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puzzlingxisxlove · 4 months

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Hi, guys, welcome to my Yu-Gi-Oh OC rp sideblog. :) You can refer to me as Bast/Bastet, Ghost, or Envy! I'll be your host through this wild ride. Also, all likes/follows will come from my main blog.

All rules and character information will be under the "read more" tab. :)

I hope you all have fun with this.

Rules!!! First and foremost, the most important information for all people wanting to interact.

All messages and posts in this blog will be completely in character, unless DMs are questions or posts are about updates. In which case, things will be tagged with OOC at the beginning of the post.

Nsfw is. Just please no. Not on Tumblr. Discord, maybe, but I have to get to know the character and Player first. Steamy romance, jokes, and things of that sort are fine, but no outright sexual content.

All images of my OC, Reza Ketto, will be either things I have commissioned or things I made in avatar makers. I can't draw, guys, cut me a little slack, please.

Please send me things with at least decent grammar and punctuation and spelling. I understand typos, but I need to actually be able to read the stuff.

Also! Please send at least 3-5 sentences for RP. I can't do oneliners or responses that are too short, I won't know how to respond.

Angst is like. My favorite genre ever. So there will likely be quite a bit of that mixed in with silly posts. You have been warned.

All ships must first also present possible chemistry before it is made official. This includes people with canon muses.

More rules will be added as needed. Be sure to check back often.

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Cool, character info now!

Name: Reza Ai Ketto

Age: 16 (main canon of YGO DM), 18 (postcanon)

Sexuality: Bisexual Polyamourous

Gender: Demiboy

Pronouns: He/They

Occupation: Daycare attendant and College student (postcanon)

Physical description: Reza stands at 5'9 and has a fairly lean and fit body with black hair that reaches just past his shoulders and electric blue eyes. He typically wears clothes that fall under an androgynous punk/alt style, including leather harnesses, plenty of belts, collars and chokers, several wristbands and rubber bracelets, spikes, chains, etc. He also wears makeup fairly often, mostly a lot of eyeliner and exaggerated lips. He likes to stand out.

Personality description: He's a pretty laid back guy, and they love kids. As the eldest of 6, they grew up taking care of kids, and so that carries over often. They may seem like they're talking down to people, but they may actually just be trying to deescalate or teach something to someone. He's very kind, but he's also very blunt at times. He doesn't hold his thoughts about things to himself, and if he doesn't like you, you'll know. They try to help everyone, regardless of how they feel about you, too, and this often leads to them burning themselves out. They're also a very fast learner, though they tend to put things off until the last minute.

Background: As a child, Reza was a very gifted child. He was consistently ahead of his peers. However, he was not very active, other than playing games with their younger siblings as they came along. This led to a lot of bullying as a child, and not just from his peers. His siblings were harsh, as siblings are, and his parents did little to stop this. This led to his developing a few different mental illnesses he still struggles with. Despite knowing that the things he's struggling with aren't good for him, he refuses to seek therapy. He went to public school for the majority of his life in a small town near the coasts of Japan, but he eventually moved to Domino for college and better work opportunities. He now studies behavioral sciences and game design, and aspires to be a child psychologist and create games to promote good mental health and habits to build for a healthy lifestyle. He still keeps contact with his family often, despite the verbal abuse from his siblings and lackluster parenting.

• Reza suffers with depression, EDNOS, R-OCD, BPD, and chronic migraines. These things will likely appear in roleplay. This is your warning.

• All posts with content warnings will be tagged appropriately. Feel free to block these tags.

• I am not attempting to glorify or romanticize any of these disorders or illnesses. These come from a place of experience and are simply aspects of the character that are crucial to who they are as a person. If you are struggling, please reach out to a professional who can help you.

•All rps will either take place during Reza's highschool years or during his college. College is postcanon, highschool is during the canon events of DM and S0. He doesn't know about the canon events other than the tournaments that Yugi and Yami participated in that were broadcast on TV. He does not know how to play Duel Monsters, however it is something he has enjoyed watching since his highschool years. He has collected cards, but he does not actually know anything about building a deck. Duels iirp are not available for this reason (and because I don't feel like using online dueling platforms, I prefer physical cards-/lh).

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 1 year

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Hi, this is gonna be a mess and long so excuse me. It also isn't important, it just came into my mind and I needed to tell someone.

cw for emotional abuse, bullying, suicidal thoughts, medical.. abuse? Therapists being wildly wrong about mental health!

I just thought (instead of sleeping) of all the bad experiences I had with therapists. So, I really, really don't want to discourage anyone from seeking therapy, I think I am extraordinarily unlucky with finding therapists, but that's for sure not normal.

The background is, I sent myself to a psychiatry when I was 13 because of my suicidal thoughts. And there I met a wonderful doctor who was my comparison-image for all coming-therapists. She was very caring and very calm and she seemed to be so in peace with herself and the world, that her whole vibes were peaceful. I never met someone like that again. In psychiatry I was diagnosed with depression and social phobia (by now I am also self-diagnosed with cptsd, easiest self-diagnose in history, once I knew the symptoms, and possible ossd. I also had a period of anorexia which is over by now but still has impacts on me).

My first therapist after that was a woman who later sent me away because "Your depression isn't as it is in the books and I have no idea how to treat you". She also tried emdr on me (I am pretty sure by now she had no idea what she did). I had to chose a midly unpleasant memory so I chose this: When I was around 11, very shy/socialphobic, some classmates approached me and talked to me but quickly went away with the words "Your mouth smells like a cows ass". Worst thing was, I know they were right. My mom didn't allow me to enter the bathroom on that morning and, you know, occasionally you wake up and have a taste in your mouth as if something died in there overnight? Yeah. I was even more repulsed to talk to others after that.

So, by then this memory hurt me much more than it does now. But I didn't trust this therapist enough, to tell her the memory so I had to write it down and give it to her. She gave my no calming technique or whatever you should have beforehand. And for the next 4 session we solely did the emdr on that specific memory. And it didn't even work! Idk much about emdr and I wouldn't do it again but that doesn't seem right.

So yeah, she kinda kicked me out. By now, my mom often sees her on tv because she's a participant in all kinds of trash tv shows and does the therapy thing only as a sidejob.

After that, I was done with therapy for some time. Around 5 years later I was feeling like therapy again and was looking for a therapist. My cptsd-self diagnose was at it's beginning at that point. So I wrote every therapist close and near (we have a shortage of them) and visited all who invited me. And that was the real wild ride:

There was one woman who, when I told her that around 3 days a month I am unable to leave bed due to my depression, was threatening (she already had the phone in her hand) to call the ambulance right now to sent me back to psychiatry because that was a sign of the worst possible depression or something? I kinda flew her office.

Another guy was waaaayyy to fixated on curing my asexuality (in his eyes a sideeffect of the depression) for me to feel comfortable.

One woman kicked me out because she believed, I was faking everything and was perfectly healthy.

One woman was geniuly surprised, that I didn't self harm "for the attention". And always talking bs about refugees.

One guy said I didn't have social phobia, I was just too lazy to go to school. He also said that I was wrongly diagnosed with depression, because ppl who are depressed, don't sleep much.

One woman, after 15 minutes, told me that I have bpd (I definitely have not and even if, she wouldn't have known after that time).

One woman said that I should either take antidepressants or go hiking.

And of course one woman said that my anorexia is not worth talking about, since I am not underweight.

I also have like 5 other stories, but they aren't as funnily wild so, I hope you had a good laugh? None of the therapists who invited me, suited me. And only 3 of them because I didn't vibe with them, the other ones were objectively idiots.

Okay my issue, I want to give therapists yet another try. But I am very afraid to again run into a bunch of idiots and I feel like I will never find a therapist who A isn't an idiot and then B I can vibe with. And idk how to avoid it. I thought about, when writing an email, asking for an appointment, to add something like "Do you think you are good enough to diagnose bpd after 15min? Do you think, ppl only self harm to get attention?" etc but I don't want to seem rude.

What shall I do?

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through.

Your situation sounds quite similar to this ask I answered.

I will reiterate that it always baffles me when people whose job is to literally care for people who are struggling are so incredibly insensitive and neglectful. Part of being in the field of mental health care, especially nursing and psychiatric care, is hospitality, kindness, patience, and compassion. There are unfortunately too many people in these fields that are just so cold, rude, and ignorant, and I'm so sorry that you had to deal with that.

I can understand how experiences like these can shape how you feel about and approach therapy. I'm proud of you for wanting to give it another try. I can say that I've had about 4 therapists over the course of my life and the one I have now is perfect for me, which is to say that there is hope.

I have this article on healing after a bad experience with therapy. It essentially talks about how the therapist client dynamic can only truly work after successfully building rapport (trust), figure out what things you want to get out of therapy, and most importantly, come up with some things to ask in a consultation so that you can be confident in your choice. The questions you mentioned are fine to ask, and I would even ask something more general or neutral such as "What are your thoughts on BPD/self-harm/etc" as it potentially makes them feel more comfortable to answer honestly.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything, and feel free to update us on how the therapy search goes.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #trauma details #tw self harm #tw sui #tw sh #tw abuse #tw emotional abuse #tw medical abuse

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greenbaconsmoothie · 2 years

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I'm 90 percent sure I have bipolar disorder or bpd cause I have wild wild mood/energy swings but I cant afford to go to the dr. So Im Just gonna ride this wild energy surge and hope to god I don't spend all my money

#i dont know whats wrong with me but it sure is Something

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ohwellneverminddd · 4 years

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bpd is so fcked. like i am so in love and happy with him but a day later can get triggered and want to kill myself

#personal #bpd #suicide tw #one wild ride that will end in my death for sure but ima jus soak up the good moments while i can

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astrognossienne · 3 years

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tragic star: keith moon

“If you don't like it, you can fuck off!” - last words of Keith Moon

This one was a long time coming, but frankly, it took me a while to get interested enough in the subject to actually do this analysis, let alone finish it. At any rate, Keith Moon, like most of the drummers from the rock ‘n’ roll period that we still read about today, led a self-destructive lifestyle. A close friend of his once said the drummer was “like a train ride you couldn’t stop.” Not only was his drumming chaotic – so was his life. According to some, he was at his core a kind and generous soul, but to others, he was lost, lonely soul, and terribly immature throughout his adult life. Perhaps it was the sudden success, upon joining the rock band The Who, when he was only 18 (although plenty of others of the same era were as young, or younger, and survived just fine), but Keith was so eager to please and make everyone laugh that he eventually became the “Moon the Loon” character that he was portrayed as in the media. It got to the point where he wasn't sure who he really was. A true Leo, he made a circus out of everything and he wouldn't walk into any room and just listen. He was an attention seeker and he had to have it. He used amphetamines, tranquilizers, drank way too much alcohol, destroyed hotel rooms and friends’ homes, threw TVs into swimming pools, set fires, and the list goes on. He was ultimately unable to outrun or outlast his demons; whether it was the wife and child he drove away, the friend and chauffeur he accidentally killed in early 1970...whatever else haunted him, it ultimately caught up with him just as he was finally trying to improve his life. Friends were well-acquainted with the many sides to Moon’s strange personality; one minute he was insulting, exaggerating, joking – the next minute he’s a wide-eyed, innocent-looking drummer boy. The public Keith Moon was The Who’s manic drummer and hellraising, daredevil comedian; a man who only ever lived in the moment. However, the real Keith Moon was a son, a brother, a father and a deeply insecure man. A man of extremes, his was a complete shitshow of a life.

Keith Moon, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Cancer moon (the moon is speculative). Moon was born to working class parents in Wembley, London, England. He was a hyperactive child by nature and a mediocre student at school. His art teacher said in a report: "Retarded artistically. Idiotic in other respects". His music teacher wrote that Moon "has great ability, but must guard against a tendency to show off." At the age of 12, he had joined the Sea Cadet Corp and was given his first musical instrument, the bugle. He left school by 15 and was in his first band, The Beachcombers. While performing with the Beachcombers, he used to attend concerts of a band called The Detours. At that time The Detours were planning to sign a deal with Fontana Records and for this deal, this band required a new drummer. The Detours changed their name to The Who in 1964. When Moon learned about the band’s need for a new drummer, he approached them for an audition. After the audition, he became their new drummer, and performed with The Who for the first time in 1962.

From the moment he joined, musically the band was complete, although adding his already volatile personality to those of the other three equally headstrong members meant that the early years of the Who's career were fraught with drama and violence, despite their almost immediate success. Much of the tension came from the fact that Keith readily joined in on popping pills with guitarist Pete Townshend and bassist John Entwistle, while lead singer Roger Daltrey (with whom Keith was never particularly close) didn't. After sacking Roger for two weeks in mid-1965, he was reinstated, band relations improved, and the Who continued to release a string of successful singles and albums before a downturn in their fortunes in 1968. However, the release of the album Tommy in 1969 turned them into international megastars overnight and from that moment until the day Keith died, they would remain one of the top rock bands in the world. Running concurrently with the Who's rise to stardom in the 1960s was Keith's relationship with his wife Kim. She first met Keith in 1965 when he was 19 and she 15, and while they fell in love rather quickly, he exhibited twin streaks of jealousy and insecurity and Moon was occasionally violent towards Kim. While his mental issues, which would now be readily (and correctly) diagnosed as a combination of ADHD and BPD, reared their ugly heads on innumerable occasions, Keith's true personality shone through enough that Kim stayed with him; she decided to marry him when she became pregnant within a year of dating, and they got married in 1966. Their daughter Amanda was born on 12 July. In those days, there was a belief that married rockstars with kids weren’t as appealing to their mostly female fans, and the marriage (and child) were kept secret from the press until May 1968. He loved his daughter, but his absences due to touring and fondness for practical jokes made their relationship uneasy when she was very young. "He had no idea how to be a father", Kim said. "He was too much of a child himself."

The chaotic sixties would not hold a candle to what the new decade had in store for him, however. Shortly after New Year’s in 1970, Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley; Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland's death an accident; Moon, having been charged with a number of offences, received an absolute discharge. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland's death for the rest of his life. Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive. Also, compounding this tragedy, was the fragile state of Moon’s marriage. Even after marriage and his daughter being born, he was still jealous, self-centered, and abusive to his wife Kim, both verbally and physically. His mental state also deteriorated as his appetite for all manner of pills escalated and he exploded into a full-blown alcoholic. Even after separating for a year, Kim returned to him, hoping that he had finally changed, but the insane lifestyle Keith kept up at their house became too much. Kim and Amanda (nicknamed “Mandy”) finally left for good in 1973. Since his marriage was a central part of Keith's life, their divorce would come to affect him perhaps more than any other event in his adult life and it was a devastation Keith would never recover from. While most people would use an event like this as the impetus to clean up their act, Keith used it instead as an excuse to drive himself further into oblivion.

Moon's lifestyle began to undermine not only his health but his career. During the 1973 Quadrophenia tour, at the Who's debut US date, Moon ingested a mixture of tranquilizers and brandy. During the concert, Moon passed out on his drum kit during the song "Won't Get Fooled Again." The band stopped playing, and a group of roadies carried Moon offstage. After he was given a shower and an injection of cortisone, he was sent back onstage. Moon passed out again during "Magic Bus," and was again removed from the stage. The band continued without him for several songs before Pete Townshend asked, "Can anyone play the drums? – I mean somebody good?" A fan in the audience, who happened to be a drummer, came up and played the rest of the show. During the opening date of the band's March 1976 US tour at the Boston Garden, Moon passed out again over his drum kit after two numbers and the show was rescheduled. By the mid-1970s Keith was living in Los Angeles and getting up to even more insanity with John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, and other stars. Even a new love in his life, Swedish model Annette Walter-Lax, couldn't get him to slow down and take control. There were even stints in psychiatric wards after some mental breakdowns brought on by his despair at losing Kim and his daughter and his drinking. His alcohol and drug abuse was now not only affecting his health (he put on a significant amount of weight at this time due to infrequent gigging) but sadly, his drumming. In 1978 soon after he recorded Who Are You, his final album with The Who, depressed by the deterioration of his drumming and threats from the rest of the Who to clean up his act or else, that he finally decided to get some help. By the summer of 1978, he seemed to be trying to get his life in order, staying sober and solidifying his relationship with Annette. He was terrified to go into rehab or under psychiatric evaluation, however, and instead self-medicated with Heminevrin, a drug used for treating acute withdrawal from alcohol. However, he took too many on his final night and sadly died on September 7, 1978 at the age of 32.

Over forty years after his death, it's still difficult to think of Keith Moon as anything more than just a hard-drinking insane rock star who would smash his drum set on stage or destroy a hotel room. But regardless of the human being behind the drumkit, the legendary drummer should be remembered as the man who forever changed the sound of rock 'n' roll.

Next, I’ll go back to my beloved star analyses by covering a personal favourite of mine; a force of nature and an unsung pioneer of cinema whose death was ridiculously sensationalized and whose colourful life was almost as wild as Moon’s: Cancer Lupe Vélez

Stats

birthdate: August 23, 1946*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Cancer

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Libra

Mars: Libra

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Libra

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Gemini

Neptune: Libra

Pluto: Leo

Overall personality snapshot: He may sometimes have wanted a safe, simple life where he felt emotionally contained and able to pursue his own creative interests. Then, however, the compulsion to strive for a more central, leading role reared its challenging head, and he knew he had it in him – so out into the spotlight he went. So immense was his creative energy as well as his warm feeling for others that he could become both the artistic home-maker and the home-loving artist/writer/entrepreneur. His personality was large and welcoming, colourful and theatrical because he had such an uncanny knack of dramatizing his vivid impressions and selling himself in the most genuine, heartfelt way. Both the paternal and the maternal urge was strong in him. He needed to use his will to project and establish your identity in the world, and to use his instincts to nurture and protect his emotional and material security. The Sun and the Moon are in their ‘home’ signs here, so that potentially he had the creative vision of Apollo and the lunar wisdom of Diana all rolled into one. This could make him pretty overpowering at times, and indeed he needed a partner and a family on whom he could lavish his emotions. His bearing was often aristocratic, sometimes haughty, oversensitive and self-absorbed, but he always seemed to have enough affection to go around so that no one felt left out. He also managed to remain approachable and compassionate because he was so aware of his own vulnerability and need to be loved. Thus he made a warm and understanding friend, and he enjoyed expressing his feelings with original flair and thoughtfulness.

He was protective, possessive and clannish, a stalwart member of his family, group and nation, and utterly devoted to his ideals. Deeply honourable and dependable, he brought an attitude of devotion and romantic style to all he did. He may have actually had a good head for business because he possessed an instinctive knowledge of security needs as well as a shrewd understanding of people, their desires, fears and foibles. His refined taste for comfort and beauty was part of the impetus for success – he knew his own mind and did not easily budge from his preferences and high standards. Aesthetic sensitivity was strong, and combined with his innate tenacity and quiet ambition means that he was quite successful in the arts. Even though he readily turned a bright face to the world, he did not always feel confident and strong. He had a lively sense of individuality, but his potency was sometimes too dependent on emotional familiarity, and the range of his self-expression too circumscribed within repetitive emotional patterns. Inwardly he shied away from encounters with the big, bad world, and early in life he may have needed to find ways of handling challenges that normally push the panic button. This wouldn’t have been hard for him because his creative drive was tremendous and his individuality needed recognition.

He was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. He believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although he could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. He had a high opinion of his mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. He was quite sociable and expected other people to behave well at all times. He was eager for close personal relationships, so he tended to have a wide circle of friends. Self-indulgence was a problem for him, as was laziness and conceit in relationships. He tended to be impatient with superficial details, preferring large-scale situations, and he disliked being tied down by obligations over which he had little control. Conservatism may have affected his creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. He often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all his forms of expression. He could also take herself so seriously, that people think that he was older than his years.

He was part of a generation that was strongly interested in humanitarian ideals, new avenues of communication and progress in mechanical skills. As a member of this generation, he was able to bring original ideas to both his career and spare-time interests. Crises in thought and ideology arose because he looked beyond tradition and old attitudes towards new original and inventive ways of looking at things. His active mind tended to need constant stimulation and his tastes could be quite fickle and difficult to satisfy. He belonged to a time of peace-loving idealism when the family unit and the way relationships were managed underwent great changes. He could be too idealistic and a little unrealistic when it came to matters of love, sex and romance. As a member of this generation, he tended to need to be motivated to make the most of his potential, because the line of least resistance appeared very attractive, especially when it involved pleasure-seeking. He embodied the Libra Neptune generation in the sense that he was a huge part of a time when beauty reappeared in fashion. He was part of a generation which was highlighted by the clash between authoritarianism and individualism. As a member of the Leo Plutonian generation, he wanted freedom in his relationships and demanded the loyalty of his friends as a right. As a member of this generation, he wanted power over his own life and was prepared to challenge established structures. He didn’t feel comfortable being dictated to, unless he in some way agreed to it beforehand. He was a part of excesses of the sixties. He was part of a generation that brought about a revolution in forms of entertainment, recreational activities and leisure time, as well as attitudes towards children.

Love/sex life: He was a lover so in love with the idea of love that nothing else matters. At times his whole-hearted idealism made him too optimistic and too easily deceived by people who promised to fulfill his ideals and then renege but, as delicate and unworldly as his romantic fantasy may seem, it was remarkably durable. Though he may have been misused and hurt, he never lost his faith in the power of true love. Issues of the flesh were always secondary to him and he was apt not to give them much thought. If such urges must be satisfied, then so be it. If sex proved useful in reaching other goals, that was fine too. As long as sex did not intrude on his ideal of perfect love such physical inconveniences hardly mattered. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world did not agree with him on this point and, measured by their standards, his sexual behaviour may have seemed immoral or at least strangely naïve. He needed to learn to allow for such harsh realities even as he strove to create that grand idyll of perfect love.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Capricorn

Juno: Libra

Chiron: Libra

Vesta: Aries

Ceres: Aquarius

Pallas: Sagittarius

His North Node in Gemini dictated that he needed to prevent his idealism from influencing his thoughts to such a high degree. He needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving his thought processes. His Lilith in Capricorn dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into their psyche. Against his better judgment, he liked to be around a woman who needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Juno in Libra, he sought a mate who was harmonious, artistic, musical and intelligent. He liked beauty and balance at home. He believed in equal partnerships where all lived up to the letter of the law. Chiron in Libra, he often felt wounded in relationships and could wound others in retaliation. He may have felt he was constantly hurt or rejected in relationships. Through learning that he was whole on his own, he could have freed himself from this destructive pattern. He would have benefited from a partner that could have helped him heal in some way. Vesta in Aries, he was incline to initiate work for religious and humanitarian projects. Action came from a desire to improve every situation. There was a great deal of insecurity in self-evaluation. Ceres in Aquarius, at his best, he had tact and the ability to compromise, making him well liked by all. Pallas in Sagittarius, he had the ability to evaluate true personal worth enabling him to use his resources in the most advantageous ways. Other people may think he was lucky. Ideally speaking, he could have been generally positive instead of being wasteful, and he could have been confident and reliable. Nonetheless, he still used his ideas in a practical way, especially in his career.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

cardinal

He was happiest when he was doing anything new, and he loved to begin new ventures. He enjoyed the challenge of claiming territory. He tended to be an initiator—and a bit territorial as well. Also, he had a tendency to start more things than she could possibly finish.

planet dominants:

Moon

Sun

Venus

He was defined by his inner world; by his emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through him, motivating and compelling him—or limiting him and holding him back. He held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. He wanted to become whatever it was that he sought. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Leo

Libra

Cancer

He loved being the center of attention and often surrounded himself with admirers. He had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. His flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of his life. He wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At his best, he was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. He loved beauty in all its guises—art, literature, classical music, opera, mathematics, and the human body. He usually was a team player who enjoyed debate but not argument. He was, at his best, an excellent strategist and a master at the power of suggestion. Even though he was likely a courteous, amiable person, he was definitely not a pushover. He tried to use diplomacy and intelligence to get what he wanted. At first meeting, he seemed enigmatic, elusive. He needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call his own. He needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. He was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then he could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. He was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. He was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through him emotionally. He was often moody and always changeable; his interests and social circles shifted constantly. He was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about him under the cut.

Keith John Moon was an English drummer who played with the English rock band the Who. He was noted for his unique style and his eccentric, often self-destructive behaviour. His drumming continues to be praised by critics and musicians. He was posthumously inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame in 1982, becoming only the second rock drummer to be chosen, and in 2011, Moon was voted the second-greatest drummer in history by a Rolling Stone readers' poll. Moon grew up in Alperton, a suburb of Wembley, in Middlesex, and took up the drums during the early 1960s. After playing with a local band, the Beachcombers, he joined the Who in 1964 before they recorded their first single. Moon remained with the band during their rise to fame, and was quickly recognised for his drumming style, which emphasised tom-toms, cymbal crashes, and drum fills. He occasionally collaborated with other musicians and later appeared in films, but considered playing in the Who his primary occupation and remained a member of the band until his death. In addition to his talent as a drummer, however, Moon developed a reputation for smashing his kit on stage and destroying hotel rooms on tour. He was fascinated by blowing up toilets with cherry bombs or dynamite, and by destroying television sets. Moon enjoyed touring and socialising, and was bored and restless when the Who were inactive. His 21st birthday party in Flint, Michigan, has been cited as a notorious example of decadent behaviour by rock groups. Moon suffered a number of setbacks during the 1970s, most notably the accidental death of chauffeur Neil Boland and the breakdown of his marriage. He became addicted to alcohol, particularly brandy and champagne, and acquired a reputation for decadence and dark humour; his nickname was "Moon the Loon." After moving to Los Angeles with personal assistant Peter "Dougal" Butler during the mid-1970s, Moon recorded his only solo album, the poorly received Two Sides of the Moon. While touring with the Who, on several occasions he passed out on stage and was hospitalised. By their final tour with him in 1976, and particularly during production of The Kids Are Alright and Who Are You, the drummer's deterioration was evident. Moon moved back to London in 1978, dying in September of that year from an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug intended to treat or prevent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. (x)

#keith moon #leo #tragic stars #long ass post #star analyses #astrology #mine

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venhedish · 3 years

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You cannot just type the words "Dean's pseudo-parental identity as a vehicle to explore a modern Jocasta complex" and then not elaborate! (Also, hi, another ex-fan currently on s4 of her rewatch here. Nice to see some multi-shippers around here.)

Yes! The bait worked—you fell right into my liking-the-sound-of-my-own-voice trap. Also hey hi hello glad to have some company on this long and wild ride! I just rewatched Yellow Fever and the joy of seeing pisspants baby Dean made up for how fucking brutal and bleak the actual case is.

ANYWAY. Ok, so. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept since you asked about it, but in case anyone else reading doesn’t know, Jocasta is the mythological mother of Oedipus—yup, that motherfucker (I’ll see myself out). So obviously socially we understand the basics of the Freudian son-wants-to-bone-mom-in-competition-with-dad dynamic, but similarly there is a line of psychoanalytical thought which posits that subconscious Oedipal desire in a child is borne of an already existing parental complex—that often the line of familial/romantic love is crossed first by the parent and then absorbed by the child.

Generally speaking, in real life this sort of thing plays out as something called covert incest, where a child is used as a substitute for a romantic partner in an emotional capacity but not a sexual one. I’m not saying it’s particularly common, but these kinds of dynamics really do crop up, especially in single-parent families.

So, imagine being a young boy with a boat-load of trauma and no safe outlet to work through it, dealing with burgeoning homosexual desires while under the “care” of a hyper-masculine, absent father, and being forced to play the role of mother/caregiver to literally the only constant presence of love in your life. You’re unable to form connections with other people your own age because you move around too much, so any performance of romance is largely impossible and replaced by emotionally insignificant sexual encounters (thus further blurring the lines between romantic and sexual desire), and tell me it isn’t obvious how easily those boundaries can get crossed. Especially when you have been tasked in no uncertain terms with protecting this one precious thing literally at the cost of your own life, if necessary.

And then imagine you’re a little kid with no memory of Mom and an absent dad and you’re learning your cues for healthy relationships from someone who is both brother and mother to you and also dealing with all the same problems of forming bonds with kids your age and, yeah.

Add to all this the realities of coming of age in the backseats of cars and one-room motels with very little space for privacy as puberty works you over, and ... well. As they say: Bish, bash, bosh—that’s a recipe for incest, baby! No one says that. Sorry. And this is all ignoring my thoughts on Dean displaying some of the classic traits of BPD and how an all-consuming need to be needed and big red flashing lights fear of abandonment play even further into a dynamic of codependency and obsession. But mental health discourse is A Lot™ and I’m actually working on about 4 hours of sleep so maybe that’s a discussion for another time.

#spn #spn meta #my meta #wincest #codependent brothers #the epic love story of sam and dean #seriously tho dean has BPD #asks

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phantomtied · 4 years

Text

ith𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓 ,

Repost, don’t reblog.

BASICS.

full name. radames zero the jackal nickname. zero,zerry,rada (only to people who know his name/close to him) gender. male height. 3′7″ age. 25-26 spoken languages. Arabic & english

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color. White eye color. blue and yellow skin tone fur. black and white accent. american english,but sometimes his accent slips in dominant hand. ambidextrous, favors the left hand a bit more due to vision posture. zero has decent posture most times,sometimes he does slump over in his chair or standing mostly when hes tired. scars. he has quite a few,the ones most noticeable would be the scar across his right eye and the ones on his chest usually covered by bandages most noticeable feature(s). eyes/eyebags and his big & fluffy tail

CHILDHOOD.

siblings. N/A parents. Faris (father), Leila (mother) parental involvement. raised by his parents,spent time training and helping his dad with work as he got older,affection was shown when he did things the right way to them or when he listened.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. Mercenary -> eggman empire -> n/a currently current residence. Coles home in the forest area of sunset heights relationship status. (verse dependent) single or taken mode of transportation:walking mostly? criminal record. HAH theres offing people off as a merc,and assisting eggman in a war and harming thousands upon taking most the world.

MISCELLANEOUS.

hobbies to pass time. treasure hunting,reading,playing videogames,stealing stuff mental illnesses. depression , ptsd,anxiety,paranoia fears. being abandoned , feeling useless , public spaces,lightning,loosing the ones he cares about self-confidence level. its pretty low,zero doesnt always have that much confident in himself he tries his best to hide it but it does end up showing. vulnerabilities. represses emotions, lashes out because of said repressing , struggles with accepting / giving physical affection , big abandonment/trust issues , afraid of interacting with others

tagged by: no one stole this!

tagging: @pistolbitten @ironicfatc @heroquills @knightofthelake @unfadinglight @mercalimari @prrrower @wereclaw + anyone else who wants to give this a go!

#[meme stuff]#[headcanon]#this was fun hh

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mikkock · 4 years

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tell me more bout that funky bih named said

o him owo ?? glad u asked, cuz i sure do love that funky bih,

note that he’s one of my older characters, from like back in highschool, so he’s part of the ‘i rly gotta rework that bitch to make him like. great. believable. human’ so treat him with kindness he’s wip

also mind that im being messy in my explainations cause im dumb

So, first of, he’s Saïd Eom, he’s 17, his parents are korean n he got two siblings, and he’s a Mess.

at first glance, he’s bastard (that pic old)

he’s a witty boy, and an Entertainer, you Will have fun and only fun with him (at the expense of your wig, she gon get burned, we into dry jokes at Ur Expense)

he’s very flashy, he loves bright clothes, Expensive Fashion, and looking Hella Cute. His allowance goes into clothes n das it

he’s also in love with music n languages, his Number One Skill is multilingualism and being able to learn a new language in no time. He’s also quite good at singing if he wants to, tho he’s much more of a listener than a singer, he digs hearing more than being the source of sound ya get.

But, when you toss that flamboyant persona aside, he’s acutally a Sad Bitch (sadboishours)

(that was sasuke on the pic initially fyi)

he’s very self destructive, and the whole “being messy” aint just purposeful chaotic cryptid behaviour. he’s actually a real mess, n he’s Sad tm. Mostly, he feels like he’s a dissapointment upon everyone, and got quite the pent up rage against his parents, which stems from his own fear of being the “failure of the family”. Basically the mindset of “welp i already fucked up i guess, they hate me for sure, i aint the shit to them so fuck it let me be the biggest failure haha :)”

he’s also got some Issues makin it harder on a like, non negociable scale ya kno, like he’s an old character so i loaded him with drama, bitch got BPD AND is partially blind (to an extent that quite affects his life), so ya kno life is going just swell. idk why young me had to torture his characters with all that sucky shit like can’t ya just have existential dread like the rest of us bitch??

(there are perk tho)

instead of like, exteriorising his struggles n all, he’d rather bottle em up and self destruct. cause fuck positive coping mechanisms we 17 n we dunno how to deal with things too big for us.

he subconsequently feels very lonely, n Craves That Warmth ya kno, that Love, that Having People U Care About And That Care About and For You

speaking of, relationships :

aside from his parents n that whole cold vibe going on, he’s got his siblings, who are very very much younger than him, and absolute gremlins (wonder who they got that from mh prolly not from their big bro being a crytidy bih). He’s got a love/hate relationship with em. They’re annoying, and also embody a part of his fear of having failed everyone (they were born relatively shortly after he started showing first symptoms of mental illness n start of like, him getting examined and all, and also at the same time starting to get worst at school n all that, so in his brain the association made was “so they’re getting a new kid cause i wasnt good enough and they’re starting over with a better one that doesnt suck huh”, ya kno, persuasive irrational fears). But at the same time, he cant help but feels a bit of endearement and respinsability, the parents are often away and working, he’s part caretaker, and they look up to him, he cant help but feel he caaaant be tooooooo rude, he cant hate them tooooo much....they’re annoying but....ya know..... Tho Sometimes they do get a bit “too much” and he’d rather be left alone rather than having to be bothered by two kids. In the end they often end up being partner in crimes, doing dumb shenanigans together (and getting in trouble together, we ride or die)

(they bout to be scolded n they kno that their korean names gon pop aka shit getting Real)

Also he has a dog and a cat, n they’re his bABIES OK.

He got Pals too

He’s part of the Teens, so naturally he’s chummy with Alice, Jessica n Noah, n is best pal with the latter (cause chaotic energies attract each other, what’s better than one mess if not TWO messes)

he’s also got a special friendship with a bunch of Oldies, he’s childhood friend with Cream and Jackeline, and then got friendly with Ace when they did, and then got super attached, because that dude got big mum energy, he cares after people, so bitch boy Saïd wants some of that and subconsciously just nyooms to his side to get some of that pampering ya know.

he’s also bros with quite the crowd, since he’s naturally outgoing n friendly n shit, notably the fashion students since he digs clothes, specifically Aiko n Chto, though he did surprinsigly manage to tame Prasert into Being Nice With Him, so wild, its basically like they’re besties ya know. but basically he’s friends with nearly everyone, he’s that cryptid that legit knows everybody, wherever they may be. He only dislikes Kai out of solidarity with his bro Cream, and him and Nott dont get along but they’re on Cordial Terms (as in ‘lets just be polite and pretend the other doesnt exist, whatevs man’)

And like idk what more to say cuz im dumb n hungry also but like

if ur interested that his playlist, i gotta clean her a bit but The Vibes ya kno

#oc #saïd

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goddessnemain · 4 years

Text

So I Got Drunk...

So I got drunk on Saturday night. It was a buddies' birthday party. We started off at his place- he and his wife made a killer spread of food to munch on before everyone headed out to a local brewery. He had friends come in from out of town, most of them were fairly nice, the women were a little catty, but I’ve come to expect that from city women. Thankfully a couple of our local mutual friends showed up shortly after I did, which helped make me a lot more comfortable instead of being in a house full of people I’d never met with the exception of my buddy and his wife. Nice group of people though.

Between a couple drinks and a couple shots of mushroom tea, by the time everyone was ready to leave for the local brewery, I was in a good mood. I wasn’t drunk but I was a little tingly and feeling okay. So when they all went to the brewery, I took that opportunity to go home, shower, change my clothes. My roommate was nice enough to give me a ride to the pub so my truck didn’t drink too much and have to have another sleepover.

The band at the pub was good. Of course, they were good, they play in there every few months, though this time it was only two members of the band and not the full band, they made it work and they were great.

The night itself in the pub was like most Saturday nights when there's a band. We laughed, we joked, we played pool. We enjoyed the music, and it was fun. I yapped with a couple friends, I yapped a bit with the out of towners, the women pretty much stuck to themselves and made no effort to talk to me. It didn’t bother me, I didn’t want to talk to them anyway. I don’t do snarky, and they were definitely snarky. One of them was a local woman, who, upon learning who I was when we were at the house, became very judgemental. When you live in a small town, people know your name, they recognize your last name, and they make assumptions. It turned out that this woman knows my bro, she taught his son at one point, and the judgment flowed from her in thick waves. She wasn’t very nice to me once she found out who I was and who I’m related too. Jeez lady, I can’t pick who my parents birth, leave your judgments at the door and judge me for who I am and not some preconceived notion.

When the majority of us left the pub just after 1am, we all headed back to the house. One of the out of towners kept putting his arm around me, which I didn't like. I had a couple more drinks at the house, strong drinks. My good buddy mixed them and he mixes drinks two ways: the ‘normal’ way and his way, and his way consists of more than the standard ‘two fingers’ of liquor. I like his drinks more. So, the birthday boy passes out, half the group passes out. Lightweights. A few people from the group had left the pub at midnight headed back to the house. Pitiful. So I wound up drinking with a couple of them out of towners- a couple of the guys, and one of them, to my dismay, was the creeper who kept touching me, my good buddy and his younger brother. Eventually, when some other guy started hitting on me, the creeper sauntered off for a while before coming back. And then he’d saunter off again. My good buddies younger brother tried to convince me to get into the hot tub with him. Sorry man, no bathing suit, no bra, and thong undies mean no hot tub for me. He was pretty insistent but he didn’t get his way. He was saying something about “if you don’t get what I’m trying to tell you by now then you’re not going to get it”. Bud, you were wearing a wedding ring. I may have questionable antics once in a while, but a wedding ring is a gigantic “hands off” red flag, and a line I don’t cross.

Eventually, it came down to three of us: the creeper, the guy that had been hitting on me, and myself. The creeper was still sauntering off and then coming back, sauntering off and coming back. The other guy was nice. Truth be told, I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but he wasn’t pushy, he wasn’t rude. and was just an enjoyable conversation, huddled around a fire. We chatted about our siblings, he told me about his job, I showed him a video on my phone of one of my kiddo’s accomplishments that I’m really proud of. I only live 3 1/2 blocks and across a highway from my buddies place, so I didn’t have far to walk home. Of course, it had snowed 7 inches in 8 hours and walking in all that fresh, unshoveled snow in my heels was not my idea of a good time, but I made it home. The guy I’d been chatting with had repeatedly tried to insist he walk me home, and after I repeatedly insisted I could make the journey on my own did he finally drop it. I got the vibe he wanted to walk me home to see if once we got here he could come in and ‘warm up’ and that’s why I was so insistent that I could walk my own damn self home. I could have been way wrong, he does have 3 older sisters and it could be just the way he is, but still. Besides, my brain was elsewhere.

And here’s the very dumb thing I did when I was drunk:

If you guessed I text the drummer at 3am you would be right.

I’d done so well! It had been 9 days since I had sent him any texts that had contained any actual words, and even then that text had been just thanking him for checking in on me- he knew I’d been having a rough few days- and 8 days since I sent him a text with a couple of emoji. I hadn’t replied to him at all. My theory had been if I could get through a week of not replying, I would be golden. And I made it through that week. His face didn’t stare at me every time I opened my Facebook messenger, he was far enough down the list I didn’t see his face anymore. He hadn’t been texting me- it had been 6 days since I’d gotten a text or a phone call, I thought maybe he’d ‘gotten the hint’ if that's what I was trying to do. I’d posted a selfie to Facebook right before I’d left for the pub. I can count on one hand the number of posts I have that he’s ever ‘liked’. Two. Exactly two posts. One in October that had said something about “Whisky Wednesdays” and that damn selfie I posted on Saturday night before I went to the pub. So, as you can imagine, it came as quite a shock when I saw his name on the list of people who had ‘liked’ my photo. So, between all the whisky I’d had, the mushroom tea, a bit of pot, still missing him even though I shouldn’t, and then seeing his name on that list, my brain was spinning. My feelings were spinning. My drunk brain combined with my wild BPD emotions and my phone was in my hand.

Text 1: I’ve spent the better part of a week trying my damnedest to not text you. And here I am, drunk, texting you. Why? Because I miss your stupid face and your stupid texts and your stupid calls. And I miss you and I shouldn’t miss you but I do.

Text 2: Why do I miss you? (My BFF) contributes it to being stupid. I think it’s because, well, I wish I could put it into words that someone would understand because I don’t even understand it.

Text 3: It’s bloody stupid. I’ve written about it. I’ve written you a ‘goodbye’ letter but apparently, it hasn’t stuck in my stupid brain because here I am drunk telling you that I miss you and I wish I could see you and that I care too much and you care too little and it breaks my heart and

Text 4: And I slightly hate myself for this shit

And then I called him when I was walking home...

Text 5: And I can’t even bring myself to let someone take me home. Or bring them home. Because it feels a bit wrong. And it shouldn’t because we know it doesn’t for you so what the fuck is wrong with me

Text 6, sent 24 hours later: I need to apologize. I never should have said those things regardless of my state of mind at the time. It was not fair to you to have to read the things I said, nor was it okay in any way or form for you to have to experience my drunken behavior. I’m sorry. I was unfair to you and I feel terrible about the things I said.

He’s read all the messages. If I remember correctly, he’d read the first 4 by 4am Saturday night (or Sunday morning if that's how you look at it) and the 5th at 6:15am Sunday morning. He’s not replied. I was only half honest in my apology- I am sorry for the things I said, and I shouldn’t have said them, not to him anyway. And he shouldn’t have had to be on the receiving end of my drunken anger and rambling, no one should have. I’m not sorry I said the things I said. I don’t feel bad about it. I shouldn’t have told him that I still miss him. I know he checks my Facebook page, he looks at the things I post, he’s told me flat out that he does. And sure, I’ve posted numerous things that were directed at him, and he knows that. I think he knows that I miss him and he definitely knows that I still care. I didn’t have to tell him. If I’m being honest right this minute, I said all those things to make him feel a little bad, to make him miss me, or in the hopes the things I said would make him feel a little bad and in hopes they would make him miss me a little too. Pitiful, I’m well aware, but I can’t take it back, and I can’t change it, all I can do now is own it and move on from it.

And start all over at day 1.

#my drummer #my drummer boy #my dear drummer #drunk #i got drunk #drunk texts #still heartbroken #starting over #its not getting easier #i think about him #the guy from the party

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whatatime30 · 5 years

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3.4k Damian Wayne-Centric fic. If you like most of my works, you’ll like this one. The conceits are wild.

“Nice of you to visit.” Dick takes in the five o’ clock shadow and ghost in his living room.

Damian is a ghost, after all. The boy floats around, rarely speaking unless you spark his interest, haunting people he enjoys, whispering in the dark, forever broken, wholly untouchable, pale as snow.

He pulls the boy into a light hug as if any tighter would make Damian break. The boy is-- at least in Dick’s mind-- frail in a metaphorical sense that can’t be ignored. “Are you staying for dinner?” He knows Damian rarely eats, and when he does, it’s usually a soup of sorts he carries in a thermos.

A nod as arms snake around Dick’s waist. He eats for Dick if it’s dinner time, or if he’s particularly tired. It seems like such a day where both have graced them.

“What’re you hungry for?”

“I have soup,” Damian answers, voice muffled by Dick’s BPD issued windbreaker.

“What kind?”

“Chicken. Did you want any?”

“Nah. Think I’ll have something with a little more sustenance.”

“Cereal, I presume.”

“Yeah.” Dick releases the boy, brushing a kiss on his forehead as he does. “Tag along on patrol tonight?”

“I suppose.”

…

Tim loves Damian. The kid’s his best friend (and more), his brother (and more). One thing Damian isn’t, though, is calm.

He tricks people with the indifferently-lined mouth and half-lidded eyes, but Damian is anything but calm. He counts everything. He twitches and ticks according to patterns in a room. He holds a knife in his sleeve to throw at any given moment,

But he’s floaty. The boy floats like a ghost, pale and foreboding.

Tim think this is why everyone finds him calm and frail, even though the boy is anything but.

It worries him, too, how only Bruce and him can even tell there’s something off about Damian that can’t be fixed, ignored, or turned on.

Kid’s a psycho, and that’s Tim putting it nicely.

Of course, it’s not pertinent in most cases. In this one, though, it is.

“Wait,” Jason says evenly, inspecting the expanse of ashes that used to be a warehouse that kept roughly 500 men a night. “Where’s the…” He turns to Damian then Tim.

Damian’s right at Tim’s side, which he often does when Tim’s around, gently pulling at Tim’s sleeve.

“How’d you evacuate?”

He didn’t. Tim checks his gauntlet. 8:57pm. It’s early. He pulls a crisp twenty dollar bill from his belt, hands it to Damian. “Arcade’s still open,” he tells the boy gently. Because no matter how off Damian is, he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t refuse learning it. The blocks just don’t stack.

The boy takes the bill. He squeezes Tim’s hand before leaving.

Jason’s still staring at the empty space in awe. “B’s gonna kill him.”

“Is he?” Tim asks, disinterested.

“Maybe he should go lie low with ‘Wing for a few days.”

“He stays.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Scared he’s gonna beat Damian like he beat you? Tim wants to say it. Tim wants to say a lot of things.

…

Something’s wrong with Damian.

Bruce doesn’t know what, but the boy’s an unknown variable that his gut tells him to account for (the building the other night confirmed it).

So, he does such.

Tim usually leaves the boy to nap at the manor during patrol. Bruce has Cass cover his sector.

“Damian,” Bruce calls, knowing Damian never sleeps and will answer.

The boy comes out the darkness of the hallway and to Bruce’s side.

“Alfred’s made French Onion Soup. Would you like some?”

Bruce doesn’t know when Damian went off solids, but it will work to his advantage.

“Does it have cheese in it?” Damian queries, voice low.

“Do you want cheese in it?”

“No.”

Bruce slides his bowl to the center of the desk.

Damian hands Bruce his thermos after pouring out whatever it held before.

He pours half the soup into Damian’s thermos before handing it back.

The boy nods a thank you before beginning to sip the still steaming liquid. He pauses, smile creeping onto the face. “I can assure you I’m plenty sedated.” He takes another sip.

“I have some paperwork to finish up,” Bruce lies.

Damian nods, finishing the soup with a few gulps before retreating to the sofa, presumably to nap again.

An unknown variable.

…

Everything’s wrong with Damian, but Dick doesn’t mind.

He’s seen the kid jump into fights headfirst, get stabbed and not shed a tear.

Yet, when the boy burns his hand making soup, he hides in one of Dick’s empty cabinets until he’s fished out after patrol, a shuddery mess on the brink of tears.

Dick tells himself he doesn’t mind, reminding the rational part of his brain that Damian’s not rational and can’t be expected to be. He hugs the boy gently and wraps the injured hand, goes out and buys soup and sandwiches from the deli around the corner, bewilders at the incongruently sedate boy before him who flinched at an odd breath a mere hour ago.

Damian’s eyes lid. His head lolls and leans against Dick’s arm. His burnt hand lies limp while the other slowly twitches at every scene change in the movie playing on the TV. His chest moves up and down, smooth as an undulating wave.

“Want your sandwich?” Dick asks, holding it out to Damian.

The boy airly sighs, and his eyes fall closed.

“Later then,” he tells himself. “Later.”

…

They search for the ghost in the night.

He has to be there.

Who better to haunt the aftermath?

Bruce squints.

He doesn’t think Damian would go with Ra’s. Dick’s sure, as is Jason, but the longer they wait, the more he thinks Dick’s wrong.

Damian’s allegiances have never been clear. The boy’s impulsive, more so than even Jason in his Robin days, and Bruce doesn’t know how to assess it. He’s never asked Tim either, figuring Damian is always on the teen’s side no matter the situation.

They need the location now. Assassins are on their trail. Ra’s will have them all killed if they don’t find shelter quickly.

Damian knows this,

So where is he?

Bruce checks his clock. Twenty seconds and Damian’s late.

Fifteen seconds later, a plane flies overhead and a ladder falls from it.

…

Jason knew Damian would come. The boy is the undependable kind of dependable that both excites and terrifies him.

The boy hums as Dick runs a finger up and down his arm, eyes their usual dazed appearance.

“Damian,” Bruce calls roughly.

“Hm?” the boy answers.

“Where’s it taking us?”

“Location,” Damian mumbles, gaze focusing. “Like you… Secure location to regroup. You said-- Did you want to go somewhere else?” Damian half-rushes to the console.

“Where?” Bruce asks again.

Damian still looks confused. “I don’t--”

“Country, province, et cetera,” Bruce snaps, typing in his gauntlet.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t be secure otherwise.”

“Is it League owned?”

“No.”

Silence.

Damian rolls on the balls of his feet. Jason finds the boy is always unsettled by Bruce, bleeding the need for approval the man doesn’t give.

“Dami,” Dick calls. He waves the boy back.

Damian comes, sitting where he once was, though not as comfortable.

Bruce.

…

Bruce is debriefing. Bruce is boring.

Everyone knows this but Damian, who listens and nods along and answers every rhetorical question.

Dick wonders if he wants this. Does Damian want to be a hero? Does he want to ride the night clad with a Bat on his chest? Dick knows it was what he wanted at Damian’s age (before he knew better).

For Damian, vigilantism may be the right course. He’ll always be fighting. Better it be for the good guys, Dick figures.

He doesn’t think Bruce will ever give Damian the chance. Bruce uses Damian, and he will until he’s squeezed the last drop out, then he’ll drop him. Dick knows this. Maybe he should warn the boy.

…

Damian’s not a Bat. He’s always around the Bats, but he’s not one. He doesn’t wish he was a Bat either. There’re better things to be, an al Ghul one of them.

He thinks the Bats want him to be one, the majority of them anyway, but he knows it’s not his place. It can’t be one’s place, most importantly one who was dipped in death at birth.

He can’t be a Bat, not with voices ringing in his head and Ra’s-- for the first time in four months-- requesting his presence. He has to go.

“Damian?”

He stills behind the bed.

“Are you in here?” It’s Dick. Damian doesn’t mind Dick. He likes the young man as much as he’s allowed to like people (besides Tim). Blue eyes appear in the opening of the gap. He wonders for a moment if Dick plans on contorting himself to fit in the gap. Thankfully, he just smiles. “Hey.”

Damian never knows how to answer.

“Jay wants to know if there’s a Big Belly Burger around here.”

He can’t tell if Dick’s joking or not. There isn’t, but surely they know that. “The kitchen’s stocked,” he answers.

“Yeah. Alfred’s already making something. When’d he get here?”

“Tim secured his travel.”

“Where’s Tim?”

Off on business, of course, but Dick should know that as well.

“Mind keeping me company tonight?”

Damian’s fine on his own, but they always think he’ll break if he’s not with Tim, which hasn’t been the case since he was four. He enjoys Dick, though, and nods, accepting the offer.

Damian al Ghul’s not a Bat, but he doesn’t want to be one.

…

Abstract is all Damian paints. Everything is a line or a dot or a pattern. Nothing is of human form. Tim thinks Damian likes it better that way, but he’s no idea as to why. He sits by his artist with a plated sandwich cut in fours and potato chips, slips one of the latter in his mouth.

“Whatcha making?” he asks. Tim likes to have Damian talk. The boy doesn’t talk much, but he needs to because everyone should talk. Tim remembers the first year they met. Damian said a total of five words to him.

They’re close, but Damian doesn’t talk. If he talks to anyone, he talks to Tim (Dick if he’s in a talking mood). If he’s not in a talking mood, he talks to Tim if (and mostly only if) Tim bothers him enough (or he’s sad enough).

Damian’s sad today, but he’s almost always sad, and Tim never knows why. It’s his default. He wishes Damian would be happy. They’re still young, after all. Before meeting Damian, Tim always thought sad was for people like his parents, who were always grasping for something to make them not sad anymore, whether that be a charity ball or a bottle of whiskey.

“Hm?” Tim nudges him gently.

Damian’s brush freezes over the canvas.

“Did I mess you up?” Tim’s in Damian’s circle. He’d known he was entering the circle when he took a seat by Damian, but for some reason, it’d slipped his mind that Damian wasn’t always open to letting people (Tim) into his circle.

“No,” he whispers (it’s always a whisper, a rasp). He begins again.

“I have to go by the Cave tonight. Bruce wants to see me, sent me a cryptic text. Though I’m not sure whether it’s just his cryptic nature or something actually threatening, you know?” Tim eats another potato chip.

Damian nods.

“Want half my sandwich?”

Damian doesn’t answer as he paints a few last strokes. His paintbrush is set down. He takes one of the quarters.

“Let’s talk,” Tim says. He’s too forthright to say otherwise.

“About?” Damian asks.

“The painting.”

“No.”

“What I missed while I was gone.”

Damian takes another piece of the sandwich. He’s hungry (Tim takes note). “Nothing happened of paramount importance.”

“Tell me the insignificant details.”

Damian does. He recounts the past month in the passive aggressive monotone he always takes when Tim leaves him for a while and forgets to call. The sandwich and chips are gone by the time he’s done.

Tim wraps him in a hug. “And the painting?”

“It’s ugly, the Hunchback of Notre Dame personified. It’s twisted, maladjusted, sunken, disfigured, disillusioned.”

“And you love it?”

Damian grins sadly. “And I love it.”

…

Bruce wonders what Damian will grow up to be.

It’s hard to predict with the ghostly gray that is Damian. He’s the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. He’s half something else. He spends the bulk of his evenings accompanying someone on patrol. He spends the other bulk blowing up buildings full of criminals. He paints. He kills. He has unleveraged resources. He has Tim.

Damian doesn’t seem to know either, but he doesn’t seem too worried either.

Tim says Damian will be an artist, but the dream is too puffy to be a pure reality.

There’s hope for him yet, though.

Bruce closes Damian’s file and turns his attention back to Clark’s presentation the new West Wing. You’d think signing the checks would be a ticket out of JLA board meetings. Every time, Bruce finds himself sorely mistaken.

The rest of the table claps as Clark finishes and takes a seat. “Anything else, anyone?”

Silence.

“Okay then. We reconvene a week from today.”

As Bruce gets up, taps his boots as he makes his way to his room. The hallways are dimly lit as the always are this time of night. He checks his gauntlet for the time. 11:45. It’s early. He can fit in a three hour patrol if he hurries.

Bruce enters his room to find an intruder.

The boy whose file he’d been studying the past hour sat curled up in the corner of the room.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, because why would Damian come if everything was alright?

“Tim’s gone,” Damian says quietly.

Bruce kneels in front of him, waiting for Damian to continue.

“He won’t be back for at least a week.”

“What do you need, chum?”

Damian holds out an orange pill bottle. Five pills remain in it. “I only have enough for two more days.”

Bruce reads the label. Folate. He doesn’t ask why Damian hasn’t told them he’s anemic. He wonders if he ever would have found out had Tim not went out of town. He glances up to see Damian’s still looking at him. Does he think Bruce is going to say no? “We’ll go tomorrow,” he says.

Damian visibly relaxes, shoulders lowering. The boy looks lonely. Bruce isn’t sure how it’s possible, but he sees it in Damian. Maybe he’d keep Damian at the manor until Tim returned.

…

Tim watches his breath in the Winter air. Five more minutes, and he can go home. Of course, he’s been telling himself that for the past hour, but every time he gets close to five minutes, another matter is there for him to attend to.

He calls burglaries and violence in general matters. That’s all they are, after all. There’s no need to make a big deal out of everything. That’s what his mother used to always say, and Tim likes to live by the sayings of dead people, as their advice is most likely the most entertaining with maximum consequences, death being one of them.

So, he shivers and breathes and rubs the handwarmers Bruce got him in his gloves fingers. They’re top notch. He had Lucius make them especially for Tim. They’re not enough tonight, though..

“Dancing in the pale moonlight?” It seems Tim’s ghost has come to haunt him tonight.

He grins and turns, finding his ghost nowhere. “Come out.”

And the apparition is next to him.

“Where were you?” Tim asks.

Damian sighs, leaning into Tim’s side.

His added warmth is nice.

“I dunno,” he says quietly.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

…

Red. So pretty. Red.

Crimson. Cherry. Candy.

Rose. Ruby.

Red.

Red going up. Red going down.

Red tears. Red laughs. Red coughs. Red people.

Red. Everything’s red.

Red hand.

How did his hand get red?

Blood red.

Will it turn crimson if he asks for a cherry on top? That is the saying… Cherry on top. Tim taught him that.

Strawberry red spills from his hand, gushing like jam being squeezed through a bottle. His fingers open and close around the strawberry sauce. Will it taste nice if he licks it? Damian doesn’t much like strawberry sauce, so probably not.

A faint thump comes from behind him, a step that doesn’t want to be heard but has been.

The foot is too heavy to be Tim’s, but it’s too light to be Bruce’s. Dick would have talked by now, as would Jason. Damian finds it doubtful that Alfred Pennyworth would waste his time breathing the same air Damian does, but the scent of tomato soup that’s made its way to Damian’s nose says otherwise.

“If you’d point me to the dining area,” he says.

Damian closes the jam in his hand, points to the bar with his clean one. He must be looking for Tim, but surely he knows Tim’s not here yet. Tim doesn’t come back until after patrol, as early as midnight and as late as four in the morning.

He examines his painting once more. Small strokes. Big strokes. Old strokes. New strokes. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red dots--

Damian doesn’t like being touched. His jam-soaked hand is no one’s business but his own, and he’s not a child that needs shushing.

Alfred slowly wipes the jam off with a warm washcloth; he swabs the long cut in Damian’s hand; and he wraps the hand with gauze, so Damian can’t mess with it. “Come eat, my boy.” He takes Damian’s uninjured hand and Damian to the bar and has the latter sit.

Damian stares down a steaming bowl of tomato soup, parmesan and basil sprinkled on top, a spoon and napkin in repose to his right. The red is so rich but the smell’s making him sick; he mostly eats canned soups since he can’t manage to cook without burning himself. He doesn’t say so, just eats half the soup and thanks Alfred and returns to his Red.

Red…

Red is many things. Red is happy. Red is sad. Red is a person inside out. Red is red.

Alfred takes a seat on the sofa behind him, sighing and muttering about the FA Cup.

Damian hands the him the not-red remote. When he goes back to his hand, he’s slightly sad it’s no longer red. He picks at the bandage as he examines the red some more.

…

The Ghost of Gotham haunts heroes and villains alike.

One person who has come to love the boy as much as he can love is the Joker.

He is homicidal. He likes guns. He loves red.

“JJ,” he sighs, visibly bored. He sits in his throne with nothing to do. He’s no plan to perform, no heinous crime to commit, no Bat to bother. “JJ, come come.”

He calls the ghost JJ because he believes the ghost will follow in his footsteps. The ghost knows that-- though he’s crazy-- he’s not near crazy enough to be the next Joker. That and the fact that he’s an al Ghul encourages him to remove himself from anything particularly funny or unsavory he’s invited to. Besides, what would the great Ra’s al Ghul think if he found out his only grandson doesn’t mind the company of a maniac?

“JJ! Come sit with me! I’m bored.”

Damian perches on the side of the throne and balances his sketchbook on his thigh.

“What’re you drawing?”

He shrugs. That’s the fun of abstract. He never has to answer that question.

“I’m bored!” the clown exclaims. “Can’t we go dancing or kill the Bat?”

He shakes his head. Dancing is boring, and the sky’s not red enough for a ballroom.

“I’m starving. How about a break to eat?”

“I have soup.”

“I want… a burger!”

Damian’s no idea why he’s been charmed by the clown, but his company is only beat by the Bat’s and Tim’s, and he can’t find the harm in blowing up buildings and slitting throats in the name of red and for the sake of art, of which there are no nobler causes.

…

How many people die alone? How many people die lonely? What’s the difference in the numbers? Is the tolerance nominal? Paltry?

None of it matters. Ghosts live on for eternity, haunting until they don’t want to. Then, they exit stage right and find a grave to rest in.

#batman fanfiction #fanfic #batfam #damian wayne #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #literary fiction #heidicomics

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bean-pd · 6 years

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1/2 u said we can ask abt our problems idk so Im ftmtrans and prolly have bpd (self diagnose) and Idk every now and then my brain gets all weird is like Whats a trans, u arent that n u dont want to go on t etc and part of me is like RED ALERT FALSE WEIRD THOUGHTS R BACK IM TRANS WTF ILL YELL IF SOMEONE MISGENDERS ME AGAIN and like afterward its like it never happened but it makes me Feel VERY invalid in being trans and scared abt my transition like I'm worried I'm regretting my name change etc

hey so i’ve already typed out my answer to this about 5 mins ago but i gave my bf my laptop and then it’s gone so im gonna try and remember everything i said. okay but i’m pretty sure you have bpd from what i’ve read in the asks you sent and that’s gonna be such a huge whammy since you’re trans bc it really does make you question soooo many things about yourself and your identity and life in general. but basically you’re gonna come across some stereotypes of trans men and you’re probably gonna think “oh man i don’t do this” or “i do this” and you’re gonna think that you’re not trans bc of it and you are love i promise you are. if you know that you’re not cis and you’re completely happy being trans than you’re trans. bpd will make you forget anything that isn’t happening in that moment; emotional impermanence is a bitch and she will try and kick your ass. don’t let her. punch her in the mouth. you’ll come out of those bad moods, you always will. you’ll be like “wtf was i thinking? hell yeah i’m trans”. i know when you get down it’s hard to remember the good times when you have bpd. try reading some funny posts or loving screenshots/messages from friends/lovers. keep reminding yourself that it’s the illness talking. and if it helps, i’ve went through hell trying to figure out my identity. thinking i’m not really pan and that i’m straight or that i’m just completely gay or i’m genderfluid or cis and it’s been a wild ride. i’ve finally come to terms with it all and i identity as nb and pansexual and it wasn’t easy and sometimes i still have my doubts but it’s okay. i know this is really long and i hope you read it all and i hope it encourages you and helps you in some way if any. ily!!! you got this 💜💜

#anon #long reply

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christinaroseandrews · 7 years

Photo

You ever have one of those books that you really really want to like but somehow lets you down so hard that after you finish it all you want to do is cry?

Yeah?

So this was that book.

Settle in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

The alt rock band, The Stone Butterfly is in need of a replacement backup singer. So when in-demand studio musician, Brooklynn Hawk becomes available. The group wants her. But the band isn't the only one who wants her, the lead singer, Levi Matthews, also wants her. Wants her bad. And he's not about to take no for an answer. Despite her attraction, Brooklyn has her own reasons for saying no. She's committed to taking care of her developmentally delayed younger sister and is afraid that saying yes to Levi means saying no to her career. After all, he's a star and she's just a studio musician and a temporary fix. But neither can deny the attraction. Unfortunately, Levi is the only one who won't take no for an answer. There's someone sending postcards who's just a little too invested in the lives of Brooklynn and Levi.

So... I wanted to like this book. I wanted to like it so much. And there is good in here and I think the author may have just mis-stepped. But whoa-boy was it a whole lot of mis-steps. Like fall down the stairs into a pool of broken glass. Like I want to reclaim my time and maybe take a nice long shower while drinking copious amounts of alcohol.

So before I begin my rant.. here’s what I liked:

I liked everything to do with the music scene. It was well researched and felt real.

I loved the rest of the band. Sasha was probably my favorite member followed by Noah. I'd love to see their stories one day.

Do you notice what’s missing? If you said the main characters, you’d be right. There’s a reason for that. Now on to what I disliked... and be warned... here there be spoilers.

The Hero, Levi, was cut of the same cloth as Edward from Twilight and Christian Grey. The dude is super stalkery. Especially at the beginning. He was pushy to the point of WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!

So there’s the normal insta-lust that happens in a lot of novels. It’s ubiquitous so I didn’t give a whole lot of thought. Then quickly got worse. So here’s a pro-tip authors... when a woman says no repeatedly to a date but the guy persists, it isn't romantic. It's sexual harassment.

But wait, there’s more!

Levi also oversteps a line when he follows Brooklynn home. Sure I get it, you like the girl... that doesn’t give you the right to get into her cab and not get out. If I were Brooklynn, I’d have gone to a wrong place then take a subway home. It’s even worse, because when all of this goes down he had the power to fire her. So that meant that anything he did came from a place of inequality and if she said no, she'd be out of a job. Literally Brooklynn told him "no" over 20 times and he didn't back off. Even going so far as to corner her (the author's exact words) and kiss her without her permission. That's not romantic. That's sexual assault.

Later in the book, when they hook up. He dictates where she sleeps and even takes Levi also jumps to so many conclusions, overrides Brooklynn's wishes, and even steamrolls her. And takes care of her sister’s care even though he wasn’t asked to. I couldn't warm up to him. I wanted Brooklynn to dump him and hook up with Noah. Seriously. This was 50 shades of fucked up.

Then there’s Brooklynn. She’s a little too perfect. Perfect voice. Perfect body. Talented. The thing is, I liked her. But in that, you’re way better than the hero and I need someone to like kind of way. The problem was that the story took place in NYC and the author apparently didn’t think about that... and so kept mixing up the heroine’s name with the city. Whoops?

The PoC representation wasn't handled well. Black characters repeatedly had their skin referred to as "mocha" something that is considered offensive by many in the Black community and their hair was referred to as "wild" which is also an offensive term. If you’re an author and not following @writingwithcolor then you need to be right now.

Go do it. I’ll wait.

In addition, Brooklynn is supposed to be of Native American descent. That isn't explicitly stated until 94% of the way through the book. I mean there’s tiny hints... but not nearly enough. To be honest, I was picturing Broolynn as mixed race Asian based off of her description. But initially she was scanning as white. When indicating race, it needs to be done early and it needs to be done with all characters. Not just the PoCs. And in addition, Native Americans need to be identified by tribe. Representation Matters.

Speaking of representation, the book seriously misrepresented an already stigmatized mental illness: Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). The stalker is revealed to be Brooklynn’s developmentally delayed (yes, that is the actual terminology used in the novel) little sister who’s got undiagnosed BPD.

BPD is often referred to as "Crazy Bitch Syndrome" colloquially however in reality, the way BPD manifests is in self-harm and self-destructive behavior. Marsha Linehan describes BPD thusly “… borderline individuals are the psychological equivalent of third-degree burn patients. They simply have, so to speak, no emotional skin. Even the slightest touch or movement can create immense suffering. Yet… life is movement.” They don't stalk people and they definitely don't physically harm others. They also tend to commit suicide when they feel hope is lost... and the illness has a very high rate of suicide. They don't try to commit murder.

What is often identified in media as BPD is actually Anti-Social Personality Disorder (ASPD). The fact that the book perpetuates this myth is incredibly damaging. Representation matters, and for people suffering from BPD or those whose loved ones suffer from BPD (like us) this hurts and can actually reinforce the negative image that all sufferers of BPD have where they feel that they aren't worthy of love and affection and respect. BPD has such a high rate of stigma that finding psychologists who can treat this (it isn’t an illness that is treatable by medication) can take years.

This kind of negative portrayal has very real impact. And it would have been easily solved if the author had done their research or hired a sensitivity reader. Even the Wikipedia article addresses this. This is willful ignorance. And it’s an unforgivable sin.

This sin is made even worse in that the two suspects are Women of Color. The decoy suspect is a Black woman which just helps support the “Angry Black Woman” stereotype. The actual perpetrator is Native American which goes right into the “Savage Natives” stereotype. Seriously, don’t fuck around with mental health and PoC. Just don’t. And be aware of the Unfortunate Implications of what you’re writing.

Did you follow @writingwithcolor yet? No? Do it!!!

Finally, the ARC I received could have used a good proofreader. I tried to check the preview to see if the errors were visible but since they didn't start until chapter 7, I couldn't. Therefore since the book has been published and I received the ARC after the publication date, I have to assume the errors made it in.

Basically, I wanted to like this. I really really did. But I couldn’t. This book made me angry in all the wrong ways. So I can only give it

One star.

If you really want to read this, you can get it on Amazon. *** I received an ARC of this book through NetGalley

#romance review #romance novel review #romance novel reviews #Rose and Lark review books #elle christensen #celebrity romance #new adult romance #musician romance #workplace romance #god dammit why did I read this #it was not good #so many things wrong #fucking do the research #it's not hard #one star

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