politely, but he just treated me like I was being typical. Like... I freaking suffered brain related ailments for years. This was such a fucking insult to me. I plan to go to my other doctor and ask if I can get another neurologist. I am just afraid he might assume that I am being racist when I am not (since the neurologist is from Mexico, this city is right next to the border). I just want to have a neurologist that is ANYONE from ANYWHERE that is NOT sexist and that will actually help me with my condition instead of blame it on gender, AND I want this person to take my problems SERIOUSLY.

Also... he did not even look at my MRI scans. He said he will in two months. TWO MONTHS. I HAD WAITED ALL YEAR AND THEN SOME TO FIND OUT IF I HAVE BRAIN CANCER/TUMORS. That was what the appointment was supposed to be about... NOT STUPID CRAP TO SET OFF MY DYSPHORIA. I had freaking avoided eating anything because I assumed I was going to receive a CAT scan which involves a dye injection, but instead... this. All this... only reminded me how much I hate life and how isolated I am.

and when I had to go find a bus stop to wait at (with the cold biting at my feet and face, I was filled with rage with how I was never taught how to drive. all this crap i have to endure is my family's fault.

At the indoor bus terminal, some guys that are either in high school or college, kept pointing at me and laughing. It brought back awful memories of middle school when I would be bullied because I was ugly and fat. When I went to the exit doors of the bus station to check if my bus arrived, one of them screamed loudly something in spanish behind my back trying to scare me. I was so exhausted and dislocated that I did not react. I only noticed a loud noise that took me a while to process. He laughed loudly but I did not turn because I did not want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I heard him. I am upset that I stick out so much that jerks have to make fun of me.

When I arrived home, first thing my parents asked me "are you back on your check yet?" I told them what happened. They shouted at me to get an attorney to get back on my check. That... has nothing to even do with anything. I am personally concerned as to what is even going on inside my head... NOT THE CHECK. but of course, who cares about me and my suffering.

I also learned that after I left the house, someone had broken into the backyard and tried to steal things. THIS FUCKING CREEPED THE HELL OUT OF ME BECAUSE IT MEANS THEY WERE WATCHING ME. THEY SAW I HAD LEFT AND THEN ASSUMED NO ONE ELSE WAS HOME. Thankfully they heard my mom screeching at some dog trying to attack her and realized someone was home. They left what they tried to steal, which was a good thing, but JFC. I AM BEING WATCHED. I am constantly always feeling like I am being watched. My paranoia is fucking validated.

My parents called the cops on the attempted robbery, but the cops said there was nothing they can do and that we should "fence up the other side of the house" One cop liked our cat, Tomtom. :)

So... not only do I get hunted and/or bullied by creepy men whenever I use the bus, but I am being observed by people wanting to break into this house. This... is why I am so terrified of stepping outside. (and yes, I have indeed reported the harassments, but they said there is nothing they can do unless they physically assault me. oh yah like i REALLY want that to happen. THANKS.)

Please excuse this post. This is a vent. I am extremely upset over how today was just awful and I am further terrified and miserable than I was before. You may ignore. I am also extremely tired and may return to fix any typos tomorrow.

#personal #venting #tl;dr #long #euargh speaks long #awful string of events January 2018 #tagging these posts as this to keep track of things

6 notes · View notes

blookmallow · 7 years

Text

hey wow look what i found buried in my drafts from 300 years ago

this started as Bits Of Story Notes but then i kinda ran with it and let it become more drawn out prose so now its like. a lil writing blurb

specifically, about antis and their formations. its kind of a nonspecific narrative voice i didnt want to try to work into particular characters bc then id be limited by which characters know what/who would be willing to tell who what/etc so its not anyone in particular (theres also some names missing bc i havent figured out all the details)

“But what IS an Anti? How could something so... sinister come from someone so kind?”

“Well... that’s the trouble of it, you’re looking at it all backwards.”

“Backwards?”

“Well, to start, they come from nothing. It’s no fault of the Origin’s, after all. ...and you speak as if humans are inherently something kind, Antis inherently something cruel. I can promise you that simply isn’t the case.”

Antis are not literal pieces of their origins - it isn’t so much “my dark side, embodied,” no proper Hyde to one’s Jekyll, as it were. An Anti comes not from within, but without; like a formless, nonsentient parasite locking itself to an unwary host. This occurs at random, of course- anyone could have an Anti.

Any human, that is.

Though they’re said to be particularly drawn to those with high propensity for magic.

The nebulous spirit matter from which they come is all around us- no, don’t look, you can’t see it. Not even the Soul Collectors can. But something invisible, no matter how transient and slight, is none the less real. They have no self yet; no mind to think or to consider, no consciousness at all. Only the instinctive drive to become. Antis long to exist before the conception of “longing” exists within them. They form themselves as a sentient, corporeal being through the unconsenting assistance of the Origin. That person becomes a sort of mold, a self and a form from which the Anti creates a kind of reversed mirror image to inhabit itself.

The very moment of formation is still quite mysterious even to Antis themselves; how exactly it occurs, or why this moment and not that, and each Anti is quite different just as humans are from one another. It is not impossible for two Antis to form in the same way, but the variation is infinite.

However, it is as of now believed that an Anti comes to fruition upon achieving some kind of inciting incident which serves to shove the dormant spirit into physical reality, such as a moment of intense emotion, contact with magic, a traumatic event - something to release the spirit that has been quietly building itself up.

“But-...what if it doesn’t? What if there is no incident, the spirit never released-? What would that... do to a person?”

Well... Nobody knows. Possibly it might kill the both of them. Possibly something more sinister may occur, an amalgamate form never meant to be. But we need not worry about that. One could hardly imagine a person who never has a moment of intensity in their entire life. It is most likely the case that the spirit, upon having built itself up long enough, eventually will release on its own, anyhow.

Now, some Antis have an immediate fixation on their origin, some are an immediate destructive force, some are scared and confused by their own sudden existence, and... some just want to get as far away from them as quickly as possible. It’s not entirely fair to compare them to parasites - their formation is not harmful to the Origin, after all. But it is said that they are never quite the same afterward.

Damian Nightfall - yes, that one - formed from shadows one night when young Skye Blue had a particularly violent nightmare; he was suddenly awoken in the middle of the night and overwhelmed with dread in the darkness of his room. He had never been afraid of the dark before. He had sensed a growing anxiety every time the lights went out for weeks beforehand, but never told anyone; it felt silly and irrational to him- why would I be scared now? Why, I’ll be turning thirteen soon! I ought not to be afraid of dark rooms.

But he was, anyway.

He watched in confused horror as his own shadow turned into a dripping, crawling darkness that slowly gained mass and moved sluggishly across the floor on its own terms.

the thing on the floor immediately fixated on him, and while it was only half-formed and still an amorphous shambling mass of shadow, it lunged out of the darkness to attempt to strangle the boy the moment it had anything resembling hands

Miss Shuri immediately felt the intense distress - and the threat to Skye’s life, as it most definitely was - and appeared at once to cast the Anti out. But she refrained from killing him, though she could have, because a soul collector never kills if it can be avoided - and Damian was really only a child then.

He slithered off somewhere into the woods, and continues to terrorize Skye to this day - though he’s no longer interested in actually killing him. An Anti without an Origin becomes mortal and powerless, as he’s learned all too well.

And so that was Skye’s first encounter with Damian. He still suffers from frequent nightmares, and cannot sleep in the dark anymore. His shadow, even in bright sunlight, is oddly faded and light - not terribly noticeable, but almost as if there’s less of it somehow.

Miss Iris appeared as a sudden face in the mist of toxic fumes that erupted when Christina had fallen into a patch of mushrooms in the woods

there was a brief moment of grotesque entanglement as Iris’s body formed against her; both confused and trapped against each other, but both struggling to get away, each in disgust of the other

the moment they became untangled, there was a brief instant of hatred between them, and Iris vanished in smoke. These days, the two are content just to live their lives completely away from each other - neither acknowledges the other’s existence, and both are better off because of it.

Laelia Thorne’s Origin’s hand was cut off in an accident - and moments later, the severed, still-bleeding hand suddenly began spasming and mutating, growing itself out hideously, red blood pouring out in a bright rush as if it were being purged out - until Laelia was formed.

The poor girl was so horrified, she passed out from the shock. When she finally came to, Laelia was gone. No one believes her, supposing her to have been in a state of hysteria from the traumatic event - but the hand was never found.

She never saw Laelia again.

Lex Calamity’s Origin was looking into a mirror one day; feeling a crisis of identity, stressed and alone and feeling lost, when she realized suddenly that her reflection looked somehow wrong.

It wasn’t following her movements anymore, as if it were frozen in wide-eyed horror. She stared back into the mirror, feeling as if she were looking into a stranger’s eyes. A wild impulse to smash the glass to pieces came over her, but she could not bring herself to move.

Tears slowly slipped from the reflection’s eyes - which were rapidly changing color - but not from her own. In a sudden movement, she reached to touch her own face, but the tear was not there. The reflection did not move.

Inky black spread over the reflection’s blonde hair, consuming it as if a bucket of paint had been dropped over its head, as she could only watch in horror.

She slowly, slowly reached for the mirror. This time, the reflection moved in sync - but when their hands touched, she felt cold skin instead of glass, and the fingers twisted into hers.

She screamed and pulled back, inadvertently pulling the reflection out with her, and they both tumbled to the floor.

The reflection scrambled to its feet like a frightened cat and ran.

They found her, hours later, sobbing on the bathroom floor, shattered glass everywhere. After they heard her story, the sisters took her away to be exorcised of the evil she professed immediately. There was no trace of the demon reflection, and it was never seen again.

She is to this day desperately afraid of mirrors - and if ever she dares to look, her reflection is distorted and blurry- like some part of it has left.

Sage Blackburn’s Origin nearly drowned in the sea; She was desperately tangled up in seaweed that suddenly became arms - she saw bright yellow eyes glowing in the dark of the water, and felt someone holding her, pulling her up toward the surface.

Those eyes were the last thing she was conscious of before she passed out - the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, she says.

She awoke on the beach, alone, but alive.

She believes a mermaid came and saved her. She calls her her Muse; she paints pictures of her all the time, trying to remember, and dreams of one day finding her again. She has overcome her fear of the ocean after this event, determined to return to the sea that she loves, and find her Muse again.

Sage knows nothing of this, and left the girl on the beach, hurrying away to discover her own life. She has told no one of this story; and so no one knows if she saved her Origin out of compassion, or just so that she herself would survive - and Sage wouldn’t tell you if you asked her.

[-unfinished-]

[roach: origin was very, very sick for a long time - and suddenly coughed up a huge bug that skittered away into the dark (and later, unseen, became Roach). they coughed up a few small, repugnant mushrooms, and immediately felt better. They recovered rapidly and seemed completely unphased by the whole ordeal.]

[gasket keskar: formed in a spark of lightning that destroyed a tree, but did not harm anyone. Origin (Kavi Narang) knows he exists, but has never seen him again - though he is actually interested to meet him again.]

[malkin erebus: formed in an explosion which destroyed Origin (Cyril Flintwitch)’s home and killed their mother. malkin did not intend to do this, and feels terrible for it, having never intended harm. cyril has permanent mental scars and has never been well since, though their paranoia and anxiety has improved recently - as well as their relationship with malkin. malkin is at times infatuated with cyril - and has had a very tumultuous history with them - but is learning to respect boundaries, and is accepting the responsibility for the things he has done.]

[crow hackett: unknown]

[crank: unknown]

[zyx: formed from the dust under Origin (Cody Jemson)’s bed. lives there still. unsettling, but not actually harmful. yet.]

[siren hemlock: unknown]

#cellophane rose #cr ref

2 notes · View notes

imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Hi! Imagine Bucky combining his humor and protectiveness in pranks to get Tony's attention. He's initially indirect because he's new, but he's emboldened gradually! Nothing mean or destructive, just little surprises that are actually gifts or attention. Tony pranks back, but each action hides another goal, to give Bucky opportunities to bond with the Avengers (because he's a genius like that). Extra love for progressively overt flirting to smut. And supportive borderline embarrassed friends.

Author note: Combined withWord Prompt: seal, landscape, candle. Preferably fluffy. from @tisfan‘s personal prompt collection

Falling For It

No one ever knew who started them. Or, at least,no one ever admitted it.

But living in a Tower full of people who weresneaky, smart, adrenaline junkies, and for all practical purposes, as crazy asa box of bees, pranks were, honestly, inevitable.

Tony stared down at the flooded mess of hisbedroom. Again. This time, someone had gotten creative with the water. The waythe doors sealed in the Tower, sliding into hollows in the wall, the oldbucket over the door trick didn’t work. They’d gone to a lot of work to fillabout forty red solo cups with water and taped them into place over theopening. When the door slid open, they all tipped and Tony got a second shower.

Tony took his glasses off – spotted and hecouldn’t see anyway – and rubbed one hand down his face. “Friday,” he said,trying to keep his temper. “Who was it?”

“I’m sorry, boss,” Friday said, “but I’m afraidI’m sworn to secrecy in some cases. If I reveal the perpetrator in thisparticular prank, I might have to mention that the elevator filling withshaving cream was –”

“Okay, okay, Hal, I get the picture,” Tony said,holding up one hand. How was he supposed to know Natasha was going on a datethat night – with someone who wasn’t even an Avenger – when the elevator hadsuddenly filled up with menthol-scented shaving cream? Nat’s dress had beenruined, her date had been extremely unamused and Tony had listened to Natthreaten to kill any and everyone. (She hadn’t, but since she didn’t know who’ddone that one, she’d pretty much pranked everyone, one at a time, for the restof the month, to hilarious, embarrassing, and somewhat painful results. The guynever came back for a second date, and if Nat knew who’d done that to her,she’d probably spend the next month just sabotaging Tony.)

That… however, did narrow down the options.Could have been Nat, but it wasn’t really her style. Nat’s pranks tended moretoward public embarrassment or weirdly sexual things. (The time she’d managedto sneak a joybuzzer into the tasset of his armor that had sent buzzes up histhigh and right into his balls during a fight with Doombots came to mindreadily as being both publically embarrassing and weirdly sexual.)

Might have been Clint – he’d done the waterthing, more than once, really, but it was a classic, and therefore, classicClint. And also, he was 1) more likely to rat Tony out to Natasha and 2) wasabsolutely capable of getting into the penthouse without Tony being aware ofit.

Steve? Probably not. Not that Steve couldn’tgive as well as he got, but he was weirdly ethical about the whole thing, andhe never, ever started it. If he was dousing Tony in cold water (and FUCK,there’d been ice in those cups, too, so it was very cold) it was because Tonyhad done something provable to him, first. Which, far as he could remember, hehadn’t. (That didn’t necessarily mean anything, though, sometimes Tony’s prankswere so elaborate and stealthy that it took a while before someone triggeredthem.)

Not Sam, either. Sam couldn’t get into thepenthouse without help, and this prank was too simple for a team effort.

Wanda didn’t do pranks, and if you liked yourbrain unmolested, it was unwise to prank her. She was still kinda in mourningfor her brother, so, that was understandable. When your whole world changed,the last thing you wanted was to be on the lookout for a cardboard standup inyour bathroom.

And not Thor, because Thor loved pranks – theyput him in mind of his brother – and he always, always wanted to be around forthe messy aftermath. So, if it had been Thor, the man himself would have beensitting in the living room, laughing, and offering him a towel.

Unlikely to be Bucky Barnes, either. As a newresident to the Tower (and dealing with all sorts of emotional issues andrumored to have a violent streak a mile wide) he’d been left to his own devicesas much as possible. You know, with the exception of having to be in massivetherapy, which was a condition for Tony to let Steve bring him to the Tower inthe first place.

So… probably Clint.

Tony stripped out of his wet clothes, cleaned upthe pool of water around the door, took down all the cups (73 of them, JesusChrist!) and plotted revenge.

Natasha turned around and almost choked on hertea.

“Good look for you, Hawkeye,” she said.

“Shut up,” Clint said, “unless you havesomething awesome I can do to Tony for this.” He made a gesture at his hair(blue) and his face (also blue, but streaking) and his hands (very, very blue).

“Oh, gosh,” Steve said, stopping dead as hewalked into the kitchen. “What happened to you?”

“Kool-aid mix in my shower head,” Clint said. “Iam going to get him for this. Just you wait.”

Natasha smiled, slow and evil. “Let him sweat itfor a while,” she suggested.

The glitter bomb on the visor of Tony’s car wasingenious, really. He’d dropped the visor to leave the parking stub and poof.Glitter. Everywhere. In his hair. Stuck to his eyelashes. All over hissuit. Inside his shoes. On his teeth, for fuck’s sake.

And the timing… he managed to brush off quite abit of it, but on his live appearance for the Jimmy Fallon show, he stilllooked like a fucking Twilight vampire on national television.

“Really,” Steve said.

That was all. Just, “really,” in that CaptainAmerica is disappointed in you voice.

Bucky nudged Steve aside. “What?”

Everything. Literally, everything, in thefridge, had googly eyes on it. The milk was staring at them. Every single egglooked positively terrified. Tupperware containers looked like they were havingan alcoholics anonymous meeting.

“Tony,” Steve said, disgusted.

“I think it’s kinda cute,” Bucky said, pickingup the orange juice and tipping the bottle from side to side, making the OJroll its eyes.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, but this won’t be all ofit. We have evidence here that Tony has touched every single piece of food inthe fridge. So at least one thing in here’s been tampered with. He’s putvanilla pudding in the mayonnaise, or marshmallows in the milk, or…”

“You are paranoid,” Bucky said.

“You just don’t know Tony very well yet,” Stevesaid. “It’s not paranoia when he really is out to get you.”

“Someone is going to die,” Natasha declared,setting the exploded candle down in the middle of the kitchen table,smiling that icy, terrifying smile.

“What the utter hell?” Tony asked, shifting hischair back. That was not one of his pranks. Not even close. He was kind ofcurious as to how they’d managed it, though. The whole candle (which reeked ofburned sugar) had combusted.

“Someone drilled a hole in my candle.Replaced the wick, and filled the entire inside with Pop Rocks,” Natashaexplained, still cool, calm, collected. Tony noticed that her hair was damp.Oh, oh, fuck, it was one of the candles she liked to use while she was in thetub? Oh, fuck, they were all going to die.

“Wasn’t me,” Tony said, hastily, pushing evenfurther back from the table.

Natasha smiled again, tilting her head to theother side and observing him like he was an interesting science experiment gonehorribly, horribly wrong.

“That’s brilliant,” Bucky said, pickingup the candle and peering into the depths of the exploded, twisted wax.

“Sure,” Steve said, Captain America thinksyou’re an asshole voice in full effect. “If you want to chase people aroundwith flaming sugar.”

“No, seriously, Steve, think of the level ofdistraction something like this would have, I can think of at least fifteengood uses for this in a combat situation, this is fucking genius,” Buckysaid.

“Hey, hey!” Tony protested. “Do not say thatword when she’s that pissed off. I like breathing, thank you very much.”

“What word? Distraction?”

“Genius.”

Bruce, who hadn’t even been home when the prankwar started, got hit by two pretend bug pranks (a paper roach silhouette on alamp that actually caused him to knock over a chair and the spider drawn on thetoilet paper which precipitated a Hulk out and the need for bathroom repairs.Again.) and one of the food pranks within twenty-four hours of getting back tothe Tower.

Tony was pretty sure Bruce had enlistedStrange’s help for his revenge, because Tony woke up – naked, of course – inBucky’s bed. And from the screaming the floor below, Clint had the sameexperience, only in Steve’s.

Not that Tony minded, entirely. Bucky was damngood looking. He was also warm, and apparently cuddly, because Tony woke up ina vice-grip spoon position and while trying to wriggle himself free ended upwith morning wood pressed tight up against his ass.

Oh, god, this… this was going to be bad, as soonas Bucky woke up. Tony was going to getsmeared across the landscape by an angry, naked supersoldier.

Bucky woke up as soon as Clint started shriekinglike a little kid – really, Barton? Really? Tony knew that supersoldiers hadenhanced, well, everything, because he could feel the everything pressed hardagainst his thigh – but it probably wasn’t that tragic.

Bucky froze for a second, arms tightening almostpainfully as he realized he wasn’t alone in the bed. Tony held his breath, waitingto die. And then, Bucky tucked his nose into Tony’s hair, inhaled deep. “Heythere,” he said, his voice low and throaty, and when Tony craned his neckaround to see, Bucky was giving him a pair of needy, bedroom eyes.

“Hi,” Tony said, awkward, and at the same time,a little overwhelmed. What the hell had he been smoking?

“This is a nice surprise,” Bucky said, rockingup against Tony in slow, steady and almost entirely instinctual motions.

What? “What?” Tony asked because… weird, scaryassassin guy. With memory problems and psychological issues, who barely spoketo anyone who wasn’t Steve, and certainly not Tony.

For just an instant, and if Tony hadn’t beenlooking right at him, he would have missed it, there was a flicker of hurt anduncertainty in Bucky’s eyes. Then it cleared up and Bucky gave Tony a widegrin, the sort of smile that lit the room up, that had made Bucky famous backin the day, and that drove a spear of wanting so deep into Tony’s gutthat he almost couldn’t breathe.

“Oh,” Bucky said. He blinked a few times. “I wasdreamin’, an’ then here you were. Not on purpose, I’m guessin’.” He let Tonygo, arms loosening their grip slow and reluctant.

Tony blinked. “You were dreaming about me?”

Bucky gave him an almost sad, helpless littlesmile. “Always dream about you, Tony,” he said.

Tony gaped, and then, “Is this like the end ofthe prank? You –”

“No, no, fuck, no, I wouldn’t do that,” Buckyprotested. There was, however, a flash of guilt in those steel-gray eyes. Buckyscrambled out of the bed and started looking for his clothes, but whoever wasup to the nudity pranking had stolen all of those, too. And the towels. Therewas one set of bedsheets and three floors between Bucky’s room and thePenthouse. Tony didn’t watch; Bucky might have had some of the longest fuckinglegs and the nicest goddamn ass Tony had ever seen, but it wasn’t his right tolook at it. Not… not like this.

Okay, so Natasha had gotten in on this one, too,and he wouldn’t at all shocked if there were cameras (or an audience) outsidethe door. Tony was usually comfortable in his own body; god knows, enough onenight stands had seen it, enough paparazzi had photographed it. But he usuallywasn’t fighting a sense that people were laughing at him, and this…

Tony sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’ddone an utterly naked walk of shame – head held high, hands held low – butthis would at least be the most disappointing, since he hadn’t done anything.He fingered the sheet. It would make a good enough toga, he supposed, if Buckywould let him take it. He didn’t say anything, there was nothing to say.

There had been a lot of pranks going on in theTower, and that was fine, pranks were fun. They were a mostly harmless way ofblowing off steam and they’d always before backed down before someone got hurt.But this… this was hurtful.

“Tony.”

“What? Give me a minute, I’ll figure out someway to get back to the penthouse and –”

“I don’t prank like that,” Bucky said, sincere.He sat back down on the bed and didn’t bother trying to cover up, just foldedup on himself, graceful and comfortable in his skin. “You’ve seen my pranks. Iwould never, ever do something to… I wouldn’t lie to you about feelings. That wouldbe cruel.”

Wait, what?

Tony tried to back up, stumbling over histhoughts. “What do you mean, I’ve seen your pranks.”

Bucky ducked his chin a little, that tinyhalf-smile painted over his mouth. “All of them. That’s all been me. Theglitter in your car, the water-trap. Tash’s exploding candle. Clint’s radicalhair-color change.”

“Wait, you’ve been waging a prank war on the entireTower all at once?”

Bucky gave a shrug. “Thought it might… loosenthings up a bit,” he said. “But I wouldn’t… I’d never do anything to hurtanyone. Especially not you.”

“Why especially me?” Did Bucky think he wasweak, or something?

Bucky leaned forward a little bit more, brusheda strand of hair out of Tony’s face. “Because I like you,” he said,apparently sincere.

Do you like me, or do you like me? That sounded weirdly fifth-grade, so Tony didn’tgive it voice. “Yeah?” He moved closer.

“Yeah.” And Bucky’s mouth was so close to Tony’sthat he could feel the shape of the words.

Well, there wasn’t anything more to do with thisparticular prank… except fall for it. Tony crossed those last scant centimetersand let his mouth come down on Bucky’s.

As always, @tisfan

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #prank war #unintentional nudity #natasha is mean #prompts #tisfan #followthemuze

218 notes · View notes

survivorsforcannabis-blog · 6 years

Text

Sheena: Medicating in an Unregulated Market Plus Bringing People of Color into the "Cannabis" Space

Sheena is a 33-year-old New Yorker, survivor and cannabis advocate. Having been a cannabis consumer for most of her life, she began approaching it from a wellness angle in recent years. Today, she advocates within her own communities and volunteers with Women Grow. Here, Sheena shares her story of trauma, what it’s like to live in an unregulated market as a person of color, and what motivates her to advocate as a bridge between the cannabis space and communities of color. In her own words:

When did you begin using cannabis?

As a teen, I used cannabis to escape thoughts of unworthiness and sadness. I started smoking a little after my first rape at 14. I was impregnated, that was my first miscarriage. And I suffered my first sexual assault at 11. I was abused by another child, forcibly. That took a long time to process and I still have to see this person, because of family ties.

Looking back, I can say that some strains helped calm my racing thoughts, while other heavy sativas exacerbated the racing thoughts, gave me horrible flashbacks and paranoia. That’s one of the dangers of an unregulated market – especially in New York City, where you have great variety but there’s no way to control what’s coming in. I was exposed to really strong strains at a young age. It was sporadic, whatever you could get on the streets.

But I started out on alcohol. Alcohol is actually the gateway drug, not marijuana. For me and other teens around me, it was far easier to get our hands on alcohol and prescription drugs like Xanax and Prozac. You just hoped that whatever you had would numb you out while entertain you.

I also experienced a level of neglect – parental abandonment at first and then later on, they invited someone into the home that made it very hostile. There’s also generational trauma that my parents perpetuated on me, and then there’s all the cultural trauma of being people of color.

It’s a lot, and when you don’t have the tools to process, you’re gonna escape. You can use any number of things as a crutch, so that’s what cannabis was for me then. I would consume outside of the house and then when I got home I could deal with being there. Sober reality was too much to take.

Once I was a bit older and got involved with a heavy smoker, I started having regular access to high-grade cannabis and it started stabilizing, without these crazy episodes of paranoia. So through my 20s, I was a pothead. I liked it better than alcohol, it didn’t give me hangovers and I could still function, even on an indica.

In my late 20s, I ended that almost decade-long relationship with this person I had built myself around, so I had to rebuild my identity. And cannabis was there.

I actually had an intervention, three people told me that I had anger management issues, and that got me into therapy. Before that, I was very anti-therapy. But I had only seen therapy that doesn’t work. Therapy is what you make of it, like anything in life.

Many people also don’t realize that there are many different types of therapy for different experiences. Thanks to all the identities I hold, it was hard to find someone that could assist me in my healing – being Latina, being bisexual, being kinky – it felt like I already had a few strikes against me. I first saw one therapist who was great for childhood issues, but she absolutely fucking sucked for trauma. My current therapist is trauma-based and culturally competent, she’s also Latina. It’s Dialectical behavior therapy, I was extremely blessed to find her.

Has being in therapy affected the way you medicate?

It was in therapy that I started exploring those feelings that I had used cannabis to avoid, and also noticed how it relieved all of my anxiety symptoms at once. Cannabis shifted from something I could sub in for alcohol, to the medicine that it was originally intended to be. This shift also came in conjunction with when vape pens started getting popular here.

For the record, I have five disorders – general anxiety disorder, social anxiety, dissociative disorder on top of my PTSD. But now that I was becoming aware of these things, I could realize that my reactions to stressful situations were really my disorders, and I could use marijuana responsibly whereas before, with uneducated use, I used to binge. Now, I can notice that I’m anxious, notice the physical manifestations in my body, take a couple pulls from a vape pen and be okay. I can go on with my day.

I was just becoming armed with this knowledge when I was raped again. It was domestic violence, it occurred within a relationship. This is where my life splits into two parts – my life leading up to that and my life after that. It was like an extinction, of my soul and my spirit.

Cannabis is what’s kept me alive this long, it helped me control my thoughts and be present in my body. There were so many times that I felt dissociative, like I’m floating away, like am I here, am I not? And when I smoked, I just felt like myself. Because when I was sober and had to cope with the rational knowledge that somebody I loved violated me in this way, in my own house… There were some points when I could literally feel my psyche splitting from the inside out. And cannabis helped keep me together. Vape pens saved my life.

What does your consumption look like now?

Cannabis is now an essential part of my self-care. And I don’t need a lot – there’s this beautiful concept, microdosing. I just take enough for me to be okay. Unless I’m using it recreationally, but now I make those distinctions. That’s a distinction that needs to be taught as we move towards legalization, and that’s a distinction we have to make as consumers.

I feel like smoking flower is the most optimal way to use cannabis because it’s the quickest, but when I cannot do that – because I work a very corporate job and cannot be coming back from smoke breaks stinking of anything – a vape pen is the best thing. It helps me handle anxiety and the pressure of my job.

For depression, I like to smoke high THC, high CBD strains. In Denver, I found this strain called Monica’s Miracle – the budtender called it Adderall in weed form. I do feel like I have ADHD, or Executive dysfunction – an inability to do the most basic adult things. I feel like [the reason it’s so common] is that nobody emotionally raises us or teaches us emotional coping skills. I have theories that this has to do with un-dealt with generational and cultural trauma as people of color. We’re taught how to survive, no one teaches us how to thrive. How can you teach someone how to thrive past that when you’ve never thrived past that? I feel like we’ve reached a point now where we’re starting to ask that question.

How has being a woman of color affected your experience of cannabis?

I was arrested when I was 17, for smoking and for two roaches in my pocket. This was the Giuliani era, when he was really cracking down. It was a very traumatic experience. They were two Puerto Rican cops who didn’t really want to take me, they just wanted to take the two guys I was with, but the white sergeant said I had to go, said they had to teach me a lesson.

I got arrested at 5:30 in the afternoon, was driven around Harlem in the van for hours and couldn’t call my mother until 3 o’clock in the morning. I didn’t go in front of a judge to be arraigned until 6:30 the following night. So I was a 17-year-old girl with no prior convictions, was never even suspended from school, and I spent 24 hours in police custody. I can look back now and make humor of it, but it was terrifying, and it was so excessive.

I didn’t smoke for almost a year after that because I just didn’t want to deal with it. I was like, fuck this – this is not worth it. But things were stressful at home and I distinctly remember the night when I started smoking again – I almost got into a fistfight with somebody so it was like, something needs to give. But I didn’t consume in public, was constantly watching my back. It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve ventured to smoke publicly but it’s always in the back of my head, that maybe I’ll go through that again.

The biggest thing that we have to keep in mind as we move towards legalization is access for people of color. It’s very important to pass the Marijuana Regulation and Taxation Act in New York, to ensure equity, to ensure that we do have access to sit at the table – if we choose to sit at it. But from what I’ve seen, we still have a long way to go in terms of education on what’s possible.

I recently attended the Women of Color in Solidarity Conference, so I was taking smoke breaks with other women in community organizing activist spaces, but very few of them were making the connection that they’re doing it for self-care. This comes with education. And overall, women of color are not aware of what their sisters are doing within the space.

I find that when I have conversations with my neighbors, with my friends outside the space, people just don’t know what’s going on and I feel like we’re in a bubble. That’s a big gap and for me it’s important because, especially as women of color, we bear the brunt of almost every ‘ism’ you can think of, to varying degrees, based on what privileges we carry. We’re just not centered on anything. So that is something I’m actively working towards bridging.

Did you always call it “cannabis”?

I didn’t consciously start calling it cannabis until I “crossed over” to the cannabis space. As a Latina, Colombian to be specific – it was always weed, marijuana, hierba – slang. If you were around white people you’d say pot or reefer, whatever the fuck they’d say. I only now call it “cannabis” and started talking about the space, and noticed a shift in my own behavior, but I’m trying to keep in mind that this shift occurred because I had access to resources.

One of the things I try to be conscious of is that while I am a woman of color, I do carry certain privileges, such as being light-skinned. So I also think we need to be conscious of access to language.

Sometimes when I do say ‘marijuana,’ people tell me it’s not politically correct. I’ve had people tell me that it’s against me as a Latina, but I really never knew that ‘marijuana’ was racist. Who are you to impose that on me when that was not my experience? I would respect if that was someone else’s experience, but coming to correct people says more about you than it does about the plant.

Recently, I was at a kid’s birthday party in the projects, around my hood friends. They still smoke dutches and I’m telling them about the volcano, vaping and edibles, and they just don’t give a fuck about any of that. I kept calling it cannabis to the point that they told me to call it weed, and what am I supposed to do, keep being snotty and calling it cannabis? That’s their language and that’s what I come from.

If we want to reach people, we need to use language that they understand. What use is it for me to speak in terms that people don’t understand? Meet people where they’re at and sometimes they’ll gravitate to that. Shifts in consciousness don’t happen overnight. It’s a process.

What motivates you to advocate for the plant?

A dear friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away last December. She was already a consumer when she was diagnosed at stage 4 and shit got real very quickly. We went to Denver last August, to see what was out there. Vape cartridges really helped her so we came back and put up a GoFundMe to get her some. She met her $2,000 goal within 2 days of posting, then GoFundMe shut down her campaign and refunded everyone their money, because she stated on the page that she was going to use it for cannabis. It’s real bullshit.

I helped supply her with vape cartridges and sometimes it worked, other times it was not potent. That’s another problem with the unregulated market, it was an absolute mess to get any consistency in the medicine she needed.

She spent the last month of her life in the hospital, pumped up with opioids. It’s almost like the painkillers were worse than the cancer. They gave her fentanyl, which was far too powerful. It was horrific to know that cannabis could help her but we couldn’t give her that. So there’s always going to be this question, as long as I live: what would her quality of life have been if she lived in a regulated market?

Another thing is, all my experiences led me to be trained in Mental Health

First Aid, through a class offered by the NYC Department of Health. I feel it’s crucial, everyone should take it. My mom took the class, and that was one of the most affirming moments I’ve had with her, for her to validate me even if she can’t quite understand what I’m going through. The fact that she was willing to see me as I am and not just pray it away or deny it, as people of color often deny these conditions, that helped a lot.

And I hope that as I open up, I can help others feel affirmed and feel that maybe they can open up. As I opened up to my family about my journey in the cannabis space, I’ve gotten more support and acceptance than I could have ever imagined.

When I went to Denver, I bought back an insane amount of edibles, lotions, tinctures – to approach my family from the wellness angle. I brought lotion for my uncle’s psoriasis and arthritis, and gave tea to my grandmother for her gastrointestinal problems. You have to tailor your approach, but the beautiful thing about cannabis is that there are so many products out there.

They were extremely interested and very grateful. They admitted they wanted to try but didn’t know where to look. So that empowers me to continue exploring what’s possible in the space, because I can see what this is doing for my family.

0 notes

scythefear · 7 years

Text

I said I wasn’t going to write about it because I don’t want this situation or person occupying space in my mind anymore pero.... smh. I keep trying to write shit off like I’m overthinking and being my dramatic self. I feel like I just need to write so I can work it out in my mind since I don’t have friends lmfao. My only friends rn are the two people I can’t tell because A) this is about one of them and B) I don’t trust the other one enough because I know he’s just going to tell him. So last week my and my crush hung out alone. Finally. And lmfao...I was so fucking tense I really wanted that shit to be over.. We got high and listened to our favorite bands and talked about music and it was super nice. Like it could have been better if I wasn’t so nervous and scared. The whole time I was like “THIS IS A REAL BOY NEXT TO ME SMOKING LOOKING GORGEOUS TALKING TO ME, SHARING OUR FAVORITE SONGS TOGETHER” like my mind was fucking on over drive and I was getting a lot of paranoia too. But it was really nice and my car smelled like his cologne for a whole week and I was trying to avoid playing the songs we played because I don’t want to associate anymore feelings with him. So I called him on 4th of July for a work related reason and he straight up ignored me. So I definitely felt like blowing my brains out and my emotions shifted to anger so I was plotting in my head to never talk to him again. So a few nights later rolls by and he calls me, and the phone is ringing for a long time, then he texts me like “accidentally called you” and I fucking ignored him, cause fuck you, you ignored me. I also don’t think it was an accident because when you missdial someone you usually catch it immediately, my phone was ringing for a while lmao.. So a day or two goes by and I finally see him at work and I walked in and he was right there and I wasn’t prepared at all so I acted distant and short. When he saw me he called me by my little nickname he gave me (not saying it cause I hate it but it’s cute...) and I was like “Hey.” and I didn’t even hug him (we always hug when we see each other). So once I clocked in, he deadass goes “fuck this” under his breath and walks off. Yo. I frowned so fucking hard I was about to snap. But then I sighed really hard and went after him. But then our coworker was updating us on what our shift was going to be like so I didn’t do anything and I was waiting to see what he was going to do or say to me. So I’m waiting and I’m to myself like, “I’m not playing this with him, this is actually lame” and so I hugged him really tight and we hugged for a long time and I was like “aaah how are you!” all fake and shit and we talked a little while our coworker was still updating us or whatever lmao... So for the first half of our shift we were in different sections so I was like so full of frustration that I was so on fire I got everything done hours ahead of time and everyone was like “damn you’re working so hard today, you’re so good” yadda yadda yadda. The coworker thats friends with both me and my crush was like, “Hmm somethings up with you today. There is something going on” and he had that suspicious tone and I was thinking please don’t associate my mood with him, because I feel like he’s onto me. So I played it off like “No no I’m just super on it today” psh. So into the shift it was fine but I had to try so hard for him so I was giving him candies and shit like he usually does to me when I’m super quiet and distant and I felt like the roles switched lol, I feel like we’re both childish because we want attention?? Idk. So a few times he asked our other coworker to help him instead of asking me and I felt SO jealous, like why aren’t you asking me to help you... So pretty much the whole shift was me feeling jealous and having to work for his attention and at some point in the night I felt overworked because I did more than all of them so thats when I shut down and went on autopilot and I stopped giving any fucks. When it was time to go he was fixing his shirt or something and I was on the floor looking up at him and I saw his stomach and I got really bashful because he was looking down at me and I got so awkward so I got up really quickly and turned around (lmfao...gosh I’m so...anime LMAO) but I was super awkward after that and I know he noticed it so I stayed away from him for a while. Once we all clocked out I was waiting for him and we got outside and he asked me if I drove or took the metro and I told him I was driving. And he offered to walk me and I was like, dreading it. So then he gets a call, and I know it was his girl and he’s acting all suspect on the phone calling her “dude” and saying “yo” and I’m like, what the fuck? I literally know that thats her calling. So he was falling behind but I kept walking and I was so mad. So then he says “yeah yeah I’m walking to the bus stop right now” and my whole body went hot. I was like woah fuck this whole entire shit right now. Firstly, no? You’re not walking to the bus stop, you’re walking me to my car? Secondly, did I just get reduced to some excuse? Like am I not worth telling the truth. And lastly, you literally are lying to your girl when you’re with me. If it wasn’t that deep all he had to say was “yeah i’m walking my coworker to her car”. So there’s a reason why he lied to her and I’m so hot about that. Not to mention he specifically hasn’t told me that he’s back with her, but I’ve been knowing for a week and a half already that they’re trying to work it out. He was so open about their break up, but doesn’t want to be open about the fact that they’re working it out? Bye. So after that call I literally stopped him. I was like “No, I’m fine here, you can go.” and he was like “Ah.. are you sure.” and I just hugged him and he hugged me super long and tight and I was like ??? Go away already, I was so fucked up by that lie. So I got to my car and there was a roach on top of it and I literally jumped and I rushed into my car sat down and started laughing hysterically out of frustration. Yeah I’m a dramatic mess. An emotional, dramatic, mess. But writing about my emotions helps. I can’t wait to get over this person because he plays too much. But he’s literally my dream boy. This sucks.

#personal #deleting later i just need to vent ughh

0 notes