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sockknitterporg · 3 years

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The main bulk of my suffering is directly related to the manufactured "opiate crisis" that has caused untold pain and suffering for so many millions of people for so many, many years. In this essay, I intend to place my experiences in their proper context, as one of a sharply growing series of victims of medical malpractice stemming from the fundamental shift in our society from seeing pain patients as people to be treated, to deriding them as addicts to be suspicious of.

Though it says volumes about our society that we see addicts as fundamentally 'bad' people who deserve homelessness and death instead of as human beings, often times human beings who are suffering greatly and turn to the only thing that makes life even mildly bearable. But that's neither here nor there. (For more information about addiction, see https://tinyurl.com/rat-park )

Our story begins in 1996, when Purdue Pharma (Stamford, CT, USA) released OxyContin, a sustained release oxycodone preparation that is also sold here in the UK. In the US, where such things are legal, it was aggressively marketed and promoted as less dangerous and less addictive than other opiate preparations. (Source & more information about OxyContin's marketing: https://tinyurl.com/oxymarket )

Anyone who thinks a $200 million a year marketing campaign would not spill over to the UK is more than merely obtuse, but likely willfully ignorant. The entire 'opiate epidemic' is an American import, and it started there: with an unscrupulous American company that would stop at nothing to make money.

Lulled into a false sense of security by Purdue's claims of minimal risk of addiction, doctors began prescribing OxyContin much more liberally and for much more than they originally would have. This increased availability set many people up for addiction and overdose deaths.

To most people, that is the bulk of what the 'opiate crisis' is. But there is a secondary crisis unfolding quietly behind closed doors. In the USA, there are "Don't Punish Pain" rallies that at least try to draw attention to the situation ( https://dontpunishpainrally.com ), but here in the UK we are entirely forgotten and buried under the British 'stiff upper lip' mentality. It is completely hushed up, no one talks about the fact that the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction. (For example: https://tinyurl.com/opiate-pendulum )

The government and/or the NHS have enforced involuntarily tapering of chronic pain patients' medication. Medication we need in order to not spend our lives screaming in agony. The pain management clinic has already warned me that it is, direct quote, "when, not if" I will find my own medication terminated, ready or not.

But there will be no 'ready'. Chronic pain does not get better with time. Chronic pain does not go into remission. If you know someone with chronic pain who appears to be 'getting better', I can promise you it is merely that the sufferer has learned to better conceal it. It's a saying in the chronic pain community, "We don't fake being ill. We fake being well."

We have learned that the average person only has about two weeks of compassion in them, after that you're treated as a freak for not getting better already, or outright accused of malingering. After all, with all of modern science, can't you just go to the doctor and get a pill and be done with it? Our concept of illness is either 'you go to the hospital, get treated, and come out okay' or 'you go to the hospital, waste away, and die'. Chronic pain patients, who never get better, but aren't actively dying, don't fit in to our society's 'concept' of illness.

People who offer to help us out for the social brownie points of helping the poor cripple soon discover that we're not going to die, we're going to continue to need help for the forseeable future. Rather than gracefully admitting that they don't have the ability to help us in perpetuity (which would be perfectly understandable!), most people choose to lash out at us, we must be abusing their kindness, they helped so we must surely be better by now. Compassion fatigue seems to hit every single human being that interacts with us, as if merely existing while disabled is wearing on their ability to remain civil. (Compassion fatigue: https://tinyurl.com/2-week-fatigue )

Doctors have even less compassion than that. In the backlash of the 'crisis', they have begun to treat anyone who complains of pain, unilaterally, as a drug seeker. And those of us already in treatment? Are addicts in need of rehab. (More examples: https://tinyurl.com/drs-no-compassion )

Despite study after study (Studies: https://tinyurl.com/no-taper ) showing that tapering chronic pain patients unequivocally causes severe harm, up to and including death, the pain management team said to my face that I am, direct quote, "addicted to heroin" and "no different from my four year old grandson, demanding a choccy biscuit because he doesn't know they'll rot his teeth. And I have to smack him and tell him NO! And I'll smack you, too, if it'll get you off those drugs!" (Somehow my complaint that a doctor had literally smacked his hands in front of my face to demonstrate that he was sincere in his threat to physically assault me.... mysteriously got lost.)

I have been denied treatment for other (non-opiate) methods of reducing my pain because, direct quote, "it doesn't matter as long as you're on those drugs, opiates actually make you more sensitive to pain in the long run, so there's no sense trying anything else if you won't get clean." They talk to me like taking my medication responsibly, as prescribed, is the same as shooting up black tar. All in the hopes of bullying or shaming me into "voluntarily" tapering.

Honestly just living under these conditions alone would be enough to snap my mental health in half, but you have to remember that I'm not only facing all of this systemic bullying and professional misconduct while also living with pain that has often been compared to late stage cancer and chemotherapy ( https://tinyurl.com/fibro-chemo ), as well as debilitating fatigue, and a shroud of fog hanging around my brain and clouding my memories and judgments (and at times, my ability to speak English). Everyone's first reaction is "did you report them? you should report them. why didn't you report them!" as if I'm too stupid to have thought of that myself. But I don't have the energy for the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare that is dealing with the NHS's administration, especially not when I could have my entire life destroyed by a doctor's bruised ego penning into my file "patient was uncooperative and combative, suspect drug abuse".

It's only a matter of time before I choose suicide over another sleepless night of laying in bed and praying for death. And when that time comes, I hope that my name is added to the long, bloodstained list of people who have killed themselves not out of any sort of depression, but because their entire existence is built on pain and suffering and enough becomes enough for the last time. Drop my body on the steps of the CDC, which is the main driving force behind the opiate witch hunt. Maybe death will at least bring me some measure of peace.

#chronic pain #chronic illness #disability #opiates #fibromyalgia

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septic-skele · 3 years

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UF - Out of Reach

Summary: Classic and Blue have it good with their brothers. They make displays of love and affection look so easy. Red can’t help but feel bitter about it. He stands no chance of ever having anything like that with his boss.

Well, not with that attitude about it, Blue says.

Red couldn’t understand it. Logically he figured it was because Classic and Blue came from drastically different backgrounds. They weren’t living with eye sockets in the back of their heads or half-formed, sharpened bones under their pillows like he and Boss did. They were probably just as baffled about him and his behavior, but there was something Blue had said once that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Red had walked in on a private moment and for reasons beyond him, he hadn’t taken a hasty shortcut back out. He stopped and stared and couldn’t help being taken aback when he saw Blue cradling his Papyrus’ skull against his shoulder, murmuring comforts to him. Red had never seen that casual, laidback Papyrus so drunk, weak and vulnerable, much less Blue so solemn.

“I love you, Papy,” he soothed. “I’d love you no matter the ‘reset’, whatever that may be—no matter the world, no matter the universe. A good, proper Sans would never give up on his brother, and I am just that.”

Good, proper. Red had no illusions of propriety but the idea of it nagged and frustrated him. Any time he had tried to console Papyrus in recent memory, it had ended with all the wrong things being said and door hinges buckling under the strain of being slammed.

Red already knew what Blue would say if he heard of this. “You can always try again! I believe in you, pal! You simply need to persevere! You’ll get through to him, I know it!” Disgusting.

The worst part of it, however, was that even Classic did it better than he could. Classic—depressed, cynical, apathetic, a liar to Papyrus’ face more often than not—still loved his brother better.

Somehow the six of them had survived a night in together, though the argument over the TV remote had almost come to blows and the throw pillows may have sacrificed some of their stuffing. Now that they were all retiring, Red wandered down the hall to hear strains of Classic’s voice from one of the nearby bedrooms. He didn’t sound anything like the blasé character Red usually knew; he was lighter, actually putting effort into this.

“…Peekaboo had become a game of hide-and-seek! Where could her friends have gone? Fluffy Bunny wondered, bounding across the green, green field to look for them. She searched high! She searched low!”

“She searched near and far,” Papyrus chimed in.

“You bet she did. She searched east and west, under rocks and up in trees. But Fluffy Bunny couldn’t find her friends anywhere! Wherever could they be?”

Maybe they ditched her for wantin’ to play such stupid games, Red mused with a snort, although as Classic continued he was distracted by an old, old memory fluttering forth.

He had spent hours poring over the dump, fishing out as many old, damaged books as he could find. Drained and shivering, he’d lugged them back to the nook where he’d left Papyrus, safely out of sight. Before he could find sleep, Papyrus had thrown himself over Red’s back and pitched a fit about learning how to read.

“Show me, brother! I want to do it like you do, I want to try! It doesn’t have to be the long one! Just show me how, please! Please, please, please, plea-a-a-ase!”

Red had capitulated only because he didn’t want the tantrum to draw unwanted attention, but that wasn’t the part that stuck with him. Papyrus had curled up against him, half-tucked under his coat, watching him trace letters with intent focus. As he haltingly sounded out the words, every small success made him light up like a star, clutching eagerly at Red’s ribs for his approval.

“Did you see that, Sans?! Did you hear me?! I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid, I saw. Nice one.”

Red’s opinion and praise had still meant something to Papyrus back then. Stars, he was still willing to cuddle with him, despite the filth and the damp clinging to his clothes from the river.

Had Boss ever really been that hopeful, clingy little baby bones or was Red trying to convince himself that was how it had happened? It was so long ago. Pap could have just fished those books out and taught himself while Sans was away, trying to find work. That sounded far more likely.

“G’night, bro,” Classic concluded, sliding the book onto the nightstand and giving his Papyrus an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Balking, Red ducked back toward the stairs before he could be found snooping, all too well aware of what Boss might do if he ever dared reach out that way. He’d probably end up losing a few fingers.

It wasn’t fair, something small and spiteful in the back of his mind huffed. The idea nearly made him miss one of the steps, torn between shock and scornful amusement. Since when had fairness ever been part of the equation? If things were fair…

If things were fair, they would probably look a lot like the scene he had just left, as well as the scene he was walking into now. Blue perched prim and proper on the end of the couch, surfing idly through channels. His brother was stretched across the rest of the cushions, head propped against Blue’s lap, swaddled up in blankets, the whole nine yards.

Jerks. They were intent on showing off now; they knew exactly how good they had it. Sparks of irrational anger crackled along Red's jaw and spine. If he had something immediately on hand to hurl at them, he would have, but he had already shucked off his boots and summoning a bone would be a waste of magic.

“Edgy me?” Blue called in a faux whisper, making him tense. “I would have thought you’d be asleep already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to rest easy with Classic jabbering on about fluffy bunnies through the wall!” Red snarked, louder and sharper than necessary. He took little satisfaction in the way Blue winced, resting a hand on Papy’s skull as if to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” So genteel, so polite, he still offered an inviting smile. “If you’d care to come and join us, any of the chairs from the dinner table are free! Mweheh, I honestly have no idea how Papy sleeps like this; the side I sit on is the only one without mangled, broken springs. It’s probably all of his tossing and turning that’s done it. I’ve been meaning to get them repaired, but he hardly ever leaves the couch to let me at it! He really ought to—”

“Shut up already, would’ja? I don’t care! Besides—Tch, wouldn’t want to interrupt your cute little ‘brother bonding’ time.”

“Oh, no, y-you’re not interrupting anything! Did I imply that somehow? I’m sorry! If you want part of the couch, I can wake him and ask him to scoot over—”

“How d’you make it look so easy?” It broke free before Red could fully comprehend how irrational it would be to ask. Jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth squeaked, he drew back from his own brash demand. Blue tilted his head.

“I’m sorry?” That counted three times in this conversation that he’d apologized for nothing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He should have retreated. He should have spat, “Never mind!” and transported to his room to seethe in privacy. Instead his foolish, fat mouth blundered on. “How d’you get him to do that?” He threw an irritated gesture at the sleeping lump on his lap. “How d’you make him…relax, with you there? It’s as if he likes having you around!”

Even that was saying too much and yet just enough. Realization dawned in Blue’s eyes, followed by—oh, stars, there was pity.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure. If there are no other comfortable surfaces around for him while he sleeps, I’m happy to help! The last thing he needs is a cramp in his neck. Heh, I’m not tall enough to fix that for him so why not try to prevent it entirely? We’ve huddled up ever since we were baby bones; it’s always been this way.”

Of course. Cheekbones flaming, Red ducked his head. They never had raging fights that lasted until dawn (or until they started losing their voices, whichever came first.) Blue and Stretch had it all sorted out from birth, cozy and coddled.

“…Papy always caught cold too easily. I’d make up some rather impressive beds for him with grass and water sausages so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the rock, but the dew would leave him shivering all night! I couldn’t let that stand! Those chattering teeth of his kept me awake too so I made the noble sacrifice and slept on the damp side while he nestled up to me.” Blue chuckled, an uncharacteristic note of something laced through it. “With our two shirts tucked together, we could almost imagine a full hoodie like he has now!”

“Wh—You? That’s rich.” That was decidedly not what Red had been picturing as a life that could spit out someone as sickeningly sweet as Blue. “You’re not tellin’ me you two were homeless.”

“I preferred to think of us as explorers!” Blue corrected. “I told Papy that we were on an adventure to find the perfect place for a new start. We experienced all that the Underground had to offer a couple of wandering baby bones: scavenging, hide-and-seek, games of chase with older monsters, who were rather poor sports when they couldn’t catch us. I grew strong and magnificent thanks to all of that exercise and my brother…well, he tried very hard!”

Red shuffled uncomfortably in place. Funny, how familiar all of those experiences sounded—but from someone else’s mouth?

“Then Papy fell terribly ill. He was poisoned, in fact. It was the first time I really wondered if I’d lose him.” Ignoring how Red startled, Blue glanced pensively down at his snoring brother, smoothing his fingers more gently over his skull. “It may have been an accident, but I was responsible for his safety; I should have been paying closer attention. In part it was my fault.”

“And he…forgave you for that?” An accident like that, caused by a slip in Sans’ attention, could probably get him disowned.

“On the contrary, he blamed himself! He blames himself for a great many things and he thinks most of them can’t be helped. I try, I always try to help. What’s infuriating is that he acts as if he doesn’t deserve it. Despite what you may think, there are plenty of times he doesn’t want me around. He shuts down, he pushes me away, he tells me I’m wasting my time.”

Red’s eyelights flicked off.

“Shut up, Sans. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You idiot! Get away from me!”

“Useless. What a waste of time.”

“I think he’s scared of what might happen if he lets his guard down…Perhaps he thinks I’m not strong enough to face whatever is underneath,” Blue continued. “Perhaps he thinks that if he lets me too close, it will be the thing to drive me away for good. Nevertheless! With time and patience, I know I’ll convince him.”

“But how?! How am I supposed to—I mean, how do you keep trying when it never does any good?”

“It does do some good, I’m sure of it! I keep pushing to help him so he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won’t be driven away so easily. Maybe Papy just isn’t ready to show me the good it’s done yet. He has to learn to trust himself before he can trust me, but he can never say that I don’t care about him. I’ll show love to every part of him, even the bad, and it will be an influence for the better. I will break down those barriers!” Blue concluded with a fiercer grin.

A good Sans would never give up on his brother.

“Doesn’t it…suck?” Red ground out, hoping it wouldn’t be interpreted as an admission of weakness. Doesn’t it hurt? “When he shuts you out all the time?”

“Of course. I never said it was an easy task but it’s not within me to accept defeat!” Blue stopped up short then, holding his breath as Papyrus shifted against him. Neither Red nor Blue had been particularly careful about their volume.

After a few moments of adjustment, Stretch settled deeper into his blankets with a sleepy hum of contentment. Blue softened, eyelights aglow with such fondness that Red could almost feel a ripple of it in the air between them. It made his soul turn.

“He’s my only brother. We only have each other in the end. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

_____________________________________

If Red hadn’t been passing his boss’s room at precisely the right moment, he never would have heard it: a string of low, ragged gasps, followed by a rumble that could have been a groan or a growl. Sans grimaced at the sound, already aware of what was happening. Boss never made noise in his sleep unless he was injured, pain slipping through the cracks of his subconscious, or he was fighting a nightmare. Seeing as the last few days had been highly uneventful, it would be the latter.

Welp, that’s his problem. I’m not about to get impaled ’cause he mistakes me for his sleep paralysis demon.

That was habit speaking. Better reasoning caught him a few steps later, slowing him to a halt.

It would be easy to swan off, mind his own business and let Papyrus suffer on his own. It would have been easy to do it years ago too, when Pap was nothing but a scrawny baby bones who couldn’t have done anything about it.

If he hadn’t then, why should he now? It was Boss’s shouts in the morning that often woke him from dark dreams…He could return the favor and feel less indebted to him for it.

It was only fair.

Cursing his newly planted seed of a conscience, Sans pivoted with great difficulty and kicked a foot at the door with a small thump. No answer. He kicked again. The gruff breaths from within quickened.

“…Boss?” he ventured, clearing his throat roughly. “Hey. Boss.” Belatedly he realized that he had no proper excuse ready if Papyrus awoke and asked what he wanted. That might not go over well, but the circumstances were making it hard to focus. Those strangled groans were slowly but surely chipping away his first instinct of self-preservation.

He was definitely going to get impaled. One shot, -9999 damage and his life would be over, all for an attempt to be considerate, but he could hear it now in Papyrus’ voice. There was a scared little brat trapped inside the intimidating commander and that brat clearly still needed a big brother to drag him out of trouble.

Steeled for his impending doom, Sans jostled open the door. “Boss,” he began again as he poked his head in. “You’re makin’ noise, alright? You gotta—Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s not good—”

Papyrus was a writhing, tangled mess in his blankets, some already torn where his claws had caught. Sweat and magic bled down his face, eye sockets sputtering and smoking in a flurry of colors as he choked for traction to cry out.

“Ngnnh—No, no—stop!”

“Boss?!” Sans stammered, surging forward. Of their own volition his hands got busy, dragging at the blankets to rend them free of Papyrus’ kicking legs. “Bro, hey! It’s okay, it’s just a dream!”

From there it must have only been a few seconds but to Sans it felt like an eternity before Papyrus lurched upright, already scrambling. He didn’t lunge to attack as Sans had expected but recoiled; it was only when he smacked his skull against the wall behind him that he came to a lurching stop.

“I-It’s just me, Pap,” Sans stated cautiously. He wouldn’t have dared use the old nickname under any other circumstances, but it seemed to clear some of the wild haze in his brother’s eyes. It took a beat for him to formulate an appropriate response.

“Get out,” he rasped. It didn’t hold a candle to its usual bite. He was still panting, disoriented. “What are you doing here?”

Which d’you want, an answer or me getting out? “I heard you…Well, I didn’t know if somethin’ was up. Maybe someone…broke in or somethin’, trying to get to you.”

“Oh?” Shoulders shuddering in what could barely be masked as a laugh, Papyrus shook his head minutely. “And what could you do to save me? L-Look at you. You’re not even armed.”

“And look who didn’t even wake up when I barged in here! The big, bad boss could’ve gotten killed in his sleep because he was too busy cryin’ like a—” By the greatest restraint he cut himself off, foreseeing how that would be received, but he’d said enough already.

“Get. Out,” Papyrus snarled, rediscovering vitriol enough for Sans to cringe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Get out, you fool, this instant, or I’ll—!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was worried!” That word felt taboo aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and you weren’t so I stayed to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do here, Sans; as always, you—you prove to be utterly inadequate! Your best course of action will be to close the door behind you.” Judging by the way his chin jutted out, he was clearly expecting that to be the last word.

“…No.” Tossing the blanket’s edge back to the floor, Sans squared up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The incredulity that flashed in Pap’s eyes should have cowed him but he had resigned himself to that already at the door. “I’m not just gonna leave you here, all jittery and crunched up against the wall. I can’t leave you like this. You’re not fine and I know if I try to say somethin’ to make it better, I’ll screw it up. Like you said, I always do. So let’s just skip that part where I do it wrong and get to the bit where you tell me what you need. What d’you need to feel better and get back to sleep okay?”

The following silence caught him off guard. Papyrus was never at a loss for further scathing remarks so why was he just staring at him? Moreover, where had his anger gone? He looked smaller without it, less like the Great and Terrible Papyrus and more like…

Papyrus. Red’s only brother. Hunched down, hands fisted into the mattress, micro-tremors trailing down his ribs as he breathed, he looked exhausted.

A minute passed. Maybe it was two.

Sans fidgeted, his nerve failing. “Boss, listen, I—”

“Tea,” he muttered, hooded eyes darting away. “If you really want to make yourself useful.” Sans hadn’t expected his soul to fill his throat at that response; something must have shown in his face, as Papyrus’ next grumble was even quieter. “You’re acting uncharacteristically generous with your work ethic. Why would I pass up this opportunity to make you work in the kitchen for once?”

Sans felt oddly light at the words as he nodded, turning for the door. “Gotcha.” He had never thought this day would come. For once in his life, he saw doing more work as a victory.

If it did some small modicum of good, if it made one miniscule chip in those walls between them, it would be worth the effort.

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deans-haunted-baby · 4 years

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The Ones Left Behind

Alrighty time for some truth bombs. I’ve had almost a week to absorb the end of Supernatural and season 15 as a whole. And I think this is the moment where I need to throw in my two cents. For all intents and purposes I won’t go in-depth into 15x20 seeing as that conversation will just open up a whole other can of worms and I don’t need that headache. I have my reasons for being less than indifferent with how the Winchesters’ story concluded. So I won’t go there.

Instead I’ll be focusing all my energies on the unsatisfying conclusions of 4 particular characters. Two of which were main cast members (one that was on the show 12 years and one 4 years) while the other two (played by the same dude) were brought back after a decade long hiatus for a much-anticipated comeback only to be wasted and mangled unfairly by Dabb and his hack horde of a writing staff. Call this a follow up to my last post. If I sound bitter I am because these people don’t have a single clue on how to helm these characters, their relationships or their storylines 😠 Nor do they deserve them.

And yes I’m well aware of Kevin Tran, Rowena, Ketch and several others who got the shaft on this show. Those could be future posts for another time.

But I cannot stress this enough; ADAM MILLIGAN, JACK KLINE, MICHAEL AND CASTIEL ALL DESERVED FUCKING BETTER. There is no arguing these facts, none whatsoever. Not one of these characters deserved that exit to be the final chapter in their story. I won’t do an entire analysis of each character’s arc and role in the show as I’ve already done that in my rant about 15x19. But I will highlight how much season 15 royally screwed over these characters and tossed them aside like trash; as if none of them were ever part of/contributed anything to Sam and Dean’s history/world building of Supernatural’s universe.

*WARNING* This is going to get heated.

Before I dive into the heart of these issues I want to state this is not a “shipping post”. I don’t ship anyone on Supernatural, hopefully this blog has been pretty self-explanatory. So I have no arguments/opinions in those areas. I’ve been a fan of this series for 15 years because of the characters, the familial bonds and relationships formed between characters throughout its run. And I’m well-aware that the Winchesters are the lead protagonists of the show, no need to remind me. These are purely my own thoughts based what I’ve obtained from show canon. Let me just say I can’t get over just how much these writers contradicted and ignored what they put forth in the journeys of these four individuals. its a real headscratcher.

You mean to tell me that after TWELVE DAMN YEARS of Castiel being a rebellious warrior angel, searching for his own identity and meaning in life; making that promise to Kelly Kline about raising Jack as his own/risking his life for him. After sacrificing himself for his son a year ago, acknowledging he was satisfied with his role as a father which restored his faith; that it was all because of/for Dean Winchester?

You mean to tell me that after Michael, THE PRINCE OF HEAVEN and PROTECTOR OF HUMANITY, was locked away in a cage with a human whom he emotionally bonded with for thousands of years (10 years our time); who was abandoned, betrayed and manipulated by his neglectful/abusive father. After choosing free will and aligning himself with TFW for humanity’s sake, just sided with the Earth’s destruction because his little brother called him names?

You mean to tell me that Jack, A THREE YEAR OLD CHILD, who’s barely just beginning his life and spent his entire duration on the show wanting to be normal and not wanting to be special. Connecting and being integrated with humans; a child who’s biggest fear was outliving everyone he ever loved. Is suddenly ready to walk away from his family, his home and his teddy bear; to give up being a kid forever and run the universe?

You mean to tell me that Adam, SUPERNATURAL’S MOST INNOCENT CHARACTER and FORGOTTEN THIRD-WINCHESTER BROTHER, after being eaten by ghouls; pulled away from his mother out of Heaven, manipulated by angels, trapped in Hell for thousands of years because Sam and Dean left him there to rot. After coming back and helping his neglectful siblings save the world only to be ripped away from his best friend and THE ONLY OTHER PERSON who gave a damn about him; is sentenced to a life of loneliness, homelessness and turmoil until he dies and ends up in Hell where he’ll mostly be tortured and turned into a demon?

NO. I DO NOT AND WILL NEVER ACCEPT THIS BULLSHIT!

Season 15 not only manages to contradict itself where these characters are concerned (while assassinating them before the final curtain). But the writers deliberately discarded them before giving us that *sarcasm inserted* epic solo-Winchester conclusion. Regardless of how you feel about Adam, Castiel, Jack or Michael, ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS are connected Sam and Dean’s story and part of Supernatural. And when you throw them away like they mean nothing, you’re essentially throwing away a part of the show’s history. You’re ignoring 15 years worth of story building.

As I said I’m not going to go into 15x20 for reasons, it doesn’t offend me as much as what was done before that finale. Because I think those other show exits really affect 15x20 even worse than people realize. You want to know why, I’ll explain.

Lets start off with Castiel and Jack, OH BOY! We know where they end up; running Heaven and the Earth together which is all fine and dandy. I love my Dadstiel father/son duo being an endgame family unit. But here in lies the problem, we never saw it. Not even a cameo. And technically their onscreen storyline ends at 15x18 and 15x19 which is an ugly, anti-climatic bookend to an incredibly deep relationship that had 4 years of development. First you have Castiel who completely forgets why he made that deal with the Empty to begin with. HIS FUCKING SON. Not to mention it wasn’t about true happiness it was about giving himself permission to be happy; there is a difference. And then you have Jack wandering around next episode, vacuuming up power cause suddenly he’s a machine now, acting like he doesn’t give a shit over losing his dad to an entity HE’S BEEN DREADING ABOUT FOR A FUCKING YEAR.

Towards the end of season 15 I noticed neither of these characters were acting like themselves. Their motivations, their personalities and strong ties to one another had mysteriously dissolved. Castiel became less concerned about the danger his son was facing after 15x15 (what the hell was that in 15x17?) and more about speaking when spoken to by either Sam or Dean. Does he know how Dean truly feels about Jack; proclaiming the child is “not family”? I doubt the in-character version of him would let Jack leave with Dean after that insult. Castiel’s not even worried whether or not his son is alive or safe before he makes the big confession later. And for some reason Jack (who’d become heavily suicidal) was more concerned with clinging to the Winchesters, willing to die for them, instead focusing on himself and the one person who’s shown him nothing but unconditional love and given him strength since birth. Both of these characters are canonically depressed and suffer from low self-esteem that was never resolved which makes me furious.

When Chuck killed Jack at the end of season 14, this devastated Castiel in the first half of season 15. He actually got to grieve that loss throughout the episodes and deal with his anger over it, allowing the audience to anticipate the day they’d be reunited one last time. This part of Castiel’s S15 arc also ironically mirrors Jack’s S13 arc of mourning Castiel’s death until resurrecting him. And when this son finally returned to his father, who got to rescue him, it was such a poignant moment between the two. It was a cathartic payoff after witnessing Castiel in so much pain over Jack. There was so much building up between that Dadstiel reunion in 15x11 and the Empty’s pact in 14x08; this was suppose to be a tragic yet pivotal plot-point in both Jack and Castiel’s stories. And with SPN wrapping up we all expected something BIG. Yet somehow the writers retconned the whole thing by making it all about Dean, which is such a gross disservice to these characters and 4 years of storytelling.

For instance, since 15x18 was Castiel’s exit episode, why wasn’t he allowed to hug his son or Sam goodbye one last time? Why didn’t he have more of a focal role instead of standing around majority of the episode with barely any dialogue as so much precious air time was wasted on frivolous things? Why didn’t he get one last badass fight scene with someone like Death instead of being choked out and tossed around like a powerless mortal? Why did the group need to be split up to begin with when it served no purpose either than that *ugh* moment? Why wasn’t Jack allowed to call Castiel “dad” once before the show ended? He deserved to hear his son address him as dad!

AND WHY THE HELL COULDN’T JACK FEEL CASTIEL’S DEATH THE MOMENT IT HAPPENED?

The show already established to the audience the significant cosmic bond these two characters shared since before Jack was even born. It was so powerful it boosted Castiel’s grace. Jack could remember who Castiel was from the womb and that he’d protected his mother. Not to mention HE FUCKING RESURRECTED CASTIEL OUT OF THE EMPTY ONCE WITHOUT GOD’S POWER. You’re telling me Jack couldn’t feel his dad being taken away forever despite how far apart they were? No, he’d feel it in his heart. Had we’d been given a scene like that at the end of 15x18 (something of substance) with actual grief shown in 15x19 maybe the episode would’ve faired better for them.

That said it wasn’t, because Jack was treated the exact same way in his final exit. Hardly any lines and just a bunch of scenes of him standing/walking around until that pathetic reveal at the lake. HE DOESN’T EVEN GET TO INTERACT WITH JAKE ABEL’S MICHAEL/ADAM which would’ve been a great follow-up to the AU!Michael storyline in seasons 13 and 14. I swear these directors didn’t give Alex and Misha any motivation during their last three episodes and it’s evident in their hollow performances. But why would they when the scripts are basically telling their characters to quickly fuck off so the brothers can have their final outing. Jack doesn’t even behave like himself after he becomes the new God. His personality is apathetic, cold, alien, stiff and way too mature for the 3 year old child so closely connected to his family/the human world. In that moment I saw Alex Calvert not Jack Kline. It’s bad enough he doesn’t get a meaningful farewell but again Castiel, HIS DAD, is a complete afterthought to this kid 🥶

And that’s what we’re left with. Forever. A frigid, hollow ending to one of Supernatural’s most healthy, touching, family dynamics. It makes you wonder what was even the point. I can’t even fully enjoy the fact that its canon Jack and Castiel are together fixing Heaven because of what the show presented onscreen as their last hurrah. It’s not sitting right and it makes 15x20 even less appealing to me.

Moving onto Michael and Adam. Get ready for this. I could rant forever about how dirty my boys were done by this show. How they were discarded in the SPN series finale recap etc. just as they were FOR THE LAST TEN FUCKING YEARS. Was there even a plan going on here or was this just everyone making things up as it went? Their ending is the most unsatisfying and cruel thing because its INCOMPLETE. There is no real closure or resolution with them thanks to the monstrosity that was 15x19. AND NO ONE CARES ENOUGH ABOUT THEM TO GIVE A SHIT.

Much as I’ve enjoyed this show for many years, it NEVER deserved Jake Abel, his talent or his time. I keep seeing so many anti posts about Dean Winchester’s final fate in Supernatural and all I can think about is “try being an Adam Milligan fan for the last decade”. I’ve had to watch this boy go through hell with nothing to show for it either than years of memes. ridicule and the show’s mockery in forgetting him. Actually he’s the ONLY CHARACTER in this series you’re encouraged not to remember 😡 Also quick question: why give us this really interesting and healthy relationship between an archangel and its vessel if nothing was ever going to become of it?

At this point I don’t know why Adam or the idea of him was even introduced way back in season 4 let alone revisited in season 5. Because the only thing I see when I look at this character now is SAD WASTED POTENTIAL. Storylines never explored. Relationships that never got off the ground. Backstory we never got to see (like for instance his past with John Winchester and his time in the cage). A character’s birthright (Men of Letters) that was never actualized. AND the unexplained factor that Adam could look directly at Michael’s true form without his eyes burning out (making him a special case). And the thing is he could’ve been a really great character, both him and Michael. They could’ve easily reached popular status just like Castiel given the chance since Jake is a freaking acting-powerhouse. We were given a taste in 15x08 just how awesome these characters could be and how they could’ve contributed so much to the story and its core group. But unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be.

Michael will never redeem himself after years of scrutiny and being made out to be some kind of unhinged monster. This show constantly enjoyed pounding into our brains how fearsome Michael was. Warned us via Lucifer (LUCIFER, PEOPLE!) that he wasn’t rational, compassionate and didn’t care about anything except war, death and destruction. And that he was incapable of feelings and emotions. This is how Supernatural saw Heaven’s Prince and guardian of the Earth. Christ, they actually did a two-year storyline about an evil Michael from the AU world who enjoyed torturing and killing while trying to destroy the universe. I want to know WHAT THE HELL THIS SHOW’S WRITERS HAD AGINST THESE CHARACTERS? Why they felt the need to bring back Jake Abel, AFTER A DECADE OF FANS WANTING THIS, if it was simply to piss all over his characters one last time before the show wrapped. This is absolutely unprofessional and childish; the fact that Jake is taking this bullshit in stride makes it all the more shameful 😡

We could’ve learned so much more about Michael’s past and his present relationship with Adam. These characters didn’t need to sit in the cage for a decade they could’ve easily been incorporated back into the show as far as season 8 or 10! And been an asset to the Darkness storyline in season 11.There were characters and storylines introduced that served no purpose. Why did we need to keep seeing characters like Charlie Bradbury or (as much as I like him) Crowley or Garth (love him too) or Lucifer or Abaddon or the Wayward sisters? I would’ve much preferred having Adam and Michael around and got to know them instead; especially after 15x08. I would’ve wanted to see what their dynamic with TFW could’ve become had they been long-time allies. Did John ever tell Mary about Adam’s existence? I’d like to see what her reaction would’ve been like had the Winchesters remembered him during that damn 300th episode. I guess that’s another loose end untied.

But because of what Supernatural did to these two characters, it forever taints Sam and Dean. I don’t think Dabb or purist fans realize this. But when new viewers come into this show about two brothers preaching important things like “saving people”, “family first” or “family don’t end in blood” they’re going to see how badly the main protagonists treated their innocent half brother. How Castiel and Jack were treated. They’re going to see the heroes of the story abandoning this kid in Hell forever with no intention of EVER rescuing him. And that’s why their final appearance leaves such a bad taste going into 15x20. Cause as much as Dabb and co didn’t give a shit about Adam and Michael they also didn’t give a rat’s ass about protecting Sam and Dean’s integrity. That’ll be a stain they can’t undo.

So through all of it, we’re stuck with the abomination that is 15x19 aka the eye-soar to an unfinished/unpolished story of two horribly disregarded characters. Michael gets the pleasure of being character assassinated right before he’s stupidly killed off instead of going out a hero or becoming the next God (as it was his birthright and the setup was there in the narrative). And Adam gets killed off-screen, OUT OF HIS OWN DAMN BODY, then brought back by Jack only to live a miserable, isolated existence since his brothers have nothing to do with him (the dog and car are more important); his best friend is dead, he has no job or money or a fucking home and he’s legally dead! Really what is there left for him besides the brutal fate awaiting in Hell when he dies?

SERIOUSLY THEY COULDN’T GIVE US ONE SCENE WHERE THE WINCHESTERS CHECKED IN ON ADAM TO MAKE SURE HE WAS SAFE?! 🤬 His last scene pretty much sums up this shit for what it is. Tragic. I feel like crying for this poor sweet boy.

Congratulations Dabb, BL and co for giving us these much deserved broken story arcs of characters you destroyed and made OOC before leaving the airways. You did your show’s protagonists justice by doing this *sarcasm inserted* after 15 years of being onscreen. I doubt these idiotic decisions are going to age well in the long run. They certainly don’t look good on the Winchesters. Anyway that’s my hot take for the day.

ALL THESE ACTORS AND THEIR CHARACTERS DESERVED BETTER.

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revengerevisited · 3 years

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Maddie talks about depression.

Talking about depression is kinda hard because every time I do, I start to feel guilty because I know there are so many other people who have it worse than me. It’s not like I’m starving or abused or homeless. All my problems are just in my head, and a lot of it is my own laziness.

My depression comes from my anxiety and stress. While certain stressors are no longer part of my life —school was hell, and I’m very glad I don’t have to be there anymore— there are still many things which stress me out. First is my general incompetency and fear of never accomplishing anything.

Truth be told, I kinda suck at... everything. I can’t cook anything complicated, I don’t know how to pay taxes or bills, I can’t learn to drive because I’m terrified of death, I suck at social skills, and I’ve never had a job. In other words, I’m not independent, and it’s honestly really embarrassing and makes me feel guilty.

While I could learn how to do those first two more easily than the others, I really am genuinely scared of driving and I don’t know how to fix that. Quick candid run-down, I’ve tried antidepressants and therapy, but the only thing that’s helped is anti-anxiety medication (buspirone, for the curious). Even then, it’s not a magic fix.

For social skills... That’s a tough one. I have trouble making a keeping friends. Just a couple months ago I had a falling out with a friend, and it’s really bummed me out. I feel lonely a lot of the time. I don’t really know if social skills are something that can be learned. It doesn’t help that I have social anxiety on top of everything else.

As for a job... Just thinking about it causes me anxiety. I know it’s both a social obligation and (supposed to be) a point of pride, not to mention the money, but I’m terrified of feeling trapped again in the same way I did at school. Plus, to have a job I need to drive, which brings us back to my fear of death.

I’ve realized the only thing that can partially help that fear would be having children, but I don’t know how I’m going to manage that either. I’m not attractive, my personality isn’t that likable, and what’s worse I’m running out of time to find a husband. If a woman is over thirty, chances of her children being born unhealthy start to increase. That’s only five years away for me.

Of course before I can even start thinking of marriage and kids, I have to get my own life together, because how am I supposed to care for kids if I can’t even care for myself? Which brings me back to getting a job. The only thing I’m really good at is writing. My art is still too lacking for me to rely on it. I’m both a perfectionist and a procrastinator, which makes me feel even more guilty for being lazy if I’m not constantly working on something.

My greatest accomplishment in life is a half-finished rarepair fanfic featuring a character who— Well. I don’t even know if I know him anymore. For years I poured everything I had into Vanitas, and... I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say this whole KHUX situation has broken my spirit.

I know that it’s ‘just fiction’ and I keep trying to tell myself that, but I know the truth is that Vanitas means so much more to me than ‘just fiction’. I’m not sure I could say exactly why he’s so important to me —though I have tried— but he just... is.

I’ve already gone over my stress from online harassment. In some ways that, combined with the TOS on every website telling me that my art isn’t allowed, has really worn me down. Overall, everything combined makes me... not really want to create Kingdom Hearts content anymore. Which isn’t something anyone wants to hear. Trust me, I don’t want to stop, either, but... sometimes I wonder if I need to stop.

I feel like I need to stop thinking about Kingdom Hearts, about Vanitas, and focus on my own original writing, since thinking about what’s happening to him is making me so miserable. With original writing, there wouldn’t be any stupid retcons because I could control the characters. I could make all the characters 18+ to satisfy the stupid antis and TOS. I could sell my work and maybe that could become my job. I wouldn’t need to drive yet because I could do it in my own home.

But...

But if I abandon my fanfics, even just to go on a hiatus, then I’ll disappoint everyone. That’s my rock and my hard place. That’s guilt.

My mom paid $120,000 on my college tuition, and I wasted it and four whole years in a tiny dorm room on an animation degree that I’ll never use. That’s guilt.

Guilt is stress and stress is anxiety and anxiety is depression.

Everything, everything here, is just too much for me to handle and my mind gets overwhelmed and collapses and swirls into this abyss of grey. I just feel stuck in one place that I can’t get out of.

For the last couple weeks I’ve been a depression blob. That is to say, laying around and not doing anything. Not working because it’s too much effort. Not doing anything fun, because it’s too much effort. Not getting up to eat until I’m starving, because it’s too much effort. Just typing this all out is almost too much effort.

And this is where I come across as lazy and a complainer, because as I said, it’s all just in my head, and the guilt from that just makes me feel even worse. Other people handle life just fine. Why am I so bad at it?

...My biggest stressor right now is finishing this Venqua fic and making sure it’s perfect. It’s supposed to be funny and sexy but I feel like neither right now. But I really do want to finish it, and as soon as possible, because I know everyone’s excited and waiting on me.

I want to be able to have fun when I write. I don’t want it to feel like a chore. I think if I could just get through this one fic, then I can start on my original work and learn the life skills I need. But even then, chapter thirteen of A Heart and a Half would be next, and then fourteen, and so on. I don’t have time to do all these things at once.

I just don’t want to feel trapped.

#depression #stress #anxiety #vent #rambles #personal

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erikthedead · 3 years

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entry #4

Started reading FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY’s ‘Notes from the Underground,’ and I just got into the second half of him rambling and reflecting on his behaviour in detail. I never would have thought a Russian man from the 19th century would make me feel a little bit less alone in this world (or at least the ‘character’ delivering the narrative). Yet the more I read about what goes on in peoples’ heads the less insane I feel, or at least comforted by realising that everyone is a little bit insane, as long as they’re being honest. Should that be comforting? I feel like that should actually be disturbing, but I kinda like being disturbed. The bit that struck me to get writing about myself was how he recurringly mentions this need to be seen and heard and be a noble member of society, but flip flops between that and a state of isolating himself and being a recluse, ashamed by how his own face looks. I hope I’m interpreting it right, as I’m not so sure I’m smart enough to fully understand everything the man was trying to convey. The whole thing reads as him trying to make sense of himself, if anything. But if I am right in that, I can totally relate, and it causes me much distress as it seemed to have tormented him too. His way was to throw himself into busy streets and bars, never feeling comfortable with it from what I’ve read, and possibly did it on purpose to feel uncomfortable, because he was getting bored with the current discomfort of isolating himself in his room with his books. That’s the interesting thing about it, he never once says he ‘leaves the comfort’ of his own home, like you’ll hear many well-adjusted introverts say. People who are content on their own. He obviously wasn’t content, he was bored, sick of his own brain, he tells us how he would break down into tearful fits from some sort of mental anguish that he tried to escape from through consumption of literature. I do exactly the same thing with media of all kinds, not because I ENJOY spending time with myself and my things, but because it helps me COPE with it. I am so envious of consistently introverted people who relish in their alone time. That SHOULD BE ME. All the same, it annoys me to death when someone complains about being ‘stuck in the house’ all day when they want to go out and mingle and see the world, because that is too exhausting a thing to wish for compared to creature comforts and solitude, surely. Both of them irritate me because I’m jealous of their seemingly consistent understanding of themselves, their desires and what makes them content on a regular, general basis. I’ve been trying to hard to figure out my own. I’m twenty-six now, yet I still feel juvenile as hell. I still feel like a child that goes up to the next thing that catches its eye and wants to ask, ‘can I have a go?’ And of course, to an innocent child, you let them have a go, without any expectations. You don’t get that luxury as an adult. You are expected to choose, commit, KNOW what you want. But again, I can’t help but think this isn’t me being special, that everyone probably feels this way, you certainly hear it from a lot of old people who humbly state that they are still always learning and discovering new things. Then again maybe they miss the point. Discovering things is fine, all the time. Learning is appreciated and encouraged. But actually changing or choosing not to change (both can be bad, right?), that is unsettling. We’ve given up good and evil for behaviourism and yet still people like me, Fyodor and to name a few other people I relate to when I read their autobiographies, Russell Brand, Stephen Fry, Steve-O (oh yes I compare myself to the greats, in all my unheard mighty feats), people like us can’t even get that right. Creative, expressive, bipolar people. People with big heads and sensitive souls, I’d say. Although I connect deeply to people like this I’d never want to be around them for too long. I know their torment and quite frankly my own is enough to contend with. There is a feeling of ‘pay attention to me but leave me alone.’ ‘Love me more than anything but don’t care too much about me because I’m bound to hurt you or make a fool of myself.’ Actually, in Notes from the Underground, Fyodor talks about man’s unconscious desire to smash up something he has been building, because he is unconsciously terrified of what to do what he has completed it, and Brand actually mentions this quite a bit in his Bookywooks. How he’d personally reach a level of fame and notoriety but then sabotage it, fearing the peak or what comes after – the come down. I hope I’ve interpreted these guys correctly, because it does make sense to me. The only thing that really sets me aside from these guys is my utter lack of ambition. At least in these peoples’ hypomanic states they were achieving something. What do I do? I’m the classic, slightly mentally ill underachiever that never sticks to anything. The sheer magnitude of my unconscientiousness could be used as an example of how not to be during a Jordan Peterson lecture. My downfalls were not self-sabotages, conscious or unconscious for the first half of my life. The rest you can blame on me, that’s fair enough, but puberty hit me early and like a train, and all that meant was I was spotty and got a bullied a bit, but that didn’t excuse me from performing well in my exams and essays. I was predicted to come out with some of the top grades in the whole school. I even started finding my confidence and standing up for myself to bullies after a few years adjusting to adolescence. Then my mother died suddenly one night from an overdose when I was fourteen, and my whole world flipped upside down. Like an anime main character backstory right there. It wasn’t perfect beforehand, anyone who knows my whole childhood situation will agree, but I had a bloody good chance up until she died. After that, I became nihilistic, rebellious, promiscuous and generally self-destructive. ‘How would your mother feel if she could see you now? She wouldn’t have wanted this.’ Oh how I wish I slapped anyone that said this to me. How dare they even try to assume what she would have wanted, having never known her. Of course, I said it to myself all the time, I still do sometimes, but I have that right. The rest of you don’t. Hah, rights. What a joke, even as I try to be dominant through typing to imaginary figments of the past and the future, I’m not even convincing myself.

The inconsistency, of my desires, my attitudes, my cognitions, my emotions and ultimately my behaviour is what pains me. I would rather be a complete abolition that was sure in himself than be like this. What’s even more frustrating is that it’s not that uncommon for people to be like me in that sense, but they just go with the flow with it, seemingly unaware of their inconsistency, and become incredibly defensive when you point it out. It’s understandable, I get defensive with myself, which could be an early sign of schizophrenia, who knows, time will tell. At the moment though I am without doubt an anxious, depressive, inconsistent muddled mess of a person, and even the HOPE for my future self comes and goes in powerful forms. I have the grandiose fantasies of being interviewed by people because I’m just that interesting and my achievements are that remarkable, and I also have the sheer terror while preparing to talk to the shop assistant when I’m buying something. Oh yeah, buying things, that’s a tricky one for me an’ all! The trick with me is not to give me too much choice, because if I have I will never decide, or I will make a silly last minute decision or pick the third thing after debating with myself for ten minutes between choosing from the first and the second. Not only indecisiveness, but impulsiveness plagues me. Not just buying things I don’t need, or don’t even want yet because I haven’t finished the last thing, but even charitably so. I saw a stranger E-begging by chance and decided to send him money. I have no idea why. Am I just a good person? I don’t have enough money for myself, and even if I do have some to spare, that should go to others who have helped me financially before a stranger on the internet. Maybe I’m not a good person, and I just did it to cleanse myself of some feeling of shame or guilt for wasting money on myself. As well as the positive fantasies of my future where I am destined to greatness through nothing other than my own conviction and virtues, I have the other vision in the crystal ball that shows myself destitute and addicted to hard drugs, homeless or institutionalised, ultimately suicided. Addiction and suicide run through my veins afterall, and I’ve been close to becoming the 3rd generation of my bloodline to go out by my own hand. The decently sized scar on my arm from a self-inflicted slash that was intended for my neck, that nearly severed my nerves and would have left me with a malfunctioning left hand had I gone any deeper. Sometimes I look at it and feel ashamed for doing it, for trying to throw away my beautiful, special life, and other times I look at it and feel ashamed for missing my real target, my consciousness. I battle with my consciousness a lot, I try to minimise it through drink and drugs or healthy mental exercises, distract it with my media, sublimate it through writing and drawing, but rarely do I get peace from it. Then other times, I count my blessings and praise the universe for bestowing onto me just the ability to think and feel and be a person. Neither approach to life is crazy to me, what’s crazy to me is not being able to bloody pick one and settle on it for more than a couple of days at a time. Like Fyodor describes his character going out into a busy bustling area in his urges to be part of society after a stint of isolation, I will go out some weekends and do the same, but that’s only a more recent, probably more healthy advance in my development than what I have been doing for a long time which is going online to provoke and debate people with my thoughts and opinions, and sometimes cheeky insults. I really resent when people who know me call it ‘trolling’ when I go off on these episodes. Trolling to me is when you put something out there that you don’t actually stand by, but you know will get a reaction out of people because you’re bored and want to mess with people. Now fair enough, there’s a lot to be said for that last part, but I have no reason to say things I don’t really think/feel/believe when the things I say genuinely are enough to upset people on their own, things I sincerely believe are correct. I’ll feel ever so right and convicted during these online tirades, then the next day want to delete all my social media and wipe my name from the planetary database. Perhaps I could just delete my existence while I’m at it. Seems like my self-doubt and my self-assuredness play equal part in my misery, because like everything else, I can’t choose one. The same happens if I go out and meet new people on the weekend, I’ll exchange numbers and add people with all intention of meeting up in the future, only to ghost them afterwards. I don’t know why.

#rambling #4 #entry #entry 4 #four

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dustinjohnson1981 · 3 years

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my first post

This is my first and maybe only post. I don’t know what to do anymore, I’ve been homeless for 3 months and it doesn’t seem like anyone cares. I’ve tried reaching out for help with shelters, churches, and even government programs and haven’t been able to get any assistance. Shelters won’t help cause I have an 11 year old pit bull dog that I’ve had since she was a few months old. She’s the sweetest dog you will ever meet, but because she’s a pit bull, there’s that stigma that she’s aggressive, which she isn’t. I’m no saint, and I’m not here to try and lead anyone on to thinking that I am, but I am a good person. I’m just an ordinary person, trying to get through this hell we call life. I have a couple people I call friends, but in reality, we’re more acquaintances that have just known each other for like the past 16 years. Maybe I’m just too different from the rest of humanity, but I would do just about anything to help a friend out if they were in my position, but my “friends” don’t want anything to do with me. I feel like I’m a burden and think I would be better off dead. I definitely don’t have any reason, any purpose for living, I’m just a waste of human existence. I’m not really into religion, at least definitely not the go to church every week type, and lately, about all my faith in God is me cursing at him for making me homeless, if God is even real. So of course religious people jump at me for those comments saying it’s the Devil, not God. I’m like, ok, if it’s the Devil, and he was one of God’s angels, why does he allow the Devil to exist still? God is suppose to be all powerful, all knowing, all loving, but he lets humanity suffer here on Earth. Religion will say I was created in the image of God, and that he already knows everything that is going to happen before it happens, so first, it’s like what in the hell was God smoking when he created me the way I am and then knew I was going to end up homeless and contemplating suicide. I never asked to be born, to be raised in an abusive family. I am thankful that at 39 now, I had the common sense to tell myself when I was 8 years old I will never have a wife of children of my own, so that way I won’t risk repeating the cycle of abuse. I feel like whether it is God, or just bad genes in science talk, I definitely got the short end of the straw. Being 5′5 sucks for height when women seem to want tall guys. And I definitely don’t have the skills for social interactions, probably why I’ve never had a girlfriend. I always end up in the friend zone. I compare my attributes to that of Danny DeVito in the movie, Twins, with Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you haven’t seen that movie, I recommend watching it, it’s a good movie. I wonder where I went wrong in life to end up homeless. I grew up being good with numbers, so always thought I was going to be an accountant, but was never good at anything else in school and really hated going. Tried my luck in college and that was a complete waste of time, can’t write 3-5 page essays for English, so was never able to finish my AA degree. I was always a fan of WWE wrestling growing up and that was like my dream to be a wrestler, but again, being short and untalented and uncharismatic, that was never going to happen. I can say I at least tried for it though, trained for almost 2 years before getting a minor tear in my shoulder. I have no real skill set when it comes to work, I’ve spent my entire life working in warehouses through staffing agencies. Not being good is an understatement when it comes to job interviews. No matter how much I try and prepare for the questions, I always just freeze up like a deer in headlights. I hate working in warehouses to begin with, companies just treat employees like slaves, especially if you’re through an agency. They literally need no reason to end your assignment, so if they just look at you and decide they don’t like you, you aren’t going to last very long, that or they’re going to have you do the lowest type of work they have and force you to want to quit. They make you work 12 hour shifts days a week and only want to pay you minimum wage or slightly above that while as a company they make millions of dollars. And they do this to employees year round, regardless of weather conditions. So during summer, when it’s 102 degrees outside and your in a truck loading or unloading, it’s going to be like 110-115 degrees inside that truck and same in winter times, when it’s cold outside, it’s even worse inside, especially if you’re on a forklift, cause now you’re driving up and down lanes pulling pallets and you’re feeling the freezing wind as you drive. So I haven’t worked in about 2 weeks now and not sure when my next assignment will come, or if I’ll even take it. Obviously I need to so I can have money for food for my dog and myself, but it’s so depressing that I have nothing to show for my life. I’m in and out of motels these 3 months of being homeless, my checks barely cover the cost for a week at a motel. So my other bills don’t get paid, or if they do, their constantly being late. Having around $45,000 in bills/debts ain’t fun neither. I don’t even know why I made an account here and am writing this, I doubt anyone will read this and even less likely I will get any help. I’ve heard of Tumblr, but never really knew what it was. I only just found out after watching the Netflix documentary on Elisa Lam. When I have friends that won’t help, family that put me in this situation, why would complete strangers want to help me. I’ve tried GoFundMe and have had absolutely no luck there, I feel like you have to have a huge friend base on social media for that site to work. You post to your friends who share to others and so on and hopefully get people to help whatever the cause that person posted about, so for me, that just was a waste of time. Same with Twitter and TikTok, people respond how they feel bad for me but I can’t get anyone to want to help me with finding a job and a place to live. I can’t rent anyways, as I found out in December after applying to several places and being rejected, my grandmother put something called a judgment on my background so when apartments run a check and that pops up, they immediately decline my application. And renting a room isn’t an option neither as people don’t want my dog. I just feel hopeless and defeated in life and don’t see a reason to go on. I was just reading about the horrific car pile up accident in the Fort Worth, TX area the other day and feel bad for all those people, but at the same time, wish I was one of the six that died so that I could be gone from this world. Same if I could, I would gladly trade places with a child that’s dying from cancer or even if it was for one more day, trade with an someone’s parent, so that they could have that one extra day to tell that parent how much they love them before the parent passes. To be unloved in life, to feel completely invisible and unnoticeable to everyone around is one of the worse feelings I think you can have, and that’s how I feel everyday of my life. I don’t know why I keep hoping my life is going to get better, reality is it only ever gets worse by each passing day. And I don’t fear suicide or death in general, for me, it’s the pain I’ll endure in those final moments that scare the hell out of me. Like slitting my wrist or throat and bleeding out, or drowning. All the things that probable flash through your mind as your body reacts and obviously goes into fight or flight mode and tries to survive. Even jumping off a building or a bridge and watching yourself fall to your death, the panic you probable feel of how much pain you will feel when you hit the ground or get hit by a truck, or taking a gun and pulling the trigger, hoping that the bullet goes through exactly the way needed so that you hopefully don’t feel a thing as you fall to the floor dead. To me, it’s the process of dying that’s scary, not death itself. Death itself is mercy, I no longer will feel any pain, physical, emotional, psychological or any other way. Just nothingness, much how I feel my life is.

#elisa lam

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little-dragon-stories · 5 years

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How could you Part 4: what happened back then

Namjoon abandonned you 5 years ago, not knowing you were pregnant. What happens when he meets you one night, with a little girl calling you oemma.

Note: Hey princess @aspaceformyselffics09, here is the next part of your ask. Girl, I didn’t know it would be that long. I hope you love how it turns. Thanks for being in my life, sticking by my side and being such an amazing person.

Just like that, because I feel like it: @readbeneaththelines @independentlittlegirl and @hopetookmysoul I love you girls. Thanks for being in my life as well. Heart Heart Heart (no emojis on my computer :) ) You girls are amazing friends.

Warning: none

Words count: 1778

«Remember this phone?»

«Yes, I do»

«When I left our shared apartment back then, I came to live here in the dorms. I am the one who broke up but I was depressed and didn’t leave bed for days. I was not able to communicate with the world outside. It appeared that the day you texted me saying you were pregnant, it was my now EX manager that saw the pop up on my screen. I am not sure where was my cell phone… I probably left it in the living room somewhere. But I remember that suddenly, he changed our cell phones, telling us he bought new ones. That we all need to have the same devices for a better coordination of our schedules and stuff. We all had to change phone number. That’s what he did… He took my cell phone and made sure to answer you everytime you were texting me. He even study my handwriting to write you a letter… He confessed everything last night».

«Oh my god! Namjoon are you kidding me? But why?» you asked but Namjoon continued as if you didn’t interrupt him.

«I was with the lawyers of the company when he confessed everything. Jin,Jimin and the president of BigHits were by my side too. You have to believe me, we will sue him».

«WHY? Why would he do such a thing?»

«To protect my career. To make sure I would stay focused on the group instead of a family.».

Now that you are face to face with Namjoon, you can tell, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his child. He’s so angry right now, you believe what he’s telling you.

«Namjoon… I am so sorry... I should have known better. But at the same time...» You were shocked. The bad feelings you’ve kept inside of you, hate, resentment… gone in 2 seconds as you discovered he was the victim of his manager’s ambitions. He was also deprived from his daughter. But the real victim here is June. She is the one who suffered the most from growing up without a father.

«I wanted to be a rapper so much, it could have been true too. Who knows how I could have react 5 years ago».

«That’s what I thought… I am sorry I thought so low of you».

«It’s not your fault, you had no reason to doubt. You were using my number, he copied my handwriting… with time, you just thought I was really not interested at all so, there was no need to investigate more».

«Joon… It’s a big pill to swallow. It taste like bile»

«I am so angry, somebody decided to take 5 years of my daughter’s life away from me. How much more time I could have wasted if I hadn’t bumped into you that night. Believe me, that bastard will pay for that».

«I understand, I agree. He deprived my daughter from her father, I could buried him alive right now».

Laughing, he stated «you still use that expression when you are mad at somebody, how cute is that». He knows very much that you are not a violent person at all, unable to see a stray cat without feeding it. Generous and caring. He don’t believe you could hurt his ex manager for real. But you know you could.

You were interrupted by Jungkook and Taehyung, pretending that they needed something from their leader, clearly more interested in eying you.

Namjoon cleared his throat louder than necessary, signifying his members that if they need something they should ask for it or leave. Both of them bowed in front of you. And then, they started talking.

«We are sorry Noona» Tae told you while bowing. «Sorry that we didn’t get to meet our little niece yet. We know what happened and we can assure you that none of us knew what was going on». We are not part of this» Jungkood added.

«If you let us, we would like to meet her too. And get to know her and you better» Tae added. Intrigued, Jungkook continued without taking a pause as he speaked.

«How is she? She seemed to be so pretty and intelligent. Jimin and Yoongi hyung have sparkles in their eyes when they described her. And Joonie hyung can’t stop the tears from falling since he met her. Apparently she loves us? And she knows our choreography? And according to Jiminah, she looks like a little princess and...»

You stopped listening to him when you heard him say Joon cried when he talked about your daughter. For some reason, even if it means he was sad when he cried, it touches you.

Your eyes met Nam’s as the maknae continue to talk, overexcited. Namjoon seemed to be overwhelmed by his member’s speech. They want to know his daughter as much as he does. It makes him flustered. He’s glad he has them in his life. When they finally left you alone with Nam, after you told them that when times comes, you would happily introduce them to June, Namjoon took your hand in his from the seat in front of you.

«y/n… I am sorry about all this. I am really sorry. I was falling out of love. I was not happy anymore. I was lost»

«Namjoon, please. I was not mad that you left me. We were fighting very often. We were in a crisis. To be honest, I saw it coming. And just so you know, I didn’t plan to get pregnant. It was a shock for me too».

«I know… now tell me...»

«No Namjoon. Wait...» you interrupted. «I want you to understand that I was so in love with you, all I ever wanted was your happiness and wellbeing. Even if your happiness was not involving me anymore».

«You were, you are still an angel».

«I am not Namjoon. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me».

«I wanted to ask… when can we talk to June. I want to get to know her. I want to go on vacation with her. I want her to look at me from the side of the stage with big shells on her ears. I want to buy her pretty dresses and I want her to jump on my bed in the morning. I want to help her with her homework. I want to be her father. I love her already».

«Are you also ready for over dramatic reactions when she sees you eat meat? She will lecture you with all her vegetarian beliefs… She will wake you up at night because she has a lot of nightmares… You will have to change her bedding at least 3 times a week, if you are with her of course, because when she has nightmares, she pukes».

«What is she scared about? My poor little love»

«Mostly for her mom to die, since she only has me to raise her. She is kind of really scared to lose me. She is scared to be alone if I die… We have family, we have friends but she is really obsessed with it. Also, fire scares her a lot. She is an anxious little princess».

«Of course I will change her bedding. 5 times a night if I have too».

«Are you up for some real loud music playing and a little girl doing her vocalizes? Cause she wants to be a singer, she started to do vocalizes. And she is never ever singing the good note...» you laughed.

«Hey, let her live! She wants to be a singer, she will be the best singer in the whole world» he stated.

«She also want to be an actress. Or mary a rich man and stay home to have enough time to go on the street and give soup to all the homeless person she meets».

«She is so cute… omg. No need to get married for that, her dad is rich. She can do that as much as she wants».

«Namjoon, please don’t you want to think about it? The second she knows you are her father, there is no turning back».

You realize he still holds your hands in his when you feel his fingers intertwined with yours.

«y/n, I think about it for the last 3 days. It’s the only thing I have in mind. She is mine and not only I will take the responsibility for it but I will be immensely happy to be her father».

«ok then… we will tell her. I am not sure yet how to do it… I think I should tell her alone first so she won’t feel obligated to do something, you know what I mean? She wouldn’t feel pressured to react in a way or another in front of you».

«You are the most beautiful person in the world y/n. I am so glad that you are the one who raised my baby. I couldn’t have expected a better mom for my girl.

«You call her mine already. That’s cute. I am glad that you accepted her so easily».

«Well, she is mine, isn’t she?»

«Without a doubt but you could have react differently».

He let go of your hands and leaned back on the sofa behind him. As he was scratching his temples, you knew something was bothering him.

«Spit it Joon».

«Me and the boys talked about it a lot… You might need to move in a secured complex for her safety. If it’s known that I have a baby princess, she is in danger».

«Well, aren’t those places expensives? And...»

«They are but of course you won’t have to pay for it… May I tell you this already? Is it too soon?»

«What? What?» The time it took him to respond stressed you out.

«Well… don’t be mad at me. I have nothing to do with it...»

«Kim Namjoon, talk please».

«Well, the boys, they bought the apartment in front of ours. They said they bought it under my daughter’s name as a birth gift. They would like to get to know her better too. And since the apartment was on sold...»

«Nam, it may be too soon to move out of our apartment. One step at the time ok?».

«Agreed. First, let’s tell my baby princess who I really am».

A few days later, as you told June all the truth about her birth, her father and the reason why he kept away from the both of you, she had the most unexpected reaction ever.

#kim namjoon #namjoon #namjoon scenarios #kpop imagine #bts #bangtan scenario #bts kim namjoon #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #father bts

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justanotherdeadgirlwalking · 4 years

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That is Just the Saddest F**king Thing I Have Ever Heard.

TW obviously DEH is about a kid’s suicide, so it has those themes

other parts :)

Part One.

Cynthia said I had to go to school today. “It’s your senior year Connor,” she said, “you can’t miss the first day,” which was just complete bullshit. I tried to compromise, “I’ll go tomorrow,” I told her. No, I had to go. Mom just wanted to get me out of the house after watching me sleep and sit in my room all summer. “Today’s a chance to go make some friends” she told me.

Look it’s not my fault that I don’t have any fucking friends, and it’s not my fault that I can’t make friends because everyone thinks of me as big, bad Connor Murphy, the freak. I’m not a freak. People just have this false idea of me in their head and have never taken the time to actually get to know me. I’ve always been a hot topic of rumors, even though I’ve never done anything really worth talking about. Except the incident in second grade. Someone explain to me why something so stupid that happened when I was 8 years old is something people still use to talk shit about me. It is still a story that gets told from time to time, “oh stay away from Connor Murphy, he’s batshit crazy. He once threw a printer at Mrs. G. because he didn’t get to be line leader” That’s not the whole story. No one knows what really happened because they weren’t even there. I mean, yes I was upset that I didn’t get to be line leader, even though it was my turn, and yes I did shove the table that the printer was on, which caused it to fall. So, I mean, I guess I threw the printer in a sense, but what does it matter? I was a child. Do you know how much embarrassing shit people did in elementary school that doesn’t get talked about because, well geez, they were children, and they’ve grown since then. Fucking Alana Beck peed her pants probably seven times that year, but we don’t talk about that. Whatever.

Most likely, no one is going to be telling that story this year. There’s some new hot gossip about me. See, I spent my junior year at a private school. It was awesome, I actually had a friend, and I was doing well, but I got kicked out. They did random locker searches, and I had weed in my locker, barley half a gram. The best part is, the weed wasn’t even mine. Not that anyone cares, not that anyone is going to ask, or listen to my side of the story. Ironically, they found so much Adderall, in probably 50 lockers, and they got away without so much as a warning. So, pills are okay, I guess, but marijuana isn’t.

Look, unlike what my parents might think, it isn’t dangerous or addicting or bad. Newsflash weed doesn’t hurt anyone. You can’t die from being too high, but pills, you can die from taking too many pills. I told them that too, I showed them statistics and research to convince them marijuana isn’t bad, they sent me to rehab to help with my ‘addiction,’ but all it did was teach me new, worse habits and prescriptions for mood stabilizers.

I’ve always been on medications to try to help me with the depression and paranoia, but I don’t like how they make me feel. Usually, I keep the pills hidden so Mom and Dad don’t catch on that I’m not taking them. I just prefer weed anyways; weed just calms me down, while the other crap I’ve been prescribed puts in a zombie like daze. I just smoke a little weed every now and then to help me get through the day.

People are going to say whatever they want, but I guess that it doesn’t help that I smell like pot anyways. That smell, no matter how many times you wash your clothes or spray your belongings with ferbreeze, never goes away. Regardless, I know I’m not the only stoner, not that I’m a stoner, but most people act like it’s a fucking personality trait to smoke. They’ll go online and post pictures of their bowls and blunts, thinking that they’re cool, but I’m a burnout freak because I smoke.

Despite my protests, I found myself in the passenger seat of Zoe’s car as she drove me to school. Some people might think it’s lame to be driven around by their little sister, but I fucking hate driving. I get too distracted, plus, other people drive like absolute nimrods. I got enough stress in my life, why add the stress of driving.

The first day of school is always a waste; you never do anything meaningful or important. People just spend the day catching up with friends, talking obnoxiously loud about their trip to Italy, or how they built houses for the homeless, and you just do ridiculous ice breakers and make nametags. It’s not like I’m going to learn anything, I’m just going to sit through hours of “two truths and a lie.” Plus, I’ll have to sit through the embarrassment of no one volunteering to guess which of my statements is the lie. No one wants to waste their time with that. Though, I will admit, I came up with some good ones this year, “My birthday is 420, I like to draw, and I have a dog.” The lie, obviously, is that I have a dog. I’ve always wanted one, but Larry has always said no, “they’re too messy.”

I try not to let other people bother me. I just focus my gaze straight ahead, walking as quick as I can to my first class, avoiding obstacles the best I can. In my opinion, people that stand in the middle of the hallway to have their conversation do not deserve rights. Hi, you, and your conversation is not more important than me trying to get to class. Have some fucking decency and at least move over to the side, Jesus Christ. On the bright side, people do tend to move out of my way. It might be out of fear, but it’s convenient. I put my head down as I cut through the middle of two people. “Hey Connor” a boy calls, “Nice hair length,” he continues, “very ‘school-shooter’ chic.” Wow, was that really necessary; did they really have to stop me to tell me that? That’s what I need too: Connor Murphy, not only a freak, but also looks like a school shooter.

I stop in my tracks with a heavy thud as my boots hit the ground. I whip around to face the voice. I look up with a narrow gaze and see Jared Kleinman and Evan Hansen. They are two nobodies like me, but I guess they think they’re better than me.

“I was just kidding” Jared stutters, “It was a joke.”

“Oh, I know.” I say, with no emotion, “I thought it was funny, I’m laughing can’t you tell?” I close the space between us until I’m in his face, towering over him. I’m not a scary person, but I am 6’3”, so my height tends to intimidate people, plus I really like wearing all black. My physical appearance is really a shell of armor, no one knows how sensitive I really am. At least, people can’t walk all over me if they are scared of me. I stare him down, “Or am I not laughing hard enough for you” I say.

I found, that if you stare at someone long enough, they will leave you alone. Mostly, because they are creeped out. It must be working, because Jared takes a step back, “you’re such a freak,” he says as he turns to make a run for it.

Evan’s still standing there, laughing quietly to himself. “What the fuck are you laughing at” I snap at him.

“N-nothing” he stutters.

I turn to him, “do you think I’m a freak.” He’s still laughing to himself. “You’re the fucking freak,” I yell as shove him.

I pause for a moment, looking down at Evan, who is now on the ground. He looks scared, like really, scared. Does he think I’m going to beat him up? Has he been beaten up before? Who hurt him? I scan his body quickly; this kid is already in a cast. Great, I just pushed an injured kid. Maybe I really am a freak. What the fuck is wrong with me? I collect myself and quickly walk away. I don’t have time to deal with this. It’ll probably be a few hours before this goes around the school.

I make it to my locker, my eyes are still on Evan, who is still on the ground. He’s been on the ground for a while, surly he should’ve stood up by now. Fuck, did I break his legs? Zoe walks up to him and helps him up. He’s fine. I watch as Zoe talks to him for a few minutes. Even my own sister isn’t on my side. Thanks Zoe, I’ll remember that the next time you want me to cover for you when you sneak out. Mom and Dad might think I’m the fucked-up child, but they have no idea what kind of shit you get into.

Each class is a blur as I sit through hours of introductions. Finally, its time for lunch. I don’t have friends to sit with, and I don’t like to give people the satisfaction of watching me sit by myself, so usually I spend the period in the library. I’m safe among the stacks. Books can’t judge you, but they can be an escape from your fucked reality. I can’t find a place to sit in the main library, so I go in the back by the computers. There’s a kid talking on his phone, but I don’t think he’ll mind my presence. I find a seat in the corner and lose myself in a book.

Suddenly, I’m snapped back into reality when the printer goes off. It scared the shit out of me. I look at the paper the printer is spitting out, “Dear Evan Hansen” the top reads. I look over to see Evan hunched over a laptop, talking to himself. I don’t think this kid has any friends either, besides Jared, but Jared’s a dick. Evan isn’t a freak like me, but he’s just someone always in the background. Everyone knows who he is, but no one cares.

I should probably apologize to him about earlier.

I grab the paper and walk over to him, “Hey.” He looks up at me, startled. “So, what did you do to your arm anyways?” I ask him.

He looks down at is arm as if he’s confused as to what I’m talking about. “Oh”, he stammers “I fell out of a tree.”

I look at him, expecting him to say more, he doesn’t. “Well, that’s just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard” I tell him.

“I know,” he says.

I look at his cast, its blank. I guess it makes sense, since he doesn’t have any friends. “Hey, no one’s signed your cast yet; I will,” I say.

“No, no you don’t have to” Evan whines.

“Do you have a sharpie?” I ask. He stares at me for a moment before he starts digging in his backpack and pulls out a marker, handing it to me. I grab his arm, and he winces. I ignore that and write my name as large as I can along the side of his cast. I figure, no one else is probably going to sign it, so I might as well take up as much real-estate as I can. “There,” I say, “now we can both pretend that we have friends.” Evan stares at his cast.

I remember that I still have his paper, “is this yours?” I ask, holding it out to him, “I found it on the printer, it says ‘Dear Evan Hansen,’ that’s you right?”

“Oh, that’s nothing, um, it’s stupid.” He tries to grab the paper from me, “It’s just an assignment”

I pull it out of his reach and look at it, my eyes land on Zoe’s name, “because there’s Zoe” I read aloud, “Did you write some freaky shit about my sister?”

“No, no” He stutters, trying to rip the paper out of my hand, “Why would I do that?”

“You wrote it because you knew I would find it” I snap, “So I would freak out and you can tell everyone that Connor Murphy is a fucking freak.”

“No” Evan cries.

I shove the paper into my pocket, “Fuck you” I say as I storm away.

I walk out of the library, and right out of the front door of the school. There’s still two periods left, but I don’t care, I’ve had enough of today. I keep walking, I don’t even know where I’m going. Eventually, when I’ve put enough distance between me and the school, I pause to pull out my headphones and put on some music. I don’t even care what I’m listening to, it just has to be loud enough to block out my thoughts.

I don’t feel bad about pushing Evan anymore; honestly that kid deserves way worse. He had to know I was in the room with him. No one is that oblivious to the world to not even notice that they’re not alone. Why would he write about my sister? Like does he have a weird fantasy about her that he just had to get down, and print out? Look buddy, most people keep their private thoughts in their head, where they belong.

I eventually reach a park, its oddly empty, but I guess all the children are still at school. I sit on a bench and throw my bag onto the ground, it rattles with impact. I pick it up to investigate the sound; I dig around until I find the source: a prescription bottle. I forgot that I had put my meds in here. I hold the bottle and read the label, it’s good old Prozac. I have refused to take it ever since it was prescribed to me. If you look it up, it has so many warnings and side effects listed, it doesn’t even seem worth it. Like there’s a small chance this will make you feel better, but there’s an even bigger chance that it might kill you, or make you want to kill yourself. The irony! They give you the medicine because you think about killing yourself, but the medicine makes you want to actually kill yourself. Do doctors even care about you, or do they just write you a prescription, so you go away?

I’ve never taken a single dose of this medication, outside of the hospital where they basically force it down your throat, but now seems like a good time to. I feel so numb, what does it even matter, it’s supposed to help me right? I swallow a pill, dry, and then another, and another. I keep swallowing them until I run out of pills. I throw the empty bottle on to the ground. Suddenly, I have a killer headache; I can feel my heart pounding, thoughts are racing in my mind. I lay down on the bench and take a deep breath.

#DEH #DEH fanfic #Dear evan hansen fanfic #deh fandom #dear evan hansen #dear connor murphy #connor murphy #mike faist #ben platt #musicals #fanfiction #fanfic #dear evan hansen fandom #connor murphy deh #zoe murphy #please validate me #trash

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televisedbirdwatching · 4 years

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Trash, Sweeps, and Life Unsheltered in Portland

“I understand that homeless people have it rough, but I don’t understand why they can’t just pick up after themselves better.”

It was a grey and depressing Portland morning in March of 2018, the time of year when people start getting excited about the end of winter, but before the time of year when everyone’s resolve is collectively crushed and we learn to accept to our sunless future. Some coworkers and I had the opportunity to earn some bonus money from our job by spending a few hours picking up trash in the neighborhood around our store.

“I don’t understand why they can’t just pick up after themselves,” said my coworker, as he tried to lift up a wet sock using a trash-grabber.

At the time, I didn’t really have anything to say to him. It was something that puzzled me, too. Walking around that part of town, it wasn’t uncommon to have to cross the street because a camp had completely blocked the sidewalk. Often times, although the tents themselves weren’t in the way, the outward sprawl of car parts, old tarps, abandoned box springs, and bicycles made passage difficult.

As with most of the things that I’ve learned since I first started working with unsheltered folks in Portland, the answer to my coworkers question was simpler and more direct than I imagined. I should have asked, Where are they going to put their trash? And then, who would come pick it up?

This photo is from a 2017 pilot project in Oakland that helped provide large-scale camps with trash service.

For the last few months, I’ve been working closely with a group called The People’s Store. We’re a mobile, pop-up, free “store” that helps unsheltered people get access to the daily care items they need. The things we carry in the store and the services we try to provide are informed by the unsheltered people we serve. One of the things that came up a few times was the need for a way to dispose of trash.

One of our volunteers pointed me in the direction of Metro’s Bag Program, a service our regional government has been providing since 2018. From their website: “Metro's bag program provides people who are experiencing homelessness with a way to dispose of their trash. The program started as a pilot in the fall of 2018 after Metro engaged local government representatives, law enforcement officers, community health workers and people experiencing homelessness to better understand disposal challenges for people living in camps, cars and RVs around greater Portland. In addition to providing disposal options, the program also aims to reduce litter and keep our communities clean and healthy.”

Metro distributes rolls of trash bags to camps around the Portland area, and there’s a phone number printed on the side of the bag that anyone can call to have the bag picked up by the RID Patrol, a task force on illegal dumping. RID Patrol employee Juan Garcia said in this article that “people living outside often offer to help him clean up. He recalls one site where a man was sweeping with a broom he'd made himself out of branches from a bush. ‘And he was literally making piles of rigid plastic and metal to recycle,’ he adds.

vimeo

For more info on the Bag program, check out this video, created in partnership with Metro and Outside the Frame, a group that provides youth experiencing homelessness a way to tell their stories through the medium of documentary film.

The same article quoted Richard Catlett, an unsheltered person helping Garcia clean up a camp on 82nd avenue. “‘Homeless people aren't trash. We aren't worthless,’ he said as he pointed to some garbage on the ground. ‘This is a by-product of how we're forced to live.’

Beyond barriers to trash disposal faced by unsheltered folks, Catlett is right to highlight the fact that life on the streets often involves many single-use, individually packaged, and non-durable or repairable items. When I first started volunteering at Street Roots, I noticed the popularity of the styrofoam and plastic Cup Noodles ramen soups. I studied sustainability in college, and there was something deep in my brain that felt bad about handing out single-use styrofoam containers, along with single-use plastic utensils, knowing they would end up in a landfill in short order. However, who am I to begrudge someone their only calories for the day because the packaging isn’t a suitably sustainable item?

In an attempt to distribute the most goods to the greatest number of people, many of the items that folks donate or distribute to unsheltered folks are cheap, bulk buys. It’s an honorable goal to be able to distribute 50 backpacks instead of 10. However, when these items can’t stand up to the rigors of life outside, they inevitably end up as trash. Even if repair of these items is possible, it’s often not worth the time nor the money to purchase the required supplies. Coupled with the fact that there aren’t many opportunities to dispose of trash items, these things pile up.

This flyer from Portland advocacy group Stop The Sweeps provides critical information about the city of Portland’s campsite sweeping policies. One of the criteria used by the city to determine which camps to sweep first is “Has significant garbage or debris.” Without providing a robust system for trash disposal, it’s not clear how this is a fair qualification for determining which camps to sweep.

However, there’s a parallel kind of logic present in the nature of sweeps themselves as a response to homelessness. The city provides few opportunities for unsheltered people to dispose of their trash, and then judges them based on their ability to keep their camps clean: The city provides few opportunities for people to access the supportive housing, and then disperses camps of people who already had nowhere else to go.

In an article on the Metro website, Solid Waste Planner Rob Nathan was quoted as follows: “We keep hearing from our partners that the more people are moved, the harder it is to provide them with transitional services, healthcare and housing—all those things we need to get people off the street. Our partners are really excited about this (the bag program) because they see this as a tool to help keep people stable, in one spot, and complained about less.”

In Portland, we’re incredibly lucky to have groups like Metro providing creative solutions to these problems with programs like the Bag program, and to have groups simultaneously creating low-barrier jobs and provide trash services through Central City Concern and Clean Start PDX. Programs like the bag program are a critical step in making sure that people can avoid getting swept and can experience the stability required to rebuild their lives. It’s clear that unsheltered folks want to help keep their camps clean- they just need the trash bags and trash service to do it. Programs like the bag program provide this support and help close the gap between the services housed people take for granted and the services unhoused people really need.

This photo is from a Street Roots article in the winter of 2019, when ODOT announced it was ramping up sweeps on ODOT property.

A few weeks ago, I was driving through a large camp in Laurelhurst Park, after making a supply drop for The People’s Store. As I drove by, I saw a woman using a broom to sweep off the sidewalk in front of her tent.

A few days ago I learned that the Laurelhurst Camp would be subject to a sweep. Notices were to be posted shortly, and folks would have 24-48 hours notice to bring their camp into compliance with city policy on trash, social distancing, and other criteria.

During the coronavirus pandemic, the CDC recommends that cities not clear encampments, as this can cause people to disperse throughout the community, making any kind of Covid-related contact tracing even more difficult. The CDC also recommends that cities ensure that nearby restroom facilities are available to unsheltered folks 24/7, and are “stocked with hand hygiene materials and bath tissue.”

What would Portland look like if we followed this recommendation, providing all of our community members with basic necessities like access to running water and trash disposal?

Sources, Inspiration, Further Reading:

https://www.oregonmetro.gov/news/bags-provide-garbage-service-those-without

https://www.oregonmetro.gov/news/garbage-pick-shines-light-stories-we-can-t-see

https://www.oregonmetro.gov/tools-living/garbage-and-recycling/report-dumped-garbage/bag-program

https://www.streetroots.org/news/2019/01/11/camp-sweep-comes-city-takes-over-odot-land

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future-circuit · 4 years

Text

Clouded Message, Clear Finder (GX Fic)

AO3

Those that Judai's helped on his travels from their point of view, sharing their experiences with others via a Duel Forum.

Sightings of The Spirit Speaker

> last post: today

Pinned Comment:

CartonHome: Has anyone else come across this guy? He can talk to Duel Spirits and stuff, it’s really neat, also kinda weird. Said he’s a traveller. He’s usually got a cat with him if it helps? Also clearly a teen or at least can’t be that far out of them so like… late teens early twenties i guess??

Anonymous: spirits aren't real what are you five?

Anonymous: a ‘traveller’ is just another word for being homeless what a waste of space

Anonymous: dude shut up

Anonymous: you’re a waste of space come back when you’re doing something useful with your life

Anonymous: i dunno, Carton, you sure you didn’t get scammed?

Anonymous: duel spirits are real one sucked my dick behind a family mart once

CartonHome: guys keep it chill in here, pg and all that. there are kids on this site. also i don’t want this post to be taken down. if you don’t have the answer to my question just leave

Anonymous: yeah it’s not like this is the first time someone’s talked about spirits on here. pretty sure duel monsters is haunted

Anonymous: i wouldn’t be surprised. even just the modern history of it’s wild. Like seto kaiba??? hello???? he’s done some wack shit in the name of some cards. heard he tried to kill a guy

Anonymous: heard he did kill a guy

xBlaze1x: i think i met this guy, Carton

CartonHome: dude your user…

xBlaze1x: This is my kid brother’s account! Not my fault he’s an edgy eight year old! Why do you even want to know about this guy anyway?

CartonHome: i dunno i just suddenly remembered him and was wondering if he was a fever dream or not lol

xBlaze1x: Yeah that makes sense, he’s a bit of a whirlwind

CartonHome: you got that right. i kinda wanted to thank him too, y’know? but he was just here one day then gone the next

x Blaze1x: Same here, guess he doesn’t like staying in the same place for too long? I think he said something like that. Or implied it. It was a while ago.

Anonymous: you guys know you sound insane, right?

CartonHome: yeah but you get used to it

xBlaze1x: ^^^

xBlaze1x: Wow that sounds really sad actually

CartonHome: wonder if that’s our fate

xBlaze1x: Stop you’ll make me depressed again

Anonymous: what the hell happened here??? I thought this was a joke post

Anonymous: Sometimes weirdos just pop up sometimes. What can you expect from a DM forum?

Anonymous: true guess i’ll blast then if nothing interesting’s going to happen here

CartonHome: good riddance to bad rubbish

CartonHome: so @xBlaze1x what’s your deal then??

xBlaze1x: What do you mean?

CartonHome: with spirits, keep up dude! if you had a run in with our not-so-resident spirit speaker and you’re on a dm forum you must have some relationship with spirits

xBlaze1x: Oh. I’m not one to talk about it but…

______________________________________________________

For all his life, he’d never really cared much for the so-called ‘great outdoors’. It was warm and made him feel all dizzy no matter how much water he drank or even if he stayed in the shade the entire time. Not to mention that when it wasn’t warm it was blisteringly cold which was incredibly annoying in the complete opposite of ways- though it did at least give him an excuse to not go outside. The outdoors was pretty in pictures and he was fine if it stayed that way.

"You should go outside more often,” a deep voice spoke into his ear, causing him to almost fall onto his futon which he still hadn’t put away, though he was masterfully caught.

“And why would I do that?” he challenged, getting back onto his own two feet before meeting the eyes of a tall man with a red mask covering his eyes and red wings faded to black at the tips- or as he would be commonly known as and referred to by most, Harpie’s Brother.

“So you’re not breathing in the same acrid air?”

“I open the windows, isn’t that enough?”

“You won’t get better by doing nothing.”

He shrugged. Maybe he didn’t want to get better. Maybe he would just never get better no matter what he tried and then he’d die as alone as he lived.

“You’ve been here for all of three months and you’ve only ever left the house for school,” Harpie’s Brother reprimanded, “go and get some friends already.”

“You’re my friend, that’s enough.”

That seemed to earn him a somewhat amused snort. “Yes, well. Forceful introductions.”

It had been somewhat forceful, he’d admit. All those years ago when his younger brother had handed him a Duel Monsters card he’d found, giving it to him as a ‘birthday present’, and then having Harpie’s Brother spontaneously (and rather unceremoniously) materialise into the world could be considered as such. It had taken ages to convince Ayato it hadn’t happened and perhaps even longer to convince himself that it, in fact, had. And that he could control it.

“Yasuharu!” A call came, snapping him from his musings as he subsequently heard footsteps.

“Quick, quick, dematerialise!” he said in a rushed voice, scrambling for the Duel Spirit’s card before grabbing onto it and watching as his friend vanished from sight just as the door behind him slid open.

“Were you talking to yourself again?” his mother asked, concern edging its way into her voice at every angle.

“I told you before, I was just calling a friend, it’s not like I’m crazy.”

Even with the excuse she didn’t seem to buy it, though she didn’t comment, instead just shaking her head with a sigh.

“Could you go and take Ayato to the park?”

Ah yes, the ploy to get him out of the house.

“I have homework to do.”

“No you don’t, you finished it all yesterday. Unless you were lying to me.”

Now that was a route he definitely didn’t want to go down. Lying about finishing homework and getting caught would result in a contained explosion. Specifically, contained in his room and also a night of no dinner.

“No, no, I wasn’t!” he said hurriedly, “I’ll take him.”

“Great!” his mother said with a grin, “Ayato’s all ready; don’t keep him waiting!”

As she made her way triumphantly out of the room, Yasuharu’s awkward smile fell limp and he defaulted to a groan, staring at the door after her.

“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I can’t see that smug grin. Knock it off.”

And that’s how, funnily enough, he found himself sitting on a bench, head in his hands as he wondered just how long he’d have to be outside before he could suitably turn back. It wasn’t even like it was a particularly cold day either so that made things somehow worse considering it left one excuse down and more screaming kids in the park than the one he had brought- don’t get him wrong, he loved Ayato to pieces, but he was also six and therefore had no volume control.

Pulling his sleeves down a bit, he resigned himself after a pitifully short amount of time, shifting to put on a facade of watching his brother whereas he was, instead, completely zoned out. A tried and true method if you asked him, not that anyone would.

He fumbled absently at a lazily and very terribly stitched pocket hidden on the inside of his hoodie, confirming the presence of Harpie’s Brother’s card. It wasn’t his fault that he’d never been taught how to properly sew- maybe he should get around to it. Might lessen his paranoia, especially after that one incident where said card fell out of the pocket while he was running messages and he nearly broke out into a full-on panic attack. Fun times.

He was snapped out of his zone as a shiver wracked down his spine. At first he was sure there was someone next to him, though it turned out not to be the case considering when he turned his head there was nothing there. He felt his lips open in a silent question before he closed them, shook his head and went and tried to actively zone out.

“You’re pretty sharp, aren’t’cha?”

Yasuharu shrieked and all but bolted from his seat, slapping a hand to his ear and whipping around to reveal a ruffled young man standing behind where he’d previously been sitting on the bench.

He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re pretty creepy, sneaking up on kids in a park.”

Another shiver found its way down his spine but he kept a steady look on the stranger who remained silent for a few moments, glancing at the air between them and shaking his head before turning back to him and shrugging.

“Can’t really say you’re wrong there, kid.”

Wow, creepy and weird, his day was going great.

The man made his way around to the front of the bench, picking a few stray leaves out of his hair that came from who-knows-where really considering it wasn’t fall and there weren’t many bushes nearby. Yasuharu stayed standing, watching warily as the stranger in the filthy brown jacket took a seat.

“So, you interested in Duel Monsters?” He asked, seemingly still up for trying to make a conversation with someone who must’ve been at least ten years his junior.

“Not really?” Yasuharu answered foolishly. If something bad happened to him it really was all his fault at that point, wasn’t it?

“I thought all kids were into Duel Monsters! They were all the rage when I was a kid.”

“Which was how long ago?”

“Feels like forever, maybe not as long ago as we’re both thinking though.”

“... Right. Why are you talking to me again?”

The man leaned back against the back of the bench and hummed, really seeming to think his answer through though Yasuharu was sure he looked like nothing ever went on in that head of his.

“Kindred spirits attract? I’ll admit, I noticed your friend and thought I’d check out what’s happening.”

Hah! Good try strange man, he didn’t have any friends. His chance of having friends was about as close as his chance of being a functioning member society.

“I don’t have any though?”

“Sure you do, he’s right next to you.”

Wow, that wasn’t ominous and totally not something a kidnapper would say before trapping him in a burlap sack or whatever kidnappers did nowadays.

Either way, he turned to glance both left and right only to find empty space; of course, what had he expected?

“You’re full of shi-”

“Woah, woah, woah! No swearing! You’re, like, seven.”

“I’m ten.”

“Alright, still my point stands. No swearing, you’re too young for that.” The man looked genuinely scandalised and he couldn’t help but let out a bit of a smile at that which immediately annoyed him.

“Right, either way, you still haven’t answered why you’re talking to me. I’ll get the police if you don’t give me a good reason.”

“Maybe don’t do that?” He seemed genuinely flustered, his grin a bit nervous. What, was he actually a criminal? Yasuharu had been joking earlier for the most part but you never know, appearances can be deceiving. “I’m telling the truth though, I saw your pal Harpie’s Brother hanging out with you and since you didn’t look all that happy I thought ‘hey, let’s see what’s up with that guy!’”

“Y- Wh-” he stuttered, staring at the stranger in complete disbelief, “you can see him? But he’s not materialised?”

For some reason, that gave the man pause. “You can materialise Duel Spirits?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “W-well, I’ve only really tried it with Harpie’s Brother but I guess? Yeah?”

In an instant the other’s face lit up. “That’s so cool! You know, I’ve met a lot of people but I’ve never met another person who could materialise Duel Spirits! That’s awesome!”

“Um…” To be completely honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that before the full extent of the statement sank in and his eyes widened. “Wait, you can materialise them too?”

“Sure can! Want me to show you?”

“Y-” He cut himself off from an enthusiastic shout as he realised they were still at the rather busy park in the middle of the afternoon. “Ah, are you sure? What if someone sees?”

The man frowned for a few seconds, looking like he was listening to something before he tuned back into their conversation.

“Sure, I’m sure people are too busy with their own thing to notice what we’re doing over here anyway.”

Besides, Yasuharu tried to further rationalise to himself, he’d purposefully chosen the bench the most out of the way of everyone. People barely spared him so much as a glance every other time he sat there, why would it be much different now? With a deep breath, he nodded, resolute, and watched as the man in front of him pulled a Duel Monster deck from his belt, sorting through before he pulled out a card. Without saying a word, his eyes blurred momentarily before clearing to see the fully realised form of a Winged Kuriboh.

His mouth gaped open like a fish, opening and closing uselessly as he grasped for the words, his eyes starting to blur once more though he couldn’t fathom why before he felt its fur brush against his cheek. He blinked and brought his eyes back to the man who was in a state of panic, arms uselessly waving, clearly not wanting to touch the younger boy without his say-so.

“Wh- Are you alright?” He asked, voice hurried and filled with concern, though for what Yasuharu wasn’t quite sure.

“Y-” Yasuharu halted as he realised his throat was raw and suddenly it clicked. “Ah. Yeah, I’m just… Sorry. Sorry.” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves but now that he was aware of them he could only feel them continue.

“God, this is stupid, I don’t even- I shouldn’t even be crying right now.”

The man seemed to search for the right words before settling on something simple. “Why not?”

“Because nothing’s happened!” Yasuharu tried to express frustratedly all while the man and Winged Kuriboh gently guided him to the empty space on the bench where he’d sat before the man’s arrival. “You just summoned him and then I just-”

“Hold on, I think I’ve got- here,” the man handed him some tissues he’d managed to get out of his bag. “Take a moment. No one’s going anywhere.”

Taking his advice, Yasuharu just sat and scrubbed away his tears, wiped away his snot and stroked his hands through Winged Kuriboh’s fur until he was sure he’d committed it to memory. Unrealistically soft yet somehow wiry at the same time, like it had been combed multiple times over and then some until it was just perfect. He made sure to stay away from the creature’s folded wings, so pure white and delicate as they appeared, though he was also sure that just by nature the spirit wouldn’t mind him touching them. He couldn’t be sure he wasn’t dreaming but he dearly hoped he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he repeated again once he’d regained his ability to speak, still hoarse from all of the crying.

“Don’t be; sometimes all you need is a good cry.”

“I just…”

“Never met someone like yourself before?” The man guessed, earning himself a nod which in turn received a laugh as he shifted a hand through his hair. “I still haven’t. Didn’t even come close ‘til I was much older than you are now. That’s part of the reason I’m here. Not here specifically, but places, y’know?”

“To find people similar to you?”

The man nodded.

“Why go through the trouble?” He knew he wouldn’t.

“I went through a lot of things, you know. Did a lot of soul searching in a lot of different ways and I kind of realised ‘hey, I really like helping people’. I was alone a lot as a kid, partially because of my special capabilities, so I thought there must be a lot of others just like me who maybe need some help- know they aren’t alone, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Yasuharu echoed quietly. “Thanks.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks,” he repeated, a shy smile blooming onto his face. “For telling me. For letting me know. I think that’s what I needed to hear.”

“Then I’m glad I could help.”

As soon as he said it, Winged Kuriboh slipped from Yasuharu’s grip and disappeared entirely.

“Sorry, it’s getting late. If I don’t start searching now then I might not be able to find a place to stay the night, y’know?”

Looking at the sky, he noticed that the sun had gone down considerably since he initially sat down. It was probably time he dragged his brother home anyway.

“That’s fine.” He’d already done more than enough in Yasuharu’s eyes. “Before you go, could I ask one more thing?”

“You just did, but another one wouldn’t hurt.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that but he wasn’t deterred. “What’s your name? In case I ever run into you again or whatever.”

“Ah, we never did introduce ourselves, did we? Just call me Judai.”

“Yasuharu.” He extended a hand which was gratefully taken and shook. “Good luck finding a place.”

Judai grinned at him. “Good luck to you too in whatever you’ve got planned.”

It was odd, seeing Judai walk away as casually and suddenly as he’d appeared, Yasuharu couldn’t help but think, yet oddly fitting.

“Ayato!” He turned and called, shaking his head. He had other things to think about now. “Time to go!”

“Who was that?” Ayato asked him on the way home.

“Hm?”

“The man with the bag who was sitting next to you. He made you cry- was he being mean?”

“No, he was being very nice.” Maybe more than he deserved, but if he had to put a label there, even if somewhat artificial, even if they may never meet again. “He’s something of a friend.”

#yugioh gx #yellow writes #the formatting doesn't work that well on tumblr but oh well #it is what it is

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

Text

Symphogear, EP.7 (Cont.)

“i have not now, nor ever, liked this creepy ass church elevator.”

“kanade please get out of my head, just because im hungry doesnt mean you have to tell me every time i am”

Hibiki finishes getting a full body X-ray. She’s fine.

“that anime protagonist immunity is really kicking in well!”

“by the way, your wife is here! and she’s looking mighty miffed., as opposed to me, mighty milfed.”

“you dont strike me as a mother figure but ill play along for now”

“i just hope miku’s okay...”

“oh, she’ll be fine! see, i’ve seen these kinds of plots before. big secret revealed, another lover is shown, the victim watches as they’re thoroughly cheated on, and they get to lik-”

“please stop breathing”

Genjuro’s wasting away again in Margaritaville. Looking for some daughter to adopt. SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT THERE’S A, WOOOOMAAAAAN TO BLAAAAAAAAAAME, BUT HE KNOWS

XYLOPHONE RIFF

THAT’S IT’S ALL HIS FAULT

XYLOPHONE RIFF

“i hate it when he gets like this. jimmy buffets not a good look for him.”

“for once you and i agree. seeing the commander sulk like this like a middle aged perma-tourist is genuinely miserable”

“hey homies! im back and i brought some bitches! oh, jesus, why does this place smell like mistakes in miami?”

“its me. im sorry. every time i feel like i failed as a dad, my anti-dad energies manifest. imagine every midlife crisis rolled up into a single ball, smacked into the face for eternity. thats the depth of my pain for failing this girl.”

In a moment of positivity, the friendship between Tsubasa and Hibiki is cemented.

> Tsubasa has joined the party.

“FRIENDSHIP!”

“fweindship.”

“uuuuhhhhh... dadship? yeah thats close enough.”

“WE’RE ALL GOOD FRIENDS!”

“ya tiddies are ringing again, better go get it”

Ryoko also points out that Hibiki’s relic is fusing with herself at an alarming rate. This is important to keep in mind.

Meanwhile, at night.

Miku is posing in the motherly “you done fucked up, where have you been young lady” position. A cold scolding is coming.

“.........................hey miku......”

“you can come in. are you worried im gonna bite? you suplexed a car. that shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“miku, i.... i wanted to tell you.... but.... the plot wouldn’t let me, miku....”

“should’ve told the plot to fuck off anyway. now you’re gonna live with that. you’re sleeping... on the bottom bunk.”

“b.... b..... b...... b.... b...... bottom bunk...?”

They slept separately that night. God, this is so stupid. All of this is so goddamned stupid. “I’m so mad at you even though you saved my life.” This is just so. AUGH. THIS IS DUMB. KANEKO WRITE BETTER ANGST THAT MAKES SENSE THAT ISN’T THIS.

Meanwhile, far away from this garbage...

Chris, having been evicted from Fine’s McMansion, wanders the streets of mumblemumble aimlessly. Don’t be fooled by her new fancy dress. Basically, she’s a combat-competent hobo.

“no food. no home. no victories. this sucks. whyd you do it, fine? we coulda been great together. but no. ya fired me. now i look like im prancing the red light district with a highly advanced superweapon around my neck.”

“no... hibiki’s to blame. ever since that genderbent little mac showed up to fight me, it’s been all downhill. fine thought me a laughstock because i couldnt take out her oversized boxing gloves, and now she beat me while i had nehushtan. god... i wish i never met that damn hamster faced chubby cheeked nerd.”

“wait, whats that crying”

Chris spies two kids talking to each other, one of them crying. Chris immediately makes an assumption, believing the big bro is bullying his sis.

“hey! stop nicking her lunch money, twerp”

Chris currently is a firm believer of corporeal punishment.

But the sister deflects the blow. Chris can’t even defeat children right now. Truly, this is a record low for her. You know you blew it when even kids are schooling you on basic morality. She then tells the little girl to stop crying, ironically mirroring her brother.

The infamous double T-Pose maneuver. Chris, you might as well get a shovel and start digging your own grave.

“i keep doing bad things badly, and now im doing good things badly... when fine said i was bad... did she just mean im not talented?”

Chris, finally, does a good thing and helps these kids find their parents.

“yeah. hibiki saved a kid when she got her gear. guess what? bam! im saving two! that’s fifty percent more kid per kid saved. take that, weirdo.”

The kids call her out on Chris singing unconsciously, and Chris gets flustered over it. Dawwwwww.

Chris manages to get them to safety to their Dad...

...while brutally lying about it, making Chris look like a predator. There’s a very crushing irony at play here, given who Chris used to serve.

“ugggggggggggggggghhhhhh hes not even gonna payyyyy meeeeeee why the fuck did i dooooo thiiiiiiissssss”

“hey, you know. you kids have a really nice relationship with one another. care to give me tips on how to be an empathetic human being capable of making friends?”

“maybe we’re born with it”

“maybe its maybeline”

“maybeline...”

Meanwhile...

A cold wind blows through Lydian Apartment 69-L. (I don’t actually know if that’s their room number, I just made it up.)

“jesus take the wheel, because i’m jumping out the passenger seat to save this current wreck of a relationship”

“miku please i saved your life, doesnt that count for anything”

“you already killed me the moment you lied. also im taking the bottom bunk so i dont have to see your face coming down the ladder.”

“miku you cant hide in this depression den forever. i know i hurt you and im sorry for it, but please understand i literally couldnt do it. you saw there were punches and violence and stuff... i didnt want you tied to that...”

“what was that? i cant hear your apologies over my incredibly loud snoring. SNOOOOOOORE. SNOOOOOOOORE. SNOOO- fuck, i just swallowed my spit, fuck”

“i hope this cocoon of displeasure you’ve made for yourself lets you erupt into a butterfly of acceptance so i can fly with you again.”

“......thats not fair. you cant say those beautiful metaphors and get away with it. let me be mad... sniff... let me be mad...”

Sadness wafts in the den of lies Hibiki has been forced into.

No music plays. There is only heartbreak, and woe.

In the midst of this pain...

Ryoko loredumps about how the Symphogears work and are immune to the noise on her blog, ‘hornyonmainforscience.org’, her hybrid science journal slash kink zone. It’s mostly a recap with some pretty good soft techno beats in it.

“i made a custom brew of red bull, five hour energy drink, coffee, and cream. i call it gamer girl piss.”

“damn. that’s some good piss.”

She muses about how Hibiki has managed to break the limitations of her Symphogear, making her a totally unique specimen. Wait, where have we heard this before...?

Hey... Ryoko... let’s just... cool it a bit with the Hibiki pictures... come on...

Ryoko touches upon the Custodians and the Curse of Babel. We ain’t touching that shit until later, because that’s another shitfuck box of crazy just ready to jump us in a dark alleyway to rob us of our wits.

Back to Lydian:

“miku whats the answer to the first three multiple choice questions”

“B. A. D.”

“oh, thanks. huh, BAD.”

“yeah. you are.”

“mmm. taste likes dissapointment. just like my life.”

“hey table for two haha get it cause there’s two chairs and miku for the love of god, please, forgive me”

“ive surgically removed my eyes and drew eyelashes over them with sharpie so i dont have to see your bird bangs.”

“thats very rude to both me and my hair. also, wig.”

Even Hibiki’s meal is judging her. Mainly for not eating it. Fucking look at this. God, that looks amazing. Fuck, why did I write this while I was hungry.

“miku you cant do this forever. i might die and youll end up crying on my tombstone going ‘oh god, why, oh god’, and really, i cant live with myself if that happens. mainly because id already be dead by then”

The Anime Janai crew show up to break some icebergs with a goddamn sledgehammer. As the self-aware Gods of this realm, they got very tired of this poor display of angst, and have decided to directly intervene.

Nevermind. They came for her kneecaps, and they most certainly got them.

PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU. END THIS GARBAGE PLOT THREAD.

“look. imma lay down the facts. yall are gay. yall are in love. yall are angry for the wrong reasons. its nobody’s fault here but the writer. so please kiss and make up. pretty please.”

“kaneko... you fool... we all know what the original sin is. its your hack writing making this stupidity in the first place. let the pencil go, asshole!”

They bring up the fact that Hibiki isn’t doing her work and wonder if she has a job on the side, which isn’t allowed by the school. Miku gets annoyed and bails, with Hibiki running after her. Unfortunately, Miku runs faster...

“oh god miku not the rooftop whatever you’re thinking just dont do it! please!”

“no. i came here to angst, since this is the Maximum Angst Zone.”

“i..... okay! okay, that’s fair! rooftops are the perfect place to look sad while getting proper air ventilation, thats fine”

It really would have been better played if it was played off that she felt hurt not because of the lie, but because she felt like she could have helped her better having known the truth, and it being a self-loathing sort of scenario for not being there better for her and not fully understanding the risk at play.

But no, instead, we get this.

youtube

Absolutely obliterated. A heart ripped, shredded, and sent to the Shadow Realm.

The episode ends on that note, but has a post credit scene.

Naked. On an old timey telephone. On a computer. Wearing stockings and long gloves.

The main antagonist of the series, everybody.

She’s talking the best English possible to some random-ass American when suddenly bursting through the scene is none other than:

“I WANT WORKERS COMPENSATION YOU BITCH, BEFORE I UNIONIZE YOUR NAKED ASS”

“AND I WANT A GOOD REFERNECE FOR MY FUTURE EMPLOYER, AND ALSO A SEVERANCE PACKAGE SINCE I’M FUCKING HOMELESS”

“i paint my eyelashes with mascara made from the tar of freshly carbonated corpses manufactured through noise, what on gods green earth compels you to think id give a rats ass about you?”

“so you never cared, huh! you’re just a nasty naked hedonist trying to- trying to- what the fuck are you even trying to do?!”

“i want to live the dream every spicy little fossil like me yearns for.”

“I WANNA FUCK GOD!”

“how- what? what? how do you even- what? are you- do you want to be the pope? is that it? does the pope get to fuck god? are you- is this a larping thing? you’ve really been into larping lately! i don’t like this!”

“youve never read the old testament, have you. ass out, pussy bare, hips up and barefoot. that’s how god’s always liked it.”

“now get lost, punk. you tipped off my hand to genjuro and now you being here is going to ruin everything. if you still feel any semblance of devotion, eat one of your own bullets and call it a day.”

“it’s 2012 bitch, if the mayans dont get you, I WILL”

“what god gives, He takes away, and so do i. i built you from the ground up. your relic, which was good for jack shit on you. the nehushtan, which you failed to do anything with except zap a couple hundred people. stop wars? you’re a walking war, waged by me, for me. and your cartridge has just run out of bullets.”

“uh oh! hand’s acting up again! better bail before i send you back to smacktown where all the bitter little shittalkers like you strut around spending their lives being useless as hell.”

“ah fuck, im not dealing with no manos: the hands of fate bullshit again”

“and guess what else i got on motherfucker”

“i see the union efforts have officially been busted. understandable, have a nice day ma’am”

“LEAVE.”

“I’M GOING, I’M GOING”

#symphogear #symphogear season 1 #anime #recap #comedy

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sadisticscribbler · 4 years

Text

Why Suicide?

Why do people kill themselves? I’m not talking about those who attempt suicide for attention, nor do I mean to belittle them, but what of the many more who chose to end their lives?

I am not asking some philosophical question here, but am talking from personal experience. You see, I have just found myself about to take my own life, and would have if I wasn’t disturbed just at the point of no return by a mundane phone call. Maybe because of my autism, but I had to answer the ringing phone which subsequently took me out of what I was about to do.

As a result I was left in some sort of limbo in which my body took me back home, and here I now sit talking to myself via this blog post. So how did I get there, and why do so many people find themselves where I did?

There is no simple reason… or rather there is no single event that in itself triggers suicidal ideation. Contrary to popular belief, suicidal thoughts aren’t caused by moments of depression that need to be “got through”, it is a more serious state of being. Let me explain: I was born suicidal.

As shocking and unbelievable as this might sound, it is true. I first attempted suicide before I was aged three (I drank bleach) which was not recognised for what it was… a genuine attempt to kill myself. I subsequently tried two more times in as many months, but survived them all. But what could have happened, you might be asking yourself, to make me want to kill myself? In a word: Nothing. Or in another: Everything.

For some context, I was born autistic; and I also had a very high IQ. Together, these factors, and the world in which I found myself, made this world intolerable. And it still is nearly sixty years later. The reason I have survived thus far is not because I have found some way to navigate this world, but in spite of it. No matter what experiences I have, it all comes to the same conclusion that I shouldn’t be living in this world. So why am I? For several reasons: external interference (such as my parents as a child), my Catholic faith, but more importantly my constantly trying to deny the inevitable. So what has happened now that these mechanisms are no longer sufficient to stop me doing the only thing available?

Until a few years ago I had responsibilities and family: both extended and my own wife and kids. Then I became chronically ill and unable to work. My parents and brother died and my family fell apart. And then my (now ex-)wife decided I was no longer useful to her and took everyone and everything away from me. I was left disabled and with nothing to my name. I had nothing and no-one… except for one very important friend who stuck by me. Last year she killed herself.

Like myself she was autistic and very intelligent. We talked endlessly about her decision to kill herself but I was unable to give her a convincing reason not to. This is because everything she said had been correct, and I could offer her (nor myself) any reason not to die. Unlike me she was an atheist and so the threat of eternal torment was not enough to deter her (as it had been doing for me). So I was unable to satisfactorily answer the question: What is the point of continuing to live? And my being unable to save her affirmed her conclusion in that, in my case, if I can’t save the life of my only true friend, then what is the point of my being around?

Before continuing with my journey, allow me to add her words herein as they show not just how I feel but how I and others, I suspect, see the world and why we can’t live in it. This is her final statement:

If you’re reading this, chances are my attempt to leave the world has been successful. If you happen to be religious, please pray for me to be treated compassionately in my next life, as I will be praying beforehand for this as well, as a relatively quick and painless death, despite my lack of religion.

Many people say suicide is selfish. To those, I would want to ask: is it not also selfish to expect someone to live, when existing seems to them intolerable?

None of us ask to be born, but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.

People stigmatise death, especially voluntary death, because to them it seems the most terrible thing they can imagine. To that, I say, what is so bad about death? The universe is so very old and will continue to exist long into the future, perhaps indefinitely. So why does it make a difference if someone dies at 20 or at 80, provided their life was not taken against their will?

As an autistic, I long for a world where autistic people can exist happily, but I’m not sure this can ever happen. I have pretty much given up on the world at this point. It’s not designed for people like me.

So who am I in this world? An autistic, chronically depressed, jobless, homeless in effect waste of space who was born into a female body but probably isn’t. Born to a teenage single mother, raised by a grandmother who is now dead and fated to a life where anything I attach to will be my undoing.

Dying isn’t something alien to me. I first began to think about suicide around the age of 7. As a child, I was intelligent and had a seemingly bright future, but that rarely translates into the adult world.

The only thing I really regret is losing the two people closest to me. Mostly, however, I am sad about losing hope, for it is only hope that keeps us going.

I’m also tired. To quote The Green Mile, “I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head all the time.”

Like my friend I am autistic, suffer from chronic depression with episodes of clinical depression, jobless, and as illustrated above: “a waste of space”. I also have a catalogue of degenerative diseases. So what is there left to hope for?

“Oh it’s the depression talking, and that can be managed” you may be thinking. Sadly no… and not just just due to the mental health teams (who spectacularly failed in my friend’s instance). Depression is not an aberration of thought that can be corrected with a shot of serotonin. Rather it is the cold hard truth of reality that serotonin (naturally produced or chemically induced) obfuscates. This is why it is nigh impossible to help someone resist suicide. And I speak from experience of trying to help others, as well as trying to convince myself. In the end, the only argument against ending one’s life is the I “haven’t done it yet, because I’ve managed to knowingly delude myself”.

But what of speaking therapies… can these help? I would say no. This is because that people like I already see the reality of a hostile world, that no matter how hard we try to improve our lot in life, the full horror of it is a mere hair away. Distraction is no solution. So speaking with a therapist can only succeed if he/she can ‘enlighten’ the person to the ‘knowledge’ that life isn’t all that bad… or that it won’t always be that bad. But what if you’re smart enough, or have experienced enough, to see that what the therapist has said does not change the reality that there is no reason to go on, and that continuing to suffer now is worth the remote possibility that a less terrible time might momentarily punctuate the pain.

But it cannot work… there can be no going back: Once a child realises Santa doesn’t exist, there is no way to recapture nor replace what it meant to believe it. And so, once we have seen the world for what it is, there can be no way back. All that is left is how long we can distract ourselves, and finding a reason to so. Sooner or later one or both of these management techniques will fail. And it might take only the slightest of not-so-bad problems to break it all apart. And this is where I find myself.

I cannot promise that what almost happened tonight to me might not happen again, but for now I am still here writing this post in the hope that someone somewhere might be able to find a way to keep going that I, and my late friend, cannot. So, what was my ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’? I have been trying to cope with losing the only, and most dearest friend on whom I leant very much, and whom I loved very deeply; as well as developing cancer to add to my list of debilitating and very painful medical conditions. The Catholic church has become victim to corruption and evil, including in the office of the Pope. So I truly am alone. The loneliness is immense and the daylight short. I am barely managing to live on my benefits, and it is not easy. And then I receive today notification that my benefits have stopped. So soon I shall be unable to feed myself nor have shelter. So is there any reason not to kill myself? I thought not.

I won’t be out on the street tomorrow, but the time is rapidly approaching. This would be the end of the line for me, so as my friend said, we may be unable to fit into this world, “but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.“

#Suicide

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janiedean · 5 years

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*Roose Bolton voice* I'm dissapointed in you

HEY ANON SORRY FOR THE LATENESS BUT I’M SURE YOU SENT THIS FOR SPRINGSTEEN ANALYSIS, RIGHT? ;) then sure let’s have something! what can I get for you with the roose bolton voice, hm…

OH OKAY LET’S GO BLEAK POLITICAL.

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so: SEEDS!

Seeds is an outtake from born in the USA and was only properly published in 1998 when it ended up on tracks (a four-cds compilation of outtakes that still doesn’t even fucking scratch the surface of what he has in the vaults bruce come on take the rest out), but as a lot of other bruce songs that were never technically published on official records it has enjoyed a very lively life on stage/live especially when our man gets political. we should probably put as a premise, other than that, that this was one of bruce’s first political pieces following the vein that would then end up in bitusa, tom joad, youngstown and so on, and as a lot of those songs it focuses on poverty/unemployment in the us of a. it’s not a coincidence that it was out of the bitusa sessions post-nebraska, but then again nebraska was his first record with Serious Political Themes and half of the original songs ended up on bitusa anyway so those records are pretty much tied together.

also, seeds has been a favorite throughout the bitusa tour (the one where bruce dissed reagan) where it was played along the title track, a cover of war that you can find on the live 75-85 box set, johnny 99 and atlantic city. as in, basically it gave you a pretty straight bleak picture of the current times, and it came back with a vengeance post bush-jr and I’m 100% sure it’ll show up again when he tours post-trump.

anyhow, as I think I’ve bored you enough with the technicalities, let’s move on to the actual thing. so, what do we have?

Well a great black river a man had foundSo he put all his money in a hole in the groundAnd sent a big steel arm driving down down downMan now I live on the streets of Houston town

so, we’re starting with a bang. first thing, the song’s title is seeds, which should suggest us that it’s about either agriculture or farmers.

except that it opens saying that ‘a man found a great black river’, and at the end of the stanza we find out that we’re in houston, so presumably around texas, so the black river that then turns into a hole in the ground with a big steel arm driving down down down (which considering the fast rhythm of the song gives you anxiety just hearing it) means that someone found oil and started drilling it in texas and as a consequence the narrator lives in the streets of one of texas’s biggest cities, so we can suppose that this guy was a farmer, he lost his land because of the oil drill and now he’s homeless. NICE START GUYS! but let’s go on.

Packed up my wife and kids when winter came alongAnd we headed down south with just spit and a songBut they said “Sorry son it’s gone gone gone”

next stanza, we find out that our guy has a family that he had to pack up when winter came along, so either his land was dead because of the oil drill or he couldn’t support them anymore out of farming. now, this could either be set in texas or not, but since in the eighties a lot of people from the north who lost their houses or land and used to be farmers or steel workers or so on went to texas because it was said to be someplace they could get jobs (again I know I say it every damned time but if you read dale maharidge’s somewhere like america or journey to nowhere you’ll see exactly what I meant), so either he went to texas from a nearby state or he was in northern texas and went down south, but the point is: he lost his job, he was a farmer (so not in a good position to start from since farming hasn’t made much money for small owners for a while) and now he’s gone to texas with a spit and a song (ie: hope), but as the song’s music keeps on being fairly bleak, the only answer he’s given is ‘sorry but it’s gone, gone, gone’, as in: if he wanted work, there isn’t any.

Well there’s men hunkered down by the railroad tracksThe Elkhorn Special blowing my hair backTents pitched on the highway in the dirty moonlightAnd I don’t know where I’m gonna sleep tonight

If we thought that was bad news, though, we’re just getting started, because not only our dude isn’t the only one in that same situation (men hunkered down by the railroad tracks, referring to the fact that in the eighties a lot of people had started riding trains again like in the great depression so they slept near the railroad - the elkohorn special is the name of a train), in tents along the highway in the *dirty* moonlight which suggests you a fairly bleak, sad picture. also, he doesn’t know where he’s going to sleep tonight, which means he doesn’t even have the tent.

Parked in the lumberyard freezing our asses offMy kids in the back seat got a graveyard coughWell I’m sleeping up in front with my wifeBilly club tapping on the windshield in the middle of the nightSays “Move along man move along”

solution: sleeping in the car, since they don’t have anything else. so, the guy and his family try to sleep in the car in a lumberyard with his children being sick (graveyard cough, suggesting that it’s pretty damned bad), except that they can’t even do that because the police shows up and tells them to leave, which was apparently common practice in texas at the time (again: same thing happened to the reporters in the aforementioned book because they had a car with ohio plates…), so they can’t stay and have to *move along*, but to where? we just don’t know.

so: the guy used to be a farmer, lost his job, went down to texas to look for work with his wife and kids, didn’t find any, was treated like crap and can’t even sleep in his car with his family, the alternative is tents along the highway or a railroad in winter, his kids are sick and there’s no hint of salvation anywhere nor of government help nor… really much of anything.

Well big limousine long shiny and blackYou don’t look ahead you don’t look backHow many times can you get up after you’ve been hit?

now, that’s it for the backstory - we don’t know where the narrator ends up or if he finds work. but we learn his opinion. first of all, he talks to a generic ‘big long shiny black limousine’, which we can automatically assume means that he’s talking to someone rich (or the idea of someone rich) who could afford such a car (he certainly can) accusing them of not looking ahead ( = not seeing the consequences of their greed, which we can tie back to the oil drill in the first part that started our guy’s problems) and of not looking back ( = can mean that they don’t care for who comes behind them in wealth or that they don’t remember not being wealthy or both), and then asks them, how many times can you get up after being hit, as in, how many times could you fall on your feet before you end up like me?

we just don’t know, but probably more than the narrator… though one supposes the narrator is hoping the time comes for them, too. that becomes veery clear in the next part:

Well I swear if I could spare the spitI’d lay one on your shiny chromeAnd send you on your way back home

if he could spare the spit (which suggests he can’t, so maybe they barely even have means to drink and eat) he’d use it to spit on the limousine ie what stands for enormous undeserved wealth that a) the narrator will never obtain, b) caused the (economical) situation that brought the narrator to misery, so we also can see that the narrator is absolutely aware that his poverty is tied with the fact that rich people don’t care for the likes of him and would throw him under the dirt in a second, nor care if he can’t support himself anymore. and then he’d send the rich person back home, if he could. but he can’t.

and that’s bleak enough, but then we get to the last part and it gets possibly worse:

So if you’re gonna leave your town where the north wind blowTo go on down where that sweet soda river flowWell you better think twice on it JackYou’re better off buying a shotgun dead off the rackYou ain’t gonna find nothing down here friendExcept seeds blowing up the highway in the south windMoving on moving on it’s gone gone it’s all gone

at this point, the narrator is addressing someone else - someone named jack who could be anyone as it’s an extremely common name - who might want to go south and tells him not to. going south means leaving a town where the north wind blows (so where it’s cold and there’s nothing for them) to go where that sweet soda river flow which paints an imagery of a river overflowing with sugary refined drink… from which poor people can’t serve themselves anyway, and according to the narrator if that is the plan, then you’re better off buying a shotgun ie killing yourself before you go south because there is nothing down there except seeds blowing up the highway in another type of wind, so the seeds they might have planted back home are getting wasted along the highway people sleep on… and everything is gone and they have nothing left.

and the fact that it’s this bleak is probably why it didn’t end up on the record proper (admittedly bitusa has a slightly different feeling so it probably wouldn’t have fit given that it’s a lot more raw and musically angry than any other song on that record except maybe bitusa but the electric version lures you in with the beat and you don’t realize how angry it is until you hear the original imvho), but it’s sadly a fairly accurate portrayal of how things were going bad economically for all the people laid off without a second chance to find something better in the late 70s-early 80s. too bad that things haven’t changed and this piece has stayed pretty much relevant even these days.

thank you anon with the roose bolton voice, I hope you enjoyed the fruits of your disappointment ;)

#bruce springsteen for ts #seeds #i need to compile all of these in one post tbh #springsteen birtjday extravaganza 2k19 #ty!!!#Anonymous #ask post #bruce meta

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neatcointricks · 5 years

Text

Christmas Sucks

who the fuck expected this bitch to come back especially since dbh is fuckin dead

also this was requested uwu

Masterlist

Ko-Fi

Word Count: 1.3k

Connor RK 800 x Gender Neutral Reader

“I’m going to die because of feelings, wow, it really be like that.”

“Please get off the floor.”

“You’ll have to drag me, coward.”

You’re on the floor, specifically, the floor of your Police District’s Department, next to your table, your feet laying over the wheels of your rolly chair, one hand is laying over your eyes to block the fact that you are actually fucking crying right now-- And the other is doing some class act finger guns at Connor.

What a dumb robot, actually coming to your aid when you started to breathe irregularly and fell on the floor.

“Are you alright, Detective? You should’ve gone home hours ago. You know there’s no pay in overtime this week.” He grabs your protruding arm, dragging you away from your table.

You keep your other hand still over your eyes, your lips twitching and you speak yet another intrusive thought into existence without thinking.

“I want to die.”

Your arm is instantly dropped to the floor, you choke on your spit realizing what you just said- Letting out a pitiful gurgling noise. For a second it’s quiet, not peaceful kind but eery kind. It doesn’t help that you’re still blind. Waiting for the response, the ‘typing’ speech bubble of real life.

The android grabs your shoulders, pulling you up so fast your arm falls from your face and you get minor whiplash.

“What. Is. Wrong?”

You look at his stern expression and try to mimic it to distract from your mental spiral, and maybe get him off your case thinking you’re just being a goof. “Grr.” The sound effects might seal it in.

He keeps face and the more you stare the more the anxiety builds, and his choice of tension break doesn’t help.

“You do realize you’re crying, right?” Connor squints, swiping a tear off your cheek with his index finger.

You let out an exasperated sigh, sucking in as your eyes switch between his face and finger, you try to smile but with your turbulent emotions, it’s rather screwed. “Please don’t lick that.”

Connor tilts his head to the side, prodding you on, “Detective.”

“I want to help.”

Your screwed smile falters, twitching till the corners of your lips point right to the floor, you squint as your sight becomes too wobbly with all the tears to keep focused.

“Christmas fucking sucks!” You slam a fist into the carpeted floor, gazing at the ground “Every fucking year-- I’m like ‘this year, no matter what, Christmas is going to be great!’ And guess what? It never is! It never fucking is! Everyone’s always got their own fucking prerogative and guess who’s left alone with nothing and no one? ME BITCH! I couldn’t even afford a fucking tree this year. I’m...”

You clench your fist together, holding it in your lap-- You want to hit something.

“I’m fucking pathetic.” You breathe in deep, unclenching your fist.

“Of course, no one wants to hang out with me, of course, seasonal depression still hits like always, of course, I can’t afford anything nice for anyone or myself-- Not even a fucking tree. Of course, even at work, I manage to fall over just cause I see a Christmas photo on Facebook and that broke the camel’s back in half.”

You prod your cheek with your tongue, shaking your head chuckling, “There’s no fucking point in trying anymore. It’s always going to be horrible. So I might as well do what every movie I’ve ever seen has taught me--” You pat your legs, finally looking back up at Connor with a charming smile, holding your arms out comically.

“Drown myself in my work on Christmas Eve and keep going until this nightmare is over.”

You stretch your legs out as you stand up, paying no mind to Connor’s distraught expression. You crack your hands behind your head and shake the numbness out of your legs, you look at Connor with a one-sided smile and do jazz hands.

“Bah-Humbug.”

You plop back into your chair, rolling into your desk.

After about 5 minutes of you silently working in pain and Connor sitting in the exact same position on the floor, he finally gets up and walks up to you-- Pretty expected as you two are the only ones working on Christmas Fucking Eve.

“I’ve made plans.”

You keep typing but glance up at him for a moment, “Good for you, it’s good to get out of here for a bit.”

“They’re plans with you.”

You stop typing. You look up at him, giving your full attention, “Why?”

“You’re my priority.”

Despite the pang to your heart, you snort, getting back to your work. “Dude, I get what I said was troubling but I’m not gonna kill myself or anything- Don’t worry about me- I don’t need to be ‘priority’.”

“You’re my friend.”

You shut your eyes and stop typing once again, “Connor--”

“Humans make me tired.”

Connor, without a moment to waste, picks you out of your chair, throws you over his shoulder, and slams your laptop shut in only a few short moves. “Let’s go.”

“Crime never sleeps, Connor.”

“Neither do I.”

It’s a silent taxi ride on the way to wherever. You open the window and watch as snowflakes fall on your arm.

“You’re going to get frostbite.”

You shrug.

“At least something will bite me.”

“You have reached your destination. Thank you for travelling with Detroit Taxis. We look forward to seeing you again soon.”

Once you get out, you’re met with a shockingly normal house. You side eye Connor as you walk up to the porch, “I didn’t expect you to live here.”

“What did you expect?” He asks, sliding a key into the front door.

You pick at the paint on the porch beam, rubbing it off of your fingers, “Something more ‘2038′ I guess.”

He opens the door, his shoulders slug when he steps in, almost immediately leaving your side, “Hank!”

“You gave me like 20 fuckin’ minutes! What was I supposed to do?”

You smell fresh Pillsbury cookies and note the Christmas lights strewn across the ceiling. By your feet, a dog walks up, he’s wearing a Santa hat, it’s super festive.

Hank on a ladder painting a white banner to say “CHRISTMAS SUPPORT GROU” is less festive.

Hank looks to you, dropping the paint bucket quite aggressively on the floor.

“Full disclosure, I didn’t have a lot of time so your gift is from a suitcase I found in my attic.”

Connor comes back to you, handing you a Santa hat and offers you cookies in another hand. “Here is your festive hat, your festive cookies--” He looks down at the dog, “Festive Sumo--” He points to Hank with his plate of cookies, “Festive Hank--” He moves to point at the Christmas tree in the corner. “Festive tree-- That we can light on fire in respect of our support group.”

You squint, smiling but still confused, “I don’t quite understand.”

Hank comes down from his ladder, with the hat, he looks like a homeless Santa. “Christmas kinda sucks, for a lot of people.” He puts his hand on your shoulder in that dad type way, “But it shouldn’t suck alone.”

Connor pipes in, “I’ve curated the most classic Christmas movies to date and have a playlist ready to go-- Also an excellent hot chocolate recipe that I’m very sure we don’t have all the ingredients for.”

You grin, “Sounds good-- Sounds- Sounds like a good Christmas, for once.”

“Well, it’s my first Christmas, so I hope it gets better than this.”

uwu what’s this?

me writing a Christmas special based on my own experiences but with a happy ending? more likely than u think

For real though, Christmas is hard for me and MANY other people, likely a couple few reading this- And while I know an old man and his robot dog can’t come into your life and actually fix everything, I hope this made things less shitty.

Hang in there champ, it’s almost 2019 and even if times a construct it’ll vaguely feel like we get a restart at least.

also

saw spiderverse today and it’s mad my new favourite movie and ik Marvel is kinda tired but genuinely this movie made me feel the way watching Spiderman when I was 8 made me felt. I haven’t felt that kind of childlike wonder in a long fucking time, especially with a movie-- I highly RECC that cause it healed my sour mood today.

i wonder if i still have my taglist sticky noted,,,,,?

i DO

but it’s SUPER ANNOYING CAUSE THE INTERNETS LAGGING SO F U C K IT

thanks 4 reading wow

also didn’t read this over there are probably agregious errors but leave comments to boost my confidence anyways

#Connor #connor rk800 #connor x reader #connor rk800 imagine #DBH #dbh connor #dbh x reader #dbh imagine #connor rk800 x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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